#go with big medium small and see your fucking life change

[yappacadaver]

You can’t make every feature big or none of them will be

[alpaca-clouds]

Why all most vampires are depressed

A few days ago, there was a bit of a discussion on one of the Castlevania discord servers, because I said that Dracula was suicidal before Lisa came to the castle in the first place. The first reaction was: "Oh, with you all vampires are suicidal!" To which I could not help but reply: "Well, yeah. Kinda. At least very depressed."

Let me explain: Vampires still have a brain and a nervous system. As such it stands to reason that they can be traumatized. (As our beloved vampire spawn above so readily demonstrates in BG3.)

Now, most vampires are not Astarion, who gets turned and then literally tortured for 200 years. But in most worlds we see that have vampire characters (compared to vampires as mindless monsters) we still have at least some sort of conflicts happening between vampires and their sires. We also have a lot of conflicts happening between vampires and vampires and humans. Not to mention, that most vampires will have to kill at some point or another.

And here is the thing: Our nervous system tends to collect trauma. Even the small traumas. It is how you get CPTSD instead of just normal ass PTSD. And if you live hundreds of years, well, you get a lot more chances to experience small and medium traumas. It does not have to be this one big trauma (though the chances are obviously also bigger for that), it can just be a lot of small stuff collecting over time.

Almost all worlds we see with vampires, the vampire culture tends to be one that values strength shown through violence. We also see vampire culture being one of politics, where if not literal backstabbing, there is at least social backstabbing going on. Which both are things that would easily lead to trauma. And then there is just the fact that vampires drink from humans, and might kill some of them. And, well... Killing people usually also traumatizes the killer.

You get where I am going I hope.

And additionally to that there is the other part of being immortal: You gonna see most people you ever cared about die. Scratch that: You are gonna see your CULTURE DIE. The world is constantly changing. Cultures change. Some cultures die out. You are still around, but the world around you is no longer the world you grew up in. That, too, is traumatizing.

This is also something I think will still be addressed in Olrox in future seasons of Castlevania: Nocturne. Because he saw his culture being killed. Yeah, the man is traumatized, what do you think?

So, yeah. When I write vampires, they usually are traumatized, depressed, and not rarely have some suicidal ideations. Because I feel it is only realistic. You just cannot live that long and not be traumatized af.

And, yeah. Just look at Dracula in Castlevania. Do you think a person, who started out in a mentally good place, goes from "my wife is dead" to "yeah, kill all humans, before all the vampires (including myself) will starve to death"?

But also... It makes for interesting stories. Because there is just a powerful statement behind a character going from "I am sad, the world is hurting me" to "I want to live".

Which is why I just love Astarion's story so much. That boy deserves to have a nice life now. To heal. And find stuff he likes doing.

It is also why I love writing my version of Striga the way I do. Because she is traumatized as fuck, but she also decided that if she gives into it, the people who have hurt her, would have won. So, instead she lives and finds the good things in her life, and she helps others.

[contentloadingandstuff]

NSFW Headcanons - Cloud Retainer

CW: Outdoor stuff, toys. Everything refers to Cloud Retainer's human form, of course.

Stop! Cut time.

Cloud Retainer never had anyone she loved in her lengthy life. Truth be told, before the war finding love (and dick) was not her topmost priority, but the desire was there. After the war… not so much anymore. 

Perhaps it was the depression settling in, but her mind drifted away from this. 

But she met you after all those years of loneliness. She found you alluring, and very enticing. Cloud Retainer didn't have anything against having sex, even if she wasn't that interested in it. 

Even despite her lack of enthusiasm at first, the Adeptus came to quite like it. As she got more and more comfortable with you, her fondness only grew, until she fully opened herself up to you. 

Your woman sees no point in dwelling on why she likes what she likes, if it's not really obvious. She likes to let things happen on their own. 

Cloud Retainer likes it vanilla most of the time, at least when it comes to the sex - where you do it, however, is a completely different story. 

She enjoys bending over for you while looking out from the top of mt. Aocang, especially if the sun just rises or dawns. She'll sigh in satisfaction, not only because the view is amazing… She's of the opinion that it's passion that makes sex great, and that there's no reason to hold off when both of you find yourselves in the mood, wherever it may be. A quiet corner is enough for a rough, fairly loud quickie. Mt. Aocang is hers, after all. 

But most often it will be her Abode where most of the fucking will take place. It's quiet, picturesque, private and completely soundproof. She can also model it to fit her liking - from a romantic, slow dicking high in the clouds to a rough, merciless fucking on the beach - you'll have all sorts of adventures within her realm. 

She will get very snappy if someone will dare to enter her Abode with one of their trivial worries. On her mind is the big cock she's handling, not some moral inquiries of the mortals. 

She likes all sorts of paces for all sorts of occasions. Cloud Retainer prefers pussy over ass and throat, and it comes down to just her personal preference. Her gag reflex is not that good, but she doesn't see a reason to change that. She still enjoys some anal fairly regularly, though. 

Despite not receiving any stimulation from it herself, Cloud Retainer enjoys giving you titfucks with her wonderful, medium sized breasts. 

The glasses stay on. How is she still looking so elegant with cum dripping out of her pussy and your shaft inside her mouth? The ways of the Adepti, that's why. 

Just don't pull the hair, it takes her an hour to get it in order every day, and she'd rather be riding you than sitting in front of a mirror. 

A switch with all her soul. Being able to freely switch between being dominant and submissive makes it so she can enjoy a very broad range of pleasures. 

She is the "Adeptus Mechanicus", so of course she's going to make machines to enhance your play. Most of them will be her own renditions of mortal sex toys - very small vibrating bullets with nearly endless battery, and the ability to be pulled out of whatever hole they go into with your telekinesis skills. Or fleshlights designed meticulously to resemble her slit, not only with automatic lubrication, but also with the warmth, feel and smell. 

Cloud Retainer loves to take pictures of what you're doing for later viewing, or perhaps just to see herself serving you with her body, or enjoying yours. She likes big standing mirrors for the same reason. 

Sometimes when the other Adepti, or Morax, ask her about her day, or why she has bruises and hickeys all over herself, she'll talk about what you two were up to as if it was something completely normal to bring up in conversation. For that reason, it's good to keep an eye on her during social meetings. 

Thanks for reading!

[raineynightswrld]

𖥻 Light my cigarette? 𖥨 🚬

greetings. welcome to my first blog ever :). im going to keep this short and simple, my name is raine and i haven’t seen much vito scaletta fanfics on here, so i decided to step up and share some silly imagine/one shot or whatever. not proofread, cliche trope and lazy ending !

overall warnings: reader is implied to be female, smoking, strangers to lovers, cliche moments, kissing, stealing, romantic tension, swearing, slight ooc, really really lazy ending 😭

setting and fandom: mafia 2, 1951.

It was a normal, rainy night in Empire Bay. The trees were rumbling, as droplets of water fell from the night sky at a slow rate while the moon shined its light on the streets of Small Italy. You’d be either insane in the head or in a rush if you were walking around with this weather going on, especially without an umbrella.

Speaking of people insane in the head, you unwillingly stepped in a big puddle, staining your brand new coat and shoes. You hissed in annoyance and took a step back, raising your arms and cursed under your breath: “Fucking hell… can’t even go somewhere without bad luck smudging my fucking asscheeks! Shit was expensive as fuck too.. goddammit.”

Not only did you stain some expensive clothing and pair of shoes, you also forgot your umbrella at home, making this situation even more worse. You just wanted the earth to split in two, gobble you up and never let go of you again. Your hair was wet, and mascara ran down your cheeks like a river. Your coat didn’t help in keeping your black button up blouse at least semi-dry semi-wet. I’m other words, you looked like shit and looked like you just jumped in a river. The rain wasn’t even heavy!

You were always known for having bad luck. Ever since you were a child, nothing went your way. Not even assignments you pulled all nighters on and knew the answers like the back of your hand. You couldn’t figure out how you didn’t die yet, guess something went right in your life at least once.

Grunting and eventually stomping your foot on the moist cemented floor beneath, you shook your head and began walking towards a nearby 24/7 store, not wanting to go back to whatever route you were taking to go to whatever place. You were late anyways.

Lightening up a cigarette, or, at least attempting to, you groan in annoyance and breathe in to not make a tantrum in the middle of the street at two in the morning. Eventually, you manage to light the thin and long cigarette up, the smell of chocolate and whipped cashmere smoke entered your nostrils, which seemed to have calmed you down a bit.

Opening the door to the medium sized convenience store, you inspected your surroundings, just to see no one was there. Might as well rob the store. Taking a big puff of the cigarette, you walk around the store, blowing the smoke out of your nose and mouth. You find yourself roaming the store endlessly.

Not like you had anything else to do. You were sure as hell you wouldn’t be stepping out until the rain outside stopped.

Eventually getting bored, you grab a new pack of cigarettes you wanted to try out for some time now. You squeeze the cigarette you had in your hand from outside with the tip of your boot, and decide to betray your initial thoughts, going outside through the back door of the store.

You thought you’d be alone - that no one would be there, but just you, your thoughts, and your soul. Startled by the man who was also smoking a cigarette, you take a step back and close your eyes for a bit, breathing in before quietly greeting him. He was a tad bit taller than you. If you weren’t wearing boots with heels, he’d probably be more taller.

