#so when i draw i feel very empty even though i’m creating and even though it often looks good

[websitesdotcom]

Drawing shitty things is so so fun i can’t remember the last time i’ve had this much fun drawing… let’s go let’s gooooo

[girlokwhatever]

hiiiii PLSS KATE MARTIN ANGST!!!! 🥰🥰

₊˚ෆ‧₊˚ ⋅* ‧₊- ,, illicit affairs,,

kate martin x fem!reader

(not spell checked.. are you surprised?)

it was doomed from the start, when you told kate it had to be a secret.

she had somehow weaseled her way into your life, immediately finding a keen liking for you. for some reason you let her; you let her break your walls down until there was nothing left between you but unspoken feelings of love and admiration. it was inevitable when she kissed you, making it impossible for you to reject her advances because, secretly, you wanted her just as bad.

but no one could know. no one knew.

make sure nobody sees you leave,

hood over your head,

keep your eyes down.

you were running through the dorm parking lot belonging to the building kate lived in. your hoodie was pulled up over your head, draw-strings tugged taught until you could hardly see. kate watched you through her window, the weight of your shared secret making her feel heavy.

she hated seeing you go like this— rushed and panicked with the news that her team was coming back to the dorms earlier than originally planned. her hoodie engulfed you, creating a safe and secret place for you as you crossed the parking lot, eyes downcast as you make your way to your car.

you’d finally been able to come over to her dorm after weeks of hardly seeing her at all. not even moments ago your limbs were tangled with hers, soft kisses and a sloppy make out transpired between the two of you.

her whole team was out, celebrating a win that kate would rather miss if it meant she got some alone time with you. the time with you ended up being short-lived though. not even a full hour had passed before kate received a text from caitlin informing her everyone was going to check in early tonight.

disappointment was etched in her face as you pulled out of her embrace, quickly collecting your things to leave. all she had left was a chaste kiss on the lips and a sweetly whispered goodbye that rang in her ears as she watched your car disappear into the darkness.

what started in beautiful rooms

ends with meetings in parking lots

“i’m sorry we had to meet like this.. i thought the team would’ve been gone tonight.” kate sighs, letting her hands slip off of her steering wheel as you step inside her car.

you could tell she was tired. her hair was messily tied back, dark circles sagging under her eyes as she rubbed them. assuming it was pressure from the very demanding basketball season, you reached out, intertwining your delicate fingers with her calloused ones.

“hey, it’s okay. as long as i get to see you, it doesn’t matter where i am.”

that makes kate smile, her gaze breaking away from the rain-soaked parking lot. her relief only lasts a few seconds and is gone before you could even catch it. of course she was happy to just see you, but realizing her relationship with you has trickled down to these sort of meetings, it kills her.

you used to come to her games. you used to hangout with her and the team. you used to be seen in public together, when you were friends. and now, when you were supposed to be closer than ever, none of that seemed like a possibility anymore. it was killing kate. because now this was almost as good as it gets; secret meetings in an empty parking lot past ten o’clock at night.

kate remembers meeting you for the first time, how different things were then. she remembers meeting you in the warm and dim lights of the library late at night, catching up on late work and trying to escape the distractions of the dorm. but then she saw you. she really couldn’t help it when she started to stare, watching as the light and it’s shadow cast different shades of color over your face as you moved.

the library had been beautiful that time of night, kate always thought so. but not as beautiful as you.

leave the perfume on the shelf

that you picked out just for her

so you leave no trace behind

like you don’t even exist

it’d been awhile since kate even uttered your name in front of her friends. the fear of giving something away loomed over her head like a dark cloud, rain threatening to spill at any moment. it wasn’t until kate came home late after a night with you that your nervous activity started.

caitlin was sitting in the common area when kate got back, motioning her to come sit with a gentle pat of the cushion next to her. your girlfriend was in good spirits so she gave in without hesitation, coming to sit next to caitlin on the couch as she watched a late night basketball game.

“where’ve you been?” caitlin asked suspiciously, turning her nose in her friend’s direction.

“just out.”

“with y/n?”

kate goes stoic, eyes trained on the wall while her previously bouncing leg stands still. she hasn’t been expecting that, what gave it away?

“what? no, we don’t really.. hang out anymore.”

“you smell like her.” caitlin presses in dangerous territory and she knows it. you seemed to be a sensitive subject in kate’s life now, and she had no idea why.

kate shrugs before quickly standing up. she was desperate to escape from this conversation because somehow, caitlin always knows. and she can’t know about this. that’s why when kate shuts her door with a soft click she texts you immediately with a link to a new perfume, offering to buy it for you. she couldn’t tell you about what happened. you’d freak out, go into hiding away from kate for a little while.

so she doesn’t.

she buys you the new perfume and you replace it with the old one, the one that happened to be her favorite. the one she knew you used to wear just for her.

it was safer this way. caitlin couldn’t trace any scent back to you now. she couldn’t trace anything back to you anymore. a big part of kate hated that, but a smaller part of her knew it was better for you, so she settled.

take the words for what they are

a dwindling mercurial high

a drug that only worked

the first few hundred times

“kate, i just need time.”

it was a hushed whisper, one that kate has heard before. she believed it before, and part of her still does. but each time she loses hope, her fingers slip until she’s hanging on by her fingernails.

you promised kate it wouldn’t be like this forever. one day— soon you claimed, the two of you wouldn’t have to love in secret.

“kate i’ve never loved anyone the way i love you,” you’d whisper genuinely and she’d be hooked, fully trusting and forcefully patient. there was nothing she loved more than you, not even basketball, and she’d wait forever to be able to tell everyone that, even when it was having an undeniable impact on her mental state.

“i know.” she whispers back, lips moving against your skin as she tries to become one with you.

it was so hard to remember all the lost promises and time when you were holding her like this. hands in her hair, coddling against her and cradling her head into your chest. it was as if you were massaging all the past memories of empty words out of her brain, trying to make her forget about how you said all of this months ago.

and a couple months after that you’d whisper the same sweet nothings.

“you keep saying that..”

“and i mean it, kate.”

she stares at you, eyes turning to oceans full of complex and conflicting feelings. she was upset, disappointed, angry, and betrayed.

“look i understand what it’s like to come out. i’ve been there and i understand if you’re not ready, but don’t tell me you are.”

her first tear slips along with her conviction.

“kate.. i’m sorry,” you whisper, reaching out to wipe her tears away and she physically softens into your touch. “please don’t give up on me.”

and it was working again. your words, whether they were honest or not, had an affect on kate that made her stay. she’d always stay as long as you asked. somewhere deep down kate knew she was crumbling from the inside out. she was growing restless, a sinking feeling of hopelessness consuming her each time you failed to follow through on your promises. the promises you made while entangling your pinky with hers, kissing delicately along her knuckles.

and that’s the thing about illicit affairs

and clandestine meetings and stolen stares

they show their truth one single time

but they lie, and they lie, and they lie,

a million little times

kate glanced your way longingly, watching silently as you interacted with the people around you. she wished so deeply it could be her so close to you, demanding attention and hearing your sweet laugh.

but it wasn’t. and despite what you said, she knew it probably wouldn’t be her for a long time.

kate felt so real when she was with you. so pure, who she was meant to be at her core. being with you was so real for kate, all her feelings and commitments, all the promises and conflicts were real.

but it was a lie.

every time she’d avoid your gaze or pretend like she didn’t know you, it was a lie. lying to her friends about you, her family, or anyone who asked. she’d lie and say yes if anyone asked about her being single. she’d lie about you.

it drained kate. she couldn’t fathom the idea that this was all per your request. deliberate decisions made by you to deceive everyone around you. kate was like your little affair, a secret you kept hidden away from the world so you could still have your fun elsewhere.

kate was your lie, and you were hers.

when you finally made eye contact with her she broke. all her buried resentment and defeat, all the fake promises and compromises, all the secrecy, all the hurt and confusion, all the insecurity, all the buried thoughts that haunted kate glared back at you.

but she saw it in you too. the weight of your lies and the pain of the truth. not only were you lying to everyone about kate, you were lying about yourself, to yourself.

and you wanna scream

don’t call me “kid”

don’t call me “baby”

kate’s head was deep in her hands, sobbing as shaky fingers pulled at the roots of her hair. for some reason she never saw this coming. the hopeful and innocent part of kate always thought it’d work out, that you’d work it out together. like you always said.

but you’d broken up with her. the stress of your secret relationship finally catching up. this couldn’t last forever, and you realized you’d never come out like kate wanted you to. it wasn’t fair to her. it wasn’t fair to expect her to be okay with being hidden. that’s what you told yourself to feel like less of a coward.

you could see she was freaking out. it took a lot to speak again, too afraid and shameful. too scared you’d make it worse.

“baby i’m so sorry, im so sorry.”

kate squeezes her eyes shut painfully. the word rings like a mantra through her ears, seeping into her soul where it freezes her feelings and numbs her mind. she shakes her head before looking back up at you with a face contorted by hurt.

“don’t call me that.”

“kate..”

“don’t call me that. seriously.”

you stare silently, guilt-ridden eyes shamefully gazing on her soft features, made even softer by the shine of her tear-stained cheeks and red puffy eyes. this was the hardest thing you’ve ever done. looking at her made you want to change your mind, to take it all back cruelly but you knew you couldn’t.

if you couldn’t accept who you were, how could anyone else?

“how could you do this to me? c’mon, i mean, i was there, through everything. i love you with everything i have. i mean.. i can’t even.. you promised me this wouldn’t happen. you promised.”

look at this idiotic fool that you made me

you taught me a secret language i can’t speak with anyone else

kate felt like a fool. she should’ve known better.

every time she’d make a harmless joke about you being a lesbian and you denied it, she should’ve known. every time you’d claim you were ready to come out to your parents but never did, she should’ve known. she should’ve seen it coming a mile away.

she could’ve, if she hadn’t chosen willful ignorance. but she decided she would rather have your love in private than not at all.

but now she had nothing and could tell no one.

she couldn’t tell anyone about you even if it was over. but caitlin didn’t need to be told twice, or even once. she knew where kate had been going late at night, she knew about the longing looks from across the room. she also saw your text to kate asking to talk.

that’s why she slipped into her best friend’s room that night when she got back home. to hold her as she cried, tell her it was okay and she was there for her.

“i love her so much caitlin.” kate choked out, crying all over again when the image of you in her bed only a few weeks ago flashed through her brain. a cruel memory.

“i know kate. you always love too much.”

and that pattern repeated for weeks, a concerning amount of time that even caitlin was restless. it happened almost every night like clockwork; kate would get back from her self-inflicted extra practice looking exhausted and battered, fleeing to her room without a single word and about ten minutes later she’d attempt to muffle her sobs into her pillow. the pillow that somehow still smelt like the perfume kate bought you.

walking through day-to-day life became harder for kate. no one understood the stupid inside jokes you built together, or the gesture of kissing fingertips you started together.

caitlin forced her friend out into the social world and it only took one conversation to break kate down into a reminiscing mess. objectively there was nothing wrong with the girl other than the fact that she wasn’t you. no one would ever understand kate the way you had, and she’s certain no man would ever understand you the way she had.

kate had to mourn the loss of your love and the connection that came with it. the unique diction you had built together. that one of a kind love could only be found with you, the girl that denied ever loving a woman.

you were a self-proclaimed straight woman. but kate knew, behind closed doors, behind her doors, you were far from it.

and you know damn well

for you, i would ruin myself

a million little times

after awhile kate could finally claim she’d gotten better.

she was enjoying her social life again. going out to bars and clubs, going to team parties, going shopping and playing basketball. she’d even visited home, getting the secret of you off of her chest to her mother.

she slowly eased herself back into normality, following a similar routine to the one she had before you.

the issue was, kate is no longer who she was before she met you. she’d never be that rational woman again. she’d never be able to say no to you again. but that didn’t occur to her, and if it did she wouldn’t mind much because she never thought she’d have to.

it’d been months since she saw you.

but suddenly you appeared across the room, lifting your head before meeting kate’s wide eyes. she knew she was doomed when you waved, a soft smile on your face when she waved back. that lasted for a few moments; stealing glances at each other from across the room before you made your way over.

