#i can't remember the book i read it from so i didn't go into it because i couldn't remember the details lol

[aro-absol]

[ID: A digital comic with a simple drawing style. It consists of long text that is accompanied by small drawings, matching what is said in the text. The text reads as follows: "I've always been a big reader. I was treating earlier and faster than most of my peers my whole childhood. [Three books: one is titled "Magic treehouse" and has the caption "kindergarten", one is titled "Harry Potter" and has the caption "first grade" and the last one is titled "Percy Jackson" and has the caption "third grade".] and my tastes have alwaystended towards the magical. fairytales, myths, and fantasy have been longtime favourites as far back as I can remember.

As I got older, my tastes didn't change all that much. They did expand, to being ok with things like horror, violence (and mild gore), death... As children's tastes tend to do. But I still loved fantasy stories just as much. When I hit eighth grade, however, they noticed a bit of a problem. I was getting a bit old for a lot of the middle-grade fiction books I liked. I thought: "Okay, sure! I've read adult-level books with no problem before, I'll just head for the fantasy section!" I asked a couple of friends for book recommendations, and culture reading except… [A drawing of many different scraps from books, all clearly from romantic and/or steamy scenes] ... All of it was just so stuffed with sex and romance. [A drawing of a person shaking their heads in disbelief and saying "ew" while reading the book, with an arrow pointing to them saying, "14 and very aro/ace"]

Needless to say, I did not want to read those books (and haven't to this day.) Thought bubble of the person just described continuing: okay, this is probably just my friend's stuff. I know they like these kinds of things. I'll just look for myself! [A drawing of a person standing in front of a big bookshelf that is labeled "young adult and teen fantasy". There are many different phrases pointing to the box on the shelf. The phrases read: "sex scene on the first page", "sex", "twilight", "romance "' subplot'", viscerally upsetting description of making out", "fade to black sex scene", "no sex but only technically", "sexy elves", essentially a romance really", "insane amounts of kissing".]... you gotta be kidding.

Over the years since then, I've tried to find fantasy stories that I can actually enjoy. [A drawing of a list titled "typically good". The bullet point read: D and D based (sex jokes but party focused), comics, fanfic, older media (pre-90s), MG fiction (last resort)] I've had some success at finding patterns that work for me, but a lot of these categories are very digital. (At least for me.) And because of that, all the time I once spent reading is now on my phone.

I don't really know where this is going, or what the solution is. Most people do like sex and romance, and reading about them. And this is just a thing for making a terrible comic day. I think it's pretty common for aro and/or ace people to feel left out, since so often these are treated as universal ideals. But to anyone feeling that way: I promise you are not alone. Also, allos: get better writing material, seriously. And better friends, since yours are apparently so terrible you can't write deeply meaningful relationships without kissing. (Half joking.) / End ID]

Note: this image description is not fully complete, as I left out some smaller drawings that I couldn't add into the text in a way that makes sense and weren't crucial for understanding. Also, I apologize if this description isn't clear to people who use screen readers but I do not know how to make it any better. If you have any suggestions, tell me please.

My (late) contribution for Make A Terrible Comic Day! I've been going to the library more often lately so this has been coming up a lot, cause I want something to read but have had trouble finding anything that I'm comfortable with.

If anyone has recommendations please please let me know because I am struggling.

[dresshistorynerd]

I've seen a post you've reblogged and added to, among many things about women showing nipples. Can you recommend any ref material (articles, videos, etc.) are share your knowledge about this? Cause I'm curious about that, as nowadays going out in a shirt without a bra makes you indecent, while in like 90s it was okayish? I wonder how it was in previous centuries.

There is a really cool academic paper about bare breast dresses in 17th century England specifically. I think anyone can read it by creating a free account.

Abby Cox also has a good video about the cleavage during the past 500 years in which she goes through also the nip slip phenomena.

I don't have other sources that specifically focus on this subject, though many sources about specific decades touch on it, but I do have my primary source image collection, so I can sum up the history of the bare nipple.

So my findings from primary source images (I could be wrong and maybe I just haven't found earlier examples) is that the Venetians were the first ones to show the nipple for courtly fashion. At the same time in other places in Europe they sported the early Elizabethan no-boob style that completely covered and flattened the chest. In the other corners of Italy the necklines were also low but less extreme. Venetian kirtle necklines dropped extremely low as early as 1560s and they combined extremely sheer, basically see-through partlets with their kirtle. First example below is a 1565-70 portrait of a Venetian lady with the nipples just barely covered waiting slip into view with a movement of arm. There was an even more extreme version of this with the kirtle being literally underboob style, still with a sheer doublet. Though I believe this was not quite for the respectable ladies, since I have only seen it depicted on high class courtesans. They were not exactly respectable ladies, but they did have quite good social position. The second example is a 1570s depiction of a courtesan, which is revealed by the horned hairstyle. By the end of the century this underbust style with only see through fabric covering breasts, had become respectable. In the last example it's shown on the wife of the Venetian doge in 1597.

Around the same time, at the very end of 1500s, the extremely low cut bodice fashion enters rest of Europe. The low cut style was present in the bodices of all classes, but the nipple was really only an aristocrat thing. The lower classes would cover their breasts with a partlet, that was not sheer. Bare breast was ironically from our perspective a show of innocence, youthful beauty and virtue, and to pull off the style with respect, you also had to embody those ideals. Lower class women were considered inherently vulgar and lacking virtue, so a nipple in their case was seen as indecent. Bare boobs were also a sort of status symbol, since the upper class would hire wet nurses to breastfeed their children so they could show of their youthful boobs.

Covering partlets and bodices were still also used in the first decade of 1600s by nobles and the nip slip was mostly reserved for the courtly events. The first image below is an early example of English extremely low neckline that certainly couldn't contain boobs even with a bit of movement from 1597. The 1610s started around 5 decades of fashion that showed the whole boob. The first three were the most extreme. Here's some highlights: The second image is from 1619.

Here the first, very much showing nipples, from c. 1630. The second from 1632.

The neckline would slowly and slightly rise during the next decades, but nip slips were still expected. Here's an example from 1649 and then from 1650-55. In 1660s the neckline would get still slightly higher and by 1870s it was in a not very slippable hight. The necklines would stay low for the next century, though mostly not in boob showing territory, but we'll get there. But I will say that covering the neckline in casual context was expected. Boobs were mostly for fancy occasions. It was considered vain to show off your boobs when the occasion didn't call for it and covering up during the day was necessary for a respectable lady. You wouldn't want to have tan in your milk-white skin like a poor, and also they didn't have sun screen so burning was a reasonable concern.

1720s to 1740s saw necklines that went to the nip slip territory, though they didn't go quite as low as 100 years earlier. The nipple was present in the French courtly fashion especially and rouging your nipples to enhance them was popular. Émilie Du Châtelet (1706-1749), who was an accomplished physicist and made contributions to Newtonian mechanics, was known in the French court to show off her boobies. An icon. Here she is in 1748. Here's another example from this era from 1728.

The Rococo neckline never got high, but in the middle of the century it was less low till 1770s when it plunged into new lows. In 1770s the fashion reached a saturation point, when everything was the most. This included boobs. The most boob visible. There was a change in the attitudes though. The visible boob was not a scandal, but it was risque, instead of sing of innocent and did cause offense in certain circles. I think it's because of the French revolution values gaining momentum. I talked about this in length in another post, mostly in context of masculinity, but till that point femininity and masculinity had been mostly reserved for the aristocracy. Gender performance was mostly performance of wealth. The revolutionaries constructed new masculinity and femininity, which laid the groundwork for the modern gender, in opposition to the aristocracy and their decadence. The new femininity was decent, moral and motherly, an early version of the Victorian angel of the house. The boob was present in the revolutionary imagery, but in an abstract presentation. I can't say for sure, but I think bare breasts became indecent because it was specifically fashion of the indecent French aristocracy.

Here's example somewhere from the decade and another from 1778. The neckline stayed quite low for the 1780s, but rose to cover the boobs for the 1790s.

The nipple didn't stay hidden for long but made a quick comeback in the Regency evening fashion. It was somewhat scandalous by this point, and the nipple and sheer fabrics of the Regency fashion gained much scorn and satire. The styles that were in the high danger nip slip territory and those that allowed the nipple to show through fabric, were still quite popular. The sleeves had been mid length for two centuries, but in 1790s they had made a split between evening and day wear. The evening sleeves were tiny, just covering the shoulder. Showing that would have been a little too much. Like a bare boob? A risque choice but fine. A shoulder? Straight to the horny jail. (I'm joking they did have sheer sleeves and sometimes portraits with exposed shoulder.) But long sleeves became the standard part of the day wear. Getting sun was still not acceptable for the same reasonable and unreasonable reasons. Day dresses did also usually have higher necklines or were at least worn with a chemisette to cover the neckline. Fine Indian muslin was a huge trend. It was extremely sheer and used in multiple layers to build up some cover. There were claims that a gust of wind would render the ladies practically naked, though because they were wearing their underclothing including a shift, which certainly wasn't made from the very expensive muslin, I'm guessing this was an exaggeration. Especially though in the first decade, short underboob stays were fairly popular, so combined with a muslin, nipples were seen. Here's an early 1798 example of exactly that. The short stays did disappear eventually, but in 1810s the extremely small bodices did provide nip slip opportunities, as seen in this 1811 fashion plate.

Victorian moralizing did fully kill the nip slip, though at least they were gender neutral about it. The male nipple was just as offensive to them. In 1890s, when bodybuilding became a big thing, bodybuilder men were arrested for public indecency for not wearing a shirt.

[prolibytherium]

I never touched it but I feel like i only ever hear positive things said about song of achilles.. in (rough strokes at least) what makes it dogshit to you?

