#god why does existence have to be a constant struggle

[sapphicjigsaw]

girl as someone going through some of that stuff as well no that stuff is not something everyone has and people are generally usimg 'the horrors' to mean like chores and things no one enjoys doing not. mental and or physical illnesses </3

I have learned recently I maybe have to do something about my debilitating mental illness and physical body deterioration. Unfortunately the horrors have decided I cannot do anything right now and should instead start shaking so hard I can’t read. And then pass out.

#<3 thanks for reaching out I really really like hearing from you #god why does existence have to be a constant struggle #and then also school on top of that??? #like how do I tell my English professor ‘sorry I can’t turn in my draft friday. I stopped running and the horrors caught me.’ #sorry but everything I spent so long stacking up around me to keep myself from pilling on top of me is falling cause apparently the floor #tilts slightly towards me in every direction and something got so high it could no longer stand and everything else is falling around it #im trying to catch the important things I really am but it’s all falling at the same time and it hurts to stand under it and I’m so tired #so that being said how does an extension to Wednesday sound I’m sure I’ll figure everything out by then #and I still have all my other classes to do #side order save me #<3 again thankies for reaching out <<33!! sorry for concerning extended metaphor in the tags <3 #(all of that is genuine I am not being sarcastic I appreciate you so much and you are so cool to me)

[katebishopsbow]

MISSING PIECE • F1 GRID

pairing: f1 grid x driver!reader (platonic)

summary: you have always taken pride in your ability to handle the press, until a journalist mentioned a sensitive topic that you had tried desperately to avoid – your estranged father. you struggled to give a response, and your fellow drivers showed no hesitation to jump in and defend you.

tags: angst, hurt/comfort, daddy issues, mentions of abusive parent, found family

word count: 3k

(image is not mine)

─────── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───────

Formula 1 journalists have always been known to be brutal – asking questions that teetered on the brink of privacy violation and unnecessarily hostile probing with the excuse of “providing insightful coverage” on the highly competitive sport.

That was why media training existed – to prepare drivers for the harshest, most demanding questions thrown at them and rewire their brains such that instead of lashing out, they would be able to gracefully divert the focus to something else while also preserving their pristine image.

You had always excelled at handling the media, and your ability to constantly remain level-headed even when they asked the most ridiculous of questions was something you took pride in – until a journalist purposefully asked about a subject you had desperately tried to avoid ever since your F1 career started.

The relationship you and your father had was rather difficult to explain. The two of you became distant since the day your parents divorced and you decided to walk away from his constant emotional unavailability and manipulation he so skillfully disguised as paternal love. He didn’t bother asking you to stay – well, he never bothered doing anything when it came to you. He called occasionally, only when he needed something from you and your mother, and sent birthday cards out of obligation a month late because god forbid he remembered your birthday if your mother hadn’t reminded him.

Then the calls became less frequent, and then they stopped altogether, and his empty promises of visiting became blatant lies that you no longer believed in. Your father gradually turned into a stranger, a missing piece, a clouded memory left behind in the childhood days of your life.

It was a hard subject for you to talk about, something you would much rather keep away from the limelight and scrutiny of the world. Unfortunately for you, secrets weren’t really a thing in F1, and the obvious absence of one of your parents on the grid and in all your victory celebrations had been noticed by the public’s watchful eyes.

So your secret was no longer a secret. All the drivers on the grid were aware of it, and a few closest to you had known the full truth of your strained relationship with your father, but they all avoided mentioning it as they knew it was a family matter you wanted to remain private. Most journalists were also respectful enough to avoid asking insensitive questions when interviewing you, phrasing their words like “How will you celebrate the win with your family?” instead of using the term “parents”, and you were more than appreciative of that.

So when the voice of a certain reporter who was known to be ruthless with his questioning echoed through the press conference, directing the uncomfortable and out-of-the-blue question toward you, you suddenly found yourself at a loss for words.

“Rumors have been circulating the Internet recently about you and your father. There are accusations against you claiming that you were ‘selfish’ and ‘ungrateful’ for cutting off ties with your parent, that a callous and unforgiving person such as yourself does not deserve a seat or to be the inspiration for young minds. What are your comments on such claims, and have you ever experienced regret for turning your back on your family – your very own flesh and blood?”

The sudden silence in the room was suffocating, and the only sound you could hear was the heartbeat that was drumming loudly in your ears as the colour drained from your face. The discussion revolving around your relationship with your father wasn’t anything you were unfamiliar with, but to hear it being brought up so directly in front of the press and all your fellow drivers, and all the demeaning names that people had called you – it had felt so demoralizing.

What happened between you and your dad was entirely private, people outside of your family who had never gone through what you had experienced should never have the right to make comments on your decision to leave. They didn’t know what it was like to have a father who was never there, who constantly let you down with his lies and broken promises, who subjected all his volatile temper and toxic outbursts to his daughter and wife.

You had enough of his bullshit and were simply sick of pretending to be the perfect little family, so you left with your mother and told yourself that you would never look back. It would be a lie if you said that you didn’t miss the presence of your dad every now and then – the palpable emptiness he left behind had and would continue to haunt you – but you also never once regretted your decision.

“I – I don’t think… these accusations… umm –” The composure you had always displayed in front of the media was long gone, and you struggled to find the right words to say in response to such an uncomfortable question. Every pair of eyes in the room was fixated on you while that journalist watched you with an inspective expression on his face, just waiting for the moment when you break – wanting you to lose control so that he could have the reaction he needed to write his article.

And all of a sudden, you were back in your childhood home, standing in the living room with your head hung low, fighting back tears as your father unleashed his wrath at you over the smallest, most trivial things. “What’re you crying for, huh? You want me to give you something to cry about?” he would say to you, his voice harsh and venomous as he screamed out insults that scarred your fragile little heart.

Then you were back in your grade school classroom, standing in front of the whole class and staying completely silent after your teacher assigned you the speech topic “My dad is my hero”. Your classmates looked at you as if you had grown a second head, confused by the way you were struggling to speak about a topic they could so easily blabber on for hours. You just couldn’t bring yourself to say anything – your dad was never your hero, he was a distant stranger who struck fear within you whenever he was around.

Then you were back in the bedroom at your new home, reading the birthday card that your dad had sent to you a month late. Written in the top left corner of the page was a scribble of your name, completely misspelled. You closed the card with tears brimming in your eyes, knowing that your existence was slowly beginning to fade from your father’s memories. You tried to remember what his voice sounded like, his calloused hands, his boisterous laughter on the rare days when he wasn’t screaming profanities at you and your mother, and then you realized that he was beginning to fade from yours, and it had felt so, so painful.

Blinking away the hectic memories, you were quickly dragged back to the reality of the press conference. Everyone was still waiting for your response, and the reporter continued to wait for you to crumble under pressure, but all you wanted to do was to run out of the room and hide from people’s blazing eyes, to not have the world criticize you on how you dealt with your family trauma.

“I think that is an absolutely unprofessional question to ask if I am being honest.” Max’s stern voice finally broke the silence, and you were still attempting to process the situation when he continued to chastise the overstepping journalist with an irritated scowl, “The focus of the press conference is to discuss the races and the drivers’ performances on the track, not to delve into people’s personal matter and bring up their family situations which clearly do not have any relevance to the sport.”

The Dutch driver had always been brutally honest, never afraid to speak his mind and call out the press for their bullshit, and this was no exception. Having a complicated relationship with his father himself, he knew the hardships of being in your situation and struggling with toxic family dynamics, and he experienced first-hand how the media loved exploiting such issues for the sake of a story. More importantly, you were his friend, and he would do anything to defend you.

You exchanged thankful glances with the driver next to you, feeling the warmth that blossomed over your heart when Max placed his hand over your trembling ones beneath the table, giving it a reassuring squeeze in a way that meant “Don’t worry. I got your back”.

Upon hearing what Max had to say, the reporter was quick to defend himself. “I was merely hoping to get some insights on whether or not the recent rumors had affected her performance on the track. That’s all,” he attempted to reason, trying to rationalize his intrusive question but was interrupted by another driver who frankly also had enough.

“I think everybody in this room is well aware that is not your intention,” Charles spoke up from his seat, staring at the lying journalist with a tight-lipped smile that was far from friendly. Being one of your closest friends on the grid, Charles was also no stranger to your father’s abusive tendencies and knew how tough it was for you to open up to him about such horrible memories. To see the press tried to take advantage of your vulnerability and blatantly lie about their ill intention sickened him, and he was not going to just sit and watch it happen.

The McLaren driver sitting beside him nodded as he let out a light chuckle, “Yeah I mean – I’m literally an idiot at reading the room but even I can tell that getting racing insights was not your only intention, mate.” The audacity some of these journalists and reporters had was astounding, thinking they could get away with asking disrespectful questions just because of their job titles. When it came to snapping back at their baleful antics, Lando did it once on camera with his iconic “Who are you?” and he would certainly do it again.

Carlos couldn’t help but smirk at Lando's cleverness – masking his reproval at the journalist with a self-deprecating joke. When his attention landed on the audience seated before him, he allowed himself to enjoy the caught-off-guard look on the journalist's now reddened face. “Serves him right for asking stupid questions,” Carlos muttered in a hushed voice just loud enough for himself to hear before turning his head to catch your eyes, shooting you a quick smile as a sign of support. You returned the kind gesture, thankful that your friends were standing by your side when you needed help.

As the journalist busied himself with trying to recollect his composure, an awkward silence hung upon the room once again. That was when Daniel perked up from his seat, the usual cheerful smile on his face as he proceeded to do what he did best – easing the tense atmosphere and diffusing the tension with a touch of humour. “Well, I can totally affirm that Lando can be an idiot sometimes,” he joked while grinning mischievously at the papaya driver, and the mood in the room visibly lightened as a few reporters laughed at his playful words.

“But on a more serious note though, I do believe it’s important to remember that drivers are also human beings, and we all have our own struggles and difficulties both on and off track. It’s crucial to respect drivers’ boundaries and not exploit their personal struggles, and our sole focus should always be on the sport and racing,” Daniel voiced out respectfully, emphasizing the one thing that people always seemed to forget – that drivers deserved privacy and owed nobody any explanations on their personal lives, even if they lived under the spotlight.

Oscar and Pierre who were seated at the further end of the table also nodded at Daniel’s resonating words, expressing their agreement on the importance of maintaining a respectful and uplifting environment for all drivers. “What are your thoughts, y/n?” A female reporter in the crowd raised the question, subtly giving you an encouraging smile as she steered the attention back to you, offering you the chance to speak your truth and address the situation directly.

The fear and dread within you slowly dissipated, replacing them was the heartwarming gratitude at your fellow drivers who showed no hesitation in defending you in the face of intrusive questioning. It was then that you realized you were never alone in this journey, that the other drivers on the grid were not only your competitors but your family who understood what you had gone through and would unconditionally have your back.

It was their reassuring glances, their wholehearted support, and their willingness to stand up for you that enveloped you with the strength and courage needed to finally speak up for yourself. “I would like to start off by thanking all the drivers here with me, and thank you to the journalist for that rather personal question,” you spoke clearly at your microphone, your voice emboldened by the newly found determination as you watched the journalist shift uncomfortably in his seat.

“While I do appreciate the public’s concern regarding my family issues, I would prefer to keep my personal life private. The decision to distance myself from my father to prioritize my well-being and emotional health is not something I regret doing, and it is not fair for people outside my family who don’t understand the complexities of our relationship to make assumptions on the matter.”

Taking a deep breath to gather your thoughts, you made the closing remarks to your statement, “Which is why I kindly ask for your understanding and space moving forward, to respect the privacy of not only me but everybody on the grid and allow us to deal with our personal matter privately, and ultimately create a respectful community within Formula 1.”

You looked around the room when you had finally finished speaking, meeting the eyes of your fellow drivers and the rows of reporters sitting before you. Your hands were still shaking from the nerves that pulsated through you, but a firm squeeze of Max’s hand pulled you back to the present before you could begin spiraling. “It’s okay. You’re okay,” he said with a gentle smile.

The media training sessions had come in handy once again, and you managed to address the situation in a graceful manner without revealing more details than you were comfortable sharing while also highlighting the importance of personal boundaries in the world of motorsports. “Thank you, y/n,” the previous female reporter nodded at you with a proud smile, glad that you put those unprofessional reporters who had no sense of boundaries back in their place.

Among the sea of cameras and eager reporters who could so easily expose the vulnerabilities of the drivers with a simple flick of their pens, some suddenly found themselves becoming the subject of such exposure, called out for their prying questions and insatiable need to twist people’s words for a click-worthy story.

It was evident that what you and the other drivers said had struck something within them as they silently began reflecting on their roles and responsibilities as reporters, and perhaps remembering the reason why they had chosen journalism in the first place – to report the factual truth to the public, or to fabricate things in exchange for views and attention?

The press conference proceeded to continue, but the shift in the atmosphere was apparent when journalists asked their questions with more sensitivity and introspection, mentioning topics that genuinely mattered instead of blindly chasing exclusive headlines. When the conference finally ended, you and all the drivers collectively exuded a breath of relief, feeling a weight being lifted off your shoulders now that the far-from-enjoyable media day was over.

As you exited the room and were away from the cameras and people, you turned around and gave your friends an appreciative smile. “Thank you all… for standing up for me.” You must have sounded like you were close to tears because Daniel began cooing at you teasingly as if he were comforting a crying child, “Aww… don’t worry about it, kiddo.”

Charles leaned forward to ruffle your hair almost like what an older brother would, and he said to you tenderly, “We’re a team, and we’ll always have your back.” You were not going to cry initially, but now you weren’t so sure. At that moment, you had felt so loved, so supported, and it made you want to hide under the covers and bawl your eyes out from the rush of emotions that crashed over you.

Your friends, understanding the depths of your emotions, gathered around to offer you their words of encouragement and gentle pats on your back. “I love you guys, really…” you whispered quietly, looking at them with such sincerity and gratitude. How lucky were you to be able to have these people as your competitors, your friends, your found family?

“Who wants to go and eat because I’m actually starving,” Lando exclaimed as he began walking in the direction of the restaurants, and a few of the drivers tailed behind him as they joined in on the rant about how hungry they were. You watched them with an overwhelming sense of fondness, and when Max reached out his hand for you to take, you gladly accepted it.

Listening to the light-hearted banter and laughs that filled the air with your best friend right next to you, you knew that this was exactly where you belonged. Not in the tiny living room with your father screaming at you, not in the classroom with the kids who didn’t understand what you had been through, not in the bedroom where you cried over your fading memories with your father, but right here – with your favourite people who would always be there to fight your battles with you.

