#that's as much as i will allow. i have spoken.

[winxanity-ii]

⌜Godly Things | Chapter 19 Chapter 19 | touched by light⌟

╰ ⌞🇨‌🇭‌🇦‌🇵‌🇹‌🇪‌🇷‌ 🇮‌🇳‌🇩‌🇪‌🇽‌⌝

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The chill of marble underfoot had vanished, replaced by the wooden warmth of your room in Ithaca's palace. The transition felt abrupt, as though you had been plucked from one reality and unceremoniously dropped into another.

The air here was thick and humid, alive in a way that contrasted sharply with the suffocating stillness of the Underworld. Your breaths were uneven, shallow, as you struggled to shake off the weight of where you'd just been.

In your hands, the lyre rested heavily, its once-brilliant strings now muted under the soft light spilling from the window. The golden glow that had radiated with such intensity in the Underworld had dimmed, leaving the instrument looking almost ordinary—almost.

You weren't sure when you had sat down, but now you perched on the edge of your bed, staring blankly at the lyre. Your fingers traced the intricate carvings on its frame as though the answers to your questions might be etched there.

The words spoken to you swirled in your mind.

It looks familiar... doesn't Apollo have one just like it?

The thought sent a shiver crawling up your spine, and not entirely from the cold.

Apollo. His name felt heavier now, a presence that loomed just beyond your understanding. If the lyre was connected to him—if it belonged to him—what did that mean for you? Why had Hermes handed it to you so casually, as if it were a mere trinket?

The questions swirled endlessly, overlapping until you couldn't untangle them anymore. It was as though your mind had become an echo chamber, the voices of Cleo, Persephone, and Hades all clamoring for space.

With a frustrated sigh, you set the lyre aside, leaning forward to cradle your head in your hands. The heels of your palms pressed hard against your temples as if you could physically push the thoughts to quiet.

The room felt too small, the walls pressing in around you despite the familiar comforts. Even the faint scent of lavender from the bundle on your desk couldn't soothe you. Your gaze drifted toward the window, drawn by the faint golden glow of the setting sun.

For the second time today, you noticed how time seemed to defy logic. The sun hung low, casting long shadows across the courtyard below. The same scene you'd glimpsed before your journey, untouched, as though no time at all had passed.

The dissonance between your experiences and the world's stillness tightened something in your chest.

You had been gone—traversing the Underworld, facing Cleo, singing before gods—and yet Ithaca carried on, blissfully unaware.

"I need air," you murmured, barely audible. The decision was sudden but felt necessary. If you stayed much longer, the weight of it all might pull you under.

You rose to your feet, cradling the lyre against your chest like an anchor. Your steps were purposeful as you slipped out of your room, the cool stone beneath your sandals grounding you as you made your way through the palace halls.

.☆.      .✩.           .☆.

When you reached the courtyard, the breeze met you like an old friend, cool and gentle against your skin. You inhaled deeply, letting the air fill your lungs as your steps slowed. The sprawling space opened before you, framed by the shadows of cypress trees swaying softly in the wind.

For a moment, you stopped, letting yourself feel the small comfort of the ordinary—the world carrying on oblivious to the heavy truths now nestled in your chest. The air felt lighter here, and allowed yourself to simply breathe, your eyes drifting to the horizon where the sea met the sky.

With a tired smile, you began walking again, finger toying with the lyre's strings, releasing muted notes as you thought about what to play to ease both your heart and mind.

But the stillness didn't last.

"___!" A voice, urgent and breathless, broke the quiet. You turned sharply, your shawl slipping slightly from your shoulders.

Telemachus was jogging, his steps hurried and uneven, as though he'd been searching frantically for you.

You blinked, caught off guard by his sudden appearance. "Prince Telemachus?" you began, your voice laced with surprise.

He stopped just short of you, his dark eyes locking onto yours with startling intensity. "Are you..." He hesitated, chest heaving as he caught his breath. "Are you blessed—no, favored by Apollo?"

The question hit you like a thunderclap. "Apollo?" you repeated, your voice uncertain. "Why in Hades would I be—?"

Your words faltered as your hands instinctively tightened around the lyre, its faint hum vibrated against your palm. As if it had been waiting for this moment, your mind dredged up flashes of everything you had seen and heard.

Your parents' voices came first, their parting words weaving through your thoughts like an inescapable thread.

"We were never afraid for you. Not even at the end. We knew... we knew Apollo would protect you."

""Love... don't you remember? You're favored by Apollo."

Your breath caught as the weight of their revelation pressed down anew, intertwining with the sting of Cleo's venomous accusations.

"You have everything, ____. The favor of a prince, the favor of a god. Do you even realize how selfish you are? How unfair it is that you stand here, alive and whole, while I'm stuck in this wretched place?"

The bitterness in her voice, the sight of her fractured form, flickered in your mind like a specter. And then Persephone's voice cut through, calm yet piercing:

"That lyre. It looks familiar, doesn't it? Doesn't Apollo have one just like it?"

The echoes crashed together in your mind, overlapping until you couldn't separate them anymore. The lyre. The Underworld. Apollo. Your chest tightened, your heart pounding as you swayed slightly, one hand reaching for the nearest tree to steady yourself.

You looked up at Telemachus, your hands trembling as the realization began to take hold. "I..." You hesitated, your voice cracking. "...suppose I am?"

The admission hung between you, fragile yet undeniable.

Telemachus' gaze never wavered. If anything, his expression shifted to something resolute, as though he'd come to this conclusion long before you had. "Come with me," he said abruptly, his his tone low but firm—more command than request.

Before you could protest, his hand shot out, grasping your wrist with a steady yet gentle grip. The warmth of his touch startled you, but it was the determination in his movements that left you speechless. He pulled you forward, his steps swift and purposeful, and you found yourself following without question, your sandals scuffing softly against the stone paths as he led you away from the courtyard.

"Where are we going?"

"You'll see."

The familiar path felt strange under the dimming light, the evening shadows stretching long across the palace grounds. You recognized where he was leading—the small shed near the edge of the courtyard, its weathered wooden frame sturdy against the elements.

Telemachus pushed the door open, the hinges creaking softly. The scent of aged wood and faintly lingering resin greeted you as you crossed the threshold, your eyes adjusting to the dim interior. The instruments lined the walls and shelves just as you had left them—lutes, flutes, harps, and more, each meticulously cared for and waiting patiently for your hands.

He released your wrist and turned to face you, his expression unreadable. "Look at them," he said, gesturing to the instruments with a slight tilt of his head. His voice was calm, but there was an edge to it. "Try holding them to see if you feel it."

You blinked at him, confused. "Feel what?"

Instead of answering, he stepped back, leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed over his chest. His eyes didn't leave you, the weight of his gaze urging you to turn toward the instruments.

Reluctantly, you did, stepping further into the room. Your fingers hovered over the collection, hesitating before brushing against the smooth curve of a lute's neck. The wood was cool beneath your touch, familiar yet somehow different.

