#had to rework some things bc it didn’t feel write

[cross-d-a]

OKAY BESTIES BACK TO WRITING TODAY💪✨💪✨💪✨💪✨💪✨

[dipplinduo]

Scrapped Content for The Dichotomy In Our Hearts

Where have I been? Ah. Well. Would you believe me if I told you I have been writing and rewriting the same chapter across this past like...week? xD

I have been working through a series of ideas for chapter updates, but I've been very very stuck on The Dichotomy In Our Hearts.

When I tell you. I have written this one scene. OVER AND OVER. LOOOOL.

Ultimately, I've realized the voice of DIOH comes from a sweeter/reflective/"grow through growing pains" kind of tone. Not as much of a conflict-driven/angsty/"Kieran can you please chill the edge bc you're lowkey toxic chain'd" one, like with what you might see me write in Sweet & Sour Dipplins. And lemme tell you, it feels sooooo good to have this breakthrough, because one thing I've been actively trying to do with DIOH is distinguish it from S&S D across the board (but especially with Kieran & Juliana's characterizations & dynamics).

So that being said, I'm gonna rework the last two chapters. I was originally going to have them come out as part of a bigger update in general, but if you've been following this story you've honestly waited long enough, lol. So! I'm prioritizing this. Next update from me will come out within a few days with the conclusion of this story. <3 In the meantime, I figured I should share some of the scrapped work I had - it's a good scene on its own, but you'll see a different version of this scene play out in a more effective way within Chapter 4. :)

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Kieran huffed out a breath of the furious storm that had festered inside of him. He had hoped his time decompressing in the frosty woods would freeze over the raw cut to his already withering pride, but it proved to no avail as he walked along the cobblestone pathway to his home. He relished in what remained of the short-lived comfort he obtained through casting himself to the shadows as his home’s lingering lights began to expose his wounds back to the watching world. The rays were an anomaly for this time of night; his grandfather had always had a strict rule of dimming the house before bed, and Kieran was highly certain it was too late for people to be awake. 

He braced himself with a careful inhale as he quietly stepped up to the shoji before him, and the door felt like a paper barrier between the last of his solitude and judgment itself. They couldn’t have been waiting up to lecture him some more, could they? At this point, he didn’t need any punishment beyond the torment of his self-criticism. He knew he was rash and reckless. He knew he was lucky the little boy was okay. 

He just wished he was better. It was another moment he could’ve used to prove himself, but he blew it. Again.

 The guilt already gripped into him mercilessly. It seemed as if the history of his inexcusable failures enjoyed repeating themselves - no matter how hard he tried to remedy them by pushing himself - and it seemed as if the world would do anything but retire the spotlight from him while he dug his grave further into the lifeless ground. The real salt in the wound was the dramatic irony of how he had failed this time, though. 

Once again, his efforts were fruitless. Once again, Juliana had stepped in so effortlessly. Once again, she is showered in praise while he is showered in shame. 

And of course she bore witness to his humiliation.

Kieran clenched his jaw tightly as he slid the shoji. He remained stealthy, but still nonetheless moved swiftly to rip the band-aid off to whatever awaited him indoors. He squinted his sensitive eyes against the blaring, toasty lights - they were more powerful than what had seeped through to the front porch - and the illuminance from the lamps refracted warm hues off of the yellow-orange walls. Minus the scattered lights, the house was void of his noisy family members. They must’ve all retreated to their beds as Kieran would reasonably predict.  As Kieran’s vision adjusted to his bright and tidy home, his movements slowed to the sight before him. He stepped inside in a manner that was as Dedenne as he attempted to survey the situation.

Juliana was curled up against the kotatsu in an awkward position - one that looked far from comfortable. It appeared as if she had fallen asleep entirely by accident; she had donned her usual attire instead of the pajamas she was meant to borrow, and she was sitting up rather than lying down into the kotatsu’s blanket that poorly covered her lap. Her back was hunched over so she could rest her cheek against her forearms, which were somewhat sprawled along the wooden surface of the kotatsu. Her Deerling-like eyes remained sealed shut as Keiran inched closer, and there was a subtle droop in her parted jaw as she softly breathed. Odd touches of flyaways and frizz decorated her waved, somewhat messy hair, and Kieran noted slight creases that wrinkled in a hidden gray underneath her eyes. 

Was she waiting up for him? 

It was yet another moment that felt stolen and improper. When he observed her, he could see nothing but a much more vulnerable aspect of his rival that he felt he wasn’t meant to experience.

It was yet another moment that felt stolen and improper. When he observed her, he could see nothing but a much more vulnerable aspect of his rival that he felt he wasn’t meant to experience. She was supposed to be unyielding and ruthless with limitless capabilities. An obstacle in his path that he could overcome to clear his conscience.

Kieran bit the corner of his lip and exhaled slowly - the bewildering tugs of emotions on either end only added to his already building frustration. He quietly snagged the patchworked, quilted blanket that was draped along the plush sofa nearby her - why she couldn’t just resign herself on that at the minimum, Kieran didn’t know - and carefully wrapped it around her narrow shoulders. As he turned to leave, a gentle touch around some of his fingers caused him to gasp. 

“Ki…Ki-”

Kieran’s mouth suddenly felt dry as his heart skipped a beat. 

“-eran,” Juliana finished, and the weird sensation in his chest rallied heat around him. Why was he imagining she would call him…?

The touch around his middle and ring finger became a soft grip as Juliana stirred and began rubbing her face. Now that she was awake, reality struck him back into his senses and he suddenly felt as restless as he was in the woods. 

Kieran tried to keep his voice even as he spoke. "Juliana, it's late. Ya’ should go to bed," 

Juliana blinked sleepily as she sat up, still holding his hand. "I was worried about you," she murmurs. "Are you okay?"

Kieran nearly pulled his hand away as the realization dawned on him. So this was what it was all about: pity.

She was the hero who looked down on him and pitied him before anything else.

The epiphany was a coarse grain of salt rubbing in his wounds, but it was somehow the easiest and most sensible thing to believe than any lingering alternatives. "Why do you care so much?" he snapped, immediately regretting his harsh tone but feeling unable to stop himself. "You don't need to pretend to be worried about me."

Juliana flinched as she became more alert. “Why would I pretend to be worried?”

“Don’t play dumb,” Kieran spat as he snatched his hand away. 

“Why are you trying to pick a fight with me?” Juliana asked firmly as she rose, a hint of anxiety in her defensiveness. “Is this about Peacharunt?”

“It’s about way more than that.” Kieran tightened his fists as he steadied his gaze on a chair cushion, readying his words like canons. “You won again. Ya’ always do. I don’t need your pity as a consolation prize.” 

“I’m not trying to pity you,” Juliana countered. “I just know that things have been hard lately, and I-”

Kieran turned to face her, his voice almost trembling as the pain in her face brought out some of his own. “That’s why ya’ came here in the first place, right? I just mess everything up left and right. Ya’ just want ta’ keep an eye on me and fix my mistakes. ‘Cause I’m so horrible.”

Juliana stepped closer and spoke softly enough to make the hair behind Kieran’s neck raise. “Kieran, you’re not horrible at all. But you’re acting like you are, and you keep pushing people away. You’re pushing me away.”

Juliana’s cries fell on deaf ears as the anger flared inside of Kieran, directionless. An ugly mix of self-loathing, resentment, and deep-seeded insecurity oozed uncontrollably as he spat out his words. "Stop beatin’ around the bush, everyone knows that I can't ever measure up to you!” His voice cracked with the weight of his emotions, and he turned away again, unable to face her and complete his thought. How even his own grandparents trusted her battle skills over his.

“This isn’t a competition. I’m not trying to compete with you,” Juliana breathed unevenly, as if there was something unsteady brewing in her.

Kieran's eyes narrowed, his frustration boiling over. "Ya’ think it's not a competition? It's always a competition! Everyone is always comparing us, and I always come up short. Do ya’ even know what that's like?” Kieran continued as Juliana opened her mouth in protest. “Ya’ don’t. ‘Cause you’re always the hero everyone wants and loves. You are perfect,” Kieran spat as an insult as he ran out of breath. 

A pulsating surge of shock struck Kieran as his rival’s voice grew uncharacteristically intense. "You think I'm perfect? You think I don’t have struggles? That I don’t actually care about you at all?” Her voice cracked before becoming small and hushed. “How could you say such a thing?”

His eyes danced between hers in anguish, and he messily attempted to somewhat soften his outburst as he recalled her smile under the fireworks. “If you had any flaws they’d just be a work of art.” (MAKE CONTRADICTION MORE FLUID)

“I thought you of all people would know that I'm anything but perfect!” Juliana cried out, tears bursting down her face. “After everything you’ve seen me struggle with.”

As he witnessed the seams of her composure become undone, Kieran felt as if he was sinking, too. The tension in his fists released as he was taken aback, rendered speechless. 

Juliana continued to fall apart before him, using both of her hands to wipe her face repeatedly as her voice trembled. “I don’t fit in at the academy. I miss being at home. And the only person that really feels like a home is the one person I’m pitted against. You’ve seen me fail over and over again with all of these things. You’ve seen parts of me I haven’t shown anyone else. But you... you act like I’m this flawless person who just waltzes through life without a care. And it hurts, Kieran. It hurts because I care about you so much, and you don’t even see it.”

Kieran’s eyes widened as he was hit with a sudden sense of clarity. He began to blink rapidly as he recalled the intimacy and affection he had misread as a threat. Her giddiness, her eagerness to accompany him and cling to him, her interest in his thoughts and moods. A tingle ruptured inside him as he pieced everything together. 

She…liked him? 

It felt like a haughty deduction, but it was the only way he could make sense of such strong feelings. He wasn’t sure what to make of it - what he was even supposed to do with it. Kieran hesitantly reached out an arm around the shaking girl’s back and nudged her forward. His hyperawareness grew as she collapsed into him as she sobbed, curling her fingernails around arms. It felt as she was slipping down, and Kieran unintentionally dropped to the floor with her as she buried herself against him. 

It was a moment he was entirely unprepared for and could never predict. There was a part of him that felt good - as if his damaged ego was stroked and given value. There was another that raved about the attention he was receiving, to have someone fight because they cared. There was another part that was disgusted at himself for those feelings. There was another that couldn’t make sense of Juliana and her multidimensionality. Was he wrong about her? Does he have the right to be mad at her? Is he even mad at her? Why would she have a crush on him, if she even did? Kieran felt as if he was short-circuiting from the swirling contemplation. 

He was ages away from speaking as Juliana continued to blubber. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do! I don’t know how to make up for what happened with Ogerpon! And it breaks my heart to keep seeing you get so angry without knowing how to fix it!” 

"Juliana, I..." he starts, staring aimlessly at the wall behind her as his voice trails off. “I didn’t realize…” 

"Of course you didn't," she weakly replies against him to the point where it was difficult to hear. "You're too busy seeing me as this perfect person who has it all together, like everyone else. Well, I'm not. And it hurts, Kieran. It hurts.” She repeated, nearly nonsensical.

(Below are notes that follow the direction of the scene):

Kieran feels guilty and hugs Juliana awkwardly

I'm sorry/angry at self / feels disarmed by Juliana's crying

His thoughts eventually grow quiet as she sags further against him and nearly falls asleep 

“We should both go to bed” wanted to escape but didn't want to leave, conflicted 

(J) I’m sorry if I was being too much

(K): Thats the second time you said that/improved ability to observe Juliana

Was she afraid of taking up space? Starts to see how difficult that must be

Closes door abruptly, holds his hands to his face where Juliana touched him

~EMBARRASSED EMO ~ / Reflection on duality of relationship

[gasolinerainbowpuddles]

𝑭𝑬𝑹𝑨𝑳 𝑾𝑶𝑴𝑨𝑵 ║ Chapter 8 - The Cicada's Song

| FERAL WOMAN | series masterlist | main masterlist | | PAIRING(s): Joel Miller x fem!OC

| RATING: explicit material | 18+ | WORD COUNT: 8k | CHAPTER WARNINGS: idk if I'm being overly sensitive bc this chapter was very difficult for me to write, but I just want to put out a heads up for SA/DV victims+survivors to read with care bc it's a very heavy chapter that touches on the emotional+mental work of recovery, which can be super super super draining and upsetting if you get caught off guard by the subject

| CHAPTER SUMMARY: You embrace the new you and are eager to see if a certain someone does the same.

