#when will I learn to not type out literal essays???????

[roguemonsterfucker]

Sorry to talk about it again but I'm just still flabbergasted by the whole plagiarism thing

Like... When watching hbomb's video the first time and seeing him point out the rewording of stuff to change it *just* enough to (hopefully) not get caught stealing... I flashed back to my college days of when I did exactly that. 😅

There was a limit on how many actual quotes I could use, so I got around that by literally looking at my sources and rewording it enough to get past the plagiarism checker (TurnItIn.com my belothed) without losing the meaning of the text that I honestly didn't fully understand because I was writing on topics I had no real knowledge of myself.

BUT BUT BUT

I still cited my fucking sources.

Yes, I was using other people's words so I could get through the hell that was college, but if you read my stuff, you'd know exactly where I got it from. I never claimed credit for all the ideas.

And... again... I was just doing it to survive. I wasn't making money. I didn't even end up actually graduating, so it didn't even help me academically.

Somerton on the other hand not only rarely *if ever* credited the people whose words he stole, he was doing it for money, while also putting down fellow queer creators. He *wanted* full credit for all the ideas in his videos. To cite his sources would be to pass the credit on to others. And he couldn't do that.

Edited to add: It's probably a bit extreme to say I "stole" anything for my papers. Like I said, I cited my sources. I just paraphrased what I could when needed, probably to a degree that was questionable at worst. I just have anxiety and feel like "OH NO I"M A TERRIBLE PLAGIARIST."

[shidoukanae]

Paris Valerian but i redesign his dragon form for funsies based on how i see him=. Not sure if I like this design bc im not a fan of bulkier looking dragons but for Paris I think this works??

Some headcanons about this design:

has a bit of a bull-like look bc I associate bulls with persistence and madness and idk that fits Paris well so if Fian has a “fox” motif Paris gets a “bull” one for his dragon form 

His design is based a lot on how a stereotypically evil dragon would look???? Because imo OG!Paris reads as a massive antagonist and I think giving him a look that fits that vibe in his dragon form works!! Especially because he still is an antagonist in a way (though god does he not read that way lmao)

he’s stronger in his dragon form than Fian is and he uses this to his advantage to bully Fian around whenever they playfight as dragons. That said, it seems Paris is surprisingly gentle towards Fian in this form and never hurts him.

he uses this form to intimidate people into getting what he wants. He’s not used to getting retaliated against while in this form and quickly respects anyone who does so (read: Fian, Lyla and Helene)

the silver scales on his body can glow in the same way his eyes do. Typically, he keeps them dull-colored (see above) but if he feels a strong emotion of any sorts they’ll glow brightly without him meaning to (noticeably: they glow constantly whenever Helene is around for obvious reasons~).

[ennabear]

vampire!ellie

synopsis: you met ellie in your university’s ancient library, you were just trying to study and ellie couldn’t help but talk to you. it drove her crazy, the scent of your blood. usually, she didn’t even notice the scent on others. she was so used to it that it didn’t bother her anymore. but you were different, sweeter.

cw: kinda like a mix between tlou and twilight, mentions of witchcraft and hanging, vampire!abby being a ladykiller literally, papa vampire!joel, mama vampire!tess, newlyweds vampire!jesse and dina, dina’s transformation, lotsssss of backstory like i seriously couldn’t stop myself from yapping. not proofread sorry :((((((

a/n: i’m definitely gonna make a series out of this. sorry if this is wayyy too long but i have a special place in my heart for vamp!ellie and her sweet vampire family. ok that’s all ily thanks for reading.

wc: 2.2k

you shouldn’t be walking alone at night, really. campus was a sketchy place. a plethora of bad things could happen. you could get kidnapped, jumped, pickpocketed, or, hell, even bitten by a vampire.

the library had the same scent it always did. it smelled like dust and paper. in all honesty, you didn’t prefer it here. although it was beautiful, tall windows lined with stained glass, large bookshelves with every book you’d ever want, every word you could imagine and more, it was just so eerie. something bad was bound to happen here.

anyways, you settled down at the table in the corner. the one farthest away from anyone else. you’d rather be at home right now, studying in bed. it’s only because your roommate invited her stupid boyfriend over that you ended up here. it’s for the better anyway, though, because in bed you wouldn’t get anything done. you’d be too distracted.

you had your priorities written on your palm, the pen now smudged, making it barely readable. writing on your palm was easier, more convenient than a post-it note. but you wrote it down on paper anyways, incase you sweated more of it off before you finished. it wasn’t likely you would, though. the library was freezing, especially in the winter.

the clack of your fingers typing in your laptop password was the only thing to be heard. everyone else was dead silent. this was probably the only thing you liked about the library, everybody agreed on an unspoken rule, make the least amount of noise possible. you got started with completing your essay after shuffling your playlist, determined to finish by the end of the night.

that’s when she saw you.

or, smelled you? your scent was so strong, it hit ellie hard. her vision went dark and splotchy, and she had to grip onto the table for support. her pearly white hands making a dent in the table with how hard she was holding.

you had to be her next meal. she had to find some way to get you alone and suck your veins dry. it scared her, the thoughts she was having. her intentions weren’t to murder you, but she was starving now. you had unknowingly gotten her high on your scent.

she didn’t even know where you were. were you outside? down the hall? in the library? fuck, right next to her? her head was hurting now, really, really badly. but she needed you even worse.

picking up a random book, she used the most brainpower she could to sniff you out. then, she really saw you. headphones in your ears, your hands typing away at something that won’t even matter soon. soon, she’ll have your body in her arms, hopefully in the comfort of her own home. your neck dripping a puddle on the floor as she relentlessly drank from you, your skin growing cold and your lips turning purple.

her docs made silent footsteps across the floor as she walked toward you. this was something ellie learned to master, silence. especially when she went into hunting mode. nobody looked at her as she expertly dodged the creaks in the old wooden floor. nobody saw her coming. especially you. you never saw ellie williams coming.

“hey, is it okay if i sit here?”

“….sorry, what was that?” you scrambled to pause your music.

“can i sit here?”

“oh. yeah, sure. go ahead.”

you went back to typing, not continuing your music incase she wanted to talk. you really hoped she didn’t. you needed to finish your essay. and you weren’t much of a people person either.

“what are you writing?” she asked.

“just an essay, nothing interesting.”

“oh, cool.”

she started reading the book she picked up before sniffing you out. she didn’t bother to look at the title. or read any of the words either. really, she was just staring at it, her mind racing. she needed to come up with something interesting, something to make you like her.

while she stared at the words, you couldn’t help but stare at her. your fingers came to a complete stop as you admired this stranger across from you. she didn’t even introduce herself, how strange. her hair was a dark brown, her eyes black. her face was incredibly smooth. skin paler than ever, she looked as if she was a marble statue, like she belonged in a museum.

and she was reading twilight, of all books. although, you liked the book, it seemed ironic for her, like she was too mature for it. this beautiful stranger was sitting across from you, her eyebrows pulled together in frustration while she chewed on the inside of her cheek. she seemed furious at something, but at the same time, hard to read.

you were almost scared of her, but intrigued above all else.

“do you like that book?” you asked.

“twilight? yeah. it’s okay. i’ve read it a few times.”

“hmm. it’s a classic.”

“it’s not bad. but i’ve read a lot of books. this one doesn’t come close to the others.”

“so you read a lot? how come i’ve never seen you before?”

“i’m usually hiding. i don’t prefer to engage with others if i can help it.”

“yeah, that explains it.”

she got lucky. thank god, if there even is one, that she grabbed a book you knew about. that you started a conversation with her. she thought it was the most stupid book on earth. it was filth, pure mormon fanfiction. and it was completely wrong.

“why are you here so late? it’s almost midnight.” you asked.

“i could ask you the same question.” she responded.

“i have a lot of work i’ve been procrastinating on. if i could choose, i’d be at home. but my roommate’s boyfriend is there and i can’t stand being in the same building as them.”

“i don’t really know why i’m here. i just like to meet new people i guess.”

“i thought you didn’t like talking to people.”

“that’s different. you’re different.”

“how so? you don’t know who i am, and i don’t even know your name.”

she stared at you blankly. you had her trapped. she suddenly realized that maybe you were harder to get than she expected. maybe you wanted to play this game.

“i’m ellie. it’s short for elizabeth but i hate that name. it’s too common, i’m sick of hearing it.”

“elizabeth is beautiful.”

“thanks. you sound like my parents.”

lie. she didn’t know her parents anymore. they had abandoned her hundreds of years ago after suspecting she was a witch because she refused to get married to a man at only seventeen. after a few years, she was hung.

it wasn’t until her new father, joel, took up an investigation of what happened to poor elizabeth. he ended up traveling to their old village and finding her grave after tracing her obituary back to a newspaper published in 1579.

shed been dead for years. joel was the one who brought her back to life. he injected his venom into her long rotten arms and took her in for the seven years it took for her to come back fully. he saved her. he taught her how to walk, how to speak, how to hunt. joel miller was her new father.

joel used to be a police officer. in 1712, he ran into a poor woman, bleeding and begging for his help. claiming that her husband had turned to satan and was now possessed. the woman had been bitten, she eventually would turn into ellie’s mother, tess. joel got bitten too. all three of them spent the next years as newborns in that small cabin, feasting on whoever was unfortunate enough to wander by.

the woman’s husband didn’t survive. he was caught by a clan of christians and burned alive, leaving just joel and tess, who couldn’t help but fall in love. they adopted more kids before and after ellie too.

abigail was the first. she was living alone in the appalachian mountains, feasting on whoever wandered after sundown. leading poor girls, desperate for a good time, into her bed and then eating them whole. abigail often hung out at lesbian bars. the girls who went home with her never came back. a bartender joked with her about this once, the bartender didn’t come back, either.

joel heard about abigail through the only other coven that lived in washington. they said she was a monster, a relentless murderer trapped in a goddesses body. that she could hold the whole world on her shoulders but couldn’t refrain from eating innocent girls who were cheating on their husbands.

abby and ellie were never really good friends, but they tried. abby preferred to keep to herself. usually either reading or climbing a mountain with her bare hands. and she refused to find a long-term lover. ellie was almost the opposite. she preferred more modern things, like making music and fast cars. and she loved to flirt with girls.

jesse came after ellie. he was born more recently, in 1878. he was dying of a disease nobody knew about. they didn’t have the right knowledge or technology to save him, so they quarantined him in a hospital room until he died. he didn’t, though. joel saved his life. the hospital staff were horrified after seeing the blood stained floor, the splatters over the walls, and more importantly, the fact that jesse’s body was nowhere to be found.

jesse had a wife now, named dina. she met him in 1983 at a prestigious fashion school. jesse had already been to tons of colleges. neither of them aged. they never changed. they were all trapped. after studying medicine, law, physics, engineering, and marketing, he wanted a change.

that’s when he met dina. she was a beautiful woman, deep tan skin, dark eyes, long black hair and eyelashes. and she had such a knack for fashion. jesse was in love, it took him a long while before he came clean to dina about who he was. she was so in love with him too, she didn’t mind it, and she certainly wasn’t scared. dina was never scared of anything.

so they got married. and the night after their wedding, they flew to a private island joel owned for their “honeymoon”. aka, dina’s transformation. they were gone for almost three years. jesse kept a journal of everything that happened to her.

july 12, 1989. i did it. i held her so gently in my arms and sank my teeth into her neck. she was screaming, i know she was in pain, but she’ll never admit it. before she fell asleep, i drank a few of her tears and then closed her eyes. she’ll be twenty six for the rest of her life, until the earth stops spinning. i hope she can forgive me.

december 31, 1989. joel, i got your letter. she’s been doing okay. i can’t stop looking at her, her perfect curves and her deep brown hair. i think it was for the better that i took her dress off before we started, she designed it, it was so beautiful. i know she’d get upset about the red staining the expensive white satin. it’s still here, waiting for her. the year is about to end, we still have quite a few months until she awakes. i’m scared. not of her, of myself. am i a murderer? did i, a cold-blooded demon, destroy a perfect, innocent life? will she remember me?

august 27, 1990. it’s been over a year. nothing, but i know it’s coming. i’ve been holding her head on my lap, stroking her hair. i haven’t moved from this position in three months. she is so beautiful. i redressed her in the outfit she designed for this occasion, it suits her well. a part of me regrets this decision. i wish i could grow old with her, maybe have kids someday. sit on the porch while or grandchildren play in the yard. her eyes wrinkling with the smile she always flashes me. this will never happen. it’s just a dream.

november 16, 1990. she is awake. so much screaming. she’s in pain. won’t even look at me. she is thirsty. will bring her some bird blood to quench her thirst.

november 21, 1990. she only sits and stares at a wall, rocking back and forth. her eyes are white now. don’t know if she is okay. or if she will survive. her throat burns. if she goes, i go.

february, 1991. don’t know what day it is, she has calmed down. she didn’t remember anything at first. not me, not her name, nothing. she remembers now, though. hopefully we can come home this year. i still don’t know if i trust her enough around people. if she is caught, she’ll be burned. if she goes, i go.

may 18, 1991. traveled to a near by island. i taught her how to swim, she loves it. she’s so surprised that she can hold her breath infinitely. she is so beautiful, it’s like falling in love with her all over again. there were people at the island, it was a small village. they were kind, but we had to leave early. i don’t want to push her limits, but she did exceptionally well.

october 4, 1991. on our way home. starting this life forever with her. i hope she can forgive me.

[proxentauri]

when i saw @n0rtist's ability forms i had to do reuniclus.....i hope it's not too late to be featured in the video! :0 we may have crossed from ability form into actual alternate form territory (see the original colours below the cut to see how crazy different they could have been)

as someone in evo microbio this was insane amounts of fun to do and i was able to pull inspo from places i'd never think to reference in my regular art!

itemized essay explaining the science and my design choices in more detail below the cut:

Ability Form 1: Overcoat

The science

Based on bacterial biofilm, which is basically when a bunch of bacteria get together in the same spot and start excreting this sticky slime stuff that structurally keeps the bacteria together (and also act as a medium for sharing useful resources between the bacteria, like enzymes, nutrients, etc.).

The design

The strings connecting the bacteria is based on what the slime stuff looks like on a microscopic level, specifically in electron micrographs like this one

The violet colour of the (rod) bacteria in the biofilm is a reference to Gram staining, which is a type of bacterial stain used to classify bacteria into two groups: bacteria that contain peptidoglycan in their cell walls (which stain violet) and bacteria that don't (these stain pink). Peptidoglycan is this pretty chonky polymer compound that's used to strengthen bacterial cell walls, so I thought it fit the role of Overcoat (which protects your Pokémon from things like weather)

Ability Form 2: Magic Guard

The science

Based on the myelin sheath, which are these segments of tube-like insulation that surrounds your neurons (see picture here). Mostly people talk about how it makes your neural signals propagate faster, which is true, but this ability form was more of a reference to its general protective role; it physically and electrically insulates your neurons. (Surprisingly I could not find a super good primary source for myelin providing physical protection, so don't cite me on that, but given it's literally a physical barrier this seems like a pretty safe assumption.)

The design

The entire body is based on a pseudounipolar neuron, which just means it only has one part extend out of the main body but shortly after it splits into two long parts (axons). I could have made it a bipolar neuron I guess (two parts extend out of the main body), but having a neck made it look a little closer to the base form's body

I wanted to give it dendrite fingers but it looked too creepy. I'm not sure if the three long fingers I gave it in the final design made it less creepy.

Since Overcoat and Magic Guard are both shield-type abilities, they're drawn as more closely related on the the phylogenetic tree (white thing in the center).

Ability Form 3: Regenerator

The science

This one is the most hype imo. In 2015 Dr. Will Ratcliff did this pretty sick experiment about the evolution of multicellularity (since at some point a long time ago life was single-celled) where he kept propagating the same single-celled yeast for a mega long time, and eventually the yeast evolves a multi-cellular "snowflake" form where after undergoing mitosis, the resulting daughter cells don't split, but stay attached, resulting in the yeast forming these clusters that create these cute little branches. I don't know where I was going with this. Oh right, the branching out reminded me a lot of regenerating limbs, so that was the inspiration for this one.

Anyway this is like one of my favourite experiments ever, there's some pretty good news articles out there about if you want to learn more about it!

The design

The segments are yeast cells, and the balls within are the nuclei.

The colour scheme was based on this fluorescent microscopy photo of the snowflake yeast. Originally I had the nuclei be bright orange in reference to this other microscopy picture but I thought the colour scheme was deviating too much from the base form for an ability form lol.

Speaking of here's the original unhinged colour drafts:

if i did commit to the full alternate form i think the biofilm one is poison, myelin one is fighting, yeast one is uhh...dude idek, i mean the fluorescent microscopy vibe is pretty strong so maybe electric lol? it's giving ghost vibe too though

i was originally planning on citing stuff but it's a tumblr post and I've already linked Ratcliff's work and i want to go to bed lol. If any of the science is wrong just call me out i'll fix it. otherwise, i hope someone out there appreciates the science references !! it's 8am good Night

[bonbonshideout]

Ticci Toby headcanons

Pre-Slender

♤ He's clingy. If he likes someone or is even remotely comfortable, he would follow them around just to feel comfortable.

