#in terms of how long it took for me to write it

[torturedtraveler]

dear xx univeristy application office,

Listen, I know I've been rejected and this personal statement is not going to mean anything. But I feel like writing it, as a reflection of the past few months.

With what happened in middle school, I got diagnosed with depression and anxiety and transferred schools. I started dating a friend but broke up shortly after. One day he jumped from our school building and passed away (he had bipolar), it felt like a slap across my face and from then on, I gave up on myself.

I stopped showing up to class consistently and socializing. Until one day in Form 6, I realized, I didn't understand any of the things my teachers were saying in class and I would have my IB exams in less than a year. I couldn't catch up, I couldn't do it. Again, I was impulsive and have always been so I decided to just quit IB and start A-Levels. Fast forward a few months, I found out that I still couldn't do it, because of my mental health, I couldn't pull through, and in the midst of it, my grandpa passed away. These all piled up on me again and I had to quit, again. I took one A-Level and IELTS and decided to apply for associate degree programs. I chose translation originally because I am fluent in both English and Chinese and I have always wanted to do something related to languages. However, something shifted in me one day, I applied to the same colleges but instead, in Psychology.

I went through what I would call "hell" in those 5-6 years in secondary, I struggled every day with mental health, with depression, with anxiety, and I wanted to do something in the future that could help kids like me. In fact, XX College gave me a conditional offer but unfortunately, my academic qualifications did not meet their requirements (probably because I didn't graduate from a secondary school) just like how I didn't meet your requirements and am not what you wanted. Fortunately, my current College accepted me for my qualifications and there I started my tertiary education.

The school year started off great and strong. I was attending classes every day, socializing with my classmates, handing in assignments, all these things I NEVER managed to do consistently in high school.

My family and friends were shocked about the transformation. I was actually working hard in school.

Hey, I know a 3.26 GPA might have not been the best and you were probably expecting something higher, but that wasn't what mattered, what mattered was, I changed. I started taking my academics seriously, even through hard days, when I felt tired and depressed (occasionally), I showed up to class and did my work, and I made friends, which again, was shocking considering I developed social anxiety after I was bullied in high school for my ex-boyfriends' suicide.

However, my anxiety got worse near the end of the first semester and I had to postpone my final requirements, nonetheless, I finished them at the start of semester B.

I don't know what went wrong from there, but it was obvious that my mental health was getting bad again because I wasn't showing up to class and I wasn't paying attention in class. Though I was still handing in assignments and working hard on them, I wasn't showing up to class consistently. I only acknowledged the decline of my mental health at the start of March, when I started isolating myself again and stopped talking to my mom, who has always been my best friend. Fast forward to my second mid-term test, I thought I would feel less pressured after finishing it, but nope, it only went downhill from there. I didn't show up to class for 2 consecutive weeks. My mom was asking me if I was okay, and my friends were asking me why I wasn't showing up to class. I repeatedly reassured them I was fine, I just needed some time off for myself, but in reality, I was only trying to reassure myself that I was fine because I refused to admit that I was having a relapse. I didn't want to accept it, I was doing so fine for so long, I was getting so much better, and everyone was praising me for it, what could go wrong? Well, reality sucks, and sometimes, depression creeps its way back into your life with no apparent reason.

April was when things got really bad, depression was presenting itself in physical ways. I caught a cold, and it got better after 3 days, but then I had abdominal pain, which escalated to stomachache. It was one of the worst physical pain I have ever felt in my life, I had a low fever and I could not stand up, my mom wanted to call the ambulance and get me to the hospital but I refused because I knew I had to wait to see the doctor and my pain would just worsen. I saw a doctor the next day and he informed me that it was gastroenteritis. I had to stay home for a few days because I was still in some level of pain. I was forced to put down my academics for a while. Aphthous ulcer found its way to my mouth later (and I actually still do have it at the current moment), and now I can't even have a proper meal without being in pain.

The physical symptoms weren't the worst part. Do you know that feeling of working on an assignment one day in an empty room in the school library on a Saturday afternoon, listening to jazz and making good progress, and all of a sudden you stared at a blank wall and started bawling your eyes out? That's what happened to me. I experienced that consecutively for a week. Just completely random moments in life, you were feeling fine the last second, and the next, you were crying for your dear life.

I was in the shower once and suicidal thoughts consumed my mind, I was bombarded with all the ways I could end my life, jumping off a building, hanging myself, cutting myself, etc. I felt despairful, worthless, exhausted, all the worst emotions you could possibly think of, and was just ready. Ready for me to leave because I had no worth, I wasn't showing up to class and it was reflected in my grades. I mustered up the strength to call in my mom because for a split second there I still wanted to hold on, I didn't want to give up just quite yet.

All these were happening, because I had so much pressure on my shoulders, that I imposed on myself, to get a high GPA, to get into a prestigious university in my city, to get into XX Univeristy. I didn't want to spend 2 years in community college and wanted to ascend to university as fast as I could.

I received your university's rejection yesterday, and let me tell you, yesterday was an awful day. To start with, rains flooded the streets near my school campus, even under an umbrella I was drenched, from head to bottom. I arrived on campus completely soaked, with water in my shoes. At that point, I was already depressed (bad weather could seriously affect your mood), nonetheless, I told myself "It was a bad experience, but that will not dictate your day, you still have a full day ahead of you", so I mustered a smile on my face and went straight to class. I was chatting with friends as it was the last class and we were all just doing revisions. I went to the library shortly after.

I wasn't as productive as I wanted to be because 1) I wasn't motivated and 2) Depression can really interfere with your daily life functioning, for example, doing work. I didn't get as much done as I wanted to so I decided, maybe it was time to go home.

I took the train, I bought myself dinner, I grabbed the mail, I went home. I sat down, with my dinner in front of me, and opened up the application portal on my laptop.

The word "unsuccessful" was under my application status and into my eyes.

I kid you not, I felt like my life had ended right there. Everything that I had worked so hard for, all the pressure I had imposed on myself to get a high GPA, to get into a prestigious university, and the high hopes that I had, all faded in one single moment.

I called my mom screaming and crying, shouting into the phone about how miserable I was, I was in so much pain. I couldn't think straight and my mom reassured me that she was on her way home. She arrived, grabbed a chair, and sat next to me.

Essentially our conversation went on for about 45 minutes, and I remember distinctly, one of the things she said was, "So? That's it?". It was a wake-up call for me.

All this time, the amount of pressure I've put on myself, the sleepless nights I've had to experience, the physical symptoms, the mental symptoms, etc. All because of one number that I ignorantly thought would dictate my future. I lost sight of what I originally did this for. In working towards getting into university to get a degree where I could help people, I ironically forgot to help myself. I lost sight of what was important in the current moment, my priority is not yet to help others struggling with mental health, it's me, I'm struggling with my mental health, I am my priority. I neglected my mental health and what I truly needed, it wasn't grades, it was self-love. Caring for myself, listening to my needs, attending to myself, and acknowledging that I was struggling.

It's okay to relapse. It's okay to know that you need help. It's okay that you're depressed again even if you thought you didn't have depression anymore. It's okay that it's near finals season but you're mentally struggling, maybe you need to postpone again, and that's okay. Do you know why? Because we're humans, and it's okay to not be okay.

All these years of struggling, I haven't done much with my life and I desperately wanted to prove to myself and everyone else, that for once, I could do something, I am capable of something. I wanted to get into a university, a prestigious one, the top in my city, to redeem myself. Because my sister got into a good university, and my friends from high school got into good universities. I NEED to prove to people that I am not dumber than them, just because I wasted a few years in secondary school doesn't mean I am less smart than them. I can still get into university.

I am just as good. Not because of good grades or whether I am in a good university or not though. I am a good person because I have a good heart, I care for everyone around me deeply and I'm always there for them even if I'm struggling. I am a good person because I have a passion, I want to work hard to achieve my passion and help people professionally. I am a good person because I have hobbies, I have things I enjoy doing and I do my best to advance my skills, and to work hard to achieve small goals in life.

I am a good person because I haven't given up on myself yet. 6 years of depression and anxiety, and countless times standing on a ledge, wanting to jump but convincing myself not to.

Because my ultimate goal in life is to be happy, I know there will be bad days and bad experiences, some days might feel like the end of the world (just like yesterday), but some would feel like I'm floating on cloud 9. That doesn't equal a bad life. And I'm learning to accept that.

I want to be surrounded by people I love, loving them back in the same way so they know they're not alone because they were there for me when I was at my lowest. I am the happiest when I'm loving, I'm giving, and when I'm learning. Psychology is something I'm passionate about, not the GPA system. What I should do in the current moment is to learn, enjoy the process, and work hard to show my teachers, and myself, that I have done my best with what I've learned.

Thank you for your rejection. Your wake-up call. If it weren't for this, I wouldn't have realized what I was doing wrong this whole time and I probably would've stayed in that same position for a while. I'm taking it day by day now, and I'm getting better, and that's what truly matters.

My deepest gratitude for reviewing my application and considering it. Also for reading this if you have.

Thank you, I truly, deeply, appreciate it.

Warmest regards,

Ruby

24-04-24

#university #rejection #college #psychology #letters #poetry

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

WIBTA for agreeing that my friend may need to work on their confidence for the sake of keeping a job?

(🕴️👔📚 <--- just so I can find this)

Genders are irrelevant, I'm 19 and my friend "Sam" is 20. Idk if this may be relevant but for for a bit of context we finished school in the same year as each other after our A Levels (so at 17 and 18 respectively), and neither of us are/have plans to go to uni/college.

After school, I had managed to get a part time job that was fixed term up until the end of that Christmas period, and about a month or two afterwards I'd been lucky enough to land a full time job (though I've since left that and moved to my current job). During this time, one of Sam's family members had some health issues come up so they put off any job searching to be a carer for this family member and signed up to claim a carer's allowance so they could still be getting some income. After a little while, the family member's health began to improve and Sam said they were going to be looking for jobs again, though they were still a carer for the family member, and so I started offering help with things like sorting their CV/interview prep/etc, and Sam had then gotten a job similar to my first one, part time retail, though their job had been listed as a permanent position while mine had been fixed term.

However, after a couple of months (I think it was two or three months off the top of my head) Sam came to me and said that their workplace had let them go, citing that they lacked the confidence for the job. Okay, no massive biggie, Sam took it in their stride and still had the caring for their family member to fall back on while they looked for other work, so we'd each silently chalked it up to teething problems (hell, I know I had issues with my confidence when I started any of my jobs). They did get another job not too long after that, this time as a carer in a nursing home, great! Whenever we caught up on how things were going, Sam always said they enjoyed it but did occasionally mention that their line manager had commented that they seemed to need to build their confidence a bit in their role. Again, could easily have been teething problems, so I had offered a few tips that I'd picked up on from my experiences to help build their confidence.

As of writing this, Sam texted me yesterday saying that they'd been let go from this job/hadn't passed the probationary period because their confidence was still lacking in their role (may be worth noting for a bit of context here that when I then asked about it, Sam said to me that they hadn't had any 'actual' feedback about this being an issue, not sure if it's exactly relevant as that might be a separate issue though).

Given that this is the second job that Sam has lost due to not having enough confidence, I want to say something to them about working on their confidence in work, even if they go down the "fake it till you make it" route just to help them out with securing a job in future, and I don't want them to have to be stuck with references from their now-previous employers that boil down to "we had to fire them because they were unconfident" which could potentially cause quite a few issues for them when applying for new jobs.

I haven't said anything yet, as I don't want to overstep anything with Sam and come across as a pretentious ass because I just want to be able to help my friend out but I don't know if I'd be the asshole for agreeing/pointing out that they'll need to work on their confidence for the sake of future jobs, so any feedback would be much appreciated!

#aita #am i the asshole

[plush-rabbit]

Eating Out - Brothers’ Ed.

Request: Hi, I hope you’re having a good day! Could I get some eating out headcanons like you did for Beelzebub but for all the other brothers? Thank you so much!

A/N: I think most of my things turn into short stories so this will be a mix of my headcanons at how they eat/a mini story w/ no dialogue. Enjoy! (afab reader, but gn pronouns!)

-

Lucifer:

While he can be giving, and takes great pride in making you feel good, he is also one to tease. He knows your body better than anyone else will ever get to know, knows just where to touch you to give you a strained, bashful smile. Lucifer kisses so softly and wickedly, exposing all of you with just his tongue. There’s no need to rush when you’re before him, when you’re with a body heavy with lust, that even if you could go anywhere, you would choose to stay in front of him with parted legs. His tongue parts through you, reaching deep inside of you, and he’s thankful that of all his attributes that are less than human presenting, it’s his tongue, and just how much you enjoy it without having to warm up to it. He can be soft, and loving, and  make you release without begging, but then again, he wants to know just how far he can push you, just how much until you’re whining and begging for him- pleading with a raspy voice and desperation so thick on your words that it burns a hole in him. 

