#unless anyone Actually wants to know in which case i am an open book

[toastytrusty]

ok personal headcanon ramble time. MYYYY personal take on hickey's backstory and mental health 👇

in regards to the real cornelius hickey. the big thing -> he did not kill him. i understand why it was done that way in the show, but it doesn't make sense to his arc (read: the slow building horrifying realization that killing someone for the greater good is okay, actually) for him to have killed someone prior to the canon and be so unbothered by killing people. so within my mind palace that did not happen. instead, i like to believe he drugged him and locked him up somewhere on the day of the expedition. this is where it gets reallyyyy I'm Just Making Shit Up-y but. to MEEE. our hickey was having a really bad few years, deep in depression and struggling with alcoholism and whatever else, and eventually meets the Real cornelius hickey at a pub or something. they get close, our hickey is captivated by him, they're probably fucking, and the real hickey tells him about this expedition he's going on to the arctic! how fascinating! and his mental state kinda flips.

dave k has said hickey was written to have npd, which, obviously. no one was questioning that. but i also view him as having bipolar 1. we see Multiple examples within the show of him having what could be considered manic episodes, he gets really paranoid, has an intense fear of not being in control, etc. his delusions of grandeur can all be quite well explained by fits of mania, and he even arguably has moments psychosis (cough double homicide cough. because there is not one singular reason to take all your clothes off in the ARCTIC. he was not in his right mind). and! i think his decision to steal someone's identity and get on an arctic voyage when he's never been to sea in his life was something of a manic decision. he was in a months/years long depressive episode prior to meeting the real cornelius hickey, then he was sequentially thrown into a manic episode, and years of resentment and ambition coalesced into this idea of fleeing britain and making something of himself in o'ahu.

so, he drugs his new friend the night before the expedition, locks him in a closet or shed or something, and takes his place. i think him taking someone else's identity instead of just going as himself is a decision largely more relevant to other aspects of his character, such as the class traitor-ness and general themes of imperialism and bureaucracy in the show, but there is still a very paranoid weight to it. it's also obviously the less rational way to do things, which. yk. manic irrational decision making.

and just for fun. further less psychoanalytical and more thematic personal takes on his backstory:

his mother Was irish, but his father was english, and left before he was born. his mom died of consumption when he was nine and he went to live with his uncle in england. so he Is irish, just never really lived much of his life in ireland. takes the name and face of a real irishman to try clinging to something more real than he has ever felt he was, masking his insecurity. fake caulker fake sailor fake irishman. or whatever.

and the caulker thing. caulkers fill in cracks, fix things, hold everything together. the real hickey being a caulker is one of the things that fascinates our hickey and makes him want to take the real hickey's place. his narcissistic need to be needed. his grandiose delusions that he is the key to everything and only he can save everyone starts with him Becoming someone whose job it is to hold the little pieces of the world together.

from ages 14 to 18 he hung with a group of guys that moved around a lot looking for work, kind of a gang but not really. they had a hunting dog and hickey was more an equal with the dog than with them. they didn't like him. he was tasked with taking care of the dog, and grew to resent it even though it was the closest he had to a friend.

not thematic Or psychoanalytical but i like to believe those guys threw him out of a window on his 18th birthday. For morale. he stopped following them around after that

[themarkofoxin]

still time to delete your post. you were uninformed, that’s fine, but now you know that there is a pattern of racist behavior on dan’s end and we are right to be upset. him outright saying that he won’t tour in ‘third world countries’ like mx and brasil during a WAD show is racist. calling my home a third world country is racist. this is not in the past, you can say logistics all you want but dan outright said that he will not tour in our ‘third world countries’. it is not logistics. it is racism.

if i'm remembering correctly, dan did not "outright" say he just wouldn't tour in mexico & brasil. he made a tasteless, dismissive joke, sure, with the fans as the butt of the joke in the same way fans were the butt of the joke in many wad segments; it was insensitive and dismissive because the fans he was poking fun at weren't actually there and, obviously, have real frustrations with his behavior. but the meaning and implication of the joke was never that he actively avoided those places and would never go there--hell, they have been to brasil, to show a recorded version of ii and do a q&a. they had a mexico date for ii but it fell through, right? claiming he "outright [said] that he won't tour in 'third world countries'" is a mischaracterization as much as it would be to say "he outright said he hates phil" because he's said it in competitive gaming videos before. the key difference is he has failed to build a rapport with latam fans so it was insensitive and hurtful.

also, it is very much influenced by logistics. as much as it sucks, we absolutely cannot dismiss that. i was too sarcastic and dismissive in my additions to the post, and i've deleted those, but i stand by the original paragraph. regardless their (but especially dan's) racist comments, booking venues in countries where

1) english is not the predominant language,

2) they are not widely known,

3) once the venue learns about them they figure out they may be well past their peak in popularity and,

4) in some cases, it is relevant that they're gay and much more open about it than ii,

DOES actually make it significantly more difficult to convince a venue that it will be profitable for the venue to put on your show. most of the time, that is all venues are worried about. will people actually show up, or will these two faggots who peaked ten years ago draw in an audience of like, 20 people, and the venue will lose money when they could have booked a more profitable show? if the venue manager had to google them, are they really that popular anyways? the venue managers don't care unless they are certain they will not only break even but profit from dnp more than they would profit from literally anyone else they could book that night. why do you think they were able to do locations in asia for ii, but don't have them now (yet)? in 2018, they could reasonably argue their profitability, and even that wasn't enough in manila.

i am hoping, genuinely and from the bottom of my soul, that they will use the speed at which most of their shows sold out when the tickets went up to prove to venue managers in places other than the US and europe and commonwealth oceania that it is worth it. i hope they try very hard, and that they're able to add more dates. it certainly seems like they want to. i think it's also likely--whether it's right of them or not--that their experiences in MX & manila have led them to believe it's better to stay entirely quiet before they're absolutely sure they can announce a date and it will work, which makes it look like they're not communicating at all, but they may see it as them saving people from getting their hopes up if it doesn't work out. idk which is better, honestly. it at least seems to me like they're telegraphing that they're trying to book in other regions

[proximacentaurib]

1,2,3,4,7,9,11(never forget), 18,21,29,32,33,34,38,41,44,46,48(dunno if this is applicable but i’m still curious),49

1. Who is/are your comfort characters?

I don’t find comfort in characters, although I do quite like the IPA symbols for alveo-palatal fricatives

2. Lighter or matches?

Lighter. I’ve always been scared of being burnt by matches, no matter how many times my older relatives tried to get me accustomed to using them when I was a kid

3. Do you leave the window open at night?

No. Don’t even have any elaboration here, I just don’t. Maybe I could try doing that in my dorm because my head’s right by the window, but eh

4. Which cryptyd being [sic] do you believe in?

None?

7. Hair-ties or scrunchies?

Hair ties. I don’t own any scrunchies and also remember my hair getting stuck in them as a kid

9. Hot coffee or cold coffee?

Depends on my mood and the environment. In coffee shops I tend to order iced, but if I’m making it myself then I do hot

11. Favorite extracurricular activity?

I am never not on that academic grindset 💯💯💯 (does sleeping count? Big fan of that)

18. What hair products do you use?

Of course you’d ask this one. Shampoo, conditioner, and some keratin hair mask thing I bought for like $2 at Walgreens, which I’ll usually just put on the ends of my hair on top of the regular conditioner. On occasion I’ll remember to use the infusion spray thing Shem Bleedingsalt gave me, but I haven’t noticed it doing anything

21. Something you’ve kept since childhood?

I’ve kept SO many things. I hate getting rid of things and my parents hate that I hate getting rid of things. But the only childhood thing I remember bringing to college is this vase my great-grandma gave me, which currently stands empty and gathering dust among my free book piles

29. How do you like your shower water?

Hot. If I’m not being boiled, then what’s the point? Also I just can’t handle cold water, I’ll get red and itchy and even get rashes in severe cases. Not very good for keeping hair dye in

32. Do you have a favorite towel?

Not really. My regular towel is a beach towel I’ve been using for years, and my hair towel is just a basic generic white towel

33. The last adventure you’ve been on?

Foggy 5 AM walk after spending 11 hours in the linguistics kitchen lounge

34. Is there a song you know every word to by heart?

A lot, actually. I have a pretty decent memory

38. A soap bar that smells good?

I don’t know, I don’t pay much attention to scents unless they’re bad because I definitely notice scents I dislike, and also don’t really use soap bars

41. How do you take your coffee?

Oh you’re going to hate this recipe. One hot chocolate packet, then the nasty servery coffee, then chocolate milk. If there’s no chocolate milk then I go for some water and an obscene amount of vanilla creamer pods

44. You get a free pass to kill anyone, who is it?

VLADIMIR FUCKING PUTIN. I WANT HIM DEAD

46. Favorite holiday film?

Uhhhh Home Alone I guess? Definitely not С лёгким паром, get that shit out of here

48. When did you first try an alcoholic beverage?

I feel like I’ve told you this story before, maybe. I definitely remember telling it to someone on the way to the parking lot but I can’t remember when that was or who I was speaking to. Anyway, when I was 9, I was in Russia, celebrating my grandma’s 60th birthday. As a kid I loved apple juice (still do), and also liked apple cider. On the dinner table was a bottle of cider. I thought it would be apple cider, so I asked for some. My grandma’s second husband gleefully poured me a glass, and by that point I was aware enough of his antics to know that something was up, but still took a sip. That was not apple cider

49. Can you skip rocks?

NO AND IT’S SO ANNOYING. I’VE BEEN TRYING. FOR SO LONG. THIS SUMMER I FINALLY LEARNED TO MAKE ROCKS SKIP A MAXIMUM OF THREE TIMES, BUT I CAN’T DO IT CONSISTENTLY. AUUAAAAUHHHGGHGHG I also never learned to whistle and I’m similarly infuriated about it

I’ll put the questions you didn’t ask in a reblog because I don’t want Tumblr to nuke this draft and make me redo the whole post

[teatitty]

Okay so! In the witcher games, the person doing most of the journaling of Geralt's adventures [from main story to side quests to character profiles] is Dandelion himself. This is made very obvious in the tone and style of the entries and the fact that more than one of them say "my friend Geralt" and similar such things

But for this post we're going to focus on one in particular from TW2:

Despite my long friendship with Geralt, I know little more about this peculiar brotherhood or guild than learned tomes provide. On top of that, I am obliged to discretion, so I shall write nothing more than necessary on the subject.

Now, Dandelion is a well known unreliable narrator. He's unreliable in the books, and unreliable in the games. This is both a flaw and a strength. In this case? It's a strength. Because here's the thing: the games are, canon-wise, set after the events of all the books. So the Dandelion we see in the games is based heavily on the one in the books. We're not gonna talk about the nitty little ways in which they differ because that's not important

The important part is this: Dandelion saying he doesn't know much about witchers outside of what you read is factually false, because Geralt has told him quite a few things about them in the books, such as the fact that they don't hunt dragons. Their friendship, at this point in time, has spanned nearly 30 years and Geralt has always been open and honest with Dandelion about these subjects

But then Dandelion goes on with his second sentence: "I am obliged to discretion, so I shall write nothing more than necessary" is a direct contradiction of him saying he only knows what he's read in tomes. If that was true, there'd be no reason for him to mention discretion at all, because surely any knowledge he has of them could be easily found by just anyone. Clearly, this isn't the case

If anything, Dandelion contradicting himself actually might point to him having read a lot of the tomes still hidden in Kaer Morhen, thus turning his earlier statement from a straight up lie into a half-truth. Which is something he is very fucking good at actually. But it's that second line, about discretion, that tells us everything we need to know about his friendship with Geralt:

He respects Geralt, and witchers as a whole, far too much to record or write anything about them that could potentially compromise them. His wording is important. He says he's obliged to be discreet - meaning legally or morally bound. In his usual flippant way, he's confirmed quite succinctly that he has either been sworn to secrecy by the witchers themselves and/or simply feels it more moral to respect their privacy and avoid writing anything without their explicit approval first

It's a very small part of his journal entries and, unless you pay close attention to these sorts of things, is easy to glance right over without a second thought, which is precisely what he wants you to do. His loyalties to Geralt extend far beyond his loyalties to the academic fields he engages with and that's uniquely beautiful to me

[izztreme-art-n-stuff]

So I said I'd elaborate on my headcanon of Jack and Whyatt being autistic, and now here I am to talk about it. In list form. I'm sorry.

Whyatt:

He's a severe creature of habit. He really doesn't like things being completely out of his control, so he makes routines to try and make a safe and controlled environment for himself. This, however, comes with him unintentionally showing control freak tendencies that bother others.

His stims are rubbing his hair, which usually happens when he's deep in thought or stressed out, and playing with his shirt collar and/or cape, usually when he's nervous.