║ＰＲＥＶＩＯＵＳ ║⋄── •✧• ──⋄║ ＮＥＸＴ ║

Please read with caution if you have difficulties with works concerning: SA, physical violence, torture, captivity, trauma, and similar topics as they are discussed throughout the series. All highly sensitive portions WILL BE MARKED with my sensitive material banner if you wish to skip the more challenging portions. The sensitive material banner looks like this:

✧⋄⋆•✧⋄⋄⋆⋅⋆✧•✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆•⋆⋄── •✧• ──⋄⋆•⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧•✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧•⋆⋄ ✧ “…𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚢𝚎𝚝, 𝚊𝚝 𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚎𝚜, 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝙸’𝚟𝚎 𝚜𝚊𝚝 𝚗𝚎𝚡𝚝 𝚝𝚘 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝙸 𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝙸’𝚍 𝚍𝚒𝚎, 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚙𝚊𝚒𝚗 𝚒𝚗 𝚖𝚢 𝚌𝚑𝚎𝚜𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝙸 𝚌𝚊𝚗 𝚑𝚊𝚛𝚍𝚕𝚢 𝚞𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚛𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚎𝚡𝚌𝚎𝚙𝚝 𝚒𝚝’𝚜 𝚢𝚘𝚞, 𝚌𝚊𝚞𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎.” — Sɪʟᴠɪᴀ Mᴏʀᴇɴᴏ-Gᴀʀᴄɪᴀ ✧⋄⋆•✧⋄⋄⋆⋅⋆✧•✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆•⋆⋄── •✧• ──⋄⋆•⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧•✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧•⋆⋄ ✧

You lay out the simple black and white floral skirt against your neatly made bed. You’re not really sure if it’s your style, but you aren’t even sure you have one, anyway. Jeans and plain tops had been the path of least resistance when you first came to Jackson, and they were certainly the most abundant in offerings at the supply and exchange clothing hub. It was the logical, easy choice, and you hadn’t given clothing much thought at the time or since then.

In fact, you hadn’t done much thinking in general about your outward appearance - not until Joel reworked the branding mark Sam had inflicted upon you. No longer a permanent reminder of your past, the configuration of healing skin on your left hip was a fresh start. The crude but distinguishable rendering of a blooming flower that Joel had beautifully interlaced to the existing scarring was the perfect representation of how you were starting to feel: coming up from the dark, damp earth, spreading your roots to seek out sustenance and nutrients so that you might find a way to break through and sprout into the sunlight.

You have been following every bit of instruction Joel had given you in how to care for it so it would heal appropriately. You were still waiting for it to scab over, and one of the main things to help reduce irritation and prevent infection until it got there was to avoid as much friction as possible. Your underwear and jeans were just about the last things that would help avoid this issue, so it wasn’t too hard of a decision to use a few ration slips for a high waisted skirt with a waistband that was well above the area in question and a cotton dress that had no waistband at all.

Joel had picked up several extra patrol shifts, outside of your usual hours at the station, so you hadn’t seen him in a few days. It felt like years. It was so strange to you how you hadn’t known him very long at all in the scheme of things, but it was hard to think of what it was like before him. He was such a solid presence and support in your life that it felt wrong that he hadn’t been in your life all along.

You suppose in a way he has been a part of your life all along, this new one, anyway. You’d met him just after arriving, and he’d hollowed out a cavern in your chest and settled there pretty much immediately. He didn’t mind the broken bits there, the withdrawn and scared pieces of your inner workings. He’d embraced them and crept into your bones as if it wasn’t repelling to him at all. As if you yourself weren’t some ghastly, unpleasant thing to know.

And now you felt like you carried a piece of him with you wherever you went. A little  memento of him with you at all times. A physical representation of not only the support he’s given you, but all the people in your life now. Helping you grow. Helping you feel safe. Helping you find yourself again. You no longer bear the mark of your gut-churning past. In its place is a blooming world and a blossoming promise of the future. In your mind, there’s nothing more fitting.

You smile, lost in thought at all the beautiful souls who have come together to give you this chance at happiness. You pick out a faded grey t-shirt to go with the black and white skirt. You pull Tommy’s jacket from your closet and set it alongside the rest of your outfit. You feel a peaceful haze settle over you as you look down at your ensemble. You really need to see Tommy and Maria soon. Maybe you’d even work up the nerve sometime to finally hold Gwen.

You make your way to the bathroom and strip down. The water runs hot as you slip inside, careful to keep your left hip as dry as possible until it can scab over completely. You rake some shampoo through your disheveled locks and try to work through some oil and honey combination Susan put together for you. It had worked better than anything else to help condition your hair, but it was still a brittle, unsalvageable mess. You worked it through for several minutes, letting it sit for even longer while you washed your body, and rinsed yourself off.

You sweep your pitiful hair into a towel and carefully dry your skin. You smile yet again down at your hip as you work the drying fabric around your marking. Your cheeks would start hurting soon if you kept it up. You can’t help but think of Joel whenever you look at it, and that alone is enough to make your whole face burst with that happy, goofy expression that was becoming more and more of a staple for you. 

He makes you smile, and there wasn’t much use in trying to fight that.

You finish toweling off and pause when you see the nearly full container of beeswax and goat’s milk emollient that Susan had also prepared. You’d barely touched it except for a few times when she’d asked if it smelled okay and didn’t irritate your skin. Not wanting to hurt her feelings, you made sure to slather it across yourself without much thought just so you could honestly tell her you’d used it.

You still for a short time to focus on your body and how it feels right at this moment. It was a newer development for you, this repaired circuitry and symbiotic understanding between your mind and your body, and you were still getting used to it. All these months later, and you continue to discover new challenges and growing pains. Except it didn’t frighten you so much as it had before. There was an almost giddy anticipation to it now, testing the waters and taking your new self out for a joyride. Cautiously, of course.

You feel the air pull in and balloon your lungs. Your muscles feel loosened from the warm water in the shower. Spots here and there along your skin felt damp where you hadn’t run the towel against it for long enough. Your hips and lower back feel a bit tight, probably from the limited options for sleep positions while your hip was healing. Your legs feel stronger than they ever have. Maybe you even have some actual muscle filling out your frame there? Your right hand is notably stiff but not inflexible as it had been for the past couple of weeks. It was nearly back to normal, just like Joel had assured you it would be.

Your inventory of sensations draws your attention to the fact that your skin feels incredibly dry. It’s even a bit itchy in certain places, like your elbows and legs. You eye the container of white lotion for a moment before unscrewing the lid and scooping some out. Unlike before, you take your time in applying it, paying special attention to the more parched bits of flesh. Your left hand feels firm and smooth as it makes massaging passes along your body. Your right hand isn’t quite as pliable and dexterous, but it feels nice to use the muscles and tendons there anyway.

Your skin greedily drinks up the moisture, and by the time you finish rubbing it in you feel like an invisible, warm covering has enveloped you. It feels nice, and it’s not too overwhelming in the amount of nice it brings. 

You are struck by a sentiment of what you think might just be pride. Proud for giving this to yourself. Proud because you, right here and now, are taking care of your body. Listening to what it needs and then finding a way to give it to yourself. You even have a sense that you are deserving of this in some way. That you deserve to have a body that's looked after and cared for. That you have a right and a responsibility to do so because that is what someone who loves themselves does. 

You deserve nice things. You are capable of treating both your mind and your body with kindness alike. It’s okay to be gracious with yourself and let others care for you in turn.

You glance up and take in your full body in the mirror. Unlike before, you don’t turn away. Your smile is profound and authentic. It reaches your eyes. No longer flat and empty, your eyes hold life and energy in them now. 

Tears start to well up when you look into the mirror and see yourself looking back for the first time in a very long time. You knew you were in there, deep down inside. And there you were, staring back at yourself - and with affection, no less. Finally. Finally.

With newfound interest and desire to see yourself instead of hiding away, you study the woman in the mirror. Your frame has filled out and softened, the harsh lines of starvation fading into supple flesh. You’re not hunched over, although you do straighten to stand a bit taller as you examine your reflection. You almost look like someone who’s confident. You hug your body, not to conceal it from view, but to show it a small gesture of love - something it has been yearning for but denied for so long.

You sniff and laugh a little at the unexpected joy of it all. You nervously giggle a bit when you look at the heap of a towel sliding off your crown. You may have found an appreciation for yourself, but you still don’t like the mess that’s on top of your head. You want to see all of you, though, so you release your hair from the drooping towel and watch as frayed locks tumble over your shoulders. It looks awful. More glaringly, it is a reminder of your past that you are no longer inclined to let hold you back.

You twist a few strands between your fingers and decide right then and there you will pay Maria a visit to see if she can help you out.

The silver glint of the scissors flashes in your periphery. The crisp snip snip snip noises are a comfort and an agitator all the same. The bunches of hair falling to the ground is the final shedding of your past self. You try to sit still while Maria cuts your hair, but the excitement of all this makes you want to leap out of your chair.

“Thanks again for doing this, Maria. You have no idea how much this means to me,” you extol in earnest. “I know there’s people around town that are trained or whatever to cut hair, but Ellie said you’d cut hers once before and–”

“It’s alright. I don’t mind at all,” she replies in that calm, assured tone she always has. “I know sometimes a big change with hair is best done with someone you’re more comfortable with.”

“Yeah,” you agree. “Definitely more comfortable with you holding sharp scissors so close to my face.”

You give a nervous laugh and shift awkwardly in your seat. You hadn’t quite found the balance between keeping conversation light while also not editing every single thought so that it’s more palatable for others. That meant being more open about your past experiences and the impact they’ve had on you, and it still remains a massive undertaking.

“Understandable.” It’s a succinct response, but it holds all the compassion and insight necessary. You appreciate how those you’ve brought some of your walls down for have been considerate of your inept social skills at times.

“That should do it,” she announces with a final cut near your chin. “To the jawline, like you asked.”

You touch the ends, no longer scraggly and brittle, and tuck a piece behind your ear. Your muscle memory overshoots the motion, and you smile at the phantom hair you’d pushed back. It’s so much lighter. You give a small shake of your head to fully appreciate the unfettered movement.

“What do you think?” you entreat. The nervous shake in your voice gives away just how much anticipation you’d built up sitting there while she worked. 

“I want you to see it and tell me what you think first.” She smiles kindly and hands you a mirror.

It was a radical change, and not just in appearance. The way your head turned as you examined yourself in the mirror felt more loose and spry. The blunt cut to just below  your jawline was a stark difference from the limp, lifeless strands that had moments ago shrouded your face and dragged down your entire appearance.

You looked… fresh? Was that the word? You certainly felt it. Renewed? You can’t decide and just settle for happy. You are happy.

“It’s beautiful. It’s … this is more like me, I think. Thanks, Maria,” you chirp quietly. 

“Anytime.” There was that warm smile she always gave you. It made you feel so incredibly grateful for ever being found by her and the rest of the patrol group that day that felt like eons ago. “And, I agree. You look beautiful.”

Your smile wavers when you think of your friend Mae. She would’ve loved it here. She would’ve dragged you to get your hair cut sooner. You would’ve been ready sooner. If she could’ve just stuck it out a little while longer, she could’ve had all of this, too.

Tommy fortunately makes his way through the backdoor and redirects your thoughts. “Whew! Look at that! Looks real nice, sweetheart,” he practically cheers. His toothy grin almost takes up his entire face. “And the ever talented woman behind the transformation, phewwwww.” 

He sidles up next to Maria and gives her an admiring hug and kiss. “This woman, I swear to you, there ain’t a damn thing she can’t do.” 

Tommy beams at you and back to Maria who grins and rolls her eyes. You join in the levity and crack a smile. Tommy and Maria were congenial as individuals, but whenever they were side by side something mystical seemed to happen. It was like they were meant to be near each other, like their pneumas were vitalized by the inevitable spring of belonging to one another. You briefly wonder if anyone has ever seen you and Joel together and thought something similar.

They exchange a quiet conversation about Gwen being upstairs asleep when Tommy asks after his baby girl. He nods at Maria and gives her a cheeky smile before kissing her more fervently. It was a quick thing, but the effusive devotion in it was almost palpable. Tommy left an arm snuggly wrapped around Maria as he turned his attention back to you. He’s got a mischievous look that should probably worry you but only leaves you with a charmed interest.

“New makeover, huh?” Tommy prods. He jerks his head up once, eyeing your skirt. He smiles like there’s some sort of poorly kept secret that more people are privy to than you’d prefer or are even aware of.

“Oh, um, no. I just-I dunno,” you deflect. Hot pinpricks tingle across your cheeks. You fidget with your hands in your lap.

You see Maria ineffectively hide the cautioning elbow into Tommy’s side. He coughs at the precise reprimand and straightens up. “Nah, is’jus ya look real nice, sweetheart. That’s all. Wasn’t sure if it was a spur of a moment type thing or if ya had some other type’a reason to change up your looks to somethin’ more of your choosin’,” he explains quickly so as to not earn another warning from Maria.

“Yeah, I guess I’m finally starting to pay attention to my outsides.” You shrug, unsure if you’ve said too much or too little. Tommy’s expression softens.

“M’sure it’s a good feelin’ to have your insides match your outsides. Always been an angel, but it’s still good to see ya feelin’ comfortable. We’re sure glad to have ya, honey.” His lopsided smile turns more cheeky. “And I know we ain’t the only ones that feel real fortunate to have ya.”

Maria pointedly nudges Tommy and throws a cut it out look his way for good measure. You feel certain he must be talking about Joel. The thought that someone maybe does think of you two as a duo in some way or another sends a possessive feeling through your entire being.

“Not more fortunate than I feel to have him,” you insist. “I mean, to have you all,” you quickly amend. The pinpricks on your cheeks bloom into an all out torrent of heat at your slip-up.

Tommy is grinning like a schoolboy, and you catch Maria’s amused expression before she skillfully waters it down.

“Make yourself useful and sweep the floor, Tommy,” Maria admonishes, but there’s no real weight behind it.

Tommy gives her a peck on her temple before releasing her and leaning towards you. He gives you a quick squeeze on the shoulder and a devilish wink. You bite back a smile. It was so hard to be annoyed with Tommy when he was so puckish and affectionate all at once. You swat his hand away playfully and duck your beaming smile out of view.

