#it’s a very jumbled explanation to her about how it started

[upon-a-starry-night]

Number Neighbors Pt.25

Natasha Romanoff x Fem! Reader

Natasha Masterlist Series Masterlist

Word Count: 1.7k

Summary:  When you catch sight of the newest trend going around you know you’re all but bound to at least try it, it was harmless anyway. What could possibly stem from something so little?

----

Nat doesn’t respond to any of your texts, she doesn’t explain why she was sorry, nor does she show up on Friday. You waited at the cafe for 3 hours before you finally accepted that she wasn’t coming. You had been too anxious to order coffee so you ordered a tea but it had long gotten cold. The barista would glance at you every so often with pity and embarrassment burned your cheeks. 

You threw the cold tea in the trash and left the cafe vowing to avoid this part of town for a while. You were hurt and angry but more than anything you were confused. She had seemed thrilled to meet you and it was her idea in the end so why was she bailing on you? The thought that she wasn’t who she claimed to be quietly crept up on you throughout the day but you’d heard her voice, at the very least she wasn’t a 60-year-old man. At least she didn’t sound like one.

You’re looping through the five stages of grief throughout the week and by the end of it, you're a sobbing mess in your friend's arms. There’s copious amounts of ice cream in your freezer and a bottle of wine has already been emptied as the two of you find yourself back on your couch but this time the circumstances are less enjoyable.

“I don't understand what I did wrong” Your friend gently caresses your hair as you stain her shirt with salty tears. She’d known the second she saw you that something was wrong and you’d nearly broken down on your lunch break in front of her when she asked if you were alright. 

Even your mother seemed to notice something was off just by the sound of your voice. She’d threatened to come down and maim the person that hurt you and you didn’t have the heart to tell her that neither of you would know where to find her.

“Maybe she’s just scared?” Your friend tried to reason. You don’t know how long she’s been comforting you but it’s the only thing keeping you from texting Nat again. You’ve ranged from screaming at her through texts to sending her sob-ridden voicemails and you hoped to keep at least a small part of your dignity intact.

“But it was her idea!” You argue “and she knows I wouldn’t be mad if she wasn’t ready. I just don’t understand why she won’t respond” A fresh wave of anger washes over you as you get up from the couch, your hands waving wildly as you make your way to the fridge “And what was with that cryptic text?! Why couldn’t she just say why she was sorry? What’s an apology without an explanation?”

You angrily grab a carton of ice cream and two spoons, huffing as you plop down on the couch and handing the spare spoon to your companion. You instinctively reach out for your phone, checking to see if Nat’s at least read your messages. She hasn’t.

You go to text her again, fueled by frustration despite your thread of unanswered messages. They stare tauntingly at you as the blue light assaults your tired teary eyes.

        Nat🔪:

Y/n🍦: 

Are you okay? We don’t have to meet but I’m getting worried about you

Y/n🍦:

Nat? I’m going to call.

Y/n🍦:

I never realized you don’t have a voicemail tone

I was hoping I’d get to hear your voice one last time

Y/n🍦:

You know what? Screw you, I don't deserve this!

Y/n🍦:

I didn’t mean it. I miss you.

I’m calling again.

You make a move to text her again but your friend slips the phone from your hands before you get the chance. She deletes whatever jumbled mess you had started typing and sets your phone behind her so you can’t reach it. You simultaneously want to scream at her and thank her. 

“Maybe we should give her some time?” You pick up on what she’s saying immediately. Realizing she might not be talking about Nat. You only manage a small nod as you slump further into the couch and start eating your ice cream.

“Can we put something on?” Your friend nods and turns the TV on and you’re grateful for the temporary distraction but you know the second she leaves you’ll probably send Nat another voicemail.

The silence allows you ample time to give in to your anxiety, realizing you don’t know as much as you probably should about Nat. You don’t know her last name, if she has any siblings, what she does for a living. For all you know, she could be a contract assassin, it would make sense why she disappeared all the time. 

 You had no idea who you’d been talking to and now that you’d grown an attachment to her she ghosted you. Had that been her plan the whole time? Was this some kind of game to her? Did she even really care about you? Your thoughts swirl and grow into a ball of anxiety and paranoia and you stare blankly at the TV as the cold of the metal spoon presses into your tongue.

~~

Nat lays on the cold pullout couch of her trailer and stares at the ceiling for what feels like days. It’s all she can bring herself to do when she’s not busying herself with other distractions. When she doesn’t distract herself her mind wanders to you. 

She promised she’d never make you cry. Her heart squeezes at the thoughts that must be running through your head. She’d had to leave her phone behind at the tower but she’d gotten a glimpse of your worried messages while she was packing. She felt horrible to leave you without an explanation but how would you believe her if she told you over text? 

She planned to tell you everything when you met but now she wouldn’t get the chance. And all because of the stupid government treaty Stark wanted them to sign. It made her impossibly angry just thinking about Thursday evening.

*The Avengers had all gathered in the meeting room, except Peter who was taking tests at school that he didn’t want to miss. The room was tense as Tony flipped through pictures and videos of the destruction their fights often led to, only stopping when Steve told him to. Nat could understand where Tony was coming from, she understood that the wreck that became the city was distressing but if it meant lives were saved wasn’t it worth it? 

She refused to be under anyone’s control ever again now that she had her freedom. She wasn’t going to be put on a leash. They already complied with all of the publicity stunts and interviews the government made them do but now they wanted to control their lives? What were they going to do next tell her how to breathe? 

Not to mention she didn’t want them getting involved in her relationships. She couldn’t have them knowing about you- controlling you. She wouldn’t let them take you from her. She smiled at the thought of you, glancing at her phone to see your good luck message.

“Well you can tell them your opinions face to face” Natasha’s head snaps up at Tony’s words and Bucky fixes him with a suspicious glare

“You better not be saying what I think you are Stark” He seeths out and Tony just shrugs, checking his watch

“They’ll be here in a few hours, I already agreed to sign it” The room erupts in a flurry of outrage. Wanda is the first to leave, scoffing as she pushes out of her chair and makes her way to the meeting room door. Vision follows after her, worry evident on his features.

Steve is still arguing with Tony trying to reason with him but it seems like it’s falling on deaf ears and Nat watches as her family begins crumbling in front of her eyes. She stays stoically silent, unsure of what to say to stop the fighting that's only getting worse. Bucky looks half ready to sock Tony in the face and she wouldn’t fault him for it but she doesn’t want violence to break out nonetheless.

“They backed me into a corner! We don’t have any other options! We don’t know what they’ll do to us if we don’t agree!” She can hear the desperation in Stark’s voice; the fear. A man who was always trying to prevent what could happen so much that he became oblivious to what was happening.

“We don’t know what they’ll do to us if we do!” It’s the last thing Bucky says before he storms out of the room, Steve following not soon after. Tony looks to Bruce but he only solemnly shakes his head, sitting quietly in his chair as he tries to think of another solution. 

Stark tries to reason with Nat but she just sighs. She doesn’t know how to solve this yet but she’ll figure out a solution. For now, she needs to do what she assumes the rest of her family is doing: Pack and find a place to hide out for a while. She’d seen what the government does to powerful people they don’t trust- she’d been part of some of those missions. She knows it’s in their best interest not to stick around unless they want to be thrown onto The Raft until they agree to sign their lives away.*

That’s how she ended up here, in the middle of nowhere, cold and alone. She’d had to leave her phone behind so that she couldn’t be tracked and that meant she couldn’t text you. She briefly considered texting you from a burner phone, she had your number memorized but she didn’t want to freak you out and she was worried about how you’d react. 

She didn’t want to have to tell you the truth over the phone, and what were the chances of you believing it was her? Most of all she was terrified that you’d be angry, that you’d tell her you never wanted to hear from her again. You would be justified in that response but she wasn’t ready to face that just yet. So she busied herself with concocting any possible ways to get her family safe and back together again. 

Pt.26

A/n: Sorry for the late chapters I've been rewriting them until they feel good enough to put out. (Also yes this is based on Civil War but it doesn't follow the same outcome)~ Starry

---Taglist--

@marvelwomen-simp @cd-4848 @wandanatlov3r @rebeltombraider @ctrlamira @fxckmiup @aliherreraaa @natsxwife @la-douler-ne-finite-jamais @romanoffsgal @moistblobfish @natashaswife4125 @elenimoris @how-to-disappearrr @screechcat @toouncreativeforausername @ordelixx @autorasexy @blacklightsposts @vmpnano @jono723 @sylencr @saraaahsstuff @autorasexy @gay4hotmilfs @tofu9162 @dyslexic-dreamer @graniairish @colettehope @kosmichs1 @nmhlver @natblidaclexa @skittlebum @dorabledewdroop @nothanksbye07 @mrsrushman @midastouch013

#marvel #fanfiction #fanfic #marvel fanfic #marvel fanfiction #fluff #women of marvel #fluff fic #natasha romanoff #mcu fluff #slight angst #number neighbor story #upon a starry night writes #natasha romanoff fanfic #natasha marvel #natasha x reader #natasha x you #natasha x y/n #natasha x fem!reader #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff x you #black widow #black widow x reader #natasha romanoff x female #black widow x female reader #the avengers #natasha romanoff angst

[wannabe-fic-writer]

Kate Bishop x Reader : Kiss Me

Summary: The time has arrived to bring the holiday spirit into your home. Covers the ‘Decorations’ square of Holiday Bingo.

Warnings: None

Word Count: 1k

* * * * * * *

Snow slowly falls from the sky, further covering the ground below, and adding to the vibe you were working to create.

Standing in front of the large windows, you reach into the bag at your side and pull out yet another red snowflake sticker. You take a small step back to look over the expanse of the window, making sure you space out the red and green stickers properly. With the visual confirmation that you have, you step closer again and stick the red snowflake on the glass.

After that, you turn to the box on the table and take out the tangled up string of holiday lights.

“I thought you said you untangled these things.” Your teasingly accusatory tone cuts through the air that, previously, was only filled with the sounds of rummaging and Sleigh Ride by the Nickelodeon Cast.

From downstairs, Kate’s head pops around the corner, eyes a little wide like she’s been caught. She knows that she has when she sees jumbled up cables in your hands.

“Okay, I started to,” she begins her explanation while stepping further into view,“ and I even got a few of them done but my arms got tired and the chords were so long.. so I quit.” Her sentence ends with a pout.

You can’t help but shake your head, a low chuckle falling from your lips as you drop the lights back into the box.

In all fairness, it’s always a hassle to untangle your Christmas lights. Granted, had they been stored properly in the first place, this wouldn’t have been a problem but that’s neither here nor there. 

With the window and landing decorated completely, well, almost completely, you head back down the stairs. Your girlfriend is still standing by the stairs with a pout on her lips.

“It’s okay baby,” you assure her with a gentle hand on her cheek,“ I probably wouldn’t have done them all either.” You run your thumb over her pouty lips and it elicits a smile from her, right before she kisses your thumb.

“You didn’t need them anyway, it looks great.” She says while slipping an arm around your waist, pulling you flush into her side.“ I do think it’s missing something though.”

A frown instantly covers your features and you snap your gaze away from her over to the window and landing. How could something be missing? You were over there for nearly an hour, doing your absolute best to make the space look as festive as possible.

The plan to decorate the apartment was made long before today. In fact, when you moved in with Kate earlier in the year you both discussed your favorite holidays and how you would want to spend them now that you live together. One of your favorites had always been Christmas and decorating was an absolute must.

So, the instant stores started selling decorations, you and your girlfriend were buying them. Bit by bit you acquired all the items you needed to “perfectly” decorate the apartment: garland, stickers, ornaments, lights, a tree, etc. 

With everything ready to go, you woke up this morning on a mission to fully decorate the apartment. After big steaming mugs of hot cocoa, topped with a few too many marshmallows, were made and your Christmas playlist was blasting through the apartment, you began.

Kate’s place being so open was both a challenge and a blessing. It served as a huge blank canvas but the lack of walls meant that certain decorations couldn’t be used.

Still, you made it work. The tree was up in the living/dining room, lights and garland wrapped around it with ornaments spread about on it. Lights were strung up on the wall and the figurines you bought were scattered around on tables and shelves.

Very little was done to the kitchen, just some mini tree figures on the island, mini wreaths on every other cabinet, and a red Christmas themed rug on the floor.