He gets very hyperfixated on books and sometimes gets so fixated on one that he constantly rereads it and it becomes all that he talks about. He only infodumps to his friends and family because he's insecure about how everyone else would think about his current fixation.

He's very sensitive to light and tends to avoid any place that is far too bright for him to bear. He also doesn't like being around crowded places and likes to keep to himself unless he's with his friends.

He keeps a calm and collected demeanor, partially because that is how he is as a person, but also partially because he feels that's what everyone expects of him. He has a massive restraint on most of his emotions as he feels that's not what anyone wants from him, and he only shows his true feelings once he gets pushed far enough, as SRATSOR chapter 3 will show.

Jack:

He actually masks his autism, which is a severe pain to himself. This was caused by his toxic friend Peter Rabbit when he was still with him during his Super Reader days and it pretty much stuck since as he's terrified of what people might think of his true self. This masking has caused him to have many burnouts and meltdowns that he hides in his own room most of the time. Needless to say, he hates masking, he just doesn't know if he should unmask or not.

His stims are bouncing his leg, rubbing his facial hair, and clicking his tongue. These are usually suppressed due to the aforementioned masking and it only crops up when he's really excited, impatient, or nervous.

Music is actually his hyperfixation, and one he's partially open about as he decided to make it his career, but he tries not to infodump about it as much as he would as he knows way too much about music and its history than he feels he should know. He also has a lesser fixation on plants, having been spawned when he gained plant powers for the first time, but he tends to keep that on the down low too.

He has a sensitivity to sound, which is good when you're a musician, but really bad when you're stuck in a room full of people talking about stuff you don't really care about. He also gets bothered by sounds that no one else can hear/pay no mind to. Of course, because he's masking, he often forces himself into social situations where a lot of noise is created, which becomes very stressful for him, but he feels obligated to try and make a good impression on everyone. This is the main reason he keeps getting meltdowns in the privacy of his own room, as he lets his stress build up and only lets it all out once he knows he's fully alone.

He has a terrible habit of bottling up his emotions, to the point where he's at the brink of blowing up on someone and having a meltdown. He believes that everyone sees him as one of the cooler guys that don't show much emotion, and tries to keep up the persona that he built up in his head when, in reality, he's actually a very emotional person and it's pretty hard for him not to feel an intense amount of feelings. So far, he found a healthy coping mechanism of venting his emotions through song...but that's the only one, and not something he can do all the time, so he just defaults to bottling them up again. He also tends to react with his emotions first and then think about it later, which leads to a lot of regrettable moments for him, especially in the case of him feeling angry.

And a couple that apply to both are them constantly talk to themselves, though Jack tries to keep it more of a mumble, and they tend to talk with their hands a lot, with Jack keeping his hand gestures close to his personal space while Whyatt likes to do more grander, outwardly gestures, which is especially the case when he's getting very emotional

So...thoughts?

[broomsick]

Hi! It's me again, My question today actually relates to communicating with the gods. I talk to Njord daily, and talk to Freyr and Tyr sometimes as well. But I can't tell when they are responding back to me, or even if they are at all.

I know they exist, Njord actually responded in the world around me when I prayed to him on multiple occasions.

But I see others talking about having conversations with their gods and I feel like I'm missing out.

I do have fears like spiritual psychosis, where I trick myself into hallucinating the fact they are talking to me. But I'm also afraid of things like malicious spirits pretending to be those Gods.

I know I can cleanse my area and do things to protect myself but I do not understand what ways I can establish a connection through my protections.

I've been reading books and doing my best to understand but some books can range from it just happens to literally killing animals you've hunted to protect yourself while you talk to them.

And I wanted to know if there was something I was missing, or just hear your thoughts on it.

Thanks again!

Hi there!

I’ll start by saying that if you’re interested in my personal thoughts, I’ve actually written a post on this first topic before! Feel free to read it!

As you will see, my opinion on this matter is thus: pagans on social media do sometimes mention "talking" with deities, as if having a conversation with a human being. However, this is often a way to simplify more complex means of communication. For example, having prayed to a deity and later receiving a sign which seems to come from them can be seen a sort of "conversation" with the deity. In other cases, people will receive answers from their deities using divination methods such as tarot, rune-casting, pendulums, etc... It's also possible for some to somehow hear answers from their deities through a deep state of meditation, or through powerful spiritual experiences. Long story short, these "conversations" that people post on social media are generally a way to convey the spiritual exchange which happens when you pray, or ask a question, and you receive a sign, or blessing in return, with time. Unless of course, the poster has some sort of "clairsense" which allows them to hear clear answers. If it can be of some comfort however, I myself do not possess any kind of clairsense, and I haven't met a lot of people who do. The pagan friends whom I know have a clairsense will often tell me that the answers they get isn't nearly as clear as some internet content creators make it out to be. These answers will often be short, like simple words and muffled sentences.

But believe me, I understand why you would feel like you're missing out. I had been pagan for about four to years when I first became active in pagan circles on tumblr, and it took even longer for me to truly get involved with them (posting, commenting, discussing...). When I finally did so, I thought to myself "Am I supposed to be capable of communicating so easily with my deities? How is it that everyone else seems to find such ease in receiving answers from theirs?" And with time, I came to realize that just like me, most (if not all) pagans did not hold actual, two-sided conversations with deities. The reported conversations you see being spread online are oftentimes played up for clarity purpose, and the pagan spiritual life does consist mainly of praying to yourself, and having faith that there is someone on the other end, listening. A deity's answer can take the shape of signs, unexpected blessings and the like. As a wise friend of mine once said, "The skies don't open up for me the moment I put my hands together; that doesn't happen for anyone". In any case, there are lots of ways for you to connect with your deities— ways that don't require for you to be involved in your spirituality at all times and to master deep meditations techniques! Taking in the sight of a landscape, appreciating the beauty of a rainy night and breathing in the sea wind are moments where you may feel a deity, or deities' presence. But more on that later!

Now, I’m actually not much of a believer in the whole “spirit pretending to be your deities” concept. Of course, the belief in these sorts of instances is entirely up to each one of us individually. In my case, I have had long conversations about it with pagan friends, both online and in real life, and all seemed to think this concept being spread as much as it is on social media was an exaggeration that could easily frighten new pagans. This has never happened to anyone I'm acquainted with, at least not that I know of. For this reason, perhaps I'm not the best person to give my opinion on the topic, much less on how to protect yourself from such an occurence. If you're interested in a longer, more elaborate reflection on the matter, however, one of my friends has written this amazing post concerning the discernment of trauma (or negative personal experiences/thoughts) and the idea of spirits somehow impersonating deities.

I truly hope this has cleared up a few things for you, though I'm sorry I couldn't get into as much detail for your second question as for your first. My practice looks a lot like yours, as I mostly talk to my deities and give offerings, without receiving immediate answers. The answers I do get can take many forms, and sometimes I tell myself: "Alright. I believe that this or that sign comes from this or that deity. I can't know for sure, but believing that it does is enough". And oftentimes, I will feel a deep connection with a deity simply through devotional actions, or as I am making offerings and toasting in their honor. These are unexpected times when I somehow know that the Gods are watching over me, despite them not coming down from the heavens in a halo of light to sit and talk with me like flesh and blood human beings!

I'm flattered that you came to me with these questions, and I hope I have answered them well. May you have a fulfilling and joyful spiritual journey on this path!

[bumblebeerror]

I’m sorry, I know this is beating a dead horse but I HAVE to break down this anon.

For context: This anon was sent to me, and similar ones were sent to @maybe0rdinary [if you want to be untagged lemme know] because we both expressed nondisordered (in this context, meaning: symptoms that do not negatively or significantly effect our quality of life at this current moment) symptoms that are associated with psychosis. In my case, I have ongoing hallucinations of common repetitive noises, such as doors closing or opening, footsteps, doorbells, phone buzzes/text tones, phones ringing or hanging up, dogs barking, people talking, etc. These hallucinations happen almost daily, but because they are easy to check and only startle me occasionally, I’m both used to them and don’t really have an issue with them. I don’t know why they happen, and honestly I don’t particularly care to find out unless it becomes more bothersome.

So, let’s break it down, shall we?

I don’t know what “fucking disgraces to the medical community” is supposed to mean, if I’m honest. I’ve heard of transmeds? Maybe it’s something similar but either way. I don’t really care that much tbh. The medical system has a long and sordid history with mental health and I don’t really seek their approval whatsoever.

Whilst I absolutely can HAHA FUNNY 🤪 my way out of whatever I want because I am awesome and cool,

I in no way said that faking a mental illness is okay. However, I will say that fakeclaiming random people online based on your understanding of a book of diagnostic criteria meant to be used by doctors is absolutely far more harmful to mentally ill people as a whole than someone pretending to be mentally ill for clout.

L.A. and I are in no way effecting doctor’s opinions of psychosis in any meaningful way. I assure you that just like homophobes, doctors in general who already have low opinions of psychotic disorders and the people who have them will not be further swayed.

Ah yes, I forgot I cannot have Symptoms until I am designated my Disorder by the doctor.

Delusions can and do happen in disorders besides psychosis. In fact, there’s a whole disorder called Delusional Disorder. They can present in Bipolar Disorder and even Major Depression, dementia, and that’s not even mentioning various schizophrenic disorders…

Visual Hallucinations can also be caused by various schizophrenic disorders, bipolar disorder, dementia, and also PTSD, Borderline Personality Disorder, Parkinson’s, migraine…

Auditory Hallucinations can be caused by the above and also by insomnia, narcolepsy…

Point being, psychosis is not the only disorder or condition that causes delusions or hallucinations.

���OBVIOUSLY you would have had to have gotten them treated” presumes a lot about the cost in both time and money of getting those things diagnosed. It presumes a lot about someone’s resources. It presumes a lot about how much literally anyone at a job or in the medical field cares about someone who is struggling, even if said struggle is obvious.

“Literally wouldn’t be able to hold down a job” presumes that anyone with psychosis or a disorder that can cause hallucinations or delusions is helpless, useless, or otherwise incapable by default of acceptable or masking behavior, mental fortitude, or any other ability really.

Which is incredibly ableist to assume off the bat about such a wide and varied spectrum of disorders and such a large number of individuals.

“Shut the fuck up and let people with actual psychosis speak” is presumptuous at best. I won’t say anything more.

I do not have psychosis - and I have never claimed to. I don’t presume to speak for everyone who’s ever had an auditory hallucination the same way L.A. talking about a delusion from years ago isn’t presuming to speak for anyone but them and their own experience, and I feel that was obvious from the way they phrased their experience.

Disorders are disorders only if they negatively effect your quality of life. If you were to have clinical depression, and you learned coping techniques to combat it effectively to the point that it doesn’t impact your day to day life, your brain has not stopped having a predisposition to not having enough serotonin receptors. Your brain has not magically been made neurotypical. But, provided that your coping mechanisms adequately negate the symptoms that negatively impact your life, you could be considered no longer disordered.

The same is true with any symptom or condition that could be categorized as a disorder - if it doesn’t impact your quality of life… it’s not a disorder. It is a requirement when it comes to shit like this that the thing be hurting you. If it doesn’t hurt you, like my auditory hallucinations don’t hurt me, it’s not a disorder.

Speaking about a symptom of a possible disorder does not equal stolen valor or speaking over others with that disorder, and using it as such feels very much like a silencing tactic. I hope you think carefully about doing this in the future.

All in all, I think maybe you need to spend more time researching and speaking with other mentally ill people in general.

I think you are probably pretty young and pretty new to discourse in general, and that’s okay. The benefit of the doubt is a powerful tool, and I hope when it comes to these things you use it more, because your passion is admirable.

I’m glad you were on anon - it means I can pull this ask apart now that I’m done clowning on it and explain why I clowned it without fear of you getting personally hurt.

I think this is an opportunity to learn, and I hope you take it. I think that this is something you care deeply about, and I hope you continue to do so and aren’t doing so only for internet points. I hope you can take a moment to listen to new voices, and try new perspectives. They have important and helpful insight to offer.

[i-literally-cant-with-this]

why do the people who age up fictional characters get hate but the writers who are legal and share smut with real life minors dont get any hate at all

Hi Anon, this is going to go on for a while. Sorry, sorta.

I'm going to answer this as best I can and I hope you find some closure or at the very least, some part of something you were looking for.

The long and short of it is, I don't know.

I think maybe because the stuff on the internet is so much more easily accessible is one of the main reasons (we) fanfic writers are such direct targets. Sure, I know books are everywhere, too. Though, don't stores card for stuff like that? I haven't purchased a paper copy of anything for so long that I don't know what the protocol is. And I look well over 18+ so maybe they just don't bother carding people who look it.

