#its such a double edged sword of working on something for myself but at this point im also used to people being able to read the characters

[ninawolv3rina]

So mad that In Perpetuum won't be ready for even alpha readers for a good long while I want people to meet these fucked up little assholes

[drchucktingle]

On your blog you've talked about dealing with chronic as a result from the stress of masking your autism.

It's a bit of a different situation, but my little sister (who we've begun to suspect has adhd) has been experiencing chronic pain in her arms and legs. I may be totally off base, but I was wondering if a similar stess might potentially be a factor in her pain.

If you're willing, would you mind talking about how your pain affected before you found a way to manage it (I tried searching your tumblr, but not much came up, so sorry if I'm asking a question that's already been answered)?

Thanks either way, I love your books. Love is real!

sure buckaroo GOOD QUESTION. i have had chronic pain in some form or another for LONG TIME in a number of STRESS RELATED WAYS. in past it has been cracking teeth from clenching dang jaws while i sleep and things like that, but a few years ago it was FULL ON BODY PAIN AND TIGHTNESS like every muscle was clenching up. went to the doctor over and over all kinds of dang specialists and it was very difficult to figure out what was going on. eventually landed on a sort of nebulous trot of STRESS but i can get more specific.

there are several things about me that you would never know just from looking or even talking to me for long times. i am a bi buckaroo, i am a non-dysphoric trans buckaroo, i am an autistic buckaroo. EVERY SINGLE ONE OF THESE THINGS IS EITHER HIDDEN AUTOMATICALLY OR I AM SUCH AN EXPERT AT HIDING THAT IT IS SECOND NATURE

autism presents its trot in many ways, so my words do not apply to all, but my version is EXTREME ORGANIZATION AND ENDLESS WORK ETHIC. in way of freud (which is a silly way but sometimes good for symbolism talk) i have what you would call an OVERDEVELOPED SUPER EGO which is a double edged sword. i can write 100s of books at an incredible pace, but also feel like my body is constantly collapsing in on itself

this is not really something i consciously think about much, but eventually these health problems started creeping up. it was all from carrying this mystery tension in my body, because while it feels EASY for me to mask i believe all that tension goes somewhere and it stores up and stores up and stores up.

so i think the HEALTHY way that i have found to deal with this (i think of it as releasing the steam valve a bit so the boiler does not break down) is ART. this space where i am allowed to be CHUCK TINGLE and write without obsessing over the spelling or punctuation, or to loudly express my queerness, or explore gender, and to let my neurotypical mask down DIRECTLY RELIEVES my chronic pain because it literally makes my muscles relax.

when i started out this ARTISTIC TROT as chuck i used a LOT of metaphor to keep my privacy, with different words or different versions of people for different things, and buckaroos found this very funny. as a way to express myself artistically i also liked this metaphor trot a lot, but i have also found that the LESS metaphor i paint over my life as chuck, the better it is for my health. if you have noticed, i talk less about some of the parts of my life that were metaphors, or maybe you have seen that my voice has relaxed a bit in interviews, or that i carry myself a little differently over time, this is partially why. (there is another artistic reason that was a planned trot from the beginning and it has to do with my feelings as a young autistic buckaroo of not fitting in on this timeline, but we can dive into that later).

anyway, as PRACTICAL ADVICE i would say that FINDING A SPACE TO EXPRESS YOURSELF WITHOUT FEAR OR MASKING has been the number one trot for me. that can be a pink bag over your head writing hundreds of erotic shorts, or that can be just laying on the ground howling your heart out, or doing whatever stim you need to do.

i will also say that ONCE I REALIZED IT WAS MUSCLE TENSION getting a physical therapist helped a lot. because there are two sides, you have to start releasing steam from the steam valve, but at the same time youve also gotta start HEALING THE DAMAGE. so i think stretching and techniques like that can be very helpful.

hope that helps buckaroo LOVE IS REAL

[porcelainseashore]

A Party of Two

First snow / Fake relationship / Ugly sweater || Leon Secret Santa || Gift for @sillydicejelly as part of the @leonsecretsanta event

Summary: It’s not every day that you bump into the one and only Agent Kennedy alone at the office. And it’s certainly not every day that you invite a stranger to your family’s Christmas party. The question is, can you convince Leon to celebrate his most hated holiday with you?

Time flies. Before you knew it, nearly another year had gone by, along with its series of missions done and dusted. It was a week before Christmas, and a particularly unassuming mid-December morning when you stepped into the office elevator, engrossed with your phone and the multitude of messages coming in from your family group chat. The screen lit up with a loud ping each time a new one was sent.

“Aunt Gretchen won’t be able to make it this time.”

“Damn, that’s a shame /s”

“Language!”

“Yes, mooooommmm…”

“Anyway, don’t forget the dessert!”

“And the dress code!”

“Hey! Could you hold the doors for a sec—” A deep baritone voice rang out in the distance, interrupting your reverie.

Oops. You shook your head from your thoughts, glancing up at an all-too-familiar face and a pair of cerulean blue eyes piercing through dirty blonde curtain bangs. He made a run for it as you slammed your hand against the closing elevator.

“Agent Kennedy,” you greeted politely with a simple nod.

“Uh-uh,” he wagged his finger cheekily, somehow managing to slide through the doors gracefully without breaking out into a sweat. “It’s just Leon.”

“Leon,” you acknowledged. 

It was refreshing how he didn’t have a stick up his ass like the rest of the goons who worked in the DSO, regardless if he was the golden boy or not. However, since you were in different departments, you hardly interacted with each other outside of the required formalities. It didn’t help as well that you considered yourself more of a wallflower than anything. Surely he wouldn’t—

As if right on cue, he uttered your name, followed by, “Angela’s PA, right?”

“How did you—” “You think I wouldn’t know who the amazing PA of the head honcho is?” he rebutted, his lips curling up in a smile as he crossed his arms in front of his chest.

You were at a loss for words. “Um,” was about all you could manage.

“Come on, don’t die on me now,” he laughed, shrugging as he continued, “I’m just good with names, faces, you know, all that jazz.” He fanned his hands to illustrate his point before pausing abruptly and dropping them down to his sides, as if he had remembered that he was in a security division, not a children’s playground.

Clearing his throat sheepishly, he turned to the control panel. “Second top floor, right?” Without waiting for you to answer, he punched the button and the lift started to move.

The silence in the space was awkward and deafening, so much so that you felt an innate desire to make small talk to pass the time.

“So, you doing anything for Christmas?”

For a split second, you spotted a wince in Leon’s expression before he masked it, and you instantly regretted the words you had blurted out.

“N-nah, not really,” he muttered, avoiding your gaze as he forced out a cordial smile. “Not my thing.”

Pursing your lips, you recalled the way your colleagues often heaped praises and compliments onto the man before you, only to gossip about his personal life in hushed whispers behind his back. That was the double-edged sword of being something akin to a celebrity hero in the office. It usually went along the lines of:

“Poor Leon, that guy’s a loner. No partner, no kids, no family.”

“No wonder he’s a workaholic!”

“I heard he’s pretty good friends with the bottle, if you know what I mean.”

“With the kinda shit they put him through? I’d be damaged goods myself.”

You had heard it all. And though you were never consulted for your opinion of him, you found their talk a little mean-spirited.

Without thinking, you stated, “We’re having a small celebration at my parents’ house. It’s only about an hour and a half’s drive away. You’re welcome to join if you want?”

Your hand flew to your mouth, shocked that you had actually uttered the first thing that came to your mind. Leon just stared at you, seemingly having trouble finding the right words to say.

Scrambling to come up with an excuse or to backtrack, or both, you sputtered, “Well, uh, you see, we have this thing where, uh, it’s not great to spend the holidays alone. You know? So, well, sorry, forget what—”

At this, Leon chuckled, shaking his head. “Don’t worry about it,” he reassured you. “Thanks, really, it’s nice of you to offer, but I’ll be alright.” On my own.

You had no idea what possessed you to do what you did next, but you whipped out a sticky note from your bag and scribbled down your number with a ballpoint pen.

“Here,” you thrust it into his hands. He looked just as surprised as you. “Just… think about it, okay?”

Ding.

The doors opened and you hastily made your exit, mentally cussing at yourself for being so bold and assuming toward an almost-stranger.

“What’s the dress code?” you heard his voice call out from behind you.

Spinning around, you caught a glimpse of his lopsided grin as you smiled back. “Ugly Christmas sweater, of course.”

━━━━━━━━━━━

“No promises.”

That was the last text you received from him on the day of the Christmas Eve party. Leon appeared to have cold feet, which didn’t take you by surprise, seeing as he had been hesitant to begin with.