Kate’s archery/workout area just had tinsel and lights strung up around the archway and she hung some ribbons from the shelves.

Then there’s the landing, which you worked on. It was decorated with snowflake stickers on the windows, tinsel looping along the tops of them, while fake snow covered the window sill and the floor below it with mini snowmen and penguins on top. You’d also wrapped some lights and tinsel around the stair railings.

It looks amazing. Perfect even. So you’re confused as to what your girlfriend means.

“Okay no.” You shake your head, looking from Kate to the landing.“ I did an incredible job. There’s nothing miss-”

When you look back at the brunette she’s sporting a smirk, her other arm raised up as she holds a singular mistletoe above your head.

“I think the space could definitely use a few of these.” She whispers with implication.

“Oh? You really think they’ll make a difference?”

The small gap between you two has been gradually closing since she held the mistletoe up, her lips but a whisper away from yours.

“You tell me.” Are her words before she closes that miniscule gap and crashes her lips onto yours.

Hands instantly wrap around her waist as you equally melt into the kiss and her embrace. She drops the mistletoe, freeing her hand so that she can raise it and cup your cheek. 

You feel the corners of her lips quirk up a little as she fights a smile but it inevitably comes up anyway and the second your lips meet her teeth you pull away with a giggle.

Smile still lighting up her face she asks,“ you think it’ll make a difference?”

“Definitely,” you nod, still a little dazed from the kiss.

Kate smirks, pecking your lips softly before she scoops up the mistletoe and moves to hang it from the doorway into her training area.

“Nope, we’re gonna need more.” Grabbing her waist, you pull her back into you," a whole lot more.” You mumble before initiating yet another kiss.

* * * * * * *

Taglist: @owloftheshadows @blackxwidowsxwife @b-5by5 @lostandsearching @iliketozoneout @alotofpockets @storiesofsvu

#kate bishop #kate bishop fluff #kate bishop fic #kate bishop imagine #kate bishop x reader #kate bishop x you #mcu #mcu x reader #marvel #marvel x reader #storiesofsvuholidaybingo2023

[hogwartslegacyreactions2]

Hey, if you're interested in another idea, would you like to write the reactions of the various characters to the dyslexic MC? (and therefore low self-esteem) ❣️❣️❣️

HLC REACT TO DYSLEXIC MC

It's not that MC couldn't read, they just had to do it slowly. Sometimes they'd have to stare at a sentence for several minutes before it made sense. Some days were better than others. While sometimes it would just be a letter or two out of place, sometimes it would be entire paragraphs looking like someone spilled alphabet soup on the page. They prayed to any higher power that would listen that they would never have to read in front of the class. It was bad enough to struggle doing homework reading assignments.

SEBASTIAN SALLOW: He reads like a Timelord, so he'll struggle with the idea that someone just can't read words sometimes. He'll be interested to learn about their condition, but MC will still have to remind him to be patient. If MC really struggles with learning something new, he'll gladly help them, for a price. He likes having friends in his dept.

OMINIS GAUNT: He learned how to read relatively late in life because of his blindness, so he still has to take his time. Don't even get him started on writing. Even with his wand, writing in a straight line with a quill is challenging. And POTIONS, UGH! Needless to say, he relates. Misery loves company.

ANNE SALLOW: She's not as voracious with reading like her brother, so she's far more compassionate in encouraging MC to take their time. The professors give lots of time when they're reading assignments usually and they shouldn't fret about it. If they have real concerns in the class, just talk to the professors. She is sure they'll understand.

IMELDA REYES: She genuinely believes MC can't read for the first couple months of the year. Did MC expect to just learn through osmosis by staring down their textbooks? Even after an explanation, it just sounds like excuses to her.

NATSAI ONAI: She's more of a doer than a reader herself, so she relates a little bit. She offers to help MC through their assignments by doing the reading for them and then explaining it verbally or through demonstration. She's not going to let her bestie fail just because their brain sees books as word jumbles.

GARRETH WEASLEY: He understands, but more under the pretense that he just has a hard time focusing because his brain is constantly elsewhere. Trial and error is the best way to learn anyway. If you don't understand it, wing it. It's worked for him so far.

LEANDER PREWETT: He can't help but poke a little bit of fun at the fact that MC actually does have an Achilles heel and is not perfect at everything. If this genuinely bothers them, he'll apologize. Reading's not all it's cracked up to be anyway, just about everything at Hogwarts can be learned verbally. They shouldn't stress about it too much.

AMIT THAKKAR: He's quite the avid reader, so while he's sharing his favorite books and lessons, he may accidentally come across as condescending. MC Just has to tell him once what they're dealing with and he'll offer to help. He can easily break down many of the professors reading lessons down into more simplified paragraphs to make them easier to read.

EVERETT CLOPTON: He doesn't have perfect vision, so while he's not dyslexic, he can relate to MC's esteem. Kids can be cruel to those they think show weakness. He has a sack full of dung bombs for anyone who bothers MC about their dyslexia.

POPPY SWEETING: She believes MC just needs a nice calm environment for their reading. No distractions or loud noises to bother them while they're focusing. The vivariums are perfect! The beasts never judge how quickly someone reads if MC would like to practice reading out loud.

ELEAZAR FIG: He knows early on they have trouble reading. Not to worry, he's dealt with this sort of thing before, comes with the territory of being a professor. He's very patient with them and lets them read at their own pace. When he can manage it, he'll try to keep lessons verbal and with illustrations instead of written words.

#hogwarts legacy #hogwarts legacy reactions #hl #sebastian sallow #ominis gaunt #anne sallow #imelda reyes #natsai onai #garreth weasley #leander prewett #amit thakkar #everett clopton #poppy sweeting #eleazar fig

[livelaughlovekny]

He comforts you

Notes: Modern AU , Gender neutral reader, 2nd person POV a/n: Not really sure how I feel about comfort fics but writing comforting/affirmative(?) words makes me feel better. Hope that this helps anyone out there!

  “Hey.” A pause. “ Are you free?” He could hear what you didn’t say. He immediately responded. “Yeah, the playground?” He was already getting himself dressed and picking up his keys. “Yeah.” You hang up. When he arrived at the neighbourhood playground, he saw you on the swings, staring at the ground. You had that expression on your face you always have when you are thinking about what happened and trying to figure out what was wrong. He takes the swing next to you and looks at you carefully, trying not to scare or overwhelm you. “Hey. Want to talk about it?”

  You swung your feet a little, moving back and forth. “I don’t know.” He waited. He knew that you would speak, you just needed a moment to get yourself ready. “I don’t know. I- I just- I don’t know.” Your head was swamped with thoughts, unable to focus on swinging, you stopped. “I just- I don’t know. I- I’m so sorry, I can’t explain myself and there’s just like stuff I- I don’t know, I have so much but like if I can’t I-” You struggled to form a coherent sentence; your thoughts were starting to overwhelm you. There was too much happening too fast.

  Muichirou nodded his head. “Take your time. You can start small. Do you want me to guide you a little?” You nodded your head, desperate to get your thoughts straight. “How did it start?” Silently, you recounted what happened in your head and struggled to get the words out. You didn’t know how to explain yourself. He looked at you calmly. “I won’t judge, take it slow. You can always add on later. I will listen.” Right, yes, you don’t have to get everything out at once. You take a deep breath. “I was supposed to be doing homework but I wasn’t. I was texting my friends. My mother started telling me how she needs me to tell her when I want to use my laptop and phone for leisure activities. She said I only had a total of two hours a day.” Your words got stuck in your throat.

  Humming softly to acknowledge your words, Muichirou asked, “I see, how did that make you feel? Just your feelings, you don’t have to provide an explanation if you can’t at the moment.” Collecting yourself, you answered, “Annoyed. Very annoyed and frustrated.” You pause before continuing, “I- I don’t remember why. Everything feels so jumbled up together and like all mushed up. I can’t remember anything.” Your anxiety started to return and you were starting to detach from reality, struggling to stay afloat in your ocean of thoughts. He reached over and tentatively placed his hand on yours. “Come back, you don’t have to be alone with your thoughts. Take it slow. Let’s try another question. Which part of getting your laptop and phone restricted annoy you the most?”

  Getting pulled back into the real world and for a short moment, out of your thoughts, you blinked slowly, trying to calm down. “I think it’s because I’m getting too reliant on them. Especially my laptop. I need to listen to music to do most things. I need a nice distraction but not too much and I need to be able to control it. I think. It’s so hard to complete my work and tasks on time. I can’t focus. It’s just so hard. I need to like, switch between work and rest. I feel so mad at myself but I can’t help it and it’s just so tiring.” You had so much more to say but you couldn’t get it out.

  Muichirou stared at you calmly. “I get what you mean. It is tough to concentrate on stuff for long periods of time. You haven’t been feeling well for a long time, correct?” You nodded your head, feeling the need to elaborate on that too but couldn’t. “Don’t worry, you can tell me how you feel later. I understand that you find it very hard to focus on things and that’s alright, it’s not easy constantly feeling like you have to fix and prove yourself and get things done on time. It’s also okay to not know what caused you to be anxious.” And then, it was like something within you snapped.

  Tears started sliding down your cheek. Noticing your tears, Muichirou got up and hugged you. You start sobbing harder. “It’s just that I feel so angry! And I’m just mad at myself for being mad! It’s honestly my fault but I can’t help it and I feel so awful and!” Your words spilled out and stumbled against each other; you sounded incoherent yet he understood what you wanted to convey. Gently pressing his palm against your back, he slid it down and up to sooth you. “I’m here. I’m not going to leave.”

  “I may not be able to take away your pain but I hope I will be able to help you overcome it. It’s not easy carrying all that pain yourself, you have been very brave. I’m proud of you.”

a/n: didnt manage to work on my requests these few days due to school stress but its been worked on a little!! :0 might make this a series/collection where the situations are a little more details perhaps?

#kny #demonslayer #kny fanfic #kny x reader #muichiro x reader #muichiro x y/n #demon slayer #kny muichiro #fluff #drabble #comfort #sweet #cute #comforting

[nicosraf]

hey! just finished abm and it was a great read. i was wondering though, about the plot-choice to make god a perpetrator of ass*ult. do u think it would have been less impactful if instead, god sent others to enact this “punishment” on lucifer instead? or if lucifer were to develop a hatred of god by himself without the ass*ult being written in? i suppose i just find it an interesting decision to see god take such a direct approach, especially when we see that he has normally taken a more indirect seat when it comes to warnings (like the parable of the doves), and normally has his archangels carry out his will. i guess what im trying to say is it’s difficult for me to see god characterized as a perpetrator just bc he seems less hands-on and more like a spectator/moderator for most issues. nevertheless, abm is a wonderful read! the way u write language is like the way mantis shrimp see color

Hello! First I have to mention that my anxiety immediately spiked at this because — especially post-Booktok — I've had to deal with very invasive DMs from strangers demanding an explanation from me for what you mentioned and, really, for everything sexual in the book. I've gotten used to just not answering now — I've made the mistake of thinking people are just curious before they start trying to argue with me (and become even more invasive about me/my-sexuality/traumas/etc)

That said, I think you are approaching me sincerely, so I can talk about it below the cut. It's a bit heavy so CW for SA. I'm sorry if my answer feels jumbled.

I mentioned that I basically got inspiration for how the tragedy of Lucifer would unfold from Ezekiel 16 — in which God grooms (in a very literal way) the personified Jerusalem until she is "old enough for love." God dresses her in all the finest jewelry and ensures she has the best food. Jerusalem is so beautiful that she became famous among all the nations, and God marries her. But then Jerusalem begins to put her faith in her beauty instead; she becomes a "prostitute" unfaithful to God. God threatens sexual violence:

I will gather them against you from all around, and I will strip you naked in front of them so they can see your nakedness. 38 I will punish you as women guilty of adultery or as murderers are punished. I will put you to death because I am angry and jealous. 39 I will also hand you over to your lovers. They will tear down your places of worship and destroy other places where you worship gods. They will tear off your clothes and take away your jewelry, leaving you naked and bare. 40 They will bring a crowd against you to throw stones at you and to cut you into pieces with their swords. (Ezekiel 16 NLT)

And he threatens Jerusalem for similarly in Jeremiah 13, this time even calling out her pride (some line earlier) in specific:

Will not pain grip you like that of a woman in labor? 22 And if you ask yourself, “Why has this happened to me?”— it is because of your many sins that your skirts have been torn off and your body mistreated. (Jeremiah 13 NIV)

And right below, God uses a very direct threat:

“I will scatter you like chaff driven by the desert wind. 25 This is your lot, the portion I have decreed for you,” declares the Lord, “because you have forgotten me and trusted in false gods. 26 I will pull up your skirts over your face that your shame may be seen— 27 your adulteries and lustful neighings, your shameless prostitution!