Okay it's been a while since I actually read it so some of this might not be spot on accurate. Sorry if at any point I say 'the book never does xyz' and it actually does once or twice but I think my underlying criticisms are accurate

-Patroclus is made into like this soft gentle tender quivering little yaoi boy. In the source text, he's shown as compassionate and moved by the suffering of his own men (and apparently having some medical skill, tending to the wounded in the camp), but very much invested n combat and very, very good at it (pages worth of descriptions of the guys he's killing left and right). In this, the arguably more complex character from this 8th century BC text is flattened into Being A Healer, he doesn't want to go to war he just wants to help people, he only goes because Achilles has to but he doesn't want to fight he's a HEALER he's a gentle lover NOT A FIGHTER who just wants to help he just wants to help everyone around him he HEALS while Achilles is a doomed warrior who is so good at fighting and KILLING its a DICHOTOMY GUYS!!!LIKE THE BEAUTIFUL SUN AND MOON DOOMED LOVERS SO SAD patocluse HEALER . (I Think he's specifically characterized as being BAD at fighting but might be misremembering)

-I don't remember much about Achilles' characterization I think it just makes him less of a jackass while not adding anything of interest and levels out into being mad boring.

-Not getting into the literal millenias old debate whether the mythological characters Achilles and Patroclus were being characterized as some type of lover by the original oral sources of the Iliad or its Homeric writers. We will never know. We don't even know what (if any) culturally accepted conventions of male homosexuality existed in bronze age Greece (we know much more about their descendants). But there are some interesting elements of their characterization in this direction, with how unconventional their relationship is WITHIN the text itself- Patroclus is described as cooking for Achilles and his guests (very specifically a woman/wife's job), Achilles chides Patroclus like a father, but there's also scene where Achilles' mourning of him directly echoes a passage of Hector's wife mourning her husband, Patroclus is explicitly stated to Achilles' elder, and is overall treated as his equal or near-equal, closest confidant and most beloved friend (to the point that pederastic classical Greeks would debate over who was erastes (older authority figure lover) and who was eromenos (adolescent 'beloved')- many took it as a given that this text depicted their present-day cultural norms of homosexual behavior but it existed so Outside of these norms that it had to be debated who was who). Their relationship is non-standard both within the text and to the descendants of the civilization that wrote them.

Basically what I'm saying is this book had opportunities to like, explore the unconventionality of the relationship (being presented here as explicitly lovers), explore the dynamics of why Patroclus wants to do 'women's work' (besides being a tenderhearted softboy), the weird dynamics where they take on paternal roles to each other but also roles of wives, how they feel about being this way, and just kind of Doesn't. Which I guess isn't an intrinsic fault (because it omits much of what I just talked about to begin with). it's just like.... Lame. This book takes jsut abandons everything interesting about the source text in favor of flattening it into bland Doomed Yaoi.

-The conflict that sets off the core story of the Iliad is Achilles and Agamemnon fighting over Briseis, an enslaved Trojan woman taken by Achilles as a war-trophy, Achilles spends most of the story moping because he was dishonored by his 'trophy' being taken. Achilles and Patroclus and everyone else are raping their captives, all the women in the story are either captured Trojans (or in the case of the free women within the walls of Troy, soon to be enslaved, and are slave owners themselves). Slavery as an institution and extreme patriarchal conventions are innate to the text and reflective of the context in which it was developed. You cannot avoid it.

But obviously you can't have your soft yaoi boys doing this, so the author has them capturing women to Protect Them from the other men. Their slaves are UNDER THEIR PROTECTION and VERY SAFE (and they might even Like And Befriend Them but I might be misremembering that. Briseis does though). Our heroes have apparently absorbed none of the ideals of the culture they exist in and the author seems to think "they're gay and aren't sexually attracted to their captives" would translate to them being outright benevolent (also as if wartime sexual violence is just about attraction and not part of a wider spectrum of violent acts to dehumanize and brutalize an accepted 'enemy')

In the source text, Briseis mourns Patroclus as being the kindest to her of her captors, who tried to get her a slightly better outcome by getting her married to Achilles (which probably would be the Least Bad of all possible outcomes for a woman in that situation, becoming a legal wife instead of a slave), and wonders what will happen to her now that he's gone. This is a really really sad, horrible, and compelling dynamic which could be fleshed out in very interesting ways but is instead is tossed entirely aside in favor of them being Besties. Like brother and sister.

All of the above pisses me off so much. If you don't want to engage in the icky parts of ancient/bronze age Greece then don't write a retelling of a story taking place in bronze age Greece. I'm not gonna get mad at children's adaptations of Greek myths or silly fun stories loosely based on them for omitting the rape and slavery but it is SO fundamental to the Iliad. If you're not willing to handle it, either fully omit it or better yet set your Iliad inspired yaoi in an invented swords-and-sandals setting where you can have all your heartbreaking tragic doomed lovers plot beats and not have to clumsily write around the women they're brutalizing.

-The author didn't seem to know what to do with Thetis and she made her just like, Achilles bitch mother who spends most of the story trying to separate our Yaoi Boys (iirc her disguising Achilles as a girl and hiding him on Scyros is made to be more about getting him away from Patroclus than trying to save her son from his prophesied doom in the Trojan War) until she sees how much they loooove each other and I think helps Patroclus' spirit get to the afterlife or something in the end?

-This is more of a personal taste gripe but it has that writing style I loathe where the prose feels less like a story and more like an attempt to string together Deep Beautiful Hard Hitting Poetic Lines that will look great as excerpts on booktok (might predate booktok but same vibe). It's all very Pretty and Haunting and Deep but feels devoid of real substance.

I really like The Iliad and The Odyssey in of themselves. They're fascinating historical texts that give a window into how 8th century BC Greeks told their stories, saw their world, interpreted their ancestors, etc. And genuinely I think these texts have 'good' characters, there's a lot of complexity and humanity to it.

WRT the Iliad- all of the main Achaeans are pretty fascinating, the one singular part where Briseis Gets To Talk and laments her situation is great, Achilles fantasizing that all of the Trojans AND the Achaeans die so he and Patroclus alone can have the glory of conquering Troy (wild), Achilles asking to embrace Patroclus' shade and reaching out for him but it's immaterial (and the shade being sucked back underground with a 'squeak' (the squeak kinda gets me it's disturbing and sad)), Hecuba talking about wanting to tear out Achilles' liver and eat it in a (taboo, exceptioally pointed) expression of rage and grief for his mutilation of her son's corpse, just one tiny line where the enslaved women performing ritual wailing for their dead captors are described as using it as an outlet to 'grieve for their own troubles' is heartrending, etc. A lot of grappling with anger and grief and the inevitability of death, a lot of groundwork laid for characters that could be very interesting when expanded upon in the framework of a conventional novel.

And Song Of Achilles really doesn't do much with all that. I know a lot of my gripes here are kind of just "It's different from the Iliad", I would have thought of it as mostly mediocre and forgettable rather than infuriating if it wasn't a retelling (and I DEFINITELY have strong biases here). But I think the ways in which it is different are less just a product of a retelling (of course there's going to be omissions and differences) and more a complete and utter disinterest in vast majority of its own subject matter, to the book's detriment. I think a retelling has a point when it EXPANDS on the source, or provides a NEW ANGLE to the source. This book doesn't Really do either, it just shaves off the complexity of its source material, renders the characters into a really boring archetype of a gay relationship, and gives very little else. Its content boils down to a middling tragic romance that has been inserted into the hollowed out defleshed skeleton of the Iliad.

Bottom line: I definitely would not be as mad about it if I wasn't familiar with the source material but I think it's fair to expect a retelling to Engage with/expand on its source, and I also think it's weak purely on its own merits. This book was set up to disappoint Me specifically.

[madegeeky]

Hannibal (the TV series) seasons in one sentence:

Season 1: The least amount of police procedural you will ever see in a police procedural.

Season 2: Reins are off now, fuckers, let's do some goddamn character work!

Season 3: Wherein the first half is Hannibal writing fanfiction and the second half has completely new main characters.

[ramshacklefey]

Oh yes, and in general, these books are an excellent example of "if your characters act like the world is normal, the audience is probably just gonna roll with it."

There's a lot to be said about how/why to make that work, but it mostly boils down to, "Is this something the average reader of this genre is familiar with?" and/or "Is it similar enough to real-world concepts that they'll get the point?"

Governor Module... Hm don't know that one, but 1) it was hacked, so it must be a computer thing and 2) its purpose is pretty obvious from the name and what the character said it can do once it's hacked.

The feed? That's a new word, but okay, it says "entertainment feed" and you can watch shows and stuff with it. That sounds like a kind of internet thing, I know how internet thing works.

Streaming media at work? Everyone knows this! Oh, we can stream media directly in our brains here? Baller.

Giant sand worm? Everyone knows giant sand worm!

There's that feed thing again. Oh we can also send messages using it! Definitely an internet thing.

Laser guns? We fuck with laser guns. Laser guns in arms? Gotcha, character is either a robot or a cyborg, let's keep reading and find out which.

Hopper? New word but obviously a flying vehicle based on what they're doing with it.

Etc.

And really, we see this all over in fantasy and science fiction writing!

Star Trek didn't get around to explaining how warp drive works until TNG, but it's clear from the beginning that it's how spaceships go fast (and remember, this was a pretty new idea at the time).

Teleporter? Ok we've seen stuff where people disappear from one place and reappear somewhere else, now we have a device that does it.

Light saber? No idea how that works, but I know sword and I know light and it's glowing so ok cool.

If something is really new and really strange and really important to the plot, you can go back and give more explanation later. But you can get a loooong way by just. Showing characters using and interacting with things to explain what they are and how they work.

And if you really do need to explain something, a couple sentences will often do, and we can discover more about it as the story goes on.

Jedi?? No idea, but everyone knows knights. Yep and these are good knights, got it. Ohhh, there are evil knights too.

The force? Oh, it gives these Jedi people "powers," so like. Makes them superheroes or wizards. Some kinda magic field. That's neat!

Ah ok, this Darth Vader guy is one of the magic knights. Oh shit he just choked a dude out from across the room! So that's one of the "powers" the Jedi have.

(Martha Wells takes this to an extreme, but also by almost never explaining exactly how anything works, she leaves herself open to just go, "Oh yeah it does this too, but it can't do that" later on in the story.)

