#yet again i'm posting thoughts that i starting having a decade ago

[mesaprotector]

was reading recently about the "to be lawful or good" trope (follow orders/respect rule of law, or do what's right?), and it occurred to me that western values are so idealistic on the matter that "good" is almost always chosen, and a character who believes the law is the greater good is usually painted as morally dubious and hypocritical. tvtropes points out that in the parallel "to be chaotic or good" dilemmas protagonists almost always choose chaotic. i guess that makes sense from the point of view of fiction as wish fulfillment, and the ideal world for an american is one where they can do whatever they want without consequences.

psycho-pass is a really good example of media where this does not happen. anime in general tends to be more respectful of "lawful" values, sometimes to excess from my own western point of view (too many anime i've seen, workplace abuse is "dealt" with by learning to work harder). but urobuchi at least has a nice concept of what a balance can look like. (spoilers below, of course).

akane tsunemori is the most lawful good character to ever lawful good. she has constant positive intentions, cares for everyone in her society, and does so by enforcing and interpreting the law - and would not have it any other way. there's an amazing quote from her near the end of s1 (i have not seen the later seasons):

"People have always detested evil and sought out a righteous way of living. Their feelings, the accumulation of those peoples feelings are the law. They’re neither the provisions, nor the system. They’re the fragile and irreplaceable feelings that everyone carries in their hearts."

when faced with "to be lawful or good", she never once gives up on the law, no matter what. she has at least two chances to kill a dangerous villain outright and rejects both as being against orders; when the law itself tries to ensnare someone she loves, she finds a way out by following the rules instead of just breaking them like any other hero would.

dungeons and dragons kind of threw the alignment system at players and told them "you, there, interpret this". it's difficult and a lot to ask. from the little experience i have with it, most players only care about good/neutral/evil, and as for law vs. chaos they're just treated like different flavors of ice cream. it's far more compelling to treat them as equally important - a lawful good character and a chaotic good character are as far apart, morally, as a lawful good and a lawful evil one.

psycho-pass s1 doesn't have a chaotic good character. the closest it gets is kagari, who could perhaps be called chaotic neutral (though i have trouble calling any literal cop chaotic, he was essentially forced into the role). but it does have a fantastic example of a chaotic vs. lawful conflict, just on the evil side - makishima vs. sibyl.

i think where i wanted to go with this is that part of maturity is learning that two people, or groups of people, who are fighting, may very well both be righteous, and talking it out is often not a solution. i think most modern politics is like this, but that's just my feeling. there are some fairly evil people around, to be sure, but the vast majority of people are not - and recognizing that those different from you are in some ways righteous, and that you yourself are in some ways capable of evil - is really a critical sort of humility.

i might be a little too thrilled with myself for having realized this so early - i was the only kid in my class who liked "lord of the flies", and i still do like it. tumblr used to really have a thing about hating it back when the audience on this website had an average age of 16. i hope those people who insisted "but i'd never have grown up to do anything bad" have learned better since. but looking at how many older people (including apparently most writers) haven't gotten the memo, i'm not too sure.

[accidentally-in-fictional-love]

Susceptible - Jack Delroy/Reader

Warnings: Fully clothed grinding, very slight dirty talk, very light exhibitionism in a sense, no use of Y/N, female-hinted reader because of skirt/makeup mentions but other than that there's no real gender mention.

Wordcount: 4950

Summary: You spent a small fortune getting a ticket to Carmichael Haig's show on the promise of his new act showing his audience something the world has never seen before, as well as the possible attendance of one Jack Delroy, but will two hours of bullshit be worth the risk?

