#i’m not sure posting this will help anyone

[caspertheloudassghost]

I was sleeping and right before my alarm went off I dreamt of a scene where some hotshot demonic cultivator sends a message to Cang Qiong asking to spar and speak with the sects “resident expert on demonic cultivation” with the implication that it’s a peak lord and the peak lord meeting has them asking who tf that could be and tossing around various ideas while YQY and SQQ avoid each others gazes

(Unnamed shidi 1-adopted but raised with demonic ancestry; SQH-trades in demonic realm and has a secret demon lover he sneaks into the sect [HOW DO YOU ALL KNOW THAT?!]; LQG-expert on fighting demonic anything; MQF-regularly treats demonic afflictions and as such is the most researched on how it works)

In the dream I was so sure SQQ would reveal himself/declare he’d be the one to deal with it but awake I’m convinced he’d keep silent, so everyone has to go and meet the DC cuz they aren’t letting anyone go alone who knows what he plans to do

Anywho post dream territory but the day comes and SQQ is half convinced he’s about to be thrown out of the sect

DC: I’m looking for WYZ’s successor, Xiao Jiu

Everyone slowly turns to look at SQQ cuz by now everyone’s heard the sect leader call him that (insert theory that the Shen in his name was picked up soon after WYZ was killed. Like, on the way to meet the previous peak lords kinda soon and possibly stolen from one of the dead disciples)

SQQ steps forward with everyone’s gazes on him, seething (how dare he use that name) and keyed up from the last month of spiraling, deciding to out with a bang: successor! What fucking successor? To be such would imply the bastard taught me anything and even worse to suggest that I continued using it

DC: then how’d you know all his newly developed techniques? Like, you’ve definitely been seen using them when he trained you

SQQ: he didn’t train me in shit I was his lab rat he used to see if something would kill him before trying himself

Anywho, I have a lot of points that I wanna fit into this but idk where they’d go

Righteous cultivation is the growing of internal energy usually by advancing yourself in some way (physically, spiritually, mentally) and at points letting environmental energy pass around you, whereas Demonic cultivation is from siphoning of energy external to yourself, much faster but much more draining to your environment and others. Usually incompatible with human cultivation bases due to a lack of central, inborn demonic core causing most demonic cultivators to end up going insane from the patchwork of energies with no central focus.

Because of this any who stay somewhat sane gain a lot of power and recognition

WYZ theorized that if you were to steal a demonic core and consume it, you could solve the issue of energy focus. He used SJ to test this theory and found that it created a pseudo demon. The more SJ cultivated demonically, the more demonic features he presented.

SQQ has mysteriously never once gone to Qian Cao Peak. Not during his discipleship and definitely not during his tenure as peak lord. MQF hasn’t realized this cuz SQQ keeps sneaking in and fudging the papers.

His Shizun believed SJ was part demon and brought him into the sect as part test and part curiosity. They may or may not have also mildly experimented on him, but at least they helped him avoid qian cao

Eventually his Shizun came to the conclusion that he’s the only one on the peak with common sense and any strategic ability, so he became head disciple

SQQ is aware that his qi deviations are mostly due to having a demonic foundation and spending years trying to feed it with traditional cultivation. Not sure if this means he has a really tiny golden core or a really poorly fed demonic one or both at once like a half demon. I’m leaning towards both cuz of QJ Shizun experimentation

SQQ has retractable claws (he keeps them retracted and hidden under thick gloves), sharp teeth he must file down (they fall out after a year and the next set grow back sharper, during this time he almost always has his face covered by a fan), a deep-set craving for meat (and QJ serves only vegetarian food), and his ears have a slight point and rest slightly higher on his head than with human faces (he’s pretty sure they keep moving slightly higher each year to become like fox ears, like the fox core he consumed. He hates how it still affects him even without active demonic cultivation. He hides the ears with elaborate hairstyles and mourns his old body)

The other peak lords see his fan as him hiding his intentions from them and not showing his face as hiding dishonesty. The gloves are a testament to his refusal to touch what’s below him. His insistence on eating meat based foods at PL meetings emphasize his delicate constitution. His increasingly elaborate hairstyles display his arrogance for all to see. Listen they already think he’s a spoiled young lord the increased distance caused by his weird cultivation doesn’t help

SQQ wins the spar with the demonic cultivator with ease even when using only demonic cultivation techniques 15 years out of practice.

PLs are surprised to see the other DC fights exactly like SJ did when he first entered the sect (ruthless no holds barred street fighting. Daggers and concealed weapons of any kind other than spiritual swords. Plucking leaves flying flowers is used and now clearly seen as a demonic technique. SQQs fan blades are sharpened. Dust is thrown in eyes and joints are snapped and male parts are targeted.) They can easily see where SQQ must have learned it if that’s how all demonic cultivators fought (like demons). Even if they despise the lack of honor in this fight, at least it’s mutual

At some point during the fight SQQs more demonic traits are revealed (his hair coming undone to reveal his ears, sharp teeth on display, claws having long since torn through his gloves

Most demonic cultivators are self taught through trial and error and rarely have the privilege of learning to fight from masters. Additionally, due to their tendency to go insane, it’s common for most interactions between DCs to turn deadly at any point, so experienced DCs have no room for error or leniency. Fights are determined when one is trapped and begging for their life, and the other decides whether to spare them.

DC was not expecting the QJ PL to be this good, WYZs disciple or no

SQQ states that he was not WYZs disciple and reminds DC that he was the one who killed WYZ

DC asks why and SQQ explains that the three reasons he stayed with WYZ were a)blackmail, b)fear for his life, and c)to find his brothers remains and put him to rest. Imagine his surprise when he finds his brother doing perfectly well in a cultivation sect and WYZ about to kill him. Suddenly points b and c are irrelevant and point a is only removed upon WYZs death so it wasn’t a hard choice

The two walk to a nearby pavilion to discuss techniques and trade stories, with equal parts sarcasm, insults, and laughter

DCs are usually quite willing to trade less personal techniques outside of battle due to the “self taught” aspect of their cultivation

Somehow they end up talking about how brothels are safe spaces for DCs as they are great sources of information and less likely to call the Xianxia cops than inns

PLs are in the background shocked the two could go from a death match to the friendliest conversation they’ve ever seen SQQ display. YQY is salty and guilty in equal parts. LQG somehow comes to the conclusion that all of his and SQQs early interactions were actually SQQ trying to be friendly. SHQ sees this revelation play out in real time and points out that the murder attempt was a misunderstanding. QQQ is begrudgingly impressed to see prissy SQQ so willing to get down and dirty. MQF has been quietly having a crisis at the quality of his work to never realize this and comes to the realization that he’s never personally examined SQQ

MQF comes over and insists on checking over SQQ, who basically goes “fuck it. Sure” and all of my initial bullet points come to light

Everyone loses their shit finding out that SQQ is apparently famous among the DC community due to being the mad lad ex slave who not only convinced WYZ to take on a disciple, but also the one to kill that bastard.

