#why did i write this in the first place

[torchlitinthedesert]

There’s something very strange about Paul’s usual “how John and I started writing” narrative. Here’s how he likes to describe it:

Me and John knowing each other, the fact that both of us independently had already started to write little songs... I said to him, “What’s your hobby?” I said, “I like songwriting,” and he said, “Oh, so do I.” You know, no one I’d ever met had ever said that as a reply. And we said, “Well, why don’t you play me yours and I’ll play you mine.” GQ, 2020

It’s my impression that this is now in the rotation of Paul Stories - I think he says it in McCartney 3,2,1, and in other interviews. Is it true? The earliest accounts contradict it:

“Paul’s first public performance, as a member of the Quarrymen, was at a dance… later on, after the dance, he played a couple of tunes to John he had written himself. Since he’d started playing the guitar, he had tried to make up a few of his own little tunes. The first tune he played to John that evening was called ‘I Lost My Little Girl’. Not to be outdone, John immediately started making up his own tunes.”

Hunter Davies, The Beatles, 1968

“‘I learned a lot from Paul. He taught me quite a lot of guitar really. He knew more about how to play than I did and he showed me a lot of chords. I’d been playing the guitar like a banjo so I had to learn it again. I didn’t write much material early on, less than Paul, because he was quite competent on guitar. I started to write after Paul did a song he’d written.’”

John Lennon to Ray Connolly, unpublished interview, 1970*

"He used to write songs before I even started writing songs."

John Lennon, St Regis interview, 1971

*[The Connolly quote is weaker as a source, because was published after John’s death (and he quotes it slightly differently: “I started to write after Paul did a song he’d written” is in Connolly’s John biography, but not in the version in his collected Beatle journalism). But it fits with the other accounts.]

Still, Paul’s version might have some truth in it. Mark Lewisohn cites a couple of 1971 interviews where John remembers trying to write a calypso song, tapping into a brief craze of spring 1957. I don’t know if he finished it, or told anyone about it. None of the Quarrymen mention it, while Pete Shotton told Bob Spitz that John was “floored” when Paul first played him one of his own songs. But the calypso story does make “so do I” seem more possible.

It’s still surprising that Paul wants to frame it this way. He’d be justified in pointing out that songwriting was his innovation, something he brought to the band. By any measure, he’s the one who started it: when he met John, he’d already written the melody of When I'm 64, plus Suicide and I Lost My Little Girl. And he was always prolific. As John told David Sheff, talking about I’ll Follow The Sun, “he had a lot of stuff”, “written almost before the Beatles, I think.” He was the one pushing to do their own material, whether that’s talking it up to music promoters or suggesting In Spite of All The Danger at their first amateur recording session. (To me, that suggests that Lennon-McCartney was established later than they tended to admit. In Spite of All The Danger, recorded in 1958, has George as cowriter; if Paul had written anything with John, I bet that's what he'd have suggested they record. And if John on his own had written something that was ready to record, they’d definitely have picked that. )

In the 1950s, writing your own material was groundbreaking: it’s part of the huge cultural shift into the 1960s. There were hundreds of skiffle/rock’n’roll bands in Liverpool, but it’s genuinely possible that Paul was the only songwriter among them. Why isn’t that the story he wants to tell?

When Paul started defending his legacy in the late 1980s, he was fighting against specific distortions. First, that he was the middle-of-the-road conservative one - which is why he lays out his avant garde credentials. So you’d think he’d want to remind everybody that he wrote songs first. But second, he’s up against the idea that he and John didn’t love each other, that they didn’t write together, that Lennon-McCartney was a myth. Paul is a rock star, with an ego to match; he’s not given to downplaying himself. But he wants the partnership more than he wants precedence, even more than he wants credit for innovation.

And he always did. Remember the story about John sharing half his chocolate bar? Paul joined the band, and shared half his songs.

He didn’t need to: he was already writing alone. If he wanted help, George was more musically accomplished, and would have been a more logical choice for a songwriting partner. But it's John whose attention and praise Paul needed, John who had the authority to say they’d play Paul’s songs, John who needed to feel like the most important person in the band. Becoming Lennon-McCartney formalises all of that. And Paul is still true to it.

Across decades, Paul has been consistent about promoting their partnership as a partnership, regardless of who did what. (This isn’t true of John, who by the late 1960s was eager to break down who wrote which song, which lyric, which middle eight.) After working with George Martin on the string arrangement for Yesterday, Paul signed the score: “"Yesterday" by Paul McCartney John Lennon George Martin Esq and Mozart.” Even as a joke, you don’t separate Lennon and McCartney. Ken Mansfield asked Paul why songs were “Lennon-McCartney” when John hadn’t been there for the writing process:

And Paul said: “John and I are so close to each other, we’ve been through so much together, we understand each other so much, our relationship is so deep, that when we’re songwriting,” he said, “even if I’m 6,000 miles away, I can be working on something and I can hear John over my shoulder going, ‘No, no, no, that’s not gonna work; why don’t we do this?’ Or ‘Hey, I like this.’” He said, “So, in essence, to me, we’re songwriting together even if we’re not together.”

