#was remade so many times until I was satisfied

[ponderingandreflecting]

Undertale AU

The Au is called Underwing. It's a bit more unique than other au's not just in how some characters look but also in how somethings are gone entirely. [see tags]

Overview

The monster's lost the war earlier than their other counterparts. After the monster's were sealed underground they explored their new home and discovered it was many degrees hotter than the above world. As the years went by they settled down until the first creature appeared. It viciously attacked the monsters causing them to flee. As more and more creatures appeared the monsters knew they had to adapt and as they did, so did their environment. The monsters grew giant trees which they then created homes around building bridges to connect them to one another. They also grew to have bird feathers on their clothes. Some became more bird-like than others. The culture also adapts with the monsters. After this the same timeline follows up until we get to Frisk. Frisk goes through with a Neutral run before going on to do a Genocide run. Raven is the only survivor and the Genocide run causes the world to glitch. Once Raven returns home, the AU is entirely empty. No human, no monsters, even the other human souls seem to be missing. The only living things around were the Creatures.

Before

When Frisk first falls into the underground they land on a large suspended net. It has a couple of vines wrapped around the edges. Flowey is an Oleander flower instead of the regular yellow. Toriel comes and saves you, she has iridescent hummingbird feathers on her outfit. 

The Ruins are built into redwood trees and the occasional normal oak trees. The bridges are a deepish red like the trees and some seem to be the tree branches warped into bridges. Napstablook is still a ghost but as a Potoo. The Froggits have Frogmouth feathers along their backs, and Whimsun looks like a Humming-bird Hawk-moth, Moldsmal, Loox, Migosp, and Vegitoid are all the same and so is the spider bake sale. After leaving the Ruins Frisk falls again and lands on another net and are now in the Leaffall outskirts

Leaffall is the Snowdin of this place except there's no snow. It's all trees, Oak, Pine, and much more. Sans is a female but continues to go by Sans. She doesn't have any feathers when Frisk meets her and instead has down along the edge of her hoodie. Papyrus has Greater Bird-of-Paradise feathers along the end of his scarf. As Frisk travels instead of the normal piles of snow there'll be leaf piles. The Royal Guard is referred to as the Royal Flock. Snowdrake and Chilldrake both have Muscovy Duck feathers, Icecap has a Pileated Woodpecker feathers, Gryftrot has partridge feathers and his horns have vines growing on them along with a few tiny nests, Dogamy and Dogaressa have lovebird feathers. Doggo is a Catahoula Leopard Dog, Lesser Dog is a Treeing Walker Coonhound, and Greater Dog is a New Guinea Singing Dog. The Snowman is just a voice coming from a hollowed our tree and eyes. They give Frisk a pinecone to take. Grillby is a Phoenix. The other residents are the same. 

Next is Lavafall which takes the place of Waterfall. As the name suggests, instead of water it's all lava. The trees don't have any leaves and are all charred and some are on fire but don't seem to be burning. Most of the bridges still have some wood to them but there are parts that have been replaced by stone. The monsters that would usually be aquatic are now built to survive in lava. Monster Kid is now Monster Hatchling and has Kiwi feathers on his outfit. Undyne is an Osprey, Mad Dummy is a cassowary. There are no echo flowers in the area. Onionsan appears to be a fire bird from Russian folktales, Aaron has a tail of fire and Woshua instead has lava instead of water. Shyrien has Red-eyed Vireo feathers as a part of her hair. The Temmies have finch feathers except for Bob who has Waxwing feathers. Gerson is a Golden Eagle with messy feathers. 

Onwards is Sandland taking the place of Hotland. Before entering Frisk takes a pair of goggles and mask from a nearby box. Hotland is constantly having sandstorms with the bridges swaying while the trees built near them, Palm and Acacia, stay sturdy against the high winds. Alphys has Greater Horned Owl feathers on her lab coat, Mettaton has Peacock feathers and his Neo form is him as a full peacock, Muffet is a Goliath Birdeater, Royal Flock 01 and 02 both have armor with Greater Roadrunner feathers on their shoulders. Burgerpants is some sort of parrot, Bratty has Egyptian Plover feathers she added to her hair, Catty has Egret feathers she added to her nails. Instead of meeting amalgamations, Frisk would stumble upon some of the Creatures Alphas has and is able to drive them away. 

Last is New Home. It's a lot like the Ruins just minus the vines. Asgore has Philippine Eagle feathers on his entire cape and his trident is made of his feathers. Asriel would have Ivory-billed woodpecker feathers on his outfit.

Now

Since all of the original residents are dead except for Sans/ Raven the AU has made some changes. The original house the skeletons had before was expanded and now houses Raven, Blackbird, Crow, and Robin and has a few extra rooms. The Library was torn down and expanded also. Most of the areas are left abandoned since the four live mostly in Leaffall and last parts of the Ruins. Parts of the bridges outside Leaffall have fallen in disrepair and the only way to get across is to have the ability to travel through air either through flying, floating, or riding something or be able to travel through the trees by climbing and jumping. The Core doesn't even work half the time so the few lights available are in Leaffall anyways and they're powered independently by a generator in the library.

The AU itself is also hard to find. It seems to mostly be accessible to those who are running from something or looking for something. This may be a new home, a place to belong, or someone they know. Most people who do appear here don't stay since the AU is unforgiving in nature and takes more than it gives. The amount of skill needed to just travel to other parts of the AU and the general heat definitely has people thinking twice of staying.

Other

I might do other post either about the culture of the au, or what the oc's I have are like, most likely Raven and Blackbird first. I'll definitely be doing post on The Under and the Creatures that live down there.

[a-bombyx-mori]

poking around on spotify earlier and saw that ghost hit 1 mil monthly listeners,,, holy shit!! and their work has been a constant in my life for about 7 years now holy fuck.

gets me thinking about their impact and stuff. still have mixed emotions about everything because they sure did get good and bad attention while they were online. it's gotta be satisfying to see so many people enjoy your art and music and for them to even pay for it. then there's all the problems that come with any fanbase or online presence in general. and I've been here a while so here's just a few things that stand out to me about. everything? things I've thought about a bit?

(this became a long reflection ramble thing whoops.)

I've never really had other songs or writing at all describe the weird mental shit I've been through. yep, it's probably dumb, but ghost and pals songs helped me identity my problems. they became a source of catharsis when I was in fucking middle school and still are to this day. hell, evolve was the first thing that got me thinking I had been in a horrible relationship (along with twisted love ofc). aoapp was a reflection of my anxious attachment for a long time. I wouldn't have been able to make personal progress the past few years without analyzing songs too much.

and don't get me started on their drawings,, their artstyle has always been so charming in its own way. for a long time I tried to emulate their techniques so I could be an artist too. AND THEIR PV EDITING?? mgnghfh full course meal. I still set stills as backgrounds every so often. the fucking colorbars picture was my email background for years until google decided to stop loading it sometime last year.

I still admire them so much.

but there's also things they did that feel off. like I'll never get over how the new chattering was supposed to be a joke. you can't go and make a polished banger showing off your improvement and then say "yeah lol I only did this cause my friend joked about doing it so I said bet." or smth along those lines. (ghost said they remade it cause creep-p joked about it. in a tweet I think? gotta find it.) at that point, it also becomes a slight against your fans. you can't act like everything you make is (essentially) worthless without unintentionally shaming those who enjoy it. it's like that one mirror reflection picture thing.

the whole deletion of specific songs/most of their old discography is also it's own complex beast. ideally, an artist should be in control of when their art is displayed, but you give up that agency when using the internet. hell, there's mirrors of my old Instagram pages, and I'm nowhere near ghost's notoriety. thats the nature of the internet. shit is saved and copied and reuploaded all the time. the only way you can prevent that is by not uploading it at all or going through copyright law/terms of use/etc.

when I first started listening to ghost, they had their old work in an unlisted playlist. cool. then another channel I believe? then later on there was no official way of getting them so ofc people reuploaded them. was that the best thing to do? nope. but people enjoy their old songs and wanted access to them. and not everyone has a local back-up of music cause they're afraid it'll become inaccessible lost media.

them deleting most of their music vids is similar. this happened around like 2018ish? people started reuploading their current songs because. guess what. they weren't officially avaliable. people were thanking translators and such who had the pvs on their channel because they had access to it again. I believe something like this happened a second time but I don't remember for sure.

THIS DOESN'T EXCUSE ANY OF THE PATREON LEAKS BTW. those were paywalled benefits so that's a fundamental breach of privacy (and site rules, I'm p sure).

also less serious thing but they set up a premiere at the end of 2019 for a new song or whatever and it turned out to be a fucking joke too. just like a dr phil picture or smth. only upset at that cause back then I'd get the biggest fucking adrenaline rush whenever they were about to release something. then again I was also depressed as hell so that's an old me problem imo.

there's probably other drama or whatever I'm completely forgetting about, but probably for the better. in the end it's all about the art we're here for in the first place, and the artist behind it. I hope they're doing well after detaching from social media.

uh. long essay thing over now. I think

[ferrocyan]

top 5 memories!!

these are mostly abt my friends from my fc bc they make playing this game so much more fun and awesome (long post warning)

#1 so there's this guy in western coerthas whom you can challenge to a fight named alaimbert of the spiked butt. funny guy with a lot of butt jokes. one day i was leveling samurai and thought eh why not fight mr spiky butt? then i ate shit and died. and like. the moment i died i got a dm from a stranger. this player named "yuyu nekomata" was... asking me to join her fc?

fellas i have no idea how fc recruitments work. i don't know how this girl found me. so i thought. that this person. saw me get buttspiked to death. for no fucking reason, just being a shit gamer. and thought "yeah i want THAT guy to be in my fc, i gotta ask him to join right now"

i fucking lost it dude i laughed so hard i was fully crying. and then i said yes, ofc. best decision i ever made fr. also since i mentioned going to level my gatherers yuyu gave me like 10 sideritis cookies and i still have 6 in my inventory www

#2 i started playing in na actually, in coeurl, crystal bc dreamer was there and i wanted to meet him ingame haha. but the ping was horrendous and i could never avoid aoes. i started to suspect if orange aoes weren't actually unavoidable. i could only get through the hall of the novice "avoid aoes" training by using sprint (it has a 60 second cooldown!) and praying. and i thought man, i want to try raiding in the future, there's no way i can raid if i have to sprint out of every aoe. so i packed my bags and moved out to jp. basically just picked a dc and world at random? the english speaking jp server is elemental (literally every other indonesian ffxiv player is in elemental fml) but i went to mana instead. it's good out here though since mana has an active raiding scene and the queues are super fast :]

anyway the actual memory was when i remade my character and restarted arr and i went out into the world and aggro'd a monster AND I COULD STEP OUT OF THEIR AOE WOOOOOOOOHOOOOOOO avoiding damage has never felt so fucking good

#3 at a time when i couldn't play ffxiv, around after i finished base hvw but not the patches, i watched jocat's ffxiv stream vods on youtube. i kept watching until the last available video, when he'd finished the rak'tika section then detoured to do all the role quests. that was around endwalker's release so the guy was too busy streaming to upload the old vods. since twitch vods were only available for 2 weeks i skipped ahead and watched edw instead of waiting for more shb. i followed his streams to the very end, then went ahead and purchased ffxiv to finish shadowbringers on my own

i hadn't planned to play endwalker, for reasons. i finished 5.0, then i did the only thing left i wanted to do: the twinning. i wanted to jam out to a long fall, haha. and i did! it was a very fun run. i hadn't done alexander and omega yet so alex to me is a twinning boss first and foremost. the unlock quest's cutscene where we hear the message from the doomed timeline was so touching that i teared up. i felt satisfied. i was done with ffxiv! yay!

the story of why i decided to continue playing... is for someday in the future :)

#4 and so i did continue to play, and even finish endwalker. really though, the twinning wasn't the only thing i wanted to do. i wanted to try raiding, remember? and so i got to level 90, my first time at level cap, excitedly went to labyrinthos to try the pandaemonium raids, and

my item level is too low. noooooo!

i had no idea how to get gear. what the hell is a tomestone? why do i need so many of them?? i asked around to the raiders in our fc for tips. they told me some stuff about how to farm tomestones but i thought mannn that's gonna take so long though. so i went to the marketboard and bought the then-bis rinascita gear.

one of the guys i asked, koi, saw me at the sharlayan marketboard and went OH NO. i'd just bought the sabatons when he stopped me. koi told me, "this was supposed to be a surprise, but i'll say it so you don't waste your gil. actually yuyu has bought all the gear for you! please come to the fc house to receive it."

i was.. floored. i'd joined the fc while in the middle of playing shadowbringers, so it wasn't too long ago. i hadn't talked with anyone much, only saying hi when i see them pop in or out of the game. since i was too busy doing endwalker msq i couldn't play with the other members either (though we did go into the aitiascope and the mothercrystal together, it was such a blast). but they still gave me a ton of gear and raid food and gil for materia. man even now thinking about it i get choked up. these people are the nicest and i love them so much.

the time when i would have to stop playing ffxiv again was approaching, but i swore i would first clear at least the first savage trial of abyssos when it came out, to show my friends how much i appreciated their help. i'm still holding onto this promise now.

