#so the only way i could externalize it is through drawing them

[icewindandboringhorror]

sometimes looking at like Self Help Strategies lists for the symptoms I'm having is always just like:

thing that I already do

thing I have tried 10 times

thing I already do

thing that I don't have the money to do

thing I already do

thing I've been doing since I was 10yrs old to no avail

thing that is impossible given my situation

thing that doesn't apply to me

thing that I already do

thing I have already tried

hrmm, oh wait, maybe finally- OH, yeah.. okay. thing that I already do but it was just phrased slightly differently

thing I have already done

[novlr]

I have a bad habit of never finishing writing I start - I work hard on a story, make it to 3/4 of the way through, then lose passion for it and start something else. I know the key to overcoming this is discipline, and I’m trying very hard to make myself keep going with my current story that I like very much and spent so much time researching and outlining, but it’s a struggle every day to make my writing goal. Any advice for how to re-ignite writing spark or how to push through to the end?

We can lose our drive to write for a lot of reasons. It often indicates a growing maturity as an artist — you understand the craft better and your own (current) limitations better, and so you begin to feel overwhelmed in a way you didn’t before. It can also be that external anxieties are getting in the way or simply that you’ve lost interest in your current project. 

Hope is not lost. Read on for some tips on reclaiming your writing spark. 

Shift gears

Sometimes, all you need to reignite your writing spark is to engage your brain in a different way. If you’re struggling with your novel, take a break and try writing a poem or a piece of flash fiction. Or, you could try drawing sketches of your characters, a map of your story’s world, or some possible outfits for your climactic battle scene (it doesn’t have to be good. No one’s going to see it). 

The trick is to stay creative but to approach your work from a different angle. 

Change location

If you’ve been trying and failing to write at your desk, surrounded by crumpled up dreams drafts and last week’s candy wrappers, you may be suffering from an environment with stagnant energy. Try taking yourself on a writer’s date: go to a location that fits the tone of the project you’re working on (lux hotel lobby, seedy theatre bar, the wilds of a nearby park), and see if that gets your creative wheels turning. 

Dress [in]appropriately 

In Writing Down the Bones, Natalie Goldberg has a chapter called “Blue Lipstick and a Cigarette Hanging Out Your Mouth”. By this she meant, “Use outfits and props to step outside yourself and get a new perspective”. You might find it helpful to have a special “writer’s sweater” that you only wear when you’re writing or to dress like someone confident and cool enough to smash writer’s block in the face. 

Do some soul-searching

What’s really going on here? If the above tricks aren’t doing it for you, there may be some bigger issues at play that are inhibiting you from connecting to your writing spark. 

Write letters

I’ve written about the restorative powers of letter writing before, and I’ll mention it again: handwritten letters are a great way to get the words flowing. You don’t actually have to send them when you’re done (although you can if you want to); the recipient doesn’t even need to exist. Simply by putting your thoughts down in a low-risk way, you’re unclogging your creative pipes. 

Join a writing group

There’s power and accountability in numbers. You can find writing groups online, through community centres and writers centres, or by sticking a flyer up in a bookshop and starting your own. There’s even a Novlr writing community on Discord where we share tips, struggles, and just generally talk craft! By inviting other people into your writing practice, you’ll have some support and encouragement to keep you going. 

Find your writing spark with writing prompts

The internet is awash with writing prompts. These can be a helpful way to get something down on paper and stretch out your writing muscles. Whether it’s a premise, an opening line, or a character study, writing prompts can give you a gentle, creative push and even inspire new work.

Experiment with found structure

If writing a traditional story feels like pulling out your own teeth, try a found structure story. This means using fictional “found material” like shopping lists, calendars, to-do lists, ticket stubs, banking records, and so forth to create a narrative. 

Here’s an example: Imagine a week in which a bride-to-be prepares for her glorious wedding, is left at the altar, rages in misery, and ultimately emerges healthier and stronger. Now, write her shopping list for each day of that week. How does it change from beginning to end? How much emotional detail can you communicate to the reader through the items that appear on these lists? This can be a fun way to create a story without the anxiety of writing it.

Set a petty life goal

I am a proud champion of the value of pettiness as a motivator. There are plenty of noble reasons to write: to share powerful stories, to help readers in need of healing, to inspire others to write stories themselves, and to draw attention to important social issues or minority identities. 

There are also some really inane and selfish reasons to write: to become more famous than your ex, to appear on TV and make your ex regret everything they’ve ever done to you, to have your book made into a movie and receive casting consultation rights and pitch your favourite actor in the lead role and allow them to take you for coffee as a thank you. But the thing is… these are the motivations that are really going to pull you out of the dirt when you need it most. Find the silly driving goal that really gets under your skin and hold onto it for dear life. 

Forgive yourself

Many writers experience a lot of shame when they aren’t writing as much as they feel they should. Needless to say, this shame only makes the writing harder. Allow yourself the space to take some time when you need it, process your struggles, and return when you’re ready. The page will be waiting when you get back. 

[guess-my-next-obsession]

the alchemy | vi. the aftermath

pairing: no outbreak!dbf!joel miller x fem!reader

chapter rating: Explicit [18+ only, minors dni, dbf/secret relationship, age gap (joel is 34, reader is 24), oral (f!rec), soft dom!joel, bits of angst sprinkled in, not proofread—may contain some typos but i can’t be bothered to check]

summary: you and joel deal with the aftermath of last night. tommy and sarah are clued in.

wc: 3.1k

the masterlist

Your eyes were sore and heavy when you batted them open in the early morning light that filtered through Joel’s blinds. His arm was a comforting weight banded under your arm and across your chest, hugging you tight to his front, gently reminding you of his presence. You turned your head, finding him already watching you with lidded eyes and a soft smile that encouraged one to grow on your face despite the ache in your chest. 

“How ya feelin’?” he asked, his voice soft and low and raspy. His hand slipped lower to nestle beneath the cotton of your sleep shirt, rubbing softly against the skin of your stomach. 

“Like shit,” you replied, resting your hand over his. “But you make it feel livable.”

Joel leaned forward to press a kiss against your shoulder, nuzzling his nose there to breathe in your scent. “I’m sorry, baby. Whatever you need, whatever I can do t’make things feel better, I’m here.”

You knew exactly how he could make things feel better, even if it were only a momentary bandage over your wounded heart. 

You rolled over to face him, drawing your leg up to rest over his hips, your lips finding his in the soft morning air. “Distract me for a while.”

“It would be my honor, darlin’,” Joel said with a smile, his hand sliding down your back to palm your ass. “Can’t be at it for too long, though. Gotta pick up Sarah in half an hour.”

“Yeah, about that—“ You straddled his hips, forcing him to roll over onto his back. “What are we gonna tell her?”

Joel let out a soft sigh as he slid his hands up your sides, dragging your t-shirt up over your head. “Whatever you want to tell her.”

You melted a bit as he lifted his hips to grind against your clothed core, the fabric already damp. 

“We can tell her the truth about us, that we’re together,” he said, leaning up to press his lips against your sternum. He trailed his kisses up to your neck, nipping at that spot beneath your ear that always sent shivers down your body. “Or we can make somethin’ up. Doesn’t matter t’me.” 

You let out a sigh as his lips lowered to your breast, his warm tongue swiping across the stiff peak there while his hands palmed your ass, guiding you to rock against his clothed length. “I don’t wanna keep lying to people, especially Sarah.”

“Then we’ll tell her,” he said, expertly flipping you onto your back. You giggled at the sudden change in position and welcomed him between your open thighs as he kissed his way down your stomach. “Now if that’s all settled, I got a job to do down here.” 

You smiled lazily at him, already feeling better, and lifted your hips to allow him to peel off your underwear. 

You loved watching Joel. There was something so comforting about his face, the warmth in his eyes, the small creases on his forehead. He was truly beautiful, even doing the most mundane things. But when he looked like this—his hair messy from sleep, his eyes darkened with desire, his lips parted in awe as he stared down at your most intimate place—he was downright godly. You wanted to worship him, to kneel at his altar and simply bask in the glory of his beauty, both internal and external. 

But for right now, you settled on watching in awe as he tasted you, a sinful groan rumbling against your seam as he savored your sweetness. 

“Fuck, baby,” he whispered, circling a finger over your swollen bud. “So fuckin’ sweet.”

You keened under his praise, canting your hips up to meet his mouth again. He smiled at your neediness, locking eyes with you across the expanse of your torso. He banded one arm across your stomach, holding you down, while his dominant hand pressed your thigh to the mattress, spreading you wider for him. 

“Shit,” you moaned, your hips twitching a bit as he focused his attention on your clit, sucking it into his mouth over and over with a vulgar slurp. “That feels so fucking good, Joel.”

“Mmhm,” he hummed against you, his tongue lapping at your entrance in-between sucks to your bud. “Hold your thighs, baby. Spread ‘em nice and wide for me.” You did as he asked, looping your arms beneath your knees and holding them to your chest to spread yourself open. “Mmhm, just like that. So fuckin’ pretty all spread open for me.”  

Your cunt clenched at his words as he pulled back to gawk at you, spread open and more vulnerable than you’d ever been. His hands were spread across your ass, gripping and palming the flesh there as he licked his lips as though he were a starving man being presented a seven-course meal. “Joel, please. Touch me. Fuck me. Anything.” 

He grinned, leaning back down and locking eyes with you as he licked a broad stripe from your tighter hole all the way up to your clit before slipping down to do it all over again. Your eyes rolled back in your head at the feeling of him tasting every inch of you, his tongue so warm and soft and skilled you felt like you might pass out from pleasure. Your thighs trembled in your arms, but you refused to let go of them, especially when Joel brought two of his beautifully thick fingers to your entrance and pressed them inside of you. 

“Fuck!” He was curling them upwards, matching the pace of his tongue and lips as they worked over your clit. “Joel, fuck! I’m gonna—fuck.”

Your release hit you hard and agonizingly slow, pouring over you like warm honey. He worked you through it with his fingers, his lips pressing against the inside of your thigh as he mumbled his praise. “Good fuckin’ girl. So goddamn pretty when you cum on my fingers.” 

You smiled at him, dopey and satisfied, and curled your finger at him to climb over you so that you could properly thank him with a kiss. Joel was grinning as he obliged, crawling on top of you and pressed his lips against yours in a slow, languid drag. “Do we have time for me to suck your dick?”

Joel moaned against your lips, pressing his clothed but achingly hard length against you as he turned his head to glance at the alarm clock on his bedside table. With a groan, he hung his head against your shoulder with a soft shake. “No, unfortunately for me and my achin’ dick, we do not.”

You frowned, combing your hands through his hair as he rested his head on your chest, melting on top of you. “Rain check for tonight, then?”

Joel kissed your chest and nodded. “Tonight, and tomorrow mornin’, and tomorrow night, and the night after that, and—“

“Yeah, I get it,” you laughed, watching him climb off you before tugging you out of bed. 

“Tryin’ to find the silver linin’ and all that bullshit,” he said, wrapping you up in his arms for a quick squeeze before he went into the bathroom to run through his morning routine. 

You decided on taking a shower while Joel was off picking Sarah up, but in the meantime, you desperately needed some coffee to help wake you up after the shitty night of sleep you’d gotten. Throwing on the baggy shirt that Joel had peeled off of you just thirty minutes prior, you padded your way downstairs to the kitchen. 

You were too busy smiling at the ground like a lovesick fool to notice that the kitchen wasn’t empty like it should have been this early in the morning, but by the time you realized, it was too late. 

There, beside the sink, stood none other than Tommy Miller with his jaw practically on the floor. 

You squealed in shock, tugging the hem of your shirt down to cover the fact that you’d refrained from putting on any underwear while Tommy quickly closed his eyes and turned around with a murmured, “Jesus fuckin’ Christ.” 

“Tommy,” you breathed, reaching for the throw blanket that rested over one of the chairs at the dinner table beside you. “What—why are you here?”

“Could ask you the same thing,” he said, glancing over his shoulder at you to make sure you were decent. More decent, at least. To his credit, he didn’t look flustered by your state. Just a little hurt and very curious. “How long’s this been goin’ on?”

“A month or so,” you said, glancing back up the stairs as Joel’s bedroom door opened. “We were waiting to tell everyone, but then last night…well, my dad found out and shit hit the fan. Now I’m homeless and disowned, I guess.”

“Y’ain’t homeless,” Joel said, pressing a kiss to your head as he casually breezed past you to start up the coffee machine, a soft smile on his face. “Disowned, maybe. But we’re gonna work on that.” 

“Well, I can’t say I saw this comin’, but I’m happy for y’all,” Tommy said, making it a point to look at Joel as he spoke. Although him and Maria seemed to be falling head over heels for one another, it was still an awkward situation for anybody to find themselves in. You couldn’t blame him for not being able to look at you. You still had a hard time looking at him. “Y’all tell Sarah yet? Is she here?”