(You might notice these lines sound similar to those in ABM. That's very intentional. I modified them.)

But it is much deeper than that, of course. And you asked why God does it, rather than order someone else to do it.

For story reasons, I briefly considered God forcing Michael to do it, but that would be too forgivable. I would be taking away Michael's responsibility; in the future, Lucifer could realize Michael was forced to do what he did and they live happily ever after. That's not what I wanted. I also considered God ordering other angels to do it, but there was an obvious predator relationship from the start between him and Lucifer, and so it made less sense for other angels to do it. And, I didn't want the other angels to understand what happened to Lucifer, absolutely nobody.

It's really Lucifer's alienation that pushes him over the edge.

After all, he doesn't start the war after the incident. He grieves, then he returns to life. (The scene with Dina). It was the same thing he did when he lost his voice, and after getting it back. he begins to realize this is different. But, really, Lucifer was already resentful before the incident. In the lead up, before the chasing, Lucifer is talking bad about God is his head, he's talking back. He's furious at him already; if God hadn't done what he did, Lucifer would have started fully hating him over time and, most likely, after sleeping with Michael.

The SA is mostly unnecessary to Lucifer's development into hating God, except in modifying the hate and tying in the core inner struggles of the book. The scene's existence is more thematic.

ABM is a story about bodies, about body hate, and body autonomy. Lucifer has his autonomy denied over and over in the book; God says that he owns Lucifer's body because he created it. I'm referencing 1 Corinthians 6 with that:

All other sins a person commits are outside the body, but whoever sins sexually, sins against their own body. 19 Do you not know that your bodies are temples of the Holy Spirit, who is in you, whom you have received from God? You are not your own; 20 you were bought at a price. Therefore honor God with your bodies. (1 Corinthians 6 NIV)

(Relevantly, this chapter also mentions that homosexuality is wrong. And it also states how we should become one with God in a way parallel to becoming one with another person through sex: "Do you not know that he who unites himself with a prostitute is one with her in body? For it is said, “The two will become one flesh.” But whoever is united with the Lord is one with him in spirit.")

So when God does what he does, he violates Lucifer's autonomy and his body. It's not just a statement about Lucifer's body belonging to him (the body that Lucifer has struggled for so long to find comfort in), it's a way of showing that Lucifer has no escape. When Lucifer ran, God warped the world around them so that Lucifer kept returning to him. Everything on the outside was God, and then...

It's a punishment against promiscuity. Lucifer was growing into his sexuality. He was like an adolescent. He was flirting with the angels in the baths. He was learning to be sensual and to enjoy it. Punishing promiscuity with SA is incredibly Christian; it's what God does in the excerpts I shared above.

It's allegorical to Christian authority figures who've taken advantage of young people, particulalry very vulnerable people.

It's about screaming how violating the Christian God's actions have always felt. He's in your head, he owns your body, he is everything. He is allowing horrible things to happen to you. He is the thing hurting you. But he loves you. But he is watching you and ensuring you stay pure.

It's attached to this theme of a lonely God at the center of it all, so lonely he made a universe where all these things have to love him and adore him and gush about him. So lonely he made Lucifer, who is as close as he can get to an equal, which God neither wants nor believes he can create. But he wants something almost like him. Almost.

So — in most ways the SA is mostly metaphorical. The point is about domination and bodies, rather than God experiencing real desire or the SA just being a Bad thing that happens. And, if it helps, I don't imagine it to have been... normal. God is never described. He might not be human shaped (I don't imagine that he is).

Agh I'm ranting too much now, but this might be the last time I really talk about it. Despite all these things (and I didn't even mention everything), it's at its core a personal book about personal things, and talking about it can get difficult without getting worked up.

But I'll mention this was one of the big decisions I made when I stepped away from traditional publishing for the first time. In the original version of ABM, the SA was actually so subtle that only 1 beta reader caught it. But I didn't want to be a coward.

Thank you so much for reading. I'm really glad you enjoyed. Thank you for asking respectfully! I'm sending you good wishes. And I will think of shrimp mantis colors forever

#mine #ask

[miillloooo]

Something experimental I tried with oil pastel????"?" Was feeling pretty awful so I tried drawing something with oil pastel for fun. Felt a little better👍

Unedited ver + kind of my thoughts behind this drawing under this cut.

Uhhhh also a very messy explanation on what I was thinking when I drew this sorry if my sentences are jumbled. If you don't wanna read it here's a very short summary: "I've been thinking alot ever since I'm getting older and I want to stop thinking and go back to being some naive child I used to be."

I made like a whole essay about my thoughts it's okay if you don't wanna read it💀

I guess this whole drawing was my way of expressing how I felt knowing I'm growing older. Ever since I turned 16 and being a teacher's child loved by many, the only thing I started thinking about is my worth in many stuff like work potential, art potential and academic potential???? Idk how to explain it but I'm only thinking about my worth in all aspects to make sure I maintain a perfect student image. Ever since I kept thinking about my worth, everything got really worse especially during exams. I get beyond dissapointed and I'd cry lots when I get below 70 or 60. Worse if I get below 80 in language (both in my native language) and arts. It's like I was pointing a gun at myself, mess up once and I'd die. Because that's what it's like with my mom. She gets VERY disappointed if I get below those score and she'd constantly shame me and say she would've taken my friend (who's smarter than me) as her daughter instead of me. I kind of hate her since she only thinks about money and fame.

17 years old I'm starting to think about more and more about myself. What if I'm too childish to people around me? What if I were to put my teacher's child image to shame? What if my mother gets disappointed at me again for the smallest things? I studied and studied alot to be a perfect child to her, making sure I maintain a perfect score and stuff in arts and all. But of course she still gets disappointed if I didn't get am 80 or 85 or whatever. Worst part is I'm literally every teacher's hope, especially my arts teacher that knows about my skills and stuff. Everything started to feel like a mess from here. I started to enjoy the things I once enjoyed less, I started to hate the way I act, I started to hate the way I keep on trying knowing my mother will be disappointed anyways. It's gotten bad I attempted like twice that year and even almost had an urge to get some pills to see if I can get some sort of relief after almost a whole year messed up. But at least I'm still alive and 'healthy' so there's that yippee🎉. Also I'm envious with my irl friend circle's art skills and how their paintings are better than me so I've been trying to isolate myself from them. My friends became an example in art paintings TWICE and it's usually me so I've gotten so envious and mentally losing it a little. Even my friend that's ass in drawing got a compliment instead of me. Also my art teacher told me that I was being 'cocky and prideful' when I wasn't making any progress in my painting during some art improvement program for the art students. I would've screamed at him about how I was feeling but it'll give a bad image of me since I'm a prime example so I stayed quiet and skipped my at class the rest of the day. It's getting exhausting and now I'm losing motivation to paint or even draw for myself.

And 2024 I'm kind of technically 18 all my thoughts are only getting worse. My emotions are a bit out of control, probably worse than last year and I'm feeling exhausted and tired for the start of 2024. Currently taking a HUGE exam before I graduate highschool and it literally decides my future, of course my mother plays the part as the one that pressures me and guilt trips me. Arts exam is coming soon and my mind is in absolute shambles. The only thing I think is if it'll be good enough and if I'll be able to make one of the few most perfect paintings out of the other 30k whatever whatever candidates out there. Knowing there's people better than me I'm getting tired in wanting to even pick up my brush. Hell even looking at an empty drawing paper makes me go haywire and eat the paper because I feel like it.

Now I'm rethinking about my whole life after I became 16, and I kind of wished I wasn't pressuring myself so much for the sake of validation and some words of affection and praise from my classmates or parents or teachers. I think joining the art class in my school made me graduate highschool mentally exhausted and overwhelmed at my hobby that I used to really cherish and was passionate about. Now I'm just really wishing I could turn back time and be a kid again so I can relax a little. At least a little.

#milodrawin #art #oil pastel #does this count as vent art. #if I were to title this thing I'd probably name it something like “happy 18” or “I want to be youthful again” #idc if my childhood is absolutely horrific I want to be a kid again #but overall I'm part happy with how everything turned out in the end I should use oil pastels more #cw vent

[paper--moons]

Regressor!Miroku Headcanons

(with cg!Inuyasha)

Despite being a fairly perceptive person, Miroku is largely unaware of his own regression. Although perception does not necessarily equate to introspection of oneself, it still seems like he should have noticed this aspect of himself. This oversight can be chalked up to the fact that he has a lot going on, to put it mildly—forget trying to navigate the typical struggles that come with entering adulthood, no, he has to worry about finding Naraku and destroying him in order to get rid of the Kazaana unless he wants to be swallowed up by it (like his father before him, and his father's father). So it's understandable that he may have overlooked some things (or more accurately, ignored), like the dislocated, heady feeling that sometimes overcame him late at night when he closed himself away in whatever accommodations he had managed to secure for the evening. And even when he did acknowledge it, it was easy enough to brush off as something he was more familiar with and had a word for. Like fatigue. Surely it was only fatigue? The constant traveling, performing exorcisms, and doing palm readings and the like having caught up to him, as well as the ever-mounting pressure of time—running out of time—looming over him. But the swimmy feeling wasn't unpleasant, instead being quite the opposite. It made things easier, and so Miroku didn't have to acknowledge it. He wouldn't. Though this becomes something of an issue when he picks up some traveling companions (or rather, they pick him up) and they take notice of the occasional odd behavior; it's difficult to hide things when they are constantly in close proximity of one another. And while neither Kagome nor Sango push the issue, Inuyasha is a lot more stubborn.

This stubbornness is borne out of the belief that he's right, of course. Inuyasha can't exactly blame the rest of their group for not noticing—Sango and Kagome are only humans, after all, and Shippo is, well...Shippo, so of course he didn't notice either. Although he comes closer than the other two, not exactly noticing the way Miroku seems to almost be indulging himself when playing with the young yokai. And it could easily enough be explained away that he's just good with kids—an explanation that Miroku uses like a crutch when Sango mentions how good he is with Shippo—but there's more to it. Inuyasha can tell there's more to it, because the way Miroku smells changes. In fact, it was that subtle change that first tipped him off to the fact that Miroku regresses; Inuyasha might have bought the ready-made excuse if not for the fact that his yokai senses were telling him otherwise. While it's pretty typical for a human's emotional state to be picked up by a yokai, it's also typical that it fluctuates. It doesn't help that humans can't mask this like yokai can nor can they detect it themselves. But Miroku smells like a baby a lot more often than other people he's been around, and Inuyasha starts to get very protective without realizing it. He pushes, Miroku pushes back, the two butt heads about it, until finally everything bubbles over when Miroku gets sick from using the Kazaana to swallow up the nasty miasma Naraku so often liked to use against them. It's happened before, but this time he drops hard and he isn't even sure why that is. All Miroku knows is that it hurts and he wants to be held. His thoughts are a lot more jumbled than when this usually happens, his head a lot more fuzzy...although that could be attributed to the soft white hair he's crying into as he's held protectively against a familiar chest. And really, it's hard for Miroku to deny this isn't something he needs after clinging to Inuyasha like his life depended on it.

His regression being acknowledged (and assigned a proper term, thanks to Kagome and her modern understanding of what he's been experiencing) does not make things any easier on him. Miroku doesn't want to be so small, doesn't have the time. And it's frustrating when he finds that he suddenly has a caregiver (another term from Kagome, this time for Inuyasha), especially one that often knows just how small he's feeling. They all figure out fairly quickly that Miroku has what Kagome called a wider age range, roughly estimating that he falls anywhere from baby to about twelve. This might have been okay in his opinion (embarrassing, sure, but okay) if he stayed on the twelve end of things. More often than not however, Miroku slips dangerously small given what their escapades on a daily basis usually consist of. A reality that isn't helped by the fact that Inuyasha has decided he's his pup now. The way the half-yokai will essentially just lift him up whenever he feels like with a dismissive What? Fussy pups get scruffed, an' you've been whinin' all morning should not make Miroku feel so cared for and yet...it's nice. Not that he would admit it, though the way he melts into Inuyasha's hold and is soothed by the bouncing is quite telling in and of itself. But Miroku can't even remember a time when he wasn't preparing to face Naraku and get rid of the curse held in his palm. So much of his actual childhood was overshadowed by his father trying to do the very same, with his father's efforts to get rid of the Kazaana so it wouldn't be passed along to his son resulting in a lot of emotional neglect. For Inuyasha to be so perceptive of his emotional state and to make the big decisions for him, if only for a little while, in all honesty felt like a great relief. Not only does it come as a great relief, but the feeling of care and safety the yokai provided starts to push him smaller than he might have otherwise let himself be.

