#hit them RIGHT in the crippling self doubt

[frownyalfred]

Pissed-off Batkid: “I’m not Batman.”

[authority figure] who’s about to ruin their entire year: “Yeah, that much is pretty obvious. Because Batman would’ve already figured a way out of this shit.”

[3liza]

seriously though from my experience dealing with other rich middle aged men I can tell you this right here, what we are witnessing right now, is the root of much evil in the world.

guys like Matt own and run everything that's privatized and larger than a certain level of scale. these guys get put in a steel tunnel from childhood onward into this weird little knotted ball of insecurity and entitlement, with no time spent during their youth in developing any interpersonal skills at all that aren't "talking slightly too loudly at a corporate party". I've worked as a domme, and a ton of these guys start hiring dominatrices when they get to Matt's age because they're unable to maintain anyone's attention without paying for it anyway and are so crippled with insecurity they can't be honest with women in their lives if they have any. this doesn't help them much because inauthentic human connection makes things worse. exposing even mild, normalized fetishes make them shut down and lash out, but it's not just a sex thing, it's their whole lives. I've watched so many of them hit their 40s, have a bunch of money and a little power, and realize all the poor degenerates they've spent their lives treating like a spectacle or a fantasy are the ones actually having fun, and who other people actually enjoy spending time around. this is pure speculation on my part, idk anything about his personal life and am not trying to find out. the posts are enough to diagnose a dozen extremely pressing problems he will have to painstakingly deconstruct in $10,000 Ayahuasca retreats to get anywhere.

and I wouldn't be so critical about their personal failings as a class of people if they didn't make those failings everyone else's problem. they are fully aware they are fucking up but have always been able to get immediate gratification by standing still and screaming until someone brings them exactly what they need. they know they could use their money to put people in houses or feed them, they deal with this by just not thinking about it. no one has ever genuinely liked them and they're aware of this, often including their own parents. they are frustrated with women. they have zero creative outlets and no skills. even if they have relationships they don't fall in love or experience limerance. all they do is make money or handle money, they are incapable of performing real labor and are alienated from the concept of labor itself so they invent weird orthorexias and compulsive exercise schedules to feel like they're performing labor. a lot of them develop substance problems because it alleviates some of the crippling inhibition and self doubt, but that causes more problems. some of them are narcissists or sociopaths which helps them cope with the extreme isolation but a lot of them arent, and just constantly afflicted with the same problems people get in solitary confinement or being the pariah at a high school. any of them could opt out of all this crap at any time and simply choose not to. these guys are ruining everything.

[rin-and-jade]

I'm Definitely Faking: A Post about Self Doubt

Alright, i get it. Many people had done things like these but it won't stop me from taking this topic deeper than anyone had done (as i ever read them too) so, for any of you who are interested, or attempt to find a dedicated answer/discussion around this topic, please and PLEASE read it, you will not regret this.

I'm very sure most of you are doing your usual routine, until a thought strike at you fast as lightning, "wait, what if i'm just faking __", or if you knew something you "shouldn't" (say, being a system) then it makes you spiral down the rabbit hole, right? And it is not beautiful, it's extremely taxing both emotionally and mentally. Nobody wants to lie accidentally to people, what if we're actually fine? How would you know? Are you tricking people to get the attention you never received as a child?? How would you actually know?? And etc. I will tell you how. It will stop those doubts for good.

Where it all started..

First of all, anything can be the starting point to where it all goes down. But, generally speaking i think it stems from how people think of what being a system is like, and i mean it in a personal view. Too rare to have one? Probably faking, Good communication? Faking, aware of other presence of parts? I'm faking, can't switch? Faking again, darn it. You get the idea here, right?

About that crippling doubt of mine..

Why would someone panic when they think they’re faking, when real fakers never gave a fuck? The problem is not on the disorder but more on the lack of proof for certainty,, and because you start to doubt from it, you then think you’re actually faking. I have a few to say about how it attacks, so bare with me:

Tendency to think on extremes When you start to think that having something means needing to suffer for like every single second.. that one minute period of ease and relieve will be the bullet in the gun to trigger a thought of "faking". Getting a better view that, for example how depression means you can laugh or feel good from a comfort show, does not mean you don't have depression due to that particular moment.

Focusing on the wrong dot What if i tell you, that you might be looking at the wrong side? Be it only looking at one side of the coin (biased towards looking for clues to prove yourself wrong, e.g. alters are not distinguishable from each other, and so it means you're not a system) or focusing too much about how other's experience is like and if you don't relate then you're not real, or maybe you have your own assumptions/expectations about how the disorder should look like and when it doesn't meet the criteria.. well.. you know what to say.

"I feel like.." When emotions hits to the roof, logic gets thrown out from the house. Tell me who can think well in stressful moments,, the answer is no one, some can appear more collected or have a higher tolerance before they can panic but you get the point. We all have feelings at the end of the day, no one is unfeeling and no one can escape from it,, i'm not saying you have neglect it, more like i want you to be aware when those said emotions are controlling (more like affecting) your thoughts. Too much of it can throw off the balance in rationality, easier to dismiss proof, and worser decision making. So, if you feel overwhelmed,, make a quick choice on calming yourself down, it will be easier to challenge the worries and negative thoughts once you are aware and actively practicing.

This isn't my first time..

You guessed it. Sometimes one assurance won't do the trick anymore after a few weeks, it comes back with more and more bullets to shoot you down, who says the bullets are gone when someone makes a post about people that their experience is valid? You have to work on yourself, because one day, you will doubt about something people never post and you are alone,, dealing with all the murky thoughts will be less harder, if you follow these tips:

Everyone is different, the disorder never look static and same for everyone. Having a different struggle or way of functioning never equates to being a fraud. Tell yourself that.

Focusing on evidence, not on what you don't experience or have, being a green apple does not make you a pear,, you are still an apple because of its shape and taste and overall appearance. Not just because you're green, it invalidates every other evidence of what counts as an apple.

Throw away all those unhelpful confirmations, you don't need to constantly check wether your other parts are real, you don't need to know having a blackout means you're still not faking, you don't need anything related to this? Because we are going to heal and learn, confirming becomes obsolete,, as things will change, clinging onto an image on how you should be or live like will do no good. Seeking constant assurance does more harm.

Never downplay your own experiences. Easier said than done but i know someone will say right on my face that being beaten up regularly by a father is not that bad to develop trauma or a system (for example) while it darn is. If things are downplayed more often and to many aspects, you will be more prone to thinking that you're "faking". Due to the nature that developing this disorder requires severe and ongoing trauma, and guess what,, trauma comes in all forms.

With this, it will be much easier to accept you have a disorder,, and accept that it's not all black and white, actually this can be applied with anything, but my point is that. Practice more compassion for yourself, by understanding and being aware,, and not resorting to self negativity or elses, this will not be a major problem for you ever again. Also noting that yes its alright to relapse and question everything again, but this time you fight back,, you hear me soldier?

Do you copy that, *walkie-talkie sound*

- j

[cookinguptales]

guess it's time for the vent post

(note: I will be okay. usually my ketamine treatments help with pmdd symptoms, but occasionally a treatment won't hit quite right and things will get worse for a couple days. I'll be okay, though, I'm just feeling... well, a cocktail of self-doubt, anxiety, loneliness, and overthinking. lmao)

anyway, full disclosure, this won't be a very nice or happy post and is probably the kind of thing I would've posted in a locked LJ entry back in the day but that doesn't really exist in the same way anymore so just bear with me. I need to just. get it out somewhere.

lately I've really been worrying that I'm not capable of being in a normal relationship anymore. like, I was never great at social interaction, but I'll admit that things really took a fucking nosedive after a particularly bad relationship with a woman who. well, I don't think it's a night for particulars. she was an adult and I wasn't. I was very lost, very lonely, and very sick back then, and she really enjoyed being the only person I felt like I could count on.

I... was wrong, I guess.

and... idk, I've definitely had a lot of nights since then (and days with therapists) where I try to sort through how exactly that affected me and my ability to form meaningful romantic relationships. I have a difficult time feeling safe with people. honestly, I did even before her (I had... a very fucked-up home life) but it was harder after. and let's just say that a lot of my friends at the time turned out to be... less than friendly when the shit hit the fan.

so... yeah. hard for me to open up to people in a meaningful way, I guess. like, I can tell strangers about my anxieties, but it becomes harder for me to do once we're friends. and even then, I guess I can trust people with my thoughts but not my... idk, emotional safety.

once when I was pretty tipsy I told a friend that I didn't think I could love the kind of person who would actually love me back, and I still worry that it's true. I allow myself feelings very rarely, and when I do, it's always for people who don't feel the same way.

I never... like... set out to do it... I don't think it's a conscious thing. I fell for straight girls a few times. then bi girls with boyfriends. I did eventually make it to single lesbians, but they always ended up either getting girlfriends, not wanting to date at all, or just not wanting to date me.

to be clear, I don't blame any of them. but I'm starting to wonder if maybe I should be blaming me...? like, I never knew that any of them were straight or coupled or uninterested when I developed feelings myself. but I wonder if subconsciously, I picked up on it...?

for a while now, I've been genuinely worried that My Type is girls who aren't into me. :')

like, not consciously. but subconsciously, am I just picking up on the fact that they're not attracted to me? or they're safely ensconced in another relationship? or they are comfortably not dating at all? but either way, they're not looking at me like a potential partner, and I like that?

some days I feel like I've mostly healed from everything that happened, and other days I feel like I'm just going to be broken and fucked-up and unlovable forever. like, jesus christ, have I learned to associate people who actually want me with danger? do I only feel safe with people who aren't attracted to me? is that why that's the only kind of person I ever want to date?

good god, that's fucked up.

I mean, the only two alternatives, really, are that I am just incredibly unlucky or the meaner parts of me are right and people really just don't want a fat cripple with a mediocre personality.

the latter probably isn't entirely true. men are easy, unfortunately, and I'd be happier if they didn't want me.

(and then you run into the special kind of anger that happens when a woman that a man thought was beneath them actually turns them down, oof. guess they thought the girl with the cane would be more desperate, huh?)

and I've been on a few dating app dates with girls who seemed to like me well enough, but like. just no chemistry whatsoever.

is the special spark??? a woman not wanting me???

food for fucking thought.

anyway, I guess I just kind of avoided thinking about it for a long time but I'm in my mid30s now and it kind of feels like I have avoided things for too long now! that's pretty old to have never had a long-term relationship! other than with the fucking creep who wanted to ~teach me about sex~ back when I was young and less disabled and maybe still worth something!

I guess that was uncalled for, but some days I really do feel like there was a window and boy did I fucking miss it. like everyone else had this chance to learn their way around a romance and I spent mine hooked up to hospital wires and texting with a grown-ass woman who fed on youth.

I recognize that a key part of grooming -- and abusive relationships in general -- is their ability to make you feel like they are the only person who will ever love you. I also recognize that these people are very good at finding the one kid in the room who believes at their core that they will never be loved. (or even make it to age 20, I guess. didn't know if the whole intermittent blindness thing was going to kill me or not back then.)

but goddamn do I still feel like she hollowed me out and took all the parts of me that were lovable with her. like maybe she will be the only woman who ever wants me, and that's fucking horrifying to think about.

there are nights where you just stare at the wall and wonder what made you so damn attractive to pedophiles, y'know? I knew enough at that age to shake off the men, but her? didn't even see it coming.

and I suppose there are the worse nights, the ones where you wonder if normal, well-adjusted, not-creepy people never would have wanted you even if you weren't too damaged to carry on a real relationship. like maybe I was insufferable enough without the ptsd. catnip for creeps and not much else.

damn, dude, why am I so good at pulling men who follow me home from the bus stop but not women who actually care about my well-being. that's the question.

idk. I feel like at this point, like... 75% of me has come to terms with it. like, I guess it's just not something that happens to everybody. not everyone finds someone who loves them and who they love in return. not everyone is cut out for that life.

but then I look at my own writing and the way I just keep doing it, I just keep latching onto broken characters who have had the best parts of them hollowed out, who believe that they are unlovable, and I write a story that says no, you're not. Here, I've made someone for you who loves you wholly and desperately, even broken as you are.

and I feel like that must be the last 25%, huh? or at least the part of me that wants to comfort broken creatures, whether those creatures are characters I made up or ones I didn't or my readers or the people I read about on the news or maybe a 15yo kid who just wanted someone to fucking love her.

I want to take care of her so badly now. I want to love her in a good way, not the selfish kind that takes and takes and takes until there is nothing left. But I guess I just don't know how.

I realized the other day that I just wrote a book that I would have loved at that age. Now I kind of feel like I've been writing bedtime stories for a ghost.

I'll be okay. I always am. It's just... a rough night. They come and they have always come and they will always come and all I can do is write.

