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moonit3 · 8 days

Note

I've been completely addicted to reading your yanderes since yesterday, especially Harem and the Twins.

Therefore, I would like to request a part 3 of the Harem, if possible with more yandere fem, I am extremely lacking with yandere female, if it is not a bother, I thank you in advance for your attention and I am happy with your stories

𓆩❤︎ YANDERE! CONCUBINES HAREM

⟡ cw: yandere! female (of course), gn! reader, mentioned somnphilia (nothing happens i swear), overthinking from concubines, age gap (but like one line only), mentioned blackmail, pure fluff i guess?

⟡ word count: 1.1 k

⟡ notes: a new format? yep, i got a little tired of the same old ive been using since the very first post and its like it changed a lot…also, i am giving up my life to try to get the new mythic mercy skin (even started playing competitive to get more points) and to have aventurine in star rail (i barely have tickets, so i am going to wait to the anniversary rewards…), either way i am working hard to archive my goals and you should too! enjoy today’s writing, my dear readers :)

earlier today you forget to lock your office’s door to prevent the concubines to enter and spend time with you during work hours, which basically mean they are all over the room in completely silence, observing you working in the documents. it’s wearied to have an quiet audience like this one, but you enjoy hearing the breeze outside your office while working and the ladies definitely know, so they keep to themselves when staying at the room with the only goal to admire you.

you catch most of the ladies moving their gaze away when you stare at them when the files start becoming boring, it’s cute to think about these women who often flirt and shamelessly throw themselves at you acting like this. it reminds you they acted so desperate before as many believed that you would kick them out if any of them showed interest in you, but the ladies now know better.

stretching your arms behind your back, a faint smile slowly made to your lips as you know today’s paperwork is coming to an end. it’s a challenge to stay sit down behind the desk and analyze every new law made by the council as the elections has taken place a few months ago. if you only could ask your personal advisers to finish the work so you could take an hour or two to rest, but that won’t be possible as it is necessary to have your signature at the papers.

a yawn came out of your mouth, calling the ladies’ attention towards their beloved one while you didn’t notice their watchful eyes, you did notice how tired you’ve become in seconds. and almost instantly, your body slowly fall into the desk and right there, you began dreaming about tomorrow’s work.

the little noises of snores made all the concubines step closer to check on your sleeping body.

some of them poked your cheeks to try to wake you up, but immediately failed when you just turned out to prevent them from doing so. others had the idea to bring a plate of your favorite meal so you could smell it and suddenly wake up to thank them, but you payed no mind for it. and the remaining ones just accept that you won’t wake up any time soon, so just they carried you back to your chambers to have a proper bed to sleep on.

seeing how your chest goes up and down with your soft breathing, the concubines couldn’t help themselves to just stay quiet to watch you sleeping form. it’s adorable how their great leader looks so precious in a defenseless position like this! all the things they could do with you right now are possible, but they aren’t animal, no. never in a million years would these lovely women use your body without your consent. so, the ladies just stay inside your chamber to admire you.

“should we get our love’s plushies to let them feel savior in their dream?” the daugther of a merchant asked.

“don’t be ridiculous, anne. do you think [name] would be happier if we show that we learn about their secret stock of plushies? I don’t think so.” the third daughter of a former general answered. “also, they can’t know we stole some of them.”

the others nodded, a little scared that you would discover of all the things they have stolen from you. would you learn how many of your undergarments just vanished? or would you question they found out about your recent discussions with the former emperor? every single of them loved hearing the old man scolding you for not having any heirs to the throne, even daring to ask you if you are sterile or just a coward.

while they got angry at the your father for speaking nuisances about your body, the women couldn’t be happier when hearing the words coming out of lips. ”i will h-have my f-first night soon! just let me choose someone, okay?” and that only made them more eager to stay around you. all the ladies made a pact to keep their newly found secret away from the man who are part of the harem, after all, they are already rivals and none of them need more people to complicate their plans.

that’s why the women of the harem have become more overprotective over you in recently days, not that you’ve noticed any change on their behavior. you are too busy working to make the nation better and to take care of the harem as a whole that you barely notice the immense change on their behavior.

“it’s been hours that [name] has fallen asleep! can we wake them up to spend some time with us? please.” a foreign princess was immediately stopped from touching your forehead, her hands quickly slapped away by a older woman.

and that woman is no other than a renowned actress who retired of her incredible care to become part of the harem, but still gaining enormous revenue from her previous works. “didn’t we said to let our love to rest? oh, wait. we have been talking about it for the past hour or so and you keep insisting on waking them up? you are dumb.” the woman’s words made the princess’ face go completely red as a tomato, then leading to a silent argument between the two of them. with everyone else to witness it.

the discussion continued for ten minutes until both stopped when noticing that you’ve wake up due to their constantly shifting in their voices. of course, both of their face became red of embarrassment while the rest of the concubines could only watch you yawning, probably thinking on what you would to the troublemakers.

“…how long i was sleeping?” even with your best attempts, you can’t keep an eye open to see how many women are inside your chamber.

“a-around seven hours, your majesty.” one of them answered. “are we disturbing your rest? if so, we can leave.”

“oh, don’t worry…” a yawn escape of your lips, interrupting your words. “…you, ladies, aren’t bothering me at all. i was just thinking if you guys would like to rest with me.”

did they hear correctly? are you really asking that or they are just imaging those words to make themselves calmer of this situation. but they knew this is real when you began patting the bed, asking them once again if they would like to sleep with you for the rest of the day and of course, all of them accept it.

it didn’t took much time to you fall asleep again, this time surrounded by many and many ladies over your immense bed who almost fought each other to gain the opportunity to lay next to you. the only reason a conflict didn’t broken out was because you began cuddling a pillow of yours, leading to the concubines crying to themselves while others took photos of this precious moment to use as an important blackmail material in the future or perhaps just to sell at a high price to the male concubines.

@moonit3 . don’t repost it, don’t modify it, don’t plagiarize, translate it without my permission.

