#sometimes we cope in very specific ways

[separatist-apologist]

Cruel Summer

I love you, ain't that the worst thing you ever heard?

Summary: It was supposed to be a summer trip around Europe before Elain Archeron settled into life as a post-grad. It was supposed to be nothing more than a 2,000 year old wall built by a long dead Roman Emperor. It was supposed to be fun.

So why is Elain Archeron trapped in a strange world filled to the brim with magic and men in masks who refuse to let her leave? Something isn't right and Elain is determined to get to the bottom of her accidental shift in the world.

Or die trying.

Outlander-ish IDK you know what you're getting from me at this point just come inside.

Chapter 2: Be The Lightning in Me That Strikes Relentless

Read more: Chapter 1 | AO3

“Don’t you have anything better to do?” Elain asked, watching Lucien flip through yet another book. He was so busy, his own stack of books taking up an entire table. “What are you even looking for?”

“Nothing that would interest you,” he replied, careful with his words. Elain sighed, closing her own very boring book on the History of Prythian. Five hundred pages of killing humans and occasionally feeling bad was starting to wear on her. There was nothing about world traveling, besides. 

“What was the point of honesty if you were going to be so cagey?”

Lucien glanced up from the corner of the stable he was sitting on, clearly annoyed. “Has it ever occurred to you, in all your infinite wisdom, that there are things even I don’t know?”

“Everyday,” Elain replied sweetly. Lucien scowled, dropping his book loudly to the table.

“Want to go for a walk?”

“No.”

“Want to–”

“You know the answer is no,” she interrupted quickly, heading him off because he could rope her into more bread baking or soap making. He loved to dump her off on the servants for six hours, returning just in time to steal a steaming piece of sourdough or all the misshapen candles she’d made. He was a menace of epic proportions and her near constant companion, though not for a lack of trying. 

Bron and Hart and Andras were far more interesting company, if only for how much more open they were. Hart and Bron met Elain every morning at the crack of dawn to do yoga before Andras took over, leading her through a four mile run that she suspected he made difficult on purpose. Afterwards Elain bathed and dressed in the clothes Alis had brought for her two weeks earlier and meandered to the breakfast table where someone was always waiting with lavender tea and eggs. No coffee, no lattes—though she had managed to convince everyone to make a lemon loaf, and that had helped a little.

Then she was left to Lucien’s whims and his whims were always obnoxious and petty. Only on occasion, after lunch when Lucien was bored of dragging her around while he opined loudly on any number of topics, did she get a say in what they did. And for Elain, it was always the library. She’d been there for two weeks and as far as she could tell, nothing had changed. Tamlin very rarely came around and when he did, everyone but Lucien scattered. 

“What if you went downstairs and made me another lemon loaf?” Lucien suggested with a gleam in his one good eye. It was Elain’s turn to scowl.

“That was for my breakfast,” she reminded him, rising from her chair with a sigh. Lucien knew what she was up to—it was hardly a secret. Elain wanted to leave and hoped if she played along and did as they asked, Tamlin might give her leave to go or create a portal or whatever was needed to get back home unharmed.

“I was thinking—” “Lucien,” Tamlin’s voice cut through the silence. Elain jerked backwards, slamming into Lucien’s unmoving chest. “Elain.”

The High Lord unnerved her. Something about the way he watched her made her think there was a game far more sinister than she suspected, all of his own design. He wasn’t looking at her, though. He looked to Lucien.

“I need you to take Andras to the border.” “Of course.”

Just like that. Lucien stepped around her, careful not to touch her at all. He could be playful when it was just the two of them, poking and pinching as it suited him but the moment Tamlin showed up, Lucien was the picture of civility.

“What about me?” Elain asked as Lucien slipped from the room. He didn’t look back, leaving Tamlin to respond. “I thought I might show you more of the grounds,” he offered. Elain wasn’t stupid. It wasn’t a request though he’d worded it to sound polite, to make it seem as if she could decline. She couldn’t. Elain needed Tamlin’s permission to go. He didn’t trust her.

“That would be nice,” Elain lied. She was tired of the rolling green hills and the tulips. Lucien had promised to take her to a field of wildflowers when she described the bluebells in Texas wistfully one day but that had yet to materialize. Perhaps Tamlin would make good on it. 

The problem with Tamlin, outside of his unyielding stare, was how unlikable he was. Bron and Hart joked through dinner. They tried to include him. Tamlin would smile on occasion, speaking to a handsome face beneath the mask, but he never quite managed their easy joviality. 

She tried not to hold it against him when he joined her for morning yoga or when he replaced Andras on the run. Unlike the other men, who kept a respectful distance and didn’t push, Tamlin removed his shirt halfway through and Elain wished he hadn’t. He was like every frat brother she’d ever met, hoping to get laid and making it way too obvious. 

“I’m gonna take a bath,” she told him, noting the way his nostrils flared. “I’ll meet you at the dining table?” “Alright,” he agreed though in truth, Elain had expected haha without me? He seemed the type. Tamlin was waiting with a shirt when she returned to the dining room. An iced piece of lemon loaf and lavender tea waited for her, safe from Lucien’s greedy hands. “Did you sleep well?” Tamlin asked, leaning forward to watch her eat.

“I did,” Elain lied. She slept like shit most nights, plagued by nightmares of running through the woods. He didn’t need to know that. No one did. She’d work that out in therapy if she ever got out of this place. “Did you?” Tamlin nodded. “Your hair looks clean,” he added, his way of paying her a compliment. Elain stared for a moment. 

“Oh. Thank you.” “How are you enjoying Spring?” 

Elain knew what she would say if it were Lucien or Andras asking. Tamlin showed no hint of the man she’d heard that first day blowing up his study with whatever strange, volatile magic he commanded. She’d asked Lucien once but he hadn’t answered, choosing silence over honesty. He was a bastard that way. 

Elain knew better than to agitate some men. It was just a vibe, something she’d picked up from visiting Gray at the fraternity house. Most of his brothers were good, nice men but a few were angry, pent up and always trying to pick a fight with someone weaker than them. Tamlin evoked that same feeling. 

“It’s different,” she said carefully, nothing the edge in his eye. 

“Do you like it?”

“I still want to go home, if that’s an option—” “It’s not.” Elain’s mouth dropped, all her thoughts flying from her mind. “But Lucien said—”

“Lucien isn’t High Lord. I am.”

“Please,” Elain tried but Tamlin shook his head.

“You’ll stay.” Elain rose from her chair. It was one thing to hear Lucien say it, to have him allude to being forced to stay but it was another for Tamlin to just outright say it in his cold, dark way. 

“Sit down,” he ordered. “I’m taking you for a walk.” “No thank you,” Elain said. It didn’t matter. A force she couldn’t fight or control shoved her back in her chair like phantom hands on her shoulders. Tamlin barely reacted as he continued to  eat, though it was surely his doing. Elain swallowed the tears she wanted to let fall, picking at her plate without eating. How odd, to wish it was Lucien that sat across from her swiping at her food and making fun of whatever dress Alis had put her in that day. Tamlin said nothing at all, chewing furiously until his plate was empty.

“You don’t wish to eat more?” “No.” Tamlin frowned but released his hold on her. Like a sack of bricks dragged off her shoulders, Elain gasped softly, unaware of the pressure put on her spine. Tamlin didn’t notice or didn’t care, standing and offering her hand. There was no choice to take it, no choice but to let him walk her outdoors where Bron and Hart watched, eyes gleaming. No Lucien, no Andras, as if either could have stopped this. 

“Lady Elain,” both Bron and Hart said in unison when she descended the steps to the grounds, bowing slightly and God, why did they look as if they were attending a wedding? She felt as if were walking a death march. Doomed to eternal spring, to living with men who never aged, until she withered to ash. No mourners other than her strange friends. What would her sisters do? What were they doing? Were they looking for her? Scouring the area she’d last been seen, begging people desperately to help them find her? And Gray— Elain choked back a sob, drawing Tamlin’s attention. He frowned. “Are you crying?” Elain hated him for that. Hated him for deciding her entire life with so little care, for shoving her around with his magic, for treating her less than for whatever shortcomings he perceived. She knew he could catch her if he liked. She could hardly outrun any of them, they’d made that abundantly clear though at least Andras had the good sense not to rub in her face. She took off, grateful when Tamlin didn’t chase after her. Elain moved blindly through her tears, sobbing loud enough for anyone to track until she found a grassy hillside with long, staying willow trees that seemed to beckon her in the wind. She collapsed beneath one, knees drawn to her chest, weeping until her ribs ached and her head pounded. 

“I don’t want to die here,” she told the world, as if it could hear her. The drooping green branches lengthened and groaned, shielding her from the outside world until only the barest amount of light pierced through the rustling leaves.

She rested her head against the bark, her yellow dress spread over her legs. The wind sang a song that was vaguely familiar, a melody she could almost place. She didn’t budge, stretching out when the sun hit the highest point in the sky, its golden rays warming the world around her. She napped and cried and napped some more until darkness began to creep like shadows, slipping past the leafy defenses of her protective shelter.

“Lady Elain?” Hart’s voice called carefully, the rest of him utterly silent. “I think you want to be alone but night is coming—” “Go away!” she called, wincing at the hoarse, broken sound of her voice. 

“I thought so. I brought you some things. Food and—” “Blankets!” Bron added, his voice rich with sympathy. “It gets cold. Come out and let us help you set up.” “We brought other things,” Hart coaxed gently. “Things our High Lord would not want you to have.” Bron pushed the branch aside, bear mask so silly she almost smiled. He caught it, offering her a freckled hand. “I’ll show you how to build a campfire. We could roast sausages—”

“And marshmallows!” Hart called from behind him. 

“We do that back home,” she whispered, letting them see her hurt. Bron nodded. 

“Tell us about it.”

And she did, while Hart and Bron made their little jokes. She trailed after them, helping to gather wood as she told them about her dilemma about going back to Chicago and how her best friend wanted her to say. Bron and Hart lacked the fire Lucien possessed and instead shared what they all had was brute, animalistic strength and some limited ability to shift their appearance. It was a give and take—almost real friendship, she thought with longing when the fire was built and the fat sausages Bron had brought sizzled over a skillet. She twirled a long stick between her fingers, already wishing for a marshmallow, if only to taste a little of home. 

“It sounds like your friend Harper isn’t really your friend,” Bron told her after a moment. This hulking warrior, dissecting her relationship problems, would have been funny if she hadn’t been so desperate for connection. “She doesn’t consider your needs.”

Hart nodded in agreement. “She could visit, right? And you two will stay connected through your…phone letters?”

“Yeah,” Elain agreed, unwilling to argue semantics when at least they were trying.

“I don’t like her,” Bron announced.

“You don’t know her,” Elain replied, watching Hart rise to pull off his sausages and slide them into little bowls. Elain took one, noting how Hart had split the sausages evenly among them, though there was no way she could eat six. Elain stood and offered up two more to each man before plopping between them rather than as far as she’d been sitting. 

“She was pretty cruel during your vacation,” Hart reminded Elain, drawing her back to the conversation at hand. “She abandoned you for that man when you had plans to go to the museum—” “And she’s encouraging you to sleep around,” Bron added. “When you said she knew it made you uncomfortable.”

“I think she has this idea of who you should be to her,” Hart continued thoughtfully. “Second in whatever scenario she’s imagined and you’re so nice, Elain, you let her.”

“It doesn’t matter anymore,” Elain mumbled, her throat closing again. Both Bron and Hart bumped her with their shoulders.

“You can be first best among us, if you like,” Bron offered. Elain smiled because they were so genuinely good it was hard to dislike them.

“I wouldn’t dare fight Lucien over that spot,” she teased, earning a few chuckles. 

“He might not mind so long as you don’t scare away the females,” Hart replied after a moment, reclining back on his elbows to look up at the violet sky overhead. A feeling of…of what? It tugged at her, though she didn’t know what exactly it was. Not jealousy or anger or fear. Something else, something she didn’t recognize. 

“I could be a really good wing woman,” Elain replied, noting their confusion. “You know, help out. Keep the crazy people at bay, make the awesome women want to spend time with you?”

“That would be a sight,” Bron admitted as Hart stood.

“I would love to see any male ask a female for help,” he added. “With sex, I mean. Just…we males we tend to be ah…territorial.”

“They’d scent Lord Tamlin on her anyway,” Hart said, drawing a frigid chill up her spine. 

“What?”

“Because you live in his house. No one would dare touch the High Lord’s female,” Hart told her earnestly, unaware of how uncomfortable he’d made her. 

“No more talk of Lord Tamlin or wooing females,” Bron announced, drawing a leather pouch of homemade marshmallows. “I demand to see how Lady Elain roasts her marshmallows and then—”“We brought you a knife,” Hart interrupted gleefully. “We’re going to teach you to throw them.” “We have a wooden target board and everything.”

Elain grabbed Hart’s arm, squeezing tight, face buried into the soft fabric of his shirt.

“Thank you,” she whispered. 

“You need friends,” Hart murmured. “We want to be that.”

And in the wake of her aching, empty chest, Elain could not have asked for anything more.

~*~

Lucien returned to a silent, empty estate. Elain, he supposed, was asleep but Bron and Hart were nowhere to be found. Andras glanced at him, shrugging his sweaty shoulders before tramping through the house, leaving Lucien to track down Tamlin. Once again, Tamlin had torn apart his study. Lucien swallowed his irritation. It was difficult constantly replacing those items. It took time for the craftsmen in the nearby villages to create chairs and desks and bookcases.

“You alright? I’m gonna take a—” “Elain is sleeping on the grounds tonight.”

Lucien blinked, his chest filling with unimaginable hate for only a moment before it winked out. “Alone?”

Tamlin shrugged. “She took off this morning when I told her she was not leaving—” Lucien groaned from the doorway. “You couldn’t let her have that hope?”

“You were supposed to warn her—” “I am already following her day and night,” Lucien interrupted. “I am a nuisance to her, barely a friend and the only good will I had was her hope if she behaved, I might one day convince you to let her go. You’ve slammed that door before she ever had a reason to stay.”

Tamlin was clearly pissed his day with Elain had not gone the way he hoped. “Why do you need to play the part of villain?” Lucien pressed. “You could assign that to me, could have told her anything you liked and she would have believed you.”

“I don’t know,” Tamlin finally admitted with a heavy sigh. “She’s so difficult.” Lucien wanted to yell at Tamlin. Elain was a slip of a female, practically nothing at all. She asked for practically nothing at all. 

“She would jump through flaming hoops if you told her she could go home in, say….a year.”

Tamlin looked at Lucien. “That’s a lie.” “A lot could happen in a year,” Lucien reminded him. “She might not want to leave if you gave her a reason to stay. Regardless, no one said you had to love her. She only has to love you. Court her, let her break this curse, and send her home.”“Go get her,” Tamlin asked, voice ragged and exhausted. “You tell her I’ve changed my mind.” “It should come from you,” Lucien chided even as his chest refilled with pleasure. He’d been thinking about her since he left, his mind replaying the same soft snap he’d felt ever since their bargain. That’s all it was, he told himself. He’d scoured books looking for any proof humans and fae could be mates and if it existed, no one had thought to write it down. Not mates, just bound by a shimmering agreement that would fade in two weeks. Not mates, that would be a betrayal of his friendship with Tamlin, of everything Tamlin had done for him, of his home of this land. 

Not mates.

And yet Lucien strolled into the darkness, following the sound of raucous laughter and the singing of the willows. Elain was certainly not alone. She gotten far, obviously trailed by Bron and Hart who had built a fire and laid out bedrolls so she didn’t have to return. Elain had tied her yellow dress around her legs to create strange, billowing pants and both Bron and Hart had shucked off their tunics for just the shirts underneath, sleeves rolled to the arm.

“Again!” Hart demanded, sweaty from either the nearby fire or exertion. Elain had a knife in hand as Bron adjusted her posture, holding her straight, his hand covering her wrist. Lucien had to swallow a furious snarl at the sight—it was fine. They weren’t hurting her and besides…

Not mates.

He’d built the possibility up in his head to the point of madness. She was no one’s female, least of all his. Tamlin would figure this out, would end this curse, kill Amarantha and Elain would go back home or, perhaps, even marry Tamlin if he fell too. Lucien didn’t see how his friend might given he was brooding inside while Elain threw her knife delightfully well. Bron and Hart whooped in support, earning the brightest smile Lucien had seen from her. 

“What are you three up to now?” he asked, well aware they were doing nothing wrong. From the looks of it, Bron and Hart had fed her and convinced her to have a little fun, which was more than anyone else had managed in the last couple days. Elain turned, golden brown hair stuck to her sweaty forehead, her smile sliding right off her face at the sight of him.

“It was all in good fun,” Hart began but Elain crossed her arms over her chest, pushing her breasts back up. Lucien ignored how every fucking orgasm he’d had since she arrived had centered on the potential sight of her naked body. He needed to do that again, he decided. Prove she was just a particularly pretty human and nothing more.

“We’re staying,” she said. “We’re camping tonight.”

“Fine,” Lucien replied with a shrug of his shoulders. “I only came to give you a message from the High Lord.” She went utterly stiff. What had Tamlin said, he wondered? 

“He wants you to know he will release you in a year.”

“A year,” she breathed as both Bron and Hart put their hands on her shoulder. “No sooner?”

“Stop pushing him,” Lucien warned. “I said I’d do what I could. You should trust me.”

“A year is better than forever, Lady Elain,” Bron told her, drawing her attention away from Lucien. He was grateful for it. He left them to their fire and their knives, wishing she’d invited him to stay. He could have engorged the flame until it licked the heavens itself, could have shown her how to bury a blade in Hart’s back before he could even blink. 