You’ve teased him all day long and at first it was cute- you trying to be coy and letting your hands linger too long around his neck, but then the antics grew. Your hands grab at his thigh under the table, you sent him pictures when you knew he was around Diavolo when you knew that he would always open a message from you no matter where he is. It excited him; knowing just how much you wanted him, knowing that the result would end with you bent over his knee as he worked his fingers inside of you- with your bum sore and flushed from his hand. You didn’t even try to deny punishment, grabbing his hand eagerly and following him to his study with a growing smile pulled on your lips. You smile at him behind closed doors, and it doesn’t take long to undress you when you lean close to him. His gaze is cold, and his smile is pulled taut as he pushes you on his couch. 

It’s a sight to behold to see someone such as himself on their knees. His hands are gloved and the texture is smooth on your legs. Your gaze is wide and he’s sure that you must think your punishment won’t be severe- that you might actually come out of this unscathed. But his smile is mean, and his reddened eyes predatory and filled with blood as he dips his head between your legs. There’s no need to tease you when you know what’s to come. His tongue is flat, licking a long stripe from the bottom of your sex, the tip sliding against your entrance, until it reaches at your clit, pulsing with want. You’re already aroused, dripping onto the seat without shame. He keeps your legs spread, leering over your exposed cunt, watching as it beads with your excitement and shining under the light. It’s a sight that he commits to memory, wanting to always remember just how perfect every part of your body is- something suiting both you and him.

He’s gentle at first, leading you in security. Your heavy sighs and moans fill his ears and for a moment, he forgets just how he wanted to tease you. He leaves himself there, kissing your sex so sweetly that it makes a chill run down your spine. His face is buried, breaths and tongue filled with your essence. You’re all that consumes him as he feasts upon you, his tongue tasting and slithering its way inside of you, feeling your gummy insides mold to him, clenching tightly around his tongue. Your hands are fisted in his hair, and you’re croaking out his name in a prayer, calling him and claiming just how close you are and he stops himself. He sees how your body falls and hears the pitiful want in your voice and once more, he repeats the process- teasing and kissing you so nicely, and making you want him, and just when he can feel the familiar twitch and tightening of your body, does he pull away with heavy eyes and deep breathing. 

Arousal has soaked the seat and filled his stomach. You’re shaking and trying to rub yourself against his buried face and he is much stronger than you will ever be. You’re tired, voice raspy and low, your nails having clawed on the couch, and cunt wet with slick and his spit. This is turning out far more pleasurable- seeing the frustration and anguish clear on your expression and he has a smug grin. Lucifer is taking great joy in seeing just how long he can deny you your own pleasure. It’s a sight that rivals that of your own quivering cunt that flutters around nothing. Dipping his head back down, he grins into you, and feels just how much you need him. Your cries are getting louder and finally, you’re apologizing for trying to tease him. You promise to be better and he knows that it’s a false promise but when you call his name with tears, he can’t help but give in to you and your wants. He rests his face there, not pulling away when he feels your high approach and letting it spill on him and spill onto the couch. Your body collapses, and you thank him under your breath. 

Mammon:

You are a shining light to him, and he needs you to know that. Giving to you, brings him immense joy. He eats feverishly, his mind blank, only your sounds of pleasure and the calling of his name echoed, and he doesn’t need anything else but you. His hands are on every part of you that he can hold- tight around your waist, interlaced with your hands, cupping at a breast and tweaking at your budding nipples- he just needs to touch you. It’s this primal urge in him to mark you- to rub his scent over you and let everyone know that you are his. Sex only enhances that urge- getting to feel your skin, delicate under his nails, and spilling with red when he digs them just a bit too deep, only to be kissed away. He moans and whines, letting you know that being before you is a pleasure on its own. It’s sloppy and messy, and it feels so good to know that he’s making you feel good- that you’re holding onto him and begging to kiss his lips that are touched by your arousal. 

He isn’t sure what it is when he’s with you, but there’s just something there that leaves him always wanting you. He wants you in every type of way- beside him, infatuated, clinging to him- just simply there. You’re his, and he is yours and whatever you ask of him, there’s very little chance that he would actually deny you. So, when you ask to go for a drive with just him, he’s more than happy to fulfill that request for you. His hand is on your thigh, and his eyes are on the road and every so often, he casts a glance towards you- watching as you tap your hands with the beat of the song and stare out the window. You’re in the outskirts of the town, the glow from the buildings is nothing more than just that- a blur of lights together that are dim. You give him a cheeky grin, and it takes just a little bit of flirting for both of you to move to the back of the car, limbs entangled with one another in a cramped space. Your lips are on him, and the space is tight, and you're clutching onto him, kissing at every inch of his exposed skin and he’s taking it all in, savoring the feel of your lips against his skin. 

Maybe it’s his sin, or maybe it’s you that has him so unsatisfied, so unhappy with what he is given, but he needs more, craves it and needs it like he needs air. It’s you that he needs in the back of his car, his body bent and cramped as you lay on the seat with your sex exposed to him. A chaste kiss is pressed against your thigh, followed by his lips pressed against your sex, hands on you grabbing and massaging at your thighs, feeling the plush skin soften and mold to his hands. It’s messy almost immediately, drool slipping past his pursed lips and staining your glistening cunt. His head spins, and his muscles are cramped and he just needs you before him, air be damned. He could live off of you forever, could never come up for air if it meant that you would continue to look at him with half-lidded eyes and a parted lips.

Nails pinch at your plush skin, marks appearing immediately and he can feel your body tense and jerk with every random touch. Your body is bent as he's sure you're going to feel that later, but at the moment, he cares for nothing but how you look at the moment- hair disheveled, face flushed with pleasure, his hands on you, and your eyes fixed on him. In that moment, you look better than any other prized jewel he’s ever laid eyes on. He’s suckling on your clit, swirling his tongue over the engorged bud that pulses erratically. You’re calling his name and he’s nodding along, moaning murmured words into your heat, asking what more could you want of him, what more could he do just to have you here with him in the back of his car. 

Desire burns in him, greater than any flame, greater than anything he’s ever felt before and it’s because of you. He yearns to taste you, to memorize you- all of you- till he’s sure he could find you blind. You’re kept close to him, unable to squirm away both from the tight space and his hands. He holds onto you- letting his nails rake down, lines swelling over where he touched, and burning in its wake. Hearing the way you hiss and feeling how your cunt humps at his face in a desperate attempt, has his heart racing, beating against his ribs like a panicked bird. Your arousal seeps onto his tongue and smears across his chin, and with the lewd wet, clicking sounds, it is evident that you’re close. Your hands clutch at the crown of his head, and his name is croaked past your lips, and he lifts his head to watch your eyes shut tight, your mouth parted as your other hand twists around the seatbelt. Your orgasm is sweet, filling his mouth and lingering on his tongue and as you shake and you let your body slack, he is still kissing you- letting his tongue lick at your slit, wanting to taste every bit of you that you have left for him. Mammon looks up at you with eyes that match yours and his hands are on your thighs, and he kisses softly, lets his tongue drag against your rim and lips purse around your budding clit as he feels your hands soothe over his now knotted hair.

Leviathan:

Whether its the first time or the hundredth, Leviathan can be hesitant towards sex. His nerves and anxiety gets the best of him, and it leads to every touch being shaky and hesitant, a grip that’s just a bit too tight and it’s his face that’s flushed rather than yours. However, while the beginning of giving to you can be slow and ponderous, he gets into it fairly quickly. It might be due to years of repressed and perverted thoughts, but once he has a taste of you, he’s extremely focused. Your pleasure is the things that keeps him going- keeping his face to your sex, letting his tongue unfurl inside of you and take all that he can from you. Having you so close to him fuels his pleasure- hearing such perverse sounds and knowing that he's the cause of it all, knowing that he could taste and feel all of you and that you’d want him because it’s his name that it repeated and cried into an empty room. He is anything but silent, moaning and praising, the sound of his tongue clicking and moans filling the room and matching your own cries. 

Of course you’d find him in his room, his headset on as he yells into the microphone before angrily stepping onto the ground in quick, repeated motions. You voice your concern- a hint of a playfulness that he isn’t having fun, and concern that maybe he should take a break. He doesn’t need much convincing afterwards, choosing to shut down everything until his reflection stares at him through the monitor. The bed- or futon, but he decided that futon sounded too immature- whines under his added weight. He buries his head into your stomach, eyes closed and a headache slowly beginning to form between his brows. Your hand scratches at his scalp and the soft, hypnotic motions has his mind feeling heavy, and it’s almost disgusting how this seemingly innocent moment of comfort has something beginning to ache in his trousers. Perhaps that’s the perk of being a shut-in- it doesn’t take much to get him going, especially when it’s you. 

It’s embarrassing to ask you- almost as if it’s some shameful thing- but he cups your sex with his hand and looks at you with red pooling on his cheeks and on the tip of his nose, and you don’t deny him. Desperation soaks in him as he removes your clothing, and it’s so apparent that he wants you, that he just needs you at this moment. With your sex exposed in front of him, your knees bent and your index just teasing at your clit, he goes drunk on your cunt without taking a single taste. His mind goes blank- and suddenly he’s just aware of you- you heartbeat- your heavy, slow breathing and the way that your fingers ghost over your clit and your other hand clenches at the bedsheet under you. His mouth is dry and his tongue is heavy, and he can’t form a single coherent thought that doesn’t involve you and your cunt. 

He is drunk off your arousal- pupils dilated and hands holding you to his face as if he had never touched you before. His mouth suckles on your clit, feeling the swell of it throb on his tongue and he yearns to hear your moans- to feel your back arch and legs cross over his back to keep him in place. If that’s where you want him, he’d never leave- he stays there, hands holding onto your bum and nose nuzzled to your clit as his tongue sweeps over the rim of your entrance. He can feel your twitches and your muscles tensing and he’s stuck between staying with his head resting between your thighs, or watching you, but then if he were to let go, he’d miss all of this- miss feeling so connected to you with just a single part of him.

The deepest, and most intimate part of you is exposed to Leviathan and any other time, it would have reduced him to a flustered mess, except that today it reduces him to a desperate mess that only seeks to touch you. It’s his name that you are calling. No one else’s but his and he takes that so well, moaning and nipping gently at your vulva, letting his tongue lick over the superficial wound when your cry is just a bit sharper than usual. He just can’t help it. He needs to hear you cry- he needs this. His mind is swirling, spiraling in depravity as he stretches his tongue as far as it can go- licking at your cervix and pulling back and strands of spit connect from his mouth to your lips and you look so filthy and all he can think about is stretching your further. His hands meet your sex, slick coating his fingertips and it’s his meal wasted. With his face pressed so close to you, he can feel it all. He feels your high, feels your walls tighten around his tongue, the way that your clit pulses and the sweet essence that fills his tongue with ambrosia and honey. He hums in content, pushing his face deeper into sex, parting only when you call his name. He wants more- needs more. He needs all of you at this very moment, needs to show you just how far his love goes. 

Satan:

It’s no surprise that Satan would excel at whatever it is he does. He’s precise, knowing exactly where to touch you, knowing where to kiss and which part of you is most sensitive. He wants to see every part of you- wants to know that he’s the one that  is causing such obscene sounds to sing past your lips. Even if you’ve already reached your peak, he holds you there, tongue and mouth still fixated on your sex. He doesn’t dare to let go; doesn’t dare to kiss away from you, to leave your sex alone and quivering without anything there to keep you warm. You’re there till he lets you go, until he’s gotten his full, until he’s sure that you would never forget him and that way that he makes you feel; that even if you’re alone, you’d remember him and that way that he felt. 

While it can be argued that he has his own library stuffed into his room, it still isn’t rare for either of you to be caught in the library- either one of you focused on a book or simply just wanting to be read outloud to. It is rare, however, for the two of you to be undisturbed, the house empty of all inhabitants, only to leave the two of you alone. You sit on a chaise lounge, snuggled at the corner with your phone in hand- your partner placing stacks of books on the table, and his eyes catching yours every now and again. His steps are quiet, the books neatly organized and unblemished from the years of care. You only spare him a smile when he makes his way to you, and when he’s on his knees before you, do you actually give him all of your attention. Your eyes are wide, curiosity tilting at your head that friends him of a cat, and when his name escapes your lips, does he grab at your leg and whisper a spell to give him easy access to you. His name is repeated in a familiar chastising tone, and he can only give you a mischievous grin that is placed against your knee.  