An important writing lesson I'm taking away from Murderbot is that you don't always have to ease your readers into the world and the characters and speculative concepts. Sometimes you can just start with the fun part where there's a sandworm trying to eat someone and that's fine too.

[girlthativealwaysbeen]

i hate being bitter and resentful and holding onto grudges but my god!!!!!!!!!!!! i see people going to college and becoming these cool confident versions of themselves and im like fuck u dad

[tenrose]

I started Neuromancer but currently I absolutely have not the brain capacity for it, so I've decided to switch cyberpunk technical vocabulary for a 1k pages political fantasy book. I need to rest my brain you see.

[jewishcissiekj]

oH?

[causenessus]

i’m thinking about the way that they both tried to push each other away but they’re meant to be. and they kept coming into each other’s lives. what bon iver meant when they said “i have buried you in every place i’ve been / you keep ending up in my shaking hands.” (a song for a lover of long time ago). also made me think of the quote “you want to watch the world burn?” “let me guess, you’ll set it on fire?” “no, i’ll hand you the match and stand at your back.” definitely such a power couple kind of like calloused hands yn and kuroo but let me word it this way: they both look like they could kill you and could but iwaizumi won’t because he’ll watch you get beat to a pulp by y/n. and he’ll just be watching y/n the entire time like “damn, i love her.” when they get married and they say their vows, he says “‘til death do us part and even after” and he MEANS it. take one good look at iwaizumi hajime and tell me he wouldn’t tear the world in two with his bare hands for y/n. and i just know they have the best midnight dates. sometimes they're out making late convenience runs saying "i shouldn't eat this." "fuck that." and sometimes they're in their kitchen together, making pancakes at 1 am.

BRUISED-H. IWAIZUMI SMAU

as a professional boxer, yn is used to shaking off bruises. it helps that iwaizumi’s always been there to take care of her.

main masterlist

status: completed

tags: iwaizumi x f!reader, childhood friends to lovers, roommates to lovers, mutual pining, misunderstanding

warnings: language, alcohol use, violence/blood, adult themes, angst, flawed characters, anger issues, depression, injuries, will be an excessive amount of written chapters, grammatical mistakes probably, everyone probably will be out of character, please note warnings may change as story progresses, and to check each chapter for individual warnings

playlist to accompany ur reading

minors dni & other rules

bonus: yn style guide | iwa style guide

introductions: yn’s gc | iwaizumi’s gc | roommates gc

teaser!

part one: rest in peace, kageyama

part two: context clues

part three: "argentina"

part four: not slutty enough

part five: my person [✐]

->bonus! six years back [✐]

part six: making room

part seven: the healing power of shit talking [✐]

part eight: another, unknown yn

part nine: in crisis

part ten: a test

->bonus! seven years back [✐]

part eleven: pissing contest [✐]

part twelve: rock bottom

part thirteen: lonely [✐]

part fourteen: i love brazil!

part fifteen: he's here

part sixteen: oikawa what is this behavior

part seventeen: dumbasses

part eighteen: three time [✐]

part nineteen: four years later [✐]

[wordstome]

how c.ai works and why it's unethical

Okay, since the AI discourse is happening again, I want to make this very clear, because a few weeks ago I had to explain to a (well meaning) person in the community how AI works. I'm going to be addressing people who are maybe younger or aren't familiar with the latest type of "AI", not people who purposely devalue the work of creatives and/or are shills.

The name "Artificial Intelligence" is a bit misleading when it comes to things like AI chatbots. When you think of AI, you think of a robot, and you might think that by making a chatbot you're simply programming a robot to talk about something you want them to talk about, and it's similar to an rp partner. But with current technology, that's not how AI works. For a breakdown on how AI is programmed, CGP grey made a great video about this several years ago (he updated the title and thumbnail recently)

I HIGHLY HIGHLY recommend you watch this because CGP Grey is good at explaining, but the tl;dr for this post is this: bots are made with a metric shit-ton of data. In C.AI's case, the data is writing. Stolen writing, usually scraped fanfiction.

How do we know chatbots are stealing from fanfiction writers? It knows what omegaverse is [SOURCE] (it's a Wired article, put it in incognito mode if it won't let you read it), and when a Reddit user asked a chatbot to write a story about "Steve", it automatically wrote about characters named "Bucky" and "Tony" [SOURCE].

I also said this in the tags of a previous reblog, but when you're talking to C.AI bots, it's also taking your writing and using it in its algorithm: which seems fine until you realize 1. They're using your work uncredited 2. It's not staying private, they're using your work to make their service better, a service they're trying to make money off of.

"But Bucca," you might say. "Human writers work like that too. We read books and other fanfictions and that's how we come up with material for roleplay or fanfiction."

Well, what's the difference between plagiarism and original writing? The answer is that plagiarism is taking what someone else has made and simply editing it or mixing it up to look original. You didn't do any thinking yourself. C.AI doesn't "think" because it's not a brain, it takes all the fanfiction it was taught on, mixes it up with whatever topic you've given it, and generates a response like in old-timey mysteries where somebody cuts a bunch of letters out of magazines and pastes them together to write a letter.

(And might I remind you, people can't monetize their fanfiction the way C.AI is trying to monetize itself. Authors are very lax about fanfiction nowadays: we've come a long way since the Anne Rice days of terror. But this issue is cropping back up again with BookTok complaining that they can't pay someone else for bound copies of fanfiction. Don't do that either.)

Bottom line, here are the problems with using things like C.AI:

It is using material it doesn't have permission to use and doesn't credit anybody. Not only is it ethically wrong, but AI is already beginning to contend with copyright issues.

C.AI sucks at its job anyway. It's not good at basic story structure like building tension, and can't even remember things you've told it. I've also seen many instances of bots saying triggering or disgusting things that deeply upset the user. You don't get that with properly trigger tagged fanworks.

Your work and your time put into the app can be taken away from you at any moment and used to make money for someone else. I can't tell you how many times I've seen people who use AI panic about accidentally deleting a bot that they spent hours conversing with. Your time and effort is so much more stable and well-preserved if you wrote a fanfiction or roleplayed with someone and saved the chatlogs. The company that owns and runs C.AI can not only use whatever you've written as they see fit, they can take your shit away on a whim, either on purpose or by accident due to the nature of the Internet.

DON'T USE C.AI, OR AT THE VERY BARE MINIMUM DO NOT DO THE AI'S WORK FOR IT BY STEALING OTHER PEOPLES' WORK TO PUT INTO IT. Writing fanfiction is a communal labor of love. We share it with each other for free for the love of the original work and ideas we share. Not only can AI not replicate this, but it shouldn't.

(also, this goes without saying, but this entire post also applies to ai art)

[always-just-red]

Hii! I've seen some Pregnancy scenario with LaD's men, but I have this HC-- personally for Sylus. That when fem!reader got pregnant, he didn't really understand how the Pregnancy hormones work, until he experienced one and he got confused how he should act or react because it's feels like he's walking on landime, one wrong move/word, she'd throwing tantrum or being sulky at him

I've heard from my Friend who got pregnant before, when she craving something and her Husband showing any form that he can't fulfill what she's craves, she felt her heart broken, and she'd sulk and acted as if he just cheated on her. The problem is, she always craved something that didn't even exist at that moment😂, she's craving certain type of Mango while it's not even that Mango season, so nobody selling it. He literally being desperate to negotiate with her cravings

So... Can I request a scenario smiliar like that? It doesn't have to be mango, or any foods. Just... how Pregnancy hormones or Cravings could make Sylus got frustated lol

Aaaaa anon this is adorable, thank you! We love making Sylus suffer in cute and harmless ways. He's always asking for trouble, so let's give him some! 😌💅

Something Sweet

Sylus x Reader 🩸

Summary: Sylus knows how to get what he wants. Getting what you want might be a little more tricky...

Genre: fluff!

Warnings/Additional tags: female!reader, IMPLIED pregnant!reader (pregnancy not actually mentioned or described- just hormones being hormones ✌), established relationship, canon pet names, a lil bit of roleplay because Sylus refuses to leave his Mystic Adventure era

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Disclaimer: Characters belong to Love and Deepspace. All work is my own, so please don't repost or plagiarise!

“Sy, d’you know what I’m craving right now?”

“Always, sweetie.” Sylus doesn’t look up from his book. “Not now, though. I’m tired.”

Morning sunlight streams through the gaps in your living room curtains, casting pale yellow shapes over the floor. A shard of it has been inching over the sofa towards Sylus, the sharp edge now grazing the side of his face. He shifts, ever so slightly, away from its touch. His eyes are open but heavy.

“No,” you scold, leaning forwards to swat at him with your book. “That’s not what I meant, you narcissist.”

He chuckles with his usual low timbre— his gaze still not lifting— and the sound is deeper for how close he is to sleep. He wants to give in to it, you can tell. When he turns a page, the movement is languid, soft. You’re losing him.

“Sy,” you say again, then with more of a whine: “Sylus.”

His eyes flutter closed as he draws in a deep breath. His hand raises, his fingers stretching to pull his reading glasses from his face. They’re set down on the arm of the chair beside him, along with the book, and he turns to you with a smile. “What are you craving, sweetie?”

You rest your book on your stomach. Your legs are stretched out over Sylus’s lap, and his hand finds one of your feet, massaging an ache from it as you begin your speech. “Do you remember that café we used to go to? The one we found when it started raining in the park that day? We didn’t think it was open, but then the owner knocked on the window and said we could—”

“Yeah?” His hand moves to your other foot.

“Well, they make these—”

“Macarons.”

“You remember?”

His smile widens like he remembers vividly. “Kitten, how could I forget? I’m still jealous of that sweet little treat. You’ve never made that face for me, and believe me—” he wiggles one of your toes— “I’ve tried.”

That had been one of the only times you’d truly caught him off-guard, back when your feelings for one another were unnamed and uncharted. The rain had been drumming against the café window, and you’d heaved Sylus’s damp coat from your shoulders— giggled at the raised eyebrow and the sarcastic ‘…thanks’ he’d given in turn. One hot drink later, you were lifting a pastel pink macaron to your lips, taking a delicate bite and failing to stifle a tiny, almost euphoric moan.