“hey kate.” it was sweet, like a voice dipped in honey.

“hey..”

“kate, i’ve really been wanting to talk to you. i’m really sorry for how everything happened.”

she looked down at you, draped in your pretty outfit with your pretty hair and your pretty eyes. you sounded so genuine, and she wondered desperately what you wanted to talk about.

“do you wanna come to my place tonight?” she asked, curious and hopeful.

“how about mine?”

“oh, yeah.. sure.”

and kate knew. she knew nothing had changed. you were still the same old you, and she was still the same old her.

she’d go through it all again for you. a million times over.

₊˚ෆ‧₊˚ ⋅* ‧₊- ,,

okay fics inspired by songs are so good

this is my first time using the lyrics in the song and i think im shitty at it.

feedback is definitely welcomed though!

pls enjoy 😛

[predestinatos]

making a mess | CL16 𓍯

pairing: charles leclerc x fem!reader

tags: one shot, fluff, very cheesy, soft!charles, facemask stuff, honeymoon phase

warnings: -

words: 783

note: tysm for the request @champagneholland!! i really needed tome inspo... it's a short-ish one but i hope u & everyone enjoy!

“Charlie” you said, laughing at your own use of the nickname, still getting familiar with its more playfully romantic connotation. “Stay still and close your eyes,” the simple request seemed impossible for him to fulfill, as the green clay of the facemask reached your hands, his hands and some hair.

“I can barely do one of those things when I’m with you, don’t ask for both” Charles laughed along with you, his dimples showing as he looked down at your face. “You’ll be forced to do one of those forever if I accidentally put it on your eye,” you kept giggling as he tried his best to remain still and occasionally open one eye to look at you.

Sitting in your bathroom, using the toilet as a chair, Charles let you apply the facemask carefully on your face, feeling your soft hands on his skin warming his whole body. When you were done, he got up excitedly, knowing it was his turn to do it.

You washed your hands and placed yourself on where he was previously sitting, looking up at him with glowing eyes and a smile – for a few seconds he just stared at you, completely bewitched by how lucky he was to have you. And then his hands here on your cheeks, squeezing them while he continuously kissed your lips – soft, cute pecks that then moved to your nose and forehead. “You’re so pretty” he said, giddiness written all over his expression, “and now half of your face is already covered with the mask. Much more effective this way.”

You jokingly rolled your eyes at him, his cheesiness and childlike way of loving you filling your heart immensely. Being loved as a best friend and partner was not something you were used to – previous relationships resulting in your feeling used – but as Charles stood in front of you with pajama pants and a green-ish facemask that almost matched the color of his eyes, you knew you were at home.

“Okay, Yoda, finish your work, please” you replied, pulling his hand towards you and allowing him to continue. Time went on, and he seemed to be nowhere near done, even though the package was basically empty at that point. Charles kept saying “there’s an empty spot here” when you complained about how long he was taking, enthusiastically applying the mask with such care you sometimes barely felt it.

But he could feel it – he touched every inch of your face with a gentleness that contrasted greatly with his strong hands and body, his toned chest bared before you. To him, every inch of you was precious and delicate, and he wanted to take care of it, kiss it, caress it, simply feel it.

So when he knelt down in front of you, claiming there was an “empty spot on your chin” you were surprised to feel his sudden touch on your thighs, not in a lustful way, but in a nurturing one. Leaving evidence of his touch all over your body, now looking like a canvas filled with loving strokes, he got up, pulling you softly, urging you to do the same.

As you did so, he lowered his head to your neck, kissing it and giggling as he kept painting you. You decided to pay him back for that, taking as much of the remaining product out of the package as you could and drawing silly doodles on his chest. His skin shivered at your touch, and he looked down at you, appreciating the contact he had craved for so long and now was lucky to have all for himself.

“You look like Shrek” you said, laughing and feigning pride at the masterpiece you created. He ran a hand through his hair, now completely messy, placing green highlights in it as well, cursing playfully at the movement. “I thought I was Yoda” he replied, to which you shrugged, “it’s whatever you prefer.”

“I think Shrek. He has Fiona” he replied, grabbing your hand and raising it, as you twirled under the bathroom lights cheerfully, holding him and being held in a waltzing stance as you finished. For a moment, you remained there, looking at each other’s ridiculous mess, how cozy it felt to be there, sharing breaths, memories and kisses.

After a while, Charles’ voice interrupted the silent moment, “is this supposed to burn?” he asked, suddenly concerned. “Shit, the time!” you remembered, realizing it had been longer than the amount suggested in the package instructions. “We should just take a bath” you both said, almost at the same time, laughing as he rushed to turn the shower on, not before leaving another kiss on the top of your head.

[egophiliac]

I was wanting to try doing an art piece in the style of the signature spell poster art pieces you create. But I’m not really the best at coming up with a composition for such a thing.

Do you have a process for how you come up with the compositions for them?

oh, awesome! it is an INCREDIBLY enjoyable style to work in; I hope you have fun with it! :D

I'm not great at putting my thought/art process into words, so my apologies if this doesn't make a lot of sense, but I'll try! my first step is always to do a LOT of thumbnails to figure out both the idea and how I want to show it; not trying to do a real sketch or anything, just little doodles to figure out what exactly I'm trying to portray. (I also call these "garbage passes" because they're not meant to be any good, they're just there to throw things out. aha. ha. ...anyway.) I think it's important during that first stage to really focus on the idea and the layout and not to get too bogged down in the actual drawing yet!

I tend to save my final thumbnails, so I'll use 'em as examples (I posted the ones up through episode 5 here if you're interested!) (and, uhhh, spoilers through episode 5 also in this post, hopefully that won't be an issue!)

the main thing I try to think about in composition is balance -- not necessarily in terms of symmetry, but in where each element is placed and how much space it's taking up. remember, empty space is still space! it's also really important to think about the parts that don't have anything in them, as much as the parts that do!

personally, I like to divide things up roughly by both halves and by thirds -- there's a lot more in-depth info out there on why the "rule of thirds" in particular works well visually, but in short, our brains tend to focus on things that are placed closer to imaginary division lines, instead of in the exact center of an image. so even when I'm doing something that is very centered and symmetrical, I try to keep that in mind and generally aim around those for landmarks like faces/eyes (or...where they would be, anyway) and other focal points.

it's not a formula of "the character's face should be in this division of this grid" or anything, more like "our minds like to focus on these areas, let's think about how to use that", if that makes sense! and of course rules are made to be broken, art is lawless anarchy, and so on. but it can be a good starting place for deciding where you want to put things!

(blue - thirds, red - half)

and against the finished versions, because they do usually end up changing a lot (including the empty space of the border):

(...these actually lined up a lot better than I thought they would. :') it makes me look like I do things way more intentionally than I do.)

other stuff I just try to keep in mind is that our eyes like following arcs and paths, which can be a good way to guide the eye:

and frame and control the focus:

honestly, composition is one of those things I feel like I struggle with a lot, so I'm not sure how much of this is helpful or actually makes sense outside of my head. but hopefully it helps a little! it's all just stuff to think about while drawing and not anything hard-and-fast, so don't, like, stress out about making sure things are lining up exactly on the thirds or anything. again, it's more "our brains think these are the dopest parts of the rectangle" than anything else! take advantage of the cool parts of the rectangle!

NOW GO HAVE FUN DRAWING seriously though, it is always super cool that other people like this idea and style enough to want to do it themselves and for other/their own characters! thank you! ❤️❤️❤️

[youatemylollipop]

Hello! I’m the one who had requested about Rindo with his dream girl today☺️ Whichever you prefer, as long as it’s about what the Tenjiku members thought of her when they first met. Also, I just wanted to say that I completely understand if you're currently very busy and can't fulfill the request right away. There's no pressure and you can take as much time as you need. If possible, could you also write a scenario or a short one shot about Mikey x the "dreamer" type and how they met? Thank you so much for considering my request!

A/N: Hi there! Just wanted to let you know that I have written a short one-shot for Mikey x the "dreamer" type, but I apologize as I wasn't able to come up with anything for Rindō just yet. I'm working on it though! Hope you enjoy this in the meantime!💘

Based on these headcanons: Dream Girl

Synopsis: Mikey encounters a peculiar girl whom he can't help but feel intrigued by.

Fandom: Tokyo Revengers

Characters: Sano Manjirō X Female Reader

⚠️ WARNING: Reader gets harassed on her way home.

Word Count: 1.7K

It was quite late in the evening as you were going back home after finishing your shift at a local café. Usually, you would have enough time to take the subway, but today your shift turned out to be a bit longer, due to a coworker suddenly falling ill. You didn’t mind though, as it meant extra cash for you.

As you walked down the unfamiliar streets, you could hear some distant noises. You didn't give them much thought, though, as they seemed far away from your current location—at least, that was your interpretation.

You were humming quietly to yourself, swaying your school bag back and forth in tandem with your slightly dancing footsteps. Against the night sky, dozens of bright stars illuminated the pathway back home, and the dazed part of your mind believed that some unnatural force was guiding you towards your soulmate.

Suddenly, you heard some whistles and realized that the sounds, which had seemed distant before, were now much closer. As you blinked in surprise, your gaze fell upon a group of boys who appeared to be a few years older than you. It was only then, as you broke eye contact with one of them, that you noticed he wasn't the only one whose gaze had been fixated on your lonely figure.

"What are you doing outside this late, sweetness?" One of the males slurred, making you visibly cringe at the action. A wave of nausea was beginning to rise within your body as the boys began to advance toward you.

They reminded you of a pack of hyenas, which was a parallel that you did not wish to draw since the species had always interested you. These boys, however, brought no other emotion than utter disgust, as you felt physically close to throwing up with each step that they took.

Instinctively, you took a step back and pursed your lips. A part of you wanted to scream, but you were afraid of the consequences that may follow. By appearing calm, you hoped to create an opportunity to escape. Perhaps, if they believed there was no danger, they would let their guard down at some point.

As they encircled you, you couldn’t help but continuously curse yourself out for using your phone so much during the day. Perhaps if you still had some battery, you could’ve easily made a run for it while trying to call for help.

Realizing that you had nothing to lose, you began to scream to the point that your lungs began hurting. However, this did not last long as one of the males lunged forward, pushing you painfully against the cold stone wall behind you.

While the group of boys carried you to a nearby alleyway, you continued to thrash around. The tallest one spoke in a low, menacing tone, his much larger hand still kept over your mouth. “Shut it, or else,” he warned. However, before he could pull his hand away, a loud scream pierced the empty streets as he felt a sharp pain from your harsh bite.

A second later, sudden pain resonated through your body as you landed harshly on the concrete. You groaned in response, attempting to sit up. Your left hand went up to rub your now sore cheek as a blooming pink hue slowly appeared on the surface.