Just wish it were something more comforting this time. :')

[gffa]

Anakin Skywalker, questions 4 and 6

4. If you could put this character in any other media, be it a book, a movie, anything, what would you put them in? Listen, I would put my babygirl in everything if I could. To be fair, he's kinda been in everything, movies, TV shows, books, games, comics, etc., you name it, Anakin Skywalker has barged his way into it. But I still want more of him. We all like to joke, "Anakin, you can't have a TV series of your own, the ENTIRE MOVIE SAGA IS ABOUT YOU." but I also genuinely would like a full TV series about Anakin. It's hard to find a point in his life that hasn't been covered, but I would love an animated mini-series covering his time as a Padawan I would love a live action series about Vader during the time of the Empire, just fully explore him at his worst and make me feel bad for the genocidal fascist asshole monster who is a "pathetic old man" underneath it all I would hand Lucasfilm fistfuls of cash for Hayden and Ewan to have a holiday special where they're Force Ghosts together and MST3K'ing the events of The Mandalorian and Ahsoka. I just want more of my babygirl however I can get it! 6. What's something you have in common with this character? Ego in the stratosphere, self-esteem in the toilet. Okay, I exaggerate a little, Anakin's not that egotistical, but he does tend to think he can pull off a lot of shit (and he's often very correct that he can) and I see him as someone who struggles with strongly believing he's good at stuff while also having the crippling self-doubt that comes with being terrified to do a lot of deep-diving into your own soul because it's scary in there and you're afraid of what you'll find, that you won't like who you are. It's taken me a long time to get past that, I've had to work so hard to believe my friends and family when they tell me that they love me and genuinely want me to be around, that I'm not just a burden to them, even when they have been nothing but supportive--I still struggle with it sometimes. I struggle with telling people what's really going on with me because I know the answers they're going to tell me and that they're right, but I don't want to do them, because it's hard and scary and uncomfortable. In part, this is why I get on Anakin's case so much (also, you know, the baby murder hits a very personal place for me), because I'm yelling at him for something that is striking a very, very resonant chord within myself, too.

[elliottjpg]

I realize I've never properly introduced my oldest and dearest brain-children here.

The Laufeyson family

also known as the Laufeyson Squad and the Independant Braincells, are "self-developping" OCs. They are somewhat aware of having been created as fully-formed people, and can interact with a version of me. I don't really make any decisions about their personality, they grow by themselves. They all have a lot of me in them, and their evolution has always been a reflection of mine.

Also, they have superpowers. That kinda just... happened. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

🦊Lilith

Oldest in terms of creation; middle child in terms of age. She has an extremely chaotic personality, and no brain-to-mouth filter. She's loud, brash and unashamed. She loves her sisters more than anything, although it hasn't always been smooth sailing. She especially had a rough relationship with Elliott in the first few years of her life, and was low-key afraid of Raven when the youngest was born; but she warmed up to her quickly.

She's a raging fangirl, the kind that has full-blown hysterical feels attacks about her OTP. She tends to jump from fandom to fandom depending on what show she's binging at the moment.

She can modify her appearance at will, as long as she always "looks like herself". She mostly uses it to play with different hairstyles, move her tattoos around, and downsize or disappear her wings (although she feels naked without them). Don't be fooled, she's shorter than Elliott, she just has thicker soles. She is also capable of creating illusions - think Minor Illusion in DnD, but without sound.

She most likely has ADHD. She's pansexual, and surprisingly the only one of the group to not have something going on with her gender; she's solidly a cis woman without the shadow of a doubt.

🔨Sacha

Second in creation (but not by much), eldest in age. Her role in the family is to protect and take care of her sisters. She used to be very aggressive about it (it involved the hammer); she is learning to be more gentle (and to use the hammer on other people). She's the more mature and level-headed of the sisters, and is recognized as the figure of authority in the family. She doesn't boss people around, but the others know that when she makes a decision for them, she's probably right. She loves her family and would do anything for them, but she doesn't hesitate to call them out on their shitty behaviour.

She has the ability to feel her sisters' emotion; everyday feelings just register as a distant presence, but she feels any strong emotions coming from them. She can also teleport between wherever she is and wherever one of her sisters is, and take one person with her. She mostly uses it to check on her family in case of strong feelings, and get them out of dangerous or uncomfortable situations (often with Raven). One of her eyes changes color depending on her mood.

She's aro-ace (something I realized years after her creation, by trying to imagine her with a S-O and just hitting a mental brick wall). She's also agender; picture Janet from The Good Place and you'll have a pretty good picture.

🦇Raven

Youngest both in age and in creation (by a couple of years). Raven is pretty much defined as a person by her crippling anxiety. However, that is a step-up from the deep depression she was born with and has (mostly) come back from. She's learning to get out of the house more and have fun with her family, although she really doesn't frequent anyone besides her sisters and another family they grew up with.

At first she only ever talked to Elliott, until Lilith roped her in to her shenanigans. She's now very close to Sacha, who is an encouraging presence in her life, and defends her when Elliott or Lilith get mad at her, which happens occasionally.

She has what I call exopathy; she projects her feelings outward and other people can feel them. It's only the negative feelings though, and she can't control it at all. Her appearance changes slightly when she's having an anxiety attack or when she's depressed: her hair gets longer, and her skin and eyes get paler.

She has no idea what her sexuality or gender are, even after all these years; she's too anxious about meeting people to even think about dating. She tried he/him pronouns for a little while, but that didn't seem to lead anywhere. I think her gender is just "anxiety".

🎨Elliott

This is literally just me if I could manifest fully-formed human beings into existence out of my brain and then sustain a family of four on my own. 👍

The not-a-real-tattoos is the Japanese word ryōtōzukai, which means "wielder of two swords" and is a euphemism for bisexuality. I wish I had two swords.

[dekaydk]

QL/BL Series I watched in 2023

This is a ridiculously long list because

I finally discovered the existence of this genre late in 2022, and after years in the desert with only occasional gay-themed media, am drinking deeply at the oasis, and

I have basically given up on other forms of TV this year (long story mostly having to do with the crap that's out there, the networks yanking content before it's finished just to avoid paying residuals…also, I will never watch another piece of Star Trek if JJ Abrams is within 1 parsec*).

I had a long period of convalescing from a broken collarbone.

*probably an obscure TOS reference but the initiates will get it

In Progress

IFYLIA

Kiseki: Dear to Me - I love all of the characters, main and support. Writing is fun, character motivations are clear, acting is good-to-excellent, directing is solid if unadventurous. And the colors! While it's not rigorously real-life, it hits harder than most because there are actual adult choices being made, and real consequences for those choices. The comedy is always in service of the plot or the characters. The cameos are off the charts. This is also an exception to my "generally don't watch BTS until the show's over" rule: the BTS have been fun. The actors are clearly having a blast.

Dangerous Romance - uneven, but not so much that I've given up. Had potential to be more of a commentary on economic strata: though there's room for more in the coming episodes, I think they missed the boat by bascially making Kang now the MC instead of Sailom, which is disappointing. Right now I can see this going into either "okay, but meh" or "don't recommend" categories, but I doubt it's gonna be a "recommend" because they haven't got the runway for a save.

Kabe-Koji-Nekoyashiki-kun Desires to be Recognized - unexpected depths to this show. The characters are revealed gradually, the comedy is a delight, the acting's great, the staging and cinematography are terrific. Quite enthused about this show.

I Can't Reach You - these two are a delight. BTW, @lurkingteapot says that they are working on their own captions, which should be infinitely better than anything else that's out there. Going to rewatch when they do post because I think it will be a far more engaging experience. (Also, if you like Japanese BLs, you should follow them for their linguistic and cultural insights.) (Note: I have no idea how to replace captions so I have to learning ahead. 😇)

One Room Angel - unconventional; not sure where this is going but I almost don't care. These two are just plain touching to watch. Only two episodes in and I'm hooked.

Finished and Enjoyed

If It's With You - so far, this is a palate cleanser I needed. Cute, sweet, low angst, and clearly made to be a dessert course, not a hearty main dish. Actors are doing a great job. (Side note: Makeup and wardrobe are doing a good job in making them look more conventional vs. how good looking they are IRL.)

Kieta Hatsukoi - this was just fantastic. Sweet, funny, and unexpectedly poignant. I see no reason to remake it, much as I appreciate Fourth and Gemini.

My Personal Weatherman - once I figured out that they'd only been living together for a short time after graduation, it fell into place. The crippling insecurity on the one hand and the cryptic overconfidence on the other made for a really engaging dynamic.

Sing My Crush - this was one of those almost perfect shows. Just watch it.

My Beautiful Man S2 - love me my babies learning to communicate, and Kiyoi taking Hira shopping and making Hira blossom for the day was delightful. This show is so unconventional and I cannot get enough. Nobody does "your low self-esteem is crippling you in ways you don't even begin to understand and people love you anyway" like Japan.

My Dating Sim - so sweet without being corn syrup. Palate cleanser.

Semantic Error - really, really enjoyed this smart autistic bossy nerd meets semi-slacker athlete artist. One of the rare shows where the actors are pretty obviously straight (BTS kinda made that clear and in the future, I am generally gonna skip BTS until the show's over) but I nonetheless bought their characters being into each other.

Laws of Attraction - I wasn't sure about this at first until I realized rather late that (a) lakorn is a thing, and (b) "lakorn = telenovela" and all the conventions that implies. After that, I sat back and enjoyed the camp and stopped being critical. Film and Jam are fun to watch, and you cannot tell me that Film didn't enjoy every second of scene chewing. The second couple were touching as all heck. And Nawin came in and briefly stole the show. And Silvy and Organ stole it back!

Unintentional Love Story - both couples were delightful; loved the pottery/creativity as a central element (and coveting it for my own). Looking forward to more of Ho Tae and Dong Hee in S2.

DNA Says Love You - Although I kinda had the plot twist figured out early—admit it, the casting for Amber was absolutely perfect—I still loved the journey. The "witch in the woods" bit was fun, even if I'm not a fan of predestination-style plots (I prefer characters arrive at their destination without supernatural assistance). I could watch Erek all day. Slightly slow to get out of the starting blocks but worth the time.

Color Rush - I'm not easily sold on fantasy premises but I enjoyed this one. Love interest played by Hur Hyun Jun was straight out of a manga panel (that jawline). Sadly, he withdrew from a reprise of the character in S2, I'm told because fans got weird. (Fans, learn to separate the artist from the art.)

Not Me - be gay, do crimes against the oligarchy. Gorgeous cast: Gun, Off, First, Gawin, Mond, Film; good cinematography; nice character arcs. Not perfect (Todd's character in general, and I never did get why Black got beat up in the first place; they kinda ended up at "it's just so"), but in general the show strove for a higher level. Fun fact: written by a (then-?) member of the Thai parliament.

Old Fashion Cupcake - devoted junior dogsbody doggedly digs dense dejected boss out of dumps. Okay, my alliterative talents are low today. Cute, and goes unexpectedly hard during the confession scene, and after. Thoroughly enjoyable and a bit of a rumination on how people can pigeonhole themselves to their own detriment.

To My Star and To My Star 2 - ah, these two. The sunshine man has to go hardcore to get his man to see his own value. I would rewatch this just for fun.

Takara-kun and Amagi-Kun - Oh, to be in high school with good friends who help you figure out your feelings. I will hear no criticism of this perfect little dessert.

Mr. Unlucky Has No Choice But to Kiss! - the unlucky/lucky balance gimmick could have been annoying but they made it work. Sweet, simple, seriously cute actors, very much in earnest comedy. Palate cleansing fun.

My Engineer - main couple: okay but I've already mostly forgotten them. RamKing were different. Ram's character was absolutely coded as autistic but no one ever used the word, no one called him weird, and King figured it out and went with it, no problems. Loved that part. (King had his plant obsession so maybe he got it on one level.) Also, the way RamKing ended left a huge opportunity for the fanfic on them, much of which has been great. Sadly, there won't be an S2.

The Eclipse - writing could have been sharper (pace and motivation needed work) but Khao and First were a ton of fun to watch. Loved the junior queens being the most fearless troublemakers.

Big Dragon - went into it knowing it would be a trash-the-pub watch 😎 yet it actually ended up a little more solidly than I had expected. Plenty of heat, and now I get why people are MosBank fans. Fun fact: Jeff Satur apparently wrote the theme that Isbanky sang.

Finished and Oh Well It Was A BL

Until We Meet Again - I know it worked for lots of folks and I get why, but (a) reincarnation stories and (b) I love me some Fluke but I hate the blushing maiden trope especially when as here they hammer it into the ground with a rocket-powered pile driver. ("P'Deeeeeaaan!") I actually preferred the past couple to the present-day couple because the characters were written better. (Not the actors' fault; the stakes were higher, and you can't act your way out of a sub-par script.)