You remember realising yourself: blushing profusely and expecting some remark, some ridicule, but none ever came. Sylus’s eyes were wide, dark, fixed upon your still parted mouth.

After a few of the longest seconds of your life, he’d dragged the plate with the rest of the macarons away from you and muttered something about how you had better not do that again.

“They’re still the sweetest things I’ve ever tasted,” you tease now, just as you’d wrestled him for that plate back then, set on eating every last macaron.

He makes a hmph as he idly runs a finger over the part of your foot he knows is ticklish. His expression is distinctly grumpy, but it falters as you laugh and try to writhe away from him.

You’re quickly out of breath. “Sylus?”

“Mmm?”

He glances up at you and you smile sweetly, head tilting. “Please?”

His coat on a rainy day. The entire plate of macarons in the end; he’s never been very good at denying you anything. For the first time since you’d stirred him from his book, however, he appears genuinely regretful. “You’re forgetting something, sweetie,” he murmurs gently. “Why did we stop going to that café, hmm?”

You shrug.

“It closed, kitten,” he sighs. “Months ago.”

“What?”

Not only did you already know that— you actually visited the café on its final day. The owner was telling you stories: he was moving somewhere warmer, closer to family, and he needed all the funds he could get. Sylus had snuck an obscene amount of money into the man’s tip jar whilst you acted as a distraction. You both had fond memories of that place; it was nice to make one more.   

It's all coming back to you and you’re struck by a wave of nostalgia. You want to go back there. You can’t go back there. It doesn’t exist anymore, and you’ll never taste sweetness like that again.

Your mouth has gone dry.

“Sweetie?” Sylus prompts, because he notices you’re far away. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah,” your voice wobbles, “I just really wanted… I mean, I really needed one of those—”

“… Macarons?” he finishes for you.

You burst into tears, and one day, you’ll tally this as another time you took the man by surprise. His face drops instantly— lost, for a moment— before he slides your legs from his lap, allowing him to lean closer. “No, no, no,” he coos, “don’t cry, kitten, please. I didn’t mean to… well, I didn’t realise…”

He doesn’t know what to say, and he always knows what to say. He set you off with a single word and now he’s stuttering like sentences are all possible landmines. He tries his luck again, putting a foot forward: “Listen to me. I’ll go to the store. Would that be alright? Or perhaps there’s another café that could—”

You explode: sobbing even more viscerally. Your whole body shakes with it.

Sylus has frozen. He watches on helplessly as you cry, blabbering about the macarons you can’t have and the café you can’t return to. Across the room, even Mephisto has hunched down on his perch, though he issues a few, spirited squawks, maybe in solidarity with your breakdown, or maybe in protest of it.

It’s like a catalyst. You cry more: burying your face in your hands because what the hell is wrong with you? It’s not a big deal. It’s not a big deal, so why do you feel sick? And then there’s Sylus— your Sylus, devoted and adoring— and here you are, punishing him for something beyond his control.

You look up from your hands, desperate to apologise, but he’s gone. More shards of sunlight paint his empty seat and catch all that’s left of him: a few crow feathers, glistening like onyx. Mephisto is gone too, and the room is quiet, save for you snivelling and feeling sorry for yourself.

“Sylus?” you call out into the empty morning.

It isn’t his fault, not really. You wouldn’t want to be around you, either.

…

Something brushes over your cheek, and your tired eyes open.

The sun has ebbed back behind the curtains and the ceiling light has taken its place, casting artificial highlights over everything in reach: the coffee table, the closed-up flowers at its centre and a mug of tea that’s gone cold. Sylus is in front of you too, backlit and soft like a daydream, and he—

He left you.

“Sy?” you whisper warily, because the context is coming back to you slowly, piece by piece.

“Hey,” he coaxes, voice as honeyed as whatever’s turned the air sweet.

You blink, rubbing sleep from your eyes and relishing the warmth of his hand on your face. Then you slap his shoulder. “Hey, really? That’s all you’ve got— hey?”

He’s kneeling for you— on the floor, beside the couch— so you can meet his eyes. He settles his chin thoughtfully on the edge of the seat, his nose almost touching yours. “What would you prefer, sweetie?” His lips are close to yours too. “Good evening, my beloved? Greetings, my queen?”

“How about sorry?” you snap, because he isn’t cute and he isn’t charming.

He pouts. “Why sorry?”

“Because you left, Sylus!” You sit up straighter, and your phone tumbles out of your lap. Its screen is still lit-up from a few hours ago, showcasing a very one-sided conversation and a rant you never actually sent, because it’s still in the text box.

You vaguely recall writing it, so you try to snatch the phone from Sylus’s hand as he plucks it from the floor. He’s more alert than you. More co-ordinated. He keeps it out of your grasp as he reads the unsent message, an eyebrow raising.

It was a lot of things— colourful, creative— not entirely tasteful. “My, my, your highness,” he tuts, “so this is the treatment your valiant knight receives for undertaking your quest?”

“You’re not valiant,” you rebuke, and you manage to wrestle your phone from him. “You’re—”

“A heartless prick,” he finishes casually, quoting your message with a chuckle. He takes your free hand and kisses the back of it, refusing to let you pull away. “And whose fault is that, I wonder?”

“You can have your heart back.”

“Nope. You’re stuck with it, sweetie. With me, too. Now—” he sits back on his knees— “would you please ask me about my quest?”

The analogy is lost on you. You sit fully up, looking down at him. “What quest, oh valiant knight?”

His lips form a smirk; he just loves when you play along. “Close your eyes.”

You do— whether you’re queen or not. You hear him shifting aside, and then there’s a snap of his fingers. The air changes, warping like thick, liquid smoke, and you know he’s using his Evol. “Open,” he commands.

And there on the coffee table, freshly teleported, is a plate of macarons the colour of cherry blossoms. As if anticipating the comparison, Sylus pulls a handful of pink petals from his pocket and blows them up into the air so they can spiral down on the scene. He watches them. Then you. “Ta-da,” he proclaims, his tone dry but full of humour.

You’re prone to hyperbole nowadays, but this is without a doubt the best thing you have ever seen.

“Sylus,” you gasp in disbelief, “how did you—”

“It doesn’t matter,” he says; the story isn’t for today, and he’s very, very tired. A few weeks from now he’ll tell you about how he tracked down the contact information of the owner of the old café. How he spent an hour on the phone bargaining for a certain macaron recipe, and several more hours in the kitchen, trying to get them perfect. “Now, they might not be exactly the same, sweetie. But I did try to—”

You surge forwards, capturing his lips in a kiss. It’s so impulsive— so reckless— that you almost tumble down from the couch, but he catches you, steadies you, and your hand is gripping the soft of his hair as he kisses you back. Slowly, his mouth not leaving yours, he lifts you back into your seat.

“Easy, sweetie.” His voice is low as he pulls away, and though he turns his face from you, you can make out the blush on his cheeks. He settles back into his kneeling position on the floor. “I have one more surprise for you. Do try to control yourself.”

He retrieves a small, complete flower from his pocket, albeit one a little dreary from its journey. Sylus smiles triumphantly as he holds it out to you, and he was right; you do want to throw yourself at him. Instead, you take the flower and lean forwards, tucking it behind his ear before he can protest. He’d tilted closer to help you, and he sits back with an exasperated tsk when you’re done.

“It suits you,” you grin.

He yawns. “Everything does.”

You don’t want to get into trouble, so you shimmy to the very edge of your seat and carefully— showing tremendous restraint— reach out to take his face in your hands. “You’re amazing, Sy. Thank you for doing all of this for me, but…”

“But…?”

“I missed you. I like macarons, yeah,” you smile, “but I’d much rather have you.”

This time, he can’t hide his face and the way it goes pink, like the blossom behind his ear. His cheeks are warm beneath your palms. “You couldn’t have said that before I spent the whole day—”

His voice is strangled as you keel towards him— slow and deliberate— to thread your arms around him and pull him into a hug. He tenses for a moment, then wraps his arms around you too: holding you tightly, keeping you from falling any further. You can feel his hand stroking your back and he hums as you give him a gentle squeeze.

“Such a lovely moment, kitten,” he muses, your head on his shoulder. “I do hope it’s sincere, and not— say— an excuse for someone to get her paws on the macarons behind me.”

There’s another moment of quiet.

“Don’t be silly, Sy,” you retort, but your mouth is full, your cheeks are stuffed, and not a single word of it is intelligible.

[vroomvroomwee]

Crowley is Lucifer

(Ok I know some of you don't believe this theory but I highly suggest you give this a quick read anyway. I tried to make it short and easy and I'll be going chronologically, from s1 all through s2)

- First, let's get this out of the way, Lucifer and Satan aren't neccesarilly the same person. Even in the show the devil that appeared in s1 has only ever been reffered to as Satan, not even once as Lucifer.

- In the bible Lucifer was the one to tempt Eve with the apple, and who do we know that does that in the show. Crowley is literally THE snake from Eden.

