#In the complex world of plumbing

[emergencyplumbingil]

Plumbing Diagnosis with Sewer Line Video Inspection.

Unlock the Power of Precise Plumbing Diagnosis with Sewer Line Video Inspection.

In the complex world of plumbing, accurately diagnosing issues with sewer lines can often feel like navigating a maze without a map. Traditional methods of diagnosing sewer problems can be hit or miss, requiring extensive time and sometimes unnecessary excavation that can further disrupt your property. However, with the advent of sewer line video inspection services, homeowners and businesses alike can now unlock the power of precise, efficient, and non-invasive diagnosis to ensure the health and functionality of their plumbing systems. Our state-of-the-art video inspection services offer a comprehensive solution to identifying and addressing sewer line issues with unparalleled accuracy.

If you're experiencing issues with your sewer line or simply want to take a proactive approach to maintenance, contact us today plumber near me to schedule your sewer line video inspection. Let us help you keep your plumbing system in peak condition with our reliable, technology-driven solutions.

Emergency Plumbing trusted local provider for full plumbing services in Highland Park, Lake Forest, Lake Bluff, Glenview, Deerfield, Northbrook and beyond.

Phone [phone]

#Plumbing Diagnosis with Sewer Line Video Inspection. #Unlock the Power of Precise Plumbing Diagnosis with Sewer Line Video Inspection. #In the complex world of plumbing #accurately diagnosing issues with sewer lines can often feel like navigating a maze without a map. Traditional methods of diagnosing sewer #requiring extensive time and sometimes unnecessary excavation that can further disrupt your property. However #with the advent of sewer line video inspection services #homeowners and businesses alike can now unlock the power of precise #efficient #and non-invasive diagnosis to ensure the health and functionality of their plumbing systems. Our state-of-the-art video inspection services #If you're experiencing issues with your sewer line or simply want to take a proactive approach to maintenance #contact us today plumber near me to schedule your sewer line video inspection. Let us help you keep your plumbing system in peak condition #technology-driven solutions. #Emergency Plumbing trusted local provider for full plumbing services in Highland Park #Lake Forest #Lake Bluff #Glenview #Deerfield #Northbrook and beyond. #Phone #[phone]

[transbookoftheday]

Safe and Sound by Mercury Stardust

Don’t panic—Mercury Stardust, AKA The Trans Handy Ma’am is here to help!

For too many people, the simple act of contacting a plumber or repair person can feel like a game of chance. As a transwoman and a professional maintenance technician, Mercury Stardust has discovered (the hard way) that we live in a world with much to fear. If you've ever felt panicked about opening your home to strangers in order to fix a maintenance issue, this book is for you.

Renting a home can be a complex process—from finding a safe and affordable space, to hiring help for moving in and out, and of course, managing any repairs that come up during your stay. 

You deserve to feel empowered to take matters into your own hands—and it’s not as hard as you might think. In this book, Mercury will show you how to tackle the projects that need improvement in your home—from how to properly fix a clog in your bathroom sink and safely hang things on your walls to patching small and medium drywall holes.

Safe and Sound includes:

Guidance for over 50 simple home maintenance projects, such as replacing your showerhead and troubleshooting a faulty garbage disposal.

Chapters covering basic and handy repairs for your plumbing, electrical, carpentry, and safety needs. 

Advice tailored to renters to minimize permanent changes.

Helpful illustrations and QR code links to videos to help you on your journey.

Remember—a little bit of knowledge can go a long way toward making you feel more safe and in control of your own life.

#safe and sound #mercury stardust #transfem #trans book of the day #queer books #trans books #bookblr #booklr

[wmarximoff]

𝐮𝐧𝐥𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐲 𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐝𝐫𝐞𝐧 | 𝐰. 𝐦𝐚𝐱𝐢𝐦𝐨𝐟𝐟

summary: because Wanda is unlucky enough to understands as much as you do about the responsibility of those with great power — and the losses that come with it.

warnings (18+): smut, angst, handjob, gender neutral reader has a penis, major character death. MINORS DNI.

pairing: emo!Wanda x spider!gn!reader

word count: 4k

masterlist|

(please, don't flag the work)

༺ᱬ༻

There was something gratifying you could point to in the idea that, propelling yourself into the air, climbing in that arachnid-like acrobatics with your own body to the zephyrs of frigid wind in furrows at that high enraptured speed, the world around you could well be so tiny and contained that it would even be deprived of external evils and annoyances when seen from above.

And you always watched it from above, from above, from the corners, in swaying webs, flight towards the urban labyrinth of a city marked by its own life, in a majestic and vigorous existence – a giant that shines even when the dusk of night falls, warm even in the face of a shroud of icy snow in the middle of that October winter.

Admittedly, the cosmopolitanly avant-garde structures that made up the metropolis of New York were sprawling, treacherous, and indeed even fragile, but the charm of the Big Apple was passed right over everyone else's heads, on the surface, when you didn't peer deep into the alley violence in that capitalist machine that encompassed you as much as it did any other New York passer-by.

Your distinguishing factor, however, your peculiarity, was that for many of those people you were a protector, a masked safeguard of their integrity in the face of the everyday hostility that the system so poorly failed to sustain. You were responsible for protecting the helpless, the underprivileged, the underserved, the mainstay of the marginalized and the forgotten. You were, in accordance with your moral duties, the friend of the neighborhood.

Swinging from one building to the next was part of the job at that point. Aerial locomotion became more practical and utilitarian when dealing with moving from one point to another between the skyscrapers that rose to the dark immensity of the night, like arrows shot to the top of the borough of Queens, where a kind of human spider like you moved upwards, climbing and shooting webs, leaving behind trampled footprints in the accumulated snow on the corners of the parapets and on the lightning rod antennas.

You propelling yourself into the dark sky, your muscle cords contracting, pumping blood, gusts of icy air sliding through the fabric of your dark mask, inflating the white eight-legged spider etching emblazoned on your torso. Feeling fucking alive.

In front of panes of glass, pale lights and hums, there was the frenzy of a city that never sleeps – in an intense rustling buzz, active and dynamic amid the white snow and the thousands of lighted lamps, with people carrying briefcases, with suits and ties and sheltered in heavy clothes, with children and with animals, alone or in packs, cars mottled on the white streets, advertisements flashing everywhere. Conversations meandering through the most disparate topics possible to parrot about, a veritable array of options.

Life was happening right below you, as you swung in a black and white suit over the tops of pylons and tall buildings, beads of icy sweat pouring down the length of your back, delirious ecstasy pulsing through your veins added to your warm, radioactive blood.

But, away from the noise of the night's bustle, your web swings that night were heading towards a final stop on an otherwise quiet round – a small apartment complex with thin walls, raised in stone and red brick and in poor plumbing, rather weather-beaten, with a rent worthy of the salary of a pizza delivery person (and part-time barista) like you in Northwest Queens. A place where you've resided since you found yourself being on your own, a little over a year ago, because you weren't exactly the lucky kind of kid.

However, no longer so far from the popular residence, huddled in an arachnid position right on top of the snowy tiles of a corner market, behind the acrylic lenses in the shape of tears, both your eyes compressed their lids in a comically expression, confused in a furrow of brows, since out of the glass of that window situated on the eighth floor were beams of a white lamp luminescence – and, as far as you held a knowledge in your memory, you had left your dwelling still by the end of that partially sunny afternoon, therefore, never having even turned on the lamps that day.

“Shit,” beneath the fabric of the mask you held your frigid breath, sharpening your senses into a state of alert.

It only took a single jump propelled by your lower limbs and an accurate web shot ejected from the shooter attached to your right wrist, aimed right at the edge of the building's terrace, for you to maneuver cautiously in the air, between the light poles, like an elusive feline to then crawling up the emergency stairs outside your living room window, peering in for a glimpse of who the intruder might be that would have crept into your residence while you were away, merging with the shadows that shrouded that cold night.

But the ice in your lungs soon softened into puddles of itself, and at what lay there, laid out for your view from within those four withered walls that encompassed the narrow cubicle you called home. Your heart pumped in liquid explosion inside your ribcage that spread to the pit of your stomach, taking everything in its path in a dizzying hot drag. And that's why a tiny silly smile allowed itself to be enjoyed by the commission of your lips, against the thin fabric of your mask – it was just a natural act for you, to smile foolishly at the splendorous vision of Wanda Maximoff.

The far view alone was enough for you to find yourself smiling and truly content at your core – Wanda lying on your own bed, between thick blankets and poorly stacked piles of pillows, so oblivious to the fact that she was being watched; the pale expanses of her ring-lined fingers so subtly being nibbled on by her teeth, her nails varnished by a black nail polish chipped at the tips, one opalescent knee crossed over the other next to her chest, her dark miniskirt exposing her firm thighs in a way just as appealing to your desiring gaze.

And you loved the fact that her brown hair modulated coffee-colored tones when arranged in the dead of night, only in the pale light of a lamp placed near the right end of the bed – how even though it seemed so dark in the confines of that room, Wanda glowed in her own light sweeping a strand of profuse chestnut hair behind the shell of her right ear, her ringlet gleaming silver, her gaze so intent on the little television set in front of her.

How her irises seemed to adhere to traces of a mossy hue so bleak out of the sun, yet almost bordering on the innocence of someone who was only enjoying a television program displayed on the squalid screen of the small television set that was placed in front of the opposite wall to the bed, just above a small second-hand wooden table.

Over her torso she wore an old dark sweatshirt of yours, made of thick, warm material, bought at a Hot Topic store a few years ago, when you were still in your high school years. And Wanda was beautiful – the owner of a casual beauty, a simple natural and simple neatness, the kind in which there is no effort to pretend to be pretty. A beauty that begins and ends with itself, just because she was beautiful. The most beautiful sight anyone's eyes could be graced with. The kind that made you feel lucky, lucky to have her for yourself.

But it was then that the cold came to haunt you in a gust of stiff wind, the frozen hand of winter tracing the vertebrae of your spine in a chilling contact on your epidermis, which gelled the blood flowing in your veins and turned your bones to ice. Only then did you realize the reality where you were hanging on the snowy emergency stairs outside your apartment, away from the warm weather and away from Wanda.

And so, with your gloved right hand, you managed to lift the window and head your way into the small room, stepping on the floorboards inside with your left foot.

“Hey little witch, are you breaking and entering now? And here I thought you were one of the good guys...”

“Y/n!” Wanda got pleased immediately and, from the bed, she turned with her chin towards your voice that came from the window, a smile emerging in the outline of those pink lips she had, then getting up to receive you properly.

“It's cold outside, get in quick! You're going to catch a cold!”

And her southeastern European accent, still bathed by the Adriatic Sea, made itself present in her low-toned speech, hardening the enunciation of that soft voice. That's why you smiled – the tone of Wanda's voice always warmed your loving chest.

“Fine, fine, I'm fine,” you muttered in an enthusiastic tone, bringing your left hand behind you down on the windowpane that prevented any more gusts of icy wind from piercing the blister of heat that had become infatuated through the walls of that small room.

“I'm in one piece, see? Healthy as a,” you smiled to yourself, “Well, as a spider.”

And a chaste smile flickered back between Wanda's lips, a hint of skin being scrunched across the bridge of her nose in an adorable way, “You're such a goof, web-head.”

So it was that the young woman came walking towards you, warm, smiling, with open arms to welcome you into her affections.

And you took her for yourself, pulling Wanda's body close to yours, whereupon clever fingers dressed in silver rings hooked on the seam cut of your mask right in the middle of your neck, slowly then hoisting it so that in front of the Wanda's gaze revealed the skin of your chin, and then the pulp of your lips; the jadish irises aimed at your mouth and, morosely, the young woman bent down to take a kiss from you herself.

You held her, groping your fingers around her waist, when it was that, in a dizzying, crimson electric shock, soaked in a jubilation of fiery delight, your lips touched in a prudish, measured way. It was a kiss of a simple nature, yet lingering on her lips and imbued with impetuous feelings – the need joined to longing, the happiness of a jovial and healthy love. Something in you just yearned to return to her arms every day, as if your soul fit hers like a jigsaw puzzle by your lips united in a single tune.

“Hi,” you lisped in the tiniest tone against her mouth.

“Hey, детка,” was Wanda's reply, who still had the hem of your mask pressed between her rings, before she hoisted her forearms up to her chin and completely removed the piece of cloth that covered your face expression as smiling as hers.

“I really love your eyes, Y/n.”

“I can say the same for you, my little witch.”