Mr. Cinderella - Vietnam's probably not got a mature industry yet so I may have excessively high expectations, but…amateurish writing, directing, cinematography and sound. Characters were all over the map. And the bad guy ex was…uuuuugly toxic. (Also, polonium? Seriously?) Attractive cast to be sure, who didn't really have much to work with so for all the audience knows they are all Shakespeareans in training. The coy screeching nurse was so very repetitive. I did want to like it and if I had a script I would totally go to town on it as an exercise. (I'm an editor, not a writer.)

Why R U? Korea - Did they…lose a hard drive with the audio? Cheap out and not hire an audio engineer? Seemingly half the dialog was looped, and often jarringly. But the real fault was the writing: the behavior of the main couple was inconsistent, especially where they parted ways and then pretty much ignored that for a while, and in the last episode with the lead saying he didn't want to work together on the thing that was extremely important to both him and his interest. I wanted to like this because I really liked the main couple and Jeon Sa Ra's Do Yeon. Best scene was Lee Won after his audition teetering on the edge of losing it when his interest ignorantly came out to tease him: just a lovely little bit of acting by Lee Jung Min, without a word being spoken.

Seriously, this scene makes me want to learn how to gif. Lee Jung Min as Lee Won

Finished and Don't Recommend

TharnType: 7 Years of Love - the first season was objectively bad for reasons I and others have set out elsewhere (noncon sex, underage rrpe(!), sub-par acting/directing). The second season wasn't as bad, but it wasn't good either, with forced misunderstanding narratives being the most notable plot point. Seven years together and you still are that easy to convince that your man's stepping out on you? Like the first season, 7 Years also gave the sense that Mew (at least in this case) is a one-note actor, though this could have been the director's fault. Gulf had more good moments.

La Pluie - I so wanted to like a show that was gonna take a trope and upend it. And I absolutely get what lots of folks liked about it. For me the uneven pacing, sometimes blatantly contrived plot, often wooden direction, dialog and acting (with the notable exception of Suar, who was by far the best in the show and not just because he got most of the best lines) and terrible continuity did it in. (Lomfon's confession scene, though: Tien's going up on his toes for the kiss is burned into my memory.)

Started and bailed

Minato's Laundromat S2 - I so wanted to like this after S1. Instead of giving Minato a growth arc, the writers inserted a silly and ultimately pointless amnesia story. This seriously pissed me off to the point that I stopped watching. Not the actors' fault, but the writers, well, that's a paddlin' offense.

Only Friends - when certain folks start expressing concern, I listen. @bengiyo explained how this show failed its promise of showing actual queer lives. When it abandoned whatever vision its creators may have had in favor of contorting itself into something controlled by fan input, proving it was just an exercise in branding pair marketing, that confirmed it was not going to get me to return after Ep 3.

Naughty Babe - just, just, what in the Pennzoil is going on? MC, you seriously went how long without nookie and didn't talk with your man about it? And then you fake amnesia? Dude, you are not a serious person and the writers should be ashamed. I see from my Tumblr feed that they tried to redeem themselves later with the marriage and adoption bit, and good for that, but I ain't got time for incoherent messes.

Low Frequency - decorative actors, but incoherent plot where I simply couldn't see what was happening and where it was going. Couldn't motivate myself to continue after the second episode.

Step By Step - I've already posted about this. This had the potential to be wayyy above average but it kinda fell apart with the main couple, and the secondary couple simply were written so badly there was nothing to root for. I got almost all the way through this but after it became clear there wasn't going to be a late save, I gave up. The. Actors. Wuz. Robbed.

En of Love: Tossara - this felt like someone got their uncle to pull strings to get them a show. Dialog was anemic, character motivations were bland/absent, pacing was uneven. I started the second episode but I'm not sure I finished it.

If you made it this far, congratulations. Tell me what you liked or didn't agree with; I come across as opinionated but I'm always looking to learn. 😎

[aprillikesthings]

OKAY I meant to start earlier in the day but I know once I start it will be difficult to stop lol

but I have some tasty pasta to eat let's go

(how much do you want to bet EVERY EPISODE after this is a two-parter due to the sheer amount of plot bumping into tumblr's images-per-post limit)

s4 ep11 beast island

They're talking about their plan to go to Beast Island and get Entrapta--and side note, the ship goes about as fast as an airplane, judging by the clouds/ocean's movement

will she tho

(I actually don't know! This is one of those plot points I forgot in part because I marathoned the last season and change of the show almost four years ago lol; like seriously from this point on I can remember random specific scenes but not which order or why they happened; it definitely doesn't help that a couple months ago I watched a bunch of She-Ra humor videos that are all, like, just clips from s5 in no particular order)

(seriously if you're a She-Ra fan they're great, they're especially funny if you're high as balls, which Daci and I were when I was like "hey you have to watch these with me they're hilarious")

the globe map is throwing some kind of angry alarm and Swift Wind's senses are tingling

They hit....something!

points to whomever designed that, it looks really cool, and yes, vaguely menacing

okay but you were ALSO told that Princesses were all evil soooo

They find Entrapta's mask and a Horde-made skiff and Swift Wind can hear some kinda weird noise

the ship did call it a Hazardous Materials Disposal Site...

anyway a bug-robot-thing starts to attack them--and Adora can't transform to She-Ra here!

OH HEY so the droning sound Swift Wind keeps hearing that's super fucking creepy is a Shepard Tone! (more info via wikipedia of course)

("April how do you know so much random shit?" I have ADHD and an internet connection. Also in this case specifically, Alex Hirsch once did an AMA in character as Bill Cipher, and he linked to a Shepard Tone and said it was his favorite song.)

Anyway they're attempting to fight the bug and losing

:D I KNOW WHO THIS IS :D

He scares the bug off with magic!! (Shadow Weaver did say he was a powerful sorcerer...)

dun dun DUNNNN

okay so I was confused as to how Glimmer was gonna get in there and duh SHE CAN FUCKING TELEPORT ffs

anyway Light Hope is a computer program and you're not the correct input??? you can't just order it to work pfft

YOU'RE NOT SHE-RA lol

Anyway King Micah hasn't been around other people in a loooong time and is bad with things like "personal space" lol

they're asking about Entrapta and I love that everyone in this show just Knows that Entrapta is like. Into robots. Sexually.

(I'm not looking right now but SOMEone has to have written a fic of Entrapta just making, like, really wild sex toys or fuckable robots, right? Right???)

LOL THAT'S HER ALL RIGHT

Entrapta apparently went to the center of the island but Micah is discouraging them from going. The sound Swift Wind keeps hearing is a signal of some kind from the center--

Apparently the signal is enough to draw people in and drive them mad.

poor dude

Also he thinks Glimmer is still a child and asks about Angella, and Bow and Adora just do a 😬

But they promise to take Micah with them once they find Entrapta and leave

I dunno I think it's kinda cute

Anyway as they keep walking both of them start having moments of borderline-crippling self doubt

Glimmer's killed the spiders that the Crystal Castle sets on intruders and is still trying to harass Light Hope into talking to her:

Apparently yelling that she wants to use the Heart of Etheria was the right thing to say

Back on Beast Island, the signal is getting stronger, Micah is trying to get more information about Glimmer from Bow and Adora, and also they're being hunted by critters:

There's some kind of distorted speech in the signal (which still mostly sounds like a Shepard Tone), and Swift Wind is frozen in place by it and this is happening--

CREEPY AS FUCK

D:

D:

Adora, trying to convince Micah not to give in, blurts out that Glimmer is Queen, oops

D:

D:

oh god there's a flash of light and Adora relives Angella kissing her forehead and telling her "take care of each other," then a bunch of moments of her and Glimmer, then:

"I won't give up, not on my friends, not on Etheria,"

--and she transforms into She-Ra :D

NICE!

The blast frees everyone of the vines and they're back to being themselves

"It wasn't the signal stopping me from being She-Ra, it was me. I was afraid Glimmer was right,"

"But I promise I'd take care of her--take care of everyone, and I will"

(actually you promised you'd all take care of each other, but whatever; like, this is part of her whole character arc)

Side note, She-Ra is taller than Micah by like, half a head minimum

The scary critters all run off because some huge monster shows up, the monster opens its metal jaws, and

and I've run out of images with three minutes to go pfft okay hold on

[deafeningdonutshark]

My first album, Feeding Time, and the story behind it

By Victoria Kerr

11/6/2023

People say a joke that needs to be explained is a bad one. That might be the same with albums. But here goes anyway.

Back in 2014, I was just learning how to play guitar. I was finally teaching myself after five years of having it but being too scared to make any sort of valiant effort at learning it. It had been a dream of mine to be a singer since I was a kid, and I started writing lyrics, sometimes with a melody, sometimes not, when I was nine. As I got older, I knew I would need to learn an instrument if I wanted to write songs for real. Guitar seemed like a good option.

I started writing songs right away as I learned, even though I was a guitar newbie who knew just a few chords. I remember getting so frustrated and thinking on several occasions, “How the hell do people strum and sing at the same time?!” And then I would go weeks without playing, disgusted with myself and thinking my guitar hated me.

The other thing to know that would probably put this more in context is that I’m a shy person, and at that time in particular, I could barely look myself in the mirror let alone anyone else. I felt delusional thinking I could ever have the confidence to actually get on a stage and perform for people or even just put my stuff online. I had so much self-loathing that, while I might have been excited for a few moments, maybe a day, after writing a song, that would be followed by absolute contempt for it, thinking that there’s no way I could ever create something good or interesting or valuable.

But in 2015, in one of my moments of grand delusion, after practicing for about a year and accumulating a small collection of songs recorded on my iPod (albeit shakily played and sung and hitting bum notes left and right), I got excited feeling like I had enough for an album. I titled it Feeding Time after one of the songs and arranged them in the order I wanted to tell the story and put together an interpretation of what I wanted for the front and back covers (done in Microsoft Paint, see below). I actually knew a graphic designer/visual artist at the time, and we went to lunch together and I asked if he could help me with the cover saying, “I want like a picture of a woman’s naked body that’s been hollowed out so the skin is see-through and it’s kind of decomposing and it’s being used as an aquarium with fish swimming in it and seaweed and algae and stuff.” He stared at me for a few seconds and then said, “I don’t get it,” and I said, “Oh never mind!” and we never spoke of it again.

I thought I was ready back then…but then the doubt crept back in. And I felt it wasn’t good enough and that I needed to keep practicing and trying to write. Which I did. But always with that crippled limb of fear slowing me down.

Over the past few years, I’ve done a lot of work on myself, trying to understand the ways I’d been conditioned by the world around me, trying to unlearn the values and ways of being that were never really mine, trying to get back to who I really am and live as a whole being. A being that can unconditionally love. And music was always in my mind with that. I would think, “Maybe one day I can get to a place where I feel okay enough with myself to do it.”

So here we are now. I’ve been working on a new set of songs that I’m excited about. And then a few days ago, “Nothing But Water” popped into my head. I had not listened to that song in years. Like others on this album, it was a song where I had been practicing chords and then started singing over them, stopped so I could grab my iPod, hit record, and then just let whatever needed to come out come out. One of the thoughts that held me back eight years ago was, “Can a four-minute musing over two or three chords even be considered a song?” But then there I was a few days ago, singing it to myself out of nowhere, as if it was someone else’s. And I knew, it was a song.

Listening to this album now, I love it. I loved it back then. I feel like some of my biggest influences, the people who I’ve spent so many hours listening to that I have absorbed their very essence into mine — Cat Power and Lana Del Rey and Frank Black and, dare I say, even Mr. Cobain — to name a few, are definitely there, which makes me happy. I thought about re-recording the songs to play them better, sing them better. But I kind of like how raw they are. I like that my 23/24-year-old voice is the one singing them. And I like what I’m saying in them. It’s the truth of the way I felt about things at the time. And still sometimes feel now. And my silly jokes in them still make me laugh — so do the bits of TV you can hear because I would turn the volume way up because I’d rather my neighbors in the apartment complex hear a loud TV than me playing. I also like that you can hear my dog Kirby’s collar jingling in the background of some of them. He’s my little percussionist.

Okay, okay enough yammering — without further ado, here is Feeding Time. Thank you for reading and thank you for listening and thank you for existing!

Update: I uploaded the wrong recording of Reluctant Muse! I think this is the first one I had, but Kirby is sadly not on it. I added the take I did where you can hear him rocking out!

There’s one more thing I want to add about the subject matter of these songs. Three men appear on this album. One of them is my dad. He left the family when I was eight. And, four years before making this, we found out he had died the year before. It was a strange feeling because we hadn’t seen him in so long. So it was kind of like, oh okay, I guess we just keep moving on with life. We didn’t know how to grieve it. I think so often we as people stuff our feelings down when they’re in the in-between, hard-to-define places.

There have been times I’ve felt like I was sleepwalking through my life. Listening to these songs back, now I know I wasn’t sleepwalking. I was just processing things in my own way, in my own time.