Raising his eyebrow at the sudden change of somewhat quiet environment, the stranger eyed you, his brown eyes staring into yours. For a moment, none of you said anything, before the man in front of you broke eye contact and moved his head so he was facing the street, and not you. Were you that ugly? You internally cackled at the thought. Sure, he was attractive, with his gel slicked back hair and the mysterious clothing choice but hell — you weren’t THAT interested.

After a moment of awkward silence, the man takes a drag from his cigarette, exhaling a puff of smoke before finally breaking the quiet tension. "Nice night, huh? Or, at least for me.” he remarks, a faint smirk on his lips.

“Yeah.. I guess.” You didn’t even know you were holding your breath. Exhaling, you open the stolen pack of cigarettes and take one, before stuffing the pack into your coat’s pocket and grabbing your lighter.

You try to light it up, but to no avail, it fails. You try again, and again, and again. Nothing lights up. You sigh loudly, before rolling your eyes. You’re starting to get pissed off.

“Need some help?” The man asks.

“Mama told me to not ask help from strangers.” You smirked and raised an eyebrow, before huffing out a laugh from your somewhat dry throat, then nodding and getting closer to the stranger. He smelled really good. Cigarette and some perfume. “Light my cigarette?”

He first puts his cigarette in his mouth, holding it still as he takes his lighter from his coat’s pocket. Due to the poor lightning, you thought both of you had matching coats - except for the fact that yours was stained with wetness. You point your cigarette to his lighter’s tip, before it shined fire. After the cigarette finally got lit up, you pull back and take a puff.

“Vito.”

“Huh?”

“Name’s Vito. Thought you’d need my name to thank me, sweetheart.”

“Oh!” Your mascara stained cheeks flushed in embarrassment, before huffing out the smoke in another direction than Vito’s face. “Thank you, Vito, for the light.”

You genuinely smiled at him, before you two started to talk about life. Though you were the one who talked more about your job, your overall life.. your bad luck.

“Yeah.. that’s how I got my clothes all wet and dirty. I was actually thinking of going to meet my friends and all at a club but I was already running late and I obviously wouldn’t show up at a club looking like this. When I was walking to the club, I even forgot where I was walking to and just decided to ‘crash’ here.”

You sigh loudly as Vito nods. He already finished his cigarette and didn’t bother lighting up a new one. You, however, were on your second cigarette of the pack you stole. After a few moments of silence, you look at Vito, who was looking at you too.

Your hair was now pretty dry and styled way better. The mascara that ran itself down your cheeks was gone since Vito was kind enough to give you something to wipe the mascara off. The rain stopped a while ago and you just found yourself talking to him endlessly.

Taking one last blow of your cigarette, you flicked it away somewhere on the wet cement and sighed.

“I’m out of things to say.” You laugh and look away before gazing up at Vito, who was slightly smiling.

“That was a lot of stuff to take in.” He huffed out in a slightly raspy voice.

“So.”

“So?”

You blink, breaking the eye contact. There was silence followed, as you breathed in. Leaning in just a bit, you straightened your back a little, before Vito leaned in fully, breaking the tension. His rough lips met your soft ones, as you closed your eyes, placing your palms on his cheeks. Your thumb traced over the scar on his chin, as he held your waist just right. You pulled back for air and breathed in the satisfying post-rain smell. No words were needed. Just a look and another kiss. After another, which turned out sloppier than the other two. Obviously, you stopped at his place after.

Guess you didn’t always have bad luck.

[idrils]

medical stuff under the cut, i'm gonna get gross lol

your girl had her first trip to the emergency room yesterday!! i've had abdominal pain for the last couple of days (i wrote it off as pcos cramps, which can happen outside of your period, or as GI issues bc i'd had fast food for dinner and then a late night popcorn snack haha)

yesterday i woke up in intense pain, which just got worse and worse as the morning went on. i was writhing around on the guest bed, desperate to find something approaching comfort. eventually i couldn't take it, it was so far beyond any other pain i've ever had - i couldn't think about anything other than the pain, and i started worrying that this was just my life forever

so my wife and i ubered to urgent care. turns out that was the wrong move and urgent care is not for emergencies. my mom met us there and drove us to the ER, where everybody took me very seriously which was a huge relief. i had some concern that i'd be written off as overreacting or drug seeking or whatever, but they got me set up with an IV thingy and gave me fentanyl immediately haha

i got a transvaginal ultrasound (i literally. had one scheduled for this wednesday. to diagnose whether i have ovarian cysts. smh) and it did find multiple cysts in my right ovary. they weren't able to see my left ovary, which was unfortunate bc that's where all my pain was

(so. a small victory in learning that i absolutely do have pcos, and soon i can seek treatment for that)

but back to yesterday. we need to see my sneaky left ovary so i go to get a CT scan. they put an imagining medium or whatever in my IV and it was so weird and warm. the radiologist warned me it would feel like i was actively peeing myself and damned if she wasn't right

the ct scan showed that the reason the ultrasound couldn't see my left ovary is that it was obscured by an absolutely gargantuan cyst. this thing is so fucking big. it reaches from my fascia at the front of my abdomen back to my spine. it's big enough that it starts from my left ovary and it's touching the right one. the average ovarian cyst is 4-5 cm and this thing is 22.

so there's an evil alien in me that's pulling and possibly twisting on my ovary. and i have surgery on thursday to take it out

i'm frustrated bc the scope of the treatment has changed since i started writing this post this morning lmao. it was meant to be an outpatient laparoscopic procedure, and now it's changed to opening me up the old-fashioned way and having me stay in the hospital for 2-3 days, and being off work for a month

i know in a year, ten years, the inconvenience won't matter to me anymore. but it's a lot to take in

[eunchancorner]

Revenged and Rescued (Part 4)

I did say I was probably gonna keep going today. I'm on a roll that NO ONE can stop

-

“This is where you’ll be sleeping,” Charles announced as he showed Henry to a medium green tent. Inside were two cots; the one on the right was surrounded by crates, the one on the left stood alone.

“I, as your rescuer, have been given the opportunity to keep an eye on you at night. So, of course, I’ve already called dibs on the cot to the right. Also, if I wake up in, like, the middle of the night, don’t worry about it. I’ve been having these weird dreams lately and they keep waking me up at night. Don’t worry, I’ve already gone to medical about it, they say it’s just something to do with my innermost fears and should go away once my brain realizes it’s not gonna fucking happen,” the pilot began to ramble as Henry approached his cot. Other than the pillow and thin blanket, his side of the tent was completely empty. No possessions to speak of nor clothes to change into.

“... and of course, Eel has already somewhat schooled me on helping keep up with your maintenance, since the rest of the tech squad’s usually busy and medical has to focus on our wounded- by the way, you don’t mind that I’m gonna have to help with that stuff, right? It’s gonna get kinda personal, since it’s your whole spine, and your chest and entire left arm and all,” Charles cut into Henry’s thoughts with the question, and he looked over at him.

“Oh? Uh, yeah, sure, I guess. I’ll have to get used to it, but it shouldn’t be a big deal,” he assured the pilot as he sat down.

“Good, good… Oh, by the way, we sent some of our guys down to your place. I hope you don’t mind, it was just to grab some clothes. And if there’s anything important there, I could ask them to run back out there. It won’t be too much trouble, since most of our pilots are just kinda hanging out right now. They also grabbed your bag from that barge in the North Sea, since it seemed really important to you.”

“My bag?! Oh my God, I completely forgot about it after… Oh, you guys are lifesavers!” Henry covered his face as he sighed in sudden relief. 

“Yeah, here, it should be in this crate,” Charles pushed a crate over, the words ‘H. Stickmin Possessions’ stamped onto it in bold letters. With a grunt, Henry pried the lid open, and sure enough, there was a black fanny pack laid carefully on top of a few stacks of clothes. He picked it up and slung it over his shoulder, slipping the bag portion effortlessly onto his back, sighing in relief.

“I’m complete now, I can die happy now that this thing is safe,” he sighed, plopping backwards onto the cot, earning a quiet laugh from Charles.

“Don’t you die on me again, we just got you back!” he giggled, grabbing Henry’s arm and pulling him back into a seated position. He sat next to him, holding up with one arm so he didn't try to fall back again. “You're stuck with me now, Henry!”

“Well, well, look at that.”

The two looked up to see General Galeforce standing in the tent entrance, watching the two with a small smile.

“Hey, General!” Charles greeted, his smile still bright as he pat Henry on the back. “Look who decided he did wanna be my friend!”

“I see. I have to admit, I'm very glad he did. How've you been holding up, Henry?”

“It was a rough start, but it's been getting easier. Charles is actually pretty great company, too, so that's been helping me feel better,” Henry admitted to the veteran.

“I've been telling him all about his upgrades, life on the base, he even got to meet my squad!” Charles told his superior excitedly.

“I see. You've always been a talker, Charlie… well, Henry, I've got someone else who wants to talk to ya.”

[yermes]

PAC: 💌

Check in on your friend ❤️ 

Did you check in on your friend today? Heres why you should.

Disclaimer: please take what I say with a grain of salt and not as the gospel. I just want to share some ideas of practicing and giving advice using the medium as often as I can with school, work, and my own personal studies and practice. But I am working on sharing my notes soon so that will be exciting! Liking and sharing does a lot 🥰

Socials: TipJar | Insta

Pick a meme

The cards

Pile 1

Key + Coffin ⚰️ 🔑 

They’re going through a big traumatic change right now and having some small talk may help them work out a few kinks right now. Even if you are not addressing the big bad directly the support could help them see that theres more to life and that they can approach something from a different angle. Be someones light.

