#there isn't any super descriptive illness in this by the way

[fleeglefazbeagle]

Welcome to my blog! :3

Do you like videogames, cartoons, anime or artwork of ANY genre as long as it's made by a human? You've come to the right place! I draw whatever tickles me fancy, shitpost, rant, chill(mostly).💕✨

Above here is my self insert Sona(description in alt).⬆️

(I used the term "Mary Sue" in a silly way, no ill will whatsoever./srs)

I don't have a specific schedule, I just post whenever I like.

This here is what I am!(It's already said in my bio but whatever.)⬇️

(Blinkies by @dragonpride17 .)

I'm also a platonic selfshipper.

Strictly platonic f/os(in other words, we're STRICTLY friends, don't be weird):

Secret History Tails(Mashed), Glamrock Freddy(FNAF), Fizzarolli(Helluva Boss), Husk(Hazbin Hotel), Funtime Freddy(FNAF), Luigi(Super Mario), Goofy(Disney), Oswald the Lucky Rabbit(Disney), Big the Cat(Sonic), Fleegle the Beagle(The Banana Splits), Drooper the Lion(The Banana Splits), Mangle(FNAF), Circus Baby(FNAF), Mimzy(Hazbin Hotel), Banny(The Walten Files), DogDay(Poppy Playtime), CraftyCorn(Poppy Playtime), Spinel(Steven Universe), Gwimbly(Smiling Friends).

Queerplatonic f/os(I guess):

Mortality(Boozoo's Ghosts/The Walten Files) and Pumpkin Rabbit(The Mysterious House/The Walten Files).

Don't roast me!>:[

The stuff I'm into is FNAF, Sonic, FNF, The Banana Splits(show and movie,), BATIM, Steven Universe(kinda), SML and SMLwiki(kinda), Disney(kinda), Pokémon(kinda), Tim Burton stuff(kinda), Hellaverse stuff, Coraline(kinda), Super Mario, Don Bluth stuff(kinda), The Walten Files, DHMIS, Welcome Home, Pizza Tower, Poppy Playtime, Garten of Banban, MLP(kinda), The Amazing Digital Circus(kinda), Monkey Wrench(kinda), Little Nightmares(kinda) and the Mashed channel(the one with the crazed fox).

DNI if you're:

LGBTQIA+phobic, TERFs, SWERFs, transmeds, syscourse, pro-endo, m-spec lesbians/lesboys(not butch lesbians or he/him lesbians), an IRL gore blog, a SH/ED blog, disrespect people's pronouns(this includes neopronouns), sexist(misogyny and misandry), NSFW(kinks, fetishes, etc.), a zooph1le, a zoosad1st, a pedo(map), ableist, racist, xenophobic, anti-xenogender, anti-objectum, transabled, transrace(not the adoption kind), transage, a fan of Pretty Blood and/or support the creator), a bodyshamer, someone who invalidates trauma, a proshipper, a comshipper, a darkshipper, toxic(in general), a zionist, a nazi(or at least a supporter), pro-cringe culture, believe blackwashing is real(it fucking isn't), anti-therians, anti-furries, anti-semitism, anti-agere/agedre/petre/petdre, use "fatherless"/"parentless" as an insult, say "kys" as a joke(it's a very serious thing), joke about abuse, pedophilia or rape(another serious thing), anti-alterhumans, AI "art" and crypto and NFT bros.

Rules when asking or whatever:

1.Use tone tags(they're REALLY important).

2.No arguing.

3.Be kind to others.

4.No hate speech(you WILL be blocked if I find out.

5.No NSFW(I know I already said this but still).

6.I can only do art trades and if you want to ask about what you want, come to my DMs(ya know, the speech bubble icon).

7.If you want to do an ask involving any of my AUs, go right ahead but remember the rules and stuff.

8. As far as donations go.

My YouTube is here!(It's where my videos are.)⬇️

Also, please support my sister and her work!⬇️

@valkyriephoenix98

Her channel:

[acewitch-writes]

Hello! I recently found your account, and I went on scrolling down and down...and now I hope you know how grateful I am. Thank u- Merci. About 90% of the content you share here has made me feel so much better. I realllyy hope wonderful things happen for you. I've been a fan of hp since 2001, but I'm not really a social media person so I haven't been active in the fandom. I had no idea what was happening here until recently..two months ago to be exact (other details are not important) and omg.. I ended up in a discussion with some I think, new fans. tbh I thought, "Great! I'm good at this, I read all the books more than once Let's talk :)"  and omg their very first question was "What do you think about Regulus?"

I was like, "Who?" *dying from secondhand embarrassment bc It turns out I'm not that good at this

but as the discussion continued, I became more and more baffled bc "Why was everyone talking about Barty, Evan, and Regulus? who is daddy Remu? and what do you mean people ship James Potter with R.A.B.? What?"

I swear for a moment I thought "Did the writer publish a new book? Did I miss something? " tbh, I respect everyone's opinion it's none of my business but I'm still shocked. The only thing that bothers me is everything that happened with this new Wolfsar

omg, for most fans around my age (or at least people I know), Sirius was the complete portrayal of a bad boy- a rebel, with boots, tattoos, a leather jacket, and a fucking motorcycle. so this new Sirius is like a stranger to me, and that's okay. Mein issue is kinda with this new Remus T T my beloved .

They (the fans I was talking with) told me Remus is "tall, so handsome, SO strong, and hot-headed person because,  yk he's a werewolf." I was like "hot headed? excuse me?" I tried to explain to them that Remus being a werewolf is a metaphor for illnesses like HIV, it's not some superpowery gift.  they didn't believe me, but then they literally looked me in the face and said, "Then why would Sirius like someone like him? He's poor, short, and ugly." I swear I wanted to cry right then and there.

What is this mindset that makes some people think that a person should be, Idk, hot and flawless to deserve to be loved? Yes I don't think Remus is tall and super hot and perfect and isn't it fine? and I am 100% sure he's so beautiful. not like Sirius ofc but he has this "warm, cozy, and soft" sort of beauty. and I don't think he was a coward (ok maybe he was a liitle) but I guess it's easier for us, humans, to take the worst or weakest moment of a character and amplify it until it defines them entirely. and omg I'm so sorry for my rant and my bad english. but once again thank you for your beautiful soul <3 thank you

Hi anon! I, too, am baffled by the recent obsession with Regulus in this fandom. I think Jegulus is fine as a crack ship, but it has become so mainstream that many fans have just gone ahead and canonized it to the point that you'll be vilified for not accepting it as canon. I underestimated how popular the "best friend's brother" trope was, apparently. I also think it appeals to many fans as a Marauders Era version of one of the most popular ships of all time, Drarry.

This new version of Wolfstar is my biggest complaint with today's fandom, too! I get that the Marauders have very limited canon information and therefore we have more creative freedom to flesh them out, but I really believe that it has gone way too far. Sirius and Remus in today's fandom don't bear any resemblance to the characters they're based on. Remus is just a generic alpha werewolf OC and Sirius is his generic himbo femboy love interest OC. They don't even share a physical description with their Canon counterparts, and their personalities and character traits are so far removed that I can't even fathom how we reached this point as a fandom. How can you claim to like these characters if you have to change everything the source material says about them?

You're English is great, by the way! I completely agree that Remus has a cozy-and-warm sort of beauty. He made a point to distance himself from the stigma surrounding Lycanthropy because it was the focal point of his shame and self-loathing. And I just adore Wolfstar's dynamic from this lens, with the intimidatingly beautiful, confident, headstrong Sirius Black, who could have his pick of anyone he wants, choosing this ordinary guy because he's cozy and soft and it's exactly what Sirius wants after surviving the harsh ideals and abuse of House Black.

[tetskuro]

hi gorgeous! could i be 🎀? your matchups are absolutely adorable and i thought of sending in one for myself because, hey, you're pretty cool and i just wanna see who i'm more compatible w shshsh. i would adore a long, romantic matchup!!! i'm a straight woman (she/her) and i'd love to be matched w a male character!! my ideal type in a guy would be someone who's attentive, and a perfectionist. i always work super hard to look good/stay good and i'd appreciate a person who does the same. i also want someone who stands up for what he thinks and isn't easily influenced yk? i like someone who keeps me on my toes and challenges me and motivates me to work harder. i love love love boys who take an effort on dates. i want a guy who listens to the similar music i do and makes playlists for me (id do the same duh) and writes long ass love letters, just because. i want someone who matches outfits with me and holds my hand in public. someone i can trust with anything and we can just yap at 2 a.m. about the most senseless thing there is on planet earth. bonus points if he looks tall and scary because like...yes.

i'm so sorry i ramble a lot but it's just like...unstoppable, anyways a tiny description of me!! i'm an introvert, even if i do not look the part. it's not like i'm shy, i just don't like keeping up w fake people if you know what i mean. i'm confident about myself and know what i want in life. i'm also pretty sarcastic usually and use humor as a coping mechanism. i usually tend to overwork myself because i want to be the best at everything i do. i also ALWAYS stick up for my friends and don't let anyone walk over me or those who matter to me. i love love love listening to people and offering them advice, it fills me with so much glee that they trust me with things like, i'm always here for u!!! also, i'm not exactly a sunshine nor am i grumpy? it really just depends on whom i'm around. i'm 5'0 feet tall, with brown layered waves and curtain bangs, and almond shaped eyes. i'm pretty fair ngl but super tanned around the arms (i forget sunscreen) and i have an hourglass figure. my hobbies are playing the guitar, doing ballet, watching sappy girly romcoms, doing my makeup, listening to songs, studying (sorry im a nerd), shopping and swimming. i do adore a good thriller novel too. ok, ranking the love languages wld be- 1) quality time (giving n receiving) 2) acts of service (receiving n giving ) 3) words of affirmation (giving n receiving) 4) physical touch (receiving) 5) gifts!! (receiving) sorry chat im too broke n uncreative to give any IM SORRY ILL SMOTHER U W LOVE extra info i saw the previous people give, i'm an intp virgo YAY i love taylor swift and the color pink (im the textbook definition of a girly girl) i adore english literature and have won plenty of international writing awards im so proud of it AND AND AND i think youre very cool and awesome and yeah. inserts bow emoji cause i cant find it. LOVE YOU TAKE CARE STAY HYDRAETD!!!! take ur time bb.

your matchup is...

sakusa kiyoomi

⭑ sakusa is a very attentive person and is always striving to reach perfection

⭑ incredibly detail oriented and doesn't like leaving things unfinished

⭑ you both work super hard and would definitely be able to keep each other on your toes

⭑ he puts a lot of effort into anything he does, so he'd plan out your guys's dates meticulously because he wants to make sure you have a good time

⭑ sakusa also has a tendency to overwork himself so he notices when you're doing the same; that way you'd be able to keep each other in check

⭑ i see quality time and acts of service being sakusa's biggest love languages when it comes to giving

⭑ i feel like the later into the night it is, sakusa would be more likely to indulge in random conversations about anything and everything

⭑ he knows he can always come to you whenever he's in need of any guidance because he trusts you wholeheartedly to listen to him and give advice on important things

⭑ sakusa isn't too big on pda but he would hold your hand while walking around or maybe keep an arm around your waist

⭑ with his dark hair and eyes and height of 6+ ft, sakusa can appear tall and scary to people who don't know him, especially with his mask on

⭑ he'd find your sarcasm amusing and you'd be able to get some chuckles out of him with your humor

⭑ i think he would be a fan of thrillers so he'd love your book recs and finish a novel within a couple of days

⭑ he finds your passion for english literature very admirable and thinks it's so amazing how you've won international writing awards? like that's a huge thing to be proud of

your matchup runner-up is kageyama tobio

[i-write-hurt-not-comfort]

Aww!!! I love your new Ayato story. To be honest, when I read the tags and the description, it was very hard for me to imagine a combination between Ayato and drugs, but I was very wrong, because now I started to get addicted to this story as well as Ayato. The idea feels so real and doable. I'm even now convinced that if Ayato was human in the canon universe, without those supernatural powers and vampiric sadism, he'd handle the situation in a similar way, since there's no way he'd be the asocial loser in class (-: However, his super beauty as a vampire doesn't work here, and it wouldn't be realistic just to exist to have friends :-*

hey anon! thank you so much! i'm excited to continue it, hoping i get another chapter in before christmas. here's the fic for anyone wondering, it's called the basketball diaries and i'll ramble a lil bit here, don't mind me.

putting it under a cut for discussions of drugs

so i've been writing drug addict fics for a real long time now and i generally consider myself able to make any character into an addict, primarily due to my wide scope of knowing and under the pretext of "it can happen to anyone", and in dialovers, i've now written shu, reiji, laito, subaru, ruki, kou, yuma and azusa. hence i moved to ayato.

ayato has gone up a lot in my heart since i first found dialovers in 2017 and especially since my re-obsession era in 2021. the more i read him, esp LE, the more i learn about his strengths and weaknesses. he's vulnerable, he's got academic trauma. he wants to do well, he does, but he's scared of trying because he doesn't want to make himself look stupid.

and contrary to the ayato can't read joke on my DL server, ayato can read and i think he's pretty smart if he really wants to do something. i.e. his MB after story he DOES get a degree but it's for yui's sake. he has to have a reason. and without said reason, he's void of motivation and frankly doesn't really know HOW to try.

you're right, ayato acts like a silly goofy big strong vampire because he's convincing himself he's The Shit. he bigs himself up as Yours Truly, pretends he's the best, because his entire self-worth growing up was based on the assumption he was going to be The Best. and if he's not The Best, then he's a failure.

when you combine that mindset with a situation where he obviously isn't going to be the best, you have a perfect recipe to write a drug fic i think.

he can't possibly be that guy with no friends, he wants to be liked and the best. but most importantly, he has a deep intrinsic desire to be the best academically too. but he never learnt to study, he has zero self-worth, and starting uni away from his closest brothers (laito n subaru in this case) in a difficult degree is challenging. couple this with the fact i gave him ADHD bc ADHD ayato has my heart, he's lost. and because being the best in his mind is more important than his own health and sense of self, he'd be willing to do anything to maintain that. and if he found a drug which does that for him, why wouldn't he use it, yknow?

i won't spoil too much about the fic there by mentioning yui's role in this (bc yui doesn't appear until ch11 unfortunately), but this is an overview of why i'm so excited to write an ayato addict fic finally.

on a similar note, next up Might be shin, actually. shin has potential, mostly from stuff in his LE. because of endzeit, shin very much has this mindset where he needs to prove he's sick in order to get validation. like he needs to be sick to prove something about himself. obviously if this weren't canon then endzeit can't be a thing, but i could talk for hours and hours and HOURS about the "needs to be ill to get validation of health" trauma (mainly due to personal experience) and it'd be really interesting to write in the context of drug addiction!

[astragreenwoode]

The Spitfire Curse - Chapter Six

Previous: Chapter Five • Next: Chapter Seven • Masterlist • AO3 Version 

Rating: Explicit(18+ ONLY)

Pairings:  Billy Hargrove x Fem!OC, Steve Harrington x Fem!OC, Eddie Munson x Fem!OC

Warnings: Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-Con, Canon-Typical Violence, Graphic Descriptions of Violence, Non-specified Mental Illness, Self-Harm, Drug Use, Hypersexuality, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms

Genre: Adventure, Thriller, Horror, Slow-Burn Romance, Angst, Hurt/Comfort. Smut, Fluff, Slight Canon-Divergence, Fix-it fic

And a special thanks to my beta-reader @take-everything-you-can! Thank you so much for all your feedback and ideas, love!