He leaves a trail of kisses from the outside of your knee, curving slowly to the inside of your thigh. His eyes are closed, and even so, he remembers where every freckle lies, craning his neck to kiss at each, running his hands and curving them around your thigh, waves of cellulite running under his palm. Meeting you sex, he kisses you, spreading your folds with his tongue and gripping you in his palms. He revels in the way that you sound- every swish and lewd squelching that runs on his tongue as he pulls you close to him. He’s humming and nuzzling his way against you, savoring every taste and spill onto his tongue. Even if he’s just begun, you’re already gripping his hair, knitting your hands and scratching his scalp. 

There is no need for him to breathe when he has you right here, when he’s so consumed by all of you. His tongue runs against you, massaging as far as it can reach, moaning and nodding along when you cry and call his name. When you tell him that you’re close, he keeps at his pace, his nose buried into your sex and heart beating against his ribs as you squirm and cry. His nails pierce into your skin, pink crescents adoring your body, your cunt pulsing with want and breaths heavy as you call for him, and only him, begging for him. He releases a hand from you to work its way between his mouth and your cunt. He enters you with ease, massaging your inners with his index and middle finger. He is insatiable, your arousal dripping onto his chin, and onto the chaise lounge, and onto the carpet. 

Your cries are louder now, and you’ve spilled onto his mouth and tongue, staining him with your orgasm. Your body shudders, shaking with the afterglow, and when he keeps kissing at your sex, you try to pull away, muttering out how you’re still too sensitive and the ever caring lover that he is, he continues to kiss you. He hooks a leg and holds you steady, preventing you from squirming away and he only pulls away from you to watch as your cunt trembles and flutters around nothing, leaking with syrupy strands, a pulsing want burning him from the inside. Your lips are puffed and his own must match yours, and your sweet voice calls out to him, a whimper to kiss you and perhaps you want him to actually kiss you, but he could never get enough of you and your taste. He wants to make you feel good in the way that you do for him. He holds you close, savoring every taste and twitch that you give to him. His mouth never stops, and he is passionate and slow, eating in a way that makes you twist and cry. 

Asmodeus:

Every kiss of his burns- a warmth that washes over you and lulls you closer to sin, a familiar warmth that starts as you heart quickens it’s pace, heat rushing to the shell of your ears, to the pit of your stomach and aching at your sex. Asmodeus is a giving lover- making sure to take his time, never wanting to rush such a sweet meal, always pulling you closer to his mouth, kissing at every inch of exposed skin. Your skin is dotted in his marks, a breath of love whispered as he moves to kiss you once more. Never wanting to rush, he takes his time until you’re whining, breathless with a hint of desperation laced into your words to finally touch you.

You lay with him, your lips puffed and gloss smeared on his lips and stained into the clothes. It’s a rare moment where neither of you are bothered by an outside force, simply stuck in a room together where you now are stuck to him, hands trailing over his body and holding onto his thigh, close to where his own cock has already begun to ache. Your breaths are heavy, and despite that, you can only pull away for a moment before you’re back to him. Every kiss kindles the flame inside of him, and the taste of your lips is intoxicating, spinning his mind until his lungs are empty of air and his mind is consumed by you.

Just a simple touch to your thighs is enough to have you moan into his mouth, trailing your lips to kiss at his neck and beg just beneath his ear. He hasn’t even begun to fully touch you, and you’re already clinging to him, begging for more and he could never deny you- not when you ask so sweetly. You lay on the bed, and your clothes and his are discarded over the floor of the room. His palms sink into your soft thighs, manicured nails lightly scratching at your skin as he kisses from your collarbone, down between your breasts, to your navel and finally breathing upon your sex, letting the tip of his tongue swipe at your trembling bud. He feels how much you want him, can sense it past his own sin and sense it in the connection that he has with you. He so desperately wants you- he kisses the pulse in your core, feels the way that your feelings beat against him, and tastes you. 

Perhaps it is mean of his to tease you so much- especially when you’re writhing under him and calling his name with a croak, wanting him to really taste you, but he can’t help it. He adores the sound of your voice, the frustration and how your sex twitches every time he so much as breathes against it- against you. His lips kiss at the inside of your thighs, his tongue soothing over where he bites. Your heels dig into the comforter, and hands twist the fabric and reach for anything to just hold tightly. There’s a desperate want in him, something so primal and so him, that he needs to touch every inch of your skin, to kiss and bite until he’s satisfied. It’ll always go past his sin with you, past anything that you could ever begin to fathom and he’s leaving his mark on you, decorating you with everything that he is. Your hands run through his hair, and he can feel how warm his own body is, sweat slick against his forehead and burning his cheeks. He’s grateful that you can’t see him in this moment, and though you would find him beautiful, he needs the moment of pure lust and adoration to be just his for a moment. 

Deciding that you’ve been teased just enough, he finally meets your sex with his tongue. The tip of his muscle swirls around the pulsing bud, every beat of your want and hunger vibrates against his tongue. His mouth trails down, tongue slipping into your entrance, tasting your sweet arousal that pours out in honeyed strands and slips down his throat and warms his own desire. The tip of his nose brushes against your clit with every push and swirl of his tongue and lips, every moan that trembles past your lips pushes him deeper against you, smothered by your sex and thighs. Blood rushes to his ears and his face is sticky with your arousal, and you are shameless and inviting, calling out his name with such amour, chest heaving with every breath and moan. Asmodeus pulls away with a lazy cunning smile and wet lips, your body shaking in the afterglow, and without waiting for you to calm from your high, he returns to your sex, his index and middle finger squirming inside of your silky walls.

Beelzebub: 

Eating Out - Beelzebub Ed.

Belphegor:

Belphegor’s sin embeds itself into his whole being, it makes his whole body feel heavy as if he were carrying weights on his shoulders. Everything is such a chore to the youngest brother, and it shows in his movements. Sex isn’t always so slow, but it’s the lead up to it that makes it feel as if he’s intentionally teasing you, pushing you to the brink with every lick and feel of his touch. He’s slow, kissing at your sex with such a heaviness, his tongue swiping against your folds and face buried into your sex. It’s all so sweet and tantalizing, making your body arch and curl, hands fisted into his hair as he can feel your sex throb against his tongue. He doesn’t mean to tease you, but it isn’t as if he's sorry about the results.

It’s late and both he and you should be asleep, but he can’t help it. You couldn’t help yourself to him, kissing him and grinding your hips over his. His eyes are closed, heavy from sleep and your own lust that fills his lungs and lingers on his tongue. It would be silly of him to deny you anything, not when you’re kissing him so sweetly, not when your own taste is more alluring than sleep at the moment. You’re on your back and the covers are pushed to the side, teetering towards the edge of the bed and his hands make quick work to discard you of your clothes. You’re so warm, so soft and supple under him. His fingers sink into your thighs, into the soft mound of your stomach and without wasting a second, he dips his head between your thighs.

Slick already wets his lips, and pools on his tongue as the tip of this tongue licks a strip against your entrance. Your muscles twitch, a reflex as his tongue teases against your leaking cunt, arousal beading out in pearly strands. He lifts his head, nose grazing over your clit in a way that feels too hot and not enough, and his mouth latches on, suckling on the erect bud. Hands knit into his hair, his name mixed into moans as his cheeks hollow. He releases you with a pop, eyes half-lidded and face flushed; his erection is uncomfortable and strained in his pants, but it’s far too much work for him to actually do anything more than hump at the bed. Kisses are pressed against the inside of your thighs, close to the swell of your mound where his cheeks nules against it with every peck. Your thighs tense around his head, jerking under him and twitching with every kiss and pull until you’re trying to steer him with your hands still in his hair. 

You’re needier than before, whining and thrusting your cunt into his face, trying to find any form of friction and he’s partially to blame. He’s going so slow, kissing your sex as if it were the first time, as if he were really kissing you. It’s all wet- slick and drool stuck to his chin as you whine his name in a breathless pitch. You’re pulsing- throbbing with such a force that for a moment, he thinks you’ve been really pent up, but that thought is quickly washed away when you start muttering about how close you are. At that moment, all he can focus on is getting you there. The tip of his tongue swirls the bud, vibrations sent to your core as he moans so lightly against you. He swipes down to work his tongue inside of you, swirling around your entrance and inside of your velvety walls that twitch and leak with your arousal.

Nails drag down on your skin, and he keeps you still- as much as he can anyways. Your moans are growing, echoing against the walls and reverberating in his ears, his mind only filled with you and everything silenced by you. He keeps himself fastened between your sex, unrelenting to give up his own space, never wanting to part from you without feeling everything that you can give to him- every spasm and twitch memorized by his tongue, your taste forever embedded in his mind, and he understands what it’s meant to be hungry as he seeks your high. He commits al of you into his memory- your sounds, and the way you call his name, breathless and strained but still full of want and need. Your orgasm washes over him, spills onto his tongue and he lets out such a needy whine with his lips still kissing at your sex. A warm color spreads from your chest to your face, and you stare up at him with a lazy smile. Belphegor can feel his own smile begin to twitch into life as well. With his lips still slick with your arousal, he kisses you, undoing his pants and letting the tip of his cock slide between you.

#obey me #obey me swd #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me leviathan #obey me levi #obey me satan #obey me asmo #obey me asmodeus #obey me beel #obey me beelzebub #obey me belphegor #obey me belphie #i hope you like this!! #this one came out quicker!! #in terms of how long it took for me to write it #also!! apparently!! #there's a text limit when you use tumblr beta!! #which sucks!! #im unhappy with it!!

[feydfuckernation]

Lion I was singing Joanna from Sweeney Todd cuz I’ve been hearing the josh groban version all over tiktok and now I’m contemplating fully getting into it. Where do I start??

(insert public apology for using boomer meme templates to get the point across)

would that i had finished the deranged comic sans powerpoint 101 for sweeney todd by now i would link it here but as it is it still needs a lot of work before i'm even remotely comfortable posting it hOWEVER that doesn't mean i can't still be of some assistance

(disclaimer: i am about to throw a LOT of information at you and you are by no means obligated to try and digest it all at once please instead do so at your leisure/your level of interest instead)

sweeney todd 101 cliffnotes version for people who want to get into sweeney todd by someone who is way too invested in this show

sorry to anyone who doesn't like the office this is the only cold open that matters to me in this particular stage of life rn

so for those who aren't already familiar with sweeney todd (or have a passing familiarity with it either via sweeney todd related tiktok content or other similarly related content consumption) one of the first things i would recommend starting with is the 2007 tim burton film since it's a pretty good place to start (and also easily one of the best film adaptations of a musical imo). you can find it on hbo max or on youtube for 3.99 if you don't have and/or want to pay for an hbo max subsciption. (you can also 🏴‍☠️ it because capitalism sucks. remember to sail the seven seas* responsibly!)

johnny depp and helena bonham carter in sweeney todd (2007) dir. tim burton

now if you're interested in other productions (and/or not particularly interested in the film) there's the 2014 half concert half staged proshot starring emma thompson as mrs. lovett and christian borle as pirelli that you can find on youtube for FREE (here is a link to act one and another link to act two AND a link to the opening on it's own because it is absolutely PHENOMINAL i genuinely can't recommend it enough).

emma thompson and welsh opera singer sir byrn terfel jones in sweeney todd: the demon barber of fleet street in concert 2014

there is also the original 1982 proshot starring some of the original cast such as angela lansburry (unfortunately len cariou, the original sweeney does not reprise his role BUT george hearn does a phenominal job in the role). you can find this one on amazon for 3.99 to rent or it and a plethora of other musical proshots on BroadwayHD for 11.99/mo but unless you're interested in watching other musicals and plays on BroadwayHD i would suggest renting it on amazon or 🏴‍☠️ it for free if you know where to look (i honestly don't know what pirating musicals looks like outside of yt bootlegs and i am still very very new to actual bootleg trading so you'd have to ask someone else)

the late dame angela lansburry and george hearn in the 1982 proshot version of sweeney todd

and finally, my personal favourite, the 2023 broadway revival. unfortunately we only have five singles that have (officially) been released (which you can find here on spotify) but we also have the official ballad of sweeney todd performace from this year's tony awards AND there IS a way to watch it if you are like me and can't afford to fly to new york and see it at the lunt-fontanne theater (just dm me for the details). this is quite possibly my favourite version of this story and if great comet wasn't already an indicator that josh groban is a great fit for broadway this DEFINITELY is imo.

josh groban and annaleigh ashford in the 2023 broadway revival of sweeney todd that i am definitely very normal about

other recommendations include sideway's video essay on the music in sweeney todd, christine baranksi's version of worst pies in london (and her criminally underrated version of a little priest with kelsey grammar in a 20th anniversary concert version that i would give my left kidney to see in full), imelda staunton and michael ball's version of a little priest from a 2012 revival, patti lupone as mrs. lovett playing the tuba in the stripped down 2005 broadway revival, lin manuel miranda's sweeney todd themed hamilton parody for broadway cares featuring the funniest jonathan groff cameo i've seen in my life (and the recent ham4ham version performed by the current 2023 revival cast) and my last braincell when confronted with literally any sweeney todd related content these days.

