#I'm just imagining going back in time to myself a decade ago

[jyou-no-sonoko19]

(self-)defence mechanism

#Michelle Gomez #Doom Patrol #Doom Patrol spoilers #Laura De Mille #Madame Rouge #Ngl the cattish grin made my skin try to turn inside out and/or remove itself entirely #And the crow's feet??? I want her to tear my face off #no I won't even censor that #But also she's doing her best and Eyebrows!Laura could have `approached this so much more effectively #If she'd only chilled with the accusations of immorality #and taken one moment to meet her then-self where she was at #like... she knew what 40s!Laura was going through. #It wasn't that long ago for her at all #I'm just imagining going back in time to myself a decade ago #and yelling at her for all the stuff she hadn't figured out about herself and life yet #just like... the cruelty of it achieves nothing #except a whole new kind of self-loathing #See more in the following set of this convo

[squid789]

Squid's Trigun Fanfic Recs

Hey, so I'm done with self promos so its time appreciate a bunch of you guys in line with @trigunfanfic appreciation week! A lot of this is gonna be straight up vashmeryl, heads up. Although we all know what I'm about, so I guess have fun! :3

Gonna start with one of my best friends and also my beta, @eomma-jpeg. You may know her from her millynai epic, In the Meadow. But right now she's working on a vashmeryl college au fic called What a Shame! By far one of my favorite writers! She also wrote a companion millywood oneshot for Sea Foam as well called Refuge from the Storm that I want to get printed for myself.

@scoundrels-in-love is another prolific writer I usually look forward to! Man, they sort of write a little bit of everything in regards to ship and canon. I mostly know them for mashwood, but my all time favorite fics of theirs is If this is communication, I disconnect. its everything I could ever want from a post max vashmeryl fic. Absolute gold!!

Okay, here's the thing. I am a slut for vashmeryl, but @ladymaliwan's writing is so good to convince me to branch out. Their stryfewood fics are to die for and imaginative and thank you for sharing so much of your snippets with me!!! They mean the world to meee ;3;

Next up is @eezybree's Bluebells. Man, ngl, Sav you give me a lot of writer's envy with this fic. AHHHH it's so fucking goooooood. I know I'm a chapter or two behind but man they get emotions across so well and that fluff is to die for. Comletely wonderful post max vashmeryl

Another one I am woefully behind on. But I remember way back last year when @faindri was still doing a lot of the concept art for EBS. I'm not usually one for aus but who can resist a space opera? And the amount of detail and worldbuilding in this fic is astonishing and actually super inspiring!

Okay I feel like @wandererriha's Get Help series is criminally underrated. Again, usually not a fan of aus, but this modern au is charming as all hell and I find myself coming back to it whenever I feel down.

Also shoutout to the folks who I have no idea have a tumblr account or not or just plain too scared to say hi too but also highly recommend Birds do it, bees do it, plants can do it by RambleFox, Condensed Trigun by SugarPill, Horticulture Blues by dweeblet, The End by ginger_mosaic, Reporter's Notes by @museqmeg, No Reason by @eilwen, this is our body (come out of the bath) by @spacebeyonce, and Arcaronar by JackelJamboree. All of these are on AO3! Also on ff.net, I recommend looking at Their Life by cmr2014. It's a super short post 98 vashmeryl oneshot that makes me super giggly when I read it! My FINAL rec is After the Fall by Girl.Interpreted, also on ff.net. If any of you have known me for a while, you'll know that this fic has some sentimental value to me personally. To start, its an unfinished post 98 vashmeryl fic with a healthy does of adventure and A LOT of trimax references. Way baaaack about a decade ago, I had just trimax for the first time after rediscovery of trigun, which was first introduced to me as a kid by my weird, weird dad. And man was I craving more trigun. So I went on ff.net for the first time ever at like one in the morning and this was the fic that got me into fanfcition just as concept and a hobby. I wouldn't be writing fic until early college, but man this story STUCK with me in ways I couldn't begin to imagine. But the writing and the story and just everything... AHHHHHHHH Anyways go read After the Fall!!!! I doubt it will ever be finished, but I can dream But literally, GO READ ALL OF THESE FICS! GO ENJOY THEM!!!!!!! IM BEGGING YOU!!! Happy Trigun Fanfic Appreciation Week!!!!

#trigun #trigun fanfiction #trigun fanfic #trimax #tristamp #vashmeryl #millynai #stryfewood #trigunfanficappreciation

[mlove44lh]

Don't hurt yourself

Chapter 7 - Forgiveness

Masterlist

Previously chapter

Warnings: angst, swearing, physical violence (hahaha)

Words: 4.313

“If we're gonna heal, let it be glorious. 1,000 girls raise their arms. Do you remember being born? Are you thankful for the hips that cracked? The deep velvet of your mother and her mother and her mother? There is a curse that will be broken.”

“Y/n, please.”

I look into his eyes, and they seem to shine even from meters away. It's the calmest and most surrendered I've seen him in a long time.

I think about opening up, but I can't do it now. I need everything to go as planned tonight, even if I'm acting like a coward.

"Can you calm down and let things happen? We just had a great night after a long time, Lewis. Don't ruin this."

I don't know how I manage to finish the sentence. Lewis seems hesitant but nods slightly. I enter the bathroom before I have to hear his voice again.

The cold touch of the wooden door against my back makes me even more shivery, but I stay there, leaning for a few more seconds, still feeling him inside me.

That was my final attempt, the last approach I found that could potentially help me alleviate all of my agony and outrage.

I wanted to feel him inside me, to feel his love. I wanted him to prove to me that nothing had changed. I wanted to feel for him what I used to feel before being attacked by the person I thought was the love of my life.

Maybe if this doubt had dissipated, if I felt that nothing had changed and that I could really trust him again, then I would give up my decision and go back to him without thinking twice.

But that's not what happened.

I don't know who was with me in bed a few minutes ago, but it didn't seem like my husband.

We were stuck together, fused, sharing something as intimately as possible, yet I felt miles away from Lewis.

With every touch and every glance, the only thing that kept running through my mind was what he did to me, and what he did to her. The two of them together, just like we were a little while ago. And that made me understand that this feeling won't go away even if I wait for decades.

But at some point, I gave up trying to find something that would make me want to stay. At some point, I surrendered myself completely to him. For one last time. Without him knowing.

And honestly, I couldn't care less about how he felt about it.

I step under the running shower without waiting for the water to heat up. My warm body contrasts with the cold water, and I receive a shock that I needed.

The water runs through my body, taking away the last traces of him in me and the last traces of doubt in my mind.

Finally.

I decide to lie down next to him and postpone the feeling a little longer. I feel his body getting closer to mine, but fortunately, Lewis is satisfied with just the light contact of our arms together and doesn't go for a hug.

For some reason, I want to prolong this closeness. I want to engrave in my mind the sensation of his skin against mine, even though I am ready for a goodbye.

I stay there, motionless, waiting for any hint of regret within me for my final decision, but there is none.

I love Lewis like I never thought I would love anyone. I have lived extraordinary years by his side, and I have no regrets about anything.

Today it is finally clear that I did everything I could, and I know that I was the best wife I could be. But, even though I gave myself entirely and was the best partner, he did what he did. And, contrary to what I imagined, I am not at all to blame for it.

What Lewis did is about him and not about me. I could have done everything differently, but it would not have changed the outcome. I could not have prevented him from making such a decision.

I no longer feel guilty or inadequate. Only a great pain remains, but this time it's not accompanied by overwhelming doubts. Instead, there's relief and certainty that finally allow me to breathe.

Even if I did it behind him, I did what I had to do.

I feel exhausted, but I can't sleep for even a second. My stomach churns with anxiety over all the things going through my mind. It takes hours until I give up on trying to sleep and get up from the king-size bed.

I prepare my luggage before anything else. I know how heavy Lewis' sleep is, but even so, I do everything carefully and silently, without the slightest intention of waking him up at this moment.

I watch him sleep as I pack only the essentials into the suitcase.

I remember the day we arrived at this apartment, with the excitement and joy of starting a new life together in such a special place. The house was perfect for us, with everything we needed to build a happy home. Every corner of the apartment was filled with our essence, and the memories of the happy moments we spent here were abundant.

However, everything changed over time. Since the day I lived through the worst experience of my life here and all the things that came after, the happiness I felt in this place dissipated. Now it's hard to be in this apartment without feeling deep anguish, a suffocating sensation that takes hold of my chest. The once-welcoming house has become an oppressive environment.

Leaving here was already in our plans, but I never imagined that one day I would leave without Lewis by my side.

Carefully, I take the paperwork out of my bag and sit at the dining table, staring at the papers in my hand. Since I first got my hands on them a few days ago, I have already read every word in the document at least 200 times.

The house is completely silent. Sunlight is streaming through the large living room window, and though I know I don't have much time, I also know I can't rush what I need to do.

“Divorce Agreement”

Every time I read these words, the pain increases even more.

“Marriage is forever.” I've heard and kept these words inside me my whole life. I even spoke these words to Lewis hours before we got married.

It's a sacred contract, a serious promise that must be fulfilled by both parties until death do us part.

And we promised, we made vows, we swore before God and the state. We merged into one for eternity. And we did it with enough sobriety and happiness to believe it would be eternal.

I could never, not even for a second, imagine that all of this would end up on a white paper stained by tears and pen ink.

Despite having thought deeply and considered every aspect of my life and marriage in the last few days, even though I'm finally decided, it still hurts to the point of being almost unbearable.

I didn't want this, I didn't choose this, yet I feel like the worst part has fallen on my shoulders, not on the one who made mistakes.

I could have accepted anything except for dishonesty. That was the only thing I asked for, I didn't need anything else if I could trust my husband, but Lewis took that away from me.

And I can't spend the rest of my life with someone I don't trust anymore.

I hold the blue pen so tightly that my hand shakes.

I think of Lewis, who is peacefully asleep and doesn't expect what he'll find when he wakes up.

I should wait for him. We should talk about this like adults. I know I'm being cowardly and shouldn't act this way, but it was the only way I found to do this without getting even more hurt.

I don't know if he will sign it too, and I don't know if he will keep insisting on something that is already over, but all I want right now is to finish this as soon as possible. All I can do is do my part and hope that everything is quick and as painless as possible.

I analyze the entire document and check every detail of the agreement.

Our prenuptial agreement theoretically facilitates the division of everything and thus makes the dissolution of the marriage easier. Because of this, I feel more hopeful about this process going faster, since things become clear once we have an agreement on this since the day we got married. But I know it won't be as simple as signing a document. There is a lot at stake, especially for Lewis. This will go through every lawyer in town, there may be hearings, it could take an eternity, and just thinking about it already exhausts me.

My handwriting comes out a little different as I sign each paper of the document. Tears fall without ceremony, I don't even notice them at first. My broken heart can physically ache. I am bombarded by so many emotions that I couldn't even name them all. There is sadness, fear, pain, and anger, but there is also relief and hope. All of these things in equal measure, it's like I could explode with all the things passing through me.

But when I finish signing, it's like everything goes back to complete silence within me.

It all came to an end as I never imagined it would one day. And in the end, it's not him who receives forgiveness, it's myself.

Lewis is sleeping peacefully on his stomach, with no signs of waking up anytime soon. I sit down next to him, the lighting is low, but I can see every detail of his exposed skin. I place my hand on the middle of his back, touching the tips of my fingers carefully before placing my palm. Lewis sighs but remains unconscious.

I can't tell if I'm still crying, but the lump in my throat returns as soon as I feel him under my hand. His back rises and falls with each breath, and I spend some time analyzing every detail as if all of this wasn't already etched in my memory.

When I finally decide to leave, I place the papers on my side of the bed and leave the room, only taking my eyes off Lewis when the door closes.

I finally leave the apartment. I finally made the decision I needed to make.

-

The sunny weather in Milan makes me feel slightly better. The car drives through the quiet streets. Yet despite the calmness, I still feel my heart beating faster than usual.

“Do you know what you're going to do now?” Alessia breaks the silence in the car. Since I told her what I did, she hasn't said many words to me besides providing comfort. I don't think there's anything to be said at this moment that would make me think more than I already have in the past few days. I'm just happy with her presence.

“I'm going to spend the day with my best friend now. When I come back, maybe I'll rent a place to stay until everything is resolved. It's not like I want to go back to that apartment anyway.”

"Do you think he signed?”

I shrug.

“I hope so.” I look back outside the car. “Probably. Lewis knows that just me deciding to file for divorce means there's no turning back. I pushed myself to my limit for a reconciliation. Now it really has come to an end."

“And how are you feeling?”

“I'm fine. I don't think it has fully sunk in yet. I have some things to sort out before putting an end to all of this. Besides, I have to prepare myself. It may take months for everything to be resolved.”

Alessia doesn't take her gaze off me while I alternate mine between her and the streets of Milan.

We remain silent long enough to give me the impression that the conversation has ended.

“You're not going to leave Monaco, are you?” Her voice is low and she even seems a little embarrassed to ask me that.

“I haven't thought about it yet. But I don't think I can stay in Monaco. That place is microscopic, I'd see him everywhere.

"But it has become your home, our home. We dreamed of this, remember?”

I smile at her, remembering every step of when we did the craziest thing in our lives, giving up everything to live our dream in Monte Carlo. It would be really hard to disappoint my former self and leave this city behind. But I'm afraid it might be the only way to deal with all of this.

We don't take long to reach our final destination.

A large white hall without any sign on its facade is what awaits us. The glass doors show a few people walking inside. It's a simple place, an independent exhibition. Sometimes Alessia takes the hobby of finding new artists before anyone else very seriously.

She goes ahead while I stay in her shadow. I don't usually accompany her on her business trips, but any distraction is welcome right now.