Chapter Six: Red Means "I Love You"

Word Count: 12,861

Chapter Warnings: Sexual Assault, Non-Consensual Somnophilia, Non-Consensual Drugging, Disembodied Voices, Self-Deprecating Talk, Hypersexual Behaviors and Thoughts, Language, Confusion, Hallucinations, General Angst

Chapter Summary: Billy had been Maeven's classmate since Middle School but only got to know her at a party at the end of their sophomore year. As treasured as that night was to them both, the current state of their relationship isn't as pretty.

THERE'S A HUGE SHIFT IN TONE IN THE STORY FROM HERE ON OUT. REMEMBER TO TAKE CARE OF YOURSELVES. IF ANY OF THE WARNINGS CONTAIN TOPICS THAT ARE TRIGGERING FOR YOU, PROCEED WITH CAUTION OR FEEL FREE TO NOT READ PAST THIS SYMBOL: !*!*!

I feel super nervous publishing this, as it's one of the darkest things I've ever written. This fic is my main outlet for processing all my trauma, so I hope others can understand and appreciate that. Remember to be kind to yourself and do what you need for self-care.

*Originally posted on AO3 on December 20th, 2023

May 1983

The love Billy Hargrove felt for Maeven Mayfield bordered on obsessive.

Growing up, he didn’t exactly have the best example of what real love looks like. One could barely even list his parents as an example. He knew how much his dad loved his mom, even if the way he showed it confused him from time to time. He had pieced it together in his mind that his mom left because she couldn’t handle Dad’s beatings anymore. Neil drove her away from them. It wasn’t Billy’s fault, it was Neil’s.

He wasn’t sure if this made it better or worse, but he sometimes pretended that his mother never loved him at all. At least then, he would have a simple answer for why she left him behind. Knowing how much she cared for him meant she left her little boy with a despicable man, but just didn’t care enough to bring him with her. And he suddenly understood why his dad grabbed women and pulled them back to him; to make them stay.

Eventually, Billy learned to grieve and cope the same way his dad did. He had taken enough beatings from his old man in his short life that the anger and pain that grew inside him only went away when he was inflicting it upon others. He passed his father’s abuse through his heart and soul before forcing that pain upon someone else. And even though Neil refused to show it, Billy knew he missed her as much as he did. Over time, his demeanor grew more cocky and his sense of humor dimmed darker. But he never dared to bring up his mother, lest he get another black eye from his dad that he’d be forced to blame on a sports accident once he stepped inside the school.

Like most High School jocks, sports was a way for Billy to channel all his aggression in a way that no one questioned. Each game played is fueled by rage, aggression, and excitement from both players and spectators. It gave him an excuse; a way out of being seen as a bully. He was well aware that he was a bully, of course. If he could be a different person, he would. But these were the cards he was dealt with by whatever bullshit, narcissistic higher power was in charge. He couldn’t just trade them in for something new. Billy knew he was tainted; born broken. There was no cure for what he was.

And then, Maeven walked into his life, with her long, fiery hair and adorable gap-toothed smile. Billy had seen her around before, of course. She made an impression by being one of the most intelligent kids in their grade once she entered middle school. There were even whispers that she would go on to become Valedictorian once they all entered High School together. But she was also that weird girl who collected animal bones and drew patterns on her arms with sparkly gel pens in class. She was a smartass and a showoff, always the first to volunteer to help the teachers; a goody-two-shoes, someone Billy would never hang out with in a million years. Until she suddenly became a badass out of nowhere. 

In June of 1982, before school was let out for the year, rumors spread that Maeven was arrested for beating the ever-loving shit out of her now ex-boyfriend, Jordan Bernard. Billy wasn’t surprised by this. Jordan always talked big in the locker room about how tight he had two girls wrapped around his fingers, and sometimes his cock. Of course, he stayed quiet about the whole thing, not wanting to admit to his teammates that his broken nose was from a 5’4 freshman girl. But he also seemed ashamed that the situation happened at all, and ended up convincing the police and his father to drop all the charges against her. 

Neither he nor Maeven spoke a word about it, leaving Emily Bernard, his sister,  to spill the beans. Not only did the peace-and-love preaching hippie freak punch someone, but she was arrested as a result.

So maybe Maeven wasn’t a complete nerd or loser like Billy initially thought. That didn’t mean he liked her now. She’d get a free pass from him, sure; maybe even a compliment or two if he happened to catch her in a fight. She ended up getting noticed for being the most aggressive player on the girl’s soccer team, but that was really it. He never thought he’d have to care about her until Susan somehow wandered her way into his dad’s heart.

The following October, after starting his Sophomore Year, Billy noticed his dad was acting differently. Normally, he wouldn’t give a shit about Neil or how he was doing as long as he left him alone and kept the beatings to a minimum. But he seemed suspiciously pleasant when he came home from his job as a security guard at a bank in downtown San Diego. Billy could’ve also sworn he saw him smile, something he had to sit down and process for a moment. He still didn’t dare to ask him what had him so damn happy all of a sudden, as he knew he would probably receive a “mind your own damn business, boy” as a result.

Billy’s only real option to get answers without fueling the fire of his father’s rage was to investigate himself. He drove by the bank, dressed in sunglasses, a baseball cap, and a jacket he otherwise wouldn’t be caught dead in. His dad wasn’t by the front doors like he was supposed to be, but instead chatting up an older redhead woman behind the counter. At first, Billy didn’t really care. His dad fucked around with a different woman every other week, so it wasn’t a surprise to see him sweetening up his next meal before he would eventually toss out the leftovers.

But this was different than all the other women. Neil seemed constantly fixed on her, acting too sweet and sappy for this to just be another booty call. A month after catching a glimpse of her, he came home late one Friday night to see another car parked in the driveway next to his dad’s station wagon. Billy had to park on the street that night as he crashed into his bed, trying his best to drown out the cringe-worthy sex noises coming from the other room.

The next morning, he found himself face-to-face with Susan Mayfield making his dad breakfast, as she awkwardly introduced herself to him. Billy paid her no mind except a quick nod before going back to eat the eggs and bacon he begrudgingly took from her. He didn’t have it in him to admit that her cooking was actually delicious.

For three months, Billy avoided his father and his new shtup like the plague. Neil didn’t ask much of his son, just to acknowledge Susan when she hung out there and not mention her outside of their house. Billy was okay with that. In fact, he could care less. Until he spotted her outside of the regular booty calls and secret date nights with his dad, that is. The worst part? It was at school. Three months after their first, awkward meeting in his kitchen, he finally knew why Susan seemed so familiar. He had seen that shade of red hair on a particular strange classmate of his.

It was only then that Billy took a sudden interest in Maeven. He took a moment to wrap his head around the mere idea that Susan the Buzzkill and Maeven the Freak were mother and daughter. But the more he thought about it, the more it made perfect sense. Both Mayfield women shared the same annoyingly bubbly personality and stubbornness. 

He considered telling her about her mom’s little affair; how the seemingly perfect housewife with the perfect family was sneaking with his revolting carpet stain of a father. Before he got the chance, rumors circulated in school that Mr. and Mrs. Mayfield were getting divorced. Maeven was visibly sour for weeks that the entire grade now knew the details and circumstances of her family drama.

It pissed him off a little bit, sure. Billy would’ve liked to play a part in shattering Susan’s life after she had the nerve to crawl into his. It didn’t matter, though. Somehow, she managed to shatter her life and her marriage without any help. And he had to admit, it made Maeven more interesting. He tried all different flavors of girls; smart, dense, pretty, sporty, bad, good, sluts, and virgins. But nothing caught Billy Hargrove’s attention quite like a good girl gone bad. 

She had always stood out among their peers, of course. Maeven was constantly fidgeting in her seat, drawing on whatever surface she could find, and using every chance she got to talk about animals. She was in waaayy too many after-school clubs, always raised her hand first in class, and was way too proud of herself. Maeven was always such a show-off, a try-hard, a good girl. 

All these years, she was just a familiar stranger. Billy noticed her around and heard about her, but now that he’s seen her in a different light, a flattering light, it was like he was properly noticing her for the first time. He hadn’t expected someone so nerdy and dorky to suddenly be so naturally pretty, as well. The night he formally introduced himself to her ended up being one of the best nights of Billy’s life. And she didn’t know it yet, but it would end up being one of Maeven’s, too.

Melody Chandler always threw the best parties. Her parents were never home; sort of rich nomads, always on trips for both business and pleasure. They just never bothered to include their daughter in any of them. Every week, they’d have her aunt come in and check on her, but for the most part, Melody had free reign to do whatever she wanted whenever she wanted to do it. It was a monthly ritual amongst the Newport Student Body to drown themselves in their drink or drug of choice at Melody’s place. It was the place to be.

In the months following her parents’ separation, Maeven had gained a reputation as quite the fox. Billy wasn’t that surprised that she grew up to be a horny little freak, something he discovered she and her mother had in common. He still remembers when she the hottest topic for weeks in seventh grade after their class trip to the aquarium. That night was still so vivid in his head. He wasn’t sure he could forget about it even if he wanted to. 

The night of the field trip, Maeven went to sleep earlier than their other classmates, tired after a day of running around and telling everyone random facts about the fish and aquatic animals. He remembered that her favorite was the sea otter. When the rest of the grade returned to the auditorium to sleep, everyone was shell-shocked to find her humping the stuffed otter she had gotten that day at the gift shop while in her sleep. She was so mortified she ended up crying herself to sleep in front of the fish tanks with her gang of girlfriends who joined to comfort her. While Billy felt incredibly bad seeing her embarrassed like that, he couldn’t deny that the whole experience left him walking away with something new awakened in him. He still thought about it from time to time; remembering that he had never blushed so hard in his life than he did watching her accidentally humiliating herself. Maybe he liked Maeven for longer than he wanted to admit. He wondered f she still had that otter, and if she still used it the same way she had that night.

Melody’s parties eventually became her favorite place to hunt for people to play with. According to most of the jocks, she was a tease; she liked playing with her food and rarely ever took a bite. She enjoyed taking control, pleasing them with her hands and mouth, often leaving them desperate for her to touch them again. If they were really lucky, she’d grind her clothed sex on their laps until they begged her to stop. Only maybe two or three of them could claim that she let them inside her, including Jordan Bernard.

Apparently, she liked messing around with girls, too, but no girl in school was brave enough to admit that. So the rumor remained unconfirmed. That didn’t stop boys from trying to convince her into a threesome with her and their girlfriends. Most of these attempts were followed by a surprise groping of her ass and ended with her throwing them against the lockers and collapsing their urethras when she kicked them where it hurt most. Maeven the science nerd was now bolder, stronger, sluttier, but definitely not as easy as some of the boys she hooked up with claimed.

All this and more were the reasons that Billy now understood why she gained so many nicknames for herself; Iron Maeven, Metal Maeven, Spitfire. That last one was his personal favorite, as it was criminally underused. It was what her Dad called her, something Billy discovered while spying on Susan.

The second to last of Melody Chandler’s monthly parties for their sophomore year ended up being memorable, indeed. After humiliating yet another sleazeball who tried to grab her without her permission, Maeven retired to the poolside lounge chair where she lit up a freshly-rolled joint she got from Madison Gray. You could always tell when it was hers because of how lush and thick they were.

Most people partied inside towards the second half of the night, the wallflowers chilling outside in the quiet of the night by the now calm pool. Melody’s place wasn’t isolated, per se. It was, however, far away enough from town that the stars could be viewed in all their glory. Maeven even caught a glimpse of the Milky Way, naming the constellations the way her dad used to do with her and Max on clear summer nights just like this.

She missed all the tiny beautiful moments that made up the love she shared with her family. Living without it as a constant reminder every day left her feeling hollow. It may not have been the healthiest coping mechanism, but the only things that made her feel whole again were weed and random makeout sessions. Maeven couldn’t just bury herself in her clubs and projects the way she used to. Of course, she still went on regular hiking trips to sketch the flora and fauna of California and find more animal bones, but it just wasn’t doing the trick, anymore.

Occasionally, Maeven would get this feeling whenever she was sad, scared, or worried, that made her feel like gravity no longer applied to her body and that she was being pulled away from the safety of the planet and drifting off into the abyss. It worsened when her parents started fighting, and only grew and grew after their divorce. But the night she finally lit up one of Madison’s legendary blunts, she finally felt safe in her own head, her own body for the first time in what seemed like an eternity.

As she inhaled another hit from the blunt, Maeven sunk back into the lounge chair. The warm bliss delightfully fogged up her senses and grounded her to the earth. Everything felt so warm and fluffy, and it still tasted like Heaven despite the grassy, sour flavor of the weed. She giggled to herself.

“Maybe space isn’t so big and scary, after all,” the voice said to her. Maeven silently agreed. It was nice when they found neutral ground even if those times were hard to come by. She furrowed her eyebrows in curiosity and found herself raising her hand.

“What if we could touch it? It’s worth a try.”

Her eyesight blurred the bright constellations and clusters in the sky, almost the same way a blob in a lava lamp would. She wanted to dip her fingers into the Milky Way and use it to paint. But alas, she could only do that once she inquired Madison for some psychedelics. So, Maeven settled for tracing the patterns amongst the stars. Some were the real kind her dad showed to her and Max one night last summer. The others popped into her head with no warning or prompt as her mind wondered if there was more hidden between all the lines that the ancient astronomers already charted.

“Hey there, Iron Maeve-”

Startled by Billy’s sudden appearance, Maeven’s heart nearly leapt out of her chest as she tumbled off the lounge chair.

“AAAH! What the fuck, man?!” she exclaimed, brushing her hair out of her face as she put her half-finished blunt in the ashtray. “You can’t just sneak up on somebody like that!”

“Awww. Are you scared of me, Mayfield?” Billy fake-pouted as he mocked her, leaning down to face her with his hands on his knees. Maeven gracelessly pulled herself back to her feet as she snarled back at him.

“I don’t know. Should I be?”

“. . .maybe,” Billy answered. He honestly had no clue. That all depended on her and how the rest of the night went. Maeven looked him up and down. She wasn’t sure if it was just her or the effects of the weed, but, Goddamnit, was he better looking up close.

“Eh, I think I can handle it.” she shrugged, taking her joint from the ashtray before walking over to the bar by the pool to raid the snacks, thinking the conversation had ended. Billy trailed behind her, observing and sizing her up like a predator as she foraged around the table for leftovers.

“You seem awfully confident for someone getting high at a party alone,” he noticed aloud. By then, Maeven had grabbed the last piece of large, double chocolate cake and ate it shamelessly. Whenever she had the munchies, chocolate was always her go-to snack. As she gulped down another bite, her eyes threateningly narrowed, gently pressing the sharp end of her silver fork right below Billy’s collarbone. Now, he was the one a little bit afraid.

“Do I come over to you while you’re having fun with your keg boys and shame you for the way you choose to party?” she blankly asked, playfully tapping it each time she emphasized her words.

“No?” he laughed in an attempt to lighten the mood while his breath hitched in his throat. God, this girl really was a fucking unreadable freak. But maybe Billy liked that. He wasn’t completely sure, yet.

“Yeah, well, I’d appreciate it if you did the same,” Maeven pulled her fork back, returning to her slice of cake as if what just happened didn’t at all.

Billy relaxed once he no longer felt the metal against his skin, letting the air back into his lungs. Although he knew he could’ve smacked her hand away at any time, he didn’t want to. He enjoyed the thrill in his body he got from her empty threats. It all felt so dangerous, so hot; maybe he had finally met his match.

