#instead that other person is the missing piece of your soul that completes you because you are that perfectly matched

[bylightofdawn]

S C R E A M

Writing this Cody and Rex reunion has me going absolutely feral. I am legit listening to my sad romance breakup/makeup playlist on Spotify.

Not because I'm shipping Codex here but the vibes its the vibes of this scene.

No one warned Cody that Rex was alive because they either didn't know (Slick) or just assumed he'd been told (Echo and Gregor)

Meanwhile Rex knew and legit hauled ass from the other end of the galaxy but hasn't allowed himself to really believe it until he actually saw Cody.

I might vibrate through time and space because the emotions I am experiencing while writing this scene is gonna send me into another dimension. I just love my Rex and Cody reunion scenes which is why I wrote that purely self-indulgent post Geonosis Cody lands on planet after the battle trying to keep his shit together while trying to find out of Rex survived his first battle without him.

Which...Imma go re-read real quick so I can make some call backs cause ugh that fic also gives me all the feels.

EDIT: Ahahahaahahh I'd FORGOTTEN I'd written Slick into Dulce so it's kinda a perfect linear circle

[burningcheese-merchant]

I recently, while watching an anime, saw a scene that was SO burningcheese core that I had to tell you about it. What could wound a warriors pride more than a fight your opponent throws? That's what infuruated him in canon, after all. But what if it was a fight purposefully interrupted by a third party to ensure your opponents downfall? Picture Spice and Cheese going blow for blow, exchanging hits strong enough to make the earth split. And just when they're about to collide in the worst way yet, a Spice Commander gets the awful idea to "help" their leader. They tackle into Golden Cheese's side, grab ahold of her wrist, halting her from plunging her spear. A single second her attention is completely diverted, but it's far too much already. Burning Spice's eyes fill with an insurmountable dread in that precious second as it dawns on him he can't stop his swing's momentum. An axe that should've be parried now turns into a fatal blow. As the dust settles, and wild spices all around gawk at the golden sovereigns crippled form now cratered in the earth, the only expression the Lord of Destruction makes seems to be of horror, as even his own equal is ripped from him.

This hurts so bad, but fits so well 😭😭😭 Imagine the Spice Swarm is ecstatic and cheering, gathered around their fallen nemesis. She's been defeated! The master can reclaim his power and glory! He shall shower us all with praise for helping him!

But... no. Instead they see him fall to his knees, axe slipping from his grasp and falling to the ground with a loud clang, abandoned and forgotten in the bloodstained dirt. They see him take her into his arms, trembling, and hold her close to his chest, even gently grabbing her head and holding it against his Soul Jam - why, one can only hazard a guess. Did he want her to feel for herself how much his heart ached, listen as it shatters to pieces in the hopes that she's spurred to rise and act and help him put them back together again? Was it some misguided, feverish notion regarding the Soul Jam's power; did he hope that physical contact with the missing half, especially so close to the half that's sitting on her forehead, would somehow resonate with and heal her? Did he just want to hold her, cradle her, feel her skin pressed against his - not by way of exchanging blows like they had been, but by a gesture meant to give comfort, to inspire a sense of warmth and safety and... affection?

(Was this the only way he could show his love and affection for her without falling back on violence, which has long since become the only way he knows how to express himself? Was this the only way he could admit his feelings for her without words, because talk is cheap - and even if it wasn't, even if he actually still believed words have value, he's incapable of them now, for the sight of her has made his mouth run dry and rendered him speechless? His thief, his bird, his prey... his beloved, his goddess, his heart, his equal, his other half, struck down not through his own personal merit, not fair and square, but through a slimy little coward's unwanted meddling?)

The Spice Swarm's cheers begin to die down as they watch on. Grins fall from faces; weapons raised high into the air are once again lowered. Their master isn't sharing in their laughter. He isn't joining in their cheers, their joy. He's just sitting there, holding onto the Soul Jam thief, rocking back and forth (what for? To try to rouse her? Or is it a half-baked attempt at self-soothing?), his head lowered and hair obscuring his face, thus leaving his expression a mystery...

...Until he looks up again. Slowly, but surely, turning his gaze back to his warriors. His lips are pulled back into the most visceral, hideous snarl they've ever seen. His eyes glow brighter than the sun itself, alight with mad fury... and they're filled with tears, tears that are now streaming down his cheeks, dripping from his chin.

The crowd falls completely silent. None dare make the slightest movement, none dare make the smallest noise - for if they do, it will make Burning Spice take immediate action, and unleash divine punishment the likes of which the world has never seen, even on the darkest days of his past rampage across the world. They must delay the inevitable for however long they can.

Anger on its own is destructive, a prime catalyst for the suffering of so many, a poison that kills both its target and whoever wields it... but anger born from grief is so, so much worse.

[imtrashraccoon]

He's still being a manipulative piece of crap in this one, what else can I say? At least there's glimpses of a good person somewhere in his soul?

@owl-bones

First Day, Previous Day, & Next Day.

Bad Sansuary: Killer - Stitched

Word Count: 1,349

It was nice not having to worry about going to work lately. You'd always worked so hard, so having a little impromptu vacation was probably something you deserved, even if you couldn't do everything you wanted to do because of your bum ankle.

You were currently camped out on the couch watching whatever happened to be interesting on tv. It wasn't a bad way to spend your day, although you'd been doing this for a couple days now and it was starting to get slightly boring.

Well, until Killer suddenly popped into existence in the middle of your living room anyways. He had his hands in his pockets and causally glanced around the room before his gaze fell on you.

"oh hey, did you miss me, angel?" he asked in teasing tone.

You crossed your arms and gave him a stern look. "Hardly...you have some nerve showing up here again," you grumbled.

"aw, you're not still mad at me for that, right?"

"Yes, I am actually. It's not fun being in pain and having to hobble everywhere you know."

He chuckled and proudly planted his hands on his hips. "well, lucky it's your lucky day, because i'm here to cheer you up!" he exclaimed in an enthusiastic tone.

You were unamused and just looked up at him blankly. "You're so lucky I didn't tell either Axe or Dust what you did. They were pretty concerned you know when they saw me..."

He waved you off and seemed completely unaffected by your mild threat. "they can't exactly hurt me, cutie. not without someone else noticing and asking questions anyways..."

You realized he was talking about their boss, whoever they were, and shut yourself up before you could retort. You didn't know much of anything about them but from what little you had inferred, mostly from Dust, they weren't one to be messed around with.

"aw...don't cry again. i didn't mean anything awful by that, okay?"

You huffed and crossed your arms. "I wasn't going to cry!" you insisted.

Killer hummed quietly and gave you a skeptical look.

With a sigh, you looked down at your feet and how your ankle was still tightly wrapped up. What was his problem anyways? Why were you constantly agitated whenever he said anything?

"You're literally the worst," you muttered under your breath.

He chuckled and moved slightly closer so he could leer over you. "why thank you! i try my best~" he purred.

You smacked his shoulder.

While you hadn't hit him hard, you instantly regretted doing so when the corners of his permanent grin quirked up slightly. A chill ran down your spine at the dangerous look he gave you.

"oh, i see how it is now..." he murmured. He stared down at you before slowly poking your forehead with a boney finger as if he was pressing an imaginary button.

You tried to swat his hand away but he only used his other hand instead, continuing to poke and prod at your face and arms. It wasn't like he was trying to tickle you either, just bug you incessantly until you got frustrated.

You tried to swipe at him again, but he was ready this time and effortlessly sidestepped your attack.

"is that all you got, angel cheeks?"

Oh he did not.

You took a deep breath and counted to ten.

He reached out and poked your cheek.

That was the last straw. With a fury that could rival an enraged mountain lion, you launched yourself at him and just barely managed to latch onto his ribcage.

He seemed momentarily surprised by your assault, before his hands came up and hooked around your waist. You couldn't tell if he was trying to fight back or keep you from falling and you frankly didn't care right now.

You didn't care though. Throwing your whole weight against him, you forced him off balance and both of you landed in a pile of limbs on the carpet. Ignoring the stinging from the impact, you wasted no time trying to pin him down.

Killer seemed to recover faster than you'd expected and he quickly began to fight back. Although, he was far stronger than a skeleton should be and it was actually challenging to keep him from shoving you off. He was mostly just trying to hold you up with his arms and wasn't attempting to use his legs at all, possibly because of your bad ankle?

"Ha! I got you..." You were out of breath and probably going to have several bruises, but you'd finally managed to restrain his wrists against the floor by his head.

He was completely unbothered and if anything, looked kind of amused by this situation. He tentatively flexed his bones and you responded by applying more pressure.

"good job," he responded softly. "you got me..."

You narrowed your eyes at the obvious sarcasm in his voice. While you'd been trying your hardest while wrestling, his attempts to fight back had seemed lackluster at best. Almost like he had wanted this to happen...

You shifted your left leg to readjust the way you were sitting, but when you felt the carpet brush against your bare skin, you gasped. Glancing down proved your worst fears to be true, and there was a large tear on the left knee of your favorite pair of leggings. You quickly released him and rolled onto the floor to examine the tear much more closely.

"aw...it was just getting good too," Killer grumbled quietly. He sat up and scooted over to you, throwing an arm around your shoulders. "what happened, cute thing?"

"I...tore my leggings..." you muttered.

"get another pair then? it's what i do whenever that happens."

You huffed and looked back at him. "I can't, at least not one that's the same. I bought them years ago at a thrift store and the company doesn't make them anymore."

