#not in like a bad way tbh just in like a thinking thoughts way

[vir-tanadahl]

This is a scheduled post, so I’m not officially back. I have seriously debated stepping away from all of my vir tanadahl accounts and just signing off.

Honestly, when I made that post, I had no idea what to expect—but I definitely didn’t expect someone to tear my writing apart, color-code their complaints, and make a spectacle of everything they thought was wrong with it. It wasn’t just criticism. It was beyond criticism. It felt like a public shaming for not being a better writer or storyteller. 

…I’m not some aspiring author. I just write for fun. Fanfic was supposed to be an escape, a way to just write without stressing over world-building or getting every little detail perfect.

I write because I have ideas about the characters that I think are interesting…and that maybe others would find them interesting too.

I’m sure some people don’t like my writing—maybe they find it too cold or too structured—but for me, it feels soothing. It just makes sense to my brain. I know it’s not the best, and it’s definitely not something meant for legitimate publication.

I write that way because it’s what I’m used to. It’s the kind of writing I have to do every day. I have to document things professionally, where there’s an expectation for everything to be formal and structured. It’s just how my brain has been trained to put words together.

I obviously struggle with making things more concise when it comes to creative writing.

The point for fanfics relates back to community and giving back to the community. 

I don’t think people realize how much harm these call-out posts are doing to the trust between writers and readers. They’re creating an environment of doubt and fear. the exact opposite of what fosters creativity. Like having to worry about “big brother” watching over my shoulder. 

And, uh… man, that whole thing really messed with my head. I’ve tried to write since, but I just freeze up. All I can think about is those stupid color-coded highlights, like a giant, flashing reminder of how bad my writing is.

Honestly, I just end up feeling ashamed that my writing isn’t better, which is such a weird place to be. Even when my writing was objectively worse (seriously, some of my earliest stuff on Ao3 was rough), I never felt ashamed of it. Embarrassed, sure. But not shame.

I could see how much I had grown in just the first two years I started posting. And I could see how much I’ve grown from 2017/2018 to my writing now, even though I was no longer active in the fandom. I kept writing, just not creatively. I was am really proud at that growth.

I put so much time and effort into those fics. I tried to make sure every detail connected, that everything felt cohesive. I really, really tried.

But somehow, it wasn’t until that person decided to literally lay it all out, color-coded and everything, that I started feeling like my writing wasn’t just average—it was something to be ashamed about.

And I’m sure some of you are probably shouting at your screens right now, telling me not to let one person’s opinion get to me.

And you know what? You’re right—I shouldn’t. But shame is a powerful emotion, and once it settles in, it’s not so easy to shake.

Especially when it is so easily to color code all the flaws for the world to see. 

Ironically enough, that was the fanfic I was already struggling with. I hated that fic. I never told anyone because I knew how many people were enjoying it and looking forward to it. But the truth is, I was so insecure about it the whole time.

I’m pretty sure I kept telling people it was “challenging.” The reality is I was miserable writing that fic. I was struggling to figure out to describe everything.

And of course, that one person just had to find the one fic I was already insecure about—the one I was really struggling with—and then went out of their way to make it very clear that, yeah, I struggle with writing. (Tbh, I do find it is mildly amusing how that happened and have to laugh a little bit about it.)

I’m mostly feeling ashamed right now more than feeling scared, but I do oscillate between them. Which is what that person wanted me to feel, to feel shame, cause they thought AI wrote my stuff…so they treated it like shit…and nope. All me…

And I’m trying really hard not to let the shame win. That’s why I’m still going to stay off Tumblr and most of my other socials connected to vir tanadahl, for now, while I work through this barrier with my writing.

I’ll end this post with this: I’m pretty determined not to let shame win. Naming it, sharing it—it helps. Hopefully, in the next few weeks, I’ll be back… or at least back to posting my writing on Ao3.

In the meantime, feel free to read these:

This one is from the Legal Research Center from the University of San Diego titled ‘The Problems with AI Detectors: False Positives and False Negatives’ updated in January 2025.

This is an announcement from Vanderbilt University titled ‘Guidance on AI Detection and Why We’re Disabling Turnitin’s AI Detector’ from August 2023.

This one from Illinois State University titled ‘Why Don’t AI Detectors Work’ that was updated sometime in 2025 because there is a citation from a publication from 2025. 

I found this statement from Illinois State University website interesting:

A January 2025 study shows that AI detectors remain consistently inconsistent, sometimes getting close to accuracy but then delivering different scores on the exact same files in subsequent checks. 

Thanks to everyone who let me borrow their brave for a little bit. It really helped me find my own.

[khaoala]

one fun thing about it when they do these gay shit outside of their series is that they're not exactly playing any character so I wonder what is going on in their heads lol I mean when they're being gay as a character they act based on their character's story and personality but for the video we got today they don't have that so I wonder what they are thinking

more than that, i'm just so curious to know what kind of direction they were given for this bit or if they just saw the words love and atmosphere together and thought "gay it must be, if not by the hands of others, then we'll take the major responsibility to remind everyone that every single person on this stage has kissed men before".

but it's honestly so funny. everyone was acting bro-ish, they are going on an adventure, they are taking in the landscape and then there's firstkhao:

like jesus first, this is just a trailer for a concert, you don't need to look at your bf like you wanna kiss him that bad (and khaotung too looks so endeared by this whole thing it's actually pathetic for both of them).

i am of the opinion that kant still lives in first tbh, because you can't convince me that "hey let me use the binoculars here," and pulls khaotung closer by the strap isn't a move kant wouldn't do. we had a whole music video proving that kantbison and anything that goes around the neck is pullable. case in point (tho it's bison doing it more often, but you get what i mean):

(i'm referencing myself the wrong way. don't do this. gifsets can be found here, here and here)

i'd also like to remind everyone (no one forgot about this) that with lol coming up in the next few months, we'll get to see what other very gay shit firstkhaotung will do. will they beat the iconic day 2 let's try performance? we'll see.