You don't remember much of what happened during your momentary blackout. It's obvious that you didn't faint, but everything around you was too fuzzy to comprehend. Although you heard some noises, they seemed to be far away, and your vision was too blurry to make out what was going on.

You felt a much gentler tap on your shoulder, causing you to blink a few times as you tried to make out the silhouette of the person in front of you. "Am I dreaming?" You mumbled with a dazed expression, as the person's features became more prominent.

"Hmm, I don't know, are you?" The voice sounded smoky and seemed to belong to a young male. There was a slightly teasing lilt to it, but you found it soothing nonetheless.

You didn't answer straight away, finding yourself entranced by the pools of onyx that seemed to be staring right into your soul. They were black but bottomless, a stark contrast to the star-filled sky hanging above the two of you. And, the longer you held eye contact with the stranger, the more it felt as if they were sucking you into the void.

“This must be destiny,” you spoke, [e/c] hues watching him in amazement. He was just so beautiful.

The male tilted his head and interjected, "Oh?" An amused smile soon followed. You were still too dazed to realize how strange your words must have sounded, and the amusement in his gaze didn't deter you from asking, "Can I touch you?"

This elicited a chuckle from the boy, as he found your question utterly ridiculous. “Why?” He questioned, wondering what else your strange little mind would come up with this time.

"Because I need to make sure that you’re not just a fragment of my imagination," the blond looked at you with intrigue as he took in your words. An unidentifiable glint appeared in his eyes.

He took a step forward, inspecting you further in silence before voicing his thoughts. “Do you not trust your eyesight?”

“Not at all," came the breathless reply, causing the male’s onyx eyes to blink in confusion at your statement. Although everything you had said so far sounded strange, he couldn't help but wonder if you had just dropped your glasses while being harassed by those bastards.

As soon as the thought entered his mind, however, he quickly shook it off. He felt sure that if you really hadn't seen him, you would have acted slightly differently. “You must have a vivid imagination,” he mused, a small smile appearing on his face.

The boy leaned closer to you before stretching out his hand. He didn’t even need to say anything as your hand went up to connect with his, acknowledging the unspoken command that had been told through his eyes.

Hoisting you up, the boy asked curiously, “What’s your name?”

Crossing your arms in a form of fake haughtiness, you spoke in a condescending manner. "As my knight in shining armor, you ought to introduce yourself before asking for any personal information."

"The Invincible Mikey is what I go by," stated the boy with amusement as he bowed courteously to you. This caused a blush to spread across your cheeks, and you began to feel slightly flustered by his antics.

It wasn't the first time a boy had tried to play along with your shenanigans, but usually, they had a hard time keeping up with you. Quite often, you would quickly find them boring, perhaps because you realized that they didn't truly enjoy the play and were only trying to appease you.

You have always dreamed of meeting 'the one' - someone who would be happy to fulfill your desires and do anything to satisfy your needs. But you didn't want him to do so just because he found you pretty. Instead, you longed for a boy who would happily comply with your requests simply because he enjoys doing so and wants to see you happy.

However, not wanting to make things too easy for him, you continued to play around. "I believe that doesn't count as a formal introduction," you huffed, now facing the other side in mock annoyance.

“How am I ever to find you if you decide not to tell?” Now it was Mikey's turn to play pretend, puckering his lips into a childish pout as he tried to get your attention back. "Or do you believe that your parents are going to give a delinquent such as I, permission to taint their sweet little princess?"

After sparing the blond boy a small glance, you finally spoke, “Free me from the shackles that they have forced me to carry and we shall see who’ll be the one searching for me in the end.”

"Is the princess asking her knight to take her far away from this land to experience a life filled with adventures?" For the first time during this whole conversation, you felt utterly speechless. The young male, Mikey, took a step forward, his gaze completely fixated on your bewildered figure.

You've never been one to trust words alone. However, this boy spoke with such conviction that it was hard to deny the truthfulness behind them. Still, a part of you felt uncertain as to why he was so insistent on a stranger like yourself.

As you shot him a glare, he couldn't help but find your expression utterly adorable, a fact that you were completely oblivious to. Your tone became slightly harsher than before as you spoke, “If the knight is willing to sacrifice everything he has for their love, she’ll be happy to follow.”

Not feeling deterred in the slightest by the sudden change in your voice, Mikey took yet another step towards your figure as he spoke. “Unfortunately, fair lady, your knight does not possess a horse, but instead a black motor-driven machine, which he hopes will suffice for their journey together.” A grin stretched across his gorgeous—and cute—face.

You felt your blush deepen as you couldn't help but think his smile was very pretty. There was something about him that made you feel exposed, but in a good way. Never had you ever met someone who had managed to elicit such strong emotional responses from you, and the butterflies in your stomach were swarming chaotically, making you completely overwhelmed.

You loved the feeling, however, as it had made you feel much more alive than you had felt in your entire life. The smug grin that he was presenting did nothing to make the former annoyance return. Oh, who were you lying to? That annoyance had never been much more than self-fabrication.

“So this really is destiny,” you spoke up dazedly, taking a hold of his, once again, outstretched hand before following his figure out of the alleyway.

The boy led you quietly towards his bike, before turning around with a knowing glint in his coal-black eyes. "I'd like to believe it's fate," he said with a flirtatious wink, before turning back to face the road as the both of you disappeared into the darkness of the night.

[rriavian]

For the fic writer ask game :3

3, 5, 14, 18, 24

Thank you for the ask! <3 I've tried not to ramble on too much but these questions are so good and I wanted to answer them as in depth as possible.

how you feel about your current WIP

I have a lot on the go at the moment, but Deliverance is probably the oldest unfinished work. I’ll always love it but I have to admit at the moment it’s making me want to shake past me for a) writing it and b) not finishing it sooner. It’s been so long since I updated and this is the last chapter so…really want to get it right.

It's going to take more focus than newer ideas. I feel like I have to cup my hand over my ear and listen close to hear its sound, like an echo of my own words from very far away.

first sentence of the fifth paragraph of an unpublished WIP

"The input itself is paltry; compared to all he holds it’s microscopic, yet it’s sensation from the wrong places, a pinprick of light in the emptiness where the rest of him should be."

where do you get your inspiration?

Connection, I think. If I can feel connected to a piece of media, or an idea, then I can write about it. Doesn’t have to be a positive connection either, it just has to draw me in.

Usually my fics start from a question, a ‘what if’, or a character trait my attention is drawn to. And when I think about it I can’t help but visualise; get into character almost, walk through it with them, map it out to find the ‘how’ of what would happen. I need to breathe with them you know? I need to know who they are to feel inspired, even if it’s just the slightest sense, even though I always learn more as I write.

Inspiration is like a light shone in a place I’ve not yet looked just as much as it is shining in a room I've been in many times before. 

Stray lines can help, things I hear in every day life, or things I see. And honestly so much comes from other people! Posts on tumblr. Asks people send me. All the beautiful fan art. Though being inspired to write sex isn’t something I ever thought would happen…I’m asexual so it’s not something I personally feel all that fussed about. Sex has to really work to be interesting to me.

if you keep them, share a deleted sentence or paragraph from a published fic

I do keep them! Usually to potentially use later in another work :) here is one:

“If you want me to help you,” The Corinthian swallowed his fear, forced it aside. “Then get down on your knees and beg for it.”

how do you recharge when you’re not feeling creative?

Usually I flounder for a bit while trying to create anyway, but I'm quick to identify that pattern now. I tend to just stop entirely…leave all the ‘deliberate’ creating alone for a minute and wait for an idea to wander my way. I’m a very instinctive writer anyway, I have to be able to feel my prose when I write it, which doesn’t always bode well for trying to plan what to write!

(Fic Writer Asks)

[mxmade-up]

It's alright!! The ramble is just fine!

I'm surprised, I hadn't heard there'd only be 5 episodes! Though, it absolutely does make sense, and I don't mind much.

At first when I saw the art I was a bit put off but, I think I do like it after getting used to it? Though some of the designs I agree, I wish were a bit more faithful.. I understand simplifying them for animation, but their designs right now feel a bit.. Strange? Like it feels like they don't keep a lot of key things from their game designs, which could've been very fun! But, I understand they may be going something that maybe we just don't see right now? I'm deciding to stay optimistic.

I agree with the dead cells as a framework thing, and I honestly think that could be really interesting. I hope the show will be good! I'll see if I can't get the game for myself to celebrate it.

I was very put off by the art style too at first. This is coming from someone who didn’t grow up from cartoons and has a low tolerance for a lot of the art styles. In motion, I think it looks fine for most scenes. Or at least most of the scenes they showed.

Btw, on the episodes number I was wrong. Don’t know French so was only picking out the numbers. Sorry! :(

From what I can tell, there will be 10 episodes total, each ~7 minutes. I again ask people to remember motion twin is indie. 5 airing on ADN (French anime streaming service) on June 19 and the other 5 on the 26. About ADN, you can’t watch for free with ads on there. You have to subscribe. Unless there’s a free trial, I think that will be a big turn off for a lot of people. Maybe one dedicated fan will make it pirate-able and then that will help with access. Also, I can’t tell if there’s guaranteed English subs.

you’ll need a VPN too, looks like it’s France only

Link to Dead Cell Immortalis’ page on ADN

Take everything I say with a grain of salt I may have misinterpreted a lot of things

As for the designs? I have a few theories

1. They want to make the show more approachable by non-dead cells fans. The less previously established characters you have and the less motifs, the less background you need. I mean, Laure was created with the explicit purpose of informing our favorite amnesiac cell blob of the world

2. They wanted people to be able to draw visual connections between the the Beheaded and king. Assuming they’re still connected at all

In game the Beheaded has a star/cross instead of an eye on the default head.

This can also be seen in the trailer. Sometimes.

(Also spider rune and ground pound yayy)

King’s symbol change was to

Almost a star. But, stylized to resemble a crown too. This very well could be a stretch. Maybe they just felt the original coat of arms didn’t have the old sci-fi look half these guys have.

3. They’re designed so the heads stick out. Like fingernails. Because they’re the hand. Do you guys even get what I’m saying with this

Not design related, I want to mention UI

Cells and gold moved to where mutations would be. Prisoner’s collar, 1 flask charge, base sword, base shield, and mystery item #3. We can assume from this it’s early on in the series. Amulets moved to be visible. Empty health but no scrolls of power indicator. I just found it interesting

[thoradvice]

Hi! Is it okay if I can request a positivity post for people who struggle with ptsd? ;-; I keep having flashbacks and I am constantly dealing with multiple triggers 24/7 for the last few months now and I’m so scared that I’ll never get better. I only get a few hours of sleep every night because I’m so anxious and on “high alert” all the time, I’m jolting awake gasping and then I can’t fall back asleep. I’m shaking everyday because my brain is always like “look out for the danger!” And I’m unfortunately in a position where I am unable to avoid my multiple triggers (certain clothes, certain colors), and the person who gave me this ptsd is someone I accidentally see online at least once a week, even though I’ve blocked them, they are a very popular fandom blog and they frequently buy commissions of themself… like maybe 15 to 20 commissions per month from all different kinds of artists. So I’m always seeing my abuser’s commissions, visual images of them floating around everywhere I go :( I tried taking time off of tumblr for 8 months, but my ptsd didn’t improve, I just felt lonely and I really missed uploading my own artwork ;-; but now I’ve stopped drawing entirely because I don’t find joy in drawing anymore.

