#which leads to some interesting dreams that i remember. i used to live and work on a boat for some time

[why-rock-look-tasty-if-no-eat]

I'm a mix of Damian and Tim. There has been times when I thought a good dream was an actual event that happened. Multiple times.

On the plus side I get free happy memories

(staying up>nightmares>working memory)

The batfam ranked on their ability to recall dreams - Least to Most

Damian - Doesn’t dream besides nightmares

Jason - also doesn’t really dream, mostly just replay of memories so technically higher then Damian

Dick - Mostly remembers the feeling of a dream rather then the dream itself whether good or bad

Cass - remembers the people in her dreams, but not what was happing

Steph - either can’t remember at all, or remembers nearly all of it

Duke - opposite of Cass, can remember most things except for faces

Bruce - Easy to recall nightmares, but similar to Dick can remember the feeling of good dreams

Tim - Dreams so vivid and realistic he just fully believes they’re actually memories. This has served as an issue

[ravengards-rogue]

WHAT SET YOU FREE, BROUGHT YOU TO ME BABY.

rdr2 men + short blurbs about their favorite sex positions.

ft. arthur morgan, john marston, javier escuella, and charles smith.

✧ tags : SPOILER HEAVY, fem + afab!reader, unprotected sex, light angst (in the horny post is crazy im sorry fdkjjkds), very gendered language, javier says one thing in spanish (thank u @nanamimizz), a little sprinkle of plot with each (and some canon divergency), john co-parents w abigail, otherwise just horny. 18+

✧ wc : about 1.4-8k each (6.3k total)

✧ a/n : sorry for making a multi character post for the cowboy game its cooking me to death. my john bias is showing rip. title is from rebel yell by billy idol but i listen to the bvb cover

sorry about charles and javiers but if i edit this anymore im going to level an entire city using hollow purple technique. please rb if you enjoyed i worked kind of hard on whatever this is.

sorry for . the THIRD repost of this i promise i wont after this. its just really bugging me. PLEASE

.𖥔 ݁ ˖˚☽˚｡⋆ ARTHUR MORGAN + PRONE BONE ; 

It’s an odd feelin’ for Arthur. 

Wanting something, he means. Wanting anything as much as he wants you. He’s lived a less than quiet life up until now. And he ain’t the brightest, certainly, but living this kind of life teaches you many lessons. One of them being, it’s better not to covet anything. Coveting something you’re not entitled to, well—it’ll lead you places you wouldn’t want to go with a gun. 

Arthur has made the mistake of coveting love before, dreamed of a future so completely out of his reach he almost convinced himself it was possible. Dreamed of it so foolishly he’d even go visit a woman he very well ought to forget. It’s his problem, his burden to bear - always desiring outcomes unsuited to him. 

He’s just that sort of man he reckons. But he learned his lesson. He tries (tried?) to stay away from it after that. Tried not to pine too much for normalcy when such hopes had failed him twice. The loss of his child completely on his account and the loss of his love at the same fate. 

So, wanting you - well, he feels like the world's dullest fool. Really. How is it that Arthur had fallen in love with someone again? It had all just happened so quickly. You were another woman he’d saved from the O’Driscolls, though it wasn’t like you were no damsel. A lot of those men were dead by the time they arrived. That sort of perseverance would stick with you while you traveled together. Much like Sadie, you didn’t take well to housework - you liked to earn your keep. Though you’re not nearly so trigger happy. 

You’re quiet, thoughtful, well-read. Plus you’re good at making money. That’s why Dutch don't complain about you joining them, he figures. 

(Arthur tries not to pry into it too much at first, but he eventually learns that you’re gambling. Which is how you’re able to make such a fast turn around. A prim little lady like you makes for a fine poker player, and you love to play men out of their money. He thinks it’s one of the funniest and most interesting things about you. He can’t help but love you a little more for it. )

When the feelings in him start to stir, Arthur tries to overlook it. Arthur convinces himself, time and time again - that there’s no way he’ll grow more tender about you. Eventually, it’ll die down. You’re a decent woman is all, a kind one - who’s easy for him to love and even easier for him to confide in. In your time together, you often come to Arthur and you always seem to have some profound wisdom he is so sorely lacking. Someone easy to love, who does not expect much from Arthur at all. It’s only natural a lonely, covetous man like him would start to dream about you. He tells himself, it will pass eventually. Should he simply let it run by him, it will pass. But Arthurs a fool, you’ll remember. 

 Of course, by the time he understood all that - he already loved you enough that he couldn’t bear it. It was already too late and it wasn’t going to change any time soon. Especially not while everything changed around him. 

So, Arthur is undoubtedly a fool, but he’s lucky. He felt divinely blessed when you’d returned his feelings for him so politely. A coy little smile on your face, a laugh like you thought he was silly for being doubtful. Arthur tried to explain himself but you wouldn’t hear a word of it. Maybe that’s another thing he loves so much about you. There’s nothing he ever needs to explain. 

In any case, all Arthur seems to do lately is want you. Wants you when it’s inconvenient. Wants you before he wants liquor or a cigarette or some other vice. Any time anything goes wrong, you’re the first thing his mind can conjure up for relief. That pretty smile and that self-assured way of living. It’s hard to get time alone in camp. And Arthur is a man in love, so any touch could be enough to set him on fire. Last week you hugged his waist a little before giving him a kiss goodbye and he had to listen to you laugh yourself into a fit as he waited for…little Arthur to settle down. 

He don’t get many chances to be with you. Lay with you in that way that grown folk in love do. Though, if the two of you book it somewhere for a few days - the camp knows better not to ask where you’ve been. But it’s not often you get to really be together, where it’s peaceful to do that. Someone’s always hounding one of you to do something. 

Arthur is a lucky man though, like he said. Today he had time. Today he’s alone with you in a beat up little saloon and today he gets to do as he likes. He gets to be greedy. And it’s an odd feeling for him, really, to want something so bad he disregards everything else in the world for a little while. 

Feeling you, though - absolves the guilt for wanting. He’d be stupid to want you any less desperately. 

Arthur’s favorite way to have you is on your stomach. Laid flat, just barely pushed up against him as he fucks you deep. You’ll fuck like rabbits for a little while and Arthur will wear you out just like this, maneuvering you until you’re pinned all underneath his weight. You lose any fight you might have, too exhausted to worry yourself with pleasing him - and when you’re like that, you let Arthur take care of you. 

(He really ain’t talented at much, but he’s good with his hands. Being dexterous is part of being a talented shot. When Arthur has the time to spread you sweet in his lap and make you cum all over his fingers, he does so for as long as he can. At least until you beg him so sweetly otherwise. The same hands, soiled with gunsmoke, look so good so deep in you. At least in his eyes.)

Wet and pliable and helpless. Arthur loves you like that. He knows, he knows you’re anything but - but he’d be damned to pretend this don’t feel best. Tight, wet cunt so welcoming from all the pleasure he’s ripped out of you. Your bodies pressed together, your heartbeat pulsing through your skin. All sticky, honeyed need and animal desire as Arthur lets all of him sink on top of you. His heavy, lumbering form crushing you in - trapping you somewhere you can’t run from him. The curve of your spine pushed against his chest, ticklish. 

Every inch of his body that so wholly wants for you, Arthur aches to make you feel. Burn it in you lest anything happens that risks your forgetting. 

He can feel his hips meet your ass, backside squished against him - desperate for deeper friction. Whining. You’re whining to him so pretty, a pillow pushed underneath you to give friction to needy clit. 

Arthur can feel how much you want more. Maybe Arthur is greedy, but he likes that look much better on you. Your pussy is sucking him in so tight, silken walls pulsing with every shallow little measured thrust. Arthur lets his arm wrap around your neck, your face pressing into his bicep. You moan again and he laughs. 

“Arthur,” Your words come out in a messy slur. He lets his scruffy face press against your neck, a kiss behind your ear. He wants to kiss you all over. There’s not enough hours in the day. “Oh, god, Arthur,” 

“Still feels good, then, I’m guessin’,” 

“Shut up,” You huff and press your cheek into his arm. He doesn’t bother stifling his laugh. “Still feels…big. Stretchin’ me out—hicc—so much,” 

You really don’t try to rile him up - but you do a damn good job of it anyway. He groans, grunts as he pulls back and pistons himself in you. A gesture half-way between a kiss and the warning shot of a gun. The sound of skin hitting skin echoes, noisy and vulgar. Arthur don’t pay it much mind. He laughs against your shoulder.

“One of these days, that moutha’ yours is gonna get me in real trouble.” 

You giggle back at him 

“What kinda trouble is that now?” 

Even from your side glance, you’ve got that lovely little smile on you. Fuckdrunk and ingratiating, like you know he’s wrapped so tight around your fingers. And he is, like nothing else in the world could have him. A wave of possession curls up over Arthur, makes him press more of himself into you. Onto you. Another deep push of his cock, sliding against the tenderest parts of you. Staking some silent desire in you. He wants and wants and wants, and hopes that whatevers above him can forgive him for making the same mistake thrice. 

“Dunno,” Arthur comments, teeth grazing your shoulder and kissing the indentations “Got our whole lives together to find out, I reckon.” 

“I’ll hold you to it, Mister.” 

Arthur laughs. “Hope you do, Miss.” 

.𖥔 ݁ ˖˚☽˚｡⋆ JOHN MARSTON + COWGIRL ;

John doesn’t say that he loves you lightly. 

Hardly a thing he says can be said that way. Could never afford too. In an alternate universe where nothing goes wrong in his life, maybe - but he has a hard time picturing what the hell that’d look like. A version of himself so untainted, without all of the violence and blood and gunsmoke? Foreign. John can’t picture it worth a damn. 

Who John is without a deadbeat father and a dead Ma is somewhere far beyond his reach. Ain’t nothing about his life, at any point, lighthearted. 

On top of all that mess, he’s got a boy at age four with a woman he ain’t married too. And that relationship is always on rocky waters, even though John’s decided to do right by his own flesh and blood sometime ago. Most things in the world he should feel good about he doesn’t, and most things he should understand render him clueless. He’s a mess on multiple accounts, and he still doesn’t know how exactly he’s meant to approach this life of his. He knows what he should do, but nothing about how to do it. 

John doesn’t come to love you easily ‘cause he wouldn’t know easy love if it hit him in his face. Quickly and painfully, but not easily. 

Your return to the gang was an odd one. You were an old presence and your disappearance was an even older story. John thought he’d never gonna see you again for sure. You’d been a part of the gang back long before all of the nonsense that took place in Blackwater and you left about the time Arthur’s boy died. John don’t remember why you left exactly. He thinks it was a fight with Hosea, of all things.

 Dutch weren't too happy about it neither, but Dutch back then didn’t make a show. 

So you left, and John buried every feeling he ever harbored. You found all them again up in Colter, where you’d been living out your days lately. According to you, in the middle of riding, you thought you’d heard Arthur. So, somewhat recklessly, you went chasing him. Didn’t matter if he was just something your mind conjured. According to you, if it was him, it was at least worth checking to make sure. You’d reunited with Arthur and after some tears, he rode with you back to camp. 

Upon your return, the gang welcomed you with open arms. 

You’d done a lot in your time alone.You spent most of that time just like that, a ghost wanderin’ the planes. You weren’t gonna stay with ‘em, but Arthur insisted and Hosea did too. That wasn’t enough to compel, so John was last to chip in. You should stay, at least until Valentine. 

(Silently he thought, you should stay so John can trace memories of you. It was so long ago, he should’ve forgotten all of it. You were a year older than John and always on his ass but easy for him to talk to. Didn’t fuss over his failures. You just barely grew into your womanhood when you set your sights on running away. You wanted more than this life, and John never really forgave you for it. His first heartbreak, maybe - but it’s all too blurry for that. 

You understood him though better than anyone, and one day you were gone. Nothing’s really the same.) 

You changed tremendously and not at all. He missed you. God, did he ever. Missed you a long time. Didn’t realize how much until you came back and everything in him felt right again. Your return stirred up old feelings and everyone noticed. He wasn’t trying to keep it a secret, but he really wasn’t trying to fall back into anything with you. Not how he did. 

Just like you did back then, you read John like an open book. And just like he did back then, he loved you all too helplessly for it.  It was just all too easy again, to be with you. 

You stayed out of the way at first, for the sake of his family. 

But, John ain’t a half-decent man even when he’s trying to be. So he set himself on being with you. It wasn’t easy - most things with him aren’t as you’ll see.  Having you around again straightened what was left of his common sense, at least. He told Abigail before telling you. He figured you wouldn’t even reply unless that was all out of the way. That turned out as well as you’d expect.

 It was settled between the two of you thereafter. He’s lucky she didn’t toss him into the street. 

Everything works out in a way. As best they can between broken people. You make peace with each other. His boy loves you like a third parent (you’re better with him than John is). Abigail commends you for straightening out such a worthless man though she’s a little melancholy.  John just tries to stay out of the way. You’ll be together in the end. There’s a plan with the five of you. 

But until it all falls apart, he doesn’t get all that much time with you. 

There’s moments like tonight, though. Rare ones. Together out robbin’, cooped out some place in the woods where no one is around. A place so shaded by nightfall that John can absolve himself of every sin he’s ever committed in his life and pray at the altar between your hips. John is convinced he might find worship like he’s always hearing about there whenever he touches you, the marred skin of his hands and knuckles reading the scripture of your body with careful precision. 