- An obvious one perhaps, but the red hair is also a giveaway

- In the bible Jesus was tempted by the devil for 30 days, in the show Crowley says "I showed him all the kingdoms of the world", so that's another role Lucifer has that Crowley had in the show

- It's well known (even mentioned in the Sandman) that Lucifer was the most beautiful of all angels, and our demon is played by no other than David Tennant

Now on to season 2 because there's a LOT to unpack here

- He litterally started the engine of the universe which was one of Lucifers roles

- He's the first to say "let there be light", which is pretty fucking huge since that is Gods line

- "I worked closely with upstairs on it" even in the first scene they're telling us Crowley is an angel of very very high rank

- He fell for asking questions, which is litterally what Lucifer fell for, for questioning God. This in and of itself should be a pretty big indicator. "I only ever asked questions"

- Shax: "a miracle of enourmous power only the mightiest of archangels can perform"

Crowley: "How do you know I didn't do it"

And Shax just... doesn't counter that. She looks even skeptical, as if it COULD be a possibility, unlike Uriel who says to Aziraphale don't excpect us to believe you did it. Shax litterally doesn't shut the option down which confirms Crowley has the power not only of an archangel but of the mightiest kind

- In the bookshop with Gabriel/Jim he says "I don't remember. It [gravity] seemed like a good idea when we were all talking about it"

- "You're welcome to come in, you might even spot an archangel" don't tell me this was Crowley just egging Shax on and not being sneaky

- The fact that he could sense the demons coming. "Somethings wrong""It's coming in waves", when Aziraphale couldn't. It could be a demon thing but we saw Sandalphon, an archangel of lower rank, in the first season mention "something smells evil" so obviously angels can sense demons too, they just have to be powerful enough. And keep in mind Sandalphon was already in the book shop for quite some time, Crowley sensed them even before they had arrived (he also sensed the hell hound who was some fucking miles away)

- The.fucking.folder. "You have to be a throne or dominion above" and this dude opens these clasified documents like it's nothing. If this isn't an indicator of his high position as an angel I don't know what is.

- He's worked with Saraqael, another very high ranking angel

- "I'm the only first order archangel in the room"... and the camera imediately pans to Crowley, and for anyone who's read the book and watched the show you know that rarely anything is coincidental

- When the Metatron says they can't lose another prince of heaven. This... this fucking line. So it's relatively well known that Gabriel and Lucifer are brothers, and if Gabriel is one of the princes of heaven I wonder who the other one could be. "Two princes of heaven". And the Metatrons words were very careful, he doesn't say lost as in heaven can't find him, he says it in the context that they won't be sending Gabriel to hell since they won't lose another prince to downstairs

- In the bookshop when no one can identify the Metatron he turns to Crowley who imediately recognises him. Now you have this dude, who's literally on top of the angel hierarchy and is responsible for running heaven and the connection to God themself, surrounded by archangels and a principality you spoke to face to face with just a few years ago and... none of them can tell who you are, the only one who does is the literal demon. That tells us that Crowley has not only seen him in this form, but has probably worked with the Metaron himself personally. "Always asking damn fool questions", 10 million angels and he remembers what this one particular angel was like 6000 years ago

- Crowley is also very reluctant to reveal his identity as an angel. Now if he were just an ordinary angel of no real significance he wouldn't have a problem revealing his name, but... if his name was one that's the literal representation of all evil in this world, then it is understandable he keeps it a secret, in fear he might scare Aziraphale away

- And I wanted to leave the best for last. So you remember in the book when Crowley has to sign his name to start Armaggedon, and Hastur tells him "no, your real name" after which he reluctantly writes it. Now in the book we never see him write anything, but in the show we see him write a sygil, something that looks very mich like an L. An L... A FUCKING L. And now I wonder how this theory didn't come up sooner.

(Also he can fucking stop time, like dafuq)

Edit:

- "Oh looky here it's Lucifer and the guys" we all thought he was talking about someone else, he's just refferencing things other angels have said about HIM. FUCK

- I keep seing people saying Crowleys memories were wiped because he couldn't remember Saraqael and Furfur. But I think people forget, demons lie. He's lying to make them think he's not that angel they worked with, that he's not Lucifer. (In season 1 we hear him a few times refferencing his life as an angel, so he does remember most of it)

- Also saying if the Raphael theory were true then as showrunners they would have mentioned him somewhere for those not that familiar with the bible (or don't read much fanfiction). The refferences for Crowleys past are so so vague that it would be too sudden and confusing if he were Raphael. But there is one name that everyone is familiar with, no matter who you are how old you are or where you're from, a name that needs no introduction.

Edit 2:

- Back to him being the most beautiful angel, I don't think it was ever quite explained how every single demon when they're in hell looks... awful, but Crowley doesn't. Beelzebub has the spores all over their face, Hastur the maggots and the sh-, Dagon the scales etc. But Crowley doesn't, not even when he's in hell, he's always just so, well, pretty.

- I saw a few people asking about how Lucifer started the rebellion and Crowley wouldn't do that. I think it's the same Crowley who wouldn't get stuck in traffic after creating the M25, or the same Crowley that wanted to call Aziraphale after bringing down the entire London network, "you told them you invented the spanish inquisition, and started the second world war""so the humans beat me to it that's not my fault", "so all this is your demonic work?""no, the humans thought it up themselves nothing to do with me"

- Also I think Satan's in charge of hell not Crowley the same way the Metatron's in charge of heaven and not Gabriel (and who can very easily demote angels if he so wishes)

Edit 3:

- like some of you pointed out Lucifer is also known/means Light-bringer. And Crowley was the first to say "let there be light."

- The file he opens with Muriel is Gabriels file, a class A archangel, so if he knows the password to that it means that either he's on the same level as Gabriel, or above him.

[thatneoncrisis]

i wrote a big long essay talking about tlt and how it engages with describing the skintones of brown characters its under a read more bc it is so long.

I already left a long comment about this on someone else post but I wish I could study tazmuirs odd little habit of dancing around the fact that Gideon and Harrow are women of color when she describes them, and how this kind of extends to other brown characters

We get a million descriptions for how sickly pale ianthe Silas and cytherea are, what a lovely golden tan corona has, the odd tannish yellow hue of colum, all imagined by her, in her own words, to be white. Then when it comes to Marta and Judith they're called dark like Once in the text. I don't think it's even mentioned for Jeannemary and magnus in the entirety of gtn though I will gladly stand corrected if I missed something. It's such a non factor for them, which normally I would overlook if it wasn't for the aforementioned specificity of how white characters are described on Top of one of the major themes of the book being how John, a Maori man, resurrected a largely Polynesian population and then proceed to rule them using the exact same methods that actively colonized new zealand. Like I just think it's really interesting that in many ways, the story is about two young Maori women completely stripped of cultural heritage, they can't even speak te reo maori they cannot even conceptualize the scale of that kind of loss. Theyve been to earth once and during her brief time there Gideon literally died on it's soil it feels so poignant

Back to them specifically being Not Pale, this is not me saying they would be "less" maori if they were light-skinned that's total bullshit and the entire paradigm exists as a product of European bullshit. My fascination is more with the fact that tamsyn has clearly thought of them as midtoned to dark skinned. I'm going to be really generous and disregard the Tommy Arnold covers- he is a talented artist but he's not the author and Taz stated in an interview that she didn't envision Gideon with an undercut either so he clearly has little liberties he can take and I'm fine with that get your coin dude. For these two I'm going to have to focus on Nona the Ninth, bc for the entirety of gtn, harrow is described as grey, and while I understand that's bc she's constantly under a mountain of white and black facepaint, we basically never get an objective description for either of them. Gideon stand out features are her build, hair and eyes, like a lot of characters, but it could have been pretty easy to throw in a line about how she seems less desaturated than what one might expect from a ninth cavalier, like a rich warm brown, possibly hinting to other characters that she isn't a ninth native

Htn also gives very little to work with, again harrows primary colors are the blacks whites and greys of facepaint and her hair and the reds of constantly sweating blood. The character who's darker skintone is Most remarked upon (also one of the few ever constantly headcanoned) as black, is g1deon. I've actually spoken to a few people about this and there seems to be some actual Mandela effect shit going on where people remember Taz saying he's black despite me never once finding evidence for this. However, this is not a case where I'd be overjoyed to be proven wrong, because g1deon being the one black guy in this entire cast, the one who's dark skintone is commented on the most, being the guy who barely speaks, tries killing harrow with a spear 14 times and then dies offscreen. Not good. Bad, actually

Finally onto ntn, in the beginning chapters Nona remarks her (harrows) skintone is the color of an egg carton. I assume she means the light tan, desaturated brown of the cardboard used in certain cartons, which is fitting for harrow, girls lived in an ice cave for 17 years. This is basically the only word we get on it. I believe a few times the text will say something about pyrrha's (g1deon's) brown Everything; brown skin, russet brown hair, rich brown eyes. that character gets to be viewed and constantly affirmed as a brown character in teh way gideon and harrow arent, it kind of others pyrrha. to contrast camillas hands are called tanned way at the beginning while recording nona's dream, then at the way end it says, "Her face still looked grey beneath its nice normal olive," olive being used to describe her once before in gtn as far as i can see. pyrrha's (g1deon's) skintone is one of her most notable features, its brought up to a noticeable agree the text wants you to keep it in your mind when you think of the saint of duty; "Most of Pyrrha was the colours of the building site: deep dried-out browns, dusty hunks of clay, rusted metal." "Pyrrha wouldn’t burn any colour other than her deep cool brown." "Nona took the water from Pyrrha’s brown, work-chapped hand and even sipped it" "Pyrrha had carried Camilla to bed in her big brown arms like Cam weighed nothing" "Pyrrha said, “Thanks, Nums,” and drained the whole thing. Nona,fascinated, watched the brown column of her throat move as she swallowed." its just notable to me when alternatively with nona you'll get a line like "Camilla didn’t say anything to that either, only rubbed her wrists where the tape had been. Nona’s skin was already back to its nice normal colour." like just the vagueness in nice normal color, we get one line about what shes supposed to look like in the beginning and thats it

towards the end during the broadcast, nona gets her first clear look at kiriona, described as: "warm-coloured skin that should have been a similar brown hue to Nona’s, except that there was something wrong with it." break out the champagne its official

Obviously, dying takes some color from you. If anything, gideons desaturation should make them More comparable given the egg carton comment and harrows general state of constant anemia. Has Nona gotten darker during her time on new rho? Was Gideon lighter than the cover led us to believe? We don't know. We well never know, which is odd, bc these books fucking love purple prose about people's appearances. We have like seven different synonyms for the shade of ianthes hair. New words for black have to be invented in order to convey harrows eyes which are Black, not the dark muddy brown of someone like ortus. It's less that I'm bothered by the text not hyperfocusing on their skin and more it picking and choosing when it will laser focus on a detail like that, and how often it's skipped over to the point that I like, constantly see people draw harrow as incredibly pale, which is very different from being light-skinned