You should trust me.

Not mates.

In town, Lucien found the first willing body he could, dragging her back to the estate knowing full well Elain, Bron, and Hart wouldn’t be back in the morning. She had blonde hair like before though her name eluded him. Had he even asked before he’d hauled her into his lap, kissing her until he was breathless and dizzy? Had she told him when she removed his pants to slide her pretty red lips over his aching cock? 

He certainly didn’t care when he put her on her hands and knees, ass in the air. It wasn’t his favorite position but it did make fantasizing easier. Lucien couldn’t pretend he didn’t want Elain, not as he drove into the pretty, nameless female trapped in a mask, same as him. He could vent into her, could project it was Elain’s soft moans, Elain’s willing cunt milking him until he came too loudly. This female’s fate was bound up with his—if he crossed a line, they were all doomed. 

Tamlin was waiting at the breakfast table wordlessly when Lucien sent the female out. Lucien dropped beside his friend, waiting for the inevitable.

“Good night?” Tamlin finally asked. Lucien made himself grin, to look cocky and casual.

“Not the worst night I’ve ever had.”

This, he thought desperately. This is what I miss. The time before Amarantha when they could joke and laugh and tease each other without worrying about Tamlin losing his temper. It hadn’t been perfect but it had been easier. Almost fun. Tamlin cracked a smile just in time for Elain, reeking of smoke, to trail into the room. Tamlin immediately stood while Lucien doled food out, ignoring the soft tug in his gut.

Not mates. Not mates. Not mates. 

“Lady Elain,” Tamlin began, unaware she only let Bron and Hart call her that. Lucien suspected it was because they said it with brotherly affection and not the stiff formality Tamlin was employing. 

“Just Elain was fine,” she said, eyeing him warily. “I need to bathe.”

“Of course, I…I still want to take you around the grounds, if you’ll let me? We got off to the wrong foot yesterday.” Her eyes bounced to Lucien. 

“Six months,” she said softly, ignoring every piece of advice Lucien had given her. Tamlin went rigid.

“What?”

“Six months and then you send me home.” Lucien sighed.

“A year,” Tamlin replied. It was all he could give her. That was when time stopped and Amarantha came to drag them beneath the mountain, prisoners in their most sacred spot. Six months was nothing, he told himself and yet Tamlin, if he failed, couldn’t be bound to a promise he was unable to keep. 

“Please,” Elain tried, her voice cracking. She’d clearly given this a lot of thought, had constructed an argument that Lucien was sure was reasonable and sound. “I have a life—” “It’ll be waiting in a year,” Tamlin dismissed tensely. He’d hoped for a better start.

“Elain,” Lucien warned but she stepped closer to Tamlin. 

“You don’t understand,” she tried to explain. “My life, my boyfriend—” The room exploded. Lucien was quick enough to shield her with his body, shoving her between himself and the wall to keep the table and all the pottery on top of  it from killing her. He took the brunt of the abuse, pressed so tight he thought he might have robbed her of air. Elain buried her face against his chest, eyes squeezed shut tight, hands fisted in his tunic. Boyfriend has set him off. They didn’t have that concept, not technically, though it translated well enough. She belonged to another male back home and Tamlin was jealous. 

“Lucien,” Tamlin breathed the way he always did. Tell her you’re sorry! “Lucien, I…” “Go upstairs,” Lucien ordered. Elain nodded, gulping down air frantically. She didn’t need to be told twice, not when she stepped around him to see the destruction of the table and plates and bowls, strewn about with wild, careless abandon. Lucien’s body ached from the abuse though he said nothing as he faced off with an anguished Tamlin.

“Boyfriend?” he whispered.

“A courting male and nothing more!” Lucien snapped. “Fuck, Tam…you could have killed her.” “I know, I know, I…” he swallowed hard. “I’m so fucking scared this is falling apart.”

“You’ve got to try harder,” was all Lucien could say. He wasn’t feeling particularly charitable, not in the light of his ruined breakfast and his aching back. Some not insignificant part of him wanted to shred Tamlin to pieces for what he’d done. “Take her to the pool of starlight and apologize or send her the fuck home.”

He didn’t stay to watch Tamlin wave the mess away, to pretend like none of it happened. He was stressed, he was losing his grip on his sanity, staring down the end of the tunnel in which Amarantha forced him into a marriage he didn’t want and made him the ruiner of their land. Lucien didn’t envy Tamlin’s choices and yet some part of him was beginning to think Tamlin had given up long before Elain ever came.

He went to her door, knocking softly. Elain pulled open the door and just like that, Lucien was standing in her bedroom. Lovely, soft, delicate…and so at odds with his own bedroom. She clipped lavender placed in a little white water jug on the windowsill, she had a sun hat hanging from one of her bedposts and a cozy knitted blanket draped over a chair.

“Are you okay?” she asked him, hands touching his back tentatively. “Let me see.”

And damn him if he didn’t yank off his tunic, wincing in pain when he raised his arms over his head. His shirt went next, eliciting a soft hiss of air from her lips. Lucien strode past her for the bathroom, looking over his shoulder at the ugly bruises rapidly healing beneath his skin.

“They’ll be gone by morning,” he lied. They’d take at least a day, if not more, to fully fade. Still, there was no need to worry her, not when she was so pale. The light in her eyes, the bright smile Bron and Hart had coaxed from her had vanished. Elain bit her lip as he pulled his shirt back over his head, well aware it wasn’t appropriate to be in her bedroom, let alone half naked.

“What’s really going on here? Tell me,” she ordered. The magic string pulled at his gut as the other, the one that Amarantha bound him to, wrapped itself around his throat. 

“I can’t,” he managed. 

“Why not?”

No words came though the magic between them tried to compel him. Elain watched him gape like a fish, arms crossed. “Magic?” “Yes.”

“A deal you made with Tamlin?”

He shook his head no. “I can’t…Elain, if I could explain it I would. I can’t. Don’t ask me, the bond might shred me in two.” Elain’s eyes narrowed for a moment. “Bond?”

“We made a deal,” he groaned softly, collapsing on top of her knitted blanket in the chair. “It creates a bond between us. A tether.” She rubbed at her rib cage absently. “Okay. So something is happening but you can’t tell me…and it’s why I have to stay here for the next year. Is it why Tamlin…lost his temper?”

“No,” he admitted miserably. Elain stood over him but wisely didn’t ask him to elaborate. She was smart, she could figure this out. She’d help, he thought. She had that look about her, evoked that feeling of warmth…she reminded him of his mother, in a strange way.

Of Jesminda. 

“I’m going to figure it out,” she warned.

“I hope you do,” he replied, rising to his feet.  

“I’m going home, Lucien,” she called after his retreating back. Lucien sighed.

“I know you are.”

~*~

“Andras!” Elain called, jogging after her friend. “What happened to our run?”

“Duty calls,” he replied with an easy smile, sweeping a hand through his sandy blonde hair. “Who ran with you today?”

“Lucien,” she grumbled. “He doesn’t pretend to be as slow as me and it's annoying.” “That sounds about right,” Andras agreed. “I’ll try not to leave you alone with him tomorrow. You did yoga though, right?”

It was strange to hear how comfortable they were getting with some of her terms. Strange and comforting. Some of them were trying. Even Tamlin was trying. He wanted to take her to a pool and Elain had finally relented, agreeing to go later that afternoon. She’d dressed in pretty pink, with braided pigtails keeping her hair off her face.

“Why do you wear masks?”

“It’s a curse,” Andras said with a wink. “We’re doomed to wear them for our hubris…or something like that, anyway.”

“By who?”

“Who indeed, Elain? Why all the questions? Did Lucien not wear you out? Because I’ve got time in an hour. We can run again.”

“No, I’m meeting Tamlin,” she replied, catching the flash of relief in Andra’s blue eyes. Tamlin, who destroyed the dining room when he learned she had a boyfriend and Tamlin who was always just around, talking in his stilted, awkward way. No Hart, no Bron, no fucking Lucien at the pool today. Just her and Tamlin.

Cursed. 

Was Elain in some sort of Snow White like story? Where the prince required a kiss to free himself? She wouldn’t do it. Elain knew how these stories ended. Happily ever after, here, a human trapped where she didn’t belong.

The thoughts plagued her all through her walk with Tamlin. To his credit, the longer the trekked over the sloping landscape. As if the estate was wearing him down, sucking the life from him. He seemed almost happy in the sunlight, telling her about his parents and the garden he so often caught her in. “My father built it for my mother,” Tamlin told her with a wistful look. “It was a mating present and—” “Mating present? Is that like marriage?”

He chuckled and she begrudgingly could admit it was a good laugh. “No. We have marriage but mating bonds are something different altogether.”. 

“Bond?” she questioned.. Tamlin nodded, his masked face tilted towards the sun. “It’s…I don’t know what the concept is like, where you’re from. It’s a soul bond, it’s a perfect pairing between two people. They’re rare and if you’re blessed to find your other half, it supersedes a marriage. We honor mating bonds above all else.”

“Soulmates,” she murmured. “We call that soulmates.” Tamlin smiled. “I like that. It feels right.”

“What does it feel like?” Elain asked, ignoring the soft pull in her stomach, the hook just beneath her ribs.

“I don’t know,” Tamlin admitted. “It’s a living thing, though. A cord, or so they say. Tethering two people together.”

Elain smiled softly. “It sounds terribly romantic.” “It was for my parents,” he admitted wistfully. “I think for some, it’s bliss and for others its hell. My mother loved my father fiercely—too much, even. He loved her, too, in his way. She was, I think, the only thing he loved.”

“What happened to them?”

“A rival lord in another court killed them both,” he said softly, his sadness prompting her to reach for his hand. It startled him—hell, it startled Elain, too. She needed to touch someone and he was there, he was being kind instead of angry and weird and she thought maybe she could condition him to be like this more often as if he were her own version of Pavlov’s dog. 

“My mom died of cancer,” she told him, dropping his warm, calloused hand before he could get the wrong idea. “It’s an illness,” she added when he opened his mouth. What kind of world didn’t have cancer? Elain was suddenly struck by the unfairness of it all. “It eats you from the inside really slowly. Some people survived but hers was aggressive and not treatable. She died when I was eleven.” “I’m sorry.”

“My dad fell apart after that. They weren’t madly in love, not like your parents but she was a stay at home mom and he ran a fortune five…a business. We went from this quiet, comfortable life to a two bedroom on the southside. I have two other sisters and sharing a room was hell.”

“You’re not a lord's daughter, then?” Tamlin asked. Elain almost laughed. “Maybe once, in your world. But after my mom died we were living in poverty. I got a job waitressing tables and paid for my cheer stuff so I could get a scholarship to school…I know he was really proud all three of us went to college…university…whatever the equivalent here is.”

“Females don’t tend to study as long as males,” Tamlin admitted. Elain’s hackles went up and he immediately raised his palms in defense.

“I didn’t say I agreed. It’s just how things are done. It’s…it’s nice you were able to.”

Elain shrugged. “It’s just different. Women have work. You can’t count on men.” “Not even the boyfriend?” he questioned, clearly probing. Elain wanted to take the bait, if only to talk to anyone besides herself about Gray. Bron and Hart were biased and strangely sex-positive, urging her to at least have sex with one fairy before she left, if only to see how the two compared. 

“It’s just better to rely on yourself,” Elain informed a smiling Tamlin. She didn’t recognize the man before her, bounding towards the shimmering, silvery pool of starlight with glee. A weight had been lifted, a curtain raised. Tamlin waded into the pool in his clothes, taunting and teasing until she dipped in her feet, only for him to yank her in after him. Elain was grateful he had, if only to know what liquid starlight felt. Softer than water, lighter than air. She practically floated home, wishing she could call Harper or Nesta or Gray and tell them what had just happened.

There was no one to tell when she returned, leaving Elain feeling hollow and empty. A year, in the scheme of things, was nothing at all and yet it was everything to her when she walked out into the cool night air, blanket wrapped around her cerulean dress. She tramped away from the estate, well aware she was being followed.

Elain spread the blanket out in the grass as Lucien emerged. “Stuck babysitting tonight?” she asked without malice. He nodded, waiting to see if she’d offer him a place on her blanket. Elain sighed, laying on her back before gesturing for him to join her. There were no trees in sight, the manor hidden behind a large, rolling hill. Only the sound of crickets punctuated the peaceful silence. 

“How was the starlight pool?” he asked, hands behind his head as he gazed up at a brilliant sky of stars.

“Perfect,” she admitted. “We have nothing like that at home.”

“Just your tall buildings and your…cars?” he prompted. Elain smiled. 

“Yes. Tall buildings and cars. And a sky so polluted by light you could never see anything half as beautiful as this.” “Prythian is growing on you,” Lucien teased softly. “Before you know it, you’ll be begging to stay.” “I know my sisters are worried,” she whispered, turning her head to look at him in the dark. Lucien turned, too, their faces a foot apart, if that. She could smell the salty, masculine scent of him, could see the sharp line of his jaw, the way his throat bobbed when he took a deep breath. 

“I’m sorry, Elain. I wish…” She was grateful he didn’t finish that sentence. “Who would miss you, if you just vanished?”

His eyes snapped back to the sky overhead. “No one,” he replied with a gush of air. Elain reached between them, not daring to look as she took his hand.

“Well…if I’m around, and you go missing, I promise to come looking for you. I’ll bring out the cavalry and everything.” He chuckled, squeezing her hand. “I believe that.”

“Tamlin was nice,” she told him after a moment of comfortable silence. “Happy, even. I didn’t think he knew how to smile.” “Ah, well, Tam is always happy when he’s out of the house,” Lucien replied agreeably. “And you’re good company—” “Complimenting me, are you? And it’s not even my birthday,” Elain joked. “Are you unwell? Have you been hit across the head. Quickly, Lucien, how many fingers am I holding up?” He grabbed her hand, an amused smile dancing tugging at his lips. “Surely you’ve noticed how happy you’ve made Bron and Hart. If your male back home doesn’t work out, you’re all squared away here. They’d make you lady of their respected households.” “And you?” she asked without thinking about it, still teasing. Lucien went still, swallowing so hard she could hear it. He released her hand as if she’d burned him. 

“I’m sorry,” she said quickly when he started to sit. “It was a joke. Lay back down. I don’t want to go inside yet…or marry Bron or Hart.”

Lucien nodded, reclining back to the grass. The magic between them tugged hard, telling her he had forced himself to say nothing rather than admit the truth. Telling her no would have been an easy response, would hardly have hurt her feelings…his silence betrayed him and Elain didn’t know how to handle that, if pressed, he would have said yes. 

“When is your birthday?” Lucien asked after another beat. “The first day of Spring?”

“You’d think. Supposedly, I was born on the longest day of the year which, at the time, coincided with the hottest day of the year. My mom said it was miserable. What about you?”

“On Samhain,” he offered quickly, gazing up at the stars. “All Autumn.” “I’m sure someone there misses you,” Elain murmured, catching the wistful tone of his words. Lucien nodded.

“You’re probably right. Not enough to send out the cavalry, though.”

“I can be very persuasive. I’ll march right into Autumn Court and demand your father help.” Lucien relaxed fully, chuckling again. “I would love to see it.” “Andras said your father is a jerk.” It was more question than anything, a way to poke beneath the many masks Lucien seemed to wear as they suited him. “And you have six brothers?” “Four, now.”

“I’m sorry.” Elain would have been wrecked to lose either of her sisters. It made her wonder, again, what Feyre and Nesta were doing. Would they give up eventually? Elain doubted it. She wouldn’t be surprised if they came crashing in any day now, ready to take down all of the Fae. 

“I’m not.”

Elain was pulled from her thoughts, forced to look at him again.

Touch him. The wind seemed to whisper the suggestion, grazing her fingers until they tingled with the urge. Elain’s hand shot out against her better judgment, grazing the skin just beneath his mask. Lucien tensed again, was likely to bolt and yet she didn’t stop as she traced the line of his face, avoiding his lips entirely until she was half hovering over him to brush over the scars. They looked like jagged fingers had dug into his face and yanked out the skin. 

“Did they do this to you?” He only shook his head. “It’s a story for another night.”

“Okay,” Elain agreed, pulling her hand away despite her own urges begging her to continue her slow exploration. “How about tomorrow? You, me, the nicest bottle of whiskey Tamlin has, and a blanket of stars?” “You really liked sleeping outside?” Asked as if he doubted it. Elain had always been outdoorsy, had always liked to camp and hike and bound about. It was the manicured nails and perfect hair that tricked people, as if she could only be one thing. Elain was a million things, was a raging river and a peaceful wind all at once. 

“Yes. I’ll show you how good I am at building a fire.” Please? She wanted to add. She stopped herself. Elain had begged him enough to last a lifetime. Still, if her outing with Tamlin had been fun, she had to assume that Lucien, too, could let down his immaculate, half braided hair and be a little wild, too. 

“Alright,” he agreed. “But we’re going somewhere new.”

That peaked her interest. “Where?”

Lucien only smiled.

“You’ll see.”

~*~

Lucien laid in bed far longer than he usually did. He was sweaty, his body stuck to the sheets half draped over his naked body. He was achingly erect which was nothing new these days. The problem was how he wanted to deal with it. He could shove it into his pants, go into the village, and coax one of the lovely females to help him work out his frustration. He could bend her over and close his eyes and imagine Elain like he always did….or he could use his hand and pretend he never thought of her at all. 