You might turn him into a literate man yet. 

John glances up at you. Only the light of the fire and the moonlight there to accompany as he watches you over him. You’re beautiful. John couldn’t picture a single thing more perfect in his life. 

Your hands against his bare chest, nails digging into the flesh as you lean forward. Your palm dug into the dirt, John finds his own hands rested at your hips. John looks at you awe-struck, cock twitching at the mere sight. His heart settles in his throat, but he’s calm all at the same time. With you, he forgets. All of it. The worst of himself. 

Bare naked and so close, he watches your face as you strain. You feel soft. Every inch of you in comparison to him is. A bead of sweat slides down the valley of your breasts. John cranes his neck up to catch it with his tongue, licking a stripe up to your neck - letting his teeth sink into the space between your jaw and neck. You want to make it last and John doesn’t blame you. It’s so rare you get to have each other so unrestrained. John can feel all the ways you want him, can see it in your face - all pinched with need. You’re holding yourself back, trying to get it to last as long as the night will allow. It’s cute in a way.

It’s different than how he’s used to seein’ you, all cocky or otherwise. You’re needy like this. Just needy. His stomach turns with lust, jolting through him like a strike of lightning. His cock twitches against your folds, sliding against them. Pure admiration watching the sticky mess of his pre-cum and your own arousal mix together and smear on your mound. You make a soft noise in the back of your throat, faint and tender as you fall forward just a little. John laughs against your neck. 

“Darlin’,” He says with a huff. Not malice. Something akin to bliss, where he can rarely afford it “Have I done something to piss you off today?” 

You pick yourself up and look down at him and frown. John kisses the corner of your mouth, resisting some crude desire to fuck up into you. 

“Just,” You grunt as the tip of his cock passes over your throbbing clit, your whole body wracking to a shiver. John looks awed. “Pent up. Goddamn it,” 

John figures it out quickly after that. It’s this part of it he likes. The proximity. The closeness. Feeling the tremble in your hands as they struggle to keep up right, muscles strained in your forearms. Being able to hold you, to keep the pace or let you take the lead. The clear view of your face as pleasure travels up through your spine and melts into you. He grabs your hips, the fat dimpling underneath his fingers as he moves you along. He can’t wait. You don’t bother to protest seeing John can’t seem to bear it anymore. You collapse into his chest, your tits pushed flat against his pecs.

His cock throbs near painfully, sliding against your soft cunt before finding himself lined with you. He thinks to himself that it’s this he was looking for, as he tucks your face against his neck and lets his tip stretch you out slowly. Such a vice like grip, stretching - resisting him like your whole body can’t anticipate the sensation of fullness. You gasp against his throat. 

“John,”  

What a sweet sound from your mouth, even sweeter as he bucks himself up. Keeps you steady and lets his cock stretch you full, feel you deep. “That’s right, my angel. Didn’t think you’d remember my name when you’re all worked up like this.” 

“You’re,” You gasp and John thrusts, thrusts hard until he’s buried to the hilt. You shudder, walls pulsing around him as he bottoms out and John laughs like the terrible man he is. He fucks you again, over and over - a wicked little smile watching “Awful. Just awful, John Marston,” 

“Ain’t that the truth,” He hums against your mouth as his hand snakes between your bodies, thumb rubbing against your clit. “Wonder what kinda woman that makes you,” 

“A foolish one,” 

John laughs. 

“I sure do love you for it,”

.𖥔 ݁ ˖˚☽˚｡⋆JAVIER ESCUELLA + SIDEWAYS ;

Javier hasn’t thought about much other than surviving. 

It’s been like that. Been like that for a while, probably much longer than he cares to admit. He’s sure any sane man would suffer the same plight if they lead the same life. Anything but survival is little more than a pipe-dream, so Javier tries not to go for anything too strongly. In that aspect he’s like many of the members of the gang he’s in, perhaps that’s why he sticks to them. There’s that phrase Hosea’s always saying - that misery loves company. Javier will take any decent company he can get.  He’s desperate for it just like he’s desperate for most things - inwardly, silently. 

Some of that desperation may be symptomatic of who he is. After he killed a man in a crime of passion for a woman he loved and ran from a government who would sooner exile him than change, Javier decided to not dream anymore. Every revolutionary who dreams too hopefully pays the price in blood.

(Javier thinks there’s probably nothing in the world as true as this. A form of gospel. He remembers the first dream he ever had after his uncle passed. Not a nightmare but a dream. He remembers the exact feeling of waking up, cold and confused. What is a dream, except a memento of survivor's guilt that loyal people cling onto fruitlessly. When hope starts to feel like a debt he’s going to waste his life paying back, Javier loses sight of everything. The beginning of the end in some way.) 

His mind doesn’t occupy itself with anything bigger than that. Since Dutch found him starving, there was never a desire to try and live off aspirations. He pays his penance with loyalty and honor. Practices some form of humility and tries, not too desperately, to carve a place for him to fit. All without drawing too much attention or caring too much. If you ignore the bleeding in his fingers, his penchant for knives over guns, and his refusal to talk too long about the place he comes from - it’s nearly believable that none of it matters. 

Except loyalty. All Javier honors is that. It’s the only thing he has some part in choosing, so he choses it every time. Living like that didn’t make any difference to him. He was surrounded by mostly decent people. He didn’t hate the life he was living. 

It wasn’t important. It didn’t matter. His directionless-ness, his floating. Hadn’t since he joined the gang. At least not to anyone but him. He didn’t know what he’s meant to do or if he was meant to proceed with this forever. He was (is)  loyal to Dutch. To the gang. 

He hadn’t thought much about what comes after. 

And it didn’t matter until he met you

He’d sworn off love after seeing where it got him, at least until he could love more dispassionately. When the women bring you back from their outing from Valentine and beg Dutch to let you stay, Javier doesn’t think much of it all. He thinks you’re pretty, if it counts for anything. But he doesn’t let himself linger on you too long. 

But that’s the sequence with you two, really. The whole time.  He doesn’t linger until he does. It doesn't matter until it does. He doesn’t think about you until it’s all he can think about. 

You go for him first. And it’s in little, unimportant ways that might not mean shit to you but mean a whole lot to him. You have some kind of tenderness about you that you wear deep, runs through your blood like love ran through his once long ago. Some softness he can’t really measure with his own. It’s not that that gets him. It’s that sometimes you look at Javier like he's … someone you want to see. He forgot what that was like all together. It felt foreign to him the first time it happened. Seeing how you light up when Javier is around. 

You wanted to see him. You noticed that he’s gone. If he sang by the campfire - you’d sit by him and listen.  If he was out in the trees keeping guard, he’d hear the soft call of your voice to Grimshaw ask Where’s Javier? And sometimes the girls will make fun of you - but you wouldn’t deny anything they said. It’s so small and ordinary. He would’ve never considered himself simple before meeting you. Nothing is simple. Nothing. 

(But then, Javier thinks of the kinds of songs he sings and the way he takes care of himself and the clothes he wears and maybe Javier has some kind of affinity for preciousness that explains all of it.) 

When Javier confesses his feelings for you - he finds the affair to be like most things between you. Ordinary love, not really between outlaws but people. It’s up against a tree while you share a drink and he’s looking at the curve of your mouth and the plum color Karen’s so kindly put on you. And his head fills with kissing you so he does. A breathless confession between alcohol stains and the feeling of your hands curled in the lapels of his suit. 

From there, Javier is your lover. He’s not interested in the business of secrets, but he tries not to let it show too much. Not that he doesn’t want to. He wants to show you off more than anything - at least some part of him does. But the other part wants to keep you away from prying eyes, keep his love for you only where the both of you can see. If he could keep that pretty lovestruck face you make all to himself forever he would. 

When he gets a chance to whisk you away from everything, Javier jumps at the chance. Not often, but Javier makes time for you. Makes time to indulge in love he thought he’d  never find again. 

That’s why he’s here with you in the middle of nowhere, a ghost town where no one knows you.. A reserved room with a bed and lowlights all to yourselves. 

Javier can’t keep his hands to himself and he doubts you expect him too. 

For Javier, this sense of proximity is what intoxicates him most. The warmth of your bare skin in the slivers of yourself exposed. Javier is fond of finding you like this after a long day of horse riding. Of sneaking touches to your waist as you push back against him to sleep, only to find his desire for you - laid clearly. He likes hearing you whimper feeling his length poke against your back, the embarrassment when it dawns on you that he wants you after all. Always surprised, even though Javier tells you it so often. Whispers it along your neck and shoulders whenever you’re at camp together.

You like the feeling of his hands so Javier always starts with them. He squeezes your hips. Planes his palms over your chest before squeezing your chest, pushing the fat between his fingers. You like the way  they look when they grope you, his chin resting against your shoulder as you spoon. In the lowlights of a cheap hotel - Javier gets the perfect view of your silhouette. Your body is sensitive over the fabric of your gown, heat prickling through you. 

Javier who is always so gentle with you, rouses so deep listening to your whining as he explores your body. The suffocating closeness of a single bed intoxicates him. 

“Javier,” Your voice is sweet and thin. Plays in Javier’s head like music and makes his mouth curl up into a catlike grin as you push back on him.  You look slightly over your shoulder, lips pushed into a pout. “Please,” 

He tugs at the fabric of your nightgown. The top half pulls haphazard underneath your tits, nipples perky and sensitive to touch while the skirt pools at your waist. What gets Javier like this is the desperation. Wanting so much but not being able to look too long. A way for you to mirror him, it’s a matter of possession. In some stupid way. Bunching your clothes up, pushing the fabric of your panties to one side, letting his arm wrap around your waist to touch and tease.  All of these are imprints of his longing, tucked faithful into your side as he whispers sweet nothings into your skin.

His cock twitches as it pushes past your folds with finality, your hands curling up at your sides.  You whimper softly, let your cheek rest against the sheets as Javier takes you on your side. Terribly close, you fuss as you feel him slide every inch into you slow, your hands reaching back for purchase. It’s the fit of you against him so perfect, the silent strokes of intimacy, the hush-hush giggles between the sheets that Javier loves most about fucking you like this. Too enamored with you to look too closely, he lets his eyes flutter closed. He could get drunk just being in your space. 

He carves out space for himself inside of you, feels your cunt accommodate for him like it loves him. A feverishness breaks out as his forehead rests on the space between your shoulders, an uncharacteristic whiny quality in his words. 

“Ser mío,” Javier says - as a reflection of what he really wants, to belong only to you. “Belong to me.” 

Darling as you always are, you nod softly. 

“All yours, Javier,” You whimper, finding his hand. “Forever,”

.𖥔 ݁ ˖˚☽˚｡⋆ CHARLES SMITH + MATING PRESS ; 

Wandering. 

He’s been doing it his whole life. Not something he’s proud of. Or ashamed of either, really. Just how things have gone for him until now. Charles doesn’t think his life has been any better or any worse than anyone else's. At least not when he weighs it with the same kind of pragmatism he does most things. It’s been a hard life, and a miserable one in so many ways. Still, it’s not something Charles is too keen to dwell on. 

There’s just something thematic about loss in Charles' life in a way he finds completely unpleasant. It’s more constant than anything. Loss of his home, loss of his mother, loss of his father in an attempt to find what’s best for him. It’s some overarching message that hangs over his head like a shadow. Everywhere he goes, trying to rectify his own solitude seems to come back to him. It doesn’t help that it’s an unfair world to start with, and would’ve been if he had just been black or just been native. But Charles is both, and has lived a life that reflects that specific injustice thoroughly. 

There’s not really anything Charles can do about it, at its baseline. When he left his father, the name of the game had simply been survival. He was well-equipped enough for that at least. But after survival comes trying to live and trying to live isn’t something so simple. Jumping in and out of gangs who thought they could get away with slighting him or generally being surrounded by unpleasant people. Trying to find something in pages of book and scripture, or in the way water ripples when it rains. 

He’s never felt any one way towards the gang. Even when he joined them all the way back in the Grizzlies. Lost in the cold, they’d crossed paths as Charles was out hunting. A lot of it feels like a blur. Of all the folks he’s met in his travels though, Dutch treats him fair and the rest of them (or most of them) are decent, honest folk. Charles stays in the Van Der Linde gang for such simple reasons as trying to stay alive and be somewhere that isn’t actively hostile towards him. He’s a good gunman, and a better fighter. The inner workings of gang politics and forging connection isn’t at the forefront of his mind, with the exception of the kindest few. 

The Van Der Linde gang is just a place where he can figure out what his purpose is meant to be, even if he doesn’t find it there. He’s never expecting anything to come out from his loyalties to it. 

Of all the things Charles expects of his life in the Van Der Linde gang, love is at the very bottom of the list. 

Maybe it’s about time he stops being surprised by these things happening to him one or way another.

 You were a member of the gang far before him, and someone Charles took to quickly. You’d joined the gang not too long after John from what Arthur tells him. Though the brunette speaks about you more fondly than he does his brother. A problem child at the start, according to Arthur - always getting into all sorts of trouble. Something you seemingly feel embarrassed about now and refuse to bring up. Charles has a hard time picturing it having only known you as you are. 