“Now that that’s established, will you at least let me introduce myself?” Billy asked as if he was doing her a kindness by waiting for her permission.

“Alright, then, Pretty Boy. What’s your name?” Maeven laughed as she shrugged, taking a seat at the pool bar.

“It’s Billy. Billy Hargrove,” he answered, holding out his hand for her to shake as he sat on the bar stool next to hers.

She hesitated before cautiously reaching for his hand as she tilted her head to the side, her brain still foggy and warm from her buzz. A gasp caught in her throat as Billy tugged on her wrist to brush a soft kiss against the back of her hand, followed by his trademark smile and sly wink. His sudden forwardness sent an electric shock through Maeven’s bones and tickled her spine. Again, was this guy actually coming on to her, or was she too under the influence of Madison’s blunt that reality began to blend with her mind? She hadn’t been properly asked out on a date since Jordan broke up with her.

It took a moment for both her body and mind to catch up when Maeven realized she had been too silent and too still for too long. She still had a role to play. If she jumped in too fast and this guy turned out too good to be true, she’d regret it later. Re-masking herself, she playfully wiped the back of her hand on her dress, faking repulsion before she continued.

“Margaret. I mean Maeven. Mayfield,” she stumbled on her words, her hands moving in many different directions as she talked.. “Well, 'Margaret' is my first name, but I go by my middle name because I'm named after my aunt and two Maggies are confusing. So, I go by 'Maeven.' 'Mayfield' is my last name,”

“Yeah. I know who you are, Iron Maeven,” Billy chuckled.

“Oh. . .okay. . .” she awkwardly trailed off at the sound of her other nickname, going back to her slice of cake as her mind wandered. She didn’t hate the name. On the contrary, it was actually quite an improvement after years of being called a nerd or teacher’s pet. However, it originated from her breakup with Jordan. Every time it was used, she couldn’t help but be haunted by the awful memories that day left her with.

Billy noticed Maeven’s face drop when he used it, Maybe she didn’t like being called that? He didn’t understand why. It was good; it was badass. She always seemed to like it when people called her that when she got into a fight or scored a goal in soccer.

“How’d you get a name like ‘Maeven’ anyway?” he commented, just now realizing that he didn’t really know her; he just knew the version of herself she presented to the world. Billy wanted to know Maeven; her secrets, the parts of her no one else knew about. He had to know exactly why just the thought of her was driving him insane.

“‘Makes it sound like you’re some. . .mythical creature, or whatever the fuck. . .” he trailed off, catching her attention with just a few weird words.

The last hit she took was a while ago, but Maeven could’ve sworn the world had suddenly gone crazy. Never in her wildest dreams could she imagine a jock like Billy using the term ‘mythical creature.’ But she rolled with it. Her mind could never really stay on topic for too long, anyway.

“My dad picked it, initially. It kinda. . .has multiple meanings for both him and my mom,” she told him, grabbing the blunt that rested on her plate. She felt she was going to need it if she was going to survive a long conversation with a jock that hopefully didn’t end in a fight. . .this time.

“Oh, really? Care to explain?”

Maeven inhaled, tilting her head up to the sky as she breathed out the cannabis through her nose and mouth. As she opened her eyes, the stars in the sky brightened up like a black light poster amidst her cannabis and chocolate-drunk vision. Her hand tilted to the side, offering the blunt to Billy, which he accepted gratefully.

“My dad was raised Celtic Pagan and my mom’s Scottish Catholic. In the bible, in Hebrew, it means ‘one who understands.’ But in Irish Gaelic, it means ‘sage.’ Which, of course, means the plant, but it also means someone who is a spiritual expert or just very smart in general. And. . .” she trailed off, taking a few seconds to get her train of thought back to its main rail. “. . .it comes from the Gaelic word ‘Meave,’ meaning ‘she who rules,’ or ‘intoxicating.’ In Irish Mythology, Mebh is the Goddess of Love and Desire.”

It took her a while until Maeven realized it was completely silent. Did he leave? She turned her head to the side where Billy was, still sitting as his face twisted to a half-confused, half-curious combo. By now, he had taken another hit. Maeven felt her cheeks light up once it dawned on her that this jock probably didn’t want to listen to her ramble, and the voice crept back in behind her.

“Oh, shit. Oh, shit. You talked too much. He even had to take another hit to process all your stupid and insane words. That’s it. This is the end of your social life, Maeven. Get ready, because this guy is about to ruin everything once another rumor starts. You should just kill yourself. Right here, right now. You can use the fork! Go on! Do it!”

Once her brain was no longer attacking itself, she broke the silence.

“Sorry. I’m a bit talkative when I get high. I’ll shut up now.” she fake-laughed, turning away to shove the last few bites of cake in her mouth as if it would finally keep her from talking.

Billy laughed, knowing too well that she was talkative even when she wasn’t high. It wasn’t exactly a secret amongst the other kids in their grade that she was the one who participated the most. 

“Holy shit, Mayfield,” he coughed out. “I didn’t ask for a lecture.”

“Really? That’s your takeaway?” Maeven laughed.

“No offense, but that's. . .a lot of information to process in 30 seconds, dollface.” he joked, unsure if it would be a compliment or an insult in her eyes. She just smiled as she rolled her eyes, leaning over to give him a playful shove.

“You signed up for this, Billy. You asked me about my name and I delivered, didn’t I?” Maeven pointed out, swiping back her joint and taking another hit.

“That you did. It’s definitely a lot better than ‘Margaret,’ that’s for sure,” he observed, not bothering to hide the way he was looking her up and down, anymore. It was a good name; it suited her.

“So. . .I was right, then?” he asked.

Maeven rapidly blinked, bringing herself back from zoning out before taking a sip from her bottle of coke.

“About what?”

“About you being a mythical creature,” Billy clarified. “I feel like you just pitched me a fantasy movie or the back cover of that Tocain book or some shit.”

Maeven narrowed her eyes and tilted her head as she almost choked on her soda. She definitely couldn’t recall seeing that name in the Dewey decimal system or any of her English classes.

“What the fuck’s a ‘tocain?’”

“Y’know, that. . .the guy that. . .wrote the books about magic rings and shit. . .”

It took a moment for the gears to turn in Maeven’s head before she finally connected the dots. She couldn’t help but start laughing.

“Oh, my God. . .are you trying to say ‘Tolkien?’”

“Don’t patronize me, Mayfield! I’m not the fucking nerd, here!”

Maeven started laughing harder, holding her head in her hands as she balanced herself with her elbows on the counter.

“Oh, please! If anyone’s a nerd, it’s the guy who doesn’t know how to pronounce the name of one of the most popular writers of our generation!”

Billy would’ve been offended if anyone else had said that to him. But for some reason, it was different with Maeven. Maybe it was because of how endearing and contagious her laugh was.

“I’m not a nerd, you little freak!” he audaciously chuckled as he jokingly shoved her shoulder, not caring who might be listening for once. “Everyone wants to fuck me ‘cause I know nothing about this Tolkein dude you’re so obsessed with!”

“And yet, I’m the one with the slutty reputation?” Maeven pointed at herself, finally getting a chance to catch her breath as she rubbed the tears of laughter from her eyes.

“There’s just no winning with you, is there, Maeven?” Billy rolled his eyes.

“Oh? I’m sorry. I didn’t realize we were playing,” she laughed, letting gravity take over her body as she melted off the chair and onto the ground. Her legs felt like jelly. At this point in her high, Maeven couldn’t find it in herself to care. Billy, however, practically jumped from his bar stool to grab her arm.

“Woah there, hey. You doing okay?” he asked, not noticing until now how fast his heartbeat was racing. The last time he saw a woman fall like that, it was his mother. Neil had gotten her way too drunk, resulting in her slipping out of her chair and leaving her with her head bleeding on the kitchen tile.

But Maeven wasn’t passed out and bleeding. She was fine, just drunk. Or high? At this point, Billy was certain it was both. She may have fallen to her knees on the stone flooring, but she didn’t seem too upset about it. She was giggling, and her skin was warm. She was fine; everything was fine. Billy needed to remind himself of that.

“You wanna go lie down or something?”

Maeven softly nodded, leaning against the pole of the pavilion covering the pool bar. She spread her legs apart to keep herself balanced in her black leather boots, drowsily grabbing onto the pole like she was hugging it, catching her breath.

Billy almost let his intrusive thoughts win but resisted the urge to grab her butt. Even if she looked a bit ridiculous right now, accidentally displaying herself like she was ready to be taken from behind, she was drunk. Billy was just glad he was here with her instead of some other dirtbag guy who would’ve probably taken what he wanted from her while she was drunk.

For what was probably the first time ever, Billy ignored the primal instincts to seek sex from this girl. She deserved better than that. He approached her slowly, putting a hand on her shoulder just to let her know he was there. Before he could lead her back to the lounge chair where he originally found her, Maeven stumbled back to the bar to grab her blunt from the edge of her now-empty plate.

Rolling his eyes at her vivacious nature, Billy made sure she had regained her balance before leading her by her wrist.

“Get that pretty ass back in that chair before you hurt yourself, you little animal,” he impishly asserted, prepared to have her lean on him in support if she needed. Surprisingly, Maeven didn’t waste a second flopping back down into the longue chair as if her body melted.

“No arguments here,” she groaned, unpromptedly stretching her body; she stretched her back by keeping her shoulder on the chair and shamelessly lifting her hips up as far as they could go. She also couldn’t deny the fluttering feeling in her stomach at the word ‘pretty.’

Did she seriously not notice how lewd she was being right now? Maybe the weed gave her the extra courage? Billy couldn’t tell anymore. All he could really do was lay down in the chair next to her, cross his legs, and try to conceal how aroused she was making him.

“Isn’t sage that weird plant that witches use in potions or some shit like that?” he asked, suddenly remembering one of the many meanings of her name. If only he could remember math equations this easily, maybe Neil would finally get off his ass about it.

It was quiet for a moment. Maeven had to silently process Billy’s question as she continued to zone out looking at the night sky.

“What? Oh. No. We burn it. For cleansing rituals and to clear the air,” she clarified.

“Like weed?” he questioned, tilting his head to the side. Maeven rolled her eyes as she scoffed.

“No, dipshit. Not like weed,” she laughed, thinking of the right way to explain this to him without sounding like a total freak. “ More just. . .like, to smell good. Like a candle. You can’t get high off it. . .or maybe you can? I don’t know. I’ve never really thought about it,” Maeven wondered aloud. Maybe that was something she and Madison could try experimenting with. Would that even work? Either way, there was only one way to find out.

Billy, meanwhile, didn’t feel like he got a definitive answer.  She already seemed pretty damn magical.“So. . .you are a witch?”

Maeven just shrugged, taking another hit of her blunt.

“That’s what people are saying,” she replied, offering her blunt to Billy, which he willingly accepted. This was her favorite aspect of these parties; playing with her food. But tonight, she didn’t want to stop. Maeven couldn’t remember the last time she had such a casual conversation with someone. Even if she was always on edge and suspicious of the guys she met at parties, Billy was the first one in a while that didn’t seem. . .malicious.

“They’re saying other things, y’know?” he breathed out, recalling the many rumors he heard through the Newport High Grapevine. He turned his head to Maeven, handing her blunt back to her as he eyed her up and down “That you go around seducing guys with your magic touch and mysterious powers.”

There it was. Maybe she had gotten her hopes up about this guy too quickly.

Maeven tilted her head to the side and playfully raised her eyebrows, still refusing to give him a definitive answer.“I can neither confirm nor deny any of these rumors, Billy.”

“They also say that you beat the shit out of Jordan Bernard last year. He still denies it to this day,” he mentioned, remembering the day everyone in the locker room teased Jordan for his black eye.

Maeven’s eyes widened as she fought herself from laughing. She knew that their breakup wasn’t exactly a secret, but to say she ‘beat the shit out of him’ was a little much. However, she was pleasantly surprised that Billy seemed to drop the subject once she refused to answer his questions about her. . .body count.

“Oh, no. That’s definitely true,” she laughed, not seeing the point in being in denying any more questions. “I have the burn to prove it.”

“Burn?” Billy cocked his head to the side in confusion.

Maeven tilted her arm and rolled her short sleeve up her arm to expose her shoulder, leaning in to give Billy a closer look. Even if it was coming close to a year of healing, it was still noticeable. The burn mark was about the size of a baseball, maybe even the size of his fist. It was way pinker than the rest of her skin, but it was recovering fairly well; freckles had even started to come back.

“Asshole thought it was a good idea to throw a log from his fire pit at me,” Maeven explained.

When he was younger, Neil often threatened to put out his cigars on his son’s skin. His mother always ended up taking it in his place.  Billy had lost count of how many times his Dad left lash marks from his belt on his back, but he had yet to experience a burn. He was hoping it would stay that way. But he had never met someone else who also had evidence on their body like that until now.

“Shit,” he laughed in disbelief. “Bet you gave his ass the beating it deserved, right?”

Maeven looked back at Billy, noticing the supposed fascination his eyes held, before looking back at her scar. Billy Hargrove was the first boy she met who wasn’t repulsed by the mark when she let it show. He really was full of surprises. She pulled her sleeve back down before getting comfortable in the longue chair again, turning her attention back to the night sky as she continued the conversation.

“I don’t know about that,” Maeven sighed. “It was really just a. . .’heat-of-the-moment’ rash impulse I didn’t think through. I guess I was just. . .mad at him,” she shrugged, tracing the constellations with her fingers again.

“As you should be,” Billy agreed. He had yet to be cheated on. If he was anything like his father, he would be the first one to cheat. He prayed he wouldn’t end up like him, but the whole concept always lingered in his head.

“We both said and did some things that day we regret. But. . .he does seem really sorry, y’know? That he hurt me like that,” Maeven observed, turning to lay down her head toward Billy. She hadn’t had a real conversation with Jordan since their breakup; she didn’t know what to say to him. Every time she tried, nothing came out. All Jordan had to say was how sorry he was and she was sick of it. The memory haunted her every day when they crossed paths in the hallway at school

“You thinking about forgiving him?” he asked her, more curious than anything. Still, he crossed his fingers and hoped she wouldn’t. She was too good for Jordan Bernard, anyway.

“Kinda? Sorta? I dunno,” Maeven shrugged, moving around in the longue so that she was curled up on her side, now fully facing Billy before taking another hit. “Maybe he just feels guilty? Is that really the same thing as being sorry?”

“I don’t think so. Guilt isn’t the same as remorse,” he replied.

Billy Hargrove witnessed the difference between the two in his own parents. His Dad wasn’t sorry that he cheated; he was sorry that he was caught. If he was really sorry, he wouldn’t have cheated, punched, and driven his mother away in the first place.

“I’d forget about him if I were you. Cheaters are the worst. They don’t deserve to be forgiven. . .they don’t deserve love,” he said suddenly, taking Maeven by surprise. She wondered what happened to make Billy so passionate about this, handing out her blunt once more as her way of saying ‘Chill Out, Dude.’

“If I’m being honest?” she trailed off, her buzz making the stars brighter and more mesmerizing than they were before.“Even if I did forgive him, I wouldn’t wanna get back together with him. Not a chance.”

Billy took that as a good sign for himself. He swiped away her blunt from between her fingers for another hit. Maeven didn’t even flinch, too high and too talkative to notice; in her own little world.

“He’s a bit of a douche, anyway. Even if he has changed, you shouldn’t waste your time on him.”

“Don’t get me wrong. I had a good time with him and he, uhmm. . .he taught me a lot. But he’s just. . .not my person.”

All Maeven wanted was to not feel terrible every time she saw him again. Maybe they could even go back to being friends again. Was that really too much to ask?

“Well. . .you’re a pretty interesting person, Iron Maeven. I’m sure you’ll find someone good enough for you.”

“My aunt Maggie said being interesting is all you really need in life.”

Billy always wondered if she was just so self-centered that she liked to hear the sound of her own voice. But watching how she froze up in embarrassment once she realized she was rambling about her name gave Billy a new perspective. Maeven Mayfield had so much going on in her head. She had no choice but to talk until it was no longer crowded in there.

“She’s not wrong,” he laughed along with her as her high was clearly starting to grow to its peak. Billy had to admit that the way she giggled was downright adorable. Seeing the infamous Iron Maeven zone out from her joint was a sight he never thought he’d see, much less enjoy. In all honesty, all the things he found annoying about her suddenly turned adorable.

There was something about Maeven’s voice that suddenly made him want to keep on listening to her ramble. He suddenly realized that her voice sounded so much better when she was high. Melodic and Beautiful.

“When you do find the right person, make sure to hold them real tight and never let them go. You got that?” He was surprised he held her attention for this long with her being so easily distracted. It felt almost like he had hypnotized her or something. Or maybe she was the one who hypnotized him.

Billy became absolutely obsessed with the way she was looking at him, unsure if it was from the high or something else. He had completely forgotten all about the stars at that moment. Maybe she was some sort of mythical creature after all. He was almost mesmerized by it. He hadn’t ever been this distracted by someone before. “Okay. I promise.”

. . .

By the time the sisters had finished unpacking all of Maeven’s books, the sun was now setting over the western horizon. The girls stretched as they stepped out of her room and made their way to the bathroom to brush their teeth.

“Thanks for helping me unpack Squirt,” Maeven said after spitting out her toothpaste and rinsing her mouth. “We can start yours tomorrow,” she promised, patting Max on her head. As she yawned and rubbed her eyes walking out of the bathroom, her little sister pulled her arm to stop her.

“By the way, here’s your night light,” she said, handing her big sister a bundled-up bath towel. “It was in the trash in the bathroom.”

Maeven took the towel from Max, unwrapping it to find her beloved token from her childhood now shattered to bits. It was in the shape of the sun surrounded by a couple of clouds. Susan and Neil made it together when they first found out they were pregnant with Maeven.

“What?” she asked allowed. It didn’t make any sense. Even if she was sleepwalking, why would she throw it away?

“That’s where I found it,” Max clarified, just as confused as her sister. “Did you sleepwalk again last night?” she asked.

Maeven debated on lying, but that wouldn’t help anything. Max would eventually find out, anyway, if she did.

“Yeah. I blacked out,” she softly admitted, trying to hold back her tears. 

Max said nothing back, only walking forward to wrap her sister in a hug. No words were needed to describe how either of them felt about the situation.

“G’Night, Sis.”

“Goodnight, Max.”

As she watched her little sister turn the corner of the hallway to her room, Maeven’s smile dropped before she walked back into her room and shut the door behind her. She collapsed backward onto her bed with a bounce and stared blankly up at the ceiling as her heartbeat quickened.

“Fuck,” she breathed out, shaky and laced with panic. 

Maeven silently cursed herself for leaving Nutmeg behind so easily. Whenever she felt herself panicking at home, she would immediately come sprinting over from whatever room she was in to crawl into her lap. She’d often stand on her hind legs and lean herself into her person’s chest. The sense of deep pressure she applied usually calmed her down. She was their kitty, both to Maeven and Max. Every night as they went to bed, Nutmeg would curl up on top of the blankets with either of the sisters.

Max was insistent that she was safer with Dad in California. The incident where Billy nearly caused a fire after he burnt a stray cat’s corpse played a big factor in that decision. Maeven didn’t blame her in the least. She would be lying if she said witnessing Billy showing no remorse as he set the decaying dead body aflame didn’t put her on edge. Most importantly, Nutmeg would be safe from her.

“You can’t be trusted with another life, anyway. You should call that woman from the store and tell her you’re too insane to watch her son.”

Maeven abruptly sat up, her legs shaking as her toes curled in a rapid wave of spine-chilling, fear-fueled pain. She pressed the heel of her palms against her ears in an attempt to drown out how loud the world became all of a sudden. Her sharp nails sat atop her head and pulled at the roots of her hair, threatening to dig them into her scalp as they pulsed with a terrifying bloodlust to tear into her flesh; maybe if she could do it, she could finally stop overthinking.

“Please. . .don’t ruin this for me,” she begged the dark voice.

“I don’t need to. You’ll ruin it all by yourself,” it laughed at her.

Maeven slapped her own cheek to silence it, even if just for a minute. As she found her bearings and looked around her room, her eye caught the now-shattered night light atop her desk. She could faintly identify splatters of dried blood; an explanation for her bandaged palm.

“Billy was right. You did throw it away,” the voice said as it returned to her side.

“Yeah. . .I guess I did,” Maeven still hesitated, even if the evidence was right in front of her face. It was so hard to look at it. She thought she was getting better. Billy wasn’t lying. He wouldn’t do that. She really did black out and sleepwalk last night. And that only meant one thing; she was getting bad again.

“Too bad it’s broken. Just like you.”

“No, I’m not,” she shook her head, reaching for her water bottle on her table and gulping down half of the sugary strawberry-flavored water that Billy mixed for her. It had more to do with the act somehow calming her anxiety than it did with being thirsty.

“Yeah. . .you just keep telling yourself that.”

Maeven groaned in annoyance as she flopped down aggressively onto her bed. Underneath the soft glow of the Indiana sun, she curiously examined her own hands the way a newborn would. As she fiddled around, running her fingers over the calluses and scratches and weaving her digits together, she didn’t feel like a person at that moment. She sinks down into her mattress as she starts feeling numb. It was as if nothing else existed outside her room painted in the soft glow of the sun.

Maeven eyed her nails, growing just barely past her fingertips. She liked to file them down to make them pointed and sharp, like an animal’s claws. It was another one of those little things that helped her feel safer. She also made sure never to let them grow too long, lest she end up hurting herself when rubbing out an orgasm. The other downside was when she would clench her fists in frustration or anxiety, they would literally cut into the palms of her hands. Having people ask why she was wearing bandages on her palms was an incredibly awkward conversation.

She liked to imagine what it would be like to use claws. She often pictured herself using her sharp nails to cut into herself; to reach deep inside her body, turn herself inside out, and become something else. Something better. It didn’t matter what she would find in there. All that mattered to Maeven was that she was no longer herself, and life would suddenly be so much easier. She wouldn’t mind being a monster, even; anything to be relieved from the pain she endured from just existing, from being human.

This feeling wasn’t new. It started in childhood and only grew the more she ignored it. And this feeling only grew in the last nine months. She wouldn’t admit this to herself, but it made her feel good. The foreboding need to brutally destroy those who hurt her made the pain disappear, even if only for a moment. At the same time, she was scared; she was terrified of losing her mind even further than she already did, and what exactly that meant for her in the not-so-distant future.

As Maeven’s breath started to quicken, she could feel her body getting warmer; it began as a soft flame below her belly, slowly heating up her body so deliciously. It made her squeeze her thighs together for relief, as she curled up on her side and began rolling her hips. The warmth manifested from her womb and spread like wildfire blissfully throughout her torso and limbs. 

On instinct, as if her body was being controlled, Maeven crawled underneath her covers in a blissful haze. Peaking her head out to feel the chilling breeze from the open window, she grabbed her extra pillow from the other side of the bed and shoved it in between her legs as she squeezed it with her plush thighs. The way the skin of her inner legs stuck and touched together always bothered her, but she couldn’t properly say why.

It was a weird occurrence, as she felt as relaxed and dazed whenever she smoked a joint before bed. But she hadn’t even gotten the chance to do it, yet. Maybe she was just tired. That was it. Between checking out her new school, meeting some of her new classmates, having to check in with the Chief of Police, and being berated by her mom at the store, Maeven had a busy day. Then again, if her body was winding down naturally without the extra assistance of drugs, recreational or otherwise, who was she to complain? 

She closed her eyes and willed her brain to sleep, afraid her busy mind would blink it way if she didn’t. After a few moments of fidgeting as she curled up like an animal underneath the oasis of comfort and warmth of her blankets, Maeven’s mind finally allowed her body to lose all feeling and sink deeper into her mattress without a care in the world; slowly, and then all at once. Everything was warm and quiet for her first few minutes of rest, the dark nothingness cradling her in it’s embrace. More often than she’d like to admit, she found herself never wanting to wake up. It was just something to add to the list of things to tell the school counselor. Said list was locked away in her head, and seemed to get longer and longer each day.

“Go on. Do it. You deserve it,” the voice came up from behind her, now turning sultry and inviting. Maeven felt a familiar pulse of arousal between her legs as her cheeks tinted red.

“Mmm-hmm. . .” she whined, subconsciously burying her face into the sheets as she rolled her body to lay on her stomach with her hips elevated by the extra pillow between her legs. She preferred having Oscar the Otter, her favorite toy to “play” with, as opposed to a pillow. But Oscar was still in a box and Maeven's body was so comfortably numb. The pillow would have to do for the night.

“That’s right. Get into your favorite position, you little nympho,” it continued to encourage her.

The feeling of the blankets on Maeven’s bare, sensitive flesh imitated the feeling of a warm hug from behind her from what she could only describe as a monster. It was something she could never tell if it was really there or not; another frustrating side effect of her damaged psyche. But this was one of the only times she welcomed the voice with open arms. 

It wasn’t scary during the intimate moments she shared with herself in the dark of her room. It became seductive and comforting; something that she never really understood, but always relied on at the end of a long, hard day. And when she was asleep, she found that having orgasms came to her easier.  Her record was having five different orgasms throughout the night wash over her with little to no effort.

“So. . .that guy you and Billy met, today? Steve?” the voice reminded Maeven, who felt its looming, heavy presence press its weight against her back.

“Yes?” she suddenly gasped

“He was pretty cute, right?” it purred in her ear, “Tall. I bet he has soft hands. The guy looks like he takes care of himself.”

Steve reminded Maeven of Jordan Bernard before he turned on her; sassy and confident, while also somehow being awkward and shy depending on the day. She noticed the two boys even shared the same eye color. Her hips began slowly grinding against her pillow.

“He was asking you all kinds of questions. He’s totally into you,” the voice teased her, but Maeven wasn’t so easily persuaded tonight. Nancy was also very pretty. Too pretty not to notice. She didn’t have bags under her eyes or bite her lips to the point of bleeding. A girl like Nancy was perfect for a guy like Steve, unlike Maeven.

“It doesn’t matter. He has a girlfriend. And even if he didn’t, he still wouldn’t fuck me,” she said, verbally fighting off the beast’s words before it spoke again.

“You don’t know that,” it argued, not willing to drop it and determined to get Maeven warmer and wetter. “He probably would if you gave him the chance.”

Maeven would be lying if she said she hadn’t been thinking about Steve roughly taking her against the locker-lined halls of Hawkins High School. The beast on her back constantly reminded her for the rest of the tour.

“Billy would get too jealous,” she ventured a guess. He tended to be possessive, the reason behind all the bites and bruises she accumulated after they started dating.

“Don’t be so sure, Maeven. You two have fucked around with other people before. You like being passed around, don’t you?”

Maeven quivered at the mere idea of being used as a toy, rolling her hips faster against her pillow and adding fuel to the fire soaking beneath the thin cotton of her underwear. There must’ve been something seriously wrong with her to be into having her body used like that, especially after everything she went through. But that didn’t stop her from fantasizing about it.

“Aw. . .fuck. . .” Maeven gasped out as she rolled her hips, the blood rushing down and sending ever-building waves of pleasure to her clit.

“What about that other guy you saw today? The one coming out of detention?”

“The guy who sells drugs behind the school?” Her breathing was heavy now, whining in frustration as she attempted to visualize. It did have a point; that Munson guy, she thinks that’s right, was pretty fucking gorgeous. Anyone who would dare to say otherwise was dead wrong.

“Yeah. That guy’s definitely into some kinky shit. He had a pair of handcuffs for a belt.”

“He’s a metalhead. It’s part of the fashion.”

“Maybe. But did you see that black bandana in his pocket?”

“Either way, I think he’d definitely be into tying you up,” The beast laughed wickedly, seductively, bringing her deeper into her fantasy and sending her body on autopilot as her brain continued to drift. Again, this was something she absolutely shouldn’t get drenched from. She was disgusted with herself that her mind and body ached for the things she should be afraid of. Nevertheless, she leaned into it; she always did.

“Oh, God, fuck. That’s it. . .that’s it,” she whined out, finally able to paint the perfect picture in her head as she continued shamelessly grinding her clit against her pillow.

“I bet if you let him hit you raw, he’d give you free weed.”

. . .

!*!*!

It had been about an hour since Billy had refilled Maeven’s water bottle. And if he planned the timing and the dosage correctly, which he always did, she should be under her covers humping a pillow or a stuffed animal by now. He wouldn’t dare make the same mistake twice. To be fair, he didn’t think he’d still be doing this almost a year after he first thought of it. Now, it had just become a part of his normal routine. 

Of course, it was no secret that Maeven Mayfield was a horny little spazz. Hell, Billy was living evidence of that; they both wore the bruises and love bites to prove it. But if he thought she was spastic without these drugs mixed into her drinks, he was in for the ride of his life. And this wasn’t just for his benefit. It was for Maeven’s, too.

Maeven didn’t always know what was best for her. As much as she loved making precise plans and carefully following lists of steps, she was equally impulsive and stubborn. In the months following what happened to her last New Year’s, it was like she was a completely different person; angry, self-loathing, irrational. And Billy knew he was partially to blame for that. He over-indulged and enabled her during those months. 

It was fun at first. He thought taking her out to parties and encouraging her reckless behavior helped her grieve what she lost that night. He now knew that if he enabled her any further, it would most likely end in her death. Billy was just glad he was able to stop her and that she got the proper professional help she needed before it was too late.

Who knows? Maybe if he had measured the dose correctly that night, none of this would have happened. Billy wouldn’t have had to put her back together again. He wouldn’t have to slip drugs into her water multiple times a week just to keep her calm. She wouldn’t be a shell of her former self. They would still be in California. Maeven would still be on the honor roll and not expelled. She wouldn’t have to repeat her Junior Year. 

Would his dad and her mom still have gotten married? Maybe if those guys hadn’t been so rough with her, Jordan would still be alive. Maeven wouldn’t have to live with the extreme guilt he knew haunted her every day. She wouldn’t be crippled by the pain of her injuries. But none of that mattered now, anyway. At least one silver lining came out of that horrible night; it brought Billy and Maeven together again, and closer than they had ever been.

As he approached her bedroom, he could already hear her hushed gasps for air and needy whines. Silently pushing the door open, Billy palmed himself through his sweatpants in anticipation. Just as he had planned, Maeven was already under her comforter, blissfully unaware of her surroundings as she ground her hips against her extra pillow. He loved it when he was right.

. . .

