#so this is probably the only calcified thoughts I have on like

[disformer]

If its not too much of a bother could you show us how you draw or study faces?

This is such a dense subject and you could fill a book on each tiny feature of the face but if you're talking about like, facial composition and thought process then yeah sure!

[hellslayersomething]

I feel like I should write out some proper thoughts about my opinions on Veilguard, or at least an outline for the much longer essay that is currently calcifying in my heart. It's a mixed bag of a reaction, and I'm not going to compliment sandwiching any of it--this is all just stream of consciousness, so I'm probably going to snag on the negative and spiral down that pretty quickly. Spoilers, obviously:

I liked the battle system. For the first time in a DA game, it actually felt satisfying to play and had its own identity. I do wish the Pokemon element aspect was a little better balanced among the companions, but overall it was great.

That said, considering the length of the game, they needed way more enemy diversity, especially with the bosses. Eventually I was just fighting dragons, and every dragon had essentially the same moveset, one of those moves being "the dragon trips over her own dick and face-plants on top of Rook", which sure doesn't make the fights feel epic. Even very unique characters, like the Gloom Howler, were just reskinned basic demons when it came time to fight them.

The decision to tie companion approval to companion levels was a mistake. A massive and extremely obvious mistake. No wonder there are no disagreements or tension among the group--the game can't let you lose affinity with your team members, because then it would have to account for you leveling them down. The gameplay design here strangled the narrative design in its crib.

Speaking of narrative design: while I appreciate that the modular approach to companion arcs was experimental, it was extremely weird of them to take that approach in the only DA game where all companions are required. The story doesn't have to be written to account for the fact that you might not recruit some of them or they might die early--so why didn't they write one story about Rook and their seven friends instead of one story about Rook and also there are seven smaller, unrelated stories of extremely varying quality shoved in next to it?

The hyperfixation on the companion quests paired with their complete compartmentalization from each other means that each companion basically has nothing going on outside of their own quest and very few opportunities to engage with other characters' quests.

I was so starved for conflict in this game that I went from Solas-neutral to Solas-positive because he was the only character who the game allowed to be a bitch to me, and I respect him for that.

I do like all the horrid little sons the game gives me. I think I would appreciate them more if there was anything bad or tense happening in the story on a personal level that required some comic relief, but I am a sucker for a funky little guy none the less, and Manfred, Assan, and Spite are the perfect trifecta of funky little guys, as far as I'm concerned.

"We're only going to do character cameos if it's important to the plot." *does what they did with Isabela* Okay, devs.

"We aren't importing player choices but we won't override your decisions either." *several codex entries overriding player decisions later* Okay, devs.

I like the companions, generally. I see their potential. Fanfic will do right by them. Harding, in my mind, is the weakest of the bunch, just truly having no personality to speak of and talking like she was written by a Boomer who thinks that Millennials are still teenagers. (Everyone responsible for her uttering the phrase "Awkward..." like she's a character in 2011 quirky girl sitcom should be tried at the fucking Hague, istg.) And while I like Bellara, it was extremely frustrating to have a character that's just "Merrill, again, but with the edges sanded off". Taash and Emmerich are also glaringly the last additions in the writing process, each belonging to one of the two most underbaked factions and neither of them being tied to any of the game's few "big choices". There's promise in this cast, but I don't think any of them came close to realizing their potential.

Davrin and Emmerich's companion quests felt appropriately scoped to the size of the questlines, had good emotionality, good antagonists, and expanded on the lore of Thedas in ways we hadn't seen yet.

Lucanis's companion quest had potential, but it was too unfocused with three antagonists, too much attention to the boring Venatori shit, and not enough examination on Illario's motives or Lucanis's relationships with either Spite or Illario.

Harding's companion quest was fine, I guess (the people are starving for dwarf lore), but Harding could have been swapped out with literally any other dwarven character who wasn't Sandal and nothing would have been different. (Also weird that the whole quest was basically about Sandal while simultaneously fully removing Sandal from the narrative.)

Bellara and Neve's companion quests were just nothing. Just a whole lot of nothing. And Neve's also suffered from what I like to call "machete editing", where it is glaring obviously where things were cut, changed, moved around, and added at the last minute.

I say, from the bottom of my non-binary heart: Taash's companion quest is total ass. Real nice of Mae to come out of hiding and risk being found and executed by the Venatori to give Taash a Queer Theory 101 class, though, I fucking guess.

Is Lucanis's romance bugged? Apparently I'm not the only one who had that thought while I was playing it, so now I'm wondering. Like, there's no way they made it Like That on purpose, right?

Why and how are the Venatori still a force in Thedas, never mind a force with numbers so great (in spite of lacking a central leader) that they were able to simultaneously occupy the two largest cities in Thedas?

They literally didn't even try with the Antaam. The Venatori are at least theoretically still working to try to restore Tevinter to its former imperial might. The Antaam are just invading countries for literally no reason except ill-defined power grabs. Given the racial coding of Qunari, this writing choice sure is...something. (And that something is racist.)

That said, the revelation that the Butcher did a military tour in Europe and fell in love with the culture and just wants to drink wine and visit art museums now is fucking hilarious.

What the absolute FUCK did they do the Crows. I like the Crow characters from Tevinter Nights/the comics, and Zevran is my favorite character in the whole damn franchise, but they completely whitewashed both TN's mafia take on them and their original portrayal in DA:O. But it also doesn't really retcon anything, making it instead seem like the human trafficking and torture and sexual abuse that Zevran suffered at the Crows' hands A) only happened to him individually, and B) are fine, actually??? Even the very few times that characters express reservations about working with Lucanis because he's an assassin, if you play as a Crow, those concerns get immediately backpedaled, so the Crows end up being so ironed out that the game doesn't even let characters say of the Crows, "Murder is bad," lest it hurt a Crow Rook's feelings. That is how conflict-averse the writing is.

So I guess everyone in southern Thedas is...dead now? Several characters survived long enough to get a mention from the Inquisitor, but by the end, it sounds like Orlais, Ferelden, and most of the Free Marches are pretty much donezo. When Epler said the events in southern Thedas didn't matter, I didn't expect that to mean they were going to nuke the damn place. Even having generally enjoyed VG (in spite of all my criticisms here) that, uh...doesn't leave me enthused about the future of the franchise, ngl.

The layoffs of several writers (and other Bioware employees) before the game's release was obviously heinous. But after that secret ending, I'm now of the mind that of the writers that remain, at least a few of them need to be demoted. Like literally what the fuck was that. That was the dumbest plot point to ever appear in a Dragon Age game, and that is a high bar to clear. If you're not going to acknowledge our past choices, then keep Loghain's name out of your fucking mouths.

[kinetic-elaboration]

October 30: D/J Halloween Party

Jane & Quinn, Daria/Jane, 700 words, 26 minute

Cozytober 10: Unsanctioned Halloween party

This is supposed to be established relationship just btw. No angst, just gals who are pals and also kiss.

*

Quinn, dressed up as a witch of the sexy variety—a costume that relies heavily on the black conical hat to make its point—opens the door wide to usher Jane into the house, and then stops. She closes her mouth, and all of a sudden the perky, bubbly aspect she's put on calcifies down to a narrower and more suspicious gaze.

"What are you doing here?"

Outside, a gust of wind blows so sharply, twirling in its wake crisp, dried-out leaves, and wafting out the ends of Jane's scarf, that it sounds a bit like the howling of real ghouls. Appropriate, for Halloween night and all.

"Coming to call on the elder Morgendorffer sister." She stretches her neck forward, tries to get the best glimpse she can of the living room, as if she actually thought Daria were hiding out there somewhere. Even if she were, Jane would never be able to find her. The place is dark, lit up only at the edges with strings of orange and purple bat-shaped lights, and a few candles flickering from the safety of high shelves, and she and Quinn have to raise their voices to be heard over the incoherent bass of pop music turned up way too loud. A few faintly recognizable Lawndale High students are dancing in the space where the couches used to be. Where they are now, one couple, not recognizable, is already making out in the safety of the shadows. A larger group is gathered around the keg, and the coffee table next to it with its bowl of punch and various snacks.

"So you really decided to do it," Jane says. "Throw a Halloween party."

The one rule is no parties, Daria had told her, so obviously Quinn will be hosting one.

Quinn shrugs. "Mom and Dad are both out of town and its Halloween night. How could I not?"

"So it was pre-ordained. Just as surely as the planets continue to orbit the sun." Jane steps over the threshold, tired of shivering on the front step, pulls her hat off and shoves it in the front pocket of her hoodie.

"What are you supposed to be anyway?" Quinn asks, as she closes the door behind Jane with a decided shove. "A track star?"

The hoodie says Lawndale Track & Field on it, in gold letters against a dark Lawndale Blue. Jane glances down at it briefly. "Yeah. Me in another life. Is Daria hiding out upstairs or has she gone AWOL entirely?"

"If she had, wouldn't she be at your place?" Quinn counters.

Touche.

Without additional comment, she hands Jane two plastic cups of glowing nuclear-waste-colored punch, and says, "I think she's in her room."

Jane finds her there, behind a door that is difficult to open without also spilling the slime-tinted punch, with her headphones on and her book open and her boots up on the unmade blankets of her bed. "Brought you this," Jane says, instead of hello, as she kicks the door closed behind her with her heel.

Daria pushes her headphones back, tentatively, on one side. "Is it poisoned?"

Jane shrugs. "Probably spiked."

She sits down on the edge of the bed, hands one of the cups over, and they both drink anyway.

"You could have come over, you know," Jane tells her, when her own drink's mostly a thin line of green stuck along the bottom edge of plastic.

"I'm making sure Quinn doesn't burn the house down," Daria answers. "Or summon any demons."

"Oh, yeah. You're a real hands-on chaperone."

She sets her cup on the floor, watches Daria mirror her. Outside, the wind picks up again, so much louder and more violent and more present than the faint strains of synth from below. It rattles the windows, seeps in around the edges of the panes. Daria shivers.

Slowly, Jane unwinds her scarf, winds it up again but around Daria this time. But she keeps the ends clenched in her palms. Daria watches without protest, and when Jane yanks her forward, until they're right up nose to nose with each other, she curls her hands around Jane's hands.

"Happy Halloween," Jane murmurs. She catches Daria on an inhale.

And as she breathes out, Jane leans in a little closer and kisses her.