The woman you’ve grown into is someone else completely, and Charles sees that in you all the time. Compassionate like Hosea but charismatic like Dutch, and clever. And you’re beautiful, too, though Charles feels a little shallow admitting that’s part of what drew you into him. 

It wasn’t Charles that approached you first. You were the one who spoke to him, as often as you thought necessary but never in a way he found invasive. He doesn’t know what it is exactly about you that charms him near instantly. You’re enigmatic to a fault. It’s like you always know exactly what to say and exactly when to say it. Even more than that, you’re a terribly pleasant person to be around. Subtly warm and free of assumptions. When Charles talks to you about anything, you listen without making him feel like it’s any sort of burden to you. You don’t pry, don’t make missteps. Treat him fair, and then some. 

It’s unbearably simple, just how quickly and how easily he comes to adore you.  And, in some ways, Charles knows better than to believe that his purpose is loving someone. There’s more to it than that, surely - after everything. 

But then, he’ll watch you do something. Watch you do some kind of menial work that he could do for you instead. Thinks of skinning animals for new clothes and chopping wood and rubbing the soap off of you and all of a sudden it makes him feel anchored. Everything he could do for you. You anchor Charles easily, with a wispy smile. Make him want to find purpose in life with you. He never wants to be somewhere you’re not. 

He confesses it to you just like that, and like you do with most things - you accept and reciprocate without making too much of a fuss. 

For Charles, making love is an extension of wanting to ground himself in you. A distant siren song - the intersection of lust and bone deep adoration. Like most things, you’re the one to approach first every time. A soft hand on his forearm, a whisper that you want him. It’s with ease that he draws you away. Drags from you camp during nightfall with his horse and blankets and picks a spot with the perfect view of the stars. 

Charles watches you under the glow of moonlight, his vision adjusting to you easily. Naked underneath him, laid on your back with your legs folded at your knees - heaving deep breaths. He can see the sweat beading down your skin, your chest rising and falling - and the perfect view of your pussy. His hands and mouth are wet as you breathe out. He finds himself smiling at you, his own erection pressed against your thigh, pre-cum leaking out in a mesmerized haze. 

You lift your hands up and he leans down, surprised as you wrap them around his neck and pull him closer to you. Your mouths meet like that, and Charles laughs against your lips as you kiss him so eagerly. You blink at him, pretty. You’re always prettier than he remembers you being the last time he looks. 

“Charles,” You frown at him. “It’s impolite to keep a lady waiting,” 

He kisses the corner of your mouth. “Sorry, my love. I don’t want to hurt you,” 

“Well, I’m fine with it,” You repeat, almost petulant. Charles frowns. “‘Sides, it ain’t my first time taking you, you know?” 

“Well, I’m not fine with it.” 

You pout, looking at him all endeared. Charles couldn’t help but love you even if he tried. “You ain’t gonna hurt me. C’mon. Please?” 

“Please, what?” 

You look at him aghast before breaking out into a faux-scandalized giggle. “Now you—please fuck me. Pretty, please.” 

Charles feels something tickling against his spine hearing you say it. He couldn’t imagine getting sick of you in his whole life.  “Yeah, that’s good to hear.” 

You make an indignant noise but it’s silenced quickly as Charles positions himself against your entrance. He has plenty of discipline when it comes to matters like these, but right now - he feels like he’s going to lose his mind. Not nearly enough patience to wait. He lets his hands go up underneath your knees just to have something to hold onto. 

You make a little gasp as the tip of his cock pushes into you. Your walls are so soft, likely after all the orgasms he’d given you prior. You stop him in a shocked gasp, and Charles immediately readies himself to pull out. As if sensing his hesitance, you shake your head. 

“Charles,” You gasp, the words caught in your throat and hoarse “Deep. Want it deep,” 

His abdomen tightens, cocking twitching hard at your words. He agrees silently to your desires. 

When it comes to sex, there’s very little Charles dislikes.

But this is his favorite. He’s simple but no other position lets him see you so close. He likes the way your eyes widen as he pushes up underneath your knees and folds you underneath his weight. How you look pinned down under him, the perfect view of your eyes rolling back into your head and the proximity from your face to his. He lets his cock stretch you out slowly, throbbing each time your nails dig desperately into arms trying to keep your composure. Fuck you feel so tight like that. Soft pussy, dripping and sticky. You suck him in relentlessly, and Charles groans as he bottoms out. You take every inch of him so well. So perfect like the rest of you. 

Your eyes flutter open as he stays there, buried in you in complete bliss. You’re dazed. 

“Kiss?” 

Surprise followed by adoration, he abides by your request easily. Overwhelmed with it as he presses a chaste peck to your mouth, he laughs. “As many as you want.”

Anything you want, Charles thinks, he would give to you. 

.𖥔 ݁ ˖˚☽˚｡⋆

[barrenclan]

Chonny Jash's cover of The Moss seems very patfw-core to me. I think someone's brought it up before but I'd like to specifically point out some of the new/changed lyrics that I think fit

But everything you see isn't everything that is

Every thing you think to be, every thought you can't dismiss

The lives we try to lead and the time we try to give

Well it's all a fallacy, we continue to relive

^ Cats like Pinepaw and Rainhaze's curiosity about what's beyond Barrenclan territory, how cats like Cootstorm try to discourage that type of thinking and how their actions unintentionally lead them to their fates. Also very cyclecore

And every thing will live, just as every thing will die

Every foe that you forgive, and every friend that you deny

Every single first hello, and every single last goodbye

Every smile that you show, every tear that you hide

^ In my head I'm picturing an amv/pmv and for this part I'm very much imagining a sort of slideshow section about contrasts and various events: Barrenclan/Defiance, Rainhaze and Ranger/Rainhaze and Asphodelpaw, Pinepaw and Saturn/Pinepaw and Wild Rose, Slugpelt and Cashew/Slugpelt and Dustfeather. Idk if that makes sense

Well, legend has it that we're all just doomed

And we've ruined our society

Well, legend has it that we dug our tomb

Which we'll lie in for all eternity

^ Barrenclan's whole staying as punishment for their cowardice ideology

Well legend has it that, the world once knew a whole palette of lovely blues and greens

Well legend has it that, our corpses lie a foundation of insincerity

^ what Barrenclan's territory used to be - blue and green - and what it is now - on a foundation of corpses

*Attempts to Jashify Raz* *Attempts to Jashify Raz* *Attempts to Jashify Raz—

I've seen a lot of people in the server talking about Chonny Jash, he seems pretty fun. But if I'm honest, I'm more of a Johnny Cash fan. :P

Ooh, yes! You've targeted me with a TMBG suggestion, I actually went ahead and added "Don't Let's Start" to the playlist but I love this song too.

Even when you're out of work you still have a job to do Even when you don't know what it is Your job knows what it is What it is is it's coming to get you

And when you wake up you can feel your hair grow Crawl out of your cave and you can watch your shadow Creep across the ground until the day is done All the while the planet circles 'round the sun

Haha, that is funny irony. But I agree with you! Isn't it interesting how despite being named that way, "Defiance" doesn't allow any of its members to defy Deepdark?

Compliance We just need your compliance You will feel no pain anymore No more defiance

Fall into line, you will do as you're told No choice fatigue, your blood is running cold We lose control, the world will fall apart Love of your life will mend your broken heart

Will Wood is ever-popular, of course, though I never got really into him. I can see this is as a Pinepaw song!

All nightmares start as dreams and I hear my subconscious screaming They say that beauty's just skin deep So naturally, please show me your

Bones, bones, bones, let me see your bones Well, I don't wanna know if the feeling follows home Bones, bones, bones, hell, we're all alone If I come home, baby, will you show your bones?

They say that beauty's just skin deep So Ana stands and rends the rancid meat from her

Oh... Rainhaze and Slugpelt song.

Are you dead or are you sleepin'? Are you dead or are you sleepin'? God, I sure hope you are dead

Well, you disappeared so often like you dissolved into coffee Are you here right now, or are there probably fossils under your meat?

Defiance song! Spefically, I could see it as from Ranger/broader Defiance's perspective as he navigates the group.

We're at a revolution And we're baying for your blood We're laying down the law And your name's mud

Cause you say you fight for us Cross your heart and hope to die You're the bully in the playground and we'll hang you out to dry

Oh yeah, I remember this song from the IncuriousCat PMV. I like it! "Nowhere King" is also a Deepdark song, so that creepy children's song-esque music does fit with the series. If anyone wanted to edit together a trailer it'd be cool!

Perfect. No notes.

Actually, someone's already made a PMV to the comic with the song! You can check it out here.

I don't think it's been suggested yet! It's a Pinepaw song, of course.

I'll cut my hair (Ooh) to make you stare (Ooh) I'll hide my chest And I'll figure out a way to get us out of here

I can't really think right now and this place Has too many colors, enough to drive all of us insane Are you dead? Sometimes I think I'm dead 'Cause I can feel ghosts and ghouls wrapping my head But I don't wanna fall asleep just yet

[bleue-flora]

For absolutely no reason whatsoever, I feel like we should talk about Limbo. Because it’s a interesting topic with lots of space for theories and perhaps this will help us come back to some common ground of discussion, and be an open enough topic to allow everyone, whether someone who just joined the fandom or has been here for years, to hopefully feel safe and welcome enough to join in and share their thoughts and opinions. Go ahead and use the tag #dsmp limbo so I can see your thoughts, there is no right or wrong answer here.

To start off the discussion, we know the time dilation based on what Wilbur has said is about 30/1 - meaning every 1 second is 30 seconds in limbo, every 2 minutes is 1 hour in limbo, every 48 minutes is 1 day in limbo, every 1 day is a about 1 month in limbo and so on just to give you perspective. We also know based on both what happens in the finale and by what Dream says in the finale, that Limbo changes based on how you die and the circumstances around your death.

Now here are my thoughts at the moment on the matter. While a lot of times I see Limbo in fanfics more personalized to the person killed, one theory I came up with to explain Limbo is that it is actually is more connected to the situation around the death and killer/death.

For example, Schlatt died of a stroke and his limbo then becomes a gym, themeing off the fact of becoming healthy and fit something he wasn’t in life. That lead to his nation being taken over and him not being physically capable to stop it as well as him dying to a stroke, which we are encouraged to believe is caused by his alcoholism.

But I feel like perhaps Schlatt’s is the easiest to connect, Wilbur’s on the other hand is a little weirder. But I think the train station is actually connected to Philza having just arrived, so the relation to travel. Trains are often kept on a schedule to be on time and Philza’s appearance is just in time to kill Wilbur, but too late to stop him from pushing the button.

Mexican Dream’s limbo then reflects more of Dream than of Mexican Dream. With an empty, unfinished nation not unlike how empty and isolated Dream likely felt, as well as angry about nations for being the cause.

This theory becomes a little stronger when looking at Tommy’s 1st Limbo being an existence of basically nothing. And I think this reflects how Dream kinda has nothing at this point. Also relating to how Tommy killed the cat (and am I miss remembering that he also burned his clock?) the only thing(s) Dream had left. It could alternatively relate to an empty stomach adding an element from his death being from the potato.

Rambo’s limbo then connects to Sam for a few reasons, one I think Sam felt very alone in his efforts to keep Dream locked up. Like only he could do it and no one was helping him. It is also similar in the fact that Sam felt so cornered and trapped like killing Ranboo was the only thing he could do, similar to how one would feel stuck on a tiny island surrounded by water that burns. It’s also interesting since for Ranboo, the island is also inescapable like the prison and he is only able to leave when Mexican Dream comes (like Dream only escaping prison when Techno comes), oh and Sam lives on an island too.

Then finally Tommy’s 2nd Limbo I think pretty clearly relates to Tommy asking before he died about why and how Dream saw things, and Dream’s comment of “everything was fine before you came!” so Limbo shows Tommy Dream’s pov at the beginning. Reflecting how Dream feels, his - “I just don’t want to ever be alone.”

Anyways, hopefully that made some sense, those are just some thoughts I have at the moment. Now I wanna hear yours. :) How do you think limbo works? What do you think Punz’s and Dream’s Limbos were? What were Vik’s, Lazar’s and Connor’s Limbos? What do you think would have been Tubbo’s, Techno’s or other character’s Limbos? How was Quackity able to visit Schlatt’s Limbo in the Las Nevadas stream?…

[animeomegas]

HA I must disagree with everyone saying naruto and sasuke are the worst patients. Sasuke grumbles and growls sure, and Naruto is whiny about feeling bad, but I think Shikamaru would be the worst.

Being sick is not the same as resting. The recurrent aches and pains either waking him up or preventing him from falling asleep make him cranky. Fever dreams, even when you can't remember them, make sleep unrestful, he hates waking up overheated or when his feet and hands are chilly or worse yet having all three happen at once.

He's not a picky eater to begin with, but growing up with Chouji and his own mother's cooking, he knows what good food is and suddenly everything tastes wrong? Blasphemous, horrific, having to eat plain food that tastes like nothing? It takes a lot of coaxing and hand feeding to get him to eat something and there's a 50/50 chance he's glaring at you the whole time.