#*it's always a good idea to use a vpn when you 🏴‍☠️ if you can #i personally recommend nord vpn because it's one of the best #but in terms of vpns that are a little more cost effective i recommend both surfshark vpn and proton vpn #the latter of which is the one my coworker uses and has a very user friendly user interface #answered #himbocampus #we are not going to talk about how long it took for me to write this post and how it's almost three pages single spaced size 11 font #what we ARE going to talk about however is how much this genuinely made my night and how much fun i had writing this #thank u so much for this kam i hope u have a wonderful night and that this is even a little bit helpful 🦁💖 #sweeney todd #sweeney todd revival

[holytrickster]

listen i dont like fëanor but i can't deny that getting so mad you literally burst into flames and crumble away into ash is kinda fucking relatable

#i was about to go “do i have to tag this for spoilers” in my own head as though the silm isnt literally older than me #tbf not as many people read it as lotr or the hobbit but still. come on brain wtf #esp since someone would have to be really weird to come on my blog specifically to complain about spoilers lmao #i do think its funny I've only now gotten around to readinf it but its taking me so long to make myself listen to it that i keep forgetting #things especially in the really long chapters #to the extent now i find myself going “oh maybe i need to write down names because of course everyone has to start with an f”. i was doing #okay and then i went a really long time without reading so now im like wait wait go back #which sucks because i usually dont have trouble getting through long books. admittedly i listen more than read lately #but still. i think it took me maybe a week to get through priory the first time? like i dont think its that im not interested i just havent #had a lot of energy to expend or to get really into things? idk i keep forgetting from finals up till now has been extra bad in terms of.. #..pain. chronic migraines gonna migraine ig. i bitch about it like i havent lived this way for years n years. but they were never as bad.. #..until i started college and now theyve been worse than ever. i hate thinking about how much time i always lose. how much time ill always #be losing. sorry how the fuck did this turn into a tangent.

[the-fabulous-51]

so sorry for the people here who wish for another fic for my 'weathers family farm' series/are wondering if I'm dead. finals may have killed my spirit but mostly my writers block is being caused by my brain being taken over by my OCs. they're not even paying rent (letting me write about them in a publishable way)

#mine #im trying to finish this one fic but its fighting me the whole damn way #it might be a while honestly #i think finals took more out of me than i realised #if i trusted my longfic skills more i would write about them but unfortunately the longest ill go is maybe 3 or 4 chapters #me and long plots dont work out very well #and for some reason the story i do have is setting itself up in my head more like a tv series?? than a fic?? #which is weird for me cause usually if i think about scenes over and over ill stop thinking about them visually #and start thinking about them in terms of how i would write the scene right? #but this one is trying to be a tv series #like ive imagined a trailer for it and everything #ive written some scenes but most of them are backstory for a side character and not like the main plot :/ #big sigh #anyways this isnt about my main OCs per se but i saw a picture the other day of the Stargazer (my beloved) #and ive been wondering how the stargazer would fit in WOC #and my brain latched onto the idea that they were the first/one of the first commercial aircraft to get a doctorate #bc my main oc storyline takes place in college #bc thats the sisyphean hell im putting myself thru so i need my characters to suffer with me #oh yeah im also trying to pack. like all my stuff. so thats also going on in the background of all this #im literally sitting on the floor rn surrounded by coat hangars after giving up trying to shove them in an ikea bag #heem heem. whimper even.

[gottagobuycheese]

Quick Life Update

Hello hello, my fellow internet urchins! I know activity here’s always extremely sporadic, and that’s not gonna change in the near or moderately distant future (unless I suddenly acquire incredible time management skills but...ha), BUT I figured since I’ve got an impromptu day off it might be worth sticking an interim update here in case I go months without a peep, so here’s what’s been happening lately:

Moved countries and continents again!

Started a new job for better or for worse lol

Found and am currently wading between at least three new(-ish) obsessions (which will hopefully surface here at some point instead of staying on the backburner indefinitely) 

Forgot how to draw :(

RE-LEARNED HOW TO DRAW

Smooched death on the cheek twice in completely unrelated events of varying degrees of stupidity*

(...Okay that’s a much smaller list than I expected, it feels like it’s been a year but I guess it’s only been a bit under two months XD)

Anyhow, expect some long overdue reblogs coming this way as well as some artwork, old and new! It will probably be irrelevant to pretty much all of y’all who are still here but if you’ve been here a while I trust you know this is part and parcel of this blog skjdhfsk

#*the first incident was objectively the more stupid and avoidable one and I'm still smad about it #but less of a ‘smooch death on the cheek’ than a ‘standing at the crosswalk and the hooded figure with the scythe across the street— #‘— winks at you just as a bus passes then disappears’ #I'M SORRY VAN YOU DESERVED A BETTER END THAN THAT #the second one I'm PRETTY sure was not my fault #but the river gods demanded a sacrifice and my brand new glasses took up the mantle in my stead #thanks a lot river gods >:/ #I only had them for two days and now the case is all alone... #but the river guide said I got Extra Cool Points for not freaking out and giving them a thumbs up while the rapids were spinning me around #so I'll take that as a win #I'm glad I wasn't the one watching though it would've been so stressful from the other side haha #anyways all that to say that if I ever learn how to WRITE again I'm definitely using that sensation it was super interesting #Cheese's personal molasses #anyways the new obsessions are sxf and orv #and also pokemon but that's more of a long-term one that comes and goes #anyways #as I'm sure you are all well aware #general current global events are Extremely Present and Stressful at All Times #so in the interest of not becoming puddle of anxiety and existential dread some of that won't be here for the next while #because while I'd like to keep up with current events both offline AND online I would also like to actually Show Up for my job #and at the moment that is taking up more mental bandwidth than expected #so for the time being this will primarily be an escape #with the odd bit of Relevant Life Stuff here and there #ANYWAYS THAT'S THAT HOPE YOU'VE ALL BEEN WELL OR WILL BE WELL #AND I'M GLAD YOU'RE STILL ALIVE

[caterpillarinacave]

You wake in the morning your mind made up, there's no point in rushing headlong into these things, you'll stick around where there are free accommodations, at least for a little while, in the meantime you can search the area more and develop a better understanding of your situation, you head to the bathroom to clean up, when you go to untangle your hair you notice the blue from before has disappeared, you pick up the brush from the store and separate out a small amount of hair and run the brush through, it turns blue, you see that the brush is still clean but if you want to brush with it you will end up with a head of colorful hair, interesting, you set aside the brush and go back to cleaning yourself up before heading out to the main place to find the others and let them know of your decision to stay for a while, the older one seems pleased, they get you some spare clothes and finish setting up your space with things to fulfill your basic needs.

Your decision to stay turns from days to weeks to months, at this point you've learned the basics of the language around you, some simple words can be read, and a lot of the mannerisms have become much more familiar, the chirps, you've come to find, are verbal punctuation marks, depending on the chirp they literally vocalize "!!!" or "?", it's pretty cool. Additionally you've developed a deeper and friendlier relationship with both of the homes occupants, the younger one becomes more amicable as you take on some of the chores around the farm, which is what you have come to understand their home is, though the crops and animals are different and the farm methods aren't what you remember from your world, in any case, you help where you can, sometimes you go into town with the others and help with the shopping or other errands, the town is friendly, the area is nice, you've noticed the seasons do change similar to how they would in your world and the autumn turns to winter and leads to spring, though the people here split their seasons into seven distinct sections and their separation of time, like years and months or even days, are confusing, so you don't pay it too much mind, you find that despite wrapping yourself in the clothes and culture of these people you continue to remain yourself, no alterations afflict you, though it has only been some time, you don't think the world changing you physically is a huge thing to worry over anymore, you still check the number of fingers and toes you have each morning anyway, better safe than sorry or at least caught unawares.

You've kept an eye out for any sign of the mentioned key or any other way home, but nothing comes up, even when you manage to ask the older person what they meant before, they admit they really only know what the person who passed through told them, in order to go back to a world when the door closed you needed a key that opened the other side of the door, the person before you had searched this world a long time for that key, but when nothing ever came of it they moved on, before that though they had stayed here which is where the older one had learned some of your language and of your situation.

It's some time in the Spring like season several months in that you are hit with a cleaning bug, the other two went into town earlier so you get to work, while you had already searched the house before for anything that might hint at how you should proceed, you never found anything and the inhabitants themselves had been more useful and you quit looking eventually, imagine your surprise then when you stumble across a journal under a bookcase written in a language you can read, you pause your cleaning immediately and as you consume the book you learn that this was left behind by the person who had come before you, the journal is dated ten years ago and has entries detailing the events of their journey here as well as long discussions on their theories and observations of it all, from the book you learn several valuable pieces of information: there are multiple doorways on this world but they all seem to lead to the same next world although not the exact same place as far as they can tell, the next world is largely unknown but from what they can tell is safe enough in that you can breathe the air, in this world there is a secret organization, or perhaps cult, that studies these doorways but the author is not particularly impressed with them for some unspecified reason, the doors close automatically and cannot be kept open by any means, no going back without the Backwards Key or more specifically the black side key unless someone else opens the door from the other side, interestingly anything that passes through the door has a chance of developing a magic of its own which the writer is confused by (they brought over a bottle that now never runs out of water and a bag that replicates whatever gets put in it, the science behind this is discussed in depth for many pages but just gets chalked up to magic), they think that the doors open to alternate universes rather than across space to other planets but they aren't sure, the plan they chose to follow was to start going forwards through the doors and hunting for one of the keys to the black side then head back and go home, you don't think the plan panned out, this journal has given you more information to work with and much to think about but ultimately still leaves you with not much in the way of choices.

This set up is peaceful, the longer you stay the more parallels you find with your own world and despite missing loved ones from your old life the stability of this new one has begun to lull you into a sense of security, going forward could mean starting over, seeking out the secret organization could spell trouble, just travelling further than this town on your own would certainly be a hassle, staying here and continuing to learn about this world offers an opportunity of safety but you definitely don't see a future in which you reach home this way, do you choose to continue living as you have been?

No

#OKAY OKAY OKAY I’m sorry I took so long to answer #Here’s the deal: I’m not just hopping back through that door #Seems like a bad idea. Cult on the other side sounds like a worse idea. #If it all comes down to “travel to next world with the current information” or “stay here forever” I might stay here forever #Hell I might stay here forever even if I could get back- but boy do I want the option #First things first: write everything down. Everything that es happensed so far #Write it twice actually if not a few more. One to leave in the hut and one to leave near the door #Write not just everything that’s happened but translations for this worlds inhabitants language how society seems to function ectect #The thing is while going through the door isn’t a great idea the leads aren’t dead here #Traveling hella far probs isn’t a great idea either. However a few things are interesting #1. The hairbrush: why is it turning my hair blue? Why does it go away? Why is it a brush from my world? #2. The walkie. There’s a downright decent chance it will never really work but I’ll try anyway. Leave it on all the time just in case #3What’s up with the berries? Do all berries in this world taste like this? Is it just ones by the door? #4. The other stuff found in the brambles- can I piece anything. About it together? Have they been dropped by other people? #So I do doubt staying here will get me a WAY home #but I might be able to determine other things. Like while I might not be able to get “home” I might now how conceptually I could #So I’m still not super sure what to do. It’s great I have the safe haven. #In terms of actual actions I’m going back to visit the door. I’ll bring a copy of what I’ve written to leave by the door incase someone- #stumbles through. I’ll try the berries by the door and ones further away (since nothing seems harmful ti me here yet I’ll assume they won’t #be poisonous. YOLO I guess.) Then try the walkie nearer to the door #it might be worth it to open the door but not go through. Since I’ve opened it twice before and only walked through once I know you can ope #it see the next world and close it. You won’t pass through unless you walk through. I wonder if I could try the walkie with the door open #or even throw a letter or some sort of communication through. See if it’s possible to hear a response or establish communication? #worth a shot because now I have free time and curiously #yes no anon #guys I got lost in a black berry bush

[flamestar126]

Dentist/teeth venting lol

#turns out i have inflamed gums and the cleaning hurts like a bitch #the dentists are always so rough stabs and leaves me bleeding near the end #told the liquid to clean my mouth was gross then proceed to lift my chair without warning me i ended up swallowing some out of surprise #did x rays and they dig into my gums so bad i literally could taste blood during #“you need to floss more” i dont know how to care of braces! the first day of getting them you guys said ok and sent me off without any info #google doesnt tell you shit as a 17 y/o then questioning me using terms ive never heard of before im not a dentist im confused dumbass ;A;; #they dropped my wire theyre supposed to put back in my mouth and couldnt find it i saw it drop under the counter and struggled to pick it u #also struggled to put a new wire on and spent over 10 min trying to put back my rubber bands #i cant open my mouth bigger than that! my mouth is small im a tiny person please stop stabbing me with those sharp tools every 5 seconds #guess who just found that tiny lost broken wire in mouth as im writing this #when they cut my wire to fit in my mouth they lost them of both sides in my mouth and i could only found one until now #gave me mismatched color bands so i have black and red im not going to open my mouth until i go back loll #took 10 min to put my bands back and struggled so hard they were pacing back n forth and cursing shit motherfuck fuck damn instead 1 min #that part was amusing no matter how long it took them they kept asking if i was okay when i felt like i should be asking them that #my venting is out of order but the first dentist was so apologetic and kind joking with me and trying to calm down when I wasn't nervous #i couldn't stop smiling at their clumsiness but 2nd dentist was rough and wanted to speedrun me it hurt #ive been there for two hours i dont care if youre slow i just want it carefully #left there shaking and bleeding #not my worst experience ngl but doesnt make me feel less shitty #the place i go do not care about me for the almost past 2 years ive been there #my anger left im just being whiny now #flame vents #dentist

[colleendoran]

Great Big Good Omens Graphic Novel Update

AKA A Visit From Bildad the Shuhite.