“Oh. I didn't think I would find these people here. I mean, the boy is good, but God, this is surprising. Henry warned me to keep an eye on this guy.” She says as she walks around the small exhibition.

“What do you mean?!"

“Do you see that woman over there?” Alessia discreetly points to a lady at the end of the hallway. “Margaret Williams, one of the biggest art investors in the world. And let's just say she's far from being the most influential person here. For a 24-year-old boy in his second exhibition, I must say I'm impressed.”

“Well, you're here. That already means something too. You have the biggest gallery in Monaco. I'm sure this boy would kill to be there.”

“Taking into consideration the size of Monaco, that's not something so surprising.”

Alessia laughs at her own comment. I lightly tap her shoulder.

"I'll take a look around and see if I find the prodigy boy. Will you wait for me?" I nod in agreement. "I promise to finish quickly so we can enjoy Milan."

“It's okay. Take your time.”

After all, it was me who got myself involved in Alessia's work out of fear of staying at home.

I watch her walk for a few seconds before turning around and finding something to distract myself.

I would like to appreciate a work of art as I should, but I have no imagination or patience to see what everyone seems to admire. I leave this activity to Alessia.

I walk through the bright hall with no intention of lingering on anything. I stop to analyze some works, but it doesn't last long.

"Y/n. What a nice surprise!"

Hearing his voice makes my stomach turn before I even turn to him.

Matteo has a smile on his face as he looks me up and down.

Hell no. What are the chances?!

I look around him, searching for the girl, but I don't find her nearby and assume that Matteo is alone.

Too soon.

“Matteo. How are you?” I try not to let my reaction show on my face.

“I'm doing good. Yeah.”

“What brings you here?”

He puts one hand in his trouser pocket, his protruding belly making the task seem a little more difficult than it is.

"I have a house a few blocks away. We're spending a few days here. I decided to come to the exhibition. You know I like art, and this boy seems to be pretty good."

So she's here?! The possibility of running into Jordyn is enough to make me want to run away from here.

“Oh. I see” I swallow hard and look around for anything to get me out of this conversation.

“What about you? Is Lewis around here? I bet you guys are enjoying these last days of the break, hum.”

The tone in her voice disgusts me.

“Oh no, I came with a friend, but I'll be heading back to Monaco soon.”

Matteo finally seems to realize that there isn't much more to get from this conversation. We know each other, but we never exchanged many words. Everything always boiled down to Lewis. And that's not a subject that interests me at the moment.

He nods before starting to move. Matteo comes closer to me and puts his hand on my shoulder.

“If Lewis focuses a little more on what he actually needs, maybe he'll do better this year."

He says before moving away. I don't force a smile at the man. I look at him uncertainly. I don't know if Matteo knows what happened or if he said that because he's afraid of what another bad year will do to his investments.

I follow the opposite direction of Matteo. I search for Alessia with my eyes but give up calling her when I notice that she is engaged in a conversation. I climb a staircase placed at the back of the hall and come across a small terrace. I'm happy with the discovery. I can hide for some time at least.

Only a guy is standing there, the cigarette burning between his fingers.

I stand next to him and try to avoid going to him and asking for one. But I look at the Camel and feel the urge for its nicotine.

“Scusa. Puoi darmi una sigaretta?”

The guy stares at me before smiling.

He takes the pack out of his pocket and hands me one of the cigarettes, then helps me light it with his lighter.

“Grazie.”

I take a drag from the cigarette before moving away from the boy. I sit on one of the benches before reaching for my phone.

I expected to have many messages from Lewis waiting for me. But I only find one.

“Is that really what you want?”

I'm not sure how I feel about it. I don't want to see him insisting, but anyway, this single message hurts me a little

I stare at the message for some time. I scroll up our conversation screen several times, trying to find the past, trying to remember how things used to be when everything seemed easier and more beautiful.

I read some 'I love yous' and all the 'what time will you be back?' messages I sent. I go through photos from trips, baby clothes, and all the conversations we had in the early hours of the morning when we were far from each other.

How did we get here? When was the exact moment of rupture? The loss of our child? His infidelity? When do we stop caring?

They told me I should wait for the moment when my marriage would "cool off", they told me it was normal. But this is not normal. Indifference cannot exist, and it cannot be treated as something usual.

Maybe the mistakes started long before all the turbulence we went through. Maybe the mistakes started when we stopped caring. But we ignored it and got here, To the end.

I type the messages calmly as the smoke from the cigarette invades my lungs.

"I think I made that clear."

"Just talk to your lawyer."

The door slams shut, and the boy is no longer there. But another person enters the space. The last person I would like to see at the moment.

She backs up a bit when she notices me but doesn't go back, she walks a few steps closer to me.

I remain seated, still smoking as I look at her.

The daylight allows me to see the person in front of me better. I thought I would feel bad when I saw her again, but I don't feel anything.

I stand up and walk past her to the ashtray. I leave the remaining cigarette there and walk towards the door. But her voice stops me from going any further.

“You left him, didn't you?!” I turn to face her. Jordyn looks at me. “At least that would be the right thing to do.”

“Oh yeah?! And why is that?”

I step closer to her, my heels making me taller than the woman.

"He likes me, Y/n. It wouldn't make sense to continue with him after what we had.”

She seems to be serious. I don't know the girl, but I can feel that there is indeed some feeling coming from her. And that makes me laugh.

"It wasn't you who destroyed my marriage. He did to you what he would have done to anyone else. But that doesn't make me hate you any less or think of you as anything more than a cheap slut."

She seems shaken after hearing what I said.

I notice her biting her cheek before speaking again.

“It was much more than weeks, Y/n. How do you think the bracelet ended up there? I knew he wouldn't have the courage to leave you.” Jordyn takes a few steps back before continuing. “Not after what happened.”

Her comment makes me even more alert.

“He told me everything. That you can't keep his baby no matter what. That’s fucked up girl.”

My heart breaks even more with her words. I can't imagine how Lewis would be capable of doing something like that. I hope and try to believe that it's all just a lie. That she found this out in some other way that wasn't from him.

"Shut the fuck up, You don't know anything.” I whisper.

"The resentment was so huge that I really didn't understand how he went back to you every night. I gave him what he needed and in return, I received promises. Believe what you want, Y/n.”

My chest burns with anger. I turn around and try to walk away before I do something I'll regret, but she keeps talking.

"At least you stayed quiet as you should. Good thing you understand what I could do to you." She laughs. "He did tell me that you were a domesticated slut."

I only realize what I did when I feel the burning in my palm. The woman's turned face is covered by loose strands of hair. A moment of silence fills the space.

The small red dots begin to appear on her face. In just a few seconds, it's already clear that the slap will leave a mark. Her teary eye shows shock. I'm also shocked by what I did, but I can't deny that the sensation was fucking awesome.

"Go ahead. I can't wait to see what you're going to do with that."

I leave the outside area afraid of what I might continue to do if I stay here.

Jesus, I just hit a fucking child.

I quickly walk over to Matteo. My breathing is fast and I'm so nervous that I feel my whole body shaking.

When I get close enough, I hit his chest with my hand. The impact is not strong, but my hand burns even more. He looks at me scared.

“You can be many things, but naive is not one of them. You know what's going on, don't you?! You know you have a gold-digging whore as a fiancée.”

I try to contain my voice, but I'm not sure if I succeed.

He puts his hand around my wrist and holds it gently.

“What are you talking about?”

“Your little fiancée is sleeping with my husband.”

Matteo's eyes shift from mine towards the door behind me. I can hear her footsteps, but I don't move to look at her.

I keep my eyes fixed on Matteo's, who soon turns his gaze back to mine.

"What have you done, Y/n?"

"Less than she deserves, for sure." I take my hand away from his grasp. "Do whatever you want, I don't give a shit anymore.”

I move away from Matteo and leave the hall.

My only concern is if anyone besides the three of us noticed anything.

There are no more choked tears or imminent sadness, I feel like laughing just remembering the sound of my hand slapping her face.

It's like I've acquired a thick shell. I don't think I can be shocked anymore by the things I discover, nor do I think I can be hurt more by Lewis.

Maybe I'm becoming more immune to a broken heart. Or maybe I'm just fed up with suffering for someone like him.

At least I found out, the real Lewis did this to me.

Author’s note: Let me know if you liked the slap hahaha. I thought a lot about whether I should include it or not.

The next chapter will be the last one😢. I'm happy to be finishing this story, even though I've loved every comment from you guys. But I'll save the love declarations for the next chapter haha. I hope to be able to post it real soon. Thanks for the love and I hope you enjoyed it.

Taglist:

@slafgoalskybaby , @justanormalfangirlsworld, @ravenqueen27 , @nakamotosmoron, @supersanelyromantic , @maryseesthings , @bebesobrielo, @tenaciousathleteoperatorgarden, @bbhyuneee , @missamericana69 , @thotsposts , @neymessisstuff , @tita010 , @dangeroustacoalienbiscuit , @livingpurposee @leilaxaliel

If you want to be put on, or taken off my taglist, please let me know!

#au fanfiction #lewis hamilton #lewis hamilton fluff #lewis hamilton smut #lewis hamilton x reader #f1 x reader #fanfiction #smut fanfiction #f1 fanfic #f1 imagine

[fanfaron]

Adagio ovvero Largo. - A kinky Hannigram fanfic

Hi!

I'm Fanfaron, and I'm completely new to both the world of Tumblr, and the world of fanfiction.

I woke up a few days ago with just a burning passion to write something after having binged all of Hannibal whilst I worked on my latest cross-stitch project.

I hadn't written fiction in nearly two decades (and I don't read anymore, books nor fanfiction), and I used to struggle to pass even two paragraphs, so I was very surprised when I found myself spending an entire day feverishly writing this 6000-word homoerotic romp.

I've heard that Tumblr is the place to go if you want to engage with fandoms, and as an official Old Person I feel quite out of my depth, but I figured I'd give it a go.

I've also noticed that a lot of fanfiction writers for gay content tend to be cis women, and whilst they are absolutely talented and wonderful (I saw a couple of fics that were intensely steamy), I hope that my experiences as a certified queer boy might be a welcome addition to the scene.

I'm going to pop the entire first chapter here, and going forward I'll be adding new chapters on my (shiny new) AO3 account, and I'll update here as they go live.

You can find that here!

I would absolutely love feedback, thanks ever so much in advance.

This fanfiction is intended for Mature, Adult readers only.

Content Warnings: Power imbalance, therapist/patient relationship, suggestion of manipulation, sadomasochism, light blood letting, impact play

Adagio ovvero Largo.

Chapter One - Composition

The clock on the wall acted as a metronome, the rhythmic tick, tick, tocking of the second hand creating a reliable constant as swathes of notes streamed out amidst the mind of the man striding elegantly across his office. With each step, more imagined twangs of a mental harpsichord spilled forth from his inner recesses, relishing in past compositions whilst beginning anew with a natural ease akin to breathing. 

Dr Hannibal Lecter was not only a connoisseur of fine music; it ran underneath his very skin, unseen. Between the layers of dermis and muscle lies pitch, tone and chord. The blood within his veins created a coloratura as it spread across every inch of his body, a crescendo of sanguine liquid flowing into his heart and syphoning back out into the body that lightly swayed as it travelled across grey wooden floors. 

The arts provided him with a stillness, a calming lull of sweetness that filled his soul, and his belly. In moments of waiting, that fullness was enough to satiate his hunger for more unconventional cuisines. Such a craving was of course inevitable, but he was well versed in finding other ways to seek mediary satisfaction.

His slender fingers stretched out by his sides as he meandered across his broad, tastefully decorated office, fingertips lifting and dipping with each note that played out behind his eyes, his digits moving in perfect measure as though to truly caress the ivory keys.

As his ring finger began to press down to strike another mental chime, a sharp knock at the door rang through his skull and the music was brought to an abrupt silence. The first knock was met with a second, more hesitant dull thud, as though the person who stood behind the door was taken aback by their own sound. Hannibal immediately knew who possessed such a second guessing nature. 

“Come in, Will.” His own low, precisely measured voice broke the silence this time, as he made his way over to his desk, leaning back against the solid frame.

The door opened, revealing the smaller-framed man that was FBI profiler Will Graham, an air of apprehension practically radiating off of his body and into the stillness of the confined space of Dr Lecter’s office. He pressed his back against the door, closing it with his physique, his eyes only briefly flitting to glance at his duty-bound therapist. 

“You knew it was me,” he mumbled simply, “I know that this isn’t our... allotted time.” Dark curls of hair fell over his glasses as he looked down at the floor, his skin pale and adorned with beads of perspiration. He was dishevelled, at least more so than usual.

“I suppose I have a knack for prediction,” Hannibal replied with a hint of a smile, “And you know that you are always welcome, Will. I was not otherwise engaged.”

A ragged sigh spilled from Will’s lips as he stepped towards one of the two dark leather armchairs, looking almost as though his knees would buckle as he firmly grasped the back of the chair, his knuckles briefly turning white as he squeezed the material. “I… lost time again. I feel as though my own memories are being ripped straight out of my head.”

“Where did you find yourself?” the older man asked, hoisting himself forward from his desk to join the panicked fawn before him, smoothing out his dusky blue plaid jacket as he lowered himself into the other chair. 

“...Here.” There was a bitter resentment in Will’s response, his voice breathy and his face contorted as it escaped his mouth. “I was outside the building, but I don’t know… I don’t remember how I got here.”

“Perhaps your subconscious is trying to protect you, and take you to where you need to be. A safe place.” Hannibal extended his palm, inviting Will to join him, who did so with a visibly shaky reluctance as he sank into the chair opposite.

“Is this a safe place, Dr Lecter?” Will finally raised his eyes to meet the good Doctor’s. Though now both perched on the same level, he both looked and felt infinitely smaller in his seat, his wrinkled shirt stained with dark patches of sweat that made him look strangely sunken.