Fucking a warm cunt did more than take the edge off—it made him feel normal for a while. The problem was the lingering feeling of a warm body and Lucien wasn’t sure he wanted to spend a night with Elain in a field of wildflowers with the memory of her phantom body fucking him.

Using his hand removed that from the equation and yet was just barely satisfying anymore. Either way, Lucien had fucked himself both literally and metaphorically. Letting himself imagine what it would be like to fuck the savior of Prythian while she all but begged him to spend a night alone with her was practically begging for trouble. Lucien gripped his cock with a sigh, pumping himself anyway. He didn’t want to fuck other females. It was becoming difficult to finish and he knew why. 

It was a betrayal of Tamlin to want her, made him a traitor to his people and his homeland to have one impure thought about her.

And it was wrong to be with anyone but his mate. And Lucien was certain she was after last night. He’d sent one soft plea down their shared bond, a test just to prove to himself it was a magical bargain and nothing more.

Touch me. 

Her hand had shot out like lightning, brushing his cheeks as if she couldn’t help herself. Lucien shuddered, pleasure coiling in his balls until they were tight against his body. He would have let her touch him anywhere in that moment, would have let her strip him to nothing. Lucien was touch starved and desperate though not for anyone—for her. 

He came faster than he meant to, well aware he was coming to the thought of her hands and nothing else. “Fuck,” he whispered, dragging himself out of bed to clean himself up. He could avoid her for the day and hope for the best at night. Elain went through her usual routine—yoga on the terrace, running with Andras, before bounding into the dining room for breakfast. She’d left her golden brown hair down with only a thin, beaded headband keeping loose curls from touching her perfect face. Her dress was ivory, laced at the bodice loosely so they could all see the hint of breast not just at the sloped neckline but through her torso as well. It looked like a nightgown more than anything, with it’s thick strapped sleeves and it’s softly cinched waist. He could have died right then and there, eyes fixated on the curve of her collarbone.

He wasn’t the only one. Tamlin’s scent shifted his interest apparent. They’d had a good day yesterday and perhaps Elain was dressing for Tamlin.

Her eyes found his face and she smiled and Lucien was dead all over again. Tamlin, unaware of what was happening, cleared his throat. “Bron, Hart, and I are going to the border this afternoon.”

“Is everything okay?” Elain asked, turning her attention back to the High Lord. She propped her elbows on the table, pushing her breasts upwards and the sight did not go unnoticed by Tamlin. Lucien swallowed his jealousy.

“Everything is fine,” Tamlin lied, as if a bogge hadn’t been spotted harassing the villages up north. It would take the three of them at least a day, if not more, to track it and kill it. “Will you be fine?”

Elain nodded. “I’ll have Lucien and Andras. I’m sure they can keep me contained.” There was a note of bitterness to her words, reminding them both that she may be complacent for the moment, but she wasn’t happy about it. Tamlin caught it too, drawing back a respectful distance. 

“Well. If you need anything…”

Elain went back to her food, her mood dampened by the reminder she was still a prisoner when she’d rather go home and Lucien, unable to stand her moodiness, reached over the table and pulled apart half the lemon loaf before she could stop him.

“Do you mind?” Elain demanded with exasperation as he shoved the bread into his mouth.

“Not at all,” he replied with a grin. “I’ll see you later. Tam,” he added pointedly, drawing Tamlin from the table. Tamlin left her to her food and her pert, pretty breasts begrudgingly. 

“Just a bogge?” he questioned once they were alone, swiping a full decanter of whiskey while Tamlin ran a hand through his golden hair.

“And more fucking naga. She’s messing with us like she always does but I don’t think she knows about our human.”

Lucien nodded. “I figured. Elain is too…” Too what? “I know. That’s a problem, though. Rhysand is going to come sniffing around one of these days, the fucking dog. We need to think about how we can hide her.”

“The estate is large,” Lucien murmured. “And Rhys is unlikely to snoop. Worst case scenario, lock her in her bedroom with Andras and demand utter silence.”

“He’ll smell her.” Tamlin began but Lucien held up a hand, silencing Tamlin when the wood in the hall creaked softly.

“We’ll worry about this later,” Lucien murmured to his friend. “When you get back we can figure it out.”

Tamlin nodded, clapping Lucien on the shoulder. Elain was in the hall, eyes wide and sweet. Tamlin brushed past her, hands touching. “Stay out of trouble,” he murmured. She didn’t pull back or react with revulsion. Elain merely nodded, earning a rather cheeky smile from the High Lord. Her eyes slid back to Lucien, vibrating with jealousy when he knew he shouldn’t. They’d be alone no matter what, he told himself…though Andras could serve as a buffer.

“Perhaps we should wait for Tamlin to return. He might like to join us—” “No,” Elain said breathlessly, taking a giant step towards him. She was in his personal space, her scent slamming into his chest. Honeyed jasmine, he thought in a daze. He wanted to taste it on her skin, wanted to lick the length of her body until he was drowning in it. “Don’t cancel. It’ll be fun.” Fun wasn’t the word Lucien would have chosen, not when he was semi-erect just standing in front of her imagining how he might shred the dress she wore and take her up against the cream colored wall. “Of course,” he breathed. Elain’s lips pulled into a frown.

“Are you okay?” No. “I have things I need to do before we go. Make yourself scarce,” he added when she continued to stare at him. Humans had dull senses—she couldn’t scent his arousal, his change in scent but any other male would and the last thing Lucien needed was for Andras or Bron to walk down the hall and catch him panting at Elain’s feet. 

Lucien felt like a monster, trapped in his bedroom. He was a caged animal, ignoring his responsibilities in favor of pacing while Elain taught Andras a game on the lawn that involved kicking a ball across a field into opposing goals. He could hear her shrieks of laughter and Andras’s whooping noises of encouragement and far from feeling pleasure that Elain was starting to make herself at home, he merely felt jealous and angry. She was so easy with the others.

She could be easy with you.

If he relaxed even a fraction of an inch and had a little fun. Wasn’t that what Tamlin had done? Dropped his guard, lowered his mask, so to speak? It prompted him to begin packing supplies, given the sky was moody and cloudy and the scent of rain was in the air. Lucien would turn her around if it began pouring before they arrived but if it happened after, well…that was what the tent was for.

As to if spending the night in a small, enclosed space with his mate was a good idea, Lucien chose not to thing about that. Not when Elain wandered into the stables later that afternoon, pink cheeked and smiling with little flowers in her hair.

“Only one horse?” she asked with a frown. Lucien booped her on the nose.

“You know why. Get in the saddle.” “How far are we going?” Elain asked when he swung up beside her and oh, Lucien had miscalculated. Her hair was tucked beneath his chin, blowing against his face as they stepped into the world. Her body nestled between his thighs, her back against his chest…Lucien shifted in his saddle. He was polite, he reminded himself. He was proving she could trust him, that he could be a good mate to her.

That she  could stay, not that he was ready to tease that thought out to its logical conclusion. He was tied up in knots and Elain, blithely unaware, launched into a million questions he was forced to answer based on their magical bargain. He wished she’d go back to asking him about the curse.

What’s your favorite color? 

What’s the most embarrassing thing that ever happened to you?

How did you learn to fight like that?

What do emissaries even do, anyway? 

Has anyone ever told you how annoying you are?

How did you meet Tamlin?

Have you ever been in love? Why didn’t you get married—

Lucien opted for complete honesty. He was required to, regardless, though he was good at skirting those rules to avoid answering a question when he wanted to. Here, beneath a moody afternoon sky, Lucien told his mate everything. His favorite color was orange and the most embarrassing thing that had ever happened was getting caught with his pants down with the Winter Court priestess in front of both the High Lord, her father, and soon-to-be-betrothed. He was the son of a High Lord so of course he was better trained as a warrior and his elder brother just happened to be general of Autumn Court’s forces, besides. Yes, he knew he was annoying. Enjoyed it, even. 

As for the other questions, well…Lucien swallowed and told her about Jesminda. Meeting Tamlin, becoming emissary, falling in love and never getting married were all tied up in her story. Elain was quiet, her jokes falling to sympathy, head resting gently on his chest. 

“It was a long time ago,” Lucien finished with a sigh. He’d been so sure she was his mate, had told Beron as much. And his father, who’d always enjoyed his cruel games, had taken joy in ending that. No son of mine is mates with lesser fairies. 

And Lucien, irate, had only thought to say Then I am not your son!

Perhaps if he’d stayed silent, if he hadn’t provoked Beron had renounced not just his title and crown but his very parentage, Jes would still be alive. Alive and he would have married her, would have settled somewhere, blithely unaware the bond would never snap because his mate was a human woman trapped in another world. 

“Tamlin explained mates to me yesterday,” Elain told him as they approached the sea of wildflowers scattered in all directions as far as the eye could see. Elain straightened when her eyes snagged on the colorful blooms swaying in the cool wind. 

“Did he now?” Lucien asked, sliding out of the saddle and offering her his hand so she could hop back to the ground. Elain nodded, her attention slipping.

“We don’t have anything like he described…it must have been so painful—” “We weren’t mates,” he said, clarifying that point. “Only deeply in love. I know now she wasn’t but at the time I believed she was.” “Still,” Elain murmured. “I’m sorry all the same.”

“No more talk of sadness,” Lucien instructed, following her over the soft, sloping hill to the edge of the field. “Today is supposed to be fun.”

“For us both? Is bossy Lucien Vanserra going to let his hair down?” she joked. And he did, pulling from the braid at the crown of his head and raking his fingers through the locks. Elain smiled. “I wish I had my camera.” “Would you paint me?” he asked, still baffled by the concept of a picture. 

“I would put you on the internet and watch the world collectively lose their mind,” she replied with a grin, wading into the flowers. “I’ll bet you're handsome beneath that mask.” “I absolutely am,” Lucien replied with a grin. “Ask any of the females in town.”

“Oh? Are they all pining for you?”

Lucien skimmed the tops of the flowers with his palm. “Who could blame them?” “You’re so modest,” she teased.

“Add it to my list of qualities you appreciate.”

Elain raised her hand, facing him beneath a cloudy gray sky, hair blowing in the wind. “Annoying, self-centered, bossy—” “Handsome, charming, funny,” he added, ticking the qualities on his own fingers. “Your words, not mine.” “I never called you charming or funny,” Elain reminded him. Lucien dared to come just a little closer, drinking her in. She was perfect, he thought, so alive and wonderful and sweet. She did not belong to him and yet in that moment, he could almost pretend she did. 

“You were thinking it.”

Elain only smiled and poked him in the stomach. “Shouldn’t you set up camp while I frolic without a care in the world.” “What of your famed campfire?” “When my handsome bodyguard can make flames shoot from his hands? How is that fair?”

Lucien could have listened to her call him handsome every day for the rest of his life. “Fine. Go, be free, Elain. I will do all the work like a common servant—” “Sounds good!” she agreed cheerfully, taking off before he could catch her. Lucien could have chased after her but Elain looked so happy and he was content to leave her be. 

Lucien took a breath. 

He’d pleased his mate.

~*~

Elain peered into the small tent for only a moment. A rumble of thunder chased several cold, angry raindrops from the dark sky overhead, splattering against her face and neck. Lucien followed just behind, kicking off his boots before sealing up the entrance quickly. The space was tiny, big enough for the two of them and nothing else. He’d done his best to spread out their bedrolls but he knew he’d hoped they would sleep in the grass with space between them. Elain reached for a folded blanket and spread it over both of the squashy blue rolls before plopping down on her side. Lucien was wary as he joined her, sitting cross-legged.

“At least we got the day,” she said with forced cheer. He nodded, all of his humor gone. He laid against his pillow, body spanning the entire length of their little tent and God he was so large—stop it, she instructed herself. He was no different than Bron or Hart or Andras or even Tamlin. She wasn’t attracted to them and she wasn’t attracted to Lucien, either. Only, she was. She couldn’t pretend there wasn’t something utterly appealing about the naked vulnerability of their horse ride or the way he’d spent the day teasing her. His wit was sharp and Elain had always appreciated that in a man. 

Of them all, Lucien seemed the most likely to panic if she ever made a glimmer of that interest known. It was one thing to tease but when she’d touched him the night before, Lucien had been all but ready to leave her to the night. Elain swallowed. They’d ride out the thunderstorm and return in the morning.

She laid beside him, her hand mere inches from his own. “Thank you for bringing me today,” she murmured. Lucien turned his head to look at her. So much of his face was hidden behind that mask. 

Touch him, the wind all but howled, tugging hard in her gut. Elain couldn’t stop her reaction, propelled by want and her own desire for contact. Instead of touching him, she touched his mask, sliding her fingers beneath the soft, curved edges. Lucien didn’t move as she tugged, eyes closing when it didn’t budge.

“If I could cut it off, I would,” he told her. “Trust me, I’ve tried.” “What kind of curse binds a mask to your face?” she asked.

“I suppose it amused her,” Lucien replied. Her. Not it, not some nameless prophecy. Her. Lucien didn’t realize his mistake and Elain didn’t call him on it. Someone had done this, had cursed them to live this way and had baked some sort of loophole within it that might free them. Elain wondered if perhaps it had been written down somewhere. Even some cryptic nonsense was better than no information at all. 

Elain drew away, laying back on her bedroll to contemplate. Lucien didn’t move other than to breathe, hands resting on his chest. Overhead, rain pattered heavily against their tent, broken by the occasional far away rumble of thunder. Elain wanted to stay awake, to ponder this mystery a little while longer. Maybe all Tamlin needed was a kiss? She could do that, she reasoned. One kiss, regardless of how long it needed to be, was preferable to a year of confinement. Deciding she’d ask when he returned, Elain drifted to sleep. 

She had a vague awareness, sometime in the night, that she was warmer than she ought to be. Half asleep, she felt in the dark as lightning cracked through the sky. Arms tightened around her body with a soft grunt of air. Lucien, she remembered. They were outdoors. She buried her face into his chest, still clad in a shit, and drifted back to sleep. Or maybe she didn’t. Elain didn’t know if she dreamt of his hand sliding over her lower back or hers reaching beneath his shirt. She couldn’t be sure if the groan he made was snoring or something else, or if her leg rubbing against the hardness between his legs was just her overactive imagination spinning compelling, arousing dreams.

“Elain,” his ragged voice half pulled her back to reality. “Elain, I can smell you. Please wake up.”“Smell what?” she asked sleepily, arching her body against his own. Lucien groaned again and this time she knew it was real. Her eyes fluttered open, adjusting to the blackness around. It was raining harder than before, the world drowning in thunder and lightning. 

“You,” Lucien pulled her back to the moment. Their legs were tangled together, his thigh pressed against her core just as hers was. He was erect—she could feel him straining against her. Her hand was beneath his shirt, curled against his taut flesh, their faces mere inches from each other. She should have pulled away, should have apologized for her sleep addled state, turned her back, and gone to bed.

A flare of lust speared through her, her heart speeding in her chest. “You smell me?” “Your arousal,” he choked, clarifying what he could smell. “It’s driving me…I can’t…” “You can’t what?” she dared to ask, not afraid but excited. 

“I can’t stop myself,” he told her, grinding his leg against her body, stimulating her. Elain exhaled a breath.

“Maybe you shouldn’t,” she whispered. What could it hurt, she reasoned? They were here, together, both desperately seeking contact. Harper had been telling her to sleep with some, just to see…just to know when it came to Graysen. Why not Lucien? He was cupping her face, thumb brushing over her bottom lip, leg moving slowly, simulating the feel of his hips. Elain used her own to rub his erection through his pants, surprised by how strongly he reacted. She hadn’t realized he wanted her at all. The others in the estate joked constantly that he got around, that he was always off philandering. Why would she be any different.

“This is wrong,” he whispered, pushing her to his back as he settled over her, leg still pressed against her leg.

“Why?” she asked. Lucien didn’t answer, at least not in words. He kissed her, softly, tentatively. It was sweet, despite the length of him bruising against her hip bone. It wouldn’t have mattered if he’d assaulted her with her mouth, for the flame he ignited in her chest. Elain grasped for him, trying to match his pace as some new beast writhed in her chest, screaming in a language that didn’t need words. Demanding, urging, driving—it was instinct like she’d never felt, a mad need to claim this man she barely knew.

Lucien groaned, tongue sweeping against her lips. She opened breathlessly, tugging at his hair, hands everywhere. He tasted salty, masculine, like the raging world outside given new life. She didn’t even know what she wanted, only that if she didn’t get it right that moment, she might come out of her skin in the most literal sense. 

It wasn’t magic. It was something else, something that had always been there, a kernel of heat and fire she’d tried to tap into with other men. Elain recognized the wildfire blazing through her now as the thing that she’d been trying so hard to ignite when Graysen got down on one knee. She’d always recognized the potential, even if she didn’t understand it. 

Lucien felt it too, if his reaction was any indication. He was so clearly trying to hold himself back, to leash himself when she wished he wouldn’t.

“Let go,” she moaned against his lips, frustrated by the constant scrape of his mask against her face. She wanted it off, wanted to look at him, touch him, to taste him. “I can’t,” he said, driving his pelvis against her. Elain arched, hooking her legs around his waist. It was like being in high school again but worse because Elain could imagine how it might feel to strip him of his clothes, knew how good feeling him buried inside her would be. Every time she went for his shirt, Lucien would half snarl, more animal than man, and pin her arms over her head. And eventually he’d miss the feel of her hands on his body and release her only to start the whole cycle over again.

She could have died like that, kissing him with hungry passion, tongue stroking his own until she was soaked through her underthings and being driven to slow, unrelenting madness. He didn’t stop her when she all but shoved her hand into his pants, gripping the base of his rigid, thick cock before he could stop her.