Finally, I know people can dismiss this as like an audience interpretation thing. I know I actively draw harrow darker than Gideon which I know isn't canon. But this is less about Fandom response to the text and more the text itself and how it's like. Afraid to say brown. near the end of ntn i found One instance of it referring to gideons "slim brown hand" on nonas cheek and that is direct as it gets. even her other like, strongly non european traits are sort of danced around. her nose is "a nose that was the complete opposite of Nona’s nose, one that put her in mind of those big poison desert cats Born in the Morning was crazy about." a very fanciful description, you have to infer that nona means that its probably flat and wide, also giving us the information that harrows is most likely narrow and straight, possibly downturned. im not opposed to this, especially given the character talking about her is nona, but then you get the following paragraph:

"Her skin was very much dead-person skin, ashen and tinted the wrong colour around the nostrils and the mouth. But even if she hadn’t been dead, Nona was critical. Her eyelashes were very dark, but short and curly, whereas Nona thought all eyelashes should be long and straight (her own eyelashes were long and straight). The corpse had too much mouth and a dimple (nobody in her home had a dimple). You could not, at least, see the veins in her eyelids, which were heavy and cold and deep-set. But Nona thought it was going to be a shame to go from being so lovely as she was to being so—redheaded."

its a very frank description. dimple, curly lashes, red head, dead skin, probably a wide mouth. her nose is contrasted against nonas nose, which is also never directly described, and then compared to a fantasy animal we have never heard of until right now

kicks rocks. there isnt a point to this. the series is almost over, there is zero reason to like, knock on taz's door and ask why she did this or that. it doesnt stop me from loving the series, and the insinuation that noticing this means i must dislike the series is frankly insane (real thing that happened). if someone got the impression that harrow was white given how shes described i wouldnt blame them honestly, its most apparent she isnt in the third book (with the cover art being incredibly ambiguous) and a single blog post from taz mentioning shes maori, immediately followed by an "oh i dont care how you see the characters" addendum, which i think is like. an odd thing to tack on bc them descended from kiwis is like, very integral to the story, and gideon being the daughter of the maori man who took everything from her she didnt even know she could have and the (presumably, given her name and a very brief description) maori woman fighting to get that world back its like. damn. it feels a little important. that the audience knows theyre maori. like a little. it feels intertwined with the whole thing about john using european standards of imperialism and general aesthetics to hurt his own kid. actually.

[alvojake]

Lost In The Fire | P.SH

「pairing」 : sunghoon x fem!reader 「word count」 : 3.4k

「synopsis」 : you were a bored college student who didn't have very many friends, so when you stumble upon an old grimoire in a bookshop, you can't help but let your curiosity peak. you were warned to not cast one of the spells, but as luck would have it, you ended up casting that very spell, and you ended up face-to-face with Sunghoon. the incubus that you had summoned by mistake, but it was too late to go back now.

「genre」 : smut with little to no plot, incubus!sunghoon, human!reader

「warnings」 : MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!!!, demon summoning, cussing, mentions of hell, petnames (kitten, doll, princess...), unprotected sex, choking, slight breath play, oral (fem. receiving), making out, dom!sunghoon x sub!reader, manhandling, bulge kink, breeding, creampie, rough sex, multiple orgasms, edging, lmk if I missed anything!

「notes」 : this is for a very special birthday girl; everyone say happy birthday chelsea! (@ak4e7a) 🎊 I hope that you have a wonderful day bbg and you enjoy it to the fullest!! I honestly can't remember where this idea sprung up from, but I hope that you like it 🖤

It was well after midnight, and here you were, sitting on your bed with your legs crossed underneath you, a dusty, old grimoire sitting in your lap. You grabbed another chip out of the bag lying next to you as you flipped through the pages, trying to find the one that the girl at the bookstore showed you.

“Here it is.” You mumbled, dusting your hands off on your pajama pants and looking at the page with the yellow sticky note on it. Then you flipped to the next page, seeing a blue sticky note sticking to the page as well. Pursing your lips, you flipped between the pages, trying to remember what she had said.

“Make sure you’re casting the correct spell; otherwise, you’ll be summoning a demon.” That’s what she had told you, but you can’t recall which one it was that she had told you not to cast. Was it the blue one? Or the yellow one?

“I'm pretty sure it was the blue one that she said not to cast.” You hummed but then turned back to the previous page. "Or was it the yellow?” With a click of your tongue, you turned back to the page with the blue sticky note. " No, blue has to be the right one; yellow just screams caution.” Shrugging, you uncrossed your legs and stood, walking over to your desk to lay the book down.

Skimming through the instructions and list of materials needed, you stepped away to gather everything and set up the summoning circle.

Once everything was prepped and set up you grabbed the grimoire once more and read the last of the instructions.

“Lights need to be off, and make sure to light the candles in the right order…” You mumbled the instructions to yourself as you walked over to the light switch, turning the bedroom lights off. Blinking a few times, you let your eyes adjust to the dim lighting of the room before walking back over to the summoning circle.

You sit the heavy book on the bed and grab the lighter that was on your nightstand. After reading the correct order once more, you move to the circle and start to light the candles. The air in the room slowly starts to buzz with static, making the hairs on the back of your neck and arms stand up.

“Okay, last one.” You whispered before lighting the last candle and stepping back to admire your hard work. Letting out a sigh, you grab the grimoire off of your bed and trace the mantra with your finger, repeating it in your head a few times to make sure you’re saying it correctly.

Once you were sure that you had it memorized, you looked away from the book and stared right at the center of the circle. As soon as the words started to leave your lips, the flames on the candles started to burn brighter, and a gust of wind swept through the room.

An uneasy feeling started to settle in the pit of your stomach, but you tried your best to ignore it as you finished saying the mantra. However, when the last word left your lips, the candles went out as a huge gust of wind blew over you, causing you to cover your face with the grimoire. 

When the wind settled down, you brought the book away from your face, eyes focused on the summoning circle. You saw a figure of sorts standing in the center, but the darkness made it hard to see it fully.

A gasp fell from your lips when all of the candles relit themselves and the figure in the middle of the room became more clear. However, as soon as your eyes focused on the new light, you knew something wasn’t right.

Your eyes caught sight of the pair of deep red horns sitting upon his blonde hair. Trailing down, you took in what he was wearing: a black skin-tight sleeveless bodysuit showing off his arms. The muscle flexed slightly as he moved to look at you, his eyebrow quirking up at the sight of you just standing there. His hands were shoved in the pockets of his slacks, the same shade of black as his top, but the tail that was swaying softly behind him caught your attention.

Noticing the confusion in your eyes, Sunghoon smirked, tilting his head, “Not what you were expecting?”

Your whole body jolted at the sound of his voice, eyes shooting up to meet his before quickly looking back down at the grimoire that was still in your hands. Reading through the description of the spell you had just cast caused dread to wash over your body.

You had cast the wrong summoning spell.

“Shit.” You cursed quietly before looking back at the blonde male, “No, I did the wrong one; you need to go back.” Your voice wavered in panic as you realized that you had summoned the demon the girl had warned you about. What’s worse is he wasn’t just your regular ole demon. No. He was an incubus.

A sex demon.

Sunghoon’s lip twitched in amusement as he watched you fumble with the grimoire in your hands. Stepping out of the circle, he started to slowly stalk towards you, “You want me to go back?” His voice sent a shiver down your spine, your heart racing under your ribs as he got closer, and you nodded your head. You started to step back when he got within arm's reach, but with every step back, he took another forward. “Hate to break it to you, doll, but that’s not how it works.”

Your breath hitched in your throat, hands clutching the grimoire to your chest as he leaned down until he was at eye level with you.

Sunghoon smirked, the point of his canine peeking out from behind his lips, soaking in the terror swirling in your eyes. He then reached forward, plucking the book from your hands with ease and tossing it off to the side.

“You have two options here,” His voice was smooth as he brought his hand up to your face, the tip of his fingers tracing your jaw as you stared at him with wide eyes. “You can either finish the ritual you so carelessly started or…” He trailed on as he moved his fingers down to your neck before encasing your throat in his palm, resulting in a choked gasp to leave your lips, and your hands instantly go up to wrap around his wrist. “I take you back to hell with me. The demons down there love fresh meat.” A sinister chuckle falls from his lips as he takes in your petrified expression, “Which is it gonna be, kitten?”

Your mind was reeling, fear and panic flooding your veins, but there was something else. The feeling of his hand around your neck and warm breath fanning your face left a burning in your tummy, a feeling you knew all too well and cursed yourself for feeling like that right now. Your thighs start to subconsciously rub together, trying to relieve some of the pressure, but it was no use the longer Sunghoon had a hold of you.

Sunghoon already knew he had you in the palm of his hand the moment he saw you rubbing your tights together. His hand tightens around your throat as he moves closer to your body, a small squeak leaving your lips as a result.

“Though I think we both know what you want.” Your breath hitched in your throat when his lips brushed the shell of your ear. Heat traveled all throughout your body, coating your skin in a shade of red, causing the male to smirk.

Your eyes fluttered closed as you felt his lips on your jaw, his free hand bruising over the exposed skin of your tummy, sending your stomach flipping. The grip you had on his wrist tightened as you tried not to let your mind fall into the pit of lust it so desperately wanted to. 

However, all of your resolve crumbled when his tail coiled around your thigh, pulling it away from the other. A choked gasp fell from your parted lips when his knee made contact with your throbbing core.

Sunghoon pulled away to take in your hooded eyes, lust pooling in your blown-out pupils, and he couldn’t help but snicker about how easy it was to get you to submit. He then let his hand slip past the waistband of your pajama pants, cupping your dripping cunt in his hand, relishing in the moan that slips from your parted lips.

“You mortals are so easy,” He smirked, bringing his face closer to yours once more, your eyes flickering up to meet his, “I just have to push the right buttons–” he pressed against your clothed clit, causing you to gasp, “and you turn into putty.”