Hannibal didn’t answer immediately, instead taking a moment to search Will’s eyes for more information. The blues of his irises seemed almost stormy, dulled with anxiety and uncertainty. He glanced away, aware that staring can cause a more vulnerable animal to bolt, before responding, “If that is what you need it to be, yes.”

Will’s eyes narrowed, distrusting, as he began to pick at his nails, his breath still unsteady. “So it’s not always safe, then.” 

“It is what the patient needs it to be, Will. Do you perhaps think that you thrive better in an environment fraught with danger?” This time Hannibal’s eyes were unwavering, boring into Will’s with this question. If Will was going to withdraw his trust, Hannibal was going to be less inclined to a gentle approach.

“You’d probably think so, wouldn’t you,” Will almost laughed, but there was no humour in his tone. He tried to hold the other man’s gaze, becoming aware that behind his professional demeanour was an impending sense of a predator considering its prey. “That seems to be all life is these days. Danger. Are you dangerous, Dr Lecter?”

The smirk that curled up against Hannibal’s lips was an undisciplined response, but not one he tried to disguise immediately. Instead he rose from his chair and approached the rather traumatised, younger man, stepping behind him so that he could observe, but not be observed. 

“We all possess the capacity for malevolence, Will,” he replied softly, looking down at the paltry shape of a man before him. His eyes drew across his shoulders, hunched and pathetic, his unkempt hair that glistened with panicked sweat from his sleep walking, and finally his gaze landed upon the nape of his neck. 

“Y-yes, well, I’d rather not be exposed to it, if it’s all the same,” Will contested from his seat, shifting uncomfortably as he felt Hannibal’s eyes burning into him from behind.

Burn they did, as he studied the small patches of skin between hair and shirt, glimpses of naked flesh he could not ignore. Hannibal had known for some time now that Will Graham was not an adversary, nor a patient, nor quite a meal. But rather he was the other side to his coin, something to consume that would make him whole. 

He placed a hand gingerly upon Will’s shoulder, causing the man to flinch instinctively, but he kept it rested there. “I assure you, you are safe here.” With a mischievous glimmer in his eyes of which the younger man was none the wiser, Hannibal leaned in to place his lips beside Will’s ear, where he continued in a hushed purr, “Unless you do not want to be.” 

The prey had been startled, the fawn had bucked, and Will Graham unceremoniously launched himself out of his seat, his knees colliding with the ground before clumsily pushing himself off of the floor. He swung around, staring at Hannibal with wide, wild eyes. He held a hand tightly to his ear, gripping it as though wounded.

“One would think I had just bitten you,” Hannibal murmured, his voice dripping with beguiling satisfaction as Will glared at him through a haze of red-cheeked embarrassment and rage. “Of course, that could be arranged.”

“What are you doing!?” Will sputtered, surprising even himself with how his voice cracked as it left his lips, but then his tone lowered and emitted an unmistakable sense of having been the victim of betrayal. “Am I not suffering enough for you?”

Hannibal stretched into a standing position from where he had been leaning, his long limbs looking almost feline. Once again he neatened his suit, and his russet eyes landed upon his prey with a hint of arrogance. “Do you not relish suffering? You almost seem to seek it out, do you not?”

“I do not!” Will snapped, his voice raising with very little self control. He folded his arms across his torso in an attempt to disguise the quiver rising in his fingers, determined to hold his ground despite the disorientation that brought him into this situation. 

“Then release yourself from it.” Hannibal’s voice spilled forth with a darker tone, a suggestion of a dare. He began to make his way towards Will, who stepped backwards at equal pace. “Take control of your suffering and release yourself, or stop fighting it and accept who you are.”

“I don’t—” Will’s words were interrupted by the collision of a bookcase against his back, radiating through to his chest and stealing his voice. His eyes glanced around wildly as if to find a way to escape, but before he could even think he was being stared down. 

“You revel in pain.” This last word was punctuated by the thud of Hannibal’s palm thrusting against the thick spine of a book beside Will’s head. “Whether that’s taking a life, or inviting others to bring harm to your door. Or perhaps turning up at their door.” 

The shorter man avoided the heat of a gaze upon him, eye contact felt unnecessary at the best of times but this was downright invasive. “...Is that your professional opinion, Doctor?” Panicked or not, he would not be outdone.

“It is a personal one,” Hannibal responded frankly, his shadow cast over the other man, causing any reflection in his glasses to vanish and give a clear glimpse of the thick lashes covering the eyes refusing to look back at him. 

“Your personal opinion…” Will began, his breath stuttering, their closeness now bringing a sense of claustrophobia that seemed to steal the very air from his lungs. “...Is that I want you to-... hurt me?” It was as though the word ‘hurt’ had to be forcibly wrenched from his tender insides, carrying a strange weight of perversion.

Hannibal leaned in and lowered his lips to Will’s ear once more, taking delight in the way that his body stiffened as he braced himself for the hot breath soon to be tickling his flesh, already tinged pink with a rush of blood. “...Don’t you?” 

Will’s breath caught in his gullet as his face seared with embarrassment and confusion. His abdomen was a mess of knotted organs, a dull aching sickness rising to his sternum with a peculiar sense of guilt. “I don’t-...” He furrowed his eyebrows, struggling to phrase his reply. “I’ve never considered it.”

A deep inhalation through his nostrils caused Hannibal’s eyelids to flutter closed. Top notes of the lingering remnants of a familiar, unsuitably cheap aftershave. Fighting to overtake that scent were the salty middle notes of apprehension, the fragrance of a cold sweat from a frightful awakening. Finally, base notes of what can only be described as irrefutably Will Graham; musky beech trees, the faintest hint of a tulip poplar, and a not entirely unpleasant whiff of wet dog.

“Are you considering it now?” He dipped his face ever so slightly as he spoke in a deliberately soft and slow inflection, his mouth passing Will’s earlobe, the tip of his nose brushing across a layer of stubble, for which he was rewarded a small jolt of Will’s frame. He allowed the combination of earthy scents to fill his lungs, as his lips hovered below an enticing jawline.

Will frowned, unable to comprehend exactly how he was to approach this situation. He was caught in a bear trap, but curiosity halted his desire to flee. He had his suspicions about Dr Lecter’s decorum behind closed doors, and he certainly expected a degree of unorthodox psychiatric practices, but this was something even his deeply rooted empathy could not have foreseen. 

Then there was the unexpected closeness of this man he had been having deeply intimate, professional conversations with, who had witnessed some of his nethermost insecurities and traumas. Physical contact was not on his list of priorities, let alone a communion which not only flushed his skin and caused his heartbeat to echo against his eardrums, but also carried an underlying current of saccharine sadism. 

“...I don’t think I have much choice, do I? You’ve planted the idea in my head. Probably not a first for you.” His voice was calmer; he could feel a part of his psyche giving in to defeat, a faint hint of submission. 

“There’s always a choice, Will.” Hannibal drew back to meet Will face to face. He knew that if things were to proceed in his favour that this was a point that was crucial to communicate, even if in his mind autonomy was not truly in Will’s hands, but his own. “You can choose to leave, our impromptu night session drawn to an end. Or you can stay, and consider my words further.”

“It’s your actions that I’m worried about,” Will muttered, reaching up to rub his temple, only to be reminded of his glasses. He pulled them from behind his ears, massaging the side of his forehead with one hand, as though to soothe himself. 

“May I?” Hannibal reached out a hand towards Will’s glasses, and although a tad perplexed he handed them over without question. Hannibal travelled over to his desk, placing the glasses down neatly upon the mahogany surface. 

This allowed Will a moment of reprieve and he took several deep breaths, finally able to free his back from being pressed up against a rigid wooden column, and no longer trapped under excruciatingly close contact. 

“So, there’s the door. What will your choice be?” Hannibal spun on his heel, standing by his desk so that there was now a clear path from Will to the door. He extended an offer of freedom and self-determination, yet the confidence ringing in his voice suggested a predetermined outcome. 

Will did not respond. He simply stood, thoughts racing, studying the handsome Lithuanian. He felt as though his feet were glued to the floor, torn between self preservation and painfully alluring morbid curiosity. Ultimately an out was provided, and he simply did not take it. 

“Well then,” Hannibal continued, after allowing Will some time to fester on the spot. He carefully removed his jacket before laying it delicately across the desk, then moved to unbutton and remove his waistcoat. “Take off your shirt.”

“Sorry- what?” Will stumbled over his words, eyes frantic as he watched Hannibal begin to remove his cufflinks and roll his white sleeves up towards his elbows. “Wait, I didn’t-, I’m not—” 

“I’m not going to fuck you, Will.” Blunt, to the point, and stated without even looking at the wounded creature stuttering across the room, Hannibal instead focused on pulling at and tidying his sleeves in place, ensuring his forearms would be comfortable for the acts to come. 

Will stared, dumbfounded. Those were not words he was expecting to hear that day, let alone from Dr Hannibal Lector. Blood rushed to his face, a bizarre concoction of emotions flooding his brain. There was a twinge of excitement at the unexpected imagery that he tried to shoo away, followed by an even more unexpected sense of indignation; he couldn’t help but take offence on some level. 

“Will. Your shirt,” Hannibal repeated, noticing that Will had yet to react to his instructions. “Unless you require some assistance.”

“No, no, I got it.” Feeling a little lost, Will simply began to follow instructions, and unbuttoned his shirt. As he began to remove the garment he realised just how much he had recovered from his earlier panic, the air feeling cold against his skin from where it had been slick with sweat, causing goosebumps to prickle up across his arms and chest, fine hairs standing on end. 

“Good. Now, face the wall.” Another instruction delivered curtly. 

Will raised an eyebrow as if to ask, ‘excuse me, come again?’ but he said nothing, just staring for a moment with his mouth slightly agape, before turning slowly and moving towards the wall beside the bookcase, his shirt still gripped tightly in one hand. 

The sound of footsteps alerted him as he stared at the wine coloured wall before him, and a sense of dread began to overtake any sense of composure he had regained. A hand reached around from behind him, startling him into a small jump, as Hannibal took his shirt from his grasp and disappeared from his side. 

He heard the soft slide and click of a drawer being opened and closed, before Hannibal’s voice penetrated his mind with yet more instructions. “Place your hands up against the wall.”

It was beginning to feel like some sort of ludicrous police arrest role play, a parody of what he had witnessed so many times now, but Will did as he was told, feeling as though he had come too far to back down now. He planted his hands up against the cold paint, experiencing some small reassurance in his chest no longer being exposed, but that sense of security would be short-lived. 

First he heard the sound of Hannibal’s shoes on the hardwood floor behind him once more, then he recognised the presence of the taller man looming over his figure. He expected more instructions, but instead what he received was a perplexing epiphany. 

Leaning in close enough for his lips to now make direct contact with Will’s ear, moving beyond the tease of breath and instead sending a small bolt of electricity that penetrated his flesh and punctured his spine, Hannibal softly whispered a simple praise, “Good boy.”

A gasp stifled its way out of Will’s diaphragm and for a split second his knees threatened to give way beneath him, a hand momentarily shifting against the wall. In a heartbeat his breathing became laboured, the air knocked out of him by two words. He was thankful that Hannibal could not see his face, a mix of bewilderment and thrill. 

Hannibal was equally grateful that the grin spreading across his lips would not be shared with his prey. He inhaled deeply against Will’s skin, a faint dizziness dancing across his forehead as he detected the subtlety of a new, growing bouquet. Arousal.

“Do you know what vampire gloves are, Will?” He broke the silence, hoping to deceive that he had not sensed Will’s reaction to his words.

“...No,” Will replied weakly, trying to regain composure, praying that the wall would either somehow support him or crumble beneath his grip and provide escape. 

“Then let us test your senses, and see if you can describe to me what you believe you are feeling.” Hannibal continued to speak in a tone that hardly differed from that of what Will would hear during their sessions, but now affording him an entirely new form of trepidation.

Will jumped immediately at the first sensation, struggling to keep his hands in place. It was as though a hundred cold needles were being pressed into his shoulder blade. Not painful, the pressure was light, but unusual enough to take him by surprise. He felt the series of needles being towed across his skin, down along the left side of his back at a cruelly lethargic speed. 

“...Spikes?” he asked with a pondering hesitation. 

“Yes, good. A leather glove, the fingers of which have been pierced from within with many tiny, metal spikes, like a chorus of vampire fangs,” Hannibal explained matter-of-factly, continuing to stroke his gloved hand along the left side of Will’s back from top to bottom, occasionally running a sharp finger along the nape of his neck, causing small sighs to erupt from between his lips. 

The rhythmic stroking was not at all unpleasant, but rather began to lull Will into an almost sleepy haze, the gentle scratches along his skin making his muscles glow with a soft warmth. It felt almost as if he was being petted, and each time a finger approached his neck or the small of his back he found himself instinctively flexing into the sensation. 

“They have the ability to tease…” Hannibal’s voice drew quieter as he focused on his actions, his eyes tracing the small red lines created by his glove. He brought himself closer to the man’s blushing back, replacing the glove this time with his mouth, planting a chaste kiss that charred with the heat radiating from the base of Will’s neck. 

Just as he was rewarded with a surprised gasp from the other man, he continued, “...And to torture.” With this he moved his gloved hand to the right side of Will’s back, planted it upon his scapula, and dug firmly into the flesh of his shoulder.

A pained moan emitted from below him, but Hannibal did not relent. Will instinctively writhed, his back contorting to flee the assault, small gasps and pained sounds pouring from him, but still Hannibal held firm. He placed his bare hand against Will’s upon the wall, though it was not clear if this was to support him or to trap him. 