Ken was asking about Ob-La-Di Ob-La-Da, not realising that John was there for that one: they worked on it in India. But rather than giving a practical answer, Paul chooses to frame the partnership as a profound connection. (Of course there are other times Paul insists on or overstates his contribution, or gets petty about who did what. He’s human, and he’s an egomaniac. But always, always within the framework that this was a partnership.)

Fundamentally, he’s loyal to Lennon-McCartney. “So do I” matters more to him than going first. It might not be literally true, but it's the emotional truth that he needs.

[voiceofthelionhearted]

you know how tower is all-encompassing? she's powerful and demanding and "unforgiving" (for lack of better word). there is almost no way to end the tower chapter unscathed, and even when you pledge yourself to her, it's at the cost of your autonomy.

it did stick out to me, though, that apotheosis, then, is so forgiving? your transgressions are outright forgiven, and even when you continue to try to fight her, she only smiles at you and tells you to give it your all. it's a stark difference to how she is as the tower. the arrogance is still there, of course, but it's been tempered by the certainty that she will ascend, and nothing will stop her.

this, i believe, is because of the voice of the broken. this is one of the few times the princess can see directly into your head and hear what the voices in there say. the meager defiance is hero, and the submission is of course broken, who -- leading into apotheosis -- promises her that you will help her in her ascension. she hears him and says, "i know you will."

it is his promise to her, and her certainty that you will honor his word, that softens her up to you in apotheosis, as well as the fact that she is bigger and stronger than before. no matter what resistance you put up, you shouldn't be able to hurt her. and it's true -- there are only a few instances in this chapter where you are able to hurt her (chucking the knife at her eye, retaliating against her in the long quiet), and these instances always result in anger, devastation, or grim acceptance. she wanted to ascend, and she wanted to have you by her side. it's just that her ego interfered in this desire and warped it into something it wasn't -- to keep you as a pet, rather than a partner who would be equal to her, which i think would have been terribly lonely for her because it's not really true companionship, is it?

but if you're kind to her to the end, and you push through the pain of your real body being torn open, it's like a switch flips in her head -- especially when the shifting mound begins to take her. she realizes that her chance is gone, and she realizes that -- in spite of how she treated you -- you have always been kind to her, you have always shown her grace. and she softens up entirely as this realization hits her, and in her final moments, she tries to give you what she can never have, because some part of her (if not the entirety of her) realized that you were just as trapped as she was.

that mournful look on her face as she thanks you for showing her grace, apologizes for not doing the same, and then says, "fly, little bird" OUGH. i'm so normal about it all. it was my first route and it almost killed me

[seventh-district]

Midnight Hour

With the warm haze of sleep fading from you, your brow furrows as your right hand presses lightly against his lower abdomen, your thumb sweeping up and down in a small attempt at a comforting motion. You quietly call for his attention, voice still thick with sleep.

“Star? Is everything okay?”

His typically silent breath suddenly hitches, and his head angles down to face you. Now that he’s turned toward the light, you catch the way his eyes shine, and the way the light reflects off of what you quickly realize are tear tracks, running down his cheeks.

You awake in the middle of the night to find your lover in tears.

Pairing: Astarion x Reader

Word Count: 3,139

Content Warnings: [crying (obviously)] [non-specific mentions of Astarion's past trauma] [this fic was written by someone who hasn't actually played the game and that might show in the details/the lack thereof]

Blinking your tired eyes open, you squint at the light of the crackling fire in front of you. Closing them again, you let out a soft sigh as you try to guess at the current time. Given that you woke on your own, you’re assuming it’s likely close to, but not quite, time for you to take over tonight’s watch shift.

Your group has fallen into a routine where you pair off into teams of two, and a different team keeps watch each night. Tonight’s turn belongs to you and Astarion, and he’s taken the first half of the shift as usual. You usually, ironically, sleep your best on the nights that he keeps watch, in spite of only getting half the amount of sleep as you do on the nights another team has the job.

You suppose you can credit the fact that, at the end of the day, Astarion is a creature of the night. Something about knowing he has the upper hand when it comes to any unwanted nighttime visitors your group may encounter is… reassuring. To you, as well as to the others in the group, loathe as some of them may be to admit it. That is, once they all felt confident in his promises to not make a surprise midnight snack of them, at least.

Tonight is a bit of an exception, though, and you’re not quite sure what woke you early this time. You typically sleep soundly until he gently coaxes you awake, nails combing through your hair, voice soft and apologetic in your ear. He’s always somewhat reluctant to wake you, but he does so nonetheless, having learned his lesson after the first time he made the executive decision to let you sleep the whole night through. His arguments of “You really looked like you could use the rest.” and “What’s one sleepless night? I can sleep when I’m dead.” didn’t hold much water in the face of the way he dragged ass through the entire next day.

In “the spirit of fairness” and “proving that he can stick to an agreement,” he never tried to take the whole shift by himself again. It definitely didn’t have anything to do with how guilty he felt when he heard the disappointment in your tone when you awoke that first morning and discovered he hadn’t stuck to the plan. Definitely.