His bonebrows furrowed slightly but he couldn't seem to formulate a response.

"They were my favorite pair too. I don't think I could properly mend them but even if I could, they'd never be the same..."

You struggled to your feet and grabbed your crutches. Weirdly enough, Killer didn't make any more snarky comments as you hobbled to your room to change into something else.

He hung around for maybe two hours afterwards but you noticed he had grown oddly quiet. He had always seemed like the type that couldn't shut up even if he tried, so it was a bit worrying. Whenever you attempted to ask if he was okay and reassure him that you weren't mad about this, he'd brush you off and talk about something unrelated instead.

It was only after he left, that you decided to take a another look at the leggings again. Maybe you could look up a tutorial online to figure out the best way to mend it or something. Except, they weren't on your dresser where you'd left them and even though you looked all over your room, they were nowhere to be found.

That is, until the next morning, when you found them folded up on your kitchen table with another note.

"hey angel cakes, they're not the same but i hope you don't mind. if you ask me, they're even better this way. i hope you like them! killer <3"

When you unfolded the leggings, you discovered that not only had they been mended, but whoever had done so had added some intricate embroidery to both knees. The stitching was rather elaborate and it looked like a light green vine with several small red hearts. You had to admit it was kind of pretty looking but you weren't sure if it was better per say. You'd have to wear them to find out.

It begged the question though, why had Killer done this for you? And why had he taken it upon himself to try and fix things when you'd gotten hurt from his prank? He was still being as mean as ever and you didn't understand at all what he was going for at this point.

[neverchecking]

Hi hi :)

Pretty pretty please can I request a soft sex w/ Sky? I love your writing—ngl from the very first piece of yours I read I was Uber jealous but SO in love with the way you write. Every time I see something new on my dash with your tag I legit get excited and instantly repost because damn I know it’s gonna be some good shite. Like damn I wish I could write yandere content 😭

Super duper proud of how well you’re doing so far! I 100% believe that you’re only gonna get better from here 😙

~ May

Omg- om- HI! I love you-you absolutely can!

Jealous of me? Bestie. have you read your writing?! JFIEOEJEJ- Thank you otherwise I hope I live up to your expectations!

Smut so MDNI!

Smut CW: Cavities. Like this is so soft- I can't I love Sky with my whole ass. SJSJS I LOVE THIS SO MUCH SO I HOPE YOU DO TOO <3<3

There was certain attraction to the idea of falling.

The idea of putting his fate into the hands of Lady Luck and hoping she took pity on him was...addicting. The rush of both the wind flowing through his hair and the adrenaline burning through his veins before Crimson caught him was so heart-stopping. It was a rush unlike any other and it kept him sane in a way.

But that was physically falling.

Falling for you was a completely different plunge.

When he threw himself off the ledge of Skyloft, he had some reassurance that no matter what, Crimson would be there. When he found himself tripping over his own feet at the sight of you, he realized there was no Loftwing there to catch him. No, falling for you was an act of trust far greater than anything he had ever felt before. There was no soul bond between the two of you, guaranteeing you'd care for his, admittedly, fragile heart in the same way he would cherish yours. But, still, he found himself blinded by the rush.

It was different. There was no wind whipping hair every which way, instead dexterous fingers, nimble yet steady, combed through the locks, brushing them into place before messing with them once more. The was no chill of the world around him rushing past, instead there was the warmth you provided with your presence alone, acting as an invisible shield against anyone daring to poison his rare moments of peace.

In reality, there was no rush. There was simply the feeling of...of coming home to you. Sweet, treacly you. You, who welcomed him into your heart with open arms and fully belief that he wouldn't squander your valuable trust. You, who placed your faith in his own heart and soul and understood who he was as not only a hero, but as a person. You, who was the missing piece of his soul. The one bit he was missing to make a whole.

And how he adored you. He absolutely cherished and worshipped your every move, cataloging it in his head in a way to memorize the way you exist. He watched you at every given moment, chin on his hand as a love-sick gaze laden his eyes.

How he was gifted with you was beyond him, but he would rather fight Demise twelve times over (More if need be) just to keep you with him. Anything you wanted from him and he'd give it to you.

Without question.

Opening the door to your shared home, he took a deep inhale, taking in everything around him. From the low light lighting up the living room, to the sound of the place settling around him once more it was all familiar. From the way it smelled of whatever flower had tickled your fancy at the market and something sweet you had probably baked earlier in the day, it was what made this place home.

And he was so thankful to be home. He would have to go out again, he knew, but the others were settled in the inn up the road and he was free for the night. Free for you.

Goddess, his heart positively hummed at the thought of you. Of your eyes, that absolutely lit up with every one of your emotions, and your smile that made your face just glow. Of your cheeks that would redden with such a pretty color at the sound of his honeyed words, or your nose that would scrunch every time he pressed sweet kisses to the tip of it.

He just wanted to do it again, over and over and over again. "Song bird?" He hesitantly called, setting down Fi and whatever bags were currently on his person. His sail cloth was undone from around his neck and hung up on the nearby coat hook. Your hesitant footsteps stopped just behind the corner that turned down a hall towards your bedroom as you peaked around the corner. (You were so smart, did he tell you that? His clever little bee knowing that the lifestyle forced upon him could bring some unsavory characters. That some could follow him home and force his hand. He loved you. He loved you.)

"Link?" You breathed out, soon running into his awaiting arms. They wrapped around you tight enough he worried if you could breath properly before shoving his nose into your hair. You were his home.

He was so glad he was home.

"It's me, my dove. I'm home for tonight." He knew you would understand the underlying meaning in his words, and it broke his heart that he'd have to leave you again. But he'd cherish this time while he had it.

Small sniffles made you shake just a bit, making him hush you with a heavy hand brushing down your hair. "It's okay to cry. I'm right here. I'm home."

"I've missed you." You had cried into his arms, making his own eyes burn as he hugged you closer, bowing his head to lay on yours. "I know, my lovely nightingale. I know. I've missed you too. Goddess, I've missed you."

While he didn't plan on standing there, crying until there were no more tears to shed, he had to admit it was cathartic. Having you in his arms was a relief like no other.

Gently pulling away, he cupped your cheeks in his hands. "Oh. how I've missed you. I've missed your gorgeous laugh," He pressed a kiss to your nose, watching it scrunch just the way he expected it to.

"I've missed your eyes that show me your perfect soul." Another kiss was pressed to your forehead.

"I've missed your charming smile that never fails to brighten my day." One peck to your left temple.

"I've missed your gentle hands that hold me like I'm worthy of such a touch." One peck to your right temple.

"I've missed your way with words and how you always manage to find the right words for every situation." Your left cheek was next.

"I've missed your patience that seems truly never ending in every scenario." Then your right.

And finally, he lays his forehead on yours. "I've missed the love of my life. My very heart and soul. The bearer of my own mortality. I've missed waking up to you, those domestic mornings filled with sleepy snuggles and lazy kisses. I've missed spending my every waking moment with you, doing whatever tickles our fancy that day. I've missed my Soul Mate. I've missed telling you every day about how I love you. And every part you've given me. I love you. I love you."

You hiccupped. sniffing once before launching yourself at him, arms wrapping around his neck as your lips crashed against you. He held you tightly against him, his hands threading themselves into your hair as you gently pulled him back. He followed your every move, only breaking apart for minute breaths of air before going right back to nipping and licking at your now swollen lips.

He missed you.

Clothing was dropped carelessly to the ground, trailing behind him as you backed your way to the edge of the bed, pulling him down with you when the back of your knees hit the mattress.

He missed you.

Just the way you pulled back, head falling, with your big doe eyes watching his every move had his chest tightening with pure adoration. Your hands gently cupped his cheeks, holding him close as he nuzzled into your palm.

He missed you.

Your lips crashed against his once more with one of your hands trailing down the plane of his stomach before reaching the band of his pants. His belt had long since been discarded, dropped just as carelessly as every other piece of clothing, so there was no real obstacle stopping you from your prize.

He Missed You.

Your lips locked again as you pulled him in closer with a leg around his hip. Your hand worked in tandem with your leg, guiding him to your aching cunt as he used one hand to support his weight above you. He pulled away just as he began to prod at your entrance, using his free hand to pin both of yours under one of them. The one originally supporting his weight shifted to instead take over before returning to its place by your head, both of you groaning at the pure bliss washing over you.

His forehead rested against yours once more as his hips settled right against yours, keeping him seated deep within you. Your breathing settled alongside his own, a moment of tranquil peace settling over the room.

This was what love was all about. This was what it mean. The pure trust that was placed in another individual, the absolute proximity between two souls slowly merging into one, the feeling of pure, unadulterated sarang that being with you provided.

Goddess, he loved you.

There was nothing animalistic about this. While, yes, Sky could appreciate a good quick fuck every now and then, this wasn't the time nor place. No, this was slow and perfect. Nothing was rushed as he took the time to recommit your perfect figure to memory.

His fingers trailed fiery trails along your hips while your own laid lines of red along his back as you clung to him, trusting him to keep you grounded in any way he could.

It was the least he could do. Because while falling was a rush like no other, it wasn't falling when he was with you. No, it was coming back to familiarity and comfort wrapped up in the prettiest bow Hylia had to offer. You.