“Elain,” he begged. She didn’t know what he was asking her for, though his hot, hungry mouth made her think he might lose his mind if she stopped. She felt the same, was overly pleased when he rolled off her, still kissing, to lay on his side. Elain scooted closer, head resting in the crook of his arm, one knee raised so her dress pooled at her thighs. Lucien couldn’t help himself, not when whatever he smelled filled the air…not when she began softly stroking his skin, her fingers just barely fitting around his shaft. 

What had Bron said? That she should sleep with one fairy, if only to see how they compared to men? No man could compare to Lucien. Certainly not Gray, who she’d liked sleeping with. His skin was burning and she wondered if that didn’t have something to do with the fire he commanded. 

She forgot entirely when his hand swept up her thigh, thumb rubbing softly, lazy circles against her sensitive skin. Fingers skimmed the wet fabric of her underwear, eliciting a loud moan that competed with the raging thunder just outside. It was her turn to beg. “Lucien,” she gasped, unable to ask him to touch her when he captured her mouth in another bruising kiss. He knew what she wanted besides, pushing aside the wet scrap of fabric to slick his fingers through her. Elain’s hips flew off the bedding beneath her, desperate for more contact.

“Cauldron boil me,” Lucien managed, pressing his forehead to hers for only a moment. She’d stopped her stroking, too focused on his own hands to remember her own. Elain could see those hands, the same that had gripped a sword two weeks before now sliding into her body. She arched her neck, breathing through parted, kiss swollen lips. She didn’t want hands and yet she’d take what she could get in the moment. Elain felt wild, frenzied even. All she knew was she couldn’t stop her rough pumping of his cock, reveling in how his hips bucked as if they knew her hand was all wrong. A bead of precome slicked over his ultra soft head and Elain longed to taste. She wanted all of him, every single inch. 

Climax seemed to rise through her without trying at all. More, more, more, it was as if she’d been born for this moment, for his specific touch. His fingers slid in and out, thumb circling her clit until Elain was all but riding his hand. They weren’t kissing so much as touching faces, mouths occasionally clashing in a furious marriage of tongues and teeth.

“What is happening?” she moaned as she sparked. Lucien’s cock pulsated in his hand, heart pounding in her palm.

“Mate,” he told her with a pained groan.. “You’re my mate.”

Elain came just as he said it, her body reacting to those words with a resounding yes, that’s what this is, mates—She couldn’t respond, lost in the fracturing, spiraling heat that spread over her. He came, too, his own release coating her hand. That wild thing in her body writhed with pleasure, urging her to taste him, to bathe herself in his scent, to flip him on his back and take him.

Reality warred with that urge, shoving back. Mates are bad, mates are permanent. Stop touch him, take a breath, you will never leave—

Elain gasped, her whole body still convulsing as she shoved herself out of his arms, dropping his still twitching cock to press herself against the wall of the tent. Lucien watched, illuminated by a bolt of lightning. She saw his misery for a brief flash, echoing her own fear. “What do you mean, mate?”

#elucien #elucien fanfic #elucien fanfiction #elain x lucien #i want gonna upload today but you know #sometimes we cope in very specific ways #and this is mine #hadrians wall is safe from me today #but tomorrow? #that remains to be seen #you know who isn't safe? #lucien he is suffering

[tofixtheshadows]

I've been thinking a lot lately about how Kabru deprives himself.

Kabru as a character is intertwined with the idea that sometimes we have to sacrifice the needs of the few for the good of the many. He ultimately subverts this first by sabotaging the Canaries and then by letting Laios go, but in practice he's already been living a life of self-sacrifice.

Saving people, and learning the secrets of the dungeons to seal them, are what's important. Not his own comforts. Not his own desires. He forces them down until he doesn't know they're there, until one of them has to come spilling out during the confession in chapter 76.

Specifically, I think it's very significant, in a story about food and all that it entails, that Kabru is rarely shown eating. He's the deuteragonist of Dungeon Meshi, the cooking manga, but while meals are the anchoring points of Laios's journey, given loving focus, for Kabru, they're ... not.

I'm sure he eats during dungeon expeditions, in the routine way that adventurers must when they sit down to camp. But on the surface, you get the idea that Kabru spends most of his time doing his self-assigned dungeon-related tasks: meeting with people, studying them, putting together that evidence board, researching the dungeon, god knows what else. Feeding himself is secondary.

He's introduced during a meal, eating at a restaurant, just to set up the contrast between his party and Laios's. And it's the last normal meal we see him eating until the communal ending feast (if you consider Falin's dragon parts normal).

First, we get this:

Kabru's response here is such a non-answer, it strongly implies to me that he wasn't thinking about it until Rin brought it up. That he might not even be feeling the hunger signals that he logically knew he should.

They sit down to eat, but Kabru is never drawn reaching for food or eating it like the rest of his party. He only drinks.

It's possible this means nothing, that we can just assume he's putting food in his mouth off-panel, but again, this entire manga is about food. Cooking it, eating it, appreciating it, taking pleasure in it, grounding yourself in the necessary routine of it and affirming your right to live by consuming it. It's given such a huge focus.

We don't see him eat again until the harpy egg.

What a significant question for the protagonist to ask his foil in this story about eating! Aren't you hungry? Aren't you, Kabru?

He was revived only minutes ago after a violent encounter. And then he chokes down food that causes him further harm by triggering him, all because he's so determined to stay in Laios's good graces.

In his flashback, we see Milsiril trying to spoon-feed young Kabru cake that we know he doesn't like. He doesn't want to eat: he wants to be training.

Then with Mithrun, we see him eating the least-monstery monster food he can get his hands on, for the sake of survival- walking mushroom, barometz, an egg. The barometz is his first chance to make something like an a real meal, and he actually seems excited about it because he wants to replicate a lamb dish his mother used to make him!

...but he doesn't get to enjoy it like he wanted to.

Then, when all the Canaries are eating field rations ... Kabru still isn't shown eating. He's only shown giving food to Mithrun.

And of course the next time he eats is the bavarois, which for his sake is at least plant based ... but he still has to use a coping mechanism to get through it.

I don't think Kabru does this all on purpose. I think Kui does this all on purpose. Kabru's Post Traumatic Stress Disorder should be understood as informing his character just as much as Laios's autism informs his. It's another way that Kabru and Laios act as foils: where Laios takes pleasure in meals and approaches food with the excitement of discovery, Kabru's experiences with eating are tainted by his trauma. Laios indulges; Kabru denies himself. Laios is shown enjoying food, Kabru is shown struggling with it.

And I can very easily imagine a reason why Kabru might have a subconscious aversion towards eating.

Meals are the privilege of the living.

#Dungeon Meshi #Delicious in Dungeon #Kabru #Kabru of Utaya #Laios Touden #Dungeon Meshi meta #you can have him in the tags too. as a treat. #Dungeon Meshi spoilers #this was directly inspired by livelaughlaios's post about Kabru self harming but I decided it got too long to make it a direct reply #this is a theory I've been working on for weeks because I kept noticing this while skimming for screencaps #I'm hesitant to trigger tag this because of the way certain subcultures on tumblr operate #but if anyone needs me to add a content warning please let me know #also I included image descriptions! I did my best #I think they even help illustrate my points but my god were they sad to write. Kabru is so fucking sad you guys #musings with Dea

[angelfrombeneth]

HAVENT I MADE IT OBVIOUS? - T . NOTT

Theodore Nott x Fem!Reader

Summary: *REQUESTED* Reader and Theodore are best friends. Reader gets wrapped up in her first love scandal and Theodore cant handle it. He cant cope that its not him.

Warnings: Angst, Slight Fluff, The most heart warming love confession ever. Mentions of sex but hardly.

A/N: The request wasn't super specific so I decided to go with something like this.No smut, because I have a really similar request which specifically asks for smut so that one will have smut.

"Teddy don't be a twat" You smacked his head as you sat beside him.

"What! Its not my fault the instructions were unclear" He scoffed.

You and Theo both were sat in potions as you both were paired up for a task. Theo thought he was being funny reading the ingredients not in the correct order and ultimately fucking up the mixture.

"This is why I hate pairing up with you in class" You groaned.

"Hey Y/N!" You looked up to see Cedric leaning against the front of your workbench.

"Oh, Hey Cedric" You smiled.

"I was wondering" He smiled at you, his eyes flickering to the side for a moment for placing a hand ontop if yours. "Would you wanna go out sometime? Maybe for a meal or something?" He grinned.

You smiled as you sat up in your seat. "I'd love that"

"Ill meet you at 6, outside your commonroom on Friday?"

You nodded as he smiled, caressing your hand before walking back to his seat.

You heard a scoff beside you, your neck cracked to look at Theo, who had a huge scowl on his face. "Your going on a date with him? He's such a prick"

"Oh fuck off Theo" You rolled your eyes as you stood up gathering your books before exiting the class.

Theo caught up with you, walking beside you. "No seriously, he's such a priss. Why's you wanna date.. that" You scoffed at his statement before scaling the stairs down to the Slytherin Commonroom.

"Theo shut up-" You turn to see Pansy. "Oh my god! Pans!" You squealed as you ran at her.

You felt Theo's moody presence slip away with Draco and Mattheo who walked over to him as soon as you ran to Pansy.

"Cedric asked me on a date!" You squealed.

"No way- Oh my god, this will be so good" Pansy smiled, grabbing your hand. "You can test the waters before the date at the party tonight!"

"Party?" And with that Pansy yanked you to your feet and you scrambled up the stairs being dragged behind her as the next 4 hours entailed getting ready for the party.

Slytherin parties were always off the chain. Every other house could party for sure, but the amount of shit Slytherin would gather for the party. All the alcohol and drugs like it was some free tester aisle of a muggle store. It would always end very heated whether everyone was hooking up or someone started a fight. It was always the same old shit.

You decided on a basic little black dress, you can never go wrong. The dress was short and frilled. To be fair it looked more like one of those frilly tops that remind you of a dress. Your assets were out on display, but it was a party why not.

"Girl, that dress is definitely not your size but it's so cute!" She chuckled as you spun around. You fixed the top, making sure there will be no nipple slips. "You have literally the perfect body; tits, ass and thighs. I'm so jealous"

"Pans shut up, you are so hot I won't even leave for the party we can have our own" You both giggled as you leaned forward kissing her cheek before grabbing her eyeliner and finishing up your makeup.

By now the party was in full swing for atleast an hour and you two were only just getting done. You held hands as you exited Pansy's dorm and skipped downstairs giggling. Not to mention the two if you had pregamed before.

You two did you rounds round the party greeting everyone and stealing shots from groups. You both got to your friends on the couch in the back corner as you stood like bambi, struggling to stand straight in your heels from how fucked you were.

"Woah- Careful" You heard as you felt a hand snake around your waist steadying you. You look up to the side and catch Theo's dark eyes staring down at you.

"Thanks" You giggled leaning into his chest, pulling his arms over your shoulder, holding his hands as you looked to the group. Pansy situated herself on Enzo's lap the two of them giggling at you and Theo.

"So Y/N, any updates with Mr Badger? I was told about your date" Mattheo smirked, he wasnt trying to wind Theo up, he didnt know but Theo still got pissed.

You felt Theo tense behind you but you didn't take notice of it as you continued to okay with the rings on his hands. "We haven't been on the date yet, but he seems nice"

You heard Theo scoff as you turned to look up at him. "Nice my ass" He mumbled. You rolled your eyes, not wanting to argue as you continued conversation with your friends.

Theo was enjoying the company, enjoying the feeling of your body snuggled against him as you played with his rings. God, he was falling, quick. He was too busy daydreaming to even notice you had sauntered away to the other side of the room.

"Ced~" You smiled as you stood beside him.

"Hey Y/N- You look gorgeous tonight" He chuckled, taking your hand and pulling you to stand between his legs. His hands gripping your thighs, dangerously close to your ass.

"So do you" You smiled, running your hand softly up and down his chest. "M' excited for our date" You giggled.

"Me too.. Its not everyday you get to be in the presence of a goddess" He licked his lips.

"Stop it you!" You chuckled, hitting his shoulder.

"Cant help myself" His hands threatening to touch the curve of your ass.

You wrapped your arms around his neck, chuckling down at him as he pulled you closer by your thighs, placing his lips onto yours as he kissed you softly.

It was needy, very needy. He gripped your ass as you leaned over kissing him more passionately as you say on his knee.

Third POV

Theo couldn't cope at the sight. The second Pansy pointed it out, his hand tightened around his bottle. Anger filling his body as he watched another man kiss you. Another man touch you. That should be him. Not Cedric. Him. Jealously bubbled inside of him, very quickly.

Theo was too focused on the scene that the glass bottle shattered at the pressure. All his friends turned to look at the sound and him. He looked down at his bloody hand as he wiped it on his shirt, before groaning and turning to push through the crowd.

Everyone was confused by the sudden action by Theo, they had no clue what caused it, or even a smidge of knowledge how much Theo loved you.

Theo rushed away, pushing through people trying to get further and further away from the hurt. His hand covered in blood and throbbing as he stopped at the stairs. Turning to look in your direction, noticing your still with him. He bit his lip, holding in any emotion as he continued up the stairs.

Your POV

A many days later, after the party, you and Cedric went on your date. It was lovely, he was very attentive which you loved. You didn't see him much the few days after but chalked it up to him being busy.

It wasn't till it was 4 days after your date with Cedric you noticed the boy was still yet to talk to you. It left a sour taste in your mouth and you wanted to confront him. Why was he ignoring you.

Suddenly someone bumped into you, quickly apologising as they sprinted down the hall. Curious you followed them, it was a first year probably not a huge deal

You had no expectation for the kid, but it wasn't what he was running to caught your eye. It was down a dark corridor you turned to see Cedric and Theodore.. talking? Before you could even call at them, Theo pounces on Cedric. Your eyes wide as you froze. You were too far down the hall to do anything but noticed Mattheo, Draco, Enzo and Blaise all struggling to pull Theo off Cedric. Cedrics friends yelling as Cedric was frankly getting battered.

You sprinted down the hall towards them, aa they got ripped apart as you approached. Cedric and Theo's face all bloody.

"What the fuck is wrong with you??" You screamed as you looked at Theo.

He looked shocked, taken back. "Me?? He started it!"

"Sock it Theo, there was no need" You helped Cedric to his feet. "Let me take you to the hospital wing" And with that the two of you left.

Third POV:

"Shut up Nott, you're so up her ass. Don't be mad she hasn't put out for you yet. It's a long list. She's just a hole to fill. You'll have your turn " Cedric laughed.

Theo doesn't know how he got in this situation, he was just walking then saw Cedric and now he was ontop of the boy pummelling his face in. He was talking shit about you, lying about you. He was horrible.

But the worse thing for Theo was when he saw you. Saw your face when you looked between the two of them. His heart broke when you reached for Cedric, cheking if he was OK and whisking him away.

Theo was going insane.

Your POV:

It had been a day since the fight. Both boys were in the hospital wing but you refused to see Theo why would he do that. He was your bestfriend, and Cedric was just.. a guy. A guy that made you happy. Its like Theo was punishing you for being happy.

You were sat in potions noticing Theo hadn't show up, and you were pissed. He was being selfish, this was a group project.

You go to the hospital wing to find Theo, but Madame Pomfrey told you he was dismissed last night but Cedric was still there. You looked over at Ced, noticing his curtain was shut, I guess he had company, you thought and just walked out. If Theo wasn't in class then there's only one placed he'd be.

You scaled the stairs to the Astronomy reaching the top as you took a moment to get your breath. You noticed Theo by the railing and you sigh.

"Theo you can't skip class"

He turned to look at you, inhaling the smoke from his cigarette as he looked at you. "Well I am so it doesn't fucking matter. Don't you have a baby to coddle?"

"Fuck off Theo, don't be a prick" You scoffed

"He's a bad person Y/N. Why won't you fucking listen to me"

"BECAUSE YOUR CHATTING SHIT NOTT" You yell at him.

"You don't even know what he said about you. He called you a slut. Your nothing but a hole to fill" He sneered.

"What the fuck is wrong with you! Are you jealous I'm happy?" You laughed at him, distressed with the situation.

"You aren't happy" He snapped.

"How do you know? How do you know what's good for me!" You stare at his back, rage building up inside of you as you yelled out at him.

"BECAUSE IM GOOD FOR YOU.." Theo yelled. He turned to look at you, his breath erratic. "I know whats good for you and its me.. not him, no one else. Its me, it'll always be me" His teeth are gritted as he looked as you as you stand in shock. "I love you Y/N! It's always been you. Every fucking waking moment I think about you, your fucking stupid coconut smelling hair! The way your lip dimple shows when you smile a certain way. I spend every waking moment thinking about you. I live and breathe for you Y/N."

You stand there stunned as you look down at him.

"Haven't I made it fucking obvious? I fought the fucking freak for you! Yes initially he did nothing but.. He called you horrible things.. I can't bare to see you with another man that isn't me. I think about you so much bella.. Morning, noon and fucking night, I think about you.." His voice cracked as he stared down at you before he took your hand, kneeling down infront of you holding your hand. "It'll always be you.." He softly kissed your hand.

Your eyes slightly glassy from the confession as you stand speechless.

"Please say something bella.." Theo looked up at you, his hands grasping yours.

You burst out into tears, ripping your hand away from him as you cover your face. "You are so annoying Theo- I- I didn't know you felt like this" You sobbed as you wiped your eyes. Your mascara smudged all over your face.