Laying there in the quiet, you try and fail to pinpoint what feels different about tonight. You don’t hear any strange noises, nothing feels unusual, and blinking your eyes open again you raise your head a bit to look around the fire. The rest of the group are circled around the other sides of the heat source, sleeping soundly. You figure that you’re probably just getting used to this routine by now, and your body simply woke up around your usual shift change time on its own.

Still, that doesn’t explain the vague, unplaceable feeling that something is just… off.

You let out a sigh that turns into a yawn as you stretch and roll away from the fire onto your back. Letting your head roll further to the left, your eyes land on the familiar sight of your lover’s back as he sits in his usual position beside you, diligently watching your six.

He’s taken to placing his bedroll right next to yours, insisting that you lie between the fire and himself. You couldn’t really argue with his point that he can’t feel the cold anyways, so there’s no need for him to be the one next to the fire. Nor could you argue with the benefits of having him as a line of defense between you and whatever lurks beyond the reach of the firelight.

The feeling of security and protection that he provides you with is still relatively foreign to you, and a soft smile blooms on your face at the warm feeling it brings. Your smile then falls a bit as you remember the silent question you ask yourself on the regular, of whether or not you provide him with the same.

You roll the rest of the way to your left, and shuffle further toward him, closing what remains of the small gap he’d placed between the two of you. Lying halfway on your bedroll and halfway on his, you curl your body around his seated form, bringing your right arm up and gently placing a hand on the right side of his waist. He flinches slightly, and if this were earlier on in your relationship, you’d retract your hand. He’s long since informed you though that his reaction to unexpected touch is simply involuntary, and as long as it’s you, you’ve no need to pull away.

You recall the quiet, restrained desperation in his voice when he first explained it to you, all but begging you not to pull away. He can’t control the way his body reacts to touch, given that before you, he couldn’t recall the last time being touched meant anything other than pain. In spite of that though, he wants it. He wants you. That’s obvious in the way that he, without fail, immediately relaxes under your gentle touch once his mind and body process that it’s coming from you. The way he’s come to not only relax, but to lean into it. Lean into you.

You’d never push past his boundaries, never in a million years, but he’s made it quite clear after about a thousand of your quiet requests for consent at every minor touch, that he’s entirely welcoming of your non-sexual physical affections. Getting the man to verbally admit that he actually enjoys cuddling with you, without the truth being concealed beneath a heavy layer of playful banter and practiced, honeyed words didn’t come easy, but he came around to it in his own time.

So, you don’t pull back, instead following through with the motion and slowly snaking your arm around his waist. You press your front against his lower back and curl around to rest your left cheek atop his left thigh. You can’t help but notice that he doesn’t relax into you in the way he usually does, and your head turns to the right a bit, struggling to get a half-decent look at his face as you’re both turned away from the fire light.

He remains tense, still, and unresponsive to your movements, gaze seemingly locked dead ahead of him, staring out into the dark forest.

With the warm haze of sleep fading from you, your brow furrows as your right hand presses lightly against his lower abdomen, your thumb sweeping up and down in a small attempt at a comforting motion. You quietly call for his attention, voice still thick with sleep.

“Star? Is everything okay?”

His typically silent breath suddenly hitches, and his head angles down to face you. Now that he’s turned toward the light, you catch the way his eyes shine, and the way the light reflects off of what you quickly realize are tear tracks, running down his cheeks. He’s actively crying, tears dripping from his chin, and now with his head tilted down at you they take a different path, running down to converge and fall from the tip of his nose.

You nearly bolt upright in your shock, quickly unwrapping yourself from him and clambering around on all fours until you’re sat down in front of him, your hands gripping tightly to your upper thighs in worry. His wide-eyed gaze followed your every movement, and even now that you’re sat still in front of him, his eyes still dart around, frantically scanning you, for what, you don’t know.

“What- what’s going on?”

You keep your voice as quiet as you reasonably can in spite of your shock and concern, not eager to wake your companions and have everyone witness… whatever this is.

He doesn’t respond, looking just about as lost as you feel, shaking his head in silence as more tears fall. It’s one hell of a sight, and it suddenly hits you that this is the first time you’ve ever seen him cry.

Unsure of what to do and what even caused this, you resist the urge to wrap him in a hug, not wanting to overstep in this unfamiliar territory. Instead, you glance back over your shoulder and once again see and hear nothing of note before trying another question.

“Is there a threat? Did you see something that scared you, honey?”

He takes a long moment to answer, seeming unsure, before eventually settling on another shake of his head. His lack of confidence in his answer isn’t the most reassuring thing at the moment, but given that you aren’t detecting any danger either, you decide to believe that he really didn’t see any threat. At least, not here. Not right now, in the present moment, in front of him. He seems about halfway here and halfway gone, and if your growing suspicions are correct, he’s probably been sat here lost in the dark corners of his mind for a while now, given the state he’s in.

You catch movement to Astarion’s right side and watch as Karlach raises up from her prior position sprawled out face-down on her bedroll, propping herself up with her forearms beneath her. Her expression of concern is too aware and her eyes are too awake for her to have just now woken up, and you quickly gather that she’s probably been awake and laying there long enough to have heard your questions and Astarion’s lack of any verbal response. She doesn’t say anything though, and doesn’t move, just letting the situation unfold and keeping a watchful eye on the darkness behind you.