From the way you interacted with Crimson, scratching his feathers and shining his beak, to the way you cared for him, soothing his nightmares with soft hums or curing the aches that riddle the Lichtenberg figures along his skin, he knew he was irrevocably in love with you. He loved your compassion and intellect; your ability to demand respect for yourself from others and your ability to show the same to others; and he adored your limitless patience with him and all his isms and the fierce loyalty that followed. Even the things you deemed unattractive about yourself, he held close to his heart because it was a part of you. Your stubbornness and inability to think of your own self preservation before making irrational decisions for the sake of others. He even loved you when you couldn't find anything redeemable about yourself for him to love. Because in those moments, the ones where your own strength failed you, were the ones were could show you his. Where he could repay you with every ounce of love from his bleeding heart. Where he could show you how much he loves you, if only to reignite the spark of love in yourself and let it burn for you. Where he could let his love pour through his entire being and let it turn into a gentle reminder that you were you.

And there was no one else in the world he would rather have.

[secretdiaryofcrowley]

Where we left off:

Nina, purveyor of coffee, whirling into the scene like a thunderstorm, woke our hero from his precious sleep (and a weird dream) to give him - me - another telling-off.

She's quite scary when she's angry. Not demon scary, but most definitely human scary.

"Do you even understand how all of this affects Maggie?" I'm not surprised at the burst of emotion in her voice as she says the name.

"She's been worried sick about you! Trying to write to you, trying to call you, and some days even waiting by your car for you to wake up, so she could make sure you're all right."

"I'm not." How does she even find me? I drive around and park the Bentley in different places every couple of days.

"We KNOW. Do you think none of us has gone through breakup before?"

Well, maybe you have. I certainly haven't. I don't do relationships and I have no idea how to process this. Except for drinking, sleeping and curling up in a little snake ball of pain.

"Of course it's bad. It hurts like hell..."

Worse. Speaking from experience here.

"... and you have every right to be sad and mopey and angry, but stop shutting out your friends. Talk to us! At least let us know where you are and what's going on."

"I don't have friends. Never wanted friends. Completely friendless person, me."

She sighs. "Yes, you're a devil and you're evil, blah blah blah, real man solves his problems on his own. Heard all of that before, except maybe the devil part. But you've got to realize that your actions have consequences for others. You're not alone in this world."

But I am.

I've always been alone. For 6000 years on this godforsaken planet, doing the bidding of my ridiculous headoffice and trying not to go completely insane. Using every excuse to be close to my angel and every excuse not to get too close, so we wouldn't be in trouble. Missing him after every encounter, every meeting, every conversation. Sometimes positively yearning for his presence, but never ever being able to act on it.

Because that's just the way things are.

I was alone the last time I hit rock bottom. Healing one step at a time, slowly piecing myself together after my 33 years of torture. Because I allowed myself to save one human soul and got caught at it. One. Single. Human. Soul.

No good deed goes unpunished.

I never had anyone to talk to because angels are my enemies, demons are my rivals and humans wouldn't be able to shoulder all this bullshit that's been going on with me. And God doesn’t answer to any of us.

And yet, Nina has the nerve to come here, shake me awake and tell me that I'm not alone? That I’m supposed to 'talk about it'? Throw overboard all my harshly earned survival skills because now apparently, I have friends?

No, absolutely not. I don't make 'friends' with other people. It's not something demons - the word is demon, not devil - do. You can stop pretending to care now and walk away.

She doesn’t.

Instead, she throws my very own words back at me. “For once in your life trust somebody!”

~ * ~

More Diary Parts

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[terrence-silver]

How would CK Terry react to hearing beloved playing his piano for the first time? They've never indicated that they know how to play, and they're under the impression that he can't hear them/isn't home.

---

Even if beloved was completely and utterly bad and anti-talented where music is concerned...you know how when you love someone, everything they do gives you this ( ❤️) reaction?

Well, beloved could be wholly uneducated on a piano or really any instrument, merely just hitting the keys, idly and rather randomly trying to harmonize and clumsily make sense of what they're doing, not a shred of melody in those untrained, amateur fingers --- especially not compared to someone as excellent as he is. Matters not! Terry Silver, the King of Bias, overhears their music, and it's his music now. His music preformed on his piano. They're the greatest in the Valley. The greatest in the world, actually! His little songbird who tries very hard. He's listening in from behind a wall, eavesdropping and digging his teeth into his lips as he smiles as widely as the Cheshire cat. Remember how fierily this man vouched for John Kreese being the greatest Sensei ever even after they've both been beaten by a much smaller old man and promptly thrown against a mirror within five seconds flat?

Well, yes.

Just like that.

He is in your corner, even when you're both doused in wall paint and defeated.

Beloved doesn't have to be a particular virtuoso of anything whatsoever (not when he's here to be the virtuoso for the both of them), but Terry functions under the strict notion of propping up someone he feels belongs to him to the (irrational) high heavens regardless of their actual skill level, whereas, if he doesn't give a rat's ass about someone, he will degrade, sabotage, give backhanded complements and talk down to them cruelly even if they're actually talented. The difference being, one's his person and the other ain't. He isn't fair like that and never has been, never intends to start being, but the man can be loyal and dedicated to a fault when he chooses to be. That much is certain.

That's his mentality.

He overhears beloved playing and he might make himself known, sit down beside them and demand they play for him because he didn't tell to them to stop and he wants them to do it however badly while he watches them, follows every movement of fingers, every reaction, every beat, every bit of posture, sound, everything, genuinely engrossed with what he's witnessing. Don't get me wrong --- Terry Silver's no saint and he ain't kind. If the most talented piano player in the World visited his manor tomorrow to play the most polished, complex piece on the planet for him, Terry might think infinitely less of it than beloved missing basic notes and keys. But again --- he's devoted to one person, and he ain't to another and that's all their is to it.

Now he can take all time actually teaching beloved himself.

His way.

The right way.

However he sees fit.

Dishing out rewards and punishments for every song learned. Not learned. Praising them. Chastising them. Praising them again. Tenderizing them to his every word. Every lesson. Transferring knowledge unto them. Ingraining a part of himself inside of them through a transferred skillset. Owning them that way, mind, body and soul. Etching himself into their mind. Through hours of practice. Dedication. He prefers it like this. If beloved started out anti-talented and it was him who brought out of them something that was beneath the surface, carving out his own Pygmalion, whereas if they were genuinely already well-learned it would bother him deep down that it wasn't him who 'discovered' them as it were. Who taught them first. That they weren't his prodigy, instead, the prodigy and the student of several tutors previously. Goddamn it if that wouldn't make him infernally jealous. He doesn't like it! He hates it! Wants them to unlearn everything! Start from the beginning! But, like this? As things are now? Beloved being fully ordinary and commonplace? Ah, this is perfect. It's perfect! Perfect moldable clay! Beloved is a novice at the piano. He's heard them playing first that day and he's the first one who ever took to teaching them. Honing them. Controlling where their skill could go. Climb. Develop. Like branches bending under his grip, growing in the direction he's telling them to grow. And that's the way it should be. They're going to create music because of him. Thanks to him. Not some other teacher(s) out there.

Beloved belongs to him.

So does everything pertaining to them. Even this.

Catching them tinkering away the notes anxiously was the best thing ever, genuinely.

[kamigui]

A fanfic idea I'd like to dedicate to you

I wanted to share this idea I have with you because I saw that beautiful animation you made of your OC Rubee and Wally with that scene of the Hunt vs Hunted AU that nonomives made and the other AUs incorporated in it. I'm actually currently writing a fanfic inspired by that AU with plans to dedicate it to nonomives (with their permission), and I just absolutely live for the angst and redemption arcs. Your incredible art really gave me the inspiration I needed to start working on it.

I'm actually in my lovers-turned-enemies trope right now, and my mind began racing with just this concept of (what if) Rubee actually surviving the Hunt vs Hunted scenario and was accidentally turned, but somehow the effect was so diluted it didn't necessarily destroy her mind and make her feral, but instead caused her to slowly start losing her mind, where any memories of Wally were tampered with or discarded and whatever horrors she might have witnessed were misplaced onto Wally?

(Because in reality, he'd never actually hurt her, she just convinced herself he did because there's so many pieces missing in her brain she had to just fill them in herself. And then there's the assumption Wally accidentally committed genocide as a response to his grief of losing Rubee, therefore, she's more convinced that he just has to be evil. She obviously doesn't know the true reason, only knowing that he had harmed a lot of people) (I'm thinking this affliction could potentially turn her immortal, or at least, very difficult to kill and inhumanely strong; but she could probably still get hurt).

Because of this, any positive feelings for him were replaced with disgust and hatred, where she felt her only response is to pretty much destroy him so he didn't hurt anyone else. But, it's conflicting because deep inside her soul she's hesitant, scared, and longing for the security/safety he provided her in the past, before she lost her memories /and before he thought she was dead/. 

Anyway, there was a scene playing in my mind where she managed to get to him, like, actions set in motion just ready to pierce his heart. And Wally's just looking up at her, not really fighting back, but holding her off, eyes just pitiful and sad and desperate; because "How is she alive-?".

He's in disbelief, emotions torn between sadness, anger, and overwhelming love. And she's trying to kill him, not realizing that she's crying and struggling to actually finish him off. Because, yes, she has to kill him so no one suffers like she did--but also, no, because that part of her that 'died' that night still clings to hope and love. 