“No and no. I need t’go pick her up at her friend’s house right about…” Joel said, checking his watch. “Shit, five minutes ago.” 

“Do you want me to come with you?” you said, eyes pointedly glancing at Tommy as he stood awkwardly drinking his glass of orange juice by the sink. Joel smiled and walked over to you, pecking your lips before leaning in to whisper in your ear. 

“Scared of bein’ left alone with your old flame?” he teased, earning a swat to his chest. He laughed, kissing your temple. “I’ll be back in half an hour. Call me if you need anything, alright?”

“Mmhm,” you said, giving him a playful glare as he left through the front door. 

“Were, uh—“ Tommy’s voice brought your attention back to him. He was chuckling softly, shaking his head. “Were you always into him like this?”

You felt your cheeks heat, still so unaccustomed to talking about your feelings for Joel to other people. But it felt nice, better than you’d imagined it would feel. 

“Yeah,” you said, shrugging. “Since I met him, really.”

He chuckled again. “I must’ve been blind or an idiot to miss the way you look at him.” 

You smiled, glancing down at your feet. “I think I hid it pretty well, so I wouldn’t go blaming myself if I were you. It…it wasn’t really ever supposed to happen, him and I. At least, I didn’t imagine it ever happening. For years, it was just my little secret crush.”

“Is that why you and I…you know, didn’t work?” He was staring into his empty cup, swirling around the few drops left in it, rather than looking at you. 

“It was a big reason, yeah,” you admitted. “But you and I are also really different. I don’t think it would’ve worked out for a lot of reasons. You need someone outgoing, someone who matches your energy. It’s why I’m glad I was able to introduce you to Maria.” 

He smiled at the mention of his girlfriend, like a teenager in love. “Yeah, she’s one of a kind, that woman.”

“Are things going well with you two?” you asked, pulling up a seat at the table. “Last time I talked to Maria, she was spitballing honeymoon ideas.”

Tommy laughed, walking over and pulling up the seat across from you. “Would it be crazy if I said I’ve already been lookin’ at rings?” 

“Three weeks in and ready to propose? Nah, that’s perfectly sane,” you joked, earning an eye roll. 

“I’m not planning on proposing anytime soon, just…window shopping,” he said, though the look in his eyes told you his idea of “anytime soon” and yours were a bit different. “I used to be so afraid to commit and settle down, but somethin’ about her just…I don’t know. I just like her, a lot.” 

“I can tell,” you said, smiling at him. “I’m glad we both found our people.”

“Yeah,” he chuckled. “Little weird that your person is my older brother, but I’m happy for ya nonetheless. I do feel like I should warn you about a couple things, though.”

“Oh yeah?” You laughed, nudging your chin at himc urging him to go on. 

“For starters, never feed that fucker beans, unless you wanna get dutch ovened all night long,” he said, earning a laugh. “And make sure he changes his boots out a couple times a year. His feet start to fuckin’ stink like you wouldn’t believe when he doesn’t.”

By the time Tommy had got through warning you about every one of Joel’s “bad” traits, Joel and Sarah were walking through the door. Sarah carried a happy grin as she ran over to your side, hugging you tightly. Joel gave you a wink as he passed you, a box of donuts in his hands. 

“I’m so happy you and my dad are in love!” Sarah exclaimed, jumping up and down. You gave Joel a wide eyed look as you fought off a laugh while Tommy chuckled unabashedly. 

“I thought it’d be better to tell her myself,” he said, his eyes turning soft as he delivered a donut to you. No, scratch that. Not a donut, your favorite kind of donut. 

God, this man never stopped making your heart melt. 

“Was that alright?” he asked, his tone soft and careful. As if he expected you to be angry that he told his daughter in private. 

“Of course it’s alright,” you said, kissing his palm as he reached to cradle your cheek. 

“Ew, Sarah,” Tommy said, making a face as he welcomed his niece onto his lap, pointing at the two of you. “Aren’t they gross?”

“No,” she turned and gave him a stern look as she swatted his hand back down to the table. “Don’t make fun of them.”

“Good guard dog,” Joel said, earning a swat to his stomach. 

“Daddy, can I have one like that?” Sarah pointed at your donut, reminding you of its existence. Joel had a way of making your mind go blank to everything that wasn’t him, but now your stomach was growling at the sight of it in front of you. 

“Comin’ up, baby girl,” he said, grabbing one out of the box and setting it on a napkin. “Want me to cut it up for ya?”

“No,,” she said, making grabby hands for it as he walked it over to her. “Thank you, daddy.”

“Yeah. Thank you, daddy,” you echoed, making Joel arch his brow at you with interest. 

“Y’all are sick,” Tommy scoffed, lifting Sarah off his lap so that he could stand up. “I came over to steal some orange juice, and now look what I have to deal with.”

“Oh, quit bitchin’,” Joel said, shoving a bear claw towards his brother. “You mind watchin’ Sarah for a little while we get ready?”

“I have a feelin’ get ready means somethin’ nasty, but yeah, I’ll watch her,” Tommy said, shaking his head. “Just keep your gettin’ ready noise to a minimum for our sake.”  

“No promises,” you said, winking at him as you stood up with your donut, the throw blanket still wrapped around your shoulders like a cape as you led Joel upstairs to the sound of Tommy gagging. 

The second you were behind closed doors, Joel had his hands on you. He pressed you against the door, shucking the blanket off your shoulders and molding his lips to slot between yours. You giggled at his eagerness and gentle pushed him away, just enough to speak. “Can we talk about how casual Sarah was about the two of us being together before you ravish me?”

Joel chuckled, leaning in to peck your lips. “Yeah, she wasn’t all that surprised when I told her. Just said she was happy because that meant she got to spend more time with you. Thinkin’ maybe she’s been more observant than we thought.”

“Or maybe we’ve just gotten sloppy at hiding it,” you said, combing his hair back with a sad smile. “Either way, I’m glad it’s out in the open now, and that at least there’s a few people in our lives that support us.”

Joel frowned, stroking your cheek with his thumb. “Your dad’s gonna come around. I know it.”

You let out a deep exhale and shrugged. “I just wish I could’ve told him in my own way. I hate that he found out like that.”

“It was my fault,” Joel said, resting his forehead against yours. “I should’ve double-checked—“

“No,” you said, shaking your head. “No, it was no one’s fault. I shouldn’t have had to sneak around behind his back to be happy. And he shouldn’t have blown up like that. I know I lied—we lied—but there was a big part of me that hoped once he found out, he’d just be happy for me. Happy that I’m happy. Happy that I’m in love for the first time in my life.”

Joel softened at that, pulling you in for a hug. He tucked your head beneath his chin and held you close, allowing your heartbeats to sync in time with one another. 

Moments like these, when it was just the two of you, made all the hard shit totally and completely worth it. 

“Love you, honey,” Joel said, kissing the top of your head. 

Those three words you never once expected to hear slip from his lips had found their way straight to your heart, carved in the deepest and most precious part of you. No matter what happened, you’d always have that—the forever mark of Joel’s love. 

[ckret2]

Chapter 24 of human Bill Cipher being the Mystery Shack's extremely inconvenient prisoner, featuring: the Pines figuring out a way to chase off Bill's ex-girlfriend... who happens to be a giant eyeball with bat wings.

It kinda goes like this.

(A head's up before we get going: this chapter is a bit more mature than prior ones, so I feel like a warning's in order. There's no sex, and nothing here is erotic or sexy (unless you, too, happen to be attracted to eye-bats), BUT there IS some academic speculation on the logistics of alien sex, and some very filthy-sounding dialogue describing acts that, to humans, aren't sexual at all. Plus some dirty humor and toilet humor. And nothing here is what I'd call billford quite yet, considering Ford still very much hates Bill's guts—but like, he's definitely a little too obsessed with the anatomy of triangles for it to be normal. If any of this is too spicy for you, skip this chapter and come back next one. We'll be starting a new "episode" then.)

####

It was past midnight. In his search for the eye-bat repellant recipe, Ford had flipped through every notebook he'd used during his initial interviews of the residents of Gravity Falls, flipped through them a second time, torn apart half his bookshelves looking for any reporter's notebooks he might have accidentally sorted in with his larger binders, and now he was exhausted, frustrated—and, worst of all, bored out of his mind.

Which made it hard to avoid thinking about more interesting topics.

And for the last hour he'd been unwillingly plagued with the question of how an eyeball and a triangle had a "casual physical thing." 

If that didn't mean sex—and you never knew with aliens—then it was still something close enough to fill the same social/recreational niche. It certainly meant sex on the eye-bat's side, Ford had fully documented the reproductive cycle of eye-bats, that was sorted out—but triangles?

It had to be something that would work in the second dimension. Ford had visited a two-dimensional universe populated by geometric shapes, he knew roughly how their bodies functioned: a shape's perimeter was its external surface—its "skin"—and its internal organs were inside that perimeter. So if Bill was still configured the way he had been in his home dimension, any external reproductive anatomy would have to be somewhere on his perimeter, right? Maybe at one of his corners? Or camouflaged where the seams of his brick pattern reached his edges?

But then if Bill were a normal two-dimensional person, he'd have his eye on the edge of his body, not right in the center of his "internal organs." So he'd been rearranged to some extent. Who knew how the rest of his body worked now? His top hat contained flesh and a skeletal structure; maybe it was a removable reproductive organ that could be passed to a partner, like some cephalopods' detachable tentacles—

Ford flinched as he realized Bill was staring at him.

To aid in his anatomical speculation, Ford had drawn a diagram of Bill in his journal and labeled various points on the triangle that might be concealing reproductive anatomy. He quickly scratched out the drawing's staring eye and slammed his journal shut. 

He'd happily gone thirty years assuming that Bill had no sex life—Bill was an energy being who presented himself as a floating featureless triangle, his hobbies involved cheating at chess and discussing multidimensional transportation, he probably wasn't designed for "physical things," and if he was designed for it then surely he wasn't interested. Ford was not pleased to have his assumptions disputed.

Because the thing was—Ford knew more than any living human about the mating rituals of unicorns, werewolf/mermaid couples, stomach-faced ducks, and tentacled warrior piglets. (Did he ever know about tentacled warrior piglets.) He had the only photos of a gnome mating ball, which he didn't need, because that horrible sight would be forever seared into his long-term memory. He knew the names of twenty obscene acts in siren sign language, and knew how to use his extra fingers to make them extra obscene. This wasn't unfamiliar territory to him. He was curious about how strange, supernatural creatures functioned; and those functions included how the reproductive drive influenced their behaviors; and a living triangle that had escaped from the second dimension was certainly a strange supernatural creature.

But, unfortunately, it was also Bill Cipher. And Ford did not want to think about what Bill did in bed. ... Assuming he used a bed. Really, at this point the only thing Ford knew was that Bill's only admitted partner was capable of flight. Maybe he just hovered while he—

Ford slammed his journal shut again to stop himself from scribbling down more theories, then stuffed the journal in a desk drawer for good measure. Did normal people think like this? He had no idea. He didn't even know who he could ask.

Enough of this. Back to searching for that eye-bat repellant recipe, and this time he wasn't stopping until he found it.

####

Like a vast eye in an upside-down triangle, the circular center of the portal lit up so bright blue it was almost white. The four energy vents glowed in sympathy. A rainbow constellation lit up in twirling patterns around the central light.

Bill watched with bated breath, a second-dimensional shadow waiting for his door to the third dimension to open. The cavern walls shook; the ground quaked and rumbled ominously; Bill didn't care. The portal was stable, the lab was somebody else's problem, and Bill had a party to get to.

The steel beams supporting the cavern rolled like a wave, and Bill's stomach roiled with them. They weren't supposed to be able to move like that. But he knew what he was doing, the portal was stable, he was not here to destroy this world, he'd come here to save it, whether it wanted to be saved or not—

The whole world undulated. Bedrock and steel were not built to undulate. Bill bobbed on the energy wave like a toy boat on a choppy sea; but the steel shattered, rock crumbled, shrapnel and rubble sprayed out. There was a peal of deafening thunder as the world below him cracked apart.

####

Bill woke with a gasp.

Oh. Right. Dreams.

Dream diary. With a groan, he sat up, checked to make sure no humans were coming by in the next few minutes, and pulled his stolen journal out of its hiding place.

The guide on lucid dreaming had recommended writing down his dreams in full, vivid, rich detail—any people or scenes or events, anything he could detect with his five (?) senses, as much as he could recall.

He drew a portal—gray inverted triangle with a center circle, four circles around the triangle, all five circles filled in yellow green—and then a yellow green line trailing out of the portal's side that grew progressively wigglier like a seismogram. He labeled his doodle, "this." He'd remember the rest.