“Dr L-Lector—” Will choked, feeling the surprise of tears pricking the corners of his eyes, struggling to keep his posture upright as the man’s hand pushed harder into his skin. 

“Endure it,” Hannibal practically growled in Will’s ear, a feverish tone domineering over his usual calm demeanour, his fingers now intertwining with Will’s against the wall. “Endure,” he repeated, before dragging his gloved hand down along Will’s back, from the shoulder blade and further along the pale landscape of flesh, a brief moment feeling like an eternity as gasps and whimpers filled the office. 

His hand stopped above Will’s hip, but he did not withdraw. Instead he began to dig into this new patch of virgin territory, squeezing at the small amount of fat tissue beneath the skin. All the while the thin, needle-sized trails from his shoulder blade began to bead with droplets of blood, a stream of budding lines swelling and rising, his skin growing redder with every passing second.

Finally, Hannibal released his grasp, and the sound that escaped Will was one he didn’t recognise, a strained moan he had never heard uttered from his own mouth before. His breathing was quick and shallow, his heart thumped inside his chest, and he felt as though he had run a marathon. 

“...Good boy,” Hannibal uttered, his head now upon Will’s shoulder from behind, and it was at this point that Will realised how laboured they both were, with intermingled rapid breaths, and equally hot cheeks pressed together. 

Those words began to ring in Will’s head as the pain across his back started a transformation, the blistering agony instead taking on a sharp, stinging ache that prickled at his skin in a way that baffled his brain with waves of adrenaline-fuelled pleasure. If this was torture, it was delectable.

In a brief lapse of self control, Hannibal took the side of Will’s ear between his teeth, gently grazing against the lobe in a manner most contradictory of his instincts, his tongue beginning to probe the sensitive organ, prying small, sweet sounds from Will’s lips. 

But bliss is not why they were there.

Will let out a satisfactory sigh as he succumbed to the sensations of Hannibal’s unexpected intimacy, but it was soon caught in his throat as the vampire gloved hand snaked its way around the side of his neck opposite to Hannibal’s oral torture, slowly creeping up along the nape before seizing its target. 

“Aah, Hannibal—” He winced and buckled a little, not even noticing that he had resorted to his therapist’s first name, but the other man certainly noticed and made sure to reward such familiarity by clamping his hand down firmer upon the back of Will’s head.

“Yes, Will?” Hannibal asked in a low voice, the vibrations of his purr reverberating against the side of Will’s face, metal spikes clawing downwards at a snail’s pace.

Will’s breathing stuttered and his eyes closed tightly, the pained tears that had escaped them mixed with the skin of Hannibal’s cheek. “F-fuck!” was all he could utter, but he could feel Hannibal’s smile against him.

“So, which do you prefer, Will Graham? Teasing, or torture?” He pressed his lips against Will’s stubble, enjoying the mix of rough and tender against his sensitive skin, as he released the flushed boy’s neck and began to drag the glove down along his spine.

“I…” Will began, his brain deliriously flooded with chemical releases, the hot sensation of blood upon his back, and the frustrating closeness of his torturer pressed up against his face. But something in him was breaking. “...I think you can… do better than that.”

Hannibal’s hand withdrew almost immediately, and he found himself stepping backwards, feeling the loss of Will’s cheek against his own as he removed himself. He took the opportunity to survey his handiwork, the body before him almost slumping against the wall now with shaky breaths, and a series of magnificent scratches adorning his physique. Hot, red, swollen and decorated with patches of drying blood, he was simply beautiful to behold.

He slipped the vampire glove from his slender fingers and tossed it carelessly upon the desk, observing his victim with ravenous eyes, before stepping away from the challenger. 

“Come here, Will,” Hannibal called from across the room, taking Will by surprise. He slowly peeled his hands from the wall, straightening his back and feeling every wound throb with an enticing sting as he began to move his muscles. Unsure, he turned to see Hannibal sitting in the chair facing him. “Come and stand in front of me.” 

Each step felt like a lifetime as he followed orders once more, until finally he was standing before Hannibal. Although a pain-induced haze still hung like a curtain over his eyes, he was all too aware of how his body betrayed him. His nipples were as swollen as his wounds and just as crimson-hued, but worse still he was now conscious of the small damp stain upon the crotch of his trousers.

Hannibal’s eyes travelled up and down the man’s figure, and if he noticed these things he opted not to draw attention to them, instead settling his eyes upon Will’s own. “Perhaps I was too quick to praise you. It would appear, Will, that you are in fact a very, very naughty boy.”

Will’s face flooded with embarrassment. Whilst the praise stirred something almost animalistic in his loins, suddenly being infantilised like this instead brought about a sense of humiliation that was not to his tastes, but the look in Hannibal’s eyes suggested that his discomfort was wholly the point. 

“Remove your trousers,” Hannibal stated simply, his eyes drifting down to Will’s belt.

“I-... I’m not sure-...” Will hesitated, the growing demands of disrobing making him uncertain, even with the painful reminders pulsing on his back telling him that there was little point in turning back now. 

“I already told you,” Hannibal began, taking Will’s gaze once again, “I’m not going to fuck you.”

“...So you keep saying,” Will muttered, choosing to ignore the somewhat bemused expression that appeared on Hannibal’s face, averting his eyes to focus on unbuckling his belt. He stumbled out of his trousers, sliding off his well worn shoes in the process, until he was standing in only his socks and boxers, hands awkwardly placed in front of him to try and keep some semblance of modesty.

“Good,” Hannibal said firmly, knowing that providing only half the praise would leave Will feeling unsatisfied. “Now, bend over my knee.” 

“Sorry, what?” Will responded immediately, a soberness to his voice that surprised even himself. 

“Must I repeat myself?” Hannibal looked up at him curiously, but without a single doubt upon his face. He knew that his instructions would be met, one way or another.

“...Fine.” Will’s reply was delivered through gritted teeth, and he was unable to prevent the hiss escaping them as he felt the small wounds upon his back stretch to reopen as he leant over Hannibal’s seat, trying to fight off discomfiture as he stumbled to find himself laying stomach-first upon the man’s legs. The texture of his suit trousers against his skin made him painstakingly aware of how little clothing covered his own body. 

Another inevitable smirk formed upon Hannibal’s face as he placed a hand down upon the small of Will’s back, his fingertips brushing against a laceration. “Good boy.”

Will clasped a hand over his mouth, biting back a moan, internally cursing himself for the impact those words had on him, for knowing that his body would react in a way he’d be unable to disguise.

Hannibal’s hand simply continued to stroke along Will’s back, taking delight in the way he had marked his new plaything, but of course this was not the activity that he had in mind. He began to toy with the waistband of Will’s boxers, which he studied intently. The material was old and slightly worn; he got the impression that Will likely didn’t buy new clothing often. How he wished he could take him shopping for a tailored suit. 

As Hannibal casually mused, Will was already in mental anguish, his attempts at internally willing away his growing arousal were not remotely successful, and he was already in the full throes of torture, or at least so he thought, until a muted slap echoed through the room. Taken aback, it took Will a moment to even realise what had happened, that Hannibal had smacked his palm down upon his buttock. 

“Did you just-... spank me?” he asked, muffled through the hand still upon his mouth. 

“You tell me, Will,” Hannibal responded curtly, before landing his hand down upon the other cheek, another slap penetrating the air of the office.

Will’s own air was stolen from his lungs in a gasp, his hand falling limply away from his face. Whilst not exactly painful, the sensation was a shock to the system. 

“I believe you wanted a change of pace, did you not?” Another smack, this time with just a degree of increased intensity, which caused a nervousness to begin gathering in Will’s chest. 

“We can do…” Another smack. “A change.” Smack. “Of.” Smack. “Pace.” Firmer still, his hands began to land slaps down upon Will’s barely covered buttocks with increasing speed and ferocity. 

With each impact, the sting would increase, and Will’s gasps became louder, but something caused Hannibal to pause. Again he found his hands playing with the elasticated band of Will’s undergarments. “Is it uncomfortable, Will?” 

“It-.. It’s fine…” Will replied breathlessly. 

“I mean, this.” Hannibal gently pulled at the clothing. “I think that we would both benefit from this being out of the way.” Using both his hands, he pulled the boxers down over Will’s groin, carefully tugging the material over the erection pressing into his lap, over his rear, leaving them to sit on Will’s thighs, careful to not make contact with his exposed rigidity in the process. “There, much better.” 

Will was speechless. A confused, almost upset sensation hit the back of his throat, a shame that, for a moment, threatened to consume him. He was so sorely embarrassed at his body’s betrayal, yet at the same time unable to ignore the unruly desire to feel more of what made him harder than he could ever remember being. For a second Will thought that he had felt a similarly longing firmness pressing up from Hannibal’s lap, but he soon had his ability to focus snatched away. 

This time the slap was almost deafening, bare skin upon bare skin. Hannibal would allow himself a moment to slide his palm along Will’s rear, savouring the softness, his fingertips dancing across plump flesh to feel patches of soft hair, before he would strike down and spank the fawn in his lap. 

What began as more of a surprise than a punishment, slowly began to reconstruct itself into an orderly, concise beating. Each smack was delivered with a precisely increased severity, always guaranteed to hit the exact spot where impact would be most effective. Will’s gasps metamorphosed in turn from shocked releases of air to cries of distress intermingled with a titillated longing.

“Is this more to your satisfaction, Will?” Hannibal asked in between thrashes, knowing full well that his treatment of the man’s tender flesh had rendered him unable to speak. He could only reply in moans and wails, though after a time his hips began to rise and fall to meet Hannibal’s hand, yearning for more. 

Will felt delirious. The agony brought with it an intense sense of relief, as though the pent-up stress buried within his ribcage was being churned out of him with every assault. His pelvis bucked wildly, his mind so foggy with hysteria that he had not even noticed when the punishment stopped. 

Hannibal kept a hand resting gently upon Will’s inflamed backside, his eyes dark with a lustful fervour, silently watching the mewling young man thrusting fiercely against his lap. His teeth sank down upon his bottom lip to stifle any sounds that threatened to emerge each time their mutual turgescence rubbed together. 

This hadn’t exactly been Hannibal’s intention when he lured his patient into a game of sadomasochism. The kind of gratification on his mind was of a far more violent persuasion, but he couldn’t bring himself to awaken Will from his desperation. His irrational frenzy stirred a longing in Hannibal that he hadn’t expected to address until much later along the line.

A hand lifted to grasp onto Hannibal’s trousers tightly, Will’s digits clinging onto the fabric as he moved with irregularity, a blaze of white filling his vision as the intensity of orgasm governed his thoughts, or lack thereof. Luscious spasms of wet, thick heat radiated from his loins, a faint numbness filling the void in the aftermath of grinding sensitive skin against an expensive suit. 

His body heaved as his lungs carelessly sought to replenish his body of oxygen, a heavy sense of exhaustion threatening to pull him under as he collapsed upon Hannibal’s lap, the Doctor’s hand making its way to warily stroke along Will’s back, but he didn’t remain dormant for long.

He fought against heavy eyelids, clutching for some semblance of sanity as reality began to dawn on him. Will shifted awkwardly, before stumbling from Hannibal’s seat, his legs threatening to give way. He felt around his thighs for his underwear, trying to pull his boxers up against his spent, naked form. 

“Will—” Hannibal began to speak, but was quickly interrupted. 

“No.” Will was stern, but his voice was weak, wrecked from the sordid cries that hailed from his frame. He didn’t want to look, yet for a moment he found himself staring at Dr Lecter’s body in the chair, staring at the mess that he had made, the shame. A lump formed in his throat, followed by a twinge of bile that threatened to ravage his raw larynx.

Wordlessly he began to gather at his clothes, wishing he could move faster, trying to make himself look presentable again as he pulled at materials and fastened buttons, none in even remotely the correct order. 

Hannibal rose from his chair and attempted to reach for the other man’s shoulder, but Will stumbled away, grabbing at his glasses on the desk. 

“Will, listen to me.” He spoke slowly but with authority, yet Will would not look in his direction. “There is a degree of aftercare that is very important here, and I cannot let you leave in this condition.” 

“You offered me the door and I am taking it, Dr Lecter.” Will’s words spilled from his mouth haphazardly as he forced his glasses onto his face. “I’m… I’m sorry. This was a mistake.” 

Before Hannibal could reach for him again, the man who was even more unkempt than when he first entered the room had left and closed the door behind him, leaving Hannibal standing with a hand outstretched. 

He closed his eyes, sucking air deep into his lungs, now quite uncomfortably aware of the wetness that stained his clothes, and the dull ache upon his palms. He simply stood, urging a calmness into his body with every breath. His fingers began to lift and dip, summoning melodies into his skull, but he could only muster a faint discordant cadence, before slamming his hands down onto his desk.

