#but setting good boundaries and respecting theirs is a great way to get closer | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

favoniuscodex · 3 years

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inheritance scarf scene - diluc’s pov

ahahahaahahhahah ask and you shall receive! for the lovely @chapioca ,,, a reward for drawing me a pic of diluc smiling ,,, :3333 ,,, sorry for anyone who has notifs on and sees inheritance in the title of the post.

side fic to inheritance, my (decently?) long diluc royalty!au series. find the series here if you’re interested!

pairing: prince!diluc x f!knight!reader word count: 1.8k plot: diluc’s point of view of the scene in inheritance part 1 where he gives the knight his scarf. warnings: spoilers for inheritance part one and act two scene 2 if you haven’t read them already. a/n: haha look at this emotionally constipated dude. the knight should’ve picked kaeya lmao. no beta reader for this one and i havent read over it so sorry for any mistakes!

Much to his behest, Diluc enjoys your company.

The prince has never been one to make such informal attachments to others. Granted, he’s never really been given the chance, but that’s besides the point. For Diluc, the Venn diagram of people he cares about and his family members was a single circle, until, of course, you barged your way in. Sure, he could give a good public relations answer about how Diluc was indebted to the people of Mond for respecting and acknowledging his family’s authority over the territory and allowing his father to lead, but as of now, nineteen-year-old Prince Diluc couldn’t really give a single shit about whether the people of Mond liked him or not.

Of course, Diluc had basic human empathy to wish for his constituents’ needs to be well taken care of, but he had no desire to be viewed as some great savior or leader in their eyes. He wanted to bring honor to his father and be viewed as a righteous man in order to bring the Ragnvindr family honor, but, for himself, he longed not for the praises of his citizens but rather to be left alone. A mutual respect of his boundaries while he respected theirs, if you may.

But you? You had barreled past his walls without him even knowing it, whether it be your smug expression hidden behind a thin veil of stoicism whenever he begrudgingly admitted you were right about something that he had previously asked your advice on (and ignored, of course) or the way you stare at him with steely resolve in your eyes as he challenges you. In those moments, Diluc fails to understand how you don’t have a Vision, as the pools of your irises crackle with the electricity of subdued defiance and you set his heart ablaze with invisible flames.

In the midst of the winter chill that surrounds the both of you, Diluc fails to understand how, even now, you make him feel warm inside. You walk beside him in silence, your eyes looking past him, always looking past him as you scan for threats. Your posture is always on the defense, ready to reach up and grab your sword at any moment. Diluc wants nothing more than to sling an arm around your shoulder and ease the tension within them, to tell you that he isn’t fragile and that it’s okay to drop your guard at times.

However, duty calls your name like a siren luring a sailor and Diluc is left standing at the shore, watching you drift further away from him on the tides. Your back faces him as you swim toward righteousness, a perfect subject of the throne, a perfect potential quee-. The prince shakes his head slightly to clear such intrusive thoughts out of his head and as you look at him out of the corner of your eye, alerted by even the most subtle of movements, he hopes the wintry air gives you a reason to overlook the slight flush on his cheeks.

You do not smile at him and instead continue marching onwards. You’ve always been quiet and Diluc has been the same, never enjoying forced small talk and instead relishing in the silence between the two of you. He was never sure if you enjoyed the quiet moments you shared together or if you were simply counting down the seconds until your shift ended. Diluc wishes he could find the courage to ask what you truly think of him, but he knows that you would simply plaster a false smile and tell him what he wants to hear in your neverending duty to protect the throne. Whether such information would be true or false would fall beyond Diluc’s realm of knowledge, but maybe he just tells himself that you would lie in order to avoid finding out the truth, in order to avoid fraying the tapestry of your relationship with him. Maybe, if Diluc had not been of noble blood, the two of you could have been far better friends than you are now. Maybe, if Diluc had not been of noble blood, the two of you would have-

His gaze pierces into you as you walk slightly in front of him on the defensive. Diluc doesn’t realize he’s staring until he witnesses you shiver, which snaps him out of his morose thoughts. You’re cold. Of course you are. While Diluc is bundled up with a scarf and a proper coat, you’re wearing a thin coat designed for autumn and the armor upon you likely only attracts the cold rather than repelling it. He’s a fool for not realizing it sooner and feels sick to his stomach at the thought of you having gone through unnecessary discomfort for the sake of his own whims.

Diluc has never been fond of the throne but has always prided himself on being a good heir, but how can he pride himself on such things when he makes the woman he cares about most, his most loyal knight, face the winds of winter all due to his own selfishness? He stops in his tracks, which causes you to pause as well and turn around to look back at him.

“Are you cold?” Diluc asks, regretting the way his voice sounds annoyed, but feels too awkward to correct it. You seem to take no offense to his question, yet he sees a nervousness arise in your eyes.

“No.” The word falls from your lips and suddenly Diluc understands your nerves. You were afraid to lie to him, yet you did. Unfortunately for you, the prince was more than willing to call your bluff as he narrows his eyes at you.

An idea hatches in his brain and it’s terribly selfish. Unfortunately for him, Diluc wasn’t afraid to be selfish.

“Take my scarf,” He insists and he watches your eyes widen slightly in surprise and confusion before your neutral expression returns.

“I couldn’t possibly do such a thing.” You insist and he feels his heart rate quicken at your polite tone. Diluc wants to both yell at you and kiss you due to your insolence and your refusal of his orders, even if your intentions are kind. He wants to do something for you and he’s willing to drop onto his knees and beg you to let him do this for you.

“You’re cold, therefore take the scarf.” His explanation is simple, but it is one of annoyance. He doesn’t trust himself to speak any further.

“It’s my duty to ensure your comfort. Therefore, you keep the scarf as you should stay warm,” You explain and Diluc’s inner conflict on whether he should embrace you or scream at you subsides with an odd warmth in his chest. The prince wants to kiss you, he wants nothing more than to warm your face in his hands, to wrap you up in his coat and watch as you walk around in what is blatantly his, a mark of possession that announces to all that you belong to him.

However, you don’t belong to him and Diluc is far too aware of such a fact. It eats away at him at night, it eats away at him as he stares at you when your gaze is turned the other way, and it eats away at him when the two of you are apart. Therefore, he can offer you no more than his scarf at the moment and will have to make do with the more subtle of the options he can provide you at this point in time.

“It would make me more comfortable if you wore the scarf instead,” Diluc insists and he knows he’s coming off as an asshole at this moment, but he would give you the world if you let him, so why won’t you take something as simple as a scarf? He decides this is a battle that he must win and preps the arrow of his words on the bow of his lips and fires, aiming for the bullseye of your pride. “Plus, what kind of prince would I be if I let my constituents suffer on my behalf?”

You freeze at his words, eyes widening in surprise and indignation as you realize exactly what game the prince is playing at. He’s aware that you’re aware of the implication of his words, yet he can’t bring himself to care as he seizes your hesitation to transfer the scarf from his neck to yours. His gloved fingertips brush against your neck and Diluc wonders once more if you have an Electro Vision hidden within your uniform from the way the mere gesture sends lightning bolts rippling through his fingers and up his arms, shocking the butterflies within his stomach into overdrive.

Diluc steps closer to you as he adjusts the fabric around your neck, narrowing his eyes as he does so. You deserve nothing less than the best, so the prince makes sure it looks perfect before stepping away from you, still staring at the scarf. Heat spreads throughout his body at the sight of you in his scarf, but he decides to tear his gaze away from you before the thoughts can consume him whole.

“There. Now was that so hard?” The words come out as a sneer and Diluc doesn’t want to sound so mean, but his emotions are a whirlpool inside of him as his heart beats in overdrive and adrenaline rushes through his veins at the thought of you wearing his clothing. Before his face can fully blossom into the color of a cherry tomato and before Diluc would be unable to blame the red flush on the chilly air of Mondstadt, he elects to move in front of you this time.

He notes how it takes you a moment to scamper after him and he notes your silence on the way back to the castle. Diluc is appreciative of the avoidance of the subject at hand, but when you catch up to him, he notes that you no longer shiver. While his heart soars with pride at being able to get away at such a brazen act of affection, his stomach can’t help but drop at the thought that you likely view it as no more than the chivalrous actions of a prince and not one of a…

Diluc refuses to dwell on the thought, nor does he ask for the scarf back. Maybe, just maybe, if you take a piece of him back with you to your chambers, you’ll think of him in a way that extends past the realms of your knighthood. It’s a hopeless dream, yet one Diluc cannot help but indulge in nonetheless. After all, the prince has always known himself to be selfish.

#diluc x reader #kinda nervous to tag it as that since it's a side fic BUT still it counts #anyways #//diluc #//inheritance #//writing

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fleckcmscott · 3 years

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Stepping Stones - Chapter 2

Chapter links: 1

Summary: Y/N and Arthur share a delightful life, one that isn’t perfect but wholly theirs. When his struggles take a serious turn, she's surprised by the toll it exacts. Though the steps they'll have to take aren't easy, walking them together makes all the difference.

Warnings: Angst, Swearing, Struggles with mental illness

Words: 3,739

A/N: Once again, a heartfelt thanks to @sweet-nothings04 for offering to beta-read this story and her encouragement. Her contributions have been invaluable! Also, thank you guys for your support! I hope you continue to enjoy this story. And don’t worry: there may be angst - but there’s love, too.

If you have any thoughts or questions, please comment, feel free to message me, or send me an ask! I’m still working on requests and Way Back Home!

Y/N wasn't used to being searched. It'd last happened at the District Courthouse when she'd gotten in the wrong line and nearly wound up in the jury room for a murder trial. At least the stout woman in Arkham's visitor entrance lobby was more pleasant than the bailiffs.

Unassuming in a white polo shirt and black pants, her nametag introduced her as Gladys, and the split "I Can Help!" sticker along the top cemented her as a fixture. She was friendly for a Gothamite, commenting on the sunny weather while unceremoniously dumping the contents of Y/N's handbag onto a plastic table pad. Asking about the ride over as she politely ignored tampons and confiscated a nail file. She spelled Y/N's name back to her before jotting it on the sign-in sheet and offered a genuine smile. "You have a nice time with your husband, dear. Just check out with me before you leave."

Visitor's badge pinned above her left breast, Y/N adjusted the collar of her red silk blouse, ensured the heart pendent around her neck was centered, and pushed through the door marked "Visitation."