[gloopytits-chaosmod]

i feel bad for the smarter younger people, never before has the stupid and the fascist been this encouraged to openly wield a lack of thought as the true way to live your life free of corruption as the very notion of critical theory becomes associated with queer pedo conspiracies and secessionist theory.

If anything we'd be foolish to expect anyone to radicalize under conditions where that is explicitly dangerous. I mean we are back in the klan-era of middle-class grasping at straws to explain perceived "social decay" that doesn't challenge white supremacy.

I hope the smart young people can realize the game that's being played in terms of neurolegitimacy. How every corner of the political spectrum attempts to control thought by associating so and so with a fundamentally broken brain whose only hope for conformity is to give up the notion of having legitimate political notions and ideas.

If leftists and fascists are left to determine whose brains are bad and good, if the microblog standard comes to pass as a baseline form of communication where legitimacy will be given in relation to how well you confirm to a "good brain", then white supremacy enters a new chapter of social dominance with no forum for opposition beyond Complete Destitution. Which would likely find itself colonized by the reactionary regimes, good-meaning liberals who want to "figure out how to deprogram us from our cargo cult".

There is no room for legitimate reasons to live that aren't tied to the processes of economics if you want to hold the title of "person with brain that can be trusted".

The problem is, I don't think there's enough smart people around to push back against this wave from within the system.

I think the "ick" against whichever minority the platforms are raging against that day has, under white supremacy and capitalism, calcified into something genuinely terrifying. Where queer debate is no longer about destitution or survival, but the identification and removal of "bad actors" on the basis that white queer society has a model they want people to fit within. You know, NY borough, iowa suburb, CA defense contractors and canadians, just genuinely horrible white people who have never given a shit abt child safety in their life but has an irrationally strong and violent reaction to the idea, just the IDEA, of someone being associated with a label that means "no good rapist".

This ick is fascism. Whichever way you cut it, acting on a response with disgust using politics first to determine an action by which to cull the member from the community reveals the fundamental truth of community: that it's defined by early adopters, will be used to exclude people as an enforceable moral model and survives on the basis that people must be external and excluded. More on this in this brilliant article: https://thenewinquiry.com/hot-allostatic-load/

People desire fascism to tell them who to bash. This violent impulse is probably going to get us all killed. Maybe wanting people dead for a perceived sin of violating a non-existent person should ring some alarm bell for people whose hobby is to herd leftists like cats.

Of course, if you'd simply take this fascism and call it leftism you could probably get a lot of clout and money,

as all the submissive leftists would resonate with your fascism as the new top dog

(really it is pathetic how much leftists, white ones in particular, love fascism just now when you call it that)

Bsky?? What are you doing here

[prototypesteve]

Deliberate.

I’ll rewrite this later, more warmly. For now, if it helps, read it in the voice of your favourite TV Spock. (Obviously that’s Ethan Peck, right?)

Thanks to genetics¹, I lack what I call instinctive empathy. I don't involuntarily yawn when others yawn, or reflexively cross my legs to match the way people nearby cross theirs, or find myself snap-reacting to a subtle facial cue.

What’s cool about that, is that in order to avoid the deep social/career costs of being “that guy with the personality of a bar code reader” I learned how to develop deliberate empathy. Conscious competence to compensate for unconscious incompetence.

Deliberate empathy means a lot of daily synthesis, emulation, and trial-and-error. Like a meat version of machine learning. And it’s probably more common than we’d guess (you may be doing it, without knowing you are, which is also normal; blending in is an ancient, proven survival tactic).

Think of it like that hamburger they’re growing in Petri dishes at Maastricht University. Or like Siri and Alexa will be, one day. They’re only “fake” insofar as they’re brought about by different means than we’re told they’re supposed to. Deliberate empathy isn’t fake, it’s just brought about differently.

In some ways, I think the lack of instinctive empathy is advantageous. I sometimes think that people born naturally inclined to empathy probably take it for granted, but don’t always notice life’s baggage slowly calcifying that natural gift. Meanwhile, people who've learned (usually painfully) that they’re naturally awful at something as socially pass/fail as “relating” are going to constantly put effort into it, because they know what's at stake.

I’ve sometimes wondered whether there’s any connection between my lacking instinctive empathy, and my being aromantic. I honestly don’t know. I’ve been too busy meeting the aroace (and wider aspec) community, and just getting used to being quasi-out, this year, to really dig into it. Has anyone here seen (or even been involved with) any serious scientific study into that kind of thing? I don’t think one causes the other, but I wouldn’t be surprised if they share some kind of common building blocks.

¹ I have genotype A/A on marker rs53576 in gene OXTR (position 8804371), and genotype G/G on marker rs1042778 in gene OXTR (position 8794545). OXTR as in “oxytocin receptor”. In fairly large studies those two genotypes correlated with what gets super-simplified as “no empathy” and “callous-unemotional” ².

² People like me have plenty of feelings. We just don’t regularly share them, because it’s hard to read others’ reactions to what we’re sharing. Funny dumb trivia: When I’m sharing something I feel deeply passionate about, or something very personal, I get so worked up worrying about whether I’ve shared that thought/info too soon, or too bluntly, that my jaw will start to chatter like I have hypothermia or something.

[Image description: an image grid showing a tin lunchbox I converted into a Bluetooth speaker, to symbolize how people like me seem tinny and robotic, but we've done lots of work to have rich inner lives and be as sociable as we can.]

[ourlordapollo]

Uh oh girl my Kristoph Gavin musings are calcifying into unshakable headcanons

Have we already talked about his pathological need for validation. Can we. Can we talk about it again.

Obviously this is all speculation and knowing the writers, the Gavins probably have some fucked up supernatural backstory and dead parents, but the writers aren't here right now. *locks the doors*

Anyway, for the sake of minimizing stupid ppl yelling at me (assuming I'm brave enough to maintag this instead of letting it rot in obscurity, unrebloggable), please mentally insert "IN MY OPINION" before every statement I make

This is a classic case of choosing a conclusion and retrofitting evidence to support said conclusion but. I'm allowed to do that. I'm not turning this into Professor Fandom for a special grade in "FAN 485: Feverishly Justifying Your Own Bullshit."

Anyway.

Let's recontextualize Kristoph's actions using the following framework:

Kristoph Gavin is a sad little boy in a man's suit, desperate for the validation of everyone around him to the point that he would do anything to get it.

1. Phoenix

A lot of people (alright, haters. A lot of haters. You made me talk like Donald Trump. Are you happy now). *ahem*

A lot of haters like to paint this move as stupid like it's some kind of "gotcha".

"What move?"

The dual move of voting in Phoenix's favor and choosing to befriend him.

Here's the thing.

Of course it's fucking stupid. We're not looking at the pinnacle of criminal masterminds here

Why did he do that? The psychosexual need to force Phoenix to submit? (Actually wait keep talking I want to hear this—) Paranoia? By this point in the timeline, he's already shown a willingness to commit murder, so why not just kill Phoenix?

Because (say it with me now):

Kristoph Gavin is a sad little boy in a man's suit, desperate for the validation of everyone around him to the point that he would do anything to get it.

He's not some wannabe criminal mastermind.

He wants to be Phoenix's savior. He wants to be the only thing Phoenix has. He needs to be the sole recipient of Phoenix's gratitude and admiration. Because he's better than Phoenix, dammit! Of course he's better than Phoenix. Law is a meritocracy, he's got money, he's got white loafers for fuck's sake, he wins trials by working really goddamn hard because being a lawyer is hard for everyone, you don't just stumble ass-backwards into the courtroom and win every case by stuttering and sweating and stalling so OBVIOUSLY KRISTOPH GAVIN IS BETTER THAN PHOENIX WRIGHT! SAY IT! SAY IT! Look! Look at them together! Look who's still a lawyer and who's an evidence-forging fraud! Look how nice Kristoph looks next to this sad burnout! Look! LOOK AT HOW MUCH BETTER HE IS!

Do you see what I'm getting at here.

Obviously on some level he knows and fears that Phoenix really is better than him, and that matters, so he he really really needs Phoenix's validation

And lbr, he probably does have a deep psychosexual obsession with the idea of forcing Phoenix to submit to him

2. Forging evidence

I'm not gonna speculate on Kristoph's lawyering skills here. Really, I'm not. However I'd be cautious about making the argument that he forged evidence solely because he thought Zak was guilty and he reeeaally wanted to win. We saw that it was an extremely tricky case and that Zak's innocence would have been very difficult to prove. It's entirely possible Kristoph believed in Zak's innocence but didn't think he'd be able to prove it without cheating.

That being said, I don't think it matters.

It matters that the case was complicated, but it doesn't matter whether Zak was innocent or guilty or a secret third thing, because Kristoph would have cheated regardless becaaauuuuse

Say it with meeee...

Kristoph Gavin is a sad little boy in a man's suit, desperate for the validation of everyone around him to the point that he would do anything to get it.

He was up against a fucking rockstar. A famous, hotshot, cocky, little upstart rockstar. A young prodigy. A fucking teenager. It didn't matter one bit that they just so happened to be related. Or did it.

Of course he needed to win.

(If you want to get really headcanony with it, which I do, I think the Gavin parents definitely raised their kids with an extreme superiority complex, setting them apart from their peers by straight-up telling them "you are better than they are. You are not like them."

Klavier goes on to prove them right by becoming internationally famous and beloved and Kristoph. Well, Kristoph is, uh. Well, he's a pretty good lawyer. Got his own little office and everything. And then Klavier comes into his domain as a cocky lil teenager with a HUGE, high-profile case and here is Kristoph's chance to demonstrate to the world what he already knows: that he's special too. That he's special. Dammit. Why can't anyone else see that.)

And then Zak takes that away from him. And gives it to Phoenix.

Unforgivable.

3. Apollo & Vongole

Sorry for putting Apollo in the same category as a literal dog but. That's kind of point here.

I've seen ppl theorizing that, although Kristoph seems like a stereotypical cat person, he got a dog (specifically a golden retriever) out of a sense of paranoia bc!! That's normal! Normal people have dogs!!! Wealthy people have purebred golden retrievers!!! I am so normal and wealthy, look at my very average typical status symbol dog!

I humbly disagree. Even the Wiki seems to point to paranoia as Kristoph's chief, driving factor, but I.

Well.

I humbly disagree. Let's not circle back around to this; I'm not trying to discount anyone else's headcanons.

Anyway.

Why a dog and not a cat?

Because cats have a reputation for independence, for coming and going as they please, for not needing you. "Dog," meanwhile, persists as a synonym for "loyal." To call someone a dog implies ultimate trust, ultimate submission, to someone higher than them. To their master.

