#send me messages and asks and stuff in these times of isolation!

[shotofstress]

Coming back after being almost a week without electricity, phone, and internet connection. Huge storms with lightning and rain, and winds. We have never have winds like that here and the roof of so many houses were ripped off, stuff flying, etc. All this bc global warming, and the deforestation and mining in our lands. At this rate, in 5 years we will have tornadoes, a thing we have never ever have here. Nor our lands, infrastructures, states, and culture are prepared for this. Areas of the country are devastated, ppl have died, many are without electricity nor Internet connection so they are isolated. The houses are flooding with water, and the ones that not, are leaking from the ceiling. Too many neighbours and compatriots don't have roofs and the streets are full of fallen trees and pieces of roof material, no electricity, no signal, food rotting, but suffering at the same time for the cold of this terrible winter, and trying to do something, patching even when its gonna go to hell when the storm comes again this next days. More than 33,200 people affected and 41,500 isolated due to 5 days of rain and windstorms. In just a couple of days there were 170,000 homes left without power due to wind and rainstorms and even more as time went by.

If u want to help me to fix the roof, walls, to buy food and being warm this winter please check my Ko-fi. If u can't donate, please reblog bc thats the only way to make this being seen by ppl thus receiving help. I'm really not being able to keep living like this, i can no longer cope, so please share.

Here are in my PayPal or MACH . I took the kofi link bc they were charging me a fee.

Please, educate about global warming and the effects on Global South, specially for working class, chronically ill, autistic, disable, and long covid survivor ppl like myself.

Edit: I added links and pics

Edit: the weather is getting better, but I still need to fix were I live/sleep bc the walls are broken and one of the walls is not a wall, but like 1cm wide stuff and all was bad build so even the door is twisted and dont work correctly, there is black mold, the paint is falling, the lamp has fallen, everything is broken and ugly, etc. I still need to buy food and everything so please, please, share or donate if you could. I don't want to survive like this and here, no one mask even when they were the ones giving me covid bc of it and they have making me also catch flue the other day bc they cogh over everything and don't care if they kill me, they are abusive and really violent people and are working to put me and everyone in danger. I dont even want to be in my country bc we will have a dictatorship soon, but I have nowhere else to go nor money to migrate (i need like $10.537 dollars or € 9.760,95 euros to pay all the documents, the bank money I have to show to prove I am a human being deserver of rights, the tickets, rent money and stuff to migrate).

I currently have $100 dollars donated (coz i spent 40 in food and meds this past month)

I know i will die here, but at least help me to survive in a less dehumanising way.

Edit: tumblr has blocked me from recive or send messages from the chat and comment of posts, so if you are trying to reach throughout there I can't see it, sorry, I'm cut from any communication (cant even see past messages from chat or asks), except send asks. I'm waiting that tumblr do something, but still hasn't even answered the help file I sent to them.

[sillyhahasilly]

your takes on modern caldre aus? sorry if youve done this havent seen it on your blog :-)

hiii hello anon!! sorry this took so long! never ever feel bad for asking me for hcs and aus!! i love making them.

~~~

the only thing I've posted abt modern caldre is that i dont think they would still shoot up their school. i still stand by this, let me elaborate. i think both of them would still be really mentally ill, but they wouldn't need to be repressed as much bc of social and societal changes of now compared to 2001. AND they would have better access to the internet and we all know there are loads of stuff to enjoy and communities to join and feel belonging in instead of plotting mass murder. still, i enjoy thinking of what zero day would have been like if it happened today too!!

~~~

How would they have delt with covid?

lets say they would be seniors this year, like me. shit shut down in their 7th grade year and almost all of their 8th grade year would of been online. those are very much formative years lmao.

cal would js not do his work in online school. he would of been the kid playing video games and shit during zoom. andre would do decent online. he would enjoy not needing to deal w other people bs in person.

both would be really isolated, spending lots of time in their rooms. chronically online. !!tw sh!! i think this is when both of them would start shing. a lot of mental illnesses emerging.

cal would of been a discord kid during this time too. he dragged andre into it with him. i also think cal would e date some rando on discord.

i think they would also be fully realizing their sexualities during this time bc thats what everyone was doing on tik tok. gay ptide ig

andre would have a full on emo faze during lockdown that i dont think would ever go away.

~~~

Other random modern hcs!!!

both of them would be into violent video games. andre would love CoD. cal would like horror games and watching people play them. they would pull all nighters js to play video games and drop slurs to anyone who is better then them.

kys jokes all the time.

both would watch gore all the time and send it to each other.

both would be such gatekeepers for like anything 😭😭 if an artist they listened too became "tiktokifed" they both would LOSE IT. if an underground indie movie blew up they liked they would rage message eachother abt it.

andre would fall for those fucking military adds. rip

andre would not like skibidi toilet shit idk what yall are on. he would find it so annoying. cal, tho, would find some brainrot shit funny.

I do kinda think andre would use tiktok sometimes but would never post. cal would use tik tok all the time and his fyp would be cursed. so would cals insta reel feed. I think both of them would have a soft spot for insta reels cuz they can be rlly mean on there.

yk those school confession pages? andre once sent one anonymously alluding that someone was gonna shoot up his school cuz he was really pissed and the page got shut down. admin threatened to get police involved. he is LUCKY no one looked into it too much. cal thought the whole situation was hilarious.

cal is chronically online and stays up late a lot on his phone/computer/wtv.

~~~

that's all!!! this is very all over the place like my inspo for these lmao. if anyone has specific modern au requests lmk!! or any requests in general :)

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

Aita for isolating myself from my dearest friend? (♻️♻️♻️ to find later)

So ive had this friend for years now and we've seen each other through our absolute worst and we are way beyond platonic atp in which it's neither romantic (we're both aromantic) nor platonic. Anyway I recently moved cities and while we're not that far away we haven't seen each other in a long time due to work related stuff and busy schedules, but we both talk almost every day online for hours on end. Now recently I've been feeling like he ignores me and like I'm his second choice when it comes to talking online because he has tons of online friends. He sometimes takes hours to answer my messages and I know this guy I am 100% sure he's not busy because he is always on his phone so it's definitely a choice to not answer me, and while I do understand people sometimes don't want to answer right away, I feel like he has always done this and I don't feel right when I put so much effort into maintaining a friendship when he barely sends a message to me (I'm always the one initiating conversations). And while he does constantly tell me how much I mean to him, I don't see any way in which he shows it apart from initiating touch when we're together. So I've decided to just stop initiating conversations with him and just reply if he does talk to me, but I've decided to put in as much effort as he does. So far he's texted me once (in a month and a half) and he was asking me what I thought about a show we're both watching. I feel like he's kind of alone because he's queer and in a not so queer friendly environment so the people he hangs out with don't really get him (he told me this) but is still feel like shit when I know he's talking to people he doesn't even know irl while leaving me on seen

So aita?

What are these acronyms?

[optimisticstudentangel]

Dateables when you are sick

No warning. Fluff. Reader is gender neutral 

Summary: your favourite characters take care of you. Luke is included

Diavolo

The moment he heard about your sickness, he ditches his work to see your condition with his own eyes. You try to reason him, by saying that “you don’t want him to catch cold too”. You were afraid that Barbatos wouldn’t forgive you, if young prince indeed became ill.

But anyway, he found extra time in his busy schedule to bombard you with lots of sweet messages, which included wishes for your speedy recovery. “I can’t wait to see you in a heathy state, so that we could hold our usual tea parties, without you, it’s not the same.” – you understood exactly what he experienced, being locked in your room without anyone, especially without Diavolo, was unbearable.  

Knowing that you were really lonely, Diavolo would send you many stuff, from medical supplies to Barbatos’ pastries and tea sets. This should somehow keep you occupied, so you wouldn’t worry much about your temporary isolation.

One day, Diavolo still decided to visit you, before going to you, Barbatos insisted that the prince put a mask on himself so as not to get infected from you. After stepping in your room, he hugged you tightly, even though you suggested not to get too close. He was not empty-handed. He and Barbatos made you a soup, this gesture was so lovely, you thanked Diavolo and asked him to tell your gratitude to the butler too.

You spend some time talking with each other, he promised to visit you again after some time. “Please, MC, get well soon. I need you around, only you can light up my day.”  

Barbatos

When you are sick, Barbatos is the person you wish to run to. He is good at taking care of other people’s needs, so it’s not a problem for him to quickly cure you. But one freighting thing is, that when he would hear about your illness, he would lecture you like Lucifer, or even longer than prideful demon himself.

-          MC, please you know better, than wearing thin clothes, even just for a quick shopping for foodstuff. If you don’t take care of yourself properly it will affect every aspect of your life, like studying, that means you wouldn’t get good grades, which will disappoint Diavolo. And more importantly it will make me sad. I need you to stay strong, if you are not salubrious, it also makes me stressed about your well-being, - after he finishes though, you know that you will be looked after, so there is no need for you to be anxious.

Barbatos will shelter behind Diavolo, in every possible way, using him as an excuse, just not to say that he himself is very worried about you. But you know the butler for too long, to understand that he is in fact, concerned about you.

“Open your mouth wider” – he says with a sympathetic smile. Barbatos hands you a spoon with medicine, you blush a little, but still do what he asked. Then he proceeds to pet you gently saying, that “you are doing great”.

Luke

-          Simeon, help me out please! Should I make them some cookies, or something more filling with vegetables? - the little angel spent the whole morning in the kitchen trying to cook you some tasty food, so that you would recover as soon as possible. If the angel had the opportunity to somehow brighten up your time, he would try to do so. However, Simeon insisted that Luke wait until you get better. Firstly, because he didn't want the little angel to get sick too, and secondly, Simeon wanted you to be able to spend time in peace and quiet.

But even being locked up in your room, you got a lot of attention from Luke. He made you cute postcards with various kind messages with his own hands. On one of the postcards, Luke drew one of your last walks where you played with street cats. It was so cute, you hardly held back tears of happiness.