After a moment of thought, he wrote, "Don't remember if I was a human or a shape. My organs were doing things a shape's shouldn't." (He wrote "human" as 人; there was no translation for the word in the language Bill wrote in. The two angled strokes stood out in Bill's rows of Morse-like dots and dashes.) "Being around so many humans who are CONVINCED I'm trying to destroy their world must be getting to me. Sixer pitched another hissy-fit about the portal yesterday. Enduring all that negative talk can't be healthy for me. I know I'm just helping their boring little planet, but maybe their accusations are getting lodged in this stupid brain's subconscious."

Maybe he should meditate a bit—go think positive thoughts, drown out the mortal voices that insisted they knew his plans better than he did. He'd had enough dreaming for one night, anyway.

Beneath the note to himself, Bill added in English: "Everything would have been fine if you'd just let me finish, Fordsy." If the humans ever did find this journal, Bill was determined to get the last word in.

Then he stowed away the stolen journal and shuffled downstairs.

He wondered how much was left of Ford's portal.

####

Old man bladder. Stan dragged himself out of bed. The other guest room bed was empty. Stan hoped Ford was sleeping in his study—he'd mentioned once he kept a cot down there. Better than pulling another all nighter studying alien sorcery or whatever.

He skipped his glasses, groped his way to the downstairs bathroom, and, yawning, lined up with the toilet.

The toilet said, "Pretty forward of you, Stanley."

Stan screamed.

He stumbled backwards out of the bathroom and hit the wall. Bill flipped on the light and leaned out to grin at him. "Careful! You're due for a broken hip any day now."

"BILL! What are DOING!"

"Trying not to get urinated on."

"Jsh—shut up!" It had dawned on Stan that if he could hear Bill without his hearing aids, then half the house probably could too. He hoped no one had overheard that. "Why are you sitting on the toilet in the dark!"

"It's a free country, Stanley Pines."

Stan raised a fist. "GET OUT!"

Bill bolted from the bathroom like a scared rabbit, then caught himself, rolled his eyes, and raised his hands over his head in mock surrender. "You could have asked nicely!"

Pointing at Bill as he retreated, Stan added, "And stop being so darn creepy! Lurking in the dark and sneaking around silently all the time, like a... some kind of—burglar ninja assassin!"

Bill turned to shout back, "What, do you expect me to make a peace cry every time I walk around? Make sure I can't sneak up and stab you in the back?"

Stan had caught about half of that. "YEAH, smart guy! It might help!"

Bill flung his hands out in defeat as he rounded the corner.

Stan finished his business, went back to bed, and glared angrily at the ceiling another ten minutes.

####

It had taken half the night, but at last Ford had disassembled the filing cabinet and found a few notebooks that had gotten stuck behind the bottom drawer, including the one with Old Lady Sprott's eye-bat repellant recipe. Ford copied it down, left a list of ingredients on the gift shop cash register for Soos, and finally dragged himself into the house to sleep.

And paused in the entryway.

Bill was sitting in the kitchen, staring out the window; Ford had seen him like this before. Usually, he could make himself walk by.

But he couldn't tonight. Maybe it was yesterday's conversation still weighing on his mind, the loose ends they hadn't tied up tangling around his throat. "What are you doing up?"

Bill's voice was inappropriately calm: "Dying."

Ford's guard went up. "Do you... Literally or metaphorically?"

"Literally," Bill said. "Hey—how many decades do you think this body's got? Probably not even a century, right?"

Ford's guard went down. Just moping. But it was an interesting question, one he'd put some thought into himself—what age had Bill's body been made at? How had his body been made that age? How long would the body last? Ford had wondered whether studying Bill's freshly-made-but-already-adult body might reveal anything medically useful about how aging affected the human body; but the odds of convincing Bill to participate in any medical studies—much less finding someone to conduct the study who believed their story—were nonexistent.

Ford said, "At a loose guess, I'd put you around... fifty, maybe? A very spry fifty." Bill's hair was a shockingly vivid gold, not a hint of gray, and when he was in a good mood Bill bounced about with an enviable lack of joint pain; but Ford had seen faint, delicate creases around his mouth and eyes that spoke to age. And the look in his eyes... Ford hated the phrase "old soul"—he'd been called that by some of his school teachers, and it only made him feel the distance between himself and his age peers all the more strongly—but with Bill, it was uncannily fitting. His eyes aged his whole face.

"You think this thing looks fifty? Wow." Bill took a deep drink from a cider can. "Shooting Star's best guess was half that. Thanks for shoving me twenty-five years closer to the grave."

Half that? When Ford had been a child, he'd had a harder time guessing adults' ages, and he supposed Mabel might be the same; but it was difficult to mistake a 50-year-old for a 25-year-old. Maybe there was something else going on. He'd have to ask her later. "With exercise, a healthy diet, and a little luck, you could still live another fifty." Ford nodded at the two empty cider cans already sitting on the table. "With your current drinking habits, I'll give you five."

Bill cackled—loudly enough to make Ford tense up, afraid someone would catch them talking. "Cheers!" Bill finished off the can and slammed it down with the others. "Ugh. Finite lifespans. Awful."

"Welcome to being human," Ford said dryly.

"'Welcome to death row,'" Bill said. "Ha! What'm I doing, worrying about decades. Let's be real, I don't even need to worry about the next five years. If I haven't found a way out of this body before then..."

Bill left the thought unfinished. An uneasy weight formed low in Ford's stomach.

"Ah, whatever. Like you'd let me live that long. Right, Sixer?" Bill pushed himself up unsteadily, keeping his balance first with a hand on the back of the chair, and then on Ford's (suddenly very tense) shoulder as he passed him. "I'm going back to sleep before that last can kicks in."

The way Bill was walking, Ford wasn't sure he'd make it up the stairs. "Why don't you sleep on the folding bed in the living room?"

"No window," Bill said. "I've g—" (He stumbled on the stairs.) "I've gotta see the stars."

Of course he did. When Bill said it that way, it was so obvious Ford didn't know why he hadn't realized that himself. Where else could Bill sleep but as close to the sky as possible?

Ford listened as Bill stumbled his way upstairs, creaked across the floorboards, and collapsed onto his makeshift bed.

Ford had thirty years left. Exactly thirty years. Don't have a heart attack, you're not ninety-two yet! Ninety-two was a good, old age. Older than his father had been. But thirty years felt too soon. And yet it felt fitting, somehow, for his life to be divided so neatly in thirds.

If Bill lived another fifty years in this body, and Ford lived thirty, who would stand guard over him? Would he and Stan have to pass that burden on to their gniece and gnephew? Or to Soos and Melody?

Why was he wondering—what made him think they wouldn't find a way to kill Bill before then? What made him think he wouldn't kill Bill before the end of this very summer?

What made him so sure Bill hadn't been lying about when Ford would die? Thirty years felt too soon; but ninety-two felt flatteringly optimistic.

Ford sighed, and picked up the cider cans to recycle.

He wondered whether Bill—hiding from his ex, fretting about death, sleeping on his enemies' floor—regretted how he'd spent his life.

####

Bill's second entry in his dream diary started, "Wet dream about Iris."

He filled most of a page with an extremely graphic summary before he sighed in frustration, stowed the journal away, and stared at the ceiling as dawn crept in. Well. Terrific. He was pretty intimately familiar with how humans coupled, but he didn't have much practice with the solo act. Plus the humans would give him heck if they caught him at it. He'd just have to suffer.

So here he was, all riled up and nowhere to go.

Who else could he make miserable?

####

Stan was startled awake by a heavy pounding on his door.

"Heeey Fisherman!" Somehow, Bill's voice was even more grating at dawn. He rattled the door several more times. "Just passing by! Wanted to let you know! Here I am! Right here!"

Did that demon ever sleep? And, follow up question, could Stan knock him out for a few hours?

Ford—who must have come up after Stan went back to bed—groaned and muttered something.

Ford wasn't nearly as loud as Bill. Stan reluctantly sat up and put a hearing aid in. "What?"

"What the devil is he up to now."

"No idea," Stan lied. "Go yell at him about it, he listens to you."

Ford sighed, but got up and left the room.

A minute later, Stan heard Bill exclaim, "I can't win with you people!"

He smirked.

####

The kitchen reeked that morning. When Stan came in for breakfast, the window was open, a fan in the entryway futilely directed fresh air into the kitchen and a fan on the kitchen table directed the noxious fumes outside, there were bags of groceries on the counter—he noticed hot sauce, peppers, cheap perfume, and an entire bag of raw onions—and Ford was standing at the stove, stirring a pot of vile-smelling brown liquid. The moment he saw Stan, Ford put him to work stirring the pot so Ford could start dicing onions.

While they worked, Ford explained the situation with the eye-bat harassing the tourists and the solution he'd hit on to drive it away. Soos had collected the necessary ingredients this morning, but couldn't help cook because he was busy finding a way to block the bottomless pit—

####

Outside, Soos scooted a trampoline up to the pit, carefully lined it up with the edge—the trampoline and the pit had nearly the same diameter—and shoved it in. It plummeted into the dark. After a short wait, Soos chucked a baseball down the pit. It disappeared, then bounced back up.

Soos pumped his fist triumphantly. "Aced it."

####

—so, Ford was working on the repellant, and in the interest of public safety and the greater good he was drafting Stan into helping too.

Which Stan supposed he couldn't argue with, but considering the smell he would've preferred dicing the onions. "Is all this really necessary for one eye-bat? I usually just swat 'em off with a tennis racket."

"This eye-bat happens to be large enough to carry off a first-grader," Ford said. "And Bill claims it's his ex-girlfriend, so I don't want to risk them meeting."

"Huh." Weird thing to date, but then Stan didn't know what he did expect a triangle demon to date. "Somehow I figured he was tangled up in this."

Ford laughed ruefully.

After a moment of chopping and stirring, Ford said, "Speaking of Bill—he claims that you ordered him to announce his presence? And that you tried to pee on him."

"I did not and he's a dirty liar! He made the whole thing up!" Stan didn't expect Ford to believe him. Stan also didn't expect Ford to believe Bill. Ford knew they were both liars. What Stan expected was for Ford to side with the person he liked best.

"Uh huh." Ford didn't question Stan further. Ha. Pines solidarity.

Even though he'd already won, Stan went on: "All I did was mention how quiet he is! I can never tell where he's lurking. Sometimes I almost forget he's here." In Stan's mind, Bill had been rapidly demoted  from "active existential threat" to "annoying houseguest who blends in with the shadows." Watching him help Mabel cut pretty pictures from fashion magazines with plastic safety scissors drained away most of his intimidation factor.

Ford gave Stan a funny look. "Really? I can't forget he's here for a second. Sometimes I swear I can tell where he's been in the house—like a cold spot left by a ghost."

Stan tried to figure out how to ask whether that was a reaction to decades on the run feeling like hunted prey—which Stan knew how to cope with—or a lingering magical side effect of Ford and Bill's alien possession deal—which Stan did not. Then Ford added, "It's probably because I hear him bumping into the furniture all the time."

"Oh. Yeah. That's probably it. You've got better hearing than me." Case closed. Stan turned back to the stove—

A deafening buzz made them both start. Stan splashed boiling brown stink across the stovetop. "What—!"

Standing in the doorway with a kazoo, Bill said, "How's that, Stanley? Do you like that better?!"

"YOU!" Stan flung the stirring spoon to the floor.

Bill bolted from the room with Stan in hot pursuit. "Whoa! Mercy! Truce! You can have the kazoo! It's not even mine, I'm just holding it for a fr— Ow ow OW ow—"

Stan hauled Bill in by the back of the neck and didn't let go until he was in the middle of the kitchen. He pointed at the spoon, then pointed at the pot. "Pick it up. Get stirring." He grabbed another knife and joined Ford chopping onions. Whew, what a relief.

Bill gave Stan a perplexed look, but picked up the spoon, gave the pot an experimental sniff, and got stirring. He didn't even wince at the smell. "Is this the gnome wizz? What is this, punishment for not letting you use me as a urinal?"

"Whatsamatter, I thought you were the one who thinks pee belongs in the kitchen."

"You're both too old for toilet humor," Ford snapped. "Bill, this problem is your fault, the least you can do is help prepare the spray, and you're not getting a knife, so you're on pot stirring duty. Deal with it."

Bill rolled his eyes dramatically. (At the moment, they were both uncovered; but one was already half squinted shut against the morning light.) "Fine, but only because I like hanging out with you."

Ford scoffed.