You begin helping them clear up the mess in the kitchen and smile softly as you listen to Tommy talk about how Gwen is the most perfect creature he’s ever known. He makes a playful jibe about her full name leaving something to be desired - an obvious move to poke fun at Maria - but it makes you realize you still haven’t been entirely truthful with them. It might have been this new sense of self that gave you the courage, but you found yourself addressing something that you hadn’t made right yet.

“Speaking of names.. I, um, I actually wanted to clear something up with you two.” You go to nervously twist a strand of hair but find it’s no longer there. A reminder that this is the new you, and the new you is upfront about things. “I haven’t been completely honest about everything, and I wanted to fix that.”

Tommy and Maria stand side by side and eye you curiously but remain silent so that you could take your time to speak.

“When I told you my name before, it wasn’t really my name,” you confess. “It’s actually Julia. Is my name. Julia.” You brace yourself for the scolding that you know isn’t coming but you still can’t help but ready yourself for.

Tommy’s mouth is curved ever so slightly up on one side. Maria is sporting  a soft smile. “Well, I’m glad you’ve come around, but we actually figured that out a while ago,” she admits. 

“Oh.” 

You couldn’t think of anything else to say. You feel like the wind has been taken out of your sails a bit at the lackluster reveal. You’d built it up in your head for so long that you weren’t expecting them to already know all about your lie. On top of that, they didn’t seem upset about it.

“Didn’t take very long when Ellie kept correcting me every time I didn’t call you Julia. Figures you’d tell her your name and not us.” Maria scrunches her nose in a teasing expression. It helps ease the tension you feel. You remember now the first time you encountered Ellie and Joel you were in such a panic you’d given your actual name instead of the alias you’d given everyone else.

You could laugh at the serendipity of it all. Joel being one of the first people to know your true name. Joel being the one person who had come to know so much about you. Joel being the singular person you wanted to know every part of you.

“We understand. Really. Our only question is if that’s what you’d like us to call you now?” Maria looks at you expectantly.

“No, I think- I think I like Bug, actually.”

It had been years of being detached from your own name, along with so many other things. Those things - your mind, your body, your actions, your choices, your feelings, your words - had been out of your possession for so long that sometimes it felt like you were just borrowing them before you had to return it all back. Your name hadn’t meant much to you in so long that it barely felt like a part of you.

Susan’s nickname for you, however silly and indulgent it was, meant something to you. You felt it when she referred to you as Bug, and it gave you a sense of belonging that she had “named” you.  When others had followed suit through her influence and referred to you as Bug, it felt right. Your indifference to being called your name - really just the alias you’d given - may have been a subliminal thing that others had picked up on. Maybe that’s why hardly anyone even used it.

Most days Ellie called you Bug. Most days Joel called you every sappy pet name under the sun. Most days others just greeted you with friendly but silent gestures, knowing that you still liked to keep to your bubble.

“Then Bug it is, sweetheart,” Tommy endorses. 

Your grin reaches ear to ear as you help clean up. You try not to rush through helping, but you are even more giddy thinking about your next stop to see Joel. When you’ve finished, you force yourself to bid a leisurely goodbye to Tommy and Maria.

“And Gwen wants to see y’all soon, too. You make sure to tell her Uncle Joel he better show face sometime soon,” Tommy teases on your way down their front steps.

Your chest swells at the casual intimation of you and Joel as a unit. There’s also the unspoken designation of you being the smallest degree of separation to Joel, which would make you the obvious choice to pass a message along to him.

“Okay. I will. He’s just, you know, he’s picked up some extra patrol shifts, so he’s just been a bit busy.” 

You don’t know why you’re explaining this to Tommy as if he isn’t one of the main people responsible for setting patrol schedules. He just smiles and nods. You can’t quite pin the amused expression until you realize you were now casually speaking on Joel’s behalf, offering up an explanation for his absence. As if you had the authority and knowledge to do so. 

It didn’t feel wrong, though. Joel might not even mind it, actually. He might like that you were fielding this teasing from his brother instead of him. You’d have to just find out for yourself when you made it to his house in the next few minutes.

You stare at Joel’s door for a minute or two. Even though it was just a haircut and some new clothes, you felt like a brand new person. It was like you were meeting him for the first time, and you realize you felt nervous about him liking your new look but also… you. This new version of you he was going to meet. The closest thing to the real you.

Sure, facets of you had been emerging in fragments, slowly morphing and bonding into a semblance of cohesion, a semblance of healing. But Joel changing the branding mark Sam had carved into you combined with you now taking overt ownership of your outward presentation in such a drastic way… 

It felt unavoidable. It felt out in the open. You try to not overthink the impact of it all, but it was surely a tectonic shift for those closest to you. How could something that felt so earth-shattering to you not also send shockwaves through those closest to you? The changes were deliberate and purposeful this time. It was sought out rather than a byproduct. 

Would he still like you? Were you turning into someone so different - too different - that he wouldn’t like you anymore? Perhaps you were just building this up too much in your mind?

You raise your hand and give the door three light taps with your knuckles before you could talk yourself into running back home. Your jitters get the best of you, demanding to be channeled somewhere, and you smooth your shirt in multiple quick passes as you wait for an answer. You hear the approach of his heavy steps and stand up straight. 

Your confidence takes a dip when he doesn’t seem to recognize you at first, doing a double take when he opens the door. You worry your bottom lip between your teeth. When he huffs a laugh and sports a big smile, you worry he hates it and is trying to think of something nice to say.

“Is it bad?” Your voice sounds tiny and anxious.

Joel takes a step back in exaggerated mock observation, tilting his head in consideration for dramatic effect. He clucks his tongue against the roof of his mouth before leaning forward again.

“Fuckin’ beautiful,” he replies, shaking his head in genuine awe. Your mouth spreads into a huge grin, lighting up your features.

“You look like you got the sun shinin’ outta your ass,” he chuckles. “Lil radiant spitfire of a thing.”

He nudges you to come inside, and you follow him to the couch where you can feel the warmth of where he had just been sitting. He plops down onto the opposite end, arm slinging over the back,  and rests his head against a fist as he gives you a proper up and down.

“And a skirt, too, huh? Full of all sorts of surprises today.”

You catch the way his eyes skate over your body before zipping back up to your face.

“Oh, yeah. You said anything rubbing against it might mess up the scabbing process, so I just used some ration slips to get something more loose. Figured it made sense.” You shrug and bite down the impulse to ask him if he thinks you look pretty.

“S’nice. You look real nice,” he hums.

You feel like your heart is hammering against your ribcage so hard they might fracture and splinter into your lungs, which already felt aflame. You hadn’t meticulously outlined what you intended to express to Joel when you came over, but you had a loose idea of it. Now you just had to keep the courage to follow through.

“The hair suits you jus’ right,” he thoughtfully decides.

“Hm, think so? It, uh, yeah. Feels so much better, too. No more scraggly ends.” You scoot next to Joel and offer a small strand for him to examine.

He looks thoroughly entertained that you’d include him in the assessment of your hair’s texture, but he indulges you anyway. He gently smooths the strand between his thumb and index finger and shoots you an approving look. 

“It’s very nice, honey. What made ya get the chop?” You readjust a little in your seat when you find it hard to concentrate with Joel’s warm thigh pressing against your leg. It’s even harder to focus when he tucks the strand under his examination behind your ear when he’s done studying it. 

“I, uh, it’s actually because of my… flower marking,” you explain. Joel’s eyebrow lifted in interest. “It was like a switch was flipped or something. Having that gone. You… You helping me with that. Not having to look at it. Look at it in the mirror every day.”

You take a deep breath before sharing the deeper, darker aspects of your thoughts. 

“And now, s-seeing myself when I look in the mirror. Seeing myself looking back instead of somebody… somebody I don’t know,” you finish in a low hush. You hadn’t told Joel much about the reason behind your covered mirrors, although you had a feeling he probably had a decent idea of why you’d find it hard to look yourself in the eye.

You look away from your fidgeting hands and find Joel watching you carefully. Your fidgeting now spreads to your entire body as you squirm under his inspection. “What?”

“Just thinkin’. ‘Bout the first time I met you.”

You shake your head in curiosity, prompting Joel to continue. 

“You were scared. The most scared fuckin’ thing I think I’ve ever seen in my life, and I’ve seen some… Well, anyway. When you looked at me, it was like an animal caught in a trap. Your eyes were.. it was like something- somebody - was stuck behind them. Somethin’ there that couldn’t get out.”

You swallow thickly as you listen to Joel recall your first encounter. You felt worlds away from the person he met that day. You have always been aware of the growth and changes you’ve undergone since coming to Jackson, but it wasn’t until recently that you really considered what your transformation must be like for Joel. 

“I guess I’m tryna say I’m happy. Happy to see you like this. Happy to see you bein’ able to be yourself.”

You nod slowly and look down to reach for his hand before pulling it into both of yours. “I am happy. I feel happy.”

Joel hums in approval at your introspection but seems to notice your jitteriness. He tucks a finger under your chin until you meet his gaze. “Somethin’ else on your mind, honey?”

The chaotic whirlwind in your head slowed your words, but you were hellbent on saying them. “I-I’m happy. And. You. You m-make me happy.”

Joel didn’t pretend to not understand exactly what you meant. His mouth twitched to the side as he eyed you with something you couldn’t decipher. 

“You make me happy, too,” he admits softly.

When he doesn’t say anything more, you realize he might be waiting for you to set the boundaries of this conversation. Your small talk had improved by leaps and bounds, but vocalizing more complex feelings was still difficult. You run tight circles with your fingers along his hand to help center yourself. 

“Do you … like … my hair?” The question comes out in a clumsy heap, practically thudding into the otherwise calm and delicate conversation.

Joel’s eyebrows pinched together as he exhaled a surprised laugh. He clearly wasn’t expecting that, most likely anticipating something more serious. “I do,” he chuckles.

“Good. Because. I wanted you to-to like it.”

Joel’s forehead lifts an eyebrow, but his grin remains firmly planted on his face. 

“You. Specifically. I wanted you to like it. More than anyone else…” You hold his gaze despite the voice in your head screaming at you to look away, down, anywhere but at his eyes softening and melting into you.

“S’that so?” he murmurs. 

You nod once and raise his hand to yours, brushing your lips against his knuckles. “Just you,” you whisper as you place his hand to cup your cheek.

Joel visibly wrestles with something in his mind, but you catch his eyes snapping  to your lips before looking at you again. Before either of you could change your mind and put a stop to the things already in motion, you lift and straddle yourself over his lap and draw him into a tight hug. His wide chest radiates warmth and comfort as he wraps his arms carefully around you.

“Say something,” you mumble into the side of his neck. You feel the heat spreading across your cheeks and the tips of your ears from the quiet. 

Joel curves an arm across snug to your back and cradles the nape of your neck so you’re looking directly at him. 

“Do you… like my hair?” he asks.

You pause for a moment in confusion before catching the playful smirk on his face. You break into a fit of nervous giggles but nod enthusiastically.

“S’good ‘cause I’m not interested in what anyone but you thinks ‘bout it.”

His impish grin steadies your resolve. You brace your palms against his chest and lean in. Your noses meet, and you soak in the feeling of sharing breaths against each other's skin. You nudge his nose against yours, side to side softly and slowly, letting yourself get lost in the simple but exhilarating contact. 

“Honey, we don’t hafta—”

You don’t let him finish. You brush your lips against his surprisingly soft mouth. You run small, grazing passes over his lips until you can hear his breaths start to quicken. 

“I want to. I want this,” you whisper against his mouth before capturing it in a deeper kiss.

Your hands leave the steady expanse of his chest and snake up his neck. You run your tongue along his teeth and grunt in satisfaction when his mouth further parts to let you in. When Joel finally kisses you back in earnest, you grab at fistfuls of hair, dragging him closer and eager to capitalize on his reciprocation.

He takes in everything you give him. Your darting tongue, your croaking moans, your teeth awkwardly clipping against his with the unrestrained vigor in your kiss. Your hands are everywhere on him, pressing and grabbing at every bit you can. You want his hands on you the same way.

“Touch me,” you breathe out before crashing back onto his mouth.

His mouth meets yours in an equally feverish way, but you can feel his reluctance for his touch to do the same. You release your hold on his head and neck to find his hands and splay them possessively on your waist and ass. At your insistence, he proceeds to grope and grasp at your body. It feels better than you ever imagined.

His beard scratches and scrapes against your skin in a delightfully abrasive way. It reminds you of the snow on your bare feet the first time you met. The cold, stinging sensation grounding you in its numbing quality. Except this time everything but you and Joel’s bodies together was numb, as if you were in a pocket of your own urge and want.

There was a fire ablaze in your belly that was tearing through your veins, and each new sensation only made the flames blaze faster and further. It was ripping and destroying everything in its path as though it knew it was meant to be destroyed so that it might be rebuilt.

Your body and mind are sharing in this rapturous exchange with him, and it’s overwhelming in the best of ways. You want more. You want all of it. You want to devour Joel and have him be a part of you and you a part of him. 

You’re aware of the grunts and snarls that are ripping through your chest and throat, but you don’t feel embarrassed. There is a hunger you’ve never known before this, before Joel. Your body and mind working together call upon the roll of your hips to grind against his lap. His hands travel to your hips as though to slow your rapid lurch into physical connection, but you push against his delaying hold and grind faster.

