#i figure we'd start them off as strangers

[stormz369]

☕💖 Can I Get Your Number? ☕💖 Ch 1

Jason Todd x Chubby! Reader (fem) A/N: I don't know what I'm doing here, I'm not even much of a DC fan, but Jason Todd has quickly become my latest hyper fixation character (Harley Quinn too, do I just have a thing for Joker victims???) so ... thank you for giving me a place to put this energy I guess! 😂 I'm not super confident on the characterizations, but I'm going with it because I like it. If it's wildly ooc ... that tracks, given that the only DC comic I've read is Batman: Wayne Family Adventures. Read it, or don't, I just needed to get the thoughts out of my head. The art doesn't belong to me, but the writing does. Please do not post elsewhere!

written with a female reader in mind, first person pov, no use of Y/N, starting out fluffy, will probably get NSFW later so minors DNI, let me know if there's anything else I should tag this with!

word count: 1.7k

Chapter Selection

In a city known for its masked fighters, you learn pretty quickly that everyone and everything is a potential threat. Every approaching stranger on the street, every loud sound behind you, every dark alleyway. Being bigger than me certainly isn't a prerequisite to being a danger, but it does have a way of setting off my mental alarms. I've found that big men are used to getting their way, and they get all sorts of bent out of shape if you deny them their wishes. Especially when they think they're doing you a favor.

It died down a bit after high school; I learned to exist in public with ‘fuck off’ stamped across my face. Headphones on, reading a book, intentionally seated at the table furthest from the other cafe patrons. All the typical signs of someone who wants to be left alone; nothing about me said ‘please come talk to me'. So I was understandably on edge when I noticed someone standing by the chair across from me. I look up just a bit, gesturing to the chair with a nod. Silent consent to take it back to his table and leave me to my book.

No such luck. The man simply smiled and mimed taking headphones off. Putting a bored look on my face, I moved one off my ear. “... Hm?”

“Hi! I'm sorry to bother you, but my brother thinks you're really beautiful and is refusing to come tell you himself.” 

I could feel my expression turning to stone. “... What is this, middle school?”

His cheerful grin faltered ever so slightly; “hey, I know it's a bit silly, but he's awkward around cute girls, so what's a brother to do, ya know?”

I stared him down; “... You're not fooling anyone. Move on.”

“... Sorry, ‘fooling anyone’?”

“It’s not funny, it’s not even hurtful the 20th time, it's just annoying. Go. Away.” It was a lie; it was always painful to be on the receiving end of these pranks. But that was what these guys wanted, so I wasn't going to tell him that. My headphones back in place, the guy slunk away.

Ten minutes later, another person was standing by the chair. I pretended not to see him, continuing to read my book, until he plopped down in the seat. I looked up slowly and he smiled, another oddly warm smile, leaning forward on his elbows.

An incredibly put-out sigh later, I slid the headphones off one ear again. “What?”

“Hi, I'm Tim! I'm not sure what exactly my brother said to you, but I wanted to let you know - we're not trying to prank you or something. Our brother is just way too awkward with girls. It's painful to watch, really, so we figured we'd give him a hand.” He spoke much too fast for me to get a word in. I blinked a bit, raising an eyebrow.

“... You frat boys are really committing to the bit these days, huh?”

“Huh? No, really, I promise!”

My headphones were nearly back into place when a child showed up. His impatient expression matched how I felt about the whole situation. “As usual, Drake, your plans are far too convoluted to be effective. Watch and learn.”

He turned to me, nothing about his demeanor changing; “hello. Todd said we shouldn't bother you because you ‘clearly want to be alone’, but I am convinced the only way to stop their nonsense is if he comes over. May he have a moment of your time?”

Frowning a little, I stared at the kid. He stared right back, neither of us blinking for a solid minute as we sussed each other out. His expression barely changed, but the boredom in his eyes turned into determination. “... Well, you're definitely not a frat boy. So I'll make you a deal; you may report back that he has permission to come say hi. If he doesn't choose to, that's the end of this little charade. And if either of them” I gestured to the one sitting at my table; “comes back over here, I start stabbing. Got it?”

The boy nodded once, and I thought I saw a ghost of a smirk. “You have my word.” He dragged the other man out of the chair by his shirt, pulling him stumbling toward their table. That was when I saw him. The only person at their table who hadn't come over yet. Even hunched over the table he was enormous, probably close to six feet tall; exactly the kind of man I typically avoided. The kid spoke sharply, pointing in my direction, and his head shot up to look in my direction. Even from across the spacious patio, I could see his face turning red. The obnoxious, cocky smirk I was expecting to see was entirely missing; instead he seemed almost confused.

Headphones back on but turned off so I could hear if he approached, I returned to my book. But I only got through a few pages before the first one shouted; “and offer to get her another coffee or something!”

I looked over to see the tall one frozen halfway between our tables, a look on his face like he was considering jumping over the patio fence to get away. His demeanor reminded me of a lost puppy, and I couldn't help the chuckle that rose up out of my throat. I bookmarked my page, set the book aside, and slid my headphones down around my neck. I really thought he was about to bolt until I lifted one hand, curling my fingers to gesture for him to continue toward me.

He stopped short by a good several feet, eyeing the distance between himself and the chair, and took one extra step back. It seemed as if he was hyper aware of just how much he loomed over me; the way he stood was like he was trying to will himself to be smaller, and he kept his hands at his sides. “Um … hi. … Sorry, this is … this is really weird …”

I nodded, watching him. “It is a bit. … Todd, was it?”

“Jay… Jason.”

“Not Todd?”

“Jason Todd. Damian calls me Todd, he thinks using people's last names keeps them at an arm's length…” Jason Todd. The name felt familiar, but I couldn't place why. He continued to ramble about how important tone was in determining whether this Damian kid was referring to you with affection or disdain, and I watched him. He was admittedly very cute; he had a sort of a bad boy aesthetic -leather jacket, dark clothes, a white streak in his hair, some unusual scars on his face and arms-, which juxtaposed interestingly with the gentleness in his voice, bright eyes, and awkward mannerisms. That was actually the thing that made the most sense about this situation; bikers are often secret teddy bears.

“... Jason?”

He looked up at me, one hand sheepishly making its way into his hair. “Yeah, sorry, you want me to go. I'll get them to stop harassing you, so sorry-”

“Actually, I was going to say you don't have to stand the whole time.” I gestured to the chair across from me.

He hesitated, watching me. “... Y- you don't want me to go?”

I smiled softly and shook my head. “Sit?”

He quickly obeyed, a hesitant smile on his face, which was almost immediately hidden by his hand when his brothers whooped from their table. “... God, I'm so sorry … th- they mean well, really, they're not trying to be weird …”

I laughed softly, “it's fine, that's what siblings do, right?”

“... I guess so … I've been sort of … away for a while, but I guess this is pretty standard sibling behavior. … Right?”

“I mean, a little more insistent than mine, but not too far outside the realm of what I’d consider normal.” I shrugged, finishing my chai latte.

He smiled slightly, considering that. “... Hm … um … c- can I get you another?” He gestured to my cup.

“... Sure, I've got time.”

The pleased grin on his face as he looked away to flag down a server surprised me. Then again, everything about him was surprising. Still, no one had ever looked at me quite like that before… 

The server sauntered over, clearly curious about my new companion. Jason smiled brightly; “Hi, can we get another for the lady? And I'll have a medium black coffee, sweet, please.”

Huh. He called me a ‘lady’. Not a girl, or a chick, a lady. That was … also surprising. We chatted for a little while, sipping our coffees, and tried to ignore his staring brothers. He was incredibly awkward, in a sweet, endearing way. I got the impression that he wasn't fully comfortable, but chalked it up to how weirdly this all started. After a while, the first one returned, a small grimace on his face.

I raised an eyebrow; “I'm pretty sure I told the little one that the next one of you to come over was getting stabbed.”

“I know, I know! I'm so sorry, but Jay, we gotta go. Bruce texted…”

That was when it clicked; why I knew the name Jason Todd. He was a Wayne … his death had dominated the news cycle for a week. His miraculous, frankly poorly explained, return was the story for at least two.

He looked, torn, between me and his brother. “Oh … um …”

The man I finally recognized as Dick Grayson leaned forward and fake-whispered, “the words you're looking for are ‘can I have your phone number'?”

Jason swatted him away, blushing bright red; “Seriously, Dick? … well, can I-”

His ears were turning red as I held my hand out for his phone. I added my contact info and, feeling unusually bold, I added ☕💖 after my name while Jason dropped a couple of bills on the table; I smiled a bit, realizing he was leaving enough to cover my first drink for me too. I passed his phone back, enjoying the look of wonder on his face when he checked the screen. The way he whispered my name, like a prayer meant only for god's ears, had my stomach doing backflips.

“thanks … I'll call you?”

“Sounds good. I'm a night owl, so not too early, yeah?”

He nodded eagerly. “Not too early, promise.”

Next ->

[localplaguenurse]

Having Your Hands Tied

Spider Arlecchino x Fem Reader Smut (Kinktober Week 1)

So I decided to do my own kinktober challenge this year! Once a week I'll be posting a spooky smut oneshot on here and on ao3. Figured we'd come out swinging with a sexy spider lady Arlecchino.

WARNINGS: Arachnephobia (there are no actual spiders but Arlecchino is half spider, talks about webs/silk/venom, and descriptions of spider appendages), bondage, a bit of biting, a mention of blood, and Arlecchino gets called "sir" once because I think it's hot. Argue with the wall.

Minors DNI

You know more often than not, truth is much stranger than fiction, but this is taking it to an extreme. 

The silky material binding your wrists holds you upright so you’re on the tips of your toes. This is a fantasy you and the Knave have indulged in here and there, having you restrained and utterly at her mercy. The thought of it often sends shivers up your spine and warmth to your core, but tonight will be different. Tonight is going to be a rare treat. 

You’re brought back to reality when you hear steps, too many, inhuman, grow closer. Harbingers tend to have a massive presence in person, but you know that looming feeling isn’t just intimidation factor, it’s Arlecchino herself. You know as much when you feel her lean down, pressing her plush chest to your bare back. Her breath feels warm on your neck, as do her hands when she lightly drags her claws up your sides. You shiver and flinch at the ticklish feeling, inadvertently tugging on the silk and bumping back against Arlecchino’s form.

She chuckles lowly, bringing her hands up to your chest, gently cupping your breasts. She nuzzles her face into your neck before bringing her lips to the shell of her ear. “I have to admit, I was a tad off put by your request,” she says, “but you’re more eager than ever, ma chérie.” She gives your breasts a gentle squeeze, and you whimper. She hums. “Maybe too eager. Don’t tell me this is already too much for you. We’ve hardly started, after all.”

“I-I’m fine,” you choke out as she pinches your nipples, careful her claws don’t scratch you as she does. 

“Good.” She places a soft kiss to your ear. Her voice causes your heat to pulse. “Do you trust me?”

Though your caution makes you hesitate answering, you quickly, eagerly nod your head. “I do.”

Arlecchino nuzzles into your neck again, one of her hands trailing down from your chest, under your navel, between your legs. Her fingers are precisely, cautious so she does not cut you as the pads of her fingers find your clit immediately. She’s memorized your body, every dip and curve and fold, and the perfect ways to tease you.

You let out a breathy moan as she begins rubbing little circles into the sensitive little bud. She chuckles. “Oh my, this wet already? I had no idea this would do so much for you. I wish you had mentioned it sooner.”

You giggle, equally excited and nervous. “Better late than never, hm?”