#f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #f1 x reader #f1 x you #max verstappen x reader #charles leclerc x reader #daniel riccardo x reader #f1 drivers x reader

[princessbellecerise]

With A Modern!Reader

──── ✧*･ﾟ*✭˚･ﾟ✧ ────

summary | How the House of the Dragon characters would react to a reader from our world

warnings | None

this is a work of fiction. i do not own these characters

divider by @princessbellecerise

Jacaerys Velaryon

Jace is surprisingly cautious. It’s not as if he’s afraid of you, you’re just so…different that it takes a while for him to even approach you

When he does, you may think he’s being hostile but really he’s just curious

He keeps his distance at first, but out of everyone he’s the first to warm up to you

He likes hearing about your world, taking walks with you and listening intensely

He thinks it’s fascinating, but more than anything Jace would be the one not afraid to truly introduce you to his world, taking you on tours, showing you around and even letting you pet his dragon while he watches you with a smile

It’s clear that the main difference between your worlds is the magic aspect, so while he’s fascinated with all your technology, you’re fascinated by his dragons and the fact that actual witches exist

Both concepts are very hard for the other to grasp, so you and Jace spend your time discussing and having fulfilling conversations, telling the other facts and details about where you’re from and enjoying every minute of it

Daemon Targaryen

Daemon is amused

He is the first to believe you when you say you’re not from his universe because my gods, it’s obvious from your clothes to your speech you obviously weren’t raised in this world

And man, he gets a kick out of watching you struggle with the social norms, often laughing and whisking you away when your mouth gets you in trouble more than once

He scoldes you and tells you that things are different where he lives, that the social customs require you to remain proper and not curse out every Lord that has something problematic to say

He’d teach you how to ‘behave’ while simultaneously encouraging you to be yourself for his own sake, because Daemon loves watching you start arguments and debates, trying to catch his people up with the modern terms you’re used to

Of course, it never works but he looks forward to it nevertheless because it makes the otherwise insufferable events that much more bearable

Lucerys Velaryon

Luke is very cautious at first. Even more so than his brother, because while you talk like you’re from more advanced times, Luke is still convinced that you’ll view and treat him the same as everyone else in his world does

It’s only when you happen to bring up the fact that you and your siblings have different dads is he really interested in what you have to say

And when you tell him that the rumors you’ve heard about him don’t matter, that nobody really cares about blood that much where you come from, will he really start to warm up to you

You’ll see a whole other side to Lucerys that no one has really seen before; he’ll open up to you and tell you all about his worries of possibly being a bastard

Likewise, you’d tell him that you relate to feeling out of place seeing as you’re not even from the world. You’re used to people gossiping about you as well and when it all becomes too much, you and Lucerys have a way of seeking comfort in one another. This caused you both to form a strong bond over your shared feelings

Aemond Targaryen

Aemond is confused

He’s perplexed, and at first he doesn’t like you because he’s never met someone that’s challenged him so much

From your clothes to your speech to your strange gadgets, everything about you is just so…weird. He doesn’t understand where you came from and why, but out of everyone he’d be the most willing to get you home

During this time, you both would more than likely bond in a sort of frenemie way

Aemond with his constant teasing of your lack of knowledge on how things worked in his world, and you because of his so called out-dated attitude

He’d be shocked when you completely disregard his status and talk to him like he’s just a regular person. You don’t see him as Prince Aemond, just the Aemond that’s slightly stuck-up; which you also never fail to remind him.

You’re just so casual with how you interact and joke with him. And over time, Aemond finds himself more and more attached to you. Because by gods, all he’s ever wanted was for someone to appreciate him for him, and not because of his title or standings in the world

And you being you, you don’t really care about any of that and he can’t begin to explain how grateful he is that the universe decided to send you to him, even growing to be sad and a little more hesitant when it’s time to send you home

Aegon Targaryen

Aegon is fascinated

Less so by you and more so of the world that you left behind. And even more so of the trinkets that somehow came over with you

In all his life, Aegon had never met someone that had things that he didn’t. After all—he was a prince and that meant he usually had the best of the best

But you? You have things he’d never even dreamed of having. Like glasses that block out the light (perfect for his hangovers) and medicine to also help with the aftermaths of his drinking

He’s so fascinated when the guards empty your bag, never once hesitating to pick up your strange stuff and demand to know what it does

Of course, you have to tell him to chill out a little bit and that his title doesn’t really matter to you because you’re not from his world

And Aegon is perplexed, and honestly slightly jealous that he can’t control you, nor can he compete with all the technology that you have

Rhaenyra Targaryen

Out of everyone, she is the most understanding of your situation

When you first arrive, Rhaenyra takes you under her wing and never once makes you feel like an outsider. She’s a little bit hesitant, sure, but it’s really not all that hard to believe you

She’ll listen to you and when you need help, she’s always there to offer her aid

With her around, it’s super easy to understand the world that you’ve landed into. After all, Rhaenyra is happy to show you the ropes herself and fill you in on all the ways you have to act in order to survive in her world

You quickly become grateful for her presence because it helps to soothe all of the rumors and questions people may ask about you. After all, she’s no stranger to them herself

And with one look from the princess/future Queen, people are bowing their heads and running off, leaving their intrusive words abandoned

#hotd #hotd x reader #hotd headcanon #house of the dragon #jacaerys valaryon x reader #daemon targeryen x reader #lucerys velaryon x reader #aemond targaryen x reader #aegon targaryen x reader #rhaenyra targaryen x reader #jacaerys velaryon x reader

[aww-canon-no]

Floating

The truth is- Steve hates his pool.  He hates his pool because it was the beginning of the end of a lot of things.  He hates his pool because while he never did get to know Barb the way she deserved to be known, a single drop of blood into that cool water...

Well.

Yeah.

He hates his pool.

Unfortunately for Steve, the pool becomes sort of necessary. After getting the shit kicked out of him by Jonathan Byers, then Billy, then getting his ass handed to him by Russians before they drugged him with some concoction that left him at first with ringing ears, then with dwindling tones, the weird little audiogram from his doctor told him that yeah, he was lucky to still be able to hear airplanes and dogs barking.

In short, Steve was deaf.

He hadn’t ever met anyone like that before so it was just easier to try and ignore it.  To nod and smile a lot and pretend like he had any idea about what was going on.  That’s what his parents wanted him to do.

So.

Why not.

They were never home before, but they’re gone even more now that the upside down had tried (and failed- thank God) to swallow Hawkins and left Steve kind of a fucked-up mess both inside and out.  But they’re all kind of fucked-up inside and out so at least he’s not alone.

Steve’s house was spared and the kids come over all the time and have pool parties.  And Robin sleeps over more than she doesn’t, and her favorite thing ever is a morning swim.  Nancy drops in to do laps when she can, just to get a break from the madness that is her life.  Eddie uses the cool water as a sort of self-created physiotherapy for all the pieces of muscle he lost to demo bats.

Steve wants to not hate it.  He wants to say that it’s all fine and he’s making new memories and while they won’t erase what happened to Barb, something good can come of it.

Vertigo has become Steve’s constant friend, especially on what he calls his bad-ear-days.  The pool, oddly, helps.  Not swimming.  The pressure of water in his ears makes him want to die.  It gives him ear-migraines, which might not be a thing, but it’s totally a thing.

But he’s got an old blow-up raft that’s shaped like a donut and bobbing along the water oddly kind of evens out the spins and makes him not want to hoark his lunch up all over the deck.

So he lays there with his eyes closed, simmering in his new silence sort of feeling everything around him differently now that he can’t hear for shit.  He’s usually alone, but this afternoon Eddie’s there.  Eddie who sees way too much.

And it happens while Steve’s floating and Eddie’s soaking and drinking beer.  His eyes are closed and the sun is hot on his face, and then he feels cool fingers playing with the short hairs by his temple.

Steve feels himself rumble a noise- which is probably the most disconcerting thing about his deafness.  It’s not losing the sound of other people- it’s losing the sound of himself.

He as no idea if the sounds he’s making are audible because Eddie doesn’t react.  He just keeps touching.  And God he does that a lot.  Steve’s not used to it.  Touch always had some sort of end game.  Like with Nancy, it used to mean at least making out, if not more.  With the kids, it’s to comfort.  With Robin it’s mostly to get on her nerves because even when he annoys her, he still makes her smile.

But Eddie’s so free with it- without expectations.  He just gives and gives and rarely expects anything back.  Lord, though, Steve wants to give him something.  and he has for a while now.

Steve’s come to realize in the past months that his attraction might not be so...focused on one gender?  He watched Robin struggle with existing as herself, but also so unabashed about it when she felt safe that Steve realized maybe he was just not looking in the right places.  Because he wants to feel that and noticing Eddie’s pretty mouth and clever fingers has made him look a little deeper.

So opening his eyes and staring upside down at Eddie’s grin and his big doe-eyes and feeling his hands in his hair as Eddie scratches along his scalp...it seems important.

Like a Moment- with a capital M.

He sighs, and Eddie tracks the rise and fall of Steve’s chest.

Eddie leans forward and knocks their foreheads together, and Steve breathes him in.  He smells like cigarettes, chlorine, and sunshine.  And he just stays there.  At some point he rumbles out a contented hum which Steve feels rattling around his head, and it makes the dizzies a little worse, but he wouldn’t trade it for the world.

He still doesn’t love his pool, but when he’s like this, he doesn’t hate it nearly as much as he used to.

#Steddie #deaf steve harrington #steve harrington #eddie munson #Steve x eddie #fanfic #stranger things

[chaoticsoulsword]

*sigh*

Let's do this again.

The most harmful and irreparable damage the MCU has ever done is definitely Wanda's characterization and how the "fandom" perceives her even when non-cb readers migrate to the 616 side.

(This is screenshot depicting a fan reacting to Russell Dauterman's redesign of Lore, an evil Wanda variant who first debuted in 1993 in Scarlet Witch #1. She will return in the new Scarlet Witch series this year)

In addition to all the "she's always been white" constant, toxic and racist comments, which only reinforces their lack of ability to recognize issues such as colorism, Rromani representation (when they actually know the difference between Rromani and Romanian, that is) and straight-up whitewashing, they also fail to identify a most essential trait of her entire characterization: her desire to do good and become a symbol of heroism.

Wanda despises doing harm to others. Her first iteration is legitimately a depiction in which she and Pietro are being forced by Magneto to work for him and his brotherhood of evil mutants, all thanks to emotional manipulation. She never means to hurt the original X-Men except when Pietro is hurt and/or in danger. It's her protective side, not her "evil" side.

(Uncanny X-Men v1 #4; #11)

It's also fundamental to be aware that Wanda and Pietro come from a place where there's trauma for being abused by Magneto when it comes to their powers. This is why they are hesitant to join the Avengers, and yet their sense of responsibility is stronger.

(Avengers v1 #16)

Now, when it comes to Chthon, it's another rabbit hole of struggling with independence, power and agency. Being controlled by an evil force is as an old trope as any other in comic books. Still, I can't help but notice that her relationship with Chthon is never truly solved as other magic characters' issues, so why does it stick to Wanda the hardest?

Allow me illustrate with other examples:

1. Magik and the Darkchylde.

For those who don't know, the Darkchylde is "an evil side" of Illyana Rasputin, result of her captor and abuser's tampering with her soul.

The Darkchylde has several interpretations, from abuse to struggling with self-worth, and it has been established for decades as a side of Illyana that she despises, fears and suppresses.

(New Mutants v1 #71)

Illyana took years to make peace with her inner self and even had an arc to leave her reigning place of power in Limbo to Madelyne, another character who was villanized by the narrative for the very same reasons. Which begs the question.... why would a fan root for the Darkchylde to be her standard self when this is precisely what she hates the most? When it's precisely what causes her pain and leads her to a process of isolation and unhealthy behavior?

2. Doctor Strange and dark magic

Throughout sixty years of stories, there are a few moments in which the Sorcerer Supreme is faced with the old dilemma if he should use dark magic or not. And yet, from everything he went through, even in his darkest moments, he still chooses to do good. This is an intrinsic part of him. Yes, we've seen alternate evil iterations, but the main version is still a recognized, praised character for all the good deeds he performs on a daily basis.

(New Avengers v3 Annual #1)

3. Loki against fate

(Immortal Thor #2)

Loki's most recent and important journey throughout the years is precisely changing their fate, from the god of mischief and lies to the god of stories. They know they also have antagonistic roles to play as such, and yet they look forward to building a better relationship with Thor and the Asgardians. They're as complex as they come, but never back to their first and oldest iteration.

--

There are others, of course, like Nico Minoru and the Staff of One, Daimon Hellstrom and his will to deny his father's desires etc etc. I can even point a famous non-magical one: THE HULK. Yep, the guy who has spent his entire existence struggling with said dichotomy.

So you see, this is not a situation where "women can't be villains, god forbid women do anything" like some of them love to claim. You have Amora, Morgan Le Fey, Umar, even Lore now. The fact is, the MCU pushed the main version of its Wanda to be an irremediable character. Fans may or not defend her actions, but the truth is, they went too far for a role of opposition/antagonism justified by mental issues, which is yet another problematic, hellish rabbit role that we discussed so many times, over and over and over.

House of M is by itself such a harmful event in Wanda's entire characterization that, even now in the 616 universe, she still struggles to be (re)accepted by the hero community. She's still demonized by mutants, she's still depicted as mentally unstable.

(X-Men #7 - 2019)

Meanwhile, few writers are doing their hardest to give her some independence and agency (praised be Orlando and McKay). She has finally showcased her resolve to deal with Chthon by absorbing the Darkhold. She finally built a place to help people in a small community. She's an avenger yet again.

(Darkhold: Omega #1)

However, despite all that, she's still being patronized and lectured on (for instance, Agatha trying to take the Darkhold from her).

(Scarlet Witch v3 Annual #1)

The fact that she hasn't given up on the role of super hero only showcases how fundamental, intrinsic, unshakeable is her desire to do good. The fact that she's a nexus being and that the Scarlet Witch is a role passed down through generations are enough reasons to reiterate how important she is as a defender of the universe, same importance we often see in the role of the Sorcerer Supreme.

No fan has ever advocated for readers to be feared by a Sorcerer Supreme. Those are roles of heroes.

So yeah, "evil mother" and "serving cunt" will not do it for me. Because being evil means embracing everything Wanda hates the most and fights the hardest. So you come here and tell me that Wanda was supposed to be evil incarnate, to the point of comparing her to Voldemort, is plainly offensive and shows how little you understand her. You have other mothers to kneel to if you so desperately need one. Wanda is not one of them. Leave her alone.

TL;DR: Saying Wanda should be evil is stupid and harmful.

#scarlet witch #wanda maximoff #pietro maximoff #quicksilver #anti-mcu #the most illiterate fandom is the cbm and cb fandom i swear

[shuttershocky]

Wouldn't I love for Carnelian to get true dmg with her delta module. Ngl, I feel like that's the only thing that can at least salvage her in the age of Lin.

I theorycrafted a delta module to Carn for fun last December where I thought up how to implement true damage into her kit, but after 6 more months of playing around with her and Lin, I don't think simply adding true damage is the way.

This might be a hot take but I don't think true damage would save Carnelian. Unless she were to get Mlynar levels of DPS which is unlikely, even a massive increase to her damage output will not help her be any more relevant vs Lin than she is now.

I believe there are two main reasons for this. Big post about Carnelian's flawed design and delta module theorycrafting below.

1.) DPS is the most replaceable role - In a tower defense game, everyone and their mother does damage. You can be at the very top by providing an absurd amount of damage, but as time goes on the competition only gets more and more fierce, until even monsters (like Ch'en the Holungday) meet even greater abominations (Wisadel) in the end.

You stand out in this game by dealing damage + doing something else. Even the three DPS gods of Mlynar, Surtr, and Chen the Holungday (whose dynamic is bound to change because of Wisadel) offer gimmicks besides raw damage: Mlynar his always active taunt, Chen her AOE slow and DEF down, and Surtr her immortality. There's a reason why Silverash's module buffed his respawn cd reduction apart from just his damage: your unique utility is your strongest selling point.

Anyone who only has damage/stats to offer needs it to be the highest in the game, or else falls on the wayside. For example, I love Siege, mine is E2L90 and M6, but she is undoubtedly the worst of the three 6 star pioneers, when her (very high) damage potential is compared to Saga's survivability talent + SP support, or Flametail's ridiculously high evasion and fast skill cycling. Sure if you're doing Vanguards only, Siege gets the niche of being the tankbuster with her high DPH, but if you don't restrict yourself like that, why not just bring a Guard?

In that same manner, Carnelian's niche is being the damage-focused Phalanx. She's got the highest arts burst among them, but without Beeswax's regen, Mint's shift, or Lin's shield, damage is ALL she offers, and given that being an Arts DPS in Arknights sucks ass when you don't have RES reduction and have to deal with Eyjafjalla/Logos/Goldenglow existing, things look really bad for Carnelian's use cases even if she did have the damage to justify her terrible weaknesses, which she doesn't.

