#i've been thinking about it for several days now and need somewhere i can express my thoughts

[boyfriendsmalec]

24 hours to go until we get two new episodes of The Eighth Sense 🙌 

[felice-jaganshi]

Alastor x OC

His Pet

Chapter 1/?

A/N: hello tumblr! I've never tried posting a story here, so hopefully i get the format right? If not, some one plz message me how to do it better!

-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-

It was a month till the next extermination, Charlie was having her meeting with heaven this very moment. Alastor was going for a stroll around the Ring, when he heard a muffled sob from the nearby alley. Curiosity caught him for a moment, maybe an easy deal could be made. He wandered down to take a look and found a little sinner with orange fox ears crying to herself. He took a closer look and his eyes went wide with excitement! This wasn't a sinner, her blood was gold, a fallen angel then! Even better.

He slowly approached her, not wanting to startle her further. 

“My my, hello there dear.” He spoke softly as he approached, if he played this right, maybe he could get an angel to make a soul deal!

She gasped and looked up at him, fear filling her big blue eyes. “P-please, don't-” Her voice was cracking and faint. Her dual fox tails wrapped tight around herself and hid most of her body from view behind the fluff.

He softened his smile and bent at the waist to be closer to her face, he kept his voice soft,

“Now now, my dear… I do not intend anything villainous with you. I am a proper gentleman, unlike most of the worthless trash roaming these streets.” He was trying to soothe her, and it seemed to be working, as the more he spoke the more she relaxed. “You appear to be injured my dear. Might I take you somewhere that can care for your injuries?” She looked at him for a moment, staring into his eyes like she was trying to read his soul. He kept his expression soft.

“What's your name?” She asked, her voice was still quiet.

He stood straight and laughed, “haha! I'm Alastor my dear, most know me as the radio demon!” She smiled just the tiniest bit.

“Alastor, the radio demon… I'm Zariah. It's nice to meet a gentleman in hell… where did you want to take me?”

“The Hazbin Hotel! A place for sinners who want to get to heaven.”

She nodded, “okay… I'll go with you.” She tried to stand, only to immediately get scooped into his arms. She squeaked in shock, and looked up at him as she was suddenly in a princess carry. He stepped through the shadows and they were suddenly in the hotel lobby.  She was a bit dizzy from the sudden scenery change

Next thing she knew, she was set down on a couch,

“Here you are my dear. The rest of the residents are out on the town for the day, so it's just you and me. Mind if I see how bad your injuries are? I might be able to help you with them, for a price…” She shook her head.

“I- i just need rest. I haven't slept in two days… I have healing powers, just… too tired to summon it…”

“Healing? Interesting, can you only use it.on yourself?” His eyes had a glow of excitement to them.

“Hm? Oh, no, I can heal others too.” She yawned, exhaustion finally hitting her now that she was somewhere warm.

He chuckled darkly, excited at this opportunity. A healer would be very useful to keep in his back pocket. 

“Oh you poor little angel. Well, I might as well get you set up in a room. Don't worry about the cost for now sweetheart, your first night can be on me.” He smiled softly, “would you like to walk there yourself, or shall I carry you again?”

She blushed a little. “I… think I can walk.” She got onto her feet with some effort and slowly walked towards the stairs. He had a view of her back. Her shirt was ripped up and bloodied. There were deep gashes where her wings used to be, and several other smaller marks surrounding them. It painted quite the story, her struggling to get away and making them miss several times before they got it right. Yet she was still walking. He couldn't help wonder what her blood would taste like. The angel head he sampled at the overlord meeting was quite nice. Ah, too bad he couldn't snack on her wings. They'd surely have been wonderful barbecue’d. 

He then made his way in front of her and led her to a room near Angel Dust's, deciding to put some distance between her and himself till he knew if she was a spy or not. She went to the bed and flopped on her stomach immediately with a groan of pain.

“Thank fuck, a bed.” She then turned her head toward the door, “thanks. Imma sleep now… you're really nice, Alastor.” 

“Ah, before you do, may I ask one question of you?”

“Mh, yeah?”

“Who did this to you?” He put on his most sympathetic voice.

“Adam… did this… my only sin was stupidity. I didn't deserve this…” she turned her head and sobbed into her pillow.

Alastor sighed pleasantly, enjoying the view of another's suffering. 

“Oh my, the sin of stupidity? You have my curiosity dear. Would you like me to lend you an ear and get this whole mess out in the open?” He approached the bed and summoned a chair to sit in, resting a hand on his chin and looking at her fondly.

She took a moment to calm herself enough to speak. 

“Th-the exterminations. No one in heaven knows about them but the exorcists. We were told they went to earth to save the living, not that they kill humans in hell!” She sounded horrified by the news. “Wrong place, wrong time… I heard Adam talking about it. I was given two options, become an exorcist or get kicked into hell. I'm not a fighter! I'm a healer! I couldn't bear the thought of killing, even if it's sinners… that's just cruel.”

Alastor rolled his eyes, a real bleeding heart she was. “I see. So heaven doesn't know the atrocities they're committing?”

“Of course not! Most everyone has family in hell! None of us would approve of our own kin being slaughtered!” She snapped her head up to try to glare with her puffy eyes. “If I get the chance, I'm gonna punch Adam in his stupid dick he's so proud of!” 

Alastor's eye twitched,

“My dear, a proper lady shouldn't swear so much…”

She sighed, “I don't normally, I just… this is a special situation.”

He hummed, not buying it. 

“Well, I think I should let you rest for now. Let me know if you need anything at all.” He motioned with his cane to the bedside table and made a radio appear. He then left her room, shutting the door. He had some new things to think about…

[hybbart]

*Discreetly slides this fan letter into your mailbox* 

From: Anonymous Fan, 

Address: Ask Box, Tumblr, somewhere on Planet Earth

To: Hybbart

Address: Hybbart's Blog, Tumblr, somewhere on Planet Earth

Date: Today, 

Dear Hybbart,

Hi! I'm just a little anon writing to say thank you so much for your amazing Ranchers Apocalypse AU. I've binged it several times and I plan on doing it again and again. It's given me so much hope for life. I have never experienced anything like it before. Your art is incredible and I could stare at it all day. 

I don't comment on things often, I'm usually one of the silent spectators but I really felt like I needed to give you a thank you.

 I have hated and avoided apocalypse stories because they always felt so hopeless and scary to me but yours is the first I've seen that's not hopeless. Thank you so much for the new perspective of an apocalypse story. Now I love them. If an actual apocalypse happened I hope I am one of the ones, like the Ranchers, that don't give up and keep pressing on even in the hard and seemingly dark times. Not only to just survive but to thrive. To keep holding on to hope for a better tomorrow. Rain or shine, bring it on. It's almost like the Ranchers are giving life a middle finger lol. Like, Gosh dang it life, you want us dead, oh heck no we will live and not only will we live but to really add insult to injury we are choosing to thrive.

I love how the story is almost like Polaroid photos with little notes at the bottom of each; it feels a bit like a scrapbook documenting important moments in the story which is cool. It's so unique and it's nothing like I've ever seen before. It's incredible.

My goodness, the way that you draw characters so expressive and dynamic with their poses and the amount of details in the background. It's absolutely captivating. I love studying and admiring each picture.

Your art and stories are inspiring and healing. I fully believe that people's worlds will be flipped on their heads for the better when they experience the stories and art that you create. You flipped my world. Please don't stop creating. The world needs what you have to give. 

Once more thank you for the incredible story, I can't imagine how much time you spent on it. The love you have for the AU really shines through your work. You are an inspiration. 

I look forward to what comes next in the RAAU, rain or shine, bring it on.

Sincerely,

- Anonymous Fan <3 <3 <3

P.S Also a song rec that I think is really neat and hope you think is neat too: 

Owl City's Bird with a Broken Wing.

It makes me think of Jimmy after the apocalypse started but before Tango found him. 

P.P.S if you are reading this, thanks so much for reading this long letter. Lol.

Thank you very much! I think you might enjoy two series, called yokohama shopping log and Zom 100: bucketlist of the dead. Yokohama shopping log is a very lovely slice of life healing series about the twilight of the world and the people who've accepted it and decided to live the best they can, including robots. Zom 100 is about a man so beaten down by modern work culture the apocalypse sets him free and gives him and everyone around him the opportunity to be human and enjoy life again. They're both series about human compassion and small joys in the end times, and big influences on raau.

And that reminds me! I've been work on raau for over a full year now! It's crazy to me, I hope to work on it again soon.

[lilmissnatcat24]

are you ready for the trope i've been foaming at the mouth to finally write

“Vakarian?” Pallin’s voice called out from his glass office. He gestured him forward with a flick of his fingers. “Can we talk? Now?” 

It was never a good sign when Pallin called someone aside. He, like most other turians, was professional, bordering on emotionless. Which made it all the most devastating when he would pull someone from the case, or fire them with a neat little severance package, or tell them that they needed to go pick out chunks of a vorcha out of a car grill on Tayseri (and, speaking from personal experience, was probably one of Garrus’s least favorite days working for C-Sec). 

Garrus ignored the immature chittering that came from Chellick, Ridgefield, and Lamont as he joined Pallin down the hallway into an empty office, normally kept clean and tidy for telling families that their children and their parents were found somewhere on the Citadel murdered. Pallin gestured at one of the seats for Garrus, pacing back and forth with a datapad tucked underneath his arm. 

Pallin looked incredibly uncomfortable. He was fidgeting with his armor, fidgeting with his gloves, fidgeting with his mandibles, fidgeting with just about everything in a five foot radius that could be fidgeted with. Garrus realized he’d never seen Pallin look so nervous before. 

He placed the datapad down on the table, looking up at Garrus expectantly. “Is this true, son?” 

Garrus was terrified to pick it up. It could be just about anything. Saren’s orders to fire Garrus from C-Sec, transcripts from a listening device that implicate Garrus in his investigation, a paper trail linking him to a sex club… He picked it up and read: 

Consensual Relationship Agreement

Citadel Security is committed to creating a work environment free from harassment, discrimination, conflicts of interest, exploitation, and favoritism. 

It is against Citadel Security policy to use a position of authority to induce another person to enter into a nonconsensual relationship. Indeed, even consensual relationships in the workplace can cause disruption and other problems in violation to company policy. 

The purpose of this agreement is to affirm that Delia Shepard (Officer- Drugs and Trafficking) and Garrus Vakarian (Officer- Homicide), both employees of Citadel Security, have agreed to engage in a welcome, consensual social relationship--

Garrus’s tongue felt like a foreign object in his mouth, his stomach dropping down several levels. What the everliving fuck was Shepard thinking? His entire face was so stupidly warm, so warm that he was sure that Pallin could feel it from across the room. 

“I--” 

“Listen, Vakarian,” Pallin said in a fake sort of soft professional voice. This was why he was so uncomfortable; dealing with HR matters like this always made him unsure of what to say, or how to say it, or where to put his hands when he talked. “I’m not going to be the one to tell you who you can and can't see when you’re not at work or how to spend your free time. But are you absolutely positive that this is how you want to play this?” 

“Um… I mean… we-- I guess, the two of us… um…” Garrus had no idea what to say. Luckily for him, neither did Pallin, evidently. 

“I don’t need to know the specifics, please,” he put his hand up, a pained expression on his face. “Just… just make sure this doesn’t get in the way of your work, yeah? No… no quickies in storage closets.” 

“No, sir,” Garrus said so quickly it sounded like one garbled, stuttering mess. 

“I better not be able to smell her all over you.” 

“No, sir.” 

“And I sincerely hope you don’t spend all of your time on the seventh floor at her desk. You need to be at yours, working. Is that clear?” 

“Yes, sir.” Pallin opened his mouth once more, then thought better, closing it. He waved Garrus away, a clear end to the conversation. Garrus stood, his head feeling as though someone replaced his brain with feathers and flies. And, doing exactly what Pallin told him not to do, went straight for the elevator and punched in the seventh floor.

[notafraidofredyellowandblue]

so I've heard in the past that some members of the band have hinted at not being 100% straight and richard has given hints at wanting to know what it's like to be a woman, could you please give me some sources to those since I've looked everywhere and can't really find them? thank you, if not, it's totally understandable

Another really really old ask, not because i didn't want to, but because i wanted to findas much info as possible 🌺 sorry anon for taking so long..

Well, the most recent 'hint' was Flake's podcast with topic 'gay/lesbian' where he mentioned that the topic came up one evening when the band were chatting and it turned out they all had their experiences 🥰

Rammstein is imo a band who has always been very 'inclusive' in any sexual preferences, and especially in Till's lyrics you can tell he is very interested in anything out there (not that that makes him 'not straight' (to be honest, i think he is, by some other quotes in interviews 😊) but i wouldn't be surprised if he tried some stuff somewhere in life).

Richard did an 2010 interview in Canada (don't have a link to the original, just this transcript) where he was quoted (about 'Mann gegen Mann')

"Actually, Till showed the lyrics to our Gay community, to our friends, just to make sure, because if you talk about something that you not really are, it's always kind of hard. Sometimes you cross the line, you don't think about it, but it could be offensive. If you do something because it's your experience, it's fine, but if you write something and you're not actually a part of it, I think you should make sure that everything you want to say is right. So he gave the lyrics to some friends, and they were very approving."

Which sort of confirms that they don't see themselves as gay so much. Also in interviews where they were asked 'are you gay', they usually end up with 'no'... interestingly, i don't think i've seen an interview where an interviewer explicitely asked 'are you bisexual' 🌺 (by the way, i would be really surprised if Richard hadn't some experience with a guy when he was younger, i vaguely remember he alluded to such in a really old interview, but i don't have a link).

--

Richard indeed has expressed ideas about his feminine side several times, in the interbiew above he says for instance

"If you talk to me right now, I'm a big believer in getting myself in balance between the female and the male side. I have a female side too, obviously."