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dangerkittenclaws · 4 months

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Are your requests still open? I’d love a fic where the (AFAB) reader is in a situation where she’s forced to share a bed with Vessel (maybe she’s a musician who’s touring with ST and the hotel is short on rooms? lol I know it’s super cliche) and in the middle of the night he wakes her up by initiating sex? 🥰

This was so fun to write, thank you!! And thank you for being my first request/ask, I'll never forget it! Sorry it took me a hot second to finish. To be honest, I feel I got a tad carried away but I hope I did our lean bean of a man justice! <3

vessel x f!band!reader

warnings: smut MDNI +18

You were waiting in the lobby of the hotel your tour agent had booked, spinning your luggage case lazily by its extended handle. The staff had been frantic as your large group entered the building.

IV was at the counter talking to the man who was clicking desperately at his computer. Something clearly was wrong with the reservation, but you were so tired that you really didn't care, you just wanted to slide into a cozy bed and sleep like the dead. It had been a long day, not including the show tonight and piling into a van afterwards.

Two of your best friends and bandmates, Alexis and Maggie were sitting on one of the lobby couches quietly showing memes to II. Vessel, III, and Liv, your bassist, were sitting on the bench right next to them. You all had gotten to know each other fairly well considering you inhabited a bus for numerous hours, watched each other practice, and went out to eat together.

You had noticed Vessel staring at times the past few weeks. You didn’t particularly mind the man was checking you out, it felt good to be wanted in a genuine way. You were not opposed to something new. You had become aware of him giving you glances that were a few seconds too long, a hand grazing just a little slower, him waiting for you so he could walk with you to wherever you were going.

And the teasing and bickering, god, it never ended. You didn't expect any different, being in close quarters with four boys and your three raunchy best friends, it was a constant war. You didn't quite know how to navigate these waters with Vessel though, it had been quite a while since your last boyfriend.

Your attention was brought back by IV walking back over to where you stood, a grimace on his face.

“Something happened to their booking system, they’re overbooked and we're going to have to share rooms until tomorrow.”

Some sort of seniority took over his voice, “Maggie, Alexis, Liv you can share the two-queen room, II, III, and I will share the other. That leaves you and Ves with the last king room”, he said pointing between you and Vessel.

Your eyes could’ve popped out of your head at that moment, but you schooled your expression hopefully before anyone noticed. You looked over to your bandmates and saw how Liv wanted to protest, but closed her mouth before she could say anything, knowing it was futile and everyone was too exhausted to care. It was nearing 3am and you were only spending two nights here before traveling again.

Vessel's eyes instantly shot towards yours, a small smirk forming on his lips, his arms crossed over his chest. Those lips.

“I guess it's you and me, then, love.” He gets up, standing to his full height before grabbing his duffel bag from beside him. The rest of the group rises and gathers their things, IV giving out key cards in silence.

You look at your girls, bidding them goodnight with a small wave and suddenly your hands are empty. Vessel had taken it upon himself to steal your suitcase and start walking towards the elevators.

Startled, Maggie giggles behind you at your expression. Breath leaves your mouth in a sort of sigh and laugh, and your tired legs begin to move in his direction. He is already in the elevator, keeping the door open for you.

“Damn your long legs.”

He turns to you once the doors shut, “I hope you have a little bit of energy left in you,”

You look at him confused, “What do you mean?” You know what kind of tone he has, a playful, flirtatious one that makes you blush.

“I guess you'll just have to find out, won't you?” the doors open to the new floor and he darts out, immediately walking in long strides and searching for the correct door. You try to keep up, watching him try the key card on the fifth door down the hall and entering. You walk into the blackness of the room knowing he's just in front of you. He nearly giggles as he turns on the bedside lamp and watches your face scrunch up at the sudden light.

“You could at least warn a girl,” you yawn. Just as described, there is one large plushy looking king bed in the center of the room, a tv mounted to the wall, a little breakfast counter, and a door ajar on the other side, the bathroom.

Vessel drops both of your bags at the end of the bed, “Okay, me first, I need a shower.” he announces. You scoff and nod anyway, both of you taking out your pajamas and toiletries you'll need to set them aside.

Vessel puts his hand on your hip from behind you, the boldest move he’s made yet, “I’ll be quick” is all he whispers near your ear. The warmth of his hand lingers on you even though you hear the door shut. You finally breathe again, you had stood frozen for too long. Is this really happening?

You finally search out the TV remote, finding some mind-numbing home renovation show. You watch a few minutes, zoning out entirely, before the knob of the door twists and you turn your head. Your eyebrows raise at the sight before you.

He is a little damp, clothes in hand, the last few water droplets running down his lean torso, hair scruffy from the towel dry he did before wrapping it lowly around his waist. You almost drool before looking back up to his eyes.

“My eyes are up here, darlin,” he smirks. You feel your entire being light up red hot before you want to implode for getting caught staring at the very… enticing area that he is putting on display. It's not like he wears those pants for no reason at shows, it leaves little to your imagination and he knows it.

You jump up with your head down, grabbing your things and dipping into the bathroom without another word. You shower hot, needing an excuse to be as pink as you were with that fine man that you had been roomed with. Your pajamas were just an oversized Sleep Token shirt and a short pair of plaid shorts.

After scrubbing the day off of you, you change into your pajamas before your hand hesitates at the knob. You breathe out. We are just sleeping. We aren’t even anything yet. Why am I being so dramatic about this?

You summon all of your courage to open the door and look out to see Vessel in bed, scrolling his phone, the room only illuminated by the TV. You put your leftover toiletries and laundry on top of your bag before plugging in your phone and pulling back the covers on the other side.

Vessel looks over to you, “Come here, love”, opening his arms to you. You snuggle into his side and onto his chest, as his hand rubs up and down your back. You involuntarily let out a little sigh of relief, finally you can rest. You fall asleep like that, him holding you close and warm.

You wake up a few hours later, having turned to your side in your sleep, one of his still around your middle and the other under your neck.

You move slightly and become aware of something pressed against your ass. You immediately hold your breath.

You slowly breathe out, and try to inch yourself away. His arm tightens around you. Oh shit, he’s awake.

Like he reads your nervousness, he starts to kiss along the back of your neck to the side, underneath your ear. You shiver at his warm breath.