Theo stood up, cupping your face between his hands as he wiped your tears with his thumbs as he chuckled, a tear rolling down his eye.

"I guess we are both stupid.." He chuckled lightly.

"You're such an asshole" You hit his chest playfully, laughing slightly through the sobs. His hand catching yours as you hit his chest, before his lips crashed against yours.

The pair of you finally became one.

#harrypotter fanfiction #lorenzo zurzolo #slytherin boys #slytherin boys fanfiction #slytherin fanfiction #theo nott x reader #theodore nott x reader #theodore nott angst #theodore nott confession #angelfrombenethfics

[mvth3r]

you and daryl are incredibly similar. sometimes that isn’t a good thing.

CW: 18+ MDNI

A/N: herbalist reader is one of my favorite pairings for daryl, i’ll probably end up writing more of them specifically. anyways, this is for the anxious (me) over thinkers (also me)!

you and daryl hadn’t been together very long. months starving on the road had brought you closer, him hunting constantly to feed the group and you analyzing and collecting every edible leaf and berry right alongside.

the hunter and the herbalist. terms like “girlfriend” and “boyfriend” seemed a bit childish to both of you, given that you weren’t teenagers anymore, but you were partners through and through. to some, you were an unlikely pair, but your group understood the many ways you intersected.

you’d grown up damn near just as rough as he did, with an abusive mother and a father who drank himself to death trying to cope. it’d been a lonely childhood, and you spent most of it outdoors, falling in love with nature.

your similarities made your relationship strong and laid the foundation for understanding each another, but sometimes it made for a worse situation, like now.

you and daryl laid next to each other on your cot, pressed together from the lack of space. it wasn't uncomfortable, but the charged awkwardness that had lingered between the two of you recently soured the air.

you couldn't see daryl's face, but you knew from the irregular rise and fall of his chest that he wasn't asleep. the cell was dark save from the strip of moonlight peeking around the sides of the privacy sheet.

you sighed silently, only your shoulders moving with the expression, but it didn’t go unnoticed.

daryl pulled away from you, leaning as far out of your embrace as he could without falling off the bed.

“what?” he mumbled, voice gruff. you could hear his confusion, and it made you wince.

“nothing, just,” you paused. for a moment, you considered letting it go. he would come to you when he was ready. or he wouldn’t if he truly hadn’t enjoyed it. or if he wasn’t really interested in sex. but would that mean he hadn’t really wanted to do it with you? or that he had, god forbid, felt pressured?

no, you steeled your resolve, you would not let this overthinking and anxiety overtake you anymore. it was just a question. you could ask a question.

you pushed yourself up onto your elbow and, reaching over daryl, flicked on the oil lamp that sat on your makeshift nightstand. you blinked as your vision adjusted, finally bringing daryl into view.

staring just below his eyes, you blurted out your ailment, not wanting to allow yourself time to bow out.

“did you not like having sex with me? when we did a few weeks ago,” you kept your voice low, though you were sure most everyone was asleep.

daryl had already been frowning, but it deepened at your words, “what’re you talkin’ about?”

and out came the word vomit.

“well i just mean that, y’know, we haven’t had sex again since that first time, which was great. i really enjoyed myself, and i thought you did too, but then you never mentioned it and you never tried to do it again, and i’m thinking maybe you just aren’t into sex? which is fine! but then it’s also not, because that would mean i either forced you or you felt like you had to have sex with me, which isn’t cool, and—“

daryl cut you off with a hand over your mouth and you opened your eyes at the interruption, never even realizing you had closed them during your rambling.

meeting daryl’s eyes, you saw shock and amusement melting the confusion right off his expression. a blush was starting to bloom across his cheeks.

“i didn’t mean to leave ya hanging,” he said, “I guess i was in my own head too. thought ya would come to me when ya was ready.”

“when i was ready…” you trailed off, dumbfounded.

all that overthinking, just for you both to be in the same place.

“ain’t wanna force ya or nothin’,” he clarified at your expression.

you stared at him in shock for a moment, and then you were moving, surging up from the cot and swinging your leg over to straddle his waist. your hands settled on his deliciously firm shoulders for balance.

daryl’s hands roamed over your hips, slipping underneath your his loose sleep shirt to press into your skin. his head bowed to lay against your neck, whispering, “i always want ya, babe,” as his lips peppered kisses up your throat and over the soft curve of your jaw.

you could feel him getting hard beneath you where he was pressed against the thin cotton of your panties. you started getting wet in response, hoping, albeit naively, that he wouldn’t be able to feel it.

daryl’s hands tightened on your hips, encouraging you to grind down against him and you followed his lead easily. a moan bubbled out of your mouth unbidden at the feeling. you weren’t going to last long, not with the pressure just right and just where you needed. it had been too long.

your man, just as needy as you, was in the same position. his head rested back against the wall, lips parted on a moan of his own as he controlled your pace, rolling your hips down again and again against his.

you felt your orgasm starting in your belly and you slumped forward, hips stuttering as you rode it out. the fabric of daryl’s shirt muffled your whimper.

stuck in his shirt as you were, you couldn’t see daryl’s face when he came, instead feeling him shudder and his hips jerking sporadically once, twice, and then stilling all together. he hissed out his release, hands tightening like a vice around your hips before he let you go.

you hid your smile against his shirt.

later, after you and daryl had changed into different bottoms and laid back down on the cot, you drifted easily into sleep for the first time in weeks, your mind quieted.

being so well sated was a bonus, though, and, by the quiet snores daryl was making, tucked against your chest, you figured he would agree.

#daryl dixon #daryl dixon imagine #daryl dixon x reader #twd imagine

[veryberryjelly]

coping mechanisms

spencer reid x fem!reader ( platonic or romantic x )

prompt : one leaning their head onto the other's shoulder suddenly and they just freeze

𝐍𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐆𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍

i made a playlist specifically for this concept which you should definitely check out -> here <-

the jet was quiet aside from the peaceful rumbling of the plane's engine lulling everyone to sleep.

emily and derek were both fast asleep propped up in the chairs in the centre of the plane.

jj was sat next to the brunette skimming over case files while hotch and rossi were having a quiet discussion at the other end of the plane.

which left you and spencer sat next to eachother, with an earphone in each of your ears while some music played through them.

after cases the plane tended to get quiet and you could never stand it, so very early on in your bau career, you had made a playlist specifically for the plane ride back to virginia.

nothing too loud or happy as you weren't always in the best mood, everything soft and calming and just comforting.

after a particularly rough case a few years ago, everyone on the jet had been on edge and just quite melancholy since you left the police station.

and sat across from you, spencer looked the most out of it.

he's features looked sunken from the days without sleep poured over this case, yet his eyes were wide open. unable to fall asleep.

while he usually read on the plane, his book was discarded next to him on the couch.

you couldnt look at it anymore.

so you pushed yourself up from your place on the opposite couch and sat yourself next to him.

you offered him an earbud silently, not wanting to disturb anyone else on the plane.

when he hesitated, you explained.

" sitting here reliving it isn't going to help anything. it helps stop my mind wandering if i'm listening to something. " you said quietly, your other earbud still in your hand for him to take.

" thanks " was the soft response from him as he took it and settled it in his ear.

I can't forget that night, You said I looked like Suzi Quatro

In the morning light, faded to oblivion.

And I said, "That's alright, at least we feel alive"

At least we feel alive

There's nothing you can do

I know that I want this

No one likes to lose

Know that I got this.

the sultry tones of suki waterhouse banished almost all the thoughts of the last few days from his mind and instead he was focused on the sounds flowing through your earbud.

since then, it had become almost a tradition on the jet home.

one earbud each and a couch shared between you.

sometimes the two of you would talk while it played, other times you'd both be reading or even filling out paperwork.

but always on the plane home, you would listen to music together.

to the point where you would always just gravitate towards eachother on the jet as everyone made their way in. and everyone knew, not to block any way for the two of you to sit together.

everyone had their coping mechanisms for after cases, and they couldnt deny either of you yours.

especially considering it was such a healthy one.

this case had been a rough one though. you hadn't been able to save the unsub or his last victim and being right infront of him when he died just made it a lot more real.

his blood stained your shirt, and your skin.

it was spencer who helped you wash it off when you were a bit too dazed to move.

you sat closer than usual on the jet, the outside of your legs pressed against each others as the jet flew over a state you couldn't pinpoint.

after not sleeping for three days, you couldn't physically keep your eyes open. your eyes fell shut as the sound of the cranberries flooded your ear.

your head dropped onto the nearest surface, which happened to be spencer's shoulder to your left.

while you could feel your mind slipping off into unconsciousness, you felt the surface you had rested your head on almost flinch.

you lifted your head up, prying your eyes open as you realised what you had done.

" sorry, i haven't slept the last couple days. didn't mean to use you as a pillow " you apologised, lifting your hand to wipe under your eyes, attempting to wake yourself up a bit so it didn't happen again.

" no no, it's okay. just startled me " he replied. while his tone was still quiet, his voice was quiet.

" you're not usually so jumpy " you observed.

" didnt sleep too well either. " he admitted

" why don't you get some sleep ? it's gonna be a while until we get back to quantico "

he pondered it for a few minutes before ultimately shaking his head and muttering a quiet ' i'm good '

you knew why he didnt want to sleep. it was the same reason you didnt sleep after a particularly tough case for spencer.

to make sure he was okay. protect him.

" you can sleep, spence. i'm fine " you punctuated your point by dropping your hand down onto his thigh in a light pat.

" i will if you will "

with that promise, you settled your head down against his shoulder again, his head taking moments to rest ontop of yours.

the comforting words of delores o'riordan comforting the two of you as you drifted off into a comfortable and safe slumber.

You know I'm such a fool for you

You got me wrapped around your finger

Do you have to let it linger?

#·˚ ༘₊· ͟͟͞͞꒰➳ 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐢𝐝 #·˚ ༘₊· ͟͟͞͞꒰➳ 𝐟𝐢𝐜 #spencer reid #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid smut #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid imagine #criminal minds evolution #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds gone wrong #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds fic #criminal minds incorrect #cm punk #cm incorrect quotes #cm drama #cm cast #cm fanfiction #criminal minds #aaron hotchner #emily prentiss #derek morgan #mgg x y/n #mgg x reader #mgg fanfiction #mgg pics #mgg imagine #matthew gray gubler #mgg

[tarotwithavi]

Messages from your inner child 🎁🪐

How to choose a pile?

Close your eyes and take a deep breath and ask the angels to show you the right pile for you and open your eyes. The first pile that catches your attention is the right pile for you.

Masterlist

Paid services

Hello if you're reading I hope you have a great month ahead!

Pile 1

Hello I hope you are fine I just want to ask you how are you coping up with it. We promised to be a kind person did we not? Are you still that kind person? I am not talking about how you treat others I am talking about how you treat yourself. Are you being kind to us? I just get upset sometimes when you don't treat yourself the way you treat your good friends because I am your friend too. Are we doing our dream job? Are we doing what we dreamed of? No? Do we have the friend group that we always desired? Are we popular now? Are you putting enough work to get all that we desired? I am not blaming you I am just reminding you that to get what we desire we need to put in the same effort. You know you are capable of all that you desire, you're worthy of all that you desire but things will not be served on a silver platter for you.

I see that a lot of you have been hurt and yourself healing from all those experiences. I also see that some of you may have been through a miscarriage or death of a child. Your inner child just wants you to know that everything will be okay and you will be fine. I also see that some of you need to take action to fulfill your dreams. You have the idea that you just need to put it to work. Follow your dreams, are you the person your inner child will be proud of? Ask yourself. What can you do to be the person you always dreamt of becoming as a child?

Pile 2

Hello! I know you have been really stressed lately. I know things did not work out the way you thought they would or the way you wanted them to but I just want you to know that the upcoming days are a blessing. You have done enough for us now it's your time to take a rest and finally give yourself the credit you deserve. I do not feel good when you overwork yourself. If you look closely we are currently living one of her childhood dreams you just need to acknowledge that. You are already doing enough to become the person you are meant to be and sometimes life does punch us in the face but we have to stand strong. Do not be harsh with your words, do not look yourself in the mirror and say harsh things because I live inside you. Yes, things are really bad. Yes we do not have the money to get some work done but it will be alright. Remember “This too shall pass”. The people the times the beauty all these things are temporary with the only thing that is permanent is your mind. People leave you, time changes and beauty becomes not so beautiful with time but it is only your brain that remains the same. Yes it does go from frequent changes but in the end it's your brain that is going to stay with you forever. so keep that positive and do not let those negative thoughts get to you.

Alright so this may be a really specific message but I am getting that if you used to have a twin who couldn't survive , they are now one of your spirit guides. I also want you to know that you are going to reap the fruits of what you bore in the past. For example if you did a good thing and forgot about it then you are getting the good Karma back but if you did a bad thing then this is just the karma getting at you. For some of you you are about to meet your soulmate and have a long term relationship with them however I would suggest you to not obsess over the thought of having a soulmate because that may repel them. I also see that your inner child is proud of you actually and they really want to give you a big hug. Imagine your child self hugging you and patting you on the back.

Pile 3

Hello!!!!! Do not be sad, we have to prove people wrong, right? We have to prove that we are enough and we have to prove that they have been wrong for a very long time. They have been wrong about the world, they have been wrong about us, they have been wrong about what beauty is. Honestly I don't think there is anything they have been correct at. Just keep doing what you are doing. I am really proud of you and you should keep being yourself. Show them your sarcastic side and talk back to them. You are doing enough I said and that's the end of the topic. They can be the one to speak or to start a conversation or even an argument but we will be the one who ends it. You are here to break generational curses . What people say should not bother you. In fact what people say should not bother anyone because they don't pay our bills. I don't know how you become so anxious because this is not you, we are carefree, we are cheerful and we are beautiful.

Alright so your inner child seems sassy so to say. I also see that you have been receiving messages in your dreams or your about to. I also see that if you are thinking of starting a new business or giving a job interview or filing for a job then you should definitely do it but be really careful of what information you share. Some of you may be having nightmares recently because your room is really cold. Things about to change life will turn drastically. It's like you are about to shift realities. Right now you may be doing two jobs or maybe managing work and job and may be really stressed about yesterday's work and your personal life but you're about to shift into a reality where you will not have to worry about these things. You are about to shift into a reality where your manifestations will come to reality within seconds.

#tarot reading #tarot cards #pick a card #free readings #free tarot #tarot #pick a pile #tarotblr #pick a picture #pick a photo #tarot requests #tarot readings #tarotcommunity #tarotwithavi #taroteverydamnday #tarot witch #tarotoftumblr #psychic readings #inner child

[thatnarcissisticfeel]

I think that a lot of people without NPD have a really poor understanding of "narc supply" or the specific type of positive attention that pwNPD crave. Even the egotypicals who are allies, the ones denounce narc abuse and anti-NPD ableism, don't fully grasp it.

There's this false idea that NPDs like to be worshipped and showered with compliments all of the time, and I mean, yeah, most of us would eat that shit up, but I know that for myself and a lot of other pwNPD it's deeper and much more, I guess, personal?

I don't really know how to describe it, so I'll give an example: As a kid, no one really paid attention to my creative endeavors, my accomplishments, my feelings, etc. And if they DID pay attention, the attention was negative. I could always do better, I could always be smarter, stronger, etc. This came from peers and adults alike. So I developed a coping mechanism where I would tell myself that everyone else was wrong, that I'm actually the best person around, etc. I don't have to explain what disorder I ended up with as an adult as a result of all of that. :P

But anyway - the wound of constantly being ignored at best and insulted at worst is still there. You know how when you're in a group chat or a conversation with multiple people and no one ever pays attention to your comments, while paying attention to everyone else? Yeah, that shit hurts EVERYONE, but especially pwNPD. Even the smallest acknowledgment can be "narc supply."

You know how when you achieve something really cool and everyone ignores you - but the people who ignore you will be quick to praise OTHER people?

You know how when you post art/edits online and everyone ignores you - but the people who ignore you compliment someone else's post in the exact same thread?

You know how when you ask your friend to read your favorite book or listen to your favorite artist or whatever because of how much it means to you, and they never do it, but then they read/listen to everyone else's favorite thing at everyone else's recommendation, and how much it pisses you off? (Hurts even more if you have the SAME favorite book/artist and someone reads/listens to it at the other person's recommendation and not at yours.)

Yeah, yeah, yeah, I could go on and on. That shit would bother anyone, us narcissists aren't alone in being hurt by that, but my G-d, it impacts pwNPD in such a specific way.

But let me flip it around to the positive!

A narcissist doesn't necessarily get their "supply" from someone telling them that they're the coolest person in the world and that they're a god. (Though if you do want to say that to us we probably won't complain!) Sometimes they get their "supply" from something as simple as someone acknowledging their achievements, and giving specific praise on what the achievement was. ("It's so cool that you won a prize in the music recital. The song you played sounds like it was really difficult and I loved your stage presence.")

Being told, "Wow, you did such a great job on your artwork, I love the colors!" goes a very very long way for a narc, especially when said narc is used to being IGNORED for their art.

Hearing, "it's so cool that you like that book, I'll have to read it and tell you my thoughts!" can help a narcissist's interests feel acknowledged.

You might be reading this and thinking, "well, isn't it just basic human interaction to compliment your friends or try out their interests"? And, well, maybe it is, but the whole point of NPD is that most of us grew up without receiving that type of attention, so now we're very very desperate for it - and very, very, VERY sensitive to when it doesn't happen, or is even perceived to not have happened. Something as small as being talked over in a group chat can set us off, but something as small as a simple, "hey, it's so cool that you did this, I love it." can win us over.