♡ He's... playful, he isn't the brightest, but he would try and play some pranks if he can, usually learn about you and see what can get you upset & use that on you.

◇ Mf got that crow brain. He would see anything shiny and take it. He's got a growing collection and even looks for things to give to his favorite people. Lyra originally gave him a box to store the items in, but it started growing a bit 'out of control', and so he has shelves and other boxes with random nick-nacks.

♧ His little cow? Lyra, 100%. When he was younger he had a lot to deal with and Lyra wasn't always able to be with him so she saved up some birthday money and bought him a cow plush, due to it being from his sister, he's kept it and carried it literally everywhere with him. Multiple rips and tears, but his mom always fixed it up for him. He loved it and would take to around as he grew older, though he didn't have it out in public like he did when he was younger.

♤ His hoodie is one of a kind and handmade. His mom was the one to have made it. Originally, he wanted a hoodie that was like any other, but he couldn't puck between a couple of them; his mom, in the end, decided to create a simple looking hoodie for him.

Post-Slender

♤ He doesn't remember much. Yeah, he might get occasional flashbacks, but they leave him confused. He wants to figure out what they mean but at the same time he's a bit scared of doing so.

♡ His hoodie? he loves it, covered in patches of different colors, or at least he tries to color match.

◇ He still has his cow, but he doesn't carry it around as much. He keeps it in a safe place; having a connection to it but not knowing its origins anymore. He baby's it occasionally when he does take it out of his little storage area. That thing has gone through way too much, put it out of its misery already.

♧ Lyra's spirit haunts him, but it's not supposed to be much of a tormentor; though he sees it that way, Lyra is trying to guide him in life. I believe the operator's doing some shit to his mind that's causing him to see Lyra's spirit as vengeful, or it's simply creating an image of Lyra and whispering into Toby's mind about he's at fault for everything.

♤ He's still got that crow brain, still finding things to give to people (Natalie) , a pretty rock, maybe a button, anything he finds, he takes it and saves them.

♡ He's strangely affectionate, he isn't the type to be overbearing, but he likes to hug Natalie whenever he can, usually she accepts them, but there are times where she isn't in a good mood and it upsets him a little— he gets over it quickly though.

◇ He's terrified of cars and probably motorcycles, too (blame Nat for that one). Occasionally, though, he is forced into either one due to Natalie for faster transportation. He hates it and curses her out through the whole ride, but he does see how convenient it is.

♧ In Spanish, there's a term for kids who don't know anything, the "no sabo" kid. He is that type of kid, but with German. He knows very little, and even then, he can't form proper sentences. He's trying to learn when he isn't busy murdering people or starting fires. Usually asking Natalie to help him out— even though she doesn't speak German— he just wants someone to practice it with.

♤ He HATES being seen as vulnerable or lesser than. He doesn't really know why to the full extent, but he does know that it just sucks. He wants people to know that he can do as much as anyone else can, heck, maybe more and better.

♡ I wanna say he had an ego, but it's more playful. He jokes about having a huge ego, but he could care less if 'someone offends him' (aside from the previous hc).

I feel like some of these collide with some headcanons a friend might have? idk, I honestly forgot his entire essay 💀

[delfiore]

—ONE OF YOUR GIRLS.

pairing: lucy bronze x reader, (alexia putellas x reader)

synopsis: the only reason is simply because you are both heartbroken, lonely, and desperate.

word count: 1.9k

a/n: i gave myself a 1k word limit on this and i failed miserably. literally why is it so hard for me to write a 1k essay for school but not this

You started to learn Lucy’s routine only a few weeks after she started coming around. Like clockwork, it didn’t matter how late you went to bed, she would always be up before eight. Sometimes, it would be to go downstairs for a swim in the freezing cold outdoor pool in her apartment complex. “Helps me wake up and think clearer”, she would explain. Sometimes, it would just be to sit in the living room with a coffee in hand, watching videos of the team you and her would be playing later in the day. Other times—and it was always a treat when she did—it would be to stay in bed with you, and watch you wake up.

Those were the times in which you felt like what you had with Lucy resembled most like a relationship, due to the sheer amount of domesticity of it. The way she would take time out of the day to lay a few extra minutes with you made it feel concrete like what you were doing was worth the time. But that wasn’t the goal—a relationship.

“I forgot to bring my stuff last night,” you whispered, suddenly remembering the lack of gear you brought over to Lucy’s apartment. You had hastily stuffed the necessities into a crossbody bag when she texted.

“It’s alright. We can drive by later and pick it up on our way to training.”

“We’re gonna arrive together? What if people see?”

Everyone else at Barcelona didn’t know, of course, because you couldn’t even begin to explain what the fuck transpired between you two. It was no relationship, but it was no ordinary friendship either. A special kind of friendship, maybe, but not entirely the kind people would think of if you described it as such . . .

Lucy’s lips pursed, and she contemplated for a moment. After a few seconds, she turned towards the window, the morning sun washed white behind the milky blinds.

“I don’t really care, to be honest,” her chest rose quickly with an exhale. “Why have we got to explain ourselves to people anyway? Kinda tired of it.”

You knew she meant having to deal with the looks her ex would give her. She had been chasing after Keira, trying to make amends for a long time. You knew that, she told you everything.

It made you think about your own situation. You were still very much in love with your own ex, but Alexia has since moved on with a mutual friend, and your conversations were reduced to strictly work nowadays. The way she started treating you after the breakup wasn’t dissimilar to how an older teenager treats her younger, annoying little sibling; with avoidance and an overly sense of self-importance. It made you despise her ten times more than you already did, but you also yearned for her attention, because it was what you have aligned your life with for a while.

But you supposed you had a type—older women with avoidance issues—which was why you were here with Lucy.

“Keira asked me about you the other day,” you said on the car ride to the training ground. You sat in Lucy’s passenger seat. “She was wondering how you were doing. Said you never talk to her anymore.”

Lucy scoffed and turned back to you. “Can we talk about something else?”

“Like what?”

“Like how you actually look so fit in my shirt.”

You let the snort escape your nose but leaned towards her in the passenger seat. “It’s literally a plain black T-shirt, Luce.”

“‘Xactly,” Her cheeks creased with a grin. “Makes me almost want to fancy you.”

“Almost.”

“Almost,” Lucy said.

Almost.

You and Lucy have always had a friendship filled with banter. Heart-to-hearts rarely happened—maybe before and after important matches, or international ones in which one of you had to be the loser—but you appreciated her easygoing nature and how it has shaped your relationship.

If you were a bit closer in age, if you weren’t already with Alexia, and she with Keira at the same time, you reckoned you would have gone for her. You’d always found her attractive.

“You’re too young for me, Y/N,” Lucy had told you once.

“I’m just saying,” you had put your hands up. “If you’re ever desperate enough, I could be like one of your girls.”

Lucy only laughed. Perhaps desperate was the wrong word to use. Lucy Bronze could never get that desperate so as to seek you out for company. No, everything would have to be on her terms.

You agreed with her, though. A nine-year age gap might have been a bit too much, but Lucy wasn’t just like any other 32-year-old.

But you were in love with Alexia. You still were, and your coupling with Lucy might have just been a ploy to piss her off, but your captain didn’t need to know that. Just seeing the not-so-subtle looks she sends your way whenever you are too touchy with Lucy was enough to satiate your grudge.

It seemed the joke wasn’t merely a joke, not to Lucy, because one night, she called you. You had never seen Lucy cry, at least not in person, and she was the type of person to let people see her cry only for her profession, never something in her personal life.

Every joke on your tongue died the moment you saw her blotchy, red face at your front door.

“I didn’t know who else to call.”

Really?

She could have called anyone on the team and they would happily offer her comfort. That was the charisma that Lucy wielded, and you were willing to bet there were other members of the team who were much better than you at comforting someone.

“I think I’m just unlovable.”

You led her inside and offered her a glass of water. I think I’m just unlovable. Her words echoed in your mind as you scrambled to find any words that would be comforting to her at that moment. How do you convince someone that they weren’t their flaws when you yourself struggled with the same insecurities? If Lucy even had those doubts about herself, how could you ever get out of it?

“I think I’m unlovable too.”

You didn’t know whether that was comforting or just rubbing salt in her wound, but Lucy exhaled shakily, for the first time looking at you in a way unlike that of teammates, or even friends.

Unlike a friend would, you lifted your hand and wiped away the tear on her cheek with the pad of your thumb, and unlike a friend would, you leaned in and kissed her slowly.

Kissing Lucy was exhilarating. She was eager and rough, and soft and gentle. It made you almost want to fall in love with her. She was tired, so you climbed on her lap and led the way, and all her burdens faded into oblivion, at least for the night.

When you both arrived at training, only a few of your teammates were there in the locker room, and most of them didn’t seem to notice you coming in together anyway. Pina, though, found you across the room.

“Did you hear?” She said quietly.

“What?”

“Alexia has been with the physios since like 9 this morning.”

“Why? What happened?” You tried not to sound too eager, or worried.

“I don’t know, but I walked past and I think she was crying.”

When you came into the rehab center, a physio greeted you with a smile. You returned it as your eyes quickly found the only person lying down on a bed, hiding her face in the crook of her arm.

“Hey, capitana,” you said in Spanish. “You sleep here last night or something?”

You saw the way her jaw ticked, and looking down, noticed the bandages wrapped around her knee, the ACL one.

“You didn’t happen to bring any coffee in, did you?” She said groggily. “I could use a sip.”

“No coffee, sorry. I’m trying to wean myself off of it.”

“You said that a thousand times before.”

You put your hands in your pockets and leaned against the bed. “What’s wrong?”

She let out a sigh and removed her arm. “They’re making me sit out Saturday’s game. They’re scared I might mess something up.”

You nodded, because you understood exactly why. Another ACL problem would be detrimental to her career in ways that you didn’t want to think about. “It’s better to be sure,” you shrugged.

“I’ve fucked my knee, Y/N,” Alexia said, inhaling shakily. “That’s what it is.”

You couldn’t imagine having to live with the anxiety, tiptoeing around your own knees, afraid it might give out any second again. Even the smallest discomfort could spell trouble, and the slightest movement could trigger the injury to worsen.

You opted not tell Lucy about your conversation with Alexia, because you wanted to keep it to yourself. As useless as that might be, that was the first genuine conversation you’ve had with your ex in about a year. You’ve learned not to take it to heart, though, because you knew you’d disappoint yourself when Alexia eventually goes back to treating you like a kid.

You made a conscious effort not to think about her when you called Lucy over for a hookup, but when she was knuckles-deep inside you, you couldn’t think of anything else but the pleasure.

Laying back and staring at the ceiling, you drew deep breaths as you came down from your high.

“You okay?” Lucy asked.

“Yeah,” you nodded. “Hold me?”

She smiled and gathered you in her arms before kissing you sweetly. “Did something happen with Alexia?”

“No.” Nothing happened, really, but maybe it was because nothing happened that made you so distraught. “Maybe in another universe, where you’re not you and I’m not me, I would take you on a date tomorrow, maybe we’d be happier.”

“Well, why won’t you do it in this universe?”

You shrugged and settled back against her chest. “Because I’m me and you’re you. But mostly, because I am me.”

Lucy didn’t answer. She knew as much as anyone that once you’ve made your mind up, there was no swaying it, and that she didn’t have the energy in her to either. Instead, she leaned down and planted a sweet kiss on your forehead, wishing you’d find it in you somewhere to see yourself the way she sees you.

It would take some time until then, though, as only a few weeks later, she saw you hand-in-hand with Alexia coming to practice. Apparently, Alexia’s girlfriend was no more and you got what you wanted. It was okay, though, because Lucy found comfort in Ona, about to go on a second date with her the next day. You might have almost gotten the love you’d always desired with her, but it was just that, an almost.

[redxx95]

Is Kurosawa really not Adachi's "type"?

Surprise, this essay is Adachi-focused for once 😂

In my last essay (which you can find here) I mentioned how Kurosawa thinks Adachi has a type (as in, certain traits he finds attractive) which he believes he does not fall under. In this essay I'm not only going to prove him wrong but also really examine what Adachi's "type" even really is, because I think Kurosawa is somewhat of an unreliable narrator in this.

Kurosawa's assumption

First let's take a closer look at the traits Kurosawa names when he talks about Adachi's type. In Japanese, those are 青春系 (youthful-like, which got translated as "pure and innocent vibe") 清掃 (clean, translated as "delicate") and 優しい (kind) (panels are from ch 5.5 and 18.5)

Does Kurosawa fit those traits? Well. Kinda. There's this one panel where Adachi sees him as "pure" and there's many instances where Kurosawa acts kind of childlike which one could describe as youthful/innocent, but it's not the most solid proof.

"Clean" is an easier descriptor to prove though, since Adachi calls him that multiple times, albeit not exactly the same word in Japanese. (He uses 清潔 which translates to "clean" and, funnily enough, "pure" but in the sense of perfection rather than innocence.)

And so is "kind", which is a core trait Adachi values about Kurosawa and even mentions it first when asked. (This is not super relevant but I also want to point out that the first character in Kurosawa's first name (優) is literally the kanji for "kind".)

But if you actually check whether or not Adachi ever uses these words to describe Fujisaki himself, you'll find that the only one he uses at least once is "kind", and I could only find that in the japanese version. More on that later though.

What he never calls her though is pure, youthful, innocent or delicate.

Exploring Adachi's type

So now that we established that Kurosawa's assumption is kind of shaky, let's try to figure out what traits Adachi is actually attracted to, and whether or not those can be applied to Kurosawa. Our candidates who he has shown to be interested in are as follows:

The middle school girl and the black haired woman from his nightmare/flashback, and Fujisaki.

That is… not a whole lot. Since we can basically immediately exclude the middle school girl, because we have only one panel to go off of, we're left with only two people to examine, but examine we shall nonetheless!

Let's start with the flashback woman. She does visually resemble Fujisaki quite a bit, but I believe the actual reason Adachi even considers her is because of this.

She seems (at least initially) open-minded and is the only one putting a somewhat positive spin on men with no relationship experience. She's probably displayed this trait before and that might have been why Adachi got interested in the first place. And guess who else does that, who we know Adachi is definitely interested in.

The way this is the whole reason he even realizes his feelings for Kurosawa is also very telling. I think that for him looks take a backseat in favor of personality. He's pointed out the conventional attractiveness of the women in Toyokawa before but he never shows any actual interest in them.

Here he also points out their prettiness but is immediately scared off when he learns of their thoughts about him. The only one we see him actually interested in is Fujisaki, whose looks are more on the average side but whose thoughts never get nasty and insulting like the ones he hears from the pretty women. … which is also a thing he values about Kurosawa, and he even tells him that directly in ch 34 when they have their heart-to-heart pre-first time. And it's funny because in the beginning he does expect him to have a "nasty personality", probably because he's so used to good looking people being like that.

In conclusion: The reason he likes the flashback woman is not because she has pretty long black hair but because she is not mean about other people's shortcomings, which can be applied to Kurosawa as well.

Now let's look at Fujisaki and all of her interactions with Adachi and see if we can find some more of those Parallels that we love so much on this blog.

Adachi mentions that Fujisaki is cute quite often.

… which he also thinks of Kurosawa very often. There were honestly so many instances where Adachi finds him cute that I would reach the image limit on this post very quickly so have this one panel instead:

Bonus: he also very much enjoys Kurosawa's smell.

And since we're on the topic of "cute", I think a big reason why he finds her so cute is also that Fujisaki often asks Adachi for help, and as I mentioned in this essay, Adachi likes to feel needed.

Which, again, very much applies to Kurosawa, too.

Adachi also seems to appreciate that Fujisaki is a hard worker. (He doesn't know she's reading yaoi on company time though.)

And once again, he states this to be something he likes about Kurosawa as well.

Another descriptor he likes to use for her is "good". This often means "kind" in the japanese version, which I already elaborated on above. (For example in the panel below "nice" is "kind" in the original.) But there's also plenty of times he calls Kurosawa a "good guy" (i.e. "kind")

I know I said before that visuals don't matter as much to him but these parallels are just too funny not to include. Flower backgrounds for the pretty people 💐

Bonus Mari in here because I think it's cute how he blushes at her. Both Kurosawas are simply too much for this bisexual disaster man.

And apparently he's also just really into very shiny people.

So now that I've really hammered my point home that Kurosawa is just as much Adachi's type as any of his other interests, let's think about why there's even such a discrepancy between what Kurosawa assumes and what actually is. I think it's because his only point of reference for Adachi's interest in romantic partners is Fujisaki. What he doesn't consider, however, is that Fujisaki never tried to put up a perfect front around Adachi the way he did. Adachi has had the chance to see Fujisaki fail and find that immediately endearing, whereas with Kurosawa he had to first get magic mind reading powers to get to that same point. At least they got there eventually 🫶

Ok I'm finally done rambling, this thing got way too long again 😩

Are YOU Adachi's type? 🫵 Tell me about it in the comments!