Notes: There is SO MUCH BUILDUP I'm so sorry I'm so weak for worldbuilding and plot I swear the other one I have planned will be shorter OTL I have never written a reader before but I am a huge fan of them, especially the DDverse ones I've been binging oop, so I hope this is a good first attempt! It's been a few years since I've written anything like this and probably a good decade or so since I last posted anything, so here's hoping I post more in the upcoming future~ This is also completely unbetaed so if you see any mistakes please let me know <3 The Manhattan Center is also real but didn't fit my needs entirely so I mashed it together with the theatre I went to as a kid lol

~~~~~~~~~~

Carmichael Haig was back in town and you had no idea why you were here. 

He had left for what felt like both forever and not nearly long enough for a few months to do his tour, seeing his smug face everywhere you looked between both digital and paper news and making your distaste grow a little more each time. You had been fond of his trickery for a time, but his move from magic man to skeptic had sucked all the fun out of the act, his determination to not only find the real but humiliate the fakes way past annoying to straight up sickening to you by this point. Tonight’s show proved to be another big presentation of the latter you’d decided when it’d been announced officially, promoted by your favourite talk show host - and current celebrity crush - Jack Delroy; his smile was wide for the cameras but it didn’t reach his eyes, you could always tell between them by now and he did not seem to be as pleased as the two talked about it that night.

‘I’m going to show the world something they’ve never seen before,’ Carmichael had said, his usual smug look in place as he hammed it up for the cameras like he could really pull that off, Jack running with it like the patron saint of patience he had to be.

‘Big talk, you sure I can’t convince you to give our wonderful audience a taste tonight?’ he asked, the crowd cheering at the mere thought of getting to experience his new act an entire month early, but if there was even an iota of temptation within him to share he hid it perfectly. He waved the offer away to everyone’s disappointment, Jack pouting on everyone’s behalf and putting those big eyes on display as his own plea; the ratings, you imagined, would be wonderful for a segment like this when his show was already starting to slip down the line, but even that was no use.

‘You’ll all get a chance to see it on the 13th,’ he promised them as he turned to face the audience, the place and date scrolling across the bottom of the screen yet again, they’d been flashing it every single time it was mentioned to the point where you were sure you’d see it in your sleep tonight, rolling across the bottom half of your dream. ‘Or, those of you who’ve been able to get your tickets will, we’re selling out fast,’ he smirked with a tip of his glass, yet another thing that’d been brought up and hammered home; you’d gone to the Manhattan Center to check a couple days ago, just out of curiosity, the ticket price absolutely ridiculous to the point that you were convinced they’d never sell out, but now you guessed your distaste of him wasn’t as widespread as you’d secretly hoped.

Jack slapped his leg in mock disappointment, Carmichael looking back to him at the sound. ‘Guess you’ll have to tell me all about it the next time you’re back in town, I had asked Gus to pick one up for me but it seems he missed that call,’ he joked, Gus’ surprise at the blame of his absence being placed on him getting a big laugh as his face fell and he tried to explain himself. 

Carmichael placed an understanding hand on Jack’s shoulder and leaned in closer, the other man leaning in in return as if to receive some kind of secret. ‘Well then, it’s a good thing my date canceled on me,’ he retorted, and when he pulled his hand back he revealed a ticket, Jack’s eyes going wide as he accepted the gift with a big smile, pointing to it before shaking Carmichael’s hand with a thanks.

Ah, so that was why you were here again.

You knew you’d never be able to get a seat on Night Owls because the thought of Jack seeing you in the crowd made you blush all the way to your shoulders, even on your bravest of nights you hadn’t been able to even call and see if there were any tickets left, but to maybe share an audience with him? To sit in the same room as him where you could steal glances if you were able to find him, with no risk whatsoever of him catching the way your eyes lit up when you looked at that handsome face, that dangerously attractive body? That was doable. 

It had cost an arm and a leg to convince that scalper to hand over one of the tickets he was parading around outside the Center, but it was worth it as you stepped inside, your heart racing because, unless he wanted to risk the aftermath of Carmichael calling him out for not going, he was here; somewhere in this building was the man you’d been dreaming about since his debut a few years ago, the one you watched nearly every night without fail just for that hour where he looked at you, talked to you, noticed you even if it was through a camera, and that was all you’d needed until tonight.

You’d gotten a pretty shitty seat despite the price but you didn’t mind, it actually worked out for you considering you weren’t actually there to see the show but to look for someone in the seats in front of you, and you hoped that you’d be able to spot him from where you were in the far back corner. As long as he wasn’t, say, the exact opposite of you then you probably stood a chance of at least a glance, since his ticket came from Carmichael himself you guessed that it was probably close to the front if not front row center just to mess with him and prove that he’d come, and you felt all the hair rise on your arms and neck when Carmichael walked on stage early to very loudly greet someone who’d just walked in.

There he was, leaving his seat to meet the other man in the middle, and he was so much further than you expected but it was still him, big smile in place, hair perfectly combed, his crisp suit being wrinkled by Carmichael’s hands as he gave him a showy hug, and he was beautiful. You froze in the middle of the row, unable to finish the walk as your eyes stayed on him, the people trying to get by you not as starstruck as they attempted to squeeze past when you ignored their presence.

‘Sorry,’ you murmured as you sat as fast as you could, eyes still trained on him as he waved to the crowd to prove that yes, he did honour the gift and was there to see this big new act he’d been promised. You let out an embarrassingly needy whine when he sat back down and you became unable to see him again, the mass of bodies behind him obscuring all but a sliver of the back of his head from this angle, and you’d be damned if you had to spend the next 2 hours stuck like this at a Carmichael Haig show of all things. The person at the end of the row finally arrived and you made your move, hurrying down and taking one last glance before getting ready to make this whole thing a little more bearable. ‘Excuse me,’ you nearly stuttered as the person, a man older than yourself who definitely gave off the air of being a Carmichael fan, looked up at you, ‘would you want to trade seats with me? I was really looking forward to the show but I was too late to grab an aisle seat.’

It’s a blatant lie but the quick glance from before proved that you could see him better from there, and the chance of getting to look at him for the next two hours was worth the look the man gave you at the request.

‘Which one are you?’ he asked, looking down to the few empty spaces still waiting for their owners, and you pulled out your ticket to double check, seeing that it was R51; wow, you didn’t realize how far away R was from A until you saw it firsthand. He looked back down to your seat and considered it, looking you over midthought when he thought you weren’t looking, and he almost got away with it if not for the fact that you felt his eyes on you. ‘$100,’ he decided, the offer knocking the wind right out of you.

‘What? The seat was already $350,’ you choke, giving away the fact that you were really, really late to the party.

‘Take it or leave it, I had the sense to order on time,’ is all he says to that, and you looked back at your possible view before sighing heavily and reaching for your wallet; goddamnit, Jack, if only he knew how worth it he was. You hand over the money and step aside, the man pocketing his fee and leaving the seat for you as promised, and the view is just barely better but there he is again, perfectly in view due to what can only be a miracle, the hole in your wallet feeling a little less big as you watched him turn his head to talk to someone, giving you a perfect side view.

He really was handsome, captivating even from this distance, and you swoon a little as the audience finished filling out, the lights dimming and obscuring your view a little more save the grace of the stage lights that illuminate him from the front as Carmichael walked back out on stage and started the show. You’d never been one for spacing out but you couldn’t take your eyes off him, the $450 price tag of this shitty aisle seat all for him and not feeling so bad even as Carmichael charms everyone around you. He didn’t look to the side that often, you guessed he didn’t actually know his neighbour since the seat was a gift, but the times that he did, where he laughed or sighed at the theatrics or even put his face in his hand because he wasn’t having too much fun, were all cataloged away in your head forever, the perfect souvenirs to last you a lifetime of home viewing after this. 

At about an hour in according to your old watch, Jack looked about ready to get up and find any reason to leave, which you couldn’t blame him for, the acts themselves were pretty damn good you realized in the times you actually paid attention, but it was getting so tiring to see Carmichael explain away all of their tricks, to see the joy leave their faces at being called a fraud or having all their mysteries revealed, and it was clear Jack felt the same down in row A. After a particularly rough walk-off from a woman who was trying very desperately to convince Carmichael that she could really read his mind and ending up with the humiliating reality that everything he answered to was false to get her to out herself, you noticed that when you looked back to his seat that Jack isn’t there, and you were in the middle of wondering where he went when the person coming up the aisle came into view so suddenly that it took your breath away.

It was Jack, his brow twitching slightly to keep a neutral face, his footsteps heavy as he tried not to stomp and draw attention to the fact that that last one really pissed him off, his hands already reaching into his suit pocket for something. You tried not to stare the closer he got but it was hard, years of being able to look all you want training your brain to look look look as he approached, and you forced yourself to stare straight ahead at the stage as he reached you. Your hands were clenched tight in your lap as he went to pass row R, and you were in the middle of thinking you were going to make it when he fumbled the small box in his pocket and dropped it with a low curse, the cigarettes he apparently smoked bouncing to the side and coming to a stop between your recently shined shoes.

Your head snapped down so fast you felt it in your neck as he came to a stop beside you, the two of you locating the box at the same time, and you stiffened as he reached for it before realizing how rude that would be despite his own sour mood. ‘I’m sorry, could I bother you for a second,’ he asked, his smile back in place despite being a bit tense, and you stuttered out a confirmation as you leaned down to pick them up.

‘I didn’t know you smoked,’ you blurted out before you could stop yourself, Jack’s hand frozen in midair as he reached for the box, his smile relaxing a little as he looked from your hand to your face.

‘Did I find myself a Night Owl in this sea of skeptics?’ he wondered aloud, your cheeks brightening in a way that really made you pray it was dark enough not to notice. 

‘I wanted to see what all the fuss was about,’ you lie, and he crouched down so he could hear your whispers as the crowd reacted to the next act.

‘I take it you’re also not very impressed,’ he figured, hitting the nail on the head based on your expression alone. He chuckled at your silent confirmation and looked back down to the cigarettes, his fingertips just barely touching yours as you both held it, you didn’t even know when he’d grabbed it and you let go before it got awkward, but he didn’t seem to notice. ‘Well, if you don’t tell my producer that I’m smoking again, then I won’t tell Haig that you didn’t like his show, deal?’

You sucked in a breath as he moved the box to his left hand, offering up his right for a handshake this time to seal the deal, your heart pounding as you shook on it, his smile more genuine than you’d seen all night, you could always tell. He stood back up as the act finished and Carmichael went back to his disproving, his mood dropping again as his need to escape rearose. You both offered a look of disdain at the stage before he stood back up to move again, something stopping him midstep before he turned on his heel and leaned back down to you, a shiver running down your spine at how close he was so he could be heard.

‘Have you ever been to one of my shows?’ he asked, genuine curiosity in his voice, his warm breath accidentally hitting your neck and rendering you unable to do anything but glance at him and shake your head no. ‘You’d have a much better time, I’ve got some great stuff coming up,’ he pitched, either completely unaware of your predicament or just used to people acting like this around him, either way he didn’t react when your eyes couldn’t help but flicker down to watch him lick his lips so fast you almost missed it. ‘The next one’s already booked up but if you go down to the studio and give them this card, you should be able to get a spot for a night you’re free, I'd like to see you there.’

He pulled out his wallet and grabbed a business card, flipping it around to the blank side on the back before resting it on the arm of the chair. A pen was found next, and he scribbled a quick note to the ticket seller on it on your behalf, signing it and handing it over with that big showman smile of his. You took it and placed it in your own wallet, the previous hole instantly filled with its presence, his mood clearly raised by the interaction as he wished you a quick goodbye and resumed his journey outside, oblivious to the fact that you were about to disrupt the entire theater if you didn’t find a place to scream and fast. 

You gave him a few minutes to reach the doors before jumping to your feet and making for the bathroom, your heels clickclacking on the tile the entire way until you found the correct door. The place was empty, which was great because once you caught sight of yourself you knew that it was bad enough he saw you this way, no one else should get the pleasure; your face was redder than you’d ever seen it, your pupils blown from the exchange and you could’ve sworn you could actually see yourself shaking you were buzzing so hard, your grin so wide anyone else would’ve assumed that Santa had just given you the toy you’d always wanted for Christmas early. 

You tried to calm yourself as you ripped off some paper towels and dampened them, patting them against your cheeks and neck to bring your body temperature back down to a normal person’s, carefully avoiding your makeup that you were thankful you spent the time putting on just on the ultra rare off chance you’d run into him. When you were ready to go back - and after a quick internal debate on whether you should try and meet him outside for another, less hushed conversation already - you made sure to calm your breathing before heading back out there, taking a quick moment to look for him before making the trek back to your seat. 

When you got back you noticed that no new act was on, Carmichael already talking to the audience and projecting himself up on the screens for all to see, you rolling your eyes as you collapsed into the rich red velvet and preparing for more of his bullshit until Jack returned, if he felt like it that was. Everyone around you was concentrating on his words, staring right ahead as the theater fell silent save for his voice and the sound of a ticking clock; ah, he was trying to hypnotize everyone, that must’ve been his big final act that he’d promised his audience. You weren’t impressed, you’d tried to be hypnotized before at a party in your youth, it hadn’t worked then so it wasn’t going to work now you knew, so you sat back and prepared to at least enjoy whatever he was going to make the audience do.

Your thoughts went back to Jack as Carmichael’s voice slowly got drowned out, the ticking a bit louder in your ears despite the distance, but you didn’t mind because it was nonsense anyway, ‘Now who’s the skeptic,’ you think to yourself as you sink deeper into your chair. You vaguely heard the words, ‘Your greatest desire,’ in your ear before you felt a hand on your shoulder, your eyes leaving the stage to travel up until you saw Jack standing just behind you in the aisle, his smile from before now more like a smirk as he motioned towards the doors like he wanted you to follow him. 

You looked back at the stage as Carmichael invited someone from the audience up to stand with him, some poor hypnotized fool who was bound to be humiliated along with everyone else who stood with him tonight, and you decided that you’d rather not see that again before standing and following Jack. There was a small hallway between the theater and the doors on that side of the back wall, the two of you out of view from everyone else but Carmichael’s voice still reaching, and you were about to wonder if he was leading you outside to just leave or talk when he turned and pushed you against the wall with a muffled thud. Your back met cold paint as your chest met with his, your eyes locking as he cornered you where no one could see, a confidence he saved for the cameras now focused solely on you as he looked you over the same way you’d done to him a thousand times over. 

‘I couldn’t wait for you to come to my show,’ he whispered, his voice impossibly low as he held you in place, a knee parting yours and making you gasp, ‘you’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.’

‘You’re just telling me what I wanna hear,’ you managed to get out, his eyes closing as he leaned in to grin against your cheek.

‘Is it working?’

You didn’t dare answer but you might as well have because your silence was enough to spur him into action, your head falling back against the wall as he started to kiss your neck, your hands grasping at anything because this was crazy. The man you’d wanted for years was kissing you not even 30ft away from a room full of people, anyone could come around the corner at any second and catch you, and you bit your lip at the thrill of it all. You’d had dreams like this before, ones that left you panting into your pillow when you awoke, but the real thing was so much better as he sucked a mark into your soft skin, your hand leaving his arm to cover your mouth lest you alert anyone within hearing distance to your current predicament.

You let him do as he pleased, let him ran his hands over your sides and down to the edge of where your lifted skirt was resting against his thigh, your legs shaking as your body tried not to grind against him; it was only due to him holding you that kept you standing as a matter of fact and he seemed fully aware of it as his nails scratched softly against your bare leg. He seemed to love all your reactions to what he did, he was in the entertainment business after all, every noise of approval that slipped through your fingers must’ve been like music to his ears but you had to hold back no matter how much you wanted to indulge him. Being denied what he wanted only made him work harder for it, the assault on your neck moving to your shoulder and collarbone instead of your covered lips, your mouth watering for just a taste as he started to move against you, one hand pulling your waist away from the wall by your lower back as the other moved up and under your skirt.

The first grind of his body against yours was decadent, you swore you could feel it in your soul the way he wanted you just as much as you’d wanted him, like he’d been watching you back through the screen for years and also craved this very moment, and now that he was getting it he wasn’t going to stop, you didn’t want him to stop. You’d never seen him act anything like this before in all his years on TV, a greedy flash of excitement running through you at getting to see such a new side of him quickly overcome by pleasure as he cupped your ass and pulled you even closer. You knew you couldn’t get undressed here, if you’d made it to the bathroom then maybe he’d be doing more but he hadn’t lasted even that long, but even with that desire being restrained you still wanted him here and now. Never in your life had you been this desperate for release but he was bringing out a demon inside of you that desired and needed and wanted so much that you were willing to throw your modesty out the fucking window for just a second of his hot skin pressed against your own, but this would have to do while the show still went on.

‘Jack…’ you moaned as your hand, moist from your panting, gripped his arm once again, Carmichael’s voice getting louder in the distance as you grew closer to your release.

‘Come home with me,’ he begged into your ear, his movements getting rougher as he also grew close, you knew you’d both have to leave before everyone saw you but it was worth it, god it was so worth it. ‘I want to have you all to myself, I need to taste you-’

You bit your lip and led his face away from your neck so you could look into his eyes, his mouth parted as he tried to control his own panting, he was coming apart at the seams for you right here in the hallway, the ticking in your ears either your heartbeat or a clock far away. You moaned his name again as you felt the heat build in your stomach, your back arching and pushing your body into him even more as the door to your right opened.

‘Dreamer, here, awake!’

All at once your knees gave out and you collapsed to the floor before that final wave could push you over the edge, your head heavy and your vision swimming as the body against yours vanished into nothing. ‘Are you okay? What happened?’ Jack’s voice from above asked as his worried expression came into view, the smell of rain and cigarette smoke invading your senses; the sound of the audience in a similar state of confusion drifted around the corner as Jack crouched down next to you, just back inside from his break from the show, the realization that you weren’t as immune to hypnosis as you’d thought hitting you like a bucket of cold water. You just panted in shock, surprise, and waning lust as Jack looked you over in concern, your hands moving to pull the bottom of your skirt down to cover your exposed legs in embarrassment, the scratches you were so certain he’d left behind not there, because he hadn’t been there.