On top of that, it's one thing to scive off work, but suddenly falling ill and ruining his whole productivity plan (with the purpose of bringing the bare minimum at home work smarter not harder lol) stresses him out and Nara HATE being stressed. He dreads having to catch up on things (read working 9 hour days for a week, same). If he can feel himself getting sick, he actually tries to get as much as he can done before he actually has to stay home, which means a really cranky lead up and a horrible first day or two of illness.

Of course, this is not to say that Sasuke in particular is a peach. No, he's also glaring and cranky, but it's not as bad somehow. He will grudgingly allow himself to be taken care of and embrace the excuse for being babied with only nominal protest. He doesn't mind asking for what he wants (with some coaxing) while he's sick which takes some stress off of caring for him. He's also more used to rough living and doing what has to be done to get well again, so somehow I just don't think he'd be as offended as Shikamaru is.

They both hate being sick, but I think Shikamaru is taking it more personally.

Ooooh, an alternate opinion! Shikamaru... interesting.

You are so right that he's cranky though. Shikamaru is always in a FOUL mood when he's sick. He probably goes into work, scowling at everyone. He'd be stomping around if it didn't hurt his head.

And yes, he would for sure just stop eating, that's such a him thing to do. (Although part of me thinks it would be so cute to spoon feed a scowling Shikamaru haha.)

And the workload thing... that's kind of sad, but I think you're right. Shikamaru is so important and does so much work, so he has to catch up once he's better, and having that hanging over him just makes him feel worse. This wouldn't happen to Sasuke because he doesn't give a fuck lol.

While I think Sasuke would be a massive bitch when sick, this was certainly well argued. Shikamaru is certainly a contender for the competition haha.

Thanks for the ask ;) @ikemenomegas

[violetstormms]

FNAF Sun/Moon x Reader MerMay Fics

 MerMay DCA x yn fic list

With Mermay coming to a close I decide to make a list of all the fun fish filled fics I have found so far. Remember to look at the tags and read at your own discretion.

Call of the Abyss by Buligete

archiveofourown.org/works/41191230/chapters/103261704

It was probably all very silly, considering the precarious situation I found myself in, but it really was all I could think about.

Could you really blame me? I never expected to find myself in this kind of a mess. I was not some big shot, thrill seeking space explorer. I was no seasoned freight worker. No avid alien world survivalist. Not even a simple cruise liner flight attendant.

I was a gardener. My feet belonged firmly planted in the soil of a garden world. I had spent my entire life up to now solidly anchored on Earth, and never dreaming of leaving the safety of gravity and atmosphere, despite the increasingly uncomfortable quality of life on the crowded homeworld. Sure, I dreamed of greener pastures. Of fresh air and fertile land. But frontier life and adventures in the big expanse of space? Not quite.

---

A FNAF x Subnautica crossover, about the challenges of survival, surprise friendships with quirky software and alien merfolk, man made horrors beyond our comprehension and unexpected mysteries to be uncovered within the depths.

Below The Surface by Justaduck6432

archiveofourown.org/works/46186750/chapters/116275786#workskin

You aren't what people would call friendly. No. You're not even polite. Much like the salty old sailor who raised you, you're short-tempered and not too social. And that's how you like it.

One day, a dirty-rotten fish steals something important to you. You know better than to tangle with a creature so large and dangerous. But you have little to lose and, by the gods, you're not about to let that smug fish keep what's yours.

Dive into this chaotic tale of merciless mers and our hot-headed protag who has to wrangle them!

Growing Pains by Celticwolfie

archiveofourown.org/works/46891666/chapters/118117984

It was going to be a normal fishing trip. Just a normal hike to the secluded river beach and maybe relax while listening to the forest waking up around you. However, that isn't how things go for you and now you managed to gain the attention of a legendary creature. Now everything seems to be turned on its head. Hopefully, you can adapt to it quickly enough and help these living legends out as their world is starting to shrink around them.

Free Space by omenofthevoid

archiveofourown.org/works/46904299/chapters/118150342

As a Leviathan, you aren't meant for the shallow water which inhibits your growth and keeps you small. You finally move to the Dead Zone, where you hope to be able to grow.

Galaxies, Lost in Ice by StarvingMe

archiveofourown.org/works/45778489/chapters/115203013

(Subnautica/Subnautica: Below Zero AU)

Sun went hunting, and he's been gone for a few days, and so it's up to Moon to drag Sun's Human Scientist Best Friend out into the ocean to find him.

(Leads into romance with aliens, no spice, that'll be a separate work that won't be necessary to enjoy this)

Abyssal Lights by PhoenixDaNeko

archiveofourown.org/works/46600771/chapters/117353191

You used to be powerful. Feared. Vicious. A man-killer. You were one of the most fearsome myths in the sea.

Then, despite everything, you were caught. Stolen from the depths of your home. Your older siblings had always cautioned against going too close to the surface. You wished you'd listened. Captured, placed into barely big enough tanks, traded between rich bastards and unethical scientists. Losing weight, power, sanity, you're beginning to give up, when a mysterious 4 armed... Person (?) comes by.

Who is this metal man, and why is he so interested in you?

My Lungs are Full of You by Xmimi89eR

archiveofourown.org/works/47111743/chapters/118694248

You didn't like the ocean.

The water felt like it would burn (and it does). Your lungs would give out sooner than others and you didn't even know how to swim!

You never asked for this trip, never asked to be here. Yet, here you are, stuck all alone and waiting for rescue that probably would never come.

Or, well, not really alone. The burning gaze of something in the water wouldn't leave you alone.

There Are Many Benefits (To Rethinking This Career Path)  by moonliched

archiveofourown.org/works/47449438/chapters/119573569#workskin

Life is cushy, working on a subterranean research facility on an underexplored ocean planet. As the resident handyman, most of your work takes place underwater - lucky for you, cave diving is your passion. With the building between bi-annual research teams, and the next lot yet to arrive, you find yourself with an excess of free time. All you have to do is fulfil your weekly duties, prepare the facility for the next team of researchers, and relax. Oh, and track down the net that went missing some time ago.

And then you find it.

In a submerged cave.

Trapping a mermaid.

You really wish this wasn't your responsibility.

(Moon thinks he should have listened to Sun and stuck to hunting in warmer waters. Why does this bizarre two-tailed mermaid keep coming at him with sharp instruments?)

Song of the Sea by TheDreamerFae

archiveofourown.org/works/38958630/chapters/97435890

You always loved the tales of Mermaids, of Selkies and of Sirens, of people who lived in the ocean as a child. You remember vividly seeing merfolk, but chalked it up your imagination. But then a boating accident with your grandpa had left you scarred, and you no longer wanted any association with the sea. But life has other plans

INSPIRED BY BAMSARA’S FIC god I love Celestial Omens.

Unusual  by  BlueMoon_13_31

archiveofourown.org/works/47008036/chapters/118422505

Your love for the ocean has sent you all around the world. However, the beaches of your coastal home have always been your favorite. Returning to the cloudy skies along the Pacific, the last thing you expected was to run into two creatures far from their natural habitat.

The Sea Has Always Known Your Name by CleverButDevastating

archiveofourown.org/works/47410663/chapters/119469997

Everyone is so caught up in your expulsion from the ship that they don’t see the pair of dark, sinuous shapes that slip up through the water only half a dozen yards away. No one notices the flashes of vivid yellow and luminous blue, or the intelligent eyes that take in the human spectacle with inhuman curiosity.

No one except you.

Clownfishing by Sujithe2DWaifu

archiveofourown.org/works/47314285/chapters/119220796

A night fishing trip lends itself to a chance encounter with a siren. After unknowingly showing it some kindness, your life is derailed in an extremely bizarre way.

Special thank you to Bug, who puts up with me, and Tobi(@Glambots on Tumblr)-This was originally a short story written in their ask box. While the first chapter will be short, they will get longer, just so you know what you're getting into. ;) Please also remember that I’m still learning and this is my first time posting on Ao3 specifically. I apologize in advance for any formatting issues.

Also warnings for this chapter and future chapters of thalassophobia, megalohydrothalassophobia, ososphobia, injury, body horror, animal death, offscreen minor character death, and something at bare minimum reminiscent of drugging. While these may be removed during the editing process as it currently stands these will apply at some point.

Turquoise Love by Wcat03blu

archiveofourown.org/works/47208670/chapters/118947625#workskin

You finally visit the aquarium by your college and fall absolutely head-over-heels for some celestial mermaids. Then you chill with them a lot :)

Leviathan Storms by TheDreamerFae

archiveofourown.org/works/47008924/chapters/118518967#workskin

Moving back to your old home rims has brought with you a sense of nostalgia of being. Sure most of the time it was cold and rainy but it didn’t make the scene any less beautiful. But a song keeps making itself known to you, and you must find it.

But who would’ve guessed Mers existed?

Bubbly by Robin_Green

archiveofourown.org/works/47513692/chapters/119741380

A little waterlily mer guppy is trapped, home destroyed, and taken to a pet store to be sold. After spending some time living in a fish bowl, our little guppy is saved and moved to a tank that has been dubbed the daycare by the human tending to it. The daycare tank is set up to rehabilitate fish before they are released back into their natural habitats. There our guppy meets Sun and Moon, two fish that live full time in this tank taking care their healing guests.

Sun and Moon and our guppy fall in love and then shit goes down.

Pearl Eye by NaffEclipse

archiveofourown.org/works/47400922

Movement. A mer swims overhead, speaking to someone, blocking out the starlight. The interloper lays a hand on the rim of the entrance but doesn’t look down just yet, and doesn’t see you, red-handed.

Your gut clenches with the urge to flee, your strength already spent in the fight moments earlier, and you heed the warning.

A Sleuth Jesters MerMay Fic

The Sea Jesters are Real Science by MatosaurusRex and sixty_nine13

archiveofourown.org/works/38833821/chapters/97107810

You stare into the glass. At first you see nothing, just a greenish-blue landscape, peaceful and ordinary. There is nothing special about it... Or so you think. As the seconds pass, two figures become more and more visible, slowly growing from two distant dots to two large figures, easily two metres tall. The two creatures stare at you, and you raise your hand, slapping it against the cold glass that holds the creatures trapped. These two beings, which until now had been considered to be legends, raise their hands to clasp yours as well. The most wonderful living beings in the world stand before you, separated by thick glass, suffering every day at the hands of greedy people.

How long will they resist this?

 ((This fic was inspired by Tumblr shenanigans and merMAY! Thank you all for inspiring us to create this <3))

And the Sea Swallowed My Screams by Burnt_Chicken_Lookin_Ass

archiveofourown.org/works/39115788/chapters/97855353#workskin

"Thalassophobia is the persistent and intense fear of deep bodies of water such as the sea, oceans, pools, lakes. [...] Thalassophobia can include fear of being in deep bodies of water, fear of the vast emptiness of the sea, of sea waves, aquatic creatures, and fear of distance from land."

You are a freelance diver. You are hired to perform difficult dives for item retrieval, research, and/or maintenance checks in less than safe underwater environments. Rule of thumb is to never dive alone; you live by that religiously. Hardly will you ever do a job without your diving partner: Iris. You have a deep seated fear of the open ocean, so if you cant see the bottom of a given body of water, then you simply wont go in.

One day, you receive a job from Fazbear inc. to retrieve the body of an employee at the request of their family. They had drowned when a company ship they worked on had spontaneously combusted and subsequently sank. The company is willing to pay big hush money to keep both the family and your retrieval team from mentioning the wreckage for some reason.

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Looking for more stories? I have a list of DCA stories sorted by type here https://www.tumblr.com/violetstormms/710457016218435584/sunmoon-fnaf-fanfic-recommendation-list   (or my pinned comment if you don’t like clicking links)

Also if you have any recommendations please leave a comment, its always fun finding new fics. :)

[platinumrosetail]

Yandere Seth x fem reader.Warning: Seth was devastated after witnessing his wedding to a fem reader. They kill her in front of him. Later that day, Seth ends up being killed anyway. Horus regrets that he could not save his sister and uncle from Osiris. He himself buries their bodies. Some time later, the reincarnated fem reader meets Seth's reincarnation again at college and meets him again years after finishing college. Both without remembering their past lives, they do not know who the other was to them. Afterwards they continue meeting again and in the end they fall in love as in their past life. But the reader, who began to remember her past life, decides to walk away, because she knows that they ended up dying because of her. In addition to possibly repeating that ending if she continues with it, she leaves one night and breaks up with Seth via text. What the fem reader does not know is that Seth began to remember his past life, which leads him to search for her. So much so that when he finds her, he chases her throughout a shopping center. She tries to escape by taking a train, but Seth ends up catching up to her in the end. However, after a few days, Seth would see her die again.

Another scenario taken from Korean kdramas, like a stairway to heaven. Sorry if the protagonist becomes Horus' sister again and ends up dying and abandoning Seth, I have a lot of trauma with protagonists like that. I'll look forward to it.

Ooooh interesting, I’ll try my best! 😁

Warning: noob author, female reader, yandere romantic character, and others.

Character: Seth.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Your and Seth’s wedding was going great as it has everything you two wanted for it until when you were walking down the isles of the alter. You were killed by flora going straight through your body some even sprouting out of your body and around like it’s trying to encase you and make you disappear.