Despite Inuyasha seemingly being a mind reader (a regression reader?), the whole group makes efforts at getting Miroku to regress in a more healthy way, rather than just relying on Inuyasha to decide when he's done enough time being a big boy for the day. Even if he can accurately know those things, Miroku needs to slip occasionally under more positive circumstances rather than because he pushed himself too far again. There's more gentleness shared between them all even if at first their efforts are directed moreso at Miroku. Little things that are actually big things, like checking in to make sure he is feeling okay or helping him with tasks that he's done alone a million times. Though it takes a lot less encouragement to get him to regress than any of them could have expected however, because suddenly it's like the floodgates have been opened as he comes to accept his regression. To be told that it is okay, that he isn't running out of time because they're in this together. To be promised by Inuyasha that he will personally make sure Naraku is defeated and the Kazaana removed. To be reassured that he is allowed to be small. It finally brings him some much needed relief, and with that relief he is able to properly seek the comfort he needs for the first time in his life. Suddenly they're faced with the fact that Miroku middlespaces a lot given that he finally has a support system, and regresses much more regularly whenever they have downtime. Regressing at night certainly keeps him from being so fussy the next morning too, though Inuyasha will still find an excuse to scoop him up so he can nap a little before they stop for lunch.

With an increased positive association with regression comes some new activities. Not that his association with negative emotions was inherently wrong, of course; those negative emotions when he was feeling small only really saw him experiencing one end of the regression spectrum, and with that meant he was only really doing more low-energy or self-soothing activities. But now that his regression has opened up to other emotions, it turns out Miroku is a very high energy kid! Sort of like he hasn't gotten to play outside in a really really long time because it was raining, and so he has a ton of pent up energy—so much so that it's difficult for anyone to keep up with him, with Inuyasha being the exception. Miroku bounces from one game to the next with reckless abandon, absolutely delighting in the fact that he's free to play and has someone playing with him. However it becomes clear to Inuyasha that Miroku is missing something. Something that was a part of even his own childhood experience: toys, and by extension, comfort items. Inuyasha can recall cherishing the few toys he had as a child and with that thought in mind, sets out on a little excursion to find a nearby village where he might be able to secure a few things. It's only a day trip, though Miroku gets restless back at their camp. But the wait is worth it when Inuyasha returns and with a smug grin spreads out what he managed to scrounge up: a simple ball, a spinning top, and a soft blanket. He starts to say he wants to try and get Miroku a few other things, but doesn't get to finish before the boy is practically tackling him in a hug. His haul might have been small, but Miroku is impressed nonetheless and almost immediately gravitates towards the blanket despite it not being naptime.

Some of Inuyasha's caregiving habits don't always make sense to Miroku, no matter if he's big or small—there are just some things that have to be written off as yokai instincts. Specifically as dog yokai instincts. Like getting scruffed; he has grown more than accustomed to getting picked up at the drop of a hat. He's in trouble? Scruffed. He's getting a little too rambunctious? Also scruffed. Then there's the fact that Inuyasha will quite literally growl at people that he doesn't trust getting too close to the baby. Somewhat embarrassing as Miroku is (mostly) big whenever that happens, but he gets it. What he doesn't get though is the fact that he gets sat down and groomed at the end of the day. It doesn't matter if he's clean or dirty, doesn't matter how recently he's had a bath or brushed his hair, he's getting tugged down into Inuyasha's lap. And while he doesn't fully understand why it's something he (seemingly) has to have done every day, Miroku doesn't find it uncomfortable, nor is it fully unwanted either. Quite the opposite, in fact! The claws finger-combing his hair and lightly scratching at his scalp feel so nice, not to mention that the act itself is so attentive. It's not something Miroku would have ever guessed Inuyasha would do for him, nor would he have guessed just how easily it lulls him to sleep. (And, should he think about it, he might come to realize that perhaps that's exactly why Inuyasha does it.)

While Miroku tries to stay big on nights with a full moon after learning about Inuyasha's secret, he can't always manage it. It's a scary thing! Even if he were to keep himself from regressing, he would be worried sick despite the fact that Sango and Kagome are helping keep watch too—as it stands, it is that anxiety that something might happen while Inuyasha is so vulnerable that ultimately causes him to slip. However, this does not stop him from helping to protect him. Or trying to, at least in his own way. Baby Miroku is a little on the clingy side, and figures that if the girls are watching their camp's perimeter then he is going to be the one to keep a close eye on Inuyasha. Naturally this "protection" takes the form of cuddling up to him for the entire night so they can both get some rest. It's what Inuyasha does for him when he's feeling icky, and as far as Miroku understands when he's small like this, his cg feels very icky yucky when the moon is full. It's very much the manifestation of that little kid mentality that believes everyone should get as much help and the same kind of help as they do! And so he occupies a soft toddlerspace as he tucks Inuyasha in with his blanket before gently petting over the jet black locks that only a few hours ago were as silver as the moonlight now bathing them. Miroku wastes no time moving to cling to him, with tiny murmurs of s'okay being whispered while he settles in beside him. For his part, Inuyasha is quite touched by this—the emotional response of course being blamed on his temporary, fully human state—and finds himself hugging onto Miroku equally as tightly as he drifts off to sleep. They won't discuss it the next morning, or ever, because the gesture itself is more than enough.

#sfw agere #inuyasha: a feudal fairy tale #inuyasha: a feudal fairy tale agere #miroku #agere miroku #inuyasha #agere inuyasha #moons hcs

[akatsukirites]

Sixth entry for @sweetspicybingo - Sharing Clothes 2ND BINGO! The next three are all gonna be bingos :)))))))) Narutoverse | KisaKonan | G | <600 wrds

Akatsuki headquarters is the only home she knows other than the place they used to live at with Jiraiya. The hallways are unlit to save electricity. Something about the bills being too high or offsetting the pull for Nagato's machines. Konan finds that she doesn't mind the darkness. She stops at a nondescript door and knocks softly. Seconds later, it opens and a shadow with red clouds takes the entire space. The cloak suits him well; high collar shrouding any physical characteristics. He's so tall she can't even see the crossed-out hitai-ate. 

"Yes?" He answers in a gruff, but soft, voice.

She clears her throat. "My name is Konan. I've been assigned as your temporary partner for the mission." In a practiced, flat tone.

Kisame tenses, although she can't see it behind the layers of silk. She is a small woman, just barely coming up to his shoulders despite the wedge heels she wears. She wears no hitai-ate, but she's from Amegakure. He can tell by the way she smells– smoke and rain and wet earth. Like a bomb planted in the lake.

"My apologies." He says out of habit. "I was just finishing preparations, Konan-san."

The strong scent of nail polish remover wrinkles her nose. She notices a few fingers still have polish on them; or maybe they're freshly painted. How many times has he re-started?

"I've come to give you something, Hoshigaki-san."

He steps out of the way to let her in. The room is barren. Even though he's lived here for more than a few months, there's almost nothing in it besides his sword in the corner and a plainly made bed. A window is the only thing interrupting the pale-white walls. Although looking out into it doesn't provide much of a view– gray rain pouring down from Akegakure's skies. A variety of items lie scattered on the floor; clothes and money and maps, a jumble of cotton pads and a bottle of nail polish with the standard Akatsuki color. (Madara is such a creep. Making them all wear this shit.)

From the sleeves of her cloak, she pulls out a small, lacquered box and opens it towards him. A seal ring with the word 'South' stamped on a yellow background. Of all the things Kisame is expected to wear as his new uniform, this one is the most annoying. It'll only get in the way of his sword-hand. He looks at her, eyes demanding an explanation.

"It's a long-distance communication tool. You haven't been sent out on a mission yet so it hasn't been made for you until now. The smiths want to know if it fits."

He picks it up out of the box, careful not to smudge his freshly painted nails. It happens anyways, clumsy and inexperienced with it as he is. Kisame has never been careful with his hands. He's not used to it. He tries every finger that Konan will let him, which leaves him his left hand (except the middle), or the right index and ring finger.

Finally, he tries the left ring finger. A traditional wedding finger. Married to the job. Isn't that right? It fits perfectly. He meets her eyes, a glowing amber with nothing behind them.

"I'm good with nail polish if you want help." She offers, seeing how he'll have to start over.

Kisame pulls his hands back.

"It's no trouble."

Konan takes a step back. "Very well. I'll meet you outside when you're ready, Hoshigaki-san." Nods curtly and disappears into the dark hallway.

#sweetspicywinter #[♣️–vdwrites] #♣️–kisame #♣️–konan #naruto fanfiction #kisakonan #kisame #konan #hoshigaki kisame #♣️–challenge #who wants to bet that kisame didn't do a base coat or top coat #i never get to read fics where they're doing nail polish and its serious #like #nail polish scenes but not crack-fic #although who am i kidding lol this is a crack-ship #when i was a kid i spent YEARS trying to find the right color for akatsuki nail polish #and then when i finally found the color i became immediately disinterested

[beyondspaceandstars]

Treacherous (16)

Relationship: Druig x Reader Warnings: angst, some fluff/flicker of hope Summary: Soulmate!AU - Soulmate tattoos are incredibly rare but you’ve never felt really proud to have one. Everyone else around you gushed over it while you found the whole thing ominous and a little inconvenient. Truthfully, you were never really convinced you’d find your other half… That is until a random camping trip leads you to a quaint village run by a dark and brooding man who just so happens to be your soulmate. Stuck in the forest with nothing else to lose, you agree to join his world, his little village, and see if there’s actually love behind the markings. A/N: wow! between Wattpad and AO3, this fic has over 20,000 hits, and I know if tumblr kept track of reads in such fashion it would be even higher. That’s honestly so cool and I’m blown away by the support and love I’ve gotten over a fic that really wasn’t originally started as a fic! so, thank you for reading. thanks for caring about this random piece of fanfiction. that’s very kind of you!

‘Treacherous’ Masterlist | Main Masterlist

"Would you like to share with us what happened?" Your mother asked. You two, plus your father, were seated at the dining room table. You’d been sat there, unable to think of what else to do, since the three of you had returned home from the police station. You wanted to make a beeline for the shower, but it didn’t take a genius to know that wasn’t going to happen yet.

After giving the rest of your statement — a jumbled, blurred mess of memories and explanations — you had begged to go home, at least for the rest of the day. If they needed any more, you assured the detective, you’d return in the morning. She said there was no need for now, but you shouldn’t leave the area quite yet and be prepared for further calls for questioning. You took it as a win and left with your head hanging, finding home was not so much of a home currently.

On top of feeling like a black sheep in a city full of outcasts, your parents started badgering you for answers the moment you entered the apartment building. It was understandable for the most part. They had likely heard the screaming and were very much aware of how long you had spent in the interrogation room. The only piece of the puzzle they were missing was the why.

Why had you spent so long speaking to a detective? A statement hadn’t been just a statement. They were wise and clueless. And you knew they had the right to know.

"I wasn’t kidnapped or anything like that," you admitted. "It’s actually a bit more complicated…"

And then began your second rundown of the situation. You laid it all out for a new audience — an audience on the edge of their seat. They never interrupted you once, even when their expressions hinted at their desperation to ask questions or protest or gasp in disbelief. They kept silent and allowed you to recount most of your story. You had opted to leave on some things but everything else was fair game: the village, the people, the crafts, the food, the language, and the man. The man, the eternal being, you had started to ridiculously fall for. The one you were tied to, by the hands of fate. It was complicated, it was insane, but it was all real, even if you could barely wrap your head around it still. You knew what you saw and you knew what you felt. That was the most damning of it all.

When you finished airing out your, arguably, dirty laundry, your parents appeared to be at a loss for words — not like you could blame them. You had even managed to stun a New York detective, someone who has probably thought they’d seen everything, with your story.