[fractured-lyfe-blog]

March 31

Why do I feel everything so deeply? I can meet someone and if the vibe hits just right, I get bombarded with this swell of emotions and thoughts that have no logic or reason. I find myself over thinking and over analyzing things and I ultimately end up accidentally hurting myself.

My mind and my heart are capable of great things. I just don't know how to focus it where it needs to be and how to shut it down when it ventures too far… I cripple myself with emotions I shouldn't feel. 

If i just led with my heart all the time, I would just scare people off by coming on too strong. My heart feels so fucking strong and the things I want to be able to say to someone fill me with this longing to be accepted. It drives me crazy how much i just want to feel someone's feelings for me, to confess their thoughts to me in hopes I feel the same for them. 

I'm terrified of rejection, paralyzed by self doubt and starving for so much more…

[typhin-hoofbun]

I've talked before about how each of my characters highlights one of the three Principles of my beliefs, and how each one has a separate combination Virtue they highlight. Sometimes, because of that imbalance, they end up doing stuff like this.

For instance, Princess has low self-esteem, which causes her devotion/loyalty to push her into self-sacrifice to unhealthy levels. Nothing she does ever feels like it's "enough", because she can't come to accept that she has inherent worth. She can't accept that there's anything within her that's wanted for the sake of herself.

The largest example of this so far comes in Book 2. She's been worried sick over her Master disappearing, to the point of following him to Earth to try to "rescue" him, or at least find him and be with him. When she does catch up, however, she overhears a conversation that hits her right in her greatest self-doubts. She comes to think that he really is glad to be rid of her, glad to be out of the situation he was in. Glad to not have to deal with having a pet dragon that eats food he has to buy and is the reason he took on a crippling debt that has him under the thumb of the Crown.

So, in her grief, she basically tries to sacrifice herself on the spot. She cuts off her own collar and flees in tears. It took multiple attempts to get a version of that conversation to happen where she DIDN'T beg the vet tech to euthanize her and destroy the body (to prevent it from "falling into the wrong hands", revealing the existence of magic to the world and ruining the Earth life that her Master supposedly wanted).

That's not the Virtue of Sacrifice, which she otherwise embodies. Going beyond what you can give is just self-destruction, and it's not healthy. Destroying yourself means you can't continue to do good deeds in the future.

Similarly, Flopsy (Courage/Honor) sometimes picks fights she shouldn't (a corruption of Valor), though she's gotten better about it mostly. She still did rather heavily injure a high school bully who stabbed her in the stomach, but even in the moment she knew it wasn't a serious injury. Part of her was just really upset and wanted to hurt him. (She was in a pretty bad way after the murderer of her creator showed up, got away, and she got arrested for it. And was told the arrest was really about standing up to this same bully while in human form. And she also wasn't used to having a friend to defend. But she still shouldn't have kicked him that hard.)

And also, Vayryn keeps crossing the line between Honesty and rudeness. Having to explain the same things over and over wears on you, and sometimes she gets a little bitey with her words, using sarcasm and bitterness as a shield. She knows each individual person isn't at fault, they have no way to know they're the Nth person to pester her about her life story, they're just a stranger surprised at the little furry rat/weasel creature running around on stilt-legs that they've never seen before. At least now, when she's not in the mood to explain it herself, she can hand them one of the cards she had printed, with a couple frequently asked questions on it and a QR code that links to the news interview (where a reporter ambushed her). So there's that.

Good Traits Gone Bad

Exploring good traits gone bad in a novel can add depth and complexity to your characters. Here are a few examples of good traits that can take a negative turn:

1. Empathy turning into manipulation: A character with a strong sense of empathy may use it to manipulate others' emotions and gain an advantage.

2. Confidence becoming arrogance: Excessive confidence can lead to arrogance, where a character belittles others and dismisses their opinions.

3. Ambition turning into obsession: A character's ambition can transform into an unhealthy obsession, causing them to prioritize success at any cost, including sacrificing relationships and moral values.

4. Loyalty becoming blind devotion: Initially loyal, a character may become blindly devoted to a cause or person, disregarding their own well-being and critical thinking.

5. Courage turning into recklessness: A character's courage can morph into reckless behavior, endangering themselves and others due to an overestimation of their abilities.

6. Determination becoming stubbornness: Excessive determination can lead to stubbornness, where a character refuses to consider alternative perspectives or change their course of action, even when it's detrimental.

7. Optimism becoming naivety: Unwavering optimism can transform into naivety, causing a character to overlook dangers or be easily deceived.

8. Protectiveness turning into possessiveness: A character's protective nature can evolve into possessiveness, where they become overly controlling and jealous in relationships.

9. Altruism becoming self-neglect: A character's selflessness may lead to neglecting their own needs and well-being, to the point of self-sacrifice and burnout.

10. Honesty becoming brutal bluntness: A character's commitment to honesty can turn into brutal bluntness, hurting others with harsh and tactless remarks.

These examples demonstrate how even admirable traits can have negative consequences when taken to extremes or used improperly. By exploring the complexities of these traits, you can create compelling and multi-dimensional characters in your novel.

Happy writing!

[how2fit]

We've all been there. That feeling when nothing seems to be going right, and you're stuck in this fog of "blah." Whether it's work, relationships, or just life in general, sometimes we hit a slump, and it feels like we can't claw our way out. But here's the thing: we can. One of the most powerful ways to shift your mindset, especially when you feel like you're sinking, is through affirmations. I know, I know. Affirmations might sound like one of those cheesy, "just think positive and everything will be fine" clichés. But, they actually work—when used consistently, they can reshape the way you think and bring you back to a more empowered, hopeful place. If you're feeling stuck right now, try these 25 uplifting affirmations to jumpstart your way out of that slump.   Why Affirmations Work Let’s start with why affirmations are more than just nice words. When we’re in a slump, it’s easy to get trapped in a cycle of negative thinking: "I’m not good enough," or "What’s the point?" It’s like we build these mental walls, and each negative thought is another brick. Affirmations? They’re the sledgehammer that starts breaking down those walls. You see, our brains are surprisingly malleable. The more you repeat something, the more your brain starts to believe it. It’s like creating a new path in the forest—the more you walk it, the clearer the trail becomes. So, by repeating affirmations, you're literally rewiring your brain for positivity. It’s a simple habit that, over time, can transform how you feel.   Uplifting Affirmations for Self-Love and Worthiness One of the reasons we get stuck in a slump is because, somewhere along the way, we forget our worth. We start doubting ourselves, questioning if we even deserve to feel good again. That’s why affirmations for self-love are a great place to start. These are like little love letters to yourself—reminding you that you are enough, no matter what’s happening around you. I am enough, just as I am. I love and accept myself fully, even in my imperfections. I deserve love, happiness, and peace. I release the need to be perfect and embrace my true self. I am worthy of all the good things life has to offer. Imagine saying these to yourself every morning, even if you don’t believe them at first. Slowly, you’ll notice a shift. You’ll start seeing yourself with more compassion, and that’s when the magic happens. Why Self-Worth Matters & How You Can Recognize and Improve It   Affirmations for Overcoming Fear and Doubt Fear and doubt can be crippling. They’re like these invisible chains that keep us stuck in place, convincing us that taking a step forward is just too risky. But here’s the secret: fear is often just a projection of the unknown. Once you push through it, you’ll realize it wasn’t as scary as it seemed. Here are some affirmations to help you loosen fear’s grip: I am capable of handling whatever comes my way. I choose courage over comfort, every time. I trust myself to make the right decisions. Every challenge is an opportunity for growth. I release the fear of failure and embrace the lessons that come with it. Trust me, I’ve been there—frozen in doubt. But once you take even the smallest step, those fears start to fade, and you realize you're stronger than you thought.   Uplifting Affirmations for Motivation and Productivity When you're in a slump, it's like your energy just... vanishes. You know what you *should* be doing, but everything feels too heavy. These affirmations are like little sparks to reignite that fire inside you: I am energized and ready to take on the day. I am in control of my time and prioritize what matters. Every small step I take brings me closer to my goals. I am focused, productive, and making progress. I have the power to change my circumstances. Sometimes all it takes is a reminder that you *can* move forward, even if it’s one tiny step at a time.   Affirmations for Emotional Resilience Life is messy. Emotions can be intense and overwhelming, especially when you’re in a slump.

But the key is to remember that feeling things deeply doesn’t make you weak—it makes you human. Resilience isn’t about avoiding tough emotions; it’s about learning how to move through them and come out the other side stronger. Try these affirmations to build your emotional resilience: I allow myself to feel all my emotions without judgment. I am stronger than any obstacle that comes my way. I am resilient, and I rise after every fall. It’s okay to not have everything figured out right now. I trust the process of healing and growing. Repeat these when you're feeling overwhelmed. Give yourself permission to feel, and remind yourself that emotions are temporary—they will pass.   Uplifting Affirmations for Gratitude and Positivity When you're in a slump, it’s easy to focus on everything that's going wrong. But shifting your focus to what’s right—even the smallest things—can make a huge difference. Gratitude changes your perspective and helps you see that there’s still so much good around you. I am grateful for the lessons this experience is teaching me. I attract positivity and abundance into my life. I focus on the good, and it multiplies. I am thankful for all the progress I’ve made, no matter how small. I trust that everything is unfolding for my highest good. Gratitude isn’t about ignoring the tough stuff; it’s about remembering that there’s always something to be thankful for, even on the hardest days.   How to Use These Uplifting Affirmations You might be wondering, “How do I actually make these affirmations work?” Well, consistency is key. Try saying them out loud in the morning or writing them in a journal. If you're feeling ambitious, record yourself saying them and listen to the recording throughout the day. It might feel a little weird at first, but the more you do it, the more natural it becomes. The key is to repeat them regularly, even when you don’t feel like it. Over time, they start to sink in, and you’ll notice subtle shifts in how you think and feel. Affirmations aren’t a quick fix, but they’re a powerful tool to help you break free from the fog.   Final Thoughts Getting out of a slump is never easy, but with the right mindset, it’s possible. Affirmations are just one of the tools you can use to start feeling like yourself again. Start small. Pick a few that resonate with you and make them part of your daily routine. Be patient with yourself, and remember that even tiny steps forward are still progress. Give yourself grace, my friend. Photo by Thought Catalog

[silverslipstream]

the big ventbowski

CW: POTENTIALLY TRIGGERING TOPICS

The war in my head between 'are you straight and you've just co-opted a queer label because you get along better with the people more commonly found in queer communities and you identify with the culture' or 'are you still deep in internalised self-doubt due to low self-esteem, lack of experience and a significant absence of a stable queer community in every place you've ever lived?' is still raging on in my head.

God, sometimes (right now?) I feel terrible writing the word 'queer'. For me, it's the most comfortable label and way of expressing myself, but what if it's not my word to feel comfortable about? What if it's not describing me at all? What if this is all a placebo effect caused by a few misinterpreted chemical signs and my hopeless romanticism? Why can't I just fucking know?

I feel eighteen and conflicted all over again. I often say I was in denial for a very long time before I came out, and honestly I think I've never not been in denial about it. That hurts to say. Especially after I did the whole rigmarole of coming out as bisexual, crying to friends, putting up with homophobic attitudes and parental disapproval - it can't all be for nothing, right? It just can't.

It probably helps that I've had very little experience in the romantic sense. I was never going to be seen as a desirable person in school - too geeky, too disabled, too quiet. The most I elicited was a strange kind of mascot-like, objectifying sympathy from the popular girls, which was pretty gross. Especially when their boyfriends were the ones calling me things like cripple and retard, mocking the way I walked, shoving me in the stairwells, tripping me to every kind of ground they could find.

Even now, I don't get a lot of attention. I hate myself for phrasing it that way - it makes me feel pathetic, needy, desperate - but that's the easiest term to use. When out with my straight guy friends, I'm invisible, the smallest, skinniest, quietest. I feel like a wafer-thin slice of cake prised gingerly from the platter - different enough to be seen as other but not different enough that the difference itself is seen to matter. When they make a crack about me being 'gay' or 'liking men', I laugh, but I bite back the retort on my tongue.

I'm bisexual, you know this.

So what, mate? Isn't that just gay with extra steps? Or are you saying that 'cos you can't pull women anyway? Are you that desperate?

Am I?

On the other hand, I don't often 'go out' socialising with my queer friends, but sometimes even just being around them I feel so... fake. They're much more safe in their identities, secured within their respective labels' communities. The loneliness of being the only queer cis guy in my friend group hits me again and again, and then the subsequent guilt whips right back. Your friends are wonderful! They like you! You like them! Stop being ungrateful for the people you already have! But I can't shake the sense that I'm this generic indecisive cis guy spattered across their star-trails, like biting into an M&M and feeling your teeth crunch on a hidden piece of tinfoil.