Arlecchino doesn’t reply. You feel her teeth catch on the skin of your neck, and you jolt at the fleeting sting. A test of your reactions or a warning of what’s to come, you don’t know. All you know is you want it, you want her, all of her. You find yourself trying to lean back into your lover’s shape, tilting your head to present more of your neck to her. Her fingers begin to move quicker, causing your hips to buck and your voice to pitch up. Her lips ghost over the junction where your neck meets your shoulder, and you can hear her take a deep breath.

She hisses before large fangs puncture your skin, and you scream at the sudden burning pain. Tears well up in your eyes as a reaction, but even if Arlecchino could see them, they would not deter her. Her fingers begin rubbing faster, in an attempt to comfort you and force your body to relax. You cry out, pain heightening the pleasure.

Your breath catches when you feel something pump into your neck. You whimper at the discomfort it brings, a pulsing pain that grows cold. That is when Arlecchino releases your neck from her maw, licking the blood that spills out of the now numb wound. The cold begins to spread now that it’s in your system, and you find it’s not so much cold as it is a general numbness. You feel yourself go weak in the knees, your legs starting to shake, and you feel the silk tied around your wrists dig into the skin as you grow limper and limper by the second. You do not feel pain, it’s nearly gone, save for an aching pulse in your neck.

“I tried not to use too much venom,” she whispers in your ear, “it is our first time using my more… frightening form, after all. Just enough to truly have you at my mercy, but not enough to paralyze your heart and lungs.”

“O-Okay,” you choke out.

“Now…”

Arlecchino’s hands stop groping and rubbing your sensitive spots. You feel the pressure of her pressing up against you disappear, but with the numbing venom in your veins, you can only guess what she’s doing based off of the creaking, heavy sounds of her body. Then you feel her hands grasp your calves and fold them back, as if you’re sitting up on your knees. You can’t help but gasp, which makes her chuckle.

“Pardon this, my dear,” she coos, “I’ve only done this while hunting, so I am still unsure how I would do this for recreational purposes. You can be patient for me, right?”

“Y-Yes, sir.”

“Good.”

You’ve seen this form of hers a few times now. She’s let you explore it in a less intimate matter once, answering your questions about her biology with the casualness of discussing the weather. You do not fear her, nor do you find her disgusting, but you think the moment of primal anxiety you feel at the sight of spindly legs coming to wrap around you is a natural human instinct. You know ultimately that she will not hurt you severely or without your permission, but the venom in your body and large spider legs is causing alarm bells to go off. Your brain is screaming that you’re in deep, deep danger, and that only makes the heat of your core grow hotter.

You can only watch as the legs, covered in thin layers of silk, begin to twirl around you. They are slow, almost uncertain at first, but it does not take long for the Knave to figure out what she is doing. Her legs, thin, razor tipped, black and pulsing red at the joints, move faster, with more confidence. They begin wrapping your body in silk faster, the material constricting you tighter and tighter with every layer added. It feels warm against your numbed skin, and you can see the faint red glow of pyro energy in the strands. As she does this, she adjusts the pressure and position of the silk so that your weight is evenly distributed and not straining your arms.

The last strings of silk are secured tight around you, and with one of her pointed legs, she gently turns your suspended form around to view her handiwork. Your breath hitches and you feel yourself grow even warmer at the sight of her. You meet her eyes, or her normal pair, and not the smaller six surrounding them. She smirks, the points of her fangs so large that they poke out from her painted lips. When she moves closer, you try to take in the sight of her bare chest, scar laden torso, how the skin darkens when it meets the spider’s body, and you briefly catch the red, white and black pattern on her large abdomen before her lips press into yours. Her tongue tastes bitter with your blood and the lingering venom, which causes yours to lightly tingle in turn.

You feel her hand slip down between your legs, wide open with the way she bound your legs, and she does not bother teasing you anymore. Her fingers begin rubbing fast, tight circles into your clit, and your moan causes you to break the kiss, lips catching on the points of her fangs. Her other hand grasps your jaw and forces your head to stay still, and she slips her tongue into your mouth once more. With how the venom has dulled pain and stripped control from most of your body, you can only manage little twitches and jolts as sweet pressure begins to build. With how you’re restrained and suspended, it would have been difficult to move away anyways, but now you cannot move unless Arlecchino moves you.

Arlecchino lets your face go, and you manage to throw your head back with a wail as the pressure bursts. Tingling warmth floods your body as the only sensation you can feel in your weightlessness is pleasure. You can hear her pedipalps rubbing together as her fingers slow their pace, working you through the last aftershocks of your climax. Your chest heaves, slightly constricted by the silk. Arlecchino pulls her hand away, and she smiles.

“My, my,” she croons, “you really are enjoying this. What an odd little thing you are, my love.”

You feel yourself salivate as she takes her time licking the fluids off of her fingers. She moans softly as she does, as if she’s savouring the taste of a fine wine. When she notices your needy gaze, her eyes darken, and her smile grows more.

“Don’t look so sad,” she tells you. Then you watch as she lowers her massive body to the ground while lifting your legs up with her hands. The look she gives you from between your legs can only be described as starved.

“I haven’t had my fill of you yet.”

[heartfullofleeches]

Loser (incel) Reader and Sex-maid bot Yan. Reader orders their new toy same day shipping - grateful to the gods for not having to deal with the hassle of making themselves presentable to other humans, and no longer having to clean their room. A little mistake in mailing leads to them getting their robot a day later than expected, and a large crack in its visor. Reader is obviously pissed by this development, but powers the bot on to see the extent of the damage. It works just fine - minus the loss of its built in knowledge and abilities.

They know their prime directive, but they can't wash a single dish or fold clothes. Other parts of them still function so Reader is fine keeping them around and teaching them what to do while it warms their bed. The Bot feels so useless to their master. All they ever do is question them and break every vase they hold like the ditz it is. Their master even gave them the nickname of Melon likely for the damage they've taken. They'll probably have their memories erased when the repair team comes in....

"All fixed. Just a few unplugged wires at that nasty crack. There seems to be some other bugs, but we'd need to take it in to examine."

"You said they work now, right? It's fine. I don't want to have to teach them how to organize my desk properly again. Those figures are collectables."

Their master was letting them keep their precious memories?... The human had never been the nicest, but they weren't outright cruel either. It was almost....cute how protective of their belongings they were. It was their possession too... Fully capable of pleasing their master in all forms, Melon wouldn't waste their second chance.

They cook their master's favor meals without over seasoning or cooking it. They wash clothes and scold their silly master for wearing things multiple days at a time. They wait hand and foot by day and nights....nights are their favorite part. They sit quietly through their master's God awful attempts at flirting in the off chance they ever seek a human mate - but something's off. There's an ache in their chest whenever they imagine their master with another. Their answers to their master's terrible flirts comes start from that hole when the correct thing to do was tell them of their errors and why no human would want them if they said those things.

No human deserved them anyway... All their master needed to be satisfied - was them

Crackposts under cut - suggestive themes

Melon: Master, what's this? :)

Loser Reader: My body pillow. It stains easy so put it down.

Melon: Ah, it's precious to you then? I'll take good care of it :D

Melon: Master, what's this? :)

Loser Reader: A knife. Be careful with it.

Melon: Oh, it's dangerous? I'll keep it far away from you! <3

Melon: Master.... who is this?

Loser Reader: My crush from highschool. Meant to throw that picture away after they rejected me

Melon: They don't mean anything to you anymore?... I think I've found somewhere to store that knife

-

Loser Reader: sighs My friend really wants me to meet their sibling. Guess I better get dressed.

Melon, on their knees: Master ~ it currently 1:14pm. Time for your daily bi-hourly head

Loser Reader: My wha- [ziiip] Fuck, wait-

-

Loser Reader, attempting to flirt: you are a moderately attractive person and in the case I snap and kill everyone - I'd go on the run and change my name with you... or save you for last. How was that?

Melon, wiping fakes tears: You have such a beautiful way with words, master

-

Stranger: Oh, hello- Is Y/n home? We meet online at while ago and they gave me their addresses in case I visit because I only live an hour away

Melon: Hmph, can you pleasure my master while rearranging their game library in alphabetical order at the same time? I think not. Good-bye!

[shelbgrey]

Being Seeley Booth's Best friend Headcanons:

Paring: Seeley Booth x Platonic!Reader, reader x Lance Sweets

Summary: headcanons on what it's like to have Seeley Booth as your Person(greys fans know what I mean)

1.8) “not all soul mates are lovers”

MasterList

To the unknown or to strangers that see you on the street, might think your a couple. Sure your touchy with each other but your both strictly best friends and it's all Platonic.

Your Hodgins little cousin if your wondering, but your the first one at the jeffersonian Booth really clicked with.

You guys kinda became an unlike duo and people knew he was basically your body guard.

Like I said before you guys are close, so that means your arms might be linked sometime, you'll eat or drink after each other... You guys are just really comfortable with each other.

At time you do think you guys might be too close, like your afraid it might screw up your actual relationships.

“you think our friendship bothers Bones and Lance?” you asked.

“it doesn't bother Bones... She told me she'd figured if we we're attracted to each other we'd already be together”

You guys have been friends longer than you guys been in your romantic relationships, so Lance nor Temperance has an actual problem.

Lance might get jealous at times, like he might think Seeley is more attractive or he'll think you guys would make a better couple. You'll make sure to get those thoughts out of his head and you make sure Lance knows he's the only guy for you.

Lance knows your friendship is strictly Platonic, hell Seeley even helped you guys admit your feelings for one another.

The thought of you guys being more than friends grosses you guys out. You guys maybe comfortable with each other and might have shared a bed, but the thought of having sex disterbs the both of you.

“ew... She's literally like a sister to me!”

If you have a problem and you can't tell Lance you go to Seeley, you know he'll never judge you.

The feeling is mutual, he'll go to you if he has to vent about the army, work, or if he needs advice on how to deal with Temperance.

You are now the soul keeper of his dog tags, you wear them for good luck.

You guys say many things to show your affection, some loving and some inappropriate(you know its all love tho). You say things like, “love ya”, “suck it”, “hey, loser”, “shut it bitch”

Of course you usually call him 'bitch'. He knows it's a joke but he can't bring himself to call you that back.

His brother having the hots for you, but he actually really creeps you out. Before you started dating Lance his brother would hit on you when he visited DC, you told Seely about it and he got his brother to back off.

Nicknames are all over the the place, but your favorite one for him is 'bub'. He calls your 'shorty' or 'kid'.

Since your a 'squint' you say words he doesn't understand and sometimes he tries to talk like you a fails. “I need a.. What do you call it, I swabie thing”

“a what?” you asked as he digged through your drawers in the Lab.

He sighs. “come on, I have to figure out what you say everyday and you can't figure out 'swabie thing'?”

Some people do question your relationship and even try to get you guys to turn on each other or even try to tamper with your romantic relationship(*cough* Daisy *cough*)

“he's my person,”

He's very protective of you... Sometimes it gets annoying but you know he means we'll.

“if you ever touch her again, I WILL kill you!”

You guys do have fights, it's rare but if it happens it gets really heated. The fights are mostly about your guys stupidity at work.

“you could have died! You realize that?” he shouted.

“your not the boss of me! Your not my father!”

“well, if I was you wouldn't be this stupid!” he'll regret it immediately. If there was one thing he never want you to think is that your stupid.

He knows your knowledge is an insecurity. You feel like your not as smart as the others, so Seeley is always there to hype you up and remind you of the big brain you have.

Most of the time you guys will immediately make up. He'll pull you into a massive hug and tell you he's sorry over and over.

Speaking of hugs, he gives the best bear hugs. His hug make you feel extremely safe.

Being each other's best man/woman at your guys weddings.