2.) Carnelian's kit is inherently flawed - Carnelian's kit was HG playing around with the Charged mechanic, where you could double charge your skills to get extra effects. Unfortunately, the base charge time for Carnelian's skills are as long as regular skills, but aren't particularly strong without their overcharged effects. This means you always want to overcharge her talents.

This means her talents are trying to compensate for her weaknesses instead of allow her to do something new. Her first talent heals her on skill activation since she's a Phalanx and will be taking damage, but without the constant regen that Beeswax has, this makes Carnelian reliant on her skills cycling fast (which conflicts with Charged doubling her SP costs) or having a medic (making the first talent useless), while her second talent speeds up her SP gain (which is diluted since it only works once the skill is already charged).

This is why boosting her damage isn't going to save her from Lin. She's a DPS unit in a tank class making her meh at both jobs, and actually increasing the damage she deals isn't going to help how she struggles to deal it in the first place due to her Charged mechanic and lack of self-sustain.

_____

So what does Carnelian need in a delta module?

I believe Carn needs a delta module that gives her new features that let her play like a Phalanx. It should increase her damage of course, but needs a feature that lets her be placed as aggressively as Beeswax or Lin. She shouldn't be exactly like Lin, but she should at least have a different take on Lin's playstyle of taking enemy aggro while in the highground tile.

I want to propose a new mechanic. If your units can now place elemental debuffs on enemies just like enemies could place debuffs on them, I propose elemental buffs, where filling the elemental bar will apply powerful buffs on your units, powerful because it's harder to apply than a normal buff.

______

Theorycrafting

Carnelian Delta Module - When this unit takes damage, gain 100 points of Sandstorm. If an enemy dies inside its attack range, gain 200 points of Sandstorm.

Sandstorm - Triggers when 1000 points are accumulated. This unit regenerates 5% max HP/s and +1 SP/s, and deal 400 elemental damage per second. Sandstorm loses 100 points per second and ends once all points are gone, but points can still be gained from enemies dying while Sandstorm is active.

Talent Upgrade at level 3: Meal of Life - Restores 40% Max HP when skill is activated; Effect is doubled when Charged. When Sandstorm is active, slow enemy movement speed within ATK range by 30% and deal 30% of damage dealt as bonus Elemental Damage.

With this buff, even if Carnelian doesn't nullify damage the way Lin does, if she can survive taking 10 hits (a lot!), she gets a 5% Max HP regen buff and a 1 SP/s buff for 10 seconds, which helps her charge her skills faster and survive. She cannot take on powerful attacks the way Lin can, but surviving lots of minor hits helps her sustain without a medic while dealing small amounts of AOE elemental damage.

When activating her skills while Sandstorm is active, the HP regen from Sandstorm should help her survive despite removing her Phalanx buffs, while killing enemies extends the length of Sandstorm by 2 seconds each, allowing her to prey on large crowds like Lin does without cramping Lin's style. The movement speed slow and elemental damage on her talent upgrade should help Carnelian get kills on enemies while keeping them within her attack range to keep Sandstorm going.

This way, Carnelian actually wants enemies to attack her, can survive mild-aggro when she finally activates her skill, and provides utility beyond just damage in the form of her AOE slows (which would make for killer crowd control with her Bind on S2) and her self-sufficiency allowing her to finally be placed very far forward the way Lin does.

#Carnelian #Arknights

[gabessquishytum]

Morpheus is a demisexual incubus. In other words, being him sucks. He doesn't want to have intercourse with any strangers, thank you very much. He's been feeling like a failure for a long time because what's his worth if he cannot perform his function? And he just can't have one-night stands, it feels very wrong to him. Eventually, after centuries of starvation, he finds a solution: he simply creates dreams of a sexual nature for sleeping minds instead of actually having sex. This is much better. Now, he'd really love to find a loving partner...The problem is, the creatures/gods/humans he tries to date all have a very wrong idea of him. Well, they have the right idea of most of his species - incubuses are beings whose existence is defined by sex - but Morpheus looks for emotional connection and a deeper bond…that's why he gets dumped every time he refuses to give it on the first date. Hob Gadling is a sexaholic. He homewrecked a marriage (or two...or three...or four. he didn't count, alright?), left a string of broken hearts in the aftermath of whirlwind nights, and simply ruined lots of chances for a happy, fulfilling relationship. He's been in therapy for some time now to manage his addiction, and he believes he's ready to give a committed relationship a try. He really strives to maintain sexual sobriety this time and be a better partner. When Hob sees a gorgeous dark-haired stranger with electric blue eyes in a cafe, it's love - and lust - at first sight. The man is beautiful, and, oh, what Hob wouldn't give to bend him over in the gents...But hey, he knows it leads nowhere, so he shakes off the reverie and approaches the stranger, trying to keep himself at bay. And to think of serious intentions. Morpheus is very guarded at first: being an incubus, he can see dreams, nightmares, and daydreams of a sexual nature, and he's ready to bolt together with his cappuccino and pain au chocolat the very moment he catches a whiff of Hob's fantasies about him. However, Hob does his best to conceal his struggle, and Morpheus...stays. They talk a bit, and then a lot, and even have a walk in the park. Hob is smart, funny, and very charming. Morpheus immensely enjoys their spontaneous date. When it comes to the end, Hob doesn't invite Morpheus to his place, but he makes it clear that he'd like to see him again. Morpheus is secretly delighted: he's seen a whole Kama Sutra featuring himself in Hob's mind during their date, but Hob is being so sweet and considerate! Perhaps it means something. He agrees to meet again but tries not to get his hopes high. After all, it's just a second date, and his natural allure of incubus is almost impossible to resist even for a person without sex addiction. How many dates will it take for Hob to get into Morpheus' pants? And will he be able not to break his heart and stay faithful? Who knows...

This is SUCH a good au. Good on Hob for going to therapy, I’m proud of him. And good on Morpheus for giving him a chance, despite all the HD dirty thoughts that are projecting out of his brain!

The thing about Hob is, everybody might as well be an incubus, as far as he’s concerned. Every adult person that he meets is a threat to his sobriety. He has those kinds of thoughts on a near constant basis, as Morpheus begins to realise when they spend more time together. And for Morpheus this is actually a huge bonus. Knowing that Hob sees him just as he sees the rest of the world is actually quite soothing. Hob doesn’t want to fuck him because he’s an incubus - he might as well be immune to Morpheus’s sex magic, because he’s constantly at full capacity already! He genuinely likes Morpheus for his personality as well as wanting to get freaky with him.

Plus Hob is one of the more understanding people that Morpheus has spoken to about his demisexualness. Hob has experienced an extremely heightened sense of sexual attraction for much of his life, and it’s always felt out of his control. So he understands what it is to have a different relationship with sex. He’d never want Morpheus to force himself into sex. Although he is somewhat concerned that his friend (date? friend who he is dating?) may not be feeding as much as he should be.

Ultimately they both want the same thing: an emotional bond, a closer connection. Hob is deeply afraid of fucking it up but he really really likes Morpheus, could maybe ever love him? At least he feels like love actually does exist when Morpheus is around. For half a minute he can stop thinking about sex and just think about Morpheus’s pretty blue eyes and his tiny little smile… he’s stopped counting how many dates they’ve been on without fucking. And Morpheus? Well, he’s starting to feel like sex with Hob would actually be rather nice.

Maybe there’s a place for them to meet in the middle. It doesn’t have to be everything or nothing. At the very least, Morpheus is positive that Hob will taste like the most intoxicating of drugs. And he’s starving for it.

#the sandman #dreamling #nsft #CW sex addiction #cw monsterfucking

[audiblehush]

Listen, Polin has been my Roman Empire for months now, but this fandom is WILDIN’.

Chunks of this fandom who claim to be Polin fans seem to hate either Colin or Penelope and I’m just like… why are you here, then, if you refuse to empathize or even TRY to understand either critical half of the pairing?

“Colin can’t see what’s in front of him and he insulted her in front of his peers!! GROVEL; I hope Pen moves onto Debling!!!”

First of all, you’re not a Polin fan if you hate Colin so much you want her to move on to someone else. Second of all: yeah, no. Yes,Colin put his foot in his mouth, arguably in a big way because of status, but plenty of people in real life have experienced saying something that came off poorly to a group of people. Everything we know about Colin’s character tells us he is going to feel horrible about it; he’ll apologize, MEAN IT, and she’ll forgive him. She has her own apologies to make.

Believe it or, it is NORMAL for people to grow into romantic feelings slowly. Stop punishing Colin for discovering who he is by experiencing his own character arc with his own mistakes. He’s allowed to have flaws; he’s allowed to work through his insecurities!

Tbh, most of the criticisms I see of Colin are pretty surface-level and petty, so I don’t give them much real estate in my brain because they’re just… bad, lol.

On the flip side -

“Penelope feels entitled to Colin’s feelings; she’s selfish and the fucking worst!!”

S3 Penelope: *overhears Colin say he would never court her; BELIEVES him - decides she’s going to stop wasting her time, move on, and look for a serious suitor and marriage prospect a) as is expected of her in this era and b) so that she has security, especially considering her family’s dire financial straits.*

“Oh my GOD, this is so anti-Polin, how could she POSSIBLY even THINK about accepting a proposal from anyone but Colin?! GTFO”

SIGH, 1) we have NO IDEA how this plot line is going to pan out: Lord Debling may or may not be serious about her, we don’t know what that even looks like, or for how long. The show synopsis historically likes to play with the fandom expectations a lot. He may possibly propose… and if he does, it would clearly exist as a sort of parallel to S1…. but 2) GOD FORBID Penelope entertain the idea, despite very real fears and evidence that would lead her thinking it would likely be her ONLY proposal… or that even if Colin proposed post heavy-petting session, how on EARTH could she think that he would be doing it out of honor-bound obligation and not love. 🙄 Her potentially considering a proposal isn’t anti-Polin; it’s a realistic response and consideration to two (and likely an additional half) seasons worth of external and internal stressors that are tying into her character development.

Penelope’s heart is fragile for a multitude of reasons due to her home life, her prior experiences with Colin and Eloise AND the rest of the ton - it’s incredibly frustrating for people to ignore why she would potentially not believe Colin even if he DID confess / give her a marriage proposal, just like it’s frustrating when people don’t try to understand why Colin might struggle with his own feelings.

Some of y’all really don’t understand people like Penelope who have been told their entire lives that they are not enough, are terrified of putting themselves out there by being emotionally vulnerable and potentially rejected for the fundamental aspects of who they are… even though some of y’all claim to identify with Colin when he has his OWN STRUGGLES WITH SOME OF THESE SAME FEARS. And it’s almost worse because Pen is painfully SHY: You don’t just magically become confident one day because you decided to be; it is a constant battle against negativity that eventually becomes heavily internalized… it takes years of work unlearn those thought patterns, especially when you’re surrounded by people insulting and rejecting your to your face (her family) or behind your back (the way the ton talks about her family… it’s likely Pen heard gossip about herself, whether individually or as an extension of her family PLENTY)… with an added dose of also being ignored when not actively insulted.

It would not shock me at ALL if Penelope genuinely considers a Debling proposal. All of Colin’s actions in S1 and S2 have ultimately taught her that he is never going to return her feelings; she is likely going to be pretty oblivious to his own romantic realizations this season because why would she look for or entertain those hopes again? Some of y’all complain that she is selfish about Colin’s romantic feelings (which lol, I disagree strongly, but sure hypothetically, I’ll allow it) … so then when she tries to move on by listening to him and his actions she’s suddenly… punishing him and undeserving of him?? When she would have every reason to be skeptical of these feelings coming from seemingly nowhere when he starts of the season trying to find her a husband? NAH fam, she’s doing what anyone with any sense of emotional self-preservation would do: move on and try to be content, even if she knows she’ll always love Colin in her heart.

AND even if Penelope develops potentially fond feelings for Debling… do you really think it’s unrealistic for a 19 year old young woman who has done nothing but pine over a man who is oblivious to it (or worse, finds a romantic relationship with you laughable… in her eyes), who has not had ANYONE be romantically interested her… to maybe get a little fluttery around someone who is reasonably nice looking and shows her genuine interest right off the bat? Spoiler Alert: that is probably exactly what would happen because it’s a heady feeling!!!

This entire plotline is either a parallel to the Marina situation, or a reference to the book line that basically has Colin going “Oh shit, what if I had never realized Pen is the love of my life?? What if someone else had seen how amazing she was and snatched her up??” - Maybe it’s even both! Deep breath: it’s a just plot device for Polin to realize they’re made for each other.

Colin and Pen are going to be on their own journeys this season that fly in the face of what the other is going through. Colin is grappling with newfound romantic feelings for Penelope (while likely struggling to trust them because he thought he loved Marina but lol no he didn’t, so how is he supposed to know???) while also battling against former (and potentially current) impulsive actions… and Penelope is fighting for her LIFE trying to bury her feelings and move on because she’s trying to protect her heart because Colin literally said out loud he’d never want her AND she’s likely thinking of her security. They are both grappling with internal conflicts that oppose the other and THAT is what is going to make the tension and development so good… and that’s without even addressing all the LW stuff that needs to get worked through!

I need y’all to flex that empathy muscle a little and realize that this isn’t about fucking fan-service, or you projecting your own experiences onto these characters (or even the weird self-insert “I am/want to be this character” or “I want to fuck this character”) - you can relate to these characters but ultimately it’s about the STORY - it’s about exploring these characters realistically in how they would react to their own traumas and lived experiences, and how what they think they want/need comes into conflicts with their counterparts.

This is a romantic DRAMA, and these characters are going to have their ups and downs… and it’s a Shondaland drama for better or worse, so you KNOW it’s going to get messy (good lord just look at S2 and how far that “love” triangle went… I’m hopeful for the new show runner because she’s a fan).

Polin will be canon because they unreservedly CHOOSE the other and it will be glorious, so everybody chill the fuck out and stop shitting on my imperfect, emotionally fragile yet beautifully relatable, evolving lovers. They are the BEST fucking ship, but most of this fandom doesn’t deserve them tbh. They’re both messes in their own ways, and honestly? If they were real, neither Colin nor Penelope would tolerate this slander y’all are throwing at the other.

LEAVE COLIN AND PENELOPE ALONE AND LET THEM MUDDLE THEIR WAY TO TRUE LOVE. 🤬

#polin #bridgerton #I have faith in the writers because nic and luke understand their characters and they are happy with it #thank god this fandom isn’t in charge of the writing - Colin and Pen deserve writers who LIKE them and UNDERSTAND them #in all their glorious messiness and complexity #Colin would be throttling some of y’all with how you slander Pen #and Pen would have destroyed the Colin haters with a stroke of her quill #power couple #I just want to gush with people over how much I love these two characters #and instead it’s fucking character bashing in their own damn ship #I love fandom but I also hate it

[builtbybrokenbells]

belladonna | i

Too beautiful to resist, and too deadly to survive; the tragic tale of belladonna in all its glory.

Masterlist | Taglist

Pairing: Danny Wagner x f!reader, f!reader x OC

Word Count: 12.5k

Warnings: mentions of toxic/abusive parents, mentions of/toxic relationships, mentions of criminal activity/criminal records, poverty, mentions of physical violence, mentions of blood, mentions of AA/NA, addictions, use of/mentions of drugs, mentions of drinking, mentions of hookups/sex, smoking, depression/anxiety, mental health struggles, swearing, sorry if I miss any!!

hi everyone! I’m so so excited for this one. I will forewarn you that this series will touch on some pretty heavy topics. i’ve been using this as therapy to avoid paying actual therapy bills 🤭 i hope that you enjoy this as much as I do, and I really hope that this series does for you what it does for me 🤍 as always, enjoy, be kind, and don’t mind any grammar mistakes!