[radiojamming]

Hades game brain rot hell yeah!! Could you do uhhh Odysseys maybe meeting Achilles and Patroclus? Idk who would fanboy over who tbh lmao

OH BOY OH BOY I've thought about this scenario way too many times :)

AU I guess where Melinoë brings people back from the House of Hades? Or Elysium? idk but she's doing it! (And background OdyDio because if I don't put Diomedes in something like this I will just simply die.)

❧ ❧ ❧

There's a joke in the upper world that goes like: Odysseus of Ithaka walks into a taverna. He asks the taverna keeper who a seat at the best table is reserved for.

"Nobody," says the taverna keeper.

"Oh, good!" says Odysseus, and he takes a seat.

---

The night Achilles and Patroclus come to the war camp in Erebus, Odysseus tries his damnedest to find something to do, very far away. Some chart that needs updating, a contact in the Mourning Fields that just might have new information—anything to keep him out of the camp.

Of course, this is all taking place during a short period of calm. Melinoë only retrieved his old comrades because she, once more, defeated Chronos. This latest defeat caused some strange effect that no one—not even Hecate—could understand. Suddenly, those frozen figures standing at the edge of the House trembled, one of the Titan of Time's spells broke, and some of his captives were released.

On the other end, only a night before that, Melinoë sent Typhon crashing down the slopes of Olympus.

It's all to say that unfortunately, Odysseus has nothing to do. Damn it.

Fortunately, Achilles and Patroclus take up post in the taverna until they're given more permanent accommodations. Even with the small stockpile of nectar that Melinoë's given him practically singing his name like particular insistent sirens, Odysseus keeps well clear of the place. When Achilles comes up to Hecate's circle, Odysseus suddenly finds enormous interest in one of Melinoë's garlic plants.

One of the little green shades makes a noise of confusion as he approaches, and then scoots away to find refuge under Hypnos' hammock.

Odysseus can't say that this isn't like him. If there was a patron god of avoiding problems, it might as well be him. Pray to me, you great procrastinators of Greece, he thinks as he checks under the garlic plant's spindly leaves for... well, anything.

The problem is, he can't think of a way to solve this. He is good at avoiding his problems, but he's just as good at finding creative solutions. Traveling in disguise, lying, getting alarmingly naked as a distraction, more lying—he's gotten quite good at this over the years.

But it's Achilles and Patroclus. And, collectively, they are very much dead. Odysseus isn't the sort of shade that can will himself to disappear in an instant, and of the two of his comrades, one of them is the son of a goddess. If they want to hunt him down, he's sure he'll be skewered by next moonrise.

Talking himself out of it isn't likely. Ah, yes, very sorry that I personally saw to it that you two got involved in the war that would ultimately kill you. It was, as the younger shades often say, my bad.

No, that won't go well.

When he spends too much time staring at the garlic and feeling that distinct sense of eyes on the back of his neck, he switches over to take enormous interest in one of Melinoë's horrible little mandrakes. Yes, it is well worth a ponder, and he simply cannot turn around for any reason whatsoever when he hears the distinct sound of footsteps.

Light, dancer-like footsteps. There is only one man he knows capable of that kind of gait.

"Laertiades?"

Odysseus, to his credit, doesn't freeze up. He just pokes and prods the leaf of that godsawful little plant and pretends that it's the most interesting thing in the world. He will not face Achilles.

And Achilles, to his credit, is... patient. Which is certainly not a word synonymous with the Achilles he knows.

Funny word, that. Patient. Makrothumia, meaning 'long of temper'.

"Odysseus."

Ah. First names.

He stands up to his full height, turning to face Achilles with the most pleasant smile he can possibly muster. Think, Odysseus! his brain practically shouts. You're clever! You're incredibly clever! Smartest of the Achaeans!

Actually, that was probably Diomedes, but he digresses. What he needs is a plan.

And what would Diomedes do?

"Ah, hello," Odysseus says pleasantly. "To whom do I have the honor of addressing?"

Not that.

Achilles—and yes, that is most certainly him, almost the same as Odysseus remembers except with a lightness to him that he did not carry on the fields of Troy—stares at him. He opens his mouth to speak twice, but closes it both times. Although Athena was not Achilles' patron goddess, Odysseus can still see the man's mind working.

Then, carefully, "I am addressing Odysseus, son of Laertes, yes?"

"Indeed, that you do."

Green eyes narrow. A test, then. "And does Odysseus, son of Laertes, recall Achilles, son of Peleus?"

Stupidly, stupidly, Odysseus leans into the worst plot his mind has ever malfunctioned upon. "Achilles, you say?" he replies, putting great effort into tapping his chin with his forefinger, staring up at Selene—who is most certainly judging him—in deep thought. "I can't say I recall the name. Peleus, yes. He was an Argonaut, if memory serves."

Deep in the recesses of his mind, he can practically see Penelope shaking her head at him. You beautiful, stupid man, she would say.

Achilles stares a moment longer, then briefly looks disappointed. Finally, he nods once at Odysseus. "My apologies, Laertiades," he replies. He puts a hand up to his heart, an old gesture from a time Odysseus is sure both of them would rather forget.

And when in the gods' names was Achilles ever apologetic?

Before Odysseus can form another idiotic reply, Patroclus calls Achilles' name from the entrance of the taverna. Achilles turns on instinct, then briefly glances back at Odysseus.

"Another time then," he says.

