#so i just hate how similer they are

[parrythefloof]

me who has a group of supervillains.

each has one main color. the main leader being purple. a buff hellhound girl who's red and a smart blue crow. also a very sad green guy.

me month after making them. watches Witchlight for the first time...

now is scared to show my ocs .

[coffeeandcalligraphy]

rereading the worst scene I have ever written in my entire life and why did harrison have to drag lonan so hard here:

The sound of Lonan’s voice is like crashing into a concrete wall.

[iwanttodance]

You know what, fuck it.

Yes everything is terrible and stressful and the future is absolutely fucking terrifying. But also. I got top surgery 5 weeks ago, and it’s truly wild how much happier I am just exist in my body now. Like fully unimaginable to past me.

I went on a short little hike with my friends yesterday and got to see a waterfall (I guess it was more of a water trickle this time of year but it was still lovely) and I spent the last couple days working on editing a cute short film about two women falling in love, while my cat sat on my lap.

So I don’t know. I don’t know what’s going to happen in a few months, no one does. But I can’t help but feel optimistic. A better world is possible.

[always-just-red]

A/N: Poured my soul into this a couple weeks ago, am dedicating it to everyone who's similarly torn between Sylus and their original LI- especially my fellow Rafayel girlies! This is not going to help! It's going to make it worse!! 🥰

Unspoken

Sylus x Reader 🩸 (implied Rafayel x reader)

Summary: You could fix all of this if Sylus would just resonate with you. Why won't he resonate with you?

Genre: Angst, so much angst, brace yourselves

Warnings/Additional tags: gn!reader, injury detail, blood, swearing, possibly not lore-accurate (I've taken some creative liberties with Sylus' healing abilities and MC's resonance for the sake of maximum angst, because I like to suffer!)

| Word count: 2k | Masterlist | Opt-in to my taglist here!

Disclaimer: Characters belong to Love and Deepspace. All work is my own, so please don't repost or plagiarise!

“Like the first, warm prickle of sunlight when you step out of a cold shadow.”

“Hmm?”

“That is what you said to him, right?”

Sylus’s eyes are closed, his head leant back against the wall and his whole body heavy with tiredness. He doesn’t move as he asks you the question. Doesn’t fix you with that suffocating, crimson gaze— like he usually does— and you almost miss it. There’s a pain to his tone, accentuating the gravel of his voice, and a part of you thinks it isn’t all for the injuries you’ve set about tending to.

If he was looking at you, you would see it, wouldn’t you? That flicker of melancholy that sometimes liked to betray the rest of him. Maybe that’s why he keeps his eyes closed.

You deliberate his words, trying to ignore the way he tenses as you press gauze to a wound on his stomach. They did feel familiar: a simile dancing at edge of your consciousness, just barely out of reach. It was hard to pursue the past with the present wetting your fingertips, fresh, hot, and red.

One clue: That is what you said to him, right? Him. Him? Who was—

Ah.

Suddenly the words are your own, at the tip of your tongue, because you're saying them in a memory. You were with Rafayel in his studio, reunited and safely returned from the N109 Zone. He had been holding you close, telling you he’d missed you and that he’d been waiting forever; he was so, so bored. You’d smiled fondly. Laced your fingers through his and resonated: wanting to lose yourself in his power, wanting to forget there was any other kind of warmth. He had sighed softly. The sensation was usually buried beneath blood and battle; you’d forgotten how intimate it was.

Then he’d asked you what it felt like.  

“You heard that?” you say to Sylus.

He hums a little. “Not directly.”

“Sylus.”

His name evokes a faint interest, or perhaps it’s the way you said it: chiding, stern— like you were just getting started. His right eye opens, regarding you warily. “Mmm?”

“We’ve talked about this.”

“You’ve lectured me, sweetie.” He leans back again, eyes closed. “There is a difference.”

You resist the urge to wring his neck, especially when it’s bared as invitingly as it is now. It feels calculated. Deliberate. You can almost imagine him lying there, anticipating the fatal vice of your hands. It was what he always seemed to want: to drag you into sin with him.

“I wouldn’t have to lecture you if you actually listened to me,” you reason, releasing a breath. “You can’t keep spying on me, Sy.”

He hums again: this time sceptically. “Can’t I? But you say such pretty things to him, kitten. It’s like watching a melodramatic film. I’d hate to miss it.”

“You’re jealous.”

“Maybe,” he admits with a half-hearted chuckle. “Then again, maybe not.”

You don’t know what to say, so you pretend it’s because you’re busy. Sylus’s hastily rolled up shirt has slipped downwards, catching the edge of his wound, and you lift it delicately, your fingers skirting over skin. His jaw clenches. His hands fist. His mouth is a tight line and you’re not sure what it’s holding onto more carefully: a short hiss of pain or the rest of his confession.

There are always things he isn’t telling you, but he comes closer to it at times like this, when you could do anything to him— cut his throat, collect on so many bounties— and instead you’re just… nice.

It’s the reason he doesn’t call when he’s slumped somewhere after a shootout, his Evol exhausted and his strength draining from half a dozen wounds he can’t quite heal yet. It’s the reason he lay here for who knows how many hours before you found him, rolling his eyes as you rushed to his side, because Luke and Kieran couldn’t keep their mouths shut.

You want to shout at him— want to scold him for being so goddamn stupid— but you don’t. Here you are instead, humouring him and playing nurse, when a simple resonance would suffice. He’d tried to force it before, but now, when you had thrust your hand into his and willed him to take? He’d snatched his hand back. Insisted on bearing his pain ‘the old-fashioned way’.

He was so fucking stubborn.

“What does it feel like with me?”

Sylus’s voice is gentle but his eyes are sharp— cutting into you like a blade striving for bone. It’s an unintentional violence, a jarring: I know what you’re thinking, but I’d rather hear you say it. Kindred spirits; he sees your mind and your heart and then looks at you like it isn’t a weapon. Like you should be grateful for the knife at your throat because you can trust the hand that’s holding it.

“I don’t know.”

“Oh, please,” he scoffs, “if you can conjure up a metaphor for your little artist, you can do the same for me.”

Something is stoked in you, and though you bite your tongue, your careful fingers slip for a moment, pressing into the tender skin at the edge of his wound. Sylus grimaces— hisses— though you could swear there’s a hint of a smile on his lips.

You’d sinned, hadn’t you? “You really wanna know?”

He nods, his eyes on you again. It’s your hand on the knife, and he trusts you implicitly.  

“It’s like… the ocean, I guess.”

“Inspired.”

“Shut up—” you flick his forehead— “just listen, ok? It was overwhelming at first. Zayne, Xavier, Raf… They’re all so powerful. But you? It felt like you could drown me. Like you wanted to drown me.”

Sylus is quiet. You’re running an antiseptic wipe over the smaller scrapes on his stomach, but he doesn’t flinch.

“It was consuming,” you carry on as you work. “Frightening. There was so much of it- so much you- filling my lungs, trying to take my breath away. The entire time I could feel how fathomless it was. I knew if I stopped fighting it I would sink, and that I would never, ever stop.”

You can remember it vividly, especially when you’re as close to him as you are now. Though there’s no more dark energy, twisting around you, dragging you closer, you can still feel its grasp. You can see it, too, when you look up at him: hunger, burning red.

It isn’t a command anymore; it’s a longing.

And you both know you can’t give him what he wants.

“But then I did stop fighting,” you continue, because you can at least answer his question. “And I could still breathe. I was still… myself.” You place a hand on his knee. “It doesn’t scare me anymore, Sy. It’s vast and intimidating, but it’s… exciting, too.”

You smile and give his knee a playful squeeze. “I wanna see how deep it goes.”

He’s stoic for another moment, an apathetic gaze dropping to your hand before lifting to your lips. Then he’s smiling too, leaning closer: “I want to show you how deep it—”

“Don’t ruin it.” You push him back to the wall.

He laughs, running a hand through his white hair, his eyes never leaving yours. There’s a place in his mind where he’s closing the distance again, and he doesn’t care if you know it. You feel the heat in your cheeks betraying you, so you focus back on the man’s injuries: the gash on his stomach has already bled through your bandages. It’ll need stitches.

You sigh, starting to peel back your previous work.

“Does it hurt?” Sylus asks. “Now that you’ve… stopped fighting?”  

You glance up, and he’s examining his hand like it’s a gun he hasn’t yet fired and so can't know the power of. He flexes his fingers, pale in the light. “A little,” you admit, thinking of Zayne’s ice and Rafayel’s fire. Resonating was always a trust exercise: it could kill you, could burn, and you had to be willing to let it. “But I can handle it.”  

Used bandages tossed aside, Sylus’s wound looks as dire as when you’d first lifted his shirt to find it. You lean back, lips pursed in bleak assessment; somewhere at the back of your mind, Zayne is insisting this is a job for a real doctor.

“That bad, huh?”

You huff in answer, exhausted. You shoot Sylus a look of defeat before gingerly offering your hand.

His eyes flit between it and you, and you have to give another nod of encouragement before he surrenders. He holds his breath— it’s slow— his forefinger gliding tentatively up your wrist, spelling a silent question, before tracing a circle in your palm. He closes his eyes. His long fingers spread yours and he’s claiming your hand with something between reverence and sin.

His touch trespasses delicately. His Evol doesn’t.

You bite back a gasp as power surges through you, dark and devouring. Your eyes snap shut and your hand tightens around his, not knowing if it’ll ground you or drag you deeper, not caring so long as there’s something in all this everything to hold onto. This could kill you— you would let this kill you, but it won’t. Your nails are leaving crescents in his skin and you know, you know, the world will burn long before you do.

This is different than the others. Better than the others.

Suddenly your hand is empty and the darkness is not a promise but a place where you’re alone. Your eyes flutter open, searching for an anchor. Your head is swimming.

“Are you alright?” Sylus is looking at you, his hand on your shoulder, steadying you, and it takes everything in your power not to grasp it again.

So empty. So alone. “I’m fine,” you manage, but your voice is shaking.

“Tch.”

