#tl;dr i'm easy going and up for anything

[thelordfool]

HELP ME PLEASE!!!!!

Long story short: I'm unemployed and will not, unlike what I originally thought, qualify for unemployment benefits.

Please read the readmore for additional context on why I'm unemployed. This post is basically a continuation/update/redo of this post. I'm suffering a sickness with no medicine the past week, applied for almost 100 jobs the last two weeks, am disabled/queer/nonbinary/tired of ebegging. I'm also in the negatives in my bank account because my car payment came out, so I need to get that covered.

pp/vm/ca

$250/$1151.51

i need at least $511.51 of this by the first. please spread if you're financially unable to help, every person this reaches helps! here's the breakdown of the costs: $640 - car payment + late fees $380 - rent $131.51 - negative amount in bank currently

Oh hey thanks for stopping by to read this annoying tale of woe and being angry at capitalism. Prepare for wall of text.

I once had two jobs. The first job, at a chain restaurant, was a bit of a clique-y experience where I was working my damndest to be the best bartender they ever had. I still have all the cocktails memorized. However, I continually faced discrimination in the form of severe misgendering, no matter how often I corrected them. I was also set up for failure. Usually, when someone gets hired for a position, there's some amount of training to be done, no matter how experienced they are, right? I was going in nearly entirely inexperienced into the role. I knew how to make cocktails, sure, and was and still am very good with people and selling. But I was trained for two days. Two. Then, on my first night alone (a Friday), I was watched by one of the bigwigs at corporate who saw every little flub and failure. This caused a demotion-ish. I was demoted to barback but was allowed the same privileges. Until their next visit. That upset the hell out of me - I was well trained by that point and could do it all, with one hand tied behind my back. I digress. It was about 2 months following my demotion when i finally walked out. A new bartender had been hired and she thought I was being a total creep by looking at a ticket that had just come in. She stormed off to report me to the manager who, even after hearing my side where I had asked her if there was anything on the ticket that I could grab, said that I "needed to communicate better," and "you should be learning from her," and "you're a grown man, you should know better." I don't think I need to explain why that was so upsetting.

But I didn't report them, because I just wanted to be done with it. I was also working another bartending job, and everythign was literally perfect other than the hours, honestly. I loved the product the distillery made, I loved the people I worked with, and most of all: I had my own regulars. Last month, they hired a new hospitality director, who announced there would be some restructuring, including getting rid of servers while also making a full dinner menu to serve alongside drinks. I said nothing of it, despite my disagreements, and she assured us all that no one would lose their jobs, but just moved into different roles. We all kinda grumbled about it, and I told her that under no circumstances would I work back of house. Easy peasy. Till it wasn't, and I came home to a voicemail while on break with my partner that I'd been let go due to the restructuring. So much for no one losing their jobs, right? I hadn't been the only victim of this. I have my suspicions as to why the new hospitality director did these things, but I've no energy to throw around conspiracies. All I know is that I was shafted by both of these places and I'm tired of being broke. I'm applying, still going to fight, and... sigh.

tl;dr (why did you click the readmore?): i left a job due to discrimination and lost another due to company restructuring and i'm tired and sad and aaaaa.

[cerastes]

Hey. It's been a while. I think it's right to update you on stuff so tl;dr I'm probably not going to be around for some time, and if I am, it'll be in a diminished capacity, but if you're interested, do check under the cut. I'll also immediately state that I am not in any dangerous situation, it's other stuff, but I'll immediately dispel that before the cut just in case you just wanted to know that in particular.

Let's talk for a bit.

Long story short, the economy here is in shambles. The idea was for me to already have a new job, but that's not gone according to plan. I've been eating into my savings for a while now, and the people that told me that I had a job lined up for me September or at the latest October, meaning, this month, have been ghosting me. It seems to not be an option anymore, and no explanation was ever given to me. A shame, because it came from a place of relative trust.

This has eaten away at my nerves somewhat, and though it is the month of my birthday, I can't help but notice that, between the economy being this bad here, how hard it's been to land another job, and the fact that I'm eating into my savings, well, it's got me more than a bit worried. I'm not in any immediate danger of losing the roof over my head, or starving, or anything like that, but after a few months of "well, my savings take yet another hit this month with no end in sight", it's been rather rough, you'll understand, and it's compounded a bit. For just a second, and not as a primary, secondary, or even tertiary plan, more like a twenty-eighth measure if anything, I did entertain the dark idea of maybe asking for a bit of help here, and the moment that thought came up, I realized, "Ok, this is truly and well affecting me, I never want to do that", because, again, it's not like I'm in any immediate danger of homelessness or anything that grave, but it's been weighting on me enough that, even as a distant glint in the horizon of an idea, I did consider it. I don't want to sound like I'm blowing my own horn here, but for over a decade that I've had this blog, and the community/following/whatever you want to call it that has grown around it, I've never once asked for something like monetary help, because I think that can be a slippery slope. I've seen people far bigger than me, and some smaller, too, get addicted to asking for donations or help, or simply start taking it for granted when they ask for such a thing. My friends will tell you I writhe in agony when I receive a gift such as a game or something over the mail. My logic is that I don't need it, not in a proud way, but rather, in a "I wish you would spend this money on yourself instead, or on someone that truly needed it". With this in mind, I realized that, for me to even slightly consider that as an option, for the first time in my life, it meant that it was biting away at me far, far more severely than I thought. It's translated to other parts of my life as of late; I've not been depressed or anything, but I've felt this itch, this remarkably implacable feeling of "my man, you don't deserve to be taking it easy right now, something has to change, progress needs to be made".

I went out to wander for a few days, then arrived at my cousin's farm. He and his wife live a humble, hard working life, he invited me to stay for a while, I accepted, it was real nice, we hanged out, went exploring creeks and mountainsides while knocking back a few beers, the whole shebang for two guys that grew up in the middle of nowhere. Anyhow, it's true that the whole exposition that was the previous paragraph is something at play, but I also just... Haven't really wanted to be online at all. I don't want to check anything, read anything, and I feel a deep sense of alienation that I've not really felt in a long time. I suppose this is one of those good ol' Bro Is Going Through It, if we're to summarize it in a few words. It's easy for me to dispel negative thoughts and bounce back normally, because I've done a great deal of personal building and homework on knowing myself inside out, but not even this black belt in Drimobrain has helped this time around, and well, it bothers me, obviously, bwahaha. It's the first time in a few years that I really sincerely do not understand what's up with me, and while it's not really something I would consider me being rock bottom or anywhere near those depths, I do think I'm still below surface level, which is something I don't admit to easily, but have no choice to. I would love to be able to give this malaise shape and firmness through written or spoken word, but right now, it's a work in progress.

What bothers me the most is the sense of alienation I spoke of before: It makes no sense for me to feel this way, I'm treated with love and kindness every day, no one's silencing me in any way, I don't deal with barbs or hostility. So why is it that that's how I feel? Or perhaps it's something that feels similar, but I've no clue what it is, so I'm compounding it with alienation?

Regardless, it's all compounded into me just... Not wanting to be online. In the words of a friend of mine, "Dreamer has a fetish for self-development and growth", and, well, yeah, she's got that right despite the wording, I like to feel as if I'm improving every day and becoming better every day, even if slightly, and right now I feel like I'm just degenerating. Is it because my mood has been sour overall? Maybe. It might as well just be the fact that I Just Don't Want To Be Online For A While, and capricious clown that I am, if I want to do something, I do it, and if I don't want to do something, I don't do it. I'm tied to nothing and no one except my desire and drive to do or not do things. I can't change that, nor do I want to change that. And in this case, my heart's said to me, "fuck going online, go out, do things, try to get a job".

I also almost got recruited into something fucking vile that I thankfully noticed in time to avoid, but that's a story for another time.

There you have it. Am I leaving the internet/blue website forever? No, of course not, I like it here. Are things hard right now? They are, to be honest. Are they the worst it could be? Not at all. Do I have complete clarity of what's up with this fog inside of my head? No, and that bother me quite a bit. Are things going to be alright? Yeah, I think they will be.

I do regret it's in October of all months that this is going on, because it's where my shitposting power is at its apex due to my birthday, but hey, things happen, not necessarily for a reason, but they can be handled in such a way that it gives them meaning. I'm a fervent believer in that. I'm sorry this isn't the update you may have been hoping for, full of Lucina cosplayer blowjobs and other such hijinks, but hey, they can't all be Rainbow Road, haha.

So in case we don't see each other for a while, I hope you're all doing fine and dandy. I'm alive, I'm trying to be well, and most importantly, most fundamentally, most quintessentially,

I stay silly.

[trespresh]

let me go, don't you ever

The first time he drinks from you while fucking you, he’s otherworldly.

+ reader: afab, no pronouns used partner: amab, he/him word count: 7.1k rating: explicit. very explicit. tw for basically anything you'd expect with deep nasty vampire sex: primal play, blood play, blood drinking, biting, rough sex (but with feelings!)… and a little cockwarming, as a treat

+

idk man I just write the fic I want to read about the sex I want to have.

This ended up being one of the big primal scenes I've always wanted to write but never had anywhere to put it. It is purely a fantasy put to words. This is a real plug-n-play style fic. It's xreader but the partner is not specifically described. You can copy and paste your favorite little guy in there, or just use this as a blank canvas and go to town!

This xreader style of fic is a first for me, and I'm still tbd on whether I'll post it to ao3. I think about scenes like this a lot just for my own uhhhh enjoyment, and I’ve just never actually written it down in this format before. I’m a little nervous but taking my own advice about no shame and no judgment ✌️ but also be nice to me lol

(tl;dr - It’s deeply self-indulgent pov primal vampire sex. There will be blood.)

+

The first time he ever drinks from you, he’s a little crazy-eyed and desperate, a few hours too many past the last time he drank anything. 