There are plenty of books out there that are not appropriate for anyone under the age of 18. Possibly - depending on one's beliefs - for people over the age of 18.

That's not for me to decide, though.

What I DO MAKE SURE TO DO is label each piece of writing I do that is not for a younger audience and put in my bio that what I write is not for the consumption of anyone under 18. I believe my exact words were "This shit show is 18+. You've been warned." Something like that.

"18+ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT 18+"

I put a second 18+ in case the first one was missed.

I think it's just a matter of access. The internet is, for all intents and purposes, free, once you have an opening to it you can get damn near anything you really want to see on it without parental consent. Unless you have parents who have put a block on this dumpster fire. In which case, you should make a mental note to thank them when you're grown and see just what the Christ is going on out here sometimes, lol. If you're in a bookstore and you want to buy a copy of Playboy, you're going to be shut down from your attempt if you're ... oh, say 15? 16? Either that or heavily carded/ID'd. And if you don't provide verifiable proof of your age, they should turn you away.

I'm not saying that because this stuff is so easy to get to that it's ok by any means for any minor to read. I wish that everyone who isn't of legal age (here or wherever they reside) would heed the warnings. They're there for a reason.

Now, I'm going to touch on aging up characters. I'm guilty of not always putting that I aged up whoever I was writing about if they needed to be. But THEY'RE FAKE. They're lines. They're art. They're paper, basically. Ink and paper. So I don't understand how someone can go from blasting an actual pedo to getting on here and saying that fanfic writers are just as bad. It pisses me off, if I'm being honest. The comparison is quite a stretch, I think. Because while I am not that faithful about documenting that I aged up characters, in my head, they're no younger than 21-40. And that's probably why I don't say I am aging them up because I just don't see them as minors. I've noticed that male characters in anime often look considerably older than they are. Maybe that's because they're the hero of the day or whatever. And I don't write about female characters. Not because I hate them, but I really just don't have any interest in doing that.

The vast majority of us all make it a point to say that the character(s) we write about are of legal age to partake in such ... activities. I don't know. I went through a phase where I felt like absolute shit about myself because of some of the stuff I read about people (on HERE - other writers) comparing someone who abuses an actual minor to a writer that talks about getting down and dirty with a 17 yr old superhero (again, they don't exist). But when I came to the conclusion (very shortly after reading those opinions) that I would never never never ever ever ever do anything so fucking disgusting, I got over it.

There are miles between reality and fiction. If someone else can't separate the two, maybe they're the ones who need the help?

The whole premise of that world, the anime world, is the impossible. Is it not? And I'm not saying in any capacity is it ok to look at someone and assume just because they look older that it must be ok to engage with them. IT'S NOT.

I hope this offered you some clarity, Anon. And I apologize for going off. I guess your question was a good one to make me think so much.

~ S

[shallowbreaths]

I always said, “I want to write you as a character in a story. You would be glorious.” I suppose my imagination somehow considered that the only way to write someone was to make a caricature of sorts, but when it comes to you, which aspects should I push to the forefront and how do I write a character around those things that fit? You are unique. For YEARS I have written, and written (as you know I have) in story, in poems, in everything. It was never right. Well, I finally did it. I’m writing you now, feverishly (only pausing for my hands to uncramp), and I was right!! You are glorious! I changed a detail here and there, but they were the irrelevant type. No matter what I’ve created it was always empty, it could never outshine the reality, so I caved. Of course, if I wrote you as you are, then I had to write me as I am. It’s the bizarre and unusual way that the two work well together. It’s disturbing, it’s painful, it’s real, and then I’ll let them fall into the story and become whoever it is that they are meant to be, just the way that you and I fell apart and have continued to change and grow. There’s no way for me to write who you are now, and it would be crazy if I thought I could. So I started us as we were, where I went wrong, and then I turned it a couple of degrees. I added a word here, or a phone call there, and I made it so instead of me running from my mistake and leaving you heartbroken and hurt and outraged, I faced it and we managed to work. Obviously from that point on it’s all fiction with a few private jokes thrown in, or an occasional detail that you may not even remember, but for me it’s like fireworks.

The true irony of writing is that you write for others to read, but it’s lonely work. You may write a thousand characters but it feels like fraud. They all come from my mind, so every single one of them is me unless I’m using my memories, and in that case I’m still just stealing. The bad guy is me. The monster is me. The hero is me. Even you are me as crazy as it sounds. It’s not you, it’s my memories of the things you said and did and how I perceived them, but you were private, so maybe you wouldn’t even recognize them now. How weird is that? Maybe you’d read it and get mad, or exasperated, or maybe you’d say, “I was born before that!” Or some other detail that I changed in order to make it a touch easier in some way. It’s not easy, but it’s beautiful work. It’s fun work. You know I have always enjoyed thinking about you and so far that’s all I’m doing, reliving memories that make me happy in hindsight even if at some points we both felt broken and miserable. I have ulterior motives of course. I’m trying to explain myself. I’m hoping you’ll see it and love it. I remember telling you one day you’d see a book written under my pen name while shopping with your kids and you’d open it to see it was dedicated to you and that I’d hope you’d smile. It’s also the closest thing I’ve ever written to an autobiography. There’s an odd detachment when I’m writing myself that is allowing me to see things I’ve never seen before. Those motives are all BS though aside from what I’m getting from it. The odds are that you’ll never see it, meaning you’ll never see it dedicated to you. The odds are that you don’t even remember my pen name. IF you did see it, you’d probably hate it in the same way that my edits of your pictures would sometimes bother you. I know you tried to see the art, and so you’d probably try to like it, but I wouldn’t be shocked if you didn’t. And I KNOW that there’s no “explaining” myself. What’s done is done, you’ve moved on and I doubt you think of me at all. Still, you wanted me to go on and be happy if I could and you know writing means a lot to me, so I think you’d support it if not just for that. I actually considered putting this and more into an “author’s notes” at the beginning, but then anyone I know who read it would see the truth and I’m not sure I’m ready for that kind of judgement. So I decided to post it here where it’s EQUALLY unlikely that you’d ever see it, much less know it’s me talking to you 😂

There’s still clearly a lot wrong in mi cabeza, but it’s helping me become “that” man in many ways, ways that only you seemed capable of assisting me in. More irony? Or just sad? 🤷‍♂️ maybe in a million years I will finally be the guy that you saw in me, but I promised I’d keep trying and so I am. I’ve learned a lot. Changed a lot. Some better, some worse. I feel better though most days. The truth is that I miss you terribly though. Every day, and with every breath, you are with me, and yet I know that you’re not. For a while I actively tried to not think of you but that felt wrong, like I was trying to minimize you, and obviously I would never. This story hurts a lot, but then I’ll introduce monsters that will play off of our stories and our two heroes will spin off into whatever scene I’m watching inside of my head. I don’t know if we’ll both live, or die or if only one of us will make it. Idk if we’ll be the heroes. Idk, and I guess that kind of feeds the whole “what if..” aspect of a falling out. It will be ridiculous I’m sure, but writing the girl I know adds new levels to my attachment for her, so God only knows where it will go from us ending 😂

[spit-out-the-dust]

I was this open with my mother and her response was to tell me she was sorry for “my feelings” and then went on to tell me that when I’m “healthy again” she’s here to talk.

I want to remember this. When I start writing my book this may be chapter one.

Most people do not stop to think about how a victim feels after something happens. Usually it is due to selfishness but the reality is that unless you go through something yourself there are often times you may never know what that person feels. My entire life I have made excuses for people because of this very thing. I have sat down across from mothers in shock as they learn that a man they thought they knew, a man they thought they loved, was touching their child at night and then making love to them later. I have sat and cried with these mothers. I have made excuses for these mothers and as I work each and every case that I have worked I have seen the difference between the mothers who truly cared for their children and then the mothers who were completely incapable of caring for their children. The difference was simple. What did they do with the information that was provided for them. Did they make excuses and call their children liars, or try to find a reason why their child would make the claim that they made, or would they stand behind their child although still covered in shock and fight for them and be the saving grace that child so desperately needs.

October 14th 2023 changed my life forever because not only did something traumatic happen to me but that started the day that all of the walls I had built up around myself came crashing down as the secrets started to unveil and unravel.

You say you want to know what happened and I can’t quite figure out if you truly are so caught up like I was in the web of lies and deceit and the desire so desperately to believe that we all grew up healthy, or if this is just another manipulation tactic that you don’t even realize that you do where you don’t actually care what my response is you just want to be able to show the world, the family, yourself even, that you care when in reality you lost that ability probably when you were a child going through the trauma that you went through yourself. The trauma you never spoke of. The secrets you also kept hidden deep inside of you.

But I will go ahead and speak. Maybe because it is cathartic. Maybe because my therapist is right and deep down I so desperately want a connection with my mother that I am willing, was willing, to live in complete and utter ignorant bliss as long as I did.

But please know, that the decisions I have been making are for one person and one person alone. I don’t think there is hope for me. My therapist thinks there is and maybe because it is so overwhelming being hit with so much in such a short period of time that I am being dramatic, but these decisions are not for me because deep down I don’t have hope for me.

They are for Rylei. Because I have hope in her. I have hope in the fact that our family curse will stop with her. 200 years from now everyone will look back and they won’t remember before Rylei. Those deepest darkest parts of our family, I hope, to erase.

I also understand that most of this will not even be seen, or heard, or truly read and processed. I am learning that you appear to be incapable of seeing anyone else’s side of things. incapable of apologizing, and incapable of giving the support that any of us have ever needed and as my heart hurts for the child in you that obviously did not have that yourself (generational trauma at its finest) I can’t allow the emotions of my heart to affect my decisions anymore. I have to start using my brain.

The day that I was sexually assaulted by Dillon was a day that I still have nightmares about. Not even just what he did, and although my grandfather states it is not a big deal because he did not “rip off my clothes”, which I gather he got from you, my mother, who seems to have turned the whole family against me while you sit over and do what you do best. Play victim and take absolutely no responsibility for literally ANYTHING. But either way, I have nightmares. The dreams play out so differently. For instance the best is the dream I have where I did not consistently hit Dillon and get him to stop. In one dream I simply freeze while he continues doing what he was trying to do.

Then my memory goes back to that day. The day that I was truly a victim and my own family was incapable of treating me like one. At one point you blamed me. You actually stated that you told me I should not have went by myself as though I was supposed to know that my brother would want to sexually touch me in any way. The whole thing is just astounding when I think back. But moving on.

I realized as I cried myself to sleep most of that weekend and your response to that was to, once again, play the victim, and make it about you and how I hurt your feelings. I realized then that something was very wrong and that was when I truly believe that God started to step in.

It started with my first few memories that I talked to Loren about. Of course Loren so desperately wants the acceptance of you that she is not willing to take a stand for herself and I can’t change that, but I also have anger in my heart towards Loren because although I forgot most of it, she did not and she allowed my daughter to be around your husband.

I know about Mike. I remember back then. I remember Loren making allegations and I remember you blaming the drugs. And after this I spiraled down. You always did that. When loren made allegations against Scott and clearly there was something wrong it was “loren is possessed by demons” then as Loren came forward about Mike French kissing her it was “well loren is on drugs” there were always excuses to keep family secrets just that, secrets. It is interesting to me that everyone wants to start going to church now and I get it, you feel attacked and you feel like you are the victim and you always cling to God when you feel yourself spiraling down, but God’s word clearly talks about justice and true forgiveness is taking responsibility. So unless Mike is able to take responsibility for what he did to Loren that means he has not changed and I will not risk Rylei.

Then from there therapy started helping me realize some things. I realize exactly why I am the way that I am. I even realize why loren is the way she is. No WONDER she does not like penis!! Look at what EVERY penis in her life did to her. No wonder she has such significant trauma and can’t escape it. She can’t truly heal because she is always blamed for remembering things, so she allows all of this trauma of what these adults did to her to stay inside of her. It is why she can’t heal. You cannot heal with things festering inside of you. You turn to drugs. Alcohol. Anything to drown out the demons within.

Or you become a monster. Like Dillon.

She reached out to me. Dillon actually reached out to her and it triggered her so much that she, as a victim, started having nightmares and flashbacks and she reached out to me. I remember more clearly things about when Dillon made the front page. Kacy. I thought they were just pictures. I was told so many lies about how Dillon did not know this girl’s age as he at 19 decided to sexually engage with a 14 year old CHILD.

But I have the texts. I have seen everything. And you knew. You knew. You allowed him around Rylei and you stood behind in him in court. A monster.

What Dillon did to me, is on you. Not me.

And the worst part? I stood behind him too. I don’t know if I will ever forgive myself for that. For going to court and VOUCHING FOR HIM and putting MY NAME ON THE LINE. I will make up for it every day of my life as I keep helping children like Kacy put bad guys like Dillon away. It is my new life mission. To make up for the fact that I believed EVERYTHING YOU EVER SAID.