I am surrounded by these reminders of what happened to me, and my only hope is to someday reclaim the triggers and to see them as normal things again, but I don’t know if that’s possible when I feel so incredibly broken and I see my abuser so often. I’ve never had to deal with this kind of thing before. I wish someone would sit with me and tell me everything will be okay, even if it might not be true. I went through all of it completely alone for a full year, and now I feel so numb to anything around me. Going to movies, restaurants, concerts, all of it feels so empty to me. I’m sorry for the vent, you don’t have to reply to this if you don’t want to ;-;

hi there, sweetheart !! first off, i'm so sorry that you're struggling so hard right now, and that you can't seem to escape anything that's making life so much harder. i have never personally dealt with ptsd in that sense, but i do have an ample amount of trauma, and you have my every sympathy.

i'm going to split your ask up into a few parts, if that's okay. i completely understand the fear of never getting better. dealing with so much mental anguish for so long is a trauma in of itself, and i'm so sorry. please know that there is a "better" for everyone. everyone's looks different, and comparing yourself to others who recovered quicker, or more easily won't help - because your situations are always going to be different. but there /is/ a better for you, and anybody else reading this. it'll take time, and will happen slowly, but you'll get there. i also really struggle with sleep, because of intense anxiety / nightmares. there are a number of OTC medications that you can try, have you? i know it sounds silly, if you're struggling so much, but sometimes simple answers help the most. i'm not sure where you are, but if you're in europe, you can order melatonin from the us, and of course in the us it is OTC. there's also a number of medicated syrups (nytol / night nurse / etc). melatonin can occasionally create nightmares, so please be sure to start on a tiny dose. if you have already tried these, speaking to a doctor may really help. i completely understand not wanting to bring up your ptsd, but there are ways to build up to it - including merely mentioning sleep issues first, and building a rapport with the doctor over a few weeks / months. sleep is so key, and getting something that helps you get rest will be instrumental !!

i'm so sorry your abuser is so popular. that's such a uniquely awful pain that i cannot even begin to imagine. is it possible for you to blog them, and the people creating art of them? it'd probably take a while, and be a bit taxing at first, but eventually you may see that your dash has less and less of them. i understand losing joy in the things that you love. it'll take a while to find the joy again, but this is something i have also experienced, and things will make you happy again. i don't feel equipped to advise on managing triggers surrounding things you love. but it may be worth trying to sketch something small and unrelated to fandom. is there a pretty tree you can see from your window? a cool house down the street? a cat lounging around? perhaps taking art away from the online space and the person who hurt you may make it feel more "yours" again. i'm so sorry that you've been going at this alone. no one ever deserves that. i don't know you, but i'm sitting with you right now, telling you it's going to be okay. there is more to life than this pain you're feeling right now, and there always will be. you will find joy in the things you loved again. you will be able to exist without reminders from your abuser, or if they happen, you will be equipped to deal with that. you will build a network of people to lean on, and that love you, and will be there for you. you deserve more than the hand you were dealt, and i hope you get that someday. emotional numbness is perhaps one of the most taxing things to deal with, but please know that this grey won't last forever. colour will bloom into your life again. there is more than this, and you deserve more than this. i am here with you, and you'll get through this.

[16woodsequ]

(For the writers truth and dare ask game)

I was unsure how many I could pick so I chose two, 🍓 because I’m genuinely curious and 🍦for the fun of it!

Also excuse me for not interacting as much as I usually do, but now I’m back :)

(From this ask game)

Thanks for the ask! I always love them :D

🍓 how did you get into writing fanfiction? 

Oh that's something I haven't thought about in a while! Okay, so my first introduction to fandom was through DeviantArt. I grew up on transformers and went looking for cool fanart. I found some but couldn't comment without an account, so I made my first fandom account. I wasn't planning to post anything, but a stranger followed my empty blog and sent me an encouraging note saying they couldn't wait to see what I did. (I still think of them, we never became mutuals or anything, it was like they were a benevolent fairy godmother telling me to create, and then I never saw them again, but I owe them a lot!)

So I posted a few drawings and followed a bunch of people and groups on DA. I began reading fanfiction there. But I still never even thought to post my own work at the time.

But circa 2014 I am very invested in reading fic and I have a favourite Transformer character (Starscream) whom I have created an entire backstory for (sparked by a take I didn't agree with in a fic). I'm deep into mentally writing stories, with my own Mary Sues and everything. It's my daily pass-time, daydreaming these stories and meta.

It still doesn't occur to me to write any of these until one day I'm watching The Hobbit, and Ed Sheran's I See Fire plays and hits me like a lightning bolt. This song is perfect for my fav character!! Someone's got to have written about it, right???

So I scour fanfiction sites (I can't remember if I'd started reading on Ao3 yet, but I'd definitely been on FNN) but No One had written this Very Niche idea???

And that's when the concept of writing my own fic started. I just had too. The idea was too good. So my first fic was a song fic writing on the DA STASH program (not even Word lol. This thing didn't even have a word count, and my editing process was to read the wip backwards word for word, searching for misspellings or other typos).

And after that I suddenly realised that if I wanted people to see my fav character in the same light I did, I had to write it. And so it began.

I eventually started posting on FNN, and then in 2016 on Ao3. My first Marvel fic followed a similar process where I got an idea and it was just too good and people needed to know about it, so Lessons Learned was written on STASH. (I think around then I finally moved to Word XD). I still have an old account on DA, but I haven't been active on it in many years. It does hold a special place in my heart for being the place I started learning about fandom and writing in though.

So I guess I started writing fanfic because no one seemed to be writing my stories, and I had Opinions that needed to be shown.

🍦 name three good things about a character you hate

Oh geez, lemme think.

Quickest name comes to mind is Rumlow. But that's in a Love to hate situation. I know some people like to redeem Rumlow, but I love how he can shorthand so easily as just the worst guy you know.

He's just the worst (positive). No matter what AU you're reading you know any character named Rumlow is going to be the worst scum ever.

I mean, I've heard about what it's like to live with large, bad burns. So good for him for making it through the acute period and living with it I guess.

Kind of ties in to the first point, but there's not much he wouldn't believably do. You want an unhinged bad guy? Rumlow will help you out. Does he have morals or did he lose them with the burns? Your choice writer! He's up for anything.

Hope you enjoyed the ask! Oh and don't feel bad at all about engagement! I know how life can get sometimes and I'm not ever going to get mad for something like that.

[hockeylvr59]

Here With Me Part 16 || Taylor Makar

Author’s Note: Taylor shows off his romantic side by spoiling Kelsey for Valentine’s day and a very important person finds out about the relationship.  FC: Marina Laswick (@marooshk on instagram).