End conclusion SQQ gains a DC friend and the other PLs agree to that as enrichment and stress relief for SQQ.

[plor-bindery]

(Re)Bound: Polar Night/Midnight Sun by me (@toomuchplor)

It’s been nearly a year since I started bookbinding, so I decided it was time to revisit the first fic I ever set.

I'll do a post with side-by-side photos another time but suffice it to say, it's not so clear to me that it's like 'first book bad, this book good'.

And if you're like, wow, Plor is posting a lot of binds this week -- you are correct. I'm on vacation this week, but also I'm wrapping up a few things that were WIPs for weeks. Lots of victory laps, but this is the last one!

I did my first typeset in Word before quickly switching to InDesign (which I have for work reasons anyway) so I wound up designing from scratch. (By the way, I’m very happy to share typesets if anyone is ever interested — for personal use only, of course!)

I used Canva to create the cover page and chapter headers in this cute watercolour style. And the end papers are pretty chiyogami from a paper store in Toronto.

I rounded the spine, but it didn’t need backing as the swell wasn’t much. I am still figuring out rounding for sure — the hardest part is getting the text block and spine stable enough to trim the head and tail straight afterwards, at least for me!

Sewn faux double core silk endbands on a 2 mm leather cord core.

I dithered about the case cover art for weeks while I did a million other projects. I knew I wanted to try something new but couldn’t find the right approach or technique to inspire me. Then I randomly tried a paper onlay for a blank book I was making and had my eureka moment.

The cover design is drawn by me in Illustrator, then cut from chiyogami by my cricut. I used a PVA/corn starch paste 50-50 mix to glue on the paper directly to the cover before the gold HTV outline was applied. The gold is partly decorative and partly to protect the edge of the onlay from friction/wear.

I am obsessed with how this looks. It’s quilting and paper art and mosaic all together? I can see myself doing this style more for sure.

One challenge is that once it’s glued up, you have exactly one chance to place the paper onlay on the cover — you can’t pick it up and try again because even with mix, the glue marks the fabric. So you need steady hands and good planning. I’m wondering about transfer tape or maybe even post it flags to help guide me in future projects? I'm pleased with the result but it could be better.

After all that sweating and work, I was paranoid about wear and tear on the paper, so I made a dust jacket. (Shout out to @citrusses for advice and emotional support during lamination time, and to lately for chatting with me and advising me as I did the paper onlay design and work!)

[nakoyaps]

YOU’LL BE IN MY HEART

atsumu miya x insecure! reader

“DON’T LISTEN TO THEM, CAUSE WHAT DO THEY KNOW?”

you should’ve known it wouldn’t be easy dating ATSUMU MIYA. he’s a well-known student athlete, and you two aren’t even in the same social circle.

of course, people realized that he changed. from the dude who always basked in the spotlight— to the taken man protecting his girlfriend’s feelings? what a wuss.

despite his reputation of being carefree and unbothered, it surely worried him when the love of his life was suddenly hurt and disheartened.

𐙚𓏲⋆ ִֶָ ๋𓂃 ⋆ᡣ𐭩

“ya alright, pumpkin?” atsumu asks, worried.

it was saturday— your weekly movie night at his place. despite cuddling and having a cozy movie playing in the back, you couldn’t help but replay everyone’s comments over and over in your head.

you turned to face him. seeing the look of concern on his face, you couldn’t help but not want to worry him.

“i’m okay, tsumu.”

he raises a brow, doubt evident in his eyes. “really? it don’t seem like yer okay..”

it was hard to lie, especially when he knows everything about you— in and out.

you sigh in defeat, “promise you won’t get all pissy?”

he gives you a look of mock offense, bringing his hand up to his chest. “i am not pissy.”

you roll your eyes, deciding to tell him the truth;

“your fans seem to prefer you dating someone else..”

he paused. no sassy remark, nothing. “excuse me?”

“you’re a student-athlete, and your not exactly bad looking either..” you state, your voice lowering at the last bit.

he stares, baffled. “what the hell does that mean?”

“it means you’re like, practically the perfect boyfriend.. theoretically, i suppose. but, i’m barely considered conventionally attractive.“

even with how obvious you were making it, atsumu didn’t seem to understand.

“why would that matter?”

“because that’s how it is. a pretty girl can date an ugly guy, but not vice versa.”

he squints his eyes, the expression on his face clearly annoyed.

“so what? yer gorgeous.”

“maybe to you—“

before you could make a self-deprecating comment, he cuts you off. “yeah, and thats all that matters.”

you tilt your head, confused. “you don’t get it—“

again, cutting you off. “nah, yer the one that don’t get it. don’t listen to those nobodies, what do they know ‘bout us?”

before you could speak up, he continued making his statement. “they don’t know ya like i do. yer gorgeous, intelligent, talented.. and ya deal with my bullcrap better than anyone else.” he chuckles, “they don’t know what i’m like behind closed doors either, darlin’. i guarantee yer the only girl for me, the only one that can keep up with me.”

maybe, just maybe, dating an athlete isn’t such a bad idea.

you try to suppress the smile tugging at your lips, not going unnoticed by atsumu. being the jerk that he is, he pulls you closer, pressing a gentle kiss on your forehead.

the only words you could describe his gaze was loving and adoration. with a dreamy sigh, he says, “imma marry ya one day, alright?”

you nod bashfully, your voice turning into a small whisper. “i’d like that..”