#5 savage is hard. oh my god is it hard. i have to admit to giving up because my internet connection is very unstable, i get a lot of lags and disconnects, and devour is an extremely unforgiving mechanic with lag. i only went back to high-end content with golbez. his trial is extremely attractive for me to prog because the mechanics are mostly forgiving and easy to learn. the only one that has me by the throat is void comet rain (void stardust? idk i learned this from jp resources so) since that one is unforgiving with lag lol. and it took me a good while to prog this trial. i gave up again when 6.5 released with a new extreme, zeromus, and went for that one instead. actually getting to see enrage for the first time ever was very motivating, but i just... i like golbez a lot. i want to clear the voidcast dais extreme first, as it was the new goal i'd set after p5s broke me. so i tried again! and

i did it baybeeee hahahaha! we were a "learn from the beginning" party that was supposed to go on for only 1 meal. but at the 30 minute mark we got to like 7% and i was the only one left alive and i was like no, no we can't stop here LET ME SOLO HIM! LET ME SOLO GOLBEZ I'M A WARRIOR I CAN DO THIS IN NORMAL MODE SURELY EXTREME IS NO DIFF(explodes to void meteor)

we put it to a vote if we want to continue progging, and everyone unanimously agreed. so one final pull! in which i fucking died to void comet rain like a chump! but we ended up clearing well before enrage!! yaaaayyy!!! i got my first ever endwalker extreme clear, and also somehow the weapon coffer despite being the only one (probably) who messed up. sorry everyone ;p all the luck goes to the most undeserving in the party! now i just need to farm the mount and the golbez minion from the lunar subterrane and i will have my full golbez regalia. this is my current goal www

anyway since we're already here have a bonus sweet memory, last christmas one of the fc members, kou, gave us all drawings of our wols! look at the gang all here /;w;)/

answer correctly or else i will have to write more smut to set things right

talking about the other fc members under the cut www

from the left that's koi, one of our serious raiders. the guy is such a troll, he taught me by force to play better bc when someone else dares take the tanking role from him he will run off alone and aggro everything in sight, cuz fuck you. he did also accompany me progging both p5s and golbez and taught me a lot about tanking and communicating in pf :]

second is yuyu, our most wonderful guild leader! she's sweet and kind and loves to shower the rest of us with gil from her billionaire coffers. she's the best. beside her is hoshi, who is a pretty cool person but she's been taking breaks a lot. she's our healer for treasure map runs and it's always hilarious w her there

the bunnyboy is skyler, our most chill and cool guy B) he's a vtuber on tiktok i think? he maintains our main discord server and is usually the one organizing fc events with yuyu. also the sage main who always takes the job to heal the rest of us tank-dps mains www

lastly beside tart that's kou! i hadn't met her a lot at the start and that was because she has a very serious raiding static. she did the omega protocol ultimate, THE hardest fight in ffxiv, on patch. it was nuts. she was in that dimensional rift 24/7 lmao. she's also an artist and always has the best glams and has gotten into gposing too, a real ffxiv renaissance man. kou does old extreme/savage content for fun and often gifts the rest of us special crafted weapons that glow. like the tsukuyomi sword, my beloved

there are other members but that's all for now! thanks if you're reading this far hahah

[sometimesanalice]

⭐️ for the director’s cut game. I’d love to know what little details keep you up at night! 😉

Please meet the little details that keep me up at night, Becca! 😂

I think for the most part it’s the Big Moment™️ or bits of dialogue that I tend to rue over the most.

I like to turn my phone off at night, so I keep a journal near by because I’ve lost so many things that I’ve been like “I’ll remember it in the morning this is good!” (RIP sweet plot angels)

I was up until 2:30am the other night because I had FINALLY put together The Big Moment™️ for the Dark Days fic I want to write, about the time after Bradley’s mom died where he decides to end their friendship. And the whole thing finally clicked into place which was very satisfying.

But I think my best ideas come when I’ve been sitting with something for awhile. I’m not the fastest writer. I get the plot mapped out, move it to my computer when I’m ready to write-write, and then go over it in sections for dialogue, and then action, and then feeling. So it takes me time to figure out when things are missing, but when I do it’s very exciting.

Like I was minding my own business when I realized Sweet Girl’s engagement ring would be the Toi et Moi style ring (shout out to Napoleon that little romantic) and would have diamonds from both their moms. (And I promptly started crying).

And the wedding band idea came afterwards when I was looking at my favorite designer on IG (Marrow Fine Jewelry) they do lot of before and afters for redesigned family heirlooms and the rings without any gems made me sad, and I didn’t want that for Carole’s band. So it was Sweet Girl’s idea to have it melted down and remade into her wedding band and Bradley was very much into that idea. He’s the romantic one, but she’s the sentimental in the relationship!

🌟Directors Cut Ask Game🌟

[dubconartist]

Chapter 2 of my Corintheus fic is finally up. It's been sitting in my Google docs for awhile because I wasn't satisfied with it. But it's out now and I hope y'all enjoy it. ✌️

Linkity link to chapter two

Or if you want to read under the cut

Henry fell loosely onto the bed and rolled over to watch the handsome blond prowl over him and settled languidly between his parted legs. Henry was already down to just his y fronts and this gorgeous stranger hadn't even so much as taken off his sunglasses. He felt exposed in the best way possible. The blond gave a short hum and trailed a hand lightly down the hair on Henry's chest.

"I am going to do unspeakable things to you." Cori grinned wolfishly.

"Promise?" The man on the bed challenged. Cori produced a length of nylon rope from the side table and raised his brows in question. "Yes, please."

Cori caressed his limbs as wrapped the ropes firmly. Henry felt secure, relaxed, cared for.

"Can you get out of those?" Cori asked. Henry tugged on the ropes, twisted in them. He felt held.

"No." He grinned up at the beautiful man above him.

"Good. That's good, baby." Cori pulled his jacket of in a smooth practiced motion and for the first time Henry saw the knife holster around his chest.

"...Fuck." Henry pulled against the ropes, as he stuggled the unbreakable fibers bit into his skin.

"We will, baby. But," Cori pulled off his glasses, teeth bared in a wild grin on all three mouths, "I wanna taste you first." The Corinthian crawled atop his victim, taking his time, knowing he wasn't going anywhere.

Henry would jolt awake that morning with a cold, nauseous, feeling in the pit of his stomach, relieved that it was only a dream.

~•~

He had feared being remade, being altered in ways he could not control. The reality of it had been entirely different. He had enjoyed the pain of Morpheus' careful hands twisting and tearing within him. And his renewed loyalty to his King had not been altered into him but had sparked to life on its own when Morpheus had plunged his hand into the nightmare's chest. He had forgotten how cruel his King could be and oh how he loved cruelty.

He could feel and catalog each alteration as it was being made and he knew he was still, mostly, the same nightmare. He could fight his new urges, he could work hard and undo what had been done, but why would he? Once you killed a human in the Waking the fun had pretty much ended. Keeping it in the Dreaming he could visit someone over and over and over. They don't remember they should be afraid until they wake up crying for their mothers. He already has so many plans for Henry.

The only thing he misses was the way eyes tasted stronger in the Waking. Missed the feelings and memories and life rushing through him. But he's got something better now, he thinks. If it's something he'd be allowed more than just the once. He'd felt everything and it had been so much, too much, and he didn't want it to stop. When he came back to himself he had been dizzy and sticky with his own spend. Morpheus had stroked his hair and kissed him softly until he had stopped shaking.

~•~

"Hes already back on the job!"

"Already!?"

"Mhm, sent into some poor blokes dreams last night."

"It took Morpheus years of planning and constant tinkering to make The Corinthian. I just don't see how a few hours of work could be enough to fix everything that was wrong."

"Mhm, mhm. I don't trust it. I know, I know Lord said he was 'corrected,' whatever that means, but after what he did? 'M not sure you can fix that."

The Corinthian lurked, as he was wont to do, just out of their sight. Anger flared in him at their words. He could make them eat their words, or at least their own tongues. They could learn to keep their mouths shut. He could teach them.

He reached under his jacket and wrapped his hand around the cold hilt of a knife. He flexed his grip a bit, settling into the familiar feeling, then snapped the knife back into its holster with a shaky huff. Instead he stepped into their sight, all three mouths grimacing at the gossiping dreams.

They two creatures gasp and hurried off with cries of "Sorrysorrysorrysorry…" and "Please don't hurt us, please!"

The Corinthian did not follow. He only stood for a moment, jaw tight with anger at them for their words, and at himself for very nearly proving them right. He needed to be in the presence of his Lord. That would distract him.

~•~

The Corinthian stalked into the busy library still fuming from his interaction with those gossiping dreams. A few heads turned his way with nervous expressions. He ignored them and made a beeline for his Lord who was sitting at a large table, several books open in front of him.

He sat himself in the chair next to Morpheus, without a word, a decision that would have been far too presumptuous for even the other major arcana. But The Corinthian knew his Lord better than them, he knew him better than anyone now. He saw the slight upturn of Morpheus' mouth. His King's almost smile that most never noticed. The Corinthian let himself put his head down on the desk and rested for the moment.

Lucienne carried several more books over to the table and gave the briefest raised brow at The Corinthian sitting with their King but did not say a word. He knew that even if she found his presence objectionable, (he does not care for reading) Lord Morpheus was allowing him, and it was not her place to question their King's judgment.

There was a gentle little tapa tap tap along the desk and suddenly there was a small feathery face tilting into The Corinthians eyeline.

"Hey buddy, you good?" The Raven asked in a tone that said he already knew the answer.

"Just peachy." He didn't bother to sound convincing.

"Right, well anyway, we haven't been introduced. You're that spooky serial killer nightmare, right?" The bird didn't seem at all bothered.

"That's Me." He was half interested in the fact that the raven wasn't afraid and half tempted to pick up one of the studier books and use it to smack him into a cloud of feathers.

"Well, nice to meet you." His tiny clawed feet shuffled a little closer as he tipped his head, "I'm Mathew, the new guy. I'd shake your hand but-" He gestured with his wings.

The Corinthian wondered what it must have been like, to open your eyes one day and be something entirely different. The urge to needle, to offend, bubbled up within him."How'd you die?" He asked pointedly."Would I like it? Was it gory?" He grinned viciously at the bird.

"Well I was kinda out of it, but apparently." Well, now The Corinthian was genuinely interested. He absolutely wanted to hear all about this.

Morpheus looked up from his pages with a small roll of the head that said can you two keep it down.

"Oop, sorry boss man. We'll take it somewhere else, yeah?" Mathew said. There was no reverence or propriety to his words. As if the King of The Dreaming was just a pal of his. The Corinthian decided he liked the bird and even let him hop up on his shoulder as they left their King to his work.

~•~

He had been allowed back into the Waking.

He wasn't alone, Mathew had brought him along to spy on some mortal. "I could use a hand." He had said, the throne room had been unusually busy and several dreams had volunteered to help the raven.

Dream had not even hesitated, "If you wish, The Corinthian could accompany you." He had left the throne room, head held high, in the face of disbelieving dreams.

Now that he was in the waking world he felt terrified. The Old Corinthian seemed to be screaming out. Every person he passed, he imagined killing. Every item he saw, he knew how to turn it into a weapon. Every street was a way out. He could ring the bird's neck and book it.

He did not. He did his duty, chatted with Mathew, charmed the few mortals he had to talk to, and returned home.

~•~

They reported to the palace. Dream dismissed Mathew but asked The Corinthian to stay a moment.

"How did you find returning to the waking?"

The Corinthian tensed "I behaved myself. It was fine."

Dream gave a hum of acknowledgement, "indeed you did, but how did you feel. Being amongst them once more. You must have been tempted were you not?"

"Was this a test? Let me think you'd let me loose just so you see if I'd fuck it up all over again!"

"It was no test. I merely wish to know how you felt. I know you would not harm them."

The Corinthian gave him a doubt-filled look. "I wanted to. Every damn pair of eyes I saw. I want to take them. I wanted to hurt them. Liked the idea of it. My head was so full of all the shit I could do. I…I don't know if you fixed me enough. Everyone's been saying it too." He was trembling now. Dream wrapped an arm around his waist and began carding his fingers through his short blond hair.

"You would despise your role in the Dreaming if you did not enjoy cruelty, my Nightmare. This was not intended as a test, but perhaps it may serve as proof to yourself and any others that doubted you that you are exactly as you should be." He kissed his temple softly. "You were tempted and yet you return to me, little one. Perhaps I should reward your loyalty."

Dream rested his forehead against the Corinthian's, there breath mingling for a moment as the room around them shifted. Pulling back Morpheus guided The Corinthian to the same bed he had woken in after his lord had fixed him.

He had doubted he would be permitted this again. He had thought his Lord had merely been indulging him, letting him show his gratitude the only way he knew how. Only now Dream was pushing him into the bed, nipping hungry kisses anywhere he could reach as he dragged The Corinthian's clothes off him as he went.

Morpheus set the knives down beside the pillows. "My perfect creation, tell me, what would you do to me?" He was kissing down his bared chest.

"I. My Lord." His voice was broken.

"What cruelties would you visit upon me? Here in our domain you may indulge as you please."

"I. I would use my knife. Open you up. Feel You From The Inside like you did me. Own you like you own me."

"Very well." Morpheus had a dark sort of mirth in his eye as if inviting The Corinthian to do his worst.