He’s not a man who wastes his time, and he knows better than to push that particular lie. Rejuvenated, he sits up, stretching his arms and rolling his shoulders— reacquainting himself with the strength of his body. He’s imposing again. Looming over you, again. His wounds have all healed, and you watch as the stains of his blood lift and disintegrate, like embers on a breeze.

His hand moves to massage his neck, and he yawns as he lazily tips his head from side to side. “Enjoying the show, sweetie?”

You don’t really hear him. He chuckles, pulling his shirt back down before waving a hand in front of your face; you catch it in a heartbeat. “Stop it.”

“There you are.” 

He twists his wrist free, but then your fingers are around his hand, turning it over so you can get a better look. Your thumb traces thoughtfully over the marks you’d made. “Aren’t you going to heal—”

“No,” he smirks.

He wants you to ask him why, so there’s no way in hell you’re going to. You both have your secrets: some worn on the sleeve and others, clutched a little closer to the chest. What does it feel like with me? You turn the question over in your mind as you tidy up wet gauze and bandages. You had told him the truth, just not all of it.

Like how you don’t lose yourself in him, but feel more yourself than you ever have.

Like how every time it gets easier, but so much harder to stop.

“So,” you mutter, distracting yourself, “are you happy with your metaphor?”

Sylus mulls it over as he studies you, a faint glow in his right eye. There are also things he wants to say, but he’s thinking of you and the artist, locked in a wistful embrace in a cluttered studio, so he keeps them to himself. His gaze tells you what he doesn’t: that he will bear it with a smile, for you, and that he will hold onto it long after it makes his hands bleed.

“It was a trifle trite, perhaps. Though… sweet,” he purrs. “Who knew a kitten could be so eloquent?”

“Fuck you.”

“Mmm.” He grins as he looks at your marks on his skin. “That’s better.”

[kaythefloppa]

Wild Kratts: Our Blue and Green World Trailer.

Underneath the cut for those who consider it to be spoilery, but we have a trailer for the one-hour special, Our Blue and Green World, airing April 1st, 2024.

The Kratt brothers disagree on what's better; blue oceans or green forests. Aviva takes on the role of referee to demonstrate how oceans and forests work together to make our living planet, just like Martin and Chris need to keep working together. It's up to the gang to get Martin and Chris back in sync in time to save planet Earth from Zach and Paisley's villainous plans.

This special was first mentioned back in May of 2023 during an interview with Martin Kratt heralding the show's premiere of its 7th season. The original title was Blue and Green: The Living Earth before it was chaned to our Blue and Green World. The episode will feature climates and habitats corresponding with the Kratt's "blue and green." With it, will come the introduction of new Creature Power Suits: The ones we have seen thus far in the trailer are Indri Power, Green Anaconda Power, and Blue Whale Power.

My thoughts:

HOLY SHIT THE BLUE WHALE SUIT

HOLY SHIT THE BLUE WHALE SUIT

HOLY SHIT THE BLUE WHALE SUIT

*calms down.*

Ok but I'm starting to see a weird pattern in the PowerSuits in this season. For some strange reason, they have to retrofit the wearer's mouths to match the ACTUAL anatomy of the animal the suit is based off of. They did it with the Wild Pony and the Mountain Goat Power Suit and both of them were.... ugh. Now they did it with the Blue Whale Suit and to be fair, while I hate that particular feature, it's not enough to make me hate the suit. In fact, I kinda like it more because of how silly it looks (Martin is the perfect person to wear this suit tbh). Still though, I wish they designed it like the Crocodile, Hippo, or Puffin Suit where the giant mouth is simply an attachment that doesn't move while the wearer speaks.

For those who don't know, Indris are the largest species of lemur in the world (alongside Diademed Sifakas). They are the only animals besides humans that can find and use rhythm using "wailing songs" to communicate. They're also critically endangered due to slash and burn of their habitats and poaching for their flesh as delicacies (yeah, very odd that Gourmand isn't here, but I digress). There's an estimate to be less than 10,000 left in the wild and are expected to have a population net decrease by 80% within the next 30 years... yeah, considering that they're endemic to Madagascar, not a very good sign. I didn't even know what an Indri was until reading the article, and if I'm not the only one who had no clue about these guys, it's probably definitely a good sign that they're getting some spotlight in this show.

The Indri Power Suit looks so goofy, but again, something about how silly it looks just makes me appreciate it all the more. I... weirdly expected it to be way bigger like the Puffin Suit, but again that's just me.

I am a huge fan of how they designed the snake-inspired Creature Power Suits in the show. But the Anaconda Creature Power Suit... holy shit.

LOOK AT IT /POS

Look at the markings! Look at the green! Look at the patterns, and the color schemes! Chris FINALLY got a green Creature Power Suit to activate! Our boi won! It's also a pretty clever callback to the Amazon special where Chris met the Anaconda (I really hope the Power Disc for this suit is green because god that would be so aesthetically pleasing).

Ngl, if the old flash games were still on the website, and this was one of the Power Suits I could earn for my character, I'd play it in a heart-beat.

I'm really interested to see the Zach/Paisley team up. This season already started to utilize her better by giving her another solo appearance, and now we're seeing a 1 on 1 team up with her and another villain. I was always gunning for a Paisley/Donita teamup but this works too. They're both very similar characters that can bounce off each other in similar, yet different ways (I actually headcanon that they're related - second cousins to be exact - because of those similarities). The final battle is gonna be kickass.

If you were to tell me without any context at all that this was a screencap from the upcoming WK feature film (that this episode is often mistaken for), I would believe you. Because HOLY SHIT! The linework, the lighting, the hues, AND the shading! I am becoming more and more grateful for the 2-year long hiatus - the animators needed time to cook and they fucking COOKED. For an extended TV episode, this is pretty damn impressive.

People don't talk enough about this, but fun-fact: A lot of the animators of this show had experience working for Disney. Erika Worthylake was one of the artists on this show, doing several beta designs for animals such as wild ponies and salmon sharks. In 2019, she was the lead designer for Anga, one of the new characters in Disney's The Lion Guard (which, much like Wild Kratts, was animated in Toon Boom). Ben Balistreri had collaberated with the Kratt Brothers and Luc Chamberland in 2007 to work on the show's pilot episode, creating several different designs for the animated characters. Ten years later, he became the executive co-producer of Tangled: The Series. Kendal Brouet, who animated A Creature Christmas, worked on The Proud Family: Louder and Prouder in 2022. Just to name a few. It's just a fun little thing that comes up in the back of my mind whenever the topic of WK animation comes up, and this instance of animation is so fucking good that I HAVE to talk about it, because I have MAJOR respect for these guys, and if there were ever moments in the show that remind me "Oh, this slaps," I just remember what these talented artists worked on through the years and it clicks together nicely in my brain.

According to Whrokids, this episode is gonna have a runtime of 58 minutes. I found this screenshot of someone who did far more searching and sleuthing for new episode content (they were the ones who found this trailer actually). I'm not sure how valid this particular screenshot is, but if this is the case, then this will be the longest episode of Wild Kratts in history, and will be the closest thing we get to a Wild Kratts movie (until the actual WK movie is released in theaters).

Fucking. Hyped.

[s3mi-ch4rm3d]

can we stay for a while and listen for heaven?

A/N: my first fic !!!! i wrote this between the hours of 1 and 4am so i hope its not shit asjkffjkd

please please please reblog, comment and like !!! if you have any feedback please feel free to drop it too (:

"You’d told him earlier that this building was his home. You were wrong – he fights the urge to say it now. To chant ‘The four walls have nothing to do with it. My home isn’t this house, it’s you. It’s here, in my arms’ until his throat runs dry. "

desc; veteren!reader x simon riley. he comes home on leave after a (kind of) disagreement. all fluff, some non-sexual nudity (a soft little affectionate shower scene). should be fairly gender neutral!!

"Hear the storm dances outside Something set free is running through the night And the dark awaits us all around the corner But here, in our place we have for the day Can we stay a while and listen for heaven?"

Simon “Ghost” Riley, more weapon than man, almost falls to his knees weeping at the sight of you.

You stand, some thirty-feet ahead of him, holding a pistol aimed at his head with perfect precision. Hair wild and sleep-tousled, one of his shirts hanging to about mid-thigh, eyelids drooped and eyebrows furrowed in confusion, lips forming a perfect ‘O’ and he swears to whatever divine being still watching that one day he’ll be brave enough to marry you. 

He’d poetically liken himself to a man returning home from war, but the simile cuts a little too close.  

You lower the weapon, flick the safety on (he narrowly bites back the urge to praise you) before launching it towards the sofa and launching yourself at him. He ignores the burning in his injured side and returns the fervour, arms finding your waist with practised ease. After almost fifty hours awake, Simon allows himself to feel the exhaustion that permeates his bones. He sinks into you – into your warmth, your scent, your love. He fears he’ll never be able to let go again.

You somehow detach yourself enough to blink up at him, eyes still half-lidded. “You’re back,” you whisper, voice so roughened with sleep that he can only make out half the syllables, “thought you were comin’ back next week?” 

“Sorry, darlin’. Should’ve given you a heads up.” He hates how fatigued he sounds, even to his own ears, but he can’t keep up the act. Not with you. 

“Nonsense, Simon Riley.” Your nose scrunches, voice mimicking severity. The way your mouth sounds the shape of his name ringing through his head like a stricken bell, “This is your home, too. You know you don’t need permission to come back.”

He doesn’t know, not really. Especially not at the moment. He’d half expected you to shove him back out the door duffle still in hand if he were honest. After almost two weeks of not speaking, of dodging calls and ignoring texts, he figured he’d deserved it. The knot of guilt begins to twist his stomach. 

You must sense his hesitation – reading him like a book always was a favourite pastime of yours – because you press your face back into his chest, squeezing him briefly before releasing him.  He barely has time to mourn the loss of your warmth before you’re hooking your pinky with his, intertwining your fingers. 

You lift yourself onto your tiptoes, face hovering just a few centimetres away from his, before you whisper.

“You’re not getting into our bed smelling like shite, Si. ‘M hosing you down." 

