#gaining superficial control of myself for a moment so i can think to myself 'i will definitely remember this idea in a few hours'

[squorttle-pox]

wow! what a great idea for a post that i don't remember

[taki118]

Kirishima and Other Women

Among the criticism and complaints of Raise Wa Tanin Ga Ii aka Yakuza Fiance the most common is about how Kirishima "cheats" but what if I were to tell you this aspect of him actually serves an important point within the narrative? Because it does, in fact it serves a few.

First and foremost this is common in the Yakuza subculture. The series is a bit of a send off to Yakuza subculture and media with references that tend to go over your head unless you are into it (most go over mine). This is no different. While this isn't as narratively important it is important to know overall, the series embraces all things Yakuza the good and the bad (unlike some other Yakuza series but that not a rant for here) And like it's implied pretty much all the guys in the series to it to some degree yes even Shoma. I only have some knowledge of this myself so I won't get into it but I would recommend looking into cause it is interesting and makes sense for the series to incorporate on some level due to this and it would feel wrong to not mention it here.

Now lets go onto to something more meaty and kinda spoilery, so don't read if you dont want. (though I don't think it will ruin your enjoyment)

So these other women actually help to better understand Kirishima and his relationship/feelings towards Yoshino. One detail the anime leaves out is who these women are and they are women. All college age or older, and all some kind of working professional who has skills or connections Kirishima does not have. Remember Kirishima is not technically Yakuza so he does not have access to resources that actual members of the group have but because he is involved with that world still he has to find a way to make up for what he resources he lacks. The safest resource he has found over the years is women.

Just like how Yoshino unintentionally raises the ire of women, Kirishima does the same to men both intentionally and unintentionally. He has difficulty connecting with people which is a topic in and of itself, but because of this he has learnt how to gain connections on a superficial level so he only does so with those he can feel some control over or feels safer. AKA Women. Kirishima knows he's attractive, and he knows how easy it is to charm people but those he had an ongoing connection with are those who understand it's a game and want something back.

It's all quid prop quo, he does something for them and so they in turn do something for him. FYI I'm pretty sure what he's getting out of it isn't psychical pleasure, information, connections and a safe house for sure but actual enjoyment from sex? Not likely again the anime doesn't show it very well but many manga readers have noted how disconnected Kirishima looks during these moments. (Which I will fully get to later) It's an exchange when Yoshino calls him a gigolo she's not wrong, and there is a greater discussion to be had here about how early Kirishima started doing this and all the messy stuff that comes with it but because we don't have enough information on how that started I won't get into it. (and its a little off topic)

Overall all though this shows the audience that Kirishima has a kind of warped view of sex and intimacy, he views it as a resource he can use much like his fighting ability, to him it's the same thing. At least at the start.

When Tsubaki tells Kirishima that he is actually very easy to understand when she has Yoshino there to compare, I believe this was a hint the author was giving us. To understand Kirishima and how he really feels about Yoshino one just need to look at how he is with other women.

It is INCREDIBLY telling that the closest thing Kirishima has to an ex-girlfriend is Nao, because notice how that term is never used within the story by the pair as to what their relationship was. Nao calls Ozu an ex but not Kirishima, he's just a guy she had a fling with (with a weird age gap) even though she seems to care more about him than Ozu (another deep dive I'll probably do). Kirishima also never uses the term, he does note that he did like her to some degree more than likely a little more than the other women he has similar situationships with but it was still at its core transactional. They both wanted what the other could offer more than them as a person. (also just fucking for weeks isn't a relationship) Kirishima always keeps everyone at a distance, keeps everything close to the vest, makes sure the situation is advantageous to him so he can't get screwed over, every single one. Except Yoshino.

You see it constantly in the series as Kirishima WANTS to connect with Yoshino. He wants to better understand and connect with her in ways he has never bothered to before. In fact you can argue that Kirishima is actually more emotionally unintelligent than Yoshino as he has such difficulty in understanding what Yoshino wants from him. He's so use to being fake, to acting the way women around him want him to that it throws him through a loop that Yoshino doesn't want that. She forces him to be a person not a persona.

Because of that, like Tsubaki says, he is desperate to understand and connect with her unlike with the women who he is connected to in a superficial way. I know it weirdly upsets some viewers that these women "Know" Kirishima in a way Yoshino hasn't but they don't actually know him Yoshino does. People often conflate love and sex as being the same thing but its not, sometimes it overlaps (and like that should be the standard but its not). This series sort of forces you to confront that assumption, because the real moments of love are in the smaller things.

It's Kirishima helping Yoshino with her garden, its him trying to get her focus on him, its him talking to her about mundane things, its him seeking out the things she wants, its him telling her his birthday, and yes it's him sleeping with other women to keep her safe. A LOT of people don't realize this but it is right there in the text he only reconnected with Nao because it would make the situation in Osaka more advantageous for him to keep Yoshino safe. There is a very good likelihood that if the situation would 100% not get Yoshino involved that Kirishima would have just stayed out of it. (which like damn sucks for you Nao) In actuality Kirishima likely would have preferred just a normal trip to Osaka with Yoshino (even though the chaos does help him confirm his own feelings again) Kirishima wants so desperately to be connected to Yoshino in anyway he can but you don't see that in how he is with other women, and it's in seeing that you can see his authenticity.

For further reference to something I noted earlier look at how Kirishima looks in these scenes with women both during and after sex.

There's little to no actual emotion or care, he operates almost robotically like you see when he fights someone he doesn't really give a shit about. It is something he's doing cause he has to not cause he wants to. Now compare these reactions to how he reacts when he finds out he accidentally/unconsciously felt Yoshino up

It's this flurry of emotions you can't even fully quantify like he can't even fathom he really did that. Kind of a strange reaction to give to someone who has done way more for way longer, but it makes perfect sense if you remember love and sex are different. With these other women he didn't care, sex didn't mean anything they could have been anyone and in all honesty if he could get away with not doing it he'd probably prefer it. But he loves Yoshino so he actually cares, he is actually turned on, he actually feels something.

THAT is the point of the side women. Kirishima is very hard to understand his character is a mystery for a majority of the series (and to a degree still is) these women help to solve that mystery if you take the time to really look at what's happening and not get parasocially angry that he is "betraying" his love for Yoshino. In his mind he's not because love and sex are different, sex to him until Yoshino is just a tool, its one of the many things that Yoshino changes in him over the course of the series. Lets not forget that one of his side women actually makes him realize the situation with Yoshino isn't all that great (the scene is better in the manga) cause he doesn't have the emotional intelligence to realize that himself and is a catalyst for the two actually growing closer. Like I keep having to cut myself short cause I'll just go off on how wonderfully complicated and uncomplicated Kirishima is as a character, but this is an important aspect to understand and shouldn't just be written off as "He's a red flag".

These women give us insight into how Kirishima is Pre-Yoshino and shows us how far he's come Post-Yoshino, in a way that could not be done otherwise. So maybe it makes you uncomfy for a bit but it's not bad writing it serves a purpose that could not be done otherwise.

[sasoxichomoshi]

hey! i'm planning on writing a lol vampire au heavily inspired by castlevania and i want nilah as one of the protagonist monster hunters, but i have very little idea on how to write her. there are veeeery few good nilah fics (and i found only one that was nilah-centric) so i dont have much fan material to base myself on.

i find nilah really hard to write because we don't know a lot about her prior to ashlesh and writing a character that only feels ona emotion is a challenge. i still intend on making ashlesh and their deal a thing (although not necessarily as extreme as the runeterra version) but I really wanted to hear from the greatest nilah expert out there. do you have any tips/suggestions? what are things you feel are missing in most nilah fanworks?

i always wanted to make an overall guide on how to write nilah, but never felt comfortable in doing so, but hey now i have an excuse!! thanks frend

first i want to say that most of fanfics out there are fine and there are even some of them i like a lot despite not agreeing the way they write nilah (i guess that's what we call creative freedom lol), and nonetheless im very grateful for people picking her to write about

that said, yes you are totally right, nilah is hella difficult to write, like god level difficulty, because not only you have to know nilah, but if you're going to write her having any interaction with another character you have to know that character too (more than superficial knowledge); for example, nilah often refers to another people by their *full name* or titles, so it's something you have to keep in mind (the only exception i can imagine to this is if she's faking not knowing something for the sake of a higher objective that cannot be achieved by the use of brute force)

nilah unending happiness might sound like a big problem, but it has to be one of the most chill parts of her character; usually people tend to focus too much on the happy side of the thing, and in fact she doesn't work like this!

nilah is happy all the time yes, but it works more like a feeling of excitement than of genuine happiness, and the thing is: nilah feels other things too. well, she doesn't feel them literally, but she *believes* she feels them, it's her human part rationally thinking and mentally pointing "oh now i should feel anger" "now it's a moment of sorrow" and the moment the thought leads to a feeling, it is immediately cut by her curse

nilah lives by her principles and values inherited from her human part and past, and that's what she uses to guide her. all her feelings are suppressed by ashlesh, so she has to rely on her logic, basically

the demon's influence feels much like a grasp; it feels like its hands tightly holds nilah's head; ashlesh is oppressive, he's always watching her... and she still keeps him in control through her rituals and meditations (and even with her intelligence)

people overlook this one too, but nilah is very smart and cunning; years of reading made her a walking encyclopedia, and her tongue can be as sharp as her urumi, BUT her spiritual training with the seventh layer order also made her mindful and sensible: she's smart, but she'll only use knowledge for good; she's cunning, but she won't be if unnecessary or for personal gain.

she weighs the consequences of her actions especially when interacting with other people (which brings me to another point that nilah navigates interaction by social cues, she guesses the pattern and goes by it cause 1) she only feels joy and 2) she's contacting another cultures and lands, so it's kinda of a process of trial and error)

also, if i may say, the impression "an intimate evening at oyster bill's" gives about nilah is that she can read intentions very clearly (probably an ability she got from ashlesh), she may not know why people act the way they do, but she knows when someone is lying or being honest (or threatening her)

with these explanations in mind, here's a quick guide by topics to follow when writing nilah

INTERACTIONS

she's very reserved about herself and her past - even when writing her paired with someone, i dont think she would talk about herself, her past is forgotten and she lost herself to joy, remember that

she's moderate when speaking - if you're going to make her sound happy, do it with balance, the only moment she sounds exceptionally happy and excited is in battle

she's not emotional (logically) - she wont act "in the heat of the moment", as i said, she's thoughtful with her actions

ashlesh also "interacts" with other people - tho of what we have been presented so far makes him looks mysterious, here i believe people SHOULD flex, go for your imagination

INNER THOUGHTS

if you feel like really writing her PoV, try to follow that idea of the logical thinking i explained above and keep it short and objective

you can also describe ashlesh's influence for that emotional seasoning (as i explained above)

but (and it's my personal favorite) you can also totally avoid diving into nilah's PoV for that mystery flavor that works so well with her - no one understands her and trying to do so can create interesting settings

MANNERISMS

she always uses people full names or titles - and in this case using titles when not sure about the characters full names can help, but i advise not overuse it

whenever nilah speaks with someone, insert small mentions of recitations during the interaction - with parsimony, the better use of it happens as a tool to drive conversations; nilah can use it to avoid a question, change topics or end conversations (and the inverse can happens too!!), be creative when use it and be sure to include meaningful conversations/interaction between her lil' recitations

nilah make use of mudras, hand gestures - they can be widely used to be honest (it's more frequent when she do recitations/meditates), but you can also make creative use of it (e.g. she inserts signs in the middle of the mudras to sneakily pass a message)

DON'Ts (personal opinion)

avoid making her childish like the hell

dont make her have the joker smile all the time please please please

she doesnt laugh at everything

this one is veryyy particular of me, but nilah wont go out there mentioning ashlesh name or saying things like "this is ashlesh the lord of joy, one of the ten kings, demon of the seventh layer and i control it blah blah blah" - even if she's asked directly i doubt she would give a full answer, AGAIN she's thoughtful and objective, she wont go out there giving this kind of information for free, avoid this

i think these are my main points, ofc dont let them hold yourself on some idea, i really dont wanna hurt any creative thought by somehow "imposing" my views

something that i always have in mind is that everyone is writing nilah's epic somehow, and i believe nilah would like to see everyone's thoughts about her turning into stories

thanks so much for the ask, and sorry for the delay (and maybe i wrote it too big lol), if you have another questions please it will be a pleasure to answer them ^u^

[hauntedselves]

Clinical Formulations of Histrionic PD

Clinical formulations and case conceptualisations are introduced in this post.

These are all generalisations and theories of how HPD develops, not something that is supposed to be true for everyone with HPD.

Psychodynamic model

Histrionics lack relationships with maternal caregivers so turn to paternal caregivers for love and attention

Learn that they can get attention through sexualised behaviours

Men with HPD may be hypomasculine (effeminate) or hypermasculine if their paternal caregiver is emotionally unavailable

Biosocial model

Mood swings, very emotional

Biggest influences are environmental: caregivers’ reinforcement of attention-seeking & manipulative behaviours and histrionic role models

Children learn they can use cuteness, charm, attractiveness & seductive behaviours to get what they want/need (attention from caregivers)

Histrionics are externally focused and largely ignore their internal worlds

Histrionic behaviours are self-perpetuating

Cognitive-Behavioural model

Two main underlying assumptions: “I am inadequate and unable to handle life by myself” and “I must be loved by everyone to be worthwhile.” 

Need attention and approval from others, and in a similar way to DPD feel they are inadequate to look after themselves and need others

Hypersensitive to rejection & criticism (similar to DPD, NPD and AvPD)

Feel they must perform for others to gain approval and self-esteem

Thinking is “impressionistic, global, and unfocused” and leads to over-generalisation, emotional dysregulation, and splitting

Two subtypes:

The controlling type, who tries to gain control through dramatics and manipulation; they struggle with reading others’ emotions and are shallow, self-centred, and uncomfortable without immediate assurance; lack empathy.

The reactive type tries to gain approval and reassurance.

Interpersonal model

People with HPD learnt that their entertainment value and appearance was more important to others than their worth as a person

Learnt that physical appearance and charm can be used to manipulate others

Their childhood homes were unpredictable and probably involved substance abuse

The unpredictability was dramatic and interesting (unlike the “primitive” and life-threatening chaos associated with BPD)

Histrionics were likely rewarded (i.e. had their physical and emotional needs met) for their disabilities, illnesses and complaints

Histrionics “exhibit a strange fear of being ignored, together with a wish to be loved and taken care of by important others, who can be controlled through charm or guile.”

Integrative model

Histrionics experience reactive mood swings and have high levels of energy

They are hyper-responsive and externally oriented

“The self-view of the histrionic will be some variant of the theme “I am sensitive and everyone should admire and approve of me.” The world-view will be some variant of “Life makes me nervous so I am entitled to special care and consideration.” Life goal is some variant of the theme “Therefore, play to the audience, and live in the moment.””

Cargivers’ style based in reciprocity, i.e. “I’ll give you attention if you do what I want”, with minimal or inconsistent discipline and probable neglect

Internal experiences of HPD are “denial of one’s real or inner self; a preoccupation with externals; the need for excitement and attention-seeking, which leads to a superficial charm and interpersonal presence; and the need for external approval. This, in turn, further reinforces the dissociation and denial of the real or inner self from the public self, and the cycle continues.”

- From Sperry, Handbook of Diagnosis and Treatment of DSM-5 Personality Disorders (2016)

[jdgo51]

In Our Hard Times

Today's inspiration comes from:

Turn My Mourning Into Dancing

by Henri Nouwen

"'If God is found in our hard times, then all of life, no matter how apparently insignificant or difficult, can open us to God’s work among us. To be grateful does not mean repressing our remembered hurts. But as we come to God with our hurts — honestly, not superficially — something life changing can begin slowly to happen. We discover how God is the One who invites us to healing. We realize that any dance of celebration must weave both the sorrows and the blessings into a joyful step.

I once saw a stonecutter remove great pieces from a huge rock on which he was working. In my imagination I thought That rock must be hurting terribly. Why does this man wound the rock so much? But as I looked longer, I saw the figure of a graceful dancer emerge gradually from the stone, looking at me in my mind’s eye and saying, “You foolish man, didn’t you know that I had to suffer and thus enter into my glory?” The mystery of the dance is that its movements are discovered in the mourning. To heal is to let the Holy Spirit call me to dance, to believe again, even amid my pain, that God will orchestrate and guide my life.

We tend, however, to divide our past into good things to remember with gratitude and painful things to accept or forget. This way of thinking, which at first glance seems quite natural, prevents us from allowing our whole past to be the source from which we live our future. It locks us into a self-involved focus on our gain or comfort. It becomes a way to categorize, and in a way, control. Such an outlook becomes another attempt to avoid facing our suffering. Once we accept this division, we develop a mentality in which we hope to collect more good memories than bad memories, more things to be glad about than things to be resentful about, more things to celebrate than to complain about.

Gratitude in its deepest sense means to live life as a gift to be received thankfully. And true gratitude embraces all of life: the good and the bad, the joyful and the painful, the holy and the not-so-holy. We do this because we become aware of God’s life, God’s presence in the middle of all that happens.

Is this possible in a society where joy and sorrow remain radically separated? Where comfort is something we not only expect, but are told to demand? Advertisements tell us that we cannot experience joy in the midst of sadness. “Buy this,” they say, “do that, go there, and you will have a moment of happiness during which you will forget your sorrow.” But is it not possible to embrace with gratitude all of our life and not just the good things we like to remember?

If mourning and dancing are part of the same movement of grace, we can be grateful for every moment we have lived.

Everything is grace.

We can claim our unique journey as God’s way to mold our hearts to greater conformity to Christ. The cross, the primary symbol of our faith, invites us to see grace where there is pain; to see resurrection where there is death. The call to be grateful is a call to trust that every moment can be claimed as the way of the cross that leads to new life. When Jesus spoke to His disciples before His death and offered them His body and blood as gifts of life, He shared with them everything He had lived — His joy as well as His pain, His suffering as well as His glory — and enabled them to move into their own mission in deep gratitude.

Day by day we find new reasons to believe that nothing will separate us from the love of God in Christ.

Of course, it is easy for me to push the bad memories under the rug of my consciousness and think only about the good things that please me. It seems to be the way to fulfillment. By doing so, however, I keep myself from discovering the joy beneath the sorrow, the meaning to be coaxed out of even painful memories. I miss finding the strength that becomes visible in my weakness, the grace God told Paul would be

...sufficient for you, for power is made perfect in weakness. — 2 Corinthians 12:9

Gratitude helps us in this dance only if we cultivate it. For gratitude is not a simple emotion or an obvious attitude. Living gratefully requires practice. It takes sustained effort to reclaim my whole past as the concrete way God has led me to this moment. For in doing so I must face not only today’s hurts, but the past’s experiences of rejection or abandonment or failure or fear.