You trailed your hand along the edge of a trumpet, the cold metal sending a faint shiver up your arm, and then across the taut strings of a harp, each one humming faintly in the stillness.

Before you can linger too long, Telemachus moved toward one of the shelves, picking up an old ocarina and holding it out to you. "Play this."

Hesitant, you took the instrument. Its clay surface felt familiar in your hands. You brought it to your lips and played a tentative melody. The notes flowed effortlessly, as though they had always been a part of you.

When you lowered the ocarina, Telemachus was watching you with a mixture of awe and something heavier—something closer to fear. "See?" he said, his voice low. "It's not normal. You can't tell me it doesn't feel like something greater is at work."

You didn't answer immediately. Instead, your gaze dropped to the lyre still cradled in your hands. Its golden frame glowed faintly in the dim light, the hum of its strings persistent, like an extension of your heartbeat.

"It... never clicked before," you murmured, almost to yourself. "How easily I mastered them. How... natural it felt."

Telemachus nodded, his voice steady. "Think about it. How many people can pick up an instrument and make it sing the way you do? It's not just talent, ___—it's something more. Something... divine."

The words settled heavily in your chest. You thought back to the hours you'd spent playing—the way melodies had poured through you like water, effortless and unending.

It had felt like magic then, though you'd chalked it up to passion and dedication.

But now... now, you weren't so sure.

Telemachus stepped closer, his dark eyes searching yours, his expression unreadable. "It's not just music, though. What else are you good at? Think, ____. Has there ever been something you've done that felt... different?"

You frowned, frustration creeping into your tone. "I don't know," you admitted, voice taut. "I never thought of myself as anything special."

He arched a brow, his expression almost challenging. "You're saying you've never noticed anything? No moments when something came to you instinctively? When people praised you for doing something that felt ordinary to you?"

Your mind raced, fragments of memories flashing before you in rapid succession. The times you'd mastered a new instrument the day you received it. The way melodies had always seemed to flow through you, unbidden and effortless

"I... maybe," you admitted hesitantly, the weight of your own words surprising you. "But I don't know if that really means anything."

Telemachus' gaze softened, though his voice remained firm. "It means everything, ____. Think about the gods. They don't just hand out favor for no reason. If Apollo's chosen you... there's a reason behind it."

His words struck something deep within you, and you gaze dropped to the lyre in your hands. Its glow had dimmed, but the faint hum remained, steady and reassuring, as if it were waiting for you to understand.

"But... why me?" you whispered, the question trembling from your lips. It wasn't directed at him—not entirely. It was a question for the lyre, for Apollo, for the cosmos itself. "I'm nobody. Just... just a servant. Why would Apollo—or any god—choose... me?"

Telemachus' lips pressed into a thin line, his expression shadowed briefly by thought. When he spoke again, his voice was quieter, almost gentle, yet it carried a weight that settled heavily in your chest. "Maybe it's not about who you were. Maybe it's about who you're meant to become."

The words hung between you, heavy and unyielding.

When you looked up at him, there was no trace of mockery or disbelief in his gaze. Only a steady conviction that felt as though it could shoulder the weight of your doubts. His faith, quiet and unwavering, was almost enough to make you believe it too.

A flicker of something familiar stirred in your chest—a hesitant, fragile confidence you hadn't felt since the beginning of this conversation. Your gaze dropped once more to the lyre in your hands. Its golden strings caught the dim light of the shed, the hum persistent, like a quiet reminder of its presence.

Your fingers brushed lightly over the strings, the warmth of the instrument grounding you as you gathered your thoughts. "Telemachus," you began hesitantly, your voice softer now, almost fragile, "what does it mean to be favored? Has this happened before? Has anyone else ever been..." You hesitated, searching for the right word. "Noticed?"

Telemachus leaned back slightly, his arms crossing over his chest, his expression growing thoughtful.

Telemachus' expression shifted, his brows knitting together as he leaned back slightly, his arms crossing over his chest. "There are stories," he said, his tone measured. "None of them are clear, though—just fragments of things passed down over generations. People who claimed they were chosen by the gods, who carried their favor in one way or another."

Your heart quickened. "What... happened to them?"

Telemachus exhaled deeply, his gaze dropping briefly before meeting yours again. "Most of the stories... don't end well," he admitted, his voice low but steady. "Those who were favored often found themselves caught in things far beyond their control—wars, curses, quests they couldn't refuse. The gods' favor can be both a blessing and a chain, binding them to a path they can't escape."

A chill ran down your spine, your fingers tightening instinctively around the lyre. "So... it's not a good thing?" you murmured, the weight of his revelation settling heavily in your chest.

"It's not that simple," Telemachus replied, his tone gentler now. "The gods don't think the way we do. Their reasons, their goals—they're not always meant for us to understand. Favor can bring greatness, but it also brings responsibility. And if you're not ready for it..." He trailed off, his gaze flickering briefly to the lyre before returning to yours. "It can destroy you."

His words pressed against you like an invisible force, leaving you breathless. You had sought answers, clarity—but all you felt now was the suffocating weight of how fragile your life seemed in the shadow of something so vast.

"I-I don't want my life to spiral out of control." The vulnerability in your tone was startling, even to you. "I've worked so hard just to find... stability. A place where I belong. And now... it feels like everything is slipping through my fingers."

Telemachus' expression softened, the intensity in his gaze giving way to something profoundly human. He stepped closer, his presence steady and grounding. "Hey," he said quietly, his voice a soothing whisper. He reached for your hand, his fingers brushing yours with a tenderness that sent a shiver through you.

His hand closed gently around yours, his thumb grazing the back of it in a slow, deliberate motion. The warmth of his touch seeped into your skin, calming the tremor in your fingers. When you looked up, his steady, unwavering gaze met yours, its sincerity anchoring you in place.

"Then we'll figure it out," he said firmly, his voice filled with quiet reassurance. "You're not alone in this, ___. Whatever this favor means, we'll face it together."

The simplicity of his words wrapped around you like a shield, their weight sinking deeper than you could have anticipated. You swallowed hard, the lump in your throat making it difficult to respond. "Together?" you echoed.

"Together," Telemachus confirmed, his thumb still brushing softly over the back of your hand. His expression left no room for doubt. "You don't have to do this alone. I'll be here. No matter what."

For a moment, the storm inside you stilled. The lyre's hum softened, its warmth settling into your chest like a quiet reassurance of its own.

You weren't sure what the future held, but with Telemachus standing beside you, the shadows didn't feel quite so overwhelming.

"Thank you," you whispered, the words fragile but earnest.

A faint smile tugged at his lips, his grip on your hand steady and sure. "Always."

The weight of his presence anchored you in a way that quieted the turmoil inside. For a fleeting moment, the world felt still, but it slipped away too quickly as he gently released your hand.

"You'll be alright, ____. Take the night to rest and think. You've been through so much already." His gaze lingered on you for a moment longer before he turned, his silhouette framed by the dim light filtering through the shed's small window. "And remember—you're not alone in this."

With that, he left, the faint creak of the door marking his departure.