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[quincywillows]

a scattered and overall supportive review of percy jackson season 1

let me just say first of all, it's extremely fun to be enthused about a tv show like this again. the adaptation isn't perfect, but it's a lot of fun, and you can tell there's plenty of heart and good intention behind what they're doing. i'm very much enjoying tuning in every couple of episodes and catching up -- and avoiding the relentless commentary of the internet while i do so lol.

but now it's time for MY commentary!! to preface, i was a huge fan of the books when i was younger, am a stalwart long-term advocate of the original five books as some of the best children's lit of our lifetime, but i also enjoyed the films a decade ago for what they were and think people (including cough rick cough) are way too harsh about them. justice for logan lerman. anyway

i'm not going to do like a play-by-play, but in summary, here are my takeaways from the first season -- what i thought worked, what did not, and things i'm optimistic about going into the future seasons.

the good

for an adaptation of the original series (which, to be fair, i have not reread in years), i felt this was honest and faithful. there were tweaks, obviously, but none that took me too out of it or felt irredeemable. there was a lot to like about this show, so i want to start right from the top with my highest highs.

the worldbuilding / production design. i absolutely loved getting to see how they imagined certain iconic characters, locations, and sequences from the books. it was so exciting to get to see camp halfblood for the first time on screen (at least, in this adaption) -- that moment in episode two definitely felt like a turning point where we picked up from the somewhat laggy pilot episode. i especially loved the design of mount olympus, aspects of the underworld (hades and his upside down castle were baller, though how did percy and grover get up there lol; and i absolutely loved the choice for asphodel and the ghosts being rooted like trees, i never would've thought of that myself but it was so chilling and unique... just wish i could see it better through the terrible lighting, but we'll come back to that), and of course, camp. even down to the small details, like the camp beads... it's just very cool to see it come to life.

the casting. i wasn't sure about some of the casting when the news was breaking, but i'm very happy to have been pleasantly surprised all around (and have majorly avoided people bitching about every single thing). there wasn't any role where i felt like someone was horribly miscast, and you could tell that everyone involved really wanted to be there and committed. i thought the casting of the gods was especially inspired at times. some of the highlights for me personally:

adam copeland as ares. i had no idea he was apparently a wrestler turned actor until my sister told me, but i thought he was absolutely spectacular. very charismatic, with just the right amount of cringefail that ares needed. i found him thoroughly enjoyable in all his scenes.

lance reddick as zeus. having just played horizon zero dawn recently, oh my lorde was this an inspired choice. he was absolutely brilliant. i'm so so sad about his passing, i don't know how they're going to recapture his performance, but i have faith now that they'll find a way.

timothy omundson as hephaestus. i love that they took a softer, more mad scientist approach to his role than like ugly basement blacksmith vibes... i just thought it was really refreshing. his scene with annabeth, where we got so much humanity from him in such a short span of time, was one of my favorite scenes of the season.

jason mantzoukas as dionysus. i mean. what else can be said. obvious choice, but he was so fun lol. i hope they give him more to do next season.

other standouts beyond the main youth cast for me were jay duplass as hades (his brief appearance in 107 was thoroughly enjoyable) and dior goodjohn as clarisse (she was by far the acting standout of the first couple episodes to me). also very happy to see jessica kennedy parker and sinclair from the 100 get work, lol.

walker as percy jackson. it was really wonderful watching walker grow as an actor even just through the first eight episodes. the difference from 101 to 108 is almost night and day. you can tell how much he cares about the project and percy as a character, and he upped his game with every episode. i cannot wait to see what he turns out in the coming seasons. to be fair, i thought all of the youth cast did a decent job, and i'm giving them a lot of leeway and room to grow since they are literally child actors -- it takes time to hone your craft, and im optimistic they're all going to do a great job as the series goes on. but walker was, definitively and thankfully as the protagonist, the standout.

charlie bushnell as luke. i was so excited when i heard he got cast because i loved him in diary of a future president, and he did not disappoint. i kind of wish he had more to do, but all of that was forgiven in the finale when he had his final confrontation with percy. oh, the acting popped off then -- i can't wait for him to get to chew up the scenery more in the coming seasons.

grover and percy's friendship. it was so sweet to see this come alive, and i thought walker and aryan had excellent natural chemistry together. they were so endearing, and i really believed their friendship basically from the start (them swapping their sandwich fillings is a tiny detail from the pilot that has stuck with me since; i just loved that choice so much). they definitely provided a lot of my favorite moments in the season, and i think evoked the most genuine "aw wow" moments from me.

percy's relationship with sally. since sally was, understandably, absent from the original novel, it was awesome to get the flashbacks here that allowed us to more deeply understand their bond. i thought walker and virginia did a great job with this, and the young actor who played little percy also did a surprisingly great job (he was actually one of the stronger youth actors in the pilot imo lol). you totally understood why percy was doing everything he was, because that mother-son bond felt believable. big shout-out to the absolutely baller line "i am sally jackson's son." one of the first writing moments where i was like oh snap!

the music. a good score really can't be understated, and this one did not disappoint. did just what it needed to do. i also loved the closing title sequence and the art direction there with the epic music -- just such a nice touch that i'm so glad they included.

some of the writing. i'll get more into some of my qualms with the writing below, but there were definitely some great moments that deserve their flowers. i thought they did a great job weaving in some early themes without being heavy-handed about it (percy having to define who he is for himself, mostly). there were some genuinely funny moments that made me laugh out loud, including "i am impertinent," annabeth's "i'm multitalented," and the entire exchange on the road side when the trio to ares are like no... we're fine... ahaha bye... oh and percy trying to drive the taxi out of the garage at the casino was absolutely hysterical.

pivotal scenes hitting their mark. when the show needed to deliver, i thought they really delivered. i absolutely loved the staging and acting in the final luke and percy confrontation -- the lighting of the fireworks was such a cinematic touch. percy's arrival at olympus and scene with zeus was also a big standout. i loved a lot of the st. louis arch episode, and thought the hephaestus golden chair sequence was really well done. overall, the episodes i thought were strongest were without a doubt 104, 105, and 108.

expansion where expansion was welcome. one of my favorite aspects of the series is how it's giving more nuance to the monsters and "villains" of the books. i loved that we got a little more motivation for alecto beyond evil -- that she clearly wanted to accomplish her own mission and retrieve the helm, whether out of loyalty or fear. i loved how medusa got much more depth and humanity, that we're sort of reexamining the fairness of how myths are told rather than just taking it all at face value. i'm really looking forward to seeing how that continues in the next seasons.

the decent

percy and annabeth. to be fair, i think my issue with this is more on the fan reaction than the show itself. i think the show is doing a decent, if somewhat awkwardly paced job, of building their friendship and offering small little hints of what could blossom in the future in classic youth awkward ways -- unexpected hugs, banter, etc. i think walker and leah are both doing a good job, and i look forward to seeing how it develops. but my god, people on the internet are really jumping the shark so hard here. i can't handle seeing more "uwu percy is in love" posts when it's like. y'all. THEY ARE 12. THEY JUST MET. LET THEM ORGANICALLY BECOME FRIENDS FIRST... i just hope the creators don't feed into that and also jump the shark. like yes, we all know where this is going, but can't we enjoy the actual journey to get there instead of forcing what isn't there yet? in any case, on the positive side, some of the moments between them i really enjoyed: the conversation on the train when grover was asleep, the hephaestus chair sequence, annabeth giving him her camp beads before going to olympus (that was a slay... that was a legendary slow burn start moment worth hyping up), the way percy smiled at her in their last scene... that's the good stuff. let's not rush through what we're getting folks. the water is fine.

lin manuel as hermes. here is the thing. i thought lin did a good job. i thought his casting was apt, and fun, and he did a great balance of hermes charisma and like, a darker edge. it's just... the thing about lin manuel is that he's lin manuel. and this is coming from someone who likes him, but it's like he shows up on screen and i'm just like. hey it's lin manuel. it's a bit of a "takes you out of the moment" stunt casting, but i'm not mad about it. i wouldn't call it a bad thing. hopefully it'll wear off (though i doubt it). i guess i'm just deciding that hermes is just lin manuel, which honestly, would kind of track.

the youth acting. mentioned this above, but again, some of that early delivery was rough. but i am giving a lot of grace, and i think they've already improved plenty in the first eight episodes. i felt the same way about shadowhunters back in the day when i thought kat mcnmara was hard to watch in season 1, but by season 3 she was my absolute favorite cast member and came so far. i have no doubt these kiddos will do the same. so very much looking forward to that.

the not so great

the pacing. this was definitely the weakest part of the story writing wise. it wasn't irredeemable, but it did hinder the first half of the show (which didn't lock in for me until about 104, when the stakes truly shot up at st. louis). and that also affected how dynamics and plot points were able to unravel. the biggest victim of this...

the luke reveal. from the start, i was worried about this. since luke was only really in episode 2, i had doubts about whether the reveal of his betrayal would be at all satisfying or earned. i don't know that i can speak on it for sure, since i knew what was going to happen as someone who read the books, but i still feel we should have gotten more of those luke-and-percy-bonding scenes and convos earlier in the series rather than tacked onto the finale as flashbacks. it worked there, but i think it could've been better. thankfully, all of that didn't hinder the delivery of the finale confrontation, which as i said, was a standout moment for me.

the fight scenes. with rare exception, i was pretty underwhelmed with many of the monster battles and confrontations this season. given that's such a huge gimmick of the novels, i hope they're able to revisit and polish up the pacing of these in the future... i just felt that scenes like the museum clash with dodds were so rushed and anticlimactic. or not even confrontations at all, like the scene with crusty. we got a bit more of this at the back half of the season, in the sword fights with ares and luke, but i wanted more of that epic feeling throughout. i'm hoping it's maybe just a budget concern and that it'll improve in the coming seasons -- especially as the bosses get bigger and the stakes get higher -- but i'm not sure i'm optimistic just yet.

some of the dialogue. it was... wooden, to say the least. i think the worst moments of this were when they were trying to force Kid Bants -- which just felt stilted in the earlier episodes -- and whenever they were explaining greek myths point blank to the audience. there were moments it worked, but many where it didn't, and i hope they flesh out how to better info dump in the future episodes. i didn't mind the change of having percy be more familiar with the myths and thus more aware, but they could afford to finesse how they relay that information to us in the audience without basically reading from wikipedia in percy's voice.

the ugly

oh my god i can't see. i can't SEE. this show went to the teen wolf academy of employing one lightbulb and it's actually criminal. there were so many scenes where i really wanted to see what was happening because the stakes were high or the scenery was so pivotal -- the entry into the underworld for the first time, the vastness of medusa's basement of stone, THE FIELDS OF ASPHODEL -- but the lighting was so god awful i legitimately couldn't see a thing. in asphodel i literally could barely see the trio's expressions, it was that bad / flat. the audience is smart, we understand it's dark out. we can suspend our disbelief so you can add some visibility to this thing. i was turning up my brightness constantly but it wouldn't go any higher. please, disney execs, rick, anyone -- GET ANOTHER LIGHTBULB. i'm losing key immersive aspects of the show to this and it's a bummer. when they were walking through waterland for the first time and annabeth was like "wow can you believe this craftsmanship" i was like i don't know, girl, I CAN'T SEE ANY OF IT. begging on my knees that they fix this next season.

well, that ended up longer than expected, but oh my gods it is so nice to be writing paragraphs about a tv show again. all in all, i'd say 7.5/10 from me in this first season. there's so much to be keen for here, and i'm really happy with how it's going so far.

friends and fellow demigods, what did we all think?

#percy jackson #pjo tv #pjo tv show #pjo series #pjo #idk what y'all are tagging with lol #maggie watches tv #maggie.txt

[dre6ming]

The delicate beginning rush- imagine

Unconditionally and irrevocably in love with her

Masterlist <chapters 1->14 here>

Some things are meant to be - chapter 13 (y/n) pov

The delicate beginning rush imagines masterlist

Get added to my tag list

Pairing: Austin Butler x singer/actress fem reader

Warning: age gap (10 years), fluff

Plot: (y/n) was secretly asked to be part of the Elvis Soundtrack and perform live at the Cannes premiere, this is Austin’s reaction to it.

Word count: 1900

Austin's point of view

The clapping started a while ago and it doesn't seem to stop. I have tears in my eyes, salt streams running down my cheeks as I look up, thanking my mom's spirit, Elvis's and God. In my whole two decades long career I've never felt this type of happiness and relief. The room is just filled with this beautiful energy, there's happiness flowing in the air, but there's a heaviness to it all, as everyone seems to be holding back tears. I turn to my left and hug Olivia briefly, whispering a sincere "thank you" in her ear, moving further through the crowd, hugging everyone in sight. I'm overwhelmed with people's reaction and I'm joyful to accept every compliment and hug, but there's this gaping hole in my heart, like something is missing. I can't put my finger on what it is, but in the back of my mind there's this voice telling me exactly what I'm longing for.

She couldn't be here, how could she? She's not my girlfriend publicly, she's not involved with the movie, as far the public knew, she's had no excuse to come to the premiere, even though I wanted it so bad.

As soon as my mind circles back to her, I can't help but wish this would all be over so I could go back to my hotel room and call her, hear her voice, tell how proud I am of her singing, how hearing her voice brought me to tears. I just know (y/n) and Baz must of worked really hard to keep this a secret, not only from the media, but from me as well. I smile to myself thinking about all those times I asked her about the secret project she was working on and she would simply smile, saying I'll know soon enough.

I reach my hand into my jacket, looking for my phone to see if she answered my text, more like hoping she did, but before I can, a hand touches my shoulder. "Austin, everyone back in their seats, there's one last surprise." Baz announces, directing me back to my seat next to him. The room goes completely silent and all the lights go out, leaving us in pitch black. There's some ruffling noise, then a deep breath echoes through the theater. Soft piano starts playing and a single light shines on the floor, bringing into focus a white piano, a replica of the one Elvis had in Graceland. The breath gets caught in the back of my throat as my eyes make out who's playing.

"Wise men say, only fools rush in...But I can't help falling in love with you"

(Y/n)'s enchanting voice fills the room, making my heart throb. She looks beautiful, in a dark blue gown, with silver stars on it. Her soft hair is pulled back and she has glitter all over her face, which sparkles with every movement of her head. She has her eyes closed, singing softly, her delicate fingers brushing the piano keys.

"Like a river flows, surely to the sea, darling so it goes. Some things are...meant to be"

I can't take my eyes off of her and my feet carry me out of my chair unconsciously. New tears form in my eyes and I try to blink them away, but all that effort goes out the window when she turns her head to the audience. She opens up her beautiful eyes, searching the audience, spotting me immediately, since I'm the only one standing. (Y/n)'s eyes glimmer in the light, tears glossing them. She smiles at me, a single tear sliding down her round rosy cheek and onto the piano keys.