And now I’m realizing that, I’m not sure what is actually wrong with you. Maybe you have a personality disorder. Maybe you can just sit around and blame nana for everything that happened to you as a kid, but the truth is you became mamaw Riddley and you had full control over it. And I will NOT be you. I will NOT make excuses. It will stop here.

Then the attacks started coming. From papaw. From Tiffany. And you sit over there and you play the victim and honestly it has built up so much anger in me that I’m not even entirely sure if I will ever be able to forgive you. Papaw sending me scripture like a false prophet because I chose to do the RIGHT THING and for Dillon to be held accountable for his actions.

And head trauma? REALLY MOM. So first it was psychosis. Now it is head trauma. You know what? It honestly does not matter why he did what he did. He did it. Does not matter why he FUCKED A 14 YEAR OLD CHILD. He still did it.

And God says we are held accountable for our actions. I forgive Dillon. Because he experienced a life tragically as Loren and I did. You’re at fault for him being a monster. You knew at 19 years old that he needed help and you covered it up.

But forgiving someone does not mean “letting it go” it does not mean you turn your back on the truth. I have a DUTY to protect other people. I have a duty to those children who were running around the apartment complex. I had a duty to Sculla. I have a duty to Kacy. Macy. All the girls. All the victims.

I don’t know how all of you sit over there and choose to hide in your secrets but I can’t do it. I will pick justice every time.

And now that I am remembering things I realize that you know more than anyone mom.

It’s funny. I look back and try to figure out why I was so blinded. But you do this to everyone. I have never heard you apologize without some sad story behind the apology to where in the end I END UP apologizing.

Fletcher was the problem. Scott was the problem even though you knew how fucked up he was before you married him. Sharon is always the problem. Nana is always the problem. Tiffany is the problem. Mike is the problem (although don’t even get me started there because man number two you have covered for while he harms your children). You sit over there and you cry and you blame LITERALLY EVERYONE ELSE.

And I will not let Rylei be around that. You know what is sad? I’m not even entirely sure Rylei has not been touched. I have no idea if Dillon ever did anything to her as a baby. Hell, I don’t even know if MIKE did anything to her as a baby.

I don’t know anything anymore. But I’m getting all of my memories back.

So you can go to church. You and papaw can keep sending me scripture and you can keep taking the Lord’s name in vain.

But you want me back in your life? Then it’s time you take a long hard look in the mirror and take responsibility and maybe go to therapy YOURSELF and get the help that YOU NEED.

Instead of always telling everyone else how to live their life and get the help they need. I have sat over here as I’m the one made into the bad guy for doing the right thing. And that’s fine. I am finally okay with being the bad guy because as long as Rylei is okay that is all that matters.

I love you mom. I have lived my whole life believing we were the Gilmore Girls. But now? Now I’m not sure if we were. I’m not sure if you have ever truly ever picked me, and I mean truly picked me. I’m not sure if you have ever truly known how to really love me. I think you have done the best you can in loving people. But I truly don’t believe you know what love is. Just like nana doesn’t. just like mamaw didn’t. I don’t even know if the stories I have been told about Fletcher are true. I’m questioning everything.

And I don’t know about this family anymore. There is a darkness deeply rooted in this family. So many child molesters in this family. I’m not sure if it started with papaw riddley or if it started way before him. But this family is sick. And to me? Family is not family. You don’t just pick your family because they are your family. You can love people from afar. You can forgive people and move on and that does not mean you have to allow the sickness to continue in your life.

And as all of you go to church and play pretend. Just know, I’m getting guidance from Godly people too. Maybe I’m not going to church every Sunday. But I have had a lot of things happen that I deem as miracles the last few months where God has CLEARLY shown himself to me and I have peace with every decision that I am making. Maybe I may never be healed and be able to have a real relationship with anyone. I may be guarded my entire life because of all of my trauma, but I have peace knowing that my daughter will be okay moving forward. I have peace knowing that the decisions I’m making for her are the RIGHT decisions. So while you try and search for all the bible verses you can that make you feel better and make me look like the bad guy.

I’m not having to search. God is just speaking to me. In so many ways.

I love you. But I cannot understand you and the decisions you have made and the secrets you have held and the risk that has put myself and my daughter in.

I’m not Loren. I don’t need acceptance and love anymore from you. I just need my daughter to be okay.

[kira-the-whump-enthusiast]

sorry this took me a while to get to!!

Historical or Futuristic

Defff prefer historical stuff. Idk I’m not really into sci-fi? Usually I write/read semi-modern or fantasy stuff. I have a soft spot for dystopian settings tho :D

Opening or Closing Chapter

I’m gonna be honest here, I have never written an ending chapter. And I don’t know how to! I’m bad at finishing things! It’s much easier for me to begin. And not even at the beginning. I just write something from the middle of a silly plot in my head and post it and just be like “here’s 3 sentences of explanation, have fun” and that’s my idea of an opening chapter woohoo.

Light and Fluffy or Dark and Gritty

Seriously, mad respect to the people who can write fluff. I can’t. I am anti fluff. All characters need to be in situations. Dark and gritty stuff is great but I think my tastes lie a bit in between. It can’t be all dark and gritty. Gotta be a little light stuff in there. Something to hope for. Otherwise I get depressed. 

Animal Companion or Found Family

I have a cat. I do not have a lowkey kinda shit family forcing me to rely on friends for all my family needs. I think my OCs usually end up with nice friend groups rather than like found family stuff specifically. Also one of my OCs has a time kitty who can control time. I think that’s really cool.

Horror or Romance

Look. Cocaine Bear vs Hallmark movies. I know which I’d rather watch. Obviously cocaine bear is not peak horror lmao but girl I am literally so tired of the romance genre and it’s 6 million cishet white man and cishet white girl fall in love Twilight-ass bullshit 😭 Also I’m aromantic. Romance isn’t cool unless it’s dysfunctional and toxic as fuck but not in like the heterosexual way in the queer way. If you get what I mean. Or they eat each other. Idk man. Horror is better. Honestly I think whump could count as a form of horror itself--some of the most horrifying stories I’ve read have been other people’s whump pieces. Horror is fucked up and owns it and I like that. I could go on but let’s leave it there.

Hard Magic System or Soft Magic System

Look I am so bad at making consistent rules. I just get a silly idea and I’m like “yeah I’ll make that work.” I could never make a comprehensive system for all this unless I bullshitted it. It feels like inventing math.

Stand Alone or Series

Literally can’t consistently write a series for the life of me. The devil grants me my writing skills and he gifts me motivation at completely random times for completely random ideas. The shit I post? That’s up to Satan, baby. Also I’m bad at making series so everything ends up being stand alone anyways just in case I never write the next one. I love love love reading series tho. Shoutout to writers who can do that I love you all very much.

One Project at a Time or Always Juggling 2+ 

Just look at my masterlist. My WIPs folder has like 10 projects in there. Never, ever have I been able to do one project at a time. Too many silly ideas in this accursed brain.

One Award Winner or One Bestseller 

I’d get embarrassed if so many people read my book,,, also I feel like winning an award is easier to brag about. Actually no if I do become a published author, I would ideally like to have a small but dedicated fanbase that makes a fuck ton of video essays and dissertations about my book. Also they have to be at least 10 years late.

Fantasy or Sci-Fi 

I like the silly things you can do in fantasy. Like immortality and curses and stuff. Idk how to explain it man. Also fantasy outfits are cooler sorry.

Character Description or Setting Description 

I am so bad at settings. Theyre all kinda vague in my head. Characters I’m better at. Also cuz I usually get a visual reference for them so it’s easier to describe them.

First Draft or Final Draft 

If I can get to it, that is.

---

tagging uhhhh anyone who wants to jump in cuz I am become Tired and I cannot do a thought rn. have fun guys :D

This or That Tag

Thanks @verkja for the tag!

Historical or Futuristic

Hm…I prefer to write in a setting that’s loosely based on irl historically-inspired timelines. It serves as a sort of backdrop I can manipulate into an entirely different setting— which works great for writing fantasy. But if I’m reading, I love a futuristic setting.

Opening or Closing Chapter

Okay I love both but an opening chapter sets the stage— it can have so much tension and I love it when a story hits the ground running.

Light and Fluffy or Dark and Gritty

Dark and gritty! Serious undertones and desperate characters and the snap of a lighter in the background? Yes please.

Animal Companion or Found Family

Well, I’ve never written a character with an Animal Companion before, so we’re going with Found Family.

Horror or Romance

Eh, neither. Romance stories really aren’t something I enjoy and Horror may be slightly better, but if I had a choice, I wouldn’t read horror either.

Hard Magic System or Soft Magic System

I like the creative license a soft magic system gives me. I have tried to write a hard magic system but I often box myself in with rules that contradict themselves…so soft magic system it is.

Stand Alone or Series

Cannot for the life of me write a stand alone. The stories always drag on way past the ending I had planned so I usually try to write in trilogies or in interconnected stories.

One Project at a Time or Always Juggling 2+

Oh lord, I wish I wasn’t juggling so many. But my brain refuses to just work on one WIP— always bringing in different ideas, like the jerk it is.

One Award Winner or One Bestseller

If I was ever traditionally published, then I’d have to go with the award winner. I feel like it would be more satisfying, but idk.

Fantasy or Sci-Fi

Fantasy. Yes. That’s all >:D

Character Description or Setting Description

I struggle more with setting description than with describing my characters. I guess I’m worried I’ll bore my readers by over describing the scenery, and so by default writing setting also bores me.

First Draft or Final Draft

Ha it would be great if I could finish either. But yeah, final draft— I can’t think of anything I want more than holding a completed manuscript in my hands.

tagging: @kira-the-whump-enthusiast, @another-whump-sideblog, @whump-queen, @whither-wander-whump— if you want to, no pressure!

[thehmn]

My friend gifted me The Gift of Fear book for my birthday. It’s a very interesting read that helps you recognize danger signals from other people but the author Gavin De Becker actually helped me manage my anxiety just from a short video somewhere where he explains the difference between fear/suspicion and anxiety/worry.

Very simply put fear/suspicion is a reaction to something in your environment while anxiety/worry is a response to something you imagine or remember either because it happened to you in the past or because you read about it somewhere.

So fear is if you walk into a room and there’s a man acting weird, and anxiety is if you walk into an empty room but get scared because maybe a man acting weird might show up.

There are of course nuances to that. Like, there might be frail old man just reading a newspaper but you get scared because you’re scared of all men, that’s anxiety, or you might know you have a stalker and then it makes sense to not want to be alone in a room with no escape, or you get scared when walking alone because you know it’s a dangerous area, but in both cases the rule still stands; fear is a response, anxiety is a memory/imagination.

De Becker also points out that it’s perfectly reasonable to be suspicious even if it turns out to be nothing. To give a personal example, I used to clean at an office that was in a nook of a lager building with other businesses. It was a busy area but it made no sense for anyone to be in the nook unless they had business with that specific office. One day a man was standing in the nook when I showed up, not doing anything. He didn’t look at me or his phone. He was just standing but at a distance that wasn’t immediately threatening to me. As cleaners we’re taught that if someone wants to break into the place where we clean there’s a chance they might consider our coming and going the optimal time. As soon as we turn off the alarm they might push their way in and though we aren’t the focus we might get hurt. I kept an eye on the guy in the reflection of the glass door while I unlocked it but he never looked at me. After that he showed up regularly but was always gone when I came back outside and I started to suspect that he might be learning my schedule so after entering the office I watched him thought the curtains to see what he did. He stood there for a few minutes when another person suddenly walked towards him, their hands touched for a second and then they both walked off in different directions. A drug deal. So I was right to think something shady was going on, it just had nothing to do with me.

In another case where my fear saved me I was walking my dog at 1 AM. I live in a very safe area so I’ve never been afraid to be out after dark (I never left my apartment after dark while I lived in a bad neighborhood in Leeds). I noticed a parked car on the road but didn’t think much of it because it was parked near a spot where I often meet a middle aged woman who waits to be picked up for her nightshift so I assumed her ride was just early tonight. Suddenly a young man burst out though the hedge surrounding a house, ran to the car, ripped the door open and that’s when he noticed me. He looked at me for a second then jumped into the car. The lights inside the car turned on and I saw another guy in the driver’s seat. They talked and both turned towards me just as the light turned off, then they sped down the street, into a small private parking lot, turned around and finally parked the car across the sidewalk, meaning that when I reached them I’d have to walk out onto the road to pass them. My dog hadn’t noticed anything weird and was busy sniffing the ground. I let him sniff which meant we moved at an exceptionally slow pace and the car never moved and my fear just grew and grew and I got the very strong sense that I shouldn’t get anywhere near that car. I took a split second decision and suddenly crossed the road to a grassy area between houses where a car couldn’t go. As soon as I did the car sped towards me but I was already well away from the street. The car slowed down to a crawl when it reached me and I saw the guys faces in the light from a street lamp. They looked worried. Then they sped up and I could hear them drive away at an insanely high speed. I kept an eye out for news about a crime in the area but saw nothing.

