#as someone who is regularly saw trapped by those things

[mokulule]

The Number You Have Called Cannot Be Reached (Catnip) - part 10

First|Masterlist

It was near noon. Tim was in civilian dress outside of Jason’s door. He took at deep breath. Worrying did not help. It did not help to think about the fact that Jason had pointed a gun at Bruce last night. That he had looked very close to pulling the trigger.

It wasn’t that Tim hadn’t noticed something was up with Jason. Of course he’d noticed, a blind man would have noticed. But this was Jason, something was regularly up with Jason. And like when wasn’t his relationship with Bruce strained? Basically never? 

But things had been getting better. Jason had stopped crime-lording, left that to his lieutenants, who as long as they followed the rules, operated relatively unmolested in Crime Alley. It worked. He kept apart, but he was on the same comms as them. He helped out if there was trouble. He cared, they all knew he did. Even if things were still hard. 

It was a bit back and forth but generally the relationship between the bats and Red Hood had been getting better - like the overall trend, Tim had a graph. There was a prognosis that Jason may join them for Sunday dinners in a couple of years. So it was not so weird that Jason had been drawing back, Tim had assumed that was just some of the regular fluctuation that happened now and again. 

But this?

Jason pointing a gun at Bruce?

That was more than just a fluctuation! That was something else, and it all lead back to Jason meeting the Ghost about 5 weeks ago. Jason had been odd that night, there had been something uncertain, hesitant, about him. Tim had brushed it off at the time, there could be any manner of reason for Jason to act a bit off, guilt being the obvious one. Jason for all his gruffness did not like accidental violence, his violence had a purpose and was doled out to those he deemed deserving. 

At one point that had been Tim. 

That thought sat heavy in his chest as he took another deep breath. 

Was he the best person to do this? No, probably not. But someone needed to do it. Dick was on a Justice League mission halfway around the world. Cass would probably have been safest, least likely to piss Jason off, but Tim couldn’t outsource this. Tim needed to talk to Jason, to assess him himself. 

Finally, heart steeled, he knocked on the door. 

There was movement inside, footsteps coming to the door. There was a rumble in his pocket. He pulled it out and looked at the text:

You should not be here.

Tim scowled at the door. “I am not leaving. I need to talk to you.”

There was a moment of silence that dragged. Tim would wait out here all day if he had to, he was stubborn like that and Jason knew it, which is why eventually the sound of the locks turning reached him. Tim carefully kept the victory out of his face. 

Jason didn’t meet his gaze as he let him in and locked the door behind him. He didn’t bother to reset the traps. Instead he padded barefoot over to the kitchen counter.

“Coffee?” He asked, voice scratchy.

Tim didn’t respond immediately eyes too busy following the small trail of blood Jason left behind where he stepped. 

“Tim?” His eyes snapped up, meeting Jason’s tired eyes. 

“You know me,” Tim finally responded weakly. Jason looked… sick, was probably the best word. He was pale, the bags under his eyes so dark they looked bruised. His hair was unwashed and there was something about the weariness in his posture that made him look small in his loose t-shirt and sweatpants. 

Something about the image deeply alarmed Tim and he retreated with a, “I’ll just use the bathroom real quick.”

He noticed the crunch under his shoes even before he saw the broken mirror over the sink; that explained why Jason’s feet were bleeding. Fuck. He sank down onto the closed lid of the toilet and put his head in his hands. This was so much worse than he’d thought. Tim could handle anger, not whatever that was.

“Fuck,” he repeated his earlier thought, quietly and emphatically. Then stood, flushed and washed his hands, to keep up appearances - for something to do. Stalling didn’t help.

He walked back out to find Jason sitting at the small kitchen table with two cups of coffee, one of them placed in front of the empty seat across from him.

Tim sat down and picked up the mug with both hands. He sniffed the rich aroma before taking a sip, Jason had great coffee.

“What do you want, Tim?”

Tim looked up and opened his mouth to reply, something, a deflection, but Jason didn’t let him.

“You’re obviously not here for my sake, so cut to the chase.”

Tim’s mouth clapped shut and his lips thinned. Outrage burst in his chest at the implication that he didn’t care. But Jason was right. He wasn’t here to check on Jason for his sake, he was here to assess him. To make sure what happened last night would not happen again. He was there for them, for the mission, not for Jason. 

Jason was right and it stung. 

Well far be it for Tim to further try to delude them both. 

“I need you to stay away from the Ghost.”

“Like Hell!” Jason snarled jumping to his feet, and there was the Jason Tim had expected, and he held the instinctive fear in an iron grip, not letting it reach his face. There was only a tiny tremble as he brought the cup back up to his lips.

Jason paced. Then turned on Tim, eyes with just a hint of the green they didn’t talk about.

“You cannot bench me,” he spat.

“I’m not. I’m asking you, Jason.” Tim carefully set down the cup.

Jason frowned and this was the one chance Tim had to convince him, he had to make it count.

“He disappears as soon as you get within 20 yards of him. I will figure out a way to capture him, but I cannot do that when he keeps disappearing. I need you to hang back.”

Jason was wavering, his hands clenching and unclenching.

“Please.” Finally Jason sighed and the weariness was back, he sat back down heavily. Leaning his head on his hand he spoke quietly, “he needs help, Tim.”

Tim didn’t know what made Jason so certain of that, but Jason didn’t know what Tim suspected either, what the ghost could be building. 

“But first he needs to be stopped.”

There was a long moment of silence...

“I’ll hang back.”

“Thanks.”

-

Taadaa! The misery continues... Things will be coming to a head soon, I don't know if you can feel it? I just have to write a small Danny POV, and then Tim coming up with the plan and then we'll get into it, it's exciting.

If you wanna subscribe to the story you can do so here

#dp x dc #dead on main #Jason is catnip to Danny #missed connections

[eff4freddie]

Touch | Part One

What you can offer Jackson is your healing hands.

2.6k words

Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five Warnings: slow burn, eventual smut, we stan one (1) apocalypse grump, no use of y/n, I haven't written fanfic in a while but I'm hoping this will get me back into writing regularly, I have no idea how many parts this will be

Minors DNI

If you were to try and tally up all your losses you wouldn’t, initially, struggle. Your beloved dad, on outbreak day, and then months later your sister to a pack of raiders capable of slipping silently past a rotting barn wall. Those were clearly devastating, actual moments that bifurcate the before times and the after. Your liberty in the QZ, your hope for a sane and assured new government, your smuggling partner trapped under the barbed wire fence as a FEDRA soldier narrowed in on you both, her struggling hands going limp in the dirt, her eyes no longer following your movements as you scrabbed to free her, the look of resignation on her face, the way she mouthed for you to ‘go’. Those losses somehow both enormous and incalculable.

It was the smaller losses that caught you up. Newsprint smeared on your fingertips. Breaking in a new pair of stiff leather shoes. The uneven leg of your massage table, which caused it to wobble when someone clambered onto it, meaning that you had to warn your clients ahead of time while it wobbled, it was stable, and that you could relate. You knew it was a bad look, that the table alone didn’t inspire confidence in your clientele, and you missed it more than you had any fucking right to when the world, for all intents and purposes, imploded.

You made do in Jackson. Your travelling party of three had heard of a mythical commune of warm sheep and cold beer and you wanted, more than anything, to believe in it.  In the before times your mother had sung a song about Jackson with your father, peeling potatoes at the sink, and you had hummed it under your breath the three-and-a-half-month trek. ‘Honey, I’m going to Jackson.’ ‘See if I care.’

As you approached the gates the three of you had already come up with a plan to pitch for entry. Ray was going to pretend he was injured, and Marla was going to carry him, limping but stoic, over the threshold. The night he refused to take first watch you had promised to break his ankle for real to make it really convincing, and he had laughed because he knew you didn’t have it in you, and you had joined in, because it was true. Marla was toying with the idea of being pregnant, and you were going to just be mute. Either by birth or by trauma, you hadn’t decided. But the plan was to be as pitiful as possible, as non-threatening and as desperate, such that not only would you not be shot on sight but that you would be taken in, warmed to, eventually forgiven your trespass. On the side of a mountain, with everything you had ever owned strapped to your back and the losses tallying behind you, it had seemed like the best strategy.

It had failed almost immediately. Marla may have been able to pull off the pregnancy thing if it was early, but Ray kept forgetting which ankle he had supposedly hurt, and when you tripped on a rock coming through the gate you swore at the top of your lungs. It turned out it didn’t matter. Throughout quarantine you had been able to meet Maria, then Tommy, and you had been advised that you were to pitch your worthiness to stay at the next town council. You had two days to determine what you could offer Jackson. You had looked down at your two hands.

__

Marla was a good shot, and was put on patrol. Ray spoke French and was good with codes, and he pitched helping out with reconnaissance. He even pronounced it the proper French way at the council meeting, and you saw Tommy arch a jet-black brow in Maria’s direction, who rolled her eyes. Standing on shaky knees before a panel of non-infected non-raiders who nevertheless held your life in their hands, you showed them your palms.

‘Pain relief,’ you said, and you smiled in what you hoped was a warm way. ‘I can heal, with these.’

‘You trying to tell us you’re some kind of witch doctor?’ the man on the end asked, and you wondered what it would be like to lean over and pluck each hair out of his nostrils, until his eyes were streaming.

‘No,’ you said, and you felt your cheeks redden. ‘Massage, mostly remedial but also deep tissue. I can help with bad backs, with sore legs and arms, bad necks. All that patrolling, all that watching the horizon, must be murder on the body.’ You scanned their faces, Nostril Man not convinced but Maria smiling warmly at you. You swallowed, trying to wet your throat to prevent it from just outright closing over. ‘Surely you want your men and women, the people out there protecting Jackson, to be strong?’

__

The house you were allocated was four over from Marla, and Ray was placed three streets back towards the gate. You had idly wondered if you had been split up to try and avoid trouble, but actually you enjoyed the solitude for the first time since the apocalypse. Having had to travel in packs, having been crammed in four or six to a one-bedroom apartment in the QZ, having listened to Ray retell his story of crossing the Canadian border every might for at least a year and a half, you relished the way that you could once again hear the ringing in your ears. When you rolled your shoulders, you heard the spinal fluid pool and bubble at the base of your skull.

The benefit of having the place to yourself was that the second bedroom easily converted to your treatment room. Tommy and a couple of the other men from town had brought in a spare dining table, and you found that with enough blankets and towels piled on top of it you could make a decently comfortable surface to lie on. Ray had offered to cut a hole in the middle like a real massage table, but you had seen him try to chop wood one night with a blunt axe, a night when you thought without a fire you would freeze to death, but it would still be better than listening to him whine about having nearly chopped off his toes for the rest of time. Instead, you created a ring of towels just back from the edge, a position that meant people could still breathe as they lay face down, and you practiced how you would apologise to them for the inconvenience of it, what joke you could make to try and win back their confidence, marvelled at the fact that even at the end of the world you were still trying to cover for your inadequacies.  

Maria was your first client, and as soon as you were convinced you could accommodate her growing stomach comfortably as she lay on her side, you welcomed her in.

‘It’s just my hips, my lower back,’ she said, as you poured shampoo on your hands to stand in for massage oil.

‘This might be cold, I’m sorry,’ you said, not adding that it could also be sudsy, and wilted a little inside as Maria flinched when you touched her. ‘I’m sorry,’ you said again, as she exhaled.

‘Can you feel where it is?’ she asked, and you hummed.

‘The pain?’

‘You said you could heal.’ You smiled, pressing down on a knot hitched to Maria’s hip flexor. She sighed, and you watched as the tension disappeared from her shoulders, her body slumping forward slightly such that you had to grab her knee and roll her back.

‘You tell me,’ you said, and she huffed at you.

‘Those men, the council, you have no idea how little they would understand why we needed you,’ she said.

‘Wait ‘til I’ve finished putting my elbow in your butt cheek, then tell me that again,’ you said.

‘Wait, what?’ Maria startled, but you were already on her, promising that the pain would fade as the tension released, ignoring the stream of obscenities, having heard far worse in your time. The before times.

__

Maria spread the word and soon you were busy, with a regular list of clients that heavily favoured the women of Jackson until they were able to convince the men that they, too, had musculoskeletal systems. Maria was a regular right up until she got too big to haul herself onto the table, and then she would just sit in your kitchen and make you tea, explaining the history of the place until you started to feel properly at home there.

One afternoon she sat with her head resting in her hand, as you held her foot in your lap, gently massaging over her sock.

‘You don’t come out much,’ she said. ‘I see you in the mess hall for breakfast, then you’re gone.’

‘I have clients early these days, sometimes a full patrol before they go out.’

‘What about the off days? The days that we don’t patrol?’

‘Washing. I go through a lot of towels.’

‘You need help with those?’

‘No, I like doing it. Warm water is such a dream, I still can’t believe it when I fill up the bucket.’

‘After work I never see you at the bison.’

You pinched her toe a little hard and she hissed, and you felt the heat on your cheeks.

‘I am grateful for my place here,’ you said, and you looked up into her eyes then, your hands still but cradling her foot to your chest. ‘That you advocated for me, that you helped me set myself up. I know that Tommy wouldn’t have if you hadn’t asked him.’

She smiled, glancing down at the tea in her cup.

‘It’s hard to be back amongst so many people, and to not be…’ you trailed off. Marla came around some nights, but it had been at least a week since you’d seen Ray. You had thought they were your safe people, but in a big house behind a secure wall, you wondered how much that was true.

‘To not be waiting for them to shoot you, to stab you?’ Maria finished, and you sighed.

‘Or to not get stabbed or shot themselves.’

‘You lost people?’ Maria asked, and then blinked, slowly. ‘That was a stupid question. Of course you did.’

The pattern of the tiles on the kitchen floor was two left and two right, you noticed, except for where the bench had been installed. There the pattern was interrupted, as if someone had miscounted, and there was a row of three along the perimeter.

‘Who did you lose?’ Maria asked you, and you gently lowered her foot to the ground.

‘All of them, just like all of us,’ you said, and you held out your harms such that Maria could pull herself up, and she sighed but used them to get to her feet, and you were grateful even in this moment to have helped someone.

__

You happened to be on your porch when you heard the commotion, a bunch of people running down the street towards the front gate. You thought for a moment of an invasion, that raiders had breached the wall, and wondered what, if anything, you would need to carry with you, what you could fit in a bag, looked despairingly at the snow on the mountain tops wondering how you could possibly carry enough blankets to ward off inevitable death. You braced yourself for screams, for gun shots, was genuinely confused when you heard none. Curious now, and less planning your immediate escape, you stepped down to your front gate, leaning over to see what the fuss was. A group of people were moving as one down the main street, and you stepped out onto the pavement to get a better look. You could see Tommy, his black hair sliced back to his shoulders making him stand out even in a crowd of other men. He was walking beside another man, the crowd parting to let them through, and with Tommy’s arm wrapped around his shoulder it meant that the other man had to stoop forward slightly, such that you could only see the top of his head. He had streaks of grey through his hair, his legs straight and strong underneath him. Tommy was gripping the front of the man’s shirt and talking into his ear. Behind them a younger girl, couldn’t be more than 15, trailed with her eyes set on the ground in front of her.

You watched as Maria came out of the sheriff’s office and stood on the pavement in front of them. She smiled when Tommy turned to her, letting go of the other man to wrap her in a bracing hug. You watched as the other man straightened, caught a glimpse for the first time of the patchy beard across his cheeks, of the roman line of his nose, of the flinty look in his eyes. He turned to the young girl, clapped her once or twice on the back, nodding in Maria’s direction. You saw that they nodded to each other, that this wasn’t as simple of a homecoming, that the girl carried pain deeper than any two hands could reach.

You had to wait three days for Maria to visit again before you could ask her about them, and when you did you felt her energy shift. Big as she was it was difficult for her to fidget, but you sensed that she would shuffle in your kitchen chair if she could.