You sighed.

Perhaps it would take him a couple more years to come round to it. What on earth were you thinking anyway, inviting him to a family-do like that? Not to mention, you had already written in the group chat about bringing a plus one. Jumping the gun much? Well, at least you still had an afternoon’s worth of errands to run and distract yourself with. You could worry about the explanation later.

Soon, the gifts were wrapped up and ready to go, and the spiced ginger Yule log you had baked sat pretty on the counter. After loading all of the goodies into the backseat of your car, you started the engine and embarked on the long drive to your parents’ house.

In the meantime, Leon had been lounging on his living room couch, complete with a tumbler of whiskey in his hand as he swirled the melting ice in it lazily. Such a let-down, he thought. You didn’t deserve that, and as a matter-of-fact, you didn’t deserve any of this. He peered at the liquor bottle he had just cracked open, mocking him as he gulped down the remnants of the liquid from his chilled glass.

Smacking it onto the table, he was about to pour himself another shot when his phone buzzed. He saw your name flash up on his screen. Normally, he wouldn’t bother to check or answer it during his drinking sessions, but this time, curiosity got the better of him. It was a message with an attachment. Hmm, interesting.

Upon opening it, he saw a selfie of you posing in your horrendous-looking sweater and a mouth-watering dessert behind you. You were holding a present in one hand and making a funny face. The message read, “Come to the dark side, we have cake…”

He burst out laughing—he had to admit, it was rather cute of you to try, especially when no one else had before. Fiddling with the device in his hand, he hesitated, wondering if he should spend another night drowning himself in alcohol at home, alone, or whether he should take a chance on you and celebrate the holiday he hated the most with a bunch of strangers.

“Ahh, what the hell,” he mumbled before pocketing his phone and coming to his decision.

━━━━━━━━━━━

It was half past seven in the evening when you reached your parents’ house. Most of the guests had arrived by then and the celebrations were underway. The hallway was bathed in the warm glow of fairy lights and a large fir tree stood by the corner, decked out in festive garlands and ornaments as presents were tucked beneath its coniferous branches. The delicious smell of stuffed turkey, rib roast, baked ham, mince pies, and eggnog wafted through the air. Your family had prepared a feast and you were surrounded by your close ones. All was in its rightful place, but there was just one thing missing—Leon.

“So… I’m looking forward to seeing this plus one you’ve been talking about,” your mom nudged you as she sauntered over with a plate full of food.

Sensing your unease, your older sister came to the rescue, which you were ever thankful for. “Mom, stop, give it a break already.”

“I’m just curious! It’d be nice to meet this mystery person, hmm?”

You shifted between your feet uncomfortably. At this rate, you were pretty sure that Leon had bailed on tonight’s plans, so you might as well come clean about it. “Well, um, he—”

Before you could finish your sentence, the doorbell rang. Wait, could that be him? Your heart leaped in its cage.

“I’ll get it!” your younger brother yelled as he ran toward the door and you chased after him.

Yanking it open, both of you were greeted by the devil himself. The corners of his eyes crinkled, deep blue set against his pale skin, flushed from the cold.

“Sorry for being late,” he said, extending his arms toward you as you froze up in astonishment. Your younger brother stealthily gave you a push forward and you stumbled—quite literally—into Leon’s awaiting arms.

“Oof, hey!” he laughed. “Nice to see you too.”

“Sorry,” you stammered while you held onto him to find your footing. 

Once you had regained your balance, the scratchy material of his outfit caused you to have a proper look. From the porch lights, you could just about make out the knitted design. There was a figure of who you assumed was meant to be Jesus, sitting on a reindeer and riding it into an explosion of stars with an assortment of ill-matching Christmas trees in the background.

Noticing the perturbed expression on your face, Leon asked with a tinge of anxiety in his voice, “Ugly sweater, right?”

That was when you started giggling, realizing that his sweater definitely outclassed yours in whatever imaginary competition you had in mind. “God, that’s terrible! Okay, you win.”

“Oh yeah? What’s the prize?” he smirked.

At this point, your parents had come to the door to see what the commotion was about. Upon seeing Leon standing outside in the cold, they ushered him in quickly, asking him to make himself at home. 

As Leon settled in and went through the customary round of introductions, the topic that you had been dreading came up—naturally, from your nosey mom of course. “How well do you two know each other?” she pried. “Are you two…”

Leon glanced between you and your mom as she trailed off purposefully, and while you nearly choked on your saliva, he didn’t seem fazed at all. Instead, he responded with a disarming smile, “Yes, we are.”

Your mom emitted a contented hum, turning to your dad with a knowing look, and your eyes shot up to meet his in panic. However, he placed a hand on your shoulder comfortingly, mouthing the words, “Relax, I got this,” as he gave you a brazen wink. 

You had no idea what sort of game he was playing or where he was going with this, but he had a way about him that made you want to place your trust in him. And so, you eased up, allowing him to take the lead in the conversation while showing him to the dining table. Your dad served him a plate and Leon poured out the wine he had brought as a gesture of appreciation. 

Dinner went on without a hitch, filled with warm-hearted chatter and a never ending supply of food and beverages, in which all of you ate and drank until you were stuffed. Although your family could use a lesson in minding their own business, they were relatively easy-going and laid-back, so much so that Leon appeared to be enjoying the company. He seemed brighter and lighter than when you usually saw him in the office, away from all the scrutiny and judgment that could be found there. It was as if he was getting energized by the banter and a social environment which expected nothing from him, but to just be himself.

Your parents took to him and so did your siblings, being none the wiser to the fact that you and Leon were still practically strangers. Well, strangers was too harsh a word. It was more like: not quite friends yet not quite strangers. Occasionally, you would sneak a peek at each other from across the room, sharing shy smiles and furtive glances.

You were pleasantly surprised by how smooth Leon could be when he wanted to, considering that your earlier exchanges with the man had been stilted at best. It was never like how it was in the movies, where couples would hit it off instantly at ditzy meet cutes. Hold on a minute—couple? You mentally berated yourself for thinking about you and Leon on romantic terms. It must be the holiday season making people feel lonely, you figured. How many times had you received drunken, emotionally-wrought texts from exes, only to have them fumble with excuses for sending it out the next day? Anyway, this was nothing. What you had with Leon would only last for tonight, like a trick of the light. You went back to rearranging the gifts under the tree for the umpteenth time.

It was getting late. As your family had a tradition of only opening their presents on Christmas Day itself, they wanted to head to bed soon.

“Leon, you’re very welcome to take the bed in the guest room if you like,” your father offered.

“It’s a long drive back after all,” your mother hinted with a wily grin on her face. Your sister sighed and rolled her eyes while your brother suppressed an obvious laugh.

You saw a slight blush creep up Leon’s neck, but he relented. “Well, if you insist. I can’t thank you enough for all your hospitality.”

Your parents waved off his comment as everyone helped to clear up the dishes. When the remaining chores were finished, you brought Leon to his room, giving him a fresh set of towels, toiletries, and spare clothes from your dad as the rest went to sleep.

“You didn’t have to lie about us, you know?” you mentioned, touching his arm gently. “I mean, I appreciate it.”

“I know.” He brushed his thumb against the back of your hand, causing it to tingle. “It’ll be our little secret.”

You scoffed at his quip, shaking your head in mock disbelief before pulling away. “Well, I’ll get ready for bed. Let me know if you need anything, alright?”

“Mm-hmm.”

After you cleaned up and changed into your pajamas, you went outside to sit on the old wooden swing by the porch. It was draped with fluffy cushions and a thick fleece blanket, which you snuggled under to get comfy. This was your favorite time of the night, when the world was quiet and through the darkness you could spot faint glimmers of light from the street. The air was frosty and you could see your breath condense into puffs of mist.

“Is this a party of one?”

You were so lost in your thoughts that you hadn’t even heard the front door creak open. Leon was standing beside the swing, motioning to the empty spot beside you. “Mind if I join you?”

Scooting over to give him some room, you jested, “Sure, as long as you don’t steal the whole blanket.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” he smirked as he sat down, wrapping his body with the covers.

You trembled as the chilled air hit your skin and he raised an eyebrow. “Cold?”

“No—” But your body betrayed you as you shivered uncontrollably again.

“C’mere,” he muttered, shifting his position as he opened his arms so that you could scuttle in between them.

You gulped nervously but gave in, moving closer as you leaned your head against his chest, catching a whiff of his musky cologne. In response, he snaked an arm around your shoulders in the form of a semi-embrace. His chin rested on the top of your head, and the warmth radiated from his body to yours and back again as you heard his heart beating—maybe a little faster? If someone had told you that you would end the night cuddling with Agent Leon Scott Kennedy, you would have said they were out of their mind, but yet here you were.