You remained where you were, standing in the middle of the shed surrounded by instruments, the air heavy with the echoes of Telemachus' words and the weight of your revelation. The lyre in your hands hummed faintly as if mirroring the storm of emotions churning within you.

You didn't leave immediately. Your fingers brushed absently against the lyre's strings, the familiar vibration grounding you as your mind raced. Questions without answers and truths you couldn't ignore swirled together, creating a relentless storm.

The realization settling over you felt overwhelming yet oddly familiar, like a puzzle piece clicking into place after years of being misplaced.

It was only later, when the sky had fully darkened and the palace grounds were quieting down, that you finally stepped outside. The cool night air greeted you, brushing against your skin and carrying with it the faint scent of cypress and sea salt.

Your steps felt aimless, yet they carried you instinctively toward the courtyard—toward the one place that had always felt like yours.

Now, here you were, leaning against the familiar cypress tree. Its ancient trunk was sturdy at your back, the rough bark grounding you as you cradled the lyre in your lap. The courtyard was bathed in moonlight, silver glow softening the shadows across the stone pathways and swaying grass.

The gentle hum of the lyre filled the quiet air, blending with the rustle of leaves and the faint chirping of crickets. Your fingers moved automatically, plucking the strings with a familiarity that felt second nature. The melody was soft, carrying the weight of unspoken thoughts.

You weren't even sure what you were playing—only that it felt right, a reflection of the emotions swirling inside you.

As the melody unfolded, your thoughts drifted. The revelation in the shed had been startling, but now, with the night around you, a question lingered: Had it truly been a surprise? Or had some part of you always known?

You thought back to all the moments that had led you here, memories surfacing: the ease with which music had always come to you, the way instruments seemed to respond to your touch as though alive.

You had resisted the idea for so long, telling yourself it was normal, that anyone could do what you did with enough practice. But deep down, had you known? Had you pushed the truth away, afraid of what it might mean?

The thought tightened your chest, and your fingers faltered briefly on the lyre's strings. The melody wavered, then resumed, quieter now, almost hesitant. The moonlight shimmered faintly against the lyre's golden frame, its soft glow like a silent reassurance.

You sighed, the sound heavy in the stillness. Your fingers stilled as you slowly lowered the lyre to the grass. Its hum faded, leaving only the quiet night, amplified by the weight pressing on your chest.

Leaning back against the cypress tree no longer felt grounding, so you stretched out on the cool grass, the rough bark forgotten as your gaze lifted to the stars.

The sky above was vast, the stars scattered like fragments of shattered glass against a sea of ink. Their light seemed so faint, so distant, yet impossibly eternal.

Tears gathered in your eyes, misting your vision and blurring the constellations above. You blinked furiously, angry at yourself for feeling so small, so weak.

It wasn't fair.

In this world of kingdoms and gods, you were just... you. A mortal among immortals, a fragile thread caught in a tapestry too vast to comprehend. Why had Apollo chosen you? What made you worthy of the burden of divine favor? The questions swirled relentlessly, threatening to drown you in their weight, and the tears threatened to spill over again.

You clenched your fists, the cool blades of grass pressing against your palms. You weren't weak. You weren't. But under the expanse of the sky, the truth felt harder to believe.

"Such sadness doesn't suit my little muse."

The voice broke through your thoughts like a melody, sudden and startling. Your eyes shot open, and you bolted upright, glancing around the courtyard. The rustling leaves and swaying shadows of the cypress tree were unchanged—but you weren't alone.

"Here, little one."

The voice was melodic, gentle, yet it carried an undeniable weight. It felt like both a caress and a command, its presence filling the space effortlessly. You turned your head, breath catching in your throat as you followed the sound.

Standing above you was a figure unlike any you had ever seen.

He was tall—taller than any mortal man—and the moonlight framed his silhouette against the deep purples of the night sky. His golden hair shimmered as though spun from sunlight, catching the silver light with every slight movement.

Amber eyes glowed faintly, warm and piercing as they met yours, amusement and fondness shining in their depths. It felt as if he could see straight through you, as though nothing in your soul could be hidden from his gaze.

He wore a chiton of ivory fabric edged with gold embroidery, each detail catching the light as if alive. A crown of laurel leaves rested on his head, glittering faintly like starlight. His presence was overwhelming, radiant yet effortless, as though he belonged to the world but stood apart from it.

The god—because surely this was a god—stepped forward, his bare feet touching the earth softly, almost reverently, as if even the ground was blessed by his presence.

You tried to move, to speak, but your voice caught in your throat, and your limbs refused to obey. Every part of you was frozen, caught between awe and disbelief.

And yet, deep in your chest, a strange sense of familiarity bloomed.

You didn't know how, but you knew who this god was.

The name slipped from your lips like a prayer, barely audible. "A-Apollo?"

The god's amber eyes sparkled with quiet amusement, his smile deepening as he stopped just a step away and the sheer beauty of it made your heart stutter. It was warm and inviting, yet it carried a power that left you breathless.

And then everything was still.

A/N: after 20 chappies we've finally met apollo, ahhhhhhh😩 also its a little nerdish but did y'all catch on to the titles? every 'arc' i'd add an extra title to represent the love-interest/story budding or whatnot lolol, also i just had to be a lil mean and leave you all on a lil cliffhanger, MWAHHAHAHAHAH---ack---damn then chocked trynna be evil, lol,.

Tag List: nerds4life246 ace-spades-1 uniquetravelerone alassal thesimppotato11 jackintheboxs-world

[itsoverfeeling]

I usually do a bit of a tumblr love letter on new years so allow me my soapbox... thank you to EVERYONE for supporting my work and silly ideas this year. I've been flitting through a few different fandoms so it's nice to know that hasn't purged all of my followers in the process lol.

this year, i did one or two things i suppose!! thank youuu to all my dear mutuals and followers and even the ppl I follow who won't see this post.. all of you are great.. this might be long, but allow me to mention some..

@possuminnit thank you for liking my art even when it's completely out of your ball field and for asking me to draw a character as an opossum bc opossum!geed is one of my fave drawings now. @churchydragon thank you for being one of my first ultraman mutuals as well as just a creature enthusiast in general!! @stickers-on-a-laptop I love the fics ive read so far from you and I'm very surprised that we became mutuals.. theres something about fic writers that makes me think they're too cool for me (I realize I am one). speaking of writers, thank you @lucksea for being very nice to me too!! I loved your art and thought you were an amazing taro understander and somehow it turns out you like my things too... I honestly still can't get over that.

@forbiddenpondrocks @shapeofallcosmos @miragethecat thank you for being powerful opponents during the boop wars.. I have not forgotten your ferocity... @akq96618 and @lovewhump thank you for liking my silly ultra drawings and comics.. my silly tregears and taros especially 😭 thank you @mrfartpowered for supporting my rc9gn stage, I still love seeing rc9gn on my dash, I had so much fun posting my art (honestly mostly for your reaction lol).