‘Joel is Tommy’s brother,’ she told you, and when you thought about the shape of his jaw you realised you could see a sort of resemblance. This man had seemed to stoic, so closed off, compared to the brightness of the smile Tommy had been throwing at him. It had meant that you initially hadn’t seen it.

‘And the girl?’ you asked, and watched as Maria started fiddling with the hem of her shirt, stretched as it was over the heft of her belly.

‘A kind of daughter, I guess. Adopted, as much as anyone can be right now.’ Maria avoided your eyes and you lowered them, hoping that it would encourage her to continue. ‘They were here, before, for a brief time. A few months. Joel was… he and Ellie were heading down to Salt Lake, we weren’t sure if they were going to make it back, and Tommy…’ she stopped herself, gathered her thoughts, and you heard your own pulse in your neck as you waited.

‘Tommy had started to think that he’d lost him, lost them both. He’d started to think it was his fault, maybe, that he should have gone with them.’

‘But you’re…’ and you stopped, gesturing to her very pregnant frame.

‘I know, and he knew that he couldn’t have, but it didn’t feel like it when he thought his brother was gone.’

You didn’t need your hands to feel the tension coming off her, and you stood then, and reached out to her shoulder, picking up the tendon and easing it down. You remembered back in school when your teacher had shown you the diagram of the fascia, taught and spidery over the pink and red of the muscle. She rolled her neck, her head slumping towards you, and you offered her your torso as a pillow.

‘It doesn’t feel like a warm return,’ you said, eventually, and Maria sighed, reaching up to still your hand.

‘He’s a dangerous man,’ she said, after a while. ‘He’s done things, Tommy did them too but that’s his big brother, you know?’

You thought back to the way Tommy had gripped Joel’s shirt, the way he had been talking animatedly into his brother’s ear, the curl of Joel in on himself in response to it, the instinct to close down in the face of his brother’s overwhelming love.

‘We’ve all done things,’ you said, after a while.

‘It’s different,’ she said. ‘I don’t know why, it just is.’

‘What about the girl?’ you asked, and she softened then, under your touch.

‘She’ll defend Joel to the ends of the Earth,’ she said.

‘You don’t trust her judgement?’ you asked.

‘I don’t trust that Joel isn’t keeping her in the dark,’ she muttered, and it was quiet enough that you had to lean over to hear, and when the words unfurled around you you pulled back from them, the concern and the weight and the finality of them, the heaviness of them in your ears.

#joel miller fanfic #joel miller x reader #pedro pascal fanfiction #joel miller x you #pedro pascal character #fanfic #tlou fanfiction #the last of us fanfiction

[ash-pile]

Starting a thread for myself of theories and ideas about tmp. Gonna update it as I listen to episodes.

I’ve listened to 11 as if this first post. Also I think it goes without saying but there will be spoilers here, I might not have a ton of info but I do have and reference stuff in the episodes

Jon/chester/computer bois:

I think that Jon is using the cameras and things to see and listen, which is why he’s able to give statements that are very close to what’s happening with the characters.

Also I think he is trapped, but idk if he’ll ever get out. Maybe if he and Martin get out then Jonah Magnus can too so they’ll have to choose.

I wonder if they’ll be the same if they escape?

Or if there is a jon and Martin in the world too?

The entities:

-I saw someone else say this (don’t remember who or where tho) but I think that when the web and Jon pulled the entities thru the crack in reality in tma, they got squished and melted together.

- It would explain why statements often multiple fears now.

- They are so squished/interwoven that they litterally can’t separate.

Can they still do rituals/summonings?

Alice

-Another thing I saw but makes so much sense. Alice used to hold Lena’s job/she’s secretly the boss-boss of OIAR

-would explain why she and Lena got the message that Sam was trying to access restricted files.

-I mean why would Alice of all people see that. Lena make sense but Alice would only see it if she had the same kind of access

-also It might not end up being canon but I want Alice, Sam and Gwen to end up together as a poly. The whole scene with the mocha and Alice being confused but not hostile to Gwen was sweet and I want more of that trio

Celia

-I think she and the others who weren’t in any fear domains were brought here, so Georgie and Melanie could be there too.

-Would also explain why she seems to know more about the archives that most, cause she would have heard about them from those two.

-Maybe she ends up in random places regularly hence the ‘not again’ because the world recognizes she isn’t supposed to be there

-or she’s like Micheal. Tma 198 did reveal that the cult was taken back to their domains, maybe Micheal/something like him got to her before the end?

So she’d be able to jump around with doors. Probably not on purpose tho.

-either theory explains why she’s looking into dimensions and space and physics things

Lena/OIAR

-I think that when Jon and Martin and Jonah and the fears came through, they came through at a different time but same space. The explosion from the gas destroying the building would have been brought over at the same time and thus destroyed the archives in this world

-and maybe if it was an important place for the eye/the eye is ‘staying’ there/leftover energy from the panopticon, maybe thats why redcanary was so affected and pulled out their eyes. They were forced to by some kind of eye powers

-so with that, I think OIAR formed to document what changes came about after the fears came through. And their database doesn’t work with the fears separately cause they aren’t separate any more

-I haven’t figured out what Lena’s deal is yet, I just think she’s aware of the fears in someway and uses them/avatars/whatever the monsters would be called now to control the amount of fear being spread

#the magnus protocol #the magnus archives #tmagp #tma podcast #tmagp spoilers #tmagp speculation

[theglitterypages]

Jujutsu Kaisen Boys Headcanons 1 Presents: What kind of person they're most likely to fall in to? And how they would fall in love? Featuring Gojo Satoru

Gojo Satoru

•There's not much that I know (we know) about this man's past but judging his behavior and attitude, Gojo most likely grew up with almost everybody treating him like a god.

• In my perspective, Gojo probably didn't have a chance to enjoy his own childhood and this will explain his childish antics despite his age. This man is basically just healing his ✨childhood trauma✨ in his adulthood so let him be.

• Having the skills and powers he inherited, people from his own family lionized him and even those in the Jujutsu Sorcerer community does. So instead of being a child who's suppose to play and enjoy, I bet Gojo was pretty much taught to held himself to a higher standard as a jujutsu sorcerer even as a kid. So he was forced to abandon his own childhood, they straight up want him to work hard coz he's got what it takes to rule the jujutsu world.

• Gojo just comes off as cocky but that's just a result of how everybody acts around him. They just praise him too much that it sticks to him.

• With these points being said, Gojo Satoru will most likely fall to someone who's not a jujutsu sorcerer.

• Gojo craves for something “normal” becausehe's too fed up of what he encounters in his everyday life, he's exhausted of being the "strongest jujutsu sorcerer" Because he actually wants to get that burden out of his chest.

• How did he meet you? You could thank his love for sweets for that. Everywhere he goes, Gojo makes sure to buy anything sweet for himself, he's got an appetite of a child and he wants to try every sweets he sees.

°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°

After a mission and a meeting with the higher ups, Gojo needs a damn break from anything that has something to do with Jujutsu Sorcery. He needs something to relieve his stress and his eyes was caught by something unfamiliar in this street.

He spends most of his time looking around here, so he knew most of the buildings, shops and other establishments in the area. It's not hard to spot something unfamiliar specially with the powers he possessed.

With his hands stuffed in his pocket, he made his way to the newly opened shop and entered in a good mood. Now he needs to know what kind of sweet delicacies can he add in his favorites today?

His eyes scanned the menu and he could almost feel himself drooling because of what he sees. This is a paradise for people like him who loves sweets! He was

"Good afternoon, Sir! What would you like to order?"

When he looked up and saw who spoke, everything stopped.

Gojo felt like he was trapped in his own domain expansion and all he could fucking see was the woman standing in front of him.

Holy guacamole, you are the most beautiful thing he's ever seen apart from his own reflection.

"Sir?"

Now that's a voice much sweeter than any cakes or mochi combined. And he knew he had to snap out of his thoughts if he didn't want to look stupid.

"Ah hey, hi! Hi! I just ahm.. Can I have these?"

Gojo the mfing Satoru just stuttered, his senses have been dialed to 11, his mind is about to explode because there's too much thought in his mind in every second.

Your hair, oh yes, you've got that shiny hair that smells like lavender, and you look so precious, he'd like to protect you at all cost. You look so small in front of him, he imagines that you'd fit perfectly in his arms oh he definitely love that idea.

You jot down his orders—he ordered every variation of the cupcake available and you're also taking your time to admire the human form of a great piece of art sculpted by Greek gods and goddesses themselves.

"Hmm, yeah I got it. Please sit right there for a moment, Sir. Would you like a glass of water?" You offered and he smiled, yeah he needs to rehydrate right now, he thinks he's gonna faint because his heart is beating crazy fast.

After that day, Gojo visits the shop regularly just so he could see you, trying to get to know you, trying to see if he has a chance.

You look so innocent, cheerful and you're literally shining in his eyes.

"You know, you don't look like a teacher." You told him as you flip the sign on the shop's door so that the people would know that you're already closed. Gojo was helping you clean up and he talks about himself,after asking stuffs about you.

"I know, I surprised myself as well." He said as he follows you to the kitchen.

You chuckled before looking back at him with the sweetest smile playing on your lips, "But do you love what you're doing?" You asked as you took the cake you baked for you and Gojo.

Gojo felt like he forgot to breathe after what you said.

He never had anyone asked him that. All his life he's been told how to live his life but here you are asking him what he loves, what he wants and he didn't want to sound so soft but he wants to hug you and cry.

So he did.

He charged himself towards you and hugged you tightly, "Thank you." He whispered, his voice shaking, trying to stop himself from crying because that's not the Gojo Satoru that he should be according to what he was taught and told.

You noticed how his voice trembled and you hugged him back, it's the first time you've seen him like this. To you, he always look confident but there were times where you see him often lost in his own thoughts, you've already assumed that he's more than the confident man who ridiculously love sweets.

"Hey, it's okay. You can cry if you want, I won't tell anybody and you don't have to tell me about it. You can just cry and I'll pretend that it didn't happen."

That was when he knew he's fucking whipped for you.

And surprisingly, Gojo let himself cry in your arms, he didn't bawl his eyes out, he just quietly cried as he buried his face on your neck and you just listened to his sobs while patting his back gently.

When he's finally finished, he let himself feel your warmth for few more minutes before he gently pulled away from you but his hands remained on your waist, he just stared into your eyes and all he could see was the look of genuine worry and care that he never saw in anyone else but you.

You reached out for his face and wiped away his tears. You smiled at him while you pinch his cheeks gently, "Come on, try tomorrow's special and tell me what you think about it." When he removed his hands off your waist, you immediately missed the warmth of Gojo's hands while he missed the warmth of your body that melts the frozen walls he built in his heart.

He watched you slice the cake before you reached out for his hand and pulled him to your side, you picked up the fork and fed him the first bite.

The flavors exploded in his mouth along with his own erratic heartbeats. All he could see at that moment was you, the way you smile and the way you look up at him. It was all you.

Gojo let himself enjoy that moment, the precious moment where he finally let himself look vulnerable, where he was finally able to let the tears he held in for so long.

He loves you so damn much and one day, he'll be brave enough to tell you.

#jjk x you #jjk x reader #jjk x y/n #jjk fluff #jjk headcanons #jjk imagines #jjk fanfic #jjk fic #jjk gojo #gojo x reader #gojo x you #gojo x yn #gojo x y/n #gojo fluff #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru x you #gojo satoru x y/n #gojo satoru fluff #gojo satoru headcanons #gojo headcanons #gojou satoru x reader #gojou satoru x you #gojou satoru x y/n #gojou x reader #gojou fluff #gojou x y/n #gojo fanfic #gojou x you #satoru x reader #satoru x you

[bookish-whore]

Night Terrors

Azriel x Reader

Words: 2.4k

Warnings: depictions of child abuse, discussions of past trauma, unintentional injury, some steamy behavior, fluff

A/N: Based on this request! Thanks for the idea, I absolutely loved writing this and it gave me ACOMAF vibes and made me want to move up my series re-read. If you’ve sent a request just know it is on my radar and as always, my requests are open <3

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It had been weeks since the bond snapped into place. It had happened in training of all places.

Azriel had me pinned under him, demonstrating a holding maneuver for the new Valkyries when I felt it a tug in my chest and this radiant string seemed to appear tethering me to the shadowsinger. My heart felt like it leapt out of my chest, like my soul had found its equal, this calming sense that I was home washed over me.

But when I looked into those glorious hazel eyes, I realized he didn’t feel it. I quickly regained my composure, returning my attention to training and tried to ignore the pain in my chest.

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It had been sporadic at first, happening once, then once a fortnight, then once a week, until it became a nightly occurrence. I would get these random images of people, places, and flashes of conversations and in the weeks since the bond snapped, I had been regularly woken up by these dreams, or night terrors rather, the strange images like I was watching a film of someone else’s life. Only I knew that these were unintentional, slipping through my one-sided connection with the Shadowsinger.

Feyre had told me that when emotions were running high the mating bond would project what was happening to the other even if the bond hadn’t snapped for one of the partners. She told me how before she knew Rhys was her mate, she would have what she thought were dreams when Rhys was forced to pleasure Amarantha under the mountain. She didn’t realize until later that the dreams were real and had happened. I assumed that because the dreams seemed to be more like memories that Azriel simply couldn’t control his emotions and they bled through the bond into me.

But tonight seemed different. As I drifted deeper into sleep, A dark room materialized. I recognized is as the dark cell where so many horrible things had taken place, and my heart ached for the child that I knew endured them. The child who only wanted to be loved and instead was treated as no more than a pet, an inconvenience. The child who was tortured for years, the child that grew up to be my mate. The events began to play, and all I could do was watch,

I felt trapped, the panic slowly rising as I looked around. Everywhere I looked it was dark the only light being what seeped under the door at the top of the stairs. I saw the boy curled in the corner, shackles on his wrists. Dressed only in pants that were clearly much too big for his tiny frame. My heart cracked further in my chest; he was so small. The skin on his body clinging to his ribs, a clear sign he had been malnourished for years. His delicate wings sagging behind him without the muscle or training to keep them upright. I suddenly heard laughter, as the cell door opened. Young Az put his arm up as he recoiled from the brightness that flooded in. two older boys entered the cell and a thrum of panic went through the bond. “wh-what are you doing in here?” Younger Azriel said, his little voice shaky but firm “Just some research, half-breed” one of the boys sneered These must be his stepbrothers, I realized as the two boys moved closer. “Yeah, we learned in school that Illyrians have superior healing capabilities, since you are one of them, we wanted to try something out” the two shared a look and laughed. Before Azriel could react one of them grabbed the shackles, pulling him to the ground with his arms outstretched. His wings flopped on top of him as he couldn’t control them. I felt sick, I wanted to scream. One of the boys put his foot into Azriel’s back holding him in place, while the other produced a canteen and poured a foreign liquid on Azriel’s hands, I could smell what it was from my position. Oil. They laughed. One of them striking a match and holding it up, Azriel’s delicate features went white at the realization of what they were doing. What they had planned. “NO! PLEASE…HELP! SOMEONE PLEASE” Azriel screamed, trying to wriggle away. The foot in his back applied more pressure keeping him steady. The boy dropped the match. And the room lit up. I would never forget the screams, how Azriel’s little body writhed in pain as his hands were set on fire. I could smell the burning flesh, see the way his hands practically melted as he screamed in pain.

I shot up in bed. taking deep gasping breaths, I looked down to find my nightgown clinging tightly to my sweaty body as I threw the sheets off me. I stood pacing the room as I attempted to steady my breathing but no matter what I tried I couldn’t shake the fear, the panic, the terror, and the pain. It was like I was still trapped in the nightmare.

Suddenly dark shadows seeped under my door making their way across the room until they were swirling frantically around me, tugging on my hands in an attempt to lead me somewhere. I hastily threw on a pair of slippers that were on the floor next to my bed and let them lead me out of my room and down the hall. It took me a moment to realize the shadows were leading me to Azriel’s bedroom.