The Corinthian grabbed Morpheus by his wild tufts of hair and threw him onto the bed. He spared no thought for his clothes, cutting them open with his knife until his Lord was bare before him, laying atop the scraps of what had been his clothes.

He placed the knife on Morpheus' pale sternum and pressed until a small pool of red welled up around the tip of the blade, at the same time he pressed himself against Morpheus' unprepared entrance. As he entered him, he dragged the blade down slowly leaving a long deep cut along his belly. Morpheus cried out, hands shooting up to grip onto his nightmarish lover. He squirmed underneath his attention, both forms of penetration painful.

The feeling of his lord around him and the sight of his flesh tearing under his knife was almost too pleasurable. He slid his hand inside the wound, fingers exploring, almost gently. "Oh, god." He pulled out most of the way and set his hips into a steady rhythm as he dragged his fingers along slick, strange shapes within his Lord.

"I have been addressed as such before." Dreams voice was slightly reedy with pain.

"Oh he's funny. I'm wrist deep in his guts and he's funny." He pinched whatever bit of innards were currently under his fingers and a discomforted noise came from Morpheus' throat.

The Corinthian placed one hand next to his King's head to brace his thrusts. Morpheus muffled whines and cries against the nightmare's wrist.

"Am I really hurting you like this?" He scraped his nails along something solid within him and watched Morpheus arch up, clenching his eyes shut as tears ran down his cheeks

.

"Y-yes." The King said, "I want to feel it." His nightmare looked at him curiously. Morpheus' desperate fingers kneaded into his shoulders as they moved together.

"You like when I hurt you?" Morpheus didn't say yes but the way he was meeting his thrusts gave him his answer

.

"You are. The only one. I would allow to." He said between pants.

"I'm the. Only one. -Oh fuck- That'd. Dare. -Hnnn- You're not very. Approachable. M-my Lord."

Morpheus huffed a laugh and gave him an honest to gods smile. "Do you think I should. Make an effort to. Be this. Yielding. With my other subjects?".

"Not on your life my lord." He thrust in harshly with both his fist and his hand. Morpheus winced as he moved things within him, digging his fingers in deeper as he rolled his hips at little harder into the body below him. He wondered if Morpheus always gave himself internal workings or if he made all this just for him.

"Now I think-" He plunged his hand downward as he stopped his thrusts pressing himself as deep as he could and Morpheus understood what he was doing "there we go! Fuck that feels good." He had a hold of Morpheus' large intestine moving it back and forth, fucking his own fist inside his Lord.

"Ah…ah!" He moved his hand and hips together, using Morpheus as nothing but a sleeve. Morpheus curled forward as if he wanted to watch the gore within himself being used for the nightmare's pleasure. He made no complaints, no move to stop him, he only writhed below him and let tears roll down his temples into his mess of hair.

The Corinthian released his grip on himself through his King and explored Morpheus' pelvis from within, looking for something else as he continued to fuck hard into the body below him.

He pressed down and Morpheus gave a punched out moan as he pressed on his prostate from both sides. The Corinthian pressed hard as he thrust in and Morpheus arched up with a shout as he came across his own bloodied chest. He felt it through the thin membrane of flesh as he filled his Lord and Master's with his own spend.

The Corinthian surveyed the mess they'd made of his King as he eased himself out of Morpheus in two different ways. He ran his hands, one stained red, along Dream's pale flesh leaving streak marks through the blood and cum on his skin. Morpheus grabbed his hand and pulled it to his mouth, sucking the fingers clean. The Corinthian nearly collapsed atop him groaning into a kiss.

He pulled back a few inches stroking his King's temples as he looked into his eyes. "May I?" His fingers traced gentle patterns into his temples " -taste them again?" He clarified in case he was misunderstood.

"If you wish it. When you wish it."

[ungrateful-cyborg-moved]

I have two verses and I used to have a 'bastard' verse for Tumblr up until a year ago, when it wasn't very satisfying (too complicated and not enough continuity for my taste).

WoL verse

It's not very well defined in my mind, which is why I was thinking about writing it or idk, doing comics with screenshots or something to make it clearer, but Aïcha is the one people think about when they say 'the Warrior of Light' even though she usually fights alongside Inge, the Scions and many adventurers/fighters willing, strong enough and available.

She's the WoL in the same way people usually only remember the singer's name in a band. Aïcha likes the attention, she's more than happy to be the face of the group so she's the one that pops in mind immediately. She was less happy when the Scions started being like 'omg what would we do without you, you're so exceptional blablabla' and cut short to that even back in ARR, because brute force don't solve societal problems and she's only efficient because of all the work they do.

She was Azem in ancient times like in MSQ, although Nike—Inge's name back then— had been considered for the job before her and refused. But they were already a team back then too, even though I don't see it as fate that they're one again. It's more a coincidence than anything because I'm not hugely fond of the past defining the future forever.

However... that's not a RP verse, it's more a way for me to engage with the MSQ and explore how it must feel for the WoL, the Scions and co. to go through all of this.

RP verse

It's a shared verse with my FC. We have a character that's 'the WoL' and as far as said WoL (not played) is concerned, the MSQ happens the way it happens in game up until 5.5. I would've preferred Meteor but that's the choice they made before I joined so didn't have a say in it.

Inge, just like in my WoL verse, used to be one of the WoLs from 1.X until the Calamity. Sent into the future, she remade her life to the best of her abilities and the divergent point happens at the beginning of ARR because she never meets the WoL and never gets to do Tam Tara with them.

Considering we knew they were many adventurers in Carteneau, it's not really a problem, and in our verse there are a few others like her that she's met. One that was part of her team and was/is her best friend, and another one that's the brother of one of her old teammates (that she doesn't remember very well now and has died since).

But I enjoy exploring what it means to be considered a hero when, from her point of view, they failed and Louisoix did everything. Including saving their asses.

The rest of my characters are all non-WoLs regardless of verse, but more than a few are connected to certain events or characters from the MSQ (in a non-changing the story way). And I don't roleplay Aïcha at all.

Tumblr verse (discontinued)

Basically I would only keep the stuff in my threads that didn't contradict the lore in any way to interact with others, but I don't like doing stuff this way. Accommodating many partners who all have different understanding of the lore and MSQ makes it difficult to have continuity, I prefer roleplaying with a bunch of people who RP together too. Much easier to have the story unfold organically this way.

But it basically meant that I could RP with WoLs without any issue since my characters would just speak about those threads as stuff having been done with another random adventurer.

An informal query

Started wondering about this recently, so figured I'd make a poll to release into the wild! There's a lot of ways to handle the game narrative as a RPer, and also a lot of ways people RP around the game, so I'm curious about people's preferences, and why they handle it the way they do, if anyone's willing to add some thoughts to their vote.

[avaliveradio]

EB's 'SLIPPING feat. bandanabloom, Kevin Forest & Swxrd blends hip hop with Bossa Nova

EB - SLIPPING (REMAKE) feat. bandanabloom, Kevin Forest & Swxrd

Hip Hop is now exploring new genres and fusion of cultures. There is a new wave of artists that are experimenting with culture to incorporate jazz, bossa nova, afrobeat and other genres into their music. This allows the genre to continue building on its foundation while continuing to evolve.

One artist that I recently listened to who is looking to break barriers by pushing his boundaries is EB with his new single 'SLIPPING (REMAKE) [feat. bandanabloom, Kevin Forest & Swxrd]'

This single is catchy and melodic, with smooth vocal harmonies that are uplifting. The vocalist demonstrates a wide vocal range filled with expression. But the most powerful shift happens towards the end of the song where this amazing Bossa nova rhythm comes into play. The artists blend traditional Brazilian rhythms with more harmonically complex jazz harmony making a song that is innovative and inspiring. 

The Bossa Nova is a genre of Brazilian music that combines elements of jazz, pop and samba. This song takes those elements and adds a unique twist to them making this song feel fresh and inspiring.

This breaks the mold and creates something special that I really crave to hear more of. This group of artists have opened a door for me and invited me to take a look behind the curtain to see what other surprises they have in store for inquisitive fans.

Music Review by Jacqueline Jax 

Featured on The Groundbreaking Hip Hop Playlist

Music Genre: Alternative Hip-Hop/Bossa Nova Vibe: Energetic, Chill, Experimental Located in: Norfolk, Virginia Sounds like: Tyler, the Creator, Childish Gambino, Flying Lotus, João Gilberto, Evinha, Bad Bunny Link to streaming page on Spotify

The artist Emmanuel ‘EB’

Hi, my name is Emmanuel, but my artist name is EB. I've been doing music ever since I was 13 (I'm 19 now), and I was never really all that satisfied with my craft until pretty recently.

Being around the 757, you would think that there would be a lot of musical opportunities with people doing the same types of alternative non-conformist music I would often do (especially with frontiers of sound like Pharrell, Timbaland, Pusha T, Bink, and many others), but I stuck out, and as a result, I kept to myself on most occasions. I did, however, have the internet.

I have gone through a bunch of music groups which were all created from the comforts of the online realities we are all connected to, and, to no avail, there was no real success. Things usually faded away or simmered down to a depressing whisper, and most of the time, I was left with myself to figure out where to go from there.

I've met a lot of great people I'm still in contact with to this day from a lot of these groups, but a lot of things really went nowhere. My latest endeavor with "Manipulated Records", a collective with a bunch of kids just like me, rather than a label, was something so close to what I wanted, with a huge trip that happened last year summer to Dallas (there's going to be a documentary and a possible music drop with all of that), but the group went in a state of inactivity after Dallas, and had a massive blow after one of the members, Salem McLaren, passed away in an accident in October.

I left the group, and worked on a project with a bunch of people from my past groups, titled "Sorta Flying...REMADE~!!!", which was released on February 23rd, describing my experiments and experiences for myself these last couple of years. It is a remake of one of my older works titled "Sorta Flying", with four extra songs and new arrangements.

One of the songs I am presenting to you in this submission is the first song, "SLIPPING (REMAKE)", which was released as a single on February 16th. It is an experimental synthy jazz hip-hop song, which transitions to a bossa nova song in Spanish.

What is Bossa nova?

Bossa nova is a Brazilian genre of music that literally means 'new flair' or 'new trend' in Portuguese. It emerged in the 1950s and '60s fusing elements of samba—a popular music genre within Brazil—with American jazz traditions. The sound uses traditional Brazilian rhythms but with more harmonically complex jazz harmony and more melodic dissonance. This is characterized by a "different beat" that altered the harmonies with the introduction of unconventional chords and an innovative syncopation of traditional samba from a single rhythmic division. The "bossa nova beat" is characteristic of a samba style and not of an autonomous genre.

This song was made in collaboration with bandanabloom, Kevin Forest and Swxrd, and I mixed, mastered, and structured the whole song. It explores one of the main themes that is present throughout the project: a loss of childhood innocence and trying to regain it in the present, rather than getting lost in the nostalgia of a falsely led past. Video link: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GMo1gvUjPkI Social Links & Website: https://linktr.ee/im_ebokay

[ashintheairlikesnow]

writing request for whenever: Laken and Chris go to a dinosaur museum/exhibit

CW: Referenced past pet whump, mentioned negative stimming resulting in self-injury, pet whump (different character) with intimate whumper, grief, referenced parental death, trauma response, brief reference to true crime

Timeline: Chris is 25 years old in this piece

Rafael (Raf) first appears, unnamed, in this drabble from Chris’s early college days

Laken’s hand is warm in his, their fingers intertwined, as they stand underneath the hanging bones of an enormous ancient thing like a whale but entirely unlike it, too. Chris closes his eyes, swaying lightly side to side, humming softly as he imagines it, rows of teeth with some as big as his hand, moving through oceans older than anything he can imagine, chasing down prey.

The sun shines in through the all-glass windows that make up the other side of the atrium, warming against his shirt without prickling his skin. The lights are far up and away, and the sunlight is stronger. 

“Wow,” Laken murmurs, and he glances over at them to see their chin tipped back, liquid dark eyes focused on the recreated bones not so far above their head. “I’ve never been here before. Have you?”

Chris feels the hint of pain at the question, and for once it’s not in his head from memories but simply the aftermath of what he knows. “Yeah,” He answers, voice low and soft. “With my, my dad and mom. Long, um, a, a long time ago.”

Laken’s expression shifts, too, and they wince. “Sorry. I didn’t think about-”

“No,” Chris says, insists really, giving their hand a squeeze. They squeeze back, looking him over with the face they make when they’re reading his expression. He knows it’s going to happen for a while - the cut across his forehead is still bright and obvious against pale skin, although the one on his cheek is nearly healed up and gone. They’re searching, now, for signs it’ll happen again - that he’ll pull back into his head again, maybe take longer to come back out this time.

It’s-... it’s funny, now that he has the memories, he can remember his mother worrying over it, too. And his father’s soft reminders that the worry wouldn’t fix him, because fixing wasn’t what needed done.

It’s funny. To have been told no one loved him, and that was why he had to be remade into a pet, a sort of breathing toy, only to have it all break through with the constant reminders of what a fucking lie that had been.

He’s been reading about people who were kidnapped, lately. Staying up with Wikipedia open on his phone finding names and faces. The girl in Utah, the ones in Ohio, the boy in Nevada, that guy from the famous billionaire logging family who disappeared in California... all of them say, they told us we weren’t wanted by anyone else, for anything else. After a while, we believed them. What else could we do?