And then, fleet of foot as always, he's gone.

Odysseus watches him leave, watches him embrace Patroclus with one arm. Watches them blissfully happy, the way shades aren't often allowed to be.

Mentally, Odysseus kicks himself. Then he gives himself two more kicks for good measure—once for Diomedes, and once for Penelope.

---

The denizens of the Crossroads rarely sleep—Hypnos excluded. When they do, it's done in quick cat naps. Brief meetings with short-lived dreams chased in the longer shadows of the night. Odysseus, despite having his own quarters and a bed far too comfortable for a shade to use, makes very few attempts to sleep. He doesn't technically need it, but for a shade of a mortal who spent quite a bit of his life asleep, something in him still looks for the first hook of sleep out of instinct.

Tonight, in an attempt to keep away from his old comrades, he tries to sleep.

Shades dream in strange ways. Of course they do. Rather than the twisting, abstract dreams of the living, shades dream in memory.

In this one, Odysseus is sitting in his hut at Troy, legs stretched out beside the longer legs of Diomedes.

"It was never going to work," Diomedes tells him. He taps one sandal against one of Odysseus'. "You know that."

"I know," Odysseus hears himself say. This old script.

"Yet you went, regardless."

He nods, stares down at the scar on his leg, the scars on Diomedes'. As close as the two of them are now, he still doesn't know where all of those scars came from.

"It was an attempt at peace. A stupid attempt, to be sure, but Agamemnon was insistent."

At this, Diomedes scoffs. It's a well-kept secret between the two of them—most of the Achaeans see Diomedes as a loyal attack dog. Very few know that his tolerance of Agamemnon hangs on by the merest thread. Argos and Mycenae are two angry cats waiting for an excuse to scratch each other to shreds, he once said.

In the distance, they can hear the crackling fire and the unhappy murmur of Odysseus' men. No one is pleased with the result of the offer to Achilles, least of all Odysseus.

Quietly, Odysseus says, "What do you think will happen?"

Diomedes shrugs. "If you're looking for an oracle, I think you're better off talking to Calchas."

"I'm not talking to Calchas. I'm talking to you."

Diomedes is silent for a long moment. Then, he sighs and reaches across to twist one index finger around Odysseus' finger. "There is what I guess, and what I know. I know Achilles will refuse until something terrible happens. Everyone has a breaking point, and there will come a day where he finally reaches his."

Odysseus raises his eyebrows. "And your guess?"

Silence. Long, miserable silence. Those are becoming more common in this camp by the day. Then, Diomedes squeezes his finger, and Odysseus returns the gesture without a thought.

"I think his breaking point will be Patroclus."

The moment the last syllable fills the tent, Odysseus jerks awake.

He lays there on his too-comfortable camp bed, staring at the star-flecked canvas of his tent. Outside, shades whisper, nightbirds call, branches shiver and creak in the wind.

Slowly, Odysseus lifts his hand over his head, staring at his index finger. He can still feel that phantom of pressure of Diomedes' hand on his. Experimentally, he flexes the finger out, then in. Then, he drops his whole hand to cover his eyes.

"Shit," he tells no one in particular.

---

Melinoë brings back more shades on her next attempt in Tartarus. More human-shaped Elysium types. Odysseus can see a few that appear familiar, but for the life (death?) of him, he can't put a name to a ghostly face. Few shades have the strength of character to retain their shape after death. He and his comrades are exceptions.

Achilles and Patroclus seem to take it upon themselves to train these shades to form some kind of militia. Commander Schelemeus is in charge of the more shapeless, characterless brigade. These shades, though, can actually follow orders and know how to hold a weapon for more than a few seconds.

In a perfect world where Odysseus wasn't constantly trying to jam a foot in his too-quick mouth, he'd be helping.

During one of these training sessions, he watches with thinly-veiled interest. It's just another sign of how much has changed that Achilles is actually trying to teach someone how to move as he does. He has so much more patience, a gentleness to him that he never had in life unless it was for Patroclus. His voice is lower, softer, like he's speaking to a small child.

"He's a wonder, isn't he?" says a voice that most certainly doesn't belong to Achilles.

If he was another man, Odysseus would clear jump out of his skin. Melinoë's voice isn't the sort that surprises anyone, but the suddenness of it, the presence of her where there was nothing before—by the gods, he really is losing his edge.

He clears his throat, seeing saffron-and-wheat come into his periphery. "Indeed, goddess," he says.

"He trained my brother, you know," she goes on. He turns enough to see that hazy look in her eyes, the same that always appears when she talks about her family. "My father took him on as a house servant almost as soon as he'd died. I can scarcely imagine what it would have been like to train with him."

"Mm."

"You knew him well, didn't you?"

That shade of Penelope that constantly thrives in Odysseus' mind is giving him that look. Your lie is about to implode, my love.

"As well as anyone knows any legend, I suppose," he replies, stiffer than he'd like.

There is a long, blissful moment where Odysseus can almost fool himself into thinking the conversation is over. But Melinoë—clever girl—says, "You're being unusually quiet, Od."

He's too well-trained in the deceptive arts to stiffen up or shift uncomfortably. Instead, he offers her one of his best 'trust me' smiles. Historically, it's worked on everyone except Penelope and Diomedes.

"It's nothing, goddess," he says. Puts his hand over his heart for good measure. Then, a quick lie just to put a tack in it, "Just mulling over reports of enemy forces, is all. A bit much on my mind at the moment, I'm afraid."

Another moment. For one second, Odysseus thinks she's onto him. It might be a trick of Selene's light, but her red eye seems to dilate when she regards him. Like the judgment of her father.

Then, "Reports? What kind? Should I be concerned?"