Her kitten heels click-clacked across the checkerboard linoleum floor. The cafeteria was large, like an elementary school gymnasium without the scoreboards. Lack of funding had turned the once pristine walls to the off-white of a bathtub that had seen too few scrubbings. Large windows dotted them in sets of two, each covered with grate from the inside. Metal fans were riveted to their frames, a poor attempt to compensate for the lack of fresh air. To her left, six rows of steel tables stretched halfway across the room, about a third full of staff and patients, family members and friends. A metal buffet stood to her right, along with a sign stating a menu of beef cutlets and gravy would be served at 5:30 PM. A pony wall separated a family area on the far end. She spotted a patient with his wife and daughter watching cartoons together, ones that were old enough for Y/N to have grown up on.

It struck her how average the place felt, similar to the hospital back home she'd spent far too many hours in. It made sense: the people here were patients like any other, even if they were under lock and key. When she headed to the aluminum coffee urn on a rickety steel cart, there was a woman, around thirty, making conversation with a new wave chick, holding a ragged teddy bear and pulling her hair. Their eyes met and Y/N attempted a friendly smile. Once she'd purchased two cups, she sat by a window and crossed her legs, foot swinging back and forth as she sipped the stale liquid.

She tried to quell her nervous anticipation. Due to his time of admittance, Arthur's forty-eight-hour observation period had stretched late into Thursday night, well after visiting hours. Tasks big and small had punctuated the wait. One of Arthur's clients called to confirm a birthday party, and Y/N, hazy from lack of sleep, explained there'd been a family emergency.

Then it dawned on her that she'd have to find Arthur's gig list, which meant rummaging through his desk, a private space she'd respected since presenting him with it for their anniversary. Thank god he no longer locked the drawers, because she had no idea where he kept the key. (There were only so many hiding places in their three-room apartment, but she had no desire to search every nook and cranny.) The yellow legal pad resided in the top left drawer, under a prop catalog and kraft paper notebook. After ringing Gary and asking him to fill in ("I'm not sure I can do all these, but I can mention them at HaHa's." "That'd be great but don't get yourself in trouble. And, please, leave out Randall."), she telephoned eight households and three businesses with his contact information and apologies.

She worked extra hours in the evening to make up for the time she'd inevitably take off when Arthur was home, an arrangement that wasn't strictly legal, but she didn't see the harm in. Her colleagues graciously ignored the number of personal calls she made, to ask how Arthur was doing and learn about policies. While he wasn't yet rational, staff said, he was cooperative. Well, mostly cooperative. He'd eaten breakfast and referred to everyone as sir or ma'am, but he'd also caused a ruckus when he'd come to and found his wedding ring missing. They'd made an exception to the no jewelry rule and given it back. Personal clothing wasn't permitted, either, besides underwear, and toiletries were out of the question. It irked her - he deserved the dignity of his own hairbrush - but she didn't want to single him out by arguing for further favors. So she shuttled over a week's worth of briefs on her lunch break, chest tight as she gave it to the man with headphones at reception.

Despite the setting, despite the weight of not knowing what mood he'd be in, a thrill bubbled through her veins. Whenever a silhouette appeared behind the glue chip glass of the patient entrance, her pulse skipped. Y/N knew it was silly to expect a lot this first visit but she couldn't help it. She missed him. She missed him. Like it had been thirty days instead of three.

It took about six minutes for the door to crack an inch, and a full ten seconds for it to open completely. An orderly propped his weight against it, pointing in her general direction with his head. She stood and smoothed her palm down her A-line skirt, ensured the hem was at her knee. Maybe it was selfish, perhaps even foolish, but she hoped the surprise would be a highlight of Arthur's day, make him feel better, and she hoped seeing him would be one of hers. He was still her partner, after all. Still her Arthur. That would never change.

Clad in white scrubs and white shoes and about twenty feet away, Arthur stepped over the threshold and scanned the room. She gave him a modest wave when she caught his eye. His approach was more tentative than she would have liked, his steps shorter than usual, fists balled at his sides. As he drew closer, she noted the oiliness of his hair, the two-day black and grey stubble on his chin. His crow's feet had grown deeper, his eyelids slightly purple. Exhaustion dripped from every pore. The cut on his forehead had scabbed over into a thin line, quite modest considering its origin and how much he'd bled.

But he was as beautiful to her as always. The hint of a smile tipped her mouth. "Hi, Arthur."

"Hi," he said lowly. A reservation she barely recognized clouded his light green irises.

Part of her began to suspect popping in like this had been a mistake. Giving up wasn't in her nature, however, especially when it came to the love of her life. She forged ahead, closing the gap between them. Dr. Kellerman had advised her to let Arthur set the pace of their visits, to offer support while respecting his boundaries. Yet, touching him had become as vital to her as breathing, and it didn't occur to her to ask for permission before she reached to cup his face.

His skin felt papery under her fingertips, and red, flakey spots of dermatitis bloomed next to his nose and below his eye. He smelled of cheap bar soap and detergent, though whiffs of his woodsy masculine scent lurked underneath. But his clothes were clean and fit him well, better than half his own wardrobe. "I'm so happy to see you," she said, tracing his sharpened cheeks.

He nodded weakly, lips pursed into a grimace of disbelief. "Good."

"I got us some coffee. We can sit here or on one of the sofas."

"Here's fine."

She took his hand and led him to their table, itching for him to entwine their fingers, lamenting a little when he didn't. While he followed closely, his posture radiated tension like an oven radiated heat. Rather than the gait they'd adopted over the years, he moved as if he was afraid to touch her, as if he feared she'd disappear. Or reject him. Once he was situated and stirring sugar into his cup, she sat beside him and bumped their legs, refusing to let his fears go unchallenged. "How's your room?"

"It's okay. Just me. I'm not there much." He blew lightly on his steaming brew. "I haven't seen this part of the hospital before."

Y/N arched her brow. "No?"

"Penny had trouble getting over here to visit. When I had episodes."

Flabbergasted, a huff of disapproval escaped her. Arthur had been in out Arkham six or seven times, and Penny hadn't made it over once? According to Arthur, she'd been sick for a while, but what about twenty years ago? Even later, they hadn't had any money, which meant she would've had to care for herself while he was away. If she had had the wherewithal to go through the process of committing her son, couldn't she have at least called a cab? Y/N pushed her ire aside, not wanting it to affect Arthur. "Did you see your therapist today?"

"Mhm."

"Is he good? Does he listen to you?"

"He's fine."

She took a long drink. "Did you get the underwear I brought over?"

"Yeah." he sighed, tipping his head back to stare at the ceiling. "They wrote my name on the waistband."

"I'll get new ones," she said, tapping her chin in contemplation, opting for a little cheer. "Donahue's has a racy number from Mad Mod. How'd you feel about zig-zag bikinis in maroon?" Instead of the laugh she'd craved, the incredulous smirk he saved for ridiculous suggestions, his knees quaked, bouncing and bouncing, freshly wound springs in bleached cotton.

None of this was going as she'd pictured.

Self-consciousness was atypical for her, a personality trait she'd shed in her late twenties after a failed marriage and the beginning of her parents' declines. Being with Arthur felt secure, open, even during his worst days. When he'd discovered his mother's Arkham file, learned the details of his abuse. Or the weeks after she'd passed and any chance of finding out more about himself, the truth about his father and chance to get a crumb of paternal affection, had died along with her.

Gathered at this table with her husband and bad coffee, old insecurities returned with the force of a subway careening at full speed. She sought to encourage him but didn't want to dismiss his feelings, harken back when he'd been burdened with "Happy." Her questions were obviously getting on his nerves - she was at a loss as to how he'd react to more of them. Their banter had vanished. The clues she had to follow were based on an old map, comprised of well-worn paths to joy she could walk with her eyes closed. Now those paths were overgrown with weeds.

But she wouldn't stop trying to trim them. Some shears were in reach: a woman's magazine lay abandoned on a nearby table, famous for its relationship quizzes and bedroom advice. She snagged it, scooted her chair closer to Arthur, and flipped through the glossy pages until the headline "Are You Meant To Be?" screamed in bright pink font. She cleared her throat and read aloud. "'You and your husband are shipwrecked on a desert island. You can take any household item with you. What item would you bring?'" She paused, then went with what first came to mind. "Toothbrush. I can't expect you to kiss me when I-"

"Why are you acting like this?"

Her gaze locked on him. "Like what?"

"Like I haven't fucked everything up."

Automatically, she reached for his thigh, not heeding the angry twitch of his jaw. "You haven-"

He batted her arm away, inadvertently knocking the magazine to the floor. "Don't lie to me," he rasped. "I don't like you seeing me like this. I don't want you to have to come visit and pretend." He wiped his nose with the back of his hand, an anger she recognized as shame dripping from every word. "Can you please just go?"

Pain lanced through her, pain she hadn't felt since her father, deep in the throes of dementia, had accused her of stealing from him. Her lashes lowered to hide her hurt. Arthur acting like this was proof of how out of sorts he was, how much he was struggling with his illnesses. But it didn't make his behavior any easier to take, even if she firmly believed it should. She had to try to accept him as he was in the moment. To forgive him and herself for pressing him too far, too quickly. To listen to his request for time, the way he'd listened to hers after the Murray show, giving her the gift of patience and understanding. A gift he also deserved.