You are the designated babysitter for both Parker and Christine. They both call you 'Aunty y/n'

Him and Temperance babyset your Kids when ever they can.

You guys love blasting music and just jam out in the car or at your apartments.

He's your shoulder to cry on, I think he's the only one aside from Lance that really seen you absolutely lose it.

His grandfather basically adopting you and you call him pops like Seeley dose. Sometime Hank will leave the nursing home just to check in on you and Lance.

You go to alot of crime scenes together, you have the same job as your cousin Hodgins, but if Temperance can't go with him to investigate you'll Tag along.

There's nothing he wouldn't do for you. You, Bones, and christine are his world.

He's got your back and he'll die if it ment protecting you.

Angela once said this about you two: “not all soulmates are lovers”

She's not wrong, your the sister he never had or asked for.

You'll never have a friend like him and you don't plan on getting ride of him anytime soon.

[toastling]

My friend, Death

Hey there. So, I'd like to start this off with two things before breaking into a read more.

First, there's no cause for immediate alarm. I'm not planning on doing anything immediately. This has been building for a couple years now, and odds are it's going to keep building for at least a couple months more. If anything becomes imminent, I will make that fact known.

Secondly, despite the timing of this post, nothing I'm talking about has to do with the current political situation. Again, this has been building for years, and I've been organizing my thoughts in regard to this post for a few days now. Regardless of who "won", nothing was going to change here.

Anyway, I'd like to talk to you all about my lifelong friend.

Her name is Death.

I've been thinking a lot about death lately. It's been kind of hard not to.

I've had a fascination with her for the better part of my adult life. When I turned 13, it was more than just my hormones that started changing. My health, also, started changing, taking a turn for the worse. Not just physical, but mental. The two have always gone hand-in-hand with one another. Puberty was when I started gaining weight, when my injuries started becoming permanent, when the chronic illnesses began, and when my thoughts turned toward a death that was self-imposed for the very first time.

But make no mistake, even as an invincible and incorruptible child, death was no stranger to me.

You see, my parents have never exactly been what you would call "normal". For as long as I've been around, they've never had any friends or connections, and both of them are cut off from their extended families for different reasons. My family life has always been an insular and lonely one, where there is nobody outside of them for not only me, but for themselves. They *had* friends, sure, the kind they would meet and talk with in person, but that was before and only briefly after I was born. As they dove more deeply into being who they were, as those people left their lives, nobody new ever came in.

There are a lot of reasons for this. Most of them can be traced back to my father, a man with delusions of being complicated, but who is ultimately very simple, wanting desperately to make sense and take control of a world that often doesn't in a life that cannot be controlled. He's turned to a lot of different things over the years in pursuit of this, too, from religion to politics to law to multilevel marketing - anything and everything to feel as though he Understands, even if his understanding is only that everything is fucked. He craves that certainty. Any certainty.

And so for the first half of my life, he was certain that the world was going to end in 2011. He was a huge proponent of Harold Camping, a guy you probably haven't heard of, but who was pretty famous for two failed Biblical end times predictions. The first was in 1994 - the year I was born. The second, when 1994 didn't pan out, was in 2011. My whole family was raised listening to Camping's teachings, and his radio station was on 24/7 in my house growing up.

And since his entire career, his entire focus, was on the end of the world, what that ultimately amounted to was that for the first 16 years of my life, I was being told by everyone around me that I would die before I ever became an adult. That nothing I did or said was ever going to matter, because in 2011, God was coming back and we'd all be going to either heaven or hell. In this way, I'd been familiar with death from the day I was born. For the first 12 years of my life, I even thought I knew my own personal expiration date. May 21st, 2011 - the day the world would end.

And then it didn't.

Life went on. The sun rose again and time kept turning, and I had to figure out what to do next. I was supposed to die, so I hadn't really planned on having to live. In a lot of ways, I wasn't even allowed to by those around me. They saw no need to invest in a future they didn't think I or anyone else was going to have, so they didn't. And as puberty hit and my body changed and my thoughts darkened, neither did I. Why should I?

It wasn't that I believed anymore - by the age of 14, I was already pretty done with the whole Harold Camping and Christian Doomsday thing. Years of crying to my mom at night about not wanting the world to end as a child only to be told she was sorry but there was nothing she could do had kind of numbed me to the idea of an apocalypse somehow being a good thing, a thing to look forward to.

But having been raised in an environment like that, and struggling with depression and anxiety and thoughts I'd never experienced before with nobody around to support me, it shouldn't come as much of a surprise that my own attitude toward the idea of death was a bit... misaligned, by society's standards, to put it lightly.

Suddenly, my future was of grave concern to everyone, because now it was something real that existed and was going to happen. I was put under a lot of pressure I had no preparation for, pressure that I'd actually been wishing for only a few years prior. But I didn't care anymore. Depression being what it is, I actually began to miss the certainty of knowing when my death would be.

In those last few years, I'd adopted a sort of, "Well, if everything's doomed anyway, and nobody expects anything of me regardless, I'll just do what I want and only what I want" mentality. And that was what I went on to do. But like all highs, eventually it passed, and I was going on 18 and coming to the realization that I really was going to live. That life really was going to keep on happening.

My dad had moved seamlessly from one apocalypse to another, dropping the bible for conspiracies of a hidden elite and a coming purge of people like him, but I had nothing to anchor myself around and no foundation from which I could propel myself forward. I had to start building one myself. My family was never going to help me, and in their image, I had been raised as isolated and alone as they were, at least in person. I always had friends online - at first, and for many years, in secret from them, as I feared if they knew I had friends and was out in the world in *any* capacity, even digitally, I would get in trouble - but friends online weren't going to help me with living my life in person.

If I wanted to live, which I wasn't sure if I did, I would have to do it alone. If I wanted to get better, to treat my depression, I would have to do it the same way I'd always lived, behind my family's back, and try and find some meaning for myself. At the end of 2016, I started seeing a therapist. I started taking meds. I went through a major transition in social circles in late 2014 that had fully solidified itself by 2016, and had become a whole new person, a more honest version of myself.

I was now surrounded by people who felt more like me. I had come to terms with my queerness and my identity, I'd shed the skin of my parents' politics, and I was discovering for myself a view of life and the world that was all my own. I think the best year of my life might actually have been 2017. 2015 is a strong contender, but by 2017, I finally felt like I found my crowd, and like I knew who I was. I felt... maybe not happier, but, certainly more content. Maybe even a little hopeful.

Even between 2014 and 2017 though, I was no less close to my good friend Death than I'd been at any other point in my life. The people I surrounded myself with, you see, we shared a lot in common. That's why they were my people. But as fellow outcasts and queers and creators, they also understood the struggles of mental health, of suicidal ideation, of not knowing whether you wanted to live or die.

In 2014, I came close to killing myself for the very first time. I had a plan, but I never put it into action - but the fact that I did in fact have a plan, clear and concise, was a first for me in my life. After the great nothing of 2011, my relationship with the friends I'd made up to that point - friends made in secret, may I remind you - had become... turbulent, to say the least.

I'd fallen for a girl who treated me and everyone around her like shit, but I liked her sense of humor, and I admired her strength to be able to do and say whatever she wanted, consequences be damned. She was outgoing in a way I felt I never could be, and I envied that, and I loved that. It didn't hurt that we had a good number of shared interests, either. Yeah, she often talked down at me about them at random for the pettiest reasons - I couldn't pronounce Japanese names properly like she could, for example, as she'd had the privilege of having a high school with Japanese language classes as an elective, and that was something she loved to mock myself and others for - but we had a connection. Right?

It was a complicated relationship, not just for our own interpersonal dynamic, but because I wasn't the only one in my tightest friend group who had a crush on her. The four or so people I was closest to at that time, we were all incredibly toxic to one another. We were all fucked up kids, fucked up in different ways from one another, desperately trying to force happiness and comradery from people and a situation that could never give it to us. But all we had were each other, and it led to a constant cycle of falling out and making up just to fall out again. Some of us had it worse than others. I tried to keep my head down and be the people pleaser, but I could never quite figure out how to please even one of them individually, let alone all of them at once.

Eventually it took its toll on my already shaky mental health. By 2014 I'd realized, I think before the others involved had, that it was a lost cause. That this was never going to be happy, that maybe we were never really friends. By the end of that year, I'd begun slowly and silently phasing myself out of not only that closest group, but the greater group as a whole that my little clique was a part of. Nobody really seemed to notice. If they did, nobody ever sought me out to talk about it. They didn't even curse me out for it.

At the time I thought that if they'd even done so much as treat me like shit for trying to pull away and save myself, that could've been enough to stop me, to have prevented me from making that plan to take my life, to pull me back in. In retrospect, I'm glad they didn't, because I probably would have gone back. Instead, I was alone, and stewing in my own misery, I sought ways to cure it once and for all.

Music and cartoons saved my life that year. They led me to new people I had no prior connection with. To that beautiful renaissance of 2015-2018. But that, too, was a phase.

I found love I'd convinced myself was true because for the first time, I wasn't the one who sought them out, but the other way around - but she ghosted me and double dealt under the table, unable and unwilling to challenge her situation. I found a new lease on life and politics - but was despondent to watch Donald Trump win his first presidency in 2016 right when my girlfriend of 1.5 years abruptly left me. I started on some psych meds that cured my anxiety - but my depression never once improved, and my new friend group had its own waves of conflict that saw people I valued more than they valued me leave me one after another like ducks in a row.

There's a very good chance I have borderline personality disorder. On top of the autism and the hyperfixations that come with it, I've recently been introduced to the idea of a "favorite person" as it pertains to those with the BPD condition, and in retrospect, it's clear to see just how often those two things would compound for me. I'd get obsessed over a specific friend, but it was always one-sided and unhealthy. Eventually they'd leave, whether it was because of me or someone else in the group, and I'd be despondent and alone.

In 2019, things went nuclear. I wasn't aware of it until it was already over, but a large swath of people ended up leaving my life all at once that year. Some of them, I had to cut out and excise myself, or at least I felt I had to at that time. It took a tremendous toll on me. Even with the therapy, the meds, it was hard not to feel like history was repeating. When another FP left in 2020 and stated under no uncertain terms that they never thought of me as a friend and they wanted nothing to do with me, I broke.

2020 is where everything I've been experiencing to today really began. It is the fourth distinct "era" of my life, at once the most stable and healthy and yet also the worst I've ever experienced. It's 2020 that has led to me writing all of this down and where my head is at as of this moment. And it's 2020 that I began to know my old friend Death more intimately than ever before.

In March of 2020, following my very first case of diverticulitis and likely as a direct result of it, I almost died. I suffered a stomach infection that brought me closer to death than I could've imagined at the time. If I hadn't called the ambulance when I did, I would've died within a day or two. All of my gut bacteria was gone, replaced by a single infection. I was in the worst pain of my life, unable to move, to think. I was in the hospital for 3 weeks and spent a month at home afterward in recovery. But I never really, truly, fully recovered.

The damage that was done to my body was severe. Worse than I or my doctors knew at the time. I suddenly became very prone to random stomach infections and flare ups of diverticulitis. At first, I'd have one or two a year, but with each subsequent infection, the next one would end up happening a little bit sooner. All leading up to last year, when in 2023, I was suffering from a multi-week infection every other month. What's worse, the antibiotics were no longer working.

By that point in time I'd already been suffering for years with chronic pain and digestive issues resulting from the major infection. I was frequently nauseous, constantly throwing up, and never knew if I was going to be okay or bedridden. It was a tough few years. When the antibiotics stopped working entirely, there was no other option but surgery. I developed an abscess, and had to have it drained and leave work and avoid everything I could to not get another infection before the surgery date. Then in May, I finally had it done, and while recovery was long and difficult, I have felt better physically. The doctor was horrified at just how bad things were when he opened me up. The imaging didn't show the full story.