HELLO FRIENDSS!! haven’t been active lately lol, even if i do only post once a month.. i took a hiatus during feb for reasons even unknown to myself other than lack of motivation, but i’m happy my kenma fic is doing well, and i hope you all can enjoy this one as well :)

[takenbypeter]

My Blond Pretty Princess

Benjamin Poindexter x reader

Words: 595

A/N: got this after someone commented that Dex was their blond pretty princess in one of my posts and idk if they wanna be tagged but I thought it was adorable to call him that

Did Dex love the idea of you going with your friends to a club all by yourself? No. But did he know that it would be wrong to do anything to stop you? Yes. And while his original plan was to go with you, (just to make sure you were safe), work had to thwart his way. Fortunately he had just about finished up when his phone rang. 

Your contact photo filled his screen and he paused instantly thinking the worst. Without getting too ahead of himself he picked up the phone, hearing the sound of muffled music and cars in the background. Then came your voice, “Dex!” He moved away from his phone as you practically shouted in his ear. “I miss you! I’m not having any fun without you!” 

Dex’s smile grew crooked as he relished in the fact that you wanted him there. Someone missed him. And not just someone. You. “Are you still there?”

“I’m sitting outside on the curb.” 

“I’ll be there soon,” is all he said before he took off. It didn’t take long for Dex to reach you. And as soon as he pulled up sure enough there you were perched on the curb. 

Putting the car hazard lights on he got out and opened the passenger side before kneeling to your side. 

“Hey,” he said and your head slowly turned towards him. Your eyes widened in excitement at the sight of Dex as a smile spread along your face. “Hey.”

“Are you okay? Can you stand?”

You nodded, your head began to feel heavy while you started to push yourself up off the ground. “I’m only a tiny bit tipsy but I’m fine.” Is what you said but your swaying movements that prompted him to grab your waist, proved otherwise. 

With one hand around you he walks you to the car and gently sat you in the passenger seat. Only after making sure all your limbs were inside, he shut the door then joined on the other side. 

The car ride home was surprisingly quiet on your end. In fact Dex was the one pulling the conversation from you. 

“Did you have fun?” The question was genuine. 

You shrugged, your eyes closed while your head lay against the headrest. “It was alright at first but then it just got boring, and then some people tried to join our group but I wasn’t really about that. I didn’t really want to be there with anyone except you.”

Dex’s cheeks rose at knowing that you felt the way he constantly felt. You fell quiet again but he noticed your head turn to his direction. 

He kept his eyes on the road in front but could see you staring at him from his peripheral. 

“What is it?”

“Do you know you’re my pretty princess?”

Dex tried his best to contain his laugh but your slurred words genuinely caught him off guard. 

“I thought I was a knight in shining armor.”

“Sometimes but you’re my princess…you know why?” You waste no time in sharing the answer with him. “Cause a princess protects her kingdom and keeps it in order. She helps her people but she also needs help from a knight. That’s just like you. You protect me but sometimes you need help too.”

“So does that make you the knight?”

“Absolutely,” your word drifted off as you faced forward again and rested your head back as sleep was beginning to catch up with you. 

“My blond pretty princess,” were your last words as you drifted off into la la land. 

[noperopesaredope]

So I Had a Dream the 501st Got a Dog-

This is the greatest thing I have come up with and my best contribution to this fandom.

So the 501st have just finished a battle, and unfortunately, a village was pretty much destroyed in the crossfire. They are currently helping out survivors, and Fives and Echo are looking around for people when they stumble across a big ol' dog. It’s basically an Irish Wolfhound. Actually, it straight up is an Irish Wolfhound.

The two of them decide to take it along with them and ask people if they know who it belongs to. One family says that it's their elderly neighbor's dog, but he didn't survive the fighting. So now this dog is without an owner. Fives and Echo asks if there might be anyone who can or is willing to take the dog in, and they are reminded that everyone literally just lost their homes and they have other things to worry about right now. Fives and Echo look at each other, look at the dog, and immediately sprint over to Rex with the dog in arms.

Fives: Captain, can we please keep the do-

Rex: No.

Echo: But sir-

Rex: We are not keeping the dog.

Fives: But just look at it! 

Dog: *Is adorable*

Fives: Do you have no kindness in your heart? Why would you do something so cruel to a homeless little puppy? Are you really willing to have it fend for itself in the middle of a war torn area with nobody to take care of it? Are you willing to abandon such a sweet, innocent dog?

Rex:

Rex: We'll take it back to Coruscant and find it a new home.

Fives & Echo: Yeah!

Rex: But don't get attached to it. We are not keeping it. This whole thing is temporary.

(Spoilers: It was, in fact, not temporary)

So they bring the dog onto the ship and into the barracks where Fives and Echo begin introducing it to everyone. Rex, meanwhile, is busy doing captain stuff and honestly forgets about the dog. But after they leave and are in space, he gets a call from Anakin about some reports or something. Rex suddenly realizes he completely forgot to tell Anakin about the dog or even ask him if it was okay, and begins to panic. He rushes over to the barracks and says they need to hide the dog.

Shenanigans ensue, and Anakin stumbles upon them in the middle of an attempt to hide the dog in the most ridiculous way possible.

Anakin: Um, what is going on here?

Rex: Sir, I can explain-

Fives: This is the 501st's new pet dog!

Rex: I already told you, we are not keeping the dog. We are just taking it to Coruscant to find it a new home.

Fives: General, can we keep the dog?

Rex: No, we can't-

Anakin: Sure, we can keep the dog.

Rex: *Stares into Anakin's soul*

Anakin: What? I’m technically the general, so my word is final. And I say we should keep the dog!

Rex: We’re in the military fighting in a war! We spend most of our time either on the battlefield or on this ship! How are we possibly going to be able to take care of a dog?

Anakin: We’ll figure something out!

Rex still tries to convince the others that they cannot keep the dog, but then Ahsoka comes in and immediately loves the dog.

Ahsoka: *Aggressively petting the dog* Who is this?!

Fives: We found this dog last campaign.

Ahsoka: Are we going to keep it?

Fives: You should ask the captain.

Ahsoka: *Turns to Rex with the biggest tooka eyes in existence* Rex, can we keep it?