“Hmm, I'm sorry, I just couldn't help it with your ass backed up to me darling.” You smile and blush at his words, knowing the effect you have on him. He grinds a bit into you as his hand slowly moves towards the waistband of your shorts.

You realize your shirt had bunched up just below your tits just as his other hand reaches up and runs through your hair, long fingers pulling just enough for your head to move back. You turn to your back when he easily grazes over your clit and you clench your thighs together. Vessel gives you a little growl in your ear and your thighs cave open as quick as your resolve.

“I've wanted you for so long, sweet thing, and I've got you all to myself now.” His fingers move in slow, small circles over your clit and your hands go to his bicep, grabbing at him for more. You let out a small moan as you lose yourself in the feeling of warmth of both of his hands touching your body and the building starry sensation in your belly.

You reach down towards his stomach, caressing down, trying to burn the feeling of his skin into your mind before coming into contact with the curls of his hair. You hesitate slightly and he quickly attacks your lips, like he's reading your mind again.

You continue on to wrap your hands around his long, hard dick and begin tugging on it. He smiles against your neck and brings his other hand up under your shirt to massage your tit before pulling your nipple taut and thumbing over the hard bud forming. He does the same with the other while his fingers work their way into your wet cunt, one slender finger at a time.

You are getting impatient now, kissing his lips and neck, sucking his soft skin into your mouth to leave your mark. He lets out a whimper before seemingly regaining control of himself. Noted for future reference.

He slides down your body in a quick moment before licking up your slick cunt, making you nearly cry out. He tongues your entrance before making his way up to your clit and practically latches on. You claw at the bed sheets beneath you eventually finding his grown out hair to pull. You don't know if you want him to stop or if you want more, this is so much better than your own fingers. You buck up into his mouth and he locks his arm around your thighs to keep you from squirming away. That feeling in your stomach is burning.

He makes a few deliberate swipes of his tongue in succession over your clit and he watches that you come undone beneath him. Your eyes roll back, your hips tighten, and you gasp out his name. He keeps his tongue flat against you, tasting your cum before coming up to kiss you.

The moment you taste yourself on him is the moment you feel him press against your swollen pussy. You moan into the kiss, wanting more of him. He grabs himself to properly press his dick into you. He does it slowly, making sure you savor every inch.

“Please, please, Vessel, please”, you beg him.

“Please what, kitten?”, that slow devilish smirk comes back with a vengeance on his wet lips.

“Please fuck me, I need you to fuck me.” You mumble out, embarrassed but full of anticipation.

He thrusts into you fully, making both of you moan out curses. Ves sets a pretty quick pace but makes sure to hit the one spot inside you that makes your pussy tighten around him on every pass. He bottoms out, touching the beginning of your cervix and you see his eyes roll back.

“God, you are better than I ever imagined.'' He reaches his hand down between the both of you to play with your clit again. This time though, your orgasm is quick to approach with him inside of you. His fingers move swiftly as you grind yourself down onto his cock to meet his every thrust.

You are scratching down his back trying to find purchase with how full he makes you feel. Soon enough, the pool of white hot in your belly is overflowing again and he changes the angle just slightly, fucking you through your orgasm. You moan out knowing your pussy is clenching around his dick in a vice grip. Just as you cum around him, he settles deep within you and his fingers dig into your hips. His thick ropes of cum spill into you and he pulls out to leave your cunt messy.

You open your eyes half-lidded after a moment, trying to catch your breath, “Jesus, did you… did you plan that all along?!”

He smiles wide at you, “Which part, the room sharing or the me-getting-you-to-myself?”

“Either?”

“The rooms being short just happened to play into my favor, but I was plotting to get you alone this weekend, my sweet kitten.” He pecks your lips before moving to the bathroom to get a warm towel for you both.

You sigh out as you watch him, “I didn’t know what I was missing out on, really.”

You hear his sweet laugh as he comes back in, gently running the towel over your pussy, cleaning you up. You squirm a bit but are easily distracted by the kisses he leaves on your inner thigh. You let out a small yelp when you feel teeth graze and a quick nip before he pulls away.

He slides in next to you again, pulling you close, “If I have it my way, you’ll be mine forever.”

“I’d really like that,” you murmured against his chest. You feel him press his lips to the top of your head before you fall back into a satisfied dreamless sleep.

#dangerkittenclaws #sleep token #sleep token fanfic #vessel sleep token #sleep token fanfiction #vessel x reader

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zedleaked · 3 months

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[APPARENTLY PEOPLE HERE WANTED TO KNOW THE HUMAN AXIS LORE SO IM JUST GOING TO COPY MY TWITTER POST HERE…] BASIC GIST IS THAT THIS IS JUST A GENERAL HUMAN AU. MONSTERS AND HUMANS SWAPPED. WOWIE!

ANYWAYS READ MORE FOR AXIS

AXIS ORIGIN IS STILL A BIT FUZZY. HERE HE'S LIKE CHUJIN'S ADOPTED SON [GENDER NEUTRAL],, CATGIRLTRICKSTER ON TWITTER SUGGESTED CHUJIN JUST FINDING YOUNG AXIS IN A PIPE OR SOMETHING AND I THINK THATS REALLY FUNNY... THOUGH HIS ORIGINS WOULD BE VAGUE. IF ASKED HE'D SAY HE DOESN'T REMEMBER.

ALSO NOTE BEFORE I FORGET. AXIS WAS JUST BORN WITH ONE LEG. THERE IS NO LORE REASON TO WHY ITS MISSING, IT IS JUST THE WAY HE IS. CHUJIN MAKES HIM A ROBOTIC LEG SO HE CAN HAVE AN EASIER TIME.

SURE I COULD GIVE A FUCKED REASON AS TO WHY HE DOESNT HAVE IT BUT I DONT FEEL LIKE IT.

AXIS WOULD BE AN APPRENTICE UNDER CHUJIN SIMILAR TO MARTLET [I NEEDA DRAW MARTLET EVENTUALLY] PLUS IN GAME THERE'S FLAVOR TEXT ABOUT HIM FLIPPING THROUGH THE ROYAL GUARD HANDBOOK IN HIS MIND. HONESTLY. MARTLET AND AXIS BEING FRIENDS THROUGH SHARING THE SAME INTEREST IS SILLY...