I think Wally would immediately know that she's affected by his blood, since according to nonomives, people who are closer to Wally's blood go insane and feral, depending on the level of potency the person was dosed with. I really like this concept, because that could potentially lead to the rarest opportunity where someone hasn't been completely overcome by his affliction. Maybe Rubee was just extremely strong willed in mind and spirit, so her body (could have) managed to refrain from completely turning into a vampire zombie? That tiny, sliver of hope motivates Wally to figure out some sort of 'cure' for Rubee, but we have no idea what the implications of that would do.

(Could she die due to having lived so long and just turn into dust? Would she end up suffering from the pain and physical damage she's received all these years, finally catching up to her? Is there the chance she'll just return back to him? We don't really know. Too many endings, no solid answers.)

//Anyway, feel free to just yeet this in the trash if you want. Ha ha ha, I'm just dumb and rambling... I don't want to interject or impede on your work, or self-insert your OC into anything. I'd hate to misinterpret the characters. But I just really wanted to share this idea and hope you'd at least enjoy it. If you do approve and gave me permission to pursue this, I would be more than happy to dedicate a fanfiction on the topic because I just think it's *chefs kiss*

//I supposed, this is also my way of asking if it's alright with you for me to pursue this idea with your OC?

[hollowed-theory-hall]

why did voldemort become a wraith-thing after the killing curse rebounded the first time? does having a horcrux give your original main soul piece a way to not move on?

speaking of which, how could he use the horcruxes to resurrect himself?

Hi!

So, I kind of answered the first part here. The Horcruxes essentially act as anchores. It means they don't let your soul pass into the afterlife since each Horcrux binds your soul to the world of the living, so your soul can't pass into the afterlife.

So, what happened to Voldemort when the killing curse rebounded is different from what happens when the killing curse hits. I think I mentioned it before, but basically in Alchemy everything alive (in Alchemy rocks are alive) is made out of three components:

The soul

The body

The spirit - life that binds the soul and body.

What a killing curse does is essentially disrupt this binding and sucks out the spirit (hence why the spirits of Cedric, James, Lily, and others left Voldemort's wand during the Priori Incantatum in the graveyard. They were the spirits taken by the killing curse). This kills a person because you cannot live without spirit. Then the soul moves on to the afterlife and the body is left behind.

But Voldemort's body was completely destroyed and he had no spirit of himself appear out of his wand during the Priori Incantatum. The rebounded curse was different from a regular killing curse. And I think I can tell you why:

“By which time I shall be gone, and you dead!” spat Voldemort. He sent another Killing Curse at Dumbledore but missed, instead hitting the security guards desk, which burst into flame.

(OotP, 813)

Rebounding spells or spells that hit the wrong target tend to be unpredictable and react in ways different from their regular nature. This missed killing curse set the table on fire, which is not what a killing curse does. But, again, magic is all about intent. Since Voldemort cast the spell with the intention and emotion to kill Dumbledore, all the energy of the spell then just dispersed over the table with no intent, since Voldemort had no intention towards the table when the spell was cast. Basic rebounding and missed spells are very dangerous and unpredictable.

So, when the killing curse rebounded that Halloween night, it destroyed Voldemort's body and released his soul and spirit. The wraith he ended up becoming is his soul that isn't tied to anything.

As for the second part of your question, the simple answer is: he can't.

Horcruxes are anchors, not a way for him to return to life. Sure, a Horcrux is essentially a soul, so the diary could create a body for himself using Ginny's magic and steal her life to bind himself to a new body and return to life this way, but it wouldn't be Voldemort that came back, it'll be Tom in the diary. So, the Horcrux only stops him from moving to the afterlife, from truly dying, they don't help him to return to life. If they did he wouldn't need Wormtail to resurrect himself.

[heyclickadee]

Okay! Thoughts on “Retrieval.” This was so much easier to get through.

1. Oh hey! It’s not a big heavy emotional episode that speaks to my soul THANK GOD

2. Seriously, it was kind of nice to get a break. This season seems to be following the same general pattern of season one where episodes 7, 8, and 9 are heavy hitters, while episode 10 serves as a bit of a breather.

3. That said…this…is probably my least favorite episode of the season. I don’t dislike it, I don’t even think it’s a bad episode, but I personally found it a little clumsy, and every other episode of the season has been so good that this one falls a little flat by comparison. Especially on the heels of the last three. Now, that said, there are so many little moments in this I adore, even if I think the whole is a little clunky.

4. *don’t check tbbtwitter DON’t check tbbtwitter don’t do it don’t check tbbtwitter don’t oh shoot why did I check tbbtwitter WhhHhhYyyyyYyyyyyyyyyy*

5. Okay, I get the frustration that things aren’t moving fast enough more than I usually do. I don’t one-hundred percent agree, but I get it. I get wanting more Crosshair, wanting more for Hunter and Wrecker, and wondering where, exactly, the season is going. But I also have a general rule of not criticizing a show until for not doing something I want it to do until the show is completely done, because nine times out of ten the show either ends up doing it OR ends up doing something other than what I expected that ends up being better anyways. Now, that’s my rule, and it doesn’t have to be anyone else’s, but I’m going to sit over here and wait to see what happens. And enjoy what we’re getting now in the meantime. Because whatever criticisms I have, and I do have some, there’s some good stuff here.

6. I loved the fact that the gang isn’t just waiting for Cid to come get them. It shows that they don’t trust her enough to expect that she will help them out, and they’re taking proactive measures to get themselves out of this situation now while they’re all still pretty able and not actively starving to death instead of waiting for her to inevitably not come through for them and having to figure something out then.

7. Wrecker really said it was his turn to be extra testy towards everyone this time around, didn’t he?

8. Really, though, Wrecker’s not having a good time here. He’s missing Echo and Crosshair and the marauder got stolen and they’re stranded and on top of everything else it’s hot and he’s hungry and you know what? Be as irritated as you want, my guy. And you know things are bad when he starts saying things like, “Don’t get your hopes up, kid,” to Omega.

9. Wrecker watching that piece fall off the bike, staring at it, and then Giving Up because Woe Be Upon Him was a Mood.

10. There’s the parallel between Rampart interrupted Crosshair every time he tries to eat and Mokko using food as a way to control the kids in the mine, yes, but there’s also an uncomfortable semi-parallel between that and Cid NOT sending immediate help when she knew the gang didn’t have enough food to last even a few days. It’s that whole “gotta way to live, gotta work to eat, gotta put yourself in abusive and exploitative situations to work” trap.

11. Wrecker really rolled for intimidation on a fifteen year old. He actually rolled a 5, but he’s got a +30 modifier, so it doesn’t matter. (I will admit that I don’t know how modifiers work).

12. Actually, Wrecker going around growling at everything in general and Benni in particular because he’s hangry, agitated, and just trying to move things along as fast as possible made me realize that Wrecker actually doesn’t capitalize on how physically intimidating he is all that often. Yeah, he’s big, loud, and over the top, but he almost never throws his weight around to make himself seem scary. If anything he spends a lot of the time doing the exact opposite.

13. Gonky, coming in at the clutch!

14. “That’s our defective power droid.” I love how protective they are of Gonky! He’s like the beloved family dog who really just kind of sleeps all the time, but everyone loves him all the same.

15. Hunter: *dives face first into the void*

Somewhere in the back of my mind, as though from a great distance: HE’S SO HOOOOOT!! AND RESPECTFUUUULLLL!!!

16. Seriously, who gave him the right—

17. I really liked Omega seeing first hand how bad things for those kids were, and how Mokko pitted them against each other. Omega pointing out that the way Mokko treated them all was wrong was probably the first time Benni ever really heard something like that. It’s hard to see how abusive a situation is from the inside. *cough cough Cid cough cough the Empire*

18. This was actually a really good episode for Omega in general. She’s seeing more of the galaxy outside Kamino, seeing how the galaxy isn’t divided into “The Empire” and ���Everyone Else,” bonding with people outside the batch, learning about other people’s perspectives and concepts of home, and trying to make things better with small acts of kindness. Like giving Benni her ration bar. She doesn’t know how soon it is before she’s going to eat next because who knows if they will, in fact, get out of there, but she still hands it over completely unprompted, because she knows this kid is starving. And even though getting access to Mokko’s profit records wasn’t her goal, she does take the time to look through them and point out that the math definitely isn’t mathing with how poor the mine is supposed to be.

19. I was a little bit annoyed that Hunter didn’t immediately step in and help those kids, but that, “We’re not engaging. These kids have it bad enough as it is,” does a lot to explain why. He doesn’t have all the information that Omega ends up having about the mine’s profits at this point, so he thinks the mind really is poor. He doesn’t have the means to take care of all of these kids if he, for example, tried to shuttle them off-world or anywhere to take them if he did—the kids would still be stuck with nothing. And it’s not as though the team can’t really use their normal skill set to, say, overthrow Mokko. One missed shot from anyone would destroy the entire mine and leave the minor miners with even less at best, and kill everyone inside at worst. He’s not backing away from helping because he doesn’t care, he’s backing away because he doesn’t want to make things worse. It’s not handled as deftly as the bad batch usually handles things like this, but I do appreciate that it’s there.

20. Season two has been focusing on Omega’s relationship with Echo and Tech more than it’s been focusing on her relationship with Hunter, but, even though I do miss their talks, there’s absolutely been growth here. The guys have equipped Omega to be able to handle herself and Hunter has complete faith in her to do so. Can you imagine season one Hunter watching Omega throw herself off the end of a walkway and into a pit of fiery death without screaming at her to stop and having all the heart attacks at once? Or early season two Hunter? No. But here, he knows she’s going to be able to make the leap and she knows that he’ll catch her. They don’t even have to talk that plan out, they’re that in sync.