Our area is pretty conservative in a country gradually sliding to the right side of the political compass. There's very little LGBTQ+ representation or community spots. Our university has a LGBTQ+ society, but it's very small, underexposed and chronically ignored by the student union and the university themselves. I look at all the other universities online, see their bustling queer communities, and feel oddly cheated. That should be me, I think in my head. University was supposed to be this place of uncoupling from my old self. I love my current friends, of course I do. It's just... I wish it was easier to meet more queer people in my area, to have more LGBTQ+ friendships that aren't determined by the landmine-dotted social islands of dating apps or tempered by the expectations of romantic and sexual relationships. To have someone else who understands what it's like to be the quiet geeky cis guy who sits on the fence of the straight/queer divide, yet you can't tell which way he's gonna fall.

It's not like I don't cultivate my own distinctive image: far from it. I wear glasses and turtlenecks, collared shirts, blue jeans and brown boots where the sole flaps precariously off the front. I've built that image piece by piece over the last couple of years, and independent of my sexuality and identity, I love that for myself. I think I have style, I'm recognizable, I like the way I look. This would've been an alien concept three years or so ago, where I hated my acne, my awkward limbs, the hard angles of my damaged muscles and crooked bones (but let's save the internalised ableism for another day, shall we?)

But the self-doubt creeps in, those thoughts that weed their way through saying things like people like you can't be pretty and who are you trying to fool? Maybe I'm trying to fool myself.

It doesn't help that the pittance of romantic experiences I do have are mostly negative. My first kiss was non-consensual: I was drunk, they were not, and they slowly but surely steered the entire night into a kiss I'd never asked for, manipulating me into something I'd never wanted. I can still remember their hand in my hair, holding the back of my head as I tried to pull away. Afterwards, they smiled, kissed me again on the cheek, like it was something we shared, something I'd wanted. I just felt sick and lost and so, so confused.

The first time I took a girl home, it was November of my first year in uni. She was a friend of a friend, who'd come up to drink and go clubbing with us. This time, the attraction was mutual - I still remember her shy eyes, her darting glances at me over the rim of a glass, the whisper of her voice in my ear asking if I wanted to go to the smoking area. After the club, we went back to my flat. I kissed her while Billy Joel sang 'Vienna' with my room bathed in half-light from the bathroom's fluorescent strips, and for a mesmerising, teetering second, it was everything. I remember thinking, it can't be this easy, not to want, not to be wanted.

Short answer: it wasn't. That's another story for another day, but suffice it to say after two months, I lost my main group of friends and was left almost totally alone, clinging to counselling like a punctured liferaft in the middle of the endless Pacific.

After that came a long drought of anything romantic, occasionally sprinkled with a flirty stranger or overly aggressive guy who thought 'being queer too' was all the consent he needed.

Then I met a boy.

It was through Hinge, because of course it was. He was shy, quiet, had dyed red hair, perpetually nervous. On our first date, it took him an hour just to compliment me, and when I gave a compliment back he looked at me like I'd just thrown a stick of dynamite at his head. He took me to buy my bisexual flag water bottle (one of the two pieces of outwardly LGBTQ+ paraphernalia I own) and that was it. We dated again, and again. He bought me birthday presents and wrapped my scarf around both of our necks. Around the lake where my late grandfather used to fish, he told me (face redder than his hair) that he wanted to kiss me. I was bowled over. We didn't kiss until our next date: drinking schnapps in the harsh fluorescent lighting of my university kitchen, I noticed his gaze lingering on my lips every time I lowered my cup.

I know what you want, I thought, I've watched so many films, read so many novels that frame this exact moment in time. So I asked him if he'd kiss me, and he did. I felt nothing.

How? How? Granted, it wasn't the world's best kiss (he approached my lips with all the finesse of a train crash) but I liked this guy, didn't I? Sure he had his flaws and things that made me hesitate, but that surely didn't outweigh the butterflies I'd had while texting him, the way I loved to fluster him and make him smile, his red hair and freckles and shyness? It should've been the Heartstopper gateway of my life, or at least the first major step of my burgeoning bisexual arc. Instead, this particular rollercoaster flew off the rails and straight into freefall.

That was five months ago. We kissed a few more times and he improved, but I could never shake that hollowness. We broke up three days before Valentine's, because I freaked out at the idea of doing romantic shit with a guy who I was so indecisive about. I kept telling myself it was for the best, that his red flags had been valid, and I couldn't afford to let the rose-tinted glasses of 'first same-sex relationship' blur them out. But was that really why, or was it just the realisation that kissing a man had done nothing for me, that I was straight and had been lying to myself the whole time?

Since I broke up with him, I've been so lost. Am I bisexual? Straight? Does the -sexual part of the label even apply to me? Am I asexual? I removed the part where I stated I was bisexual from my Tumblr pinned post months ago, so am I kicking myself back into the closet, or is the closet just a shape I scrawled on the wall behind me in crayon, a jagged attempt to belong to something, to share an experience with someone?

I can't answer these questions. That's the worst part. I want to be loved and to be in love, to find that person I'm waiting for.

But how will I know what they look like, how they might identify? How do I know I won't completely overlook them because of the labels I set for myself and the turmoil in my mind?

How will I know that I deserve them?

[gothchickwriting]

omg im so soft for how you write for tanjiro. he’s the ultimate sweet boy!! if you aren’t sick of writing for him, will you write a imagine where he’s an (endearing) hypocrite because he realizes his love has a fever and forces them to stop training and he takes care of them himself (despite them being at the butterfly mansion)?

I’ll never tire of writing for this man. 😩 He’s a cutie and I want a Tanjiro taking care of me the next time I’m sick or have cramps.

Tanjiro x GN! Reader: Food for a Fever, Love for the Soul

The shift in your movements was subtle. You were sluggish and uncoordinated from your typical self. The one that prided in honing their breath to perfection. It wasn’t until your steps staggered that he threw down his sword to catch you, ignoring the discomfort of your own training sword digging into his shoulder.

“Did I hit you too hard?” He righted you. “Y/N?”

“I’m fine.” The soaps the girls used in the mansion were strong and masked the smell of sickness until he was this close.

Tanjiro pressed the back of his hand against your forehead, frowning once the heat against his skin confirmed it. “You’re burning up.” He argues softly. His frown deepens when you sniffle.

“You’d still train with a fever.” You tried to see if he’d deny such a statement. He was such an ugly liar. He hesitated before guiding you towards the Manor.

“But you shouldn’t overexert yourself.” His tone is sweet and soft, and you’re too tired to debate once he takes the wooden sword to put it away. His hand is on your waist as he corrects you, pulling you away from the recovery wing. Your brows furrow and he’s quick to assure you. “Let’s have you rest somewhere quiet, hm?”

You enter his room. It’s mostly bare, but the box resting against the wall tells you all you need to know. You’re tired and just how awful you feel begins to hit you now that you’re forced to relax. The worry of potential whispers about your reputation, sleeping in a man’s bed that you weren’t married to, were far away. Especially when Tanjiro tucked you into the blankets so attentively.

You would have been alone if he wasn’t puttering in and out of the room. Three sets of eyes peek in as he gives you your medicine, no doubt having gone to the girls to get what you needed. There were excitable whispers between the little ones in the hall. Tanjiro was a catch: Kind, handsome, and selfless to a fault.

Though he quickly begins to wear on your patience. You adored him, but you wanted to sleep. His questions seemed endless and he was already backing up towards the door as he asked each one. ‘Are you thirsty?’ ‘Do you need more blankets? More pillows?’ ‘I’ll see if I can make you some okayu.’

Your hand comes up when he rouses you from the wisps of sleep, offering you the porridge he’d made. “Tanjiro,” You begin. He looks to you expectantly with the sweetest ‘hm?’ you’ve heard from him yet. Typically, you wouldn’t allow him to do much in the way of caring for you.

It doesn’t take a genius to know that he’s enjoying such an opportunity.

“I’m not crippled, just sick.” The scolding comes out softer than you’d like. Something he notices too. “I can feed myself.” You hold your hand out expectantly. He doesn’t hand over the bowl, however. In fact, his lips purse before he shakes his head. The way his earrings sway with the motion makes it seem more energetic.

“I want you to relax.” There’s no way he’d budge. Your face sours and you suck in a breath to calm your frustrations and embarrassment. He couldn’t be more transparent with how his smile grew wider once you, begrudgingly, opened your mouth. “There we go~.” The praise warms your cheeks, which only get hotter once you hear the giggles from the hall.

He feeds you another bite. “Let them have their fun.” Tanjiro murmurs to you. “I want them to know how their husbands should treat them.” Your eyes narrow, but there isn’t any venom behind it. Nor is there a rebuttal of ‘We aren’t married’. You simply take another bite in the hopes that you can sleep after you finish your meal.

[adashofniallandasprinkleoflunacy]

A/N: If there’s anything I learned from doing this, it’s that vampirerry is an utter WHORE. Good for him!!!! As for myself, I’m done with the semester and my term projects and finals left my singular brain cell fried, so this was a nice way to get back into writing again. I hope you guys enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it! Thank you to the anon that suggested it, this was super fun to do! :D

read you’re someone i just want around here

word count: 6k

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

Harry is very attentive when it comes to aftercare with Y/N. The sex they have is often rough and includes toys, degradation, and multiple rounds, so he believes aftercare is non-negotiable. Rough sex can be fun, but if it’s not followed by a lot of communication and post-performance support, it can take a hard emotional toll on a person. Even when intimacy isn’t meant to be inherently sentimental, there has to be a certain level of connection and etiquette surrounding it, or it could end badly for both parties involved. He always checks on her immediately after they finish, simply to gauge her headspace and how her body is responding, and after he’s made sure she’s alright, he goes into his usual routine of skin-to-skin contact and gentle coddling. Reassurance and praise is just as important afterwards as it is during, because it’s good to let a partner know that your appreciation runs deeper than just the physical need felt in the heat of the moment; everyone deserves to feel valued beyond their body. 

Harry proceeds to clean Y/N up after every session, because it’s the least he can do since she’s usually the one getting the brunt of the work. He’ll fetch a clean towel dampened under warm water to wipe her clean, or he’ll offer to help give her a bath or a shower— whichever route she prefers. Harry dresses her, and changes the sheets if need be, and tucks her into bed to ensure she’s nice and comfortable. If it’s been a particularly intense session, he’ll go the kitchen and bring back a snack and a drink— a granola bar and a Gatorade, or some chips and her favorite juice, or if she’s feeling especially hungry, he’ll happily go out of his way to prepare her an actual meal— and he insists on feeding it to her bit by bit until she’s come to enough to handle it on her own. If she’s not hungry, he at least brings her a glass of water and urges her to drink it; better to be safe than sorry. After that, more cuddling is the status quo, which normally ends in Y/N falling asleep in his arms, and Harry has absolutely no problem with that at all.  

B = Body Part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

Harry’s favorite body part of Y/N’s is probably her chest. Yes, he likes it for sexual reasons— obviously— but there are innocent reasons for his fascination, as well. He likes how responsive she gets when he touches her there— how he can get her going just by groping her the way she likes it, or by using his mouth to tongue across her nipples until she’s writhing in pleasure and whining for more. He loves leaving hickies all over her tits, probably more than she likes receiving them. It’s just so fucking hot seeing himself marked all over her, especially when she’s putting on a bra and he can see all of the dark bruises scattered across the cleavage spilling from the undergarment. Filth aside, he also enjoys loving all over her chest. Absentmindedly cupping them while they’re snuggling, nuzzling his head between them while they’re watching television, massaging them under her shirt with his large palms as she sits back against his chest, sipping a glass of wine and chatting away, unwinding after a long day. It’s a form of intimacy; it provides a type of closeness nothing else can. 

As for his own favorite body part, it’s a tie between two different areas. He loves his thighs— they’re one of his most prominent features. They’re thick and meaty and sensitive, so they’re the perfect sweet spot to touch when he wants to get riled up. Given his previous response, it can be easily deduced that he likes to get hickies there, as well. The marks look great peeking out from under his briefs (for the short amount of time they last, anyways) and they make a great accessory to the large tigerhead tattoo along his left thigh. It’s artwork, really; a proper Picasso. 

His other favorite body part...well, take a lucky guess. It’s likely not that far off— literally, considering it hangs right between his thighs. 

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

Harry’s personal preference is cumming inside. He adores feeling the way Y/N tightens around him when he finally orgasms (she’s just so warm and soft and unbelievably tight; it’s like she was made for him), almost as much as he loves seeing her reaction. Her body will immediately start to wriggle and her back will arch as she releases broken little whimpers, clinging to his shoulders with her nails and begging him to fill her until he’s milked his worth. Hearing her ragged breathing and feeling her sweaty chest stutter against his is enough to do him in, but when she goes as far as to gnaw on his ear and whine a soft little, “Want it all, baby. Want you dripping out of me when we’re done.” Well, that’s enough to kill him all over again. 