He would call you every day, to check on your health and to tell you how his day went. “MC, you are watching over yourself, properly right? Please do so! I need to share a new recipe with you”

Simeon

When the news of your poor health reached Simeon, he was very worried about you. He offered you his help in every possible way, asking about your needs.

The angel offered you his own notes for the days that you were not present. Simeon explained the topics of the new lessons to you so that you would not lag behind the others. He wanted you to be able to integrate into your studies without any problems, as if you hadn't missed it at all.

-          You are doing great, little lamb. I shall reward you with some homemade cookies and hot tea. After little break, we should continue the lessons, so you would not fall back, okay? – he smiled at you.

It was inconvenient for you to ask Simeon for help, even though he insisted on the opposite. He understood that you are not in the best condition at the moment, and that you need to gain more strength.

While you were taking a bath, angel took the moment to clean up your room. Simeon opened the window to ventilate the space and to let fresh air into your room. After all, sleeping in a clean, tidy room with a pure air is a pleasant thing. You thanked Simeon, for all the work he has done to you. He only replied, that you are always welcome to turn to him, if you have any problem.

Solomon

When Solomon found out that you were sick, he decided that he would cook everyday soups especially for you, because this dish is so nutritious and good against colds. But lucky for you purgatory hall guys, dissuade him from doing so, you were the most overjoyed person and thanked everyone, including fate itself.

-          Sorry, MC, I couldn’t prepare a meal for some reasons, but I’ve got something else that will make it up for you, - behind his back, Solomon was holding something that was glowing, you were suffering from curiosity, trying to guess what he was hiding. “This potion will quickly put you on your feet, it is designed to increase immunity. Please drink it, so that we’ll be able to spend carefree time soon”

Most likely, Solomon spent a lot of time to prepare this potion for you, his face was very pale, and there were bags under his eyes. You were overwhelmed with mixed feelings, you were infinitely grateful to Solomon, that he did this for you, but at the same time you were sad to realize that Solomon was very tired, and had many sleepless nights because of you.

As if reading your thoughts Solomon said: "You're not blaming yourself right now, are you? Please don't fill your head with such thoughts. I did it because I'm worried about you, and because you're an important person in my life, and for me it's a duty to take care of my beloved ones." – he gave you a warm smile. “So, no worries, okay, my love?”

[blazingstar24]

do you have any particular ludinus headcanons that have never come up in meta before but youre thinkin about them?

Oh of course! I think about this insane old man all day every day so I have lots of headcanons 😂 and some very cracky headcanons that go with my very non canon Ludigoth ship. Here’s a few:

1. Ludinus is super good at growing plants. Like not just because of elf lore and stereotypes. But because of that one theory Matt gave us of Molaesmyr happening because of experiments on making arcane plants and Lud’s interest in A2 with all the trees. And his interest in druidic magic! I like to think his hobby after god killing is in plant research which would lead to him being really good at gardening and growing.

2. Even though perhaps he wears his hair long due to harness neck weakness shenanigans, I think he prefers it long. If he were back in the Age of Arcanum, I think he would probably wear his hair in certain fashions ala Patia’s cool hair stuff. He would def fuck with Thranduil eqsue crowns. (Ludigoth side hc: Ira loves to play and braid it, Ludinus pretends to hate it but wears the braid for like a week after the fey fucks off to who knows where)

3. Because of how much this old ass elf self isolates but clearly craves someone to understand him, if you give him the chance, he will fucking monologue and talk about whatever is on his mind for hours. Like if you were a student at Soltryce and you asked him about arcana, he would be delighted to explain. You would get stuck in a 3 hour lecture that eventually shifted to his own theories and you just wanted help on homework. Man is a yapper. (Check out his four sendings for one message, Ludinus is worse than Jester)

4. Speaking of, he’s definitely gotten tea with Jester before. Her saying “oh but he’s so sweet” in the M9 reunion really has me believing she messaged him one time just to do it and he said okay to try and get info on Beau and Caleb and then ended up being bamboozled by Jester the whole time. He goes home with an over priced time share on Rumblecusp and an invite to the Lavish Chateau for a free show. He does not remember what they talked about.

5. The neck itch is just the first hint that he needs to feed again. If left ignored, there are more obvious symptoms, like his teeth feeling too big for his mouth, more sharp and canine like, heightened sense of smell and aversion to the smell of things he normally would enjoy. Restlessness and the feeling of his arcana burning through his veins, like something else is trying to break free. Once and only once has he let it go far enough to where he awoke in the Feywilds, covered in blood and gore. He doesn’t remember how he got there, nor what he consumed but it was the first and only time he’s let his hunger consume him.

[butch-reidentified]

thank you for your reply!! i hope it's okay to send you an ask instead so i don't impose on that other post any further haha. but you know what, i never even saw it that way "they're also using it to try to make black women (and ESP black teen girls, who are uniquely vulnerable and socially isolated) feel explicitly invited in." because this is so true, i observed it. there are a lot of younger black girls who get caught up in the online-discussions about "attraction" as it relates to black women and it's brutal. the attacks come from all sides, within the community from black men and women alike, from racist white people, from other women (regardless of ethnicity) so i get that instead of realizing this is racism and ignoring or defining their own black womanhood instead of letting it be defined for them, they understandably look to distance themselves from it entirely. it's traumatizing. and then you have the idea of non-binary with a community of people already there just waiting for you and go for it. you absolutely have a point.

for me personally i think i just realized the amount of misogynist stuff i have to swallow and accept to identify as nb + the idea that i'm supposed to internalize the racist actions of others as some kind of personal flaw didn't sit well with me. it also plays into this idea that many women are groomed into, that if there is something wrong, it's internal and YOU have to fix yourself. not the outside world might need to change to accommodate you as a woman, you have to cease being a woman since you don't fit some misogynistic racist patriarchal ideal. i know there were black women who claimed that people didn't "read them as women" because they never held doors open for them or helped them with their luggage and thus they concluded they were not women. and i just couldn't accept that, why give up control and agency like that? (not to mention people do these things for me and i'm dark brown and live in lily-white europe, like? it says nothing about you as a woman at all.)

and about your addition on tifs and blocklists, you know it's funny. tumblr is full of altright and super racist blogs, there is a corner of tumblr like that. i have never once seen people on this side of tumblr (political or just random blogs) make blocklists for those blogs. because it's not needed because anyone who finds that content knows to block it or just stay away. it's universally bad and easily identifiable. for radfem and rad leaning (etc...) blogs however, this doesn't apply. the posts are simply about womanhood and female reality and it rings true for many if they take their time to read them. and effectiveness lies in their truth, so they need to be blocked.

ngl this made me cry

of course it's okay to send me an ask! or dm, or anything! please please know you aren't imposing if you were to add this to the post - and the "haha" honestly stung because it just (and I already know I'm not gonna be able to put this into words the way I'd like to rn), it's female socialization, yk? and I won't begin to try to imagine what that's like when you factor in antiblackness and specifically misogynoir, but I make it a point to call this out because SO many asks I get start with an apology for existing, for reaching out to me. and it hurts, it enrages me that this world has taught its women & girls to do this, to feel this way. I LOVE getting asks and messages from you gyns, truly. it's my favorite. what you wrote here is so meaningful and raw and important, and I honestly think every word of it belongs on that post. you have a right, every right, and you deserve, to speak and be heard. truly heard. you have every right to reach out and make connections and build sisterhood. please do.

I would love for you to add this to the post, and I'd be honored to reblog it and boost YOUR voice fr. I'm honored you wanted to talk to me about this ❤️

btw, your url is just flawless

[rkmoriyama]

R K M O R I Y A M A - w r i t e b l r i n t r o d u c t i o n

Hi, I'm back with an updated writeblr introduction. It's been a while since I did the last one and stuff has changed.

My name's Alex, and I go by the pronouns she/her or they/them (it doesn't really matter to me) I've recently entered my 30s which is kind of scary to say. I'm

M Y W I P S

FOR THE SMOKE OF NIGHTMARES wip intro (N/A) | fantasy

In For the Smoke of Nightmares, we follow Reuel, one of the hundreds of kids who were born with abilities after the end of the Great War which saw the release of a Great Ancient Evil. When a prisoner accused of trying to assassinate the Crown Prince arrives at Tariam Fortress (home to those with abilities) Reuel is faced with a power similar to his own, one he thought he was alone with. He is also made aware that another war is brewing, but this time, nation won't fight against nation.

IN THE DARKENED SKY wip intro (N/A) | fantasy

In In the Darkened Sky, we follow Senka, a daughter of none, raised isolated in a valley by Sylvain Astavau, a retired captain of the King's Army, and later also the dragon Nithe, who hatched while in their possession. But their idyllic, slow life is promptly interrupted by the arrival of soldiers and the message they carry. Sylvain Astavau has been called back to serve, and Akresia is going to war. Senka and Nithe are thrust into a structured, military life, forced to follow rules they don't always agree with, and are tossed into a conflict they have no experience with.

AN INSTRUMENT OF PEACE wip intro (N/A) | sci-fi

In An Instrument of Peace, Dr. Floriane Achard is approached with a proposition she cannot turn down. An expedition to a new planet, humanity's potential new home as they are losing the war against Mother Earth. But the scientific exploration of the new planet shows it has previously been inhabited by lifeforms as intellectual as humans, if not more. What was a mission to decide on the planet's suitability for humanity's survival turns into a hunt for the truth. What happened to them? And is it still present?

... and another dozen wips that are currently on the back burner!

Each of these wips has its own taglists. So if you want on a list for one or all of them, send me an ask or write in the comments or something like that. I will keep a general taglist as well that will be tagged in content related to all three of these wips.