“Your Yule log was delicious,” his voice cut through the tense silence and you could hear it reverberating through his chest.

“I knew it’d sway you over to the dark side,” you teased. “Aren’t you glad you didn’t miss out on that?”

His fingers stroked through your hair absentmindedly. “I’m glad I didn’t miss out on all of this.”

You peered up at him inquisitively as he continued, “I haven’t… done something like this in a long time. I kinda forgot how nice it can be…”

Reaching out, you took his hand in yours and squeezed it. “I’m happy that you’re here.”

“I’m happy that you’re here too.”

It came out as a barely-heard whisper, but before he could speak any further, a crystallized snowflake fell onto your cheek. You thought it might have been a fluke at first, but soon, more and more feathery flakes landed on your clothes and hair, littering the floorboards of the front porch in a myriad of geometric shapes.

“It’s snowing,” you gasped.

“First snow of the year.” Leon looked up, similarly in awe at the blinding yet beautiful scenery before him.

You stuck out your tongue to taste the fluffy, sticky ice which fizzled and melted on it. Then, a sudden thought struck you. 

“What time is it?” you asked.

Leon untangled his arm from underneath the layers, squinting at the clock face of his leather-strapped wrist watch. “Just past midnight—”

You jolted up, taking him by surprise. “It’s Christmas?”

Grinning at you, his hands encircled your wrists, the palms of which still laid on his chest. “Uh-huh, so, about my prize…” he tapered off suggestively.

“We’ll unwrap the gifts later with the rest of my family,” you scolded playfully.

“No, I mean, the prize I get for wearing the ugliest sweater in town,” he snickered.

Your heart was in your mouth as your mind raced, simultaneously attempting to come to terms with what he was implying and second-guessing yourself. 

“What kind of prize…” you began, but didn’t manage to complete the sentence as you found yourself drifting toward him on your own accord, closing the gap as you licked your lips and watched with bated breath.

His gaze dropped to your lips as he caressed your cheek with his knuckles. Cupping your face in his hands, he tilted his head, nudging his nose against yours as he planted a tender kiss along your parted lips. You stayed like this for a while, tentatively exploring, soft kisses and skin upon skin, tasting each other until the both of you were satisfied.

When you finally broke away, there was a fond look in his eyes, as though he were seeing you for you, just like you did with him. “Merry Christmas,” he murmured, voice half-dazed and husky.

“Merry Christmas, Leon,” you smiled.

Dividers by @saradika

[anniebeckcalla]

❀dandelion: springtime with nct dream [part three]

:𝐝𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐨𝐧// 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐤𝐲// 𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐞𝐞// 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐮𝐧 𝐢𝐬 𝐢𝐧 𝐦𝐲 𝐞𝐲𝐞𝐬:

non-idol au. wc:n/a. cw:fluff

calla's note: thank you so much for the support towards this series! I will work on the masterlist so that you may be able to find all the work in the right place! more is on the way!

❀ haechan~

A cool breeze gently whispered through the air, rustling the grass in the daisy paddock and settling on your bare shoulders, leaving little goosebumps in its wake. You shuddered slightly, but you were so occupied with struggling to thread one daisy stalk into another that you didn't do anything to remedy the matter.

You couldn't help feeling quite guilty - Haechan, who was sitting in front of you, had already made three daisy chains and had placed them around your head and neck as accessories. He was already working on a fourth one, insisting that he wanted you to have a bracelet to match. You wanted to make a chain for him in return, but you simply could not get your fingers hooked around the flimsy stalks. Every time you thought you had succeeded, the little green stems would bend and split, staining your fingertips with sticky sap.

Haechan observed your silent struggle with pity. All he wanted was to use his skills to decorate you in the best way possible, and while he was touched to see you trying to return the favour, he didn't want you to struggle in his name. “Here, you do it like this,” he said gently, taking your hands in his and guiding the daisy stalks to your control. You could barely speak for how shy you felt, and a wave of embarrassment washed over you when you saw how easy it was to thread the daisies together. “Thank you,” you muttered. “Um, it's for you.”

Hacehan chuckled softly. “Oh, no. You deserve it, especially as it's your creation.” Despite your muffled protests, he looped the daisy chain around your wrist. “There, you look beautiful!” Suddenly, Haechan noticed the increasing goosebumps on your arms. “You're freezing,” he remarked.

“No, I'm not,” you blushed, taken aback that he had noticed.

“Yes, you are. Come on.” Without hesitation, Haechan scooped you up in an embrace, his warm body melting away your shivers. He placed his head atop yours, strong arms around your waist. Usually, you would have squirmed away, but you were so jaded and flustered by his small act of chivalry that you leaned into his caress, your hands clasped around his middle.

No amount of daisies or spring breezes could affect you now..

❀~renjun

Painting outside had brought about consequences that were a double edged sword.

The clouds hung low in the sky, dark, menacing, and ready to spew water at the slightest provocation. Despite this, you and Renjun sat outside in the garden with canvases and watercolour paints, with Renjun claiming “it was sunny earlier on.”

Usually, you two liked to do your painting sessions with an objective. Today, you'd decided that you would “paint something that reminds us of each other.” (Renjun's suggestion). Right now, you sat opposite Renjun with your canvas in your lap and paintbrush in hand, creating what you had intended to be a fox. You couldn’t help it. Renjun reminded you of a fox - he was swift, he was solemn, and he was handsome. He had a very mature air about him. You were confident that he would approve.

However, despite your best efforts, what you had wanted to be a fox was just a splodge of colours, the proportions hideously out of place, tail looking like an orange tree trunk, ears looking like dinner plates. You tried to fix it, but the more you added on, the worse it became. More paint landed on your hands and arms than on the canvas.

“I'm done with mine.” Renjun held up his canvas, eyes sparkling with pride. On his piece was a large moon in a midnight sky, all the right colours mixing together to make it look entrancing. “I see you as moon,” he explained. “I see myself as the waves, and scientifically, the moon controls the waves, and in a way, you control me to be a better person.”

He looked so delighted that tears sprung to your eyes when you glanced at the absolute rubbish that you had to offer him in return.

Suddenly, you felt a plop of water land on your nose. Another plop landed on the canvas in front of you. More plops fell down all around, and somewhere in the distance, your heard a rumble of thunder.

The rainstorm had finally arrived.

You both scrambled to pick up your painting equipment and ferry it inside, but due to the merciless precipitation, there were victims. One of the charcoal blocks was absolutely waterlogged, the painting mat was soaked through…and your painting of a fox was ruined beyond repair.

Once all were safely inside, Renjun held the canvas up sadly. “What was this meant to be?” he questioned. “A fox,” you replied quietly, eyes on the floor in shame. Renjun set the canvas aside and pulled you into a hug. “Really? But I love foxes! You really think that I'm like my favourite animal, y/n! I love you so much!” You hugged him back tightly. Over his shoulder, you looked out of the window and mouthed a silent “thank you” to the spring rain that had ruined your atrocious work.

Now, there was a chance to start afresh and give Renjun what he truly deserved.

[aezuria]

*ੈ✎ always an angel, never a god.

—not strong enough, boygenius

note: hey guys i think you were a lil TOO happy after that last jason post 😇😇😇

content: jason grace x reader; oneshot, 1.2k

warnings: ANGST, violence, character-centered???, allusions to suicide, probably inaccurate death cause i spoiled myself by reading it but i was too sad to check again

jason was tired. so tired. he felt like he was sinking into quicksand as he walked, back aching as if he was atlas, holding up the sky. his fingers twitched, residual sparks of lightning flickering up his arms. they stung. they had never stung before.

he marched straight to his lonely cabin, not stopping at leo's bunker, or aprhodite's cabin—not even yours. he was never too tired to say hi to his friends before. he was never too tired to say to you before. what was wrong with him?

the door shut behind jason, providing him an escape from the ever-busy camp. it gave him relief to slump to the floor, his legs giving out on him as if they were just holding out until he was alone, where prying eyes couldn't reach.

he simply sat there, hugging his knees to his chest like he did whenever he wanted to hide from the loud orders he was given as a child, or so he remembered.

his perfect mask was breaking, his perfect attitude slipping. his nails dug into his arms, the bite of pain clearing his foggy mind. he wouldn't allow himself any time to wallow in his feelings. jason forced himself up and headed into the bathroom.

he wanted nothing more than to take a warm bath, to soak for a while and rest his aching muscles. maybe slide a little too far down so his head dipped below the water, and stay there until it did its work.

but he couldn't, and he wouldn't. he got into the shower, the water ice against his skin. his body screamed in protest, lungs tightening as he took a deep breath at the sudden drop in temperature. that was sure to keep him out of his own head.