And to be completely fair, most of the time us being "ignored" isn't completely intentional. Like, I get it, yeah, sometimes timing just doesn't work out for person A to read my favorite book at my own rec, but by the time person B is in their life, person A can read it, and it's not anything personal. Sometimes the content I make just isn't someone's ~style~ and they support me, they really do, they just don't know what to say. Sometimes someone forgets to respond, or doesn't get a notification when I send them something I made or tell them about something I did. (There is less excuse for being ignored in face-to-face/offline convos though.) But because of the trauma of us constantly being ignored as kids/teens, the smallest little thing hurts and as a result we seek and crave attention EVERYWHERE.

So now, to give in to narc stereotypes of begging for attention: If you're a person without NPD and you genuinely want to help the narcissists you have in your life, the second best thing you can do for us is checking in to make sure we're not overlooked. Try to be sure you're not ignoring us, and if we do something cool, try to compliment it, even if it's something you don't fully "understand." Ask us about what we've been up to lately, what we're proud of about ourselves, and agree with us that what we've done is pretty cool. I mean, you'd do that for any friend, right? It's really not all outlandish for a narc to want that.

(If you're curious what the FIRST best thing you can do for a narcissist is, it's giving us a million dollars unlearning your anti-NPD ableism and calling people out who use narcissist as an insult as a synonym for abuser. Even in "offline" spaces, even when we're not around, even doctors/therapists. Even "narc" abuse survivors.)

#actuallynarcissistic #actuallynpd #npd feels #npd safe #npd culture #my favorite person is literally my favorite person only because she warned me about media that used narcissist as an insult and listened to #an album i liked when literally EVERYONE ELSE i've recced the album to has ignored it. (I've been a fan of said album for ALMOST A DECADE) #like guys it's not that hard to treat us well #(also i mean favorite person in the cluster b way - she's my favorite person in the NT way for many reasons)

[somehow-a-human]

GOOD OMENS SEASON 3 - Speculations/Predictions

DO NOT ASK NEIL ABOUT FAN THEORY

The GO brainrot is well underway, we’re only 7 months out of season 2 and I dont know how I will cope until season 3! But I have been ravenously consuming all of your lovely meta, fanfiction, and fanart and I have finally decided to add my messy ball of thought yarn to this hellsite!

Warning: this is going to be long and wild, I have no real life people to talk to about Good Omens, and I really need an outlet to gush about these ineffable idiots.

SO! Shall we begin?

S3E1 will open with the great war/the fall. The opening of the previous seasons have been Crowley and Aziraphales earliest meetings, it makes sense season 3 will mirror this. I’m hoping we will get more context of their relationship; had they become closer after S2E1’s ‘before the beginning’ ? Will we see them going to war, will Aziraphale come face to face with Angel!Crowley on the battlefield? Will Aziraphale search for him among the fallen?

Somethings up… with memory. The way I look at it, season 2 was meant to bridge the storyline gap between armageddon and the second coming. It’s there to set us up for another world ending plot and also to give us context for season 3. I think the introduction of the idea that memories can just be manipulated willy-nilly by the big boss, and Gabriels little vacation as Jim serve exactly to show us that this happens. It says: look heaven does this! they were just casually going to do it to the Supreme Archangel, no questions asked. Crowleys memory, in this regard, has been a topic of debate. I think the biggest clue that he indeed has suffered some sort of memory loss is when he’s talking to Jimbriel who says he feels like “an empty house”. Crowley later finishes Jimbriels thought with “I know, looking at where the furniture isn’t.” I think he is downright kind to Jim in the bookshop and chummy with him because they have some sort of kinship, maybe from when they were angels, but more probably because Crowley feels it through the loss of Gabriels memories. Maybe he understands and relates in a way to what he is going through. His not remembering Saraquael or Furfur could just be chalked up to Crowley being an asshole sometimes. I think Crowley has definitely worked on recovering his memory some if this is the case. He remembers Aziraphale though from their time as angels so what specifically might he have forgotten?

Crowley will be a Duke of Hell/Grand Duke of Hell. Not only was Crowley offered the position by Beelzebub, but the blocking in that scene, where Crowley leans across the dual thrones to be in the very center seems to be foreshadowing it. I’ve seen multiple people make this prediction and it makes the most sense to me. What is Crowley gonna do on earth wallow and mope around the bookshop? Look he’s a disaster puppy yes but he’s also in love with the new Supreme Archangel. In the final moments of S2 he is sad, but he also looks determined. He’s angry, but I don’t think he’s angry with Aziraphale. And if there’s one way to keep an eye on Aziraphale and all this second coming nonsense, being a high ranking member of hell seems like a good idea to me.

Is Maggie more than human? Nah I dont think so. Look Maggies got a lot of weird stuff going on sure but I think her most important role in S2 was to be Crowleys mirror (and deliver the gut punch “you never say what you’re really thinking” but we are skipping that). Forget the masonic and biblical imagery associated with her, maybe all the mis-spelling in her note was showing us was that the bubbly blonde is tied to the demon instead of the angel like you might immediately assume? Sure Nina is edgy and closed off, but she’s the one in a toxic relationship, and she doesn’t realize how Maggie feels about her, not until an awning full of water (1941 nazi bomb) is dropped on her head. Maggie is patient and supportive of Nina. She ‘saves the day’ by grabbing her an array of milks from the mini mart in Ep6, and most importantly she says she will wait for Nina. When Crowley goes to get in the bentley after Aziraphale leaves for heaven, he looks first at Nina. She gives him a little ‘goodbye’ wave, then he turns to look at Maggie, she’s asleep at the register, waiting. I don’t think Crowley is angry with Aziraphale, he would’ve driven off if he was. Instead he stands there watching, telling him he’ll be waiting.

1941 Pt. 3 minisode. Okay everybody wants this I know. What happened to the zombies? They definitely listed to ‘A Nightingale Sang in Berkeley Square’ that night right? We know Aziraphale does the apology dance, presumably for 1. nearly getting Crowley shot by nazis, 2. blown up by a bomb, 3. caught “fraternizing” by hell, and 4. nearly making Crowley discorporate him himself with the bullet catch. Maybe they put on some music, and maybe they dance a bit together before Aziraphale remembers himself and says “angels don’t dance” or something to end it. In the Jane Austen ball scene when Aziraphale asks Crowley to dance, barring the subtitles are correct, Crowley replies with “you don’t dance?” not “WE don’t dance”. I think that’s an important distinction, that could point back to this night.

Book of life & Book of Love. Another thing S2 set up as cannon for S3 was the Book of Life. I have no clue what this could mean but I immediately thought of the Doctor Who episode “The Big Bang”. At the end of the episode, The Doctor doesn’t exist because wibbly wobbly timey wimey… stuff. But Amy realizes something isn’t right, that someone is missing. She ends up bringing The Doctor back through her memories, simply because ‘something loved cannot be truly forgotten’. What does this have to do with GO? ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ Just where my head is at, and I could see someone being erased from the book of life (one of our ineffable idiots for example) being undone in a similar vein. Love is the strongest force in existence, stronger than anything angels, demons, or God themself could understand.

Crowley will make a whale. Well, okay maybe that’s too literal of a statement? To be fair God never says to make a whale, Job says that's what he thinks she means. But look, he’s going to get to talk to God right? I think of the questions God asked Job. Did you set the constellations in the sky? Crowley did, S2E1 we watched him do it. Do you know the rules of the heavens? Crowley does, we even see him explain (gr)mavity to Jimbriel. Can you send lightning and get it to report back? Crowley can, we saw it after he got in his little argument with Aziraphale. Did you teach the ostrich to run? Maybe? Is this an allegory for telling Gabriel to go to Alpha Centauri? Or the peacocks to fly? Beez? Miss Sandwich? look its God okay not everything is going to be straightforward. Anyway, I think it’s clear our demon will get to ask his questions, he might not get answers, but he will get to ask the questions.

It begins as it will end, with a garden. Not the garden of Eden this time, but perhaps a garden at a cottage in The South Downs. Or.. maybe the Garden of Eden. If you've not read the short story "In The End" by Mr Neil Gaiman himself, please do, it's only a page long and it's lovely. I bought an extra copy of Fragile Things just so I could cut it out and glue it in the last page of my copy of Good Omens. Anyway, it's a brief but beautiful imagining of the last book of The Bible, in which God gives the Garden of Eden to humanity. I love the idea that human souls might return to Eden after their time on Earth. I also (and I know I'm in the vast minority) love the idea of Crowley and Aziraphale choosing to somehow embrace mortality to fully enjoy life on Earth with each other, and therefore themselves being able to return to the Garden of Eden with each other someday.

WELL! Did anyone actually read this? If you did, you’re insane just like me and I love you for it! Please let me know your ideas!

#good omens #michael sheen #david tennant #good omens meta #good omens art #ineffable husbands #ineffable spouses #ineffable divorce #ineffable idiots #help #its consuming me #i cant wait 2 more years neil #crowley #crowley x aziraphale #aziraphale #aziracrow

[tsams-and-co-memes]

TSAMS Sunrise Canon Info

Updated - 4/23/24

Sun's likes:

Cats (he owns two)

Dressing up his cats

TF2

Listening to/watching documentaries while he cleans

Red Dead Redemption and Baldur's Gate 3

Cult of the Lamb

Yellow (his favorite color)

Snapple (his favorite drink)

Hamburgers (his favorite food)

Spiderman

Sun's dislikes:

Squids

Insects

Balloon Boy

Hot water

Sea water

Taylor Swift

Garden gnomes

Sports

Salads

Kids (this was implied)

Eclipse

The creator

Bloodmoon

Roxanne

Minesweeper

Miscellaneous:

Sun tends to get very competitive with gaming

He’s watched the entirety of Dragon Ball Z

He has an obsession with cleaning and stacking the toy barrels/tumble barrels in the daycare. If they’re not adequately cleaned or stacked in a very specific way, he gets upset

He’s bought stilettos and tried on a dress before, while saying that he’s a pretty princess

He used to have a crush on Roxanne

He’s not good at dancing and really only moves the upper half of his body

Sun is pansexual (check for sources). He's not bisexual, so him being pan is slightly more likely

Sun has a car and knows how to drive

He isn’t very good at acting

He has a habit of cheating when playing competitive games

It’s been implied numerous times that Sun occasionally enjoys cross dressing

Old Moon has made a statement before, suggesting that Sun has kleptomania

Sun can read bar codes

He apparently knows the history of gravel and can talk about it for hours

He was programmed to know how to drive

His rays are made of plastic

He plays D&D and his character is a warlock

Sun grooms his rays like they’re his hair, and he uses ray polish to do so

Sun knows the history of Windex

Sun knows how to play Yu-Gi-Oh

Cleaning is one of the things that calms him and helps him focus

Sun panics sometimes when he's not doing anything, because he feels like he's not doing enough. Apparently this was triggered by Eclipse's return

Sun can't calm Moon down whenever Moon gets seriously upset, and Sun finds that "kinda scary" (<- exact wording from the therapy video). This means that on some level, Sun is afraid of Moon's anger, and of Moon acting irrationally when he's upset

Sun is the only janitor in the daycare

Sun's had a bird fly in his face before, and according to him, it's more annoying than scary

Sun's not good at bowling

He's eaten glitter glue at one point as a coping mechanism. He may or may not have also eaten sparkles

Sun knows how to grind coffee beans

He turned his basement into a cat den, and his cats have their own TV

Sun drinks (we don't know how often)

If he could be an animal, Sun would be a stingray

Sun doesn't clean the bottom of the ballpit

Sun received an offer to replace Glamrock Freddy as the face of the pizzaplex, but he refused. A lot of the refusal stems from him not wanting to be on a stage in front of so many people

#sun and moon show #the sun and moon show #tsams #sams sun #tsams sun #sun and moon show sun #the sun and Moon show sun #canon info

[copperbadge]

Having ADHD and Being A Little Punk Rock

So....a huge amount of the discourse on Tumblr around neurodiversity generally is just venting. Which is good, it’s good to vent and Tumblr is a good place for it. And I know that often, when venting, the LAST thing you want to hear is someone trying to offer help or solutions. So generally I keep my mouth shut unless someone is speaking to me specifically. 

But a while back I saw someone asking (rhetorically) about what people with ADHD wish their parents had known, and I had a lot of thoughts about that which I started jotting down. Reading the various ADHD tags, I also see a lot of teens and twentysomethings with ADHD who visibly have no coping mechanisms and no way of creating them. I don’t blame the kids, and it’s not some kind of personal failing on their part; they’re young, and nobody has taught them. But I look at them and I think, A little sideways thinking would help you out so much. Then, recently, I got an ask (thank you for the permission not to respond directly) that was full of feelings about not being able to process or communicate well, and feeling a lot of negative emotions because of it. 

So, maybe it’s time to just throw this out there. I want to offer some advice as Fandom Dad with forty-three years of being neurodiverse and exactly seven months of actually being aware I was neurodiverse. Which for once is actually going to be pretty helpful! Because I looked at the world and I assumed my own neurotypicality and I thought, well, okay, but fuck all that.

Allow me to explain.  

I think this can apply to a number of ways in which people are neurodiverse, but I have ADHD so that’s what I’m really speaking to here. With ADHD, there’s medication, and I strongly urge people to explore that option because medication is awesome when it works. But there’s also a lot out there about how to try harder, or trick yourself into doing something in a very neurotypical way, or use systems that may not work for you. I know; I tried some too, and the sense of failure, the sense of being an ongoing failure, is terrible. So I want to offer an alternative which has helped me a great deal, and may help other people with ADHD, particularly younger people. 

People of any age, but especially young people who have ADHD, should be made aware that it’s okay to suck at things, to struggle, and to fail. Even if you think you should be good at something, even if everyone around you thinks so too, it’s okay to just be garbage at it and to acknowledge that fact. But just saying “well I’m dumb and can’t do this” of course isn’t actually helpful, and harms you a great deal, because you are a living person with feelings and if you’re self-aware enough to notice, you’re also too smart to be calling yourself dumb. Acknowledging that you’re bad at something, and even acknowledging that you’d like to succeed at it, is only part one of figuring life out.

Part two is deciding what to do about it, and more importantly, how. 

I was always told I was smart, but I was told “You’re smart so you should be able to do this”, not “You’re smart, so let’s come up with a way around this.” I don’t think many people are encouraged to explore why they are bad at something, to understand their own brains and thought processes which cause them to struggle.

Decades before I knew I had ADHD, I had to figure out that one of life’s most important skills is not being able to creatively solve problems but to recognize when you have to. Anyone can sit around and come up with three or four ways to solve a problem, but it’s not actually often taught that you should also be aware of when this is needed. Often, when faced with a problem that is difficult to solve, we’re taught that our reaction should be the socially approved “I just need to try harder”. Sometimes that’s true, but usually it’s not.  

More often, when we feel that instinct, especially as people with ADHD, we should say instead, “I’m not going to try harder, that’s bullshit. I’m trying already. I’m going to find another way to solve this problem.” Trying harder doesn’t work, after all, when your own brain is fighting you.

So you stop and think, if there were no rules to the world, how could I do this? You don’t have to work smarter; a lot of my solutions could reasonably be described as “work dumber”. The point is to work differently in a way that helps you specifically. 

Stop trying to remember to take your keys when you leave the house and get a lanyard and hang them on the doorknob; if you lose them a lot, hang the lanyard around your neck when you leave the house. 

Stop pretending you’ll remember to scoop the litterbox every night and set an alarm that tells you to do it. Or don’t, that works for me but might not for you! Maybe you have to put the litterbox somewhere you’ll see it right before bed (I ALSO do this for the days I turn off the alarm and then promptly forget it happened). 

There are phone charging cords in every room of my home so that I never run down my phone battery, something that is mildly inconvenient to have happen but deeply anxiety-inducing to think about for me. And now I never worry.

The point is, don’t ask how you can do better at something, ask how you can make something easier for you.

Even rewiring your brain to ask the question is a learned skill, though. You have to consciously stop when you find something is fighting you and consciously think, how can this be easier for my specific brain? If we assume I am not stupid but am in fact fighting an invisible monster, how do I make the monster visible? 

Life became roughly 60% easier for me when I started thinking this way. Of all the tips for time management and list making and organizing and de-organizing you can try and implement, none of that is necessary if you know how to ask yourself, “How do I do this differently?” and come up with alternatives that suit your brain. 

Especially with neurodivergence, there’s no “one size fits all” when it comes to handling it, neurologically or emotionally. So I think that it’s important to be a little bit punk rock. Not necessarily in the way of defying authority but in the way of defying convention -- the ability to say “fuck you” to the Way Things Are Done and do one’s own thing is very liberating and healthy. You lose a lot of the benefits of creative problem solving if you’re also ashamed of the solutions. So I think the best trick I know of to succeed despite unmedicated ADHD is just to say “fuck you, there must be an easier way to do this.” 

I’m garbage at cleaning my home (I can say that because I’m not only calling myself garbage, I’m using “I’m bad at this” as a stepping stone to solving the problem, and then I no longer feel like garbage and can joke about it with a healthy ego). I vacuum regularly and do the dishes and such but like...I don’t scrub the floors or dust or wash out the bathtub. That’s part of why I do November Cleaning -- so that at least once a year those things, that I never want to do but always think I should do, get done, but only have to be done once and at a specific designated time. So now if the bathroom floor is a bit grimy in the corners I just think, “Ah -- that’s for November” and add it to my November Cleaning list. 