March 31st, 2022

The sound of the radio hummed through the air, wrapping you in a blanket of comfort as you wiped crumbs from another dirty diner table. Your tattered converse were covered in spills and specs of food and your apron was stained so completely that the baby blue color no longer existed. The line cook in the back was whistling every time you bent over one of the booths, causing a blush and a slight smile to pull at your lips. Every so often, he’d make an obscene comment, just to see if you’d turn around to face him so he might be able to catch a glimpse of your cleavage underneath your black v-neck. Derek knew his limits, but he loved to push them.

“Don’t you have a job to do?” You glanced back at him over your shoulder, pushing your hips out slightly to entice him even further. He would never have the chance, but it was fun to let him believe it, sometimes.

“Yeah, actually. Why don’t you come back here and keep me company?” He sent a wink your way, causing you to chuckle. He was around your age, and undeniably attractive. His neck was littered with the peek of tattoos from his chest, and a gold chain hung around them to accentuate the detail. He looked permanently stoned, but he had a killer smile and a certain charm despite his vulgarity. His arms were strong and despite his constant flirting, you knew he would never make an unwanted advance. The only reason you refused to indulge in him was because of his very extensive criminal record, but even then, the temptation grew stronger every day. He loved poking fun only because you seemed to enjoy it so much.

“You’d like that too much.” You rolled your eyes, chucking a dishcloth through the kitchen window at him. He caught it midair, giving you a cocky smirk.

“Anything else you’d like to throw my way?”

“Leave the poor girl alone, Dylan.” The second line cook gave him a shove, pushing him out of view and popping into your line of sight. “Give me a chance, would you?” Not long after the words left his mouth, a playful wrestling match ensued on the other side of the wall. Instead of engaging in their antics, you turned and cleared the dishes of the last table of the night.

“Vincent!” You scolded, watching them battle for your affection. “If you guys break anything else back there tonight, I swear to god I will not cover for your asses!” Just as you spoke, the wrestling came to an abrupt halt, and Vincent’s head peeked up from the window. He raised an eyebrow, cocking his head to the side slightly. His loose brown curls hung down over his forehead, and the veins in his forehead were protruding slightly, showing you how much energy he’d put into getting Dylan to the ground. His skin was flushed red, partially due to the heat of the grills, but mostly because his blood pressure was always peaked. His emotions got the best of him, no matter good or bad, and his heart was ready to give out at the ripe age of 22.

“You wouldn’t do that to me, would you sweetheart?” He flashed you a smile, his eyes softening the longer he looked at your face. Your heart gave a small flutter at the expression. Dylan was attractive, but Vincent was completely captivating. You wish you could say that you had enough strength to abstain from both of them, but it just wasn’t true. Way back in the beginning, you’d fallen victim to Vincent’s intoxicating charm and fell into bed with him. You blamed it on being new to the city and lonely, but you knew it was all because of him. You were certain that Dylan did not know of this, because if he did, it would crush him. Also, you had cut it off pretty quickly after it started once learning about all of Vincent’s baggage. Save for a few drunken nights, the two of you were nothing but friends.

It was easy to tell yourself that, but every so often, when your eyes lingered on each other for too long, you could feel the energy in the air.

Although it was clear that Dylan’s only intent was to get in your pants, sometimes you had to question if Vincent actually felt more for you than physical attraction, or if you were just making it up in your own head. Then again, you knew he looked that way at every girl who stood before him, and you wouldn’t allow yourself to feel special (again). Also, upon learning about his aggravated assault charge from a bar fight in his late teens, you found it much easier to keep your distance after the initial hookups.

Although you hadn’t seen the criminal side of either of the boys, you knew that they hadn’t learned the right lessons from their brief stays in jail; they just got better at avoiding the cops. You made it a point to stay straight when you moved to the city, and you were intent on keeping the promise to yourself. Involving yourself with those two would be nothing but trouble, and you had grown to hate trouble with a passion.

Besides the painful flirting, they were good company to pass the time, and when you all spent so much time working together, it was impossible not to form some kind of bond.

The Foxhole was a fabled place, and after decades in business (albeit, with many changes), it was still one of the most popular diners in the surrounding area. It sat just outside of city limits, drawing in attraction from travelers and all of the concrete jungle dwellers, too. New York was a large place with many different types of people, and after a year and six months of living there, you were still trying to find your place in the world. When you moved, you had little money in your pocket and lots of hope in your heart. You had a backpack full of clothes and personal items and nothing else but a dream, running as fast as you could to get away from the curse of being your mothers daughter.

Eighteen months later, it felt like you were still running.

You went to a public library and printed off a million copies of your resume (which was incredibly bleak, with only one previous job and a reference stated previous employer, but was really your best friend from high school) and you applied at every bar, restaurant and corner store within walking distance of your low income rental. The Foxhole, although not your dream job, responded within days to schedule an interview. You showed up with a smile and kindness, but quickly realized that not even friendliness was a requirement to be a server there. John, the (third) owner, asked if you had a criminal record (with a follow up question of ‘if you do, how extensive is it?’). Not ten minutes later, you had an apron in hand and you were scheduled for the upcoming week.

Not long after starting, you quickly gauged the environment of your new workplace. The Foxhole, although popular with the public, was an absolute shithole (You soon learned that this was actually the nickname your fellow employees referred to it as). In the seventies, it started as an old tavern. It was popular with middle aged men who hated their families, but not many others. It ran for just under a decade before the original owner stopped paying his mortgage and filed for bankruptcy, and the whole establishment flopped. It was then purchased by a younger couple in an estate sale from the bank in the early eighties, who decided to keep the bar theme. Instead of marketing themselves to middle aged, miserable men, they painted it bright colors and added a dance floor, trying to push the disco theme. To nobody’s surprise, they followed in the same footsteps as the original owner.

Although they did try a bit harder, and the proof remained to this day. You could see bolts in the floor of the old dancing area, signifying a stripper pole was once installed. They put in some more booths and tried to push a menu, but eventually, it went belly-up. Before the banks could foreclose a second time, John stepped in and made the purchase, which ended up changing his life. From the stories you’d heard, you could not gauge if it was for better or for worse. John gutted the whole place and painted over the abhorrent neon colors, placed an old jukebox in the corner and refinished the interior. He named it Foxhole, and seemed to strike gold despite the building causing nothing but shit for previous owners. With a small menu and cheap food, he’d been milking the success for over thirty years.

Success meant little when it equated to making only enough money to keep the doors open, though.

Employed at the Foxhole was four female waitresses who were older than the building itself, five line cooks (three who had a criminal record), two busboys, and four young women who waitressed the overnights (including you). John worked nearly 24/7, and his wife sat in the office and yelled at him all day. They capitalized off employing older women who had nowhere else to go, struggling students, and ex-convicts and addicts. That way, they could offer employment to the desperate and still pay them much less than anyone else. Plus, shared tips were a great selling point. Besides, how else would you find staff for the only 24-hour diner in the area?

You took the Thursday-Sunday overnights with a girl named Katie, while the other young waitresses took the rest of the nights. The older waitresses split the days, and the line cooks worked according to a similar schedule. Vinny and Dylan almost always worked with you, and a part of you was grateful for it. Although they had their flaws, you had grown to enjoy their company, and could honestly say that they were the only real friends you’d made since moving to the city.

“You gonna go home and write your silly little poems?” Vinny asked, his Brooklyn accent nearly grating as he hoisted himself up on the counter. As he waited for a response, he gave you a smirk. You rolled your eyes, dunking your hands into the steaming water in the industrial sinks. It was nearing 5, which meant you only had an hour left to go.

“Yeah, all about me.” Dylan cut in, leaning against the door of the walk-in freezer.

“Don’t flatter yourself, sweetheart.” You could only manage a half-smile as you spoke, the thought of writing nearly tearing your heart in two.

“What’s wrong, dollface?” Vincent asked, picking up on your withdrawal. “You better still be writing. That’s the whole reason you came here. That’s your ticket out of here.” His lips turned down into a frown.

“I… I am, yeah.” You nodded, drying your hands on your apron. You didn’t have the heart to look him in the eyes, nor could you admit that writing was the last thing you wanted to do. Inspiration had run dry, and now you were stuck wondering if this really was the end of the road, or if your mother was right and you would come home with your tail between your legs. For the last year and a half, you wrote about everything; the way the trees looked in the sunlight, the skyscrapers, the way the birds chirped, and even the cracks in the sidewalk. You found inspiration in your own sadness and fear, and your own happiness when it came along (even if it was rare). You wrote about failed relationships and lost friendships, and most of all, you wrote about the broken kinship between you and the woman who gave birth to you.

Writing was your safe space, but now that the motivation had passed, you were left feeling unsecure and lost. You feared that you had written every single thing that your brain could come up with, and that the desire would never return. Since the decline began, you’d been desperately searching for something to give you that spark back. You sat at the grocery store for hours, overlooking the produce, brightly coloured yet blemished. You looked between the cracks in the city stone, finding moss rooted and peeking out from the concrete. You looked at the sprouts of weeds in the sidewalk, and the crying babies and laughing children as they passed you on the street.

You searched everywhere for just a hint of an idea, but you were left with nothing. The feeling was gutting, and you feared that you did not know how to live without your pen pressed to paper.

You’d heard stories of writers block, and lately, even found yourself reading articles about it, but you had come to one, horrible realization; you had never experienced it before, and you were unsure if it was truly just a bout of writers block, or if it was a permanent, more serious issue. After twenty three years, you had never felt this way, and you were beginning to believe that it was just the way life was, now. You went home after work, sleeping for hours instead of your usual routine of writing until your eyes forced themselves shut. You couldn’t look at your laptop, and your journal was a stranger.

You came to New York to write a book, but you feared that you were now stuck in New York with nothing but a wasted dream and crushed hope.

“I’m definitely no palaeontologist, but I think you might be lying.” Vinny raised an eyebrow, pointing a finger at you.

“P-palaeontologist?” You asked, stifling a laugh. “Do you by any chance mean… a psychologist?”

“Oh, fuck off with all your fancy words.” He snipped, getting defensive. For a moment, you could see the vein in his forehead pop out again in frustration. “Clearly you know what I fuckin’ meant. You know I didn’t graduate.”

“No, no, I think you have me misunderstood. I’m actually quite impressed you know that word.” You assured him.

“Yeah, but I don’t really know what it means.” He calmed down, laughing at his own stupidity.

“That’s okay, darlin’.” You reached out, giving him a pat on the shoulder. “I guess I am lying.” You shrugged, looking towards the floor. “I haven’t really been writing much at all, lately.”

“Why not?” Dylan joined, immersed in the conversation now that the laughter died down.

“I don’t know,” you sigh “guess I just haven’t had much inspiration. Hard to write something meaningful when I know nobody is ever going to read it… or fucking care about it.” You grumbled.

“Listen, I know we can’t read very well, but I’m sure the two of us could piece it together.” Dylan gave Vinny a pat on the shoulder, smiling over at him. Vincent nodded in agreement.

“Yeah, we care, sweetheart. Don’t we count?”

“Of course you do.” You chuckle, finding your cheeks heat with a blush. “It’s just… weird, right now. I usually want to write about everything, no matter what. Emotions, memories, places I’ve visited, but now I don’t feel like anything is worth writing about. I don’t feel like it’s interesting enough.” You tried to explain it. “Feels like I’m just putting words on a paper, and nothing more. Think maybe I’ve been in my head a little too much. Sad and angry, and all of that… fuck, I don’t know.” You groan, running a hand through your hair.

“Why don’t you write about that, then?” Vincent offered. You looked up at him for a moment, contemplating his words. “If you’re feeling all of that stuff, then maybe it’ll mean something more.”

“Yeah,” Dylan agreed. “Go home tonight and write about not wanting to write. Maybe it’ll help you figure your shit out.” You looked between the two, giving a soft smile. After a few moments, you gave a slow nod.

“Yeah, maybe I will. Think you guys might finally be right for once.” You teased, trying to keep the conversation light. Vincent’s face lit up with a grin, happy that you thought it was a good idea.

“What can I say? I’m more than just a pretty face.”

April 3rd, 2022

You stood, top half leaned out the back door of the building as a cigarette smoldered in your hand. The night was darker than usual, and the city was much quieter, even for a Sunday. You took a long inhale of smoke, puffing your cheeks out and pursing your lips as you blew it outside in the direction of the dumpsters. As you did so, you felt a hand on your lower back as someone reached to open the door a little more. Vincent leaned his head out beside you, just over your shoulder as he gave you a cheeky smile and raised an eyebrow. Without any words exchanged, you rolled your eyes but brought the cigarette to his lips. His eyes fluttered closed as he took a drag, waiting a moment before he exhaled through his nose. His hand remained on the small of your back, the gentle touch sending a shiver down your spine.

“You can use your words, you know.” You tried to sound stern, but there was a smile on your face as you continued holding the cigarette to his lips.

“Why should I? You already know what I want, sweetheart.” He shot back, taking another haul.

“I do,” you chuckled. “For some reason, I don’t think it’s a cigarette, though.” His grip on you tightened for a moment as he shot you a sideways glance.

“What do you think I want then, Miss know it all?”

“An excuse to talk to me?” You raised an eyebrow, offering the idea. He stayed silent for a moment, but eventually gave a slow nod. A smile began to break out on his lips, knowing he’d been caught.

“So what? You have a problem with that, sugar?” His body was closer to you than it had been in a long time, and you wondered if he was taking his shot while Dylan was preoccupied with the freezer inventory.

“No,” you whispered, shaking your head. “Unless I should have a problem?”

“Nope,” he popped the p, shaking his head. His head was still turned to face you, his lips unbearably close to your own. He watched as your gaze flickered down towards them, but he didn’t move any further. “Goin’ to the Pony after this, if you’re interested?”

“Are you actually, or is it just an excuse for me to let you sleep at my place?” You questioned. The Pony was a bar just around the corner from your apartment complex, and it was in just as poor shape as the Foxhole. The drinks were strong and cheap, but it didn’t have much else to offer (except for smoking inside, which was a rare thing to stumble upon). There were a few old slot machines in the back, and they played blackjack in the main room on Tuesday’s.

It was mostly occupied by gangbangers who were looking for a new client to sell to, and 70 year old men who chose drinking over starting a family. Vincent went quite often, but you feared that it was for one of two reasons; he was still caught up in his old habits, or he was trying to find an excuse to wiggle his way back into your life. He lived on the other side of town, and once he had a few beers into him, the drunk calling started, and you were never one to let him drink and drive. He knew this well, and he used it to his advantage.

There had been many nights where he came knocking on your door, or when you stumbled out into the darkness to find him drunk, leaning against his car with a grin but no intent to drive. His brown eyes would sparkle in the moonlight, and his soft lips would invite you in. He wouldn’t have to speak a word to get you to open your arms, inviting him in for a hug before you inevitably invited him upstairs. He spent many nights on your couch, but a few in your bed. As much as you wanted to scold him for pushing his luck, you knew you were the only one to blame; you invited him in every time, and you woke in the morning with a sense of freedom and happiness, like you’d just broken free from the chains you had placed so tightly around your own wrists.

You wanted him, and somehow even after convincing yourself that he was bad for you, you never felt a shred of regret for what you did with him. He wasn’t all that bad, but you knew that distance was your best option; he did not seem to outgrow the bad habits you had tried so hard to keep yourself away from. That did not make him a bad person, nor did it make him any less important to you, but you knew that if you wanted to keep yourself on the right path, a relationship with him was out of the question.

“If I wanted to come over, I would ask, and you’d say yes.” The cockiness radiated from him, and you hated that it only seemed to entice you further.

“Vincent…” you warned, giving him a sad stare.

“Oh, would you cut that shit, y/n?” He snapped, the withdrawal seeming to sting him. “You make it seem like I’m a monster.”

“That’s not… that’s not what I meant, and you know that.” You felt the fire burning in your chest, but you managed to swallow it back.

That was another reason to stay away from Vincent; he always seemed to bring out the worst of your emotions at the drop of a dime.