After a little simpler caress of love exchanged, more kisses and hugs and little oaths of longing, you two separated then in reluctance so that you would undress your cold spider suit, choosing to wear more casual clothes and comfortable on your body – a long-sleeved shirt and a pair of snug, vaguely baggy sweatpants. And while you were doing that, Wanda, sitting right on the edge of your bed, watched you in front of the tiny closet door nearby, where a small door opened onto a narrow, dark room with clothes hanging on hangers and a small yellow light dripping from the ceiling.

“I was looking over your crime board earlier, before you arrived, and...” as she talked, her chin was supplanted by the elbow resting on the right knee of her crossed legs.

“Mmm?”

Wanda looked at you for half a second, her face creasing in curiosity, “Who's Wilson Fisk?”

“Kingpin,” your voice was somewhat muffled by the dark shirt you were halfway pulling on over your head.

“He's one of the crime bosses around here, he's involved in some pretty serious shit around town,” at last, you tucked the shirt over your torso.

“And I've been on his tail for a few months now, but I need to get on with my work if I'm going to gather enough evidence to expose him to the public legally. It's going to be difficult since he has pretty much the entire political underworld in the palm of his hand and other stuff too, of course, but... but I think I'm getting somewhere with this, yeah.”

“Mmm,” she hummed, “That sounds… kinda dangerous, Y/n,” Wanda sniffed with her nose to the side, speaking more to herself than to you per se.

“Maybe if you talked to Clint or Nat they could help you with that. Steve too, even. I know they are all willing to help you if you ask. Steve… you know, he’d really like you to take a chance and be on the team for a while. He thinks you'd make a good Avenger.”

"Yeah, I don't know about that, Wands," you muttered back, raising your right eyebrow at the idea.

“I don't think it's in the Avengers' niche to worry about that kind of thing, you know? I mean, you guys kind of exist to deal with out-of-the-galaxy threats and crazed AIs and evil government organizations and all that shit, don't you? And, well, Fisk is a pretty big fish in his own way, that's true... but he's just a stupid old bald guy who blackmails the local politicians and has created a criminal empire out of bribery and corruption – which is not it's very different from the billionaires we know out there. The difference is that Fisk is not a threat on a global scale.”

At the not-so-indirect burn to Stark Industries that couldn't be ignored, Wanda couldn't help but giggle infinitesimally under her breath, an act that elicited a goofy little smile from you, swaying your shoulders into your baggy blouse.

“Well,” she smiled a little too, in a kind of assent to your words, “You're not wrong.”

“Yeah, I guess,” you turned your head toward her, as your right foot tucked into the seam of thick gray cotton sweatpants.

“Plus, I have this certain, umm, responsibility to the people of this town, I guess. It was a promise I made after all, I... I'm here for them, both to keep all that crazy shit from spilling over on them, and just to look out for them when no one else does. That's my job around here, my function. It's just what I do. I'm not a super spy, or a super soldier, a genius billionaire or a giant green strong guy, Wands. I’m, I’m only...”

“The friendly neighborhood web-head?”

At your roll of eyes, Wanda smirked, like a small rabbit with moderately larger front teeth than the rest.

“That's just mean, witchy. I really prefer Spidey, you know? Spidey.”

“Spidey,” the young enchantress reiterated to you, “Well, anything sounds better than the Witch anyway. That's so fucking pejorative, like, burn the witch or something, what the fuck. I’m not a fucking witch.”

“You aren’t?”

“Shut up,” she rolled her eyes out of their sockets comically.

“The Witch, huh…” you looked at her, almost laughing when you did, “People really aren't good at coming up with superhero names, are they? Because this one is really bad. Really bad.”

“No,” Wanda chuckled in agreement, shaking her head, “They're not, not at all. And I’m not a superhero.”

“I see,” you droned, “And what are you then?”

For a second, Wanda looked at you, “A unlucky person who has made a lot of bad choices in her life.”

The television, which was flashing some old episode of a sitcom that made up Wanda's favorite series collection, was the only thing that filled the room with any kind of light or sound some time later, since, after stuffing yourself with the chicken paprikash that your beloved had prepared for you and then packed and stored in your fridge, the two of you snuggled in each other's arms, away from the cold and the chill, under a thatched hut with thick blankets on your bed during that bitter winter night.

 But it was when you turned in search of a comfortable position to lean back against the pillows and your left elbow brushed Wanda's right, that you two looked at each other curiously as if only then had you realized how close you encompassed each other – two dark gazes in the middle of the room lit only by the artificial lighting of a meaningless program, together, alone.

And you craved the comforting body heat that Wanda radiated when as close to her as you were – the scent of red that wafted from her silky ebony hair and her smooth, pale skin. You felt, however, a gaze peering into you from the line of your jaw and cheekbones, and looking back, Wanda was staring at you with a voluptuous fixation on the darkened green corners of her irises. She looked at you like she could completely consume you, like something about her was going to swallow you up and eat you down, digest you to the bones.

And then, from beneath the cocoon of blankets, a subtle touch spread across your left crotch, still above the thick material of your sweatpants. Your gaze sailed from the heap of blankets placed in the region of your lap to the emerald gaze, so dimmed, of the young woman sitting next to your left elbow.

“Wanda...”

“Mm?” she hummed back, as innocent as could be, as if her fingers weren't so close to groping an area of your body that was already beginning to throb with signs of life.

“Wanda,” you lisped softly, again, so needy, pupils popping and blood bristling through your veins, “What are you…?”

“I missed you, детка,” her fingers dipped deeper and deeper into your crotch, her eyes still screwed into your field of vision as she did so, “I missed you so, so much… I get so lonely in my room in the compound, you know? And all I can think about in those moments is you... how much I miss you.”

She locked her upper teeth against the flesh of her lower lip, stifling a lusty, immoral smile when she realized something – already petrified in a flash of desire, beneath the fabric of your pants, was your semi-erection, a noticeable bulge that made Wanda's mouth throb with desire.

"And I bet you miss me too, don't you?"

“Of course I do,” you huffed out a breath of warm air, “Fuck Wanda, every goddamn night… every goddamn night I miss you.”

The bright, lively hand, with thin fingers wrapped in rings and well-cut black nails, couldn't help but travel through the dazzling skin of your abdomen, exposed by the lifting of your long-sleeved blouse, starting from the south, from your navel, into your hips, into the hem of your pants. Wanda captured your thick member and gave your shaft an alluring squeeze – her face then hidden in the contour of your neck, in the joint of your shoulder, to nibble, there, a piece of skin.

“Uh-f-fuck, Wanda...” you squirmed out of your nostrils like steam released from your bruised lungs, in a hoarse wail, somewhat drunk with the acute excitement present in your system.

Wanda smiled against your skin, her thumb lethargic caressing the strained head of your cock inside your pants and, in performed innocence, she placed a chaste kiss on the bone at the tip of your jaw.

“Just enjoy it, malышка,” was whispered in her low voice right next to your ear, in an accent hard and robust, but so dizzying when it came out of the crack of Wanda's lips, “Let me show you how much I missed you.”

And again, followed this time by a shameless tone of voice, leaking the red color from her pores, Wanda pressed the plump shaft between her slender fingers, causing a softness on your part. Following your moan, she placed a warm kiss behind your left ear.

“Allow me to make you feel good, Y/n.”

Wanda's right hand began its harassed, pleasurable work, up and down the length of your nervous member, raised to the intimate of your burning thighs – and you, wrapped in an embarrassed tremor, were exasperated as Wanda kissed your corner of the half-open mouth and the fluttering earlobe, threading your fingers through her brown locks as if it were a need between your hands, just in search of something to support yourself during that very intimate moment, shared by a couple of lovers as young and needy as you two were.

“Y/n,” she called against your cheekbone, “I… I'm sorry, but I want you inside. Now."

“Fine,” was your airy reply, “Fine.”

And without delay, Wanda passed her thighs over your knees, linking the folds of her elbows to your neck, then sitting on your lap so that a pink and expert tongue could slide inside your mouth as the damp, warm walls from her cunt slid around your erection. And then, one hefty, powerful touch, palms wide open and pressed to the flesh of her ass beneath her skirt, you screeched out of the outline of Wanda's lips a savory moan that squirmed from the very core of your lungs to pulsate against her lips during the carnal act of penetration.

“Бля, детка… тобі так добре, Y/n…” she gasped against the shell of your ear in a drawling semi-moan, “Y/n…”

"Do you like it?" was your question against her skin, to which, girding your cock with her velvety walls, Wanda nodded, bobbing her head up and down.

“I love it,” and, drunk on a wave of scarlet ledice, Wanda smiled, “I love you.”

You fell silent for a measly second, in fact barely realizing what had happened. Television still featured some sitcom that no longer mattered to you or even her, who was most attracted to the thing between you two – not being as close as you were in that primitive, carnal or even lewd way; skin with skin, flesh with flesh. Raw, visceral, passionate. It was cold outside, but your chest had never felt as warm as it did during that moment. She loved you. She loved you.

“You love me?”

Pulling her face away from your neck, Wanda looked at you with bright eyes from under thick, heavy lashes. She looked at you like no one else but her ever had before.

“I love you, детка,” was a whisper, a promise, “I love you, Y/n.”

When she started to go down everything became hazy, pulsing, hot, red. Wanda was moving up and down your body and you felt her backs arch convulsively, still continuing, creeping towards her cervix, rubbing her from the inside with the head of your cock.

And she rode you with such firmness, moaning and crying out, doing the penetration herself while your eyes converged in a single vision; Wanda moving up and down, over and over, seeking with her hips, until you both came in a delirium of dizzying pleasure; you pouring yourself inside her walls, into her flesh, and her thighs pale, wet, at the meeting with your hips. When she sighed wearily against the hollow of your neck, you smiled into a lock of her hair.

“I love you, little witch.”

It was perfect, you and her. So perfect that you pledged your love two or three more times that night, loving each other in the flesh, in the core, in the heart. Making you cling to the luck of having that miserable moment reserved for you and her, wanting to multiply it, make it last as long as possible.

It was as if, about a month or two after the event, already at the end of that winter suffered on a late December afternoon, Natasha Romanoff had not found herself leaving the corridors of the compound, walking stiff towards Wanda’s room, the soles of her boots full of soot and snow.

As if, among the strands of that short fire-colored hair, the residue of shards of sparkling glass did not shimmer after a painful fall – as if the Black Widow's lower lip were not found bloody and swollen after an arduous fight, as if she had not left a child to fight alone until it was too late for her interposition to mean anything decisive. As if Natasha hadn't been advised by Captain America to let Wanda, still as young, as damaged as she was, digest what happened, still so recent in the popular imagination, on her own.

“She's going to need some time, Nat,” pleaded Steve in a disgustingly grim tone, when they, he and she, were still sharing the elevator space just after returning from the big city with blood on their hands.

“Give Wanda a break, she's been through a lot. She doesn't need it right now. She’s… she’s just a kid. An unfortunate kid.”

But Natasha walked into Wanda's room in that snowy early evening, the emissary of news so atrocious that it had just left the streets, with blood and glass and corpses everywhere, a body count so tragic it could have had more, much lower if you hadn't intervened. Of course, you. But you weren't the one there to tell Wanda what the result of that fight with Wilson Fisk that Christmas Eve night had been. Natasha was the figure standing there, clutching the remains of your mask between the fingers of her right hand. It felt so pointless. As pointless as telling a young girl her lover was dead could be. Your mask felt meaningless.

“Wanda, I…I…”

But Wanda was nowhere to be found in her spacious bed after the Black Widow entered the room filled with posters on the walls and ceiling, stuffed animals arranged next to the pillows and the books piled orderly on the shelves. That was a young person's room, Natasha thought. Wanda was young. The television bolted to the wall adjacent to the window followed the live narration that portrayed a hideous explosion in Hell's Kitchen, where the fire department was still in the process of fully assessing the high and enigmatic number of lives claimed that night.

Wanda was in the bathroom, after all, when Natasha walked over — sitting on the floor, hugging her knees, threading her fingers through her long hair, scratching the scalp as she squinted at her burning eyes where tears were streaming from; sadness that marked her cheeks. She looked as small and as young as could be. And then it was that Natasha remembered. She realized, indeed, what had happened.

Carrying your spidery mask with her, Natasha remembered that both you and Wanda were really just a pair of unfortunate children, as she herself had once been too – children who carried greater responsibilities than you could even handle, with a maturity as mechanical and precocious as what the world demanded of you two. Children like her. Unlucky children.

“What… what– what am I going to do Nat…?” Wanda sobbed, still not lifting her eyes to the open crack in the door, where the older woman was standing, still bloody, still injured, “What the fuck am I supposed to do now?!”