In her mind’s eye, Maeven was back in Hawkins High School, being carried like a freshly hunted animal. Steve was holding her wrists so tightly in his grasp that they hurt. Munson held her ankles together as they both carried her down the hallway. Maeven twisted and struggled her body in protest with all the strength she could gather from within, but their hold never loosened. Walking backward, Steve opened the lever handle on the door to the Janitor’s closet with his elbow. Once they were all inside, the boys let the door slam shut. They were planning on letting it stay that way for a while.

Steve was now holding Maeven’s wrists together with just one hand, sliding the other down her body to grope at her breasts through her sweater. She liked to imagine that Steve had strong hands like Billy’s, but possibly had softer palms than him. Nothing about Steve Harrington was threatening. He was definitely intimidating in terms of his size and muscle mass, but his eyes held a sense of vulnerability and tenderness. He’d never touch a girl in anger, unlike others. She could tell.

“What do you think she’s hiding underneath all those layers, Harrington?” Munson laughed, tugging at Maeven’s long skirt as he continued holding her ankles together.

“Only one way to find out,” Steve slyly replied, pointing to the set of handcuffs weaved through the metalhead’s belt loops. “Gimme those.”

Munson didn’t need to be told twice, immediately dropping Maeven’s ankles and hastily removing his makeshift belt. Seeing an opportunity to fight back, she started clumsily kicking into the air as she tried to catch her balance. Steve then forced her down on her knees onto the cold floor, sending a sharp pain through her legs. He firmly, yet gently, trapped her in his arms, pinning hers to the sides of her torso and not giving her a chance to struggle.

Once Munson successfully removed the cuffs, he playfully swung them around in a circular motion, signaling Steve to bring Maeven over. Her continuing struggle did nothing to draw the boys off course; they were on a mission and nothing could get in their way. Steve picked her up like she weighed nothing, forcing his arms underneath hers to raise them up high. Once they were able to cuff one wrist, Munson through the other end up, looping it over a large pipe above them before cuffing her other wrist.

The cold metal bit at Maeven’s skin, forcing her up so that the tips of her boots were just barely touching the floor. Her raised arms made her sweater ride up her stomach and left her freckle-kissed hips and navel bare to them; a sneak peek of what they were in for. Maeven grunted as she dangled from the ceiling, unable to regain her footing as her face flushed an even darker shade of red if that was even possible. The best she could do to fight this was clench her thighs together.

“There we go. All bound up the way you belong,” Billy’s sultry voice echoed throughout the closet as he emerged from the shadows, sending a shiver down her spine.

. . .

After over a year of knowing someone up close and personally, you tend to pick up on a few things. You start to notice the little things in their behavior that make them who they are. If you pay close enough attention, you notice the physical changes in their body when their mood changes. Whenever Maeven became anxious, her shoulders would tense up as she crossed her arms to hug herself. She would curl into herself and keep her head held low instead of tall and proud the way she used to; these mannerisms had become more common since she was released from that treatment center, to be fair.

Seeing these little changes in her demeanor throughout the day, Billy knew Maeven could benefit from an orgasm or two after a long hard, day; and he wouldn’t mind taking at least one for himself. She had practically been begging for him all day with the way she moved her body as she walked. And she also should’ve known by now that he couldn’t exactly control himself whenever a girl wore fishnets.

Time and time again, she kept proving him to be correct. The drugs Billy slipped into her water bottle may have. . .enhanced Maeven’s libido, but it simply revealed to him what he already knew she kept hidden inside. These days, she was anxious all the time; shaking like a leaf at the smallest things. He was helping her; that’s what he told himself. Eventually, he believed it without question.

Stepping inside Maeven’s bedroom, he shut the door slowly to not wake up Susan or Neil. Leaning his hand on the surface of her desk, he quickly pulled it back at the sharpness piercing his palm. Looking down, Billy recognized the remnants of what he threw away last night; Maeven’s nightlight. It didn’t stay that way, obviously. Damn Maxine. She was too old to still have something like that, anyway. Besides, she didn’t deserve it after defying him last night; those cuts he gave her weren’t enough. He’d deal with it later. This wasn’t what he came for.

Focusing his attention back to the task at hand, Billy tiptoed to Maeven’s bed, spreading his weight out to make sure it wouldn’t creak too loudly. Eyeing her figure under the covers up and down, he gently tugged the comforter to reveal her bare flesh, hot to the touch from her arousal and constant movement. She squeezed the pillow tightly between her legs as she continued to roll her hips, already soaking down the pillowcase and dripping onto the sheets.

Maeven was still in her lucid state, unaware of what was happening in the world outside her dreams. Billy always wondered what sort of dreams she had when she was on the aphrodisiacs. Then again, it didn’t matter. As long as he could take what he needed from her and she was lubed up and submissive enough, he didn’t care what went on in there. Still, Billy wanted to pick her brain; dissect her beautiful, crazed mind, and discover her deepest secrets like an archeologist unearthing a treasure. And each time he slipped another dosage into her water bottle, he came closer and closer to the whole truth.

Positioning himself behind her and pulling her waist into his lap, Billy picked up the pace and guided Maeven to rub her soaking heat away from her wrinkled pillow and against his clothed cock, tenderly massaging her ass. She let out a hushed gasp at the soft sensation of her pillow being replaced with something harder.

. . .

Back inside her head, Maeven shivered in suspense as the boys tore her long skirt off her waist. She stumbled in place as she squeezed her net-covered legs together. Steve came up behind her, one hand squeezing her ass while the other softly danced its fingers along her thigh, attempting to find her ticklish spot and coax her legs open.

“So, what kind of girl hides her legs all day, but wears fishnets?” he laughed in her ear, delivering a sharp slap to her butt, causing her to shriek and flinch away. But Steve held her in place, continuing his torment on the sensitive flesh below her waist.

Munson walked over, helping Steve try and pry her legs open. Maeven let out weak whimpers of protest, quickly turning into whines of desperation when the metalhead forcefully shoved his hand between her thighs. He laughed at the way she somehow got even more hot and bothered by the way he rubbed his ringed fingers against her heatsource covered by the soaked fabric of her panties.

“I knew I saw these, earlier,” he smirked, snapping the fishnet stocking against her thigh before fishing a pocket knife from behind his back.“She’s just a little freak, isn’t she?”

Maeven eyes widened in fear at the sight of the knife, her blood racing as she tried to wriggle from their grasp. Steve shoved his fingers inside her mouth before any more cries could escape.

“You have no idea, Munson,” Billy practically cackled, walking closer to help the boys keep her legs steady as he pulled at the waistband of her black panties before letting it snap.

“C’mon, let’s get these off her. You don’t need them, anyway. Do you, Maeven?” he asked, grabbing her by her cheeks and forcing her to look straight at him.

Swallowing her pride to keep herself safe, Maeven agreed, shaking her head. From the look at that knife, she had no choice. At least she put up a good fight until the end. It was only when she agreed did Steve take away his fingers, causing her to choke and gasp for air as she prepared herself for what was to come.

Munson’s one hand kept her legs steady as he dragged the cold metal across her skin, the mixture of fear and arousal growing as he brought it closer to her heat. He continued to leave her in anticipation, letting her guess when and where he would cut before carefully slicing the net atop her panties. Her heart was beating so fast she felt like it would burst out of her chest as the evidence of her lust dripped onto the blade. This was so wrong. So why did it feel so hot?

Tired of the teasing, Munson slid the knife beneath the drenched fabric, carefully pressing the metal against her wet lips which made her whine and shiver before cutting through the cloth of the crotch and accidentally knicking her thigh.

“Be a good girl and spread your legs, dollface,” Billy purred in her ear, tearing her stockings from her legs with no effort. “I told them what a cute little cunt you have. You don’t wanna disappoint them, do you? So. . .are you gonna be a good girl for us?”

. . .

“Ahhh, fuck, yeah. . .just like that,” Billy moaned out, grabbing Maeven’s hips tighter as she matched his pace on her own. He bit his lip to keep his volume down as his cock twitched beneath his thin sweatpants, reacting to her needy pussy already soaking through her panties.

Whatever was happening in Maeven’s dream must’ve been hot, because the way she was writhing against Billy made him wonder if he was the one dreaming. It didn’t matter how many times they had fucked beforehand; every new time was better than the last. Her body always left him crawling back and wanting her again and again. 

There were many good things about this girl, but Billy still couldn’t figure out what it was. Maybe she really was a witch who lured guys to her bed, and he was just really lucky that she decided he was worth keeping. Even when she called it off, she didn’t mean it. He knew that she didn’t. Did she? His memory was fuzzy. Regardless, Billy got what he wanted, what he craved, needed; Maeven by his side. Maeven Mayfield was much more addictive than any cigarette, drink or drug Billy Hargrove could ever find and he never wanted to sober up.

Tired of teasing both her and himself, he roughly tugged her hips to meet his, always mesmerized how her needy little pussy swallowed his fingers. She now lay flat on her mattress, her back arched as she buried her face in the pillow she was previously writhing against, too powerless to stop his love-drunk-disguised assault.

. . .

Maeven said nothing as Billy held her face tightly in his hand, the adrenaline in her body and the intense anticipation causing her eyes to water. She silently nodded with a look in her eyes that told Billy, “I’ll be Good.”

Steve wasted no time using his now saliva-soaked fingers to test the waters, experimentally massaging the lips of her pussy perfectly framed by soft ginger fuzz. Maeven imagined that he’d take his time warming up a girl, passionate and gentle like he was; taking his time to learn about his partner’s body instead of just diving head-first into the deep end like other guys.

“Nancy’s one lucky girl. . .” Maeven’s inner voice echoing inside her head.

“Holy. . .shit. . .” Steve quietly exclaimed, pleasantly surprised that she did his job for him. She didn’t need any warming up

Munson roughly nudged Harrington to the sidelines like an excited kid cutting the line to get the first pick of the candy bowl on Halloween, aggressively spreading Maeven’s legs. He hooked her left one back to wrap around his hips. She was definitely more flexible than she appeared. Munson snaked his hand around her and cruelly trailed from her navel down to her pelvis, eager to finally discover her nooks and crannies.

“What the fuck? She’s already soaking wet!” he laughed in disbelief.

Maeven shrieked again at the contrast from the cold metal of his rings against her painfully desperate pussy. She could see Munson being a generous lover; something about his abundant amount of energy allowed her to picture him reducing a girl, or maybe another guy, to tears with his aggressive tongue and hands.

“Yeah, that’s the thing about little Maeven, here; she’s always turned on,” Billy growled in her ear, watching eagerly as the bound girl’s whines and moans became more frequent. He could watch her fall apart forever. Munson kept relentlessly thrusting his fingers in and out of Maeven’s aching heat-source as he teased her clit with his other hand. 

“Always waiting for her pussy to be filled like the greedy little whore she is,” Billy finished.

. . .

Maeven could feel herself getting closer and closer to the edge of ecstasy when her heart suddenly dropped into her stomach. The mystery presence she usually seeked comfort in had twisted into something sinister that aggressively trapped her body in it’s invisible grip, crushing her underneath it’s weight. It felt so familiar, but also so. . .foreign. 

This wasn’t right.

What was this feeling? Why did Maeven recognize it? What was happening to her body? Why couldn’t she stop herself? Why couldn’t she move anymore?

The heavy breathing and moans against the back of her neck accompanied with the hot weight on top of her was enough to bring her somewhat out of her haze. If it were possible for her heart to drop any deeper, it would’ve, because she knew that musky scent.

“Billy?” she gasped out, her heart immediately starting to race so fast it hurt.

“Shhh, babydoll. ‘Gotta be quiet, remember?” He said it as if it was the most casual situation in the world. What the hell was happening?

“What’re you doing. . .aah!” Maeven choked on a silent scream as Billy wrapped his bicep around her neck to shut her up, cutting off both her voice and her air before he slipped his fingers inside her quivering cunt.

“Just be still and keep your mouth, Maeven. Be a good girl and let me take care of you,” he whispered, biting her earlobe following his last words as he removed his bicep from around her throat and kneeled straight up. Once Maeven briefly celebrated with a long inhale of air, she then involuntarily clenched her pussy around Billy’s thick fingers as he violently massaged her moist walls and prepared her for what would come next. Drawing them from her core, he delivered a sharp slap against her aching pussy before lining himself up.

Why couldn’t she move? Why was she so wet? Had it really come down to this; her own body betraying her?

Her mind became even more fuzzy from the lack of air, the veil between the fantasy inside her head and the world outside it where she was supposed to be sleeping had blended until she couldn’t tell which was which, anymore. And when something so passionately aggressive was shoved deep inside her without warning, Maeven couldn’t even comprehend the difference between unbearable pain and mind-numbing pleasure. She had cried from both before, but the tears falling from her now was something entirely new, and she didn’t like it.

“Fuuuuck, you feel so good. . .” Billy shamelessly moaned out, ramming all of himself into Maeven, from the tip to the base in one thrust. Pressing his chest against her back as her buried his face in her hair and inhaled her scent like his life depended on it, Billy’s sharp thrusts continued. He never wanted to let her go. He couldn’t let her leave him like his Mother did. Maeven was the only ray of light he had left.

“Billy, please wait,” she sobbed out, finally regaining control of her limbs as she attempted to fight her way out from under him. “Let’s just-”

“Shh, we’re just having a little fun. That’s all. We’ll go nice and slow, okay?” he promised, his thrusts then turning harder and quicker as he succumbed to how heavenly Maeven felt around him.

“You don’t want me to reopen that cut, do you, dollface?” Billy took his bicep off from around her throat and trailed his fingers down beneath her to pinch her swollen clit. His other hand traced along the bandaged cuts along her arms and chest; his fresh handiwork from the night before. 

The sudden harsh rubs on her clit forced Maeven’s back to arch, giving Billy the perfect opportunity to grab her hair. She stopped breathing and her world stood still as she realized how close he was bringing her to the edge. Maeven panicked. She didn’t want to cum. Not like this, at least. It was fine when it was only her and the vivid scenes she around played with in her head. But she didn’t ask for this. Billy’s pace picked up and Maeven could tell he was close by the way he was growling; desperately hungry for release. 

Images of the night her life was ruined then intruded her mind; the party and the woods, and what they did to her. How betrayed she felt. How much the knife carving into her flesh hurt. The knife in her hands and how monstrous and free it made her feel. Her blood-drenched, naked body shining underneath the glow of the winter moon.

Maeven squeezed her eyes shut and tried to will all these bad feelings away, attempting to ground herself by focusing on how nice the cold autumn wind felt in contrast to how heated her cheeks were. She wanted to go back to that fantasy. She was safe in there, so that’s where she went.

Billy chuckled to himself as Maeven drifted away once again, knowing that by the next morning, she wouldn’t remember a thing.

. . .

Stay Wild and Safe, my dears!

A/N: ♫♫ I'm sorry I was gone, but look, I made you some content!♫♫

♫ Mommy made you your favorite! Open Wide!♫

♫♫ Here comes the content!♫♫

♫It's a beautiful day to stay inside!♫

Also, Happy Birthday to Me!! I turned 23 on the Solstice! Working my full-time retail job has left me burnt out without any time or energy to create, and my huge family is going through some hardships right now. I'm grateful that I was able to get family leave and it's going to last until February! Hopefully, that'll give me time to rest and put my life together while my family and I heal.

It felt really weird but somehow fitting that I finished this chapter on my last day being 22. Despite the Angst and Heartbreak this held, I really hope you enjoyed this one. I ran into a few roadblocks trying to get it just right. It's my longest one yet. A lot of you wanted some lore dumps and I hope I delivered well. As always, please let me know your thoughts and theories; they really help motivate me.

The Spitifre Curse Taglist:

@yaidothat

Let me know if you’d like to be added to the taglist!

[simpjaes]

OH! AND I FORGOT TO TELL U THAT I ALSO WANT TO START WRITING FF BUT I DON'T REALLY KNOW HOW, CAN I GET SOME TIPS PLS 😭

-🌊

omg i def encourage others to write!! I'll do my best with tips but I've been doing it for so long that honestly it just kinda comes naturally for me at this point, so ill do my best!

first tip: decide on whether you want to be more free in your writing or more controlled. I switch between the two. For instance I'll have an idea and simply write from a single start point and let the writing and story in my head take me where ever, with no outline or guidance outside of a general idea, and I write until im satisfied with a good end point.

if you want to be controlled, I'd suggest writing an outline. it doesn't need to be super detailed, but mine do tend to be...lmaoooo, like for instance frenzy was VERY loosely outlined, and i mean like, i had like 6 sentences as the outline and a bunch of screenshotted texts from oomf, and that's literally it.

then like, this is me being very specific and controlled: lmao, look at this outline of a fic i've been working on for like a year and a half for my other blog:

so in that outline, literally every line you see there has THOUSANDS of tinier outlines for each chapter, day, and scene. i mean the outline itself is 32k words. and all of this was birthed from a single sentence idea in my head.

it really just depends on how much effort you want to put into writing. no one sees behind the scenes of it, so how you go about planning and progress is up to you and no one can judge you for it (ill kick them in the neck if they got shit to say)

man, this probably isn't making sense. this is probably why im so bad at training people in workplaces lol

anyway

second tip: do NOT worry about word count. Some of us are picky, me included, meaning i don't usually give a fic the time of day if it's under a certain word count unless under certain circumstances. this does not mean the fics i won't read are bad, it's just preference. but you need to be prepared to face the fact that some people will love your fic, and some will scroll right past it.

third tip: make banners and visuals. format your post so it is easy for your readers to find the information they need before reading it. such as warnings etc. this is also to gain interest, specifically so people can choose whether to read it or scroll away. (my marketing background comes into play help)

fourth tip: write a small description of the whole fic before you even write it. like try to sum all of it up in a way that anyone can understand, and alter it or rewrite it once you finish if you need to change it based on how the story actually came out. I find this super helpful to stay on track and to also get a really good starting point. this is why i always have spoilers or a small preview of my wips. even if they are changed by the time i post them.

fifth tip: don't stress. some of the best advice i ever got is to write like only you will read it, and post it like you'll get no notes or feedback at all. this is where passion drives you as a writer, and you become able to write whatever the fuck you want and don't panic at the fact that other people may not like it, or may have some shit to say. more often than not, people will read it. you need to have fun with it, it's not a job, it's a hobby.

we are writing for free, so do NOT cater to people who don't know you. you don't owe them any part of yourself or your growth as a writer, it is a privilege for them to read something you write, not the other way around :)

and LASTLY, don't steal ideas. if you are inspired by someone else, ask them, credit them. this includes writing fics based on someone else's hard thots, and even writing fics based on whore convos you might have with friends. always ask if the idea comes from someone else, especially if you have easy access to them.

[asimplearchivist]

I feel like I'm offering excuses hand over hand regarding the lack of updates for my WIPs, and I admit that I've been a bit lazy lately since I've been replaying DAI, but something happened this weekend that might keep me from being able to write for a while. I'll probably still be active as far as responses/asks/rbs go, I've just been struggling creatively anyway and then circumstances like this always complicate matters even more. I hope to have something done by the time I go back to uni at the end of August, but I may be busy, idk yet.

(C/TW below the cut: pet/animal death, vague description of injuries bc I won't put y'all through the gruesome details, etc. I don't expect anyone to read this if it's upsetting or brings up bad memories; please don't distress yourself for my sake.)

I lost my cat, my baby, of nineteen years Friday evening due to unfortunate and rather terrible circumstances. It was gruesome, but we were able to get her help as soon as we could. Her injuries (from large dogs that have been roaming the neighborhood recently, because apparently their owners don't care about the havoc they wreak on all the rabbits that live around us; but it's hard to tell when they'll be out and about, and my cat has been indoor/outdoor all her life, plus we're mostly isolated, so it was just terrible timing) were extensive enough that there was little hope she would make it through surgery. I made the decision to have her euthanized so she wouldn't suffer, and I held her through it so she wouldn't be alone.

I'm not hunting sympathy, and I'm not really looking to discuss it privately as I am still coming to terms between acknowledging that, logically, I handled it as best as I could given the time-intensiveness of the situation while struggling with normal guilt and self-doubt. Well wishes are welcome, of course, I don't mean to sound standoffish in any way - I'd simply prefer not to dwell on it nor languish in reliving the details, if that's all right.

She lived a very long, very spoiled life, and even the nurses were offering some comfort in saying that she was in remarkably good shape to be that old. I had her since I was about four, and while I wish I could have done and handled some things differently, I know that she was getting feeble anyway. I noticed the other day that she was looking abnormally thin, and I've been preparing myself for this for the last couple of years because she gave us a couple of scares recently. While the circumstances were not ideal by any means, and perhaps this sounds horrible, but to have the option sort of taken from me makes it the tiniest bit easier. I had prayed for that very thing because I didn't think I could handle making a decision regarding an illness or something of the like bc you never really know if it's the right thing to do. I just would've preferred she'd gone asleep.

This ended up way longer than I intended, I apologize. She was the best cat I could've ever asked for. She was sassy and smartassy and ran our house her whole life. She would come to me at night when she'd hear me crying and lick my face to distract me. She let me baby her and carry her around and she was so very sweet. She slept with me many long nights and kept me warm. I'll miss her more than I could possibly put into words, as she meant so much to me.

(I worry this will spark a debate about the 'ethics' of having outdoor cats but we live in a mostly rural almost country area, and we've never had very many problems with dogs before so this was all very unexpected. She always stayed close to the house. But I suppose it doesn't matter now. We're keeping our new baby inside on lockdown until the dogs can be dealt with. She isn't happy about it, but she's tolerating my clinginess better than she did before, since she's not super touchy-feely. I think she knows I'm needing a little comfort.)

I digress. If anyone reads this, I appreciate it. It isn't easy. I would never wish this upon anyone. She was my best friend and companion and comforter for many years, and I'm just glad I was able to be there with her when she went. I hope she knew how much I loved her.

[dana-chan-the-control-brain]

When thinking of your trademark in your writing, I think it is the way you go into details and paint a picture for the mind's eye. The way you balance descriptive imaginations and realistic detailing is just very captivating.

Your art has a funky loose feel to the lining that just feels fitting to the enigma that is your brain, too full to truly poor it all out onto the paper no matter how hard you try. But boi do we love the attempts that give us any slightest peek into that brilliant mind of yours.

You clearly don't draw or write without thinking it over thoroughly.

Bwaaaaaaaa

Thank u! that's super sweet of you to say.

I do tend to overthink a lot of things.

I'm not very good at making like... Outlines or roughs of poses. I very rarely make base outlines, like I usually just start drawing and the rough sketch becomes the final lineart. So I often rely super heavily on references when I draw. For some reason over my 28 plus years of drawing, I never really gotten a grasp on how the torso, legs and fingers all really connect and form one entity. I know I could try with enough discipline and practice, as art is a skill. So I have this weird blend of like... Super confident lines, but not knowing how a torso, shoulders and legs connect which make a really interesting balance, and leads to things like this:

Like I can always see the framework of what I want, especially when little reference is used, but it really seems like nothing connects. Like the understanding of SHAPES is there, but not the understanding of how they are coherent together, if that makes sense? And you can kinda see that in my more high profile art, but I feel there was a period where It did click and I understood how it all connected but I forgot it all.

Like at some point, with these two, (rest in peace. the ship tag has not been updated since I left the naruto fandom) around 2019 I was getting it! Like I felt I was really getting it, Like I MADE THESE!!!! but then I kinda forgot it all. Like I still didn't use a base outline for these and did rely on heavy references, but I feel I was getting a grasp on shading and autonomy and how the human body works and fits together. And then it... Just kinda vanished from my brain, and I regressed to a more chibi simple art style. Either because it was easier, or because I was experiencing more chronic pain in my back and hand.

At the end of the day, I think my art style regressed a lot due to lack of practice, and lack of encouragement from outside sources besides the internet likes and reblogs like RL friends or Family. That, and I feel my attention span and patience for things has just gotten worse as I've gotten older. I'm guessing my Dad's death had a lot to do with that. As, I am over the loss of my Dad as a person. but mentally, I am not over coming the fact that mortality is very fleeting. You think I would spend most of my time living life to the fullest. But that isn't the case. I kinda feel like I've been stuck in that "What is the point of anything if anyone can die suddenly without warning for any reason" Stage of grief that I have NEVER really got over.

Needless to say my Dad suddenly dying with no warning due to a ruptured aurora was just something everyone was unprepared for. He wasn't sick from an illness, no one knew he was in poor health. It wasn't even a car accident. Like he just suddenly died cus part of his heart exploded essentially.

I mean, I know I rarely talk about it, other then mentioning "My Dad died Eight years ago. Haha I'm over it tho, it was awhile ago"

And, While I think I'm over it in the sense with, I'm at peace with always missing him a little bit, and don't think about him constantly... I'm not over it in the sense of how fragile mortality is and how it can be taken away. For no just cause or reason.

I guess I'm over it, in that I'm over that my Dad, the person is dead. I am NOT over the fact of HOW he died. And I think it'll be a long time till I cross that hurtle.

And yeah, that's a heavy part of life, that we all get old and die one day, but some people don't even get to grow old. you think it would make me more.... "make time with what you have, enjoy what you like."

but if anything, it makes me more fearful in "what is the point of doing anything if I were to die tomorrow, what have I done. Folks will miss me, sure. But I will still be gone." So then I just end up doing nothing for long periods of time, and that's mostly why my art skills suffer because I don't see the point of doing a discipline or working towards any goal whatsoever. And I'm just going through the motions. And yeah, sometimes, I will be super productive and be happy and do a lot of things for a bit, but they're always short lived moments and it's hard to stick to things.

Looool sorry if that's all just too heavy.

Oh, if this sounds too complaining... Or "pity party. Woe is me, Dana is Depressed again" ahahahah. Like, that's not the point of this. I mean, it's my blog and I can talk about my feelings I guess, and I feel that Depression, even before my Dad's death impacted my art journey. So I'm still trying to struggle to remain consistent in my endeavors.

Or I could just be lazy. XD That too. XD

Anyways... Moving on in terms of my writing style, that's very nice of you to say.

I am a deep appreciator of inner monologues if it wasn't obvious. I like to dissect what characters are thinking and I sometimes feel I overdo it, and justify every single action and breath they take by getting so close in their own head that there's hardly any breathing room for error.

But I just write how I tend to think in terms of Overthinking, so I don't think I've ever written a character from a close third person (or first person) perspective that hasn't overthought every action before they speak.

But usually within the context of the story, their inner monologue spanning 20 pages actually takes place in the span of less then a few seconds.

I don't think I could write from Bob's POV if I tried. He's a man of action rather then overthinking. And if I held his hand as a third person narrator, he would sho me off and do his own thing gladly without my interference. XD

Anyways. Didn't mean to get so venty on this ask.

Thank you so much for the lovely compliment. Also some insight into my process I guess. XD

[smiling-stel]

I've got a similar brainwave touching in on more of how Cale seeks respite from his Record ability

Often in the story it doesn't go into long detail of how Cale rests (that i can remember anyway) except for the instances where he's collapsed, fainted, and unconscious due to "the situation" right.

But there was that one (or two?) Rest periods Cale DID choose by his own will and I assume he follows the same habits for other periods of rest that aren't mentioned as well.

(Mild Novel Spoilers, vauge)

Te one description that stuck so adamantly in my mind was this 6 month period after one of the large wars Cale takes the lead in

(I cant even specify if I wanted to, I only remember the description of the resting habit that followed after cause it was one of the few ever described)

◇ But apparently Cale had slept the majority of his days away. For all 6 months. Easing into the habit, it was described he ate less and less until he only ate a single grape each day. He never locked his doors, but he also never left his room. After a while of sleeping in, he eventually ended staying seated to a rocking chair 24/7 if I remember correctly, one by the window in his room at the Henituse Estate. But it got to a point where even the children nor any of his friends or family could - not that they wanted to use force - but they couldn't pull him away to, yknow- be a living* human being again.

*living as in experiencing life, he's alive but just not active

It was as if he was simply a breathing corpse. His health ofc deteriorated a bit, but he wasn't in pain nor was he suffering. Bc he wouldnt continue if he was.

The vitality ancient power that protects his heart keeps him alive so he just Kept. Sleeping.

...

◇ With all the voices in his head from the powers, and all his proactive handling of matters, and even him not being able to turn off Record - always taking in everything and logging it away in his brain without ever meaning to - it's not a wonder his "rest" is practically him choosing to be comatose.

Esp after everything hes gone through and even everything before that (not going into detail, if u know, u know). Really, its hard to blame him on choosing this method. Its the easiest way to get his brain (which is like a super computer constantly running millions of marathons simultaneously) to shut up and rest.

♤ Which is probably also why the others of his party and everyone who cares for him simply let's him become dormant to such an extent. Because at least its not him fainting on the battlefield after using his powers. Because at least he's not rushing himself around to get something done. Because at least he's home. Because at least he's safe.

Personally, I dont believe that there Wasn't originally some reluctance from his loved ones. Its unheard of to WANT to live like a corpse. But maybe after a while of hearing "yea ill join the dinner table in a moment" or "ill get up and stretch in a second" and Cale pulling himself up to do so (because he keeps his word n never says what he doesn't mean) only to return right to his room after, right to the very spot they tried to get him out of? After a while of that, you simply start to find excuses for that behavior. "Because at least he's not straining himself," "Because at least he's not working," "Be. Cause. At Least Hes Resting..."

♤ They most likely only let him become comatose to rest - even tho he already goes unconscious too many times on-field to even keep count - because its better than any alternative they assume Cale will do otherwise. And perhaps it Is a mix of that and pity thats making them hold their concerns.

---

Ahh I've rambled, but man do I love this guy and his story XD

Anyways its as OP mentions:

"[Sitting on his balcony] His feet hanging, his heart quiet and his gaze fixated on nothingness"

He Does do that. Maybe it is on the balcony or a tree and the story doesn't describe it, but his rest IS just blanking out.

♧ Isn't that pitiful? That the only rest Cale can truely ever get is when he's not awake?

♧ But ofc that doesn't bother him one bit. And no one really wants to tell him not to blank out to the extreme Because how can he rest otherwise? (♤)

... how bittersweet imo

What if Cale had a habit of wandering to high balconies or roof tops and just sitting there whenever he was stressed/sad?

See it this way: Kim Rok Soo had the habit of roaming around destroyed buildings and finding a high spot and just sitting there? Perhaps he liked seeing the horizon. Or maybe he wanted to see how far the destroyed area stretched to. Or maybe he thought of it as his responsibility to look out for anyone injured, who may still be looking for help. Either way, it brought him peace, some sort of serenity and quietness.

So anyways, as Cale, after the conflicts with White Star started, his habit involuntarily reappeared. He would frequently go on roof tops, sometimes a tall tree or just sit upon the balustrade of his balcony. His feet hanging, his heart quiet and his gaze fixated on nothingness.

And now imagine someone, maybe Raon or Ron, catching him sitting on the edge of the balcony with a blank face. Then the panic, the chaos, and maybe Cale lost his footing because of the startling shout, and he fell down before balancing himself mid-air thanks to the wind ap.

Now imagine him trying to explain that it was just on a whim, that he has no intentions of hurting himself, but the children keep on sobbing and his family hang their heads down with despairing eyes, and now Cale feels helpless.

And maybe he feels a pang of guilt, because sometimes, just sometimes, he had a fleeting thought, a nonsensical urge to jump off, not to hurt himself, like he hated pain more than anything, and of course, living was the best, but there was the curiosity to see how it would feel, first the amazement, then the numbness, and finally the quietness of his Records.

It's only a thought, he convinced himself. But that didn't stop his habit, the worrying gazes of his family and their watchful eyes on Cale, and the relentless explanations that would follow, with Cale always failing to convince them that he is fine.

[soyouwanttolandthejob]

What to ask at the end of an interviewer, when they ask what questions YOU have?

Professional recruiter here who does anywhere from 15-25 phone screenings for entry-level jobs in a typical week! As someone who talks to a lot of nervous new job seekers, and as someone who was myself a nervous new job seeker not too many years ago, I thought maybe someone, somewhere out here on Tumblr could use this info to help ace an upcoming interview!

First things first, how many questions should you ask?

There really is no magic number, but 2-3 is about what I get on average, and that is generally a very safe non-eyebrow raising number.

Truly, you aren't required to have any questions, but I will say that as an interviewer, when someone doesn't have even one single question, there is a part of me that goes....."ok, so like do you care about this job at all, or....? It can come across like you're not super interested in the job (which you might not be, but your interviewer shouldn't be able to guess that, not if you want the job).

You can ask more questions than 2-3, but if you do, you'll generally want to be mindful that they should be shorter, more yes/no type questions, rather than something that requires a long, in-depth answer. Asking 5+ really in-depth questions means the call is probably running way overtime, which isn't awful, but in a scenario where you're trying to leave a good impression, it's also not ideal.

What not to ask?

Don't ask something that's already clearly spelling out in the job description. There's a hack you can use to get around this that I'll explain in a minute, but basically, the impression you risk giving here is that you didn't read the job description at all (because the idea is that if you had, then you would already know the answer to your question) and this, in turn, it can make an interviewer see you as ill-prepared, scattered, and just not super put-together, which again, just comes down to the overall impression of yourself that you're leaving.

What do you do instead?

If you see something in the job listing or on the company website that is confusing, doesn't make sense, or that you want further info on, ask this instead:

"So I was reading through the job description and I saw XYZ, which I thought sounded really interesting! I was wondering if you could give me an example of what that would look like specifically?"

BAM, this immediately undercuts any potential assumptions that you didn't 'do your homework', while also getting you the info you need.

Is it ok to ask about benefits/salary?

Personally, I never mind if someone asks about the salary, just because it is such an important deciding factor for anybody, but I do know through the grapevine that not every company or even every individual interviewer feels the same, so I would treat this one with a little care and caution, and be aware that some places and people do see it as more taboo.

If you do choose to ask about this, I would recommend making it your last question, and I would also recommend balancing the scales with a few other non-benefit related questions. This helps you come across as a well-rounded person who is thoughtfully considering all the factors, rather than being single-mindedly focused on just money and perks.

Think like, 2-3 company/work related questions and then 1 benefit/pay related question. Again, this isn't an exact formula, but the key is balance, and the goal is to sound like you're interested in everything the job has to offer, not just the salary/perks.

What are safe/"good" questions to ask?

I do think it's important to ask questions about the things that are genuinely important make-it-or-break-it factors for you, as there's no point in wasting your time in continuing in an interview process if you find out that the job isn't going to offer something you need. For example, if you live rurally, don't have a car, and can only work a remote job, make sure to ask about that if it's unclear from the job ad! If it turns out the job can't be made remote, then better to know that now then after you've wasted weeks of your time interviewing.

That said, if you don't have any of these types of questions, and have no idea what to ask, here's some inspiration. Any of these questions are going to be pretty tame and safe, while also netting you some good info that you can use to genuinely determine if you want the job or not.

What does the onboarding process look like? (if you're new to the work force, that's the term most people will use to describe the getting-started/training period)

What sorts of growth opportunities are available within the company? (again, if you're new, growth opportunities are the business-speak way to refer to potential future promotions and advancements)

What size is the team I'd be joining?

If I were to be hired, what's one thing I could do/learn/practice in the time before my start date to get a head-start on training/preparing for this role? (this is maybe my top recommendation - it makes anyone who asks it sound like a huge go-getter and over-achiever, and makes you look GREAT to an interviewer)

How is success measured in this role? OR, What would a successful hire do that might set them apart in their first 6 months in this job?

(Bit of an umbrella category, but) Any follow-up questions about the job responsibilities themselves as listed in the job description. These will vary depending on the job, but things like: About how many phone calls a week does a typical person in this role average? What software platforms does your company use for XXX TASK? How many patients are typically on one person's case-load at a time? Stuff like that.

Why is this role open? (ie, did the previous person who did it quit? Don't ask it like that, haha, but like, that's what this question is trying to get at. Is this a role people get mad and quit from? Or is this a role people get happily promoted up from?)

How long have YOU been working here? What's been your experience working for this company? (I never thought to ask this when I was job hunting, but I actually get asked this all the time now and I never mind answering, and I also genuinely think its a good way to get a bit of an insider view on life at the company in question. Its also generally a good sign if you hear they've been at the company a while - this means this is a place people like to work at, and aren't in a hurry to quit/aren't getting fired from)

That's most of what I can think of off the top of my head, but let me know if there's any aspect of this topic that I didn't cover that you want to hear about, and I can add more!

[kkgore]

So I recently came across a post where someone was asking for advice writing fight scenes and all the advice basically boiled down to "watch a fight scene and describe it" and I just...

If anyone gives you this advice they either a) don't know how to write, b) don't know how to fight or c) both. It is terrible advice. You can watch Samo Hung Vs Donnie Yen in SPL frame by frame, memorising each move exactly, and it will not improve your writing one iota.

When a script calls for a fight scene, the script will say "then they fight." That's it. If you're lucky they will say "they fight through the room into the corridor" or "they use all the props in the room". Other than that the fight will either be worked out and rehearsed by the fight choreographer in pre-vis or (Hong Kong style) it will be worked out on the day by the actors/stunt fighters. This does not mean that the fights are ill thought out or no thought is given to characterisation but that on screen fights are not written the way prose is written. What you will learn is what looks good on screen, not what looks good on the page.

There are videos that will improve your understanding of the logistics of a fight and technical vocabulary. I would particularly recommend Scott Adkins YouTube channel for writers who want to write martial arts scenes. These will explain how each move works, what the body does and how one move flows into another. They will help you choreograph a scene that makes physical and logistical sense and that a fight choreographer could recreate.

And interviews with fight choreographers can also give you insight into how a fight can tell a story. How emphasis on certain moves or the flow of the fight can help tell a story or aid character progression. This too is very useful if you want your fight to serve your story instead of just exist within it.

But what none of these can do is tell you how to craft the prose of a fight. Simply writing the technical steps of a fight, blow by blow, is flat and dull. You would need pages and pages describing each shift of weight and tensing/relaxing of muscle just to describe three exchanges of blows. Regardless of how the flow of the fight serves the themes of your story, the pacing will be horrible and will bog readers down.

If you want to learn how to write good fight scenes then you have to *Read well written fight scenes*. There is no other way around it. A well written fight scene isn't simply legible and logistically sound. It isn't just a description of blow traded with blow that would look super spectacular on screen.

A well written fight scene knows which actions to emphasis and which to gloss over. It knows when to describe the physical and when to describe the mental process. A well written fight scene will weave the landscape into the fight, revealing new aspects as it develops (unlike a film where the landscape is almost always immediately apparent). A well written fight scene gives access to the innermost thoughts and feelings of the characters without disrupting the pacing of the scene. It will sweep you along and leave you gasping for breath when the final blow lands.

This cannot be learned though watching fight scenes, any more than you could learn to ride a bike by watching acrobats unicycle across a tight rope.

If you want to learn to write fight scenes, or any particular type of scene, you have to read examples of it done well. That's it. That's the best advice you're gonna get.

For fight scenes I would particularly recommend the Star Wars Darth Bane series. This short trilogy contains a range of sword, gun and battleship fights, all of which are amongst the most perfect fight scenes I have ever read. I don't care if you hate Star Wars or Disney or whatever. If you want to learn to write fight scenes, that's one of the best places you can start.

Writing is writing. It is not screen writing or play writing. Different things are different and the best way to learn how to do a thing is always to learn from the best examples of that thing.

[alwayssunnyprompts]

Maybe something like Dennis has been throwing up for a while, and he refuses to leave the bathroom. Cue Mac carrying Dennis because he's too weak and sick to walk? Just an idea. :)

Mac unlocks the door to the apartment after what felt like the longest shift of his life. Sure, it’s their bar and he doesn’t really do much actual working, but hours of ocular pat-downs and Charlie and Dee’s schemes are work enough on their own, and it gets tiring sometimes, even on his best days. And the days that he’s the most tired, or overwhelmed, or just wanting to have a quiet evening—those are the days that seem to be the loudest, the most exhausting—because of course they are.

Mac feels his heart leap to his chest as he steps inside, and deep down—or maybe not so deep—he knows why he had a bad day. Dennis had decided to stay home from work, something he did very rarely, aside from the occasional recovery days he took when he had an especially bad episode. Today, though, he’d slept right through his alarm, the first red flag. It caught Mac’s attention, planting a small, evil seed of worry in his chest. When Dennis finally woke up, he didn’t say much, just that he wasn’t feeling well and told Mac to pass along the news that he wouldn’t be coming in, before mumbling a quiet thanks and falling back asleep.

Mac had half a mind to call in, too, but he knew that the gang would misinterpret the situation and probably give them shit for it, so he reluctantly spent his afternoon and evening with anxiety coiled in his chest, awaiting the end of the day so he could go home.

“Den?”

It’s too quiet, he can hear the creaking and groaning of the building’s foundation, the ticking of the clock that Dennis insists they keep in the kitchen. Nothing is out of place, in the living room or the kitchen, so Mac figures Dennis spent the day in bed. Something about the silence is making his ears ring, and he feels the pain in his arm that he knows comes in full force when he starts to panic. He massages his forearm and swallows down the feeling as he sees light spilling from the crack under their bathroom door.

He knocks gently, but it’s enough to cause the unlocked door to swing open slowly. Dennis lying curled up on a towel next to the toilet.

“Shit.” Mac crouches down next to him.

Dennis looks like he’s dying. His hair is plastered to his forehead with sweat, and his face is a sickly grayish-pale. He’s trembling, and damp and Mac can feel the heat radiating off his body. Reaching out, he lays a gentle hand on Dennis’ forehead; he’s burning up. At the contact, Dennis stirs, his eyes bloodshot and glassy as he stares blankly up at Mac.

“Hey, dude,” Mac says softly, his hand still resting against his forehead. “What’s wrong?”

Dennis squeezes his eyes shut and braces his body against a particularly violent shiver, swallows convulsively, clears his throat, his voice raw.

“Sick,” he whispers.

It must be bad if he’s willing to admit it. Still, Mac feels a wave of affection at the ridiculously obvious answer, but it’s there and gone as Dennis shifts under his hand, struggling to get upright as he gags suddenly. Mac snaps into action, lifting Dennis quickly and gently, holds him still as he retches violently into the toilet, a few tears escaping from the corners of his eyes. He raises one hand to stroke Dennis’s back, trying to distract himself from the nausea-inducing noises by comforting him as best he can.

“Let it out, dude. You’re okay,” he says, maybe trying to convince them both. “You’re gonna feel better soon.”

Dennis collapses against him, breathing heavily, not having really brought much up other than stomach acid. Mac reaches up to flush the toilet before continuing to rub Dennis’s back, holding him close. He doesn’t really care about germs when it comes to Dennis; they live in the same house, so they basically share everything. Besides, he’d much rather take care of Dennis than leave him alone when he’s sick.

“Den, have you been this bad all day?”

Dennis’ eyes are shut again, his head listing limply against Mac’s chest. He nods once, briefly.

“Felt like shit this morning,” he croaks. “Been in here for hours. Lost track of time. Tired.”

He definitely looks exhausted, and Mac nods, pulling him closer slowly, trying not to make him feel worse with too much movement. He feels guilty as he thinks about Dennis here alone all day, asleep on the bathroom floor and absolutely miserable. He should have checked in, should have come home earlier. In this rare case, his anxiety would have served them well.

“Why didn’t you ask me to stay home?”

Dennis presses ever so slightly closer to Mac.

“Didn’t you to worry—it’s annoying,” he adds as an afterthought.

“Hmm.” Mac nods slowly.

With Dennis pressed against him, he can really feel the fevered clamminess of his skin, see the dark rings under his eyes.

“Have you been drinking enough water?” He asks, even though he knows the answer. Dennis clears his throat again.

“Can’t walk,” he says. “Too sick…too tired to get to the kitchen.”

“Okay. You know that you need to stay hydrated, though. You’ll feel even sicker if you’re dehydrated. Want me to get you some water?”

“Mac,” his soft whine vibrates against Mac’s shirt. “Don’t go.”

Mac sighs.

“You need to drink, Dennis. Let me help you out of here, then. You can lay on the couch and I’ll take care of you, okay?”

Dennis whimpers, grabs Mac’s shirt.

“Can’t move,” he says. “Legs are weak. Afraid to get sick again.”

“Jesus Christ, I’m not gonna argue with you. You need to drink.”

His heart is drumming a thunderous beat in his chest. Dennis leans against Mac, hides his face and goes lax in his arms, breathing shallow and quick. He’s shaking like a leaf. And Mac is so scared because he’s acting like Dennis when he’s blackout drunk; foggy and weak and half-conscious and whiny. But it feels so much scarier than that, because it shows just how delirious Dennis is, how badly the fever is affecting him.

He speaks softly, “I don’t want to leave you in here alone, so you have to work with me, Den.”

“Can’t.”

With each passing lull in the conversation he gets more frustrated. He needs to get Dennis out of here and closer to the kitchen, closer to water and the couch and fresh air.

“Dennis, we have to move. Can I carry you?”

Through the delirium, Dennis actually manages to scoff. He tries to roll his eyes, but they’re half-lidded and his reaction time is slowed, so it just looks painful.

“Can’t carry me—not strong enough.”

Mac feels hot rage slice through his chest and takes a deep breath, trying to shove it down, because he knows Dennis doesn’t mean it. Even if he does, it’ll be easy to prove him wrong.

“Yeah, we’ll see. I’m gonna lift you now,” he announces, calmly as he can muster.

He positions his arms under Dennis’ knees and behind his back, standing carefully. He feels like nothing in his arms. Before Mac got more bigger, he’d struggled trying to lift Dennis, even though he was small. But now he’s ripped, and Dennis is even skinnier than he was. Mac feels a little sick himself at the thought of Dennis not taking care of himself, all alone Dakota. He can feel his shoulder blade poking against his arm as he holds him close, the loose fabric from his sweater brushing against his hand. Dennis’ arms are slung around Mac’s neck and his face nestled near his shoulder, gasping, uneven and faint, against his skin.

“There, told you I could do it,” he says. “You okay?”

Dennis swallows roughly and tries to slow his breathing.

“Yeah,” he says, squeezing his eyes shut.

“Okay.”

Mac slowly makes his way to the living room, not because carrying Dennis is difficult, but because he’s being extra careful not to jostle him too much. He’s sweating a ton, Mac can feel the sticky heat against his skin, and decides he should probably find him some Motrin or Tylenol to bring down the fever. Though, he’s unsure whether Dennis can even handle swallowing pills without getting sick again. Starting with water is probably the best idea, but he doubts that will go well either.

He sets Dennis down gently on the couch. Dennis immediately curls in on himself, shivering. His skin looks reflective; waxy and icy pale in the soft lights of the kitchen streaming into the living room.

“I’m gonna go grab a cup for you, okay? Be right back.”

He busies himself in the kitchen, trying to keep noises to a minimum. He fills a glass with water, grabs a sleeve of crackers and couple pills from the cabinet for later, and balances it all in his hands, walking carefully back to the living room.

Mac lowers himself to sit in the small space between the couch and the coffee table, as close to Dennis as he can be without sitting on top of him. He sets the provisions and cup of water on the table, trying to muffle the clunk of wood against glass, before he thinks better of it and lifts it to rest on a coaster instead. If Dennis was more aware, he’d approve.

He reaches over and rests a hand on Dennis’ head, carding his fingers through his damp curls. Mac notices his muscles loosen a little, a bit of tension vanishing with the soothing rhythm.

“Want to try some water?” Mac murmurs.

He can see that Dennis’ lips are dry and cracked, and that his skin is sallow.

“Mhmm.”

Dennis lets Mac maneuver him slowly into a sitting position, his head resting against Mac’s hand.

Mac picks up the glass, raising it slowly to his lips.

“Small sips,” he says.

Dennis obeys, taking tiny, cautious sips for a few seconds before closing his mouth firmly, taking several slow, deep breaths in through his nose.

“Okay?”

A tense few moments later, Dennis nods slowly, finally letting his eyes open.

“Okay. Thanks, Mac.”

“Sure, man,” the words roll easily off his tongue. “It’s nothing.”

And it is. Taking care of Dennis is his full-time job, one he wouldn’t trade for almost anything in the world. He’s so used to it by now that without Dennis to care for, he isn’t even sure what his purpose actually is. If there’s anything he’s come to know in his time without Dennis, it’s that he never wants to be that far apart from him again.

It was miserable.

Not knowing when something was wrong, not having anybody to look after, to watch movies with, or go on drives with, or to comfort him when he had an anxiety attack at three in the morning. So, he’d started looking out for himself in Dennis’ place; he actually dedicated time to working out, he cleaned the apartment—and Dee’s—and started hanging out more with the gang. He ate healthy food and tried to get stronger and tried to get more proud of his identity as a gay man. He learned how to talk himself down from the ledge when the anxiety got ahold of his brain. Objectively speaking, he was thriving. But he still went to bed alone every night, stayed in Dennis’ room, noticed his ghost in every corner of his life. He missed him, he needed him. Even when his life was good, it couldn’t be perfect without Dennis.

Dennis shifts on the couch and Mac’s eyes immediately lift to look at him. His hand reaches out for Mac’s, still lying on the cushion next to him, grips it hard and brings it to rest against his head.

“So hot,” he murmurs. “Your hand is cold and I’m hot.”

He’s right. He can feel the dry, scorching heat radiating from his forehead, the sweat having since dried and leaving his skin feeling smooth and dangerously warm.

“Want the pills?”

Dennis closes his eyes, keeps his hold on Mac’s wrist. His hands look delicate and bony, but his grip is firm and deliberate.

“No,” he whispers. “Not yet.”

“Let me know when, okay? I’ll be right here.”

A tiny smile. A small squeeze at his hand.

[gyokujyn]

I feel like calling his actions stupid isn't infantilizing him or reducing what he's done. He made a desperate decision either regardless of or in defiance of the consequences (your read on this may vary) because it was the first attainable option he thought of. I'm not sure that stupid is the best description, but it's up there. It was also rash, ill-advised, and short sighted.

As to Ayo's actions, my problem with her choice here isn't that she was coming for Zemo. Honestly, she absolutely should have been coming for Bucky. Bucky needed to face actual consequences for this and he never did (are we actually going with the "Zemo escaped by himself" argument in the fandom to defend this? because, no) but, the consequences should not have been what Ayo did to him. I think FATWS does well to show that even Bucky understands why the Dora have come and that he's made a really bad choice, here, but he is desperate. And, Ayo trusts him enough to let him keep Zemo a bit longer. You know there must be a connection between them for that.

The problem I have with Ayo's decision to remove Bucky's arm is that it was clearly done with the intention to terrorize him. He didn't even know it was possible and she does it, fixes him with a look to show him the power she has over him, and then leaves. This is a power play. This is demoralizing someone not out of necessity, but because you can.

The Dora Milaje were in complete control of that combat. The only reason Zemo was able to escape was because he, quite intelligently, remained a non-combatant until he could quietly slip out. She had no reason to very literally disarm Bucky other than to show him that she could. And, if that's not an inherent threat, I don't know what is.

I will say that super soldiers like Bucky are a special case, as far as how you have to fight them, because they aren't like Captain America whose shield can be neutralized to help control the combat, or Falcon where a close quarters fight is probably better than letting him have any altitude. Super soldier bodies are a weapon. Their bodies are stronger, faster, tougher and there is no way to really disarm them--except Bucky. Bucky, of course, has the arm and it's been a target throughout his appearances in the MCU. Nat uses a taser type weapon to neutralize his arm in CATWS and Tony straight up destroys it in CACW, leading to the Wakandan replacement. And, it feels like a cheap shot every time it happens, frankly.

Anyway, I don't hate Ayo, I just hate the choice she made here. I believe she felt Bucky needed to understand the seriousness of the situation. He spent that fight teasing Walker and not really taking anything seriously, and then he has the unmitigated gall to step in to fight her and I'm sure that pissed her right off because she had just told him that they were coming and what to expect like 8 hours ago. I simply don't think that violating the bodily autonomy of (anyone) someone who was victimized is a good look.

CW: discussion of tropes/themes surrounding rape in this paragraph

Not to get too dark, but mind/body control stories like Bucky's are a common trope used as a stand-in for rape. The loss of control over what happens to his body, the power dynamic between солдат and his handlers, even the personality changes are all parts of the rape allegory. And, Ayo just came in and assaulted him again. It doesn't dismiss any of Bucky's poor decisions, but, it's a bad look.

“bast damn you, james”

[letters-to-lgbt-kids]

My dear lgbt+ kids,

Many years ago I watched a documentary about interabled couples (meaning that one partner is disabled, the other one isn't).

They interviewed multiple couples and asked how they met, what their friends and family think of the relationship, things like that. I don't remember most of it (I can't even tell you if it was an actual movie-length documentary or just a short piece in the local news) but there was one story that always stuck with me:

An autistic man had a crush on a woman he regularly saw at his doctor's office. So he decided to write her a letter. He wrote down a detailed description (if I recall correctly it was multiple pages long) of how their relationship could look like: date ideas that would be safe and enjoyable for him, situations in which he may require her support or help, possible communication struggles they may face and ideas on how to deal with them etc. The next time he saw her at the doctor's office, he handed her the letter. She read it, smiled and said "This says you can't go dancing with me because loud music overwhelms you. But I really love dancing. Could we dance at home if you are in control of the music volume?". He said "Yes" and she said "Okay, then let's do that"... and they have been a happy couple ever since.

I love that story. Honestly, I wish someone would come up to me and hand me a letter like that!

There are so many unspoken rules in the dating world that (neurotypical) people oftentimes just expect you to know and understand - especially the whole "be mysterious, play hard to get, don't scare people off by being too honest" stuff can be really confusing! His letter feels like an antidote to that. He clearly communicated his individual set of "rules" (boundaries, needs, wants). It may be my autism speaking, but this sounds like the ideal way to start a relationship for me: they were both on the same page from the get-go rather than having to guess what the other one wants.

As someone who has been rejected for being too honest and talking about boundaries too early, it feels comforting to me to know that someone did exactly that and was so successful with it.

I mentioned this old story to a friend a few days ago - and they didn't think it was cute. In fact, they were shocked and disgusted by it. That sounds incredibly toxic, they said. You can't just hand your partner a set of rules at the beginning of the relationship and demand they stick to them forever. Those things need to be an ongoing conversation that both partners get to contribute to. Love isn't a business contract that one person writes and the other just signs off on. Treating it like one is a red flag. And quite frankly, they'd feel super creeped out if a quasi-stranger wrote multiple pages about a relationship they didn't even agree to yet!

And you know what? I absolutely believe that my friend is right - and I also believe that I am right. It could be cute and it could be a red flag.

This goes for all kinds of relationships but it's especially important for those of us who have unique or less common "rules"/needs (which could be because you are neurodivergent, disabled or chronically ill but also be lgbt+-related, e.g because you are ace or aro): Doing things differently is not by default toxic - and not by default wholesome, either.

That letter could be a great starting point for healthy ongoing communication in a relationship... and it could also be toxic if it is used as a binding contract that doesn't allow any further conversation.

Apart from a few obvious exceptions, we can't really make a definite list of things that are always good or always toxic when it comes to dating/relationships - we need to think of things in context. And that goes for the "standard route" as well as for more unique approaches.

With all my love,

Your Tumblr Dad

(P.S: For the record, I'm sure that the couple in the documentary does have ongoing, healthy communication!)

[voidsumbrella]

@yumantimatter @evangelifloss

the tea party was super fun (im probably going to post my ch2 ~thoughts all in bulk when i reach the end since i didn't... have a whole lot to say about the date scenes tbh ^^;;; )

im running into a bit of a block re: theories because 1) idt ch1 gave me enough information on the specifics of the crime scenes, and 2) we haven't brought up my two major mental sticking points at all:

if pretty much everyone has motivation, why are we assuming there is only one killer?

if we're assuming there is only one killer, why were we so quick to rule out there being a 19th human?

elaboration on that latter one under the cut

the ushiromiyas are rich and got rich by being huge shitheads, there's no shortage for motivations outside of the family; covering their tracks by making this into an ~occult horror story~+ playing into beatrice's legend is maybe overly flashy, but not overwhelmingly out there. rokkenjima's small, but it isn't that small, and it's heavily forested; someone shows up via rowboat a day or so prior, camps out in the woods, then day of heads in through the boiler room or something- we've already stated they've been lax about security until pretty recently, and that there are a whole bunch of master keys floating around for the servants, and boom, you have an unknown factor.

with the exception of natsuhi and kanon we don't actually know the cause of death for anyone at all.

the first six were stated to have been disfigured after death and would have only needed to have been killed in literally any other way and hit with a weedwhacker or some shit over the course of 6 hours

eva and hideyoshi were barely examined, and you could easily fake the stake thing with a nonpowered hand drill and a large bit after killing them with another method. none of the survivors checked anything other than the bodies, briefly- if there were literally any human-sized hiding spots in the room, the killer could have just hidden until they left.

the receipt re: kinzo could have been noticed by whoever else entered and replaced after luring him out by pretending to be (for the sake of the idea that this is a normal human) beatrice; his body was burned, we have no clue what killed him.

nanjo/genji/kumasawa weren't examined at all

natsuhi was shot, and the description of her body was vague enough- iirc it was just "blood was running down her forehead"- to rule out the kids (who were already fucking panicking) misreading what happened

assuming kanon's perspective was accurate his death throws things for a loop a bit, since we know for a fact he was stabbed with the stake, but we're already doing implausible gun customization [how in the hell do you modify a double barreled rifle that takes 30x30 rounds to shoot one revolver bullet? if this gets explained please dont tell me], maybe they had an air powered launcher or some shit.

the kids aren't explained at all

like none of this is outside the realm of human possibility for a showstopping mystery performance, and aside from narrative convenience idk why we ruled it out!

playing within the established rules- it needs to either be one of the 18 or a witch- i have no real theories aside from it maybe being multiple members of the party cannibalizing each other, bc i do think its implausible for any one person to have killed all of the other 17 given what we presently know.

anyway, im assuming we'll be getting more and different information in round 2, so ill keep yall posted on my thoughts!

[prsk-krow]

TEMPORARY PINNED!!

INTRODUCTION...

Heyaheya!! Name's Krow (Crow if autocorrect's a bother), 17 yrs old, AMAB (any pronouns, though accustomed to he/him), INFP! Trying my best to not be socially awkward and insecure, so please bear with me >.<

Also english isn't my first language, so bear with me on that as well ;-;

BLOG INFO...

Just like many others, It's gonna be a Project Sekai headcanon writing blog! For now, only headcanons for N25 will be written, since I feel most comfortable doing those!

However, don't be afraid to send stuff that aren't requests! While I don't enjoy pure gibberish and shit posting, asking me questions, inbox checks, opinions are all a-ok, as long as they're related to the blog!

I'll close requests if I get too many at once, or if I run out of interest, so please check description to see whether it is or not!

BYF (Before you follow), I'll only post content about pjsk, and I won't spend much time here! Know that this isn't a very dedicated blog, only something for fun!

RULES...

About requests...

Only N25 member's headcanons! Includes their Virtual Singer variants, but these will take a bit longer!

Character x reader, character x character, and poly 2characters x reader only for relationship! Non relationship headcanons requests are also allowed!

Please make sure to define if you want platonic or romantic! If you don't, I'll default to platonic! A simple P or R will do, as I'll put it from now on!

Don't be vague, and don't reference other characters when describing reader's personality!

No smut, as they are minors.

Only mental illnesses I'll allow are those canon to them and yandere for characters, and depression, anxiety, and sensory overload stuff for reader.

I'll write romantic and fluff! The former may take a few extra braincell though... (Which means I'll default to fluff if not specified!)

Maximum of 4 characters per request for separate (Reader doesn't count), and 3 for poly asks (Reader counts)! Be aware, however, that with more characters, the detail will lower! Solid for 2, lesser for 3 and simpler for 4!

Please, try to keep the requests and asks short and sweet, with the descriptions of the reader and especially the scenarios! It makes it easier for me to write, giving me more creative liberty and it generally being more fun for me!

If I think a request starts to enter slightly into crack territory, I will slightly alter the descriptions of the scenarios! Sorry, not good at that type of stuff! (I'm mostly good with just fluff tbh...)

DNI (Do Not Interact) if...

Basic criterias, like homophobes, transphobes, racists, pedophiles, ableist, people who sexualize cultures, races, sexualities and the like.

Plagarizers.

You create/influence drama or political debates on social media. I do not wish to have either on my blog.

TAGS...

#/cawcaw, for my own posts, comments, updates, and stuff!

#/cawcanons, for my own headcanons, all of them!

#/cawswers, for my answers to questions!

#/cawtags, for when I reblog stuff that I've been tagged in!

#/cawreblogs, for when I reblog stuff that I like!

#/cawmoots, for when the posts have to do with any of my moots!

#/cawnews, for updates on the Mun and the blog!

#/cawspecial, for special and very, very important posts to me! If you see this tag in your feed, I would be really grateful if you went out of your way to read it, as a simple request...

#()Anon, for special anon asks!

Use these to divide my content equally! If you, as an anon, aren't sure if I answered your request, make sure to check these tags from time to time! Also, feel free to block any of these tags if you dislike the content that are related to them!

LINKS...

Super masterlist here!

PFP and header layout here!

...

That's it for now! I'm happy to have you all here, and I hope you all enjoy yourselves!

Caw.