For my friend who struggles with communication, which is something I also used to really struggle with (and still do in some ways), one of my “make stuff easier” techniques for this was simply to...tell people.

“Hey, I tend to talk really fast when I get excited, so please tell me if I need to slow down.” 

“Sorry, I have some hearing issues, I may ask you to repeat something -- it’s fine just to do it slower, I don’t need louder.” 

“I’m upset and struggling, I need a minute.” (or even just “Hey where’s the bathroom?” so you can sit quietly for a moment and gather your thoughts. If you’re too upset to talk, it also helps to type them out, which I often do.) 

If someone tells me something I want to remember, I’ll get out my phone and say “Sorry, I’m still listening, but I want to write that down so I won’t forget it.” I do all my writing-things-down in Google Tasks, then once I’m somewhere quiet and private I review the notes and move stuff that isn’t actually “to do” to another list. Sometimes I’ll tell someone “I’m so sorry, you just said something and I totally missed it, but it’s important to me -- can you repeat it?” 

Most people find that kind of honesty, where you’re open about why you’re maybe talking at cross-purposes, really charming. It indicates that you think they are important, and you’re putting in effort to hear what they’re saying and respond to it thoughtfully.  

I hope this is helpful in finding ways around some basic problems, rather than through them -- that being able to stop and think “This could be easier -- how?” is something that people can internalize and make use of. Going around a mountain rather than through it might look like it’ll take more time and energy, but it beats trying to punch through granite the whole way there. 

#sam has adhd

[br4inr0tx]

headcanons for dating sheriff newlon?

Yes ofc! Since I just watched the movie I have a pretty good grasp on him already, and I’m excited to write for him! I’m from Massachusetts so idk..I kind of resonate with this movie lol.

Tw - MASSIVE THANKSGIVING 2023 MOVIE SPOILERS, manipulation, loss of loved one, cannibalism(?).

Eric Newlon…

• Sheriff Eric Newlon. The good looking, friendly and dependable guy. He loves those who are close to him, and does anything he can to help a person out. He’s honestly, a great guy.

• Though as we all know, he has an intense sense of revenge from a woman he loved very much.

• No matter how you identify he at first would use you as a coping mechanism for Amanda’s death. It might be the smallest thing, like the same name, same laugh, same eyes, same personality..something about you just reminds you of a good time back in his life, and he can’t seem to let it go.

• The guy is manipulative, and it’s easy for him to pull the strings. If you don’t already like him, he can easily make you fall in love and join his side with the snap of his fingers.

• He’s genuinely charming, down-to-earth and caring anyway. Why wouldn’t you want to be with him?

• I’d assume you’d help him get through cases and cope with his loss in return. If he REALLY likes you that might not matter, but if it’s a genuine connection just someone caring about his well being is enough.

• I think Eric would also like someone who’s willing to talk about revenge. He’s bottled his feelings for so long, so someone that is willing to listen to and discuss harsher topics he’d enjoy; mostly for his own comfort

• He showers you in compliments pretty often. Sometimes he even babies you. It’s just a habit he can’t help but indulge in!

• Eric helps through hard times too. Though, watch out if it’s an issue with another person. I can’t guarantee they’ll make it out alive, especially considering how hellbent Eric is on the whole "revenge" gig. (I need a dollar for every time I say revenge.)

• He’s a pretty creative guy as we know. I’m not just talking about kills either. Dates and gifts are very creative and thoughtful, within reason an budget of course. I’d like to think giving gifts is as simple as you’d think either. He’d be the type of boyfriend to hide it in a funny spot or specific area for you to have fun finding.

• So, I’m not sure if this is just an act in the movie to get Jess in his side, but he seems really protective. Not just because he’s a cop either. If anyone talks shit about you he’d be one of the first people to stand up for you even if you don’t need it. Golden Retriever boyfriend mentality.

• Now..considering the more John Carver side of things..

• He wouldn’t kill you, he’d just let you enjoy the show. You’re technically a part of this now.

• Though be weary. Even if he acts nice and does nice things for you, he’s EXTREMELY hostile (pun intended) in his John Carver persona. Don’t do anything funny like escaping if he chases you, he won’t hesitate to hurt you just to put you back in place. Sometimes living with the pain is more harsh then just dying, remember that.

• Even if John Carver is a bit mocking, it’s in no way fake love. He’s simply giving you a happy thanksgiving with a glass of revenge, for the both of you.

• Also, remember how I mentioned he wouldn’t hesitate to kill anyone that harms you? Well, they’ll be guests at the table on the livestream! Now everyone’s together, on the day of togetherness.

• Overall, you fill in the void he was missing after Amanda’s passing. That’s not to say he doesn’t appreciate you for you, I’m saying that you keep him from going absolutely insane and killing everyone in Plymouth there and then.

#horror #thanksgiving movie #thanksgiving #Eric Newlon #john carver #John carver killer #headcanons #slasher #slasher headcanons

[iamcautiouslyoptimistic]

🦅Russell Adler Headcanons

{Author's Note} Since I'm literally obsessed with this man, I thought I'd post my headcanons for him. All of these are based off of his canon backstory and character with bits of my own speculation thrown in so nothing should be too out of left field here. I may end up posting more of my thoughts on him soon so we shall see. Hope y'all like it and I'd love to hear what you think, as well as any headcanons you guys might have! Tagging @littlemissclandestine for this since she's an Adler fan. Let me know if I did this man justice lol🤭

‼️Content Warning: swearing, suggestive themes‼️

~ ~ ~

-Badass asshole

-Takes awhile for him to soften enough to really love someone

-Flirtatious jerk when he has a crush

-Shows he cares through small actions that can be hard to notice, as well as vague, rather backhanded compliments

-Shamelessly stares from behind those glasses of his

-Thinks it’s really cute when you wear his shades but would never admit it

-Stylish with heavy 70s influence

-Probably modeled for a male fashion magazine at some point LMAO

-Definitely knows how to dance

-Seems like the type to meme a bit on British people (specifically Park lol)

-Very sarcastic, sometimes to the point that you don’t realize he’s actually joking because he's always so monotone

-Secretly loves Belgian waffles (this is a reference to that one Bruce Thomas TikTok lol)

-Has a soft spot for the Beach Boys (I mean, look at that 🎶bushy, bushy blonde hairdo🎶 of his)

-Since so many people have asked and teased him about it (I see y'all in the fandom and I will not accept this slander lol) -> his hair isn’t fake, it’s actually pretty soft, very bouncy, he likes styling it

-Very particular about his appearance as it is one of the few things that he can truly control

-Prefers cats over dogs

-Can get obsessive about certain things and lose himself to them (i.e. his search for Perseus) -> Mason quote: “He spent so long searching for Perseus, he didn’t notice when he lost himself.”

-Still struggles with PTSD from his time in Vietnam, which, alongside his obsession with finding Perseus, is what led to his divorce

-Carries a lot of guilt and regret that he doesn’t like to acknowledge

-Started smoking to cope with the trauma of war, now has a nicotine addiction; when he’s really stressed, he chain smokes like a chimney

-Gets restless if he doesn’t have a cigarette

-Doesn’t sleep well and when he does, he usually wakes up every few hours

-Scars - Shrapnel? Abuse? Torture? Animal attack? No one knows and he’ll never tell

-Kiss or trace those scars and he WILL melt

-Difficult for him to let his guard down

-Has a tendency to isolate himself -> Mason quote: "You were never alone, Adler. Only in your own stubborn head."

-Always wearing those damn glasses cuz STYLE but also to hide his eyes to remain as a sort of blank, emotionless slate to other people

-Absent parents who never showed him real love or support as he grew up so he struggles to do the same for others -> they were the reason he joined the army as soon as he turned 18

-When it comes to cuddling, he loves holding you against his chest and running his fingers along your arm, cheek, or through your hair; small but intimate actions like that are his favorite

-Doesn’t like to show emotions at all, even during more intimate moments; he needs some coaxing to relax in that way, which takes time

NSFW Below👇🏻 (it's really not too bad tho)

-Sit on his lap👀

-Will pin your wrists during the sexy times🫣

-EDGING & OVERSTIMULATION

-After his divorce, he's tended to view sex as more of a transaction where both parties are fulfilling needs for each other so he'd be selfish at first but as your relationship progresses, he'd become far more generous

#russell adler #russell adler x reader #russell adler x you #russell adler headcanons #call of duty black ops cold war #cod bocw #call of duty #cod #Ren's writing #mine mine mine

[soloorganaas]

Sirius, bipolar disorder and 1981

I’ve held the headcanon for a while that Sirius being bipolar was a fundamental part of his breakdown in 1981, that led to him believing Remus was the spy and failing to prevent Lily and James’s deaths, as well as ultimately being the reason Remus was persuaded that Sirius (not entirely consciously) betrayed James and committed mass-murder. so I’ve laid out all my thoughts about this below

Sirius’s breakdown leading up to Oct 31, 1981

bipolar episodes of mania/depression are not responses to external events in the same way regular depression or anxiety are. they will inevitably happen at some point however stable your life is. however, a traumatic event can sometimes trigger a period of mania/depression that spirals beyond the actual event itself

there is no doubt that Sirius was experiencing compound trauma by 1981. there isn’t any specific canon as to when he became involved in the Order, but we know by this point he was deep in the fight and presumably had been for around a year or more. he was living with the constant, extreme stress of being in potentially fatal missions, as well as the risk of losing his loved ones who were doing the same

Sirius’s friendship with James and the impact the danger he faced had on Sirius during this period is fundamental to his breakdown. James was central to his conception of safety and stability. he rescued him emotionally and later physically from his abusive home, and gave him a new loving one. without James, Sirius doesn’t have a home - and therefore the world simply doesn’t make sense. there’s no doubt Sirius would have been living in absolute terror of having his world quite literally torn apart. this would have been magnified tenfold when the specific threat to Harry and therefore James and Lily became apparent, and Sirius had to watch as a war against a fascist terror group became a defense of his best friend’s family being hunted by an unimaginably powerful dark wizard

part of bipolar disorder is the subconscious knowledge that you will at some point crash. there is a sense of inevitability of your world falling apart, like constantly living in a movie waiting for the third act tragedy. for Sirius, watching his world quite literally fall apart, this would undoubtedly have triggered that underlying fear. he is expecting the worst, knowing that it’s going to happen, because it always has

Sirius believing Remus was the spy

Sirius’s struggle with bipolar disorder would lead to his seemingly irrational suspicion of Remus for two main reasons

first is that the chronic instability and tendency toward self-destruction that Sirius experiences as a part of bd is inseparable from his relationship with Remus. breaking up in the heat of manic or depressive episodes is a common bipolar symptom. Remus with his own trauma and mental health issues would never be capable of creating enough stability for the both of them as their relationship formed, and adding into that the struggles of being a gay man in the 70s/80s, they never developed a strong foundation as teens

so the second point is how putting this under the pressure cooker of war doomed them from the outset. without external support or stability, Sirius was always going to spiral down, and Remus would always be unable to cope. by 1981 Sirius is overwhelmed with fear over losing James and utterly unable to think rationally. he’s being pushed to the brink on Order missions. he’s convinced his the world is going to crash down around him. he’s lashing out at the people closest to him and destroying things just for the misguided feeling of control. Remus is watching this happen but is also swept up in his own chronic terror and mental instability, and is utterly unable to understand what Sirius is doing or going through, let alone try and stop it. they are both crashing down around each other, with the very fear they have of losing each other tearing them further apart

at some point I think Sirius simply convinces himself its Remus - because he’s the one hurting him so much with his own part in destroying their relationship, because if anyone is going to tear his world to pieces it would be the one he’s most vulnerable to, because if you want to bring about the destruction by yourself of course you’d pick the person you can hurt the most, because the world is stealing everything from him so of course it would still the one beautiful, tender, miraculous thing he has

Remus being persuaded Sirius betrayed James and Lily

I’m writing ‘persuaded’ deliberately, because there is no way that Remus would instantly believe Sirius could betray James or even murder Peter and a crowd of muggles. they had been friends for over ten years, living in each other’s pockets and they knew each other inside and out. they had built incredibly deep and meaningful bonds as a group. Remus would struggle to believe that Sirius could kill Peter, but he may in the end come to accept it. but he could never, ever have watched Sirius and James for ten years and believe he would consciously betray him

instead, I think Remus came to believe through the persuasion of others (Dumbledore specifically, particularly if you go with the idea he had an interest in keeping Sirius in Azkaban) that Sirius had a breakdown and acted with such reckless self-destruction he inadvertently brought about James and Lily’s deaths. Remus had been dragged down in Sirius’s spiral for a year or longer; if they were by that point together, he would have seen Sirius at his most vulnerable and raw, and understood better than anyone his capacity for manic, irrational self-destruction. he’d seen Sirius do similar things the entire time he’d known him - the prank, for example, which easily fits into a similar theme. Remus knows Sirius is capable of this, he knows he was truly out of his mind with fear

and I think that’s where the anger comes from (aside from fury over him murdering Peter and other innocent people) - that Sirius had spent so long causing harm and never ever learned, that he’d refused to confront his own demons and take responsibility for his destructive tendencies, and in the end it had torn their worlds apart. the fire that had made him so passionate, so full of life, so brave, so loving and so devoted had also made him uncontrollably deadly - it’s not hard to imagine that when Remus more than anyone experienced one side so intensely, he could imagine what the other could lead to

I, personally, don’t think even in a manic state Sirius would ever come close to betraying James. but I think that for Remus, a terrified, traumatised 21 year old who’d lost both his parents and his best friends, had spent three years caught up in a war between two sides that both wanted him dead, and had watched his relationship with the love of his life break down in front of him, it’s a realistic conclusion to come to

Conclusion

mental health issues are intrinsically wound up with Sirius’s story and the tragedies he experiences. i think it’s a disservice to his character to overlook them, especially when fic takes only a shallow look at the sadder, messier parts of his life because it has a tendency towards simply trauma porn. bipolar disorder is my particular headcanon, and I’ve detailed a strong argument for it, but there are plenty of other valid interpretations as well. whichever way Sirius is written, though, at least complying somewhat with canon, the impact of mental health on the complexity of his character and story can’t be overlooked

the other side of the coin to this tragedy is the beauty of Sirius’s escape, formation of his relationship with Harry, and his reunion and reconciliation with Remus. Sirius’s fiery mania is turned into a positive, enabling the incredible feats of breaking out of Azkaban, and living on the rough for two years whilst evading the Ministry’s hunt. it also of course sees older, wiser versions of Sirius and Remus who can look their own and each other’s demons in the eye, face up to them with honesty and courage, and build the relationship they should have had all along. 

#i am Sad #and deep in my PoA feels #wolfstar #sirius black #remus lupin #bipolar disorder #bipolar sirius black #ch: we choose who we really are #hp #hp meta

[attractive-nuisance-esq]

Ed’s journey this season is going to perfectly mirror addiction and recovery, and I am so fucking here for it. Watching these first three episodes of S2 was like watching a highly dramatized AU of my own descent into rock bottom (except everyone was dressed wayyyyyy cooler than I ever was), so I have a lot of thoughts, reactions, and insights that I want to share with other fans. I’m sure many of us who have struggled with our mental health connected with Ed in these episodes, but I think addiction is the most appropriate lens through which to view him because addicts (more often than people who struggle with other mental illnesses) so wholly destroy their own lives and utterly devastate those of their loved ones. I want to share - from the perspective of someone who has steered her own ship straight into a storm and woke up alone to face some very hard choices - what is going on with Ed at the start of this season and what I think is coming.

Let me start by saying that Ed isn’t literally addicted to any one thing, despite his heavy use of drugs and alcohol, but his goal is the same as that of all addicts: escape. He does not want to sit with the pain of Stede leaving him on an immediate, surface level; on a deeper, more habitual level, he doesn’t want to sit with the pain of his own self-loathing. Of course the two are related: the former brings the latter to a head. Stede abandoning him dredges up and brightly illuminates all of his insecurities, and now Ed has to run. Get out. Escape. Don’t think about it. So he is fighting, stealing, drinking, snorting, shooting, killing - whatever it takes to not think about it.

“Demon? I’m the fuckin’ devil.” People in recovery often talk about addiction as if it were a separate, sentient monster living within them. Ed taking on the mantle of demon - a creature known specifically for possession, for removing the host’s free will - is intentional. So is his insistence that he’s not just any demon but the demon. The worst there is. (More on that when we get to The Innkeeper.)

Izzy’s confrontation of Ed in the captain’s cabin and then on deck is a form of intervention. Izzy is trying to help Ed, but of course this goes terribly for him and for Ed because interventions (I cannot stress this enough) are maybe the worst thing you could do to an addict. All addicts know things are bad, but they cannot be pushed to change one single second before they’re ready. Ed knows things are bad. He’s well-aware of how he’s spending his time, how his crew feels about him, how disappointed Izzy is. Being confronted with all of those truths by Izzy was always only going to make him do two things: 1) dig further into his unhealthy coping mechanisms, never mind that they don’t have nearly the effect that they used to; and 2) lash out at the person who forced him to think about it. Izzy lost his leg the moment he stepped into Ed’s cabin.

The impossible bird. You guys remember the song Chandelier by Sia? The one about her addiction to alcohol? The whole thing may as well come right out of Ed’s mouth at the end of that first episode, because that experience is exactly what he’s trying to convey to Frenchie. Nevermind that Frenchie has the temerity to tell him the bird can’t exist, that it has to come down sometime, that flying forever isn’t sustainable. The bird can come down on its own terms, or crash… but Frenchie’s definitely not going to say that much. Still, “that sounds like something that can’t exist” hits Ed, and leads us to the next episode.