"And I don't see how this is my fault just because we happened to date. It's not like I invited her over," Bill went on. "If anything, you should be grateful she's my ex, or else I wouldn't be helping you chase her away—"

"Hey, that's what I wanna know about this," Stan said. He gestured toward the window; the ex in question was currently circling above the gift shop entrance, like a vulture waiting for something to die. "Exactly how do you 'date' an eye-bat? Just—how does that work?"

"Well, it depends on the eye-bat, doesn't it," Bill said, a touch patronizing. "They don't all have the same tastes, you know. But she happens to like art films and water parks. Easy date."

"I'm not talking about that! You're telling us you slept with an eyeball with bat wings—right? That's what we're talking about, right?" From the corner of his eye, Stan saw Ford giving him a sharp look, but he didn't tell Stan to stop. Yeah, the nerd was curious, too.

"Yes, Stanley." Bill's condescension was almost more overpowering than the kitchen's stench. "That's what we're talking about. I 'slept' with an eyeball with bat wings." He exaggerated the finger quotes around the euphemism. "Any more prying you want to do into my personal life, or...?"

"You look at that freak out there and think it's appealing?"

Bill stopped stirring and squinted out the window. Flatly, he said, "Yep. She's still drop dead gorgeous. Thanks for asking." 

"How do you even know that's a she! How can you tell a girl eye from a boy eye?"

Ford said, "Technically, Stanley, all eye-bats are female." He held up an onion and used his knife tip to gesture at it like it was a model eyeball, "They're parthenogenetic parasites that reproduce by attacking other species' faces and depositing egg-bearing spores on their eyeballs, which swim to the tear ducts to begin incubating. Over the next few weeks, the infected eyeball grows wings and develops its own nervous system while the host slowly goes blind in one eye, until the new eye-bat is mature enough to emerge from the host's socket and seek out her mother's colony—"

Bill let out a strangled scream. "Enough!"

Stan and Ford stared at him.

"Would you stop talking about eye-bat sex?! I'm already riled up! I don't need help making it worse!"

He slammed the stirring spoon down and started pacing. "I'm losing my mind. Do you know what it's like to be randy for something you don't have the right body for?!" He gave them a pleading, slightly crazed look. "I need to feel her pupil contracting against mine. I'd lick her hot, salty tears off her sclera. I'd bite deep enough to taste her retina. I want to look like I've got pinkeye from all the bat spores coating my face. I'd give my right eye just to have one of her wings fingering my eyelid again—but if I cave and go that far I know I'd lose my head and give her the left one too, and then I've screwed up, because STUPID HUMANS BODIES can't regrow their STUPID EYEBALLS—"

He kicked the wall so hard he lost his balance and stumbled back into the stove. "Ow. I'm going insane. I can't take it. I need to kill somebody. I need to set something on fire."

Stan and Ford were petrified. Stan's jaw had dropped.

Bill was panting from the exertion of his outburst, arms trembling, face flushed. His shoulders slumped. The picture of a broken man, he said, "I'd do anything to rim her optic nerve again."

Ford let out a strangled noise.

Bill took several deep breaths. He rubbed his forehead. "Sorry! Wow. That was... I think the fumes are getting to me." He shook his head. "The fumes and the hormones. Human hormones. You know, your species has very insistent..." He gestured vaguely toward the doorway. "I'm—think I should lay down."

Stan and Ford nodded. Bill trudged from the room. A few seconds later, Stan heard springs creak as Bill flopped his full weight on the living room sofa.

Stan and Ford exchanged a look. Stan said, "I shouldn't have asked about..."

"You shouldn't have asked."

"You should have skipped the science lesson."

"I should have."

They lapsed into silence. After a moment, Ford stood up to take over stirring the pot.

Stan resumed chopping onions. "Say, d'you think he staged all that to get out of stirring?"

Ford didn't reply.

"Sixer?" Stan glanced up.

Ford had turned away from the stove, and was staring at nothing with a faraway, troubled look. It was the look he got when he'd just latched on to some mystery that would haunt him until he solved it.

"Ford—?"

Ford slapped down the spoon and stomped into the living room. "But you hate losing your eyeball! So how did you two— I mean—! The spores—?"

"Incompatible biology." Bill's voice sounded muffled. "It's why we never got serious. She wants kids and my tear ducts can't incubate wings."

"Ah! Of course. That makes perfect sense." Ford returned to the stove with a look of triumph.

Stan didn't know how Ford had recovered from that fast enough to ask follow-up questions. Weird nerd. Stan shook his head but said nothing.

####

In Ford's journal, he scratched out most of his speculation about the anatomy of Bill's species, scribbled over the diagram, and added, "I severely underestimated how much his eye is involved."

####

At one point, during Weirdmageddon, when Bill had been torturing Ford for information, Ford had spat in his eye. Bill had licked it off. He'd seemed eerily undisturbed.

Ford would probably wonder how Bill had interpreted that act for the rest of his life.

####

Outside, dressed in a homemade hazmat suit consisting of painter's coveralls and a scuba mask, Soos faced off against the eye-bat, a spray bottle strapped to each hip like a cowboy's revolvers. Dipper and Mabel stood behind him, armed with a rake and a golf club, wearing a bicycle helmet and a football helmet with tree branches taped on. The eye-bat stared them down warily.

Leaning on his elbows over the kitchen table so he could stare out the window, Bill said, "Bet you a hundred bucks she steals Questiony's hat."

Stan snorted. "I'm not taking that bet. You don't have any money."

Bill grunted and turned back to the window, just in time to see the eye-bat dive for Soos's face. Soos whipped out one of the spray bottles, dropped it, ducked down to retrieve it just as she swooped past where his head used to be, and lifted it in time to spray the eye-bat when she circled back to attack him again. She reeled off screeching, eye watering, pupil contracting. Bill winced in sympathy. Poor gal. And she didn't even have an eyelid for protection. But, hey—better for her to suffer than for Bill to risk getting caught in this body. He'd take someone else's pain over his own embarrassment any day.

"It seems to be working the same as it does on any other eye-bat," Ford said. "Good. Once she's gone, Soos and the kids can spray the rest on the roof. That should drive her off while keeping the worst of the scent away from the tourists."

Streaming tears, the eye-bat dove at the kids. They yelled in alarm. Dipper threw his rake at her and missed. Bill flipped up his eyepatch to squint at the battle with both eyes.

"What, do you see something?" Stan asked.

"Just appreciating her sphericality." Bill sighed wistfully. "That spray's gotta be excruciatingly painful—but, I've never seen her that wet before. Sure, we've fooled around with a little hot sauce a few times, but even then—"

"I'm sorry I asked."

Outside, Soos shouted, "Hey! My hat! Give that back!"

Bill wordlessly held a hand out toward Stan.

Stan smacked it away. "Nyeh."

As the eye-bat retreated toward the forest, Ford sighed in relief. "She's gone. It worked."

"You sound surprised," Bill said.

"Frankly, I can't believe that you gave us accurate information on how to get rid of her."

"What! You wound me! Why would I lie about that?"

"To trick us into doing something that strengthens her? To arrange an opportunity to meet her?" Ford suggested. "After all, as one of your Henchmaniacs, she could have helped you escape."

Bill's blood ran cold.

She could have helped him escape. SHE COULD HAVE HELPED HIM ESCAPE! He'd been so worried about not looking stupid or losing his eyes, when all this time—! He could have signaled Iris from the window, and—and the bottomless pit was right there, she could have carried a message to the gang—at the very least, she could probably open doors for him—and instead he just—when he could have—

He watched in despair as Iris's pretty little optic nerve vanished behind the trees.

No, Bill decided—no, getting her help was a terrible plan. If it was a good plan, he would have done it; so it was terrible. He had a better plan. What was his better plan?

"Come on, you think I need her? I've got all the pals I need right here—whether you're ready to admit it or not." He elbowed Ford. Bill had decided he'd wheedle Ford back over to his side, and he would. His survival depended on it. Now more than ever. "I've got a way out, don't worry about that—it's only a matter of time—and she's not part of the plan."

Ford scoffed. "Really. Last night you were moaning about being on death row."

"Wh—Hey! That was..." Not fair. He scrambled to revise his story.

"You're lying about something," Ford said. "If it wasn't how to get rid of her, then it was why you wanted to get rid of her. For all we know, maybe she wants you dead as much as we do."

"Yeah," Stan said, "the 'girlfriend' story sounds crazy enough to be true, but you seem like the kind of guy who has a string of exes who'd love to kill you." (He did, as it happened, but it wasn't his fault he kept falling for petty jealous psychos who hated seeing him thrive.)

Ford said, "If she hadn't been a danger to the tourists, perhaps I should have invited her in to talk."

Unbelievable. Even when Bill did exactly what he was supposed to, he was still the bad guy. "Fine, she was a notorious black widow and you saved my life, happy? Do you like that story better? I made it up just for you." He jabbed a finger in Ford's shoulder. "You know what your problem is? You're too paranoid. You can't trust anything anybody says. You'll only hurt yourself like that—"

Ford shoved Bill's hand away and stepped out of poking range. "I spent years unlearning the paranoia you gave me. And when I finished, do you know what I figured out, Bill? All along, there was only one person I shouldn't have trusted: you."

It stung, but only in a distant, impersonal way; like a hard slap on a numb cheek. Bill turned to give Ford a sour look. "At the lengths you take it to, I could tell you the sky is blue and you'd have to check."

Ford's gaze automatically flickered toward the window.

"Ha!" Bill angrily shoved the table against the wall as he stood up. "Thanks for taking care of my pest problem, boys." He stormed upstairs, flipping his hood up as he went. Ingrates.

####

The view out the attic window was more interesting than usual, mainly because there were three humans traipsing around on the roof spraying eye-bat repellant. From time to time Mabel came by to make funny faces at Bill through the glass; he did his best to one-up them. Once, Soos nearly fell off the roof and died; Bill hadn't laughed that hard since he was murdered.

Their return indoors was heralded by Mabel shouting, "Dibs on the shower!" and Dipper replying, "I take shorter showers, let me go first!" They pounded up the stairs. Mabel tried to take them two at a time, tripped near the top, and by the time she recovered Dipper was already in the bathroom. She groaned. "Augh! Not fair! I don't want to smell like onions and gnome pee!"

"Neither do I! I need it more, I haven't showered in two weeks!"

Bill wondered why Dipper got to go so long between showers without getting dumped in a cold tub in his sleep. (He knew why.)

Bill whistled to catch Mabel's attention. "Consolation prize." He waved a cheap perfume bottle toward Mabel. "We had leftovers after mixing the repellant. It smells like strawberry candy."

"You're my hero." Mabel took the bottle and sprayed it all over herself, in her hair, and under her sweater. "You need a shower too, you know."

"Sure, but until Dolores fumigates the kitchen I'll just blend into the background stink. I can put it off til tomorrow without anyone complaining."

"You're grossss." Mabel emphasized the hiss by poking Bill's arm. "Once I'm clean, I'm not talking to you until you've showered too."

"I'll be devastated."

"Those are my terms!" She kicked aside Bill's cushion-bed so she could sit under the window without stinking the cushions up, and settled back to wait for the bathroom. After a (very short) companionable silence, Mabel said, "It's too bad we had to chase off your ex. I can see why you like her."

Bill gave her a surprised look. "Can you?"

"Iris was so graceful!" Mabel said. "And murderous, but mostly graceful. Like an evil swan."

Bill laughed. "Yeah! Yeah, she is. Floats like a dream. If you think she's graceful in the air, you oughta see her in the pool. She's the only person I know who can make a cannonball look elegant."

Mabel gave him a sly grin.

"What?"

"Look at you. Yooou still like heeer." Mabel propped her elbows on the edge of the window seat and balanced her chin in her hands. "How did you meet Iris?"

For the last couple of days, almost everyone in the house had talked about Bill's ex like she was some kind of malevolent creature, rather than a person. He was used to outsiders talking about his friends that way—heck, most of his friends were malevolent creatures—but it grated all the same. (He missed home.) Just hearing Mabel call Iris by her name was a breath of fresh air. No one else had even asked if she had a name.

"I met her at a party," Bill said. "I'd just gotten a piano and was showing off, and she came by to ask about Earth music. She wasn't in my crew then—but the party was open invite, and everyone in that corner of the Nightmare Realm knew that if you wanted info on Earth, you came to Bill Cipher. So, we talked about waltzes and tarantellas, I played a little Beethoven, we hit things off..."

They talked until the bathroom was free and Mabel went to shower. Sweet kid. Hopeless romantic, though.

When Bill got out of this place, he was gonna find the first boy who would break her heart and kill him before they could meet. It was the least he could do for her.