"Take my hand, take my whole life too. For I can't help falling in love with you"

She keeps singing, looking into my eyes, smiling bright and blinking through the tears. I'm wiping away my own tears, feeling the thud of my heart against my chest. All I see is her, all I hear is her, all I want is her. It's so strange to try and explain, to try and understand, this undeniable attraction I feel for her. I watch her and I'm intrigued by her presence, by her ability to wield such power. In the months since I've met her, she's consumed my every thought, I fall asleep dreaming about her eyes and I wake up imagining I hear her voice.

I hate playing pretend, the whole fake relationship thing is really starting to piss me off. I wish I could just run up to her, lift her up in my arms and spin her around, kiss her plush lips.

"For I can't help falling in love with you..."

As she finishes the song, I'm left with this feeling, the feeling that she was somehow singing to me and I realize how much I wish that were true. As people start clapping and standing, cheering her on, I understand the weight that's sitting on my heart. I've fallen in love with her. There's no denying, that I want her to be my everything, I feel it in all my bones. She's my one.

Baz shakes me awake, hugging me, asking me what I thought of the performance. I'm speechless, I smile and say some gibberish that doesn't make much sense. My feet burn in my shoes, I want to move so bad, to go be by her side.

Before I can stop myself, I'm moving, making a bee line for her, focusing only on her. I love the way her face lights up when we lock eyes, I love the blush that comes to her cheeks, I love the way her lips stretch over her teeth in the most beautiful smile I've ever seen. I come to a stop, standing a few inches away from her, looking at her, forcing my hands to stay unmoved at my sides. "I-" she opens her mouth to say, but she's interrupted by Baz, coming form behind me.

"(Y/n) oh my, I have goosebumps all over, that was so beautiful, congratulations." She looks down, fidgeting with her dress. "Thank you, Baz, it means a lot." (Y/n) says smiling, sniffing a bit. I open my mouth to give my congratulations to her as well, but I'm once more interrupted, this time by Priscilla, handing her a tissue so she could wipe away her tears. "Here you go, honey, a beautiful performance, Elvis would be happy to see his legacy carried this way." Priscilla says and I see on (y/n)'s face how proud she feels hearing this.

Before I know it a photographer comes at us. "Smile!" He says and I drag her by the waist, keeping her close to my side. My fingers absentmindedly dance over the soft fabric of her dress and I feel her tense under my touch, smirking to myself, loving that I have this effect on her. "Miss, one picture over at the piano please, Mr Butler, join her at the piano please." The photographer directs and she moves, holding the front of her dress up. I sit down next to her, helping her arrange the skirt of the dress as she whispers a soft "thank you".

I smile for the camera, but being this close to her, does things to me, I can't explain, so I find my hand fumbling around for the slit of her dress, finding it and placing the palm of my hand on her knee. I hear the way her breath gets caught in her chest and I play it cool, praying no one would dare look under the piano.

After a couple of photos, I'm unfortunately pulled away into conversation with someone and she gathers up her dress and leaves. I feel this energy pulling at my insides, like a string that ties me to her and putting distance between us, hurts. Out of the corner of my eye, I see her talking to Kaia and it's now that I wish I had supernatural hearing, because I know how she feels about the whole fake relationship thing, I know she understands, but I also know she hates it.

I have to focus my attention back to my conversation and reply, mentally sighing when the person loses interest and leaves. I turn around and see her walking up to me, her closeness making my heart race. "Austin..." my name sounds so good coming out of her mouth, if I could hear only one thing for the rest of my life, it would be her saying my name over and over again. I smile at her and she bites her lip, causing a groan to bubble in my throat, but I stop it before it's too late. "You're so beautiful, can I hug you?" I need to feel her warmth against my body, it's been too long since I had the chance to. Her eyes wonder around the room, probably looking for people watching our interaction. "Thank you, I- do you think we could?" It breaks my heart that the right answer it's probably no, but I'm so hungry for her touch, I can't think logically. "I think it's just a hug.." I shrug, knowing full well it's not just a hug. "Ok" she replies.

That's all I need, to scoop her up in my arms, squeezing her tight, lifting her feet off the ground and burying my face in the crook of her neck. (Y/n) tenses in my arms and I know she's overthinking this, I know she's scared someone might see, but I can't bring myself to care. "Too much Austin, people will see!" She warns, speaking into my ear, causing shivers to travel down my spine.

"Let them, I couldn't give a fuck!" It's like I'm drunk, my head is fuzzy and I can't think straight. My senses are drowned in her floral scent, her soft hair brushing against my cheek, driving me crazy, as I'm having a hard time not lacing my fingers through her hair. I squeeze her tighter, almost wishing she could melt into me and be forever close. "Aus, baby please, not now, not like this, you just had the longest standing ovation in the festival's history, don't ruin your moment." She tries to reason with me and I can't deny her. The proud tone in her voice making me want to cry again, her opinion matters so much to me.

Slowly I loosen my arms and place her back on the ground, physically hurting when I no longer have her flush to my chest. Sighing I drop my arms to my side, like a child trying to be good after doing something they shouldn't have. I bite my lip and look her up and down, taking in her beauty. "Are you coming to the after party?" Part of me wishes she wouldn't, because I don't know how I'll be able to control myself around her, when there's alcohol involved.

"No, I'm tired, I flew here from Canada, we wrapped filming yesterday." (Y/n) explains and I simply nod, feeling a bit thankful, but now wishing that I wasn't going either. "Where are you staying?" I ask, hoping it's the same hotel as mine, but she doesn't say, she just smirks wiggling her brows at me, making me chuckle. "Have fun at the party!" She pats my arm and turns around walking away before I can get another word out.

As I watch her walk away, I realize something, I realize that I don't ever want to live in a world where she's not mine and I'm not hers, because I'm unconditionally and irrevocably in love with her.

Tags: @galaxygirl453 @rainydayz101 @samaraannhan20 @marlowmode @myradiaz @areuirish @micaelainthe60s @homebodybirkin2003 @pennyroyalcreep @purejasmine @strokesofstokes @lanasfloridakiloss @denised916 @kibumslatina @macey234 @melodixs-blog @shantellescrivener @chewiethecatus @guacala @fangirl125reader @father-of-2cats @lucid315 @melodixs-blog @ilovehobi101 @richardslady121 @jensmithin @julie181 @chrisevansgirl34 @ranaissingle @onecrazydirectioner @maria-1287 @austinbutlerssimp

#the delicate beginning rush imagine #the delicate beginning rush #austin butler x reader #austin #austin butler fic #austin butler x you #austin butler fans #austin butler x y/n #austin butler imagine #austin butler fanfiction #austin butler x fem!reader #austin butler x singer/actress fem reader #elvis film #austin butler x actress reader #austin butler

[acertainmoshke]

Writing Share Tag

Tagged by @words-after-midnight (find theirs here)

I'll tag @amielbjacobs @sam-glade @writernopal @authorlaurawinter @stesierra

@tabswrites and anyone else who wants to!

Rules: Share a snippet of writing, no matter how long

I just restarted Emerald Outpost with more worldbuilding, and I'm particularly proud of the new prologue:

When I try to remember what happened, it comes in broken flashes: a small dark room. A cold tile floor. The sound of metal on metal. Blinding, unbearable pain coursing through my body. Screams coming from very nearby. This is usually the point where I blink and find myself on the kitchen floor, unable to breathe. I don't remember starting to cry. Sometimes I'm kneeling on glass from whatever I was holding. Sometimes my wife is in front of me, holding me firmly here. Her voice is always calm, her fingers gentle, but her eyes are so sad they break me all over again. So no, I don't remember what really happened. Nasir doesn't, either. But this will never be over if we don't figure it out. It will never stop. Oplin and Oré both falling, billions dead or worse. The war used to matter, enemies used to matter, but now all I can see is people who don't know what's coming. Or not. It might never get that bad. But others would keep suffering. He would keep trying. The risk is too great. I feel sick. Minerva suggested I start slow and build up to it from the very beginning. Most of my life has come back now, but there are still gaps. It's hazier than it once was. Things that barely seemed to matter at the time make me want to curl up and die. But I'm going to do my best anyway. For the sake of everyone I've ever known. There is an argument to be made that everything began with my first day of work, more than two decades ago. If I hadn't taken the job, none of what followed would have happened. But that's a self-indulgent, procrastinating thought. It all really began three years later with the Emerald Outpost mission. It was supposed to be a punishment, but I can't imagine anyone in charge had any idea how true that would become. Or did they?

#moshke writes #writeblr #emerald outpost

[postoctobrist]

Hi, Alice. I know this isn't really your usual sort of ask, but seeing you talk so lovingly to people just beginning to work out their gender feelings has made me feel sort of melancholy because I feel like I'm on the opposite side. I've been out for almost a decade, I'm coming up on seven years on T and I just kind of feel like I've lost the joy in being trans. I'm dealing with some health stuff, probably related to my hormone levels but as yet undetermined, which has basically eradicated my ability to have any sort of sex life (this is on top of other, much more long-term chronic illness). I might have to start taking estrogen as well which is terrifying the absolute shit out of me even though I know intellectually that taking a very low dose won't have any of the effects I'm afraid of.

I feel like a walking embodiment of the shit TERFs say about how taking hormones will ruin your life and fuck up your genitals. I'm utterly broken down by the relentless transphobia of this shitty fucking island. Sometimes I scare myself into thinking that I want to detransition, even though I know I wouldn't be happier as a woman, but god damn, when I think about that hot little 18 year old lipstick lesbian I was a decade ago it makes me want to cry. I don't know how to feel good about my body anymore. The days of feeling excited about playing with my gender expression feel like they happened a thousand years ago on Mars. The semblance of 'community' I had before COVID sort of disintegrated and I'm still mostly too riven with COVID anxiety to get it back. I'm very sorry for dropping this enormous shedload of feelings on you but I guess I just don't know how to take joy in being trans anymore.

I've been there - sometimes I am there. As a community, we're pretty good at getting people through the early years of transition, but after that you're supposed to just be good, which might be fine except that all the other parts of life keep going. Not only does transition not solve all your problems, but you keep getting new problems and they're all weird - my top left rib pops in and out of place a bit when I sit down now, it's great. We don't have a good set of ways for talking or thinking about aging, including for cis people. And on top of everything else, the world is getting harder and hotter and more bigoted and we survived a fucking pandemic. But: we survived a fucking pandemic. And we survived all the other things. We're tough, tougher than anyone gives us credit for, including us. Under the circumstances, we're doing pretty good. So that's the first thing: what you're feeling is normal.

Second part: is that feeling helpful or realistic? I don't think that it is. You can't know that you'll always be unhappy with your body, or that you'll never rebuild community. I don't believe that people can be ruined. Okay, you can't go back to being 18, and that's painful, but neither can cis people and they get upset about it too. And 18 year olds are really annoying, imagine being one.

All in all what I'm getting at is that stuff happens to us, like it does to everyone. We took an uncommon step to enforce the correct version of ourselves on the stuff, that's all. And you don't always have to be happy or picture-perfect about it, you don't always have to love it. But if that version of you is the right one, I suggest there is something there beyond joy. The joy can be beautiful, but time has given me the chance to understand my transness as a solemn, clear declaration of myself.

And that joy can and most likely will come back. Even if you have to find new things or think in new ways, inshallah we will all get our joyful moments. Despite everything.

be courageous when the mind deceives you be courageous

in the final account only this is important

[dreaming-marchling]

⭐  Because I couldn't choose which fic I most wanted a director's cut from. :D

I'll go with Across the Lonely Decades :)

Some BTS Tidbits:

"In the center of the mess was his newly re-made warlock. Magnus’ magic had been restored to him eight weeks ago and seeing him with his old confidence back had been a relief to Alec. Worth the trip to Edom and the literal hell he and Jace had gone through to make it right."

Imagine my deep shock when the show went in a totally different direction with this, lol. I was so sure that Jace was going to be a big driver in helping Alec get Magnus back, like nearly as intense about it as he was in getting Clary back. After Magnus and Alec sacrificed for him and with Alec's pain which Jace knew so well having just lost Clary I really thought we were going to see battle parabatai in Edom doing their damnedest because they BOTH were determined to get Magnus back. Super let down that they didn't go that route although obviously there are great aspects to what they picked. I left this bit in even after that aired just as an ode to what I wanted that arc to be.

---

This is one of the main ambience videos I used to help myself get into the Victorian mood.

---

“I don’t know much about parabatai I’ll be honest.” Ragnor said

Ragnor is not being honest. He's trying to get Alec to talk about it.

---

In answer, the warlock hurriedly handed him a… scimitar? Not his favorite and kind of a random choice but he’d take it.

I was getting into The Old Guard and Joe uses a scimitar so I threw this in for the unexpected blade Alec is given. I also picked Ragnor using Yusuf as the first Joseph iteration when he was sharing his revelation about Jozef's identity for the same reason.

---

The whole thongs conversation got added after I started posting the story because I felt like we needed another nice Bane scene of him trying after readers were even more upset about his behavior than I had anticipated.

---

“Shh,” Jozef shushed him gently. “I’m Joseph and Lottie is getting Magnus. That’s what matters, all right? I won’t let anyone hurt you, I promise. Dymphna won’t come back.”

“Alec!”

Magnus’ frantic voice called for him.

Alec blinked slowly.

“Stay awake, Alec.” Jozef urged him. When had he learned Alec’s name? He hadn’t known it before when he had been sending Alec through time. He hadn’t been kind then either.