Seth was devastated to see who was supposed to be his wife minutes later die right in front of his eyes, he immediately knew who it was from what killed you. Seth did all that he could to possibly bring you back but sadly what he did never worked he even tried remaking you from bits of his life force plus the life forces that was still in your body but it ended with him using too much and dying in the end.

Horus ended up having to bury both of you after you both had passed, he made the tomb just for you out of the powers of king of Egypt so that you two could always be together even after death. He knew that it was all his fathers fault that you and Seth had died and made the big decision of taking care of Osiris for both of you, but before he did that he intertwined you and Seth’s fate so that you two could meet and have a better life together than this one without the interference of Osiris and his obsession with Seth.

You had reincarnated into the modern time without any of your past life’s memories so you never knew that you were previously a god. You were a college student when you met a red hair gentleman that also went to your college.

You two crossed each other a few times after that until you graduated from college with the degree you wanted and after that you haven’t seen him since then.

You started getting strange memories after meeting him afterwards, at first you thought it was just silly dreams but the more it happened the more you started to think it was something like memories rather than dreams, you’ve decided to write down your dreams to see if there’s any meaning behind them and such.

Seth; the red haired man you met while you were in college, had the same dream as you but in another perspective, he realized sooner that these were memories especially after seeing you in them as well.

You two met again while at a cafe , apparently getting the same thing and thought that one of the orders was yours. You two finally decided to start staying in contact since you two always seem to run into each other, soon enough you two started dating but that’s were the dreams kept coming in constantly before a repeat of the same dream started happening.

The dream was where you were in the wedding dress and walking down a wedding alter but before you could get to it you’ve kept getting killed by flora that shot up from the ground, there was always the same people along with Seth who was at the end of the alter he always seem to be the most affected by what was happening to you each time you look at the guests at your supposed ‘wedding’.

You started to distance yourself once you got the full picture of what had happened in your previous life, your paranoia had began making scenarios if you kept seeing Seth so you decided to break it off after a month of you two being together over text as you wanted to leave without feeling even more guilty than you already do.

Seth didn’t know what to think when he got your text about breaking up with him but he knew that he needs to go after you so that you don’t get hurt or killed again. Thankfully he made it in time to catch you before you leave, he made a whole scene that you felt pressured to agree to get back with him which caused everyone there to applaud not knowing that they shouldn’t have done that if they knew and believed in the situation you’re in.

Sadly that ended real soon when while eating a salad together, flora began to grow out of you from your mouth before it covered you entirely. You both immediately knew who had done this before you died in Seth’s arms once more.

(A/n: ok i know the ending was weird but i felt walking in nature might’ve been cliche plus i didn’t know what else besides eating sunflower seeds. Anyway hoped y’all liked it! And hope y’all have a wonderful day/evening/night!!)

[kbrick]

Peak Drarry: Celebrating Incredible Writers - aibidil

Peak Drarry is a series of posts celebrating the absolute treasure trove of talented writers in this fandom, and a reminder of how lucky we are to have them here with us. I’m kicking it off with one of my all-time faves, @aibidil​. 

✨AIBIDIL✨

I’m guessing there are very few people involved in the Drarry fandom who haven’t heard of aibidil. Aibidil has been showering us with quality fic since 2017 and has over sixty offerings on AO3. Her works were some of the first I consumed when I fell headfirst into Drarry during covid, and had a lot to do with my desire to write my own. I still distinctly remember being blown away by A Hag, a Hex, a Tale of Redemption, by how aibidil had managed to create such a compelling, funny, and heartfelt fuck-or-die fic, one that stood out from the rest. So, why should you read aibidil’s fic? Here are a few reasons:

They are creative and get you thinking

Sometimes there’s a trope or two thrown into the mix, but even then, the trope is merely a jump-off point into something much bigger. Trope: Ginny and Harry break up and Harry finds solace in and then love with Draco. Aibidil comes along and says, okay, fine, but make the problem Ginny’s unwanted pregnancy, have Harry experience emotional turmoil over that fact (not that Harry-Abandonment-Issues-Should-Be-My-Middle-Name-Potter identifies with an unwanted fetus, no, of course not), have him spend the rest of the story sorting through his complicated feelings, and make the whole thing a testament to reproductive choice (this fic is called (Un)wanted, by the way. It’s incredible). Trope: Malfoy wears a skirt and Harry goes feral. Aibidil’s take? Malfoy wears the skirt because he and Hermione are leading a protest against the gendered, outdated Ministry dress codes (Beards, Booty Shorts, and Binaries).

Abidil’s stories don’t always skew political (although I love when they do), but they always have something to say. In A Hag, a Hex, a Tale of Redemption, Draco must come to terms with what it means to love someone, and how consent plays into that (does a lie negate consent?). Truth and love also play a role in When Times Are Dire, when Harry and Draco must pretend to marry to save the world. But is it pretend when they really are joining their lives and families together?

Beyond the deeper moral and ethical questions present in these stories, aibidil’s fic always manages to be creative and interesting. Abidil comes up with some of the most inventive sorts of magic (you really have to read her latest, Always Already, for one of the most thoughtful depictions of magical time travel I’ve ever read). Her premises can be angsty, like what if Astoria tells Scorpius—on her death bed no less—that he is actually Draco’s child with Harry (when by now and tree by leaf)? They can also be downright silly, like what if Draco can’t stop hiccoughing for days (Upside Down, Holding One’s Breath)? But one thing of which you can be certain: they’re never, ever boring.

They’re a master class in characterization

So, aibidil can dream up interesting, different, thought-provoking storylines, yes. But she also gets it right when it comes to characterization. Her Harry and Draco are always recognizable to me, no matter how evolved and changed they’ve become. There is something essential there, something true to the characters we know and love, that is ever present. And I think that’s because aibidil truly empathizes with and cares about her characters. This knack for getting in a character’s headspace means that aibidil is able to create some of the most fully formed, well rounded and realistically portrayed versions of Harry and Draco I’ve read. Whether it’s Harry in When Times are Dire enjoying the way his children sort of take his love for granted (because Harry wants that for them so badly, wants to be a constant, unquestioned source of support in their lives) or Draco in Always Already shoving down his snark in order to be as inoffensive as possible as a sort of penance for the war, you both recognize and feel for these characters. They’re flawed and imperfect, but they’re trying, and you love them for it.

There are moments in aibidil’s fic that leave me breathless because of how well they nail down the essence of a character in just a few words, or a single exchange or situation. For instance, in When Times Are Dire, Draco and Harry take a trip to the zoo and Draco buys Harry an absurdly enormous ice cream sundae after Harry recalls a time his aunt and uncle bought one for Dudley but not him. “Harry found himself at a loss for words,” aibidil writes. “He thought he’d worked through his childhood zoo issues. He’d been here so many times as an adult, without the abuse of the Dursleys. He had so many wonderful memories here, so many trips with his kids. But no one had ever bought Harry an ice cream before [emphasis mine].” The way Draco understands Harry, and the way he helps Harry to understand something about himself in such an everyday sort of scene is beautiful.

In Pure Imagination, Harry and Draco, experiencing depression after the war, are given a potion that allows them to tap into their imaginations completely, the way a child would. They have an excellent time on the potion together, imagining all sorts of things, including taking a trip to a Muggle skate park (together), which they agree to do at a later date. But afterward, Harry retreats and doesn’t go to the skate park (a decision that gives us incredible insight into the Harry of this story, come to think of it). In their joint trip to the counselor’s office later, Draco tells the counselor that imagination is dangerous because it opens people up to disappointment. “It’s smart that I don’t allow myself delusions like thinking I can somehow have a fulfilling career, even given my past,” he says. “It’s smart that I don’t allow myself the delusion of thinking Potter might want to spend time with me when he’s not high on a fucking imagination potion.”

And doesn’t this cut right to the heart of Draco? Whether he’s being cruel the way he was in canon, or being cool and indifferent, the way he is at the beginning of Pure Imagination, he is someone who struggles to believe in his own self-worth, and has found an entire arsenal’s worth of methods to hide this fact, even, sometimes, from himself. 

They’re just so damn funny

And finally, I would be remiss if I didn’t mention one of the absolute best things about aibidil’s stories. Because on top of incredible storylines and beautiful character work, aibidil is fucking hilarious. I don’t think I’ve ever read through anything of hers without laughing out loud. Oftentimes, the humor is situational, like in When Times Are Dire when Harry and Draco tell their children that they’re in a relationship (when they’re actually not) and proceed to have one of the most awkward exchanges of all time with them, which leads to Harry clarifying that they are together ‘sexually’ (He says that. To his children.). Or in Auld Acquaintance, when Harry comes through the floo looking like a teenager and Draco finds himself torn between the ghost of attraction his own teenaged self had for this version of Harry and the fact that to his mature, grandfatherly eye, Harry looks “doughy…like an underbaked infant.” Or in Starve Your Distractions, Feed Your Focus, when a coupled-up Harry and Draco have to work out with a very sexy Neville, who is wearing joggers that leave little to the imagination.

Sometimes, though, the hilarity is in the form of amazing dialogue (her Harry and Draco banter is always top-tier) or of others’ observations of the Drarry dynamic, like when Neville says (in Always Already) this about Harry and Draco’s teasing of one another: “Don't mind them. It's like their little traumatised child-warrior foreplay or something.” Aibidil is always aware of the story she’s telling, and of the Drarry-ness of it all. These are not simple men, and theirs is never a typical, simple relationship, and you know what? That can be funny. As Harry says in When Times are Dire: "Ah yes. I'm a cheap date. All it takes to get me in bed is to almost kill each other, survive a war together, work together over decades, have children who fall in love and get married, get married for political reasons, pretend to be in love for two years to all friends and relatives, become grandparents together, and take a controlled substance to open up enough to tell each other the truth. That's all."

See? Easy.

Finally, I shouldn’t leave out the fact that aibidil’s acronyms are the best of all time (her most recent fic’s C.O.C.K. is my new favorite, but there are oodles of excellent ones).

Recommended For…

Everyone. Listen, if you enjoy laughing, or exciting and original storylines, or fic that makes you think, or fic that reveals the beating hearts of our favorite characters, aibidil’s catalog of work is for you. There is angst in places, there is smut in places, but that’s not really the point of her fic. The point is the journey, the character development, and the ridiculous amount of joy and energy contained in all of these stories. Here are a few you might want to check out, but honestly, you can’t go wrong with anything she’s written.

Top 3 Fics Over 25,000 Words (by kudos)

Dating for Dads in Denial (25k) - In which one wizard designs and another reluctantly patronises a magical matchmaking service, amidst the chaos of children and parenting.

when by now and tree by leaf (46k) - When Scorpius Malfoy is saying goodbye to his dying mother, he doesn't expect to hear her confess, "Your father slept with another man and became pregnant with you." 

Moldova’s Magical Tea (32k) - Neville Longbottom, Luna Lovegood, and—to everyone’s surprise—Draco Malfoy are opening a magical tea shop to revive wizarding tea culture. Harry, who is unemployed and trying to find his way in post-war society, wants to help his friends with their new business—but that means spending a lot of time around Malfoy. 

Top 3 Fics Under 25,000 Words (by kudos)

Back to You (8k) - The eighth years make Harry and Malfoy go head to head and back to back in a question-and-answer drinking game. The worst that can happen is they end up drunk, right?

The Usual (9k) - Harry finally tries the new magical coffee shop on Diagon Alley. A story in which Draco is Up To Something™ and Harry is going to get to the bottom of it, and to the bottom of that sixteen ounce to-go cup.

Beards, Booty Shorts, and Binaries (9k) - Harry was hoping for a quiet day at the office, but Hermione and Draco are waging a war on discrimination with beards and skirts.

Kbrick’s Picks (in order of obsession)

When Times Are Dire (130k) - Magical Britain is screwed, and it's once again up to Harry to save it. This time, by marrying Draco Malfoy.

Always Already (170k) -  It's 2004: Harry teaches primary school and loves his job and friends; It's 1980: Harry has to fight Voldemort, again; It's 2004: Draco is a trainee Healer and reformed member of society; It's 1980: Draco has to face his father's cruelty; It's 2004: Harry and Draco definitely aren't lonely or depressed or traumatised; It's 1980: Harry and Draco listen to Kate Bush and watch Dallas and drive a 1979 Ford Cortina; It's 2004, it's 1980, it's...

Pure Imagination (15k) - An eighth-year tale of depressed happiness, reluctant imagination, and conflicted hope. And skateboarding.

.

[trashpie420]

Lokius AU: Bewitched

Single dad Mobius is trying to raise his two sons the best he can ever since his wife ran off with another man.

Living in a suburban town where everything has basically been the same since as long as he can remember soon has a new shop opening up across from his Watercraft store. Him and the other towns people are unsure of how to feel about a “Magick” store open up shop there. To make matters more interesting Mobius finds out the supposed guy moved across the street, making Mobius afraid that his kids might get involved in “satanic rituals”. The neighborhood is afraid the new guy is some evil cultist trying to corrupt their town and he might be some freak.

One day when Mobius gets home from work he catches his sons playing with an Ouija board and is upset stating that it’s “dark stuff” and “evil” which he lectures them into telling him where they got it. Sean ratting out Kevin stating they went in to check it out and the owner sold it to them. Mobius furious about this decides to give the owner a “piece of his mind”. As soon as Mobius bust through the shops doors his plans change when he sees the hot middle aged goth man sitting on a stool at the counter with a name plate in cursive saying Loki. Unable to decide on rather he should scold the guy or ask for his number, he ask him for his boss who sold his sons an Ouija board to which the man admits it was him.