[just-a-carrot]

Obligatory every now and then "thank you for making the games that you do" ask 😌 it is so rare to see queer and mental health representation as honest and in-depth as your games. A big reason I spend a lot of my time making whacky little OW drawings is because it always just brightens my mood, being able to draw little guys who are like me in a way a lot of ways I just don't see expressed often. As someone who is Rather Disabled and Rather Queer, it's nice to just... have games where being those things is okay. Seeing nonbinary representation as honest and open as Gidget honestly made me tear up when I saw it. As someone who has Been Through That Stuff (in places that were-- and probably still are-- life-threatening to be seen as queer), I felt so seen by them and what they've been through. (I also forgot to mention but I did get the Gidget haircut eventually 😌 gender/10) ANYWAYS. Sorry if this ask got too Personal or anything I am a horrible judge of stuff like that 😅 but I did want to say thanks. (Also while I'm at it, thanks for answering the many asks I send about incredibly random topics related to the blorbos. I get very anxious about sending them so I don't half the time [nothing to do with anyone, I am just Anxiety: The Rabbit], but for the times I do, thank you for entertaining the asks even if they are utterly ridiculous most of the time haha. (And thanks for the help/feedback on dev-related stuff too, it's appreciated 😌 the comment left on TRJ still brightens my day whenever I think about it because I thought while making it that no one would enjoy it... but receiving that shortly after publishing it assuaged my fears by quite a bit so I'd just like to say thanks for that too. (...Whoops I think I have made a message Utterly Too Long but I hope it gets the points across??? Maybe??? Hopefully???)

weep this is incredibly sweet???? 😭💕

it literally brings me the utmost joy when people can see parts of themselves in my chars or relate to my char at all or feel seen, etc. also because a big part of this game is based on my own experiences and struggles so it helps ME feel seen when OTHERS also feel seen because then we can all relate together and maybe feel a little less alone in the experiences we've gone through in life

LKDJALFKDSFADF PLEASE DON'T EVER BE ANXIOUS ABOUT SENDING IN ASKS I LITERALLY LOVE RESPONDING TO THEM????? (tho i get it it would probably make me anxious too now matter how many times someone said that LOL) but fr i love going through my ask box and answering silly little questions. especially lately my anxiety's been cranked up to 11 so getting to distract myself with silliness is oftentimes a lovely godsend 💕

AND OFC 🥺 i always want to help in any way i can and also just spread love as much as i can. being a dev in general can feel so isolating, especially when we're neck-deep in deeply personal projects that take a lot out of us to work on (no matter how much we love them lakdfad). it helps knowing we've got others out there that can support us and have our backs and a little community of small devs that can relate to each others' issues and boost each other up

LDKJFALDFKA DON'T WORRY ABOUT IT thank you so much for this sweet message!! i got a bit teary-eyed reading it sob 😭💕

[wolfboy88]

I’ve been having a really hard staying in this fandom. I’ve been on the outside looking into the thiam fandom for so long and wishing to have engagement with other writers, but it’s not happening . I don’t know how to get over the hurdle of just writing for me.

I go back-and-forth all the time about if I should find another fandom, but then I worry it might be me that’s the problem here.

Anyway, I’m telling you this because I would like to believe that I’m not the only person that’s felt isolated in this fandom and I wanted some advice . Writing has saved my life in a sense and it’s hard to break away from 

First of all, I just want to start off with that I’m sorry to hear that you are struggling and feel isolated. That really sucks and I do hope it gets better.

Now, I’ve been contemplating about how to answer this ask since it hit my ask box this morning and I’m gonna try my best here but I might not be the best person for this.

I’ve been in this fandom for 2.5years now and I will admit when I first joined it was a little daunting/intimidating seeing all the connections and conversations already established between other blogs.

But I think the big thing is putting yourself out there, being active in rebloging others posts as well as your own stuff and participating in the various ask games and activities that circulate from time to time and send asks to the blogs you want to build a friendship with. Of course not every game is gonna be your cup of tea and there’s no rule saying you have to play all of them. I just found it helped me connect with other blogs and build a rapport.

I also recognised some of the blogs from the authors fics I read/follow on Ao3 and comment on their works. Trust me, us fan fic writers love when someone takes the time to comment on our work and we do notice/remember usernames that pop up frequently in our inboxes.

And the important thing is to remember it takes time to build the rapport. It’s not just gonna happen magically overnight and you will have to be patient. But Without knowing how long or what you have tried already makes it a little tricky to give you advice but these things were things that helped me and I hope that has helped you some.

Also, if you want to have more than one fandom, there’s no reason why you can’t.

Plus there is a thiam discord if you are interested. @ksbbb are you able to attach a new link to this post?

But most importantly, and as much as we all crave the views and the kudos and the likes and comments and validation, fanfic writing is supposed to be fun. Escapism for some of us. And if it’s helping you, please don’t stop or give it up.

If you wanna keep chatting, my inbox is always open or you can direct message me if you like.

[wetcatspellcaster]

hi! i just wanted to say that I absolutely love Pieces and I greatly admire your work and also how you write dialogue? Writing witty and interesting dialogue can be a bit of a struggle for me but you write the banter between Rosalie and Astarion so well, it's truly incredibly delightful.

I had a question about something in chapter 20 of Pieces. Specifically, when Rosalie asks Astarion if he likes her fancy glow in the dark bed. This may be a misinterpretation of her character but I never got the impression, based on your other works with Rosalie, that she was the type to really gravitate towards expensive or lavish things but as Rosalie herself has stated her house is atrociously fancy now.

I was wondering if this was a "i'm an extremely powerful archmage and have the money so, might as well" type thing. OR if she made those choices for herself with the, maybe subconcious, thought of "these are things astarion would have liked/appreciated/wanted." Maybe as a way to unintentionally bridge the gap between the life with astarion that she actually wants and the life that she had no choice but to have.

The way she asks Astarion if he likes it, and her reaction to his response, to me made it feel like these choices for her living space weren't just for her own enjoyment but also because she wanted to create a house Astarion would want to live in and his opinion on it matters to her not just because he's now living there but because Rosalie always wanted him to.

I just reread the chapter with the fancy garden and the maze and thought that Rosalie, subconciously creating a fancy house with the idea of Astarion one day living in it, AND the Ascendant, conciously creating this whole fancy ostentatious garden with the idea of one day seducing Rosalie in it, both as ways to make up for the one thing both of them want but don't, and can't, have would be an interesting parallel.

If i'm completely off-base and Rosalie just bought herself a fuck off fancy wizard tower complete with heated floors and glow in the dark canopy beds just becasue she could and wanted to than that's cool too. She deserves it honestly.

Also this ask is so long I am so sorry. Your work has given me brain worms like nothing else and I am forever and always an english major at heart, if I had the time and drive I'd write you a whole mulit-paged essay in which I analyzed each house in Pieces, their significance in the narrative, and what they tell us about each character. I am sosososooo normal about you, I promise.

hi lovely. never apologise for writing something at length, I'm very touched that you thought this much about the story and that you took the time to send me this message! :) i love a little bit of literary analysis!

As an English major, you know that any and all interpretations and reader responses to a text are valid, so if this is how you want to read these moments, please go ahead and read it this way!!! There are some things that you say that touch upon future storybeats I've already drafted, so when we get to those chapters hopefully you'll feel rewarded

But in response to your question, yes, the house *is* out of character :) there's a reason why, in my two timeskips, one Rosalie ends up with a cute little flat and a vault worth of diamonds she bought for Astarion, and the other in a massive fuck-off wizard's tower that is, as we'll find out in future chapters, fancy as fuck. But the logic behind it at my end was slightly different than yours, although yours isn't exactly wrong and as I say, I think you'll find stuff in future chapters that makes you happy!

For me, I see Rosalie's wealth in this timeline as an extreme symptom of how lonely and unhappy she is. As the fic has established, Rosalie felt the need to isolate herself, and also buried herself in overwork to both fund her research into Astarion's cure and distract herself from the realities of her life. So the more and more unhappy/workaholic/lonely Rosalie gets, the richer she becomes - for in this timeline, she has nothing other than work, and no one else she wants to spend all that money on. And so she has this massive house bc she needs to spend that money she's accumulated on something, and if that makes her look happy or comfortable from the outside then that's good because then she's not burdening anyone - exactly the same way that the Ascendent's mansion looks decadent and debauched from the outside, to compensate for his true feelings as well.

One really interesting thing about drafting Act 3 currently, is how much Rosalie's issues are now coming to the fore because Astarion, unlike all her friends, hasn't seen a gradual decline in her character/mental health and happiness. For him, it is sudden and abrupt: he has the bubbly hero from the game timeline, and then this strange reclusive hermit ten years later who, to him, is clearly unhappy. And the tower and the way she lives is one way that becomes clear to him.

I hope that makes sense! :)

[askbensolo]

Kashyyyk Log #4: Re…kindling?

Auntie Malla was not happy about the fact that we were only there for a day and a half, a sorrow which she expressed by loading us down with leftovers and Wookiee snacks when we left, and trying to get me to schedule my next visit on the spot. After twenty minutes of goodbyes and metaphorical hanky-blowing, Amalia and I made the perilous journey back to the docking bay with Threepio in tow, and we were on our way back to Coruscant by the afternoon.

“So—did Fannie break up with you already?” Amalia asked once we were in space. “Like, did she talk to you?”

“Dude, she did it over text.” I ripped open a sealed bag of some kind of jerky Auntie Malla had given us, and offered Amalia a piece.

Amalia whipped her head around and stared, slapping my hand aside and sending the piece of jerky into oblivion. “What? She did not. Be so for real, dude. She did not—there is no kriffing way Fannie Pentarra broke up with you over text.”

“Uh, she did too.” I got up out of my seat in search of the fallen snack. “Ha, found it!”

“Don’t eat that, Solo, you freaking spicehead. We don’t know how clean this ship is.”

“Well, now I’m gonna, just ‘cause you told me not to.” I popped the piece of jerky in my mouth. “I actually have done spice before, you know.”

“Yeah. I know. Your very expensive suicide attempt. Because you’re Ben freaking Solo, and Force forbid you merely try to jump like the rest of us peasants.”

I burst out laughing, and almost spat my food back on the floor. It was another one of those things that only Amalia could say to me, and I was the only one she could say it to.

“Wait—didn’t you do death sticks? Yeah—you did death sticks, not spice, stupid!”

“They’re the same thing!”