Now.

Why hire Apollo, specifically, an orphan with few friends or connections and a fuckload of trauma?

Why mentor Apollo? Why adopt a dog? (Why befriend Phoenix?)

The answer is the same:

He needs people to depend on him. He needs others to view him as a kind, benevolent benefactor. He needs their praise, their admiration. He needs people to tell him he's special and he needs other people to see those people telling him he's special and also believe he's special and then he needs additional people to talk to those people and hear about how special he is, he needs the whole wide fucking world to say that KRISTOPH GAVIN IS SPECIAL!!!!

(Although. Maybe he just likes dogs. Not everything has to have a shady ulterior motive. People don't fit neatly into your preconceived categories of "good" and "bad." Maybe he's a murderer who loves dogs and genuinely thinks of Vongole as his best friend. Maybe he saw promise in Apollo and genuinely likes the guy. Did you ever think about that.

Or maybe. It's both. Two things can be true simultaneously and people, both fictional and real, contain multitudes and contradictions we could never hope to understand.)

4. Murdering a guy with a wine bottle, Psyche Locks

I'm gonna be so so real with you, I don't think even Kristoph knows why he did that. I think he blacked out. I think he was a lil drunk ("grape juice" my ass), I think paranoia and fury, the fear and resentment of 7 long, long years, collided like atoms in his brain and fucking exploded I think the bottle was cool in his hand I think his arm hurt I think he felt the impact all the way up his elbow I think the cards were red I think the cards were blue I think he saw Phoenix Wright's face dripping blood I think he blinked I think he heard Vera Misham calling him "angel" I think he watched himself do it from behind his own back

Do you understand.

To even begin unpacking why he did that, he'd have to address that nagging fear that maybe he's not special, that maybe he's just some guy, that Phoenix Wright is special and Gramarye was right in choosing him over Kristoph that Gramarye was justified in taking away Kristoph's shot at admiration and acclaim and Kristoph killed him out of revenge because he couldn't handle the truth that he's not special he's not special he's not special. Phoenix Wright is special and Klavier Gavin is special and now even Apollo Justice is turning out to be special and Kristoph Gavin is an okay-ish lawyer who sucks at poker and talks way too fucking much. That he committed so many monstrous acts and ruined his own life out of the perverse desire to be loved by others because he doesn't. love. himself.

(I call these "load-bearing neuroses" because if you knock one pillar down, the whole structure goes down with it.)

5. Vera Misham

So I think Kristoph is good with kids because he was, for the most part, old enough to be a Small Person when Klavier was born and because I don't think he gets off on exercising that brutal, domineering kind of power over the powerless. I don't think outward cruelty appeals to him.

Why?

Well...

Kristoph Gavin is a sad little boy in a man's suit, desperate for the validation of everyone around him to the point that he would do anything to get it.

Fear and deference are not validation. People talk badly about you and think badly about you when you're a bully. He charmed Vera instead of threatening her because he needed her to like him. He needed Drew to like him. Good god, he needs everyone to like him so much. Talk about him when he's not in the room and tell him what you said. Write him a letter of recommendation and let him read the contents. Sing his praises at your local bar, then send him a recording.

6. "Keep the riff-raff out!"

Ohhh, buddyyyy :( You said the quiet part out loud

Because law is a meritocracy. Because Kristoph Gavin is kind of a big deal. People know him. He's very important. He has many leather-bound books and his apartment smells of rich mahogany.

Only special people are able to become lawyers. And Kristoph is such a special, special boy. He's so special that he got Phoenix disbarred. He's so special that he helped Klavier attain acclaim as a prosecutor. He's so so so special.

But when a group of select people are special, it means that there's another group. The un-special group. The group that Kristoph is so afraid that he's a part of.

By admitting that they exist, that he believes that other people are beneath him, he's asserting his belief in his own inherent superiority one final, desperate time. He's clinging to it so hard his fingertips are cracking the marble. He's starting to bleed. It's starting to hurt.

Before Phoenix, Klavier, and Apollo fucking spin-kick the pillars propping up his self-identity, toppling them and sending the foundation of Kristoph Gavin collapsing into jagged pieces on the floor of his psyche.

—

Personal note but everyone seems to be in agreement that Kristoph's Psyche Locks fuckin. shattered into little bitty pieces during that scene. Don't you think that hurt? Don't you think that hurt like fucking hell? When you break [REDACTED]'s Black Psyche locks in DD, they cry out in pain several times and imply that their head hurts. And that was Phoenix doing it right that time! So I say again:

Don't you think that hurt?

[krowmeats]

I am quickly realizing you can use tumblr for literally whatever so here are cartoon characters that somehow managed to inform my gender identity even though I am a cis man and there is very little to figure out

These are all very stupid and I don't expect a single other human being to gain anything of value from the list. However, it was fun to make this list and I'm probably gonna look at it later and go "huh. neat" which is all you need to know sometimes

Death from adventure time I am not like him in any way he is just a synthesis of what I thought was cool and badass as a teenager and also a normal and kind of lame dude which made me go "Wow, that's achievable and you can do it without being some kind of shithead" The hierophant from adventure time Literally I just want to give off the same general vibe you get looking at him. Nothing about his actual character. I saw him and imagined a guy that was cool in a way that I thought would be fun to be and then kept that mental model in my head and ignored everything else about him Mayonnaise from Split the Room The exact same thing from the hierophant applies here. The only new thing to add is that I used the Mayonnaise mental model when visualizing the story of an Armenian guerilla fighter I was listening to in a podcast and the psychic cross contamination made me have to demote him from Abstract Aspirational Qualities Model Bob Belcher from Bob Belcher's Burgers Despite my total disinterest in Bob as a character whenever I think of the definition of masculinity I have cobbled together for myself his image just hangs out in the back of my head. And you know what yeah he does kick ass in that regard. He's pathetic and level-headed and he's exerting agency to provide for himself and the people he cares about. Good job Bob. The show you came from got kind of boring after a while. Mr Fox from Adventure time This is kind of a cheat one because Mr. Fox didn't inform this, it's more convergent evolution. But the respects in which I have molded my personality to be a specific Kind of Guy in the greater Guy schema have caused me to talk extremely like him. Will I pass through his guy territory onto greener guy pastures? Probably not actually I think I'm calcified. I'm not too torn up about it though Mr Fox from that Wes Anderson movie This one was when I was 14 I don't really think it applies now. I think his whole spiffy suit debonair adventurer schtick sucks actually. He's only on this list because I thought he was cool once and I don't want this list to be 75% tertiary adventure time characters Buck from Ice Age This one I was even younger and emulating him exactly is probably gonna be worse for you long term than Mr Fox (Wes anderson) but even despite that and the whole Grizzled Mountain Man(tm) thing I like him a bit more. There is a Buffoon quotient and an Extremely Disheveled quotient there that has embedded itself into my worldview.

[ahungeringknife]

365: February 14

@seventhscorpio

Forever disappointed the Guardian can only engage with the world by 'shoot gun' or 'throw ball'. I just wanna be able to talk to the conflicted villains! Destiny is a good game. It'd be better if it was a proper RPG with a dialogue tree :,) #copium

--

“You think you know everything about me? Then why don’t you tell me?” Savathun asked, furious.

Wolf looked up at the spell holding the Traveler as her friends went to deal with the Wizards maintaining the spell itself then at Savathun in the distance. Echos of her flew around in empty space but Wolf wasn’t interested in them. “I can,” she called over externals. “Do you want to know?”

“You know nothing of me,” she hissed.

Wolf looked down and then looked at her Ghost who was shocked by what she was thinking. “I know what Oryx thought about you,” she called and held her hand out. Ghost transmatted the original Book of Sorrow they’d collected from fragments in the Dreadnaught into her palm. “And your brother always said you were too smart for this.”

The looming shape of Savathun came close, its shadow casting across the platform and Wolf looked up at her. “What is that?” she asked, great hands grasping the edges. Out in the open air her echoes hovered.

“Oryx’s diary,” Wolf said since that was about as close to what she could call this. “And I know you don’t remember who you were but Oryx did. And when you allowed yourself to be a hostage to the Queen you desperately wanted me to know you too. I think between me and your brother we got some of it. I probably have more in common with you than those Wizards doing this spell.” The Witch Queen looked down at her with searing green eyes but there was doubt. “It’s alright to be afraid, Savathun.”

“I’m a god. I’m not afraid,” she scoffed but Wolf could hear the unease in her voice.

“You were a god. Now you’re a Lightbearer, just like us,” Wolf said as he friends joined her. “And you’re not a fool. Neither are we. Do you want to know who you are? Because that’s a scary thing.”

The looming shape of the Witch Queen shrank as she flew forward until she was normal sized which was still about thirteen feet tall. “Don’t think you can trick me, Guardian,” she said.

“I’m not. That’s your thing. Not mine. Bear, get the worm,” she nodded to Bear and he picked up the calcified worm. Wolf set the Book of Sorrow on the pedestal and the memory of three young Krill Princesses were displayed standing and sitting on a diamond beach on Fundament at the edge of the helium ocean. In the distance was another continent on its way to devour them.

“Father’s not going to make it is he?” asked the young voice of Aurash.

“Unlikely,” asked the even younger but louder voice of Xi Ro.

“I don’t want to be king,” Aurash said.

“Why not?” Sathona asked, sounding older than them both despite being the middle sister. “What? The Osmium Court not big enough for you?” she teased her sister.

“Should be for our runt of a sister,” Xi Ro laughed.

“No!” Aurash cried. “No I don’t want to be king because then this will be gone.” That quieted her sister’s teasing. “And where would I be without you two?”

“Nowhere,” Xi Ro scoffed.

“We aren’t going to just disappear, Aurash. We’ll still be here,” Sathona consoled her sister. “We’ll always be here for each other.”

Wolf picked up the book from the pedestal. Savathun was standing on the floor and had been looking at the likenesses of herself and her sisters spending one last day of innocence on the beach. “It’s alright to be afraid of the unknown, Savathun,” Wolf said. “But you aren’t the Witch Queen you were anymore.”

Savathun looked at Wolf and her friends. “My advisers have told me who I was. But I quite like the way Oryx remembered me more,” she said quietly. Then she said some words and the strands of the rest of the spell holding the Traveler vanished.

They appeared back on the top of Savathun’s castle. The Traveler was gone. The Hive were gone and Savathun was absent. “So… did we win?” Rat asked.