And very striking was in several interviews ca 2021 after he did the cover 'Always on my mind' with Till for the Emigrate album 'The Persistence of Memory' and then made it a duet, stating:

"I mean, obviously, Till has also this very characteristic voice. And then it was pretty fast. He recorded one day. And then I was listening to it, and I felt a little bit that his performance was a little bit too male-oriented. So I felt I need a little female touch to it. So that’s why my personality came in. And I think it’s a good combination"

So he felt a female touch was needed, and added his own voice to Till's track 🥰

And ofcourse in 2023 he shared on his ig

"I've always wondered what it's like to be a woman"

Now ofcourse this could just be a Kruspe-caption 😊 but with the 'DT' video in mind and his role in it, it makes one wonder doesn't it... where is that making of when we need it 🌺😊

---

From the others i don't have quotes at hand...sorry...but maybe someone else has and is willing to share 🌺

[meimi-haneoka]

{drabble} Somewhere I belong - Kaito/Akiho

This is the second Kaito x Akiho / YunaAki drabble that is paired with the first one I wrote from Akiho's POV. Please read that one first so you can have a better understanding of the situation!

The setting is the same as the first drabble, but Kaito's thoughts drift all over the place because....well, he's Kaito. He's been officially named as the "overthinker" by CLAMP so now I'm going to call him that for quite some time 😂

As you will be able to see, while Akiho thought to herself without problems that she loved him, you won't see Kaito thinking that, here. This is a very early stage of their new life and he's still far from acknowledging any of that, but he's starting to come to terms with things, at least.

This one might be a bit more angstier than the other one, again because this is Kaito we're talking about. His self-loathing won't disappear overnight. But I hope that the finale will comfort you, at least. ❤️

Once again, I'm not a native English speaker so forgive me if any line sounds weird!

P.s. Dandelion, thank you again! P.s.2 Yes, I also like Linkin Park 😁

Excerpt:

“I’m sorry...”, I blurted out, in a whisper. Every time we ended up in this situation, I would apologize. And she would never reply to it.   Maybe an apology wasn’t what she wanted to hear, but I had yet to find out what were the right words to say. 

Kaito's POV

I don't think I'll ever be able to forget it. 

The way she looked at me when they told her everything, that night.  The way she had slowly turned her head and kept her gaze fixed on me, while the British magician rattled off all that my plan had entailed, down to the way it had affected my body. He recovered all the previous memories, and he knew Akiho-san needed an explanation more than anyone else, but also knew I was in no condition (neither mental, nor physical) to give it to her. I could feel her gaze piercing through me, while someone was helping me sitting down, as I couldn't even stand up. 

Her hands gripped tightly the tablet, shaking. Her blue eyes, usually crystalline and bright like the Caribbean Sea, darkened several shades and became like a raging storm. They once again glazed over with emerging tears, but she probably held them back, because not even one dropped. 

And I felt so weak. My guilt, growing again by the second.   I would've given anything to remove that hardened gaze from her and bring back the soft features I've always known. But you see, that was my problem.   Giving everything the way I did before wasn’t the correct answer. And I had finally surrendered to the truth, that night.  But I didn't know any other way. I simply didn't know how to express how important she is to me without pushing it to an extreme, and that was exactly how we came to that point.  

I don’t know when exactly I started to hear that voice inside of me, telling me that I wanted to connect with her. 

I could hear it every day, before I carried out my plan. Louder and louder and louder. Kicking and screaming inside of me. I tried to fight it for so long, forcing myself not to hear it. But when she asked Sakura-san to bring me back, and she stated that she refused to keep living a fabricated life, wanting to go back to what she had before with me, I suddenly grew so tired. So, so tired. I was exhausted. I didn't want to fight it anymore. 

I've fought countless magicians ever since I was a little boy, and defeated every single one of them. People kept me at a distance for that. And yet, completely oblivious to all of that, she was the one who defeated me every single time.   Even this time around, she won. She won over that brutal, devastating desire to disappear forever that had consumed my life to such degree. She won over my guilt and self-loathing that I, quite frankly, haven’t got rid of yet. 

So here I was, now, clinging to her like a lifeline in the kitchen, while I waited to regain control of my breathing. I had tried to hide it from her, the first couple of times after I got back on my feet, following that fateful night. But she found out every single time and made very clear that if we wanted to live together from now on, this had to stop. I didn't know what to do with myself anymore. Why was I fighting it again?  So I did as she requested, and by now, this was already the third episode of seizure she had witnessed. 

I didn't know.... how any of this worked. But I wanted to learn. I wanted to try. 

I was slowly starting to get it. Why I caved in and agreed to go back to her, that night, despite how confused I was and how much I still despised myself for making her cry like that.   She made me feel wanted.   Made me feel accepted. Made me feel like I finally belonged somewhere. I hadn’t realized how much I actually had yearned for that, all this time. 

I thought I was nothing to her. I thought that she could've lived perfectly fine without me, without remembering anything of what we experienced together. Because, in the end, who was I? Just her butler. I embarked on that mission with the full understanding that I would've always been just her butler, and I played that part till the end at the best of my ability. An expendable tool to let her reach the happiness she deserved.  

But I wasn't. I wasn't, and I couldn't see that. I could only finally realize it that night in the most harrowing way possible, causing that face I wished to see eternally smile to be tainted with burning tears, as she poured out all her pain. Pain that I had caused. This wasn't the kind of support she wanted from me, and I failed her terribly. 

I was willing to do anything to make things right. So when she asked me, no, rather demanded to not be kept in the dark whenever I had one of my seizures, I had no choice but to comply. That was what she wanted, and there was no way I could refuse it to her. 

But now that the medicine was finally starting to kick in, and my breathing stabilized to a more normal rate, I raised my head to look at her worried face and I couldn’t help but think how unfair all of this was on her. She was so young, and she didn’t deserve to withstand all of this because of my choices.  

“I’m sorry...”, I blurted out, in a whisper. Every time we ended up in this situation, I would apologize. And she would never reply to it.   Maybe an apology wasn’t what she wanted to hear, but I had yet to find out what were the right words to say. 

She helped me stand up and supported me all the way to the couch, where I finally laid down and released the tension from my stiffened muscles. Seizures usually left me completely exhausted and sore.  

She sat down on the floor next to the couch, and we exchanged a long, wordless stare. Her eyes were again clear and bright. Before I drifted in a dreamless heavy sleep, I remember I felt so grateful to have her by my side.   I didn’t deserve it.   But the warmth I felt in my chest, contrarily to before, felt so nice.   And I was pretty sure she was the cause of it. 

[bisexualpositivity]

hey! I hope you're keeping well and are having an awesome day:)

Wondered if I could ask for some bi related advice...So, just for context I'm 24 y/o female and I've known for a while that I'm physically and sexually attracted to women, but never as strongly as men. Still, I've always endeavoured to be open and curious. Long story short I was out with my straight female best friend and we kissed...then we kissed again...and later that night in her room we kissed again. She treated it as a "haha that was so silly and funny of us" thing, which it totally was for her - she's straight as a board...but I wanted to keep going. Yet, at the same time, it didn't give me the butterflies or any emotional connection that I get with guys, even those that I've kissed that are strangers. Kissing a girl just didn't do that for me. I feel that I'm probably somewhere on the bisexual spectrum, but now I'm a bit stuck on what to do now.

I really want to explore things with women, kissing that friend only confirmed that I'm into girls, but I don't know where to go. I have a friend who's gay, very sex positive and has slept with several of her other friends on a purely casual, no-strings basis - do I approach her and explain I'm feeling a bit confused and want a safe space to explore? Or would that fuck things up? (She's said before that I'm attractive but not her type/she doesn't see me that way). Do I approach my best friend and say hey - remember when we made out in your bed? Can we do that again? But I do NOT want to fuck up that friendship she's the most special person I have.

To make it all a tad more complicated...I'm closeted. And I kinda have to be right now. I'm practising christian, super involved in my church and if anyone knew I just know it would have a bad affect on relationships. I know people will say that's their problem, but my faith is actually really important to me and I don't want to unearth all this trouble right now. I don't mind staying closeted rn, and both girls I mentioned have come from the same communities so understand. I'm almost 25, I can handle myself, my sexuality and the way I choose to express it is a private matter and I wanna keep it that way.

I know this has been a huge ramble. I'm so sorry for going on, I suppose I just needed to get it out somewhere and I've seen you reply to advice asks in the past. If you have any thoughts/advice I would really appreciate it 🥰

Sincerely,

A troubled lil bisexual twentysomething who's done the stupid classic movie mistake of kissing her best friend xoxo

Oh man, it sounds like you've been going through a lot lately. It never feels good to have your real, genuine feelings brushed off like that, even if the person doing it doesn't know any better.

Based on where you are with your questioning process right now, I think it's very important for you to have a support system--if you think your friend who's gay could be part of it, definitely reach out and test the waters with them.

Rambling is fine, don't worry about it. I'm only sorry that I don't have much more advice to give you. Stay closeted for as long as you like, and keep yourself safe out there, okay?

[evelhak]

Old art #12: Fate/Once Upon a Time

Some more ancient history. I used to be obsessed with Fate/Stay Night and could not swallow the ending of the Fate route of the visual novel/2006 anime when I was in high school, so obviously I drew several hundred pages of fan comic to fix it. I used to post it on DeviantArt, but life got in the way back then, so I left it in like chapter 3. (Yes it took like a hundred pages per chapter because I'm me). And I had something like 52 chapters planned, I think. I still pretty much remember the story, so I've been considering reposting the pages somewhere with a summary of how it would have gone, to give closure to people who loved it back then, even though it's very late, and it's pretty unlikely anyone from that time would stumble across it anymore.

At least I had been able to draw and post the whole reason why I began to make the comic, by the end of chapter 1, so I wasn't completely torn about it when I wasn't able to continue. Anyway... in case anyone was curious, this is kind of where I come from. This was my start in fan works. It was a fix-it comic that consumed my life for a while. (Two years, I think.) I could not stop, I was drawing every minute I could. I remember carrying a folder with me everywhere, not only was I drawing on breaks at school and secretly in class, literally even during my folk dance groups' training camp I was already in some corner drawing if we had a five-minute break, same at backstage while someone was braiding my hair for a performance. I could not waste a minute. (My days were full already.)

This was the first long story of mine that had readers I didn't know, who left comments and begged for me to continue. That was really something. I bet that really marks a turning point for a lot of storytellers. I had had ideas for fan works before, but I had always resisted because it "isn't original". Fate/Stay Night was the first time my need to create was too strong, it made me throw that philosophy out the window for a while. (I'm glad it did, obviously, even though part of the reason I quit was because I decided I had to focus on my original fiction at the time.)

My English was still not great, and I had even more problems with anatomy than I do now, but this project definitely made me develop both of those skills a lot. It's always the uncontrollable need to create something that makes me get better at things, because there's just no other way to accomplish what I want than to acquire the skills I need for it, and my brain just doesn't accept not succeeding. If it weren't for this fan comic, I probably wouldn't have done a lot of things I have since then. So I feel like I owe a lot to Fate, and I have many fond memories of this project.

Obviously, I also got mansplained a lot, since it was a pretty male dominant fandom. Guys who hadn't even bothered to read my story yet came to me like "Uuuuh do you have a clue how Fate works, I bet you don't so let me go on paragraphs of monologue" of things that I of course knew just as well as them. Or telling me that my story wasn't even possible because X, Y and Z problems would need to be solved before there could even be another Grail War as the Grail was destroyed... like, really? You thought I didn't think of that? You didn't even consider that maybe I actually have a brain and came up with entirely new concepts that don't exist in canon? (Not to mention, a gigantic franchise with multiple contradictory routes for the same story is a really stupid place to start telling people what is or isn't possible, geez. Why so small-minded?)

Or they were just dismissing me because my story "looked like a shojo manga". (Lol, I know, and that's not an accident. That's what's so great about it, actually. When you combine the high stakes and suspense of shonen with the aesthetic and emotional expression of shojo, how can you lose? When you combine conventions from two different sources, you'll always end up with something that doesn't exist in either of them. A union, a synthesis, is more than the sum of its parts. That's my philosophy, anyway...)

And appearances can be deceiving. Once these guys actually read my story, they told me I was "so good at creating suspense!!!!" and the emotional catharsis of a particular scene had them writing to me that I made them cry. Hah. In your face. (I certainly thought that, even if I had too much manners to tell them.) Don't you just love changing people's minds?

Anyway, looking back at this more than a decade old thing made me quite emotional.

Shiro x Saber forever. 💙💙💙

[dimonds456]

.

i just wanna feel okay. i just wanna move on. i just wanna be able to go a fucking month without thinking about her. all her memory does is give me massive anxiety, and fear, and dread, and i never realize it's coming from her memory until something triggers it again.

i fucking hate this. i know i have ptsd. i have SOME form of it. idk of it's the normal one or c-ptsd or some secret third thing but i'm not exaggerating, and i'm not faking it, and i'm just so fucking tired of fighting it.

it's not even about her. last summer, i almost died. i straight-up barely made it through. and my illness has been affecting me since middle school. my first experience with seeing stars was caused by my thyroid fucking up. my heart rate has been over 200 several times. i don't know how i haven't had a fucking heart attack and keeled over yet.

it's bound to happen. but also not. we're not tied down by fate, there's no such thing. self-fulfilling prophecies yes, and butterfly's wings flap and suddenly you're on the run from the law, yes. but it's not fate, it's an intricate web of cause and effect to get you there.

what caused this in me?

no one fucking knows. i'm tired, and i'm queer, and i'm disabled, but able-passing, and i'm hurt, and traumatized, and guilty of so many things no other living soul knows about, and i'm struggling with religion again and hating myself for it, and i just want to feel okay.

i just want a day where i don't have graves. a day where i can run as fast as i want, and a day where i won't fall over for it, and a day where i can lay on my stomach and pick grass in a field where it's warm or even hot but i'm not uncomfortable, or i want to be able to play tag with my brother, or just go a single fucking day where nothing matters and i can just.... exist.

i want to be alive.

i can't see my future. i can't see where i'll be in ten years. i spent last summer wondering if i'd see 2023. i'm here, and i made it to my 20's (something i didn't think was possible when i was 14), so now, i just gotta get to my 30's, right? but... there's so much shit going on. where will i be at 30? is it even worth thinking about? surely, yes, since the future is important, but... i can't see it. i can't see it, and if i can, the only reliable thing i see is loneliness. i'm always alone, sitting on a couch, touch-starved, watching tv and not even drawing. my hand got fucked up somewhere along the way, cuz of course it was, and i can't do anything.

they say that dreams are a reflection of the subconscious. that whatever reality we don't want to face, it comes out in dreams. but if that's true, why does she keep haunting them? is she in my future?

i want to be alive. i am alive. alive, i tell you.