and yet, like everything he felt he did recently, he failed. jason couldn't sleep, his mind racing with feelings he tried so hard to shove down. emotions impeded with his ability to work, and if he couldn't work properly, then he was useless. his brain didn't seem to care; it laughed in his face as it threw thought after thought at him. because maybe, in the back of his head, he did feel useless.

it was always percy this, percy that. percy got to be praetor while jason got whispers of "you could never be him." was there something about him that was so forgettable people couldn't wait to replace him? was that why his memories were gone? because nothing about them was so important for even him to hold? was that why, even though little by little they returned, he still had blank spaces in the days he used to recall? maybe if he worked a little harder, he'd be as good as him.

and it was quite unfair of him to feel this way, he believed. after all, percy was a good guy. it's not like they were on bad terms— they could even be called acquaintances, friends if you were looking on the bright side.

thinking of friends brought him to you, the only one he had memories of from the start. you were his best friend, his one and only. you stuck with him, explaining who he was and where he came from as best you could. he remembered how you had painted him like an angel, but he looked at the gaps of your brushstrokes and saw that he was hardened like a double-edged sword. he remembered how you glorified the structure of the romans for his sake, but he read between your praise and found a yearning to be free.

and that's why when you slipped from his waiting heart, he let you go. he did not wish to anchor you when you were meant to be among the clouds, soaring like a bird (yet, why was it that he found you with the son of the sea instead of him?)

"i'm going on another quest." jason smiled weakly, doing his best to put up a brave face. but gods, was it hard. he wanted nothing more than to feel your warmth in his arms; maybe it would soothe the way his heart clenched every time he was reminded of the way he'll never be yours.

"another?" you frowned. he hated the way his eyes were drawn to your lips like lightning to metal. "didn't you just get back from one?"

he shrugged, trying to laugh it off. "yeah, well, someone's gotta do the work around here. i'm the best man for the job." he sounded like he was trying to convince himself. once jason realized your expression wouldn't change, his shoulders sagged. he looked more like a kid than ever, bearing the weight of the world only the gods could lift. "look, i'll get back soon, okay?"

"swear it?" you held out your pinky, your eyes never leaving his face. you offered him a grin, trying to lighten the mood. "if you don't, i might have to get you back for that."

jason chuckled, linking his pinky with yours. "i swear." but it wasn't enough, he needed to hold you. just one more time. he wrapped you in his arms, an aching feeling in his chest that wouldn't go away. his heart twisted even more once he felt you hug him in return, your hands stroking his back like you always did when he was anxious.

he felt you mumble a "be safe" into his shoulder, and he willed himself not to cry in front of you. he gave you a firm nod and pulled away, taking one last second to admire you before he had to leave.

"see you soon, jason." you offered him one last smile.

"goodbye, y/n." why were the words so final on his tongue?

it was because he knew, from his sun-streaked hair to his sore heels, that he would never return. he had the foreboding feeling that something terrible was going to happen, and he'd rather have it happen to him than anyone else.

it was for the best, he thought. he'd die knowing he saved his friends than give up. isn't that what his whole life was for?

jason felt the arrow pierce his heart, three more succeeding it. it was strange. though he bled and bled until he laid in a bed of blood, it felt like a cruel but relieving escape from his emotions. it eased his limbs like a drug, made him feel high on the tang of silver in his mouth. but his heart still fought to beat, to live, to remember. memories of leo and piper, percy and annabeth, frank and hazel. reyna and camp jupiter, chiron and camp half-blood. jason remembered you. how your smile was the light of his life, how it was the last time he'd ever see it again. but he'd die happy, the image of your face branded into his eyes as they shut. when the spear pierced his chest one last time, he felt the weight of his mind disappear back into the sky from which he came from.

(but his mind was light from the holes in his story that he could never truly fill.)

[multiverse--wanderer]

The Hatred Of Love | Ghost x König (Call of Duty) [ENG]

[One Shot based on the OTP between Ghost and König (Call Of Duty) WARNING: This One Shot contains explicit narratives of intimate relationships.Did you like this One Shot? Remember you can read more like it on my Patreon: https://www.patreon.com/MultiverseWanderer In a lonely apartment, two souls meet again under the promise to never do it again. Will they find redemption in each other's arms or will they succumb to the destructive power of their own desire? They will discover that some temptations are too strong to resist and that the path to the deepest pleasure can also be the most dangerous.* Cover image credits to the author.

...

REMINDER:

This story has been written in Spanish, which is my native language. This story has been translated to the best of my ability, although it is possible that it may have mistakes.

This is just a way to transport my writing to a common language for the rest of fans like me. For a better immersion, I recommend reading the story in its original version.

You can find this story on Wattpad and Archive of Our Own.

Thank you so much for reading me and see you in the stars.

...

-'ღ'-

There's no way to get him out of my mind.

There's no way I can find him in another mouth, in other hips.

The situation is becoming the most frustrating, the most ridiculous thing that has happened to me in my fucking life. Driven by the need to turn off my mind for a while and lose myself in a torrid encounter, I have fallen so low that I no longer find pleasure in a body other than his.

With my pants too tight and overly snug, I headed out into the street, back to my rented apartment in the center. Each step is a struggle against the clinging fabric that seems to want to keep me anchored in the memory of what just happened, still throbbing. The night is dark and heavy, and the rain begins to fall; its cold and persistent drops are the only thing that manages to bring me to my senses for a few seconds, allowing me to think clearly about this whole situation.

As I walk, the water soaks my clothes, sticking them to my skin and cooling the burning I still feel in my body. The city is almost deserted at this hour, and the sound of my footsteps echoes through the empty streets, mingling with the constant rustle of the rain. Every drop that hits my face is a reminder of reality, a call to sanity that seems to fade away as soon as it arises. Meanwhile, I make my way through the wet streets, and my mind returns again and again to his face, to the way his eyes looked at me with a mixture of triumph and desire, to how his mouth, that damned temptation, moved over me with devastating precision.

But Alexander wasn't the protagonist that night, Gérard was.

Deciding to go with that beautiful blue-eyed Frenchman I met at the bar was a terrible decision. The twenty-seven-year-old works as secretary to the Minister of Defense and still knows how to add two plus two. My idea had been to have a few glasses of strong alcohol at the bar at the base and calm the need that had been running through my soul for several days now. For a few moments at first, it seemed to work until the double-edged sword of alcohol attacked me from behind worse than I could have ever imagined.

Gérard had noticed my figure long before I had noticed his. He was the one who approached when the bar was closing and invited me for one last drink. I looked at him, contemplated his erotic half-smile, his defined eyes, and saw his intentions as clear as the dawn. He seemed to see the same thing in my eyes, because he decided to stay, not knowing how dangerous this erotic game with me was.

He tried to find out about me but got nothing. I lied on my behalf, I lied in my job, and I lied in my situation. He, however, told me everything about his life in an attempt to get me to reveal something more.

From one drink, we went on to two more. When the curly blonde got tired of waiting, I could feel his hand sliding in a private caress down my thigh in a clear invitation. I took air through my nose for just a few seconds and slowly released it in the same place. It would have been so easy to pull her hand away and say no to her charms (which I had in abundance), but I decided to jump into the hoops. I decided it was the best thing to do to prove to myself that I wasn't in need of a single man with a first and last name.

"Let's go to my hotel room." He was continually whispering in my ear.

Under the need that my body needed and under the provocations of the pure French worker, I decided to accept.

He kissed and moved well, he knew how to unfold his eroticism in every honeyed word he uttered. He managed to make me believe, on more than one occasion, that perhaps I could reach that long-awaited orgasm with him. He liked rough sex and only asked for more in response to the grips that my firm hands were subjecting to him. I could see his eyes, half-closed and moist with pleasure, flash in a bright blue that he didn't recognize. I searched his orbs for Alexander's tired eyes without realizing it, and it was only when I couldn't find his deep, murky seas did I realize that I couldn't find any kind of excitement in Gérard's.

It was a desperate attempt to fill a void, a pale reflection of what I really wanted.

I turned him around, put him on his back, and he clung to the pillow. He moaned so loudly against it that it reverberated in the hotel room. I saw his body, thin and sculpted in marble-like perfection, which gave me a strange feeling of nausea.

Not because of him, but because of myself.

Every movement felt empty, every moan, a mockery of what had once been a dance of true passion. Gérard's perfection only highlighted the imperfection of what he felt at the time. I missed the warmth, the intensity, the electricity that went through me every time Alexander touched me.