He watches as the corners of your lips turn up into one of your signature lopsided grins and before he can stop himself he’s leaning in to kiss it, mask be damned. Since there are no merciful gods left, you duck out of the way before his mouth can stick the landing, letting out a squawk of laughter as you swipe out of the way of his arms. He finds his lips mimicking yours beneath the fabric. 

“You’re not kissing me til you brush those fuckin’ teeth, either. Dirty man.”

“I thought you liked the way I taste, love.”

You snort, pinky latching onto him again, leading him towards the bathroom of your darkened house. Reiterate your previous statement by muttering a “filthy man” under your breath. The radiance of dawn spills through the closed blinds as the sun begins its endeavour across the sky once more. Simon follows dutifully behind you. 

Your unoccupied hand fumbles before finding the string of the light switch. You give it a firm tug and cool light blares into the room. Simon barely has time to hiss before you’re tugging it off again, encasing the room in darkness once more. You hum softly, murmuring apologies as you lead him to the toilet seat. 

“Sit. I swear I have fake candles somewhere, I’ll find them.”

An objection rises in his throat, although he obeys instantly, perching on the lid of the toilet. He watches in the low light as you flit about the room, rummaging through bottles and loofahs and sponges before letting out a small “aha!”. 

You methodically disperse small, white discs around the room, clicking them on as you go. Warm light flickers throughout the room, much less overbearing than the beacon overhead. You turn to face him again and he lets out a sigh through his nostrils. You’re far too endearing like this; completely dishevelled, all soft smiles and teasing words. 

He can see it with a bit more clarity now, the way worry has been eating at you. In the dim 'candle' light, he notices the state of your lower lip, chapped and bitten, and the smudges of blue that frame your eyes. The knot that sits at the base of his stomach twists again, digging in, and he tightens his jaw to stop himself from spilling I’m sorry’s like a mantra.

“You planning on washing your clothes as well as your body, babes?” 

Your voice pops the bubble of his self-pity. He blinks thrice, grateful for the mask to hide the downwards tilt of his lips. He attempts to sound breezy as he replies, though it comes out with more bite than he’d like. Typical. 

“Figure it’s the quickest way to stop smelling of ‘shite.’”

It’s your turn to sober yourself as you cast your eyes over him, eyebrows furrowing. You must catch it; the way, however subtle, his body responds to his injury – hunched slightly to one side as if trying to curl protectively around it. He straightens his spine at your scrutiny. 

“You’re hurt,” you whisper, voice so tender, as you take two slow steps towards him, “your side?” Your eyebrows furrow, hands absently reaching for him. 

“It’s nowt, darls. Just some bruising. I…” He rolls the request around on his tongue. He swears it burns, to ask more of you after you’ve given so much. “I need a hand. Can’t really… bend. Sorry.”

Your reaction is immediate. You drop to your knees in front of him, hands reaching for his laces, face set in gentle determination. 

“It’s no bother, handsome.” You’re quick to soothe, to reassure. Always so quick to give him what he needs. He softens like warm butter. “Get started up there, and we’ll meet in the middle.” You toss him a cheeky wink, face still tinged in a trace of worry. 

Never one to deny you anything, he does as he’s told. Starts with his mask – easy enough. He’s too tired to have any reservations now, especially when you’ve spent so many nights devoted to tracing his scars with your lips. He unhooks the straps and slips it from his face, drops the piece of fabric onto the bathroom counter next to him. 

His shirt is… a little bit trickier. He struggles to lift it up above his head, but he manages it soon enough. On his own, despite your assurances that you can help with that, too. He’s a stubborn creature. 

Meanwhile, you’re dutifully and methodically working off his boots. He’s seen those hands broken and bruised, snaked around the grip of so many guns. He’s in awe of their softness; the duality of hands once soaked in blood, now working so gently to undress him. 

True to your word, always, you meet him in the middle. Soft hands ghost over the mottling of bruises littering his left side, shades of purple and blue deep and rich. You frown, casting your eyes up to meet his. Your teeth go to bother your lower lip again but he leans forward to intercept, covering your mouth with his own. 

You hum absently into the kiss, feel the graze of his hand against your jaw, the soft exhale through his nose. You both stay like that for a moment; making no move to deepen the kiss, keeping it light and sweet and oh-so tender. 

You disconnect, your frown banished. He watches through his lashes, eyes half-lidded with relaxation as you stand back up, hands moving to the hem of his your shirt. Simon reaches to help, you swat his hand away. 

“Ah-ah! Just sit back and enjoy the show, Riley. I don’t give ‘em out for free.” You wink, cocky grin rising to your lips. God, he has it bad for you.

“Show me how it’s done, love.”

You put him to shame. Lift your shirt off with one confident sweep of your arms. His hands twitch with the effort to keep them by his sides. The rest comes off just as easily, barring your fluffy socks. You almost end up flat on your arse, cheeks flushed as you slouch against the bathroom counter repeating ‘stop laughing, Simon Riley, or so help me God–’

A few moments later and you’re both in the shower, standing under a stream of water just below scalding. He hisses as the jets hit him, rolling down the planes of his back, slowly loosening the knots along his spine. You’re standing so close, nearly pressed against him, and this time he doesn’t stop himself from slipping an arm around your waist. Your bare forms merge and he feels like a ship returning to harbour. He feels tethered.

You’d told him earlier that this building was his home. You were wrong – he fights the urge to say it now. To chant ‘The four walls have nothing to do with it. My home isn’t this house, it’s you. It’s here, in my arms’ until his throat runs dry. 

The way you tilt into his grasp, your arms winding so naturally around him, slotting against him so perfectly makes him think you already know the words by heart.

After a few minutes, you break away. Simon is just breathing out an objection by the time he notices the loofah in your hands. You squirt a splodge of soap onto it and a wave of your signature scent fills his nostrils. His objections die on his tongue. 

You work the soap into a lather before gently taking one of his arms, eyes flicking up to meet him for a moment in a silent question. He answers with a nod and you get to work, systematically massaging away the layers of grime and dirt. You work in small circles down his arm, scrubbing his armpits and washing the grit from beneath his fingernails with precision, before moving onto his other arm. 

And so the time passes; both arms, across the chiselled plains of his broad chest, down to his navel, spinning him around so you can work your way up his back. Then you’re onto his legs, his feet, before you move on to washing his hair. 

He has to stand facing away from you (much to his despair – you look so focused, your tongue almost poking out in concentration), head tilted back to give you access to the top of his head. Still, you stand on your tiptoes, rubbing and massaging the shampoo into his scalp with firm but doting hands. You hum as you work. 

He’s flooded with warmth at the depth of your devotion. 

Hours or seconds pass by, simultaneously too much and too little time, and you’re done. You guide his form back around to face you, rising up to place a sickeningly sweet kiss to his lips. His body is sagging as the exhaustion finally drapes over him like a well-worn blanket. He blinks to keep his eyes open.

“Your turn?” He murmurs, voice a jumble of syllables. 

“Mmh, I’m okay, babs. We need to get you into bed,” you hum. His eyes close for half a second and by the time he’s opened them again, the shower is off and he’s wrapped in a soft towel. 

“Our bed?”

You huff out a breathy laugh, “Yeah, Si, our bed.”

Pinkies entwined, you lead him once more. Sunrise is fully upon you now, a kaleidoscope of peaches and tangerines spill through gaps in the curtains to bathe the bedroom in pinks and golds. You guide Simon Riley, now far more man than weapon, to his side of the bed. The man barely makes it to a horizontal position before reaching for you -- a request that you happily oblige. 

You settle against him with the same practised ease, curled against his uninjured side, head tucked against his clavicle. He hums beneath you, arms slotting into their designated space around your waist. 

A few moments pass. You’re certain that he’s already asleep when his voice, deep and full of timbre, cuts through the tranquillity. 

“I’m sorry,” he rasps, his large hands dragging up the notches along your spine. “‘M stupid, and I’m sorry.”

“Don’t– you don’t have to, Si. I get it.” You exhale against his collarbone, arms tightening around him. “It was a bad time. I didn’t mean for it– it just came out. I get it.”

Simon murmurs in disagreement, but he returns the motion. Arms squeezing your sides like he needs an anchor, something to hold on to. 

“I shouldn’t have ignored you. I was a coward. I–”

His head turns, lips grazing over the crown of your head. His eyebrows furrow and he freezes for a moment before whispering, voice so quiet you have to strain to hear it. 

“I feel it, too. I can’t– I can’t say it, but I feel it. I do.”

You feel the corners of your lips twitch up involuntarily. This absolute muppet of a man – watching you all evening like you’d hung the stars one by one, like you were some divine creator, some source of eternal beauty that could make the angels quiver. You bite back the urge to laugh, and instead tilt your head upwards, graze your rough lips across the underside of his jaw. 

You whisper back, trying to pour as much love and devotion as you can fit into three words. 

“I know, Si.”

[allwormdiet]

@yugonostalgia2019 Heehee your lb is really fun to read! This is extra funny to me bc on my first Worm read I HATED coil almost as much as you, but when i reread it he grew on me like very slimy mold haha. Fun things to notice: Leviathan seemed to be targeting Coil's base & the Travelers - perhaps the reason for coming to BB entirely? Second - remember how arc 7 Taylor goes on a paranoid rant about how conflict & shit always seems to go down at lunchtime? Notice how Coil asks Dinah about problems before lunchtime & drops his realities then? Not a coincidence :)))

Oh also want to self-indulgently talk about Coil's biggest personality trait/flaw: Hypocrisy. You noticed during the interlude & his speeches that he seems pretty self aware - he knows he's a bad person who enjoys torturing people, wanting power for his own sake right? But he has a self-assuredness too, that he views himself as a good employer, one who provides for his underlings & makes them want to work for him. A very stratch-your/mine-back mentality. Except… what happens when there's someone too valuable a subordinate & too dangerous independent? And if there's nothing Coil can offer them? What can he provide a middle schooler with decent parents to make her want to work for him?? Nothing. So, the mask comes off, the good employer self-image vanishes, & all that's left is power-hungry cruelty……

There's so many things about Coil that make me despise him, not least of which is the way he's an absolute goddamn creep about Dinah, but even if I didn't know that about him I think the foundation of the character, the thing that sends me into a gnashing fury, it's that he's uncool.

Coil is a goddamn criminal mastermind, a supervillain whose organization is held by everyone in the know to be one of the Top Three big dogs in Brockton Bay's underworld, and he doesn't even seem to have his mercenaries committing that many crimes out in the open. I actually don't even know why he's on the books as a supervillain, what crimes he's got on his head that put him in the same caliber as Lung and Kaiser and standing head and shoulders above the Merchants, or whether it's just the resources at his beck and call. He's ambitious, scheming, ruthless, with an air of sophistication. He's got a power that, while limited in certain ways, can be monstrously effective with careful planning.

...But then we get a good look at him and it turns out that all his grand ambitions are for petty greed, cruelty, and an obsession with control, an obsession he can't even blame on being a parahuman because his power is store-bought. His sophistication is a facade, he's incautious the moment it doesn't involve a threat of direct harm to himself. He has no guiding principles, he has no patience or loyalty or humility or anything that could be considered a redeeming feature.

Also, man has no taste and no passion. His costume is weird and he doesn't even bother coming up with a name for his organization, there's no aesthetic flair within a single inch of his soldiers' uniforms or in his underground lair. He's like if a box of bran flake cereal could defraud the stock market and was creepy about middle schoolers.

Like it feels almost even more insulting to me because I love the shit out of criminal mastermind types, I love the plotter in the shadows who pulls the strings and crushes their enemies without even being exposed, I have like multiple OCs who pull that kind of shit and one of them is even a supervillain. It's like catnip for me.

So I guess if we want to extend the simile, Coil is like if I went in for catnip and caught a mouthful of bleach, and also the bleach locked a child in its basement.

(Disclaimer: my stance on Coil in no way reflects how I feel about people who actually like him. If you get a kick out of this guy, that's fine, I don't get it but that's not for me to get, I just want to bite down on him as hard as I can and shake until his bones snap)

[slytherizz]

20 Qs for fic writers

@writing-intheundercroft you’re so Julia ✨ thanks for the tag

How many works do you have on AO3? 9️⃣

What's your total AO3 word count? 195,627

What fandoms do you write for? Hogwarts Legacy but I do have Tedromeda in the works 👀

Top five fics by kudos? Whatever it Takes, In the Shadow of Us, Everything with you, Bludgered, A different kind of wager

Do you respond to comments? Yes - I love responding to comments! I’ve made some really good friends getting to know people that way 💕

What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending? ‘Playing God’ by far. My only fic without any kind of happy ending

What is the fic you wrote with the happiest ending? All my other fics are happy endings (if a tad bittersweet). I’d say my ‘ItSoU’ has the most fleshed out ending. Most of my one shots are smut so those are some very happy endings 😂

Do you get hate on fics? No - thankfully.

Do you write smut? every device I own is haunted by Sallow cock

Craziest crossover? The Secret history x Hogwarts Legacy

Have you ever had a fic stolen? Not that I'm aware of

Have you ever had a fic translated? no - but that would be a vibe

Have you ever co-written a fic before? Nothing published but most of willow shipping is just the girlies cooking together (personal fave is this crack ship has a Dentist AU)

All time favorite ship? Willow 5 eva’

What's a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will? So many! I’m struggling rn with the 2nd chapter of playing god, a Xmas Dad!Seb fic I haven’t touched in months and there’s a fluff fic in drafts called ‘Owl Post’ which will probably never see the light of day.

What are your writing strengths? I think I write quite good metaphors and similes? Also angst. Lots of angst

Thoughts on dialogue in another language? I headcanon Seb as bilingual so I do pepper in the odd phrase in some of my fics (and probably do a terrible job of translating it).

First fandom you wrote in? Drabble for twilight when I was like 12 lol. HogLeg is my first proper fandom writing experience in all honesty.

Favorite fic you've written? This is a hard one. On opposite sides of the spectrum I love my shortest fic ‘Petulant’ I like the smug Seb I wrote and men falling in lakes. On the flip side, my longest fic ‘In the Shadow of Us’ was a labour of love. I’ve never written anything that long let alone finished it and think I improved as a writer because of it.

No twentieth question - but to continue the positive vibes. I love HogLeg fandom, it’s the first time I’ve ever had the confidence to publish any writing or finish anything I’ve started. I’ve made so many lovely friends and I’m so pleased I stopped just lurking on AO3.

No pressure tags💕: @sebastianswallows @cuffmeinblack @thetotomoo @adylorewrites @peanutslore @kaidynsarell

[remadra]

meows. tell me Everything you have on ushanka. i'm new and i like his vibe

Answering after consulting and compiling.

Hi I have an AU called Pale City Teens where all the kids I like survived. It does not matter how canon they are, just that they are canon. It can range from full model and animations to concept art stored in the files of the game. This one is my favorite, he appears for about five seconds and dies immediately. His actual name is The Kid With A Red Scarf but for some reason I could never remember that (Control Car Delete) but I did remember his hat! So I called him Ushanka Kid.

I was talking to @neko-chan-13 about RK being bad at flirting with girls and they said what if the same happens with guys to him, like he doesn't catch on. He could've had a boyfriend but was too dumb to notice it.

Ushanka kid.

We have 20+ AUs featuring Usha and RK as part of the main cast if not the main characters and hop around them like very normal people would.

Based on almost nothing I've made personalities for all the background characters. There's very very little supporting evidence for any of it but it's my dollhouse and I get to play with the dolls with Neko.

SO. Usha (his shortened name) is Russian, he likes heavy clothes, cold weather, and things with engines like cars or trains. He's the oldest at 17 and a half (very important to have the half). We gave him an old bike/motorcycle he built himself and fuels with grain alcohol because I pestered my brother about old cars for an hour (power of home distilleries in post prohibition era type aesthetic world baybey).

I decided to even out the amount of lesbians and bisexuals in my AU by making 1 singular gay boy. He's accidentally our token mean gay of the team with Pretty because he's kind of rude and antisocial.

It's VERY important that he has acne because 1) he does not wash his face 2) he is genetically predisposed and 3) some people just have acne that never goes away :,)). He cares about his friends, but not really anyone beyond them, and doesn't like to stay in one place for long (hence the bike). He's one of the kids that Mono and Six saved in the loops (Six picked to save him because she thought he was funny), so he has the pin from Mono on his hat as a sort of "Hey, don't fuck with me, I have tough friends" to other kids. Mono gives the pins out so he can recognize people since he sucks at facial recognition between time travel and looping.

And he's accidentally a hopeless romantic that just can't get up the nerve to ask out a really stupid guy. Even after he gets RK (good for him) they're both still stupid.

Because we thought it was funny.

I write him as skipping some words when agitated like "the" and "a" because Russian doesn't have those, and avoiding contractions because he wants to be understood clearly. He hates idioms, especially ones easy to screw up like "right from the gecko" (get go), and "add salt to the injury" (insult). He also doesn't like metaphors, similes, analogies, or hyperbole. He just wants people to say what they mean and stop expecting him to understand their unnecessarily complicated phrases.

We have more about him but SOMEONE is taking their sweet fucking time writing that FUCKING FIC and wants to be FIRST.

My version (teenager) versus canon (doll).

Thank you for listening.

(You can check the Scarven tag for more of them together and some poor soul's OC that has that name, or search Little Nightmares Ushanka Kid for more of just this guy in our version.)

[simplyclary]

What I Love About You: An Incomplete List of Things That I Love About Taylor Zakhar Perez

This is going to be a mix of prose and a list, so a mix of Henry and Alex (if you know, you know). This is also gonna be a forever incomplete list because the more I get to know Taylor, the more I fall in love with him and there's always something about him that surprises me every day.

These are also purely descriptive but somehow, the words, similes and metaphors that I use in this is perfectly apt for the way I feel. So take that however you wish.

With that said, here we go...on to the long list.... (Read at your own time, please.)

His beautiful brown eyes that's the color of chocolate that transforms into whiskey when struck by daylight.

His eyelashes that's as long as Bambi's and it frames his dark eyes like the petals of a flower.

His soft yet lethal smile that never fails to make my heart flutter.

His thick dark hair filled with lush curls and somehow always looks both tousled and coiffed to perfection.

His jawline that seems to be perfectly cut that it could slice an apple. (It's mesmerizing to look at, if I feel like being honest)

His physique that could battle Tom Holland and Chris Hemsworth (I swear, someone put him in a superhero movie and I will surely be watching it!)

His deep voice that is pure music to my ears. (One of the main reasons that I rewatch The Kissing Booth 2 is to hear him sing.)

The captivating way his fingers strum the strings of a guitar (I only saw him do this in TKB 2, but still).

His adventurous and nature-loving spirit (A day with him is probably deadly for an introvert like me because he adores adventurous stuff, but hey, I would honestly do it just to spend time with him).

His passion for fashion sustainability (I love that he talks about this on his social media accounts and informs his followers about the effects of synthesized fabrics to the planet).

His fashion sense and the way he can turn even the plainest piece of clothing into a masterpiece (Like that denim blue jacket in RWRB is still one of my most favorite Alex looks).

The way he walks as if the entire world is his fashion runway (Like I swear, Taylor has a way of walking that makes you think that a sidewalk is the fashion catwalk).

The way he slays various types of jewelry (I was never attracted to men wearing jewelry before but something about the way he combines like a necklace with a couple of bracelets and rings is slaying).

His love and care for his family (He is a family-oriented person and I love that so much).

The tight bond he keeps with his friends and co-stars (Like I love how he keeps in touch with Nicholas, Joey and Maisie even after their projects).

His dedication to character work and understanding his characters (He read the RWRB book 7-8 times to fully understand Alex Claremont-Diaz, like that is DEDICATION!!).

The mere fact that he is a bookworm (Taylor is probably one of those people who can read multiple books at once while still able to remember every storyline of each book, which leaves me awestruck because I cannot do that).

His sense of humor and wit that always makes me laugh (His replies to people on social media and sometimes, his captions are filled with puns, which is hilarious to me and I always enjoy reading them. Also when he uses that filter that makes his eyes pop out, hilarious!).

When he portrayed a douche in "1Up" but I couldn't fully hate that character because of him (Like, how could I possibly hate Taylor? I have no reason to. He could portray the vilest of villains and I would still love that character).

How he manages to stay optimistic and how he always protects his peace (Optimism is what we need in today's world, folks!)

His creativity (Like have you seen his tiktoks and videos on Instagram? They slay!!)

He's a big Potterhead (Taylor's read all the books multiple times, ate the candies and sweets featured in the series. He probably has a collection of Harry Potter items at his house).

The way he just does not have any bad angles in photos (He's photogenic from every angle, to be completely honest).

His kindness and openness to fans (his fan encounters are always such a gem to see and it honestly melts my heart).

The way he doesn't let haters and rumors bother him (This is one of the secrets to success in the industry, I guess!)

He's goal-oriented and knows what he wants (I have a feeling he's selective to what projects he pursues and products he advertises because he really knows what he wants to put out in the world).

He knows his values and what he stands for (He lost followers on IG because of posting about his supply chain trips but he didn't let that stop him from continuing to post about them).

His compassionate and loving heart (I won't say more).

His determination to use his platform for good things (He's that kind of influencer and I really love that).

His love for his characters, regardless of how similar or different they are to his own personality.

How fans have no bad things to say about him (Really, ask any TZP fan and they will say no bad things about him).

So...it's kind of ironic how I ended at 31, considering that is Taylor's age but hey, we're not gonna talk about how old he looks because to be honest, he always manages to look younger than he is (I honestly thought he was 27 to 28 in RWRB).

This is the incomplete list of things I love about Taylor Zakhar Perez. Other than what is stated here, I will continue to love him for plenty more reasons, some I cannot even put into words because sometimes, he just renders me speechless.

Feel free to let me know what would you add to my list of things that I love about TZP or if you have your own list of things that you love about him because let's be honest, what's not to love about the one and only Taylor Zakhar Perez?

All my love and Buenas Noches!

[threepoint14art]

Day 6: Fankid.

My children will be happier than I was. My children will be better siblings than we ever were.

surprise! owynn fankids! yay :) Fankids for our ship of owynn x loon x red, AKA what we lovingly title "worlds worst throuple" lmao Their names are Lila and Asiri!

Lila is the brown haired one, she got her animal from red (cicada) and her hair color from loon. Her name is a family tradition thing from red, since Red's guardian is named mauve, color themed! Asiri is the purple haired one, she got her animal from loon (ladybug) and her hair color from Owynn, her name means smile in quechua :)

Their earrings correspond to their blood colors! Lila has a green earring with a little alien since shes interested in those, and Asiri has a yellow sun earring

They both dress in a really simple manner with tshirts or sweatpants, and i think it's a nice way to show that they are comfortable and happy. I make owynn use loose clothes when hes at his worst (hoodies and sweatpants and whatnot) and then over-dress himself when hes compensating (suit and tie, leather jackets, etc), so he never really dresses comfy and feels good about it. These two dressing "lazyly"/ in a simple way and not feeling wrong while playing and being happy is a nice way to showcase how his children are happier than he was, and that he broke the cycle.

On the siblings part of the equation, his girls are really close, they play together and are attached at the hip. Owynn's relationship with his brother is much more strained. They were really close when they were smaller but since vincent was older and also lived in a horrible house, he left once he had the chance and didn't take Owynn with him. Once Vincent was more stable and came back to try and help (repent?) Owynn already hated his fucking guts. The sadness of being left by his big brother was replaced with just raw hatred, how dare he leave? how dare he not live the same way he does? why would he come back? just to rub it in his face that he has actually made a life out of himself while he rotted in the same stupid house? He starts antagonizing him every chance he has, which is laughably easy given the guy is ridden with guilt and depressed. And he wishes he could find it in him to forgive and forget, he wishes he could simply get over him not showing his face when owynn was half fucking mauled to death or in any other of the situations that have happened to him. But he can't, at least not truly. And without the strain of a horrible household, his children will have the bond he wishes they had.

On the subject of their animals: Cicadas are often associated with the act of being reborn or renewed. They represent change and a new begining. A new life now in the sun instead of trapped in the dark and cold underground. ladybugs are said to bring good luck and be "holy", Farmers would pray to Virgin Mary to prevent their crops from being destroyed by pests, and when ladybugs did just that they were titled the bug of the lady or the bug of Mary. Ladybugs are pest control. The reason neither of them are scorpions like Owynn, is because scorpions don't really tend to have any positive connotations (and Owynn himself is acutely aware of that). In the bible they are often associated with a great evil alongside snakes, a simile to wicked people (Ezekiel 2:6), enemies (Luke 10:19), cruelty (Revelation 9:10) and are in some versions present in the locust plague of egypt (despite them not being locusts, but yknow old book and all) Scorpions, even the non lethal ones (like owynn) are nuisance pests. meaning that more than a danger they are just a nuisance. A sore sight for the eyes and a creature that you simply don't like. Because why would you? Even if it can't do serious damage to you it looks monstrous, even if its not deadly it can hurt you and it crawls like vermin. Pests are meant to be erradicated. So them NOT being scorpions is good for owynn's brain because he's kind of insane about being one ^^

And that's it :D bonus of the first ever time i conjured up the designs for those two lol

[wierdpersonononelikes]

Don't leave me (Brienne of Tarth x fem reader)

“Ugh i hate having night duty” night duty was the worst i always hated it there is only a few times where I like being outside, i love when Brienne is out here with me she is the one that makes me like being out here she is so pretty but she is in love with someone else even though some people still hate him i guess she loves him how I wish to be that man ughh, but as soon as I keep walking near the gate I heard two people two very familiar voices getting closer I saw Brienne and Jaime but jaime was on a horse like if he was leaving but before riding off, Jaime tells Brienne "You think I'm a good man? I pushed a boy out a tower window and crippled him for life, for Cersei. I strangled my cousin with my own hands justice in to get back to Cersei. I would've murdered every man, woman, and child in Riverrun for Cersei. She's hateful. And so am I.” I stayed looking at them. Yes, my heart broke because from what it looked like, Brienne and him had spent most of the night together, but that did matter. I just felt bad for her, but that is when I heard her say, "You're not like your sister - you're better than her. You're a good man. You don't need to die with her. He mounts his horse and rides away, leaving Brienne in tears behind him. (from what I remember that is how it happened if it happened like that imagine that part but How it actually happened) I froze I wanted to hug her I felt bad but I also wanted to scream how foolish I was I thinking I would have a chance with her tears start to fall from my face I just couldn’t stop them but when I realized she was moving I tried to pretend like nothing happened wiping my tears she looks at me I look at her she looks devastated knowing what just happened how is she not “ser Brienne are you okay” I asked knowing that she wouldn’t answer we weren’t that close we did talk but she would never let me get that close and hurted knowing that I would never be able to with her “nothing happened just taking a walk and thinking about some of the things that have happened” I stare I felt tears coming but I was able to stop them I wouldn’t want her to know what I know “should go to your room it getting colder and we don’t want one of our best fighters to get sick” I tighten the blanket the she had and squeezed her shoulds giving her a simile “I will” she said staring at my eyes “have a great rest of your night Ser Brienne” as soon she turn to the corner I started to breath again I didn’t realize I stoped breathing I stare at the stars and waited. (time skip because I need to work but I’m doing this instead) It was finally morning I wasn’t tired so I went to eat breakfast and saw Brrienne so I went to sit with her, put my breakfast on the table and sat in front of her she looked up and saw “good morning Ser Brienne” “good morning“ she mumbled I sat down and started to eat “wait aren’t you supposed to be sleeping” I stared at her for a bit “yeah but that was my last night duty so i'm not tired” she stared at me she tighten the grip of her fork and slammed it “well I hope you don’t fall asleep during training” I smiled at her as I put a piece of food in my mouth and said “you don’t have to worry about me” and smiled it is hard try to make her feel better after what happened yesterday night, but she just rolled her eyes I hope I can make her feel better (time skip because I am supposed to be doing work) it was good to be close to her during raining I can have an eye on her and how she is doing i hope she can get better soon from her herat being broken… where is she… fuck I was just looking at her right now.

End of POV

Brienne’s POV

After hard training and holding my feelings I can let them out. I hate this. Why am I falling in love with someone that we are going to war in the next couple of days, months. I hate him but I love him at the same time.(Day 2) There is something wrong with Y/n I feel like she is trying to cheer me up but it feels like she knows ugh i hate this, i start to hear footsteps getting near gives me sometime to wipe my tears and sit down looking at the lake “uh Brienne is that you” Y/n what is she doing here “yeah it’s me don’t worry” what the heck I is she following me ever since when she saw me last night I feel like she is following me “Brienne I need to tell you something” “what is it” please tell me that you didn’t saw or heard anything from last night please “so last night-” I knew it shit what I’m going to do how do I tell why her “I heard and saw something I think You know what it is”I felt tears start running down my tears…

End of POV

Y/n’s POV

“I heard and saw something I think You know what it is” I looked at her face and I see tears “I’m sorry I didn’t me-” “it’s fine can you just leave me alone for while please” I get up start to walk and just see Brienne’s back and I tell her “if you need someone to talk to you can talk to me” I started walking to the camp again I was tired I feel sick but I need to go eat some lunch and go train the wars is starting soon again (time skip day 2 working on this really good progress) night time, I spend all day training because tomorrow morning we take our way to king's landing I really don’t want to go ugh is going to take to long to get to king's landing (let’s make it long even though in the last season it was like in a few minutes they were already there) (Day 3) while looking somewhere to sit I see Brienne sitting alone again so I decide to sit in front of her ‘should I sit next to her… yeah’ I walk up to the table and she looks up and I just simile and she looked down to her plate “so how you are doing” “none of your business” “aww come on Brienne don’t be like that”I said pouting and I laughed she looked at me like mad and I just cleared my throat “Brienne“ “yes” “listen I understand what you are goint through that is why I’m trying to cheer you up” “what you mean that you went through the same thing I am I don’t think you fell for a traitor and when he was being good he left you beause he thinks he is like he sister but he is not” I looked at her tears started to form in my eye I was already broken from what I heard that night because no matter what he did she still would defend him and love “well you think I didn’t went through something like that well let me tell you I try to show that person how much I cared for them, I even tried to show my feelings for them but ignored it and they decided to be with someone I knew that they where youst going to break their heart and I was right but you know what I did I tried to spend my days as normal as posible but still hurts to think about it hurts and you don’t know how that feels at least he spend some time with you." She looked at me and there were tears in my face. I wiped them before getting up “you really don’t know what it feels like when you love someone and they chose someone else” and I left for my room. I took my armor and went to the fire and sat there crying.

End of POV

B.O.T POV

‘Shit what do I do now she left and couldn’t even apologize for what I Said I wish I would haven’t said anything she was just trying to cheer me up but I guess she went through something too’  I ran outside and looked for her and as much as I tried I couldn’t find her I decided to look for her in her room but when I reached her door I heard sobs I wanted to knock the door but I feel like she might not want to talk to me I leave and go to my own just a few rooms pass it  I take my armor and sit by the fireplace ‘I regret everything I said to her I feel like an idiot ugh, I decide to read a book (time skip again this time is because I’m lazy) it was already late I think there shouldn’t be anyone in the baths (I forgot what they are called) I go down looking for the baths place (I that is what I’m calling those things now) when I got there I enter and saw Y/n and she was there sitting there I was going to clear my throat but I saw her moving but when (Day4)  I saw again she was already up I, decided to hide but I don’t know Why I did that but in my tempt to hide I accidentaly knocked something but lucklky I was able to hide

  End Of POV

Y/n POV

While crying in my room I fell asleep when I woke up I decide to go to the bath place when I enter the place was empty which it was good I took my clothes off and went in the water was hot just the way I like it I spend like a few minutes in and I started to think ‘how much I love Brienne but I guess she only has eyes for jaime, which is sad because everything we went through but I guess is my heart’s fault’ I felt tears on my face. I pulled my legs to my chest and sat there, I decide to go in fully to wet my head, I got up and when I was about to down I heard something fall I turn around and I see no one there so I turn to continue my bath (time skip) when I was done I dry myself and left for my room and I saw Brienne standing outside of my room “yes” “uh, I was wondering you where ok” “why do you care, stop bothering me and fuck off” I went inside my room and slammed my door (day 4 actually 6 but im working on it so it counts as 4) layed in my bed tears running down my face ‘what have I done to deserve this’ cried for a long time wich means I cried myself to sleep  (sorry im tired I don’t know what to write) (time skip yeah) it’s and morning we are getting ready to leave I putted my armor on and went to eat breakfast there isn’t to many people awake which I was glad I saw an empty table and went to sit down my back facing the door few moments later I see someone put a plate on the table when I look up I saw Brienne her golden hair that it shines with the sunlight and her blue eyes that when you look at them you can feel the breeze of the ocean but shoke those feelings and just looked at her while sat and started to eat she looks at me and says “what” “well what are you doing here” “eating don’t you see” “yeah I know” “so what you asking” “you know what I’m leaving to get ready” I as I got up she gtrabed my hand and she said “sit down” I saw her face sort of mad angry I don’t know is that face that she mades to scare everyone so I sitted back down “what do you want” “I wanted to apologize for saying what I said I know you only wanted to cheer me up and thanks for that” there it is it again after she said those words that light turned on again those feelings that where leaving after everything happened well that I was making leave came back but stronger but I couldn’t I had to fake it I cant let her know not until we go to war. She looked at me I could see she wasn’t lying Brienne had this look on her face that said that she wasn’t lying “ok fine” “thank god” said Brienne ”so are you still gonna  cheer me up everyday” “I don’t know you tell Ser Brienne do you want to cheer up everyday” “hmm let me think, it sounds like a great idea so maybe” we both just laughed until it was time to leave we were in the same group so we are going to be together all the time perfect to make things better.

End of POV

A New POV

As time passes Brienne and y/n spend more time together they laugh and they like to talk about Y/n feelings for Brienne grew and Brienne she was falling for… well she fell for Y/n she still like jaime but not as much as she likes Y/n but they were getting close to king's landing that is what she doesn’t like she is afraid something happens to her or Y/n.

End of this POV

Y/N POV

“Brienne can we talk for a while” “yeah wassup bean” (hey it just came to mind for some reason so yeah) I told her to follow me we were next to a river and I wanted to cry “Brienne there is something I have to tell you” “okay go ahead” Brienne for sometime I had feelings for you and after this couple of months they have becoming stronger so this is my way of telling you I love you” “Y/n… I… I Love you to this past couple of months I was able to forget about jaime and focus on you the way you are and everything makes me love you” “so that means you want to be my partner”  “yeah you little shit” (hehehe) “but Brienne can we get together after the war” “why” just so we can leave happily without having to worry someone is going to attack us” I looked at Brienne she thinks about for a minute “yeah I guess that makes sense” (time skip where everything is getting melted and they are fighting at the end of everything) “Brienne we won we can finally be toge—”. I don’t understand why we won. I look at Brienne and she screams I feel fuzzy.

End of POV

Brienne POV

I look for Y/n when I heard her say “Brienne we won I look ate her and I was going to start to walk up to her when I see someone behind her “we can finally be toge–” I ran and stab my sword on the gerd stomach and cut his throat  i bend down and pick y/n up and started to run I need to get her to a nurse lucky the camp was near but far away to run, I was able to find a horse “y/n look at me” “y/n please look at me” as I try to ride the horse and keep pressing on the wound I see y/n looking at me “darling please don’t leave me” “Brienne If I die I would be leaving happy I was able to tell you how I feel so please don’t be sad I would always love you” I get to the camp I look around were the nurses are and I lay Y/n in the bed “ser Brienne we need you to get out” I look at y/n and give her a kiss she grabs my face and says” everything would be fine” her hand slips and I leave I saty outside and wait and I see a nurse “ser Brienne about Y/n…”

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Surprise 😮, this was supposed to come our yesterday but I couldn't. Anyway, i tried my best writing it. I do hope I did well. I accidentally added some random words right now because I was editing some things 😅

[donnerpartyofone]

Even though it pains me that my expensive new phone's camera refuses to focus on an entire close-up image, even a flat one, and I am assured by many forums and reddits and the like that I'm doing it right and this camera just sucks, I will still share one of the great, sadly uncredited illos from my little old copy of Ray Bradbury's The Golden Apples of the Sun (great title stolen from a Yeats poem).

I've never read any Bradbury before, except for Fahrenheit 451 in high school which I compared so unfavorably with 1984 that I maybe didn't give it a fair try. Anyway, some of these short stories are good--or parts of them are, individually. I find him overly flowery at times, like he'll start out with a really strong description that catches my interest, but then he ruins it by continuing to add adjectives and similes just to be novel, and it's like buddy you nailed it a minute ago, what are you doing to yourself? And a lot of it is excessively sentimental in this kind of condescending way. For me the perfect example of his affect (so far) is a story where about 90% of it is just this beautiful description of a guy walking around in the suburbs on a November night, it's just captivating and the pleasure the character takes in this activity is so vividly conveyed--but then at the last minute it turns into this thing about how he's being thrown in a mental institution because he likes to go outside and read books instead of watching TV all the time, and it's just so smug and obnoxious.

There's a certain trend in science fiction, maybe it's partially his fault but it seems like a natural temptation, to congratulate the present, or even the recent past, for being so wholesome and righteous. Which is like, dystopia is a trope that I enjoy for sure, but there's a difference between saying "Humanity could be headed in a bad direction due to certain vices and imbalances," and saying "Humanity should leave everything exactly the way it is right now (or the way it was in my romanticized memories of my own childhood) because it's already perfect." It's very easy to become hyper-conservative and self-satisfied about your personal good old days. I wish I had a bunch of examples at the ready, I'm sure you can think of some or you'll notice it next time you see one, but very often the hinge issue is books. Like even as a reader and also a writer, I feel a little insulted by stories where ultimate virtue is exemplified by a character's love of reading, or villains are clearly identified because they hate books for whatever reason. OK, we get it, you're better than everybody else because you write! Good thing we're in the club too, how else could we be reading a book right now if we weren't inherently superior to the rest of the universe?

Anyway, the story this illo is from got me thinking about the notion of prescience in fiction. Like once in a while you get truly weird visions of the future (I just wrote this thing about futuristic frissons in each of the Cronenberg kids' first films), but I suspect that sometimes what seems to be a prophecy of the future is really just an acknowledgment of something inevitable. "The Murderer" takes place in a future where there is absolutely constant stimulation being broadcast from every quarter; all of life is one big billboard, there's no relief from being in constant electronic contact with everyone you know, and there's entertainment blasting out of everywhere in a continuous onslaught of overstimulation. The title character starts "murdering" all the devices, and all the stuff in his smart home, until he gets institutionalized. And on the most obvious level it's just Bradbury congratulating himself for being such a balanced and thoughtful person, again, but it's also like well, all that stuff was really coming. And did Bradbury really need to be (as they called him) the Greatest Living Science Fiction Writer in order to see it coming? Or was it just obvious, from ordinary trends in human behavior, that life would inevitably tend toward this state of constant connectivity and constant stimulation, with an eventual eradication of peace and privacy?

I used to like to listen to Damien Echols talk about all his occult learnings from his monastic existence in prison, and something he would say (he probably got this from somewhere else and I missed it) is that a prophet is not someone who predicts the future; a prophet is a person who understands the past. This made a lot of sense to me, that if you're sharp enough to see what generally happens, it's easy enough to see where things are headed. I think this is probably true of a lot of fiction we'd call prescient-- that if you look closely, it becomes clear that what it describes is sadly obvious.

[yourbestpalpercy]

Well, this was a weird dream…

At the moment, Pal was speaking to a strange android that was waay too intrusive about Pal being human. Pal had to fight the thoughts of tearing the thing apart with his wires. “Please stop!” Pal hissed, slapping the Tartar’s hand rather aggressively. “I hate being touched…” Pal hissed.