Relaxing slightly at the knowledge that someone else is awake and helping to keep watch now, your focus shifts back to Astarion, who’s gaze has moved to his lap, tears still falling fast. It’s almost unsettling, the way he cries. There’s no sound, no movement, his breathing is hardly even affected, nothing more than the occasional shaky breath to give away any sign of struggle at all. You don’t have to guess why it’s like this, given what he’s told you about his past. You’re sadly certain that he learned to cry like this ages ago. Silent and still, sat alone in the dark so no one would notice.

You don’t want to think about the sorts of punishments he’s endured as a result of showing such pain and emotion, but your mind pulls from what experiences he’s shared and offers up a few anyways, making you begin to feel sick.

Leaning down and trying to catch his gaze, you ask another question.

“Astarion, are you with me right now?”

He blinks, more tears spill, and his lips finally part as he responds to you with a strained whisper.

“I’m trying to be…”

You smile in spite of your current emotions and the general mood of the situation, doing your best to be something positive, something gentle, something safe for him to focus on.

“There you are…”

You say it to yourself as much as to him, relieved to finally hear his voice, as laced with pain as it sounds. You hold out your hand near where his lie balled into fists in his lap, offering him contact without forcing it on him.

“I want you to keep trying, okay? Do your best to come back into the present with me. You can take my hand, if you’d like?”

He stares down at your offered hand for a long moment before shakily unballing one of his fists. He hesitates, fingers trembling, before reaching out and placing his hand in yours. His skin is even colder than usual and slightly damp to the touch, and you couldn’t be less put off, or give less of a fuck about the messy state of him right now, or ever, if you’re being honest. You just want to help him, however you can.

You curl your warm fingers around his palm, wanting to pull him into a hug so badly but restraining yourself, letting him call the shots.

“You’re okay now, Star. You’re safe right now, here with me. We’re safe.”

He’s quiet for another long moment as he shuts his eyes tight, taking in your words. His other fist unfurls, and his body trembles almost imperceptibly.

“I… I’m sorry… I’m sorry…”

Your heart breaks.

“Honey, you have nothing to apologize for. Nothing at all, I promise you.”

He shakes his head in disagreement, his voice an insistent whisper.

“I shouldn’t be doing this.”

Your shoulders drop from where they’d been tensely held up, body slumping with a silent sigh as you watch him still try to hold this wall up between the two of you. You’d made it past a number of his walls already, but this one… this one you’ve yet to be granted access behind.

“It’s okay to cry, you know?”

Another shake of his head, this time with far more force behind it, almost vehement.

“No.”

You soften your voice, insisting.

“Yes. It is. You can cry now, Astarion. No one’s gonna hurt you. No one’s gonna judge you. I swear on my life, that’s the truth.”

His breaths become more labored, uneven and shaking.

“You aren’t his anymore. The old rules don’t apply. You can let it out, now. No one, and I mean no one, is going to punish you for it.”

His eyes pinch closed and his head shakes hard side to side, like he’s fighting his own mind, and his hand opens and closes like it wants to grab onto something. He then moves, wrapping his free hand around your arm and suddenly you’re being pulled toward him, desperately, insistently.

You follow the motion as he continues to tug at you, first leaning forward and propping yourself up with your other hand on the ground as he continues to pull you closer. You quickly gather what he wants as he lets go of your hand in favor of latching onto your other arm, pulling you upward, choking back tears all the while.

You raise up on your knees and his hands move once again to hook beneath your arms as you allow yourself to be pulled up onto his lap with physical strength you keep forgetting he possesses. Hooking your legs around his waist, you wrap your arms around his shoulders and pull him into you. His arms wrap tightly around your waist and he buries his face into the fabric of your shirt at the collar, muffling the soft sound of his crying which has now turned to full-blown sobs.

He’s still shockingly quiet in spite of it all, and you imagine it’s a mixture of being unable to let go of what’s ingrained into him, and not wanting to alert the entire camp to his current breakdown.

Your thumbs stroke up and down in place on his back, not wanting to let go of your hold on him but still wanting to give him some sort of comforting motion to focus on. Besides, you figure petting across the entire expanse of his scarred back might do the opposite of calming him down, so you refrain and keep your arms wrapped firmly around him. Turning your head down toward his, you whisper to him in between soft kisses to his temple.

“That’s it, love. Let it out.”

“You’re safe now, Astarion, I swear.”

“There’s nothing wrong with this.”

“I’m so proud of you.”

“You have every right to cry. No one ever should’ve taken that away from you.”

He grips you even tighter as you shower him with painfully unfamiliar affection and acceptance, comfort unlike anything he’s ever felt before in his horribly long life. His forehead presses against your right shoulder as his crying slows, trying to ground himself and catch his breath. You make a point of holding him securely against you, breathing slow and deep to give him an example to follow.