“Then what do you mean, doll? ‘Cause I don’t seem to be understanding.”

“Fine, Vin. You want me so bad, get clean.” You snapped, just the thought of it irritating you. “I’m not going through rehab all over again ‘cause you want to fuck me.” The words seemed to hurt him, but you were unsure of the reason. Part of you wanted to believe it was because he was appalled that you would ever think that he would let you backslide, but the more logical part of you knew it was because he hated your rejection. He had a taste of the sweetness you had to offer, and he couldn’t stand the idea of never having it again, but it came between you and his lifestyle, you knew what the priority was. “The Pony’s a shithole anyway. Wouldn’t want to waste my morning there.”

He looked like he wanted to fight, but instead his lips turned into a tight frown as he gave a curt nod of his head. “Once an addict, always an addict, right?” He said, moving back from you completely.

“The fuck is that supposed to mean?” You rolled your eyes, turning to face him.

“It means,” he said, narrowing his gaze at you. “That’s all you’ll ever fuckin’ see me as.” You swallowed the sour taste in your mouth, scowling at him as his chest heaved with his hurt. Vincent’s biggest flaw was not the addictions, nor his history with the law, but how every emotion he felt always seemed to dissolve into anger, and his ability to turn every conversation into a fight. “At least getting high never makes me feel the same way you do.” With that, he turned on his heel, storming off to join Dylan in the freezer. You tried to hide the look of hurt on your face as you tossed the cigarette butt in the bucket, slamming the door with enough force to shake the walls. You threw your lighter down next to the pack of smokes sitting on the metal shelving unit, walking back out into the main area to keep cleaning.

When you walked out the swinging half-door, the other waitress, Katie, leaned against the counter while scrolling her phone. She looked up at you just for long enough to give you an expression of distaste, almost biting her tongue hard enough to hold back a snide comment.

“You planning on working tonight, or are you just going to make the whole place smell like cigarettes?”

“Yeah, ‘cause you sure look like you’re fucking hard at work.” You grumbled, kicking the rolling mop bucket out from behind the counter. The dirty mop water sloshed from the sides, spilling over onto the floor and inevitably pissing you off even further.

“You have another fight with your boyfriend?” She smirked, the sneer in her tone making your skin crawl.

“Do you ever take a night off from being insufferable, or is that a permanent kind of thing?” You grabbed the blue metal handle, ringing the head of the mop out before swinging it over the side. It landed on the tile floor with a squelch, and you wasted no time in cleaning up the mess you made. She didn’t respond to your jab, instead making a move to restock the jam holders at all of the tables. You worked hard scrubbing the grime from the floor while she took her time making sure the single-serve condiments were organized. Every so often, you shot a piercing glare at the back of her head, wondering what it would be like if you threw the whole mop and bucket at her.

Katie was undoubtedly the worst part of working at the Foxhole, and you considered it a victory when she called in sick for her shifts. It was a regular occurrence, and since you were hired, you’d heard that it only became more common. Your distaste for being around each other was shared, and you knew hers stemmed from your ability to get along with Vincent and Dylan. Or, perhaps, their ability to get along with you.

From the beginning, it had been clear that you were not the only one who’d fallen victim to Vincent’s charm, yet you seemed to be the only victor when it came to his heart.

When you first arrived, Katie did not seem all that miserable. She was timid, but smiled at you and taught you the ropes. You would have to be blind to miss the nervous stutters and blushing cheeks when she was around Vincent, and it made you think the two of them had something beyond what it looked on the surface. You quickly learned that was not the case, and her schoolgirl crush resulted from a lazy hookup in his car after a long night shift, and after that, his interest in her greatly declined. When you both walked in the front door of the Fox one day, standing a little too closely with matching hickeys on your neck, her smiles became scarce and her desire to get to know you fled.

You did not know the history between the two when you first hooked up with Vincent, nor did you know much of anything else. It did not take long for her to do whatever she could to make you miserable, starting with explaining Vincent’s criminal record and (required by parole guidelines) his AA/NA meeting combination. Instead of jumping the gun and shutting him out, you approached him with the new found information looking for an answer, and after some heavy avoidance, he admitted to all of it. It was a long night shift with many conflicting emotions, but you eventually came to the conclusion that you had to stay away for your own sake, despite already falling for him beyond anything you’d felt before.

Even after you ended things, Vincent and you remained close friends, and every so often, broke the boundaries you had set in place. Katie still hated you, despite your efforts to apologize and make amends, and Vincent seemed like he struggled to comprehend the fact the two of you could not be together. It was a shitshow, yet it was oddly comforting. You weren’t sure if you could handle it if something were to suddenly change. Even when your misery got the best of you, you knew that Katie would always hate you and her snide remarks would keep you on your toes, that Vincent would always trip over himself to flatter you (which would eventually lead to a fight), and Dylan would never know the true extent of the situation and serve as comedic relief.

As you finished mopping the corner tiles, relieved that most of the dirt was lifted from the floor, something light struck you in the back of the head. You furrowed your eyebrows, letting out a small huff as you turned in the direction it was thrown from, first looking at the floor to find a balled up piece of receipt paper. Then, you saw Vincent looking at you, a playful smile on his face, but regret in his eyes. You placed the mop back in the bucket, using the handle to wheel it along with you as you walked towards the back. Vincent’s eyes followed you as you moved towards him, but he didn’t speak. When you joined him in the kitchen, wheeling the bucket towards the mop closet, he followed close behind.

“You have something to say?” You grumbled, opening the closet door as you flipped the bucket upside down on top of the grate covering the drain. You were still upset, and he could see that. His words, like always, had a huge impact on you. You wished he would think before he spoke rather than speaking out of anger and trying to apologize ten minutes after the fact. For someone who claimed he cared, he wasn’t very good at showing it.

“Sorry, sweetheart.” He rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly, looking down at his feet. “Shouldn’t have said that.” You held back a scoff as you let the closet door fall shut, not straining yourself to soften the slam. “Do you ever think that maybe, instead of turning straight to insults, you should bite your tongue for a second and fucking think about what you’re saying?” You brushed past him, grabbing the spray disinfect and a new rag. This time, he didn’t respond, which only seemed to piss you off more. “I’m not out to get you, Vincent. I’m protecting myself.”

“From what, y/n? You keep saying that, and I don’t get it.”

“I moved here to purse my dream of being an author, but I also came here to get away from the life I made for myself at home. I spent six months in rehab, and the minute they let me go, I packed my stuff and I ran. I thought that once I got here, I could start over.” You paused for a moment, spraying down the metal countertops. You took a long breath before speaking again. “I like you, but I don’t like that lifestyle, Vin. I’ve already fucked up too many times, and I’m scared that if I do it again, there’s no going back. Besides, I can’t pay for another detox at the hospital.” You chuckled at the thought, knowing that the seven days of torture was not worth the thousands of dollars, even with insurance coverage (which the Foxhole definitely did not provide).

“Okay,” he gave a slow nod, looking across the kitchen to gather his thoughts. “So… if I get clean, you say you’ll give me a shot?”

“Sure, yeah.” You forced out the words, the pained look on your face clear. In a perfect world, that’s how it would be, but you knew that he’d never stick to the promise. You couldn’t force him sober, and he didn’t really want to recover. Even if he did, you weren’t sure if you could trust him enough to believe he would stick with it. The conversation went the same way every time, and clearly no progress was made, hence why you were sitting in front of him explaining the same things for the millionth time. You could not allow yourself to get your hopes up, and you could not trust him while knowing that making a promise to stay sober for any person other than yourself is a terrible idea.

“I think… do you think that I don’t care?” You stopped for a moment, your whole body freezing as you wiped the lemony-smelling cleaner from the countertop.

“What?” You asked, looking back over your shoulder at him. His brown eyes looked sad beneath the tough exterior he’d built up. His cheeks were red, irritated from the cold of the freezer. He was only a couple inches taller than you, but in the moment of high emotion, It felt like he was towering over you. For once, anger did not seem present in his face.

“I know… I’m not the best at the whole emotions thing, and I say shit I don’t mean, but I care if you’re sober too, doll. I mean, your last detox was… it was hell. I don’t want you to go through that again.” You swallowed hard at the thought of the relapse, and the thought of his concern.

“You just hated working without me.” You forced a smile, trying to lighten the mood. When focusing on your own addictions, you began to panic. The fact that he knew that part of you so well scared the shit out of you, but also made you feel like he should understand why you were setting the boundaries. There were many things you didn’t understand about Vincent, the biggest one being his long list of red flags, yet his huge heart that cared about everyone so deeply. You knew that it was not entirely his fault; he had no guidance growing up, nor did he have anyone to help him correct his mistakes, but that did not change the fact that he was a 22 year old man that did not know how to hold himself accountable for anything.

Vincent was many things; a son born into a family who did not care if he lived or died, a child who was never loved the way a child should be, and a hurt little kid who grew into a man that was angry, lost, and trying to bargain with his crushing disappointment over his own failures. He struggled with the law, but more than anything, he struggled with his own demons. He had an addiction he could not face up to and overcome, and monsters in the closet that all looked like his father with a belt in his hand. He had a criminal record which stopped him from pursuing the things he once dreamed of, and was destined to be stuck working at the Foxhole until he could either clean himself up, or he died.

He was vindictive, sly, arrogant, and naive. He was raised by drug dealers who taught him all of the wrong morals, and who always made it a point to show anger before any other emotion. He was taught how to evade the law, and how to use fists instead of words. He picked himself up off the ground every time he fell, and grew a nasty amount of independence. He relied on nobody but himself, and would not let anyone take that away from him. He did not know how to trust, nor did he know how to love, but god did he want to. He felt like he needed to, especially when his eyes landed on you.

Despite his struggles, he was not a bad person. He cared deeply for the people that were important to him, and he would die for them on any given day. He was funny, and he was goofy, and he was great company. He was easy to fall in love with, but that was the danger. Although all of those things were true, down to the core, what he said earlier was correct; he was an addict, and worse than that, an active addict. Nothing was more important than a fix, and it turned him into the worst version of himself. You were no stranger to the evils of substance, but now that you were sober and intent to stay that way, you could finally see the monsters it created. His irritability and his lack of control over his emotions was staggering, and his inability to understand the harm he was putting on to others was catastrophic. He was selfish, and so much so that it constantly hurt others in the crossfire.

You could not judge him too harshly, because you knew all too well that it would take little for you to become that person again, too.

Even though you saw him for all of his flaws, you saw him as a human being, too. You saw him as the charming man who only had to smile in order to make your stomach fill with butterflies. You knew him as the boy who would drive you around as needed, or would lend you his car if he needed to be elsewhere. You saw the man who showed up at your front door with a wrench and a smile when your pipes burst in the kitchen sink and your landlord did not care enough to fix it. He was your friend, and he was someone you cared deeply about. His addiction was not who he was, but rather what made him be so hard to digest sometimes. You knew that if he managed to get clean and stay that way, he could be that person all of the time.

Unfortunately, you did not have the courage nor the ability to help him get there, and the thought of that alone nearly killed you.

Helping him was all you wanted to do, but you knew better than anyone that the only person who could help Vincent was himself.

“Don’t look so sad, sweetheart.” He said, reaching out and laying a gentle hand on your arm. You looked down as his fingers connected with your skin, the touch sending jolts of electricity through your whole body. You caught his eye, your lips turned down into a frown. You wished so bad for it to be easy, but after twenty three years, you knew that this lifetime was never meant to be kind to you.

Before you could speak, you heard the familiar chime of the bell above the door. You looked between Vincent and the empty dining room. As if she knew, Katie peeked her head back into the kitchen, giving you a look and a raised eyebrow.

“They’re in your section.” You could hear the distaste in her voice. Unlike usual, you didn’t have a witty comment or a sarcastic response to shoot back at her.

“You… you can have it. Take the tip, too. Don’t care.” You muttered. “I’ll finish cleaning.” For a second, you thought you saw a shred of humanity in her eyes when she caught sight of your pained expression. Without any further words, she turned and left the two of you alone again. Before Vincent could continue your earlier conversation, Dylan pushed open the door of the freezer and stepped out, shuddering at the sudden rush of warmth on his skin. The tip of his nose was burning red and his teeth were chattering together.

“Cold enough for you, dumbass?” Vincent asked, baffled and Dylan’s refusal to wear anything other than a t-shirt while he did inventory.

“Keeps me awake.” He said, doing a couple small jumps in his spot to get the blood rushing through him again.

“No, makes you look stupid.” You corrected, wiping at the counter again. “Is that grill on? We’ve got a customer.” You nodded towards the blackstone grill that looked awfully cool. No billows of black smoke were filtering into the air, telling you they definitely turned it off in anticipation of having no more customers for the night. Dylan rolled his eyes, but flicked on the heat to the max, hoping to get it hot before Katie brought back the order.

“Who the fuck goes out to eat at,” he paused, looking at his watch “two in the morning on a Sunday?”

“Obviously them, and enough people that John decided to keep us open 24 hours.” You sighed, knowing you would have to clean the dining room all over again.

“Okay, miss know it all.” Dylan put on a mocking smile as he walked to the window to grab the order slip. Once you deemed the kitchen clean enough, you sat atop one of the counters you’d just scrubbed clean. Vincent seemed to be keeping his distance, now. You weren’t sure if it was because you had hurt his feelings, or he was too afraid to show his emotions around Dylan. Katie hung out by the window, using the soda machine just underneath to pour the customers their drinks. “You write about not wanting to write, yet?” Dylan asked, throwing a veggie burger on the grill.

“No, not really.” You chuckled, looking down at your hands. “I mean, I did, but it was terrible.”

“I’m sure it wasn’t that bad, doll.” Vincent said, furrowing his eyebrows.

“Yeah, no, it definitely was.” You gave a slow nod. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me. Feels like I can’t write anything anymore.” You sighed. “I’m trying to find inspiration in anything, but it all just seems… bleak.”

“It’ll come, always does.” Dylan assured you, flipping the food with the thin metal spatula.

“Yeah,” you noded, trying to believe it. You ran your hands over the hem of your apron, pondering your lack of a muse, when suddenly it seemed like the universe was laughing at you.

No, it wasn’t the universe laughing; it was something far more beautiful and melodic than something that was normally so sinister.

Your head snapped up and your heart pounded against your chest. The sound was so powerful that it seemed to shake the whole building, making the rotten foundation quiver and threaten to give way. More than powerful, it was breathtaking, and you were desperate to know where it was coming from. You looked out the window, peeking into the dining room to see what the commotion was, and why it was so striking that it made your heart skip a beat. Your eyes soon landed on the corner booth, taken by the only two customers in the entire store. Sat in the very corner, shoulder pressed against the window that onlooked the road dimly lit by street lamps, was a man who was certainly the most beautiful you had ever seen.

The smile was still lingering on his lips and the ghost of his laugh hung thick in the air. His hair, long and curly, hung down over his broad shoulders to frame his beautiful crafted face. A tattered band shirt with the sleeves cut off and a worn out logo magnified his strong arms. His jawline was sharp, angling down into a soft chin, and although large, his nose was stunning. His eyes, even from far away, managed to make your stomach flutter with curiosity.

Whoever he was, he had turned your entire world upside down in an instant. The warm embrace of his presence was more profound than anything you had ever felt before, and as you sat staring at him, you were aching to know him. His beauty was blinding, and his laugh seemed to strike more inspiration in your heart than you even thought was possible.

It was in that moment that you realized a muse was not something you could search for, but rather something that finds you when the time is right.

After weeks of feeling defeated, wondering if your entire life had lead to nothing but disappointment, or spending hours in bars and coffee shops trying to find inspiration yet met with nothing, it only took a split second for your hands to beg to be wrapped around a pen. You needed your notebook, or your laptop, because the sight of his face prompted enough emotion for you to write entire novels about the feeling.