Pushing herself to stand, she glanced at the orderly and lay a gentle palm on Arthur's back. To her relief, he didn't retreat. "I'm here if you need me," she said softly. "If you feel up to it, give me a ring. We could both use a joke or two." Fingertips caressed his distended shoulder, and she pecked the crown of his head, breathed in the oily musk of his scalp. Not entirely pleasant but him all the same. "We'll see each other soon. Get some rest and remember I love you."

~~~~~

"This woman wandered in off the street the other day. Pointy-toed shoes, fur coat, pillbox hat like she thinks she's Jackie Kennedy..." Perched on Y/N's side of the bed, Patricia dunked her orange pekoe teabag, gave it a good squeeze, laid it on her saucer. "She wanted to sue the Wayne Estate for damages to her Bentley, because Thomas Wayne had broken a legally binding oral agreement - she must have read a legal thriller and gotten haughty - to fix the potholes in Old Gotham when he was mayor. I told her to complain to Public Works, but she decided to camp out at your old desk to clip her nails. Finally, Matt had enough and offered her a phone call to Gotham PD or ten bucks for her trouble." She shook her head with a chuckle. "What a jackass. Retirement can't come soon enough."

"Don't wish your life away," Y/N retorted, inadvertently quoting a pamphlet she'd gotten from the Arkham gift shop, "Care for the Caregiver." The title had made her balk: Arthur bathed himself, fed himself, knew who she was. But it had been a straw to hold onto, albeit feebly. She retrieved a curved, wooden hanger from the closet and stuck one end in the arm of her freshly ironed blouse. "Besides, you've been working since you were sixteen, right? I give it a year before you'd go stir-crazy."

"Actually, I've been thinking about taking a class or two at the learning center," said Patricia.

"Oh, really? What kind? Pottery, advanced baking, conversational Spanish?"

"How to find nicer friends."

Hand on her hip, Y/N smirked over her shoulder to find Patricia's teacup raised for a toast. "Let me know what you learn," Y/N said, hoisting the laundry basket onto the bed. "I could use a few pointers." She batted the older woman with a dress sock, then fished for its companion. She shook them out. Aligned the cuffs and toes, smoothed the nylon with the side of her hand, folded the fabric into thirds. The top drawer's left ball-bearing slide stuck when she tried to pull it open, and she made a mental note to ask Arthur to take a look at it.

Without warning, a profound sense of loss swept over her, flushing her cheeks, her forehead. He'd been gone almost a week, the longest they'd been apart aside from conferences and training. Her days had been blessedly busy but dragged on nonetheless, slow as the secondhand on her watch when the battery had to be replaced.

Arthur had gotten in the habit of leaving a note whenever he had an early gig or errand to run, just a few words stating where he was, that he'd be home later, that he loved her. Though she knew he was in Arkham, she couldn't stop her heart from expecting one when she made morning coffee. She ached to pull him inside before he lit a second cigarette, and for his teasing kisses when he'd resist. The way he brushed his teeth from side-to-side, eschewing her method of small circles and daily flossing. Last night, a hot flash had kept her awake, and she'd longed for the feel of his strong, slender hands rubbing refrigerated lotion into her calves, a trick he'd learned to quiet his mother when she'd gone through what he politely referred to as The Change.

Y/N had never wanted to love someone so much she needed them, but Arthur had made it safe. And now here she was, anguishing over a stubborn piece of furniture. She gave the knob another good, hard heave until it popped off into her palm. With a groan, she slapped it on the top of the dresser, between his wallet and her jewelry box.

A gentle hold on her elbow halted her. "The clothes'll keep," Patricia said.

The compassion in her voice, subtle chords that would sound like judgement to others, loosened Y/N's stance. Granted permission for her to take a break from coping and give into grief. Slinking down onto the mattress, she picked up Arthur's blue house pants from the mound of panties and trousers and hugged them to her breast.

"Your anniversary is coming up," Patricia continued. "Will Arthur be home for it?"

"Yes. Three weeks is all the insurance will pay for, and Dr. Kellerman said we were lucky to get that." Most patients were discharged after two, even if they had nowhere else to go.

"How is he? Do you think he'll be ready then?"

"I'm not sure. He barely comes to the phone." She'd tried letters, too. Written on her office letterhead, declarations of her support and affection that were as stilted as the motions she regularly drafted. Something for him to read when they couldn't speak, when they couldn't touch. But he hadn't responded.

Although Y/N was the sole person he'd added to his list of allowed visitors, he hadn't signed the release. Sure, she'd learn the details of his care if a court remanded him, but she wasn't about to have him declared legally incompetent, not unless everything went to shit. But she had deduced his schedule by calling and asking if he could come to the phone. He's in group, Mrs. Fleck, the charge nurse had let slip. Or, You can try in an hour. He should be out of one-on-one by then.

Therapy three times a day. Safety and daily living skills. Goal setting before bed. No wonder he hadn't had the energy to say good night.

"I know what you're going through," Patricia said. She stretched to put her empty teacup on the nightstand. "When Robert got back from Korea, he kept his distance. Buried himself in starting his business, was gone most nights on extra late repair jobs, worked, worked, worked. It was nearly a year before he really came home. But he made it and Arthur will, too."

The intimacy behind the disclosure was a welcome invitation, a hook that tugged at Y/N's core and confirmed honesty would be all right. She drew a shaky breath, fiddled with a loose thread on the hem of Arthur's pajamas. "I thought I'd seen everything. Losing my mother, going out of my mind with my father. Those were finalities I couldn't prevent." Rapid blinking fought the wetness of her eyes. She swiped at them with the heel of her hand. "If you had seen him, Patricia... I just hope Arthur understands. I don't want him to think I wanted him to leave."

"Listen to me." Patricia adopted her mentor tone and hugged her tight around the middle. "There's no way he'd believe that. Remember when we doubled at Kao Wah? When we were in the restroom, and he ordered your favorite dish without having to ask what it was? He adores you." She swept her hand through the air as if she could sweep away Y/N's woes. "You promised to take care of him through everything. You did what you had to to keep him safe. You couldn't have done anything else, Y/N. Don't doubt yourself."

After some moments Y/N nodded. "You know, my parents had a swimming hole on our property. When I was young, I used to skip stones across it and make wishes. For my doll's arm to mend, for my parents to say safe, for my sister's surgeries to go well." She chuckled and dabbed at her cheeks with Arthur's house pants. "I guess it was like praying, which I never had use for." The slightest smile edging her lips, she turned to Patricia. "Let's go to Gotham Park and throw some rocks."

~~~~~

The next morning, eleven percent of her worries cast away by a currently sore right arm, Y/N walked past Sherwood Florist, a closet of a shop around the corner from her office. Storefront freshly washed, robust floral arrangements on display in large, spotless windows, and an owner in horn-rimmed glasses checking the temperature of the nearest cooler, she decided to stop in. Yes, the florist told her, an expression of dubious curiosity on his face. They delivered to Arkham. Just include the patient's full name and ward in the address, and it'd be sent this afternoon.