You catch movement in your periphery and glance over at Karlach as she quietly sits up and makes a series of silent lip movements and hand gestures that you don’t entirely grasp. You work them out to mean that she’s gonna take over watch for the rest of the night, and you can rest with Astarion. You send her a grateful look and mouth a “thank you,” to which she waves you off with what you think you read as a silent “don’t mention it” on her lips.

After a short while spent focused on slowing down his breath and bringing him fully out of his memories and back here with you, you whisper quiet words in his ear.

“Your work is done, Astarion. You can rest now.”

You mean it in both possible interpretations of the words, and he seems to understand that, his body finally relaxing against yours for the first time tonight.

“You wanna lie down with me, love?”

He seems like he almost nods, but stops himself, whispering back in an exhausted voice, scratchy and thick from crying.

“Someone has to keep watch.”

You hesitate to inform him that Karlach has already taken over that role for tonight, sure that he’d get no sleep at all if he knew she’d witnessed this. You know you’re gonna be awake watching over him for the rest of the night anyways, so instead, you offer a compromise.

“I can hold you and keep watch at the same time, love. Just… let me sit and you can lay against me.”

He gives the suggestion a moment of thought before nodding his head, reluctantly loosening his hold on you. You maneuver the both of you carefully so as to avoid allowing his tired eyes to catch sight of your obviously awake companion sitting behind him.

It isn’t much of a task considering his eyes are halfway closed already, his only remaining focus locked on you. You settle down at the head of his bedroll, guiding him to lie down and bringing his head to rest in the center of your lap.

Your hands take turns gently combing fingers through his white curls, and you feel his tense shoulders begin to relax at the feeling. You bring a thumb down and gently stroke over the lines creasing his brow, quietly encouraging him to release the tension he likely doesn’t realize he’s holding. You watch him pull in a deep, albeit still slightly unsteady breath, and you can practically feel the relief that washes over him when he exhales.

Words aren’t necessary between the two of you at this point, not in this moment, but you offer him a few anyways, hoping they’ll resonate in his tired mind as he slips into sleep.

“You’re safe here, Star. Rest easy.”

A/N: Like I said in the CWs, I haven't played the game for myself (yet!) so I only know what I've seen in the hours of (mostly Astarion-focused) scenes I've watched on YT. As a result, this might have read a bit funny if I've gotten certain details wrong. For instance- I have no idea how resting at the camp actually goes, whether or not someone keeps watch all night, etc. Also I'm not sure if Astarion even needs to actually sleep or if he meditates/falls into a trance and just calls it sleep, but for the sake of simplicity, (and me being clueless,) when I say he falls into sleep just assume he's doing whatever he'd normally do to rest. On a different note- this little fic was inspired by a combination of two things. The lovely art and additional commentary on this post, by @velnna , and also by me listening to Midnight Hour by Sierra Eagleson on loop for like, an hour, and daydreaming up this specific scene before proceeding to write it out. It is a beautiful song that is now the title and theme-song for this fic, and I encourage you to go give it a listen if you haven't heard it already. Header Image Source: x

[coffeexxcigarettes]

Good luck.

-

I've spent so much time being sad,

For things I should have held anger for.

Let me hear you say my name,

Beg for my forgiveness.

My absence will rot within you,

My ghost will haunt hallways you've yet to discover.

You fell in love with my mercy,

What about this rage?

I've cried my last tear,

And I am unashamed of the way I begged-

It is, however,

Your fucking turn.

x

[mad-c1oud]

thinking about the Charlie's birthday stream. not the ending, no, we think about that too much. no I think about everything else:

the happiness, the joy, the warmth of it all for nearly two full hours

the lack of mob spawns that night because it’s Charlie's birthday and he has eggs with him. how intentional it is. how funny it is and how sad it makes me because its so considerate

thinking about Tallulah by Charlie's side the whole time, diligently leading him from item to item as his little "guardian angel". Charlie trying to be a good tio and falling a little short sometimes, accidentally leaving Tallulah behind when she crashes but still trying cause that’s his sobrina. how she has to actually hit him to get his attention and how bad she must feel but it's so fucking funny each time

(how can anyone blame him when he never gets to hang out with the eggs enough to know he should wait for her? Charlie had Juanaflippa for what- 10 days? and was practically shunned by several others and himself from interacting with other eggs after his action, which is understandable, but only for so long. can they not see how he plays with the eggs? hear how soft his voice gets around them? don't the other islanders understand?)

this is maybe the longest he's gotten to hang out with tallulah since he got his backpack. Wilbur is his best friend and this was the egg he left behind. He's still learning and Tallulah still loves him despite it. Two people missing someone dearly, yet they have each other even if it's hard to realize

thinking about "Maybe Tallulah, you were the gift. I think you're the gift, Tallulah."

thinking about Richas, his nephew because Charlie has Mike, an actual brother that is equally excited to see him time and time again. A nephew coming around with the slime head and slime balls, like a mini Charlie, who is decked out in a full ghillie suit. Charlie who plays with the egg, pretending to be a spooky monster and richas playing along and getting scared

thinking about Charlie not knowing how to use the ghillie suit properly so he's still clearly visible to the eggs, yet they act like he isn't for his sake. shepherding him around from place to place because charlie is a little clueless yeah (he's in exile, go easy on him), but they are patient and happy to "tag along" and let him lead

thinking about them all taking a picture with him in the school, charlie wanting one with both of them, something to remember the day by.