The past year or so has been one long visit from this guy, whereupon he smiteth my goats and burneth my crops, woe unto the woeful cartoonist.

Gaze upon the horror of Bildad the Shuhite.

You kind of have to be a Good Omens fan to get this joke, but trust me, it's hilarious.

Anyway, as a long time Good Omens novel fan, you may imagine how thrilled I was to get picked to adapt the graphic novel.

 Go me!  

This is quite a task, I have to say, especially since I was originally going to just draw (and color) it, but I ended up writing the adaptation as well. Tricky to fit a 400 page novel into a 160-ish page graphic novel, especially when so much of the humor is dependent on the language, and not necessarily on the visuals.

Not complainin', just sayin'.

Anyway, I started out the gate like a herd of turtles, because  right away I got COVID which knocked me on my butt. 

And COVID brain fog? That's a thing. I already struggle with brain fog due to autoimmune disease, and COVID made it worse.

Not complainin' just sayin'.

This set a few of the assignments on my plate back, which pushed starting Good Omens back. 

But hey, big fat lead time! No worries!

Then my computer crawled toward the grave.

My trusty MAC Pro Tower was nearly 15 years old when its sturdy heart ground to a near-halt with daily crashes. I finally got around to doing some diagnostics; some of its little brain actions were at 5% functionality. I had no reliable backups.

There are so many issues with getting a new computer when you haven't had a new computer or peripherals in nearly fifteen years and all of your software, including your Photoshop program is fifteen years old.

At the time, I was still on rural internet...which means dial-up speed.

Whatever you have for internet in the city, roll that clock back to about 2001.

That's what I had. I not only had to replace almost all of my hardware but I had to load and update all programs at dial-up speed.

Welcome to my gigabyte hell.

The entire process of replacing the equipment and programs took weeks and then I had to relearn all the software.

All of this was super expensive in terms of money and time cost.

But I was not daunted! Nosirree!

I still had a huge lead time! I can do anything! I have an iron will!

And boy, howdy, I was going to need it.

At about the same time, a big fatcat quadrillionaire client who had hired me years ago to develop a big, major transmedia project for which I was paid almost entirely in stock, went bankrupt leaving everyone holding the bag, and taking a huge chunk of my future retirement fund with it.

I wrote a very snarky almost hilarious Patreon post about it, but am not entirely in a position to speak freely because I don't want to get sued. Even though I had to go to court over it, (and I had to do that over Zoom at dial-up speed,) I'm pretty sure I'll never get anything out of this drama, and neither will anyone else involved, except millionaire dude and his buddies who all walked away with huge multi-million dollar bonuses weeks before they declared bankruptcy, all the while claiming they would not declare bankruptcy.

Even the accountant got $250,000 a month to shut down the business, while creators got nothing.

That in itself was enough drama for the year, but we were only at February by that point, and with all those months left, 2023 had a lot more to throw at me.

Fresh from my return from my Society of Illustrators show, and a lovely time at MOCCA, it was time to face practical medical issues, health updates, screening, and the like. I did my adult duty and then went back to work hoping for no news, but still had a weird feeling there would be news.

I know everyone says that, but I mean it. I had a bad feeling.

Then there was news.

I was called back for tests and more tests. This took weeks. The ubiquitous biopsy looked, even to me staring at the screen in real time, like bad news. 

It also hurt like a mofo after the anesthesia wore off. I wasn't expecting that.

Then I got the official bad news.

Cancer which runs in my family finally got me. Frankly, I was surprised I didn't get it sooner.

Stage 0, and treatment would likely be fast and complication-free. Face the peril, get it over with, and get back to work. 

I requested surgery months in the future so I could finish Good Omens first, but my doc convinced me the risk of waiting was too great. Get it done now.

"You're really healthy," my doc said. Despite an auto-immune issue which plagues me, I am way healthier than the average schmoe of late middle age. She informed me I would not even need any chemo or radiation if I took care of this now.

So I canceled my appearance at San Diego Comic Con. I did not inform the Good Omens team of my issues right away, thinking this would not interfere with my work schedule, but I did contact my agent to inform her of the issue. I also contacted a lawyer to rewrite my will and make sure the team had access to my digital files in case there were complications.

Then I got back to work, and hoped for the best.

Eff this guy.

Before I could even plant my carcass on the surgery table, I got a massive case of ocular shingles.

I didn't even know there was such a thing. 

There I was, minding my own business. I go to bed one night with a scratchy eye, and by 4 PM the next day, I was in the emergency room being told if I didn't get immediate specialist treatment, I was in big trouble.

I got transferred to another hospital and got all the scary details, with the extra horrid news that I could not possibly have cancer surgery until I was free of shingles, and if I did not follow a rather brutal treatment procedure - which meant super-painful  eye drops every half hour, twenty-four hours a day and daily hospital treatment - I could lose the eye entirely, or be blinded, or best case scenario, get permanent eye damage.

What was even funnier (yeah, hilarity) is the drops are so toxic if you don't use the medication just right, you can go blind anyway.

Hi Ho.

Ulcer is on the right. That big green blob.

I had just finished telling my cancer surgeon I did not even really care about getting cancer, was happy it was just stage zero, had no issues with scarring, wanted no reconstruction, all I cared about was my work. 

Just cut it out and get me back to work.

And now I wondered if I was going to lose my ability to work anyway.

Shingles often accompanies cancer because of the stress on the immune system, and yeah, it's not pretty. This is me looking like all heck after I started to get better.

The first couple of weeks were pretty demoralizing as I expected a straight trajectory to wellness. But it was up and down all the way. 

Some days I could not see out of either eye at all. The swelling was so bad that I had to reach around to my good eye to prop the lid open. Light sensitivity made seeing out of either eye almost impossible. Outdoors, even with sunglasses, I had to be led around by the hand.

I had an amazing doctor. I meticulously followed his instructions, and I think he was surprised I did. The treatment is really difficult, and if you don't do it just right no matter how painful it gets, you will be sorry. 

To my amazement, after about a month, my doctor informed me I had no vision loss in the eye at all. "This never happens," he said.

I'd spent a couple of weeks there trying to learn to draw in the near-dark with one eye, and in the end, I got all my sight back.

I could no longer wear contact lenses (I don't really wear them anyway, unless I'm going to the movies,) would need hard core sun protection for awhile, and the neuralgia and sun sensitivity were likely to linger. But I could get back to work.

I have never been more grateful in my life.

Neuralgia sucks, by the way, I'm still dealing with it months later.

Anyway, I decided to finally go ahead and tell the Good Omens team what was going on, especially since this was all happening around the time the Kickstarter was gearing up.

Now that I was sure I'd passed the eye peril, and my surgery for Stage 0 was going to be no big deal, I figured all was a go. I was still pretty uncomfortable and weak, and my ideal deadline was blown, but with the book not coming out for more than a year, all would be OK. I quit a bunch of jobs I had lined up to start after Good Omens, since the project was going to run far longer than I'd planned.

Everybody on the team was super-nice, and I was pretty optimistic at this time. But work was going pretty slow during, as you may imagine.

But again...lots of lead time still left, go me.

Then I finally got my surgery.

Which was not as happy an experience as I had been hoping for.

My family said the doc came out of the operating room looking like she'd been pulled backwards through a pipe, She informed them the tumor which looked tiny on the scan was "...huge and her insides are a mess."

Which was super not fun news.

Eff this guy.

The tumor was hiding behind some dense tissue and cysts. After more tests, it was determined I'd need another surgery and was going to have to get further treatments after all.

The biopsy had been really painful, but the discomfort was gone after about a week, so no biggee. The second surgery was, weirdly, not as painful as the biopsy, but the fatigue was big time.

By then, the Good Omens Kickstarter had about run its course, and the record-breaker was both gratifying and a source of immense social pressure.

I'd already turned most of my social media over to an assistant, and I'm glad I did.

But the next surgery was what really kicked me on my keister.

All in all, they took out an area the size of a baseball. It was  hard to move and wiped me out for weeks and weeks. I could not take care of myself. I'd begun losing hair by this time anyway, and finally just lopped it off since it was too heavy for me to care for myself. The cut hides the bald spots pretty well.

After about a month, I got the go-ahead to travel to my show at the San Diego Comic Con Museum (which is running until the first week of April, BTW). I was very happy I had enough energy to do it. But as soon as I got back, I had to return to treatment.

Since I live way out in the country, going into the city to various hospitals and pharmacies was a real challenge. I made more than 100 trips last year, and a drive to the compounding pharmacy which produced the specialist eye medicine I could not get anywhere else was six hours alone.

Naturally, I wasn't getting anything done during this time.

But at least my main hospital is super swank.

The oncology treatment went smoothly, until it didn't. The feels don't hit you until the end. By then I was flattened.

So flattened that I was too weak to control myself, fell over, and smashed my face into some equipment.

Nearly tore off my damn nostril.

Eff this guy.

Anyway, it was a bad year.

Here's what went right.

I have a good health insurance policy. The final tally on my health care costs ended up being about $150,000. I paid about 18% of that, including insurance. I had a high deductible and some experimental medicine insurance didn't cover. I had savings,  enough to cover the months I wasn't working, and my Patreon is also very supportive. So you didn't see me running a Gofundme or anything.

Thanks to everyone who ever bought one of my books.

No, none of that money was Good Omens Kickstarter money. I won't get most of my pay on that for months, which is just as well because it kept my taxes lower last year when I needed a break.

So, yay.

My nose is nearly healed. I opted out of plastic surgery, and it just sealed up by itself. I'll never be ready for my closeup, but who the hell cares.

I got to ring the bell.

I had a very, VERY hard time getting back to work, especially with regard to focus and concentration. My work hours dropped by over 2/3. I was so fractured and weak, time kept slipping away while I sat in the studio like a zombie. Most of the last six months were a wash.

I assumed focus issues were due (in part) to stress, so sought counseling. This seemed like a good idea at first, but when the counselor asked me to detail my issues with anxiety, I spent two weeks doing just that and getting way more anxious, which was not helpful.

After that I went EFF THIS NOISE, I want practical tools, not touchy feelies (no judgment on people who need touchy-feelies, I need a pragmatic solution and I need it now,) so tried using the body doubling focus group technique for concentration and deep work.

Within two weeks, I returned to normal work hours.

I got rural broadband, jumping me from dial up speed to 1 GB per second.

It's a miracle.

Massive doses of Vitamin D3 and K2. Yay.

The new computer works great.

The Kickstarter did so well, we got to expand the graphic novel to 200 pages. Double yay.

I'm running late, but everyone on the Good Omens team is super supportive. I don't know if I am going to make the book late or not, but if I do, well, it surely wasn't on purpose, and it won't be super late anyway. I still have months of lead time left.

I used to be something of a social media addict, but now I hardly ever even look at it, haven't been directly on some sites in over a year, and no longer miss it. It used to seem important and now doesn't.

More time for real life.

While I think the last year aged me about twenty years, I actually like me better with short hair. I'm keeping it.

OK. Rough year. 

Not complainin', just sayin'.

Back to work on The Book.