The friction against your heat makes you cry out. You hadn’t realized this is what your body needed. You knew it needed Joel, but you didn’t know it would be like this. Your body is responding of its own accord, and you fight none of it. You let out a deep groan of want when something electrifying starts to build in your lower belly. You draw Joel’s bottom lip between your teeth and work it between them. You suck and pull at his lower lip as a warmth blooms through your lower belly down to the quickly wetting slick between your legs.

A gasp escapes your lips as you pull from the kiss and steady your palms on Joel’s shoulders. His pupils are blown out. His hair is a disheveled mess from your fingers raking through it. His lips glisten with the fervor of your kisses. They’re plump and red from the nipping. You can feel the entirety of Joel’s fully hard erection through the fabric of his jeans as you grind against it. It doesn’t deter you. There’s a sense of temperance with the rough denim separating your bare cunt from his skin. 

You never knew you could feel so much without him even touching you directly. “It’s-oh my god-Joel, it feels so good,” you whine as you pick up the tempo of your swiveling hips. 

You certainly feel turned on, but this isn’t the sort of thing that you could get off to, is it? This was too simple and didn’t involve fingers or anything. It had been so long since you’d felt genuine arousal and sexual pleasure that you were beginning to doubt everything you’d ever known about the topic. You weren’t going to waste your mindpower on any of that right now, though. Right now you’re too busy chasing this immersive, hypnotic thrill that’s taken over you.

“Honey, you’re— nghhh- You gotta-” Joel’s breath hitches with each roll of your hips, and you can tell he’s holding himself back. Words fail him as his head drops back against the couch. He stares at the ceiling with quickly waning resolve.

Seeing him so flummoxed and disarmed sparks something in your brain, and you want to see it flicker and light up again. You experimentally push the grind of your hips into his lap harder at the bottom of each pass, and a pleasant, throaty groan gets stuck in the back of Joel’s mouth.

You’ve never felt this powerful in your life. Joel was someone who terrified you the first time you saw and heard him, and you had seen others much more formidable than yourself shy away from any possible altercation with him. He was a force to reckon with. He was strong and broad and fierce. And yet here you have him under a spell with your words and movements. The notoriously stoic and verbally measured Joel Miller was under your thumb.

Your slick has all but drenched Joel’s lap and thigh where you’ve been riding against him, and you clench around nothing when you feel his cock twitch beneath you. Something primal erupts in you when you feel the way your body commands Joel’s to respond. You grab his hands and shove them under the fabric of your skirt. 

“Oh FUCK,” he exhales when he feels you’re completely bare underneath. His eyes snap to attention where your naked lower half is working him. He haphazardly pushes the skirt behind you so his view is unobstructed. 

“Goddamn, look at that,” he breathes in awe. His hands are gripping your thigh and waist. His thumb dips into your flesh in a kneading motion just alongside the crease of your thigh, near the apex of your legs. The proximity to your pussy draws a gasp and a whimper from you. When he tilts his head back up to look at you, his blissed out, strained expression is the last string of the cord that snaps. Your hips pitifully stutter as your mouth goes agape, a silent scream of overwhelming pleasure.

“Ohhh fuck,” Joel grunts, watching your face contort. You feel his cock jerk and jump against the fabric of his jeans. His face screws up in frenzied bliss. A growing wet sensation joins your own. The broken cry escapes your lips and mixes with a chant of his name as you desperately grab and cling to his neck and collar.

“Baby! – baby, oh my god, Joel–oh my god, FUCK!” You are blabbering, incoherently messaging your shock at how fucking amazing this feels and the complete blindsiding orgasm tearing through you.

“Thassit—there’s my girl–There you go, honey— I got you,” he coaxes in a strained gruff, shifting out of his own pleasure for a moment to cradle your face and be present with you through your own climax.

Your eyes are darting back and forth as they search his, looking for the signal that you are in fact okay and grounded despite this euphoric, somatic feeling that makes your mind and body feel like they’re floating away from you and leaving you as nothing more than a clouded mass of pleasure.

“I’m-I didn’t— I didn’t know,” you stumble, trying to rush to explain yourself for getting carried away.

You had no idea any of that would happen. You had no idea your body would respond like that, that your mind would run right alongside it, beckoning you to take take take from something that felt so foreign but so right.

“Ssshhhh. S’alright. You’re alright. Felt good, right?” His small smile and look of adoration have you melting right back into your sublime state. You nod once, smiling back a little. 

“S’good then. It’s okay to feel good.” He noses the column of your throat. Your satisfied whimper escapes, a sound of surrender and acceptance. 

“Made me feel good, too, darlin’. Hope that’s okay. Was tryna hold off. Didn’t wanna upset you…” 

You pull back to look at him, and it hurts your heart to see the uncertainty in his face. Why should he be seeking your endorsement when you were the one pushing for all of it anyway? If anyone was at fault for anything that happened just now, it was you.

“I like the noises you make,” you blurt out without thinking. Joel erupts into a deep belly laugh at this, tossing his head back against the couch for a moment before meeting your gaze again. His eyes are as lit up as you feel.

“Like the noises you make, too. Made me come in my fuckin’ pants like a goddamn teenager,” he chuckles in a bashful tone.

“I-I thought that’s what had happened, but I wasn’t sure,” you admit with a shy grin.

“Wasn’t expectin’ you to start fuckin’ ridin’ me like that!” he snorts, eyebrow quirking for emphasis. “And goddamn do you look fuckin’ beautiful when you’re gettin’ yourself off. Soundin’ like a damn bobcat in heat for fucks’ sake. How am I supposed to be able’ta ignore that?”

You blush at his description of you. You felt like a wild animal most days, trying to learn to be domesticated, and you weren’t sure how you felt about sounding like one, too. Had you gotten too carried away? You let yourself get lost in the moment. You feel a wash of guilt at your lack of self control and not checking in with Joel even once while you were focused on nothing but how your body felt and how you assumed he was responding.

“Hey. Where’d you go?” Joel’s soft question pulled you from your remorseful thoughts.

“I-I’m so sorry, Joel,” you rush out. You shove your head into his shoulder. You are too ashamed to look him in the eye after all but using him for your own gratification. Yes, he seemed to enjoy it as well, but it never even occurred to you to stop and ask. You suddenly feel a bit nauseous.

“Hey, hey–whoa, wait a minute now. What’s goin’ on? Talk to me, honey,” Joel implores. 

He cups your chin to look up at him. His kind, understanding expression made you feel all the more disappointed with yourself. You didn’t deserve his kindness and understanding when you had been acting like some sort of an aggressor.

“I fucked up, Joel. I’m so sor-sorry,” you say between swift inhales of air that didn’t feel like they were reaching past your windpipe. “Please forgive me. Please. I’m so sorry. I’ll n-never do it again. I’m so sorry. I’m fucking sorry. Please, Joel.”

Your brain short circuits when Joel’s lips crash into yours. His large hands easily span across your shoulder blades as he snatches you up flush against his chest. Despite the rush of contact, his movements against your mouth are slow and thoughtful.

“I want you. I want this.” His words slur against your mouth. A mirror of your own words. A call to the truth: you both want this. You allow yourself to slink into the comfort of his affection and tenderness.

“Tell me what’s wrong,” he commands softly. He keeps you pressed against him and draws his lips against your hands and knuckles as he watches you intently.

“I... I feel like I took from you,” you try to explain.

“Like I told you before, whatever you want from me is yours,” he replies firmly. 

“I didn’t even ask… I just started feeling things, and then I–”

“Don’t have to. Already told you anything you want from me is yours to take.”

You lean into a soft kiss again. Something about it feels like it helps you think better while forgetting practically everything all at once.

“What’d I tell you about learnin’ to trust your instincts? And blockin’ out those other voices?” he mumbles against your mouth.

You rest your eyes for a moment and breathe. You focus on the warmth of Joel’s hands passing over your sides and back.

“What’s your heart tellin’ you right now?” he asks gently. “Show me what your instincts are tellin’ you.”

“Just, whatever I’m feeling?” you ask. You hear the grunt of affirmation from Joel and keep your eyes closed so you can block out some of the sensory input flooding you. Without dwelling on a single thought for too long, your body relaxes into his hold.

“Okay. I-I like the way your hands are warm. On me. On my skin. I want to.. I want you to put them on my skin. On my back.”

Joel’s hands slide under the hem of your shirt and run small paths across your bare skin. You take a deep inhale and slip into the pleasant feeling.

“How’s that?” he asks quietly. You nod and let out a contented hum of approval.

“I like it, too. Feel so soft, honey. So perfect. Love how you feel,” he praises.

“You feel so good to me, too. I think that’s why I just– And I feel .. weird .. confused about …. Confused about what came over me. And. I didn’t know it was going to happen like that. And that I was going to feel so good. And I didn’t feel nervous at all. But then I didn’t ask you if it was okay. I just.. took what I wanted. I felt so in control that I just- I don’t even know. I couldn’t even think about anything but how you make me feel. And then on my hips. You were holding them. Trying to slow me down. And I ignored it. I just moved faster.” Your words and feelings are coming at a mile a minute.

“Slowed you down ‘cause I didn’t want you to rush into somethin’ just because you thought I might want it. Wanted you to want it. Don’t want you doin’ anything with me or for me unless you want to.”

“Oh.”

Joel chuckles a little and adjusts you in his lap to cuddle against his chest. His palms are cupping along your bare back in a sedating pattern. It makes it hard to pull your eyes open, but you manage somehow.

“This is- We’re gonna have to go slow, darlin’. Alright? Not ‘cause I don’t want ya. We just need to have a clear line of talk. No surprises. Clear expectations and boundaries. You understand?” Joel eyes you with a stern tenderness.

“Yes. Slow,” you concede.

Before Joel can explain just how slow he wants to go, you draw him into another kiss.

The title for this chapter is inspired by the poem Cicada by Hosho McCreesh: "Cicada

Sick of his own face, Sick of his skin, of the dark, He crawls outside himself To sing—

A better poet than most." I feel like it sums up that moment in recovery/healing where you are finally ready to emerge from the black hole in yourself and get back into the world.

This chapter was incredibly difficult for me to write. I cannot stress that enough lmao. I hope that it is cohesive and makes sense bc going back to edit it was quite the challenge. Legit crying and/or on the verge of tears nonstop while writing and editing this. Idk what else to say. Take care of yourselves! Much love. &lt;3

catch ya later, ♥Puddles♥

[vacantgodling]

Writer Tag Game!

thanks so much for tagging me @ceph-the-ghost-writer :’) i’ll tag @magic-is-something-we-create @fearofahumanplanet @kudzucataclysm @mjjune @elijahrichardwrites @henrike-does-writing-sometimes & anyone else who sees this :)

under the cut bc it’s long LOL

Do you write in order?

hell no lmaoooo. i seem to be extremely allergic to writing stories in order. the times i’ve tried i can make good headway but i burn out bc some scenes and things that need to happen i just don’t feel like writing at all. so it’s very much like well damn it be this way. i’m an interest based writer pff

Do you start with something in particular?

i’ve always had a rule for myself whenever i read books or write stories: if i’m not convinced to continue reading within the first 3 pages then i’m not gonna read it. it is Technically something that i could/should get out off—some stories do have slower starts and they’re just as valid—but my attention span has always been mad thin. so i need Something to happen to keep my attention.

i bring this up bc that’s how most of my stories usually start: the inciting incident that leads to the rest of the plot. i really prefer if i just get tossed into the middle of what’s happening context or no, because the intrigue will pull me along to want to read the rest, and it’s the same thing for writing.

i do Want to get better at writing slower starts that are still interesting (wips i have like donut wip for instance NEED to start slow bc the tension and weirdness need to be eased in) however i usually don’t like to beat around the bush lmao.

How fully formed does your writing come out the first try?

mm. it doesn’t? ig i’d say it’s formed about 65%. i usually know what i want to happen from point a to point z (maybe some random letters or story beats as well) however the middle events are things i don’t usually tend to plan out. i like to give my characters wiggle room to push the plot in different ways.

so since the only thing i’ve Really written in any long form is donut wip, if i use that as an example: when i started writing i did have a BASIC outline of what i wanted to happen. when i started writing however so many different ideas and things started adding themselves in that make the story feel more rich, but it definitely wasn’t anything i’d planned. the infamous donut scene that gave this wip it’s loving nickname for instance, i didn’t plan at all lol. so for first drafts ig i like to keep things vague and malleable bc it lets my mind fill in the blanks as i’m writing.

How many drafts do you go through?

literally there can’t be a set number it depends on the story and how much i have figured out & how much it needs to be reworked at any given moment lol.

