#...that tag doesn't apply anymore. how about just

[rjalker]

Dear people who aren't physically disabled who plan to write fantasy settings:

[ID: Several images taken from the Geordi La Forge yes and no meme format, with Geordi holding out a hand disapprovingly for the no section, then pointing in approval for the yes section.

The first image is the meme:

No: "Saying the existance of magic in your setting means there are no disabled people (this literally just means disabled people are killed. AKA eugenics)"

Yes: "Having disabled people who use magical mobility aids and other assistive devices. Realizing that someone is still disabled even if their prosthetic arm is made of magic instead of plastic."

This is followed by four more panels of yes section:

"Geordi la Forge is still literally disabled. His visor helping him does not erase his disability and make him magically abled."

"Toph from Avatar: The Last Airbender is still literally disabled even though her Earthbending helps her. It does not make her disability ~magically~ go away."

"Having your disability be accomodated does not mean the disability goes away. Having a prosthetic hand, even one that's made of magic, does not mean you're not disabled."

"Magical mobility aids do not mean disabled people don't exist. It just means they use magical mobility aids instead of plastic or metal ones. A limb made of magic is still a prosthetic even if it's made of the soul of the universe instead of plastic and metal."

Then another no panel: "'There's no disabled people beacuse magic'".

Then one last yes panel: "'Magic helps disabled people in a variety of ways'".

End ID.]

This also applies to science fiction; just because Luke Skywalker's prosthetic hand is super advanced doesn't mean it's no longer a prosthetic, or that he's not disabled. Same with Darth Vader - just because he has a suit that lets him breathe and walk around doesn't mean he's not disabled. (And Star Wars' propensity for making the villains visibly disabled while the heroes disabilities get covered up by super advanced prosthetics is a topic that deserves its own post, especially with how ableist some of the authors of the books are. Troy Denning is especially ableist)

Edit:

Because people keep being fucking obnoxious and ableist in the tags, yes,,, motherfuckers, if you refuse to have disabled people in your setting, that does make you fucking ableist. If you say that the magic is used to cure all disabled people and that's why they don't exist, that's fucking eugenics.

You cannot ""cure"", more like remove all disabilities without fucking eugenics. Magically automatically destroying disabled fetuses (a very fucking popular trope!) is eugenics.

The only way to fucking "cure" autism is to fucking kill all autistic people, also known as eugenics!

What about people with PTSD? Do you just fucking brainwash them so they aren't traumatized anymore?

Do you force all Deaf people to be able to hear? Do you force all blind people to be able to see? Do you force all anosmics to be able to smell?

Do you magically force everyone with a speech impediment to speak to your standards?

Do you force everyone born with bodily or facial differences to live up to your fucking standard of beauty?

You cannot fucking say "disablities don't exist in this universe because magic cures everything" without inherently saying that eugenics exists in your fucking universe.

Not all fucking disabilities need a cure. If you ""cured"" my autism I'd just be fucking dead. You'd literally just be changing me into what you think is fucking acceptable.

Stop fucking arguing in defence of ableists on my fucking post so you can pretend that eugenics has never been written about in magical settings when it is extremely fucking prevalent.

And while we're fucking at it, let your gods damned characters become disabled over the course of their story, and call them disabled within the fucking story. I don't care if they're a robot. I don't care if they have magic. Not all fucking damage can be fixed. Curses exist. Hardware can go out of fucking date and no longer be manufactured anywhere.

Let your characters become disabled and do not magically fucking cure them back to brand new every single time they get hurt. The only thing you accomplish by doing that is destroying any chance of ever having stakes.

No, "magical healing leaves scars on the mind from the memory of the injuries though!!!!" is not fucking good enough. Let your characters have scars. Let them become disabled. Stop being fucking ableist cowards.

Edit number fucking 2:

No, motherfuckers, you do not get to comment "if the disability was caused by magic it's not ableist to cure it with magic". You are the ableist this post is about. Shut the absolute fuck up, stop treating being disabled as the worst possible outcome, and just admit you're a fucking ableist. If you don't want your characters to become disabled, then don't fucking make them disabled.

[ID: The Garfield "you are not immune to propaganda" meme, now edited to read:

"If your first thought upon reading this post is, 'Oh, but it's okay to magically cure disabilities caused by magic!' Congrats…you are the exact sort of ableist jackass this post is about."

End ID.]

Edit number fucking 3:

Autistic people exist! People who are born with disabilities exist! You cannot create a setting where disabled people do not exist because we're all "cured" or "fixed" and not inherently say that you are killing disabled people as soon as they're born, or fucking aborting us as soon as you figure out we'd be born disabled! That's fucking eugenics!

There is no way to "cure" autism without eugenics! There is no way to "cure" people with body differences without eugenics! There is no way to make disabled people nonexistant in your setting without eugenics! Thinking you can and should "cure" and "fix" all disabilities IS EUGENICS!

Also:

[ID: A character shouting at the camera, now edited to read: "Shut up about Dungeons and Dragons! Shut up about Dungeons and Dragons! If the rules of Dungeons and Dragons are ableist, then fucking change them! It is your fucking personal responsability to be a better person than your bigoted society wants you to be!". End ID.]

[ID: White text on a dark brown background with white and black borders around the edges, that reads:

"I don't fucking know or care about Dungeons and Dragons.

This post is not about Dungeons and Dragons.

Do not fucking throw the rulebook of Dungeons and Dragons at me like it's some sort of 'Gotcha!'.

You will literally just be blocked like the rest of the ableist assholes who've already tried it.

If you play dungeons and dragons, it's your responsability to make your games not be ableist, even if it means breaking the rules.".

End ID.]

I do not fucking care what the ableist rules are in Dungeons of Dragons. Do not fucking throw ableist rules for a game I have never and will never play at me on a post I made so that people could learn how to make their settings less ableist. If the rules in Dungeons and Dragons are ableist, then fucking change them. If you don't want to change them, then stop fucking playing an ableist game.

Disabled people deserve to see ourselves represented in fiction just like everyone else, without any fucking requirements that we be "cured" or "fixed" before the story ends.

How the fuck would you feel if a trans and gay character's whole story revolved around going on a quest to become straight and cis, did so, and only then was allowed to live happily ever after?

Why do you fucking think suggesting people write stories about disabled people going on a quest to be cured because it's the only way they'll ever be happy is any less fucking offensive?

Also:

This post is NOT a place for you to talk about how disabled people in fiction should have the option of curing their disabilities. It's just not. That's the fucking default for this society. That is not a revolutionary concept. It's not novel. We fucking know this society wants us gone. A post about how disabled people deserve representation is not the place to talk about how "Well, actually, in fiction disabled people should be cured!" Like that's not the fucking universal default???????????

Edit #4:

Everyone needs to stop tagging this singing praise for Fullmetal Alchemist. A story that uses disability as a punishment and the characters are on a quest to cure their disabilities is not the amazing representation you're all claiming it is just because the character who is only disabled because of DIVINE PUNISHMENT uses prosthetics.

Read this post, and this one. Fullmetal Alchemist is a hell of a lot more ableist than you people are letting on.

guess what you can now find a PDF version of this post on the web archive.

Edit #5! August 23rd, 2023!

A) Everyone. Disabilities that can only exist in the magical setting are still disabilities.

Trying to cure the younger brother's magical disability of being a soul floating around in a magical suit of armour is, in fact, going on a quest to heal a disability!

It doesn't matter if the older brother doesn't want to get his limbs back when they're going on a quest to heal the younger brother's disability! Especially when they BOTH get magically healed at the end!

Magical disabilities that can only exist in that setting, but not real life, are still disabilities, and it's not okay to magically heal them either! What part of the Garfield meme on this post did you all choose to ignore?!

B) When you leave tags on a post you are reblogging, the original poster can see them! When you leave tags on this post, I can see them!

If you think this post is ""too aggressive"" then simply do not reblog it! Don't fucking tone police me on a post I've had to edit five times now due to the constant ableism people have been commenting since I made it!

I have been called the R slur by multiple people in response to this post! People have literally reblogged this post to defend eugenics abortions! You can't see these comments or replies anymore because I blocked the poster!

If you think minorities are being too aggressive by responding appropriately to bigotry, you're a bigot! And you should either not reblog the post at all, or at the very least, shut the fuck up and not tone police us!

Do not fucking put tags on this post complaining I'm being too aggressive! That's called tone policing and you're a bigot if you do it! Don't fucking do it on anyone else's posts either! They can see your tags too!

C) When I fucking say Harry Potter fans are banned from this post, yes, this means YOU!

Either stop supporting a billionaire who's literally using the profits from her bigoted shittily written books to fund REAL FUCKING GENOCIDE, or fuck off!

By continuing to support the Harry Potter series, you are literally giving JK Rowling free fucking advertising! You are encouraging more people to read the series and watch the movies, spending more money and giving her more fucking money with which to LITERALLY SHAPE A COUNTRY'S LAWS TO COMMIT GENOCIDE. She is literally fucking fighting to make being trans illegal! She is literally fucking fighting to have even more of autistic people's rights taken away!

You cannot fucking be a fan of the Harry Potter series in 2023 and call yourself an ally to all the minorities harmed by JK Rowling and the bigotry baked into her shitty series!

Read another book! The Web Archive has tons you can read for free! Literally every single book on gutenberg.org/ is free! Including audiobooks for some of them!

If you write Harry Potter fanfiction, simply fucking get rid of the names and identifiable features and start writing original fiction instead! It's literally free!

Not supporting a literal fucking genocidal billionaire costs LITERALLY NOTHING! And if you refuse to fucking stop supporting JK Rowling, which is what you are doing when you support the Harry Potter series and squeal over her OCs, you are not an ally to any fucking minority! No! Not even if you're trans yourself!

= = =

Edit again Nobember 28th 2023 because this comment is just. such a perfect example for all of you that think this doesn't happen.

butter-whore2 said, two hours before this edit:

kind of a fan of tumblr's slightly more algorithmically elements for reminding me of the hell's other people construct for themselves but this one hits like five of the boxes. How do people do this to themselves? it's such a bizarre way to act over media I genuinely do not believe is capable of stirring an emotional response the metaphysics of disability here are unintentionally really funny but disability is not a coherent ontological framework, it's a vague descriptor for literally thousands of different things none of which lend themselves to categorizing Moralizing over fiction is incredibly lame.

Liking harry potter is also incredibly lame, it's not morally wrong nor transphobic and you do not get to decide that lol. people literally do get "cured" of their disabilities all the time, many of them have a positive experience in doing so. this is not what eugenics is.

the anti abortion stuff lol

Literally how do you live like this? you guys don't even read real books I don't get it.

Archived version of the comment for posterity.

So yeah, lofl, block this fucker.

#long post #described images #fantasy #writing #writing tips #writing advice #fantasy writing #writing fantasy #scifi #science fiction #also applies to scifi #Luke Skywalker's not magically abled because his prosthetic hands advanced #disability #disabled #physically disabled #neurodivergent #<- so more people see it #and beacuse a lot of just neurodivergent people are really fucking ableist towards physically disabled people #especially people who only have ADHD or are just Autistic #and if me saying that pissess you off guess what? You're probably the exact sort of person I'm talking about. #Newsflash: I'm autistic. I have ADHD. I'm also physically disabled. #And I constantly see people wiht ADHD and autistics being ableist as shit #to both physically disabled people and other neurodviergent people. #You are not immune to being ableist just because you're also disabled.

[caesium-55]

—seven days. [ vi.i ]

pairing: max verstappen x manager! reader.

summary: as the third time world champion, max verstappen's manager, you function on the belief that whatever max verstappen wanted, max verstappen shall get. but this time, after four years of working as his manager, you can't give him what he wants anymore and that was to stay.

tags: @whatamidoingwithmylife-ramdom @eugene-emt-roe @bellezaycafe @barnestatic @theseerbetweenus @wcnorris @notyouraveragemochii @lpab @vildetry06 @a-beaverhausen @formula1mount @loloekie @alucardsdaddyissues @juky-ps @cassianswh0reeee @devotedlycrookeddonut @amberpanda99 @supermaxv1 @evie-119 @spideylovin @harianaswhore

author's note: i dunno if this is good cuz i have to delete a lot of scenes to make everything fit djsjjj. AND pls listen to two weeks notice by leanna firestone. 🐝 anon shared it to me and AAAAAAAHHH it captures the main vibe of the fic

masterlist.

"New shoes?”

The shoes come in black and it features a sleek silhouette with a pointed toe and a golden heel that is shaped as the letters Y, S, and L. Max is no expert in shoes but he knows how to recognize a luxury shoe if he sees one.

“Pretty lil things, aren't they?” you bring your foot forward to flaunt it.

Max doesn't know if it’s the heels that makes your feet look pretty or if the heels look pretty because you have pretty feet. Contrary to popular belief, Max does not have a feet kink. He just knows how to appreciate the aesthetics of a body part.

“Three years of savin’ and I finally got ‘em.”

“Good for you?” Is that an appropriate thing to say to a woman who just bought nice-looking shoes?

Max sees Daniel hug you after the Azerbaijan GP. You have twinning smiles on your face. Max's curiosity grows. You pull away from the hug and wave goodbye, returning to the garage, to where Max is standing and waiting for you.

“What did you and Daniel talk about?” he asks and if he sounds like he’s demanding, he doesn't mean it.

You stop walking, finally noticing Max's presence. The smile on your face fades a little but it doesn't completely disappear. “Oh, hi? Congrats on the podium today, big guy.”

“What were you and Daniel talking about?” Max asks again.

“‘s not important.”

“I want to know.”

You give Max an odd look, probably questioning why he wants to know so badly. He doesn't know why either. He just wants to know.

“Renault has an open spot in their engineering team,” you finally say, smile growing wide. You’re literally vibrating in excitement as you say it.

Max feels like someone just poured a bucket of iced water over his body.

“Engineer? Why would you even apply in Renault’s engineering team?” he sees your face shift and he wonders if his question is offensive. It does not seem like it is. For Max anyway.

“I’m an engineer, Max,” you're gritting your teeth, Max notices.

Oh, Max realizes. This was why Christian mentioned moving her to the engineering team. He thought you’re going to be their manager or something. Do engineers get managers, too? Max doesn't know.

Max’s world shifts off its axis when he realizes the bigger meaning carried by your words. You want to leave.

“No.”

You make a weird face, “No?”

“No, stay.”

He is perfectly aware that he is in no position to ask this of you. If you want to be an engineer and chase your dreams, you can. No one has the right to stop you. That's your dream. That's your life.

But do you really need to leave?

Suddenly, this becomes like the Daniel situation all over again.

Max isn't sure the exact time you begin holding this much importance over his life that he’s suddenly afraid of your absence. Max still won't consider the two of you friends per se, but he does not want you in Renault. He wants you here, behind him, following him at all times. You don't have to follow Daniel to fucking Renault.

Renault just keeps taking everything from him. First, it’s Daniel, his best friend and teammate. Max will not allow himself to lose you over to Renault and their sucky cars.

“Funny how you think you got a say in this,” you do the thing where you shift your feet lightly so you’re facing Max fully, one hand on your waist while the other rests limp on your side, your head slightly tilts to the right. There's a bulge on your cheek, where your tongue is pressing inside it, and one of your brows is cocked.

“You don't have to go to Renault. You can stay here,” he adds and it almost sounds like he’s pleading.

“And what Max? Let all the money I spent in engineering school go to waste?”

“Do you not want to be my manager anymore?”

“No offense, buddy, but I’ll choose being an engineer.”

Fair point but Max is still hurt anyway. Why are people always leaving him? Is it that hard to choose him and love him? Is he not a good enough reason to stay? Maybe it's because he's not a world champion yet. Maybe it's because he's not someone praiseworthy yet.

“I will win next year. When I become a world champion, I’ll ask Horner to move you to the engineering team.”

Max hopes you believe him.

The 2019 season ends with Lewis Hamilton at the top. Valtteri Bottas is close behind him. After Bottas stands Max Verstappen.

He’ll understand if you're making your application letter to Renault at this very moment. And yet, you come knocking on his hotel door.

“You’re trashin’ the room again,” you say, not ask but say, when Max opens the door and this is like 2018 again when he trashed his entire hotel room for coming in fourth. You even wear the same clothes as last year—a Red Bull polo shirt and a black pencil skirt with the same cream tote bag with peach prints but the shoes are different. “Sour loser much?”

“Fuck you.”

“Fuck you, too,” you reply in a nonchalant tone, not even taking offense that Max has cursed you out. “Lemme see your hands. I have a cold canned beer.”

“I didn't punch the wall.”

Not yet at least. He’s definitely planning to, before you have decided to knock on his door.

“Well then,” you thrust the beer towards him. “Good thing’s beer has multiple purposes. Bruised knuckles? Beer. Bruised ego? Beer.”

Angrily, Max takes the beer in your hands. He really can't deal with you right now.

“Don't worry, man. You’ll be world champion one day. You have the makings of one,” you assure him and your words are too unexpected that Max stiffens. “Not this year but one day.”

“Why can't it be this year?” he asks after a few seconds' pause.

You shrug your shoulders, “Not your time yet, I suppose.”

Then, you turn around and walk away, the loud clicks of your black and gold heels echoing in the hotel hallway until it fades into silence, while Max stands there at the open door, a cold canned beer in his hand.

He’s trying (emphasis on the word trying) to prepare himself snacks so he can eat while sim-racing. It's the off-season right now and his mother and his sister have decided to visit his place in Monaco and stay for a few days before they fly together to Belgium and spend the holidays there. Daniel’s name appears on the notification bar of Max’s phone.

daniel: is [name] in monaco rn or did she go home for the off season

max: why would she be in monaco right now

daniel: she lives there

max: [name] lives in monaco?

daniel: you didn't know??

daniel: she’s been living there since last year

daniel: ever wondered why she comes by our building a lot?

max: how am i supposed to know

daniel: she's your manager

max: well we don't exactly talk about where we live

daniel: i cant believe you

daniel: shes been living there since she was my manager

max: that long???

daniel: i cant with you sometimes

daniel: neways do u have her number?

daniel: i think she got it changed a month ago and i forgot to ask her

daniel: she's not answering my messages in ig

max: yeah yeah i do

daniel: great

daniel: can u call her and ask if she’s in the country?

max: ok

daniel: cool cool

daniel: appreciate it,, man

You answer the phone on the second ring.

“Need anythin’, man?”

When will he hear you call him Max rather than man, dude, bro, big guy, big boy, darlin’ (teasingly), or loser?

“Hi [Name]. I’m calling because, uh, Daniel messaged me,” he begins. “He said you’re not replying to his messages on Instagram.”

“Oh, my bad, my bad. I’ll check it out later, still out playin’ ball right now.”

“He’s asking if you're in Monaco right now.”

“Yeah, yeah, I am. Flight’s still next week. Why’s he askin’?”

“Okay,” he doesn't know what else is there to say. “I didn't even know you live in Monaco.”

“Well, I do,” he hears someone yelling your name. “Aight, anythin’ else you wanna know?”

“Nothing. Nothing else.”

“Okay. Stay safe out there, my guy.”

“You, too.”

The call ends and suddenly, the world feels too silent.

max: yeah she's here

max: she said her flight is scheduled next week

daniel: perfect

daniel: i have her christmas gift with me rn she better be there when i land

daniel: i have to wrap this up on the plane

daniel: do you know how hard it is to gift wrap smth during a flight

Max’s brows furrow. Perhaps he has underestimated the depth of their friendship. They're close enough that they give each other gifts. Or at least, she’s close with Daniel enough that he buys her gifts.

max: safe travels daniel

Daniel arrives a day later, which coincidentally is the same day Sophie, Max’s mother, and Victoria, his sister, landed in Monaco as well. Max’s mother adores Daniel, which is not surprising because everyone adores Daniel.

“Join us for lunch, Daniel,” Sophie invites him. Max and Victoria stand behind her. The three of them are heading out for lunch when they come across Daniel, who is also heading out, at the lobby of the apartment building.

“Sorry, Sophie, but I have an appointment today with [Name],” Daniel scratches his nape and smiles apologetically. Sophie perks up at the mention of [Name].

“Max’s manager?”

“Yes, Max’s manager,” Daniel nods enthusiastically.

“Invite her, too! I’ve always wanted to meet her. She sounds like an amazing girl from what Max has told me.”

Max groans, “Mom, please.”

He may or may not have talked about [Name] during his calls with his mother. Mostly, it's complaints. His mother has laughed at him, used to hee son's constant complaining. Despite that, she still thinks [Name] is good for her son. It's good that someone is able to rein you in when needed, she said.

“Oh, I’m sure she’ll love it. How about I call her and we’ll meet you at the restaurant in a few?” Daniel says.

Everything is settled. Max has reserved a private room for the whole lunch meeting so he can enjoy the privacy of lunch with his family. Less than an hour later, you arrive with Daniel.

Max almost drops the fork when he sees you walking towards them, just a few steps behind the grinning Daniel.

You look different than usual. Max is yet to decide if it's a good type of different or not, because when his eyes land on you, he feels like a thousand elephants have begun a violent rampage in his chest.

You’re not wearing the usual Red Bull polo shirt—perhaps that's why Max feels odd because he’s so used to seeing you wearing it—and instead, you were in a bustier jumpsuit with a white long-sleeved button-up shirt under it.

It looks a little too tight in Max’s opinion, hugging your body in a way that Max thinks you cannot breathe. He can't even breathe when he looks at you right now.

Daniel and you stop in front of the table and Max’s mother stands to kiss you both on the cheek. Max then notices that you’re carrying two bouquets in your hand. Funny how they're so huge and colorful but for some reason, he hasn't noticed them since you walked into the room.

“For you, Ma’am,” you smile as you hand the bouquet to Max’s mother, who gasps in delight. “Welcome to Monaco.”

Then, you turn to Victoria and hand her the other bouquet, “For you, too, Miss Victoria. Welcome to Monaco.”

“Please, have a seat, you two. We’ve already ordered for you," Max's mother says. You and Daniel sit down.

You and Daniel quickly engage in conversation with Max’s mother. Victoria elbows Max, leaning over his ear to whisper, “You have a good manager, Max.”

“You just like her because she got you flowers," Max whispers back.

Victoria chuckles and the Verstappen siblings join in the conversation.

Lunch is a pleasant event. Everyone loves the food. Everyone laughs. Everyone is having a good time. However, good things always come to an end. Daniel has to leave early because he has an appointment. Max is supposed to drive Victoria and his mother to the department store because they planned on shopping together as a family and buy gifts for their relatives in Belgium. But since Daniel left and he was your ride going to the restaurant, that means you have no ride going home.

You insist that you can hail a cab or even walk to your apartment since it’s “just three streets away” but Max notices that your smile looks too forced and Max calls bullshit. Max may not know where you live but he knows you're lying. Thankfully, his mother seems to share the same sentiments and push you towards Max.

“Don't worry, honey. He’s a good driver. You're in safe hands.”

“I’m really fine, Ma’am,” you try again.

“Call me Sophie,” she says, her hand comes up to your shoulder and you flinch a little. “You take good care of Max. It's the least he can do for you. Also, I’m a woman, honey. I know the pain of walking a good distance in heels. Don't subject yourself to that pain.”

You don't protest any further and the four of you hop into Max’s car. Max drives Sophie and Victoria to a department store and drops them off. He kisses his mother’s cheek as they bid a temporary goodbye. Afterwards, he instructs you to type down your address on the GPS so he can drive you to where you live.

When he reads the address you input, he snorts. You whip your head around to give him a dirty look.

“Three streets down,” he says, amused. “Really?”

“Shut up, ‘s just on the other side of the city.”

“It's still far.”

The first few minutes of the drive is silent. You sit on the passenger seat with your earbuds in and legs crossed, leaning most of your weight against the car door so your back posture sort of resembles a person with mild scoliosis. Max hears you hum along the song you’re listening to, your fingers tapping along the rhythm.

Max taps your shoulder. You turn to him, pulling off one of your earbuds.

“Somethin’ wrong?” you ask.

Why do you always assume something's wrong when he calls your attention? Does he really only talk to you when he has a problem?

Max gestures to the AUX, “You can connect your phone to my car.”

You gasp dramatically, a hand pressing on your chest, “You’re givin’ me AUX privilege? Truly honored.”

Max rolls his eyes.

“But I don't think you’ll like what I listen to,” you add.

“Try me.”

El Alfa songs have electrifying and infectious rhythms and Max may not understand the lyrics but not understanding the song lyrics can't stop a person from enjoying a song. El Alfa songs are the type of songs that you’ll hear in parties and in the streets.

“By the way,” Max begins. The song changes into something else—Sofia, the title reads, sung by Alvaro Soler. It's a whole different vibe from the previous song. “Thank you for giving my mum and sister flowers today. That was very thoughtful of you.”

“Just trynna be nice,” you say nonchalantly. “Glad they liked it.”

“Also, you look nice today.”

You slowly turn to him. You have this weird expression on your face like you have an aneurysm but also indigestion and mild stroke.

“Did you eat somethin’ weird at the restaurant?”

“No, I didn't.”

“Then why are you playin’ nice?”

Max rolls his eyes, “I can punch you if you want.”

“Yeah, right, as if you can. Your mother raised you too well to throw hands to the ladies.”

Max closes his mouth.

“See? I’m right,” you continue. “You’ll fight any man on the grid but you won't fight me even though I annoy you every day. You're not like your father, Max.”

Max clears his throat awkwardly. He does not know how to respond to you. You're too… too… honest.

“But thank you,” you say. “Borrowed this from my roomie ‘cuz I don't own any nice clothes.”

You wear branded clothing way too well for someone to think otherwise.

The song switches. Danza Kuduro starts playing. Max knows this one. He watched Fast Five.

Max stops the car outside the apartment building, but instead of hopping off, you rummage through your tote bag—still the cream-colored one with peach prints, it looks so worn down now—and pull out a….it looks like a beaded bracelet but it's not closed on the ends.

“What's this?” he asks when you hand it to him. Red and navy blue beads—the color of Red Bull.

“Consider this as my gift for the holidays. I made Daniel one so it makes sense that I give you one as well.”

Oh. Max blinks at you then glances down at the little thing in his palm. Something warm blooms in Max’s heart.

“That's very thoughtful of you.”

Panic follows. His head snaps up.

“But I haven't bought you anything.”

“That's okay, man,” you smile and open the door. “Thanks a lot for today.”

You step outside and close the door after you before Max can even utter another word. Max watches as you jog inside the building. He shakes his head when you disappear from his vision, hangs the beaded keychain with his keys, and drives back to where he drops his mother and sister off earlier.

Sophie notices the keychain and compliments it. She asks his son if he got into the hobby of creating things out of beads. Max shakes his head and tells her that the keychain is a gift from you.

His mother visibly lights up, “You should get her a gift!”

Max gets into thinking. Yeah, he should.

He meets you a day before your flight to Texas in the lobby of the building where you live. You gave him a keychain. It's only appropriate that he gives you keys. (You don't seem very happy with the gift though for God knows what reason but Max is adamant on giving it to you and will not stop at a no.

“I want you close,” he says, surprised by the sincerity that exited his mouth.

“Well, I don't.” Your words sting a little. Max ignores it.

He ends up giving you a different key. You say the other key is too expensive. Max is not thrilled but it's still a key and this certain key, you accept. So Max is happy.)

Max flies to Belgium a few days after you and celebrates the holidays with his mother's side of the family. He calls your cell in the middle of the night, Belgium is six hours ahead of Texas so Max is sure it's around four in the afternoon from where you are. He does not expect you to answer as quickly as you did.

“Somethin’ wrong?” your voice sounds rough like you’ve been asleep.

“Hi, uhm,” Max clears his throat. He’s a little tipsy right now and his words are flying around in his brain. “Happy holidays.”

There's a pause.

“You called me for that?”

“Can you stop being mean? It's the holidays.”

“Are you drunk?”

“Kinda?”

“Well then,” Max hears a ruffle of sheets and suddenly, he feels bad for waking you up. “Happy holidays to you, too, bud. Appreciate the effort and the money you spent on making this call. International calls are expensive as fuck.”

They're not. At least, Max thinks they're not.

“Can I get your Instagram? The one you use to talk to Daniel?”

“My priv? Why?”

“Because I just want it.”

“Brat. You can’t follow that account usin’ your public account. PR has access to your account and they’ll see my shit. I don't want them to see my shit.”

“Then, I’ll make a private account and we’ll follow each other.”

He hears you sigh.

“You promise not to give PR access to that account?”

“Hm. I promise.”

“Yeah, okay, whatever. Send me the details and I’ll follow you when I wake up, aight?”

Max giggles, “Okay.”

“Anythin’ else?”

“Nothing, nothing.”

“Aight, I’ll continue my nap. You enjoy yourself there.”

“Okay.”

Then, COVID happens.

#mv33 x reader #max verstappen x reader #f1 x reader #formula 1 #formula one #max verstappen #max verstappen x you #f1 imagines #manager!reader #mv33 #mv1 #mv1 x reader #mv33 x you

[kneelingshadowsalome]

Just Friends (König x F!Reader)

How to Tell Her You Love Her 3/4 (Word count 4.5 k)

Summary: König is a horny, creepy killing machine obsessed with a shy, kind reader who has a raging knife kink.

Tags/warnings: 🔞 Eventual smut, eventual violence, angst, dark romance, canon divergence. Crack treated seriously. Yandere undertones, implied stalking, panty stealing, major character death, size kink, voyeurism, possessive sex, twisted, fluffy feelings. Loner boy/gentle girl dynamic. Protective!Obsessive!Top!König. Reader works as a cleaner at the base. She is described to have hair and prefers to wear dresses off work. Not safe or sane but mostly consensual.

A/N: Finally I can share the rest of this crazy story with you guys! Chapter 4/4 will be posted right after this one. Also if you haven't yet seen @shizukaay0 's amazing fanart for this fic, go take a look, it's steamy!

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

She wakes up next morning only to find König gone.

The restless night nearly makes her sleep in, and when she notices that the man has left while she was still sleeping, something twists like a blade inside her stomach. She throws the covers off, scours the room with her stare, and notices a note and a small sunflower on the bedside table.

He has left his knife – or one of them – here too. Another gift.

The steel is dark, nearly black; the handle olive green, with sturdy finger grooves and a heavy guard to protect the fingers. The saw-toothed portion on the back of the blade gives the knife a look that most people would probably deem ugly. The blade is wide and ends in a vicious, fat tip that looks sharp enough to puncture flesh without having to apply much pressure.

She doesn't know what a Glock knife looks like, but this is exactly how she sees König: petrifying, big, and brutal. In her eyes, beautiful… Stunning.

The knife juts from the table and holds a note in place although there is no risk of wind to take it off.

Flower for my Engel

I'll see you tonight

The clumsy, hurried message immediately makes her smile. The disturbing thoughts from last evening are only an odd memory – his offerings make her insides glow with warm milk and honey, she feels silly, like summer – and the promise to come to her every night doesn't feel like a threat anymore, it feels… magical, a secret romantic meeting, something wild, something she has always avoided from fear of trying new things.

The floral dress on the floor doesn't appear as evidence of her ruining anymore. It's fairytale-like: that he leaves flowers and knives wherever he goes. The destroyed bra makes her almost giggle. When has a man ever done something like that to her in the heat of passion?

The night feels like another odd dream: König had barely fit to sleep in her bed, and she had barely fit to curl around him. He had slept like a baby, motionless and peaceful, while she woke up every few hours to admire him: to watch the slow pulse between his collarbones barely revealed by the hood and listen to the faint snore that stopped for the smallest moment when she brushed her fingertips over his stomach.

Her muscles ache from lying half on top of him all night. Changing position was out of the question because he held an arm of steel around her all night. Luckily, it prevented her from falling from the bed. But now her muscles were coated with pains of not getting enough sleep while being held in place by a giant for almost 9 hours. Not to talk of the fresh aches born from their activities before getting those precious few winks of sleep…

She goes to work that day with such an everlasting beam that people notice her. She's not entirely sure what has happened, but she is suddenly wildly alive, and blooming.

No one knows about her secret man, her secret, sturdy weapon. No one knows she is the one he comes to every night: the shy, invisible cleaner who has seduced the man whom everyone fears.

And they can keep their boring normalcy and dull decency. She has found something infinitely better.

He's her most precious secret from now on.

He comes to visit her in the break room in the middle of the day, and she's slightly surprised. She thought they would see each other only at night from now on.

She greets him with a smile, and he answers her delight with an amused twinkle in his eyes. He looks far more normal now that the tension is gone. It's suddenly easy to be in his company because they share a secret nobody else knows about.

"Hi… What are you doing here?"

Her shy smiles and the soft whisper should tell him that she doesn't object at all to this sort of intrusion. She might be a little obsessed now too.

"I had to see you," he says as if she's his priority from now on, and her heart feels lighter and lighter. He's equally as lovestruck as she, then.

"You look so beautiful."

She's walking in a dream again: this man calls her beautiful even when she's hidden in her cleaner uniform, stripped from her dresses and flowers and makeup. The only thing she has is her smile, really, but he's not any less adoring. She's being worshiped during her sleepy coffee break, in broad daylight, when she's dressed in dull, grimy working clothes… Who would've thought?

“Thank you,” she gives him another smile, and he moves to her; so close that she has to crane her neck to look up at him.

The kiss that follows is stolen but thoroughly consensual. She disappears inside his hood and smiles on his lips, which are far gentler now. It's a chaste little kiss that happens in darkness and in secret, like everything else between them.

"Will you come to me tonight…?" She asks as if the note wasn't promise enough that he would. He's far too decent, not even groping her this time, and it drives her crazy.

"Nothing could keep me from you," he answers straight into her mouth. His musk and the soap he uses – something breezy and pungent, tea tree, perhaps – surround her much like the hood.

"You can be on top this time. I want to see how you take it–"

"Shh…" She smiles, almost laughs at his libertine whispers. He's smiling, too.

"Don't worry. I'll do the heavy lifting if you're tired."

He retreats, the hood is taken away and her sight is filled with light and decency, but then his hands go around her waist and lift her from the ground. It's like she's flying, floating through the air before he sets her gently on the coffee table.

"Except that you're not heavy at all," he says, voice dark and thick from arousal. He moves to her neck, the hood-coated face roams up and down her throat as he moves to whisper more suggestions in her ear.

"Or you can take it in your mouth… Have you ever had a man in your mouth?"

Something tells her that if she were to say yes, it would deeply upset him. The hair on the back of her neck starts to tingle, and when she doesn't answer him, he continues.

"I could eat you at the same time. Would you like that?"

His voice is darker still, and it makes her bite her lip and grab his arm for support. Even the idea of a 69 with him is dizzying. She can barely breathe from the joy and wanting.

How is she supposed to continue her day when he pops up out of nowhere and talks such sweet filth in her ear?

"König…"

"And after that… We'll fuck until your legs shake."

"Stop," she laughs a hushed giggle in the fabric of his hood. "This is inappropriate…"

"Oh ja. I'm hard again."

Mmh.

"All your fault, Engel."

"You are incurable," she laughs.

"That's what they say."

Perhaps it's a joke, but the word they makes her briefly wonder if he has had this kind of affairs with other women, too. Perhaps she's not so special after all. The image of him fucking other women with abandon breeds a stale, bitter putrefaction in her stomach.

Has he called them angels too…?

Her hands are about his neck, but she has no memory of throwing them there. She wishes she could just dangle from him the rest of the day until he carries her to bed and does all the things he just promised he would do. Let her do all those things to him while he gets to watch – watch how well she can take him, ride him, suck him.

She makes a silent promise to herself and to him that she will be the special girl, no matter the cost.

"Do you want coffee? I just made some," she asks in hopes that he would stay for a little while longer even if he isn't supposed to be here in the social spaces of the maintenance personnel.

"Sure. I would love that."

The man wants his coffee dark, and it only makes her smile as she pours him that minimalistic, unsweetened beverage. She likes his knives dark, his hood dark, his shirts dark… Perhaps she should start wearing black dresses.

"You left your knife in my room."

"For you," he tilts his head a little, wanting to know if she likes his gift. Has he given knives to other women, too, after he's fucked them…?

"Thank you. It's incredible."

"Good combat knife," he nods. "Doesn't reflect light."

If someone was here with them right now, they would probably roll their eyes at how deranged this conversation is. What rotten lunatics they both were.

She’s completely flushed, and smiling like an idiot from receiving a fat, vile knife as a present after having been fucked into oblivion twice last night.

"Well, it reminds me of you."

He looks at her, searching for deceit or ridicule, but there is none.

"That's how you see me..?"

"Mm-hm," she hums with sudden lightness. "Incredible."

His eyes betray the same look he had when he came inside her last night: brief, fragile, naked hope. Her next smile is sadder because obviously, this guy didn't receive compliments often. She's watering a dry desert plant with a single, simple word, and his eyes light up like he's just received years and years worth of good care.

He steps forward and looks like he is finally about to sit at the table. The obsessed look has melted into pure adoration: it's even more knee-buckling than the possessive stare that has followed her for weeks.

One of the maintenance officers arrives to get a cup of coffee in a hurry; a man whose name she doesn't even care to remember, whose world seems to consist mainly of stress. He’s a typical, middle-aged, burned-out man who doesn't appear to remember how to cherish the little things – such as a good cup of coffee – but rushes by everyone and everything and blames them for his stress. She always feels pity for both people and inanimate objects that get to suffer from this man’s exhaustion.

But she doesn't even see him now: all she sees is the fierce operator who is not supposed to be here. The giant who looks at her equally as mesmerized, like everyone else has ceased to exist in this world.

The air is teeming with naked lust and barely contained, sweet hunger, but the poor officer is blind to all of that. A sudden warmth gushes on her chest as the man bumps into her while rushing by with his overfilled coffee mug. She might as well be invisible again, and the hot liquid burns, but it has no power to make her angry or sad.

“Oh–excuse me,” she chirps with a dreamy smile on her face when it’s all his fault that she has coffee all over her shirt.

Before the man gets to the door, König grabs him by the collar and hurls him against the wall. She doesn’t even catch the knife before it plunges inside a round stomach like the worker is merely a balloon to be punctured.

The blade comes away all red, then disappears into the flesh again, and again and again… She loses count after six; the knife sails inside the same hole like he’s fucking the man with the blade. The slick sounds remind her of their intense love-making last night, they taint the passion in the most twisted way.

More hot coffee ends up splashing on her thighs before the sound of a mug smashing into tiny little pieces on the floor tells her that all innocence is lost.

Her gaze is glued to the black and red mush that used to be a polo shirt and a stomach: the man stays upright only because he is not allowed to collapse to the ground. But after a few seconds that seem to last hours, he is shoved to the floor in a sad heap.

She’s still staring at the now dead man when König takes a small step toward her. It occurs to her that both her palms are over her mouth only after she raises her eyes to his, and sees that he had expected some other reaction than this.

Her hands won’t descend; they try to keep all her horror inside, try to reassure her that this is only a dream, she hasn’t woken up yet, and the relief will be immense once she does.

But that never happens.

It’s real, and she would give anything to go only a few minutes back in time where the man was still alive and König was not everything she always feared he was.

He is looking at her with bewildered confusion, then the corner of his eye twitches, just once. He forces the blade back into its sheath without wiping the blood off: a telltale sign that he is more than thrown off balance.

Her horror and disgust escort him out the door in a tornado-like state, and she is left alone with two spilled coffees and a bleeding corpse, wondering who will clean the mess because she cannot for her life do it.

. . . . . .

The shock leaves her body cold and weak as she sits on a bench in the hallway, too distracted to carry on with her day, too afraid to go into her lonely room. It feels safer to remain in a public space, even if people who pass her by look at her with pity and confusion.

She cried her eyes and heart out after the shaking receded. She understands now why shock is such a dangerous state to be in. She always thought it a lie that people could die from shock, but not anymore.

Other people cleaned the mess, after the investigation. How she was able to stay so calm and collected during the questioning is a miracle on its own. What came after was an empty, bleak abyss.

She’s still staring at the floor after the buzzing around her quiets down. Minutes or hours pass by, the work day is over, steps fade away, doors close, people leave.

“Now now… What's the matter here lass?”

It’s the Scottish dude, unbearably benign, and looking like he’s actually caring about why she looks so devastated.

So, the other operators haven’t yet heard.

She doubts if König will receive much more than a scolding for what he did, high-ranked and fiercely dedicated to his work as he is. The man’s simply too valuable to be thrown away. They will just blow enough money to cover this shit right up.

This is not a regular army, and these are not regular people.

Soap sits down next to her, and she doesn’t even mind. At least he’s normal. At least something in this world is still intact, and smiling kindly.

"König did–König did something terrible."

She snobs and snivels, nose clogged and numb, eyes still burning from the tears. Soap looks at her with unadulterated concern, then pity. His brows knit together and he swallows before sighing profoundly.

"Right. What did he do now?"

When she only continues to stare at the floor, Soap raises a hand and starts to rub her back. Rather forcefully, to make it clear that he's not making a pass at her.

“Did he do something to you?”

She shakes her head slowly, because technically, it’s the truth. He didn’t knife her down.

Soap doesn’t ask any further questions. He must know without telling that König has done something bad, something fucking foul even if she hasn't been at the receiving end of it.

"Wanna hear my advice? Just stay away from that guy. Don't talk to him, don't pay attention to him."

The hand on her back stops as he thinks of more advice to give her while her heart grows cold and lonely.

"Just pretend that he doesn't exist."

It’s another punch in the gut to hear that she, the invisible girl, should simply return to her invisibleness and condemn König to nonexistence, too. To cast him out and send him even further into exile. To pretend that he had never been inside her, never brought her gifts.

The hand disappears, but then she feels padded gloves on her chin. She's too tired to flinch, and the hand gently coaxes her to turn her head and look back at the Scottish sunshine.

"Now… Give me a little smile, lass. It can't be that bad."

He’s not flirting with her.

She’s far too plain for Soap.

Or at least, that’s how she feels: unattractive, to men like him. To twinkling brown eyes, a perfect jawline, good jokes and outgoingness… She's had a few admirers but König is the only man who has looked at her like she’s nothing short of a goddess.

Soap, however, is the only one who came to clumsily cheer her up from the slump that witnessing a violent stabfest has sent her in. Everyone else just rushed by with feigned hurry. Every kindness she receives, she usually returns tenfold… But kindness is also a burden. Under the surface, she mainly wants to get rid of Soap; wants just to be left alone. Finally go back to her room and cry herself to sleep.

So she gives him a smile, shy enough to make him believe it’s genuine.

"There we go," he smiles back like an innocent sun, and behind him, in the darkening hallway, she catches the approaching giant: a black hood and under that, a bone-searing blue gaze.

"Wait–wait, wait!"

She darts from the bench, between Soap and him, like her lithe little body is enough to shield John MacTavish from a murderous titan.

If a man who spills coffee on her deserves to be stabbed more than a dozen times, what will happen to a man who has dared to touch her and make her smile?

"Don't,” her hand meets the steel of König's chest, and the blood drunk Goliath actually stops.

“Don’t, König, please."

The ice-cold gaze drops to her, and there’s such a range of emotion behind those blues that she has a hard time catching even half of the storm raging inside her maniac.

Soap rises from the bench behind her: the rustle of clothes and the squeak of gear tell her as much.

"Caught the girl crying,” he says with poorly disguised trepidation in his voice. “Now I don't know what you have done but maybe you should apologize."

Soap’s bravery is admirable. The flash of rage that is sent behind her could scald flesh from bones.

She presses herself against König, hugs his middle, tries to guide his attention elsewhere.

Just let the him go, please, no more…

Soap could perhaps defend himself for a while, but she doubts if the Austrian war machine would stop even when he’s shot full of holes.

Gargantuan arms go around her like a cage: she’s his, and forever will be. The true cost of being cast out from heaven is heavier than she had ever imagined; the tears that arise are born from a deeper trauma than that of witnessing a homicide in her quiet little break room.

. . . . .

König waits as she goes to have a shower. He follows her like a dark cloud as she goes to throw her work clothes, stained with coffee and the memory of blood, to the washing machine. He waits with statuelike composure as she finally sits on her bed, hair still dripping wet and leaving damp stains on her cute little white dress.

Wearing white seems like an abomination right now.

"I told you I don't want you to hurt people," she says quietly while watching how the water gathers at the tip of the strings of hair and tip-tip-tips on her dress and hands.

The man says nothing to defend himself. All the rage and fury is gone, his shoulders are tense, high up in the sky, almost in his ears. He’s shielding himself, and it makes her confused – clearly, he feels empathy, so why is he like… like this?

"I don't think you understand,” she swallows, heart beating more calmly now. He’s not going to plunge a knife in her, that much is certain. But still…

"I'm afraid of you."

She raises her stare: a powerful accusation, a woman's weapon. His head pulls back – he's surprised at this newfound nerve.

"I'm afraid of you, König," she emphasizes, much louder now. The declaration rings so true that it leaves her breathless and free, even powerful.

He, on the other hand, is a paralyzed beast. A golem stripped of the magical word that makes him a soulless robot. His eyes betray fear of loss for the first time, real, actual fear. He steps toward her, and when she doesn’t stop him, walks slowly to where she’s sitting.

He falls to one knee, slowly, so slowly – like she's a bird about to fly off. It pulls at her heart, it rattles the cage of her ribs. The frigid padding of his gloves touch her cheek, and she surrenders an inch or two. Maybe more than that.

She doesn’t know who lifts the mask, he or she, but her lips meet his desperate ones under all that black.

"I'm afraid of you…"

She whispers it on his lips, in his mouth, although she’s not afraid anymore. She’s pissed, and somewhat in love, and addled, shaken, ruffled to her core.

The kiss turns into a hungry one when he notices she’s not meaning what she says. Before long, she's on her knees too, and he's devouring her until she finds herself in his arms, being gently set on the floor. A trembling hand disappears under the hem of her dress, and the fabric comes up with it as he travels up her thigh.

But the only thing that’s wet right now is her hair, everything else is parched dry, locked up, sealed like the tomb of Tutankhamun, and there are curses in store for the one who will try to enter with force. Hell, even with a trembling, delicate hand.

And it’s not because she can’t get aroused – she could, in mere minutes with him – but because she’s not wet at the very instant he’s in her presence, that makes her grab the hand currently trying to get some solace from her.

"No."

He stops but doesn’t move that hand away. He’s panting in her mouth: needy, and in a whirlpool of despair. The only thing that can make him feel better is her wetness, which she cannot provide him.

The hand probes; it forces its way up just an inch.

"No."

She's relentless, and he finally draws his hand away, only to place it hesitantly and with an immense amount of grief, on her waist. She feels tiny under that giant palm.

"I'm not your plaything," she whispers, even finds the courage to shoot a tiny glare his way.

The hand does not apply pressure. If anything, it grows lighter and lighter with the fear of scaring her away.

"I made a mistake, Engel," he breathes. "You're not a toy."

Her eyes must betray both her hurt and longing because the man ups the stakes immediately.

"I'll give you anything you want," he tries: so desperately, so seriously that it sounds quite ridiculous.

"Can you just go," she whispers while a tear or two push out from the corner of her eyes. They’re hot as hell because they’re born of odd love.

"Engel–"

"Just leave."

The fingers on her waist curl, they grab her dainty little dress like it’s his only gateway to heaven. He releases the fabric soon enough, then grabs it again and lets out an agonizing sound.

Just go, go, please just leave me be…

She wants him to understand that there are consequences to his actions, and at the same time, she wants him to just hold her, to fix everything and fix her. It doesn't take the bitter taste of betrayal off her tongue to realize that she always knew what he was. She knew.

He rises to his feet, paces around a few times, more and more confused, distressed like a tortured animal. She sniffs and curls into a fetal position, hoping that he would just leave, and at the same time, hoping that he would brush off her demands and just hug her.

"I can't," he finally wails as if he can hear even her thoughts. "You're crying…”

It breaks her heart into million pieces – how can the same man stress and fuss about her tears when just hours ago, he had murdered some innocent man in cold blood?

He comes to the heap of her again, falls to his knees, then caresses her arm so softly that at first she thinks she’s just imagining the touch.

"Little angel," he tries.

Her following sob is like that of a child's. Why does he have to be so perfect and at the same time, such a–

"I know that I'm a monster."

Her eyes want to fly wide open, but she keeps them shut. He's self-aware, so much so that it hurts. He pets her more neurotically now; it's almost as if he's comforting himself and not her.

"Don't send me away," he begs, then curls behind her in an awkward spooning, holds and rocks her gently as she cries some more. After the catharsis that lasts for good long minutes, he gathers her like a doll in his arms and carries her to the bed so she doesn't have to lie on the cold, hard floor.

"I'll make it better," he says again and again as he caresses her and strokes her hair, "I promise I'll make it better…"

“Just go,” she cuts him off with a whisper.

He leaves eventually, after some more pacing and a few sighs, and she understands that he actually cared for her all this time: otherwise, he would've just taken what he wanted.

She slips into a dream, a soft oblivion where everything is well and summer is at its peak. They hold hands and stroll through the freshly cut grass, birds are singing, and he has no mask.

Taglist:

@ghostinvenus @konigsleftkidney @stillinracooncity @valenspuppy @koionthewalls

#könig x reader #könig x female reader #könig x you #könig fanfiction #könig #mw2 smut #mw2 fanfic #könig smut #konig x reader #call of duty #mw2 x reader #yandere könig #könig imagine #just friends

[flufftober]

🌸🍀 Hello and welcome to our (first) Flufftober Spring Edition 🌸🍀

SURPRISE 😁

Yes, we've decided that one month of the year simply isn't enough anymore! So we would like to fill two weeks in March with as much fluff as possible 🥰 for that to happen, we present you with 14 prompts, some of them neutral, some very much sping-themed.

How does this work?

Pretty much like our regular Flufftober event in October, so you'll find all the common rules and info below the cut. Contrary to the big event though, this one here only runs for two weeks instead of the entire month, and we set the date from March 11th to March 24th! So prompt one is NOT supposed to be posted on March 1st but instead on March 11th! Prompt two is for March 12th, prompt 3 for March 13th, and so on...

Since this is a smaller prompt list, you also won't find any prompt extras to switch these out with, sorry. Maaaybe if this event is a success, we'll think about changing that in upcoming years 😉

Below the cut, you'll find all our rules, posting info, and all the prompts in writing. If you have any more questions, please feel free to send us asks 🥰

Friends, we so hope you love this surprise and that the prompts may inspire a lot of fluffy creations! We wish you a great start to the new year and as always

Happy Creating 🥳

Standard Blog Rules & FAQ

(Due to previous asks, we made sure to add more points to this section - while they're not new rules, they're new to this list, so you'll find them colored green)

No inc*st or p*dophilia - we can’t keep you from writing it or creating art for it but it won’t be reblogged. No inc*st: This rule does not apply to distant cousins and such, as you might find in the LotR fandom (or basically in all of European Monarchy). The line we draw is at direct blood relations (siblings, (grand)parents, kids) and/or legal guardianship. No p*dophilia: This rule does not rule out fandoms that feature teenagers such as Harry Potter, Heartstoppers, Hunger Games, etc. It also doesn't mean you can't write about their time together as teenagers! It's aimed at ships in which one is a minor and the other is not - but since even that has grey areas, the rule is this: if you keep it SFW, all is good and allowed, we don't care; if it turns NSFW, be mindful of the legalities of the world/society/times your characters live in.

No hate or ship bashing - we’re all different and we all love different things. As long as it doesn’t go against rule #1, it’s allowed.

Tag correctly! Trigger warnings (including cheating!), ships, ratings, (pure) smut, etc - it’s all fine as long as you tag it.

There’s absolutely no word count restriction, write as little or as much as you like.

In regards to art, anything goes: drawings, paintings, collages, mood boards, gif sets, videos, playlists… the sky’s the limit (though not really…). If you would like to create a podfic, the fic you're using does not have to be new - your creation will be new!

You can mix and mash different mediums however you like, be it within one prompt or on different days.

While we can’t force you to write fluff or create fluffy art, please try to keep in mind that this is a fluff event 😉 that, of course, doesn't mean you can't combine it with angsty/whumpy prompts - hurt/comfort is absolutely welcome!

You can start creating as soon as you see this - but please refrain from posting before the respective day.

If you post early, we will schedule your post for the correct day; if you use multiple prompts in one creation, we will post on the earliest day you used.

You can participate on as many days as you like, even if it’s just one; you can also create multiple entries for the same day.

You can replace as many original prompts as you like with our prompt extras; you can also combine them with the original prompts or create for them in addition, that's completely up to you.

It’s okay to write one story/a series for all the prompts.

You do not have to stick to one character, ship, or even one fandom - switch as often as you like to or even write for multiple ships for one day.

The ship does not have to be a romantic one! Friendship and family feels are more than welcome (but this is not a way to get around rule #1!)

Original works as well as OCs in fandoms are welcome! But please make sure to mark these clearly, either in the tags or the post itself. We're not familiar with all fandoms (though we're definitely learning a lot!), so we're not always sure what might be an OC and what might be such an unknown side character not even Google can find them...

Reader insert fics (for example "character x reader") as well as RPFs are absolutely allowed.

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Prompts

1. New Beginnings

2. Banter, Joking, Fun

3. Spring Cleaning

4. “Let me take care of you.”

5. Honey & Bees

6. Sharing a Blanket

7. Giving someone a Present

8. Breakfast in Bed

9. Daisies

10. Iced Beverage

11. Enjoying the Fresh Air

12. Claiming, Clingy, Possessive

13. “It’s still too cold.” - “No, it’s not.”

14. Putting down Roots

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[astermath]

hey! could I get some hc’s for the series of Dave and the popular girl? swf and nsfw if possible. TYSM!!!💗

omg yes absolutely! so glad you asked, I really love writing for these two <333 don’t know if you wanted nsfw headcanons too but i kept it to just sfw ones for now, hope you enjoy!

would love to hear you guys’ thoughts and headcanons about these two as well :3

“so? whatever.” dave lizewski x popular!fem!reader: landing page.

♡ even though your family is way wealthier than dave's, he still buys you gifts. flowers, your favourite snacks, those earrings you were gushing to him about. yes, you could easily buy them for yourself, but that doesn't matter to him.

♡ you make up for it to him by buying him expensive, rare, limited edition comic books.

♡ one time he cried because of how happy he was when you got him a special spiderman comic. you happily sat on his lap while he explained his favourite parts about it after.

♡ you know that meme that’s like “he asked for no pickles on his hamburger”? yeah. that’s you two. he may be tall, muscly and your city’s most popular vigilante, but he’s also dave. and dave is still getting used to sticking up for himself.

♡ it doesn’t make it any better that your brothers friends still mess with him sometimes. so, you’ve had to set the record straight to them a few times. cussing them out, threatening to beat their asses, or just pulling in your boyfriend for a deep kiss to really drive the point home.

♡ dave does the same thing when todd or marty make a comment about you being a bimbo, or a mean girl, neither of which are true. and he makes sure to remind them that the only reason they’re not getting shoved into lockers anymore is also because of you.

♡ surprisingly, your dad has taken a serious liking to your boyfriend too. he was skeptical of him at first, thinking he was some pervert trying to get into his daughter’s pants, but he sees that not only is dave is smart, he really, really loves you.

♡ and either way, he could never deny his little girl of anything. even if it is loving the biggest dork he’s ever seen.

♡ when you go shopping, he always carries your bags. all of them. not like it’s hard for him, with those beefy arms.

♡ he also loves it when you give him a little fashion show showing everything that you bought. then again, he’d think you’re beautiful even if you were wearing a trash bag.

♡ he always loves to watch you get ready. you think he’s not paying attention, reading a comic or scrolling on his phone, but he’s watching your reflection in your vanity mirror out of the corner of his eye. smiling at the way you look so concentrated when doing your eyeliner, or how cute the pout of your lips is when you apply your lipgloss.

♡ WILL sing along with whatever pop song you put on. taylor swift, ariana grande, olivia rodrigo, he’s humming along at first and suddenly you realise. he knows all the words. and he’s just fully singing along with you because he knows you love those songs.

♡ dave is not much of a gossiper himself, but he will always hear you out when you have some juicy tea to spill. like no way, jessica really said that? god, she would have the nerve, no wonder her boyfriend cheated on her— you giggle, it’s a funny sight, seeing your nerdy sweet boyfriend get so into the drama of it all.

♡ he’s really happy and really grateful that in the end, he’s never a secret for you. you’re very happy to have him as your boyfriend, and you’re not afraid to let the world know. anyone who has a problem with that would have to deal with your sharp tongue and biting remarks.

tag list ₊˚🖇️✩ ₊˚

@nephilimsss  @tangerinesgf @dynamitehacke @izzyisstuff @cinawoah @amoebagrl @ykyouluvme  @stilloverthinking  @durag-tanaka @earth-elemental18 @caxddce @777iii @a-simp-for-broken-people

#davemath #aster writes kickass #dave lizewski x fem!reader #dave lizewski x reader #dave lizewski #dave lizewski kickass #dave lizewski x you #dave lizewski fic #dave lizewski writing #dave lizewski x y/n #dave lizewski fan fic #dave lizewski x popular!reader #nerd!bf x popular!reader #nerd x popular girl #aaron taylor johnson kickass #aaron taylor johnson #kickass fic #kickass fan fiction #kickass x fem!reader #kickass x reader #kickass headcanons #kickass x fem!reader #kickass x popular!reader

[teddiesworldd]

"you're perfect to me".

body issues? not allowed, honey. i feel like simon would be so good at hyping you up when you're feeling bad about yourself. he'd just know the perfect thing to say to you to make you feel better. (500 words)

a/n: this is something i struggle with so maybeeee this is a bit of a self-insert. oh well, hope u enjoy! i've tried to write it so it can be applied to any body type.

pairing: simon riley x gn reader

tags/warnings: body issues, self-critical talk, insecurities, brief mentions of sex, angst(??)

you looked into the mirror for probably the 100th time today. your weight had changed, it was no secret. if anyone looked hard enough, it would be obvious. it was difficult to recognise the person looking back at you. all your little imperfections had just added up and up and suddenly you hated yourself. how could he look at you and still love you when you were so different to who you were before? he'd probably noticed how you were feeling, too. you'd been wearing baggier clothes, moving his hands away when he cuddled you, dimmed the lights when you made love. you just didn't want him to see what you were seeing. for him to feel your body under his touch.

hiding it was going well until he asked you to shower with him. it was something that normally you'd say yes to, so when you declined, something clicked in his mind and he worked out why you'd been shying away from him recently.

"lovie, is there something you wanna talk about?"

he looked down at you so sweetly, with such concern in his eyes, that you immediately started to break down in front of him. it was like everything you'd been bottling up inside just burst out all at once. he pulled you into his chest, running his big hands through your hair and over your back.

"i hate how i look now." you whispered. "my body is so different. i used to be so pretty"

simon's heart absolutely crumbled. he thought you were the prettiest thing in the whole world. he couldn't believe you could see yourself as anything other than beautiful.

"you're perfect to me. absolutely perfect. when i first saw you, i thought you were gorgeous, love. and i still think that. every morning when i wake up and see you, i think the same thing. i got so lucky with you"

he looked down at you and carefully wiped your eyes. he looked just as broken as you did, still shocked that you could see yourself so badly.

"but i don't look the same anymore." you replied. it was so hard to believe him when your head was being so cruel to yourself. you didn't think he was lying to you, definitely not. it was just so different to what you'd been telling yourself.

"it doesn't matter if your body has changed. i still love it. i still love you." he pressed a gentle kiss to your salty lips. it was firm, but so loving. "let me show you how much i love your body."

he took your hand and led you to the shower. it was so difficult to let yourself be seen. to be so vulnerable in front of your lover. but you trusted him. he gently washed your hair and body, massaging the soaps into you which relaxed you completely; you could feel yourself melting into his touch. the way he looked at you - like you were the most precious thing in the universe - it made you feel so much better about yourself.

˚✧. thank you for reading!

˚✧. please reblog to support me <3

˚✧. dividers by @ saradika-graphics and @ si-eunnis

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💌 send a request

#ghost cod #simon riley #simon riley fluff #ghost fluff #cod mw2 #task force 141 #simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #simon riley angst #cod modern warfare #new blog #teddiesworldd

[sebastianswallows]

Beautiful memories — Chapter 2

— PAIRING: Sebastian Sallow x F!MC (aged up)

— SYNOPSIS: Sebastian is sentenced to Azkaban for six months. When he is released, he finds MC is expecting a child, and is filled with anger and jealousy and confusion. He just doesn't know the child is his yet.

— WARNINGS: angst, then a lot of fluff

— WORDCOUNT: 2.1k

— A/N: Here's part 2 of the fic requested by my dear @pugsnotdrugs92 💕 I expect the next chapter will be the last (and it will be the one with the smutt). Enjoy, my dears! 😘

— TAGGING: @rbdiggory @sammysgirl1997

The house she rented was near London, on the outer edges. Looking out the window, Sebastian could see empty dirt fields all around, land prepared for more construction, and to the side toward the south plumes of chimney smoke coming from the city. The grey skies were turning red with sunset.

A couple of lamps turned on behind him in the room, he could see their glow reflected in the window. Cutting through them, a shadow approached. She hugged him from behind.

“I must’ve told you a hundred times today,” she said with her cheek pressed against his back, “but I’ve missed you.”

“I’ve missed you too,” he said.

It was true. He’d missed her every day, and every memory of her the Dementors pulled out was like a splinter chipped off of his heart. But since learning of her… situation, he no longer knew what he felt. Was it hatred? Was it rage? Was there even a feeling left inside of him for her, or was the hatred and the rage all for himself?

“Come on,” she said with a calm and loving voice, blissfully ignorant of the storm raging inside him, “let’s give you a little wash.”

She had him sit on the sofa in front of the lit fireplace, and one by one the space before him filled with bowls of water pitchers and little mounds of towels. He wasn’t sure how he looked anymore, he’d only caught the faintest reflection of himself in the window, but he imagined it wasn’t good. His hair felt matted, his skin crusted with dirt, and he didn’t even want to look at all the bruises anymore…

After she placed everything she needed, she brought him chocolate to eat, and on the table next to him she placed a steaming cup of hot cocoa. Sebastian smiled as he picked up a little chocolate square and let melt on his tongue. He remembered reading about this remedy against Dementors in his third year. How long ago that was…

While he ate the sweets, she tended to him. She took his jacket off, his boots, his tie and vest and shirt, and limb by limb she scraped the dirt away, while his feet rested in warm salt water. She had the nerve to blush when she cleaned down his chest, her hands moving slow and enticing. When she reached his thighs, she worked down each one with both hands, sneaking glances up at him through her long lashes.

Sebastian swallowed the knot in his throat, but he no longer had it in him to be aroused at the sight. At least, not yet. The picture of her at his feet, his naked skin beneath her hands — bruised and bony as he was — was soiled by the thought of what Ominis would think if he saw this…

The next hour was spent cleaning the wounds on his wrists and ankles, applying salves wherever she found the smallest scrape or bruise, and then washing his hair. She placed a basin on a table behind the sofa and had him lean back, close his eyes, and gave him a bit more chocolate. Her fingers soothed his nerves as they massaged his scalp, lathering him slowly, untangling the knots made across so many restless nights… She rinsed the foam out, and then lathered his hair again until she was satisfied that he was clean. He was covered in a blanket by now, feet warming by the fire.

Once he was dry, she brought new clothes out for him — just a comfortable pair of nightclothes to start.

Sebastian let her dress him, but stayed silent the whole while. Unnaturally silent.

“How do you feel?” she asked with an encouraging smile as she rubbed the towel against his still-damp hair.

He avoided the question. “I should be asking you that.”

“Oh?” she giggled. “How so?”

“How far along?” he asked brusquely, not even looking at her.

“Six months,” she said with a sad smile, her hands threading gently through his hair.

Sebastian nodded and was quiet for long moments while the feelings he’d kept trying to hold back bubbled to the surface. Then, all of a sudden, he got up and walked all the way around the sofa. He started to pace up and down the centre of the room.

It wasn’t exactly unexpected… What did he, a convicted murderer with a broken wand, have to offer somebody like her? And who else to take her from him than Ominis — wealthier, more handsome, well-connected, kind and gentle and always far more level-headed than he ever was.

He should be happy for her, if he loved her. But he couldn’t manage it.

“I’d like to go,” he said, looking aimlessly around, everywhere but at her.

“What? Why?”

“I can’t stay here…”

“But —”

“I can’t.”

“Sebas—”

“It was difficult enough,” he started, “to be in there, wondering about you all the time, doubting whether… whether you would even want to speak to me after everything. But to see… to see you and…”

“And what?” she asked tearfully.

Sebastian took a deep breath in, then out. His swallowed thoughts and feelings poured out of him faster than he could control them.

“Every good memory I ever had was drained out of me, every day, every day,” he mumbled, “but however bad it was, I still thought… I still had… you.”

“Sebastian,” she whispered, approaching him slowly, “what are you talking about? You do have me, you do.”

He took a deep breath and closed his eyes, working up the courage to say it. The chime of her steps on the wooden floor rang like a death knell in his ears.

“Seeing you and Ominis today…” he spat, sounding exactly as angry and betrayed and lonely as he felt, “was worse than any thoughts the Dementors put in my head.”

She stood there quietly and listened in a state of shock. Nothing he was saying made sense. Wasn’t he happy to see his friends? Was this an effect of his imprisonment? Would it go away with time? He sounded jealous, but he couldn't be. Nothing had changed between the three of them since they were at Hogwarts — nothing aside from…

“I should have known,” he continued, shaking his head as if he could get rid of the awful thoughts, “I should have known when you were always at the trial together, always whispering to each other…”

“Sebastian,” she said, speaking more sharply than she meant to, “whatever you think happened between me and Ominis, it didn’t.”

He looked down at her, his eyes dull and bleary but full of anger.

She met his gaze and held it gently, and reached out to take his hand. “Is this what you’re worried about?” she asked as she placed his palm on her lightly swollen stomach. “Because this is ours.”

She said it as if it had been the most obvious thing, but it struck Sebastian like a revelation. Suddenly, he looked at her as if she were a new person, and as if he were new as well. His frown relaxed and his lips lost their tension and the brown in his eyes turned sweet again from the smoulder that was there before.

“W-what?”

“That night after they announced your trial… Remember?” she said with a shy smile, blushing a little. “It’s ours. I was never involved with Ominis, we’re friends, like we’ve always been… It’s you I love, you I want, you I’ve been carrying this for.”

Sebastian swallowed the knot in his throat and looked down at her body, his hand still on her stomach. He nearly had forgotten… How could he? How could he? After years of circling around each other that night of finally confessing, finally accepting their love… It had meant everything to him, and if only for a moment it eclipsed his past sins and the looming trial and made everything fade into nothingness. Showing his love for her had been the sweetest moment of his life… So, how could he have forgotten it?

“The Dementors,” she frowned, answering it for him. “They steal happy memories, that is what they feed on.”

“I suppose they must’ve had a feast with that,” he said with a hoarse chuckle.

“My poor darling,” she whispered, her hand going up to cup his cheek. She knew she couldn’t begin to understand what had been done to him. Even seeing it unfold distraught her...

Sebastian, meanwhile, was fixated, fascinated, his hand warming on her tummy. “Mine,” he muttered, his hand caressing the expanse of her little swell. “W-wow…”

He was just beginning to understand what it meant: how wrong he’d been about her, about Ominis too, and about himself… And how beautiful of a future they had together now.

It also made him realise how horrible he’d been to her so far.

“I’m sorry,” he said briskly, looking into her eyes again.

“Why?” she frowned.

“For doubting you. For being ungrateful, most of all…”

“Oh Seb,” she sighed, and in the same breath reached up to hug him. “I’m sorry I didn’t explain it at first,” she whispered. “I know I should have. I just… felt so uncomfortable about it, so —”

“Ashamed?”

“Yes,” she mumbled.

His arms tightened around her back. “We’re both ashamed then. And we both shouldn’t be.”

She laughed a little. “I suppose so…”

Sebastian leaned back enough to look into her eyes again and his right hand cupped her cheek. With a trembling thumb, he wiped away a little tear that beaded at her lashes.

“And I’ve been letting you fuss over me all day,” he smiled sadly, wanting to sink into the ground with guilt.

“Don’t be silly,” she chuckled. “I’ve been alright… It’s you I’m worried about.”

“There’s nothing to worry about anymore.”

He knew it wasn’t really true, he knew he was still troubled and far from the man she used to know, but he was determined — especially now — to put Azkaban and all its woes behind him.

She hugged him loosely at the hips and smiled up at him, drinking in the beautiful sight of her Sebastian with finally a little bit of hope in his eyes.

“So what do you think?” she grinned. “Will you let me take care of you now?”

“I should be taking care of you. I did this to you, after all,” he said with a cocked brow. His hands slid down her neck and to her shoulders before settling around her waist, and all the while he looked her up and down suggestively.

She blushed at the shamelessness of him. “How about we take care of each other?” she chuckled.

“Well, you’ve already taken care of me enough for today,” he said, leaning in to kiss her forehead. “I think it’s my turn now.”

She giggled and shook her head, but found her heart fluttering excitedly, just like it used to when they were still at Hogwarts, young and careless and in love��� Of course, they were still quite young, and very much in love. They just needed to work on being careless again.

“And how do you propose to do that?” she whispered.

His arms wrapped around her waist more tightly and he tucked her head beneath his chin.

“That’s exactly how,” he said dreamily. “I’m going to propose.”

“What?”

“You heard me.”

She pulled away enough to look at him. She could tell that he was being serious.

“You don’t expect I’ll let you go on this way, will you?” he said. His gaze was playful but with a serious edge beneath it. “We shall have to marry soon. This month. This week, if possible... Then we can go somewhere nice and quiet for a while, so neither your family nor any of our friends will be able to tell the months…”

“Seb, you’re not ready yet…”

“What am I, one of Garreth’s potions? I’m ready when I say I am.”

She laughed in spite of herself.

“So, what do you say?” he grinned.

And he pulled himself away from her, and held her hands in his, and with a surety that he had until now thought lost to him forever he got down on one knee.

“Will you marry me?”

She didn’t even need to think about it. “Yes. I will. I love you.”

Sebastian’s smile was so big and broad that it hurt his cheeks. It was so nice to have a dream come true every now and then… It felt like he’d been given a new life, a new soul that wasn’t tarnished, a fresh heart to love her with. His arms curled around her waist and he rested his weary head against her stomach, his eyes closed, and his ear to the little life inside her.

“I love you too,” he whispered. “Both of you.”

He heard and felt her giggle, and then her hands came down to his ruffled head. She covered him like a star-speckled and cloud-soft firmament, and he’d never felt more safe.

#Sebastian Sallow #hl #Sebastian Sallow fanfiction #Sebastian Sallow imagine #Sebastian Sallow x MC #Sebastian Sallow x reader #pugsnotdrugs92 #still missed <3 #sswallow;made a thing #sswallow;fanfics #fanfic;memories

[getvalentined]

I've never done a full breakdown of everything that happened to my version of Vincent while he was under the knife (although there is a partial breakdown from like 12 years ago on Ask Vincent Valentine), but @spinejackel tagged my recent Vincent doodle gushing about autopsy scar (Vincent Has a Y-Incision headcanon supremacy!) so I figured it was probably a good time. This is also probably the best method, since I can apply the right tags and trigger warnings to hopefully keep it from hitting the people who would be disturbed.

For anyone who doesn't know, figuring out the fucked up physiology of victims of science is like my entire jam. I think this is what happens when you let a chronically ill child watch Akira and the original Bubblegum Crisis OVA and most of the works of Masamune Shirow. All that before FF7 even existed. This means that the explanation under the cut may seem excessive, and this post is very long. I've been building it over over a quarter century, I don't think there's any avoiding it at this point.

Warnings for body horror, nonconsensual body modification, medical horror and torture. Basically, if there's anything you can think of related to becoming a victim of science under the rule of an unethical sci-fantasy oligarchy, it's probably in here to some degree. It's explained plainly and simply, in clinical but not visceral detail.

My headcanons for what Hojo did to Vincent are pretty specific, albeit not precisely comprehensive; 27 years later I still don't really have a particularly solid concept for how he turned Vincent into a shapeshifter, although at least we know it's not something entirely specific to Vincent—Hojo repeated that facet of the experiment in Azul, but not in any other SOLDIER operative even in DeepGround, implying that it's only possible if very specific physiological conditions are met. The minimal concept I do have involves a twisted application of the concept of incarnate summoning as it appears in FFXIII-2, but it's very vague and also not the topic of this post. Maybe later.

Regarding the Y-incision/autopsy scar, my headcanon is that once Hojo tweaked Vincent into being able to regenerate from any injury—an enhancement that is confirmed to be entirely Hojo's work in Dirge—the professor of course felt it necessary to run various tests quantify the usefulness of his handiwork. He did this first by inflicting various surface injuries, then by causing more extreme bodily trauma, which eventually culminated in Hojo removing the majority of Vincent's internal organs in order to measure how long it took them to grow back and, assuming they did grow back, how the new ones compared to Vincent's original parts.

To be able to observe this as closely as possible, Hojo kept Vincent's torso open for the entire process—which he repeated twice more in order to check the weight, size and structure of the newly-grown organs in comparison to the originals. This study proved that most of them did grow back, but the majority of them stopped developing much earlier than was appropriate for Vincent's age and size. The difference was consistent, Hojo just never figured out why most of them grew back smaller and less-developed.

The reason this happened is based the fact that most of the organs in the human trunk are used in digestion and other related processes, and Vincent's regeneration means he doesn't need to eat or drink anymore. His body only expended as much energy as was completely necessary to develop those organs to the point of being functional rather than normal, because they're not really necessary. Vincent is glad he still has them, though, because he does still occasionally eat (usually in social situations) and also he'd be really sad if he couldn't even have coffee.

Vincent's brain activity remained normal during the entire process, although that may have something to do with Hojo driving a bunch of fluid lines into his head and flooding the inside of his skull with mako to keep him awake the whole time even while deprived of oxygen. (Rebirth spoilers, but seeing the bit in the Nibelheim Protorelic questline where Hojo does something super similar to this, after this has been my headcanon for decades, was a trip.)

Two organs didn't grow back at all: Vincent's appendix and one kidney. This was also the result of efficient energy expenditure, as the human appendix isn't necessary for survival, and only one kidney is really required. (Each time Hojo removed the new kidney, the one that grew back would be on the opposite side, which bothered Hojo to no end.)

His lungs grew back a little larger, possibly because his skeletal structure never quite recovered after his first transformation into Galian—his arms and legs are noticeably too long for his body, although not to the point of looking impossible, and likewise his ribcage settled to breadth that would allow for larger lungs. He doesn't really need these anymore either, related to his brain being exposed to so much mako during the process that it can now operate without oxygen if necessary, but switching himself over from aerobic to anaerobic respiration is really unpleasant and Vincent tries to avoid it when he can.

His heart was pretty normal by the time Hojo was done with him, although his heartrate had dropped to like 20bpm even when elevated. Again, if respiration isn't necessary, there's not much reason for the system to be active. (By the time Lucrecia was done this had dropped to around 5bpm on average, although it's completely arrhythmic and jumps all over the place when he's not either particularly active or on the verge of a transformation.)

This was the experiment that left Vincent susceptible to degradation, which Hojo didn't realize until after finally closing him back up. Upon realizing that Vincent's body wasn't responding properly to a different test (a repetition of an earlier experiment related to the regeneration of external tissues and features), Hojo just kinda threw him in a tube to be disposed of at a later date, kinda like that scene in Arrested Development where there's that dead dove in a bag in the fridge. The incision healed at some point during the period that Lucrecia was working on him, but early enough in her work that the tissue couldn't flawlessly regenerate (like it does in the present), leaving him with one more gnarly scar on top of all the rest.

Vincent is self-conscious about all the physiological changes brought on by what was done to him, often to the point of loathing. His left arm is the worst—it rotted off while he was in the throes of degradation and grew back as something that he hesitates to call his arm—but Vincent hates that Y-incision scar almost as much. Some days they tie.

(It has come up in appropriately horrified conversation with Shalua that, considering how his regeneration works, Vincent could probably get rid of all the scars on his chest if he somehow peeled the skin off his torso in a single swath. He will not be doing that. Besides, it might grow back the wrong color/texture/etc, like his left arm. Not worth the risk, much less the suffering.)

Also I gotta finish off this entry with the extremely stupid headcanon reveal that Vincent's (honestly fairly impressive) dick was cut off during the first round of bodily trauma regeneration tests—and Hojo has never felt the sort of rage he experienced upon discovering that it grew back bigger than before. This occurred early enough in the experiments that Vincent was not awake for it, and thus has no idea how the fuck this happened, and does not want to talk about it ever thank you very much. I've never mentioned it in public anywhere because it is extremely stupid, but I hope someone out there finds it as funny a concept as I do.

#vincent valentine #headcanon warning #body horror tw #torture tw #medical torture tw #it's all described in scientific detail #not visceral at all #but it's still very much horror #so please be aware #and do not engage if you're not into that #fandom ramble

[sonicblueartist]

Bullfrog x h!reader

Summery; Bullfrog is injured and we need to take care of him~

A/N: I had to rewrite half of this as it didn't f##king saved AHHHH

Warnings: HURT, HURT, HURT FROG, lots of blood, injury, wound, throwing up, angst.

Masterlist

Word Count: 3.7k

Btw does anyone want to be in the tag list?

Don't Leave

While you had one hand in your pocket and searched for your keys in a rush, you leaned forward slightly, supporting Bullfrog by his leg to prevent him from falling off your back with your other hand. Even though Bullfrog's arms were wrapped around your neck, something told you that he didn't have the strength to hold himself back on his own. You felt him wince in pain against your back as you struggled to find your keys to unlock your door. Damn hands, I order you to stop shaking immediately! We have an emergency here! We have to help Bullfrog! There was a panicked war inside your head.

You scowled and finally pulled your keys out of your pocket. Trying to see right through your shaking hand and forcing yourself to find the right key for your door. "Come on, come on." You almost dropped the keys in your panic. You quickly grabbed the right key and inserted it into the keyhole, pushing the door open with your side.

Your grip tightened on the injured assassin and you dashed in, not even bothering to close the door, you quickly rushed into the living room and gently laid him down on the couch. He hissed in pain at the sudden change of position.

You gently caressed his cheek with your shaking hand, “How are you holding up?” You asked hesitantly, trying not to look too hard at the blood on his side that covered most of his clothing. He held your hand on his cheek.

He was sweating and his breathing was hasty and rigid. His expression was sour until you questioned him. He quickly changed his expression to something softer and opened his eyes to look at you. He forced a smile and gave a shaky thumbs up, lying through his teeth... or maybe he was just sassing. You couldn't understand anymore due to your panic. He sucked a breath and choked out a weak answer, "Bien. Just peachy."

You cringe at his answer. "R-Right. S-Stupid question. Sorry." You stammered, "Try to relax. I... uh... I definitely shouldn't call help or an ambulance so-- I'LL TRY TO STOP THE BLEEDING! You just lie there and don't move too much." He didn't look like he was in any mood to get up or move anyway. He seemed like he wanted to say something about what you said but you didn't let him, "Please don't waste your breath." He looked offended but without wasting any more time, you left the room and entered the bathroom.

There must be a first aid kit around here! You started searching by opening almost every cabinet, but you couldn't find it. Instead of searching further, you thought quickly. You had no time to waste. You start looking for something useful that suits your situation. You need to apply pressure to the wound to stop the bleeding, right? You grabbed as many towels as you could and quickly went back inside.

You knelt down next to the couch and paused for a moment. Wait, I need to press the wound, but do I need to take off his clothes first or is that okay? God, what if it gets infected? Or what if he already caught it? What do I do then? No, no. Don't think like that. Don't think the worse. I'll have to clean the wound anyway, so I guess I should take off his clothes. God, he's not going to like this at all. Maybe he even needs stitches!! AHH, I HOPE HE DON'T NEED SOMETHING LIKE THAT. YOU DON'T KNOW HOW TO STITCH SKIN! Okay, okay, calm down. You quickly pushed your thoughts aside and decided to keep pressing on the wound for now. At least you were going to keep doing this until the bleeding stopped. What if the bleeding doesn't stop? You brushed aside your concerns and quickly pressed the wound with one of the towels you brought. Pressure the wound as best as you can. Bullfrog groaned in pain and you quickly offered an apology, pleadingly. You saw him wince slightly from the pain, his chest rising up and down rapidly. He was out of breath. How much blood did he lose? Would he live? You tried to brush off your worries once again. He will be fine. Just focus on stopping the damn bleeding! You reassured yourself. You were scared. You felt like you were going to puke. You need to be there for him in his weak moments. While he trusted you to help him, you were afraid of letting him down and losing him. He believed in you and you are slowly letting him down to the point of letting him die in your arms because you are a useless being and incapable of anything— He would bleed to death in your arms. You guessed this wasn't an honorable death for him at all. God, what am I thinking?

"Mon amour... I'll be fine, worry not." You felt his hand on your shoulder, gently nudging you and making you snap out of your panicked fears. You blinked your teary eyes to look at him, he smiled at you warmly, it wasn't fading or forced like before, his honey colored eyes gently reassuring your trembling body.

You nodded slowly, not having the strength to respond without your voice breaking like glass or you would have started to sob loudly. You can't let that happen right now. You continued, not letting your thoughts get the best of you. He would be fine. He said so himself. He will be fine. And you won't let him go.

After using a few towels and turning them as red as his clothes, you paused with a realization, your eyes widening. It doesn't stop bleeding. It's been ten minutes. "I need stitches..." Bullfrog didn't even answer that. It seemed like he was having trouble keeping his eyes open, like he couldn't focus on you. He looked so weak, which made you panic even more. You never saw him like this before.

You quickly stood up and entered the bathroom. Now you definitely had to find that kit. You were hoping there might be something inside that could help you. You searched everywhere and finally found it on the cabinet. You grabbed it and quickly rushed back inside. You opened it and took a look inside, rummaging through it pushing away things that were of no use to you, "No, no, there's nothing, damn it!" There was nothing that could help you with stitches. What were you going to do now? You definitely couldn't use a regular thread and needle, right?

You gripped your face, aghhh!!! It seemed like you had no other choice. You were just at the point where you are about to broke down and run to your room and get the needle, but you jumped in dread when you felt a hand on your shoulder. You were unfocused and breathing rapidly, you turned your head to look at who was behind you as you tugged at your clothes. It's a woman looked like she is in her thirties. She is one of your neighbors, she lives in the flat next door to you. How she got in wasn't even a concern to you anymore. Your tears were flowing down your cheeks like a waterfall as she looked at you with sympathy. You had nothing left to do. You didn't know what to do. You choked out, sniffing, "P-Please help." You sobbed. You needed help. He needed help.

She gently smiled at you and nodded. She didn't need an explanation, she uttered calmly, “Of course. I will do my best." She helped you up and told you what she needed, and you nodded quickly. While you spent the longest hours of your life helping her, everything seemed so blurry. As if the whole day wasn't a rushed fog of pain. You found yourself staring at your reflection for a while. Your face was as white as chalk. You were still slightly shaking and covered in blood. His blood. By the time you two were done, you couldn't even sit down to rest and rushed here to vomit, the adrenaline giving way to exhaustion. You were feeling a little dizzy. But knowing that he is okay now gave you some comfort. You sighed and walked out of the bathroom, shivering. After letting it all out, you were starting to feel at least a little bit like yourself.

You replayed in your head how sorry you were. You betrayed his trust by involving someone else. While he was waiting for you, you asked someone else for help. You let out a shaky breath as you walked back to the living room. You noticed it was empty and there was no sign of him bleeding out minutes ago. You blinked. Oh, right. He was resting in your room. And while you were busy in the bathroom, she cleaned around even though she had nothing to do with any of this. And yes, you felt guilty about that too. You should been the one to clean up your mess in your house. Nevertheless, you were grateful for her help.

“Oh, good you are back.” She looked like she was about to ask how you were but stopped herself. You glance at her tiredly and carelessly sat down on the couch.

“I was going to let you know that I finished cleaning. I hope you're okay with that." When you continued to stare blankly, she cleared her throat, "I figured you wouldn't have the energy to do that... And blood is hard to clean, trust me. I didn't mind so don't worry. I'm used to cleaning up, especially blood stains as a nurse. And you didn't look like you were in the mood to clean right now either, so I didn't want you to bother. And if cleaning up later they'd be dried out and that wouldn't be nice." She chuckled to herself, "Heh, I actually came here to ask you if you had milk, but I'm glad I did. By the way, I still need milk so... You don't mind if I get some milk, right?"

You blinked slowly. Oh my god, I guess you couldn't be luckier. Your next door neighbor was a nurse. Of course, you shouldn't be surprised after everything she's accomplished. You were so thankful to anyone up there listening to you right now. You didn't know what you would have done if she hadn't come. You may have used all the luck of your life right here and now.

“Uh…” she had mentioned so many things, your tired mind couldn't acknowledge all of it at the same time. If she's this normal about it, she probably does this a lot. But this was not normal for you at all and you were obviously scared out of your skin and it would probably follow you for the rest of your life. You've never encountered this much blood before. You were still having trouble getting your thoughts in order. “Y-yeah… of course. Ahh… Take whatever you want…”

She smiled at you, "Alright, if you need anything else. You know where to find me—"

"Thank you."

She stopped and glanced at you. She looked surprised. You sniffed and rubbed your face. "I don't know what I would have done if you hadn't come."

"Hey, don't mention it. It's my job. But I'm getting that milk."

You breath out a tired laugh, "Yes, of course, please take it. Count it as a token of gratitude."

She nodded as a thanks and entered the kitchen. She looked surprised when she came back to see you still sitting and staring at the ground as if someone had died. She thought maybe you could at least go and see how he was doing now, but it seemed like there was something else holding you back. Maybe you were afraid that you wouldn't be able to look at his face the same way again after what you saw. She understand what you feel.

She hummed and glanced back the room where he is resting. Of course, she had no idea what you two were going through, and she should keep her nose out of things like that. After all, he was the one who was supposed to comfort you and talk to you about this. “Ah…thank you for the milk.” But maybe a little assurance wouldn't hurt. You looked pale. You looked a lot worse when she was doing stitching inside, but at least you looked better now compared to that moment. She thanked you once again, showing the milk carton in her hand. You nodded slowly at this.

Before she turned to the door to leave the house, she pointed to your clothes, “A piece of advice from me to you. Take a hot shower and throw your clothes in the trash. There is nothing left of them that will benefit you. Also… don't worry. Your friend's condition is excellent. He just needs some good rest. He will live. His wound is not very deep." She may have told a little lie to make you feel a bit better. Fortunately, none of his vital organs were damaged. She didn't question how he got such a deep wound.

You looked away from the ground and turned your gaze at her and heaved a sigh. You mustered a little smile and nodded slightly, “Thank you.”

She paused before walking out the door, you just noticed the garbage bag in her hand. You felt dizzy when you noticed the blood stains visible translucently inside. “Oh, by the way, I almost forgot. I'll come back tomorrow to check on his stitching. See you by then!” She closed the door behind her with a soft wave and a happy hum.

Your eyes stayed on the door for a while, after a few deep breaths, you looked at your clothes and grimaced. There was no point in sitting there all night. You sighed. Yes… a bath is a nice idea.

You stood up and glanced towards the door of your room. Your clothes were there. But for now, you were too tired to bother going inside to get new ones. You didn't want to go into your room. You don't feel ready to see him yet. You could decide later what to do after your bath.

You went into the bathroom, took off your clothes and threw them in a trash can. You had to admit that her conversation helped you come to your senses a bit more. You took a deep breath and stepped into the bath. You turned on the hot water and waited for it to reach the perfect temperature. You sighed and got under the hot water. You took a deep breath as your body contacted the hot water. This felt good. It helped a lot in relaxing your muscles and you finally breathed a sigh of relief.

You didn't know how long you stayed under it, but after you came back to your senses, you quickly washed off all the blood from your body and hair and left the bath. You reached for your robe, pulled it on, and tied the belt around your waist. You sigh, pulling your hood over your head and looking at your exhausted reflection in the foggy mirror one last time. You made sure there was no blood in sight before exiting the bathroom, you didn't want to be reminded of all this in the future.

You entered the kitchen and took out a glass of water to feed your thirsty body. Then, to fill your hungry stomach, you took out some frozen pizza from the freezer and threw it in the microwave to warm it up. While you waited for it to cook, you sat on one of the nearby chairs and watched the soft light coming from it as it did its thing. The sky was already dark and the only light illuminating the room was the light from the microwave since no lights were turned on in your home at the moment. As you thought about what happened today, you listened to the soft hum coming from it. All you knew was that you didn't know anything. You found Bullfrog covered in blood on the stairs of your building. And he didn't tell you anything either.

You dropped your bag in fear. When Bullfrog heard your gasp, he turned his head towards you, he could hardly stand on his shaking feet, he was trying to walk with support from the wall. When he noticed you, he shakily extended his hand towards you. You knew he was trying to come to you. His clothes were covered in blood, that's what made you even more panicked. He looked like he was gonna fall apart at that second. You quickly ran to him. He stumbled towards you, he grunted as he nearly falled, you immediately supported him by wrapping your arms around his body. He held on tightly to your clothes. He was breathing heavily. He didn't say anything, and he didn't need to. He leaned his head against you. The look he gave you told you everything, he needed you.

You frowned, your thoughts interrupted by the sound of the alarm signaling that the microwave had finished its job. You sighed and picked up your food. You sat at the table in silence as you slowly ate your food. You felt empty and a pain appeared in your chest. It had been so long since you had eaten alone. You were normally used to being alone but... that's until Bullfrog came into your life and made every minute of it exciting and fun.

After finishing your meal, you sighed and leaned back in your chair, shivering slightly from the cold. You needed your clothes or you were going to get sick. You let out a sigh and mustered up the courage to stand up and go back to your room.

You froze in front of the closed door. You swallowed and took a deep breath. Come on, he's not dead, calm down. He just sleeps inside. You reached for the doorknob and turned it. You walked in quietly and closed the door behind you. Your eyes avoided looking at your bed and you walked towards your wardrobe. You could see him out of the corner of your eye on your bed, just laying there. Luckily, you weren't facing him so you couldn't see much. Also, the room was too dark to make out much. The curtains were closed, making this room darker than the others. Also, even though he was wrapped in a blanket, he didn't have much clothes on and you didn't think he would want you to see him like that.

Technically, you are both half naked in this room. God, why would you even think of it like that? Did you always have to make it harder than it already is? Why do you have such a mind? You've made this way too weird. You groaned, cringing at yourself and rubbed your face.

"Are you going to act like this all night?" You flinched and quickly brought out from your thoughts, your face flushing a bit more redder than it was previously. Had he been awake this whole time? His accent and husky voice made it a little difficult to understand him, but you knew what he meant. You pressed your lips together as you opened your wardrobe and grabbed the pieces you needed.

"I'm not avoiding you."

"I didn't say that."

"I need to change my clothes..." you mumbled and left the room. He didn't say anything to your excuse. This made your heart feel even heavier.

You quickly put on the clothes you bought and went back to the bathroom to get a towel for your hair. Oh, right. You've used them all on him… You should remember to buy some when you go shopping. You sighed and reached for your hair dryer. After spending too much time in the bathroom by simply drying and combing your hair, you left the room and just stood outside of the hall. This is the moment you were running away from. You sighed. It was mostly because you didn't know what to say…

You closed the door behind you as you entered the dark room once more. You walked carefully and sat on your bed. “I'm sorry for avoiding you… I didn't mean it, I just… I'm sorry…” You sighed in defeat, unable to find the right words to express yourself.

He whispered gently, "Peux-tu t'allonger à côté de moi?" You paused at his sudden request. Your eyes widened slightly and turned to him, even though you couldn't see his face very clearly, you knew he was looking at you with those gentle honey colored eyes. I guess the fact that he could see better than you in the dark gave you a disadvantage also.

You stammered, "Uh... I-I'm sorry, what?" Thanks to him, you knew a little French, but you couldn't believe that you could understand what he was saying. And at the last moment you regretted what came out of your mouth. You didn't want to force him to repeat himself, he needed to rest and not waste his breath—

"Will you lie down with me?" You stared at him, you still didn't think you could believe what you heard was right, your face flushed red, you didn't expect him to tell you this out right.

"Oh... uh... s-sure?" You weren't sure. But for some reason you couldn't refuse, maybe it was because you felt like you owed it to him or maybe you just needed it. You crawled next to him and laid down, pressing your face into the pillow next to his. You felt so awkward doing this.

You laid there for a while staring into the ceiling, your body a bit stiff until you heard him mutter once again, "What do french fries do when they meet?"

You blinked consufe, "H-huh..?"

"They ketchup."

You glance at him as he snickered softly at his words, somewhat proudly. You were actually puzzled by this. Then the joke hit you like a truck.

"Oh my god." You groaned and rubbed your face. A smile appearing on your lips as you try so hard to stop yourself from laughing. "That was terrible."

"But I saw a smile."

You chuckled at that and hummed, "I laugh so you don't feel bad."

"Then I have to make more bad jokes."

"Please don't."

"What do French ducks say? Quoi quoi."

You groaned with that. But it felt... nice. You just give in to his jokes. Your body relaxed, you felt in peace once again. You were actually really tired. You didn't even remember what you were doing before he showed up. "How about you tell your jokes tomorrow? Maybe I'll laugh then. How is that sound?"

"Like a deal."

You smiled at that as your eyes become too heavhy for you to force them open. You silently yawned and wiped away a tear. " 'Night." You muttered, turning to your side and in a more comfortable position. The last thing you remember before falling asleep was the blanket being pulled over you and his arms wrapping around your body.

"Bonne nuit mon amour. Je t'aime. Merci pour tout."

#bullfrog x reader #bullfrog #x reader #reader #captain lazerhawk spoilers #captain lazerhawk #allenwrites

[zhongrin]

Actually how would Zhongli react to us being pregnant? I just reread that post you just reblogged about his heats and well.

I rarely see follow up on this.

Like I would be terrified to find that I got pregnant. Like kinks aside, that's a real thing living in you now. And zhongli doesn't have any children, so how would he know how pregnancy goes? Is mortal body even capable of handling a god's child?

He can morph, so I guess it is possible to him to impregnate someone (or get impregnated, since he can shapeshift, but i think he still could be biologically male, but idk, he a dragon, so logic doesn't really apply that much) like human and not having to do it with a reptile.

Would we produce a baby dragon or like a hybrid when it was being born? Or just looking human?

Ganyu has horns but is human, so I guess it would be possible to give birth to human baby, but with a tail and scales ig?

I'm just trying to break down a fictional character parental planning, help

slfjsldksl luke we share one braincell bc i have some ideas about this in the draft but that one’s gonna delve deeper into his protective draconic nature so have this for now hehehe

(also, this post about gow!reader kinda touches pregnancy too, and i feel that some points applies for normal reader)

tags: minors dni, afab!reader, pregnancy, kids, (in one small section) monsterfucking, implied ovipos

if the baby was an adeptus or a half-dragon, i feel like he’ll be able to sense it. as in, one day as he’s cuddling with you, he would just suddenly stare and caress your stomach in wonder, a slight frown between his brows, before he suggests for you to go for a medical checkup out of nowhere.

the moment he gets a confirmation that yes, there’s life growing inside you, i think he would be a little shaken - but he wouldn't show it outright, especially if he can see that you're freaking out from the revelation. he would reassure you, cradling your trembling form against his and stroking your back as he murmurs softly about how you'll be okay and he'll be there with you all the way. when you're way calmer and seem rational enough, he would ask you what you want to do. and if you tell him that you want to become the child's parents with him? that's when the happiness really hits him. he'd place a sweet kiss on your lips, nuzzle into the crook of your neck, and literally starts purring.

he might not have any experience being a father and a husband with a pregnant wife, but i believe he has watched many who have gone through the experience, or he would at least know a lot of people whom he can ask about it. and this is zhongli we’re talking about, so he will 100% do his own research aside from preparing everything with you.

your devoted husband might have read about the hormonal changes that will inevitably hit you, but it still surprises him sometimes; the way you swing between moods and you showing him the sides he didn’t even know existed. he’d massage your swollen feet and your tense shoulders. he’d hold you as you cry because your wedding band can’t fit your finger anymore and assures you that it’s normal for that to happen... and if by the end of your pregnancy it still doesn’t fit, he tells you he can always enlarge it, and he promises he wouldn’t love you less if you have to take it off for the time being.

he’d offer you his arms whenever you want to walk, carry you when you don’t want to walk, insist on decorating the nursery while you sit and supervise him without lifting a finger, beat some sense into lecture childe when the ginger says something that unknowingly touches your nerve and makes you burst into tears, pick up the things your drop, help you put on your shoes, help you bathe and towel you dry and dress you in loose silk robes, fulfill all your weird cravings, hold your hair as you throw up the pickles and ice cream combo he got you at three am in the morning - listen. this man. he will literally be at your beck and call.

now about the baby itself… whether it would be a full human or half/full adeptus of half/full dragon, i'd like to imagine it's not set in stone and it'll be a roulette lol personally i would say that him having a normal human baby would be preferable to zhongli himself, since it adheres to his wish of living the rest of his life as a mortal… but imagining him cradling a half-dragon baby who’s yet to be able to shapeshift to hide their horns and tails and tiny claws just. makes me so soft ;w;

[cw.monsterfucking, cw.implied ovipos] there's also the possibility of him impregnating you in his dragon form and pumping his clutches inside you but i will leave that to juju @/seakicker

oh, and ganyu and xiao would definitely dote over the child (in their own way) when they’re born, you can’t tell me otherwise-

© zhongrin | 2022 ◆ no repost. reblogs much appreciated. feel free to reach out to submit suggestions, feedback, comments, or if you just want to talk!

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#genshin impact #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #cw.pregnancy #cw.kids #afab!reader #zhongli #zhongli x reader #rin writes #minors dni

[practicalsolarpunk]

Hello! I live in a very small efficiency apartment where there is not a lot of wi dow space/the window is glued shut and the land is exclusively owned and maintained by the company. What can I do to incorporate more solarpunk practices into my life? Are there any plants that can still grow well indoors? I'm afraid to start up a water station or anything like that outside because I'm afraid maitenance will mess with it/remove it. Would it be better for me to do something like knitting/embroidery that I can more easily do indoors?

Hello! As a fellow apartment-dweller with not a lot of window space currently, I feel your struggle here. If you're concerned that maintenance will mess with anything you put outside, then it probably is best to focus on things you can do indoors. However, there are quite a few things you can do indoors!

Plants: If you're looking for experience growing things, there are a variety of plants that grow well indoors and with low light - here's one list. (I've heard spider plants and snake plants recommended to beginners a lot, but I've never personally grown either.)

Fiber crafts: If you're more interested in crafts like knitting and embroidery, go for it! I also recommend people who are interested in those types of things learn about mending as well - it's a great way to extend the life of your old clothes (and other things made of fabric) and reduce the amount you need to buy.

Cooking: Cooking is a great skill to have, but it can be a challenge in an efficiency apartment. If you have a cooktop or a crock pot, you can look for simple recipes that you can make with the space and tools you have.

Building community: One of the foundations of solarpunk is that it's about community. My favorite way to start, especially in apartments, is by meeting the neighbors. Introducing yourself is a great way to open a relationship. Tying in with the previous idea, if your entire building is full of efficiencies and you can cook a big batch of something in a crock pot, that's a great excuse to have some neighbors over for a home-cooked meal.

Share: Part of building community, it doesn't require any outdoor space. You and your neighbors could put together a shared pantry in your building. You could start a Free Box at your workplace. Talk to the people around you - what do they need?

Get involved: Solarpunk isn't just about growing plants and mending clothes - there's also an activism component that is how we change society as a whole. Volunteer with an organization doing things you care about. Find a local mutual aid group (here's some tips for how to find them) and see what you can do to get involved. Start your own mutual aid project. The size of your apartment is irrelevant if you're out doing things.

Research: Not being able to do things outside right now doesn't mean you can't learn about them. And many of those "big picture" ideas have a lot of concepts that can apply to the efficiency apartment life. Looking into the "7 R's" or permaculture can help you come up with ideas for more things you can do.

Also if you're really set on doing stuff outdoors, don't necessarily discount it, especially if you plan to be in this apartment for a while! You can propose outdoor projects to your apartment complex's manager. They may be more receptive than you think, especially if you can spin it to sound beneficial to them. (If you're proposing a community garden for residents, for example, it could be a draw for new residents, convince current residents to stay, be managed by you the residents so they don't have to do much to maintain it, and they won't have to pay their landscapers to mow/maintain that space anymore.)

Check out more ideas in these tags:

#apartment solarpunk

#dorms and small spaces

#community building

#activism

#fiber crafts

There's also some additional tips in this post and this post, which are earlier responses to similar asks.

I hope this helps! Followers, feel free to chime in with your best tips!

- Mod J

#asked and answered #apartment solarpunk #basics and getting started

[syrena-del-mar]

Blind Spots of Motherhood: Last Twilight, Episode 10

We're coming off of the emotional rollercoaster of last week's episode and seeing the consequences of Day and Mhok's getaway. And the consequences are big, which not even Night can assuage.

I love scouring the tags as I watch Last Twilight, and I've been seeing many call Day's mom evil or a narcissist. In my opinion, she does not fit the bill (if you're looking for one that is, go watch Twins, now that's a narcissist). There's a tendency of wanting to villainize mothers, and BLs do a great job of giving us mothers that do fill that role, but I sincerely don't think that's the story P'Aof is trying to tell us here. Rather than evil, I think her arc is more about being a flawed mother that does more harm than good through overparenting, her perceiving Day to be more vulnerable than he really is, and sidelining of Night.

Stages of Adjustment to Vision Loss

Just like the seven stages of grief, similarly there's a theory about the seven phases of adjusting to vision loss. The Stages of Adjustment applies not only to the one suffering the vision loss, but even their friends and family.

Phase 1: Trauma, where personal attitudes and generalization form one's personal view of a person who is blind takes over.

Phase 2: Shock and Denial. Self-explanatory.

Phase 3: Mourning and Withdrawal, it's where the loss of regular activities and routines occur.

Phase 4: Succumbing and Depression occurs when an individual is unable to come to terms with the sudden low vision/blindness and they stop caring for themselves. Feelings of inadequacy becomes prevalent.

Phase 5: Reassessment and Reaffirmation occurs when individuals regain and maintain control of their life. Loved ones play a significant role in assisting them to reach this independence at this stage.

Phase 6: Coping and Mobilization happens when individuals develop coping techniques to live with the vision loss and acknowledge their abilities and accept when the need assistance.

Phase 7: Self-Acceptance and Self-Esteem occurs when the individual realizes that they have value and their loss of vision is just one of the many attributes.

When the Last Twilight first started, we met Day as he was dealing with Phase 3 and 4. With the help of Mhok, we've seen Day grow in his independence, but also come to terms that his vision loss may be forever. He no longer was thinking and hoping for that transplant surgery, he wasn't even counting on it anymore. Instead, with the help of Mhok (and Night), Day was able to reach Phase 6 and was transitioning into Phase 7.

But just as Day was moving on with his, his mother wasn't. She's still struggling with his disability and has gotten stuck in Phase 3 and 4, just as Day had been. She's so blinded by Day's disability, that she's drowning in the fears of what could happen to Day rather than seeing the strides of improvement that he has made.

Overprotective Parenting fails in Harm Reduction: Day

"Expecting him to be independent at one time and overprotecting him at another will only result in a frustrated youngster. It is important to judge and treat the blind child fairly; not indulging him, yet not setting goals and expectations so high that he is discouraged." -The Blind Child: Becoming an Independent Adult

Day's mother is frustrating, to say the least. She is so incredibly misguided in how she treats both of her sons, it's no surprise that Day locks himself away into the cavern of his bedroom.

She only sees Day for his disability. Acknowledging and accepting that Day is blind is important, and that does signify life adjustments, but that doesn't mean making Day's blindness the only thing about him. She forgets that Day was a full-functioning adult that had his own lifestyle before he lost his sight. She's only come to known Day for his blindness. She's the one that puts his blindness at the forefront.

She wants him to get out of his bedroom, to stop locking people out, but once he has some sense of independence, apart from his family, now she's afraid? Her son, vision loss or no vision loss, is an adult, but instead of giving him such dignity, she regresses and infantilizes him. She pushes him back into that suffocatingly big bedroom. She takes away his phone, his internet, every tool that connects him to the outside world. She takes away what little independence he had started to build up again.

Any good parent would be worried about their child who has undergone a traumatic event, but over-protecting does more harm than good. In her anxieties, she ends up resorting to using unintentionally abusive tactics. Yes, Day would be physically fine, but in her overprotectiveness, she fails to realize that it could lead to dependency inducement, learned helplessness, and bouts of depression. Day's mother fails to realize that taking away any autonomy that Day has only started rebuilding, would only result in Day's emotional state worsening.

Blindness doesn't have to mean debilitating, but locking your son up in his room without any way to interact with the world around him that he is trying to relearn? That's more crippling than any vision loss could ever be.

Readjusting as the Glass Child: Night

"The most egregious form of rejection that anyone can ever experience is parental rejection" -Is Rejection, Parental Abandonment or Neglect a Trigger for Higher Perceived Guilt in Adolescents

Oh man, the pain I felt for Night this whole episode was next level. The idea of a glass child is not one's delicateness but rather as a sibling of a individual with disabilities, the sibling becomes invisible to the parents, only seen when the parents need them. If it wasn't obvious before, it's clear that this was the role that their mother was forcing Night into.

There's nothing that hurts worse than the sharp words of a mother directed to her child. His mother explicitly blaming Night for Day's disability was a new low-blow. Night had already been beating himself up for the accident, his father (who doesn't even live with them) knew that, but seemingly their mother was oblivious. The only one that Night could rely on was an outsider, a father that they hadn't been in contact with for years. Their mother created that environment by not paying attention to her other son, who was also in that accident.

Nothing fuels sibling rivalry like preferential treatment from parents. Even worse when one has to be the caretaker of the other when they already have a fractured relationship. Instead of easing the tension between the two brothers, their mother is too busy worrying solely for Day without accounting for Night. Caretaker burnout is already incredibly exhausting when you're caring for a loved one, but Night has personal guilt and Day's resentment to deal with as well. Not once does their mother ask him how he's doing, if Night is alright.

Night is the forgotten child, the child that's expected to take care of his brother no matter what, no matter how independent Day has become. She has parentified Night without any consideration of how he was doing or what was going on in his life. This was probably already a running theme as they grew up, assuming from their positioning in the family portrait. In doing so, she unknowingly worsens the strife with the brothers, making Day believe that Night had only been "behaving well" in order to win some preferential treatment from her.

Even on Christmas, their mother only cares for Day, feeding him first and putting food on his spoon, body fully turned against Night. In that scene, visually Night seems like he's intruding and he feels it as well! It's why he excuses himself, saying that he's going to meet up with some friends. Even after being forgiven by Day, his mother doesn't make any effort to include Night other than just having him at the table. It's as if he wasn't part of their nuclear family, just a convenient body that is there to help out as Day adjusts to his new life. If it hadn't been for Day, Night would have left that table that night and would have believed that nobody cared for him. I'm hoping this makes her confront and reassess how she's treated Night, now and in the past.

It's ironic, even though Day is blind and held a lot of contempt for his brother, he was still saw Night and all his struggles. Meanwhile, their mother was seeing right through him, blaming him for what happened to Day. Driving a dagger, that Night had already stabbed himself with, even deeper.

Final Thoughts

I'm not quite ready to jump on the 'Mother Gothel' train for Day and Night's mom. I think she is juggling being a career woman and being a mother at the same time, while failing to adjust to Day's blindness and making mistakes in her parenting as a result.

I also don't think it's out of maliciousness or self-importance, either. When I see their mother, it's as if she's trying to save a sinking boat that is already pierced by numerous holes. There's no going back to their lives before Day's blindness. She needs to adjust her priorities, because disregarding Night and locking up Day is not the answer.

This episode was frustrating, not because I found her to be outright abusive, but because of her worries she ends up hurting her sons even more. No parent is perfect, and they can hurt you while thinking they're acting in your best interest, but they have to be willing to love and let their kids learn on their own.

#last twilight #lol I think I lost most of my reasoning when working on Night’s part bc I was getting upset oops #last twilight episode 10 #last twilight meta #mhokday #morkday #last twilight mhok #last twilight day #last twilight night #jimmy jitaraphol #sea tawinan #mark pakin #thai bl #thai bl meta #aof noppharnach #steph rambles #last twilight the series

[angelsanarchy]

Alkaline: Euronymous x Y/N Series CH 31

Tagging: @ophelialaufey @madamemaximoff06 @forever-not-gonna-sink@ajmiila02@liquidsmoothdomme@shady-the-simp @auggiethecreator @tempt-ress @blacksoul-27 @shroomje

Oystein had gone through some of the old material him and Dead had worked on prior to his death. Just playing it on the guitar made him feel a deeper connection to the place he used to be with his music. He started writing different things down on a piece of paper when he noticed the picture of them with their corpse paint on sitting in the bottom of a box. He picked it up and heard the sounds of the paint rolling around in the box and started applying his corpse paint.

He remember the first day that Pelle had sat him down and explained what the paint was for. The feeling he wanted to give people with their music. He missed the feeling of just playing music with his friend. He missed shocking people with how crazy they could be. Now things felt so tangled in bullshit that he couldn't enjoy it anymore. He stared at the photo and started doing the corpse paint out of routine. It never looked as sharp or clean when he did it.

When he finished he got lost in his head thinking about all the things he wished he could go back and fix, getting Pelle some real help being one of those things. Never interacting with Varg being another. He was pulled out of his thoughts when he heard the front door open.

"Oystein? Are you home? I have groceries." Y/n called out as she slid things across the floor with her foot while holding bags in her arms. He didn't know what to do. He started to panic knowing he couldn't take the paint off that quickly and if Y/n saw him she would probably be confused as hell.

"Baby?" She called out again and he sighed knowing he didn't have any other options. He opened the bathroom door and came out to see her standing there out of breath from carrying things. He doesn't say anything and she doesn't need him to.

"Hey... come here." She walks over and takes his hands to lead him to the bed. He sits down silently next to her and she tucks his hair behind his ear. She knew how hard things had been for him recently and just looking at his eyes, she knew he was wrecked.

"I know you don't like when I put this on." Oystein said looking at his hands and Y/n shook her head.

"Hey, I never said that. I love your corpse paint." Y/n pressed.

"But you don't love me as Euronymous. That part of me is a bad person-" Y/n gripped his face and shut him up with a kiss. She didn't care that it was smudge his paint or that it would get on her face. He needed to know that she loved him right now. She got up from the bed and straddled his lap, feeling his hands run under her shirt to touch her skin. She pulled at the strings of the cape and started pulling at his clothes. When he was sitting on his bed completely naked with Y/n on top of him, he pulled away. He looked at her, his corpse paint smeared all over her face from making out.

"You don't have to do this." He wanted her to know that he understood why she didn't like the person he was when he was wearing this paint. She pulled her shirt over her head, still in his lap, breasts now exposed in his face.

"I know I don't but right now, I need you to know that I love every part of you. The man I love is right here." She put her hand on his heart.

"I love you Oystein. I also love the artist in you that goes by Euronymous and if I have to fuck his brains out for him to know that, I will do it." Y/n said making him groan. He lifted her up from his lap and yanked her shorts off with her panties pushing her back on the bed and yanking her hips towards him. When he pushed his cock into her, she let out a moan and buried her face into the mattress. He pounded into her from behind, the sound of skin slapping against each other as he fucked her roughly made his stomach burn with lust.

"Oh fuck! Euro." He heard her moan his name and he reached down to yank on her hair pulling her against his chest.

"I want to hear you scream my name when I fuck you." He bit hard onto her shoulder and she cried out.

"FUCK ME HARDER! FUCK ME UNTIL i CAN'T STAND EURONYMOUS!" Y/n's pleas were answered as she wrapped her arm around the back of his neck, one of his hands on her clit, the other across her chest to pinch her nipple as he fucked into her. They had never fucked like this before. It was different but it felt amazing.

He could feel himself about to cum and shoved her back onto the bed. She flipped over and watched him stroke himself roughly but when she crawled towards him, he yanked her by her hair to throat his cock. She took him all the way in, gagging and spitting all over his thighs as he fucked into her throat, cumming hard and loud feeling her swallowing every bit of his cum.

He twitched in her mouth for a few moments before she pulled off of him and pulled him to lay on the bed next to her. She lit a cigarette and handed it to him as they cuddled into one another. He looked at her face and rubbed at some of the paint and spit.

"Doesn't look so bad on you." Oystein grabbed a tissue and she took it from him with a smirk.

"I think Pelle would probably disagree." She joked using her spit to try and wipe some of his paint away. Oystein laughed thinking about what he would say if he knew they were fucking in the corpse paint.

"He would probably make a joke about us being necrophiliacs." Oystein shook his head hearing Y/n laugh.

"Maybe for your birthday I'll suck you off in full corpse paint." She teased.

"Mmm I like the sound of that." He smirked as he ran his fingers over the smears of paint along her breast. He could see small bruises forming on her hip and his teeth mark on her shoulder.

"I didn't hurt you did I?" He asked rubbing her bruised hip.

"It was a good pain. I liked it." She blushed resting her hand ontop of his. She leaned across the pillows and kept working to rid his face of the smeared paint as he sighed.

"You look exhausted baby." She comments making him snort a laugh.

"Well fucking kind of takes it out of me." He jokes but she shakes her head.

"I know it does but your eyes look tired. You look rundown like you aren't sleeping well." She tossed the used tissue and started on a fresh one.

"I haven't been sleeping well on the nights you aren't here. The nightmares get worse and when I wake up and you aren't here, I just sort of panic. I usually just stay up and start writing." He explained taking another drag from his cigarette. She frowned at him and stopped wiping his face.

"You can always call the house Oystein. You know that." She reminds.

"I know I just...need to figure out how to deal with this shit." Oystein looked over at him.

"But you're going to stay tonight right?" He asked trying not to sound desperate.

"Did you want me to stay?" She asked stroking his hair.

"I always want you to stay." He drew circles on her thigh and she leaned down to kiss him sweetly.

"Then I will stay." She rested her chin on his chest and he let out a breath and smiled at her. He moved so that he was hovering above her and she was able to lay on her back. He was already semi-hard again and ran his fingertips up and down her thigh. She gave him a sleepy smile as she lifted her hand to his cheek and rubbed her thumb over the skin.

Oystein gripped his cock and ran it over her clit a few times making her jump at the sensation. She chewed on her lip as he teased her before gently sliding into her wet folds again.

"You're ready for another round?" She questioned but he shook his head no.

"We just fucked...I want to make love to you now, is that okay?" He asked pulling out slowly but she reached down to stroke him.

"Yes baby that's fine." She pulled him back inside of her and he moved his hips slowly, kissing her neck and peppering light ones over the teeth print on her shoulder. Her soft moans reminded him to keep the pace slow and thrusts shallow. He loved that he could have both with Y/n. He could have wild fucks and soft lovemaking and still feel her love. She gripped his bicep and he stared down at her watching her face as she tightened around his cock.

"I love you Oystein. I love you so much baby." She whined throwing her head back into the pillow. He leaned down and suckled her neck as he finally cum inside of her for the second time that night. She wrapped her arms around him and let him rest his weight atop her body, going soft inside of her and falling asleep soon after.

Nightmares couldn't reach him that night. He was far too blissfully exhausted to be haunted.

#Films: Lords of Chaos #R!Euronymous #R!Euronymous x YN #One Shot Series #Alkaline #Alkaline Series #Rory Culkin #Culkin cult

[quiet-admirer]

For those of you who used to consider yourself exclusively a fat admirer, encourager, and/or feeder but now consider yourself a feedee and/or gainer (whether you still consider yourself a feeder, encourager, or mutual feedist/gainer or not), how do you view that change?

(if that category doesn't apply to you, just wait to see the survey results instead of using "something else" to see the results please! I'm curious about the actual numbers for people this applies to)

#I know 'preferences' might not be the best word for everyone but I had to pick one short word for the word length limits! #feedism polls #wg kink

[theyonlyhadeachother]

i have so many bookmarked midam fics its insane. i dont know if i've read all of the midam fics on ao3, but i've def read a very large majority of them

just a few of my absolute favorites are below the cut. none of them are rated E, but if anyone is interested in some of those, shoot me an ask and let me know

----

Gen, 3,693 words, No Archive Warnings Apply, 1/1 chapters

bound to the marrow of how it feels by paradisecas

Summary: Ask any kid what their superpower would be, nine times out of ten the answer will be flying. Adam, son of a nurse and a bit of a goody-two-shoes, was always the odd one out choosing the noble imaginary superpower of healing people. If Adam could go back in time—and technically, he could—he’d change his answer. Not to flying, and not from healing; he knows now that he can have it all. He’d like to kneel down in front of baby-Adam and say, hey kid, someday you’re going to have everything anyone could ever want at your fingertips, and you’ll be sharing it with the love of your life. You’ll fly straight through the atmosphere and fix broken bones with a snap of your fingers and sit invisible in the corner of a room you’re not allowed in. You’ll eat until you can’t anymore and still have room for seconds. You’ll be able to pick up a car to save a baby, if that situation ever arises, and it won’t even be adrenaline that does it. He wants to say, no matter what nightmares come your way, something good is waiting for you too. You’ll share your body with someone who loves you. You won’t ever be alone again. You’ll always be warm.

Tags: Michael/Adam Milligan, Michael (Supernatural), Adam Milligan, Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester, Lucifer's Cage (Supernatural), Post-Canon, Michael Possessing Adam Milligan, Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, michael dies but he gets better tho

hook and eye series by thishazeleyeddemon

Series rating of Mature, 19,945 words, No Archive Warnings Apply, 2 fics (2/2 and 1/1 respectively)

Tags: Michael/Adam Milligan, Michael (Supernatural), Adam Milligan, Sam Winchester, The Empty | The Shadow (Supernatural), Witch Adam Milligan, Episode Fix-It: s15e19 Inherit the Earth, Post-Episode: s15e19 Inherit the Earth, Grief/Mourning, Bitterness, Men of Letters Bunker (Supernatural), Break Up, would you all like to hear about Michael essentially getting his ex to get back together with him, of course you would, Emotional Manipulation, Self-Esteem Issues, Adam Milligan is Not Forgotten, Adam Milligan is So Done, Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Adam is such a bitter bitch in this one, it's okay y'all they'll get through it, I just was like Adam can have a little Being Mean and Unreasonable. As a treat, Men of Letters (Supernatural), more tags for Part 2!!, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Gaslighting, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, THE PROMISED. HAPPY ENDING., I REWROTE THIS SO MUCH I AM GOING TO BED, prays the rewriting paid off, Michael Steals From The Rich, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Angelic Grace Kink (Supernatural,) arguably - Freeform, Body Horror, although Adam would gut you for saying such things about Michael, obviously Michael is beautiful and perfect no matter how many eyes, Consensual Possession, Making Out smidgeon of angst. just a spicy dollop, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, by virtue of being a hook and eye-verse fic

Summary of the First Fic: you fit into me like a hook into an eye a fish hook an open eye - Margaret Atwood Michael succumbed to his Father's manipulations. He never wanted to destroy the Earth, but it was so hard, so hard, to find the words to fight back against his father when he was all alone. He never wanted to do that. He never wanted to leave Adam. Adam doesn't know that.

Two Weddings and an Engagement by lumpy_space_princess

Teen, 7,812 words, No Archive Warnings Apply, 1/1

Tags: Michael/Adam Milligan, Gabriel/Eileen Leahy/Rowena MacLeod/Sam Winchester, Michael (Supernatural), Adam Milligan, Gabriel (Supernatural), Sam Winchester, Eileen Leahy, Rowena MacLeod, Kevin Tran, Charlie Bradbury, Claire Novak, Kaia Nieves, Dean Winchester, Castiel, Post-Canon Fix-It, Minor Castiel/Dean Winchester, Midam at the Destiel wedding, Midam at the Saileen wedding, Everybody Lives, This is crack so don't think too hard about it, Adam & Kevin & Charlie & Claire & Kaia Michael & Gabriel - Freeform, Fluff and Angst, Didn't Know They Were Dating, Seriously everybody knows it but them, The Love Is Requited They're Just Idiots, They work it out in the end though

Summary: Adam massages fingers over his temples, and tries not to look morose. "Listen. You're not exactly telling me anything I haven't told myself. But there's just - there's baggage there, ok? It's been hard to look at the future when we've barely gotten used to having a present again." He huffs. "Anyway, I don't think he'd even want that. He's an-" "-an archangel, yeah, you've said. It was crap the last time you said it, too." Kevin props himself on his elbows, gazing intently at Adam. "How will you know if you don't try? How is it fair to him, that you just decide what he feels without asking him about it?"  Charlie nods. "Would you want him to treat you that way? It's obviously weighing on you. How would you feel, if he was keeping something this important from you?"  ----------------- Or: Michael and Adam, bless their hearts, are mutually in love. Strangely, they're the only ones who can't seem to see it.

the past is made of stardust (the future's shifting sand) by Anonymous

Teen, 30,461 words, Creator Chose Not to Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply, 1/1

Tags: Michael/Adam Milligan, Minor or Background Relationship(s), Castiel/Dean Winchester, Adam Milligan, Michael (Supernatural), Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester, Castiel (Supernatural), The Empty | The Shadow (Supernatural), Lucifer's Cage (Supernatural), Post-Lucifer's Cage (Supernatural), Post-Episode: s15e08 Our Father Who Aren't in Heaven, Post-Episode: s15e19 Inherit the Earth, Non-Chronological Fix-It, Post-Canon Fix-It, The Empty (Supernatural), Adam Milligan Saves Michael from the Empty, Michael Possessing Adam Milligan, Hurt/Comfort, Grief/Mourning, Angst with a Happy Ending, Established Relationship, Kinda Fluff, Temporary Character Death, i am going to rewrite this. i mean it.

Summary: Adam knocked on the door and waited. And waited. And waited. He knocked again, and then it opened to Sam brandishing a gun, Dean behind him with a knife and a bottle of whiskey. When they saw him, they didn’t relax, but they didn’t attack either. “Adam?” Sam asked, hesitantly. “Or… Michael?” Adam knew he had to look ridiculous. Before, they’d seen him while he still had an archangel maintaining his body, but after the last day and a half? He was sweaty and sunburnt and dehydrated and he could almost feel the bags under his eyes. But another gift of the Cage was losing the ability to give a fuck what he looked like. “Michael isn't home right now,” Adam said. “And I’d like to know why.”

Mirror Of Change by QuicksilverCastiel

Teen, 2,127 words, No Archive Warnings Apply, 1/1

Tags: Michael/Adam Milligan, Serafina (Supernatural), Michael (Supernatural), Adam Milligan, Raphael (Supernatural), Serafina is going through it, Or at least she's bluescreening on account of Michael's heart-eyes at Adam, Also Heaven ecology yay!, they/them pronouns for Raphael

Summary: When all is said and done, God defeated and the world righted again, Serafina takes on her biggest challenge yet: Going back to Heaven. Not to stay, but to see if the rumour of it 'changing' have any truth to it. Turn out, at least some archangels have definitely changed. And it may be because of another Adam.

your mother's son by darkmillennium

Teen, 10,633 words, No Archive Warnings Apply, 1/1

Tags: Michael/Adam Milligan, Michael & Adam Milligan, Michael (Supernatural), Adam Milligan, Alternate Michael's Grace-Enhanced Monsters, POV Adam Milligan, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Slice of Life, Fluff and Humor, Post-Episode: s15e08 Our Father Who Aren't in Heaven, Michael Possessing Adam Milligan, Adam Milligan is So Done, Developing Relationship, Romantic Tension, listen they're in love with each other we've all seen it, this is just 10k words of michael and adam living life, Enochian-Speaking Adam Milligan, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence

Summary: Adam wants a normal life. He really does. He wants, at least, as close to a normal life as he can get after spending ten years—a thousand years—in the Cage. And he’s got it, mostly. He’s got an apartment and a job and a closet full of clothes that aren’t the clothes he went to Hell in. He thinks he’s been managing pretty great, all things considered. But one day, Michael warns him that he’s sensed a pack of werewolves move into the area, and then people start dropping dead with their hearts ripped out, and.. Life isn't going to be as relaxed as he'd like it to be, is it?

#these fics changed my brain #this is not all of the fics i have but they are some of my favs #midam #adam milligan #adam milligan x michael #michael spn #spn #supernatural #ao3 #fic recs #midam fic recs #hex posts

[ilovedthestars]

and also just. the way ambiguity in relationships is assumed to be romantic, too. see, i wrote that whole post a while back about how I loved ambiguous fictional relationships, with deep devotion but no clear label as to the type of relationship. i called it love as in significance--that's where my tag comes from. love as in being important to someone, in whatever form that takes.

and what I said then about how this applies to romance still applies--when I'm reading about a fictional romance, I'll be much more engaged with one that feels built on that foundation of significance than one that isn't. flirting, the trappings of modern courtship, those feel empty to me without the feeling that these characters already matter to each other. (this is why in real life I'm so perplexed by things like dating apps, or people who actively seek out romance with strangers--I just personally can't fathom the idea of wanting that kind of closeness with someone you don't already know and care for.)

but in regards to ambiguity....I feel like I've been burned a little. I loved ambiguity because it meant you could take many things away from it. other people could see romance, but I could see the kind of deeply devoted platonic relationship that, let's be honest, is incredibly rare in fiction. but I'm starting to feel frustrated by the way ambiguity is assumed to be romance, without an explicit statement that it's not. (I've joked about the obligatory "no hetero" moments that have to be inserted into the start of a piece of media that has a male and a female protagonist with any kind of relationship other than romance--the "not with those lips" moment in the D&D movie, for example. It's funny, and i appreciate it being made very clear, but it's kind of sad that it has to be.)

and...okay, there's an elephant in the room that i really should acknowledge. I was talking about it in that first post, but I made a point of never mentioning it, although i'm sure plenty of people guessed.

I haven't watched Good Omens season two. I'm not sure if I'm ever going to. When I first wrote about my love for ambiguous relationships back in February of 2023, Aziraphale and Crowley were at the top of my list. When I wrote about how ambiguity left room for anyone to see themselves represented, and how i wished that a little more space was left for aro voices, I was talking about them. I was frustrated by people who saw that ambiguity as "queerbaiting"--didn't they see that the story was already queer, that Aziraphale and Crowley cared so deeply for each other, and whether they kissed or not wouldn't change anything?

But they did kiss. And it did change something. I don't feel like there's a place left for me anymore. And there's social pressure to celebrate, to be happy for another canon queer love story on TV, and god I'd love to celebrate that, but I can't help but feel a little betrayed by a story that I thought would leave space for me.

(and yes, a kiss doesn't have to mean romance--but in this, in hollywood, it's assumed to. the creators and the audience both understand it as such, unless someone stops to say no, we're friends who kiss each other the mouth, we're subverting your expectations. because the expectations are inescapable.)

I've been trying to give myself the space to feel upset about this. To remember that aro stories are queer stories too. And I think I'm raising my standards. I'll take ambiguity--I'll take any carved-out space I can find. But I'm not sure I trust it anymore. I want explicitly platonic relationships with the level of love and devotion and care usually reserved for romance. I want to read and watch and listen to stories about people who are significant to each other without romance even being in the picture. I want love that isn't synonymous with romance. I'm going to stop feeling like I have to settle for anything less.

#stars has thoughts #aro thoughts #love as in significance #platonic love #amatonormativity #aphobia #sorry for not tagging this go2 spoilers but it's been a while and i think everyone's either seen it or given up avoiding spoilers #and i frankly don't want to put this anywhere near a good omens tag #also: as usual this is a complaint about broader media trends that can't be solved by a few counter examples #BUT i will still take media recs especially from fellow aspecs #i need more platonic love stories in my life