It’s... soothing, almost. They weren’t drugged to make it happen, but it did, anyway. It wasn’t Chris’s fault - there was no way he could have kept himself. 

But getting all of it back came at the cost of scaring everyone who loves him now, leaving them all worried he’ll hurt himself again.

He doesn’t think there’s anything else in there that can hurt any more than what’s already come out from behind the flat, cold white light in his mind. But they’re not certain.

“Don’t worry,” Chris says, tilting his head and giving them a smile. “I’m, I’m, I’m okay, Laken. I promise. I, I, I, I-I-I like thinking ab, about them now.”

“Well... good. Okay. Just, let me know if I cross a line, okay?” 

“I, I will.” 

Laken gives his hand another squeeze and steps away to read a freestanding plaque below the bones of the belly of the creature over their heads. Chris picks up the feather necklace he’s always wearing, moving himself over to look outside, at the brilliant green lawn, the landscaping studded with blooming tulips along the walkway. There are plastic sculptures of dinosaurs out there, and Chris watches a little girl in a dinosaur-themed dress and leggings clamber up on one, giggling as she sits on the triceratops like she’s riding it and her father looks on, amused, nearby. 

The world feels strange and thin, for just a moment. He feels like he’s on the other side of a wall, and if he took a hammer to it he could step through and see himself, small and gangly and young, his mother nearby with a giant purse full of all the things he might need, her jaw set and ready to fight a battle on his behalf. One she didn’t always have to fight - but she was ready for it, anyway.

His eyes roam the green area outside, scanning, looking over every child, every parent, every friend. He’s looking for her, he realizes, his hand squeezing tight around the plastic feather, rubbing his thumb hard over the vanes. He’s looking to see if she’ll be there, ten years after she was gone. 

If all he’ll have to do is look hard enough, and she won’t be dead, she’ll be here, ready to load Tristan into the car to get his chicken nugget kids’ meal and go home.

If he only looks hard enough-

“What’s this one, sir?” The voice is soft, sweetly charming, and sends a chill up Chris’s spine with its perfect familiarity. Not that he’s ever heard this voice before - but he knows the tone, the way of rounding your mouth around each syllable, the subtle flirtation built into each word.

His heart stops beating - and then starts again, as he slowly turns to look over his shoulder.

Laken is across the room, now, off to one side. He can see their black hair, the way they stand with one hip slightly out is as familiar to him as his own skin. The soft blue sweater they’re wearing over black jeans and boots is his, they pulled it on this morning with a laugh when he said it looked better on them. He’s wearing one of their shirts over his compression shirt, fair’s fair, sweetheart, you get mine if I get yours. They’d laughed and said he looked so good in t-shirts for bands he never listened to. They’d both laughed.

Between him and his partner, though, is a couple - an older man with a much younger one. It’s the younger man who spoke.

The older man has a hand at the small of the younger man’s back, casually possessive, but it’s the black leather collar worn openly around the young man’s neck that catches Chris’s breath. He can almost feel the constriction around his own throat. Can almost feel the breath against the back of his neck as it’s buckled there, safe and sound, the collar means-

The collar-

The older man frowns, looking up at a large predator skeleton, then down at the plaque in front of it. “ Ac-... Arcanthosaurus,” He says, confidently mispronouncing the name. Chris knows how to say it. He knows exactly what it is. He could say everything on that plaque without looking. Therpopod, Early Cretaceous, fossils found primarily in Oklahoma, Texas, and... somewhere else, Colorado or Wyoming. He could describe its habitat, its likely diet, what its life looked like from birth to death.

The man says the name wrong, and his pretty pet, illiterate and dependent on him for every scrap of knowledge, doesn’t know any better. He only smiles and says, “That’s a pretty name.” He sounds satisfied.

But Chris sees his dark eyes flicker to the plaque and away, the curiosity quickly stifled and shoved down. He’s seen Kauri do the same thing, force himself into safe ignorance to avoid asking too many questions. He’s seen himself do it. He’s seen them all do it, if they weren’t allowed to read, to know, to ask, to think.

The younger man, Chris’s own age, has close-cropped black hair and wears a black shirt and pants clearly tailored to skim, to fit tightly without being indecent. To be a show of wealth without being ostentatious. That’s when it clicks - he’s seen the pet before, in a cafe with his friends. 

The younger man must feel someone looking at him, because for just a moment, his head turns and he looks right at Chris. Their eyes meet, and Chris knows the man recognizes - if not him, then what he was, what he used to be - in a second.

The pet mouths, hi, and tries for a slight smile. He lifts one hand, just a little, and his fingers move in a slight wave.

And Chris had pretended not to see, hunched down in his seat with his heart racing until the two were gone. What were the odds he’d see the same one again? What were the fucking odds, he’d get to be a coward again, to hide from his own life. What were he odds he’d see one here?

Chris had forgotten the museums are all pet-friendly if you call ahead. So many of the places he goes now aren’t. 

Suddenly, he wants to leave, to never come back, not to let the reality of his life intrude on the moment where he’d been so, so close to the memory of his mother, had nearly seen her on the grass. 

“Stay here, Raf, I’m going to step over to the water fountain.” The older man kisses the younger man’s cheek, and they smile at each other, but Chris knows a pet’s smile when he sees one. He’s made the same expression, again and again, felt the snap of white-hot pain on his back or his hands whenever it wasn’t believable enough for the handler staring down at him.

The older man walks away.

For the second time, Chris is faced with the same pet standing alone in a room of people, the two of them know each other in a way no one else here ever could, not really, not without losing it all, too.

He takes a breath.

Raf - the pet - turns to look out the window at the sunlight, and for the second time in his life, Chris meets eyes with a stranger who is, in many ways, exactly like him. 

The pet maybe doesn’t recognize him - without his long hair, and they only saw each other once - but he recognizes something, because his expression changes. Chris isn’t the only one staring - there are children asking soft questions in stage-whispers who are admonished by their parents, older kids staring openly in silence, two adults who see Raf and just as quickly leave the room. 

In a wide, round room full of people, Raf is utterly isolated from all of them, from anyone but the man who keeps him. Chris knows the feeling.

He tells himself to move. All that happens is that he pulls on the feather necklace so hard the cord snaps, comes free, and he stares down at it, before slowly raising his eyes again.

The pet gives him a faint, sad smile.

He mouths, hi.

It’s a circle. 

Somewhere just behind him, he feels the warmth of her, a hand around his shoulder. His eyes blur with tears. She’s so close, here. With the world she brought him out into comes all his memories of her, crowding in on him. Kisses to his forehead, a hand to check for a fever, arms around him to block out the heavy weight and shrieking noise of a hungry world with its jaws open to hurt him.

He can feel her hands on either side of his face, leaning her forehead to his, whispering, you’re okay, Tris, we’re going to get out of here and somewhere quiet, you’re okay. Just hold onto me. 

Just hold on.

She’s so close.

He can hear her, feel her. If he could just move the right way, she wouldn’t be dead at all. If he could just undo everything, if he could fix his mistakes, if he could stay still in the closet and hide just right, if he does it just right nobody has to die and he doesn’t have to lose them and no one has to die-

One step, and then another. His mother’s voice, not forgotten, although blurred by time and loss. That’s how we start, Tris. One step, and then another. You can do this. I’m right here if you need me, but listen - you won’t. You’ve got this, baby. They’re going to love you, all those kids in there.

How, how, how, how, how can you, what if they, they don’t-

They will. 

But-

One step, Tris, and then another. We’ve done it all that way, and we’ll do this that way, too.

He looks back at the green grass outside, the courtyard with the playing children and watching parents, the faint sounds of their happiness through the glass. Her hand is at his back, and Chris takes one step, and then another. His heart is in his throat, his hands shaking, his stomach is twisted in knots and a cold brick of ice inside him. 

One step, and then another. 

She’s so close, and if he does this just right, she’ll find him and take him home. 

No.

She’s already here, no matter where he goes. Home is Jake, and Laken, and Antoni, and Kauri, and Nat. Home isn’t a place, it’s people, and he’s his mother’s home, now, the place where she lives after she’s gone.

He closes the distance between them, and stops next to the pet, holding the broken feather necklace in his hand still. The weight of the sun on his back is warm, and not too heavy. 

They stand next to each other, and he looks just to the side of the pet’s eyes, focused on something else, to avoid the way looking right at him would overwhelm, be too much to take. 

“You were one,” Raf says, in a low voice, sounding stunned. “But you’re not... not now.” 

Chris inhales, slowly. His body screams at him to run, to move, and his mind demands he be silent, be still. Instead, he rocks, forward and back, feels the air move around him. Reminds himself he could do - could be - anything with his body that he wants to, now.

And maybe this pet can, too.

“I, I, I named myself, um, Chris,” He whispers, hoarsely. 

“He calls me Rafael,” The pet replies, and his eyes move over Chris’s face. There’s an expression Chris can’t read well there, a subtle desperate want, but expressions are hard for Chris and right now the static crackling in his mind, the trains of his thought careening wildly around each other, make it even harder. “I would have liked to name myself.”

One step, his mother says, urging him into the gym, where some other kids are already doing backflips and tumbling on mats. One step and then another.

“You can... can do that. If you, um, if, if, if you-you... run.”

“I-... I couldn’t do that.” The pet looks off to the side, but his owner is still in the bathroom. There’s fear in his voice - that Chris can read without trying. Fear, he knows so well. “Where would I go?”

Chris manages a faint, thin smile. He wants to shake apart. He settles for holding out the feather. “Home,” He whispers.

Come on, Tris. You can do this. I believe in you.

“Home is-”

“Home is, is, isn’t this. It isn’t-... it, it, it isn’t him. It’s not an, any of, of, of of of them.” 

“But-”

“5-5-5,” Chris says softly. Sweat sticks his compression shirt to his back, cold trickles down the back of his neck. His heart pounds so hard his lungs have no room for air, his voice is breathless, barely even a whisper, now. “7-2-3-3. They’ll, they’ll help you. Call them.”

Rafael looks down at the feather, and slowly takes the soft purple silicone into his hand, rubbing his fingers over the carved plastic, then looks back up. “I love him,” He says, softly. “I was-”

“Made for, for him,” Chris finishes, not wanting to hear it in the other pet’s voice. Hating the idea that they both know every single phrase by heart, forever, and they can’t undo that. “But... I was, was, was, too. And I’m not, now.”

Rafael slides the feather into his back pocket, looking to the side, at the pristine, cloudless blue sky visible above the courtyard through the thick glass. “5-5-5,” He says, softly, “7-2-3-3.”

“Call,” Chris says, his voice failing him as his fear keeps rising. He has to swallow and steady himself to speak again. “Someone... somebody, somebody l-loved you.”

“But-”

“They, they, they lied to us.” It feels so weird to say it out loud, but he does. He can’t stop himself. “They lie to, to, to to-... to-to... to us all. Someone, somebody loved you.”

He has to go, he can’t be still a second longer, and he walks away without waiting for a response. His timing is perfect - he steps up to Laken just as the pet’s owner comes back from the restroom, sweeping past Chris - pretty but scarred, nothing special, please god don’t look at me - and moving back to Rafael, who smiles up at him with the same perfect, pristine affection Chris has seen in himself and in Kauri and in every single one of the ones like them.

Practiced at the edge of a knife, the lash of a whip, the crack of a cane, until they can turn it on and off on command, at will, whenever they need the smile to keep themselves safe.

Laken turns to him as he stops next to them, looking him over, eyebrows furrowing slightly. “You okay? Oh, hey, your feather’s gone. What happened?”

He allows himself a glance over his shoulder, sees the pet and his owner moving to another room, walking together. The hand at the small of Rafael’s back.

The broken cords from the necklace just barely visible sticking out of his pocket before Chris watches him push them further in to hide them.

“I, I, I gave it to, um, to someone,” He says, turning back to them, leaning over to kiss their cheek, barely a brush. “I, I, I need to go outside. The, um, the everything... can, can we, um, can we go-”

“Yeah, sure. No problem. Do we need to, like, go go, or...”

“No.” Chris looks up at the dinosaur Rafael had been looking at. “Oh, I, I, forgot to tell him it’s acrocanthosaurus.”

“What?”

“Um, noth-... nothing. Let’s, um, let’s go outside for for for a while.” 

Laken hand slides back into his and they walk out the opposite door that Rafael went through, Chris’s hand moving to tap on his own hip as he walks, calming himself with each quick rush of sensation. 

“Hey, hey Laken?”

“Yeah?”

“Remind me, um, remind me to, to, to-to-to call Nat later. Okay?”

“Sure. Why?”

They walk down a set of stairs, people moving quickly past or around them. He misses the weight of the feather over his chest, but he has more at home. And now there’s a pet with proof, tangible and real, that there’s a life to be made by leaving. 

A life worth living.

A life worth running without looking back.

“I, I, I want to tell her to, um, to tell the groups to... to see if someone calls them. I want to, to, to... to know if he does.”

“Who?”

“Um, I’ll, I’ll tell you, you... out, out, outside, okay?”

Somewhere inside him, as his pounding heart calms, his mother says, I’m so proud of you when he tells her that he spoke up. 

He knows Nat will say it, too. 