thinking about how charlie is clearly loved by the eggs, his huevos, and how he clearly loves them back and is trying to be better for them even if he struggles so much

thinking about Charlie Slimecicle on his birthday, for once happy after everything he's been through, Tallulah and Richarlyson by his side

just him, his sobrina, and his nephew on a little scavenger hunt under the stars while the rest of the server remains quiet and calm. asleep while they remain lively

just them

happy

[firestorm09890]

OCD I feel is a good demonstration of how the fine line between “sane” and “not” isn’t even a line at all, it’s more like a big gradient or maybe even a big nebulous sphere we all exist in.

Someone with anxiety (relatively normalized and tbh romanticized these days) might fear crowds because what if they are seen and scrutinized and judged? And maybe some breathing exercises and rationalization might help- maybe the phrase “everyone else is too worried about themself to judge you” might actually do something, if they can truly internalize it. Someone who experiences delusions (very much demonized) might fear crowds because they know that each of their thoughts will be broadcast and everyone else will witness them and mentally converse with each other about it. It WILL happen and nothing can convince them otherwise.

And then OCD (often misinterpreted as being less of a disorder than it really is- see "letting the intrusive thoughts win"- so someone’s condition being worse than everyone expects is generally poorly received) might cause something that can be placed somewhere in the middle- they fear crowds because what if there is a mind reader amongst them? And they tell themself that that’s ridiculous because mind readers don’t exist and if they did we would know by now but what if? And they tell themself that there is an easy way to tell if mind readers exist in the vicinity- if they scream really loud mentally and someone reacts, that means they do exist. If not, it’s probably safe. And therefore periodically they must think a sudden scream, not too often so as to not be predictable, and oops! Now it’s a compulsion attached to the mindreader obsession and they can’t handle going without it. Maybe it gets even more elaborate over time as the strength of the rituals fades, like, oh, one scream is not enough, it must be done three times to really be sure.

Do you know how common it is for those with OCD to have schizophrenia (the idea of it) as an obsession? Surprisingly common- or perhaps, not so surprising, considering the culture surrounding saneism and that perceived harsh line that divides the “normal” people from the ones with psychosis. Everyone thinks it could never be them, because they are two entirely different categories of people, right? For OCD, someone might latch onto an obsession they know is ridiculous except they can’t get themselves to stop taking it deathly seriously and so they wonder, am I slipping? Are these really thoughts a sane person could have? And so they remind themself that people with psychosis do not regard their delusions in the same way they are regarding their own obsession, and so, no, they can’t be slipping. And thus frequent personal reality checks become the compulsion. Idk what the point of this post really is, maybe it's just that instead of a checkbox you either check or don't, sanity is more like a color picker thing

[himbohimhoe]

Holding out hope that the writing in veilguard will get more bearable but rook saying to lucanis that it's "not nice that Spite hurt him" and he "shouldn't accept that it’s fine bc it wouldn't be ok if a person did that" like. That is a demon. Built off a single emotion called SPITE. Rook I am finding it really hard to believe that u have lived in thedas for more than 30 seconds.

[marlynnofmany]

I just shared the first bit of fiction that the main character from The Token Human appeared in with the $10+ patrons. Hard to believe that I wrote it eleven years ago! Of course I had no idea it would go anywhere, much less to a novel with a sequel in progress, and an endless series of short stories that shows no signs of stopping.

High five to my past self for scribbling down something worth playing with a bit more. And a bit more. And maybe some more...

[shiraishi--kanade]

This has been said before but allow me to chip in: if you think anyone writing Saki or other "disabled but they're all better now" characters/disability coded but not shown in canon characters more disabled or traumatised (either from isolation, medical trauma or mistreatment, or ableism and abuse linked to ableism, or all of the above) and your first though is "ugh this is just adding unnecessary angst for the sake of angst" I really, genuinely need you to step back a bit and reflect on how you actually perceive real disabled people's lives and routines.

[post-punk-revival]

In the spirit of growing out of ways this site is weird about psychotic people that are seemingly innocuous but still undeniably ableist if you think about it for 10 seconds, can we leave "and is X in the room with us right now" in 2024 too

[frog-in-a-dew]

Some new magical girls designs (+ magical man. Actually more like magical women, as one of them is around 37 years old)

[radarsteddybear]

What I would give to be able to talk to the writer(s)/producers/director of "That's No Lady, That's My Spy" because I have. so many questions. about how that episode came to be.

[polariod240]

Koji Kabuto might be an hero to most, but he hates it and tries his best to be a menace to society instead.

It was fun when he was 14 and suddently people started caring about him, after being tossed aside by family members all his life. However, as time passed, he noticed that media only cared to show an idealized version of himself.

Reporters, politicians, rich enterpreneurs and influencial people alike acted like he was an expendable caricature to use for their own goals.

He was described as an hero, a selfless strong young man who would have sacrificed himself to save Japan from Doctor Hell's mechanical beasts. His grandfather, who was Hell's second in command and ran away with Mazinger Z one night, now was regarded as a tragic hero, too.