‘I’m fine,’ you force yourself to say after you’d caught your breath, Jack believing you but still helping you to your feet like a gentleman, of course he would never act that way, that was only how you’d wanted him to act, you’d had dreams like that for god’s sake, the real Jack would never-

‘Is the show over?’ he asked as the roar of people applauding overtook the chatter, Carmichael now silent, and you avoided his eye as you started to edge towards the way out.

‘I think so.’

‘What was the big mind-blowing act?’

You put a little distance between yourself and him but he didn’t notice, Jack heading for the corner so he could look at the stage as he waited for your reply. ‘He hypnotized everyone,’ you answered curtly, his reaction big and full of surprise as he looked over the size of the crowd in an awe that wasn’t present for the first hour and a half.

‘Everyone? You should’ve come found me, I would’ve loved to see that.’ He was still looking at the room beyond, your eyes on him as he watched everyone else.

‘I got a little overwhelmed,’ you mumble, and he finally looked at you with that same concerned expression again, and it’s too much after what you’d just thought you’d seen, your eyes finding the floor.

‘What did he make you see?’ he asked, his curiosity quiet but still there under the concern, but you couldn’t answer him. ‘Do you need a ride home, or are you okay to drive?’

He’s too kind, he would never act that way, he would never say that to you.

‘I took a cab, I’ll be fine,’ you tried to say, but still you quickly found yourself being led to the front door as the audience swarmed around you, his hand on your back to make sure you stayed standing, a true gentleman. It had started raining while you were inside which explained the scent pairing with the smoke that covered up his cologne, and you just stood under the marquee as he hailed a cab for you as the sea of skeptics washed around you like rushing water. You hopped inside but he didn’t shut the door right away, leaning down in the rain once you were seated, and for a moment you wondered if he was going to get in when he spoke.

‘I do hope you come to my show, preferably Friday’s, it’s gunna be a good one, I promise,’ he said with that big genuine smile again, your heart pounding as your cheeks glowed red for a reason other than embarrassment as you gave him a small nod.

‘I’ll be there,’ you promised back, and he tapped the roof of the cab before shutting the door and letting you go. You looked out the back window as you drove away, the both of you waving as he ducked back inside and out of the rain, and as soon as you turned back around to face forward you found yourself reaching for your wallet. His card was in your hands as you looked it over, all in all it was an uninspiring, plain business card, and you flipped it over to read what he wrote for the ticketmaster on the back.

Wait for me by the back entrance at 11:00 Phil will let you in JD

Your cheeks turned red again as you put the card away, the cab driver giving you a look in the rearview mirror as you held your nearly empty wallet, now with one business card, to your thumping chest. Oh yeah, it definitely was all worth it after all.

[skyfallscotland]

A year ago today, I posted the first chapter on AO3 of a story called Fury.

A few months before that, I'd picked up A Court of Thorns & Roses. It was the first original work I'd read in years and when I finished Silver Flames a week later, I turned back to AO3, desperate to read more about these characters I'd fallen in love with. I couldn't find what I wanted. Feysand fic was all well and good, but there wasn't much of that, and Azriel didn't appeal to me, which ruled out...well, most of the archive.

Original character fic gets a bad rap and that's mostly because OC fic can often be an author's first foray into fandom and writing in general, making the quality hit and miss, but that's what I really wanted in the end—I wanted to read about other characters in this world and I wanted to flesh out the world itself. I had questions about Windhaven, about siphons and magic and all the things that had been mentioned and glossed over. I couldn't find fic that answered those questions. So I wrote one.

I'd written before, basically my whole life, but never finished anything. This time though, it was like something clicked in my brain. I wasn't back on Tumblr yet and I had no one to talk to about it, but I wrote and wrote and wrote. I'd been writing for months, in secret, not telling a single soul. I'd completely written both Fury and Siren, the second in the series, before ever posting a word of it.

I almost didn't write it, really. Almost didn't post it. I figured no one was going to read it with the way people look down on original character fic. But I felt compelled to write their stories, so I did—night after night. I actually think they might be the best stories I've ever written. The statistics don't reflect that, but I didn't have a storyline to follow, a framework to back me up, like I did later with Remi's Version, just a world and some characters and I'm very proud of them.

Remi's Version came after. I'd started writing it by September, but didn't start posting it until late October (that anniversary is next week) and I almost didn't write that either, because I thought maybe it was too much, too self-indulgent, too unbalanced. It's funny to think now, that I almost never wrote her at all.

I don't know why I'm writing this essay. Maybe just because it feels...some kind of way, you know? It's been a year, but that year felt like a decade, and it's been hard. Picking up ACOTAR was an act of self-preservation when I was at my lowest and Fury and Siren and everything that came after pulled me from somewhere I never want to be again.

It's been a year. My word count on AO3 is now 1,088,097. (That's like, twelve novels!). I've published 11 works. I've written a lot, I've laughed and cried and made friends with so many of you. I'm alive.

I guess I just wanted to say thanks, and to mark the milestone somehow because it feels like I've lived ten lives since October 17th, and in all of them, this was the high point. Happy Birthday, Tessa 🖤

[lazyjellyfishcreation]

part two of a Witcher! jaskier post from a while ago

this is part two of this au: https://www.tumblr.com/lazyjellyfishcreation/754661152979566592/my-thoughts-on-witcherjaskier

One (1) person has asked me questions about this, so I'm about to expand on this. ( @kezikatescribbling )

So!

Julek becomes grandmaster, takes his son, stops being grandmaster (guxart takes over, it's popular vote) and fucks right off. He no longer goes there. He does not return to the caravan. He raises Aiden for the rest and is verry happy bc he's no longer hunted.

Eventually, Aiden grows up and starts walking the path more or less on his own. (they still walk together often, but also seperate more and more as time goes on) Note that Aiden does not, and never has, taken human contracts. Julek has and will continue to do so. Julek has no problems killing people, as long as the people are bad and he's getting paid. (Yet he never shames Aiden for not wanting to do the same. He's honestly kind of proud of his son's self restraint and moral code.)

years go by. The tournament happens, Julek and Aiden are across the country when it does. When they get the news, it's the first time in a long time Julek cries. 4 of his 7 remaining littermates died that day.

Sure, Julek would have happily killed them himself for their treason if he were there, but they were still his siblings. He still grieves them. (As does he grief the remaining 4 when Guxart and the grandmaster Wolf hunt down the traitorous cats, whom the 4 were part of.)

In the end, he's just glad Aiden wasn't there when it happened. He couldn't imagine what would have happened, what he would have done if his boy was in that fight.

Nonetheless, time goes on, years pass. Aiden grows up. They start meeting less and less, only once or twice a year now, where they walk to path together and catch up for a couple of weeks before splitting again. But that's okay. Aiden's a man now, he's grown. (He will always be Julek's baby, no matter how tall, strong or old he gets).

After 60-70 years of this, Julek starts noticing that his boy faintly smells of wolf in one of their bi-anual meetups. He smells of wolf and honey and fresh bread and... and oh melitele's tits his dumbass son has gone and fallen in love with a fucking wolf, hasn't he? Goddamn it Aiden, he's taught him better then this.

But Aiden seems so sweet on him, and apparently they usually split some weeks before Aiden and Julek meet up so that Aiden doesn't smell like wolf anymore by the time they get to their meeting spot, but he got careless this time. Apparently, this has been going on for about a decade at least. Julek is sceptical, but his boy seems so happy and in love.

He is happy. Aiden is happy. being a witcher is hard, after the tournament, being a cat even more so, but they have eachother and Aiden has his wolf (that he won't shut up about) and it's good. He sometimes sees Guxart, just to see how it goes. He's always met with the same joke of 'I may be a grandmaster, but don't kill me yet.'

And then a duo hunt goes wrong.

They're high in the mountains. treacherous terrain.

It was a stupid decision to take this contract. Cats don't do well in snow.

But two witchers are hard to feed, so they take what they can get hunting together.

The monster flings Aiden against a rock. (it's not bad, not for a witcher, but aiden spends a few precious miliseconds getting up and back)

Julek kills the monster, but the monster falls and the ledge he was standing on cracks and breaks and then he's falling.

Falling falling falling.

they were so high up in the mountains. not even a witcher could survive this.

Yet still, Aiden searches for his masters, and fahters, body. He can't find him. But the wild is wide and the wind is so strong it carries away what little smell the cold air carries.

Julek dies and Aiden gets sloppy.

A contract goes wrong.

He should have seen this coming.

His father taught him better then this.

His father taught him better then to walk into traps.

His father is dead, and soon he will be too.

Aiden could fight them. He was trained and raised and was now on par to one of the best swordsmen that ever lived. Even against 3 witchers, he stood a chanse of at least getting away.

Aiden didn't fight them.

Aiden hangs his head and doesn't protest as they shackle him and take him away.

He couldn't save his father, what right does he have to save himself.

(His father would be so disapointed in him, Aiden could almost smell it, but he can't. Julek is dead. God, he wishes he could smell his fathers disappointment again. It would mean he was alive.)

Aiden doesn't die.

His wolf comes for him. His beautifull, strong, angry wolf comes and saves him. Aiden smells like grief and pain and agony and Lambert takes him to kear moren to heal. What else is he supposed to do? Lambert doens't have a stellar relationship with Vesemir, but if he lost the old wolf... He doesn't know what he would do...

He doesn't tell them. Not at first. All the wolves (and one lone gryffin) know is that he's Lambets cat, and he's in pain. He tells them eventually. The wolves are talking in the dining hall. The topic of the legendary Julek comes up.

Vesemir mentions that if anyone ever took any of his pups away, he'd kill the fucker. Aiden almost sees red from anger. He tells them. And he tells them that they don't know what the fuck they are talking about (i really wanna write this scene)

But now the wolves know.

And information travels fast after that.

The rest of the witchers know in no time.

Julek, Kin killer, Grandmaster Slayer, kit stealer (because nobody ever realized that he saved Aiden instead is stealing him) is dead.

He is dead.

~

Julek is alive and he is cold as fuck. Everything is awful and all his bones hurt holy shit.

It takes him weeks to somehow claw his way out of the hole made of ice he fell into, surviving of snow hares and frozen roots.

Allas, he's too late. When he comes back to the land of the living to tell his son that he's alive. he's too late.

All he finds is a farmer that tells him what happened. He shows him the fake job listing, covered in blood, aiden's blood. He even told him about the other witcher (the wolf, Aiden's wolf was here) that wept in to his dead friends armor and swore revenge.

And just like that, only weeks before having died, Julek wishes he was dead again.

He couldn't do the one thing he had ever done right.

He couldn't save his son.

And now his boy is dead. His boy, his baby boy, whom he had raised and taught and cherished. Whom mean the whole entire world to him, was gone.

After days and days of grief and tearing himself apart, he realizes that he has a choise to make.

he crawls into a hole of alcohol until he finds himself dead in a ditch

he goes back to the caravan and becomes the monster everyone thinks he is, because a wold without his son is undeserving of his selfrestriant and he's about to go on a cat-madness fuled rampage

he becomes the man Aiden always belived him to be

he can remember it so well. The song and music he had taught his precious boy after he regained his ears. At first, his sensetive ears could only handle the faintest of sound, just the rumbeling purring of his chest. then humming. then words, then rymes and sentnches and conversation. and then music. Aiden, apparently, loved music. and he had missed it so so much after going deaf.

So, Julek spend Aidens entire childhood teaching himself as many songs as possible, he even picked up a lute (read: stole) and started composing his own songs for his boy. He was bad at it, but he enjoyed it as much as Aiden did and he had gotten better fast. Now, after 70 odd years of practice, he knew his instrument better then any (except it was gone now)

When he was still little, Aiden had always told him with childlike wonder that if Julek hadn't been a witcher, he surely would have been a bard with a voice that pretty.

He wasn't a bard then. But now. maybe now, now that his boy was gone, he had to live out that part. For Aiden if not himself. Because the path without his son wasn't worth walking. He had to be what he son thought him to be, or he would not be at all.

There was a witch that owed him a favor. She was powerful, but had been plagued with a creature that hunted her wherever she went. her spells did nothing, but his swords had. He had killed it but she had nothing to give him, so she gave him a boon.

And now it was time to collect.

The glamour was intracate. A golden stone sat between his colarbones with twine woven around them, and tread knotted in intracate paterns wraped around his neck to faster the stone to him. And just like that, his eyes were blue. Just like that his scars were gone and his scent lost it'd distinct Witchery tang.

But all that gives, takes as much. Julek couldn't sighn spells anymore, and his sences were reduced. Not as much as normal human senses, he was still better at seeing, smelling and hearing then people were, but he still felt deaf and blind with it.

And do, Julek was dead Jaskier was born.

Both witcher and bard grieved on other ends of the continent. thinking that they would never see the other again. Both thinking that they were to blame for the other's death. Both unable to forgive themselves.

Both were alive.

Neither of them knew it

[wrengrif]

It's Thought Time again

So I've been rolling over this in various posts and reblogs, and I'm finally going to pin down my thoughts and write them here. Some might call this my 'Aziraphale Defense Post', but that's not accurate.

This is my William James take - meaning, everyone's reality is different due to perspective. What is true to me is not going to be true to you, 100% of the time. However, there is a facet of truth in everything we do believe, because we wholeheartedly believe it. That gives us a rainbow of truths from one opinion, each in their own radiant color.

So here's what I believe to be true. 6000 years ago, Heaven and Hell, on two completely different missions, sent the angel and the demon they found the most annoying to Earth. Not the weakest, not the most problematic (not yet anyways), but the ones they all collectively rolled their eyes at. Crowley was too flash. Aziraphale was too soft.

So God plopped Aziraphale in Eden, told him to protect the humans and not let them eat the apple tree that was sitting right there in front of them. Didn't tell him to put up a fence, or wave the flaming sword at them.

Satan booted Crowley upwards and told him to vaguely, 'start some trouble'. Vaguest of orders, no real direction in them. Crowley could have just thrown rocks at Adam and Eve and it would have counted.

We all know what happened from there. However, instead of Heaven and Hell going, 'Okay we're going to really pin down these orders now, sending more troops, let's get humanity really going' ... they basically left Aziraphale and Crowley alone in the office for 6000 years. Oh, the head offices occasionally pop up. Threaten, in their own unique ways. Mostly though, Crowley and Aziraphale were the only immortal beings on a planet filled with human mayflies.

Human mayflies that nine times out of ten would just set fire to themselves, or show greater compassion than either one of them had ever known.

Crowley and Aziraphale were all alone, except for each other. Even among humans, who they clearly understood more than their superiors -- you had to know they both stuck out. Yeah, think on that. Crowley couldn't have been the only one outcast, with his red hair and his yellow eyes. Aziraphale has the most white-blonde, curly hair in existence. Tag along with blue eyes and fair skin and come on. So at the beginning, they only ever really had each other for safe company. As they moved towards Europe, it got easier to fit in but even then you know people were still giving them the side-eye.

They were both transitory - following where-ever a mission went. Probably a home for maybe ten or so years, but then they'd have to move on again. We talk a lot about how Crowley didn't have a physical home until the creation of the bookshop.

That means neither did Aziraphale.

So what happened? They became home to one another. A touchstone in the centuries that passed. Aziraphale never rejected being approached by Crowley, despite being a demon, and Crowley never held Heaven's stupid missions again Aziraphale, so they kept coming together. Over and over again. Think of Rome. Aziraphale is so happy to see Crowley, and it's only been a few decades. Crowley's mood improves the longer the conversation goes on, letting down his defenses, relaxing enough to smirk.

The Arrangement, thought of by Crowley, agreed to by Aziraphale, despite the dangers they both knew they would face, because at least it meant they could see each other without having to make an excuse or just 'happen to be in the area'. Now they could meet up at theatres or in graveyards. They had to be careful - they always, always had to be careful - or the other one could be hurt.

It is the worst thing that can happen to either one of them, if the other one is hurt, or worse, killed. Remember Aziraphale's face in the graveyard, that look of sheer horror when he realizes Hell has taken Crowley.

Remember Crowley yelling as he runs into a burning bookshop.

The bookshop and the Bentley are theirs, but they can lose those and still go on, as long as they have each other. Maybe it is co-dependent, but honestly who else can they depend on, if not each other? That's why I believe Aziraphale begged Crowley to come with him to Heaven, not because he wanted Crowley to be an angel, but because Crowley would be safe - Aziraphale's Home would be Safe. That's why he says, 'Nothing lasts forever'. No Thing.

Crowley is not a Thing, to Aziraphale. Crowley is Aziraphale's Person. His safe place, and he's Crowley's. They both know it. It's why Aziraphale never wants to run away because he knows he's not fighting for a place called home, he's fighting for Crowley. It's why Crowley walks away and always comes back - not because he's weak but because he knows that being with Aziraphale is what matters. It's what makes life worth living.

Which is what makes the Final Fifteen so heartbreaking because they are both saying the same thing, but they're on different wavelengths. Yet, Yet ... as time has passed and I've been able to look at the Final Fifteen with some space, I see that it's not as hopeless as it seems.

Because Crowley came back. Because Aziraphale looks ready to do what he has to do. I don't think it'll be violence, because they've never solved their problems with violence and I don't think they'll start now. I just know that They're Not Talking is not going to last as long as we think, and that anger and betrayal is not going to be the first thing on their minds when they finally see one another again.

Probably going to be that kiss, though.

This why I could never say I can't forgive Aziraphale for his actions, because he did what he had to do to keep his home, his Crowley safe. I know Crowley knows that, too. How is that all going to shape up - how they're going to find themselves in balance again?

Well. I guess we'll have to wait, and see.

[elizabeethan]

Not With Haste

An Overboard Conclusion

Oh hi, where the hell did this come from? I'm wondering the same thing. in reality, @donteattheappleshook talked to me about oarfish maybe 2 years ago and I started writing something stupid. I always intended to finish it and post it for @the-darkdragonfly's birthday, but I never found it in me to complete it. Then tonight I found that stupid thing and I finished it. You never know when that funny little creativity bug might bite, I guess.

I've always wanted to write some form of conclusion for Overboard because it's one of my favorite things that I've written. I first published Overboard way back in May of 2021, and looking back, I've grown and learned a lot and there are things I would probably do differently if I started the story over again, but I can't see myself ever editing it because I love what I wrote. Would I rewrite it into a novel and really flesh out the story and the characters? A girlie can dream, never say never, you never know when the creativity bug might bite, etc.

I hope everyone here is well, I know I am for the most part, and I'll never stop being grateful for this little community that I found all those years ago. More than that, I'll never stop being grateful for the feeling of being able to come back after a time away. It's been fun to log back in to everything and pick up where I left off as if no time has passed. (It's been so long since I've done this so if the formatting is all messed up, I'm really sorry, but I barely knew what I was doing.)

Long story short, this story is finally complete. It's barely edited and it's not beta'd, so thank you for giving it a chance.

Rated T I think

~2300 words

Read on Ao3

Read my Other Stuff