“For now, I think,” Wolf said.

“Girl, you’re crazy,” Bear said and everyone laughed.

“Well if the Traveler is safe and Savathun isn’t going to fight us we should… go?” Cat asked slowly.

“I think that’s a reasonable expectation for a new sort of ally,” Lizard said even as a waypoint appeared on Wolf’s HUD. It was in the swamp. Near Fynch. But it wasn’t Fynch. She had a feeling she knew who it was. She still went with her friends as they left the island and headed back to a known Throne World exit.

[phantomato]

Hi:) I love your writing so so much. Gorgeous characterisation, intelligent prose, etc! Just wondering if would you like to share your thoughts on Nottmort and Tomarry for that ask game👀 (and more specifically on Harry as a character, if you’d like, because I adored him in Made of Clay but I am also aware he probably isn’t a favourite character of yours, so I’m a little curious why, is all.) Thank you and have a nice day💗

Thank you for such kind words! ❤️ They’re lovely to hear. I’ll refer you in part to my past posts that touch on Harry, and also encourage you to send me a DM (here, Discord, wherever) if you want to chat in more depth! I love chatting. For the ask game, I’ll stay on the ships and limit it to a reasonable length.

Why don’t you ship Tomarry?

Because I dislike it and every trope that underlies it, and then at a certain point it became a matter of stubbornness and frustration as a Tom Riddle fan who did not ship it.

What would have made you like it?

I cannot give a fair and equitable answer to this! My dislike is as calcified as the tropes within Tomarry, lol. I will note that I rarely ship enemies-to-lovers, and so any possible way that I might ship this loses one of the essential pillars of their canon dynamic. I think that’s generally unsatisfying, as both an author and a reader, and so it’s best that I don’t try and find a vision of Tomarry which would work for me.

Despite not shipping it, do you have anything positive to say about it?

It’s the big ship for Tom, and I appreciate it so much when a Tomarry reader stumbles into my rare pairing corner and decides to give my writing a shot. Fewer people would be reading niche Tom fic if not for Tomarry’s popularity.

What made you ship Nottmort?

I accidentally walked into it through a fic that was meant to be another pairing tbh. But really, it’s the flexibility that appeals to me—Thoros isn’t even his real name, for goodness’ sake, it’s totally a fan construct. Nott Sr. exists as whatever I want him to be because there isn’t any canon to contradict that. We’re not going to have slap fights about correct characterization for Nott Sr. And what that amounts to is that I’ve gotten to create my own character, with exactly the traits I most enjoy, to pair up with Voldemort. It could have been some other surname-only Death Eater of that generation, so it having been Nott comes down to circumstance. Now that it is Nott, I’m never giving him back. Nott Sr. belongs to the canon of Harry Potter; my Thoros belongs to me.

What are your favorite things about the ship?

I love that Thoros is just as selfish as Voldemort—his key difference is that he expands the self out to encompass Voldemort as well, and Theodore in universes where Theo is born. It’s an interesting model for Voldemort to encounter, to have to reckon with; this is a man who suggests that it’s possible to have and maintain friendships, to function within normal society, all without adopting the moral values that someone like Albus argues are necessary. And Thoros isn’t hypocritical about it in the way that e.g. Mrs. Cole might have been, demanding virtues of Tom that she did not possess. 

I love that a life with Thoros requires Voldemort to ask what his values actually are, and how he wants to prioritize him. My Thoros is stubborn enough to say ‘no’ when asked for something he’s unwilling to give, and so Voldemort is forced to confront that he cannot live eternally with Thor by his side. If it’s love, and Voldemort always does know that it’s love, then he must make a choice about what love is worth to him. 

And the devil is in the details—these characters are peers, of the same age group; they spend formative years together; they have many of the same acquaintances and cultural references; they respect one another; they are both academically-inclined and value knowledge in the same way. There are a lot of similarities, which make the philosophical questions stand out more and feel possible to reconcile, or even make them feel worth reconciling. 

Ultimately, I crafted Thoros to be exactly the partner I want for Voldemort. That’s cheating, I know. I fell in love with Thoros in his own right, though, and I take that as a success.

Is there an unpopular opinion you have on your ship?

Unpopular versus… myself? Lol. I suppose it’s generally unpopular to write something other than enemies-to-lovers romance for Voldemort, but I’ll always make the case that there’s a huge world of relationships beyond enmity, and opening up to those gives a much wider range of potential tension points or disagreements on which to base a story.

[sumicats]

ALIENATED

[ TAGS ] toxic dynamic, unreliable narration, manipulation, trauma, abuse of power, DEAD DOVE ; DO NOT EAT !

✦❅✧───✧❅✦

CHAPTER 1 - A BURNING MEMORY

𖦹 ׂ 𓈒 ⋆ ۪ ﾟ ˖ song for this chapter!

Li's POV

"Hey mom, I'm back! Did you start making dinner yet?" No one responded. Weird. I went to the kitchen only to find it empty. "Are you guys home? Yuming? Mom?" I asked, again met with silence. "I brought back the groceries you wanted!" I yelled. Are they home? I took my phone out of pocket- I should probably call them. Before I could press call, I felt a tap on my shoulder. "AGH! Mom you scared me! Why didn't you reply?" I asked her. No reply. "Mom?" The house started to smell really weird. The air became foggy. I couldn't see her anymore. "Mom!" I cough from the smoke. "Mom, we need to get out! Mom-" She was burning. She was burning. I can't do anything- I can't move. It's like something was holding me back. "MOM!" I screamed. Why couldn't I move?! I stare as she mumbled something. I couldn't hear her. "Mom?" "It burns," she says, before the flaming roof collapses on her.

Rei's POV

i was greeted with a burst of flames and a blow of smog into my face, while the screams of agony echoed around me. the abrupt shift from the quiet, dark bedroom i was just into this tragic scene. little stray sparks from the inferno land on my white button-up shirt, leaving small burn holes. i walked toward the burning building, fully engulfed in flames, delicately stepping over debris and the remnants of this dingy home. as i cautiously approach the collapsed kitchen, i see the burnt remains of what i can only assume is a mother. 

the heat has reduced her once loving caring arms into a dark crispy layer… her wrinkly charred skin was barely clinging onto her flesh, her flesh barely clinging onto her bare brittle fragmented bones. her bones were exposed, calcified, and fractured. her corpse was crushed by the wooden debris of the ceiling. her corpse was basically fused with it. her corpse fused with the remnants of her clothing, obscuring her body. she became one with the place that will haunt her baby. the once tender and nurturing warmth of her could never be recovered. the feeling of a motherly bond between her and her baby could never be brought upon her son again, leaving him to hold onto the fragments of suppressed memories about his mother. “MOM!” i heard in the distance behind me. who is that? i turned around to pathetic crying mess of a boy.

… i don’t think i should be interfering. this was unfortunate timing for me to invade his little nightmare. i sighed, opening up the extraterrestrial portal back to the mortal realm, and away from dreamland. i go through the portal, which is covered by smoke. i step through the portal, enveloped by smoke. the screams echo around me, gradually fading as i pass through.

Li's POV

“It burns,” a sickeningly familiar voice says in my ear. She sounds so different, though. “MOM!” I scream, waking up from the nightmare. I clutch my shirt, slowly regaining my breath. I open my eyes to find my dog in front of me. “...Good morning, Benji,” I say, scratching underneath his chin. My smile fades when I hear my alarm go off—a reminder that I have to go to school today. It’s been—what, a year since I last went? A year since the fire. I shudder, pushing the thought away. I hurry to get ready, not wanting to be late. I put on a random red sweater and some green cargo pants. I brush my teeth, and comb my hair—making sure I look presentable. Wow, I never really realized how short my hair is now. I look so... different from last year. I glance at the time, 7:30 AM. I should be heading out soon. Finally, I pour Benji his breakfast and a fresh bowl of water. “See you later, Benji,” I say, petting him one last time before I walk out the door. As soon as I step outside, my phone rings. Who could be calling me this early? I pick up the phone. “Hello? This is Li.” “Good. You’re going to school, correct?” “...Dad?” I say, surprised. The last time I heard from him was when he gave me the apartment. “Don’t be late. Study hard,” he says. He hangs up before I can even respond. I sigh. In all honesty, I don’t want to go to school. I’m scared. What if— I take a deep breath. I can’t be freaking out already. I rub my fingers over my jade necklace, calming myself. I take one last deep breath before I start walking to school.

[ A/N ] hope u guys liked the first chapter!! it'll obviously get more in-depth from here, this is just the beginning of the story

we hope as this story progresses, our writing improves! ╰(*°▽°*)╯

[unhingedwomandiaries]

Currently hiding in the office toilets, having what can only be described as an existential crisis over a cold sore. Not just any cold sore, mind you. This is the Mount Vesuvius of cold sores. The kind that makes small children point and ask their mothers uncomfortable questions.

Because apparently, the universe looked down at me this morning and thought "You know what would really complement those tension headaches and that slowly calcifying spine from hunching over a keyboard? A massive, throbbing beacon of despair right on her face!"

Brilliant. Absolutely brilliant. As if spending eight hours a day making polite conversation with x about her nephew's clarinet lessons wasn't already testing the limits of human endurance. As if choking down a sandwich that tastes like it was made by someone who's only ever had food described to them wasn't punishment enough.

But no! Clearly, I needed this facial accessory to really complete the "slowly losing will to live" aesthetic I've been cultivating. Nothing says "professional woman handling her life with grace" quite like looking like you've been punched in the mouth by a radioactive bee.

I can actually feel it pulsing. PULSING. Like it's got its own heartbeat. Probably plotting world domination while I sit here trying to look interested in x's PowerPoint about quarterly projections. Maybe it'll sprout legs and take over my presentation for me. Couldn't do a worse job, to be honest.

Go on then, universe. What's next? Pigeons targeting my new coat? Computer crash right before saving that report I've spent three hours on? Maybe my tea will achieve sentience and decide to join the great workplace revolution.

At this point, I'm half expecting the fire alarm to go off just so I can evacuate the building looking like I've been doing dodgy lip filler procedures in the stationary cupboard.

Note to self: Must remember to stop googling "Can stress actually make your face explode?" during work hours. IT is getting concerned.

Update: 13:15 - x just asked if I'd "tried putting tea tree oil on it." No, x. I've been walking around with this thing growing its own postcode on my face because I really enjoy looking like I'm auditioning for a budget zombie film.

[deerydear]

"“What is a word or phrase that you totally misunderstood as a child?”