Dylan served the two plates in the window, and you watched as Katie walked it to the boy and his company. Whatever his friend said prompted another laugh that blossomed straight from his chest, echoing off the walls and making home in your heart. His friend seemed loud, definitely more talkative than the curly haired boy. He was facing away from you, his long brown hair falling down his back. You did not even truly care what he looked like, because you were certain he would pale in comparison to the boy who already managed to steal your heart. You sat, completely immersed in the sight with no shame about your staring. You hung on to every small detail and miniscule expression, hoping to sear it into your memory for the rest of time. Every time a laugh fell from his lips, butterflied erupted in your stomach.

He did not notice you, but god did you notice him, and so much so that it was hard to see anything else.

When you finally broke from the trance and looked back into the kitchen, Dylan and Vincent’s eyes were both burning into you. Dylan was smirking, like he already knew what was running through your head without you having to say a word. Vincent, on the other hand, was definitely not even close to smiling. His jaw was hard set, the vein in his forehead protruding slightly as he clenched his teeth together. He knew exactly what you were thinking, and it absolutely gutted him. Your cheeks tinged red as if it were the cherry on top of an already catastrophic disaster, and you wanted the floor to open up and swallow you whole. Instead of speaking, Vincent grabbed the pack of cigarettes the three of you shared and walked out the back door, making sure to slam it for extra salt in the wound.

You swallowed hard, looking back at Dylan with a flicker of anxiety in your eyes. He shrugged it off, clearly not understanding the extent of the situation and leaned against the counter beside you.

“So, are you gonna go talk to him?” He asked, giving you a goofy smile as he gazed out at the man in question. You looked back towards the dining room too, your eyes shining with wonder at the two unnamed men. You have a slow shake of your head, knowing that you would never, but wishing that you would.

April 4th, 2022

You woke with a start, your head pounding as the sun shined brightly through your large panel windows. You shifted in your position, immediately wincing from the aches and pains that ravished your body. You blinked a few times, trying to focus your eyes as you took in your surroundings. You were on your living room floor, head propped up against the couch with your journal still laying atop of you. You must have fallen asleep writing, as your pen was still clutched tightly in your hand.

You quickly located the source of the disturbance, seeing your phone ringing loudly and irritatingly beside you. You picked it up, focusing your eyes on the screen to see who could be calling. When you saw John’s name on the screen, you felt your stomach drop for a moment. You swiped across the screen, accepting the call as you hit the speaker button.

“Hello?”

“Hey, y/n.” He said, almost sounding pained to be calling you.

“What’s up, John?” You asked, stretching your limbs out to rid yourself of the pain lingering in your joints. Sleeping on the floor was definitely a bad call, even if it was only for a few hours.

“I hate to ask this, but could you come in and cover the lunch rush? I know you worked overnight last night, but Linda had to leave; her husband fell and she had to take him to the emergency room.” Linda was one of the older ladies who worked the mornings. You quite liked her, even if you did think she smelled like the basement of an old Catholic Church. “I’ll pay you time and a half.” He offered, hoping to bribe you with the extra pay.

“Yeah, that’s no problem.” You would have agreed anyway, but the offering was not something you were willing to refuse. “Give me about thirty minutes and I’ll be down.”

“Thank you, darlin’. You’re a lifesaver.” You could hear his relief through the phone.

“Love you too, John.” You chuckled, ending the call and making a move to stand. You quickly ran to the bathroom, jumping in the shower and washing away the night shift that was still lingering on your skin. You washed your hair and took an extra minute to condition it and sit under the warm water, then rinsed off and jumped out. You blow dried your hair and styled it slightly, dusting on some light makeup. You always made sure to look nice for a busy serving shift, because it made the older men much more generous with their tips.

You ran to your bedroom, pulling out a pair of black leggings and an old Zeppelin shirt that once belonged to your brother. One thing you liked about the Fox was that the dress code was nonexistent. You could show up in your pajamas and John would just be relieved that you showed up at all. You stuffed your purse full of the necessities and grabbed your phone from the couch as you passed by. You locked the door as you made your way into the hallway, throwing your keys in your bag and slinging it over your shoulder. As you walked down the stairs of the creaky old apartment building, the sun already began to hurt your eyes before you even reached the door. You pushed open the front door and took a long breath of air, the coldness filling your lungs and making your chest ache for a moment. Spring was just around the corner, but winter still seemed like it was trying to hang on.

As you slipped your headphones in your ears and hit shuffle on your playlist, your eyes noticed something familiar across the street. You furrowed your eyebrows, your lips turning into a frown as you recognized the rusted out body of the 80’s model car. As you walked a little closer, you noticed the silhouette of Vincent, sleeping soundly in the driver's seat. You approached the vehicle, raising your fist and rapping it against the glass with force. It only took a second for him to shoot awake, looking around to try and figure out where he was. With a defensive stance, his head whipped towards the window. As always, he looked ready for a fight, but when his eyes landed on you, his expression softened. As you pulled your jacket closer to your body, he rolled the window down.

“What are you doing sleeping in your car, Vin?” You asked, clearly displeased with his actions. “You know what type of people hang out around here.”

“Drank too much last night,” he grumbled, rubbing his face in his hands as he squinted at the sunlight. “Knew it was best not to drive.”

“You could have called.”

“Thought you didn’t like it when I did that, doll?” He cleared his throat, the rasp of cigarettes still heavy in his tone.

“I…” you paused, shifting your weight between your legs. “I'd rather you be safe.”

“I’m safe, don’t worry sweetheart.” He chuckled, his cockiness peeking through. Vincent loved framing himself as unafraid of anything, but it simply was not true. He thought he was invincible, even if you knew he was just a man. “What are you doing, anyway?”

“John called me in, something about Linda’s husband falling. She had to leave.” You explained.

“That guys always fucking falling. Should get him one of those little stair elevators, you know? Like in the commercials?” You laughed at his idea, nodding in agreement.

“They probably would if they weren’t poor.” You reminded him.

“Yeah, aren’t we all?” He leaned his head against the headrest, squeezing his eyes shut as he tried to keep the hangover at bay. “You want a drive over?”

“Sure, if you’re headed that way.” You agreed, walking around to jump in the passenger seat. He started the car, the old engine turning over a few times before eventually sputtering into a slow start. The interior immediately began to smell like gasoline, but you ignored it. It was one of the most charming quirks about the vehicle.

“You sleep last night? It’s awfully early to be going back in.” He noted, looking down at his watch. The radio system in his car no longer worked, including the digital clock (it read the wrong time when it did work anyway, so it did not really matter).

“A little, fell asleep on the floor of all fucking places.” You chuckled, pulling your jacket closer to your body again. He rolled the window up, noticing your small shiver. “I’m only going in for a few hours, so it doesn’t matter much anyway.” He did not respond to this, instead pulling the car around and driving out onto the highway. The rattle of the engine filled the stale air, and you looked out the window as he drove.

“You’re going to miss NA.” He stated, glancing over at you for only a second. “You didn’t go last week, either.”

“I know, I know.” You sighed. “I’ll catch the Wednesday meeting instead.”

“You promise?” He pushed, not willing to let it go. You bit your tongue, knowing he was the last person in the world who should be scolding you about missing your meetings.

“Yeah. Are you going today, or do you want to come with me on Wednesday?”

“I’ll come with you.” He said without hesitation. You were the only thing that made the meetings bearable for him. You did notice he was slightly withdrawn, and he did not even attempt to reach over and put his hand on your thigh.

When you turned your head to look at him, you finally noticed the details you managed to overlooked before. His eyes had dark circles underneath, and the whites were bloodshot. His pupils were blown, nearly engulfing his irises, and if you squinted hard enough, you could see the red ring of blood lining his nostril. He was still coming down from the high the night before, and the thought almost made you sick to the stomach. The emotion was not because he chose to do drugs, but because in the moment of seeing him like that, you could remember what it felt like so vividly that it made your head spin. Your hands went clammy and your fingers began to tremble as you bargained with yourself to just make it to the diner.

He clicked on his turn signal, cutting sharply into the parking lot and pulling up to the door so you wouldn’t have to walk through the parking lot. “Thanks, Vincent.” You choked out, still trying to distract yourself from the idea of his endeavors the night prior.

“I’ll see you Wednesday.” He said, forcing a smile. The come down had hit him hard, and you could tell his whole body felt like lead. His eyelids were heavy, and he would likely park in the empty lot next to the diner for a while to get some more sleep.

“Yeah,” you nodded, forcing him a smile, too. You jumped out of the car, pulling a half smoked cigarette from your pack to smoke before you went inside. You stood a few feet away from the door, and finished it as fast as you could. You crushed the butt beneath your old ratty converse and took two large strides to the entrance, pulling the door open and stepping inside.

The chatter in the room was immediately overwhelming, and the smell of the deep fryer hit your nose almost instantly. You rushed behind the counter and through to the kitchen, grabbing a clean apron and an order pad. You shoved the book and a pen in your front pocket, and knocked on the door of the office to grab a cash float. You heard John tell you to come in, and as you opened the door he sent you a smile. He already counted the cash and had it waiting on the desk for you, which you shoved in the second pocket.

“Thanks again, darlin’. You only have to stay for the rush.”

“Don’t mention it.” You smiled, closing the door behind you. You moved back out to the dining room after punching in a time card. John had not yet moved to an updated system, because computers were not his forte. Nobody complained, because you got paid all the same. Betty gave you a wave as she dropped off some order tickets at the window, relieved to see you there.

“Linda has the back section, and there’s a couple people who haven’t been served yet. You mind starting there?”

“No problem.” You assured her, grabbing a stack of menus to bring over with you. You stopped first at a booth with a family. They had two small kids with them who seemed to be getting impatient. The mother held the baby in her lap while the little boy sat next to his dad. You handed out the menus and took drink orders, stopping to crouch down and talk to the boy who looked to be only five.

“And how old are you, baby?” You asked, giving him a warm smile as he played with his tiny model car on the table.

“Four and three quarters!” He grinned, looking over at you.

“Three quarters?” You exclaimed, matching his excitement. “That means your birthday is coming up soon?” He gave an eager nod. “That also means,” you stopped and checked the front of the menu to make sure of the policy before saying the wrong thing. “You get to eat for free today!” You glanced up at the mom, sending her a gentle wink. Not often did you serve kids, because you usually only worked at night. According to the menus, kids under 6 ate for free. “So you can have all of the Dino nuggets you can eat.” The prospect seemed to excite him even more as he looked to his dad, hoping he would verify if you were telling the truth. “I’ll be back in a few to take your orders and bring your drinks.” You told the woman, who was smiling at you while bouncing the baby in her lap.

You moved on to the next table, an older couple who was sweet and already knew what they wanted without even having to look over the options. You wrote it down, knowing they were likely regulars. You assured them it wouldn’t be long before moving to the last table. You barely looked up as you made your way towards the corner booth, but when you did, your heart nearly jumped straight from your chest. The curly hair was unmistakable, and the outline of the big nose made your stomach twist with anxiety. You hated to admit that he noticed you and spoke long before your brain could formulate a word, ultimately leaving you looking like an idiot.

“Hey, mind if I have one of those?” As if it were some sick trick from the universe, his voice was just as heavenly as his laugh was the night before, and his eyes were just as soft and warm, inviting you in even further. His teeth were white and impossibly straight as he smiled at you, and it made your heart thud dramatically against your chest.

The boy that you’d spent all hours of the morning writing about was in front of you, sitting in the exact same seat he was when you had seen him for the first time.

“Y-yeah, f’course.” You forced a smile, your cheeks burning red as you handed him a menu from the dwindling stack in your hand. “You, uh… what brings you here?” You asked, internally facepalming at the stupid nature of your question. It was a diner; obviously he was there to eat.

“Uh… food?” He raised an eyebrow, smiling at you as he answered. He didn’t seem concerned about your nervousness, and if anything, it sparked an intrigue in him.

“Yeah, obviously, sorry.” You chuckled, shaking your head as you tried to straighten your thoughts. “I mean, you were here late last night, too. I know the food’s not that good, so it has to be something else bringing you here.” You flashed a real smile, your wit seeming to find its way back to you.

“Oh, yeah.” He laughed, nodding. “I’m not from here, actually. My friend and I are traveling. We booked an Airbnb for a few months, so it gives us some time to explore New York. Our flight came in late, and this was the closest spot last night…. And this morning.” He explained.

“The truth comes out,” you chuckled, cocking your head to the side. “Where you from?”

“Michigan.” He replied, trying to read over the menu, but his attention seemed to only want to be on you. “What about you? You definitely don’t have the accent like the rest of the city does.”

“Utah,” you grinned, surprised he picked up on it.

“So how the hell did you end up here?” He smirked, seemingly very interested in the conversation and uncaring that you were working amidst a lunch rush.

“Long story, sweetheart.” You laughed, brushing it off. He didn’t really want to know, and you didn’t want to bore him.

“I’ve got all the time in the world.” He shrugged, motioning to the empty both. You pondered his words for a moment, biting the inside of your lip. He was completely enamouring, and you barely even knew him. From the twenty seconds of conversation, you felt compelled to keep talking to him, wanting to know everything you could.

“Why don’t I take your order, and if you still want to know, we can make that happen.” You offered. He thought about it for a moment, finally seeming to realize you were working. He was so enthralled in your face and your words that the whole world around him seemed to disappear.

“Yeah, that’s probably a better idea.” He nodded. “Any recommendations?” He asked, completely ignoring the menu in his hand in hopes that you would keep talking.

“Breakfast or lunch?”

“Breakfast.” He confirmed.

“Omelet is good, vegetarian or not. Can never fuck up one of those.” You explained, smiling down at him.

“Sure, one of those, however you like it.” He said, his brown eyes lingering over your face. “And a coffee, please.”

“Sure thing.” You gave a soft smile, reaching down to pick up the menu again. “I’ll be back.”

“Can’t wait.” He shot back, keeping his eyes glued to you as you walked away. As you went to drop off the order tickets and collect the drinks for your tables, your cheeks were burning and your chest was filled with curious excitement. You didn’t know him, but you wanted to, and it was almost hard to believe that he seemed to want to know you, too.

You did not want to get your hopes up, because men had always let you down, even if they had ample amounts of promise. Then again, he seemed different than anyone you’d ever spoken to before. He didn’t seem creepy, nor did his eyes travel anywhere other than your face. He was friendly, soft spoken, and kind. He didn’t think your anxiety was strange, and he didn’t even mention it in efforts to keep you comfortable. You didn’t know him at all, but he seemed better than anyone you’d ever laid eyes on, looks and personality-wise.

You never know unless you try, and try was the only thing you knew how to do. You were determined to know him, and only then you could truly judge his character. Even if he turned out to be an asshole or disappointing in some way, he would at least be nice to look at in the meantime.

You dropped off drinks at your other two tables, then doubled back to brew his coffee. You tapped your foot against the floor in anticipation, hoping it would speed up the process. When the coffee maker sputtered the last pathetic spurt of liquid, it let out a tired groan as the button and lights clicked off. You poured a mug and grabbed a milk and cream dish. You carefully walked it over to his booth, setting it down in front of him with a sigh of relief. You were known as the coffee spiller amongst the staff, and you finally seemed to deliver one successfully.

“Thank you,” he smiled up at you, the sight nearly taking your breath away. “I’m Danny, by the way.”

“Danny…” you pondered, the corners of your lips tugging onwards. “I like it. I’m y/n.”

“Pretty name for a pretty girl.” He smirked, tearing open a sugar packet and dumping it into the steaming cup. Your cheeks dusted red again, your entire body heating at the compliment. “So you said you were here last night, but you definitely weren’t the one who served me. She seemed a bit…” he trailed off, trying to find the proper words.

“Bitchy?” You offered, raising an eyebrow. He let out a laugh, so similar to the one you heard last night. It nearly made you weak in the knees.