If he were less in control of himself, he'd breathe out a sigh of relief. Instead, he keeps his smile in place and gestures to his table covered in its ever-present charts. "Let's have a look, shall we?"

---

Another dream. A hazy memory stained gold in Ithakan sunlight.

Penelope's hands in his hair, combing through the strands. She's humming a song that's achingly familiar, like a lullaby she sang for Telemachus when he was still a baby. She stops for a moment, smooths a thumb over a curl of hair, and laughs. It's a low, delightfully warm sound that Odysseus will never, ever tire of.

He smiles lazily, one hand reaching over to run a finger down her perfect wrist. "What's so funny, my love?" he asks.

She leans down and kisses his forehead, and he leans up to meet her halfway. "Twenty years," she says against his skin. "Twenty years and yet you still have this cowlick exactly where I left it."

Her fingers trace the spot in question, and Odysseus preens under her touch.

In that moment—as quick, fleeting, and blinding as one of Zeus' thunderbolts—he understands why Achilles did what he did. He would die a hundred times over for Penelope; he'd destroy the whole Trojan army by himself for her. Only a week ago did the servants get the last bloodstain out of the tapestries on the walls in the megaron—the last trace of evidence of those damnable suitors. Odysseus has heard the people of Ithaka calling it a massacre.

If you had her for a wife, he thinks. You would have done the same thing.

And then he thinks, unbidden, of Achilles returning to the war camp with Hector tied to the back of his chariot. Achilles, wearing the blood of Hector like a pelt, his eyes wide and rimmed in miserable red. He didn't tremble as he stepped down off the chariot, didn't allow his servants to wash the blood off his skin. I want to remember it, Achilles had said. Let me remember that I killed that man.

Penelope kisses him again, this time between his eyes. "You're thinking too much, again," she says. "That little line is back."

"Which? I've got more than one now."

She kisses it again and again, quick little pecks that draw him out of his memories and back into her embrace. "The only one from before," she says. "I'm trying to make it go away."

He lets her keep trying.

---

Melinoë is back at his table. It must be serious, as she hasn't gone to her little garden patch yet. Her hands are on her hips, watching him as he approaches from speaking with Hecate about adjusting the parameters of the warding spells.

"Goddess," he says, hand on his heart once more. Even feeling her two-toned stare on him like a physical weight, he approaches her as easily as ever. "Reports say you thrashed Typhon properly again. Undoubtedly you have a good story to tell of it?"

"I do," she says. Her voice, though, is more steely and level than he's heard in a long while. Oh no.

He raises his eyebrows anyway. "But?"

A longer stare. She's clearly inherited a family trait for intimidation, small as she is. "You lied to Achilles," she says.

Ah.

"Pardon?" is all he can think to reply.

"I spoke to him and Patroclus in the taverna earlier. He's not at all like he was in your stories, but when I asked him about that, he said you told him you had no memory of him. I know that's not true." That glare gets a little sharper. "What were you thinking, Od? Why lie to him?"

Ah, yes. That familiar sensation of getting caught in a snare of his own making. I owe you another drachma, Diomedes, he thinks.

And he thinks a little harder. His instinct is to get out of this somehow—lie and twist words over words until the whole situation is gathered up into a nice manageable package that he can promptly throw far, far away.

But Melinoë is looking at him in a way she's never looked at him before. Ever since she was young, she's always regarded him with expressions ranging between wide-eyed awe and pure delight. He's trained her in the art of smug satisfaction and mischievous conspiracy. This look, though, makes a bitter feeling haunt the back of his tongue. This look tells him that he's well and truly done something wrong.

No. He can't lie to her.

He briefly looks away, toward the opening to the taverna where he knows his old comrades are still lingering. They have their accommodations now, suitable as any in a war camp. However, they linger there and speak to the shades that come and go, sipping at the nectar that Melinoë brings them.

Odysseus could be over there, but he isn't.

"Not here, goddess," he finally says. He offers a grin just this side of sad, a tug at the corner of his mouth that feels sharp as a fishhook. He can't say what he wants to say within earshot of Nemesis or the eavesdropping Eris. That's literally asking for trouble by name. "The baths, I think, are pleasant this time of night, aren't they?"

Melinoë nods, understanding immediately. "They are," she agrees.

---

He tells her everything. The stories he withheld when she was a child—the sort that aren't suitable for the ears of children, even if those children happen to be gods.

"I framed the man who pulled me into the war, got him caught for treason, had him executed knowing full well that he did nothing of the sort," he says. Even though he's a shade, the water of the baths seems to scald his skin. There's some purifying element, he's sure. Burning away some of those old, angry lies that have lingered inside of him like festering, gangrenous wounds. "All this I did because I loathed the man. He took me away from my wife and son, but I— I was the one who suggested the oath for Helen in the first place. What right did I have to be angry?"

Melinoë sits in thoughtful silence. She isn't look at him with judgement of any kind, but rather that open inquisitive look she takes on when she's learning from her headmistress. Honestly, he wishes she'd judge him. That would be easier.

"You had a right," she says. "I can't say for certain how mortals feel, but I'm fighting the very forces that tore my family apart."

"Indeed, goddess. But this man didn't hide my family away, or attack them. All he did was remind me of my oath, and he forced me to acknowledge my own lie that I made to get out of that oath."

Thankfully, she only nods.

He goes on, shifting his gaze from her to the surface of the water. Selene's moonlight glints on it, shimmering like a silver disc. He feels vulnerable under her light now, knowing who she is and what she's capable of.

"I was the one who did the same to Achilles and Patroclus. Patroclus took the oath as well, even though he was a child. I knew that if one of them went somewhere, the other had to follow. So I brought them into the war." More bitterly, "I was the one who led them to their destruction. If I was angry enough at Palamedes to get him killed by his own men, I can only imagine how Achilles and Patroclus feel about me."