I wasn't super clear in the story and it confused some readers so I'll say it clearly here - Joseph only uses Alec's name here after Magnus calls it. He doesn't know it before that, he was using it after to try to keep Alec awake. I also initially had Joseph call Alec "child" before I decided that was too much and switched it to boy. I wanted Joseph to be really kind and tender to Alec to highlight the person he used to be. Also, I forever live for the idea that Alec is very obviously not centuries old to actual centuries old beings lol

---

Alec felt like he was floating.

I added this whole section to further break hearts right before the chapter was posted.

I pre-write all my stories before I start posting and while I'm editing as the story is posting I have added little bits to stories but I have never added so many scenes as I did to Across the Lonely Decades. I was having so much fun with this one and had so many feels and this was one of my favorite experiences with readers, I just wanted to give more and more.

---

A reader was sad that I didn't include Magnus' POV of Alec getting glamoured for their morning bread date so I wrote them this in a reply comment, in case anyone here has never seen it:

Magnus didn't go into this with plans for how he would change Alec. If he was going to take his 21st century boy out for as many different 19th century experiences as he could, he would likely be magically disguising him enough times that a great deal of fun could be had through the month. Right now, he had plans that needed them out the door quickly so he was just going to play a game of opposites top to bottom.

First, hair. Lengthen it and lighten it. He sent a pulse of magic at Alec and his hair grew rapidly, going from his usual short style into...

Oh.

Oh that was...

Alec leaned into the mirror to inspect his new hair, “What are you doing?”

Every moment of every day Alec was beautiful, Magnus was agonizingly aware of all the ways, but this...

It was like a Greek statue had come to life. Lush and lovely, made for worship. Tousled curls framed Alec's face, somehow highlighting his hazel eyes and making them glow. He looked like a Romantic poet, like he was about to whisper sonnets into Magnus' ear, like they were...

“Magnus?” Alec asked sort of cautiously.

Alec's voice broke the spell abruptly. “Apologies, darling, that hit me harder than I anticipated.”

---

To Alec’s surprised, Cat gave him a brisk rub of her hands over his arms, “I’m joining Eula and Kaira at the pantomime. Send me a fire message if he keels over but otherwise, have a lovely time and I’ll rejoin you tonight.”

Eula and Kaira are from Hybrid. Kaira more prominently as one of the warlocks who comes to help Magnus get the collar off and Eula is one of the warlocks who were killed to give Alec magic, Valentine calls her a bore when she argues with him.

---

But her eyes were the same. The pleased smile was the same. Martha stood in front of him.

“Hello, pretty boy.”

I didn't end up getting into their reunion conversation but Martha had been keeping an eye on Magnus for decades waiting for Alec to start appearing at his side. Technically she could have gone to Magnus while they were freaking out trying to find Alec and explaining but that would possibly ruin getting Alec home so she didn't. She was pretty pleased to get the call inviting her over knowing now was the time. Now that she doesn't have to stay away she and Alec become buddies :)

Thank you for asking!

#My Writing

[somefanchick]

We have met, but I'm not who I was...

This is a platonic fic between Astarion and the Traveler (Tav) that I’m going to use on one of my next runs. Tav is of noble background and met Astarion decades ago at a party. I am totally down to give more info on this character if asked, but that’s all that you really need to know prior to reading this fic. (Short and sweet) (Minor spoilers for act 1)

He recognized me. That wasn’t something I was used to, and something I wished hadn’t been true. I could see that when I found him in the woods after the crash, he reacted to my presence for a split second. I could see recognition in his eyes, right before he tried to distract and attack me. Spoiler, it didn’t really work.

Once I remembered him, I didn’t initially know how to approach the situation so I did what I did best. I played dumb. I acted as if I believed him and didn’t recognize the vampire before me. He believed my ignorance, as most tend to, and I was able to recruit him to my camp.

A few days later, I had a camp of six other individuals and was about to invade a goblin camp full of cultists. I had my favorites of course; A strong barbarian tiefling with a heart of figurative gold and literal infernal iron, a beautifully mysterious cleric who I could tell was hiding things from both me and herself, and of course the vampire spawn. He was useful for stealth and I got a small thrill out of fooling him. Though that thrill had faded quickly. 

Now that night had fallen and the others had fallen asleep, I got up to visit Astarion.

 “Hello Tav,” His teeth glistened in the moonlight, the bottom of his fangs hiding just behind his bottom lip, “Has anyone ever told you that you look astonishing in the starlight? And just when I thought you couldn’t get more ravishing.”

“Aw Astarion!” I put on my best smile, placing my hands on my cheeks, “That’s so sweet of you to say. Now I hate to be a bother, but could you do me a favor?”

I noticed a slight fear in his eyes, but his smile didn’t break, “Of course dear. What is it?”

I put on my best doe eyes, “Could you cut the bullshit?”

That knocked off his metaphorical mask, “Excuse me?”

“Look,” my eyes sharpened and I dropped my own mask for the first time in years, “I know you know we met at one of Casador’s little parties. He introduced you as his assistant, which is true to an extent I suppose, and then he secretly instructed you to lure me in so he could feast on noble blood,” I put my finger on my lip, slowly gliding back into my innocent and ignorant persona, “I was the best target. The youngest of 13. Not exceptionally beautiful like many of my sisters, not as accomplished as my brothers, not the topic of much controversy like my sibling. Completely overshadowed. Wouldn’t even get an article in the Baldur's Mouth Gazette, just a few condolences to my parents behind closed doors. The only caveat was that it was me,” a smirk graced my lips, “Someone who could see through people like you and Casador and had enough charisma and intelligence to escape without even letting you know that I was on to you. But now I have the power to defend myself properly, so I’m willing to call you out.”

“I-”

I placed my hands in the center of my chest, “I just wanted to let you know that I’m not as gullible as you think. Don’t fuck with me. Follow my lead and not only will I cure everyone of this illithid shit, but I will help you kill that bastard. Listen to my command, and you will be free of him forever. Don’t betray me and you may become more powerful than you ever could imagine. I will even let you feed on me if you ask politely and only take what is necessary. As long as you use that power to help my cause. I might seem like an imbecile, but I’m a reasonable person. I make deals with gods and nobles. I’m great at compromise.”

I could see tension leave Astarion’s shoulders, “And here I thought we wouldn’t get along. You’re more cunning than I thought.”

“Normally I wouldn’t be this blunt about knowing so much of your personal business,” I smiled innocently, “But I needed you to know I wasn’t the gulabile little noble you believed me to be back then, or the harmless angel I was. That way our professional relationship could be built on a little respect.”

“Maybe more than just a ‘professional’ relationship,” Astarion smirked, “I am honest in my flattery you know.”

I let out a giggle, “We both know you’re not,” I turned away, “Goodnight ‘Little star’.”

I could feel his gaze on me. It was cold and harsh. I hadn’t earned his trust, but I had told him that we would play nice. Part of me was looking forward to him asking to sink in his fangs, if only to make him owe me.

#baldur's gate 3 #astarion #bg3 astarion #baldur's gate #bg3 #bg3 spoilers #astarion x tav #platonic #platonic fic #Noble Tav

[debsarcasticplight]

Starlight

The Impala rumbles to a halt outside The Starlight Motel, its tired engine sighing in relief. Dean leans back in the worn leather seat, rubbing his eyes, exhausted. The road has started to take its toll on Dean despite him having made this trip countless times before. After nearly a decade, his journey here and back again has become the only ritual that keeps him connected to his past and the one person still holding a piece of his heart.

Stepping out of the car, Dean can't help but glance around, his eyes scanning the familiar surroundings. The Starlight Motel hasn't changed much over the years. It’s still the same dingy, run-down place where he and Cas first met, spent countless hours as kids, and dreamt about escaping from someday.

Dean makes his way to the front desk, the bell above the door jingling softly as he pushes it open. The desk clerk, a tired-looking woman with bleach-blonde hair and bright red lipstick, removes an unlit cigarette from her lips before offering him a half-hearted smile. 

"Can I help you?" she asks, her voice heavy with boredom.

"Yeah," Dean replies, pulling out his wallet and tossing a few crumpled twenties onto the counter. 

"I need a room for a couple of nights."

"Okay, you're in #12," The clerk says, taking the money and handing Dean a key with very little investment.

Dean nods and heads for the lobby, the worn carpet muffling his footsteps. It's early November, but there are still a few flimsy-looking Halloween decorations strewn around in the corners of the motel. Just another subtle reminder that time keeps marching, regardless of whether anyone’s ready to start letting go. Room 12 is just like every other room in the place—barely functional, but it has a bed and a shower, which is all he really needs.

Dean tosses his duffel bag onto the bed and lets out a long sigh. He knows he has to check on Cas next. Doing so has become a routine for him, a way to ease his conscience, even though Dean’s never sure what he will find. Dean’s been renting Cas a room at the Starlight Motel year-round since he left, figuring it's the least he can do for the guy. Cas has a tendency to move around a lot, seeking out the sketchiest people while chasing his next high. At least this way, Dean can try to help his friend retain some semblance of home, even if it's back here, of all places.

Pulling out his phone, Dean scrolls until he finds his favorite picture: two young boys, their eyes wide with anticipation and ready for whatever life has in store. Although the original photo was taken many years ago, Dean can't help keeping a digital copy purely for sentimental value.

Holding a breath, Dean taps "Call" as a pit of concern opens up beneath his ribs. He’s got six different phone numbers for Cas currently, and it's always a gamble whether any of them will even go through.

"Hello?" Cas's voice crackles over the line, already sounding very far away.

"Hey, Cas," Dean says, trying to keep his voice casual. 

"It's me."

There is a long pause before Cas replies.

"Back again so soon, Dean?"

Dean runs a hand through his disheveled hair, trying to steady his breathing.

"Naw, you know me, I’m just passing through. But I thought I'd call and see how you're doing."

"You know how I'm doing, Dean." Cas states, his voice thick with bitterness. 

Dean winces at the truth in his friend's words. Knowing all too well how much Cas has struggled for years now, battling demons Dean still doesn’t fully understand. They had been close once, more so than anyone could’ve imagined, but life has taken them down different paths.

"Listen," Dean begins, 

"I rented myself a room at The Starlight for a few nights. Why don't you swing by? I’ll order us some pizza and maybe restock your fridge. We can catch up."

Cas hesitates, and for a moment, Dean thinks he might actually say no. 

"Okay, Dean. I'll be there." Cas says, sounding defeated.

Dean hangs up and lets out another sigh, this one heavier than the last. He knows he can't save Cas or fix the mess that is his life. But he also can't find it in himself to walk away either. Not after everything they have been through.

Dean leaves his room, returning to the front desk once more. When he requests an extra copy of Cas's room key, the clerk hands it over without question. She’s seen this all before, the two of them coming and going like ghosts.

Back in his room, Dean sits on the edge of the bed and stares out the window. The parking lot is empty, save for a few beat-up-looking cars. The neon sign of The Starlight flickers and buzzes, casting an eerie glow over everything.

Dean can't help but think back to his and Cas’s origins as he waits. They had been inseparable as kids, each other's lifelines in a world that seemed determined to tear them apart. They had even dated briefly, an awkward and confusing experiment in teenage love. Then Sam died, Dean left town, and Cas stayed behind to pick up the pieces alone. Even now, after all these years, the wrongs of the past haunt Dean, while the present feels no less bleak. But he’s determined to be there for Cas, no matter how impossible the task seems. For the sake of the man he once loved and probably still does, Dean knows he has to at least try.

#spn fanfic #destiel au #endverse!cas #endverse!dean #tw implied/referenced substance abuse/addiction issues #tw implied/referenced mental illness #tw grief and loss #suptober23

[burritosandpeppermint]

UUUUGGGGGHHHHH

uuuuggggghhhhh

I'm not 100% sure how we got back here, folks, but I'm 100% obsessing over music and guitars for the first time since I was a teenager.

Guys...it's bad.

And for those who've known me for a long time here you may be hearing about this for the first time, but I could not get enough of playing guitars, reading about guitars, and listening to as much guitar music as I could when I was a teenager.

Could I actually play? Not really. I mean, not if you're talking about any lessons at all or trying to learn from a book or anything. I just kind of picked it up and kept playing around for years, just laying down riff after riff and playing with solo after solo. Just fucking around.

And then, eventually, I needed money and didn't have space anymore and I had to sell everything. I thought that door was closed by the time I was in my early 20's, starting to really work for a living and trying to live an adult's life. I looked back on those years a bit wistfully but with a real feeling that I had left childish things behind me...

Until the last month or so. I think I can point the finger squarely at us attending the Guns N' Roses show. Even with 100° F heat and me wishing that I had brought my earplugs I got swept away with it all, specifically with Slash. He'd change guitars regularly, usually for something that I was familiar with him playing. After the show I got curious and looked up his gear online to discover the web pages devoted to his guitars and his playing in general. Then I started Googling some guitars to see if they're still around, and any variations...and how have amps changed in the last 25 years...oh, emulators sure have come a long way...and they're fairly affordable...and while Fender's lineup has changed significantly since the 90s they still have a lot of decent guitars at reasonable prices...

All the while I'm also getting back into bands and songs I haven't heard in up to decades, just gorging myself on all the 90s rock I also "put away" at some point in my 20s, like one of my favorite bands, Hum, and getting into groups I could have really dug at the time, like My Bloody Valentine, and exploring newer stuff like finally getting more into Red Fang's discography...and then new bands and sounds spiraling off of those listens and searches...

And guys...GUYS...since I was into guitars this whole internet thing exploded, so I can hear guitars and amps and pedals and interviews that simply weren't available to me when I was previously obsessed. I can get a far better sense for things than driving an hour away to the nearest Guitar Center only to keep my hands in my pockets as I look at gear and equipment, too afraid to do anything in public, eventually going home and noodling by myself for a while.