But in the midst of all this suffering, life was still happening. In May of 2020, right after I survived my near kiss with Death, that last big FP that I mentioned before cut me off. The radiation sickness was settling in from the aforementioned nuclear meltdown. The loss of all my gut bacteria severely impacted my mental health for the worse. That FP leaving was the straw that broke the camel's back, and I tried to kill myself.

It didn't work. Obviously. I ended up being committed to the psych ward for a week - the week right before my birthday, as it turned out. I hated it at first because I didn't want to be there and wasn't there voluntarily, but I came out of it looking at it as the best thing to have happened to me in my entire life to that point. While I was in there, I was able to think, and talk - there wasn't much else to do, after all - and I worked out a lot of shit that'd been eating away at me for years. Not everything, but enough that when I was released on my birthday itself, I felt like a man reborn. I felt... hopeful, again, and I let my friend Death go, just for a little bit, and kept her at arm's length again.

In 2021, the girlfriend I'd had back in 2016 found me again, and we reconnected. Yeah, bad idea, I know. But neither of us were who we were before, or so it seemed at the time. And it wasn't as though we immediately jumped back into being in a romantic relationship - we were just friends for a while there. But there was a spark. And for a while, everything was good. I was happy. She was happy. But things still didn't feel quite right.

My mental state has been all over the place since 2020. I've had some of the best months of my life, and some of the worst, since that year has come and gone. But 2023... last year was the biggest case of duality in my life. At first, it was the happiest I'd ever been. My girlfriend I met up not just once, but twice. And it was nice... until it wasn't. I was beginning to realize and learn things about myself and my sexuality and my body and my mind that I didn't want to accept. So I tried to ignore it, to change it, to fake it - but evidently, she felt it. And on some level, so did I.

Last year, concurrent with three stomach infections in a row, I had my worst bout of mental health since 2020. 6 straight months of distant apathetic agony. In some ways, my partner had grown as a person since our first go-around, but in others, she was unfortunately just the same. For example, in all the years I'd known her, she never once had so much as a single friend. Given how my own family life was, how my parents never had friends either, how I never had anybody in person, it didn't even register to me at the time, but she really had nobody but me both times. And she was always reluctant to know anybody else. She never really wanted to get to know any of my friends, and obviously, she didn't really have anybody to introduce me to either. But the biggest thing that never changed was that she never learned to talk about what she was really feeling.

When she broke up with me early this year, it was sudden and without warning. It was a decision she'd made almost 8 months prior, but for all that time, she never said a thing. She just pretended. So did I, I suppose, at least in some ways. I still didn't want to accept what I was learning about myself with regard to intimacy and connection, physical and emotional alike. But she knew that I knew her tells when she wasn't feeling well, and she intentionally gaslit me for months into believing everything was okay. She never talked about how she was feeling, not really. She never told me I was doing anything wrong. She just played the part of the girlfriend until one day, she didn't, and then she was gone.

As you can imagine, that alone has left me in some sort of way all this year. When she left me, I was at my most vulnerable. My surgery was just a few weeks away, and I was trying my hardest to make changes in my life, whether I felt them or not. I was trying to be better, not for her, but for me. I was trying to live. When she left, it was because I was too ill. Physically, mentally - I was struggling, and it left me distant. I was never allowed to know how distant though, because I was never told. But it was held against me all the same. So she ghosted me for the second time.

I've gone back and forth on how I feel about all of that. How much pain I do or don't wish on her, whether I feel this was for the best or for the worse. But ultimately it doesn't really matter. Because those things I was discovering about myself in 2023, as I was facing my good friend Death yet again for the first time in years, I no longer a rock to hide behind, and I was forced to face all of them as I was isolated in my home for 9 months in the infection, healing, lead up, surgery, and recovery. No work, no walks, I could barely move let alone leave my room. Like the psych ward in 2020, all I could do was think, but this time, I had no one to talk to as I did, and I had to sort it out alone.

2024 has been a worse year for everybody else in the world than it has for me. Death has been the theme of the news since last October. There's been no escaping it. Everywhere you look, there is war and genocide, pain and suffering, impending collapse and political upheaval, hatred and fear. Ukraine, Palestine, Armenia - everyone is suffering. Everyone is familiar with Death far more than I. But I have not been in a place where I have been able to engage with that safely. To do so would have been to commit suicide through empty play-martyrdom.

If what you want to see in the world is hope, then you have to come at the world from a place of hope. You can't come at it from a place of misery. If you yourself are dying to the demons in your own goddamn head, what commentary could you add to the conversation that isn't tainted by your own suicidal ideation and deep-seated hopelessness? How can you help the world when you can't help yourself? What good can you accomplish in stopping death when you find yourself envying the dead?

I think there comes a point where one has to focus on helping themselves before they can help others. If you are twisted up and dying past a certain extent, you aren't helping the people you're setting out to help, you're just hurting them further along with yourself. I don't think it's morally wrong or selfish to not want to die, to not want to Wish you could die, and to remove yourself from as heavy a conversation as multiple ongoing genocides until you've found some stability with yourself first. So that is what I set out to do this year.

Unfortunately, it has not been possible. No matter what keywords you blacklist, no matter who in your environment you choose not to engage with, if things are bad enough, there is no way to escape the world around you. Whether it's through negligence, malevolence, or random chance, it's been impossible for me to completely avoid everything that's been going on in the world this year, a year where my relationship with death has taken a darker and more pessimistic turn than any year before it. It's been hard to not have it eat away at me. The least I could do was not spread my own internal rot by involving myself in things I was not mentally or emotionally equipped to handle, so I've continued to keep quiet. But my relationship with death has deepened all the same.

The thing that dooms me now is the thing that doomed my relationship back in May of 2023. Something that has been a recurring theme in my life that I have tried everything I can think of to try and change and avert short of hastening my own self-destruction through self-medication and addiction. And that is that all these things that make the world so beautiful, all these experiences that are supposed to make life living, none of it has ever mattered to me in the slightest.

Every great joy in life has been, for me, disappointment. Aesthetic beauty brings me no pleasure. Nature gives me no comfort. Love does not live up to the hype. Sex isn't even remotely pleasurable or satisfying; just a sensory nightmare. Music's edge has dulled more year by year. Friendships do not move me in the way they're supposed to. Travel gives me no insight or enlightenment. Food is one of my least favorite things in life.

Every single thing I have tried to do to live a life worth living, every new experience I have taken part in, every purportedly beautiful or fulfilling feeling or experience life has to offer, has merely washed over me like a gentle evening tide and then swiftly receded back out to sea, never to return. Nothing is satisfying, and nothing is valuable. I feel... nothing.

In the happiest moments of my life, what hurts me most and perpetuates my depression isn't that the moments eventually come to an end. It's the fact that I'm not actually all that happy. It's that I don't actually *feel* the way I'm supposed to feel, and none of it means as much to me as I know it should. I try, and I try, and I try, but nothing means anything to me at all. It's all just empty, and has left me empty.

Facing my own mortality, watching thousands die in concerted efforts of extermination, coming to terms with the fact that this world has never offered me anything that has truly satisfied, contemplating what the purpose to all this even is or if I even care to make a purpose - it's all weighed heavy on me since that last infection hit and ripped me from the routine I'd built to stop myself from thinking too long on any of what has been bothering me.

My relationship with my friend Death has varied a lot over the years. From understanding and inevitability to fear and revulsion to fascination and ideation to an acknowledgement of being to what I feel now, which is ultimately just... nothing.

I no longer fear death or what awaits beyond it, and I no longer grieve those who have died. If anything, I envy them. The way I see things now, you are born from nothing, exist against your will, and then you die, and you return back to nothing. You cease to exist. There is no afterlife, and any wish or desire that there could be is just another short-sighted human error neglecting to consider the long term ramifications of an eternity they cannot comprehend. If there is a God, I believe that given enough time they would choose to return to nothingness themselves than continue to live in perpetuity smothered under the weight of their own self-awareness.

I do not grieve for the dead because the dead don't experience anything to grieve over. They don't experience anything at all. I only grieve for the living now. Because death isn't something that happens to you, it happens to your family and your friends, to the people you leave behind. Death is not a bad thing. It just is, just like us. We just are. And then we aren't. It's only bad in the pain it brings to those still alive.

And this new understanding has been weighing on me for months now. Despite my best attempts, nothing in life brings me any true joy, fulfillment, or satisfaction. I did not ask to be born, and I don't particularly want to exist. I don't really want anything at all, honestly. And that's the problem. When you feel nothing and you want nothing in an existence in which meaning only exists if you yourself choose to create it, for what reason are you even living in the first place?

And the only answer I can come to is that you're only living for those you have around you. You aren't living for yourself, you're just living for the sake of being alive. It's a hollow, miserable existence.

I love those I still have around me. I do. Or, I think I do. I don't feel things as deeply as people are supposed to, as ordinary people do. The closest things and people to me are at an arm's length at the closest. But I respect them, and I care enough that I stick around for them. But I also believe that, since when you die, you cease to exist, there would be no guilt or regret. And that scares me.

How long can I live a life that gives me nothing and I desire nothing from because I do not feel desire at all? How long can I stay for the sake of people around me who, from my perspective, will cease to exist along with my consciousness whenever I choose to pull that trigger? I won't be able to regret hurting them or leaving them behind if I don't exist, right?

The thought of oblivion, of endless nothing, scares most people. But for me it's a comforting thought. Maybe the *only* comforting thought I have left. Over these past 6 months in particular, I have felt increasingly as though the only true friend I still have left, the only one to whom I feel any sort of fervent kinship or connection, the only thing closer to me than an arm's length away, is my oldest and very first and most formative friend of all: Death. My constant companion and guide, who has stood beside my all my life. Not in the sense that she inhabits what's around me, or that I wish her on anyone else, but in the sense that she is familiar. She is safe. She is warm. She has always been there and always will be there. I do not wish her for or upon any but myself, because I feel more and more with each passing day that this life has nothing in it that I will ever find valuable. Nothing in it that will ever truly move me. Because ultimately, nothing ever has.

For a moment, I can see a mirage, a spark of excitement, and I hold it in my hands. I feed it as best I can. But it is infrequent and it is short. It is never desired, as I genuinely don't desire *anything*, it just transpires, much like life itself. It is there for no reason other than to be there, and then it's gone.

All of us are living on borrowed time, and I feel as though mine may be running out. In all my confrontations with death throughout my life, in all the ways she has manifested herself before me, in the teachings of my family to the endings of my relationships to the fragility of my friendships, she and I have only grown more and more familiar. And it's getting harder to find excuses to trick myself in continuing to fight to live a life I don't want.

I don't think I'm going to kill myself anytime immediately soon. But I do feel as though the question is no longer an if, but a when. I don't know that there is a drug or a therapy that can change one's philosophy and view of life, and unfortunately, that is what it feels as though all this has become for me. I don't know that I even recognize it as or consider it depression anymore, just... an understanding. One that most might find pessimistic, sure, but an understanding nonetheless. A way to see the world.

I don't know when I'm going. When I'll clock out for good, collect my last paycheck, and retire from this place. But it's coming. And I find comfort in that thought.

[gaytotaldrama]

duncney week day 4 (a day late): first 'i love you'

an unsent letter from C to D, years after the end of the show.

duncney song of the day: 'i've got your number,' elbow

also on my ao3!