When I reached his door, I didn’t bother knocking. My hand slowly turning the ornate knob before softly stepping into the room closing the door behind me as I turned to face him. my mate.

The room was cast in soft moonlight that was streaming through the window. The light reflected off his body, which was covered in a thin sheen of sweat his brows furrowed in distress as he twisted fitfully in his sleep. I noticed then his hands, his white knuckles indication that he was tightly fisting the sheets. The tear tracks on his cheeks a clear sign that he was in distress. I made my way to the side of the bed hesitantly placing my hand to his forehead, he was so warm, like he was burning up at the memory of what had been done to him. as if his body couldn’t tell that he was having a nightmare and he wasn’t really in danger.

“Azriel” I whispered; my voice shaking as I placed my hands on his shoulders, gently shaking him. He was unresponsive, his face contorting as though he was in pain.

“Az, its just a nightmare” I said shaking him again

“Wake up Az” I repeated

He let out a bloodcurdling scream and bolted upright. I barely registered what happened next.

His hands grabbed me, flipping me onto the bed beside him, my back pressed into the soft mattress as his knees rested on either side of me restricting my movement. His body towered over me as he held truth teller to my throat, the sharp edge biting into the soft flesh on my neck.

“Az it’s okay, its me!” I screamed, feeling the small trickle of blood as truth teller nicked my skin.

His hazel eyes went wide with recognition as he withdrew the knife “y/n?”

He practically leapt off me, dropping the knife to the ground “I-” he choked out “y/n, I-I’m sorry” he shook his head as backed towards the window, putting space between us.

“It’s okay Az” I assured him, slowly sitting up in his bed and bringing my hand to my throat, wiping away the blood “I’m okay”

“Why are you? how did you?” he began to ask, his sentences fragmented as he processed my presence.

A thrum of panic shot through me as I debated what to tell him “Oh, I couldn’t sleep and was going to- head down to the kitchen… when your shadows they caught my attention and practically dragged me here. You looked distressed and I- I just wanted to help”

He ran his fingers through his hair. His eyes slowly raked across my body, taking in my appearance. I suddenly felt very exposed under his heated gaze.

“My shadows?” he asked, I nodded in assurance that he had heard correctly

“I’m sorry y/n” Azriel said making his way across the room and sitting on the edge of the bed, he turned to face me “May I?” he asked motioning to my neck. I nodded using my hands to smooth my hair out of the way. He grasped my chin with his thumb and forefinger slowly turning it to look at the damage to my neck.

“It’s really nothing Az” I said, my voice just above a whisper “barely a scratch”

“I can’t believe I did this” Az said releasing my chin, bringing his head to rest between his knees as he took deep steadying breaths.

“Do you want to talk about it?” I asked, “you were having a nightmare, right?”  

A moment of silence passed between us.

Azriel raised his head, turning to look at me “It was- it was like I was back there again.”

I tentatively moved closer to him, tucking my legs under me as I sat next to him turning my body towards him so that we were now facing each other on the bed. Only a few inches seperated us.

“It was when this happened” he raised his hands, his gaze focused on the scars that marred the delicate flesh “when my stepbrothers set my hands on fire in some kind of sick science experiment” my chest tightened; remembering the screams of the child he had been, what he must have endured in that dark cell all those years.

I knew how he felt about his hands but after seeing for myself what had happened, I felt the overwhelming need to comfort him. I reached out my hands to clasp his and was surprised when he didn’t pull away.

His eyes drifted up until they met mine and I couldn’t deny what he did to me, his hungry gaze sending a rush of heat straight to my core. Feeling a surge of confidence, I lifted his scarred hands to my lips, placing soft kisses on them, I wanted to show him that I wasn’t afraid, that I accepted all of him even the parts he was ashamed of.

“y/n…” he said his voice low and rough, my name like a prayer on his lips.

I said his name, my voice pleading. I needed to be close to him. He must have felt the same, an unspoken agreement passing between us as he pulled me into his lap, my legs moving to straddle him as I rested my arms around his neck. My nightgown bunched at the top of my thighs, but I didn’t care as our mouths met in a desperate kiss, a clash of teeth and tongues as he took control.

His hands moved down my body to cup my backside, grinding me against him, his arousal thick and hard, straining through the fabric of his linen pants. The thin material of my panties did nothing to hide the wetness pooling at his actions.

He abruptly broke the kiss bringing his forehead to rest against mine “make me forget…please” he practically begged

“Az…” I practically moaned his name, bringing my hands to cup his face as I leaned in, pressing my lips against his in a much more sensual kiss. this kiss was much different from the first, I wanted to take my time, and savor the taste of him.

Time seemed to slow down, as my hands moved to grasp his hair, twirling the messy locks in my fingers as we explored each other. His own hands pulling me tight against his chest. I was so lost in my emotions that I gently tugged on that golden thread between us, needing to be closer to him.

He broke the kiss and I practically whined at the loss, opening my eyes to find him looking intensely at me. I couldn’t help but think that I wanted to drown myself in those endless pools of hazel as my entire world shifted, as that ribbon between us roared to life, glowing brighter and brighter as it connected us together, our very souls merging into one. The bond, he had felt it.

“You’re- you’re” he stuttered his eyes lining with silver at the realization, one that I had known for weeks.

I smiled, nodding profusely feeling a tidal wave of emotions flow down the bond.

“I’m your mate” I said softly. He brought his head to rest on my shoulder, placing a delicate kiss to it.

“You’re my mate” he repeated needing to say the words himself. “that’s how you really knew about the nightmare right?”

I nodded “I’m so sorry Az” I whispered “seeing what- what they did to you” a stray tear fell from the corner of my eye “I could feel everything, it was awful”

He brought his hands to frame my face, his thumbs wiping away the tears “It’s alright, it happened so long ago but the nightmares, they can be overwhelming, but I wouldn’t change it, all of it brought me here. All the pain and suffering eventually led me to you…my mate” the last two words were so full of love and wonder I buried my face into his chest breathing him in.

We sat like that for a while, just simply holding each other until a yawn escaped his lips.

“Maybe we should go back to sleep” I proposed

“Will you stay?” he asked rubbing small comforting circles on my back

“As long as you want me to”

He pulled us further onto the bed, his chest pressing against my back, his arm coming to rest across my stomach pulling me flush against him. I had never felt so safe or secure being held like this. His arms were where I wanted to be, where I would happily reside for the rest of my days. And from now on, I would always be there to chase his nightmares away.

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Thank you for reading!

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#azriel x reader #azriel x y/n #azriel shadowsinger #acotar fanfic #acotar fanfiction #thanks for the ask! #request #acotar series #bookish-whore

[coochiequeens]

Su Min is an inspiring woman

In late 2020 Su Min left her unhappy marriage behind and hit the road. The 58-year-old retiree had raised her family and done her duties, and her husband, she says, was treating her badly. So she studied online videos about road trips and set off across Chinaalone in a VW hatchback with her pension and a rooftop tent.

As she travelled, Su filmed and posted videos and diaries of her journey, speaking candidly of her dissatisfying life of housework. She also marvelled at the beauty of the country she was finally exploring, and made new friends.

Su built a following of millions and regularly trended on social media, featuring in a Net-A-Porter advertisement for International Women’s Day.

As Su travelled and her fame grew, many women saw her as an accidental feminist icon, for rejecting the traditional expectations of a housewife and grandmother and taking control of her life. She shyly dismisses the moniker and says she’s not that famous, but enjoys how often she is stopped on the street, and how older women in particular have related to her story.

“As an ordinary housewife, someone who no one pays attention to on the street, to now have a lot of people see me and 

recognise me, this means there is an improvement in my life ,” Su tells the Guardian via Zoom. “I am at least acknowledged, and I think a life in which you are acknowledged is really good.”

Su had married in her early 20s. After growing up in Tibet and moving to Henan after high school she married after meeting her future husband just a few times. She says the marriage soon became unhappy, but she didn’t leave, fearing the strong social stigma around divorces.

Her husband has not spoken publicly about her trip or her accusations against him.

Change came in 2019 when Su saw an online video about someone living what has been popularised in the west as “van life”, and made a decision: when the grandchildren she was helping to care for entered kindergarten, she would leave, and she has barely looked back since.

“I met many like-minded travel pals, and fans who like me, so my life is wonderful on the road,” Su says. “I am very fulfilled, and so there is no feeling of loneliness or discomfort. On the road, my friends keep me company.”

Along her journey she upgraded the hatchback to a campervan. “I finally have my own home,” she told viewers in one post. “In the past, many things don’t belong to me in my family. There was not my name on those things. But my name is finally on this van now.”

Last month, after two years, 80,000 kilometres, 10 provinces and 200 cities, Su came home.

She returned to Henan province to spend the mid-autumn festival with her family, and to tell her husband she wanted a divorce. Su says her husband made no contact with her the entire time she was away.

The reunion, filmed and uploaded to her social media, appears awkward and hostile. In the video her husband seems to make comments about her return, saying she couldn’t survive out there any longer. One Weibo discussion hashtag about the video has been viewed more than 380m times, with streams of mostly supportive comments.

“I’m so happy for her! Su Min has changed,” said one commenter. “She can finally be free, so she is changing her fate. Go, Su Min!”

Su says she has the support of her children in seeking a divorce, and hopes her husband will grant her one. But if he doesn’t, she will just continue her travels.

“Divorce is just a piece of paper, it doesn’t have much meaning,” she says. “I won’t have a second family or seek other partners anyway, I will rely on myself … My husband did not interfere with my travelling, so if I go on the road again, he will just let me be.”

Additional reporting by Xiaoqian Zhu and Chi Hui Lin

#Inspiring women #china #su min

[residents-of-the-darkforest]

Dark Forest Resident: Pinepaw

Aliases / Nicknames: Pineazure

Gender: tom

Sexuality: bisexual

Family: Mallowfleck (mother), Fringehawk (father), two unnamed littermates, Grasskit, Wrenkit (half-sisters)

Other Relations: unnamed mentor, Whistledawn (step-mother)

Clan: WindClan

Rank: apprentice, loner

Characteristics: always looks for the good in everyone and every situation, loves learning about all kinds of creatures, has a vast sense of humour (many things are funny)

Murder Motive: vengeance

Number of Victims: 3 (2 unintentionally)

Number of Murders: 3 (2 unintentionally)

Murder Method: poisoning

Known Victims: Fringehawk, Grasskit, Wrenkit

Victim Profile: his father, his sisters

Cause of Death: infection due to fox trap, sickness from infection

Cautionary Tale: ??

Story: 

He knew, though he tried to fight the growing infection as best as he could, that he was going to die soon. Less than a moon, he would say, though as the days went by, it was harder and harder to keep track of time--of anything other than his haunting memories.

He also knew long before then that he would go to the Dark Forest. There was no question about that.

Though he hated that he had wanted to kill someone enough to actually do it, he didn't necessarily regret Fringehawk's death. But his little sisters....

He had always loved his family.

He was born in a small litter during a Leaf-bare so harsh that come Newleaf, he was the only one left. He was too young to truly grieve for them, thankfully, but he could remember what happened in the next moons.

Due to their loss, Fringehawk and Mallowfleck doted completely on their son. Mallowfleck joined him when he went to the elders to tell a story, she would hold him when he cried from a nightmare and groom his fur until he fell asleep.

Fringehawk was the one who showed him around the camp when he first left the nursery. He showed Pinekit the basic hunting and fighting moves--Pinekit had felt so cool knowing those things before his apprenticeship! Most often, he would play with his son any time Pinekit asked, no matter how tired he seemed.

Then Fringehawk had limped back to camp, carrying Mallowfleck's body on his back. He had explained that she had ran across the Thunderpath to catch a rabbit, but was struck by a monster.

Fringehawk seemed so distressed, and he held his son as they both sobbed, staying together with Mallowfleck throughout the night.

That was bad, but what was worse was when Whistledawn of ShadowClan joined WindClan, and almost instantly became mates with Fringehawk. They were...almost too close, too quickly. It was like they already knew each other well.

Pinekit was upset, but he managed to convince himself that it was all in his head. Fringehawk deserved to be happy, didn't he?

The new couple soon had their own kits, due shortly after Pinekit would become Pinepaw.

Pinepaw loved his little sisters. They may not have been Mallowfleck's, but he saw his mother's spirit just the same, and looked greatly forward to protecting them and playing with them, just as she would him. He regularly visited the nursery when he was finished his apprentice duties, and more often than not fell asleep curled up next to their nest.

Had he been too harsh? He didn't think he outright said anything to his father outside of passive-aggressive comments, but Whistledawn kept giving him strange looks, like she wasn't sure what he was thinking...had she guessed his reservations?

In a defining early dawn, he woke up to see Whistledawn leaving the den. He decided to follow her out of the camp to have a heart-to-heart talk, but the way she looked around and slunk through the moor, it was clear she didn't want to be seen.

Curiosity got the better of him, and Pinepaw followed still. Eventually Whistledawn would meet with Fringehawk, who had been on the dawn patrol and broke off from the others to hunt solo.

Pinepaw had been beginning to wonder if he should leave them alone and just go back to his sisters, but then Whistledawn said something that captured his attention. "You should have never told me about his mother."

He decided to stay, and with every word that was exchanged between the two, the more the rose-coloured lens before his eyes cracked more and more, until they shattered completely, piercing his eyes and making him see a different kind of red.

His loving father, the tom he admired and trusted, had killed his mother. He had dragged her body onto the Thunderpath to be crushed and mangled, hiding the evidence of what really killed her. He did it all so that he could be with his true love.

There was hardly any articulate planning. He simply found mushrooms his mentor warned could be toxic, crushed them up with a rock, and stuffed them inside a young rabbit he then dropped onto the fresh-kill pile while the other patrols were still being organized.

He couldn't believe what he was doing...he couldn't believe what his father had done.

He was no murderer. He shouldn't be, at least, he didn't even like battles. But the rage was like nothing he had ever felt before. It set his fur alight as if he had been struck by scarlet lightning, making his whole body tremble and his claws to tear up his nest in the apprentice's den.

When his mentor told him that it was time to train, he asked if he could eat first--explaining that he had missed a meal the previous day in the hopes that his mentor wouldn't tell him to train first. He didn't want the rabbit to get into innocent paws.

When it was accepted, Pinepaw waited for his father and his mate to return. Then, he dragged the rabbit to his father, suggesting he eat it--it was small, only a little over enough for one cat.

Licking his lips, his father dug in. Pinepaw was quick to follow his mentor out of the camp. He couldn't help but shudder at his own actions. He didn't want to stick around for the result.

But perhaps if he had stayed, he could have prevented his sisters from sharing the meal.

He had not expected that to be an issue. They had only ever drank milk, but apparently, Fringehawk thought that that day of all days was the perfect time to wean them.

Pinepaw tried to move on, but he just couldn't. His chest heaved whenever he thought too much, and Stars, his mind could never settle. He dreamt of his sisters accusing him of killing them, and woke up yowling.

He was on a patrol when he made a split-second decision. He broke away from his mentor and the other warriors, racing across the Thunderpath that his father used to mangle his mother's body, and into the unknown.

He didn't deserve the luxury of Clan life....he didn't deserve anything.

Four days into his life as a loner, his leg got caught in a foxtrap. A broken Twoleg thing like ice was nearby, thankfully sharp enough to cut through the silver string--though it also tore his tongue.

But though he could now move away, there was still enough left of the silver string to tighten around his leg and cause him to limp in pain. That wasn't too bad though--it kept his thoughts distracted and occupied.

It eventually became obvious that infection was setting in. He tried to combat it, using any herbs he found, but he was no medicine cat, and had spent almost no time at all in the den. The wound grew more and more yellow, he grew more and more unkempt and tired, and his leg ached more and more until it was no longer surprising relief but agony.

This was StarClan's punishment.

Pinepaw deserved it.

He was a kit-killer.