As the heaviness of the silence began to settle, it was clear to everyone that someone had to speak. Your mother cleared her throat and leaned in her seat like she was preparing for war.

"All of this was because of your soulmate?" She asked through tears threatening to spill.

"Well," you sighed, "I’m… I’m not sure what you mean—,"

"He took you away from us." It was a statement, not a question.

"That’s what you’re focusing on?" you said, your voice a frantic panic. You had spilled all of that and they chose to hyper-fixate on that? They didn’t get it. No one was getting it. "That’s not what happened. He… We… We were giving the relationship a chance. It wasn’t a perfect situation and, sure, at first, I was reluctant, but he’s my soulmate. No one understands what that means. How intense it is to be around your other half, how much you’re pulled to them whether you want to or not, how compulsive you become." You pulled at your hair as exhaustion hit you in waves. "He didn’t exactly take me away, not in the manner you’re thinking. Maybe, in some ways, I pulled myself away from everything. I don’t know. Nothing is black and white, despite how much everyone tries to make it be."

Your father finally chimed in. "You gotta understand how this sounds to us. We’ve never heard of anything like this before. Sure, we don’t know many soulmates, but I don’t think it’s meant to be this extreme."

"It’s crazy," your mother replied bluntly. "It’s downright crazy. I can’t even begin to start wrapping my head around the fact this person is immortal?"

You had to hold back your audible scoff. How did she think it made you feel? Did she think you took that news in strides?

You took a deep breath. "Well, it’s the truth. Whether anyone wants to believe me or not. Whether anyone wants to yell or get angry with me. It’s what happened, it’s what’s currently happening. This is my life and that’s my soulmate."

Your mother shook her head and said, "So, that’s it, huh? This is your soulmate and we all have to live with it."

In somewhat honesty, you couldn’t really blame her for her visible disbelief. But while her words and tone were sharp, her eyes looked concerned and heavy. You imagined that’s how you looked when you stumbled into the forest and learned what truths lay there. You could sense the confusion, feel the anger, but you had grown to understand what was what in this world. The tattoos didn’t lie. The palpable connection didn’t lie. While giving in felt like the biggest con, it was also your key.

"Trust me," you muttered, "it wasn’t exactly easy for me to come to terms with it." Understatement of the century.

"But you have?" Your father asked, sounding such genuine it almost caught you off guard. "You’ve come to terms with it?"

Your fingers traced the wood patterns of the kitchen table. "It’s fate. It’s all just fate."

Cryptic but meaningful. And it was obvious your parents picked up what you were putting down. The heaviness in the room lighten just slightly and you felt like maybe you could get comfortable in the apartment for the first time since your return.

"So," your mother piped up, "where is this soulmate of yours? Is he around New York yet? I think we’d like to meet him." You didn’t miss how her eye caught your father’s, the two of them sharing a look that you chose to ignore. You were going to find some peace in the situation, at least for a moment, even if it was the last thing you do.

"No, not right now," you replied.

"What?"

You shook your head. "I can’t exactly get into it right now. It’s complex, like I said." You paused. "He’s complex."

"So it seems," your mother replied. She let out an over-exaggerated sigh before pushing herself away from the table. "This has been a lot for one day, yes? You must be exhausted. We’re all exhausted."

Exhausted barely scratched the surface of what you were feeling, but, to make matters easy, you agreed and the tragic family meeting adjourned, at least for now. Lord knows what other questions or concerns they’d come up with over time and you were going to take the escape.

You moved as fast as humanly possible to strip out of your forsaken dress and jump into a steaming showing. The water hit your skin in glorious fashion, making you sigh with contentment. Sure, all areas of the village had been actually lovely, but being back in your own shower was a next-level experience. Everything still felt construed in more ways than one, but you could ignore it just for a second while you took the time to exfoliate your skin and wash your hair.

You didn’t know what you were going to do with the dress. It was, unfortunately, a bit of a disaster. Torn and dirty, the last personal remnants of the village you had was a lot sadder than you wanted to admit. You figured you could try washing it, but the fabric seemed delicate and not exactly one for a washing machine. Hand-washing was always an option but something about even doing that felt weird. Getting rid of it was absolutely not an option, though. You just couldn’t part with it like that.

After spending arguably way too much time in the warmth of the shower, you finished finishing your hair and gave your skin a quick final scrub. Feeling as refreshed as you possibly could given everything, you hopped out and began the tedious process of drying off. Wringing out your hair, you looked down and were greeted by the dress crumbled up on the floor.

You missed him. You weren’t ready to admit that out loud but it was true. You actually found in your tattered heart that you missed him. Whether it was the bond making you feel this way or just your own grief you didn’t have the capacity to analyze that now. All you knew was that you ached and you hadn’t stopped aching since your return to the city.

You threw on a fresh pair of pajamas and headed to your bedroom—your untouched, almost abandoned bedroom. Standing in the doorway, looking in at what you had left felt incredibly surreal.

Your parents hadn’t done anything to your space. Discarded clothes you meant to wash were scattered around. Your laptop at in the middle of your disastrous desk. Your bed was cold and half-assed made. It was just the room of someone who meant to leave for a vacation of sorts.

That actually reminded you: your luggage. What happened to your luggage? Everything you packed for camping hadn’t been returned to you. Did no one take it to be returned? You made a mental note to check with someone.

When you finally worked up the courage, you entered your room but ignored pretty much everything. You didn’t look at your wall art. You didn’t glance at your opened journal. You kept a one-track mind, disposing of your clothes in the laundry bin and hanging the dress in your closet before unfurling your bed set.

You stared at the wall adjacent to your bed as you lay in the dark beneath your comforter. Your brain was in an absolute frenzy. The last time you were in this room you thought you had life in the palm of your hands. Everything was fine—not great, but fine. You had plans with your boyfriend, you were going to get your mind back on track, you would return from your trip, and find a new job. All would snap back into place, you just had to give it time and maybe a little distance.

Well, time and distance were what you got and it only complicated everything. The person laying in your bed wasn’t who you remembered.

You felt tears creep up in your eyes and you quickly shut them. You weren’t going to cry, you weren’t going to fret anymore tonight. Tomorrow could be reserved for that.

You took some deep breaths and shuffled further under the comforter. Your heart slowly fell to a normal rhythm. You felt nearly alright again and began trying to drift to sleep…until there was a sudden, familiar tug in your soul. Your eyes shot open. You were still alone in the dark, the apartment eerily quiet, but also…you weren’t alone.

You could still feel him; the intensity grew in waves like a heart beating pulse. Up and down, breaths of a bond.

It was both aching and calming. You held onto it and shut your eyes once more. Hopes of dreams and dreams of hope fluttered in your mind.

***

You were awoken the next morning by the smell of fried eggs—and your heart nearly did a somersault right out of your chest. A memory of you waking up in your home in the village to…to him making you breakfast. A breakfast of scrambled eggs and coffee and so many more goodies. He would practically prepare a feast, and you never realized how kind that was.

Your heart twitched at the memories but you were forced to set them aside. You blinked your eyes open, taking in the familiar yet distant setting of your apartment bedroom. Still home, your brain concluded, but your senses were high as you remembered your revelation last night.

You swore you had felt him as if he was only just a blink away. It couldn’t be the case, and your heart knew it, but the bond wasn’t accepting it. Nothing you could do would ease it.

Instead of fighting with your heart and soul the entire day, you flung yourself out of bed and shuffled out to the kitchen where you found your father at the table sipping coffee and reading the newspaper. Your mother was at the stove, cooking up the breakfast storm. The scent of eggs and burnt toast hit hard.

The energy in the room was bizarre. Your father only gave you a quick glance and a short "good morning" before hiding behind the newspaper again. Your mother’s back was towards you, busy cooking, but you knew she had at least heard your father say good morning. And it wasn’t like the old apartment floods didn’t groan with every step.

"Good morning," your mother finally said as she began plating the eggs. Toast soon joined the pair.

You were nearly taken aback by how calm she sounded but tried to play it all normal. "Good morning."

"Did you sleep well?" She asked and finally turned around to face you. All still seemed…suddenly normal. There was something in the air but it was hard to discern as your mother slid you a plate full of food.

"Yeah," you said with a nod. That was another thing that didn’t go amiss by you: You slept fine.  It almost bothered you. "I slept okay."

"Great," she replied and averted her eyes to your untouched food. "Your father and I were talking last night."

You scoffed. You always hated those words, even when you were just a young child. Nothing good ever followed. You pushed away the plate of food in preparation.

Your mother didn’t wait for a response. "This… Your soulmate, you said he was immortal, right?"

Your spine shivered at the way she said the words. "Yes," you replied kindly, softly. A respectful daughter even if you were an adult who didn’t want to stand for this.

"And you’re not."

You sighed. "Yes."

Your mother crossed her arms but didn’t say another word.

Your brows furrowed. "I… Is there a question in there or something?"

"How in the world can this relationship work in the long run?" She finally asked.

It was a question both worth a million dollars and one that you never stopped to really consider—well, maybe you never wanted to consider it.

You’d be lying if you said it hadn’t brushed your mind fleetingly when you first met Druig, but it was so easy to get caught up in everything else when you were with him. The daunting figure of time had been nothing but a fantasy. The whole thing felt like a fantasy. It was hard to see how disconnected from it all you had been while you had been so connected to him.

"I can’t answer that," you finally admitted. "We… We never discussed it."

Your answer was satisfying, even for your father. "I’m not sure it’s something you discuss," he said.

You frowned as their words clicked into place in your brain. "Do you think I’m lying about everything?"

Your mother sighed. "Honey…"

"I’m not lying." A new type of anger lit in your chest.

"We know," your mother insisted. "We know you’re not lying. Trust us, we’ve seen weirder stuff happen here in New York City thanks to all the superheroes, it’s just…" She glanced down at your exposed wrist. "The weird stuff doesn’t happen to us, if that makes sense. When you were born with the mark, we were incredibly worried. I know everyone loves to spin the idea of having a soulmate into something magical and wonderful, but it was always concerning to know our child was meant for someone. Of course, we had hopes and enjoyed guessing who could possibly be on the other end of this tattoo, but it was scary nonetheless, and to see what kind of a mess it has turned into it was actually beyond our fears."

You weren’t sure how to approach what your mother was laying out. Neither she nor your father had ever expressed such concerns about the fact you had been marked by a soulmate tattoo. If anything, their discussions on the matter were pleasant. Your whole family had approached it similar fashion.

But, then again, that was joy when the idea of your soulmate had seemed a little far-fetched. Yes, you had always been promised to someone else, but they simply hadn’t been a reality until now. And yet, you wouldn’t call it a mess exactly. Was it not ideal? Maybe. But it was as you described yesterday: complex.

You found sudden interest in staring at the kitchen counter. "I understand the concern," you muttered, "but I think you’re maybe blowing things out of proportion in your mind. Sure, we didn’t start off the in the most traditional of ways, but that doesn’t mean it can’t work. It worked for a while, actually."

"And then he banished you back home?"

You shook your head. "It isn’t that simple."

Your mother sighed. "We just want to make sure you’ve thought about everything that can be involved in all of this."

"You still don’t sound convinced about anything now," you murmured. Gently, your mother placed her hand over your idle one.

"There no doubt in my or your father’s mind that you have experienced something remarkable," she replied. "We can see it in your eyes, in your body language, in the subtle glow on your skin. But we think we are also entitled to questioning things every now and then, not only to help ourselves but also to make sure you’re okay."

You got the point, you completely did, it was reasonable. You too had been skeptical of pretty much everything except that damn tattoo on your wrist. But also something gnawed away at you at the thought of their reservation. It lit an indescribable fear in you that you absolutely didn’t want to face and even more so didn’t want to admit.

You pulled your hand away and pushed away from the counter. You looked at your untouched, cold breakfast. "I need a minute."

Neither of your parents stopped you as you marched back down the hall to your bedroom. You shut your door and tried not to cry. You suddenly didn’t like it here. The place you had once longed for felt so foreign and unnatural. You missed him. Again. The feelings were back and they were both weird and comforting.

You scanned your room for your next course of action, not wanting to really be this alone with your raw thoughts for much longer. Your eyes quickly landed on your desk which held your laptop. You hadn’t touched an electronic in a while and that had actually been a freeing thing, another list of positives for the village. But your brain was suddenly itching now. Your fingers needed to go, you need to get something out.