When I was young my father said to me: “Knowledge is power, Francis Bacon.” I understood it as “Knowledge is power, France is bacon.” For more than a decade I wondered over the meaning of the second part and what was the surreal linkage between the two. If I said the quote to someone, “Knowledge is power, France is Bacon,” they nodded knowingly. Or someone might say, “Knowledge is power” and I’d finish the quote “France is bacon,” and they wouldn’t look at me like I’d said something very odd, but thoughtfully agree. I did ask a teacher what did “Knowledge is power, France is bacon” mean and got a full 10-minute explanation of the “knowledge is power” bit but nothing on “France is bacon.” When I prompted further explanation by saying “France is bacon?” in a questioning tone, I just got a “yes.” At 12 I didn’t have the confidence to press it further. I just accepted it as something I’d never understand. It wasn’t until years later I saw it written down that the penny dropped.

My other friend Carolyn Givens asked “does this qualify as a mondegreen?” I didn’t know what a mondegreen was, so I went down a rabbit hole...

A mondegreen is a word or phrase that results from a mishearing — often a mishearing of a song lyric. The word mondegreen was coined by the writer Sylvia Wright in a 1954 article in The Atlantic, “The Death of Lady Mondegreen.” As a child, Wright had been fond of a Scottish ballad that included the lines,

They hae slain the Earl Amurray And laid him on the green.

Little Sylvia Wright thought that second line was “And Lady Mondegreen,” which, to be fair, does sound exactly like “And laid him on the green.” Her version of the ballad was twice as tragic as the original, since it involved not only the death of Earl Amurray but also the death of Lady Mondegreen.

Everybody, it seems, has stories of misheard lyrics, often from their childhood. My brother-in-law Tom was six years old when Eddie Money released his hit song, “Two Tickets to Paradise”—or, as Tom heard it, “Two Chickens in Paradise.” I remember what it was like to be little and listening to the radio. People are using figurative language to talk about things you wouldn’t understand even if they were being literal. So you do the best you can. You search around for something you do understand that might have some relationship to the string of sounds you’re hearing. For a literal-minded six-year-old “two chickens in paradise” might not make a lot of sense, but it doesn’t make any less sense than “two tickets to paradise.” Kids are used to repeating things they don’t understand. I used to repeat “I pledge allegiance to the flag” at least five times a week. I don’t know what I thought I was saying; I’m quite sure, however, that I didn’t know what either “pledge” or “allegiance” meant.

I’ve known Elvis Presley’s song “Return to Sender” my whole life. Except that for the first part of my life, I got it in my head that he was singing “Regundazinda.” It’s not that I thought “regundazinda” meant anything; I just concluded it was a nonsense word and quit trying to make meaning out of it. After all, I didn’t waste any time trying to ascertain the meaning of “doo ron ron ron” or “wop boppa loo bop a wop bam boom” either. When I finally learned that the line was really “Return to sender,” I thought, “Yeah, I guess that makes a certain kind of sense too.”

It’s strange, isn’t it, that once you settle on what something means, your mind calcifies around it. I know that the lyric is really “return to sender.” I’ve known it for probably forty years now. But if I were alone and singing to myself, I would almost certainly sing “Regundazinda.” To me that still feels like the original version, the version I knew before the revisionists came along with their new lyrics."

Continue reading...

[miss-dansukker]

We had to say goodbye to our iguana Dino. My heart is aching.

We took him to the vet because he hasn't been eating and he'd developed a necrotic tail tip. When the vet looked at him she also found a tumor on his toe and recommended doing an ultrasound to see if it had spread to his liver. It had. Not only that though, I don't know the english word for it but there is a like sack that holds your guts? His was inflamed and swollen, BUT NOT ONLY THAT his heart valves were also calcified.

So even if we treated what could be treated, even if we had caught the cancer earlier, he would still be dying. He was old, at least 15, and the vet theorized he was probably even older than that. Calcified heart valves is something that apparently just happens sometimes to old iguanas.

But yeah so the question was not if he was dying it was when and how much it would hurt. So we of course decided to have him put down.

It was rough though, the vet couldn't put him down while we were there. He had to reach a certain body temperature so the anesthetic would work. Our vet is very firm on the idea that the animal should not feel it when they die, and I am with her on that. So we just had to leave him there. The thought of him sitting all alone and scared for several hours just to be put under and then be put down was horrible.

He was such a good boy. In general of course, he had the temperament of an angle, considering he was a green iguana. But he was so well behaved at the vet too, he usually is, but it really struck me just how sweet he was. When the vet did his ultrasound we just held his front feet and he just stood there and let her poke his guts. He didn't run or lash his tail or bite or anything. He even got curious enough and was calm enough to start licking the air several times.

It's rough. Every time my eyes get caught on his enclosure with the lights off I get this horrible sucking feeling in my stomach. I'm gonna miss him.

[zepskies]

Oh God, here we go...

Your mind, moonstruck and lunatic, spun complicated cobwebs. Your feeble body and fragile bones threatened to crumble and crack underneath the devastating weight of the truth.

Wow, this bit of description struck me right away. What a lovely and devastatingly poetic way of conveying this...

Because as soon as he would acknowledge it, he’d lose you. How could he live with that?

Oh Barlen, pls. 😭 I just knew he'd be feeling this way. My heart is breaking for both of them really. 💙���� But of course they're both blaming themselves (perhaps Beau even more so than her). His admission that he wasn't ready to see them together again broke my heart for the 15th time, dear God. 🥲🥲

He knew it was over. You’d never pick him. He wasn’t the love of your life. He wasn’t your once in a lifetime. He wasn’t true love. He was your second choice. The one you were stuck with. Your rebound.

Oh dude, something tells me he couldn't be more wrong about her and how she feels... Or at least, I hope he's wrong? 🫠

As you stood there, feet calcified in front of his bed, a set of familiar whiskey-colored eyes found you.

"Calcified" just really hit me in this moment. Along with "whiskey-colored" -- you're so very good at painting a vivid picture through your word choice.

In a way, her and Randy are so sweet together. It feels calm and warm and familiar, but maybe not quite right anymore? At least for her? As opposed to when she goes to Beau in the scene right after--them two together are just sparks flying off the stove. With them, there's actual passion.

But backing up to the Randy scene -- I really like how you played it and his accepting personality. Like, I know it's been a few years and you've probably moved on already. I guess we're not married anymore? But we could just get married again? loll Poor guy. As if surviving what he went through wasn't enough, now he's going to have to deal with the fact that his wife is head over heels in love with his best friend now. ❤️‍🩹

She's really not the same. Not only because of Beau, but because she's been through too much after Randy's "death."

“Wow, congrats, man. You deserve it,” Randy said with a genuinely happy grin. He seemed like a kid who was catching up with all his friends on the first day of school after summer break. Beau gave him a tight smile that said he didn’t think he deserved it. But only you could read that one. “Uhm, thanks, bud. I see you tomorrow, okay?”

“It’s okay. I get it. Trust me. I do. He’s your husband, and I’m just… Well, I’m nothin’,” he said, his voice laden with heartbreak. “Just don’t come closer, ���cause if you do, I don’t know if I can hold myself back, alright? ‘Cause all I wanna do right now is kiss you and love you, even it’s the last time. I can’t do that to him. You understand?”

Goddamn it, Beau!! Can you give her, like, a minute to adjust before you already decide you're "nothin'" and she's not gonna pick you? For God's sake. 😭😭 (But totally on brand for him. Great characterization. Sigh.)

“Not the ring I thought I’d give you…”

Just keep pummeling my heart, that's fine. 🙃

He replayed the clips of the hospital in his mind over and over again. How Randy held your hand. How he touched your cheek. How he kissed you. How he looked at you when he first saw you – like he had finally found the piece of his heart again that he lost years ago, the same love in his brown eyes that had been there since day one.

Okay, but he was so focused on Randy's reactions, he didn't bother to watch her reactions, her struggle, and her reluctance.

“You ain’t nothing.”

What a romcom movie moment, I love it!!!

I can't go back to the way things were. I know you think me and Randy are some great love story, but so are you and I.

I'm with Beau on this one--please let her really, truly mean this and not change her mind and leave him later, because I don't think my heart could take it. 😭😭

“I want you,” you assured him, your mouth trailing a path of featherlight kisses along his jaw and down to his throat, his groan vibrating against your soft lips.

“I want you,” you assured him, your mouth trailing a path of featherlight kisses along his jaw and down to his throat, his groan vibrating against your soft lips.

How I love these little moments of softness and tenderness in between the amazingly hot ones. ❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥 And I feel like Beau probably really needs that right now--that reassurance.

Your heart was the North Star, and your heart had led you to him.

Ahh I love a callback to the title! 🥹✨

You placed a gentle kiss on his lips and nodded. “I’m not going anywhere, corazón.”

Ugh, God, my Latina heart sang on that last bit! 😭 But girl, you outdid yourself on this chapter. I can honestly say that was some of the most stellar romantic smut I've ever read. 👌🏽😮‍💨❤️‍🔥

Aaaaand now I'm both excited and scared to see how Randy handles this news. 😬 Something tells me he's not going to take this news as well as the other stuff...

Polaris – Chapter 9

Series Summary: When Beau Arlen moved to Montana, he left behind a past he wasn’t proud of. But when a series of murders requires the FBI’s help, Sheriff Arlen‘s ghosts come back to haunt him one by one. With a wrong turn waiting at every crossroads, it’s hard to make the right choices and find his way back home – back to you.

Pairing: Beau Arlen x FBI Agent!Reader

Warnings: 18+, ramp up the angst, guilt trips all around, hospitals, bits of fluff in all the chaos, smut (with a heavy dose of more angst)

Word Count: 5.4k

A/N: Well, there was no way this wasn't going to be angsty af. Enjoy the ride, loves! 😘

Series Masterlist || Main Masterlist || Tag List

Chapter 9: Marooned

The cool, breezy autumn air whipped you across your face, a sharp, frigid sting in your lungs that burned right through to your heart. Each breath you desperately clutched was a fight for life.

Your mind, moonstruck and lunatic, spun complicated cobwebs. Your feeble body and fragile bones threatened to crumble and crack underneath the devastating weight of the truth. You crouched down on the parking lot asphalt, head heavy in your shaking hands.

“Hey, hey, just breathe…” Beau’s deep voice and warm hand on your back were a short-lived comfort before the first sob broke through you.