And he deserved whatever next punishment awaited him in the Place of No Stars.

Additional Information: 

--Second adoptive kit of Martenstep! They look similar, and cats often mistake them for bio family.

He becomes best friends with his uncle Cricketfur's son, Crispoak. His older adoptive sister, Needlepaw, loves him and tries to guide him as much as she can.

--Whistledawn didn't know about Fringehawk's actions until after she joined the Clan, and confronted him because the more time Pinepaw spent around her and the kits, the more guilty she felt.

--The thing he used to cut the silver-string was glass! Cats don't use that kind of stuff in IRL, but I figure it's perfectly normal in the Warriors universe for them to grab something in their jaws and use that if they really need to.

--It was generally accepted that Pinepaw ran away because the death of his mother and sisters after his mother was too much for him, though patrols were sent out to search for two moons.

--Pinepaw killed at around 6 moons, and died at around 7 moons. In the Dark Forest, he gets his full name.

--Base used: F2U Cat Base by toxelavi on DeviantArt

#pinepaw #pineazure #martenstep #cricketfur #crispoak #needlepaw #dark forest profile #wc #warriors oc #df oc #dark forest oc #place of no stars oc #dark forest #place of no stars #apprentice oc #dark forest warrior #dark forest apprentice #warrior cats #warrior cats oc #warrior cats df

[piratekane]

How do you stop yourself from burnout working in education? I’ve only been qualified for 3 years but i am so burned out already. I love teaching and i love the kids, and i feel so guilty for being tired. But i have been working 60 hour weeks, only being paid for 36 of them, constantly trying to deal with aprents and please the school, being expected to volunteer for sports clubs and activities for 2-3 hours a few times a week, weekend clubs, constant grading. It’s not the kid’s fault, it’s the system. I’m spending upwards of $300 on school supplies regularly because the school won’t, i have a 1h commute. Our school refuses to hire subs where possible so not only do i have my own kids and subjects to worry about i have someone else’s. The system is broken and i am broken by it. Is there a way to stop feeling this way?

Teacher burnout is for real. Teachers are underpaid, underfunded, and overworked and frankly, it's an epidemic. You should not feel guilty for being tired because what you're doing is exhausting work. It is a broken system and sadly, it doesn't look like much is going to change quick enough. And it's a loss. Because there are tons of teachers like you, who I'm sure are insanely talented, insanely devoted to furthering young minds, and you're being trapped behind bureaucratic lines that expect everything from you but give you nothing in return. (And don't get me started on the parents. There should be a course in 'How Not To Be An Asshole' that's mandatory.) It's okay to admit that a kid's love and admiration and growth isn't enough to keep you going some days. It's certainly not enough to keep on your lights or put gas in your car. Without you, children grow less. Without you, minds shrink. And yet... The system actively works against you, throwing roadblock after roadblock. And that? It fucking sucks.

I don't know you personally, but I'm going to assume that you care about your kids and you care about your work and if no one has said thank you today, thank you. Thank you for making and keeping those kids your priority. Thank you for putting so much of yourself into your work - no one just spends their personal money because they don't care. No one drives an hour each way because they don't give a shit. No one asks these kinds of questions because it doesn't mean a thing to them. So thank you. Thank you for all you've done and thank you for all you continue to do. You're someone's favorite teacher. You're probably more than just one kid's favorite teacher. You matter. Your district can suck it.

I wish I had some practical advice. I wish I could say "do yoga, go for a walk, go out with friends" and that would work. But the most I've got for you is this: take care of yourself. And maybe, sort of, I am saying do yoga. Because what you need to do is set time for yourself. What's that post about hope being a skill? Self-care is a skill. And you need to practice it daily. Read for yourself, even if it's just for 15 minutes. Pick up gardening or get some plants. (Plants helped me through that first long lock down period, I swear it on my life). We have a teacher at our school who was struggling hard and she saw that and said, I need to do something for me. She tackled our garden area and she's insistent it saved her life. It certainly saved her career - she was going to burn out quick and hot. But she put time into something that she could see and it totally changed her perspective. Pick a self-care practice where you can see progress, something tangible. Because it's nice to think, "I'm doing so well at self-care" and it's another to see the change. I personally find that more rewarding than the abstract. So pick something. Pick more than one thing. And in between the school day and the grading and eating (please, eat regularly and make sure there's some veggies in there), set aside some time to do something just for you. Watch yourself progress and know that if you were getting a grade in self-care, it'd be top marks. (But don't push it. Don't turn it into another thing you stress about. Pick something that feels good, that makes you want to get through A, B, and C so you can get to you-time.)

My other advice is to adopt a cat. That's always a game changer.

#okay that seemed slightly aggressive and i'm sorry #but fuck man teachers are everything and they're treated like nothing #i'm fortunate to work somewhere where teachers are held up but my cousin is in an opposite situation and i feel immensely sorry #that her talent and consideration are going to dry up quicker than it should because the system just doesn't care #i realize that this ask wasn't looking for grandstanding but i HATE the education system and even as i move higher up through it i find tha #i am highly protective of my teachers and would fight the state at a moment's notice #rant over i will go away now

[astolary]

Can you give me a headcanon of Chamber x female agent, where she has time control powers but it drastically affects her health?

𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐂𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐓𝐈𝐌𝐄 .

( Synopsis ) While the clock ticked forward, so did all of you. It just so happened that you did it under abnormal circumstances.

— or in which a series of abnormal events led you to your first meeting with Chamber, escalating to so much more.

( Pairing ) Chamber x F! Agent Reader

( Content Warnings ) Hallucinations, nightmares, cursing, wounds.

( Word Count ) 1.3k+ words // NOT EDITED! 

You were lying on Chamber's chest, dozing off to his steady heartbeat. It was one of the rare times where everybody in the protocol acknowledged taking a step back was the best thing to do.

“Ma chéri," He paused, finding the right words. You felt him adjust his position. You assumed he was fiddling with something.

"Do you remember the first time we met?" He spoke lightly, burying his nose in your hair.

You nodded, the memory flashing in your mind. "I just wished we met under better circumstances."

[ star chosen: your powers . ]

Time was an abstraction of chaos and identity, all wrapped up together with our history and memoirs. It was taken lightly. The past constructed the present, while we defined the future.

Pulling out one of those aspects from the spectrum would rearrange the balance, ultimately creating a disturbance within the order.

Maybe you were just a bit more distinct from the rest. But when you were cursed blessed with your powers, you knew what you were getting into when you warped time just for a bit. You felt your life freeze before you.

It put you in a tight situation. You knew people were going to go after you. You knew you were going to start learning things you were never supposed to know. You knew your life wouldn't be the same anymore. Never had you swallowed the truth so promptly;

You were a part of an entirely new race introduced to the world, and that race was completely abhorred by thousands.

Clairvoyance. You immediately recognized. You could see a small snippet of the future.

Reverse. The earth that you stood on witnessed memories of people that passed by. Once the problem happened, you could reverse time with no back draws. Simple, right?

No. What you were most afraid of was pressing forward towards the future.

You fucking took the lives of your enemies- the time that they could have lived would be taken by you. 30 years? It could possibly be only 30 minutes. All the horrors, the hardships, the downfalls they could go through during the time you've taken will be passed on to you.

You were grateful! You didn't have to worry about giving away years of your life, but the thought of blood in your hands terrified you. Hallucinations, and nightmares, it happened so regularly that they affected your health so much.

You first met Chamber when you saved Viper out of the prison-like chamber she was stuck in.

It was raining, when you caught a glimpse of the future. You saw a woman imprisoned inside a chamber. You were familiar with the area she was trapped in; because you were inside there right now, a sketchy warehouse. Her emerald eyes clashed with yours, and the glare the woman gave was frightening. A symbol was embedded on the device she wore on her wrist, and then, you were brought back to reality.

You decided to look for that woman, and when you saved her, you admittedly put your guard down.

—

"Viper's scary." You looked around the room, checking if the chemist was listening to your conversation (for some odd reason.) "She's still scary to me until today."

"You were the one that saved her, no? That's why she may have a bit of a, a soft spot, for you." Chamber muttered.

"Not my fault I'm more likable than you," You retorted. Chamber pinched your side a bit, which made you yelp.

The atmosphere stiffened a bit, you noted.

"To be quite frank, I hardly cared about you back then," Chamber spoke truthfully. "You were someone who just made my job quicker, but, seeing my relationship with you right now..."

"...you wished you helped me more?" You finished, meeting his eyes. He said nothing.

[ star chosen: how you both met . ]

Viper eyed you wearily, but she put her suspicions down about you for a bit when you explained the situation.

Unfortunately for the both of you, you must have triggered an alarm. The both of you were outnumbered when more people were summoned by their leader.

And that's when Brimstone and Chamber popped in, Chamber saving you from a marksman situated at the top of the warehouse.

Everybody was gravely injured, unfortunately, especially you. Viper nursed you to the best of her extent while Brimstone wrapped bandages on your wounds. Chamber left immediately after the situation was cleared, which saddened you when you won't be able to get the chance of thanking him properly.

Before parting ways, Viper gave you something, then both she and Brimstone walked away.

It was a while after the incident when Viper reached out to you again. You agreed to join, hearing how there were more people out there like you.

Standing inside Brimstone's office, you stood beside Chamber who saved you the last time you both ran into each other. "Chamber? Seriously?" You glanced at his codename written on the contract.

"I thought it would be the best name to commemorate the experience." His tone was mocking, "Two leaders of the protocol, stuck inside a Chamber. But it's perfectly fine, we all make mistakes!"

—

"Past you would be laughing at where you are right now."

"He would," Your boyfriend immediately agreed. "My mirror self did, imagine my past self."

"And," Chamber added, "He would also be mortified when finding out your situation."

"I thought we agreed not to talk about that!"

"You gave me a heart attack, I'll remind you about it again and again."

[ star chosen: how he comforts you with your situation . ] 

The both of you were already together, but you never told him about anything.

Call it something petty, but you wanted him to open up to you. A fair trade. A secret for a secret.

Which, didn't work out, because he found out one evening.

Chamber was passing by your room when you were having a hallucination. He could hear things being toppled down to the floor, along with your gasps and cries.

He knocked on your door multiple times, but to no avail, nothing. It resulted in teleporting inside your room.

You were sleepwalking around the room, hands above your ears, begging the demons to stop.

He had to pin you down to your bed to get you to snap out of it, and to your horror he witnessed everything.

"You've been suffering like this after every mission?" He asked quietly. Tell me it's a lie, tell me you're just joking. His eyes begged.

"We're telling this to Sage," He stood up, pulling you out of the bed immediately.

"No! We can't!"

"You cannot continue to live the rest of your life like this, ma chéri."

You? Growing up while facing all those horrors? The both of you were still young, he refused for you to live in endless agony.

After every mission, he would make you rest your head on his shoulder or lap. He would stroke your hair, hoping while you were asleep, you were having good dreams.

Chamber would stand outside the infirmary after each check-up with Sage, taking mental notes in his head if he needs to buy you something.

Would do breathing exercises with you, being sleep-deprived after what you go through is unacceptable. (You get some sleep mf-)

Because of sound therapy, playing music in your room has comforted your mental health the most.

Makes sure to glare at anyone who's too noisy or invading your comfort zone.

Will ask Brimstone to excuse your absence, working in a harsh environment would not help you in any way.

—

∙ "I get it! I get it! Stop reminding me," You placed your hand over his mouth, shutting him up. "You, helping me, are not reasons as to why I owe my life to you."

∙ "I know, I know."

∙ You pretended to be angry, but you couldn't stop the small smile from spreading on your face. "Thank you for helping me. I love you."

∙ "I love you more."

astolary 2022 — do not edit, repost, or translate.

#（ ❁ଓ.° ） astro! valorant #valorant #valorant headcanons #valorant protocol #valorant x reader #valorant chamber x reader #chamber x reader #chamber headcanons #chamber x yn

[theonevoice]

15 people, 15 questions

Tagged by @streetcornertwoam (thanks!)

1. Are you named after anyone?

Not a specific person, my parents chose for me and my brother two names of Latin origins, mine from the Roman gens Valeria, after the verb "valere", meaning "to be strong". So how often do you think about the Roman Empire?

2. When was the last time you cried?

I don't cry very often these days, but on July 28 the final episode of Good Omens s2 got me sobbing, unexpectedly, because a couple of years ago I indeed had a "final fifteen" moment (minus the kiss and the hope for a s3), and I swear to god it was so identical, down to certain choices of words, that for several minutes after the ending I had to double check to make sure that I had actually seen it on screen and was not allucinating.

3. Do you have kids?

Nope, and I don't think I will, I don't feel like I could manage that amount of responsibility.

4. What sports do you play/have played?

I used to swim a lot, but now I only hike. Not the athletic type at all!

5. Do you use sarcasm?

Yes, way too often, but I try to restrain myself because it's very easy to hurt someone with sarcasm and the older I get the less willing I am to contribute to the general harshness of human relations. If I met someone who really deserves it, though, I will not hesitate to peel their skin off their face.

6. What's the first thing you notice about people?

Voice. 90% of my initial reaction to any new person is dictated by how much I like their voice.

7. What’s your eye color?

Hazel.

8. Scary movies or happy endings?

Both, as long as they are well written. I strongly believe that fear and hope are both core parts of the human experience, and when they are well translated into fiction I enjoy them equally.

9. Any talents?

Does overthinking counts? For real though, it's a pain in everyday life, but it's a useful trait to have overdeveloped in academic research since it makes you quite the analyst.

10. Where were you born?

Italy, in the happy town of Montefiascone, one of our many "wine cities", but grew up in a little village near Orvieto, another one of our many "wine cities", connected to both Montefiascone and Orvieto via the Alta Tuscia Wine Road. If you are catching a theme, well... cheers!

11. What are your hobbies?

Too many for my non-existent free time. I play the piano and used to sing in a choir that unfortunately doesn't exist anymore (but I still do my voice excercise every now and then); I like sewing my own clothes; I like gardening; I got back into drawing after a solid decade spent not picking up a pencil (thanks to Good Omens); I love reading books and generally consuming fiction, but since this last part overlaps with my job I don't know if it counts as hobby anymore...

12. Do you have any pets?

I have currently 7 cats, most of them were abandoned nearby by shitty people who saw a stretch of countryside and just dropped them (which left some of them with several traumas, like refusing to eat alone for fear that while they're eating we will vanish). Depending on the time of the year, we take care of the unofficial colony that regularly assembles around our house (even more cats, hedgehogs, some badgers, stray dogs - but the dogs we have to report for everyone's safety, including theirs).

13. How tall are you?

Barely 5'1, I could easily play a hobbit in a Tolkien-based show without the vfx team even noticing, I am one of those unfortunate souls who watch the upper shelf in their kitchen with the same longing and desire with which normal people watch the Moon.

14. Favorite subject in school?

My absolute favorites were Literature, Physics and Technical drawing (you can still easily lure me into any trap by dangling a goniometer in front of me).

15. Dream job?

The one I am so lucky to have right now, and that I'm trying to make permanent (which is the hardest part). I am currently a researcher in the field of Comparative Literature with a specialization in Literary Theory, which may sound like something that one would make up in a tumblr bio, but it's actually a thing (unfortunately does not involve formulating theories about stories or characters, it's about looking at a chunk of literary history and trying to understand why certain genres, themes or writing practices rise and fall). I hope I can keep doing this, because I honestly love it, even if the chances are slim.

I don't know who to tag since my social anxiety extends to "oh god I cannot possibly bother those people just because they sometimes like my posts", so I will borrow the Italian tradition of the pending coffee and will leave a pending tag:

@

if you see this and would like to do it, consider yourself tagged!