Now we’ve got Ed forlorn, heartbroken, almost catatonic while playing with his cake toppers. We don’t actually see him crying in the opening of the episode, which is the point. He’s done crying now. The impossible bird can’t exist, and Ed has already resigned himself to this. He’s decided to die. The only sure-fire permanent way to not think about it.

When next we see Ed, he seems to be doing better, but this is a huge red flag for anyone who knows to look. He’s giving away his responsibility to Frenchie; he’s cleaning the cabin for the closure. He knows the end is coming fast, and the relief that knowledge brings him leaves him weirdly at peace. It is he eeriest part of these episodes, IMO.

Then he goes to find his first mate, the person who knows him better than anyone else in the world, the man he just fucking shot and ordered killed. Ed needs his low opinion of himself validated, and of course he thinks he’ll get it from Izzy after everything he’s done to him. He wants the one person who has stuck with him through everything to confirm that he’s now irretrievably broken and no longer worthy of his love. Ed wants someone to tell him that he’s right: he should die.

He doesn’t get that from Izzy. Interestingly, Izzy doesn’t tell him he should die. He says “Clean up your own mess.” Izzy has learned the lesson now that Ed isn’t ready to get better and that he can’t make him be ready. (This post isn’t about Izzy, but hoo boy - I have big feels about that man.)

Ed has been indulging in various forms of self-destruction in order to not feel his feelings, and steering the ship into the storm is his worst indulgence yet. This is the worst of his crimes - not beheading or arson or a red wedding. It’s when he tries to bring down everyone who has ever loved him into his misery, into believing what he believes. The audience generally (and Ed’s audience of Stede specifically) can forgive him for hurting strangers and for the non-specific mayhem whose victims we’ve never met; but it is much less certain that anyone will forgive him for hurting the only family he’s ever known.

The storm itself is the perfect metaphor for Ed’s attempt on his and, incidentally, everyone else’s lives. One of the most common metaphors used by friends and family members of addicts is that of a hurricane: that their addicted loved-ones tend to destroy everything they touch, anyone who was foolish or brave enough to stick around. And, like hurricanes, addicts aren’t malicious. Ed’s primary goal here is to get himself killed, not to kill everyone else. He wants the ship to go down so his death is certain. His firing a cannonball into the mast and asking Jim and Archie to fight to the death isn’t malice: it’s utter and complete nihilism. Nothing matters anymore. Nothing and no one. The end is near, and he’s so fucking drunk and high off these distractions that he couldn’t think about it if he tried. He’s manic with relief. (See also: “Finally.”)

And now for the finale: Purgatory. Buckle up, because this is where the addiction analogy gets real *chef’s kiss.* Purgatory is the equivalent of the morning after the worst, most rock bottom binge night of your life. You wake up with no one for company but the ghosts of your former selves. Now what?

Well, first - who is Hornigold to Ed? Why is he the guy Ed sees? It’s because Hornigold is another addict, if you will, but one who is (in this Purgatory hallucination) farther along in his recovery. He can impart some wisdom from that place, but he can also stand in as someone Ed can loathe because they’re not as different as Ed once thought, even if Hornigold can say he’s grown.

Hornigold tries to give him soup. He tells Ed, “Gotta get these nutrients into you,” and then literally shoves soup down his throat. That’s what it’s like in rock bottom. You don’t want to take care of yourself, but some lizard brain survival instinct takes over and makes you drink water, eat a piece of fruit, take yourself to the hospital. These things don’t really happen voluntarily that morning after, but you can still count on that instinct to kick in with some damage control.

Ed telling Hornigold how he “got here.” Hornigold says “Mutiny. It’s always mutiny.” Ed insists his mutiny was special, worse somehow. This whole scene is exactly what happens in your first recovery support group meeting. You go in thinking no one has ever been as fucked and fucked up as you are, which makes you feel isolated and alone. But then you get there and everyone else in the circle has done the same shit, been through the same shit. Ed’s not actually the devil; he’s just another demon, like many demons before him.

Ed worries he’s insane when he reflects on everything he’s done. Hornigold’s reply that “Feeling bad isn’t going to rebuild an abdominal wall” is a concept that people usually learn a little bit later in recovery, so I expect we’ll see more on this theme from Ed. Guilt is a useless emotion that only serves to conversely make the addict feel better but doesn’t help the harmed party: the addict feels like their suffering is cleansing, but it’s not - feeling guilt is just more self-indulgence, more self-destruction. Hornigold - a fellow addict in this moment - is trying to get this lesson to him early. It’ll return.

“You’ve got to move on or blow your brains out.” We’re getting back to Purgatory as the metaphor for the morning-after rock bottom, because this is the exact calculation that every person in recovery has done. They all had to answer that one big question. Your whole life is a mess, and you made the mess. Do you want to clean it up? Or quit? (Or make some soup? Yeah. That big question can’t be answered without basic needs having been met. So let’s eat. Let’s start there. It’s easier.)

Now we have Ed’s fantasy about opening an inn: This is also a common part of the morning-after rock bottom. You start thinking about the wrong turns you took, the mistakes you made, the way your life was supposed to go and all the reasons you’re not where you wanted to be. (And all the people you can blame for the fact that your life didn’t go as planned.) And when that honest part of yourself starts telling you that actually it’s all your fault… well, a) you don’t wanna hear it, and b) you can’t silence (kill) that monster, no matter how hard you try. You’ve got to face it. Face all those truths you’ve been running from for years. Now you have to think about it.

So now the big question, the inevitable math. Hornigold suggests looking at the pros and the cons. That’s the easiest way to break the calculation into manageable variables. This is probably my favorite moment of the episode, because when you’re sitting there, morning after the worst night of your life, everything is fucked - these are the exact variables that go into your equation. Do I really want to live? You ask yourself that, and because your life is in fucking shambles, you come up with the stupidest goddamn reasons to keep going. You wanna see the next seasons of Good Omens and Loki. You wanna eat your mom’s spaghetti again. Sometimes it’s nice when someone hugs you. It’s never the big things that save your life; it’s a bunch of the littlest things. The smallest comforts. The big things… they’re too unattainable. They’re too much to hope for, and they’re more than you could possibly deserve. What are the pros of living for Ed? Warmth, good food, orgasms. This is a stunningly accurate representation of the things that will keep you alive once you’ve hit rock bottom.

And then the cons: “I don’t think anyone is waiting for me.” This is why addiction is the better metaphor. There is no human experience more isolating than addiction. You are alone in more ways than you’ve ever been before. You have pushed away or pissed off everyone who ever cared about you. And even the ones who will maybe still be there for you - they can’t help you clean up the mess you’ve made. You have to do the work alone, even if they’re still willing to stand next to you. And this con… it’s the scariest one. Your list of little pros looks so pathetic next to the horror of being utterly fucking alone. Who is going to brave that for some stupid shit like Tom Hiddleston sexily flipping his hair back in that Loki way he does? Why should Ed carry on just because blankets are cozy and marmalade is pleasant?

This is where we get to the moment on the mountain, and what Stede represents. Hornigold tells Ed “You’re unlovable, and you’re afraid to do anything about it.” Ed could do two things about being unlovable: He could try to fix it, or he could end it all. Hornigold represents the worst part of Ed: his weaknesses and cowardice. And if Hornigold is in the driver’s seat, he’s going to end it all. He throws the rock off the cliff, and Ed gets dragged down into the water to drown. (Let’s also talk later about how often addiction is compared to drowning, and how nothing else in the show actually threatened Ed’s life - not Izzy with a gun, not all the rhino horn, not Jim’s cannonball - like drowning in his own mind.)

But then there’s Stede. Stede is how the pros win over that one big, horrifying con. Stede is hope. Stede is just a glimmer of hope. Hope is the most important thing you need in the morning-after rock bottom. As much as I enjoy the idea that it was love that saved Ed, I don’t think that’s a wholly faithful interpretation. Because Stede’s love for Ed doesn’t solve anything, doesn’t fix anything - it certainly doesn’t fix Ed. It cannot fix Ed. Hornigold just told Ed that he’s the one who has to “do something about it,” because Ed is the only one who can save himself. But even if Stede’s love for him in itself isn’t what saves Ed, Ed’s trust in Stede combined with that love gives him hope. Stede loves Ed, truly loves him, came back to him even though he knows Ed’s nature, knows his list of crimes, knows what he’s done to Stede’s friends and family. And maybe Ed can find in himself what he trusts Stede truly sees. It’s a “maybe,” not a certainty. But it’s hope. Someone loves him. Maybe he can love himself, too.

This Woman’s Work: I read this song as referring more appropriately to Ed’s relationship with himself, in no small part because Ed literally made himself the woman in the cake topper couple. All the things that should have been done, should have been said - they’re things Ed needs to do and say to himself. He’s got a little life and a lot of strength left. The journey has just begun.

I want to pop back quickly to a few other moments in The Innkeeper that resonated, starting with Stede and Izzy’s discussion about what happened to Ed: “He went mad. He was a wild dog.” Izzy describes Ed’s breakdown as if he was no longer the same person he once was; this is exactly what addiction does to a person. Ed hasn’t been himself; he’s been held hostage by his need for escape, and he’s become something else. Possessed, if you will.

Izzy: “You and me did this to him, and we can’t let the crew suffer any more for our mistakes.” I’m not writing an essay on Izzy (yet), but this is a very interesting perspective that says a lot about Izzy. Stede and Izzy both owe apologies to Ed, but they are not responsible for his actions. I predict we’re going to see this theme explored in later episodes as a part of Ed’s healing process and recovery. And also hopefully in Izzy’s growth.

Frenchie’s line that “We’ve been living second-to-second for a while now” is a callback to the impossible bird idea. Which, again, is just Chandelier x Sia. “I’m holding on for dear life, won’t look down, won’t open my eyes, keep my glass full until morning light ‘cause I’m just holding on for tonight.”

So what’s next? For me, it was learning to sit alone in a quiet room with my thoughts. It was apologizing to the ones I hurt, because even if I didn’t mean to hurt them - even if I was suffering also and worse - they still got hurt, and in the end it didn’t matter why. It was developing the habit of liking myself, and acting on whatever self-love and affection I could conjure up. And yes… it was new seasons of Good Omens and Loki, my mom’s spaghetti, and hugs.

So I think Ed has a lot of accountability, reflection, and breaking of old habits in his future… but also warmth, good food, and orgasms. And good for him. That’s the beauty of recovery: we get to come back.

#our flag means death #ofmd #ofmd s2 #ed teach #edward teach #blackbeard #ofmd kraken #gentlebeard #stede bonnet #izzy hands #ed teach meta #ofmd meta #ofmd analysis #taika waititi #david jenkins #recovery #ofmd predictions #ofmd season 2 #ed x stede #blackbonnet

[davidfarland]

7 Considerations for Characters

Of all the topics on how to write, I suspect more books have been written on how to create solid characters than on anything else. So there are a lot of great resources out there on how to create characters, and I can’t even touch on every topic that I would like in the space of an article this short.

Let me just say a few things, though. We are often told that our characters should be “round,” rather than stick-figure drawings. If you were an artist and you painted a picture with stick figures, people would say, “Well, that’s not very realistic. It is hardly recognizable as human.”

In stories, we usually don't want that response either. We want our characters to have dimension. Such characters have (but are not limited to) the following attributes:

Character Consideration #1: Specific Physical Bodies

Real people have physical bodies with inherent limitations and strengths. These bodies get hungry, hurt, and have urges all their own. They also have a history of ailments and injuries, various scars, and of course plenty of traits that we may or may not want to include in our tale—including things like foot size, ear size and shape, and so on. Trying to describe some of these traits is danged near impossible.

Character Consideration #2: Relationships

Real people have families and friends. For a while in young adult literature, just about everyone was an orphan. That’s because editors didn’t want authors to have to deal with family issues. Yet far too often, authors don’t create extended families primarily out of laziness. Similarly, each of us has various levels of friends, business colleagues, people we are attracted to, and people who are attracted to us at some level. We might include in this list of associations things like pets and plants. Does your heroine keep African violets around the house, and tenderly nurse her geraniums? A likeable character is usually one who shows kindness to others, who seeks out deep and lasting commitments—even if it is just to her flowers.

Character Consideration #3: Vocation

Real people have jobs—usually a history of them. For example, I’ve been a meat cutter, a prison guard, a missionary, a movie producer, novelist, video game designer, technical writer and editor, grocer, gourmet ice-cream pie maker, and farmer. In the modern world, we tend to develop large skill sets as we age, but there was a time when a person started life as a farmer and ended up buried out by the grape vines.

Character Consideration #4: Social Status

Real people also have a place in society. These societies might include political groups, religious and civic organizations, and so on.

Character Consideration #5: An Internal Life

Real people have an internal life, invisible to the naked eye. This is a good category for a lot of things—emotional needs and phobias, ideals, and so on. These might include secret beliefs, hopes, desires. It also includes our own personal way of seeing the world, and includes how we cope with it. Sometimes our personal ideals are at odds with our public affiliations. For example, while most people profess some sort of religion, very often our personal beliefs might vary in some way from the official doctrine of the church that we espouse.

The internal life of a character is of course where we get the “meat” for our novels. A movie can easily capture the exterior of a character, but novels do a better job of capturing the internal feelings, moods, and beliefs. Yet that’s only part of the reason why novels are so popular and are often said to be better than the movies they inspire.

I’m convinced that we have an innate need to get to know one another from the inside out. . . . So we spend a great deal of time analyzing the motives, beliefs, and actions of others.

The internal lives of our characters are the most fertile ground that an author may plant his story in.

Character Consideration #6: Internal Conflicts

As we explore the internal lives of our characters, one of the most important areas to explore is that person’s internal conflicts. What happens when a person loves and fears the same thing? What happens when a man’s conscience won’t let him carry out his boss’s (or wife’s, or master’s) orders? Most people are filled with interesting contradictions, and usually that provides the best material for our novels.

Character Consideration #7: Voice

Each character has a unique way of speaking. Finding a character’s voice and accent is often a key for me when writing a book. The character never comes alive until I can hear him talking in my own imagination.

In Conclusion

Please note that people are not stick figures. In a good novel, the author creates a number of characters who are put in opposition, and each of them is satisfying and believable. Your imaginary characters never really quite come alive, but at times it can feel like they’re taking over your story, bent on achieving their own ends.

#writing tips #writing tips and tricks #writeblr #writing help #writing reference #writing advice #oc

[hahskeleton]

⚠️MAJOR MAJOR MAJOR TLAES/TSAMS SPOILERS!!!!!⚠️

Okay so WHATTTTTTTTT ECLIPSE GOT THERAPYYYYY!!!!

I know Moon made him go but I think it actually did him a little good! I’m being actually truthful, here, I think Eclipse really considered confessing a few things, but I also might be wrong. Eclipse could definitely still be putting up an act for all this but like he’s said in previous episodes, he never actually did anything he’s hated for doing. That was the previous copy of him, he’s just a replacement.

When he was asking about how Lunar was dealing with the whole *BOOM* thing and Earth was like, “We ain’t gonna talk ‘bout that” I’m honestly kinda glad. That would’ve probably flourished into a weird, long, argumentative conversation. On Eclipse’s part, tho, Earth’s pretty chill :)

When they were talking abt how Earth was coping with seeing Eclipse explode and Eclipse was like, “Yeah, how does that feel btw? Terrible? Scary?”

and then stuff happened and it led up to him saying, “You never know when your just going to go BOOM.” holy heck I should draw that. lmao I’ll probably be drawing a lot for this ep

also at the end when Moon fricking APOLOGIZED??? HUH??? Where was that hiding the whole time??? I mean, don’t get me wrong, I am so happy Moon finally said something to him, and damn it silenced Eclipse, too!

When he said, “You probably don’t want to hear it, but, I’m sorry for leaving you behind.” And eclipse DIDN’T SAY A SINGLE THING LIKE- holy moly man Eclipse I wish you actually took that relatively seriously. When that part came I was just-

ALSO when Moon said that specific line “I know you probably don’t wanna hear it, but,” we forget Sun has said the exact same thing to him before, except not him, it was Old Moon he said it to. In that episode, Sun said VERY DISTINCTLY, “I know you probably don’t wanna hear it, and I know I don’t say it often, but,”

This honestly probably means absolutely nothing, it’s just something I’m pointing it out—

Anything thing, when Eclipse first came in and Moon was like, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he was talking like he went into a dentist’s office and his kid was misbehaving. Also Eclipse is a five year old at heart and you can’t change my mind. The way he walked in and just started insulting everything and throwing sh!t around was kinda funny to me.

Also, yeah, Earth noticed he was avoiding trying to talk about himself and his problems, and she was right he was definitely doing that. He would change the subject whenever Earth asked something remotely close to his feelings or his trauma.

I have a lot more to say but I don’t wanna make this post any other than it has to be so yeah… I’ll probably post another ramble and rant post today sometime to ramble about Eclipse and lore and stuff.

#I drew that lil meme thingy up there guys :) #sun and moon show #fnaf security breach #moondrop #sundrop #floppy says something #sams moon #sams lunar #sams eclipse #sams sun #sams earth #sams solar #tsams #tsams eclipse #tsams sun #tsams lunar #the sun and moon show #tsams moon #tsams earth #tsams solar #the sun and moon show spoilers #tsams spoilers #laes #laes lunar #laes earth #the lunar and earth show #tlaes lunar #tlaes earth #tlaes spoilers #rambles and rants