####

The third entry in Bill's dream diary: "Shooting Star's cartoon is getting to me. I dreamed about the wolf and the cat arguing over who had to host someone's birthday party. The wolf refused to let guests into his enormous mansion, but the cat's house was burning down. They asked me how to resolve this. I told them the cat should execute the wolf as punishment for his inhospitality, take over his mansion, and wear his skin as the party host. The animals were so in awe of my wisdom that I was deified as god of the jungle."

That was not what he'd dreamed. The animals were so horrified at his suggestion that they'd tied him to a stake and forced him to watch as they threw the cat into the flames of her own house. He couldn't remember whether he'd dreamed that he was a triangle or a human.

He preferred his version. Once he'd regained control over his dreams, he could replay this one and make it end properly.

He'd get the hang of this in no time.

####

(You're legally required to tell me if you had a reaction to this one. Even if it's horror. Especially if it's horror.)

[writingquestionsanswered]

Hi!

Firstly, thank you so much for all you do, it’s much appreciated 🥹 secondly, I’m not sure if this is something you’ve answered already so apologies in advance if it is, tumblr’s search function is not exemplary 😅

I was hoping you’d have some alternatives for “my throat tightens” or “I swallow hard” to use in difficult, emotional moments? I feel like I’m using them way too much and I’m drawing a blank. When I try to search for it I’m just getting results for dysphagia 😂

Thank you! 🖤

Cues for Difficult/Emotional moments

There are only so many ways to describe a tightening throat, and no matter how you word it ("my throat tightens," "I swallow hard," or "a lump formed in my throat"), it's still repetitive. You're over relying on the internal cues in one part of the body (the throat) rather than the many, many others that give us emotional cues.

For example...

Lungs: - "my breath hitched" - "I felt a rush of heat to my cheeks" - "my breaths became shallow" - "I let out a long, shaky exhale" - "I drew a deep breath through my nose" - "My chest felt tight"

Chest/Heart - "my heart pounded" - "my heart sunk" - "my heartbeat turned to a panicked flutter" - "my heart thudded in my chest" - "I was too aware of my beating heart" - "My chest swelled with fury" Stomach/Core - "My stomach churned" - "A queasy feeling settled in my gut" - "A fresh wave of panic made my stomach tighten" - "My insides churned like a turbulent sea" - "My insides felt hollow, filled only with sadness"

I could go on, but I think you get the point. Take a moment to take stock of where you feel emotion in moments like the one you want to describe. It's not just something you feel in your throat. :)

If you have a little cash to spend or can put it on a gift list, I highly recommend picking up a copy (in print or e-book) of The Emotion Thesaurus by Angela Ackerman and Becca Puglisi. Even as a seasoned writer, I still find this resource to be incredibly helpful when I'm stuck on what internal or external cue would be perfect for what I'm trying to convey.

If nothing else, you can also Google "internal cues to indicate anger" or "external cues to show sadness" and see if any good suggestions come up.

Happy writing!

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[n0cturn4]

A Moment Like This

Character: Jason Todd x Reader Summary: Word Count: 818 Music: So This Is Love - Cinderella

The morning was born slowly, painting the room in a soft golden hue, as if the sun itself hesitated to disrupt the stillness that enveloped you both. Light poured gently through the gaps in the curtains, drawing delicate shadows across the bed, where the two of you rested, entwined in the warmth of the moment. The world outside kept spinning, chaotic and relentless, but there, amidst the soft sheets and Jason's tranquil breaths, there was a bubble of serenity that neither of you dared to break.

You awoke before him, your eyes gradually adjusting to the tender glow of dawn. The weight of Jason's arm, casually draped across your waist, brought a rare sense of security, as if that simple gesture conveyed all the unspoken things he still couldn’t put into words. Your bodies moved in perfect harmony, every shift of his echoing within you like a distant murmur of something profound, something eternal.

His face, relaxed for the first time in so long, was a portrait of peace. The usually hardened features, etched by battles both physical and emotional, were softened by a calm that only the quiet of morning could offer. You traced each detail — the fine scars along his jaw, the subtle lines life had forced upon him too early, now seemingly dissolved in the softness of the moment. Each mark was a map of the life he had lived, a story told silently under the morning light.

You breathed deeply, feeling the gentle caress of the fresh air drifting in through the open window. It carried the scent of the distant city, mingled with the faint perfume of clean sheets and Jason’s warm skin, creating a subtle melody of sensations that filled the space between you. There was something sacred in that silence, as if time itself was holding its breath, allowing you both to exist there, together, unhurried.

Jason shifted slightly, his eyes fluttering open with the softness of someone unaccustomed to waking up in peace. When he looked at you, the deep blue of his eyes seemed to capture all the light of the dawn, glowing with an intensity that always accompanied him, but now, in this intimate moment, was tinged with a tenderness you rarely saw. He said nothing at first, just watched you, as if he were trying to commit every detail of you to memory, as if he knew moments like this were fleeting for him.

He ran his hand down your face with a delicacy that seemed to contrast with everything he was — the warrior, the vigilante, the survivor. His thumb traced the curve of your cheek, slow and reverent, as if every inch of your skin were a precious discovery.

"You make the world... feel quiet," he murmured, his voice husky, barely breaking the silence around you.

Your heart tightened at those words, so simple yet loaded with meaning. Jason, who had spent his life battling against the noise — both external and internal — now found in you an island of tranquility, something he had never expected to find. You leaned in, your lips brushing his gently, a kiss slow and soft, as if time itself had paused in that brief instant.

"Because here, it's just us," you whispered against his lips, feeling his warmth blending with yours, the world outside fading away in that small eternity you shared.

Jason closed his eyes, resting his forehead against yours, your hearts beating in unison, and in that simple gesture was a depth of vulnerability. He was so strong, so unyielding to the world, but there, in your arms, he was just Jason — the man, not the soldier. A sigh escaped his lips, as if he were allowing himself to relax completely, for the first time in so long.

“I didn’t know I could... let myself feel this way,” he whispered, the words so low they almost dissolved into the air, but you caught them, feeling the weight they carried.

You ran your hand through his hair, the touch light, as if soothing a storm on the verge of breaking. “Now you know,” you answered softly, with the certainty that only love can bring.

Silence fell between you again, but this time, it was comfortable, like an old song you both knew by heart. The sunlight continued to spread across the room, but for the two of you, time was still suspended. Jason, lying beside you, seemed more vulnerable than ever, and you knew that despite all the chaos surrounding him, he had found peace, even if it was only for that brief morning.

The love you shared was like that — a refuge amidst the darkness, a golden light shining even in the darkest corners of Jason's life. And in that moment, as the warmth of the morning wrapped around your intertwined bodies, you knew, with the depth of every heartbeat, that this was the home he had been searching for: not a physical place, but you.

[absolutebl]

This Week in BL - Japan is Winning on Kisses & Other Alternate Realities

Organized, in each category, with ones I'm enjoying most at the top.

March 2024 Wk 4

Ongoing Series - Thai

Two Worlds (Thurs IQIYI) ep 3 of 10 - It would be great if we got the alternative romance with dead Kram from Tai’s perspective (JBL style.) Still I like this show. It’s a little bit like I Feel You Linger in the Air only with a love triangle. And while I'm not a fan of triangles as a general rule, I don’t mind it here because the set up is clever. Wayu and  ao are fun sides too. It sure is moving very quickly, which I like. I’m not entirely sure what’s going on. But that’s normal for me with this kind of Thai drama. 

Deep Night (Thurs iQiyi) ep 4 of 8 - They are extremely sappy boyfriends. I love that mom has a secret gf. Could we please have more of them? The love triangle sides are ridiculous, but I do like that it’s all out in the open. I also like they are actually addressing the complicated parental dynamics of owning a sex club. Honestly, I think Khem should have to be a host too. Learn him the right way, girl!

City of Stars (Fri iQIYI) ep 9 of 12 - It’s good, I like the fallout and them actually having to deal with crazy fans and past relationships. They’re so good at communicating it’s kind of a pleasure to watch them suffer through external pressures, because I have faith that they can make it through.

To Be Continued (Thai C3 Thailand grey) ep 6 of 8 - They are such cute puppy dads and so clearly meant to be together, the fact that they aren’t is just frustrating. The fight thing was stupid. And not a whole lot happened... plus singing. I’m getting fatigued with this one. 

1000 Years Old ep 7 of 12 - Did I miss something happening, or did nothing happen? 

Kiseki Chapter 2 (Sun iQIYI) ep 2 of 6 - It’s so boring, there’s so much guitar playing, and it got weirdly voyeuristic (in a very much not sexy way). I’m totally out. DNF

Close Friend Season 3: Soju Bomb! (Weds iQIYI) ep 3 of 6 - I can’t tell if this is trying to be a BL Romancing the Stone, or a BL Hangover, or both. The problem with situational comedy is it must be both situational and comedic, not just option one. The problem with calling something BL, is that it must be BL. This show got 1 of 3 claims correct. 33% is not a passing grade. DNF 

Honestly, it's the HANDS with these two. They do beautiful beautiful things with their hands. If you're one of those hands-obsessed BLabies you should be watching LIBTSTA!

Ongoing Series - Not Thai

Unknown (Taiwan Tues Youku YouTube & Viki) ep 6 of 11 - So the worst finally happened. The mountain of pain has fallen down upon us. And now, hopefully in the second half things get better for our boys. But what a rough ride. Normally, this is not my style of BL, but everyone is doing such a gorgeous job with it, I can’t fault it… except that it hurts. The red thread symbolism was elegantly done. I’d like to hope we get a reunion in the next one, but knowing this style of series they’re gonna draw it out. There's gonna be a more pain first.

Love is Better the Second Time Around AKA Koi wo Suru nara Nidome ga Joto (Japan Weds Gaga) ep 4 of 6 - Those fuck me puppy dog eyes were perfectly executed. I would not have been able to resist either. Gosh they are so damn cute. This is a great show.

Jazz for Two (Korea Gaga/grey) eps 1-2 of 8 - This comes from the Shoulder to Cry On team so I'm scared, but this one is all actors* not idols so maybe they'll be braver. Boy howdy does it have a fantastic opening sequence. Also the lead is fucking adorable. Mr Broody McBroodypants is cute too. Korea sure loves “pretty but broken.” On the JBL end of the spectrum, is everyone in love with their siblings? That’s weird. The dining room scene was painful. All in all, it's good, I'm intrigued. Let's see how you go little show.

I stand absolutely corrected the lead is a member of NEWKIDD (in my defense I'd never heard of them until Build Up last month). I did recognize him from To My Star because at the time I thought he was too pretty to be only a side character.

AntiReset (Taiwan Fri Viki/Gaga) ep 10 fin - Again there was overuse of previous footage and maudlin navel-gazing grief over something we knew was going to happen. So I didn’t really feel much emotional connection to the drama. 7 year time gap.? t was a cute reunion but the moral quandary never really got resolved. I don’t know how to rate this, I’m not sure I will ever watch it again, so that is a big mark against it.

There’s nothing objectively wrong with this BL except how upsetting it is because of the foundational pygmalion story - grown man falls in love with an android who is basically both his slave and, by maturity level, a child. Yet that premise is crystal clear from the get go, so we watch it eyes open. The actors are cute, the romance sweet, the physical chemistry on point (of course, it’s Taiwan) and yet I was left ultimately unsettled by the concept, content, and plot. 7/10 

My Strawberry Film (Japan Thurs Gaga) ep 7 of 8 - I'm so ready for this to be over, and for Gaga to have something good on. Soon please?

It's done, ready to binge, but I suck

What Did You Eat Yesterday Season 2 AKA Kinou Nani Tabeta? Season 2 (Japan Gaga) 10 eps

It's airing but...

Graduation Countdown (Taiwan YouTube) - It's too much to ask me to keep up with 2 minute verticals, I don't have that kind of TikTok endurance training. Waiting to binge.

A Secretly Love (Thai Sat WeTV grey) 10 eps - I watched the first ep but grey is too much work for this inferior of a show. I may pick up and binge if it gets distribution but for now, it gets a DNF from me. KimCop might have held this crap together but Kim without Cop? No thank you.

Lady Boy Friends (Thai WeTV grey) 16 eps - reminds me a bit too much of Diary of Tootsies only high school. Not my thing. DNF unless it turns a corner and is truly amazing.

Tangential to the genre

There has been the occasional discussion on this topic here in this little corner of tumblr so I thought there might be a few intersted in this podcast: AmericanThaiGuy Ron Weaver on the Complicated Issue of Racism in Thailand (The Bangkok Podcast)

Thailand passed its Marriage Equality bill through the lower house. It's expected to pass the high house and get signed by the King, but that hasn't quite happened yet.

And MaxTul dropped a photo shoot.