#Hi from the wine nation #about me i guess

[mlobsters]

supernatural s8e16 remember the titans (w. daniel loflin)

hint of leg, gasp

i've seen this painting before

why does this wackadoodle war room thing have a sink in it? other than give the ability to have dean walk in on sam hiding being sick

appreciate all the angles so we can set the extent of the set. she's fancy

DEAN So, no word from Cas, Kevin's taking his sweet little time, and you're acting cagey. We need a lead before I start climbing these walls.

scraping at the bottom of my brainpan to remember when we last saw cas and if we're reconciled or still mad

you're lookin extra pretty today, padalecki. i like the shorter side bang action

bird ate the liver ha ha so it is indeed gonna be a thing, okay

SAM Could be looking for a witch, yeah. You know what? He's parked here. He's safe. Maybe we should just get another room until we can figure this out. DEAN All right, but you're the one going full-cavity for the hex bag.

excuse me what

SAM Well, that's not – never mind. Um…We need to think. Dean, what do we know of that has Jason Bourne fighting skills, dies a lot, and has a history with violent women? DEAN I don't know – you?

all right that was pretty great. i'll take it!

before dean answered my thoughts were the old guard

first one because it's a pretty shot. second and third, dean with the death glare at the family

DEAN Okay, so who is this guy? SAM Best I can tell? Prometheus.

LOL okay. so *literally* prometheus

SAM I'm guessing Artemis, Zeus' daughter. She's been known to carry around weapons like that dagger. They're nasty. They'll kill Immortals dead.

need to add that one to the collection. this is silly

DEAN Wait. I'm sorry. You just discovered that you have a seven-year-old son, and you want to walk away?

jealous/projecting much

okay so i thought i knew her voice, she was in the replacements! big soft spot for football and football movies and this one doesn't age well (replacement players aka our heroes are scabs) however if you take that aspect away, it's sweet and funny and there was a line by gene hackman in it that was such a good visual for my perpetual anxiety

Jimmy McGinty: Like a duck on the pond. On the surface everything looks calm, but beneath the water those little feet are churning a mile a minute.

the replacements (2000) brooke langton as annabelle farrell

now i have soft feelings for this rando lady because of it lol

i really think being a fan of teen wolf was good preparation for these later seasons of supernatural. plot that makes me roll my eyes regularly, no problem. it's no ~75 year old computer behind a wall in someone's fancy lake house being the only thing keeping a hit list of supernatural creatures active

handy they had a magic trap for a god.

*nodding sagely* yes, longbow of diana, of course

SAM You know… I'm starting to think maybe I was being naive. DEAN What are you talking about? SAM When I said that I could just will myself into coming out of these trials unscathed. DEAN No, no, no. Stop with the sullen emo crap, all right? That's – you're not gonna die like Prometheus. SAM How do you know, Dean? Bobby, Rufus, now Prometheus – you think any of them chose death? No. The life chose for them. DEAN Yeah, well, you promised, okay? You promised to live a long, Clark Griswold life full of prostate exams and colonoscopies, all right? You're not welshing on that deal, not on my watch. If you die, it's gonna be because of something normal.

i don't understand the leap of logic to dying like prometheus but okay we're talking, that's always good. now would also be the time to say hey by the way i'm coughing up/spitting up blood

also dean, why don't you have to promise to live a long life (oh right because you won't)

DEAN Cas, you got your ears on? Listen, you know I am not one for praying, 'cause in my book it's... it's the same as begging. But this is about Sam, so I need you to hear me. We are going into this deal blind... and I don't know what's ahead or what it's gonna bring for Sam. Now, he's covering pretty good, but I know that he is hurting, and this one was supposed to be on me. So, for all that we've been through, I'm asking you... you keep a lookout for my little brother, okay? Where the hell are you, man?

💔okay so i'm glad dean is aware that sam's hiding that he's in pain/sick/whatever and just isn't pushing him on it. pullin out the little brother again so soon

(insert joke about dean begging here)

something about this mushy music has me feeling twilight or hunger games and i'm not sure which. ugh. bella's lullaby / rue's music (but that doesn't even have piano but it does have that plucked acoustic guitar like day before yesterday's s8e14 princess bride-esque music)

fucking fine, i listened to this again and the music is making me twitchy. why is it ringing this bell??? it's the little melody at the end around 30 seconds left. is it a theme used elsewhere in this show? is it just too similar to something else i'm thinking of? motherFUCKER. the score on this show is generally is such a nothingburger that it's in one ear and out the other for me.

#supernatural #spnwatch #spn 8x16 #andrew loflin #the replacements #spnhiky #hiky #brooke langton #spn musical score #spn mushy music

[kny-stardust]

Chapter 7 — Diaries

Word Count: 3215

Summary: You began to face your greatest challenge yet: to become someone capable of slaying demons. It's not an easy path, but you're willing to go through with it, despite your limitations as a person and as a fighter. Your only source of determination are your siblings, who you only wish the good, and while they don't wake up, you'll write your thoughts and feeling in diaries, letters to their future selves once they open your eyes.

Weeks had quickly gone by as you began your training. Everyday was a struggle, as Mr. Hantengu kept his word to turn your life a living hell. Every morning you woke up with your sore body to prepare everyone a breakfast to start the day, your siblings with their respective chore, Mr. Hantengu and you with the training. Every night, you came back wasted, but still cared for your siblings, making them warm food, bathing them, putting them to sleep, cleaning the mess in the house before going to sleep yourself. It wasn't easy, in anyway, but having helped your mother to look after your family and the house from a young age, even though you were tired sure helped you wonders in these situations. What didn't help was your worry for Nezuko and Tanjiro.

Both of them were in a deep slumber from the day Mr. Hantengu took you all in. He even called for a doctor to check on both of them, but there seemed to be nothing wrong with you. You couldn't help the tears flooding your eyes when he left. You felt once again powerless that something was happening to them. The feeling you had when you put them to "sleep" and they didn't react to your touches came to haunt you again like a cruel ghost. What if they didn't wake up? Would they ever wake up? Or would they die in their slumber while you were out? All these thoughts tormented you for days.

The only thing that consoled you was Mr. Hantengu's experience with demons. There are only two ways of a demon to die: by being exposed to light or by being beheaded with a special blade like his own. Demon would grow weak by not eating regularly, but it wouldn't kill them, or so he said. He also presented you with a idea: write a diary, as to keep tracking of the time and so your siblings would know what you did while they were asleep when they woke up. You thought it would be a good idea, so you started.

Today I ran down the mountain.

I've been doing this eversince we came to live with Mr. Hantengu. He said that living in a mountain and going up and down it while carrying coals on my back gave me decent physical strength and endurance, but it only made me a little better than normal people. It was nowhere near enough what I needed to have in other to be a slayer. So, going up and down the mountain was a must and would allow him to do multiple trainings at the same time.

The air was thinner the higher we climbed, and was very thin in the large boulder I saw those swords, so training going up and down would help me breathe better, as well as train my endurance in a situation where I needed more energy with little fuel (air) available. The traps were good for my senses and instincts. He said that I might not always see a demon approaching so a quick reaction and being able of sensing a demon nearby, even hidden, was good to keep me alive. There's also the fact that some demons have Blood Demon Arts, special abilities that make them much more deadlier. While he can't name every single one, as every Demon develops different powers, using traps that could come from anywhere, I would learn to evade one targeting me or the area I'm in.

My biggest worry, though, is that the traps are getting deadlier. I don't know if he's trying to actually train me or getting me killed in the training.

Today, Mr. Hantengu decided to help me train running down the mountain.

While it should prepare me more, I can't help the feeling that he's actually trying to kill me. His help is actually chasing me around and trying to hit me. He chases me around with a variety of wooden tools, and it hurts! My arms and legs are turning purple from how many times he's hit me! He complained that it didn't show as much when he and Aizetsu trained, but their skin is much darker than mine! Of course mine shows more! And I think he's enjoying this much more than he should!

His explanation for this type of training is that demons can also think, and they would try to hit me with any available mean possible. So it's not enough to just run, but to be aware of the multiple ways I can get attacked. My brain is going to melt at this point.

Ah, also, there's something cute I need to tell you. I got back from training today and saw our siblings sitting around you. You still haven't woken up, but they were talking to you as if you two were awake, talking about their day and their thoughts. Rokuta is learning to talk better. It's so cute!

With all this training, I haven't been able to be as present as I used to be. Shigeru came the other day to say they've been missing me around them. I told this to Mr. Hantengu and said that it is to be expected. As a slayer, I'll have to walk around Japan for weeks and months, so I probably won't be able to see them as much, if at all. We don't know how long it will take for me to heal Nezuko and Tanjiro either, so it may take a long time for me to come back to live with them. In the end, it may actually be better for them to get used to my absence, as they won't miss me as much. I feel bad, but there's nothing I can do about it.

————————————

Mr. Hantengu began to train me with a sword.

He had told me previously that each trainer has their own technique, and his was one he made for himself after he failed to fully learn his trainer's when he was young. He also told me that each form of this breathing technique was made in a separate part of his life with different feeling in mind, taking multiple traits from the other breathings and applying to his own. Thanks to that, he said his technique was the most versatile, but one of the hardest to learn. He's had less disciples than other trainers thanks to it, but his were much better than the others.

He also told me that his breathing technique also allowed to each user have their own preference in weapon. He told me that he noticed that his sword would break a lot with his trainer's technique and he would get scolded a lot by his swordsmith. So he began to develop his own breathing and when his sword wasn't ready, he would use other weapon, then his style turned out his way. He said that the most optimal weapon for him was a sword, but Aizetsu's was a yari, a spear. So we first had to find out my most suitable weapon.

There isn't much mystery here. It was a sword, but I'm stuck between a regular katana and a longer version of it called nodachi. Compared to the others weapons he head at his disposal, these two were the ones I "dealt better", in his own words. He meant that I could lift it somewhat well and wouldn't let it slip away from my grisp. He wasn't surprised, as I seemed to have some affinity to katana even though I never held one, but he didn't expect me to actually be comfortable with a nodachi. I told him that I had a feeling of just feeling right when I used his katana to kill that serpent oni from the village, but with a nodachi? That feeling was all to stronger. Even holding a regular katana felt wrong after it, ironically.

We spent the whole day with this trail and error to see what weapon suited me better, so I'll only train with a weapon tomorrow. He said that will start the basics with a regular katana, them move forward to nodachi.

I don't know why, but I'm feeling excited! I can't wait for tomorrow to come!

Hey, Nezuko, Tanjiro. Do you remember Mr. Aizetsu? I think Tanjiro might remember him better, given all the situation we went with him, but I'm not sure about you, Nezuko.

Either way, he's here in Mr. Hantengu's house, and he'll help me train!

He told me that he's been a bit injured in a mission so he had to rest to get better. He's been exchanging letters with Mr. Hantengu to get updates about us (he told me he was worried about us, isn't that cute). His wounds weren't so severe, so he asked permission to recover in his father's house, and he was granted.

And yes, Mr. Aizetsu is Mr. Hantengu's son. I had already known it, as Mrs. (F/N) had told me previously, but you weren't around, so it should be a surprise to you. Or maybe not, since they look too much similar. Like, they have the same skin tone and they when they are serious, they have the same expression. It's not just that! They also have some of the same habits, as in their way fo walking or doing a couple of things. I swear when I tell you that Mr. Aizetsu could easily pose as a younger version of Mr. Hantengu! However, there are some clear differences. Mr. Aizetsu's usual expression, personality and a couple of his traits are much more kinder and delicate than his father's. I think he got it from his mother, or it's just his own thing.

Either way, now he's here and he'll help me train. He's more used to longer weapons than Mr. Hantengu, so they both thought he would be a better teacher to help me in this matter. I can't wait to train with him. I'm excited!

I take back what I said. I don't want to train with him anymore.

Don't let Mr. Aizetsu soft voice deceive you! He's much more strict than Mr. Hantengu! Even when training with him running down the mountain, I didn't get hit as much as I did today! I don't know if it's Mr. Hantengu that was taking it easy on me, Mr. Aizetsu being younger and more physically prepared or both! My arms are turning purple again because of him!

Despite that, I felt much more comfortable training around him than I do with Mr. Hantengu. He's a lot more patient with me and takes his time explaining me everything, adjusting my stance and the way I wield my sword. He also explained a bit about Mr. Hantengu's breathing technique.

While he was active, he was a Hashira, which is just the highest level a slayer can get, and his breathing changes depending on his feeling. His first few forms were made when he in the beginning, then he was a bit more fearful, then his techniques were mostly counteractive than actively trying to slay the oni. Then, came his mostly enraged ones, with were much more powerful and active. Then, his most calmer ones, which were also much more counteractive, but held the same power than his enraged ones, being also much more swift. Next came his more sorrowful ones, which was when he was dealing with a huge loss, that he wanted to be done quickly with the missions, so he managed to make his attacks much more precise and deadly, as he somehow managed to extend his range of attacks much further than it should actually be possible. Finally, his more levelheaded ones, which were when he was the happiest in his life, so his attacks were much more active and he would evade attacks as easily as a leaf in the air.

I was amazed when I heard about this, as now I can understand fights better now (as I've been training) than I did before. No wonder he was considered one of the strongest in his prime, and even now. Mr. Aizetsu said that he couldn't fully learn his father's technique, but he was the best in his long ranged attacks, as he had very good spatial awareness. He also thought that this should be my case, having a longer weapon and being well aware of my movements. He promised that he would help me in the time he was were.

I miss Mr. Aizetsu. He has left a couple of weeks already, but I can't help but think of it now.

I still haven’t changed my mind about him. He’s a lot more strict and I’m still sore from all the extreme effort I had to do while training with him. But, I felt like he really was doing his best to teach me everything, to help me overcome my shortcomings and improve, to explain any doubts I had.

I don’t have this same feeling with Mr. Hantengu.

Don’t get me wrong. He’s been wonderful to us. Although he was really strict and distant in the beginning, he started to open up more to us, started talking more, smiling more. I used to see him drinking every now and then when no one was looking, but all the bottles had stopped completely at some point. I remember being worried about his drinking habits, so I asked him the reason of such a change, and he said something along the lines: “Well, since your siblings will be in my care for a while, I don’t want them to have a bad example for life.” I was sincerely happy to hear this! I remember a few older man in the village having their lives nearly destroyed because of their vice in alcohol. I was happy to not see him fall to the same path. He’s even gotten healthier and began to look younger. Now he truly looks like his age.

I don’t know when I got to have these feelings, but I’ve been having them for sometime now, and our siblings are having the same. Mr. Hantengu has become some sort of a parental figure to us. He’ll never replace father, of course, but he feels a lot like an uncle or a grandfather. I don’t remember grandpa well, since he died before father had us, but he gives me the same feelings that we had with grandma. He’s a good man, and caring, and looks like he’s doing his best. But, I don’t feel like he wants to train me.

I’ve had these feelings for quite a while. Actually, I’ve had them since the beginning, but only I could realize this now. Mr. Hantengu has been a lot harsh from the beginning, but he seemed to have soften up when time passed. He is patient and teaches me what I need to do and know, but he doesn’t take his time to explain my doubts. He usually tells me that I won’t have all the information I need when going to missions, so I’d have to figure it out on my own, and it was better to learn it sooner than latter.

I don’t think he is wrong about it. It must be his experience, but… I can’t help but think that there’s something more to it. Am I not doing enough? Am I not good enough? I’ve been trying my hardest, but I still can’t shake that feeling. Well, I guess that compared to his son, I mustn’t be nowhere good enough. I mean, you two should see Mr. Aizetsu using his breathing technique. It’s amazing, like the most carefully crafted masterpiece. I’m not good at that at all. I can’t do any of this techniques right, even the ones I’m the best with. He must think of me as a failure.

I’ll try harder. I really want to become a slayer to help you and Nezuko. But first, I need to get his acceptance.

It’s over. It’s really over. I don’t know what to do. I’m completely lost.

Today, Mr. Hantengu called me before I started climbing up the mountain, just like I’ve done this past year. He said he had something to tell me, but I could never expect him to tell me that.

“I have nothing more to teach you.” Mr. Hantengu said.