HE'D WANT TO TRAIN HIMSELF TO BECOME A ROYAL GUARD OR AT LEAST A PROTECTOR TO PAYBACK CHUJIN FOR TAKING HIM IN. HE'S GOING TO PROTECT HIS FATHER AND HUMANKIND. IT'S HIS BIGGEST GOAL IN LIFE.

STEAMWORKS STILL EXISTS. ITS JUST CHUJIN HADNT BUILT THE AXIS MODELS IN THIS AU BECAUSE. YOU KNOW.

MAYBE HE SAW POTENTIAL IN HUMAN AXIS, SEEING HOW DETERMINED HE IS TO GROW STRONGER AND PROTECT PEOPLE. CHUJIN WOULD WANT HIM TO HONE HIS SKILLS TO BECOME SOMETHING... BIG.

IN A WAY. AXIS WAS A PEEK INTO WHAT HUMANS COULD BECOME AND WHAT THAT COULD DO FOR HUMAN SOCIETY UNDERGROUND.

MEANWHILE AXIS IS ENAMORED BY STEAMWORKS AND JUST CHUJIN'S WORK IN GENERAL. HE REALLY ADMIRES ROBOTS, HE THINKS ABOUT WHAT ITS LIKE IF HE HAD ROBOTIC MODIFICATIONS.

AND LESS LORE RELEVANT BUT HE ALSO HAS CONNECTIONS TO KANAKO TOO! THEY ARE THE SIBLINGS EVER. THOUGH IVE BEEN WONDERING HOW CEROBA NOT KNOWING AXIS IN STEAMWORKS WOULD WORK. IT'D BE KINDA WEIRD FOR CHUJIN TO KEEP A WHOLE ASS CHILD SECRET FROM HER.

THEYVE PROBABLY SEEN EACH OTHER AND NEVER HAD MUCH SIGNIFICANT

INTERACTIONS FOR THEM TO FULLY REMEMBER EACH OTHER. AXIS SPENDS A MAJORITY OF HIS TIME AT STEAMWORKS OR DOING ROYAL GUARD SHIT, AND WHEN HES NOT DOING THAT HES PROBABLY PLAYING WITH KANAKO [WHEN CEROBA ISNT AROUND]

AND WELL. WE HAD TO GET TO THIS PART EVENTUALLY. ONE DAY A MONSTER MAKES ITS WAY INTO THE UNDERGROUND AND STARTED KILLING PEOPLE. DALV [WHO I ALSO NEED TO DRAW] GOT CAUGHT UP IN THE FRAY WHILE PLAYING WITH KANAKO [AND AXIS TOO]. UPON SEEING HIS FRIENDS GET HURT. SOMETHING CLICKS.

AXIS HAD TRAINED UP TO THIS POINT. THIS WAS HIS MOMENT. HE HAD TO SAVE THE PEOPLE FROM THE THREAT IN FRONT OF THEM. INSTINCTS KICK IN AND HE GOES IN TO FIGHT THE MONSTER WHILE DALV TAKES KANAKO TO SAFETY.

THIS MONSTER WAS TOUGH. HE WAS ALMOST KILLED. BUT HE HAD TO PERSEVERE.

SOMETHING JUST ACTIVATED IN HIS SOUL.

HE FELT A SURGE OF POWER. THE ONLY THING HE KNEW IN THAT MOMENT WAS TO.

GET. RID. OF. THE. THREAT.

IN FRONT OF HIM WAS JUST. A HEADLESS BODY THAT SLOWLY FADED INTO DUST.

THAT... HE DIDNT MEAN TO GO THAT FAR.

SIMILAR TO CLOVER IN GENOCIDE, AXIS HAD RAPIDLY LEVELED UP AND SHOT A POWERFUL ATTACK AT THE MONSTER IN RESPONSE TO ALMOST DYING. HE NEEDED TO KEEP GOING NO MATTER WHAT.

STILL. THE CONSEQUENCES OF HIS ACTIONS LAID HEAVY ON HIM.

HE HAD KILLED A LIVING, BREATHING THING.

SOON AFTER CHUJIN WALKED IN ON THE SCENE COMPLETELY HORRIFIED. AXIS, ASHAMED OF WHAT HE HAD DONE RAN TOWARD STEAMWORKS TO ISOLATE HIMSELF, SIMILAR TO DALV.

SURE, HE HAD SAVED PEOPLE FROM THAT MONSTER BUT DID HE HAVE TO BE SO GRUESOME?

CHUJIN RAN AFTER HIM, TRYING TO GET HIM BACK

CHUJIN FINDS HIM AT STEAMWORKS, WALLOWING IN JUST. EVERY EMOTION.

HE TRIES TO COMFORT HIM THOUGH AXIS IS STILL INSISTENT ON NOT GOING OUT.

THE TWO REACHED THE COMPROMISE THAT: AXIS WOULD GUARD AND PROTECT STEAMWORKS AND THAT CHUJIN WOULD CHECK UP ON HIM EVERY NOW AND THEN.

SO THATS WHAT HE DID. HE STAYED AT STEAMWORKS, WATCHING OVER THE PLACE AND ITS ROBOTS FOR….. AGES.

EVENTUALLY CHUJIN'S CHECK UPS GET MORE SPARSE UNTIL JUST. NOTHING.

AXIS NOTICES TOO THAT LESS AND LESS SCIENTISTS ARE PRESENT AT STEAMWORKS. UNTIL THERE IS NO ONE THERE.

WHEN ASKED IF HE WAS GOING TO LEAVE

TOO HE SAID

"NO. MY FATHER AND I HAD REACHED THE AGREEMENT THAT I WOULD STAY AND PATROL THIS AREA, AND THAT I WILL DO." THERE WAS NO CONVINCING HIM TO LEAVE. SO THE OTHERS RELUCTANTLY LEFT HIM BE.

DAY BY DAY HE WATCHES STEAMWORKS FLOOD AND DECAY. WHILE HE STAYS THERE TRYING TO KEEP UP THE AGREEMENT BETWEEN HIS FATHER AND HIMSELF.