“They are not! I should know—I live on Coruscant! You just don’t know anything about drugs.”

“I do so know stuff.”

“Okay. Tell me. Tell me right now, Solo. Do you take spice by smoking it, eating it, or injecting it?”

“…Can I phone a friend?”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought. Anyway—your one isolated drug incident seems to have had lasting effects, if you ask me. Ya little weirdo.” Amalia smacked the autopilot button on the dashboard with her fist, and swiveled the pilot seat around. She slouched and lazily held out her hand to me, kinda half-swiveling the chair left and right with her feet. “All right, Ben Solo. Hand over the holopod.”

“Be my guest, Amalia No-Last-Name.” I fished it out of my pocket and tossed it to her.

She threw it back. “Unlock it first, bantha-brain.”

I unlocked it and tossed it back again. “Here ya go, sarlacc-hole.”

She made a couple finger-swipes and looked at it. “Your mom texted you.”

“Yeah, she texts me every day. Text her back for me. Say anything. I don’t care.”

“I am pleasantly surprised that you would dare offer me such a blank check.”

“Do your worst, Togruta Girl.”

I had eaten three more pieces of jerky when Amalia looked up from my holopod, fixed me with a squinty glare, and said, “Well, no wonder she broke up with you over text, Solo. Your mom’s not the only one texting you every day. It looks like Fannie messaged you every day for two weeks, tried to call you every other day for the same amount of time, and you didn’t even reply once.”

“Mmm, for my mental health,” I said with my mouth full. “You know. I needed some space. I needed to process. I was overstimulated. The experience reactivated my abandonment trauma. I had to soothe my inner child.”

Amalia raised a brow. “Okay. So. Like…when you went to therapy…did you actually learn how to make good decisions? Or…did you just learn how to excuse bad decisions with therapy words?”

“Oh, I learned how to make good decisions,” I assured her, resealing the jerky bag with two fingers. “I just don’t exercise that knowledge all the time. Learning how to dress up my dumbassery with therapy words was just a bonus—and also? Way easier.” I tossed the jerky bag over to her and she caught it in her non-holopod hand.

“Okaaay, but where’s the part where she broke up with you? All I see are like five bajillion messages asking if she could call you.”

“It’s the last thing. The voice message.”

Amalia had to finger-swipe for like ten seconds to get to the bottom. “Oh, my Force. The voice message that’s—forty-seven minutes and thirty-three seconds long?? That voice message?”

“Yeah, that one.” I dug into the cooler and retrieved a carton of blue milk so I could uncap it and drink out of it straight.

“Well…frick, dude. What’d she say?”

“Um…I dunno.” I tilted my head all the way back and took a healthy gulp.

“The hell you mean, ‘I dunno’?”

“I mean, I didn’t listen to it.” I wiped my mouth on my forearm and offered Mal the milk carton, which she accepted, while also staring at me like she was trying to burn holes into my forehead.

She shook her head. “You are such a kriffing idiot, Solo. And I mean that with the least amount of respect possible.” The statement was accentuated with her own swig of milk.

“Tell me somethin’ I don’t know, sister.”

“Well, you should listen to it. Don’tcha think?”

“Why bother? I mean, it’s already over.”

Amalia recapped the milk and threw it at me. There was only a little bit left in the carton, so it got some good air and hit me in the head while I was rifling through the other snacks.

“Ow!”

“Dude. Ben. You really think that you’re the main character, and everyone else in your life is just the supporting cast. You can’t do that to her. I don’t even like her that much, and I know you can’t do that to her.”

“Hey, howsa ‘bout you give me back my holopod, and get back to piloting? The ship, I mean. Not my life.”

“Uh…no. No, Ben Solo, we’re gonna listen to this voice message.”

“Uh, no we’re not!” I lunged over and tried to take back the holopod, but she shot out her arm so that it was far beyond my grasp.

“Bro…like, what’s your plan, exactly?” Amalia asked, sounding a little confused, a little intrigued. “Are you just…like, never gonna speak to her again? Or…what?”

I shrugged and rubbed the back of my neck. “Well…no…not never. I mean, I still want to be friends with her, after this. I just…I just need some time.”

Amalia’s eyes got extra squinty. “Buddy. She’s not gonna want to be friends with you after this.”

“Oh, come on, she and I have always been good friends—”

“You’re not being a very good friend, dude, I’ll tell ya that.”

“Well…” I fidgeted. “That voice message…it’s just too damn long—I’m not gonna listen to that.”

Amalia was quiet for a moment.

“...It’s a long way to Coruscant,” she said finally, in what was kind of a gentle voice for her. She made direct eye contact with me and widened her eyes a little and shrugged—but she shrugged with the corners of her mouth, if you get what I’m saying.

We looked at each other for a few seconds.

I slumped down in my seat, beginning to wish I hadn’t just downed a bunch of salty dried meat and slightly-colder-than-lukewarm milk. The thought of listening to that message made my toes start to go numb, and I started breathing kind of hard. Oh, no. My heart began to pound in my chest.

“I…no, Mal, I can’t listen to it,” I mumbled.

“Why not, Solo? I mean…it’s like you said. It’s already over, right? What’s there to lose?”

I shook my head, tapping my feet against the floor. I couldn’t listen to that voice message. My palms were all sweaty, and my scalp was prickling up now. Oh Force, I was gonna lose it—I was losing it.

“Amalia…”

“C’mon, Ben. You got this.” She took my hand, and folded the holopod into it.

Well, I lost it. My whole body tensed up and suddenly everything just became very far away. My ears got all loud. I was clutching my holopod, but also I wasn’t. I grabbed my forehead with my other hand, and it was like there were five hundred little marbles rolling around in my skull, rattling around and knocking into each other, and maybe the marbles were thoughts, but I couldn’t read any of them, so maybe they weren’t. My chest was rising and falling with each breath like I was running a marathon, but also my feet were glued in place, and I was super hot and sweaty, but also shivering cold. The palm of my hand went slipping off my face with sweat—no, tears? Oh, for frick’s sake, my eyes were leaking. I felt really embarrassed—well, I felt a lot of things—and I dropped my holopod and bolted for the cargo hold.

I'll spare you a description of the next pathetic half hour, and offer you instead this joke I’ve been practicing:

A Toydarian bounty hunter flies up to Jabba the Hutt's palace. Bib Fortuna greets him at the entrance. The Toydarian says, with a menacing scowl, "Greetings, my-a friend. I'm-a looking for-a Jabba." Bib Fortuna looks him up and down, unsure what to make of him, and finally says, "Um, sorry, we're not hiring."

Ba-dum, tssh! Thank you, thank you! I'll be here all week!

Anyway—cut to Ben Solo lying on the ground in the cargo hold, in kind of a survival-state stupor. (If that seems unusually placid of me, that's because the frantic pacing and screaming and hitting of walls had already happened at this point.)

The next identifiable point in time I could register, something soft was being placed in my hands, and I opened my eyes to look at it, and it was Ren the Bantha of Indeterminate Gender or Origin, my stuffed bantha—except, I didn’t know how he/they/it got here, because I didn’t bring him/them/it on this trip. But, I started to get a little feeling back into my hands as I threaded my fingers through the strands of yarn that made up Ren's coat—and then, I saw the ribbons tied around the bantha’s horns, and I realized...it wasn’t Ren, actually. It was Sand, Ren’s twin sister.

Uncle Luke had given me Ren the Bantha for my sixteenth birthday. Unbeknownst to me, he had purchased a second identical bantha plush, which he then gave to Amalia, who was still his student at the time, for Life Day that same month. Amalia and I hadn’t met, yet, and it wasn't until much later that the twin bantha plushes were discovered, and reunited.

Sand looked like she was in slightly better condition than Ren was these days—a little pilly, but still fluffed out. (After a couple of cycles in the washing machine, Ren has never been quite the same.)

I looked up a little. I saw Amalia walking away from me as she headed back to the front of the ship, her back lek swaying only slightly under its heavy weight.

Ten minutes later, I shuffled back up to the cockpit with Sand in my arms. I saw Amalia had placed a canteen of water on my seat. She was back to manual piloting now. She looked up at me briefly, and gave me that little head nod thing that guys do. I did it back and sat down and drank some water.

"You good, man?"

"...Yeah. Thanks."

"Does that, uh. Happen to you a lot?"

I took another drink of water, and realized how thirsty I actually was. "Well...not as much as it used to, I'll tell ya that."

"Fair." She threw me an awkward side-glance. "Do you...uh. Do you—do you want, like...like, a hug...? Or something?" Her eyes flitted nervously between me and the stars, and she looked genuinely afraid I might accept the offer.

I laughed into my water. "Nah, Mal, you're good."

"Oh-thank-frick," she said in one breath, then picked up another canteen by her feet and threw it into my lap. "Drink some water."

"I already am.”

"Well, drink some more! Loser."

"Why?"

"Oh, I don't know!” She threw a hand in the air. “Because people always act like hydration solves everything, and I care about you, and I don't know what kriffin' else to make you do."

"Well...thanks," I told her, frankly sort of touched. And then, since things were getting just a little too sappy— "I'll definitely make sure to think of you, while I'm taking the galaxy's longest piss."

Amalia wrinkled her nose. "Gross. I don't want you thinking of me while you're holding out your..."

I threw Sand at her stupid freaking face for that, pilot or not—and if we weren't out in open space, I probably would've killed us both.

We bantered all the way to the Inner Rim. I was starting to feel kind of like myself after a while, and Amalia must have thought so too, because then she brought up Fannie again.

"Yo. You should listen to that voice message before we land," she told me seriously. "You should do it while I'm still here with you. For moral support, or whatever."

I stopped mid-bite of forbidden floor-cookie. (It had become a floor-cookie in a similar fashion as the floor-jerky from before.)

"Um,” I said. “Would you like me to have a second panic attack, to demonstrate how much I freaking don't want to do the thing you just said?"