Dear Dunc

To whom it may conce

For the idiot with the green mohawk

Duncan, 

I don't go to therapy, but Bridgette does, and she told me about this exercise her therapist set her where you write down everything you want to say to someone in a letter and then you don't send it. Therapy would take up way too much of my time, yet here I am on my bed, writing to you of all people.

It's been years since we last saw each other, or even spoke - since they carted you off the island and tossed you into some disgusting cell. I'm sure you're already aware, but destroying Chris's house was a really  stupid  idea. I understand that you were trying to prove your "villain status" or whatever, but all I could think about watching you leave was DJ and his rabbit. It made me feel  sick,  seeing what happened to you. Gwen and I pretended to be happy about it, but I don't think either of us were at all. 

I know she called once or twice, while you were in there. I know Geoff and DJ came to visit you. I know Bridgette sent you little care baskets through the mail.

I know I never did any of those things. It all hurt so much, still. And even when it didn't, I never figured out what I would say to you.

But now, I have an idea. More or less.

However angry I was with you after you and Gwen kissed, it didn't mean I wanted to see you thrown in  prison.  I know I can be petty and vengeful at my lowest moments, but I always imagined you'd be eliminated in some humiliating spectacle. You'd go home. And we'd never have to see each other again, unless Owen ever decided to throw that reunion bash he was talking about.

And then when that bash happened, you were locked up again for violating your parole. And you weren't there.

I thought about filling these pages with all the reasons you were awful to me, every nitpick and tiny detail that made me hate your guts. But it's not like I was the perfect girlfriend, either. And, Duncan, we were just  kids.  None of us knew what we were doing, what it was we even wanted. Chris knew that and he used it against us every which way, exploiting us on international television.

I don't know if I really forgive you yet. I guess I'd have to see you in person to know. I've spent most of my time post-Total Drama working to forgive myself. Which has worked. Somewhat, at least.

Geoff says you're in Seattle. He says you're working as a tattoo artist. He says you go to AA meetings every week at the recreational center. That's good. That's really good, Duncan.

I work. Sanford, Sanford & Patel - started as a secretary, but I've clawed my way up a bit since then. Helped win some major cases. Hopefully it won't be long before they're adding a Reyes up on that sign.

Bridgette, Geoff, and I have game night every Wednesday evening. We take turns cooking dinner. Sometimes Bridgette slides me a CBD gummy to help me fall asleep at night. I jog, in the mornings. When I can, I go to the gym. Every now and then, I pick up Geoff's guitar and strum it a little. I still remember when you taught me my first bar chord. I couldn't make a  sound  on the B minor then, but I've gotten better, now. I've really gotten better.

I have a cat. This little precocious furball that Bridgette brought back from the shelter. She likes to claw at my nice leather desk chair and she doesn't like strangers at all; I adore her. Her name is Scruffy.

Every couple of months, I fly out to visit Gwen in Vancouver. They showed me the inky moon you put on their collarbone - I think it's beautiful. We go and get coffee together, catch up. She's got an art exhibition down in Bellingham in the fall - I plan to go, but I don't know if you'll be there. I don't know if I want you to be or not.

I've had a few boyfriends, but none of them could keep up with me. One time, Gwen and I got drunk and slept together. I'm not sure why I'm telling you this, but it was kind of good. Which is kind of funny. To me, at least.

Oh, and Geoff and Bridgette are engaged. Which I guess you already knew. It only just happened, so there are no real plans yet, you know those two. Never once made a list in their lives. But I guess if you're not at Gwen's show, we'll see each other at the wedding.

Would you talk to me? If we met again, would you even talk to me? I like to think I'd talk to you. But it's a hell of a lot easier to say it in writing than it is to do it in person.

Would you miss me?

I've missed you. I know people say you never stay with your high school sweetheart, but look at G and B, case in point. We didn't stay together, but sometimes I imagine what it would have been like if we had. Where we'd be right now.

Damn it, ok, I'm just going to say it: I love you. We never got around to telling that to each other while we were dating, but I think it's always been true, since all the way back in season one. I love you, Duncan Russo. It's totally humiliating, but I do. I still really, really do.

And I wish you were

Maybe if I

And I guess there's nothing to be done about that. Over a decade, and I'm still hung up on the boy who I kissed in the back of the Killer Bass cabin, right after puking my guts out. There's only so many people who would kiss someone with vomit breath, but you did. You didn't care. I mean, it was totally disgusting, but you kissed me back. I'll always remember the way you kissed me back.

Just...I just hope you're ok, ok? Or if not, then that you're something close to it. That show screwed every single one of us over, some more than others. The shit Chris did to us was messed up, and if I could go back and time and withdraw my audition tape, I would.

But then I guess I'd never have met you. And I don't know if that would be better or worse for me in the long run.

Thank God you'll never see this letter. 

Love,

Courtney

[cadybear420]

for Evie!! from the edgy asks!

19. How does your OC behave when enraged? 13. If you met your OC, would the two of you get along? 23. What emotion is the hardest for your OC to process? How about express? 24. What is an alternative life path your OC might have gone down? How different would their life be if they'd made those decisions?

these are from the 7 types of love asks!!

philia, 3 + 5 agape, 3 ludus, 3 + 5 pragma, 4 philautia, 2 + 5

thank you 🫶

Ask games here and here!

19. How does your OC behave when enraged?

Evie starts yelling and cursing when enraged. If she's REALLY enraged, she might start hitting, stomping, slamming, kicking, screaming.

20. If you met your OC, would the two of you get along?

Evie is very based off of me, so I feel like we'd definitely get along, sharing a lot of interests and beliefs. But our habits might also annoy each other.

21. What emotion is the hardest for your OC to process? How about express?

To process: Guilt/shame. She can be very unsure about how seriously she should take a certain situation where she screwed up, or how guilty she truly is in a certain situation. She sometimes doesn't trust her own judgement.

To express: Feeling upset at someone she's close with, for similar reasons as above. She's often unsure if she's justified in being upset (or, this much upset) at the other party.

22. What is an alternative life path your OC might have gone down? How different would their life be if they'd made those decisions?

I have a whole AU playthrough in which Evie takes interest in band and learns saxophone.

I've also sometimes imagined scenarios for if Evie never came to Berry, or if Emma never came to Berry, or if Aiden never came to Berry. I'm still figuring this out a lot, but I know that Emma not being at Berry means Evie's life there would have been incredibly miserable.

Philia 3. What qualities does your OC most value in a friend? Loyalty? Shared sense of humour? Or something else?

Probably mutual connection/understanding. Not just in being able to understand each other in shared beliefs/interests, but also being able to respect each others' differences.

Philia 5. What is their most fervent wish for their best friend(s)? How far would they go to make it happen?

I'm really not sure. It probably depends on the friend and what their goals are.

Agape 3. To what extent does your OC believe in the value (or even existence) of true altruism? Do they see an unselfish concern for the welfare of others as being naïve or foolish? Or as a moral quality to which people should aspire?

I think Evie would believe that true altruism sounds nice in theory; but realistically she would consider it... neither naive nor aspirational, but rather unachievable.

Ludus 3. How does your OC feel about one night stands? Have they ever enjoyed a night of passionate romance with a stranger? Is this something they are quite keen on recreationally? Or only something they might engage in under specific circumstances (such as the eve of a battle or after a difficult breakup)?

I don't think Evie would be too into one-night-stands. She has to have some form of trust and connection with a person first before she sleeps with them. The only exception would probably be if it were a threesome with a stranger and someone she's already close with, and either she or the someone she's close with is taking charge.

Ludus 5. What seduction techniques are most likely to be effective when it comes to your OC? Are there some things guaranteed to get them going? Or are they immune to such things?

Men doing outfits, dancing, or movements that have focus on highlighting their hips, ass, thighs/legs, stomach, can really get Evie going. Sometimes it can be more direct and explicit, sometimes it can be more subtle (like a snug waistcoat and slacks suit).

Pragma 4. After the initial fires of passion cool to some degree, what would keep your OC engaged in a relationship? Shared goals? Similar values? Or contented companionship?

Similarly to the qualities Evie values in a friend: mutual connection/understanding, and respectfulness/understanding of each others' differences.

Philautia 2. Does your OC believe that it is important to love themselves in the first instance? Perhaps in order to be able to give and receive love authentically? Or because they believe first and foremost in "looking after number one"?

Answered here!

Philautia 5. Has your OC always had the same opinion of themselves or has this changed over time? Have they learned to love themselves - perhaps with the help of others - as their journey progressed? Or have the consequences of their actions only served to erode their sense of self-worth?

I think Evie might have had more self-love as a kid, but as she got older she would start to become more insecure. Coming to Berry High however gives her a more welcoming and friendly environment and more motivation to take risks, and she would start to discover herself, and love herself alot more and agonize much less over her screwups.

[enemywithinzine]

Spread the HEARTSTEEL Love!

While we're waiting for our ENEMY WITHIN contributor sign-ups to roll in, we thought we'd share some content 🎤

Check out Mod Crown's incredible HEARTSTEEL fic on Ao3, and enjoy a little preview right here 👀

Warnings: none Rating: Teen Relationships: Shieda Kayn & Rhaast, Shieda Kayn & Zed, Shied Kayn & HEARTSTEEL

SUMMARY:

As HEARTSTEEL grows in popularity, Kayn begins to notice discrepancies in his life. He's been losing time more and more frequently, especially during gigs. Missing pieces of his life is scary enough, but when a video of him cussing out his manager goes viral, things start to spiral out of control.

There is one thing Kayn is sure of, though: Rhaast isn't real. CHAPTER ONE PREVIEW:

He pulled the thin black fabric of the mask over the bridge of his nose, exhaling a short breath at his reflection. This just seemed excessive. The baseball cap covered the pink highlights of his hair in shadow, and the oversized sunglasses hid the sharp emerald of his eyes. There were no discernable features of his face for fans to catch. The baggy hoodie and cargo pants concealed the rest of his figure. Whatever.

Kayn slung his relatively empty black backpack over his right shoulder, giving himself one last look in the mirror before heading out the door of the HEARTSTEEL house and locking it behind him. He had gotten back before the rest of his bandmates, and he was going to use that to his advantage. He didn't want to see them right now. He glanced at his phone, saw the overwhelming amount of notifications that continued to roll in, and shut it off completely. He didn’t need that shit right now. He slid the phone into the pocket of his pants as he walked, ducking into an alley to take his usual shortcut. It would have been a lot faster if Yone let him get that motorcycle, but Kayn was no stranger to walking. It was probably better for him to keep a low profile, especially with the current situation.

Frankly, he was a bit afraid of the paparazzi. It was much easier to say he hated them when his bandmates asked, but it was more akin to fear. He was on edge during normal interactions, but after entering the public sphere as an idol? He had to keep such a tight grip on every mannerism, every speech pattern; sometimes he counted his breaths between answers, wondering if he talked too fast. Every smile was calculated. He had to be so meticulous over how he presented himself in each and every interview or his management would have his head.

Especially when sometimes… he zoned out. For an interview here and there. For the hours leading into the pre-show. Once or twice during the heights of a set. More times after a concert than he was willing to admit.

His body must have worked on auto-pilot during those periods of time. Muscle memory and habit moving him along, done over and over again so the memory isn't important or saved whatsoever.

It scared him. The loss of control irked him in a way he couldn't describe fully. It was the same reason he had sworn off drinking after a terrifying crossfade during his teens; he hated losing time, especially when his body seemed to move on without him. After the first concert blackout, he asked his bandmates what he had done during those missing pieces of time:

Aphelios contemplated his answer before he shrugged, signing a quick, 'More brash?’

Ezreal's gaze flicked from Aphelios to Kayn, his eyes as sharp as ever despite his bored demeanor. “That's a good way to put it,” he added. “You also snapped at me for something stupid.”