Pile 2

Stork + Rider 🏇 🦢 

You and your friend are informational and creative power houses. First off you both love to share news with each other and I am willing to bet they have new for you now. But also birthing new ideas with each other is how your friendship lives and breathes.

Pile 3

Birds + Anchor 🦅 🛶 

I think they’re having issues with a person in their lives. They have a hard time communicating and this person speaks ill of your friend. You represent stability and a conversation where they will not be relentlessly attacked.

Extras: 🦢

Story/vent:

If you want to check on me I have fuck ass mold and I am trying to clean my room pre working.

[withlovewendy]

Roller Coaster

It seems like, in a blink of an eye it's already September, where did the time go? I swear it was just April or May and the year has just barely begun. What happened? 2023 was supposed to be a good year, I mean it is, I have a new home, a newly renovated home to look forward to and yet it is the one thing that has plagued me entire year with so much doubts and worries, the endless stress that keeps on coming that didn't need to be in the first place. I started the year as always, optimistically telling myself that it's going to be a good year ahead, let's make the most of it and yes it did started that way. After patiently waiting, we finally began renovation on the house after what seemed like forever and once it started, tiny little setbacks started streaming in, like the miscommunication between the contractor and myself on the arch windows that I wanted, I wanted big fat windows, he gave me small medium sized stumpy ones. I wanted a magnetic track light, he couldn't deliver and I had to change the idea to another way but eventually all the renovation got sorted out until, a very nosy person (I'm not even going to call him my neighbour) who lives on the same street as my house decided to make it his life mission to see my extended balcony go down.

I mean, who has this much time to meddle with this kind of issues? He stays like 7 houses away, and not even the same row as me yet he had the nerve to go file a complaint in order to get my balcony taken down? Thankfully, I was able to mediate that swiftly and got a permit to stick it in his face on my door and this asshole of a weasel went at it again and filed a complaint regarding my balcony again, this time it was due to the height. Honestly, the reason I wanted a higher balcony than the standardized requirement is solely because of people like him. People who are too petty, who loves to meddle with other's affairs, having this balcony acts as a shield against all these people who couldn't keep their business to themselves. I mean, I'm not looking to make friends in my new neigbourhood. I have yet to move in and already I can see how obnoxious most of the people are, complaining about the tiniest things, doing the most selfish acts, ignorant about the whole idea of community living, feeling all high and mighty just because they are staying in a million ringgit home. The sole reason I got this house is because, it feels like a space that we can call home, a space that all of us can share and yet have our own personal space, and customizing it to make ourselves feel secure. I love the house, I poured my heart and soul into it, I cannot wait to furnish it and move in eventually, but the idea of having people who are so ill intended to make our lives miserable is so unsettling, like why can't they just leave us alone? What did my balcony do to you? Isn't it better that you can't see us in our home now? Why do you have to make it into such a big hassle for everyone? Like what is your problem? Is my balcony affecting your sleep? Is it affecting your sunlight? Is it affecting your peace? Like what the hell did I do to make your life so affected that you have to go all out to attack my home? I am very protective of things that are mine, and I will not go down without a fight. You attacked me first thinking you will get my balcony removed and look who got a permit for that? And now you have to go find some loophole and complain about my balcony height? Like what the fuck is wrong with you people? You are wasting your time, wasting our time, wasting everyone's time who is involved in this. I don't curse people very often and I never wish anyone ill but seriously, I really do hope something bad happens to you so that you will stop inflicting negativity unto others. The neighbourhood would be a better place without residents like you who are overly concerned about matters that doesn't even affect you in the most remote way.

[wonderlandswanderer-blog]

September 7th, 2023.

CW: eating disorders

It's been over 4 years since I last logged onto here, and a lot has changed. Some little stuff (like I had to take "Harry Potter enthusiast" out of my description on here), and some big stuff. Got married, we've built a farm. I've learned to grow and preserve food. My taste in music has changed, oh and yknow, a pandemic happened.

I logged back into here because I need an outlet. I don't know if I'll keep this public or what. But...in the time since I last logged on here, I've had some fitness changes. I go to the gym every week, at least once...though usually 2x and I'm aiming for 3x. I started doing a couple races, like 5Ks or Obstacle Course Racing. I have gym friends! And I'm more fit than ever in my life.

But I'm also the heaviest I've ever been. I currently weigh around 215lbs.

A bunch of it is muscle, sure. But a lot of it is fat. I've met with a nutritionist who said I'm doing everything right. I don't keep snacks in the house, I try to only eat one small portion of things. I try to incorporate veggies and fiber and fruit and protein into everything. Dinner is a big pitfall because we eat a lot of pasta or pizza for dinners, and my work keeps stocking snacks so those are definitely problems I face with losing (or even just maintaining) weight. But otherwise I eat really healthy, and it's super nutritious food from right outside my house! So with working out at least once a week, usually more, why the fuck am I at my heaviest weight?

I've tried weighing myself, not weighing myself, I've tried intermittent fasting and I'm pretty good at meal prep. It just feels like if I eat a single piece of bread or a bowl of pasta, or if I drink flavored coffees, that I blow up like a fucking balloon.

The worst part, and the reason I'm writing this, is because the eating disorder demons are positively howling. "You know you could lose all of this weight, you know what to do. Wouldn't it feel so good to be thin, to be cold again because the fat has gone, to hear your stomach rumbling and bones showing? Your jawline and cheekbones and clavicle to feel as they were? Wouldn't it be nice to perceive the concerned looks as concern that you're too thin, not judgement that you've let yourself go? People look at you as a cautionary tale, of how NOT to be and not to look. You're embarrassing and disgusting. Your wrist looked fat in that video. Your husband got trapped by an illusion of a beautiful woman who has turned into the sea witch. Your clothes don't fit you, your dresses don't fit. Mediums don't fit. You don't fit. Remember what it felt like for cold water and iced green tea to be your only allowances? How they felt to an empty stomach? Remember staring at the apple fritter at Starbucks for months thinking, 'when I reach my goal weight' but that GW kept sliding lower and lower? Remember when people would see you after that summer and they would be shocked? Oh, what a romantic and fucking powerful time"

I'm here because I think those demons are right. I don't want to resist them. I want to calorie count, to do pilates at 2am, to revel in the control. I want to be 5 days in. It's been 12 years since I let myself give in, but the thoughts have never faded. I've spent the last 12 years trying to say "no" and fuck, I'm sick of it.

I'm eating lunch while I write this, it's sautéed squash and zucchini. 90 calories.

[katapotato55]

How to write a good metaphor

yall seemed to like my post on "how to write good horror" so i figured i should make another one of these.

1- do. not. explain. the. metaphor.

don't.

"oh but how will the audience know my deep and meaningful message- "

SOME PEOPLE WONT GET IT. if you explain what you mean then suddenly the metaphor won't be deep anymore. it becomes a generic forced message.

i know you are tempted to make a character infodump about everything, fucking don't.

followup on this:

2- a good metaphor should potentially have multiple interpretations.

"but i don't want people to get the wrong impression of the story!"

then you either need to make damn sure its an elegantly written metaphor, or none at all. the death of the author is the idea that everyone has their own vision of a story they read, rearguards of authors intent. you need to come to terms with this or else you won't improve your writing skills.

you need to trust that your audience is intelligent enough to understand the metaphor on their own without bashing them over the head with it. sometimes people misunderstand meaning, it is a fact of life.

The game little inferno was thought of as a metaphor about pollution, in which later the creators went out to say it was actually about capitalism and wasting your life with things like exploitative mobile games. you just need make it SUBTLE and hope for the best.

3- The story/gameplay/etc should inform the metaphor(and sometimes reference real life examples)

To mention little inferno again, the "you must wait x amount of time for in-game item to be given to you" is a mirror of mobile games in the real world that use timers to leach money from you.

another example: analogue horror.

broken old technology is scary on its own, but many good analogue horror artists tend to use this to the advantage.

analogue horror can be used as a metaphor for dying trends and technology, like how in the 30's through 70's we used asbestos in the walls. Analogue horror makes a great parralel to this idea (see Blue_channel by gooseworx for a good example.) . the audience questions WHY this is on an old CRT tv and not just a smartphone, perhaps to imply this was an event that happened years ago.

undertale is another example, where most RPG's encourage you to fight and to level up, undertale uses this as a simple metaphor about obsessive control and being cruel to get an arbitrary achievement (i recommend the escapist's video on "why i didn't review undertale" on youtube for way better examples)

tldr: a metaphor is stronger if you lightly reference real life occurances and implement your metaphor in the medium presented.

4- the curtains are blue because they are blue.

not everyone is going to understand your metaphor

and not everyone is going to notice every single little metaphor you add to your story.

remember those teachers that would constantly stretch to imply something in a story is a metaphor and that the curtains are blue because of some deep metaphor for death and sadness and shit?

those teachers are full of it. ignore them.

metaphors are allowed to be simple. not every metaphor needs to be a hyper deep depth defying world changing thing. I could even argue a bunch of small metaphors connected to each other can be better than one big metaphor depending on your story.

relax. don't think too much about it because your average audience member won't.

5- study movies, tv, books, games, etc and understand why their metaphors work.

don't fall into that "the curtains are blue because of a deep message" English teacher mindset mind you.

"but how do i tell what is and isn't a metaphor?" you may ask

simple. trust your gut. you won't understand everything you come across but the human brain has a way of telling what is and isn't a metaphor in stories.