He knelt down in front of you, large hands cupping your head when your own grew too tired to hold it. He rested his forehead against yours, green eyes leveling with you. His thumbs wiped the tears from your cheeks.

“Maybe it’s not him,” Beau bargained, his voice a soft whisper. His disavowing mind refused to accept what his breaking heart knew to be true.

However, there was no doubt in yours. “No, I’m sure it’s him.”

“It still might not be true… It could be one of those CGI deep-fakes. You know, they’ve gotten crazy good… She just wants to mess with us,” Beau tried to reason, every bone in his body fighting to accept the truth. Because as soon as he would acknowledge it, he’d lose you. How could he live with that?

Your eyes lifted from the ground, your gaze boring into his. “You really believe that?” Your voice was harsh enough to break through the solid brick barrier he had erected over his heart, your words a wrecking ball. A jittery and hesitant lick of his lips was his abdication. He lowered his head in resignation. “How’s that even possible? You saw him die, right?

Beau’s mouth opened without an answer, his eyes flickered alive with memories. Panic rose with realization and poisoned the pumping blood that coursed through his heart. “I-I saw him get dragged away… I heard the shot.”

He was sure. He was so, so, so sure. And then, it all fell apart. What had he done?

You straightened up, slipping out of his grasp, and clasped your mouth, turning your back to him as your body rattled with shock. “Oh my God… Oh God…”

Beau rose to his feet behind you and swallowed harshly as the realization hit him like a freight train. He wanted to reach out and touch you, needing you now more than ever, but he didn’t know if he still could. His mind raced a mile a minute with questions he couldn’t find an answer to.

How was Randy still alive? Had the cartel kept him all this time? How did Diane find out? And how the hell did she get a hold of him?

“Y/N, I-… I don’t know what to say.” His voice trembled. He could feel you drift further and further away from him till you were just a dot out on the vast ocean. He didn’t want to lose you but didn’t know how to stop it, either. He thought all he needed was for you to just look at him, and it would all be right again. But when you did, it shattered his heart into a million pieces.

“All this time he was alive and God knows where. I-I could’ve looked for him. I could’ve helped him…”

“You didn’t know,” Beau said softly, pushing your blame onto himself. He could’ve known. He should’ve known. He felt helpless, lost, adrift. “Y/N, what d’you want me to do?”

You needed a moment to clear your head enough to think straight. If it wasn’t Randy but any other victim, what would you do next?

“We need to find that bunker. Get him outta there,” you concluded. “You think he’s still alive? You think she’d kill him?”

Recalling the snippet of the video, you remembered the timeline only read an hour instead of the usual forty-eight. It wasn’t about making you suffer through his death because you’d already done that. Diane just wanted you to see.

Beau knew there were only two possible options. Either Diane caught Randy only to show he was still alive and then kill him, or she brought him back into your life to wreak havoc. But the hows and whys didn’t really matter. Both options would cause a rift between you two wider than the Grand Canyon. If Randy was back, dead or alive, Beau’s relationship with you wouldn’t survive it.

He knew it was over. You’d never pick him. He wasn’t the love of your life. He wasn’t your once in a lifetime. He wasn’t true love.

He was your second choice. The one you were stuck with. Your rebound.

“I don’t know,” Beau replied and forced some oxygen into his lungs. He didn’t know for how long he had held his breath. For a minute there, he had forgotten how to breathe at all – and he didn’t even care.

The ringing of your phone broke both of you out of your haze and fatal fantasies. You fished it out of your pocket and stared at the screen with a furrowed brow.

“Who is it?”

“Unknown caller,” you replied before you answered the phone, pinning it between your shoulder and ear. “Hello? Yes, this her…”

Beau watched as your eyes widened, how your brow rose, how your mouth fell open, how your heart stopped. As you hung up, he could see you swallow before you found his eyes. He waited with bated breath for news he already knew.

“That was the hospital here. They said someone brought in my husband.”

The stone silent ten-minute drive to the hospital felt like an eternity. Beau drove, his grip stiff and knuckle-white around the steering wheel. The heat of the old Jeep had barely kicked in by the time you arrived, your hot breaths coming out in vaporizing clouds as you bit your nails bloody and down to their beds on the passenger’s seat. Neither of you spoke a word, too terrified it would cut the last string between you that still tied you to each other.

As the bright sign of the hospital came into view, your heart thudded in your ears, so loudly you could barely hear the world around you anymore. Everything was subdued and distorted as if someone was holding your head underwater. All you wanted was air, but your lungs flooded with water.

Beau killed the engine in the parking lot. Both of you sat there in silence and petrified in time, two fossils buried deep in the earth and uncovered by archeologists with fine brushes millions of years later.

His gaze drifted up to the star-filled sky, green eyes locked on the North Star. He wished he could rewind the tape to that night, all the way back to the start where the two of you were still alive. His eyes then swerved to your hand that lay there untouched on the edge of your seat, his own palm twitching to hold it in his.

“You want me to come in with you?” Beau asked carefully.

It was the first time since you’d left the Sheriff’s Department that you looked at him again. Your eyes were pleading. “Of course I do. Please don’t go. Don’t let me do this alone.”

Then, you saw it – the flicker of relief that flashed through him. You recognized the insecurity and apprehension in his eyes. Your heart dropped. You had been so consumed by the news, you hadn’t noticed how he had spiraled. You clasped his hand tightly in yours. He squeezed it desperately back. He was drowning, and your touch was the lifeline he had been waiting for.

“I don’t know if I’m ready to see him. I don’t know if I’m ready to see you with him,” Beau confessed. He had endangered his best friend, deserted him, and left him to die. And that wasn’t even the worst he’d done. The worst was you.

“Me neither,” you admitted and interlaced your fingers with his. “We’ll take it step by step, okay?”

He nodded.

As the nurse sent you down the hallway to your believed-to-be-dead but actually only-long-lost husband, you didn’t know what to expect as your hand lingered on the door handle.

Beau could not only feel the tension in your body but physically see it. The stiffness in your neck and shoulders, the tremble in your hands, and the twitch in your eyes were a dead giveaway.

As you felt Beau behind you with a hesitant palm resting on your lower back, you wondered if you should tell Randy. You supposed you had to at some point. And suddenly, you felt overwhelmed.

You had been so focused on what awaited you in that room, you hadn’t thought about what your husband expected. Or was it ex? Did he know you had moved on? Were you still allowed to? Would he be happy for you? Would he let you go? Would he hate you for it? He probably would, considering who you ended up with. Or maybe you had it all wrong, and he would be relieved it was someone he loved, too. Wouldn’t you be if the roles were reversed?

His death had severed your ties, but now that he was back, were your vows, too? Did he even know everyone thought he was dead? Had you cheated? Was that what Diane had been trying to tell you? That you had sinned? That you were a liar? That you were awful? That you were a whore?

“Should I-, uhm…”

“No,” Beau answered your dangling question as if he could read your mind. He dropped his hand from your back and ceased all contact, even going as far as taking a step back. If you hadn’t known any better, you would’ve thought you were radioactive. That should’ve been answer enough. “Not yet, at least.”

“Okay.” The rejection hurt, but you understood. This was hard for him, too. Maybe even harder. You had to weather the storm alone, ship-wrecked and marooned on a desolate island.

“You wanna go in alone first?”

“No.” You shook your head and pushed down the handle, suddenly feeling more courageous and determined than before.

You barged in. Not gentle. Not slow. The urge to see him, face to face within the same four walls – after all these years, after all the tears – washed over you like heavy rainfall. You didn’t want to weather the storm – you wanted to be it. It felt safer than to seek shelter under driftwood.

Then, your heartbeats halted. The world around you paused. No murmurs in the hallway, no beeping machines or bustling footsteps. It felt like you were standing in the eye of the hurricane, everything else flying fast around you, but the center was calm.

As you stood there, feet calcified in front of his bed, a set of familiar whiskey-colored eyes found you. The slightly furrowed brow above them softened, his lips parted in awe. He still looked the same, only slightly aged by the years and what he’d been through.

“Randy?” Your voice was a quiet tremble but still filled the entire room.

A smile flickered alive on his face. “Hey,” he said, his own voice raspy and dry as if he hadn’t had water in several days. Deserted like he had been. His hazel eyes lit up, full of love and adoration. It was the same look he had always worn when he gazed at you. For a second, it felt like nothing had changed. It saturated your frozen heart with warmth and your gray and bleak vision with technicolor.

“I-I don’t know what to say,” you stammered with a thick swallow.

Randy snorted a bit. “Now, you know how I always felt,” he quipped, blinking the tears in his eyes away. He’d always been a ray of sunshine. He was light and sweet and good down to his bones. A part of you had expected that light to fade, though, considering what he must’ve experienced the last few years. But it hadn’t. He was still shining as bright as ever, his spirit untouched by the darkness that had tried to swallow him. “Are you just gonna stand there like a moron?”

A small laugh escaped you as tears began to sting your eyes when he spoke those same words you once had said to him. You wanted to cry when you heard them. What sliver of doubt remained in your mind that it wasn’t truly him vanished upon his words. Your feet wanted to move forward, but your heart tugged you back.

You glanced back over your shoulder and found Beau, standing with lovelorn patience by the door as he watched the exchange between you two. The muscle in your chest then stung, like someone had dropped it into a pit full of cacti. You felt torn in two, pulled into opposite directions.

Randy followed your gaze and finally noticed his second visitor, his brow shooting up in surprise. For a second, Beau felt nervous as he awaited a reaction. He expected resentment, hatred, blame, and anger. What he got, however, was a rising smile.

“Hey, man.” Randy seemed happy to see him, not an ounce of animosity detectable. “You two realize you’re staring, right?”

“‘S good to see you, Randy,” Beau managed to say and forced a quivering smile to his lips. And it wasn’t a lie. A big part of him was elated to have his best friend, his old partner, his brother back. But he couldn’t ignore the gnashing, lethal wound in the shape of you that Randy’s return caused.

Carefully, you stepped closer and let out a nervous breath as you sat down at the edge of his bed. He reached out and tenderly caressed your cheeks, brushing a few strands of hair behind your ear. A smile curved his lips as soon as he touched you again. It felt like he was holding a miracle while you looked at him like he was a ghost.

“You look good, sweetheart,” he said. His hand then slid down your arm to hold yours, fingers brushing over the one. His gaze dropped when he couldn’t feel what he was looking for, the tan line of the missing item around your ring finger still visible. Pensively, he licked his lips. “They told me everyone thought I was dead.”