[yilinwriter]

Kindred Spirits 知音: "The One Who Truly Understands Your Songs"

Update: Thank you for all the shares on this post! I want to mention that my debut book of Chinese poetry translations and essays on translation, The Lantern and the Night Moths, is out from Invisible Publishing and available through all bookstores. The longing for kindred spirits is one of the main themes running through the book. https://yilinwang.com/the-lantern-and-the-night-moths/

For #AroWeek, I want to talk about the Chinese term 知音 (pronounced zhīyīn in Mandarin), which has influenced my thinking about queerplatonic relationships. zhī 知: to know, knowing yīn 音: music, sound literally, a zhīyīn is someone who "truly understands your songs"

the term zhīyīn comes from a story about finding a kindred spirit through music.

There are many versions of the story. Here's one version:

One day, the musician Yu Boya was playing a qin (see image) in the wilderness, when he met Zhong Ziqi.

When Boya played one song, Ziqi immediately understood it and described it as reflecting the mood of soaring mountains (高山). When Boya played another song, Ziqi also comprehended immediately and described it as creating the mood of flowing waters (流水). Ziqi could understand all of Boya's songs. When Ziqi passed away, Boya felt so distressed that he destroyed his qin and never played it again. Boya thought of Ziqi as a "zhīyīn," and that term continues to be widely used to this day.

In a modern context, the term of "zhīyīn" is often translated into English as a soulmate, a kindred spirit, or a very close friend, but at its core, it's a term that refers to a type of intensely emotional, spiritual, and platonic connection with someone.

The original songs played by Boya have been long lost to the passage of time, but musicians and composers have tried to imagine what the songs might have sounded like.

There's even a recording of "Flowing Waters" (流水) included on the Voyager Golden Record, symbolically helping humankind search for a zhīyīn as it drifts around in outer space.

For me, as an aspec (demiromantic, biromantic, and asexual) Sino diaspora femme, the idea of zhīyīn offers me a way to think about the concept of queerplatonic relationships, given that it's very similar to the idea of a soulmate but without the necessary romantic connotations of the word in English. The concept of zhīyīn is explored again and again in various Sinophone literature and popular media, from wuxia and xianxia c-dramas to poetry that alludes explicitly or indirectly to zhīyīn.

Folks who follow my work as a translator might know that I have been translating poems by Qiu Jin (1875-1907), one of China's most renowned feminist poets. She frequently wrote about her longing for a zhīyīn. Some of my translations: https://chinachannel.lareviewofbooks.org/2021/02/12/qiu-jin/

The concept of zhiyin also features prominently in my upcoming book of poetry translations, The Lantern and the Night Moths. I originally wrote this thread for Twitter but wanted to bring it here for #AroWeek. Alloromantic folks, please take a moment to learn more about #AroWeek and support arospec creators. If you are arospec and found me via this tweet, please feel free to say hi!

[7-wonders]

To the world we dream about (and the one we live in now)

Calliope & Reader, Morpheus/Dream of the Endless & Reader

Summary: Being in the right place at the right time turns everything you thought you knew on its head when a woman, imprisoned and battered, is literally thrown into your life. Left with no choice but to do the obvious, you offer her shelter and support in her time of need.

Unbeknownst to you, said woman is a powerful and ancient being who now belongs to you in accordance with the old laws. This situation definitely won’t become complicated, right?

Word Count: 14.5k

Author's Note: A couple of months ago, I received an ask, seen below, and have not been able to stop thinking about it since. After a lot of brainstorming with the wonderful sender of the ask (not sure if they want to be named!), I finally sat down to write it.

So, here we are! This story took on a mind of its own the longer I wrote (perhaps the Muse Calliope paid me a visit haha), and it's genuinely something that I'm so proud to have produced. It's not necessarily an x reader fic—right now, though depending on reader reaction there may be future parts (including a Calliope/Morpheus POV of these events)—so I absolutely understand if you choose not to read, but I hope that you do. In the end, this is truly Calliope's story.

A story of empowerment, friendship, freedom, and self-discovery.

Content warnings for this work include allusions to sexual assault, general trauma, Richard Madoc, vomiting, kidnapping, realizations of inadvertent kidnapping, mentions of death, and Nightmare!Morpheus. Reader discretion is advised.

The man standing at the front of the room taps his fingers along the edge of his lectern, savoring the enraptured faces that stare back at him. For those in his class, this is expected of him—he always gets a dramatic air about him when he’s on the verge of making the point that he had been working towards for the entire lecture and looping it back to the thesis statement from the beginning of the hour. Though it was routine by now, practically tradition, the students still ate it up every time.

“The theme between all of these authors–the Fitzgeralds and the Hemingways, the Tolkeins and the Orwells–is that their words carry power and strength. While they may look like mere letters strung together on a sheet of paper, when read together, these words have a weight behind them. They can conjure up worlds, inspire the masses, make readers think critically; it’s a type of magic when you really think about it.”

He checks his watch before clapping his hands together in finality and smiling out at the room.

“Well, my friends, I’m afraid that’s all the time we have today. Thank you very much for joining me, and please make sure that you have your essays on the influences of World War One and its aftermath on the literature of the time ready for our next class. See you then!”

When your university announced that world-renowned author Ric Madoc would be a visiting professor for the semester, you immediately jumped on the long list of students interested in taking one of the three classes that were going to be taught by him. You had absolutely no hope that you would get into the class, not when it seemed like half the student body was also signed up, but you had to at least try. The Spirit Who Had Half of Everything was one of your favorite books of all time, and you’d be remiss not to attempt to learn from the master himself.

Somehow, much to your surprise, you had received an email informing you that you earned a spot in Madoc’s “Great Works of the 20th Century” class. The class had lived up to the hype so far and you were thoroughly enjoying it, even though it wasn’t exactly related to your field of study. In fact, you enjoyed it so much that you normally stayed behind with a group of students to continue having a discussion with Madoc about the aforementioned great works. Today, unfortunately, you couldn’t, having to rush out immediately after class was over to make it to your group project meeting in the library on time.

Of course, it’s difficult to get any sort of work done when one happens to be randomly paired with their best friend, but you’re trying your hardest.

“Psst.” You don’t look up, choosing instead to try and finish the sentence you’re writing, but a balled-up gum wrapper hits you smack in the center of the forehead. “Hey!”

After you’ve finished typing, you look across the table at Evie, your best friend. “Can I help you?” you ask.

“Do you wanna come out with me and a couple of others tonight?”

“It’s Thursday.”

She shrugs. “So?”

Points were made, and who are you to resist a good argument? “Convincing. I’m in! I just have to run home real quick and get changed.”

As you search through your bag, you start to feel your heart plummeting in your chest as you realize that you can’t find your keys. Digging through the contents furiously in the hopes that they’ll turn up yields no results, and neither does patting at the pockets you know are empty. With horror in your eyes and fear in your heart, you look back up at her.

“Fuck, I lost my keys.”

“Shit, dude. Do you remember where you last had them?”

“Um.” 

You have to think for a moment, mentally retracing your steps until you can definitively pinpoint the last time you saw your keys. They were with you in the parking lot, because you remember locking your car twice just to be sure that you did. From there, you would have been holding them in your hand as you walked to Madoc’s class. Considering you went straight from class to the library, there are limited options for where they could be. Either you left them in the lecture hall or you dropped them somewhere on campus. For your sake, you hope it’s the former.

On the syllabus, Madoc had given the class his work cell phone number in case of emergencies like being unable to make it to class or an act of God destroying your homework. Though you doubted you would need it at the time, you still saved it in your phone to be on the safe side. Now, as you pull up his contact and start a new conversation, you thank past-you for having such good foresight.

You: Hey, great class today! Did you happen to find a set of keys left behind in the lecture hall? I’m missing mine.

After a second of contemplation, you send another text with your first and last name when you realize he probably doesn’t know who it is texting him. It only takes a couple of anxious minutes before your phone chimes. 

Richard Madoc: Hello! Would these happen to be the keys in question?

Richard Madoc: Attachment

The keys are immediately recognizable as yours, thanks to the keychain of a possum wearing a cowboy hat that’s attached to them. You sigh in immense relief before glancing up at Evie, who’s been watching with bated breath the entire time. “I left them in Madoc’s class.”

“Oh thank god!”

You: They are! Any chance you’re still on campus so I can swing by and grab them?

Richard Madoc: I’m afraid I’ve already left for the day, but I live pretty close to the uni if you’d be willing to pick them up from my flat.

He sends an address in the following text, which you promptly input in your maps app so you can see where said address is located. It’s maybe a five-minute drive from campus and conveniently located in the direction of your apartment.

You: Will be there in a bit! Thank you :)

“He already left, I’d have to pick them up from his place,” you explain.

Evie immediately fixes you with a look, one that says she’s seen this particular move before (and she didn’t like the ending). “Do you want me to come with you?”

The unspoken words hang in the air between you: Do you feel safe going to an unfamiliar man’s house alone? Should I come to make sure nothing bad happens? It’s very thoughtful of her, and you consider saying yes for a moment.

But Evie lives in the opposite direction of you, and she doesn’t have a car. While you don’t know Madoc well, you’re also not expecting him to try anything on you, especially when it’s still light out. 

“I should be okay,” you say.

“You’re sure?” Evie double-checks, and you nod. “Call me before you get there, okay? Just…have me on the line, in your back pocket. It’d make me feel better about letting you go on your own.”

How did you get so lucky to have such a great friend like Evie? Of course, you would do the same for Evie in a heartbeat, but it’s so nice to have found a kindred spirit, someone who truly understands you and all your little quirks, so early in your adulthood.

“You’re not letting me do anything,” you tease. “But yeah, I’ll call you when I get there.”

“Thank you,” she says sincerely, sliding her papers and her laptop into her backpack. “Now let’s go. The sooner you get your keys, the sooner we can go and get drunk.”

It feels a little dumb to be driving such a short distance, from the campus to the address that Madoc had given you. You’re exactly the type of person that’s killing the planet with unnecessary carbon emissions when you could just as easily walk, you chastise yourself on the way over. 

But you had driven to class this morning, that being a distance actually too far to walk, and it would be stupid to walk to Madoc’s, get your keys, walk back to campus, and then drive home. So here you are, beating yourself up over something stupid and inconsequential while you try your best to parallel park in a respectable manner in front of Madoc’s little townhouse.

It’s exactly the type of lodgings you’d expect a university professor to have, yet almost the opposite of what you envisioned as a successful author’s home; a small, yet stately, townhouse with a little fenced-in front yard. Plants try their hardest to survive in the patch of dirt that’s probably supposed to be a garden, and there’s a small chair and table perfect for Sunday mornings sitting on the front stoop.

The gate creaks when you open it, and even more when you close it behind you. At the last second, you remember that you promised to call Evie, so you pull out your phone and do just that. 

“Hey, you there?” Evie answers her phone.

“Yeah, just got here. Putting you in my pocket now.”

Even though the idea felt a little like an overreaction, you can’t deny that you feel safer now knowing that Evie’s listening on the phone.

You knock on the dark blue front door once, twice, three times before taking a step back and waiting patiently. After about thirty seconds, you start to worry that Madoc’s not home. But no, that wouldn’t make sense; you talked to him maybe half an hour ago, and he knew that you were on your way to pick up your keys. Frowning, you knock again, followed by holding your ear to the door to see if you can hear anything.

He’s definitely inside. Though the sound is muffled, you can hear what sounds like him yelling at somebody through the door. Who the source of his ire is, you can’t say, because there’s nobody saying anything back to him. Maybe he’s having a really heated conversation on the phone? If that’s the case, it’s a pretty inconvenient time to launch into a virtual argument.

You don’t want to be rude and knock for a third separate time, but you really do need your keys, and you’d prefer to not be kept standing out here waiting. Begrudgingly, you knock yet again, putting a considerable amount of force behind it this time. 

“Mr. Madoc?” you call through the door, raising your voice enough that you’re sure he’s heard you. By the way that he suddenly falls silent, you’re assuming that you’ve been successful. Pulling back from your position right up against the door, you wait for him to appear.

When the door is yanked open, you’re shocked at what you see. Gone is the confident lecturer who stood at the front of your class this afternoon. The man in front of you looks positively haggard. His eyes are bloodshot and red-rimmed, and his bottom lip quivers almost as furiously as his hands shake. His hair is a mess, as though he’s been pulling at it, and his shirt is weirdly rumpled like he fell asleep in it.

You take a big step back when his eyes land wildly on you without really seeing you. Your hand goes to your back pocket, hovering just above your phone in case this encounter goes south and you need to have Evie do…something. Call the cops? Yell at Madoc through the phone? Scream? Whatever it is, though, she’ll do it for you.

“Hi. Um, you–”

Madoc shakes his head back and forth and begins to mumble something, completely ignoring you and your presence. He reaches one of his hands further inside the house, grabbing at something unseen. Your body tenses, preparing to fight this man that, up until two minutes ago, you had believed to be completely sane and rational.

His hand comes back into view, tightly gripping a woman’s upper arm. She’s barefoot and clad only in a thin silk nightgown, and you can see the goosebumps already appearing on her skin.

“A city in which the streets are paved with time,” he mumbles a little louder, allowing you to hear what he’s rambling about. “A train full of silent women, plowing forever through the twilight. Heads made of light. A small piece of blue cardboard. A plum, sweet and tart and cold.”

“Mr. Madoc, are you alright?” 

Instead of answering you, Madoc throws the woman across the threshold and towards you. You catch her in your arms, both of you stumbling backward, but you let go when you notice how she immediately tenses at your touch.

“She’s your problem now, I can’t do this anymore!” Madoc begins to pull at his hair, so hard that you think he might end up pulling it out of his head. “I refuse to be tortured any longer!”

“What are you talking about?” 

He’s lost his damn mind, you think to yourself as he continues to spout the most random of ideas. You thought that you had properly calculated the risks of coming over here on your own, but apparently, you’re bad at math.

“A were-goldfish who transforms into a wolf at full moon. Griffins shouldn’t marry. Vampires don’t dance.” Madoc shakes and smacks himself multiple times as if to try and snap himself out of whatever he’s gotten into. “A man who inherits a library card to the library in Alexandria. A rose bush, a nightingale, and a black rubber dog collar!”

You’re so thrown off by what you’re witnessing that you don’t even realize he’s closing the door until the sound of it hitting the doorframe reminds you why you’re here. You bang your fist against the door and yell at him, “Hey! Give me my fucking keys!” 

Madoc opens the door just enough to throw your keys at you, which you fumble and nearly drop until catching them by the stupid cowboy possum keychain, before slamming it shut again. From within, you can hear several locks clicking shut loudly in quick succession.

The speed with which this entire interaction has occurred leaves your head spinning, and you have to take a moment to realize that yes, what you just experienced was real. Even then, you stare at the door bemusedly. “What the fuck?”

“I do not believe he will be coming back,” an accented voice says from behind you.

You can’t stop the little scream of surprise that leaves you when you whip around to face the woman who, until this moment, you forgot had been kicked out of Madoc’s house. She stares at you, just as warily as you’re probably staring at her.

She’s otherworldly beautiful, with olive skin, dark hair, and dark eyes. But what stands out the most is just how visibly scared she is. She watches you like you’re a predator readying to attack. You hate it because you’d never do anything like that to anybody, but especially her. What had Madoc done to cause her to have this reaction to a stranger?

Evie’s voice rises tinnily from the phone in your back pocket, loud and panicked, and you remember that she’s been on the phone this whole time. You pull your phone out and hold it up to your ear, having to put a little distance between it due to how she’s yelling.

“—I swear, I’m two seconds away from calling the cops! Please just let me know you’re okay!”

“Evie, hey, I’m here,” you say, making her cry out in relief.

“Oh my god, are you okay? I was scared when I heard yelling!”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m alright. Pretty sure I just watched Madoc have a mental breakdown?” Is that what that was? You can’t say for certain, considering this is your first such occasion.

“Seriously? Well, did you get your keys, at least?”

“After he finished rambling about were-goldfish and plums.”

“Jesus Christ. Are you going to call somebody?”

“Who would I call? And anyway, maybe this is normal for him.”

“If that’s normal, I’d hate to see what abnormal is.” She sighs. “So, I’ll see you soon?”

“Um,” you trail off, looking at the woman. “Y’know, I might take a rain check, if that’s okay. I’m a little shaken up by everything that just happened.”

“I bet, that sounds like it was really scary. We’ll miss you, but take care of yourself. If you do decide to come out, just text me and I’ll tell you where we’re at.”

“Thanks, Ev. I’ll, uh, talk to you soon.”