~~~~

Even after sixteen years of marriage, Killian often finds himself wondering what on earth could possibly be going through his wife’s head. 

  The thoughts of wonderment and confusion strike him at the oddest of times, always in response to something she’s said or done and never with any sort of answer. The first time he knew he was in trouble was fifteen years ago, when he returned home from a trip to find she had adopted a rottweiler. Still, Ripple refuses to retire from her post as the Jones’ Harbor Tours’ mascot, and Emma often tries to convince him that it’s because she’s as stubborn as her father. 

  In truth, Emma Jones is the most stubborn person he has ever met in his life, a fact which will likely never be contested. 

  He finds himself confused so often that he can barely recount any examples of her free spirited nature. (She calls herself a wild child, although she often shouts at him whenever he uses the term in bed.) There was the time she impulsively began tearing up the tile flooring in the bathroom after watching three whole YouTube tutorials (her words), only to sob into his already sea-soaked sweater when she realized how physically taxing reflooring an entire room is without any experience, general tiling knowledge, materials, or help. Then there was the time she randomly asked him if he would still love her if she was a worm, and then became irrationally angry when he found himself unable to answer without first asking clarifying questions. And the incident when she questioned his loyalty to her when he refused to hunt down and kill the person who bumped into her parked car and drove off. He later discovered that the question came after she had finished some romance novel about the mafia. He chose not to dig any deeper into that one.

  All this to say: Killian’s wife is a free spirit, a wild child, a confusing, strange, barely-readable woman who stole his heart in one breath and has yet to give it back almost two decades later. 

  And, he has no idea what the bloody hell she’s talking about more than half the time. 

  He wouldn’t have it any other way.

  Emma (Trophy Wife): have you ever see this??? In the wild??????

  Emma (Trophy Wife): Attached: 1 Image

  Killian: What are you doing?

  He shakes his head, as exasperated as he is filled with a warm sense of comfort, just like he always is whenever he sees the name she gave herself the moment their vows were exchanged pop onto his phone screen.

  Emma (Trophy Wife): they inhabit the atlantic ocean. *vomiting emoji*

  Killian: Stop watching National Geographic if it’s going to make you nauseous. 

  Emma (Trophy Wife): that’s where you worked!!

  Killian: That’s also where we live.

  Emma (Trophy Wife): you never saw one in your sexy fisherman days? LOOK at that thing. 

  Killian quickly discovers that she’s referring to an Oarfish. They’re the longest known bonefish and inhabit very deep water, are rarely seen or caught alive, and are thought to be generally harmless. Still, he knows that these facts will not prevent his wife from overreacting, so he chooses not to bother. 

  Though she’s always hidden it well, Emma has a strange fear of creatures of the deep, as she often calls them. She’s told him that the tuna he used to pull onto the deck of his boat didn’t bother her– even though they were often almost twice her height in length and weighed upwards of 1,000 pounds– because they were no longer in the water. But the thought of running into one of those slimy bastards while swimming gives her panicky symptoms— her words. He hasn’t bothered to point out the absolute impossibility of her ever running into a giant bluefin tuna while swimming, either. After sixteen years of marriage, he’s learned which battles are better left unfought. 

  Of course, there are times when his correcting her drives her absolutely mad, often to the point of her feeling compelled to kiss him in order to shut him up, and he navigates those moments very carefully and with a smirk on his lips. 

  Killian: They aren’t known to be predatory.

  Emma (Trophy Wife) disliked “They aren’t known to be predatory.”

  Killian: Attached: 1 Image

  Killian: You see? They have small mouths and no teeth. Harmless.

  It’s unlike her to wait so long to reply, as she’s often glued to her phone at least when she’s mid conversation. But it’s almost a full two minutes that he finds himself standing in front of the display of pasta sauce, looking like a complete fool and blocking the path of an elderly woman, breath bated as he waits for a response from her. Bloody hell, he thinks to himself as he shakes his head. He’s known the woman for eighteen years and he still can hardly breathe in anticipation of whatever adorably inane thought leaves her mouth without any sort of filter. 

  Emma (Trophy Wife): Attached: 1 Video

  Lovely. Even as he watches the attached video of her silently dry heaving, he’s desperately in love with her. He watches it again. 

  Her blonde hair has gone lighter over the years, streaks of white coloring through the gold in a way that makes her look somehow even more sexy and playful than when he first laid eyes on her. There are soft creases beside her eyes as she squeezes them shut, her mouth open and her tongue out as she pretends to be so violently offended by the image he sent her that it’s made her ill. 

  Emma (Trophy Wife): expect consequences when you get home. even if you get the good mac and cheese. 

  Emma (Trophy Wife): you KNOW how i feel about serpents and sea monsters. 

  Killian: I do. 

  Emma (Trophy Wife): … and????

  Killian: I’m sorry for traumatizing you with my serpent. 

  Killian: And for how that just sounded. 

  Emma (Trophy Wife): if you’re not home in 34 minutes i’m not touching your serpent for two whole days. 

  Killian: Well, now that I'm familiar with your gag reflex… 

  Emma (Trophy Wife): 33 minutes. 

  ~~~~

  Ripple is the oldest dog Killian has ever known. Her silver snout and eyebrows catch in the setting sun, and it’s painfully obvious from her gait how sore her joints are, but still, at his arrival home, she hurries her way towards him with as much enthusiasm as she can muster. 

  Their vet has told them that she’s the healthiest dog he’s treated in a while, considering her age, and Emma uses that as a point of pride for their perfect child. 

  “Hi, darling,” he says when she finally reaches him, her soft smile lighting up her face once he drops the reusable grocery bags in order to give her a scratch behind the ears. Killian’s getting up there in age, too, but he still manages to squat down to her level and kiss her nose. 

  The two of them make quite the pair while Killian struggles back into a standing position and then they both hobble towards the front door. His fishing career was lucrative and rewarding, but dammit if it didn’t lead to stiff joints that his wife pokes fun at. She’s never met a “my husband is older than me” joke she hasn’t loved. 

  “I’m glad you both made it,” she happily chortles from the kitchen, making him smile. He’s never smiled more widely than he does with Emma. 

  “The abuse I’m subjected to,” he mutters as he drops the bags on the floor for her to peruse. It’s a deal they made years ago; Killian does the shopping because the grocery store makes Emma too itchy, and she puts the groceries away in exchange. 

  She snorts when she pulls out the bag of goldfish, sending Killian a playful smirk. “Looks like a good haul.”

  “Aye, love. I thought you might enjoy a fishy treat after our conversation.”

  “Always so thoughtful,” she murmurs as she makes her way to him. The kitchen is small, but they’ve always had just enough space for the three of them. 

  “It’s a difficult cross to bear,” he nods, catching her wrist as soon as she’s close enough to pull towards him. “But anticipating your needs is one of the many responsibilities I take very seriously.”

  Emma’s hands land on his neck, fingers tangling with the silver hair at the back of his head while her thumbs trace along his jaw. She likes to call him a silver fox when she’s feeling playful. “My perfect husband,” she says softly, voice syrupy sweet in that way that still manages to get him excited. 

  “I couldn’t be a perfect husband without my perfect wife,” he answers, earning a beaming grin that he barely catches before her lips press to his. 

  It never ends. The way he wants her has been an inferno so intense since the day they met, and it hasn’t been snuffed out in all these years. The moment she’s near him, his blood starts to simmer, and once she touches him, kisses him like she is now, he’s a goner. 

  Her tongue is soft as it sweeps over the seam of his lips, lazily working to deepen the kiss they share. She kissed him with urgency, but not with haste, never rushing but always desperate. It’s enough to have him pushing her backwards, her lower back softly pressing against the counter before he lifts her onto it. Emma’s legs part seemingly without her even thinking about it, and before either of them have a chance to put the rotisserie chicken in the refrigerator, he wonders if he should just carry her to their room. Part of him has this never ending need to show her just how desperate he still is for her. 

  But then, she speaks. 

  “Wait,” she breathes, chest rising and falling rapidly as her warm breath fans over his mouth, her forehead still pressed to his and her fingers clinging to the collar of the light sweater he wears. 

  “Yes, love?” he asks, perfectly prepared to answer whatever silly question she likely has as long as he can have her after. 

  “About the oarfish…”

  He fights a groan. “I promise you, there is absolutely no chance of you ever seeing an oarfish for as long as you live.”

  “I know, I did plenty of research while you were gone.”

  He breathes out a soft laugh, his smile growing when she kisses it. “What’s wrong, then?”

  “Would you still love me if I was an oarfish?”

  His world stops for just a moment. Just a second, really, as he tries to right his mind and will a tiny bit of blood back to his brain so that he can answer this very unimportant and yet somehow very vital question correctly. 

  “If you were an oarfish,” he starts, hand sliding up from her hip to her ribs before finding her cheek, “then I would be an oarfish. And we would be married and have a pet… eel, perhaps. Named Ripple. And we would live in a tiny oarfish cottage and be happy and in love for as long as oarfish live.”

  Emma sighs, the softest smile on her perfect lips making him crazy as her arms wrap around his neck in one of his favorite hugs. 

  “I love you,” she whispers into his ear. He’ll never tire of this. Of the soft, almost unfathomable way that the love they have for one another strikes at the most random times. 

  “I love you, too, Swan. Always. No matter what species we are.”  

  “And I love you, no matter how much older you are than me.”

  He grabs her then, hoisting her against him to the best of his ability as her ankles cross at his back. “Disrespectful,” he murmurs, carrying her from the kitchen and happily forgetting about the frozen broccoli florets, not cuts she made him buy. 

  “You better teach me a lesson, then,” she taunts with a smirk, as if that isn’t exactly what she was after. 

  “Don’t act like that isn’t exactly what you want, love.”

  “Don’t act like you don’t get off on giving me exactly what I want.”

  To that, he just returns her smirk and offers a quick smack to her ass before dropping her onto the bed they share, because he knows she’s right. For the rest of his days, he’ll be happy, as long as he has his family. 

~~~~

I'm using my old tag list from 2 years ago. If you don't want to be tagged, I'm real sorry and let me know if I should remove you

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[reimeichan]

As I start nearing 30 years old, and also as I become more integrated, I've started exploring who "I" am, as a person, and as a single identity. I know that not too long ago I made a post talking about these aspects of who I am, as a person, post-fusion. But I've also been finding more and more bits and pieces of myself and working through my trauma since then, and as new information crops up, I'm starting to once again re-examine who I am.

Mainly, I've been exploring my gender and sexuality. My sexuality especially has always been very clear to me since I was 14. I'm asexual. Nothing had really changed that for well over a decade. And not for lack of trying, too; I explored my feelings on sexuality and sex for a long time and it was something I would regularly rotate around in my head. Am I truly ace? I enjoy reading hentai and watching porn and reading smut, does that mean I'm sexually attracted to people? I'm hypersexual, how does that factor in to my ace-ness? Am I maybe aro as well? Am I demi-ace? Is my asexuality a result of my trauma? Does that make my asexuality more or less valid in that way? I explored every aspect of my asexual identity as thoroughly as I could, and each time I emerged on the other side even more certain that "asexual" was the best and closest label to describe my sexuality.

But, now... as I work through these different parts of me and understand the bits of me I had dissociated away, I'm starting to become more connected to... having sexual attraction to others. It's not that I was wrong about being ace for all these years; I think it's important to honor and acknowledge that part of my history. But I also think that to continue to call myself "asexual" is doing a disservice to myself. I do find people "hot". I do think about and fantasize about people's bodies. It's no longer about just the act of sex or kink itself turning me on (as it had been when I was ace), I'm very much attracted to people's bodies. And in that way I think it's more accurate to tell others that I am bisexual. And... that's quite a change, for me. To start acknowledging that I have sexual feelings towards others, and am sexually attracted to them, is so new to me, when in the past this wasn't something I ever felt like I had experienced.

And similarly, my gender. The thing that I could never figure out, but with each passing day I find further clarity. I think I know how to explain my gender now. I was a girl. For much of my childhood, I was absolutely a girl. But as I hit my preteen years and my teenage years, that started to shift. I saw myself less as a girl, and more as something.... in-between and outside of that. Nonbinary. Agender. Androgynous. I don't know what term works best, but I know what it was for me. And again, in early adulthood, that shifted yet again. I was genderfluid, a girly guy, a femboy. But I'm not going to be a young adult for much longer, and I find myself looking into the future. In my middle age, who I am? Who do I see myself becoming? And, beyond that, who will I be when I'm even older, at retirement age or even as an elderly 80, 90 year old?

And as I think about this future version of me, I realize that I am no longer a genderfluid girly femboy. I'm... a guy. I'm a middle aged Asian man. I don't know if "transmasc" or "trans man" really is the best way to describe that, but it's the closest word I have for what I see and what I feel. But really, just calling myself a guy is enough I think. I'm going to be a middle aged guy sooner than later, and I want to take some steps for this future version of me so that he can feel more comfortable in his skin.