(spoiler about bugsnax)

I could argue Bugsnax is a metaphor about drug abuse and addiction. The characters have personality traits commonly associated with people vulnerable to drug addiction. An athlete, a hippy, a married couple going through a rough spot in their marriage with the threat of divorce, a mentally ill person with trauma and paranoia, etc.

It isn't obvious, many people may disagree with me, but you can't deny that there are signs i may be right.

(end of spoiler) the point i am trying to make: don't stretch to find a metaphor when you don't see one. if you are curious google other people's theories and make your own opinion. metaphors are hard and you will learn over time. and finally 6- do not ever do "it was all just a dream" or "the character is secretly in a coma" etc this applies to writing in general but it is still related to metaphors. the only time i have seen this done well is driver san francisco, but what it did right was A- make it so the players can guess ahead of time the mystery, such as the radio saying voices of your character in the hospital, or if you zoomed out you could hear a heart monitor. and B- it didn't completely un-do the entire story. that is my core issue with this trope. it either wastes your time un-doing the entire story readers worked hard to finish, or it is just nonsensical and terrible. "dora the explorer is actually in purgatory!" "spongebob is a metaphor for the 7 deadly sins!" "ash is in a coma and that is why he never ages! " ooooor it is a cartoon and you are forcing meaning that doesn't exist in something that doesn't even imply it. the world being a bit weird is not enough to be a metaphor for anything. If you want to make a good metaphor: do more effort than just slapping a lazy "it was all a coma" thing at the end. Like horror, stuff like this needs to be built up properly. also consider authors intent. I understand death of the author and all of that, but do you really think a retired marine biologist made spongebob to be a complex metaphor about sinners in hell ? (rip Stephen Hillenburg btw. we didn't deserve him.) thank you for reading, hope this helps. and please, learn to understand the tropes of metaphors before you attempt to make the story of a generation. edit- adding a couple more things i forgot 7- "the darkness is going to destroy the land or whatever!" i see this used all the time. spooky wookey dark shadowy bits going to destroy a land and is the hero's generic bad thing to fight. stop it. it is not a deep and complex metaphor about depression or whatever the hell you are on about. its lazy and stupid. 8- a story should stand up on its own regardless if audience members understand the metaphor or not I don't like Gris. it is a very pretty game with lovely visuals But also the entire story is just the main character moping about artistically and shit and go on about how artistically sad and dramatic this all is. if i don't understand the story without understanding the metaphor, then your story and your metaphor sucks. an example of a metaphor done well: spiritfairer without the metaphor, it is a simple game about running a traveling boat. even if you didn't care too much about the deeper meaning it is a cute story and the gameplay is fun (spoiler) if you look deeper, it can also be taken as a metaphor about greif and learning to accept your loved ones will one day die. things like the boat being filled with empty houses you can't remove is a good example of this. (end of spoiler) your story needs to stand up on its own to be good. don't use a metaphor as a crutch.

[houseofperfecttaste]

Mine Forever 

Warnings: Knife play, blood

"Rafe." I pouted closing my book and turning my body to look at him and he put his phone down smiling as he turned to look at me. "Yes princess?" He scooted over to me pulling me into his arms assuming I wanted his attention. "I have a sex kink question for you." "What is it baby?" He had a big smile on his face excited to hear what I was going to ask. "Next time we have sex can you carve your initials into me?" He let out a small moan and all of a sudden I was moved onto my back and he had a taunting smile as he looked over my body already trying to decide where he was going to do it. "Gonna mark you as mine for fucking ever." He got up leaving our bedroom and moments later he came back with a medium size kitchen knife.

"Where does my girl want my initials?" He climbed on top of me cutting my shirt off my body his eyes darkening at the sight of my tits spilling out of my bra. "Want it on your huge gorgeous tits?" He moved the knife against my cleavage and down to the valley of my chest. "Or do you want it on your hip?" He moved it against my hip before gliding it down to my thigh. "How about your thick thighs?" He accidentally cut me and he licked the blood off of me licking his way up to my neck. "Anywhere you want daddy." I whimpered as his cock moved against my pussy.

"I think I'm going to do it on these tits since you'll be wearing little bikinis that cover nothing all week." Rafe, Kelce, Topper, Sarah and I are staying at the Camerons beach house for the week. "Thought you knew how to fight baby." I taunted him and he chuckled putting the knife to my throat but being extremely careful not to hurt me. "Oh trust me baby I'll fucking kill any guy who looks at you or talks to you." "God I love you Rafe." I moaned as his other hand slid down to my clit pinching it. "I love you too sweetheart." He moved his head down to my breast and flicked his tongue over my nipple before taking it in his mouth sucking on it like his life depended on it.

He smirked around it before pulling away circling around my nipple with the tip of the knife. "Ready baby?" He asked placing the knife against the cleavage of my tits and I nodded frantically and he had a crazy look in his eyes as he started carving his initials into me. "Gonna look so good baby. So hot." He licked the blood that drip from the cuts and leaned back to admire his work. "Mine forever."

*You all are at a beach bar*

"I'm gonna go grab another drink." I kissed Rafes cheek heading to the bar. I was wearing a baby blue string bikini that left little to the imagination and Rafes initials that he carved into me were still very prominent. After I told the bartender my drink order I looked behind me to see Rafe taking pictures of my ass and I giggled waving at him before turning back around. The bartender came back with my drink. "Here's your drink gorgeous." He winked licking his lips. "Thanks." I gave him a small smile and handed him the money waiting for my change ignoring the way he was hitting on me.

When he came back with my change his eyes scanned my body and he stopped talking when seeing R.C. carved onto my collarbone and he looked behind me slightly seeing Rafe walking towards us. Rafe wrapped his arm around my waist pulling me into his side and hooking his finger around my bikini bottoms. "Is there a problem here?" He asked looking at the bartender. "N-no sir there's no problem." Everyone on the kook side knew who the Cameron family was and knew not to fuck with Rafe or his girl.

"I love how everyone now knows you're fucking mine." Rafe whispered against my lips as he leaned in for a kiss and wrapped his arms around my waist sliding them down to grab and slap my ass. "Mine forever."

[luveline]

hey! this is my first time requesting and i’m a little nervous so i’m choosing to do anon!

i was wondering if we could get boyfriend eddie sweeting talking/comforting his reader gf that has alopecia? i personally have it and i haven’t seen it anywhere. :)

hi!!!! i love u ty for ur request i went with the r having a small/medium sized patch of hair missing that can be pulled into a ponytail, i hope that's okay! ♡ fem!reader

It's small enough to hide but big enough to be obvious that you're hiding something. Eddie swears to you that you can't see it now you've tugged it up into a ponytail, but Eddie's a huge liar. He'd spare your feelings before ever admitting he can see it.

"Are you lying?" you ask. He definitely is.

"Seriously, baby. You can't tell... and even if you could-"

"Eddie!" You scramble to the mirror and turn, trying your best to spot the bare patch by yourself.

"I'm just saying! I'm just saying, you don't have to worry. You don't have to hide it."

"Of course I do. It's not exactly the fashion."

"Since when do we care about fashion?"

"I'm not walking around with my scalp showing."

Eddie follows you to the mirror. He holds your shoulder firmly in one hand and brings the other to your head to smooth down your hair. He's careful as he encourages a band of hair over to the side, his fingertips unbearably kind. He tightens up your hair tie and takes your small can of hairspray into his hands, shaking it.

"You can't see it," he says as he sprays your hair flat. "I promise. Please don't worry about it, angel."

You bite your tongue, furious with yourself as a freak wave of tears wells in your eyes. "I can't not worry about it, Eddie."

"Let me worry about it."

"You- you'll tell me if it looks obvious?"

He puts down the hairspray and turns you by your shoulders. His eyes match his expression, fondness furthered by the puppy dog's he's giving you. "I swear on my life." His smile turns wry. He chucks your chin. "You're fucking beautiful, you know that?"

"I'd be much prettier if I weren't balding," you say hotly.

Eddie loathes your self disgust. His smile drops into a frown, his hands rigid over your shoulders. Slowly, slowly, they relax. His fingers trail down the lengths of your arms until he's found and stolen your hands.

"You couldn't get any prettier. Physically impossible. Unfeasible. Nothing will change that, ever."

You look down at his hands, ring-clad, callus-wrought. The juxtaposition of them isn't lost on you. He's the softest touch you've ever met.

"Are you sure?" you ask weakly.

"Yes." His response is immediate. He shakes your hands until your lift your gaze to his angled head, forehead inclined seriously. "I'm sure. Positive, sweet thing. You're aces."

You relax.

"We don't have to go, you know. We could stay here, spark up, let me show you how much I mean it?" He wiggles his eyebrows at you suggestively.

You slap his chest. "Shut up." You take a deep breath. "Better take me before I lose my nerve."

He chuckles and pulls you out of the bathroom by the hand.

[muscular-fantasies]

hi, i hope you can help me! i'm a pretty mediocre white guy, 27 yo and 6'0'' that spent a lot of his time studying, but i want to change my life a bit. You know, i find lycra, speedos and tight sport gear extremely sexy, but with my body there is nothing to show off and don't feel comfortable wearing that. Could you change my body so i would not feel embarassed wearing those clothes?

The problem isn't the clothes, it's in the material i's made of.