Of course, there are times when Harry likes seeing himself all over her, too. On her outstretched tongue, or smeared across her pretty face and plush lips (she looks particularly cute when it ends up all over her eyelashes), or streaked over the valley of her tits, or pooled at the center of her tummy. If he’d been taking her from behind, then he likes seeing it run down the backs of her thighs, or splattered across the dip of her spine. And if she’d been giving him a handjob, then seeing himself dribbling down her fingers is just as good. Why? Because those fingers usually end up in her mouth, which means he ends up all over her tongue, and so the cycle comes full circle. How poetic. 

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

Did Harry suggest wearing a matching set of a vibrating cock ring and buzzing bullet to do grocery shopping once? Yes. Did he drop three glass jars of peach preserves by accident as a result, causing them to have to book it out of the bread aisle while trying to look as unsuspicious as possible, which failed horribly because they were literally hobbling like a crippled elderly couple? Also yes. Did they end up fucking in a Target fitting room? Definitely. 

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

A lot of experience. Tons. Immense amounts. Insane amounts. Two hundred years of the same seven continents just means two hundred years worth of sex across every single one. And it gives you plenty of time to find the clitoris, as well as giving you a chance to learn the female anatomy like the back of your hand. That being said, Harry doesn’t doubt he could make Y/N cum with his wrists tied behind his back and a blindfold strapped to his face. In fact, he’s made her cum just by using his thigh, so that in itself is enough credibility to last him several more lifetimes. The toy chest in his closet and the fact that he’s well-endowed are bonuses— he knows more than enough tricks to keep her satisfied with just his tongue. Not to mention his fingers— they’re long for a reason.

F = Favorite position  

Funny enough, Harry doesn’t have one. He’s spent so many decades cycling through every possible position in existence, it’s gotten to where he can’t pin-point a preference; all positions are unique, and they each have their own appeal. Reverse cowgirl is nice because he likes watching the way he stretches Y/N open with every plunge of her hips, and it also gives him the luxury of marking his rings across her ass in the process. Regular cowgirl is nice, too— having her chest bouncing in his face is nothing short of a divine miracle, in his opinion. Doggy style is a staple, and there’s always different add-ons he can apply to spice it up; for example, taking her from behind with her wrists tied to her ankles, or bending her over the kitchen counter with her face pressed into the marble, or fucking her against his glass wall with her hands and chest flushed to the cool surface as their breaths fog the floor-to-ceiling window. 

Missionary is a tried and true option, and just like it’s prior counterpart, it can be enhanced with a variety of extra tricks. Bondage is a good condiment, against the wall is always a nice touch, spread-eagle never goes wrong, and just having her legs wrapped around his lower back is more than enough. However, he does have two favorite variations of the position. The first is when he mounts her legs onto his shoulders or along the inside of his elbows to open her up more, and then just ramming his hips down at a very specific angle that hits her g-spot just right, pounding her into the bed so hard she tears the sheets off the mattress. The second is a cowgirl-missionary hybrid: he sits back on his heels and uses the steep downward slope created by his thighs as elevation, pulling her ass onto his tilted lap and swinging her legs over either side of his hips. He gropes her waist with his palms and yanks her forward, bouncing her against his cock and watching her completely dismantle as he nudges all the right places with as much speed and force as she deems fit. 

And then there’s fucking from the side, but that’s a whole other extensive conversation he doesn’t have time for. 

Actually, maybe Harry will entertain it for a minute or so. He usually throws one of Y/N’s legs over his neck to get a deeper range, manhandling her roughly onto her side and yanking her closer to his body by her waist, grasping it with stern vigor and holding her down against the mattress, grunting out a gravelly, strict command along the lines of, “Stay fucking still.” He’ll drill into her at a brutal, consistent pace, staining his fingerprints along the curves of her torso and sponging damp kisses onto her ankle, smirking into her skin as he watches her fist at the duvet in a futile attempt at maintaining her bearings. It’s pretty evident that she can’t, though; the way her eyes lull around their sockets from his harsh stride does a terrible job at hiding her lack of self-control, alongside the fragmented curses she gasps out whenever he nudges her g-spot with the head of his cock. 

“Oh, that was such a pretty noise. Did I hit that little spot you like?”

Her response will be begrudging, as always, which he thinks is ridiculously useless considering he can see her burying her face into the pillow to hide how her jaw drops open in sheer rapture. “No.”

“No?” The vampire leans forward, stretching her leg towards the headboard and preening at the garbled squeak that escapes her gritted teeth, plunging deeper as he lowers himself to her level. He knots her hair around his knuckles, tugging sharply until her face is tilted back enough to meet his fiery gaze. “Then why are you starting to shake?

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

It depends on the mood, honestly. There are definitely serious moments, but Harry enjoys the humorous ones just as much. He already adores making Y/N laugh and smile on a regular basis, and that desire only grows when he’s buried between her thighs, simply because she just looks so fucking cute laughing with her hair splayed around the pillows in a messy halo, her sounds of glee stuttering due to how sharply she’s jolting against the bed. He loves feeling her giggle into his mouth as he cracks sarcastic jokes and makes stupid witty comments that break the intensity in the air, especially because she’s usually clever enough to return them with some of her own. Then they both end up snickering like idiots as he tries to keep a solid pace, which eventually tapers to a messy, haphazard stride as their laughter drowns out their goal to the point where he has to take a genuine break to collect himself. There’s tons of examples— how could there not be? Sex is hardly ever perfect, so awkward moments are not only expected, but guaranteed. What better way to handle them than with a bit of humor?

There was an incident once where Harry accidentally knocked their foreheads together so hard, they both bruised (which he responded to with, “I’m pretty sure this isn’t what Cosmopolitan meant when they suggested matching couples tattoos.”). Another time, he got so into the moment he didn’t realize he was jack-hammering the top of her head into the backboard until she brought it to his attention (and made a comment saying it sounded like a sped up version of the beat to We Will Rock You). A bad case of the hiccups. Y/N burping right in his face halfway through his orgasm. A random leg cramp that made him think he was going to need amputation to survive. Accidentally rolling off the bed or couch onto the ground and nearly dislocating both of their spines in the process, getting his cross earring tangled in her hair and nearly ripping off his ear trying to get it out, and the unfortunate collapse of a pillow fort he’d spent over an hour building. He even sneezed in her face once, and when she instinctively went to shove him back, she wound up slamming her palm into his nose so hard he nearly passed out. Nose bleeds aren’t necessarily sexy, per se, but he just dug blindly through her nightstand until he found two new tampons somewhere in that black hole she calls a drawer, shoved them in his nostrils, and kept going. No one can ever accuse him of being unresourceful. 

Queefing. Lots and lots of queefing, which he usually starts mimicking with his mouth, and then she responds to that by whining and telling him to cut it out, and then he takes to mocking her whining instead. It normally finishes with them laughing so hard that Harry’s cheeks hurt from smiling so big, but it’s a good type of pain. The best type of pain. 

H = Hair (how do they groom?)

Harry likes keeping himself neat and orderly, but he doesn’t enjoy going bare, so trimming is his grooming preference. There’s just something so unappealing about a completely smooth dick— it looks like raw chicken and it’s fucking disgusting. He doesn’t have anything against a good bush, but it tends to get unruly and he’d rather not have to overcomplicate his shower routine. And honestly, he can’t trust himself because last time he had a full front yard going, he got shitfaced and tried to braid it on a dare. Keeping the hedges trimmed is the ideal landscaping option, and it just looks way hotter— a uniform dusting of hair is a good accessory and it just makes everything look more cohesive, given that he also fancies keeping his happy trail thick. It’s all about aesthetics, isn’t it? 

I = Intimacy (the romantic aspect)

It’s no secret that Harry’s been somewhat detached from intimacy for the last two hundred years or so. Intimacy is reserved for genuine romance, and that’s something he hadn’t entertained since before the lightbulb was invented. But now that he has Y/N, intimacy has crawled its way back out from the deepest recesses of his subconscious, where it had been shoved into a bottomless pit with the rest of his trauma. He likes it— he likes opening up to her in any way he can, because sharing those obsolete parts of himself with someone again is more fulfilling than he ever imagined. He likes kissing her randomly when she’s halfway through a sentence, just to feel her words die off abruptly in her throat as she gives into his gentle gesture, a delicate smile spreading across her satin lips. He likes whispering sweet phrases of encouragement into her hair when they’re tangled amidst sweaty limbs and rumpled sheets, reminding her of how much he cares for her and how beautiful she looks when she’s so far gone and how she makes him feel like his entire body has been set alight. He likes sponging soft pecks across the stretch marks along her thighs and across the dimples on her belly, her skin candy and velvet on his tongue as she releases a watery sigh that lets him know he’s doing all the right things in all the right places. He just likes letting her know she's special to him, in any and every way he can. 

Intimacy forges timeless bonds, and he reckons that assumption is unarguable, considering he knows a thing or two about eternity. 

J = Jack Off (masturbation headcanon)

Harry likes to jack off, obviously. Who doesn’t? It’s why he has an entire section of his toy chest dedicated to self-pleasuring tools. Vibrating cock rings, an array of lubes that range from temperature-changing to sensation sensitivity, and a few pocket vags that get the job done whenever Y/N is out of commission (usually because of work). His favorite one is an electronic sleek black model that is made of a premium silicone material and has a variety of massage settings, suction strengths, and internal textures. It’s designed to make the session feel more real, and yes, it was expensive, but self-love is always worth the splurge. 

The beauty of living on his own is that he can get off wherever and whenever he wants, without having to stress about someone interrupting an important step in his pampering routine. He usually does it in his room and on his bed, simply because Y/N’s pillow is close by and the experience is heightened when her scent is swimming around his hazy, bliss-drunken mind. If Harry is feeling particularly needy, he’ll ditch the toy all together and just hump one out against the mattress or cushion. If it’s a particularly restless day, he’ll take a toy downstairs and lazily play within himself on the couch while browsing through Netflix. Those instances usually average a few tamer orgasms rather than a single large one, but he’s not complaining; his stamina comes in unapologetic waves that stem from a never-ending supply, and he certainly has the time to kill. If Harry gets the sudden urge in the shower or while he’s relaxing in his jacuzzi, he won’t bother fetching a trinket; he’ll just stroke one out with his hand, using the cool metal of his trusty lionhead ring to tease the tip until he brings himself to orgasm. It turns out daylight crystals have more than one use. 

There is one common factor amongst all these different choices, though: Y/N is present in every fantasy. And if the vampire is feeling especially bold, he’ll grab his phone and take a video of whatever he’s doing to himself, and then she’ll have a nice little gift waiting for her once she gets out of the café for the day. That usually leads to him receiving a present in return later that evening, and then he’s dialing her contact before the clip is even done playing, and then what he does during his alone time doesn’t require him being so alone anymore. 

K = Kinks 

Harry has tons— in fact, he has so many, he can’t really keep track. And he also has the sneaking suspicion that if he were to ever jot all of them down, he’d end up locked in some type of sex addict rehabilitation center. Bondage is a big one, so he’ll start there. He’s great with ropes, given that he learned his way around them ages ago. Chains are nice, but they can be a pain to set up without the right equipment; he’s thinking of getting a reinforced metal hook installed into his ceiling, like the one in his storage closet, which he uses to keep his punching bag secure. Handcuffs, obviously— velvet-lined, straight metal, fuzzy coverings, he’s got it all. Dominance, degradation, Daddy, Sir, choking, brat-taming, spanking, flogging, slapping— impact play in general, to be honest— spitting, wax, praise, begging, masochism, branding (mild stuff, no molten metal shit), collaring, discipline, dirty talk, edging, exhibitionism, face-fucking, face-sitting (with him on the receiving end), giving oral (is that a kink? It is now.) gagging (both the action and using the actual object itself), breeding (he hates that term but that’s the official name, unfortunately), teasing, voyeurism, role play, and… he thinks that’s it. Oh, and blood, but that doesn’t really count for apparent reasons. 

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

Y/N’s couch is sacred, at this point. Their entire relationship started on that lumpy, worn excuse of a sofa, and it’s seen them through their progression from strangers to friends with benefits to lovers to more. It’s comfortable enough, the dark color hides any explicit stains, and the cushions always smell of her signature mixture of honey and lavender combined with Snuggle fabric softener. It’s finicky, but irreplaceable. His kitchen counter is a close second. It’s provided a lot, taken a lot, been through a lot— through a lot of Lysol wipes, to be specific. If it wasn’t marble, it likely would have been reduced to chunks and rubble by now, courtesy of his enhanced strength gripping the edges as he slams her against the smooth surface. The backseat of his Cadillac is consecrated, as well; there’s just so much erotic appeal to fucking in a car with rock music blaring in the background, muffling the obscene sounds of bodies connecting and a mixture of fever-pitch moans. The couch, the counter, and the Cadillac— the Unholy Trinity. 