You’ve talked about this before: how you’d like to try it, how he would too. Never specifics, never how or when. But right now, the air seems to crackle in the space between you, magnetic and intriguing, and you realize that you really want this now. Even as your eyes catch on the flash of his fangs when he licks his lips, you think, yeah. 

You want this, and you trust him, and you want to help him if you can, so you ask, “Would it help?”

You can tell he’s trying hard to keep his eyes on yours, but he can’t catch himself before glancing down at your throat a few times. You watch him watch the pulse in your neck before he drags his eyes back up to yours. When he takes a step forward, you can’t help it—your heartbeat kicks up a notch.

“Easy, it’s just me,” he murmurs gently, like you’re a skittish animal, and you’re suddenly aware that he’d heard your heart leap. His eyes finally drop to your neck and hold there. “Yeah sweetheart, it’ll help. Like you wouldn’t believe.”

Your next breath is shaky. You know he hears that, too.

“Will it hurt?” You ask, quiet.

His eyes flick up to yours long enough for you to see a wave of red flood through them completely until they’re so dark they’re almost black. He steps close enough to lean down and nuzzle against your throat. 

“A little,” he breathes, his lips brushing your skin in an apologetic kiss. His tongue comes out to lick along your pulse when it jumps at his words and touch. “At first. God, I’ll make it good though, I promise, please just—let me. Let me.” 

His voice has a tiny, desperate whine to it, and you can only shiver when you feel the points of his teeth come to rest against your skin like he already knows you’ll say yes. When you finally nod just enough for him to feel it, you barely get the word “yes” out before his hand is coming up to the other side of your neck to hold you still, and then he’s biting down.

He’s right. It does hurt at first, but in a strange, subdued way. Like two small blades sinking into your neck, except they’re so sharp you barely feel it as they split your skin. The pain is almost sweet, somehow. 

His teeth withdraw and then you can hear the soft, wet noises of his mouth and tongue on your neck; it’s hard to reconcile what’s happening with the pull under your skin, the strange suction as the blood is pulled from you. It’s like he’s working you from the inside and out—the hot slide of the blood in your veins before it passes through the holes into the equally hot slide of his tongue and down his throat.

It’s far more intimate than you expected. Visceral and primal, somehow, this new way you’ve given your body to him.

You can’t help the strangled gasp you make, and when your hand raises up to grip his arm, he pulls away immediately. That shadowy pool-of-blood color fades until you can see the sharpness with which he watches you, scanning you over. You feel a trickle of blood trail down your neck; when you lift your hand to wipe it away, he snags your wrist out of the air, threads his fingers through yours, and brings your joined hands around to rest at the small of your back. It’s a gentle way of holding you in place, firm enough for you to relax into.

He ducks his head and licks over the skin on your neck. The idea that he’s cleaning you up should maybe gross you out but it doesn’t, it doesn’t, it sends something swooping through your gut, fever-hot, and you realize—oh, fuck, you like this.

When he pulls away from you, you stare up at his face as you’re hit with a strange sensation on your neck—as if the skin is knitting together somehow, closing up and scabbing over. You raise your free hand up to check your neck only to feel half-healed skin instead, as if the pin prick holes are already days old. He grins when you look back up at him in confusion.

“The venom has, uh, healing properties,” he answers your unasked question. “Apparently it's how enough venom can turn someone. Healing the body before it can ever break down enough to die or something, you know?”

You swallow hard at the casual tone in his voice. You don’t want to think about him dying but you don’t know what to say, so you just nod. He watches you carefully for a moment before sliding a hand up to cup the back of your neck and pull you in for a kiss.

“Are you okay?” He asks against your mouth.

Again, you nod. “I’m okay. It was—” you search for the right words, trying to ignore the way you feel the healing wound pull slightly when you swallow hard. “—nice. It felt… not good, but uh. Intense, I guess. Deep.” 

Your cheeks heat a bit but he only smiles and hums in understanding. 

“For me, too,” he agrees. While he tilts his head to kiss under your jaw, you wonder idly what it must be like for him, to bite into flesh and drink the hot liquid lifeforce underneath. You’re thinking about what the texture of blood might feel like, when he sighs into your skin and adds, contemplatively, “You’re sweet.”

You flush happily with the endearment. “I just wanted to help.”   

He meets your eyes again, smiling wickedly. “You did help. Very much. But I meant you taste sweet.”

Your heart pounds again at that, and he hums and taps a finger against your pulse to the beat. 

“Yeah,” he says thoughtfully, distractedly, more to himself than to you. “Like burnt, melted sugar.”

You don’t know what to say to that, and he seems to know that. He leans down to kiss you again and says, so quiet you barely hear him, “Thank you.”

And you can’t help but relax into him.

+

The first time he drinks from you while fucking you, he’s otherworldly.

“This seems like overkill,” you say, trying not to laugh as you sit on the bed, watching him line water bottles, a bowl of fruit, and a package of your favorite cookies on the nightstand. He’s already put a towel down next to the bed. “You’re not a blood donation center, you don’t have to give me cookies.”

He throws you a grin and shrugs. “I don’t know what this’ll be like. I’ve never done this before and I just, I don’t know. Need to make sure you’ll be okay.”

“I’ll be fine,” you say, fond despite yourself. “I trust you.”

It was you who finally asked for this but he hadn’t taken any convincing, so you get the feeling he’s just been waiting for you to bring it up, to make the first move. Now that it’s going to happen, his need for preparedness and eagerness to do this right for both of you is endearing. The pillows are soft when you lean back against them, letting your knees fall wide and enjoying the way he watches the movement. 

“Come here.”

He pulls his t-shirt over his head and tosses it aside before crawling over you; you get your arms around his neck and pull him down. He meets you easily for a kiss that doesn’t take long to turn filthy with your gasp when he gets a hand into your hair and tugs gently, and his tiny moan when you nip at his lower lip and meet his tongue with yours.

Without pulling away from your lips, he snakes a hand down to the inside of your knee and pushes your leg open to make more room for himself. He settles his hips just under yours and thrusts up, and you can’t help but rock down in return just to feel him start to harden and press against you through his sweatpants. A gasp escapes you into the kiss when he nudges against your clit through the layers of clothing. 

When he pulls away, his hand falls from your hair to rest at your throat.

“Here,” he says quietly, tapping two fingers on your pulse there. His other hand trails up your knee and stops at the top of your inner thigh, where he taps two fingers again. “And here. Okay?”

Your heartbeat picks up immediately and you know he hears it but you don’t care. You swallow hard against the lump of anticipation lodged in your throat, meet his eyes, and nod.

“Good,” he says in a low, pleased tone that sends a happy little shiver down your spine.

His hand leaves your throat so he can lean up on that hand like he needs a better angle—and then he kisses you again like that will distract you from the way his other hand slides up from your thigh to dip under the waistband of your shorts, like it’ll stifle the little noise of surprise when he cups you with his whole hand, curling his fingers down and into you only to the first knuckle. You arch up into his hand as he flexes his fingers to tease between your hole and clit. You’re wet enough already that he can gather some of it on his fingertips and drag the wetness up over your clit, where he circles lightly a few times before dragging his hand from your shorts. He smirks at the way your breathing goes high and quick just from the brief feel of his hand on you.

“Tease,” you huff, and his smirk widens into a grin.

“You think so?” He says, mock thoughtfully, as he sits up and tugs your shorts off your hips, all the way down your legs until he can throw them off to the side. And then he’s shuffling back on his knees, dropping both hands to the insides of your knees, and spreading you wide for him. He spends a few moments just looking at you while you try not to squirm.

It’s uncomfortable, and yet somehow it sends fire through your gut. You can feel his gaze like a tangible weight. You’re not sure if you like the way he’s openly studying you or not, but you want to be what he needs, so you hold still and let him look. You shift a little when he runs a finger lightly right down the very center of you like he just wants to test what you feel like. You shiver, and then he leans down, presses a kiss to the inside of your upper thigh, and lowers his mouth to you. 

Your skin is so heated that his mouth feels almost cool, and you moan when he tongues at your clit in a touch so gentle that you writhe up against him, seeking more until he weaves his arms under your thighs to clutch up at your hips and hold you down on the bed. No matter how hard you arch up against him, it doesn’t change the fact that he’s stronger than you. If he wants you held down and open for him, then that’s what you’ll be. 

You know you’re lucky because not only is he good at this, but he enjoys it. You laugh breathily at the reminder of that fact when you feel his fingers at your hole—only for your laugh to cut off in a sigh when he slides a finger into you. He immediately crooks his finger up and pets right over your g-spot, as if it’s second nature for him to make you feel good with how well he knows your body by now. As if it’s his goal and his right to watch you throw your head back against his pillows.

And then he buries his face against you and groans softly like you’re the best thing he’s ever tasted. 

You gasp at the vibration of the enthusiastic noises he makes. Your hands drop to stroke through his hair, pushing it back from his face so you can watch the way his eyes go half-lidded up at you, his mouth working, forearm flexing as he works another finger into you. The way his nose is crushed against you sends the heat of his heavy breaths in waves over your skin and you are so lit up, up, up for him that you just know you won’t last long with his fingers in you like this.

Or his teeth, you realize as you become aware of the feeling of him rubbing two fingers into the skin of your upper thigh. Your clit throbs between his lips when your heart hammers, remembering what’s about to happen, and suddenly you want it so badly you can barely breathe. Either your anticipation is contagious or he’s already as eager for this as you are, because he licks a final, slow stripe up from where his fingers are pressed inside you up to the top of your clit, which he sucks briefly, humming just for the way it makes you arch up and moan—before he finally lets go to trail kisses over to your inner thigh instead, his fingers still moving inside you. 

It’s thrilling, the way he nuzzles against your thigh like he’s savoring the feel—or smell?—of you.  When he starts to suck a bruise into your skin, it’s like a tiny electrical current fires up your thigh and into your clit, down through to where he’s still fucking you on his fingers. He curls them up to drag against your g-spot so perfectly that you sob and try to twitch your hips up every time.