Loki admits to selling it to them and even apologizes stating he didn’t think it was an issue since they claimed they’re dad gave them the money for it and even offers him a refund. Möbius surprised at how sincere and generous Loki is even though Mobius originally planned on yelling/shouting at him feels bad and apologizes for making a big deal about it saying he shouldn’t have blamed it on him.

Both end up talking more and more to each other leading Mobius into realizing that Loki isn’t some satanic cultist creep who moved into the neighborhood but actually a good guy.

However over time Mobius realizes he might have fallen for Loki. Seeing him across the street practicing yoga/meditation in his yard, making candles in his garage, watching him across the street from his workplace drink tea and hearing him go on and on about the books he reads. All these things have been on his mind. But that isn’t all, he starts seeing Loki in his dreams and even has thoughts of Loki & him together. This has caused him to be distracted from work & at home.

At one point he gets the courage to ask Loki out which to his surprise Loki agrees. On their date Mobius sees Loki looking very “different” and dressed more feminine to which Loki tells Mobius that he is gender-fluid and goes by he/she/they pronouns. Being the suburban small town coast man he is, he isn’t used to this kind of stuff but is very accepting of it as regardless to what Loki is he finds Loki beautiful and amazing in every way.

The two move in together quite fast, and most of Möbius’s friends/colleagues think Mobius is head over heels for the tall gothic man. Some people have doubted that they are together seeing as how someone who is a typical dad trope is dating a literal tatted, goth guy.

To add Loki tells Mobius about his life before moving into Möbius’s neighborhood stating that he actually used to be a model and dated some asshole who called himself the “grandmaster”, he also mentions his strained relationship with his family and how he moved to start fresh away from all the negative attention/energy they were giving him. Mobius also opens up about his divorce stating he wished he was a better husband and he blames himself for his kids not seeing their mom (his ex wife left him & the kids to start a new life).

The two end up falling head over heels for eachother and end up getting engaged. Mobius always has to tell the story of how Loki “bewitched” him and put a “love spell” on him which makes Loki roll they’re eyes.

Hope you enjoy this AU, anyone can take it and do whatever with it. I might write this as a fanfic in the future tbh.

[foster-the-world]

Such different ideas

I follow Rebecca of Fosterhood on Twitter. I assume I am not the only one who remembers her? She was the single foster mom who adopted two girls very close in age from foster care. When I was looking into foster care I was pretty obsessed with her post. One of the adoptions took seven years and it sounds like their agency was especially terrible/invasive. Although she didn’t always come off great in all of her stories but who does??

Anyway they are on a fancy vacation in the Cayman Islands. She posted a picture of them sitting on a terrace eating a fancy breakfast. She said something about how she would worry about spoiling them but because they are foster to adopt kids they deserve a soft life. Interesting concept but nothing I’ve ever thought. I know her older daughter was more traumatized by foster care because she had visits and uncertainity for seven years. My kids were both three when adopted. They never had to deal with any uncertainties. Foster care was annoying for us as parents but not hard on my kids day to day life. Anyway maybe that’s the difference.

I do worry about spoiling my children - they have things I could never have dreamed of as a kid. Our financial situation is better then my parents so that trickles down to the kids. I love traveling so my kids have done more trips then a vast majority of adults. I travel hack and we prioritize over other things but still can only do it because we are very privileged. We have decided the benefits of travel out weigh the downsides of “spoiling” them. We’ve actively avoided the schools where the student population is very well off because they are never diverse but also because we want economic diversity. And again privileged to have another public school option. We don’t want our kids to think everyone is rich and white/asian - which is a nyc problem because the economic disparity is so high. So we worry about spoiling them and in some ways do but its unrelated to their adoption status. I would never think well it’s okay if Bee/baby boy gets something fancy but not Rebel.

We totally acknowledge the loss of adoption. That loss is multiplied when you are adopted outside of your culture. We will do what we can (therapy, relationships with bio family, living in diverse areas) to help them through those things. And also I think recognize there is no “getting through” such a big loss. Our kids can have wonderful lives and still always have to live with what it means to lose your birth parents. They will have to grapple with that and decide what it means to them. That’s not something a fancy vacation is going to make up for. Obviously Fosterhood wasn’t implying it would but still didnt sit right with me. I also don’t think of my adopted kids as victims that deserve repayment. It’s something they will have to deal with but everyone has something they have to work with. The loss that comes with adoption is a big one, no doubt, but they aren’t the only ones who have to deal with big loss. Anyway guess I’m just grappling myself with balancing recognizing my children’s loss without making it define them. In the end I mostly know it has nothing to do with what I think. As they grow they will decide what being adopted means to them and we will follow their lead.

[midnight-in-town]

About Casca, it’s me or are they keeping her “jailed” and busy in a way that’s nothing like her ? It’s as if Griffith doesn’t remember what his ex right hand is all about… don’t get me wrong, I know he can’t give her a sword, but pretty dresses, calm days, making flower crowns with kids, who is he even kidding?

Hey Anon! Well I more or less agree but, as you said, Griffith drugged Casca so she wouldn't escape, so what else is there to do? x) At least she can go outside and see the sun...

That being said, reading the chapter, it really made me remember episode 72 during the Golden Age, when tortured!Griffith imagined what his life as Casca's companion would be:

Back then, powerless as he was after being tortured so much, he realized his dream became unachievable. Since he knew Casca used to have feelings for him and hearing that she couldn't leave him behind in such a state, he dreadfully imagined what his life would become, driven by (what he imagined was) Casca's wishes. Of course, that scared the hell out of him and he chose to become Femto soon after.

Now, in ep372, it really seems to me that it's the other way around: powerless and drugged, Casca is experiencing what Griffith's dream is all about and what life she might have had, if she had clung onto his dream like she used to do.

With Falconia, Griffith almost managed to get his kindgom, even if he still needs to wed Charlotte to get the official crown.

So if the Eclipse hadn't happened and Casca had remained by Griffith's side, like an obedient right hand woman who used to have feelings for her leader, it's likely that she would have become an honorable lady living in the castle, especially since women who are warriors a rare feat in Berserk (which btw caused Casca some feminity issues in the past).

Obviously though, that's all imaginary because the reality depicted in ep372 is pretty different from the Golden Age. As we know, Griffith became Femto and sacrificed the very people who always believed in him ; also Casca has feelings for Guts and is now Griffith's prisoner but...

...she was indeed abducted because she's indispensable to the realization of his dream, because Griffith wants to keep a good and tighter grasp over his own vessel, the moonlight child, so I find it's a cool parallel.

TL;DR what Casca is currently experiencing against her will and drugged in ep372 is probably what her life could have been like...

...if Guts hadn't made her realize that she didn't have to live by clinging onto another person's dream.

All that being said, I'm really hoping that Casca will soon get her agency back, because she deserves it and because I know she's capable of protecting herself without Guts necessarily being around, even if for that, she's going to need allies... :)) (see below)

Sorry for rambling Anon, but I hope it helps ! Have a nice day. :))

Hey Anon! Well, don't worry, there are always several possibilities !

Casca could manage to escape the castle for a short time and to come across them for example, even if I agree it's hard to imagine it now, seeing as she's drugged.

Personally, my favorite idea is the castle needing new maids and one of the girls getting hired as a replacement, seeing "Elaine" again and wondering why she's without Guts.

Or, considering that Daiba gave them diamonds when Rickert and co left Falconia, they probably don't have to work anymore...

...so maybe they will get a glimpse of "Elaine" as a (drugged) court lady (during Griffith and Charlotte's wedding ?) and wonder why she's there, thus getting hired as maids to get in touch with her?

Either way, I think it's very likely that Luca and the rest of the girls will be Casca's first allies and will help her overcome the whole 'being drugged' obstacle. :))

As for other possible allies at a later time, I discussed it a few years ago here, but I'm interested in Casca's presence in Falconia maybe acting as a catalyst leading to more development for Zodd, Sonia & Mule but also and mostly Charlotte.

Indeed, as a fan of the few interactions we had between Casca and Charlotte back during the Golden Age (because on this blog, we dislike competition between women and support women bonding over similar goals), I'm really hoping that Charlotte will eventually realize, upon seeing Casca, that the man she loves is an absolute monster and that, as a result, she will find it in her to step up as the rightful monarch of this kingdom.

We've still got some looong ways to go before we reach this point though, obviously.

I hope it answers your question, have a nice day Anon!

[justlarkin]

Continuation: The reason why Monomasa wanted to talk to MC was because he was hoping that they'd be able to convince Drovain to absorb the rest of him because Drovain will die if he doesn't. MC isn't really down with this request because their job is to observe heroes' dreams and Drovain's dream is for Monomasa to be able to come out and finally live his life without being controlled by others. Asking Drovain to give up on his dream would go against their job and, quite frankly, Drovain seems to care more about Monomasa's wellbeing than his own, so he wouldn't be down with it regardless. Monomasa and Drovain are both eventually going to be screwed if this doesn't happen though, unless MC pulls some shenanigans, so MC has some stuff to think about.

Danzo was actually listening to their conversation, so in the morning when he sees MC internally stressing about the situation, he decides to distract them from it by being obnoxious, which is nice of him imho.

Galvo finally ends up remembering that he's actually heard about an observer named MC from Exio. About them being a Unique, bringing back Mt. Fuji, that their power and skill are a mess, but they're on their way to becoming something... which shouldn't be possible since that all occurred in the present world and MC should be the only MC present. Exio would also tell Galvo that he couldn't meet MC when he asked about it. Exio was telling others about how based and OP MC is, ain't that sweet? Or ominous? Why not both? It's interesting how much he divulged to Galvo since he's usually so secretive, even around Seiichiro and his gang. MC wasn't even something he would have to mention at any point since Galvo didn't know about them, it was unprompted. Maybe Exio feels comfortable mentioning the things going on in the present world to him because he figured that it was a separate world and nothing would come from it if he knew. I'm choosing to believe he just uses Galvo to vent and traumadump on because he doesn't want to pay for therapy.

So anyways, the gang comes to the conclusion that Galvo's Exio and their Exio are most likely the same guy and bro has been using his power to world hop or that Galvo's Exio and their Exio have been communicating. According to Monomasa, this seems to line up with Exio making random schedule changes as if he knew the future, which would be possible if he already experienced these events in other worlds or if he's getting a heads up from someone.

The current objective is to flip Exio's bricks and get back to their own world, and by extension Danzo can back to his master. MC starts getting the feeling that Seiichiro's order for Danzo to protect MC might be getting in Danzo's way, which seems to be true since he seems to be hindered in battle while protecting them. MC can finally understand what Monomasa meant by Drovain being incomplete and weaker while he's around.

MC ends up talking about feeling bad for getting in Danzo's way, which Danzo "nuh uhs", and this leads to a conversation about the relationship and trust between heroes and operators, trust being a two-way street for them. Galvo asks MC who is that ideal hero that they can put their trust in and the game makes you choose between Akashi, Mokdai, and Sui. As you can see, it's red, so this option is important and the game WILL REMEMBER it for later. I would've picked Sui, but went with Akashi since I know that from a narrative point, Akashi is the one who desires MC's trust and faith the most.

Galvo requests that MC put the same trust they'd put in that chosen hero in all of them for now and work together. Monomasa seems to take his words into consideration, so maybe they'll work things out between Drovain and Monomasa at some point with a collaboration of some sort. Galvo then suggests that MC just order Danzo around, so they won't feel like a hindrance to him and, you know, teamwork, which both of them go along with.

They get to the place Exio and Galvo crashed, so that MC can try to open up a path to their world, but they discover that the area is too unstable to do so. Danzo shows them that the facility stats Grigory showed them earlier are waaay over what they should be and ominously says something that can be summarized as "we're probs boned" before the screen statics out.

[tinylongwing]

For the top 5/top 10 meme: top character arcs!

Oh jeez! Okay this is awesome, let me dig deep into my brain. Also there's no way I remember every character arc I've ever witnessed so this is just gonna be the first good ones that come to mind, haha.

For my Lord Huron folks, I'm going with Lee Green as one answer. Girl!! You champion! Takes off on her own to try and make a career work for herself in the big city of Los Angeles after bailing on 1960s Detroit and her loser boyfriend. Winds up hooked on vide noir while in the clutches of Z'Oiseau who basically just collects pretty girls as temporary trophies because he's some fucking cosmic horror creep I guess, but somehow she gets out of that? Kicks her addiction, takes back her stage name and releases multiple albums and lives her dreams. Lee, how did you manage this when basically every other character winds up dead or suffering or missing. Good heavens.

And no okay I can't resist, I'm putting another LH-er in here because my boy Johnnie Redmayne is too ridiculous. Is this even a character arc? Yes. Kid lives a life of joyous violence and hedonism in a gang, risk-taking coupled with a need to support his friends and family monetarily leads to his kidnapping and murder, but then he's like fuck that, death sucks! I don't want to die, that's boring and also getting murdered via cosmic horror drug overdose is a real big nightmare which probably unlocked some really terrible secrets he'd rather not reflect on. Nope, better to just come back, now undead, out of sheer stubborn refusal to accept death! That's way cooler. Party on, haunting desert travelers forever. Child, you're doing great and I support you.