She chose a squat, plastic vase filled with daisies and a yellow enclosure card with a bumblebee in the lower left corner. A bit cutsie for her taste, but it was the only neutral choice among birthdays and congratulations. She pondered what to write, pushing back the urge to ask him to reach out. A minute later, she put her pen to the cardstock. "I miss you like thread misses a needle. (Good thing you're the comedian - that was terrible.) You're not alone in this. You have my whole heart. - Y/N."

~~~~~

Tag list (Let me know if you want to be added!): @harmonioussolve @ithinkimaperson @sweet-nothings04 @stephieraptorr @rommies @fallenstarsabyss @gruffle1 @octopus-plasma @tsukiakarinobara @arthur-flecks-lovely-smile @another-day-in-chuckletown @hhandley80 @jokerownsmysoul @rafaelbottom @ralugraphics @iartsometimes

#arthur fleck #arthur fleck fanfic #arthur fleck x reader #arthur fleck x female reader #arthur fleck x ofc #joker 2019 #watchwhathappens

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fanfic-scribbles · 5 years

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Lunch Buddy: Chapter One

Masterlist

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Overall Story Facts:

Fandom: MCU Captain America/Avengers

Summary: Steve Rogers makes a friend. A prickly, generally people-averse friend, but they'll both take what they can get.

Quick Facts: Friendship (/Eventual Romance) – Steve Rogers & Reader (leading to Steve Rogers/Reader) – Female Reader

Story Warnings: Reader-insert that verges on OFC, written in 1st person past tense

Chapter One: Oblivious

Chapter Word Count: 2612

Tldr A/N: I don’t do tags (sorry!), this is a ‘slice of life’ I write when the mood strikes so updates will come when they come, this is set shortly after the first “Avengers” movie and any canon that pops up will likely be different so keep an open mind, Reader (or OFC, depending on your preference) is female/bisexual/plus-sized because it’s important to parts of the story but otherwise remains undefined.

(Long) A/N: This is weird(ish), but I'm posting it, because I've been writing bits and pieces for this thing for over a year now and I keep chickening out of posting it. So I'm doing it! First off, a few general warnings: this (to me) still counts as reader-insert since I haven't ascribed a detailed physical look or name to the POV character but I do know some extra things about her. Those being: female, bisexual, plus-sized, asocial. That's it for actual set details and I mention them because they will come up in the story. Also, this is written in first-person past tense. I'm sorry if any of that bugs anybody (I know some people are very 1st person averse) but it's just the way I wanted to write it. I can't honestly say it's self-insert but I can (and should) say it's pretty self-indulgent.

Secondly: this is a 'slice of life' type thing that I write bits and bobs for on occasion. Since I've been adding to it for over a year I have kind of a meandering story and a lot of little pieces that add up to something I enjoy. I'm just trying to finish this first arc so I'll just say for the time being it is Reader(or OFC) & Steve friendship but it's eventually going to be Steve/Reader (or OFC) and we'll see how it goes from there. I aim to update every other week but, again, this is the one thing I have that is for pure relaxing so we shall see. I will not be tagging for this fic. Sorry! I’m way too forgetful and this doesn’t have a planned schedule, so there’s no way I can trust myself to be an actual Adult and do something that responsible.

Thirdly: This is after the first Avengers movie but I have already altered parts of CA:TWS to fit in with what I'm doing. I'll explain it as I go, just keep an open mind.

Stupidly: I have a thing for Oblivious!Reader. It never fails to amuse me to think of different ways for a character to go 'wait, *that* guy?!' Idk why, but sorry not sorry.

I had a routine.

I actually had several, but one of my most sacred involved my lunch break. After half a day of staring at papers and screens, I took an hour to fortify myself for another half day of staring at papers and screens. By…staring at paper and screens. But this was by my choice, at least, and done in a nice, airy café, with a good drink (and sometimes snack) nearby.

I’d been coming to the same shop for almost two years, ever since I got my job just a block or so over, and I rarely missed visiting it on a weekday. Even a fucking alien invasion didn’t chase me off for long– people still had to eat and businesses still had to run. As soon as the infrastructure was back to (mostly) functioning, I was back to doing what I did in every way.

I had noticed when some of the other regulars stopped coming around (I really hoped they had just decided to go somewhere else and that they hadn’t gotten caught up in that nightmare) and I also started to notice some new regulars. One of them was a jerk and I only noticed her as much as it took to avoid her. There were a few people who just came in to get drinks and left right away. Then there was one guy who ended up causing a bit of a stir.

I really only noticed him the first time because he was attractive enough to literally turn heads. Even some of the guys I had assumed were straight took a peek and whispered to themselves. And he wasn’t unaware– his cheeks flushed and he ducked his head and I was pretty sure three people fell in love with him on the spot.

It was funny, but aside from noticing he was attractive and was very nice to the cashiers, I went back to ignoring him. I only had so long in a lunch break and I wasn’t the type to introduce myself to strangers, no matter how cute they were.

So, we simply existed in the same general space at the same general time for a couple of months. He became a regular and also found ways to disguise himself– hats and glasses, and jackets with the lapels turned up. It was funny to me because it seemed like such a movie star thing to do, but even funnier was that, when he remembered to do it, it worked. He drew eyes from strangers less and less the more he figured out how to hide himself, and the other regulars got used to him being around. Just from basic interactions I knew his name was Steve, he tipped well, he was always very polite to the people working, and he liked to sit down with a sketchbook and a cup of coffee. That was about all the ‘interaction’ we had and it was fine.

Until one day.

My headphones were in and I didn’t notice him standing nearby until he leaned closer. I yanked out one of the earbuds and straightened up to see what it was he wanted. He went from concerned to contrite in what could have been a new record. “Oh I’m sorry; I didn’t see–”

“It’s okay,” I said and pulled out the other one so I could give him my full attention. “What do you need?” I surreptitiously checked myself to make sure he wasn’t coming over to tell me about an unfortunate wardrobe malfunction.

“I was just wondering…” He extended an arm to the (very full, I just realized) shop. “There’s nowhere else to sit and your table is so large, could I sit here? I promise I’ll be quiet.”

“It’s not like I’d hear you anyway,” I said and he smiled. I quickly pulled my bag off the chair next to him and pushed it out.

“Thank you,” he said, I nodded, and we went back to our solitary activities.

After that, though, if he ever saw me in the shop he would give me a friendly nod or say hi if I didn’t have any headphones in. I responded in kind, but we otherwise left each other alone. Except that busy periods hit and, given that one interaction, I seemed to be his go-to. We left each other alone and he seemed just as fine with that as I felt about it. It was nice– technically could it count as socializing? It sort of felt like it, but it was my favorite kind of socializing: respecting each others’ boundaries.

AKA: Leaving each other the fuck alone.

It was great.

Except he eventually started to get a little more friendly; subtly, and slowly. Like the day he asked for my name.

“I just feel like I should know who I’m apologizing to every time I take over your space,” he said.

“You’re a big guy, but you’re not that big,” I said. But I told him my name. Then, weirdly, he just…went back to his sketchbook.

I stared at him for a second. “Sorry,” I said. “I don’t really do this ‘meeting people’ thing that often, but don’t you normally give your name when someone else gives you theirs?”

He blinked and stared at me. “You don’t–” He stopped himself. “I didn’t tell you?”

“No,” I said. “I’d remember if you told me. And I’d remember if you told me and I forgot, because I would never, ever bring up your name or anyone else’s name ever again.”

He laughed, and looked startled by it. I was a little startled too, but he recovered pretty quick. “How do I know you’re not just covering for the fact that you forgot?” he teased.

“I am excellent at remembering when I should know someone’s name and deftly avoiding any chance at using it,” I said.

He chuckled, but he did say, “It’s Steve. Steve Rogers.”

I wrote ‘Steve’ in the front cover of my notebook, and expected to forget all about it.

I didn’t. Steve was friendly in an unobtrusive way. His greetings were warm and genuine and he was honestly pleasant to be around. I knew nothing of him but his name, that he liked to draw, and that people liked to gawk at him.

“Looks like you’ve made a friend,” one of the employees commented as she cleaned a nearby table.

“Uh…I guess so?” I pulled out a headphone just in case and sure enough, she stood and faced me and looked me up and down.

“How is he?” she asked.

I flinched, because seriously, what the fuck? “Um, he’s just some guy I sometimes share a table with. I don’t– I’m not– I don’t ever see him outside of here.”

“Oh I know; I didn’t mean it like that,” she said and grimaced. “And I didn’t mean that like– I just mean…is he nice?”

“Yeah. I wouldn’t sit anywhere near him if he wasn’t,” I said. “I have no patience for douchebags.”

She smiled. “Nobody should,” she agreed. “Just, a guy like him…you sort of hope he’s nice, you know?”

“I…guess,” I said. I didn’t really know what to say to that. “I’m definitely not into him, if that’s what you were worried about?” She stared at me blankly so I tried to figure out a non-awkward way to say ‘fucking go for it.’ “He’s a nice guy and you seem nice, so don’t worry about me, just ask him. Even if he’s not into you he’s the sort of guy who wouldn’t be a dick about it.”

“Oh. Oh, no!” She laughed and waved. “I have a boyfriend, so I’m not– no, but, uh, thanks.”

“Oh.” Then why was she so– well, maybe she just liked seeing a pretty guy like that also be a good guy. God only knew the world needed more men who weren't jerks. I didn’t get to find out though, because she got called away by her co-worker and I went back to my notebook and my headphones. Why was everyone suddenly so social?

“What are you listening to?”

I shrugged. “Just my library on shuffle; nothing really cohesive.”

He chuckled and went back to doing what he did. Today it was fitting in stealing bites of his two strawberry croissants while he sketched.

It was a little strange for me, but I was getting used to Steve asking questions out of the blue. He was a nice guy and I didn’t want to be a jerk, that was part of it, but he also seemed to know when it was okay to talk to me and how far he could go. If I ever really didn’t want human interaction he somehow clued into it and would sit quietly. If I was open to it, he kept the conversations light and just something we both did in the background. Several weeks into this strange lunchtime camaraderie I accepted that some days he was there, some days he wasn’t, but it was just a nice easy thing we both slipped in and out of as time went on.

I was realizing I never really asked a lot of questions though. I cleared my throat. “Do you work around here?” I asked.

“No,” he said, smiling at his drawing as he worked on it. “I work…well, I’m sort of ‘on call’ I guess you could say,” he said. “My schedule is really irregular. I like to come here just to get out of my apartment from time to time.”

“That sounds nice,” I said.

“And you?” he asked.

“Yeah, I work in the area,” I said. “I like to get away from my desk and out of the office for at least a little bit. So I come here and just relax for an hour before I finish out the day.”

“That sounds healthy,” he commented. Before I could figure out if he was being sarcastic, he snapped his head up and waved his hand. “I didn’t mean– shit; I’m sorry,” he said and put his pen down. “That sounded bad. I meant it sincerely though. I have a lot of friends who are…workaholics, I guess you’d say.”

“Yeah, I do my fair share of overtime, but I definitely prefer not to,” I said. I thought about asking him what he did, but then he’d probably ask what I did, and I didn’t want to talk about it. It was fine– paid the bills and that was always a good thing, I just hated watching people feel like they had to feign interest in my bullshit. So we settled back into silence. And it was good.

“Um…excuse me?”

I looked up and so did Steve. The kid was looking right at him though, and I went back to looking at my book. I did keep an ear open, though, because I was nosy. Steve asked the kid’s name and I heard nothing, but when I glanced, Steve was scribbling something on a piece of paper.

His name.

I squinted, because he was signing an autograph, really?

Suddenly the woman’s comments, about hoping that ‘a guy like him’ was nice, made a lot more sense. Also the ‘movie star disguise’ thing. Was he actually a movie star? He hung out here way too much for that to be true, but I was baffled. Steve went back to his sketchbook like nothing was wrong or weird and I tried to figure out how to Google a tall blond buff guy named ‘Steve’ while somehow not getting stuck with a bunch of porn. Ugh; what was his last name again…

“You know you can just ask me.”

I looked up from my fruitless search. He smiled patiently, but he looked…tired.