While Jesus told His followers that they were intimately related to Him as branches are to a vine, they still needed to be pruned to bear more fruit (see John 15:1-5). Pruning means cutting, reshaping, removing what diminishes vitality. When we look at a pruned vineyard, we can hardly believe it will bear fruit. But when harvest comes, we realize that the pruning allowed the vines to concentrate their energy and produce more grapes.

Grateful people learn to celebrate even amid life’s hard and harrowing memories because they know that pruning is no mere punishment, but preparation.

When our gratitude for the past is only partial, our hope for the future can likewise never be full. But our submitting to God’s pruning work will not ultimately leave us sad, but hopeful for what can happen in us and through us. Harvest time will bring its own blessings. I am gradually learning that the call to gratitude asks us to say,

“Everything is grace.”

As long as we remain resentful about things we wish had not happened, about relationships that we wish had turned out differently, mistakes we wish we had not made, part of our heart remains isolated, unable to bear fruit in the new life ahead of us. It is a way we hold part of ourselves apart from God. Instead, we can learn to see our remembered experience of our past as an opportunity for ongoing conversion of the heart. We let what we remember remind us of whose we are — not our own, but God’s.

If we are to be truly ready for a new life in the service of God, truly joyful at the prospect of God’s unfolding vocation for our lives, truly free to be sent wherever God guides, our entire past, gathered into the spaciousness of a converted heart, must become the source of energy that moves us onward."'

Excerpted with permission from Turn My Mourning Into Dancing by Henri Nouwen, copyright Estate of Henri Nouwen.

[goneseriesanalysis]

Caine Soren

Hiya guys, so here are my thoughts and opinions on Caine from my re-read of the first book. I was planning on writing this quicker but my ADHD told me no. I’m prolly gonna write up a bunch now though because I’m ✨in the zone✨ Also, apologies but this is another long one because I am physically incapable of being concise 

Spoilers for Gone down below

Original Opinion: Most of my criticism on him as a character came as a result of later development so I’m not quite sure whether that will change as of yet. But as far as his role as a villain, I really enjoyed his character and what he brought to the story.

New Opinion: I still maintain that Caine is a good main villain for this book. I found him to be waaaaay different and way less competent than I remember, but boy is he interesting. I have so many thoughts on Caine and it was a real struggle getting them all down.

1.) CAINE’S APPEARANCE:

Ok so we are first introduced to Caine in chapter 14 through Sam’s POV. We see him standing apart from the other Coates kids “wearing a bright yellow V-necked sweater instead of a blazer.” This is obviously done to set him apart from the other Coates kids, and (forgive me for going all English teacher on you) the colour yellow has connotations of corruption and deceit, which fit in pretty nicely with Caine as a character. Sam then goes on to give us a more detailed description:

“He was handsome, even Sam noticed that. He had dark hair and dark eyes, not much different from Sam himself. But this boy’s face seemed to glow with an inner light. He radiated confidence, but without arrogance or condescension. In fact, he managed to seem genuinely humble even while standing alone, looking out over everyone else.”

This is one of my least favourite descriptions in the whole book because it simultaneously manages to tell us almost nothing about Caine’s appearance whilst making me cringe so hard that my muscles start to atrophy. Seen as we get very little description of Sam, telling us that Caine looks like Sam is pretty much useless – although it nicely sets up the brother twist – and dark hair and dark eyes could mean anything. Are his eyes blue, brown, black?? Is his hair black or brown?? Who knows?? Not me. And don’t even get me started on his face glowing with an inner light. Because no. I hate this line so much it actually hurts. I thought at first it may be in reference to his connection with the gaiaphage. But that makes no sense. It reminds me of the scene in The Great Gatsby where Nick describes Gatsby’s smile for about half a page and he just sounds ridiculous. I will admit the last two sentences give a good example of Caine’s ability to charm and manipulate those around him but the rest is just aaa

We also learn that he is handsome, which is then followed by what I consider to be a writer’s greatest sin. “He was handsome, even Sam noticed that” – Every. Single. Time a male character describes another male character who just so happens to be attractive in any given book from any author, we get this line. It is the writer’s equivalent of saying no homo and I’m going to make it my personal mission to call them all out on it.

Ok moving on – sorry about that. Rant over.

Sam then says that “His voice was clear and just a little higher, maybe, than Sam’s, but strong and determined. He had a way of looking at the crowed before him that made it seem he was meeting every person’s eye, seeing every person as an individual.” This is good at further establishing Caine as a leader, and shows his relationship with crowds, it gives the reader some indication of his ability to control. He is able to easily win over those of Perdido Beach with his charm.

Caine gets referred to as being attractive by a few other characters throughout the book, but the last main description we get of him is from Drake’s POV in chapter 20:

“Caine sat in his over-large leather chair, the one that had previously belonged to the mayor of Perdido Beach. It made him look small. It made him look very young. And to make matters worse, he was chewing on his thumbnail, which made it almost look like he was sucking his thumb.”

This description is kind of reminiscent of the scene with Sam and the shirt that I talked about in my Sam Temple post. He has taken over the mayor’s chair but he is not fit to take on the position of mayor. Whereas Sam’s weakness in leadership stems from his insecurities and doubts, it is Caine’s narcissism and over-confidence that make him unfit to lead. Michael gives Caine the compulsion of biting his thumbnail when he is nervous. This is a habit that people often pick up to deal with challenging emotions is a less destructive way (as opposed to having a meltdown or getting angry) and works nicely for Caine’s character. It shows that while he does have his moments where he loses control, he is capable of controlling himself to a certain degree, making it seem more likely that someone like Diana might align herself with him. This also helps to further the idea that despite his narcissism and delusions of grandeur, he is still just a kid. And of course sets up the idea that Drake is somewhat resentful towards Caine.

2.) CAINE’S PERSONALITY:

Caine’s personality is a difficult one to analyse as there are two main aspects to it – the personality he projects in order to manipulate people and his actual personality – and sometimes the line between these blurs to the point where it becomes unclear which one we are seeing. One thing that I did notice is that in this book we don’t actually get a Caine POV until the Thanksgiving battle, so we mostly see him through the eyes of Sam, Jack, Drake and Diana, who all have very different relationships with him.

As I mentioned before, we first see Caine through Sam’s POV, where we are introduced to what I’m gonna call his fake personality. Michael uses phrases such as “Caine appeared interested” alongside Astrid’s commentary, which lets the reader know that Caine is not what he appears to be, but of course the general population of Perdido Beach are not aware of this. One criticism I had towards the way that Caine’s character is portrayed is that it is initially hinted that the reason he is able to gain such control over people is because of his proficiency in manipulation and his superficial kindness (such as when he comforts the kid who asks for his mum). And yet he manages to fool almost no-one?? Astrid, Sam, Edilio, Albert, Mary and Howard all immediately see through his façade, which makes it hard to believe that this is how he gained such influence over people. (And of course all the kids at Coates who were cemented saw through it too). In fact I found myself to be kind of confused as to why anyone follows him at all?? Is it just a fear of his power?? That’s… a little disappointing. He doesn’t become mayor because he charms the population. He becomes mayor because no-one else wants to do it, and no-one can be bothered to oppose him. And even when people start to become more afraid, they aren’t afraid of Caine. It’s Drake. Although, you of course have to take into account the fact that these are just children who want someone they can look towards for help and guidance. Perhaps Caine’s persuasive abilities are less about using his charm to completely win people over and more about him being able to take advantage of situations that are presented to him. He has just enough superficial charm and makes just enough beneficial changes (such as laying down rules and protecting the food) that people are willing to overlook some of the more sinister things that he does.

That being said, I think my main issue with so many characters being able to see through Caine so quickly, is what it says about or “hero.” Sam doing nothing to stop Caine, despite him clearly knowing that Caine is bad news makes him seem a little selfish?? His insecurities stop him from doing what is right, and while it is good to have a flawed hero, his willingness to allow Caine to terrorise Perdido Beach up until he threatens Sam personally seems less like a small character flaw and more like a pretty big lapse in morality and compassion. Would Sam have ever taken control if Caine hadn’t kidnapped him?? If Sam had been fooled by Caine’s manipulation that would imo have made both of their characters better fit their respective roles of protagonist and antagonist.

That being said one of my absolute favourite lines regarding Caine is “Then let’s go in together,’ Caine said. He turned and marched purposefully up the church steps. The rest of the chosen fell in behind him.” in chapter 14. I think this perfectly captures the contrast between what Caine says and what he does, and I really love it.  One of Michael’s strengths is adding little throw away lines that can perfectly sum up a character and their intentions. And this idea of Caine saying something but meaning something else is pretty central to his character – the biggest pay-off we get from this in book 1 is him promising to protect the little’s and then (horrifyingly) feeding them to the coyotes in the final battle. This was a scene that I did not previously remember and man did I feel some emotions when reading it. There wasn’t even a second thought, absolutely no indication of remorse. I know a few times it’s mentioned throughout the books that the difference between Caine and Drake is that Caine only does what is necessary – but the scene with the coyotes really contradicts that idea.

Caine’s ‘real personality’ imo is shown in little moments throughout the books. By Caine’s real personality, I’m referring to the part of him that we don’t really see at all in this book, the part of him that is only really hinted at by Diana, and occasionally Drake. Even when Caine is around Diana and Drake, he still tries to keep up a persona – this time that of a cold and detached boy with little to no emotions. But this isn’t really who he is. I think the ‘real’ Caine is an extremely emotional person (although I would like to clarify that by emotional I mainly mean angry and sometimes scared) and there are a couple of moments where this does shine through. There are a few times where Caine loses his temper with both Drake and Diana, using his powers to injure them and to reiterate the power he has over them. I think this shows how insecure Caine truly is, despite what he would have others believe. He only ever breaks character when his authority is mocked or threatened, even if the threat holds no real intention (such as Diana’s jibe after he kisses her). I do find it interesting that, at the core, Sam and Caine are quite similar. It is how these insecurities manifest and project themselves that really define them as different. Caine’s insecurities also shine through in these quotes from Diana:

“Yes. Sam is a four bar. And Caine would freak.” – Chapter 29

“Caine, despite his over-sized ego, his looks, his charm, was terribly awkward with girls.” – Chapter 39

Caine needs to be in control. He needs to be the most powerful person in the room at all times, and the only two people who can really be considered a threat to him in this way are Diana and Sam. Sam is his main threat and Diana, of course, holds a certain amount of power over him due to his feelings towards her. However, any time that Diana seems to be gaining or trying to gain more power (most notably when she makes fun of him for kissing her and when she tries to make him call off the coyotes) he reacts with violence. But I’ll go into that more when I make a post about their relationship.

Another thing that I noticed about Caine that I hadn’t previously remembered is that, he’s a bit of a coward. We first see this in chapter 34 when Little Pete frees the Coates kids “Caine was quick. He backed away, turned, and ran for the building.” The one thing that really got me about this is that he didn’t wait for Diana. He just turned and saved himself. Which kind of brings into question why Diana stays with him. Does he offer protection?? He certainly didn’t here. He literally abandoned her and ran for the hills. The other time we really see this side of him when he uses Astrid as a human shield in chapter 45. Diana even comments on this, telling him to “be a man for once.” I don’t have much else to say about this, but I think it’s an interesting aspect of his personality that certainly makes it easier to dislike him.

Now the last thing I want to talk about in regards to his personality is chapter 36 (the chapter where Drake gets his arm cut off). Caine gets in three good moments during this scene, the first one being:

“It’s not Diana or Chunk or even me,’ Caine said. ‘It’s none of us, Drake. It’s Sam. It’s Sam who did this to you, Drake. You want him to get away with it? Or do you want to live long enough to make him suffer?”

This is one of my favourite Caine moments in the book, and it’s really one of the only times that we see his manipulation actually work on someone. He knows exactly what to say to Drake in order to shift the blame in the direction he wants. Forget that I left you behind to deal with Sam and the escaped kids yourself. Forget that Diana is sawing your arm off. Just focus on Sam. And I think this line had such an effect on Drake’s psyche (which I will explore more in my Drake post) and really excellently shows off Caine’s ability to take advantage of a pre-existing situation in order to benefit himself.

The next two moments are where I really think the lines between Caine’s persona and the ‘real’ Caine blur to the point where it’s unclear which side of him we are seeing – and I think there is an argument for both although imo I feel like it’s his persona that we are seeing.

“It’s the only way to stop the pain,’ Caine said, almost showing some emotion, some pity. ‘The arm is done for Drake-man.”

“Don’t cut off my arm,’ Drake cried. ‘Let me die. Just let me die. Shoot me.           ‘Sorry,’ Caine said. ‘But I still need you, Drake. Even one-handed.”

So, we first get the idea that Caine, at least somewhat, feels sorry for Drake. Drake’s injury is horrific and it’s clear that other characters, such as Jack and Diana, who are usually nothing but hostile to Drake (and rightfully so) feel some sympathy towards the situation. Now it’s also important to note that this scene is from Drake’s POV so we don’t actually know if the sympathy Caine is showing is real, is part of his attempt to manipulate Drake, or isn’t there at all and is just something that Drake wants. (I think the last option is entirely plausible as Drake often seeks praise from Caine, so in a situation like this it makes sense that he would seek some empathy). However, Caine then goes on to refuse Drake’s plea for death… because he needs him. Not because he’s a friend – or even just an ally. Not because he doesn’t want him to die. But because he needs him. That’s cold. And it’s really cold to tell him that – which leads me to believe that the almost sympathy Drake sees earlier on was never there, or at the very least was just a manipulation tactic. Caine cares so little for the people around him and I find it quite funny that it was his treatment of Drake (the person probably most deserving of it) in this scene that really showed me how much of a villain Caine can be.

3.) CAINE’S MOTIVATIONS:

Why does Caine do the things he does?? Why does he need to be in control?? And while we don’t really get much insight into Caine’s head in this book, there are a few good moments which allowed a reader to speculate as to what his motivations are. The first moment that really stood out to me was in chapter 39, where Caine tries to open up to Diana about his parents:

“I always had the feeling, you know? That my family wasn’t my real family. They never said I was adopted, but my mother – well, the woman I thought was my mother, I don’t know what to call her now. Anyway, her, she never talked about having me. You know, you hear moms talking about going into labour and all. She never talked about that.”

From this, we can see that Caine always felt like an outsider within his own family, he always felt like he didn’t belong. And this seems to be a pretty big motivator when it comes to Caine’s need to take over, to have power over everyone else. If he has control, then he will always have a place. He will always belong because the world will be his. Caine never fit in in the real world, his narcissism (and probably psychopathy) distanced him from other people right from the get go. But in this new world, in the FAYZ, Caine has a chance to be important, to be a ruler and he’s willing to do pretty much anything to get that. I think this idea, of his need for power and control stemming from the lack of acceptance and belonging he felt with his family, is emphasised in chapter 46, during the poof:

“Caine seemed spellbound, unable to tear his gaze away from the gentle, smiling face, the piercing blue eyes.                                                                        ‘Why?’ Caine asked in a small child’s voice.                                                             […]                                                                                                                          ‘Why him and not me?’ Caine asked.”

This is the only time I felt the slightest bit of sympathy for Caine during my re-read of this book. He is 14. A kid. He spent his whole life feeling like and outsider and now he knows that a woman he knew, a woman that he saw almost every night is his actual mother. That she also knew this and yet never tried to talk to him, to explain, to do anything. And now he’s looking at ‘her’ and all he wants to know is why. Why did she give him up?? He lacks empathy and many other emotions that allow healthy relationships with others, yet he still wants people to have that connection with him. He needs him and rely on him. So his solution is to gain enough power, enough authority and control so that people have to listen to him and have to rely on him. He doesn’t care how many people he hurts or pisses off, because in the end, if he gets what he wants, that won’t matter. He’ll be too powerful for it to matter because they’ll still need him anyway. And that’s why “All that matters is winning. So save it.” – Chapter 45

4.) CAINE’S INTENTIONS/ HIS ROLE AS A VILLAIN:

Caine’s intentions are pretty obvious from the very first time we meet him in chapter 14. And, of course, it is these intentions that really define his role as a villain. Now, in chapter 14, it never outright says that Caine’s intentions are to take complete control over Perdido Beach. In fact, Caine tries to make it seem like he wants to make a collaborative effort to help them all move forward. But once again, his actions contradict his words, most notably in these lines:

“Orc grunted, shifted the bat from right hand to left, and stuck out his thick paw. Caine grabbed it with both his hands and solemnly looked Orc in the eye as they shook hands.”

“But Caine grabbed his elbow and manoeuvred him into a handshake.” [Referring to Sam]

“Caine had moved confidently towards the altar.”

These lines subtly show that, whilst Caine talks about working together, he is really the one in charge. He is the one dictating what is happening and when it is happening, forcing Sam and Orc to shake his hand. Giving them jobs so that he can keep an eye on them (Orc) or keep them out of the way (Sam). And of course, he won’t stand with them in the church. They don’t sit around a table and talk as equals. Caine has to be up at the front. He also gets extremely angry when other people make demands, or give an idea that he can’t take credit for. The most obvious example of this being in response to Howard telling him that they wouldn’t be working for Drake.  “Sam saw a coldly furious expression appear on Caine’s handsome face, then disappear as swiftly as it had come.” This is then followed up by Caine ripping a 12ft cross off of a wall and launching it at them, so it’s safe to say that he doesn’t appreciate his authority being challenged.

Later in the book we then get more obvious examples of his intentions, as his role as the villain is fully unveiled:

“Caine, to the surprise of no-one who knew him, had taken over the mayor’s office.” – Chapter 15

“Number one says Caine is the mayor of Perdido Beach and the whole area known as the FAYZ.” – Chapter 16

After Caine basically walks into Perdido Beach, tells everyone what to do, and gets away with it, he begins to be more outright with his intentions. He immediately takes over the mayor’s office, and makes his new title of mayor the very first rule to be enforced. He isn’t really all that secretive about his intentions, at least not after the initial meeting. I think this is a measure of his confidence – he doesn’t feel at all threatened by the people of Perdido Beach. I think one of the reasons that Caine is such a good villain, is that when he is in control, he isn’t that bad?? I mean sure, having Drake as sheriff is less than ideal, but Caine himself is not a bad leader. He comes up with rules that both make sense and do actively increase the quality of life of those in Perdido Beach (minus the no magic tricks rule). It’s only what Caine is willing to do in order to get that power that actually makes him the villain. Once he has it, he’s not really a threat?? And then of course, we get Caine’s fantastic little speech in chapter 42 that really just sums up all these ideas in much less words:

“What was I supposed to do? Coates? That’s it? How do you not see what an opportunity this is? We’re in a whole new world. I’m the most powerful person in that whole new world. No adults. No parents or teachers or cops. It’s perfect. Perfect for me. All I have to do is take care of Sam and a few others, and I’ll have complete control.”