Warnings: cursing, references to sex, social drinking // Word Count: 4,329

~~~~

Fifteen

Valentine’s Day. There was no doubt that it was a cliche day but this was the first time Kelsey was experiencing it while in a relationship. Plus Taylor seemed really excited to plan something special so she was more than content to let him have free reign. 

Settling into her usual seat in medical ethics, Kelsey got herself situated for class wondering how close her boyfriend was going to cut it this morning. And just a few minutes before class was set to start he sauntered in, dropping his bag beside his usual chair before setting a coffee cup and small bag on her desk. 

“Happy Valentine’s Day Kels.” He murmured softly kissing her cheek. This was a surprise but a welcomed one and she smiled back at him, eyes soft.

“I know I already told you you don’t have to overdo Valentine’s Day but thank you.” She replied, sneaking a kiss to his jaw as well before motioning for him to sit. Though she definitely planned on drinking the iced coffee during class, the food would have to wait though it would be devoured on her way to her next class for sure. 

When they were finally dismissed by the professor, Kelsey moved to pack up her things, looking back at Taylor. 

“What time am I picking you up?” She asked just wanting to make sure that everything was set. 

“6:30.”

Nodding to herself, Kelsey bit her lip. She had been debating telling her uncle about them now knowing that things really were serious. She’d told her parents she had a boyfriend on Sunday and she’d already talked to her aunt about getting ready there tonight since all of her roommates would already be out and she’d need help with her dress. But before she did anything she wanted to make sure that Taylor was okay with it, or at least give him the chance to voice any objections. 

“I’m going to tell my uncle tonight.” She murmured as they walked out of the classroom side by side, Kelsey tossing her empty coffee cup but still holding onto the breakfast Taylor had brought her. 

Though his expression flickered with various feelings, Taylor was quiet for a moment before nodding. 

“Okay. I trust you.” 

Those four words created a warmth in Kelsey and she pressed up to kiss him softly. 

“I’ll see you tonight then.” 

****

It had been a bit of a mad dash after Kelsey’s classes to get home, eat a snack, grab everything she needed for the night and get to her aunt’s to start getting ready. 

Starting with her hair, Kelsey used a curling iron to put loose waves into it. As she was doing so her aunt came to lean against the door of the spare bedroom where Kelsey had set up shop. 

“So your mom called me yesterday asking if I knew anything about this boyfriend of yours.” 

Rolling her eyes slightly Kelsey just shrugged. 

“So who is he? What’s he like?” 

“I mean you already know what he’s like. You’ve met him.” Kelsey replied vaguely, working on another segment of hair. The perplexed look on her aunt’s face just made her smile. “Taylor.” 

It took a minute for her aunt to run through the list of Taylors she knew before her eyes went wide and excitement took over her face. 

“Makar?” She asked softly just to verify and when Kelsey nodded her aunt looked even more thrilled. “Oh Kels. He’s a good one.” 

“I know.” Kelsey grinned. “And before you ask, I’m telling Greg tonight.” 

“How long?” Her aunt inquired as Kelsey finished with her hair, shaking it out a bit to get loose waves before adding a light coat of hairspray. 

“Officially, right after new years.” 

“And unofficially?” Her aunt teased softly. 

“Uh we met in mid October.” Kelsey left it at that knowing that her aunt was probably going to draw the proper conclusions on her own regardless. 

“So he’s here to stay?” Her aunt asked.

“I sure hope so.” Kelsey admitted. “Getting harder to imagine life without him.” 

“Alright well I’ll let you get yourself all glammed up for him. I’ve got to go make dinner for the brood. Let me know when you need help with the dress.” 

Thanking her, Kelsey proceeded to do her makeup keeping it light but flirty. After checking that her nails looked nice enough, Kelsey moved to grab her aunt to zip up her dress. 

After fetching her, Kelsey retreated to the bedroom and worked her way into the dress so that by the time her aunt arrived all she had to do was manage the zipper. Dress on, Kelsey slipped into some ankle height boots before surveying herself in the mirror. 

“You look beautiful.” Her aunt declared. “Though you always look beautiful.” 

Smiling, Kelsey applied a little bit of fashion tape, just to keep everything where it should be before packing up her things and heading downstairs as her uncle’s voice boomed through the house. 

“Why is Kelsey’s car in the driveway?” 

“Well hello to you too.” Kelsey declared, moving through the kitchen just to grab a small glass of water. “I needed to borrow an extra set of hands to get ready for my date with Taylor.” 

There was a long pause before her uncle spoke. 

“You have a date with one of my players?” 

“That is typically what tends to happen, especially on Valentine’s day, when you’re in a relationship with someone, yes.” 

Sipping at the water while careful of her lipstick, Kelsey peeked over her shoulder not sure whether there would be smoke coming out of her uncle’s ears or if he was just dumbstruck. 

Mostly it was a look of gears turning and as she turned around his eyebrows raised. 

“And you’re wearing that…” 

“Yes I am. Not looking for style advice thanks. When you have more than one game tie, maybe I’ll consider it.” 

Gathering up her bag of spare clothes and supplies and moving to get her coat from where she’d draped it over the island Kelsey took a breath. 

“Now I gotta go get Taylor because he told me 6:30. Thanks again Aunt Dana.” Hugging her aunt, Kelsey pulled back with a soft smile before turning to her uncle and growing more serious. 

“And Greg…so help me if you treat Taylor any differently at the rink because we’re together. He’s the most amazing person I’ve ever met and I promised him it wouldn’t happen. I don’t intend to break my promise.” 

With her warning planted, Kelsey headed out into the cold February night to go get her boyfriend and see what kind of romance he had planned for her. 

As Kelsey left their house, Dana moved to pat her husband on the shoulder comfortingly as he processed what his niece had just told him. 

“How the hell? What is happening?” 

“Your niece is fucking your first line winger, how’s that feel?” 

The glare she received from her husband only made Dana laugh and he rubbed at his head. 

“Relax. At least she’s falling in love with him and not just fucking him.” 

“Not. Helping.” 

Patting his shoulder for another minute, Dana turned to check on dinner in the oven. 

“When I told him to work on his game, I didn’t mean that game.” Her husband mumbled.

The fact that he was already half cracking jokes suggested that he was slowly coming around to the idea and Dana smiled. 

“You know he’s a good kid. And he makes Kelsey really happy. So I think you’re gonna have to get used to it.” 

Greg hung his head a bit and groaned. 

“Oh god.” 

****

When she arrived at Taylor’s apartment, Kelsey texted him to come out because she was not bearing the cold any more than she had to in this dress. 

As he slid into the car he settled a small gift bag at his feet and passed a bouquet of flowers over to her. They weren’t anything crazy but they were pretty and it was absolutely the thought and effort that mattered most. 

“Thank you Tay. They’re beautiful. But can you hold them or put them in the back?” 

Though he complied, twisting to set them in the backseat, Kelsey heard him mumbling about he couldn’t wait until he could do the driving so he could do all of this right. 

When he resettled himself, Kelsey shifted in her seat, pulling him in for a soft kiss. It didn’t matter to her that she had to pick him up, it mattered to her that he wanted to take her on a romantic date and he looked so handsome in dress pants and a pinkish or purple button down, though it was hard to tell the exact color in the lighting under his coat. 

Finding out from Taylor where they were headed, Kelsey drove while catching Taylor up on telling her uncle and assuring him that he had seemed confused but not angry. They were once again heading to Northampton but that didn’t bother Kelsey. When she pulled into the lot of the local steakhouse her eyebrows raised a bit. It definitely wasn’t the cheapest date restaurant but she wasn’t going to question Taylor on it. 

Turning the car off, Kelsey let Taylor come around to get her door and leaned into him, hugging him as she climbed out. Opening the backdoor she grabbed the small box she had tied with a ribbon along with the attached card. Only then was she ready to head inside as she saw Taylor grabbing the gift bag. 

Tucked into his side, Kelsey walked with Taylor through the cold into the restaurant where he gave his name for the reservation. Immediately they were led back to a table and Kelsey smiled as Taylor pulled her chair out for her, reaching to help with her jacket. As he draped it over her chair and moved around her front, she watched as his jaw dropped. 

“Woah…Kels you look…wow.” Though he was mostly at a loss for words, the way he was looking at her told her everything and Kelsey grinned settling into her seat. 

“Thank you. That’s a really good color on you.” She replied, setting the box onto the corner of the table. 

It wasn’t long after they sat down that a waitress came over to take their drink order and provide them with menus for the evening. 

Ordering water and a glass of wine, Kelsey looked over at Taylor and nudged his legs under the table. 

“So how was your day?” She asked softly, listening as Taylor mentioned having a bit of a rougher practice and detailed his other classes after the one they share. In return, Kelsey talked about her classes, laughing to herself when he just gave her a look of all of ‘that is going way over my head’. 

With legs still in contact under the table, Kelsey looked at the menu trying to decide what she wanted while staying towards the middle of the price spectrum because prices were already relatively high. 

It made little sense to come to a nice steakhouse and not get steak but that was all definitely at the upper end of the menu. 

When the waitress came back with their drinks, she asked if they were ready or needed more time. Kelsey still hadn’t made up her mind but before she could open her mouth to express that Taylor was stating that they were ready before ordering them both the sirloin gorgonzola done medium. 

“Taylor…” Kelsey murmured once the waitress had stepped away. 

“Kels, don't deny that’s what you really wanted. You were price tag watching and it’s Valentine’s day, I didn’t bring you here for you to pick the cheapest thing on the menu. Just relax.” 

As always, his smile was disarming and Kelsey could only sigh. Nudging her leg slightly, Taylor moved to place the small gift bag in front of her. 

“Open it.” 

Near the top of the bag was a card and when Kelsey pulled it out of its envelope she could only smile. ‘We go together like a cupcake and sprinkles.’  Opening the card itself she giggled softly because yeah this card choice was so Taylor. ‘You’re sweet and I wanna be all over you.’ Underneath was Taylor’s writing saying ‘Happy Valentine’s Day Kels.’ 

Bright smile on her face, Kelsey continued to reach into the bag, next pulling out a bag of her favorite chocolate from the grocery store. It was a sweet touch that he remembered her favorite and didn’t just pick standard chocolates. 

Finally, Kelsey’s fingers touched fabric and pulling it out revealed a UMass hockey hat. Further examination revealed a small 18 along the side and Kelsey smiled because this was her first item proclaiming even subtly that Taylor was hers. 

“I love it. Thank you.” 

Taylor looked a little relieved that though it wasn’t much that his tokens were well received and Kelsey reached across the table to squeeze his hand affectionately. 

Passing the card and box across the table to him, Kelsey motioned for him to open his present as well. 

Kelsey hadn’t gone standard Hallmark card but had instead just used blank white card stock, drawing hearts all over it before leaving a sentimental note inside. 

 Waiting with bated breath while he read, Kelsey almost jumped when Taylor moved to stand and then reached out a hand to pull her from her chair as well. Hugging him tightly, Kelsey felt moisture against her head and rubbed his back. She certainly hadn’t intended on making him cry but once again he wasn’t a man that was afraid of emotions and evidently her heartfelt message had struck a chord. 

After a moment he pulled back and Kelsey reached up to wipe his tears away before pulling him down for a soft, sweet kiss. 

“Go open your present T.” She whispered, urging him to sit back down. 

Back in her own chair she sipped at her wine as she watched Taylor open the small box. 

Inside were two pocket squares, one navy with white polka dots, the other distressed maroon and on both Kelsey had embroidered a monogram of Taylor’s initials in two different styles. 

“Kels, did you make these?” Taylor asked softly as he looked them over, fingering the fabric softly. 

“Yeah, they aren’t hard to make and I had plenty of scrap fabric so it was the embroidery that took the most time.” 

“Kels these are awesome. Seriously. Thank you.” She hadn’t been sure how her gift would go over so she was relieved that Taylor seemed to genuinely love them. 

Gifts having been exchanged, Kelsey and Taylor continued to talk about everything and nothing until their meals arrived, the steak dominating two thirds of the plate.  It all looked and smelled delicious and Kelsey knew there was no way she was going to be able to finish all of this food. 

Conversation lulled while they were eating but it was a comfortable silence that filled the space, other diners chatting providing background noise. 

When Kelsey was unable to eat anymore she pushed her plate in slightly and took a few more sips to finish off her wine. 

“God that was good.” She murmured softly, watching as Taylor put away the rest of his steak into his stomach. 

When their waitress circled back around, Kelsey asked for a box for her leftovers and Taylor took the check, whipping out a card to pay without any hesitation. 

When she returned a final time, Kelsey asked if she could do them one more favor and take a picture of them. With their waitress agreeing, Kelsey pulled out her phone and pulled the camera up before handing it over and requesting Taylor stand up beside her for a minute. Checking to see that there was at least one cute one of the photos taken, Kelsey thanked her again and moved to box up her leftovers while Taylor finished up with signing the receipt. 