By the time he licks over the new bruise and shifts his mouth just a little lower to a clear patch of skin, you’re feeling dizzy in the face of your looming orgasm. You’re so ready for his bite, so eager to find out what it feels like, that when he scrapes his teeth over your skin and looks up to meet your gaze, you’re nodding before he even asks the question. 

He asks anyway. “Are you sure?”

“Do it. Please, I’m ready,” you say, because you think you are. 

When he bites through the thin, sensitive skin into the flesh of your inner thigh, though, you can’t help the whimper that escapes you or the way your fingers tighten hard in his hair. It’s the same razor-sweet sharpness you’ve felt in the past when he’s bitten into your neck or your wrist—only here, while you’re naked and spread wide for him and already close to coming on his fingers, it’s like lightning jolting up through you. Like that thin electrical current that had formed alongside the bruise he gave you has now been amplified to a sparking livewire between your clit and where his fangs pierce your skin.

His head jerks a little in your hold when you tug on his hair, and his fingers freeze inside you when he pulls his teeth out, seals his mouth over the wounds, and sucks hard. There’s a breathless, still moment while he gets his first taste of you, and then his eyes glaze over with that eerie red-black color and he whines into your skin; he scrambles to get his free hand under your thigh and pulls you harder against his face.

With every heartbeat, you can feel the blood thrum through your groin, then down your thigh to pulse in thick rushes against his lips and tongue when he sucks on the holes he made in your skin. It’s a hot, liquid feedback loop that has your head spinning, and you clench down around his fingers because you’re close, you’re so close—

“Please, god, I’m so fucking—,” you babble through your open-mouth panting, so caught up in the way he’s playing with your body like he knows just how to curl his fingers and exactly how to twirl his tongue over your skin to make you moan and fall apart for him. 

He sucks one final mouthful of blood from your inner thigh before pulling away, panting for air while your eyes catch on how red and wet his lips are. He licks a flat strip over the punctures—and then without waiting to make sure the holes have begun healing, he presses his face between your legs again. His lips close around your clit, sucking messily at the same time he fucks his fingers in and out of you, urgent and deep like he’s frantic to get you there, desperate to see you come.

It feels so deliriously good that you’re already teetering on the edge of your orgasm when he eases down onto his stomach between your legs; between one thrust and the next, he slides a third finger in alongside the other two, dragging hard over your g-spot with each stroke. After that, all it takes is one glance down at him to see the way his hips are grinding down against the bed like he’s so hard right now that he can’t help but seek friction—and then he’s pressing his free thumb to the healing puncture wounds on your thigh and you are launched over the edge into your orgasm.

It explodes through you so violently that you arch off the bed, gasping around a high moan and pulling him into you by your hold in his hair, grinding against his face as he moans and curls his fingers inside you and stares up at you, rapt, like he would rather die than miss this. 

You can feel his heavy gaze the whole time you ride down the peak of your orgasm, his fingers slowing into long strokes that ease you through it. Finally, you tug on his hair when you’re twitching through the aftershocks and he pulls away from you, panting. He rests his forehead against your thigh while he catches his breath; finally he says, “Fuck,” and looks up at you with his normal, clear eyes.

“Yeah,” you agree faintly, reeling from the intensity of your orgasm and the memory of his teeth in you, his tongue working against you in such different ways.

You glance down at him, gently stroking your fingers through his hair. His eyes are lazy and satisfied from where he looks up at you between your thighs. His cheeks are flushed a pretty pink, his lips red and swollen, and his hair is growing messier by the minute from your wandering hands. You can’t stop staring at the way his mouth and chin are still wet with your slick and a little bit of leftover blood. 

He looks good like this, you decide. Really good.

Movement catches your eye over his shoulder, and when you lift your head to look down his body, you see his hips still working against the bed like he’s not even conscious of it. It sends a strike of need through you so strong that you can’t help but tighten your grip in his hair and tug him up. He goes easily, crawling up your body to get his mouth on yours, and when you deepen the kiss, his tongue tastes sweetly metallic.

“Fuck me,” you say.

He nods eagerly, pressing his hips against yours so you can feel his hard cock through his sweatpants. You push at the waistband, tugging them down his hips demandingly, and he shifts back to pull them down and kick them off the bed. Then he’s naked and hard and kneeling over you, looking at you the way a starving wolf must look at an unsuspecting bunny.

It’s a heady feeling, having that intensity turned on you, so you bask in it and let him take over.

He flips you over with a hand at your side, then pulls you back toward himself and tugs at your hip insistently enough for you to understand—you lift up just enough for him to shove a pillow under your hips. He takes a second to position you how he wants you, hitching your hips up and back toward him. He pushes your thighs together and throws a leg over you so his knees are against the outsides of your thighs and he can really lean over you. You expect the feel of his cock nudging at your hole so you’re surprised when he slips two fingers into you instead, like he just wants another feel. It’s an easy slide; you’re slick enough, wet with his spit and your blood and how much you need him to fuck you right now, come on. 

He pulls his fingers free, strokes that slickness over his cock a few times, and lines up. Even though you’re so keyed up and ready for him that you might spark and explode, you immediately clench down when you feel him press against you, throwing a smirk over your shoulder at him. 

You know he likes it when you make him work for it, sometimes, and this definitely seems like one of those times; you know you’re right by the way he murmurs, almost playful, “Let me in.” He presses a little harder against you until you feel yourself start to give. “Come on baby, let me in, let me—fuck yeah,” he groans then when he pulls your thighs open just a little and thrusts against you just enough for his cockhead to finally pop in and he can slide in, smooth and sudden.

It’s so good you both moan with it. Fucking finally, you think, once he’s as deep as he can get and rocking his hips just a little to let you both get used to the feel of it. Then he’s slowly pulling back, back, back—until he’s all the way out again and huffing a low laugh when you whine at the loss. He presses his cockhead against you again, so close to pushing inside that it’s cruel, the way he’s holding you down by the hips when you try to rock back onto him.

“Easy,” he murmurs, and you’re about to snap back at the amusement you can hear in his voice when he eases back into you, slower this time like he wants to make you feel every inch. 

You gasp and drag his pillow toward yourself, clenching your fists in it just to have something to hold onto. Once he’s fully inside again, he leans down to press a kiss to your shoulder. It’s sweet and still for a moment before he sits up, gets a tight grip on your hips, and starts to fuck you.

You drop your head and moan into the pillow that smells like him, arching your lower back just a little bit more off the pillow under your hips; you can’t help the high moan that escapes, louder, when he drags directly across your g-spot with every thrust. Just like that, you sink against the bed, loose-limbed and pliant in his hold, and let him make your body feel good.

It’s always easy to get lost in it with him—tonight is no different, but it’s more. You can’t stop the gasps and breathy moans that fall from your mouth; not now, not when you’re surrounded by him like this. Even when you turn your head on the pillow and stare to the side, you’re still surrounded by the smell and feel of him. 

You’re aware, distantly, that he’s still holding back, and that he’s still so much stronger than you even know. But even so, he’s rougher than normal, fucking you in long, harsh strokes that jerk you forward each time. It’s not long before his hand slides all the way up from your hip into the back of your hair so he can yank your head back. He leans low over your back to nuzzle his face into your exposed neck, and when he breathes in heavily you realize—holy fuck, he’s smelling you. Your already-pounding heart starts to hammer against your ribs and you rock your hips back to meet his thrusts, and you can’t focus on anything except himhimhim—so ready for him to bite down that it makes you throb around him—

But then he’s slamming in hard once, holding for a few agonizing moments while you squirm against him, seeking friction with a desperate whine—before he’s pulling all the way out with a gasped, “Fuck!” and flipping you onto your back.

It’s urgent, now, the way he shoves the pillow under your hips and tugs you toward him. He shifts forward on his knees between your legs so he can pull your thighs over his, and then he’s leaning forward and burying himself inside again with a groan like even those few seconds were too long to not be inside you.

This new angle forces him to drag insistently across your g-spot with almost every thrust and you know immediately that you won’t last long like this. Your eyes roll back but you can feel his gaze on you anyway, watching while your brows curve in and how your jaw drops open on moans growing louder by the second.

He slows his thrusts into long, smooth rolls so that you’re held steady when he leans down to get his lips on your neck. It’s all you can do to hold onto his shoulders, and when your nails scrape down his back again, he shivers against you with a low moan. 

“Tell me again,” he says, licking at your pulse.

You don’t hesitate. “Do it, please do it, pl—” you cut off in a strangled whimper when he gets one hand in your hair, tugs your head to the side to make room for himself, and bites down.

It’s blindingly, stunningly euphoric. His teeth split the skin of your neck so gently—such a drastic comparison to the way he’s fucking you—and you feel the way he sucks hard over the wounds all the way down into your clit. Your hand flies down to circle frantically over your clit, listening to his heavy breaths and the messy sound of his mouth on your skin, the wet noises his throat makes as he swallows your blood. 

It’s too much, it’s all too much, it’s beautiful and horrible and deep and intense and you’ve never felt anything like this before as he fucks you hard and drinks from you and you love it—but then he licks over the puncture holes and pulls back from your neck to gasp against your collarbone. The holes on your neck ache as they stitch together, and you gasp against the sensation. 

You can tell he’s close by the way he slides both arms up under your back to get a grip on the top of your shoulders and hold you secure against him. He ducks his head and his fangs re-pierce your neck through the half-healed holes—you’re surprised when it hurts more than the first time he bit you a few moments ago. You gasp and squirm against him but his hold on you is tight. He sucks at the holes for a brief moment then presses his tongue against them like he’d only needed a taste, before he drops his forehead against the pillow next to you and slams his hips against yours so hard you can hear it. 