Underneath makeup that concealed my own scars and tattoos so as not to be recognized by anyone, were hidden wars that only one man had licked with desire and tinges of love. My whole world started to fall apart and despite the frustration and drive to keep going, I couldn't do it. I wasn't getting anywhere, and to the shore I was approaching, I refused to anchor myself.

Gérard had already reached orgasm several times. When he reached his third, as scandalous as it was appetizing, I pulled out and moved with disgust in search of my clothes. He turned to look at me and from his trembling voice came a "are you leaving?" that pleaded for more. I didn't answer, it was a question that didn't need an answer.

And now I find myself wandering the sidewalk in the rain, on my way to the sober apartment I had rented for the duration of the mission. I found myself cursing myself for being such an idiot once again. He'd had too many sporadic relationships to know how it worked. The reason I did it was to find an oasis pleasure amidst so much chaos and pain, and lately my only livelihood of feeling something was fading away like sand under salt water.

It's all his fault. Because of him.

When I got inside the apartment, I didn't even turn on the lights. I let the gloom from the window of the high-rise building where the apartment was located decorate the interior with dark and subtle tones. I moved straight to the luxurious bathroom and only turned on one of its many lights.

Over the sink, I took off my soaked dark T-shirt and proceeded to remove all the makeup I had on my torso. I peeled off the thin prosthetics that concealed the larger scars and removed all the makeup that covered the more specific or recognizable marks, like the tattoo on my arm. I left the faucet running and allowed the warm water to do the rest as I rubbed with my hand, unconsciously trying to remove all the remnants of that night and what I had become.

The brown dye I had put in my hair fell in small, weak drops down my neck, washing away its false color to reveal the blonde that defined my appearance. I wiped away the remnants that the rainwater hadn't managed to remove with a towel and threw everything into the laundry basket.

The phone resting on the counter beside the sink I was now cleaning with my hands vibrated, and its screen lit up. An incoming message appeared on the screen, and as if the bastard had known how to read my mind, he wrote to me.

"König: I miss you."

A measly message that managed to completely destroy me. All the barriers I was trying to build, all the distances... Such an everyday message from him and yet the one I needed least at this moment.

I clenched my fists against the marble sink and cursed his figure over and over again. I cursed him, knowing that it wasn't unusual to receive such messages from him, that I was the one who always ignored his private messages, and yet now I needed anything but that.

He no longer wrote me "I need you," which indicated unbridled sex driven by his explicit need. Now he wrote "I miss you." What the hell did that mean? I knew the answer firsthand; I just needed to look at my current situation, I just needed to look in the damn mirror.

Not being able to have a casual relationship with anyone because no one can meet my standards like he does. Looking for him in other lips and finding nothing but sand under my tongue. Everything escalated far beyond a simple "I need you." It escalated to the point where I missed him, missed him so much that any ghost pretending to be him was just a blurred shadow.

And I hated it. I hated him so much for it.

The cumulative anger of the night escalated with every thought, and he was responsible. He was the reason I felt my blood boil with rage. I can't understand why everything is so different with him, why I can't settle for other relationships, and why that damn six-foot-nine kid can't stop drilling into my head for a single second.

It had been more than a month and a half since we had seen each other outside of work. The closer I got to him, the more uphill it became. He sought my gaze like a puppy seeks its owner. He sought crumbs of attention like a hungry dog and received nothing but indifference from me.

Why is he still here?

I picked up the phone and opened his message. I saw all the messages I had from him with no response, and I almost felt guilty. Then I remembered the reason I walked away from him, and I knew it was to spare him all the suffering I was causing him.

He couldn't find happiness by my side because I could only give him pain, and that's the last thing he deserves.

He, who despite everything being darkness in his world, lets all the light that continues to shine within him show when he's with me.

"Ghost: Come to my apartment now."

...

CONTINUE READING THE FULL CHAPTER HERE:

[dapperbasil]

For as much as the Toreador take pride in their loves, their distractions, their joys, their trances, I find no pride in such things. As nights go on and days turn to weeks and turn to months, I find myself unaccustomed to such a perverse feeling overtaking me. My Lady has been ever so kind to me as I rediscovered who I am after my embrace, yet the comfort I should get from such a thing is always and forever cast over by a shadow of perversion and disgust. Something that is supposed to be natural to me gives no feelings other than personal hatred and embarrassment. Each time I slip into that state of inaction, of inability to do more than stare in fascination I come out of it worse off than I stepped in. 

I am not a member of the Toreador clan. I have never been welcome in the homes of the roses, aside my brief stint in the haven of Lady Annalyse. Even then I was looked down upon as if I were not equal, and to them I suppose I may never be. I have always been a spectacle to them, something to catch their attention for a moment or two and be tossed aside. I suppose I am lucky in that way, as I have been spared the short attention span that seems to plague those embraced in such a way. 

The only things to catch my eye are those I would have found truly beautiful before my embrace nonetheless, which seems to work as its own kind of curse in a way. No longer can I stand the tender touch of my liege, the one person I love with all of my being. Her compassion brings me nothing but pain as I lose myself in the attention, his love being a double edged sword brought down upon my neck. The beauties of the world around me also pull me further and further into myself and stand to distract me from my duty. The glimmer of starlight on water, the beauty of the moon overhead shining with all of its brilliance to name a few. Each hurts me further and further, tempting the beast within to overwhelm me.

No longer will I allow the rose clan to hold the strings to the marionette which is my heart. I must learn to withstand these temptations, and quickly as to not embarrass Lady Thalia. The circumstances of my embrace have been quite the challenge to come to terms with for the past months, and even now I still do not feel as if I am truly myself or I ever will be again. Phillip died a gruesome death on that bloodstained cobblestone road four years ago, and in their place stands a rose plucked of all petals, only thorns remaining on the stem. My Lord has graced me with this new name, this new meaning to life, and I must show my gratitude in the only way I can.

My name is Thorne, and I am a knight of house de Sorrez. Tonight is the night I will be presented to all as a member of clan Lasombra, one year after the failure of clan Toreador to present me as one of their own. This time I am ready for the obstacles ahead of me, ready to traverse the battlefield of Elysium with Lady Thalia at my side.

-Thorne, Toreador fledgling and childe of Thalia/Tulio de Sorrez of Clan Lasombra

[fiddlepickdouglas]

I know you've got me blocked which is fine, but to anyone else who reads this (and op), this is for you.

You're welcome to feel that way, and it's rare that I ever do come off as condescending. I was aware that might be the case but as evidence from above, did not have the energy to edit that tone. Honestly, my only apology is for not waiting to hit post until I could change my tone in that response, although frankly, I wouldn't have changed it.

My point was, as someone who did come from a Christian background and survived a great deal of abuse due to that upbringing, is that the laughter is more than just a thin shield in many cases. Coming from a world where anything we do is punishable whether it truly is right or wrong or moral or whatnot, because ultimately all the adults around us care more about controlling us than seeing us as people - that turns laughter into one of the greatest weapons.

It's a survival tool and a coping mechanism, and not a mere bandaid to "displace guilt" or "whatever." I know I'm not guilty of anything for my queer identity or for enjoying explicitly sexual/kinky content if I so choose. It's taken a great deal of work to reach that mindset and it's mostly been through the help other other queers who have similar experiences. It's not an excuse to make an inappropriate joke out of anything, but for those of us who have had to radically rewire our brains after letting go of certain beliefs, we've earned the right to poke fun at them.

As a writer (although admittedly one who doesn't typically write or read smut for reasons outside of this discussion), I'm also aware that many of the things people write either as professionals or in fanfiction is an attempt to process their own worldview in some manner. Whether that's to work out their own trauma or make any sort of commentary, or simply to write down what goes on in their head because it's taking up too much space, or some other reason, all of that is equally valid. If people are writing kink and repeating that phrase, then the follow up to how it's treated is more important to pay attention to than the line itself.

Since it is clearly not your thing, you're welcome not to use it in your writing and politely turn down any requests or prompts that include it. That's every writer's right. As a reader in a day and age where filters are a thing, and there's are so many methods to pare down results with a fine toothed comb (especially on AO3), that's the reader's responsibility.

But wishing a level of control so far as to say nobody should be saying that phrase so you don't have to deal with it is where it borders on unhealthy. Which is not to say you're invalid or wrong for those feelings, but the strength of the reaction might indicate that a break is needed from something or several things. Because saying you won't police people when there's some desire there to eradicate something that, ultimately, is far more complex than your personal feelings on it, can lead to a direction that unintentionally winds up sounding exactly like right-wing Christian ideals and control tactics, just with woke terminology. I'm not saying that's where you're already at, not even remotely, but I'm just a little too familiar with the territory and it's dangerous ground you're standing on.