“Sure, yeah.” He nodded. “That’s not how I would word it, but that’s probably the best way to say it.”

“I shouldn’t be so mean,” you sympathized with the girl, even if she wasn’t standing there to hear it. “She’s not the worst person in the world, but she is hard to get along with sometimes.”

“Yeah, I can see that. She was giving Sam dirty looks the whole time.” He chuckled at the memory. “I get it, though. Sam’s loud, and he’s a lot to take in. I’m sure you guys weren’t expecting that at two in the morning.”

“We’re usually a bit busier at night, but last night was super slow. Think she was just doing it because technically you were sitting in my area, and I was busy.”

“Busy, but still concerned with who was sitting out here?” He questioned. You prayed your cheeks would stop rushing with blood as you tried to think of a proper response.

“I’m nosy, what can I say?” You shrugged.

“I must have left an impact, cause you recognized me today.” He pointed out, taking another sip of coffee. You gave a slow nod, a smile pulling at your lips.

“Yeah, well, we definitely don’t get too many cute boys in here. Usually just drunkards from the old tavern and teenagers who snuck out.” You explained.

“Cute?” He pressed, liking the sound of the term. You rolled your eyes, playful but sweet.

“Yeah, yeah, get over yourself.” You gave a soft laugh.

“No, actually.” He shook his head. “I’m sure I’ll be thinking about that for a while, especially coming from someone as beautiful as you.” You smiled, biting down on the inside of your lip again. Instead of continuing the conversation, you decided to play hard to get.

“Your food shouldn’t be too much longer.” You gave a smirk, adding a little pep to your step as you turned and walked away. Again, he watched as you disappeared behind the counter, waiting for your plates to be served.

Soon enough, the meals for the family of four were served on the windowsill. You grabbed the ticket and brought them their food, letting them know to just give a holler if they needed anything else. You went back and retrieved the plates for the older couple and dropped them off to them just the same. Eventually, Danny’s meal was served and you had to stop for a moment, regaining your composure before you brought it over to him. You picked up the omelet, carting it close to your body as you walked to the corner booth, being mindful of your steps so you did not trip over anything. When you reached his table, he gave you a smile as you placed it down in front of him.

“Looks good,” he commented, happy with the recommendation.

“Definitely not a Michelin starred restaurant, but we know how to make an omelet.” You grinned.

“Seems so,” he gave a nod of approval.

“Let me know if you need anything else, sweetheart.” You said, looking over your shoulder as more customers filled up the seats in your section.

“I will for sure.” He promised. “Thank you.” You didn’t respond, but gave another smile as you walked to greet the new customers.

After a while, the buzz began to die down. People were leaving with smiles on their faces and full bellies, and the tips were flowing generously. You brought the debit machine from table to table, allowing people to pay so they could make their way home. Every time you saw a customer out, you checked to see if Danny was ready. He seemed to be taking his sweet time, but you didn’t mind at all; it saved from another person replacing him in his seat, and it gave you something pretty to look at. If you could have it your way, you’d never let him leave.

He was intriguing, and you seemed to like every exchange of words more than the last. He was someone you wanted to keep talking to, and someone you wanted to share things with. He was interested in everything you had to say, and you hung onto every word that fell from his mouth. He was the most interesting person to ever sit in the diner, in the best way possible. You wanted to ask for more, to see him again, but your fear was stopping you. Rejection terrified you, and embarrassment was not any better. Instead, you stole glances at him and hoped that he would ask first, or that he would at least come back once he decided it was time to leave.

When most of the crowd filtered out, John let you know that you could head home, and that he convinced the night waitresses to come in a little early to cover the dinner rush. You nodded, letting him know you had one more customer to see through and then you’d be on your way. He thanked you again, wasting no time returning to the office. You liked John quite a lot; he was friendly, nice, and didn’t really care much about what you did during your shift as long as the job got done. He was old, and he was tired. The diner had given him a run for his money, and he was excited to retire, but realistically he knew it would never happen. You felt bad for him, but at the same time, you were happy to know he would be running the show for the foreseeable future.

You walked over to Danny, hoping to catch another quick conversation with him. He seemed to be pleased with your decision to join him again, smiling as you advanced towards him. “Back again?” He asked once you were in earshot.

“Just couldn’t stay away,” you smirked. “You all finished?”

“Yeah, think so.” He nodded, draining the last of the coffee from his mug. “Trying to get me out of here?” He asked.

“No, but the sooner you leave, the sooner I get to go home.” You explained. He gave a slow nod, picking up on the situation, now.

“If that’s the case, I’ll get out of your hair.”

“No need to rush.” You assured him, hoping you didn’t come off as rude. You’d stay all day if it meant you got to talk to him.

“I know, I know,” he chuckled. “But Sam’s probably wondering where I am, so I probably should get back.”

“Yeah, no problem. I can grab your bill?” You offered.

“Sure,” he nodded. “Mind if I borrow your pen for a second?” You grabbed it from your pocket, handing it over to him before running to the counter to print off his receipt. You brought it back over to him, placing it face down on the table.

“Shit, do you need the debit machine?” You asked, remembering that you hadn’t asked him yet. You were too caught up in the beauty of his smiling face.

“No, cash is fine.” He promised, flipping over the bill. You mindlessly watched out the window as he pulled some money out of his wallet, leaving it on the table as he made a move to stand.

“Oh, hold on.” You stopped him, eyeing the fifty dollar bill with unease. For a second, you thought you might have charged him wrong. “I’ll get your change.”

“Don’t worry about it,” he smiled. “I’ll see you again sometime?”

“Danny, that’s way too much-“

“Ah,” he cut you off, shaking his head. “Whatever happened to the customer is always right?” He raised an eyebrow. You let out a sigh, knowing that it was best not to argue with him.

“Thank you,” you said, feeling guilty for accepting such a large gesture. The tip was nearly four times his bill total.

“No need for thanks, the service was excellent.” He assured you. “You said you work the overnights here, right?”

“Yeah, usually.” You nodded. “Thursday to Sunday.”

“I’ll have to stop by sometime.” He noted, slipping on his jacket. Your eyes lingered over the muscles of his arms shown off under the sleeves of his t-shirt. You swallowed hard, trying to push the thought away.

“Guess so,” you agreed, nodding slightly. “Have a good rest of your day.”

“You, too.” He said, his shoulder gently brushing with your own as he passed by. The contact sent a shiver down your spine, and you turned to watch as he walked out the front door, wishing that you had the courage to follow after him or ask him to stay. Instead, you saw him disappear from view, and you were left with a sinking feeling in your stomach and regret looming overhead.

You turned to the table, grabbing the cash he’d left and your copy of the receipt. He’d penciled in the tip total, but what caught your eye was a napkin laying underneath that had black pen scribbled on it. You picked it up, bringing it closer so you could read the messy handwriting. As your eyes drifted over the words, your stomach filled with butterflies and your cheeks began to ache from the smile that took hold.

It was fantastic meeting you. If you ever have the time, I’d love to hear about Utah.

Below that, he left his phone number and a series of X’s and O’s. You bit down on your lip, slipping the note in your pocket to save for later, turning away to count your tips. As you went to the register, you couldn’t help but notice the excitement filling you, and how eager you were to get home and use the number he’d left, even if it was just to tell him about Utah. For the first time in eighteen months—no, for the first time in years, your happiness was genuine and you were eager to see what the next day would bring.

TAGLIST: @imleavingyoufornewyork @itsafullmoon @bladenotblaze @jessicafg03 @dont-go-home-without-me @peaceloveunitygvf

#gvf #greta van fleet #danny wagner #danny gvf #jake kiszka #sam kiszka #jake gvf #sam gvf #josh gvf #gvf fic #daniel gvf #gvf fanfiction #gvf smut #gvf fluff #gvf angst #gvf series #danny wagner series #danny wagner angst #danny wagner fluff #danny wagner fic #danny wagner smut #danny wagner x reader #daniel wagner #greta van fleet angst #greta van fleet fluff #greta van fleet fic #greta van fleet fanfic #greta van fleet smut #builtbybrokenbells #belladonna

[murderofsomeone]

What's up Mos, its me, creature, back with another interview, this time its lemon related

What music (genres and/or specific artists) do the characters like?

Does anyone in funkytown have unique clothing/jewelry?

Who is Garrett talking to in hip hop cherry pop?

What song have you had the most fun coming up with a story for?

What was the first song you came up with a story for?

What song has been the hardest to fit into the storyline?

What arc has been the most enjoyable to write so far?

What are some LD songs you want more people to listen to?

What items are baby lem not trusted with?

What are some items unique to funkytown?

If you could physically eat lemon demon songs what ones would you eat and why?

ironically a large amount of the cast don't really listen to music/have strong opinions on it, LD himself is one of the few denizens to have specific tastes (TMBG, Oingo Boingo, Talking Heads, Faith No More, DEVO, etc etc you know the pipeline). another character with defined music taste is indie cindy who likes lo-fi (obviously), hyper pop, and other scenecore genes.

funkytown is in a constant state of returning to a lack of identity, so as of right now most culture is just taken from human culture, but it definitely gets more abstract the longer something doesn't get interfered with.

zordechai the magnificent (wizard from the view-monster promo) has a side gig on running an ice cream shop, which is loosely based on the film. garrett is aware of zordechai's true identity during the song, hence why he's there to begin with.

lifetime achievement award and completely because the animation in my head is killer.

mold en mono is the reason the ncu exists beyond a simple concept. it was the first time I stylized Neil as he is now, drew the office fruits, "baby" lemon, and lucifer (who fun fact did not used to be a fruit object head, he was a demon in similar appearance as diablo).

I definitely end up having the most issues with bonus tracks (I don't think I used hardly any from damn skippy besides the instrumentals), but those are kinda an outlier since they aren't my focus to begin with. ones I particularly struggle(d) with are: chu chu rocket (got removed entirely since it's a cover), movie night, fire motif, hazel's modus operandi, bill watterson, consumer whore, between you and me, flamingo legs, everybody loves raymond, goosebumps (entirely because I don't read goosebumps), and ancient aliens (it's on its 3rd or 4th rewrite). this does NOT mean I don't like the songs it's just hard to write for them.

dinosaurchestra was complete smooth sailing and honestly my favorite arc, it's a nice change of pace from how serious things become and have been.

oh boy oh boy, listen to these: toy food, bottom line, funkytown (obviously), mold en mono (obviously), matches and nails, pineapple, behold the future, the machine with live backing, creepy, I know your name (crappy 4 track version), and happiest shit ever (some of the links might be broken/link to the wrong somgs my apollo cheese

lemon demon is actually a horrible influence and does not care if he carries any sharp objects, in fact he encourages it. baby lemon is smart enough to not do something stupid but that doesn't make him immune to getting grounded. I think the car keys and anyone else's phone is what he's banned from having access to, but this will not stop him

like I mentioned before, funkytown has an inherent lack of it's own culture, so any unique items would probably be the god relics like the magic 8 ball and spirit phone.

the machine because mmmm sheet metal

#that took awhile to write oops #long post #letterbox to hell mos #lemon demon #something something ncu

[see-arcane]

What you said about Jonathan wanting to do good is so true. Like, he reads the letter of recommendation about how nice and good at his work he is and beams up!

Sometimes it felt like ppl thought he was itching to hurt Arthur, Jack, Quincey, and Van Helsing, which was the last thing he wanted to do. He wants to be a good person and not hurt the friends who helped him and his. He KNOWS they're right morally. That's why he doesn't protest them vowing to kill Mina. But it doesn't matter that they're moral and noble, he will cut them down before they can fulfill the promise. And he DOESN'T want to do that.

He was very distinctively silent about his silence, which may be why people interpreted him as a cold-blooded backstabber. But he'd been very unhappily avoiding them for a reason (until Mina started to improve due to Dracula fleeing her mind) because he doesn't want to hurt anyone, especially friends.

That's the added tragedy of it if it had happened! If he had had no moral qualms about killing, there'd have been nothing tragic about his struggle. Because he wants to be good, he knows his friends are good, but he also knows he'll do evil for Mina.

It all feeds into Jonathan Harker as a person who, while striving always to Do Good, does not exist in a stark black-and-white version of morality like the rest of his friends do. He places everything in his world within a hierarchy. We see that with how he reacts in the castle and his miserable game of ‘Would You Rather?’

He would rather die than join the Brides. He would rather live than be meekly torn apart by the wolves, a lamb to slaughter. He would rather risk falling to his death and those same wolves while trying to return home to Mina, proving he did not go quietly at Dracula or the Brides’ whim. 

It’s a huge horrible spread of awful choices to make, but since there are no good options, he orders his actions and thoughts by which he deems least awful.

Which is exactly what we see in the predicament with Mina becoming a vampire, her martyr demands, and the Stalwart Classic Heroes swearing to give her what they all deem a merciful euthanasia should she turn. 

And then there’s Jonathan. Incapable of nodding along and agreeing with the Stalwart Good Course. Because it’s Mina. Mina exists at the height of importance in all things for him.

I bet it’s a shock in itself when he recognizes that--he really does value her existence, no matter what she is, above good and evil and God and Hell and the lives of innocents. The lives of his friends, who are already risking so much for their sake and the sake of all the strangers Dracula might yet prey on.

If only in his heart, Jonathan has to register himself as a villain in potentia. Would he die for these men? Die beside them? Yes, of course. 

But they still exist below Mina in importance. Everything does. 

These men are his friends. New, yes, but such a blessing in his lonely life; a small thing revolving around Mina, Lucy, Mr. Hawkins and casual acquaintances he charms but never grows close enough with to earn so much as a named mention in his journal. Seward, Holmwood, Morris and Van Helsing came into his life as his first real batch of friends, a premade camaraderie already set in place. He cares about them immediately and immensely. So much so that his will is made out to them should he and Mina die (or do more than die). 

Jonathan would never hurt them...unless he had no choice.

And the fact that that choice is there, lingering in the dark places of his mind where he cannot help putting together another hierarchy of unhappy ‘Would You Rathers?’, is what makes his constant grip on the kukri as tragic as it is foreboding.

#sad about Jonathan Harker hours #jonathan harker #dracula #dracula daily

[k--havok]

soft touches, godless hands tainted love, holy grin no one can save me from my sin

Soft Touches, Godless Hands

An Adult Sci-fi/Fantasy Romance Series

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Summary: Sapphic | Enemies to Lovers | 3rd Person POV | First Draft | Series

God has turned away from His flock of angels. The Golden City has grown cold and silent. And no angel knows why, not even the Seraphim, the ones who serve His Throne directly.

As angels begin to Fall, transforming into demons, the universe is thrown into chaos. Darkness is spreading, and cracks are beginning to form in the fabric of Space-Time.

With the population of angels dwindling, the seraph, Auriel, is tasked with the job of the archangels; to protect the third dimension and the beings that dwell on the planets within it.

Auriel is sent to Earth to follow up on reports of demonic activity. But as Auriel investigates the growing chaos, they realize there is more than just demonic activity afoot.

The demons know something that Auriel, and the rest of the angels do not. But to work with demons is heresy, especially the demon known as Beelzebub, the one who has Fallen the farthest, and broke Auriel's heart millennia ago.

To righten the universe, it may take more than Auriel's prowess as a seraph. There is something evil afoot. And perhaps the demons are not the propagators.

But if that is the case, then who is?

Themes:

Grey morality, foreshadowing/mystery, eldritch horror, cosmic horror, bringing order to chaos, friends to lovers to enemies to lovers, our relationships make us who we are, figuring out who you are, LGBT+ themes, giving in to temptations, longing for more, becoming worse but whole, learning to accept yourself, true evil does not exist.

Contains:

Graphic depictions of gore, violence, torture, cannibalism, and body horror. Depictions of mental illness. Religious persecution, imagery, and abuse. Graphic sexual content. Eldritch Horror. Co-dependent relationships. Misgendering. Genocide. Religious Bashing.