Because if it wasn’t for his ego, if he hadn’t attacked Sam, if he hadn’t used Drake to cause fear and enmity, he would have had it. He would have gotten his complete control, because no-one else really wanted to be in charge. The fool is his own worst enemy.

5.) CAINE’S POWERS:

So, the last thing I wanted to discuss about Caine, is his powers. To me, it seemed whilst reading that his powers are almost an extension of his personality. Caine is naturally a very domineering person, and so it makes sense that his power is the ability to control things with his mind. The first time we see Caine’s powers (also the first time we see anyone purposefully use their powers) is in the church:

“Caine sighed, raised his hands, and used both palms to smooth back his hair.                                                   There came a rumble, up through the floor and pews. A small earthquake…                                        […]                                                                                                                                                                   But then came a rending sound, steel and wood twisting, and the crucifix separated from the wall. It ripped free of the bolts holding it in place, like an invisible giant had yanked it away.                              […]                                                                                                                                                             The crucifix toppled forwards. It fell like a chain sawed tree.                                                                                                             As it fell, Caine dropped his hands to his sides. His face was grim, hard, and angry.                                                                                                 The crucifix, at least a dozen feet tall, slammed with shocking force down onto the front-row pew. The impact was as loud and sudden as a car wreck.” – Chapter 14

I like how, similarly to the way he talks, the first time we see a display of his power, he is hiding it – his body language is suggesting one action whilst he is actually doing something else entirely. This again makes me feel like the powers are an extension of personalities (and I will give other examples of this is later posts).  I also noticed that the use of his powers is almost always as a response to his anger, something that Sam also learns to do thanks to Astrid’s guidance. These two scenes are great examples of this:

“Caine’s smile was cold. He raised his hand, palm out. An invisible fist hit Sam in the face. He staggered back. He barely stopped himself from falling, but his head was reeling. Blood leaked from his nose.” – Chapter 21

“Caine reached back over his shoulder with one hand, not even looking back. He spread his fingers, bared his palms. The fallen portion of the wall came apart, brick by brick. One by one, as though each brick had sprouted wings, they lifted off and flew. The bricks hurtled past Caine’s head and through the open door as fast as machine-gun bullets.” – Chapter 31

Unlike Sam, who often uses his powers as a defence strategy, Caine always uses them as a method of attack. He attacks Orc’s gang, Drake, Sam and Andrew – not as a last resort, but as a warning. He likes to make a big display of his power in order to deter people from actually engaging in a fight. Although when it does come down to an actual fight, he tends to be a little less confrontational and a little bit more of a coward. I mean come one. Hiding behind Astrid was low. At least this is the case in book 1.

Next, is the development of his powers. Unlike Sam, we know that Caine did not discover his powers alone:

“Several of us developed strange powers, starting a few months ago,’ Caine said conversationally. ‘We were like a secret club. Frederico, Andrew, Dekka, Brianna, some others. We worked together to develop them. Encouraged each other. See, that’s the difference between Coates people and you townies. In boarding school it’s hard to keep secrets. But soon it became clear that my powers were of a whole different order. What I just did to you? No one else could do that.”

The Coates kids formed a sort of support group for each other, which is why they have such a good understanding of their powers, as opposed to Lana and the Perdido Beach kids, who either hid their powers or else didn’t discover them until the FAYZ began. One thing that I do find interesting about this, is that the Coates kids all seemed to develop their powers pretty late. Caine says that the powers started a few months ago, and yet Sam first used his 14 months before the FAYZ began. I think that goes to show how the Coates environment really gave Caine the ability to experiment with and foster his powers, which is why he has such control. He achieved in a few months what is took Sam over a year to do. (One thing that I think would have been nice to have is perhaps in a later book some flashbacks on the Coates kids working together to do this. But oh well)

Thank you so much again for reading, and please feel free to add your thoughts. Next up is Diana and I have a lot to say about her. :)

[apathetically-hopeful]

5/18/21 Emotions

Emotional vulnerability has never been a suit I’ve been able to wear comfortably. My mind has waited for this moment for a long time, so long that it now feels like I’m reconnecting with a distant relative. It’s awkward, and at most times, unpleasant. When you’ve spent so long suppressing the parts of yourself that are rebelling against everything you’re trying to ignore; life gets messy quick. And it holds true, because my life is very plain and simply a mess right now.

I had another panic attack today. I’ve never really had these before; except on very rare occasions. Now I have them once or twice a week; and they are on a whole other level from the ones I’ve experienced in the past. I was finally committing to completing a task I’ve been putting off for some time. The simple process of unpacking and starting to organize my new space sent me spiraling. I’m not actually sure where it came from; if it was the unpacking or just some kind of mental dam breaking. Out of nowhere though, I began crying and felt like I was unable to catch my breath. It was a completely crippling moment for me; because I am not a person that handles feeling powerless very well.

Fair to say; I’ve never really had a handle on my emotions in any capacity. In fact the only control I did have over them was my ability to bury them deep inside myself; never to see the light of day again. But instead of letting my emotions define me and make me who I am, something much worse happened. I developed into a person that was so afraid of vulnerability and their own feelings that I turned into a manipulative and self absorbed monster. My need to live each day without feeling the weight or internal cost of my actions turned me into someone that could only pursue momentary happiness and fulfillment. When those moments had passed, however, I was left with a constant feeling of emptiness.

To fill the perceived void in myself, I did everything I could, except for everything I should. I would have nights on end of partying and indulgence, or make impulse buys, or just surround myself with distractions that would only leave me feeling whole for fleeting instants. When I wasn’t able to comfort myself with superficial bullshit; I’d become emotionally destitute and drag myself and those that loved me down into the bowels of my self loathing. Having next to no healthy coping mechanisms meant I was just destined to keep following a path that would lead to an assured destruction of self. As with all things that are inevitable; the inevitable happened. 

I was going through life with an attitude that had zero sustainability. How can a person perpetually lack self worth and emotional cognizance, and somehow expect any sort of fulfillment from life. It was a never ending cycle of finding something to pin my happiness on and then having to eventually come to terms with my own lack of internal equilibrium. Now that I have hit rock bottom; I’m left with no choice but to face myself. Because I’ve finally started this journey, I find that I’m now forced to deal with everything all at once. The lock has been smashed off the cage where I kept all the monsters of my own creation locked away.

Staring all my trauma down every day has been the most exhausting thing I’ve ever attempted. Exacerbated by the fact that I am facing new and fresh trauma; I find that it’s all I can do to hold myself together from one minute to the next. My fears have shifted now though. What I find myself most afraid of is regressing to old habits of dealing with things both internally and externally. Unfortunately I’m not perfect and there is no clearly defined path to succeeding in my efforts.

See, I fucked things up again for myself just a few days ago. I got so focused in, on an external situation, that I allowed myself to slip into familiar habits for a brief moment. Luckily I was able to pull myself back from the edge in a relatively timely manner; but not before I had caused some damage to everything I’ve been trying to accomplish. Now I find that I’m paralyzed by fear of the consequences of my actions. I don’t know if what I did has irreparably changed the course of what I’m seeking. All that’s left for me is to hope that myself and those I affected can forgive me for my moment of weakness. If they could see the damage my screwup did to myself as well as them, then I hope they can understand that it is everything I’m trying to move away from.

Trying to balance on this tightrope is something that will take me a lot of practice. Falling means landing back into everything that made me so insufferable to myself and others. Fortunately, so far I have only slipped and been able to find the strength to pull myself back up. The canyon below is deep and perilous; something I’m not sure I could survive the depths of. That makes my only choice to move forward; to reach the other side of this great chasm spanning my psyche. 

When you’ve spent so long avoiding anything that wasn’t immediately satisfying, it is easy to not understand your emotions. Navigating through an ocean of feelings that you don’t even properly know how to feel. I find that I am often confused, or even upset, that I can’t decipher what is going on in my head. My traumas, both past and present, are all laid bare in front of me now. Learning the way to proceed against them is challenging. But I feel that somewhere under all this madness and uncertainty is a part of me that is relieved; dare I say, maybe even happy.

I kept so much of myself locked away for so long that I think the part of myself that allowed me to have hope, to feel, and to understand had been imprisoned as well. Turning inward and dealing with one’s own shortcomings in life is a painful but necessary journey. I used to regret and blame everything in my life for making me into this person that I’m trying so hard to leave behind. But now I find that my only regret is that I never started traveling into myself sooner. 

Letting go of these regrets has been like an anchor removed from the shackles of my soul. I’m only in the most infantile steps of the process, but I know that each day I find myself feeling a little more at peace in my own mind. I have many more difficulties on the road before me, and I am sure I will stumble again; but I’m learning the depths of my own strength and will. I am now taking a level of comfort in being able to allow myself to truly experience my feelings and what they are trying to tell me. I find that after a break down, before the tears have even dried, that the sun seems to be a little brighter and the air just ever slightly easier to breathe. Maybe this is what true hope feels like. Maybe I’m truly starting to believe in my own power over my emotions, without feeling the need to lock them up.

To those that I’ve affected: please know that I am facing all of this with nothing but sincerity and love. I’m sorry if you’ve been hurt by me along the way. My only hope is that you keep your faith in me, because I will not stop until it is rewarded. And I will press on past that point, because the journey of self is one that never ends. I just need to believe that somewhere along the way, I will not only gain everything that I want, but that I will be truly deserving of it.

Seize control of your mind and emotions. Find yourself on the other side of the pain. Love always,

Trevor.

[ermuellert]

what are your honest opinions on julian draxler's career?

personally i thought he was genuinely going to be a big star because he was this young wonderkid at schalke who won the world cup as a 20 year old (he didn't do much though to be fair) but it never really turned out that way ... he's not done terribly per se, he is playing for psg, living that sweet life en france, and somehow still getting callups to the german national team but i am just kind of sad that he never reached the full potential that he had ... i thought he would be the captain of the "new" germany generation, one of the leaders, but now he barely gets to play ... i am kind of extra worked up about his case because he seems like a nice and sweet person as well ... anyways maybe i just have a bad track record of predicting career trajectories, all the youngsters i thought would succeed haven't (yet), at one point i believed that julian weigl and max meyer would also be world beaters and here we are ... i don't know what it is, probably a mix of injuries, bad luck, and maybe just not working hard enough ... long long sigh

anyways if you read all that you're an absolute superstar because i really went and wrote an essay oops ... i look forward to your live blogging tomorrow as it is always entertaining ... lots of love xxx

i hope u know that deep down.... like. Deep Down... i am always always always craving to talk about julian...... like trust me... i promise essays on monsieur draxler are always welcome here because i used to write that much about him and sometimes still think that much about him too...

objectively speaking, i think he is doing alright! pretty good by a lot of standards probably, for most of the reasons u listed. he’s getting paid obscene amounts (probably more than he deserves at this moment in time), has a seemingly great personal life, and as u said, still getting his national team callups. 

my personal thoughts, on the other hand, are... well....... not really of the same sentiment. i already know i’m gonna write up an even longer essay so let me just tuck the rest of this ramble under a cut for the sake of my followers lmao

honestly for me... thinking about julian is kind of depressing. if you feel worked up about him, just know that i relate. he seems very happy where he is in his life at the moment and so of course i’m happy for him too but compared to the potential it seemed he had... it’s just a bit sad. mostly because it isn’t as though he’s an excellent player hindered by injuries (e.g. reus) or anything really beyond his control - i think a lot of what’s so disappointing about his career trajectory is really just to do with him and him only.

yes, his failed transfer to juve back when he was at schalke wasn’t his fault but to move to wolfsburg? i know hindsight is 20/20 but i almost wish he’d just stayed at schalke. the drama he got into while he was at wolfsburg really did not do any good for his image, putting aside the fact that he was putting in average (even inconsistent) performances for the team. at schalke, maybe he could’ve had more time to develop within a team he grew up in and just use his time there to work and work hard. (there’s something i want to say about mentality here but i’ll bring that up later)

then, when his transfer to psg was announced, i felt like that was some beacon of hope although honestly, i think anything compared to wolfsburg could’ve looked that way to me at the time lmao keeping up with that club just for him (and partly andré schürrle) was fucking painful my god

at psg he was off to a decent start and things were starting to look up! wasn’t starting every single match but he was playing fairly well and made quick friends with his new teammates (u know who lol) etc. but then of course any sort of rhythm/momentum he gained was totally thrown off by mbappé’s and neymar’s arrivals which i think were both only around half a year after his transfer. 

and so basically since then, he’s been “competing” for a spot with ney, kylian, and di maría.

(ok reading that back i realize that whole recap of his career was not really necessary or at least. making it as lengthy as i did wasn’t but. i’m too lazy to go back and reword everything so bear with me lmao)

taking all that into account, i think yes, to some extent, he has some excuse for the stagnation of his career. he’s had his injuries and he’s been played out of position for large portions of time.

but i think what really frustrates me about him is that as a fan who’s loved him for years it’s really sad to see that what’s holding him back is not necessarily a lack of ability but just that he doesn’t have the sort of drive i wish he did. it’s been on display in his performances before - he can be lazy and invisible - but i think what’s worse is how that translates off the pitch. he’s just never really seemed to fight for a spot in the starting eleven. and if the rumors are true (as they do seem so) the parisian nightlife has not been doing him very good lmao

not only that though but i think he just doesn’t care as much about football as he does about ... image? money? i don’t know. i don’t know what the word i’m looking for is. i don’t think julian is a superficial sort of person and i’m not saying ambition is a bad thing at all, but when he couldn’t go from schalke to juventus (and that failed transfer was riding, presumably, a lot on his wonderboy status at schalke), he followed the money to wolfsburg. put in performances that understandably received criticism at wolfsburg, then very publicly made a whole thing out of wanting to leave and not being able to. then followed the money to psg where he just ... vibes on the bench. well, at least up until this season. but even then, if it weren’t for all the covid cases and red cards, i don’t know if he would be playing as much as he has. 

so tl;dr: i love julian a lot still and he’s still the same sweet dorky fuckboi-ish guy i’ve been a fan of since the start and i’m happy that he’s happy! the tragic irony is that what makes him happy - collecting checks while being a bench player - is also what depresses me quite a bit about him. he has his flashes of brilliance every once in a while where you can see that 17-year-old schalke wonderboy in him, so you know that hype from long ago wasn’t all a waste and that somewhere in there is a very talented, perhaps starworthy footballer. but he isn’t. not because he can’t but because he doesn’t really care to. and not in a dismissive sense i don’t think. i don’t think he thinks “ah who cares about being the best player in the world fuck that” but moreso in the sense of “ah i think i’m doing alright! that’s good enough for me.” and that sort of mentality is what places him (or at least, contributes to his position being) a tier below his peers who have proven themselves (e.g. kimmich, although that also brings up the whole “can that sort of fighter/die-on-the-pitch type mentality be taught or must it be inherent” kind of thing so let’s move on before i write an essay within this essay) at the end of the day i know not every footballer is in this sport simply for the sake of playing it, but from time to time thinking about him fills me with a lot of nostalgia and yes a tinge of disappointment because i can’t help but think of what could’ve been (i.e. what would’ve happened if he’d stayed at schalke? stayed there for good or stayed for a season or two more, developed even more hype, strengthened his abilities. had a successful transfer to a good, solid club and continued to hone his abilities, etc).

ok. now i’m done. i’m so sorry for putting u through all that and skimming this back i sound SO dramatic lmao but man i’ve been through like six-ish years of following his career so fuck it oh well

also if u wanna know how much i still care, know that after the “draxler to leeds united” rumors first dropped, i wrestled with my impulse control every single day for a week trying to stop myself from dming him on insta saying “i love you but get ur ass to leeds or i will kidnap u and get u there myself your football career is killing me but i love you and just want the best for u have a nice day xx”

[legendaryorangeloot]

Collarbone

The moon is just cresting the horizon when I reach South City. Its cool light pulls on the roots of my hair, makes my teeth itch. I spent all day today goofing off at work, pacing like a bored zoo animal. These feast days are so rare, and my excitement hangs in the air like charged particles before a lightning strike.

And now it's time.

The moon fills my heart with a ferocious lust, buoying me up as I let my long, loping stride eat up the Gravois pavement. I can hear the music at Greatness already. I go there "straight" a few nights a week, let myself be seen. I'm a regular. I even dated the previous bartender, learned the cameras, the exit routes, the watching spots, the nearby alleys. Greatness is my garden, and I tend it carefully.

I like it because it attracts normal boys. They're sweet in a way you don't have to take seriously, smart in a way that never threatens you. They tend to have carefully-groomed hair, endearing sincerity, and well-marbled flesh.

Not all the produce is sweet, though. When I transform, I'm little—more coyote than wolf, more coydog than coyote. All-black, bristle-brush fur; pricked ears that make me look smart and alert. A dog you'd take home with you if it followed you down the street. I grew to trust the bartender, the first relationship I'd had. Born of necessity or not, I thought it would be forever. He was wild, too, in his own all-human way, and loved my secret. But it was because he had his own. One night, without warning or consent, he leaned over me, whispered in my alert black ear as he sank into my body, "I wanted you the second I saw you like this. You're the sexiest dog I ever fucked."

I like to think that he saw the sorrow in my eyes as I turned my head and clamped his trachea shut with my strong, strong jaws. It was intimate, almost erotic. For minutes he fought, thrashing, sweaty, nude, his erection waning, waxing, finally waning forever once I began to eat his throat, and all his blood left his body and soaked into his bed. His teeth felt like tiny hard candies to my canine senses. When I ripped out his tongue at the root and savored it bite by bite, I imagined I could taste everything he'd ever tasted, somehow stored within the muscle he'd used to gain my trust.

But that time is not this time. That time was just the first, and now the kills are deliciously unadulterated by love or regret.

As I near the bar door, I put on the right personality – wild, but not vicious. Available, but not easy. Challenging, but harmless. I check my reflection in an antique-shop window to make sure all this personality-shifting hasn't affected my shape.

Without careful control, sometimes you'll think "act harmless" and the power inside you makes it mean "look smaller, look younger". I have nothing but careful control. There are a few other people with the power to change into a wolf, a specific wolf that looks rather like their human form, but I have finesse that they can only dream of. I can play this body like one of those expensive synthesizers with all the sliders and knobs, as long as the form is human, canine, or both. And I work at my craft, mostly preferring the wholly-unnatural, anthropomorphic, six-foot-tall "wolfman" shape, complete with the goofy clawed hands and feet. What can I say? They're useful, if hideous, constructions. Second choice: a real wolf, a timber wolf, huge. The kind you see in nature documentaries, every hair in place, unmistakably lupine.