@lepidopteragirl my loyal mutual i will always honor you even if we are posting completely different things. @atthebell ive really enjoyed your posts, your writing and the way you articulate yourself is always so cool to read. and i love your fiber art works they're always so cute. @bandy-andy I KNOW WE HAVENT SPOKEN MUCH... whoops. but andy I'll never forget you man, you're number one!!

so many other people who i havent spoken with as much and haven't interacted with a ton but still so cool and such a joy to see on the dash. @belanova @unsat-and-strange @routeriver and @rachelsquill and others I wish I could name and scroll through my following list for but. it's so long 😭 I LOVE YALL THOUGH.. I love my mutuals and the regulars in my notes and my followers and the folks I follow.. i dont care if youre tagged or not, yall are the greatest.

I suppose I'll end this long ramble with a feliz año nuevo!! I'm glad we all got through this year :]

[emeraldotter]

2024 art summary! Some detailed thoughts and considerations on another year of drawing every day under the cut.

I feel like I had some big improvements with backgrounds and color choices. I like painting backgrounds; they're probably my favorite things to paint. I pushed myself on figure drawing more, too, but framing and posing has never come naturally to me. I made the plunge into drawing predominantly on single layer and just treating most digital paintings like I'm using acrylics. I think it's led to some more fluidity in my art, though it's definitely had its associated growing pains. It's so hard not to make things look muddy, but that's a problem I've always had with acrylics as well.

I admit, I'm very embarrassed by what I have to show this year and a lot that has to do with the subjects I painted. I'm trying very hard to push back against that negativity, though. Deku's a comforting character to me, so drawing him always makes me feel better. I should allow that sort of outlet for myself, I think. I feel better for it, anyways. Plus, the MHA manga had such talented people illustrating for it and its art evolution really inspired me—there's so much expressiveness there, and I love hands! MHA is the hand manga, haha.

I've also noticed that I get really nervous that people will think my art is bad if I post it online, so I've been interrogating that. I've definitely posted more duds than good stuff over the years, but I'm not a natural or talented artist. I'm just a guy who draws! And that's okay, I think. Not every athlete is meant for the world championships. But then I think: Do I think this way when I see other people's art? And the answer is no. I'm always happy to see art. I'm always happy to see people making art. I'm much more focused on the subject of the art, on how it makes me feel, than if it's "good enough." What does that even mean? Obviously, there are objective skill sets associated with drawing and painting, but it's a sliding scale of competency. I don't think it's as black and white as "good" and "bad" so much as "well developed" and "less developed." And art on both ends of that spectrum have spoken to me enormously over the years.

It's hard, sometimes, to make art that feels fulfilling or pushes you when you have a running daily queue. I've been doing this for over a decade. Kind of crazy, right? Whenever I draw something, I think, "Can I post this? Is this postable?" I've tried to move away from that. Making a lot of hours-long paintings that I don't show anybody has helped that, maybe. All the same, every time I'm working on a painting that isn't a commission or for this blog, I can't help but think, "You're using up your body's stamina and your limited time to make something that can't be used. You're going to have to set aside even more time to work on usable art." I've done a lot to push aside that guilt. If I can't paint for myself, then painting serves nothing for me. I already work a pretty demanding job; I cannot have everything I do turn into survival. Hobbies are so important.

Another thing that happened is that I got really into learning how to seriously make stickers, this year! I bought a printer on sale and everything. I hand-cut each sticker and apply a protective layer over it, usually with a holographic effect. Who doesn't love holographic stickers?

[allwaswell16]

[4 pics, 4 quotes, 4 iconic 1D fics]

Iconic fics by...

- sunsetmog -

[1]

"I know. You're a very spoiled kitten, aren't you?" There wasn't much that was kitten-like about Humph any more, but he'd always be Louis's baby. He refilled his water bowl first and then spooned out half of the tin into the bowl and put it down on the tray. "Dig in, kit."

"Louis. Are you really okay?"

Louis stood up, wiping his hands on his thighs. He went to rinse his hands under the tap. "Nothing's changed," he said. "I'm the same person I was an hour ago, or last week, or last year when you left me. I did it by myself then, and I can do it by myself now. I don't need someone to fix me. I never did."

"I know," Harry said. "It doesn't… it doesn't mean you have to be alone to do it."

Louis's shoulders slumped. "You're going to go. You're going to piss off back to your old life and I'm going to be here by myself, and nothing's going to have changed from last time."

"I'm going to go back. I have to go back at some point. I know that. I just don't want it to be like last time. I want to be better. I want to do better."

"You don’t need me for either of those things."

"Yeah," Harry said. "I do."

[2]

"Are you all right?"

"Why wouldn't I be just fine?" Louis dumped two mugs down on the counter, and flicked the switch on the kettle. "My ex-boyfriend—who I was completely in love with—kissed me last night, and some dickhead with a phone got a picture and now it's on the web, so everything's just bloody fantastic. Harry's crying on his mum, you can't see my face so nobody knows it's me, Dad wants me to see him, I think I still love Harry, and everything's fucking shit. And I hate apricot jam."

"There's raspberry in the bag by the door," Mum said. "Bought it yesterday." She sounded kind of dazed. Louis didn't blame her. His head felt like it was on inside out and back to front. The fact that he was on the front of some website—luckily with his face obscured, but still—felt kind of like it was by the by. "Have you spoken to Harry?"

"What about? We haven't got anything to say to each other." That was a lie. Louis had about nine million things he wanted to say to Harry, but they were all variants of what the fuck did I do to deserve the way you treated me, and why didn't you love me enough, so it would be a fairly pointless experience to actually say them out loud.

[3]

Nick leans in and presses his mouth to Louis's hot temple. He's only allowed a couple of minutes; Louis's abdominal injuries are so severe his condition is still extremely critical.

"I'm not going anywhere, duck. I'm going to be right here when you wake up, I swear. Just concentrate on getting better. We're all going to be right here."

He sits in the family room afterwards, the plastic apron discarded, a cup of tea from the little tea maker in the corner going cold in his hand. Jay sits next to him, silent in their vigil, the minutes stretching away from them like hours, and the hours never fucking passing. All day long they're joined by Louis's family, and his band, everyone coming and going, and none of it makes Louis wake up, or shifts him any further into the land of the living.

Louis's life is measured in the beeps of the equipment and the rhythmic huffs of the ventilator. His boy can't breathe by himself, and Nick has never, ever been so scared in his whole entire life.

[4]

"Right back then. When you were picking Harry to be your friend. Why didn't you pick me?"

Inexplicably, Nick wants to cry. He wants to reach out along the phone line and draw Louis into his side and fix all those little cracks and fissures that make him up, that make him this fucked up and this needy and this broken. "It was never like that," he says, which is sort of a rubbish answer, but it's the best he can come up with. Him and Harry had just—connected, and friendship had just sort of arrived, fully-formed, seconds after meeting each other. It had never meant that he wouldn't have wanted to be friends with Louis too.

"Was, though." Louis sounds sulky.

"You're such a fuck up," Nick says. "This isn't fair."