I'm still a femboy right now. I like this version of me and I plan to stick with it as long as it feels right. But I also know this isn't who I'm going to be forever, and that's okay.

It's so weird, exploring all of these feelings at my age, especially when I thought I had it all figured out. But life isn't so clear cut, and you're never too old to figure out who you are. And it's okay for things to change as you get older, too. Either way, I'm excited for whoever I end up becoming, and I'm proud of who I am right now.

[melkyt]

Major Character Death, Post Canon, Older Lawlu. The end of their journey and maybe the beginning of a new one.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/56080912

“We got old, huh Traffy?” Luffy groans as he settles down on the bench. The sun dances over the waves that crash against the beach. His ship is a small miniature version of the merry that he uses to get around these days. 

“Forty isn’t that old, Luffy” Law scratches at his graying beard. There is an ache in his joints that not even his power can do anything about. The white splotches that he had grown to know well through his life have started to spread again as if his disease is catching up to him after being dormant for so many years. There is nothing his fruit can do about it anymore. There is only so much of a beating his body can take. 

“It is for us, shishishi” He laughs with that distinct trill that has not changed over the decades. It is the sound of freedom. “Think I’m ready to go Traffy” His smile is a soft bright thing, part of it is tired. “We had a good life, huh.” He taps on the wood. “Almost boring to go out like this, maybe we should go find a fight.” 

“There is no fight, you made the world ‘boring’.” Law settles, using the words that Luffy has repeated over the years. There is nothing but the ocean and the redline, and the countless ships that traverse the oceans. Yet the pirate age is long over. Its end was run when Luffy first put on the ‘crown’ almost two decades ago now. 

“Yeah, but we had fun doing so” Luffy yawns, stretching, wrapping one arm around Law. “I hate saying goodbye” 

“Yeah” Law settles into the embrace, he has gotten much more comfortable with Luffy’s touch over the years. It feels warm and safe. “They are going to find us here in a few hours” 

They said goodbye at a week-long party, and a memories trip around the world, but now it is all over. They celebrated life, and they celebrated death. There was no use crying about it. Luffy wanted his last moments with the crew to be happy, and they were. “Did you have fun Traffy?” 

Law sighs. He hates to admit but yes he did have fun, in his own way. “I always have fun with you” 

“Ha, of course!” Luffy wraps his legs around Law. “We have the best parties!” He leaves a gentle kiss on one of Law’s cheeks where there is a pale patch spreading up over his eye. “I love you, Traffy” 

“I love you too” Law repeats in turn, with no hesitation. When they were young he struggled with returning the words as freely as Luffy, yet another thing he got used to. They have been through so much together, even more after Luffy’s journey came to an end. It was when their relationship started, when they were not running from one fight to another, but could relax, could be boring just for the sake of it. 

It was nothing but adventure and the freedom to love each other. He has nothing but fond memories of those days. “I’m glad I joined you” Law sits up to meet Luffy’s eyes, forcing the man to untwist his body and sit up until they are facing each other. “I'm glad I met you all those years ago” 

“I’m glad you saved me” Luffy closes the distance, their lips meet. The kiss is soft, gentle. “You helped me so much, Traffy.” 

“I saved you…” Law snorts. “Then what did you do for me Luffy?” 

“Right now, I kissed you” Luffy chuckles, going in for another. He presses his tongue in, tasting Law with enthusiasm that has not faded even now. “I love you, I love you” He wants to say it as many times as he can before they go. “The sun looks so pretty on your skin” He traces the pattern, they always remind him of clouds. 

“You are my sun” Law hums. 

Luffy chuckles. “That's cheesy Traffy” He plops down in his lover’s lap, turning so he can see Law’s beautiful eyes. 

“You’re one to talk” Law ruffles the tight curls, they have tinges of white that spread the more he would use his power. They once thought it would go white all the way, but when the world got boring, Luffy did not need to go all the way in a long long time. “What do you think is out there?” 

“Another adventure?” Luffy chuckles. He does not know if there is another world, or if there is anything. He doesn’t much care, as long as it's fun. He shrugs. “Whatever it is, I hope you’re there again Traffy!” 

“You think we will meet again?” Law never was one for fate, never to believe that there is anything more than chance in the world, otherwise, his life was full of suffering because of some bastard's will. The only god he ever really needed to believe is Luffy. He is flesh and blood. Real. 

“We’re gonna meet in every world!” Luffy's grin never falters, even as he is starting to get sleepy. “That's a promise!” His speech slurs. 

“That would be nice” Law brushes a thumb over a cheek, making the man hum.

“I’m getting tired…” Luffy yawns, eyes fluttering shut. He is starting to fade. “I love you…” His voice is at a whisper. 

Law bends down, brushing his lips over Luffy’s. “Rest now” He feels tears sting at the corners of his eyes. Law promised himself that he wouldn’t cry. His breath shudders. “I’ll follow you, soon.” He feels Luffy’s heart, its drumming falters. That steady beat goes off-tune. It’s getting weak. Not long now. “You gave me everything, thank you” Another kiss, on lips that only just respond. “Room” His power takes longer to respond. There is a small temptation to use his power, to give Luffy back his life. Yet they talked about it plenty of times, and Luffy never even entertained the idea of forever. He never wanted to be alone, not without those he calls dear. Brook gave him a first-hand experience of forever, and only made him want it less. 

Law would never give him that curse, not when he doesn’t want it. “You always do things first.” He feels the time between beats increase. Then stop, the last breath escapes Luffy’s lips. 

Law can't hold back the tears anymore. They drip down his cheeks and sobs escape past trembling lips. “I was always supposed to go first, with everyone” He takes a deep breath. “My family, Cora, and now you” He wheezes. “At least I’m not long behind you” Law cradles Luffy, he wants the last thing he sees to be of this man. He looks peaceful like this, happy as he could ever be. Years ago, this was not the death Luffy would have wanted, he always wanted to go out with a bang, and well maybe he did. Everyone will wonder what happened to the pirate king after the party they threw. Their story will go down in legend. 

“It was a good ride” Law settles back on the bench, looking out over the ocean and the setting sun. He places a hand over his heart. “I never thought I would have a good life but that's what you gave me” He leans back. “I hope I did the same for you.” Law lets his eyes slide close. “I love you, thank you” Law lets go, of his power that has supported him for the last three decades. He lets go of all the that keep his heart beating, his mind working. It’s almost refreshing. Law has not relaxed this much in a long time. The pain starts to fade as his body gives up. “See you in the next life, Monkey D. Luffy” 

[sachikoii]

My thoughts on what year ikevil is set

I just finished Harrison's route a few days ago so I wanted to share some of my thoughts 👀

THIS IS JUST A POST FOR FUN 🥺

SPOILERS AHEAD (just in case)

The premise of Ikemen Villain is that you are living in 19th century London. Crown works for the Queen. This would have to refer to the only female British monarch in that century, Queen Victoria, who reigned from 1837-1901 aka the Victorian era.

I think most people know by now that Arthur Conan Doyle (the non-vampire version) makes an appearance in Harrison's route. Harrison's day job is being an editor and he's also a big fan of mystery novels. He mentions enjoying Conan Doyle's novels and being excited for new releases.

Sherlock Holmes is also mentioned a few times in his route, and not just by Harrison. MC also references Watson (wish I had the screenshot for this, it was in the middle of Harrison's route 🥲). We can assume at this point that Sherlock Holmes has reached enough mainstream popularity as even regular, literate folk like MC vaguely know the characters.

Sherlock Holmes made his first appearance in 1887, meaning our setting is already quite late in the Victorian era. He became increasingly popular after having his short stories published in a magazine, beginning in 1891.

To add to this, Liam mentions Alice's Adventures in Wonderland (William's route, Chapter 2) and specifically says it is "a story released a few decades ago". That book was published in 1865. A few is usually considered to be 2 or more, confirming again that it is late in the 1800s (at least 1885).

Therefore, Ikevil takes place between 1891-1899. Of course, this assumes the timeline matches our timeline and it isn't in an alternate universe where things we know from history are sprinkled in here and there haha wouldn't that be funny 🙂

Honestly though, I do know that Cybird hasn't always been the most accurate when it comes to historical events (I wouldn't really expect that of them either). I just think it's fun to imagine that Ikevil and Ikevamp could be happening in the same universe ☺️ I would love to see a crossover event (I know there's one with Harrison and Arthur my two favs)

Let me know if you have a different perspective! I'm so curious if they added any other historical references in other routes. I just started William's and haven't done Liam's yet.

[ceaseless-watchers-special-girl]

you guys. you guys you guys. i think i know what i want from the final season of the penumbra podcast. i have spent the past ten minutes pacing around my room. yesterday i read up to chapter 17 of prydon's fic separate but syncopated (https://archiveofourown.org/works/30943430/chapters/76417991) which let's be honest, you've probably read already. it's phenomenal. if you haven't, you should.

so i've been thinking. i just really want to go back to brahma. i want to go back to brahma and take down the guardian angel system.

the thing is, the junoverse is a very character driven storyline, and i love that about it. the second citadel is more event driven i think, and it was more difficult for me to get into that storyline and stick with it (i'm weak i'm sorry). for example, although the first season focuses a lot on juno solving the whole martian artefact doodah, back then the penumbra crew were still finding their feet.

then junoverse season 2 happened, and the entire point of that season was basically "get juno over his trauma" (that's why it was so long oh my god). sure, there was a whole plot with ramses and the theia souls, but i think we can all agree that was secondary to juno's character development.

next, season 3. season 3 is definitely character driven, you literally can't deny it. it focuses on each member of the carte blanche in turn, and it uses the plot, finding the curemother prime, as a secondary tool to further the true point of the season: getting to know the characters.

season 4 i'm a little less certain about because i'm typing this post straight into tumblr fresh out of my brain (if anyone wants to help out with the analysis i'd love that). but i think the point of season 4 is to test and showcase the bonds of the carte blanche with each other, and juno rescuing them all is not only a good story, but also a good way to show off the relationships they built in season 3. his relationship with nureyev is shown through periodic reading of the journal, and juno's copious inner monologues (i say like i'm one to talk when all of these thoughts are swirling around in my own head).

then, season 5. the point of this season mirrors that of season 2, but this time, we need to get nureyev over his trauma. this is way trickier, because we're not inside nureyev's head, we're still in juno's. it's still character driven because the aim is to help nureyev, but the plot is given by juno having to chase him across the galaxy. hence, juno's hesitation when he finally finds nureyev.

well, steel, you've caught him. now what the hell are you going to do with him?

there is no plot to drive the character study anymore. our goal was to help nureyev, and juno (poor juno) has done all he can. the ball falls squarely into nureyev's court now, and juno has no say in the plot of the rest of the story. this is why i have been chewing myself alive since the last episode — we know what's next for the characters emotionally, but we have absolutely zero idea what's happening next plot-wise. it's killing me.

(what was the point of this post again?)

OH WAIT I'VE GOT IT. so. since our whole thing for this season is helping nureyev, and we all want him to go batshit fucking insane, i really want nureyev to go back to brahma, and finish what he started two decades ago. i think it's the perfect circular story arc to keep them occupied while nureyev heals emotionally from the fallout from everything going on with slip.

also, sorry to get real for a second, but i've just been tearing myself apart being morally outraged at the world we live in, and the fact that i'm barely able to do anything about it. maybe one day i could, but until then, it would be nice to see my favourite space gays set an example.

now, i know there's complications with this. nureyev refused to take the guardian angel system down in the first place because of the damage it would cause, and i'm willing to bet he hasn't excised that moral core just yet, no matter how hard he's trying. but i'm sure they can find a way to make it work. they have rita, after all!!

they're definitely hinting at a homecoming arc for juno. i think nureyev needs one too, is all.

[dxy-drxxm]

SYNOPSIS: It was his spouse's birthday, and he had something special he wanted to give her. Though, maybe it was a little unorthodox for him to give something so... Him.

CW/s: hurt w/o comfort, Tinuvion is Esther's name for Wanderer, takes place post Wanderer travelling and final journey/choice for Esther, Nahida feels bad, damn the title is an absolute irony

NOTE: Happy birthday @mixed-kester :D I wanted to write smth thats tied to the endgame of the idiots(tm). This shit also made me cry while "Like a Dream" started playing so uh. have fun.

The Wanderer always said that he never needed anyone. To him, he always said that he would be fine travelling on his own. However, when he had met her, that line of thinking seem to have changed.

In the past, he has often been cruel as he is to others. Even the traveler would comment on his behavior, trying to dissuade her in 'helping' him when he didn't even want to be helped. However, it seemed like she didn't listen.

It led to him to continue his ways. He had harmed her over and over, his actions, words, and even behavior cutting her like knives. However, each time he did, she strove on.

In a sense of irony, it seemed like she was giving her all to help him. Even if it meant she got little in return.

Years had passed since then, and each time he remembered, he recalled the events that happened after. The stunt he pulled, the way he was broken in multiple parts of 'himself', that year long absence...

... Their wedding, rekindling lost friendships and relationships, and the final graft.

He remembered seeing her in tears as they said their last goodbyes. He remembered himself saying they'd meet again, that even if the him she remembered for so long never returns, their memory will live on.

And in his journey in their 'meeting', he slowly recalled everything. That part of him returned bit by bit, so much so that he went back to Sumeru.

Alas, it was too late.

"... I'm sorry, Wanderer," Nahida answered, the two beings standing over the graves of his late spouses, Kaeya Alberich, Xianyun, and Esther Arkados.