"Nah, no need. I got the picture the first time.” Amalia pressed the autopilot button again, and swiveled to face me. “But...just 'cause you're scared, Solo, doesn't mean you get a free pass to just...like, check out of your life. I mean...you know that. I know you do."

I swiveled back and forth in my seat anxiously. "I just...don't think I want to hear whatever she had to say to me. Maybe I wasn't cut out to be a good boyfriend, or whatever. Fine. I can say that. Luke shouldn't have gotten to have an opinion, but I had to hear him say that—fine, see if I care. But...I don't want to hear her say it."

"Ben. Again. I don't know how else to tell you this. But everyone else in your life? Is not just, like, an NPC. You aren't the only one around here with feelings. I think you owe it to Fannie to hear out hers, even if it hurts yours. I mean—you're gonna lose the friendship, too, if you kriff this up hard enough. Which you're already doing."

I made a face.

“Look, I get it, Solo,” Amalia said quietly. “You know I’m kind of a kriff-up, too.”

“…Okay,” I said finally. “Okay.”

So…I pulled out my holopod and I pulled up our messages and I let my finger hover over the “play” button. I gave Amalia a scared little coward look, and she nodded at me, and I hit it.

I steeled myself for the worst. I didn’t know what to expect. A structured five-point essay on why I sucked? An itemized list of every single way I’d disappointed her? A response album to the concept album I’d written for her about why I should actually die alone?

Well…I guess I didn’t really know what I was expecting…but it sure wasn’t that.

I don’t even know how to transcribe this, really, but the audio file was basically of Fannie having…like…kind of a breakdown. It was honestly really difficult to listen to—well…it was difficult at first.

And then…and then it got really easy to listen to.

Well…you’ll see.

“Ben, I can’t do this anymore. I’m scared. I don’t know why you’re not talking to me, is it something I did? I don’t know. I don’t know! I can’t do this, I can’t do this. I thought I could do this but I can’t. I can’t. I can’t. I need you, I can’t do this without you. Please talk to me. Please say something to me. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I don’t want to lose this! I don’t want to lose you. Every day, everything gets worse, and I miss you, I miss you so much, and I thought I could go back but I can’t, and I thought I could continue my life without you but I can’t, and I just—don’t care anymore—I wanted to end things with you—well, no, I didn’t want to, I just knew I had to—I was supposed to—but I can’t—I need you—and I’ll be honest—Luke told me—but I don’t care, I don’t care what Luke thinks—well I do, but I can’t, because I can’t lose you, I don’t know anymore, I don’t know if it’s right or wrong or what’s right or wrong but I just know I can’t lose you and I can’t live without you and I hate it here and my family hates me—things are always getting worse—I can’t see the light—I miss the summer that I spent with you—the summer where everything was sweet, and I was safe—I miss you—I miss our summer—I miss you—oh, Ben, please—please talk to me—Ben, get me out of here—I need you—I miss you—Ben, please!—please—please—”

And on, and on, and on. For forty-seven minutes, and thirty-three seconds.

Amalia didn’t listen to the whole thing. She started massaging her temples about a minute in, then got up somewhere around the twelve-minute mark and gestured to the dash as if to say “keep an eye on it” and exited the cockpit, running her entire hand down her face and putting her other hand on her hip as she left.

But…I listened. To the whole thing. By the forty-one-minute mark, Fannie had just dissolved into the most visceral sobbing I’d ever heard come out of her—until the very, very end, where she gasped out, “sorry, sorry, I’m so sorry, how embarrassing, I’m so sorry,” and ended the recording.

And, like…yeah, I felt bad. But…I also felt really…good. Because…well…that voice recording? Told me that she was just as desperate for me to like her, as I was for her to like me. And…maybe also just as desperate, in general. She had always seemed so put-together, while I was always falling apart—so it felt kind of validating, I guess, to listen to her finally crumble.

And there was a part of me that…maybe felt kind of good for her to hurt so bad. Because it had hurt me, a lot, when I thought I wasn’t good enough for her. So it felt good, I guess, for her to hurt so much at not having me.

And doesn’t that just…kinda feel good, anyway? To be missed? I mean…I had no idea that anyone could like me so much, to feel so much pain at not having me, to cry like that because they were scared of losing me.

…Something inside me began to feel kind of hungry. For what, I don’t know. Not for food—Amalia and I had done pretty much nothing but eat for the past 48 hours, thanks to Auntie Malla. No, this was a different kind of hunger.

Amalia came back a few minutes after the recording had stopped. I was sitting there, dazed, pondering the stars.

“…I’m changing my flight,” I said finally. “From Naboo. I’m goin’ to Ryloth.”

“To do what?” Amalia demanded.

I shrugged. “To see Fannie, I guess.”

“Again: to do what?”

I shrugged again.

Amalia sat back down in the pilot’s seat, shaking her leg nervously. “I dunno, Ben. She sounds—kinda messed up. Super messed up. I…I don’t have a good feeling about you two. Well, I never did, but…especially not now, I don’t.”

“How funny!” I told her with a wry little smile. “You are the third person this month to tell me that exact thing. Do you really think you’re the first person I’m gonna actually listen to?”

“Look buddy, eat all the floor-snacks you want, but she sounds—emotionally compromised. Like—good on you for finally wanting to talk to her, ‘stead of ignoring her, but…”

“Sorry, Mal, but this is really none of your business.”

Amalia stuck her fingers in her mouth and started chewing her nails. “Well, maybe you’re perfect for each other. As in, both kind of unhealthy and insane.”

I raised an eyebrow at her. “Oh, because you’re so stable.”

“I’m not. That’s why I can recognize instability so well.” She looked at me, her gaze piercing.

A shot of anger ran through me. Suddenly, I just had to get under her skin.

And I knew exactly what would.

“Maybe Fannie was right about you,” I said slowly, drawing out the words. “You never did get over me, did you?” And I looked right at her. “Yeah. I think so. I saw the way you looked. When I told you how my aunt wouldn’t stop shipping us. I think maybe you wanted it to be true.”

Amalia bristled. “I am gonna run my fist straight through your mouth,” she whispered through gritted teeth.

“Now, now,” I taunted. “What would the Force think of that?”

I thought for sure that that would piss her off. But…instead, it seemed to have an opposite effect. She blinked a couple of times and took a couple of breaths and rubbed her eyes hard enough to rub them out of her sockets and stared at the stars for a little bit and seemed to calm down.

“…Fine, Solo,” she said with a sigh. “It’s just like with the floor-snacks, right? If I tell you what I think, it’s just gonna push you more. Fine. Fine! You just do whatever you’re gonna do, I guess. And Fannie can just do whatever she’s gonna do, I guess. Geez… For frick’s sake.”

“Thanks,” I said stiffly.

Amalia shook her head and sighed again. “Dude, there is not enough popcorn in the galaxy to get me through whatever the hell’s gonna go down between you two. Say—do ya guys have a donation link I can contribute to? For your therapy?”

“Why is everyone telling me to go to therapy? I went to therapy!”

“Well, I dunno, but remember what I said about wisdom of the crowds?”

I shot her a look, then got up and set Sand the Bantha down in my seat.

"Where're you goin' now, Solo? Gonna go scream and hit the walls some more?"

"No, I'm gonna go take the galaxy's longest piss. Bye."

[we-joyless-few]

i’m sorry i’ve been away so long. i’m gonna keep it a buck-75 with you guys.

tw abuse

i was in a month-long abusive relationship with someone who used to be my friend. a shitty friend, at that. she’s honestly the worst person i have ever met, and i’m thankful she’s out of my life now.

she isolated me, exhausted me, and did much worse than that. i’m thankful we were long-distance only because i probably would never have been able to leave otherwise.

she prevented me from doing things i enjoyed because of how much attention she demanded, including posting here. i only got a few posts in on my other blogs and this one because i only had a spare few chances to do so.

you know shit is bad when the only place you’re granted space is at work. even my “alone time” had her still sending messages and asking for me to do stuff with her.

i’m thankful to be out, but the whole thing was traumatizing and upsetting and i have worse trust issues now than i had going in.

anyway, all that is to say that i’m gonna do what i can to regain some normalcy around here and try to be more active again.

i’ve been writing and reading fics of different fandoms and been doing all the things i enjoy now that i have the freedom to.

i’ll try to post something more light-hearted for my next post, but for now i’m gonna get ready for work.

[niningtori]

I'm asking this question to several authors I admire, so if it seems a little random, feel free to blame my overthinking brain.

I frequently read fanfics about hybrids and honestly, I really enjoy them. However, I often find myself with little context about many aspects of the hybrid universe, so I’d love to know your perspective on it.

For example:

• How do you imagine the origin of hybrids in your universe? Are they a natural evolution, a genetic mutation, or a scientific creation?

Additionally, I have a few more questions I'd like to ask:

• How do the government and society treat hybrids in your universe? Do they have the same rights as humans, or do they face discrimination in any way?

• How do you envision interactions between hybrids of different species? Would there be rivalries, alliances, or specific ways of coexisting?

• If there’s adoption of hybrids by humans in your universe, how does that process work?

• How do you approach the topic of heat and hybrid reproduction in your universe? Do they follow similar patterns to real animals or do they have their own biological rules?

• How do you imagine the hybrid nature (half-human, half-animal) would affect their emotions and psychology?

I’m sorry if this seems like a lot or a completely off-topic question (because I know it kind of is), but I’m genuinely curious since no one seems to talk about these aspects in depth.

Regardless of your answer, thank you for your time and patience! Have a great day 🤘🏻😁💖

(If you see this same message sent to another author, don’t worry—I love you all equally!)

hi! i've never written a hybrid au myself because i have no idea if people would actually like to see that from me (seriously doubt it NQNSJEJKWID) but i do have a few ideas! i'm not sure if you meant to send this to me since i don't really write hybrid stuff but regardless here i go:

1) i like to imagine they're a scientific creation. i think i like that the most because it makes way for more angst (to me at least) because then i could make the hybrid feel isolated from human society and create conflict there

2) i would make hybrids be seen as subhuman, which ties into their creation. they would be fighting for their rights but would ultimately still be discriminated against because of their origin

3) i think there would be presumed genetic dispositions that would make you think a certain hybrid would like/dislike or coexist in different dynamics with other hybrids but in my world they would probably be so human that it wouldn't really matter what breed they are

4) i think adoptions would be similar to animal adoptions irl. the younger, cuter, rarer ones get chosen first while the others have a harder time getting adopted. depending on the quality of the adoption center/demand of the hybrid, the vetting process would either be lax or extremely demanding (e.g. you must have x amount of space, x amount of income etc.)