“Yeah, uhm, that’s kinda my fault. I’m sorry, buddy,” Beau said and swallowed harshly. The sight in front of him almost took him out. Even though it was a familiar picture, one he had seen a million times before, seeing it now was a different story. After everything he knew, you in someone else’s arms that weren’t his felt like a bullet piercing through his chest. His heart was bleeding. “I thought you got shot.”

“It’s okay. Don’t blame yourself, man. It was crazy in there. It could’ve happened to anybody. I did get shot. Only the slug went straight through the shoulder,” Randy explained. “Cartel then took me to Mexico. Juárez.”

Your wide eyes wandered to Beau, the two of you sharing a horrified look. Randy had been right underneath your noses this entire time. You could’ve saved him.

“You were in Juárez? We were there, too,” you muttered in shocked realization.

“Oh, I know,” Randy said, surprising you both. Your heart beat faster, accelerating to lightning speed and close to jumping out of your chest. Did he already know about you and his best friend? But he answered your question before you could ask it. “Cartel talked about a task force moving in on them. I overheard them once. Said my old partner and wife were looking for me. When y’all got too close, though, they moved me further south. There’s nothin’ you coulda done.”

“What did they do to you? How are you still alive?” you asked and didn’t want to sound ungrateful for it, but you were completely baffled. You had too many questions racing through your mind.

Randy chuckled a little at your line of questioning. “You’re still the same.” He smiled and tore your heart apart, because you knew you weren’t. Not really. “I think they thought they could keep me for leverage. Trade me at some point? They held me in a basement at first till they moved me south. Kept me at farm of some cartel member. It wasn’t highly guarded, but even when I had opportunity to flee, I didn’t know where I was or where to go. I thought they’d either kill me or give me back at some point, but then months… years passed. I gave up hope they’d ever let me go. And then, one night they threw a bag over my head and I woke up in some weird bunker… in Montana. Apparently. Anyone wanna explain what I’m doing here? How did you guys get here so fast? They only brought me here a few hours ago. Had to convince them a little to find and call you since they thought I was dead.”

“I was already here for a case. There’s a crazy serial killer lady who took you. That’s who locked you into that bunker,” you explained and watched his brow crease.

“Huh.”

“I work Major Crimes now. It’s a long story,” you added quickly. You didn’t even know where to start. How could you recap three years?

“Really?” His smile was back. This time, it was a proud one. “That’s good. You always wanted that.”

“Yeah.” You blushed a little and gave him a small smile in return.

He squeezed your hand, his gaze flickering to your missing ring on your finger once more. “So, uhm… since everyone thought I was dead, I guess we’re not married anymore, huh?”

Your heart exploded like he had just deposited a grenade inside of it. You averted your gaze to your joined hands. “Uh, Randy…”

“No, hey, it’s okay, sweetheart,” he quickly soothed and chuckled to lift your worries, and you weren’t sure if it was a real smile or just one for your sake. “I’m just trying to catch up, you know? Get up to speed. ‘Sides, if we’re not married anymore, we could have a second wedding. Might be fun, right?”

Tears gathered in your eyes as you tried to smile through the pain. “Uh, yeah.” You nodded and hoped he couldn’t see your reluctance.

Randy then stretched his neck and pulled you closer, his lips meeting yours in a slow and chaste kiss that felt like your first. Tears of happiness mixed with sadness as they rolled down your cheeks. When Beau softly cleared his throat, you broke away from Randy, your cracked heart shattering into sharp daggers that sliced through your skin. What were you supposed to do, though? Reject the man you married because it would break the heart of the one you currently loved?

“I-, uh, I should go. Let you two catch up,” Beau said uncomfortably. The crestfallen look on his face destroyed you. “I’ll keep the press away from this for as long as I can. Lord knows they love a good back-from-the-dead story.”

“You can do that?” Randy arched a curious brow.

Beau pulled his jacket back a little and tapped the badge on his belt. “Kinda the sheriff here.”

“Wow, congrats, man. You deserve it,” Randy said with a genuinely happy grin. He seemed like a kid who was catching up with all his friends on the first day of school after summer break.

Beau gave him a tight smile that said he didn’t think he deserved it. But only you could read that one. “Uhm, thanks, bud. I see you tomorrow, okay?”

“Beau, wait–”

But he had rushed out of that room so fast, he couldn’t even hear you as the door fell shut behind him. You offered Randy the same tight-lipped smile and stroked his cheek. Your emotions were a mangled mess. A part of you was hauled back to the past, old feelings that you had buried deep coming back alive, while new ones reminded you that it wasn’t the same anymore.

“Give me a sec, okay? I’ll go talk to your doctor. See when we can get you outta here,” you said and waited for Randy’s nod of confirmation before you darted out of the room.

Your heart thrummed in your ribcage as you raced down the hospital’s corridors all the way to the parking lot where you finally caught up with Beau. He was on a fast-paced escape to his car before he stopped when you called his name.

“Beau, wait!”

As he spun around, he dragged a palm over his face in an attempt to wipe away the tears. But the evidence was still visible, his eyes red and distraught. “You should go back, Y/N. He needs you.”

The heart in your throat caused you to choke. “So do you. I’m so sorry,” you said, sniffling as tears flowed down your cheeks. But as you stepped forward to hold him, he took a step back.

“It’s okay. I get it. Trust me. I do. He’s your husband, and I’m just… Well, I’m nothin’,” he said, his voice laden with heartbreak. “Just don’t come closer, ‘cause if you do, I don’t know if I can hold myself back, alright? ‘Cause all I wanna do right now is kiss you and love you, even it’s the last time. I can’t do that to him. You understand?”

Everything in you wanted to break through the fence he had set up, full-throttle with a lead foot on the gas, but you thought it was best to respect his wishes for now. You didn’t even know where your head was and wanted to avoid hurting him more.

“Here, uhm, you should have this back.” He fished out your wedding ring from his back pocket and dropped it into your palm, the quick brush of his skin tearing you apart even more. The golden band suddenly felt heavier than it ever had. You didn’t even know when he had grabbed it from his desk drawer, but the foresight scared you. He let out a humorless chuckle as the sadness brimmed in his green eyes. “Not the ring I thought I’d give you…”

Your lips parted, your brow lifting in realization. Whatever dusted remnants were left of your heart plummeted. “Beau…”

“Don’t. ‘S okay,” he wrung out with a doleful smile. “I’ll see you tomorrow, alright? Call if you need somethin’.”

With a passive nod, he jumped into his Jeep. You clutched the ring in your hand so tightly it almost burned through your skin as you watched him drive off.

Beau uncapped his third beer of the night (plus two tumblers of whiskey and a shot of his old friend Don Julio) as he sat on the bed in his trailer. A pile of your clothes still lay on the floor to his right, your favorite coffee mug stood in the kitchen sink, and your shampoo was stored in the shower. It felt like you hadn’t left, even though you had.

He replayed the clips of the hospital in his mind over and over again. How Randy held your hand. How he touched your cheek. How he kissed you. How he looked at you when he first saw you – like he had finally found the piece of his heart again that he lost years ago, the same love in his brown eyes that had been there since day one. And Beau understood, because he had felt the same way once, too, when you walked into his office – back into his life.

He told himself it was the torture he deserved for all of his sins. And he swallowed it all down – the hurt, the heartbreak, the jealousy, the possessiveness. He had no right to feel those things. Not anymore. You weren’t his. You never were.

How long did he have with you this time around? Five weeks?

Suddenly, he regretted leaving Houston, regretted leaving you. He wasted a whole year that he could’ve spent loving you. He always thought, in the end, he'd have more time. Eternity, even. How fucking foolish was that?

The headlights and sounds of a car in front of his home drew his attention to the window, shadows and lights dancing along the walls of his trailer. He couldn’t see his visitor, but considering it was in the middle of the night, he assumed it was either Jenny or Cassie checking up on him. He had texted them to let them know what was going on. But as he opened the door, the sight left him speechless.

“Y/N…” Your name fell from his lips like you were an angel he had prayed for. For a moment, he wasn’t sure if his eyes were seeing things right, or if you were a booze- and depression-induced hallucination. You wouldn’t be the first ghost that came back to haunt him, after all.

“You ain’t nothing.”

With those words still floating in the night air, you cupped his neck and crashed your lips against his, kissing him fervently with everything you had as tears streamed down your cheeks. He returned the kiss just as passionately, although you could feel a part of him fighting against it. But his large hands grabbed your waist and pulled you flush against him, the kiss lasting till both of you were bluer than the sky. You didn’t let go of him, though, hands holding onto his shirt, too scared he would slip through the cracks of your fingers if you did.

“Y/N, I can’t…”

“I love you,” you interjected his hesitance with firmness and gripped him tighter, your gaze drilling into him like you hoped your words would. “You think I’d just forget? You think my feelings for you just vanish into thin air? It doesn’t work that way. I can’t just snap my fingers and stop loving you. I can't go back to the way things were. I know you think me and Randy are some great love story, but so are you and I. Look, when he died, I grieved that loss and it felt like I was dying, too. I never thought life would be... exciting... and fun... and happy... and so full of love again. And then… I-I fell in love with you, and my life somehow started again. And I know this whole situation is fucked up and confusing and impossible. And I don’t know what to do… I don't know what the right thing is here. But I do know you feel right, and I can’t just pretend you and me and everything good that came with it never existed. I don’t want to. Please, just… I need you, Beau. You said you wouldn't leave again. You're not making things better by walking away...”

With a stretch of your toes, your nose grazed his before you gently claimed his plump, soft lips once more. Your tear-stained cheeks met the roughness of his beard. The kiss started ginger and careful, giving him time to withdraw if he wanted to. But he didn’t. His tongue slipped inside your mouth and stoked the flames of the fire that burned for him deep within your soul. Inhibitions were set ablaze as the kiss turned searing. He hoisted you into his arms, your legs wrapping around his middle as he carried you inside.

The trailer’s peaceful silence was disturbed by panting breaths, a pathway of clothes leading from the entrance to the bed. You peeled off his shirt, and he slid off yours over your head. You unclasped your bra and tore it off, pressing your tits against his bare chest as your lips tried to remain connected to each other through it all. By the time he sat down on the edge of the mattress with you on top, only two naked bodies seeking friction remained.