21. Oh hey, look at the way Tech is checking on Omega and talking things out with her since their heart to heart last episode! I love the growth in their relationship!

22. All right, I know Tech’s line about how there are others like them in the galaxy and how that’s something is getting ripped apart in some circle somewhere, but…while I do think the line is a little clumsy in this particular context, since the batch didn’t go in with the intention of freeing the kids in this mine, I think it’s being misunderstood. I don’t think Tech is saying that they’re big damn heroes or anything like that. I think he’s saying that they’re helpers. Because for a group of people that really just wants to lay low and live a bit selfishly, they go out of their way to help out. A lot.

They’re not battling it out with the empire, they’re not taking on that big fight, but they do just a little bit of good almost everywhere they go. Hunter wasn’t able to save Caleb, for example, but doing what he could did Caleb the chance to get away. They don’t follow orders on Onderon, which allows Saw to get away and fight another day, too. Echo gets a bunch of droids away from what seems to be another abusive work environment, they go to Saleucami looking for a place to lay low and end up helping the Lawquanes escape, they intentionally flub a job for Cid to hand important intel over to people they know will use it to fight the empire, they save Hera’s parents, they save Gregor, Tech helps one of the few surviving Serennian’s get access to his people’s history, they help Cid out of real mafia level trouble more than once for no other reason than that it’s the right thing to do (and to keep Omega from being sad), the immediately drop a job when they realize a kid is being trafficked and then help defend that kid’s home, they take a huge risk to help Rex with an important mission (this did backfire but it wasn’t on them), and, no, they didn’t come to this mine with the intention to help the kids out but the still did give those kids the means and information to help themselves (tightening this episode up a bit could have made that more clear and made that line feel less off, but it is absolutely there).

That’s what Tech’s saying; they help people out, and at the least try their best to not make things worse, and they’re not alone. And in a galaxy full of Ramparts and Mokko’s, that does count for something.

23. Tech and Wrecker could’ve shot those droids on the bridge at any time. They didn’t, however, because taking out the droids before the kids all turned on Makko would have meant probably having to stun the kids, too. And normally they’d probably okay with that, but they are standing over a molten chasm of death, and it wasn’t worth taking the risk of a kid falling.

24. *flashbacks to exactly this time in season one when half of tbbtwitter got pissed at the Raxus episode for almost the same reasons and declared they were giving up on the show because it wasn’t moving fast enough I get it I do but I swear to god*

25. Makko’s death was underwhelming; I’m glad Tech pointed out the parallel between how Makko controlled the miners and how the Empire controls everything, even though I’m not sure how he knew what Makko was doing unless Benni just casually told them what was happening thinking that it’s totally normal in a scene I would have liked to have seen; and there was something just a little it clunky about how the batch ended up helping out here. Those are my criticisms. But it’s not a bad episode by any stretch.

26. This is still my least favorite episode of the season, but I’ve talked myself into liking it more.

27. I think this technically counts as a successful mission. They got what they came for (the ipsium) and they’re headed back in one piece. Reeaaaaal curious how the next time they see Cid is going to go, though. I sort of have a theory that she maybe wanted them to get stranded. I don’t think Cid is evil, and she does have a genuine soft spot for Omega, but I could see Cid selling them out because she got herself in way too over her head and needed a way out.

28. Wrecker and Lula!! 🥺

29. Was…that Crosshair’s weapons kit on the cart at the end? I need to go rewatch “Replacements.”

30. Yeah, so we’re, like…definitely getting a season three, aren’t we? That’s not exactly a question—I really mean that episodes like this that make the story take it’s time to go places really makes it feel like at least three seasons are in the bag.

31. I forgot to mention that I liked the fact that both Tech and Wrecker were fixing the bike and the ship. It’s low key, but I always love seeing more of Wrecker’s mechanical/technical skill.

[mobiusstripper]

So I just finally finished Leviathan Falls a few days ago, and I've already mentioned that I was really pleasantly surprised by the way Tanaka was written. Now part of that is just that I'm a big sucker - as both a reader and a writer - for taking apart characters who are irredeemable bastards and seeing what makes them tick. I was really curious to see other fans' takes on her, and it looks like she was pretty polarizing as a POV characters - some of you guys, like me, really loved to hate her (and maybe even dip a tentative toe into feeling sorry for her), and some of you just plain hated her (and that's fine - some people prefer being able to like their POV characters. I'm not one of those people) or thought her chapters were boring (what book were you reading?). However, I haven't seen anyone really say much about the significance of her interest in (love of, really) art and art history. So I wanna talk a little about that.

The takes I've seen have largely come down to either, "It didn't fit with her character and felt really random," which I'm about to disagree with HARD, or "It served as a device to show that there was more to her that meets the eye, and that she could have gone down a completely different path." This one, I agree with, but I also think there's a lot more to it.

(1) So let's talk about why art history specifically. Why not something else seemingly 180 degrees away from being a Marine, like gardening or culinary science? As an artist who takes myself unapologetically seriously, I have had a lot of conversations with an artist friend of mine lately about the intimacy of art. Art is both an expression of individuality and a vehicle of profound, often terrifying, connection. The former is what Tanaka regards as the core of her being, while the latter is anathema to her. She is drawn to art precisely because it exists in a space of tension between her comfort zone and her deepest fears. It is the razor edge that she loves to walk.

I've said before that I think of art as a form of telepathy - you are trying to capture something inside your own mind and externalize it in a way that it is transmitted into the mind of another person. When Tanaka begins experiencing this very literally in a manner she can't control, it's her worst nightmare. But she loves art because it is a version of this that she can control. It's an outlet for her to fulfill the fundamentally human need for connection when it's never been safe (both literally and psychologically) for her to do so through any other means. She learned that as a child when she sought a hug and got a slap in the face instead.

A number of the art pieces she contemplates are emotionally intense. The Third Miko in particularly is memorable because it is a heavy piece, full of vulnerability and grief and dread. These are the kinds of pieces that not only did the artist have to rip themselves open and pour their soul into in order to produce, but the audience is required to do the same to some extent in order to fully experience them. Turning soul-crushing sadness into usable rage isn't alchemy - it's more like a refinement process; it takes a lot of energy, and there is a lot of waste runoff that still has to go somewhere. For Tanaka, that's where it goes. That's the safe place to put it. Inside of someone else's pain, where no one will ever know it's yours.

(2) The other thing I wanted to talk about hinges on a "blink and you miss it" detail that, for me at least, completely reframed the whole picture regarding the "two roads diverged" aspect of Tanaka's life, and that's the casually dropped revelation that she never actually had a choice in the first place. The way this was written, I'm absolutely certain it was a very deliberate choice by JSAC to undermine the assumptions we as readers had been previously led to make.

The "two roads" framing comes up explicitly three times in the book. The first time is in Chapter 24: "Tanaka hadn’t thought about that painting in decades, or about what a very different life she would have lived if she’d made a few different decisions at the start." The next mention is in Chapter 31, when Dr. Ahmadi is reviewing Tanaka's file. She says, "You refused an advanced scholarship in order to enlist." Both of these references frame it very explicitly as a choice. But then, a few pages later, it's revealed that it actually wasn't: "If Aunt Akari had let her study art history instead of enlisting in active service, where would she be right now? And who would be tracking down the high consul? What else—how many thousands of other things—would be different?" (emphasis mine).

This detail and the way it was just slipped in there actually made me feel terribly sad for her because it reveals that this was, in fact, never where she wanted to be at all. This is more a matter of interpretation, but my takeaway was that the whole thing about her preferring a repressive society might be less the truth and more of a narrative she tells herself because she has spent her entire life deprived of any kind of real agency. It's true that someone who has never experienced life outside a pressure cooker environment might rapidly decompress like a blobfish upon being removed from it (I'm reminded of the memoir The Girl With Seven Names, where the author's mother and brother can't adapt to life outside of North Korea and want to go back), but that's less about being naturally well-suited to it and more about being deeply and maybe irreversibly maladapted.

When Tanaka tells herself she loves life under the boot because it gives her something to push back against, she's making the best of a bad situation by pretending her lack of agency is actually just a really sophisticated form of agency. It's because the only love she has ever known is the threat of consequences, with the only realistic alternative being complete apathy. It's the same mentality that makes abuse victims blame themselves - because, in some ways, the version of events where you were totally helpless and at the mercy of a cold, uncaring universe and the passing whims of other people is more distressing than the version where you brought it upon yourself through your own choices and actions. Wanting (and presumably asking her aunt's permission) to study art history, only to be forced to enlist in the marines instead is just another variation of her reaching for a hug and getting a slap. But if someone cares enough to slap you in the face, at least that means they care, right? "Laconia would put two in the back of my head because they care about what I think and do" is still a nicer story than "Laconia would put two in the back of my head because I'm nobody and nothing and completely disposable to them." It also made me wonder what was meant earlier by "if she’d made a few different decisions at the start." What does she tell herself she could have done differently to change a fate that was never in her hands to begin with?

TL;DR Tanaka loves art because it's the only way she can safely experience human connection and emotions besides anger, and it's implied she would have chosen to study art history if her aunt hadn't forced her to enlist.

[sorrow-already-spoiled]

To All the Ones I’ve Loved Before

Malakai Perish

Malakai, you were the first person I ever loved. My brother, my twin, the other half of my soul, my anchor. Our childhood living arrangements were so absent of affection that I swear only the burning warmth in my heart that came with your unconditional love kept me from freezing to death in that house. On the worst of days, the ones where I faced the iron of Alexsandra’s wrath, you were always there beside me. We would pick up the pieces together, in the cramped space beneath my bed. We would dream of the day we could run away from there together. Away from our absent father, abusive mother and elder siblings. Our pinky promise upheld to the bitter end. 

The day we turned 16 we packed our bags and slipped away in the night. Even with all my expensive tastes, I still sometimes miss that wreck of an apartment we spent the first few years in, with its rat infestation and broken heater that left us clinging together for warmth. How could I be cold, knowing that I would never be alone? That you loved me? You took some awful work (we both did) to make us enough money to have real stability. It wasn’t easy, but I was never scared, because for the first time in our life we had a home to always return to. I may not believe in any gods, but I am forever grateful to whatever force in the universe decided that you and I would be together in this life, and every other one too. 

                                          Love, the light to your shadow, Faye

Quinn Feratra

Quinn, meeting you was a workplace hazard. I was freshly 18, with a full face of makeup and more skin exposed than covered. The casino floor was some god awful patterned carpet that would have been tasteless when it was new in the 80’s. The place reeked of spilled spirits and arrogance. Rich men with wedding rings tucked away in their back pockets let wandering eyes crawl across me. It felt like punishment, and I could admit in quiet midnights that part of me was desperate just to feel something. It was laughably easy to link my arm though one of theirs, to smile with fluttered eyelashes and cheer at their victories. 

“Come home with me,” they would whisper.

“Handsome, my time isn’t cheap,” a flirtatious wink, “am I worth it?”

They always said I was. At the time I was sure it wasn’t true. 

Excusing myself to “freshen up for you, baby,” I stared at myself in the bathroom mirror, manicured nails pressing sharply against the dull marble. Rent was due soon. If I had played that man well enough, maybe I could have gotten ahead of the payments, let Malakai rest for even a few days. It would have broken his heart if he knew what ‘working night shift at a casino’ really meant. I squeezed my eyes shut to stop the frustrated tears from welling up in my eyes. 

“Bad night?” You were standing at the sink next to mine, washing your hands. I felt my heart skip a beat. I had thought I was alone. 

“It’s fine.” I snapped at you. 

  “...bullshit.” 

“Excuse me?” You rested your hip against the counter, turning to look at me with quietly observant eyes. 

“I said bullshit. It’s clearly not fine.”

“And what gives you, a complete stranger, the right?” Indignation burned in my chest, furious at my own transparency. You offered me your hand.

“Quinn Feratra. And I don’t think you should go home with that creep you were all over out there.” Somehow I found myself going home with you instead, the guilt of unpaid bills hanging over my heart. 

Back then, time with you was always stolen. Every moment I spent with you was a moment I was afraid Mal and I would be evicted, or that we wouldn’t have enough money for the month. I was tearing myself in half trying to balance the happiness I felt spending time with you and the things I did to ensure stability for Mal and I. Money was always an issue, and I constantly had to lie or hide things from both you and my brother. I was exhausted, overwhelmed, and horribly insecure. The more exhausted I got, the less energy I could afford to spend convincing myself I was important, not when I would rather spend that energy on you. I recognize in retrospect how flawed that mindset was. When you finally managed to pin me down for a conversation, I turned it into an argument, which then turned into bitter frustrations. I was the one to run. 

“You knew what I was when we met, so don’t blame me.”

“Faye, I’m not–”

“Don’t bother. I’m done with this.” The door to your apartment slammed with finality, and I felt hollow. Only when that door was closed did I recognize I was in love with you, but it was too late. I couldn’t go back, and I felt I couldn’t be enough for someone as wholly good as you. I cried myself to sleep in Malakai’s arms, refusing to answer his unspoken questions. I did not allow myself to cry again. 

With love and a heavy heart, Faye

Jemon Morale

Jem, you were warm enough to melt the frost I’d built up. A few years later Mal and I had saved enough for a decent apartment, and I was even able to go back to school, working towards an accounting certification. I was meticulous with money, and Mal had suggested I turn it into a career. It wasn’t exciting, but it was stable, and I enjoyed the routine. I crunched pennies to feel less guilty about rewarding myself with cheap coffees at a little coffee shop near our home. Headphones in, I would crunch out a week's worth of homework in the hours between class and closing time. 

A small plate set down onto the table softly, drawing my attention upwards to your lovely green eyes. 

“Sorry to disturb you, you just work so hard every time I see you in here, I thought you deserved something for it?” A perfect croissant drizzled in decadent chocolate and powdered sugar rested on the pale blue plate. 

“Oh, I couldn’t take this, I haven’t paid for it.” You smiled.

“Consider it a favor then, you’re taste testing for me.” Your name tag read ‘Jim’. “I’m apprenticing as a baker here, and I have permission to experiment with recipes. It would be great to know what customers think of my creations.” Your crooked grin and earnest eyes convinced me to take the croissant, and the myriad of treats you brought to me each week after that. 

You would sit with me on your break, endlessly warm, with no expectations whatsoever. When you asked if I would consider going for dinner with you, I said yes without hesitation. When you asked if you could kiss me, I said yes without hesitation. When you were offered an apprenticeship with a patisserie in France, I told you to say yes without hesitation. I loved you, and wanted nothing more than for you to follow your dreams, and it was a once in a lifetime opportunity. I loved you enough to let you go. I drove you to the airport, and didn’t hide my tears when you made me promise not to wait for you. A part of my heart went with you to France, but I felt more whole than before I met you. You eventually moved home with a man you met abroad who looks like an honest to god pirate, and I’m still blessed to have you in my life, as a dear, dear friend. I don’t regret losing you Jem, because loving you was the first chance I had at a healthy romance. You convinced me that there was still goodness in the world, that love was more than pain and promises. You convinced me I was worth loving, and I’ll be forever grateful. 

Love from your biggest fan, Faye

Lövi Lævateinn

Lovi, meeting you was like being swept up in a windstorm. Until I learned to move the way you move, smile the way you smile, I would just be swept off my feet and helpless. We clicked instantly. Something about 8:00AM classes will do that to people. It took me a while to figure out what you were doing in an 8:00AM biology class (fuck having to take a lab science in any degree, honestly), when as far as I could tell your degree was in philosophy. Then I realized any time not spent gossiping with me about what professors we thought were hot, was spent staring at the back of Laufi Illphelkiir’s head. 

I helped you practice your ‘dramatic love confession’, holding a hairbrush like a microphone and a pile of laundry in your dorm room as a ‘token of your most sincere affections’. I hate that the background music you chose to set the scene to was Careless Whisper. I swore I was going to burst a lung, I laughed so hard that night. You have made me laugh more than anyone else in my life. 

After Laufi told you about his condition, how his illness prevented him from feeling any affection towards you as he simply didn’t have the energy for a relationship, you came to me for comfort. I would have never turned you away. When that comfort turned physical, I was still happy to be there with you through it. After all, what are friends for? I hope you never worried it was transactional, like those men at the casino that I quietly told you about one night while stargazing. I don’t love you the way I’d loved Quinn or Jem. It wasn’t romantic. It isn't how I love Mal either. It’s the kind of love that is so pure and platonic and unconditional that I can’t possibly explain. I know I don’t have to though. You understand. 

Love, your dumbass, Faye

Kumo Hipeitseilg

Kumo, you were a joy. I’d never dated someone younger than me, and to say that I was taken by surprise when a complete stranger asked me out to dinner would be an understatement. You approached me in the hall of the university math wing, and asked without shame, pressing a sketch into my hands. It was me, drawn with burning angel wings, powerful and beautiful. How could I have said no? 

Dinner was a strange affair, and I could feel how out of practice I was at this. It had been years since my last real date, but it wasn’t awkward. We people watched, and tried to imagine what the people at other tables were doing. You do a shockingly good impression of someone with a lisp. It makes you sound so much younger and unassuming, it’s crazy. 

Dating you was fun. Each time we met we did something interesting, and playful. Spending time with you made me feel young again, like I could play at being the child I never got to be. Falling in love with you was fun.

You always shied away from intimacy. I worried I might be being too pushy, but the longer time went on, the more strange it felt. I was content to wait, but then you started to feel different, like the energy you were pushing out into the universe had changed. When you finally sat me down and explained that you thought that maybe you weren’t attracted to women in a physical way at all, it made sense. Our relationship wasn’t a romantic one for you, it was a friendship. I thought I would be mad, but you looked so terrified in that moment that all I felt was affection and a desire to protect you. 

So we ended our relationship, and began a friendship instead. It took some time for my feelings to change, but I wasn’t willing to lose you entirely. We make a pretty good duo either way, Kumo. I hope you find someone who is everything you’re looking for.  As for me, the drawing you gave me the day we met is still displayed on my wall.

Love, your friend, Faye

Lewellyn V’lain

Lewellyn, I never told you how I felt. Even as I write this letter, I know you’ll never read it, and that's good. You lived in the apartment across from Mal and I. Honestly, we’d been living there for 6 months without running into you. You were quiet as a mouse, and kept odd work hours as an assistant in your mother’s lab. Honestly, it was surprising that we hadn’t met earlier, considering you were an old friend of Lovi’s. I had heard lots about you, but it was a coincidence that we met. 

I had forgotten my key, and Mal had his phone turned off at work, and you happened to be coming home just then. You let me stay in your apartment until he got home. Somehow, your place felt stagnant. It was decorated nicely, and it was tidy, but something about it felt stuck. I couldn’t put my finger on it. What I could see however, was the bone deep exhaustion you carried with you, and the debilitating insecurity that I was so familiar with in myself. I’d had love and support around me for the better part of a decade before we met, and the way you rejected kindness made me sure that you’d never had any at all. You never talked about your family. Never talked about your attempts. You were all sharp edges and biting words, and yet, you had a way of getting under people’s skin. People liked you, even if they hated it. I fell for you hard, and I wanted so badly to help you, but I knew you would only bite the hand I offered you. 

You might not have been willing to try for yourself, but damn if you don’t look after my brother. Somehow you saw right through his facade to the real him. I watched him fall in love with you, and I’m watching as you try to be worthy of him. It’s like looking in a mirror at myself 10 years ago. 

I’m making a vow to let you love my brother instead, to never breathe a word of my own feelings, and to be your friend instead. 

I’m getting tired of having friends instead. I so desperately want that intimacy that everyone else seems to have, but I want it to be real. To feel real. 

With unrequited love, Faye

Faye Feratra

My wife, my love, my past, my future. I’ve never been very good with words, or the written word, but I found your collection of letters in a box under your side of the bed, and I wanted to answer you in kind somehow. 

Watching you walk away that day was one of the worst of my life. I started gambling again. I was a mess by the time Varm stepped in and made me clean myself up. I couldn’t figure out what I had done wrong. I had no idea what your circumstances were back then, and I’m still furious at myself that I didn’t ask. I could have found a way to make your life a little easier. But I just let you walk away, and I didn’t follow. 

I dated a few people after you, but nothing stuck. When I ran into you six years after you walked out, you could have knocked me over with a feather. You looked so different. You walked with purpose, with your head held high. Your eyes had a lightness to them that they never had before, even when you were happy. You caught sight of me, and froze. I thought you would run again. But instead you steadied yourself and sat down at my table. 

“I hope it isn’t too late to give you an explanation.” I remember numbly shaking my head, and listening to you tell the long obscured truth of back then. The prostitution, the rent payments of a shit apartment, the abusive family, and the crippling need for stability. You didn’t ask me to forgive you, but I did anyway. 

“I’m sorry I hurt you.” you said, “It hurt me too, but I wouldn’t change meeting you anyways. I hope things have been going well for you.” You got halfway down the street before I managed to catch up with you. 

We dated for a year before I finally convinced you to move in with me. Two years after that I proposed, and you were furious that I had beat you to it. Our poor wedding planner nearly quit from the stress you put her through, but it turned out perfect. We saved enough to buy a house on the outskirts of the city, one with enough room to expand. Room we needed, as we began to adopt. Nine kids was enough to keep us busy. They’ve all grown up into their own people so quickly. I can see you in them, you know. In the way they talk, the way they smile, the way they love. 47 years of marriage is an accomplishment you know, even if I would have liked it to be longer. When you left us, it was surrounded by our family, and with my hand in yours. 

All the people you loved before were all still in your life, they were all here today for your funeral. I had no idea how deeply you loved each of them. I’m so proud to know that the woman I love was capable of giving so much of her heart away again and again, and that somehow I was the one who got to keep you. I don’t know how I’m going to stand waking up tomorrow to find your side of the bed cold and empty, but I will. I’m going to stay until the end of my time, spoil our kids, love our family. I’m going to survive losing you, because I’m so absolutely certain I’m going to see you again on the other side. I love you so much Faye. 

  Your first and last love, Quinn Feratra

[the-quiet-girl-thats-invisible]

Something you should know about me. I have an old soul. My favorite stories to read, watch, and listen to is about love. Soulmates. The cheesy rom coms with the "meet cutes." The passionate kisses in the rain. The passionate I love you's. The feeling of us against the world. To love ardently. To be a fool in love. Eyes meeting across the room and knowing throughout your soul that that person is worth the loss you experienced before finding them. Your missing piece. The person who you just want to meld into because they bring you such utter joy that you never want to part. As you can tell, I'm overly romantic, still wishing on stars and 11:11s. I'm sure this definitely makes me a fool. The aching loss from when I was wrong is a wound barely scabbed over. Some days, it feels like one wrong move. Some stupid thing I say or do rips it back open. Reminding me I'm not whole. My inner turmoil of "the devil" on the left and "the angel" on the right. How loud and convincing the tiny guy in red is.  How no one will want someone who isn't healed. Isn't healthy, who doesn't love themselves, who isn't happy. Not sure of their purpose. Why would someone want that burden. Even if I do find the one that makes my heart sing,  who would want to listen when the tune is off key and off putting. Some days, that voice is all I hear. I'm unhappy with me, so why would someone want that dragging them down? I mean, I get annoyed with myself, and I am trapped with myself forever.  Why would I knowingly subject someone to that. The negative feelings towards my body. Never the right size or look or curve. The need to be hypersexualized because just being told I'm beautiful is not enough to make me actually believe after so many years of feeling differently. But then feeling so hypersexulized that I feel ashamed and disgusted with myself. That I'd rather cover myself from head to toe than have to see the disgusting stranger in the mirror. Then theirs kronk. Ha, emperors, new groove? The angel. The voice that says the girl who's talking, This one 👋 Who can be in such unbearable pain, and yet smile and make a stranger feel better just because she could tell they were down. She deserves to be loved. She deserves to finally feel safe. To feel home again. To be able to be happy just by existing. To be loved completely inside and out for who she actually is and not the mask that is easier for others to handle. And to have these things isn't dependent on her being perfect. The cheerful girl who is always so kind, always helpful, always mild mannered, well behaved, acts as she should, looks like she should - this image, this mask. I don't need to perform anymore. I can just be me. Me who is growing and changing. The me I'm still discovering. The me who started writing to confess about a crush - but instead wrote an odd blurb about myself. But I guess if a person reads this far about a blurb about little ol' me, what I'm writing might actually be true. That maybe I do deserve to listen to kronk.  To let people know when they give me butterflies, and my heart skips a beat. That just staring into their eyes makes me want to giggle and blush - and usually failing and doing both. That being in your bubble makes me want to stay rooted to the spot until I learn every little thing about you. And then i want to learn more. To watch how you grow and change. To see how amazing your soul is. Sometimes i get lost in how in awe of you I get. And how clumsy, awkward, and altogether not graceful I feel around you. If I'm honest and being sappy and cheesy as I'm prone to be. I'd say it was like my compass was pointing north to you, and once here at true north, my compass went haywire, not knowing how to handle finding the destination it's been searching for. Or who knows it could just be another equipment malfunction or user error. Unfortunately, that has happened a time or two. But I'm not trading the compass in yet. So, hopefully, this time, it's true, and it's you.

[bored-frog]

Final Outcome

I knew, I was fully aware that you were not genuine, that I was going to be left alone, crying as I crawl on the floor, moaning through every ache, while sticky-gooey-embarrassing-snotty tears coat my face, feeling another soul crushing emptiness from someone new; Being right from the start.

Logically, I understand that it never would have worked for us, from the very beginning you were already hurting me, making me feel awful and appreciated at the same time, such a dirty trick; My emotions refused to acknowledge this helpful honesty.

You're so different from every other person I've ever clutched onto to an interest for, you "actually" held onto your very own interest in me, in us, in the beautiful bud I wanted nothing more than to blossom, blooming bright on a decaying earth; Another fantasy I let take over.

It's so ironic that I tossed out one boob, only to meet another; Boobie and Boober.

You saw the crack in my armor, one of many I try to hide, you snuck in, sinking your sharp fangs onto a naked sheep, you never had to do that to her, she would have gifted you with everything; Rubbing your dirty paws on the doormat that is my heart.

Every word I wrote for you was true, I made them each because I wanted to show you how wonderfully confused you made me, how I enjoyed the way you deliciously twisted up my insides from the deep dark depths of my gushing organs; Falling too hard, fully ready to plummet into a filthy-messy-meaty pancake.

I painted you the picture I envisioned every night when we talked, a piece so personal from the love that gets taken advantage of, you saw my canvas of truth and didn't bat an eye as you lit it on fire, leaving me to watch as you tied me up to a tree and vanished; A fool who was too vulnerable too soon.

In our final moments, I did anything and everything I could to not end it, but you...you did not, you did not try for me, I wanted to talk it all through because you were hurting me and I didn't understand why, you looked at me with pure disgust as I told you through cracked tears how painful it feels, the way you were mentally fucking me up.

Why?

Why would you do this to me?

Why would you pretend to give a damn about someone who is already broken?

Actions truly are louder than words, my actions screamed from collapsing lungs, it could be heard all throughout my encased home of love, shaking rooftops, but yours? I laugh like a maniac at what you decided to do, the choice you made to protect yourself and destroy the enchanting-caring-lovely gifts I had to offer.

Yours told me the very thing I did not want to believe, the inner voice inside did her best to warn me, I should have listened, but instead I welcomed in harshly-cold-bitter vile spat at from an angry man who hides himself well; A lesson I'll always repeat...it seems.

Through a burning-blurry-heaving haze, shakey hands take hold of the cruel tether that linked us, painfully slow, I begrudgingly begin to shred each fiber, completely tearing myself of the overwhelming string I used to gaze upon fondly; Separation...once again.

I'll miss you, even though you do not reciprocate the mushy feeling, I'll look at the time and think of everything we shared, the beautiful flower that could have grown, but I'll accept that this was how we were meant to end, that you were no good for me, and I carried nothing you would have really wanted, I was just a tempting craving you swirled around your sharp tongue; Mourning through acceptance, maturity.

Goodnight, Boober.

- Autumn(Me)

[p-o-t-g]

Old writings

Acting like I belong to someone that I don't, making me feel messed up. As if I'm broken into pieces and pieces splash to every corner possible, close or far. Only touch that is familiar is yours. Because how could it not? You were the only one to touch every part of my body in every way possible. My body was your hands and lips home, instead of being mine. And I was grateful for it. Sometimes I forgot the way you touch me, then dreams are immediate to come and remind me once again. I would erase all of you from my body if it was possible. There is just too much of them, one on another. Surely knowing you already filled yours with someone else, and moved out your fingers, lips, and teeth to someone else… 

It's unfortunate how my body completely refuses another one too. Unlike you, any part of me is locked by you to others. Maybe it wasn't your intention. You didn't mean to give permanent scars that is mostly invisible. And I can't blame you for it. I really can't. And don't want to. My love was too much for you, too real. And I didn't even used to believe someone's love could be this real and much. I hope somebody I love just as much as I loved you, find me. And this time, I hope they could give me a real love that is rare to find. It's really unnecessary and useless if you don't love the person who has something like this. 

It's just my love, not his. All of this, adore, love, passion, obsession, and care is mine, not his anymore, since he rejected to receive it. And I honestly don't know how to vanish this, because they are not going anywhere but near you over and over again. I tried to leave them with some kind of leash I found, but it's so heavy to carry or with it. I wish you could be mine again. I wish you were never mine. I'm still glad that I know you, but once you taste and like it, now how am I supposed to forget its taste? But if I never recognize its taste, I wouldn't be missing it, even though it was so tasty more than anything I saw and ate in my entire life. The possibility that there is someone better than him is so unreal to me. Some days I'm looking forward, and the future is shining for my good, although when I look at today, the future is unknown and dark because of yesterday. Without him, the reality of my future, aside from an imaginary one, is dark and horrifying, almost makes me want to stay where I am and stop moving forward. I know I should have been over it at least a little bit until now, but still struggling with his absence, still missing his smell and curious about what he is doing, who he hooked up or fell in love. Still hurts. I really wish it wouldn't. I really wish it would be easy for me as how easy it was for you. 

I think i want anyone else other than you  knowing you are no good to me anymore. I don't want another partner like him now. When I look at him, it's undefinably unsettling. He's still the same, but he's too loud. He's having too much alcohol and staying and fucking around with people that are grossing me out. What kind of person I would love, I think. Not sure why i still can’t get this over but guessing this is one of the catches of love. Nothing that outside of your standards will make you unlove him or get the ick. It's weird. How could it be possible? It was the same before memories too. How could it not go away after all that happened? I talked this with one of my friends. I think love is the proof of soul. Because it's too much for explaining rationally. 

And you know, Platon says that your savior must be love if you want to regain your moralness. It makes you have the decision of not to forget anything and pass the river of lethe. This is the way to clear and free the soul from the body. And love is not something you can mark by looking. Which is interesting, because everything humankind does to improve is to stem from mocking others, including nature. So as to understand love as a concept, I believe we should look from another perspective that looks unreachable to us. So we know Platon meant love of knowledge. But the love we put on the table is more complicated than that. There is a common knowledge about pain of love causes from dopamine and the absence of them. And there is sexual consequences top. But I think to dig deeper we need to see how platonic love works. Which includes no interaction or obsession. When love appears as platonic and turns into a real thing and then disappears again, but love stays there: Why is body too resisting for loving the same person nevertheless of bad experiences? When it stops giving dopamine and the absence of the person just makes you suffer. Maybe the one obsessed over the pain at some point.

[reddrakebird]

Hearing what felt like possessiveness over the gift might have startled another but for Timothy, it was a part of their bond. Perhaps too many things have come between them throughout the years, or maybe they realize now what has been staring them in the face this whole time and are angry about all the time lost. Timothy could not explain most of the emotions the man in his lap encouraged, but he wanted to be fair. Timothy took a risk by saying what he wanted, the detail could have scared Kon from it or the Kryptonian getting pissed about being ‘owned.’ 

He did not remember the one snag that they would always be two very different people in the world and the public. That also meant accepting that he was and would always be Superboy here. The thought of doing otherwise never crossed Timothy’s mind when he wore a mask and beat up criminals in the dead of night. They had seen too much to go back now, but having each other completed something Timothy knew was missing for a long time. 

Lips were eagerly waiting for attention from their lover, wanting to be praised by them for his good deed with that slight affection that meant the world to Timothy. One Kon-El suggested they might need to tone down in public. Timothy disliked that. Lips parted from the warmth of Kon’s and he continued to listen patiently as hips started to roll softly, wanting Kon to feel him physically while having him mentally. That moan nearly caused his own; a soft gasp was given in greeting instead.  “We are on the same page regarding fights or breaking up. I like knowing you have it because even if we don’t work out, I want you to be happy Kon. I want to know you exist long after I no longer do.” And a small piece of his possessiveness will latch on to knowing Kon put it somewhere safe, maybe at his home in Hawaii where Timothy would become another memory. 

Hands cupped his cheeks, making sure those eyes looked up into Kon’s without shades, without the facade of his overzealous personality. “I knew you would like it; I did not expect how strongly you would protect it. I promise I don’t want to take this away from you. It is yours. I. Am. Yours.” he made sure each point was defined to draw attention to how serious this was for him. “I love you. Those words are not ‘sweet nothing for me’. I’m maddening in love with you, the kind where I don’t see an end, only a built future.” Hands lowered to grab the necklace from the box. The back was twisted to separate so he could place it on Kon. Hips thrust up once to hear a little sound from Kon before moving his hands around that beautiful neck. The clasp was connected and twisted to seal away where it disconnected as if it did not exist. “Later, I can grab a mirror and you can use your laser eyes to meld it so it can’t be removed except from you.” He offered. Fingers found the leather clasp of the ‘play’ necklace to undo its buckle, sliding it away so the new piece remained. The collar was then turned and placed around his own longer neck, buckled up snuggly. “I trust you more than you will ever know because my life sometimes doesn't mean shit. But my soul and heart intertwine with yours now; I don’t want ‘out.’ ” He reached for one of Kon’s hands, moving it towards the collar to hook a finger into that small O ring. 

Hands now free, they went to Kon’s hips, grabbing humanly hard to make him move faster. A whimper escaped Timothy’s lips at his own sensitivity and how damn good it felt to be in Kon with slick, semen-coated walls trying to pump more from him in greed. 

He did not get to talk about the first part because his body was amping up again, with Kon in control of the collar. Later, they could circle back around to that and finish their questions. Right now, he wanted to vanish in Kon’s body, slow at first, then the tempo picked up. “Conner…” he whimpered the name. His senses were all over, but all of them was on fire due to Kon-El.  “A little tighter, baby. Make it hurt just enough for me to remember.” he breathed out, obsessed with this angle and view of Kon. "Go faster, go harder. Use me. I want you to."

Timothy asked a valid question, one Kon hadn't thought about. "No. Once this goes on, it stays on." Kon answered, not liking the thought of removing it at all. "I'm always Superboy, Tim. If I hear trouble, it doesn't matter if I'm wearing my suit or not. I'm not just gonna not fly to help someone because I'm wearing something casual. So we'll either just have to tone it down with the PDA's when we're together and you're 'Tim', or I'll mask us the best I can." Kon leaned in to press their lips together again. It wasn't really an obstacle they'd faced in their relationship so far, but as they continued it - they'd have faced it eventually with or without a collar. Kon understood completely why Tim needed a civilian identity, but he didn't. Never had and wasn't particularly interested in having one like Jon or Clark. Being a superhero was his job. It's what he was made for. When he pulled back, Kon continued - letting out a soft moan as Tim moved his hips, eagerly rolling them with him. "If I'm upset with you, I still want to wear it. It'll help ground me. And I think it'll help you - because you'll know we're not through, even if we're having a rough patch. If we ever break up, I'd still like to keep it - though I wouldn't still wear it. You know. As something to remember you by." Kon began riding him again slowly, appreciatively, reassuringly, his hands slipping around and cupping Tim's cheeks, thumbs rubbing soft circles as he admired his boyfriend's thoughtfulness. "This is huge for me." He finally mumbled, letting down that cocky facade for another second. "Thank you, Timothy." Kon smiled.

[evikatzer]

i've always felt soulless, and equally as voiceless.

clung to you like you were my lifeline, my only light in the darkness that is my muteness in a world of the loud and bold, the one person whose soul was warm enough to power us both, to finally complete what i was missing.

but that is in essence my problem because love isn't meant to complete an incomplete thing, yet my addiction to your proximity slowly took from you in larger pieces until there wasn't anything left other than your own soulless husk and it all is my fault for holding you so close that you were swallowed by the rippling dark seas that are fundamentally a part of me always following, reaching for me and pulling down others instead.

and now without you the world turned cold again

just the way it was before you held me close