And only a day left to vote for Good Omens, Neil Gaiman, and Sandman in the Comicscene Awards. Thanks. 

#good omens graphic novel #good omens #terry pratchett #neil gaiman #dunmanifestin

[bluetimeombre]

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ And I wouldn't marry me, either.

You were Azriel's mate, but it took losing you three times for him to realise.

[this is long. i'm talking 5k words long so i've split it into two parts. anyway, azriel is the best bat boy and no i won't hear anyone out. i'm so excited to write for him and hope you enjoy. it's very angsty but that's what i love. i hope i can write more for him and maybe other characters if you like. it's been a while since i've actually read the series so if any information is wrong, do let me know. also it was my first time using the term y/n and yes, i cringed NOT PROOF READ... enjoy]

warnings: references to sexual assault and references to suicide. nothing explicit but please don't read if this is sensitive to you.

Part 2 soon…

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

The first, was the worst...

You were Rhys's half sister, the bastard daughter of his father. But when your mother had died giving birth to you, Rhysand's mother took you in and raised you with your brother and sister. You were so little and adorable that your sister loved you at once. Rhys did to, at some point of your life, you were sure he actually cared about you.

But when his mother and sister had died, his eyes shifted, he started to look at you with contempt. After all, you were only his half-sister. The worst half. He only kept you around because it's what his mother would have wanted.

And because there was no way Cassian and Azriel would ever let anything happen to you.

Besides, Rhysand knew when to use you.

Although Azriel was his spymaster, you were pretty good at staying swift-footed too. And you were frankly, very terrifying when you wanted to be.

You tread with power through the war camps, all of them looking at you as you went. All of their gazes wrecked with a predatory gaze. They either wanted to have their way with you, or kill you. Or both.

Rhys had said you could handle it, it was only supposed to be a check in. Cassian hadn't liked it, neither had Mor but it was Azriel who had almost- and for the first time- disobeyed his high lord to accompany you. But no, your brother wanted you to do this alone, so alone you would.

Just to show him you could.

'I can come with you,' Azriel had said, standing in your room as you tied your boots up. 'I won't even have to be seen.' At that, his shadows wrapped up your calf.

You smiled at them, as if they were his own pet. 'I'll manage just fine. Besides, i'm sure that's what Rhys wants, me needing a man.'

It had done nothing to calm your friend. The worry was still stuck between his brows, marring his handsome features. You'd held his cheeks, your wings hiding the two of you. His large ones (enough to swallow the both of you) over-lapped yours.

It was the last time you'd feel your wings.

The war camp wasn't as easy as you'd hoped. It was terror and horror in a place. You'd been to the court of nightmares, you'd gone to the slaughter of the spring court after they killed your family. But this, this was hell of another kind.

You had no idea how many days you'd been locked up, wrists bound in chains and hanging from the cell roof above you. Blood rolled down your arms from the force you'd tried to use to get them out. Your eye was swollen shut and your body trembled in pain.

All because they wanted to know your brothers secrets, and you wouldn't budge.

Your check was only supposed to be a day, but you were sure it had been longer. Days of endless pain and torture. Your uniform hung in rags of stripped material, your hair matted with blood and hiding your face.

You'd used the last of your energy to keep your walls up. You weren't anyone's mate, you didn't have anyone on the other end trying to feel what you felt. But should Rhys come looking (though you doubted it) you didn't want him to feel it. You didn't want anyone in your mind.

The gates opened with a sickening clash.

One of the Illyrian's knelt in front of you, his wings hiding those coming in behind you. 'Listen sweetheart. I don't want to make this any harder than it's about to get. All you have to do is tell us your brother's hide outs.'

You grit your teeth, staring down at the ground.

'So loyal, to a man who doesn't care if you live or die.'

Suddenly, your wings twitched as hands grasped them. Brute hands, the sort you wouldn't want touching any part of you.

Fear spiked in you, horror twisting your gut. 'What are you doing?'

'I told you I didn't want to get things messier, darling.'

You whipped your head from side to side, trying and failing to get a look at the assailants behind you. Your wings were being held apart, no matter how hard you tried to bat them away. You knew the sort of people they were, and what they did to girls like you.

That's when the begging started. 'No, no please. Anything. I'll do anything! Beat me, kill me, rape me, not my wings, please!'

'Anything?' the bastard asked, tongue poking out from his lips. 'Then tell me where your lord's hideouts are?'

You should betray him, you thought. He would never lose his wings for you. Perhaps it was stubbornness that kept you from, or maybe you were clinging to the last bit of love you want from him.

The bastard scoffed, 'anything, she says. Your brother has his own bitch wrapped around his finger.'

That's when they started hacking at your wings.

Your screams tore through your throat, blood spitting and dripping down your chin. Tears soon joined when they hacked away at the bone, the membrane, the flesh of it all. The three of them worked through your screams and your tears and your pain, tearing and cutting at it like it was nothing more than paper.

Not your whole life.

Let them hear you. You hoped your brother heard you, you hoped all and every court heard the pain.

Eventually, even you couldn't keep screaming. The only sound was the hacking away at your wings and the drops of blood.

'Now look at these beauties. I've got a perfect spot on my wall for these.'

They left you after that. There wasn't much more damage they could do. It already felt like they'd destroyed your life. You had never really thought about your wings, they were just part of you, as much as your wit or hair was. But they'd took it and now, you felt empty. Never would you fly with Azriel again, or use your wings to smack Cassian over the head.

Rhys, your dear brother, had took that from you.

The days blended in together after that. You were pooled in your own tears and blood, vomiting up anything they forced down your throat. No, they'd made it very clear they didn't want you dead. They just took pride in making it feel like you were.

At some point, you'd stopped reacting to the gate opening. You let them do whatever they wanted with you. Your wrists were still chained, arms still hanging up, your clothes hanging on your thin body in strips of dirt.

'No...' you heard a mumble. 'What have they done to you?'

Suddenly, the chains gave way and you lurched forward, with no strength to catch you. Luckily, you didn't have to, as strong and warm arms pulled you into his chest.

'Hey, wake up, look at me, dammit.'

Azriel.

You'd know the voice in the darkest days, in the pit of your worst nightmare you'd know.

You try to speak but your head's heavy, your lips are stone and your arms can't lift to hold onto him. You're exhausted, you're dying. The only thing you could do use all your strength to try to open your eyes.

'Please, please, look at me. You have to look at me,'

You were trying, you wanted to tell hm, snap at him, but you couldn't.

You felt Azriel shake, or maybe you were. Then, there was wet drops landing on your cheeks- you flinched.

'I'm sorry, i'm sorry. Rhys! Rhys! hurry up, please!' he was screaming. You'd never heard him scream before.

You heard the rush of feet at the cell doors, you knew it was your brother. You knew it from the presence of him, from the shuffling of feet and chocked sob. Your brother didn't cry, least of all for you.

'Her wings, oh mother, her wings,' said Azriel, his voice barley above that of a whisper.

Your wings. You didn't need reminding. They were gone, long and far gone. You were without a part of you, the very part of your soul that loved to be free. Never would you watch the stars up close or fly over everyone. Never race Cassian or make jokes with Az.

No, this would destroy you.

'y/n,' your half-brother called. 'No, y/n. Can you hear me?'

Your lips parted, mumbling. 'Hurts.'

Azriel's grip on you tightened. 'I know, we're gonna get you out of here, just hold on for me.'

You wanted to tell him you would hold on, you'd always need to hold on to him. That, no matter what he asks, you'd do it. To kill, to live, to breathe, to die.

And that's when it clicked. Amongst all the pain and the doubt. In your blood soaked clothes. In the fear you wouldn't make it, there was a tug. Weak and one-sided, but there. You knew you'd be safe with Azriel, knew you would always be with him.

Mate.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

The pain subsided to a dull ache, there and beating but not excruciating. You were warm and covered in a soft material. Nothing like the cell you'd been kept in. Your fingertips sunk into something soft- a bed. Your bed. It was familiar in its lavender scent to you and the silk wrapped around you gave you some semblance of warmth.

Your wings.

Even coming to consciousness was difficult. You were exhausted but light, without the weight of wings holding you down. You'd never realised how much you needed to feel that weight, to feel pulled down in order to be free.

Gone, all gone.

Your hand twitches around something cold, a shadow holding your hand, creeping up your side.

'You're awake, thank the couldron.'

It wasn't Azriel, master of the shadows. It wasn't your mate. Mate. The word replayed like a terrible song in your mind.

How dare the mother do this to Az. How dare he- nothing but loyal and kind- get stuck with a person made in darkness, who bled shadows, who's heart was so full of hate there wasn't room for love. They'd cursed Az, with you.

But luckily it wasn't him, it was Rhysand.

'It really happened,' you whispered, voice hurting from the screams.

He sighed. 'I'm sorry, i'm so sorry. We-we thought you weren't going to make it, you'd lost so much blood.'

In spite of the pain in your shoulders, you made a shift, turning from him as he ranted on about your condition.

'y/n... sister, please,' he said. He'd never called you sister before. He'd always been content to treat you just like you worked for him.

'Leave me alone.' you couldn't bare to look at him, couldn't bare to face him. The shadows at your hand grew heavier, as if more were piling on. You stretched your fingers away from them, trying to get them off you.

'Are you in any pain?' asked Rhys.

'Get out,' you mumbled.

The end of your bed dipped where Rhys settled, hand splayed on the covers, begging for your hand. 'y/n.'

'Get out!' you snapped, body tense and straining. You felt your wounds open up, blood wetting the bandage around you. But you didn't care. You'd happily bleed if you couldn't fly. A part of you, sick part of you wanted to be left there. It would be better than false sympathy.

Be better than your mate being disgusted.

'Get out!' you yelled again, voice tearing through an aching throat.

'I just want to help you! please, let me help you!' said Rhys, standing from your bed and walking around, trying to face you.

'I don't want your help!' you screamed. You reached for the closest thing you could, a jug of water and chucked it toward him. You aim was terrible, marred with pain and exhaustion. 'Get out!'

Though hesitant, Rhysand slowly started walking back to your door. He did it all looking at you, his hands out to show he wasn't gonna hurt you, but you didn't care. You went for the glasses next and chucked them but they landed against the door which he disappeared through.

Before it slid close you caught sight of Cassian , Mor and Azriel. All crowded, all waiting to see you.

You'd be happy if you never let them see you again.

'Can we see her?' you hear Mor ask.

'Give her time,' said Rhys.

The shadows at your hand grew heavier, darker, tighter.

'Go away!' you yelled at them. To anyone else, you probably looked crazy, screaming to darkness. But the shadows understood. They departed, slithering away and under the crack of your door where you could see the shadows of feet.

Tumbling from bed, you stumbled over and locked the door, leaning on it to and catching your breath. Your nightgown was starting to get sticky with blood all over again. When you closed your eyes, you pictured the cell, the rough hands holding you down, the chain keeping you up.

And the pain, it all washed over you. The hacking at your back, the sting of a slap. It hit you like a tone of bricks as you slid to the floor.

There was a knock, rattling the door.

'y/n,' Cassian. 'Please let us in.'

Us. You felt him on the other side. Your mate, his presence lingering. His shadows under the door, wanting to come in but keeping their distance.

He didn't know. It hadn't snapped for him, you could tell. It was one tug on your end, a chord in your heart. At least he couldn't feel what you did. At least you could shoulder it alone.

'Please.' his voice was almost your un-doing. He sounded so sad, so desperate. It hurt you just to think you were hurting him.

Tears streamed down your face as your curled your fingers into a tight fist. You assumed Mor had left with Rhys, leaving you there with the males.

Cass was always like a brother to you. Granted- a brother you had slept with once or twice- but he was your best friend. You'd always been close to him. But you'd always been good, a happy person.

You couldn't be that for them now, perhaps ever again.

It lasted like that for hours. Cassian and Az begging to come in, you curling into a ball with tears down your cheeks and blood down your back.

Eventually, they gave up. You couldn't hear them anymore and the shadows of their boots had disappeared.

Except Azriel's shadows that still lingered under your door. Maybe he'd ordered them to be there while they left you.

Eventually, you managed to find your footing on shaking legs. Your room was large, one of the largest. It was just as much a mess as it was when you'd left for you mission, clothes thrown over the place, books propped open on the pages you'd left them on. Everything was the same but could never be again.

It took you longer than you'd care to admit to get to your windows and throw the curtains close. Candles light at your request, the house looking after you as it had since you were a child.

You caught sight of yourself in the full length mirror. It seemed smaller, everything in the room felt too large and you too small, as if you were being swallowed by the expanse of it.

Your frame was small in the mirror, your hair disarrayed. Your eyes were red and shutting of their own accord from the tears that had drained you. The starving in the cells had made you look weak, made you feel weak.