Tell me about your process?

i’m a character and interest based writer. meaning (to me) that i care more about the characters and what would be cool/interesting more than the actual Plot.

usually how things go is:

i come up with a character or characters that i like. n & beau from dead rites for instance, i’ve had hanging around in my head for a couple of years now. di, toph & the rest of the band in lukewarm rejection i’ve had since an old hs story with my ex. i REALLY tend to hold onto characters especially if i like them because i’m never sure if i will eventually come up with something that i like that i can use them for, even if that means putting them in an entirely different story

phase two is the inciting incident: usually i’ll read something, see something, or think about something that i think would be interesting to explore OR as i come up with character backstories a plot slowly starts to reveal itself. donut wip was actually inspired by an article i read before i connected it to the rest of the liminal space series. dead rites was inspired by a random tumblr post about a funnier way to kill vampires. etc etc.

what if questions galore—bc i’m an interest based writer, a lot of how i flesh things out comes to “oh what if i did this” or “oh what if this happened!!!” bc i think it’d be cool. this is why i don’t tend to write in order a lot of the time bc in order to figure things out i’ll usually just start writing random scenes and letting my brain do what it wants to do bc my goal with writing, really, is to tell the most interesting story for Myself possible.

it’s a bit of a weird process and i have a hard time explaining it but i hope that makes sense?

[leonardalphachurch]

I feel like I’m weird for making it through seasons 14 and 15 only to fall off after. Idk, I enjoyed 15 well enough barring a few rough jokes early on that really didn’t land. I guess I just sat on it after and came to the conclusion that the blues and reds felt underutilized as villains? Like Temple’s great, but like all the rest don’t really do more than be really one off jokes that don’t really highlight the growth that the reds and blues have had over the years I feel. Like I came out the other side positive enough but the more I thought on the season the more I felt it’s writing missed the mark on various character plots, some real missed potential there.

The stuff I saw of 16 and 17 looked pretty cool? Whenever it filtered through my dash? But idk something about 15 killed my momentum and the neat stuff about the next few seasons got really tempting but somehow didn’t quite get me hooked back. I’m sure there are/were general rt things that have happened over the past few years that soured my drive to come back to it somewhat too.

Maybe I’ll finally go and watch 16 and 17 when I’ve got some free time someday soon, it’s not like they’re making more seasons anytime soon as far as I know.

it’s not weird, anon. i honestly thought more people did that, till i saw the actual numbers. i think the ending of 15 was… weak? it definitely had some good moments but it was the climactic finale that had to follow up 13’s finale and, like, that was never gonna happen. like, season 11 respected that it wasn’t going to hit the highs of season 10 in terms of, like, big epic drama, so it kept its stakes relatively low. but because the climax’s stakes are so much higher than the rest of the season’s stakes were while still having a good ramp up to them, it still feels very dramatic. it doesn’t stack up to 10’s climax but it’s not trying to. 15 on the other hand was desperately trying to top 13’s climax and it just. it didn’t stand a chance. the ramp up wasn’t horrible but it also wasn’t great and the stakes shot to the fucking MOON (and will just get higher from here). i think i had more to say but i lost it ANYWAY i totally get why someone would fall off after 15.

you’re SO fucking right about the blues and reds i literally. i am literally trying to rework them into my own horrible little men bc i like the concept of them A LOT but they’re executed so fucking bad in canon. i don’t know if you’ve read this post of mine but i talk more about my problems with the blues and reds there

as for continuing to watch. i think 17 is genuinely a good piece of fiction. not a GREAT piece of fiction, but given what it was handed it did a pretty solid job. “solid” is really the word i would use to describe 17. it’s a solid season of red vs blue.

16, however, is a hot fucking mess. i like 16 bc i LOVE hot messes and i have big “i can fix him” energy towards stuff like 16 but i can definitely understand why people think it’s the worst season of rvb. would say it’s my third least favorite. honestly if you (or anyone else) wanted i could let you know what parts to skip bc quite a few just offer absolutely no narrative, character or comedic value whatsoever.

anyway ty anon i wanted to talk about rvb so so badly you gave me a gift of an ask

[sarasa-cat]

Today: one win, one lose. A lot of hours wasted. Oh well.

(What was I expecting ordering a bargain basement posh product from Amazon Basics?)

The win was actually a trip win: My body feels almost back to normal. I woke up before my alarm at a pleasant hour — not too early, not whoooa oh too late. Banged out 4400 words of text at record speed (loving this clickity clackity mechanical keyboard lololol) that helps orient/reorient a major writing project. Well, technically, TWO (2) writing projects.

The lose that wasted so many hours of time? So, I have this Cintiq pro that is small — only a 16” one — which is extremely light weight. Like, 4 lbs 4 oz, maybe? Something like that, it’s been a week since I looked at its specs.

It is really really really REALLY REALLY difficult to find a vesa-plate monitor arm thinger with the specs and positional flexibility I need that is capable of holding something lighter than 7 or 8 lbs. THE PROBLEM.

Eventually someone on reddit claimed that they had luck with an amazon basics product that is essentially a reworked Ergotron arm. And it is only US$100. So, fine. Ordered. Waited for it to arrive. Set it up. AND despite the thousands of reviews with a 4.5 star rating, THE FUCKING THING DID NOT WORK.

Well, so I searched 1 star reviews and it seems there is a quality control issue with this product and lots of people end up with an arm that is all locked up (stuck and not fixable) for all of the joints that move in various directions near the vesa plate. after hours of fucking with it — bc the screws it came with didn’t fit so I needed to get different (shorter) screws for my cintiq — I confirmed that I indeed had one of these zero quality control fuckers. You cannot tilt the monitor (cintiq in this case) left or right or up or down. The mechanism the vesa plate is attached to points up to the ceiling 5evah. Which makes it useless for a normal monitor. For a cintiq I can get the lever arm to drop the whole thing into my lap but that is NOT ergonomic. BAD FOR THE NECK! And hard to draw from the shoulder.

Back in the box, processed a return. Risking a replacement but if that one is also a bust I’m giving up on this and back to the drawing board.

Honestly, I am this close to saying ARRRRGGG and purchasing a big fucker cintiq with cintiq’s mounting system and either selling my 16 or using it for travel because it is really very laptop sized and portable and can be used in one’s lap (which is what most people used it for, at least prior to the pandemic). But for ergonomic reasons I need something on a mount that I can swivel around and tilt and move based on how my body feels.

I just don’t spend enough hours per week in digital land to make me feel justified purchasing the big fucker from cintiq but I cannot afford to be taking off 2, 3, or even 6 to 12 months at a time to let shoulder RSI (yes, my fucking shoulder. The final year at daygig destroyed it. When it was at its worst I really did need 9 months of time off to get it workable.)

But also, I don’t spend much time in digital land for my art process BECAUSE I cannot do it comfortably and ergonomically given my set up and/or equipment.

So fuck.

All that said, once I get a highly ergonomic situation going for digital art, I suspect I will switch a lot more of my process to digital. Tbd. I just don’t know.

I need a new shoulder. Honestly, it hurts right now from all of the fucking around with nonsense that did not solve my problem and it did not hurt this morning or all of the past month.

Who needs a bank account with savings in it. (Yes, I am self employed so I cannot ask boss for ok and expense this to some corporation but instead must fuck around every spring with annual taxes to sort the nonsense out)

[astrobei]

hello my darling suni sprinkling these into ur ask box like they are glitter: 💞🤍💘

hello thea my Favorite Ever <3 unfortunately someone beat u to the 🤍 but here are the other two for you !!

💞: what's the most important part of a story for you? the plot, the characters, the worldbuilding, the technical stuff (grammar etc), the figurative language

i feel like for both writing and reading it would be characters first, and just basic writing (more technical than figurative) second !! i consider my own fics to be very character-focused, in that it’s rarely about the plot or worldbuilding for me and a lot more about either writing character studies or exploring their connections and relationships to each other, so characterization is something that’s super important to me while writing and i do honestly take a lot of pride in it (if i’m being so honest)!! it’s also super important to me when reading, but i feel like i can handle a little bit of ooc-ness (to a degree) if it’s well written! i would put figurative language kind of in its own category when talking about writing my own work because like. i don’t necessarily Think about it in the same way i do characters or plot but it’s more just. how the words naturally come out of my brain? if that makes sense. 😗

💘: Is there any posted fic you want to rework/re-edit/re-write?

oh such a good question !! ik i have mentioned this before but like. my first two fics especially i would definitely rework a little just bc they were my foray into writing after quite some time and i think there are a few technical errors or just some awkward spots that i’d love to touch up or like. minor details i would tweak or write differently !! mostly just bc i had not written in so long and i hadn’t really found a Style that feels as natural as it does now (still working on it tho. of course.) i think other than that (struggles to recall all my fics) i would love to maybe add a couple scenes that i had to cut out of a body in motion because it was So Long and i didn’t want the flow to be interrupted but. in an ideal world this fic would be like 5 chapters long each with a more Normal wc of like. 10-12k instead of publishing one with 18k and then the second with 25k like a Freak

ask me things !!

[total-serene560]

❤️ 🎁💡for the writer asks <3

❤️: oh man, across ALL my WIPs?? And just one line? That's a really hard decision tbh. I'd probably say this one from ASE:

The ground started rumbling as his eyes finally focused on the yellow road paint that cut a straight line between his hands, bisecting his body into left and right segments as he tried to make sense of the fact that his hands looked perfectly fine.

🎁: Okay, since I did ASE for WIP wednesday (and I really don’t want to spoil anything on accident, as much as I know people would probably love that) I'm gonna post one of my FAVORITE non-ST wips I've been working on since 2022 (it's a rewrite/rework of a Fallout 4 fic I wrote when I was 19-20):

(This entire scene is actually one of the best things I’ve ever written, imo.)

💡: I have approximately 3 WIPs I am actively working on/outlining at the moment. Outside of that, there's probably a good 30 of them that will probably never see the light of day, but we’ll see. And just because I feel like writing a lot tonight, I’ll give some more info on those active WIPs!

The three active WIPs are:

a strange education (reach out and touch me): My most active project atm, angsty mystery horror time travel with romantic elements set in a post-ST season 3 AU. Probably the most original idea for a fic I’ve ever had and I’m obsessed with it. Mike dies in 1987, but finds himself suddenly waking up in the middle of a highway in 1990.

I can't keep myself together: In the outlining stages bc I keep changing my mind on important plot points, it's an idea I've had since last year too. It's a bit similar to yours in some ways actually (deals with addiction, reconnection, is set in the early 2000’s). Post-after ST ends (so definitely not gonna be canon compliant with ST5). Mike moves back in with his mom after getting out of rehab after almost drinking himself to death during the week of his dad’s funeral, and is forced to deal head on with a past he’s been running away from for years when he finds out that Will also moved back to Hawkins to take care of Joyce, who had a recent lung cancer diagnosis.

Unnamed Fallout Story (title in the works): this one has been fully outlined and has about 47,000 words (11 chapters) fully written for it that I need to edit. I did it for nanowrimo last year, it’s a rewrite/rework of my 2020 fic Source Decay (which I actively want to delete sometimes bc I don’t like the flow and everyone is out of character. It was my first time back in the game in a LONG time so it was BAD, I didn’t even have an outline 😭). It’s set in Fallout 4, canon-divergent. Piper helps an injured woman to a doctor and gets involved in much more than she bargained for when she gets curious to find out the whole story of where she came from and why.

[serialghoul]

idk how to put this into words but it’s like….. it feels like almost a positive i think that i missed mcr live this time around? not just because i know i made a difficult and responsible decision to put my health first but bc i think if i’d gone i would have gone, had a great time, and then continued on with my life. i’ve been a fan in a kind of low-key way for so much longer than i was ever super invested, like a few solid years vs more than an entire decade of them being a band i still love but don’t listen to all that often.

it was only after having to miss that show that i started seeking stuff out online and found all this fucking content, the costumes, the analysis, the many many many clips where he sings this differently or they play that differently, stuff that i wouldn’t (couldn’t) have noticed if i was there in person for one night. deciding to jump in at the last minute and watch the final livestream of the tour… it’s like it resurrected something in me. i felt something that i haven’t felt since i was 15 in my room trying to struggle through complex riffs with my fingers torn to shreds and my guitar unplugged cause it was after midnight. i’ve been listening to their music again, really listening, pausing and rewinding and adjusting the fucking EQ so i can hear different parts better, and i’m still finding new things to love that i somehow never noticed in the last 17 years of being a fan.

two days after that stream i picked up my old broken electric guitar again for basically the first time in a decade. i started writing a new song, and then another, and then another, and i’m reworking an old one that i never got quite right. i bought a new guitar, a bought some pedals. last night i finally finished the lyrics for the song i started writing before all this, one about addiction and recovery that i was afraid i’d never get right - one i first wrote clumsily fingerpicking on my ukulele and locked away in my bedroom in iso in early 2022, out of my mind with the same covid infection that ended up making me so fucking sick for so fucking long that over a year later i was still too unwell to see them. i’ve already started (tentatively) speaking with a producer friend about recording. i have another friend coming over to jam later today. i can’t know if any of this would have happened if i didn’t miss them, but i really don’t think it would have.

i don’t believe that everything happens for a reason but i also can’t help but see purpose in this. it’s as if everything coalesced so they’d come back into my life just as i needed them, maybe before i even realised how much i did. maybe i never really stopped?

ik it’s a cliche at this point but they weren’t wrong when they first said this band has a habit of saving lives. and they weren’t wrong years later when gerard clarified that really, it’s not about them - it’s about us finding ways through them to save ourselves.

[a-haikyuu-bitch]

Couple of things regarding “that” post

TW: SA/CA

I’m not trying to be mean or combative. Just trying to undo some damage that didn’t need to be done imo.

1. For starters, An author concealing information about a character shouldn’t prompt you to think the worst possible thing of said character especially if there isn’t solid evidence to prove it.