And Natasha wanted to answer her. She wanted to, she opened her bruised lips to do so and then utter that speech she had already had in mind since she had held your body in her arms, still tucked inside that spider suit, in the snow and in the dark. But she immediately contained herself, refraining herself even before doing so, because that was when she saw it – prepared eyes spotted beside Wanda's so small and curved body a plastic rod with two lines marked in a baby pink color.

“Wanda… is... is that…?”

“I don’t know what to do,” she cried, “I don’t know, I don’t know…”

A pregnancy test of the kind one can buy at any local pharmacy, and the result was positive. And your mask was in her hands because you were gone. She was supposed to give it to Wanda as a reminder of your memory, but Wanda would have more to remember you by than a simple torn and bloody piece of cloth. She was pregnant after all. And you – you were dead. You were nothing but an unlucky dead bastard.

“I… I don't know,” Natasha's fingers tightened on the damn tattered fabric, “I'm so sorry, Wanda. I don't know… I don’t know.”

Wanda's tears, wide and warm, dripped between her bare feet on the pale bathroom floor tile. She had never felt so unlucky as she did at that moment.

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[sleepymccoy]

A ship manifesto is like an argument defending a ship or providing proof of why it's as good as canon. I think you'd write a good one if you wanted to!

Go on then, I take very little convincing (also thank you that's kind!)

Why you should consider shipping spones

So, genuinely, spirk is the more convincing ship if you like canon. I'm completely with the spirkies on that. They're endlessly supporting, interested in each other's opinion, and just so lovely

But that's kinda dull for me. Where's the grit? Where's the tension?

I do not believe spones should be canon, no show is ever gonna give them the time and complexity they need. That's why it's so much fun in fandom! The second these guys open their mouths they insult each other, both of them.

But like, they don't really insult each other personally much. McCoy insults Vulcan philosophy and Spock insults human ethics. McCoy insults Spock's alien features and Spock insults McCoy's vocation. Tit for tat, but within that is this constant simmering respect and admiration that they never talk about. And as soon as one is attacked by an outsider they leap to the others defence. Like, that's a wild dynamic! There's so much opportunity to make that fun to read by just adding a little bit of sexual desire

Like, why are you so obsessed with Spock's ears huh? You want to lick them? Grow up about it. And Spock's always needling McCoy, always talking about logic being the be all end all even when it's almost irrelevant, just to get a rise out of him! Schoolyard bully with a crush, both of them

It's a great dynamic. So much depth to plumb. And it's pretty hard to get them to get together!

Other fandoms I've been in tend to lean towards couples who are perfectly suited for each other and the world is conspiring to keep them apart. For spones, they're what's keeping them apart. It's like mixing oil and water, without some real attention from the author they'll fall apart. It's hard! It's a challenge! It's fun!

It's so fun, there's so many opportunities for tension with them and you can take tension to make sex or humour and both are so fun!

And the way they challenge each other. You think Spock is going to settle for anyone who doesn't offer him some personal or professional growth? He learns constantly with McCoy, often showing great exasperation, but he's learning and adding to his knowledge. And McCoy, he's had his little picket fence life and needs something completely different. And he needs a good fuck, I think these two would have absolutely spectacular sex

Anyway. Give it a go because it's fun!

Also I've realised all the gifs I pulled off the tumblr search function are from @aenslem so thank you for your service

#spones #this was a laugh #i have fun with this ship and i think everyone should give it a chance

[neuroprincess]

Broken Rules - Larissa Weems/Female Reader

Larissa Weems/Female Reader

Summary: An unfair deal, that's all Y/N gets from Larissa and was enough until it wasn't anymore. After a few glasses of wine and sudden courage she questions the woman, this could work or ruin everything for good.

Classification: +18, Angst, Slight Smut, Fluff

Warnings: Alcohol consumption, arguing, harsh words, swearing, slight sex, injury, denial of feelings, unrequited love, jealousy, hurt/comfort

Word count: +6400

Unrevised

There are three essential rules for this deal, in black and white, very clear imposed since the first night they spent together. The third is crystal clear, not least, never spend the night, this one is understandable considering the academy and how awkward a teacher leaving the principal's living quarters so early would be. That's the excuse Y/N gives herself every time she has to sneak through the halls of Nevermore in the middle of the night. Second rule, never tell anyone. This kills her inside, in these months all she wants to do in good and bad moments is to share with someone about how she feels, not even with the blonde can she talk because it would imply the first and most important rule. No falling in love, which means they don't talk about anything but professional matters, they don't kiss unless they are having sex and that is all Y/N can get out of this deal. Sex. Stress relief. Sometimes some sexual gift, nothing personal.  

The teacher repeats the rules mentally as she serves herself with a glass of wine, standing with back to her mistress who finishes paperwork at the office desk. Well, she arrived at the appointed time, but Larissa ended up delaying some important matters and now has to finish. Y/N asked if she should leave, receiving only a negative nod. The week was more exhausting than usual, a visit from a couple of parents for an unexpected situation, some student managed to break the plumbing of the bathroom sink and a gorgon accidentally petrified his friend, all problems that earned her complex resolutions, headache and extra paperwork to fill out. 

"So, why the parents came here?" she asks, still not turning around, putting the bottle in the same place and raising the glass to lips, sipping the sweet liquid "Both Nikolas and Lucinda are great kids." 

"They really are, but none of their families support the relationship between vampires and werewolves. Nothing that you, being a normie, understand."  

"Well, I may not be an outcast, but I live with them every day and I am in this world. You are one of those who advocates harmony between normies and outcasts, I don't understand..."  

"It's not the same thing." the blonde says simply and shrugs, her tone of voice unchanged, eyes still fixed on the printed words.  

Y/N huffs and takes a generous sip of wine, feeling the burning in the throat from alcohol, sorrow and a little bit of anger. She stares at her boss, clothes perfectly clean and well ironed, the red lipstick highlighting her fleshy lips, hair styled, long fingers wandering across the surface and blue eyes standing out in the whole scene, literally a sight to take breath away and maybe the rest of the sanity the younger still possesses after swallowing the entire contents of the glass in seconds. The glass is filled again and soon is empty, this repeats until she drinks the fourth in a row, the burning no longer bothers her, the heat rises through her body, head spins for a millisecond before turning to face Larissa again. She sighs and walks at a slow pace until she is in front of the large desk, her mind once full of things to say slowly becoming blank, void, just as it always is around the tall woman. Perhaps this is the spell and reason for them to continue in this unfair deal, it's like the white witch has put a spell on the simple peasant human, who would kiss her feet in adoration. 

"What?" Weems asks raising her gaze for the first time since the other entered the room, a little annoyed by the sudden proximity "Did you drink before coming here?" the teacher just denies with a nod, continuing to stare at her with a neutral expression "So why do you look like shit? You know, I don't care, as long as you didn't show up in front of the students like that."  

The words sound normal to her, but to Y/N it's a painful feeling in the chest similar to an anvil being thrown, hurts, weighs down and she can't move staying in the same place. The neutral expression falls apart, eyes instantly getting watery and whole face burning as she fights the imminent cry, in fact she only realizes she is crying when a drop hits the document in front of her, the first of many that start to fall even though she tries to contain them. She knows she doesn't look like shit but at most blushing after drinking. There is no way she looks like shit because between the end of classes and going to the principal's office passed by her own dorm to get ready, try to look impeccable for their weekly "date", put on her new dress bought a few weeks ago on a visit to Jericho, touched up the daily makeup, brushed hair and put on her favorite perfume, the only one that didn't make Larissa complain.  

"Y/N?" the voice is low and nonchalant when she calls her, with a hint of concern that goes unnoticed.  

"I don't look like shit...I've tidied myself up, my hair is in place, I'm smelling good.... Why the hell do you hate me?" she asks finally after trying to defend herself uselessly, they are simply unimportant words when a dull expression takes over the blonde's face and then surprise at the question "You always act like I'm inferior, then say I look like shit and accuse me of getting drunk around the students, something I would never do because I love and respect them. Am I such a cheap person to you?"

"I didn't mean that..."  

"Then what did you mean?" the question is angry, totally emotional, and the voice comes out ragged, raw with genuine desire to understand the other woman.  

"Y/N, you are on dangerous ground, this is against our deal." Larissa says gently after pulling herself together from the initial shock "Don't do something you'll regret."  

"Damn, so that's what I am to you? I try to lie to myself that I am someone for you, someone you can.... Just can..." she tries to find words that get stuck in the throat and mind turns to blank mist again when she realizes that the principal is staring at her, an almost smile rising on lips, not a smile of encouragement, seems almost cruel like a hunter waiting for the hare to fall into the trap and the younger would not give her this taste or reason to smile "I am and always will be just sex for you, right?" the blonde just nods in agreement "Right." 

The teacher just nods while kneeling, which leaves the taller one momentarily confused until she finds her crawling to the middle of her legs, no longer caring about the condition of the dress, makeup drips down cheeks, eyes are distant and face is flushed, not in a positive way, now Y/N looks like shit and it's not a good feeling knowing she's the cause of it. Something presses Larissa's chest making the smile that was rising die instantly. Everything is too fast, the usually gentle fingers of the younger are quick and imprecise, desperate to lift the gray dress up to waist length. The woman lifts her hips helping, soon the lace panties are exposed, framing the path between the long pale legs. The fabric is just set aside as the head disappears under the table and fabric of the dress, the principal's hands grab a handful of the girl's hair pulling her to herself hoping to feel more pleasure, but there is nothing but a shiver and the slight sensation, she simply cannot delight in the skilled tongue circling the clit, nor touches that usually make her melt. A nagging sensation seeps into her chest and stomach churns, even as she closes the eyes trying to erase the pitiful image of the younger, unsuccessfully, the blotchy and weeping face invades her mind, it's intrusive and strangely... painful. Blue eyes open, she stares into the ceiling mirror feeling a little nauseous at the sight and a hand pulls Y/N's hair back, stopping her from continuing, also making her unbalanced falling on the floor and hitting the back of head against the wooden end of the desk. She just groans in pain, confused in a drunken state and not understanding exactly what had just happened.  

"What is it?" she asks taking a her own hand to head where it hurts, a little surprised to find the part slightly moist, but she doesn't care, everything hurts and that's the lesser of it "Isn't that what you wanted?!"  

"It was, actually it is. But not like this. Clean yourself up first, look decent."  

"So I have to look decent to fuck you? Got it." Y/N laughs humorlessly but stands up to do it, hands resting on the woman's thighs to stand without caring that she is being ignored, the blonde looks at some specific spot on the wall avoiding looking down "I'll be right back." she walks with slow steps to the bathroom attached to the office, closing the door behind her.  

"Shit!" Larissa lets out the air she didn't even realize was holding and lowers her gaze, the memory of the girl there still present, a shiver runs through her body and eyes widen as she notices contrasting crimson on the pale knees, the perfect mark of fingers stamping across skin. She barely has time to think about it as the sound of something falling in the bathroom makes her jump out of the chair "Y/N?" without an answer. 

She waits a few seconds still unanswered until walking quickly to the bathroom, opening the door without knocking or asking for again, extremely relieved to find the younger bent over the sink rubbing her face with the running water, black mascara staining the white sink, a little red mixed in. A decorative plant is scattered on the floor, that is the less important thing. The image scares Weems, she freezes in place for an instant and the next is running around the bathroom looking for a towel or something that can wipe the head of her, grabbing a white hand towel from the cabinet. Without a second thought she pushes Y/N lightly, opening space so she can moisten the cloth and gently presses it where the injury was.  

"What are you doing?" the teacher asks confused as she lifts the face, finally seeing her condition clearly in the reflection of the mirror, feeling even more miserable.  

"You hurt your head..."  

"And? Not like it matters." she shrugs, grabbing another towel from the cabinet to dry her face, wiping the last remnants of makeup off "You can drop it and go back to your place, I just need a moment."  

The woman drops the towel and walks away with hands outstretched in surrender, almost rolling the eyes at such stubbornness.  

"I'm going back to the paperwork, you can go to your dorm."  

 "You don't want to anymore?" Y/N asks with head down, not having the courage to look her in the eye.  

"No." she replies simply and walks away, her conscience seemingly clear that she seems to be physically fine despite everything. 