They surprise a bird in a burst of red wings out of a bush as they move outside, and Chris watches it fly across the courtyard and disappear into the canopy of a tree. 

One step, and then another, to build the man he is out of the boy he was before.

---

Tagging: @burtlederp , @finder-of-rings , @endless-whump , @whumpfigure , @astrobly @newandfiguringitout , @doveotions , @pretty-face-breaker , @boxboysandotherwhump  , @oops-its-whump  @cubeswhump ,  @whump-tr0pes  @downriver914 @vickytokio @wildfaewhump

[beyfantasy]

Redesigned White Tigers from my BEYBLADE AU “Beyfantasy” in 2010.

One of the things I wanted to fix in the old 2010 art were the character poses. I made sure that the remake of the old artworks were more dynamic and having better energy! While Rai, Mao, and Kiki retained most of their designs- Gao had the most changes.

Champion Rai In the old art, Rai's front fist was covering one of the cool parts of his outfit- which was the pendant/neck area. I prioritized his punch over showing off the costume detail before, so for the new pose- the first goal in mind when illustrating him was to show off that area. I also designed gauntlets for him~

Another thing that bothered me were his pants. Back then, it was a fun idea to go all out on it. For the new design- I wanted to tone it down while retaining the Lion Dance pants element. I think the remade artwork has a better balance of the elaborate flair in his pants!

I wanted to keep his silhouette and scale as similar as possible in the old design so not much of the pose has changed. The way his hair flares out and the buff of his chest area were meant to show the strength and silhouette of a lion. His legs had to be spread apart to add to the lion impression, as well as match Lei's stance. His artwork is meant to be Lei's opposite and is drawn so that they look like a pair of brothers - Light and Dark. While Lei has a more fixed "perfect" stance, Rai has a more loose and wild stance. I also made sure to improve on his expression of rage as this says a lot about his story. 

His Lotus motif remains- representing perfection, and the season of summer. It also represents inward emptying and outward splendor- this can also refer to his release of feelings about Lei.

Berserker Mao Mao's design has always been one of my favorite Beyfantasy designs. Her first design was well-loved by many people too and I was happy with the color combinations. Her silhouette was meant to give the impression of a cat- hence the back part being longer like a tail. I originally intended to make her hair a little pinker towards a cool color that was closer to Magenta, but I remembered that a lot of people appreciated her "redder" hair in this design. It was also similar to her first colored manga art. While I was coloring, I realized that the redder hair blended better with the kind of pinks, blues, and golds she had in her overall outfit so I decided to scrap the "pinker" hair idea.

Looking back, one thing that bothered me in her old design were her shoes. I remember putting those shoes for "comfort" and ease of movement, with the bandages there to hold the shoes in place so they don't fly around. Considering her fighting style, the shoes might still come off when she would spin because the friction from the ground will overpower the area covered on her feet by the shoe. I decided to give her shoes that covered her entire feet with appropriate socks in place for better stability.

Her claws were drawn better since in the old one- it looked like they would chip off or lift when she would scratch. This time, she can use them to punch, claw, or defend. The armor on her gloves reaches until just below her elbow, but her sleeves and bandages conceal that.

The blue part of her outfit was cute, but I wanted to soften the edges since they looked a bit block-y. The ends now have a cute petal-y design framing the Peony embroidery. I removed the leaves on her Peony clip and had the strings form a ribbon instead with tassels on the end. Having the leaves around would be overkill, and would take away the focus on her eyes. The ribbon is a nod to her trademark in the anime. The Peony motif is kept on her - an exquisite flower symbolizing nobility and value. It is also associated with affection and female beauty. The Peony is also a flower of spring.

Lastly, I was very careful with drawing her face. It was tempting to doll her up with vibrant makeup, but I had to hold back a lot. I reduced the amount of eyeshadow she had, added a simple blush, and kept the lipstick more nude. While she is beautiful and her design is elaborate, she was still not the kind of girl who would bother way too much with vanity.

Thief Kiki I had to redeem myself from how I drew his weapon in the old art so this was my chance! I wanted to show off his transforming weapon- the three sections and the chain. While the way it is wielded in the art does not make sense at all in combat action, it does well for his character art and silhouette. I tried to incorporate a monkey-like silhouette for this remake by having him raise his arms that way.

Not much changed from the idea of his design. I did want to make him look more of a "youth on the go" so I made the yellow cardigan have a hoodie attached to it. His shoes were changed to something that occupied more of his feet. The waist sash remains in the same silhouette like a monkey tail. I did consider giving him darker/blue colors to match the "thief" theme, but it didn't work out too well. His outfit is also what he would wear in the tournament where he's revealed to be a weapons master and not just a run-off-the-mill thief. I stuck with the same color plan.

I was debating on whether or not I should make his transforming staff glow or not. Glowing weapons were more of the All Starz's theme so I decided to express its specialty by adding Chrysanthemum designs on it and giving it an unusual color. His motif Chrysanthemum, can be found on his weapon, his purple top, and on his back. This flower symbolizes a life of ease and is often given in funerals. The Chrysanthemum stands for the season of autumn. This cold flower could express the fact that Kiki had feelings for Mao, but there doesn't seem to be any hope for romantic success between them because of Lei so he tries his best to put these emotions at rest. It's ironic that his colors are more tropical/summer-like, but if you look closer there's still a coldness to some parts of his color palette.

Grappler Gao Gao is the character that had a lot of costume changes. I started off by picking the elements in his first design that I liked best- which were the colors, the waist sash, and the fur. His old design was greatly imbalanced in weight. I could not understand if I was going for a cool or warm outfit type. For the remake- I decided to go for a warmer and heavier type of outfit. I worried it looked uncomfortable since just looking at it made me feel suffocated. But I imagined him in a winter setting and thought of the “heavy weight” element I wanted so it cleansed me of doubts to go for it.

The metal weights were changed to more practical/modern looking weights. This shift to a simpler design was to balance out the changes in his more elaborate top's design. A belt was added to match his boots and top's stitches. This new iteration has a lot of leather and fabric that gives a good amount of friction.

The old artwork's pose was his default stance and I found it too lazy for a remake drawing. I wanted to express his character better by adding a lamb chop he's eating from! I did my best to make it look tasty.

The Plum Blossom motif can be seen at the bottom of his waist sash. During the winter season, the plum blossom grows flowers from seemingly dead branches- representing new life at the end of the said season. The Plum Blossom also represents courage and hope. In the Beyfantasy, Gao was a child nomad who found home in the White Tiger village and he started living a new kind of vibrant life with Rai and the others.

Those are the designer's notes on the White Tigers Beyfantasy Remake! As with the others, I rewrote some parts of their character descriptions. I am very happy with how they turned out and am also satisfied that I was able to give their backstories and profiles better clarity and color compared to before.

Thank you for reading ^-^

[ollie-ollie-oxenfreee]

remade all the time, made new

Awkward Attempts at Parenting: The Fic is a work in progress no longer! It is Done! And I am Proud of It!

(And I may have stayed up until 3 A.M. working on it when I should have been studying for my trig final)

Title from an Ursula Le Guin quote: “Love doesn't just sit there, like a stone, it has to be made, like bread; remade all the time, made new.”

Magnus Quinn isn’t sure what to make of the cavalier from the Ninth, but he knows he’s worried about her. Or, rather, he wants to worry about her, if he could only figure out how to reach her. She doesn’t seem like she’d be receptive to the same kind of fathering as the duo from the Fourth. Ruffling her hair and telling her he’s proud of her would probably drive her away faster than if he’d jabbed his rapier in her face. It takes some time for him to realize that there’s a starved look to her, hidden beneath the cocky glow in her strange yellow eyes. She needs a decent meal and a kind word yesterday. 

Luckily enough, he has some degree of experience with providing both.

He first got the idea a few days into their collective stay at Canaan House, when he noticed her sitting alone at breakfast, knocking back weak tea and barely seasoned rice like it was manna from God Himself. He’d been picking idly at his own gluey bowl, thinking of the well - stocked kitchen he and Abigail had shared for so many years. Cast in the warm glow of the hearth at all hours and brimming with the best ingredients the Court gardens could muster. Magnus already missed it - missed the crackling of the coals, the feeling of yeasted dough taking shape beneath his hands, the simple satisfaction of dicing vegetables into neat, even cubes. That kitchen was a place of community and peace for as long he’d known it. Perhaps he could create something similar here  - give himself an outlet and provide a sort of common ground to quell the already brewing House tensions. It seemed like his handiwork would be appreciated by one other person, at least. 

For the past week or so he’d made arrangements, carving out a few hours in his schedule, insisting that he really didn’t need help from the hovering skeletal staff and gathering ingredients from the meager pantries. He ultimately decided to start simple with the recipe - the dense, hearty bread he shared with Abigail when he first met her. Familiar as the back of his hand and easy enough to walk a novice through. 

Now that he’s gotten everything in order, it’s only a matter of inviting the Ninth girl to join him. She wanders by the galley wing every so often, seemingly bored out of her mind. Magnus steps out into the hall when he hears the pacing thud of her boots approach and clears his throat lightly to keep from startling her. It doesn’t quite work. Her lamplight eyes dart up at the sound and her hand snaps out in a sharp practiced motion to land on the pommel of her blade. She relaxes a bit when sees him and offers him the slightest ghost of a sheepish smile. 

“You’re an awfully quick draw with that sword,” he says with a gentle smile of his own. “Though it’s a shame I had to scare you to witness it. Would you mind helping me in the kitchen for a moment? I could use an extra pair of hands.”

She blinks, her smile fading, seemingly caught off guard once again by the strange request. For a long moment the silence stretches between them. To his relief she eventually nods, and he ushers her through the rotting wooden door with an exaggerated bow. She looks somehow even more confused and uncomfortable before bobbing a very awkward curtsy with the hem of her robes and stepping past. (How he’s already managed to make things worse for the poor girl, he’s not entirely sure, but he knows he’ll be kicking himself for it.)

Saving what little bit of face he can muster, he directs her toward the cracked washbasin in the corner to wash her hands and busies himself with gathering measuring cups. They’re old, these ones - yellowing strips of what must have once been labels peel away from the dented metal - but they’ll do. 

He worries the end of one of these labels between his fingers as the girl drifts back over, wiping her hands on the front of her robes. For someone as tall and strong as she is, with a presence forceful enough to put a Cohort gunner to shame, she hovers a lot. Seems to hesitate for a split second before committing full - tilt to each movement. Like she’s bracing herself somehow. Like she’s daring the world to stop her. 

Like she’s never quite sure if she’s wanted. 

Oh. Oh, kiddo.

He wants to reassure her, tell her that she’s fine, somehow give whoever dulled this wildfire girl’s spirit a piece of his goddamn mind - 

What he says instead is “do you know how to proof dough? You’re a bright young lady, I’d hate to bore you by walking you through something you already know.”

She doesn’t, it turns out, but she takes to it well. He shows her how to measure and level the sugar and flour, heat the water to just the right temperature to bring the dusty spoonful of yeast back to life, knead and stretch and shape the dough after it’s had time to rest. The crooked, satisfied little grin that graces her face when the sticky goop turns elastic and smooth under her hands warms his heart. 

The fruit of her labor is admittedly not a pretty sight - misshapen and lumpy - but it’s a strong start. It’s got the makings of greatness. (Or at least edibility. Both are good goals to shoot for.)

“You know,” he says as she places her glorious creation in the oven, “you might be one of the few outside the Court who’s made this particular recipe. Closely guarded secret of ours, or so Abby tells me.”

(A strange, dark look flickers across her face at the word ���secret.” He pretends not to notice.)

“I’m happy to pass our little tradition on to the House of the Ninth. And it really is a shame that it’s been ours alone up until now. I never did understand as a kid why we all hold each other at such an arm’s length. Now that I’ve seen more of the world, I think I understand it even less. Power and wealth just don’t seem that grand a prize.”

She nods along absently, her eyes faraway. It’s long past time to change the subject and give her space to think.

He leaves her be for a moment, brewing a cup of tea to his own bracingly bitter specifications and taking a stab (heh) at how she might like hers. Sugar, he thinks. A healthy dash of sugar. He wonders if she’s ever had anything properly sweet. 

From the startled, wondering look on her face at her first sip (and the way she mouths what looks like “what the fuck” before draining the cup), he would say no.  

All the more reason he’s glad he asked her here. 

The minutes tick by from there in companionable silence. Occasionally the quiet is broken by a sound from the hall - the familiar whispering of the Fourth’s pair of gossips, the metronome - perfect clatter of the Second’s boots on the marble, the silvery, chiming laugh of the Third’s golden princess - but even the interruptions are comforting. They make this long dead place feel like something that could be revived. Something with a little precious bit of life left in it. 

A few overheard conversations (and a salacious bit of gossip that makes his companion snicker into her teacup) later, the Fifth & Ninth Collaborative Creation is ready to be unveiled to the world. Pulling on the closest approximation of oven mitts he can find (an ancient pair of thick sparring gloves), he carefully lifts the loaf from the heat of the oven and sets it down on a nearby counter. 

It’s no prettier than it was when it started baking, but it looks distinctly more edible now - golden brown, puffed up tall with a crust that crackles lightly under his hands. Perfectly respectable for a beginner. He lets her do the honors once it cools a bit, handing her a serrated knife from the nearby block and watching with a flare of pride as a column of fragrant steam billows forth. 