Well then.

“Where’s the fun in that?” I asked, but I didn’t have all day. When I looked at my phone again, I realized I barely had five minutes. “We’ll see how many lunch breaks it takes me to figure it out.”

He let out a surprised little laugh, and then he smiled for real. “How many do you think it’ll take?”

“Hmm.” I tapped my chin. “If it takes more than three, I’ll buy your coffee.”

“If it takes less, I’ll buy yours,” he said, we shook on it, and I packed up to leave.

“By the way– this one doesn’t count,” I said and skipped out to his protests.

There were a lot of blond buff guys who did porn.

So I maybe got a little distracted.

“Jesus.”

I leaned my head back and shut off the screen at the same time. “You’re blond and your name is Steve; I don’t have a whole lot to go on. Also, he had most of his clothes on.”

“He wasn’t going to,” Steve chuckled and sat back in his seat. “Should I try a latte? I also heard mochas were good.”

“If you really wanted to take advantage you’d go for the frozen drinks.”

He made a face like a five-year-old. It was so ridiculous I had to laugh. “I’m not sure about cold coffee,” he said.

“Ah, not even iced coffee?” I waved my sadly-not-iced drink around and took a long sip. “You’re missing out.”

“I’ll just take your word for it.” He glanced at the menu, and then back at me. “Next time then?”

I stared him down. “This is only lunch break number one.”

“Two.”

“One.”

He was grinning and I stuck my tongue out at him. “I’m gonna add ‘stubborn brat’ to my search parameters,” I said. And I did. He laughed at me.

There was only so much internet searching I could do before I got a little bored.

“Do you want to just give up now?”

“Never,” I said and swiped at my game. “I just need a little downtime. This is my lunch break after all; I’d rather have fun and relax before getting back to work.” I cleared the stage and looked up at him. “I’ll figure it out next time.”

“You are so strange,” he said, somehow sounding like he was laughing without actually laughing.

Search: “steve” “blond” “famous” “-porn” “douchebag”

“Hey.”

I didn’t get the full lunch break to try to figure it out one last time.

“Oh my god is that Captain America?”

I perked up and saw a flabbergasted gaggle of teenagers looking right at…Steve.

Steve.

Steve…

Steve Rogers.

Oh.

Holy shit.

He kept at his sketchbook, as he usually did, and I sat there and digested that information. The teenagers were too shy to approach (and as friendly as Steve was whenever people did come up to him, he never really encouraged that behavior) and so I got to sit quietly and take that in.

“Well?” he asked and looked up. At me. Like he was awaiting my judgment or something.

“Uhhh…” Whatever I thought I was going to say fled my brain and I was left with nothing. I scrambled for something. “Um…thank you for your service?” I said, eventually. He blinked and I let out a sigh. Why did I ever open my mouth nothing good ever happened. “Help me out, what do people normally say?”

He stared for a second longer and then he laughed. And laughed. And laughed. Once he settled down his eyes were bright with humor and it didn’t feel like he was being mean. It took me a little bit to realize he sounded relieved. And, like that, I felt a little more relaxed. Enough to go completely deadpan when I said, “Wow. So ungrateful.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.” He grinned like a total jerk. “Thanks.”

Yep, total jerk.

No wonder we got along.

Next Chapter>>

#steve rogers x reader #steve rogers & reader #captain america fanfic #avengers fanfic #reader insert #lunch buddy

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freckliephil · 5 years

Note

The way the phandom has absorbed the vday vid into our culture and created tropes from it is gross. I don’t think jokes about it are funny and gushing over moments we only know about bc of it, as cute as they are, just feels wrong to me. we were never meant to know about them and now that we know the leak probably caused them a great amount of pain, maybe we should treat the matter with a little more sensitivity.

👀☕

i big agree, i think it's kinda tricky bc like. i think, in some ways we clung to the vday vid for a lot of different reasons that all boiled down to the phandom just being...so fucking toxic and just like generally confusing and upsetting back in the day. there was absolutely no trust, no communication, and dan and phil were scared and clearly in crisis mode and didn't know how to set boundaries in a way that wasn't passive aggressive at best (how could they? they were young and youtube wasn't what it is now, and ppl STILL don't know how to set boundaries with their audience, dan and phil are just learning and growing and so now we're used to something so much healthier). they said "stop posting the video stop talking about it to us, its not a big deal" despite it clearly being a VERY big deal. the mixed messages were everywhere. no one knew how to respond and unfortunately, the bad actions and the bad choices are always the loudest. when a big portion of the phandom is acting up, those trying to be respecful aren't the ones who get noticed, and, back in the days of the customer service blog and constant leaks and passive aggressive liveshows, we ALL got reprimanded. so of course it became a big deal, and of course we absorbed it into the phannie culture, because some people wouldn't drop it and so neither could dan and phil.

i think the phandom culture surrounding the vday vid is ugly. do i think talking about it in private with friends, watching/possessing the vid is bad? undecided. there's a lot to unpack there. do i think we should really just never talk about it? no, because that's just unrealistic in rpf. but i will say that i do think making public references to it, especially when it's so embedded in the """phannie lore""" if you will, just makes people more curious and inevitably just leads to people feeling left out if they haven't seen it, don't want to see it, or have tricky feelings about it (don't we all?). and feeling left out sucks, so of course that just leads to more people seeking it out, spreading it around, and putting more weight on it. it's cute, yeah, but it's theirs. at the end of the day it wasnt for us, and there is a very specific way to approach it that is respectful, and a million ways to approach it that are not.

the good news is, as d&p have been more and more open, ive seen a lot less of this focus in the vday vid as this cute, "proof"y type of thing, and more discussion of what the leak did to the phandom, what it did to our relationship with d&p, and how trust is broken and rebuilt over time, and for that, i don't wanna say that i wish we could all just forget. because we can't just forget it, and neither can dan and phil, and confronting the shit that came with the leaks and trying our hardest to be respecful going foreward, learning from mistakes, is so so important. so yes, i agree, treating the matter with sensitivity and nuance is SO important, and i think that using it as a learning moment has inevitably been one of the things that HAS brought us closer to d&p.

send me ur unpopular opinions

#ask #anon #vday vid #discourse #unpopular opinions

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peterporkerpeter · 6 years

Text

how to kiss | p.p.

pairing: peter parker x fem!stark!reader

summary: peter has a crush on reader, and she teaches peter how to kiss after he confesses he doesn’t really know how. but soon the little lesson becomes a little less educational and a little more sexual (if you know what i mean.)

contains: making out, swearing, hickeys, oral (female receiving), a little bit of fluff. all characters are of age.

word count: 4,000

masterlist | feedback

“Here, sit down in front of me,” Y/N patted on the mattress, watching as Peter hesitantly shuffled over, sitting in a criss-cross-applesauce formation on the bed.

Peter's cheeks flushed red when he noticed her outfit: a nice, halfway unbuttoned white blouse with a dark denim skirt. He felt bad knowing the girl had plans to go out with her friends to the city for the day, yet she totally insisted on helping him out regardless. He knew that Y/N was most excited for the museums they'd be visiting, especially the new art museum that had opened up only a few days ago. Her father had managed to surprise her with some tickets for herself and a few other of her friends to go.

Nonetheless, he couldn't get his mind of off her outfit; the way the shirt and golden necklaces accentuated her chest, and how the skirt hugged her legs so closely. She looked incredibly mature for her age, and he couldn't get over the fact how stunning she looked regardless of what she was wearing. Y/N just had an odd effect on Peter. His heart would race around her, and his hands would grow clammy.

After his time of knowing her, he'd obviously developed quite the crush on the phenomenal girl. How could he not? She was intelligent in so many diverse ways. He thought Y/N truly had a heart of gold, and that she just radiated warmth anywhere she walked. She was compassionate and kind, and always included people when she noticed they were appearing left out of the conversation. And she just loved to listen to music. Peter loved her taste in music; well, she pretty much had just about good taste in everything she did. She was Y/N Stark, for Christ sake, of course she had good taste. Regardless, it wasn't even about the fact she was a Stark. Y/N was just special. She was a good person.

"A-are you sure your dad is okay with this? I-I don't know how exactly he'd feel if he found out his trainee was uh, kissing his daughter?" Peter stumbled through his words, anxiously fiddling with his hands. Of course, he would love to kiss the girl. He just didn't want to majorly piss of Mr. Stark for doing so.

Y/N rolled her eyes, tossing a length of her Y/H/C locks over her shoulder. "As much as I love and adore my father, he doesn't control me, Peter. And what? Are you scared to kiss me or something? Besides, I'm just teaching you how to do it. It's not that big of a deal," she smiled those blinding, pearly whites at him through her luscious, glossy lips. "But thanks for being so concerned, Peter. You're a nice guy, you know that, right?"

He grinned, cheeks flushing a light shade of pink. His brown, doe eyes glistened as he stared at the pretty girl. He couldn't help the way his heart practically summersaulted in his chest at the compliment. God, he was really beginning to fall for this girl. "T-Thanks. And Y/N... I-I think you're really great, too. I know it must be kind of weird for you and all teaching me to do something stupid like this, especially since you kind of have a thing going on with someone else—"

She pinched her brows together, head tilted in confusion. "Who told you that? I don't have anything going on with anyone."

Peter struggled to find words, his eyes slightly widening at the urgency in her tone. "N-no one! No one told me that, I just kind of assumed because I mean, you're obviously a very beautiful girl and you have a lot of friends and are like, really smart a-and sorry! I didn't mean to scare you like that or assume anything, I just—"

"You think I'm beautiful?" she bit down on her lip, trying to minimize the smile just desperate to crawl onto her face.

Peter mentally chastised himself for the incessant word vomit, wishing desperately that he could just rewind those last few seconds and avoid the embarrassment of his short tangent. "Well, yeah. I do."

She grinned, bashfully looking down. "Thanks, Peter. I think you're cute, too."

Peter nearly choked. "You think I'm cute?"

Y/N nodded. "Definitely. Anyway, let's get started. So, when you're going to kiss a girl, you want to make sure that you're giving her all the right signs so she doesn't freak out when you go in for it. It's important to be respectful and not force yourself on her. If she does anything that even remotely gives you a bad feeling, just back off."

Y/N crawled over the bed and perched herself next to Peter. She yanked the boy beside her, both their figures now side-bye-side on the edge of the mattress. "Now, notice how our legs are touching? Put your arm around my shoulder."

Peter swallowed hard, his nerves practically setting his body on fire with crippling anxiety. He felt so nauseous he thought he would hurl, his mind on red alert. Nonetheless, he shook his head, snaking his arm around the girl's shoulder, pulling her close just as she requested. "Like this?" he asked for confirmation.

"Yep," she replied, noticing how stiff Peter was. The boy's hands were practically trembling. "Peter, you need to relax. Take a deep breath. It's okay to be nervous, but you want to remain calm at the very least. If you're comfortable, she'll be comfortable."

Peter took a deep breath, then relaxed against Y/N, his nerves succumbing to her serene charm and feathery touch. He could smell the vanilla radiating from her neck, and the aroma from her soft locks was reminiscent of lavender.

"Good," she praised. "Now, turn your head towards me and look back and forth between my eyes and my lips. This is kind of a silent way of asking if it's okay to kiss. If she starts looking at your lips, then that's your cue to start leaning in. For hand placement, you can either rest your hand on her hip, the side of her face, the back of her neck. You could place it on her thigh, but I would wait until you're more towards the French-kissing stage to do that, just so you can respect their boundaries."

"So, like, when I'm kissing, do I just like stay still or move my lips with theirs?" Peter asked quietly.

"If I'm being honest, Pete, that part I never really did figure out. I don't know when to pull away at the right time, or when to put my tongue in or anything like that. Once you start kissing, it just comes naturally to you. Anyway, ready? Look between my eyes and my lips."