Rex:

Rex: We can keep the dog.

...........

There's quite a bit more (and most of the funniest stuff happens after this), and I might want to post some other stuff for this, but I'll add that stuff in separate posts. Also, feel free to send me asks about it or something.

I'm probably gonna call this the "501st Pet Dog AU" and will tag it as such. Stay tuned for more!

Edit: (Guys, I added a second and third part, and will likely be adding the 4th tomorrow. Here's the link to part 3, which has links to all previous parts)

[iwoulddieforher]

She Doesn't Get Out Much | Casey Novak x Alex Cabot | Part 2

To read the summary and the previous works, check this post here.

This chapter summary: Casey gets the support she needs- it's tough to accept help, though. Mild warning for discussions of substance abuse disorders/exercise dependency issues, but it's all in the context of healing from them.

[2]

“If you don't start eating,” the notorious, cutthroat judge said, “I’m going to start spoon-feeding you as if you're one of my kids.” 

Casey Novak pressed her lips into a thin line and gave her mentor turned friend a pointed stare, which Mary Clark didn't even flinch under- rather, she flexed her eyebrows and provided her with a patronizing smile. 

The redhead sighed, raising the soup to her mouth and blowing on it briefly before slipping the spoon into her mouth, tilting it back, and swallowing. 

It was a dense mixture of broth, vegetables and chicken, well seasoned and proportioned but the flavor of it still weighed heavy on her tongue. She supposed it had been a while since she had eaten something indulgent like this was. It felt uncomfortable, but Mary had directed her to do so, and Casey wasn't in the habit of disobeying the elder woman.

“Good,” Mary commented, “Now, tell me how the job has been. I haven't seen you in a couple weeks, and in white collar you used to ask me to dinner at least twice a month- what's been going on?” 

“You’re very direct,” Casey muttered under her breath, emerald eyes flickering to the side, “Most people would have the decency to wait until the person they invited out begins that type of conversation.” 

“You don't become a judge and then half-way decent defense attorney by dancing around the point, dear,” came the easy reply, and Casey shot her another look that very clearly rejected the notion the other woman was only a ‘half-way decent’ attorney. Casey thought Mary Clark might be the most admirable person she knew. 

They were both sitting comfortably in a small up-scale restaurant, a staple of Mary’s collection of small esteemed yet hideaway locations for when she wanted to drag her protege out for a meal. It used to happen very frequently, called on by either one- Mary would send Casey an invitation if she decided too much time had passed since she’d seen her, and Casey would call on her when she needed advice or otherwise some form of solace. 

With her parents in a different state, it felt odd to admit, but Clark had filed seamlessly into her life as her emergency contact. It felt natural, having Mary tuck her under her wing, offering the wise experience decades of being at the forefront of law had provided her, and the emotional support she had needed. Even now, when Casey had gone to the prosecution and Mary parted to the defense, she felt more comfortable sharing her mind with her than perhaps anyone else. She wasn't entirely sure why she had so stubbornly been avoiding her.

“It’s been a bad couple months,” Casey replied vaguely, stirring her spoon idly and watching the liquid ripple under the ministration, “I haven't … had time for leisure.” 

“You’ve been working yourself to the bone,” Mary commented wryly. “What is it, Casey? You’ve picked some kind of poison. You can tell me. Drinking? Drugs? Sex?” 

“No-!” Casey snapped in an astonished and indignant huff, taken aback by Mary’s forwardness, although part of her wasn't particularly surprised by it. Mary did not make it a habit to beat around the bush, and it was obvious Casey wasn't doing as well as she could be, so of course Clark would be aggressive in her attempt to help her. It was familiar, though, the way Mary engaged with her, even if it still did make her a bit flustered to hear possible abuses said so brazenly. It took a lot to fluster someone as forward as Novak, so that was certainly saying something. 

“I’m not addicted to anything,” Casey denied fervently, and honestly, because she wasn't. “I haven't taken anything I’m not supposed to, and I haven't been sleeping around, if that was the implication.” 

“Sex addiction doesn't necessarily imply sleeping around, you can be addicted to sex with only one partner-” Mary half-shrugged and raised her teacup daintily, her pinkie finger extended automatically which made Casey snort internally at the juxtaposition between her professionalism and the vulgarity of her words. 

“-but, I digress. Okay. So, what's wrong with you, then? I’ve reared four children and one manchild husband. I've heard and seen far more than I need to in order to know I can handle what you're going to tell me.” 

Casey stayed stubbornly quiet. 

She knew, internally, that she was inevitably going to tell her, because of course she would. She knew Mary was aware of that too. There was no version of this conversation in which she’d successfully be able to keep her struggle a secret, and she didn't want there to be one either, she did want to tell her. 

It was a way to reassure herself, though, that her vulnerability was accepted- if she made Mary work her for it, then there was no way Mary could ever blame her for opening up, not that she … that was a bad thing to think, wasn't it? 

“Don't disappear into that thick head of yours, Casey.” The sound of an impatiently tapping finger against the white tablecloth snapped Casey out of her internal dialogue and she swallowed, blinking back into present focus. Mary was looking at her expectantly.

“I started working at SVU,” Casey said, then, in an uncharacteristically small voice, a note of defeat in her tone. 

Mary rewarded her for the slight lower of her guard by immediately ceasing the motion of her finger, and her eyes shifted from stern and expectant to almost maternal-like in care. This was the dynamic between the two- so long as Casey displayed the level of trust, respect and expectation the elder obliged her too, Mary would be her place of attention and support. 

“Well, that much I’m aware of. You’ve asked me for help on some of your cases,” Mary nodded, tilting her head to the side. “Has something happened?”

Casey felt nauseous immediately, the line of questioning making her stomach flip uncomfortably. She could feel her shoulders urging her to let them hunch inward, so she forced herself to do the exact opposite, pushing her shoulders down and backwards while straightening her spine. Mary watched her do so with a disguised sense of interest, and although Casey knew she was watching, it didn't add or lessen the discomfort she felt. 

She felt childlike under Mary’s intent gaze, but then again, she was the same age as Mary’s own children, so she supposed it wasn't that ridiculous of a thought. Casey felt small and somehow even weaker, more tired. She didn't want to admit that. She had worked exceptionally hard so that no one could ever identify she was struggling, and despite knowing she had to admit it if she wanted to improve the situation at all, it was a difficult thing to do. 

A swell of anxiety rose in her middle, blocking her throat, and she coughed awkwardly. This wasn't like the defiant silence she had provided Alex with, where both didn't quite know what to say or if they were even ready to converse at all, she simultaneously wanted to pour it all out and run for the hills. It reminded her oddly of telling her father she had received a misconduct for fighting in the school courtyard, steeling herself desperately and yet hopelessly against his fiercely stoic gaze. She needed to say it, and she knew she wasn't going to be punished for it, but she just couldn't bring herself to do so. 

“Casey,” the elder woman’s voice was far gentler now, “You know there's nothing you could tell me that could sway my opinion of you, yes?” 

“I know,” Casey muttered hoarsely around the frog lodged firmly in her throat, “I don't know why this is so hard for me. It shouldn't be.”

“Nonsense,” Mary insisted, “Come now, dear. You take as much time as you need to find the words, but please do share them with me.” 

The redhead nodded slowly, trying to ease tension from her stuff muscles by letting out a shaky exhale. The stress wasn't subsiding the way she had hoped it would. 

Ironically, and in a way Casey thought to herself was wildly naive, she almost wished it was Alex across from her- Alex who had already seen, who she didn't need to explain it all too, Alex who was trying to win her favor back and therefore couldn't make any real demand of her, while Mary- albeit gently- was currently asking for quite a lot. 

Leverage and position, just like when drafting a plea deal. 

She decided to try to frame it this way to herself. She had committed the crime of recklessly manhandling her latest court cases by showing up exhausted and experiencing physical afflictions, and she could forgive herself for her stupidity if she plead her way out by taking responsibility. The only way she could do that is if she admitted to the judge- a position Mary had formerly held, so it wasn't even that far off- her misconduct, and hope the court accepted her attempt at reconciliation.

Casey thought about how she’d want a defendant to apologize when admitting guilt to the court, and decided to follow the structure that type of address would entail. 

“I’ve been reckless,” Casey said slowly, “I’ve endangered my cases and therefore the reputation of myself and the DA by appearing in court while in a state in which I shouldn't have.” 

Mary nodded, although a small twinge of confusion was evident in the way one of her eyebrows twitched almost imperceptibly- Casey had previously denied any sort of substance abuse, and she couldn't assume any other sort of state she could’ve appeared in. 

“It isn't an excuse for my actions, but I’d like to offer an explanation,” Casey breathed, letting her green eyes flicker warily up to Mary's warm brown ones, and letting herself relax slightly when she was met only with sympathy and apparently growing concern, “I … I haven't been sleeping. I’ve intentionally neglected sleeping because I … I keep …” 

She was growing frustrated with her inability to just spit the godforsaken words out, and she could see Mary’s eyes flicker down as Casey’s fingers clenched in on themselves from where she had laid them on the table. 

“It's stupid,” Casey gasped, tears pricking at her eyes, defeat tasting as bitter in her mouth as the feeling of her voice cracking with emotion did.

Mary’s hand extended over the length of the table to nestle comfortably over her’s, squeezing in a successful attempt to be reassuring. Casey felt herself breathe a bit easier with the physical affection, and she let her eyes drift to fixate on the gleam of Mary's golden rings as the elder woman ran her thumb soothingly over Casey’s hand.

“You’re working a really stressful job, Casey.” Mary coaxed, “I won't blame you for anything you’ve done, not when you've clearly already been beating yourself up for it.” 

“I haven't been eating,” Casey spit out the words as if they were burning her, because they felt like they were, “I haven't been- been sleeping, because all I do when I’m not working is- is exercise.” 

Mary looked bewildered, but now that Casey had gotten over that particular hurdle, it was like a dam had split wide open. Words lapped eagerly through the floodgates, tumbling from her tongue before she had a chance to agonize over each syllable. 

“It's- it's gotten bad. I don't function, anymore, I can't stand to be in my own head if I’m not- from the second I get off of work, I’m at the batting cages until I physically can't be, and I have all these bruises and I know people are worried about me but I just can't- I can't handle it, everything feels to impossible, and when I’m moving I can't think about all that, but I’ve been stuck in perpetual movement for- for weeks, and I can't do this anymore.” 

The hand that encased her’s squeezed again, warm and soft, unflinching and firm. Casey’s mind flickered back to watching Alex’s hand quiver every couple seconds, an action Alex herself hadn't even seemed aware of. The parallel was very obvious to her, but she wasn't sure what it meant.

She felt her eyes prick with tears, and despite not wanting to shake Mary’s hand off she needed to as she reached to press the edges of her palms against her eyes to contain the miserable liquid before it ruined her makeup and composure entirely. Mary had seen a lot from her, but sobbing wasn't one of them- Casey certainly did not make it a habit to cry in front of others, and this was no exception. She gritted her teeth and tried to curse internally. She tried to transfer her exhaustion and her anxiety into fury at the universe, but when she did that only caused an inadvertent flex in her bicep, and she realized that was exactly how she had gotten this bad. She had been channeling her grief into rage she could unleash via swings of a softball bat, and now she was stuck with no other way to bring herself back down.

“Can I tell you a story?” 

This was exactly why Casey confided in Mary- the elder woman always managed to catch her off guard in the best way possible. 

Mary never made her feel bitter with empty platitudes and pleasantries and faux comforts. She always had something unexpected and exactly right to calm the bubbling swirl of overwhelm in Casey’s heart. With a small hint of relief, a whispered thank-you to God for sending her a mentor like Mary Clark, Casey nodded and resigned herself to listen.

Casey studied the face of the older woman, chocolate brown irises with wisdom and smile wrinkles near her eyes and cheeks as her expression smoothed over thoughtfully. The elder woman broke eye contact to drop her gaze to the tablecloth, and Casey realized she was slightly uncomfortable.

“You don't know this about me,” Mary started, “because I don't quite make it a habit to tell, but it seems like a fitting time for me to tell you about something that happened … probably right around the time you started preschool. I do have a few years on you, after all.” 

Even though through her scrutiny Casey was finding more slight indicators what Mary was about to confide was not an easy subject for her, she was making an obvious attempt to keep it lighthearted for Casey’s benefit. Casey offered her a weak smile at that small bit of humor.

“I had just had my third,” Mary murmured, referring to her children, “and the delivery had complications. To spare you the awkward details, it wasn't anything pretty. I had to stay in the hospital for a week or so, and it was much harder than I ever expected it could be, especially since my first two were reasonably easy.” 

She took a deep breath, opened her mouth, and then closed it again, her short brown hair swaying slightly as she shook her head. Mary attempted to gather the words, and Casey tried not to feel exceptionally guilty for asking this of her, but unlike with Alex- who was scrambling to find purchase, would offer information she’d later regret if it helped her regain standing next to Casey- Casey could trust that whatever Mary had to say was something she meant too. She didn't need to reassure Clark that she didn't need to say anything she was uncomfortable with.

“People always talk about postpartum depression,” Mary said after a few seconds, “Well, they do now- maybe not as much when I was going through it- but you never really understand until you're exhausted and can't muster up the willpower to want to care for yourself, or the kid you're going with it through, let alone the other two and a good-for-nothing husband- it was hard, Casey.” 

“I can only imagine,” Casey heard herself say, as if through water. Something about the way Mary spoke soothed her frayed nerves in a way she hadn't felt in months. It was a weird experience, to finally be out and vulnerable, to not hold a facade. To not be the one scrutinized, rather the one observing. 

“But obviously, just because you want to give up and sleep for weeks, you can't. World keeps spinning. Kids need to be cared for. So I picked up a habit that helped me keep me upright- I started smoking.” 

Casey didn't know how to respond to that, so she just lowered her gaze submissively and shook her head slowly, hoping that conveyed some sort of empathy, not that she felt like Mary expected any from her.

“It was a cigarette a day, and then one every couple hours, and then before you knew it I was calling recess in court just so I could go out myself and chain-smoke. I was going through a pack in less than three days, and bottles of whatever kind of perfume I could use to try to hide the stench of it even faster.” 

Mary waved her hand as though attempting to make a dismissive motion, but the weight of her words was far from anything Casey could ignore. 

“I knew it had to stop when I had to ask a defense counselor to justify an objection, only because I had been mentally wondering when the next time I could hold a recess was, and not because I needed the elaboration. I don't think I’ve ever admitted that to anyone before.” 

Brown eyes met green, and Mary’s gaze bore a comfortable space into Casey’s soul, chipping through the layers of crumbling cement to fill the hollow space with comfort instead of numb exhaustion. 

“It hurts, Casey. I know it does. And almost every person you’ll find in a courthouse has some kind of story where the stress just got too much and they lost it. Some drink, some sleep with people they shouldn't, some take it out on other people. Some never recover, but I did, and I know you will, too.” 

“I don't know how,” Casey’s voice cracked, but she didn't clamp her mouth shut or try to stiffen, she forced herself to relax into the vulnerability of the moment. 

“You don't have too.” 

Casey blinked at her and Mary’s hand found her’s once again. 

“It starts with eating better,” Mary soothed, “it starts with listening to your basic needs. Eat when you're hungry, drink when you're thirsty, sleep when you're tired and you can. Rest in the arms of people who love you.”

“I can't,” the redhead choked, pushing her head into her hands desperately, hiding her face and seeking support from her arms hopelessly. 

“Mary, for years- for years, I’ve been- I’ve been telling myself that all I had to do was make it ‘till high school graduation, make it through law school, make it until I get married, but there's no goals anymore, and everything’s falling apart.” 

Mary’s gaze sharpened quickly and Casey realized she had slipped up, revealed something she hadn't meant too. Mary had known she was engaged, and as Casey watched while internally cursing herself for the impulsive statement, her gaze flickered down to Casey’s hand. Casey had been engaged, and if marriage wasn't a goalpost anymore, that left only two options- either she had a husband, or she no longer had the immediate potential of one. No band adored Casey’s ring finger, and she could see that recognition click in Mary's eyes.

Defense attorneys had a habit of declaring their thoughts out loud, even if the implication of the situation was obvious enough. Clark was no different. It made Casey wince inwardly. 

“You're not engaged to Mr. Morrison anymore?” 

It had been a little over a year, fourteen long months since Casey had thrown Charlie out of her house, and the majority of people who had known about the engagement through idle understanding still didn't know it was over. Though, to be fair, she hadn't ever had that broad of a social circle to begin with- her parents had been informed when Casey kicked him out, his parents minutes after, and the few drifting college friends over the following weeks, and mostly only after they had asked first. Mary was one of the few exceptions who had been aware through random small talk, and Casey had never gone out of her immediate way to declare her potential marriage had crashed into a burning heap.

“No,” Casey muttered. She glanced up through her eyelashes, deciding if Mary would run with this topic, she’d continue it. Old women were always suckers to discuss romance in younger people, weren't they? “I’m not. And the person I saw after that didn't quite work out either, I- … I think.” 

She hadn't lost Alex entirely. They would be speaking in two week’s time. But she had spent the past months struggling with the assumption she’d never enjoy the company of the blonde ever again, and despite it now being corrected, the shape their relationship had previously been did not fit the way Casey’s character had morphed under the stress of the previous months. 

It was like a house one had moved out of and then revisited- bittersweet and hollowed, nostalgic in a heart wrenching way. The adornments that had lined the hallways, the understanding and familiarity ripped out and the walls entirely repainted. Perhaps the potential to repossess the property would occur, but there was no guarantee it would work, or that it would be at all comfortable like it had been before. 

It might not work. She would not base her fragile state of the foundation that she had no way of ensuring would not crack under her. If she were to be better, she’d do it without her, and if she wanted to share a second chance with Alex, she’d need to be healthy for that.

“You think?” Mary tilted her head, but then blinked and shook her head quickly. “For another time, Casey. Clever, though, trying to redirect me like that.” 

“Lawyer for a reason,” Casey said quietly, taking a spoonful of now-cold soup into her mouth so she’d have something other than speaking to do with her tongue. She averted her gaze. Her mental energy to have an emotionally taxing conversation like this was plummeting by the second, even with someone she trusted as much as Mary Clark.

“So if you don't have that type of consolation, Casey, what support are you getting?” 

That was the question probing the area Casey did not want to delve into. She sighed and closed her eyes, hoping Mary would get the message, which of course she did- but even a defense attorney as formidable as her wasn't quite sure how to breach such a sensitive topic.

“... You're working with the Special Victims Unit, so you have a set rotation of detectives now- are any of them trustworthy enough?” 

“I don't know how to answer that without sounding like a rejected schoolchild,” Casey muttered before she could stop herself. Pathetic, she groaned internally, why would she say something so pitiful? She was a prosecutor for God's sake, she should be stoic and cold and statuesque, but instead she had her elbows on her table with her head in her hands spilling her soul to the judge she did her clerkship under because a couple coworkers didn't appreciate that her face didn't look like Alex’s stupidly pretty one. 

The image of Alex’s smiling face, with her smooth porcelain skin and golden hair, the perfect image of everything that was wrong with Casey and the symbol she had used to punish and oppress herself, made adrenaline bolt into her veins. She wanted to run away, now. Hit something. Even with the norepinephrine she didn't have enough energy to do so. 

It's unfair, something inside her said, to hold Alex’s image in such a negative regard. Alex had been struggling too. Alex was trying to be nice to her, despite the venom Casey had spat. Alex wanted to keep trying. Alex was good. If Alex was good, then Casey must be bad, because Casey was not what Alex was- but Casey was not a bad person. This, despite her insecurities, she knew. 

“I’m tired of mental gymnastics,” Casey groaned out loud, because what kind of internal dialogue was that supposed to be, “Fuck this.” 

“Then we proceed through this in steps,” Mary affirmed, “And if you're a rejected school kid, I’ll be the teacher whose classroom you eat lunch in until you manage to make your own friends. This won't last forever, Casey, but until it's over I’ll hold your hand, so to speak.” 

Casey decided to ignore the comparison of herself to some little high schooler with her cafeteria tray in her English teacher’s classroom and focus on the proposal.

Proceeding step by step. Court proceedings were something Casey was good at following. She could do steps. She had a feeling Mary knew that was the equivalency she would immediately draw and had intrinsically framed it as such for her benefit.

“Okay,” Casey took a deep breath and nodded, straightening up and smoothing out the tablecloth and the skirt over her lap out of habit, “Okay.” 

“The first step,” Mary’s eyebrows flexed as though warning Casey not to be dejected, because she already knew she would be, “Is to let yourself accept you’re struggling. You've got thick skin, dear, I know you hate to admit it, but you have a problem right now, and you can't fix it if you keep agonizing over how much you hate that you have one.” 

“I’m here, aren't I? I’m having this conversation,” Casey responded, slightly indignant. 

Mary was quick to offer a quick “Yes, of course,” as a consolation. “I meant, though,” she was quick to continue, “That you need to come to terms with it. Counseling, I’d suggest, but you're stubborn and hate opening up to people, so perhaps journalling. Just get everything in your head out somewhere, and I guarantee you it’ll clear some space in that brain of yours.” 

“Journaling,” Casey echoed distantly. 

She wanted to cry, all of a sudden. She didn't want to be here anymore. She was exhausted and even though the way she had been going felt horrible at least, in a twisted way, it was familiar- but this? It felt easier to just lapse back into erecting brick walls.

I don't want to do this, something inside her thoughts despairingly, I just want to crawl into a hole and hide. I’m not like Mary. I don't have children to take care of. There's nothing keeping me going the way a mother is driven to persevere. 

“Okay,” she said, despite the voice in her head and the overwhelming sensation of internal organs churning in the cavity of her chest, “I can do that. What would come next?” 

The look Mary gave her made it obvious the older woman saw right through her facade, but she did not choose to comment on it. 

“Better habit forming.” Mary said flatly, and Casey shrugged her shoulders and shook her head. That much was obvious. Eating better, drinking enough, sleeping more. She already knew she had to do that, but perhaps after getting her head a bit clearer through Mary’s suggestion of journaling it would be easier than where she currently found herself.

“The step after that would be getting yourself out there again,” and here too Mary had to shoot her a stern look, because Casey snorted at the notion, “You need friends, Casey. You need to find people you're comfortable sharing things with.” 

Casey was silent.

“And after?” She asked, finally, because she didn't like sitting in silence with Mary Clark.

“Foresight and planning are essential to a lawyer,” Mary agreed, taking another slow sip of tea that had long since cooled off, “but you know better than anyone that you can't plan too far in advance, or it’ll become impossible to deal adequately with unforeseen challenges. Focus on what I told you, dear, and let the rest come naturally.” 

I don't want to be here anymore, Casey's voice told herself. I don't want to do this. This seems so hard. I look pathetic and weak in front of my mentor, and it's not like anything will change. I don't want to be here. I want to go home.

She was going to cry if she stayed here for any longer, she realized. She needed to go home. 

Before she could formulate some sort of excuse to tuck tail and duck off, Mary’s lips curved into a sympathetic smile, and she looked at her with an air a bit too motherly, a bit too familiar for Casey to be entirely comfortable with.

“You’re done talking for today, Casey, aren't you?” 

“Yes,” Casey’s voice came out in a small rasp, “This is harder than I expected it to be. I can't… I don't…” 

Mary shushed her, a soothing, hummed coax to Casey’s fragile psyche. Casey didn't need to talk, it seemed. Only listen. Casey could do that. Casey could force herself to do that. 

“I don't want to keep you any longer than you’re comfortable with,” the elder woman said in a quiet voice, quiet enough that Casey felt comfortable leaning forward slightly, “so I will provide you now with my closing statement, which begins by affirming I don't expect a return statement, so feel free to leave when I’m done talking.” 

Casey’s eyebrows simultaneously raised and tilted, a look of be-deadass crossing her face. It was generous for Mary to offer an exit without requiring her to say something to part, but she’d never leave without acknowledging the effort Mary was putting into this conversation. Mary smiled in response.

“I’d like to say how proud I am for agreeing to meet with me, and acknowledge how exhausting this must be for you right now,” at this Casey averted her gaze, her heart jolting in her chest, but she tried to settle into the uncomfortable warmth. It caught her off guard, but not in a bad way. She had heard people be sympathetic, offer comfort that simultaneously wasn't genuine but also not a lie- words they thought would bring something, but offered more out of a sense that that was what they were supposed to say, supposed to do. Tense, Awkward. Forced. But Mary spoke so easily that even Casey’s naturally oversuspicious mind was lulled, at least to some degree. 

“And furthermore, I urge you to remember how good of a lawyer you are. How many people you’ve helped, be it financial ruin from your time in white collar or the gift of a fighting chance to special victims in your new work. You may feel powerless, but you’ve been making a real difference, Casey. You’ve been doing well. You’re good, and not only at what you do, but in general- you’re a good person, Casey, no matter what kind of affliction provokes you.” 

A small shudder ran down Casey’s spine. It hurt to hear that, somehow, perhaps it hurt because her first instinct was to argue. 

“You’ve got me to call if you ever need advice, or a shoulder, or a helping hand,” Mary continued, “Or a shoe. And I know, you’ll argue with me about this, but I know with absolute certainty I’m not the only one who cares about you. Find the people who do and stay with them. You’ll be okay, Casey. Everything will be okay.” 

With that, she promptly nodded, the same way she had in court after finishing her closing statement, or giving the floor back to the prosecution. She had said her piece. 

“Thank you,” Casey started, before opening and then closing her mouth blankly. How was one supposed to respond to that- how did she want to respond to that? 

Being comforted by anyone- being offered consolation or support hadn't been an experience she had the privilege of receiving in months, perhaps years. Mary gave it to her as though it was water. Casey may as well have been terminally dehydrated. Her throat was choking trying to swallow something she wasn't at all used too- but she needed it, fuck, she had needed it. 

So she simply repeated a “thank you”, reaching over the table to squeeze Mary’s hand softly, mirroring the elder attorney’s earlier action. Casey took a deep breath, letting her eyes flutter shut. 

“I am very grateful,” she said slowly, “to have a mentor like you, Mary. Thank you for deciding to check on me, and thank you for listening to everything. Thank you for being so kind. When I’m back to normal, though,” her eyes flickered up, hoping to inject a small veil of playfulness, “I hope we go straight back to your ruthless teasing over my mishaps.”

“Oh, dear,” Mary chuckled, but her voice was still tinted with sympathy, “I’d never dream of anything otherwise.” 

“Good, then.” Casey said quietly.

She was done now. She had heard Mary out and responded in some way she decidedly thought was adequate. It felt awkward leaving but her heart couldn't take much more of the way she had forced it open for this meeting.

“I’ll see you soon, yes?” Mary asked, and Casey nodded easily. It wasn't like with Alex where the next meeting was loaded and something to obsess or agonize over. Another meal with Mary was as inevitable as rain falling- Mary needed the excitement of insights into the life of an up-and-coming ambitious young attorney, and more than that Casey needed her trusted mentor’s advice. 

“I’ve got this check,” Mary murmured, picking up her teacup, “So go on home, now. And Casey- take care of yourself.” 

“Yes ma’am,” Casey said softly, before standing up and slinging her coat over her shoulders. She turned back for a small second, her eyebrows furrowing. Casey swallowed once as a nervous tick, letting her bottom lip part open for a small second. It felt awkward leaving. It felt impossible to stay here.

“Thank you,” she said one last time, sheepishly, quietly. 

Mary didn't look up, but she smiled widely over the rim of her teacup. 

Casey turned and left. 

[the-bitter-ocean]

Hi isat fandom. Points at the sign.

[only-one-brain-cell]

“None of which we had access to for security.” Oh really? Then how the fuck was JJ able to play Scrabble with her then?????

[pimientosdulces]

does anyone have that one post talking about how good hxh is to someone and then it’s like. hunter exam arc: makes me look like a crazy person

[turtleblogatlast]

Almost done with this comic, just wanna check with any Spanish speakers out there…

Does this make sense:

EDIT: SOLVED thank you so much stellararrow and dianagj-art <3

[butterrdream]

bro that text message meme got me thinking a lot about businesswoman apple trying various ways to get that dough, it's so funny helpdjdknd 😭😭😭 apple rlly will love kana bc that one's extra loaded and not stingy at all esp if u two are close lmaooo

Apple will always be happy to do business with Kana and their very deep pockets hehe✨❤️

This is how I imagine their dynamic /lh

… we know who is who

[jojea]

girl who did nothing wrong ever

[babyboywilson]

~ starry

[spineless-lobster]

I think it’s interesting that the Captain loves Gilbert and Sullivan so much because not only is it musical theatre, but I e noticed there are some common themes in most Gilbert and Sullivan operettas. (Especially the ones Cap mentions, The Pirates of Penzance and The Mikado)

The Pirates of Penzance (as well as HMS Pinafore) focus on themes of forbidden love, in PoP it’s because the main character is a pirate. In HMSP it’s due to class differences.

I can imagine a young Cap, wondering why the feelings he’s having towards other boys is so frowned upon. And seeing those concerns reflected in the opera.

The Mikado is a satirical take on capital punishment, the crime in the opera that’s punishable by death is flirting. Now, I’m not saying Gilbert intended that to be some Victorian commentary on gay rights; but being sentenced to death for loving someone is not an exclusively heterosexual problem.

The fact that the Captain (along with Fanny) canonically praised the opera for it’s comedy regarding this theme kind of says a lot about him. He puts up this front of a stiff upper lip perfect English gentleman but reality he despises the establishment of his era.

The last thing I want point out is that (as far as I know) every Gilbert and Sullivan opera ends with a happy ending. The forbidden lovers manage to beat the system via some sort of loophole and they get to live happily ever after.

I think the Captain loves these operas so much because he gets to see people who cannot love who they want to due to an oppressive system; people like him, receive the happy ending he wishes he could have.

He gets to have second-hand queer euphoria along with catchy songs and funny jokes, all while presenting himself as socially acceptable. And I think he deserves that happiness.

[disasterhimbo]

There are. so many donation posts

[exopelagic]

WHY DID NOBODY TELL ME BURROWS END WASNT FREE