I am so proud of all the carefully-sculpted forms that I feel vaguely ashamed of my natural one. Not the average-build, solidly-muscled human one, with the deeply tanned olive skin and the untameable black curls, but the real one, the one that looks half-coyote, half-Schipperke. It was the thing I was most embarrassed to show the bartender, the boyfriend, even after he'd seen me as a slavering movie-monster nonsense beast a dozen times. He saw my true form and thought me weak, small, fuckable. A dog.

But now his opinion is gone, digested, and irrelevant, because I am alone, and I am hungry.

I won't lie and say I notice you across a crowded room. That when I walk in, all the other people fade away. That it is lust at first sight. No, you escape first notice in an inoffensive way, a practiced way. You're a listener, I can tell. You move your eyebrows involuntarily when you're eavesdropping. Wolf-creature that I am, I can't tolerate eye contact, but I do watch those charming brows from the corner of my eye.

I sit at the bar and chat amiably with a girl I kind-of know, at a volume I know is audible to you. I surreptitiously look at you while you're not looking. You're lovely. You're rakish, scruffy, endearingly asymmetrical around the eyes. Your gestures all speak volumes. You even smoke adorably, like you learned it much too early.

My story for tonight, my bait, cast out into the noise of the bar: recent breakup, broken heart, need distraction. It's a hard one to turn down, I've found. Your brows go up minutely on "distraction". I know you think you know what I mean, and it will make the eventual reveal that much more satisfying.

I contain my eyeteeth before they can visibly lengthen, because that's a rookie mistake, but, oh, how I want them to be longer. I want them that much closer to your skin. I can imagine how it will taste, all sweat and smoke, the fine hairs crumpling under my rough tongue, the restraint I'll have to exert when I use just the sharp, sharp points to tease the first bite.

I let my kind-of friend talk at me about her kids, her day, her husband. But what I'm thinking about is where I'll start on you. Your loose plaid shirt reveals the edge of your clavicle, and the sight of it has my mouth watering in an instant. It's been so long. I'm torn between speeding things up by making the first move, and resisting the temptation to rush through this sensual experience you and I are going to share.

I never could resist temptation.

You're writing in a notepad, so this is an easy introduction: "Whatcha' writing?" I try for "chipper, good-natured interest", but lust makes it come out more "sultry purr". I don't think you mind. You're falling all over yourself to answer, the love of your work and your obvious interest in me giving you a puppylike eagerness that I instantly adore, and preemptively mourn.

I listen, mostly. You're a writer; you write. In conversation, you do the same kind of IQ-gauging I did in my human dating life, throwing out a breadcrumb trail of wordplay that gets progressively more challenging. I do understand, and I laugh at the right times, I let our eyes meet for spare milliseconds so you know I understand. I parry back, I surprise a few laughs out of you. I play off of your self-deprecating humor, testing your boundaries for submission, loving what I find.

But my brain really isn't in peak wordplay condition. I just want you now. I want the moment when I gently bite the skin above your collarbone. I want to hear you gasp and moan, hear that unnameable noise-with-an-edge when you feel my real teeth, hear your hazy excitement bloom into bright fear as you realize what will happen next. I want that first bite, the crunch of that beautiful, delicate bird bone against my incisors, and the next bite, and the next. When we're done, I want the walls to double as a red Rorshach test. I want to make the crime scene techs vomit.

You compliment my loud sudden bark of a laugh, and for once, maybe for the first time ever, I am genuinely flattered. I feel like I probably shouldn't give you the compliment I thought of in return, which is: "That made me like you so much that I want to find out what you taste like." But then I say it anyway, and you blush, and I imagine licking your cheek hard enough to burst some superficial capillaries, imagine tasting everything about you, even your embarrassment.

Even though I've laid out a welcome mat for you between my thighs, you still just talk to me, still treat me like a person. It throws me a bit at first, but I figure we have all night. There are drinks and jokes. We tell stories that quickly get more and more personal. I find out about your parents, your brother, your wonderfully strange upbringing. I tell you some carefully-censored tales of living in rural Texas. I tell you a completely-false story of how I got my completely-true nickname, "The Terror of Bulverde". To make up for the lies, I tell you the real true truth of how much I love my family.

The conversation is weirdly nourishing on its own, and the bottles of Shiner are cold and remind me of home. You talk with your hands more and more as you get drunker, and my accent gets stronger and stronger as I exercise my rarely-used human voice. We laugh at ourselves, how ridiculous it all is, can you believe we've never met before, it feels like I've known you forever.

Next thing I know, we're being shooed out of the bar at closing time, and you're suddenly serious when you ask me if I'm sober. I say "As a goddamn judge," solemnly, but my accent is all the way up to 11, and we grin at each other stupidly. You invite me over, and I had almost forgotten that this was the whole point, that this was the endgame. I'll get to still those talking hands, eat them from fingers to palm, bathe my muzzle in your well-educated brain, see if I gain your powers when I consume your heart. I've already made up my mind not to waste one single bit of your beautiful body. I'm going to den up in your house for days, gorging myself until you're gone.

I don't care that everyone saw us leave together. I am Icarus, my wolf-wings melting in proximity to your purely-human kindness. This kind of sentimentality is what gets creatures like me killed, I remind myself. But then you take my hand, gently, and I feel like I should go confess my crimes and be skinned for a coat. Or, given my absolute size, some kind of shawl. Your gentleness is both warming me and burning me alive. I wonder to myself if this is what hard drugs feel like. Drugs don't really work on werewolves. The drug that you are is working on this werewolf, though.

We stop several times on the walk to your apartment to shove each other into little alleys, indented doorways, and once, accidentally, a shrub, and we make out like it's the last thing we'll ever do, which seems appropriate to the occasion. You kiss like you talk: not a monologue, but a friendly give-and-take, with your hands frequently involved. We crack jokes continuously, and interrupt each other, and play-fight, and the feel of your wiry muscles and their light shield of fat under my play-punches makes my stomach rumble. The moon is full, and fully out, and I know I've let my hair lengthen, and that my eyes are probably less human-looking than I'd like, by now.

On your doorstep, fiddling with the key and lock, you tell me that I don't have to sleep with you, that if I'm too drunk, that if I have reconsidered, you won't be upset. I ignore you and step over the threshold and start undressing before you've even closed the door behind us. For a second, you look as though perhaps you aren't sure if you're awake or asleep.

We race to the bed, shedding clothing, and you practically pounce on me, not predatory, but playful, and we forgot to turn on any lights, and it's so exciting and I'm so hungry I think I might die. Your hands are everywhere on my body, always followed closely by your mouth, and that, and everything I can touch on your body, and every glimpse of you I catch, lit by the wan streetlight, is making me want you more than I thought was possible.

And I am somehow in your lap, and you're a much larger person than I thought you were, or maybe I've gotten smaller, and the next thing I know I'm me, the real me, the little black wolf, just muscle and fur and teeth, and I'm sinking those white, white teeth deep into the soft, beautiful junction of your neck and chest. And I didn't even give myself time to appreciate it, but here we are, and here's that bone I wanted, crunched to pieces, half-eaten already. And your look of shock and betrayal and realization makes your bone and flesh curdle in my jaws, but it's too late to put it back.

We freeze this way. It's a Moment, one that feels like we exist outside of time, yet we don't; the seconds are marked by the rapid pulsing of your blood onto the sheets, onto the floor, your delightful soft-pink skin paling before my eyes.

And you say, plaintively, "I thought you liked me." I am consumed by regret, it's a pyre, I'm being burned at the stake by a single sentence, and the pain makes me desperate for a solution, until I realize I may have one. Just one. My shape shifts without conscious thought to some kind of confused dog-with-hands, but I use them to shove whatever fabric I have near me against the wound at your throat, and press down hard. I bite the inside of my cheek and hot blood wells there instantly, mixing with the remnants of yours in my mouth. You're so, so smart that even near-exsanguination can't keep you from figuring out what I'm doing. You look by turns terrified, hopeful, disgusted.

I bring my lips to yours and try to will whatever particle transmits lycanthropy into my mouth's blood, hoping this is really how the process works. You look ill. You look bloodless. You pass out, and I'm left holding my discarded shirt against your fatal wound, and remembering how to pray: god if you just let him heal just let him live he will figure this out I will make it up to him I will make it up to you I will go and sin no more oh please, oh please, oh please

Epilogue

The bizarre, crushed-looking scar atop your torso always elicits questions you can't answer truthfully when you're naked with other people. The bone never grows back, and your new physiology prevents an implant or a surgical fix. You'll never need to see a doctor again. You might live to be hundreds of years old. No one knows our potential lifespan. No one knows anything about us.

You seem to take it all in stride, telling one woman it's where you were hit with a warhammer, telling another man it's from a skydiving accident. It makes you very mysterious and intriguing, and the gossip about you is always entertaining, if painful, to overhear.

You say you forgive me, and maybe, since you've now experienced numerous full moons yourself, felt what I felt that night, you mean it. But you've never hurt a soul. I selfishly infected you with a kind of insanity, and you infected me with your gentleness, your curse of caring about others. So I skulk around the edges of your life, and I bring you raw red beef and whole chickens and half the rabbits I catch each month. We never speak, or kiss, and I never, ever look you in the eye.

[argylemnwrites]

It Couldn’t Wait Another Moment - Chapter 19

Pairing: Drake Walker x MC (Riley Liu)

Book: The Royal Romance (Canon Divergent from Book 2, Chapter 15)

Word Count: ~6000

Rating: R (language, as always)

Summary: Drake clears the air with another woman in his family, and Liam comes to some decisions about his future.

Author’s Note: Some computer issues were preventing me from accessing my google doc (my absolute nightmare), so sorry I didn’t quite get this posted on Saturday, but I’m making sure this gets up before the Choices Big Game Blitz fics start dominating my queue. Happy Superbowl Sunday, everyone!

This series diverges from TRR canon, where instead of waiting to discuss his relationship with Riley until their last night in NYC, leaving her a note while Liam is proposing to her, Drake tackles this topic as soon as possible after Tariq makes his statement and Riley’s name is cleared. To catch up on this series, you can find the previous chapters in my masterlist (link is located in my bio).

Drake shuffled through Austin-Bergstrom airport, making his way over to baggage claim. He didn’t know what would be worse - his mother being there and acting like this was in any way normal, or her not being there at all. As he rounded the corner and headed for carousel 4, he saw her there, looking nowhere near as anxious as he felt. When she caught sight of him, she waved frantically and then dashed over to give him a big hug.

“Oh Drake, I’m so glad you’re here,” she said, squeezing him tightly.

Drake returned the hug, but it felt rather awkward, like they were acting out the parts of a mother and son reuniting at the airport. It didn’t feel natural.

“Hey, Mom. Savannah says ‘hi.’”

“Of course she does. Tell her she needs to bring that baby boy of hers out for a visit!”

Drake nodded and followed his mother out to the truck, throwing his luggage in the backseat before climbing into the passenger seat. As his mom backed the truck out of the short term parking spot and headed toward the exit, he tried to figure out whether he should start this conversation now or if it would be better to wait until they were at the ranch. He probably should have tried to come up with some sort of plan for this on his way out here, but it was too late for that now.

“Are you sure you can only stay one night?” Bianca asked once they had gotten onto the freeway, “We haven’t seen you in ages and it would be nice if you could stay for a bit.”

Drake shook his head, “I need to be in New York tomorrow night. Someone’s expecting me.”

“Liam?”

“No,” Drake replied, turning to stare out the window. He did not want to discuss Riley and how up in the air things were in his relationship. He came here for a purpose, and he couldn’t let himself get sidetracked onto another topic. His mother had an uncanny ability to redirect the conversation.

“Well, regardless of how long you’ll be here, this is a lovely surprise,” she said, clearly looking to keep things light and friendly. Drake cringed slightly, knowing he planned to take things in a very different direction. He took a deep breath before he started. It was now or never.

“Mom, I… well I actually came to Texas because I kind of need to talk to you about something.”

“Okay. What is it?”

“Well, it’s kind of a lot of things, actually.”

“Drake, are you in some sort of legal trouble?”

“No! Why would you think that?”

“I don’t know, sweetie. You’re just being very cagey and I don’t understand what else would have you so jumpy and flying in on a whim.”

“This isn’t exactly a whim, Mom. I’ve thought about coming to talk to you about this for a long time now.”

“Okaaaayyy…” she responded, turning her head briefly to look at him as she dragged out the word, then snapping her eyes back to the road ahead. 

Drake tilted his head back slightly and closed his eyes, hoping that would make getting the words out a little easier, “I’ve been carrying this around with me for a long time. Trying to figure out how to say it without being an asshole to you. But I think it’s just gotten to the point where I need to tell you. There’s not a good way, really.

“When you left Cordonia, when you left Sav and me in Cordonia, well… you hurt me. And I’ve been carrying around that hurt for almost half my life now. And I can’t keep doing it anymore. It’s not healthy and I just need to get it off my chest.”

“Oh, Drake,” his mother replied, “I’m so sorry. I thought I was doing right by you and Savannah, leaving you with Liam and your friends. You seemed so happy there, I didn’t want to uproot your lives any more than they already had been by your father’s death.”

Drake ran his hand over his face. He had kind of expected this - some superficial justifications and a light apology. But that was like slapping a bandage on a gunshot wound - it wasn’t actually going to help anyone. If they left it at that, he would leave Texas tomorrow the same as if he had not come at all. He had to keep going, even if it meant that he destroyed any semblance of a relationship he had with his mother.

“Okay, but we were just kids. For Christ’s sake, Savannah was only 12 when you moved out. We had just lost our father and then less than a year later we lost our mother too, by her choice. It’s bullshit that you even attempt to justify this, Mom. And you know it.”

She didn’t say anything, but he heard her flip her blinker on, getting off the highway at the next exit and pulling into a gas station parking lot, turning off the truck before she spoke.

“Drake, I’m sorry,” she bit out, her voice cracking, “But I was in no shape to be a mother. I was mourning and I had no support system. I needed my sister.”

Drake shook his head, “Sorry Mom, but that’s just too damn bad. When you’re a parent you can’t just fuck off because things are tough. You were mourning? Well, what about me and Sav? We were mourning, too. You might have needed Aunt Lee, but we needed our mother.”

His mother was crying in earnest now, but Drake felt like he couldn’t stop talking, that all this old pain was just flooding out of him, “Tough shit that you were in pain. Your kids were hurting just as much. What kind of mother just leaves her children behind? How could you do that to us? Didn’t you miss your kids at all?

“I was 15, Mom. Fifteen years old and I suddenly had to figure out how to not only grow up and face the world all on my own, but I had to help Savannah, too. And you know what? It fucked me up. It made me wonder what was so wrong with me that my own mother couldn’t stand to raise me. It made me scared to get close to women, wondering if they were going to leave me too. It broke my trust and made me cynical.

“And I’ve let this shit sit inside of me for too damn long. I let myself grow bitter and cynical and jaded, all before I turned 30. And I just needed to talk to you, to actually talk to you. Not gloss over our family’s messy past because that’s easier, but actually let you know what I thought, because otherwise this resentment is just going to keep growing and growing.”

Drake took a deep breath, trying to gain some semblance of control over this situation. He hadn’t meant to just dump years worth of pain onto his mother on the drive to the ranch, but in some ways, it was probably best that he had just kept talking. He didn’t exactly give himself a chance to back down or close himself off.

His mother wasn’t saying anything, just sitting there with her hands covering her eyes. Drake opened the glove box and found her some tissues, passing the packet to her. She grabbed them, swiping under both of her eyes before she spoke.

“Well, if you’ve said what you needed to say, I can drive you back to the airport. No reason for you to even stay tonight, it sounds like.”

“That isn’t everything I need to say, Mom. I didn’t fly out here just to hurt you. I just… I’ve been doing a lot of thinking about my life. About what I want. About how to let myself be happy. And I think I realized that I need to move forward in a lot of areas. I’ve been stuck in a rut for a very long time, and it’s time to let myself change. So, I need to stop letting my past define my relationships. I need to stop letting my fear of abandonment drive my actions. And that means I need to make some changes to my relationship with you.”

“What kind of changes?” his mother asked, still sniffling slightly.

Drake shrugged, trying to gauge how to phrase it, “I don’t know yet. I mean, I know I just told you how much pain you’ve caused me, but I still love you, Mom. I just… if we decide we want to be a part of each other’s lives, I can’t keep doing it like this, getting one phone call from you a year on my birthday. I can’t have my mom acting like a distant great aunt or something.”

She shook her head, “I didn’t call because I felt so guilty. Talking to you was just a reminder of my failures as a mother. I assumed you saw it the same way and wanted nothing to do with me. I didn’t want to put pressure on you.”

“Well, you’re right. A handful of phone calls aren’t going to erase the past or anything. But I don’t know how things here get any better if we both just keep doing what we’re doing.”

“I want to be a part of your life, Drake,” she insisted, reaching over and grabbing his hand, “I really do want to know you and Savannah as adults.”

“This has to go both ways, then. A two way street, okay?”

His mother nodded emphatically, “You’re right. I’ll book a flight out to Cordonia soon, okay?”

“About that…” Drake said, “I, uh… I kind of moved.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. Er, I sort of live in New York City now.”

“Maybe I’m just missing something here, but how do you ‘sort of’ live anywhere?”

Drake sighed. Apparently, he was going to have to get into this, at least a bit. “Well, I kind of met someone, and I moved to New York to be with her, but things are kind of rocky between us at the moment and the move is pretty recent. I’m not exactly sure it’s gonna stick.”

 She nodded slowly, staring off to the side as if she was searching for more information to make better sense of Drake’s ramblings. “So might you be heading back to Cordonia soon?”

Drake just shook his head, “Nah, not right away at least. Like I said, I gotta make some changes in my life. I don’t know that I’ll stay in New York if things don’t work out there, but I probably won’t head straight back to Cordonia. Too easy to slide back into my old habits there.”

“New York’s your first choice, though?”

“I mean, she’s my first choice, and she’s in New York, so yeah,” he replied with a shrug.

“Okay.”

“That’s all you have to say?”

His mother gave him a watery smile, “It sounds like you’re working through some things right now. Believe it or not, I very much get that feeling. Given everything you’ve told me today, I think I’m mainly just glad you even shared that much with me.”