You hang up the phone, and now you and the woman are left awkwardly staring at each other. How are you supposed to approach a situation like this? Sliding your phone back into your pocket, you hold your hands with the palms facing out so that she can see you’re not holding any weapons and decide to just start from the beginning.

“Hi.”

She nods back in greeting, trying to hold herself with as much dignity as she can in this situation. The chill of the night and her lack of proper clothing leave her trembling in front of you, though some of that is likely from fear too, and you can see bruises in various shades of healing up and down her arms. Worse, there are visible fingerprint-shaped bruises ringing her neck. Though you’ve never been particularly violent, you’re tempted to break down Madoc’s door and do unto him what he’s obviously done to this woman.

“Are you cold? I have a spare jacket if you want it.” You point the hundred or so feet to where your car sits. “Here, let’s go over to my car, I’m just parked on the street right there.”

The woman attempts to gauge you and, presumably, your intentions. Though this is her decision to make, you give her a friendly smile in the hopes of convincing her that you have no ill will toward her. After a moment, she nods hesitantly.

You take the lead as you walk down the front path to your car, mainly to show that she holds the power here. There will be nobody sneaking up on this woman or trying anything, and she’s free to run far away from you if that’s what she chooses. 

Still, she follows you, and waits patiently while you dig around in your back seat until you finally come up with the light jacket that you had tossed back there after an outdoor movie night. You hand it to her and she shrugs it on, holding it tightly around her and trying to hide within the cotton fabric.

You don’t want to ask the question that’s on your mind, but you know that you have to. You need some sort of context for the situation. “Was…Madoc keeping you locked up in there?” She nods, and you feel your stomach roil with sick nausea. “Okay. We need to call the cops, so they can come and arrest him.”

“No!” she says firmly, a departure from how soft-spoken she previously was. “Please, I beg you, no authorities.”

“But…” 

Maybe he hadn’t kidnapped her like you found yourself assuming at first. Perhaps this is a severe case of domestic violence? Regardless, she looks like the poster child for abused women, and you’re not about to disrespect her wishes when this is probably the first choice she’s been able to make for herself in a long time.

“Okay,” you agree. “No cops.” 

“Thank you.” She sounds so relieved that it makes you want to cry.

An idea begins to form in your head, but one that you’re not sure how to begin to broach. After all, the woman in front of you has absolutely no reason to trust you. “I’m guessing you don’t have anywhere to go?”

She shakes her head. “No, I have…nowhere, and nobody.”

That settles it. You’re not about to leave a battered, formerly-trapped woman to fend for herself on the streets. “So listen. I have a spare room at my place, and you’re completely welcome to it for as long as you need.”

“Oh, I could not impose.”

“You wouldn’t be!” you assure her. “Please, it’s the least I can do. At least until you get back on your feet.”

She studies you again. Though you don’t know what she’s looking for, you can tell that she’s the kind of intuitive person that sees beyond that which is only skin-deep. Finally, she says, “Alright.”

You grin and open the passenger side door, gesturing for her to get in. “Alright.”

After getting the car started and the heat turned up all the way, you watch as the woman fiddles with the airflow of the heater until it’s blowing directly on her delicate hands, which she holds in front of her to warm up. She looks at you as if realizing for the first time that you could betray her trust much in the same way as Ric Madoc had. To prove to her that you won’t, you unlock the doors when they try to lock automatically in response to you putting the car in ‘drive’.

You tell her your name, and for the first time, she smiles. It’s a small thing, barely a quirk of the lips, but it’s there. “I am Calliope.”

“Oh cool, like the Muse!” Her smile widens until she’s actually smiling, leaving you delighted. “Your parents were into Greek mythology, then?”

“Something like that, yes.”

As you drive to your apartment, Calliope turns in her seat and watches as Madoc’s apartment grows smaller and smaller behind your car. Even after it’s disappeared behind turns and other buildings, she still watches, perhaps waiting for him to come back to his senses and come after her. But there will be none of that tonight, or ever again. Not as long as you have anything to do about it.

When you get home, you continue the routine of taking the lead and allowing Calliope to decide whether or not she wants to follow you. Calliope lingers in the entryway of your apartment, taking her time carefully cataloging everything that she can see as you work at getting the lights turned on and trying to clean up a little bit—after all, you hadn’t exactly expected a houseguest when you left for class this morning. 

She runs her fingers along the walls and the frames of artwork that you’ve acquired at festivals and flea markets. She feels the coats on your coat rack, and her dark, inquisitive eyes scan over the battered toaster and soft fruit in your kitchen. As she walks further into your home, she takes care to take up as little space as possible until she reaches where you stand in front of a closed door.

“My old roommate moved in with their girlfriend a couple of months ago, and they don’t know what they want to do with her furniture, so they’re just storing it here until they can figure it out,” you explain as you open the door and flick on the light switch to reveal a bare bedroom. It’s sparsely furnished, with just a full bed, a nightstand, a dresser, and a desk and chair. “Now, it’s yours.”

“Mine?”

“For as long as you need it,” you repeat.

Hesitantly stepping inside, Calliope looks over the room before nodding in satisfaction. You can only hope that she had a space of her own in Madoc’s house, but by the way that she looks around like she’s never seen something so wonderful as an empty bedroom before, you’re left with a sinking feeling that this wasn’t the case.

“So! I’ll grab some sheets and a blanket from the linen closet and get the bed made up for you. Um, all of the doors lock on the inside, so feel free to keep yourself and your space private. Do you want to take a shower? Because you definitely can. Avery—that’s my old roommate—left some of the clothes they didn’t want behind, and they’re about your size, I think.” You’re rambling, but you just want to make her feel as welcome as possible. 

“A shower would be…nice,” Calliope decides.

“Awesome! The bathroom’s right through here, c’mon.”

In the bathroom, Calliope watches as you grab a couple of towels from the closet, along with the sheets and blanket you mentioned earlier. You set the towels down on the closed toilet lid next to the shower.

“Feel free to use any of my stuff here, it’s totally fine,” you explain, pulling back the shower curtain so Calliope can see your haircare products and body wash.

Instead of looking over that array, she simply stares at the chrome of the shower faucet in confusion.

“Oh yeah, the shower’s a little weird here. All you have to do is turn the handle, and then pull the plug on the faucet for the shower.” You show her as you explain it. “Turn the handle left for hot water, and right for cold. Got it?”

“I believe so.”

“Alright, I’ll leave you to it, then. Just yell if you need anything from me.”

You close the bathroom door behind you and after a long moment, you finally hear the lock turn.

Good. In the meantime, you’ll make a quick meal for her, in case she’s hungry. Plus, you need to keep your hands busy. It will help take your mind off of the horrors you’re trying desperately to forget that you witnessed.

•••

Four days later, Evie runs up to you on campus when she sees you and wraps both of her hands around your upper arm before pulling you towards her. “Did you hear?”

“What?” You’re more focused on not falling over your feet at the sudden change of pace you’ve been forced into than you are wondering what you did or didn’t hear.

“You were right. Mr. Madoc had a complete mental breakdown! Somebody called in a welfare check on him, and the cops found him curled up in a ball mumbling gibberish. He hadn’t moved for days. You know the worst part, though?” 

You shake your head. 

“He covered every single wall of his house with the most random words and phrases, and they were all written in his own blood.”

You reel back. “Jesus!”

“I know, totally gory.” By her laugh, you can tell that she enjoys the gore.

It’s at this moment that you realize that you haven’t told Evie anything about what happened after you hung up with her that night. It certainly wasn’t deliberate; you’ve just been so caught up in the sudden change in your living arrangements that you haven’t had the time to text or call her about what you went through.

With that in mind, you say, “I have something to tell you.”

Evie’s eyes immediately light up at the prospect of gossip. “You do?”

You nod. “That night, when I went to his house? He grabbed this woman from inside his house and just threw her at me, saying that she was my problem now. She was all bruised and wearing nothing but a nightgown, and he treated her like she was his property. Evie, she said he kept her trapped there.”

“What the fuck.” Evie stares at you in horror. “Is she okay now?”

“Physically, yeah. She’s staying with me.”

“At your apartment?”

“Where else? Her name’s Calliope. I’m letting her stay in Avery’s old room until she gets back on her feet again.”

Evie whistles lowly. “I can’t tell if that’s kind of you or stupid of you.”

“Probably both.”

“Yeah, probably.” 

As you walk, an astute observation comes to your mind. “Y’know, it makes sense that he’s such a piece of shit. Now that I think about it, the only authors we ever discussed in class were white guys.”

“Hmm, typical white man.” Evie rolls her eyes before she grins. “Hey, can I meet her?”

“Calliope?”

“Who else?”

You have to think about that for a minute. Would she be comfortable with meeting new people and putting herself out there? While you think that your friends are great, especially Evie, you just don’t want to force her into anything before she’s ready.

Evie seems to sense this hesitation, and explains, “She just seems like she needs some friends. A support system might be good for her while she tries to get her life back!”

“I can’t make any promises, but I’ll ask her if she wants to do something like that.”

“That’s all I ask,” Evie says. “In the meantime, is there anything that I can do to help? Like, does she need clothes? Kiara’s aunt owns that boutique, and she would probably be willing to help out.”

That’s a good idea and one that you hadn’t even considered. Obviously, Calliope’s going to want some clothes of her own instead of Avery’s hand-me-downs. It’ll probably help her to feel more like a human being, one with choice and agency over herself.

“Oh, would you ask her to talk to her aunt?” you ask. “That’d be great.” 

Evie nods. “Definitely. I feel like that’s, like, the least I can do.”

“I wish there was more that I could do,” you admit.

“You’re doing what you can, and that’s what matters. Hell, most people wouldn’t have even offered to let a woman in Calliope’s situation stay with them. You’re a good person, you know that?”

“Thanks.”

“Eh, what are friends for, if not to reassure you that taking in a random woman on a whim is the right idea?” You huff in mock anger, and Evie laughs. “Anyways, you’ll never guess what the university is trying to do about the whole Madoc situation now…”

•••

Calliope doesn’t come out of her room when you’re around, not that you blame her. If you had gone through even an ounce of what you suspect she had, you’d want to be safe and alone for a long time, no matter how nice your new roommate is (and you like to think you’re pretty nice). You hear her sneak around when she knows that you’re in your own bedroom, as quiet as a mouse, and every night without fail, she takes a long shower. Other than that, it feels like you’re still living alone.

Since you don’t know how often she’s eating, and she doesn’t leave dishes or any sort of indication that she’s getting food for herself, you leave meals out in front of her door for her, breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Sticky notes accompany them, because you have things that you want her to know and this is the only way to communicate with her right now.

“Feel free to grab food from the kitchen whenever you want!”

“I have great books, and you’re more than welcome to them.”

“If you find yourself wanting to watch TV, the remote is on the coffee table!”

Each message is signed with a smiley face, and each one is gone when the empty tray is returned outside her door.

The empty trays and, eventually, the books that go missing from your bookshelf are the only signs of life that you receive from Calliope. 

When Calliope finally emerges while you’re home and not in your room, it’s six days after Ric Madoc threw her into your arms. You’re sitting on your couch reading fanfiction, a random YouTube video playing in the background when Calliope’s door creaks open and she peeks her head out hesitantly. Immediately you pause the video, smiling brightly when she notices you looking at her.

“Hi!” you greet.

“Hello.” She slowly exits her room clutching the book she’s been reading, as skittish as a feral kitten, and you slide over on the couch before patting the now-empty other side in invitation.

“You can come sit if you want. I’m just reading.”

“What are you reading?” Calliope asks, perching on the edge of the cushion as though she’s preparing for escape at any moment.

The smile freezes on your face. Just because you’re happy your new roommate is here doesn’t mean you’re about to out yourself as a fanfiction reader. “Oh, just a fantasy book.”

“Why do you have that…television on, then?” Calliope says this as though she’s still unfamiliar with the concept of television.

“I like the background noise of putting on shows that I’ve already seen. Helps me focus.”

She looks at you like that’s one of the oddest things she’s ever heard. Maybe it is, but it’s your little habit, and it has been for so long that it’s normal now. You hit play again, and Calliope starts a bit as sound comes through the speakers on the TV. Funnily, even though she seems to not understand your reasoning, the sound itself helps her to relax enough that she’s sitting on the couch with you instead of hovering like she’s preparing to bolt at any moment.

You don’t say anything, not wanting to make her think that you’re dictating what she can and cannot do. Eventually, Calliope decides to follow your lead and open her book, though she keeps getting distracted by the TV and eventually forgoes the book entirely in favor of watching the show.

“The tall one does not believe in ghosts, but the little one does?” Calliope asks out of the blue. You swallow down your laugh at her description of the hosts and nod.

“Mhm, and that’s what makes the show so good, is that dichotomy between the two hosts. One is so serious about everything they do, every noise that they hear, and the other is just dancing around and begging the demons to possess him or whatever because he thinks they’re not real and so saying this stuff can’t hurt him.”

She watches silently for another few minutes before asking, “Why are they searching for ghosts in the first place?”

“Well, because people love trying to solve the unsolved. And I think ghosts and the question of their existence is one of the ultimate unsolved mysteries.” She nods in satisfaction and turns back to the show, and you decide to turn off your phone and join her.

Calliope, as it turns out, enjoys television, if only for the strange concepts of some of the shows. You’re more than happy to show her all of the strangest and best shows, with the bonus of getting to see them anew through her eyes, which seem to be watching everything for the very first time.

•••

It’s mid-afternoon, and instead of being outside on what’s turning out to be a beautiful day, you’re stuck doing homework.

Everybody had assumed that Ric Madoc’s classes would be canceled after his abrupt admission into the Saint Dymphna Mental Health Hospital. The university, however, not wanting to just give out automatic passing grades without merit, had scrambled to try and find professors to teach Madoc’s classes. Somehow, they had succeeded, and you were now once again immersed in the world of 20th-century authors. Though your new professor didn’t have the ability to truly capture a room in the same way Madoc had, she was a fine replacement, and she devoted a good chunk of class time to women authors.

It’s too nice of a day to not take advantage of, though. That first true spring day after a long, harsh winter has finally arrived, and you won��t let it pass you by. All of the windows are open to allow the stale air of the apartment to dissipate, and as you write, you listen to the birds chirping and people doing yard work. Maybe, if you finish quickly enough, you’ll be able to take a walk yourself. 

Calliope would probably enjoy that as well, you think.

The woman in question knocks on your open bedroom door, and you look up at her with a smile from your desk. She clocks the computer and the notes spread around you and grows sheepish.

“I’m sorry, you are busy. I’ll–”

“No, don’t worry! Just finishing up an essay for a class. Got a crazy burst of motivation for it, and ended up knocking it out in a couple of hours. It’ll be good to look away from the screen.” 

Calliope gets that funny little smile on her face, the one that says that she has found something amusing but is going to keep it to herself. She waits patiently as you stretch, wincing when she hears the way that your shoulders pop and crack after hours of stagnancy.

“What’s up?” you ask. “You seem like you want to ask me something.”

Calliope points out of your bedroom. “What is out there?”

You stand so that you can see what it is she’s referencing, and find that she’s pointing to your sliding door.

“Oh, it’s a little balcony. I don’t go out there much right now, still a little too chilly, but it’ll be nice to sit out there once summer comes. Here, I’ll show you.”

It’s the first time this season that it’s been nice enough to have the door open, which is probably why she’s only just now realized it’s there. You open the screen door and lead her out onto your balcony. It’s small, but you spent last summer adding to it and making it a comforting place to relax. Now, there are lights strung up above your heads, and there are two chairs with a table in between them. Planters sit lined up along the iron of the balcony railing, ready to be filled when planting season comes around.

Calliope gasps, and you’re about to ask what’s wrong (part of you is worried that a snake managed to find its way up to the third floor), when she tilts her face up to the sun, leaning over the railing to try and get as much of the light on her as possible. She looks like a painting come to life, probably with a name like “Muse Bathed in the Sun”, because truly, Calliope seems like the type of person to inspire every person lucky enough to make her acquaintance. 

“Helios,” you hear Calliope whisper reverently. 

It’s obvious that she isn’t aware that she said that out loud, and you start to feel embarrassed before she turns back to you with a true smile and tears running down her face.

“I have not been outside in the sun in so long.” 

She explains this simply and factually, as if she’s talking about why the sun is where it is and not about all that she was deprived of during her captivity. Madoc didn’t even let her go outside. It’s a good thing that he’s under secure watch 24/7, because there have been many times over the almost-three weeks that Calliope has lived with you that you have wished to be able to go and inflict upon him a modicum of that which he did to Calliope.

Now tears are running down your face too, and you wipe at them harshly with the backs of your hands. This is Calliope’s moment, Calliope’s joy, and you won’t have her feeling sorry for making you experience such happiness and broken-heartedness by watching her.

“It’s here no matter what. Even if it’s a little cold, bring a blanket out and sit whenever you want. Soon, we’ll be able to plant some stuff. You can help me if you want!”