Peter's palpitating heart was just about ready to burst out of his chest. He couldn't believe he was just about to kiss Y/N after fantasizing about it for so long. Still, it's not like it really meant anything to her, but it sure meant a lot to him.

His breaths grew shallow as his dilated pupils flickered between her glistening Y/E/C eyes and perfectly glossed lips. Y/N in response glanced at his lips, slightly parted and damp before she started to lean in. Her heart was just about ready to lift off and fly to another planet. Incoherent thoughts danced through her mind, rendering her blissfully at ease as she felt the softness of Peter's lips hovering over hers.

Peter mustered up the courage to press his lips firmly against hers, butterflies erupting in the pit of his stomach. He couldn't believe it. He was kissing Y/N Stark, and she was kissing him back. Their lips remained molded together before Peter boldly started to move his mouth against hers, his hands tracing her hip, moving slowly up the length of her side.

Y/N sighed contently into the kiss, her own hand moving to caress the boy's chiseled jaw, their lips dancing together in tranquil harmony. She was practically on cloud nine, her heart singing. Suddenly, she wasn’t really teaching him anymore.

She couldn't deny the fact she felt something for Peter, the kiss only working to solidify those underlying feelings. Y/N always noticed him in everything that he did. She thought he was grand. He was a genius and intelligent beyond comprehension, but it wasn't even just about the fact he was smart. Peter was a good person. He was kind and good at giving advice, and regardless of the trauma he'd faced in his life, he always found a way to remain strong and kind. His mental strength was one of the things she admired most about it.

She had bandaged his wounds so many times after he'd coming pouring into her bedroom through her windowsill. They studied together and she managed him through comms during missions. She didn't even realize she had developed a crush on him until their comms went down and she couldn't get in contact with him. Y/N remembered the way her heart dropped into her stomach, and realized how much it would hurt to lose Peter. She needed him more than anything. When she found out he'd just turned off the comms himself, she just about blew her cool at him in front of all the Avengers, calling him selfish and cruel. After that incident, she purposely ignored him for several days before the boy made it up to her with a batch of her favorite, red velvet cupcakes.

Little did she know Tony was the one who approached the kid and urged him to apologize, knowing that a simple apology wouldn't quite suffice considering the way he made her worry.

Peter acknowledged how the girl's rings were cold against the side of his face, but every other bit of him felt like he was being dipped into a pool of lava.

He felt the kiss growing deeper and deeper, her lips reminiscent of the strawberry scented gloss she'd painted into her luscious lips earlier. His tongue drifted into her mouth, their hands roaming each others bodies, desperate to memorize every inch of their features.

Y/N inched closer to him, eyes sealed shut as she reveled in the moment. She pulled herself away, their foreheads pressed together. She could feel his breath against her face, his hands still resting on her hips.

She gently pushed Peter against the headboard, straddling the boy's hips. He looked like he'd pass out at any moment, his lips puffy and damp, glistening from the lingering gloss transferred from Y/N’s mouth. "Is this okay?" she asked, placing her hands against his chest.

Peter nodded profusely. This is more than okay, holy shit, he thought tightly to himself. All he wanted to do was learn how to kiss, and here she was, straddling his lap in the middle of her bedroom, looking like a Goddess from another world. He was definitely going to pass out.

Her hands moved up to his face, where she gently glided the pads of her thumbs along his pale cheekbones. His face was structured and contorted into an expression of awe. She noticed the way his eyes glittered so delicately, as if a constellation was locked away in the pools of chocolate swirled wistfully into his irises.

She leaned closer to him, settling into his lap before bowing her head lower for her lips to meet his again. He tasted of peppermints.

They were practically panting with love and lust as they kissed, their tongues tying, lips moving fervently against another. The intensity of the kiss was practically engraved on Peter's heart, his hands moving slowly up her thighs. He could hear Y/N gasping with desperation against him, wondering how they could possibly get any closer than they already were. He couldn't conjure another thought; all that mattered was Y/N and her lips. He could kiss her forever.

Y/N pulled away much to Peter's dismay, her hands fiddling with the buttons of her blouse as she started to unbutton the shirt. Peter's jaw dropped as she revealed the lacy black bra beneath her blouse, his cheeks reddening the shade of a firetruck. "Are-are you sure?" he gasped, his tone hollow, yet husky.

She bit down on her lips, nodding her head. His hair looked so good after her fingers had ran through it, a mop of curls spilling across his head, a few tight strands swept gracefully across his forehead. Y/N thought it made him look even more attractive.

"Yeah," she whispered. "I'm positive." Y/N untucked her blouse and shrugged it off her shoulders, allowing the piece of fabric to fall onto her comforter in a mangled heap.

Peter's eyes wafted over her skin, absolutely mesmerized by her beauty. He couldn't get over how beautiful she was. Her skin was soft beneath the pads of his fingertips as he traced the grooves of her collarbones and neck. The boy could no longer resist her as he latched his lips onto the sensitive skin of her neck, eliciting a pleasant gasp from her throat. He didn't really know exactly what he was doing, but he followed his instincts and recalled what information he remembered from silly articles he'd read online.

He was sure not to bite down to hard on her skin, not wanting to leave too dramatic of a mark, but he did want to suckle enough to leave a faint bruise. The thought of marking her, making her his sent a rush rippling through his body.

Peter trailed sloppy kisses down her neck, stopping to suck where he heard her pant the heaviest. The moans and gasps she was making sounded like music to his ears, his hands continuing to stroke up and down her thighs. Y/N curled into him, her jean skirt riding up her legs to slightly reveal the lace hem of her matching panties. She found Peter's hands and guided them beneath her skirt, a groan falling from his lips when he felt the lacy material graze his fingers.

His lips finally met the tops of her breasts, the location on her body where he wanted to do the most damage with his lips. He felt a smile tug on the corners of his mouth as he dived in, Y/N's skin still glistening from his previous markings. She couldn't even feel angry at the fact she'd have to cover up a handful of hickeys before leaving for her trip. All she could focus on was the pleasure Peter was providing her. She couldn't stop thinking about him and how wonderful he was making her feel.

His hands moved to rest along her ass while he continued mark her skin, delighted to hear Y/N moan as she unraveled beneath his touch.

"Peter," she panted, "I need to leave in like, seven minutes."

Peter didn't hear her, too focused on making her gasp from his electrifying touch. He massaged her ass, then dragged his hands beneath her legs until his fingers met her core. He started to rub against her panties, his lips dipping beneath the cup of her bra so he could suck on her hardening nipples.

"Is this okay?" he asked softly, wanting to make sure she felt comfortable.

"Yes, Peter, please. Fuck," she hissed, grinding her dripping pussy against his hand. "Fuck, Peter. Oh, my fuck. I'm so wet."

He chuckled lightly, "I can tell. Your panties are practically soaked."

Y/N moaned, trying to be quiet so no one would hear them, her arms coiled around him, fingers laced between the hair on the back of his head. "Peter, you can't leave me aching like this the whole day. I need you. Please, make me come. Fuck, I need to come so bad, I'm fucking throbbing."

"Do you think I can make you come in seven minutes?" Peter asked, internally doubting himself. It was a genuine question. He'd never performed oral on a girl ever, but he didn't want to leave Y/N unsatisfied the entire day. He would feel downright awful.

Y/N moaned, covering her mouth as his fingers continued to rub her twitching clit through her panties. "I'll guide you through it. I just need to come."

That was all the confirmation and assurance Peter needed before he laid Y/N against the bed, his hands pushing up on her skirt to place her clothed pussy on display. He removed her panties, swallowing hard as her perfectly pink, slick pussy came into view. He could feel himself instantly growing harder in his jeans, but now wasn't the time for his pleasure.

"Okay, no time for foreplay with this one. I haven't come in days so I'm sensitive as fuck right now," she explained. "First, lick straight across my slit, all the way from my entrance to my clit. Then, you're going to use the tip of your tongue to lick through my folds."

Peter spread her legs, allowing her to rest them over his shoulders to grant him enough access. His arms curled around her thighs, and he followed Y/N's directions exactly, flattening his tongue and taking it all along her slit, lapping up a large amount of her juices in the process. Y/N let out a muffled moan as she kept her hand fastened over her mouth, her Y/E/C eyes slipping shut, utter bliss swallowing her whole.

Euphoria coursed through her veins and pleasure spiked through her core. Peter's tongue swirling through her folds brought her to an incoherent high. The moans tumbling from her lips sounded pornographic and highly explicit, but Y/N didn't care in the slightest. She just wanted to come.

Her legs were trembling as Peter followed his instincts, dragging his tongue through her slick folds where he absorbed her sweet flavor. He couldn’t get enough of how intoxicating she was, one of the only thoughts in his mind being when he could do this again. He used to the tip of his tongue for more precision, drawing circles around the hood of her clit.

Y/N threw her head back, her toes curling as she rolled her hips, rubbing her mound against his lips. There weren't any words in the dictionary that could describe the moan she made when Peter's tongue finally glided along her throbbing clit. "Oh, fuck. Fuck, Peter! Right there, keep going. Can you suck on it a little bit? Fuck! Yes!" Y/N was breathless, her demands quiet as she turned to putty beneath Peter's tongue.

He couldn't stop thinking about how hot Y/N looked, her legs spread just for him with her head thrown back in sexual delight. She looked utterly delicious with hickey's littering her skin, Y/N's breasts rising and falling with every heavy breath she inhaled and exhaled. He watched as Y/N kneaded her breasts through the material of her bra, until she finally reached behind her body and successfully unhooked the article of clothing. Her breasts fell free, hands instantly moving to caress the soft, sensitive skin. She twisted her nipples between her fingertips, turning them into hardened pink buds.

He sucked on her clit, then made quick, hasty movement with his tongue. He read somewhere on the internet to write the alphabet, so he did that as well, eliciting even more gasps of pleasure from the writhing girl.

"Fuck, Peter! I'm gonna' come. I'm gonna' come. Fucking hell!" Her pitch had grow several notches higher as she felt herself toppling over the edge. Peter's hands replaced hers with fondling with her breasts, fingers pinching her protruding nipples. "Fuck, thank you. Thank you, I'm going to come."

Y/N's face contorted with pleasure, her forehead wrinkled as a silent moan ripped from her lungs, her mouth stretched open into a gaping ‘O’ shape. Y/N's toes curled, her body growing intensely hot against Peter's touch. The subtle sting from him pinching her nipples mixed with the immense explicit, sexual gratification roaring in her loins, sending her entire body on a trembling frenzy as her orgasm blew through her.

Y/N's body convulsed, and Peter continued to lick at her stimulated clit, helping her ride out the orgasm. Tiny gasps and high pitched whimpers filled the confines of her bedroom, a blissful buzz running through her veins.

Peter pressed a few sensual kisses against Y/N's inner thighs, leaving a trail of wetness from her pussy. She let out a breathy giggle, the apples of her cheeks flushed pink. Her forehead was listening with a sheer layer of sweat. She had to take a moment to collect herself before yanking the boy up to meet her eyes.

Peter’s body hovered over hers, his muscular arms trapped on either side of her nude figure. She noticed the region of his mouth still shimmering with her own juices, but Y/N still wrapped her arm around his neck and pulled him firmly against her. She latched her lips onto is, tasting herself with not a care in the world, sighing against his mouth.

"I made you cum in seven minutes...” he muttered against her lips, and she couldn’t help but squeeze her thighs together at the cockiness laced within his wonder-filled words. Y/N ran her hands through his hair, humming gently as they continued to kiss. They pulled away, his eyes flickering along the pattern of hickeys painted across her skin. He felt a warmth glowing in his chest knowing he was the one that put them there.

The two practically catapulted from each other's arms as a heavy knock sounded on the door. "Hey, Y/N! The car is almost here! You done getting ready?" Natasha's voice echoed from the other side.