And did you know that there are a ton of free or paid online classes where you don't have to interact with a human if it makes you feel self-conscious or anxious? And did you know that the Fender Mustang Micro Amp can fit in your pocket, has some EQ and preset sound options, a headphone jack, and can plug directly into your computer? And it's only $120 for an amp that's more versatile than the one I had 30 years ago AND it can help you can basically use it as a direct-to-computer recording device? And, holy crap, but GarageBand, while simple, is still a very competent recording suite and it's just free, right there on my Mac and everything?

Okay, breathing.

Because this is how it goes for me. I get all interested in something, all wound up, and I imagine how cool things can be, what I'll do, how things will turn out, all with an overactive imagination, until I'm just done with it and I move on. Except I don't know if I move on because I never follow through or if it's because I just fixate on things in a capricious manner. If it's because I never follow through then I should change that by following through (hello, writing ideas from five months ago that turned into nothing). But if it's because I'm capricious then I should just let it be and it'll ride itself out.

Now: how can I tell the difference without a lot of time, money, and effort? That's the question.

But it's been kinda fun as a weird hobby, just looking and reading and watching and listening. Maybe the fear of disappointment will be enough to keep me away from actually doing it, which isn't great, and maybe I should pursue more things that I think will bring me joy, even if I never truly get into it or keep it going for long, because life is short and pursuing happiness should be one of life's goals.

#if you're new to me this kind of ramble will happen about once or twice a month #no need to do anything about it #just getting some thoughts out in public #guitars

[ronearoundblindly]

I've been working on the finale of Dignity of His Choice for over a year now.

That's hard to say. It's hard to admit that this story I feel such excitement and passion for is just *not coming to the page* like so many others have with less excitement and passion. The Stark Legacy has been the same way, except it's been a year and a half.

I have...responsibilities that aren't writing though. I own my business and have no employees. I live alone now and pay for everything, clean everything, maintain everything. It's just me. I think I used to write Fools Rush In with the hope that having to think of both perspectives in a relationship would somehow change mine, if only shift my thoughts to why my marriage was probably fine and I was making too big a deal.

But it wasn't fine.

I don't mean this is a dramatic way (because a relationship between two people will always be evolving and have growing pains, even when everyone is communicating and moving towards the same goal with mutual respect), but I was being lied to. It was a simple lie, sure, something that wouldn't and didn't fully impact our entire lives until the tiny friction point snapped like two tectonic plates, and then in an instant, rattled and confused, we were gone. The layout of my world just *changed* and wasn't going to go back to normal. Normal never existed. It was just then and this is just now.

It's been so difficult to feel that happen in my real life and not fear for my characters--which I get is projection at its finest, but still--how do I protect them? How do I make their life seem real without snapping it in half and then lying about putting it back together? I couldn't do that. I'm alone. What do I know?

Except...I've been writing Fools Rush In for nearly two years, and I never actually knew what communicating and moving towards the same goal with mutual respect really looked like. I was wrong. I've been wrong the whole time. My life, exactly like my art, was fiction. I fabricated happiness in my home and on the page, and in one of those places, I already failed.

There was no finish line or last sentence; the whole story just vanished with an unhappy ending that proved the entire thing was some sort of fever dream. I had put a decade of effort into absolutely nothing. Worse. I worked for that long on hope when there was none.

I've often thought that I relate to Steve/Sketch as much as Reader/Keeps in the FRI series because I play more of a narrator role in life. Steve had a story to go through: survive illness, become a soldier, lead others to victory and safety. In canon, we often see him...not living his own life, and it's even commented on frequently. I think I've been taking on a similar role. You have no idea how difficult it is for me to consider myself the protagonist; things happen to other people, I want good things to happen to other people, but I am not the one who experiences them.

I didn't expect to ever be in the same place as this character when I imagined the 'fake death' story two springs ago, but my life is in tatters after I made the wrong decision for all the right reasons. I struggle to read comments like "how could Steve do this?" and "I could never forgive him" without taking them very personally. Of course, I know that no reader means them that way, but it's still painful to write Sketch and Keeps the happy ending I know they deserve when me...? What the hell is gonna happen to me? Who do I return to after this death-of-the-life-I-had?

I don't know the answer.

I just wanted to say I'm sorry to those who are waiting for Dignity's very happy ending (which I promise it very much is happy). The narrator is just lost at the moment, stuck on all the stories and none of the stories at once, wondering which of the fiction she told herself led to this ending, and...truly unable to trust in 'hope' again.

#ro rants #serious sunday thoughts #it's just a long ass ramble gang sorry #still working

[blindedbythedarkness]

Dear Josh,

A few weeks ago it should have been your 25th birthday. Where did all that time go?! In a few more months it'll be five years since you died; you only made it to 20.

I feel like I've healed a lot since you passed. I've long since moved through the five stages of grief and accepted that you're gone. Writing to you was a huge part of it. I've also relived that horrific day in therapy, which helped my mind reprocess the whole thing and took the sting out of the memory. We still visit your grave once a year or thereabouts, but I've found a balance between missing you and moving on.

There's only one thing that I'm still holding back on. A few weeks before you died I remember you singing along to Roaring 20's by Panic! At the Disco and I could never bring myself to listen to it again since. In truth I can't really remember how you sounded when you sang it now; though I remember being amused it wasn't quite in tune (I'd never have told you though). I don't even particularly like the song, nor the band anymore for that matter. But this song is so intertwined with your memory that I still actively avoid it.

The irony of it being about the Roaring 20's isn't lost on me. You never made it to the 2020's. You never lived your own 20's. And this decade so far has been far from roaring. I guess maybe any hope of that died with you, or maybe we were all just unlucky.

Knowing it's been half a decade without you brings some pretty mixed feelings. Logically, I still wish you'd never died- any life cut short is tragic and it will always break my heart that you were murdered by your own sadness. I can't lie though; a part of me is glad you've missed out on half a decade of global crisis and misery. I wouldn't wish this on anyone, so I guess it's a testament to me still loving you that it hurts me to imagine you enduring this along with us.

I also fear that had you lived until now, we wouldn't still be friends. That you'd have abandoned me to walk alongside the brainwashed masses, participating in eugenics for the sake of brunch. Maybe it's selfish of me to be glad that our friendship got cut short before it got soured. But, I just can't shake that thought.

I just hope that one day, maybe when we pass the anniversary of your 30th birthday, I'll feel different. Maybe I'll have finally picked off that last scab and listened to the Roaring 20's. Maybe the world will be looking up enough for me to say "hey, actually I still wish you were here because it was all worth it in the end." Hopefully, I won't find myself joining you between now and then.

I guess I'll come visit soon, Josh.

Lots of love,

C

#mental health #mental illness #grief #grieving #bereaved #bereavement #c rambles #loss #trauma #covid #depressed #depression #suicide #suicide loss #pandemic #covid conscious #covid 19 #wear a mask #panic at the disco #patd #p!atd #roaring 20s

[kulekrizpy]

finally seeing progress in my depression after more than a decade has me a little dazed. i have been depressed for half my life or longer

but it also has me feeling so good about how relieved i am and how much energy i'm beginning to have that i'm getting ... excited about things again? like i can imagine my future because i can believe i will continue to have energy

this has been a series of realizing i have ADHD, going into therapy because i could tell something was very wrong, beginning to poke out my boundaries and learning to honor them, truly accepting that i don't know my brain as well as i thought i did and forgiving myself for that, getting medication, and finally getting exercise and sun consistently.

it has been less than a month since i started walking and i'm seeing a huge uptick in energy. i'm getting stronger and i WANT to feel stronger. because i want to be more active and not hurt myself doing it

the walks get a little longer, i get so much peace from being in nature. there's comfort and perspective in there that has me accepting my mortality in a way that was terrifying to me before. and it relaxes my anxiety so much

i couldn't even think as clearly as i am now. i was expending so much energy worrying! about a social fuckup, about losing my friends, despair about the world's state, money... i recognized and let go of people who didn't respect me. and now i don't have to worry about that. i have better things to do. i can say "no" without deliberating on it now. i can finally trust myself. i spent a long time sorting thru my feelings and how they aligned with reality, and now i know how to take a step back and assess. and all the extra energy goes to the things i actually have to do!

i don't care as much what others think now. perhaps it was from relying too much on others to fulfill my happiness. now that i've figured out ways to create my own happiness i have so much hope. i can enjoy being by myself because i'm learning how to appreciate doing all the small things. and i'm giving myself permission to be flexible. it was too overwhelming before to think beyond the plan i was fixating on

i know why it took me so long to get here. i had plenty of reasons to be fucked up, things that happened to me that i had no control over plus my brain chemistry and my inability to handle school. i had control issues that i worked hard not to put on other people and they got internalized as rigidity and self blame

at the point i was at, it even scared me to be wrong. but being wrong is okay. because you can't grow if you don't learn lessons thru your life. being wrong means you've learned something. does the shame of being wrong really supersede not having to deal with the problem in the future?

i also realized i need to work around my ADHD. give myself permission to do things differently so i could get started instead of being overwhelmed by the whole task

i just couldn't keep going the way i had been. it was untenable.

now i can find the root problems. for example:

i need to apply to jobs but i've been putting it off. why?

if i look in my email i'll see all the other things i have to deal with. anxiety-inducing

i'm not sure i have the energy to sort the emails AND look at jobs

solutions:

i have to look at some point. it probably won't be as bad as i'm worrying it will

if the whole task is too much energy i can break it up. better to get something done in two days than never. once i start i may want to finish too!

so, to address both of those things, today i'm gonna to make a folder and filter for the job emails so they are all in one place. tomorrow i'll be able to open the folder without looking at any other emails and just get started :)

now that i have a way to handle my basic tasks and the knowledge that i even CAN feel good and have the energy i need (something i think i had given up on long ago), i can see a future. i can see my way there. i don't have to be blinded and completely sapped by a single big task. i don't have to give other people a majority of my energy. i just needed to focus on me and take care of my body to give me the energy to Live. it's truly baffling to me. i wonder how much the medication is helping me... either way, i am an animal! i am connected to the earth!

now i know how to give my children the tools to get around this. and the level of responsibility i want to give them to feel in control of their own lives and actions. the flexibility to work around problems instead of trying to drill thru them. and i have the energy to want them. i can work my way there. i'm excited for it someday

but for now, i just have to keep doing the little things. keep rerouting my thinking and going outside

#personal #loooooong post

[asterhaze]

If you get this, answer w three random facts about yourself and send it to the last seven blogs in your notifs! Anon or not, doesn’t matter, let’s get to know the person behind the blog :)

Thank you for the ask! I have enjoyed talking about myself a little bit lately.

Serious: I also art! Though I haven't posted any of my newer stuff online because my tablet broke and some of my traditional work is stuff I want to eventually draw digitally and hopefully sell. I'm terrified of AI taking away my dream of being a super cool artist writer dream before I even have a chance. So yeah.

Silly Fact: I have a horrible phobia of mascots. It inspired a comic idea that I will probably end up writing about evil mascots that try to take over the world and cause the apocalypse. It's a pretty serious phobia that councilors and therapists have tried to help me with but nothing has worked because I've refused exposure therapy. There are some masks that trigger this phobia, but honestly it's mostly helmets!

Random: I only started writing seriously last October, and the amount of progress I have made this year shocks even myself. This is hard for me, but here is an example of my writing from last October versus something I wrote a few weeks ago.

October:

Glen stood beneath the willow tree in a small graveyard. He stated down at two small graves whose names had been worn away by time. But he knew them well and kept them close to his heart.

"Maria. My love. I miss you dearly, even still to this day." Glen began, going down on one knee to brush his hands across the grass. "I wish I was there with you. Wherever you are and whatever is beyind this life. I wish we could sit beneath our willow tree and I could tell you how much I love you again."

Last week - a longer piece that may or may not make it into a final draft-

“Now your suit really will be ruined. Your socks too.” But I have the money now to buy new clothes. Who cares, Maria, about suits and pants and socks and shoes? Who cares about arranged weddings? Who cares about any of that when you’re dead, dead, dead and I’m here, here, here? I’m still here, here, here… He reached out, brushing his fingertips along the front of the tombstone, weathered smooth by time. Faintly he could see the first letter of her first and last name but the rest was worn away. He traced the letters, very gently, before pulling his hand away and putting it back in his lap. Willow had cried and cried so many times sitting here before Maria’s grave. Mourning her, missing her, wishing desperately that she would come back to him and forgive him for everything and being left with only memories. The tears had dried decades ago, but the longing in his chest and the aching in his soul still remained. Now he just stared, his eyes glossed over, his lips moving without a voice as he spoke in his imaginary world where Maria was fussing at him for this, that, or the other. He knew he was crazy, or ill, or pretending, or at least that whatever he was doing was wrong but it made him feel better. Talking there, remembering things, it made him feel complete despite reminding him otherwise and he wasn’t sure why. Maybe it was that people left him alone at the graveyard, let him spend however long he wanted there, or maybe it was because he was close to her again. Eventually, when a headache was starting to form across his temple, he imagined Maria turning to him and smiling. Still wearing that horrible dress that flattered only her body, sickly yellow. Maria fluffed her skirt, slapping it when she was done, before turning to walk away. Won’t you take me with you this time? Can’t we go together? I’m tired of living without you, Maria. Maria looked over her shoulder, a sad look over her sunshine eyes, as she sighed and turned away. “You’re too good.” And with that, he imagined her walking away and fading from his vision in a great glowing light that blinded him until he closed his eyes so tightly shut he prayed he would never be able to open them again. Anything else he would see would just tarnish it. Tarnish his memory of her, but eventually he did open his eyes, and there was all that was left of her before him. Faded, worn, and nearly falling apart. Here Lies M….M…. Loved Forever.

Tagging: @mthollowell-writes @rainisawriter @doublegoblin @gummybugg @veetvoojagigthemagnificent