2. A hunch or bad feeling about the mystery surrounding Shinichiro is one thing but to go out of your way to assume Shin was “that” kind of person is insanely harmful and inappropriate to not just that fandom but to Wakui who literally has done everything in his power to make this character a beacon of light who teens that read his manga can look up to. Why Wakui would integrate something that dark into a piece that, while violent, is fairly lighthearted, doesn’t make a lick of sense and it’s super inappropriate to spread such a belief to audiences, especially when said audiences mostly consists of pretty young and impressionable people.

TR fandom already has it fair share of misinformation that spreads to people who aren’t educated, case in point the symbol for manji, we don’t need any more.

3. The whole Mikey having split/DID is also pretty irresponsible.

As a person who has her degree in psychology and has researched disorders, case studies, statistics, and have written papers upon papers, thesis upon thesis on said disorders for almost as long as I have been on this Earth (just trying to state my credibility), DID isn’t this black or white thing of this person has two separate polar* identities…seldom did any research or case study (that I’ve studied professionally over 5+ years) find that this was the case nor is there statistical evidence that proves this to be the case.

While the whole Mikey v. Manjiro thing is concerning, it shouldnt be labeled (automatically) as a mental illness especially bc mentally ill ≠ criminality or impulsivity. Mikey can just be a grey character who is complex to understand and that be the end of it.

I can go further with what DID is and such, but to save you some reading, all I will say is don’t trust those sites that tell you this that and a third.

Check out papers, thesis, etc. the things that we psychologists rely on as they have been proved (not 100% all the time, of course, standard deviations exist but I’m sure Mikey isn’t one of them and I’m even more sure Wakui wouldn’t write him to be one).

And most importantly, the definition or diagnosis of mental disorders including DID is changing every single day, there is no finite way to diagnose someone or find hallmarks to see if someone may exhibiting mentally ill behavior. The DSM-5, psychology’s Bible, is still very much so outdated and needs reworking.

4. Lastly, Everyone is obviously entitled to their own theory but it’s super important to avoid purposefully go out of your way to alter meanings of things to fit your theory. That’s how misinformation spreads like wildfire.

True: Shinichiro hangs around young ones all the time because his siblings (both adopted and biological) are younger than him.

Misinformation/Confirmation Bias: Shinichiro hangs around kids, he may be a p**o.

Calling attention to Shin’s mystery is one thing, but to assume the worst about him and assassinate his character is kind of fucked up.

Is it strange that we don’t know much about Shin? Not really. We don’t know anything about plenty of characters, so why Shin of all people. Idk…

TLDR: there’s no way we’re all reading the same TR manga bc some of y’all are reaching

.

.

.

.

*studies find that, while it varies per individual, in most cases of DID, the patients had personalities that, while different, were rather similar in nature. Meaning, Mikey “flipping a switch”/his dark impulses, most likely, can’t or shouldn’t be labeled as evidence of DID~ (I can provide sources upon request)

[sortasirius]

“Carry On” and...Yikes.

Well clowns, looks like the clown calls were coming from inside the house this entire time.

I so desperately wish I wasn’t writing this right now.  I so wish that I could be writing something better, something joyful, something happy about this fifteen year journey with these characters.  It seems as though the show had other ideas, so in we go.

So...the dog was cool.  Also interesting that Dean was back to his breakup/grieving coping mechanisms: not making his bed, messy room, beer all over the place, Sam making breakfast, etc.

So I guess I better just start off with how...off this episode felt in regards to Dean specifically. Idk why he suddenly wanted a dog and Sam had no real interest in one, since the opposite has been true for, idk, fifteen years, but whatever, I was willing to let it go.

I thought the pie thing was a sweet scene, it was funny and nice and a good button on Dean’s pie thing.

Weird to, you know, bring up Cas and not mention his tragic ass deal and why he got got, but whatever.

I cannot physically believe that this MOTW aspect was, quite literally, so much of the plot.  Like...we figured that it was going to be an aspect, but for it to be SO MUCH?  Bruh.  I am such a fucking fool lmfao.

Again, cool to see Cas’ coat in the back.  Too bad it wasn’t addressed.

Jenny.  Bitch.  Come on.  Of ALL the villains in the FIFTEEN YEARS of Supernatural.  Jenny.  Who was in....one....episode.  Ok.

I mean that line about the high school thing was funny, I did laugh at that moment.  Fuck I love Dean Winchester.

I cannot believe I specced so much about the barn scene.  Are y’all telling me that “The Night We Met” is being claimed by......Sam and Dean.  Fuck off.

I mean, I thought Dean was going to die, and the scene actually did play out pretty similarly to how I thought.  It was probably the most powerful moment in the episode.  I am very glad that it was Dean’s choice, his choice and his peace to let go. 

“Let me look at you.  There he is.  I am so proud of you, Sam.”

I do love this, I love this because Dean is able to look at his work, the man that he raised, and tell him these things.  He was Sam’s parent, he raised Sam into the man he is today, and he should be damn proud of that.

I do love this most of scene, I really do, I love my boys, these brothers so damn much, and at least, at the very least, I have this scene of them.

Forehead touch was weird, I’m just gonna say it.

I feel like most of this episode was montages lol.  I mean I always hate sad Sam but at this point I still fully felt like we were going to get closure and we just...didn’t.

The Austin number was a cool detail, I liked that bc I picked up on it right away (since, you know, my phone is a 512 number lmao).

What a lackluster goodbye to the Bunker.  I had no clue that was going to be the last time we saw it ever.

FUCK AT LEAST I GOT MY DAMN HEAVEN BAR.

The scene with Bobby was nice, it was good to see him.  We did get our remade Heaven, that’s also nice to know.

“It ain’t just Heaven, Dean.  It’s the Heaven you deserve.”

He does deserve this.  An open Heaven, the people he loves, finally some peace, he deserves that, and I am glad that he got it.

Our second Cas mention.  Great.  Thanks guys.

I mean thanks Jim and Jensen for the microexpressions I guess lmao.

So I am supposed to believe.  That Dean.  Whose entire arc has been speaking his truth, specifically speaking his truth to Cas.  Where he has been stopped twice before this season.  Is going to just drive around in circles for forty years until Sam gets there?  Yeah, that’s gonna be a no from me, dawg.

And Sam gets married and has a kid that he names Dean, and the unspecified dark haired woman in the back of the ten minute montage is supposed to be enough for me to buy that it’s Eileen?  Bruh.

Also it’s BACK TO BACK MONTAGES???  WITH TWO VERSIONS OF CARRY ON WAYWARD SON?

Sam’s age makeup????  Hello????  AT FIRST THEY DIDN’T EVEN AGE HIM THEY JUST PUT HIM IN A WIG?????

That cover of Wayward Son did slap but was it enough?  No.

Even that bridge moment didn’t hit right because Sam didn’t cross it?  He was just suddenly there.

It just fucking sucks.  It sucks that their reunion doesn’t land right because they...didn’t do anything when they were apart.  Sam had his kid sure but Dean literally just drove around.  No mention of Cas or of Eileen.  Nothing.  So the last moment of this show I love feels tainted and hollow and just wrong.

It sucks.  I’m not going to lie.  But the worst thing about it?  Is that it doesn’t make any sense.  I have not spent two years of my life picking apart the writing rooms in Supernatural, lauding this current team for what they’ve accomplished for it to end like this.  I know many of you will regard me as a complete tinhat freak right now, but this, to me, does not feel like an episode that Andrew Dabb wrote.  Hell, it doesn’t feel like an episode of Supernatural.

None of the arcs were completed: Dean didn’t get to speak his truth to Cas, Sam never got to become the leader, the legacy hunter he was meant to.  We don’t see them with Cas or Eileen, we don’t even hear about them.

Listen, there’s a lot that...simply doesn’t add up to me.  First of all, the episode was SHORT, and most of it was montages. They had four montages AND the episode was only 38 minutes.  The series finale of the show was shorter than any other episode and had four multiple minute montages.  Okay.  Make it make sense.  Newsflash: it doesn’t, there is simply no way I can believe that there weren’t massive cuts and reworks done to this episode on an executive level.

I know there are people who will tell me that the writers are just bad and I need to accept that they gave me a shitty ending, but after all this time with this story, especially with Dabb’s arc, he just...doesn’t do shit like this.  His arcs are always complete, always tied up well, always have a button.  But this mess?  This confusing episode that left everything hanging with a cover of Wayward Son hanging in the air?  It just doesn’t add up to me.

This wasn’t the story they were telling, this hasn’t been the story they were telling all season, and I stand by that.

So, I sure do wish I could give you a better post. I wish that we had gotten something better.  I still, after everything, love this show, and will still be here in the morning.

Thanks guys.  Love y’all.

[mercurial-madhouse]

hi! I see on your Tumblr you mentioned that you have a couple fics in the outline stage... I'm currently writing for the soulmatesabroad fest, but I never made an outline, I just started writing. I almost never make outlines for anything I do bc they feel too organized for my brain and it stresses me out. is that bad? Will that make it more likely to be too DISorganized for other people?? I have ~2k rn and it hasn't been an issue yet, but will it become one later? tysm! I LOVE your writing 😊😍

Beautiful Anony, congrats on writing for the fest! How exciting! (And thanks for the compliment!)

Please never think that the way you write is bad. There are books and blogs galore in the author world discussing writing method and I believe neither is inherently better than another. Here are some thoughts that’ll hopefully help!

>*<>*<>*<>*<>*<>*<>*<>*<

TO PLOT OR TO PANTS, THAT IS THE QUESTION.

(Great industry terms, right?)

On one end, pure plotting is outlining every single detail, breaking down not just the plot but each scene and then each moment within the scene, every character arc and how the theme will play out in each moment, how long the fic will be to ensure you hit certain points at certain word counts, etc etc. and then writing only once you’ve got everything lined up.

A pure panster, which is where I believe you feel most comfortable, just goes for it! Put that pen on paper or clickety-clack that keyboard and start writing! See where it goes!

Both have pros and cons, but here’s the big secret:

The best method is the one that works for you and gets you writing. 

Here’s the second big secret:

Every writer is almost always a blend of both.

And that mix is a super special concoction that changes with each author and can change with each fic. I’ve never met a writer that flies by the seat of their pants who didn’t start with an idea and therefore have some sense of where the fic was going or what it would be about. That’s a certain level of plotting.

On the flip side, even the most meticulous plotter still pantses when they write. Characters run away from us or the outline has to be reworked, for example. Perhaps you may know what type of scene you want in a certain spot, but have no idea what exactly is going to happen so you just go for it. There’s your pantsing!

>*<>*<>*<>*<>*<>*<>*<>*<

WHAT’S YOUR SPECIAL BRAND OF PLOTTING/PANTSING MAGIC?

Next secret: There’s no right answer, you’ll have to figure it out!

One of the craziest and most mythical experiences in the writing journey is discovering what method (or bits of a method) work(s) best for you depending on what you’re writing.

Here are some of examples from my own body of fanfic works:

My first fic is 186k and I mostly pants’ed it. I started with a single idea: “What would happen if character A got stuck in character B’s head so no one could shut character A up?” Where does it start? A night clubbing! And then I just wrote.

I intended for it to be a crack!fic. It turned into a monster of a wild angst fest with insane levels of snark. The beauty of pantsing.

My most recent fic is 162k and I spent a lot of time plotting it. Why? The fic is very complex, written in two points of view with five important character arcs on top of a very intricate plot with many twists and reveals. With so many moving parts, I needed to have a clear idea of where the pieces fall and wanted to ensure I had a balance when it came to which POV we read.

Occasionally this method put me in analysis paralysis. I was so aware of the rest of the fic that it felt overwhelming at times. And in places where I didn’t have a scene plotted out, suddenly pantsing it felt terrifying. But it also kept me on track. The beauty of plotting.

The fics I currently have in the works are a mix of plotting and pantsing as well. One is a time traveler AU, so I leaned into plotting because of it’s moving parts and the cyclical nature of the plot itself. Meanwhile one I’m posting today started as a drabble where I just wrote.

>*<>*<>*<>*<>*<>*<>*<>*<

CHANGE IT UP AS YOU GO ALONG.

If a method is stopping you from writing, toss it. Try something else. The most important thing is that whatever you’re doing helps you get those beautiful words on paper.

Writers are alchemists. We weave gold from words. Think of it like casting a spell. You have the words (pantsing) and the wand movement (plotting). They’re two separate pieces, but you need both to create the magic. Depending on how you tweak the movement or the words, you may burn your eyebrows off or get a paper butterfly’s wings a’fluttering. Find the pieces that work best for you for the particular spell-fic you’re creating.

Maybe you need the smallest of outlines before you write, a ‘here’s where they start and here’s where I want them to end up’. Maybe you want to completely explore a theme, a feeling, a relationship, so you start with a simple question and see what happens. Maybe you’re stuck so you decide to really plot out one specific scene. Maybe the outline you wrote feels too limiting all of a sudden. Chuck it out!

Pick and choose, love! If it works for you and leaves you with a finished fic you’re proud of, then it’s a success!

>*<>*<>*<>*<>*<>*<>*<>*<

TO BE A PLOTTING-PANTSER OR A PANTSING-PLOTTER? THE ANSWER IS YES.