Even adepti were killed. After all, they can't live as long as an actual God, he thought bitterly. Just like humans.

"It's too late. She has said she wanted to stay after you've left, and lived her last years with the two. It's been decades since you came back."

Decades.

He came back on her day of birth... After decades of absence.

He could feel his 'heart', the one laid on her ring finger, beat.

He knows its gone. That ring will only be removed when the corpse has disintegrated, and he knew it was under the ground they were buried on. He had no hope of retrieving it, and yet...

"... I see."

Nahida looked over at the Wanderer, watching the puppet lower his kasa hat and chuckle sadly. She feared that he may see their death as a betrayal like others, but what he did shocked her.

Grabbing the vision that was granted to him, he lifted his hat to grab the dolls he handsewn all those years ago. Carrying them, he went to the middle of their graves and sat down.

"... Can I ask you something, Lesser Lord Kusanali?"

Nahida blinked, her heart dropping in her chest. It was a sinking feeling, like she just knew what was bound to happen. Still, she had to bite the bullet.

"What is it, Wanderer?"

"... Is it possible for someone like me to reunite with my deceased lovers?"

...

The archon looked down, a frown on her face.

"... Perhaps. But is this what you want?"

She looked over at the puppet, watching him nod and smile. It was bitter, so, so bitter. It made her want to tell him not to take this road.

She knew who else would be weeping for his loss.

"Please, end my suffering, Lesser Lord Kusanali."

She knew what would happen if she did that.

"I want to be with my lovers in death for once and for all."

Those puppets he made were all together with his own, and yet she found only grief in its creation. After all, it was the only thing reminding him of what he lost in his journey.

He's no mortal, but the others were. Xianyun isn't, too, but she had died in different circumstances.

"... Are you sure?" she asked, reaching over to his chest. "I will take it away. Are you truly sure, Wanderer?"

He laughs, though the look on his face suggested that he was serious.

"I just want my wandering to end. Is it selfish to ask for such a little thing?" he asked her, closing his eyes while he placed both hands on their graves. "If my lovers die, I'll follow them. It's the least I can do."

It was my gift for her.

...

Nahida took a deep breath and bowed her head.

Then, as swiftly as she could, she yanked the 'gnosis' she made of the puppet. She could see the body of Wanderer flinch and lurch, but it became still, with the tender smile remaining as he stopped breathing.

Holding up the 'gnosis' she made, she watched the vision lose it's power. She didn't knew why, but seeing it reminded her of something so bitter.

Something she experienced before.

"... You two are intertwined by the stars, just like what he said," Nahida muttered, tucking the items away to be kept in Irminsul.

Raising her head, the clouds began to darken. Rainfall was coming, but she knew it was the least of her concerns.

At least now, the four are reunited together. That's what he wanted, after all.

@.dxy-drxxm | do not republish, repost, or copy my works anywhere | 2024

[sonicsquid3000]

What if William made MC forget about him completely?

If you wanna skip the introduction you can scroll down to the next paragraph. This is my first post every here and my first fanfiction. This is from the dating game ikemen villains that just released to the US recently and I'm very excited. I've just started the game and I'm currently on chapter 6 on my William Rex route. (I'd be further but I'm broke :')) Even so, i already have angst prepared. Keep in mind none of this is cannon what so ever and everything can and will be inaccurate to the game timeline. Also I will be using my mc's name rather than the in game name. If people like it a lot and want a y/n version of the fanfic I will gladly make another. If you want a proper, more brushed up version of the fanfic, you can find it on AO3 (once i get my account that is) Anyway, enough talk. Lets get into it! Warning: grammatical errors

It was beautiful day in London which was quite rare considering how gloomy the city could be. Belle was sitting on a bench in a park reading her rendition of Lewis Carrol's "Alice in Wonderland" that had released a few decades ago. She was dressed in a simple yet fine dress of browns and greys, befitting of the current fashion period, complementing her warm caramel skin. Her ebony hair was picked up in a beautiful bun with a few strands of hair gently arranged. She looked far more elegant than compared to a few years ago when she was just a letter carrier, barely making it by.

She enjoyed reading her book along with hearing the sounds of the birds chirping, the carriages rolling by, and the few bits of laughter and giggling of children off in the distance. But all of that was interrupted when she heard one important voice call out to her. "Isabelle!" the man shouted, catching up to her. She looked up and smiled seeing who it was. She closed her book and got up from the bench and approached him. She felt warm and fuzzy just as much as she did when she first laid her eyes on him. Just as handsome as he ever was. He was the one man that could make her feel like she was in the stars above. The love of her life. Her dearest and darling husband........ Bryan Bennett.

When she finally approached him, she gave him a deep and loving kiss and he returned it with the same amount of tenderness. "I thought I had lost you there for a moment." he said with a smile. "Oh, and i brought you these." He then handed Belle a bouquet of flowers made from an assortment of red, pink, and yellow carnations, daffodils, butterfly weed, hyssop's and forget-me-not's. "Oh, these are beautiful! Thank you Bryan." Belle said as she gave him a gentle kiss on the cheek. "Come my dear. Lets not be late for the play." He said as he offered his arm to her. Belle gladly accepted as they made their way out of the park.

As they left the park, Belles eyes caught upon a man that made her blood run cold. William Rex. The last she saw of him, he invited her to one of his social gatherings where he made here feel welcomed at first but was quickly cornered by him. He would've done who knows what had it not been for her now husband. On one hand, thanks to him, the two of them were able to meet and fall in love. Then again, she shutters from the thought of that memory. As they walked by, he gave a smile. For what, she was unsure. He then walked away to who knows where. Every time she saw him, she felt unease and nervous around him. Yet at the same time, deep inside of her, a small part of her felt sad every time she saw him. Why, she was not sure. She payed no mind and walked with her husband to the theater.

*Flashback*

"No! I'm not leaving!" Belle yelled. "Belle please, your month is over and your free to go back to your normal life. This isn't a place you want to remain in" William urged her, sounding completely different from when they first met. "I know and I don't care! I can't.... I can't leave you." she whisperd. "Belle..." he said heartbroken. "You once told me," she started "that I was the only person who had the power to voice how my heart feels. I always ignored it, fearing of bothering others or getting my heart broken. But now I'm listening to what you said and telling you I love you. I did ever since I bumped into you in one of my deliveries. Yes, I was scared when I first saw you kill that man. But you've shown me there's more to you than that. You're kind and sweet and always care about how I or others feel. You commit crimes but you do it for good and the good of others. and no matter how much you or others may call you a villain, your not. You're a hero." "Belle, please..." William pleaded. "Let me stay with you William. Please... I love you..." Belle begged. "I......." he had the words stuck in his throat. He reached out his hand, about to cup her face. His hands were shaking as he could barely keep his composure. ".......I'm sorry." He said and he placed his outstretched hand on her shoulder. "What are you-" "SLEEP." He commanded. She could feel his power taking over. She tried her hardest to resist, but nothing was powerful enough to break Williams command. As she was about to collapse, He caught her and swiftly carried her bridal style. He always hated using his power, and the last person he ever wanted to use it on was Belle. But he had no choice.

***

"You used your power on her?!" Victor yelled. "I know, I shouldn't have. But there was no other choice." William explained. "William, I understand that you love her very much, but this is much farther than you normal prefer to go. I mean, forcing her to stay-" "She wanted to stay." William interrupted. "I... I couldn't let her. I went too far and now she wants to get caught up in this world we live in. We're cursed Victor. One day we'll meet a horrible end. And I...... I cant do that to Belle. I can't leave her heartbroken and miserable after I die." William said as a single tear began to roll down his cheek. "My god..." Victor exclaimed. "You really fell hard for this one, haven't you?" William gave a soft, sad nod.

Victor sighed "I did warn her not to get attached to anyone in the crown.... So, how do you propose we fix this dilemma?" William rummaged through his coat and grabbed a very special book that belonged to Belle. "You don't mean-" Victor gasped. "Belle has the fairy tale keepers blessing. And that blessing is imbued in this book." William explained. "The power to write ones fate." Victor breathed "Yes. The power has only ever been to record the events of history and fairy tales. Setting them all in stone. But what if we can change the story?" William suggested. "No! That is too risky!" Victor yelled. "You don't know what that can do! How would you even-?!" "I know the exact moment to change." William said, turning to the page of their first date. When he invited her to one of his special tea parties and introduced her to Bryan Bennett.

She was a big fan of his journalism and activism but she was to nervous to speak to him. So William cornered her to all wall to catch Bryan's attention. She was in no danger what so ever. He simply played the part of the villain and led her to her knight in shinning armor. She quickly realized this and was more flustered than she was angry.

Victor frowned. "She holds this memory dear to her. You know that, right?" William sighed. "I know. But this is the only way" William said as he grabbed the nearest pen. "....... You do realize you'll forever be the villain her story?" Victor warned. William froze by then, turned to him and gave him a melancholy smile. "... When have we ever not been the villain?" With that final remark, he took his pen and erased nearly everything. Every encounter, every emotion, every tender moment between the two. He erased there the crown and how she met them. He erased their final days together. All he left, was that one night together and changed it so that he could, in now way, redeemable. Every scratch of those beautiful words she wrote about him was like a dagger to his heart. It broke him to erase the moments they had. But there was no other way to protect her. He had to do it....

*present*

As William was on a walk for his next mission, he stopped and saw Belle happy with her husband Bennett. He smiled at the two sadly. Everything before still happened. Belle spent a month with the crown, her and William still had their dates and they still fell in love. The only difference was that Belle had no recollection of their time together or the crown. For all she knew, William was a cruel and manipulative man. The thought stung him. He never thought he would feel so horrible about being seen as a villain until she came along. No matter what she may think, he would always love her. As the couple walked out of the park, Belle caught a glimpse of William. He gave her a soft smile and walked away. Not wanting to ruin her happily ever after.

[redjademilktea]

Hello hello! This idea for an Imodna fic has been sitting in my head for *ages* now. I'm gonna be working on this first chapter later tonight, but I'm just kind of excited to share before I polish this thing up and post Chapter 1 to AO3!! It's a modern AU, set in Exandria. Imogen is a Ph.D. in Sociology at Dayal Hall University in Jrusar. And Laudna... well, let's just say this is an exes-to-lovers type of deal. Recent canon angst compels me I suppose. Anyway, please enjoy the snippet!

----

Imogen pinched the bridge of her nose between her eyes. She’d been staring at this damn screen all day and it was starting to strain her vision. Normally, she’d be arms deep in grading assignments, wrapping up last minute lecture notes, finishing up office hours, literally anything else other than staring at her now empty email inbox. An impressive feat no doubt, Imogen idly noted. She can’t remember the last time it had even stayed this clear. A testament to her sheer boredom in the moment.

When she glanced back again and her still empty inbox, she thudded her head against her desk. The confirmation email should have been sent hours ago. She should be already back in her apartment, well into packing for her research trip to the Heartmoor by now. But instead she remained stuck in her office at Dayal Hall University. Patiently – very patiently – awaiting the confirmation email from the assistant archivist from the Heartmoor Hamlet Folklore, Oddities, and Curiosities Museum to finally confirm her appointment time so she could forward it to her chair the Sociology department admin staff to confirm the start of her sabbatical.

She let out a pained groan as the page she had refreshed for the twentieth time in five minutes remained unchanged. Defeated, she glanced around her office, tapping a pen to her desk as she did so. In the left side of the office, the low coffee table surrounded by assorted seating and a lone bean bag laid undisturbed in the corner. The bright yellow rug and strategically placed lighting provided a warmth to help combat the harsh fluorescent lights above. While normally reserved for students during her office hours, her pending sabbatical rendered them empty for the time being.

Huffing out a sigh, her gaze shifted to the right side of her office. Large bookshelves filled with monographs across disciplines lined the shelves, though most of the titles remained firmly within the realm of sociology. Imogen passively noted the growing number of office plants that seemed to be appearing without her knowledge. At least one or two had made their way from the tops to the actual shelves themselves, obfuscating the books behind them as their sprawling leaves spilled over their potted houses.

On top of one of the lower bookshelves sat a framed diploma, reading:

Starpoint Conservatory

Department of Sociology confers onto

Imogen Temult

The degree of Doctorate in Philosophy

Below the ornate frame next to yet another potted plant Imogen did not remember acquiring sat several framed photos. While the majority of them were from her time at Dayal Hall – a mix of faculty photos, candid shots of university sponsored outings, and conference shots – one in particular pulled her drifting thoughts.

In the photo, a recently graduated Imogen stood, awkward smile and stiff posture unaided by the weight of various leis and her doctoral regalia, next to a woman with braided hair flowing over the shoulder of her tan blazer. The woman bore a striking resemblance to Imogen, but tired, sunken eyes belied her wary demeanor. It was the first time she’d seen her mother in over a decade. And it was the last time she’d seen her since.

Imogen wondered, then, what her mother – the renowned anthropologist Dr. Liliana Temult from the Aydinlan Seminary in Yios – thought of her career. Her mother’s focus on her career and work had driven a wedge in her family relationship to be sure. It was part of the reason Imogen chose a smaller university to establish her academic career in the first place. One of the only things her mother had ever really said to her on the rare occasion they spoke over the phone was to stay away from the academy and the rigor of it all. Ruefully, she was reminded of the sorry state of their relationship now, all communication conducted over formal channels, sent from Liliana’s university email.