The jacuzzi is nice, too, but for the sake of his clever little “c” alliteration, he’ll leave that one as an implied token. 

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

As much as Harry claims he likes full submission in bed, he can’t deny that he loves being challenged. Delivering punishment and coaxing out an orgasm is so much more satisfying when he has to fight for it; it’s so fucking hot watching his girlfriend try to best him in a power struggle, especially when she finally— and undeniably, since he always wins— caves under his will and winds up begging him for what he otherwise would have gifted her freely. That’s where the brat-taming kink comes into play. He likes it when she mouths off and makes snarky digs, and he enjoys it even more when he tries to set her in place and she amps her disobedience as a result. There’s nothing more attractive than a battle of wits with someone who is a perfect match in every way. And when she channels her attitude into physical gestures, it riles him up beyond compare. For example, when she smirks and rolls her eyes, despite the fact that there’s trails of tears staining her cheeks and mascara smeared all over her waterline? Christ, he could go feral. 

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

No feet, no feces, no beastiality. There’s probably more, but those are the ones off the top of his head.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Receiving oral is great— he highly recommends it, solid ten out of ten— but giving it is so much better. Harry’s always been a giver, even when he was young and barely knew his way around a woman’s undergarments. The stereotypical expectation for a person who is beginning to explore their sexuality is that everything they do, they do for their own gain. It’s a selfish realization, yes, but it’s a primal type of selfishness that no one can truly be blamed for. It’s a simple concept: when you start having sex, you want as much personal benefit as possible. It’s only natural. But from the second Harry became sexually active, he came to find that providing release to his partner outweighed the bliss he could get from letting them pleasure him instead. It’s not direct pleasure, but rather cognitive, which more often than not translates itself physically. And when it comes to Y/N, that euphoria manifests tenfold. 

Nothing compares to having his face buried between her legs as she tugs and yanks at his hair desperately, her chest heaving and jaw falling open as he uses his tongue to unravel her from the inside out. Spitting sloppily onto her folds and hearing the raw gasp of aroused shock that escapes her sore throat, which causes his swollen lips to spread into a dirty grin as he latches onto the sensitive bud at the thick of her core, fiddling with it until her legs are trembling uncontrollably around his sturdy shoulders. Watching her features go slack as he bobs his neck fervently between her thighs, swiping the bridge of his nose across her clit over and over until the entire bottom half of his face is drenched in her excitement. Fucking his tongue into her and feeling her buck against his jaw as she holds him in place with her fingers tangled in his curls, whimpering his name repeatedly in a voice so shattered, he could probably build a mosaic with the fractures. Feeling her drip down his chin and into the collar of his shirt, savoring how sweet she tastes as he pins her hips down against the bed and groans feverishly into her cunt, his ego idolizing the image of her so disheveled under his influence. 

A measly blowjob is hardly any competition to that. Harry could very well cum just from eating Y/N out. In fact, he has, and that in itself is all the proof he needs. 

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

This is one of those other factors that depends on the mood. If Harry has been waiting all day for it, his impatience bleeds into his rhythm, which means he settles for fast and hard. It means he settles for bending her over the back of his couch with one palm around her throat and his other fingers in her mouth, pounding into her with so much force, the sofa starts shifting across the ground. If Y/N has been teasing him endlessly for a decent amount of time, it’ll be rough and deep, but not fast; he’ll drag it out for as long as possible, just to make her regret acting like such a spoiled brat. That’s when he brings out the paddle, or the crop, or just manhandles her across his lap and spanks her until she’s apologizing profusely through her whines. If he’s in a soft, romantic headspace, it’ll be slow and sensual, with lots of gentle caresses, giggly kisses dusted across eager lips and droopy eyelids, and penetrating strokes that make his toes curl and tummy clench. 

Pace is relative, but the message behind it is all the same: I want you more than anything, and I’m going to show you just how deeply I mean it. 

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Quickies are fun, Harry will admit. They’re filthy and messy, and they show just how far gone two people are for each other to the point where they can’t wait to feel one another at a later time; that they need to be together now, or they’ll go absolutely insane. Quickies are saved for when the urge strikes at random times. For when he’s out with Y/N at a park, sitting under the shade with his head in her lap as she combs his curls out of his eyes and thumbs over his chin affectionately, and the sun filters through the tree canopy just right to where it illuminates her lashes and the suppleness of her cheeks in a manner he deems ethereal. For when they’re at the mall, walking hand in hand and licking at ice cream cones as they survey the shops, and she reaches over to wipe a bit of Rocky Road off the corner of his mouth, replacing the stain with a soft stipple of her lips instead. For when they’re out eating dinner and playing footsie under the table like immature teenagers, and she’s trying to steal a French fry from his plate but he keeps fighting her off with his fork because, “I told you to order your own, but you wanted those disgusting potato skins instead!” And she’s laughing so brightly and unapologetically, giving him a look that so obviously tells him she can’t wait to get him alone, and nothing seems quite as flawless as that fraction in time, then and there and nowhere else.

These simple but memorable moments cause him to get love boners, which he jokingly refers to as “sniffy stiffies,” where “sniffy” has to do with being sentimental, and “stiffy”...well, that one is pretty self-explanatory, no? It always ends with them shagging in the car, or in the family bathroom of a diner, and in the case of the park, in an obscure area of the forest that lines the jogging trail. 

Quickies are just that— fast, but meaningful nonetheless, because they come from a place of genuine emotion. They’re fleeting, but unforgettable. Sniffy stiffy quickies, if you will. 

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

Taking risks is the norm in Harry’s life, especially when it comes to his sex habits. He’s proven time and time again that he has no problem riding along the seams of a dare and just barely making it out unscathed, so experimenting outside of the bedroom is just another day in the life. Fingering Y/N in a music room in an antique shop, getting road head during a two hour drive back to Los Angeles, ripping his girlfriend’s panties out from beneath her dress at one of California’s most prestigious restaurants— the list is endless, really. Harry likes to think he has a gift for coming up with inspirational quotes on the spot, so he’ll lend his expertise here and now: “A life without risks is a life that isn’t worth shit.” It even rhymes, so he knows sorority pledges will have a ball putting it in their Instagram bios. A bit of charity work for the bird-brained. 

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

Endless stamina. Literally. Vampires don’t stay tired for long, so he could be ready to go again within seconds. And he can last long, as well; his stubbornness and pride depend on it, and he likes making his partner cum first as an ego boost. He can go as many rounds as Y/N can and more, though he won’t push it. He doesn’t want her to end up in the ER with a bruised cervix. 

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

Harry could run a sex shop from his closet; Y/N doesn’t take the piss by calling him “Fifty Shades” for no reason. He uses them on himself, he uses them on her, and he got high once and tried to sword fight Y/N with a dildo, so it’s safe to say he definitely uses them quite a bit. If his Lovesense Lush 3 vibrator could talk, he’d be drawn and quartered for excessive debauchery. 

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Harry loves teasing, that’s no mystery. Winding people up is one of his most practiced skills, so of course that would channel into his intimate life. He’s mastered it, though it’s not like it’s hard. A drawn out blink here, or a feathery touch there. An inch of space between his and Y/N’s lips to establish some tension, or squeezing her inner thigh with his palm hard enough to draw a tiny squeak from her chest. Touching her through her clothes, or leaving a trail of wet kisses down her throat and stopping right at her cleavage. Biting the sensitive skin along the inside of her knee, or dragging the tip of his cold nose down the center of her twitching tummy. Lapping slowly at her nipples until they perk up, or sinking a single long digit inside her and keeping it there just to feel her clench around it needily. And once he gets a pattern going, teasing molds into edging, edging molds into begging, begging molds into praise, and before he knows it, he’s hit four of his kinks with one roll of the dice. 

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Harry is very vocal in bed, and he’s not ashamed of it. He knows for a fact that Y/N loves it, and if him being loud gets her worked up, then he’ll let his throat go out in the process. He’s noticed that in different situations, he has an arsenal of sounds for each. If he’s being rough and dominant, he tends to groan, grunt, and growl. If he’s being desperate and needy, he turns to whines and whimpers to communicate how he feels. If he’s too zoned into the moment to distinguish all his emotions, broken moans and stuttered mewls are his default. No matter the circumstance, they all take the same route: they start low and soft, and escalate in volume proportional to the intensity of the moment. So what if half the building is hearing him orgasm for the third time as he mocks his girlfriends sobbing pleads and calls her his “dirty fucking whore”? Let’s be honest, it’s probably the highlight of their week. He has a great voice— a sultry, deep baritone that compliments his English accent nicely— and anyone would be lucky to hear it spew the filth it does. He’s yet to get many complaints, so he doesn’t intend on stopping. 

W = Wildcard (random headcanon)

An honesty hour moment seems interesting, so he’ll confess a few tales from his past. The first time Harry ever went down on a girl, it was against a tree in a garden and he nearly asphyxiated under all the layers of her gown. A couple of years later, he ended up getting oral from a reverend’s daughter against a tree, too, for the morbid irony and associated religious revenge. And to drive the point home, oral was only the beginning of what she gave him. His first decade as a vampire was definitely his pettiest. 

X = X-Ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

It’s not uncommon knowledge that Harry’s well-endowed. He remembers how insecure he was the first time he had sex— a shocker, he knows; he was insecure?— and how he knew barely anything regarding sizing and how to use his assets accordingly. But it’s been ages since then, and now he definitely knows his way around his own body (let alone his partner’s), and he most certainly knows that he’s above average not only as a person in general, but when it comes to what’s in his trousers, as well. Harry won’t specify inches— he loves how speculation drives others mad— but it was big enough to give Y/N a decent pause the first time she pulled down his pants, and it’s big enough to leave her absolutely fucked every single time, without a single miss. If that’s not credibility at its finest, then he doesn’t know what is.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Harry’s sex drive is insatiable, to say the least. His vampirism combined with his narcissistic tendencies makes the ideal cocktail— cocktail— for the constant fuse that’s always burning under his skin. He’s ready to go at all times; Y/N just has to say the word and he’s pulling on a pair of sweatpants as he grabs his keys, hopping down his complex’s corridor toward the elevator on one foot as he tries to get his last shoe on the other. Lazy morning sex is probably his favorite; he’s come to find it’s when he’s most pent up, usually after a sleepless night of feeling Y/N’s body heat radiating through all of his cold limbs. It also sets a great tone for the rest of the day, and he just loves seeing Y/N wake up to him lying on his side with his temple resting on his fist, his elbow propped against the mattress as he poses the other on his hip in a theatrical diva stance. He’ll smile at her giddily with all his pearly teeth, dimples twitching as his lashes flutter dramatically, dirty intentions written clear all over his face (“Good morning, hon—” “Wanna have sex?” “Harry, it’s ten in the morning.” “Is that a yes? Because it’s not a no.” “I haven’t even brushed my teeth!” “That’s fine, I’m gonna stick my dick in there anyways.”) 

All in all, his libido is insane, and he’s lucky that Y/N’s is up to par or else he would have worked her into an exhaustion-induced coma by now. 

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Harry just...doesn't. Maybe once every few weeks, but definitely more often now than before he had his girlfriend. Sleeping just comes way easier when he has someone he cares about resting beside him, their inherent warmth thawing the stiffness from his muscles and putting his racing mind at ease. He feels safe enough around Y/N to let his guard down— both literally and metaphorically— and that seems to help with his supernatural insomnia; it sedates that nocturnal hyper-instinct in his brain that demands he be aware at all times, muffling the animalistic part of him that has been manning the reins for the better half of the last two hundred years. He doesn’t need to be so on edge anymore when everything he needs is just an arm-length away. Especially when she’s usually willing to lend her chest as a pillow, and who is he to neglect her wishes.   

[thyshadowwriter]

Lost & Found. Chapter 3.

Ivar Ragnarsson x oc.

Summary: being rescued by Helga in one of the raids and reluctantly tolerated by Floki, a young girl finds herself amidst a strange place with strange people, but if adapting to the cultural shock wasn't hard enough, catching the attention of the volatile and beloved son of the Queen would soon prove to be the ultimate proving. That is if she realizes just how much being around prince Ivar is walking on thin ice.

Author's note: family dynamics and fluff.

Tagging: @youbloodymadgenius

Understandment is hard when you can't speak to each other, but gestures may reach further than words.

--------

A few weeks after they returned, Floki's home had fallen into a strangely peaceful routine.

Floki would do his work, busy with Bjorn's request, while Helga would teach Revna their language for hours a day, every day, their voices being background noise for him.

Helga was radiant with joy. She loved taking care of Revna, spending a lot of time combing the long hair and doing beautiful and intricate braids while talking to her, to which Revna would sometimes reply and even if they couldn't understand each other an odd sort of dialogue would emerge.