Once complete, Kelsey let Taylor help her into her jacket before gathering up her purse, gift, and leftovers to head back out to the car. There she let Taylor kiss her before she settled everything inside and slid behind the wheel cranking the heat. 

“Thanks for dinner Tay. That was so good.” She declared looking over at him. 

“Glad you enjoyed it.” He replied, lacing his fingers with hers after buckling his seatbelt. Just basking in the moment for a bit, Kelsey took it all in. Sighing softly she finally spoke. “I guess we should head back to Amherst. We both have busy days tomorrow.” 

“That is true.” Taylor agreed, squeezing her hand before releasing it to let her get them safely on the road home. 

As she drove, Kelsey focused on the music playing but also the weight of Taylor’s hand against her thigh. It was warm and comforting and she couldn’t help but smile. 

“Are you okay if I post that picture on insta?” She asked softly. They weren’t hiding things but she knew that he didn’t have the biggest social media presence all the same. 

“‘Course Kels, you can share whatever you want to.” 

Nodding, Kelsey just continued to drive until she reached the parking lot for his apartment. Holding onto his hand, Kelsey twisted in her seat and motioned for him to lean in for a kiss. It was a weeknight so she wasn’t going to go up to his room but that didn’t mean that they couldn’t make out a little before he headed inside. 

As they kissed, slowly Taylor’s hand slid further up Kelsey’s thigh and she just sighed into his mouth enjoying this stolen intimacy. 

“Selfie for the road?” Taylor questioned, his voice soft as always but filled with the undertones of lust. His question caused Kelsey to nod because yeah she’d like that. The more memories with him she could capture the better. 

Letting him take it with her phone, Kelsey smiled for the camera before turning to steal one more soft kiss. 

“If you’re still at the rink when my girls have their practice I’ll see you tomorrow, if not then I’ll see you in class Thursday morning.” 

“Yeah for sure. Night Kels. Let me know when you’re home safe.” 

“Before you go can you do me a favor?” Kelsey questioned turning a bit so her back was toward him. “Can you tug my zipper down so I can get this dress off when I get home?” 

After Taylor’s deft fingers slid under her jacket to partway unzip her dress, he kissed her head and climbed out of her car grabbing his gift box and card. Kelsey watched until he was safely inside before backing out of her spot and proceeding on to her apartment where she gathered all of her things up before heading inside. 

Texting Taylor that she was home, Kelsey hung her coat up and moved to her room to strip and throw on pjs before returning to the kitchen. There she put the leftover container in the fridge and then grabbed a vase for the flowers, getting them all trimmed and settled so she could take them into her room. 

Before she could go to bed she still had to wash her face and brush her teeth but first Kelsey settled onto her bed, scrolling through the photos from tonight. There were a couple semi candid from the restaurant as they were getting ready that were hit or miss but the posed one was really cute. Taylor had gotten a cute one of them in her car and oh he’d taken one of their final kiss of the night as well. Seeing it made the butterflies swarm in her stomach and she grinned to herself. 

Opening instagram, Kelsey made a collaged story with the posed picture from the restaurant and the kiss in the car. Tagging Taylor she added “Our First Valentine’s” and posted it to her story before getting up to go about the rest of her nightly routine. 

In his room, Taylor was texting his parents after touching base with his roommates about how Kels had told their coach about them and how his date had gone with her. Taking a picture of the pocket squares he sent them off to his parents. 

Taylor: Kels made these for me for Valentine’s day. 

As he waited for their response the instagram notification of being tagged in Kelsey’s story came through and he opened smiling seeing that she had used the one of them kissing softly. Screenshotting her story, Taylor sent it off in his text thread to his parents as well, knowing that they’d want to see the photos from tonight too. 

Within a minute or two a text from his cousin was coming in, making Taylor chuckle. 

Mark: Dude your gf is posting about you on her stories. 

Taylor: I know. I told her she could. 

Mark: Aren’t you worried someone will see and tell Carvy? 

Taylor: Considering Kels already told him nah. 

Mark: Wait what. She told your coach? 

Taylor: Yeah before picking me up for dinner tonight. So hopefully I’m not dead at practice tomorrow. She said he just seemed confused though. 

Mark: Welp. Good luck dude. 

Mark: Guess death might be worth it though with her looking like that. 

Taylor: She looked incredible. 

***

Gary: Well don’t you two look cute. And those are some snazzy pocket squares. 

Laura: Beautiful. Get me the original of the bottom one please.  I hope you know that those must have taken her at least ten hours to make Taylor. That’s a labor of love right there. 

Taylor would ask Kelsey to air drop him the originals in class on Thursday and hearing just how much time she put into his present made him feel like he had gotten even more outclassed by her in regards to Valentine’s day than he already did. 

****

Bobby T: First Valentine’s day with Kelsey…nice to see you guys are official now, you guys look good together and are good for each other. Just don’t hurt her, she’s been through enough. 

Taylor had known that Bobby knew Kelsey since before Christmas but he still didn’t know how they knew each other or to what extent. There was still something that it seemed like Bobby knew that he didn’t and Taylor tried not to let that make him feel uneasy. If it was something worth sharing, Kels would tell him eventually right? He didn’t need to know all the details of any past relationships if she didn’t think they were worth sharing. 

*****

After finishing getting ready for bed, Kelsey crawled under her sheets and reached for her phone again. Before checking her instagram notifications, Kelsey texted just the photo from the restaurant to her aunt thanking her again for her help. 

Dana: My pleasure Kels. You guys are adorable. 

***

Her instagram dms were full of her female friends squealing now that the guy she was so into was finally revealed. Shooting back replies she couldn’t help but smile because she really was so lucky to find someone like Taylor. Among the squeals was a dm from umass’s walk on goalie Henry and curious what his said, Kelsey opened it next.  

Hfg_30: Since when are you and tmak a thing?!

Laughing to herself, Kelsey ignored it not really wanting to get into that with Taylor’s teammates. 

As she was scrolling back through her chats with friends an older dm thread popped its way up to the top. 

Bobby Trivigno: T’s girl now huh? Things going well with the gentle giant? 

It had been ages since she’d actually talked to Bobby but once upon a time they’d actually been really close. 

Kelsey: Yeah things are good. Taylor is special. I told Greg tonight. 

Bobby: while wearing that dress? Oh man I would have paid to see that. Coach is gonna have nightmares tonight. 

Kelsey: He can get over it. Not like I’m asking his permission or need his blessing. 

Bobby: That’s cause you’re stubborn. You and T both are. 

Bobby: He’s good to you? Respects your boundaries? 

Kelsey: Knowing him, did you have any doubt he would? I’ve heard zero complaints from him about my being a stickler for protection. 

Bobby: Nah T is a good guy. But glad to hear it. How long have you two been official? 

Kelsey: Six weeks tomorrow. Feels longer though. 

Bobby: And you told Coach so it must be serious. 

Kelsey: I don’t know what the future holds but I can’t picture one where I don’t want him by my side. 

Bobby: Have you told him yet? About…you know? 

Kelsey: No. 

Bobby: Kelsey you need to tell him. This isn’t a secret you can keep if you want forever with him. 

Kelsey: I can’t. You don’t understand. He had a literal panic attack when he found one of my monthly negative pregnancy tests. I can’t even imagine how he’d take that. 

Bobby: You still have to tell him Kels. Wait until the season is over but before he leaves for the summer you have to tell him. 

Bobby: He might be more supportive than you give him credit for. 

Kelsey: Thanks for the unsolicited advice but please stay out of it Bobby. 

Tossing her phone aside, Kelsey let out a shaky breath. Things were good. The last thing she wanted was to ruin it all.

[themauvesoul]

do thou shalt not covet

Ok so. This is gonna be part craft talk part commentary because craft is essential when talking abt authorial intent and like. What the story is trying to say. Anyways. Commentary below the cut.

The first time the Righteous Man sees Castiel’s vessel, he stabs it. His knife slips through the skin of its chest and scrapes against the collarbone, nicks its subclavian veins and arteries, and punctures the very top of the left lung.

Ok craft time. What I’m doing here is creating a little shortcut, so to speak. I’m priming the audience to think of cas (and his perspective) as somewhat alien, detached, and, crucially, as a being separate from his body. I want to immediately draw attention to the fact that there is a vast difference between cas the angel, and jimmy as the vessel. This is really important, because it sets up a lot of the thematic work in the rest of the fic.

He pokes at the knife with his grace, and it—it tickles. It sends some strange electrical impulse up the vessel’s spine, and Castiel does it again, and again, and again, though he cannot say why. He touches the hilt of the knife with the vessel’s fingers, again, and his true eyes slip closed. He will keep it, he decides. The knife will stay where it rests until Castiel is told otherwise.

Ok so. The idea I’m getting at right here is that, to Cas, pain isn’t necessarily a bad thing. At least, not yet. Right now, pain is just one sensation among many, and it’s just as fascinating and miraculous as like. Smelling the air around him, or feeling the earth beneath his feet. Like cas’s definition of pain is so alien and other that OUR version of pain just just sort of fun to him, at first. He literally doesn’t understand pain enough to be hurt by it yet. And the implication here is that this is a trend in cas and dean’s relationship long after cas learns that pain is bad. Like. Dean hurts cas, constantly, but he stays because even though it hurts, he likes the intensity of the emotions. Or, when dean is beating him up, the sensations. Men will be masochists etc etc.

He is due for a debrief—the Host clamors for it, their curiosity seeping into the edges of his thoughts. But inexplicably, Castiel finds himself reluctant to return. He has always enjoyed his time inhabiting a vessel; the dull human senses are so limiting, and so profoundly visceral in their limitation. How exhilarating, to feel the throat work as it swallows, to taste stale gasoline and fungal rot on the air, to feel the minute brush of clothing against bare skin! How incredible, to have a thing as wondrous and sensorial as a mouth, as a hand, as a squirming, reckless tongue!

So. I’ve gotten the reader to start thinking about Cas’s body as separate from himself. Now, I’m doing a little pivot, and exploring how CAS feels about his body. And what this section is about is really like. Comparing angelic existence to human existence. It’s about seeing everything from a distance vs interacting with it up close. Looking at a photo of the beach vs jumping into the ocean. And this, fundamentally, is what cas is hungry for. He’s hungry for sensation, yes, but also for experience. For knowledge.

In Heaven, Castiel is a creature with ten thousand roving eyes and dozens of wings and great, terrible rings of vibrating vocal cords, home to nine hundred ninety-two thousand, four hundred and three human souls slumbering inside their individual chambers. He is rather large, for an angel of his rank, and could easily hold twice that number. This makes him feel hollow and incomplete, sometimes, when he pays attention to the empty rooms inside him. He has no lips, no mouth. He has no tongue to taste or nose to smell—just his eyes, studded along his inner and outer walls, which see far more than the human nose or mouth can perceive. He does not touch, for he has no hands. He does not eat; he is not a thing that consumes. Instead, he is tightly bound to his brothers and sisters, slotted neatly together like kanawa tsugi joinery, and he waits patiently, hoping one of the newly dead souls will be assigned to one of the empty rooms inside of him.

And this right here is WHY cas is so hungry for those sensations and experiences. To put it simply, he’s so fucking bored. His entire existence is an extremely dull combination of watching things from afar and patiently waiting to be filled. Like. Cas’s fall is incredibly complex, and there are a lot of factors involved, but I think one of the big reasons why he was originally so fascinated by dean (and the rest of the world) is because he’s literally so fucking starved of stimulation (mentally, physically, emotionally, etc) that ANY source of stimulation is like. Hypnotic and addicting. Men will throw their entire lives away for one single crumb of deanpussy etc etc.

In truth, Castiel is somewhat envious of his vessel. And sometimes, when the Host is quiet, he contemplates keeping it, the same way he has chosen to keep the knife Dean thrust inside of him. He touches it once more. Runs his fingers around the split skin where it enters him, and pulls lightly at the torn flesh. He tilts his head and savors the hot, shivery feeling in the vessel’s gut and the warmth of its blood slowly dripping down his chest.

I love it when Cas is a little slutty. As a treat. Go baby finger yourself!!!

“Don’t say it,” Castiel says, and works his way back up the beach, towards where Uriel stands.

“Say what?” Uriel replies, and steps neatly into Castiel’s path. A hint of a smile plays about his vessel’s lips, and there is a mirthful look in his eye.

“The quick-witted quip on the tip of your tongue.”

“Fine,” Uriel says, and pouts, just a little. “I’ll save it for someone who appreciates my ‘quick-witted quips.’”