He remembers how his estranged grandfather crashed at his and Shiro's apartment one night, begging his older nephew to help him out with something. Shiro was watching cartoons on tv, while Koji was cleaning the dishes. Koji didn't even know how to feed Shiro the next day, so he couldn't give a fuck about this pathetic (maybe drunk?) old man. The teen tried to push Juzo away towards the door, but he couldn't ignore the explosion that came after: the apartment crumbled down in a matter of seconds. Koji heard Shiro's muffled scream somewhere, he didn't know what happened or what to do, but he had to save him. Nothing else mattered, so that's why he cared to listen what the old fuck had to say now. He remembers how his grandfather looked at him once he got inside Mazinger Z's head for the first time.

He was smiling. Koji had never been great at identifying facial clues in others, but he felt like his grandfather was waiting for something amazing to happen. But Koji didn't care, he dashed to save Shiro who was stuck under a wooden desk. When he came back to the Juzo, the man had stopped smiling. They stood in silence for a couple of seconds, then Juzo broke the silence with a disappointed look on his face.

JUZO: "How"

KOJI: "HOW WHAT? IS THIS YOUR FAULT, FUCKHEAD?! YOU'RE LUCKY SHIRO IS-"

But then, the older man looked at him with disgust. Koji knew that stare very well, so he closed his eyes and gently hid Shiro inside Mazinger's metallic palm.

JUZO:"I failed"

That's all he said. Then Koji heard a gunshot that made his body shiver in terror, but he stayed still. He couldn't move nor look at what happened at the robot's feet, but he knew Shiro was crying inside Mazinger's hand and he had to protect him at all costs. So he never looked back at his grandfather, because he knew he couldn't say anything else anymore now.

So yeah, Koji hates when people call Juzo Kabuto an hero on national television.

So, what was I saying? Oh, right!

Why would anyone have done anything about Doctor Hell when they got this very veeery special kid that was able to pilot a doomsday machine all by himself, afterall?

Whoopsie, did I say that Mazinger Z was built to be a doomsday machine? I mean, that's what Hell and Kabuto original plan was, anyway. They based Mazinger Z on an ancient lost Mycenian robot-golem weapon that was said to have destroyed the Mu Empire overnight. Legends said that this war golem acted like an emotional enhancer to its pilot, so no matter what the pilot felt, they would have been overwealmed by their deepest, most hidden desire and go berserk on anything that standed on their way. That's why the pilots were said to be people who had nothing to loose, like orphans, slaves and old veterans. It sounded like a great idea for a weapon intended to threat the entire world with!

That's why Koji's grandfather asked the kid for help that night. Juzo Kabuto would have become Dr. Hell's number one enemy thanks to the destructive nature of Mazinger Z, in order to conquer Earth all by himself. He had no noble intentions when he departed from Hell, he was as bad as the other guy.

Unfortunately, nor him or Hell took in consideration that neurodivergent individuals could fight against their neural link internal system. Was Juzo mad at himself for not taking this possibility into consideration? Did he even believe neurodivergent people were a real thing? Was he disgusted at Koji alone, because it meant there was something deeply "wrong" with the kid?

Or did he see himself in Koji in that moment? Did he hate himself to the point he couldn't bear accepting the fact he could be "wrong" too? We will never know and Koji never came to a conclusion either.

It's not like Mazinger Z didn't have an effect on Koji, by the way. It did, it was the main reason why Koji got very tense and bloodthirsty on the battlefield every single time! He was able to control himself enough to not go berserk, but when he was inside Mazinger Z, he needed to fight anything and anyone, at all times. When he didn't feel stimulated enough by a physical fight, he shouted on mic the most controversial punk opinions he had, because he knew he was being broadcasted on international television. News channels started censoring his live battles for this very reason. Koji keeps using this gimmick as a way to keep the press away from him to this day, so it's not so bad! Still, you couldn't touch or talk to him for a couple of hours after a fight, or even days. It was a real unpredictable mess.

Fortunately, the Mazinger Squad defeated Hell and his mechanical beasts years ago and so, Koji hasn't been able to use Mazinger Z for a while now. Sure, there was an aftermath secret cold war fought by spies and secret agents for some time, but nor Koji, Sayaka or Boss' gang were ever involved with it.

That was Tetsuya Tsurugi and Jun Hono war! Don't you worry, they never had to use a real Mazinger, since the two of them were raised as spies by Kenzo Kabuto more than anything. So they got mobile mazinger-inspired suits that totally didn't give them weirder mental side effects. :)

But ehy, when the story starts Koji (23) is back from the USA after working at NASA as an intern, Shiro(18) just won a scholarship to a prestigious french academy and both Tetsuya (28) and Jun (29) are healing and bonding with Koji like a family. Everything is going great! I surely hope Koji won't see an ufo crash landing any time soon. And I really, really hope he won't find any humanoid alien named Duke Fleed inside of said ufo, that would be a whole new type of mess to deal with.