"You picked Harry."

"It wasn't like a competition where only one of you won, you idiot." The tight feeling across his chest gets even tighter. "I could have been friends with both of you."

"Don't like being second-best." Louis is petulant and drunk and half a world away, and Nick—again—is caught between wanting to throw things at him and wanting to draw him in and kiss him endlessly. Frustration coils in his belly, like a spring ready to explode. He pinches the bridge of his nose.

"You're not my second-best," Nick says, because Louis is too drunk to remember this conversation in the morning, or at least Nick hopes he is. "You're my number fucking one, okay, and I hate you for doing this to me, all right? I fucking hate this."

Answers below...

[1]

Emperor's New Clothes

The fact that Louis’s most precious belonging was a cat with a face like thunder and an uncanny ability to cover every single inch of Louis’s clothing with cat hair was something that Louis chose not to think about too much.

or: Harry’s a pop star and Louis isn’t, and there’s a non-disclosure agreement where there used to be a relationship.

[2]

Truly, Madly, Deeply (10 Things I Hate About You)

The first Louis had heard of Harry auditioning for X Factor was the night he'd turned up on Louis' doorstep the day before leaving for Boot Camp, with a DVD and an illicit bottle of vodka.

Thing was, Louis hated secrets, and he really hated being made a fool of, and he really, really hated Harry Styles.

or: the one in which they're all in sixth form together, and Harry auditions for X Factor without them.

[3]

We Used To Wait 

The BBC Breaking News Twitter just says, One Direction star Louis Tomlinson rushed to hospital after M25 car crash.

or: Louis has an accident, but nobody even knows he and Nick are going out.

[4]

I Had Rather Hear My Dog Bark At A Crow

The first time Louis Tomlinson kisses him, Nick is three sheets to the wind, wearing a pirate hat, and so fucking tired of Louis being a complete and utter knobhead that he's spent the last ten minutes snapping at him.

The kiss takes him rather by surprise, all things considered.

Or: Nick and Louis don't like each other, not even a little bit, not even at all.

@magicalrocketships

[mythicmanuscripts]

hello!!! love your blog!!

Could you talk about what intense subdrop is like with Aegon, Aemond, and Jace? like what makes them drop, and what happened/how it went the first time it happened in front of the reader? with lots of soft aftercare? thank you!!!

Of course I can anon! Absolutely. So I definitely have spoken vaguely about subdrop with all of the main three but I don't think I've ever sort of just given overviews of it? So for each of them I'm gonna write a bit about what I think their general triggers for subdrop would be and what they'd need, etc cause then I think we can have a really nice groundwork to discuss some of the stuff further. So let me know if any of these thoughts inspire you! Or you can always apply them to an AU as well.

I'm also happy to share or hear thoughts about other characters for this as well :)) Anyway, there's some non-graphic NSFW content in this answer so if that's not your think then feel free to scroll on by otherwise, enjoy!

AEMOND:

So with Aemond I think he'd only experience subdrop a few months into your relationship, when you've already had sex multiple times and he's already showing his submissive side quite a bit. I think it would only start then because until he reached that level of comfort he always had his walls up?

Even though you were praising him and commanding him and giving him aftercare, he still stayed guarded. Make no mistake, he loved every single moment with you, but despite knowing that his brain still takes longer to catch up to the fact that he's actually allowed to properly let go. As a result, you get lulled into a false sense of security where it seems like the only aftercare Aemond wants is for you to help clean him up and dress him and cuddle a little bit. He was always up and about within an hour after the scene had ended. But this wasn't because he was fully recovered, this was because he had never let himself fall fully into you and so had less to recover from.

It's when you finally does start to do that when this arises. I think the trigger event for him fully lowering all his walls might actually be when you start to indulge him in non-sexual submission? You have him kneel while you read to him, watch him from the bed while he folds your laundry, etc. It's the praise and safety he feels in those moments that allows him to give himself fully later.

He drops hard after the first time he stopped trying to hide. You noticed a difference of course, he was much louder than before, much clingier too. He's just so expressive. Of course you praise him for it, telling him how pretty he looks and sounds like this.

But then the scene is over and you immediately get up to begin drawing a bath for him. When you return with the bucket he's curled up in bed, crying softly to himself.

Needless to say, a much more involved routine is created after that moment. But even with that, subdrop is something he never really grows out of? Doesn't matter how much he loves you and how perfect the aftercare routine is, the bottom line is that he's used to always being on high alert and sometimes he's going to drop when he has to come back from finally giving up that responsibility.

AEGON:

Aegon is another one that just lives to please. Before you he would try to please his mother and father and the whole bloody kingdom, but from the moment he feels the satisfaction of knowing you are pleased with him.... well none of the others matter anymore.

Of course you love that about him, and you always make sure to give him both enough commands and praise. But Aegon's problem is that he doesn't only want to please you, he also wants and arguably needs your attention and time? That's where his conflict comes from. He never ever wants to be a nuisance to you, but despite that desire he still needs to be kissed and held and comforted, and of course he also needs to be dommed.

He tries to balance those two needs but if one must be chosen over the other then he will always choose to serve and please before he chooses the attention. This is a recipe for disaster of course, especially because it forms a very vicious cycle where he needs you more because he's so unsettled because he hasn't pleased you but not having pleased you only makes him need the comfort worse and so it goes.

The solution to this isn't to try and strike a balance between domming him and commanding him, but rather to just stop the cycle completely? There's nothing that turns Aegon's mind off more than when you take over fully and he just does as you say.

Now when you start to see the signs, start to see him looking for things to do with you, hovering over thresholds of doors uncertain if he should come in and spend time with you, then you act. You actually have to be very firm with him, tell him that you're the one in charge so he doesn't get to decide what you do with him. That coupled with staying at his side for a few days sorts him out, at least for a while anyway.

JACAERYS:

His subdrops tend to have one of two main triggers. Firstly, and most obviously, is when he cums and can't do anything else. He gets better at lasting longer and feeling less sensitive afterwards, but there will always be times where his orgasm takes the wind right out of him and he's left unable to do more than just whine and grab your hand. He always feels so guilty, especially at the start when you're still getting used to being able to tell what stimulation will send him over the edge too quick. He feels like a complete failure and that tends to trigger a drop most times, which unfortunately you can't really mitigate the risk of because he's just wired like that.

The only way to comfort him is to promise him that you will let him please you once he's recovered? He won't allow himself to have your comfort until you've told him exactly what he can do to you once he's recovered.

The second trigger is actually something happening outside of your relationship? Jace can't separate those two parts of himself. When he feels he hasn't lived up to his responsibilities as prince then he carries that feeling into the bedroom, and no amount of love and praise can get him out of that headspace. You've tried simply telling him that you won't dom him that night and you can either have vanilla sex or do no more than cuddle but this backfires because he sees it as another rejection.