Of all the responses he expects out of Melinoë, a hand resting on his arm isn't one of them. She's not the most tactile goddess, and her upbringing under Hecate hasn't made her particularly soft. But her grip is strong and reassuring, and her gaze is firm. "Odysseus," she says. His whole name. She never does this. Then, even more firm, the command of a goddess, "Talk to them."

Whether it's her natural abilities as a goddess or some wall inside of himself that's wanted to break down for a while, he feels beyond compelled to follow her instruction. Still, he asks, "Why? What can I possibly say to them after leading them to their deaths?"

Her hand doesn't move from his arm. "Have you changed since you died?"

"I... Yes, I suppose so?" He doesn't mean for it to come out like a question, but he wouldn't be Odysseus if he didn't secretly doubt himself as a rule.

"Then why would you think they haven't changed either?"

He doesn't reply. He can't.

Melinoë's expression softens. "Talk to them, Od," she repeats, a little quieter.

He will.

By this goddess in particular, he will.

---

Odysseus of Ithaka walks into a taverna.

He sees Achilles of Phthia and Patroclus of Opus sitting at the best table, splitting a bottle of ambrosia between the two of them and smiling warmly at each other like no time has passed.

Odysseus approaches and gestures to the open seat at their table. "Who is this reserved for?" he asks.

His two old comrades look at him, dumbfounded, and then slowly both expressions turn into something fond. Patroclus is, as always, a little more reserved. Achilles smile is open in a way it never was when he was alive.

"It's reserved for King Odysseus of Ithaka, I think," says Patroclus.

"But only if he remembers us," says Achilles, like a joke.

Why would you think they haven't changed either?

Odysseus smiles and pulls the chair out for himself. "Oh, good," he says.

And he takes a seat.

[lsunstreakerl]

For the kink prompt: max wanting unconditional love and family bonds and Charles wanting max to be happy and pampered and then accidentally stumbling on the

Biggest breeding kink

That ever existed

this is kind of that? charles ran away from me tbh.

900 words, charles POV. kink prompt, explicit.

pairings: charles leclerc/max verstappen

relevant warnings: uhhh charles wants to get max pregnant, even though it's literally not possible. however you want to call that.

Max is holding one of the children at the party on his hip. Charles knows this because it's all he's been able to focus on for twenty minutes– he's completely lost his train of thought anywhere else, stuck on the way Max is shifting his weight to one side, hip cocked to accommodate the younger girl.

It's one of Pierre's friend's children, Charles is pretty sure. He isn't entirely confident, because the only thing he can think right now is that Max looks good– good in a way Charles didn't know he was into.

He feels like his brain has short circuited. It's not even that Max is doing anything sexy, it's just–

He's so casual about it, carrying on his conversation with some other guy, occasionally readjusting his grip so she doesn't fall.

He'd be such a good parent.

It's not a topic that's come up– their careers are in full swing, and Charles has a feeling discussing kids would be a minefield and half, considering how Max was raised, but–

Max is a natural. Charles wants to see him with a kid of their own, Max's blonde hair and round cheeks, Charles' eyes and dimples.

Charles wants it bad.

------

Charles isn't stupid. He knows it's not possible to actually get Max pregnant. This has not stopped his stupid brain from going on a complete trip lately, bending Max over counters and the couch, fucking him raw and wanting to keep it there, elevating his hips slightly after sex just in case it fucking–

He knows it's not possible.

Max is currently writhing underneath him, coming around Charles' cock as he fucks into him deep, because he wants to give them the best possible chance, wants to give Max all the stupid little round faced babies they could possibly want.

"Charlie, Charlie please–"

"I know, chéri, almost– I am so close, just a little longer–"

Charles slides into him again, presses their hips flush together, grinding in soft circles as he comes into Max again.

It's the third time today, and he hadn't even needed lube this time- Max had been open and slick with cum from this morning.

Max shudders underneath him, eyes hazy as Charles pulls out.

He presses two fingers into him, bullying one of their pillows under Max to keep his hips up.

"So good for me, going to be such a good–"

Charles cuts himself off, pushing cum back inside Max.

Max whines softly, twitching around his fingers. He's not exactly coherent– Charles can probably get away with it.

He's still not going to risk it. Doesn't even want to say anything out loud, because what if this time it really does take, and he's finally done it?

It's not possible. Charles knows that, but–

Their entire careers are about doing the impossible, so Charles is going to keep trying.

------

Max is eyeing him weirdly over the kitchen table.

"You are being weird lately, Charles."

Charles freezes, thumb hovering above where he's been scrolling nearby schools.

"No?"

Max narrows his eyes.

"Yes, you are. What has gotten into you?"

Charles winces, carefully bookmarking the tab into his private folder as he turns his phone off.

"Nothing. Why do you think I'm being weird? Maybe you're being weird."

Max sets his fork down, glaring at him.

"Not that I do not enjoy fucking, but it has been nonstop. And I of course, do not mind raw either, but it has been– you are being weird about it, it's like you're trying to get me knocked up or something."

Charles blanches, wincing involuntary.

Max's jaw drops open.

"Are you serious? What the- Charles, what is going on with you?"

Charles slumps back into his seat, giving Max his best puppy dog eyes.

"I know it is not possible, don't give me that face– I just–"

He sighs.

"That party a few months ago, at Pierre's– you were so good with the kids, and it was– it looked so good on you chéri, you're a natural. And it has been stuck in my head every single day since then."

Max is looking at him like he thinks Charles is insane.

"So the solution was to– what, fuck me like we're trying?"

Well when he puts it like that...