:D

[r0semultiverse]

What We Do in the Land of Ooo

🧛‍♂️ What We Do in the Shadows x Adventure Time crossover AU! ⚔

Finn Mertens in place of Guillermo de la Cruz

Marceline Abadeer in place of Nadja of Antipaxos

Bonnibel Bubblegum in place of Laszlo Cravensworth

Jake the dog in place of Colin Robinson

Vampire King in place of Nandor The Relentless

Betty Grof in place of The Guide

The Lich in place of Baron Afanas

Peppermint Butler in place of Wallace the Necromacer

Simon Petrikov in place of Derek

BMO in place of Nadja Doll (her old consciousness uploaded or something was an idea I had)

Marshall Lee & Gary Gumball/Prince in place of Sean & Charmaine

[lovinggreeniehours]

what they won't know.

↳ takahara × lucifer (season 1)

↳ 700+ words. very short

↳ lowkey a sequel for let them look for they cannot see :) not exactly super official dialogue because this is a first draft from the arifer summary that i intend to incorporate later into the larger story. but yeah i decided to throw myself a pity bone. i can't infodump so ill post my silly little excerpt instead. excuse me if it isn't my best work i just like this scene a lot <3 <– has had the outline written down for 2 years ever since i first played the game

↳ extra warning for these two being unreliable narrators. as usual 😭

The chaos of the night eventually died down. The gold was returned, with mishaps along the way, and many more afterwards. Arion did his nightly rounds of checking on his siblings in their respective bedrooms. As he was returning to his own room, he then happened to run into the one person he least expected to see. Oddly enough, they seemed to find each other in the dark quite often.

"Good evening." Arion muttered. Just to be polite. "I'm heading to my room."

"Wait a moment."

Begrudgingly, he allowed it, biting back a sarcastic comment. Scowling, he looked up at Lucifer.

"What is it? I'm tired."

"I'm sorry."

What?

Arion tried not to let his surprise reach his face.

"For?"

But he couldn't help it— the little spark of vindictive glee that ignited in him as Lucifer forced himself to break eye contact. In an instant, all notions of tiredness seemed to evaporate. What? Can't meet me head on? Is this embarrassing you? Am I embarrassing you?

And realistically, Arion knew exactly what Lucifer was apologizing for. He simply couldn't help himself. He needed to hear him say it.

"..I shouldn't have dragged your sisters into our argument. They had nothing to do with the issue, and I overstepped. I may have been.. too harsh in my judgement earlier."

"Oh?"

"Shut up."

Arion really shouldn't have, but he laughed. For maybe the first time that night, for the worst possible reason. Arion had been crying his eyes out just a few hours ago, and the Avatar of Pride was apologizing. Why wouldn't he laugh? Why wouldn't he enjoy it?

Then Lucifer's next words hit him.

"I would like to form a truce."

The laughter died, allowing room for silence to pool thickly between them. Lucifer was forced to try and explain his point.

"Let us be clear. I still do not trust you. I don't trust you with my brothers, and I don't trust you in my house. But these are the cards that I've been dealt, and I'd prefer there be less issues such as this in the future."

Lucifer raised his hand as if in offering, before quickly realizing how awkward that was, and then letting it fall back to his side. Lucifer cleared his throat.

"Well? What say you?"

"We can agree on one thing, at least. I don't like being in your house either."

"Have you considered applying to change dormitories?"

Arion shook his head, almost laughing again. "I don't like being in your house. But my siblings seem to be quite happy there. Where I want to sleep is besides the point."

Then he put his hand forward, mirroring Lucifer's motion earlier. The hand he put forward was the very same that he broke during the dance. And he kept it there between them, waiting for Lucifer to shake it.

"Truce then."

For a moment, he only surveyed Arion's face, trying to gauge his emotions. His real emotions. From the bored droop of his eyelids, the unamused curve of his mouth, the determined set of his shoulders, and his hair so red Lucifer could see it in the near-lightless corridor.

He really wasn't afraid of him, Lucifer thought. How irritating. And yet, a sense of intrigue filled him. Now that the threat had subsided, it seemed Arion had no particular feeling towards him. Would he have reacted the same if he'd been threatened by another demon? By Lord Diavolo himself maybe?

"I still do not like you." Lucifer shook the human's hand, thinking bitterly. And he couldn't help but think of the irony in the gesture. Clasped hands were a common gesture between demons and humans. In pact-making— one of the few things they seemed to share (distasteful) sentiment in. "Whatever grievances we have with each other will be settled in confidence. I will not get involved in your family business so long as you stop sticking your nose into mine."

"Got it."

"So no one needs to know about this."

"Nope. No one."

"Good."

"No promises on not annoying you for life though."

"Do whatever you want. You'll be dead in a few years anyway."

Lord Diavolo finds them there not a moment later. Thankfully, there is a commotion in one of the rooms before he can question them too closely.

(The commotion turned out to be a pillow fight. And so Arion becomes the very first person to hit Lucifer in the face with a pillow.

Lucifer realized his mistake very quickly. He should have been keeping his eyes on Arion the whole time.)

[nomidreams]

god i finally watched new episodes my honest reaction is jgiwoaoKzmxmkwkakkak