The android, Tartar, moved his hand away. “So, where’d you come from?” It asked, brushing off what Pal said. “I’m from Maine! Welton, Maine…” Pal took a few quick steps away from Tartar. “HA! Maine’s been underwater for exactly 11,067 years! It was actually one of the first places to go under!”

“Then explain how exactly I’m here!” Pal tightly grabbed Tartar’s hand when he went to poke his head band. “And stop. Touching. Me.” Tartar yanked his hand away.

“Hm, maybe you should recount the events before arriving here?” Tartar tilted his head roughly.

“Well, I remember creating a machine…one of my Tamaz entered it while I wasn’t looking and- wait! Wait! D-Did you see a particularly lanky, black creature with the body of a tamagotchi by any chance??” Pal’s tail flicked free, the tip shaking quickly behind him.

“Tama..gotchi creature? Uhm, I think I saw something simil- Is that a tail!?” Tartar shouted, suddenly with disgust in his voice.

“Huh?” Pal glanced back before shoving his tail back away, “Uh- no?? Not at all! Just a stray cable,” Pal smiled a fake smile.

“Likely story, I saw that! It was moving like a tail!” Tartar glared into Pal’s eyes.

“No idea what you’re talking about.”

“You do though.”

“Are you sure it was a tail though? It’s awfully dark here.”

“I’m very sure! That was a tail!”

“Hmmm…nope! I don’t think it was.”

Tartar suddenly grabbed Pal by his shoulders and shook him, “You’re not human-...what are you…?” He coldly asked, grabbing Pal even tighter.

“I-I-I wouldn’t assume-!” Pal hissed when Tartar suddenly dug his claws into Pal’s shoulder, drawing some green blood and covering his hand.

“And what’s this, hm? I know humans better than anyone. They don’t have green blood…”

“What- what makes you think that?” Pal pulled away from Tartar and tried to stop the bleeding before it healed up quickly.

“Your blood stopped quicker than it’s supposed to…hm..” Tartar suddenly slashed Pal’s chest, causing more of that green blood to stain his claws. The green light that came from the blood was enough to allow Tartar to see Pal’s quick healing.

“...fast healing, impressive…” Pal suddenly attempted to run away when Tartar stepped on his tail and grabbed him. “I hope you don’t mind. I just need a little bit of this…” Pal spun around quickly and dug his black claws into Tartar’s horn. “LET ME GO!” A wire erupted from Pal’s back now to shove Tartar away from him.

Tartar grabbed Pal tighter before snapping his fingers. Some strange, purple sparks started to shoot from a panel on the back of his head as Pal kept shoving and trying to push and wriggle his way out of Tartar’s grasp. His crank started spinning fast. “YOU AIN’T THE FIRST CRAZY AI I’VE FOUGHT AND YOU WON’T BE LAST I BEAT!”

“Bold of you to assume you’ll win this!” Tartar bit down on Pal’s wires and continued to hold him in place. Pal could hear something coming but couldn’t quite make out what until Tartar opened a door and flung the inventor inside. Instantly, his eyes filled with colors before the platform raised, bringing him to a container.

“Kids! Seriously, so annoying…” Tartar grumbled and crossed his arms.

“I’M 30 YEARS OLD! I HAVE A DRIVER’S LICENSE, YOU JERK!” Pal screamed, slamming his fists on the glass.

“It still counts!” Tartar hissed back before staring at the buttons before him. “Now, let’s see here…”

“Is this a f*cking blender!?” Pal kicked at the walls of the container.

“Correct! Have fun while I extract the blood I need, you mimic…” Tartar leaned on the button. “While your death rapidly approaches, you tell me about this other world, will you? The one with humans!” Tartar smiled sickeningly.

“I’m not a mimic! I did, truly, use to be human! I’m not telling you what changed though!” Pal was cut off- oh, sorry, cut up rather quickly afterwards.

“Huh, oh well, you are rather tiny…” Tartar mumbled, disappointed until Pal shot up from the blood inside the blender, fully reformed.

“Oh! How pleasant!” Tartar smiled excitedly, “You reformed!”

“Of course I did! I can’t die! I’ve tried so–!”

Tartar pressed the button again, cutting Pal up again before he reformed and now tried to keep himself above the green blood.

“You’re psychotic!”

“STOP THAT!”

“IT DOESN’T HURT BUT–!”

By the time the blender was full, Pal was pulling himself out of the blender and coughing up his own blood. “W-W-W-Was that necessary…??” Pal hacked before Tartar picked him up, grinning and giggling.

“Very necessary. See, you’re actually worth something. You’re playing a valuable role in my experiments. This blood could be extremely useful…if the effect applies to everything else!”

Wires suddenly exploded from Pal’s back, holding Tartar still. Pal wasted no time slamming Tartar into the blender and submerging him. “Asshole! Now then, I’m going to go find Tamalanki IN PEACE!” Pal closed the blender afterwards so Tartar would have a harder time chasing him.

“Jesus…!” Pal grabbed the bridge of his nose before a portal reformed before him and pulled him in. Guess that happened to TamaLanki too because when Pal reawoke in his warehouse, TamaLanki was rambling on about what happened to him to the other Tamaz…

[butch-with-a-deep-voice]

HRT and the Mental Changes of Arousal AKA How Horny "Feels"

Alright folks we need to have a conversation about how much your libido changes with transition and hormones because that was NOT talked about with the informed consent program I went through, and it honestly should have been. How I feel aroused now is so drastically different than beforehand, in both subtle and obtuse ways, and it is FASCINATING. This post is mainly going to focus on how libido and arousal mentally feel, but I have anecdotal observations on the mechanical changes if there is interest in that. Strap in, this post is gonna be a long one.

I would like to preface that this comes from my own personal experiences as a trans feminine person. If your experiences as a trans person are different, please by all means I would love to hear your input. I have been on HRT for over half a decade, and have had an orchiectomy (in layman's terms I've been fixed), so my adrenal glands do produce a classically female level of testosterone and I no longer need to be on T-blockers. I'm also demisexual, so my experience with sexuality as a baseline is a little different than most.

As someone who works great in communicating via metaphor/simile, I will provide a detailed simile for both testosterone libido, and estrogen libido. I also want to say I prefer estrogen tenfold. I pick it every single day. While I've met other trans people who disagree, my own experiences with testosterone vs. estrogen fueled libidos will fully bias the similes.

Testosterone Libido: The best way I can describe what testosterone fueled libido felt like is once you hit puberty, you have a monkey strapped to your back. Some people's monkeys are better behaved, others more belligerent. Some are more easily "calmed down", while some are more easy to excite. But at the end of the day, it's still a monkey strapped to your back.

What I mean by that is that you are always going to be aware of a goddamn monkey strapped to your back. Sometimes the little guy is silent. Maybe it's having a nap, or it's awake but contented to just quietly "look around". Every now and then it stirs, maybe someone's butt looked nice in a pair of jeans, and you're like "right, monkey..." Honestly I got so fucking annoyed with that monkey just always being there whether I wanted it or not. It's never not there.

But, then the monkey really wants something. I don't know if you've ever seen a monkey really wanting something on video, but they can get pretty demanding really fast. That monkey that's been piggy backing you starts vocalizing in your ear, screeching even. Hitting you. Pulling your hair. I WANT A FUCKING BANANA HUMAN, GIVE IT TO ME. It gets aggressively loud, often times shockingly fast. It will go from napping to throwing a tantrum in less than a minute sometimes. And all you can do is either ride it out and hope to whatever deity you pray to it calms down, or eventually give it what it wants. Hopefully you're home, and you can quickly get one out so to speak. But until then, how on earth are you supposed to be able to get ANYTHING done when there's a monkey screeching away in your ear and slamming on you.

I'm very fortunate to have been raised by a father who taught me how to ignore that monkey. How to respectfully build a resilience to it's tantrums. But, it was always there still. That monkey made me feel so shameful. I hated how often my libido was always a reminder of how aggressive being horny could feel. How blinding it had the potential to get. Often times satisfying it wasn't even pleasurable. It was so often just "oh my god fine would you please just shut the fuck up?" My relationship with my sexuality was often unhealthy as a result of this experience with arousal.

One thing I will give testosterone over estrogen though? That monkey can only get so loud. There is a "cap" for how aroused I could get with my testosterone-fueled libido. I have yet to find the cap for estrogen.

Estrogen Libido: Libido and arousal now, with a body fueled by estrogen and minimal amounts of testosterone is akin to a fine wine. It is wholly and fully intoxicating. What do I mean by that? Well, let's take an evening of drinking a fine wine that you have theoretically unlimited supply of, and you have a somewhat standard constitution.

With a single glass, you can continue to be normal. You may not even notice more than a pleasant mildly "fuzzy" feeling, and your thought patterns being influenced ever so slightly. Hell, you may not even notice those. Most around you wouldn't even guess that you've partaken. Assuming you pace yourself properly, you can "float" in that pleasant not-even-tipsy state for quite some time. That's the thing with estrogen I found. You can float in the various stages all day if you want to. "Ride the wave" as a number of my sex-positive friends have called it. There's no monkey forcing you to drink more. You can just enjoy a pleasant buzz all day (and I often have).

Let's say you have more wine though. I like to call the next stage silly arousal. You've had two glasses, maybe three depending on your tolerance. You start feeling more... unraveled. You can still think, hold a conversation, act more or less normally. But people who are more tuned in can start to tell you've had a drink. You feel friendlier, sometimes that fuzzy feeling has gotten more full bodied, your eyes linger in certain areas when looking at people longer than you'd like to admit. "Have their lips always looked that kissable?" or "Wow their waist looks really nice in that top." But you still feel like a normal person. You wouldn't say you're Horny with a capital "H", just... pleasantly activated. I will fully admit on days where I don't have to fully be a responsible adult I have floated in this stage all day long before. It's a delicious feeling to sit in.