You wanted to feel him everywhere, wanted him to fill you and make you whole again until you stopped feeling like you were breaking apart at the seams. Hands roamed and explored as tongues mingled and savored tastes. As you straddled his muscular thighs, his arms wound around your middle and kept you firmly pressed against him, his hold on you strong as his fingers dented your flesh. You hoped it was enough to leave bruises behind. You never wanted to forget him, wishing his marks would be permanent ink on your skin.

“I need you,” you murmured against his thoroughly kiss-swollen lips, his cock rubbing against your soaking core as you gently rocked your hips.

“I want you,” you assured him, your mouth trailing a path of featherlight kisses along his jaw and down to his throat, his groan vibrating against your soft lips. One hand steadied itself on his broad shoulder as your other one fisted his hard, throbbing length and positioned it at your entrance, his cockhead gliding through your slick and teasing you till you shuddered with wanton need to feel him inside of you.

“I love you,” you whispered and gasped as you sank down, sheathing his thick cock in your warmth as your velvety walls welcomed him. With a needy and yet tender kiss, you soothed his grunt when he was fully inside you and prodded at your cervix. “Wanna make you feel good, okay?”

He nodded and squeezed his eyes shut. “Fuck, Y/N, don’t do this to me if you’re gonna leave,” he pleaded, his gravelly voice laced with desperation and pain. His hand softly caressed your face as he rested his forehead against yours. His love for you radiated in his green eyes like kryptonite.

You cupped his bearded cheeks and forced him to look at you, lifting his chin to find your eyes. “I’m not leaving you, okay?”

“But–”

You kissed him before he could bring forth all the reasons why you should, but you didn’t care. Your heart was the North Star, and your heart had led you to him. When you left the hospital, there was nowhere else you wanted to go, no one you wanted to see more. Your heart had only ached for him.

You were finally home, and now that you were back in the arms where you belonged, you kissed him so hard till his mind quieted down to a soft lullaby. You kissed him so hungrily till his cock twitched inside of you because you were the only one he wanted, too. You kissed him so passionately he felt your love for him seep into his own heart.

As you began to roll your hips, he met you thrust by thrust as he pounded up into you. His massive hands and sinful mouth roamed every inch of your body. Palms groped your tits and fingers tickled your spine. Lips kissed your throat and tongue massaged your nipples. Teeth grazed your flesh and beard burned your skin.

Your nails dug into the thick muscles on his shoulders and scraped his scalp as his cock split you open with each pump. His girth tore you apart, each time you eased back down a new pleasurable burn coursing through you as your walls stretched to accommodate all of him.

Your pace rose with the tides of your hips, your thighs flexing as your cunt stroked his cock and came closer to the finish line. Beau buried his head in the crook of your neck, writhing and groaning underneath you. His fingers bit into your flesh, surely leaving bruises behind this time. Your tits rubbed against his chest, and you could feel his muscles tensing and straining underneath your fingertips with each bounce. He was barely holding on.

“Come for me, baby,” you beckoned him, feeling your own orgasm approach. The fuse was sparked and burned a path right to your explosive core. “I love you…”

“Fuck!” Beau cried out and spilled into you, his body trembling in your grasp. Those words were all it took to tip him over the edge.

You came with a thundering moan. His release triggered your own, your pussy pulsing violently around him and milking his cock for all he’d got. His cum mixed with your arousal and gushed out of you, trickling down your thighs and coating even his balls. Your thighs shook with exhaustion as you let yourself fall down on him, his arms catching you and holding you close.

Still panting, his mouth found yours in the dark. His thumbs stroked your flushed cheeks, the rest of his fingers dangling in your hair, the grip soft turned bruising as he kept you lip-tied to him, the kiss tender turned rough.

His nose brushed yours as he looked deeply at you. You could see the despair drowning in his pine green eyes, his emotions overtaking him.

“Pick me. Don’t go,” he begged in a harsh whisper, your flushed face in his warm palms.

You placed a gentle kiss on his lips and nodded. “I’m not going anywhere, corazón.”

Chapter 10: It Matters – DECEMBER 06

Phew, writing that hospital scene nearly killed me 😮‍💨 Next up, we have even more drama as the awkward throuple reaches a boiling point...

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[iamhomewardbound]

8.28.23

TW - death, graphic descriptions, depression

My Dad died last May.

He died at 3:10 PM on a Wednesday afternoon after a lifelong battle with alcoholism. He died before I turned thirty, before he could walk me down the aisle, before he could meet my future children.

On a late Sunday afternoon I drove home because he was in the hospital again. My mom said they had mentioned that he may have six months to live. Huh? I don't know how I drove for over 3 hours after hearing that. Over the course of the next eleven days, his prognosis went from months to weeks, and from weeks to days.

And on the eleventh day, we sat around him, exhausted beyond words after days and nights of exasperated caretaking that spiraled into infinity. I cannot physically bring myself to write what we experienced, but just know when you liver and kidneys fail simultaneously, ammonia builds up in the body and pretty much makes you go insane. So the parent you love with all your heart is writhing, bucking and tearing at their own skin as their body succumbs to the end stages. They are hallucinating and angry. They are awake all hours of the night and asleep all hours of the day. They are diapered and spoon fed. They are helpless.

As we sat around him on the 11th day, his breathing began to labor. I looked up from the newspaper I was reading and suddenly it was time. We gathered (or floated? I don't even know how I got there) around him and I took his hand in mine. It was oddly lukewarm and slightly rigid. I didn't think anything of it at the time, in fact I'm not sure I was capable of coherent thought at all. His big giant hands that held me as a child, that would rustle my hair and envelope me in massive hugs. Those giant hands. How, Dad, how?

His wrist pressed against mine, and I realized couldn't feel a pulse. His breathing paused for longer than normal. I put my two fingers up under his jawline and suddenly he let out, what I did not know at the time, the very last gasp of air from his lungs. I was so startled I laughed. Not sure why I did. Then suddenly our family nurse was there and my mom told her solemnly that he seemed to have stopped breathing. Seconds, minutes, hours, maybe even days passed by, and then she put her fingers on his neck to check his pulse, and then some words came out of her mouth that indicated he was dead but there was that ringing sound in my ears. My mom and sister erupted into animalistic sobs, but the ringing sound™ got louder, louder and louder like in the movies. All other sound is muted. There is nothing, only ringing.

Somehow I watched my Dad get put on a stretcher and loaded into a hearse. They zipped the black bag up around his face and I wanted to cry out, "STOP, you're suffocating him!!!"

But it was me that couldn't breathe. I was the one who was suffocating. I couldn't breathe, and I wouldn't be able to really breathe for the next several months. Maybe even the rest of my life.

It's been a little over a year. A year of the core part of my being collapsing into itself and rotting into the diseased seas of despair and depression. You thought you were sad? You thought you were really fucking sad?? Try losing a parent under highly traumatic circumstances and your lowest moments will feel like a goddamned vacation compared to this.

The worst feeling of all is this is year 1/X; 1 of X.

X being a lifetime.

The mortuary called us on Father's Day to let us know my Dad's ashes were ready to be picked up. You know, cause Father's Day clearly was the best day to do this (sarcasm).

Something they don't tell you about ashes is that there's bits of calcified bone in it. So, if you move it, rebottle it, or shake it, it goes klink-tink. It is also a beige, almost skin-like color, not what I would have expected, and kind of sombering.

And so this is my life now. Consumed forever by the sudden, highly traumatic death of my father. I continue my existence pretending to seem like I'm okay when I've been dealt probably the craziest fucking blow I could have never forseen coming.

I can't vocalize the absolute horror and pain I've had to see and go through. I just can't.

Hug your parents. Hug your Dad. forgive them. Go visit them.

I would give up all my earthly possessions just to be wrapped in a big bear hug from my Dad, but I will never again in my life get that privilege. Just writing those words out into a sentence is incomprehensible.

You don't even know the magnitude of knowing never again in your life will you see, hear, or touch someone you love. These words shift continents and collapse black holes. They pause time and halt gravity.

So, I urge you to you go tell your parents you love them, and give them as many hugs as you still can. Please.

For me, if anything.

[various-things]

Just to add some thoughts here, and not at all to invalidate your own take op (I agree that it would have been better to see him interact with others more and I also strongly agree a slight costume change would have been good!): I personally really like Dooley's portrayal of Tain, but the lack of conviction in a lot of his line deliveries lands to me as a very deliberate acting choice. I think Tain intentionally presents himself as non-threatening and bland, and amiable most of the time. Soft, comfortable, old fashioned clothing. Strongly avuncular. I think (for me personally) there also is an ongoing and underlying level of threat in how he speaks. Soft, bland, almost sing-song at times. He's not a man who has a reason to need to raise his voice or show anger. I think the only two notable times I feel that he drops the affect (to a slight degree—I also think in some ways the affect is calcified for Tain and is a way he has fallen into communicating for decades, the way a lot of our speech is, and I'm not counting him breaking down at the end of The Die is Cast or afterwards) is when he goes "And now Doctor, I really think you should be going." and "Make it brief." to Julian in The Wire and when he goes "I think you'll find when I have something to say, you won't have any trouble understanding it." to Odo in Improbable Cause. I think in the latter instance, his threat to Odo is actually less intimidating than his amiability. A choice to seem intimidating that maybe undermines the confidence and security of avoiding doing so. I think that interpretation on my end with regards to that line might not be what was desired though. Even when he's telling Garak to torture Odo and strongly intimating consequences for Garak if Garak doesn't—definitely conveying intimidation and much more effectively in my opinion, the delivery stays bland and amiable even as his facial expressions go more calculating, the pauses more loaded, the shades of softness more obviously layered with other meaning. I do also think the Tain we meet by Improbable Cause is a Tain whose "good judgment" has significantly begun to lapse. Upending his life and planning to return to his former glory—and I wonder why he wants that. If I was incorporating the context of ASIT I'd say that Tain is probably telling himself that he's still the best person suited to run the Order and that it's for Cardassia, but in the context of solely actual show canon I don't know and it's an interesting question to me. Overall, while I may differ in how I feel about Tain's portrayal, I definitely think all of the above would have been more effective if it had been supported by further character interactions though.

Honestly? No. I don't.

The one thing that's always bugged me about this episode is that I've seen it 4 times now and I still don't buy this dude. I'm still waiting for him to say, oh never mind I'm actually the decoy, the guy you really want is over there. No shade on the actor because I feel like he was told to play it a certain way, but like... the vibe I get is "I wandered in off the street and I know everything because the director gave me his annotated script, not because I actually possess any skills whatsoever." I suppose that's not helped by the "fade to black, pick up a few days later" so we never actually see Julian put any of that information to use.