She sits down in the chair again, staring at nothing, and eyes wander to the table in the corner of the office, the bottle of wine reserved for the night practically empty. That explains everything. Y/N is weak to alcohol, one glass is enough for her to be a complete mess for the rest of the night, one bottle can be... terrible. After two minutes without any movement or sign of life from inside the bathroom the worry takes over, what if she fell in the bathroom? No, there would be noise. Or she sat down and lost consciousness? If she is feeling sick... Larissa interrupts her own thoughts trying to tell herself that Y/N is a grown woman and can handle it, while she can barely control the panic with the idea that something serious is happening. It is a bloody cut, the one on the back of the head, one of the most fragile and dangerous places to hit. She is brought out of thoughts when she hears the door being opened, immediately looking for the younger and sees her struggling to walk, barefoot with the shoes in one hand and the other holding the towel. Face now clean, hair pinned up and she looks a little more sober, only looks, because legs cross each step, causing her to almost fall over after losing the support of the door frame. 

"Leave me..." she whispers when feels the presence of the other woman, who has run in stride to support her "I'll handle this on my own."  

"Fuck off, stop being stubborn." the tall takes her in arms ignoring the protests to leave her on the floor and walks quickly to the other door attached to the office, this one leads to a private bedroom "Be quiet." she says harshly when the younger doesn't stop complaining, trying to get out of her arms. That manages to make silence reign.  

Everything goes by like a blur, Y/N being placed on the soft bed, large elegant hands working to push the hair aside so that the severity of the injury can be checked, to great relief discovering it to be something superficial, but still needed some extra care. The small cut is carefully cleaned with cotton, saline and antiseptic, then gently dried, Larissa improvises a bandage with gauze and adhesive tape. The pain makes the girl moan from time to time, no matter how hard she tries to hold herself together it's almost impossible, the drunkenness that washes over her body also takes away any extra resistance. When the bandage is finished she tries to get up, being stopped by the same hands that took care, making her sit against the mattress again. They stare at each other for a few seconds before the older one turns her face away not supporting the eye contact.   

"Now can I leave?" Y/N asks after a few minutes of awkward silence.  

"No. Lie down." the blonde orders and gets up, walking to the closet from where she pulls out extra pillows and blankets, when turning around she almost drops everything on the floor at the sight "Please, put your clothes back on."  

Y/N props herself up on elbows and stares at her confused, sex is the only thing Larissa wants from her, she has made that clear many times and half an hour ago too. It's just sex. That's what sums up the "relationship" and the reason for the deal that makes her days miserable. And in the same night the woman denies it twice, in fact now seems even disgusted to look at her. She rises feeling defeat coursing inside, from flesh to bone, everything hurts, but nothing compares to the pain that forms in her chest every second she spends in this place. Soon her underwear and dress are put back on, the fabric already crumpled, a bit mismatched, very different from how it was before.  

"Here." the principal places two pillows on the left side of the bed, fluffing them and indicating with a hand for the other to lie down, which she does without asking questions despite the extremely confused look, as if it were nothing more than a strange dream "You need to stay awake for at least an hour, to make sure it was nothing more serious, after that you can go. " the younger just nods, carefully laying down, a groan of pain escapes as head reaches the pillow, soon a pill is placed in front of her "Painkiller." 

"Is it dipyrone?"  

 "No, ibuprofen, I know you are allergic to dipyrone."  

"Thank you."  

"Okay." Larissa shrugs and walks to the other side of the bed, sitting up "You know we can't continue after today, right?!"  

"Why?" her voice comes out broken, a lump forming in the throat at the mere thought of not being with the woman anymore, even if only for sex.  

"We broke the rules, you talked about feelings, I took care of you and now I'm letting you spend the night, none of that is part of the deal." they don't look each other in the eye for different reasons, the blonde sighs before continuing "That breaks the idea of friends with benefits."  

"To be friends with benefits we should be friends in the first place, but I don't think we ever were. You despise me." Y/N whispers bitterly and turns away, she would not give the other the pleasure of seeing her cry.  

"You're right."  

Time passes torturously slowly, Y/N tries not to cry again, which becomes impossible with the indifference and tension that builds more and more every second, then concentrates on not letting it become obvious, holding back sobs and shaking body. Everything hurts, face, chest, hands gripping hard on the pillow and an annoying headache, despite having taken ibuprofen earlier. For an hour and a half Larissa calls her sporadically to check if she is awake or not, occasionally asking if she feels nauseous or anything else, soon discovering that these are symptoms of post-drinking so she stops asking little by little until is completely quiet. That's when the teacher finally falls asleep, the blonde and usually kind (to others) principal in her mind, still trying not to believe it's over. Trying to fool herself with the idea, maybe the slightest possibility, that it's a nightmare where everything they had just slipped through her fingers because of a bottle of wine. 

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

A week later Y/N finds herself running through the halls of Nevermore, dressed impeccably in a casual women's suit set in her favorite color, high heels tapping against the floor, hair brushed presentably, makeup light and she was glad to finally have the bandage off, it would surely spoil the perfect look to finally meet her students' parents. It has been six months of preparation for this moment, of course there are parents who were not very receptive to the idea of their children being taught by a simple normie who was not even raised in Jericho, just as there were those who supported her hiring and seem equally excited to meet her. Parents' Weekend is the opportunity to do that. She stops in front of the door and sighs, smoothing the fabric of the suit so that it is totally flawless, then smoothed the thin tank top under the blazer, for some reason it seems to be looser against the chest and dangerously close to the edge of the neckline, a few necklaces adorning majestically. The teacher knows she should be feeling fabulous with this look and the greetings she has rehearsed for hours memorized, but nothing takes her away from the miserable state she has been in for a week since she woke up alone in Weems' bedroom, with only a note on the bedside recommending that she go to the doctor and the best way out, without the danger of being seen, would be through the side door. Since then she has been trying to pull herself together, which means trying to avoid the woman as much as possible until it stops hurting.  

"You can do it, Y/N. You can take anything for 10 seconds, so just start over and everything will work out." she whispers to herself, closing the eyes in concentration "Allons-y!"  

And it all worked out, better than she could have imagined, the principal was nowhere to be seen, at least not in her field of vision. The first parents to show any interest were a vampire's parents, of the youngest, who complimented her highly on how she helped him adjust away from home, the three greeted each other happily before a gentle conversation. Which caught the attention of another vampire family, these were quieter, but equally kind. After an hour of the event she couldn't even count on fingers how many parents she managed to talk to and captivate, all making clear that despite initial reservations they had a good surprise and results with her hiring. This cheered the younger up a bit, at least something seems to be working out in her life, it's that saying, lucky in gambling and unlucky in love. 

"So you are the beautiful young lady my son talks so much about?" a voice comes up behind her after saying goodbye to Ajax's parents, when she turns around finds a tall man with striking features, sculpted body highlighted by the cut of his suit and a pair of mesmerizing chocolate eyes "Lucien Corbyn..." 

"Elijah's father?!" the parental connection between them is obvious, the boy being a souped up image of him "It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Corbyn! Your son is a great student and very kind." she extends a hand expecting the man to shake, being surprised by the touch of his rough hand leading hers to his lips, where he leaves a lingering kiss, staring her in the eyes the whole time.  

"The pleasure is all mine." he whispers and smiles lowering his hand, still holding hers "Of course Eli is, he's my son and was raised by me...only me. All credit to his father." and blinks, trying to hint that he is a solo and consequently single father  

"I'm not surprised, you two are so much alike. Strong genes." Y/N comments nonchalantly, not realizing how this affects the instinct of the werewolf, who raises an eyebrow feeling audacious and also lucky to have finally found the perfect woman after the former wife's leaving.  

She may not have noticed, but the tall woman across the courtyard did and felt extremely uncomfortable at the sight, Larissa was present at the event the entire time, the first 40 minutes spent solving small problems and talking to the parents who donate money to the academy funds. Trying to be as invisible as possible, at the same time her eyes were always on her, the girl who torments days and takes away sleep at night with the simple fact of existing. Sometimes she got lost in the topic of some parent because her focus was too much on the teacher interacting with the families and giving attention to each one of them, after she pulled herself together, she excused and tried to dissipate it from mind, uselessly, since in the next second she was already doing the same thing. And she mentally thanked for repeating the behavior. Corbyn is a wealthy werewolf, leader of the wolf pack, they went to university together, in fact the man was a great conqueror until he married and had the son, but werewolves like big families, have lots of children to make the pack bigger, and he has made it clear in the last two years that he is in search of another mate to give him that.  

She greets the mother of some siren she can't even remember the name of, and walks slowly over to where the pair are talking, watching the interaction from a distance. Lucien still holds her hand, his other hand caressing her elbow, but Y/N barely notices because she is too excited talking about his son, one of the favorite children. His eyes are no longer on her face, the blonde can see the lust stamped on the werewolf's face as he stares at a lower point, the teacher's breasts. The two mounds are partially exposed by the neckline of the tank top she wears under her blazer, showing flushed skin and a small part of her lace bra, shit, even she can't look away and has been there, she knows every detail by heart, the softness to the touch, the nipples and how sensitive they can be tearing out sinful moans. Everything about her is sinful and Larissa was once the greatest sinner. As approaches she unconsciously takes off the gray coat, which is landing on Y/N's shoulders in seconds, she is startled by the touch and almost cannot believe it when she hears the familiar voice beside her, nor that the soft delicate gloved hands she misses so much are around shoulders holding her tightly, if it were someone else she might say it feels like a possessive touch.  

"I believe Elijah is expecting his father to spend time with him and not with the teacher." she says with venom in voice, a huge fake smile on the lips, staring at his hand hoping the man gets the hint.  

"You are right, Principal Weems. I am here for my little wolf." Corbyn agrees with an even more fake smile as he understands the message, instead of letting her go he squeezes the hand even tighter and brings it to his lips again "I hope to see you soon, beautiful young lady. The pack can't wait to host a dinner on your behalf." he winks and finally lets her go, looking directly at the blonde "See you later, Principal!" and doesn't get a response.  

Y/N keeps a neutral expression until Lucien disappears from sight soon after finding his son in the crowd and as soon as she doesn't see him uses the arms to try to get rid of the coat, but the long arms stop her and Larissa turn around so that they are face to face, without saying anything she adjusts the piece against the girl's body, covering her breasts and then fastens the buttons quickly. They stare at each other in the process, feeling the strangeness of the moment hit the pit of their stomachs, one feeling nauseous and the other boiling with anger inside, sunk in a feeling similar to jealousy, even if she denies it to herself.  

"It's cold." she says shrugging and adjusts the collar of the coat, not failing to notice how big this looks on Y/N, like a big fancy dress, it's almost.. cute to look at.  

"I have coats, you can have yours back." her voice comes out in a whisper and she tries to take off the coat again, but is stopped by the taller one, arms wrapping around her again so she doesn't do that "Principal Weems..."  

"Let's go inside."  

Before she can refuse she feels herself being held by the hand and dragged across the courtyard, barely able to keep up with the woman's steps, partly because of the height difference and also the heavy piece of clothing larger than her, which drags along the ground, none of them caring. On the way some parents observe the scene, from curious to pitying looks, thinking that maybe the teacher was in trouble for some reason, none of them had seen this angry expression on the principal's face before. She just lowers the gaze as just lets be led, knowing that there is no point in arguing, making a scene in front of parents is the last thing she wants.  

"What the hell were you thinking flirting with a student's father?" Larissa asks loudly, holding herself back from screaming, once they enter her office.  

"I wasn't..."  

"Yes, you were. Corbyn is the leader of a wolf pack, an alpha looking for a wife and someone to have his little wolves." she interrupts the younger angrily dumping the facts on the table.  

"And?" the answer is simple and mocking, increasing the tension in the room. The blue eyes fill with more anger.  

"You don't really know the werewolves, the alphas...they are...you are more than that. More than a trophy to exhibit, than a... breeding slut." the words coming out of her mouth surprises them both, vulgar language compared to her exquisite vocabulary.  

"What if marriage and children is something I want? At least Lucien would treat me well, not even hide me." Y/N teases and shrugs, even though she is completely disgusted inside at the idea of that man touching her in this way, besides, she really doesn't know much about werewolves and the classes of the species "And maybe I would be loved."  

In less than a second she finds herself practically lying on the armchair with the woman's body on top of hers, kneeling on the floor not caring about the expensive dress, faces inches apart, warm breath against lips and their eyes meet once again, there is fragility in both, many buried feelings suddenly showing. One hand of Larissa's holds the smaller wrist to the top of the armchair, above head, and the other lands below thigh, lifting the leg for the younger to wrap around her waist, so she does instinctively. 

"I can give you all of this, right now if you want me to." the older whispers without leaving her eyes, for the first time since they met she showed some vulnerability and to their surprise tears emerged, falling down her face faster than it came "Y/N, I can and want to give you all of this, whatever you wish."  