Next Week Looks Like This:

Starting Soon

3/31 Only Boo! (Thai GMMTV YouTube) 12 eps - New main couple for GMMTV in an idol romance about a boy who dances good and a food stand vendor. Other side of the tracks grumpy/sunshine pair who fall deeply in love but, of course, baby boy idol can't date. Boyband but from GMMTV? Control your singing and I'm game.

3/31 The Next Prince (Thai ????) 12 eps - trailer. ZeeNew in a fantasy/historical set in a palace where Zee plays a knight and Nu a prince - YES PLEASE. (Apparently this is just the pilot, not the start of the actual show, see comments.)

4/1 Love is like a Cat (Korea ????) 12 eps - This completed filming Aug 2022(!) which means there have been serious problems with post-production. This is another of Silkwood's Korean+Thai colab projects. Mew Suppasit plays a rookie film star, called the Cat Prince (for his cold arrogance) who goes up against a charismatic puppyish animal daycare director (JM of JUST B). There is a side romance (love triangle?) with a veterinarian. Geonu of JUST B is also in the cast. Dual languages.

Hum, trash-watch-a-licious?

4/3 We Are (Thai GMMTV YouTube iQIYI) 12 eps - University ensemble BL featuring PondPhuwin, WinnySatang, AouBoom, MarcPawinPoon - basically the good kind of messy gay friendship group (so more My Engineer and less Only Friends). Looks a bit like the Kiss series but everyone is queer. I'm IN!

4/11 Living With Him AKA Kare no Iru Seikatsu (Japan ????) 10 eps - Kindly Ryota goes off to uni only to find his new roommate is his childhood bestie, Kazuhito. Kazuhito doesn’t have a girlfriend and Ryota tries to help him figure out why, they fall in love along the way. Same director as Old Fashion Cupcake.

4/11 Gray Shelter AKA Gray Currents (Korea ????) 4 eps - SooHyuk is only just surviving and reunites with YoonDae, an old friend. They end up living together. One of the leads is played by Choco of Choco Milk Shake.

4/18 At 25:00, in Alaska AKA 25 Ji, Akasaka de (Japan Gaga - may not be global) 10 eps - Yuki lands his first starring role in a BL drama alongside superstar Asami (previously his senior at uni). Said superstar suggests they form a sham relationship until filming concludes. As they actually begin to fall in love, the spotlight begins to burn.

Seriously? You're killing me with these titles, boys.

4/26 My Stand-In (Thai iQIYI) 12 eps - adaptation of Chinese novel "Professional Body Double" by Shui Qiang Cheng. Stars Up (Lovely Writer) and Poom (Bake Me Please) directed by the same team as KP (not a recommendation IMHO - my biggest criticism of that show was the clashing directing styles). This one looks well complicated, lemme try: Joe is a stuntman for famous actor Tong. Joe falls in love with Ming but Ming sees Joe as nothing more than a Tong-replacement. After learning this horrible truth, Joe dies. Joe then wakes up in the body of another man also named Joe. He manages to rebuild the same life as before—with the same people eventually re-meeting Ming. Ming wants Joe back but Joe doesn't understand why. But Ming seems to know what's going on and wants to give him some kind of explanation.

I'm exhausted just trying to describe the plot.

Knock-Knock Boys (Thai WeTV) - 4 college friends conspire to help their friend lose his virginity. Familiar faces like Seng (yes, Billy's previous partner) and Best, news here.

Upcoming BLs for 2024 are listed here. This list is not kept updated, so please leave a comment if you know something new or RP with additions.

NOTE: It looks like one of my personal favorites of last year Unintentional Love Story is getting a spin off!

THIS WEEK’S BEST MOMENT

Just these two, in my head, rent free. Thanks Japan!

(Last week)

Streaming services are listed by how I (usually) watch, which is with a USA based IP, and often offset by a day because time zones are too much work.

The tag BLigade: @doorajar @solitaryandwandering @my-rose-tinted-glasses @babymbbatinygirl @babymbbatinygirl @isisanna-blog @mmastertheone @pickletrip @aliceisathome @urikawa-miyuki @tokillamonger @rocketturtle4

If ya wanna be tagged each week leave a comment and I will add you to the template. Easy peesy. (With so many tags when does a weekly tumblr post become a newsletter? That is this week's philosophical question...)

[its-no-biggie]

thinking about teruhashi, and her relationship with saiki after she finds out about his powers......

cause like. teruhashi is so convinced that people only like her because of the perfect facade of effortless beauty and grace right. but saiki isnt fooled by the facade and actually appreciates how much effort she puts into her image. like in the episode where they go to the nasty ramen shop and she loses respect from nendou and kaidou but gains respect from saiki. so like, i think teruhashi would definitely have a crisis about saiki being able to hear her thoughts at first, but once she got over the shock she would probably give up on trying to make him like her. she'd just be convinced he'll never like the version of her that isnt perfect. especially since hes already been seeing that version of her for so long - even if teruhashi could somehow project a perfect version of herself to saiki by policing her internal self as well as external (which, holy shit would that be unhealthy but you know she'd try) that ship has long sailed. she obviously wouldnt lose feelings for him but she would stop actively pursuing him since he can see right through her.

but even if she accepts that saiki knows who she is inside, teruhashi probably wouldnt be comfortable completely dropping the act around him for a while - but since she would know he can hear her thoughts, they could finally interact directly without that barrier between them yk? and saiki also has a history of dropping his facade around people who know about his powers, so i think theres some really cool potential there of like. we've both been pretending for so long but now we cant pretend around each other anymore and its weird and different but not in a bad way. kind of like theyre starting their friendship over from the beginning.....

and i think they would get along like a house on fire. all of saikis friends are isolated in one way or another, but saiki and teruhashi have a uniquely similar flavour of it: elevated to near-god status by the traits they were born with. the difference is that saiki tries to pretend to be normal to blend in (unsuccessfully), while teruhashi intentionally widens the divide between herself and normal people. thats probably why saiki admires that about her - he sees the effort she puts in to maintain her image because hes doing something similar. and especially if this is a scenario where somehow only teruhashi knows about saikis powers, it becomes like a little secret they both have. they see each other in public, while theyre both putting on their little performance to maintain their ideal social standing, and have a mental conversation about how irritating it all is (and maybe tease each other about how different they are internally vs externally). she can ask him for tips about the people around her to get on their good side, and in return she stays away from saiki while there are people around to not draw attention to him. symbiotic relationship.

and then of course. combining their powers. i actually have a post about this where the dynamic is more like teruhashi manipulating saiki into going along with her schemes (but he secretly doesnt mind), but revisiting it now i think that dynamic isnt quite right...... teruhashi definitely gets involved in more situations than saiki does, so that would be kind of similar to how aiura drags him into things. but they might have more of a transactional situation, almost like saiki and his dad have? its kind of an interesting middle ground - teruhashi is not as concerned with doing the right thing as aiura (so there wouldnt be the element of ideological conflict), but in her desire to be seen as perfect, her actions tend to be pretty selfless (unlike saikis dad who asks for saiki to teleport him to work and stuff). not to mention teruhashis desire to stand out paired with saikis desire to blend in - he could use his powers without standing out if there was someone else there to bask in that attention. and teruhashi would thrive as the face of saikis powers, seeing as it would only elevate her "blessed by god" status. its really not difficult to imagine a world where theyre a powerful duo - even in the original they kinda put their powers together like this, and i think that could be even more fun if teruhashi was in on it yk?

but also it would help them both accept that they dont need the facade to be liked...... because the person they cant pretend around still likes them....... well saiki kind of has an arc like this in the show but hes still basically on the starting line. we dont even get to see him revealing his powers to his friends. so i think its one thing to rip the bandaid off but its another to come to terms with the fact that the person does still like you after they find out about the real you...... and that could be a cool thing to kind of mirror with these two i think! and especially where they both have preconceived notions about each other - saiki wont say "offu" because im not doing enough to appeal to him. teruhashi only has a crush on me because she thinks im a regular guy. but then teruhashi stops trying to impress saiki and saiki stops trying to appear normal to teruhashi and theyre both surprised to find that they actually have good chemistry and like being around each other. i like that kind of development, of revealing your "uglier" side to someone and it only brings you closer. they could be haters together..... you see my vision......

[whenmemorydies]

Preliminary thoughts on The Bear, race, power and privilege

I’m a non-Black woman of colour who has spent all of my life in the west…so I’ve consumed a lot of television media that is produced by and for the white gaze. The most obvious way that gaze plays out is when people of colour are non-existent in a cast, or when they are included, are tokenistic, bit players.

A more insidious manifestation is where POC are cast to play parts that could just as easily be played by white folks: characters that have no interiority or external relationships related to their cultural identities, wider communities or individual or collective histories (for example, Mindy in The Mindy Project for most of its run, or the characters of colour in Season 1 of Bridgerton).

I've had some thoughts about how The Bear (thankfully) avoids tokenistic and "colour-blind" representation. I also have some thoughts about how the show models meaningful allyship. I'm so keen to discuss this with folks and hear what others think about it too.

Unambiguous and unapologetic

The Bear is confined in its universe, particularly in season 1 where it’s focus is tightly bound to the physical location of The Beef as the setting for almost every scene. Episodes of The Bear are generally not very long, so time is precious (every second really does count). These factors necessarily limit how deep we can get into each character. But the show is so good at drawing on different means of communication: images, lighting, score, soundtrack, phrasing, callbacks to previous episodes, other cultural references etc, that each episode is like a jewellery box with gems waiting to be unpacked and pored over. I've said that I have started reading this show like a tarot deck because of how rich the symbolism in each episode is.

So despite the constraints of time and setting, characters of colour in this show are also so very rich in their realisation and portrayal. These characters are unambiguously and - this is important - unapologetically racialised: through language (see: Tina’s use - and occasional weaponisation lmao - of Spanish), physical appearance (see: Sydney’s two-tone braids and her stunning, prolific collection of headscarves throughout the show), culturally distinct names (see: Sydney Adamu, Ebraheim, Tina Marrero, etc), food (see: Carmy’s peace offering to Syd in ep 1x03 of Ebra’s family chicken suqaar - a popular dish in the latter character’s birth country of Somalia), etc.

GIF by @chefkids

These may seem like small and inconsequential details to some. In fact I’ve been seeing a lot of commentary from folks online saying that what they like about The Bear is that race isn’t mentioned at all on the show. But make no mistake: race is all over this thing. The examples I've given are only some of the many references to racialised histories and cultures that build out the broader fabric of multicultural Chicago here.

What is not present in The Bear is a script that is wasting time explaining the characters of colour and their rich inner and outer lives to white folks. Those things are just a given and we are invited to witness them being brought to vivid life by this cast and crew. And I am fucking here for it.

Respect and allyship

Another thing I LOVE about this show is the respect given to, and the recognition of, the experience, talent, drive and ambition of its characters of colour.

This is most obvious in the relationship between Syd and Carmy who are signalled as complementary equals in many ways. Others have written on the importance of the representation embodied by Sydney’s character and you should search out that analyses, especially when its authored by Black women. The only other thing I’d say about it is that I love Sydney’s character and I also love endgame Sydcarmy (even if it’s only hinted at in the last second of the last frame of the last ever episode lmao…I will take whatever I can get of these two 😭).

I also see the show’s respect and recognition manifest in The Bear's investment in its staff, particularly in season 2. Everyone who worked at The Beef has a role at The Bear and Carmy, Syd and Nat fund the ongoing training and upskilling of their largely racialised staff to make sure this happens. Ebra and Tina are paid to attend culinary school (Carmy also gives Tina his prized knife for her studies and beyond). Marcus is sent to stage in Copenhagen to develop his skills as a patissier. And then we have The Bear itself - what started as Carmy and Michael’s vision, is now the whole team’s baby, with Sydney literally being made the captain of the ship by Carmy at the end of ep 2x09.

GIF by @savagegood

Part of what was so tragic about Carmy's fridge spiral at the end of season 2 was that he didn't get to see how beautifully the team came through in a crisis. Instead we had him internalising, regressing and lamenting how he had let everyone down. This language centred Carmy as the be all and end all of The Bear (saviour vibes) when this couldn't have been further from the truth (particularly in a season where the man spent so much of his time not in the restaurant but chasing manic pixie no-last-name-having Claire....but I digress).

Carmy is his best when he checks his ego, takes a step back and realises that he is not alone. He is part of a whole chosen family supporting one another at The Bear. And I get the sense that the folks creating this show know that we need more white folks using their power and privilege to step back and facilitate access, and less gatekeeping white saviours taking credit where its not due.

After all, and paraphrasing Viola Davis, the only thing that separates people of colour from anyone else, is opportunity.

12/04/24 Note: I’ve amended this post because I forgot to mention the most pivotal example of Sydney along with her relationship with Carmy. Also made some slight stylistic changes to phrasing cos i fixate on errors lol

[ewingstan]

So one of Ward's main themes has been asking what's needed to change as a person. Its the whole setup for Breakthrough: People who've done horrible things trying to become better. There's been lots of sub-themes within that—accountability, punishment and repentance, separating yourself from your past. There's been a constant counter to it, with most of the foils or antagonistic forces expressing the idea that you can't get better and might as well let yourself get worse. Lisa does this through her pessimism about things getting better. A lot of the minor career villains have represented it through their willingness to "be more brutal" rather than stick to the old rules we're pretending anyone followed. Cradle represented it through how he blamed Rain for not letting him stay good, and before that the rest of the cluster represented it through blaming Rain for their own bloodthirstiness via bleedthrough. "This isn't my fault, the world is making me bad" has repeatedly been positioned as the obstacle to "Regardless of why I did wrong before, I can put in work to get better."

I do think that "others are too quick to judge agents for reacting to bad circumstances imperfectly" is a bigger problem then "people are too willing to blame their circumstances for their behavior." Mostly because those unfair judgements of moral character has been the justification for uncountable cruel punishments throughout history, lead to untold people being paralyzed by the fear of Hell, lead to children being treated like they needed evil beaten out of them and convicts being treated like they're being disrespectful for daring to continue drawing breath. It can be hard for me to overcome my gut reaction towards anything that seems to be arguing for moral responsibility, because I genuinely think our ethical systems would be better without that concept being included.

But, that's not quite what Ward is doing, at least not when its at its best. "You need to take responsibility" in the sense of recognizing that you could act differently in the future is, strictly speaking, different from "you need to be held responsible" in the sense I find harmful. So as far as central themes go, its not bad. I have resistances to finding it astounding, but it's not an inherently terrible angle or anything.

That said, Ward has framed the opposing theme in counterproductive ways. While "the world wouldn't let me change" can work as a good beat, its not something that people are consciously thinking and being motivated by. We can talk about "they thought I was a monster, so they stripped me of all means to live honestly, so I had to live as a monster" or even "they thought I was a monster, so none would speak with me except others they considered monsters, and we made each other our worst selves," but in neither of those cases is the character's actions driven by their own belief that people wont let them be good—its driven by the actual external circumstances of how people treat them and restrict opportunities. So the way Cradle suddenly starts behaving horribly, not because others are treating him in ways that affect his material circumstances, but because of his reaction to the cluster bleedthrough—it just feels mistaken to even invoke "you made me a monster" as a trope. It doesn't work as a critique of pushing the blame for your actions onto others, because Cradle's reasoning for pushing the blame onto others feels written as an afterthought.

My problem with how this is treated in Amy are related, but not identical. A few chapter's ago, Amy complained about the world not letting her change. I don't think it made much sense for her, not only because her becoming someone who externalizes her issues feels like an unsatisfying direction for her after Worm, but more directly because it doesn't make sense in the context she's in. And sure, she's someone who makes poorly thought-out excuses for herself, so I'm not gonna ding the writing for that. It just feels like it makes more sense as just a parroting of what some commenters have said about Victoria and Amy, rather than something that Amy would herself think.

The same thing seems true for the above passages. A lot of things that readers have said about Amy are now being said, by Amy. Amy is of course voicing the rhetorically worst possible version of those claims, but I think the interesting thing is that the context Amy's saying it is the main thing making it reprehensible. Because as much as Amy is repeating the thin substance of what some readers have argued, fans arguing with other fans that "you shouldn't hate this character because X," is just substantially different than a rapist telling her victim "you shouldn't hate me because of X." Even if the strict words spoken were the same, they aren't at all the same claim, because one is what the audience should feel and the other is how Victoria should feel.

You could argue against this by saying "if its right for Victoria to hate Amy, its right for the audience to hate Amy, because hate is right when it reflects an accurate judgement of someone's moral character." I won't pretend that conception of justified hate isn't somewhat widespread, but I don't think it stands up to scrutiny. Especially not applied to fictional characters.

[vegageshsworld]

WHAT ARE SUBLIMINALS?

subliminals are audio affirmations hidden under music or sounds of nature, they are aimed at changing internal attitudes, changing internal and external states

there are subliminals aimed at correcting health in all its manifestations (there are "local" subliminals that are aimed at healing a specific organ/state); there are also subliminals aimed at transforming consciousness, any external characteristics and defects, etc.

it is worth saying that there are countless subliminals, it is only important to know which subliminals can be useful!

HOW DO SUBLIMINALS WORK?

passing through our consciousness, which does not perceive voice instructions disguised under various sounds, so positive affirmations get into our subconscious, where they are fixed. our consciousness is a unique mechanism and sometimes it is capable of independently putting up blocks, thereby preventing ordinary affirmations that we ourselves pronounce from being fixed. therefore, we can say that subliminals have the ability to deceive our consciousness

WHAT ARE THE RULES FOR EFFECTIVE LISTENING?

it is worth starting with the fact that there are two main types of subliminals:

subliminals created on the basis of binaural beats (usually, this is indicated in the description of the subliminals), such subliminals are usually listened to either in a calm state or while running/walking and in both headphones;

subliminals created on the basis of ordinary affirmations disguised as music/nature noise. such subliminals can be listened to anywhere and in any way: you can listen without headphones, you can listen while you are doing your own thing (writing, drawing, cooking, washing, etc. - which, by the way, you can’t do when listening to subs based on binaural beats)

you can listen to subs as many times as you like + include listening to them in your list of “daily rituals” - for the desired results to appear faster, consistency and regularity are necessary!

how not to get hung up on the results and how to get maximum results after listening to any sub (in general, I want to combine these two topics, because if you do not get hung up on the results, then, a priori, you get what you want)

───── ⋆⋅♡⋅⋆ ─────

what advice could I give, based on my experience of listening to subs?

work with thinking, first of all! - add subliminals to your playlist that remove internal blocks and limitations; add subs that help your subconscious "earn" at full capacity; add boosters; also, do not underestimate meditation (at one time they really helped me calm down and achieve harmony, from which the subs began to act more effectively)

try to just lag behind yourself. yes, that's right. continue listening to subliminals, but remove all sorts of expectations from your head. the only thoughts you should have are "yes, I know that the results WILL STILL BE", "I just know that EVERYTHING WILL HAPPEN EXACTLY THE WAY I WANT"

stop going to the mirror every second and looking at how your appearance has/hasn't changed, stop waiting for anything, and just believe that everything will happen exactly the way you want. the only thing you can't know is the time frame in which certain changes will happen to you. and there will still be cuts after listening to subs, it's just that for some people they will be more or less pronounced

also, in order not to get hung up on cuts, you can find yourself a certain hobby (my hobby is video editing, where I am very distracted from all sorts of thoughts and listen to subs during it, just like that)

I would advise people who are not very receptive to subs to turn on subs at night and fall asleep with them, because our subconscious is on different frequencies during sleep and functions a little differently, being in a state of rest. therefore, as an option, listening to this can also be a good catalyst for the manifestation of the desired results

healthy sleep is also important (7-8 hours a day)

───── ⋆⋅♡⋅⋆ ─────

YOU WILL BE OKAY, I KNOW IT!! I LOVE YOU!! <3

[bucksdaffy]

okay, so i've seen some people claim that tim minear is an avid buddie shipper and that he's slowly but surely laying the groundwork for buck and eddie to become canon in the future and...

i'm just thoroughly confused about this assertion.

i'll preface this by saying i'm very new to the fandom, so i'm prepared to be wrong about this. i'm aware i may lack crucial context because i've been here only so long. also, i don't know tim personally, so i obviously can't speak to his true intentions, but i'll make my case anyway.

i'll cite two RECENT comments by tim that i assume people might draw this conclusion from:

[?: There is a sect of the fandom that just wants 9-1-1 to be the Buck and Eddie show, and any cut that removes a second of them is going to get the same reaction. Nothing short of renaming the show "Christopher's Two Dads" is going to make them happy.] T: I totally get that. I even appreciate it. Which explains the entire first act of last night's episode. I kind of did for the Buck/Eddie fans (I mean I really do it for myself in the end). I just thought... they'd like it? Shrug. I liked it, so whatever.

Minear tells Rolling Stone that he hasn’t just been aware of fan reactions, he’s actually changed storylines in the past to avoid being accused of queerbaiting. But rather than help, he says it made the show worse. “Nobody wants to be accused of queerbaiting so I kind of stopped writing those characters together. And I think it hurt the show because I was so afraid to be accused of something that I wasn’t going where I would naturally go with the stories,” Minear says. “I just decided that I just have to write the thing that I think is right. I just have to be honest with the story I’m telling and let the chips fall where they may.”

now, i may be biased, but this doesn't read to me like he plans on buddie endgame at all.

while it's clear he loves the bond between buck and eddie and enjoys highlighting it in the show, saying he totally wants them to end up together feels like a reach.

he discusses being accused of queerbaiting in the past, which led him to backtrack a little and stop writing buck and eddie together. how does this suggest he did it because he wants buddie to become canon? if that were his intention he could have continued to drop more (apparent!) hints that buck and eddie may love each other in a non-platonic way. he wouldn't care about the accusations of queerbaiting so much, because he would be planning to make them canon all along. sure, there are external constraints that could prevent this from ever materializing, but that doesn't mean he couldn't write the dialogue in a clearly ambiguous way so that once he gets a pass and everyone else involved is on board with it, he could confirm that "yeah, you were right; it was a good ol' friends-to-lovers slow burn trope all along. congrats!!" no. instead he backtracked because he didn't want anyone to think he was writing buddie as anything other than a platonic relationship. that's it. but he eventually realized it doesn't really matter because people are going to think what they want to think regardless. and he obviously loves buck and eddie's friendship so he might as well just make the most out of it at this point. and if he ever feels like maybe it is a good time to turn their friendship into something more because it feels right for story, he'll go for it. but if not, he won't.

i see a lot of people claim buddie is a six-season-long slow burn, being carefully crafted right now for future canonization. and they say tim basically confirmed this. but i really can't see his comments being a confirmation of the sort.

if there are any quotes i'm missing that suggest otherwise, i would love to go through them. so if anyone's aware of any, please don't hesitate to hit me up.

but at the moment i believe y'all are just setting yourselves up for disappointment.

[my-own-walker]

Hi! I really like your fictions! Could you write one where Evan is getting a little tipsy (don't know, like he just came back from a party late at night but the reader is sleeping and he's just a noisy ass coming home but he's still horny af) thanks a million in advance xoxo

Heat Wave

note: i know the above pic is literally not him but it looks so close i gotta use it

warnings: drunk s3x (but it’s okay bc he wants it), sm*t, oral f receiving

+++

It was unbearably hot in the city. The apartment's air conditioning was simply not cutting it. The night was disgustingly stuffy. The fan in the corner of the room oscillated from side to side, but could not sufficiently move the stifling air.

I spent the night tossing and turning, sleeping in only panties and a tank top to try to keep myself cool. Nothing worked. The stickiness in the air was bothersome, and I plainly could not sleep. And what made it worse? The only person that could cure my insomnia was out at a cast party.

Evan's new project had just wrapped, which meant a large celebration for all involved. He spent the night texting me photos from the bar they ended up at, but after a while, they stopped coming in. I figured he was having too much fun to even regard his phone, so I settled into bed to try to get some sleep. I struggled to sleep every time he was out late, but this time was especially torturous given the temperature.

I looked at the clock on the bedside table. 2 am. I groaned externally and flipped onto my side. As a last-ditch effort, I threw the duvet off the bed and slipped under the thin sheet. It was cool enough for me to begin to doze off. Just as sleep began to take me, though, the apartment door opened loudly and shook me awake.

The door shut with a bang and the sound of jingly keys being thrown onto the counter rang through the apartment. I heard Evan’s voice. He was muttering something to himself.

‘I have to be quiet, Y/N is sleeping,’ he drawled, drunkenly, just outside the bedroom door. Not subtly at all, he opened the door and stepped into the room at quite a normal volume. ‘Shhhhhh,’ he directed at the sound of the door closing.

‘Hey baby, it’s okay, I’m awake,’ I murmured.

He gasped like a child. ‘You’re awake? Yayyyy,’ he exclaimed excitedly. ‘Y/N I missed you.’ He kicked his shoes off and rushed over to my side of the bed, wrapping me in a sloppy embrace.

‘I missed you too, lovely,’ I cooed. ‘How was it?’

He let go of me and took his shirt off. The sight of his muscly body made me quietly churn inside. He stood and removed his jeans, letting them pool on the floor.

‘It was good, we like, went to the bar and stuff,’ Evan said disconnectedly as he walked over to his side of the bed and flopped down. ‘I had so many drinks. So many.’ He sat up and rested his back on the headboard, folding his hands over his stomach.