When a mysterious package arrived, you were surprised to see a bottle of deodorant in it. On the label you read: clothes make the man and man can make the clothes. Reading the information on it you thought it was some silly joke, but when you tried to throw it away you walked past your mirror. Looking at your reflection, you got a bit sad. There was it, almost thirty but still not even close to looking like the man you wanted to be. Your glasses hiding most of your rounder face, sloppy clothes hanging over you, even though they were only medium sized. You looked back at the canister and in desperation decide to go for it.

You went to your car and started to drive to the mall, here would be enough guys that could get you what you needed. Walking around for some time, you arrived at a Abercrombie & fitch store, where you looked around for some time, knowing nothing in this store would look good on you. After sometime, when you were about to give up one of the clerics came over.

"Hello sir." The stunning young lad said. "You looking for anything special?"

You look him up and down, almost getting hard from the sight. He had what you wanted the perfect body, handsome, great muscles and they all showed through his work clothes.

"Euh.. yes, could you help me get this shirt in a small?" you asked.

"Sure I'll go look in the back, do you wanna try it out?"

"Yes.. pls" You said containing your lust.

"I'll bring them to the fitting rooms." He said walking away.

You almost ran towards a stall and waited for him to arrive. Once you heard him you yanked him into the stall and quickly before he could say anything you started to spray him with the deodorant.

He stopped moving as his limbs retracted into his body, his skin coloring white.. in a few seconds he had completely changed into an ordinary white shirt. You grabbed it and headed out, back home.

You couldn't believe it, was it actually gonna work.. As soon as you got home you threw got naked and fitted on the new shirt. As your head moved through the collar you felt different. Your mind flooded with new memories of his life.

"Damn this dude had to go for his looks, cause he is so dumb!" You laugh.

Going to the mirror you grinned, as his reflection grinned back at you. It had worked better than anticipated, you had gained his body. Lifting the shirt you flexed your sixpack, but after you removed the shirt completely you instantly transform back.

You felt so bad as your body diminished and putted it back on, looking back at your amazing physique. You walked past your pool, wishing you could just dive in and do one those sexy walking out of the pool struts you loved to see. But the canister had told you not to get the shirt wet or his aura would disappear from it and it would be a normal shirt.

Annoyed that you could only look like this while wearing it, you kicked a chair standing next to you. The moment you hit it you felt your foot sliding and fell into the water. Your shirt started to give off a coloring tint that attached itself to you. Your memories of your original getting really blurry as you dumbed down, to the jocklife you were gonna have now.

"Fuck dude.. Why is my head so.. empty?" You knew you had transferred his being and mindset to yourself. "Fuuuckk.. Guess I'll have to change some big smart dude.."

At least if you would ever have found that canister again. So you better get used to being a dumb jock from now on. At least you can get what you want with that sexy smoldering look.

[hourcat]

prompt bc i can’t get this out of my mind: charles and pierre are married in fact and have been married for a while bc they realized early on theyre in love (ignoring wags or making them beards idk)! the other drivers get sick of their “pining” and start trying to set them up and these two babes are so oblivious they keep talking about their husband normally as though the drivers know! and they’re like oh great ofc i’ll go on a date w my husband, but why are you leaving?? come join us :(

OMG! anon it took a minute for me to properly put this one together but honestly, it was soooo fun and it definitely could've become a whoooole fic if i didn't use some self control w/this. thank you for sending!!! i hope you enjoy my take on your great idea <3

(word count: 3,276) FEATURING: Danny Ric & Carlos!

The ceremony is small.

Eventually, of course, it will be big—they’d both agreed to it, quietly, curled together with the sheets pulled over their heads during the last race weekend of the season. I want to spend my life with you, Pierre had whispered, and Charles had laughed softly and kissed his palm, said I want to spend the rest of my life with you, too, and kissed him for good measure—and that had been it.

So in the dead of night, in a vineyard in Italy, Pierre and Charles quietly exchange rings under the bright light of a full moon and a backdrop of glittery stars. They’re not real engagement rings, of course—they’re still keeping things under wraps from the rest of the world, so they exchange their own thick-band pinky rings instead and promise that, when they can do this the right way, in front of everybody, they’ll be real. (It feels like being kids again, almost—buying matching Ring Pops to prove their loyalty and faithfulness, that they’d always be on each other’s team through it all. Pierre says this, later, in Charles’ bed, and Charles laughs so hard he cries. Then he cries about how long he’s loved Pierre, how long he’s wanted this. Pierre just kisses the tears off his cheeks and echoes his sentiments.)

The only attendees, this time around, are the closest of family. Pierre’s parents are there, of course, as is Charles’ mother; the collection of siblings and cousins and relatives will be invited to the bigger wedding, the one where there’s no worry about being caught in the act anymore. A local priest, fluent only in Italian, marries them with soft-spoken words and a gentle touch. When Charles loops his arms over Pierre’s shoulders and kisses him after hearing “Puoi baciarlo ora, giovanotto,” the world shifts. Changes. Becomes a little bit brighter, now.

Sei mia per sempre.

Nobody on the grid knows, however. They’re not worried about their friends being judgmental or anything—frankly, some days it feels like everybody knows—but since they’re still so young, still so early in their professional careers, they both agreed that the distractions that would come with being public would be too hard to juggle with everything else. It makes bad days feel a little worse, and good days a little bit dimmer, but it’s only on track; they share hotel rooms and live at each other’s apartments full time, perfectly settled in one another’s pocket.

A happy medium—at least until someone retires first.

-

The two things that annoy Daniel most race weekends, bar none, are Lando’s annoying fucking face when he sees Daniel talking with Max, and the absolutely insufferable sight of Pierre Gasly and Charles Leclerc eye-fucking during the Driver’s Parade without the decency to do anything about it.

He’s perfectly fine with telling Lando to fuck off, considering Lando will just flip him the bird anyway, context be damned—but Pierre and Charles? He doesn’t know them quite as well. There’s no good way to say “Hey, you two should fuck and get it over with,” to a couple of guys who are kind of your coworkers, kind of your friends, and kind of your rivals all in one. Hallmark doesn’t make those kinds of cards. And besides, it’s technically none of his business?

Although, it happens every. Goddamn. Parade. So maybe it’s kind of starting to become Daniel’s business after all.

It’s gotten to the point, actually, that he’s started complaining about it at home. “Babe,” Daniel grumbles, folding his arms and dropping his head to the counter. “It feels like—you walk up to them, and it’s like you just interrupted some Disney moment. Like, I can hear the music and I feel like a cunt trying to talk to ‘em.”

Heidi laughs at him, setting her glass of water down in favor of resting her now-cool hand on his shoulder. “Maybe they’re just really good friends, Dan.” Absolutely-fucking-not. He groans, loudly. His girlfriend just laughs again. “Or maybe, since they are clearly inconveniencing your life, you should try and set them up.”

Daniel peeks his head up from the countertop. “Like on a blind date?” Heidi nods. “With each other.”

“If you’re sooooo convinced they’re in love, Danny, then yeah.” She waves her hand casually, gesturing towards the idea she’s trying to force into his head. “And if they’re actually into each other, you can call yourself matchmaker.” She raises an eyebrow. “And you know how you love love.”

Daniel sits up a little more. “I do love love,” he muses. Heidi laughs at him, hooking an arm around his shoulders properly. She drops a kiss to his cheek. He hums affectionately. “You know what, yeah, that’s a great idea, baby. I’ll play matchmaker!”

“Just try to be subtle, though. If you drop in like a brick, they’re gonna run screaming.”

Daniel barks a laugh, swiveling in his seat to pull Heidi into his arms fully. She giggles. “That’s a weird fuckin’ metaphor,” he laughs, and she just rolls her eyes. “But I get your point.”

So Matchmaker it is. Daniel figures he’ll work on Pierre first, considering they’re kind of closer than he is with Charles. It’s hard to gauge, to be honest—Charles is always nice and polite with him, laughs at all his jokes, and Pierre always has his mind in the gutter like Daniel, but are those really foundations of friendship?

He probably shouldn’t be thinking about this right as he’s walking up to Pierre out on the track during walkthroughs, but, oh well.

“Pierrrrrrrrre Gaslyyyyyyy!” He half-shouts, half-laughs. Pierre turns immediately, grinning like a maniac. He reverses on his track walk, the rest of his team content to continue walking even though Pierre’s not with them. Daniel kind of raises an eyebrow at it. Who’s in charge of this team again?

“Daniel,” Pierre exclaims, grabbing his hand in a half-thought-out bro-hug. Daniel follows his lead, claps him firmly on the back once before they release each other. “You ready for this weekend, man?”

Daniel shrugs. “Ready as I’ll ever be,” he responds. The truth, technically—but also, literally, this is not what he’s talking to Pierre for. How do the pros start this? “Uh—hey, are you doing anything later tonight?”

Pierre raises an eyebrow at him. “Are you like this with all of the girls,” he deadpans, then laughs brightly, slapping Daniel on the shoulder. “Wow, Danny Ric, I knew you were in love with me, but I never thought you would say it.”

Daniel rolls his eyes and snorts. “You got me,” he replies flatly. And then: “No, no, I’m serious—I was, uh.” Here we go, just fucking do it, it’s for their own good. “I was talking to Charles, before, and he mentioned—he mentioned this club, um, right down the street from where our hotels are?” Pierre’s eyebrow is still raised. “He said he was thinking about—going.”

“Uh huh.” The Frenchman’s face is unreadable, eyes looking particularly sharp. Daniel really, really, really hopes he didn’t just make whatever is happening between them worse.