“You did a fine job,” he tells her, and means it. She hunches into herself and blushes a little under her mask of dark paint, but her eyes shine bright as polished coins. 

In the end, the ragged little loaf is what bread ought to be - warming and fortifying and worth sharing. 

(And if he happens to notice a certain dour necromancer picking at a piece with something approaching enthusiasm while she studies - well. He'll tell her someday.)

[mattzerella-sticks]

Thoughts on "Carry On" after I've mulled it over:

Now that I've had time to sit on it, I can be a little more precise on my thoughts of this finale:

- Dean's 'ending': Taken out by a rusty nail... I hate it. Then I heard some opinions - without Chuck there were no magic fixes, and this was bound to happen if they continued hunting because of that. It was a human, ordinary, accidental death meaning the Winchesters are just ordinary. Still, being taken out by a nail or rebarb or whatever wasn't a satisfying death for Dean Winchester. Added to the fact he most certainly wanted to live (Miracle, job application, etc.) And he didn't want to hunt anymore either! He wasn't looking for hunts (like Sam was). They stumbled onto that hunt by accident.

From a writer's point of view, I can say now it makes sense with the plot of the episode (only). Dean's death was a catalyst - to give Sam 'freedom' and to show us, the audience, what Heaven was like now that Jack is God. His own sort of 'freedom', I guess.

Unfortunately the plot of the episode still sucked. Just because it makes sense 'story wise' (and I say that very loosely because Dean didn't even get his loose ends tied up nicely). A death during a hunt was something Dean figured would happen in his youth, and he didn't care because he practically was a ghost without many physical attachments. Now he has so many they decide to take him away and for what purpose? It is the last episode. A series finale should only hurt in saying goodbye to the characters, but not like this.

And a goodbye like this, for a character who has had suicidal tendencies and from the looks of it was moving past that, who never really thought about his wants until this moment, and who was on the cusp of being textually confirmed queer (which would have been monumental just saying), it felt like we as fans were stabbed by the rebarb. Which goes to show how much we love the character, one thing. And I think that's why they knew it would hurt. However, they were so wrapped up in this 'shock' they didn't think about any of the consequences listed above as to why this would hurt not only us but their legacy. They figured it'd be a bookend, only for a book whose story ended a decade ago.

- Cas: A one-sentence reference sucks. That's just it.

Fanfiction was mostly built around Cas, too, and I had a feeling they wouldn't show his rescue because leaving that to us would be a good gift. "Here, Cas is alive and human but we won't tell you how - our last fanfiction gap". But Cas's absence wasn't a fanfiction gap, it's a canyon. So much of this episode doesn't make sense without Cas. And, honestly, a good chunk of outrage could have been avoided if Misha was allowed to film (or, if rumors were true, if they left his scenes in). Like it's been proven the majority of fans love Cas, and Jensen and Jared love Misha, so not having him in the finale gives credence to, that the cast and crew might love Misha, TPTB certainly didn't. And doesn't that tarnish your legacy, that you have a man dedicate 12 years of his life to your show and this is how you repaid him? Even if they decided to 'no homo' Cas's declaration (which i doubt they would have because those optics are much worse) at least show it.

Which leads to why he wasn't included in the finale. If he was there, they'd have to have him and Dean talk. About that night, when Cas told Dean he loves him. And if they did, and had there be a reciprocal confession, I bet things on Tumblr would have felt a little different. An equal exchange instead of plain highway robbery.. Yes we would all still want Dean and Cas to live long, human lives, but at least Dean and Cas's emotional arcs were resolved by the SHOW WRITERS, whose job it is to do so. Not ours! But they never understood how to give Castiel good things. Clearly, they know how to make Castiel give good things (like creating Dean's perfect Heaven for him) but not receive them in kind (reciprocated love from Dean). By not having this, it plays exactly into the bury your gays trope we were all afraid of, even if Cas is back. Because he, a queer character, is still living his life for a character he believes doesn't love him back - even if Cas 'doesn't need to know if that's true'. The audience does, and I'm sure Misha did as well.

The writers set up such an easy win but what this finale did was put every character back to season one, and given Misha didn't show up until season 4, makes sense why he wasn't in this episode.

- Sam's life after Dean: Sam liked being a hunter. We had how many countless episodes show that? He enjoyed saving people, research, being a leader - he was good at it. Hell, they even made it a point to have him find someone in the life who understood what it was like to hunt and wrote a beautiful relationship that also gave disability rep.

Only they never followed through.

Like, with Dean, so much of this lead up was then tossed out the window by Sam starting a family, which he never had any indication he wanted to do in these later seasons. Since season 8, really. What we got was that he liked to hunt, he was good at it. He could have restarted the Men of Letters, America chapter, and made the hunters even more connected than before!

Not saying he didn't do that, but knowing how Sam was raised I doubt he would let himself hunt with a kid. So, by showing him marry and have Dean Jr., it's a non-textual confirmation he retired. Which, like with Dean's ending, didn't make sense with what he wanted. It felt like a "might as well" since Dean wasn't there any longer. Like, whats the point of doing something I love now that I don't have my brother with me?

Instead of leaving the Bunker he should have transformed it into a bustling center of activity so he wasn't alone. Extend the Winchester family further and become the hunters' patriarch. Eileen being the matriarch.

Which, circling back, Eileen should have had textual confirmation, too. They showed a brunette woman standing far back, and I get if the actress couldn't be there to film why they would do that. But why not show pictures of him and Eileen if they did marry? I mean, there's a giant picture of Sam with Dean, Mary, and John I DON'T remember them ever having. Why he would blow that up after having two previous episodes talk about how much of a bad father he is...

Sam's ending falls in the same vein as Dean's in that it's unsatisfactory and doesn't fit the character anymore. Not saying Sam didn't want this in the past, but we all saw him change. Hunting was in his blood, and he was fantastic at it. It used to be a way for him to hang with Dean but it would have also been good to see him carry on the legacy in Dean's honor. A better way then by naming his son Dean.

Which strikes another nail on the head. We have Dean, a subtextually queer/textually ambiguous sexuality character, die, and because of this Sam can go on and live the 'apple pie life'? Cas's confession scene wasn't homophobic, but damned if Sam didn't spend the thirty years after Dean's death yelling 'Straight Pride'.

Textually, giving characters a family is a common trope in these sort of epilogues. Harry Potter, Hunger Games, etc. A way to show they've moved on from trauma and are trying to be happy (albeit in a very antiquated way). But at least it fit with those characters and stories. This was Sam trying to be a person who he wasn't anymore, who clearly would rather be on the road hunting (given that ugly wig scene in the garage with Dean's Impala). Actually, worse, it felt like Sam was trying to live a life Dean always wanted. Which shows that even if he's alive Sam isn't happy with what his life was, he was content. He was waiting for death.

- Dean's time in Heaven: Like I said previously about Dean and his 'death', it makes sense to have Dean die early if the goal was to show how Heaven had been changed. Which hurts worse because that again reinforces how Dean's storyline truly is left unresolved for plot development.

And, honestly, they should have cut this entire sequence if they weren't gonna have the cameos. They should have changed the script so that Dean didn't die, because there was no emotional pay-off of Dean going to heaven. We're told it's freedom, however it's more like a waiting room. For Dean, driving endlessly until Sam dies. And for us, being told we can't start writing until Sam gets there and we finish his montage.

Like, is it beautiful that Jack and Cas remade heaven so Dean would be happy? Yes. Did I need to know this until like maybe the last few minutes? No. Dean could have lived a long life, with Cas/without Cas, and then die first and be taken to Heaven. And then after Bobby gives him the rundown, about how time works differently here, we get the Sam end of life and see him pop up too. And when Sam asks what happened to Heaven, Dean could have clapped him on the back and told him he'd explain in the car and they drive away knowing they lived a good life, and have eternity of peace.

Because having Heaven be an open sandbox, for us, to let characters roam free and see those they love without them being memories - beautiful and exactly how Heaven should be. It definitely is something we as writers would have enjoyed if we didn't get it how we did.

Because it hadn't felt like Dean nor Sam deserved the deaths they got. Making Heaven, ultimate freedom, seem such a dangerous idea. That the only true peace is in death (Dean) and life is spent waiting for death so you can be reunited (Sam). What about any of that makes it seem like any of what Sam and Dean did was worth it? Was good? At least on Earth. Sure, without them (and Cas and Jack) Heaven wouldn't be the way it was. But that doesn't seem like a good reward for them. Their reward should have been living long lives (both of them) and them buttoning it with those five to seven minutes of how Heaven changed (more if they decided to leave Cas as an angel despite that being, again, zero character growth and not aligning with how the story was unfolding)

And after a painful, undeserved death, we get Dean in Heaven but still not happy? It was clear Dean was still waiting to let himself enjoy seeing all his family, his friends, Cas, because Sam wasn't there. Which shows he hadn't broken the sacrificial cycle because he's not putting himself first! "Oh but he has eternity to do it!" Yes, but he shouldn't have had to wait still. His whole life has been spent waiting and he gets killed just before he gets his due, and we never see him particularly 'enjoy' his reward, which is too tragic for a series finale. "He could have done more than drive, we don't know!" Yes, but if they're not showing it then why should I read into it? This finale isn't deep. "But covid-" Yeah, I get that. They should have changed the script because without those cameos Dean's time in Heaven was more than pointless and this whole finale was just an exercise in how to hate your main characters.

What this boils down to is that we, as fans, were told that this was for us, except we already knew Heaven was ours because Heaven was supposed to be the implied. Heaven is whatever we make of it. We didn't need to be told this through the show. Having this be the goal of this episode, of the finale - which sums up the goal of the entire series, really - be totally focused on the life we get after death instead of doing the most to make life on Earth paradise for you, was rotten. And Sam's 'happily ever after' was cheapened because of Dean's death.

- Family Don't End in Blood?: Taking into account all of the above, the show has failed the core message of what we as a fandom loved. Family don't end in blood.

Again, I get that covid stole any chance of reunions in Heaven, but it also stole so many others. Like Sam wouldn't have called Garth, Jody, Donna, the girls and Eileen, to have them here for Dean's funeral? Sam wouldn't have burned Dean alone! We know there was some time that passed since the hunt and Dean's funeral by the dog being there, but it should have been more people. Which, again, they should have axed it from the story if they couldn't get them because, like these side characters have done from the beginning, they change the context of the show! Sam's loneliness would have hit harder if it was a room full of people all telling stories about Dean to then just him, alone, in the Bunker trying to move on.

The writers thought we didn't need all these cameos, but we did because - as we keep repeating - while the show, at its heart, is Sam and Dean, there were so many more people who gave their characters depth and allowed for this show to continue. It should have been a celebration of who the boys became and how it was through these bonds they were able to overcome so much.

Which, if redone in that context, Dean's speech to Sam could have been so much better. More poignant and hopeful instead of sad. I mean, I could barely focus on what was being said because I was in too much shock of what was being done to Dean. If they had a similar speech, given with Dean and Sam parting ways to start new lives. Dean reminding Sam he's done so much good, that he's proud of his brother and knows he can do so much even without him, the emotional beat would have still hit! Probably even better than with his death. Because my takeaway from Dean's death isn't "Dean is proud of Sam" it's "Dean died stupidly".

Going to show that this entire script was a series of choices that were all the worst possible outcome, stitched together and handed in. It didn't feel congruent to the story and, instead, a bunch of items checked off of a list the writers were given. It didn't feel like the culmination of the series like we were promised, instead a 'what if the show skipped fourteen years after season 2, John's dead, Mom's killer dead, and no demon deal'. It felt like (even if it wasn't intended) the writers telling us "don't expect people to change or that happy ending exist in life" which, given current climates and attitudes, is dangerous.

Overall:

They were trying to satisfy an audience built around fandom and fanworks, they wanted to leave so much "up to interpretation" so we can continue crafting our narratives through this open sandbox. What they failed to consider is that we don't care where the brothers, or any of the characters, physically are in this show, we care more about the characters themselves and their emotional goals. That's why we write fanfiction. That's why there's a lot of canon divergence. We thank them for the world and play around in it. So, by giving Sam and Dean these 'half-lives' on screen, letting loose threads hang so we, as an audience, can fill in the blanks (Dean and Cas's heaven reunion, who Sam married, what Dean did while driving for fifty years, etc.) was a poor and lazy decision because we are tired of having to do your job! Supernatural is a collaborative effort yes, but they misunderstood the assignment. We still need textual goalposts, like seeing Cas or Eileen. We needed them to finish what they were saying, so we could then take over and continue the story.

A series finale should feel poignant but the only really emotional moment was Dean's death (not for good reasons), and the rest was filler. Your series finale should not feel like filler. It felt rushed. It felt sloppy and - because of not including a certain character - plain rude. Just... it didn't work. The short of it is that the finale, as a whole, didn't work. It didn't wrap the show up in its entirety like we were promised it would. And if they do revive this show for a mini-series or movie, they best forget what happened in episode 20.

[kingleedo]

5 favorite creations tag 💖😜

I was tagged by the absolute cutest @soonhoonsol to post my 5 favorite creations. Thank you, dear! 🥺💖💖

1. LIT (taekwondo version set) - honestly, I really love this set. And it's either this or my Leedo edit for stage break. But I'd say I love this one more. The colors are really nice. And the framework is decent.