"Then why?" she is confused and shocked, for the past few months the thing she wished most is that someday hopefully her feelings would be reciprocated, receiving only coldness and indifference, accepting the crumbs of the deal they had, it was enough until no more, "Larissa, you despised me for months, as if I was nothing, invisible, even professionally, doubting my abilities just for being a normie. You made me feel...worthless, unworthy of love."  

"And I'm miserable for doing that to you, it was never my intention, but when I realized I was already putting up barriers and more barriers to keep you away, yet I couldn't. My romantic past is terrible, I've been hurt a lot by people whom I gave myself to and trusted blindly. For a blind person, as I was, pushing you away and hurting you seemed better than letting myself be hurt once again. I know, that's no excuse for all the shit I put you through. But I was broken emotionally when I met you, so that's why..." the principal stops talking when she feels Y/N's free hand gently wipe away her tears, thumb resting on the now flushed cheeks "I'm not trying to justify it, but I really was afraid to let you in, then when you were gone I realized that being afraid of losing you is bigger, also hurts more. That night I cried hiding in the office after you slept and uselessly tried to convince myself that it was the best thing for both of us, even if it was burning me up inside. And now that I saw that disgusting man touching you hurt like hell, I realized that I can't stand the idea of someone else being in your life like that."  

"I..." 

"Please forgive me, you were never worthless, I never despised you, never thought you were any of that, fuck, I don't even care that you are normie and I hired you precisely because you are fucking bright, a great teacher and role model for our students. I just can't say I'm sorry for being an asshole and for all the cruel words I've said, if you want I'll wash my mouth out with soap. Y/N, listen very attentively to my words now." Larissa leaves the wrist and long fingers run across the girl's face, admiring every detail, feeling her chest heavy as she remembers that damn night when she was a complete idiot, hurt her in so many ways and made her cry, when she thought lost her forever "You are worthy of all the love in the world, all the happiness, all the affection and you deserve only good things, I made a lot of mistakes, I was the worst person. But..." she sighs and tries to wipe the new wave of tears, anxiety taking over mind and heart "Can you give me a chance? To reward you and show you how much I appreciate you, if you want the world I'll try to give you just to show how deeply I love you."  

"You what?" both are shocked at the sudden declaration.  

"I..." red painted lips quiver and her eyes become clearer, like crystal water, Y/N sees the pure truth about her feelings behind them "I love you." she finally says, word for word, loud and clear.  

"I love you too." the younger whispers, those words meaning more than that, it's forgiveness. They draw closer and slowly bring their lips together.   

It's gentle and soft, as if this is the first time and they are discovering each other, very different from the real first time their lips touched months before, which led them to start everything. Neither can believe that this is really happening, or how amazing they feel with a simple kiss after having done so much more than that before. Lips move in sync, hearts racing and they engage in a tight hug, the blonde's arms taking the smaller body to herself, holding her lovingly by the waist and the back of neck. What makes Y/N groan in pain between the kiss, they separate momentarily only for Larissa to check if she is okay, that injury haunted her for a whole week, only reassured after threatening the doctor to tell about the health condition of her beloved. She soon discovers that the teacher is fine, as she is pulled in by Y/N to continue kissing, this time more intense, tongues meet immediately, feeling and exploring each other's mouths with affection and desire, so much desire that makes the skin burn, feverish with love. It's a kiss that is full of all the feelings hidden for months, of the pain they have gone through in different ways, but about the same thing, the desire to be together. 

"What are we now?" Y/N asks as soon as their lips part and they are looking at each other again, this time instead of tears there are genuine and almost shy smiles "And what are we doing?"  

"Well, I was planning to take you on a date and propose formally..."  

 "Really, Weems? I thought your silly hand was driving us to another thing..." she points to the long fingers under the coat, between the fabric of her tank top and the waistband of the pants.  

"I'm sorry." she is about to take the hand away from there, but is stopped and feels the soft lips against hers again in a quick kiss.  

"It's okay..." the buttons are slowly unbuttoned, the tank top showing and when Larissa moves closer to kiss her the fabric is accidentally pulled, exposing even more breasts along with the lace bra that almost drove the principal crazy earlier.  

"If I didn't know you I'd say it was all planned." the two laugh and the taller one nods in denial, then pulls on the coat wrapping herself in it, bodies pretty much attached inside "Please, never let Lucien come near you like that again. Just seeing him touching and looking at you like that made me boil inside, I wanted to kill him."  

"He wouldn't have come close if I already belonged to someone."  

"Fair enough. And that brings us to the previous question, are we more than girlfriends?" the blonde asks a little fearfully afraid she's jumping the gun, they've been sleeping together for about six months now, but under her stupid terms, fruits of damn insecurity "Or...?"  

"We are whatever we want to be." she thinks of an objective answer, but not even she, who has always wanted this relationship, knows how to define what they have.  

"Then you will be mine, in every way. Body, soul, and mind." they intertwine fingers and Larissa has to fight back new tears when the other nods in agreement, the fear of speaking this fading, her heart speeds up even more "We have a lot to fix, I have a lot to make up for, but I want to be better for you, to be worthy to call you girlfriend and one day wife."  

"You are already worthy, you just didn't know it." Y/N whispers with emotion in voice, fighting back her own tears as she faces the woman she loves in the same state, their heads touch and both close eyes just enjoying the moment, feeling the calm after the storm "It's okay now."  

"It's okay now." she agrees opening a smile and they gap a little, staring at each other "Damn, I can't believe I finally had the courage to say I love you." 

"Neither do I, it's like you're a different Larissa, a better Rissa, who talks, gives affection, knows how to express yourself." the younger's hands run down the principal's neck and rest on the soft face, caressing cheek, then the temple, eyebrows, nose, chin and finally the fleshy lips that quiver at the gentle touch "And love me."  

Their lips come together again in a delicate and emotional kiss, still a new feeling to be able to touch and be like this after all they have been through. What they are doing is no longer relieving stress or satisfy horniness trying to control all the built up sexual tension, there are no sloppy kisses, rushed hands, cold touches and even less the usual neglect. It's exactly the opposite of that, affection is conveyed with every touch and the kisses seem simply addictive, like they could live this moment forever and if at some point they parted it would fade away, just like their dreams before.  

"I knew I couldn't kiss you this way before or I would fall to my knees in love..." Larissa murmurs between the kiss and points to how she stands in front of the armchair, on knees between her legs, hands holding her "And I was right."  

"You're such an idiot, Rissa." they smile and the blonde pulls her around the waist, rubbing hips against Y/N's intimacy, both moan at the friction "My Rissa..."  

"Only yours. And you only mine."  

"I have never been so happy to break rules in my life."  

"And I thank you for it."  

They feel deep happiness and peace, nothing matters around, Parents' Weekend, not even the rowdy students, this is their moment. As soon as their lips touch again calmness hangs over heads, there is no more fear, pain or anything like that, just the feeling of being realized and complete after letting love speak louder.  

"I love you, Y/N..." 

taglist: @opheliauniverse @inlovewithmiddleagewomen @scarr0713 @missdowling @dvrkhcld @heidss @loudchaoscoffee @xvyzxx @quailbagutte @renravens @thoroughly--confused @winterfireblond @milciak @messynessi @gela123 @ctrlamira @milffilm @taurus-baby-34  

Join my taglist here ^^

#larissa weems x reader #imagine #female reader #larissa weems #gwendoline christie #angst 'cause you ladies seem to love it

[witchyfashion]

#1 New York Times Bestseller Don’t panic—Mercury Stardust, AKA The Trans Handy Ma’am is here to help!

For too many people, the simple act of contacting a plumber or repair person can feel like a game of chance. As a transwoman and a professional maintenance technician, Mercury Stardust has discovered (the hard way) that we live in a world with much to fear. If you've ever felt panicked about opening your home to strangers in order to fix a maintenance issue, this book is for you.

Renting a home can be a complex process—from finding a safe and affordable space, to hiring help for moving in and out, and of course, managing any repairs that come up during your stay.

You deserve to feel empowered to take matters into your own hands—and it’s not as hard as you might think. In this book, Mercury will show you how to tackle the projects that need improvement in your home—from how to properly fix a clog in your bathroom sink and safely hang things on your walls to patching small and medium drywall holes.

Safe and Sound includes:

Guidance for over 50 simple home maintenance projects, such as replacing your showerhead and troubleshooting a faulty garbage disposal.

Chapters covering basic and handy repairs for your plumbing, electrical, carpentry, and safety needs.

Advice tailored to renters to minimize permanent changes.

Helpful illustrations and QR code links to videos to help you on your journey.

Remember—a little bit of knowledge can go a long way toward making you feel more safe and in control of your own life.

https://amzn.to/3TzY2Jh

#Diy #lgbtqia

[heich0e]

drip - touya todoroki/f!reader (2.4k) follow up to thaw, touya's first love series (title will change lmao), unrequited love, implied angst (nothing explicit), shoto/reader, pining, mentions of mental health + addiction treatment, misadventures in amateur plumbing.

"Your mom told me you finally found a place!"

Touya pauses as he stirs his cup of coffee (three sugars, no milk) at the kitchen counter.

"Yeah," he grunts, tapping the spoon against the brim of the mug to shake off the few drops that still cling to it. The sound the metal makes as it raps against the brim is nice, a little ding! ding! ding! ringing through the quiet kitchen of Rei’s home. 

Touya’s been living at his mother’s house since he got out of treatment a more than a year prior. You don’t know much about Touya’s stay at the treatment facility, just that it was long, located at a bougie complex a few hours outside of the city, and that Enji was the one to foot the bill. 

Penance, if nothing else, in the form of financial restitution. 

“Are you gonna miss it here?” you ask, fiddling with the sleeve of your top as you sit at the kitchen table. 

Touya snorts into the brim of his cup of coffee. 

“I’m twenty-eight and living with my mother.”

“The loveliest mother in the world,” you remind him pointedly. 

Touya takes a long sip of his drink, but doesn’t disagree. 

It’s quiet for a moment, Touya sipping his very sweet coffee and you plucking at the loose string on your cuff. 

“I’ll miss the garden,” he finally says, his eyes fixed on the carefully landscaped greenery outside the kitchen window. 

It’s Rei’s passion, tending to it. She cares for it enormously, and is always out there working away at it whenever the weather allows, planning for the planting season when the ground is too cold to till. The garden is as much a piece of her as any of her children, the life she fosters there as precious to her as her own, and you know that even without Touya saying it, his admission is his own way of saying that he’ll be missing her when he’s gone.

“Will you need help moving in?” you ask, the loose thread finally snapping off from your top, pinched between your forefinger and thumb. 

Touya turns to look at you then, setting his mug down on the kitchen counter. 

“I don’t really think that’ll be necessary.”

Three weeks later you’re in a little flat, setting down a heavy box marked ‘CDs and shit’ on the only open patch of floor within sight. 

“That’s the last one,” Natsuo says as he files into the apartment behind you, and Touya’s head pops out from the adjoining kitchen to survey the scene. 

“Oh, great. Thanks.”

Shoto turns the corner from the bathroom. “I think your hot water tap is leaking.”

“Good sign for day one in the new place,” Natsuo snorts. 

Touya rolls his eyes. 

“Did you carry that one by yourself? It was heavy,” Shoto says to you, eying the box by your feet. 

“I’m very strong,” you say proudly, flexing your muscles jokingly. 

Shoto’s lip ticks up a little at the corner.

“Of course,” he agrees with a nod, reaching up and squeezing your (practically non-existent) muscle. 

“Touya, do you want our help unpacking or were you just using us for our braun?” you laugh, turning towards the eldest Todoroki son still hovering in the doorway to the apartment’s tiny kitchen.

“Nah, Fuyumi and Mom said they’d come by later this week to help, but I’ll probably have it done by then,” he shakes his head. 

“Dude you’ve got like a million boxes and the worlds tiniest apartment, where are you even gonna put all this shit?” Natsuo pipes up, ruffling the hair at his nape as he surveys the cluttered, one-room apartment. 

“I’ll figure it out,” his older brother shrugs, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his jeans. 

“Well, if you’re not making us help you unpack, should we eat? I’m starving!” Natsuo groans, clutching his stomach dramatically. 

“You’re always starving,” Shoto supplies flatly, and his older brother pouts. 

“I worked up an appetite doing all the heavy lifting while you weaklings wasted time out there!”

“Hey, that’s rude,” Shoto counters, and he juts his thumb over to you, “she’s very strong.”