“Yeah, and he mentioned—I think he said he was going to, um, invite some of the guys.” Some of the guys? What the fuck, Daniel.

“He did.” God, Daniel wishes he could read minds. Pierre is so impossible to understand—always looks like he’s posturing or some shit. Too pretty for his own good, probably. Jesus, did he really just think that? Daniel just wants to shake the kid and shout CHARLES IS IN LOVE WITH YOU, DO SOMETHING ABOUT IT! and make all of the touchy-feely awkward Driver’s Parades go away.

He can’t, of course—that doesn’t seem very Matchmaker-y of him—but still. A man can dream.

“Yeah,” Daniel confirms his lie. He glances down and sees Pierre absentmindedly fiddling with the ring on his pinky. “And I—you’re a party guy! So. I figured, I mean, if you’re not doing anything, you should—go with him?”

At that, Pierre laughs. “You don’t sound too sure about that, Daniel,” he says, expression still unchanged, god dammit. “Are you coming too?”

“No!” Oh, that came out way too fast. “No, I mean—I, my girlfriend is here so I figure I owe her a nice dinner, so—” he shrugs, shoves his hands in his pockets even though it is about a thousand degrees on the track and Daniel really just wants to get back to the air-conditioned garage. “You should text Charles though!” Okay, okay, almost fucking done and then—“I’m sure he’d like to hear from you.”

For a moment, Pierre’s expression cracks. Daniel gets a glimpse of something real in there—affection? Infatuation? It’s hard to read, and the crack closes up so quick, but Daniel saw it. He saw it. He’s been right this whole fucking time and now Pierre is, ideally, going to take his advice. Text Charles about going to the club. And maybe, maybe, end this god damn will-they-won’t-they thing that’s been happening for years.

“The club down the road from our hotel, you said?” Pierre asks, sounding a little wary. Daniel nods, although he knows almost immediately that he’s overselling. “Hm. Okay. I will remember that.” He slaps Daniel’s shoulder again, firm like he somehow always is, then grins. “I gotta catch up with my team now, but—I will see you around!” He winks at Daniel and then jogs off towards the collection of AlphaTauri people who were, Jesus fucking Christ, just walking aimlessly without him? There has to be some kind of child protective services for drivers stuck in shitty teams.

Maybe he’ll look into that one for himself.

-

Carlos takes one look at his teammate and, immediately, knows exactly what he’s thinking. “Charles,” he says flatly, and Charles blinks up from where he’d been staring off into space.

Or, more accurately, who he’d been staring off into space at. “What?” He looks a little sheepish, which, really just proves that he’d been doing exactly what Carlos thought he was doing. “Sorry, I was—”

“Distracted,” Carlos finishes, raising a knowing brow at him. A little flush of color surfaces on his cheeks. “I can tell, mijo.” He shakes his head a little, snorts out a laugh. “I was going to ask you if Mattia has talked to you about strategy for the next race, yet, but I get the feeling I already know the answer.”

Charles grimaces. “He has not, no. I haven’t seen him all afternoon. Do you think he is avoiding me?”

“Definitely,” Carlos deadpans. Charles laughs loud, returning to his usual self a little more. “What has you so distracted, though?” They’re friends—at least enough that Carlos knows he can probably get Charles to open up if he really needs to get something off his chest. He’s going to offer his teammate the opportunity to say something about whatever the hell is going on with Pierre before he goes right into it.

Charles shrugs. “I was just thinking,” he says, but his face is still a little pink.

“You are a terrible liar, man.” Charles looks at him, confused. “You are not subtle, either.”

“What are you talking about,” his teammate says, but he says the words slowly, like he doesn’t understand Carlos despite the fact that English is just about the only language they can effectively communicate in.

“I know about Pierre.”

That does something. A flash of panic crosses Charles’ face, genuine: Carlos, for a beat, regrets saying something. He’s never really seen Charles in any other state than carefree and relaxed, and this looks very much like the opposite of that. Oops. “You do?” His voice is small, quiet.

We could have done this better, Carlos tells himself. “I know you like him, Charles. It is pretty clear on your face every time I see you guys together.”

The panicked expression fades pretty quickly, to Carlos’ relief. He’s not going to break his teammate right before a very important stretch of races for the team. He could not live with that. Mattia would strangle him, which he’s a little bit convinced he’s going to do anyway.

“Oh,” Charles says, still quiet. Charles watches as he twists the ring on his pinky finger.

Carlos hasn’t ever really done this before, but like—this is his teammate, right? He’s supposed to, on some level, be a wingman. “You shouldn’t worry,” he tries, and then cringes a little at how it sounds coming out of his mouth. “I mean—you’ve known him your whole life, yeah?”

Charles’ face gets visibly soft. The pink in his cheeks has darkened a little. “My whole life, yes,” he repeats back, nodding a little. “Since we were kids, you know.”

Carlos laughs a little, nudges at his friend’s shoulder. “Yes, I do know,” he responds. “Well, if you have known each other that long—it would be easy, to take the next step, I imagine, yes?”

Charles blinks at him. “Next step?”

“You know.” He really doesn’t want to be the one who says you should kiss Pierre and get it over with, considering there are a whole bunch of details that Carlos actually doesn’t know. “You know, like—like talking to him?”

Charles rolls his eyes. “It’s not like we are in high school, Carlos,” he answers, crossing his arms. “I talk to Pierre all the time.”

“Okay, you are clearly not trying to listen to me,” Carlos says. Charles just offers up a poorly formed wink. “I mean—talk to him about how you feel! It is only going to hurt you if you don’t—I don’t know, get it out!” He throws his arms up in the air, frustrated at the fact that Charles isn’t going along with this clearly great advice he is being given for free.

Charles, who is just looking at him with both eyebrows raised. “Since when did you care about my relationships?” It doesn’t come out harsh—nothing ever does, with Charles—just curious, eyes glittering with curiosity.

He is annoyingly sweet. “I—” with a grunt, Carlos runs a hand through his hair, trying to find the words. “I see you look at him all the time, man. All the time. You are always so—” he mimics the expression, doe-eyed and spaced out the way Charles always seems to be whenever Pierre is in the vicinity. “About him. You are very not subtle.”

The color darkens in Charles’ cheeks. “You’re exaggerating,” he says, but the tone of his voice makes Carlos think he knows exactly what’s being said. “I—you don’t need to worry about my relationship with Pierre, Carlos.” He exhales, a soft forceful huff. “Thank you, but—it is fine. We are fine.”

“Clearly you are not,” Carlos insists. “Look at you. He is literally just walking back and forth from his garage not even doing anything and you are here, looking at him like he is—I don’t even know. Lunch?” He cringes as he says it, and Charles yelps a little laugh. “No, I mean, you know.” Does he even know what he’s talking about?

Charles must think the same. His eyebrows are knit together as he looks Carlos in the face. “I do not know,” he says.

Carlos groans. “If you don’t talk to him, I am going to, and I will embarrass you so hard you are going to want to transfer teams.” Is Carlos actually going to talk to Pierre? Absolutely not. He’s not going to insert himself where he shouldn’t, especially when it’s something as personal as this, but—but Charles doesn’t know that.

And maybe, if he thinks Carlos would talk to Pierre about him, it’ll make him actually do something.

“Oh my god,” Charles mutters, covering his face with his hands. “Please—Carlos, I am begging you, do not talk to Pierre.”

“I won’t,” Carlos answers, leaning back against the counter. “If you talk to him instead.”

Charles moans something pitiful behind his hands. “You suck so much,” he grumbles, and Carlos just laughs.

“Take my fucking advice, Charles. Don’t be an idiot.”

Satisfied with his attempts at resolving his teammate’s disaster of a love life, Carlos starts to walk back to his own driver’s room.

“It takes one to know one, you know,” Charles calls to him as he goes, muffled. Carlos doesn’t have to turn around to flip him off properly; he hears his friend laughing the whole way back.

-

“The weirdest thing keeps happening to me,” Charles mumbles, peeling away his sweatpants and climbing into the hotel bed.

From beside him, Pierre hums, glancing up from his phone. “What’s wrong, calamar?” He stretches his arm out and Charles tucks right into his side, sighing as Pierre aimlessly trails his fingers up his arm.

“I—” he makes a face. Pierre looks down a little, presses a half-formed kiss to his forehead. “I think Carlos was trying to give me dating advice.”

Pierre laughs. “You’re seeing someone else behind my back, cher?” he chuckles, and Charles thwacks him in the chest gently, tapping his fingers against his husband’s crucifix.

“Shut up. You’re lucky I’m not.”

Pierre hums softly. “I am.”

“No, but—” he shifts in his position, scoots up a little more so he’s almost eye level with Pierre again. “He was—he thought I had a crush on you.”

Pierre raises an eyebrow. “I mean—you do, don’t you? We are married, after all?”

Charles rolls his eyes. “You’re just being dense on purpose,” he grumbles, but smirks a little at the way Pierre pretends he doesn’t know what he’s doing.

“Maybe,” he purrs, but pulls Charles closer nonetheless. “No, but—that actually happened to me too earlier.” He grimaces. “Daniel said you told him you wanted to go clubbing at some place down the road from our hotel?”

Charles snorts. “I didn’t even talk to him today, and—me? Clubbing?” He feels the rumble of laughter in Pierre’s chest. “Carlos said that I am too obvious in the way that I look at you when we’re doing pre-race stuff.”