At the time I couldn’t have told you exactly what scared me. I’ve seen many young men run from their garden to their friends waiting in a car, look at me and drive away, and I’ve seen many people parked across the sidewalk because they were lost and were looking at Google maps. But looking back the first thing that I noticed was the way he looked at me before getting into the car. It was a split second too long, like he wasn’t just noticing me but thinking. It was of course also weird that they both looked at me in the car but the thing that really scared me was when they parked and there were no lights in the car. Why didn’t they look at their phones to open Google maps or find a text with directions? Why were they just sitting in darkness?

So Gavin De Becker as taught me to listen to my fear but also realize when I’m just being anxious. When I feel fear I’ll ask myself “What are you afraid of?” and if the answer is a memory or my imagination it helps to calm me down but if I can say “That man/sound/lack of sound/something specific” I know to be on guard even if I’m not sure why it’s scaring me yet. And that means I’ve also learned to trust myself a lot more. Thinking back I realize that I’ve always been right when I was afraid or suspicious of something/someone specific even if it turned out not to be a danger to me. I still knew something shady was going on and I was right to keep my distance because as De Becker says, it’s better to listen to your fear than ignore it because it’s better to be wrong and safe.

And of course this doesn’t mean that if you have bad anxiety or PTSD you should just stop treatment and let fear rule your life. Like I said, there’s more nuance to it than I can explain here, but I wanted to share because I’m amazed how much it has helped me. At first I just noticed I was a lot less anxious in general and it took some time before I realized it happened after watching a random talk from him on YouTube. That’s why I wanted to share this in case it might help others to be less anxious but also trust themselves more.

[robininthelabyrinth]

🧿🤠🐇🍲🍯: Nie Huaisang hasn’t found anyone to do the body sacrifice ritual for him, and so in desperation he tries it himself. However, the ritual was not designed with a Nie cultivator in mind—something Nie Huaisang does not realize until he’s doubled over on the floor, far too close to a qi deviation, because his (admittedly tiny) saber spirit has been replaced with Wei Wuxian.

ao3

Well, that was the dumbest thing ever.

The thought so closely matched Wei Wuxian’s that he didn’t even notice that it wasn’t his own.

How could you be so stupid? Wei Wuxian tried to shout at Nie Huaisang, who was curled up gasping on the floor. The floor, which was stained with Nie Huaisang's own blood, with cuts he had made himself on himself, with the ancient body sacrifice summoning that – that –

Don’t you realize that you’d be gone? You absolute idiot! Wei Wuxian howled, even though he wasn’t actually a person right now. He didn’t know what he was, a ghost or spirit, maybe, but he was there and he was angry and Nie Huaisang’s arms were covered in blood from where he’d cut himself up in order to destroy his own soul – Nie Huaisang, the mincing sensitive little master who would complain for three weeks about having stubbed his toe! – and his robes that he had always taken such great care to keep clean and neat were a mess and he was bleeding from the nose and eyes and ears because something had gone wrong. Something had gone wrong, and Wei Wuxian hated to be grateful for it because he didn’t want to be brought back by Nie Huaisang’s death.

Not anyone’s death, really, but definitely not Nie Huaisang, who’d never hurt him or treated him badly. Even when the whole world had hated and reviled Wei Wuxian, isolating him in Yiling on the Burial Mounds, Nie Huaisang hadn’t – he’d waved jauntily to him during Phoenix Mountain, and Wei Wuxian had never doubted that if he’d somehow found his way to Qinghe, Nie Huaisang would have treated him just the same as always.

You – you –! You good-for-nothing!

“Don’t be rude,” Nie Huaisang mumbled, slowly uncurling. “Didn’t bring you back to be rude to me.”

You know what you’ve done, then? You could have died!

“Was I supposed to let someone else do it?” Nie Huaisang rubbed at his face with his sleeve, then frowned at the blood on it. “I thought about it, but I really just – couldn’t.”

So you decided to kill yourself?

“It’s like you said, Wei-xiong. I’m a good-for-nothing. I couldn’t – I can’t – I can’t fix this. So why not bring back someone who can?”

Wei Wuxian didn’t have words to express how much that was not all right with him.

Go fix yourself, he ordered. I don't care what 'this' is; I’m not talking to you until you get cleaned up.

“After all that work I did? Wei-xiong…”

Nope! You’re not dying, so you can get cleaned up before we talk, and that’s that. I still can’t believe you nearly – I don’t want it. I’ve never wanted anyone to get hurt for me.

“Wei-xiong, you’re being silly. Who said I did it for you?”

Wei Wuxian would have stared if he had eyes.

“I did it for me,” Nie Huaisang said, and finally he got up properly and staggered over to a basin to start washing himself clean. “Obviously! I'm incredibly self-absorbed. It’s about what I need from you…hey, how did you come back? I thought the ritual only worked if I died.”

It should have, Wei Wuxian agreed, unwillingly intrigued by it. I don’t know, actually. It’s strange: it should have either worked, in which case you’d be dead and I’d be possessing your body, or else not worked at all, in which case I shouldn’t be here.

“I always mess things up.”

No, really, I don’t think you messed this up? The array is perfect. There’s no reason for it not to have worked.

“These cuts won’t heal,” Nie Huaisang observed, looking at his arms. “Did I accidentally curse myself to fulfill my obligations? Ugh, why.”

As the person you were going to impose said obligations on, I’m now going to laugh at you. Hahahahaha –

“Shut up, Wei-xiong. Where are you, anyway? I don’t see any ghostly figures that might be you, and anyway, we’re in the Unclean Realm; there are ghost-repelling arrays in every stone.”

I don’t know, Wei Wuxian said, and then something else said, Ghost-repelling arrays only repel ghosts.

At first Wei Wuxian thought that it was Nie Huaisang who had said that, and he was about to ask what he meant by that, only Nie Huaisang got there first and said, “What do you mean, Wei-xiong? Are you not a ghost?”

I didn’t say that, Wei Wuxian said. That – wasn’t me.

“Who was it?”

Me.

“…Wei-xiong…?”

No, that wasn’t me. I mean, it wasn’t me that said ‘me’ just now!

Of course not, the voice said, and it was Wei Wuxian’s voice – or not-voice, anyway, whatever it was that he was using to communicate – but not Wei Wuxian speaking. It was me, of course. Master forgot to account for me in his array.

What? Wei Wuxian asked, utterly confused, but apparently that made more sense to Nie Huaisang because his knees went weak and he fell down on his ass.

“Aituan?” he gasped. “I – what – is that you?”

Yes.

Can I interrupt? Wei Wuxian asked. Who – or what – is Aituan?

“My saber!”

Your – what?!

Nie Huaisang attempted to explain. It ended up being a fairly long explanation, involving his sect’s cultivation style, saber spirits, and his own personal saber spirit, which was named Aituan, and which Nie Huaisang swore up and down did not speak prior to this.

Of course not, the voice now known as Aituan said irritably. Why would I speak? I’m a saber. We’re sensible, not like you humans – but now you’ve shoved a human spirit in with me, so what am I supposed to do? Not use his abilities as my own?

I feel like I should feel violated, Wei Wuxian said.

“When in fact you think it’s really neat?”

…yeah, basically.

Aituan huffed. Can we get back to the part where we plan a murder? he (it?) whined.

Sorry, Aituan, Wei Wuxian said. No murder.

“Uh,” Nie Huaisang said. “Actually, about that…”

-

I think we should kill him.

“I can’t do that!”

Dunno, I think Aituan has a point, Wei Wuxian said. We should probably just kill him.

“You’re supposed to be helping me, Wei-xiong!”

I’m helping! I’m a saber now, I can totally help you stab him.

“Not helpful!”

I like this human, Aituan declared. Good human. Proper blade on his hilt.

You mean head on my shoulders?

Whatever.

Nie Huaisang threw his hands up in annoyance. “Would either of you like to remember the part where I can’t actually fight? San-ge would beat me black and blue if I so much as picked up a pocket-knife in his presence!”

Get someone else to help, Wei Wuxian suggested pitilessly.

“I tried! You!”

Someone else.

“Like who?”

Hmm. Lan Zhan? He’s great.

“I don’t know. He’s er-ge’s brother, isn’t he? He might not believe me…” Nie hUaisang grimaced. “He hasn’t been much inclined to believe me before.”

Why doesn’t the loudmouth do the talking? Aituan suggested.

Oh, that’s a good idea! Lan Zhan was always inclined to listen to me before.

“I thought you said he hated you?”

He still listened!

Nie Huaisang heaved a sigh.

Your other alternative is stabbing your enemy directly, Aituan said. If you’d like to give it a try…

“…I’ll talk to Lan Zhan.”

-

“I can’t believe you’re perving after my saber,” Nie Huaisang complained.

I can’t believe Lan Zhan likes me! I mean, likes me!

I can’t believe I’m still stuck here with you idiots. Can I go share bodies with Baxia instead?

Lan Wangji just looked awkward.

Some people might mistake it for looking noble and genteel, but by now they all knew: it was just him being horribly awkward.

“I have no such intentions,” he said stiffly. “Only – if it was possible for Wei Ying to exit the saber…”

Nie Huaisang grimaced, humor falling away. “I…don’t really know about that.”

Wait, wait, wait. If I can’t – if I’m stuck as a saber – I can’t – but I really want to kiss Lan Zhan! This isn’t fair! I don’t want to have to wait until I reincarnate.

You won’t reincarnate, Aituan said. You’re a saber. Unless we’re melted down or get ground down by time…

No!

“Surely there has to be some way. Aituan, stop being a part of the problem and start being a part of the solution.”

Fine. Let him possess you.

“…what.”

He just needs a human body, right? Let him possess you. Problem solved.

I can do that?

Technically, I can do that, and you can do it because I can do it. But we’d need Master’s permission.

“There are many, many, many books about why you don’t grant your saber permission to possess you. Anyway, that’s my body!”

Yeah, I guess it would be weird for you to kiss Lan Zhan, would it?

“I mean, not really? He’s very pretty. I could swing it.”

You could?

“…you could swing what,” Lan Wangji said.

“Having Wei-xiong possess me,” Nie Huaisang explained. “So that he and you can get the whole missed opportunity thing out of your system.”

Lan Wangji’s face did a few strange things.

"Assuming that it wouldn't be an issue for you, that is, it being me on the other side..."

"No," Lan Wangji said, and cleared his throat. "That would be - fine."

Ooooooh. Does Lan Zhan like you, too?

"What? No. Don't be ridiculous, Lan Zhan doesn't like me like that."

He'd be willing to kiss you.

"Physical attraction isn't the same thing," Nie Huaisang argued. "Lan Zhan, you're with me on this, right? You wouldn't be interested in -"

Lan Wangji cut him off.

A few moments later, he pulled back and said, thoughtfully, "As suspected. It is fine."

Nie Huaisang opened and closed his mouth a few times.

"...well then," he said blankly, then frowned. “Aituan, can I revoke permission for possession?”

No idea. You'd just have to trust that we'd give it back; it's a risk you'd have to take.

“…well, as illustrated, it’s not the worst idea I’ve ever had. Let’s try it, and then once everyone’s a little more focused we can go do what we need to do. Sound good?”

-

“I really didn’t expect you to start a relationship Nie Huaisang,” Lan Xichen said to Lan Wangji, not long before the end. He sounded deeply puzzled. “I didn’t think you liked him like that.”

“Not by himself,” Lan Wangji said with a shrug. “But he’s good in company.”

“…you’re with other people too? Both of you?”

“Mm.”

Lan Xichen, knowing his younger brother’s reticent temper, especially of late, declined to ask who the other parties were. “Doesn’t that make things crowded?” he asked instead.

“…surprisingly no,” Lan Wangji said. “Not as much as you’d think.”

[wheelsup]

the taming of the shrew | one

he is more a shrew than she

penelope reveals her plan to get you and spencer together. unfortunately, her plan has a few hitches. 

A/N: again, big thanks to @homoose for being my helpful beta reader, and to YOU for reading it now. 

category: fluff, spencer reid x fem!reader, series

wc: 4.1k

<- prev | next ->

Penelope came back to your place the following night, bearing a new bottle of wine and a collection of materials she mentioned were integral to executing the plan.

Very quickly into Penelope’s explanation of this Genius Plan –– her words, not yours –– you remembered what it was she did for work. Officially, she was some sort of technical computer-y person for the Federal Bureau. As you knew her, she’s a danger to society and anyone with a traceable digital presence.