Calliope’s back to facing the sun directly, but she still nods to let you know that it’s a good idea. Quietly, you back up into the apartment and close the screen door behind you, letting her have this time of reconnection to herself.

Most mornings after this rediscovery, you find Calliope already sitting on the balcony by the time you wake up, a blanket around her shoulders, a mug of something hot in her hands, a book on her lap, and the sun bathing her skin.

•••

“Y’know what, I’m gonna give that one a three.”

“A three?” Calliope tuts. “That is cruel. His performance was at least a six.”

“C’mon Cal, you’re just saying that because you see the best in everybody! The rest of us saw a douchey frat bro drunkenly singing ‘SexyBack,’ which earned him a three. And that’s me being generous.”

Calliope and your friend Ethan are, of course, judging the karaoke performances of the bar patrons brave (or stupid) enough to sing in front of others. They, along with your friend Kiara, take this tradition very seriously. For every performance, the three of them have detailed notes and a rating out of ten to go along with it. 

You had finally given in to Evie’s pleadings and decided to broach the subject of going out in public to Calliope. Much to your surprise, she accepted when you first invited her to karaoke night with your friends at the group’s favorite bar. She accepted when you offered to bring her to trivia, and she accepted when your friends finally got around to doing a book club meeting—which was mainly just drinking and eating appetizers while you talked about the books you’d read, but it still counted. 

(Taking Calliope to her first drag show quickly became one of your favorite and most cherished memories)

She took to your friend group like a duck to water, and in return, they embraced her wholeheartedly. Now, none of you could imagine a life without her in it. 

And slowly, it seemed as though Calliope began to start to heal. With every bar meetup, movie night, or random coffee date, you saw a bit more light return back to Calliope. Flashes of the woman that she once was, vibrant and funny and elegant and wise, begin to become more frequent as the days pass. Every time she allows for a hug or every time she smirks into her glass after saying something that has the group erupting in laughter, she becomes more and more herself.

“Oh my god, it’s our turn!” Ethan yells suddenly after the karaoke emcee calls his and Evie’s names. He stands and holds his hand out to Evie, who happily takes it and jumps up with him. “Let’s go knock some socks off.”

This will either go one of two ways. They’ll either perform their serious song, “Bennie and the Jets,” which they’re surprisingly good at, or they’ll go funny and perform the Sharpay and Ryan version of “What I’ve Been Lookin’ For” from High School Musical, which they’re also really good at. By their tipsy giggles, you’re guessing it’s the latter.

The second they both start doing the Sharpay and Ryan hype-up routine, Kiara sighs and grabs her drink and phone.

“I promised these dumbasses I’d film them the next time they performed this,” she explains before going to work as an unpaid videographer.

Throughout their entire routine, Calliope’s enthralled, as she should be. It’s a good performance, of course, but Evie and Ethan together are a true comedic duo. The matching jazz squares during the instrumentals truly bring the whole piece together, and you’re in tears from laughter by the end of their routine. When they return to the table after a rousing standing ovation from the patrons of the bar, Calliope gives them her own round of applause and beams.

Naturally, she bestows upon them the highest ranking one can receive during karaoke nights. “Now that was a ten.”

Ethan bows as Evie kisses Calliope’s cheek. “Thank you, m’lady,” he says proudly.

“When do you get the time to practice this?”

“Nights like this, usually,” Evie explains before Ethan interrupts.

“Though we have been known to skip a class or two when we were trying to work out the kinks in our performance.” Ethan picks up his drink before frowning when he sees there’s nothing but melting ice cubes in the glass. “Well, apparently I need another drink. Anybody else?”

Everyone at the table shakes their head, but Kiara reaches into her jacket. “No, but I am gonna go hit my pen.”

“Ooh, I’ll come with you,” Evie volunteers cheerfully.

“Weed thief,” Kiara teases.

“Are you telling me no?”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“That’s not a no!”

Your friends go their separate ways, leaving you and Calliope to sit alone at the table. The next singer has already started, and you grin when you hear what it is.

“Oh, I love this song,” you tell Calliope before singing along. “‘Cause I’m dreaming of you tonight, ‘til tomorrow I’ll be holding you tight!”

Beside you, Calliope grows a little gloomy. She’s frowning a bit; even if it’s barely there, you can always tell because it completely transforms her beautiful face into something so sad. You stop humming and look over at her, watching as she slowly swirls her straw in her drink repeatedly to give her something to do.

“Having fun?” you ask, slightly worried at the sudden melancholy that seems to have draped over her like a shroud.

“Yes,” she tries to assure you, but it sounds clipped, like she’s holding back.

“You know you don’t have to come just because I invited you, right? You can do whatever you want.” You never want her to feel as though you’re forcing her to do anything, and even though she’s been having fun up until now, there’s still that anxiety that tells you that she’s just going along with it because she feels like she owes you.

“I know,” Calliope assures. “But I enjoy you and your group of friends. You make me feel…welcomed, and accepted, in a way that I have not felt in a long time.” 

“They’re your friends now too. Pretty sure they decided that the second they met you.”

“I consider them friends as well. I consider you a friend as well, though I hope you know that by now.” She smiles down at her drink. “Besides, I quite like the karaoke nights.”

“I can tell. You never sing with us, though.”

“I don’t need to, I just enjoy listening. The people singing, and enjoying themselves, it reminds me of my son. He, too, loved to sing, and he was gifted with such a beautiful voice.”

“You have a son?” This takes you by surprise. Though Calliope seems to be very maternal, she’s never mentioned anything about a child until now. The fact that she talks about him in the past tense has your heart sinking into your stomach from the implications.

Calliope nods. “My sweet boy, my Orpheus. He was beautiful, and heartbreakingly sweet. He had a voice that could bring even the gods themselves to tears. He was taken from me…far too soon, and I miss him every day, with every fiber of my being. Being here, among so many people happy and making music—I see his face in all of theirs, and it brings me some sense of peace, to know that I can find pieces of him here, in the most unlikely of places..”

It’s sweet that she kept the Greek mythology theme going with her own son, you think, though it’s tragic that he suffered the same fate as his namesake.

“He was so lucky to have a mom like you, Calliope. Any child would be.” You lick your lips and taste the sweetness of alcohol on them as you ponder what to say next. “His life might have ended too soon, but he knew that he was completely and truly loved until the very end, which is such a gift.”

Tears well up in Calliope’s eyes, and she dabs at them with a napkin grabbed hastily from the table. “Thank you,” she chokes out. “You have no idea how much that means to me.”

“Ah, now you’re gonna go and make me cry too. Can I hug you?” 

You always, always ask for permission before hugging her or touching her. She doesn’t seem to mind anymore when friends do it without asking, but you can’t break yourself of the habit. 

Not after seeing what you saw the night that you met her.

She doesn’t give you an answer in the form of words. Instead, she simply falls into your arms, both of you clinging to the other.

From behind you, Ethan whispers, “Uh, are we interrupting something?”

•••

Evie has a date tonight and is naturally freaking out about it. She doesn’t know what to wear, she doesn’t know what she’s going to say, she doesn’t know if she’s even going to like the girl. Though you can provide her with all of the moral support in the world, there’s only one problem that you can currently help her with, which is how she ends up rifling furiously through your closet on a random Wednesday night.

You and Calliope sit on your bed, watching as Evie grabs different outfits and either critiques them herself or holds them up for you to do so. This is a tried-and-true routine for you, but Calliope’s experiencing the joys of helping a friend in need pick out a first date outfit for the first time. As a result, she puts far more thought into her responses when Evie asks for an opinion.

“You know, I believe I may have just the shirt for you in my room,” Calliope says after the outfit rejections have reached double digits. “Come.”

Calliope has truly made her room her own in the almost two months that she’s lived here, which makes you so happy to see. She’s decorated with items found antiquing (Calliope always manages to come out of an antique store with a haul—you think it's her superpower), and her room has an actual personality now.

She goes to her closet and begins searching through it before finding what she’s looking for; a white blouse with bell sleeves and delicate embroidering along the cuffs and collar. It’s beautiful, and exactly what Evie was looking for. Her attention, however, is drawn to something else in the closet, and she grabs at one of the hangers after approving Calliope’s choice. To your surprise, Evie comes up holding a cream-colored, silk nightgown.

“Wait, Cal, you still have the nightgown you were wearing the night you got away?” you ask.

It would be cruel to say anything more than the most vague descriptions regarding Calliope’s imprisonment. Nobody particularly wanted to remind her of that dark time in her life, so great care was taken to make it the least bit triggering as possible when it needed to be brought up.

She nods. 

“Why?”

Calliope thinks about that for a moment. “I am not sure, to be honest. I certainly do not want to keep a relic of such a terrible time, but throwing it away does not feel…right.”

Evie perks up. “Ooh, y’know what we should do? We should burn that bitch!”

Calliope looks perturbed. “I thought you said that he is still in a mental hospital? Besides, I believe that immolation is still a crime.”

You and Evie both laugh when you realize that Calliope thought she was talking about Madoc.

“Not that bitch, though you’re giving me great ideas. I meant that we should burn the dress. I saw it on TikTok; these friends did a ‘burn and release’ ritual. They had a fire going in their backyard, and they all wrote down and talked about things that they wanted to release before burning it and physically releasing themselves of that. It looks like it’s super empowering, and it might give you the closure that it seems like you’re looking for.”

She doesn’t say anything, but you can tell that she’s intrigued. 

“We’d participate, too,” you chime in, Evie nodding along with you. “I think we all have things we want to burn so that we can give ourselves permission to move on.”

“I would like that, I think.”

Evie smiles. “Perfect. Leave it to me.”

It only takes Evie a couple of days to coordinate everything. Her parents live just outside of town, and they happily offer up their backyard to their daughter and her group of friends. When you and Calliope arrive, there’s already a fire pit set up with a ring of camping chairs surrounding it. Kiara waves from one of the chairs, a bag of marshmallows sitting in her lap, as Evie works at getting the fire going.

“Yay, you made it!” she says when she can finally trust the fire to not go out the moment she looks away from it.

Calliope nods graciously. “Thank you for hosting us this evening.”

“You’re so formal sometimes! If anything, I should be the one thanking you for going along with my crazy idea.”

“I do not think it is crazy at all,” Calliope assures.

“We’ll see, won’t we? Anyways, pens and paper are over in the empty chair next to Kiara, and there will be drinks and snacks momentarily.” Evie turns to you. “Wanna help me grab said drinks and snacks? I need an extra set of hands.”

After helping Evie with procuring and setting out a few bottles of wine, plastic cups, and a bunch of different snacks, the four of you each pick up a pen and paper and begin to write. Calliope writes furiously, her pen seeming to fly over the paper as she jots down her thoughts, and is done first as a result. The rest of you take a bit longer to write, needing to stop and think about what you want to put down before you do so.

In a group chat, you, Kiara, and Evie had decided that one of you would automatically go first, to make Calliope feel comfortable about participating. When you’ve all finished writing, Kiara stands and clears her throat.

“Well, guess I’m first up,” she says.

In hindsight, you should have guessed how emotional a night of talking about things that you need to release and then burning them as a physical manifestation would be. Still, the teary eyes from everybody when Kiara finishes reading her letter to her ex-best friend and tosses it, along with a small box of mementos, into the fire catch you off-guard. Though you said that everybody had things that they needed to release the night that Evie first brought this up, you just didn’t realize that everyone was carrying their own burdens that, to them, are just as heavy as Calliope’s is to her.

You volunteer to go next, reading about how you release all of the expectations that you’ve had about your life and where it’s meant to go. Even before Calliope arrived in your life, you struggled with the idea that your life was not going according to the plan that you had in mind. You weren’t hitting milestones that you had plotted out, and your life “schedule” kept imploding time and time again. Now, you hope to be rid of that, and the constant feeling that you’re failing yourself and your life. 

As you watch the paper burn in the flames, you try to convince yourself that all of those feelings are burning along with it.

Evie follows, with a big “fuck you” to her biological dad, who she recently found out only tried to form a relationship with her so that he could get money from her. It’s such a terrible situation, and though she’s handled it with her classic brand of humor, you can all see the hurt that she carries with her. Her letter is funny and biting and makes you all laugh, but she’s openly crying by the time she tosses it into the fire, and she gets a long hug from each of you after.

Finally, it’s Calliope’s turn, and she takes a long moment to stand. She’s been holding your hand since you finished reading her letter, and you give her a comforting squeeze before letting go so she can properly hold the letter. After taking a deep breath, she looks around the fire at the encouraging faces before her before she begins.

“I have often lived my life in the service of others, though most of the time, it was something that I willingly and happily did. That choice was removed from me when I was stolen from my home and bound to a truly vile and horrid man. He took everything from me. My thoughts, my inspiration, my—” Calliope’s voice breaks. “My body. Nothing was mine anymore, and I was told that that was how it should be, that it was the natural order of the world. He beat me down, physically and emotionally, to the point where I started to believe it. 

“Though I had long since lost hope, I prayed for some sort of salvation, and I prayed to whomever I could think of. Nobody answered, either because they could not or would not, and I believed myself truly alone. Eventually, my former lover, Morpheus, was the only one who could, or would, help me, and even then, there was only so much that he could do. I do not fault him for that, because he did the most that was possible for him to do.

“And then one day, somebody knocked on the door of my prison and demanded their keys back.” She looks at you with a wobbly smile, and you sniffle in an attempt to hold back tears. “I know not why that was the tipping point for my captor, and frankly, nor do I care. He threw me out like trash, but I was not really in a place to question a gift such as this. And it truly has been a gift for me. In the two months since I escaped captivity, I have been able to heal, slowly but surely, even though I did not think such a thing was possible. I have found my laugh once more. I am free to do whatever I want, whenever I want. To sit in the sun, or read a book, or be with my friends.”

Calliope picks up the nightgown from where it sat next to her chair. “With this, I release every last hold that my captivity has had on me. From now on, when I think about that time, I shall think about survival, and how I refused to be kept down. I am free, and I shall remain forever free.”

She tosses the dress and the letter into the fire, watching intently as the flames catch the fabric and begin to work through it. Then, she laughs. Her laugh is beautiful and like the peals of bells, and it’s infectious too. Soon you’re all laughing, and you all have the same idea to hug Calliope. It turns into a group hug, the four of you laughing and hugging and watching as the smoke of the fire carries away that which you do not want to carry with you any longer.

•••

Calliope takes her time getting out of the car when you arrive back home, still basking in the euphoria of emotional release. When she turns to look at you, you already know what she’s going to say.

“Go in without me.” She sighs happily and looks up at the moon. “I wish to remain outside for a moment longer.”

You squeeze her shoulder before letting go. “Alright. The door’ll be unlocked whenever you decide you’re finished.”

You hum while unlocking the door, kicking your shoes off and hearing them thump against the wall of the entryway. Fumbling, you curse under your breath as you try to find the light switch—really, you’d think that after living here for almost a year, you’d be able to turn the lights on on the first try.

Light finally floods the room, and your humming resumes as you head into the kitchen to grab a drink. There’s a chill in the air, more figurative than literal, that causes goosebumps to rise on your skin. Your heartbeat quickens as you remove a glass from the cabinet, like your reflexes are trying to warn you of some unseen danger. Nervously, you hum a little louder while filling your glass up in the hopes that you’ll feel better. 

You don’t. How could you, when you look over the kitchen island into the living room and see a figure standing silhouetted against the back door? In fact, you feel much worse than nervous; now, you’re scared out of your wits, enough so that you scream upon realizing that there’s actually a man in your home, a man who is most definitely not supposed to be here.

You scream.

“Hello.” 

The man’s voice is deep, deeper than you think you’ve ever heard before. If he wasn’t currently in the act of breaking into your home, you’d think about how nice of a voice it is. Right now, it’s simply disturbing.

His eyes seem to twinkle in the darkness before he takes a step toward you, thus putting himself in the light. He’s paler than any living being you’ve ever seen, with long, unkempt black hair and cold blue eyes that seem like they can tell everything about you just from looking at you. He’s dressed in all black, with a long black coat completing his ensemble.

He’s not human, that much you’re sure of. You’ve spent enough time around Calliope in the past couple of months to guess that she is something more, and this stranger is the same. Power radiates off of him in waves, the same as it does with Calliope. Both are ethereally, sharply beautiful, in a way that lets lesser beings know that these are the true apex predators.

Even though it probably won’t help (now that you have the barest idea of what you’re dealing with), you pick up a kitchen knife from the dish rack and brandish it in front of you, thankful that you had cut up an apple last night and thus had needed your largest knife to do so. 

“Get the fuck out of my apartment!” 

He doesn’t move, choosing instead to just keep staring at you with those piercing eyes. You come out from behind the island, still holding the knife towards him. 

“Seriously, leave or I’m calling the cops,” you threaten, pulling your phone out of your pocket with your free hand.