Next to the frame sat a small, stuffed white horse. Imogen’s melted into a short-lived fondness over the plush before the edges of a well-trodden sadness began to seep in. She told herself she kept the plush to make her office feel more welcoming and homely. That her students could feel more at ease knowing she wasn’t just some hardass professor and that they could trust her.

But the unspoken truth remained. The horse – Flora, after her childhood horse in Gelvaan – remained there because of what it reminded her of. Of who it reminded her of. Being gifted the small plush was, of course, the last time she ever saw L-

A knock at the door shook her from her spiraling thoughts. Imogen shook her head slightly, as if to clear the lingering fraught emotions from her mind.

Imogen cleared her throat, “Door’s unlocked.”

At that, the door opened, the familiar gentle and deliberate turn of the handle bringing a small smile to her face. The door further opened as Orym made his way into her office. In his hand, a stack of books reaching well past his head was delicately balanced as he gracefully moved towards her desk.

“Got the books you wanted,” Orym said, placing the stack down with surprising ease.

“You didn’t have to bring ‘em all at once,” Imogen said, smirking

“I know. But I didn’t know how much longer you’d be here.”

“I’ll be here all night if I don’t get this damn confirmation email,” Imogen huffed, slinking down her office chair.

“They still haven’t gotten back to you?” Orym raised an eyebrow.

“No. Been starin’ at my inbox all day waitin’ for it. Thanks for these by the way,” Imogen tilted her head towards the tall stack of texts. She grabbed the book at the top and began thumbing through it. The cover read Home Under the Moonlight: Werewolves and the Queer Imaginary in the Gloomed Jungles.

“Any time,” Orym nodded. “And they probably just need a few hours. Sounds like a small operation.”

“Yeah,” Imogen sighed. “And this small operation is makin’ me regret my career choices with every damn minute they don’t send that confirmation.”

“Ooh I’m hearing something about regretting career choices.” Imogen looked up to watch as Fearne casually strolled into her office, moving around Orym to place the potted plant in her hands onto another shelf. “I hear so many professors say that. I think it must mean I’m pretty good at it since I don’t regret anything.”

“Pretty good at what, Fearne?” Imogen asked flatly, finally understanding the source of the growing garden that was supposed to be her office.

“At professoring,” Fearne wiggled her eyebrows.

Truth be told, Imogen never did figure out what department Fearne worked in, let alone if she was even faculty at all. Imogen had only just recently accepted her position at Dayal Hall when Fearne wandered in on her setting up her new office, vaguely alluding to some “professorly obligation” to introduce herself to “the hot new hire in the Soc department.” Despite the odd introduction, Imogen had been grateful to not have to start out so alone. Not after… everything. And Fearne and her became close quickly. Fearne helped Imogen get acquainted with Orym, the university’s head librarian, and the two have been indispensable to Imogen ever since.

Imogen eyed the new foliage adorning her bookshelf before looking at Orym, who simply shared a slightly bemused look with her. “Fearne, what are you do-,” Imogen started before realizing the futility of the question and changing course. “I’m gonna be on sabbatical, Fearne. I won’t be- I can’t take care of these plants if I’m not here.”

“Oh it’s okay,” Fearne said, reassuringly. “I have a key to your office. Me and Orym can take turns plant sitting while you’re gone.” Fearne produced a key from her pocket, waving it at Imogen before slipping it back.

“How did- Fearne. You can’t have a copy of my office k-”

“Don’t worry, don’t worry. Geeze louise. Professors share keys all the time. It’s part of the pact.”

Imogen struggled to string together a response before a flash on her computer monitor caught her eye. Hurriedly, Imogen rushed to open the newly received email.

Hello Dr. Temult!

I’m so sorry for the delay! I had a few visitor sentiment surveys that demanded my attention!

Anyway, I am writing to confirm your appointment for next Grisson afternoon at 3 P.M. Look for me at the front desk!

Thank you,

Prism Grimpoppy

Ph.D. Candidate – University of the Heartmoor

Archival Assistant

“Finally,” Imogen muttered under her breath. She forwarded the email before slamming her laptop closed in relief. “Looks like I’m headin’ off,” Imogen said, turning to Orym and Fearne.

“Good luck,” Orym said. And then, carefully, “Just… let us know if you need anything while you’re out there,” Orym added, placing a gentle hand onto Imogen’s shoulder. Imogen winced slightly.

“I’ll be fine,” Imogen said, tensing her jaw. She knew Orym meant well. She knew. Fearne and Orym didn’t know every single detail. But they knew about the last time Imogen had done a big research trip like this. How she had a… tumultuous experience to say the least.

What they didn’t know was the depth and scope of the hurt. What they didn’t know was just how much pain, stress, fear, and loss she had experienced then. How she almost withdrew from the program, taking a leave to go back to Gelvaan for a year to reckon with the extent of her hurt. They didn’t know how much she withdrew into herself, wrestling with the scars left as she trudged her way through writing her dissertation and scraping past the finish line, battered, bruised, degree in hand. They didn’t know that it was when her and Laudna–

“Okay,” Orym said. “But just so you know. We’re here.”

“Thanks,” Imogen responded. A muted, but still fond smile grew on her lips.

“And hey,” Fearne added, “maybe you can take this time to do some personal research if you know what I mean.”

“Fearne,” Imogen rolled her eyes as she packed up her bag.

“What? Archives can be so romantic.”

[autumnalwalker]

Find the word tag

Thank you for the tag @druidx.

I've got a bunch of these word find tags in my queue, and I'm finally getting back around to them. Will be posting several over the next few days.

My words to find were effort, entry, ear, error, & expression.

Passing the (optional) tag to @authoralexharvey, @alainastrauss, @ceph-the-ghost-writer, @talesofsorrowandofruin, @theprissythumbelina, @squarebracket-trick, and the usual open tag to anyone else who wants it.

Your words to find shall be please, space, surprise, melancholy, & unassuming.

Effort: Empty Names - 10 - Cleanup

“Please, let me help you.  You’re safe here,” she says as she takes his hand.  Or at least, she thinks that’s what she says.  She never actually got to practice speaking the language with anyone else before now.

There’s a moment of horrendous silence as Dis!ma*s’s feet touch the ground.  He makes one slow blink with horizontally closing eyelids and then doubles over.  Laughing.  He says something but it's fast enough and interrupted by gasps of laughter that Lacuna can’t follow.

“I’m sorry?” she says on reflex before remembering the language barrier. “I mean, I apologize.”  The latter sentence sends Dis!ma*s into a renewed fit of what Lacuna really hopes is amusement as the rainwater shakes off of him.

“Your pronunciation is so garbage it was half gibberish and half propositioning him,” Bridgewood says from the other side of the carriage.  He’s not literally laughing at her, but he may as well be with the face he’s making.  “And then you -”

“Okay, okay, I think I get it!” Lacuna’s voice cracks as her face grows hot with embarrassment and frustration.  She tries to remember gestures that she’d read up on for some culturally appropriate sign of contrition but draws a blank.

Recovering, Dis!ma*s stands up straight and speaks again, slow and loud this time.  “I apologize,” he starts and Lacuna immediately sees where she went wrong with the pronunciation but has no idea how to make her mouth form the right phoneme.  “You surprised me.  It has been a difficult day.  Thank you for trying.”

Or at least, the parts Lacuna can parse are something along those lines.

“He says getting hit on at the end of the worst couple days of his life was too absurd to deal with, but A for effort on the welcoming attempt,” Bridgewood offers by way of translation.

Entry: Empty Names - 3 - Dance Partners

The girl was surprised at how steady her hands were as she punched in the keyless entry code for the pickup.  She was the most scared she’d ever been in her life and yet there was something else.  Relief at having gotten away?  Excitement?  Thrill?  A feeling of power after having stared death in the eye then punched it in the face?  She smirked as she opened the door and climbed inside.  That last one had a nice ring to it.

Fish out the keys, start the engine, buckle her seatbelt, change the radio to something less sad, and she was off.  Or so she thought until she felt a bump backing out of the parking spot.  The girl looked in the rearview mirror and saw her pursuer once more, now holding onto the back of the truck.  She changed gears and pressed the gas, speeding forward and bouncing over the parking blocks between the spaces.  

Ear: Empty Names - 20 - Changeling Child

It surprises Ashan just how light Lacuna is when she falls forward into his arms.  He is barely even eye level with her shoulder on the rare occasions she stands up straight, but he realizes now just how much she is skin and bones beneath the loose-fitting clothing she always seems to favor.

“Don’t tell Eris,” Lacuna breathes into his ear before passing out.

Error: Empty Names - 16 - Mall Rats

Echo Plaza, a place that becomes more aptly named with each passing year.  

A mere three decades ago this place would have been teaming wall to wall with shoppers from Backstage and beyond.  Wide-eyed newbies who mistakenly thought it would be a good place to ease themselves into things.  Paratech hobbyists looking for the newest offworld imports to reverse engineer.  Teenage witch covens staking out corners of spellbookstores and food courts.  Offworld travelers taking advantage of their multi-day anchor world hub layover to go sightseeing.  Fairies playing tricks from the cover of palm fronds and aerial shrubbery.  Naiads presiding over the grand fountains and granting small blessings in exchange for the coins thrown in. The list went on.

Back then, when the ideal of the shopping mall as cultural centers of commerce and socialization occupying a prominent place in the collective consciousness brought Echo Plaza into being and sustained it and its occupants with an effervescent zest for life, vendors would kill for a storefront on the young pocket dimension’s main concourse.  Quite literally, as Sullivan knows from personal experience and paychecks.  In those days just being here would make everything feel exciting and wondrous.  In these window displays the kitsch became cool and the mildly uncommon became alluringly exotic.

Now there are more marble statues than people.  The grand fountains are all long dry.  Food court menu screens proclaim cryptic messages over blue error backgrounds.  Shadowy suggestions of mannequins linger in gutted boutiques at the edge of a flickering neon haze.

The golden age of the shopping mall has passed, and even the subcultural revival of the concept is inextricably intertwined with emptiness and signal decay.  None but the most stubborn of holdouts are willing to invest property in a pocket dimension on its last legs before dissolution.  Only the most dedicated seekers of aesthetic and pursuers of the niche bother to put up with the permeating air of nostalgia and melancholy.

Expression: Empty Names - 19 - Shire

It’s actually two someones walking up the sidewalk toward the unassuming safehouse, and they’re not any of the local residents that Sullivan now knows by sight after the length of his unsleeping stakeout.  The woman in front is of a middling height, similar to Sullivan’s own.  Auburn hair loose down to the shoulders, purple-framed glasses, beige knit sweater, red scarf, blue jeans.  Checking an old model flip phone as if verifying the address.  Some niggling familiarity about her appearance that Sullivan can’t quite place.  

The second woman, walking stiff-backed one pace behind and a shoulder-width to the left, towers head-and-shoulders over her companion - no, her superior, unless Sullivan misses his mark.  Silver hair pinned back in an elaborate bun, expressionless face, amber brooch pinned to a white cravat, dress of maroon so dark it’s almost black with so much frills and lace that it leaps out of the realm of antique and into the territory of gothic.

Sullivan blinks through his filters and the taller woman’s face takes on a porcelain sheen and the ball-jointed segmentation of her hands becomes apparent.  Another blink and the next filter reveals the leash of metaphysical strands linking the two women heart-to-heart.  A witch and her arcane doll?  Sullivan didn’t think they had those in this world cluster.  No, far more likely to be a superficial similarity born of convergent evolution.  More likely an unorthodox familiar bond with a construct.  Either way, he suspects that once the mage is dealt with (witch, wizard, or otherwise is hard to say without seeing her in action) then that should cut the puppet strings on the doll and make for easy pickings.

[phiclets]

loud heart WORD COUNT: 1500 | RATING: T

summary: the orange heart reply was a cultural moment; this is my vision of what might have led up to dan posting it.

a/n: i posted this on AO3 a couple days ago, but had to wait till tumblr verified i wasn't a robot to crosspost here. from now on all my fics will be available in both places!

ALSO ON AO3

-

Dan knew what the response to We're All Doomed (now uploaded onto Youtube, forever) was going to be, even before he started scrolling through the comments and the tweets. He'd been doing the show long enough. Yet still, knowing it didn't prepare him for it emotionally. The kindness of people was overwhelming; the gratitude even more so.

He flits between social media platforms on his phone, reading the reviews and battling unsuccessfully against the growing lump in his throat, even as a recorded version of his voice says, "Anyone here planning on becoming a polyamorous lesbian grandma?" from the TV. Phil put the special on earlier — very proudly accessing it from the YouTube TV app, which made Dan smile — and they're letting it play in the background as they sit with their respective phones, having seen the show too many times already to totally invest in it again. But it's nice. Comforting.

Raucous cheers erupt from the sea of future polyamorous lesbian grandmas in the audience, and Dan glances up at the TV with a smile. He loves this part. He loved that audience, both nights—and the wider group of people that they represented. "Nice," he says onscreen, which elicits some laughter.

A bright little ding! drags his attention back to his phone.

New tweet from Phil Lester.

It's natural for him to glance over to the man himself, curled up just an arm's length away from him. Phil is fiddling serenely with his phone, but looks up when he feels Dan staring. When Dan raises an eyebrow, Phil only responds with a shrug, smiling.

Dan obediently opens the tweet to see for himself.

every time i see this it makes me laugh and cry at the same time until i'm a shaking mess on the floor. great show thanks danny!!