A whine falls from your lips as he pulls away from you, but you are quickly silenced when he grabs your body, tossing you onto the soft material of your mattress. It only took seconds before Sunghoon had his body slotted between your parted legs, pressing his growing bulge against your core.

Sunghoon grabbed your wandering hands, pinning them above your head and moving down until he was a breath away from your face. 

“Sunghoon.” You looked at him, confused by the sudden name. " It's my name. Say it,” he demanded, pressing his body further against yours.

“Sunghoon.” You mewled as he rolled his hips against yours, and as soon as his name left your tongue, his lips were on yours, stealing all of the breath from your lungs.

His hand released yours, allowing you to wrap your hand around the back of his neck, pulling him closer to you. His hands, however, traveled the length of your body, pulling and tugging at the fabric of your clothes. Growing impatient, he pulled away from your lips, tearing your shirt off of your body and unclasping your bra before throwing both to the ground. 

Latching his lips to the exposed skin of your collarbone, you gasped, hands flying to his head, racking your fingers through his locks but stopping short when you felt his horn between your fingers. You traced along the edges of it listening to the groan that was pulled from his lungs, the sound sending goosebumps all over your skin.

Just then, his hand slipped under the waistband of your bottoms and underwear, pulling them off of your body in one swift motion. Your grip on his horn suddenly grew tighter when his fingers parted your folds, collecting some of your slick before pressing harshly on your clit.

“Fuck!” You cried out, head falling back at the new sensation and your back arching off of the bed. Sunghoon chuckled against your skin as he took in all of the sounds that were leaving your lips every time he rubbed your clit before moving down to tease your slit.

Your hand slipped from his head as he kissed down the valley of your breast, lingering for a moment to feel your heartbeat against his skin. However, the scent of your wetness was driving him crazy, and he wanted a taste.

“You smell so sweet.” The growl he let out was almost animalistic as he came face to face with your weeping pussy, watching your hole clench around nothing. You whined as his warm breath washed over your skin, making you acutely aware of how close he was. “I need a taste before I pump you full of my cum.” 

His words had your eyes rolling back, a small plea falling from your lips, causing him to chuckle. Not another word left his lips as he grabbed your thighs, keeping them parted as he buried his face in your cunt.

“Sunghoon!” You screamed his name, hands flying to his head once more, but instead of grabbing his hair, you wrapped your fingers around his horn. A groan reverberated from his chest, sending vibrations straight to your cunt, causing another loud moan to leave your lips.

“You’re so noisy, kitten. Aren’t you worried that the neighbors will hear you?” Sunghoon teased you, the vibrations of his voice making your back arch off the bed, pushing your pussy further into his face. Chuckling darkly, he moves his hand to your lower tummy, pushing down hard enough to keep you in place, “such a needy little thing, aren’t you?” 

“Pleas–” Your words caught in your throat when he latched his lips to your clit once more, sucking harshly before moving down to prod at your slit with the tip of his tongue. The sensation was driving you mad. The pleasure that was flooding your body was almost too much.

Sunghoon continued this pattern until your legs were trembling around his head, and you were crying out that you were going to cum. However, right before you came, he pulled away from your soaping cunt, causing a whine to leave your lips, eyes begging him to continue.

Smiling coyly, he moved back up your body until he was face to face with you once more, “Don’t worry, kitten, you’ll get to cum, just on my cock.”

You gasped when his lips smashed into yours, the taste of yourself making your head spin. Sunghoon’s hands gripped your hips, pulling you closer, and your head fell back when you felt the head of his dick poking at your entrance.

“Sunghoon!” You choked out as he trailed the tip of his dick from your entrance to your clit before just barely slipping it into your walls. He watched with an amused smirk as you squirmed underneath him, begging for him to just fuck you.

“You want my cock kitten?” Sunghoon cooed as he slipped just the tip in once more, but this time, he didn’t move anymore. He hummed, reaching up to trace your jaw with his fingers once more, catching your attention. “You want me to fuck you full of my cum. Is that what you want, princess?”

Your head bobbed up and down like a broken bobblehead, lust-glazed eyes pleading with him, but it wasn’t enough for him. No, Sunghoon wanted to hear those words leave your pretty lips. A whimper left your lips as his hand wrapped around your throat, and the tears that had built up in the corner of your eyes started to fall.

“Say it.” He demanded, grip tightening around your pretty neck until your breathing was almost cut off entirely.

“Please, Sunghoon, fuck me and fill my pussy your cum.” You croaked, hands wrapping around his wrist, more pleas leaving your lips, but you were quickly cut off, and your eyes nearly rolled to the back of your head when he buried himself to the hilt in one thrust.

Sunghoon groaned at how tightly your walls were squeezing him. The warmth of your walls drove him up a wall, and he started moving, barely giving you a chance to adjust. Choked moans and cries fell from your lips as his hips pistoned into yours, his fingers still firmly clasped around your throat.

“Fuck you’re so tight.” He groaned as your gummy walls clenched around him. 

His hips snapped into yours at a harsh pace, making your brain turn to mush. Looking down, he took in the sight of your already fucked out expression, a cocky smile tugging on the corner of his lips.

“Don’t tell me I’ve already fucked you stupid; we just started, kitten.” He delivered a peculiarly hard thrust to your soaked cunt, eliciting a choked scream from your lungs, “Has no one ever fucked this pussy like this, hmm?” He asks but chuckles when all that leaves your lips are incoherent words.

Removing his hand from your throat, he moved down to grab both of your hips, granting him more leverage to fuck into you. A flurry of cries and moans leave your parted lips when he throws one of your legs over his shoulder, wanting to fuck you deeper.

“Shit, this pussy is mine from now on, got it?” He growled, fucking into you with an animalistic pace leaving you lying there breathless, stars dancing across your vision. When he didn’t get a response, he moved one hand down to pinch your clit, pulling a sharp cry from your lungs. “Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes! Yours! All yours, Sunghoon! Oh my god!” You screamed out, eyes rolling and fingers digging into the comforter underneath you.

Smiling sinisterly, Sunghoon moved his hand away from your clit to push down on your stomach, right where he could feel himself fucking into you. This action had you whining, back arching against his hand.

“Fuck! Sunghoon, I’m gonna cum!” You cried, one of your hands going down to grab his wrist, and your body started to tremble in his hold.

“Gonna cum already doll?” He teased, rolling his dick deeper into your walls, his tip kissing your cervix with each thrust. “Go ahead. Make a mess all over my cock kitten.”

With a few more thrusts, your orgasm hits you like a ton of bricks, nearly knocking all of the air from your lungs. Sunghoon groaned as your velvet walls squeezed around him like a vice, but his pace never faltered as he fucked you through your orgasm.

“Sung– fuck!” You mewled as your high started to fade, only to be replaced with a sensitivity that left you whining, nails digging into the skin of his forearm.

“Be a good girl now, you’ll get my cum soon.” He leaned forward, folding your body until he was inches away from your face, “just like you wanted.” 

Then he stood straight and fucked into your gushing hole with renowned vigor, his grip on your hips being the only thing keeping you from melting into the mattress completely.

“Sunghoon!” His name left your tongue like a chant when he brushed over your sweet spot, jolts of pleasure sweeping across your body.

With a dark gaze, Sunghoon positioned his hips to hit your sweet spot with every thrust, causing tears to stream down your face. Your head fell back with a loud whine when he pressed against the bulge on your lower stomach again, relishing the way your body was reacting to his actions.

“‘S too much!” You cried out, the pleasure suddenly overwhelming your senses as another high crept up, but Sunghoon didn’t slow his pace nor move his hand. Instead, he moved his thumb to your clit, causing your body to shake viciously.

“Aw, is it really too much?” He cooed with a smug smirk, “Then why do you keep sucking me in?” 

A sharp cry left your parted lips when he pressed down on your clit once more, sending your body over the edge. White spots clouded your vision as silent screams fell from your lips, and your whole body shook as Sunghoon fucked you through yet another orgasm.

“Fuck I’m cumming.” Sunghoon groaned, his thrust faltering as he spilled his seed deep in your womb. The warmth that spread throughout your body was making you delirious, like he had just given you some kind of drug.

Lust fully took over your brain as he slowed his thrusts, and Sunghoon looked down, taking in the expression on your face, a cocky smirk playing on his lips, already knowing what had happened.

You whined as he pulled his still-hard cock from your weeping walls, begging him to put it back in, causing him to click his tongue. In a split second, he had you flipped over on your stomach, hands tugging on your hips until they were where he wanted them before teasing your entrance with his tip once more, listening to you whine and beg him.

“We’re not done yet, kitten,” He leaned over your body, chest flat against your back as his warm breath fanned your ear, “I still have so much more left to give you.” He pressed a searing kiss to your temple before pulling back and thrusting into you once more.

He fucked you all night long until he spilled every last drop of his cum into your womb, not letting a single drop leave as he plugged your hole with his dick keeping it all deep inside.

“You’re mine.” Those were the last words that you heard leave his lips before your vision faded to black.

@alvojake | Do not steal, plagiarise, translate, or repost any of my work

𝖉𝖎𝖘𝖈𝖑𝖆𝖎𝖒𝖊𝖗 : ᴛʜɪꜱ ɪꜱ ɴᴏ ᴡᴀʏ ᴀ ᴛʀᴜᴇ ʀᴇᴘʀᴇꜱᴇɴᴛᴀᴛɪᴏɴ ᴏꜰ ᴀɴʏ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇ ᴍᴇᴍʙᴇʀꜱ. ᴛʜɪꜱ ɪꜱ ᴘᴜʀᴇʟʏ ꜰɪᴄᴛɪᴏɴ ᴀɴᴅ ꜰᴏʀ ᴛʜᴇ ᴇɴᴊᴏʏᴍᴇɴᴛ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇ ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ ᴀɴᴅ ɴᴏᴛ ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ ᴛᴀᴋᴇɴ ꜱᴇʀɪᴏᴜꜱʟʏ.

[universalitgirlsblog2]

🧁🍥STOP BEING LAZY AND PATHETIC🧁🍥

This post is my notes of Thewizardliz video on how to stop being lazy and pathetic. This account will be my digital notebook where I will write notes from Liz and Tam Kaur's videos ( LOL ) .