2. stage break edit of Leedo - It might not be the most perfect, but I was really excited to try out new things and I really liked this one. I worked on it for quite some time, did many versions, remade, deleted, and giffed it again until I was satisfied with the result.

3. blockb/ateez mv aesthetics - quite a new one, but I really love the matching colors/themes and frames. I was really satisfied and happy that I was able to bring the idea to life.

4. CL's no Lover like me - was my first attempt to make huge MV gifs. And I was really happy with the final result.

5. Leedo + filters - I was also thinking of giving this spot for my spotify set of favorite ONEUS mvs, but I absolutely adore this set of Leedo playing around with vlive filters. Also, this set came out so nicely, despite it being a vlive video (yknow, the quality of those is 😬) so it deserves to be here. I think it's also my most popular one, note vise hahaha

Tagging: @bowieisworried @xiaojvn @seohopeful @highponyleedo @kingdongju

[mittensmorgul]

Hi, I love your blog and metas I read many theories that Dean will die, and be with Cas in Heaven, what is your take on this? Personaly hate it (I hate Heaven eternal ilusion) I think Dean deserves to LIVE for once. I do not want him to DieForOurShip. but maybe I'm missing something?

I hate it, too. I mean... Cas and Dean BOTH deserve to just learn how to live with the free will they have been willing to sacrifice to save the world over and over and over again. They SAVED THE WORLD WITH LOVE AND CHOICE AND SACRIFICE, and it really feels to me like the only possible reward at this point is being allowed to live.

I mean, if Jack has truly remade Chuck’s creation to a new, balanced principle, then Heaven shouldn’t be eternal memorex in a personal cubicle anyway, right? We should get that it’s been healed (as a part of Chuck’s “story” inflicted on creation that made it into the cubicle battery that powered his adulation generation machine), so death and going to Heaven aren’t the same sort of existential despair we once thought of, just like life on earth isn’t anymore, because of Jack’s balance restoration. But that’s UTTERLY IRRELEVANT to a story that has been about LIFE and LIVING and LIVING FREE of a manipulative storyteller using these characters like chess pieces for his own satisfaction.

To me, it doesn’t even have much to do with the shipping. That was also never in question for me, and the show has even textually confirmed that ship anyway now. So like... what’s left? For me? Personally, to feel emotionally satisfied with the end of the story, TFW needs to have reached a point where they can explore what it means to them to truly be free, to truly make their own choices without the weight of The Story™ setting them in a cosmic rat maze with no winning outcomes possible. And that means being alive.

I get the show-- because Dabb said he wanted to put a concrete closure point on the story-- may believe that the only way to nudge them to set aside the hunting life or to truly feel free of the obligation to save people even in a post-chuck and self-healing universe (that we have now thanks to Jack), is for them to die and go to a place where everyone is already “saved.” But I find this line of thinking personally repulsive. It’s... it’s saying there is no peace for them until they are dead, and that no peace in life is possible, and I just... I flatly reject that moral message, because it’s utterly sickening to me in every way.

That’s Death Cult Christianity BS, and in a time where that’s a literal political reality we’re watching unfold with increasing horror and pointless death during a global pandemic... I have an even harder time swallowing this as a legitimate ending to a show that has spent 15 years bringing all the characters to a place where they could choose to live for themselves, free of Chuck’s malicious death cult narrative. So... yeah... having a hard time dealing with that ending being one potential route the writers may have chosen...

Not that this is what WILL happen, because we just don’t know yet, and we WILL know how it all shakes out TOMORROW, but having seen that floated as a potential end to the story, I had to come to terms with the what-if scenario. And... I hate it, thanks. Which is why I wrote THIS:

https://mittensmorgul.tumblr.com/post/634989495902748672/something-i-just-wrote-to-someone-on-discord-but

This is my escape hatch for rejecting that ending wholesale if it is indeed what the show will present to us. Maybe it’ll help you feel better about it, too.

[conaionaru]

Honor and Blood (Ivar the Boneless)

The stupid, the proud

Synopsis: Name day gifts and the baby comes.

Warning: Ivar, Silas, toxic family, fluff, birth, angst, blood, gore, murder, drowning

Tags:

@didiintheblog @youbloodymadgenius @shannygoatgruff @xbellaxcarolinax @lol-haha-joke @heavenly1927 @queenbeeta​

I don’t own the gifs. Also, thank you for your support. I really appreciate it. If you want to be tagged please write me<3

The celebration of Vanya's name day took place when the sun went down. Her back and feet hurt, and the babe was restless. She was exhausted and wanted to rest, but she sat down and pretended to be happy for the sake of the people.

Many people from the village came to give her gifts, flowers, jewelry, children gave her toys, and healers gave her potions to recover quicker from birthing her child. Ale and music flowed through the busy hall as she sat next to Ivar, a hand on her stomach, hoping the child would calm down soon.

Her husband kept whispering pretty words to her and kissing her knuckles, but Vanya still felt nervous. "Alright, now it's time to give you our gifts, Sister," Hvitserk exclaimed, raising his cup of mead high into the air as everybody cheered with him.

Aslaug smiled from her position on Ivar's left as thralls carried in a box to Vanya's feet. They opened the heavy wooden chest to reveal a dagger with a golden handle and engraving on the steel. "It has protection runes on it. You keep it near you during birth, and both you and the child will survive. I had it with me during every delivery, just like my ancestors before me. Every mother passes it onto her daughter. And now it's yours, Vanya."

The ginger looked at Aslaug with tears in her eyes and hugged the kind woman. The Queen acknowledged her as her daughter in front of whole Kattegat; she was a Lothbrok now not only through marriage. The next to give her a gift was Ubbe. He put a small item into her hands wrapped in fabric. When Vanya revealed the present, she couldn't help but gasp.

The oldest son of Aslaug smiled down at her cheekily and nodded towards the butterfly pin in her hands. "You said you had a necklace like that once. So I thought it would be nice to give you something to remind you of it, Lillemor (Little mother)."

"Thank you, Ubbe. I love it." She grinned at him as he squeezed her tightly and kissed her forehead. The tall Ragnarsson also mussed Ivar's hair as the crippled boy glared at him for the affection his wife gave him.

"Jewelry, Ubbe? Really? How unoriginal. You make it too easy. I got you a better gift, Vanya!" Hvitserk boasted, passing her another wrapped item. This one was heavier and square. "I had one of the Saxon thralls write it down for you. It's stories about the gods and the greatest warriors to ever live. Father is in there, and mothers' parents as well. You said you wanted to learn everything. Floki also wrote some runes in there for you to learn."

Vanya thanked the giddy Viking and trailed her fingers over the hand cover of the book Hvitserk had made for her. It looked just like the ones the monks carried around the church. She had a feeling the one who wrote the stories was a monk too, and the book might have been either bought blank or had the pages remade. Whatever it was, she felt a little bit sorry for the author of the book. The slave learned how to write to eternalize God's word, and now he writes stories of foreign gods and warriors.

"And this is my gift. Much better then Hvitserks, I am sure." Sigurd jumped in with his oud in hand. It turns out the reason why the Ragnarsson tuned his instrument next to Vanya was to get it ready for a song he wrote for her. The music was beautiful; it started on a sad note that grew fiercer with every note, ending in a happy symphony. Everyone clapped the pretty song, and it's creator.

Floki and Helga gave Vanya their gifts as well, white Bjorn and Torvi gifted her with new furs. The last one to provide her with a gift was Ivar. His present was wrapped in fabric and heavy. "I made it myself. It's Jörmungandr. I already gave you Fenrir, so it would only be fair if you had his sibling as well."

The metal necklace was perfect despite the origin of the creature it held. Ivar had Thor's hammer; it would only be fair if she had something powerful too. And a snake that binds all the seas is truly brilliant. All the storms that Thor creates make the snake rage in the waters. "Thank you, Ivar. It's perfect."

The two shared a kiss while the babe inside her raged on. Maybe it would be like Jörmungandr, circling around her belly, waiting for it's time to escape. She just hoped it wouldn't be as disastrous as what will follow the serpent's escape. The Princess was in no mood for Ragnarok.

"I want to give you a gift as well, sister," Silas announced proudly, walking towards the sitting redhead. The item he gave her was heavy and bought in by two knights. Whatever was inside the ornamented chest, was a bad omen. Vanya could feel it in her aching bones; the gift wasn't made in good faith. "A reminder as well, just like another one of your gifts."

Ivar ordered Margrethe to open the chest, inside was a golden cross. It was large and ornamented with jewels. Everyone stared at the heavy rood that their father used to have in his study. It always stood on his desk before him when he thought of war, to remind him that God is on his side and should like it. But Silas didn't give it to her to remember Osmond; he gave it as a warning.

"I chose it, and Mother agreed it to be a good gift. You can melt it down and have jewelry made out of it, or give it to the orphans as treasure. Whatever you chose, dear little sister. The choice is yours."

Vanya kept staring at the Christian symbol, not knowing what to think or say. Her eyes slowly lifted to look at Silas, as Ivar fumed next to her. The Ragnarssons looked at the cross with disgust while Aslaug watched Silas, to find out his motive. "Why Father's cross?"

"It's not like he needs it anymore. And we have enough back at home; one missing won't do any damage, I hope. And I wanted to finish what we started when we were children. When Father discussed the Viking problem with the council, you wanted peace. And isn't it funny that you were the thing that bought it? Like you were destined to do it. Do you remember what you said?" He smirked at her mocking her comment during a council when she was eight. He didn't forget and maybe only offered her to Bjorn as revenge.

"We could give them something and ask them to leave us alone,"  Vanya repeated the words she said nearly nine years ago.

Silas chuckled and shifted his weight from one foot to the other, ignoring the agitated heathens around him. "I offered you, and they agreed. And now you are a pagan yourself with a child on the way, funny how you everything comes full circle. Father was right, I could have given them all our money, treasures, and crosses, yet they wouldn't be satisfied. Giving them you was a different story. They like you, adore you even, some think of you as one of their gods. This shall remind you you are nothing but one of God's sheep, no matter how misguided you are in your beliefs now."

Vanya swallowed the dry tasted in her mouth as her stomach knotted with dread. Sweat gathered on her brow as pain coursed withing her body. Something was wrong, very, very wrong.

"Blessed are the meek Vanya. Remember that; you may think that you have it all now, but you are the same stupid little girl you always were. Just fatter and stupider. Happy seventeenth name day."

"Vanya, are you alright?" Helga called out, seeing the girls state. The Princess opened her mouth to answer, but all that came out was a scream as the pain grew unbearable. Aslaug and Helga run to her side to check on her as her tights became slick. "The child is coming."

Aslaug's shocked words echoed around the tense hall as everybody sprang into action. Ubbe picked the ginger up and carried her to her and Ivar's hut with Helga, Aslaug, Ivar, and healers in tow. Silas watched them go with anger in his eyes. He wanted to see her reaction to his words, not the concern everyone showed at her pained whimpers.

Ubbe laid his panting sister in law on the bed as healers hoarded the room, throwing him out before he could say anything. The only man in the chambers was the child's father that crawled next to her, holding her clammy hand as Aslaug whipped her brow with a wet towel. The healers stripped Vanya off her black dress and put her into a baggy white one instead. They helped her up and made her stand as they removed the bedding until the only remaining was the wooden frame.

Aslaug stood next to Vanya as the girl leaned against the dresser grinding her teeth together, breathing thought the pain. She regretted ever wanting children; she should have stayed with dolls and not slept with Ivar. But it was too late for wishful thinking, the babe was coming, and she wanted to hit something. Maybe Ivar, he was the one who put the child in her after all. How come he did the fun part, and she is huffing and puffing while a little human is making its way out of her?

She unclenched her palms on the top of the dresser, her fingers hitting a solid item. Vanya lifted her heavy head and gazed at the wooden figure of Fenrir, that Ivar gifted her nine months ago. The ginger wrapped her right hand around the carved wolf and tightened her grip around it, swallowing her pained screams.

Images flashed before her closed eyes as she bends lower her forehead resting against the cool wood of the cabinet. She saw frozen water before her as her lungs screamed for air. Her eyes snapped out in fright till the next contraction hit, and another vision overtook her.

This time she saw arrows flying in the sky, aiming for something in the distance. With a deep exhale, Vanya forced her eyes open again, her hallucinations not making any sense to her.

Ivar watched from the bedside, Vanya's hunched trembling body covered in a thin layer of sweat as his mother and Helga stood on each side of her.  "Vanya? Do you hear me? Love, we need to move again. Vanya?" His wife was deaf to his mother's calls, staring blankly at the floor with wide eyes.

"What is wrong with her?" Ivar called out, biting his nails and running his hand through his hair, reminding himself not to pull on it, or he might rip it out in worry.

The answer came from a healer who finished the bed so she could lay down on it to rest her feet. "The pain must be making her delusional. It would be better to move her before her give out under her."

Vanya saw splatters of blood fly her way as the axe swung up again, a spray of blood flying behind it. "Don't drown, Vanya." She regained her senses with a gasp, the eerie words the cloaked stranger spoke in her dream repeating in her head.

"What's wrong, Vanya. Talk to me." Aslaug's soft hand on her cheek made her look up to see the worried look in the Queen's eyes. She needed to tell her, Aslaug would know what to do.