Main Characters:

Auriel

| They/Them | Seraph | Protagonist |

Auriel is one of the remaining four seraphs, who reign over all other angels and only kowtow to God Himself. Auriel is a seraph of Chasity, one of the seven heavenly virtues, and has spent the longest amount of time within the Golden City compared to the other seraphs.

Auriel is known to be no-nonsense, clever, and loyal to other angels and God as well. They have a strong, unwavering faith for themself and others. They are a minimalist that does not care for appearances, material wealth, or beautiful visas. At least, before they traveled to Earth, that is. Likewise, due to staying in Heaven for the majority of their millennia alive, Auriel does not care much for the Third Dimension or material world. Although loyal to a fault to God and the rest of His angels, it is an intense loyalty that succeeds everything else, even Auriel's sense of self.

Despite their virtues, Auriel is arrogant to the point of prideful. Logical to a fault, Auriel knows that they are among the most powerful angels, and does not hesitate to use that fact to intimidate foes and remind friends and subordinates alike. Likewise, Auriel is neurotic, and struggle when things are not under their control. They value routine and predictability over spontaneity. They have little humor, and the majority of the time remain serious. Despite their outwardly calm demeanor, Auriel lives in a constant state of stress and anxiety.

As a seraph, Auriel does not have a true body of flesh and blood, taking on forms of different creatures mattering on the need at the time.

In their human form, Auriel goes by Abigail Torres. They have brown skin, long black hair, and brown eyes. Their features are plain and unremarkable with a rectangle-shaped body. They wear plain clothes in the neutral colors of brown, white, black or gray consisting of loose trousers that allow them movement and a blouse.

In their true form, Auriel is made of energy and the light of the cosmos. They do not have the same senses as material beings, but can sense other angels, demonic activity, the passage of time, as well as wrinkles and faults in the fabric of space. Their true form burns with a holy light and fire, strong enough to sear and destroy those of the Third Dimension by merely existing. In their true form, Auriel is an eldritch creature consisting of many wings and eyes which they keep tucked around themself. These eyes do not "see" as a human would; each eye is dedicated to keeping watch of different parts of the universe, Heaven, other angels, and demons. Their body is mainly quadrupedal, but they do have opposable thumbs and can still choose to be bipedal if they wish. They do not have a real face or facial features, and so it shifts constantly, twisting with their own power and their emotion. Auriel's true form is a colorful one, and alight with thousands of colors, many unseen to the human eye.

Beelzebub

| She/Her, He/Him | Demon | Antagonist/Protagonist |

Beelzebub was once one of the seven seraphim. The third to Fall after Satan and Lucifer, Beelzebub was stripped of her holy light and her angelic name. After being stripped of such things, she was left with herself. Dubbing herself "The Lord of the Flies," Beelzebub set her sights on the Third Dimension to continue the rest of her bidding.

After being stripped of her connection to God, Beelzebub was left with only himself. Although such exile may have wrought others, Beelzebub was always confident in himself. Beelzebub is also known to be smart, and is always plotting or scheming. He tends to think his plans out thoroughly, and is good at reading other angels and demons alike. Beelzebub is also opinionated, charismatic, and humorous.

After her Fall, Beelzebub found herself enjoying tinkering with different Third Dimensional machines. She also has a soft spot for insects primarily found on Earth. She enjoys collecting and breeding rare insects.

Beelzebub still has many vices that grip him. Alcohol and sex being the two primary ones. But on Earth, Beelzebub is welcome to sink into his greed of power and material objects. Beelzebub walks as a false idol among humans, hoarding wealth for himself.

To walk on Earth, Beelzebub must possess unused human bodies, as he does not have the ability to create flesh and bone from scratch. Corpses are her go-to. However, demonic magic is not gentle or patient. And so it twists the appearance of whatever body Beelzebub tries to possess, and her true nature almost always shines through. Although Beelzebub can hide these changes from most humans, some of the more small, subtle shifts are noticeable to those perceptive enough.

Oftentimes, Beelzebub's human forms sport two curved horns, pointed ears, claw-like hands, fangs, and ashy or pale skin. Insects, especially flies, tend to follow him. Despite possessing corpses, Beelzebub usually does not smell. Beelzebub oftentimes also has insect wings sprouting from her back; usually that of a fly.

Links:

| #stgh | #Auriel | #Beelzebub |

Tag List:

If you want updates for this WIP, please let me know and I will add you to the tag list!

#WIP intro #writeblr #writeblr community #monster romance #angel/demon #fantasy #sff #sci fi fantasy #sci fi #soft touches godless hands #stgh

[makingspiritualityreal]

Why Women struggle with Dharmic Energies more than Men

Female and Male energies are naturally polarized, both between people and inside every human being. Women traditionally are perceived to be of the Maya, creating and sustaining the illusions and delights of the material world, but also providing constant spiritual tests to Men, by being an illusion he is supposed to transcend and overcome through courage and refining his wisdom and character.

Planets that traditionally are linked to such spiritual tests, and thus are more masculine are Sun, Jupiter, Mars and Ketu. They represent effort, nobility and courage for the principle of character growth, not for any external merit.

Planets that supply all the power for the Feminine to perform its Kama art are Saturn, Rahu, Venus and Mercury. They represent physical refinement, material progress and supplying wisdom tools for enjoyment, deception and enhancing the illusion of Maya. They contribute to finesse of one’s craft and perfecting one’s external form.

Men that are strong in Kama energy struggle with spiritual growth as they may be obsessed with securing material wealth and make bad choices out of neglect of their spirituality. Thus, their masculinity and root power is negatively impacted as they fall prey and contribute to the illusion of Maya. They become vampiric out of weakness, as they are oriented towards their own gain, not sustaining the feminine. As a result, the feminine doesn't sustain them in return, which closes the cycle. The way out for these men is spiritual, creative practices that allow them to connect with the Feminine.

Women who are strong in Dharma are very powerful, but they struggle a lot. They have to carry heavier burdens than women who simply enjoy and create Maya, because they have to simultaneously exist in their feminine energy and overcome the tough spiritual tests. They may neglect matters of traditional female attractiveness and their average feminine function, simply because they’re overburdened. They may also struggle with the traditional Venusian female function which is receiving appreciation as being an object of worship. They are also not given passes to make mistakes or deceive on purpose like women traditionally do. Their satisfaction and being accepted in the world is lowered as a result, or if it does come, it's not easy. The way out for these women is spiritual worship, letting God pour masculine energy into them, as through meditation, solitude and spiritual practice they feel they burden eased.

Remember, that these examples apply to extreme situations, when a chart is very heavily polarized, and they are also meant to be contrasting to present the idea in a clearer form. Most human beings are an amalgamate of both polarities, forming a perfect blend that serves the best interest of this incarnation.

#astrology #vedic astrology #jyotish #vedic astro observations #vedic astro notes

[the-belle-siblings]

(Ooc) btw S. V. Left a long message for Terra.

Ooc because this is actually serious stuff to talk about:

Pride wasn't the only thing involved in those situations. It was the will of the individual to act. It cannot all be attributed to something as simple as pride. I didn't even take the comment of being called gay as an insult I was simply explaining that it isn't quite a compliment either. Especially how it's typically used in a derogatory way most times. (It obviously wasn't in your situation but the ask I was given sorta made it out that I had taken it as insult. I did not, Terra was upset that she was told her plans all fail not that she was called gay. I thought it was a point that should be mentioned anyways.)

Being queer is tough, it's full of challenges. It's the power of the individual to realize "Hey, I am actually your equal and your not gonna treat me like crap." That's what gets things done, it's more spite and will then actual pride. That's my point.

Being queer is being beaten down and holding onto the most simple things because we are powerful and spiteful and alive, not prideful. We group around each other, spit on our wounds and stand up even though we're outnumbered, because we know that we don't deserve to be treated as lesser. Pride suggests that we deserve to be put onto a pedestal which isn't at all the case.

Everything we've accomplished is queer spite, queer sweat, queer tears, queer blood, queer love, queer community. We aren't prideful gods above all creation we are simple human beings raising banners with our blood for the sake of life. We are survivors of our every day existence. It is a constant battle and yet recently we have been deceived by our foes and told that the war is over.

It is not over. It has simply just begun.

We still continue to lose our rights because they aren't protected by our government. And we don't fight back! Why? Because "you already have pride month" or "it was worse back in my day." We are actively being gaslit! We hardly have any control over our lives and we're being told "grow up you liberal snowflake."

You can be proud of who you are and not change a damn thing about the world around you. However if you love who you and your community are, you will likely feel spiteful towards those who threaten you. Love is more powerful than pride.

If you love your people you're going to help them. That's where everything comes from. It comes from love and spite. "I hate that you hurt the thing I love so I'll take care of it and show it off!" That's us. It's all about the kindness in our hearts and the motivation for change. Love and Spite. In other words, passion.

Queer Passion > Gay Pride

Pride can only get you so far but with passion, you move forwards no matter what. Because you want that change. You need that change. This whole damn world needs to change.

Oppression is prideful. They view themselves as above others for the reasons they find in a delusional man's novel. They view themselves as above others as a desperate cling to power. They are prideful, selfish, idiotic, and greedy.

That's why I believe in passion over pride.

Though Pride month does sound a bit better than Passion month I must admit.

I'm saying this as queer person who struggles with their gender identity and sexuality. I've been called slurs and misgendered and deadnamed. When it comes to myself I get the adrenaline rush and I drop it. However if I hear it about my brother or one of my friends I'm legit ready to lay someone out.

I have legitimately almost fought someone for calling my brother a slur. That isn't pride! That's love for my family and friends and my community! That's spite and rage towards my oppressors! Me shouting as I'm shaking in anger and fear isn't my pride, it is my individual passion to help those I care about!

We are brave passionate individuals and we need to step up and do something about the way our world is. Boycott products run by homophobic people, spread awareness posts, start protests in the streets, give speeches, run for office, ANYTHING OTHER THAN SITTING AROUND DOING NOTHING!!!

Sorry for the very long rant though I'm just very passionate about this kind of topic.

#ooc #asks #queer rights #queer passion #gay pride #rant #our world is crap we gotta do smth

[slutcoded-mandogirl]

some thoughts on this episode + s3 so far (tbb and rebels spoilers):

we fucking lost fireball, i'm so gdamn sad 😭😭😭 we had him for almost an entire year and now he's dead, i'm so fucking unwell

OMEGA AND HER TOOTHPICK. SHE LOVES HER LITTLEBIG BROTHER SO MUCH, I WANT TO SCREAM (that used to be hunter, it used to be hunter she looked at like that and now it's crosshair, and i can't help wondering if that makes hunter hurt as much as i think it might)

does anyone else think that one of the clone assassins is cody. everyone's so concerned it's tech (to the point i've started calling every clone x "tech", i don't even like that theory yet here we are), but what if it's cody. huh?????????????

WHO ELSE IS CONCERNED ABOUT OMEGA. bc when she was on tantiss, yes she was clearly depressed, but she was managing to keep her head up for crosshair, for emerie even, because she was so hopeful and so determined. and now she's not even eating. she's constantly shrouded in shadow. someone please, for the love of god, get this girl on some anti-depressants

wolffe rex gregor wolffe rex gregor wolffe rex gregor, we had the entire fucking seelos squad together in the same place for a half a second, oh my god the end is near (do u ever just. realize that this is the beginning of the end. and it kills you inside. because yeah, those 3 make it out, but not even gregor makes it out alive in the end. we still keep losing clones. it doesn't stop with rots or tcw, it doesn't stop with tbb, it doesn't even stop in rebels. we just. keep. losing them.)

why the fuck do the writers not give a shit about echo. huh??? the writing for him has been LAZY since fucking last season. they sent him away halfway through, and yes it makes sense for his character, but at the same time you're trying to tell me that omega was taken and he ditched the batch? that omega was returned to them alive and he didn't cry upon seeing her?? WHY ARE HIS EMOTIONS SO MUTED. WHY DO THEY KEEP SENDING HIM AWAY. WHY CAN'T HE BE ON THE SCREEN FOR MORE THAN 2 SECONDS AT A TIME, WHAT IS THE DEAL

because i would get it if they showed that maybe he's got some ptsd, maybe he's struggling with showing his feelings bc of the stress and the fear and the constant fighting and losing brothers. y'know, like a show is supposed to imo. but they're not doing that???

the lazy ass writing with hunter this episode is driving me insane. someone else said it too, but why in the fuck did crosshair react to the clone assassin faster than fucking hunter. hunter exists to be a tracking god, like nothing and no one can escape him bc he's just that good. he's a gdamn commando with a major in tracking and hunting, HIS NAME IS HUNTER FOR FUCK'S SAKE, AND YOU'RE TELLING ME HE COULDN'T PICK UP ON CLONE X TRACKING THEM BEFORE FUCKING BATCHER OR CROSSHAIR???????

lazy ass writing is what that is

ugh

also, can we talk about clone commando hilo in wolffe's lil imperial squad?? FINALLY. FOR THE FIRST TIME IN WHAT, LIKE 12? 20 YEARS? WE FINALLY HAVE A CLONE WITH A VAGUELY POLYNESIAN NAME (it's not even a māori name, it's a hawaiian name, but i will take the scraps i can get because i literally never never ever expected something like that outside of my own headcanons, thanks for literally nothing disney). my 2 seconds of research tell me that hilo means "to twist" in ʻōlelo, do with that what you will~

#tbb spoilers #the bad batch #tbb s3 #tbb s3 spoilers #the bad batch spoilers #omega #crosshair #gregor #echo #hunter #commando hilo #commander wolffe #commander cody #captain rex #tbb fireball

[macbethz]

my constant thought since the specials is whether there exists anywhere in fiction any concepts like the heart of the tardis/metacrisis/doctordonna stuff but like. 'good'. i wish dw wasn't bad but otoh....if it was good would it be good........

there are several pieces of media including doctor who related stuff (t*rchwood) that i enjoy solely for their potential despite the fact that they are bad or mid but the main show (with a few exceptions) is not one of them. I genuinely think doctor who is good both as a central part of TV history and like. structurally as a story. SHE DOES STRUGGLE SOMETIMES I CANNOT LIE. THERE HAVE BEEN SOME BUMPS. To me that is part of her quirkiness tho like doctor who's ability to be both the most evocative tragedy you've ever seen in your life and simultaneously ridiculous sci fi nonsense is central to its appeal. you'll have to kill me before i get mad at the masters lightning hands or the levitating black triangle. she's like my horse in a horse girl movie. you just dont understand her like i do <3

BUT ANYWAY yeah metacrisis/doctordonna/heart of the tardis/eldritch time lord nonsense have not been explored to their full potential i agree! That's one of my personal favorite corners of the DW universe and part of why I engage with it so much. I particularly just enjoy the fucked up implications of essentially merging with the soul of your eldritch god best friend until you don't know where one of you ends and the other begins. Love to see that actually explored by DW someday -_-

If that kind of weirdness interests you though I think you might enjoy some of the DW EU, like the eighth doctor audios or faction paradox! In terms of other media, I consume a crazy amount of sci fi so it really depends what exactly you're looking for! I am legally obligated to plug Blindsight which is my favorite book of all time and similarly investigates identity and the nature of consciousness through the lens of aliens; this book actually changed how I look at my life and I recommend it to everyone. The Enderverse also explores similar identity blurring/psychic weird aliens/etc in its later books. Parasyte the Maxim is a slightly different beast thematically but I still recommend it anyway because 1) its VERY good and 2) also features bodysharing w aliens/what it means to be human. but again it really depends what part of that stuff appeals to you and i loveee giving recs

this got long but i like talking abt doctor who sorry. i also want to see more time lord weirdness

#warlock wartalks #ALSO i dont want to say too much bc its still very much in the works but the comic im working on is very much inspired by like. #concepts i wanted to see more of in DW including weird time and identity shit