You stared at him in awe. You couldn’t believe it. First you thought you had heard it wrong, but he didn’t say anything else, so you probably wasn’t mistaken. You also thought that it was a silly joke he was telling you to see your reaction, like he’s done before, but he would quickly tell you so. Besides, he rarely had such a serious expression in his face when joking. It was no joke. He was serious.

“What do you mean, Mr. Hantengu?” You ask him, expecting to have some answers, but…

“Exactly what I said. I have nothing else to teach you. The rest is up to you.” He said, not saying anything else.

You can’t help but lower your head.

“Sir… I am… not good enough?” You ask him, and he’s surprisingly taken back by your words.

“What?” He asked, his voice hesitating.

“I know I’m not as good as Mr. Aizetsu.” You told him, feeling ashamed. “But I’m still trying, so...”

You heard him chuckling, then felt his hand rest on top of your head.

“This is not it.” He said, his voice the softest you ever heard. “You’re really good. One of the best students I ever had. But, there’s really nothing I can teach you anymore. It is up to you to take it to the next level. I can’t help you with that.”

“I… I don’t understand.” You tell him as his hands leaves your head.

“I’ll show you then. Follow me.” He said, repeating the same words he said all those months ago.

Like he instructed you to, you followed him, in silence. The sword you have been training all this time, Aizetsu’s sword, in your hand, as you’ve grown used to its weight and presence by your side. Quickly, you two made your way up to the mountain, something you could do in less than an hour after a year of running up and down the place. Finally, you reach the place where this all started. The large boulder with a couple of swords stuck to the ground.

“Do you see this?” Mr. Hantengu asked you.

“The boulder? What about it?” You asked him. You look at it, trying to see if there was something different to it, but it was the same as you’ve seen this whole year.

“This is your last test, (Y/N).” He said enigmatically, making you look at him as if he’s lost his mind. “If you want to go to the Final Selection, you must split this boulder with your sword in one attack.”

#demon slayer #kimetsu no yaiba #kny au #kny fanfic #kny roleswap au #reader insert #aizetsu #hantengu #kamado family

[donnerpartyofone]

As I was leaving last night's Very Bad Screening, I was pretty sure I saw someone from college who I really didn't want to run into--and sure enough when I got away and opened Instagram, the first thing it wanted to show me was a post by that guy celebrating his friends' terrible movie. He was half of a gay couple I lived with during my last year of school, in a little house in the nearest town. They were the kind of couple who were so fascinated by their own internal rhythm and logic that they could be totally insufferable to be around, and case in point: They regularly did this thing where they would get all of our friends excited for a party at our place. Then, once everyone was settled in, they'd park in the kitchen, blocking the only entrance/exit, and start to have a Very Personal Conversation. The conversation would quickly turn into loud, abject mourning and sobbing, although the subject never seemed that serious from the outside--it was typically some dumb thing that happened to them in high school, something they never seemed to get tired of, all their favorite media was about children and/or high school. Sometimes the sobbing would be accompanied by one of the guys randomly smashing our dinner plates, and in any case it would become so disturbing that everyone would have to leave. On one such occasion, we had rented IN THE REALM OF THE SENSES to have on in the background of the party (an INSANE idea, why did we do this?); if you don't know, this is a long, difficult drama featuring frequent hardcore sex scenes. Somehow things evolved so that after the movie started, I found myself trapped alone in the living room with a guy I had a crush on but who I really didn't know. There was an overpowering pressure to sit very still and be very adult about watching the entire porn drama together with a stranger of the opposite sex, especially as the alternative was to pass through the kitchen where the boys were weeping and smashing things. It was one of the worst social experiences of my young life that did not involve someone deliberately scaring and hurting me personally.

So those guys both turned out to be narcissistic nightmare people. One of them wound up overhauling his life after things got bad enough, so I'm told. The other one, who I saw at the festival, is surfaced to me by Instagram or whatever now and again and he may have "gotten his shit together" more but it hasn't done a thing for his personality, apparently. You never know what factors have made somebody the way they are, but the moral of this particular story is that just because there's a reason for something, that doesn't mean you have to like it!!

PS We didn't have to have a party for the ritual glass-breaking to happen. Late one night (I don't know how I slept through this but I was surely abusing a lot of cold medicine at the time) I opened my bedroom door to find a note lying on the floor that just said something like "Watch out, there's broken glass everywhere". There was no apology given or implied, not in the note and not in any future conversation. Neither of them ever apologized for anything.

[twostarry]

The Prince and the Rock Star - Rated E

“Maybe you should sleep,” Stede whispered to himself. He cleared his throat, which suddenly felt a bit constricted. “You’re seeing things.” The last three words felt strange. The pitch of his voice was deeper and warmer, far less nasal than it should have been. Stede stared at his arms as rivulets of ink trickled down and formed into tattooed images on his arms. Strange pulling sensations tugged at his body, like a dozen tiny hands were pulling backward on his shirt. He tilted his head back and when he leaned forward, long strands of silver and gray flopped into view. Every muscle in his body tensed at once, then surged as bulk deposited itself differently, transforming solid but soft into long and lean. *** Ed is a rock star. Stede is a socialite with a career in the recording industry. One night, a mysterious stranger, sensing the envy between them, offers a solution. The two trade lives willingly. Being in each others' skin unearths deep attraction they'd been denying. The Prince and the Pauper, but make it a smutty gay bodyswap.

Chapter 1

The grass is always greener, so the old saying goes. No matter how many stories get told about that statement's truth, some still covet what others have.

Two of those people are Edward Teach and Stede Bonnet, friends who envied things about each other. 

Stede Bonnet, the titular prince, is not a literal one in the sense that he’s royalty. But he comes from old money. Although he was a concert promoter, his family owns the company, along with a record label and a dozen radio stations. He didn’t have to fight for his job. He just had to ask for it. 

In contrast, Edward Teach has been working since he was 14. That was when he released his first single, a pop song that sent him around malls signing albums and earned him the cover of Tiger Beat magazine six times before he was twenty. He successfully took back his career in his thirties, and after that point, his life was one success after another. His home recording studio is lined with gold records and Grammys. His concerts regularly sold out, sometimes within hours. But Edward was trapped by his image, of a bad boy who churns out radio and family-friendly hits - edge with a pop hook. 

Stede envied Ed’s self-made success. As a young man, he dreamed of the stage, but that was one ambition where his family wouldn’t support him. He got into the music industry instead and spent decades helping others realize their dreams. Except for among the jetsetting elite, Stede was anonymous. His rise-by-nepotism meant he had very little respect within the industry, even though he promoted blockbuster concerts and helped a half dozen young artists find their feet in an industry that wanted to eat them alive. 

The two men met many years before when Ed’s career was on a downward spiral after he shed his teeny-bopper image but before he’d reinvented himself. Stede helped him through that transition, and the two formed a tight friendship based on mutual respect.

It might have been more if Stede hadn’t been married and Ed hadn’t been entangled in various…situationships. Plus, Ed’s touring and recording schedule meant they only saw each other in person once every couple of months. 

On one of those meetings, the two got drunk in a small, semi-private underground club frequented by industry types called Revenge. They got to talking about what they envied about each others’ lives. 

And someone overheard. 

Someone with a way for them to see for themselves whether the grass was indeed greener in the fields of the other man’s life.

Whether it was booze, the intense envy they felt for one another, or the secure knowledge that what they were being offered couldn’t possibly be real, Ed and Stede agreed to the purchase of a pair of lamps. Not genie lamps, but bedside ones, small, nondescript and decorative, of the style and kind that wouldn’t look out of place anywhere. 

The stranger, whose appearance Ed and Stede would come to disagree on, told them to go to sleep with the light on beside their bed. In doing so, they’d get a chance to cross the proverbial fence and inhabit each others’ lives.

“Did…did we just get swindled?” asked Stede as he paid their tab and realized he’d given the stranger every bit of cash on him. 

“Probably,” said Ed as he shrugged on his leather jacket. “Almost definitely. But at least we’ll have a good story to tell.”

As it turned out, Ed’s words were more prophecy than he could have ever imagined. 

The two men bid each other farewell with joking comments about whether to actually use the lamps or not. They lingered close and stared at each other in the way people were otherwise entangled really shouldn’t be. But then they went their separate ways - Stede back to his life of anonymity and comfort, and Ed to his life of fame and accolades, each musing over the what-if of the lamps. 

The possibility of their odd trinkets drove both men to plug in the lamps by their bedside once they were home.

Stede managed to plug his in without issue, as his downtown pied-a-terre away from his wife and kids was stylish, uncluttered and immaculately kept. 

Ed, on the other hand, had to shove over guitar cases and piles of clothes, and drunkenly dig behind a rat’s nest of cables to find a place to plug his in. 

When plugged in, the small, modern-looking bedside lamps took on a decidedly more ethereal quality. The black shades lit up with previously invisible patterns that looked like glyphs of some kind. The light itself was neither yellow nor white, but brilliant gold in a way that didn’t quite seem possible. Being in its light was oddly soothing and relaxing.

Ed found himself lying prone on his bed with heavy lids and loose muscles. He fell asleep quickly and deeply.

Stede on the other hand, felt almost as anxious as he was curious. He fought against the fatigue the lamp’s golden glow cast on him. He propped himself upright and stared at the patterns. 

As a consequence, Stede was awake to see the lamp shift and the patterns change - the strange curvy glyphs twisting like they were coming into alignment. The character of his room began to shift as well, as brightly-painted walls shifted to darker colours, and piles of clothes, dishes, and instruments phased in and out of existence. 

“Maybe you should sleep,” Stede whispered to himself. He cleared his throat, which suddenly felt a bit constricted. “You’re seeing things.”

The last three words felt strange. The pitch of his voice was deeper and warmer, far less nasal than it should have been. Stede stared at his arms as rivulets of ink trickled down and formed into tattooed images on his arms. Strange pulling sensations tugged at his body, like a dozen tiny hands were pulling backward on his shirt. He tilted his head back and when he leaned forward, long strands of silver and gray flopped into view. Every muscle in his body tensed at once, then surged as bulk deposited itself differently, transforming solid but soft into long and lean. 

Stede felt a sharp pinch in his tongue and he exhaled a note of surprise. He shifted his tongue in his mouth and felt something rattle against his teeth. When he stuck his fingers in to explore the odd sensation, he discovered the metal bar of a tongue piercing. 

Just when panic and realization of what was happening set in, Stede lost the battle to the lamp’s sedative effects. He fell backward and what felt like through the mattress, before finally drifting down into deep sleep.

As he slept, Stede had the strangest dreams where his body kept shifting and changing, undulating between his own and someone else’s. He felt the hot lights of the stage and the roar of the crowd, the ache of fingers raw from weeks of intense guitar playing, the dull ring of tinnitus and a raw, satisfying feeling in his chest and throat. 

He felt the yielding warmth of another man inside him as he rocked and felt waves of foreign pleasure trickle up from between his thighs. A bearded face slid his tongue along his neck, then kissed him hot on the mouth. For the first time in his life (though he’d dreamed of it) he knew what it was like to be desired and taken by another man. 

Stede could have lived in those dreams, those echoes of another life for hours more. But the shrill electronic pulse shoved him steadily out of the dream world. He woke in a daze, face down on gray sheets in a nearly pitch-black room. His mouth felt dry and foul, and his head pulsed.

You’re hung over, you idiot. You and Ed drank too much. 

The shrill noise pulsed again, digging a dagger into his aching head.

“Aw, fuck!” said Stede, in a voice that was decidedly not his own. The hand to his head confirmed it. Instead of a short mass of thick blond hair, he felt a tangled mess of slightly coarse, very long gray and black.

The rest of the room slowly came into focus. He was in a penthouse suite, with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the early morning sun spilling out across the skyscrapers. The tinting in the windows adjusted according to the amount of light, which meant it was still rather dark in the room. 

Stede knew, logically, what had happened, but he couldn’t quite process and put it all together. It was all too bizarre, too unbelievable. The night before was fuzzy and indistinct, and his dreams…

…his dreams had been so vivid and real. He could almost taste them. And the longer he was awake, the more he craved them.

The shrill noise, which had stopped for a time, started up again. Stede fumbled around until he found the source. Ed’s phone was still in the pocket of his leather jacket, which he’d dumped unceremoniously on the floor. 

Before Stede could worry about the phone’s passcode, the front-facing camera unlocked as soon as it saw his face, bringing him to a cluttered mess of icons on top of a stylized skull wallpaper. The notifications were full, but the bar across the top was the most urgent, and the most strange.

STEDE BONNET - CALLING

Stede hit the button to receive the call.

“Oh thank fuck. I was about to have a heart attack,” came Stede’s voice, but not out of Stede’s mouth. The camera whipped around, only showing glimpses of the caller. “Stay where you are. I’m on the way over.” 

“The way over?” 

“To your place. Mine. Whatever. Where you are.” 

The camera stabilized and Stede found himself staring at his own grinning, excited, slightly disheveled face. 

“Isn’t this fucking brilliant? It actually worked!” 

***

  Ed felt incredible. Well, no, actually, he felt hung over and stiff and he was pretty sure he was getting a caffeine headache. But other than that, he felt better than he’d had in years.

Maybe it was because he hadn’t fought the lamp’s sedative effect, but he’d had a far gentler morning than Stede. He woke up feeling well-rested in a bed that felt like a marshmallow, in clean-smelling Egyptian cotton in an immaculately decorated townhouse.

He’d had dreams as well. Ed had never been interested in women, but nothing about the memories of having sex with them repulsed him. There were other images though - less vivid, but still present that he sorted out were fantasies of being with men coupled with intense masturbation. He’d always suspected Stede was bi, and something told him those dreams were confirming it. 

Ed had seen a lot of strange things in his life - things he couldn’t explain, things that felt just out of view. Some part of him knew the stranger who sold them the lamps hadn’t been lying, so that part of him immediately believed it when he saw Stede Bonnet’s shocked face staring back at him from the floor-length mirror in a generously appointed walk-in closet. 

He’d fantasized about this exact thing, when he was tired of the crowds and his agent and all the weight of expectations. Ed had imagined himself in Stede’s life, with money enough to never work a day in his life, yet without the baggage of fame. Once, Stede had left a change of clothes at Ed’s place after a weekend conference. In a moment of weakness, Ed put on the slim-fit trousers and colourful button-up, still smelling of expensive and understated cologne and imagined seeing Stede in the mirror instead of himself.

If Ed thought about it for more than a few seconds, he’d realize that he’d done the thing that gay men sometimes do where he’d confused attraction for envy. He’d experienced it the other way around, but Stede was so far from his usual type that it didn’t quite register. 

Ed absolutely did not have to wear a suit for this particular meeting, but the navy blue lightweight suit with red detailing and pale yellow button-up with a subtle filigree pattern was so stylish and so unlike anything he’d ever wear himself that he couldn’t help himself. He felt handsome - so handsome in fact, that he spent a little time giving himself a photoshoot. It took several photos before he’d started to find out the best angles for his new face. 

In between all of that, he’d tried to get ahold of the real Stede. When he finally did answer, he was already on the way out the door. 

As he zipped through the rush hour traffic behind the wheel of Stede’s bright yellow Audi convertible, Ed felt more powerful than he did even when he had an entire stadium in the palm of his hand. 

As he approached his own building, Stede’s body settled around Ed like a comfortable pair of sweats after a lifetime in constricting jeans. The wind moved through his thick blond hair and he watched the world through a pair of tinted aviators.

The thought of Stede sitting in his bedroom, in his body, waiting for him to arrive made Ed shift as he was stopped at a light. He cleared his throat and mumbled to himself, “Easy, big boy.” 

And Ed was currently, much to his utter delight, quite big. As himself, he was no slouch, and he thought his dick was quite attractive, actually. But the girth and length of Stede’s cock the first time he pulled down his pants had been a pleasant surprise. A moment of shame and impropriety saw him stuffing himself away moments later, but he remained very aware of the added bulk. 