“I what?”

“Acted like Ez pissed in your cereal,” Sett elaborated, motioning with his hand despite his crossed arms. Yone hummed in agreement, even if he didn't speak.

K'Sante nodded his assent, offering a short, “Never seen you like that.”

Kayn never received a straight answer from the band, nor did the memory ever magically appear in his mind. And he certainly wasn't going to ask his bandmates again; showing that kind of weakness was unacceptable. Being vulnerable like that was a mistake, and Kayn wouldn't do it again.

His shoddy memory had always been something he struggled with, but it had gotten much worse—and much more noticeable, for that matter. He blamed the adrenaline that came with his current lifestyle and his brain's inability to adapt and work correctly. He hated it. At least it seemed like an infrequent occurrence, even if Kayn wished it was a never occurrence.

Unfortunately, one of those zone outs was what caused his current dilemma. He had apparently… lost his cool with one of his managers. This manager in particular had been giving Kayn hell for “creative differences,” and Kayn had been keeping his frustration to himself for a few weeks. But after a gig, he snapped at the manager and a fan caught it on camera; an upload to BlueBird spread through reposts and reuploads to different platforms until Kayn’s outburst was headlining multiple news sites.

Kayn couldn’t quite describe the feeling of dread watching the video for the first time. He didn’t remember any of it. But it was him in the video. It was his hands shoving his manager. It was his voice berating his manager. It was��Kayn.

keep reading on Ao3!

[taanoir]

Nicole came out to see her dad, Ken had passed away suddenly from a heart attack several months ago. This had been her first trip since he passed.

She kept the conversation away from his health. Not that she didn't care, the thought of loosing her father again was terrifying. In the wake of burying her husband after a heart attack, it was too much. She knew Jen, Tiff and Grandpa Gene had those bases covered for her dad. It was more important to spend quality time while she could.

She made jokes and poked at him about the dust in his art studio.

He told her about Melody she had entered several writing competitions. "So far she's won two, the rest she hasn't placed but I just keep encouraging her to enter. She's had a few pieces published, which is great."

Nicole asked how River was doing with Computer Team? "He's doing great! His team is going to the state finals. He focuses more on robotics but he's also been helping Josh build that new rocket. After seeing your dad so focused on that old one, Gene and I weren't sure about them building a second one. It's been a very different project than with Jimmy. They work on it on the weekends. Sometimes Josh or River will tinker on components in the lab through the week but for the most part it's just weekends and they only work together. Honestly, I'm happy for it."

Nicole was glad the kids were doing well. Her three were getting big as well, her oldest, Pierre, was graduated and at Britechester on a soccer scholarship. Kole was on the High School debate team and still a social butterfly. "He reminds me of Tiff when she was in High School. He's never met a stranger and gets along with everyone but Pierre." she laughed.

Uncle Gene came and sat with them. "How's the littlest one?"

Nicole smiled "Kendrick is doing good, he's in 4th grade now. He's still figuring out his interests. His older brother's kind of had their interests figured out, Kenny bounces around. That one has a temper though, I'm not sure where it came from."

Gene chuckled, "that's a mystery wrapped in an enigma."

Nicole feigned offense, "surely, I don't know what you're talking about."

They had a good laugh.

Jen joined them as they were talking about the new series on LamaLama TV. Nicole had watched the first episode but wasn't really invested just yet. Gene assured her she should watch episode two, it would all make sense.

Jen poked at Nicole a bit to break the silence that had filled the room.

Jen smiled, awkwardly trying to reignite the conversation, "How are you? Are you still working in programing, you don't mention your career these days?"

Nicole could tell Jen was trying to keep things normal "Actually, I am. I took some time off when the boys were young but once they all started school I went back to work. I'm a lead programmer for Evergreen Tech, we are working on a desalination system for the harbor. How about you Jen? Still working with the bots?"

"I am, were doing more and more with them every day. I can talk a little about my project this time, it's private sector. I'm working on improving prosthetic joints to move more naturally with less impact or stress to the individual. We have a full leg prototype system that uses a combination or robotics, hydraulics and a new synthetic. So far we've proven it can walk, run and navigate stairs with natural movement. We'd like it to be able to get up and down on it's knees, dance, ice skate, it's still experimental but promising. The goal is to be able to mimic skeletal movement without creating additional issues. We're also working on ways to use the electrical signals and motion in the body as a power source. Some older models are able to accomplish natural motion for walking, running and stairs but require charging, we'd like to improve the tech for a better experience."

Nicole was impressed and a tiny bit jealous, Jen always worked on the coolest projects.

[underwhelp]

What the Dark Hides

I'd met him before the outbreak happened.

Frankie was gorgeous, his sandy coloured hair complemented his deep blue eyes. Effortless style and boyish smile, he was the bad boy every woman wants to have but can't bare to keep.

The arrangement that we had wasn't discussed or talked about past a when and where. It was a surprise to me when the first night happened, even more when he made an effort for it to happen again.

I met him when he'd just finished selling a bag of whatever to another patron in a bar one night, slid up beside me and didn't say a word, just sipped at bottle of beer. It was me that tried for conversation, I figured he was too good looking to entertain anything more than a chat with me. When I realised he was biting back, we slipped out the rear door and he took me up against the wall. I could smell the rubbish and feel the grittiness of the plaster, but it didn't matter because this beautiful man had his mouth on mine nearly the whole time and his dark aftershave cut through the stink. I didn't cum but the thrill was enough, and when I pulled up my knickers, I thanked him for the ride and walked right back into the fray.

After that he'd call to my home, he seemed to have a sense for when I was home alone. It was never romantic but he enjoyed my body as much as I enjoyed his. Sometimes he'd stay and watch my TV, I'd make him something to eat. We talked a little about our families, both of us had siblings and felt like burdens. I didn't know if he had other partners that he went to, if he had a wife but I wasn't going to move him in anytime soon, so none of it really mattered.

I'd heard all about the sickness that was spreading, saw attacks in the streets and shops, people latching onto strangers and loved ones alike. The virus had unusual side affects and the governments were scrambling for control. I think it was eight months after the first case appeared in America that Frankie came back to me changed.

It was late that evening, quiet and colder than usual, and I was standing in the kitchen pouring myself a hot drink. I didn't even hear him come through the door or step into the kitchen but I felt him at my back, his hands suddenly at my waist, moving quickly to slide around to my front. I knew his body intimately and wasn't very startled but he was freezing and I immediately thought about how cold it must've been outside.

I laughed, "Haven't heard from you in a while." I finished up my drink and relaxed into his hold.

The blonde doesn't speak instead his head nuzzled into my shoulder, pressing his whole body into mine.

I thought about the last conversation we'd had that resulted in him storming out. He'd been to an army recruitment day and was being prompted to get the infection for performance enhancement, there was talk of a non-human secor. He was convinced then and there and when he'd gotten to my place he had decided that we should go through the change together. I wasn't sure, I'd heard about the missing persons and people infecting children and couldn't see myself going through the whole ordeal, having to drink blood didn't sound great to me. Frankie got up and left, the door slamming was the last I heard of him for three weeks.

Back in the kitchen I touched his wrist, his skin so cold, I asked him if he wanted a drink, "Maybe we could find something else that would warm you up." I said while I started to rock us.

Still he said nothing, and had started to mouth at my neck. I wasn't overly nervous but his silence was unusual. It wasn't until I tried to turn and face him that his grip turned rough.

"C'mon Frankie, let up." I made sure to be clear when I spoke, i pulled at his hands while he sucked on the sensitive skin under my ear. "Stop it".

I went dead still when he growled, it was deep and gravelly. Then he started to move, pulling us from the kitchen to the hall, keeping behind me the whole time. All the lights were out, he must've turned them off when he came in. I didn't fight him much but I knew we'd have to have a talk.

Only after we got to my bedroom and the door was shut did he speak, "I missed you." It was the same soft timber he had, i hadn't expected him to say that.

I decided then that the chat could wait and reached for his face. I let my thumbs map his face in the dark, only his shape was visible to me. He lent in to my hands again surprising me with his attitude, he wasn't like this.

Frankie pressed his lips to mine, a deep kiss so slow I fell straight into it, his hands were gently caressing my back, long strokes from the nape of neck to my rear. It felt all so lovely. He took his time taking my clothes off while we continued to stand, only after he had me nude and on the bed did he strip.

Again his skin startled me with the chill of it, I huffed out a laugh, and told him to get under the covers. He wouldn't let me be on top of him at any point, he spent an awful amount of time kissing down my body under the sheets. It was like he was relearning my body.

When his mouth reached the apex of my legs I reacted for his head, he'd gotten his hair cut, it was close to his scalp now. His sucked on the fat of my thighs, nibbling and licking at the crease. I hummed out an "oh god", right as he descended onto my cunt. His tongue even felt cool when it did loops onto my clitoris. His right hand on the underside of my knee, while the fingers of his left kept my lips open for his flicking tongue.

He brought me to a slow orgasm, I sighed when he crawled up my body, and opened my mouth for another deep kiss, my own taste lingered. He kept his body close to mine, pressed fast against me when he did finally penetrate me, his hands searched for my own, before interlocking and bringing our hands to either side of my head.

I had to pull my face away from his to take a breath, the noises he pulled from me sounded loud, Frankie was taking deep breaths at my neck. I could feel so much in that moment and thought that it could've been because of the darkness, the slick running down my bum, Frankie's nipples rubbing into my chest, his sharp teeth.

A deep plunge and I feel him in the deepest part of me when he speaks, "It only hurts for a bit and I'll help you after."

I opened my eyes even though I couldn't see him, but a strange glow came from his face, like cats eyes Frankie's sapphire gaze was gleaming amber, and i knew then that he'd done the change.

Frankie never stopped moving when I startled, when I told him to stop again, his face moved toward my neck and i realized that i was about to be bitten. I tried to pull my hands away, to riggle but his hands and cock kept me in place.

The feeling of teeth breaking the skin as sensitive as the neck is one of the worst pains I'd ever felt. Stinging and hot, my back felt immediately wet from my blood. I screamed then first but couldn't keep it up, I couldn't even beg for him to stop, my voice had been stolen.

I think that I felt him both release my neck and cum at the same time. I felt him rear back and heard him groan into the air while he ground his hips into mine. I felt something dripping onto my chest and guessed it was my blood. Frankie never let go of my hands, so I couldn't feel the gaping holes in my throat, his cock softened, when it slipped out he lay down on his back before pulling me to lay on top of him.

Painful spasms started down my shoulders and cramped my hands, I clawed my fingers into Frankie's.

"You would've died if I didn't do this," he whispers through my whimpering.

The heat leaking from body and Frankie peeling the hair from the wet from my back was the last thing I felt before shutting my eyes.

[theangel-aziraphale]

*grabbie hands*

gimme the [REDACTED] story

I think Crowley won't forgive me for this one, but alas. The people want what they want!

So this was all the way back in the 18th century.

Crowley and I had made our ways to a small english village for work, nothing grand, just a minor miracle and the smallest demonic intervention. You can imagine my surprise when we realised that we were staying in the same lodgings! His room, just down the hall from mine!

Anyway, I digress. After work, we would visit a local tavern to discuss how our days went and have some downtime before eventually turning in. Pretending to be human so the locals weren't startled by our staying up all night to do... well, angelic or demonic things.

It was then we had the unfortunate luck to be approached by a gang of ruffians, saying they didn't like seeing "mollie boys" in their town. I knew what they meant, of course, and thought it'd be best if we just left with a quick miracle for them to forget about us so we could leave and head back to our rooms

Crowley, of course, had other plans.