And your back. There was no more looming black figures there, no more fluttering. There was just nothing. In spite of the ache as you lifted your arm, you felt around your back, feeling the hitch there, the lump from where they'd been torn from you.

You cry. You sob. You scream.

The scars were long and the nightdress was sticking to you by the blood you'd shed. All you could do, was hold yourself up as your body wracked with tears.

A breeze came from your windows, shadows tugging at the curtains.

You felt him before you saw him. You wanted to tell him to leave you but you couldn't talk without chocking. Without feeling like you couldn't breath.

Azriel had you in your arms before your knees could hit the ground. He fell with you, softening your body on the floor. His arms held you into his chest, his legs caging you into his body. His head rested on yours as he held you. He didn't try to talk, he didn't try to help. It was just him, you and his shadows.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

Azriel remembered dozing off with you, his head on yours. His arms holding you into him, as if it was up to him to keep the sadness away and take it for you.

Afterall, you were his best friend. He should have been there for you, and he'd failed terribly by letting you get hurt and your wings stolen from you. He could hate himself every day for it, for letting you down. But it would never amount to what you felt for yourself and that killed him.

He could see it in the way you cried, in the way you were already keeping everyone out. He'd rather die than let you go through all the pain alone.

When his hands had been scarred by his brothers, you'd help heal him, tell him about everything he still was and all the power he still held in his hands. In the worst days, when he didn't let anyone touch him, he let you.

It was always you.

Azriel wasn't sure how long he'd been asleep, or how deep. He was sure he was still with you, still in your bed.

His shadows crept up on him, engulfing him slowly and whispering to him. Your name, just your name on repeat. It was enough to lull him back into sleep, to keep him calm.

Gone. Missing. y'n. Roof.

He shot up and ran fastest than he ever had in his life. It was as if he'd never been asleep but had been fighting a battle with the way he raced over.

He burst through the doors, the cold hight air hitting him.

You stood facing the stars, your bloody back to him. It wasn't as much blood as when he'd found you, but it was still enough to put a lump in his throat.

Immediately his shadows fell to you, cascading down your body and wrapping around your waist. There was a breeze in the air, pushing your hair back and exposing more signs of the pain and torture you must have gone through.

'I'm not gonna jump, if that's what you're thinking,' you said. You didn't even have to turn to him. The shadows probably told you enough.

'Why are you up here?' he asked, walking to you slowly and with careful steps. As if every step closer could you push you away from him.

'I'll never feel the win properly again,' you answered.

Azriel gulped down his own pain. You’d never sounded so small. ‘Can you get away from the ledge?’

'I'm not on the ledge.'

'You're too close for my liking.'

'Leave if you don't like it.'

'Don't do this,' he said.

'Do what?' you asked, folding your arms over your chest. You were cold, out in the hight but you wanted to see the stars. Needed to see them.

'Make me leave. Make everyone leave you. I know that's what you're doing. It's what you do every time,' you could feel him dawning closer. His shadows were all around you, almost drowning you.

‘Every time,’ you scoff, stepping down and turning on him. ‘It’s not every day you lose your wings Azriel! But don’t let me stop you from leaving, flap them and go!’ You yelled, unable to stop yourself, no matter how hard you tried. You didn’t want to hurt him, you just wanted to be alone.

Mate. Mate. Mate.

'You jump and I’ll catch you,' he said. He was a step away, he could just reach out and touch, just a gentle caress. 'I swear it, whatever you do, I’ll follow. I’m not letting you get away.’

He watched your back shudder as he reached out, brushing knuckles against your shoulder blade. He heard your sharp inhale follow.

'Don’t think I won’t follow, y/n.'

Finally, you turned around in his shadows. You couldn’t meet his eyes but at least you could face his chest.

His hands were gentle on your shoulder as he rubbed it gently. 'Can I get Madja to clean you up?' He asked.

You nodded as he led you away. You truly did not deserve your mate.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

Fifty-two years later...

When Amarantha had trapped the high lords of Prythian under the mountain, it hadn't be a conscious choice to follow your half-brother down. How Amarantha had allowed it, you weren't sure, but perhaps she wanted to use you just like her brother, or she thought it would bring more pain for him to see you suffer under there too.

You and Rhysand had barley spoke the last two years.

It had took you almost two months to heal fully enough to leave your room, another few months to face your family again. But even then, everyone knew something had changed in you. You didn't laugh as loud or smile as wide.

Rhysand was careful to ever let you out on a mission. Mor tried to take you out every night. Cassian spent all day every day with you and Azriel- he'd healed you better than any nurse.

Still, you had not told him he was your mate.

Still, you thought he wouldn't want it.

Still, you cared for your brother enough to not want him to go alone.

But being under the mountain, you could avoid your mate. At a painful price.

Until her. Rhys's mate. He hadn't shut up about her since he first met her, much to your dismay as you had to sit around and listen- having absolutely nothing better to do. And it only got worse when she turned up under the mountain. She was declaring her love for Tamlin- again, annoying your brother, and throwing Lucien into danger- which rather angered you. You had nothing against the ginger.

Rhysand had once sent you to find the girl to summon her as part of a bargain he'd made. He didn't want to go, he didn't want to look too forceful. You'd been lucky enough to find the two tangled up in each other against a cold wall, clothes ripped and hips moving together.

'Well, well well,' you'd intterupted.

Tamlin all but growled at you, but feyre was looking over you- evidently confused. She had no idea who you were. You, in your skimpy outfit that Amarantha kept you in (they all dipped low at your back, showing off your scars) and your eyes that were like a night sky.

'Amarantha's looking for her pet and Rhysand is looking for his. Honestly, i'd be a bit more worried if I were you. You know, considering Lucien still has an eye to lose.'

The two parted with your words as you sent Tamlin back to his master, the high lord glaring at you as you went. While Feyre tried to fix herself.

'Rhysand is over there, better not keep him waiting.' That was the first time you met her, having no idea how much trouble she'd be worth. The family that she'd become.

But Rhysand made sure you knew it all. From when the bond snapped in him and he'd stumbled. He ranted and ranted as they climbed out.

If only you were so talkative about Azriel. If only you could talk about him with your brother. But you'd tried not to painfully think about him. Climbing out of the mountain. It was all you could think of.

Maybe he'd have forgotten you? it had been fifty years. He'd probably realised how happy he could be without having to take care of you.

Rhys was allowed out of the mountain, he'd felt the breeze in his hair but you hadn't in fifty long years. You stood there a moment, bathing in the warmth as everyone left, as everyone ran off for their families and courts and the war that was inevitable. Eventually, Rhys offered you his arm. 'Shall we go home?'

He winnowed you there, on the balcony of your home. In a cloud of black smoke, the two of you appeared.

He went first, slipping through the doors slowly- like it could all be taken from them any minute.

You were hesitant, taking a moment to glance at the landscape behind you. It hadn't changed, not at all. The mountains were still there, everyone was still alive. Your home. In the last years it hadn't felt like home, but how could anywhere ever feel so close in your heart.

When you could find your feat again, you managed to slip through the doors. You were suddenly aware of how little clothing you were wearing, just enough to cover your chest and run down your legs. A chill settled down your back, your scars would be on show. What a way to great them all after fifty years.

Mor had her arms around Rhys's shoulders, crying into his shoulder.

Behind them you caught Amren, with something like tears in her eyes. You were just about to tease her before a body barrelled into yours in a blur of red syphons and your feet were lifted from the ground.

'Cassian.'

His arms tightened around you. You shoulder started to dampen with tears, his tears. The last time you'd seen him cry around you was when he'd seen a dog with only three legs. 'I'm keeping you on a leash from now on, stupid idiot.'

Your arms wrap around his shoulders, a smile gracing your lips. 'Is that a promise?'

He held you longer, tighter, not daring to let you go but at least settling you on the ground. He sighed against your head, controlling himself. 'He's missed you, you know,' he said. He was the only one you'd told, about your mate. 'Now that you're back, tell him. He deserves to know.'

Cassian slowly pulled away, holding you at arms length and smiling at you. He kissed your cheeks and then your forehead before parting to Rhysand.

Mor approached you next, slapping you in the arm.

'Ow!'

'Why would you follow him?' she snapped.

You blinked at her before she took you by the arm she'd slapped and embraced you, like a sister would. You dared not looking over her shoulder to find the one who hadn't come to you. Maybe Cass had got it wrong...

Mor pulled away, wiping at her eyes.

Azriel was as beautiful as the day you left him. His hair was the same length, he was the same height. He was just as you left him. It was hard to tell fifty years had passed on him.

And inside of you, tugging in your soul and heart you felt the familiar string of gold throbbing. But you still didn't feel that tug. You'd hoped it would have faded from you after half a year separated. Or at least have snapped for him. But no such relief.

He approached you, slowly. As if he was scared of scaring you away. But you just stood there.

His arms were delicate and soft around you as he brought you into his chest. He still smelled the same, cedar wood and shadows. Shadows that wrapped around you, shielding you from the rest of the room. They caressed you, head to two.

You held onto each other for what could have been another fifty years, but this time, it wasn't so painful.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

Although nobody wanted to part after yours and Rhysand's return, you were exhausted. A trip to Rita's could wait another night or two. The only thing you wanted to do was hide in your room.

Strangely, your room looked lived in. As if somebody had moved in since you'd left. A moment of anger replaced grief. Had they brought someone else and given them your room? but then you smelt it, Az.

Lying in bed that night, exhausted, you couldn't find sleep. You closed your eyes and pictured Amarantha. You'd never been afraid of her, you weren't afraid of anything. But you re-played the horrors. Watching servants beat Feyre, watching Amarantha use your brother and on the occasion, even you. How she flaunted. How the most powerful lords were weak.

Under your door, shadows seeped in, rushing across the room to you. You smiled, watching your hand disappear in their darkness.

'Azriel?' you called.

There was shifting on the other side of the door before he slipped in, clicking it shut behind him.

You sat up in bed, shadows moving with you. 'Couldn't sleep?'

He wondered in, looking around your room. 'Sleeping's been... hard.'

You rolled over, opening the blanket and nodding your head. You couldn't think about the bond, not yet. Not while he looked so.... ruined. Beautiful- the most beautiful person in the world, but sad. As he climbed in next to you, you could see the dark circles under his eyes, his shoulders slumped and his wings too.

His eyes scanned over you. You were in a thin and silk night dress that only brushed your knees, but the way he looked at you, mother you could've been naked. 'Fifty years,' his voice sounded barley controlled. 'Fifty years. You followed your brother down for fifty years? Why would you do that?'

You gulp. 'I would've done it for any of you. Except maybe Amren, she'd probably enjoy the peace for fifty years.'

You go to brush your hair back but Azriel seizes your wrist. He was angry. That's why his voice was rough and his chest rising and falling with barley controlled emotions. Could he feel it? your nerves, your lying?

'You left. You should've stayed, y/n, you know Rhysand didn't want you under there with him,' he said. 'For fifty years I haven't been able to sleep through a night thinking about the pain you must have been going through. After I swore to keep you safe, after I promised to catch you every time!'

'You couldn't have stopped me. You didn't promise, Az.'

His grip grew tighter. 'It went without saying.'

You looked around his eyes, seeing the pain and grief there also. Slowly, you brought your other hand up. He flinched as you took his cheek but eventually settled as your thumb ran over his cheekbone. 'I won't leave again, ok? I promise.'

He gulped, letting go of your wrist and looking down. 'I slept here,' he mumbled, but just loud enough to hear you. 'I couldn't sleep in my room. This was the only place I could rest.'

Your heart stuttered. Your hand dropped from his cheek. This man was your mate. Your mate. Your only love, whether or not the cauldron deemed it.

Azriel took your hesitation. 'I-i'm sorry, you probably didn't want to hear that. I've probably ruined your one place of peace-'

'Stay,' you said, before you could think of what you were asking. 'Sleeping wasn't exactly easy under the mountain either. I just trust I won't have to put a wall of cushions between us.' as if you wanted that. As if you haven't thought about his calloused hands all over you.

Azriel smiled and stayed the night.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

The third time he almost lost you, broke him...