The perfectly tailored, quite tight trousers and the rumble of the sportscar engine beneath his seat certainly kept that particular fact top of mind. 

Eventually, he made it through rush hour traffic and parked Stede’s impressive sportscar in a visitor spot. Out of habit, he tried to head straight for the elevator, but the doorman stopped him. After a quick exchange with his doppelganger, Ed was finally allowed into the elevator that took him on an express trip to the penthouse suite. 

As he ascended, Ed was treated to a 360-degree mirrored view of his new body. He tucked the arm of the sunglasses in the front of his shirt, then tugged on his jacket and gave himself a once-over. The suit was designed to give him the most flattering figure possible, with a nipped-in waist and clean lines. It felt very comfortable, but a bit tight across the biceps. He’d remembered Stede mentioning he’d been working on his upper body, so new, tight muscle across his arms and shoulders was probably responsible for that. 

“God, you’re fucking hot,” Ed whispered to his reflection. Stede’s nasal tone and Stede’s voice gave sound to Ed’s thoughts. As he stared at his new reflection, a thought pushed forward in his mind.

I’m fucking hot. I’m Stede. 

The thought made Ed’s tight trousers just that much tighter, just as the elevator door opened. He stepped into his own penthouse, which was still mostly dark. “Hello?” 

A tingle of worry started to set in. What if Stede was freaking out? What if the switch had somehow gone wrong for him? 

What if…he wanted to switch back immediately? 

Ed definitely didn’t want to do that. Not for a while, at least. 

“Oh thank god! There you are!” 

Ed had adjusted quickly to being in Stede’s body, but he wasn’t quite prepared to see someone else in his. 

Stede was wrapped up in his black bathrobe. He was wet from his shower and his hair was an absolute tangled mess. “I’m sorry. I couldn’t stand the smell of myself and I tried to wash my hair…your hair…this hair,” he motioned to his head. “But I have no idea how to handle long hair and I think I’ve just made it worse.” 

Stede was panicking a little, but it was more about the absolute state of his hair than the situation - or at least it seemed that way to Ed. His eyes were wide and puppyish, and his cheeks were slightly flushed. The hair was a messy, tangled halo around his head and he’d only managed to comb out one small section. 

He looked…absolutely adorable. Ed knew that he could use his big, dark eyes to devastating effect, but he’d never been at the receiving end of a look quite that pleading. 

“Yeah, sorry about that,” Ed mumbled. “I went right to the bar from a recording session yesterday and was sweating my ass off. The smell kind of creeps up on you.”

“Especially if you fall asleep in your clothes.”

“Especially if you do that,” Ed agreed.

“Can you help me?” Stede shifted closer. He was still clutching the front of the robe closed. 

As he moved in, Ed could smell his bodywash and shampoo on Stede’s still-damp skin. It smelled familiar, but something about it drawn through Stede’s nose tingled his brain in a very pleasant way. He opened his mouth a little to better bring in the scent. “Of course. Don’t worry. You’re not going to have to get a buzz cut.” 

Stede exhaled a sigh of relief. “Oh, good. I em, figured out the coffeemaker. Do you want one?”

Ed crossed to the bathroom where he knew there were various hairbrushes and most importantly, a leave-in conditioner. “Fuck, yes,” he said. 

When he returned with what he needed, Stede was seated at the kitchen table, his hands around a cup of coffee. There was another in a red mug sitting nearby.

Ed picked it up. His first thought was that it wasn’t the right colour. It was far too dark. But, he sipped it. The strong, barely-sweetened coffee flowed over his tongue and the pleasant bitterness filled his mouth. Muscles in his face he didn’t even realize were tense released at the first hit of caffeine. “Ahhh,” he murmured.

“Ah, so I was right,” said Stede in a chipper tone. “I tried making it that way for myself at first, but it was way too dark and bitter.” He pulled a face.

“That means you’re drinking a…single shot extra large latte with a shot of vanilla syrup?”

Stede’s eyes lit up. “No! Just a lot of sugar. I’ll try the syrup next time. For you, you’ve got a strong Americano with a tiny splash of milk and no sugar.” 

Ed looked into the dark, bitter liquid and took another testing sip. It really did taste delicious. He found the thought of his usual sweet and milky coffee to be utterly distasteful - so distasteful in fact that he took several more swallows of his coffee to banish the sense memory. “Guess it makes sense. I’ve got your tongue in my mouth, after all.”

“And I’ve got yours,” said Stede as he pursed his lips and cornered a look away. “Piercing and all. I don’t know why I never noticed it before.”

Ed grinned wryly. “I had one when I was younger. A couple months back, I decided to get it again. You’re lucky it’s fully healed.” 

Stede rolled his tongue around his mouth, stuck it out, and rubbed the metal stud before he let it go so he could speak. “It feels kind of nice.” 

Ed was suddenly taken with the image of how the stud would feel sliding down the cock that was currently between his legs. He felt a twitch and shifted. He suddenly regretted choosing such tight pants, though the constriction itself was not altogether unpleasant. 

“Let’s get your hair sorted. Here, you want to use this,” Ed showed the bottle to Stede, “...after you shower. It’ll take out the tangles and help set the curls and control the frizziness.” 

“Your hair takes a whole manual as well. If you didn’t shower, you’re benefitting from yesterday’s product,” said Ed with a little grin as he wrapped both hands around the mug and sipped daintily. It was a strange thing to see himself doing as the body language was definitely not his. 

“I noticed that. All I had to do was spritz it a bit and work a few of the pieces back into place. It’s so fucking thick,” Ed touched the side of his head, then spritzed the spray on the worst of the tangles and gently worked it in. 

“You’ll figure it out. We can help each other,” said Stede. “I’m sure hair will be the least complicated thing we’ve got to deal with.” 

Ed paused as he picked up a strand of Stede’s hair. “I thought maybe you’d want to try and switch back right away,” he said as casually as he could. 

“Do you want to?” Stede asked softly.

“I mean, seems like a once-in-a-lifetime thing. And we did ask for it,” said Ed, still trying his best to feign nonchalance. 

“Good!” he chirped. “I mean…” he played with a strand of his hair. “I’m…I’m you. I’m Edward fucking Teach. I’m a rock legend.” 

That was the first time Stede had sounded even a little bit like the real thing. He’d even managed to add a growl to his voice. Though it quivered with nearly giddy excitement at the end.

“Once the shock wore off, I couldn’t believe it. I’m you. And…you’re me. It’s…bloody brilliant.”  He smiled broadly at Ed. “I’m just sorry you’re stuck as boring old me.”

“Not so boring,” said Ed. “Your wardrobe’s fucking amazing. And you’re rich. It’ll be nice to be rich and still be able to walk down the street.”

“So…” Stede shifted around in his seat. “We’re not going to try the lamps again? At least, not right away?”

“It might only work once, then we’ve lost our chance. And that’d be a shame.”

“It would,” Stede agreed as he examined his hands and touched the side of his cheek, sliding fingers along his short beard. “You know, I’ve never managed to grow a beard. Not a proper one like yours.” 

“It’s yours,” Ed found himself saying. He reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind Stede’s ear. For a moment, he was lost in his own eyes, which were so wide and full of wonder with Stede behind them. “Your beard. Your body. Your life. At least for now.”

Stede bit the edge of his lip again. “I suppose it is.” 

Something about that expression was incredibly attractive. Ed shifted in his too-tight trousers again.  He cleared his throat. “Well, that’s settled then. First on the agenda? Haircare 101.” 

Chapter 2

#fanfic #our flag means death #our flag means gay #our flag means love #gentlebeard #ofmd fanfic #bodyswap fanfic #ao3 fanfic #ao3 writer #ao3feed #ao3 link #ao3 author #archive of our own #rated e #fic rec #my fics

[art-outlaw]

Private Number # 6

Daniel Ricciardo x Aero Engineer!Reader

Summary: You didn’t like him. That much was clear to both of you. He was cocky and arrogant and totally oblivious to all of the work you and your team did for him. No one else saw him for the egomaniac he was - only you. You were forced to work for him but that didn’t mean you had to fall under the spell he had trapped everyone else under. And you made sure that he knew that.

Chapters: 6/?

Warnings/ Rating: Swearing

Word Count: 4244

Posted: 05 Oct 2021

You sighed into your glass of wine, staring down at your phone lazily. You were perched on the edge of the uncomfortable lounge chair in your hotel room, the scratchy material dragging over the skin at the back of your thighs, irritating but not enough to distract you from the pangs of hurt that Ricciardo’s harsh words from earlier sent through you.

It shouldn’t have bothered you as much as it did. He was an irritant in your everyday life like he was a chore that was completely necessary to deal with, and completely unavoidable. You were forced to interact with him regularly - race weekends were the worst for it, your role within the team made an uncomfortable level of cooperation with him and Max necessary - and that forced interaction left your mind chafing.

The dichotomy of the man was something you could never entirely wrap your head around. You saw him as he wanted to be seen; that goofy, funny and loving man whom the rest of the team and the world adored. You saw his generosity at a distance, the way that when speaking with someone he dedicated his whole entire being to that conversation, that calm confidence, the pure self-assurance he oozes when everyone around him begins to stress. You saw all of that and more. But you also saw him for the side that no one else did. The man who could be overtaken by his temper, the harshness he displayed to those that had supposedly wronged him. You’d been victim to his coldness, his ability to lash out when things didn't go his way. Hell, you’d even seen the fist-sized hole he’d made in the wall of his driver’s room post bad race last season.

The dark red liquid in the glass you’d stolen from the restaurant downstairs swirled lazily as your wrist rolled. You raised the glass to your lips and drank, letting the dry bitterness of the wine glide over your tongue and down your throat. You never usually drank on race weekends - an internal agreement with yourself to ensure that you were performing at your peak - but the conversation - argument - you’d had with Ricciardo earlier in the day had necessitated an alcoholic beverage.

Even texts from your mystery man remained unanswered on your phone. The first few had been teasing, the breaking of radio silence from him after a long days work, the next few had been complaining about his busy day and the hopes that your day had been better than his (it hadn’t), and then the few that had come through in the past few minutes had changed, worry creeping in at your lack of responses over the last few hours.

You looked back down to your phone as you pulled the wine glass away from your lips. His final messages, pinging through only seconds ago, were the most worried of all.

PP: Mystery girl if you don’t respond to my texts in the next ten minutes I am going to call you and not stop calling until you pick up. Just let me know that you’re okay

PP: U don’t even have to talk to me but just let me know you’re not dead in a ditch in some random country who knows where. I know you’re not in England because you’re travelling for work so pls just let me know you’re alive

Part of you wanted to leave the messages unanswered. Neither of you had ever spoken about meeting one another, or even calling - so the fact that he was worried enough to say that… it said a lot. But whilst you were - self-admittedly - a bitch, you weren’t deliberately malicious. You wouldn’t leave this guy hanging, not when it was obvious that his worry was genuine. You knew what it was like to feel helpless. You knew exactly what it was like to be sitting on the other side of a phone hoping, praying, begging for that person to pick up the goddamn phone. Why didn’t he just pickup the goddamn phone-

-No.

You weren’t going to think of it. Not like that, and sure as hell not now.

The lid of the jar that you had sealed shut on those memories creaked slightly, the smallest reminder untwisting the lid of it ever so slightly. You closed your eyes and ragged in a deep breath - it still felt shallow in your chest. Mentally you gripped the jar and forced it closed again, watching the hands in your brain tighten it until you could’ve sworn your fingers physically ached, still wrapped the fine stem of your wine glass.

You re-opened your eyes and sent a message before you could overthink it.

MG: Hey. Sorry. Shitty day at work. Wanted to keep myself from complaining about it so I just didn’t think to respond.

MG: Thanks for worrying

PP: Oh thank god. Thought I was going to have to start calling in the national guard or some shit

PP: Dude, totally get the radio silence. We seem to be running on the same wavelength - I had a shitty day too.

PP: If I had to guess about what caused yours, I’d say douche-face whatshisname was completely avoidable like you had hoped?

MG: No need for the national guard haha just decided to suck down a solid glass of wine or two before responding to any messages

MG: And you are unfortunately completely spot-on. He was unavoidable and somehow even more frustrating than usual but I won’t bore you with his shit again. What happened with you?

PP: Don’t even want to get into it to be honest. I think I’m just going to flick a movie on and annoy Michael into watching it with me, even if I have seen Talladega Nights enough to know it word for word

MG: ohhhhhhhh my god, how could you only mention that you love that movie to me now?! I swear I use the phrase ‘save me Tom Cruise!’ at least once a week - the people I work with are so sick of me quoting it hahaha

PP: You love Talladega Nights?! I think I’m fucking in love with you! Ricky Bobby is my spirit animal, I actually have a friend JB who calls me that because we both love that movie haha

His excitement was palpable even over text and you couldn’t help but let out a laugh at his enthusiasm. It was just another thing you seemed to have in common with this guy - who was very quickly seeming like your ideal man. Not that you wanted to think too hard about the way that he was so quick to jokingly declare his love for you over text. You didn’t want to read into it too much, obviously it was just a turn of phrase… but you’d only be lying to yourself if you denied that it sent a jolting thrill through you.

You looked up to the TV that sat across from the bed in your room and bit your lip. Would it be incredibly cheesy of you to watch that movie now, knowing that somewhere in the world this guy was watching it too? That despite the distance and the time between you and him, you could lay in bed with a decent - scratch that, an okay glass of wine and watch one of your favourite movies, pretending that the guy who you knew barely anything about was next to you and laughing along.

MG: I haven’t seen it in so long, I think I’m going to have to watch it now

MG: Perfect distraction from my day haha

MG: and poor Michael, i feel like he’s dragged with you everywhere and now you’re forcing him to spend his evenings off with you? Give the guy a break :P

PP: Nahh he’s one of my best mates, he’s used to it

PP: Perks of technically being your friends boss amiright

PP: Also it’s the least he can do after forcing me into sobriety for 3 months - I am LITERALLY counting down the hours until I can have a beer again

PP: T-minus 65 hours until I can have that sweet sweet mother’s milk again

MG: Okay gross, please never refer to any sort of beverage like that again

MG: you also never told me the reason he’s making you hold out on alcohol. Like you said that you were a guinea pig for Michael and I’m guessing it has something to do with nutrition or whatever, but you never said why

PP: I mean, it’s not exactly an exciting story. Mike is technically he’s in charge of what I eat and drink every day so he wanted to see what 3 months off of alcohol would do for energy maintenance and training recovery, after Sunday it’s kind of pointless. Off-season is done, back on the road and it pretty much all about maintenance from here

By now you’d moved from the scratchy chair and into the soft cotton sheets of your bed, and had already lined up the movie to play. But his message had you pausing, fingers hovering over the keyboard of your phone as you tried to work out exactly what he had meant. Eventually, you asked the only question that made sense to you.

MG: Wait, are you some kind of athlete?

MG: Off-season? Back on the road? All the mumbo jumbo you’ve spewed to me about training and whole foods over the past few weeks has been because you’re an athlete and not some weird freaky health nut?

PP: I feel like I should be offended that you’d refer to me as a weird freaky health nut just because I sometimes eat a capsicum like an apple, but I’ll let it slide.

MG: Don’t avoid the question

################################

Daniel felt himself panicking. As soon as he’d sent the message mentioning the off-season, he regretted it. He had been so fucking careful over the past few months of chatting with this girl not to mention anything even close to what could be considered as ‘professional’ training. He’d spoken about Michael as a friend who’d experimented on him with nutrition and training, making out that he was just a regular guy who had a vested interest in keeping himself in shape.

But mentioning the off-season - fuck saying that he was ‘back on the road’ again? He was actually an idiot. Could he have been any stupider, he was practically leading her down the road to figuring out who he was. And she wasn’t going to let him duck the question either - she was a smart woman, and a crafty one too. She’d put it together eventually, even if he didn’t tell her now.

There was only one way to play this out: beg her not to ask.

So that’s what he did.