With a scrape of his chair, he stands up and glares at the human in charge. I do remember the hairs on my corporation raising as I felt the static between them. The leader cowered away rather quickly and said all this nonsense about not wanting to start any trouble.

And that's when Crowley said: "If you don't like "mollie boysss" so much, why don't you fuck off and leave us alone then?"

I'm quite certain the chap saw Crowley's eyes then. They were close enough, and the tavern was rather brightly lit...

The leader took his squadron away rather quickly after that, saying we weren't worth the trouble after all.

Crowley was loathe to be praised about it. And I thought that would be the only instance we'd see of their horrendous manner.

But no. Now, this is where Crowley's acts of kindness come in.

On our way back to our lodgings, we saw that same gang again. Only this time, they were stalking some poor fellow off behind a house. At first, I thought perhaps we ought not get involved, free will, and all of that, and humans will do what they want outside of our gaze. But then they started chasing the poor boy!

Convinced they were not only going to bark, but bite the stranger we followed after them. Before they managed to hurt him, we stopped them all in time, frozen while we discussed what to do.

Now. This village was rather close to a bog. Not too deep, but it was deep enough that one would have a somewhat hard time getting out.

Crowley had suggested we send them there. Stuck and waist deep in muck, having to wait till someone passes by on the road to help them out.

I thought perhaps that was going easy on them.

In my... annoyance I commanded their attentions and spoke to them with all the grace and wrath I could muster.

"This night, you have done a disservice to God. In your hatred of your fellow man, you have forgotten to love him as your neighbour. To hate man is to hate God. You will think about this and you will weep. Till you can't anymore, and your eyes will sting with the pain that your hatred caused. Only when you repent will you be free of this misery. Only then, perhaps, God will accept you into their kingdom once more."

Really, it was an unnecessarily long speech. But I cannot help but monologue.

I sent them away with a miracle, their eyes already shedding tears when they saw my true form. Regrettably, I was so upset it had come out on its own.

Meanwhile, with the grace of... someone. Crowley woke up the human that had been targeted by the gang. Poor thing had been startled by the disappearance of the other humans, and Crowley had to make him calm with a soothing miracle.

It did help. The way he spoke to the fellow, whose name was Thomas, you'd have thought he was an angel.

We figured out where the poor thing lived, and we walked him home, learned about his life and his family.

Thomas was the sole carer of his elderly father, who can no longer walk or really take care of himself as he used to. His sister had skipped town to avoid the responsibility of it and had told Thomas their father hadn't deserved it. But the boy had only love in his heart, and we could see he had a difficult relationship with him. Of course, when humans are this sad about things, they tend to seek joy to make up for it. This is when he met Ben. It turns out he had been caught by the gang before, when he had been kissing Ben behind the stables just outside of town.

Of course, we pitied him, and Crowley, lovely demon that he is, gave him a rather hefty amount of money and told him to leave town one day. When he was ready to and when his father had passed on. There are places that are safe. They just need to be found.

I don't think Crowley was expecting the hug.

Needless to say, that was one of the many times Crowley's shown kindness to someone other than me. He likes to say he isn't, but don't let him fool you.

[bluejaysandblackbats]

An Oyster's Pearl

Fandom: DC Comics

Summary: Shortly after moving in with Joseph Wilson, Grant Wilson makes friends with a fellow pledge for a fraternity. During this time, Grant grapples with realizations about his childhood trauma, his sexuality, and his relationships with his father and siblings.

Chapters: 1/?

Characters: Grant Wilson, Joseph Wilson, Rose Wilson, Dick Grayson, Slade Wilson, William Randolph Wintergreen, Original Character(s)

Relationships: Grant Wilson/Original Character, DickJoey

Additional Tags: University AU, No Capes AU, Angst, Deaf Joseph Wilson, Fluff and Angst, Romance, Grant Wilson has a Sexuality Crisis, Frat Boy Grant Wilson

Chapter One: Pond Sludge

I wouldn't usually be caught dead at a frat party, but it was Joey's birthday week. Joey didn't tell me it was the beginning of the rush week. I felt like I owed him, though. When we were kids, I left him. I could've taken him with me, but I didn't. Now that we were going to the same school, I promised him we'd spend more time together. Besides, Tau Psi Omega had the best booze on campus. "So, who invited you to this crap? Your pencilneck boyfriend who can't be bothered to introduce himself to your family?" I asked. Joey stopped me on the way to the frat house, and he stood in front of me. "No, my boyfriend didn't invite me to this. He met Rose," Joey paused, "And he is not pencil-necked... He's actually kind of—." "That's enough sharing," I interrupted. I walked ahead of Joey to the entrance of the frat house, and the music was so loud I could feel the bass in my chest. "Where are the drinks?" Joey looked at me. "The drinks?" I asked. Joey nodded and led me to the kitchen. I thought it was weird that he was so familiar with the house, but I went along. Joey's drink of choice at a party was whatever pond sludge they passed off as jungle juice. I played it safe with one of the drinks in the cooler. It was a fruity something, but it was intense. I grinned. "Hey, Joey. Try this." "Only if you try this," Joey replied before handing me his solo cup. I took a sip and passed him my can. His drink was way stronger than mine, and I gagged. Joey laughed. "Vanilla and cranberry." "I know. I can taste it," I replied. Before I could say anything else, some guy started raving about football. Joey waved at someone in the crowd and left me alone with the Tau Psi sports nut. I didn't come to the party to talk to strangers. I went to the party to hang out with Joey, but this guy was relentless. "Hey, are you thinking about pledging?" he asked. I started to shake my head, and some guy yelled something about the observatory in Latin. "You better come with me." I shrugged and followed him upstairs. I figured I might as well see what they had going on while Joey was off having a good time without me. "I almost forgot what time it was." I think I made a joke to him about cults, and he chuckled before starting his speech. He paced the room while he explained the boundaries and guidelines for Tau Psi Omega members. I felt stupid for not realizing he was the president of the frat. "Now that we've gone over all that... Let the games begin!" he yelled. The other guys cheered, and another Tau Psi member announced the first game. Arm wrestling with a twist. I finished my drink and decided to join in. They brought in four tables and lined them up, and I had no problem with the first few guys. In fact, I think I was pretty impressive compared to most of the chumps there. Half of them were too drunk to hold their heads up anyway. I started getting bored and thought about calling it a night when I met him. We were evenly matched, or so I remember.

"Ken," he introduced himself. We'd been deadlocked for three minutes by that time.

"Grant," I replied. He looked me in the eyes, and I stared back into his. I thought it was his way of psyching me out like Joey would do all the time, but I quickly realized that was not the case. "Nice to meet you," Ken grinned. I blinked hard and thought it was just the alcohol kicking in, but I felt weird. Not sick weird. Different weird. I put a little more pressure on him, and he matched me. So, then came the mind games. "Wanna make this game interesting?" I asked. Ken nodded. "Loser has to take six shots," Ken explained. "It's a bet," I replied in agreeance, and his eyes flickered before he slammed my arm down so fast I almost didn't recognize I lost. As a man of my word, I watched as they poured each shot, and I downed them all. The arm wrestling eventually led to drinking games and real wrestling, and that's where things got a little fuzzy for me. I mostly remember Joey chewing me out on the way out of the party while feeling like a million bucks. Most of the party was blank, but I know I had a good time. "Are you insane? You could've killed yourself!" Joey walked backward, facing me. I staggered. "S'what?" I slurred. Joey stopped walking and sighed. "Pissed a' me?" "No... Well, yeah. A little, but I was the genius who decided it was a good idea to leave you alone," Joey replied. That pissed me off, but I wasn't in the mood for a fight. "You ditch me for your boyfriend or what?" I asked. I wasn't trying to be confrontational. It's just how the words came out. Joey's head dropped out of guilt, and I didn't know what to say to undo that. "How come Rose got to meet 'im? Is it 'cause you think 'm—?" I gagged and took a minute to collect myself. "Tha's unrelated... And I'm not homophonic. Homophonic?" Joey grinned and laughed at me. "H-o-m-o-p-h-o-b-i-c," he fingerspelled. I laughed too. "I said that... Didn't I?" I asked. I scratched my head, and Joey told me to forget it. "And for the record, I know you're not homophobic... You're just not friendly," Joey replied, "Not to say that this isn't pleasant. I like drunk Grant." "I like drunk Grant too," I chuckled, "I'm glad you don't hate me anymore." "Never did," Joey replied before taking my arm and leading me the rest of the way back to our apartment. I flopped on the couch and kicked my shoes off. I muttered something I couldn't recall, and Joey seemed confused. "I'm gonna pledge for that frat. They throw the best fucking parties—." I sat up and gasped. Joey looked at me like I was crazy. "Grant, go to bed," Joey commanded. "You guys fucked in that frat house," I replied before covering my mouth. "No more talking tonight. Go to bed," Joey closed his eyes and went to his room, and I laid back down. Still, I couldn't help but feel strange about how Ken looked at me. I closed my eyes and tried to sleep, tossing and turning until sleep crept in.

[ducktastic]

The long-long-long-looooooooooong awaited return of Clone High starts in a few weeks and I'm currently rewatching the original season for probably the thirty-seventh time and beginning to wonder about the story structure of the new season.

In the original show twenty years ago, most episodes were broken into three parallel stories, where the A-plot was a hyper-parodic spin on 90's teen dramas focusing on the high school shenanigans of the week and the ongoing love triangle between Abe, Joan, and Cleo, the B-plot was a wacky romp of Ghandi's that spun out of the A-plot's teen drama but went more off-the-rails and often played into the "very special episode" track where there was a life lesson to be learned beneath the hijinks, and a C-plot where Principal Cinnamon J. Scudworth had an almost entirely unrelated struggle that played on 90's sitcom tropes from the likes of Who's The Boss and Perfect Strangers (sometimes dipping into Looney Tunes).

I know that teen dramas continue to exist in the forms of shows like Riverdale, All-American, and Euphoria, but I don't know them well enough to say how the same tropes that Clone High originally pulled from the likes of Dawson's Creek, Party of Five, and Beverly Hills 90210 or how those shows have evolved to inform what new conflicts the show will pivot toward. We know that Ghandi is not coming back (being the prime source of contention that lead to the show's original cancellation twenty years ago) so if they're going to use the same type of episode structure, we'd likely need the silly B-plot to follow one of the new characters like Confucious or Harriet Tubman, unless they've decided that making a historical figure the wacky comic relief was the whole problem to begin with and either abandon the B-plot or come up with a new angle for it. And then there's Scudworth, and the major thing we know from previews is his conflict with the new co-principal appointed by the evil board of shadowy figures, so it looks like they'll have an ongoing rivalry to instigate those sitcom conflicts while also giving them a Wile E. Coyote vs Road Runner cause for cartoon violence and destruction.

I have the utmost faith in Christopher Miller and Phil Lord to produce simply the best entertainment in the world, it's just that, as a student of story structure, I have questions.

[lividria]

decided to go through the most up-to-date info doc of Vivlore, my fucking massive weird fantasy worldbuilding project to hopefully make something out of one day (ppprobably games but I can't tell anymore, hence why I just called it a worldbuilding thing I don't know what else to label it), and try (and likely failed) to make it legible to anyone outside my friend group to post here because why not and also none of my friends want to read Google Docs that are this long and I frankly cannot blame them so I may as well see if I can get strangers to

if anyone seeing this post somehow read either of my two previous Vivlore posts, a decent chunk of that info is outdated now, I stopped making them because right when I started making them I reworked a ton of shit which is reflected here and figured that making this means I don't have to make 500 posts, and this doc has all of the ways shit work as well as all of the stories, lots of stories, so many FUCKING STORIES, LIKE 30 OF THEM not actually written as stories but like cliffnotes of them I started trying to write this in full detail and gave up early on I'd rather get things off my bucket list first so it's just like Here's What's Happening

I'll go into more detail on what this even is under the cut, the doc's REALLY long (73 Google Doc pages, 3,470 words) so I'll try to at least give a pitch and continue the trend of writing my posts as if I'm someone important and have made something worth caring about that mostly stopped BECAUSE I was writing this instead of long tumblr posts lol

Vivlore is a mess. The general idea is that bickering of the Gods at the beginning of the universe led to a world essentially doomed for failure, with a magical force called Ardor that serves as physical manifestation of emotion being the main reason for it's downfall, as it can congeal into living beings, Vehemoths, and Vehemoths made of negative emotions are obviously malevolent. Zoom in on the continent of Vitalem, where humans have attempted to harness magic, called Imperium, to make their lives better and have only made things worse by inventing evil wizards and a gigantic, god-like being that has developed a grudge against the Pantheon and has indirectly unleashed an army of Vehemoths to wipe out almost everyone.

But there's also talking raccoon dogs, one of which is one of the main antagonists of the entire series and another has obtained the ability to defy the laws of physics, fish-people from space, Chess Piece-themed angels indifferent to the plights of man, nomadic space pirates planet-hopping the solar system to flee their own Vehemoths, Lovecraftian leviathans at the edge of reality, a megacorporation attempting to go back in time and stop Ardor's inception but in the meantime have turned multiple continents' worth of people into mindless drones, alchemist vampires, bugs that eat the fabric of reality, someone being banished into the multiverse after death to be used as a weapon, and comedic levels of tragedy and death tied to just about every named individual to the point that has become an inside joke with my friends that Oh Yeah Everyone Suffers In Vivlore, all in a series that's so long that even if I started making something out of it today I'd never be able to complete all of my ideas before my death.

I.. Need to add the origins of Vivlore, for full context. I have one of those friend groups that has inside jokes ten layers deep while also taking them incredibly seriously and finding peak entertainment in worming stupid shit into unironic projects. Years ago, we started Jimlore as a gag where we'd find pictures of raccoon dogs, name them, and give them stories in a connected universe that also involved basically any project idea I had ever made up at the time, and there was also Chessodia, a comedic roleplay in a chaotic world with no rules and no defined plot that is the very essence of chaos, and if an inside joke wasn't canon to Jimlore, it was canon to Chessodia, which is canon to Jimlore. Around the time I transitioned (The original Jim was my PFP, hence why Jimlore even started), I realized I really liked making serious stories, and I had all of this material right here waiting for me. I lifted a ton from Jimlore, Chessodia, and other projects of mine and stitched them together into Vivlore and it just spiraled out of control from there because I have so little time to actually do things I just have ideas all the goddamn time.

A running gag in this doc is that I kept accidentally making ideas really similar to stuff I'm a fan of (Let me know if you notice any I might've missed and didn't call out, lol), and I'd list off the specific things that inspired me, but I can't. The essence of literally everything I have ever played/been a fan of is in here, all in one weird stew and I can barely fucking pinpoint what to best generally compare it to, and it'd be misleading if I tried. Only thing I can say for certain is that a lot of the locations and monster ideas were particularly inspired by Terraria and it's mods, that's my favorite game of all time, but those are barely present in this doc, actually? I focus on basically just the plot points and characters, who are so all over the place, and most of the monsters mentioned aren't super Terraria-y. Certain ideas are easily traceable, like the character, Caedes, essentially being my own Agent Black from Iconoclasts, the White & Black Knights' first iterations were inspired by Morpho & Galacta Knight respectively from the Kirby series, but others are like several-year-old sixth-tier iterations of characters that bounced from a project idea to Jimlore to Chessodia to something unrelated back to Jimlore and then finally to Vivlore, and some have gone from Vivlore to Chessodia and back again. My pinned post on my blog has a list of games and series-es I'm into, you're going to be wading into a blob of all of those. Not everything in equal measure, but still.

I'm pretty sure studying the contents of Vivlore would give a startlingly accurate psychoanalysis of me as a person, but I'm too stupid to do that.

This is one of the best things I've ever made. Also by far the thing with the most effort. This single doc took like a month (It took me 3 nights to update it to post here, as I mentioned I don't get much time to actually do things lol), Vivlore has existed for almost 3 years now, Jimlore existed for like, 2, I think, and a bunch of ideas stem back to as far back as when I was 7 years old, or so. If anyone reads this, please tell me, I'd love to know, I will elaborate on whatever the hell from this you want me to, there's so much more I can write essays about. So far, only one of my friends has let me know they've made it towards the end and they were skimming like crazy.

Eh, who am I kidding, nobody's gonna read this. May as well try, though. It'd be really funny if someone plagiarized me for posting my entire plans on Tumblr, too.

[playingpretender]

story time under the cut

today i tried to improv mormor with someone, and i started out by sending them a copy/paste prompt. the other person's responses were pretty aggressive, ('get fucked', 'I won't listen to you', 'don't be a nag') which threw me off a little - but i figured it was a narratively cogent response to jim's fear of emotional vulnerability - and that if we escalated the conflict between him and sebastian, we would come to an interesting scene (my intention is usually to move from texts to paragraphs).

i say that but i also got this feeling multiple times throughout the text-based roleplaying that they weren't engaging with me in the same way i was with them. for example, right at the beginning, they accused my character of acting this way due to wanting a relationship - which struck me as kind of meta and 4th wall breaking, since we were both on the tag for this pairing and both knew, as the writers, that the big picture story is our characters' relationship, their romance. me personally, i don't like to draw back the curtain that way. maybe they just wanted to have sebastian be perceptive and accustomed to jim's behavior, but even then, dropping that in the first couple messages puts me in an awkward position. now, the subtlety of my character's romantic attraction is no longer mine to decide. it has to be obvious enough that sebastian picked up on it, and picked up on it before they started talking.

so i decided to take kind of an overbearing/possessive/authoritative approach in response, to justify an employer having a very vocal attraction to one of his employees (for those not in the know of my millions of readers, mormor is the relationship between the villain Moriarty and his henchman Moran, Jim and Sebastian respectively) this was also in the hopes of forcing resolution through conflict.

we arrived at the zenith of the argument, and i asked them ooc if they wanted to continue and they just disconnected. which isn't bad inherently whatsoever. it is good to leave when you want to. but, it left me with this really bad feeling - i guess because we'd been writing for almost half an hour and during that time, i never knew how they felt about it, but i was sensing rejection (adhd king here) . so when they disconnected it was like that rejection was made real....

i think that my response here was impacted by my mental illness, but i want to also consider that it was still a tangible rejection. we had sketched out the dynamic between our characters, and neither of us enjoyed it, so it ended. this is something i've been on both sides of many, many times. i mean, who hasn't gotten weirdly bitchy with a stranger on omegle or rolechat once in their lifetime. or tried a roleplay that didn't work out. or had to suddenly tap out of a scene unexpectedly. it's life

[gatheringbones]

[“So I stole things and protected my heart and learned to be a little pirate. Then, one day, Jonny and I were set adrift. And this is how it happened:

We were in the emergency room with my mom ‘cause she had OD'd on something again and they'd probably lock her up for a few weeks for observation ‘cause that's what they usually did .... We tried to call our dad, who lived in the next town over, but I guess he was off drunk somewhere. That was back in the day, before answering machines, so we couldn't let him know what was up .... I was nine and Jonny was ten, or I was ten and Jonny was eleven, I'm not sure. Anyway, we were alone there in the waiting room and this tall cop with pimples came over and said, “Now, do you kids have somewhere you can go?" and Jonny answered," Uh- huh" and tapped my foot with his, which is sibling code for “Say what I say, do what I do," so I nodded and said, “Yeah, uh- huh." Then we walked out. Just like that. I turned to him and said, “Where are we going?" He shrugged and said, “Home." It was Thanksgiving. We watched TV and ate dry roasted peanuts for dinner. Jonny was so funny that first night, he cracked jokes and we laughed for hours. We ran around the house, being silly, and doing whatever the fuck we wanted to. I had moments of fear that night, but they weren't as bad as the fear I felt when Mom was around and sick, plus they were quickly swept aside by a feeling of freedom and relief I had never experienced before.

When we started to get low on food I showed Jonny how good I was at stealing. He was a good talker, very charming. We both had angel faces. We worked it out so he would go talk to the clerk and I would go take stuff. The easiest place to steal from was the gourmet store ‘cause it was big, with tons of blind spots and only two clerks. So we ate mostly gourmet food. Little packages of expensive imported things that fit so nicely into my pockets. Also, we started drinking booze with a sense of purpose. Being fucked up took the edge off it all, made it easier not to care. And there was the added benefit that the more we drank the less we seemed to need real food. Frozen pizza or aerosol cheese and crackers was just fine. It was always easy to get alcohol. Easy to steal or get someone to buy. Always around. Natural. It's weird that after that day, in the emergency room, no one ... no doctor or social worker ever asked us if someone was taking care of when they would lock up my mom. It's even weirder that my dad never asked either. He lived about twenty minutes away, and we'd spend every Friday night and Saturday with him, but he made it very clear clear that he thought our mom was totally nuts and didn't want have anything to do with her, or even talk about her. He wouldn't even come to the door when he'd pick us up, he said if he did she'd just “cause a scene." So instead he'd park outside and honk his horn. We'd go to his house, which was nice and normal, and didn't smell. He had lots of food. We'd steal food and money from him. Then he'd drop off Sunday morning. Sometimes to an empty house, sometimes no Mom was wasted and would come and go or would be locked up. She never really wondered who took care of us either. Maybe she figured Dad took care of us when she was away.

It was even stranger that the cops parked outside my mom's house every day for about three years. Every day, watching the house in the rearview mirror of the driver's side. Just watching. How could they not know? What were they doing? We knew they knew the house They even had a name for it (which I won't repeat). But they rarely came to the door unless we called them. Maybe that's what they were doing, just waiting for something horrible to happen. Dumb fucks probably even thought they were protecting us.

The first other kid pirate I met was Dominic. He was scrawny petite but tough and no one fucked with him. He'd been in reform school, or had almost been in reform school, which was almost as good. He was my brother's friend but he was cool to me too. He showed me how to rig up my jacket right so it was easier to swipe things. A cut inside the left pocket, one at the top of each sleeve( slide long thin things into, then they'd fall to the bottom of the sleeve caught by the inner lining). He turned us on to pot. I tried to copy the way way he smoked cigarettes. His mom was a slut, or she beat him, or something like that… or both. He introduced us to other kids who liked to drink and get high. I liked them. And they liked me. And they didn't give me any shit about being a freak. They thought it was funny, and just fine. I was quickly growing into a really large girl. By age twelve I was five feet seven inches and weighed 180 pounds. Other kids picked on me a lot. For my size, but even more so because I was a genderfuck. I had become very androgynous and it really pissed people off that they couldn't tell what I was. I refused all rules, especially girl rules. But the rough kids didn't care, and the more I hung out with them, the more the other kids eased off. When I started hanging out with even older kids who were actual criminals, the asshole kids stopped bothering me completely. I loved them so dearly, the car thieves and purse snatchers, petty criminals and drug dealers. They accepted me completely. They treated me with respect and made it clear that I belonged to them. They had beautiful names like Snooky, Miami, Stitches, and Peach. Names that were earned.”]

Kate Huh, from Kid Pirate In Suburbia, from Dangerous Families: Queer Writing on Surviving, edited by Mattilda Bernstein Sycamore