But what if we indulge further? Usually by this point you are drinking with inebriation being a goal, whether that is a fully conscious or unconscious choice. Beforehand the other two stages can be reached over a classic "wine with dinner" situation. Light flirtation, a mildly steamy romance novel, hell maybe even scrolling through here. Now though you've had a bottle of wine, you're properly tipsy. This is where the metaphor of arousal being an inebriant comes into full swing. For me at least, it is a very full bodied feeling (that's a whole other tangent for the mechanical affects of HRT and sex life). Your judgment, thought patterns, and decision making start being heavily influenced by your mental state. Some with more willpower/constitution are still able to get by around others, you're just "acting funny". Others are so obvious when they drink it's like blood in the water for those who know what to look for. This is the stage where if I want to not make poor choices, I stop drinking so to speak. I put my hand over my proverbial glass if someone offers to pour another. I even leave the party if I have to. Why? Because just like alcohol, the jump from this stage to the next is both subtle and pervasive in how fast it hits you.

We are drinking to get drunk now. Just like the threshold between tipsy and drunk, because of how clouded you already were the transition will really sneak up on you. I get TINGLY all over from it, with sensations all over my body becoming electric. You start saying things that you would never say day-to-day. You stop being able to hide how much you've had. Heavily flirting, getting touchy, biting your lip. You can't really think of anything else outside of just how intoxicated you are. If you're someone who is particularly... self-lubricating you're fully making a wet patch in your clothing. You are DRUNK and holy shit is it amazing. Why would anyone want to not want to feel like this? Not want to healthily engage in this every day if they could? Arousal feels so fucking good with estrogen. You feel amazing, you feel confident, and you are willing to make some truly stupid decisions that you may regret because they feel good in that moment. For me at least, I would say this is roughly the area where that testosterone libido monkey can't get much louder. If arousal could be tracked on a bar graph, testosterone capped somewhere around here for me. Estrogen though...

Just like any night of drinking, you can keep going. You can be drunk, and still keep drinking (only difference here is you aren't going to be completely battering your liver doing so). Just like alcohol, this is where I think anecdotal experiences will begin to vary wildly person to person. As such I will talk about what it's like for me. I won't usually reach this stage and beyond it without the help of another person or heavily engaging in smut/pornography. This is a headspace I'm actively trying to push into. Usually by engaging in intentional denial of the act of sex/climax in some form or another while still "drinking".

Pushing beyond "drunk" arousal starts getting irresistibly pervasive, affecting just about EVERYTHING. I feel quite legitimately high off of it at times. Speech pattern gets warped beyond belief, sometimes outright going non-verbal. The slightest touch can be pleasurable. My vision will warp if it gets intense enough (and interestingly warps differently depending on domme space, sub space, or simply "feral" horny). It sometimes even gets so warped I've been known to "Etch-a-Sketch" shake my head in a futile attempt to clear it up. Being neurodivergent, stims start creeping out of the woodwork uncontrollably, I assume because of nervous system overload. My body will fully begin to "betray me" so to speak. Squirming in my seat, drooling to fully obscene degrees, muscles in my abdomen fluttering because even a stray thought caused enough arousal to engage them. If it's allowed to go long enough I will fully begin to growl or whimper passively under my breath, depending on the type of horny.

All of these are just a handful of examples as to just how utterly intoxicating arousal and libido are now with estrogen. The truly startling part of it is I have yet to find the cap to it. I've yet to go fully down that rabbit hole. Part of me is a little scared to if I'm honest. When you get to this stage and onward, your mental state is frighteningly pliable. That level of "inebriation" has fully created new kinks that I'd not had before (or at the very least were buried so deep they weren't something worth digging up). If you or your partner is someone who can reach this level of intoxicated arousal, please please please handle it with care because being ripped out of it is ROUGH on your nervous system. (ie, sub-drop and domme-drop). There are some true horror stories out there for how intense it can be. But if you can engage it safely and healthily, holy shit is it the best. I legitimately prefer it over actual chemical inebriants (although my intox kink would say otherwise).

So, this all being said, I do want to reiterate that these are simply my experiences with how much arousal and libido changed with hormone replacement therapy. Everyone's bodies will react differently, and if you've also experienced a drastic shift with HRT, and it's different to mine I would love to hear. I also have a lot of points I'd love to make on the more physical aspects, from the viscosity of self lubricants, to the fact that I can now orgasm multiple times with no "get sleepy after cumming" endorphin response. If there's interest I'd be happy to get into those.

Thanks for reading!

[realfactsnlogic]

Gaming Moments That Made Me Cry - Part 1: Heatwave

Subtitle: "How a video game caused me to get fired from a project I was working on. What horrible timing." Contains game spoilers up to Day: The Heatwave. Also contains discussions of interpersonal troubles and suicide.

It'll be almost a year since I decided to play Not For Broadcast. Well, actually, I didn't play it firsthand. I didn't have the game at the time. I was backseating a friend's playthrough (if you're reading this, shoutout to you!)

I haven't cried over a fictional character since...I don't remember on the top of my head. But I can say I didn't cry when Mufasa from The Lion King died. Call me heartless, yadda yadda. But this gaming moment is something I won't forget.

It's gonna get late night ramble-y so buckle up.

It happened in February 2023, a real rough time in my online life.

I looked over the content warnings before playing the game to begin with. Thoroughly. I understood it all, and said yes to playing it. What wasn't mentioned, however, was when these warnings would apply. I could tolerate topics discussing or depicting suicide. Or so I thought. Through the hard way, I learned that I'm better off with given a warning.

I have to admit, when we played through this broadcast day, I wasn't so invested in the stuff before Jeremy began to crack. When the situation became tense, as in: I heard yelling, loaded terminology, characters acting terrified -- all of my attention and both of my eyes were on the situation like how all of the cameras were on him. After this broadcast day, I knew: I had to pay even closer attention to the game.

As the tension grew, I knew something drastic was about to happen. Jeremy was holding the room hostage. I said some fucked up stuff on call, for example when I said that I'm okay if Jenny dies. Is it yandere behaviour? You can argue that. The thought I had at the time, I recall was this: "It's okay if other people around him die, but Jeremy? No. He has to be kept alive."

No hate to Boseman, I love that old man to death, but we have to keep his prized possession--I mean, most valued employee in one piece. So I listened to Jeremy and played the tape. Good thing I did. I later learned that if I didn't, he would have snapped at Alex/the player/us.

The moment Jeremy was laughing sadly, preparing to shoot himself, Jenny frantically urged Alex/the player/us to cut to the ads. I felt powerless. Helpless. I couldn't do shit because I'm not the one with the keyboard. My friend was. And thank all that is holy, for my friend knew what to do.

I could swear I heard Boseman say "Alex, what have you done?" The wiki says he would say it if I played the tape on some other break. I have to replicate those actions just to make sure. I digress.

The results screen popped up. I didn't notice at the time, but the silence that followed...it was...eerie. I don't remember what lead to it, but I won't forget what my friend said:

"Jeremy will be okay."

My friend didn't mean to make me upset. I understood that. National Nightly News' anchorman, Jeremy Robert Donaldson, the most trustworthy anchorman of the Territory, is a fictional character. I also understood that. What did I not understand? What made me cry? And why?

I do have the 'why', actually. As we were playing this part of the game the first time ever, I was...going through something rough with some friends.

My Heatwave Took Place in Feburary 2023

I was basically the Megan Wolfe in a situation that could be simile to the events in the Heatwave. I was somewhere else when something happened. Well, actually, I was isolating myself. I thought that if I did, if I took some time away from the people I used to talk to so much...maybe those uncomfortable emotions I had towards those people would go away. I spent months distracting myself, avoiding this conflict by keeping busy.

Post-fallout (referential pun intended; there's a broadcast day called The Fallout), I decided to change course. Just like Megan, who seemed to increase her distance from her co-anchor and Jenny. She began to act out, remember? Taking it out emotionally on the make-up artists...and so did I. I was my own make-up artist, whom I would mistreat, which in the end affected everyone else around me. I regret what I did at the time wholeheartedly, even today. I don't care what anyone else says.

Despite those months of my Silence (yet another reference!), I really did care about the Jeremy in my situation, but couldn't or wouldn't bring myself to express that. Maybe like Megan who was bending to Advance, I was bending to my fear of how my words would always be received. The Jenny, however, was closest to the Jeremy, and was able to get him to come to his senses, despite how helpless the Jenny felt at that moment.

Meanwhile, I, the Megan in the situation, was in deep, bliss ignorance of what was happening around me. If a room was to be read, I was illiterate. I didn't think it would happen, and when I learned what happened months after it happened, every night I would blame myself for not knowing, not being there for him even if my reason was rooted in some sort of self-preservation. A selfish reason. I was angry at myself for what I've done to my Jeremy and my Jenny to begin with. So many "If I hadn't (X), this wouldn't have happened..." thoughts. It stung. And I felt like I deserved all those stings.

It took me some time to stabilize my emotions. I appreciate my friend remembering what grounding is. In my throes of breakdowns I would always forget what my coping strategies would be. That's why you should practice, kids. Even if you aren't having a breakdown in that moment.

So how did this gaming moment get me fired?

Unfortunately, on the same night, I had a meeting for a project to go to. I said goodbye to my friend, went on the project's VC and loafed with the other attendants before the meeting can officially start. I took the typical "how are you" question literally (as a neurodivergent usually does). I shared about how I cried earlier. "Are you okay?" they asked. I don't remember what I brought up next. I don't think I talked about how I was crying over a game that I somehow could heavily relate to, despite making comparisons over just a thread.

Some days later, plus a few things I did to the parties involved, I was removed access to the project's assets. I was basically fired, the pink slip e-mail left unread until the situation's Jenny--the only party who responded to the apologies I tailored to fit individuals--responded angrily. It hurt, sure, but at least I learned my lesson(s). A toxic one would be "don't trust anyone anymore", but a healthier take would be "find people who can and will stick with you when it gets rough."

And to think I could never hold down a job for more than 3 months... I can't believe I'm writing this, on the night before I go on my college's internship program. I will be submitting myself to a daily monotony as how the National Nightly News, after the Donaldson situation would begin to sink deeper into nightly monotony.

Regardless, one thing's for certain: I don't regret playing that tape, Boseman. It will turn out right in the end. Channel One will be okay.

And so will I.