"Oh, my God!" Panic settled in as she leapt up from the bed, Peter himself nearly sticking to the ceiling from the swift movements. "Yeah, Natasha, I'm almost ready! Be out in a sec!"

Y/N picked up her bra and adjusted it around her body, then padded over towards the mirror, jaw dropping at the horrific, messy sight. Her hair was a disaster, strands of frizzy locks protruding from all over due to Peter's relentless hair tugging. Her bra was shifted awkwardly, she needed a new pair of clean panties, and a new shirt that would hide the dozens of hickeys sprawled over her chest.

"Jesus, Peter. Look at my neck!" Y/N hissed, examining the bruises. She turned around at the sound of her closet door opening, Peter pulling out a bulky gray turtle neck sweater.

"I've seen you wear this before," he handed it to her, running a hand through his hair. "It's cute, I guess. I don't really know much about fashion, but uh, I think you pull it off. And it's covers all of the hickeys!"

Y/N shook her head, grinning widely. She reached up and caressed the boy's face, standing on the tips of her toes to peck his lips. "You're amazing, Peter Parker."

She put on the shirt, which did a very nice job at hiding the bruises without being too hot. She then quickly opened her underwear drawer, grabbing a random pair of panties to slide up her legs. Once she did, she pulled back down on the denim skirt, smoothing it across her legs, then tucked in the sweater. She looked in the mirror, nodding in satisfaction.

"You look so pretty," Peter approached the girl behind the mirror, sliding his arms around her waist. He placed his head on her shoulder, glancing at their reflection in the mirror. He couldn't help but feel incredibly happy, seeing him with her after what just happened, his feelings for the girl still burning bright within him.

"Peter," Y/N turned around, "I like you a lot. I really, really like you. I get home at like six, so do you maybe want to order Chinese food and watch a few movies here in my room. If you want, we can do other stuff too. I'd be down for it if you are, but if you want to chill, we can, and now I'm rambling."

Peter laughed, anxiously rubbing his hands together. "Yeah, I'd love to hang out with you, Y/N. I-I mean, I've liked you ever since I first met you. And uh, I'd also really like to do other stuff with you too."

"Okay, cool. Also, what just happened, I had fun. You’re really generous, you know that? I trust you. And you were good, too. Really fucking good. Sorry to leave you hanging, too. I'll repay you later tonight though, I promise," Y/N licked her lips, tilting her head as she innocently batted her lashes at the boy.

He sputtered for words, unintelligible little gasps falling from his lips. He replayed her words over and over again in his head, his jeans feeling a little too tight. "Y-you mean, you're going to—" He watched in a distracted haze as Y/N applied a fresh coat of lip gloss. She picked up her purse, hanging the strap over her shoulder, then grabbed her converse from the floor.

"I find it bold of you to assume I'm not as generous as you," she patted his chest reassuringly. "Also, I'd love to give you more lessons on kissing, but honestly I think you've really exceeded my expectations, and I don't have anything left to teach you.“

Peter chuckled, feeling bolder. "Maybe I can teach you a few things?"

Y/N cocked her head, intrigued. "I'd love you to teach me what you know, Parker. In fact, I want you to teach me it all."

Peter waved to the girl one last time before she uttered a goodbye and popped out of her bedroom. The smile he found illuminating his face was one he hadn't worn with anyone else but with her.

He had no idea how he could possibly wait for her to come home. He already found himself wanting to be close to her. Now, if only there was something to kill the time...

a/n: lol my favorite thing ever is the fact my favorite first little blurb thing (I’m still trying to figure out the correct terminology for this stuff) is smut. that’s literally one big fat mood. but it was three a.m. and i was feeling horny so what better way than to write!! hope you enjoy and have a lovely day/evening! edit: oh my god okay this is one of my first imagines like ever, especially nsfw and i’m reading back on it lowkey cringing at my writing but hey!! it’s improved a lot since now and i was definitely like 17 when i wrote this oh my god

#peter parker #peter parker x reader #peter parker imagine #peter parker blurb #peter parker smut #peter parker x stark!reader #peter parker x reader smut #peter parker x fem!reader #spiderman #spider man: homecoming #tom holland #tom holland x reader

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tremendouspeachduck · 5 years

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2 Things You Must Know About the REPUBLICAN, AMERICAN INDIAN

No. Really?

above car - 1933 Chevy 3-window coup w/rumble seat

Do you think Pres. Trump is a bully, I don’t. Why?

Talking about the “War on Men” … 5 touchy subjects …

Abortion – should the man have an opinion and be able to voice it?

Free Birth Control HERE and HERE *** Please notice, abortion is not listed as a birth control option

Pres Trump would have never won if it weren’t for the black vote

See Video and this video too don’t forget this one

Men seem to take it to a whole other level. The Bible has something to reveal about name calling. Also, the systematic criticism and self-doubt are what takes it from name calling to verbal abuse – it’s a repeated pattern that, over time, can make the victim believe the insults, making it harder for them to leave (“no one will love me because they said so”).

Beyond name calling, abusers may belittle their partner, either privately publicly, or disguise disparaging comments in jokes. This can be followed up by more judgment and criticism (“You’re too sensitive”) or acting as those what they’ve said is trivial (“I was only joking”). Other examples of name calling include putting someone down, making them feel guilty, or embarrassing and humiliating them.

Healthy relationships don’t use name calling to resolve conflict or express love. Both partners make the other one feel good about themselves. It’s relaxing and fun, and neither tries to “prove” they are the only ones that will ever love them. Instead, each partner sets boundaries on what’s acceptable behavior, including what nicknames or jokes are okay.

Can you think of a great sight to see walking in the city? Click to see it

Recognizing these early warning signs can make the difference between staying in an unhealthy relationship that worsens over time, or ending it and being in one that’s healthy.

Should men care about your makeup? The correct answer is “yes,” if it makes the woman happy. Lips and the smile are what is very appealing to a man.

How to support a woman’s period? No rude comments about what’s in the trash bin, about her being moody… no jokes, no nothing. It’s ok to make her laugh, laughter is good medicine BUT do not joke about it being “that time of the month again”.

By knowing her cycle, you can be more aware and sensitive to her changing moods and physical discomfort. This develops a deeper trust as your woman knows you are really present with what she is experiencing. Put it in your calendar so you have a heads up.

Interestingly, having an orgasm can relieve menstrual cramps, though your attitude during the whole cycle will determine whether or not she’s willing to explore this. Again , this is probably best to bring up when she isn’t in the middle of it.

She may act like she doesn’t want you there, but remember she may actually desire some TLC. Your full presence is the best medicine. She will love you for this!

Help create a cozy environment for her, and cook her comfort food. Hugs are also great. The main thing is to not be an ass. (closing down and or not wanting to deal is being an ass)

Finding ways to be positive is the key to building a healthy body image and positive self-esteem. What we read and watch has a huge impact on how we feel about ourselves. Because of this, we should be very particular about the magazines and websites we will look at. We might love reading about the interesting things that people, and women in particular, accomplish. Shopping centers aren’t only sucking your money, they are also sink holes for body confidence. Getting caught up in a conversation about the way someone else looks, whether they have put on weight and so on, inevitably leads to thoughts on our own appearance. Don’t participate. Touch is an incredibly powerful way of reinforcing the way you feel about your body. And if you’re touched gently, with love and care, you will feel incredible. So, try to practice gentle love and care with yourself. Wash your hair the way the hairdresser did. Wash your face the way a beauty therapist would. Give yourself a massage when you’re applying moisturizer. It feels good. And it reinforces a positive, kind relationship with your body. Meditation is an incredibly effective tool for clearing away unhelpful thought cycles. 10 minutes. 5 minutes. 1. Whatever. Just sit, close your eyes and breathe.

Eating respectfully means accepting and being mindful of the nutrients that your body requires to function. It means eating plenty of good food and ditching sugary and pretend foods that compromise our digestive health, our hormonal balance, our mood and energy levels. The flip side of eating respectfully is to move past the binge-fast guilt cycle. If you eat something unhealthy, please don’t punish yourself or try to restrict caloric intake. Healthy eating and body respect is not about food deprivation. It’s about food celebration. When you look in the mirror, try to replace any negative thoughts that are pushing their way through with an affirming thought about the way you look or feel.

People who have purpose are too busy getting stuff done to worry about how they look. In the end, creative expression, passionate parenting, effective leadership and growing the best-goddamn-tomatoes-in-the-neighborhood is far more satisfying than making sure you look good in an outfit at all times.

Positive self-image is a habit, not an attribute and your partner can be helpful.

This is an excerpt from my post: THE IROQUOIS CONFEDERACY: THE “SAVAGE” EMPIRE.

The Haudenosaunee (Iroquois: Mohawk, Seneca, Oneida, Onondaga and Cayuga) really cherished population stability. Being that their population was so limited and ever diminishing due to disease outbreaks and near constant conflicts, the Haudenosaunee highly preferred losing as few men as possible. They usually evaded fighting armies that outnumbered theirs as well as avoiding fortified enemy positions and fighting pitched battles. The Haudenosaunee (Iroquois) preferred instead to employ ambushes, strike preemptively, and launch lightning fast raids under the cover of darkness. The Haudenosaunee would travel deep into enemy territory in very large numbers to scare off potential enemies from attacking them before breaking up into smaller war parties, after which these war parties would utilize swift and stealthy attacks usually in the form of ambushes or night raids.

Closer Look by Doug Hall.

Another tactic the Haudenosaunee (Iroquois) employed was after traveling by way of canoes under the cover of night they would place rocks in the canoes to weigh them down and cause them to sink out of sight They would then speedily assault the enemy in coordinated attacks, vanish back into the wilderness and return to their canoes before the enemy had enough time to recuperate, assemble and counterattack. With the deadliness of firearms introduced into the equation, the Natives learned to fire at enemies from behind the cover of trees instead of the European practice of firing coordinated volleys from fixed formations.

One Step at a Time by Doug Hall.

One disadvantage the Haudenosaunee (Iroquois) had over the Euro-American colonies was that Native populations were constantly diminishing and fluctuating. The Euro-American colonies surrounding them, on he other hand, were growing and receiving a constant flow of immigrants with the occasional military reinforcement from Europe. The limited number of Natives as well as their fear of dying and becoming lost souls, urged them to retreat from battle more readily than Euro-American forces – even after just a few casualties. They used safer methods of combat like the previously mentioned ambushes, night raids, espionage, and scorched earth tactics: destroying their settlements or crops in order to retreat and deprive the enemy of shelter or resources.

A Quick Glance by Doug Hall.

The Natives that wanted to lead a proposed raid against a perceived enemy would send a messenger with tobacco tasked with expressing the purpose and details of the mission, asking them to join their cause. The Haudenosaunee (Iroquois) who decided to engage in said raid would first take part in the smoking of a pipe filled with tobacco. Before leaving for the raid there would be a feast and dancing, during the ‘Dog (War) Feast’ the warriors would engage in a ceremony called the ‘striking-the-warpost’ where they would sing war songs, dance, and boast about their military exploits. After each achievement is mentioned the warrior strikes a red-painted post with their weapon (club or hatchet), the young Natives that had yet to have achieved any great feats simply danced and struck the warpost once.

A Moment Away by David Wright.

If these young Natives had proven themselves to be brave warriors during their expedition they would be seen as men and accepted as a warrior by being given their first feather. These young braves could also attain higher status, honor and prestige. I read of one story of an elder who joined in but in place of dancing he performed an awe inspiring passionate reenactment of his life as a warrior, a deep performance that displayed an array of emotions as he described all that he had experienced and accomplished throughout his lifetime.