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

#acotar #azriel #cassian #rhysand #rhys acotar #feyre archeron #tamlin #lucien vanserra #azriel x reader #azriel x you #azriel x female!reader #cassian x reader #books and reading #booktok #angst #azriel x cassian x reader

[sunghoonbite]

okay how about enha's (the members you write for) reaction to reader crying during like really rough sex?

pairing: hyung line (- hoon) x reader

warnings: nsfw, rough sex, dacryphilia, choking, degradation, throat fucking, biting, mentions of marks and bruises

minors dni before reading

oh anon i love you . your mind. this took so long im sorry but i love this. i’ll get to my other rqs soon i swear. hope this makes up for the wait

when heeseung fucks, he fucks hard. and that’s exactly how you found yourself face down pressed into his mattress, whimpering out into the pillow beneath you.

heeseung gets carried away often. first he gets distracted by your outfit, and then by your curves, thighs, and body. when he gets his hands on you, he’s unable to stop. for lack of a better term, he thinks with his dick. so when he’s inside you, pounding you from behind as you whine, he goes faster with each noise. every little shiver of movement, every sound, he gets addicted to the feeling of you against him.

he gripped your waist, palms tightening into your skin, pulling you closer to him as if he wasn’t already inside of you. he let out a groan before fucking you harder, resulting in your legs giving out. to this, he responded by holding your weight up and continuing.

overstimulated by the feeling of him thrusting in and out of you, your legs shook. he was fast, panting, shakily moaning as he fucked you. he didn’t think. he just continued to fill you up, completely ignoring the possibility that he might be too rough.

“heeseung,” you shakily cried out, gripping the sheets.

“yeah?” he said, breathlessly, distracted by pleasure. you felt good, so fucking good clenched around him.

“too much, hee,” you whined. you hadn’t realized, but you had started to cry. tears that resulted from his coarseness formed, although not falling from your eyes yet, you sniffled.

“shit,” he spoke, pulling out at the sound. he began to console you, whispering out “hey, hey hey,” unintentionally conjoining each word together with the pace of his speech.

his grip on your waist made it easy to turn you around on your back, and he leaned over your body to wipe away tears that had found their way out of your eyes.

although embarrassed, you missed the feeling of him in you as soon as he pulled out, despite the roughness that took place. you lightly held onto his hand that now cupped your face.

“you didn’t have to stop,” you said, softly.

“but you’re crying?” he questioned in a similar soft tone, inadvertently tilting his head to the side as he spoke. he didn’t release his hand from your face just yet, allowing his thumb to rub against your jaw.

“i don’t mind,” you responded, “it feels good when it’s too much,” attempting to hide your humiliation for requesting him to continue.

heeseung’s lips curled up, and he turned his head to cover his smug expression. he readjusted, and spread your legs.

“yeah? you wanna cry for me, then?” his tone shifted, “wanna sob on my dick when you can’t take it anymore?”

your hands found their way to your head immediately, concealing your face. he didn’t typically fuck you in missionary, so having him above you, right above you, felt like you were on display. it was impossible to look him in the eye as he spoke to you in such a way, but he didn’t care. he enveloped your hands with his and pinned them each beside your head.

“missionary? why?” you somehow managed to ask, stumbling over your words as you looked to the side, avoiding his gaze.

he exhaled.

“i wanna see you,” he replied before entering you once again, “you look so fucking pretty when you cry.”

jay is usually pretty gentle during sex, unless you make an effort to let him know that you wanted him to be rougher than usual. he has absolutely no problem with that, since he’s actually been hoping you’d offer. he’s respectful, too respectful, which makes you want a taste of something more harsh. luckily for you, he can be a mean dom.

when it actually came down to it though, he was more intense than you had in mind.

“sit down,” he ordered. you did.

he placed his thumb and pointer finger between your chin, and tugged lightly to open your mouth. you allowed him, parting your lips more.

he unbuckled his belt mere inches away from your face, letting his pants fall and his clothed bulge stare back at you.

once he uncovered his cock, he didn’t even begin to warm you up before entering your mouth almost entirely. you let out a small whimper at his size, and he grabbed a fistful of your hair in response.

he started to rock his hips back and forth, moans falling out of his mouth as he fucked yours. jay had never made you suck him off in such a way, so quickly filling your throat and making you gag.

before tonight, he’d often brush stray hairs from your flushed face as he guided you to lick his tip and downwards, slowly easing up to gently permit you to suck him off at your pace. he’d release small groans as you did.

“fuck, doing so good, baby,” he’d say, with a smile as he looked down at you.

now, though, he had your hair gripped as he smacked his cock to the back of your throat. he barely gave you air to breathe in as he relentlessly fucked your throat, forcing you to rely on just your nose to inhale.

you looked up to him with watering eyes from the intensity, clawing your fingernails into the sheets that rested below you to release tension.

it’s not that you didn’t enjoy it, quite the opposite, actually. but he was so harsh, so fucking ruthless and it made your throat burn. taking him into your mouth at all was a struggle due to his size, and here he was, forcing you to take it. honestly, it was all you ever wanted from him and more, but you couldn’t help the tears falling from his rough his cock felt hitting your throat.

jay removed himself, and placed a hand on your cheek, tilting your head up to him.

“too much? do you need me to stop?” he asked, sweat dripping from his dark hair. his chest rose and fell expeditiously with his hurried breaths.

“no, jay,” you mumbled, voice sounding a little more desperate than you anticipated, “keep going, please. make me cry.”

it didn’t give him a second thought before he parted your jaw and fucked into you once again, keeping his grip on your hair tightened, fixing your head into place so that he could look at you.

tears fell and you sniffled, looking up at him with sparkling eyes, and he took his thumb to rub the droplets away.

“so fucking pretty,” he muttered, “such a good girl, crying on my dick.”

fucking jake is exciting. he’s always up for trying new things, which includes rough sex. however, he was always worried of hurting you, despite your pleas for him to bite and mark you. he had convinced himself that he would simply be too much for you, not realizing that’s exactly what you wanted to happen. you wanted him to completely lose control, lost in the way he fucked himself into you.

concerned, he’d constantly check in with you during his attempts to be rough. it’s not that he didn’t want to fuck you, marking you as his in the process, but it was all so new. what if you felt too hurt?

“fuck,” he’d groan under his breath, starting to pick up the pace unknowingly, thrusting his hips into you. when he realized, though…

“shit, sorry,” jake would say, slowing down to a more gentle speed.

you never minded. he’s just shy, you thought.

jake was absolutely not shy. he’d spit into his palm and fuck his hand, murmuring your name when you weren’t around. he’d look at innocent pictures of you, smiling and posing, wondering how you’d look with mascara running down your pretty cheeks. he’d stare at your exposed skin in your off-the-shoulder top and hold back biting your skin until it became red, his teeth creating crevices and marks. he’d watch as you make a cup of coffee in the kitchen, quietly fantasizing about bending you over the counter.

tonight, as you laid beneath him in missionary position, he connected his lips with yours as he adjusted inside you.

“so tight,” he muttered, biting his lip unconsciously as his hands rested on each side of your body.

he felt his hips jerk into you like usual, stopping himself before going further, his eyes fixated on the curves of your body. he wanted more of you.

you let out a moan at him going deeper, but as always, he continued agonizingly slow. he was shy, you thought, but you knew he wanted to be deeper inside you. you knew he wanted more.

“jake,” you whimpered out, eyes gazing upwards to meet his.

“sorry, i know,” he quickly apologized before you could continue, “i’ll be gentle.”

“don’t,” you protested, desperation evident in your voice that you failed at covering, “please, be rough with me.”

with that, jake’s eyes lit up a little, “hm?”

“i don’t want you to be gentle. i want you harder,” you explained, moans getting caught in your words as he was still inside you, “please jake.”

he didn’t respond, but he dipped his head towards your shoulder, taking your skin in between and bit, exactly how he imagined before. he let out a groan, feeling you against his teeth, before fucking into you as deep as he could.

your back arched subconsciously, nails digging into his back as you whined out, tears already piercing into your eyes at his size.

“this is what you wanted, yeah?” he asked, voice raspy due to his low tone. his mouth traveled to your neck as he decided to leave his mark there, too.

“yes, jake,” you struggled to speak, “fuck.”

at your strained voice, his head adjusted so that he could look down at you. your face twisted into an expression he hadn’t quite seen you make before, eyes shut closed and mouth wide agape. he began to pound you, repeatedly now, your tears now beginning to fall.

he picked up the pace at that, aroused by how your mascara smeared. it was better than he imagined, and he resisted cumming inside you right then and there.

“you okay?” jake said, having to make sure, although knowing it was likely exactly what you wanted.

“yes,” you replied in a breathy whimper. his hand met your throat and he tightened his grip slightly, choking you a bit, but not to the point of harming you.

“good,“ he replied, “taking me so fucking well. my pretty slut.”

#i feel like heeseung’s isn’t as good ugh sorry #enhypen smut #enha smut #enhypen oneshots #enhypen x reader #heeseung smut #jake smut #enhypen #heeseung x reader #jake x reader #enhypen mtl #mtl #jay x reader smut #jay oneshots #jay x reader #jake x reader smut #heeseung oneshots #heeseung x reader smut #heeseung oneshot #heeseung fic #jake fic #jay smut #jay oneshot #jay fic #jongseong smut #jongseong x reader

[lieutenant-amuel]

On today’s pedagogy class, we talked about what was happening to us for the whole year and made “a life tree”, and honestly, I didn’t even realize how colourful this year actually was.

#Personal #In terms of my ‘fandom life’ it’s really been so colourful #I made 50 Polish covers (short ones but still) #many fandub projects too #two multilanguages #And one of them even marked the beginning of 2022 for me #Wrote 9 chapters of Was Born To Lead and a Navidad fic about Gabe’s parents and generally I developed my Gabe fic a lot this year #And even took sort of writing requests lol #I also took video requests even though I abandoned it eventually #In terms of my personal life I graduated from school successfully passed my exams and got to the uni I wanted #I made a new friend and she’s awesome #And I got even closer to my online friends and you can’t imagine how much I love you guys #I attended many musicals and finally got to see a performance I wanted for such a long time #I learnt so many things at my university which are either helpful for my future job or simply interesting to me (I also delved into MBTI) #I started learning a new foreign language which is going so-so but at least I also improved my English #And well of course there were many downs as well #This year has been extremely tough for me mentally and there are many many reasons for it #This is just the year when I burst into randomly crying the most often compared to the previous years #Anyway I won’t go too detailed with it because really nobody needs to hear it and I don’t feel comfortable talking about it myself #But well I think I’ll go through this eventually #Anyway this year was nice #And there’s also my birthday soon yeaaaah #I’m excited

[beanytuesday]

Hey, I love your art -- I was wondering if you ever posted your illustration for Kafka's "A Hunger Artist" on here? It's really evocative and gorgeously framed, and I find myself thinking of it frequently!!

Thank you for the kind words. A Hunger Artist by Franz Kafka is one of my favorite short stories of all time, and it’s a very quick read. You can read it right here:

https://www.kafka-online.info/a-hunger-artist.html

Go ahead, I’ll wait here.

I’d like to take us opportunity to talk a little bit about the story, if I may.

Although there are a couple different interpretations of the story's meaning, it unambiguously read to me as an allegory for the plight of the creative, likely drawing from Kafka’s own experience. The ‘starving artist’ comparison is obvious, but there’s much more to it than that. In a departure from most other depictions in media, the plight of the artist is not depicted as something noble or redemptive, but as a sort of self-destructive madness. The hunger artist dies alone and in obscurity, his impact on the world ultimately being completely marginal and insubstantial. When questioned about why he chose a life like this, he reveals that he doesn’t even enjoy fasting, he simply couldn’t find any food he liked. That is to say, a true creative does not select this kind of self destructive lifestyle because they enjoy it; rather, it is because they cannot possibly bear to do anything else. Kafka himself, It should be mentioned, supposedly despised pretty much every job he ever had.

As some of you may know, I developed severe tendinitis a couple months ago. Mentally, September was probably the worst months of my entire life. I reflected on this story a lot –I had wrought my own self destruction, and for what? A couple of bucks? A few comics that i’ll become embarrassed of in a year’s time anyway? Unsure about my prospects for recovery, I became incredibly depressed.

But having been starved of the ability to write or draw, I had a genuine epiphany. Standing at the corner of Boston liquors in Allston, I resolved that I would muster the strength to endure this, regardless of how long it took, because what awaited me at the end was nothing short of the greatest prize a person could ask for: That very thing derided by Kafka –the life of an artist.

There is no greater pleasure than making art. I mean that genuinely, I mean that literally. No, it isn’t noble, no, it isn’t redemptive, but in a totally hedonistic and self-serving way it is simply the greatest thing that life can offer, ambrosia in the mouth, better than sex, better than drugs, better than anything that money can buy, and I feel pity for anyone unable to experience it. I am not being hyperbolic, I am not being metaphorical. I am stating this in the plainest of terms, having lived a life without it for the last couple of months.

So although my personal relationship to the story has changed in the past couple months, Kafka was right about one thing; nothing else tastes good, at least not by comparison. We must imagine the hunger artist happy.