You laugh, leaning against your boyfriend’s arm. You stick your tongue out at the middle son jokingly, and he feigns offence. 

“I’ll buy us dinner,” Touya says, fishing his wallet out from his pocket. He pulls out a few bills from the creased, tattered leather.  “You guys go pick something up, get some beer or something too.”

Natsuo swipes the bills eagerly from his big brother’s hand. 

“Sho, you’ll drive?” Natsuo calls back over his shoulder, already heading for the door. 

Touya ducks wordlessly back into the kitchen to keep unpacking. 

Shoto turns to you when he notices you’re making no move to leave. He tilts his head curiously as he peers down at you.

“You guys go,” you say, brushing your hand down his arm gently. “I’ll stay and help clear a spot for us to eat.” 

“Okay,” he agrees quietly, pressing a kiss to your forehead. His lips linger there for a moment before pressing another to your nose, then your cheek, and finally your lips. 

When he pulls away your eyes flutter open, though your unsure when exactly you’d closed them. You feel your heartbeat in your ears as his face comes back into focus, as handsome as they day you’d met him and equally as dizzying. 

“Be good,” he says, patting you lightly on the bum. You shove him playfully, and he makes a big show of stumbling away. “So strong,” he quips, that same little smile on his lips as earlier, heading towards the door. 

Once the door to Touya’s new apartment swings shut behind Shoto, you look around the room to come to terms with the task ahead of you. There are boxes everywhere in varying shapes and sizes, but you figure that if you unpack the CDs and the DVD’s onto the little entertainment console in the corner and push the rest of the boxes against one wall, there should be at least enough space for the four of you to sit on the floor and eat whatever the boys bring back. 

You sigh, pushing the box marked ‘CDs and shit’ towards the other side of the room with your foot. 

Touya shuffles into the living room some time later, the box now half unpacked, and jumps a little when he sees you sitting on the floor in the corner with CDs in your hands. 

“Fuck!” he exclaims with a fright, clutching at his chest. 

You blink at him curiously from the floor. 

“I thought you went with them to get food!” he explains, sounding vaguely annoyed but looking rather embarrassed, gesticulating with the free hand not clutching the small toolkit at his side. 

“No, I thought I’d stay back and help clear up enough space to eat,” you reply, eying the little kit in his hands. “What’s that for?”

Touya follow’s your gaze to the tools. 

“Shoto mentioned a leaky tap. I was gonna go check it out.”

“Need a hand?”

You hold the flashlight while Touya angles his body into the cabinet under the bathroom sink to get a better look at the issue. 

“Is this okay?” you ask quietly, knees aching as they press against the cold tile floor.

Touya grunts affirmatively. “’S good.”

You try to keep your hands steady as you point the light into the cabinet, uncertain if you’re even doing much to help at all. 

“Hey,” Touya’s disembodied voice calls from inside the cabinet, “can you pass me the slip-joint pliers?”

You glance down at the open tool kit on the floor, on the other side of Touya’s narrow waist. He’s down on his back, half his body crammed into the rickety old vanity to access the problematic pipes and valves. His t-shirt has rucked up over his tummy, exposing a little stretch of scarred flesh on his lower abdomen. 

“Um, Touya…” 

Touya’s curious face peeks out from under the sink, his brow furrowed. 

You grimace. 

“…What are slip-joint pliers?”

He snorts a little, slipping back out of sight. 

“They look kinda like a lobster claw,” Touya’s hand reaches up and imitates pincers and you stifle a laugh, rifling through the toolkit for something similar. 

You hand him what you think is correct, but he immediately hands them back to you. 

“Those are linesman pliers. Slip-joints are on more of an angle.”

“How do you even know this stuff?” you mutter, digging through the toolkit again.

“I dunno,” Touya replies, accepting the second tool you hand him (obviously the correct one this time, considering he doesn’t hand them back), “just… learned it, I guess. Just knowledge I picked up over the years, or whatever.”

You hold the flashlight up, still kneeling at his side. He grunts a bit, wiggling this way and that under the cabinet, vague clinking and clanking that you can’t name the cause of happening out of sight. 

“Can you try that tap now?”

You rise to your feet as Touya slips out from under the sink, and you reach up to turn the tap. A sudden violent spray of hot water erupts from underneath the tap (not the faucet) spraying you directly in the face. 

“Oh, shit!” you shriek in surprise, your hands reaching up to shield your face out of sheer instinct.

“Oh, fucking— fuck!” Touya scrambles to his feet, trying to protect you from the spray of water with his own body, reaching for the tap and wrenching it closed. 

It snaps off in his hand. 

“Oh! Mother fuckin—shit!” 

You’re still screaming, and now Touya is too. He drops to his knees on the floor, grabbing you by the collar of your shirt and wrenching you down with him away from the splash zone. He reaches under the sink and turns the lever to shut off the hot water supply, and the two of you are left soaking wet on the bathroom floor with your chests heaving as you pant. 

He blinks at you, his white hair matted down to his forehead with water, his eyes wide in surprise. 

A moment passes and all you can hear is the drip of the tap above you both. 

And then you start to laugh. 

Uncontrollably. 

“That… was so… ha ha hahaha—”

“Are you okay?” Touya asks, his hands on your shoulder as he tries to get a good look at you, but even you can hear the laughter seeping into his voice. 

You have tears pricking your eyes—what’s a bit more water, after all?—and you’re clutching at your chest from how hard you’re giggling. 

“I guess you didn’t pick up as much knowledge as you thought you did,” you tease as your laughter finally peters out. 

Touya hides a little smile behind his fist, looking away as his nose scrunches up. 

“Guess not.”

Touya digs you out a sweatshirt from a box labelled “pots and pans” and you hide in the kitchen to change into it while he sops up the water all over the bathroom floor with some rags. Your t-shirt is soaked as you peel it off your body, and once you’ve pulled the soft material of Touya’s sweatshirt on you wring your t-shirt out in the kitchen sink to try and help it dry a little quicker. 

“There’s a laundry room a few floors down, if you give me your top I can—“ Touya appears in the doorway, freezing when he sees you brushing your wet hair back from your face. 

“That’s alright,” you decline the offer, “I’ll just put it over the radiator for now, and if it’s still a bit wet by the time I head home that’s not the end of the world.”

Touya nods, looking away. 

He’s also changed out of his wet clothes, though you’re not sure when. He’s wearing a pair of grey sweatpants and a long-sleeved shirt that hangs away from his frame, just a little too baggy to be considered fitted, but still too small to be considered oversized. He has the general appearance of someone who’s lost some weight. You wonder if maybe those clothes are from when he was younger. Before the things that ended up sending him to treatment.

“I’m really sorry,” he says quietly, his cheeks growing a little rosy in the harsh fluorescent lighting. “I… don’t even know how I fucked that up so badly.”

You smile, shuffling towards the radiator on the other side of the room. You pat Touya on the shoulder as you pass. 

“Don’t worry about it,” you say, meaning it. You lay your t-shirt out across the warmth of the heating unit, glancing at the eldest Todoroki from across the room. “Next time I’ll just bring an umbrella.”

Touya’s lips purse, but the expression curls a little at the corner of his mouth in mirth. 

“I sprayed water in your face, and you’re still willing to help with a next time?” 

You shrug, returning to your place in the corner where you’d been sorting CDs before your impromptu shower. “How else am I gonna learn about all those different tools?”

Touya laughs, really laughs, at that comment. 

“Wanna come help me organize these?” you ask, holding up a handful of CDs. “We can probably get this box cleared before your brothers get back.”

Touya nods, shuffling over and taking a seat beside you on the ground.

“You’ve got terrible taste in music, by the way,” you remark. 

Touya rolls his eyes, elbowing you gently in the side as he leans forward and grabs a handful of CDs from inside the box. 

“I’ve had some of these since I was a kid,” he grumbles in response to your jibe. 

“Didn’t this come out like a year ago?” you question him, holding up a terrible pop-album that can’t be explained away by adolescent tastes. 

Touya snatches it out of your hand, shoving it gracelessly onto the shelf. 

“Less talking, more unpacking.”

You smile a little to yourself, and keep sorting. 

#touya x reader #touya x you #dabi x reader #dabi x you #touya todoroki #touya todoroki x you #touya todoroki x reader #bnha writing #bnha drabble #writing

[nevertheless-moving]

been catching snatches of your stormlight posting. never enough to actually understand anything. should i read it

I really liked it! However it was on my reading list for many years before I finally was in the right headspace to dive in. It's a lot.

The Stormlight Archive consists of four fairly long high fantasy novels and two tie in novellas. It takes place on an alternate fantasy world called Roshar, which is part of a larger fantasy universe called the Cosmere. If you like high fantasy epics, or if you're interested in giving them a shot, then yes, definitely try out the Cosmere!

High fantasy, as I define it — sorry if you know this already anon also sorry if my definition differs from other's reading this — is...bigger than life. High fantasy is two main things. First, the setting— magic creatures and fantastical architecture and folks with super cool magic powers. Second, High Fantasy is the way people behave, which verges into Mythology and Fairy Tale. I'll explain.

Don't get me wrong, when well written, and Cosmere is very well written, the people still feel real. I mean the glowing guys wearing vaguely renaissance faire clothing who are fighting the giant rock monsters still have complex relationships with their fathers. But it's also an idealization — people saying the right words at the right time, people being their noblest version of themselves. Read and/or Watch the Lord of The Rings and take notes on Aragorn's speech at the Black Gate. It's the fantasy of people at their best, noble in all the ways we want the word to mean.

Low fantasy, by contrast, is a bit more grounded, both in the setting and the people. The places in low fantasy look more like your day to day on earth — dive bars with bouncers and crude jokes on bathroom doors. The dive bar bouncer in low fantasy is just a massive rock troll and the graffiti has penises of many different fantasy races. The people are a bit more like some guy you know. It can still be a good some guy you know. Just if they have to fight a nightmare monster they're probably ugly crying and maybe peeing themselves a little. People can still be good and bad, they just maybe have a bit less polish.

There's obviously lots of grey area — Game of Thrones has a lot of high fantasy setting elements, being a vaugely mideval europe pastiche with dragons, but the way it focuses on brothels and people trudging through mud is a bit more low, the reality of a world without indoor plumbing, as opposed to the dream of a world without cellphones. It has epic speeches and larger than life figures, but they get bogged down by stuff like taxes and dehydration, which high fantasy doesn't generally linger on. I'd argue some of the worst behavior fits right in with high fantasy — the red wedding is just a much graphic version than we're used to of the ol' scheming advisor trope, but still fits into the archetypes. Anyway.

Discworld by Terry Pratchett is an excellent low fantasy series, and if you're looking for a fantasy book recommendation and haven't read/watched/ didn't really enjoy lord of the rings, or if you did and want to read my favorite series, then read these 100%. If you've read them already — nice.

(I think having some more familiar touchstones makes fantasy novels more enjoyable for folks who aren't into their recreational reading being Very Unlike real life . Discworld is incredibly funny, while also being full of heart. The turns of phrase are adult without being crazy dense. I'm not a personally big grimdark person; I prefer my stories with a core belief that people who are good deep down, which is at the heart of Pratchett's writing. I laughed, I cried. I recommend Guards, Guards as a first book but you can start lots of places.)

To get back a little closer to your initial question — I started reading the Cosmere with Mistborn, which consists of three novels, a several hundred year time gap, and then four more, slightly shorter but still pretty long novels. It takes place on a completely different world from Stormlight. The planets are only tentatively connected, but there the very solid promise that they will interact a lot more soon.

By soon I mean in the next decade as far as book publishing goes, because the author, Brandon Sanderson, is a madman. And by madman I mean he fucking writes like a machine. I checked his website and he posts things like "23% percent through my next book." "45% through" "82% through" who writes like that??? He's also a massive prude, which is hilarious. I love him in a non parasocial way. He's got the next 20 years of book releases mapped out. Whom the fuck??

Anyway if you like high fantasy epics, or want to try one, then yes, definitely try out the Cosmere! It's funny, I've always had a hard time listening to audiobooks, but either things clicked in my head or the narrators, Michael Kremer and Kate Reading, are just that good.

I...actually liked Mistborn more than Stormlight. The first Stormlight book I found a little hard to get through at the start, because the main characters seriously go through it, but I had trust in the author at that point and things DID get better. Mistborn hooked me start to finish and every plot twist felt perfectly executed in a way that Stormlight didn't completely nail for me. I mean, Stormlight Archive is still a great series, with compelling characters and well structured romances and interesting world building and super, super rad fight scenes.