This decision quickly has the situation going from bad to worse. The man seems to cross the entire room in a single step before slamming you against the wall, one hand wrapped dangerously tight around your throat. You gasp at the sudden violence, as well as the strength that he possesses under his lean figure, and both the knife and the phone fall from your hands as you try to figure out what to do. 

“Be quiet, mortal,” he spits venomously, his hand flexing around your throat. You attempt to grab at his hand to get him off of you, but he doesn’t budge. When you try to kick at him, he just leans more of his weight against you and renders you virtually immobile. “You are keeping a woman here, against her will. You will release her immediately, or suffer the most dire of consequences.”

“What? No, I’m not!” you argue.

Is he talking about Calliope? If so, he’s about two months too late in coming to her rescue. The only one that was holding her against her will was Ric Madoc, and he’s facing his own set of consequences for what he did.

Speak of the devil. Calliope chooses this moment to come in from her nighttime sojourn. You and your attacker both stare at the door as Calliope enters the apartment. She’s humming, much as you had when you first came in, completely in her own little world.

“Cal!” you cry out helplessly in an attempt to warn her, the only sound you can make before the man’s hand tightens again and cuts off all but a bit of your air supply. If given the chance, you’re not sure if you would tell her to run or ask for her help.

She takes stock of the situation before her with calculated eyes. Instead of surprise, shock, or fear, Calliope just looks…angry. Her bag drops to the floor next to her feet, and she makes sure to shut and lock the door behind her.

“Let them go, Oneiros,” Calliope commands, her hand landing on his shoulder.

Wait, Calliope knows him? Internally, you chastise yourself; obviously, she knows him, she called him by name! Still, you find yourself confused. She hasn’t mentioned having any contacts in the area. In fact, you distinctly remember her saying that she had “nobody” that first night you met her.

The intruder—Oneiros, apparently—does as Calliope asks, and you slide to the floor without his interference keeping you upright. Calliope slides down with you, landing on her knees in front of you as she looks you over with her big, brown eyes.

“Are you alright?” she asks, using her thumbs to wipe away your tears, tears that you weren’t aware you were shedding.

You nod. “I–I think so.” 

Despite your reassurance, your hand goes to your throat, and you try to rub away the soreness that’s already settling beneath the skin. When she begins to rub her hands up and down your arms, you realize that you’re shaking violently. Calliope stands and briefly leaves the room, leaving you and Oneiros in awkward silence until she returns with a blanket, which she gently wraps around you.

After she’s completed this task, Calliope wheels around to point accusingly at the man. “You are a fool, and you allow yourself to act without first thinking far too often.”

“Calliope–” he tries to interrupt, but Calliope shakes her head.

“What are you doing here?” she demands.

He scowls. “You called for me again, did you not?” 

“I did no such thing!”

“Really?” he questions with a raised eyebrow. “You did not write my name down prior to burning it?”

Calliope falls silent, because apparently that’s exactly what she did.

“I thought that what I had done to Richard Madoc worked, Calliope. Why did you not come to me sooner to tell me that he had sold you off instead?”

“Nothing of the sort has happened!”

“Then how did you end up bound to yet another mortal?”

“It is not what it looks like, Morpheus.”

“Explain it to me, then,” he pleads.

As the two continue to bicker above you, you feel increasingly like you’re interrupting in your own home. You shift uncomfortably, and Oneiros—Morpheus? Seriously, how many names does this guy have?—turns his sharp gaze upon you.

“You. How did you come to bind the Muse Calliope? What spell have you used to bewitch her?” He demands answers that you don’t have, and your shaking becomes worse under the full brunt of his stare.

“What?” You scramble to your feet so that you can at least pretend to be on the same ground as the two others here. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Please, let us sit down and discuss this civilly,” Calliope interrupts, gesturing both of you towards the living room. 

After a moment of consideration, Oneiros/Morpheus nods tersely and walks in the direction that Calliope had pointed as though this is his home and not yours. You try to get your legs to move, but they steadfastly remain stuck to the spot you’re standing in. Calliope notices this and loops her arm through yours before gently guiding you into the living room.

“Why did he call you a Muse?” you whisper to her.

She presses her lips together in a thin line. “I will give you answers, I promise. It is…complicated.”

Though you’re not exactly satisfied by this answer, you trust Calliope, so you nod and silently agree to wait.

You don’t have to wait for long. Once everybody is seated (you in the chair perpendicular to the couch, with Oneiros/Morpheus on the couch and Calliope sitting next to him while simultaneously acting as a buffer between you), Calliope takes a deep breath and begins to explain everything. About who, and what, she is, how she came to be bound by a writer named Erasmus Fry, and how she was basically bartered for by Ric Madoc. She explains what they wanted from her, and she explains, unflinchingly, what they did to her to get it. Though it’s horrific, you listen to all of it. After all, if she’s willing to give, it’s only fair that you be open to receiving.

Calliope’s words seem to hang in the air long after she’s finished. The three of you sit in silence; Oneiros/Morpheus with a stony expression, you crying (you think you’ve cried more today than you’ve cried in a long, long time), and Calliope waiting calmly for you both to digest what she’s said.

In the end, it’s you who speaks first. “So you’re a goddess?” you ask.

“A Muse, yes,” she says.

“Like, of the Greek variety.” You need to confirm this for some reason, even though you already know the answer.

She laughs. “Yes.”

“A literal Muse is my best friend and roommate?”

You think that you might be going into shock right now

Oneiros/Morpheus scoffs, and you glare at him. “You have something to say?”

“You say that Calliope is your best friend. Then why do you not set her free?”

“Set her free? She’s a person, she’s free to do whatever she wants.”

“No, she is not. Calliope is bound to you, by the old laws.”

“Morpheus,” Calliope says sharply, a warning, but the man continues.

“You are enslaving a goddess and calling it friendship.” The disgust is clear on his face. “How can there be any sort of friendship when she is unable to leave, to do anything, without your say? You have complete and utter control over her, and you force her to pretend that it isn’t so. This farce that you’ve concocted must end now. I implore you to free her before I am left with no choice but to take further action against you.”

The room begins to tilt, and you shake your head in disbelief. “No…”

“They don’t know, Morpheus!” Calliope snaps.

“Cal, you—” 

You feel sick, and you genuinely think that you’re about to throw up. All this time, you thought you had helped to free her from her prison. Instead, she’s remained trapped, bound to you just like she was bound to Madoc and, as you’ve now learned, Erasmus Fry. These men took everything from an unwilling goddess, a Muse, and you’re basically no better than them. 

Swallowing down the bile that rises in your throat does nothing, so you close your eyes to take a couple of deep, shaky breaths in an attempt to calm down. That doesn’t work either, and you rise shakily to your feet before rushing over to the trash can in the kitchen and throwing up the wine and snacks that you had eagerly partaken in at Evie’s.

It’s humiliating, doing something as base and human as retching in the presence of two godly creatures. Everything about this situation is humiliating, if you’re being honest with yourself. You’ve unknowingly extended Calliope’s incarceration and deluded both of you into believing that it was friendship. How could you be a part of such a heinous act? Truly, are you no better than Madoc?

When you’ve finally thrown up everything in your stomach and then some, you’re full-on sobbing as you clutch at the trash can. Your knees give out, but Calliope catches you as you fall to the ground and wraps you in her embrace. She soothes you and murmurs words of comfort as she runs a hand through your hair, letting you cry in her arms when it should be the other way around. You don’t deserve her comfort, you think to yourself.

Once you finally have enough breath in your lungs to be able to talk, you gasp out between hyperventilating, “I’m so sorry. I–I didn’t know, and if I did, I would have never–”

“Shh,” she hushes you, grabbing your hands in hers. “My sweet friend, you have done nothing wrong.”

“But I–”

“I am the one who chose not to tell you. I trusted you in the beginning, and I trust you now. You have not failed me or abused me, or been a captor to me. Do you hear me?” She holds your face in her hands to make you look at her, and she waits until you nod to hug you once more.

“How do I free you?” you ask her. “Please, let me free you.”

“You must say that she is free,” your uninvited guest speaks up, making you remember that there’s a whole other person here. “And mean it.”

“Calliope, you’re free. You’ve always been free,” you say immediately, looking at her earnestly and hoping that she can see in your eyes how sorry you are.

Nothing physically changes. No burst of light envelops her, and she doesn’t undergo any sort of transformation. Yet, something in the air changes and becomes lighter. That inner glow that Calliope’s always carried seems to beam brighter now. Her shoulders look less weighed down now, no longer burdened by her forced captivity.

“Thank you,” Calliope says profusely.

“Don’t do that,” you say, feeling sick all over again. “Don’t thank me for something I should have done the second that Madoc threw you at me. I should have been smarter, more observant than I was. God, you deserve so much more than anything I can ever begin to give you.”

She’s not happy about your self-deprecation, but you will not be the source of her rage tonight. No, as she helps you once more to stand, her anger lands squarely on the man who barged in here and turned everything on its head.

“Apologize. Now,” Calliope demands. “What you have done here tonight is completely unacceptable and a new low, even for you.”

After thinking for a moment, perhaps to consider if he did transgress against you, he nods and stands like some sort of gentleman to properly address you. “The lady Calliope is right. I have acted deplorably towards you this evening, when you have done nothing but offer shelter and companionship to one needing it. I sincerely apologize for the pain and anguish that I have caused you.”

You nod warily, still tucked into Calliope’s side. “Thank you,” you say quietly. 

Truthfully, you do appreciate the apology. If he’s as powerful as you think he is, then he could have just as easily decided that you weren’t worth the breath it would take to form words, and that would be well within his right.

“Well, now that we’re all close to being on the same page here.” Calliope gestures to the man. “Allow me to introduce you to Lord Morpheus, Dream of the Endless, King of Dreams and Ruler of the Nightmare Realms, et cetera, et cetera.”

“You’re a god too?” you ask.

“Not a god. I am Endless, one of seven anthropomorphic personifications of natural forces. I am far older, and far more powerful, than any god, and will remain long after all of your gods are dead and gone,” Morpheus explains.

You try to ignore the fact that one of the most powerful beings in the universe is currently sitting in your living room, lest you start to have an existential crisis in front of him. Now that Calliope’s told you his name, it rings a bell. “Wait, is he your ex?”

Morpheus looks at you both in surprise. “You have spoken of me?”

“Only tonight,” Calliope assures him. “When I…accidentally summoned you.”

The longer that you can think clearly without the threat of bodily harm, the more the puzzle pieces keep clicking into place for you. “He’s Orpheus’s dad, isn’t he?”

Calliope nods, and so does Morpheus, though he’s far more reluctant than she is. You don’t notice that, though, too caught up in your thoughts.

“Ha, Morpheus and Orpheus.” Maybe all of the crying has made you dehydrated, which in turn has left you a little delirious. That’s the only reason why you say this train of thought out loud. “What, if you had a daughter were you going to name her Alliope?” 

Calliope snickers at that, though Morpheus doesn’t share her amusement. “His name fit him perfectly, even though it was quite the coincidence that it was one letter off from that of his father’s.”

“God, I’m so stupid,” you bemoan. “How did I not know you were a goddess? I literally said, ‘Oh cool, like the muse’ when you introduced yourself! You must have thought I was an idiot.”

“It is difficult for the mortal mind to comprehend that which it believes to be fake. To you, that was the only connection that you subconsciously deemed possible,” Morpheus explains. Though he does it to make you feel better, it feels a little patronizing when it comes from someone as powerful as him.

“I wish you would have told me. Did you think that I wouldn’t have freed you? Because I would have!”

“I know that,” Calliope says. “Truthfully, I…forgot to tell you.”

“You forgot?” Morpheus says in disbelief.

At the same time, you ask, “How the fuck do you forget to tell someone that you’re accidentally bound to them?”

“At first, I was scared. That it was a trap, that you would be worse than Madoc. Of course, that lasted about twenty minutes.”

“What made you realize I was different?”

She smiles. “When you told me that the doors only locked from the inside. You cared about my privacy and that I was feeling safe, and I figured that you had no clue about anything that had happened, or about who I was. From there, it just wasn’t something that I thought to bring up. I was too frightened to leave the apartment, and I had been cut off from the world for over sixty years. Frankly, the idea of going out without you terrified me. As I began to regain control of my life and heal, it just became something that I thought about less and less. You are my best and dearest friend, and we do everything together, so why would I think about a bond other than the one that formed naturally?”

It’s very sweet of her to say, but you still have questions. “So you were just going to continue to live like this?”

“I did not have a plan, but I suppose so. I was happy here, with you.”

“Okay, but what happened if I got married one day, or like, had kids?”

“I would just be the fun aunt that lived with you and your family?”

“Jesus Christ,” you groan before sitting up suddenly. “Wait, is Jesus Christ real too?” 

Calliope and Morpheus share a look, and you’re suddenly frightened of the answer.

“No wait, don’t tell me, I don’t wanna know.”

You really, really don’t want to have an existential crisis until you can be alone in the comfort of your room.

Thankfully, Calliope and Morpheus take over the conversation from there, because you don’t think you have the mental capacity to try and further any conversation right now. They obviously have a lot to catch up on, since it seems like the last time they saw each other was when Calliope broke down and asked him for help escaping Madoc.

Instead, while they converse, you take a moment to zone out and try to process just what has happened in the past hour. The stranger that broke into your apartment turned out to be the powerful, eldritch nightmare king ex-husband to your roommate, who’s actually a goddess that was unintentionally bound to you. For reasons beyond your comprehension, he thought that she needed rescuing, and that you were the one that she needed rescuing from.

Your thoughts chase each other like a cyclone, and you try not to panic as you think about all of this. God, you need a drink right now.

When Morpheus and Calliope both rise, with Morpheus saying that he really must return to his kingdom, you rise with them. After all, how will you ever feel at ease if you don’t ask him what’s on your mind?

“Are we good now?” you ask. “Like, you’re not gonna hurt me or curse me? I promise I had no idea about any of this.”

“Yes, I know that now,” Morpheus says. “I will not harm you. If anything, I should be offering you a boon, for being such an immense help to one such as Calliope.”

“You owe me nothing. Neither of you do.”

Calliope leans in and kisses Morpheus on the cheek, so gently that you wonder if she even made contact. “Fare you well, Morpheus.”

He bows his head. “Goodbye.”

Between one blink and the next, he’s gone as though he was never here at all.

•••

That night, you dream, and for the first time, you’re aware of the fact that you’re dreaming.

You don’t know where you are, but it’s the greenest, lushest meadow you’ve ever seen. Wildflowers dance lazily in the breeze, and you can hear the low rush of a river behind the treeline. You’re tempted to lie down in the impossibly soft-looking grass and watch the clouds drift overhead, but before you can, you see them standing next to you.

Morpheus looks just as he did when you saw him in your apartment, only a lot less like he’s ready to murder you. The main difference is that he now sports robes fit for a king instead of his coat. His eyes, you also notice, are black pools of stars.

On the other hand, the Calliope you see before you is a complete departure from the Calliope you know and love. She’s wearing a white chiton that’s belted at the waist and her hair, which normally falls in curly waves, is braided back intricately. She shines, in a way that you’ve never seen, looking every bit the goddess that she is.

“Is this real, or am I dreaming?” you ask.

“Dreams are real,” Morpheus says with the slightest of smiles.

“Of course, my bad.”

Though it’s a picturesque dream, it’s stained with strokes of melancholy. On some level, you know what’s going to happen, and what Morpheus has brought you here for.

“You’re gonna leave, aren’t you?” you ask Calliope.

Selfishly, you’re hoping that she’ll say no. That she’ll tell you that your home is her home and where she’s meant to be. Yet even as you foolishly hope, you know that your ordinary apartment, your ordinary life, is no place for a goddess. No, she deserves far greater than that.

She smiles sadly, and that’s all the confirmation you need. “I think I must, at least temporarily. There is…much for me to do, back home on Olympus. I wish to reconnect with my sisters, for one. And though it is lofty of me, I wish to change the old laws so that we may never be enslaved on the whims of mortals ever again.”

“If anyone can change laws that are thousands of years old, it’s you.”

“Thank you…for everything these past two months. Truly, I do not know how I can ever properly thank you for what you have done for me.”

“You don’t have to do anything; just knowing that you’re safe and happy is enough for me. I’m so proud of you for taking your life back after everything you went through. You deserve all of the happiness and goodness that the world has to offer you.”

“I would not have been able to do it without you, you know. No matter how we came to know each other, I am glad that we did. You saved me.” She says it so earnestly, needing you to truly understand your impact on her recovery.

“You did that yourself, Cal. I was just along for the ride.”

“You have my utmost respect,” Morpheus says. “Not many would have taken in a stranger needing help from off the streets with nothing but the purest of intentions, and fewer still would have offered them friendship. Your bravery and kind heart shall not be forgotten.”

“You have my respect too, for what it’s worth.”

He looks at you in surprise. “Why?”

“Calliope told me that you didn’t end things on the best of terms. But still, when she called for help, you answered with barely a second thought, and did all you could to help.”