He’s the funniest angel in the garrison! But. Jokes aside. The point of this exchange is to gesture toward cas and Uriel’s shared past, as well as how their relationship works. The point here is to give the reader a little taste of how close Cas is to uriel, and by extension, his siblings. It’s there specifically to make you think about what cas will lose when he eventually falls, and make you feel a bit crazy.

“You didn’t see him, Uriel. Not the way I did.” And oh, what a sight it was. The soul, piercing white and overlaid with deep black, pockmarked corruption, towering over the blasted, blighted lands of Hell like some strange Medieval castle. And the self-image it projected; part mangled flesh, part sulphuric smoke. The sharp-edged tool it clutched tight in its fist. The way it carved into the weeping soul below it, the artful scene of pain and despair. How it felt, when Castiel scooped that raw, starving, screaming thing inside of himself. And when it bit at his innermost walls until he bled, then suckled on his grace—Castiel shudders at the mere memory. He feels the echoes of it even now; the faint impression of hungry, tearing teeth deep inside.

The number one way to build a theme in a work is through repetition. So. This is a repeat of a few ideas I’ve already touched on in the fic, but they’ve now been combined and interpreted slightly differently, because if you repeat yourself exactly people get bored. The idea here is that yes, cas doesn’t understand that pain is bad, and yes, cas is hungry for new knowledge and sensation, but he is SPECIFICALLY hungry for pain. For that new sensation dean introduced him to when he bit at Cas’s insides. THAT is what has him so fascinated with the knife dean stabbed him with. It’s not just the knife’s sensation on its own; it’s the similarity to what cas is ACTUALLY curious about. Cas wants to be full, again. He wants to feel so full that it hurts.

“No, we weren’t. Archangels are important. Our superiors are important. We are soldiers. We go where we are told to go, and we die when we are told to die.

This is here to provide insight into cas’s existence in heaven. He’s a cog in the machine. While he does have some sort of discrete identity, he is also part of a collective, and firmly knows his place within it.

He is afraid. Very afraid. Of what, I cannot say.” Castiel brushes his fingers down the handle of the blade in his chest. “Afraid of me, perhaps.”

And THIS is here to hint at cas’s relationship with dean. Cas understands some things, but he doesn’t understand the nuances. He knows what dean feels, generally, but he doesn’t understand why dean would feel that way.

“Why did you keep it, Castiel?” Uriel murmurs. As though he knows he is asking Castiel to confess a secret.

“I—“ Castiel cuts himself off and shrugs. The knife inside him shifts and grinds against the vessel’s collarbone. Like this, Castiel can almost convince himself that the sensation is not steel on mortal bone; instead, it is teeth inside him, ripping and tearing and sucking at his creature-parts and fifth-dimensional meat. “I don’t know,” Castiel says, decisively.

Obviously I have multiple reasons for writing this conversation with Uriel, but this exchange here is like. The crux. This is what the rest of the scene has been building to. Like the point is to force cas to interrogate WHY he kept that knife. What does he want from it? What does he gain? And the answer is, he doesn’t know. He isn’t familiar enough with naming his own emotions to even hazard a guess. All he knows is that it feels like dean, and he likes how it feels. Like yes babygirl refuse to think about your own desires.

For a moment, Castiel pauses. He turns his true eyes to the true Uriel, lashed to his side in Heaven; the true Uriel looks at him in turn, his eyes wary and afraid. Castiel feels cold, all along the many places where their heavenly bodies are pressed together. He wonders how many other eyes are turned towards their two infinitesimal vessels, perched at the edge of a beach millions of miles below. He wonders who they are performing for, in this little play with a humble cast of two.

And then, he brushes his grace up against the knife in his chest and finds he doesn’t care. “Well,” Castiel says, spreading his many wings, “our superiors aren’t here.”

Ok THIS. is designed specifically to cast a sort of spectre over the fic. Prior to this, it feels very intimate, right? You have cas by himself. You have cas talking to uriel. What this moment does is reminds you of the looming threat; heaven is watching everything. And if cas steps too far out of line, or goes too far off script, he WILL get lobotomized. Cas deliberately ignoring that threat speaks both to the sheer depth of his hunger and to canon events that happen later in s4. It also injects a little bit of danger and tension into the fic, which slightly changes the tone for the last scene.

Castiel cannot see his face—at some point in the night, Dean turned his face into the back of the couch, and now he lies pressed against it, as though he wants the misshapen cushions to swallow him whole.

Here, I’m setting up a thread that actually shows up in a different fic. I’m implying that dean WANTS to be swallowed whole. Their desires are complimentary.

Like this, his soul has slipped closer to the surface. Castiel finds himself captivated by its many twists and turns. He hungers for it, in a way that makes him wish his true body had a mouth with which to swallow.

We’re close to the end of the fic, so this is a more overt repetition of cas’s desires and hungers. It’s made more explicit and fleshed out. He doesn’t just want dean inside him; he wants to CONSUME dean. To swallow him whole.

And, so. Castiel watches over Dean the way he once watched Jesus of Nazareth sleep for one last time in the Garden of Gethsemane. He, too, slept fully clothed and afraid—the sandals still strapped to his feet, messy tear tracks still drying upon his face. That moment has since been memorialized in grand, blue-black paintings, a single streak of golden light haloing Christ’s somber, contemplative face.

Men will be Jesus figures. Anyways. This is about dean’s chosen status and his martyrdom. Cas finds it fascinating. Cas thinks of it as grand and important. He thinks DEAN is just as grand and important as Jesus.

Castiel wonders if this too will be memorialized in the centuries to come. If, once this story becomes gospel, some aspiring artist will paint this moment, just as painters of old have illustrated the entire arc of Christ’s life, over and over and over again. He wonders what such a painting would look like—would Robert’s house be as golden and bright as John Everett Millais imagined the humble home Christ was raised in? Or would it be transformed as the classical painters do—the grim walls replaced with delicate archways and spiraling curlicues. Castiel pictures it in detail; Dean’s blanket a lush brocade, his shirt a fine linen, open at the throat. His mouth prim in sleep, his hair curling delicately against his brow.

ok so. This is doing multiple things. First of all im setting up for @femchef’s art because it appears right after this paragraph. Second of all I’m adding another thematic element here; specifically, the question of memory, and how these events will be remembered in the future. So like. At this point, the reader knows that cas is hungry for sensation and knowledge. He’s hungry for dean. He wants to swallow dean whole. But now, cas is ALSO fantasizing about being part of deans story—a part important enough to be included in future paintings. This moment is speaking to cas’s desire to be important TO DEAN. in its infancy. This is where that budding desire to be an important person in dean’s life begins to form.

Would the Castiel in the painting be allowed to touch him? He pictures that, too; an errant, brush-stroked finger pressed gently against Dean’s bare shoulder, his lips just barely brushing the shell of Dean’s ear. He moves his own mouth up, up, until he, too, can just barely brush Dean’s ear with his own lips. It feels—Castiel can hardly stand it. It feels the same way the knife does, when he touches it.

Here, cas’s desire is sort of like. Coalescing. It isn’t just about hunger and sensation. On some level, it’s also about intimacy.

He palms the knife’s handle, inch by inch. He curls his fingers around the wood one-by-one, until his hand is wrapped around the hilt, but he still—even now, he cannot bring himself to pull it free. Instead, he wiggles it back and forth, and wishes for things he cannot have, and a mouth he will never possess.

Go hungry boy go! Become so so desperate for a single crumb of deanpussy that you can’t bring yourself to get rid of the knife he stabbed you with!!!

It leaves Castiel empty, as he was before Dean filled him so well and so thoroughly that he still craves it, even now. He—he longs, he covets. He wants to open his nonexistent maw and swallow Dean whole. He wants to take Dean from Michael—to claim Dean for himself, to take Dean’s vessel as his own and place Dean’s soul inside his innermost empty rooms and never, ever let either of them go.

And THIS. is the crux of the fic. This is what the entire thing was building to. This is how cas has interpreted his nascent desires. He’s taken this strange, new thing, and tried to fit it into his preexisting framework of understanding. He’s interpreted his hunger (or lust, or greed, or gluttony) as the simple desire to take dean as a vessel, or to be the keeper of deans soul in the afterlife. And the reason for this is because he doesn’t know how to think about it differently. He knows he wants to be full, and these are the only ways he knows how. It’s like instead of actually understanding what he wants, which is impossible, he’s simply translated it into something he DOES understand. Later, of course, his understanding of what he wants changes, but in season 4 I genuinely think this is how cas like. Thinks about his connection with dean.

After a time, the Host’s clamoring rises to a level he can no longer ignore. And so, he looks one last time—commits the Righteous Man to memory—and strokes his grace along Dean’s slumbering soul. It hisses and bites, just as it did in Hell. Castiel smiles, quiet and slow, and gently pries its metaphysical teeth free.

And once again. We return to the idea that cas LIKES when dean hurts him. He likes the intensity. Early on, he thinks it’s cute.

He leaves the knife on a nearby coffee table, the blade still red and slick with blood. He reaches out, tempted to press his palm to Dean’s cheek, but refrains before he can. And then, Castiel slowly, painstakingly reels his vessel back upwards, into Heaven. He is late for his debrief, and his superiors will have many questions.

And we end here because the implication is that this moment is when Cas first betrayed heaven for dean. Not 4x22. Not 4x16. Here. This moment. Because the truth is, cas betrayed heaven long before that betrayal became explicit. His motive here is selfish; he’s not leaving the knife because earning deans trust is part of his mission. He’s leaving the knife because cas, selfishly, wants to earn dean’s favor. He wants dean to like him. Like. This is where cas’s downfall starts.

[magickedteacup]

The wave patterns in the photo remind me of back when I was in grade school and hadn’t figured out social skills, or the ins and outs of conversational turn-taking, yet, I’d do things like sit by myself and make these involved stick structures or dig elaborate structures in the sand. Diagnosing autism wasn’t really a thing then like it is now. I didn’t hear the term autism until I was in college, and I didn’t get the label of it applied in my direction until my late twenties.

Developing specific skills in the arts and all was cool, but I still recall vividly feeling like I was enclosed like a prisoner in my own head sometimes. There was this girl I probably had a crush on in middle school (I still remember thinking of her as very, particularly beautiful and amazing, the most beautiful) and she complimented my drawn fan art of her Animorphs fan art, twice even, and I didn’t even know what to say. I just stayed quiet and kept drawing. Like a rock. It probably looked like I was ignoring her… Like, if you were to literalize what the inside of my head looked like, it would have said “I don’t know the words that I am supposed to say in this situation; someone is going to have to explicitly teach me what the words are for this specific situation;” and adding facial expressions to the words would have been even more unimaginable; even though in hindsight, the answer is obviously, give a natural smile and say, “thank you! You’re art is so cool, even more amazing then mine” etc. etc. Such situations of “not know what I’m supposed to do or so, not even the slightest hint of it” or “the inside of my head at this moment looks like a ball of grey fuzz; no thoughts just empty” or worse “no thoughts; so I pull up the wrong social script and diction” would end up creating a lot of problems for me at various stages…

I know it’s not every such similar person’s experience, but having lived like that for nearly three decades makes me very, especially appreciative of things like the functions of eye gaze and being able to look at people’s face’s in real-time and be able to process the information and respond to it. Neurotypical people talk about “eye contact” all the time, but how many of such people really understand or appreciate what that actually means. And hint: it’s not staring into another person’s eyeballs for uncomfortably prolonged periods. Being able to look into people’s faces while talking to them and understand what it is that you’re seeing is, for real, a gift, that is probably often taken for granted.

(And if you’re wondering what changed for me, I couldn’t give you another substantiated beyond, in my late twenties I noticed that I was processing things… differently than I used to, and faster. It felt like the inside of my brain was gradually becoming a different place than it used to be. It could be an ages and stages of brain development thing, but by coincidence at the same period I was also intensifying my meditation practices for longer periods, and there’s scientific evidence of such practices helping to develop the matter in the brain that helps process information. So probably all of the above. I’m not saying that this will/will not or could/could not happen to other people, because I just don’t know. My sense is that for most people, even with the adjustment of late stage brain development, the crossover from struggling with to having greater fluency in processing facial expressions and other nonverbals is probably a pretty big, if not insurmountable, leap, just because of how much information it has to account for. But it’s what happened in this particular instance, and probably contributes to how I could comfortably enter the field of speech therapy. On top of which, entering the field of speech therapy is probably how I, ah, inadvertently ended up doing communication therapy and skills development on myself, as well as doing education for family members, since undiagnosed autism and ADHD seems to run in the family...)