"Oui."

Max drops his face into his hands, but Charles can see the tips of his ears flushing red, the way his fingers fidget across the bridge of his nose.

"That is so stupid, Charles."

"It is hot."

Max makes a soft noise, eyes wide when he looks back up at Charles.

"It is weird."

Charles slides out of his chair, stepping around the table to gently hold Max's face in his hands.

"Not at all."

Max looks away.

"Charlie, I do not– I am not sure if I..."

Charles brushes his thumb across Max's cheek, patient.

"If I actually want kids. If I could handle that."

He bends down to kiss the top of Max's head, shutting his eyes for a moment against the well of emotions behind his chest.

"I am not asking you for that, chéri. I promise. We can have that conversation when you are ready– if you ever are. It's okay if you aren't, Max."

Max huffs softly.

"And in the meantime you are going to keep fucking me raw, I assume."

Charles makes a face.

"You like it raw."

"But it is weird now–"

[psilliguykai]

Boy why you [all] so white

Anyways! Uhhhh yeah William’s Wanton Weary Wiles designs. Or Something. I debated giving them each their own post but none of them deserve it. I couldn’t figure out how to make it Not A Total Mess lol soooo here we are! Individuals with some more info under the cut.

Ooohhh they gross me out so bad. Both in the /aff way but also in the “oooohh I really don’t like how this turned out” way lmao- but! I finished the lineart before I started disliking it and promised myself I wouldn’t keep waffling on the sketch so they’re. They’re DONE alright they’re DONE [<- still trying to convince himself]

All the colors [especially the skin tones because oof I really. Don’t know how to handle that apparently. I mean like they’re meant to be white but I’m not sure if they should be That white lol ANYWAYS] aren’t too strict and I’ll probably fuck around w them depending on the mood of the post, etc. just a loose guide ig :]

If their designs ever get updated, this post will be updated as well ^^ i was gonna hyperlink the master doc but tumblr is kinda hating me rn and Not Letting Me Do That so uhhh . Look up wwww au in my blog and scroll to the bottom for background I guess [I’m so sorry] 😭😭😭

Ok ok here they are

Jimmy

- you can tell I take this very seriously /silly

- The shortest/smallest, but arguably the strongest of the trio [just by a little].

- Patterns and striped parts are based on the EIAL cover + the tapeworm.

Al

- what it says in the ref tbh. Just kinda a normal guy [in appearance anyways] who dresses way too formally and doesn’t get enough sunlight or sleep. :]

- I feel like he’s kind of very fucking ugly but I’ve given up on trying to fix it 😭

- Tallest by a little and best posture by a lot.

- essentially just the outfit from the TNA cover if it was blue lol

- sorryyy no automaton freak :((( big fan of robot Mind designs, but Al is just. Different to me

Mr. Capgras

- He gets scissors in place of a trident because I thought that could be neat :] when he pulls them out of the halo they get noteably larger and sharper. Tbh it mostly just uses them for normal scissor stuff + violent threats sometimes.

- Patterns depicted here are based on the body paint from the Self-ish album cover. In this ref they’re the hmsw colors, but could technically kinda be anything. They’re super inconsistent, both in canon and also because. Trying to keep up the same patterns every time I draw him would be torture :’]

- Most intimidating/strongest-looking. Middle in height, and worst in posture. Sleep deprived, somewhat empty and bitter but still hopeful and surprisingly optimistic.

- I’d like to think if his socks are ever shown, they’d have the same patterns as his gloves n stuff :3

- This isn’t a design thing at all but I’ll probably be referring to him more as Cotard as I feel it fits best. However, he’s formally known as Mr. Capgras since it would make the official acronym for these three “JAM”, which I think is a neat and completely accidental reference to Jamface :)) completely arbitrary yeahhh but it’s my AU and I’ll include all the obscure references I want in it >:3

- dw about the oversized Cotard’s Solution doodle it’s just there as another ref for how the scissors work lol

Fanart is super duper appreciated but absolutely not needed !! Asks either directly to [<- in this case I’d respond in character{s} depending on the ask] or about these characters/this AU are also always very welcome ^^

William Racheal McSprout Himself will be getting his own post when he’s completed :]

[chemyaart]

Rant about the cookie run kingdom fandom

Okay, so I know I'm gonna get hated for this, but I don't care. Ignore if you're sensitive.

First, I just want to clarify that it's for every fandom, of course, bad apples exist everywhere. But at this point, I can't believe what I'm seeing. The more a media is cute, kid-friendly, the more the fandom is crazy (and not in a good way)

So, I want to adress the things that bother me a lot.

Firstly, I think the Beast Yeast update was both a good thing and a bad thing to happen. Let me explain. Of course, the enemies into lovers trope has always existed and it's the most popular trope, but I think that update actually flipped upside down the fandom. Toxic ships has always existed (like affocara, redpastry, etc..) but they weren't that common I think?

But after that update, it never became the same thing again. It honestly makes me uncomfortable how shippers say "hAhA ToXiC yAoI" for everything, especially Shadowvanilla. It makes me cringe (I like sometimes when it's funny cringy, but not uncomfortable cringe you know?)

I hate how CRK content mainly ships (like 90% of the time) it's sexual.

Of course, I guess sex jokes/suggestive jokes can exist, but it comes to a point where it's like everywhere. These shippers only think about these 24/7.

One thing that adds with the fandom, is how people love to woobify the characters. The misrepresent/misinterpret the character for something they're not. Headcanons are fine, but when I see Shadowvanilla, and purecacao fans... I'm really concerned. They woobify the characters into "b-b-b-but he's g-g-g-ood!" or "I'm j-just a-a innocent uwu gay boi" I understand if you're a kid/teen, but when I see adults doing that, I'm like actually scared.