Pierre presses a kiss to the side of his head, then tucks a finger under his chin to lift his gaze. “You look at me during pre-race?”

“Shut up,” Charles mutters, unable to swallow down his endeared, only-mildly-irritated smile. “I look at you too much, maybe I should go clubbing.”

Pierre hums, cocks his head to the side a little. “It is right down the street, after all,” he murmurs, ducking closer. “Maybe you can use that advice Carlos gave you, pick up a man.” Charles mewls a little, closing the distance between them—he presses a chaste kiss to Pierre’s bottom lip, scooting closer so he can properly wrap his husband up in a real kiss, one he’s been saving for most of the afternoon.

“Maybe I will,” he mumbles breathily as they part, and Pierre tsks at him, shaking his head.

“Is there anything I can do to make you stay,” he whispers, shifting his attention to the left to begin gnawing at Charles’ jaw. The scrape of his teeth is both gentle and sharp, intoxicating immediately. Charles is glad he and Pierre have this steadfast rule—doing this between practice sessions would be far too dangerous, and he’s never been able to deny Pierre anything when it comes to this.

He sinks his teeth in a little more and Charles moans. “Pierre—”

“Tell me what time you’re leaving,” he whispers, breath hot against Charles’ already-heated skin. “Maybe I will meet you there.”

[rynnaaurelius]

Hi! I went scrolling though your tumblr and stumbled upon one of your previous asks where you mentioned a carter-and-sadie-get-thrown-back-in-time au. I’d love to hear more of that!

Oh hell yeah let's do this. Mind, this AU is The Absolute Most at all times.

-Okay, so, first off, extremely obvious place for this to happen is at the end of The Serpent's Shadow, when they fail to banish Apophis for whatever reason during the final battle. This is a fun place, sure, but I think it's A, better for character development, and B, funnier, if they both bite it while in the Land of Demons with Zia and Setne. Let's say they both wind up in the Sea of Chaos, win the lottery spin of various universal outcomes, and boom. Time travel.

-This is totally how magic works. Uh-huh.

-Carter has a fucking aneurysm That's Not How The Force Works-style over this, trying to figure out what the fuck happened. It's great.

-Seriously, the PJO time travel thing is fun because Percy angsts and things go wrong and he tries to do everything Alone. The Kane Chronicles one is fun because Carter and Sadie have negative respect for authority, neither of them have any issue with throwing someone through a window to save time, and they both know about a dozen different ways to get it done.

-Oh yeah, speaking of throwing! They both wake up with massive headaches right after Julius explodes the Rosetta Stone. Carter stabs a bitch (Set) with a magic sword, then passes out because ~head trauma~.

-Also, bear in mind that these kids are fourteen and twelve and the House of Life just went to six years' worth of trouble to try and keep them as much out of the know as possible. And then they show up, kicking ass and taking godly names and knowing things that they really shouldn't, like they've been at this for years.

-Desjardins needs a drink. Or possibly six.

-Something something butterfly effect something something chaos. Anyway, things here are largely Their Past But Two Inches To The Right. Sometimes things change that are small but explainable, things that are big and inexplicable, and some are medium-sized and only resolved after an offhand comment from Zia a decade from now. The biggest thing here is Carter and Sadie struggling to manage everything.

-See, the fun thing in TKC is a lot of the big decisions? You can't just speedrun that shit! Re-opening the path of the gods is dangerous and takes time. Zia won't be in a spot where she's willing and/or able to take on Ra for years. Sadie can't just walk up to Walt and say that he should just merge with a god to fix all his problems when he's barely come to terms with Tut's curse.

-Fuck, they can't even go to the Duat and start shit with Apophis because. . .well, first off, they need to go and get the shadow, which they didn't even quite manage last time, because Setne and Land of the fucking Demons. Second off, no matter how powerful they are, starting shit with Apophis with an extra plan or two is pretty suicidal. Also! There are a lot of magicians who want to kill them! They need to be careful!

-Half of the gods are extremely freaked because Carter and Sadie's minds are Not Right and getting Horus and Isis to play ball is a chore, since they need that agreement do things like the combat avatar or casting really complicated spells, even if they have two-ish years of experience under their belts.

-This does not, to be clear, stop them from trying to speedrun The Red Pyramid, or this being their exact attitude towards their resident gods-in-the-head:

[Picture ID: GIF of a Black man pointing two fingers at his eyes, staring at someone off-screen with a serious expression, and saying, "Look at me. . .look at me. I'm the captain now." End ID]

-Since. . .well, uh, look. Carter and Sadie are incredibly hyper-competent. But they're also incredibly freaked teenagers who haven't had serious adult supervision in. . .a while. They also the ability to warp reality, and have the respective jobs of: Future king of the universe and his sister, saving the world from the snake who wants to eat the sun, and re-opening an really dangerous path of magic that the Reigning Magic Organization has said they'll kill for doing.

-Also, all their friends no longer have a fucking clue who they are. Carter already did this song and dance with Zia, too, which is. . .huh. Fascinating neuroses forming there.

-The Kane siblings are very fun here, because Sadie is Very Loudly Not Fine about very mundane changes, but not saying a peep about the things that are actually fucking her up until someone taps her on the shoulder at the wrong moment when she's gone vacant-eyed at the sight of her gran and she flinches like she got punched in the jaw, while Carter is Insistently Just Fine until Jaz says hi to him one morning and he starts sobbing.

-Bast doesn't count as supervision either, because she's a cat god. Bast wants to shake them by the scruffs of their neck until they start acting their own ages or she gets a satisfactory explanation for what's taken residence in their heads. Their magical auras are wrong.

-About the only fun part of dealing with the gods is when Sadie sucker-punches Serqet and goes What, Like It's Hard?, Legally Blonde-style, to a very confused and unnerved Zia. This move is not something she can make a pattern of, to be clear. But it feels good and she can do it now, so she does.

-I have no idea if Amos is definitely still possessed here by Set, for the angsty comedy of Carter and Sadie repeatedly knocking him out and dragging him around until they have time to Deal With That, or if it's ambiguous and possibly actually in someone else? And they have to go Holmes and Watson on the case.

(Of course, they may have different gods themselves altogether, and goddammit, I need to stop coming up with AUs)

-Like, yeah, sure, they know Set is the problem, their dad is probably fine, but they have to explain this in such a way that people don't think they're possessed! This is a very valid concern and leads to worries that they're terrorizing their younger selves by stealing their bodies or something.

(they're not. but it's a Recurring Thing that people think that they've possessed Younger Carter And Sadie)

-Anyway, they still get dragged to the First Nome, because Julius broke half a dozen rules of magician-ing, these kids are acting. . .like they've been possessed by Horus and Isis, to be honest.

-Carter tries to warn Zia about the being-possesed-by-a-god thing before Iskandar tries to save her life and inadvertently consign her to Watery Nightmare Coma Hell, to convince her to come with them, and thinking honesty may be the best policy--Zia's pretty morally upright, and more than trustworthy and willing to trust the Kanes, after all.

-This does not go as Carter planned.

-Sadie, remembering Iskandar fucking dies and not wanting to deal with the complicated and short reign of Desjardins as Chief Lector (or the whole guilt thing about him dying and just. . .complicated. Inconvenient. Just make sure it never happens!) by giving him a boost in the health department and extending his life.

-This does not go as Sadie planned.

-Oh, and neither of them know how to convince Nephthys to play ball since neither of them know Set's name, so even though they know how to defeat him, short out of an out-and-out brawl that there's no guarantee they can win, they need to get that! And Anubis is super suspicious and not into getting bullied by Isis into giving them a Feather of Truth!

-On the bright side, they decide to pull the Carter Will One Day Be Pharaoh Card and convince Sobek to be, like, marginally useful as the pharaoh's enforcer after Sadie dropkicked Serqet into next week.

-Meanwhile, Iskandar is alive, but reluctantly all They Should Probably Be Brought In And Restrained At Minimum. Zia is contemplative and ends up pursuing Carter and Sadie on her own after her powers start going sideways and Iskandar nearly does knock her out.

-So now Zia's a fugitive. Sort of. Iskandar really doesn't want to do it, but Desjardins is doing the Godlings Must Die thing, and a lot of the First Nome is on his side.

(He lightens up after the Kane siblings + Zia manage to save the world and certain things about Sadie and Iskandar's health come to life. Marginally)

-Anyway, things are chaotic, sort of working out for the better, but Carter and Sadie are about fifteen times more traumatized than they were last time.

-Also, Jaz is canonically from Nashville, so I say that when they decide to drop by Thoth's place to try and get an idea of What The Fuck happened, they find her and she joins their ridiculous quest to Save The World: Electric Boogaloo, because Highly Enthusiastic Southern Cheerleader Who Just Found Out She Can Commit Arson With Her Mind is a brilliant person to have along.

-I think the last big thing I have from this, beyond everything going so sideways (The House of Life is, like, ninety percent sure that Carter and Sadie are possessed, but can't do much about it at the moment beyond periodically trying to kill them) is the whole power thing.

-The urge to basically blast their way through everyone until they agree with what's up is strong, guys. Also, the urge to drag Setne out of the Underworld just to beat him up for a bit. Lots of power struggles and reminding themselves not to commit too many war crimes in the face of an oncoming apocalypse where they have no idea what their best plan is, and also, half the people they could trust off the bat this time? Don't trust 'em this time.