[southerngraceful]

When You Feel Like There's Nothing Left

There are times when I feel like I have nothing left to give. Those hard seasons when you pour out everything for everyone else and feel like you're left standing in the aftermath, empty. When your cup is bone dry, and you don’t know how to fill it back up. In those moments, I feel lost. Confused. Hurt. So alone.

Disappointment settles in. It creeps up in ways I didn’t expect—disappointment in others, yes, but mostly disappointment in myself. It’s like training for a race with all you’ve got, running hard, pushing through every obstacle, only to fall short at the finish line. Worse, there’s no one there waiting to comfort you, to tell you it’s okay.

I’ll admit, there’s a deep pain when you feel like you’ve let yourself down. And carrying that weight alone? That makes it even heavier.

Sure, I know how to pull myself up by the bootstraps. I’ve done it plenty of times before. I’ve put on my big girl pants and faced the storm alone, figuring things out as I go. But even as strong as I can be, there’s a part of me that longs for help. For someone to share the burden, to whisper, “I’ve got you. You’re not alone.”

And yet, in those moments of loneliness, when it feels like I’m fighting every battle on my own, it’s so easy to lose sight of God. To wonder, where is He in all of this? Why hasn’t He stepped in? But if I’ve learned anything through the valleys, it’s this: those desolate, empty moments are not without purpose.

There is purpose in the loneliness. There is meaning in the disappointment. As much as it hurts, I’ve come to understand that these seasons—where I can barely see my own hand in front of my face—are the very moments God uses to draw me closer. When everything else is stripped away, and I have no one left to lean on but Him, that’s when He reveals Himself in ways I couldn’t see before.

Because when life is full, when I’m surrounded by distractions or the noise of other people, it’s easy to miss what God is doing. It’s easy to think that others are the reason I’m getting by, or that I’m making it through on my own strength. But when it’s just me, alone with my disappointment and doubt, that’s when I’m reminded that I’ve never truly been alone.

God is there, even in the silence. Even in the emptiness, He’s there. He shows up in the darkest places, bringing light where there is none. He uses those moments of loneliness to teach me something so profound—that my worth doesn’t come from my accomplishments or my ability to get everything right. It comes from Him.

He didn’t create me to leave me here, in the middle of my pain and disappointment. He made me with purpose, with intention. I am wonderfully and purposefully made. And though the loneliness feels endless sometimes, it’s in those moments that God reminds me who I truly am. He whispers, You are mine. He shows me my value when I’ve lost sight of it.

God hasn’t forgotten me. He hears my cries, He knows my pain. He’s with me—even here, even now, in the middle of my mess, in the deepest valley. And if He’s here with me in the darkness, I know He’ll walk with me into the light.

So even when I feel empty, when I’m tired and disappointed, I hold onto the truth: God is faithful. He hasn’t left. He’s still working, still shaping, still guiding. I’m not alone. I never have been. And neither are you.

[dancingwthesprites]

All I want to do is write, type, speak. I crave to use words in any way, even if it doesn’t make sense in any language. The craving lingers, scratching, and begging to be released from my brain and out in the open. Even when there are no words to be spoken, my brain refuses to silence until some form of literature has left from my fingers.

I hunger for creation.

Some days it isn’t words themselves; this urge is satisfied with drawing, painting, or even singing nonsensical words. It feels as if a parasite of creation is swimming around in my spirit. This bug no longer allows me to sit and mope in my sorrows of the past or my fears of the future. It hollers until my mind can no longer fathom what words are being yelled at me.

I walk to my desk and feel empty with no thoughts, but the bug shows up on my shoulder and whispers what words would sound prettier or more structured.

This little passenger is never unkind or hurtful with its words. I often feel as though I am being used as a muse rather than creating something myself. If I were to explain this to a family member, they might think I’m possessed by the devil himself, so I sit in silence with this parasite. My small friend feeds solely on the process of creation itself.

Is this friend actually just an extension of my creative purpose itself? Is it simply tired of being ignored by my spouts of procrastination, and taking matters into its own hands? Perhaps that is the reason I feel as if I am no longer in control. It may very well be my subconscious mind deciding it was exhausted from listening to all of my countless excuses of laziness.

[itcouldbeyourlastmistake]

I have a near-empty notebook in front of me that I am attempting to fill. There is also a cup of tea, a candle, a perfume bottle, and a ukulele on the table.

On my windowsill there is a cat. It’s raining; there’s a storm around here. The candle is small and about to die. I blew it out.

I just went to the kitchen, now I’m back. It’s really dark outside.

I want to get better at playing the ukulele. I have this cute mushroom lamp that can fit in the palm of my hand.

The cat is watching the rain. She likes the rain, although I bet she wouldn’t like being outside in it.

Also on my desk is a first-place spelling bee trophy. It’s really big. I earned it.

My bass guitar is leaning against the wall. I recently learned to play the song that got me into bass. It’s white. The wall it’s leaning against is also white. The color of the paint is called “stormy avalanche”.

I played a Chopin nocturne on the piano earlier. My mother, after I was finished, told me how proud she was that she’d created someone so talented. She hugged me for a while.

School starts soon. I haven’t done the summer homework. I haven’t studied at all. I think I might fail some classes. I’m scared, so I try to not to think of it.

The cat is still here. She’s my cat. I got her when she was four months old. She’s so big now, three years old. I sometimes wonder if it’s possible for me to love her more than I do now.

I have some boxes of beads on my desk. I make bracelets and necklaces, though they’re not very good. I like jewelry. I have a pair of earrings in the shape of cats that I got from Claire’s when I was six.

The perfume’s name is “Creative Visionary”. It smells like an old memory. If I were a scent I’d be made of citrus and florals and fruits and maybe a little wood.

The cat is on my bed now. She is kneading my blanket. She does this every night. I sometimes feel like I’m trying to hard to fit in because no one would like me if I were honest.

The scariest thing is to be known. I wish someone knew me anyway.

I wish my family knew my name. My real one. I’ll tell them someday. Then I’ll change it, so the whole world will know my real name.

The cat is sleeping now. She doesn’t care about my name. She cares how I smell, do I smell the same as I did yesterday? Am I the same person I was yesterday?

I used to draw. I don’t anymore. I could’ve been good at it. I should let go of things because I can’t be good at everything even if I want to be.

There is a lantern on my desk. It has holes shaped like stars. I will get out of here one day. Maybe that lantern will help me. Guide me. I don’t want to leave everything I love behind, but I want more than this house can give me. One day I will have a home of my own. Maybe I will have a cat. Maybe I will share the home with someone who knows me. Loves me. Maybe I will write. Maybe i will sing. I don’t know what I’ll do. I’ll get out of here. I’ll get there one day.

[bewitchingbooktours]

Mamacadabra by Carrie Monroe O’Keefe #Memoir #BlendedFamily #StepParentJourney

Mamacadabra

Carrie Monroe O’Keefe

Genre: Nonfiction / Memoir / Parenting / Blended Family / Stepparent

Publisher: Mamacadabra Press

Date of Publication: 11/22/2023

ISBN: 978-1733629935

ASIN:  1733629939

Number of pages: 200

Cover Artist: Leah Kent

Tagline: Poof! You’re a mom now!

Book Description: 

Starting her third year of marriage, Carrie Monroe O'Keefe had already been on the roller coaster of extreme highs and lows of a newly blended family.  Thinking she could do a better job of navigating marriage, step-motherhood, working full time, and all of the things, she embarked on a year of "what if."

Settling into her role as wife and mom, she tried to find ways to do things better, see things differently, and reframe her thinking to create a better home for her family and to feel more at home herself. With humor, unwavering honesty, vulnerability, and sarcasm, Carrie finds her way through the year and to her true self.

Amazon     BN     Bookshop

  Excerpt From Chapter: This House is Not a Home (Currently)

         It’s a bright Saturday morning and I’m looking around my kitchen wondering when, exactly, I let it get THIS bad. The dishwasher has been run, but nobody has bothered to unload it, resulting in piles of dirty dishes in and around the sink. There are empty cereal boxes lined up, I assume, so I can cut out the Box Tops for Education labels…because I’m the only one who can what…use scissors? Break down the boxes for recycling? Throw away the empty bag inside the boxes that once held cereal?

Speaking of recycling, there’s a bag of recycling on a stool waiting to be taken out on our “next trip” out of the house. It’s been there for three days and we have, in fact, left the house several times in those three days.

The clincher, though, is the kitchen table. Our puppy has a best friend that lives next door. He comes over to our back deck door and barks for Sullivan to come out to play. They wrestle, run around, investigate, bark at each other, bark at passersby, lay down to rest, and then start over. When they’re out and I’m working or writing, I bring my laptop up to the kitchen table so I can check on the dogs from time to time.

At this very moment, I’m sitting at my kitchen table and surrounding my laptop are:

             One little girl’s black shoe.

        One little girl’s gold shoe.

        One little girl’s pink slipper.

        The Nancy Drew book we’re currently reading.

        Large bag of colored pencils.

        Pair of my husband’s dirty socks.

        Empty napkin holder on its side.

        The art project brought home by my littlest little girl.

        Pad of paper with my work notes scribbled on it.

        Three place mats (one was a casualty of yesterday’s juice fiasco).

        One black marker.

        Work documents of my husband’s.

        A partially completed drawing.

     My kitchen table isn’t even big! How, or perhaps a better question is WHY, is there so much sh*t sitting on it?!! And does anybody else find it a teensy bit disconcerting that there are two shoes, a slipper, and dirty socks on the table at which we EAT OUR MEALS? Anyone???

If I told you about the kitchen counter, you’d have a nervous breakdown, which I’m on the verge of, but I’m trying to hold it together. Here’s the deal. We do not have the little girls this weekend, so we should be able to get everything organized, cleaned, and put away, but there’s more…

My husband is in school. He was in school last night and again this morning. Also, have I mentioned he has a small business on the side that he’s owned since he was 18 years old? After he bolts from school today, we’ll be frantically preparing for his trade show tomorrow. Any ‘free’ time otherwise used for sanity-saving-house-organization will instead be spent on trade-show-preparation-in-hopes-of-finding-new-clients. Ugh.

     Our dog is even looking at me with disgust. Yeah…YOU’RE one to talk, Sullivan…I believe that pile of firewood on our back deck is YOUR doing. It looks like the frigging Blair Witch Project out there.

I take issue with a disastrous house for many reasons.

      A – When it’s disastrous as it is now, I feel totally out of sorts and stressed.

      B - It wouldn’t be like this if some people didn’t refuse to put dishes in the dishwasher, unload the dishwasher, hang-up their coats, put away their shoes, and so on, and so on, and so on.

      C - We don’t have the square footage to allow for unusable space…and as far as I’m concerned, this kitchen is NOT USABLE.

      D - It’s FREEZING outside which keeps us INSIDE this war zone of a house.

      E - I believe our home is supposed to feel safe, and cozy, and comfortable, and lovely, you know, as opposed to chaotic, dirty, cluttered, and filled to the brim with crap people haven’t put away.

     Therefore, on a day I technically could have slept in, I’ve been up since 6:30 trying to get this house back in order. I’d rather be sleepy from a late night and an early morning than be CRAZY because the house is so awful. For me, sleepy is less dangerous than crazy.

     Which brings me to the real question: is this my gig from now on? Husband in school, swamped at work, busy with small business, little girls here half the time, so while they’re willing and eager to do chores, it only happens every other weekend, leaving me to take this on and be sure this house is in fact a home and I AM in fact sane? No, seriously…REALLY?

     Chalk this up to a question for which I did NOT want the answer.

About the Author:

Carrie Monroe O’Keefe started blogging about her life by sharing stories of marriage, stepmotherhood, and how to navigate it all on mamacadabra.com in 2012. People said they loved reading the posts, so she kept writing. In addition to blogging, she released her middle-grade fiction book, The Whole Truth, in 2019. 

Carrie lives outside of Minneapolis with her husband, two daughters, and dog Finlay. 

Website: https://mamacadabra.com

Twitter: https://twitter.com/cmonroeokeefe

TikTok: https://www.tiktok.com/@monroeokeefe 

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/mamacadabra

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/cmonroeokeefe/

Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/monroeokeefe

LinkedIn: https://www.linkedin.com/in/carriemonroeokeefe/

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/18816687.Carrie_Monroe_O_Keefe