5) i think they would have a heat cycle and feel the need to breed but they would be able to crossbreed which i don't see a lot in hybrid au's

6) there would be a lot of feelings of inferiority and helplessness because they would have less rights/respect than humans do so i would prob make reader a human to really amp those emotions up and ensure that the hyrbid didnt feel deserving of the human at all

bonus: if i were to do this i'd probably make reader a depressed or anxious human in need of an emotional support hybrid and the male lead would be a moody hybrid that has trouble getting adopted 🫶 again i don't think that anyone would want to even see me write this because it's so out of my usual lane but it excites me nonetheless

thank you for asking and have a great day ❤️

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

AITA for ‘forcing’ my dad to drive me home while I had COVID, and then cutting contact?

Sorry if this isn’t allowed, but it’s been weighing on me for the past year and a half so I want to get an outside opinion because I’m still afraid it’s my fault. Basically, my (22F) parents are split; it was bad and they both hate each other, call the other abusive, etc. I live with my mom, but we used to alternate holidays, and my dad had Christmas 2021. I don't get on with him; we're very different, he's very judgemental, he doesn't like that I'm very close with Mom, and we've fallen out in the past (I still regret coming out to him). I didn't want to go, TBH, but I did because my siblings wanted me there.

Christmas went fine but I was running out of energy to deal with him afterwards and that's where it started. He'd agreed to take me and my youngest brother home (2.5 hr drive) on the 28th, and we made plans around that, but two days before he announced that he wouldn't unless Mom agreed to meet him halfway; that's normal, but since he'd already agreed to drive the whole way, she had gone away and was flying home that day. He refused to take us home until she was free. We had an argument over this, and I decided I'd just get the train if he didn't want to drive me.

That day, however, my stepsister got COVID, and we all tried to isolate from her, but me and my youngest brother tested positive on the 28th. I'll be honest, at that point, I think I was selfish. My plans were already cancelled, but I was at my wits' end with Dad and I couldn't handle another week of isolation with him. My room at his house was also just one end of the kitchen, which everyone else has to use, whereas at home I have my own bedroom with a bathroom right next door, so I could isolate much more easily and safely at home. Our rules at the time were if you were visiting somewhere, you were allowed to travel home to isolate so long as you didn't use public transport; Mom still wanted us home.

We got into a fight about this; Dad said I had to stay there. I snapped at him it wasn't my home, and he'd get COVID from me anyway there. He put his foot down and said he wasn't taking me, and I thought that was the end of it. Until two hours later, when he told me to get in the car, and said he'd drive me and my brother home; I genuinely think that he was expecting me to back down then, but I didn't.

Twice on the journey he berated me for being selfish; I told him I didn't force him. After he dropped me off, he sent me three text messages of the same, including saying I was as bad as my Mom and ordering me to tell her she was a bad person. I blocked his number, so he sent me an email warning me to "be careful who I ally myself with" and threatening me not to side with Mom. At that point, I cut all contact and blocked his email.

As far as I know, he never got COVID. He's emailed me a few times since (blocking him just sends them straight to my bin, I still see them); he's asked me to meet up with him a few times, and keeps getting my brother to ask when I’m going to talk to him again. I’ve never had an apology or even a real acknowledgment of what happened, except an “I know you’re still angry” at one point, and he still sends me presents and stuff even though I’ve told my brother I don’t want anything.

IDK, I still just feel really bad about the whole thing. So, AITA?

What are these acronyms?

[ara-macao-cyanopterus]

A while ago, a close friend told me that I talk about trans stuff too much.

And, like, how much this friend stalks me on social media I don't know, but it the best of my knowledge, 'trans stuff' has come up exactly once with this friend, when I corrected her use of the pronouns of the person I was dating at the time (and dated for nearly a year, this wasn't a fling).

Like, if you're offended by the existence of they/thems, I can't help you.

Anyway, this morning I woke up to the news that my mom's in the hospital, and then a friend messaged me to ask me to stop sending queer memes to the groupchat because they make her feel excluded (the groupchat is 3/6 queer).

Which, I guess I get. We three are each in situations where we don't have that many queers in our in-person lives at the moment, so we talk about queer stuff with each other...a normal amount? Definitely not a we-must-hide-for-the-straights amount. And to have conversations going on around you that you don't have the life experience to participate in is indeed isolating.

But still. Straight-majority places are virtually everywhere. You can't...keep it together for a few X-men memes and people trading tips about top surgery?

[indeedcaptain]

Spirktober 2023, day 10: Chess

Hello! Good morning! Baby's first smutty fic! Behold: our two favorite gentlemen have a long-overdue conversation and then get physical about it. This is the follow-up chapter to Home.

Also posted on AO3 here.

Content warnings: explicit sex ahead!

☆☆☆

The train ride from San Francisco to Riverside was four hours long, and Spock spent his time fielding questions from instructors whose schedules James’s impulses had also derailed. 

>STS: My deepest apologies regarding my unexpected absence. The captain requested my assistance with a time-sensitive project. 

>CPike2: Once upon a time I was also your captain?? What am I supposed to do with all these cadets??

>STS: Teach them, perhaps? I was under the impression that it was your job to do so.

>CPike2: The youth were looking forward to hearing stories from the big mission. Tell your new captain he owes me big time 

>STS: He says he is sending you ‘a little something-something.’ The reason for the linguistic reduplication is unclear. 

>CPike2: Tell him to make it the good stuff 

>CPike2: Merry christmas, you two

☆☆☆

James spent most of the ride staring happily out the window at the country rolling past. “I love the mountains,” he sighed, multiple times. “Iowa’s got little ones, compared to the Rockies. Have you ever been out here?” 

“Once,” Spock said. “My mother wanted to go camping.” 

“Did you enjoy it?”

Spock recalled sleeping on the ground while his mother snored softly nearby, but he also recalled how excited she had been to introduce him to Earth’s breadth of bird species. “I did,” he said. “It was a unique experience.” 

James snorted. His padd dinged twice in short succession, and he dug it out of his backpack. The message on the screen made his face fall. 

“Is everything alright?” Spock asked. 

“Yes, fine,” James said, but he was lying. Spock watched him until he relented. “Yes, it’s fine, it’s just… My family was supposed to be coming into town as well. But my mother’s ship was delayed in spacedock, and she’s not sure if they’ll make it in time.”

“Oh,” Spock said. He had not considered the idea that James’s family would also be around on this visit. He had never met them, but now that he was exposed to the opportunity he found himself curious about the people who had raised James. James had returned to watching out the window, but his lips were pressed into a thin line. “It is not logical to mourn something that has not yet come to pass,” Spock said quietly. “There are still ten days between now and the holiday.” 

“You’re right,” James said. His eyes remained distant, locked on the forests rolling by. 

“Will this be your first Christmas at home since your brother passed?” Spock asked, and when James’s eyes flicked to him he knew he had isolated part of the issue. Even when the captain spoke of the events that had transpired on Deneva, he never mentioned Sam or his wife, Aurelian. Spock did not know if they were close, or if something had happened between them, but he did understand the grief of losing a sibling. 

“I grieve with thee, James,” Spock said, and James leaned towards him for a moment, their shoulders pressing together. They stayed like that for a moment until James’s eyes flicked to him again. 

“James?” he said, half a smile pulling up the corner of his lips. 

Spock raised one eyebrow. “I like your given name.” James smiled and said, “Well, it’s better than you calling me captain the whole time,” and turned back to the window. 

☆☆☆

They arrived in Iowa just after midnight. Iowa was precisely as cold as Spock had thought it would be: he had looked up the weather forecast ahead of time. What surprised him, then, was how unpleasant it felt. He had not changed into something warmer than his robes before he had allowed James to drag him to the hypertrain, and he realized now that that had been an illogical oversight. The cold wind blew straight through Spock’s robes. He shivered until he was able to summon the requisite control to prevent the autonomic response. James hired a taxi to take them home, and within minutes they were on their way. 

The farmhouse was visible from two miles away, the only feature on the flat land. James pulled something up on his padd and pressed a few buttons, and Spock watched as the windows lit up from within. It looked warm and inviting. It was a stronghold against the cold, the only sanctuary for miles from the driving wind. The winter grasses that covered the fields around the house blew nearly horizontal with the force of the gusts. The taxi pulled up to the front stoop, deposited the men and their bags outside the house, and departed into the night, its taillights visible until it vanished over the crest of a gentle hill. James lifted his chin into the wind and inhaled deeply. 

“Snow’s coming,” he said happily, and he unlocked the door and led them inside. 

☆☆☆

James took Spock on a tour through the house. The downstairs consisted of a living room with both a holo projector and two bookshelves filled with actual paper books, a kitchen, and a dining room. The upstairs contained the four bedrooms and a bathroom. 

“My parents,” James said, pointing at one door. “My room. Guest room - that’s you. And,” he paused, staring at the last door. “That’s Sam’s room.” He shook his head and pointed to the last door. “That’s the head.” He opened the door he’d indicated for Spock. 

It was nice. It reminded Spock of his mother’s office in his family’s compound on Vulcan. She had liked to keep art and photographs rotating through the frames she’d somehow applied to the sandstone walls. This room was similar: there were prints of Earth flora and fauna, a bed, bedside tables, and a small dresser. 

“Thank you,” Spock said. He set his bag down at the foot of the bed. 

“If you need anything, just holler,” James said. He leaned against the doorframe and crossed his arms, smiling at Spock. “You know, I thought I was doing you a favor by bringing you out here. But now, I think you might be the one doing me one. I don’t know what I would do without you, rattling around this house by myself.” He lifted one hand like he might reach out, before closing it into a fist and tucking it back into the crook of his elbow. Spock found himself desperately curious about what James would have done with that hand if he hadn’t stopped himself. “See you in the morning, Spock.” 

“Good night, captain,” Spock said softly. James waved the title away with one hand and vanished into his room. Spock stood in the doorway.

Perhaps it was not his wisest decision to be alone with James unsupervised. 

☆☆☆

The smell of coffee brewing downstairs woke Spock from the deepest sleep he’d experienced since disembarking from the Enterprise. He pulled a robe over his sleep clothes and followed the smell downstairs. 

There was coffee brewing on the counter, and a skillet full of scrambled eggs on the stove. James stood in the center of it all, wearing plaid pajama pants and a loose t-shirt, and his feet were bare against the wooden floor. 

Spock cleared his throat, and James turned. His hair was uncombed and he held a rubber spatula in one hand. “Good morning,” he said, grinning broadly. “Unreplicated eggs?” 

It smelled delicious. “Thank you, captain,” Spock said, and received a plate full of food and a mug of coffee from James. 

“I was serious about the snowbank,” James said, and sat across from him at the kitchen table. “We’re off duty, and we’re friends. Call me Jim.” 

James asked him about the experiments he was supposed to be running, the classes he was supposed to be dropping in on, and in return Spock asked him about what the admiralty had wanted. James’s tirade against bureaucracy was well-argued, coherent and persuasive, but Spock could not focus on rebutting any of it effectively. 

Spock did not call him ‘captain,’ but neither did he call him by name. ‘Captain’ was the shield between James and Spock’s sentiments towards him, but James didn’t know that. Spock thought about James cooking barefoot in the kitchen, James with his hair unbrushed, in his pajamas, not a uniform to be seen, the persona of the formidable captain abandoned in California to reveal just the reality of the man here with him--- 

Spock resigned himself to frequent meditation until they returned to San Francisco. 

☆☆☆

Besides the Starfleet production yard, there was less to Riverside than Spock might have expected. The town revolved around starship production, and had built itself for the people who worked and lived there. James took Spock to a few of his old haunts: a restaurant where he had been a busboy in his youth, the library that had introduced him to a few of his interests, and an antique store that his mother loved. 

“Look at this, Spock,” James breathed. He was bent in half, buried up to his hips in a trunk in the back of the store, and Spock stood beside him and caught the more fragile things that he tossed out. James wrestled out of the grasp of the trunk and revealed his treasure: a traditional Earth chessboard. It was carved of a deep brown wood, with lighter brown inlays for the white squares; in his other hand he clutched a bag of matching pieces. He marched triumphantly to the clerk and purchased it immediately. 

“No returns,” she said. 

“It won’t be necessary,” he said, and grinned at Spock over his shoulder. 

☆☆☆

“There are pieces missing!” James cried in dismay, counting the pieces again where he had dumped the bag onto the kitchen table. Spock fought the urge within himself to march back to the store and dig in the chest again, to argue with the clerk, or to whittle new pieces himself just so that James would stop looking so distraught. 

Spock peered through the pieces. There were only three missing - two pawns on the black side, and a bishop on the white. “We could cut out pieces of paper and write the piece names on them. Or memorize where they are and keep track of them thus.” 

“I won’t be playing psychic chess with a certain someone’s eidetic memory, but thank you,” James said. “Wait! Do you want white or black?” 

“I won our last match. I will take white,” Spock said. James turned to the replicator in the wall and returned with two shots of some sparkling brown liquid and one shot of --- Spock sniffed it. 

“Is this chocolate syrup?” 

“Yes, Spock,” James said, smiling wryly. “It’s the holidays. We might as well loosen up a little.” 

“The holidays, as you say, are not for another nine days.” 

“We can get an early start.” 

They set up the board between them on the couch, Spock at one end and James at the other. Spock moved first: the T’Lakian opening, named for the Vulcan woman who created it and was reigning Federation champion for a period of time. James immediately sacrificed one of his whiskey pawns and took his shot. 

“It’s not as good as the real thing, but it does the job,” James said. 

“The job of making your strategy even more illogical than usual?”

“The job of reducing stress and facilitating merriment.” 

“If you insist, captain,” Spock said, and watched as James frowned at him. His nose crinkled in a way that made Spock want to smooth it with his mouth. 

Spock thought he was holding the strategic advantage until James took his bishop and he realized he had been playing to win and James had been playing to make Spock drink. James nudged Spock’s foot with his own. “Drink,” he said, but Spock was more interested in the flash of warmthcontentmentwant that he had sensed through the brief contact. 

He immediately reassessed several conditions that had gone previously uninterrogated. James was in frequent communication with his own mother. James had invited him to his home for the holidays, where Spock would meet his family. James frequently touched Spock in an affectionate manner. James wanted Spock to relax and drink chocolate with him. James felt desire, right now, when it was just the two of them and the chessboard between them.

In all the months since Spock realized that his feelings for his captain were more than platonic, it had not occurred to him to consider the possibility that they were requited. If this were true, he did not intend to waste any more time. But first he required more information. 

He lifted the shotglass to his lips and poured it into his mouth, and as he tipped his head back he saw James’s eyes follow his hands, his mouth, and the line of his throat. He set the little glass on the coffee table, and James smiled at him, warm and comfortable. Spock nudged James’s foot with his. 

“I believe it is your turn, Jim.” Through their contact, Spock felt the same warm flow of emotion from James that he had before: the usual warmth, companionship, friendship that he felt whenever James touched him… but now, unearthed from beneath those, the unmistakable heat of desire. Spock had him in checkmate in five more moves. 

“A good game,” James said, and he leaned back against the couch. 

“If you say so. Were you distracted, Jim?”

James’s eyes met his over the chessboard and he shifted where he sat. “Perhaps a little.” 

“What distracted you?” 

Spock watched James’s breathing pattern change, growing more erratic. Was he nervous? Excited? Uncomfortable? He wanted to touch James, to ascertain his emotions for himself, but he did not want to take any more knowledge that James was not willing to give. 

James picked up one of the pieces --- the black queen --- and ran a fingertip over her elegant crown. “Curiosity, I suppose.” 

“About what?” 

James shifted again and clenched the black queen in his hand. “Spock, I must say that I did not anticipate you agreeing to travel with me.” 

“You did not? Why?” 

“You had your schedule! You had your whole plan for the leave all planned out, all arranged. I expected to see you, argue with you about what was logical and what wasn’t, and to go home alone.” 

“Why did you ask, then, if you expected my refusal?” 

“Because I wanted--- I wanted you to come with me. If I didn’t ask, the answer was always no. If I did, at least I gave it a good shot.” 

“You wanted me to come home with you and meet your family.” 

James’s eyes were always so expressive. Spock saw immediately that he hadn’t realized that Spock had realized what the message of delay on the train meant for their trip. He opened his mouth, hesitated, and closed it again. He smiled wryly, but he didn’t meet Spock’s gaze. “I suppose that’s right.”

“But then I did agree to accompany you.” 

“Yes, you did. And why was that?”

There was no logic in pretending he was not willing to follow James most places if asked. “I have been allowing you to disrupt my plans for two years, four months, and thirteen days. I saw no reason to break the habit.”

“And yet you always manage to surprise me. Yes, I wanted you to meet my family. I wanted to share Riverside with you. I wanted you to see snow, and have a real shore leave, and be with someone who loves you for the holidays instead of by yourself, working.” With each desire revealed, James gestured emphatically, his broad, tanned hands cutting through the air. Spock was frozen in his seat. James loved him. The rush he had felt at learning of James’s desire fell away in the face of this greater discovery. James’s face went pale as he looked at Spock and realized what he had said. 

“I’m sorry, Spock, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. I just wanted---,” and he sighed through his nose, tangling his fingers together in his lap. “I don’t know what I wanted.” 

Spock placed all the pieces of the chess set back onto the board and moved it to the coffee table, avoiding the abandoned shot glasses. James watched him move the board with some sort of apathy, or resignation. Spock wanted to kiss that look off his face, but he needed James to say it first. 

“You do not know what you want?” With the chess set out of the way, Spock moved forward onto the middle cushion of the couch. He angled himself directly at James, watching him. 

“No, I do, I just---,” James said, and he licked his lips. Spock tracked the movement. James’s eyes narrowed for a fraction of a second as he watched Spock in return, and he turned fully to Spock. “I know what I want. But I don’t want it at the risk of what I already have.” 

“And if you could have everything?” 

“If I could--- Spock, please. Are we on the same page here?” James’s face was torn between painfully hopeful and frightened. 

“I believe so,” Spock said. He lifted one hand, slowly, so that James saw his intention and could stop him if he wanted, and raised it to caress James’s cheek. But he leaned into it, closing his eyes, before turning his head to brush his lips against Spock’s palm. The dry rasping of Jim’s stubble and the softness of his lips against Spock’s palm made him shudder. 

He slid his hand back, wrapping his fingers around the back of James’s neck, and pulled his captain to him. James leaned forward, and his lips met Spock’s with a quiet inhale. For a moment they sat there, lips pressed together. Through Spock’s hands he could feel James’s anticipation, and anxiety, and desire, and his love, and he estimated that he had an unfair advantage over James, who had no similar understanding of what Spock felt.

Spock intended to rectify that. He tightened his hand on the back of James’s head and opened his mouth, feeling James’s fall open in response. Spock heard James drop the black queen onto the ground beside the couch. He brought his other hand to James’s shoulder and raised himself up on his knees, pushing towards James, sliding his tongue into James’s mouth. James gasped, falling back against the arm of the couch, hands coming up to slide reverently over Spock’s side, where his heartbeat thrummed, running up his back, gliding through his hair. James’s hands were rough. His callouses caught on the fabric of his shirt. Spock wanted to feel them on his skin. 