Every character is complex, and it doesn't have to be romantic. I actually like the Shadowvanilla ship, but not to this extent. And I don't like them romantically. But I would love to see them grow.

Plus, not just woobifying the characters, but also just changing them entirely. Like their personalities, and just only keep one trait. For example, Pure Vanilla Cookie. He's the most popular cookie with Shadow Milk, and all I see is just him being all innocent and nice. Of course he is friendly and generous, but (especially purecacao shippers) think he's weak or something. But when you see him defeating Dark Enchantress ALONE in the video, he isn't WEAK at all.

Or Dark Cacao, all they make him is "manly man who is strong and protects his boi" or "neglectful dad bad dad". When it's much more complex than that. I'm shocked when their account is JUST about this ship. Like I like Purelily and Cacaolily, but I don't post to this extent about them. And even if I wish for Cacaolily to be real, I'm not delusional enough to repeat that they're canon like some shadowvanilla and purecacao fans do. Of course, you can say that they're joking, but there are actually people that seriously do this ☠️ (do what you want, but I just can't belive it myself)

Plus, the amount of times where these shippers also looked at the tiniest details of an interaction, and thought, "it's canon" it's actually crazy. Like I've seen a post about how Dark Cacao's face in the fight between the ancients and Dark Enchantress Cookie, meant that he loved Pure vanilla cookie in a romantic way ☠️

Obviously characters can care about eachother without liking them romantically. Plus, not only Dark cacao was saddened, but also Hollyberry and Golden Cheese. But you don't include that for your ship.

You guys can understand that I really hate Purecacao, right? Well, unlike Shadowvanilla fans, they don't attack me personally, and they're actually cool. The experiences I had with Purecacao shippers made me hate this ship.

Also, stop hating characters for no reason, because of misunderstanding or something. Whether it's Golden Cheese Cookie, where there are people who think she's selfish and as bad as the beasts, Lord Oyster, or anyone tbh. A lot of characters are hated for no reason, either from their design, or what they did. What I mean is, okay, hate a character, but PLEASE have a at least a reason why you hate the character, and not just because it blocks your ship 😭

It's actually crazy Kingdom fans hated Revel Cookie and Okchun Cookie just for their "simple" design? A lot of CRK fans are so narrow minded it's sad. I really hope your minds opens up more, especially to other ships. For example, rare pairs are cool, and I don't see the problem with it except if they're problematic like age gap, pdf things yk?

I hate Purecacao, Affocacao, but I just block their tag. They just love drawing them kissing and making out. As much as I hate them, I won't threaten them or sending death threats over it, you know? I'm really sorry if I was too rude, my emotions get over me, I really hope it didn't hurt you.

At the end of the day, do what you want. Just don't interact with me. And please improve yourself, a lot of you guys need therapy, myself included. I needed to rant.

[rexscanonwife]

Uhm uh uh...I have no excuse for this 😔 PPG self insert who is secretly an alien! I imagine her intro episode would have her having a little romance with the professor when he comes into a bookstore she works at/owns and the girls being (rightfully, given the prof's dating history) suspicious of her. Wacky capers ensue where they try to prove that she's up to no good, only to find that she genuinely is just chilling and wants to live a normal life on earth!

Well, normal as she can, now that she knows this family! I think she'd fit right in 😉

Taglist♡: @crushes-georg @changeling-selfship @me-myself-and-my-fos @tiny-cloud-of-flowers @sunstar-of-the-north @dearly-beeloved @adoredbyalatus @squips-ship @cherry-bomb-ships @miutonium

[fumifooms]

What if we were both magic prodigies and it otherized us in different ways and we devoted ourselves to protecting a family member who has general other goals & priorities. What if we both did self-sacrifical devotion in opposite ways.

What if we were dark mirrors of each other and where I've grown overcontrolling you've grown complacent. What if, bought as a servant into a pretty loving home, ownership and control is what love looks like to me, and to you neglected and lonely growing up, love is gratefully taking any scraps of it you’re lent.

By belonging to someone, even if she comes back injured or fails at finding Delgal, she feels like she belongs and is cherished, by owning someone he feels safe in them not leaving him.

She’s what’s tethering him do you see… And he’s the only thing giving her direction and purpose in her state. She needs a compass and he needs a support.

They’re both so out of it 😭 It’s the weirdly intense and unearned mutual trust and reliance on each other?? They’re each other’s weird little comfort codependent teddy bear. Or at least they were headed towards that before SHE DIED THEN HE DIED THEN THEY BOTH FORGOT ABOUT EACH OTHER AND NEVER MET EVER AGAIN. Though she’s also the guard attack hound keeping him safe… And vice versa he heals her and can rewrite her very being with just one wave of his hand. They’re both so so mentally and physically vulnerable both but they cling onto each other. They can’t perceive things accurately but despite it all someway somehow they stumble into something closer to resembling companionship just before they both die. Falin is just that kind and Thistle is just that lonely. Overworked.

We both haven’t lived for ourselves in a very long time, haven’t we.

They both have a similar devotion to the people they love but again the difference is that Thistle starts overtsepping while Falin is self-effacing. The other difference between them is that people care about Falin <3 People have given up on Thistle long ago, and he has given people reasons to, while people refuse to give up on Falin. Yaad has a mini arc about it dw about it it’s ok he’s not all alone in the end 😭😭 He reached out for Marcille’s hand but they already all wanted to help him, they just had to be given the chance to, Yaad just had to be given the chance to, it’s okay I’m okay

Hey what if we learned to get in touch with our own identity and the world around us and living in the present again through being in the worst codependent situationship ever.