You marched across the room and opened the laptop. It lit up instantly, displaying the last sites you had visited before your trip.

The soulmate forums.

You sat down at your desk and stared at the page. Your eyes skimmed the recent posts, picking up on the usual words of "lovely" "romantic" and "life-changing." "They were all I could ever need," one person professed. Negative posts were still there but so few and far in between. The happiness and excitement exploded from the screen.

You don’t know what came over. It was like your fingers had a mind of their own as you clicked the "create new thread" button and let your heart run wild.

#druig x female reader #druig fanfiction #druig x y/n #druig x human!reader #Druig x you #druig x reader #eternals x reader #eternals fic #eternals oneshot #eternals fanfiction #marvel fanfiction #mcu fanfiction #mcu fic #druig fluff #druig fic #druig angst #soulmate au #writing* #eternals x y/n #eternals x you

[anghraine]

Why P&P 1790s? I'm familiar with its writing history, so I know it's one of two plausible periods, but I prefer thinking about it as 1810s. OTOH, how much of my preference was unconsciously formed by actual publication date or by the adaptations (especially 1995) I don't know, so I'm open to your argument for the 1790s.

ETA: I do have another, probably more coherent, post about this here, but I rambled about it again anyway.

Partly it's similarly subjective, to be sure. I don't like the identification of Austen with the Regency when she did so much work before it. I don't like the 1995 P&P or its stranglehold on Austen fanon. I don't like post-Regency fashion and don't want to inflict it on 30- and 40-something Elizabeth and Jane, lol. And I simply find the eighteenth century more engaging than the nineteenth (I started my PhD program intending to study both, as I did in my MA, and ended up gleefully escaping into studying early modern+long 18th-century British lit instead).

I also find the eighteenth century more pertinent to Austen and particularly to her earlier novels, in addition to finding it more personally engaging. And more vaguely, those earlier novels—S&S, P&P, and NA—feel to me like they exist in a significantly different and earlier world than Persuasion or Sanditon do.

The cultural referents in her earlier work can be a bit of a jumble, to be sure. And I think it's clear that Austen didn't want any of her published work to feel out of date, but at the same time, didn't want to overhaul those works to the point that they were no longer recognizable in essentials. This is most glaring an issue with Northanger Abbey (NA without Udolpho??), but even little things like Marianne's hair or Mr Bennet's powdering-gown just seem to fit best with a c. 1790s setting.

Those kinds of things can be fanwanked into "Austentime"— the popular, vaguely 1810s setting as depicted in most Austen adaptations and related genre conventions (there's an article about this that I've been trying and failing to dig up, but that's how I always think of that sort of amorphously Regency setting now). But the explanations for the little details being totally 1810s details do feel like fanwank to me.

And of course, the militia subplots in P&P seem clearly influenced by the 1790s militias and the Brighton camp that closed shortly before Austen started writing P&P. The Broadview edition of P&P, for instance, unhesitatingly dates P&P to the 1790s based on that.

I've talked before about other specifics that IMO align better with the 1790s than 1810s, too, and I do stand by those. But for me, the strongest reason for my personal preference is that feeling that P&P and Persuasion/Sanditon are not happening at anywhere near the same cultural moment. While P&P is very different from S&S and NA, they strike me as much more akin in this sense than any of them are to the late novels, and to me, it makes the most sense to place them at or near their original creation to both fit the 1790s vibes I get from them and to gain some distance from the late works.

#redwooding #respuestas #austen blogging #austen fanwank #andrew davies critical #austentime #eighteenth century blogging #anghraine rants #ish #anghraine babbles

[kitty-is-writing]

Kitty's Pride Month short #9!

This story focuses on Oliver, the reigning King of Oakshire as he, his lover, his wife and the bio dad of their children try to explain things to the kids through the lens of their own awkwardness.

❤️🧡💛💚💙💜

This wasn’t good. Both little ones looked as though they were about to cry already, and they had only just sat down. Oliver had not been looking forward to this discussion, and had almost hoped it would never come up, but of course it had to. Things like this couldn’t be kept secret forever.

“Don’t worry, you’re not in trouble,” Sam said, trying to calm the children. He sat on the floor beside the sofa the kids were on, close enough to reassure them but far enough from Nicola that it wouldn’t look inappropriate to any observers.

“We just wanted to talk to you about some things you might hear from other people,” Nicola started to explain, looking to Oliver for some support.

He in turn looked over to the door, where Zach stood rather awkwardly. At least they had given Bethany, the older of the two, a basic idea of where babies came from before this. No graphic details, obviously, since she was only six, but she had grasped that mummy and daddy made babies when they loved each other very much. “You see, daddy can’t actually have babies.” They had decided between themselves that would be the easiest way to explain it to the kids for now. “I love mummy very much, but there’s something different about my bits that won’t let me make a baby with mummy.”

“Like when my dolly broke?” Bethany asked. “Can’t you get a new bit like we did for Susy?”

Nicola laughed quietly. “It’s not that easy for people. We’re stuck with the bits we’re born with, usually.”

There was a slight pause, where the adults looked at each other uncomfortably and the two children made confused faces. “See, what usually happens is that mummy and daddy have a bit each, and those bits fit together to make a baby,” Sam said, stepping in since nobody else seemed to know how. “Sometimes, though, a daddy has a bit that doesn’t want to fit with a mummy bit, or the other way around, and that’s what’s happened here. So, your mummy kind of borrowed my bit instead, because she and daddy wanted you both so much, but their bits wouldn’t fit together.”

David’s face lit up with understanding. “Like my blocks! The squares won’t fit with the triangles,” he said, simplifying things the way only a four year old could.

“Er, kind of?” Sam threw a helpless sort of look at the other three.

Nicola tapped her finger against her lips. “Maybe it’s a bit more like your jigsaw puzzles. You know how most of the pieces have two outie bits and two innie bits, and they can all fit together even when the picture doesn’t match, but sometimes you get a funny shaped bit that’s all outies or all innies, or even just a wiggly side? Those have got to go with certain other pieces, right?”

The two children nodded. “So, daddy’s like a wiggly piece? And he doesn’t fit properly with you even though he loves you lots?”

That was probably the closest they were going to get without explaining in more detail than any of the adults were ready for. “That’s right. I love mummy, and both of you, I’m just a bit too wiggly to fit quite right,” Oliver said.

“I love you too Daddy. Even if you’re all wiggly,” Bethany said, sliding off the seat to scramble into his lap instead.

David toddled over to join them. “I love wiggly Daddy too!”

Oliver hugged both of them tight, catching Zach’s eye over their heads. He tried not to laugh at his lover’s expression, or the thought that he had just gained a new nickname. The two children had accepted it so easily, despite the rather jumbled explanation, and they quickly jumped down to go back to their game, which the grown-ups had rudely interrupted.

“That went better than I expected,” Nicola said once the kids had scampered into the next room to play.

“They’re young enough that normal is whatever surrounds them,” Zach said. “They haven’t had the chance to pick up on anyone else’s biases yet. Let’s hope they can keep that innocent acceptance as they get older.”

“I’ve always thought the problem is how awkward we make all this,” Sam said quietly. “Children see things so simply, it’s only when us adults filter it all through our own discomfort that they start getting confused.”

Nicola smiled. “You might be right there. We’ve been so conditioned to keep quiet about things like this, it’s hard to find the words when we do need to talk. Maybe we should have asked Christina to join us,” she said. “She doesn’t seem to have trouble with any of it, I suppose because her society is so much more accepting than ours. One of the acolytes she worked with at the temple was born a boy, she told me, and has been living as a woman for years now. They have herbal treatments and things for people in that kind of situation, apparently, and most everyone is completely fine with it.”

The others were quiet for a few moments, thinking over things. “I wonder what that’s like? Living somewhere so open about things like this?” Sam asked. Of the four in the room, he was the one closest to what Oakshire’s society deemed ‘normal’. He was also the one most comfortable with the relationships between all of them.

“Ask anyone from the Islands, or apparently Slokos. From what we’ve heard in recent years, everywhere is more open about this stuff than our country,” Oliver groused. Listening to people talk about how freely people like him could live in other nations had given him some weird, almost jealous feelings he didn’t know how to process. While others might be able to emigrate to one of those other countries and live their lives in the open, he was trapped in an increasingly backwards society.

Zach cleared his throat quietly. “You are in a position to change that, if you’re willing. More people than us would benefit from Oakshire becoming more accepting.”

The room felt a little too quiet for a moment, all of them giving Oliver sideways glances. He wasn’t stupid, he knew both Zach and Nicola were getting involved in Alicia’s ‘upend the system’ movement and all the other changes brewing in its wake. Ideally, he knew he should be standing with them and enacting at least some of the reforms they were calling for, but doing so would mean facing things he had spent his entire life trying to bury, and he was not ready for that.

Still, he had been taught that a good King should do what was best for his country and his people, even if that meant putting his own comfort aside. That had been his father’s biggest failing in the last years of his reign, and Oliver had long since sworn he would not make the same mistake. “I… I’ll think about it. Relaxing the laws certainly wouldn’t hurt in the short term.”

Nicola leant over, patting his knee gently. “Nobody’s expecting massive changes at once, Oli. Things take time, and you’re not alone. If you want it to seem less personal, you don’t have to tell anyone about yourself. A simple ‘we are listening to public opinion’ would be fine.”

Oliver nodded slightly, lost in his own conflicting thoughts. Twenty years ago he would have given anything for an opportunity like this, to be accepted and loved as who he was rather than forcing himself to fit into the mould his father had pushed him into. After so long spent crafting his public face, though, so many years of being the good, normal husband and King everyone expected him to be, would turning all of that upside down be worth the risk?

He was, if not exactly happy, at least comfortable with things as they were, and until recently had thought Zach and Nicola were too. If they were willing to do this, though, to stand up and support change even if they didn’t expose themselves while doing so, perhaps they weren’t as at ease as he’d imagined. Hiding his feelings was safe, was how he had managed to avoid disdain and ridicule his entire life, but… maybe being safe and comfortable wasn’t good enough anymore. Maybe it was time to change things, for the sake of others if nothing else.

#lgbtq+ #lgbtqia #short story #pride #pride month #my work #kitty's short stories #queer #gay #gay pride

[dawnshadow]

Feeling emotional, here to vent. Being Ace is hard, here’s my journey.

My best friend who I trust the most right now keeps having discussions with me about the social construct of gender, which is fine. I don’t mind an open-minded discussion/debate. She is very republican, so we have decent discussions and usually agree to disagree.

But when she jumps into sexual orientation discussion, then it’s personal to me and I jumble my thoughts in trying to defend who I feel I am and I never get my point across. I end the convo frustrated and sad. So I’m planning some answers here.

She keeps asking, why do they keep adding acronyms?

Because Karen, (which was is literally her name), it feels good to be part of a community. To know that your experiences and feelings are valid. To know there are others like you, to feel like you belong somewhere. So that when you are doubting who you are, because society screams it’s not “normal” you can go on tumblr or tiktok or Google and find thousands of people who experience the lack of sexual attraction like you do and you remember you aren’t alone.

She tells me that asexually doesn’t count because I wasn’t born this way. She thinks if I didn’t have trauma and didn’t have hormone imbalances that maybe I would feel attraction to people. That it wasn’t something I was born with. Idk maybe she’s right, but why does that need to deter from what I am experiencing right now? Plus my traumas happened after age 10. I knew there was something different about me when I was 8. She says kids that young dont understand and don’t know what sexual and/or romantic attraction is. I try to explain that I didn’t mentally understand the concept of having crushes. My friends at 8 obsessed over Derek Jeter and a boy in our class, Ryan. they thought they were so handsome and so cute and said they wanted to kiss them. I didn’t understand what that meant. Why was Derek Jeter cute? He has muscles, he is tanned, he is successful, that’s as much as I got out of them when I asked for an explanation. And why was Ryan cute? He had freckles, they said. He was sweet, he had a cool haircut, he was popular, and they wanted to kiss him so I said I did too.