I'm posting obsessively about Stormlight partially because I'm scrambling for more cosmere content (I didn't actually expect to reach the end) and partially because there are things in the books that weren't 100% satisfying, and those spaces are where fandom lives. Again, it's still really, really good. Just long, and sometimes fairly heavy in how much the main characters struggle with mental illness while fighting crab monsters.

In the stormlight archive, your personal fight with depression and PTSD and drug addiction is actually inextricably linked to your super rad glowing magic power fight with rock monsters and crab people. The crab people who also have a lot of trauma and mental illness.

Honestly, I'm not sure how Sanderson is going to resolve that.

But fuck it, TLDR, Stormlight is good but long, and the next book is supposed to resolve a bunch of stuff and it comes out this December, and the way he wrapped up things in his other books was really satisfying! So this is a pretty good time to get into the series!

#discworld #cosmere #lord of the rings #terry pratchett #brandon sanderson #stormlight archive #nevertheless meta #ask

[avelera]

Sometimes I think about material archaeology and our modern conveniences and I think about just how hard it would be to rebuild all this. How many billions of hours and billions of people it took over the existence Homo Sapiens to take us from the most basic tools like fire and bone tools to the present. This isn’t a moralizing statement. This is simply a fact.

It is so hard to build anything from scratch. Truly from scratch, out by yourself in the middle of the woods. Sometimes I’ll just pick an object and think of all the materials in it and how long it took humankind to discover how to build it the way we do today. To transport it. Little things like floor tiles, or a pair of scissors, and more complex things like plumbing systems and communication lines and roads that can handle the weight of a vehicle.

Do you know it’s possible to tell when a building was made by the quality and size and color of the bricks where I live? Some are 300 years old which is old for the US. Some are a different color than the other bricks so you know the building was made after railroads, so the bricks come from a different part of the country. The bricks we make today are mass produced and the lines much more perfect than the bricks of the 19th century. You can see where modern bricks were used to restore old buildings by the change in color and where old windows were closed up.

Did you know you can tell the age of Roman statues and portraits from the hair and the eyes because luxurious curly hair could not be done until the 2nd c CE because certain drill tips that allowed it had not been invented yet, so curled hair was suggested by lines on the scalp? Many forms of art can be identified by when the technology that allowed them came into being.

Our ancestors weren’t genetically dumber than us. They just had fewer tools. Tools develop over time and starting from zero was excruciatingly difficult it took millions of years to reach a point where writing could be conceived of and invented in a way that allowed the spreading of this knowledge from one place and generation to the next. Then, people could start to build one discovery on top of another and not lose it in a few generations.

Anyway, I think about this sometimes. The invisible complexity of the material world and the rules it sets by the availability of the tools needed for certain items that we simply use and accept as part of our lives. And how hard it would be to do it all over again.

#Maggie rambles

[toxicmetalpress]

New books coming from Toxic Metal Press TOMORROW!! This is the first round of books printed on our new risograph

Oh Deanna

Tragedy strikes when two young women enter a cave. Thinking she would just be plumbing the depths of the earth, our heroine instead plumbs the depths of her mind. This is the second printing of this thrilling tale from @toxicmetalexpo

The Coward Tractates

The fantastic sequel to The Coward Discourses is here! This slice-of-life satire sees our pitiful protagonist explore the woes of disordered eating, customer service, and job applications. This is the second installment of an ongoing series by @girls--complex

Melty World Matrix #1

This new series by @uglygrlswag follows the lives of Koshka and Katze, two Catgirls from the western shores of Lake Michigan. Issue #1 follows a night of too much fun as a neighborhood basement show gets out of hand.

#comics #indie comics #furry #catgirl

[sunevial]

Reasons Why You Should Move To The Torn Veil

It's a night market

It's a giant, sprawling, night market full of people from a million worlds who have come to trade and to live and to rest and to find themselves

There's boats with people on them and the people on the boats in the river can sell you things

GOOD

PUBLIC

TRANSIT

A dragon runs the city

Specifically, an undead dragon, who turned her body into ice and now possesses both a giant dragon-sized suit of armor and a smaller humanoid shaped construct, runs the city guard

She gives paladins sworn to the city cool dragon weapons

And she's very excitable

YOU DON'T NEED A CAR. THE STREETCARS MIGHT BE HAUNTED, BUT YOU DON'T NEED TO PAY FOR CAR INSURANCE

There's good liches

Well, morally complex and slightly scary liches, but good liches

One of them runs a library. My friends think the lich that runs the library is hot (not wrong)

Vampire blood bars

Or blood in juice boxes if you prefer that

And art deco vampire speakeasies

These posts about the wildest oneshot I've ever ran will make more sense because I ran that oneshot in the Torn Veil

(i said more sense, not complete sense, the math my friends did still breaks my brain)

STREETCARS, NARROW ROADS THAT DON'T REALLY FIT HUGE CARS, GONDOLAS, FLYING CARRIAGES DRIVEN BY LICENSED PROFESSIONALS

Corner stores and restaurants from every culture, real or otherwise, serving foods that have existed forever and do not exist anymore

Memory river that lets you travel to a million different afterlives

Fishing in the memory river for memories

Slime Carriage Driver

ACCESSIBLE

DENSE

URBAN

HOUSING

I'm queer and mixed SEAsian and this is what happens when I'm allowed to be incredibly self indulgant

The answer is Haunted Spooky Less Fucked Up Sigil, apparently

The massive park full of nature spirits born from plants left at people's gravesites

Necrodancer rave clubs with ghosts playing EDM and power metal

Specifically made constructs that can house ghosts and other spirits, giving them back a semblance of agency after being violently separated from their bodies

Or cause they want a ghost mech

Pop off

CATACOMBS HOUSING SKELETONS FOR THE SKELETON WAR

THE CITY IS FIRMLY ON THE SIDE OF THE SKELETONS

BY THE WAY

IF THAT WASN'T ABUNDANTLY CLEAR

They're used for the defense of the city and are largely controlled by said necrodancers playing the EDM and power metal

It's always dusk

And a little chilly but in a nice way

Well, sometimes it's warmer, the dragon in charge of the city guard can also control the weather

She does that so the farmers can get rain

The skeletons also pick fruit on the farms btw

There's many uses for a skeleton and sometimes those uses are animating it so the skeleton can pick delicate fruit that has to be harvested by hand

A friend of mine loved this place so much that there was a real timeline where he ran a oneshot in the setting before I was able to run a oneshot in the setting

The oneshot took place in a place called the Dead n' Breakfast

It's run by a skeleton who's also a vampire

Her name is Constance

I love her

NO RENT

WHY IS THERE NO RENT YOU MAY ASK

WELL BECAUSE THE CITY JUST MAKES BUILDINGS AND NEW FLOORS TO APARTMENT BUILDINGS APPEAR OUT OF THIN AIR

(you do need to pay a little bit of tax though)

(because while the city has figured out how to make modern buildings, it has not figured out electricity or plumbing or streetcar rails)

btw the city is alive

kinda

sorta

hard to explain

Street Food

Every Street Food Ever

Like if you want some, it's there, and it's real nice and real cheap and sometimes people will just give you food for free

Sometimes a nice ghost makes it for you

Sometimes it's a skeleton babushka

The knowledge that there's other people caught between life and death, that there is a place for the lost and the wandering, that there is a place where life and death have different meanings and that complicated relationships with life and death can be a little less so, that families can reunite long, long after they were supposed to, that there is a place that calls the lost and calls them home and calls them somewhere that is safe, it is a place you can be finally safe

Ghost Macy's

#my writing #the torn veil #dnd #undead

[lifephilosophys-blog]

غص في الروح .. انغمر، بعيون مفتوحة وأقدام على الأرض، العمق الذهني يمكنه أن يغرقك بدون تردد. أن نغوص في أعماق الروح يعني الانطلاق في رحلة اكتشاف عميقة، حيث تحمل المياه العكرة أسرار أفكارنا الأعمق ومخاوفنا ورغباتنا.

عندما نقفز في عمق العقل البشري، نواجه تعقيدات وتفاصيل عالمنا الداخلي. مثل محيط مليء بأعماق غير برية مكتشفة، تبدو النفس البشرية كأفق طبيعي واسع وغامض، مليء بالعواطف والذكريات والتجارب التي تشكلنا.

بعيون مفتوحة، لنواجه الظلام الذي يسكن داخلنا، الظلال التي ترقص على قاع المحيط لعقولنا وتحت وعينا الباطن. إنه مكان يفيض بالمخاوف وتتوطّد فيه الأماني والأوهام، تتردد أصدائها عبر أعماق مياه كياننا.

ومع ذلك، على الرغم من إمكانية الغرق في متاهات شرور أفكارنا الداخلية، نستمر في التقدم، تحركنا الرغبة في فهم أنفسنا عميقا، لفك التشابك الذي يلتف حول عواطفنا ودوافعنا الخاصة.

وبينما ننخرط في العمق، نصطدم بجوانب مظلمة لطبيعتنا. تهدد تيارات الشكّ واليأس والتدمير الذاتي بسحبنا إلى الأسفل، لتجرفنا في محضنها الخانق. لكننا نقاوم، وتتشبث أقدامنا بالأرض لتثبيتنا، لنمنع أنفسنا من أن يسحبنا تدفق الجريان السطحي لضعفنا.

وسط الظلام، نلمح لمعات من الضوء، اشعاعات تتألق كانعكاسات لآمالنا وأحلامنا. تلك هي الاشرعة التي توجهنا خلال الممرات المتعرجة لعقولنا، لينيرنا طريق للاكتشاف الذاتي والفهم.

مع كل نزول، نصبح على معرفة مقترنة بأوجه روحنا، نحو مناطق العمق من صفاتنا الحقيقية وضعفنا. نواجه التضارب بين الشخص الذي نقدمه للعالم والذي نحتفظ به مخبأ في أعماق كياننا، ندرك الاختلافات ونحاول توفيقها.

رحلة نزوغ الروح هي فعل شجاع، يتطلب منا مواجهة مجموعة هائلة من العواطف الساكنة داخلنا. إنه يتطلب الانعزال والتفتيش الذاتي والاستعداد لمواجهة تعقيدات إنسانيتنا الخاصة.

ولكن في مواجهة الظلام، نجد الوضوح. في استحضار مخاوفنا، نجد القوة. في التنقل عبر أعماق روحنا، نجد المرونة لنقتفي الطريق فوق المياه المضطربة ونخرج بالحس الخاص بالتأدب والغرض الذي ولد فينا الفهم الجديد للذات والاخرين.

إن عمق العقل البشري حقا عميق، قادر على أن يغمرنا في تعقيداته وتناقضاته. ومع ذلك، وبعيون مفتوحة وأقدام راسخة بإحكام، ننطلق في رحلة الغوص عبر الروح، نخوض في أعماق مياه وجودنا الداخلي بشجاعة وفضول وإصرار لا يلين على اكتشاف الحقائق الكامنة في الداخل.

Soul Dive ... Dive, with your eyes open and feet on the ground, the depth of the human mind can drown you without hesitation. To dive into the depths of the soul is to embark on a journey of profound discovery, where the murky waters hold the secrets of our innermost thoughts, fears, and desires.

As we plunge into the depths of the human mind, we are confronted with the complexity and intricacy of our inner world. Like an ocean full of unexplored depths, the human psyche is a vast and mysterious landscape, teeming with emotions, memories, and experiences that shape who we are.

With eyes wide open, we confront the darkness that resides within us, the shadows that dance across the ocean floor of our subconscious. It is a place where fears lurk, and insecurities linger, where the echoes of past traumas reverberate through the watery depths of our being.

And yet, despite the potential for drowning in the abyss of our own minds, we press onward, propelled by the desire to understand ourselves more deeply, to unravel the tangled web of our own emotions and motivations.

As we dive deeper, we come face to face with the darker aspects of our nature. The currents of doubt, despair, and self-destruction threaten to pull us under, to engulf us in their suffocating embrace. But we resist, using our feet on the ground to anchor us, to keep us from being swept away by the undertow of our own vulnerabilities.

Amidst the darkness, we find glimmers of light, the shimmering reflections of our hopes and dreams. These are the beacons that guide us through the labyrinthine corridors of our mind, illuminating the path to self-discovery and understanding.

With each descent, we become intimately acquainted with the facets of our soul, plumbing the depths of our own authenticity and vulnerability. We confront the dissonance between the person we present to the world and the one we keep hidden in the depths of our being, recognizing the incongruities and striving to reconcile them.