🧁WHO ARE LAZY PEOPLE ?

Lazy people are the forgotten ones. People that don't want to do anything with their lives, they will always end up on a sideline.

🍥REALIZE THAT NO ONE CARES IF YOU ARE LAZY

Everybody has problems. No one cares about your victim mindset and about how life was hard or unfair for you. Life is unfair to everyone . Life goes on. Everyone is busy with their own lives. We got to get moving !

🧁YOU AREN'T LAZY , YOU ARE PRIVILEGED

People that need to survive have no option to be lazy . People that are walking up the stairs and they can barely breathe , they have no option anymore than to lose that weight. People that are so vulnerable and their bodies cannot handle of them being so underweight have no option but to lose weight. People that have to go to work otherwise there is no food on the table. They have no option to be lazy. If you have the option to be lazy, you are privileged.

🍥THE HALO EFFECT

The halo effect is when we see a beautiful person , we will think that they are less likely to do something bad because we associate someone beautiful with being a good person. Its the same way with successful person. If we see a successful person in any field , we will assume that they are successful in all their aspects of life. Suppose if a person have a successful business , we will automatically think that they are successful in their relationships and everywhere. If you are lazy , you can't benefit from the halo effect . It takes effort to be beautiful and to maintain beauty. We only see these successes , we don't see the progress. Most people are privileged and have it all but most people come from zero and create it for themselves. It takes discipline.

🧁FOCUS ON YOUR LIFE FORCE : HEALTH , DIET AND RELATIONSHIPS

When you feel that you are lazy , focus on your life force . What is your life force ? Health and diet. Focus on moving your body and eat foods that don't spike your insulin and eat food that nourish your body. When you feel lazy or don't feel good , don't isolate yourself. Connect with your family and friends. Also focus on your relationship with yourself. What are you engaging your mind in ? Be connected to your own energy. Journal. Sometimes God or your guides are speaking to you but because your mind is constantly racing , you can't listen to them.

🍥CREATE ROUTINES AND STICK TO THEM

Humans need routines. You need a structurised routine. Sometimes we can't stick to routines but we need a base so we have something to go back to. I would like to add something here , I am reading a book by Brianna Wiest , it's called 101 essays that will change the way you think. There was line in the book . " As children, routine gives us a feeling of safety. As adults , it gives us a feeling of purpose ."

🧁CLEAN SPACE IS SELF RESPECT

Clean space is a clean mind. Not even cleaning after yourself is a sign of huge disrespect to yourself. Stop reading this and clean your room right now !!!!!

🍥THERE IS REASON WHY YOU MADE THAT COMMITMENT TO YOURSELF

Remember the reason . Remind yourself, " Why did I even start ? " " Why did I even want this goal ?" . If you don't want the goal anymore then do something else.

🧁THINK ABOUT WHAT STORY ARE YOU TELLING YOURSELF

If you are telling yourself that you are a lazy person , you will act like one. Your mom didn't carry you for 9 months just for you to say that you are lazy. Get a hold of yourself. Don't complain about how you don't have your dream life if you are lazy.

🍥REALISE YOU CAN CHANGE YOUR REALITY ANY SECOND

You can change your realities really fast if you start acting like the person you want to become.

🧁HEAL THE PAST AND MOVE ON

Go to therapy and heal from the past. You can change your story around . If you are a victim of trauma or abuse , don't just go around and tell people because they lose respect for you .

🍥YOUR BODY RESPONDS TO YOUR THOUGHTS AND FEELINGS

If you are constantly living in the past , reliving it , your body will make you ill. If you want a different outcome and different future, you have to do things differently. People around you don't need to change, you have the power to control that. You have the responsibility to heal yourself. What others did to you , it is on them . They will get their karma.

🧁ARE YOU LAZY OR DID YOU STOP PROGRESSING ?

People become happy when they start progressing. We constantly need that drive or something to strive for. Create a new project . Find a new hobby. Learn a new skill. Do something that you haven't tried before or pick something you used to love.

🍥TOO MUCH INFORMATION MAKES US LAZY

There is so much information on the internet to the point we don't know what to do. There are so many videos on the best diet , skincare or workout , we get consumed in other people's opinions and lives. We start filling their lives with our energy. ( Just a suggestion; you can search workout or skincare recommendations but at the end you should choose a diet or skincare or workout which suits you , not others )

🧁ARE YOU TOO CONSUMED IN OTHER PEOPLE'S LIVES ?

If you wonder to yourself : Why do I not have any energy left for myself ? Because you are too consumed in other people's lives so you aren't living your own.

🍥FEELINGS ARE NOT ALWAYS RIGHT

Feelings are just feelings. If we all just react to go out of emotions we would all unalive each other.

🧁ALLOW YOUR FEELINGS TO PURGE AND YOUR BODY TO HEAL.

Feelings purge by you feeling them. Release your emotions , don't suppress them . If you suppress those Feelings, they will get stored in your body and might show up later as physical illness. Sleeping is also healing. Let your body heal. Once that's done , get up and do something . Don't dwell there for too long.

🍥WHAT DO YOU FEEL VS WHAT DO YOU WANT ?

If you feel like eating unhealthy food but then you want your dream body. It doesn't correlate. You need to have discipline.

🧁COURAGE IS BEING VULNERABLE

Go outside and try to meet new people. Do something which you wouldn't normally do .

🍥LEARN TO ASK FOR HELP.

Learn to accept help. Sometimes God send people to help you. Ask help from God and you will receive help in miraculous ways.

🧁BE PRODUCTIVE ON YOUR OWN TERMS.

What does productivity look like for you ? What are your goals? Create that productivity mindset and visions. What works for others may not work for you.

🍥ARE THE PEOPLE AROUND YOU DRAINING YOUR ENERGY ?

If you have toxic people around you , you are constantly around them , you are going to feel bad. Distance yourself. No one can make you feel upset, you have the control over how you feel.

🧁CHANGE YOUR PERSPECTIVE ON SITUATIONS.

Most people are projecting their insecurities. Instead of feeling angry, have compassion for them. Similiarily , if you are going through a break up instead of thinking that they were the last person on earth. Think that your souls were meant to cross and then meant to separate. You learnt your lesson and they learn their lesson.Change your perspective on things .

🍥FOCUS ON THE THINGS YOU CAN DO

Think about three things you can do . What is your passion ? What makes you happy ? Who makes you happy ? Be grateful for these things. Realise that you can do alot and remind yourself of what you can actually do.

[inkskinned]

yesterday while feverish i wrote about how boats can moor next to each other like pigeons, cooing with the gentle rap of water against their hull. you once said that that the way i see things - birds in the water, feathers in marina paint - was "childish and naive." you said i'd been misdiagnosed - "it can't all be adhd. you might be just kind of stupid and lazy."

i still do certain things like how you taught me - turn the pillow case inside out before putting it on. drive defensively. hate myself entirely.

the prompt for this poem is "mahler's fifth." i wish it wasn't, but mahler's fifth was our song. it ended up in my book. every person that knows your name has promised me they'll give you one swift rabbit punch, right to the face. dean read the book and showed up on my front porch, drenched in sweat from running the 8 miles at 4 in the morning. he was shaking. pacifist and gentle - he works with children - i'd never seen him furious. a punch isn't going to do it, he said, and then said i'm sorry. i had to come to see if you were okay.

mahler's fifth was mine first, like my girlhood. i like the way each movement piles onto the next movement, each instrument bleeding into the next. i like the horn version the best. before i met you, i danced to it on grass still-wet from sprinklers.

later you would tell me that the way you heard it was somehow better. you understood something in it that i couldn't quite wrap my fingers into. once, on our anniversary, you asked the classical music radio station to play it for us. we missed hearing it because we were fighting. one of the things people get wrong about abuse is that sometimes victims are, like, brutally aware of the stupidity of our situation. what do you mean that you thought i wasn't good enough for you? you? you're just... nothing.

sometimes people can pull the poetry out of your life. i watched my words become clothesline, and then thin out into kite twine. i watched you chew through every good syllable of me. so many good songs and places and moments were ruined. i am glad you didn't like most of my music - less to tie back to you.

but still mahler's fifth. the music swells, and i am 21 and throwing up in a bathroom on my birthday. a woman i will later refer to as lesbian jesus runs a cool hand down my back, her perfect pantsuit starch-pressed. she told me to leave you. she said - and this is true, and not an invention of rhyme or fantasy - i'm you from the future.

i am 22, and i got home from an award ceremony, and i remember you telling me - you act so proud of yourself when you're actually so fucking embarrassing. i took you to disney world. you took my virginity. i gave up visiting spain for a week with my family - i instead choose you, to spend the time just-cuddling. you called it "our fuck week." the music swells. it probably should have been a red flag that for about 3 years - i just gave up on crying. my grandfather died and you said nothing. my uncle died and you ghosted me for 3 weeks. you said i need to protect myself from your ongoing tragedy.

every so often i come back to the memory of one of our last afternoons in person. i had just told you that i wasn't going to law school, despite the free ride - i was going to join a creative writing program. master's in fine arts. i was going to finally do it - i was going to follow my dreams. this blog was already internet-famous. however reluctantly, i would occasionally refer to myself as a poet. i got into umass amherst's writing program for fiction authors. it is one of the the top 5 programs in the country.

wait are you seriously considering actually attending that? dumbfounded, you turned completely towards me in your seat. for the 3rd time in our relationship, you almost crashed the car. you actually want to be a writer?

the first time i went viral, it was for a poem i wrote about you:

he wants to say i love you but keeps it to goodnight because love will take some falling and she's afraid of heights.

every time i see that, i want to throw up. you weren't in love with me, you were in love with the control you had over me. a little truth though: i am afraid of heights. you caught a rabbitgirl and skinned her alive.

mahler's fifth still makes me sick.

give me that back. give me back music. give me back everything i had before you. give me back fearlessness. give me back bravery. give me back a scarless body.

give me back what you took from me.