Okay, One Piece is also like ridiculously chock full of amazing characters with the world's most unnecessarily fleshed out and traumatizing backstories, and everyone who knows me knows that I'm very much here for Trafalgar Law. Yeah yeah, and Rosinante, but look, Law is the actual major character here who grows so much as he sees his whole world burning down around him as a child, goes from self-destructive and nihilistic to learning to trust and love people again to the point where he will always put himself in harm's way before even letting anyone touch a hair on his crew's heads. Such a wholesome goth. So much found family.

Having relatively recently watched Twin Peaks (FINALLY I know) I have to put Dale Cooper in here. This is not a positive character arc, this is a man whose joy and brilliance and successes against some really dark forces led him to thinking he was capable of anything in the pursuit of justice and truth. Turns out that was probably wrong! Whoops! And now he's possibly doomed? Look, the ending of Twin Peaks is massively open-ended but Cooper is very much a deeply tragic character and I'm kind of obsessed with tragedy and bad endings.

And I'm going to stop at five or I'll never get any work done, so fifth here will be.... hm. You know what, Seo-bi from Netflix's Kingdom. I can't get enough of characters in a scientific or medical sort of role in period dramas, I think that's very very good (and Goodsir from The Terror was a very near fifth choice here for some similar reasons). But I love Seo-bi in particular because she has knowledge, she uses it, she perseveres despite so many challenges including politics and also literal zombies, and the show continually throws a couple of characters at her that look like they're supposed to be love interests and she's always like NO! Fuck off! I'm doing important medical work here, I have no time for kissing!!! And that's very powerful of her and I love that for her so much. I'm sad that this series appears to be on hold maybe forever now.

[huellitaa]

ྀི ୨ embarrassment ୧ ྀི

...is a social construct designed to make us feel bad by those who cant handle their own mistakes & or shortcomings.

seriously. like. it baffles me how people are still living in the mindset where they let embarrassment become anything more for them than a concept.

୨୧ embarrassment

- a feeling of self-consciousness, shame, or awkwardness.

embarrassment is perfectly normal. it happens to everyone because we all make mistakes. but some people let embarrassment and the fear of embarrassment consume them and the choices they make far too much, far too often.

♡ which leads me onto my first point; it is completely normal. everybody makes mistakes. this is our first time in this life and we are all learning & growing with our every choice, every action, every decision <3 remember that the next time youre panicking and freaking out because you made a mistake.

♡ its never that deep. i like to try be gentle w this stuff but lemme tell u straight no one actually cares . im serious,, like babes no one gives a shit honestly 😭😭 and your mentality should be the same. people remember this stuff n laugh for 5 mins and then theyre back to their life. and if they hang on to it for longer then theyre the one who should be embarrassed.. get a life pls??

♡ similar to what i said a moment ago , its. never. that. deep. laugh it off !!!!! giggle !!!!!! laugh about it !!!!!!!! nobody cares !!!!!! this shows that it doesnt faze you and this shows how confident you are within yourself that you dont let silly little mistakes bother you because they do not matter.

♡ when it comes to your interests, please never be embarrassed about these. this is something ive struggled with since i was little but never never never be embarassed of the things that bring you joy. if they arent hurting anyone and are perfectly okay you should never be embarrassed ab that. it makes you happy. why should you be ashamed of that for someone else???🩷

♡ has someone ever said something to you? made u doubt urself? then you get embarrassed ab it???? dont. do not even go there. i ws so insecure before (i know😭😭) and couldnt hold a single opinion for myself but when you know who tf you are you wont be doubting yourself for anyone ml.

♡ so... you wanna pursue your dreams but ur too embarrassed. ur too embarrassed and worried "what if this doesnt work" "what if it doesnt happen" n whatever other dumb shit ur worried abt and scared to outgrow your surroundings and evolve. wow. you know how silly that sounds? so.. like.. let me get this straight... youre telling me... that youre not doing what you love... for the sake of someone else or some silly little doubts????wow. you get one life n youre doing that. GET IT TOGETHER BABES. GET REAL. WHY WOULD U SABOTAGE URSELF LIKE THAT????? YOURE WORTH SO MUCH MORE THAN THAT LIKE 😭😭🩷🩷🩷🩷

♡ understand that peoples perceptions of you are often reflections of themselves just like your perceptions of others are often reflections of yourself. they think its embarrassing because they know for a fact deep down that theyd be too embarrassed and self conscious to do it themselves.

♡ and then watch the way they'll all come crawling back apologising and grovelling the moment you're rich and successful and got everything you ever wanted.. all because you had the confidence to trust in yourself and pursue what you wanted without listening to their self doubts. <3

♡ reverse psychology. "why r u doing that" "thats so cringey" why r u so wrapped up in my business? thats so cringey

♡ overall, confidence, strong self concept & trusting in your ability to bounce back from anything are the three main things that will never let you wallow in this silly little emotion again. embarrassment is like a pitiful, more insignificant, ridiculous version of fear. if ur gonna be scared then b scared of something worth ur time babe ur more than that <33

[dollgutssss]

hypnotic film opus

୨ৎ Choso is a hypnotic experience that stimulates all the vital organs. 𝄢۫.ࣨ. ݁

gummo apnea series. + rockstar! au choso (actually, he and his trashy band)

warnings — mentions of cinematographic violence, somewhat violent thoughts, religion (just a bit), first-person narration, honestly, this sucks, implied/referenced drug use. are more ramblings than anything else anddd fem OC

HAD SEEN "CANNIBAL HOLOCAUST" for the first time after seeing the T-shirt of a character from the Spanish movie "Tesis" and my stomach was not in the best state. The feeling was familiar to me: the typical anxious nausea when waking up in the morning or the taste after some unpleasant event that makes me aware of my internal organism. The important thing is that it was late spring, the power had gone out in the Audiovisual Faculty and the generator was not working due to overheating. Walking to the main auditorium was a torture because, every time I saw a person, I imagined them impaled like on the cover of that disgusting movie. So, everything around had a strange vibe like when one wakes up at six o'clock on Sundays after a supposed half-hour nap that stretched to seven. My stomach moved, one of its walls did and I thought about going back home, but I could not miss the presentation of the photozine or video art in which I signed as a collaborator in art direction and costume, and also, where I posed in some shots.

Many times, as I walked along, I wondered what the point was —specifically, the second film I saw—. What was the need? Why was it so disgusting? What was the point of making such a film? It occurred to me in between musings, at the entrance to the auditorium, that it was supposed to feel disgusting. It was meant to be something difficult to watch as if you got a merit out of it. I was meant to end the film feeling dizzy and nauseated. As dazed as if someone had shaken me hard by the shoulders and yelled as loud as they could directly into my ear as if in a fever dream. That kind of footage had no comfort, no soothing or melancholy effect even in misery. It just drained me by making big gashes.

In the main auditorium of the faculty there was electric light and everything worked well, since it had a system detached from that of the building. The place had been rented for a few hours to a group of students for the presentation. Inside, everything is dark except for the abstract play of cold lights and the big screen with the cover of the photozine. Behind me, there were still people entering or leaving. I took off my headphones as I walked a little further in because I wasn't even paying attention to The Police song that had been playing for about 4 minutes anyway. When I took my cell phone out of my pocket, its light was annoying to my eyes. Also annoying was the low battery I had left in the device and my poor ability to recognize people was still bothering my bones —I was waiting to greet the team I collaborated with and go sit down—.

"Bekka, I thought you wouldn't make it. Here, these three are from the first batch of photozines."

"Woah, thanks" I say as I flip through the first few pages without stopping to look at each photograph. Not because I had no interest, but because the colored light wouldn't let me visualize, so, long story short, I stuffed the three photozines into the cloth bag. Maki looked busy leading the others, her hair looks straighter than usual and it looks like she painted her hair roots again. "I'll go sit over there. Good luck."

The hours were not good. It wasn't crowded like a local fair, but even that was pretty good for a small college project. Maki glances at me a couple of times before I leave to find a seat. I should be next to her during the presentation on the screen. But I had asked that they not put my name in the credits. Not even a pseudonym.

Is it some form of self-sabotage?

I didn't know.

I've been living like this my whole life. I remembered the movie again. I climbed the steps, to go to the upper seats, my foot feeling my way up, afraid to jump a step because of the darkness. It's in no one's best interest to sit upstairs if I wanted to pay close attention to the video art, but I remembered there was an electrical outlet on the seat to the left and I needed to charge my cell phone battery.

Someone was sitting there. I sat down next to him, without any embarrassment. The truth is that I hadn't seen him until I was already very close, so I had no choice. I turned to see him, unable to stand the slightest curiosity to know the identity of the person and then I realized that I actually already knew him: Choso Kamo, bassist of an underground rock band of which I momentarily forgot the name. Well, at that moment I didn't know him. Know is a deep word and, actually, I hadn't exchanged a single word with him before. I had gone to some of his band's shows, when they played in open garages, basements —my most beloved basement parties, where everything looked like it was going to fall apart if we jumped around too much and where I dreamed of finding a catacomb when I opened the washing machine, but in reality I was just really drunk— and those kinds of places. They were various college bands, quite a few and of all kinds. Choso's was one of many, though a bit more «popular» - in the most underground sense possible, if that's possible - because of their vocalist: a rich kid, like so many around here, but surprisingly good-looking. Good-looking like a husky. Choso, on the other hand, was pretty as an owl that looks sideways at three in the morning or as a puppy you kick by chance and with whom you have to apologize every time you remember that event because you think he doesn't understand you.

The latter were assumptions I had. I was surprised to see him at the photozine presentation.

"Can you charge my cell phone in the outlet next to me," I asked him. He was charging his cell phone too, it was obvious from the seat he had chosen. Choso looks at me out of the corner of his eye, or so I thought, the darkness and the purple and blue tones didn't allow me to notice it for so long.

He doesn't say anything, he just sees my hand outstretched slightly at his side, which holds the cell phone and my charger. His pale fingers take my things and then his dark eyes analyze me, he is vague, tired. Two eyes like little black olives or the eight ball in pool. I never played pool. I don't eat olives often either, only green ones.

"I think your hand is stained." Choso points from his seat to the back of my hand. I was a little surprised that he noticed it. He didn't say a word before and then seemed to analyze something about me.

"It's a scorch mark. It's in the shape of Czechoslovakia."

"Czechoslo... What?"

His confused face coincides with the start of the music and the microphone test.

"Czechoslovakia."

It was a little weird. I didn't imagine him impaled in the middle of a jungle, but my stomach was still churning and I felt a need to sink four fingers under my ribs to move the order of my organs a bit. Kind of a silly feeling. It reminded me of all the times I felt a lack of wisdom, as if I had been born with nothing special. I turned to look at him again because I sensed he was sending me neurological signals and only the hairs on my left arm —the side where he was— twitched.

The projector turned on to play the video art and slides. Our faces changed color in the light.

"I've seen you before," he commented, nonchalant. His tied-back hair gave a coolness.

"I haven't."

"But I've seen you seeing me."

"Do you remember all the people you see when you walk down the street?"

"But it was in Fushiguro's basement."

"I was just teasing you. I'm Bekka."

"I know. I'm Choso."

"I know your name."

"It seemed appropriate to say it."

He had a je ne sais quoi. Or I did. He pursed his lips softly, as if he was holding back from saying something half-heartedly because he didn't want to smile anyway. His nose and lips reminded me of Japanese shoegaze and his eyes of protopunk fibers: though they seemed affable and bored, there was a hint of hostility, as if he wasn't used to talking to people he didn't know. Unclassifiable. A bit confrontational. In everything there is movement. It disturbs me, I can suddenly feel every last nerve and it's kind of annoying in a bad and good way.

"Oh... You appear there," he points. His shirt was light and suddenly I was more aware of myself and my bony wrists.

The big screen photograph was not a perfectly staged scene. Maki's tastes and mine were beautiful messes, so the goal was that; decadence and anonymity, ignorance as the seed of happiness, patience as an anti-value. Seeing myself, in a photograph projected to scale, is like trying to learn to live again and I didn't like that. But the elements were carefully placed: my figure in the corner of the room, unbathed, short tank top that showed my nipples, white underwear that looked dirty and half yellowed. Actually, I was sitting in a lot of dirty clothes. I had the chubby bulldog of one of my classmates next to me, my hair was dirty and in my lap was a wilted aster flower with missing petals.

The title of the photograph: «Philocalia»

Choso looked. I know he looked for quite a while as there was more silence than usual.

"Geto's neighbor also has a bulldog" Choso spoke suddenly, but his eyes were still fixed on the screen.

"Does he really?"

"Yes. It's called Cannibal Holocaust."

"You're kidding me."

"I don't know how to joke," he replied with some embarrassment, shrugging his shoulders. "I'm serious."

"I saw the movie before I came to college today and it was the worst mistake of my life."

"Cannibal Holocaust is a movie?"

"Ah, you weren't kidding."

I laughed.