The journey of soul diving is an act of courage, requiring us to confront the formidable array of emotions that lie dormant within us. It demands introspection, self-examination, and a willingness to confront the complexities of our own humanity.

But in facing the darkness, we find clarity. In embracing our fears, we find strength. In navigating the depths of our soul, we find the resilience to rise above the turbulent waters and emerge with a newfound sense of self-awareness and purpose.

The depth of the human mind is indeed profound, capable of drowning us in its complexities and contradictions. Yet, with eyes wide open and feet firmly grounded, we embark on the journey of soul dive, venturing into the watery depths of our own being with courage, curiosity, and an unyielding determination to discover the truths that lie hidden within.

[the-paper-monkey]

Do you have any Taco recs? Fics that can be read and reread multiple times without getting dull?

I'm ngl to you, I just reread my own fics when I want to read Taco 💀

Here are some recs I've done previously.

In addition to those, I also recommend:

A Cursed Child by @dracopetal

Draco could not imagine a world without Tom in it. It was like imagining a black sky without a moon or stars to light it, a sea without waves to pull you in, a shark without teeth to consume you.

Heritage by @duplicitywrites

When the Lestranges finally bring you Dumbledore, you ask for Lucius Malfoy to bring you his son.

A Bargain of Salt and Iron by TheCorrosivePen

Mind shattered, Hermione Granger languishes in the depths of Malfoy Manor, a forgotten prisoner of Voldemort. When reluctant Death Eater Draco Malfoy takes pity on her and gives her a collection of books, she finds unlikely assistance within their pages. What follows changes the course of the war and Hermione and Draco's lives in fundamental and irreparable ways. Draco, Hermione and a resurrected Tom Riddle plumb the depths of their humanity as they face the challenge of Voldemort and the consequences of their choices. Or the story in which I ask, can Tom Riddle overcome his own darkness?

Warning that this is a Tomione fic. While I find the Taco to be the most compelling, well-rounded and complex relationship in the fic, it's difficult reading as a Draco fan. Still a very good fic, but not everyone's cup of tea.

Transcendence by ChapterEight

Tom thought that maybe fifty years of utter isolation in a diary was a small price to pay to gain the advantages of being a living Horcrux, even if he was probably a bit mad from the experience. After all, being mad was no impediment to a Dark Lord.

This is a WIP, possibly abandoned, and is tagged for Tomcest, Taco and Tomione, though none of the relationships have occurred yet in the fic posted. I enjoyed reading it, though I don't remember it well as I read it ages ago.

#tomdraco

[stephenjaymorrisblog]

Benjamin Netanyahu

The Menace to World peace

Stephen Jay Morris

April 14, 2024

©Scientific morality

            The world would be better off with pacifists than with avenging angels. What religion has taught us is not to trust the followers of any religion. They always put a square peg into a round hole. They twist God’s words to fit their own agenda. If God is so fucking omnipotent, why does he need Christian soldiers, Jihadist warriors, or the I.D.F. to levy his punishment upon evil doers. I suspect he doesn’t really exist. Even common sense will tell you that God doesn’t need an army to implement mega-universe domination.

Sounds kind of primitive, doesn’t it?  It is. Simpletons have this fear of so-called evil. They make the fatal mistake in feeling that the only way to deal with evil is to destroy it. That is a gigantic fallacy. Evil will always replace itself. Someone once told me that there will always be good versus evil. That I do not accept. What is evil? That is a subjective question.  What may be evil to you is good to someone else.

            Ever since the 60s and 70s, I was told that the older generation sends the young to war to fight the gerontocratic political schemes. One thing about narcissistic old men is that they know their time on earth is almost up. So, they want the whole world to die with them. The phony good is really the true evil. Or maybe, just maybe, there is no such thing as good and evil. There are people who have mental disorders, or angry people who have personality maladies. They need healing, not punishment.

Then, those who think violence solves everything will give you an example of “what ifs.” “What if someone is raping your wife? Would you give the rapist a therapy session?” We are talking about the long term, you dumb fuck! Not an immediate, singular situation. Of course I would do anything to stop such an act!  Prevention of evil is wiser than revenge.

            If we are going to have World War Three, can we at least wait until the NBA playoffs are over? It only takes one leader that suffers from a messianic complex and thinks himself a Jewish prophet: Benjamin Netanyahu, the not-ready-for-prime-time minister. He wants to drag the United States into war with Iran. The Likud Party initiated it when it bombed an Iranian consulate in Syria. Of course, Iran wants to retaliate. So, they launched hundreds of missiles and drones toward Israel. And, of all those fired, just one missile penetrated. One? After spending millions and billions on Israel’s Iron Dome, you’d think all missiles would be deterred. Can the IRS refund my tax money, then? I need it for some plumbing work in my bathroom.

            Benjamin Netanyahu is not my leader. I didn’t vote for him to be pope of the Jews. What he has done for Israel is to apply a permanent scar in history. What he has done and is doing to the Palestinian people is genocide. Repeatedly spewing the details of Hamas’ horrific attack on October 7, 2023 is not justification for that genocide. The question really is, with Israel’s technological and logistical advances, where were the border police that day? Was the Iron Dome turned off?  I know I won’t get any answers to these questions.

            Being opposed to Revisionist Zionists does not make me Anti-Semitic, it makes me pro-humanitarian!

#stephenjaymorris #poets on tumblr #american politics #anarchism #poets of tumblr #anarchopunk #anarchocommunism #youtube #satire #baby boomers #anarcho punk #anarchist #Anarcho-capitalist

[luigisghosts]

Thinking about polyglot Luigi.

Luigi who grows up fluent in English and Italian, yet also picks up words and phrases from the other immigrant families in his neighborhood. Becoming an appreciator of languages and their beauty and complexity.

Choosing Spanish as a class in high school. It has a similar structure to Italian so he learns it rather quickly, easily keeping up in conversations with native speakers. One of the cashiers at the local grocers speaks Portuguese, and he realizes it’s also alike to Italian and Spanish, so he starts learning that too. The cashier is touched and gives him advice and new words whenever he stops by.

He and Mario were into Japanese anime when they were younger, and he’d make the connections between the subtitles and the audio for a while until he started to teach himself properly. While not necessarily too similar, Chinese and Korean came as a natural response. Luigi’s a little nervous trying it out with the neighbors, but they’re impressed at his dedication and assist him as well.

Luigi would get sucked into a language for little to no reason sometimes. Heard a pretty song in French; learn it. Accidentally set a movie’s language to Swedish and didn’t change it; learn it. Friend wanted a buddy to try Arabic together; learn it. Saw a Hindi vocabulary book on sale one day; learn it.

Some languages would stick more than others due to lack of use or resources, but he makes the effort to retain what he does know. Writing notes to himself in Portuguese, quietly insulting people in Arabic, etc. When he’s not with Mario or reading up on plumbing, mechanics or engineering, he’s sprawled out over a language book—mumbling words, highlighting important notes, writing his own examples on the side.

It’s a talent that persists in the Mushroom Kingdom. At a large multi-kingdom event, he’s drawn in by the sounds. Such unique and glorious voices he doesn’t know what to focus on. The sharp and guttural color of the Koopas? The flowing and musical tone coming from the Beanbean group? The staccato and bright sound of the Sarasaland representative? It’s nearly heaven for him.

Luigi spends a lot of time scouring for texts of their language or even writing to their rulers and asking for books himself. They’re all more than happy to oblige, some even setting him up with tutors. He takes to them just as easily as languages from Earth, and it doesn’t take long before he’s endearing himself to the natives with his knowledge of their tongue. It definitely helps him and Mario out a lot on journeys where people may not be as well versed on the common language throughout the worlds.

While he does have his own bookshelf of his own personal collection, Peach decided to invest in a section of the local library dedication to language learning. He loves it. Luigi himself assists with deciding what to choose and which books would be the most useful. He even teaches some of the toads when he gets the chance to.

TLDR; Just, Luigi knowing a bunch of languages and people adoring him for it.

#inspired by me attempting (and usually failing) to learn more than two languages at a time #do people in the mk and beyond speak the lang over the viewer. yes but realistically they should have their own individual lang #also google said polyglots can speak some 6-12 langs so i’m taking that and running #luigi #luigi nintendo #super mario bros #super mario brothers

[icaricia]

fallout show thoughts mostly abt the lore. major spoilers for the show, particularly ep 8. not very well put together and its mostly just me scratching my head/complaining lol

imo the show does it's best to not technically retcon fo1/2/nv, but to effectively retcon them by getting rid of everything they made and make moot what they cannot literally bomb.

it's just that the og fallouts/fnv are post-post-apocalypses about rebuilding and the themes are about like. cycles of violence and how to break them in order to rebuild, human nature, fascism, society, etc.

bethesda's fallout is about uhhhh. how war never changes (they do not particularly feel like examining this theme in detail). and how greedy corporations will lead to the end of the world. basically they're taking the satire of the united states and throwing it out and going all in on the satire about corporations + a teensy bit the military industrial complex (think west-tek).

thats why vault tec dropped the bombs, when previously the great war was less about pointing fingers and more about bearing the sins of the father and how ultimately none of the lines drawn in the pre-war world matter now. it's all just ash and dust. cause when you're making a commentary(?) on rich people using regular people as pawns & guinea pigs then it does matter that vault tec did it + that they had allies in every other major pre-war american corporation. side note: i dont like this at all btw.

besides changing the fundamental themes of the franchise 5 games in though bethesda's fallout mostly just wants to be about nukes + the post apocalypse. they want to tell stories about scavengers in dirt shacks eating each other. fo1/2/nv don't allow for that kind of worldbuilding. i cant speak on 1 or 2 as i haven't played them, but for example fnv is about how societies get made & the strengths and weakness of them, and which type of society you the player think would be best for making a new world with.* so thats why they literally exploded the ncr. cant have dirt shack cannibals when there's a president.

the only thing that feels overtly spiteful(?) to me is that i can't figure out why they're even touching california, and not just fucking around on the east coast like they previously have. or the midwest or something if they're sick of the east

my best guess is either A) spite bc obsidian did it better than them (tbh i dont think this.) or B) they got sick of fielding "whys the west coast got multiple developed societies but the east coast has just the enclave over and over. whys the east coast so much less developed than the ncr 200 years later when rhe ncr was being founding a mere 70~ years after the war? whys megaton a scrap heap when new vegas has working plumbing?" type questions and so they nuked it to hastily cover their asses like "see! nothing develops in the wasteland! humans love to murder and war never changes B)". instead of just leaving the west coast alone and unacknowledged like fo3/4 did (i also dont fully believe this but i dont have any clue what else it could be)

the trouble besides all of this sucking and being, at a very generous best, stupid as fuck, is that the new themes/villains aren't even consistent cause like. why did vault tec nuke shady sands from a themes perspective. whats that add to anything. i guess it ties into our other new(ish) theme of "humans are inherently violent little cockroaches"

not to mention if theyre going all "war never changes humans love murder" they dont even really acknowledge Maximus' revenge plot or his repeated inaction (aka his fundamental character motivation /trait b4 he halfheartedly discovers that oysters are yummy or whatever). but im getting close to just starting to complain that its a really stupid boring one dimensional theme + i didnt care much for the characters (they arent objectively bad or anything it's just me)

also shout out to the only plot/motivation bethesda can consistently think of in the wastes being "gotta find my family" like some little failed vin diesel clone. also shout out to their preoccupation with pre-war america and their obsession with characters being 200 years old and how that ties directly into their lack of desire to let the setting progress. but thats an entirely different thing lol.

*fnv is also about needing to let go of the past if you desire to move forward (the concept of "old world blues" + the actual think tank/big empty -> dead money -> lonesome road) and bethesda doesn't want to let go of the pre-war bc they think its cool or something idk. they also refuse to let the societies of the games develop. which makes it especially funny that they half retconned fnv, destroyed the strip, and made hoover dam obsolete all in one fell swoop. its better theme writing than the game!

** i feel obligated to mention that bethesda arent the only people who think fallout should forever remain a post-apocalypse cause chris avellone famously disliked the post-post-apocalypse of the ncr, got told to shut up bc everyone else (rightly) thought a post-post-apocalypse was a good idea, and then he wanted to nuke the NCR in lonesome road and got told to shut up again. but avellone didnt work on the show and doesnt work for bethesda so :P

btw them saying fiends are just people who eat people was just mean. kicking me while im down :(

#.txt #be nice if this doesnt make sense im exhausted and mostly just rambling #theres so much else to say but. blegh #fallout show spoilers #fallout tv spoilers