Falin and Thistle sitting in a tree, sucking on flowers together because they’re h-u-n-g-r-y 💕💕💕

I bet he’s only ever thought of flowers as useless ornaments. Weak weeds. But she shows him they’re tasty and useful and good and pretty in their own right too and deserve existing without proving their worth and waaa <33 Thistles…... Did you know thistles taste sweet if you remove the thorns and eat them?

"Even as a chimera, her kind nature remains" you can’t suppress her in the way that matters. You can’t soothe him in the way that matters. It’s doomed. You’re doomed. It’s all doomed. Save me.

[jalluzas-ferney]

I don’t think this is an unpopular opinions but lowkey fannon kailor is sm better than cannon kailor.

(Read the tags)

[podcast-hemocytoblast]

I think something that often gets overlooked about the Lonely is that it isn’t just the fear of being rejected, abandoned, and unloved.

It is that, but it’s also the heavy sense of dread that settles in your bones when you realize that whatever danger you’re in, you have to deal with it on your own. It’s the realization that no one is around to hear you scream and that no one is coming to save you. It’s the feeling of calling emergency services (911, 119, etc.) and asking the operator when help is coming, only to be told that no one is coming, because they’re all tied up on other calls right now, so it may be another hour or so before anyone gets to you. It’s the visceral terror you feel when you finally realize that the help you need is never going to come, or if it does, they won’t be there until it’s already too late for you. It’s realizing that you’ll never see your loved ones again, and wondering if anyone will ever find your body, if anyone is going to care that you’re gone, if anyone is ever going to find out what happened to you, if anyone is even going to realize that you’re dead.

[skunkes]

i loooove when ocs unrealized development makes them feel like real people like no i dont know whether talon is genuinely attracted to women after years of both clinging to them for safety and years of putting them onto that untouchable idealized Perfect Protector Pedestal that must remain untainted by any bad experiences, so he doesn't even try to Be With any. He doesn't know either

[ember-not-amber]

I recently started watching The Handmaid's Tale on Hulu (the last episode I watched was S2 ep 7) and I'm curious what the general consensus is on Luke & June vs Nick & June bc I really like Nick for June and Luke doesn't seem terrible at all. Still, that one flashback scene where he reassures June that they should stay together even though they started their relationship while he was still married to another woman, "she doesn’t matter because we’re going to get married. I’m going to make you happy." gave me the ick.

Like, you married Annie, too and you still cheated on her so how is that at all reassuring? I'm still waiting for a flashback that shows what Annie and Luke's relationship was like bc I have absolutely no clue why he cheated on her. I can understand why June technically cheated on Luke with Nick which was bc she was trapped in a terrible system where she was abused and felt unloved and unwanted and she was separated from her loved ones and she just wanted to feel something. So far I haven't seen any dialogue from Luke saying anything about what his marriage with Annie was like but if I had to guess, based on the episode where Annie stalked June and accused her of "stealing her husband" as if he's not also a human being capable of making his own choices, maybe they had differing views/ideas on what they wanted out of marriage, or he fell out of love with her, or he cheated just to cheat like a lot of douchebag guys do.

And yes, I am aware that June is also in the wrong for knowingly going after a married man, she isn't innocent in this either. She did seem to consider ending the relationship after Annie confronted her (which, why did it take his ex confronting you for you to consider not getting with a married man? Did Moira not give you any criticism for it? She seems like the type who would bc real friends tell you when you did sth wrong and they hold you accountable but judging by how they act around each other Moira seems very supportive of their relationship) whereas Luke didn't seem to think there was anything wrong with staying with the woman he started a relationship with while he was still taken at any point in time but that means nothing since she did end up staying with him despite that.

Sorry for how long this is, I originally meant for this to be shorter lol I'll put a Keep Reading tab in case ppl just want the tl;dr at the top. So, with all this considered I'm wondering if everyone else that enjoys this show wants June to end up with Nick or stay with Luke and which one is supported by the majority of people?

[throes-of-warm-tornadoes]

i dont want to put this on main bc im scared but i hate it when people downplay katniss and gale's friendship. ive seen so many people say how they have nothing in common and how they wouldnt even hang out if their dads didn't die and its like... okay. have yall never had friendships that were forged from the aftermath of unthinkable situations? because it kind of makes me uneasy that their bond is minimized for that reason. at the end of the day, i think they both have a lot of similarities, even if they probably wouldn't have become friends under more favorable circumstances. they both are very caring and nurturing toward the people they love, they both love very intensely, they're both goofy as fuck (laughing and joking around in the woods---a part of 12 punishable by whipping---is actually bonkers), and they genuinely bond by hunting even if it is out of survival. im sure someone much smarter than me could articulate this point better, but i just hate how sometimes their friendship is punched down in order to elevate katniss and peeta's relationship (romantic or otherwise). because honestly they aren't that cute either, their relationship (both romantic AND otherwise) actually stressed me the fuck out. like guys kiss and make up PLEASE simply smooching isn't gonna fix everything

[sallymew4]

when people say they hate any of the mob psycho girls i get sad because thats like. half of the female cast. thats just way too much percentage of girl hate

[neonhellscape]

new rt everyone shes a freak whos pretty sure shes been been given the role of rogue trader as an act of divine intervention to eventually replace the godemperor and bring new glory to the imperium which she thinks is dull and stagnant. dont worry about why she keeps marazhai caged in her trophy room like he's bait its not important and completely irrelevant to the fact ive joke nicknamed her simon thresh. has anyone noticed a lot of slaaneshi demons during warp jumps lately

[earl-grey-crow]

DON'T WORRY COLTON YOU'LL GET TO PLAY YOUR SONG FOR DEL FOR THE REST OF YOUR LIFE