.....but for how long?

it feels like i'm waiting for a clock to count down, that the people who say that we only breathe a certain number of times in our lives are right and my limit's almost up. i'm going to fall asleep, and not wake up, and no one will even notice for a few days because i'm already a hermit who prefers staying inside because the sun makes me feel awful and even when i'm inside that's when i get eaten alive by just, everything.

i got this far in life by being positive. i can continue to do that. but, my positivity has also blinded me to the bad before, and pretty much every relationship i've ever had has turned sour in some way because i refused to acknowledge a person's faults or express when i was uncomfortable until i couldn't stand it anymore. i wanna lay boundaries, but not upset people. i wanna hold a friendship for more than two years without it rotting away like an old maple leaf downed in acid. i hate thinking about my past, but i also love talking about it because i always think that imparting my bad experiences will help people somehow, even if it hurts me to think about it, but i should think about it, otherwise it'll fester and come out later.

i need therapy, but i can't get it. i'm alone.

i'm alone in my head. i'm alone in this room. i'm alone in this city. i'm alone in my pain, and my struggles, and i'm alone in my life. i feel like i attract bad people and hurt the good ones. i can't maintain a good friendship unless it's online. i'm going to be all alone, by myself, with no one to really reach to when my body finally fails me and i'm left to thrash around by myself.

i need to go to bed.

[cries-in-fat]

Week #1 check-in for Japanese

I wanted to separate my physical and mental health from learning a language; that's why Japanese is solo.

#3 Learn Japanese

My ambitions were bigger than my reality.

I wanted to do at least one grammar point a day, plus all Anki reviews.

Wait, I did not share my plan. 

Alright, the primary grammar source is Cure Dolly: https://www.youtube.com/@organicjapanesewithcuredol49

She makes Japanese grammar simple and logical. I've read somewhere that her reasoning is not always applicable to all the scenarios that can happen in real language. But I couldn't care less about that. I need enough information to parse a sentence and start immersing ASAP. If her explanation does not fill all the gaps, immersion will. Well, at least to some extent. I've been immersed in English for years, and I don't feel like I understand everything and can always express everything correctly.

Other grammar resources will come when I need them. For now, I just google what is unclear and clarify it from various sources.

I also wanted to try WaniKani, but the price is not reasonable for what is behind the paywall. And that is only the system itself, not the data. And I like Anki more than their system - I want to be able to grade myself.  If the word is difficult and I recall it after thinking, I would hit Hard in Anki; the same cannot be done in WK. And the other way around - if I make a typo, it's alright to correct it in Anki but not in WK. 

Morally, I was conflicted about it, but I downloaded an Anki deck from Reddit that is using WK resources. Even though the data are accessible for free, I felt bad. But I started going through the deck, and the mnemonics that I thought were so valuable are often pretty... weird and annoying. Quite a few of them are random names, like Chou, Jourm, Kouichi, and Shougun... Other mnemonics don't really reflect the reading correctly, e.g. 'row' for 'ryou'; I typed in 'rou' several times. I am in the system already, and more than half of those mnemonics are OK, so I will fix those that are not useful and come up with better ones for myself.

For vocab, I downloaded Japanese Core x000 Vocab decks, where x is 1 through 6. I am going through the first deck slowly, but I think it's important not to overwhelm myself with reviews.

During the first week, I realised that I also needed to add grammar to Anki. Making notes is cool, but I need to actively recall the information.

For the past week, I was consistent with Anki, so vocabulary and kanji are getting some attention. Regarding grammar, that is a bit worse - I made notes till lesson 14, but I have only four lessons in my Anki deck.

I don't have the mental power to process grammar after work. Maybe it's OK to leave grammar for weekends.

We will see how it goes.

[casspurrjoybell-25]

ON A NIGHT LIKE THIS - Chapter 22

*Warning: Adult Content*  

As the Christmas holiday approached, Dylan began to miss Jayce even more.

He didn't know what it was like to have a proper Christmas with other people, so he didn't know what he was missing when it came to the holiday but he had always wished he wasn't alone for it.

Having Jayce with him for Thanksgiving had meant a lot to him.

He tried not to let himself think about what it would be like to have Jayce with him on Christmas morning.

It wouldn't do any good to wish for something he knew wasn't going to happen.

Jayce was going to spend Christmas with his parents and his brother's family, and he was going to be alone.

The one thing he did have to look forward to was a gift from Jayce.

A couple days ago, Jayce had texted asking him if he would be home in the days leading up to Christmas because he was sending a Christmas gift and wanted to make sure Dylan would get it.

He didn't know why Jayce had bothered to ask if he'd be home.

If he couldn't go to his cabin in the mountains, there was nowhere else he would be.

He wanted to get Jayce a gift in return but even if he did manage to find something Jayce would like, it was too late to get it sent to him.

Jayce would be flying out to his family anyway, so Dylan decided his gift to Jayce would be driving out to Seattle after Christmas.

The idea unnerved him but he wanted to show Jayce that he was willing to put effort into their friendship.

His phone chimed and he reached for it eagerly.

Texts and calls from Jayce had become the best parts of his day.

"Hey Dylan. Your Christmas present just got delivered, so check outside your front door. I don't want it to get snowed on."

He stepped out of the kitchen and walked over to open his door, expecting to see a small package sitting on the doorstep.

He wasn't prepared for the sight that met his eyes.

Jayce was standing there, a big smile on his face and a large red bow pinned to his coat.

To say Dylan was stunned was an understatement.

"What are you doing here?" he managed to ask, wanting to smile but afraid this was too good to be true.

"I'm here to spend Christmas with you, if that's okay."

He stepped forward and pulled Jayce into a hug, still unable to believe this was happening.

"But weren't you going to your brother's house?" he asked, his voice slightly muffled by Jayce's hair.

"I'd rather spend the holiday with you. I can see my family another year."

He released Jayce from the tight hug but kept one hand on Jayce's hip.

He couldn't find the words to tell Jayce how much this meant to him.

Instead, he leaned down and kissed Jayce.

Jayce made a small, happy noise and moved closer, resting both of his hands on Dylan's chest as he kissed back.

"I missed you," Jayce murmured against his lips.

"I missed you too," he replied, before stepping back. "Come inside so you don't get cold standing out here."

It was then that he noticed several pieces of luggage behind Jayce.

"What's all that?"

"Some of it's my clothes and a few things I need but I also brought Christmas presents for you."

It seemed like a lot of stuff but he didn't ask any more questions.

He brought the luggage in and found Jayce staring at his living room, a confused expression on his face.

"Dylan, where is your Christmas tree?" Jayce asked, his eyebrows raised.

Dylan shrugged.

"I've never had one. I didn't see the point and there are trees outside."

"You need one so I can put your presents under it. Is there somewhere in town that's still selling trees?"

"No need. Most people get a permit from the Forest Service to cut down their own tree. We have plenty," he said, gesturing outside.

"Okay, that's what we'll do today," Jayce said cheerfully.

He opened the largest suitcase and started pulling out wrapped gifts.

"I'll put these on the other side of the fireplace for now."

Dylan watched as Jayce began to pile gifts of all sizes in the corner of his living room.

He had been expecting one gift but there were at least ten of them.

"This is too much," he muttered, shaking his head in disbelief and looking at the gifts around him.

Jayce caught his expression and smiled at him.

"It's not too much. I know your parents didn't celebrate Christmas, so I'm trying to make up for that. Kind of. I know it's not the same but I want you to have a good Christmas."

He felt tears well in his eyes and quickly blinked them away.

He didn't want to get emotional in the first few minutes Jayce was here.

"I don't have anything for you."

"That's okay. I wasn't expecting anything. Besides, you're my gift." Jayce pulled Dylan in and kissed him, soft and slow.

Dylan immediately felt heat course through him and his body began reacting as he wrapped his arms around Jayce.

He wanted Jayce.

Jayce looked so good standing in front of him, his blue eyes bright against the snow outside and the brown walls of the cabin surrounding them.

He didn't even realize he was moving his hips against Jayce until Jayce laughed and began walking them back towards the couch.

It was perfect with the fire crackling in the fireplace, warming their skin as they shed their clothes.

He lay on his back and let Jayce take the lead.

As Jayce kissed him, his hands wandered over Jayce's body, making their way up Jayce's abs, over his ribs and onto his pecs before brushing a nipple.

He loved hearing all the noises Jayce made in response.

Soon their hips were rolling, creating friction between them that made Dylan hold Jayce even closer to him, his fingertips digging into Jayce's lower back.

He wasn't going to last long.

Jayce settled his weight on Dylan, pressing their chests together and nipping at the skin on Dylan's neck and collarbone.

Dylan still wasn't used to making much noise but a moan left his lips as he bucked up against Jayce, chasing the pleasure that was about to overwhelm him.

"Yeah, Dylan, just like that," Jayce panted. "You're so hot."

Hearing Jayce talk that way sent him right over the edge.

He clung to Jayce and didn't relax his grip until Jayce finished and Jayce's moans turned into soft sighs.

Dylan picked his shirt up off the ground to clean them up before grabbing the corner of the blanket from the back of the couch and tugging it down to cover them.

For a few minutes, neither of them said anything.

They simply basked in the warmth of the fire and the heat between their bodies.

Jayce settled on top of him with his head resting on Dylan's chest, and Dylan gently stroked Jayce's hair.

This must be what love felt like.

He could live the rest of his life this way, under a blanket with Jayce's body pressed against his, a fire dancing in the fireplace and casting a golden glow on both of them.

"I'm glad you came back," he admitted to Jayce, being the one to break the silence for once.

"Me too."

"Is your family really okay with you not visiting them?"

Jayce snuggled his cheek against the hair on Dylan's chest.

"My parents aren't thrilled about it but they haven't been happy with me in years so that's nothing new. My brother is disappointed he won't see me but he understands. He's been calling me a lot more since I got lost and he's making an effort to keep in touch. He knows about you and he's supportive of me spending Christmas with you instead."

"You told him about me?"

"Yeah. I told him the whole story about getting lost and you saving me and how I feel about you. He and his wife would like to meet you someday."

Dylan was silent as he processed this.

It meant a lot to him that Jayce told his family about him and that they wanted to meet him.

It was such a normal thing for most other people but to him it seemed like a miracle.

He never thought he'd have someone in his life who cared about him or wanted to introduce him to their friends or family.

"How do you feel about me?" he asked.

"I like you a lot," Jayce replied without any hesitation. "You're kind, smart, independent and it doesn't hurt that you have an amazing body. But you also let me be myself and I don't feel pressure to be perfect like I did with previous boyfriends."

Dylan was careful with how he asked his next question, not sure if he was misinterpreting what Jayce had said or reading too much into it.

"Do you consider me a boyfriend? Or are we still friends?"

Jayce lifted his head, looking right into Dylan's eyes.

"I'd like you to be my boyfriend, if that's something you want."

"Yeah, I do, I want that," he said, stumbling over the words in his haste to say them.

The chance to mean something to someone was a dream he thought was out of reach.

Jayce's smile was infectious,and Dylan found himself smiling back as he continued looking into Jayce's eyes.

Jayce leaned forward to kiss him.

"Okay, boyfriend. How about we go get a Christmas tree?"

He was happy as he rode in Dylan's truck on their way into town.

So far, everything had gone even better than he expected.

Dylan had been thrilled with him showing up to spend Christmas together and the best part was that Dylan still liked him and wanted to be in a relationship with him.

More than anything, he wanted to make Dylan's first relationship a great experience.

He kept his hand on Dylan's leg as Dylan drove, and when they pulled into the parking lot for the hardware store, he reached over and took Dylan's hand.

"I know you're not comfortable going into town, especially now that people believe the ridiculous rumor that you kidnapped me, so you can wait in the truck. I'll go into the store to get the tree stand and lights for the tree."

Dylan seemed like he wanted to say something, but after a moment he squeezed Jayce's hand.

"Thank you," he simply said.

Jayce was quick to find everything in the hardware store.

He didn't want to leave Dylan sitting in the truck for too long.

Back in the parking lot, he deposited everything in the bed of the truck and climbed back into the passenger seat.

"They had some ornaments too," he told Dylan. "They aren't anything special but at least we have everything we need for the tree. We'll have to get more ornaments for next time. There's a year round Christmas store in Leavenworth that we can visit whenever we want to make a trip out there."

Dylan had a strange, somewhat puzzled expression on his face but all he said was.

"Thank you for going in to get all of that."

"Of course. Where can we go to get a tree? Do we need to get the permit to cut it down first?"

"I'll take care of that the next time I go into one of the offices for work."

"What do you do during winter? Are you still working?" he asked.

"I'm on call. If the Forest Service needs me for a project, they'll let me know. It's usually only for the day. Snow management on roads and at snow-parks." Dylan glanced over at him. "Have you had any luck with your job search?"

He shook his head.

"Nothing yet. I might not hear back from anyone until January."

After that, they rode in a comfortable silence.