Then we discussed boy bands, still at age 8-9. NSYNC & Backstreet Boys. Each one of us in my friend group of 4 had to choose who we had a crush on. One girl liked the one with the blonde hair, because blonde hair is cuter. One chose the craziest acting one in each group because she liked their personalities and spunk. Another chose the lead singer because of their face and ripped body, because she wanted to hug and kiss a strong guy. I chose whoever was left, for the simple reason being that they hadn’t been chosen yet. I copied what they did. Drawing hearts on their notebooks with names in it. Talked about what it would be like to hang out with them alone. Wondered how solid their muscles were. But I didn’t get it. I nodded along and agreed with everything they said because it seemed right. But it didn’t feel right. I didn’t want to kiss them or anyone.

After puberty started and I had gone thru trauma that fucked my ability to have normal attachments, I clung hard to female friends and role models. I started to explore a little and Google and think that I must be a lesbian. But sure thinking about sex was fun and felt good, but I never wanted to touch a woman, I never had that moment of “ oh yes I want to kiss her or hump her” no, I just wanted to experience the physical sensations I saw them have, all on my own. I thought because I felt good watching and reading about lesbians I must be one. So I tried to fantasize about my peers and other women. But it just didn’t make sense to me. And that made me more confused. I felt like a “bad” lesbian because I didn’t feel attracted to them either. I decided pansexual was a label that maybe fit me. Maybe I could eventually find someone I wanted to have sex with, maybe they would be trans. I kept that label a secret but still couldn’t shake that it wasn’t the right one for me.

Sometime in college, I learned what asexuality is. Probably from here on tumblr. And it all made sense. I joined Ace groups, watched tons of interviews, read everything I could. And something clicked. I realized this was me to a T.

That’s my rant for now. Thanks tumblr for still being a safe place to vent when I need to.

[notesofarichlycolorednight]

s2ep1 the collector

there was so much wrong with this one. so much like jenny nicholson, i'm making a list to keep on track

hawkmoth being hawkmoth

master fu making a mistake and losing everything

hawkmoth akumatizing himself

ladybug's comment about gabriel agreste having a son

i guess they're kinda all interwoven, but those are the main points i want to hit. i'll start with the last one bc it's the easiest.

why did ladybug say that he had a son, as if she hadn't been to the agreste household before and called adrien by his name. the writers really were like, "continuity? who's she? don't know her."

i think the whole idea of hawkmoth is a lot like how the writer/director approached the book of henry (the movie). as analyzed by dan olsen (folding ideas on youtube), he mentions that the writer wrote the script with the knowledge that henry was going to die and his mom was going to (almost) go through with his plans if he did. which is a bad starting point, bc up until henry is hospitalized, we're supposed to believe this 12 year old is going to go into a gun shop and buy a sniper rifle.

and it's the same idea with hawkmoth. it feels very much like the creator of ml needed a villain, and designed hawkmoth without actually understanding what the butterfly miraculous does when it's not in the wrong hands. like he designed the villain before deciding that the butterfly was also going to be a miraculous. or like he was still deciding what miraculous to include.

and the reason i say this is 1) it sure seems like hawkmoth just being a thing was something master fu was prepared for, even tho he didn't have any basis in it. like maybe you could argue he should assume it would end up in the wrong hands, but how would he know what that would look like? and that's also just a baseless assumption. 2) the whole explanation of how master fu lost the peakcock and butterfly miraculous.

he says he made a mistake when he was younger (and i believe he's supposed to be like 100 or smth right?? or am i mixing that up? it's probably been a good 40 or so years since his screw up at least), and i'm hard-pressed to believe he and gabriel are the same age. but he says that that mistake is what led him to lose the tome and the two miraculous. but then makes a wild leap of logic into thinking that whoever possessed the tome must also possess the missing miraculous and be hawkmoth? like please walk me through that logic, it doesn't make sense!

the writers didn't even add an in extra--it was probably sold or changed hands a lot, but whoever possess it now may well be hawkmoth. tho i suppose that leaves a plot hole by itself bc how can you guarantee that all three items stay together if it's changed hands a few times. but i feel like that's easier to swallow than that giant leap from "i lost these things" to "so anyone who has them is hawkmoth."

not to mention, again, if all three items did change hands a lot before gabriel found them, how did he find them together. i mean maybe the seller sold them as set, but if he hadn't, how would master fu have known that anyone would know that they're holding a miraculous. unless the kwamis come out of them unwillingly?

i'm tying myself into knots and getting all jumbled up here on what if's, so i'm going to move on. i still do think master fu expecting the butterfly ending up in the wrong hands and knowing what that looks like is weird from a writing standpoint. it just, again, makes it feel like hawkmoth was a villain first and a miraculous second. or at the very least, was always a villain and never a good guy.

i think the writers use master fu being young and still in training as an excuse for way too many things (i did watch s2 but i only remember very few things, unlike s1, bc in s1 i actually enjoyed the show. by the time s2 came out, the fans were getting antsy and salty). and they do it in this episode bc when marinette says gabriel got akumatized and so that exonerates him/crosses him off the suspect list and master fu just accepts that is crazy to me.

bc you'd think master fu knowing as much as he does about the miraculous, he'd also know that the butterfly miraculous holder can posses themself with their own butterflies. surely, the powers of the miraculous are the first think you'd learn as a guardian!

and while i think it's a fine convention to use, i'm only criticizing it here bc the writers are bad and lazy, as evidenced by the first season.

i do like the implication is that emilie is a bad lady who stole the miraculous and broke the peacock one tho. i support women's wrongs.

i also really love that gabriel's english va slightly lowers his voice when he's hawkmoth.

and it's hilarious to me that the artists literally changed gabriel's entire face shape when he's hawkmoth lol.

also racism and chinese mysticism. unfortunately, i believe we're going to get a lot of that this season. and i'm going to never stop sounding like a broken record.

#chirp.ml #chirp.txt

[maeve-is-annoying-about-books]

House of Leaves, Chapter 15

Wow there are a lot of interviews this chapter. Well if Karen is going to give others the room to speak then I will as well. Without further ado, my own interview.

~~~

@vallenari, House of Leaves Enthusiast, Dear Friend to Maeve

I do feel we need a full disclaimer before I begin. I haven't properly sat down and read this work since I was in college, about mid-way through college so we are talking around 10 years ago and I'm approaching it once more with having only read this liveread type thing along with the singular chapter in which I was asked.

I have a deep love for this novel. It came to me by way of the kind of temporary friend that you make because you see them for so many hours a day in the same limited space; the kind where you learn just enough snippets about each others lives to feel some faint thread of loneliness when you think on them again years later.

Hello my once upon a time friend. I hope you're doing well. I hope life has been kind. Thank you for this gift you gave.

I remember once being annoyed with Karen.

It felt like she whined in some areas that she was more prominent in, that she was so overly cautious or not cautious enough, that she was a bit of an ill match for Navidson. This was college age me who did roll their eyes in an exaggerated fashion at classmates who swooned over the secondary roles of females in novels. How delicate they were. How sensible. How so very misunderstood.

You do a lot more growing up after college than during it.

Karen now?

I understand the delaying in giving into her mother's wishes, of selling the house, of moving on, of finishing this film. The house and the whole experience changed not only Navidson, but her as well, and if this is the way she can hold onto him just for that much longer than it's her choice to do just that. Sending out the seconds of film that were made, gathering responses, doing anything to make the whole event feel real. Trauma has this way over clouding over every second of your life and making you want to desperately show someone the murkier details of it and hoping they can see it too. You don't want to be left alone with whatever is lurking at the bottom.

Karen doesn't want to be left alone with what still resides in the house.

Hofstadter's explanation of Zeno's arrow feels the most apt at times, but also the most feeling of someone patting themselves on the back for having such a clever answer to the phenomenon of the halls that continued on and on then having the gall to call it simple. He's the kind of person I'd want to punch.

Baleworth that follows the infuriating clever answer is something I'm more readily able to accept. The house, and to some extent, Navidson's existence/nonexistence, Zampano's novel, and Johnny's overarching story do a spectacular job of resisting interpretation. It demands to be seen just as it is, the walls always moving just out of reach when a conclusion is so very close to being drawn upon it. Then we come around to Paglia who makes me want to roll my eyes again regarding this nonsense about women being content in leaving something at being unknowable, about not being afraid of the dark because they are darkness or whatever she ends on going with. I would have been just as keen as Navidson on trying to figure out what the hell is up with the house, fear of the dark or not, it's the kind of mystery that you couldn't very well leave alone.

The interviews start to interact with one another as I presume Karen plays back or paraphrases some of what prior interviewees have said to the current person she's speaking with. I think it a brilliant way to slowly bridge them all together even if they all start to spiral together and come to say the same thing or they go at each other's throats than really giving Karen a solid answer about what she's shown them.

Then the therapist speaks again and it's like coming up for a breath among all the jumbled words. Or that could very well be my chronic exhaustion speaking. A question rather than an tumbling answer is bound to catch the attention.

Of all the supposed footage of the house, of everything Navidson had compiled and sent to his wife.

Why just those certain shots, why only thirteen (eight) minutes?

The emptiness, the darkness, the distance.

Karen didn't fear the house and its unknown. She worried for its occupants, of what personal demons they each would find in the labyrinth, what Minotaur they would face.

~~~

As I've said, Karen allows the interviewers to speak, and so I will leave this interview as-is, offering no further content.

...Okay except it was really fucking funny when David Copperfield showed up and casually made the Statue of Liberty disappear.¹ I was actually factually rolling on the floor.

Aside from what I found to be the incredible humor from certain interviews, the remainder of this chapter concerns itself directly with Karen's short film.

If anything summarizes this chapter to me it's the feeling of viewpoints. How others see, how we see, how Karen sees. An infinity of viewpoints for an infinite house, held within an infinite world of possibility. I feel like I detect a little bit of anxiety over the process of creation itself, as well. There's a kind of quiet trepidation to Karen's work. I imagine she interviewed so many to make sure she had the "right take". The correct point of view with which to portray Navidson.

Part of that reading might be my own struggles with writing. The fear of the infinite present in the book reflects my own anxieties. Not to stroke my own ego, but I feel like I face an unreal amount of possibilities every time I put key to word document. Every action I bring my characters through is plucked out of a sea of infinite possibilities. I could do anything on a sheet of paper, how am I meant to find the right way?

Ultimately I think it's personal, like Karen. Like with Vallenari's interview in this exact post. They both have reduced infinite possibility to their feelings. Something very personally one's own. Not the vast cosmos of what could be but instead on what you see, and thusly, are not lost.

That's also why we get the close-up of Delial.² Karen finally has her answer, it's a made-up name for Navy's winning photo.

Ultimately, his feelings are his own. He didn't allow anyone else to name them.

#live reading #house of leaves #maeve's house of leaves readalong #footnotes #1 - p. 364 #2 - p. 368

[a-tomb-with-a-view]

IMO if any member of sunset curve smokes/smoked it’s Reggie, and not for any particular reason I just think with the whole flannel and leather get up that he just sees cool people doing cool things and decides fuck yeah that’s who and what I wanna be, and one time he probably saw some dude in a leather jacket *way* more expensive than his smoking against a wall outside a bar sunset curve had just played, chatting up a hot girl, and was like fuck man *i* wanna chat up hot girls, and decided that the cigarette was definitely what drew her in and now it’s been like a year and he’s got more attention from Emily over it than any girls at bars but it’s part of his image and Bobby once said he looked kinda hot like that so now he’s just gotta run with it

#Alex getting very stressed that sweet innocent baby Reggie has a pack of smokes in his jacket pocket #Luke things it’s very cool #very proud of Reggie for fully embracing the spirit of rock and roll #cos realistically one of them needed to to complete the image and Emily would’ve ripped his damn oesophagus out if it was him #and Bobby just #really can’t be bothered to spend money on cigs #and yk there’s an aesthetic to smoking it’s at least a little hot #by the time they die and meet Julie Reggie knows his damn stuff #cos he’s a nerd #it’s a very jumbled explanation to her about how it started #but he does help Ray pick cigars for fancy occasions and will steal them #Julie just can’t believe Reggie of all people was the one who picked up a bad habit for the aesthetic #jatp #julie and the himbos #julie and the phantoms #julie and the fat ones #luke patterson #julie molina #reggie jatp #alex jatp #Reggie peters #netflixwewantjatp2 #tw: smoking #netflixwewantjatpseason2 #kinda boggie

[slut-4-rafe]

Hi! I had a fix idea. So a switch!reader and she is in a relationship with the marauders(without Peter) and the boys find out. And like Remus is trying to convince Sirius to try it since he is a switch too(James is a sub and Remus is a dom) and like maybe the reader is feeling bad about messing up the dynamics and tells Remus to forget about it but her feeling bad eventually causes Sirius to give in and then ✨smut✨ You can obviously ignore this. Just thought I would share my thought❤️❤️

"Absolutely not!"