My current goal is to polish my skill in writing shorter stories. I’m leaning into an outline for my upcoming fic because I want it to stay short, but my personal outline for this one isn’t as rigid or comprehensive as you may think. I’m experimenting to see if it’ll help me hone in on what details can be removed without detracting from the story. I’m still on the journey too. It’s all an experiment and that’s the beauty of it!

As for your final concern about what readers may think: fear not! I gave us a peek inside my writing process for a few of my fics because I guarantee most readers won’t be able to tell whether you plotted or pantsed. (My beta definitely can, but she also knows my writing style inside and out). Were you able to tell reading my fics whether I plotted or pantsed?

If you’re writing, then whatever you’re doing is working.

So keep putting those words out there, love. You got this! Not having an outline may never become an issue. But if it does, make one! Use the tool that helps when you need it. And feel free to reach out to me any time! My ask and DMs are always open. Writing is as solitary or as social as we want it to be.

[sporksaber]

Ok, I love the role swap concept with zuko and azula, but I feel like they switch their abilities and personalities a bit too and I think itd be more fun without that. Where Azula is an antisocial and unstable genius who wants to gain power and zuko still struggles with being the less powerful and extremely empathetic sibling. So here's how I'd do it.

(Note, this is just for fun. I'm not saying anyone else's version is bad. But I've though about this so much and need it out of my head before I go off cuz make a whole comic and I do not have the time, i need to work.)

First off, Azula wouldn't call out in concern for the men like how zuko did. In my version she's allowed into the meeting because of the aptitude for strategy shes shown. She speaks up because it's an inefficient plan that uses up too many resources when there are other options. This enrages her father and leads to the agni kai. Azula is terrified and feels betrayed but has no idea how to handle any of it. She fights back during the agni kai, but in her panic she sets off a bolt of lightning. Ozai finishes the match and severely burns on her lower back. Azula is banished for her use of lightning on the fire lord (bc ozai fears she will no longer be easy to manipulate and might plot his death) and is forced to leave the next morning.

Some things to note: azula is eleven at this point. I changed the placement of the scar bc I think zuko's is very symbolic in a way that doesnt suit azula. Zuko's scar being over his eye and close to the light chakra shows the way his view of the fire nation and honour obscures his vision and how he is unaware of the truth of the world under fire nation rule. I set azula's over her spine because that chakra is based on survival and blocked by fear. It also represents trust which will fit into her arc with the gaang. Finally, she doesnt have Iroh to guide her. One of the things that bothered me was Iroh writing her off as evil despite her being a mentally unstable child. She did have to be defeated, but the way he talked about it was too dismissive. (Personally I think he was projecting his views of his brother and his perceived failures with him onto her.) Azula isnt sent to capture the avatar so she isnt given soldiers. She's completely alone without an advisor to look to or keep her calm.

Azula is given a manned ship with a disgraced soldier and an attendant when she leaves. The way I see it the soldiers zuko had were probably more irohs than his. The soldier is relieved to not be executed but hates being demoted to playing babysitter to a child at sea. The attendant views it as a punishment and hates Azula for it. Eventually the attendant will betray her and be killed for it. Azula never trusted the soldier and he eventually leaves to start a family in an earth kingdom colony. Azula doesnt miss him, he was no longer useful. The loneliness does get to her though.

Azula is obsessed with getting the underhand, so she had been successfully building connections and planting spies where needed.

(Zuko has been acting as a respectable crowned prince. He holds a zealous loyalty to his nation and father. He still faulters as Iroh tries to steer him from tyranny, but his sights are set on his father's approval and that alone. Afterall, if his prodigy could be discarded who's to say what would happen to him if he failed?)

This brings us to the start of the series. Like Zuko Azula witnesses the trap on the old fire nation battle ship go off. She investigates and finds that an air bending avatar is living at the south pole village. She decides she wants to speak with him.

Azula didn't believe the avatar existed before this point. Hiding didnt add up to her knowledge of the morality of airbenders, so she assumed the air nation avatar from the start of the war would be dead. She would know if one had appeared in the water tribe, as the south had all its benders killed and the north was compacted so close together it would be impossible to hide. Earth would be harder, but they were most likely to fight back and out act. And if in ba sing se they'd be used as a weapon or gotten rid of to preserve the peace of the city. Once the culcle progressed to the fire nation it would either be used to take over the other nations or enf the cycle for good. After all, there hasn't been an air bender for a hundred years even if the rumors of some acolytes surviving were truthful.

Azula kidnaps aang with far more ease than she should of been able to. Once he stops struggling she calmly offers him tea and promises to release him once their discussion is finished. He takes the tea and drinks it without question and besides a wary glare shows no more hostility. She thought him a fool, the tea could have easily been poisoned and promised are nothing but words. His naivete makes her job easier though.

She finds out that he was suspended frozen in the avatar state the last 100 years. And so, Azula informs him of the war and the fire nations crimes, advising him to master the elements if he wants to prevent all his new friends and the avatar cycle from certain destruction. Aang is conflicted, he never asked for any of this. Azula just gives a bitter smile. "The hands of fate were never designed to take requests, they move without regard to any life dependent on it. Dont waste your breath when there is nothing you can do."

Azula wants to see Ozai fail. If helping the avatar is what it takes then so be it. When his friends appear to save him she let's them leave without a fight. Theyll be useful in the future.

As the gaang's travels kick off she sets out to find out if the rumours about the acolytes are true. In this she finds a traveling circus. The youngest daughter and an old friend of hers was eager to escape and found Azula's life exciting. She didn't hesitate after being invited along, insisting that traveling would be easy for her and that she'd pull her own weight.

She encounters the gaang a few times as time goes by. The relationship is reluctant on the water tribe siblings part, they dont trust her and hold a decent amount of fear towards her. Her cold and calculating demeanor was unsettling, but the unhinged way she fought was terrifying. Her form was perfect and her attacks were precise, but the bigger the fight the more lost she became as she laughed and shrieked and occasionally snapped at someone who didnt seem to be there. The only worse reaction was when she zeroed in on one opponent, picking them apart both mentally and physically as she drove them to the ground. )

Things that'll happen as I move through an episode list:

Azula doesn't have her ship attacked do she diesnt run into zhao while doing repairs, instead going straight to ty lee.

Azula learns that the gaang is on kyoshi island and heads ther after them. She has been keeping track of the avatar as they move. Ty lee gets along well with the kyoshi warriors while azula buts heads with them. They dont want her there and azula hates it when people get in the way. Zhao appears to try to capture aang and Azula dips at the same time as the gaang. She tells ty lee she can stay but she insists on sticking with azula. This puts her on edge.

Ty lee gets captured by earth benders, when she escapes on her own she cements her usefulness to Azula.

They run into zhao trying to capture the avatar and azula tells him she'll capture him first. They both attack aang during the solstice, though azula's attacks are all purposefully set to miss and trip up zhao as much as possible. Aang is the best way to prove her father wrong and she's not going to lose that.

They rob the pirates that try to capture the avatar. Azula needs the resources and it gives her leverage over the gaang.

After almost killing ty lee for scaring her by popping up behind her Azula tells her why she was banished. (In more of a "my own mother thought I was a monster" way than an opening up about trauma way.)

Azula learns that zhao has captured aang and frees him. She then sets to reworking her information network as not all of them are scared enough of her to not fail her. She remedies it quickly.

Azula learns that zhao is plotting her assassination and decides it's the perfect moment to fake her death.

Azula enters the north pole to defeat zhao and gain any information she can. Ty lee rades a library during the confrontation. Zhao is surprised and infuriated to see her alive, Azula smiles as she sends him to his death knowing that she is not only helping the avatar but also that he gave her a perfect way to hide from the fire nation. (When news of his sisters death reaches hum, Zuko doesnt know what to think. She was always cruel to him, but she was still his little sister.)

The crown prince of the fire nation is sent to capture the avatar. Azula follows him as he begins his search. (Zuko begins to think he's going insane as he keeps catching glimpses of his recently deceased sister out of the corner of his eye.)

Ty lee keeps running into a girl she slowly befriends. She's gloomy and sarcastic and ty lee thinks Azula would like her. (Zuko's fiance Mai tells him that she thinks his sister is still alive.)

As Azula notices ty lee become more and more distracted as she absorbed herself into the cultures that surround them she decides it's best for them to split up. Ty lee diesnt agree, but Azula leaves anyway. She has work to do.

While traveling alone Azula cant escape the thoughts of her mother. Of her fathers betrayal. Of the life she lost because the idiot elders had no grip on proper strategy that even a child could create. She meets a boy that reminds her far too much of zuko with a mother far to similar to theirs. When she sends the bandits controlling the town running she knows it's more than just controlling a territory that compelled her. But at the same time she doubts not following through on the whim would have bothered her.

Ty lee meets toph and chat for a bit. Ty lee tells her about azula and how she left. When toph tells her she should forget her she insists that azula didnt really ditch her and that they're still friends. They talk about their friends and childhood.

Ty lee finds Azula and immidiently jumps at her, which she does not enjoy. Ty lee insists that she still wants to travel with her and Axula sighs as she let's her tag along to the next location, ba sing se.

Azula slips through guards and protocols as she tries to gain any information she can to help her once they reach the city. Ty lee befriends a guy named jet and his group, the freedom fighters. When he tries to get more than friendship she turns him down and it becomes much more awkward.

Ty lee becomes a street performer and chames everyone she meets as Azula researches the dai lee and how they keep control. After lashing out in frustration ty lee drags her out to enjoy the city's night life.

Azula learns of the presence of the avatar and location of appa. She frees him and sets to work taking control of the dai lee. She let's herself be briefly captured but her plan shifts when katara is thrown in with her. Katara is pissed just being around her and azula plays up a cool kind of annoyance. Katara briefly catches sight of the burns on Azula's back and offers to heal her, only for Azula to freak out and yell at her to stay away, backing against a far wall in a fighting stance. They are saved by the rest if the gaang and ty lee shortly after.

Azula goes back to try and salvage her plan only to be caught off guard by the appearance of her brother and his offer to return to the fire nation. Not willing to lose all possible advantages, she agrees. They battle the gaang, and when they are almost captured azula sends a bolt of lightning at aang, causing them to retreat. Katara can heal him more easily than she can maneuver them out of an execution.

Azula returns to the fire nation with her brother, mai and ty lee, starting the beginning of a large power play between her and her father. They are sent to lo and li beach house. The relationship between the siblings is tense, zuko has always been the child born with nothing who gained everything when his blessed at birth sister lost it all. Azula has always been cruel, but he cant help but let his heart catch on the moments when she's not. ("My own mother thought I was a monster, My father thought i was too difficult to keep around" "Don't let their words blind you, you need to be more careful, zuzu." "I learned the hard way to never turn your back to anyone, and the scars will always be there as a reminder if I need it." )

Azula runs into iroh, who is very disapproving of her presence. He warns her to stay away from zuko and to watch herself while at the palace. Later, zuko comes to her asking about their great grandfather. Upon being pressed he admits that he was sent a mysterious letter. He thought she was going to burn it when he handed it to her but instead the heat from the fire revealed a hidden ink. "Honestly brother, did you ever pay attention at all during lessons?" They find a autobiographical scroll of their great grandfathers life and the secret that their other great grandfather was roku. Azula scoffed at the idea of bloodlines deciding fate and quickly left. But Zuko remained conflicted.

During the day of the black sun Azula confronts Ozai. As iroh and Zuko fight the avatar. She learns that her mother left for zuko's sake and that she was never going to be fire lord. Azula tells him she'll be somthing even better and leaves the palace.

Azula and ty lee follow the gaang to the western air temple. Katara immidprntly attacks but is quickly rendered unable to bend by ty lee. Azula tells them that the only way for them to of gotten out was for Aang to be incapacitated, and she knew katara could heal him. Aang decides they can stay but have to stay distanced from everyone else.

Azula tries to teach aang fire bending but is slowly growing sick while aang is barely able to produce a puff of smoke. Unable to sleep and constantly on edge, it soon affects her bending, sending her spiraling as she loses control on the only consistent power she's ever had. Her and aang journey to find the true source of fire bending to try to help their conditions.

Still sick, Azula is itching to do anything away from the temple. Finding sokka trying to reach the boiling rock to find his father, she decides to go with him as she knows the prison well. Sokka declines but she goes anyway. They dont find his father, but they do find suki. Azula formulates a plan but they postpone when sokka's father arrives.

Azula comes up with a new plan, now reluctant to include sokka. He tells her to trust him but she insists she has no reason to. Her sickness has been getting worse and he tells her she needs to trust him, making her angry. Only when he catches her while they're escaping dies she finally begin to accept trusting him, if only slightly.

(While they're away ty lee tries to convince

Azula goes with Katara to find the man who killed her mother. Azula has no concept of why katara is so upset, which causes her to get angry. But azula tracks the man anyway.

Ember island players- azulas character has the scar across her chest. She's absolutely insane and "not entirely inaccurate, but I'd never come up with such a dumb plan." Shes also heavily implied to be more than close to ty lee, which azula has no reaction to even as the others freak out.

I havent decided the ending, zuko will probably turn to the gaang's side. I'll add more later and maybe write or illustrate a bit.

[dikiyvter]

✄ What is an idea you originally had in mind for your muse, but ended up scrapping? Why?