He slid his mouth from James’s to press kisses along the side of his face, down his jaw, and against his neck. He understood that this area was sensitive, and so he licked a stripe from James’s collarbone up to the spot behind his ear. James arched up against him, whispering, “Jesus Christ, Spock.” 

“Is this acceptable, James?” Spock asked. James nodded fervently. 

“Yes,” he breathed. “I didn’t expect--- I didn’t think that you felt like this. How long…?” 

Spock was intoxicated on the scent of James’s skin, sweat and musk and the subtle tang of arousal. “Two years, one month, and eleven days,” he said into James’s neck. James wrapped his arms around Spock’s back and pulled him down to lay on his chest. Spock could feel his heartbeat through his shirt. James left one arm around his back, hand sliding under the hem of his shirt to rest against his skin, and brushed Spock’s hair away from his forehead with his other hand. “So long?” he asked. Spock nodded. 

“Do you remember Trelane?” James asked. Spock nodded again. “He saw in my mind what I hadn’t realized for myself, and then he pointed a gun at you.” James tightened his arm around Spock. “That’s when I knew.” 

“The emotion infection revealed it to me,” Spock offered. “I understood two things that day: that I should have been kinder to my mother, and that I loved you.” 

James kissed the top of Spock’s head. It was a baffling gesture, one that he had not experienced since early childhood. But it felt comforting, and warm. It felt like physical evidence of James’s love. 

“We might be too stubborn to be alive,” James said. “So much time…” 

“I do not intend to waste any more,” Spock said, and he shifted up onto his elbow so that he could see James’s face. When he leaned in to kiss him for the second time, there was no period of adjustment. James opened his mouth to him, and their tongues slid against each other. James sucked his bottom lip in between his teeth, scraping it gently, and the noise Spock made surprised them both. 

“I enjoyed that,” Spock said. He could feel his face flushing but could not summon the control to prevent it. 

“I did too,” said James. “I’d like to do it again.” He took Spock by the hand --- and that contact was not doing anything to help him maintain control --- and led him upstairs. James opened the door to his room, revealing an astonishing amount of navy blue decor but very little in the way of personal effects. He pulled Spock in, closed the door behind them, and stepped into Spock’s personal space, face tilted upwards. Spock closed the distance between them.

“I’d like to see you,” James said when they broke apart. He was breathing heavily, and a pink flush had risen on his cheeks. 

“I---” Spock did not know how to phrase what he wanted to say. His control had fled from him, leaving behind just his desire and his anxiety. He wanted to continue. He was afraid of disappointing James. 

Like he always did, James guessed at what Spock needed. “Have you ever done this before?” Spock shook his head. “Let me help,” he said, and he was gentle as he removed Spock’s shirt, pulling it over his head, before sliding his hand into the waist of his trousers and pulling them off. Spock tugged James’s shirt off, and marveled at the expanse of chest and hair and shoulders. He had seen the captain shirtless before, but never like this. Never for him. 

The lights were off, but the moon was full and bright outside the window, and it cast James in a silvery light. It illuminated his tousled hair, the slope of his shoulders and stomach, the strength of his thighs, and his--- 

Spock was looking at his captain’s cock. He was being invited and encouraged to do so. He was going to be allowed to look, and touch, and put it in his mouth, and perhaps feel it inside him. He shivered. 

“Jesus, Spock,” James said. He stared at him openly. “You’re beautiful.” James stepped forward and ran a hand over his shoulder, down his arm, and took his hand. He lifted Spock’s hand and, looking up at Spock, folded his hand into the shape of the ozh’esta and pressed his two fingers against Spock’s. Spock closed his eyes against the onslaught of emotion and sensation: Jim’s awe and desire and excitement, his pride, the rough ridges of his fingertips against Spock’s, the warmth of his hand against Spock’s wrist---

When Spock opened his eyes again, he was fully erect. “Is this okay?” James whispered, and Spock nodded. 

“You may have to take the lead in this situation, James,” Spock said. “This time.” 

“It would be my pleasure,” James said, and his grin was slightly feral. “Do you want to keep going?” 

Spock nodded, and James led him to the bed. He pushed him down and crawled over him, predatory, straddling Spock’s thighs. He leaned forward to kiss him, and Spock sat up to meet him, and James took both of them in one hand. Spock’s head dropped backwards and he bit down on his lip to keep himself from whimpering aloud as he thrust upward into James’s hand. 

“Hey,” James whispered against his neck. “It’s just us. You don’t have to be quiet. I want to hear you.” He rolled his wrist, stroking them both, and Spock released his lip from his teeth. James kissed the noises out of his mouth and kept time with his hand and his hips against Spock’s. Spock matched his rhythm, hands roaming over his back and chest and through his hair, and too soon he could feel release building at the base of his spine. It was too soon. He wasn’t ready for this to be over. He pulled James’s hand off of them, wrapped an arm around his back, and flipped them. 

James looked up at him from the pillow, absolutely trusting, and Spock ground his hips down against him to watch him writhe. “May I…?” Spock asked, and crawled backwards down the bed, dragging the skin of his torso against James’s cock. James nodded, breathless, until Spock took his penis into his mouth. He had done enough research, alone in his quarters, to understand the mechanics, and he applied them comprehensively. What he was not prepared for was how dizzyingly erotic James’s response would be. He arched off the bed, knees bending, pushing his cock further into Spock’s mouth, and his breathy, half-vocalized gasp nearly brought Spock’s own orgasm to a head. He pinned Jim’s hips to the bed and sucked him, drinking in the noises James made and the way he gasped Spock’s name. 

After one hundred sixty-three seconds of the most addicting noises that Spock had ever heard in his life, James threaded his hand through Spock’s hair and pulled him off. Precome and saliva dripped from his penis and Spock’s lip, and Spock wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. 

“You’re going to be the death of me,” James whispered. “What do you want?” 

He wanted James. He wanted them to be bonded, married, devoted to each other until they were returned to the stars. But he thought that might be a conversation best had sober and unaroused, so he said, “You, James. Please.” 

James flipped them over again and fumbled in his dresser drawer for a small bottle. “Did you foresee this scenario, James?” Spock asked as he flipped the cap open. 

“A man can dream,” James said, and grinned. He arranged Spock’s legs how he wanted them and slicked a finger. “Are you ready?” Spock nodded and braced himself. 

He was not ready. He had not considered the implications of touch telepathy inside his body, with his beloved James’s finger inside him, the positive feedback loop of his physical reaction and James’s lust in response to seeing him spread echoing between them until he was pulled as tight as a bowstring. 

“Please,” he panted, but James said, “Not yet,” and started working another finger inside. Logically, Spock knew that this was his first time, and James was a caring and conscientious man who was only trying to ensure his physical safety and pleasure. Physically, he felt like he was being tortured. By the time James had worked him up to three fingers comfortably, his cock was leaking precome against his stomach and he had forgotten how to speak Standard except for “James” and “please.”

“You are so beautiful,” James said again, and sucked a hickey into Spock’s neck. “I can’t believe I get to see you like this, take you, have you.” He kissed Spock’s ear as he applied lubricant to himself. “I can’t believe this is your first time. You’re doing so well.” He nipped at the tip of Spock’s ear, and as Spock arched up off the bed he caught Spock’s hips and nudged himself inside. 

Spock stilled, adjusting. He felt the stretch, certainly, and he was now more grateful for James’s insistence on preparation than he had been previously. But most of all he felt full, and could feel James’s pulse within him. 

“Are you okay?” James whispered. Spock nodded, and experimentally wrapped his legs around James’s waist. James allowed him to pull him in another inch. It burned, but pleasantly. He applied more pressure, feeling James slide smoothly within him, until he was buried to the hilt. He felt his body adjust to the intrusion, accepting the presence of him, until it was almost comfortable. He shifted his hips, and whatever James hit inside him made his bones sing. “Move, James,” Spock said, and he did. 

It was a sensation unlike any other that Spock had previously experienced, and he reorganized every long-term plan he had ever created in order to accommodate having sex with James as frequently as possible instead. He could feel James’s muscles moving under his hands, the scrape of his leg and chest hair against Spock’s, his hot breath against his shoulder, and overpowering it all the feeling of fullness and completion.

There would be no slowing down this time. Every thrust pressed the head of James’s cock against his prostate. Spock pressed one hand against James’s shoulder, holding him close to him, and cradled his face with the other. He watched James’s face as he fucked him, memorizing the shape of his mouth and the noises he made. 

His orgasm approached. “James, I---,” Spock gasped. James swore softly. He drove deeper into Spock, and caught his eye. He was asking a question, and even not knowing what it was Spock nodded. Whatever James wanted, he wanted. James turned his head, caught two of Spock’s fingers in his mouth, and sucked. Through the contact, as clearly as if James had said it aloud, Spock heard him think, “I love you.” Spock came immediately, arching off the bed, crying out James’s name as release swept through him. He felt James follow after, thrusting into him once more before slowing, lowering himself onto Spock’s chest without pulling out. 

“Holy shit,” James breathed, and the warm air of his breath gusted over Spock and made him shiver. “Yes,” Spock said. His voice was unsteady. He wrapped his arms around James and squeezed him to him, heedless of the come drying on his chest or leaking out of him. 

They lay in contented silence for a moment, until Spock remarked, “We should have ended all chess matches in such a manner.” James’s surprised laughter shook them both, and he pulled gently out of Spock and led them to the bathroom to shower.  

In the hallway again, afterwards, Spock hesitated. He was not sure of the appropriate postcoital custom: would he be invited to share James’s bed? Or would he be expected to maintain his own room? James stopped with him. He looked unsure. Spock made up his mind to ask just as James started talking.

“What would you prefer---”

“Do Vulcans snuggle---” 

They both broke off, James smiling at their overlap. He took Spock’s hand again and ran his thumb over his knuckles. “I would like it if you slept with me. But there’s no pressure --- you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.”

“I would like to,” Spock said. He followed James back into his bedroom, which now smelled of sweat and orgasm, and allowed James to tuck him into the covers and slide in behind him. James kissed his shoulder, and they fell asleep wrapped around each other, like they would never be parted again.