He stares for a moment before nodding and turning to gaze out across the meadow. To your unabashed delight, his cheeks tint a light lavender in embarrassment, unsure of how to take your compliment. You bite your lip to stifle your laugh and decide to not tease the King of Dreams…for now.

Though you’ve been putting it off, some sixth sense tells you that your time here is nearing an end. You turn to Calliope again, who already is trying desperately to keep her tears unshed. When you meet her eyes, she holds out her arms to hug you, and you gladly accept.

“I’ll miss you,” you mumble.

Calliope kisses your forehead before pressing hers to yours affectionately. “I shall miss you as well, more than you can even imagine.”

“Call me if you need anything, okay? If–if your sisters are ganging up on you, or if you need someone to watch the best movies of the two-thousands with you, or if you’re missing going to karaoke with the gang. I’ll drop everything and go to Greece, just say the word.”

She laughs, the sound uninhibited and joyful. “I know you will.”

“Goodbye, Calliope." You have no choice but to finally, reluctantly say the words you've been dreading to say. If you weren't to do it now, you know you'd never let go of her.

Calliope pulls away just enough so that she can look you in the eye. “May fortune go with you, my sweetest friend.”

•••

Calliope’s gone when you wake up, her belongings the only sign that she even existed here in the first place. Though you cry, they’re not tears of sadness; rather, they’re happy tears, because how could you not be happy for Calliope? She’s found her freedom and the strength to return home, to try and make a better world for herself and her fellow gods and goddesses. Truly, this is all that you ever wanted for her.

On her nightstand sits a folded-up note, your name written on the front in Calliope’s ornate script. You open it up to read it, and when you finish, you hold it to your heart.

I will always be close by in your heart, as you will always be in mine. No distance can change that. Should you need me, you need only pray to me, and I shall hear you. Continue to make the world as bright as you.

-Calliope

[winonaparadise]

short story 💯

wrote a very quick story about a class i took in college. if you like my writing in my videos you may like this

Five years ago today I was clawing through state university. I had switched majors in an effort to come away with something more material from my college experience – but I was also trying to earn as many credits with as few courses to keep my schooling short and cheap.

I took a heavy weighted class in “media law.” A subject notoriously as intricate as it is absolutely fucking stupid. Anything you could learn, Disney will change tommorrow. The professor was an adjunct, splitting his time between the humble basement where boys with Pulp Fiction posters in their dorms fiddled with cameras and the actual law school where he was employed some miles down the road. I have never seen Pulp Fiction, but I’ve fiddled with enough cameras and enough of the boys who own them to have reviewed it twice. This is not a problem to me now.

Then I was stupid. Twenty. And basically friendless. I spent all my time trying to make something the same way the universe spent billions of years pouring hot soup into holes and hoping life would bubble out. I studied Japanese during quiet matches of PlayerUnknown’s Battlegrounds. I never got a win, and I never got an “A” in Japanese.

Weeks of school went by as I skimmed textbooks, got high, and thought about talking to literally anyone. Academic words danced around the edges of my brain like sand. I wrote essays on the same autopilot I write today. Feverish. Flowing. Fantasizing about what it would be like to go out with someone instead of texting a girl who now lived in Japan and making ramen noodles while listening for footsteps in a digital warzone.

I did all my work. I submitted it on something called “canvas” that the muscle memory in my fingers still types in search bars to this day. I never checked my grades. I knew they were bad.

Classes dragged me through the week on a bungee cord. I lived a block away from the bulk of them and found myself drifting in halls of buildings I’d never attended just to keep myself from meandering back home to draw a bad comic about a girl who lived in hell. 

I knew nobody. I went nowhere. I struggled to do classwork alone on outdoor benches dreaming of someone speaking to me. I needed to live in hell instead.

My media law professor was late the weekend after our first term essays were due. I don’t know what mode of transportation he took to get from one school to the other but today the Carolina sun had drenched him sweaty. We were chilly waiting for him to begin.

“Just about every single one of you failed.” He spat and chugged coffee through the entire period. “While I first was grading I thought I was the one who failed.”

He didn’t let the moment of respite last. “But I also did something I’ve never done before.” He paced like my father did when a restaurant was closed early. “I gave out my first perfect score. Which prevents me from grading on a curve.”

He huffed, he assigned a new reading, and he rushed out like he had lit dynamite. “Do better!” “What an asshole.” The girl who sat next to me in every class spoke as if she had been holding her breath. “Fuck him and fuck whoever got that hundred.”

“I know right!” I launched in on her anger, feeling it too. Back and forth we complained. We walked off campus together. She had long blonde hair and towered over me. I had felt ugly and mousey next to her, but today I felt like her equal. It felt good to bitch.

“I got a fucking 50. What about you?”

“It wasn’t pretty.” I recalled how I stayed up the night before the assignment was due. I milked bullshit into a puree. I got a rush of adrenaline from killing someone with a shotgun through a door in an abandoned house on the outskirts of Pochinki. I was probably close to being expelled. “This class is too fucking hard,” she smoked and shook her head by a bus stop on Tate Street. “I’m not about to lose my freetime over it.”

“Right.” I imagined her at parties. Black silhouettes against colored lights and deafening music. Like The Social Network. “We should be partners for the next assignment,” she got out her phone and passed it to me for my number. I typed it in. I waved her off on the bus. We did the assignment together. We texted each other about our studies. We joked about finding the guy who got the perfect score and beating him senseless. I thought about talking to her about my art or what we were making in other classes, but never did.

Towards the end of the semester I had to plan the next. A whirlpool churned in my stomach as I clicked on “grades” on my campus’ online portal. I had an A+ in a single course. 

Media Law.

My friend from class texted me that she was dreading the final. I texted her that if we failed I would kill Mr. Perfect Score. She texted “lol.”

She passed the course. I got my degree so I assume I did too. We stopped texting.

That professor emailed me asking me to take a course at the law school down the road. He said he would let me sit in and see if I wanted to change majors a third time. I never replied.

A law degree would just make Mr. Perfect Score a hundred times more punchable.

[anarchywoofwoof]

since it's the 21st night of September and i keep seeing all of the memes and gifs including my own, it's in my leftist nature to jump in with a bit of learning & essay material, so let's go ahead and get it out of the way.

to appreciate "September," you must appreciate the group who performed it: Earth, Wind & Fire.

Earth, Wind & Fire was headed by the legendary Maurice White, who wasn't just the heart and soul of the group, but he was also its driving force in so many ways, both literally & metaphorically. Maurice White wasn't just making music; he was making social statements, negotiating and navigating race relations, and tackling the music industry's problematic nature back in the 70s.

Mistah White (sorry, i had to), with his killer jazz drumming background, brought Earth, Wind & Fire into the spotlight at a time when music was getting pigeonholed by race. and they dominated both the R&B and pop charts. but the impact goes a little further than charts and accolades. no Maurice White? probably no "Thriller", no Outkast, no Pharrell, no Drake.

in the 70s, the big music labels that dominated the industry were just targeting white, middle-class youth. Maurice White looked at this scene and thought, "ok den bet" with Earth, Wind & Fire. he blended everything from Jazz in "Caribou" to Latin vibes in "Brazilian Rhyme.” the type of borrowed influence you hear in modern Pop, rap, and Hip Hop music is built mainly on the backs of artists like Maurice White. and he fought for his vision, pushing for his music to be promoted across the board, believing it had universal appeal.

you also can throw in the showmanship that Earth, Wind & Fire had; massive sets, fireworks, magic tricks (yes fucking magic tricks), and super iconic Afrocentric costumes. in a time when Black musicians were very much under pressure from the music industry, White used Earth, Wind & Fire's popularity to push for a deeper dialogue on race. bands like Earth, Wind & Fire also provided the soundtrack to the Black Power movement, which was in full swing around this time. another famous track they released, "Evil,” contains lyrics that hint toward Black musicians’ struggles in the 70s - the choice that wasn't a choice - to either be upbeat or stay silent.

Evil, runnin' through our brain We and evil's just about the same Bad blood through our body flows Where's the love nobody knows Nobody knows, nobody knows, nobody knows Beauty in our face you see Tryin' to hide all our misery Our misery, our misery, our misery

if you listen a bit closer with a racial context in mind, there’s an acute call for change in Earth, Wind & Fire's art, and a plea to make the world a better place. Maurice White's legacy is that he helped drive forward the progress of a cold, hard music industry and spin it into something more like gold.

thas' all. thanks for reading.

[1shirt2shirtredshirtdeadshirt]

I woke up this morning and saw I had a message in my inbox on AO3, presumably about by new fic, and was excited to see the feedback.

When I read what they wrote it was a small comment that said "stop using sudowrite".

Had no idea what that even means, so I had to look it up and found out it's some form of a writing AI.

Absolutely fuming.

I want to make something abundantly clear right now:

I have not been hand writing and editing all of my own stories, hundreds of pages worth of personally hand written or hand typed content for the past 16 years, only to get accused of using any form of lazy ass writing AI now.

This is what I love to do. For fun.

I put in a lot of unpaid time, creativity and energy into my writing and editing. The only thing I ask for in return is participation from the fandoms I love, be it via thoughtful feedback or valid criticisms.

But this is neither of those things. This is just an outright, baseless lie against the art that I have worked so hard to make myself, and I won't be undermined or discredited.

There's anger, and then there's whatever space I am occupying well past it right now.

It's infuriating to pour hours of my love, thought and creativity into original content only to have someone come out of nowhere and try to tell me I've been having an AI do it, especially 16 years deep.

Bitch please.

I also found out that app came out in 2020 . . . As I mentioned, I published my first K/S story in 2008 as Ruby JW on the K/S archives, and my first fanfic on fanfic.net was published in 2007 as luigi_is_stellar.

I invite anyone to peruse my decades-long collection of independent content that I have single-handedly accomplished well before such an app even existed, then come back to me and try to tell me that what I do here isn't authentic.

I don't usually get spicy, but when it comes to the art I spend hours writing and drawing independently with my own blood sweat and tears, yeah. I'm going to get spicy.

I do far too much unpaid work out of passion and love for this fandom to have such a serious accusation flung my way out of nowhere.

It's the first time in my 16 years of writing for this fandom that I've ever been accused of plagiarism, and you best trust and believe that I don't take that accusation lightly. I work too damn hard to let someone discredit the work I do personally in such a baseless manner.

Anyway, that was discouraging AF. I am boggled to learn that AI writing is even a thing, no less someone coming out of the woodwork to try to accuse me of using it 16 years into story publishing when I literally teach academic honesty and writing ethics in my line of paid work as an English professional.

Genuinely: Do you know who you're talking to?

A bit of background on me:

I come from a not-so-wealthy family who could not afford to pay to put me through school -- I paid for that all on my own. I had to earn my University English degree, one of four University degrees I hold on my own work and pay alone, without so much as a tutoring session or handout from home.

Not once would I have jeopardized everything I worked so hard and paid for out of my own pocket as a poor ass uni student working two jobs and doing night classes just to phone it in plagiarizing, not on one ounce of my work.

That was all me.

I've handwritten 3 MLA essays in under three hour exams BACK TO BACK, immediately followed by back-to-back Biology exams & a final lab where I ALSO had to write multiple essays and switch from MLA to APA mode within the span of 6 hours.

Those were all bound in handwritten yellow booklets well before we ever had Google Docs, Grammarly, formatting suggestions, or even regularly brought/had access to laptops in UNI. I did my work by hand.

I earned my degrees in English and Biology AT THE SAME TIME before I even turned 24. I earned a double major handwriting my own work papers like my life depended on it, and you actually think I'm about to phone it in now?

Step to me like that again, young blood. I ain't the one.😂

Anyway, I digress.

Ya girl ain't here to fight BC y'all know I tend to be very easygoing, full of humour, and I love to joke around in the fandom. I'm pretty wide open to opposing opinions or even criticisms. But this is unfounded slander, and I won't be taking that on the chin.

When it comes to my work, I take that very seriously, and I don't play around. My late father once told me that "The work you do and the degrees you earn are yours and yours alone, they can never take that education from you." I live by that sentiment, and have done so by putting forth honest work.

Be it paid or unpaid work, it's my work. Periodt.

It is an unfathomably disheartening and insulting message to receive as someone who writes all their own stuff themselves, draws all their own fanart themselves, does their own photo edits themselves, edits their writing themselves, and has never even used so much as a single outside beta reader/editor for my work. Not once. The art, the writing, the editing -- It's all me.

Bottom line:

Say you do or don't like my work, that's cash money and we good, whether it's your cup of tea or not.

Butt know that it is my work.

I will not put all of this free time, effort and love into my work only to be accused of lazily ripping the content that I have spent hours writing and personally editing from somewhere else.

And on that note, consider my PSA rant ended.

[darkchocolatedimples]

the tortured poets department (sponsored by my procrastination)

excuse my essays for each song the lyrics are so interesting to me so there’s like actual analyzation for each one.

fortnight - dex

that lingering resentment disguised by surface level friendship is that not literally him and sophie come on. “run into you sometimes, ask about the weather” the awkwardness!! “your wife waters flowers, i want to kill her” he was the #1 fitz hater for multiple reasons after all (although i think he was over it by the time keefe became prominent)

the tortured poets department - sophie

this is so keefe from her perspective come on “you’re in self sabatoge mode, throwing spikes down the road, but i’ve seen this episode and still love the show” “i chose this cyclone with you” “sometimes i wonder if you’re gonna screw this up with me. but you told [biana] that you’d kill yourself if i ever leave. and i had said that to [dex] about you so i felt seen. everyone we know understands why we’re meant to be.” also let’s be so real keefes drawing journals + goodbye letters, he’s giving tortured poet

my boy only breaks his favorite toys - fitz

guys he’s just a silly little boy with anger issues, and he’s MY silly little boy with anger issues stop hating him 😞 “the voices in his head called the rain to end our days of wild” “he saw forever so he smashed it up” he may have fucked up but it happens!!

down bad - dex

CUZ FUCK IT HE WAS IN LOVE!!! also if i may present to you: “i might just die it would make no difference” in the context that outside of sophie saw no purpose to his own life. he saw himself just as he is presented in the books: as her best friend and nothing more. so in losing that (blaming himself and his own feelings for it) what was left of him? who was left? sophie was also his ONLY friend. not to mention in the context of the fact that when he WAS presumed dead nobody cared, they still cared more about sophie.

so long, london - keefe

no not bc of london actually but because “and you say i abandoned the ship but i was going down with it, my white knuckle dying grip holding tight to your quiet resentment” is actually a direct reference to keefitz’ friendship falling apart as fitz got angrier and keefe got more closed off. “you swore that you loved me but where were the clues?” “im just mad as hell cause i loved this place” me when everglen is no longer keefes safehaven. nor anyone’s for that matter bc its haunted by alvars betrayal and alden’s mind break and fitz’ anger.

but daddy i love him - biana

“i just learned these people only raise you to cage you” “i just learned these people try and save you…cause they hate you” “dutiful daughter all my plans were laid…growing up precocious sometimes means not growing up at all.” i hate alden vacker. how do u manage to use and fuck up all ur kids by age 12 like wow. “i’ll tell you something about my good name: it’s mine alone to disgrace” she would 100% say this. she would also 100% say “im having his baby! no im not but you should see your faces.”

fresh out the slammer - keefe

sokeefe or keefitz take it as it comes. “in the shade of how he was feeling.” “as i said in my letters.” “my friends try, but i wouldn’t hear it…for just one glimpse of his smile” “swirled you into all of my poems” it’s so him it is truly.

florida!!! - keefe

THIS one’s about london! “well me and my ghosts, we had a hell of a time! yes i’m haunted but im feeling just fine” ethan and eleanor wright who?? “your home’s really only a town you’re just a guest in” candle shade/shores of solace type beat “i need to forget so take me to [london], i have some regrets i’ll bury them in [london]” “i don’t want to exist so take me to [london]” aw bae

guilty as sin? - dex

i don’t know how to explain but i just feel like this feeling of i shouldn’t be doing/feeling this the literal guilt and all these delusions and the sheer intensity of it all is just giving me dex. “this cage was once just fine, am i allowed to cry? i dream of cracking locks, throwing my life to the wolves or the ocean rocks” “i keep these longings locked in lowercase inside a vault” this must be the way he loves if he thinks so little of himself and doesn’t let himself have good things. “i choose you and me religiously” because at the end of the day when he makes a decision or chooses something or someone he puts his all into it.

who’s afraid of little old me - sophie

“you lured me and you hurt me and you taught me. you caged me then you called me crazy. i am what i am cuz you trained me.” all of it’s literally giving her growing into herself in stellarlune and making decisions on her own. SHE IS NOT A PAWN!!!

i can fix him (no really i can) - tam

idk its just giving him defending rayni with his life when everyone else including linh was like who tf is this girl.