NO ONE HAD TOLD HIM.

ONE DAY THOUGH HE FINDS THAT STEAMWORKS SUDDENLY ACTIVATES RIGHT BEFORE SEEING A MONSTER ONCE AGAIN.

OH HE REMEMBERS THE PAST WELL. IN THIS AU IT WAS IMPOSSIBLE FOR HIM TO GET HIS MEMORY ERASED.

WHILE THE EVENTS PLAY OUT MOSTLY THE SAME COMPARED TO NORMAL UTY.

AXIS SEEMS MORE HESITANT THAN USUAL. AND PROBABLY MONOLOGUING A LITTLE SIMILAR TO WHAT DALV DOES

BEING A HUMAN. HE POSES LESS OF A THREAT ON HIS OWN. HOWEVER. MY GUY SETS UP HOME ALONE TYPE TRAPS N SHIT TO TRY AND CATCH CLOVER INSTEAD [PART OF HIS ROYAL GUARD TRAINING!!.

ONLY RESORTING TO USING "ROBOTIC MODIFICATIONS" HE HAD FOUND WHEN CLOVER REALLY [ticks] HIM OFF.

AND YES. HE STILL GETS A ROBOT SPOUSE IF A PACIFIST PLAYTHROUGH HAPPENS. HUMAN AXIS IS OBJECTUM. ITS REAL.

SO YEAH THAT IS ALL THE THINGS I THINK.

HOLY SHIT THIS THREAD IS LONG. FEW PEOPLE WILL READ THIS I THINK BUT I STILL WANTED TO GET STUPID AU THOUGHTS OUT. UH. YEAH HOPE THAT IS GOOD OR SMTH.. FEEL FREE TO ASK QUESTIONS 🥺

#undertale yellow #undertale yellow spoilera #uty #axis #axis 014 #axis undertale yellow #axis uty #gijinka #Zed’s art

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judaicsheyd · 1 year

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An Introduction to Kashrut & Kosher Eating

i. "Kashrut" and "Kosher"? ii. Kashrut Specifics iii. Modified Ways to Keep Kosher iv. Resources

border inspo & header art

You may already be confused about what these words even mean, and that's totally okay, we're all here to learn. The following are some important terms to keep in mind:

Halakha : Jewish Law as outlined within the Talmud. It governs everything from punishment for crimes to sex to defining "what" Judaism is. It is more of a way of life than a set of laws. Kashrut : A subsection of Halakha, specifically referring to regulations surrounding food and everything to do with it. Kosher : An adjective used to refer to food or food-related products (like forks and spoons) that are deemed okay for Jews to eat/use by Kashrut. "Keeping Kosher" refers to eating according to Kashrut. Kashering : To cause something to become kosher. Treif : Everything that is non-Kosher. Pareve : Food that is "neutral", neither meat nor dairy. This includes fruits, vegetables, grains, eggs, and sometimes fish.

Kashrut tells us what animals are safe to eat, how these animals should be slaughtered, what food can and can't be mixed, alongside instructions on how to use the tools made for preparing/eating food. There's a lot more to Kashrut (which I'll go into soon), but those are the basic ideas. Kashrut includes many guidelines that we see as common sense (such as not eating diseased meat) to everyday cleanliness (checking that fruits and veggies are free of bugs) to things that some people would think are "weird" (like not eating shrimp). Of course, much of Kashrut is highly cultural in nature, and was largely shaped by Jewish cultural ideas of cleanliness and commonly eaten foods. Some animals may be a normal part of the cultural in many countries/cultures, but they are not Kosher, as Israelites never included such things in its food. This is why many Jews who are also parts of cultures to whom treif foods are significant experience a lot of inner conflictions about keeping Kosher. Instances like the one mentioned before, alongside a countless amount of others, are why there are different levels of keeping Kosher, which I will expand on soon.

Many people ask me why I eat Kosher in the first place. Reactions range anywhere from "Oh wow, I could never give up bacon!" to "Ugh, why follow such archaic laws?" when people find out. But really, why do we? Is it because it would cause severe health issues if we ate shellfish or a ham and cheese sandwich? No, obviously not. While some of the prohibitions in Kashrut may have health benefits, such as avoiding certain diseases or infections, the primary reason for observing these laws is not based on health concerns. In fact, Halakha dictates that we should not eat Kosher if it would threaten our health or lives in any way. We live by the laws, we don't die by them. Interestingly enough (right back at ya, "archaic laws" person), it's because they are archaic. It is not because anyone who eats pork is disgusting or wrong or bad in any way. It's our culture, our tradition, it's been passed down for absolutely forever. It's a marker and a reminder of who and what we are, a way to celebrate Jewishness. It's also a ritual, a daily form of active mediation and prayer to bring us closer to (and remind us of) HaShem. Eating Kosher is not just about what we eat, but also about how we eat. It's a daily ritual that involves mindfulness, intentionality, and gratitude. It's a way to incorporate our culture and religion into our every day, never forgetting who we are. By following these ancient guidelines, we affirm our connection to a long and rich history, to a community that has survived and thrived through centuries of persecution and adversity.

We embrace a way of life that is not driven by the latest trends or fads, but rather by timeless values and principles that have stood the test of time. When we follow the laws of Kashrut, we are reminded of our connection to HaShem, the sanctity of our traditions, and the importance of our community.

Alright, now it's time to get into the exact specifics of what Kashrut outlines for us. It is usually Orthodox Jews who follow every single one of the rules, Conservative Jews follow most(ish) of these rules, and Reform Jews tend to not keep kosher. Of course, this doesn't speak for all denominations or even every Jew in each of the denominations I mentioned, but those are the most common "levels" of keeping kosher among Jews. Keeping kosher is hard, and not everyone has the time, resources, etc. to follow Kashrut as closely as they'd like, which is why different people choose what's right for them. In this section, I'll cover the exact guidelines in Kashrut, exceptions to keeping kosher, and some modern interpretations of kosher expectations.

Anything produced by forbidden animals- like their eggs and milk- is prohibited.