☒ Is there any sort of behavior towards your muse (ic or ooc) that you simply cannot stand?

◑ What is a side to your muse you want to show off, but haven’t had the chance to yet?

Munday meme ./ accepting

✄ What is an idea you originally had in mind for your muse, but ended up scrapping? Why?

       At this point, I’m pretty certain a good 98% of Riga’s original character has been scrapped or fully reworked. When I started the blog Riga was very much... more of a one-dimensional abusive piece of shit? Granted, at the same time, Gio was very much more one-dimensional as well, considering his primary trait was ‘sad but cute��, lmfao. As I started developing Gio more I realized that Riga’s character was not working or serving the purpose I needed it to, especially when I started developing Gio’s own flaws and ; And then Eventually as I started giving in to actually writing Riga I realized... some issues. He was severely underdeveloped and mostly relegated to a ~ * crazy * ~ stock character, and uh... I kind of didn’t really enjoy writing him. In general I don’t like writing characters that don’t have any nuance or grey areas to them-- Writing a character that’s 100% evil 100% of the time? Not my thing, I don’t think it resembles reality in any way shape or form and I find no enjoyment in it-- ESPECIALLY when I started realizing I wanted there to be at least a glimmer of a chance for Riga to maybe learn to be a good person, and that’s just wasn’t really feasible with how his character was in the beginning.

       ...What mostly kickstarted me reworking Riga, though, was him and Lio meeting, lmfao. I cannot stress enough how much that and their ~ * blooming relationship * ~ jolted me through developing him and actually sitting down to work through things regarding him and how his mind works and how he thinks about things, and uh. Idk. Overtime I just started dropping a LOT of the earlier concepts I had of him in favor of writing someone I felt fit the narrative I wanted a bit better, and actually enabled him to grow as a person and develop better, healthier relationships-- Which is something I really really really enjoy writing. 

( Dottore is kind of the exception here, being a character that-- while I’d like to explore the Greyer side to his personality and interactions with those that he does hold in higher regards... I don’t want to see him get better. I don’t believe it’s something he deserves, nor something he is truly capable of-- because unlike Gio and Riga, he doesn’t- and never will- acknowledge that something is wrong, or that he needs to do better. He’s not a victim of circumstance, and his illnesses and traumas are not justification- nor even proper explanation, really- for his actions. He’s an awful person, and I want to see him pay for the things he does to others. )  

☒ Is there any sort of behavior towards your muse (ic or ooc) that you simply cannot stand?

       Mm... Riga is a powerful character. He’s a bigass machine with a bigass sword and electro powers built for the express purpose of killing even bigger machines and whatever other horrors Dottore can make up. In other words-- he’s kind of op. It’s an intentional point. He’s supposed to be a very large, mean looking, powerful character, afraid of his own strength, who does want to be gentle but has more or less never been given the opportunity. It’s taken me a lot of working on my own anxiety to feel comfortable writing a character who can feasibly kick ass relatively easily, and I feel like I’m constantly making sure that I’m not overstepping boundaries in what he does bc I’ve had some downright terrible experiences in the past with OP muses and muns who don’t care to discuss anything and I don’t want to be one of those people...

       ... But also I get irritable when his strength is discounted and he’s easily written off as something someone could beat with relative ease. Gods? Yeah, sure, go ham. But humans? No. Your character is gonna have to put in the effort. A lot of it. Riga kills things ten times your muses size on the Weekly. 

◑ What is a side to your muse you want to show off, but haven’t had the chance to yet?

       GOD I JUST WANT RIGA TO HAVE BETTER FRIENDSHIPS, MAN. I think so far Lio is the only fully established and fully-positive relationship that Riga has with another person and I just want him to be able to have more of that. I doubt Riga will ever fully drop his mask for anyone but Lio but still-- I just think he deserves a friend or two to know he can trust and lean on. I want him to feel okay being gentle with others more. I want Riga to get to be affectionate and receive affection in turn. 

       ... ON THE TOTAL OPPOSITE END? I want to write the sides of Riga and Gio that are what Dottore intended of them. Riga is feral in battle, and I’ve mentioned before that, not being immune to his own delusions electro, he becomes very erratic and sort of... scatterbrained after using it. I want to write more of that Riga. And with Gio, I’d love to be able to write more of him when he’s being serious. When he’s thinking out scientific problems, when he’s working on a specimen, when he’s pissed off and angry and about to fill someone with arrows. I want to write the awful side of my boys just as badly as I want to write the affectionate side. 

       Previous point said, because this ties in-- I desperately want to write more of them when they were younger and still both totally loyal to Dottore. Riga, pre-delusion, was a very different man than who he is now; And Gio was essentially a creepy bug-eyed little chameleon, always at Dottore’s heels, trying to learn how to be Human by obsessively watching everyone around him. It’s just really really fun to write. 

[copias-thrall]

I’ve been thinking a lot about this recent ask about plump readers I was tagged in.

This is going to be long, very personal, and meandering, so pls bear with me.

cw: body issues; eating disorders

I was intimated by others that I had a huge list, which—if we’re talking about a specific list of HCs—I don’t. I mean, no one’s even requested it, but it’s also bc I don’t want plumpness to be a specialty HC. If we’re talking in general about how I write my 2nd person readers, then yeah—I do. And the thing is, it’s not a blatant thing bc it’s not supposed to be. 

And here we go: filling wish-fulfillment prompts is a fine line. First of all, you want to satisfy the askee. Second of all, you want to try and be inclusive. Frequently, those two things are at odds. Most of my asks are for f!readers, which I admit as a f!person myself, are easier to write about. (Write what you know and all.) That said, when I can, I do try to be reader neutral. I reworked a lot of my kinktober prompts to be neutral bc of feedback from my blog readers requesting that. Yes, there were still f!reader shorts, but I tried to make sure there was an even spread.

“What am I getting at?” you’re asking, which: fair. But I did warn this was going to be a journey.

My point is, even outside the Ghost fandom—and Ghost isn’t my only one—I see a lot of complaints that “Reader Insert” fics aren’t neutral enough. So when I can, I try to be neutral about gender, age, and appearance—which includes body descriptions—but to be honest, I don’t want to imply that my reader-inserts are beautiful, skinny ppl. I read a lot of fics where the OC or insert is ultimately described as such and, you know, it makes me feel bad.

That is not to knock the authors. Skinny ppl have just as much right to read about characters that represent them, and that’s valid. But…can we acknowledge that it’s more likely the OC is going to be a pretty waif? Fuller ppl have just as much right to read wish fulfillment about characters like them that don’t center on them being loved despite their weight. And I want to write about fuller-figured readers who want to see themselves represented unabashedly and without fetish.

So, ok: a little background. (Here comes that cw.) I wasn’t a plump child, but I was never skinny. I had plenty of baby fat. As a teen, I morphed into this willowy, swan-like creature. For years I hovered just under 100lbs. At the time, I just assumed it was metabolism. But see. My mother was terrified I’d grow up fat. She started restricting my food intake at a young age. By the time I was a teen, I didn’t see anything fucked up about the way she portioned my food or “docked” my calories if she caught me sneaking a snack. As a child under her care, I didn’t realize what she was doing.

My friends spread ugly rumors about my secret anorexia. I didn’t know what I could do to explain to them that I wasn’t starving myself. My friends’ parents invited me to dinner and forced me to eat 2nds and 3rds. I didn’t know how I could explain to them that my stomach was so small, they were causing me discomfort. 

I really don’t know how to describe what it’s like to have an eating disorder that you don’t control and don’t know you have. It wasn’t until I went to college that I even realized how fucked up my situation was.

At 19, I came home clocking in at 110lbs. Friends and family were shocked. My parents were appalled, and everyone else expressed concern over how much weight I’d gained and how bloated I looked. At the same time, my college friends were still joking about how I “ate like a bird.”

Nowadays I clock in somewhere in the 200s, and no one describes me as bloated. It’s hard for me to understand how some of the same ppl who sat me down to talk to me about how concerned they were for my weight gain to 110lbs, can now tell me how much they admire my youthful glow.

And yeah. I spent years deeply unhappy with my actual body. After the shame of “ballooning” during college, I tried to revert back to the habits my mother tried to instill, and I punished myself when I couldn’t. But it was unsustainable and unhealthy when she did it, and even I had to eventually acknowledge I couldn’t make it acceptable.

I can’t tell you what changed. My adult friends were always supportive, and that helped. My boyfriends never complained, and that helped too. I think maybe it was just age. I think back on how hungry I was all the time, how frail I felt, and compare it to how sated and solid I feel now. As a teen with no life experience I had no comparison.

How much do I weigh now? I honestly don’t know. I haven’t owned a scale in a decade. It’s…a lot. Just when I think I’ve reached my peak, my “fat clothes” get too small. And yes, I know my experience is wildly different from other fat ppl. I am not saying my experience is singular or universal—I am only trying to explain why I write the way I do.

What I do know is that there are a lot of us plump ppl who have always or finally feel good about our bodies. Or even the ones who aren’t there yet who want to feel good about it, and that’s who I want to rep in my stories. That’s why I talk about bellies and pudge and thighs. It’s why the Papas are always grabbing flesh and why Mary sometimes labors under his partner’s weight.

So, no. I do not have A List of HCs for plump readers, because we’re not a niche or a speciality. If I’m not more explicit about it, it’s bc I’m also trying to make sure my inserts are universal—that rep is important too. Like I said, it’s a fine line, but I want you to know that you are seen. You are heard. The Papas and the Ghoul/ettes love you, rolls and all. They have either grown up in the Church of sin or have been summoned straight from Hell, and they aren’t conditioned by growing Western standards of beauty.

[sinnhelmingr]

7. Have you ever regretted a ship, romantic or otherwise? // @untamedtempest​

lights up a cigarillo dissolves into my couch

christ haven’t i.

earliest instance of this i can name is during the old cod fandom predator uproar when i had two ship partners lose their god damn heads. the first decided to side with the pedo. that was the end of one ooc friendship and all ic interaction bc she prioritized the friendship with the creep over the safety of minors, despite trying to present herself as a cool woke ally to victims. the other ship partner who took a turn is more the one i regret bc she seemed more reasonable and had already largely broken her friendship with the freak in question. we stayed mutuals for a short while, largely driven by ships we had developed between muses.

then she started stealing bits and bobs of other people’s characters. not like coincidental things, either, i’m talking whole swathes of characterization and backstory. she had one oc basically replace a friend’s canon in his relationship with the main villain, then her oc aligned with the same faction started becoming more and more a pastiche of my own oc. i played a romani take on a canonical sniper, how coincidental she retcons her own already established sebastian stan-as-a-sniper oc to be romani. i will give you all a moment to process that. she then proceeded to start playing the canonical sniper, claiming she wanted a more ‘canon’ and ‘accessible’ take on him in what was a miniscule fandom. the main differences between mine and hers besides fcs was that hers happened to be white and heterosexual to mine being poc and bisexual. 

(there’s a lot more examples than these but these are the primary things involving my characters. she did the same with a lot of my friends and their muses, too, to the point the skype chat to discuss the fandom creep soon turned to reassuring one another that yes, this person’s latest headcanon or reworking of her character sounded a lot like something already said about an established blog in our little corner of the internet.)

it was a nightmare of her trying to bully the entire fandom about how what she was doing was ok and the plots she was pushing onto us were going to be written, that we were all still going to interact with her despite just blatantly stealing or reworking characters out from under us. she eventually decided to stop pushing her luck and moved her frankenstein monstrosities to a fandomless ‘original lore’ multimuse, where i can safely say the saddest statement i have ever conceived: somewhere out there, someone is ripping off call of fuckin’ duty and claiming it as an original work. i don’t think you can get less creative than that. i regret every moment i poured into interacting with this woman, let alone letting her try to say good dick or receiving love from one of her ocs would heal the many deep and sexually-based traumas my own oc had been struggling with for two decades.

that was all in the early-mid 2010s, however. i have not had contact with these people in as long, thank fuck, though i have seen the asshole that sided with the creep was still active as of 2020 and was still going strong with her absolute shitshow of a stereotyped native oc and yes, is still trying to present herself as a 100% woke ally who is better than anyone who criticizes her shockingly stereotyped and sexualized diverse casting and characterization uwu. and yes, she is white.

more recently, i had a former partner who got obsessed with several of my muses in other fandoms. like, very uncomfortably involved with them. to the point they started trying to define them for me, or at least the narrative around them. their defining relationship better be with this person’s character, and if i tried to talk about ships these characters had with other partners or even canon characters -- not even romantic, necessarily, if i so much as talked about other dynamics within a fic i was writing about an oc this happened too -- then i got guilt tripped or the other ship got talked down to build up what we had between our muses. their favorite ship in particular, from hindsight, was very obsessive and abusive, all of it being framed as romantic by my partner. it’s all honestly very fresh and some other stuff i realized about my relationship with this person is very upsetting to me, so i’d prefer not to dwell on it except to say it was genuinely problematic material presented in such a way that i didn’t recognize it at first and i feel manipulated by the whole situation. 

i’m trying not to give a lot of details in case the person checks my page, but i think i regret this more than the situation above. that was just silly character stealing form someone my followers might giggle about as they read. this is where i’ve felt a little violated realizing i was used to write concepts and themes that personally trigger me.