At first you had no idea how to lower the chances of that trigger for subdrop because you can't change his duties to his mother and the realm and you certainly can't talk him out of scening at all without making it much worse. The only thing that helps is when you give him very detailed instructions for very easy tasks. You watch him closely as he makes the bed or folds the clothes or takes out and repacks the bookshelves, etc. It's always tasks that are very easy but that's the point, the point of the command is so that Jace can do something 100% correctly and receive praise for it.

[milkoomi]

₊˚⊹ ᰔ a guide to building confidence ᝰ.ᐟ

confidence doesn’t come easy when we live in a world full of standards that we feel like we have to follow and uphold. let go of those standards and focus on you and what you want for yourself.

let’s begin !!

ᝰ.ᐟ posture

your posture might be one of the first things people notice about you! so stand up straight, bring your shoulders back, and lift your head up high! having good posture isn’t just good for your back, but it’ll also make you feel more regal, classy, and come off as more confident.

people always tell me that they love how i hold myself, and part of that is thanks to my posture! i walk into any room with my head held high and standing tall because i want people to see that i hold myself to the highest standard and i want to feel that way too!

ᝰ.ᐟ maintain eye contact

this is a hard one, for me at least. it’s something i’m still practicing! but being able to maintain eye contact not only shows that you’re engaged in a conversation, but also shows that you aren’t afraid to communicate with whomever you’re speaking to!

i’m neurodivergent, so eye contact is not one of my strong suits, but what’s helped me in conversations is to look at the person who’s speaking while i listen and once it’s my turn to speak, i’ll maintain eye contact for short periods of time as i talk and then gradually continue to keep the eye contact going! it also helps if you look at one of the eyes of the person you’re speaking to and focusing on that rather than their entire face!

ᝰ.ᐟ speak up

for my soft spoken babes out there, you are allowed to get a little loud! if you’re someone who tends to hear “i’m sorry, what?” or “i can’t hear you” you gotta speak up! as someone who was told that all throughout my younger years in middle/high school, i got tired of it really quickly, so i started to raise my voice a bit whenever i spoke. now, i’m not saying you have to go out and start yelling at people, but just use a bigger voice whenever you talk!

it also helps to articulate your words more! mumbling can be a sign of anxiety or insecurity, so be clear with your words. speak with clarity!

ᝰ.ᐟ be, unapologetically, yourself

when you start doing things because you want to or because it makes you happy, you start feeling so much better about yourself. immerse yourself in things you enjoy rather than what people say you should enjoy. live for yourself, play by your own rules, and stop succumbing to what other people want from you!

get that hair cut, dye your hair that color, wear those clothes & accessories, do your makeup how you want to, get into the hobbies you’ve been dying to enjoy, listen to the music that makes you feel good! be your most authentic self!

ᝰ.ᐟ dress to impress yourself

to go off of that previous point, it’s important to wear what you feel the most comfortable in! wear what makes you feel good and makes you feel like the best version of yourself!

don’t dress for anyone else but you! you should be the only one you’re trying to impress! if you feel great in the clothes you decide to wear, then keep wearing them! find a style that you feel like you would absolutely devour in!

ᝰ.ᐟ learn to accept criticism

“but you just said-!” hold on, babe!!! i mean this in a professional sense! when it comes to your job, career, and/or your education, learn to accept that constructive criticism from your mentors/teachers/higher ups!

i used to dread being told that there was something i needed to improve on, but it turns out that that constructive criticism helped me grow in my field, in my schooling, and even as a person. learning to accept that kind of criticism will help you more than you think. it allows you to continue to grow, to see what exactly it is that still needs a little bit of work, and with that information you can hone and sharpen your skills, your knowledge, and yourself which will lead to more personal growth! and with that growth comes more achievements, and with more achievements, the more confidence you’ll have for yourself!

ᝰ.ᐟ stop the negative self-talk

if you don’t like being put down by others, why would you do that to yourself? continuously putting yourself down or talking poorly about yourself will only continue to bring down your own confidence. the insecurities will only take over even more if you keep bringing yourself down with negative self-talk.

be kind to yourself. you should love yourself as you love your friends, family, and partner(s). you deserve kindness, especially from yourself! make it a daily goal to look in the mirror and compliment yourself the way a loved one would!

𝜗𝜚 final notes 𝜗𝜚

building confidence isn’t an easy feat, a lot of this is so much easier said than done, but if you want to have personal growth you have to put in the work towards making yourself better, and make sure you’re making these changes and going through these growths for you and not anyone else. i know a lot of us want to be treated a certain way, so start with treating yourself that way!

live and love, babe.

sincerely, juno ⭑.ᐟ

[kumezyzo]

pt. 1

Much to your dismay, it turned out that you weren’t acting completely irrationally by privating everything because the face of Luigi Mangione was suddenly being plastered all over the media.

��Woah… he kinda looks familiar…” You heard your coworker say a few days later. You felt like you were being watched. You tried to hide, even in the openness of the breakroom. “He looks like…” They were definitely looking at you now.

She called your name, suspicion dripping in her voice, “Who does this look like to you?” The reality was that she never actually met Luigi. She had only seen him through the few images you had chosen to share on social media.

You cleared your throat nervously, your mug empty as you walked over. You felt bile rise in the back of your throat as the love of your life stared at you from he back seat of a taxi. You had never seen that look in his eye before. Angry. Devoid of any affection.

“No… not really.”

His name was everywhere and soon, so were pictures of you. But, the police were the first to find you.

There was a knock on your front door one morning. It wasn’t too late, although much later than your corporate job would allow, that’s for sure. But nevertheless, you set down your coffee, hugging your cardigan to your body with the chill of early december.

When you opened the door, it was more than early December that rattled your bones. There were two men, serious scowls burnt into their faces. You instinctively closed closed the door slightly.

“Hello?”

“Hello, Mrs… Mangione? We’re detectives…” The names were instantly lost in your mind. Being called a Missus was not something you had expected. “...With the NYPD. We have a few questions to ask regarding your husband,” The man on the left said.

You simply nodded, opening the door wider for them. You closed the door as you cleared your throat, “We… we haven’t actually gotten married yet.”

“Oh,” They shared a look as they sat on your couch. “His family told us otherwise. I’m sorry for the confusion.”

You shook your head with a polite smile, “It’s alright.” The following silence made you want to jump out of the window. “Would either of you like a cup of coffee?”

“No, that’s alright,” The other answered. “We just have a few questions. It won’t take long.”

You sat down with a nod.

“So, when was the last time you spoke to your fiancé?”

“I dunno, mid-september, maybe.”

“And you haven’t spoken or seen him since?”

“No, we had a disagreement and… I haven’t seen him since.”

“A disagreement?” The question itself felt like an insult.

You sighed, “Well, I guess it was more of an argument, really.”

“He disappeared after an argument?” That one twisted the knife.

You shrugged, unable to look at them when your mind was elsewhere. “We’ve never really argued before. I guess I didn’t know he would react like that.”

“Ma’am, we need you to tell us the truth.” Your eyes shot up, a chill no longer running through your veins.

“I am telling you the truth, sir.”

finna make a pt.3 already -nons

[biteofcherry]

New years babe lottery

Oh my GAWWWD!

Curtis, please and thank you.

Pretty please with a cherry on the top.

✨✨✨

A cold grip squeezed your heart and lead filled your stomach as a cavalcade of black cars filled the driveway in front of your house.

Instinctively, you pushed your son behind you, willing to protect him with your life it came to it.

Your husband cursed under his breath. Under the midday sun his skin oozed that alcohol stench, disgusting you even more now that the result of his general shitty doings barged into your household.

Because there was no other reason for a chain of mafia cars to appear on your property. Your husband fucked up big time.

Which wasn't a novelty when it came to your private life. Since the forced wedding, he ruined your life every day. Now he brought even worse trouble to your door. To your son.

"Mister Everett." Your husband had the audacity to grin and welcome the scariest man in the area, as if they were friendly acquaintances.

Curtis Everett didn't appear to have a friendly bone in his body, though.

He was big, broad, cold. Buzzcut hair and dark, trimmed beard added to the scary picture. As did the all dark clothes and peeks of tattoos.

Dark sunglasses shaded his eyes. When he took them off, icy blue eyes pierced right through you.

He didn't spare a glance your husband's way. Instead, he focused on you. Then his gaze slid down, to where your son's face peeked from behind your legs.

Fear froze you as he approached. Was he going to rip your heart to pieces, by hurting your son for something your deadbeat husband has done?

Though it would mean your immediate death, you were ready to fight him with your bare hands.

However, Curtis crouched down in front of you. His face remained impassive as he looked at your son, but his voice sounded unexpectedly soft, even with it's growly timbre.

"I hear you grow the sweetest raspberries here. And my sources say that you are the clever boy who always picks the best ones."

"I do!" Your son proudly nods, grinning at the man he has no idea is a walking Grim Reaper.

"Fantastic. How about you run into the fields and bring me a jar of the best raspberries and I will pay you double for it?"

Your son instantly looked up at you and at your short nod he sprinted away into the bushes. Inwardly, you thanked the scary mobster, for allowing your son to be hidden from the massacre about to happen.

Your husband tried approaching him again, blurting nonsense about the season and offering Everett some of your raspberry liquor.

Everett made a small, short gesture. Just one. No orders spoken. But it was enough for two of his men to seize your husband and drag him toward the trunk of one of the cars.

"These lands are now mine." Curtis announced, straightening to his full height and towering over you.

"Yes, Mister Everett." You swallowed nervously.

Part of those lands were your heritage. They belonged to your grandparents. But as much as it broke you to let of of that legacy, you were ready to do that as long as you and your son got to live.

"As is everything that's on it." His eyes bore into yours.

"Of course, Mister Everett." You nodded. "I'll pack me and my son and leave as soon-"

"No." Curtis cut you off. "You will stay and care for the crops as you did. And-" he squeezed your cheek between his thumb and forefinger- "you will give me everything I ask of."

[lustagel]

can you please write smut about dexter i LOVED the riding one i ate that shit up

of course! this is also for the other person that asked! :3 first fic of the year! sorry it took so long :((

he doesn’t see you much anymore. with his job eating up his noon hours, and killing his latest murder at night, he has to admit he’s yearning. but he realizes, maybe too late, how much—how badly he’s missed this—until the morning sun is cracking through the blinds of his apartment and his cock is halfway into you, your skin is soft against his and he’s in complete control of how much cock he’s giving you. no, control has never been his problem. but now, with you wrapped around him, he’s finally allowing himself to forget.

it’s annoying, really, how forgetful he gets when he’s with you— how careless he gets. “more, dex. please.” you never have to beg much, because of how easily he caves, giving in to your voice. he hides in the crook of your neck, his breath warm and shaky against your skin, his hair tickling your face. your fingers trail through the short hairs at the nape of his neck, where they meet the fullness of his hair, soothing and anchoring him as if you know he needs it, before adding soft kisses to the shape of his ear. his cock fills you up without much room for anything else, as always, and you never complain despite your whines and body shivers.

you take him in every way, and he wonders, in the moments when his mind isn’t entirely lost in you, if he could ever do the same. the thought doesn’t last long before he’s spilling inside of you and you’re squeezing onto him. his movements slow, his focus narrowing to the way your body fits against his, the softness of your touch. he sighs, his eyes falling shut to enjoy the way you completely consume him.

so many things have been trying to keep him away from you— away from this feeling, but he just doesn’t want to escape it. and, the darkness that keeps pulling is his to keep. in his head, the words come unbidden, clear and resolute: i’ll never let it touch you. It isn’t something he’d ever say aloud—not to you, not to anyone. promises spoken can be broken. but here, in the quiet sanctuary of his own mind, it’s absolute.

[six-of-cringe]

I love all six of crows fanart and everyone should make it forever, but I will note that every time I see art where Nina is shorter than Wylan I feel like I've been lightly poked in the eye

[genericpuff]

vent post

[butwhatifidothis]

I LOVED To Be a Creature, and it genuinely creeped me out to see the things Edelgard and Hubert said to Byleth (though it's the same as the game, stripped out of its voice acting and background music, the dialogue is so much more horrifying). Really makes me wonder if Edelgard's love for Byleth is genuine in any way. Do you think there's any real love there or is it just obsession?

Thank you!!! I had a feeling that placing Edelgard and Hubert's words in a context that isn't meant to make them look flattering would really let their casual racism shine, and I'm glad it's seeming like that is in fact the impression people are getting lol. SO sorry for the late answer btw 😭😭😭

As for whether Edelgard's love is genuine... I got opinions lmao.

got a bit long lmao under the cut it goes

If Edelgard felt the way she does for Byleth on exclusively SS and CF, I could maybe see how this is a "genuine" love (insofar as a love steeped in "I may hate your race but you're special and Not Like The Other Ones because I think you're special to me" can, uh, ever be genuine, in any case). But because Edelgard still feels as strongly towards Byleth on AM and VW where she quite literally never talks to them directly in any meaningful way, it becomes waaaaay more like she's just weirdly obsessed with this person who saved her one singular time ever five years ago from an attack Edelgard set up. It makes the "love" way more forced and contrived and obviously trying to squeeze tears out of the player for standing up against the cute girly trying to murder them. Or, alternatively, it makes Edelgard come off as manipulative, saying that she just wanted to walk with Byleth and it makes her so sad to HAVE to fight Byleth because BYLETH wouldn't stand by HER - and she's saying this on AM/VW to a person she's talked to in conversation a cumulative, what? Hour? Two? Maybe a few days, being nice? Over the course of, being as absolutely generous as physically possible and not counting the five years Byleth was missing... two fucking years? She's shitting herself over fighting this stranger she doesn't fucking know? Yeah, sure buddy, whatever you say - you see what I mean?