-Oh yeah, and for a while, Amos and Julius/Osiris aren't unconvinced that this isn't some sort of power play by Horus and Isis to leverage things in their favor, so. . .. Sad times. :(

-I am a big fan of "Time travel doesn't necessarily fix everything", but this trilogy is just so fucking chaotic, and so many of the biggest parts rely on character growth, and you can't force that! No matter how much you may get frustrated and want to, if you're Sadie and/or Carter.

[spaceskam]

welcome to another "I wrote this at work ignore the typos" situation featuring content in the little teaser for s3

ao3

"Michael Guerin with a cup of tea. Interesting."

"Bettering myself with soothing beverages," Michael said, leaning back in his chair as he looked up at Alex. He still felt a little off kilter, but he had no intention of guilt tripping Alex. It was a work in progress. He was a work in progress.

"Is that a quote from self proclaimed life coach Isobel Evans?" Alex asked, cocking his head to the side and smiling. Michael felt dizzy with it. It'd been so long without that fucking smile.

"How'd you know?" Michael asked, trying to keep the conversation light and not let it drift to an antagonistic place. He was good at that. Unfortunately, he was less good at keeping that at bay. "Where's the boyfriend?" Work in progress.

"He couldn't stick around, had to get to a meeting. He just met me at the bus stop," Alex said. Michael nodded and only then let his eyes drift away from his face, giving him a quick once over and tried not to be greedy with it. He still had his bags. "Is this seat taken?"

"Yeah," Michael said, casual as possible because Alex deserved that, "Saving it for this guy I met a few years back. You might know him. Around my height, dark hair, nice biceps, used to be in the army, killer thighs–literally, I almost suffocated me once."

"Shut up," Alex laughed, sitting across from him, "And I wasn't in the army."

"Same evil."

"Fair enough," Alex said, clasping his hands together and leaning forward, "Man, what's a guy gotta do around here to get a drink?"

Michael absolutely did not get his hopes up about this.

"Just sit there and look pretty," Michael said, pushing himself to his feet.

He'd been working a little harder and getting Sanders to make the place look a bit nicer in the front so new comers would show up, both resulting in everyone making more money. It was the most money Michael had ever had saved up before and he barely knew what to even do with it. He'd never wanted it before, never wanted to act like he was here to stay, but now it was there and now he could pay for Alex's drink.

He allowed himself to feel a little good about himself for that.

He order a medium vanilla latte, extra vanilla and an extra shot of expresso like he'd seen Alex order when they were a younger. Before he was a complete fuck up. Before when ordering anything but black coffee felt rebellious. And he paid for him for the first time. And he absolutely wasn't prideful bringing it back.

The look on Alex's face said he was also aware that this was the first time he could afford to buy him something so trivial, but he wasn't going to say anything because he was Alex. He took a sip as Michael sat across from him again and he smiled with a tiny bit of foam gracing his top lip. Michael felt his chest constricting with some twisted sort of pride and he refused to let himself be embarrassed by it.

"Thank you," Alex said.

"No problem."

Then they lapsed into silence, drinking their respective drinks and staring. Alex never turned his head away like he usually did; Michael never broke the silence like he usually did. None of it was awkward or uncomfortable or tense. It was just... having non-alcoholic drinks with someone he loved in whatever sense of the word he could.

It was nice. It was easy. It was something so completely different than Michael knew what to do with.

He craved more.

"So, do you need a ride to your house so you don't have to walk with all that?" Michael asked, definitely not mentioning that Forrest at the very least could've taken it. Granted, there's a chance he offered and Alex declined, which would be very much like Alex, but still. If he can kiss him, he can help with his bags.

"Depends. Are you willing to drive out to the middle of nowhere?"

"So that was a sold sign," Michael said. Alex took a deep breath and nodded.

"Yeah. It was a nice house, but it didn't really feel like home, you know? And after everything..."

"No, I get it," Michael said, nodding, "So where are you staying now?"

"Old Valenti hunting cabin. My cut of the inheritance and what I'm getting for selling my house is gonna be used on making it decent," Alex said.

"And amping up the security system," Michael added. Alex grinned and nodded.

"And amping up the security system."

"Well, it's my day off, so I can definitely take you," Michael said, not saying he took the day off specifically to meet Alex. That wasn't necessary information.

"You don't have to."

"What if I want to?" Michael asked. Alex looked at him, still smiling but he was clearly a little wary. "Just let me help out. I'm even going to try to not make you feel bad about the boyfriend."

"Oh, well, thank you so much for your efforts," Alex said sarcastically, but his tone was light and his smile was even more so, "But you really don't mind?"

"Alex, it's the least I can do," Michael said. It sounded weird in his voice, but it felt right. Alex seemed to agree if the look on his face said anything. Michael was more than a little proud of himself for not second guessing himself or assuming the worst.

Maybe he actually did do some growing.

"Okay then. Let's go."

Having Alex in his truck again didn't feel real. He was giddy in a way he hadn't felt in awhile and the fact that his bags were on the floor and not between them made that feeling skyrocket. Alex was comfortable with him. Or, at least, he seemed to be.

"Did you have fun?" Michael asked. Alex huffed a laugh.

"Well, I mean, I was doing dirty work, so not really. Forrest met me a couple times but I never wanted him to stay too long, was way too dangerous," Alex said, turning in his seat to face him.

"When I came out there with Kyle, you let me stay awhile," Michael said. He wasn't bragging. Absolutely not. He was simply useful for the task at hand and Kyle had to get back to work. Them eating take out on a hotel room floor and staying up too late was just convenient, a secret little addition to the trip.

"Yeah, but I trust you not to get killed by accident," Alex said, "Forrest had a good childhood. He's not at all aware of his surroundings like you are."

"Good for him," Michael said, readjusting his grip on the steering wheel. Alex may or may not have noticed.

"Also," he said slowly, "I'm kinda getting spoiled with the telekinesis thing, I'm not gonna lie."

Michael bit the inside of his cheek and tried not to be unnecessarily happy with that.

"Well if you ever need to make use of it, I'm your man," Michael said. Alex hummed in response–Michael couldn't tell if it was an acknowledgment or agreement.

It was around a 45 minute drive to the Valenti hunting cabin and the trip there was a bunch of small, winding, hand-made paths. You couldn't find it if you didn't know it was there. It was perfect for Alex.

Michael helped him get his bags inside and took in the fact that most of the stuff that had been in his house wasn't present. The furniture was broken in and there were a few boxes around, but not enough to hold everything from his house.

"I need a change," Alex said, going to the breaker box to turn the electricity on, "I thought that when I came back the first time that would be my big change, but I just did more of the same shit. So this is a real change."

"Sounds like it'd be good for you," Michael agreed.

"Yeah," Alex sighed, looking around. His eyes eventually landed on Michael again. "Do you have to go?"

"No, not unless you want me to," Michael said. Alex nodded.

"Move some boxes for me, telekinesis boy?" he asked. Michael grinned.

"Sure."

The spent what felt like two hours rearranging and unpacking and cleaning, Alex encouraging him to show off in a way that felt so ridiculously good. Everything about this was good. Spending time with him without expectation and tension and time limits.

He loved him more than his body had space for.

"Michael!" Alex said, immediately followed by a laugh, "You're going to break something!"

"I won't, have faith," Michael said, pulsing with the attention, "And if I do, I'll fix it."

He twisted his wrist, manuvering the fully put together bed frame through the door with his mind. It bumped into the door frame once or twice, but Alex just laughed and lightly scolded him.

Later, once they did what they could and got settled, Michael found himself on Alex's back porch with cans of coke in hand instead of beer.

"I love the view," Michael said.

"There's deer that'll get close if you're quiet," Alex said, "You'll have to sit with me to see them sometime."

"Yeah, whenever you'll have me," Michael said.

"Whenever you want," Alex responded. He sounded like he meant it.

Him meaning it didn't stop his phone from lighting up, didn't stop the way Alex's face closed off, didn't stop the way he sighed and locked it back. He took a long sip of his drink before he spoke.

"Forrest is on his way," Alex said. Michael shifted in his seat and nodded.

"So I should go."

"Do you have work tomorrow?" Alex asked instead of saying leave, instead of saying stay.

"Yep, bright and early."

"Okay," Alex said, "If I bring my truck up there in the morning, do I get privileges where I can sit with you in the back while you look over it and tell me what I need to fix after it sitting in my yard for nine months?"

Michael swallowed the lump that rose in his throat. He was leaving, he had to go because it wasn't his place to stay right now. But there was a promise of tomorrow. Of spending more time together just because.

The privilege of it, Alex said.

"Absolutely," Michael said, standing up, "I'll squeeze you in."

"Cool. I appreciate it," Alex said, looking up at him with a smile, "And I appreciate you helping me out today. Made all of that a lot easier."

"Not a problem," he said, "So I'll see you tomorrow?"

"Wait," Alex said quickly, getting himself to his feet and coming closer. Without much of a warning about what exactly was coming, Alex wrapped his arms around his neck. Michael hugged him back easily.

Alex squeezed him; Michael squeezed back.

"I'm so glad you're back," Michael whispered against him.

"I've gotta come home at some point, right?" Alex whispered back. Michael nodded.

They held on for longer than they should.

"Alright," Alex said after awhile, letting go with a reluctance Michael wasn't so unfamiliar with it ached, "I'll see you in the morning. I'll bring food."

Michael didn't like to get his hopes up.

He decided not to be scared this time.