Jayce stared out the window at the snowy scenery passing by, a faint smile on his face.

This felt like a real Christmas with the winter wonderland stretching out all around them.

Seattle rarely got snow, so Christmas there looked the same as any other time.

They got closer to the mountains before turning down an un-plowed road with no sign.

There was nothing at the end of it but the abrupt end to the road. Some of the trees had bright plastic ribbons tied around them.

"This is an area the Forest Service is going to clear for a new snow-park," Dylan said. "I'm not excited about cutting down a tree just so it can die in my living room but these trees are going to be coming down anyway. Might as well give one of them a chance to shine before the end of its life."

Jayce smiled.

"That's a great idea."

He got out of the truck and followed Dylan to the edge of the clearing.

He chuckled quietly to himself when he realized this situation would have terrified him a couple months ago.

He was following a huge man carrying an axe into the trees off a dead end road.

It was amusing to him that he'd ever been afraid of Dylan.

Now, he'd trust Dylan with his life.

"Pick whichever one you like," Dylan said, gesturing to the trees.

Jayce walked through them, looking at a few before spotting one that was about six feet tall and almost the perfect Christmas tree shape.

"How about this one?"

Dylan shook the tree to knock some of the snow off.

"Hold onto the trunk while I cut it loose."

He kept a firm grip on the tree as Dylan leaned down and began chopping at the base of the tree's trunk.

It didn't take Dylan long at all to cut all the way through and then Dylan handed him the axe and hoisted the tree up onto one of his shoulders. 

When Jayce said earlier that Dylan was his Christmas gift, he meant it.

He couldn't believe he had a huge, mountain man boyfriend for Christmas who could pick up and carry trees like they weighed nothing.

Dylan had no idea how hot he was.

He took a picture of Dylan carrying the tree over to the truck.

He was going to try to document as much as he could so Dylan would always have the memories of his first time celebrating Christmas. 

As they drove back, he took a few pictures of the snowy scenery, followed by a picture of Dylan's cabin covered with snow, and even more pictures of him and Dylan decorating the tree.

His final picture that evening was of the Christmas tree all lit up and adorned with ornaments and Dylan's presents piled under the tree.

He still didn't know how things would turn out between him and Dylan, but he hoped it would be the first of many Christmas' together. 

[purplesurveys]

1713

What were you doing 45 minutes ago? Doing another survey. I'm telling you, I like making my Sundays as boring as possible.

What was the last thing you said aloud? Can't really remember. I've been alone the last two hours.

Have you bought anything new this week? Other than food, no.

Name one person who made you smile today. Jo. BFF finally graduated and I guess I'm particularly emotional aboout her graduation because I was witness to most of the trials she went through to get to this point, and holy shit was the road for her rocky for the most part. She is what Yoongi meant when he said, "Dream, may all your trials end in full bloom."

What’s the last thing you had to drink? Coffee.

Ever go camping? Nah, it’s never been something that appeals to me. Maybe if we lived somewhere with guaranteed decent weather I would give it a go, but around here it just rains all the time haha. < Same with me, except that here it's either way too hot, or rains way too hard.

What’s your favorite candy? Chewy ones, like Fruitella.

Do you send messages on Facebook a lot? Yes, that's where I communicate with literally every non-work person ever. Messenger is a necessity at this point given I don't even text anymore except for work.

Have you ever gone to a strip club? I have never gone inside one but would like to try to at least once.

Last sporting event you watched? The Philippines vs Norway, Women's World Cup just this afternoon. We mounted a public watch party given that one of my clients is a major sponsor for our national team.

We lost – and subsequently lost our place in the World Cup – but it doesn't feel like we have lost at all. It's big enough of a win to have the Philippines even just be part of the World Cup, let alone WIN A MATCH (against New Zealand, last Tuesday). It's chilling to be alive for such historic achievements and I love our Filipinas to bits :')

What were you doing at 8am this morning? Fast asleep.

Anything you wish you could change? Yes I wish we can have 4-day work weeks.

Do you go in at a fast food place or drive thru? Drive-thru or delivery always. I genuinely can't tell you the last time I actually dined inside a fast food place.

What do you think when you hear Australia? Stores closing early. And the Irwin family.

Who’s the last person you talked to on the phone? A media contact who was asking for additional slots under his reservation for the watch party earlier.

Do you like Chinese food over pizza? Nah. Chinese food can be great, but the casual kind like Panda Express is usually shit and comes off as inauthentic. You'd have to go to a sit-down restaurant to really enjoy the full flavors and experience of Chinese food; whereas good pizza is pretty easy to find.

Do you have a tan? I'm just...naturally tan. I don't need to 'have' a tan.

Biggest annoyance in life right now? I'm nearly out of vape juice and every puff is tasting increasingly smokier and shittier, but all the shops are closed and I wouldn't be able to get a replacement till like 10 AM tomorrow at the earliest.

Do any of your friends have children? Not my friends, but I have several classmates in my batch who now do.

Are you jealous of anyone? Nah.

Where is your dad? He lives where he works (i.e. a cruise ship), and I imagine at this hour he has just woken up and is getting ready to start work. I'm not actually sure though if he works weekends? I'll need to ask him that; he doesn't typically talk about his job with us so I know very little about his everyday routine.

Any plans today? All I wanna do is eat and take surveys and watch BTS later tonight. Enjoy what's left of my weekend until I'm too exhausted to keep my eyes open.

Do you drink your soda with a straw? I don't drink soda. I do like straws with my coffee though.

Last song listened to? All Day by Namjoon and Tablo.

Do you take vitamins daily? No.

Is anyone jealous of you? Not that I know.

What are you doing tomorrow? It'll just be work again. It'll be a Monday though so I imagine the workload will be 5x more than usual.

What’s your favorite number? 7.

Do you have a maid come in and clean your house? No and that's not usually the case here. For households with house help, they usually live in the house and have their own rooms. I remember finding it very unusual when I first learned how in other countries, maids will drop by to do their job but leave at the end of the day. Cultural differences, I guess.

Can you say the alphabet backwards? I can't. I know someone who can though.

Cedar Point or Six Flags? Whatever.

Have you ever slept in until 1 PM? Not straight. It's always staggered – like I'd wake up at 9 AM, go back to sleep, wake up at 11 AM, go to sleep, then wake up at 1.

Do you believe in love at first sight? No but I also don't judge if other people claim it happened to them.

Do you like the show Viva La Bam? I have never see it. Not my type of show.

How many kids do you want to have? None forever and ever and ever.

Have you ever gone behind your parents' backs? Yes.

Have you ever lost someone? Of course.

Where did you get your worst scar from? An overly excited Cooper.

What time did you wake up today? Around 9:10 AM.

Have you ever tried to erase someone from your memory? Mhm.

Last meal? A croissant from Dunkin. I'm still eating it though. Then right after this I'll be eating a cinnamon doughnut, also from Dunkin.

Do you like coco pebbles the cereal? I've never tried! I've had Fruity Pebbles though; I bought it purely because The Rock once referenced it in a promo with John Cena. It got super over to the point that I wanted to check out what the fuck these 'Fruity Pebbles' were, lol.

Last time you saw your father? It'll be three weeks this Friday :) I'll be seeing him again this November.

Last time you cried? The other day when I was watching Jungkook's reaction to this year's ARMY song. Man cried live and in front of 11,000,000 people and his voice even broke when he tried to speak, how could I not cry with him lol??

When you get married what do you think you’ll put most of your focus and money into? Coming from my experience in PR and mounting events I feel like I would be very particular about event elements lol. Like making sure the food selection fits what our guests would like, having enough activities or prompts to do so people enjoy their whole time there, approving the music choices, etc. Also generally making sure the program flow is in perfect shape from start to finish.

Probably not the best priority in the first place, which is why I am NOT cut out for marriage anyway hah.

Would you freak out if you were to get pregnant by the last person you hooked up with? I have never hooked up with anyone but in theory yes I would freak out in any case.

When’s the last time something turned out better than expected? Last Friday. Just work stuff falling into place at the last possible moment, when I thought they wouldn't.

Who in your life causes you the most stress or negative feelings? Myself. And my clients. :) They're all so very nice and understanding but at the end of the day we have a work relationship, so I can't help but associate feelings of stress with them.

Have you ever had a teacher that also taught your parents? Nah. My dad and I attended the same university, but there was no overlap in profs as far as I know because our courses are vastly different from one another to begin with – he took up hotel and restaurant management; I did journalism.

What’s something you complain about frequently? Never-ending work and parents who think their noisy fucking kids have the right to own the world.

Do you have anything planned for the summer? That time of the year is done. My one scheduled plan then was my trip to Bangkok to see Yoongi :D I still can't believe I get to say I saw BTS DJKFHDJKFHDFFLS

Do you walk fast or slow? Fast or moderate, depending on what I'm walking for. I only ever walk slow in museums, I think.

What form of public transport do you use most often? Continued from last Sunday. I don't use public transport. If I need to go somewhere and can't drive, I book a Grab.

Is there any alcohol in the fridge? Yeah I have a few bottles of soju and beer.

Is any part of you sad at all? Maybe not sad, just tired and in need of another break.

Who was the last person to disappoint you? Just a few family members with some questionable opinions.

Have you ever let someone go? Yes.

Are you a patient person? It differs. I'm patient with things like waiting in line or if a server messes up at a restaurant, but I can be impatient at work.

Do you think you’ve changed over the past year? Yeah, for sure. This time last year I was in a bit of a professional and emotional rut, and that has since faded for the most part. Also I was a looooot more inexperienced in my role as a manager, something I'm confident to say I've grown from.

Is there something that happened in your past you hate talking about? Sure. I'm an open book and have no issues tackling the past but that doesn't necessary mean I *like* talking about some memories, if that makes sense.

Your ex is sitting next to you, what do you do? If they were willing and were friendly enough, I'd greet them and quickly catch up.

Are you someone who worries too often? Only about work, but otherwise I like to be carefree these days.

Have you ever been completely alone with a boy in his room? Not a boy.

Do you ever think “what if” about anything? Of course, can't avoid those thoughts sometimes.

Is the last person you kissed older than you? No.

Does everyone deserve a second chance? Nope.

Are you emotionally strong? I try to be. I've been through my fair share of shit and from all those moments I've learned to just get the fuck up after allowing myself to cry a bit.

Is there anyone you don’t wanna lose? Of course.

Are you the type of person who seeks out revenge? No. I'm passive-aggressive sometimes when I know I'm in the right but plotting Actual Revenge just seems so childish at this point.

Do you think two people can last forever? Sure. It's a comforting thought to have about relationships.

Do you like falling asleep listening to the rain? Yes!!! Sometimes I'll even turn on like an hour-long raining sound effect video if I have trouble falling asleep.

Is your current hair color your natural hair color? It isn't.

Do you believe that the last person that you kissed cares for you? No.

Are you happy with the choices you’ve made? I'm happy with some; I have no choice but to just move forward with some others.

Do you honestly have feelings for someone at the moment? Continued from the night before, again. Nope.

Have you ever slept in the same bed as the opposite sex? No.

Are there things in your life that you’ll never be able to get over? Sure, for better and for worse.

Have you dated someone older than you? Nope.

[olivia-soffey-author]

Painting The San Diego Sky

The San Diego sky is beautiful tonight. Vibrant hues of tangerine melt into a deep shade of magenta over the San Diego Skyline. I peered through a crack in the door to the back porch as I intently studied my new foster mom. Her dark brown skin glowed in the rays of the sun. She carefully spread oil paint across the canvas with a pallet knife while humming a happy tune to herself.

When you're a foster teen, you cycle through a lot of moms, but I've never met anyone quite like her before. Her name is Penelope Kingston. I don't know what kind of job she has, but she wears a pink suit every single day. She owns one in every shade from blush to cerise. Some were covered in various prints and patterns while others were plain. Her closet looked more like it belonged to a Barbie doll than it did a person. Tonight, she was wearing a rose-colored sundress, and she'd woven a flower crown of fresh carnations into her boho braids. She joyously danced along to the tune in her head as she added more color. I've never met someone who is so unabashedly themselves before. I wonder how it feels not to care what anyone thinks of you.

During my deep contemplation, Penelope caught sight of me spying and beckoned me outside. I trudged outside with a guilty expression, resembling that of a puppy that had been caught chewing on its owner's shoes.

She giggled. "Don't look at me like that, Fierro. You're not in trouble."

The corners of my lips turned upward in a half smile.

She proudly showed off her painting. "What do you think?"

"It's pretty," I said honestly. The painting was a vibrant interpretation of the sun setting over the San Diego skyline.

She stroked her chin thoughtfully. "You're right. It is pretty, but it's missing something." She handed me a fine-tipped paintbrush. "Here, add something."

I shook my head and tried to give the brush back to her. "No way, I can't do that. I'll probably do it all wrong and ruin your artwork."

"There's no wrong way to express yourself creatively," She chided. "Besides I have plenty more paintings."

I hesitantly dipped the tip of my brush into brown paint and added two small birds sitting on a telephone wire.

"It's perfect!" She squealed, pulling me into a tight hug. "You've got a real artistic eye."

"I barely did anything."

"That's alright! Everyone's artistic journey starts somewhere." She reached behind her easel and pulled out a blank mixed-media sketchbook. "Here

"You can ask me anything."

"Why do you wear your hair like that? What's the point of all the flowers?"

She paused for a long moment. "Well, how did you pick your current hairstyle?”

I ran a hand over my buzz cut. "I don't know. I've never really thought about it before. I guess it's because it's easier to take care of, and I'm less likely to get lice in a group home."

"Does your appearance make you feel confident?"

I gave an indifferent shrug.

"For me, my look is about more than convenience. It's about self-expression. My hair makes me feel like me, you know?"

"I don't think I know who I am," I confessed.

Well then, we need to help you find yourself.

In the following weeks, I took Penelope's sketchbook with me to school and tried to draw some random objects I saw. So far, I had drawn a pen, a service dog, a basketball, a 3-D model of the human brain, and a bag of chips stuck in the vending machine. They all looked terrible. The lines were all wonky, the depth was all wrong. Oh well, I tried. I tucked the sketchbook in the back corner of my closet. In other news, I started growing my hair out. I couldn't stop thinking about my conversation with Penelope. Did I feel confident in my own skin? Should I? I didn't have answers to those questions, but a change of style couldn't hurt. Right now, my hair is spiked up in several different directions. It was still too short to properly style, so I was stuck looking like a chicken for the time being. Did I feel more like myself? Maybe. I don't know what myself is supposed to feel like. When you spend your entire life just trying to survive, you don't always have the time to discover yourself.

On the last Saturday in May, I came downstairs to find Penelope eagerly waiting for me. "Put your shoes on. We're going on an adventure." She threw a tote bag at me, which I caught in midair. I peeked inside to find it full of art supplies. "Your sketchbook has been collecting dust for too long. Let's fill it up today!"

"But I'm not any good at drawing. I don't think I'm meant to be making art."

"Don't be ridiculous. All expression is art and expression is for everyone," She insisted. "The most important question is, do you have fun when you're creating?"

I thought about it for a long time, then said. "I had fun painting with you on the patio."

"Perfect! Let's make something together!" She led me to her strawberry-pink Mercedes and hopped in. "Alright Fierro, if you don't like art what kind of things do you like to do?"

"Napping," I said without hesitation.

She laughed. "Okay, what else?"

"I like to go for walks."

"Great! What do you enjoy about the walks?"

"I guess I enjoy being outside in the fresh air and watching the birds."

"Buckle up, I know exactly where we're going."

We drove in silence for several minutes. I could tell the lack of conversation was killing her, but I was too shy to say anything. Eventually, she couldn't bear it any longer and spoke up, "So I've been thinking, we should decorate your room. It's so empty and depressing right now."

To her, my room probably looked like a barren wasteland. In comparison to the rest of the house, it was pretty desolate. Penelope's home was a lot like her. It was filled with color and personality, and decorated with love. Every room was themed after a different color of the rainbow and adorned with vibrant floral wallpaper and an eclectic collection of up-cycled furniture. Every surface was littered with trinkets and knick-knacks. The word Minimalism was not in her vocabulary. My room was the opposite of hers, it was completely bare apart from a twin-sized bed and an old trash bag filled with my humble belongings. "No, thank you. I want to keep it the way it is. It will be easier to pack up when I have to leave." I stared blankly out the window, so I wouldn't have to make eye contact with her as I spoke.

"Fierro," she whispered with so much sadness in her voice it broke my heart. "You know I care about you, right?"

I nodded.

"I know it will be hard for you to ever feel fully at home somewhere, but I want you to know I don't have any plans to get rid of you. So you can relax, alright?"

"Alright," I said, just to appease her. I'd heard that one before and I know how it ends. If I know one thing for sure, It's that parents never stay. Even if Penelope is telling the truth, and she won't transfer me to another home, I'm still sixteen rapidly approaching eighteen. Once I age out of the system I’ll be all on my own. If I let myself love her, I don't think I'll be able to live with the pain of letting her go.

We pulled into the parking lot and I read the large green sign. San Diego Zoo.

Woah, isn't this place crazy expensive?" I remarked. I can't afford this. My bank account has negative ten dollars in it!"

She placed a comforting hand on my shoulder. "Chillax. This is my treat. You need to learn to let lose a little bit."

We purchased our tickets and entered the park. I glanced at Penelope expectantly as she studied the map. "Where are we going first?"

"That's up to you. Where is your artist's intuition leading you?"

I pointed to the aviaries on the map.

She beamed. "Excellent choice."

We stepped into the elegant glass dome and the birds erupted into a cacophony of chirps and caws to welcome us to their habitat. First, I tried to sketch the hummingbirds, but they moved too fast for me to capture their likeness. I opted to try drawing the peacock instead. His slow strides and lack of flight made him the perfect model. I crouched down to his level while being careful not to touch the feces-covered ground. I took out my sketchbook and a pencil and Penelope did the same. I was unsure where to begin, so I glanced at her page for inspiration.

He noticed my wandering gaze and decided to assist me. "Let's start with simple shapes. What basic shapes can you identify?"

"The body kind of looks like an oval, and the neck is sort of S-shaped like a snake. The head is round, but pointy at the same time, like a teardrop," I observed.

"You have a great eye! Now, etch those shapes onto the page as lightly as you can and darken them once you're satisfied with the way it looks."

I followed her instructions, and soon I had a basic sketch of the body head, and neck that looked halfway decent.

“Let’s start working on those feathers. Start with the largest ones at the base of the tail and work your way to the smaller ones at the tip.”

I sketched the long curved shapes and tried to mimic the pattern to the best of my abilities. I also added the legs and feet along with some details on the face. I flipped the sketch around, so the peacock could view it. He pecked it and then let out a squawk of approval.

Penelope began coloring in her sketch with an indigo pencil.

I carefully mirrored her light strokes. “How do you make the colors look so vibrant?”

“Try blending different colors, start with the lightest hue, and fade into the darkest shade.”

For the next hour, my focus was zeroed in on the drawing. I seamlessly blended shades of indigo, midnight blue, cerulean, turquoise, lime, gold, and emerald until I was satisfied with the results. I wiped the sweat off my brow and rushed over to Penelope to show off my work.

She let out a delighted gasp and pulled me into a tight hug. “Fierro! It’s beautiful! You should be so proud of yourself!”

An overwhelming sense of warmth flared in my chest. Is this what little kids feel like when their parents hang their artwork on the fridge? I wouldn’t know. For the brief time, I knew my birth parents; they weren’t the type to show any approval or support for my accomplishments. They claimed they were too busy for coddling. Somehow they always found the time to tell me I was worthless and would never amount to anything. I shook my head to wake myself from the terrible memories. It didn’t matter what was said in the past. They were dead to me. I swallowed the lump in my throat and said, “Thank you, Penelope. Your kindness means a lot to me.”

We spent the rest of our time at the zoo in the aviaries sketching the different birds. By the end of the day, I had drawn a toucan, a macaw, a lovebird, an African pygmy goose, and a flamingo. With every sketch, my skills improved. Every new drawing looked slightly more accurate than the last. We worked on our sketches until the zookeepers came to kick us out at closing time.

On our way back to the car I apologized for using up all of our time in the aviary.

Penelope waved her hand dismissively. “Never apologize for being in a creative state of flow.”

When we got home I taped all of my artwork to the wall above my bed in a noticeable place for everyone to admire.

In the following weeks, school let out for the summer and I spent my days sleeping in and going for long walks around the city, doodling the sights whenever I felt inspired. I got a summer job hauling bags of food at the pet store. It was grueling work, but I enjoyed visiting the animals every day. Penelope and I started hosting Mario Kart tournaments in our condo every Tuesday night. Don’t be fooled by Penelope’s kind demeanor; she is one of the fiercest competitors I’ve ever met. She doesn’t just want to win, she seeks to obliterate the competition. Lucky for me, I am also a merciless force of nature when I’m on the racetrack. In the group homes where I grew up, the Wii was my foster parents’ favorite tool for keeping the kids busy and out of trouble. I was the master of every game they had. It got to the point where none of the other children would play with me because they were too afraid of my awesomeness. Penelope was not intimidated by my skills. Our tournaments typically ended with us throwing all of our shells at each other until there was only one person left standing. She won some races, I almost won others. Someday I was finally going to win, then her reign of terror would finally be over. As time passed by I felt myself changing. After every day I spent with Penelope, I became a little less shy and I felt more secure. I found myself smiling and laughing a lot more than I ever did before. My hair now reached my eyebrow and was finally long enough to tame. It took some practice to find a style that looked good on me, but once I did I seemed to get compliments everywhere I went.

“It looks like you’re becoming a local heartthrob, Fierro,” Penelope teased.

I would act humble, but deep down I loved the rush of satisfaction that came with being noticed. That June and July had been the happiest time of my life. It was the closest I’d ever come to being a normal kid. When August rolled around things took a turn for the worst.

It started late one night as I was dragging the trash out to the dumpster. Even after dark, the California heat was brutal and unforgiving. The sweltering humidity further exacerbated the foul odors emanating from the dumpster. When I went to open the lid, I spotted a flier for a community art gallery. I knew Penelope would love that, so I reached down to pick it up. Before I had the chance to grab it, someone else picked it up.

He let out a scoff and read it aloud. “We invite all members of the community to showcase their artistic talents in our free open community art gallery. Whether you're a seasoned artist or just starting, we want to see your interpretation of landscapes with emotions. All types of paintings, from oils to watercolors, acrylics to pastels, are welcome. We want to celebrate the diversity of our community and the richness of its artistic expression.” He crumpled up the flier and threw it at me. “Is this the kind of garbage you’re into now? Are you the kind of guy who paints his feelings? I thought I raised you to be tougher than that.”

I looked up to see my father standing in front of me with a belittling expression on his face. My heart pounded so violently, I thought I might be having a heart attack. “What the hell are you doing here? You’re supposed to be doing four more years. Please tell me you didn’t break out!”

“Don’t be absurd. They let me out early, on good behavior. I tried to call you, but you didn’t answer. You left me no choice but to track you down.”

After my mother died, my father was granted custody of me. He didn’t know the first thing about raising children, and he barely had enough money to take care of himself, much less a child. This led him to take part in a major money laundering scheme, so he could afford to send me to daycare. Everything was going fine until the FBI caught wind of what he was doing, and sent him to prison. That’s how I ended up in foster care. He was supposed to be in the middle of a fifteen-year sentence, but it appears that is no longer the case.

I crossed my arms and tried to act tough. “What do you want from me?”

He leaned against the dumpster and lit a cigar. “I want to see my son. Is that too much to ask? I haven’t seen you in ages.”

I’d done my best to stay as far away from him as I could. I hadn’t seen him since my social worker stopped forcing me to go to visitations. She noticed how miserable the visits made me and chose to spare me the pain.

My father scanned me up and down appraisingly. “You’ve gotten fat,” he remarked, his voice laced with disdain.

I had put on some weight since he’d seen me last. My ribs no longer protruded from malnourishment and neglect. My shoulders grew broader and my arms became thicker. I was no longer the fragile wisp of a child he could bully and demean however he felt like. Every pound I had gained was a blessing because it meant I was no longer starving. “My weight is none of your business. I’m not having this conversation with you.”

“It was just an observation. You need to learn how to accept criticism. You’ll never get anywhere in life if you keep being so sensitive.”

"It's better to be sensitive than a convicted felon."

“Don’t disrespect me!”

“Or what? You’ll hit me like you used to?”

He took a step forward, his cigar smoke wafting into my face. "You have no idea what you're talking about."

"I know exactly what I'm talking about. I remember every time you hit me, every time you belittled me, and made me feel worthless."

He looked away, a hint of shame flickering across his face. "I was a different person back then. I'm trying to fix things right now."

I scoffed. “Is that why you came here? To deliver a half-assed apology.”

He hesitated. “Not, entirely. I need to ask you for something.”

“What?” I said through clenched teeth, losing all patience for the good-for-nothing deadbeat I call dad.

“Listen, I need to borrow some money.”

I let out a laugh so loud I startled myself. “You’re delusional. What on earth makes you think I would ever give you a single cent?”

He took a long drag of his cigar and released it in a pungent cloud of smoke. “My girlfriend is pregnant, and we can’t afford to pay her medical bills. We have nothing, Fierro. I wouldn't be asking if it wasn’t desperate.”

“Is the baby yours?” Was my dad having another child? He couldn’t even care for the one he had! I threw my hands up in the air. “You know what? I don’t care! You abandoned me, and then you have the audacity to track me down and beg for money!”

He opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out.

“I never want to speak to you again!”

“Son.” He took a step forward toward me.

“Didn’t you hear me the first time? Get out!” I threw an empty soda can at him.

He raised his hands in surrender and began walking away. He didn’t say a word, but he turned back to look at me one last time.

“If I ever see you snooping around here again, I’ll file a restraining order! Do you hear me?” I screamed into the darkness, but it was no use. He was already gone.

I didn't tell Penelope about the confrontation with my father, but she could sense that I was quieter than usual. She didn’t force me to share, and I appreciated that. I didn’t want to talk about it. A feeling of guilt clawed at my gut. Maybe I should have given my dad some money. It’s not the baby’s fault my dad is a deadbeat and a dirtbag.

I tried my best to forget all about my father and the conversation we’d had. I was doing a decent job at ignoring his existence until I got the phone call that changed everything. It happened in the middle of the night. I was too hot to sleep, so I sat at my desk making a watercolor painting of the night sky. Then my phone rang, startling me out of my deep concentration. I picked up my phone to see who was calling me at such an ungodly hour of the night. It was my social worker, Mindy. I felt a rising wave of anxiety in the pit of my stomach. It was uncharacteristic of her to call me so late. I knew something was wrong. My entire body trembled as I pressed the answer button. “Hey, Mindy. What’s going on?”

“Hello, Fierro. I’m sorry to call you this late, but I have some upsetting news to share with you.”

My heart pounded violently in a fast rhythm. I suddenly felt like I was going to vomit. Was I going to have to move again? “What’s going on?”

“It’s about your father. He was run over by a drunk driver earlier tonight. He died on the way to the hospital. I’m so sorry.”

My entire body went numb. I had no idea how I was expected to respond to this information, so I said, “Thank you for telling me.”

“I’m going to speak with your foster mom to make sure you’re receiving proper support during this difficult time. Please let me know if there’s anything I can do for you.”

“Thanks. Have a good night.”

“Fierro, wait!”

I hung up on her. I didn’t want to talk. I needed to be alone with my thoughts for a while. As terrible as it sounds, the first emotion I felt was a relief. I wasn’t being taken away from Penelope. I could stay here with her, but at what cost? My father was dead and one of the last things I ever said was, “I never want to see you again.” I sat alone in silence, waiting to feel some overwhelming sense of grief or guilt, or any emotion at all, but deep down I felt nothing. Inside I just felt hollow. I expected Mindy to call back and scold me for hanging up on her, but she never did. Once I got tired of blankly staring at my bedroom ceiling, I tiptoed downstairs for a change of scenery.

Penelope stood at the kitchen counter stirring a mug of coffee with a far-off look in her eyes. Once she heard me enter the kitchen, she rushed over and pulled me into the warmest of hugs. Tears dripped from her eyes as she held me close. “Fierro, Mindy told me the news. I’m so sorry. I know how you must be feeling right now.

She didn’t have a clue how I was feeling. I barely knew how I felt. Whatever emotion it was certainly wasn’t sorrow. She seemed more upset about the loss than I was at the moment. And yet, after about a minute of silence, something overcame me. I hugged her back and let the tears fill my eyes. I wasn’t crying for my father. I was crying for myself. I cried for my past self, the lonely child whose father was never there. I cried for my present self, who only wanted to be loved. I cried for my future self, who would never have the chance to make things right.

Penelope stroked my hair as I sobbed into her shoulder. “You’re going to be okay. I’m here. I got you.”

I stayed in my room for several days only coming out for occasional meals. I wasn’t hungry most of the time. I took the week off from work. told my boss I’d be going out of town for the funeral. That was a lie, I had no intention of going to the funeral. I’d already missed the wake. It felt disrespectful to go see him after the way I ended things. I rolled over in bed and stared at the exotic bird calendar Penelope had bought for me. Today was August 5th, the day I’d been dreading. Not only was it the day of my father’s funeral, but it was also my seventeenth birthday. Happy birthday to me, I guess. I used all my willpower to drag myself out of bed and down the stairs.

When I came downstairs I was greeted with a stack of pancakes with a birthday candle sticking out of it. The words happy birthday were spelled out in maple syrup. I guess Penelope remembered what day it was. She'd gone out with friends last night. I had hoped she would sleep in and forget all about it. I had to practically push her out the door last night, so I could cry myself to sleep in peace.

Penelope sat in the chair directly across from me and gave a comforting reassuring smile. Happy birthday, sweetheart.”

I forced a smile in return. “You remembered.”

“I would never forget it.”

Of course she wouldn’t, she was too good of a mom to ever let it slip from her memory.

She gently rubbed my wrist. “Listen, I’m not going to force you to go anywhere or do anything today, but if there is something you’d like to do, let me know, and I’ll make it happen.”

I stared down at my plate of pancakes. “I’m not really in the mood to do anything special.”

She gave an understanding nod. "Alright, how about a walk?"

"Just a walk? No surprises?"

"No surprises," She promised.

After breakfast, we slipped on our shoes and began our walk to the pier. The weather was perfect. The sky was a brilliant shade of baby blue that stretched as far as the eye could see, not a single cloud could be spotted along the horizon. Warm rays of golden sunlight illuminated the city in a warm glow. I cursed the sky for being so blue. How could everything be so beautiful on the day my father is going to be buried? Locals walked their dogs and tourists took selfies by the waterfront. Isn’t it cruel how life goes on like nothing happened after you’ve lost everything? I stood at the end of the pier and watched as a father lifted his young son onto his shoulders so he could enjoy the ocean view. I averted my gaze and stared out at the still waters instead. It felt like the universe was giving me a colossal middle finger for ever believing I could’ve had a father like that.

“Do you mind if we stop for a moment?” Penelope asked.

“That’s fine,” I said as I gazed vacantly at the tranquil turquoise waters.

She sat on a wooden bench and pulled out her sketchbook along with a set of oil pastels. She motioned for me to sit next to her as she began sketching.

She ripped out a blank page and handed it to me without saying a word.

I glanced between the empty page and the peaceful sea. I wasn’t in the mood to draw it as it was. I felt wrong to draw such a happy sight on a day like today. Instead, I chose the darkest, murkiest shades of gray, green, and navy. With harsh, powerful strokes I drew fierce powerful tidal waves crashing into sharp, jagged rocks beneath a blackened sky. Using the white pastel I added fragmented bolts of lightning tearing through the sky. I focused all the anger and heartbreak I felt toward my father and directed it into the piece. Once the drawing was completed I let out an exhausted breath. I felt like I had just fought a war.

Penelope glanced over at my work. She didn’t say anything, but she gave me an approving nod. We spent the rest of our time together enjoying each other's company in silence until we began our walk home. Penelope finally broke the silence as we walked past the cemetery. “Do you mind if we stop for a moment?”

I eyed her wearily, but I didn’t argue. I didn’t know what to expect when she led me deep into the cemetery. I feared maybe she’d force me to attend my father’s burial, but instead, she led me to a joint tombstone that read, Jeffrey and Maria Kingston. Loving Mother and Father. Penelope set down a drawing of a dark-skinned little girl being held in a loving embrace by her parents on top of the grave. She shed a single tear and then continued our walk home as if nothing had happened.

“You’re an orphan,” I said. It wasn’t a question, it was an observation.

She nodded. “I am. My father was a soldier. He gave his life in the line of duty. My mother died of cancer not long after. I grew up in foster care just like you. I never had anyone to care for me. That’s why I became a foster mom; so I could make sure another orphan could have a better life than I did.”

Hearing her story made me view Penelope in a new light. I always believed her joy and kindness came from a place of naivety. I thought she was happy because she didn’t know what it was like to suffer, but I was wrong. She understood pain more intimately than most people do and she chose to be happy despite everything she’d been through. “Thank you for giving me a chance. I can hardly remember what my mother was like, but if I did have a mom I would want her to be exactly like you.”

“You don’t need to thank me. It’s been an honor to call you my son.”

As we walked back to her house, I couldn't help but think about the drawing she had left on her parents' grave. It was a powerful reminder of the love and connection that existed between families, even when they were separated by death. And it made me realize that, in some small way, I had found a new family with Penelope.

When we got home, Peneolpe set the crumpled flyer for the community gallery on the table. Without any preamble, she said, “I think you should submit one of your pieces to the gallery.”

“Me? No. I brought that flyer home for you. I’m not any good.”

“You don’t need to be modest. I’ve seen your recent work. You’re very talented. Besides, this gallery is open for everyone, you don’t have to be a pro to submit.”

“I’ll think about it.”

She smiled. “That’s all I ask.”

For the fifth night in a row, I couldn’t sleep. So I dug through my portfolio for something worthy of being displayed in a gallery. My eyes caught on the drawing of the stormy sea I made today. Plenty of my drawings were pretty, but one was meaningful. It was infused with all of the grief, anger, and sorrow, I was experiencing, and that made it significant. At that moment, I decided this was the piece I needed to submit to the gallery.

Over the next few days, I worked on the drawing, refining and perfecting it until it felt like a true representation of everything I was feeling. Finally, I mustered up the courage to submit it to the community gallery, feeling a mix of excitement and nervousness. A few weeks went by, and I received an email that left me ecstatic - my piece had been accepted for the gallery exhibition. I couldn't believe it. On the day of the exhibition, I arrived early, dressed in my best clothes, my heart pounding with anticipation. As I walked through the gallery, I saw my drawing on display alongside other beautiful pieces of art. It was a surreal moment, one that I had never imagined possible. I looked around and saw Penelope beaming at me from across the room, her eyes full of pride. For the first time in a long time, I felt like I had accomplished something truly meaningful.

I looked at the empty spot by my beside my painting where my father could have been standing in another life If things were different. If he were a better father, a better man. Now the thought of him didn’t fill me with the same level of rage and sorrow like it used to, and that was a start. I wasn’t plagued with the same sense of hopelessness I used to feel because I knew Penelope would never abandon me like he did.

A professional-looking man, wearing a sharp business suit and designer glasses stopped in front of my painting to carefully appraise it. He stared at it for a long time, not saying a word or showing any kind of emotion.

“Is it any good?” I asked nervously, unsure of how to react when someone scrutinizes your artwork.

“Did you make this?” He asked.

I nodded.

“You know, I see a dozen paintings of the pier a day. They all want to paint the pretty scenery. Yours is special, It’s not just pretty I can tell there’s a deeper meaning buried in here. I’d like to buy it.”

I raised my eyebrows in surprise. “You really want to buy it?”

“I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t mean it. You’ve got a bright future, kid,”

I smiled at Penelope and for once I believed that was true.

[holden-caulfield]

What If I Don't Want You To?

main masterlist

REQUESTED: "Hii! I saw that you wanted people to leave kaz requests in your asks so here I am! Could you do a ff in wich the reader is a part of the crows and she's really sarcastic and flirty (similar to jesper) and she constantly flirts with kaz, (he acts like it doesn't affect him but he secretly loves it) and one day she does something especially bold that makes him blush madly and they finally admit their feelings for each other (also a lot of teasing of the crows to kaz pls) thank you so much!"

SUMMARY: reader loves to tease kaz but is scared once she realizes she might have gone too far.

WARNINGS: a mention of blood but nothing graphic

WORD COUNT: 1422

Kaz was the most closed-off person you knew. He never revealed anything, wether it was his feelings or the details of a new plan, and it enraged you. That's why you took it upon yourself to see just how far you could push him.

Flirting with Kaz Brekker wasn't an easy task, nor was it rewarding but it sure was fun. The crows loved to see which new technique you would have used and what effect it would have had on Kaz. It was usually a simple glare; a snarky comment when you were lucky. Bets were made on his reactions and you soon became a part of it.

"What are we thinking today, Y/n?" started Jesper while walking you down to the club, "I'm betting on a smirk."

"A smirk?!" you asked surprised, "I'm not even sure Kaz can smile..."

"He can, i've seen him once. I thought i was dreaming but when i pointed it out, he glared at me. I knew it was real when he whacked me with his cane." stated Jesper, shivering at the memory. You couldn't help but laugh at his theatrics. "Why do you do it, by the way?"

You took a moment to answer, suddenly serious again.

Truth was that all the innocent flirty comments you made −comments that started out as nothing more than a pastime− soon changed something in you. They were becoming truthful, and seeing Kaz answer with nothing but a dismissive comment was not easy. Trying to evoke feelings in him, inadvertently awoke feelings in you. Feelings for your boss that you shouldn't have had.

"Do i need a reason? It's fun, why do you talk to yourself in the mirror when you think no one's watching?" you retorted, raising eyebrows in genuine question.

"First of all, you shouldn't have seen that. Second of all, you should try it, you'd feel much better afterwards." he said simply and you tried restraining the smile that inevitably made its way on your face.

You entered the club which was, as always, in full swing. Several people were already ordering at the bar all kinds of alcohol while many others were betting all their possessions at the tables. Only the dregs knew that the real bets were being placed under the tables.

"Ten that he doesn't say anything." you heard someone whispering.

You were the newest of the dregs and of the crows, but you had already earned yourself a reputation.

"Twenty that he finally kicks her out." another voice from somewhere in the club.

That one made you shiver. Would he really reach a point where he would fire you? You were a useful member, you wouldn't have made it into the crows if you weren't, but were you too much? Would he eventually get tired of you?

You walked over to your usual table with Jesper to meet Inej. Kaz wasn't there yet and you were really thinking of ending it there, no more flirting, no more jokes. This was your job, nothing else.

"What do you have for us, boss?" asked Jesper as he saw Kaz approaching.

He looked as he always does: black refined clothes clinging to him in an assortment of sharp edges, making him look even more direful to new merchants. He looked dashing the way a raging sea at night is; frightening, yet enticing. And that was wrong, you reminded yourself.

"It was a dead end." he said, sitting down.

He was in a gloomy mood, certainly for the news, and even though you knew you would have let down the whole club, you couldn't help but think of the comment you had heard moments ago.

"Twenty that he finally kicks her out."

You loved working and simply being with the crows and the possibility of being kicked out was positively frightening.

But you couldn't simply stop. Everyone would have noticed something was off, he would have noticed. And then what? He would have known you liked him.

You had to do something big, something he couldn't simply ignore. You might have been out of the dregs for good, or maybe not.

Jesper kicked your shin under the table, making you focus back on the real word and motioning at all the dregs in the club, looking expectantly at you.

Kaz and Inej were now talking about something you weren't quite getting, their voices seemed distant as you tried to forget about everyone's eyes on you. You had made it a thousand times already, you could do it once more.

"So, what are we going to do now?" asked Jesper and Kaz leaned back in his chair.

"I have some other leads we can try, but we'll have to split up." he started, the prospect of new kruge in his pockets making him incredibly more cheerful, "Jesper, Inej heard something about a particularly pricey painting in east stave, she'll bring you there and you'll learn more about it. And Y/n," he began and you perked up.

It was your moment to say something and get it over with.

"We'll go to west stave, i need your help with a lead there."

"Oh, you need me?" you said, your tone excessively teasing.

"That's what i said, but i can ask Inej." he replied drily.

You hesitated but you were not one to back down, especially not in front of one of Kaz's passive aggressive comments.

"But then you wouldn't get to stare at me longingly while i work, would you?" you said, pouting slightly.

You could have expected a retort, a glare, a not-so-nice hand gesture, but not him storming out of the club.

The entirety of the dregs was dumbfounded, Jesper and Inej, who never participated in the bets but still knew about them, were agape. You were mortified.

"Maybe," began Inej, "You should go talk to him."

"And meet my demise?" you asked.

"There must be a reason why he stormed out-"

"Yes, that he would have liked to kill me but blood stains are tough to remove." Jesper laughed but you were quite serious.

You got up either way, you had to explain yourself to him, you owed him at least that, and got out.

You found him not so far from the club's entrance, leaning on the railing over the river. You approached him unsurely.

"Kaz." he didn't turn around, so you got closer to the railing and noticed that his face, even in the night with the palest light of the street lamps, was scarlet. "I'm- i'm sorry, i will stop."

He remained silent.

"That is if you still want me in the crows, if not i'll leave tonight obviously." he turned to you, usually-perfect hair now slightly tousled, face still red and unreadable.

"Why wouldn't i?" he asked.

"I'm always teasing you and i figured you hated that. I will stop."

"What if i don't want you to?" your head perked up and he turned back towards the horizon, but a smirk crept up on his face. He didn't bother hiding it.

"So you can smile?" he rolled his eyes.

"I don't like it when people point out things i obviously do, you should have noticed back there."

Heat rushed to your face and the smile he had plastered onto his face turned into a complacent one.

"It was real? You stare at me longingly?" you asked bewildered.

He looked at you once before turning to the horizon once more, "Obviously not."

But you could sense he was lying.

"Told you he could smile, Y/n!" shouted Jesper from behind you.

You both turned around to find Jesper and Inej surrounded by the dregs and a couple of other clients too, all jostling to get a better look of the scene.

"It'll be hard for him not to, i'm afraid." joined in Inej and you bit your lip to refrain the laughter. Kaz's annoyed expression didn't help you maintaining a straight face.

"I'm not paying you to stand here doing nothing, get back inside." he ordered.

Everyone turned back inside but Jesper and Inej.

"Boss, if Y/n now gets double, just know i'm great at flirting too." stated Jesper as Kaz made his way back to the club, you in tow.

He ignored him and whacked him with his cane. Again. Jesper had now yet another lovely cane story to add to his collection.

"You'll never let him forget it, won't you?" you whispered. Jesper looked at you like a child who had just entered candy land.

"Never."

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[writethelifeyouwant]

Aversion Therapy

Summary: Y/N has been institutionalised for sex addiction at an experimental facility, run by Dr. Sam Winchester.

Pairing: Doctor!Sam x Reader Rating: 18+ Warnings: Sex addiction, addiction therapies, abuse of therapist/patient relationship, noncon roleplay Tags: hair pulling, crotchless panties, degradation (like, a lot), blow job, spitting, pussy spanking, sex on a desk, body writing, p in v, pulling out Word Count: 4.5 k Created for: @samwinchesterbingo - Doctor!Sam | @spnkinkbingo - Crotchless Panties | @anyfandomgoesbingo - Hair Pulling | @j3bingo - Diary

A/N: So I this may or may not be one of the dirtiest things I've ever written. It's definitely up there in the list 😅I hope you enjoy, fellow sinners!

October 24th

Last night was awesome. He took me out to dinner and everything, real gentleman, even though we both knew that’s not what the night was about. It was sunset when we got up to the lookout, all romantic. I felt silly that he was making such a big deal about it. Losing your virginity shouldn’t be so much pressure. Now it’s over I don’t feel any different except that I want more. We went twice last night but that still wasn’t enough. I touched myself this morning and it was almost like I could still feel him inside of me. I think tonight I’m gonna let him do it without the condom, so he will still be inside me tomorrow morning.

“What the hell are you doing?” you shout, outraged. It wasn’t enough that your parents had locked you in this place, humiliating you, betraying you, handing you over to Doctor Judgy, but they’d handed over your diaries too. Fucking great. Dr. Winchester ignores you and keeps reading, skipping ahead a few weeks.

November 15th

Fuck I love sex. Even with guys that aren’t great at it it’s still worth it just to have a cock inside me. I wish I could stay the night somewhere without my parents freaking out. I want to fall asleep with a cock inside me the whole time, wake up to it fucking me, keeping me open. College is gonna be the best. Then I can finally do what I want, fuck who I want. Can finally order a freaking vibrator without mom asking what’s in the package. Ugh, I can’t wait.

Sam’s voice sounds unnatural reading out your words. He’s not putting the right emotion or inflection in them. It’s like he’s taunting you with them. There’s a trace of humour underlying everything he says.

“Why are you doing this?” you shout again, and Sam looks up at you from your diary, a smug smile on his lips.

“Because you’re sick, Y/N,” he states it like an obvious fact, shutting the diary with a loud clunk and waving it back and forth. “These are the words of an addict.”

“I’m not an addict,” you scoff, rolling your eyes. Sam raises his eyebrows at you and flicks open your diary again, thumbing through to a page he has marked with a turned down corner.

February 3rd

That’s it, I’m addicted to cock. I need it more than coffee or air or food. I just want to be on my knees all day and let men use me. I want them in my mouth, in my pussy, even in my ass, I don’t care. I just want them. One day I’ll figure out how to make that happen.

Sam gives you an accusatory look as he closes the diary again, and you do have the good sense to look a little sheepish. Having your thirsty words read back to you is embarrassing. Especially considering the man reading them out is extremely attractive. If you’d met him when you were out you would have been on him in a heartbeat.

You can’t help it, your eyes drop to his crotch, which is just below your eye level where he’s leaning against the front edge of his desk. Dr. Winchester notices your gaze and smirks down at you knowingly. The expression makes him even hotter – domineering and sexy.

“You really are a little slut. Get carted off to rehab and the first thing you do is eye up your therapist,” he clicks his tongue disappointedly, and you blush for a moment before you decide that you don’t want to take this shit from him.

“So what,” you shrug, leaning back in your chair and crossing your arms. Dr. Winchester raises a brow again, surprised by your boldness.

“You don’t think it’s inappropriate to think about your therapist in a sexual manner?” He pushes himself off his desk and settles his hands in his pockets, considering you carefully.

“I like cock, so what?” you say again defiantly. The doctor keeps his expression neutral, walking around his desk and sitting down, grabbing a notepad and scribbling down a few things. You watch him suspiciously, wanting to know what he was writing down. “I’m not crazy, I just really like sex.” Dr. Winchester nods and keeps writing, not looking up at you.

“Come on, are you saying you don’t like sex?” you try to rile him up, and you see a small laugh bleed through his careful exterior, but not the kind of reaction you were hoping for. “What, your manhood not measure up or something?” That gets the doctor’s attention. He shoots you a glare over his desk and puts aside his pen, folding his hands in front of him and staring you down. His eyes drag across you from top to bottom, lingering on your lips, your neck, your cleavage, your legs. You like him looking at you like this, it sends a thrill through your chest, settling in the pit of your stomach.

“I can see that your attitude is going to make traditional therapies somewhat difficult.” You roll your eyes, but let him keep talking. “Have you heard of aversion therapy?” You shake your head shortly. “Aversion therapy is a psychological treatment in which the patient,” Dr. Winchester gestures to you, “is exposed to a stimulus while simultaneously being subjected to some form of discomfort, in an attempt to discourage said behaviour.”

“Um, English, please?” you stare at the doctor blankly, not putting together how this is going to apply to you.

“Well,” Dr. Winchester leans back in his chair, and swings his legs up onto his desk and brings his hands to fold in his lap. It makes him look surprisingly casual - not at all the image you had of doctors and therapists in your mind. “In this case, the stimulus is an unwanted behaviour, your over zealous sexual cravings and actions. We need to introduce an element of discomfort or unpleasantness into your experience of that behaviour, to discourage future indulgences,” he explains.

“What are you gonna do, Doctor?” you sneer at his title. “Put me in an electroshock chair and make me watch porn? Newsflash - that sounds amazing,” you scoff. Honestly, if that’s going to be your therapy, you’ll drop the attitude and sign the fuck up right now.

Dr. Winchester shakes his head, a small smirk on his lips. He stands, removing his jacket and tossing it on the back of the chair, then proceeds to unbutton the cuffs of his sleeves and roll them back, one at a time. You watch him suspiciously. The moment his jacket came off your head went straight to one conclusion, but that couldn’t be right. You find your eyes lingering on his forearms, the veins in them pulsing visibly just below the surface of his skin. You want to lick them.

“No you’re right, you’d enjoy that far too much.” The doctor’s voice brings you back to yourself and you look up, watching him slowly approaching your chair. “We won’t be associating a physical discomfort with the addiction, what we want is to alter your mental associations towards the behaviour. We’ll use a series of mantras, and repetition and after a period of good, focused work, we can start to transition you back to a home environment.” His hand comes up to grip the back of your wooden chair, right beside your ear, and you can feel the heat radiating from his body against your skin despite the several inches still separating you.

Between your legs, you can feel how much Dr. Winchester’s proximity is beginning to affect you. For some reason the way he’s speaking to you, so formal and condescending, is really turning you on. You bet if he knew, he’d just say it was another sign of your “addiction”. You can feel your panties starting to get a little slippery when you shift in your seat to look up at him, and you don’t manage to stifle your small intake of breath when the open crotch of the underwear accidentally catches on one of your pussy lips, sending a delicious tug of pain into your core.

Dr. Winchester smirks down at you, entirely unsubtle, probably assuming that gasp was your reaction to him being so near.

Finally, after far too long staring at him, you manage to take a breath and ask- “what exactly is my therapy going to be, then?” Your voice comes out much higher than you’d anticipated, and you feel your cheeks heat up in embarrassment.

Dr. Winchester’s hand drags along the top of the chair and lands on the back of your neck. You shiver when his skin touches yours, despite its warmth. His fingers wind themselves into your hair a second later and yank hard, pulling your head over the back of the chair so you’re forced to look straight up at him.

“Ow! What the hell?!” You reach behind you to try to break his grip but he just pulls again. The pain sends a new tendril of desire twisting down your spine to between your legs, and you feel your panties getting even wetter. You whimper, your arousal clearly evident to the doctor, who laughs.

“Yeah, I knew you’d be too into pain for that kind of thing to work,” he chuckles darkly. He bends down, face so close to yours you can feel his breath ghost against your cheek. “So here’s what we’re going to do instead. I’m gonna fuck you, but you’re going to make sure you don’t enjoy it. You’re going to cry and yell and beg me to stop.” He practically growls, nose brushing against yours, lips hovering just out of reach.

Your pussy clenches at his words, aroused beyond belief at the disdain he’s treating you with. You struggle against his grip deliberately, relishing in the renewed sting as his hand pulls your hair even tighter to keep you still.

“You really don’t get it, do you Dr. Winchester,” you try to laugh but your throat is taut and your air isn’t quite flowing easily enough to let you. “I like cock. I wanted you to fuck me the second I saw you. There’s nothing you could say or do that would make me want you to stop.”

“I think we can drop the formalities now,” he releases you, standing up and reaching for his belt. “It’s Sam, not ‘Doctor Winchester’.”

Your eyes drop to his hands immediately, watching his fingers deftly push his button through its hole and pull down his zip. He’s already hard, you can tell by the tent in his boxers, but you’re astonished to see when he pulls himself out that he’s actually only semi hard – his cock is just huge. You feel your mouth and your pussy water in equal measure.

“Fuck,” you whisper as he starts to stroke himself, eyes tracing up and down your body hungrily as he does so.

“You want this cock, Y/N?” he asks pointedly, and you nod mutely. “Use your words then.”

“Yes,” you breathe instantly, dropping to your knees on the hard, grey carpet in front of him.

“Then you don’t get it,” Sam smirked, contradictorily walking himself closer to you as he speaks, hand still pumping his cock.

“Please?” you beg, hoping that’s the game he’s trying to play. Maybe he thinks he can humiliate you enough that you won’t want to repeat the experience – he’s going to be wrong.

“Nope.” Sam pops the ‘p’ on the word teasingly. “Your mantra for today is ‘no’.”

“What?” you look up to him, confused.

“Anytime I ask you if this is what you want – if you want my cock in your mouth, in your pussy, anywhere I want to put it – anytime I ask you if you want it, you have to say ‘no’,” he smiles down at you like some kind of evil genius, and you’re getting annoyed now that you find this so fucking hot.

“You want me to pretend you’re raping me? Sounds like you need therapy.” Sam laughs, not at all offended by your jab.

“We’re trying to condition a new response, Y/N,” he explains lightly, still jacking himself off maddeningly close to your lips. It takes every ounce of self control you have not to lean forward and suck him down on the spot. “If you want my cock inside you, then you have to tell me you don’t. And hopefully, with time, you’ll start to believe what you’re saying out loud. You’ll believe that you don’t need this, don’t want this.” He taps his cock against your lips and your tongue chases him immediately, reaching for a taste of the liquid you felt pooling on his tip.

“Uh, uh, uh,” he pulls himself away, tutting. “What do you say, Y/N?”

You swallow your pride and give him what he’s asking, though begrudgingly.

“No, please, don’t.” Your voice is monotone, lifeless – like how you used to read out loud in English class when the teacher called on you.

“C’mon, you know that’s not good enough. How are you going to believe yourself if I don’t believe you?” Sam walks closer again and sets his cock against your mouth lightly. “You wanna suck my cock, baby?”

“No,” you manage to choke out, and your hesitance to say the word must sound like hesitance to give him a blow job because Sam buys it, and the next moment he’s pushing the shiny, pink head past your lips, against your tongue; not stopping until he hits the top of your throat. He pulls back again, taking himself completely out of your mouth.

“You want it?” he asks again, grinning down at you.

“No,” you whimper, while inside every fibre of your body is screaming – yes!

“Good girl,” he groans as he pushes himself back inside, and you moan along with him. This time he doesn’t stop himself, fucking all the way into your throat until your nose is pressed against the skin of his stomach. “Fuck, you really are a cockslut,” Sam grunts above you, pulling back a little and starting to fuck your mouth in earnest. “You haven’t gagged once. Not many girls manage that with me.”

You believe him. Your jaw is already aching from the stretch of your lips around his girth but you savour the hurt. You love this; being on your knees for some guy you barely know with his cock shoved as far in as he can fit it. This is what you were made for, you know it, no matter how hard Sam’s going to try to talk you out of it.

He fucks your throat for a few more minutes, lulling you into a false sense of security. You’ve relaxed into it now, and you aren’t thinking about the therapy or the role play or any of it, you’re only thinking about his cock against your tongue, heavy and velvety and perfect. You cry out when he pulls away, taking in a shocked breath at the sudden emptiness.

“You want it back baby girl?” Sam asks breathlessly, and you allow yourself a moment to feel smug at how clearly affected he is by your ministrations.

“Please,” you beg, crawling towards him, forgetting your lines. Sam pulls away, disappointment evident on his face.

“Wrong answer, Y/N.”

“No!” you shout hoarsely, trying to correct yourself. “I mean no, please, no.”

“No,” Sam sucks in a breath, reaching to pull up his trousers like he’s going to put himself away. “No, I don’t think I believe you.”

“No, Sam, please!” you beg, reaching out for him. “I can do this,” you whisper, and Sam lets you take his cock in your hand, wrapping his fingers over yours and guiding your strokes. “Ask me again?”

“Do you want my cock, Y/N?” Sam raises an eyebrow.

“No,” you say firmly. “No, don’t make me do this.”

“Good girl,” he says again, his hand tightening over yours and using you to jerk himself off. “Do you want my cock, Y/N?”

“No,” you whine, trying to play into it even though your fingers start trying to jack him off faster of their own accord, your hands slipping together over the saliva you’d left behind.

“Do you want my cock in your pussy?” Sam growls, reaching his free hand out to snag your hair and pulling hard, causing you to shout out in delicious pain.

“No!” you squeal, trying to pull out of his hold, hoping you can act your way through this convincingly enough to get what you really want.

“No, whore?” Sam spits on you harshly, the wet striking you on the cheek and dripping down your chin.

“No,” you scream again as he pulls you off of the ground by your hair, throwing you forwards over his desk. Books and pads of paper go crashing to the ground. Pens scatter around you when your elbow hits the mug that was holding dozens of them.

“No?” you hear Sam scoff as he flips up the hem of your patient-issued uniform skirt, spotting the pair of crotchless panties you’re wearing beneath. “You’re telling me a slut like you, who gets put in an insititution for sex addiction, and decides to pack crotchless fucking panties, doesn’t want my cock stuffing her cunt full?”

“No, I don’t want it,” you moan, his words positively setting you on fire. Fuck, you want everything he’s saying and more.

“I don’t fucking believe you,” Sam spits between your legs, adding to the slick that must be visibly gathered there by now.

“No!” you cry out when he delivers a stinging blow to your pussy, palm landing right over the open slit of your panties. “No,” you sob out again as he continues to spank you, each hit making a sickly wet echo and sending a jolt of heat through your clit every time his fingers happen to catch it. “No, no, no,” you’re begging, even as you spread your legs wider and push your hips back into his hand, trying to angle yourself so he hits your small bundle of nerves more frequently.

“You’re fucking loving this aren’t you,” Sam is seething behind you. “I can feel how wet you are, you fucking whore. You want my cock now, huh? Want me to put all this slick to good use?” He dips his fingers into the crotch of your panties and comes away with his fingers drenched in your juices, which you see a moment later when he shoves them in your face, yanking you back by your hair again.

“See this slut? See how I can tell you’re lying to me? What’s all this for if it’s not to get you ready for my cock?”

“N–” you try to protest, needing him to believe you if you want to actually feel his cock inside you, but your words are cut off as he shoves his fingers into your mouth, making you lick yourself off his hand.

“That’s right, taste what a fucking embarrassment you are.” Sam lets go of your hair and from the corner of your eye you see his fingers reaching for one of the pens that you knocked onto the desk earlier. Pulling his fingers out of your mouth, he uncaps the pen and crouches down behind you, putting your pussy at eye level for him.

“I think we should let the world know just how much of a slut you really are.” You wonder what he means, feeling him draw a single line down your right buttock, then switching to your left and writing some words. “Now anyone who fucks you is gonna see my instructions, and know they have to leave a tally mark right here.” He slaps your ass hard where he had just drawn his own. “And every time you come back to me for a session with more tallies than you left with the last time I saw you, that’s just one more time you’re gonna have to go through this with me. To make sure we really break you out of this habit.”

You silently wonder how many guys there are in this hospital that you might want to fuck. He spanks you again and you clench, pussy convulsing at the threat and the thought of men keeping count of the cocks you’ve taken by literally writing it on your body. You feel a trickle of slick start to make its way down your thigh, and you know Sam must have noticed because he laughs darkly.

“You like the sound of that, don’t you? Are you already planning how to rack up your score as soon as I let you out of this office?” he sneers vehemently.

“No,” you shake your head, even though it’s entirely true. “No, I don’t want that, I promise, I don’t.”

“But you still want my cock?” Sam questions, and you feel the tip of his dick start to drag against you, up and down the slit of your panties.

“No, I don’t want it,” you insist, trying to keep yourself from pushing back onto him.

“Good girl, Y/N,” Sam pets at your lower back and braces himself as he starts to sink in. You both moan when he enters you, but to your chagrin he stops when he only has an inch or so inside. “You want me to keep going?” he pants, and you’re pleased to hear that he’s not as composed now that he’s got the head of his cock wedged between your legs.

“No,” you shake your head quickly, silently praying for him to continue.

“Very good,” he groans, and begins to thrust into you again; tiny, sharp motions to ease himself into you bit by bit.

“No, stop,” you whine without prompting, hoping to encourage him to go faster. He does. “No, no, no,” you chant until he’s sheathed himself completely inside you, his hips pressed firmly into yours, his hands squeezing around your waist possessively.

“No?” Sam asks teasingly, pulling out a little.

“No!” you cry again, and this time you do mean ‘no’ – you don’t want him to leave you. At your cry Sam pushes back in harshly, snapping his hips back against yours and moaning, the sound bubbling up deep from his chest. “No,” you try repeating the phrase, testing your theory, and you’re rewarded by Sam withdrawing and fucking back into you piercingly.

“Please stop, please,” you whimper, not able to stop yourself from rocking back into his thrusts as Sam starts a punishing pace.

“You fucking liar, you love this you little cockslut,” Sam grunts pointedly, taunting you.

“No,” you insist, still meeting him thrust for thrust. “No I don’t want this, I don’t want you!”

“You’re always going to want cock, always gonna beg for it.”

“No!”

“You want me to stuff you full everyday don’t you? Maybe more than that. I bet you’d sit under my desk all day with my cock in your mouth if I told you to,” he laughs, his harsh pace becoming even quicker. He’s not fucking you deeply now but that means that every time he pushes in the head of his cock punches hard against the sweet spot on the front of your pussy, making you clench around him.

“No,” you shudder, feeling yourself close to the brink of your release, and you wonder what he’ll do when you cum – a clear demonstration that you’re fucking loving this, despite what you’re saying out loud.

“Say it louder, bitch,” he grunts, reaching down and spanking hard against your clit.

“No, no, stop!” you shout, desperately trying to fuck yourself on his cock, your orgasm just out of reach.

“You want to cum on my cock?” Sam slaps you again but then starts to rub tiny circles just where you need them.

“N–no,” you stutter, unable to hold back your moan.

“You don’t want to cum baby, you sure?” he teases, angling his hips so he’s fucking your sweet spot with each drive into you.

“No,” you whine, voice pitching higher as you feel yourself right there.

“No?” You can hear from Sam’s voice that he’s pouting at you, mocking you. “You don’t want to cum baby? Not gonna cum on my big, fat cock fucking you so good?” You clench around him, your toes curling, straining… “Come on you little slut, fucking cum already. Thought whores like you were supposed to be easy? Huh? Want you to cum for me, Y/N.”

“No, no, no, no, no–” you lose track of what you’re saying as you cum, screaming into your arm so you don’t accidentally say something to make Sam stop fucking you. Thankfully, he doesn’t stop. He fucks you through your orgasm and your come down, hips snapping more and more erratically as you bury your face in his desk and try to catch your breath.

Suddenly, the weight of his body is gone, and then there’s a warm jolt between your legs, and you know he’s cumming – aiming his load at the top of your panties and letting it drip down through the open crotch. You moan high in your throat at the feeling of his release soaking into your underwear, mixing with your own juices, which are already leaking out of you and dripping onto his desk.

“That was a really good session, Y/N,” Sam says, and you’re surprised to hear how composed he sounds, though a little breathless. “I think this is going to be a good strategy for you.” He walks around to the other side of his desk and starts to pick up the books and papers you’d knocked down earlier.

Slowly, you peel yourself up off his desktop, your skin sticking to the surface with sweat that’s already started to dry.

“Go clean yourself up, Y/N,” Sam instructs, not looking at you as he continues to tidy his desk. You turn to go, still in your post-orgasmic daze, but you spin back around when Sam calls your name again. “Oh, and Y/N?” you look at him curiously, and a smirk curls slowly across his lips as you watch. “You better keep the tally marks, or there’ll be consequences next session.”

“Yes, Dr. Winchester,” you agree quietly and slip out of his office into the hallway, walking back to your room behind an orderly, with Sam’s cum still dripping down your thighs. You think about the tally he’d left on your body, and you look up at the orderly, who’s now stopped at the door to your room and holding it open for you.

As you pass him, you keep your eyes trained at the ground, and glance sideways to surreptitiously inspect the man next to you. The hospital scrubs do nothing to hide his endowment. You smile brightly, bringing your eyes up the rest of his body, taking in the muscles in his arms and the name tag on his chest, before landing on his face.

“Thanks, Dean.” You walk into your room, eyes flicking back to see Dean still standing there, watching you walk towards your bed. You bend over to grab something off the bottom shelf of your nightstand, not caring what you grab, just knowing that you’re now giving Dean a full display of your ass – Sam’s writing and Sam’s cum decorating your skin.

The door behind you shuts quietly.

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[harloqui]

My Shifting Experience

...it's long overdue for me to get into this, haha.

I shifted early last year, around March or so. I wasn't expecting to shift then, but I kinda flared a shift unknowingly and ended up halfway shifted. In the post before this I mentioned that I shift in another realm, instead of this one. This is half-true- where I shift is in another realm...but my body also reacts in this one. I get slower, I calm down and seek out a cool place to settle down. My body temperature increases (by a lot, I could appear slightly feverish to some people) and I start to understand my species a lot better, if I see them (like through video or pictures).

As the shift increases, I end up feeling more like my species, feeling the body of them (hunger, physical feelings, etc.) and I feel the urge to leave my body and just go wandering the other plane my body is in. I usually don't (I have stuff to take care of here) but the feeling is very tempting. First time I had to struggle to resist, but nowadays I can control it without issue.

I didn't fully shift that time, but I got very close (kinda chickened out tbh) and have gotten close since then, enough to know the general gist of how things go. I do hope to shift fully in the future, but that will involve a lot of planning on my end- I need to shift somewhere safe and comfortable for my animal side.

A lot of this shifting involved what I formerly considered to be "alterhumanity"-after shifting, I think it might simply be another aspect of the supernatural I'm connecting with, and thus is "supernaturality" instead of "alterhumanity". This is why I left the community, I don't feel as if my experiences really count as alterhumanity if I can also shift through them?

I'd still be a shifter regardless, but I think what I formerly called alterhumanity was a facet of this, instead of it being a separate part apart from the supernatural. Now, you're probably wondering how I differentiate this from other similar experiences? Here's my take on why I'm not experiencing anything else besides shifting: Therianthropy/Otherkinity: Most therians and otherkin identify as nonhuman beings, but don't travel to their homeworlds or experience it as anything other than a non-physical identity. For the therianthrope and otherkin shifting is a non-physical thing, and doesn't involve their physical body actually going through the process of shifting. Therianthropy and otherkinity also involves a bunch of extraneous experiences, such as species dysphoria and a longing to be in one's old form, whereas I never really experienced that? I like the idea of shifting, yes, but I don't long for it in the way therians and otherkin often claim to. Physical shifting: This isn't a full physical shift, so I don't count it as one. I do count it as some sort of "spiritual" shifting, since I go through the same process as regular shifters (shifting takes me several days, it can be exhausting, I do have to prepare beforehand, etc.) but at the end of the shift I end up elsewhere, in a new physical body instead of my old one. My old one is "asleep", my new one is awake and conscious.

Astral projection: Astral projection is not as chaotic as this sort of shift. Shifting for me takes a couple of days; I've never heard of an astral projector needing to take several days to shift, whereas that's a bare minimum for me to shift. When I astral project it takes less than a couple of hours, it's not a week-wide affair. I've also never heard of an astral projector needing to watch guard over their body. They usually feel fine leaving it, whereas I'm anxious about people moving my body without my express approval beforehand; while shifting I don't like to be moved.

What I am:

I think my shifter breed is actually that of the Scottish shifters mentioned in some myths. I've been doing research, and a lot of the myths seem to state that these shifters transformed into wolves whilst leaving their bodies behind. While their bodies were left behind, meat would appear in their mouths while hunting and if they got injured their human bodies would display the wounds. Most importantly, they could not be moved, or else they'd be unable to return to their human forms. That matches up with what I experience, down to the shifting and inability to move my body. I even want to go outside and leave my body in a safe place outside, so that nobody else finds me while I'm out roaming the world. (I don't have meat appearing in my mouth though, I haven't gotten that far yet 😅)

Alterhumanity being filtered through a spiritual shift makes sense to me. I'm not shifting in the same way a physical shifter might, so I'm not as limited with forms or bodies, and I can do almost anything with my alterhuman-identified body as I can with my shifter body.

Now, I'm not a Scottish shifter- I don't know enough about the Scots to feel comfortable claiming that label, nor do I personally know the breed I'm actually claiming, so I won't claim it despite the similarities in experiences. I am a shifter however, even if it's not quite physical in nature.

Hopefully that answers some people's questions about my shifting! And hopefully this makes sense- feel free to ask any questions about my experiences if you're confused, haha.