Sub! James x Dom! Remus x Switch! Sirius x Switch! Fem! Reader.

Summary: You want to try and be a dom for once, though Sirius isn't willing to look at you as anything but a sub. Remus and James on the other hand, want you to take charge.

Warning: Smut!, degration kink, praise kink, fingering (male receiving), daddy kink, mommy kink, oral (male receiving), slapping, probably more but this is just filthy.

Note: I hope this was okay. I don't feel like this was exactly what you were asking for, but I needed to add some drama lol.

Word count: 2,295

You had been feeling off about sex recently. It wasn't the fact that Remus was a dom. Or that James was a sub. Or that Sirius was both. What it was, was that you were a sub, or so they thought.

Yes, you loved being their 'good girl' and making them feel good, but sometimes you wished you could take the role of being in charge. Being the one to praise them for being good. Though you thought none of your boyfriends noticed your odd behaviors during your time in the bedroom, you were very wrong.

You were sat on one of the scarlet couches in the Gryffindor common room, watching as the orange flames danced in the pit. Your peaceful headspace was soon to be interrupted.

"Everyone out!" a voice yelled, startling you.

As people started to stand to leave the common room, a certain red head, also known as Lily Evans, took a stand. "No Potter. This is your common room. You can't just order people around!"

"Actually, Evans, I can. I'm head boy." the bespectacled boy said. Before Lily could argue anymore, you watched as Remus gave her a small pleading smile. Her gaze flickered to you and soon she softened.

"Alright then." she said before walking out of the portrait hole.

You knew what this was about. You knew why they wanted to talk privately, especially somewhere that wasn't the boys' bedroom.

You'd been avoiding them.

Sex was a common thing in your relationship, not that you were complaining at all. But to avoid the sex and the uncomfortable sub position you were constantly put in, you avoided them all together.

You kept your gaze on the flames before you, barely noticing each of the boys had taken seats on the couch beside you. Though you felt their stares lingering on your curled up frame, you ignored them the best you could.

"Pup." Remus said softly. "Can you tell me what's wrong?"

"Us." Sirius corrected.

You heard Remus let out a sight before correcting himself. "Can you tell us, what's going on?"

You didn't speak.

Your heart was beating rapidly and you got the sudden urge to vomit. And when the blush took over your cheeks, you hid your head in your hands.

You were embarrassed.

Embarrassed to explain that you wanted to not only be a sub, but also be a dom. And it wasn't James or Remus you had to worry about, it was Sirius. The raven haired boy liked how things were in the bed, he didn't want a change, and of course you knew that.

"Hey. We asked you a question." Sirius said.

"You not....breaking up with us, are you?" you heard James whisper. Hearing is sad voice broke your heart, and in an instant you revealed your blushed cheeks to the boys and raced to say your next words.

"No!"

James' frown turned into a lopsided grin at your answer. And suddenly you heard a set of chuckles. Turning your gaze to your other two boyfriends, you found both of them smirking.

"What?"

"Your embarrassed." Sirius said.

"Am not!"

"We like seeing you all flustered puppy." Remus smiled.

"Wanna take this to the room?" Sirius' smirk widened, and instantly your shoulders fell.

"No she doesn't." Remus said. "Pup? What happened? Are you feeling okay? Is something bothering you?"

You just gave your head a simple shake from side to side.

"I think I have a guess." you heard the raven haired boy say, and without even looking at him, you knew he had a shit eating grin plastered on his face. "I think our puppy broke a rule."

At those words your head snapped up. "No I didn't!"

"See. From the way your acting I'd say you did." he went on.

"No!"

"Are you back talking?" he smirked as your shoulders dropped yet again. "See. You just broke a rule. Back talking to your daddies."

And here you were, yet again, being put back in the sub position. You ignored the arousal pooling in your panties, as you rolled your eyes with a shake of your head and turned your stony gaze back to the fire. Yes. You were horny. You had been avoiding sex for about two weeks and still, the sub side of you wanted to follow their rules so you stuck to them. One of them just happened to be 'no getting yourself off,' so you didn't.

"I think you need to be punished pup." Sirius said in a sing song voice.

Remus noticed you seemed off. He sent Sirius a stern look, making the boy sink down into the couch. The sandy haired boy stood up and made his way to where he was kneeling in front of you.

"Poppet?" you turned you eyes to meet his brown ones. "What's the matter?"

Your mind swarm with thought and ways to put together your explanation. "I just..." you trailed off, trying to find the perfect words.

"You just what pup?"

"I-" you took a deep breathe and squeezed your eyes shut and allowed the words to come out in a quick, jumbled mess. "I just don't like being a sub all the time! I want to take charge once in a while. I'm a switch! Just like Siri and I-"

"Woah, woah, woah!" Remus cut you off. "Say it again. Slower this time."

You huffed and opened your eyes to meet his yet again. "I don't want to be a sub all the time. Sometimes I want to take charge like you and Siri do. I like being a sub sometimes, but not always. I love being your good girl, but sometimes I just want you to be my good boys."

A silence took over the four of you. The blush that was once on your face turned a deeper shade of red.

"Alright-"

"Absolutely not!" Sirius cut Remus' words off. "No way!"

"Daddy-" Sirius cut off James this time.

"No! I don't care what you two say, I'm saying no!"

Your shoulders slumped. You were put into this uncomfortable position. You wished you could take everything back. You wished you'd never said anything in the first place. You were drowning in your own thought. Your brain muffling the sound of the arguing boys next to you.

"We can't just do what we want Sirius!"

"There can't be three doms and one sub! I mean, James is already sensitive enough. Imagine of we have three people going at him!"

"Hey!" James whined.

"Oh shush. You know it's true."

"Stop. Both of you." Remus said sternly. "Sirius, if there can't be three doms, then you be a sub."

"No fucking way!"

"Why not?!"

"Because I'm a dom!"

"Actually," James said. "Your both Siri. Why can't she be both? That way there would be..."

"Technically, three subs and three doms." Remus concluded.

"No. She's a sub. I don't care what she wants. She will obey you and I. We are her daddies. What does she want? To be called mommy?" he laughs. "That sound fucking stupid."

"Sirius! Stop being a brat-"

"It's fine." you interrupted them. "I shouldn't have tried to change it. Just...pretend I didn't say anything."

You got up and made your way up to the boys' dorm, to which you shared, having not been to your dorm since fifth year. You plopped yourself on the fifth bed, also known as the extra bed, in the room. You grumbled into your pillow, completely oblivious to the arguing going on down below.

"Look what you did Sirius!" James exclaimed. The boys head snapped to James a scowl etched on his lips.

"I didn't do anything."

"Yes. You. Did." Remus seethed. The lycanthrope stepped towards the black haired boy, making him gulp nervously. Remus planted a slap to the boys' cheek. "What did I say about being a brat? Huh?"

"It makes me a bad boy." he said quietly.

"Yes it does. Why can't you just be a good boy like James?"

"I am a good boy!" Sirius whined, he sub side finally showing.

"No. Your not. You hurt puppies feelings."

Realization dawned on the boy and he immediately ran up to the dorm, followed by James and Remus.

"I'm sorry!" Sirius cried once he barged into the room. "I was a bad boy. Hurt mommy's feelings."

You froze and turned to the boys, finding James' hazel eyes blown wide, Sirius practically crying, and Remus standing against the door, a smirk wide on his face.

"What? I-I thought..."

"I'm so sorry mommy. Wanna be a good boy. Wanna make mommy happy."

"I..."

"I think little Sirius needs to be punished. What do you think James?" Remus asked.

"Yes daddy. I think mommy needs to punish Siri." he answered.

"W-what? I-..."

"What do I do to you or James when your bad?" Remus asked as he takes long strides to sit next to you on the bed. "Sirius, come here." The boy sheepishly makes his way over to the two of you until he's standing directly in front of you. "Talk to him. Tell him he's bad. Tell him why he's bad." Remus whispered in your ear. "Take charge doll."

This is what you were waiting for. To take charge.

"You were being mean Si." you said. "Hurt my-"

"Who are you?" Remus asked. "Have to address who you are."

"Hurt mommy's feelings."

"I know! I'm so sorry mommy!" he cried.

You contemplated what to do next. "Punish him." Remus whispered.

You stood up so you were face to face with the boy in front of you. You teasingly unbuttoned his shirt and pulled the item off his shoulders before unbuckling his belt and pulling down his trousers and boxers. You looked over the boy, watching as his hard on sat up straight, leaking precum. "Lay down."

"Yes mommy." he crawled up into the bed. Laying so he was on his stomach, his hands were intertwined on his back and he got a perfect view of the bed right in front of him. You seated yourself so you were sitting at his side. Before touching him though, you addressed the other two boys.

"Hey Jamesie?"

The boy perked up at the call of his name a lopsided smile taking over his features. "Yes mommy?"

"Want to help daddy out? Want to suck his cock while I punish Siri?"

James nodded his head rapidly before hurriedly making his way over to the bed that just so happened to be right in front of Sirius. "Yes mommy. Want to be a good boy."

"Good job bubba."

Remus was quick to discard himself, and James, of their clothes. "Good boy." he cooed as James started working on his cock.

"Alright. What should I do, huh?" you asked the boy.

"Punish me mommy. Wanna be your good boy." he whimpered. You thought for a moment. Thinking of all the punishments you received. You smirked when you got an idea.

"Ass up." you instructed, watching how he instantly rested himself on his hands and knees. You took one hand down to his cock. Hearing him moan just at the touch made your legs squeeze together. "Don't take your eyes off them. And you better not cum. Got it?"

"Yes mommy."

"Good." you smirked.

Your hand slowly went up and down on his cock, feeling all the veins and how it twitched when she squeezed. She took her pointer finger and placed it in her mouth, wetting it. Once it was slick, she took it down so she was tracing his hole, earning moans from him. You pussy clenched around nothing and the arousal sitting in your underwear grew uncomfortable as you listened to James' gags and Sirius and Remus' moans.

You slowly aloud your finger to push in, going slow, because while this was punishment, you didn't want to injure or hurt him in any way. You listened to him moan loudly and his back arch.

"Are you okay?" you whispered.

"Yes! Mommy!" he moaned.

You sped up your finger slightly and fisted his cock. As you kept your movements the same, you turned to James and Remus. James had his nose buried in Remus' happy trail.

"Fuuuuck. Such a good boy." you heard Remus moan before pulling the boys head off so he could breathe. After a moment, Remus forced James mouth back onto his cock and bobbed his head up and down. You, in the mean time, took in the sight of the boy laying in front of you. Eyes glued to your other two boyfriends. Cock twitching as he did his best not to cum. And your finger pumping in and out of his hole. "M'gonna cum James. And you better swallow." you heard Remus instruct, earning a moan from James. And in seconds, Remus was cumming down the boys throat and the room was full of loud moans.

"Mommy! I can't! M'gonna cum." Sirius screamed.

"You better not. You wanna be my good boy right?"

"Yes!"

"Then don't cum. Just ten more seconds."

And when you felt his cock twitch violently in your hand, you drew your hand back and slowly took your finger out. He collapsed down onto the mattress.

"Am I good now mommy?" he asked.

You crawled off the bed and went so you were kneeling in front of his face. "So good baby. Watched them the whole time, and didn't even cum!"

"Now we have to make mommy cum!" James said excitedly.

"Right Jamesie." Remus smiled.

"Want to fuck mommy Jamesie boy?" you asked, getting up and going over to the boy on the bed.

"Yes mommy! Wanna make mommy cum. Wanna be her good boy." he went on.

"Okay James. Remus, help out Sirius over there. He's a good boy." you said.

Taglist: @blowing-mikey @lilicazure @trouble-in-space @herbatkazmiloscia @zzzfour @speakyourselfloveyourself @vierablack @officepass1320 @riddikulusweasleys @mysticlights-blog @mtle @emmaev @whitecastles @teenwolfbitches2 @lliasky @lookscutebutwillfight @pretty-pop-princess-hs @imsiriuslyval

#marauders x reader #poly marauders #marauders smut