Which is why there is every reason to sort out any anger and laugh in the face of punishment, because that is also an extremely queer thing to do, if not one of the queerest, and taking pride in it has been the point for as long as religion has been used as an excuse to other us. Is it still your choice not to? Absolutely. It's a respectable choice. But so is mine.

If you're spend more time being worried about the language that other queer people use in their fanfiction/daily life where it does relatively little harm than the very real threats several hate groups and governments pose to our existence, all that's likely to do is cultivate the kind of infighting that those same threats hope will keep us distracted so it's easier to legislate our lives away. I know that sounds extreme, but at this point that's the reality. My original response may have been annoying clownery, but now I'm fully serious. The moment you step back and resolve your feelings about people saying "I'm going to hell for this," and find something to focus on in the manner of either supporting yourself or others in a way that encourages growth, who knows. Maybe you'll get the joke, then. But that's still your preference and your choice.

the fact that “i’m going to hell for this” hasn’t dropped out of the lexicon for writing/reading smut pisses me off so much

[driftingmoonmenace]

Tw vent

I'm still gonna take my break but I guess I just wanna get my thoughts out. I'll probably delete this later.

I guess I'm starting to think or realize that I'm severely burnt out or stressed out because of the pressures of social media and being 'present' in the fandom. My creativity over time has tanked and getting motivated to work on my AUs or draw or write is like non-existent. I have other stressors going on irl rn too, but I've just noticed over time the amount of frequent breaks I have to take from social media anymore because of my mental health.

It's not to say I dislike creating fandom stuff or anything. I still love Sun and Moon dearly, even tho my hyperfixation is nowhere near where it once was! I still enjoy seeing what people create! I still enjoy creating things for the fandom!

I guess I just can't help falling into the habit of feeling like I need to be more active, more social, worry over whats the best time to post stuff, compare myself to others, stress over posting sketches instead of full finished pieces. Writing and feeling so embarrassed over what I write. I know it's no one's fault but my own. I shouldn't stress over things like that and create for myself instead of others. I just live off validation at this point from years of drawing for others or money. I rarely draw for myself anymore. Validation makes me want to keep creating.

I stress over my 'inadequacies' of being a slow artist with no spoons and little to no motivation most days or leaving people on read and not replying because socializing stresses me out even though I enjoy it. Saying I'll do things and then backing out of them, showing how unreliable I am over and over again.

Idk fandom is just such a double edged sword to me and is something I very much enjoy and want to participate in, but also i get so overwhelmed with the pressure and expectations I put on myself. Fandom has changed so much over the past few decades and i feel like by not posting im becoming 'irrelevant' within the fast paced hellscape its become. It's frustrating.

[valiantthearts]

NAME: Panda! PRONOUNS: She/Her

MOST ACTIVE MUSES: I tend to only keep muses that are active, so Caitlyn, Vi, Mel, and Sevika. Caitlyn and Vi are my primary muses I prefer to write, but I'm Mel and Sevika are up there. I'm also testing out Leona, and Katarina on discord.

EXPERIENCE: My experience started back in 2003 when I first got into roleplay based on server units. It was on Avidgamers, which was the original server (now you got jcink, invisionfree, proboards, etc...) but yeah. So I have a good.... 21 years of roleplay experience. I have been on tumblr rp since 2013 though. FLUFF, ANGST, OR SMUT: I primarily tend to write Angst, as I enjoy the development between two characters. Person vs person angst, I will only write with people I am very comfortable with, as it is a difficult subject to breach due to my inability to stop myself from shutting down with conflict. However, I love angst that includes someone being wounded and the other having to help them, emotional angst like death in family or trauma, any kind of angst that brings two people together and they have to work through it is my jam.

I do like to write smut as well, but a lot of my smut involves a build up of the character and all. I don't just write it for the sake of writing it (not including ask) but plotted smut I like. It delves into character development and what is going on in a character. Example, Caitlyn is very hypersexual and during her time away from Vi, she chooses sex as her drug like vi uses alcohol. Its a character thing for her and something to build on.

I don't tend to write fluff, I can't do cute domestic stuff that is 'chill'. A lot of fluff I have, tends to be kind of dark, and honestly I'm more interested in angsty fluff where its dealing with angst behind it. But if you want domestic cute stuff, most likely won't happen on this blog.

LONG OR SHORT REPLIES: I prefer to do long threads, however I also want to have quality. So I find it hard to say I like long or short cause sometimes 3 paragraphs is enough of quality for a reply (though that's short for me LOL). I do not care for one liners on like, a small paragraph with not much to go on. I want plot and depth in my writing and honestly its a double edge sword because its hard to find people who want to write like that.

PET PEEVES: Hmm.... People not communicating and I am having to do all the work in the communicating. There is also one liners, or threads that literally are all wordy and no substance to the reply. ARE YOU LIKE YOUR MUSE: When I write my muses, I often write those I relate to. For Example, Caitlyn I relate to because of being put to a high standard and not sure how to be yourself because everyone expects something of you. I also understand her profession and the warfare, I was in the military as a police office AND I was trained for active duty war cause I was in the military during the war. Vi I connect to because I feel deeply and I am very sensitive to the world around me. I also struggle with people and Vi is the oldest child and was shaped to be a parent figure as a child which I went through as well as the oldest daughter with my siblings. Sevika I'm still learning how we connect and same with Mel.

TIME TO WRITE: I work during the day (EST) then I go to the gym afterward so my writing tends to happen anywhere between 7pm-midnight.

TAGGED BY: Stolen from @ly-kos TAGGING: @infernalapparatus, @shimmerbeasts, @flordivina, @ruinouss, @goldenfists, @jynxd, @hexedevolution, and anyone else who wants to.

[paragonknightxander]

Her steps are wobbly as she approaches, the half finished drink not her first of the night. It's a coin toss if Xander will lecture her about it, but if she remains composed enough, Camilla figured he wouldn't mind.

"Happy new year Xander!" She placed a kiss on her older brother's cheek. "It's so wonderful with us all together. I hope the new year brings good things for us."

“Ah, Camilla!” Xander couldn’t help but feel concern for his sister, her lack of balance certainly did no favors. He squinted, “Tell me, are you aware of how much you've been drinking? Do you need anything, perhaps somewhere to sit down?”

Holiday or not he wasn’t exactly comfortable with her wandering around aimlessly while drunk. However this holiday in particular is special, it's not only a celebration of the future but to appreciate past endeavors as well. Making it through another year was an achievement worthy of jubilation.

Perhaps he should bring his worries a tone down, at least for tonight. “My apologies, I know you are more than capable of handling yourself.” He tried to cast away those doubts– for now, and trust her.

Oh– He couldn’t help but grin, letting out a small laugh from her kiss. “Well, it’s good to see you too. Happy new year, it seems you've been having fun. I’m glad to see it.” She had always been braver than him when it came to showing one’s care. If he wasn’t so terrible at physical affection any affection he would offer something sweet in return. Perhaps a hug, or a moment of holding hands.

“I couldn’t have said it better myself. I’m sure much is to come, honestly I hadn’t expected so many of us to be here. It's certainly a pleasant surprise.” He stated, still mulling over his previous thoughts.

Ironic how growing up he was always told to keep a certain distance in order to remain strong, yet now he can't help but see it as one of his greatest weaknesses…

No.

Is that not part of this holiday? To find ways to build towards improving yourself? She had always made initiating acts of endearment look easy. Though never speaking of it out loud; a part of Marx wished to learn how.

Strangers and acquaintances are one thing; they didn't need anything more than his stoic outside. But this is his family, trying to keep distance has done nothing but make him live with more regrets.

Loving is a double edged sword, it’s something you cannot control. Better to appreciate those in your life now than to live wishing you could have shown them how much you care.

No more excuses! He's going to try and show appreciation! Surely a hug would do.

…

Yet…

His body refused to move from its usual stance. No matter how much he told himself to do something it wouldn’t work. It was as if his mind was completely disconnected from everything else.

It's frustrating– very frustrating. This should be simple, he shouldn’t even have to think about it this much!

Everything feels so far beyond his control, the moment turned into awkward silence. He wanted to do better and yet it was already too late. He didn’t wish to think this way; however perhaps he’s too broken. Maybe next time.

“I hope this night treats you well.” He masked his own disappointment in himself, brushing it under the rug. “I know it’s already been said but I really am pleased to see you. It is always nice to spend time together.”

[iiseult]

Jerry Pascal x reader: My Name is Leroy (pt. 1)

Note: Truly nobody asked for this but there was zero Jerry x reader content on the internet (prob bc everyone else is NORMAL) so I thought I might contribute. Crossposted on my ao3.