He let her words sink in for a little bit. He couldn’t be sure, but it seemed like a peace offering. Like his mother was trying to express interest in whatever part of himself he was willing to share at this point. He wasn’t naive enough to think that suddenly he would have the world’s most loving, attentive mother after today. He knew there was a high probability that they would end up drifting apart going forward. But that was okay. At least he’d put himself out there, shared his fears knowing full well that it might not make anything better. He’d held onto those fears, kept them far too buried for way too long.

“Well… I will let you know where I end up, okay?”

“I’d like that. Now, how about we get heading back to the ranch? I’ve got some chili in the slow cooker for you.”

“That sounds nice, Mom. Are you okay to drive?” he asked, gesturing to her red eyes and tear streaked cheeks. She just smiled and nodded, turning the key in the ignition and pulling the truck back onto the road.

“Oh, Leona’s head is going to explode when she hears you’re moving to one of the biggest cities on the planet,” she said after a few minutes of driving, the thought clearly just popping into her head. Drake laughed, picturing his surly aunt’s reaction. It was the first time he could remember laughing with his mother since before his father died. And while he knew their relationship was still an absolute mess, well at least there was one more good moment between the two of them now.

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

Madeleine rolled her shoulders back and took a steadying breath before knocking on the door to Liam’s office. She just had a terrible feeling about this meeting he’d requested with her. The only topic she could envision him wanting to discuss with her was their wedding, and the tone he’d used did not imply a routine planning discussion.

She wasn’t an idiot. She knew she wasn’t his first choice as a wife. She probably wasn’t even his second choice if the amount of time he was spending with Olivia was any indication of who he actually liked to involve in his life. But she’d tried to be there for him. She’d learned from Leo that forcing things with Constantine’s sons got you nowhere. She’d let him carry on with Riley Liu. She’d been at his side through all the terrorist attacks and his father’s death, through calls for abdication and threats on both of their lives. For God’s sake, she’d taken a bullet for him. She’d hoped she’d be able to prove her worth as a political ally. But if the sinking feeling she’d had in her stomach was any indication, all she had done had not been enough.

“Come in,” Liam called out, his voice muffled by the door. She strode through with poise and purpose. She was not going down as some timid waif of a woman. She would face him with dignity.

Liam was not at his desk, but instead on one of the couches. They had never had a meeting that wasn’t at his desk, and the change in the setting unnerved Madeleine. But she wasn’t going to let him see that, not now. “Good evening, Liam,” she said, careful to keep her voice even and steady.

“Good evening, Madeleine. Please, have a seat,” he said, gesturing to the opposite couch. She walked over and delicately sat down, crossing her ankles as she did so. She knew how to comport herself, not that such behavior was going to get her anywhere.

“Would you like something to drink?” Liam asked, running his index finger along the top of his own glass of whiskey.

“That depends, Liam. Am I going to need something to drink?”

He paused for just a moment, “I would venture to say yes.”

Madeleine nodded tersely, trying to take deep breaths without being too obvious. It was one thing to suspect your engagement was getting called off, it was another to have it confirmed. She had already been through this once before, but it still stung. “Vodka,” she said after a moment, after she was sure her voice wouldn’t crack.

Liam stood and walked over to a sideboard, crouching down and pulling out a bottle of Belvedere. “Any mixers or ice?”

“No, thank you,” she replied, accepting the liquor with a nod as Liam handed it to her before returning to his seat.

“Shall we get this over with?” Madeleine asked.

“Madeleine, please. I at least want to discuss this with you.”

“What’s to discuss, Liam? I don’t see the point in dragging this out. I’ve been through this before, remember?”

“I would like to talk this through at least. I want you to understand where I’m coming from.”

Madeleine let out a little laugh, “I don’t particularly need to understand your reasons, Liam. Quite frankly, you purging your soul and looking for absolution is not going to make me feel better. It’s just selfish.”

He actually smiled slightly at that comment, just for a brief second, before he let his calm, diplomatic expression return to his face. It infuriated her all the more, that her pain and frustration was apparently a source of amusement for him.

“It’s interesting that you would use that phrasing,” he said after a moment, staring at the whiskey in his glass. “Madeleine, I just have to ask, why do you even want to marry me?” He turned his eyes up to meet hers at the end of his question, almost as if he thought he was about to witness some moment of revelation. It was insulting, quite frankly.

“No. You do not get to twist my words to make me sound like a crown chaser. I have been preparing to be queen my entire life. I am qualified in every way for this job. You would never fault a man for going after his professional dreams.”

Liam tilted his head back and forth, looking at her intently, “I might if he pursued them at the expense of all other realms of his life. Madeleine, do you really think being queen would bring you enough happiness to compensate for the extreme misery it would bring you in your personal life?”

Madeleine shook her head, letting out a frustrated snort. Everyone saw the ways that Leo and Liam were different, but right now, they’d never seemed more similar to her. They both had wanted her to be the one to end things. Leo had just ghosted her repeatedly, and when he did come around, there was always a new woman to throw in her face. Liam at least was more subtle, clearly trying to convince her that this was her idea. It was still infuriating in its own right, though.

“Liam, if you aren’t going to marry me, at least have the courage to call off our engagement yourself. You don’t get to dump me and have me do all the work for you.”

“Madeleine, this isn’t a decision I made lightly or on a whim. All I am trying to do is minimize the pain and discomfort here for all parties involved.”

“Well, that’s just too bad, Liam. You don’t get to break up with someone without hurting them.”

He sighed heavily, “Fair enough. I just hoped you might be able to see the positive aspects here. That you might be able to find a silver lining.”

“How could having my dreams ripped from me yet again be a positive, Liam? Explain that one to me, please,” she said, rolling her eyes.

“Well, you won’t be trapped in a loveless marriage and forced to raise children with a man you’re indifferent to at best,” he replied, shrugging his shoulders slightly, “That seems like it could be worth something.”

“Liam, be realistic. I will never marry for love. Any marriage for me will be a political one. You at least would have been a tolerable husband.”

“Why can’t you marry for love?”

“Be serious.”

“I am. I don’t see why you act like this is some impossibility.”

She just shook her head, “How are you still such a romantic? The woman you love chose your best friend over you.”

Liam raised his eyebrows at that comment, “Careful, Madeleine. There is little reason for either of us to resort to petty personal attacks here. But suffice it to say, that while Riley’s rejection was painful, it did not change my belief that there is love to be found out there, and I mean love for all of us.”

“Well, that’s not been my experience. And quite frankly, I don’t see how it’s been yours either.”

“Just because I am not currently in a loving relationship doesn’t mean that I don’t see a world full of potential for love and connection.”

She shook her head and let out a short little breath, “For a highly educated king, you are so naive. Nearly foolish.”

“And you have a very stubborn and narrow worldview. If someone hasn’t found love in the world, that’s either because they are blind to it or they reject it anytime it’s offered and push it away before it has a chance to grow. I think we both know in your case it’s the latter.”

“Awful presumptuous of you, assuming that anyone has even been open to loving me.”

Liam stared straight at her, the disbelief evident in his eyes, “Do Penelope and Kiara not count?”

“What? They aren’t attracted to women,” Madeleine retorted, waving her hand dismissively.

His eyes widened and his eyebrows shot up at that, “I can’t speak to their sexual orientation, nor was I trying to, Madeleine. Love can be platonic, you know. You might have found that with Kiara or Penelope if you hadn’t berated them at every opportunity. Instead, they both chose to return to their homes. Or Hana, who has never been anything but kind and compassionate, could have been a true friend to you just as she has to so many others. Gentle Hana, who decided she couldn’t live under the same roof as you, would have been your friend if you hadn’t constantly cut her down and aimed to hurt her.

“I know your parents were never some source of unconditional familial love. Believe me, Madeleine, I can comprehend that. But it is your choice to continue to be harsh and compassionless with all your peers. If you can’t see that, I don’t know what to tell you.

“I am sorry that you have to go through a failed engagement for a second time, Madeleine. I truly am. But that isn’t enough of a reason to marry you. And I honestly believe this is the best chance at happiness for the both of us.”

“No, Liam. It’s the best chance at happiness for you. At least own that fact.”

After a few seconds of silence, Liam finally spoke, “You’re right, this is something I am doing for myself. But I hope that someday you’ll see that this opens up the potential for you to find something better as well.”

“Why now?” Madeleine asked, tapping her fingers against her untouched glass of vodka, “Why lead me on for months?”

“I probably never should have gotten engaged to you in the first place. I did so in a moment of desperation where I saw no other options for either of us. If you want to hold something against me, that is what it should be. But I am not going to let that lapse in judgement determine the course of the rest of my life. I do not want to be a bitter king who only has a family out of obligation. I want children that are born into a home of love and warmth. I may sacrifice many things for Cordonia, but I’ve decided this is one liberty I’m going to take for myself.

“Now, as far as the more practical matters go, if you want to be the one to announce the end of our engagement, I will happily grant you that opportunity. You can prepare a statement; I would just ask you send it to Stefan for review before you go to the press, but I understand if you prefer to release a statement independently. I can also send you to my private island for a while if you’d like to avoid the press or your parents. I want to allow you time to collect yourself away from external pressures if you desire. Just let me know by this weekend, alright?”

“So that’s it? That’s all you have to say?”

“Yes, Madeleine. I honestly think we’re done here. Don’t you?”

“Of course, Your Majesty,” she said as she rose, downing her entire glass of vodka in one, then striding to the door. Once she was on the other side of the door, she pinched her eyes closed, fighting off waves of self-loathing and despair at her repeated failure. It was like Leo all over again, but this time, there was no back up plan. She was left entirely directionless, and now she had to figure out what she was supposed to do with her life now that the only thing she’d been raised to do was no longer possible.

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

The trials on Friday had run straight through to the end of the business day, and after all his late night case review, preparing for the press, Liam was exhausted. He was planning to head straight from the courthouse to his private quarters for a few hours of needed decompression, but as he answered a few questions from the press, he noticed Olivia standing over by the town car that was waiting for him, talking with his driver.

“Lady Olivia,” he said in greeting, nodding at her politely as he walked over after the press dispersed.

“Your Majesty. I was hoping to run into you. Are you headed back to the palace?”

“That was the plan.”

“May I join you for a bit? I was hoping to discuss if there were any more findings in regards to Anton’s spouse.”

Liam nodded. He did need to talk to Olivia about the investigation that he and Bastien had been privately conducting there. “Of course. Would you like a ride?” he asked, gesturing to his car.

Olivia shook her head, “My car and driver are just around the corner. I’ll meet you there. Do you need me to bring by some cookie dough and wine spritzers?”

Liam shook his head and chuckled. He should have known that Olivia would know that he called off his engagement, even though neither he nor Madeleine had released an official statement yet. “I think I’ll be fine, thanks.”

“Are you sure?” she asked, the glint in her eyes in direct contrast with her overly concerned tone, “Breakups can be tough.”

“Don’t gloat, Olivia,” Liam chided. He wasn’t really upset, but Olivia didn’t need to be so pleased that he and Madeleine were no longer engaged.

“I’m just happy that you aren’t stuck in a miserable political marriage.”

“And…”

“And if Madeleine won’t become queen because of it, all the better.”

Liam couldn’t help but let out a little laugh. It’s not that he reveled in ending things with Madeleine, but it did feel like a significant weight had been lifted from his soul. “Shall we meet in my office?”

“Sounds like a plan. I’ll see you in a few.”

And so Liam went to his office when he returned to the palace. He’d been seated at his desk, reviewing some news sites, when Olivia was let in by Stefan about 10 minutes later.

“Sorry, I would have been here sooner, but I got stuck waiting for the royal motorcade. A real pain in the ass, I tell you.”

Liam chuckled at her statement, gesturing to the chairs in front of his desk. Olivia sank into one, leaning back and looking him in the eye before she spoke.

“Alright, what can you tell me about my supposed marriage to that traitorous vile snake?”

Liam let out a sigh, knowing there was no easy way to break this news. “What kind of wine do you want?”

“That bad, huh?” Olivia asked with a little wince.

He unlocked the middle desk drawer and pulled out the documents he’d set aside for her. “I wish I had better news. Unfortunately, the document your parents signed is legally binding.”

“Motherfuckers,” Olivia breathed out, letting her head drop to the back of her chair. “I was four, Liam. Who the hell marries off a toddler?”

“I’m very sorry, Liv. I have a private lawyer investigating how best to go about getting this annulled given all the clauses and conditions that various House Nevrakis members have put on the books over the centuries.”

“You brought in a private lawyer? Liam, I was kind of hoping-”

“He signed an NDA. However, I think it would be prudent to warn you that Anton might bring it up in trial if he decides to go scorched earth. The prosecutors would never reference it, but I have no idea what he or his lawyer are planning.”

Olivia inhaled deeply before nodding slowly. “I understand. Are you sure we can’t just torture him to keep him quiet?”

“Fairly certain that’s a violation of the UN Human Rights Council guidelines.”

“Even if I make sure it can’t get traced back to you?”

“Yes, even then, Olivia.”

“Damn,” she said with a little laugh, “So, either I release the info myself and undermine my public support in an effort to control the narrative, or I take a gamble that he won’t bring it up?”

“Unfortunately, yes. Those really are your only choices. No matter what you choose, though, you will have the Crown’s full support.”

Olivia tapped her fingernails against the desk’s surface, eyes roving over her marriage certificate. “I’ll release it Monday,” she said after a few moments, raising her head to look Liam in the eye. “It’s the opposite of what our fathers would have done, so that probably makes it the right call.”

Liam tilted his head at that, “Have your staff send Stefan your statement this weekend, and we’ll craft an official royal press release to match.”

“Thanks, Liam.”

“Of course, Olivia.”

“No, I mean it. I’m sure that you’re already being stretched thin between the trials, and I’m guessing you’re getting some pushback for calling off your engagement, so thank you for looking into this for me.”

Liam nodded. She wasn’t wrong. It hadn’t even been 24 hours since he called off his engagement, and he’d already been chided by several council members. Regina had also had some choice words for him after he blocked a meeting with Godfrey.

“How pissed are people that you aren’t getting married?”

“I think they’re more upset that they can’t technically do anything about it. The law clearly states a monarch needs to be either married or engaged to ascend the throne; it makes no reference to his or her marital state once they are the reigning monarch.”

“So, what’s your next move?”

“Nothing,” he said with a little shrug, “Like I said, they can’t really do anything about it. Thanks to you, public opinion of me is quite high at the moment, so it's not like they can apply pressure that way either.”

“Nice,” she replied, nodding and cocking an eyebrow, “What are you going to do about an heir?”

Liam just shook his head, “I’m not even 30 yet. I feel like I have some time.”

“I agree, but others won’t. You’re going to have to have a statement prepared for when they start hounding you about it.”

He paused for a second, organizing his words, “Well, then I’ll just tell them that succession laws are clear, and that I am perfectly comfortable leaving Cordonia in the hands of the woman who is next in line for the throne.”

Olivia’s eyes widened before fluttering closed. She pressed her lips together and took several slow breaths before she opened her eyes, a slight glimmer noticeable in the corners. “Thank you, Liam,” she whispered.

“It’s the truth, Olivia. You care about this country and its people. If something were, god forbid, to happen to me, I would have no qualms about you becoming queen.”

“I don’t know what to say.”

“You don’t need to say anything. How about we just have that glass of wine?”

 Olivia just shook her head, “I wish I could, but I actually have… well, I have a date.”

Liam smiled gently, “Oh, well then it sounds like you have much better plans than me for the evening. I’ll let you get heading back to Lythikos.”

“The date’s here, actually.”

“Really?” Liam asked, his curiosity mounting by the second, “Who’s the man in question, and does he know what he’s getting himself into?”

“None of your business and of course not,” she replied, giving him a genuine smile as she stood up. “I’ll see you at the courthouse Monday?”

“Of course, Olivia. Have a wonderful evening.”

She smiled and walked out of the office, throwing up her hand in farewell as she closed the door.

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

Drake shifted in his seat. He could blame it on the cramped airline rows, but he knew it was more his nerves than anything. He was an absolute mess at this point.

For the second time in as many days, he was on a flight towards a woman he wasn’t even sure wanted to see him. But unlike when he went to see his mother, he was actually terrified of that fact. If his mother had been cold or hadn’t wanted to see him, he knew how to deal with that fact. He’d been through it before, and though he hadn’t come out without some emotional scars, he fucking got through it.

But Riley… well the thought that she might not want to talk to him shook him to his core. He honestly didn’t know what he would do if she told him to fuck off, that she needed a boyfriend who could actually handle her life or one that didn’t have a best friend with very specific emotional demands. It was honestly part of the reason he went to talk to his mother first - he was more scared of his talk with Riley. The stakes were just so much higher. He knew that made him a coward. But when he’d been booking his tickets, he just wanted one more day where he could pretend that Riley and him were going to be alright.

Part of him also knew that if Riley left him, he was likely to spiral a bit. Get drunk, self-destruct, throw himself a goddamn pity party. He knew he needed to talk with both Riley and his mother, but with how long he’d put off his conversation with his mother, he just knew he would never get around to it after a rejection from Riley. He wouldn’t have seen the point. It just had to happen first.

But now it was time to face the music with Riley. No more beating around the apple tree. She knew when his flight was landing at JFK, he’d sent her the flight details before he left Cordonia, and she’d texted back “okay.” Drake didn’t know if that meant she would be there or not.

If she wasn’t there, Drake wasn’t sure what his plan was. He was pretty sure she would be off this weekend, but just barging into her apartment felt presumptuous, even if he did still have a set of keys. Maybe he would just call her? See if she wanted to meet him somewhere?

But when he exited the plane and made his way towards baggage claim, he saw her there, standing off to the side, her arms crossed over her chest. He started walking toward her, his legs suddenly feeling heavy as lead. At some point, she caught sight of him, but she made no move toward him, just offering up a little nod. He raised his hand and waved, feeling like a giant dork in the process, but he didn’t know what else to do. And he made it those last painful meters, he tried to figure out what to say. But then he was in front of her and all he could do was stare at her. She was so beautiful, and nothing he could say felt like it would be enough.

Riley wasn’t saying anything either, and neither one of them made a move to touch each other. The tension was nearly palpable, and all Drake knew was that he had to break it somehow.

“Hey, Liu,” he choked out.

“Hi, Drake.”

Permatag: @speedyoperarascalparty​​ @mfackenthal​​  @lilyofchoices​​  @thequeenofcronuts​​  @jamesashtonisbae​​

The Royal Romance/The Royal Heir: @kingliam2019​​   @sirbeepsalot​​  @texaskitten30​​   @princessleac1​​  @ladyangel70​​  @dcbbw​​  @yaushie​​ @octobereighth​​

Drake x MC only:  @jovialyouthmusic  @iplaydrake  @gibbles82  @drakewalkerisreal  @riley--walker​ @notoriouscs​  @butindeed​  @addictedtodrakefanfic​  

It Couldn’t Wait Another Moment: @wickedgypsymoon  @thesumofmychoices​​  @cosigottahavefaith​​   @thequeenchoices​​  @katedrakeohd​​  @feartheendlesssummer​​  @ao719​​  @ooo-barff-ooo​​   @sunnyxdazed​​

[jiminisnotavirgin]

Sweeter than Peaches

Pairing: Kim Taehyung | Reader

Genre: Smut, Slight Angst

Word Count: 2.7k

Warnings: pregnancy sex, lactation kink, fingering, penetrative sex, domestic ROMANTIC au, married couple and all that cute shit tbh

Note: Heavily inspired by stories by @dovechim and @hobiwonder, thanks to y’all for exposing me to my FAVORITE kind of smut. Please check them out if you haven’t yet! Classes just ended for me for the semester and I managed to get this together. I hope you enjoy it (I’m almost tempted to write another part about this couple) but lemme know what you think! I really value what each and every one of you has to say about my works! Thanks again for being patient and sticking it out till I released this fic :) love y’all. ALSO, the pic is NOT mine.

     The sweet scent of fresh peaches drifts into your bedroom window from the fruit garden outside. The summer air blows in small uneven gusts, tangling itself in the strands of Taehyung’s brown curls. The curtains along the window frame spin and twist in an endless tango with the breeze.      He lazily slings his arm across the sheets, expecting the warmth of your waist. His eyelids flutter from the depths of sleep when he’s met with your cold, empty side of the bed instead. His sleepy state makes him more vulnerable to the emotions running through his mind, amplifying his confusion because you’re nowhere to be found.      As he tries to make sense of your absence, he finds his answer in the sliver of light spilling into your shared bedroom from the bathroom across the hall. He doesn’t call your name, opting instead to watch silently as you flutter around the room. Your husband’s endearing eyes remain focused on you—the love of his life and like always, you are oblivious to his gaze. At times, he believes he couldn’t possibly love you any more than he already does but you always find a way to prove him wrong. It is very ordinary moments like these that truly take his breath away.      Your long eyelashes graze the tops of your cheeks as you brush your teeth and stare into the running faucet. Taehyung’s eyes drift lower and lower to your lusciously curvy body, supple breasts, and round stomach which steadily grows with the weight of his child inside. Your pregnancy has brought on more than a few changes and Taehyung’s hunger for you is more urgent than water for a man in the blazing heat of a desert. It takes all the control he has not to kiss you and your stomach all the damn time.      The doctor insisted that an increased sex drive is common in pregnant women and sexual activities are encouraged but you haven’t displayed much of an interest in intimacy, at least to him. He doesn’t know the real reason why you haven’t brought it up despite your growing and constant state of arousal. As you sit on the toilet and pee for what feels like twenty minutes, you’re reminded of exactly why you’ve remained silent on the matter. From this angle, you’ve got a crystal clear view of your puffy, swollen feet. Not even a pedicure could save them now. They were so pretty before.      You know your insecurities are ridiculous and superficial but that doesn’t change the fact that these thoughts resurface on the forefront of your mind like a wrecking ball when you feel happiest. With each passing day, your confidence dwindles. You’ve already spent seven months with the angel in your stomach and you’re grateful for that time but still, you don’t feel confident and it isn’t because you’ve gained weight—it’s because you don’t recognize the woman looking back at you in the mirror with her flushed cheeks, baggy t-shirt, and messy bun.      On top of it all, concealing these feelings from Taehyung is extremely difficult since you confide in him about almost everything. This is the one thing you’re too embarrassed to reveal and honestly, it’s more about your own fears coming to life than his.      “Jagi, come back to bed,” Taehyung’s voice is faint from the bedroom, low and groggy from sleep. “I miss you.”      Flipping off the light switch in the bathroom, you tiptoe into the bedroom and settle into the cool sheets beside Taehyung. Taehyung’s head is already perched on his hand, his body angled towards yours as he rests on his side. “Duty calls?”      “You know it. Like sixty times a night,” you answer with a dry laugh while digging through the top drawer of your nightstand for a pair of fuzzy socks.      “It’s your fault for drinking orange juice like the world’s gonna end tomorrow.”      “Shh, you know I can’t help it.”      “Maybe the baby’s gotta pee, too.” He places the palm of his large hand on the side of your stomach, leaning forward to press his lips on your neck. You tilt your head up, allowing him easier access. Breathing in the scent of your natural aroma, Taehyung lightly drags the tip of his nose over your skin. “Why do you always smell so damn good, hmm?”      “Mr. Kim, it is two—“ you pause to take a glance at the clock on your nightstand before continuing, “—thirty. Two-thirty in the morning. Are you seriously trying to seduce me right now?”      “Of course I am, Mrs. Kim,” he hums, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear with his index finger. “I’ve been trying to seduce you for weeks—months—but I think my charms have worn off.”      “What are you talking about?”      “I mean you’ve barely even kissed me since baby Peaches joined us. Did I do something wrong?”      His playful expression shifts, revealing the concern lingering in his heart. His brown irises dart back and forth between your shoulder and face as he tries to gauge your reaction. Even in the dark of the night, the tiny moles decorating his face stand out like a stream of stars connected as a constellation. You long to kiss each one, eager for a taste of the stardust that comes with Taehyung’s pure soul.      His question echoes in your head. ‘Did I do something wrong?’      Of course not. It isn’t him—it’s you, truly. You’ve allowed your own insecurities to intrude on your relationship and now he’s suffering the brunt of it. He’s perfect. Not literally perfect but close enough to have snatched your stubborn heart in a matter of days when you first met. If you haven’t treated him that way lately, now’s the time to show him.      “Come here, you,” you whisper, closing your eyes and allowing your lips to lead the way to Taehyung. His plump lips greet you gladly, molding against yours with subtle yet hungry determination. His tongue glides over your bottom lips and nudges into your mouth with a light tug. His lips are comforting. Home. And you’ve been gone for too long. You pull back, fiddling with the collar of his shirt before teasing at the warm skin of his chest with your fingertips. “I’m sorry.”      “For what?” A haze of desire still glazes over his eyes but his hand halts its ministrations over your thigh. “For what, jagi?”      “I haven’t been myself. Hell, I don’t know who I’ve been lately but I promise, it has nothing to do with you, Tae. I’m sorry for being so confusing, I just feel so overwhelmed with my job and the baby coming soon and my body, I can’t seem to figure—“      “Your body? Jagi, where is all this coming from?” he interrupts, worry occupying his handsome features. You hike the sheet over both of your bodies, hoping to cushion the intensity of your previous statements. You know better, though. Taehyung won’t let a comment like that slide without investigating and although you’re supportive of his logical side that solves problems through discussion, you’re still so ashamed for having these feelings in the first place. Talking about them will only make them more real.      “It’s nothing,” you sigh. “Really.”      “Talk to me.”      “I just don’t look like myself so I don’t feel like myself.”      “But this is you,” he speaks softly, choosing his words carefully. “It’s another side of you, sure, but it’s still you and it’s not a bad thing because change is good. Change is growth.”      “I know.” Your response is quiet as you begin to get lost in your own thoughts. “I’m just afraid. You know how I feel about change, it scares the shit out of me. Every day I get closer to having this baby and every day we get closer to our lives changing forever. I… I want things to go right.”      “I’m scared too, you know,” he murmurs. “But everything’s going to be great and it’s been great so far. The same way you took a chance on me, we’re taking this chance together. We’re gonna raise this baby and guide them through this crazy life together and I can’t think of anyone I’d rather do that with than you. I love you, jagi, you’re not alone and you never will be.”      The pressure of his lips against yours is featherlight, devoid of sexual lust but oozing pure love and affection. His words are so soft and sweet, warming you up from the inside. Taehyung sighs as your sleepy face floods with relief. Sometimes, all you want is someone to hold you and tell you that everything’s going to be okay and Taehyung understands that more than anyone.      “I love you,” you breathe. Taehyung’s hand rests over your hip as you sit up and fluff your pillow, desperate to feel his strong arms around you. You nestle against his chest, curling to mold against his body. His hand falls neatly in the valley below your breasts and above your stomach but his fingertips begin to draw tiny patterns over the bare skin of your chest, where the loose collar of your t-shirt hangs over.      He peppers tiny kisses on your shoulder blades, allowing his hand to sink underneath the fabric of your shirt and roam across the expanse of your chest. He’s tempted to tweak your round, perky nipples that stand tall against the incoming breeze, however, he proceeds to cup as much of your swollen, milk-engorged breast in his hand as he can. A tiny moan flies from your lips as he squeezes, following the speed of your shallow, eager breaths. Milk begins to soak through the fabric, creating two very obvious damp spots on your shirt. Once the surface of his fingers are soaked with the sweet liquid flowing from your breasts, he brings his hand to his nose and inhales before letting out a low groan.

     “This shirt’s gotta go,” he insists, gently lifting the hem with a light tug. You toss it to the side and sit up, keeping your legs spread to provide space for Taehyung.

     “Could you…” you begin, too shy to finish the rest of your request. It’s something you haven’t asked of him yet.

     “Say it. I want to hear you say it.” His locked gaze has already answered the question and his eyes reveal nothing but desperation to taste you. You can’t deny that this has secretly been one of your desires since you began lactating. The thought of Taehyung’s tongue as well as him greedily sucking your juices stirs up many, many feelings inside.      “Suck.”      Burning desire shoots straight to his cock but he manages to utter a quiet, “Say no more,” before lunging at your chest with a mischievous smile.      The feeling is light at first. Euphoric. He teases you with his tongue, poking at the center of the tender bud with delicate taps before fully latching on. Weaving your hands into his locks, you urge him forward with a few gentle pulls. He whimpers as the sugary liquid flows into his mouth, unprepared for the burst of flavor gracing his mouth. Your head falls back as goosebumps begin to cover your entire body. His mouth triggers a wave of heat and tingly sensations you haven’t felt in a while and suddenly, your core is seeking any form of friction against Taehyung.      “So sweet.” He pushes your panties to the side, groaning when his fingers are met with the arousal of your desire for him. “So wet for me, Jagi, what if I—“ he slips the tip of his index fingers into your clenching entrance, grinning as your breath hitches in your throat, “—Shit. I fucked a baby into you—how are you so tight, jagi?”      “Put them in, Tae,” you beg. “Stop teasing me, I’m gonna lose it—“ Without warning, he thrusts two fingers inside until your heat sucks them up with one push. You bite your bottom lip as he pulls out, only to go back in with three fingers. You squirm with the pressure but welcome each twist of his digits as you find yourself grinding against his hand. Each of his thrusts increases the pleasure reaching your limbs and just when you think you’re close enough to reach the moment, he pulls out and slathers his tongue over his hand before stripping himself of his pants.      “God, you’re gonna kill me. Sit on my cock.” Sweat glistens over his forehead, reflecting the pale streetlights guarding the roads outside. He lays down beside you, smiling as you straddle him, clutching onto your round stomach to balance your weight.      “Baby Peaches was kicking before,” you admit breathlessly, settling yourself over his legs. Over time, you finally grew to love the strange nickname Taehyung used for your baby.      “Wait, what?” he asked seriously, squinting in disbelief. “Why didn’t you tell me? C’mon, jagi, I miss it every damn time.”      You smile and wipe the dampness off his forehead. “There are more important things at hand.” His hard, long cock lays flat over his pelvis, red and twitching with the desire to be touched. Rubbing yourself over his length, you grind forward and backward, creating a rhythm that prepares you for when he’s inside. His panting grows more sporadic, stomach clenching with the urge to plunge into your sopping wet heat each time you get close to the head of his length.      Rather than riding him the way you used to, you lean your weight backward, grabbing onto his thighs for extra support. Your extended stomach rises and falls with your own desperate breaths before you finally sink onto the bulbous head of his slick cock. Although he took the time to warm you up beforehand, the burning stretch of his cock against your soft inside still manages to catch you off guard every time. As you slide in and out, every ridge, vein, and crevice of his length presses against your hot walls, coating his hard cock in your nectar.      “Harder, Tae.”      “Not too hard,” he warns. “Remember what the doctor—“      “I’m not gonna break, Tae, come on! I’m so close to cumming.”      “Alright, jagi,” he decides, willing to go only a smidge deeper. He refuses to risk it when it comes to baby Peaches. He shifts gears, thrusting up into you as you lower yourself onto him. He hits that soft, spongy spot deep inside you and just when you think that’s enough, his thumb pokes at your clit, rolling in smooth spirals until heat pools in your pelvis.      “Oh, god, keep going.”      Taehyung’s moaning too now, his peak approaching with each of your clenches around his dick. The squelching sounds of his skin slapping against yours echo across your bedroom, mixed in with the melody of your deep breaths blended into one. He thrusts into you until he easily slides in and out, picking up the pace as your whimpering increases.      “Touch my clit again,” you ask, too focused on chasing your high to open your eyes. Taehyung stares at you and joy floods through his bones. Your long brown locks, red cheeks, and large breasts bounce with each lift and fall. He loves seeing you crumble with pleasure. He rubs the pad of his finger against your swollen bud until your entrance clenches uncontrollably around him, milking him of all the come he can hold.      “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he sputters, watching as your wet cunt swallows his dick and releases it, only to pull it back in again.      “Cum on my stomach,” you groan, too dizzy to look at anything but Taehyung in his cloud of physical ecstasy.      “Wh-What?”      “Do it.” He gets on his knees and strokes the last bit of himself on your stomach, painting the round surface in messy strings of white. You lay back, accepting the fuzzy warmth flowing through your blood and brain. It’s hazy and you know Taehyung’s feeling the same thing but he kisses you, relieved to feel your touch on his skin once again.      A small smile makes its way to your face. “I love you. I’m sorry I didn’t say anything before.”      “Don’t apologize. I want you to know that you can always talk to me about anything, jagi—anything. It’s okay if you’re confused or angry or upset. You don’t have to feel one hundred percent all the time—no one does, you know?”      “Except baby Peaches. Always kicking all the freaking time.” He groans and smacks his forehead with the palm of his hand. “Don’t remind me because I always fucking miss it!”

[nomolosk]

Adrien challenges the status quo

King Hawkmoth sat on his throne, imperturbable as always. Prince Adrien didn’t let it bother him, though. His father had been this way almost since he could remember, and his isolation training had taught him to adopt any outward expression with ease. Of course, controlling his inner emotions was still a battle sometimes, but at twenty years of age, he knew it would not be getting better. It was time- more than time, really- for him to assume his rightful place as the holder of the black cat miraculous.

“You asked to speak with me, Prince Adrien,” King Hawkmoth said, his tone conveying a certain level of annoyance, but again, Adrien did not rise to the bait. His father had gained a new advisor some years back, and thereafter anyone who wished to see the King had to arrange it through Madame Sancour. It had not escaped Adrien’s notice that her name literally meant ‘Lady Heartless,’ but he supposed it was par for the course where his father’s court was concerned.

“Yes, father, I did,” he said now, forgoing the more formal address. This was a family matter, after all, and his use of informality should signal that. Indeed, King Hawkmoth shifted slightly in his seat before stilling again.

“I came to discuss the matter of the black cat miraculous,” he said, coming straight to the point. He kept any hint of accusation or impatience out of his tone, though. He knew this audience was as much a test as a conversation. In all honesty, every audience with his father ended up being a test of some kind.

“Speak then.”

Hawkmoth’s tone was not encouraging, but Adrien pressed ahead with what he wanted- needed- to say. 

“I am a full knight of the realm now, as well as your son, and it has been years since I received any criticisms from you on my emotional control. Yet you have not granted me the miraculous you promised me years ago. Now, I am willing to continue waiting if there is some specific event you are waiting for, or if there is some scheme you have in motion that will provide for the best time to introduce the black cat to our enemies, but… frankly, patience is only a virtue if there is an end to waiting in sight. Nor do I believe keeping up with the isolation training at all beneficial anymore. That training has taught me all it is likely to in the twelve years I have adhered to it.”

Adrien knew his tone was growing confrontational, and paused to take a measured breath. Hawkmoth’s expression hadn’t changed by so much as a twitch.

“In short, father, if the time is not yet right to grant me my miraculous permanently, I believe I should at least begin to train with it. An untested wielder with such a powerful miraculous could prove a significant liability in the heat of battle, after all, and if you still worry about my emotional control, this would be the best way to test it.”

Adrien stopped, waiting for his father’s response. Outwardly, he remained impassive, but inwardly he was hoping against hope that his father would agree at least to his training with the miraculous. Having watched Carapace learning the ins and outs of his miraculous, Adrien knew that it could take some time to become truly comfortable with having the enhancements a miraculous granted, and every weapon was specific to each miraculous. There was no real way to train for a specific miraculous weapon in all it’s respects with non-miraculous counterparts.

King Hawkmoth remained silent a moment longer before saying, “I am not entirely convinced that this… outburst, doesn’t come from an emotional overreaction on your part, Adrien.”

“Hardly an outburst, father,” Adrien said, still maintaining his impassivity. It wasn’t like he hadn’t expected this response. The King had always resisted discussing when Adrien would receive the miraculous promised him in his youth. And in the years before, Adrien could admit that his occasional requests had indeed come from a place of impatience. It had been hard indeed to watch all his noble peers form relationships with each other, even marrying and becoming independent from their parents, while he was denied those same experiences in the name of solidifying his control over his emotions.

“Yet you do not deny the emotional aspect of this demand,” Hawkmoth countered, and Adrien forced back a grimace before it could do more than make his mouth twitch.

“I am not a sentimonster, father,” he said firmly. “Emotions are both the bane and the gift of humanity, as well you should know. Without them, it would be impossible for you to imbue your Champions, after all. I am, however, in control of my emotional reactions. I admit, I am beginning to chafe at the restrictions I am still subject to. As I said before, I am not a child any longer, and my knighting signaled my entrance into manhood to the whole kingdom. I am not asking for you to grant me the miraculous if there is truly a reason not to, but I do think training with it can only benefit the kingdom.” Adrien paused for a moment before adding, “Regardless of your decision on this matter, I will no longer be isolating myself from my peers to the extent I have before. There is no more benefit to such a course. In fact, I believe it can only harm the court and the kingdom for me to continue to do so. I am your Heir, and yet the nobles know almost nothing about me. How can they have any confidence in my fitness to rule?”

Hawkmoth’s eyes narrowed further, and he shifted again. Adrien took absent note of it, but at the moment he was too focused on gaining his objective to think of the ramifications. 

“Our court and kingdom need the strength of mind borne of confidence in their rulers, father, surely you can see that. Of course I know it will be many, many years before I take the throne, but confidence in the succession will allow the nobles to concentrate on supporting you and your objectives rather than fighting among themselves for a chance at the crown. We have been at war with our neighbors for so long father… the last thing we need is infighting here at home.”

King Hawkmoth put up more objections, but they seemed flimsy to Adrien- less a test, and more an attempt to delay the inevitable, which he pointed out toward the end of the audience. In the end, his father allowed him to begin training with the miraculous at the very least. Yet he did not give it to him immediately, promising instead to meet him for a training session the next day. Adrien left feeling that he had accomplished very nearly all of what he had had in mind.

----

King Hawkmoth watched his son leave, waiting until he had left before rising himself and exiting through the private- and always heavily guarded- door behind the dias. Madame Sancoeur bowed as he came through, then fell into step just behind him without saying anything. It was only once they reached his personal office that she dropped the formality they maintained in public.

“He did make good points, sire,” she said wryly. And since Hawkmoth could sense her emotions through the brooch of his miraculous, he knew she knew how much it went against the grain for him to give up this control over his son. Yet, she was right. And Adrien had been right, too… damn him.

“Yes, he did,” Hawkmoth replied, his tone as wry as hers had been. “I could wish he had not found the courage to make them, though. It has been so very useful to my rule to have the succession only vaguely settled on him. And I can’t very well grant him such a powerful miraculous without solidifying my trust in him in the minds of the court and kingdom.”

Madame Sancoeur made a sound of dubious agreement. “Perhaps,” she said. “But perhaps your display of trust will only serve to make them more nervous, sire.”

Hawkmoth stiffened and turned toward her. “What do you mean? Surely the granting of a miraculous can only banish any doubts?”

“In normal cases, yes, I believe it would. However this is a matter of grave import. Adrien will one day be their King, and they know next to nothing about him. Seeing him at dinner and interacting only superficially at scattered entertainments has not made them at all confident in his abilities. Add in the vague doubts you have yourself expressed when it has been… expedient to do so, and you have a situation where granting him such a powerful miraculous can only make them doubt his fitness to wield it. They will not trust him fully until they know him better and he has had time to prove himself.”

She raised an eyebrow at him, and Hawkmoth allowed himself a small smile. “Truly, it was a fortuitous day when I made you my chief advisor, Madame Sancoeur. Of course, I had not considered the situation in that light.” He turned to the window, contemplating the private garden where the statue of his beautiful Emilie sat in repose amongst the roses. He ruminated on the possibilities, his smile growing wider as ideas began to emerge.

“Yes, I think you are right. I will allow him to train in strict secrecy for a time- perhaps a week or two. It would not do to have him be more comfortable and confident in his mastery. Then I will have a public ceremony where I grant him the miraculous, and then… then I will send him off to war. That will both allay any extreme fears of how he may act, and prevent the nobles from getting to know him better. He cannot begin making his own alliances if he is not here to do so. Of course, I will have to make sure he is not granted much opportunity to make alliances among the nobles currently serving in the army, but that won’t be hard to arrange. All it will take will be one dubious use of the cataclysm, and they will shy away from any attempts on his part to make friends. In fact, I believe I should encourage him to use it as often as possible. Let him be seen as a power-mad monster- useful on the battlefield, but not to be trusted in any other setting.”

Hawkmoth nodded to himself. He had long grown used to thinking of Adrien as a pawn, completely under his control and not worth much thought. It was true that this had begun as an attempt to bring Emilie out of her magical sleep, but it had long since ceased to be solely about that. Conquest was… very addictive. And the collection of miraculouses at his disposal gave him a sense of invulnerability. At this point, he was sure he could conquer all of Europe in time.

The last thing he needed now was for his son to wake up to the situation. He was too much like his mother, and though Hawkmoth told himself that Emilie would appreciate waking up one day to find herself an Empress rather than a Queen, he knew deep down that she would not have supported his quest to unite all the miraculouses under his own control. He soothed what was left of his conscience with the thought that once it was done, there would be nothing for her to object to, and that Adrien would enjoy being an Emperor… eventually… and left it at that.

[theisolationdiaries]

A Call from the Universe

.

In a society of woven fabric, where lives are sewn together - constantly intermingling and merging in varying degrees and patterns, colours and shapes, I am a lone piece of floating thread that has naturally detached from the makings of its own design, hanging delicately by its fragile corners.

I have been destined to this fate as I have been born into an abstract pattern that appears only in empty spaces - a family of introverts who weave themselves, not by others hands, but in wrappings of their own individual silk cocoons. Because here, we find a home within ourselves. 

Almost by the laws bound by nature, we spin a protective layer around us to keep us from external forces. Like silkworms, we turn inwards into this isolated nest for our own metamorphosis, unchanged by others. Because as easy as a gentle breeze that sweeps through a canopy of trees, going about its own way - quietly detached from its surroundings but somehow still part of it all, choosing our own company has always been like second nature. Self-reliance, our dominant trait. Solitude, our dear friend.  

This solitary existence, this cautious attitude towards life (which I admit, isn’t the best for social nurturing and self-development) potently runs through our veins as it seems to have been embedded in our very own bloodline, almost like a recessive gene - an integral part in our DNA that makes us who we are. As if we have evolved from lone wolves comfortable in isolation, instead of monkeys, the most social of creatures - a perplexing malady perfect for a comprehensive, investigative scientific case study. Psychologists would definitely be lining up for a chance at such a thesis. (And no, I won't be volunteering as tribute.)

It’s strangely kind of like an ancestral curse bestowed to us by the gods of social fortune and misconduct, for some grave sin ignorantly (maybe even comically - as a joke) committed by one of our foolish ancestors (a jester of sorts) who had undoubtedly displeased them. One we descendants are still paying for, bearing the same shame our forefather did as we have begrudgingly gained a dissociative personality trait from his demise. And it has done its job faithfully so, trickling down from generation to generation - as both paternal and maternal sides are no strangers to this phenomenon. From adults, children, cousins, aunts, uncles, and other relatives alike - there is little exception. 

Because of this, we simply thrive in solitary activities. We’ve come to celebrate the freedom it creates from the confines of having to prove oneself in the presence of others - a lone cause where we have continued to stand up for our individuality. An attribute I’m not quite sure is an asset, or a liability. Probably both, as stubbornness also seems to be inherent in this precarious test of survival. (I’m still learning as I go.)

-

In terms of a social foundation, from tiny, shaky steps at a young age, I grew to lack leaps and bounds when I embarked on the challenging journey into adulthood - the enigmatic governor of unstable ground. My structure haphazardly formed by my unsteady hands, with the usual provocation one experiences in their unbeguiling youth. My juvenile self found that the need to socialize and conform was this blinding pearly-white grin, filtered by a hidden malice that bore fangs of unwarranted prejudice and judgment, so my own remained tight-lipped and sealed, refusing to speak. I did not like the false sense of security strangers bore with their veiled smiles. So I faced these masked entities with disdain, always faced slightly turned away, as if ready to retreat at any moment, in fear of being shackled by their contempt. I don't really know if it was an act of rebellion, or cowardice. I think it's a bit of both - like two stepbrothers vying for the same attention but an unseemingly pair that can’t be separated.

So as vulnerability and discomfort being the dominant forces that have affronted me when having to interact and associate alone, almost naturally, when thrust in a social setting, I subconsciously developed (i’m blaming the recessive gene) a defense mechanism of its antithesis - dissociation.

Isolation became my safe space, my comfort blanket, my tiny little bubble - a haven only I knew, away from the complex constructs of the outside world. An escape from reality. It's not much of a life for others, but to me it was everything.

At this stage still, I am an infant in this process of development, still wobbling at the knees still learning how to walk, bouncing on the soles of my feet in this awkward dance of resolve.. mostly only having an exchange of superficial pleasantries when all I want is connection. And in this present moment, here lies my most inconvenient truth. What was once my faithful companion has turned into a relentless foe. This pandemic has fortified the curse and twisted my fate. My haven of thoughts are now a thunderstorm relentlessly pouring over a dam, spilling through cracks, overflowing in abandon - too much for one person to bear - which at any given moment could burst with just one flash of lightning. 

From thriving in time alone, now I am a helpless pawn in its game of chess. A simulated war of psychological strength and fortitude has commenced.. It seems a new set of formidable challengers lay before me - my opponents powerful forces to be reckoned with. And I crave for a sense of shared togetherness, I now long to be woven with other colours and shapes. Because this has now become a cruel solitary test of patience, and wits - with me forcibly meant to play all the roles - king, queen, knight, pawn...all the pieces intended for me to participate as, dutifully and without complaint. There is no battalion of men I can rely on. I am alone, yet again.. In this mental maze I seem to keep hitting corners and dead ends, irrevocably lost, with no direction. But it’s okay, for some journeys you have to go through alone. This road is not unfamiliar after all. Should I forge ahead with the confidence I know I still lack? or resign to my usual pursuits? At this point i’m not so sure I've been making the wisest decisions as "Check" almost seems to be the most dominant result in my daily life, with i the struggling opponent always on the verge of losing - my king, my heart center, constantly cornered.. exposed and vulnerable. 

For now, I'm not really banking on any wins worthy of a celebration. Small victories perhaps, yes. There are those, i'll give myself that. Little tiny glimmers of hope that appear in my most difficult of days. But, like the checkered board and its pieces, everything has been painted black & white. No shades have been left in between. My ups & downs are blatant and blunt. My highs & lows, two sides of a coin. And even with fervent control and dedication to even a simple victory, my fateful flips haven’t been so forgiving either.

I feel so alone.

I think this is what happens when you have your back against a wall with no visible signs of escape, and an internal battle is inevitable to ensue. This is the eventuality, a mental and emotional upheaval - a call to arms - when an unknown virus suddenly sweeps the world uninvited, like a vengeful wildfire quickly spreading through a dry and dense forest, completely ravaging everything in its wake.  We were unprepared for this. In this extended quarantine, there is nothing I feel more than that of a caged animal - trapped in the desolation of this isolation, wanting to break free. And, the same hearts seem to be experiencing this as well. Walls are being built up and torn down every day. Bridges connected and burned. Long dreary days have bled into threadbare months. The proverbial hands in the clock of Time are moving backwards. "Halt," they say. Pause. Slow down. Listen.  The Universe is speaking.  "What is there to learn from this pandemic?", it asks. Well, I think, as if by God's design, it has plucked us from our solitary islands and dropped us into an endless ocean, so we can learn how to hold hands, and float. Together.  I am still learning though.  Because, every single day I find myself and lose myself, over and over again. The hands in the clock of Time glitching, instead of moving backwards.

I am still learning.

And although my current predicament has been terribly isolating, which has resulted in numerous setbacks born from unrelenting fear, it is because I have not learned the most important lesson: that life, indeed, is meant to be played with a team.. a group.. a family. A beautiful intricate fabric where we all belong and no empty spaces are left in between. 

Unity will save us all.

We are all each others knights, queens, kings and pawns - a band of brothers and merry men, making up a kingdom of hope and faith. Hand in hand we can face this pandemic, play to win, look at it dead in the eye and turn the tables around. We’ll have the last say, and make the most vital move - a grand finale exulted by the words of victory..  “Checkmate.”

Drowning is simply not an option. We'll all float soon enough. Together. 

  .

[toledoendo]

Resetting the Bone- Part 3

A/n: trigger warnings: self-harm, shame

Peter walked up the stairs in the lake house, looking at the framed pictures along the landing. It was his tradition to look at these photos every time he climbed the stairs. He’d done this ever since his first time in the lake house. It began as curiosity, a means to learn about the time he had missed after Titan. Then, it became a comfort and way to ground himself. It was especially important for him in the summer before college to stand and soak in each image. Now, it was habit.

Tony never got tired of hanging more frames or updating the photos inside. Peter thought about how Tony loved his family and his heart surged. He jealously guarded the members of that family — Pepper, Morgan, Rhodey, Happy… and Peter. Tony was at peace and able to be with those he loved without hardship. Finally.

Peter wanted to protect his happiness. Not ruin it. Not abuse Tony’s generosity, as so many had.

Peter found his bedroom door open. His surging heart dropped sharply. “Morgan?” He asked on reflex, stepping in quickly. Tony was standing just inside, his hands in his pockets.

Tony gave a relaxed smile and shrugged disarmingly. “Just me, bud. I wanted to check in on how you’re doing this morning.” He motioned to the door, inviting Peter to close it so they could talk.

Peter tried to swallow as he closed the door. This was the part he dreaded most about his visits the last couple of months. The worry that May and Tony- and everyone else- were teeming with for him. He had caused such an upset since that night he’d called from the hospital.

To be fair, the ER doctors had released him; they’d determined he wasn’t in imminent danger because he didn’t want to die. No, not kill himself... He had told them the truth. He had done things the right way. The urges to harm were right there, pressing their weight against his forehead like a lover about to kiss him.

Going to the ER, Peter was hoping for immediate counseling or a recovery program, but that wasn’t what happened. It was like trying to warn everyone that there was a shark in the water and them choosing to wait until it bit. By the time May had made it from New York, Peter was exhausted in every sense. He didn’t want to talk anymore; the breaker in his brain had been thrown.

May had put her hands on his cheeks and forehead several times, searchingly, as if his face might tell her exactly where the fault was and how she could heal it. She knew better, but maybe that was just the panicked hope of parents at the first sign their children are hurt. Tony had done the same when he surprised Peter in New York after May had packed him up and took him home for a week.

It was immature, but Peter was embarrassed when May or Tony “checked on him.”

They shouldn’t have to do this, he thought.

Tony sat down on the bed and Peter reluctantly walked to him. He heard his nerves buzzing again. He felt much younger, some residual teenage sense of inadequacy in his chest.

Tony sat in front of him — the one he always relied on, the one who always supported him — with an expression practically asking to take care of him, to comfort him. But Peter knew what that meant. He hardened his resolve.

Tony wanted him to be healthy, part of his family, part of his peaceful new life, and Peter wasn’t ready to give up these suddenly important, life-quaking emotions. They were his and he was greedy with them. At the expense, he knew, of others. I just keep hurting everyone, Peter thought. I don’t deserve the life I had. Peter couldn’t look at him. His eyes found the floor. Bad son.

“Can I see?” Tony asked.

Peter jolted. He looked up and saw Tony’s hands outstretched, asking for his wrist. Peter shuddered then stiffened. Don’t do this, please. He wasn’t sure who he was talking to. “No,” he said breathily.

Tony relented easily but Peter clearly saw the worry on his face. “Okay.” Tony said. “You know, even with your advanced healing, you need to keep them clean so they don’t get infected.” Peter’s stomach went stone hard.

Damn it! Peter clenched his teeth, suddenly defensive. “They’re not… They’re just … superficial. Not deep.” I hate this. I hate this.

Tony‘s brow buckled. Then he took a deciding breath through his nose. “Pete.” His voice dropped, serious. “Last time—“

No, no, no, Peter said to the rising rebellion in his brain.

“— you kept going deeper—“

Peter huffed, though it wasn’t meant how it sounded. He’d just lost control of the breath he’d pent up. Tony paused. He stood and stepped toward Peter.

Peter whispered. “Sorry.”

Tony put his arms around Peter, pausing slightly to give Peter the chance to withdraw if he didn’t want the hug. Peter didn’t resist. Tony was warm. Helplessly, Peter leaned into him.

Shame flared behind Peter’s eyes. He wished he would cry and get it over with. How much easier would that be?

Peter used to cry all the time. If he was too tired, he’d cry. If he was hungry, occasionally, he’d cry. If Tony praised him, he’d cry. If he was stressed by school deadlines, workload, if he lost a competition in front of other people, if there was even a ghost of disappointment on May’s face, he’d melt into tears.

As much as he used to hate that about himself, Peter wished he could just sob it out and this could be over. But, he didn’t cry now, had not for a while... He was so locked down, it was useless to try.

“You don’t have to show me or tell me anything, Pete. I’m not trying to…” Tony sighed. He tread this conversation softly. No doubt he remembered how easily Peter could bolt. He was quiet a long time, swallowing. Peter could hear it, feel it against his collar. “I see the work you’re doing and I’m proud of you. I’m so proud, Pete!”

“I think I cut to get high.” Just say it. “I think I’m making all this up.”

Peter hated it, but wasn’t that the truth? During the week he spent in New York with May and Tony they had developed a relapse plan. In addition to seeing a counselor immediately and using the strategies he’d learned when he was fifteen, he would drop 4 credits to ease the stress of college. He would quit his position on the university student newspaper. And, he wasn’t even patrolling as Spider-Man. He had nothing to be stressed about. So what was the problem?

“Nothing is really wrong with me. I do this because I want to. Please. Don’t feel sorry for me.”

Tony spoke, interrupting his inner battle. “I just want you to know that I’m here. I’m with you.”

“This is something I’m doing to myself, doing to you— doing on purpose.” Peter continued. “And I’m not going to stop. I’m not going to stop. Please—“

Tell him.

I can’t.

“I know,” Peter finally said.

Tony pulled away. He looked at Peter and Peter felt genuinely sorry for him. “Are you using your timer between urges and following through?”

Peter nodded. “Mostly.” Anger flared up despite everything. Tony just couldn’t help mothering him, could he?

“How long do you set?”

“Five minutes.”

Tony nodded, thinking. “Will you try 10 minutes?”

Peter dutifully agreed. When Tony was quiet, Peter raised his eyes. He saw Tony’s jaw tighten and Peter wondered what was going through his mind.

“Pete,” Tony said carefully. “I’m scared that—“ He stopped. His thumb raked his forehead as he sighed.

“I’m okay.” Peter tried. “I’m doing so much better, really. Better even than a couple weeks ago.”

“I know.” Tony smiled. “You’ve been working hard.”

No I haven’t.

“Are you talking to May?”

“Yes.” Peter lied. Of course he was talking to May. She texted him nonstop and called most nights. But, he knew what Tony was asking: was he calling May to talk when he was feeling the urge to harm? No.

May had started her own publishing group and it was gaining traction. Peter remembered being six and May bringing home finished magazines to show him and Ben. “My layout was chosen!” She’d trill. Now that he was away at MIT, she was pursuing her career again. She was finally free to do it.

Tony had asked because Peter didn’t take the walk with him last night. He had hidden in his room. And now he had fresh cuts. Of course Tony figured it out.

Tony didn’t believe his answer. This gave him the courage he needed. “I’m scared you’re not going to call anyone when you… need to.”

“I will.” Peter’s voice strained.

“Okay.” Tony said, taking an unconscious step back. He was trying to lessen the threat, ease the pressure on Peter’s flight reflex. He looked at Peter for a long time. “I trust you, Pete. Just… I’m always here to listen. I love you, kid.”

“Thanks.” Peter said. His leg started trembling. Tony was about to walk away and give him his space again. Peter’s defenses always chose this moment waver. So scared of losing this relationship that a moment before he had been actively choking to death.

Tony squeezed his shoulder and smiled at him. Peter could almost believe he was proud of him. There was nothing he had wanted more at one time. Here it was for him. He was looking at it, offered to him, like it was a foreign object. Then Tony turned for the door. “Why don’t you listen to some music —“

“Mr. Stark!”

Both started at that. Tony turned to him questioningly. “Y’haven’t called me that in a while, bud.”

Peter shook out an exhale. His shoulder touched his left ear. Fourteen again, anxious tics and all, he stammered. “Can — can you—“ Goading himself to push through his instinct to flee, he fought the closing of his throat. This felt like gagging yourself to throw up. He ducked to his backpack and removed a foldable camping knife. He thrust it toward Tony, not able to look at him. “—take this, please?”

“Of course.” He heard Tony answer softly. “I’ll take care of it, okay?” Then he felt Tony lift it from his hand. “Do you want to talk?”

That was it. The apathy dissolved and Peter felt his legs swept from under him. He clenched his eyes closed and shook his head. A brutal sob broke out as he felt Tony hold him again.

Damn it. It was always like this. Splintered and unable to hold himself together, he had to interrupt someone else’s life to gather him up, put him in a splint.

I can’t talk to you. Don’t you get it?

“I’m here. I’ve got you.” Tony said.

Peter couldn’t bring himself to cling to Tony like he had. He was defying himself to even hand over the knife. Stuck between two places: complete destruction and health. Was this even a step toward recovery? Tony probably hoped so.

Tony was smoothing down his quaking form, talking in lullaby tones— “I’m with you. You don’t have to do this alone.” Even so, Peter couldn’t rest, but it felt great to cry.

[goneseriesanalysis]

Sam Temple

Ok, so I’m going to start by working through my opinions on the different characters of the series before I delve into other topics such as representation and plot. Here are my opinions on your main man Sam (I’ve only re-read Gone so far and will be doing a new one for each of the books). 

Also I feel like this goes without saying, but just in case: Spoiler warning for Gone down below

Original Opinion: I thought Sam was a boring protagonist with little to no personality asides from surfing and being ‘in love’ with Astrid.

New Opinion: While I still think Sam is an underdeveloped protagonist, I enjoyed his character much more than I remember, and have more thoughts on him than I realised. 

1.) SAM’S APPEARENCE AND CHARACTER: We get some indication of who Sam is, and his role in the story, in the first chapter. He describes himself as sticking “to jeans and understated t-shirts, nothing that drew to much attention to himself.” While this description is reflective of Sam’s reluctance to become a leader later in the books, it kind of reminds me of every boring protagonist of every ya book/film/tv show ever. It’s a little cliché and as soon as I read this I groaned out loud and prepared myself for the most basic protagonist to ever grace the page. 

 We then get a little insight into his personality and his relationship with the citizens of Perdido Beach:

“everybody knew who he was, but few people were quite sure what he was.”

“He was a surfer who didn’t hang out with surfers. He was bright but not a brain. He was good-looking, but not so that girls thought of him as a hottie.”

We get the idea that Sam is the underdog. Nobody really knows him, but they all expect him to be there when something goes wrong. This is a really good indictor for his role in the rest of the story, but the description still gives us almost no insight into who Sam is as a person. The best word I can think of to describe his personality is ‘protagonist’ - he could have been so much more if he had been given just a little bit more development. 

The next paragraph explains the school bus incident, where we again get absolutely no information on his personality. It’s almost as if Michael forgot that the hero had to be an actual person too. We get told that Sam has one heroic moment and then goes back to being his normal self, but what is his normal self?? I still have no idea. 

We get some more description of Sam when Caine is introduced in Chapter 14 “He had dark hair and dark eyes, not much different from Sam himself” - and this is reiterated by Astrid in Chapter 38 “Astrid was struck by how alike the two boys looked superficially.”                                                                                     “Where Caine hid his arrogance and cruelty behind a smooth, controlled surface, Sam let his emotions play out on his face.” But even here we still get very little idea as to what he actually does look like, a weak point I have noticed in Michael’s writing is his vague descriptions. I do really like Astrid’s comment on how they display their respective emotions. Sam’s strength in morality, his lack of deception, is also a weak point in his leadership - he is too easy to read and therefore manipulate (this isn’t really shown in this book but I remember this becoming apparent with the town council). Caine’s weakness in morality saves him from this weakness but leaves him open to betrayal and mistrust (and rightfully so). 

2.) SAM’S HOME: We next get to see Sam’s house in Chapter 3, which is described as being a “small squashed-looking one-story house with a tiny, fenced backyard and no real front yard.” From this description, and other information throughout the book, we get the idea that Sam and his mother are relatively poor. However, I would prefer to have been shown this instead of being told. Sam’s monetary situation never seems to affect his decisions and opinions which is a little disappointing as, from someone who has grown up poor, I know that it is something that really does affect your whole worldview. The only indicator we get that this situation has affected Sam in any way, is his comment on how wasteful the kids are being with food during the first night at the plaza - but he never actually acts on this - that job falls to Caine and later Albert.

It would have been interesting to explore how Sam could have reacted to Caine’s wealthy upbringing as opposed to his own. Them both being jealous of each other’s lives for different reasons (Caine for his lack of parental love, Sam for his lack of financial security) would have added depth to their relationship as well as Sam’s character. I’m also interested to see how Sam reacts to Albert basically reinstating capitalism in later books. As I remember, he was never overly opposed to it, but it will be interesting to see if his reaction is a direct result of his childhood.

3.) SAM’S FEAR OF THE DARK: This is plot point that is introduced to establish Sam’s powers, and it doesn’t have any other relevance in the story. This is disappointing as, with the final villain being nicknamed “the darkness” it could have been a really poetic and fitting ending for Sam to conquer both his innate fear and the villain at the same time. However as I remember it (possible spoilers for fear and light), Sam has very little to do with Gaia - Gaia mostly interacting with Diana, Caine, Drake and Lana. His ability to produce light in order to counter act this fear is a really nice inclusion though, and reflects how Sam’s leadership is a safety net to those living in the FAYZ. 

4.) SAM MOTIVATIONS: We first get an idea of what it is that motivates Sam when he talks about attacking Tom in Chapter 13, “I thought he was trying to hurt my mom.” Sam’s powers are triggered by fear, his first instinct is to protect those that he loves, and he will resort to violence if it is necessary. This idea is shown again when Sam steps in to protect Bette. His first instinct is to de-escalate the situation (and, interestingly, he looks to Howard to help him with this), but, when that fails, he resorts to violence. I really like this inclusion as it gives insight into Sam’s basic motivations and also explains how he was so quickly willing to murder Drake after Drake went after Astrid. Sam’s attack on Tom is heavily reflective of Sam’s relationship with Drake in the first book - Sam burning Tom’s hand foreshadows him burning Drake’s arm. 

One thing that bothers me with this scene, however, is that Sam shows little to no emotion when talking about his stepfather - and this is never expanded on. It seems out of character for Sam, one of the kindest characters in the book, to feel almost nothing towards his stepfather, and with no explanation as to why this might be. We get no indication of their relationship prior to the incident, which would have been a good chance to further develop Sam. 

Later in the book, when Tom is brought up again Sam says that he felt a rush “I thought, oh, my God, look at the power I have.” - And this again is never expanded on. Sam’s main fault is his unwillingness to shoulder the responsibility of being a leader, and he never really experiences a corruption of power in the way that this line hints. I think Michael may have just added this is to highlight the differences between Sam and Caine, but it feels out of character, especially seen as it is never brought up again (at least in this book, I can’t remember if this is featured later on in the series) 

5.) SAM’S POWERS: I mentioned before how Sam’s powers are first introduced to us through the flashback to Tom and his fear of the dark. But the first time we actively see him use them in the book is during The Fire and later at the powerplant. During both of these situations, Sam is unable to fully control his power and can only summon them through fear. His core motivation is to protect rather than attack. I also find it interesting that Sam is technically the first person to kill someone in the FAYZ, but I don't really have anything else to say about it :/

The first time we see Sam voluntarily use his powers in in Chapter 28, when Astrid manipulates him into using his anger instead of his fear. I find this interesting, because, despite the change in emotion, Sam’s motivation largely remains the same. The use of his power here comes from his anger at Drake having hurt Astrid, his anger that he wasn’t there to protect her. 

This then changes in chapter 33, when Sam seems to gain full control over his powers. This time, when he summons his anger he focuses on his mother. I have a few issues with this. Firstly, Sam gaining control of his powers seems rushed for plot convenience, especially when you compare him to Caine, who was more willing to use his powers and yet took months to master them?? Is this a hint that, if Sam were willing to go as far as Caine, he would be the more powerful one - or is it just lazy writing?? It seems that Sam and his powers were pushed aside for other storylines, which is troubling considering he is the main character. The other thing that bothers me about this scene is that Sam’s anger at his mother is not further developed (are you noticing a theme??) It would have been nice if this had come up again properly in the poof scene.

The poof scene would have been an excellent scene to develop Sam’s character, instead, for me, it fell flat. We don’t get much perception into Sam’s thoughts other than that his first instinct is to reach out to his mother, but this provides us with very little indication about who he is as we know that this has also been every other child’s first instinct. Him being the first one to refuse is indicative of his strength and hints that the anger he felt at his mother was more than a fleeting emotion, but it would have been nice to go into more depth on his feelings about his mother and Caine. A strong, emotionally charged verbal stand-off where Sam and Caine both vent their feelings towards their mother/the gaiphage would have been an excellent ending to the big fight - as Sam’s true strength is his compassion as opposed to his use of his powers. This could have also had a fantastic payoff in later books, where Gaia could have used this moment against the boys. 

6.) WHAT MAKES SAM A HERO:  I’ve already mentioned that Sam’s main strength is his kindness and compassion, which is nice to see - especially in a male protagonist (whether this continues in later books I can’t remember). His adversity to becoming the leader is his biggest weakness, as it often prevents him from doing the right thing in time sensitive situations. I found that this line from chapter 11 nicely sums this idea up “In a closet off the main room he found a grey-green military shirt, many sizes too large.” - possibly referring the idea that Sam is not ready to become the leader/ hero just yet. His hesitance, his insecurities, making him unfit to lead as of yet. Also nicely reminds you how he is just a child.

Then, there are multiple moments throughout the book where Sam is just shown to be the sweetest person and these are my two favourites:

“I’m not supposed to cross the street. // It’s ok. I’ll watch while you do, ok?” - Chapter 5

“Astrid, tell me if this is crazy: I’m thinking if there are any leftovers, we could send them up to Coates.” - Final

The reason people follow him is because in a world where he could be anything, where the old rules just don’t apply anymore, he still chooses to be kind and honestly I love him for it. His line  “It is our world. So let’s make it a good one” contrasts Diana’s line “We didn’t make this world, we’re just the poor fools who are living in it.” And really just highlights how good he is. He deserves so much more credit than he gets from the ungrateful cretins whose lives he saves on a daily basis. I just wish Michael had developed him further past being the protagonist. 

Another fantastic Sam moment is the bit where he escapes from the collapsed apartment building. If you are ever re-reading the series and wondering why Sam is the protagonist, please just read this moment again and tell me you don’t get chills

“Diana tripped backwards from the blow and sat down hard on the stone steps.

Caine could see her face with a sudden, terrible clarity by the glow of a brilliant column of blinding, green-white light.

That light could only have one source.

He lights was light a spear aimed at the sky. It arced upwards from the midst of the rubble of the apartment building.

‘No,’ Caine said.” Chapter 45

7.) OTHER:

These are just a couple of things I noticed, but can’t really make an infirmed point about

Is Sam’s light being green a reference to the gaiphage, or just a random addition??

I noticed that the first few freaks we learn about other than Sam just have a variation of his power. Is this lazy writing or does it have some significance that I missed??

So there are my opinions on Sam from the first book. I’m sorry that this was so long but I have just so many thoughts. I think I’m going to do separate posts for Astrid, Caine, Diana and Drake and then I’ll pair up the others before moving onto relationships, representation and my likes/ dislikes. 

Thank you so much if you read this, and please feel free to give me your own opinions and interpretations :) 

[ittakesrain]

and now, an essay thing I have nowhere else to publish

One of my most vivid memories is of what happened one sunny April morning when I was sixteen.  My parents had brought me to a random doctor’s office for a random appointment, and it pissed me off because I should have been in school.  I should have been sitting in my AP chemistry class learning about radiation.  It would require so much time to catch up on all of what I missed, and even though I was acing the class, the ever-present whispers of derisive thoughts emanating from my brain were particularly loud that day.  Their volume increased until they were almost deafening, until I could barely hear the sound of blood rushing through my head, until I could barely concentrate on standing up, barely fight to stay on my feet as black spots clouded my vision.  They told me everything would go to shit because I was going to fail chemistry and not get into college and never amount to anything.  They told me I should have fucking been in class.

But instead, I was pacing in the waiting room of this strange, unfamiliar office, painfully cold as always despite my layers upon layers of clothing.  I had my belt pulled tight, as it was the only thing holding my baggy 00 jeans onto my ghostly and withered body.  I genuinely didn’t know why I was there, yet I had an overpowering feeling that something life-shattering was about to happen.

A nurse called me back.  I followed her into an exam room.  She instructed me to undress entirely and put on a gown.  I did, and it finally hit me what was coming.  Panicked apprehension coursed through my veins with every pained, frantic beat.  She told me she had to get my height.  I slid off the exam table to be measured, stood tall, steadying my shaky hands as they fell to my sides.  Five feet.

Then, with nerves reaching an insurmountable level, she told me to stand on the scale. The heavy-duty, never-inaccurate, medical-grade scale. I stepped carefully onto it, as if I didn’t already know what it was going to say. A lifetime passed by in a second, my heart stopped as time froze. The machine beeped as it landed on what it had declared as my weight. I didn’t look, I didn’t look, I didn’t look. Nothing was happening. Don’t look, don’t look. But after I’d stood there forever and ever, holding the air in my lungs until it hurt, I looked at the nurse. She was staring at me. I breathed out. I looked at the scale. I sucked a lung-full of oxygen into my body involuntarily.

My heart leaped at the number, three pounds below what I’d last seen, and then plummeted into a free-fall. There was no derisive voice in my head telling me I wasn’t good enough. There was just a pitter-patter of words bouncing off the edges of my mind, echoing loudly between reverberating silence: Sick. Shame. Sick. Broken. Sick. Sick. Sick.

In the sheer terror of the moment, I had no idea how it had happened, how I’d gotten that way. But the truth was that I was nearly seventeen years old and I weighed sixty-five pounds.  And at that point, I knew what I was doing and how I’d gotten that way.

It was simple in the most complex and intricate of ways: I had an eating disorder.  And I’d had one for three years.  It had been all I’d known for three long years.  The gnawing, excruciating hunger that had long since dissipated into expansive internal emptiness.  The bitter cold that lay so deep within me that it had settled permanently in my bones.  The sheer, unrelenting anxiety, the weighted feeling of impending doom.  I’d been trapped.

And in an eternity that lasted only three months, I was released into a freedom I hadn’t realized existed.  I could write novels about what happened during those months, those wonderful, terrible, frightening, uncertain, beautiful months.  And I will write those novels.  But the point is that the identity I’d been chained to for so goddamn long would no longer be attached to me.  Being reborn like that?  It’s indescribable.

But it’s twelve years later.  Twelve fucking years later.  And I once again officially fall into the category of “someone with an eating disorder.”  Instead of three years, it’s been three months.  Instead of being grossly underweight, I’m just 25 or so pounds lighter.  But the thoughts, the fears, the discomfort...it’s all there.  Again.  As if no time has passed.  I’m afraid of jelly.  I’m afraid.  Of fucking.  Jelly.  I’ve arbitrarily attached emotion to jelly as if the main ingredient of the stuff is “paralyzing anxiety.”

I hate it.  I hate that I’m doing this again.

It’s different now, though.  I just keep telling myself to “cut the shit.”  I’ve done it before.  I’m no longer in the dark. I have knowledge.   I’m well aware that I can be released into freedom, that the chains holding me to this identity are nothing compared to the supernova of resilience powering all that I am.  But I feel too far gone. It scares me.

Not to mention, as I’m ashamed to admit, that I like my body better now.  Superficial as it maybe be, it’s a relief to have gotten rid of all the weight I’d gained after getting on the new meds (which, by the way, are a literal gift from whatever god might be up there).  I know I shouldn’t like the weight loss, but I do.   I have a sick pride in it,  just like how I’m stupidly proud of the fact that I was 65 fucking pounds two months before turning 17.  With that at least it was because, after three years of suffering, that number was all I had to show for it. But now? I don’t know what the deal is.  I guess it’s just nice to be able to be good at something again.

It probably also has to do with control again, with how I desperately want it.  It just isn’t making me feel any closer to that elusive concept anymore.  Like, why is it that when I’m waging war with myself over the simple act of sitting down to eat, I never have control over the outcome?

It probably has to do with how I was bored.  How I wanted to be distracted, wanted something to focus on. How I was morbidly curious.

It probably has to do with the low self-esteem I’ve begun to wear even though it doesn’t feel right on me.

I keep telling myself that I just “went at this a little too hard.”  That it was really just an attempt to lose weight gone wrong because my brain naturally just jumps to this shit when life gets stressful.  A result of the fact that I’ve never known any sort of middle ground in regards to anything.  I’ve never understood healthy dieting.  If you want to lose weight, why not just stop eating altogether?  It’s a miswired translation code in my head.  I’ve never been able to fix it.  I’ve only ever worked around it.

Maybe that’s the problem: I never got around to rewiring everything.

When I write, it’s to give people something they can read to understand something.  Something they can read to be dragged down to the depths of my mind and come out with my feelings and desires, as fucked up and crazy as they might be, as souvenirs.  I don’t think many people need to visit hell, though.  I think it’s enough for me to do so. 

Maybe writing this will help me rewire.  Maybe afterward I’ll remember even more vividly how fucking insanely disgusting my eating disorder was at its peak.  Maybe I’ll drag myself down to the depths of my former mind, the mind I used to try like mad to learn an entirely new way of looking at things, processing things, and understanding things.  The mind I used to smash the title of “anorexic” into so many pieces that it no longer lingered above my head and next to my name. 

I can’t fathom where in the fuck to start.  But if my brain is made of wires, the wires are reduced to words.  So let’s just call this a beginning.