‘I can tell,’ I giggled, grabbing his head and tilting it down so I could kiss it. He rested his forehead on my shoulder and slumped a bit.

‘You smell good,’ he slurred.

‘Thank you, I try,’ I laughed. He looked up, suddenly, his eyes appearing more sober than before.

‘You’re really hot,’ he breathed. He took a front-hanging strand of my hair in his fingers and tucked it behind my ear. ‘I like what you’re wearing.’

‘Oh, yeah? It’s way too hot in here, I needed something light,’ I smiled.

‘I think you should wear that every night,’ he hummed, ‘in fact, I think you should wear that all the time.’

‘That wouldn’t be appropriate now, would it?’ I laughed. He sobered even more, shifting so he could caress my bare shoulder.

‘I wouldn’t care.’ He pulled me in closer to him and began kissing me. In all honestly, I wasn’t sure I wanted to have him all over me, with the heat and all, but the way he touched me was so compelling. The way his sweaty bare skin felt against mine was intoxicating.

He hoisted me onto his lap, my legs straddling his hips. I ran my hands over his bare torso as we made out, its smoothness drawing me into a trance. It didn't matter how many times we'd done this. It always made my heart skip when he began to remove my clothes.

My top fell with a dull thud onto the bedroom floor. Evan regarded me in the state I was in, pausing for just a moment to appreciate me. Then, hungrily, he started kissing my skin, leaving love bites here and there as he went.

I moaned and bucked my hips at the contact. His kisses lingered on my neck and breasts. I felt his bulge grow beneath me.

'Lay down,' he instructed. I did as he pleased, shifting off his lap and into a laying position atop the sheets. I took my panties off myself to hasten the process. He situated himself in front of me, pushing my ankles gently, guiding my knees to bend. Then, softly, he parted my thighs.

Warmth spread through my core as I felt him pepper kisses along the insides of my thighs. They were tender kisses, full of passion and love. Slowly, his face made its way up my leg until he reached my wet pussy.

He ran his tongue along the folds, taking his time to savor every second. I inhaled sharply with each movement. His tongue circled my pussy before finding my clit. I cried out as he hit the bundle of nerves. It felt like fireworks were exploding deep within my core. I yelped and moaned raucously, unable to keep i together.

In no time, I was putty in his hands. I grabbed his hair and held him close to me, ensuring he would not pull away. I needed him badly. Our bodies moved in sync. It was magic. I orgasmed so loudly that I thought the neighbors might come knocking. Evan sat me up and hugged me closely after my fits of pleasure subsided.

'You okay?' he whispered in my ear, stroking my back delicately. I nodded, breathing heavily. 'Can I keep going?'

'Yes,' I panted, 'please.'

Evan laid me back down and spread my legs again, this time much hungrier. Too drunk to be cunning, or even a tease, he wasted no time removing his briefs and lining his cock up with my entrance.

He thrust into me with a grunt, feeling my cunt’s walls tighten around his length. He threw his head back and squeezed his eyes shut. I reached up, pulling him by his neck toward me so I could kiss him. Not for long, though. The deeper his cock went inside me, the less will I had to keep going.

There was nothing I could do besides grip the bedsheets as he had his way with me. It was so hot and heavy. His touch was all encompassing and heavenly. He came with a loud moan and a string of curse words. I felt his hot load spill into me.

‘Fuck,’ I spat, gasping for air. Evan pulled out and collapsed on top of me, nestling his head into the crook of my neck. I felt his chest rise and fall sharply and his heartbeat pound right next to my sternum. ‘You alright?’ I breathed.

‘Ye-yeah,’ he panted. ‘Fuck. You’re so hot.’

‘No you,’ I laughed. He rolled off of me and flopped onto his back. I sighed in relief. ‘Good. It’s too fucking hot in here to have you on me like that.’ He chuckled softly.

‘You’re right,’ he drawled. ‘I need a cold shower.’

‘I’ll join you,’ I suggested. ‘I think there’s no use in trying to sleep tonight. We gotta call maintenance about the AC tomorrow.’

‘I can’t lie, Y/N, ‘m kinda too drunk to remember that,’ he slurred. ‘You gotta remind me tomorrow.’

I stood and walked to the bathroom, chuckling quietly at him. His drunkenness made him all the more loveable. I turned on the shower and heard a thud in the bedroom.

‘Everything okay?’ I called.

‘Yeahhhhh,’ Evan drawled. ‘I tripped over the duvet.’

I shook my head and laughed aloud. Damn he was cute.

+++

Two posts in one day after days of radio silence?! Am I sick? No…just feeling spicy LMAO.

[straycalamities]

so for some Reasons, the same reasons zombinoslayer is on indefinite hiatus, i have a question on like. Say there is a Truffula Flu-oriented plot, story. Y'know a narrative. Coming up, but the way it's being made is basically prose-based, how would you prefer to see that formatted onto a tumblr askblog/archive thing?

it does deal with two characters and two characters only (so far?)

rp-style is out of the question because of editing reblogs being killed

but...i have a few thoughts, but i'm not sure which one people would like to read and digest the most

for more clarity on what i mean with terms/styles: click under the readmore

when i say "prose-style" i mean it's written like a novel. it's 3rd-person limited and past tense.

The sun was baring down hard on Mikey's back as he trudged down the sidewalk. He drug his feet, pose hunched. Why did he have to run out of eggs on the hottest day of the year?

when i say "script-style" i mean that it's written how you would read the script for a show or a play. this is how i treated zombinoslayer's big scenes. it'd have progressive images for each action/dialogue, wherever i deemed an image needed/important

Mikey: [The sun is bright and harsh. He is walking down the sidewalk. He looks exhausted.] Why did I have to run out of eggs on the hottest day of the year?!

and when i say comic, well, that's obvious. i'd do my best to translate everything as well as i can into something that is heavily image and dialogue based that has comic frames and such.

pros and cons of all these being:

prose pros (lol): it keeps all of the character's inner feelings, struggles, and thoughts and even some motives out and easier to see, which with these scenes and with how these characters are, might be important or even very enlightening for people i also don't have to draw as much because i would only be illustrating significant parts and to make the posts look more appealing/interesting. thus updates would happen more frequently. easier to plug into a translator if english isn't your first language the images would be illustrations i'd actually put effort into since there would be so few of them

prose cons: it'll be a lot more reading overall less left to interpretation, i guess? less pretty pictures? it takes a lot more cerebral energy in some cases to take in prose and turn it around in your mind i just get that for some people, they don't like walls of text. like i, for one, have gotten very bad at reading so i get it

script pros: more pictures to look at then prose-style scenes move by more quickly and smoothly, everything focuses more on actions and interactions so maybe things are easier to digest than prose-style still translator-friendly updates still more frequent than comic-style, but less frequent than prose-style most likely full-color images. may or may not have a bg in every image (just think zombino-slayer style? but i might not render every time either like i did there because that was..phew..that took a lot out of me)

script cons: more images to draw for me the format might be wonky to some none of those inner thoughts/monologues, a lot of depth and inner feelings/struggles/references made in the characters heads are left out. it all focuses on the external with hints to the internal left to expression, body language, and dialogue and the reader's own bias/experience

comic pros: ALL THE PICTURES YOU COULD WANT! everything's images! if you're most comfy with reading comics or manga already, you'd dig this (obviously) the least reading and it's all together in one image (well multiple) very easy to soar through and take everything in since the focus is on images and dialogue Only (maybe narrative notes or thought boxes when really important) easiest to share i'd think? and easiest to get a feel for what's going on in a scene without having to study and/or think too hard about it

comic cons: oh my god all that drawing...updates would be slow as molasses tbqh.. unless i decided to do manga-style aka B&W or limited grayscale/monochrome. even then though again, everything internal would be left to the hints you'd get from the external i could give with imagery, panel-shape, dialogue, and such not translator-friendly (i know there's the google image translator, but i'd be handwriting the text (i just like how it looks best) and it's not always friendly to handwriting)

--

as far as specifics for each style, we'd work that out once one is picked

other notes: i do think i'm a pretty strong prose-writer, but i also think i'm a pretty strong comicsmith. so i don't think it's really up to what i'd, personally, be able to pull off best with the skills i own :3 (and i mean script-style is the most simple of the three. and i've already done it. it'd be almost identical to zombinoslayer. and it'd be most similar to Camp Entre's rp-style i think? even though Camp Entre was much more dialogue-based than anything else

i know i haven't uploaded too much of either, especially my writing, but trust...i'm pretty good at it. at least that's what people tell me.

[grimme-and-specs]

I love Kanaya x Rose as much as the next guy because of how they are a fit for each other intellectually, but I will always cherish Rose x John more because John is the whimsical bundle of joy and optimism an cynical, collected, pessimistic, know better girl would compliment. Like Superman and Lois Lane.

You see the vision!

I also get why Rosemary works, they are both very intelligent in their own ways and they go hand in hand, and their dynamic can be interesting with how they could possibly try to one-up each other in their intelligence. Plus, their respective curiosity about one another makes it cuter. It would make total sense for them to fall in love on that meteor and to rely on each other.

HOWEVER, I too, am a sucker for the "optimistic fella" × "jaded guy" dynamic. There's a lot more potential with that (Grimdorks) in my opinion. And as a writer-in-training, this sparks my imagination far more. I can imagine the wacky situations, the shenanigans, the mess-ups, the conflicts. It's not like I can't write Rosemary or draw it, though. It's a matter of preference, and Grimdorks has me by a damn chokehold.

(Further on is where I begin to ramble):

There's also the twist of John being incredibly alone, not physically, but emotionally. He's very aloof, but his whimsical and optimistic nature masks that well enough. And Rose has her own silly and plain mischievous side, through mostly written word and of course when she's by herself, but she always has the front of her intellect. I typically write Grimdorks off of that base. John slowly gains his deep emotional connections back and is able to talk about his own issues thanks to Rose, and Rose slowly lets go of way-too-high standards and lets herself *be herself* without the fear of judgment thanks to John. Of course, these issues can be solved with other pairings in another writer's work, but with them in particular, it just clicks in my head better. Rose is the tentacleTHERAPIST. John is the GHOSTYtrickster, or, ECTObiologist. They were friends. Now they're reconnecting. And this sort of emotional dynamic, where both parties slowly grow and come out of their shells because of each other's influences, makes me lose my shit.

(Quick little funfact: Ecto is a prefix defining an outer or an external trait, coming from the Greek word "ektos", which meant "outside". Like say for example... Ectoplasm).

See, I could go on about these fucks for ages. That alone, took me over 50 minutes to write. And I'm not kidding. There are so many hypothetical scenarios, and I was just going off of what I gathered from canon, like a potential post-game scenario. I am normal about them I swear LMAOO.

Anyway, I would love to gather some thoughts and even some ships and scenarios y'all reading enjoy. It's part of the reason why I rambled so damn hard. Not only to share my appreciation for a fictional pairing that is basically a serotonin cheat code to me, but to also find out what everyone else likes or even dislikes. That's the fun in sharing these sorts of opinions on ships. You could also send me an image of a cruise ship too. Or a cardboard box. Either way, I just wanna say thanks for reading, I know I tend to get long winded over things I am passionate about.

[floralembarrassment]

I don't remember ever not being this way (1/1) (jegulus raising Harry)

Harry was only 8 and he still held Regulus' hand in busy parking lots and when crossing the street. Sometimes he talked incessantly about facts he'd read in books or things he learned at school. Others he was so quiet and focused James was always sure he was getting into trouble but was only ever caught reading or drawing in his room.

Harry was only 8 and he had big questions about the world. He wanted to help everyone and sometimes asked often to speak to someone in charge to change the "bad things." Other times he felt like maybe the world was the bad thing.

Harry was only 8 and he still wanted James to tuck him into bed at night. Sometimes he would ask for stories about James' life, mystified that his parents were people before they were parents. Other times he would call for Regulus so he could hear a story in french.

Harry was only 8 and he had big feelings. Sometimes he couldn't manage them. Others he shared he couldn't explain it but it was like he couldn't feel them anymore at all.

Harry was only 8.

Just a little boy trying his best to understand this life.

And his fathers worried about him ceaselessly because they knew that he was just a kid being a kid but he was also struggling to navigate that internal waters that flowed through his veins and brain and the external waters that required you to both have a boat and know how to swim.

And his fathers knew what it felt like to drown.

And maybe they did everything they could, talked to him about it, held him through it, rode the waves with him to move away from it.

But Harry was only 8 and he wanted to be like all the other kids. Sometimes he was too sad and he couldn't explain why. Other times he was fine and didn't know how to make it last. Often he found his parents, curled up into their side, and remembered that no matter what he wasn't alone and he was so loved.