She managed to construct a comprehensive list of every place in D.C. and Virginia that her friend liked going to, along with the approximate times in which you were most likely to find him there. Approximate meaning, exactly which days he visits and the roughly time of day, down to a mere one hour margin of error.

You scanned the list over, shocked at its detail. Where he cut his hair, got his coffee, bought his books. His favorite restaurants, the chess clubs he’s a member of, his local hospital.

His local hospital?!

“I’m not going to need to know that, am I?” you paused.

“Probably not, but it comes in handy with this job,” she shrugged with a nonchalance that was rather alarming.

There had to be a dozen more places on the sheet –– ranked, in order of his (assumed) preference for them. Penelope calculated it based on the frequency of his visits, their average duration per session, and how often he’d mentioned about the place.

“What?” she tossed her palms up, taking offense when you asked her if she had evil plans to take over the tristate area. “Hang out with him long enough, you tell me if you pick up a knack for researching or not.”

Researching. Mining private data through questionable methods. It’s a small difference to Penelope.

“Remind me not to get on your bad side, Penelope,” you muttered under your breath, flipping the sheet back and forth. “You could ruin my whole life with ten minutes on a computer.”

“I wanted to be thorough,” she defended, shrugging. “And I’d only need five.”

You laughed through your nose, giving the paper one last scan. “You left out one important thing, though.”

“No, I put his home address on there,” her brows wrinkled together as she pointed it out on the sheet with one hot pink polished finger.

“His name,” you berated. “Jesus, you think I’m going to show up at his home?!”

“Again! I’m thorough,” she cried at your accusatory tone. “His name’s Spencer. You’ll like him when you meet him.” 

_

You didn’t doubt that Penelope’s friend was a likeable guy, but you weren’t exactly dying to go out of your way to meet him. You told her that you’d get around to it when you had a chance and left it at that.

And two weeks later, you found yourself in need of a caffeine fix that your tea kettle wasn’t strong enough to satisfy. You started on a new piece late the previous night, and midnight rolled into four in the morning, which pushed you into the arms of seven o’clock. Reinforcements were needed.

Throwing on a large sweater to cover up your messy clothes and grabbing the closest pair of shoes you could find, you originally planned on heading to your usual spot just around your street corner. Just as you were leaving, the list, still sitting untouched in the exact spot that Penelope left it in, caught your eye.

It’d been a while since you told Penelope you’d help her out. Enough time had passed that you now felt like there was an invisible deadline over your head.

Maybe it won’t hurt to try something new?

Besides, meeting someone at a coffee shop seemed like an easy, foolproof way to go about this. From all the movies and romance novels, you knew that cafes are the pinnacle of meet-cute situations. Or, in your case, a meet-forced.

Regardless, it should’ve been simple enough, and it would’ve gotten the favor off your shoulder.

You scanned the sheet for the cafe Spencer would be at on a Thursday at 8 a.m., and got there with barely five minutes to spare before he was expected to show.

It was just your luck that he had to pick a cafe practically as far from your home as he could get, and the transfer train had to have a delay that made you walk the last three-quarters of a mile there. Call it crazy, but you didn’t expect to actually have to put in work for this. You expected it better be worth the hassle.

You took a seat in the back of the cafe to catch your breath as you waited for him to show up. Sitting in the booth, with your head down so you coudn’t be seen, the plan started to feel stupid all over again. You were running around the city, spying on this stranger, and for what?

The silver bell hung over the door frame interrupted before your thoughts could travel down that path of questioning. It rang each time a new patron enters, and within the next twenty minutes it rang only eight or nine times. None of them appeared to be Spencer.

You were prepared to call this one a failure and leave, when you realized your colossal mistake. You only had his name, and no idea what he looks like. So unless he happened to wear a name tag around you could’ve already missed him. You realized then that there were more than a few flaws in this plan.

Keeping an eye on the door, you dialed Penelope’s contact as a swarm of new patrons flooded in.

“How am I supposed to know what he looks like?” you whispered into the phone, failing to cover it with a hand cupped over the speaker. Penelope was confused for only a second by the apparent lack of context.

“Oh! He’s tall, has mousy brown hair but he cut it recently. It’s like… missing on the sides, but it’s all there in the front!” she explained.

What the hell does she mean missing?

“Pen, brunette? That’s like all the guys in here…” You took a look around the full cafe; various men typing on computers, taking calls. All of them looked the same, from their brown hair to their khakis and puffer coats. “You’re going to have to give me a little more than brown hair.”

Penelope struggled to explain and with each new feature she gave you, your mental picture of him got more clouded. “He’s skinny! Dresses like a vintage teddy bear!”

“Does he have kind of like… a hot English teacher vibe?” you quirked your head, spying a man approaching from the sidewalk and drinking him in with your eyes. Tall, brunette, clad in corduroy head to toe with a plaid sweater vest underneath. Vintage Teddy Bear F/W 1978 collection.

“Yes! He teaches sometimes! And you think he’s hot?”

Your mouth gaped even though she couldn’t see you. “No, I - I didn’t say that. I said he had the vibes of a hot teacher.”

“And how different is that from saying he’s––”

“Pen, I gotta go. Your guy’s walking in.” You put the phone away before she could pick apart what you said.

The bell on the front door rang as he came in and you stared intently at his face. If this was like the movies, he’d turn his head right then, at the perfect time, and make eye contact. He’d fall madly in love from the first look, and your work would be done. You sat at the edge of your seat, burning holes into his skull, waiting for that moment.

But alas, he never looked up from the linoleum flooring as he walked up to the counter. With a groan, you slid out of your booth and quickly hopped into the line before anyone else could claim the spot behind him.

New plan: eavesdrop, order the same coffee as him, and pretend to go for the cup at the same time. Laugh about the coincidence, how if you share the same coffee order you must certainly have a lot in common, and have him fall in love with you.

But you overheard him rattle off his order and were absolutely horrified. Black coffee, extra sugar. Like, extra, extra sugar.

You were going to need a second change of plans.

You eyed him up and down, searching for something you could approach him about. He was donning black converse under a fitted pair of dark brown corduroy trousers, with a blazer to match, and a deep green plaid vest underneath. On paper, this outfit shouldn’t work. In practice, it… really did.

A little too well, given how good he looks in it. More fashionable than a federal agent ought to be as required by dress codes, right?

“Can I help you?” you heard, and it poked the bubble of your thoughts. Your head shot up to meet his for the first time, eyes wide as heat crawled up your face.

“Uh. No ––” Shit. You didn’t even realize how long you were staring at his legs. Long, long legs. And shit, why did you say no? That was your opening to talk to him.

The man –– Spencer –– nodded his head slowly, uncomfortably, and turned away with a forced grin. He grabbed the coffee cup placed on the counter and you thought now was the time to say something. But by the time you thought of it, he’d already picked up his cup and made his way to the door.

The stupid silver bell mocked you as he left.

__

The first attempt left you slightly jilted, but a few days later you found yourself in need of a few grocery items. You just happened to be in his neighborhood that day, and though it was very much out of the way of your own, you didn’t plan on it being a problem. He’d never see where you lived anyways, and he’d never need to know how unlikely this chance encounter really was.

You had Penelope text you the address of his regular grocery store, and upon arrival, felt immediate concern. It was not a grocery store. It was a convenience mart slash liquor store at the corner of the street, below a building of worn apartments.

As you walked through the aisles, the only things you found were a large assortment of wines that took up half the small store space, an aisle of candy packets and chips, a section for household supplies, and one measly aisle for canned and boxed foods.

Cereal, instant noodles, soup cans, pancake mix… nothing very fresh.

Spencer seemed like a pretty scrawny guy. You now believed it might’ve been from the fact that his food choices were so off-putting that he simply didn’t eat. It wasn’t your place to be concerned, but you decided that if you ever ended up taking him out, a farmer’s market might be good for him.

You loitered around for perhaps longer than necessary. The inquisitive shop attendant asked if you need help –– as in, why are you still here, get out of my store –– and you told her you were just really conflicted on which detergent brand you needed. Finally, the man you were after arrived at the scene.

“Hi, Dolores,” he greete with a small wave. The attendant, Dolores, greets back with a positivity that she sorely lacked when talking to you. Dolores has favorites, apparently.

An unexpected panic settled in your stomach and you quickly turned back to your selection of fabric softeners. You weren’t hiding, you just didn’t want him to catch you staring again. You picked up your two props, pretending to read the labels on the back and compare the chemical formulas on each of them, when you saw him out of the corner of your eyes.

He went into the aisle in front of yours, and over the short shelves you saw the back of his head sweeping over the modest food section. He turned around to inspect the other side of the aisle, and you ducked your head even lower. It was in vain. He spotted you anyway.

You fixed your eyes even harder onto the bottles, afraid to look anywhere else. He shuffled out of his aisle and turned the corner into yours. You started sweating a little.

“Uhm. Excuse me,” he said.

“Yeah?” You looked up from your bottles, putting on your best caught-off-guard face. Like you were a girl in a movie, reading a book on the beach (not detergent labels in a liquor store) and your romantic interest just noticed how beautiful you looked doing it, deciding he had to introduce himself.

“Can you… can you move…” he asked, gesturing to the section of cleaners that you’re blocking.

Never mind.

“Oh! Yeah, sorry.” You burned up, moving out of his way. He reached for what he needed and you peeked down to inspect the contents of his basket. Organic whole wheat bread, cream of mushroom soup, and somehow, he’d managed to find the only two apples this place must carry. At least there was light at the end of the dark, dark tunnel.

He tossed a bottle of Snuggle fabric softener and you raised your brows. Given that he was “grocery shopping’’ in a three-piece suit –– a good one, too, black trousers, vest and blazer with an eggplant purple shirt and lavender tie –– you would’ve expected him to simply send his clothes out for dry cleaning.

“Snuggle, huh?” you said. He gave you a confused look. “Oh, uh. I was looking at these. Couldn’t pick between the two.” You raised your two bottles of softener; Snuggle and Tide.

You needed him to know you weren’t just saying Snuggle to insinuate that you would like to do that to him. You remembered Penelope telling you he had a degree in chemistry or some sort of science field, and asked, “Is… is that one like, more organic? I was trying to read the formulas but I don’t… I don’t recognize the chemicals,” you trailed off. You could see yourself losing his interest the more you spoke. He barely looked at you as he grabbed whatever else he needed.

“I don’t know… I just like it,” he bristled. You looked down at the bottle and flipped it over to the front. It had a drawing of a teddy bear on it. How fitting.

You go to comment on it but yet again he’d made an escape, already at the checkout counter and unloading his basket by the time you looked up again. You rolled your eyes, wondering if it’s even worth it to follow him into line and see if he sparks up a conversation this time.

You could tell that he wouldn’t. So you gave him the space to buy his items and leave.

You didn’t really need the detergent, but Dolores gave you a pointed look before you could even think about putting it back on the shelf. You ended up buying the detergent, a loaf of bread, and two packets of sweets out of guilt.

As you took the train home, digging into your packet of sour peach rings, you began to doubt if you can carry out Penelope’s request.

_

After two failed attempts, you were prepared to tell Penelope that this just wasn’t going to work out. You didn’t expect it to be this difficult to talk to Spencer nor did you see yourself getting closer to him anytime soon. It would be best if she just found someone else to do it.

You caught her in the hallway, leaving her apartment just as you came home from the store. It seemed like as good of a time as any to let her know how unsuccessful your escapades were going. With your tail between your legs, you approached her with the intention of breaking the plan off.

But the second she saw you, it was like she could read through you. She clocked what you were about to say and before you could, she gave you a warm hug. It was the first one you’d ever received from her, actually. And she thanked you for trying.

It didn’t make you feel guilty, per se, but it definitely made you feel weird about telling her the news. So you bit back on telling her what you were really going to say. She didn’t need to know the details of your failure, or the fact that you were seconds away from giving up on her friend.

Maybe you didn’t need to give up right away.

After all, you did only talk to the guy twice. Don’t they always say the third time’s the charm?

You left the conversation at just that –– letting her know that you’re happy to do this for her, even if you aren’t really –– and slinked back into your apartment. The list, buried under the magazines and paint tubes and half-full cups of cold coffee on your table, called for you.

If by any stroke of luck you happened to share one interest with this guy, you promised yourself to give it one more try.

According to the list, that overlapping interest was the wonderful world of Gatsby Books –– a small, locally owned bookstore residing in the heart of D.C. ’s arts district. That neighborhood was smack in the middle of your’s and Spencer’s, and it was where the gallery you showcase at was.

You’d been meaning to get down there for a while now, anyways. It really was the cutest bookstore in the world; inside it lived a white, bushy-furred cat named Gatsby, and he was always there. After all, it was his bookstore.

It wasn’t such a burden to make your visit fit Spencer’s schedule, really. And it would make Penelope happy if you did. So on Saturday afternoon, you took a lovely walk through the sunny arts district of D.C., a smile on your face and a tote in hand for all the books you were planning on hauling back.

The smell of paper and coffee greeted your nose at the door, and you practically fell into a trance, letting it lead you through the aisles of the store without much thought of where you wandered. Not that it mattered, you could’ve roamed the shelves aimlessly all day long.

In the mystery and thrillers section, you found Gatsby. He jumped down from his perch on a step stool and weaved between your legs, greeting one of his long-time regulars. He was such a good shop owner.

“Hi, Mr. Gatsby.” You smiled and bent down to give him a little head scratch when he started running off in the other direction, taunting you into following him.

He rounded the corner and came to a stop at a pair of boot-clad feet; your eyes moved up to find your favorite employee (after Gatsby, of course) restocking the shelves.

“Miles!” you whispered, but he still jumped out of his skin. He turned around, hand still over his chest, and sighed when he realized it was just you. “Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you,” you laughed.

“Hey, long time, no see. Back for some more recommendations?” You ‘ooh’ed at his offer.

“I was just gonna say, the ones you gave me last time were so good. I finished them in, like, a week.”

“Really?” He smiled, brows happily up his forehead. You nodded in assent. “Okay, well I’ll give you more this time, see if the list’ll last you a little longer than that.”

You grinned eagerly, following him to the shop counter where he pulled out a stack of bright green post-its and a pen.

“I’ve actually been waiting for you to come in, I already had these in mind for you,” he mumbled, scrawling across the paper quickly. He handed the note over, and it took a moment to decipher the chicken scratches.

“Okay, first you gave me Al-Shayk and Bradbury. Now you’re giving me Chaucer, Dickens, and Doyle,” you recited the note, giving him a teasing look. “Are we just going through the alphabet, Miles?” you joked.

“Honest mistake. But I’d be happy to give you all the other twenty-two letters of the alphabet if needed.”

“I might hold you to that.” You nodded, folding the post-it in your palm to prevent the sticky backing from gunking up. It’d make quite the good bookmark for later. “Thanks for these!”

“No problem, just a part of the job.”

Nonetheless, you thanked him again before disappearing back into the aisles. You found Miles’ books as well as a few of your own and nearly lost yourself in the rows of floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, until you made a turn. Standing in the middle of the next aisle was Spencer.

A week ago, he was the whole point of coming to the store. That day, you completely forgot about it, and it stopped you in your tracks to see him there. He was just standing in the middle of the walkway, staring blankly at the shelf in front of him.

“Excuse me,” you grinned, “Could you move?”

You thought it was a cute reference back to the laundry detergent fiasco, a chance for you to turn the tables, but he had no reaction to it whatsoever. His face was straight as he merely pivoted his shoulder out of your way as you reached for the book you needed; The Narrative of John Smith.

His eyes narrowed at you and his nostrils flared, and you wondered if it was called for because you grabbed the last copy they had in stock.

“Oh, I’m sorry. Did you want this?” you asked, waving the book in his face. He was just standing there for so long, you didn’t think he actually wanted anything since he never picked it up.

“No,” he said coldly.

Contrary to Penelope’s review, he didn’t actually seem that warm of a person. But you smiled tightly at him, letting a forced laugh fill the stale air.

“I… I swear I’m not stalking you,” you laughed, rubbing the back of your neck. Technically it was a bit of a lie, but he didn’t need to know. It’s just something people say when they have the happy coincidence of running into a stranger so often.

“What did you say to me?” he bit. His tone was sharper than you felt like this conversation deserves.

“I mean, I’ve just been seeing you around a lot… it was, like, a joke? Like, ‘ahh watch out, I’m stalking you!’ you know?” With each second he stared you down, you felt your throat dry out, getting more flustered as you felt the need to over explain yourself.

“Maybe you should work on your comedy routine,” he barked, his voice just faintly cracking. He shoulder-checked you as he rushed out of the store in long strides and a brisk pace.

What in the absolute fuck.

You couldn’t stay in the shop for another minute. You dropped your stack of books at the counter with Miles, giving him a rushed apology for leaving them behind as you stormed out of the shop and headed in the opposite direction of where Spencer ran off to.

The air outside was now frosty as the sun disappeared behind the horizon; the wind nipped at your hot cheeks as you charged home. There weren’t enough words to quantify the anger you felt. Your mind ran rampant with how much you now hated this man.

Not only did he bite your head off for no good reason, but he publicly embarrassed you at your favorite place and had gone so far as to bruise your shoulder to make a point. And you know what? If he really wanted you out of his way, you were more than happy to leave him the hell alone for the rest of your life.

You reached into your jacket pocket for your phone and dialed Penelope.

“Hey! How are––” she cheered.

“It’s off.”

“What?”

“It’s off. I’m not dating your fucking friend.”

“What happened? I’m sure it’s just a misunderstanding––” she started in a panic. She pleaded that you overlook whatever went wrong and promised that she’d have a talk with Spencer about it. She’d try to encourage him into the direction that you need.

None of that registered in your brain, hot blood filling your ears instead of her words.

“He’s a fucking ass,” you spat. “The more I see of him, the less I like him, and… I’m pretty sure we’d rather kill each other than date at this point. So yeah, I’m done.”

☆

☆

☆

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[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Hue and Cry XVIII

Warnings: non-consent sex and rape (series), trauma, some elements untagged.

This is dark!medieval!Bucky Barnes x reader and explicit. 18+ only.  Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Synopsis: The reader and Zemo try to figure out what’s next.

Note: I actually think we’re closer to an end then the beginning. My goal is to finish this before moving onto anything else but that might be my original stuff so I might take a little break after this series to figure that out! Your patience and following along has meant the world to me. <3

Thanks to everyone and thanks in advance for all your feedback. :)

I really hope you enjoy. 💋

<3 Let me know what you think with a like or reblog or reply or an ask! Love ya!

MASTERLIST

In the coming days, trunks were opened and stuffed with clothes, blankets, and miscellany. The servants did much of the work as when you were asked what to bring, you chose three plain dresses for you and several more outfits for Elina. Zemo tutted and ordered his staff to fill the chests.

There was no distinct urgency however as the horses were to be re-shoed before you set off and the baron seemed content to enjoy the summer sun with your daughter. He would sit with the two of you under the tree or take her on a walk of his sprawling green or dangle some ornament before her to reach for.

Your mind didn’t retreat from the prospect of your departure. He said a fortnight at longest, you had to leave before that. You worried about Elina and how she’d miss him and how she’d fare on the road. She was a healthy child but you couldn’t help but think of all that could go wrong.

The third day after the announcement of your looming trek, you sat on the balcony as Elina chewed on berries and Zemo sat with a book. The air was thick and damp from the heat but the sun was tamped out behind the gathering clouds. He wore his shirt untied at the top so that the fur of his chest peeked out and you wore a sleeveless cotton gown in a pale blue.

“Do you intend on negotiating? Truly?” you asked as your mind wandered.

He looked over the book and reached over to scoop up a slice of strawberry from Elina’s shirt and flicked it into the saucer, “what do you mean?”

“Are you going to try to seal the alliance they want or is it all a ruse?”

“My liege has given me leave to approach their proposal however I wish. If they present some benefits for us then yes, I should like to have peace but… they’ve not offered anything before that we couldn’t find elsewhere,” he shrugged and lowered the book, “are you concerned for them? The people who let you suffer as such?”

“It is still my homeland but that is not what I’m worried for. I wonder how long your patience can wear on,” you said.

“We have spoke on this, we both know--”

“Yes, I know, but… how long should I have left with my daughter?” you hissed.

“You think I mean to take you from her? Perhaps march you to your death?” he scowled.

“I know however this turns out, my place in it is perilous,” you retorted, “do not mock my fears.”

“I do not--” he took a breath and his sneer softened. He chuckled as he leaned forward, “you are stronger than before, you know that? You snap like a lioness. I thought you underestimated me but I see you only misjudge yourself.”

“You are vague with me so how can I trust--”

“I have seen you through your recovery, through a labour, and a life beyond that,” he said, “I only ask a little more for all that I’ve done.”

You sat back and cupped your chin. You looked at Elina, dark juices smeared around her lips. She was entirely undisturbed by the bickering of adults. You reached over and took her tiny, sticky hand. 

You thought of Lord Barnes and if you should face him again. The idea made your blood run cold. Would he hate you? Would he still want you? You did not doubt he would have some cruelty left for you but as you were, scarred and hobbled, would it be different? And if he discovered your daughter, what then?

“He can never know about her,” you said softly and cautiously looked at the baron, “please, he can’t--”

“If he ever sees her, he will only know her to be mine but I have no intent upon my daughter being near that brute in her lifetime,” he growled. No little baroness but ‘my daughter’. You smiled at Elina and she squeezed your finger.

“I am grateful for all you’ve done for her. I know you didn’t have to--” your eyes strayed beyond the railing as some distant movement flurried beneath the sun. You squinted and leaned on the arm of your chair as you tried to see the specks along the horizon.

Zemo followed your gaze and stood. He went to the golden scope he kept on the balcony and put his eye to it as he adjusted the sights. He tilted it and stood stalk straight as if he’d been struck. The scope bobbled and he steadied it.

“Get her to your rooms,” he said, “lock the door and don’t make a sound.”

“What? What is it?”

“They are early,” he hit his open hand with a fist, “the letter… it could not be. The king must’ve assumed and sent the party prematurely.” He went to Elina and lifted her. He kissed her cheek and waved you up to your feet, “go on, take her. Keep her quiet as you can. I will house them on a lower floor but they cannot suspect you, understood?”

“How do you--”

“The banner, it is all I can make out,” he said as he grabbed your cane and rushed you back through his cool chambers, “you will lock the door and I will have Ulrich keep watch over the corridor.”

“You didn’t see who it was?” you asked as he opened the door and thrust you out into the hallway.

“You will know when I know,” he assured, “keep your candles unlit and draw the curtains.”

“My lord--”

“I did not plan for this,” he said as he marched you down the hall. You tried not to stumble as he still had your cane and you only had him to keep you from falling, “my lady, I do fear you will not make it to the Creek as we planned.”

He stopped at your door and you hugged Elina as you leaned against the wall. She was entirely untroubled by the sudden upheaval, ever a happy baby. “My cane,” you pointed to his hand as he gripped the silver topper, “please?”

“Oh, I-- Yes,” he handed it to you then reached to open your door, “keep that close…” he said, “just in case.”

“We’ll be as quiet as we can,” you assured him as you held Elina against your hip and limped with your can into the dim chamber.

“I will have Tess secret up some food before their arrival but you do not come out for anyone but me. I will knock,” he tapped a pattern on the door, “like so.”

“Yes, my lord,” you squeezed Elina as the nerves stormed inside of you.

He sighed and gripped the door as he leaned on it, “I only have a few hours to hide the evidence of you and all we’ve done to see you off. Even so, they will not suspect anything unless they are fed crumbs, yes?”

“I understand, my lord,” you stiffened and forced back the panic, “we will see what comes and do as we must,” you swayed Elina as she began to fuss, “for her.”

“For her,” he repeated, “now I must go.”

He closed the door and you set Elina down on the rug with the mouse Tess had sewn for her. You went to the door and twisted the latch into place. You turned back to watch your daughter as she tossed the toy and giggled. She pushed herself up to her feet, more certain everytime she stood. The time was passing much too quick.

🏰

You tried to distract yourself by playing with Elina and keeping her quiet. You worried however, the few times she made noise, that you would blow it all. When Tess brought the food, it was easier as your daughter grew hungry and restless. Once she had a proper meal in her, she was ready to lay down. She dozed beside you on the bed as you listened to the activity below.

First, you heard the horses through the window and the rattling carts and carriages. The voices were too distant to discern above a muffle and you weren’t so foolish as to peek out, even from so high up. You calmed yourself by watching Elina sleep but you knew you would not rest that night.

The sun sunk further behind the clouds and the evening approached with a dullness which forewarned of storms. You flinched at every noise, even floors below, and waited and waited and waited.

You had faith in Zemo, he was a great pretender. It was that very quality which kept you wary of him for so long. 

When Elina stirred again, you quieted her cries with your tit but she wasn’t taking to your nipple as eagerly as before. It calmed her for a while but she was soon awake again. You let her explore the chamber but not far from you and kept her away from the clacking wooden blocks gifted her by the baron.

And then the knock came as the sky blackened and grey clouds rumbled above. The rhythm drew you to the latch and Zemo slipped through the door. He was quick to lock it again as you ambled without your cane, afraid to tap the floor too hard with it. Elina greeted him with a shrill cry but it was blanketed by the bluster of the rising chaos in the heavens.

“The storm will frighten her but it should also help hide her,” Zemo said plaintively, “I hope.”

“They are here and settled?” you asked.

“Yes, so they are,” he confirmed as he picked up Elina, “They are too concerned with themselves to worry about any dead women hidden above.”

He sat in the armchair as the girl played with his beard as she liked to do. He smiled and let her, poking out his tongue until she did the same. He bounced her on his lap and she gibbered noisily.

“They are floors down, you should be safe to exist but if she cries, you will have to be quick to quiet her,” he girded.

“Anyone we know?” you asked as you sat on the foot of the bed and rubbed your hip.

He was silent and kept his attention on Elina. He raised his hand and let her bend his fingers to her will. She grabbed onto his ring and twisted it around his knuckle.

“My lord, is there--”

“Yes,” he huffed at last. He kissed the child’s forehead and set her down to crawl across the carpet, though she didn’t go far before she was distracted by her stuffed mouse.

“Who is it?” you asked as you folded your hands.

He rubbed his forehead then pushed his head back, “it isn’t him,” he assured, “if they were callous enough to send him or he was fool enough to come, well, we wouldn’t be having this placid conversation.”

“Who?” you asked again.

“His dog, Lord Rogers,” Zemo spat, “I don’t know which is worse. The man was watching Melinda as a wolf would watch a deer. I don’t even know the girl has flowered yet and he would be sniffing at her skirts. Despicable.”

“Rogers?” you breathed and your chest knotted. 

A roll of thunder boomed at that very moment and made you gasp. Elina stopped playing and her lip began to quiver. You slid off the bed to your knees and went to her and gathered her up. You cooed and hushed her and she clung to the collar of your dress. You watched her face as the fear retreated and she turned to watch the window flash. The terror turned to curiosity in an instant.

“Ha, look how brave she is,” he snickered.

You nodded, speechless still. Your nose tingled and your eyes burned. You were so overcome at the idea of that man being so close. You recalled that day in the forest, your singular mistake, then the scene in the carriage, and that on the staircase when Zemo himself had kept you from his perversions.

“My lady?” he said, “you look unsettled.”

“Take her,” you murmured then cleared your throat, “please, take Elina.”

He got up and took her from your arms. You pulled yourself up by the bedpost and leaned against it, your grip tightened around the carved wood. Your chest pattered in time with the downpour against the castle walls. You shook as you felt the scar along your face and those that led down beneath your dress. It hadn’t just been Barnes.

“Lady?” Zemo got closer as Elina babbled.

“I… can’t breathe,” you said and turned to fall back onto your rear, the mattress dipping beneath you as your fingers clung to the post, “I can’t…”

‘A bird, a bird, high above the cloud…’ he began to sing as much to Elina as you, a tune in his own tongue, ‘a wing, a wing, flaps without a sound…’ he rocked the girl but kept his eyes on you, ‘an angel, an angel, looking down on me. A blessing, a blessing, cast upon the lea…’

He reached with one hand and drew you up to your feet. He let you lean against him as he embraced you against your daughter and kept swaying in time to his voice and the sudden onslaught of the storm, ‘a lady, a lady, spinning at her wheel. A mother, a mother, her will as strong as steel…”

You clung to his sleeve and buried your face against the thin cotton. He kept singing until Elina was quiet and the rattling of your bones stilled. You were embarrassed at the sudden emotion which overcame you and the dampness on your cheeks. He carefully sat you back down and shushed.

The rain continued but the thunder passed. He moved carefully to lay Elina in her cot and stood as you hid your face behind your hand.

“I’m…” you uttered.

“No, that man. I remember that day,” he sat beside you and gripped his knees, “I know what he would’ve done and I am wise enough to know it was not the first he’d touched you.”

“It was long ago,” you said, “I shouldn’t be so… frail.”

“You are...strong. You must stay strong for her,” he sniffed and touched your elbow, “but you feel it now.”

“Feel what?” you blinked at him.

“The longing… for vengeance?”

You stared into his dark eyes and your chest continued to twist. Your spine went rigid and your jaw clenched. “I do,” you nodded and looked over at your daughter, “I feel it so very deeply.”

[belphies-cuhm-sluht]

I'm sorry if I'm bothering but I cant stop thinking about the brothers reacting to the mcs family accepting them as mcs bf before and after they find out the bro is a demon

The Brothers When MC’s Family Accepts Them As Demons (Headcanons)

These got super long, so I’m gonna put them under the cut. Thanks for the request, this was super fun to do. 

Lucifer 

The amount of stress he had going into this was ridiculous. He didn’t want to meet your family in the first place, he thought it was unnecessary and he would have much rather they not knew that he and you were dating. You insisted though, and he begrudgingly agreed to meet them when you went back up to the human world for your birthday. Everything was going fine until you slipped up and used his full name, and he was honestly… relieved. He had hated the stupid nickname you had given to him… “Luci”. It made him cringe, but nobody really named their child Lucifer, so apparently it was necessary. That one slip though, and he froze up, waiting for your parents to freak out… but they didn’t. Honestly, he wondered if your parents were even listening, but then your dad tried to make a dad joke. “So Lucifer, what was the fall like? Just joking, glad you could join us.” Confused. Kind of worried about your parents judgement, because, of course he loves you and wouldn’t want anyone to get in between the two of you… your parents are just… okay?With you dating a demon? Might need to take the second that your parents didn’t take. 

Mammon 

Not really all for meeting your family, but then again, that could be another way of getting free gifts or money. Definitely decides that he wants to meet them around Christmas, and make sure to let them know that you’re bringing your boyfriend, and that he likes gold anything or just flat out cash. He was nervous, but he wouldn’t let that show. Obviously The Great Mammon doesn’t get nervous, not around some measly humans. But these humans, these humans were important to you, and if he didn’t make a good impression, well… he could handle his brothers talking bad about him, but your family was a whole different thing. Christmas morning seemed to be going along without a hitch, the two of you had decided to just call each other by pet names so his real name wouldn’t slip… that is until his greediness started to show and he started pestering your parents about what he got. You lightly smacked his arm, whispering his name, hoping that your family didn’t hear you. “Oh, Mammon? Like the demon of greed Mammon?” Uhm… why weren’t your parents freaking out? “Don’t worry. We didn’t really know what to get you, so we just decided on money. I’m sure you won’t mind.” He’s on a whole new level of shook. Your family is so chill, he wants to come back for every holiday. 

Leviathan 

Getting him to leave his own bedroom was a job on its own. Trying to get him to agree to meet your family was a whole new level of difficult. There was no need for it, they won’t like him, he’s a loser… he gave all these excuses, and although none of them were true to you, he believed them to be true. You were on the verge of giving up and he saw that, he saw that you were upset about it, and he didn’t want to be the reason for you being upset so he finally said that he would. Only for a day trip though. His anxiety was already through the roof and he didn’t want to be stuck in a house of a bunch of people he didn’t know longer than 24 hours. That was no problem for you though as your family was having a small get together. It was a cookout and there would be a pool and everything, just a pleasant day of family fun. That’s how you sold it to him, and although he was still reluctant, he liked the idea of a pool. So now, here you were, goofing off in the pool. He was pushing you around the pool in a little donut raft, and he decided it would be funny to flip you off of it. You squealed his name when you came up from out of the water, forgetting for a second where you were, and your entire family was looking at the two of you now. “Leviathan… I know I heard that name before… isn’t that that one demon who…” “Doesn’t matter what he is, they’re both having fun. Burgers are up in five minutes, kiddos.” They’re not… shocked? Not running for the hills, having a panic attack. Nope, just burgers. He finally feels like he can really relax now, and that’s all that matters. 

Asmodeus

Pfft, worried? Not him. People love him. Your parents will too, he was sure of it. He was all for visiting your parents, actually, he was the one who brought it up. You were about to visit your mom for her birthday, and he decided that he wanted to come along too, since he’d never met your family before. He felt like you were hiding him and he didn’t like that feeling, so now he was coming to your mom's birthday and he even picked her out a gift. Obviously it was self-care set, but what else was he going to get her? It’s Asmo. Of course, your mother loves him immediately. He’s kind and he’s gentle and soft spoken, and he keeps calling her beautiful. He was a charmer, and everything was going great. The entire party went flawlessly, and you both thought that you’d get through the day without anyone finding out that your boyfriend was in fact a demon. That is, until your mother stopped the two of you for goodbye hugs, and she decided to become curious about his name. “Is Asmo your full name, or is it short for something else?” She was so inquizitive, and you bit your lip, hoping that he’d just agree that Asmo was his name, but, he had no shame. He told her that it was short for Asmodeus, and at first she looked shocked, but then she just shrugged. “Hmm, well… isn’t that something. You two get home safely, and come back soon, okay?” At first he thought that she just didn’t know who he was, but you explained to him that she knew, she just didn’t care. He kind of had a feeling it would happen that way though, so he was just as happy as he was before he came up to visit. 

Satan 

He’ll agree to visit your parents, you don’t have to bribe him, convince him, nothing. He just wants you to call him by his real name. He said he would be on his best behaviour, and that your family would have no reason to hate him unless they’re judging him strictly off of his name, but if that’s the case, then they’re shit anyway and he doesn’t want to associate with them. It was a Fathers Day party, and you were on edge the entire time. Your parents weren’t judgemental at all, but the name, his name alone would freak anyone out. He was a true gentleman, shaking your fathers hand and having regular conversations with him about different books that they’ve read. Things were great, and then dinner came along. Satan and your dad were still talking amongst themselves when he stopped in the middle of his sentence. “You know, Y/N never did tell us your name. Things have just been so busy, I’m sorry about that.” Satan didn’t hold back, he almost too proudly stated his name to your father, like he was expecting some type of freak out. It was your mom who chuckled lightly, shaking her head. “Ah, leave it to Y/N to date Satan. Well, everyone seems happy in the relationship, who am I to judge?” And with that everyone went back to eating. You were more shocked than Satan was, he just seemed really smug now, continuing his conversation with your dad. It felt like a giant weight had been lifted off your shoulders. 

Beelzebub 

Halloween, you chose Halloween. There was candy involved and he seemed excited about it. He was always so sweet and you really felt like you had nothing to worry about with him, how could anyone not like Beel? He was a big teddy bear, an absolute sweetheart. He wasn’t even nervous about meeting your family, and there was no reason for him to be. When he walked into your house everyone greeted him with open arms, warm welcomes, and soft smiles. Honestly, the only thing intimidating about him was his height, but everyone quickly got over that and it even became a sort of joke between him and your dad. “Oh, watch your head there, pal. If Y/N would have told me you were so tall I would have raised the archways a little more.” Dad jokes, and while you were embarrassed whenever your dad said anything, Beel seemed to love it. When snack trays went out, Beel devoured everything almost immediately, and it was only when he had cleared the entire table that he realized what he did, smiling sheepishly at you. Your family was clearly… concerned. Beel decided to take it upon himself to explain everything since you seemed so worried, and his plan was, if they freaked out, he’d just take you back to the Devildom to celebrate Halloween there. It was quite the opposite though, and your mom actually seemed relieved that there was a reason for him eating so much. “That makes so much sense. I was getting worried that someone wasn’t feeding you. Well, you can always come home anytime for dinner, alright?” So happy, he’s so happy. Ends up changing into his demon form for a Halloween costume which amazes everyone. He asks to visit your family at least once a week for dinner now. It’s a second home to him. 

Belphegor

Why visit your family when he can just sleep? Sleep is life. He’ll probably just zonk out at your parents house anyway, but that wasn’t the point. You wanted him to at least meet your parents once. They had asked you to come home, and you had told them before that you had a boyfriend and they really wanted to meet him too. It wasn’t particularly hard to say no to you, it’s just that he didn’t like hurting your feelings, and he felt like it was the least he could do considering he did… kill you once. He really did do his best to stay awake, not for your parents, but for you. He didn’t want you to think he was rude for falling asleep at the dinner table, which almost happened. Once everyone moved into the living room though, he couldn’t help himself. Leaning against your shoulder he slowly dozed off and your mom noticed immediately. “Just like your father, able to fall asleep anywhere and everywhere.” You heard Belphie scoff quietly, deciding that he would throw out a joke about being Belphegor, the Demon of Sloth. Of course, you knew that it wasn’t a joke, and you tensed up, waiting for your mom’s reaction to it. “Oh, well, that makes sense now. Do you need a pillow, or a blanket? A warm cup of tea?” He peaked one eye open, staring at your mom for a second before looking up at you and declining, almost too politely. He was kind of bummed out that your mom wasn’t scared of him. There was no fun in it. At least he got to nap a little longer though, and she brought him a cup of tea anyway, so he was still winning in the end. All is well that ends well.