And honestly even outside of those two routes, I think it's more that she sees Byleth as being hers rather than actually liking them for who they are. A body to stand next to her and tell her how right she is and comfort her - who doesn't have the background of "I was literally raised to think this is my only purpose in life" muddying the sincerity of the brown-nosing - who also happens to also act as The Perfect Fighter and The Perfect Strategist to actively help her get what she wants. That view of Byleth being a tool doesn't really go away unless they marry her, seen by how they quite literally get nothing for all they've done for Edelgard should they go unmarried to a noble (guess they just weren't meritable enough once their use to her was done).

As well as how much more Edelgard doesn't like Byleth disagreeing with her or otherwise going against her flow than pretty much anyone else in the game - you lose supports points if you don't think the Black Eagle Strike Force name she made is good, she quickly denies the notion that Byleth isn't detached from others/emotions and insists they are just like she is, she gives them the same callous and thoughtless words she was apparently given once in her life while they are in the midst of mourning their recently murdered father so that they get over it already and get back to being useful to her (directly saying she will only reach out her hand when it's time for HER to move forward, not when BYLETH heals from WATCHING THEIR DAD DIE IN THEIR FUCKING ARMS MAYBE A WEEK AGO). She never treats Byleth kindly unless they do everything she wants, which like. Isn't love???? At all????

There's just this... weirdly possessive air Edelgard has around Byleth that always threw me off, especially with how easily she admits to have been willing to kill them so far into CF and how readily she cuts ties with them the second the fighting's done (which is particular because how just how clingy she was to Byleth everywhere else - you know during all that time Byleth had a use to her). Incorporating that into being an intentional part of her character is certainly interesting, but not in a way that's flattering to the idea of Edelgard genuinely being in love with Byleth lmao.

Personally tho, even disregarding almost everything else, the simple explanation is that I don't think you can really sit there and say you love someone while openly hating part of their racial heritage. Wild thought, I know lmao

[townofcadence]

Artair understands what is happening; this is much like their first meeting, actually. That night, Jonas couldn't tell him the truth of how he was feeling until he had played a game of truth or lies. So Artair just closes his eyes as Jonas touches his forehead, because this is the way Jonas knows to be forthright with him. He can't just say what's on his mind, he needs that safety net, that ability to pretend it was just a trick or a joke or a game, to be secure enough to say whatever it is. This really isn't any different.

Which of course, meant everything Jonas 'read' from his mind was--- pretty wrong. Or off-base. But it showed what Jonas thoguht right now. He felt like he made no sense, that Artair was frustrated with him, or at least ought to be. The party bit feels out of left field without a preamble, but he supposed he could see it being a worry he had, that he had ulterior motives for hanging out? But that was clearly there. And of course, it wouldn't be Jonas if there wasn't some kind of attempt to switch gears to something comedic, however brief.

He only confirms it when he drops the act. Artair brushes back his hair.

"I....think you need to workshop your act some more, J." Artair answers, in a softer voice. "Sorry to say, but you're no good at reading minds."

There's a crack of a smile, even if it sobers again. "I don't think you're as difficult as you might think. And I'm not upset at you. I just....don't really know how to help, because a lot of your struggle now.... It's not something I can help with." Artair takes a deeper breath, thinking how to continue. He does so simply by plowing forward, in a soft-spoken voice.

"Jonas, if you said yes because you want this time to be different, then.... you have to choose to make it different. Hiding out in the kitchen and 'watching everyone have their hallmark card moment', or overcompensating or drinking aren't.... those decisions are within your power. And they're not going to make anything different if that's what you usually do at these parties."

He leans back further in his chair. "This one isn't a Vegas 'show your face and schmooze' kind of thing as it is. But... I can't do anything to fix how you feel. Except tell you that choosing to hide away is a choice. And you can make it sound as inevitable as you want, but.... choosing to reach out, to cook some and then spend time with your friends and be out there with everyone else, is also a choice you can make. It can be different if you try to do things differently. But nobody else can do that for you. I mean-- I guess someone could pull you out of the kitchen, like I said before. But.... you're not powerless either. It's not set in stone to go one way. It is if you always do the same thing, I guess. But there isn't.... actually anything to stop you from switching things up." He shrugs.

"You have better friends, kinder ones, who aren't going to be mad at you for changing your mind. Hell, they'd understand that at this time of year plans can change pretty quick. And they care enough to not forget or neglect you. If they didn't come pull you in with them, it's probably because you'd say you're busy cooking or you'd look busy and they'd....believe you? Not realize you want to be a part of things but expect an invitation, probably. You have real friends now. And I wish you would allow yourself to believe that. Just enough to at least give them a chance to prove it." He touches Jonas' back very gingerly, offering a small squeeze, to try and comfort him through the extremity of his emotion.

Jonas went quiet again for a little bit, sorting through Artair's words in his head. Then he placed the bowl of frosting aside.

He moved back towards Artair, up close to him and leaned on the counter, studying the bowl and then up at Artair with a thoughtful expression on his face. He then he raised his hand, placing two fingers against Artair's temple and two against his own. He closed his eyes and appeared to concentrate for a moment.

" I'm going to read your mind right now, shh..." he intoned solemnly. " You're thinking...you're thinking mmmm...."

His fingers tap against Artair's temple lightly. " 'I don't understand this guy at all or why he thinks and acts the way he does. I'd like to help but it's really frustrating. Also he probably is going to try to convince me to go to this party we've been talking about even though I really don't want to go either. And what the fuck is he doing anyways trying to read my mind? Weirdo. Hmmm did I put enough vanilla extract in this cookie dough? ' "

He dropped his hands and turned around, leaning against the counter again. " I know you're not trying to make me feel guilty or shitty, Artair, " he said, scuffing his feet across the floor. " I know you wanna help me because you're good like that. And me being well...me I imagine sometimes it feels like banging your head against a brick wall. I...really don't know why I said yes to begin with. Maybe it was just because I really was afraid to say no or maybe I thought at the time 'hey maybe this can be different somehow' or...god who knows. I...don't know why I have a hard time trusting people, even those I know are my friends. Well...maybe I do but honestly all that would probably give a licensed therapist a headache to sort out. I think sometimes trying to figure out why I act like I do feels like a mental game of 52 card pickup. "

He abruptly reached out and took Artair's prosthetic hand in his, intertwining his fingers with his. " I'm sorry I'm like this when all you want to do is help me to really take a good hard look at what I'm doing. I'm really sorry that...that I'm so hard to be friends with, to even talk to really. Also uhm you don't have to worry. I'm not going to try to guilt-trip you into going to the party...I don't pull shit like that. " He bit his lip again.

" I wanted to check on you and make sure you were ok, Artair. " The words came from him with vehemence as he looked up at Artair. His brown eyes brimmed with emotion. He pinched the bridge of his nose and blinked hard.

[venstm]

i have updated my rules and encourage my mutuals to have a look.

[shannonsketches]

He said "Fuck this shit, I'm out" I'm crying. Toriyama's Vegeta was so top shelf 🤌

(From Neko Majin Z Chapter 5!)

[uhbasicallyjustmilex]

it does something incomprehensible to my little writer’s soul whenever alex articulates a phenomenon of the writing process i’ve always picked up on and then goes on to describe it in exactly the same way