Phil has quoted Dan's original announcement tweet, so the endorsement sits on top of Dan's name, glowing with pride. A few things happen at once in Dan then. First, there's the impulse to snort at the nickname danny, which is Phil being silly (and succeeding at it, as he always does). Then there's the warmth that suffuses his entire chest from Phil Lester openly expressing his emotions for Dan's sake on a public platform, an occurrence so rare it still shocks (and essentially assaults) Dan whenever it happens. Then, from that warmth, comes the immediate, overwhelming, not so inexplicable urge to sob his lungs out.

"Fuck," he whispers, so quietly it's only a breath, and quickly smothers it in the sleeve of his jumper, turning away from Phil's side of the sofa.

Because it's all so familiar. Because he's been here before—so many times. Reeling from the adrenaline of releasing a project he poured his heart and soul—or at the very least, a lot of his time—into. Anxious about and then overjoyed by the response to it. But no matter what it was, whether Basically I'm Gay, or Why I Quit YouTube, or fuck, even Hello Internet—

Phil has been there.

Phil is always there. Always here—he thinks, looking over at him finally—next to him. In his life. (Hadn't he said that to everyone on the internet before? Hadn't he thought it was so cheesy back then, and yet regretted nothing, because there hadn't been a single lie in what he'd said?) Phil sits in ignorant bliss on the other end of the sofa, tucked up against the armrest, tapping at something on his phone. His hair is turning more ginger by the day. His face has faint lines in it that Dan has seen appear, firsthand and little by little, over the past decade and a half. His emoji pyjama pants are a hate crime on fashion.

He's everything. He's there.

"Dan."

Dan comes back to himself, and he realises Phil is looking at him now, questions displayed openly on his face. Dan can't really read any of them, though—the fucking oceans of saltwater that have built up in his eyes are doing a brilliant job of preventing that. He shakes his head, and Phil's face sinks further into concern rather than confusion, and Dan shakes his head again to tell him no, it's not bad. It can never be bad when it's you.

Instead all he manages to say, now half nodding and shaking his head—it's a mess—is, "I love you."

He's never meant it more. He's always meant it just as much as now. He thinks he'll never really know, even in himself, what that word really means or where the limits lie—if there are any. What he does know is that he's going to spend the rest of his life growing to fit every bit of it he can. Phil takes his hand where it rests on the sofa between them, and Dan knows there was never any two ways about it.

"Yeah," Phil says. He's so solid. (So there. Always.) He looks Dan in the eyes, shakes his hand back and forth. "I love you."

The first spill of tears warms Dan's cheeks. He nods, looking down at their hands, then back up at Phil. He knows his mouth is doing something funny, squeezed up tight like he's just bit into a lemon, and there are tears already seeping in through the corners, and by the time he barely breathes out a, "Thank you," he's already diving into Phil, grabbing him up into a messy, breath-robbing hug. He can hear it in Phil's little gasp. But there's not a moment of hesitation between that and the feeling of Phil's arms wrapping around him, tight as ever. Assuring as ever.

"Thank you," Dan says again. And he hopes Phil knows he means for everything. For seeing him in the replies of his tweets in 2009, and for responding. For urging him to post the worst video Dan would ever make, which would confusingly also be his best one, because it would be the one that started it all. For having so much fun with him and helping him build a career out of it. For supporting him (15 years' worth of "great show thanks danny!" variations). For believing in him. For loving him, really, most of all.

Phil pushes his cheek into the top of Dan's head, and smooths his hand over Dan's hair again and again, and says, "Always."

Yeah, he understood.

-

By the time Dan has collected himself, enough time has passed that it would be embarrassing if he had even a shred of embarrassment left to show around Phil Lester, but he thinks that died somewhere around the decade mark.

They're still all caught up in each other, more one human than two, a blanket monster that's made its home against the tiniest corner of a perfectly sizeable sofa. We're All Doomed is well into its final quarter on the TV now, and they're sort of staring past it into the wall and the world and the future beyond. Phil's fingers are still in Dan's hair; which is just the way he wants to keep it.

Except that's when Dan remembers the thing that started his descent into incomprehension in the first place, and he briefly—with enough warning to Phil—sits up to get his phone from his previous spot on the sofa. He settles back into Phil with it in hand, so Phil has a clear view of the screen over his shoulder, and pulls up the tweet again. He scrolls down and taps on the waiting reply line, then stops.

How to say everything he just said to Phil, verbally and otherwise? (Mostly otherwise, let's be honest.) The task seems insurmountable. There aren't enough words in the dictionary, or hours in the day to use them. He can feel Phil's quiet expectance over his shoulder, steady but not applying any pressure. He'll wait for Dan as long as he needs him too.

But it doesn't take long. Because hey, Dan may be a self-professed yapper extraordinaire, but even he knows when the game is up. In this case there's just no use.

He pulls up the list of emojis, and taps on one.

Just one.

Then he waits, holding the phone just there, letting Phil see it and understand that that's it. All he wants to say. (Maybe all he's ever trying to say, to Phil.)

It's a heart.

(Orange, of course, because it's still about WAD.)

But just a heart.

Dan twists his head against Phil's shoulder to look up at him. "What d'you think?"

Phil is still looking ahead at the screen, and Dan watches the microscopic changes in expression on his face, from the softening of his wide eyes to the way his mouth gently relaxes into a smile. He looks down at Dan—Dan thinks, beautiful, mine—and says, "Yeah." Dan feels Phil's arm squeeze him around his stomach. "Do it."

So he does.

[butts-bouncing-on-the-beltway]

I love love love reading your posts, and the reblog re your food rules really stood out to me. As someone who has always had food issues and struggled with disordered eating (did not identify neurodivergence until adulthood) I have struggled without the help a parent who had the kind of insight, empathy, and compassion you describe. Do you have any thoughts on repairing dysfunction as it relates to food? Or on how to identify food rules that you subconsciously have that are Not helpful, and how to replace them with helpful rules? Please infodump if you so desire even if it’s not directly related to those two questions :D

I think maybe where I want to start is that my mom's actions as I described them are - I suspect - more the outcome of her own neurodivergent (undiagnosed) resonances with my own (late diagnosed like literally two years ago lol). There were a lot of good resonances! But some really bad ones too. She and I have had some good talks about that recently, although ironically this comes in the wake of her having a stroke and throat surgery with the result that she can't speak in long bouts anymore which has essentially FORCED her to start listening to other people when they talk instead of jumping in over them (her own ADHD presentation is in part deeply impatient and struggles with filtering the though to speech pathway, same as my own unfortunately). She's actually a very good listener these days! It was an adjustment for her not to get annoyed about not being able to talk, and she can still really only hold a conversation for at most 45minutes before she becomes to irritable to continue listening. But those are good 45 minutes! And I'm really proud of her for realizing that this was actually a good thing for her in multiple places and putting the work into it. She has always really struggled with change/transition and with long term consequence evaluation (shocker, same hat again) so I think it took the really dramatic and immediately visible consequences (of for example me going no contact, me explaining to her my experience of shared events/history, and literal near-fatal medical condition and post-op recovery) for her to navigate change. But she's doing it, and she'll be 65 next year so it's pretty cool that she's taking the time now to enhance and improve her life and relationships.

I think when my mom heard me ask her to tell me where to start eating on my plate, she had watched me struggle to eat for so long and had just never considered that I might not yet have the infrastructures that she so relies on to function.

See, my mom's approach to child-rearing was essentially: "my child will remain by my side as close to all times as possible, and while I am going through my life I will simply externalize my internal monologue at my child so it can absorb knowledge and context about the world"

And like. On the one hand. Mom. That is the MOST "I am not neurotypical" way you could possibly raise a kid, what the fuck how did you live long enough to have me and NOT KNOW???

On the other hand, because I am my mother's child, this naturally worked wonderfully and was a veritable Garden of Eden upbringing for me.

The places were it wasn't ironically enough, were the places where my mother submitted to someone else's expertise about how to care for me and then had to facilitate compliance with a parenting plan that neither of us could tolerate or work with. I couldn't understand why my mother was no longer communicating with me but rather passing edicts and overriding my concerns - a thing she had historically done incredibly rarely and almost always FOLLOWED UP with an explanation for why it happened. And my mother didn't know how to force me to do things I didn't want to because that was simply never something she'd wanted to or tried to do with me before.

The end result was about a decade of incredibly traumatic domestic violence that neither of us came out of unscathed. And that sucks. But we're both growing and learning together these days, so hope!

Anyways, as far as identifying and changing food rules, the answer is deceptively straightforward.

If I find myself pacing the kitchen in agitation about there being "nothing to eat" or I realize that I have reached within 3hrs of bedtime and still haven't had anything to eat, I literally sit down and stream of consciousness journal for the prompt "why did/didn't this happen?"

It usually starts with a lot of griping and crabby feelings and resentment of self and then eventually I will realize I'm no longer answering the question "why did/didn't this happen" and am literally just like. Mocking myself? In my head? For being a fuck up? And. Well, I know that's not helpful and makes me feel bad and also isn't an answer for why my day happened the way it did. So I remind myself that I am welcomed to feel upset at how things went, but that right now we're only asking why something happened, not how it made me feel. That usually helps me return to the logistical issues. Missing ingredients. Waiting too long to eat and forgetting about my grab and go's. Missing a dose of medication. Being more tired than usual. Carrying more emotional weight related to work than usual. Having an over-burdoned to-do list. That sort of thing. Those are places where I can problem solve. And like. Problem solving is executive functioning, and that's not really my strong suit even on the best of days but certainly not on days where I'm already not eating safely. But I find that writing out the problems like this makes them clearer, and then I can make thought maps** for each one. Once I have those down on paper, it's a lot easier to navigate the actual process of choosing and executing a solution to that issue. Often, it's basically a flag that something else in my life is Asking Too Much of my executive functioning, so there's not enough left for eating. That's uh. Not a sustainable or healthy thing! So I've found that treating it like a sign to start a "system review" so to speak can be really valuable. And often, literally the feeling of knowing what is happening and what I'm going to do about it, and trusting that because it's in my thought map notebook I won't just FORGET like ALWAYS is enough to let me get up and get a snack or a meal. Sorta like a pressure release valve on a pressure cooker I guess right? You vent the pressure before opening it up to see what it made you, you know?

Journaling is the vent. Acknowledging my feelings and hearing them as a communication of need from myself to myself and integrating them into my solutions that way rather than treating emotions as a direct 1:1 of need or problem. It's an abstraction I guess? Puts enough space between me and The Issue to look at it a little more openly. Makes it feel safer to trust that when I am asking for something from another person it's because I have identified a specific thing that I need and cannot or shoud not address effectively myself rather than making asks in anger or hurt. Also lets me realign my internal resource distribution to my needs. Win win!

I think the thing I always worry about is like. When I talk about my system, I use a lot of really confident and clinical language, and I worry that even when I emphasize that I am talking about a thing that is a part of my personal system, people will hear that as "and so if you are experiencing the same manifestation of Issue than this will work for you" but like. It's not the thing, you know? It's the mechanism/algorithm prescribing the thing, right? So like. That's really dependent on Your Personal Context Of Self, and there is REALLY rarely going to be any honest 1:1s. Plenty of coincidental successes! But it can be risky to put too much stock in that right?

Food rules work well for me in part because I am largely a wilful person who has a reflexive rage response at constriction of any kind. I love rules because they help me not have to make decisions, but I also hate rules because they make decisions for me that I would rather make myself. This means that a "food rule" is not just a support system for me. It's a litmus test. Am I fully in reflex mode? If so I will probably lash out at and reject the food rules, which means the food and the food rules aren't the problem, something else is enough of a problem and I am abscuring it enough from myself that I have turned FOOD into a threat to my system. And like, even that is a flattening of the role this serves right? Let alone why it works for me personally. I really don't want to suggest that food rules are the answer to not being able to eat because for you they may well not be! For a LOT of people they may well not be. And even some of those who find it effective may benefit from understanding WHY it works for them in case their why is different from mine.

Honestly what it really comes down to for me is "how can I look back on a situation where I did something I don't want to do in the future or want the OPTION not to do in the future in a completely non-judgemental way?" It's pure function right? If I don't feel in control of my choices, for me that's statistically likely to me emotional or physiological causes of dysautonomia. So the question is: am I in threat mode? Or is it a medical symptom? If the former, why am I in threat mode and how do I have autonomy in that dynamic? Etc.

Finding measure points where I recognize "I have not maintained that conscious thought pattern, how do I get it back" is helpful to keep me from getting too far away from my baseline before I can correct course I guess. My relationship with eating is one of them. What "downtime" activities I can tolerate or enjoy is another. The ranges of time that I conceptualize as equivalent in experience to each other is uet another. Some I can keep track of myself, others I ask wifey for help monitoring.

I think of it kinda like leaening to bowl with the guardrails up, right? You still have to learn what you can do to ensure you bowl WELL, but there's some scaffolding involved to keep you from falling down into the gutter when you aren't yet perfect at performing your life. You gotta find out what guardrails matter to you and why and how you can create them or seek them when they aren't immediately acessible. It's a lot, but it's always felt worth it. I think what matters most is learning how not to scold yourself when you're thinking about something that didn't end up how you needed it to, even if literally only you could have changed the outcome. A mistake is a learning opportunity, not a festering wound. Getting that to become your truth just kinda. Changes what your options are somehow. And if you live in a life where that's not treated as truth, it can be devastating to try and make that switch, regardless of whether or not it ends up being worth it to you.