He wastes no time in launching into a brutal rhythm, and with his face down by your ear, you can hear every noise he makes—a breathy gasp when you dig your fingers into his ass to urge on every thrust, a choked moan when you tilt your hips up and clench around him. You turn your head enough that you can get your mouth on his neck, licking over the sheen of sweat there before you bite him back. Your teeth do no damage, of course, but the heartstopping little whimper he lets out nearly sends you over the edge right there.

He’s never fucked you like this before, so desperate and fevered like he wants to put you through the mattress—and you can’t think, can’t do anything but choke on each breath and dig your nails into his back and scrape them down his sides and shiver at the ragged, guttural edge to his responding groan against your neck. You do it again and his hips twitch; his breaths are coming high and quick and you can feel how close he is, so all you have to do is tilt your head to the side so your bloody throat is bared to him and let a soft, shaky moan out against his ear so he can hear how good he’s making you feel, and that’s it. 

He presses his face into your neck with a choked-off groan, wet and filthy and smothered against your skin. His hands fly down to grip your hips and pull you down on him at the same time his hips jerk forward until he’s so deep it almost hurts—and he holds there, his hips just barely moving as he comes inside you.

Every tiny thrust is punctuated by breathy little moans while he uses you to ride out his orgasm, grinding in slowly like he can’t get close enough to you. Like he would crawl his way inside you if it were possible, if you’d let him, and you’re close—you’re so fucking close with the way he’s still rocking against you like he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it, and you’re right on the edge of your orgasm when suddenly his mouth is at your throat again; he chases a trail of blood sliding down your neck with his tongue before his lips close around the wound again and then he bites gently and sucks hard and your orgasm hits you like a tsunami, and you are gone. 

You think maybe you scream a little, because he groans in response and starts thrusting a little harder to fuck you through it. It’s good, it’s so fucking good that right at the peak of it, your vision whites out and you wonder, far off and detached, about what this must do to your blood.

It’s clearly something great, you think dizzily as you start to come down from it all, because he’s still buried against your neck, licking slowly over the blood leaking from the bite.

“Fuck, you have no idea what it tastes like when you come like that,” he rasps, voice wrecked and with a faint whine that would sound like he’s in pain if it weren’t for the way he closes his mouth over the holes and sucks again.

You hum in relaxed satisfaction and bring your arms up around his shoulders, luxuriating in the skin contact and the grounding weight of him. You scratch lightly over the back of his head until he shivers against you. Your skin thrums, lit up and abuzz everywhere you’re touching as you breathe against each other.

After a few moments, his hands trail up from your hips. One gets a hold on one of your wrists from around his neck and pushes it down against the sheets; the other hand rests heavily across your collarbone.

He’s leaning on you just hard enough that breathing starts to take some effort, so you say, “Okay,” and tug on the back of his hair with your free hand.

He doesn’t pull back. You can feel the tip of his tongue working against one of the holes in your neck, dipping in just a bit until the sensation teeters on the edge of queasy pain. You make a strangled little noise but still, he doesn’t pull away from the messy wet heat on your neck. 

“Hey, okay,” you mutter again, tugging harder on his hair and at the back of his neck, but it’s like he doesn’t even hear you. “Baby please, enough, you—you gotta—” your voice trails off in a weak slur and your grip loosens in his hair. 

He’s been hesitant to bite you while fucking you ever since he drank from you for the very first time, and you wonder maybe if this is why. If this is what he meant when he’s always said, it’s… overwhelming. But you’d meant it when you told him you trust him with this—and even now when your mind wanders and your body thrums lazily while his mouth works at your neck, you still trust him to get himself under control.

After all, this is him. You trust him—you always have. You’ve known him for what feels like a very long time, both before and after he changed into what he is now. You’ve been figuring this out together: what works and what doesn’t, what he needs and how much he can take from you to satiate that need without endangering you. There have been a few moments of trial and error that led to learning where the line crosses over into him taking too much from you. 

You like him like that, though, after those few rare times when he’s accidentally taken too much, leaving you woozy and exhausted. He gets sweet. There’s something protective and reassuring in the way he dotes, and in how he doesn’t let you lift a finger for a day or two after while you recover. He’s always kept himself under enough control before that it has never occurred to you to feel worried around him.

But now, while he’s got one hand flat across your collarbone and the other holding your wrist down to the sheets—now, while his lips work at your throat, the rush of blood so close under your skin as he pulls it from you and rhythmically swallows—now, as you realize you’re a little lightheaded, and wondering, huh, when did that happen? 

Now, a traitorous little flicker of unease settles in your gut.

You push weakly at his shoulder but it does nothing; it’s like he doesn’t even feel it. His hips are still absently grinding against yours like he can’t help it, like despite the fact that he’s half-soft at this point, it hasn’t even occurred to him to stop moving. The hand on your collarbone trails up to grip your jaw, two fingers sliding into your mouth to rest on your tongue and hold your jaw open like a reminder to breathe—or maybe it’s just another way he wants to be inside you. 

His fingers or cock, his tongue or teeth—it’s like he doesn’t know how to hold back from pushing his way inside anyway he can.

A stifled whimper escapes you as he hums into your skin and sucks unhurriedly. He’s holding you tightly, pressed down against the bed. Twisting under his grip does nothing to throw him, and trying to get your wrist free is a useless attempt. He’s strong—you sometimes forget just how inhumanly strong he is, when he usually touches you so delicately, with such control and care. 

Right now, while you’re held down under him, still on his cock and with his teeth in your neck—you are forcefully and viscerally reminded that he is not human. He really could kill you like this, if he decided he wanted to. 

The thought sends a rare jolt of curious fear through your gut. You’re well and truly caught under him—all his to do whatever he wants with. It’s an alarming, confusingly heated realization that has you twitching your hips up to meet his lazy post-orgasm ruts at the same time your heart starts to pound with instinctual panic. 

You wonder distantly if maybe fear does something to your blood too, because only a few heartbeats after the thought crosses your mind, he’s ripping his mouth away from you with a curse and leaning up on his elbows to look down at you with rapidly clearing eyes.

He must see something on your dazed face because he curses under his breath again and his hand comes up to cup your chin. With his thumb on one side of your jaw and his callused index finger on the other side, he gently tilts your chin up and over to expose your neck fully to him. He hums and ducks close to lick flat and warm over the holes in your neck. To heal, not to taste. 

You feel the same strange sensation as every other time—that same tickle of the skin knitting together and the blood flow stopping under the sore, healing skin. He keeps licking at you, cleaning the last of the blood from your skin before pressing a gentle kiss first to what’s left of the wound, then up under your jaw, then leaning up even further to press his lips to yours. You’re still a little faded and sluggish but you kiss back as best you can, and you know that when he pulls away with a soft red smile, you smile back at him with blood on your lips.

Your thoughts are fuzzy around the edges, your vision tunneling on him like he’s magnetized, your mind pleasantly blank as you watch him like you couldn’t look away even if you wanted to. He kisses your forehead, your cheek, your mouth again. When he pulls back, he seems a little dazed too in the way his mouth is open and pink, his eyes half-lidded and only half-focused like he’s high on whatever was in your blood.

“I’m sorry,” he rasps, an odd plea to his voice. “That was—fuck, I’m sorry, I didn’t know how it would be. I could have—“ he cuts himself off and swallows hard. He ducks to check the healing wound on your neck like he’s making sure it’s still working. “Are you okay?” 

You hum absently. He starts to pull out but you’re quick to tighten your legs around him, holding him close. “Don’t,” you mumble. “‘M okay, just… stay.”

He watches you for a moment before kissing you again. He could easily break your hold on him and pull away, especially with how weakened you are right now, but he doesn’t. He lets you keep him close and returns the favor, holding you tight and rocking his hips to push all the way back inside you. You sigh and settle back against the pillows to bask in the feeling of him holding you down, grounded and safe. 

He leans up onto his elbows and reaches for one of the water bottles he’d lined up on the nightstand, cracking the cap before holding it gently against your mouth for you to drink. The berries from the bowl come next, and after feeding you a few, he settles back over you and sighs.

With his thumb running over your cheek, you drift. 

Maybe it’s the blood loss and two really fucking good orgasms, or the way he’s still inside you, your legs hitched up around his hips while he takes care of you, but your fear is gone as quickly as it started. This is still him. He still looks like himself, tastes like himself, smells and feels and acts like himself. Still in control of himself, even if belatedly. It’s him, and you know you’re safe. 

But in that single moment, that instinctual awareness shifted something aside in your gut. Yes, he is still himself, but that brief flicker of prey instinct was an unexpected, immediate reminder that he is not human. There is something other about him. 

You knew this already, but now you know it. You’ve felt it in the strength of his grip around your wrists  and in the close, fleshy sound of his teeth in your neck.  And, startlingly, it’s intriguing. You are safe with him. You know this in your gut. You have no reason to be afraid of him, but… what if you did? 

Flashes of what-ifs begin to crash through your mind: thoughts of him holding you down with all his strength, letting you thrash and fight against his grip until you’re too exhausted to hold him off from tugging your pants down and using you however he wants; the network of bruises his fingerprints could leave on your throat and arms and thighs, and the way they’d ache deliciously for the next few days; the way his back would look scratched bloody from your nails, and the sounds he might make—guttural growls and savage snarls against your neck as he fucks you like you’re both nothing more than animals.

What it would feel like if he looked at you with eyes red-black with wicked intent and said, run. How your heart would pound as he gave you a thirty-second head start as if you had any chance of outrunning him, as if he knew that the desperation that would build within you in those thirty seconds would flavor your blood so sweetly. 

What it would feel like for him to hunt you down like prey.

It’s like the door to something dark and primal in your brain and your gut is slowly unlocking as you consider the possibilities of what could happen if he leaned into his natural instincts. If he acted like the apex predator he is.

You shiver. He notices and presses a gentle kiss to your hair.

“Your heart’s racing,” he says curiously. “What’re you thinking about?”

And really, how could you ever ask him for something like that?

You file it away to think about more later. For now, you simply squirm against him contentedly and say, “Nothing.”

He leans up on his elbows and says playfully, “I don’t believe that for a second,” but he leaves it alone in favor of giving you your favorite of all his smiles.

It's the big grin that always makes you smile and laugh in response. It’s a cheesy smile, overexaggerated and goofy, but you love it. It’s cute, how he squeezes his eyes shut and his nose scrunches up, but there’s something sweeter about this smile in the way he’s showing you all his teeth, the fangs prominent and obvious. Almost as if it’s to make you laugh as much as it is a show of comfort and gentle vulnerability. It’s an “I trust you to see me” reminder that makes your heart feel huge as your eyes soften on him.

You pull him down again to kiss the smile off his face, and again, you relax into him. Again, and again, and again.

[sparklepool101]

I'm participating in @ficsforgaza!

For information on how to participate as either a writer or reader please go here! The TL;DR, for every dollar you donate to a vetted fundraiser or charity, I will write 100 words for a request of your choosing! Here are their FAQs as well.

How it works: Send me an ask either off anon or a dm here or on my twitter with proof (screenshot) of your donation along with your request. You can ask that you be kept anonymous, but I need to know who you are for verification purposes. Don't reuse screenshots. That's scummy and there is a system set up to check for this sort of thing, so make sure to remove sensitive information!

As stated above, I'm using the standard $1/100 words. I'll be capping my fics off at 2,000 words/$20 per donation, but remember, even the smallest donation helps <3

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sponsor a wip: OPEN

Donate however much you want towards me finishing one of these fics! I'll even give you a shout out in the notes of the final product if you'd like.

Untitled - OMORI Post-canon, Hero character study

After the confession, Hero has to take an afternoon to process what it all means. Luckily he has his brother at his side.

Estimated wc: 2,000

Donated wc: 0

Written wc 0/0

Kissed on a Dare* - The Owl House Post-canon, Gustholomule centric

Gus and Mattholomule both attend a "house party" at Luz's invite along with some other friends. Things are going well until someone brings up a game of spin the bottle.

Estimated wc: 5,000

Donated wc: 0

Written wc 0/0

Untitled - Gravity Falls Post-canon, Dipper Pines centric

Adjusting to California after Gravitys Falls isn't easy, especially not in middle school. Follows Dipper on his first day back at school and the trouble that it brings.

Estimated wc: 5,500

Donated wc: 0

Written wc 0/0

Untitled - Demon Slayer Modern AU, Muichiro Tokito centric.

Muichiro awakens in the hospital with no memory besides his name. There, a kind women explains that he will be under the care of her family until he recovers. Follows Muichiro meeting the cast in a school environment, struggling to regain his memories, and the final revelation as to what happened (as well as a few plot twists along the way!)

Estimated wc: 15,000*

Donated wc: 0/15,000

Written wc 0/0

Donations for Requests: OPEN

FicsforGaza is focusing on video game and animanga fandoms so those will be the ones listed here. However, anything on my carrd or any fandoms already written for on my Ao3 are fair game for requests.

Fandoms: Alien Stage, The Promised Neverland, Word's Bubble Up Like Soda Pop, Zombieland Saga, Demon Slayer, ERASED, Project Sekai, OMORI, Imaginary Friend Asylum, Doki Doki Literature Club, Danganronpa.

DNI/What I will not write: Anything NSFW, incest, pedophilia, noncon/rape, anything hateful, eating disorders, and self-harm.

I reserve the right to update this list at anytime.

I will write heavy angst, but anything above crosses a line for me personally.

[prince-liest]

I like to think that Alastor accepts his feelings towards others as long as they are easy. For him it's easy to protect Mimzy, to care for Nifty and be friends with Rosie, he thinks that with his power he doesn't risk anything by caring for them. Similarly to certain extent is with Husk. Alastor assumes the role of someone who can care about Husk without any sacrifice or risk, in some messed up way. It may be that with Charlie it started like that, him showing care towards her and the Hotel because it's no big deal for powerful overlord to take care of things. But then when to show his care are more than he can handle he freaks out. It starts showing with Hell's Greatest Dad, where his ability to care for Charlie and Hotel is put under scrutiny by more powerful figure like Lucifer, and then fully comes out after fight with Adam didn't end up with Alastor winning.

To summarise, Alastor can accept his attachments to others as long as it looks like he doesn't put much effort into it. When it becomes apparent that he needs to put more effort into relationship he can no longer handle it

Hmmm... I'm not sure if I agree, to be honest! I don't think it's necessarily about his feelings being easy. Frankly, I think a lot of his feelings around Charlie especially are difficult and complicated for a variety of reasons and have been for a while, ranging from feeling threatened by her father to his growing fondness of her butting up against his scheming. With Lucifer, I don't feel like the issue was that Alastor had to suddenly put in more effort: I think it was rather that he has been putting in a lot of effort, and now this bougie asshole's come along who's been neglecting Charlie for years and suddenly thinks he can swan in and do better than Alastor has been with a snap of his fingers because he is, in fact, literally the devil and can summon mountains of caviar with a literal snap of his fingers, all while unsubtly calling Alastor "the help."

I also don't think it's necessarily fair to say that when the tough gets going, he runs, feelings-wise, because the point at which he finally lost it was not when he had to call on favors, or fight heaven, or fish Niffty out of a toilet with his own two hands, or deal with the literal devil and almighty ruler of hell himself... it was when he got physically hurt so badly that he was was yay close to being actually, literally murdered for good. That's pretty damn far from "not much effort" in my books. And sure, you can argue that he has a god complex and never thought that he could be hurt before that, but to that I'd say:

He gave us a whole spiel about how he puts on a smile to hide his real feelings: he makes things look easy on purpose because that's how he wants to be seen.

Even if he genuinely felt like Achilles without a heel this whole time, that doesn't mean he wasn't putting in work and effort when it comes to running the hotel, helping fix it up, defending it, and developing emotional attachments.

Anyway, tl;dr I think it's totally reasonable to freak out because you misjudged your power levels because [mysterious deal chaining his abilities that I hope we'll learn more about in season 2] and nearly got yourself damn well murdered... and it was for this group of assholes that you only just started coming to terms with actually caring about! And that's before you layer his need to look untouchable and maintain his image on top of that.

[lazzarella]

Peaceful Property rambling incoming! I wrote it in like ten minutes, so it’s a mess, but I’ve been meaning to write this since ep 6 and I just wanted to finally get some of my thoughts out. This really is more for myself than anything I guess 😅

TL;DR I’m finding the writing in Peaceful Property really good and satisfying, especially when it comes to tropes I sometimes find frustrating or offputting or that are often poorly executed imho

The writing in Peaceful Property has been so good and so satisfying to me so far! The pacing in general is really nice, and there's been some nice misdirection/red herrings (I kept forgetting to write about this and now I can't remember what they were lol) and I think the pace of the reveals has been really good too. Like, if we knew from the outset that Peach was hit by a car and died for a while, I feel like it would've been easier to suspect Home's involvement? Similarly, if we knew that Home had been involved in a hit and run earlier, I don't think the audience would've sympathised with him as much (of course, some people have lost sympathy with him now, and that's understandable)

But the writing is also a good illustration of how tropes that aren't my favourite or can be frustrating for me can end up enjoyable in certain writers' hands. Obviously, this is just a personal preference, but I often find the 'person wants to confess something and takes their time doing it because they're nervous and then, when they're finally ready, the person they want to confess to finds out some other way with disastrous results' trope frustrating at times. But it worked SO well here! I think the frustration sometimes comes from it not fitting characters, but it fits Home and Peach so well and the setup worked well to make it believable for me too!

Like, Home has never had to take responsibility for anything ever. Of course he doesn't know how to own up to what he's done wrong! Especially not to someone he truly cares about! (Which also seems like a rarity in his life). Like, he literally has no precedent in his life to draw from as far as we know. And he has a family and he doesn't want to risk it and he wants the apology to be perfect. So, it makes sense to me that he would hesitate and take so long!

And, of course, Peach's devastation is believable, but him jumping to the conclusion that Home knew all along when he sees the video makes sense too! Yeah, he's learnt to trust Home, but seeing that video would just really mess you up, right? That the worst thing that's ever happened to you was done by this person you now see as family? I think it's easy to assume he'd known who he hit. And Home's family stepping in before Home can explain also makes perfect sense because they've done it before. So, yeah, where I can sometimes find this setup frustrating and annoying because it doesn't fit the characters or it's just sort of weak, I thought it was really strong here

(As a sidenote: I'm not necessarily mad at Kan, but really really curious about what's going on with her, so that's another nice piece of writing for me personally. I'm not saying she's not out of line, but she's so mysterious that, yeah, I'm just SO damn curious more than anything)

I can also go either way on the 'poor person rejects rich person's money out of pride, etc.' trope. But, again, I thought it worked perfectly here! There were a couple of other posts that went over why it made sense for them, and it definitely worked for me too. Peach is still very emotionally raw, he believes his friend—his family—has been lying to him all along, probably using the money to assuage his guilt, and now this attorney says he's there on Home's behalf, so he's reacting emotionally on some level. (I mean, we see him not long after sobbing on the bathroom floor) He feels used and betrayed and the money—even for the work he's already done—symbolises that to him. 

So, yeah, like a lot of the writing in the show, his rejection of return of the money is symbolic of severing ties with Home and rejecting what he sees as corrupt ideals, or whatever. He wants Home to know, without a doubt, that he wants nothing more to do with him. And, because Peach thinks Home cares more about money than anything else (and has good reason to believe so), this feels like a 'hit 'em where it hurts' thing to me too? 

But, yeah, sometimes I hate this trope, but it worked well for me here as well because of the way it was written

Anyway, I'm repeating what others have said, and I don't know where I'm going with this, but, in conclusion, I'm finding the writing SO satisfying. I could probably do a breakdown of every ep, but I won't because I'm lazy and also just parroting what's been said already haha

[the-empress-7]

I'm not hating you and other anons or anything, I just want to make this question: Do you really don't like all of Meghan's clothes?

Because I love some things that she wears. Of course some might be inappropriate to some events, but that's where the division should be, like "With that look she proved that she can dress well, pity she chose to use in this event". And some clothes, in my opinion, are good but too big for her.

Sometimes it is easy to get lost in our criticism. And believe me, I don't like her, I just always try to balance my comments with what I would if she was another person, Chaterine for exemple.

I hope I don't sound rude or judgy! Sorry if I offend anyone.

It's a fair question and I really don't mind answering.

The last time I liked an outfit of hers was from the Ireland tour in 2018. There are quite a few looks from when she was early in her royal days that I still love to this day. I am going through all the outfits she has worn since she moved to the US and I can sincerely say that I have not liked a single one of them. 95% of the time my issue is with the fit, she dresses with little to no self awareness of her body and that's why the outfits end up being fashion fails for me. She wears clothes that are not only unflattering, but they end up highlighting her worst features.

Her navy suit from yesterday was the best of the bunch from yesterday, but I consider it a fail because she went with a very bare shoulders look for a meeting with a senior government official and then school children. Another way to say it is that if you wear a great outfit to the wrong event, in my books it's an immediate disqualification. I won't even grade you cause you failed at the starting gate.

TL;DR if someone in her position does not how to dress appropriately for an audience, it is 100% a valid criticism of her fashion choices. Context matters when it comes to fashion. Also if you don't know how to dress for your body, you do not get to proclaim yourself as a fashion icon. It's the hypocrisy for me.

ETA: It kind of reminds of the shorts to a job interview discourse on X. I don't care how nice the shorts are or how great you look in them, you don't wear them to a job interview!

[capn-twitchery]

I love your ocs but I fear I am a bit out of touch with some of their lore. how much does Grace know about the red honey fuckery?

thank you sm!! :D♥︎ don't worry--i'm not sure i've actually spoken about this a whole lot!! (plus my lore is scattered around random posts like a ransom note. imagine being organised, couldn't be me)

for context: the two of them are a ridiculously slow slowburn bc neither of them know how to talk about feelings, they go in different directions a lot, twitch's response to Having Feelings (or anything) is to disappear to zee. everything takes forever. there's a summary of their timeline here if you want it !!

ANYWAY to answer:

tl;dr summary: most of the time, nothing! eventually, more than anybody else.

so, for most of the time, grace knows absolutely nothing. nobody does, really--twitch doesn't tell anybody, they don't want to talk about it, nobody sees their face at all.

as far as anyone knows, including grace, twitch's bad memory, lying & inconsistent stories are just a personality quirk. and they get sick sometimes, they just need bedrest & won't be available for a few hours, a day, a couple of days. nobody is allowed to see them.

grace remains mostly unaware for a long time--he has inklings that something is up. once he gets to know twitch better, he can tell they're not themself sometimes. but prying would push twitch away, so he just offers help, if they want company, for their headaches the surgeon mentioned. he'll leave the cabin door unlocked, just in case.

he has no idea how bad the "headaches" are until it's happening right in front of him, once they're close enough for twitch to trust him to that degree. he has no idea why it's happening, but he knows twitch doesn't want to tell him, either. and when they're sobbing in his lap, pleading for something he doesn't understand to stop, begging him to help them tie a blindfold because they don't want him to see their face, it's not exactly the time to pry.

it happens a few times. it never gets easier, and it never gets any clearer. it's not til after grace leaves for the new sequence and comes back that he finally sees their face uncovered. he doesn't connect any dots-whether that's because he genuinely just doesn't make the connection, or because twitch doesn't want him to make a big deal about it, who knows!

while he was gone, twitch starts connecting some dots: something's weird with their memories. they don't know how to process it. they bring it up subtly, ask grace if he knows anything about red honey, and maybe he can figure it out himself. he tells them he does, he learned about it during nemesis, in the palace cage gardens. it still haunts him, sometimes, the prisoners with their crying, the suffering the hollow looking eyes-

the eyes.

everything clicks all at once-twitch's eyes, their headaches, the memory issues, the inconsistencies, the lies. it only gets worse when twitch tells him they're starting to wonder if the memories are all theirs.

oh, god. how could anybody do that to them? who did that to them? but twitch doesn't want him on any kind of revenge mission, they don't even think they remember where the cage garden was, and they don't want to try either. he settles for comforting them the best he can-but what can anyone do to help, really?

at the very least, trusting someone enough to talk about it is a huge weight off twitch's shoulders. grace can help them try to figure out what's going on with their memories, it makes them better at talking to each other. it's not easy, but it helps twitch to move forward-slowly, but surely

[arctic-hands]

I didn't want to clown on the gift donation for kids post and this might be a little late anyway, but if you're going to donate art supplies, or even give some to kids in your family, please think twice before getting those art kits that come with everything, even the ones that do come in fancy wooden boxes. They're almost always terrible in quality and even as a little kid you end up feeling frustrated by them and feel like you're the one doing something wrong or you don't have talent or something.

I get it, they're usually cheaper than buying even student grade supplies individually, but I remember getting one of the fancy wooden box ones at like thirteen then after a while getting (secretly, as to not upset the person who got me it that Christmas) because I felt I wasn't good enough at art to warrant such a gift because I couldn't get the pencils or watercolors or oil pastels to behave like how the books and videos told me they would behave. And even getting the plastic box ones as an even younger kid left me feeling frustrated. Because the kit ones are all full of cheap filler and less pigment as a cost cutting measure. And the paper that came with it was no better than printer paper so the watercolors disintegrated it.

Anyway I'm not saying you have to buy a one hundred dollar professional set of paint or something. And even student grade does add up. But a decent sketchbook (I recommend Canson XL Mixed Media, because not only is it cheap but the paper is great and there's like sixty sheets it), and maybe just one type of art supply instead of buying a whole studio's worth. Decent sets of artist pencils of different lead types are easy to come by. Or even just a few tubes of primary colors acrylic paints (I've been using Arteza acrylics and I like them a lot), or a box of decent oil pastels or a small watercolor pallet. And you can find decent brushes, even in packet sets, just make sure they're the right kind for the paints you're getting (and there are mixed media brushes too) Avoid at all costs the Crayola brushes with the thick plasticity bristles that are the bane of children everywhere tho.

TL;DR honestly, if you have the chance to know what the child likes in art supplies, just get them a decent set of that instead of one of the frustrating art kits that give you everything but for a lesser quality

(ALSO: make sure art supplies geared to younger kids are nontoxic, and if giving to an older kid who knows not to drink the paint water, make sure they know if there's anything toxic even still. This isn't too much of a worry these days unless you're getting really expensive pro stuff, but look out for warnings anyway)

[piowasthere]

Ok, I'll say this for the first and hopefully only time.

(I know it's long, but it's quite important, so please read.)

If you ask me to draw anything in a form of a request (but also applies to trades or even commissions in a way)

I am not obligated to do it. If I do decide to do so, it's because I have the time, strengths, and will I am kind enough to do it for you. I do not. Owe you. Shit.

If I say I'll be willing to do something before discussing the details, I am 100% free to just say no if the thing you want is not something I am comfortable with.

And I do not need to give an explanation why. Most of the time I'll just go silent about it. Because I am not good with serious talk, I don't like it, I am awkward, social anxiety etc. And because I also want to try and be kind.

So if I ghost you after such a thing. You may text me again. Once. To make sure I didn't just forget, it happens. If I still go silent, that means it's not happening. Give up.

Weird shit includes oversexualizing characters or putting them in weird scenarios.

Sure, I do some questionable shit, but I don't usually go outside of suggestive or just thirst traps if I feel like it. I don't do explicit NSFW. (in a sexual sense, I use curse words and enjoy some heavy gore quite often, but those are not the focus of this.)

Or weird kinks or somethin'. No kink shaming. Just don't ask me to make shit I don't like. I think it's that simple. If You're aware, what you are going to ask for is questionable - make sure the artist you're asking is ok with that - and if you won't find anything about it - don't. At the very least, ask about their boundaries. Don't just slap them with that.

I legit am traumatized by some shit some people asked me to do. And I am not easy to get a reaction from.

It's ok to ask me for stuff I've done already - take for the example the 'Solar's hips' joke I have going on. Some people would probably consider it weird in some way, but it's just harmless simping and poking fun at a character that canonically has been called out for being a twink

It's a small gag I have going on with some people I know on Tumblr

if I was uncomfortable with it, I would not take it as far as I did. I think it's funny, and I do enjoy drawing that candy corn, so it's win-win for everyone.

This also comes down to me drawing characters suggestively only if I myself find them attractive in some shape, way or form. I find it funny or there's other context behind it.

Even if it's a character I like, not always will I do that to them.

I can draw shit out of Shadow, but I will not touch Tails with that. I love both of these characters, but I see them very differently. Also, Tails is literally like 8yo, but that's a completely different discussion.

When it comes to commissions - yes. You pay me to do something for you. But because of that factor - I am willing to do more and get more out of my comfort zone than if I was doing it for no profit. (still not NSFW. I mean, more character design or somethin') And the thing is discussed before payment. I will not agree to it if it makes me feel in any way I do not enjoy.

This issue appeared only on DeviantArt, thus far, and I am really happy Tumblr doesn't put me though that too. (update: I actually got one kinda weird ask there once, but it was more of a cursed thought, a laugh and that's about it)

if I ever get anything like that again and don't break my arm while trying to break the monitor, I'll just be deleting everything that person said and if they keep on pushing, I'll just block. I don't usually block people, but I am kinda tired at this point.

Apologies if it's a very long, aggressive rant but-- idfk I'm fed up with that bs.

TL;DR

don't ask any artist to draw you weird shit that might make them uncomfortable, don't act/sound demanding and behave like they owe you their work for any reason, bc in this situation you're the one begging somebody else to do work for you for free. Basically.

I had to rant.

This post goes onto both Tumblr and DA btw. DA to hopefully stop that bs and Tumblr to hopefully prevent it from happening.

[specverse-official]

[begin intro]

...SPEC!VERSE...

I think you'll take an interest in this story. It's a lot like one you've been told before, only I've taken some liberties. I hope you'll forgive me once you hear it. I'm very excited! Well go on, dear reader. I can't introduce myself if you don't scroll.

Welcome to the official Specverse tumblr blog! You may call me The Muse (any prns) (or just Mod Spade (they/it)) I am the creator of this place.

~~~ ...so uhhh wtf is this?

Specverse is an XTale/Underverse AU in which XGaster succeeds in creating the perfect timeline. Instead of creating and fostering the X-EVENT, XGaster cultivates True Perfection, leading to thrilling ramifications for all of our dear friends, but most especially the one by the name of Ink Sans.

There's a lot more to it than that! but of course I'm not in the business of spoiling the story, so you will have to wait and see.

tl;dr for people who dont want to read my bitchy roleplay ~ > First, this blog will serve the purpose to tell the story of Spec!XTale. The entries of XGaster creating True Perfection will be posted daily. > After I run out of that.. i dont actually have any plans. so we'll see what happens for telling the rest of Specverse's story! ~

now on with the in-character cuntery

In the first phase of this blog, I will start from the very beginning of the story. wellllllll I will start where the story diverges from what you know, dear reader.

I've scrounged up some journal entries from a good friend of mine. Some edits have been made, but I hope by reading these logs you will get a clear picture of the story we've been trying so hard to create.

Of course, you'll have to wait for each entry to come out. I'm not going to rush things! I'll be waiting for you every day to read the next entry.

After I've shared all of the logs I've gathered, who knows what might come next? Perhaps I will merely post various things about the story, perhaps drawings may appear out of the ether, perhaps more writing will spill forth from the inkwell, perhaps I will simply answer your questions, dear reader.

Regardless, I hope you will join me for the ride~!

TAGS

The story of Spec!XTale as told through XGaster's entries will all be tagged as #spec!xtale entries as well as having the timeline number and entry number for easy searching.

~~~

anything specverse related will be tagged with #specverse

anything character related will be tagged with the character's name, such as #xgaster, #ink sans, #killer sans, etc.

~~~

anything in character as The Muse will be tagged with #listen to the muse (mainly random lore posts and asks)

any posts about miscellaneous lore will be tagged with #specverse lore

anything out of character as Mod Spade will be tagged with #spade posting (mainly blog and story updates)

reblogs will be tagged with #reblog and fanart will be tagged with #specverse fanart

no dni, just be normal pls

[bugtransport]

been thinking about "as far as i'm concerned all robots are transgender" for a couple days because when am i not thinking about robots. but also i don't want to write an essay on someone else's post so i'm doing it myself. i think there's a simple explanation for this one: there's an additional axis that you have to consider when you're considering the gender expression of non-human entities and that's how human or non-human they can and want to appear and be recognized as. i call it the humanity axis. 

("humanity" is an oversimplification - a lot of the times when you're discussing robots you're talking about them in the context of a sci-fi story which some of the time can have robots living in largely non-human societies (for an easy silly example off the top of my head think BMO who lives with exactly one human for most of his life) but even then we're contending with the gender dynamics of the organic beings around them that make up the society they're based in. not to mention that we ourselves as humans view and create everything from a human-centric point of view that's kind of inescapable imo. for the sake of getting through this with any kind of coherency i'm going to use the term "humanity")

the closest thing that i can imagine to be what i would consider a “cisgender robot” would be a robot that was created by robots in a world where humans don’t have an influence. this can’t really be the case – robots being inorganic have to be created by some outside being and therefore will always be formed in the image of the societal opinions of their makers. you’re working with a blank slate here; you don’t have to be bogged down by what evolution might just decide on its own. sure, they can in turn create their own robots that may be influenced by other factors and get further and further removed from their original designs, but that begs the question of whether it’s possible to dilute the original influence far enough to where it’s no longer a factor. personally, i don’t think so? 

so, we can agree: every robot has the influences of humanity in them but is still distinctly different, creating the humanity axis. there’s a place that they each physically on there depending on how they were constructed; there’s also a choice each of them must make as to how much they want to adhere to their assigned spot. to fully be human is not an option, as they would have to not know they’re a robot, and to be fully robot isn’t an option either, as they were made by humans. i suppose you could be happy with your assigned place on the humanity axis but you could never truly be viewed by the organic society around you as anything but “other” unless you tried to fully pass as human. then we can bring in characters who never had to consider the humanity axis until, well, circumstances changed (things like cyborgs or mind backups or a good ol’ brain in a jar) and now they have to learn that they actually experienced a kind of privilege that they weren’t even really aware of until they had to question their relationship to their humanity. they don’t even have to view it as a bad thing – it’s not a bad thing. you can be very confident and happy with who you are and your status outside the traditional human framing of whatever society you’re in. being othered isn’t always a bad thing and some can take solace in the fact that they’re able to dictate who they are without having to technically abide by whatever norms biology has been divided into. it lends itself easily to exploring beyond what’s been set out for you from the start. not always, not every robot wants that or cares to explore it, but it can. 

a robot can be a girl and inhuman; they can have no relationship to human gender and identify very closely with humanity. it's about the interactions with those that made you. it's about having to dictate who you are for yourself. tl;dr: yeah every robot is transgender

[imakemywings]

A+ Library Review: "Loveless" by Alice Oseman

This is not technically the first installment of this, but it is the first time I'm making it A Thing. A+ Library is my new segment where I review books with asexual and/or aromantic characters.

Previous review: The Circus Infinite by Khan Wong

The book description for Loveless is:

Georgia has never been in love, never kissed anyone, never even had a crush - but as a fanfic-obsessed romantic she's sure she'll find her person one day. As she starts university with her best friends, Pip and Jason, in a whole new town far from home, Georgia's ready to find romance, and with her outgoing roommate on her side and a place in the Shakespeare Society, her 'teenage dream' is in sight. But when her romance plan wreaks havoc amongst her friends, Georgia ends up in her own comedy of errors, and she starts to question why love seems so easy for other people but not for her.

The character: Georgia Warr, aro/ace

So let's get to it.

TL;DR: Thumbs up from me

Since Loveless centers entirely around the aroace experience, I will not be breaking the review into sections like last time.

Loveless is a coming-of-age story about Georgia's first year at college. It begins with her graduation party out of high school and ends with her establishing plans for her second year of college. It's very slice-of-life, with a focus pretty much exclusively on Georgia's interpersonal relationships and her personal growth.

Oof. Okay. Loveless was at times hard for me to read, and not because it's bad, but because it hit so close to so many of my own experiences at Georgia's age. There were so many times I felt myself going "Oh yeah, I remember that. Yep, there's that phase. Yep, I told myself that story too. Yep, yep, yep."

Just like Georgia, I considered myself someone with "high standards" who would inevitably break the romance and sex barrier when I got to college. This book hit on so many of my own insecurities from that phase, some of which I still struggle with at times, but I will try to be objective about this review nonetheless.

Loveless does a wonderful job of unfurling Georgia's journey, from the start where she considers herself "just like everyone else" but a bit slow on the romance front, to realizing she's Different, through the difficult process of starting to accept that difference as part of her.

Unlike my last review, Loveless earns its found family by showing how Georgia and her friends grow together and apart and back together--with additions. Everyone in Loveless is on their own journey--and at different stages of it. From Pip who's been out as lesbian since she was fifteen and eager for a first girlfriend, to Rooney who's long suspected she's not really straight, to Georgia who's only just grasping the words to describe her experience.

And sometimes they hurt each other! One of the complaints I had about One Last Stop was how all the relationships (protag's mom aside) are entirely fluffy feel-good. Loveless eschews that by showing how friends can hurt each other even when they don't mean to, and how people have competing needs, and how past struggles can impact your present. But in spite of that, it's clear how much all of the main cast grow to care for each other over the course of the book, such that the ending is truly heartwarming.

The prose suits Georgia's voice, which is to say it sounds like an 18/19 year old girl is speaking. That means it's not very eloquent, and it can be blunt and cringy, but in a very believable, realistic way to me.

Georgia's coming of age isn't limited to just her orientation. At the start of the book, she is painfully alien to herself. Georgia doesn't seem to know anything about herself, as if she's spent all her adolescence wrapped in a thick blanket glued to fanfic and refusing to interrogate any of her own feelings--which is probably what happened. It means that she has a very rough time when she enters college. Unlike many such stories, Georgia is not jumping at the bit to be on her own--in the moment when her parents dust off their hands and prepare to leave her with her boxes of stuff in her new dorm, Georgia contemplates begging them not to leave her.

Loveless really captures a sentiment I experienced with asexuality, which was the sense of being left behind by your peers, of feeling childish and immature. Desperate to shake the feeling, Georgia makes an admirable effort at "putting herself out there," doing all kinds of things she doesn't really think she'll like, but wants to give a try, just in case. In some cases, she bombs--but in others, like the Shakespeare Society, she really blossoms. I thought the book makes an excellent picture of a lost young person beginning their adult life with no real idea of who they are, and trying to solve that problem.

Perhaps most painful of all, Loveless captures Georgia's fear of not knowing what her future will look like now that whirlwind love affair-->marriage-->2.5 kids is off the table. It's particularly difficult for her because Georgia so desperately wants that romance--except that for her it's something of a mirage: as soon as it gets close--like when a boy tries to kiss her--all her interest is gone in a flash. Georgia wants to want romance and sex...but she doesn't, really. Even when she's accepted her orientation, she really struggles with what this means for the rest of her life, which also felt very relatable. Partnering up is seen as virtually inevitable, and as the book points out: life is scary! It's way less scary when you have a Person! Therefore, part of Georgia's insecurity and uncertainty focuses a lot on what her future is going to be, and it's not a question she's solved by the end of the book. But it is one she's becoming less afraid of.

There were a few things that struck me as odd, like Pip's claim she had never "fully connected" with friends who aren't Latina, a sentiment echoed by Sonil's refusal to accept his asexuality until he met other Indian people who also used the label...obviously there are certain things that friends who don't share your racial or cultural background may not fully understand, but the idea that you can't connect with anyone who doesn't share your same racial make-up is...uncomfortable, I think. But these remarks pass quickly.

Additionally, the way Rooney and Georgia berate themselves for "experimenting" comes off unnecessarily harsh to me...part of dating is learning whether you're compatible with that person. And yeah--sometimes that means figuring out if you are or are not attracted to them, or their gender more broadly. There's nothing inherently wrong with starting to date someone you're not sure you're into, and then realizing you aren't.

The book also beats Georgia's fanfic reading to death a little, in my view. It gets mentioned way more than it needs to, and citing specific ships and tropes a) is going to date the book like hell; and b) is irritatingly obtuse to anyone who doesn't know what "Stucky" or "flower shop AU" is.

If you're deep into the ace/aro online community, this book may come off as retreading a lot of well-trod ground for you. There's nothing especially ground-breaking in it. But if you're not so connected, or you're new to the aro/ace community, or you just want a book that still-coming-out you needed, I think this is a great pick.

Next review: The Bruising of Qilwa (TBP)

[prophecydungeon]

very belated Poast™ about the perona cosplay-coordinate-whatever-this-is i made last month!

fabric: robert kaufman kobe twill in ruby, and the world's nastiest polyester for the capelet lining

patterns: none. fuck it we ball. i traced off of an innocent world capelet i own for the general shape and altered the length and front closure. for the skirt, i went off the general length of a fully shirred meta skirt and traced the scallop size/depth off of a scallop hem jsk, and used the "sew and flip inside out" method.

this is actually the second capelet i made for this; i got a different fabric for the skirt (tl;dr i fucked up and got the kobe twill in ruby and not the fineline twill in ruby red lmao) so i remade the capelet to match. i quite like the kobe twill in terms of weight and texture, but if i lost my mind and re-re-made this (haha just kidding... unless?), i'd use the fineline twill in ruby red (it's slightly cooler and darker) to match BTSSB's iconic red x white pieces, which this is obviously inspired by. still, i like this vibrant red for perona! it works really well for her.

i fucked up in a lot of places! i don't think they're tremendously noticeable, though. the scallop lace on the side seams doesn't quite match up perfectly (one side is worse than the other, lmao) but i'm cutting myself slack considering i'd never made anything like this before. the thing i'm most frustrated by is the capelet, though - i got it in my head to try avoiding topstitching the lace on (like, why? who cares?) so i sewed it to the outer fabric but not the lining and then ended up trapping it awkwardly near the top of the collar. OH WELL. the pockets are also maybe two inches lower than i should have put them, which isn't horrible but is kinda annoying.

i also overshot the measurement for the elastic in the waistband out of an abundance of caution, but it turned out to be way too loose at con and the skirt shifted around a bunch. thankfully that was a super easy fix, and for next month's Local Con i should hopefully not be hiking my skirt up all the time, lmao. i think i'm also going to wear a bigger petti -- the one on the dressform, specifically -- since that gives a more cupcakey, Traditionally Sweet™ shape that suits perona's whole... thing. i'll likely wear a different blouse, possibly no bloomers, and maybe something at the waist too? who knows!

best part of this experience by far was the person who BOLTED towards me to compliment my outfit and then gave me a ghost princess badge ribbon..... whoever you are please know i am still thinking about that interaction every single day

[vvintercearig]

yo it's me (again (jay)) back at it again with no self control and my dumbass son doyun! below are the usual links and info and feel free to continue to smash that mf like button for some plotting

STATS - MEMORIES - PLOTS - PINTEREST - PLAYLIST

𝒊. 𝒑𝒓𝒆𝒔𝒆𝒏𝒕 —

doyun popped up around ansong around 25 yrs ago (at least he lived thru the 90s lets gaur). he has no idea what's happening, he's just happy to be here.

he remembers a little about his life, but always drawn to music, beat street seemed like the easy answer when it came time to start working. for years, he was only working the register, stocking the shelves, before eventually working his way up the managerial ladder. he's owned beat street for around ~10 years now.

his first memory unlocked when he was attempting to tidy stuff up around his apartment and was just about to throw the band-aid away without realizing it's significance. it elicited feelings of aloneness and otherness, but also comfort and being loved and taken care of.

he can typically be found at beat street (obv, always working), mirage, the farmer's market, sweet bean, and illusion.

𝒊𝒊. 𝒑𝒆𝒓𝒔𝒐𝒏𝒂𝒍𝒊𝒕𝒚 —

doyun is a little bit paris hilton-esque. he absolutely acts stupider than he truly is (for the plot) and so he can gauge people and how they are before he decides to let them in. he is also a tactical oversharer, so while a lot of people might know a lot about doyun, it's hard to pin down his core values and personality. he is very flippant about most things outwardly even if he cares deeply. doyun!! is!! a!! fuckboy!! but not in like the toxic sense (he drinks his respect women juice tyvm) he will flirt with anyone willing and able but he is very clear about drawing the no-relationship boundary from the start. he won't lead you on. despite all his flaws, doyun is highly compassionate. it takes him a while to warm up to people fully, but once he does, you're in his circle for life. he is not shy about his affection either, platonic or otherwise. he's clingy, he's needy, he will annoy you, and you need a high tolerance for bullshit and stupidity, but doyun will fight your bullies and kiss your booboos. about the only thing doyun excels at is his encyclopedic knowledge of 80s and 90s music and ball sports. do not ask him to cook, do not ask him to fix something around your house, do not ask him the time of day, he absolutely will fuck it up. he isn't book smart (at all, like did not even graduate high school), but he is incredibly emotionally intelligent. doyun can walk into any room and almost with 100% accuracy read the vibes. tl;dr: he's a big-headed moron with a big fat bleeding heart. he doesn't know a lot and won't try to solve ur problems, but he will throw hands for u and make you laugh when you wanna cry.

𝒊𝒊𝒊. 𝒑𝒍𝒐𝒕 𝒃𝒖𝒏𝒏𝒊𝒆𝒔 —

to preface everything below, i'm v v big on chemistry first. i love plotting, but it doesn't necessarily work if our characters don't have chemistry to begin with. i tend to lead with quick and fast plotting to see what we can get our characters to do and then we can go into more detailed plotting after, but i'm always willing to discuss things regardless!!

regulars and employees at beat street!

people to teach him modern technology (with lots of patience pls he's stupid)

literally anything else honestly i'm down for a lot. he's really social and really easy to get along with.

[thursdayinspace]

But now I'm thinking about the dynamic between Jack and Ianto during CoE, the whole mess about being a couple or not, the way it hurts to see Jack pushing Ianto away like that. Especially when Jack had been the one to ask Ianto on a date in the first place, so he very much implied that that was where things were going for them - becoming a real couple.

Only then one thing leads to another and suddenly they *are* a couple and Jack panics and acts like it's the last thing he wants. Towards the end he has started actively downplaying and sabotaging their relationship. It feels like he's trying to make Ianto break up with him and that makes *so much sense*. Because he really actually fell in love; he's not just dating this guy, he can imagine a future with him, and that's the one thing he can never have. What does it have to feel like, knowing that everyone you love and everyone you ever will love will die and you'll have to live without them forever? It's no wonder he doesn't want to commit to anything because the more you love something the more it hurts to lose it.

But he can't leave Ianto. His heart has already made the commitment he can under no circumstances allow himself to make. None of that is a conscious thing. It's pure self preservation, pure survival instinct. He needs Ianto, but that need is the thing that will one day break him. So he needs Ianto to leave *him*. He needs Ianto to believe that there's nothing between them that's worth fighting for. (Whilst a small part of him maybe wants the opposite: Ianto convincing him that they're worth all the pain.)

That doesn't make it okay how he treats Ianto. But those two are really seriously NOT good at communicating. Ianto deserves more. Jack is pushing him away without any sort of explanation. And Ianto is so loyal and doesn't accept it even though it's obvious how hurt he is. I wish we'd had a chance to see how all of that would have evolved from there. Jack does not want to hurt Ianto, but he does, and at some point Ianto would have snapped. He loves Jack, but he would not have let himself be held at a distance forever, not after everything they'd been through and all their relationship development (very much including the audios here).

I would have loved to see their breaking point. The point where one of them would have said "okay, enough," and ended it. I think a proper breakup would have been what they needed, a real cut, to reset from there. To see what being apart is like - especially Jack. But Ianto as well. They NEVER TALK about each other's fears and insecurities and they need to. They wouldn't just see a relationship counsellor or sit down over a meal and talk about their feelings. They need a proper shock to wake them up. Maybe Ianto only almost dying in CoE, a miraculous last minute rescue? And then the two of them having all that between them, Jack's "I take it all back, but not him!" and Ianto's "I love you." That would be something to work through. It would be too easy for that to fix anything, but it would be pivotal enough for them to probably spiral completely out of control as they try to unravel the mess that is their relationship.

TL;dr: I think Jack lashed out because he couldn't leave Ianto but also didn't want the pain of losing him. Ianto deserved more than that. And I think no amount of talking could have fixed them at that point, but if they had let it break them, they might have found the strength to work through it and emerged from it stronger than ever.

And now I'm basically writing fic at this point so I'll stop.