CWs -> AFAB reader, female pronouns, use of Y/N (I know this triggers some of you), smoking, alcohol, cigarettes, descriptions violence (not super graphic but maybe later lol who knows), eventual smut

You knocked on the front door, tapping your foot anxiously against the creaky wooden planks. You had half a mind to double check that you’d gotten the address right– this house seemed awfully big for just two people, especially when their only form of income was working at the shitty gas station at the edge of town. The front porch was long and guarded by a low wooden railing, which was covered in a layer of peeling white paint. There was a bay window with dirty, clouded glass, dainty wooden trim that conjured up images of a gingerbread house, and even a third floor. You couldn’t help but gawk at the facade, your head tilted all the way back in order to see the widow’s watch at the top of the house. You wondered what the place might have looked like in its prime, before it became waterlogged and infested with termites. You were just about to pull out your phone and check the address Jack had sent when the door suddenly swung open, and the man on the other side of it sure wasn’t Jack.

“Well, hello there.”

Tall, but not that tall. Blonde, but not super blonde– maybe closer to brown with blonde highlights. Messy, but not dirty. A friendly smile on his scruffy face. Wearing a shirt that said, “Hello, my name is Leroy, fight me.” Must have been Jack’s roommate, but you were surprised. Jack never mentioned how…kind of hot his roommate was. You tried not to let it show on your face just how caught off-guard you were.

“Hi, I’m here to meet Jack?” you said tentatively, still kinda worried you’d gotten the wrong address, but your doubts were soon put to rest. The man’s smile widened as he looked down at you; he was a good few inches taller. He made a show of checking you out, scanning his eyes down your body and then back up again.

“Well, you’re in the right place! Jack’s inside. Come on in,” he said, moving to the side and gesturing with an open palm for you to step inside. You did, thanking him in the process, taking in your surroundings.

The living room, as big as it was, was kind of barren. There was a big rug in the middle with trippy patterns on it and a futon positioned to face the TV. On the opposite wall was a fireplace, a little wooden side table that looked old enough to crumble into dust, and a lamp casting yellow light around the room. Above the TV, a giant sword was mounted, half-sheathed and glistening coldly. From where you were standing you could just make out the letters “Property Of Jerry” scrawled in messy sharpie on the hilt. The man, who you concluded had to have been Jerry, shut the front door and followed you into the living room.

“Jack’s in the shower right now. He might be a minute,” Jerry explained. You nodded and wandered over to the fireplace, a smile spreading across your face when you noticed what was on the mantle.

“Nice empties collection,” you said, turning back around to face Jerry, who puffed out his chest proudly and ran a hand through his effortlessly-messy-but-still-sexy hair.

“Thanks. Made those puppies all by myself,” he explained. Then he leaned in a bit closer to get a better look at your face. “Wow, you’re, like, a really attractive girl, you know?”

You laughed and couldn’t help but blush, shaking your head a little, holding in the urge to say something stupid, like ‘you, too.’ Instead, you decided on keeping it simple.

“Thanks, you’re sweet.”

Jerry perked up a little more at your laugh, his eyes brightening. He was enjoying the way you reacted; definitely affected by him, but also definitely not shy. He took a step closer, holding out his bigger hand for you to shake.

“You’re very welcome,” he said, his voice dropping slightly lower as he gave you his best supermodel-smolder face, which you had to actively try not to laugh at. “My name is Jerry. Not sure if Jack mentioned me.”

You took his hand and shook it firmly, noticing how nicely it enveloped yours, and grinned.

“Oh yeah, he’s told me plenty. All good things, of course. Mostly,” you said, and he raised an eyebrow, still shaking your hand.

“He did…lowkey, accidentally…tell me the entire story of your involvement in that cult, though,” you added sheepishly. Jerry just laughed loudly and reluctantly let go of your hand.

“Wanna go sit on the couch?”

***

Jerry was about halfway through a story about that time a raccoon gave birth in the storage room of the gas station when Jack finally came rushing down the stairs, the thunder of his footsteps and his loud cry of, “sorry, sorry! I lost track of time,” altering you of his presence. His hair was still slightly damp from the shower and his T-shirt was wrinkled, but his face broke out into a genuine smile as soon as he saw you.

“Jack!”

“Hey, man, join us,” Jerry said, his voice cheerful, “We were just chatting.”

You and Jack hadn’t seen each other in almost a full year, since last summer break when you were on at the gas station as a full-time employee for a few months before you had to go back to school. That had been your gig every summer since your family moved to this town in freshman year of college. Now, you were finishing your fifth– and hopefully final– year of undergrad, back home for a nice, two-week-long spring break. The first thing you did when you got back was shoot Jack a text, asking if he wanted to catch up, and he, just thrilled to even have any form of a social life, of course said yes, inviting you over for dinner.

Dinner meant ordering Chinese takeout, but you weren't complaining, since Jack had already offered to cover the cost. As the two of you ate, Jerry decided to make himself scarce to give you a little privacy, retreating to the backyard to “play with his pile of tin cans.” Jack didn’t ask any questions, so you followed his lead.

After regaling Jack with tales of your busy senior year of college and listening to a few of his wild stories from another year working at the gas station, there was a lull in the conversation. Jack took a sip of his ginger ale. You cleared your throat. Now that your mind wasn’t distracted by other things, it apparently couldn’t help but drift off to thinking about Jerry, and, already being a few beers deep, you couldn’t stop yourself from blurting,

“Your friend Jerry’s kinda hot, man.”

Jack looked up from his soda, his eyebrows raising in surprise. Then he grinned, a hint of mischief in his expression.

“Jerry? You think he’s hot, huh?” he said, his voice laced with amusement. You blushed a little and furrowed your brows.

“Well, what’s the matter with that?”

He held up his hands in a defensive gesture, still grinning.

“Hey, nothing’s the matter, with it. He’s a good-looking guy, I can see why you’d think so.”

You mumbled something about how if Jack knew Jerry was hot, why didn’t he tell you before? But you decided to drop that fruitless line of questioning, instead pushing some noodles around your plate idly, looking down at them as if they had suddenly become interesting. Jack narrowed his eyes at you, his smile fading a little. He could tell that you were more than a little interested in his roommate; maybe even a little flustered, judging by the faint pink color dusting your cheeks.

Finally, You broke the silence.

“So, you think I should say something to him?”

Jack just shrugged, a slightly pained expression taking over his face. Jerry was a great guy and he knew the two of you would probably hit it off, but for some reason the idea didn’t sit well with him. He knew it wasn’t because he didn’t like imagining you with Jerry; it was because he didn’t like imagining you with anyone. He felt strangely protective over you for some odd reason. You were one of his only friends, and definitely the only person that had ever reached out and made an effort to see him. You were fun to spend time with and you never judged him– not too harshly, anyways. And all of those things made him feel kinda good inside, and if you started dating someone, wouldn’t it just be too weird for you to keep hanging out with the creepy, single guy who worked at the gas station?

“I don’t know. Maybe it isn’t such a good idea. Jerry is, like, a certified disaster,” he said, trying to ignore the spike of guilt that shot through his chest when he saw the way your face fell.

“I get it, I really do. He’s attractive, charming, a goofball,” he continued, waving his can of ginger ale in the air as he talked, “but trust me, he’s a lot more trouble than he’s worth.”

“And how do you know what is and isn’t worth it?” you said back, your expression unreadable now. A flicker of regret flashed across Jack's face. Maybe his words were a little too harsh; Jerry was worth the trouble for some people. He certainly was for Jack. He sighed and vigorously ran a hand through his hair.

“I’m just trying to warn you. He’s really impulsive and…carefree, in a word,” he said, a bit disdainfully, “And between you and me, I think he actually likes getting into trouble.”

You pursed your lips and looked across the room to the back window, through which you could see Jerry hunched over something, his tongue poking out the corner of his mouth as he concentrated on whatever it was he was doing– presumably playing with his pile of cans. You didn’t say anything else about it to Jack for the rest of the night, and by the time Jerry came back into the house to show off the giant model assault rifle he had constructed out of beer cans and gorilla glue, you had already made up your mind; that man was a disaster whose pants you absolutely needed to get into at least once in your life.