loml - fitz

every sad pining song is fitz vacker to me. esp the refrences to the romance being dead but never buried... "still alive killing time at the cemetery, never quite buried...i'm your holy ghost" the way that sophie switched up on him in stellarlune (although i fully support her) didn't give him much time to recover. "are they second-hand embarrased that i can't get out of bed because something counterfiet's dead" give me heartbroken fitz!!! for once instead of angry fitz just give me tired, resigned fitz. "it was legendary, it was momentary, it was unecessary, should've let it stayed buried" is such a good summary of sophitz imo.

i can do it with a broken heart - linh

linh is so interesting to me as a parallel of fitz: meaning she, just like him, is always angry. however she masks it in smiles and kindness the way he never learned to, he just lashes out. this song feels like it’s talking about that mask: “i’m so depressed i act like it’s my birthday everyday” “i can read your mind ‘she’s having the time of her life’ …i can show you lies” “cause im miserable and nobody even knows” “i can hold my breath, i’ve been doing it since [i] left”

the smallest man who ever lived - keefe

it’s giving a letter to cassius/gisela/alvar. “and i don’t even want you back, i just want to know if rusting my sparkling summer was the goal. and i don’t miss what we had” “did you sleep with a gun underneath our bed?” “in 50 years will all this be declassified and you’ll confess why you did it, and i’ll say ‘good riddance’” “i would’ve died for your sins instead i just died inside. and you deserve prison but you won’t get time” “in plain sight you hid, but you are what you did. and i’ll forget you but i’ll never forgive.”

the alchemy - sophie

“cause the sign on your heart said it’s still reserved for me. honestly, who are we to fight the alchemy?” aw sokeefe.

clara bow - biana

BIANA BEING COMPARED TO HER BROTHERS AND ALL THE VACKERS BEFORE THEM "the crown is stained but you're the real queen" "beauty is a beast that roars, down on all fours, demanding more...its hell on earth to be heavenly" i love her.

the black dog - fitz

bring back petty fitz!! i think the young girl not knowing the starting line could parallel with keefe not being able to understand things about telepathy that really connected fitz and sophie. i also think we could shift the angle and make it about alvars betrayal and how it sparked his angry trauma response. “you said i needed a brave man, then proceeded to play him until i believed it too.” “now i want to sell my house and set fire to all my clothes…even if i die screaming, and i hope you hear it.”

imgonnagetyouback - fitz

he is 100% this delusional. he's just like me. "you'll find that you were never not mine" "even if its handcuffed im leaving here with you." "told my friends i hate you but i love you just the same, pick your poison babe, i'm poison either way"

the albatross - keefe

“one bad seed kills the garden. one less temptress, one less dagger to sharpen.” “the devil that you know looks now more like an angel. i’m the life you chose, and all this terrible danger.” HE IS THE ALBATROSS. i can’t wait for the movie i want edits of him to this. ACTUALLY I WANT A LOT OF THINGS maybe I’ll make a separate post about that.

chloe or sam or sophia or marcus - keefe

you saw it coming. this song SCREAMS KEEFITZ. like- “you said some things that i can’t unabsorb…you needed me but you needed drugs more.” “changed plans and lovers and outfits and rules all to outrun my desertion of you.” “if you want to break my cold cold heart just say ‘i loved you the way that you were’” WHAT THE HECK DUDE IM SOBBING “back to the moment i crashed into you like so many wrecks do” that line solidified this as keefe’s pov for me. in conclusion. SOBBING.

how did it end - biana

i propose to you: not a relationship, but the vacker family falling apart and the way they became a huge subject of gossip in the lost cities. when alden’s mind broke, while fitz had turned to anger biana became depressed, and i think this song could relate to that as well. the whole part of “guess who we ran into at the shops” feels very much like conversations others would have about the vackers at the time and when alvar betrayed them. “soon they’ll go home to their [brothers], smug cause they know they can trust him.” and i think at the end of the day when all of it happened biana was just young and betrayed and lost, because she didn’t see it coming or understand why (who did?) “the deflation of our dreaming, leaving me bereft and reeling” “i can’t pretend like i understand, how did it end?”

so high school - biana

HER VIBES ALL THE WAY she’s so cute and lovely and i want this for her (and dex. specifically dex. not anyone else.)

i hate here - sophie

was leaning dex until “you see i was a debutant in another life but now i seem to be scared of going outside” but the whole idea of escapism applies to both of them. especially to sophie though when she lived with humans and was so alone because even her own family couldn’t understand her, and she canonically is a bookworm and probably found more comfort in those other lives than she ever could in her own. "I hate it here so I will go to secret gardens in my mind...i read about it in a book when I was a precious child" "ill get lost on purpose, this place made me feel worthless"

thanK you aIMee - tam

aimee 🤝🏽 the song parents. “everyone knows that my [sister] is a saintly woman. but she used to say she wished that you were dead.” “but when i count the scars there’s a moment of truth: that there wouldn’t be this if there hadn’t been you.” thank you song parents 🫶🏽

i look in people’s windows - fitz

i thought this song sounded so creepy till I actually listened to it and now the idea of like lowkey stalking someone just to see if they still care about you or have moved on is slightly making sense. "does it feel alright to not know me? i'm addicted to the if only." it's giving keefitz (when isn't it?)

the prophecy - dex

"let it once be me, who do i have to speak to about if they can redo the prophecy?" THIS JUST REMINDS ME SO MUCH OF THE BEGINNING OF STELLARLUNE WHEN HES LITERALLY MOURNING WHAT HASN'T EVEN HAPPENED TO HIS BROTHER YET i need more dex being the oldest sibling and shouldering that burden. the love-hate relationship with his siblings while simultaneously trying to make their quality of life so much better than what he had. also "a lesser woman would've lost hope, a greater woman wouldn't beg" is so him. he is so that middle.

cassandra - tam

"so they killed cassandra first cuz she feared the worst...do you believe me now?" "you can mark my words, i said it first. in a mourning warning, no one heard." tam when keefe joined the neverseen fr

peter - keefe

pls tell me you saw this one coming. "are you still a mindreader? a natural scene stealer, I've heard great things [fitz], but life was always easier on you than it was on me." "promises, oceans deep, but never to keep" "forgive me [fitz], my lost fearless leader...from when we were just kids. is it something I did?" i think I'm just in a constant state of mourning their friendship.

the bolter - keefe

obvious reasons but also "i can confirm she made a curious child, ever reviled by everyone but her own father." "hearts are hers for the breaking, there's escape in escaping." "she's got the best stories, you can be sure, as she was leaving, it feels like freedom."

robin - dex

had to do some research for this one but apparently its talking about preserving a child's innocence! for this reason it reminds me again of dex and his siblings because of the way he really wants to protect them from things that haven't happened yet (especially considering rex being talentless). "way to go tiger" definitely sounds like something he would say to them feeling all sentimental but then, knowing siblings, they'd probably grill him about why he's being nice 💀

the manuscript -

we know the drill by now, fitz gets all the breakup songs because they could be about sophie OR keefe. "afterwords, she only ate kid's cereal, and slept in her mother's bed" while the song is discussing reverting back to childhood habits in vulnerability, fitz's vulnerability made him angry (but it was still a big change from his regular self) "looking back might be the only way to move forward" I hope he does get to move on!!! im tired of the love triangle plot if we're not gonna focus on keefitz' friendship 😭

[olderthannetfic]

Ok, wow, this is NOT the type of ask you seem to get usually, but this appears to be my best option...

I'm seeking out a post that is not particularly fandom-y in nature, but I was reminded of it after reading the earlier anon who was burned out from AI discourse - I totally feel the same way, and there was a really great lengthy textpost I reblogged a few months ago (read: "I read it any time from, like, April 2024 to almost a year ago......sorry") that I cannot find on my blog nor on tumblr in general - either because the post has been completely nuked from the internet OR because I'm just bad at SEO searches and remembering the keywords that were actually IN the post. I'm hoping it's a me issue or, if the post IS nuked, at the very least someone here remembers it and has an internet archive link or screenshot or something????

to get to the point, there was a post that was like (paraphrased, quote marks are not literal quotes):

"When it comes to the anti-AI crowd on tumblr, there's basically two schools of thought: people who completely hate AI and everything about it and are opposed to all forms of AI without even learning what AI really is. These people are stuck in their ways and generally can't be reasoned with.

Then there's a second group who are against AI for pretty good reasons - they really are worried that AI is gonna completely take over and steal artists' livelihoods, those who criticize it for environmental activist reasons, etc. These people generally can be reasoned with as they're truly misinformed, and in fact they would be - or already are - receptive to a less harmful AI."

The post then went on to compare AI to other forms of automation and made some really great parallels; such as bringing up the fact that stores that have both self checkout AND cashiers tend to be the best business models, because people who have their preferences can choose how they want to shop, AND we can utilize automated checkouts without completely getting rid of cashiers, which is obviously good for a lot of reasons.

It also debunked a lot of common fearmonger-y arguments against AI, i.e. explaining what "training AI" really entails, with some general copyright-critical philosophy in general. (I don't know the actual, like, political term, if one even exists, but basically they were talking about flaws with "intellectual property" as a concept - or at least how IP works today and why it works the way it does.)

There was also a really good addition to the OP's thoughts that I liked, with another user talking about: Essentially people who are gonna use AI would likely have done something else sketchy anyway, even if AI as it stands today didn't exist. For example, chatGPT isn't to blame for plagiarism. The people who use chatGPT to do their homework would, in an earlier time, likely go on Chegg / pay someone to write an essay / reuse their old work / etc. Likewise, the people who tell open AI to make artwork for them likely wouldn't make (or try to make) their own artwork anyway, nor would they even commission someone. They talked about how since fandom is so damn divided on the topic of AI, that the artists who DO feel as if their commissions are being taken away from them, or the writers who DO fear AI taking over fanfic.......well, to put it nicely, those people likely wouldn't really be losing many fans in the first place. You didn't lose a commission to AI - that person never would've commissioned you in the first place, and the people that do commission you hate AI as much as you do. You're not losing readers to AI - people who choose AI fics over yours are likely already the impatient type who can't handle waiting more than a week for an update, so they just make AI feed them 10k in one sitting! And the people who DO comment and read on your stuff, also hate AI!

I definitely did not agree with every single point made on the post (ie i dont think the self checkout metaphor was a great direct parallel logistically, but I def picked up what they were trying to put out and overall agreed with the general sentiment), overall it made a lot of really, really, really good points about the AI debate that I'd truly never considered before.

I know I've damn near rewritten the whole post myself now at this point but I also know there's a lot of stuff that I'm missing or that I just can't word and I'd love to know if anyone else has seen this post or has it on their blog in some capacity.

--

[asiandra-dash]

I am once again asking for your akikasa support. (Headcanons) pretty pleeeeease with a pancake on top?

I'M SO SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG UM I FORGOT THIS WAS IN MY DRAFTS AND I DIDN'T HAVE TIME TO TYPE ANYTHING UP ON VACATION I'M SO SORRY also I'll be answering your other Akikasa ask with an AU if that's cool cause um no hc or stuff was specific on that one and I'm going to explode if I keep quiet about my AU any longer

The the little emojis in brackets are HCs I stole borrowed from my friends

Akito sings in his sleep. Sometimes Tsukasa wakes up to hear it and he doesn't dare to move until silence fills the room again.

Tsukasa probably snores and it annoys the hell out of Akito.

Whenever Akito can't sleep Tsukasa mumbles a bunch of super cheesy stuff to him until he falls asleep [❄]

Whenever Akito thinks Tsukasa's talking too much, if not many people or no one they know is around, he kisses him and that shuts him up immediately because Tsukasa is the one who usually gives the kisses.

Before Akito and Tsukasa started dating Rui would sometimes tease Akito about it. Akito never told him but Rui obviously put the pieces together.

Rui is absolutely an Akikasa shipper lmao

Before they started dating Rui probably locked them in a room together once and came back to them making out (lol)

Most of the time at school if Tsukasa starts screaming about a bug Akito will appear out of nowhere and take care of it, no one ask where he came from.

They both have an album on their phones of photos of each other trust.

Akito can kind of draw and sometimes when he's zoning out in class he'll find that instead of notes he's made a small doodle of Tsukasa in his notebook and it takes all he has to not physically cringe at himself. [⭐]

Meanwhile Tsukasa does them intentionally while somehow taking notes. He likes showing them to Akito who loves them but refuses to admit it.

Whenever someone brings up Akito and Tsukasa's relationship, Akito begs them to shut up while Tsukasa casually hops in and takes over the conversation.

"Tsukasa? I mean, he's cool, I guess." "AKITO??? [Insert a 15 paragraph essay on how much Tsukasa loves him]"

I think they both listen to each other's alt vocals of their songs

Tsukasa definitely learned some VBS songs, especially Akito's focus songs. Sometimes Akito will hear him humming one of his songs and god he loves this idiot so much

Akito refuses to admit he learned any of WxS's songs but trust me he did and when Tsukasa found out for the first time he burst into the room SHOCKED

Akito booped Tsukasa once and the blond kinda just. Stood there. In shock. Cause. Like. What. Akito was the last person he expected to get booped by.

Akito likes it when people mess with his hair, even though he'll act all pissy about it. But sometimes he lets Tsukasa pet him.

Tsukasa found this out after Akito came out of the bathroom fresh out of the shower and his hair was still drenched and Tsukasa insisted he help him dry it.

Yes they definitely stay over at each other's homes sometimes.

Whenever Akito stays over at Tsukasa's, he often wakes up to breakfast (and it's usually pancakes)

Tsukasa frequently gets woken up by Akito's midnight texts and he would complain if it wasn't for tired Akito being so overly affectionate

Whenever Akito gets sick and Ena can't take care of him Tsukasa comes over to take care of him and he will go all out

Tsukasa buys things for Akito a lot because it reminds him of him

Tsukasa swears Akito hates him sometimes and when Akito finds out he will frantically try and find a way to make him change his mind

Whenever Akito has dry lips Tsukasa makes him put on lip balm and if he refuses he puts it on himself

Like he will literally make him stop whatever he is doing and MAKE HIM put it on

Akito wears a lot of jewelry like earrings, necklaces, piercings, etc. and Tsukasa sometimes helps him put them on... Though he does question why he wears so much

Tsukasa rambles a lot and though Akito spaces out at times when he does, he still appreciates that Tsukasa trusts him enough to talk about whatever on his mind

I refuse to think about how things will go after Tsukasa graduates but they probably call a lot I guess. Idk it hurts to think about it

I think I talked about this already but I wanna say it again Tsukasa steals Akito's hoodies a lot

Whenever Tsukasa comes over almost every time he finds one of his hoodies gone and when he asks Tsukasa about it he denies it until he wants to give it back (He has at least five sitting in his closet)

Akito doesn't mind though lol and Tsukasa always gets him new hoodies anyways (even if they're not exactly pretty but he'll still wear them)

Whenever Tsukasa wants new clothes Akito goes along with him cause trust me even if a bunch of those VBS outfits look ugly as shit Akito knows what he's doing

Tsukasa always carries an umbrella with him when he's out with Akito just in case it rains

I think it would be really funny if Ena sometimes had to tell them to stfu when Tsukasa is over cause trust me they ain't gonna be quiet (Akito room reveal when)

I got bored in Hong Kong and decided to ask all my friends if I should make a satire Darkside Akikasa GLMM... It doesn't look satire at all please help me (I have one minute left to make)

Divider / Reply Icon made by me! ( 1 | 2 )

[a-homestuck-but-give-me-a-chance]

I'm pretty sure I've listened to every version of the "Rocky Horror Picture Show" soundtrack available on Youtube.

Specifically every version of the song "The Sword of Damocles" which is, in my humble opinion, one of the most underrated songs from the movie/musical. Maybe I'm just not deep enough in the RHPS fandom, but everyone knows Time Warp and Sweet Transvestite. But I rarely see praise for SoD. And that is a pretty big downer if you ask me. Like, Rocky is given life an immediately goes "Oh, this is going to SUCK.". He's been given life by someone who wants to use him, he's been resurrected using half of some biker dude's brain. He wakes up with a feeling of dread, and the only thing he learns is that sexuality is the one way he can stifle those feelings. He's given no genuine love or room to grow. Everyone sees him as little more than an object or a creature. In "Rose Tint My World" he even points out that he's only seven hours old. He lives for seven hours total, and in that time his life starts with a feeling of dread and ends in terror. And I think SoD is a great window into his thoughts when he first comes-too. He feels like something terrible is hanging right over him, that he can never be comfortable or else something horrible will happen. The dread of knowing he's not safe, and probably never will be. He's literally a minute old and already he's wrestling with feelings of depression and hopelessness. He knows he's trapped, with no real identity.

Someone smarter than me can probably type up an essay on how Rocky can relate to the trans experience, tbh. Like, I could see him being an allegory for a trans or maybe neurodiverse experience. Something something being brought into a world that refuses to accommodate or understand you. Being seen as less than human. Your behavior being controlled by other's expectations. A lack of autonomy. Being sexualized against one's will, and then punished for expressing sexuality. I just really like RHPS ok?