PP: Okay fine.

PP: Technically I’m an athlete but pls don’t ask me what I do

PP: I like talking to you because you don’t know who I am and I’m afraid that if you know who I am it’ll change everything

PP: so pls don’t ask me what I do or why im avoiding talking about this

The bubbles that told him she was typing a response appeared, and Daniel held his breath. The bubble disappeared. Then reappeared. Then disappeared again. Daniel locked his phone. He couldn’t watch it any longer. He turned his eyes to the TV, begging for Ricky Bobby to distract him enough to stop stressing about what his mystery girl could possibly say back to him. It didn’t work.

He knew that she would think he’s crazy. He just knew that she would beg to know who he was, and then when he didn’t tell her, she’d ditch him. Or spend every waking hour trying to figure out who he was. Fuck, maybe he was better off just blocking her number now before she could get any more clues out of him. Maybe he should just throw out his entire sim card and ask that nice girl from Red Bull’s HR to get him another one - for the third time this year? Fourth time? Whatever.

“DR, can you please sit still, man?” Michael said, huffing in frustration from the lounge across the room. Daniel looked away from the TV, where Ricky Bobby was running across the track ‘on fire’, begging for the fire marshal's to put him out. Normally the scene would have had Daniel cackling, but right now all he could hear was the words ‘Save me, Tom Cruise!’ over and over again, another reminder of the conversation that had happened only minutes ago with his mystery girl.

When Daniel didn’t respond, Michael looked over towards him, concern written on his face. “Hey, what’s going on? You’re all twitchy and shit. You begged me to come and watch this, and now you’re barely paying attention.”

When Daniel chanced another glance down at his phone and threw it down beside him with a sigh, deliberately avoiding meeting Michael’s gaze. He was on the lounge opposite his friend - the suite large enough to fit multiple couches comfortably in the space - and knew that his mate had seen how Daniel had been unable to stop drumming his fingers on the screen of his phone or biting at the corners of his nails. He fixed his eyes back onto the screen, but even his funniest movie couldn’t stop the knot of dread in his gut. “It’s nothing. Let’s just keep watching.”

“Nah, Nah, Nah. You don’t get to play that card, right now. You’re back behind the wheel tomorrow, and the last thing you need right now is to be all up in your head about shit. Spill it.” Michael said.

“Dude, it’s nothing…” Daniel dragged a hand across his head, fingers tugging slightly at the longer curls at the top. He’d let his hair get longer than he usually would - normally right before the season he cut it right back, a physical letting go of the holiday break. But this year, he’d let it go.

“Mate.”

“Look, I’d tell you if it was something serious, alright? It’s just to do with that chick I’m texting okay. I just think I made a mistake.”

“Made a mistake like letting it go one for this long, or made a mistake like she knows who you are and is now sending your nudes to the press?”

Daniel couldn’t help the bark of laughter he let out. “Fuck you, man.”

“I’m serious! You know Christian would be all over your shit if your junk ended up on the front page of the paper, instead of it being about Australia’s golden boy and his home grand prix.”

“Yeah, I get that. But you know that I haven’t sent her anything like that… it’s not like that between us… and it’s not that I’ve let it go on too long, either. She’s been...good for me, I think. It’s been nice, just talking to someone that doesn’t know who I am, who doesn’t expect me to be anything more than just a random number who happened to text her.”

Michael rolled his eyes. He was well versed in the reasoning behind Daniel’s continued conversations with the girl - he thought it was all bullshit, but he knew about it and understood it to some degree. “Okay, so then why are you stressing so hard that you can barely pay attention to what you’ve called ‘the greatest gift to cinema in the past century’?”

“It is the best thing to come out of Hollywood in the past few decades and you cannot tell me different.”

“Stop avoiding my fucking questions, Dan.”

Daniel sighed again but didn’t pick up his phone despite the itching necessity he felt. “I mentioned something about not drinking in the off-season and being back on the road, and she obviously clued in that I do something in sport. Asked if I was an athlete.”

Michael let out a low whistle and a small laugh. “Nice one, man. Good fuck up. Does she know who you are? Or what you do?”

“I asked her not to ask. Told her that if she knew that it would change everything.”

Daniel watched as his friend inhaled through his nose for a few seconds, leaning back onto the pillows of the couch, and swinging his arms up until they cupped the back of his head. Michael closed his eyes and tilted his head back, not looking at Daniel as he spoke. “That’s a big ask, man. You’re a stranger, and it's clearly obvious to her now that you’re not just some typical guy who happened to get the wrong number. You're asking her not to go looking for you. To deliberately keep that door shut, just so you can keep talking to her. From what you’ve told me, she’s not some ditzy young girl. She’ll figure it out eventually.”

Michael opened his eyes and looked back at Daniel, his dark eyes alight with curiosity. “What did she say when you asked her that?”

“She hasn’t said anything yet. She keeps typing and then stopping.”

“You better hope she likes your damn texts enough to stick around then.” Michael turned back to the TV, and Daniel took that as his cue for the end of the conversation. But there was no missing the huff that came from Michael under his breath. “Hasn’t even met the chick and he’s fucking pussy whipped.”

Daniel could only grin. He wasn’t wrong.

################################

You didn’t know what to say back. You sat, staring down at the screen of your phone, watching the small texting cursor blink at the start of the message box. You’d typed a response and then deleted it. Then typed it again and deleted it again. Nothing you wrote down was what you wanted to say. Not exactly.

You wanted to know who he was - the simmering glow of coal that was your desire to know who he was had burst into a burning hot flame now. You were a naturally curious person. You enjoyed the pursuit of knowledge and the breaking down of puzzles and problems. It was half the reason you were so good at your job - you were prepared to go above and beyond to perfect a piece of the car, to ensure that it was perfect and completely understood. But these kinds of puzzles, where half the pieces were missing and the other half only showed part of the picture, frustrated you.

You’d been able to ignore the internal and unquenchable need to know who he was for weeks, hell, it was coming up on something like three months now. You’d pushed down question after question that you had wanted to ask him, knowing that he wouldn’t answer anything to do with his identity. And apparently, there was a good reason for that. He wasn’t just some random rich guy you had accidentally crossed numbers with, he was someone.

Someone who didn’t want you to know who he was. Someone whose last message to you had begged you not to ask who he was. Not because he wouldn’t tell you, although you thought he might be unwilling to anyway, but because he liked talking to you. No pretences, no need to hide internal thoughts or small jokes or opinions, because you didn’t know who he was. How could you share his private life with the world if you didn’t know who he was?

And you loved the anonymity too. The same way he did, you could just speak your mind entirely free from that overwhelming necessity to hide or censor yourself in fear of upsetting the wrong person, or having them tell it to someone else. With him not knowing who you were, you could complain about your celebrity-esque colleagues and call them names. You could keep the conversation away from work entirely - hell, you’d spent most of the past three months trading small moments of life with an anonymous man. A small photo of your wine by your fireplace, a coffee sitting on the glass of your desk at work, the smallest glimpse of your heels and ankle peeking out below. Even the park near your house when the icy frost had started to melt and the first little crocus breaking through the frozen ground, battling against the still frigid winds and harsh nights to bloom their perfect little purple petals.

And he’d done the same: converse-covered feet propped up on a balconies coffee-table with the sun shining in the background, the bits and pieces of a monopoly game shared with friends scattered on carpeted flooring, mini golf-clubs on a mini-golf course that you’d recognised from only a few towns away, and the video of a band playing live music in an underground club. He’d shared small moments with you, just as you had with him.

And just like you, he’d never put himself or anyone else in the photos. Just small those small moments shared between private numbers, indulging in the small comfort of sharing yourself with another without the fear of judgement.

It had been cathartic and completely freeing for you. You could only imagine what it was like for him - especially if he truly was an athlete and a recognisable one at that. How lonely the world must be for him sometimes. It was extremely telling, seeing how it had taken weeks of your own snapshots sent to him before he’d started sending his own. Weeks of back and forth messages, of small anecdotes and late nights trading questions for one another.

Fuck, even the trivial things. Like when he’d asked you if you’d done any sports growing up, or whether you’d ever played Uno because he’d just been thrashed by his friend and was slightly bitter about it. And the nights when you’d wallowed, when all you could do was tell him how you missed your family and how empty your house felt now that they were gone and how you wished you weren’t an only child, even if only so you wouldn’t be the only one left in a house too big for just one person. How the house had felt empty long before your mother had passed away, lamenting the loss of your father and finally giving in to her grief in her sleep.

He’d let you go on for hours about them - telling him the small moments of your family that you cherished and yearned to feel again. He didn’t pity you in the way that angered you, with sad expressions and fake pats to the shoulder, but showed genuine compassion and said that he was sorry that you felt so alone in the world. He told you that you wouldn’t be forever.

And in return, he’d told you about his family. That he had a sister with kids that he adored and spoiled, that his parents were undoubtedly the best people in his life and that he sometimes missed them so much it felt like he’d left a piece of himself behind when he left. Just like he didn’t pry about the circumstances of your family's death, you never pried, never asked him why or when or where he’d left them.

Instead, you asked about his nieces and nephews and what he had just bought them for Christmas last year. You somehow weren’t surprised when he’d told you of the mini dirt bike he’d bought for the five-year-old. He’d claimed that the little guy was exactly like himself at that age and that his sister had blamed him for those particular adrenaline-junkie genes.

He’d shared so much with you. And you with him. You weren’t going to just throw that away so easily.

Eventually, the words came to you, and you tapped them out, sending them off to the soundtrack of We Belong by Par Benatar as Ricky Bobby and Jean Girard running to the finish on foot. The crescendo of the music somehow pushed the confidence you needed to press send.

MG: I’m not going to ask who you are or what you do. That’s your business, and one day if you do ever feel like telling me you can. In the meantime, this is how I’ve decided to spend my night:

You snapped a photo of your wine, held up to the TV in your dimly lit room, where the movie was now showing Will Ferrell kissing Sascha Baron Cohen, and sent it to him.

An unwritten white flag was being waved by you in the message, one you suspected he would understand. You were surrendering right now; giving in to the temptation of getting to know who this man was beyond who the world knew him as. Surrendering to the unknown.

A photo pinged through only seconds later from him. Almost a mirror image to the one you had sent him. A glass of water held up by a tan hand, a large TV screen in the background showing a nearly identical still of the same movie playing in your own hotel room. The words that followed the photo were simple but were obviously heavy in his relief.

PP: Thank you. It’s for a good reason.

PP: One day I’ll tell you who I am, or you’ll figure it out. And I’ll explain

PP: But for now this is enough for me. And I hope it’s enough for you.

You hoped that it was enough for you too.

################################

Quicker update than usual to try and make up for the radio silence that was between chapters 4 and 5. Hope you guys enjoyed it, and as always let me know what you think! I have been absolutely loving all the messages and replies that have been sent about this fic - it keeps me motivated to write for it!!

Playlist for PN is here, and if you guys are keen to see what my whacked out music tastes are like beyond that, the Stargazing playlist is more of my everyday listening ATM XX

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@haterpenny @summertimemadness​ @sarcastic--bitchy​ @weirdestmentalityphilosopher @its-astrotea-love @marvelgirlswwe @miahelen @noope306 @hockey-and-wine @isntmadrid​ @feminismisaflawlessbitch @awalkinthe--park @tee-jay-ell @anaxlivia @earth-to-lottie @honeybadgerstan @riccardoshoey @colourofinfinity @midnightroses07 @kissingvalentino @gingerxarmy @itsreigns @okayleafs @thinemineours @tricciardo @hellolipoops @thatchickwiththecamera @mjuikoli @lovebynorth @alicesasha @angryhamsterenergy @loverofallthingsdannyric @lottchen21 @tall-tanned-tattoo @ricciardolovers @ohpuckyeah @danielxricciardo @ggaslyp1 @cjbarnesss @an-oblivious-nerd @teenwaywardasgardian @harley-sunday @seasidetom @damndanielricciardo @lharrietg @breeze-bloks @sugardontbesweet @sabsi2222 @rule107 @defnotsobbing @lovebynorth @amazingbutterflyes @shoeyinmonza

#daniel ricciardo #daniel ricciardo x reader #daniel ricciardo imagine #daniel ricciardo one shot #daniel ricciardo fanfic #formula 1 #formula one x reader #formula one one shot #formula one fanfiction #formula one imagine #daniel ricciardo fan ficition #DR3 #ongoing #ongoing series #f1 #DR Private Number

[sassy-cass-16]

I just had a good long thinking session, and something powerful occurred to me.

I haven't participated in Mass, despite regularly being present for them a multitude of times, since I fully admitted to myself that I couldn't trust the church anymore. It's been a few years since that point, and though sometimes I have to cross myself or mouth along to an Our Father or a Hail Mary here and there just to keep up appearances, I haven't actually prayed since that point either.

I know, somewhere inside myself, that it would feel pretty good to let myself believe the lies again. The lies that there's someone keeping an eye on me, that the omnipotent thing loves me unconditionally, that people of faith are always, always trustworthy. It would feel really, really fucking good. They're designed to be comforting. They're designed to be a soft feather bed over the spike pit of reality.

The reality that there's no plan, love is messier and more complicated than anything else, and trusting the people who prop up the lies will only come back to bite everyone, eventually.

Except, not everyone hits those spikes. Not everyone can even see them. But I did. I fell right through those feathers and slammed into nearly every single ugly truth about the Catholic Church.

The paradoxical traps designed to keep people where they're easiest to control. The insistence that they are the only truth, the only reliable source of truth, the only people who know true reason. All of it is complete bullshit. Because if you cannot fit where the church wants you, if you try to make the pieces fit together and keep arguing when they don't, then you are useless to the church and therefore not even worthy of life, because all people are called to serve the church or god or whatever name they want to give to their own selfish stupidity. If you don't fit the four--FOUR--lives they offer you, you're not a person.

I know a Catholic will say I'm twisting the words of the church, but I'm not. I'm untangling the Gordian knot they've twisted themselves into, in the hopes that no one will want to challenge them. Because this is the reality of the situation, and I deeply, deeply hope anyone questioning Catholicism is reading this, because I'm talking to you, here.

All of it is a fucking trap. Only a very specific kind of person can lie on that feather bed and be safe, and it's the kind that's easy to manipulate. The church will tell you in very pretty words that everyone else is a liar, or has misinterpreted something completely normal and healthy, or is corrupted by fucking Satan, or is a poor misguided apostate you can help by just giving them a chance to give up the right to come to conclusions that disagree with the church.

They'll tell you you're allowed to disagree, but they will never admit when they are wrong. They will dress it up like a corpse in a new suit because that is what they have done for thousands of years. They have reinvented themselves like a parasite shifting its shape, over and over and over again, each time hastily covering their tracks to insist they were right all along, but someone hit a roadblock, or had an uh-oh, or some other infantilizing horse shit.

You can scream at them that you deserve to exist in a body that makes you happy, but they will tell you that you're misguided and wrong and child, why do you keep letting outside influences cloud your judgement, confess and repent, say you're sorry for wanting, sorry for coveting, ask your father's forgiveness.

You can throw bricks at them and demand they allow you to be more than a cheap marketing trick, that they admit to the systematic murder of people just like you, that they stop repeating the violence that they can blame on the hands of the children who saw no other way to escape. And they will tell you that you're wrong, things have progressed, it's so much better now, child, time is linear, we've moved on, stop living in the past, don't fall into corruption, don't fight, be good, ask your father's forgiveness.

The church will never stop lying. The church will never stop working for their own ends. The church will never stop hurting you.

Period.

If you're a Catholic seeing this, and you're questioning your faith, that is a very, very good thing, and I would love to talk to you. Don't be afraid to talk to outside sources about the church. They are not the only authority on themselves. We deserve some say, too.

#catholicism #ex catholic #tw catholicism #catholicism tw #tw christianity #christianity tw #religion tw #tw religion #tw religious trauma #religious trauma tw #religious trauma #christianity #religion