"I am going to die. Please, you can't let me die. I have to protect my child!" She explained in a rush, her eyes wide and filled with desperation.

Yet the Queen of Kattegat only shook her head and stroked her cheek. "You aren't dying. You will be alright. You are in good hands, Vanya, the Gods are with you. Freyja, Frigg, and Freyr are all with you. You and the child will not die." Vanya hung onto every word her mother in law whispered to her, praying to each god that she was right.

They led her back to the bed, Fenrir still in her hand. A stabbing pain ripped through her, a scream leaving her lips as three women and Ivar crowded around her, trying to help. Ivar wrapped his hand around hers only to feel the carved toy he made her. Confused, he turned her fist towards him, his eyes wide at what he saw. Some of the sharper edges must have dug into her soft skin and broke it, as blood flowed from the wounds and down her wrist. Everyone was too focused on her bleeding crotch than her hand.

"Let go, Min elskede (My beloved). You are hurting yourself." He carefully pried the object from her hand and put his palm in its place. "Grip it as tightly as you need."

Vanya screamed again, her head thrown back in agony as Aslaug wiped her forehead again, Helga and the healer held her legs and waited for the head to show.  The redhead looked at the calm Queen and begged her to listen to her and save her child. "I didn't see your or its death. You will be alright."

"But I saw it. Please, you have to promise me."

"Vanya, nothing is wrong."

"Please, promise me, Mother. Don't let my child die." Aslaug saw the desperation and pain in her eyes, so she nodded and promised to keep them both safe no matter what.

The healer lifted her head from where she looked between Vanya's legs. "Push, just a few, and the head will be out."

Vanya bore down, praying for the pain to be over and the child alive. Ivar squeezed her hand back, biting on his nails, looking as in pain as her. With every sob, scream, and whimper she let out, he felt worse and worse.  "Ivar." Her eyes shone with tears as more sweat coated her pale skin.

"What is it, Min elskede (My beloved). Tell me." He pleaded back as she laid there is pain, sweat, and blood. For eight hours, she suffered to bear his child, who knows how long she felt the ache while they celebrated. Ivar prayed to the gods to let her torment end, and their child to cry out as it took its first breath.

Vanya stared into his glassy eyes, weakling glaring at him. "Fuck...You." She whispered as he laughed at her words—the total opposite of what she hoped to achieve.

"Fair enough. It's my fault, after all. I hope you will forgive me." Ivar whispered back, kissing her white knuckles and keeping her weak hand near his lips.

Outside the hut, people prayed as the princesses screams echoed over Kattegat. The Ragnarsson stood together, muttering between themselves as the torches flickered around them. "Does every child take that long? Or is it as difficult as Ivar?" Sigurd asked, wincing at the next scream tore through the filled streets.

"Some take longer." Torvi answered, holding onto Bjorn's arm, their children huddled around them with their daughter in Bjorn's embrace.

Ubbe grimaced at another scream, a nervous chuckle following after it. "Gods." The others nodded in agreement. 

"One more push, Vanya." Urged Helga as the Princess grew weaker. She fixed her grip on Ivar's hand and, with one last scream pushed her child out. The next cry that followed caused everyone to sigh in relief.

Helga and Aslaug wiped the babe down as the healer helped Vanya deliver the afterbirth. When they bought the child to her, it was wrapped in a blanket. "It's a boy," Aslaug announced, laying the Ivarsson on her chest.

He had a few dark hairs on his head as he frowned at the change of places. Ivar looked at his mother in fear. "Is he?"

"He is healthy, Ivar. He is perfect." She reassured him, showing him the little kicking feet as proof. The child wasn't cripple like his father, and Ivar couldn't be happier that he was spared the same fate as him.

"He is perfect." Vanya agreed lovingly gazing at the face of her newborn son. He looked angry to be there, which reminded her of Ivar in a good way. A son. They had a son now. Finally, the worst part was over.

She nursed the child for the first time in front of everyone present, as the tradition wanted. When the boy was fed, Helga withdrew from the couple, the child lying on his mother's chest, soundly asleep. Aslaug made Ivar leave the tired redhead alone, asking him to inform everyone outside of his son's birth.

Vanya and the child were now the only ones inside the chambers lying on the hard bed as cheers sounded outside the hut. She smiled tiredly, stroking his cheek while the healer wiped her down with a cloth to get rid of the blood. The Saxon needed to sleep, and a staring Ivar asking her if she is alright, wouldn't have helped her. But she wanted him to bask in their son's glory just like she is right now.

"You are glorious, just like Ivar said you would be. You, my son, come from two powerful bloodlines. You are a Lothbrok, grandson of the most powerful man on earth, and a descendant of the House of the Raising Sun. You have dragon's blood in you, red hair or not." She whispered to him affectionately as he slept, content for now. She closed her eyes too as the healer sat by her bed, ready if something went wrong with either of them.

The next time Vanya woke up, it was three hours later, just before dawn. The sounds of the celebration of her son's birth could be heard outside. But that's not what woke her up; instead, it was footsteps and a gurgling sound followed by a thud. Vanya sat up in her bed to meet the silhouettes of an armed man. The healer laid on the ground by the door with her throat slit.

Vanya sprang from the bed and snatched her in furs wrapped child and backed away from the man. Despite being dressed like a farmer, she recognized his faces instantly. The quality steel also gave him away - one of Silas's knights.

With adrenaline running through her veins, Vanya made a dash for the open door narrowly missing the knight's outstretched hand. She jumped over the woman's dead body and ran towards the Great hall.

Another knight cut off her route aiming his sword at her child. She desperately screamed for help, but the music and laughter drowned her sounds from the Great hall. She was too far away to be seen by somebody, especially in the dark.

Changing her direction, she runs towards the only open spot - the sea. Whatever power stood by her, she managed to outrun the three knights following her and reach the shore with the fisherman boats tied there.  She jumped into one of the furthest boats and untied it. Vanya pushed the wooden vessel away and rowed with all her might.

Her son laid on a heap of nets under her, her body shielding him in case a sword got too close. An arrow hit the side of the boat, startling the girl from her concentration. One of the knights was shooting arrows at the ship as it was too far away for them to reach. The others soon drew their bows as well.

Vanya lifted a shield from the side of the ship and covered herself and her child under it. Arrows rained around them as her child fussed in his furs, confused about what was going on. Vanya watched her son with tears in her eyes, fearing for his life more than hers. But she needed to survive as well. With her dead, he would starve out at sea.

An arrow embedded itself into the shield, nearly stabbing her in the face. Vanya stared at the sharp metal panting in fear, her heart ready to jump off her chest at any second. Tears streamed down her cheeks as her arms grew weak from the onslaught of arrows. She couldn't hold out any longer. She lowered her shield slightly to look at the archers. The flying bolts were missing the boat, some too far away to hit. But one of the knights run into the water as far as he could and notched another arrow. The other followed his example.

There was no other way to save their child; her son needed to live. So with her last bit of courage, she lowered the shield and suspended it above her child, making sure it wouldn't get hit. The archer's arrow pierced her shoulder, sending her falling backward over the edge of the boat from the impact. Vanya reached to grab something, but her body fell over the edge, hitting the chilling waters below, rocking the boat with the whimpering babe inside.

The water swallowed her up, her wet dress dragging her down. Water clouded her vision as her lungs begged for air. She reached for the boat over her head, trying not to lose sight of it.

The arrow ceased firing; the knights satisfied when the ginger didn't come back up. They lowered their bows as the knight who shot her climbed from the water. "Get changed and return to the hall. Don't look suspicious." He ordered them and looked back at the floating boat with a lonely newborn in it. "Long live Silas the Great." Stithulf mocked, walking away from the scene satisfied while the other knights cleaned the hut from the blood and got rid of the body.

[soulvomit]

So one thing that’s been happening in my writing is feeling this great loss because I don’t feel like I can write love or sex anymore because of the mores around these topics, and the increasingly rigid range of themes that are allowed to be portrayed.  The whole interior language I have developed around romance and sex over the decades, is one in which there is a whole range of weird love. There’s nothing I love more than weird love. My characters do not necessarily model perfect mental health. I like characters to struggle through personal demons. Not all of them are even good people, but most are redeemable. But I was writing during a time when it was still possible to write a character that had been a war criminal or blew up planets, and got redeemed. It was even possible to write a serial killer being redeemed. It was the 1990s. The 1990s was just like that. Lo and behold, most of my couples aren’t bad people, but they definitely are flawed and they definitely aren’t always people who had good parenting and good love role models and access to a perfectly supportive culture. And why wouldn’t I write these kind of stories? I struggled with my own mental health, with my own issues, with my own bad models, with my own identity issues, not knowing how to love, with my own desperate craving, did that mean I wasn’t entitled to any kind of voice about my experience just because my fantasies and my raw emotions when I was younger, weren’t exactly “polite?” I like my characters to fall in love deeply. Many of my couples are unconventional couples. I’ve written every combination of genders.  Sometimes they’re shattered and remade by love. Sometimes it’s horribly dramatic. Sometimes it’s not aspirational love, but “hand in unlovable hand.” Sometimes they don’t remain together. Sometimes they do despicable things to each other and have to find their way back afterward. And yes I love stories that are about broken people. Sometimes there’s tragedy and that’s the whole point. I LOVE writing about widowers and you will take widower stories from my cold, dead hands. And honestly I would much rather write stories about Regime of Fate people than Regime of Choice people. All of the great love stories are Regime of Fate.  And sometimes my lovers are ordinary adults. But they flirted and processed their relationships in ways that wouldn’t be considered acceptable now. They have deep infatuations, they yearn, they scheme to try to be close to the person, they sometimes plot to get each other into bed. Sometimes I have portrayed vast age differences between adults - a woman in her 20s who seduces a man in his late 50s. This is a culture on another planet, and it’s a traditionalist pre-industrial type of economy. He is a man of knowledge. He is the shy one, he’s interested but he feels like an old fool. She has to scheme to get past his reservations. The ball’s in her court. They end up raising a family together and it’s his shot at beginning again. I had journeyed with this character since my teens, and it felt satisfying to give his life a happily ever after.   I myself was in the woman’s age group when I wrote this. I thought of a woman in her 20s as an adult, capable of making her own decisions about her own life. Most of my women friends my age were on their own, some were even married. I was younger than the girl in question but I was living on my own, I had a career, and I was absolutely not a virgin.  I was older than my mom was when she’d had me, and a few years older than my mom was when she was married, and my family was pressuring me to get married. I was 22, but absolutely didn’t think of myself as an impressionable child or someone who needed to be coddled/protected by older people. And people who even suggested that to me? I would’ve felt insulted.  What’s more is that my characters often *just show up* and I no more have any control over this than anyone else does. I often do not know how their emotional dynamics are going to play out until they’re on the page. I feel like I’m having to give up about 50% of my own interior language around love and sex in my writing... or much, much more. I feel woefully out of touch. I was out of touch even in my 20s, because of my early programming being on works that were old *then* (most of my access to anything, was to classic fiction and old movies). My mother has “good Jewish girl” baggage.  I was out of touch in the 90s, but the 90s allowed a broad palette of expression. I feel way more out of touch sometimes than just with whatever young people were doing when I was in my 20s. I felt alienated by it *then.* Writing was my outlet for those feelings, those feelings of being alien, and of having secret weird desires.

[dorkosaur896]

clay

I am as fragile as porcelain

but as strong as steel.

I break over and over only to be molded back in place

time and time again.

I crumble under the weight of a thousand things

I know I should be able to handle.

I never know how much is too much

until it is to the point that

I shatter.

my failures and shortcomings are barely visible but

are forever etched into my skin.

I don’t know how to heal

or maybe I’ve somehow convinced myself that I’m supposed to hurt.

I’m still a work-in-progress.

I am a thousand broken pieces 

mended over and over again,

fixed until the splinters are

but a distant memory.

I’m sick on the fumes of my own mistakes.

I’m cramped and sore,

but I can’t stop until I know

what my outcome will be.

I don’t know

if I will be scrapped

and thrown out

like a dry piece of clay

because I am unusable.

I don’t know if my fate is to be molded and remade

until my form is satisfiable.

I fear that I will explode under the weight of the world,

unable to handle my own fire.

fragmented and burnt,

I fear that my pain will hurt others too.

I can’t handle the expectations I have set on myself,

because I’ve decided

that if I am not perfect,

I am worthless.

I fear that my glaze is tawdry and garish and that

everything I am is not enough.

I am bland and lack personality,

but at the same time I am overbearing.

my slip will make me fall,

and I fear when I will hit the ground,

because I know that I will shatter into a billion pieces.

I will fall apart,

and I don’t know how to fix myself.

I hope my sculptor loves me more than I love myself.

because they knew when they made me

that so many countless hours 

and endless nights would be spent on uncertainty,

a success or a failure unknown.

on me,

a being that can break with a single wrong touch.

invisible tape holds me together

in the places where I’ve cracked.

I am strong despite being broken.

or maybe I am strong because of it.

even with my hurt fragility

I am still loved

and admired for the years it took

for me to be me,

and the care that went into making who I am.

it is hard,

but I am solid and unmoving.

I will not be broken any longer,

and I will become the beautiful piece of art

I was meant to be.

in fact,

I already am.