[kasaneteto]

thoughts about honesty & lying and my relationship with these concepts before intake a power nap because i only got 4 hours of sleep thanks to daylight savings

i didn’t really realize until this year just how deeply ingrained in me the urge to lie is. i will just say fucking whatever if its what i think the conversation needs. (or i should say i used to. ive been really making an effort to not say ANYTHING that i dont mean and its fucking hard but its getting easier fs) this is a bit of a double edged sword because like, i AM very good at talking to people and being friendly & this skill definitely stems from the years and years of people pleasing, but at the same time i have to really hold myself accountable if i want to be impeccable with my word, because the natural instinct to tell a lie is SO strong.

my parents would punish me for honesty so i very quickly learned it was better to lie and not get yelled at (which didnt even always work lol) and as a result have had to learn how to be honest with even myself. it was SO deeply ingrained that when a truth was difficult or painful i would just lie to myself instead of facing the music. ive gotten a lot better about being honest with myself about my feelings, my recent breakup helped me realize that i still had a lot of work to do in that respect and ive been doing a lot of introspection about it. but what im really struggling with is the impulse to say things that i think will help the conversation flow even if they arent true, and in my effort to NOT do this i seem to have become… too honest? i dunno. ive always hated fakeness and niceties of that kind so sometimes I’ll say something in response thats super honest but like….i did not need to say that.

despite my honesty making people uncomfortable at times i feel way better about myself this way. i feel like a toddler sometimes with how much i wear my heart on my sleeve these days but it feels good to know that hey at least im being genuine yknow? like what you see is what you get with me. im not exactly an open book but im not gonna pretend to be someone im not just for your sake. like ive been doing that my whole life and STILL got rejected by people left and right so like. who cares. i’ll just be myself and be honest and forthcoming and not worry about what other people think of me. because the people who like me and want to spend time with me will stick around. and if im being myself and people dont like that, WHO CARES!!!!! get well soon bitch because im fucking awesome. it feels good to say that and truly believe it.

anyways. tl;dr if we’re friends theres a good chance that one day i will say something to you and then immediately say “that wasnt true im sorry idk why i said that” because it has been happening often LOLLLL

[jilanne-jpg]

The Lone Lane

In the season of growth I have been alone. There's some bittersweetness to it because it's showing me how close I am to the life I aim to live and it's showing me what and who needs to go. There's no distractions, no stimuli, no outside sources to influence my decisions. Over this past year i've done so much groundwork on myself. Learning what grace is and what a double edged sword really feels like. In the instance of watching people doing your wrong and knowing it's not even about you or watching people say one thing and do other; specifically in a sense of self harm. My values are my north star, they bring me back to myself and what it is i stand for. I think the most hurtful part about this process has been reevaluating the people you have around you-your network and community: your support system. I've had to literally start from the ground up. Again, limiting all distractions. Severing ties with people, places and things that no longer serve me.

The second most important part of this process is pouring back into yourself to sustain the growth. As cliche as it is, its so pivotal to your growth and the systems you've created for yourself. Whether it's a Sunday ritual of only doing things for you, or a weekly practice you've implemented into your routine to keep your focused on your goals; it's a system. As it gets colder, getting back in the gym and blogging have been goals within my system of growth. Goals, just for me that i share with no one. I'll blog about how i feel or what's going on with me at the time or something interesting i've learned. Blogging has been my sense of creativity when i need an outlet, to share. My thoughts are my gift to the world and working out it my gift to me. I think my favorite part about going to the gym is no matter how long of a break from it, i'm willing to go back for more. It's symbolic to my journey of growth, with it's ups and down, im still willing to continue to grow.

[starlightkun]

genuine question, how do you write so fast? 😭 i feel like you’re so quick with your works, both writing and putting them out!!

also i found your tumblr on ao3 and i have to say that you are carrying nct fics on ao3. i hope you never stop writing cause i could be 40 and i would still read your stuff 🫶

i think a big thing has been getting out of my head abt writing! like i only write when i want to, i don't stick to word counts (minimums or maximums), and i dont compare myself to other writers (not that i read a whole lot of fic anymore, but there's a few that i still keep up with and one of them churns out fics way faster than i do, and another who posts like maybe two or three times a year but i still love them!) like i've def said this before, but for me, writing fic is fun, it's something i do bc i want to and if i open a word doc and i'm genuinely dreading it, i'm not gonna do it (my adhd brain simply will not make me lol--tho that is a double edged sword bc i do have to chase myself into doing something i like sometimes, but the ritalin has helped a lot xx)

i also dont go into my fics completely clueless anymore. like, i for sure don't know everything, i learn a lot along the way, and tend to change stuff (and get surprised by my own fics, which is always fun!), but i definitely have more of an outline and general sort of sketch of the fic in my brain and in my word doc before i start actually writing real scenes of any sort, which has definitely helped. like, starting with one little idea isn't bad at all (strawberry sunday literally just started w the fact that i liked the title of a song that i hadn't even heard yet and it turned into like 10 fics??), but i dont just start writing head empty anymore (i used to get a tiny spark of inspiration and try to write everything start to finish immediately because i thought i'd lose it if i didn't, and it'd burn really short. now i sort of just sit with it and slowly tend to it like fire instead and it lasts a lot longer and gets a lot bigger). i ruminate a lot before anything that looks remotely like a story leaves my ideas doc and gets its own doc

idk if this necessarily makes me write faster, but i also edit as i write? like, sometimes i open a fic and i don't have anything in me to write, but i'll reread what's in the draft so far and edit, make little changes, fix continuity errors, etc. not only does it keep the whole plot so far fresh in my mind as i continue writing, but then i have a lot less to proof myself when i finally finish the whole thing because i've already caught a lot of spelling, grammatical, and plot errors! i used to find editing a slog to do bc when i finished my first draft i would be so excited and wanted to just post it! and didn't want to reread all this stuff i just wrote several times to try to find typos, and now it's usually a breeze bc my first draft isn't really my first draft, it's been continually revised as it was drafted. and sometimes i open a doc, won't feel like writing, tinker around with some editing, then suddenly have a lightbulb moment while i'm editing and jump into writing

[acourtofmishapandmistakes]

Do you support AI art?

That's a very complicated question, and one that I don't want to avoid answering given that it's a very real and present debate right now.

In short, no, I don't personally support AI-generated art as it currently stands.

While I'm open to the idea of using AI as a tool to enhance learning and creativity and generally believe that the increasing use of AI can create a more accessible world, I feel that AI art, in its present form, operates with too few restrictions. I’ll be the first to admit that I haven't done extensive research into all the nuances of the debate. However, as fast as AI is advancing, I believe we need to have open conversations about it and be willing to learn. Based solely on what I've seen and read—particularly from artists who have spoken out on this issue—I believe AI-generated art, at this point, can be harmful. AI often relies on existing artworks as input, producing works that utilize techniques or styles of actual creators without giving proper credit or compensation to the source material. This strikes me as deeply unethical and is something I'm growing increasingly concerned about.

I also want to acknowledge upfront that I'm likely guilty of sharing AI-generated art unintentionally in the past. I’ve been making an effort to be more mindful and seek out sources for the art that I share, so I can directly support the artists rather than contributing to algorithms that can exploit them.

I understand that AI has made it much easier for people to bring their fantasies and dreams to life, which is fantastic. The ability to visualize complex and imaginative ideas more easily than ever is a significant advantage, especially for those who may not have the financial means to commission an artist directly. However, this often comes at the expense of creators, whose work is being used without permission or compensation to fuel these AI visions. This raises serious ethical concerns about the origins of these works and the impact it has on the creative community. I see it as a double-edged sword—imagination becomes more accessible, but at the cost of the artist. Personally, I avoid using AI art altogether, choosing to support artists over the instant gratification that AI might provide. That said, I’m not one to judge or blacklist someone who uses AI, as long as they’re not reposting and claiming the art as their own.

I also recognize that AI can be a useful tool for artists, particularly when it comes to generating reference images for body proportions, poses, or movements—things that can be difficult to find through a simple Google search. I know a few artists who have used AI art generators for this specific purpose as they continue to learn and grow. I don't feel it’s my place to decide whether this is right or wrong. For many growing artists, AI can serve as a valuable resource in developing their skills. As AI technology evolves, I can see it becoming a powerful teaching aid, potentially helping artists refine their craft in ways that weren’t possible before. However, at this point, I believe AI art is doing more harm than good.

I’ve definitely seen AI art that has left me in awe of its composition and detail. However, I remind myself that this art was created by drawing upon the work of someone real, living, and working—often without their permission. This makes the issue feel morally complex and, frankly, a bit uncomfortable.

Ultimately, this is a complicated issue and a moral dilemma that we all need to grapple with. I don't denounce those who use or appreciate AI-generated art, but given my very limited understanding of the full scope of the debate, I feel it isn’t my place to make definitive judgments. As I continue to learn more, I hope to develop a more nuanced perspective and back up my views with solid research. For now, these are my messy, complicated feelings.

If you're interested in exploring this topic further, here are some articles discussing the ethical implications of AI that I've read in the past: