#I had in fact to correct an in -> into here
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SUNDAY IS FOR REST ── sunday x halovian!reader, 918
"do be careful, my dove," he murmurs as you straighten out the light feathers behind his ear.
"you haven't preened yourself in a while, have you?" your voice is soft, a hint of chiding to it that makes his heart flutter — there's a groggy rasp to your tone as well, having just stirred from your own dreams. sunday dares not look back at you, for there is a sweet domesticity to be found in the impression of rumpled bedsheets against your cheek and the heavy-lidded eyelids that make it known that you would love nothing more than to go back to sleep — proper sleep.
a hum resonates in sunday's chest as he allows himself to be fully immersed in the moment; early morning, messy hair and feathers, the sleepy press of lip against lip. his head tilts to the side, allowing greater access for you to tidy the feathers in question.
"you are correct. there's no need for me to do such preening in the dreamscape, though i prefer it when you offer your generous help," he replies, a mix of contentment and fondness pervading his voice.
"i'll help you only if you stay still," you grumble. your hands, which were straightening out his feathers, are now hovering just above them as sunday tries very hard not to shift in place again.
he cannot help it, truly. it is not just the factor that sunday is unused to, well, anyone touching something as intimate as his halovian wings, but also the fact that the slightest brush of your skin against his is a sensation like no other.
not that he would ever tell you, of course.
sunday nods, a silent affirmation that he will try his best to remain still, although a trace of a smile dances upon his lips. as you resume tending to his wings, each brush of your fingers brings a newfound appreciation for the sensation of your touch. he can feel the slight tingle, akin to electricity, every time your skin makes contact with his wings.
"my apologies," he murmurs, a chuckle slipping past his lips — as if he is not willing his chest to rise and fall rhythmically, having to manually breathe under your intimate ministrations. "i shall endeavour my utmost to be an inanimate statue. your wish is my command."
"haha," you say dryly.
in spite of your tone, sunday cannot help but chuckle at your jest. a cruel man he is, to find amusement in your grumpiness in the early morn. your nimble fingers gently untangle his feathers, and the sensation is a mix of tingles and warmth that spread across his wings. the act of having someone, especially someone he holds in such high esteem, tend to these parts of him that are reserved for only the most intimate moments is endearing, to say the least.
as you work, your movements deliberate and precise, your lover muses softly, "only you could make tending to feathers feel like a luxury."
"it is a luxury when you are not the one doing it yourself," you huff, hands moving around with practiced ease: smoothing a feather here, tugging a broken one out there.
sunday's chest rumbles with barely suppressed laughter at your huff of annoyance, but he remains true to his word and does all he can to keep still. his skin feels electrified with each brush of your touch, even more potent than before, and he wonders idly if it's because he's aware of how much effort you're taking in taking care of him. he is always the one caring and fussing, rather than being cared for and fussed over. it is strange, for the tables to be turnt. strange, had it been anyone else but you.
"perhaps," he manages to say between bouts of laughter, reaching back to catch one of your wrists and presses a chaste kiss upon it. "we could make a habit of this."
"is it truly proper of the head of the oak family to make a habit of keeping himself less than pristine?" you murmur.
how embarrassing; the passing thought occurs to sunday at your words. indeed, it is unbecoming for him, who stands at a position of such power and authority, to be so unkempt, so careless around you. it feels… freeing.
and so his response is a gentle tug upon your wrist, guiding your arms to wrap around his shoulders and link with his fingers. with a smile full of affection and a touch of teasing, he gently brushes his thumb over the tender flesh between your thumb and forefinger.
"i am simply indulging in the pleasure of being cared for," he answers in that same gentle rumble. "and if that means i am a tad bit less than pristine as a result, so be it."
"i suppose so," you hum, and from where sunday sits in between your legs, he feels you lean forward, hooking your chin over his shoulder. your own wings tickle his cheek, like a lover's kiss in the early morning. "preen me next?"
a low rumble resonates somewhere deep in his chest at the feeling of your breath against his neck. the closeness you've allowed between you is not something sunday takes lightly, and he relishes in it with every beat of his heart.
"with pleasure," he answers, unable to help the upwards tug of his lips as he squeezes your palms.
"let me take care of you, my dove — as you do to me."
© trappolia 2024
#sunday#honkai star rail#hsr#sunday x reader#honkai star rail x reader#hsr x reader#sunday fluff#sunday angst#sunday imagines#sunday scenarios#sunday drabbles#sunday oneshots#sunday fics#honkai star rail fluff#honkai star rail angst#honkai star rail imagines#honkai star rail scenarios#honkai star rail drabbles#honkai star rail oneshots#honkai star rail fics#hsr fluff#hsr angst#hsr imagines#hsr scenarios#hsr drabbles#hsr oneshots#hsr fics
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cold nights // part thirty-two
summary: the end.
pairing: coriolanus snow x fem!reader
wc: 2.9k
masterlists / nav / requests
tags/warnings: tribute!reader and mentor!coriolanus, r is very sweet (too kind for this world. literally.), sunshine x grumpy trope kinda, he falls first, violence typical for the source material, depictions of mental illness, also she's is very smart (as she should), district twelve!reader.
a/n:
the end!! omg!!guys thank you so much for being here through this whole story and this was LONG!! over 110k words of a lot of nonsense but to anyone who's made it this far,, ilysm. i'm gonna miss them!! stop they were everything to me :(
ANYWAY same with LTPF if you've read that, there will be an epilogue coming soon and also definitely more oneshots and maybe bonus content that i wish i included in the original series but just didn't make the cut. so stay tuned for that!!
if you liked this series, i'm obligated as well to plug my NEXT series that's coming soon, 'requiem'!! i am so excited about it so please follow me for updates on when that will be posted!! def soon!!
just one more time i wanted to say ily, and thank you :')
see you soon!
my asks are also open to talk about this series! (i do have emoji anons open now too!)
send me any and all of your thoughts! here!
series masterlist // playlist // pinterest board
You keep your books tucked firmly to your chest as you walk into your first class, wearing the spare clothes you brought to Sejanus's house on Friday just in case you had to change. In case you spilled something on your white dress, or just felt the need to change- ironically enough.
Your normal seat in the front centre of the room is obviously free, considering also that you were quite early this morning. You had some readings you needed to catch up on anyway, in order to be prepared for midterms which were apparently coming up quickly.
It isn't long after you open your book before others begin to shuffle in, and much to your surprise, you feel the chair next to you pull back and see someone sit down. "Hi, Victor." The boy's voice says, forcing you to look up from your book.
Dark hair and dark eyes, you think you remember his name was Cancor. "Oh, my name is Y/N." You correct him kindly, adjusting nervously in your seat.
"I know that." He says, eyes merely slits as he seems to look past your own eyes and into your soul.
"You're... You're Cancor, correct? I don't believe we've properly met." You add, sitting up straighter.
"Crane." He states. "My last name is Crane."
"That's... yes that's a lovely name." You smile nervously, unsure what to say but still wanting to fill the silence he seemed so comfortable with. "Alliteration is such a fun thing to consider when naming a child..."
"It means spider." He states. "Did you ever meet my sister?" He asks, ignoring your nervous ramblings.
"No, no I don't believe I have. What is her name?" You ask.
"Arachne." The boy says, raising an eyebrow at you expectantly while you take a moment to wrack your mind to place it. He's acting as if you should know her, and suddenly you feel like you do.
You tilt your head slightly, allowing the memory to hit you like a freight train.
The funeral.
All you really remembered until now was being chained to a truck and paraded down the street you now recognize as the Corso, the body of his sister's tribute swinging above you while people screamed and cursed at you. Then, Coryo sang the national anthem.
"Oh, yes. Of course." You nod slightly, a frown settling over your features. "I am so sorry for your loss. Truly."
"No, you're not." He spits. "You don't care, and the fact that you're pretending to is just vile. She meant less than nothing to you and those animals- otherwise, she would still be here!"
You stammer, pushing yourself back in your seat as you grip the bottom of the chair. "No, no- I am sorry, I am. That should not have happened. It- It was horrible."
"Cancor." You silently thank the universe for your professor's quick intervention. "If you wouldn't mind returning to your usual seat and leaving Miss Y/L/N alone."
"We were just talking." Cancor replies, suddenly sweet as honey- cool and collected as if he wasn't just berating you over your faults in his sister's death.
"Go." Dr. Nero tells him again, nodding up toward the back of the lecture hall. "Before I am forced to ask you to leave."
The boy sighs in quiet frustration, slightly aggressive about his movements as he grabs his bag and stomps up the stairs.
You look up to your professor who greets the look with a curt nod and the smallest of sympathetic smiles.
It does nothing to quell the lightness you feel that usually signifies the trembling of your hands, which would soon spread. You close your eyes trying to take deep breaths that wouldn't come, but all you can see is the bodies of Arachne Crane and her tribute by the bars that had separated them. You have to open your eyes to remind yourself you aren't standing in the street, wrists still shackled to a truck. You can feel the chains weighing your wrists down to the desk as you think about it. You had almost entirely forgotten about the whole event- and the guilt of that was suddenly clawing its way up your throat. Cancor had never had the privilege of forgetting the way you had.
Quickly, you shove your books into your bag and stand, heading for the door. "Y/N." Dr. Nero's voice forces you to stop and you just turn to look at him, knowing full well you're unable to speak. "It's 8:58."
You nod slightly, looking down at the marble flooring that lay between you. "Start without me." You mumble, not giving him the chance to respond before you're leaving, accidentally bumping shoulders with some of the final students to enter.
You hadn't missed a single class yet, attendance was important, but right now you couldn't care less. Why should you even have the privilege of attending classes at the university in place of some of the academy's brightest minds who never got the chance? Like Arachne, and the three other mentors who were killed because of the games. You knew it wasn't necessarily your fault, but you understood Cancor's anger being directed at you. In a twisted way, you felt like you deserved it. They were meant to survive, you never were. Yet, here you were- a walking reminder to those students' friends and families that for some reason, they had to lose someone they shouldn't have.
You quickly pace down the nearly empty hall, trying to hold back your tears as long as you could. Feeling like you can't breathe is making it exponentially harder, and you wonder how you even walked out of the arena as it was. Adrenaline is a crazy beast- and you wished you had some leftover now. Sometimes, in moments like this, you wonder if you had used up your life's supply of the chemical the last time you were here in the Capitol.
Coryo was already running late after spending probably far too long conversing with your brother in the car, but he couldn't resist taking a detour into the arts building. He would just pass through, past your room just to glance inside and see if you were really there. Just to get a look at you.
He doesn't need to, though, turning a corner and just catching a glimpse of your hair as you disappear with a left turn at the end of the corridor. He was sure it was you.
Walking past your classroom he looks anyway, just to double-check, and as he suspected, you were gone.
He quickens his pace, taking advantage of his height difference over you to try and catch up with more rushed steps. "Y/N?" He calls out as he turns the same corner, but you're already hidden from view and the door at the far end of the hall is slamming shut.
As he continues down the corridor, a furrow knits its way into his brow. You must be headed to where you normally eat lunch, that is all that would make sense.
Without thinking, he follows. The courtyard is almost empty, aside from your frame curled up on the grass, knees tucked to your chest and bag discarded halfheartedly beside you on the damp grass. The sun casts a shadowed glow where it isn't blocked by trees or buildings in its path of rising, the grass is wet under his shoes as he quickly approaches you.
"Hey- hey, Y/N/N, it's me." He calls out as he walks up behind you. You turn your head, and then stand quickly.
"It- It's okay. I'm fine." You stammer, wiping your cheeks frantically. "You should g-go, you're already late."
"I'm not leaving you like this." He shakes his head, holding a hand out toward you as you avoid his eyes. "Tell me what happened, love. Talk to me."
You shake your head, shoulders backed to an invisible wall as you hold your palms over your face. You can't look at him right now- especially right now, when all you want is for him to hold you.
"You're okay. I'm not gonna hurt you." He whispers, taking a hesitant step closer. By now, you know full well he wouldn't hurt you. Not in the way he's saying, at least.
"You should go." You choke over the words that feel heavy in your mouth.
"Y/N, love, I told you, I'm not going anywhere." He repeats calmly.
"I want to go home." You sob. "I shouldn't have won, I shouldn't be here. I shouldn't even be alive!" You say, voice picking up in frustration. "It's not fair. Nothing is fair, nothing."
He frowns as you lower your hands, clenching your fists at your sides. "Of course, you should be here."
"You don't get it!" You snap, and you hardly even sound like yourself.
This was it. This was your breaking point.
Coryo is taken back by your outburst, almost flinching at the abruptness of your shift. He had never seen you angry- he didn't even know it was possible. Of course it was. He'd spent all this time, all this energy trying to convince people that you were human. Anger comes with that, hand in hand like your cat and the fur that's clinging to his clothes at this very moment. You couldn't have one without the other. "Then explain it to me." He urges you, trying to sound anything other than defensive.
Your eyes soften, as if you're suddenly realizing that your anger was not entirely placed on him. You shake your head. "It's not... I cannot explain it and that is the worst part." You sigh, but the rage flashes in your eyes again as you look down. "Why was it me and not any of them? Why did so many of your classmates have to die? Why did Marcus escape only to face a worse fate than the rest of us, when he tried to help me too? Why am I enrolled at this stuffy university when my spot belongs to Arachne Crane in rights?"
"Arachne Crane?" Coryo mutters, eyes widening with confusion while he wonders where on earth that came from. He shakes his head quickly to dismiss the thought. "Marcus tried to save you, yes, that could have been you who escaped, that's true- but you were too busy trying to save me. And you did." He knows better than to accuse you of regretting that. He knows you don't.
When you don't reply, just staring at him head on now, frustrated and confused, he continues. "If we're going by this unexplainable logic of the universe, I think that it was you because instead of saving yourself, you saved me. And you did it again in the arena, when you went back for Jessup when I was looking at the screen and begging you silently to just ditch him. Same exact thing when you tried to get little Wovey up into the rafters with you, and hell! When you stared down the barrel of my gun, shaking head to toe from fear just to save the life of the Mayor's daughter, who was nothing but awful to everyone!" He says, gesticulating wildly to get his point across. "I've been trying to tell you for months, Y/N. It was you because you are the only person in this whole damn country who cares about someone other than themselves."
You just shake your head, and it's frustrating to him that you're unwilling to accept what he knows to be true. "It didn't work." You sniff. "You're the only one who survived me."
"Listen to me," Coryo says, reaching out and holding your face in his hands- throwing caution to the wind regarding how he knows to handle your panic attacks. "I survived because I had to learn how to love you."
You look into his eyes, flitting your own back and forth between them in an attempt to place any signs of deception. Blue, baby blue. You find none.
"And I did. And I'll love you every day for the rest of our lives. I don't want you to think for a minute that I'm embarrassed by that fact." Your eyes are squeezed shut by the time he finishes speaking, his thumbs swiping over the tear stains left down your cheeks by anger.
"It's not your fault." You mumble, shaking your head under his hold. "I do not fault you for being embarrassed."
"I'm not." He says again. "Look at me, please, love."
You pry your eyes open to face him.
"I've... I've had all this pressure my whole life to be perfect, and now it's worse than ever and I should have never let that get pushed onto you. I want you to be happy, that's all. I want you to be free to do whatever you want, and right now, the cost of that comes with who we are in public. Do you understand?"
"Yes." You say softly, but he can see that's not fully true.
"Here, in the Capitol, everything is a social ladder. We cannot marry who we wish, we marry who we should. Rarely ever do kids here date for fun."
"Like Lucy Gray and the silly mistakes she made over and over again with Billy Taupe." You comment, trying to lighten the tension you feel radiating off his body.
"Yes." He chuckles, smiling hopefully at you, relieved that you understood. "But I want nothing more on this earth than for you to be the one I spend my life with. I want to make you happy, but first, in order to do that, you have to be someone that they will accept. And I am so, so sorry I didn't explain this to you sooner, but I want you to know I've never wanted you to change."
"We don't need them to like me to be happy. That will be an endless uphill battle, Coryo." You shake your head slightly, placing your hands over his as they slide down onto your neck.
"It will be uphill but we can do it." He assures you quickly. "You're already well-liked, we're-"
"Were you not happy in Twelve?" You ask, a sad look in your eyes.
He stops, tilting his head slightly at you. He was happy in Twelve, now that he considers it. He hadn't thought about it, he was so focused on hating everything but you that he just assumed it was awful, but really, it wasn't. Not in hindsight."Is that what you want?"
You smile in response. No one had asked in months what you wanted. What you really wanted.
"What do you want, love? I'll pack up and move us back to Twelve tomorrow if that's what you really want." He says again, nothing short of desperation in his tone.
Faced with the option, you're really not sure. Yes, of course, you'd like to go home. It was very tempting. But Coryo was right, this education was important. You imagine for a moment the life you could have back home if you stuck it out a few more years. And maybe by then, you'll be better accepted here. Maybe by then, the Capitol will be a different place, and you'll be truly happy here. With him, and he will have the power to make the games go away.
"No, no." You shake your head. "I want to do something splendid...something heroic or wonderful that won't be forgotten after I'm dead. I don't know what, but I'm on the watch for it and mean to astonish you all someday." You say, and he can tell from your change in notation that the words are not your own. It was something new, unlike what he had heard from you before. He smiles. "I want to be with you, first and foremost."
"You'll always be with me. Where you go, I follow." He assures you. "I was happy in Twelve, if only because I had you."
"That should not be enough, though." You insist.
"It has been for you, hasn't it?" He asks, and you nod, biting your tongue.
He grins. "Then I promise, love, that would be more than enough for me."
"O-okay." You agree, suddenly flushed by his stare. Coryo smiles, looking briefly at your lips as you speak. To him, they seemed more tempting now than ever.
He starts to lean in and you move your head back quickly, a worried look crossing your face and you look around. "Coryo, we-"
"I don't care." He says quickly, gently pulling you back to him and pressing his lips to yours. Consequences are the last thing on his mind right now.
You take hold of the front of his delicately pressed shirt, pulling him closer with his hands on your neck. Here, in the middle of the university courtyard with the sun shining down on your back, everything is okay and at least for now, the cold night has given way to a warm, sunny morning.
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Results on the poll are in and the majority wanted Romantic Yandere Zestial with a rival. (I was honestly surprised, but seeing as romantic and platonic were so close, I'll make it platonic to slow burn romantic)
Warnings; Yandere temper, Yandere behavior, Yandere relationship, yandere v yandere, Sin Eater reader, Gender Neutral Reader, slow burn platonic to romantic yandere, rival yandere, surprise rival yandere, violence, blasphemy, reader gets one hell of a backbone (only for a bit), God, yelling in the presence of God, brief surprise guest appearances, lucifer and others call reader young/kid (mostly affectionately),
~~~~~~~~
Zestial felt a small playful grin tug at the corners of his mouth as he watched his wayward charge curiously poke around his home. The halls of his manor had been rather quiet and the change to having company was certainly a welcome one. Despite his long life and the many lovers he had entertained in the past, he felt a true connection to the Sin Eater whose very soul he held claim over. They were not only a novelty in their soul's unfortunate proclivity to violence towards sinners but they did not immediately fear or despise him upon meeting.
"(Y/n), thy curiosity is truly an endearing quality."
His grin only widened as he noticed the way you startled at his sudden presence. Though he didn't wish harm or misfortune upon you, he was still a sadistic overlord who adored the fearful looks others gave him. You looked up at the tall arachnid that loomed over you, relaxing when you realized it was just Zestial poking fun.
"Hi, Zestial. I was just-"
"Being the curious nymph thou oft remind me of."
"I guess? Anyway, Carmilla wanted me to come over and talk to her about the exterminations. Apparently during the last one, the angels were looking for a Sin Eater down here."
This made a deep frown pull at Zestial's lips, feeling a kind of anger take over his being at the idea of an exorcist getting their hands on you. His change in temper was easy for you to notice as Zestial often seemed pleasantly aloof excepting for when he was angry. Zestial was certainly unhappy at that moment.
"I see... And, did Carmilla share with thou the intent of this angel?"
"No. I think that's what she wants to talk with me about."
"I shall accompany thou in thy to visit Carmilla. I, too, would like to know how oft these angels seek thy presence. The attentions of Exorcists are oft a negative omen."
"Okay. I'm sure Carmilla would like to see you too. She always seems more comfortable when you are there with me."
Zestial hummed at this, well aware that his presence often put Carmilla at ease whenever she interacted with you. She still didn't trust you because of the many unfortunate interactions she has had with Sin Eaters, so having Zestial nearby calmed her. So long as you are still on Zestial's leash, she trusted you wouldn't act out of turn. She figured she could always call upon him should your hunger get out of hand while nearby. The deal you had with Zestial also kept you safe from Carmilla as she would not dare try to slay a soul he had claimed.
~~~~~~~~
"Wait, so I was supposed to die when they threw me into Hell, but now they want me back? How does that fit in with Heaven's logic?"
"I'm not an angel. I wouldn't know."
You frowned and pondered what you had been told. It was confusing, but it did make it easier knowing that though Carmilla may dislike you, she didn't like the angels talking about you. According to Carmilla, the angels expected you to be slain shortly after throwing you into Hell. The fact you were still alive upset and irritated them.
"If Carmilla's informant is correct, it twould seem they shall be searching for (y/n) specifically. I refuse to be one to allow these feathered nuisances to harm a hair atop thy head. They shan't have you."
You noticed the way Carmilla slightly frowned, glancing to the side as Zestial swore to protect you. Her clear respect and somewhat attraction to Zestial had been weighing on you as you didn't want to drive a wedge between the two seeing as they obviously had gone through quite a lot together. The most you could do was hope that Carmilla didn't dislike you for befriending Zestial even though she clearly disliked that you were a Sin Eater.
"Ms. Carmine? Though I know you likely told me this for Zestial's benefit, I still appreciate you letting me know about all of this. Thank you."
Carmilla seemed surprised at first before her eyes somewhat softened from her typical hard glare to a gentle expression. You had only seen her use that expression when talking to her two daughters.
"Don't be so quick to trust anyone in Hell, Sin Eater. If you weren't Zestial's soul, I would have killed you myself."
"I know. That doesn't mean I can't be thankful to you for your help."
The smallest of smiles pulled at Carmilla's lips for just a moment before she returned to the hardened expression she usually wore.
"Take care, (Y/n). I can see why you were sent to Heaven first before they betrayed you and sent you here. Heaven may want you dead, but I won't let them have their way."
~~~~~~~~
Extermination day was a brutal yearly event in Hell that always seemed to be more violent than the year before it. Zestial insisted you remain inside his estate with the curtains drawn while he left to an overlord meeting, making it clear he wanted you nowhere near the angels. You weren't keen to argue seeing as the angels were likely going to be gunning for you the moment they noticed your presence.
What you hadn't expected was the frantic knocking at the manor doors. Desperate souls in hell trying to escape the extermination going on outside. They were willingly to do anything, even sell their souls to the ancient being Zestial just to have a chance at escaping the angels.
Though you wanted to open the doors to let the poor sinners in, Zestial had been more than clear that you were to leave the doors sealed. However, those on the other side of the door did not take kindly to you not offering them sanctuary as the door suddenly caved in, a large axe blade sticking out of the door.
The body of a sinner fell into the doorway and a frighteningly familiar figure entered in. His large horns and dark mask looked identical to when you saw him at the gates of Heaven. He sneered as he removed the axe from the poor sinner he hunted down.
"How d'ya like that, demon bitch? Try and fucking run from me and I still got you!"
It was while he was taking in his surroundings he realized you were standing there, your gaze filled with terror and confusion. He didn't seem to recognize you at first before his smile became manic and sadistic.
"Found you. Did you know, you are one tough unlucky fucker to find. But Sera heard you survived, so I gotta drag your ass back to Heaven. Just had to screw up your one job, right? Now the Big Man wants your ass in His office, so You're gonna be a good little bitch and don't fight."
The fear coursing through you set you on edge as you took a step back from the man. His mask covering his face made him seem like more of a monster and set actual fear into your heart. You did the only thing you could think of, hoping beyond hope that he would answer you even if he was in a meeting with other overlords.
"Zestial, please... Please help me!"
Your plea seemed to be unanswered for a moment as the man reached towards you with a grin of triumph. Right as it seemed his hand was about to grab you, you found yourself suddenly stumbling to the side and into a pair of arms.
"Woah there! You alright?"
You looked up at the sinner holding you only to pause in confusion. The person you saw looked far more human despite his pale white skin and bright red clownish cheeks. He watched you in confusion even as he steadied you on your feet and let you lean on him to find your footing.
The room you found yourself in was not where you had been only moments ago. It seemed like you were somewhere high up as you could look down at a fair portion of The Pentagram from the windows nearby. None of it looked familiar.
"Where's Ze-?"
You were cut off by a bright light that drew your attention to the windows on the far side of the room. Several overlords- Zestial included- and even a few rather intimidating looking sinners you didn't recognize were present in what seemed to be a meeting room. In the open space before the windows was a blinding light that faded only slightly as a being emerged from the light. The being was humanoid in shape, but you couldn't make out what their face looked like as light continued to shine brightly enough to obscure them.
"Come, Sin Eater. It is not ideal that I had to retrieve you myself, but I shall do what I must."
"Who-?"
"You may call me Father, Creator, or God. Whichever you feel has enough reverence."
"You're-?"
"The one creator of all things, Damned and Heavenly souls included. And you, young Sin Eater, have defied your odds to exist to this point. Now, come and we shall discuss your afterlife."
You watched in silence for a moment, feeling anxiety racing through you as you looked at this intimidating figure before you. There was a part of you that wanted to do whatever the intimidating man told you to, but another far stronger part wanted you to yell.
You wanted to yell for the injustice of it all. To yell for being thrown into Hell with no warning. To yell for the clear suffering so many other sinners endured. To yell at the cause of all this suffering and senseless slaughter.
You needed to yell.
"No."
"Excuse you?"
"I said 'no'. If you want me to go with you I need a few things first."
The Man scoffed slightly in an incredulous manner, folding His ethereal arms over His chest. Though you couldn't see His face, you could tell He was scowling to some degree.
"A bit big in your own shoes, eh? Fine. What is it you believe you can ask of God?"
"Save them."
"Who?"
"The sinners screaming outside, being slaughtered and cut down at your behest. Save them first, or you are nothing but talk."
"They made their choice. They are reaping the rewards for sinful life."
"Really? Then what was my time down here? What do you call it when you kick someone out of Heaven and send them straight to Hell? Is that not an injustice? Is that not an undeserved fate? I went to Heaven first, and this is what I got instead."
"And I am taking you back to Heaven, is that not forgiving of me?"
You frowned deeply, feeling anger bubble up in your chest as you slowly walked forward. Step by step you approached the Heavenly being that claimed to be God Himself.
"Forgiving for what? What did I do that needs to be forgiven?"
"..."
"You claim to be the Creator of All, yet you turn a deaf ear to those begging you for mercy. You claim to be loving and forgiving, yet my only crime was an affliction I did not put upon myself and I was still thrown into Hell. You claim to be all of these things yet you refuse to save those that need it most."
He slightly dipped His head, as if He were refusing to meet your gaze and your blood only burned hotter. This Man stood before you claiming to be divine and forgiving, yet He couldn't do anything you asked of Him. He may not see it, but as far as you were concerned, He owed you a bit of grace.
"No. I will not go with you. Until you can open your arms to the damned and forgotten, I will not go with you. Until you uphold the morals you claim to purvey, I will not go with you. Until Hell itself is empty and I am the last one standing, I will not go with you."
"You belong in Heaven."
"Not any more. Those here showed me more kindness than your supposed 'angels' ever did! These damned sinners showed me mercy when I didn't deserve any from them! I belong here. And until you can prove to me that you are more than just talk, I will go nowhere with you. I'll even spit in your face if I have to, to prove I belong here!"
The Man was silent for a long moment, your anxious nerves sparking wildly as you stood before your Creator and told Him to go fuck Himself. The words spilled from your mouth like water from the head of a river, flowing forward with no regard to the end destination. All you felt was rage.
"You may have me when you earn me. Until then, find someone else to preach to."
The silence was near deafening as He stood, letting your words soak in even as you glared into the blinding light that emanated from Him. No one spoke until the sudden crack of what could have been thunder, and with a pop He was gone from view.
It was then your nerves hit you, making your knees buckle and your body sink downwards as all you had said and done weighed in your mind. At the least, you forfeited your one ticket into Heaven and a peaceful afterlife. At most, you pissed off God Himself and made it clear that His words could never reach you despite His efforts. You were forsaken regardless.
"Well, holy fucking Hell. I sure as shit didn't expect that!"
The gruff voice of one of the strangers present drew you from your downward spiral. He had a heavy Aussie accent and seemed to be some kind of abomination cross between a jester and a Christmas tree. His greenish-yellow eyes were wide with surprise, as were the eyes of the rest that were present. Even Zestial seemed surprised.
A hand rest on your shoulder and you sharply looked up to see that same man from before watching you with a gentle gaze and warm smile. His red eyes seemed so full of understanding and compassion that you could scarcely believe he was likely a sinner.
"Not bad, kid. Not bad at all. Honestly, I'm surprised He didn't strike you down for what you said, but I can definitely say that I am proud of you."
"Thank you... I think? I just- I couldn't stand how he was so happy to let others suffer yet he still thought he was the merciful one. I- I'm sorry, I don't even know who you are and I'm putting all of this on you. I'm (Y/n) (L/n). I'm a-"
"A Sin Eater. Yes, I could tell by your soul. Not many of your kind down here, but hey, Hell has plenty of room for all. Lucifer Morningstar, pleasure to meet you, (Y/n)."
"... Morningstar..? Oh. Oh! Oh, I'm so sorry, Sir! I didn't mean to be rude, or intrude, or not bow. I was just calling for Zestial's help because that one angel who sent me here broke in and- I- I'm sorry, I'm rambling. I-"
"Take a breath there," Lucifer chuckled in a good-natured way, "to think, you'll spit in the face of God with no trouble but you apologize to me for not bowing when you didn't even know who I was. You've got some moxy, kiddo. I'll give you that."
He stood up again, holding a hand out to you which you gratefully accepted. It still felt like you were in an emotional limbo state given all that happened, yet you still found a bit of comfort and happiness bloom in your chest. Who knew Lucifer was such a chill guy?
"Gotta love a sinner who can stand up for themselves. Mmm. Takes guts."
A beautiful and deep baritone voice grabbed your attention and drew it to the owner of such high-quality brass pipes. Sitting with their legs crossed appeared to be a humanoid that was some kind of cross between a rooster and a Lion with three faces. They wore a finely decorated suit that seemed to glow in the low light as if they held some kind of light within.
"Guts? Talk about bringing the fire baby! Where you been hiding, Cutie? No way you've been anywhere near the other sinners with a soul that unique."
A female figured humanoid spoke up with a feminine voice, her figure much like a bee mixed with a fennec fox. Her stomach reminded you of a lava-lamp as the pink and blue colors within moved in a fluid maner. The group she sat among being the many you did not recognize.
Your eyes scanned the rest of the room where you had seen the various overlords prior, quickly finding Zestial among the faces. The relief you felt was quickly taken over with a sudden and fierce hunger.
Something about the way you or your soul looked must have changed because the overlords and even Lucifer reacted to the difference. There was something wrong with this hunger that made it different from your typical drive to consume sin. It was a deeper, more primal craving that seemed to only get worse with every passing second as you doubled over in pain from the crippling hunger.
"Damn Him! Of course He wouldn't let something like that slide. They're gonna turn feral unless they feed."
"Allow me to bare this load, your Highness. (Y/n) is still one of the souls I consider to be mine. The duty to feed should fall to me."
Zestial now stood, coming over to your side with several contracts in hand with the intention of curbing your hunger before it got too far. Before he could summon forth the sinners to feed you, another sensation overcame you that soothed the hunger significantly. A faint glow seemed to increase for only a second from Lucifer before fading back down.
"No need, already took care of it. Knowing Him it wouldn't have been a simple thing to quell. If anything, I would guess He made their sin-consuming affliction worse for talking back to him. It's possible that only a Sin can help them now. No offense."
"... None taken."
"Well, guess that just means I'll be seeing more of you, (Y/n)! I can tell we're going to get along just fine."
#kiame-sama#yandere#x reader#yandere x reader#reader insert#tw yandere#yandere Zestial#multiple yandere#yandere hazbin hotel
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AITA for making a post about an adult making a sexual comment under one of my sfw work posts as a minor?
FYI, sorry for any bad spelling, I have really bad dyslexia.
(🐶👀❤️ for future finding)
Cw for sexual comments to a child, online harassment, and mentions of grooming.
Just for context this didn’t happen on tumblr, this all happened on twitter (yes yes the Elon musk rat site that we all hate) and I’m putting this here because I use both twitter and tumblr and I want a second opinion.
here’s the characters before we start
Me, (17 trans masc)
nsfw account (22 they/them)
so recently I posted a tweet that was a fun fact type tweet about a character from a show I like. Along the lines of “this character can play the tuba!”
Then a 18+ account (this will come up later) replied with “he must have a strong mou*gets shot*”
this is a common meme format but it was obviously nsfw in nature. Now don’t get me wrong, I am in a fandom for a more mature show and understand 18+ accounts may engage with me, and not check my bio. But putting a blatantly under a sfw post and not even bothering to check for my age is just- really disgusting. Not to mention this account had replied and liked many of my tweets.
I gave it a few hours to see if they would correct the obvious mistake, cuz sometimes I back track and realize a mistake, correct it and move on.
but nothing, radio silence. So I replied to their comment stating they had made me incredibly uncomfortable and that I was a child, and then made a small post since a few my adult mutuals follow them (for context I have like 100 followers and they have over a thousand)
it wasn’t a “call out post” just a simple “hay this person did something wrong and I’m telling my tiny bubble of people because some of you happened to follow” I wasn’t trying to get anyone canceled basically.
I didn’t put their @ in the post directly, just a screen shot of the inappropriate replay and their profile showing some mutuals follow.
they then quote retweeted me, telling me “I could have just blocked them and moved on, and that this is a 18+ fandom so I shouldn’t even be here” (it’s actually a 16+ show but whatever)
mutable of their followers processed to gang up on me and tell me I was a pathetic and should leave the internet forever, repeating with the person had said in their quote retweet when ever I tried to argue.
I ended up having to full on private my account because I was so triggered (I’m a grooming victim so this whole situation made me feel almost sick)
I know the person fucked up, but was the post not ok? At first it felt like it was warranted but now I’m second-guessing myself and thinking that I might be the one in the wrong. Should I have just done what they wanted and blocked and moved on?
AITA?
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Five minutes of Instagram fame
The Brazilian fan is back with more attention-grabbing content, one week after she had thousands of eyes on her London shenanigans. Which I am not going to discuss, simply because I do believe there is no need to give the anecdote more space than it deserves. Enough is enough, and the apparent collective loss of all sense of measure is a sure sign that pause is needed, in that department.
What I am going to discuss, however, is the chutzpah of a 23 year old Nobody, who just wishes to keep those five minutes of fame rolling on and on and on.
Yesterday, she felt compelled to publish another batch of Instagram stories, in which she delivers her Toxic Shipping 101 lecture:
In the process, she basically just rephrases the main Anti Bible arguments, calls thousands of people 'insane', quotes two influential shipper blogs (slàinte mhath, @bat-cat-reader!) that didn't even come close to what I wrote about her, brings on board her mother and grandmother just to explain how upset she was about 'older American women picking up on her'. And ends with a rather pathetic plea for all of us, shippers, to 'seek immediate medical attention'. Same unnerving sotaque Paulista (São Paulo accent), with a posh and very fake tinge of British English. Same incoherent, amateur and immature discourse, endlessly seeking to bring attention to herself, mildly trying to victimize herself. Blah, blah.
I would have given her grace, were it not for this particular argument, in response to a X user asking a rather uncomfortable question, as she definitely has the constitutional right to do:
'OH God, not her again 23 yr old Brazilian trying to be a reporter in London, complete fail. but in BIG OL LONDON, 'JUST HAPPENED' TO Spot Sam, how dumb do you think we all are?'
Answer is the real dumb part of the story, if you ask me, especially coming from a very young woman: 'Forbidden to be a journalist and meet a celebrity in the street. Forbidden to go for a walk as a journalist, paging all my colleagues, ok? I had no clue I could be as scheming as they say I am.'
Ok, buttercup: it is my honest understanding that you want to be taken seriously and treated as a professional, right? Did I miss something, here?
Right. As the daughter of a journalist and a former Government expert in media policies (specifically dealing with media content broadcasting), I am going to do exactly this and honestly ask you, Mrs. Silva:
Do you consider, in all good faith, that you acted like a professional journalist, in this very circumstance?
Do you consider to have kept your impartiality and have you at least checked all the relevant facts and POVs, before slandering all those people on your social media account? Or did you content yourself to report the hearsay shared with you by other bloggers, and just conveniently quoted four random bloggers and commenters?
Have you the slightest idea that one of the commenters who reached out to you on Instagram, questioning your version of the facts, is not even a shipper (and actually, very violently far from being one)?
During the week separating your first post and this reaction to people's feedback, have you or have you not respected your due diligence obligation to contact and engage with the people you so easily treat as a bit less than the scum of the Earth?
Did you or did you not ask for permission to quote their published content on your social media account, especially in a polemic context?
Unlike you, I have diligently perused both your website and your Linked In account. Maybe it is time to tell all those people you have insulted the truth about who you are, professionally, at this very moment:
Marketing student, 3rd semester.
Let me count: 3 internships (correct me if I am wrong), in various junior positions for 1 local media outlet, 1 international corporation and 1 website, 4 different jobs - or should I say 'stints' (3 with your current employer, 1 as a freelancer for a local media outlet).
Still learning. There is absolutely nothing bad about it. But you have still a LONG way to go until you could pretend to be a real voice. And there is nothing in what you posted that could grab my professional attention and make me hire you. Quite the contrary and, believe it or not, I am awfully sorry to say so.
My three free and totally unsolicited pieces of advice:
Always check your facts, always get in touch with the people you plan to write about. In fact, your anger and ego got the best of your professional self and you lost a great opportunity for a paper you could have even titled ' Viagem na Shipperlândia' (A Trip to Shipperland). I would have read that. But you haven't. You preferred to act just like all the other 23 year old girls and make a belly-button story about yourself.
Never bring your family forward in questionable contexts. You expose people who have nothing to do with the irrelevant insanity of a fandom war, to which you contributed your own, perhaps involuntary, dose of chaos and unnecessary drama.
Never lie on your Linked In resume. Potential employers might and will read it. Never write things like:
.. when you also fail to accurately describe your former job position, denoting poor spelling:
Especially when words are your craft, bread and butter. The devil is always in the details:
As I mentioned in a previous post, you could have been my daughter. I have been that 23 year old girl myself, desperate to list every single internship and tempted to inflate language proficiency, in the hope it would land me the job of my dreams. And I have learned the hard way that being a true professional is cancelling your ego.
You'll learn. Until then, stop bitching on things you have no idea about and act like an adult, not an attention hungry teenager. This comes from a place of tough love: sometimes, the most effective life lessons are given by complete strangers.
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Zuko and Katara are shopping at a market. While Katara is haggling for deals and Zuko's carrying all the bags, a lost child approaches them asking for help finding their mother. Momtara and Dadko activate!
Awww this is so cute
I love these prompts so much please continue sending them!
FEATURINGGG: hella soft Zuko
Grocery shopping was bonding time for Katara and Zuko. At least, that’s what Katara told Zuko. It felt a lot more like an excuse for Zuko to hold her grocery bags while she bargained with business men/women. So unless standing within five feet of each other while shopping was what Katara meant by “bonding,” Zuko didn’t buy it.
“Just last week this was a whole dollar cheaper!” Katara reasoned with one of the people at the many stands in the market.
“Inflation dear, it gets the best of us.”
“That’s not what-! Ugh, never mind. Do you price match?”
The man in front of Katara squinted his eyes and looked the woman up and down. “Yeah. But who else is selling angelberries right now?”
“I passed her as I was walking up here, just a few minutes back. At that point, I thought 4.50 for a dozen angelberries was beyond what they were worth. But I stand corrected,” Katara said, staring at the man.
Zuko knew that they had not, in fact, passed another stand that was selling angelberries, and Katara was purely gambling on the fact that this salesman didn’t memorize the other stands in the area.
He stared her down before giving up. “Fine, 4.50 for a dozen angelberries,” the man scowled.
“Thank you very much,” Katara flashed him her signature smile and grabbed the ripest berries she could find.
“Nice going, ‘Kat,” Zuko said after they were out of earshot from the salesman.
“Ugh, thanks. He was such an asshole, though. Some people.”
They continued walking around until Katara spotted another stand with something that was on his shopping list. Before she could make her way over to it, though, a small child went up to the two of them and began sputtering something nonsensical.
“Hey, hey,” Katara rushed to speak, “take a few deep breathes with me. In and out.”
Katara knelt down to the young child and began breathing with her. When she was finally calm, she opened her mouth a few times to try and figure out what to say, then her eyes started to water again.
“I-I- I can’t find my momma!” Tears began to spill from the young child who couldn’t be more than four years old.
Katara took both the child’s hands and held them in her own. Zuko knelt down beside the girl and began to rub her back.
“Hey, I’m sure she’s looking for you too. It’s going to be alright,” he finally spoke, “what’s your name?”
The girl took a few more deep breaths then spoke again.
“Izuma.”
“That’s a lovely name,” Zuko smiled, “I’m Zuko, and this is Katara.”
The girl nodded a few times.
“Do you know what your momma’s name is?” Katara asked.
“Uhhh, momma?”
Katara and Zuko both let out a sigh.
“Here, Zuko and I will split up so we can try to find your mom. How does that sound?”
The girl nodded faster.
“Alright, Izuma, you can come with me and we’ll go to the end of the market. Zuko, can you go in the way of the entrance? Let’s meet back here in twenty minutes.” Zuko gave a sharp nod and began to walk away and toward the entrance, stopping every few yards to look around for anyone who might be looking for their lost child.
By the time he was maybe a tenth of a mile back to the entrance, he spotted a woman rushing around and searching for something.
“Izuma!” She called, tears rolling down her face as she searched every crevice of the area.
Finally, he found her. He walked up to the woman whose face was scrunched and slightly disoriented.
“Ma’am, are you Izuma’s mother?”
“Yes! Have you seen her? Is she okay? Is she here?”
“My girlfriend and I found her, they’re looking for you towards the end of the market.”
“Oh, thank the spirits. Please take me to them!”
Zuko nodded and led her deeper into the market. Finally, when they could hear Izuma calling for her mother, she ran to the sound, leaving Zuko behind.
“Izuma! Oh, thank the spirits you’re alright!”
“Momma! I was so scared!”
“It’s alright, I’ve got you now.” Izuma’s mother said as she picked Izuma up and held her. “Thank you so much- both of you,” she said as she turned to face Katara and Zuko, “I owe you my life.”
“Oh, no!” Katara reassured, “Please, it was the right thing to do. Just knowing you’re both reunited is reward enough.”
“Thank you so much.”
“Of course,” Zuko spoke.
“Izuma, what do we say?”
“Thank you!” She yelled.
Katara and Zuko smiled. When Izuma and her mother finally left, Katara turned to face Zuko.
“We are never having children.”
“Couldn’t agree more.”
#atla#zutara#atla katara#atla zuko#avatar the last airbender#katara#zuko#fanfiction#katara x zuko#zuko x katara#fanfic
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Makeover
Mortimer not only had a shitty old-fashioned name, he was also simply shitty and old-fashioned. His clothes were actually often inherited from his father and grandfather. His speech was affected. And yet he was nothing but a small and insignificant clerk at the tax office. Totally career-minded. A pedant. A pain in the ass. Like his father. Like his grandfather.
But Mortimer was also a lickspittle and a pussyfoot. He never had the guts to provoke any kind of trouble with big taxpayers. Trouble only meant more work. But with small private individuals and small businesses, he loved to torment them when checking their tax returns. Especially those who didn't have a tax advisor had beads of sweat on their foreheads just holding his letter in their hands. And when they opened it and read it, they turned pale. Mortimer could almost jerk off at the thought. In fact, his little cock got hard at the thought.
The punks from the tattoo parlor were outstanding victims. The tax return was probably largely correct. But it was full of minor formal errors and implausibilities that could have been overlooked. But that was no fun for Mortimer. So he bombarded the owner of the studio with questions and requests to submit additional documents. As I said, the tax authorities would gain no further advantage from this. But Mortimer was able to exercise his little bit of power. But this time he would regret it. Bitterly regret it.
The conversation with his superior had been unpleasant. Pete, the owner of the tattoo studio, had made an official complaint. For arbitrariness, abuse of authority and a few other things. Probably one of the perverts who were his customers was a crooked lawyer, Mortimer thought. He didn't have much to fear from his boss. One crow didn't peck out another crow's eye. Nevertheless, he had been ordered to make a personal appearance at the tattoo parlor to clear up the loose ends. What a humiliation. He would get revenge for that too.
The studio smelled of tobacco smoke, leather, sweat, whiskey and disinfectant. A terrible combination that almost made Mortimer want to vomit. He went through the documents he had in front of him. No chance, everything was correct. Still, there had to be something. And quickly. It was Friday morning, he wanted to have his report written by 2 p.m. at the latest and leave for the weekend. The employees all looked like freaks. He asked Pete for all the employment contracts from the last 20 years. Pete looked at Mortimer… With piercing blue eyes. He took Mortimer's chin very firmly in his tattooed calloused hand, almost stroking Mortimer's face with the other. And then he moved his hand slowly towards his crotch. And then he gripped Mortimer's balls firmly. "Listen, you office boy! Everything is fine here. Got it?" The grip on his balls did not loosen. But his erection became painful. Mortimer nods. The grip loosened. Mortimer packed up his things. At the office, he would report the store to a friend from the health department. Pete had made a big mistake.
It was almost 11:30 when Mortimer arrived at the tax office. Lunchtime. People were running along the corridors and streaming towards the canteen. Mortimer actually wanted to eat straight away. But the call to the health department was more important. He had almost reached his office when his boss stood in his way. "So, all the problems with the tattoo artist sorted?" Mortimer was just about to answer when his boss laughed. "Mortimer, I wouldn't have put it past you. You and a piercing? Did you get that pierced to appease the taxman? Well, because it's Friday. But Monday without it again, please."
Mortimer turned pale. Yes, there had been something on his lower lip. He felt carefully. A cone protruded from his lower lip. One was through his nasal septum. And under the cone was something else under his lower lip. In a panic, Mortimer ran to the washrooms. He looked in the mirror. He looked like a freak! He no longer even noticed that he was unshaven. Mortimer reached for his cell phone and tried to call Pete's tattoo studio. Only an answering machine. Mortimer ran into his office and put on a face mask. He told colleagues who came by that he wasn't feeling well and wanted to protect them. They wished him a speedy recovery. But it didn't get any better. Mortimer nervously drummed his fingers on his desk and wondered what he should do. Then he noticed the tattoos on his knuckles. "Fuck" and "Yeah". In Gothic letters. Mortimer ran back to the washrooms. And threw up.
He didn't actually have to call in sick. He would have finished work in an hour anyway. But he had to get out of here. Immediately. He walked to the bus stop. It was a warm spring day. Nevertheless, Mortimer drove to Oxford Street first thing and bought a pair of gloves in the first store he saw. Should he go to the tattooist? But not now. The streets were full of people. And he looked like a freak. No, off home. And tomorrow at the crack of dawn to see that asshole Pete.
Something was different in his apartment. There was a half-full ashtray on the coffee table. And the fridge was full of beer. Surprisingly, this didn't strike Mortimer as odd at all. He took a beer, lit a cigarette and threw himself onto the sofa. What a terrible day. He began to cry with self-pity. And he fell asleep crying.
It was already dark outside when Mortimer woke up. The beer was warm and stale. But Mortimer finished it. The fag had fallen out of his hand as he fell asleep and had left another burn mark on the shabby old leather sofa. Mortimer burped. He was drunk and stoned. The piercings in his nipples felt good. Mortimer began to wank. He squirted on his Sex Pistol T-shirt. And fell asleep again.
The next morning, Mortimer woke up with an insane hangover. His apartment was a mess. Full ashtrays, empty beer cans, dirty clothes. What the hell had happened here? Mortimer collected the garbage while still half asleep and put the bin bags outside in the hallway. He had to pee. No, he had to piss. He went into the bathroom. He looked in the mirror. He ran his tattooed hands through his greasy hair. He urgently needed to go to the hairdresser again. But first he had to piss and then take a shower. He pulled his 20-centimeter cock out of his no longer completely clean underpants. The scrotal ladder clacked as he did so. And the mighty Prince Albert shone in the light of the bathroom lamp. Mortimer felt dizzy.
Yes, the first thing he wanted to do was go and see Pete. But for some reason, his apartment was a mess. Mortimer took a shower first. He had to admit that the feeling of the piercings in his nipples, scrotum and cock was very sensual. But the steel had to come off. And he also had to do something about the tattoos. His fingers and the backs of his hands were covered in tattoos. He hadn't even seen his back and neck yet. When he felt clean again, Mortimer collected the dirty laundry. He made the beds fresh. He wanted to turn on the washing machine. But it was gone. Not just the washing machine, but the whole alcove. His bathroom was somehow smaller. And there was no washing machine or dryer. Mortimer stuffed the washing into an IKEA bag that he didn't know where it had come from. He collected the rest of the garbage. He washed the dirty dishes, because his dishwasher in his much smaller kitchen was also gone. It was almost 4 p.m. when it was finally clean and tidy again. Mortimer was satisfied. All he had been able to find in the way of clean laundry was a shiny red Adidas tracksuit, a pair of white Calvin Klein shorts, a white fine-rib undergarment, white socks and white sneakers. He looked silly. But it should be enough for a visit to the laundrette. He took the dirty laundry and the garbage bags and left the apartment.
The hallway smelled of cold tobacco smoke, beer and piss. The walls were covered in graffiti. From time to time, the roar of violent arguments could be heard from the apartments. Shit, this is a crazy dream, Mortimer thought to himself. This must be a crazy dream. The elevator was broken. So he walked the eight floors to the laundry room. Thank God there was a free machine. Mortimer took a laundry token out of his trouser pocket. He stuffed his dirty laundry into the machine. Damn it, he didn't have any detergent. A skinhead was sitting on one of the rickety plastic chairs under the no-smoking sign, reading a sports magazine and smoking. "Excuse me, could I borrow some washing powder from you?" Mortimer wanted to ask. But he said "Oi, sorry mate, could I nick some washing powder off ya? And a fag while you're at it?" The skinhead looked at Mortimer. He licked his lips. "Got yer tongue pierced too, you dirty pig?" Mortimer stuck out his tongue. And the skinhead took his cock out of his bleached jeans. "Then get on your knees and earn both!"
The skinhead only had a modest PA. Nevertheless, it was a pleasure for Mortimer to work his cheesy boner with his tongue. The skinhead steered his head into his curls with a firm grip. From time to time he pulled Mortimer's head far back into his neck and snotted in his face. Mortimer's cock built a tent in his pants. The skinhead squirted down his throat. Mortimer squirted into his pants. And the washing machine rumbled. ""Oi, cunt, fancy a proper haircut? Can't see any of them sick tattoos on your skull." Mortimer took a quick breath. What was happening here? He was standing in a full-weight tracksuit in the laundry room of a public housing complex, had just swallowed a skinhead's sperm and now wanted to get a haircut from the skinhead? Shit, how had he ended up in this situation? "I'm in 639, got beer and fags. Bring the rest, mate!"
The laundry didn't get really clean in the old washing machines. Mortimer threw everything onto his unmade bed. His apartment was a mess. But it was his home. And he was about to get a free haircut. Mortimer was rolling a cigarette when Liam knocked. He had brought the rest with him. The rest was a long hair clipper, a wet razor, shaving foam. And three buddies who couldn't wait to piss on the freshly shaved bald head.
Monday morning. Pete had asked Mo to take the missing documents to the tax office. Mo had actually worked at the tax office in the past. He knew his way around there. But he had been fired because Pete had allegedly bribed him to be gracious during the tax audit. In return, he had gotten some piercings and tattoos for free. But that was a hell of a long time ago. Now Mo was one of the most talented piercers in town. In the hottest studio in town. Actually, Mo could have afforded something better than the shabby place in the run-down high-rise complex a long time ago. But leaving his mates in the lurch? Not for the life of him!
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'I can help with that'
“If you ever wanted that again… if you ever wanted to be with someone in that way… let me know. I can give that to you.”
The words were spoken like a promise—honest and gentle, and with so much sincerity that Mycroft hadn’t known how to respond.
Two weeks had passed since their drunken encounter, and Mycroft’s hangover still hadn’t quite left him. At this point, he wasn’t confident it ever would.
They’d met on a Friday for drinks at Baker Street—just a small get-together, Mrs Hudson had promised. Just something quiet.
Though she’d been correct in stating that only a handful of people would be in attendance, her something quiet had been anything but.
By ten p.m., Mycroft had given up on declining her relentless offer of cocktails. An hour later, and he was tucked up on the couch with Inspector Lestrade, not an inch of space between them.
Mycroft didn’t know what Mrs Hudson put in her cocktails, but he felt very strongly that the effects needed to be studied.
Three drinks in, and Mycroft was baring his soul to Lestrade, telling him that he was lonely; that his job in fact didn’t keep him warm at night; that he missed having a lover to go to bed with.
Lestrade listened with care, his eyes glittering softly as he reached out a hand to touch Mycroft’s knee.
“If you ever wanted that again,” he whispered. “If you ever wanted to be with someone in that way… let me know. I can give that to you.”
Mycroft’s pulse leapt. The room seemed to fall quiet around them.
“It’s been years since...” The words caught in Mycroft’s throat. “I can’t even recall the last time I kissed someone.”
He glanced at Lestrade’s mouth, overcome.
Lestrade gave his knee a gentle squeeze. “I can help with that,” he said, and pressed his lips to Mycroft’s.
“D’you wanna get out of here?” He mumbled against Mycroft’s lips. “Your place, maybe? Or mine, if you prefer. I don’t care… s’long as I get to run my hands all over you.”
Mycroft nodded, breathless, before pressing his lips back to Gregory’s mouth.
———————————————
Mystrade Monday Prompt #89
For May 13, 2024
"I can help with that.”
@mystradepromptsandscenarios
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Wait, so if the translations are correct... Could Kaiser's dislike for Isagi also be driven by the fact that he prevents him a lot from making the other Blue lockers bow down to him? Isagi was the first one to talk back and oppose Kaiser in his own team, in his own domain, if u will. Isagi's own resistance and his way of making genuine friends is what held back Kurona and Hiori from bowing down to Kaiser. Kunigami, until a few chapters back, refused to help anyone, yet he only cracked to help Isagi 3 or 4 chapters ago. Yukimiya also has a philosophy to keep playing for himself, but he is also a lot more likely to listen to Isagi than Kaiser (Ubers match, for example). Raichi and Gagamaru are so far also confirmed to be on Isagi's side here. Kiyora is still a mystery, tho.
It would make a lot of sense. Isagi has something Kaiser doesn't have, genuine partners and friends on the field. Even if some of them don't look like it, they would sooner be on Isagi's side, thus threatening whatever dominance Kaiser built in the team. I do think if Isagi wasn't there,or was a doormat, Kaiser would have had a lot more of an easier time cracking everyone down.
And now, with the only person left on the field under his foot cracking as well... I really am curious if Kaiser will have a full-on breakdown.
All in all, Kaiser and Isagi's dynamic is quite interesting, and I hope we see more of it during the World Cup arc. Btw this is just me talking out of my ass probably. For all I know, I could be proven wrong in the next few chapters
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Bit of a theory on what might be going on with New Moon.
LAES/SAMS SPOILERS
I think New Moon might have a new kill code planted in him. Granted, it still could be grief over Solar, in fact, i think that grief is playing a part in this too, and i very well could be entirely wrong too.
As of late, i am sure people have noticed that New Moon is falling back on a lot of Old Moon-like behaviors. He's hiding things, trying to do things himself without help, and becoming increasingly violent. He physically hurt Ruin recently, which, yes, Ruin deserved it, but Moon didn't think twice before he strangled Ruin. Also twice, I might add. Plus his threats. He may still be somewhat sane enough to consciously not kill Ruin, but his sanity is slipping. From Solar's death, to that Nightmare he had, and now Ruin's return (i wish they would sacrifice Ruin for Solar tho). Probably other things down the line too that are probably gonna make him slip even more.
My theory is that when he talked with Old Moon, it may have put a new kill code in New Moon. Since Old Moon was woken from his dormant state and he had a kill code. He needed to be reset entirely to make way for New Moon to exist, which could mean that, that preserved version of Old Moon may have still had the Kill Code in him, and now it passed to New Moon too. Like a virus. Recently, it may have been evolving. While there are still a few months left, we all know they have October Takeovers. Molten could very well be the one to take over for Sun, maybe (since Davis voices him), but we have nobody for Moon yet. Which could very well be where this is heading. Something new that is in Moon, and growing.
And there is another pattern here. As a long time fan, i noticed the new villains typically come around mid-year. First it was Eclipse (May 2022), then it was Ruin (June 2023), and now Moon is really starting to mentally slip, so if i am correct, following patterns from the last 2 years i have watched this channel, a new villain is probably popping up sometime soon, and it might have something to do with Moon's current state and wherever he goes from here.
Again, this is only a theory! We'll see where it goes!
#sun and moon show#the sun and moon show#sun and moon show theory#sun and moon show spoilers#lunar and earth show#Lunar and earth show spoilers
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The audience of the stream is watching Leo move about the set checking a laptop, tablet, and his phone all sitting on a desk with a blue gaming chair. He was also swapping his models outfit, not sure which would fit with whatever he was about to talk about.
He finally chose a full Lou Jitsu jumpsuit, with gloves, platform shoes, and shield glasses worn over his usual mask. He plopped back into the chair and poses with his one of his ligs crossed over the other, and leaning onto his left hand.
"Sorry 'bout starting the stream while I wasn't ready. I found some amazing news, and wanted to track down as much actual facts, to make sure I had everything correct." He leans over to the laptop to set something up. Once he was satisfied he turns back to facing the camera.
"So, it's fairly obvious we're big Lou Jitsu fans here, so imagine our surprise to hear about someone attempting to claim his supposed left behind fortune. Because people for some reason think he's dead, and not just trying to live peacefully somewhere." Leo clicks on something, and a news article pops up.
"Woman claims to be Lou Jitsus 'long lost' Daughter/Granddaughter."
"Either the Lady couldn't keep her story straight, or whoever wrote this kept getting conflicting evidence. Part of why I wasn't quite ready. Had to check is with my journalist sis to see if she could help get things straight." He clicks over to something else and a different article takes the place of the previous one.
"Woman attempts to steal fortune of Lou Jitsu with faulty Scam. Surprised by the results!"
"So to set the scene better, this lady shows up out of nowhere, claiming she's, let's see by age... Daughter! Of Lou Jitsu. I don't know how she planned to have this work with modern DNA matching and everything, but she apparently refused to do a DNA test to prove this. If this was literally 30 years earlier she wouldn't have to worry, but I guess she didn't bank on people asking so many questions." He gets rid of the article, and brings up a badly edited birth certificate. "Seems she believed she could just wave around a doctored Birth Certificate, and some flimsy 'photographic evidence' that looked like they were put together in a bootleg photoshop program."
A couple of pictures appear on screen, they were obviously edited pictures of Lou Jitsu "holding" a baby, or child. Then a couple with a little girl that looked very off, the lighting didn't match between the girl, and Lou.
"Yeah, this didn't fly with the people at the banks, or whichever government offices, she had attempted go to, especially since there was a different thing blocking her from succeeding in this sham of a scam." Leo looks proud of himself for that slight word play. Something is thrown at him from off screen, and he glares at whoever threw it before continuing.
"You see, Lou Jitsu had set up an interesting set of security questions and or tests for getting access his bank accounts. He did include a DNA matching test as a last ditch security, but it never got that far. No she got caught at a slightly obscure set of security questions that required you to answer a random on set inside joke from one of Lou Jitsus first movies!" Leo laughs and spins in his chair a couple times. He stops and brings up a new document.
"Okay, so this is a copy of the security tests list we got ahold of, as you can see," He points at a spot near the top that's highlighted, "Lady didn't get very far into the security tests. Yeah there are alot of them, he apparently set this up not long before completely disappearing from the limelight. Though why there's so many tests is anyone's guess! Maybe it's just to annoy whoever attempts to fake their way into his accounts?"
Leo thinks it over a bit before muting the mic and shouting off to the side, then waiting for an answer, where he nods his head, and talks to whoever's off screen, with a couple of odd gestures and head tilts. After a couple minutes he unmutes the mic.
"So, just asked Dee a couple questions, and while we can only speculate why Lou make such a complicated set of tests, what we do know is that the tests were actually updated a few years back. So Lou is still out there, and he knows the Lady made this attempt. And has filed a lawsuit against her! That will be an interesting day in court!!" He quickly stands up and throws his arms up in the air with jazz hands.
After sitting back down he swaps out the documents still on screen with a couple of pictures of the Lady's headshots from getting arrested for attempted fraud, and scam. Her name is blurred out.
"This is the Lady, we don't want to give out her name since she either has a very unfortunate name, or she would only give them a very crude name instead of her actual name. Plus some places can't legally tell the names of people who were arrested, so let's go with that." Leo reads some notes on the laptop then added, "And she might have a record already, but we can't read or find any legal documents that confirm or deny this."
The pictures are taken off the screen, and the lighting changes.
"Well, there's not much more of that incident that's public, so let's move on to something else Lou Jitsu related! They've announced a new special anniversary movie bundle! And we have some info on the special bonus features!" Leo announces, and brings up some graphics for this movie bundle.
The stream continues from there, and even though some people in chat are still shouting questions about the scammer lady segment, they get ignored and buried under other things spammed in the chat. Especially since donation notifications were disabled for the stream.
-------------------
Masterpost
#VTurtles!#vtuber au#rottmnt au#tmnt au#rottmnt leonardo#rottmnt leo#rise leonardo#rise leo#lou jitsu#rottmnt fanfiction#tmnt fanfiction#rottmnt#tmnt#teenage mutant ninja turtles#rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles#tmnt 2018#rise tmnt#rise of the tmnt#rottmnt lou jitsu
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Hello. Okay, so I'm going to start this off with 'this might be an crazy thing to ask'.
I just saw your post from January about Nana Shimura, and I feel like I'm insane.
I'm legitimately not trying to be belligerent here, but can you please explain to me, in your opinion, why you think that it is Nana's fault for anything that has happened in relation to her? I'm just trying to understand, because I don't see how anything could necessarily be her fault solely. Specifically when talking about the 'creation' of Tomura.
If AFO had wanted to get his hands on someone from that bloodline, if only to be a bastard or whether it was for an actual reason, he would have done it regardless of what Nana's choices would have been.
And I can't help but notice the fact that all of this skips an entire generation. Everyone is so quick to blame Nana for doing what humans do, I.E. having a husband and a child, and I feel I'm not really qualified to speak on that front because I never have wanted children and I don't foresee that changing at this ripe old age I'm at, so I'm not even going to go into whether or not I think it was wrong of her to have a family.
I just find it very interesting that people are blaming Nana for something that happened literal years after her own physical death. Things that happened at the hands of her own son. Things that would have never happened had it not been for her son, that she had no part in.
It's just that the way I see it, that man had years upon years to come to terms with what his mother had done in order to protect him, but in the end he failed anyway. Whether he knew it or not he failed more than his own mother did. He failed and he gave his fucking own child over to this horrible person, and he couldn't have been completely ignorant of that, let's be honest. Whether or not what she did was the right choice, Nana gave him up for a reason, and the fact that he couldbut possibly put himself in his mother's shoes, after how many years? Is more telling of him than it is of her.
Even if what Nana did wasn't the right choice, then what WAS the right choice? How was there a wrong or a right choice when you could never possibly predict the outcomes of whatever you chose to do? In my opinion, people are trying to pin everything on Nana when all she was doing was doing the best she could with what she was given, and I think that's unfair and stupid.
I haven't been following you for long, but I've seen your posts for quite a while, so I actually do respect your opinion, which is why I am asking you.
I really don't like the way Horikoshi writes women as a whole in this particular story, and I don't know if that's a track record of his or if this is his only work or whatever, I don't really pay attention to that sort of thing. And that's a whole other post for another time. But I just find it really weird that everyone seems to be coming after Nana while simultaneously defending her son, when her own son is the one who is committing these atrocities long after she is dead?I find it very weird indeed.
Sorry for the long post, I have far too many feelings about MHA.
First of all, sorry for taking so long to answer and thank you for taking the time to write this ask 💜
Nana Shimura is one of my favorite bnha female characters because of how complex and flawed she is!!!
Here's the short answer:
Regardless of the actions of the people around her, Nana Shimura had a responsibility with her son as a mother and with the world as a hero.
We all have to make decisions without knowing the outcomes. That's life. It doesn't absolve us from the consequences of our actions. It also doesn't mean we are evil, but simply human. It is in our nature to make mistakes and make bad decisions sometimes.
It seems extremely harsh to judge a woman for doing her best against an enemy that was so much stronger than her, but that's the whole point of writing a character like Nana. There are no easy answers.
What was the correct thing to do instead of abandoning Kotaro? How could she have won against AFO? How could one (1) woman do both and do it well?
Nana isn't responsible for what Kotaro did so many years after she left him, but she did leave him. She had a son and then left him because she needed to be a hero. We don't know the exact circumstances of how she had Kotaro, but many fans ask why she had him if she knew her hero job would put him at such risk. Or why she chose to be a hero over being his mother.
Logically, we know it was to save the world. It's just that her choice isn't black and white. She caused a lot of pain in doing what she did, even if she contributed to a lot of joy.
AFO defeating her was inevitable. Like her OFA predecessors, they were alone on their journey. See, it took Deku an army to fight AFO and his influence.
There's also the fact that Nana took Toshinori in after she left Kotaro. Of course she only did it because the kid meant to sacrifice himself for the cause just like her, but it doesn't erase the parallel between Toshinori and Kotaro. One got to enjoy her company until she died because he had the right conditions to be her heir while the other lost her forever because she loved him.
Sadly, her love didn't save Kotaro and didn't make All Might's life easier.
Any person with responsibilities is a person with failures. That rings true for every single bnha hero and villain.
The way I see it, people either have a reason to hate her or not.
Some dislike her 'cause she left Kotaro. Some are unreadable in their judgment and hate her just because she is a woman. Some just dislike her general writing or don't enjoy her type of character.
At the end of the day, Nana Shimura is still a tremendous female character. She inspired All Might himself (he who is hailed as the best hero of all times). She faced AFO alone and she died mocking him with a smile. She sacrificed her happiness and all the things dear to her in order to save the world. Nana passed down OFA and kept hope alive in a time full of violence and chaos. She is one of the best female pro-heroes to have existed and the only female OFA user. He was freaking jacked with muscle because her quirk was float.
Her flaws depict her greatness and the weight on her shoulders. Nana Shimura, everyone.
#shan's asks#bnha#mha#my hero academia#boku no hero academia#mha spoilers#bnha spoilers#nana shimura
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Nova’s Notes - DD - May 12
Well, dear readers, we’re back with Jonathan in his toils! And, as you may expect, it’s not going well.
He starts off by telling us he needs to separate “bare facts” from his experiences, further confirming that he doesn’t like to write down what he hasn’t confirmed to be true yet. And he’s a lawyer, so that makes sense.
He tells us a series of questions Dracula asked of him that he wants to record, in case it’s useful later. I can’t say enough that Jonathan is truly using all of his wits here!
We also get an insight into Dracula’s plan: he wants more lawyers in different parts of England to direct goods he would like to ship. What exactly these goods are and more precisely, why, is a mystery (I have my theories, but I’ll keep them to myself to remain spoiler-free — and I don’t remember all of the details tbh).
What we do know is that he obviously wants a decentralized network working for him. He doesn’t want one person knowing his business, but rather, wants a few people knowing little pieces of it. However, he gets rid of this idea once Jonathan describes the solicitors as a “system of agency”. Now, correct me if I’m wrong, but it seems to me like that’s saying that all of the solicitors work together *on some level* or, at least, know each other and it would simply be easier to just have one guy do it. To me, this says that they regularly chat with one another if Dracula were to do this, they would likely figure something is up.
Whatever it means, it does seem to intimidate Dracula, since the next question he asks is “can I just do it myself” to which Jonathan says “of course!” All of those law books Dracula has been studying seem to come in handy, for he knows the law almost as well as a solicitor. I’m sure it’s not to do anything wrong or illegal….
I also love that even though Jonathan is trying to escape from this man, he still wants to give him honest legal advice, like he makes him clarify his question to lead him in the best way possible. If only Dracula was worthy of that treatment!
However, he’s snapped back to the reality of being a prisoner when Dracula asks him if he has written letters to anyone and basically demands him to stay for a month!!
“What could I do but bow acceptance? It was Mr. Hawkin’s interest; not mine, and I had to think of him, not myself; and besides, while Count Dracula was speaking, there was that in his eyes and in his bearing which made me remember that I was a prisoner, and that if I wished it I could have no choice. The Count saw his victory in my bow, and his mastery in the trouble of my face, for he began at once to use them, but in his own smooth, resistless way”
It’s a sober reminder, but one that bears repeating. Unfortunately, Jonathan has to stay at Castle Dracula. Even with all of the scary things that have happened to him so far, it’s not enough to warrant saying no. Since he went in his boss’s place, it’s even more imperative that he tends to this Count’s every need. If he doesn’t, he’s basically using his boss’s name in a negative way, which is so much worse. Dracula could use this to write a smear campaign against Jonathan AND Mr. Hawkins, and it would work.
There is also the matter that he’s being actively held captive, but I would wager Dracula knows exactly what’s at stake for Jonathan here, and it has nothing to do with locked doors. How would Jonathan be able to work his way up the ladder if he refused to stay and help a wealthy man — his first real client — for a month? Jonathan could tell anyone he wanted about thrown mirrors and locked doors, but he would likely just get told he made it up or be labeled as “indiscreet” because hey, the rich clients are eccentric and can do what they want, right? So what if you were almost attacked? It’s harrowing how relatable this kind of situation still is hundreds of years later. Dracula may be a vampire, but that’s not the only type of horror we get in this story.
After Jonathan agrees, Dracula then asks commands him to write three more letters but only about business stuff, please? Jonathan immediately knows he needs to write formally for Dracula’s sake and then write more in secret, especially to Mina in their shorthand code (hooray for the nerds!). He only uses *two* of the letters — I bet he stashed the third to use for Mina — and then observes Dracula writing a few of his own.
Jonathan does not miss his chance to read Dracula’s letters when he leaves and
“felt no compunction in doing so, for under the circumstances I felt that I should protect myself in every way I could.”
I love that he doesn’t feel any qualms about doing this. He shouldn’t. He’s being held hostage and now told he has to stay for another month. Most protagonists of this era would likely balk at the very idea of snooping through mail and I’m sure Jonathan would too most of the time, but this isn’t any other time. Jonathan knows he has to do this for his own safety.
He’s only able to discover names and addresses before Drac comes back. Whether these are important or not, I won’t say, but they are likely a part of Dracula’s larger plan. Jonathan is meticulous in putting everything back as it was before, showing his attention to detail.
We then get an ominous warning from Dracula to Jonathan not to sleep outside of his room at night or else…thanks for that positivity! /s
Jonathan refers to keeping the crucifix at his headboard. He says he’s not worried about sleeping in a Dracula-free zone, but…I do think he’s worried Dracula or maybe someone else is going to attack him in his sleep, because why would he keep it so close otherwise? Also, he says he sleeps better with less dreams, so the queer paprika dreams are back y’all, but this time, no paprika. :(
We also learn he seems to take comfort in looking at nature, as that is what he does to calm his nerves. Bad news: this is already taking a toll on his fear levels and he’s less than a week in.
Worse news: Jonathan sees Dracula use Lizard ModeTM for the first time! He recognizes him by his hands (quite observant of him) and notices he’s barefoot (ew Dracula, put the grippers away!!!).
That causes Jonathan to call him a “creature” for the first time and worry there really is no escape for him. He ends his entry “encompassed with terrors that [he] dare not think of…”
Again, I feel for him here. How would you react to seeing your host crawl like a lizard around his castle? Personally speaking, I would not take it well. This is the most hopeless we’ve heard him so far, and I’m sad to say he doesn’t mention Mina to bring him out of it. I’m so sorry, good friend Jonathan. Looks like your business trip is not going too well, after all.
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7. how does receiving or not receiving feedback/support impact you?
Thank you for the ask! From this ask game.
Welp. The amounts of posts I have typed up, shared with friends, then deleted again...
So, let’s start with Tumblr. Because honestly, it just makes me sad. There are so many posts out there, telling people to “create for themselves” and “no one owes you notes” - most often in reply to other posts, showing a several hundred reblogs to several thousand likes ratio (or dozens to hundreds) and complaining about it.
So I want to clarify, when I say “no feedback” I mean literally next to none.
Fun statistic time: In July, I did some experiments. I posted from not-so-whumpy novella length story with daily updates, some plain gory torture, some environmental whump, some recovery, some human, some nonhuman, most belonging to series, some standalone pieces. In total, I published about 50 posts, containing roughly 80k words.
If I remove the two people who, without fail, like every single one of my posts (I’d never remove you, my friends 💜 but damn, you got free reign of my google docs already :D), and the “obligatory” reblogs of the events I joined, I had a middle of 1,7 likes and 0,4 reblogs per post. That’s uh... yeah. If I did not have support outside that, I’d probably be crying into my pillow.
I am writing it for myself, but I am posting it for people to read. It took me ages to figure out a routine that lets me set up a post in a few minutes, instead of 20 like it used to be. And if no one reads it, I might as well save myself the trouble, you know? There’s no counter here, no statistic, if one doesn’t at least press the like button, there’s no way for me to know I didn’t just throw my stuff into the void.
Some days, the only thing that keeps me posting is a) hating unfinished things and b) thinking that one day, someone might stumble upon it and like it. Someone did, recently, and it made my whole fucking month. But, to be quite frank, for every new work, I will think twice if I will start putting it here. It is, for me, a huge commitment.
I enjoy rereading my work, and correcting little mistakes, and I either have to do that in several places - now including Tumblr - or live with the eternal shame of knowing somewhere out there is a typo.
I still get nervous about posting some things, even if I don’t show it here, but some of my friends are used to a trembling pile of me sitting in their pocket, running in circles, whispering “I’m sure this will be the piece that will make me get anon hate”.
I have been clinging to the “at least one post per week” schedule since January, stressing myself out when the chapter I’m gonna need soon isn’t coming along as quickly as I need it.
I love this place, and I won’t stop posting here (at least not until all of my stories are finished, who knows what comes after that). But if I didn’t have my friends, I wouldn’t have written half of what I wrote in the last months. And while I found some of those friends on Tumblr, that support isn’t in notes on this site.
Between “this was unclear” and “this was heartbreaking” and “are you sure you didn’t mean ‘into’”, my writing got better. I have handed at least 50 “, and” over to be devoured. I’ve added full chapters, following a conversation pointing out missing details. Knowing that there’s one or two people out there who will want to read it makes me put things on paper that otherwise would remain in my daydreams.
I am creating for myself, first and foremost. But if I didn’t intend to share, the shape it would take would be much less... cohesive.
#salad-ask#suspicious-whumping-egg#This ask is not OC related#I had in fact to correct an in -> into here#Thank you I love you but goddamn the irony
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Los Chicos Peleandoooooo
[First] Prev <–-> Next
#poorly drawn mdzs#mdzs#song lan#xue yang#I know it makes jokes less funny if you explain them but I feel like I gotta for this one:#xue yang’s Spanish here is playing on the fact he’s a beginner (using a commonly taught phrase)#combined with the fact that he’s clearly taking what he’s heard Xiao Xingchen use.#of course XY would want to know how to cuss someone out in another language. Do you think XXC would teach him how? Nope.#XY would ask ‘How do I to someone I really hate them?’#and XXC would say ‘You tell them ‘Te Amo Mucho’ :•)’#As FAR as XY is concerned he knows *so* many swears. These words are just terms of endearment.#XXC would not swear or cuss anyone out but he *would* punctuate phrases with general terms of endearment.#More so directed towards A-Qing but Xue Yang has been proven to be a decent indirect learner.#That said he has also been shown to Not Quite Get The Nuances (consequences of observational learning).#Sadly he never had a good observational model for love or compassion B*(#Spanish speakers please oh god please correct me if I biffed something badly here. I can fix it.
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my twitter drafts are fucking crazy. ma'am do you like. need something.
#the full range of human emotion. the FULL range#I'll repeat myself here I do in FACT. need to go missing#i made myself laugh reading those. hm. huh#i was really onto something with eat the documents.#but yeah i do need to be put into a home. i think.#not that i'm not Correct in all of these unborn tweets.#sergle.txt#I wish I had timestamps and dates on this. I could use it to track the last time I ovulated
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