While this arrangement made Floki uneasy, he could be thankful for his wife's happiness, she hasn't been happy in a long time. Even if happiness was a passing moment, it hurt him that Helga carried so much sorrow, most of which, if not all, he knew to be his fault.

Now, Revna was sitting on the chair shaking her leg and looking down, Floki occasionally looked at her and he didn't need to understand her words to understand her lately. She wasn't allowed outside yet and that was getting to her.

Helga came with a bowl of stew for Revna and tried to hand it to her.

"Here, I brought you food." Helga said to Revna.

She looked at the food then turned her head away to the floor and continued shaking her leg.

"You need to eat to get better, please." Helga tried to reason with her.

Revna answered with a small grunt, resting her head on her hand.

"What is it, my dear? You were doing so well." Helga said to her stroking her hair.

The girl didn’t answer, but Floki did it for her:

"She's bored, Helga. I think she wants to go out."

The realization dawned on Helga, making her smile kindly to the girl, carefully caressing her head. Poor thing, she had every right to be bored, but Helga wanted her to get stronger before facing the city.

Helga sat behind Revna and cupped her face, making the girl look at her. She spoke softly, trying to make her understand:

"I know you're bored, but you need to get strong before I show you Kattegat" she gestured to the door "I'll show you everywhere, but please, keep eating well and get better."

The girl studied her face for a while, then gave her a pout but accepted the food. She ate slowly and in small portions, an empty stare in her eyes.

That was good, Helga thought, that was great. She begged the gods for another child and they gave her one, a beautiful girl that she had already fallen in love with and would do everything in her power to protect.

Not long after, the door swung open and Ivar came into their room, dragging himself until he was inside and on his usual spot like that was his second home, which has been since the day his mother brought him there.

"Hello, Floki. Hello Helga." Ivar greeted them.

"Ivar." Floki greeted him back, spotting right away the faux innocent smile the young prince had whenever he was up to be a pain in someone’s ass.

Ivar turned his attention to the girl, who was eating and either uncaring or ignoring his presence.

"Revna." He said her name with a slight pitch to his voice and squinting at her. He had her name memorized from the odd fit it made for her, but mainly it was for the fact she slapped his hand. No one in their right mind would dare to do it, and no one that ever as much as said something wrong to Ivar got to live much longer, let alone someone stupid enough to try their luck against him, those he took delight in dealing with. Though to Revna, he probably was just a harmless cripple. Ignorance is bliss, he thought.

Revna, apparently taken back from her thoughts, looked at him. Her dark eyes gazing upon him with a spark of curiosity and interest. She had memorized his face after his first visit, how could she not? The complete stranger with very blue eyes, pale skin and a fingertips rough and calloused like the ones found on peasants, slaves or warriors. This complete stranger that touched her like it was normal or acceptable, the nerve! 

The voice in her mind screamed: ‘Was it normal to him?’, “Is this normal these strange people I’m living with?’, ‘Was that how he acted around outsiders?’, ‘What am I even doing here?’, ‘What will they do to me?’  Questions, questions, they came and went in circles for all these days.

But she put a stop to them for now, like it or not, for good or ill, he was the only other sight she had other than the couple, she could indulge in a quick distraction from the walls of the home she was living in that were starting to feel smaller by each day.

"Ivar." She said, looking straight at him, trying to pronounce what she inferred to be his name as best as she could. Adding a pitch to her pronunciation, just like he did, just because she could.

His eyes widened and he tilted his head to the side, stare fixed on her and her every minimal movement. He was sincerely surprised that she actually spoke directly at him.

His name on her lips was carried by a foreign accent, it sounded different, almost like it belonged to someone else, but her gaze on him, with expectancy in her eyes and a hint of pride on the corners of her lips turned slightly upward left no doubt she indeed meant him.

Ivar heard her before, annoyed and agitated at his first visit, so he hoped to have the same effect, but now that she spoke camly, trying to pronounce his name correctly and seemingly proud of herself for it, she threw him off balance. He had expected the annoyance she had from before, he expected her disgust at him as she wasn't pleased with his touch, why would she want the hands of a cripple on her? He even expected fear from her, but he didn't expect to hear his name slow and soft on her lips, he didn’t expect to hear her trying to reach out for him and how his own name would sound so foreign coming from her lips.

He wanted her to say it again, wanted to hear the strange way his name sounded from her, but he didn’t know how to demand it, so he nodded at her, not really knowing what to say, not that it would matter. She probably wouldn’t understand him anyway.

Revna smiled proudly to herself, a beautiful smile, if he had to say anything, he mimicked her smile shyly, though he quickly felt self conscious under her gaze and looked away, trying to find somewhere other than her eyes to look at, but nothing seemed to quite hold his attention.

Ivar felt as Revna looked away from him and continued to eat, he glanced a few times at her, the shy smile he held gone as she paid him no further attention. He noticed, however, how her legs began shaking in a slow, lazy rhythm. A stream of thoughts began in his mind: ‘Is she playing with me?’, ‘Is she bothered by my presence?’, ‘Does she pity me?’, a frown forming on his face with each thought.

He turned his attention to Helga, who was distracted with the girl's hair:

"I haven't seen her around yet. Why? When are you going to show her off?” he made a pause before adding the last part venomously “Unless she is to be a house slave."

"She's no slave, Ivar. We're adopting her." Helga corrected him, a tad annoyed at the slave mention.

"Then why haven't I seen her outside, hm? If she's to live here as a free woman, then she needs to know her way around."

"It's too soon yet. She doesn't speak our language."

"It’s not too soon, it’s been weeks! And if all the problem is that she doesn’t speak our language, then it’s another reason to do it. She'll learn much faster by experience."

"I'll take her out when she's ready." Helga answered a bit tense. She didn't want to go into detail of why she was so careful but she also didn’t want to lie to Ivar, who by the frown seemed to be growing angry.

"She seems ready enough." He said pointing to her legs.

Revna stopped shaking her legs, staring at Ivar wide eyed and lips slightly parted as she just took the spoon from her mouth. She arched an eyebrow looking lost as a puppy in the forest. Good, Ivar thought. Revna then looked confused from him to Helga, who caressed her face reassuringly.

"So, why don't you take her outside?" Ivar insisted.

Helga couldn't find an answer to stop Ivar's questioning and looked to her husband for help. Floki seemed entertained, holding a smile of his own, but as soon as he felt his wife’s eyes on him and her silent plea he intervened.

"Since when do you care about things that don't involve you?" Asked Floki.

"What?" Ivar countered astonished, "What do you mean by it? Of course it involves me. I was in this home before her, I have a say in whether she can stay or not."

"Is that so?” Floki said amused, “In this case what your mighty self has to say?"

Without missing a beat and with a self assured tone that didn’t transpired his shyness just a moment ago, he answered:

"I say this girl better adapt to our ways else she brings the wrath of the gods down on us..."

"The gods love her, Ivar. They gave her to me." Helga interrupted him. She realized the mistake as soon as the words left her mouth.

"How can you be so sure?" He inquired, renewed curiosity in his eyes.

"I just know it."

"If you say..." he eyed her suspiciously, before continuing to Floki, "...I say she better learn manners. No one should dare to hit a prince and go off unscathed."

Floki chuckled from his spot then said:

"You deserved that one. You could have used some other way of introducing yourself rather than touching someone you’ve never seen before and is not here as a slave. However, I thank the gods for letting me witness your face that day."

"You old fool..."

"Ivar. Be patient with her." Helga said to Ivar softly. She was very aware of how badly he took insults, even when none existed.

"I am patient,” he countered, “but the girl needs manners."

"Ivar..." Called Floki.

Ivar sighed before continuing:

"However, I am willing to forgive her for you,” he said looking at Helga “and an apology from the girl, once she learns how to speak our language, of course."

"Ivar, she's just a child, give her some time, I'm sure she'll adapt." Said Helga, looking at Ivar while she tied the end of one of the braids on Revna's hair.

Ivar lived with them long enough to see she truly wanted that girl to be part of their lives. He had seen the glimpses of sadness throughout his upbringing, the lost gaze Helga had when she thought no one was looking, the unsettling feeling that lurked under the surface when she saw mothers with their newborn babies. Perhaps the surprise wasn't that she took a girl to raise, but that she took that long to do it.

But he loathed the idea that in Floki’s home would live someone that would regard him in the same way the rest of Kattegat did, an outsider to add insult to injury.

"If you say, I'll try to tolerate her. If at least she can pretend to not be annoyed whenever I’m here.” Ivar said as he pointed to Revna.

He couldn’t pinpoint exactly what about her shaking her legs was irritating him. If it was the repetitive pattern, the slow rhythm, the proximity of her feet to him, or what was to him, a clear display of her displeasure with his presence. Though why would she have smiled at him with that beautiful smile if she was annoyed by him?

‘She’s playing you’, His own mind answered the question.

Both Helga and Floki looked to each other confused as to what he meant, Floki being the one that asked:

"What do you mean by that? She doesn’t even know who you are to be annoyed at you."

He pointed to Revna’s legs, this time the girl didn’t even bother to look at him and continued eating as if there wasn’t an annoyed young man pointing at her for no reason at all. Which bothered Ivar even more.

Floki couldn’t help but laugh. It was like he was a naughty child again that got all pouty and angry until he got things his way. At least he didn’t scream anymore. Not as frequently at least. His boy was maturing.

"She's bored, Ivar. Been like that for a few days, it has nothing to do with you." Floki made a point to emphasize the last part.

Ivar stared at Floki speechless. His eyes open wide, darting from Floki to the surroundings as his lips parted, which pretty much told the boatbuilder that the young prince hadn’t considered a possibility that didn’t involve him. He then rolled his head before asking:

"Then what have you been doing with her all this time?"

"We’ve been taking care of her, Ivar. Teaching and getting her used to us before she faces the others." Answered Helga.

Ivar pondered her words for a while, then agreed with her.

"What does she do in her spare time?"

Floki was quick to answer that one:

"Snoops around the house, messes up my tools… Oh, she also has a fondness for magic tricks, they make her happy like a child."

"Really?”

“Yes. I’ve done a few for her and it never fails to get her attention.”

“That’s childish.”

“She is a child, Ivar. It’s no surprise at all.”

Ivar looked like he just realized what Floki said to him. Turning his attention back to Revna as she looked around the house with that same little pout on her lips. He had of course noticed she was young when he first saw her and when he touched her face. Younger than him, in fact. Skin too soft and face still with some roundess to it, but he didn’t stop to consider what that would mean. Of course she would be like that being so young and housebound, he knew the feeling all too well from the days and days and more days he had to be inside his home because he was too sick to go out without serious risk of breaking his bones.

Looking to Helga, who hadn’t got her hands away from Revna, he knew that was her doing. ‘Why won’t she let the girl out? She’s not crippled.’ was what he thought. He knew it was her because she had the same look his mother had when she would smother him with her love as if he was still a baby and not let him do anything food himself, which only got worse when his eyes would turn blue. He loved his mother more than anyone and anything else, but he hated feeling useless.

Maybe that was what Revna felt. He was strangely relieved to not be the reason for her annoyance. At least not this time.

Then a silly idea crossed his mind. He reached for a pouch of leather he carried and took a coin from it, he then got a bit closer to Revna and touched her foot. The girl gasped startled but relaxed when she looked down at Ivar, who expectantly tried to measure her reactions to him. She tilted her head and arched her eyebrow inquisitively at him, which coupled with the cute pout on her lips made for an adorable sight. He beckoned her to come closer to him.

“Go on, my dear.” Said Helga to Revna as she looked to Helga for permission.

Revna got off of the chair and sat on the floor close to Ivar, close enough to be within arm’s reach, but not close enough to accidentally brush her legs against his, she then rested her hands on her lap and looked at him with curiosity. He studied her expression carefully, searching for the all too familiar signs of pity and disgust but found none of those. Even though he noticed she kept a distance, he was pleased she sat near him.

He then showed her the coin, playing with it between his fingers deftly, she giggled, trying to follow the coin with her eyes and relaxing a bit from her position. He then halted his movements, holding the coin between his index and middle finger, Revna froze in her position as soon as he stopped and looked from the coin to his very blue eyes. There it was, that beautiful smile together with an innocent shine in her eyes.

He then put the coin flat against the palm of his hand, closing both of them into fists and bringing them close to his lips, he didn’t take his eyes off her, enjoying her full attention as she looked from his fists to his eyes. He blew air against his fists and slowly opened them, showing her the palms of his hands, the coin nowhere she could see.

Revna looked at him, giggling happily with a wide smile, a smile Ivar found to be quite beautiful and contagious, making him smile himself, although more reservedly. When she calmed down and silence fell between them, they were looking at each other’s eyes, hers filled with joy and his with pride for being the reason for it.

He soon felt self conscious again and looked away.