Her ears turned red almost instantly. Conversations felt fast every time they started as if, milliseconds after he closed his mouth, I already had an answer on the tip of my tongue and vice versa. I looked at him for a few seconds, long enough for him to have seen me blink uncomfortably about three times and still not feel strange, quite apart from the fact that his body automatically stopped breathing. So, he had to think about it five more times.

Even everything about the video art felt like a cheap excuse of time, a divine being or invisible threads for him to finally talk to me. Or for me to talk to him. I spoke to him first. So it was Choso's wish, time's favorite, Buddha, God, invisible threads, red ribbons, destiny.

Our encounters escalated from that day, I'm afraid to say. I don't know to what extent or how intimate we became. It felt like Motion Picture Soundtrack, maybe from minute 2:15, in the solitude of the room. Or maybe something from the beginning, when he sang the cheap sex and sad films part, because it summed up my daily life when I used to rot in the guest room and never in my own. I went to a few shows of his band, invited by him and maybe we talked more about Riot grrrl, and he looked more punk rock and I looked more Bikini Kill style, or a Bikini Kill cover that sounded much worse with narcotics on top while I pissed with the cubicle door open, sleepy eyes and his figure on his back, pouring the last of them into the urinal. Every time he opens his mouth I am reminded of something —the least bit violent— in constant rupture, like tearing his dress to cover the bleeding, slowly ripping out the page of an adult magazine - and we are both adult enough now to keep referring to that magazine in a "formal" childlike manner— to make notes and counts of money earned and spent over the legs of a girl who resembled Belle de Jour.

Somehow or other, people change. Choso was no exception. But, I was already used to his screeching guitar and the bad trip feeling I got from his shaky voice over video call. I had already learned and gotten used to being a poor college student, living the dog years: going from a domestic one raised with sticks and strings around my neck to a street one scavenging and kicked out of every place, where every day is an unfruitful jam.

"My mother once told me something stupid, like I shouldn't hang out with people who didn't have parents or didn't know them. Because they would wilt me," I once remarked, lying on my stomach on his bed, dissecting flowers and crushing them in old books. He was sitting on the floor, next to the freshly laundered carpet, his chin on the edge of the bed, watching. Watching. "I don't even know my dad, so I think she was just trying to curse me out."

His eyes were lighter because the sun was shining full in his face.

"That's kind of a weird way of putting it. Her mouth dropped open, wanting to say something else. He hadn't slept that day so he teared up because of that, or maybe something else. I close the book and place a heavier one on top. I settled a little to reach for it. "You shouldn't remember stuff like that." he says.

"Hmm, well, who knows."

Children of the same inflorescence. The first four-legged, four-armed human in the month-long introductory philosophy class. The anatomy of the hug, interrupted mitosis, Siamese twins, two mirrors, the two for one deals on cans of booze at 7-Eleven. I liked watching him. It's different. My skin gets like a chicken's. Phobic. Tense. He formed the basis of my love, but I wasn't willing to accept it.

Sometimes I felt that he looked at me and touched me in a way that I knew he wasn't meant for me. That I didn't deserve him. Something stored in my blood, flesh and bones - and maybe even in my adrenal gland - wasn't rejecting him, but my brain was. A personality and low self-esteem where I constantly felt undeserving of good things and at the same time, I hated waiting for good things. I hated the glazed path to happiness. I felt I was doing the good thing, the right thing. It grows like mold. Inside me. There is no calm, because I feel all the movement of life. My organs, my feelings, the words in my mind. The wind in the dusty curtains, the dead insects on the pooled water, the dirty water flowing from the sink. And, as I was saying, sometimes he looked at me and didn't touch. Sometimes he touched me and didn't look. He probes the skin like a mole in the dirt.

When I looked at him, he almost never looked away. People walked, stumbled, laughed. Everyone moved. I move, my strands, my glands. He oxygen did, does and will cycle. I never knew how to write. I never knew how to pick movies well either. But, even when he had a bored expression, I could guess the feeling of longing creeping into his mind. The vision of him cemented itself in me. "Seeing him" suddenly became "The seeing of him," solid, so it entered hard through my eye, like a pebble in the first breeze off the street after the hangover and that one, the pebble, broke through some ocular membranes to settle inside me: to make it almost as basic a need.

We didn't usually talk about it. But one occasion, when he stayed at my house after a party, he cornered me.

"What exactly are we?"

"Why do you ask that?"

"Because you kiss me for free." His voice was soft, calm. I could only see his head, because he was still hiding his body behind the bathroom door. Maybe he was still a little drunk, but his voice has always been sleepy by nature, a tired inheritance. I laugh at the expression used. He frowns and presses his forehead to the cold slab. "And I know some things about you that I don't think your friends know."

"Like what?" I asked as I sorted through some of the music albums he had given me the previous weeks. I didn't look at him. He tended to hide more behind the bathroom door the more I scanned with my eyes.

"You like to sleep with your face pressed against the wall."

"I just want to suffocate at night."

"You don't like to go to the bathrooms alone, you prefer the cubicle door to be open and see someone nearby."

"I thought you were high enough to remember that."

"You cried, Bekka."

His eyes were like puddles into which someone or something had to jump for the tears to fall. He has always been someone quite sensitive, though he didn't seem so at first glance; but I had said it before: he's like a puppy kicked by accident. My heart dropped. I'd only ever seen him that way with his younger siblings. So I was rethinking what I was meaning to him so far.

"It's not a big deal, I just panic in small, enclosed places, kind of like claustrophobia, but it only happens to me with cubicles."

I closed the windows and pulled down the blinds. He pretended he had washed his face to dry the tears that no longer came out for that moment. His bass case rested on the door of the small closet. The light bulb was yellow from moth dust. The Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer logo flashed on the screen as he stood next to me, the lion's roar reminding me of my childhood making me tear up a little. Why was I sensitive?

"Why were you interested in me?" I asked as I took off my stockings. It's been a while since I took off my slippers. His mouth half-opens and buries his nose in my shoulder. I could feel him wet my T-shirt with his body, as he had bathed in the rusty Spanish shower in the room.

His eyes look at my mouth.

"You were the one who kissed me first."

"I kiss with my friends at parties."

"But..."

"It's a lie." I didn't used to be a fan of showering kisses all over my face. I didn't have the patience for it much before. He frowned upward, an expression of complaint and I had no choice but to quickly kiss his cheek and then down near his chin and finally his lips. "It's a lie."

I was never used to love tokens. I've meditated on it many times. I pondered it more when I began to have whatever it was between Choso and me during that time. His anxious face, his wet mouth and chapped lips... He was quick to lose his head when it came to physical affection. He had been hostile and difficult to deal with beyond simple, quick conversations at first, but he always had a full, fleshy heart, like a fleshy fruit of premature birth. I marveled at him, in constancy. Although, when I first noticed it, I had been mean —quite a bit— thinking of turning him into a lust puppet. But it remained only a thought, something intrusive like an injection. The way his fingers used to curl around my shirt, blouse or jacket, every time I kissed him in the privacy of his room or mine, the way he asked permission for everything when it came to me and underwear of questionable taste. I learned many things from him, feeding myself, sipping any small trace of purple stillness: caressing his face with my fingertips, slowly, patiently; taking things slow was not in my inventory if my body was a sack and his hand was the one that opened me up and saw my bloody interior, used to the quick, anonymous, short life. Too short.

"That time, when I saw you, your hair was matted," he said, hugging me, the movie in the background and my fingers buried in his loose, black hair. "And a bruised knee from a blow."

"Yes, I fell coming to the party because Megumi didn't warn me about the extra step at the entrance."

Choso smiled shyly over my shoulder, though his eyes were still the same, but more affable and three months older. He's done that before, or never did. It provoked me to watch all the naughty movies to leave only the good stuff for him, like a meticulous and destructive selection for the formation of a solid and impenetrable bubble. The same thing he does for his siblings that no one ever did for him before. When I turned to kiss his cheek, he spoke at the same time the movie dialogues started.

"Sometimes I don't know if you like to play with me or just enjoy living carefree, no strings attached."

I ran my thumb gently over his dark circles under the eyes, or the increase in them because there was a small dark smudge of makeup that didn't come out in his quick shower. I only managed to expand the smudge a little more anyway and laughed. His skin felt fresh. I hadn't even wanted to take a bath, I was getting bad after the drink.

"Do you want us to be something more? Is that why you say that?" I wouldn't have minded giving it to him. The vision of his hair wetting the bed in drips and me rubbing the towel through his strands was starting to become a reality as I waited for his answer.

"You're just so strange."

"Me?"

"Not in a bad way, but in the sense that I'm attracted to you even though nothing you say is certain or solid. But you're genuine and you don't seem to be hiding anything on purpose, so you just confuse me."

"I could tell you a thing or two, when you ask me." No answer, just a quick kiss.

When I run my fingers around his shoulders, he has the same look from that time he helped me clean my room —this room— and I ended up with my hands under his Acid Black Cherry t-shirt, caressing his abdomen as he talked to me about the dirt and how messy I was for not cleaning my room in weeks. On the down low, he meant "in months," but the truth was that I hadn't cleaned it thoroughly since last year, and for that, Maki loved me. Because I was the perfect example for the theme of that photozine.

I took off the jeans I had worn to the party, leaving me in my underwear.

"Phyllocalia"

"Mmh? You remembered all of a sudden."

"I bought a photozine that day."

"You could have asked me and I'd give you one of my free samples."

He settled into the sheets, covered my bare legs and glanced at the dirty film left on the side.

"Why? Filocalia, I mean."

"Ask the Greeks," I joked. "Although you won't see them if you snort any shit or inject yourself in the arm."

"I looked it up on the internet after talking to you. I idealized you."

"Everyone does it, what did it mean?"

"«Love of beauty», but you were wearing dirty clothes, in a pile of dirty clothes. Then the meaning stretched to «Love of beauty, and the source of all beauty is God,» but I don't believe in God."

"I don't either."

"But someone saw Him in you. Even when everything had withered around you. It's one of the best pictures in the zine, even when there's an "anonymous" next to the model's name, that's you. It's as if you wanted to erase every map of your human existence."

His fingers traced imaginary lines - the parallels and meridians I struggled to learn in middle school - on my collarbone. I wanted to learn more from him. Much more. He made me understand my intellectual laziness and my search for visual and carnal stimulation as an attempt to satiate myself, to satiate ourselves. He enlightened me to the idea; that unnoticed aster flower, wilted and with missing petals, could be more than an exhibit on poverty and misery, more than a stuffed decoration in the Russian book. Most things happened too fast, ominous, and the movement made me dizzy, the fast days, the fleeting affairs as if I was running away from something... All of it too, he could explain to me, letter by letter, the slowness of things, of love, like a slow burn but in good hands and covers of Radiohead's OK Computer as a warm-up.

We both knew nothing essential.

We weren't part of the top fifth in college.

Nor did we stand out much.

Movies, music, and higher education didn't understand the small things, the costliness of crawling along when everyone was running and the ease of lying down for a while, bleeding out, talking and kissing each other in the stillness, when the lamp goes out and the movie is half over. Luckily, even though it was February and the pollen caused me to sneeze, there was a breeze after sex.

english is not my first language, so, SORRY IF YOU DON'T UNDERSTAND THIS LITTLE STUFF. more than that, this is a small exploration, and I will probably make a longer fic taking this idea. (update, actually, I have a fic, but it's in Spanish)

୨ৎ ⊰gummo apnea⊱ is the set of three one-shots of this style, the other two are about suguru geto and toji fushiguro, soon to be over here too <3 !!!!

[ambertamm]

with current food prices surging, shortly after a global pandemic - where food was hard to access consistently, I'm seeing a huge boom of interest in folks orienting to growing their own food. As someone who has farmed for the last 10 years and is very close to starting my own farm, I just wanna re-widen the view a bit with some reminders. I know these last few years pertaining to food can lead one to a reactionary clinging, or rather a deep mental attachment, to dreams of farming that includes narratives of (food/self/community) sovereignty ... but there is a bigger truth that comes with working the land. A truth not so rooted in our human needs. MASANOBU FUKUOKA was speaking big truths in "The Natural Way of Farming" when he said, " We often speak of "producing food," but farmers do not produce the food of life. Only nature has the power to produce something from nothing. Farmers merely assist nature. ....The objective of natural farming is non-action and a return to nature ....

Modern agriculture has created nothing from nature. Rather, by making quantitative and qualitative changes in certain aspects of nature, it has managed only to fabricate synthetic food products that are crude, expensive, and further alienate man from nature. " Remember this as we continue, do not let the media lead to only think of food with scarcity in mind. do not attach to thoughts of sovereignty, especially food sovereignty, with scarcity in your body. lastly, do not think of farming only in terms of your needs, or only in terms of food production - there so much more that can live in relationship with working in the earth that still leads to your needs being met. In conclusion, start with the earth. if you're going to be an earth worker, start with your relationship with the earth - not your needs. if you are dreaming of farming as a way to meet your human needs/humanity's needs, you will absolutely move through mountains of depressions which feel endless and drain you. start with the nature. Understand that we got into the chaos that is agriculture today, through prioritizing our human needs mostly. We have the power to became farmers, earthworks, growers that don't do this but it requires us to think outside of our needs only - which is hard for us humans to do. especially with the inflation hitting our food prices and our most recent hardships with food access due to Covid.