man on right - Carson Cooper is a member of the Tlingit and Haida tribes and an Alaska native. Lee Redeye (on left) is a member of the Seneca tribe and was raised on the reservation in Irving and in New Mexico. Both attorneys are relatively new to the law firm Lippes Mathias Wexler Friedman LLP , with Cooper having joined in 2017 and Redeye earlier this year.

Another attorney, Owen Herne, branched out on his own after beginning his career in corporate counsel for a tribe. He is a member of the Mohawk tribe and runs Herne Law PLLC.

These three local attorneys in Buffalo, NY took different paths to focus on Indian law, but they share a bond in the desire to build careers around their ancestry.

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The Jogah, or Jungies, are a race of small humanoid nature spirits from Iroquois folklore, sometimes referred to in English as “dwarves” or “pygmies.” They are usually invisible but sometimes reveal themselves to humans

After nightfall, the call of the Whip-poor-will signals their arrival. It is important to leave baskets of food, such as corn cakes and berries, or even meat in the woods for them. Those who see the Little People should not look directly at them, they think it’s rude. If they catch you staring, they might point a finger at you, rooting you to the ground, while they take your belongings. Another rule is don’t speak of them in the summer, when they are most active.

At this time of Bad Spirits, there lived a medicine woman. One night, during a terrible storm, she heard the whip-poor-will. When she looked outside, the bird wasn’t to be found, but a small boy stood in the rain on her doorstep. It turned out he was a grown Jogah, who told her to come help someone who was sick. Though the storm was fierce, he led her through the woods a long way.

Suddenly, the storm seemed to stop as they began to descend into the ground. They were in the realm of the Little People. Weegun led her to a beehive shaped chamber of rocks. Inside, a very old woman lay in bed, very ill. The Makiawisug told the medicine woman that this was Granny Squannit, who must be made well. Granny Squannit is very powerful, and she is known to cause storms when she argues with her husband. Her illness was the reason for this storm. Worse, healers often look to Granny Squannit when the need is dire for help in healing, and here she was the one who was sick. The medicine woman treated Granny Squannit for nearly a moon before she got better. In return for restoring Granny Squannit’s health, the Makiawisug gave the medicine woman a basket of gifts and told her to remember them. She was blindfolded and taken back home.

Only when she returned did she open the basket. Inside were quartz crystals, painted skins and bunches of herbs.

People in the USA have natives who are very spiritual living maybe next door. Embrace your neighbor - let’s get back to our community roots.

Community involvement is the solution to mass murder/shootings

Close your eyes, lean head back on pillow or head-rest, take deep breaths and listen to the story unfold Special Cherokee Nation Song video

nice fire & listen to music flute music vid Do you want to learn the Mohawklanguage? the sacred horse song See My fav horse

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Please leave message below, then Go To top, nav to previous or next

#american indian #ai #iroquois #south dakota #tamara st #tamara #politics

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goodvibesatpeace · 5 years

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Relationships: Deconstructing the Soulmate Myth

One of the most damaging concepts of society has been that of the idea of “soul mates.”

Now, before you scream “heresy,” hear me out.

I get it, the idea of having one special person that is custom made just for you sounds super appealing.

It’s unique. It’s a once in a lifetime kind of thing. If someone is your soul mate, it’s like The Notebook happening to you in real life. It’s girls who grew up on Disney having their dream come true.

But slow down, there. Let’s really think about this whole “soul mate” concept. There are a few things that are just inherently wrong about the idea of soul mate that I feel require closer examination.

Let’s imagine that there really is only one perfect match for us in this whole world.

7.3 billion people in the world and there’s one perfect person who is going to complete you? Really?

We live on a rock filled with an explosive core that spins at a rate of 1,000 miles per hour and has remained suspended in space since the beginning of time. It seems like whatever divine energy keeps that system moving would be much more precise than the concept of a “soul mate” when it comes to our most intimate partnerships.

Next, the soul mate myth sets up unrealistic expectations. People who believe in soul mates and who believe they have found theirs tend to expect that their relationship should be “easy” because they are soul mates.

Because they expect that the stars will line up perfectly and they’ll fit hand and glove with their soul mate, people don’t think about things like learning how to communicate effectively, or even how to deal with their sh*t in the context of a relationship.

They think that their soul mate is going to accept them just as they are, so they are free of any need to improve. Concurrently, they accept more and tolerate more bad behavior from their partner because, well, they’re soul mates!

People mistake the intense attraction they feel for another person as a sign that they are soul mates, but what is most interesting is that attraction is not necessarily a sign of great compatibility.

The thing about attraction is that it can actually be deceptive—neuroscientists have found that we are “wired” certain ways based on our primary childhood influences. Therefore, we are wired to respond to people who are similar; we “recognize” them and have strong responses and believe that strong response is a sign of fate or destiny.

Many times, we are acting out old patterns or looking for someone to fill in some perceived deficit we have. These unconscious patterns are like a bad matchmaker, driving you into the arms of destruction.

So what’s a New Age spiritual love ninja supposed to do about love if indeed there are no such things as “soul mates” (or if the notion is just really, really misused)?

First, let’s get real about the idea of one perfect person who will complete you a la Jerry Maguire. While my naïve romantic side swooned at that line, my grown up self realizes that no one can complete another. The best relationships are with two whole and individual people who are content with themselves before they partner.

Don’t buy into the “there’s one perfect person for me and when we meet it will be all rainbows and magic and everything will be easy and fun”. You will have to know how to communicate, how to ask for what you want, how to set boundaries and understand all other the necessary skills for cultivating a good relationship. If you expect that you’ll meet your “soul mate” and they will magically know exactly what you want, you’re setting yourself up to be majorly disappointed.

Next, do your own healing work before you go into relationship. Carl Jung once said that “until you make the unconscious conscious, it will direct your life and you will call it fate.”

When you’re single, you have great opportunities to grow—and believe me, if you don’t do it now, you’re going to have to face it later. Recognize that unless you had a perfect childhood with perfect parents and a perfect school with perfect teachers and perfect first love, the sooner you face it, the sooner you can become conscious, aware and lighten your emotional load which will make traveling the freeway of love much easier.

(By the way, we all know no one has had a perfect life—we’ve all got some baggage to unpack.)

I believe we attract people who reflect where we are in this journey of life. If we think we are unlovable, we will attract people who affirm that belief. If we think we are disposable, we will attract people who treat us that way. If you believe you are worthy, you will attract people who treat you as though you are. With that said, I believe that a true “soul mate” relationship comes along when we have mastered the art of love—first of all, with ourselves.

When you fall in love with yourself, really, truly love, respect, honor and admire and see yourself as the worthwhile, lovable, amazing goodness that is you—then you will find your “soul mate”. Because a soul mate is simply another person recognizing that which your soul already knows and reflecting it in how they love you.

#relationship #love #attraction #soulmate #soul #spirit

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lovehealgrow · 3 years

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11 Tips for Marriage after 11 Years Married

My recently engaged little sister is in the midst of planning her wedding. After celebrating 11 years of marriage to my husband over the weekend, I thought about what advice I might offer her as she prepares to marry a wonderful person.

So here they are, 11 tips for marriage after 11 years married:

Be kind, not nice. As women, we are pressured to be nice and we can do our best to stay small and keep things in…this is the recipe for resentment in a relationship. Society can tell us setting boundaries, expressing anger, being direct in our expectations isn’t “nice” sometimes—but the kindness of showing up fully treats our partner, self and the relationship with respect. This kindness keeps us together. We can ALWAYS be kind to another person, even when we disagree and even when we are mad. We don’t always have to be nice.

Have your own interests. Relationships grow through shared interests AND differences. Experiences away from our partner keep us connected with our inner self, builds self-esteem, and also helps increase excitement in the relationship—how boring it would be if we were the same.

Protect time together like your life depends on it. What comes so naturally in the beginning (just spending time together) becomes threatened by career responsibilities, family commitments, social engagements, parenting and home responsibilities, and other activities—SO EASILY. Almost every couple who comes into my office talks about how they don’t have the time to spend more time with each other. This is true for EVERYONE, but we need time together to bond in order to stay connected. Battle the FOMO, lower your expectations, say ‘no’ to things you really enjoy sometimes to protect your time together if you really value the relationship.

If you become parents, prepare for the strain on your relationship. I thought I knew, but I had no idea. Having a baby does bring you closer together…but not at first. If you choose to become parents, know that sometimes it’s really going to suck! A lot! You won’t like each other sometimes. You won’t like your kid sometimes. It’s really hard. But it’s okay! Talking with other parents, a therapist, and each other will help. Also, just accepting that it’s really shitty sometimes helps too. Like, it’s not your fault, okay? It’s temporary and you are doing a great job. I’m here for you.

Don’t hit ‘em where it hurts. Don’t throw them under the bus. When we know what can hurt our partners the most and we’re really hurt ourselves, we might want to say the thing that crosses the line. Or we might be tempted to complain to others in our life about our partner in a way that really throws them under the bus. RESIST THE URGE! Keep respect and trust active in the relationship. Open up about how you are feeling and commit to trying to understand their perspective as well.

Your bodies will change. You might hate your body changes and want to hide away from your partner. You might be uncomfortable with their body changes and feel less attraction. Be kind to your bodies. Be tender with each other. Our bodies are amazing AND also kind of gross and embarrassing sometimes. Let your partner love yours and practice loving theirs.

Be willing to change your mind. Did you know that there’s research that shows that in opposite sex relationships, good relationship satisfaction is correlated with how willing the male partner is to change their mind/take influence from their female partner? It’s really hard to see things from a different perspective, but it’s so worth it because it shows our partner respect, care, and vulnerability.

Whenever you feel you’ve “figured it out” another change is around the corner. I keep falling for this one. Thinking that we’re finally in a rhythm and have life figured out. But then something gets thrown in the mix and we’re adjusting again. That’s okay. That’s to be expected. Face these challenges together as a team instead of thinking that it’s the fault of the relationship for being less prepared. You got this!

There will be loneliness. Loneliness will be in our life whether we are partnered or single, whether we have kids are we do not, whether we work remotely or in an office. Share your loneliness when you can. Comfort each other even when you don’t understand the other person. Life can be isolating—you aren’t doing anything wrong. Don’t give up on reaching out for connection even when you are at your most lonely. The only way out is through.

Take stock regularly. Check in on the relationship weekly, monthly, annually. Be honest, don’t avoid. How can you support each other? Where are you letting each other down?

Never stop showing appreciations for each other. Do we take anyone for granted as much as we take our partner? I don’t know. Never stop showing gratitude, never stop praising. You are your partner’s witness in life—show them that you see them even chance you get.

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#Marriage #Relationships #Communication #Tips for Marriage

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