Land mammals should have cloven hooves and chew their cud. — In Leviticus 11:3 and Deuteronomy 14:6 — Cloven hooves: Hooves split into two "toes". — Chewing cud: The process of chewing, partially digesting, regurgitating, and re-chewing food. — Permitted land mammals include oxen, goats, sheep, and deer. — Forbidden land mammals include pigs, horses, rabbits, and camels.

Marine life must have fins and scales. — In Leviticus 11:9 and Deuteronomy 14:9 — Permitted marine life includes salmon, tuna, and carp. — Forbidden marine life includes shrimp, lobster, and scallops.

Birds must not be scavengers or birds of prey — In Leviticus 11:13-19 and Deuteronomy 14:11-18 — Only specific birds are prohibited, not types of birds. Rabbis have decided to forbid the categories the listed birds fall into (scavengers and birds of prey). — Permitted birds include chicken, geese, ducks, and turkeys. — Forbidden birds include eagles, vultures, ravens, and owls.

Winged insects are… complicated. — In Leviticus 11:22 — Some winged insects used to be permitted, but we no longer know which ones those are, so all winged insects are decidedly forbidden. — Interestingly enough, Yemini Jews have very very old traditions of identifying and eating certain locusts as kosher animals. This could be an echo of our now lost outlines on what insects are, in fact, kosher. How cool is that?

Other miscellaneous animals are forbidden. — In Leviticus 11:29-30, 42-43 — Rodents (mice, squirrels, rats) — Wingless insects (centipedes, silverfish, lice) — Amphibians (frogs, toads, salamanders) — Reptiles (snakes, lizards, turtles)

Certain parts of kosher animals are forbidden to eat. — All blood from the meat of land mammals and birds must be drained out during slaughter and then salted/broiled out because blood is their life force and should be respected (Leviticus 7:26-27; 17:10-14). — Fat found on on the internal organs and below the eleventh rib (Leviticus 3:9; 7:23). — The sciatic nerve (of the lower leg) to commemorate Jacob’s victory over an angel after they wrestled all night, during which the angel dislodged Jacob’s sciatic nerve (Genesis 32:22).

Animals must be slaughtered in a particular way. — In Deuteronomy 12:21; 14:21 and Numbers 11:22. — These rules pertain to land mammals and birds, but not fish. • Animals cannot have died due to natural causes or another animal killing them. — Meat should not be diseased or flawed in any way. — Animals must be slaughtered by having their throat slit quickly and in one strong slash. This way, the most blood drains out and the animal is slaughtered in the most humane way.

Meat and dairy cannot mix (Exodus 23:19; 34:26 and Deuteronomy 14:21).

Foods which are neither meat nor dairy are pareve, and can be used freely with both meat and dairy. — Commonly, fish is counted as pareve, but some traditions (usually Sephardic) prohibit the mixing of fish with meat.

A certain amount of time should pass between the consumption of meat and dairy. — Traditionally, one waits 3-6 hours after eating meat to consume dairy, but only 1-3 hours after eating dairy to eat meat. — Some traditions include that one must wait only an hour after dairy, except for hard cheeses, after which they must wait 3 hours.

Different utensils and equipment must be used for meat and dairy. This includes everything from the tools used for slaughter to the plates in your home. — Utensils have a label just like food (meat, dairy, pareve, or treif) which affects the status of the food which comes in contact with it, but only in the presence of heat. — For example, a fork will become treif if it touched shrimp, and if it touches any hot kosher food (or if the fork or shrimp is hot), the food also becomes treif. This affects things like dishwashers (in which both meat and dairy utensils come in contact with heat in the same space), sinks (which can be hot), and towels (when used to transport hot pots). — It is totally fine to do something like use a knife with both meat and dairy, as long as both the knife and food is cold, and as long as the knife is cleaned between foods.

All fruits and vegetables are kosher. — In Genesis 1:29 — Fruits and vegetables must be thoroughly washed and checked for bugs. — Fruits and vegetables cannot come in contact with any products which include insects, like some dyes and additives.

Grape products cannot be made by idolators. — This began because of wine's ritual importance, and Jews did not want to consume wine that was made to use in the worship of idols. — This usually only refers to wine or grape juice. — More recently, because the creation of wine is now automated, it is technically not made by idolators and has been seen as kosher to some denominations (usually Conservative Jews).

We've gone through the different rules and regulations of Kashrut, which include that utensils/towels can become treif. But what happens if you accidentally eat treif? If utensils become treif, do they need to be thrown out?

Accidentally (or knowingly) eating treif. — The remedy for this is simply to feel bad and do better in the future. — But, if you feel particularly bad, you can do a good thing so that the bad thing (eating treif) leads to a good thing, and therefore the entire mistake becomes positive. Good things can include tzedakah, charitable giving (like donating money/old clothes, volunteering, etc.).

Kashering utensils, equipment, etc. — Kashering is done both when something is first bought and if it ever becomes trief. Usually, only new cooking equipment is kashered (like by being dipped into a mikveh, a pool of holy water), and not everything you buy. — To "reset" utensils/equipment after it has become treif, it can be dipped in a mikveh, or things like towels can be kashered simply but putting them in the laundry. — Everyone will have different ways to kasher and different intensities of kashering.

Treif food being the only option. — During medical emergencies (like a blood sugar crash) or similar situations, it is not a sin to eat treif. Human life is put above all else within Judaism, meaning that everything will be rendered not a sin if breaking it is necessary to save a life (which is also why abortion is required even in the most Orthodox communities).

Keeping kosher is hard. There's a ton of rules and things which build upon each other. It's a lot to remember. Considering that many households separate meat and dairy to the point of having separate sinks and refrigerators, most people just don't have the resources to keep kosher in that way. If you're low on spoons, disabled, or neurodivergent, those factors can make keeping kosher even more difficult. I'm a spoonie with ADHD and Autism, so I'm chronically fatigued, and have ARFID that contributes to multiple food-related issues. You should always remember that you are not required to keep kosher if it interferes with medical needs (like I listed), and so you should never feel bad about how "well" you keep kosher. That being said, let's move onto some tips for modified kosher eating.

Try only keeping kosher on shabbat and/or important holidays.

Sometimes, our safe foods or the only food we have access to are treif. However, you're usually already listening to 99% of Kashrut prohibitions on which animals you can eat (like avoiding bugs, reptilians, rodents, scavengers, etc.). So that's already a big step!

Instead of having completely separate equipment for meat/dairy, simply wash your utensils between using them for meat/dairy.

Instead of waiting up to 6 hours between eating meat and dairy, wait 1 hour, drink water between the two foods, and/or create a distinct separation in time between consuming the foods (like getting up to go do something, stopping to talk, etc.).

When it comes to washing utensils, try and separate them by putting them on different washing machine racks, run the washing machine between using it for meat/dairy utensils, or rinse off the inside of the sink between hand-washing meat/dairy utensils.

Use disposable plates/cups/utensils to separate meat and dairy.

Buy only kosher meat, or only kosher foods (most foods in everyday grocery stores will be kosher).

If you're vegan, and depending on the type of vegetarian, you're already eating kosher!

You've finally reached the end of this post, and I hope it was helpful to you. Below, I will list multiple sources for further reading, help in keeping kosher, and just some cool questions about being kosher ("is meat from a cloned animal kosher?").

An extensive course on the laws of Kashrut taught by Rabbis

"Bagels: A Surprising Jewish History" by Dr. Yvette Alt Miller

"Does G-d Really Care?" from Kosher Certification

"I Keep Kosher. My Parents Did, Now Don't. It's Complicated." by Talia Kaplan

"Is Lab-Grown Meat Kosher?" by Yehuda Shurpin

"Issues in Jewish Ethics: The Ethics of [Kosher] Cloning" by Dr. Daniel Eisenberg, M.D.

"Jews in America: The Kosher Meat Boycott of 1902" by Dr. Michael Feldberg

"Kashrut Laws as Written in Torah" from the Jewish Museum in London

"Kashrut: the Jewish Dietary Laws [from Biblical, Rabbinic, and Modern Perspectives]" by Jonathan Magonet

"Marijuana Is Always Kosher, as Long as You Smoke It" by Ruth Schuster

"OU Kosher Grocery Store Symbols Explained" by Rabbi Chaim Goldberg

"People Eat Treyf for Their Own Reasons. They All Think About Their Judaism." by Jonathan Katz

"Saying Goodbye to Bacon" by Liel Leibovtiz

"Ten Reasons to Keep Kosher (And They’re Not What You Think)" by Rabbi Alec Goldstein

"The Jewish Dietary Laws: Their Meaning for our Time and a Guide to Observance" by Samuel H. Dresner and Seymour Siegel

"The Rules for Kosher Creepy-Crawlies" from Sefaria

"What Archaeology Tells Us About the Ancient History of Eating Kosher" by Lina Zeldovich

"What Is Kosher for Passover?" from Chabad.org

"Why I Don’t Keep Kosher" by Rabbi Jillian Cameron

"Why I Stopped Freaking Out About Other People’s Kosher Habits" by Erris Langer Klapper

"Why Keep Kosher?: Jewish dietary practices allow us to welcome the sacred into our daily lives and into mundane acts." by Rabbi Dr. Bradley Shavit Artson

"5 Misconceptions About Keeping Kosher" by Mandy Hakimi

#judaism #jewish #jumblr #jewblr #jewish culture #pesach #passover #kosher #kashrut #torah #talmud #shabbat #jewish life #kosher food #halakha #yeshivawithcarver #references

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th3casscad3 · 2 months

Note

Alastor x reader but hades and Persephone style where reader spends 6 months in hell and 6 months on earth/heaven

As The Seasons Change. Alastor X G!N Reader.

Warnings: Based On Hades X Persephone. Abusive Relationship, Forced Marriage, One-Sided Love, Slow Burn, Curses, Soul Collecting. Part 1 -

You Were A Gentle Soul, Kind Hearted, Brave, Curious. You Were Walking Around The Street Of New Orleans When You Discovered A Run Down Radio Building. It Wasn't In Horrible Condition, But It Was Abandoned. So, You Decided To Take A Look Around. As You Were Looking You Found Lots Of Pictures And Awards Of A Man Named "Alastor" The Date, 1930's. Intrigued By This Long Forgotten Radio Host, You Came Back Everyday To Learn More About Him. Going Through His Office And Reading Up On Him Through The Internet. You Were Fascinated. One Day, You Stumbled Upon A Clock You'd Never Seen Before In His Office. It Was Brown And Shaped Like A Spear. It Had Green Vines Wrapped Around It. It Looked New? You Decided To Check It Out. You Read The Name On It "Alastor, The Radio Demon" " Radio Demon..? That's New..? " You Took A Closer Look At The Radio, When Did It Get Here? Why Was It Here? You Had So Many Questions. After You Typical Day, Roaming Around The Abandoned Building You Decided To Take The Radio Home With You. You Placed It On Your Bedroom Dresser. That Night, You Heard Strange Static Noises Come From The Radio. You Woke Up Only To Find The Radio Was Glowing. More Curious Than Fearful, You Got Out Of Bed And Walked To The Radio. When You Touched It You Found Yourself Falling. Falling. Falling. You Fell On Your Rear With A Thud, You Winced And Rubbed Your Bottom Before Your Eyes Shot Open And Looked Up. You First Saw Shoes, Then Black Pants, Until You Were Looking Face To Face At A Strange Creature, No Man. Wait? Where Am I?! You Frantically Scurry Up And Stumble Slightly, Looking Around AT Your Surroundings, Your Appearance Itself Had Changed. You Start To Panic When The Man With A Microphone Shaped Cane Tapped You On The Shoulder. "Calm Down, My Dear. I Will Explain Everything! Please, Do Take A Seat" The Man Points His Cane To The Nearby Chair. Out Of Natural Reaction, You Sit Down In The Chair And Fumble With Your Claws? You Were Cut Off By The Man Again. He Simply Chuckled And Twirled His Cane. "Darling, Do Relax. Stress Doesn't Look Good On You. My Name Is Alastor, The Radio Demon. But You May Know Me As Alastor, The Radio Host." "I Know You May Have A Lot Of Questions. So Let Me Start By Saying This. You, My Dear, Are In Hell. No, You Are Not Dead. But, You Do Belong To Me Now, In The Sense Of When You Touched That Radio, You Sold Your Soul Over To Me. " Alastor Grinned. " What Do You Mean You Own My Soul? How Did You Know About Me? Were You The One Who Sent The Radio? " You Asked, Slightly Curious, Slightly Amused. You Had Calmed Down, Adjusted To Your New Form, It Felt Like It Was Just Memorized In The Back Of Your Head. You Looked Down At Your Hands And Saw An Engagement Ring! "Wait! What's This??" Alastor Let Out A Amused Chuckle. " Oh Ho Ho! I See You've Noticed Your Binding Ring. You See, Ive Been Watching You Through My Items At The Radio Building, Like A Curse. And Boy, You've Caught My Eye. So, I Left Little Items For You To Discover, Such Entertainment. So, When You Touched The Radio And Sold Your Soul Over To Me, I Decided To Claim You As More Than A Mere Pet. You Will Be My Spouse And Forever Entertain Me! " You Gave Him A Dumbfounded Expression That Soon Turned To Worry. " What About My Life!! You Said I Wasn't Dead! Cant I Go Back Up To Earth! I Have Family And Friends!" You Were Now Angry, Who Was This Man-Creature Thing To Tell You That You Were Bound To Him For Eternity. " They'll Forget About You Soon Enough. Worry Not, You Pathetic Reader. Smile, You Know You're Never Fully Dressed Without One. But, I Suppose For Your Binding To Me, I Can Compromise... 6 Months Here In Hell, You Must Keep Me Entertained. Then I'll Allow You 6 Months Back On Earth, So You Can Bond With Your Little Family And Friends. " He Scoffed But Kept His Grin On His Face, Twirling His Cane As He Stuck Out His Hand. " Do We Have A Deal.? " " Deal. "

#alastor #alastor x reader #alastor x y/n #hazbin hotel alastor #radio demon #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel fanfiction

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softlyspector · 1 year

Text

Credence

Summary: A year after his mother’s death, Marc travels back to Chicago to face his father. He doesn’t expect it to be easy but he also doesn’t expect it to be so hard. He especially doesn’t expect to find refuge from the hard moments in a little known witch’s shop a few blocks over. And definitely not in one keeping watch over the family’s piano.

This chapter: You meet Steven, and learn a lot about Marc.

Tales Untold; Part IV - Series Masterlist

Pairing: eventual Marc Spector x Reader (eventual minor Steven Grant x Reader and Jake Lockley x Reader)

Word Count: 6.7k

Warnings (this chapter): mental health issues, feelings of guilt, angst, mentions of past child abuse

A/N: I want to give a big thank you to all of you who have been keeping up with this series. I love you so much, and thank you for all the continued love and support. It means so much. Comments and feedback are so appreciated! Please let me know if any additional warnings need to be added. For full series warnings, please check the series masterlist, which will be updated as parts are posted!

IV.

Tales Untold, Chicago 2:41 AM

The silence of the street is deafening in the wake of Marc’s words.

Nothing on the street moves. The warmth of the spring breeze ruffles the hem of your robe and all you can do is blink at him, not sure how to respond to Marc telling you he’s not Marc. You slide your gaze away from him, eyes tracking over the dark street, like the answer might be hidden in the tree leaves or between the gaps of the paving stones.

Your storefront has never looked more empty, and the memory of Marc laboring in the sun a few days prior comes unbidden. He’d been so careful, repotting the flowers that could be saved into new homes until he could get the supplies to rebuild the flower boxes. You’d sat on the front step, your help vehemently refused by him again and again as he broke down the old flower boxes and took down your sign.

You’d liked watching him, the shape of his hands so capable and strong. The least you could do was keep him company and so you’d sat there on the step, long into the slow afternoon, only occasionally getting up to get him something to drink.

Marc often forgets to take care of himself. He doesn’t think to eat sometimes, nevermind drink something to keep hydrated.

His words ring in your ears again and you blink away the memory.

I’m not Marc.

You glance back at Marc, eyes flicking over him, still not sure what to say, still not sure how you’re meant to reply.

Confusion and just a tad of hurt, spikes in your veins. What was with the accent? The apologetic shine in his eyes?

I’m not Marc.

Maybe you’d heard him wrong.

He opens his mouth to continue, fingers still anxiously twisting together in front of his chest.

“Marc?” you shake your head slowly and cut him off before he can speak. “Are you okay? What’s happening?”

“Sorry, sorry, doing a shit job at explaining myself, yeah?” He chuckles nervously then wipes at his cheeks, the briny residue of tears still staining his skin. “Dunno what happened. Somethin’ bad must have.” Marc shivers even though the early morning air is warm and humid.

Sweat beads along his brow, pearling against his skin and slowly rolling down his temples and into his mussed hair.

You swallow, trying to place the accent in his mouth, trying to place why he’s speaking to you in an accent at all.

It’s one that’s unfamiliar to you - London or just British you can’t tell.

I’m not Marc.

The sudden unfamiliarity of him makes you want to pull back from him. The confused hurt burbling ever higher in the back of your throat.

Marc’s shoulders twitch in another violent shiver that finally breaks you out of your shock.

Odd accent or not, he’s shivering and obviously distressed. “Marc, honey,” you beckon him forward, stepping back from the door. “C’mere, come inside. You look like you’re freezing.”

He hesitates, mouth opening and closing a few times before he finally manages to make the words come out. “I’m - I’m, please listen,” he pleads gently with you. “I’m not Marc. My name is Steven Grant. I’m not sure what’s happened, yeah? Just…I just woke up on your street.”

For one defensive, mean moment, your heart folds in on itself and you consider slamming the door in his face. After you’d spent so much time together, opened your home to him, he was…what? Fucking with you?

You tighten your grip on the door, prepared to shut it and tell him to fuck off. How juvenile, and cruel. And for what purpose? To get back at you for what happened outside his father’s house?

Everything you know about Marc flashes through your mind's eye. It just doesn’t sit right with you, weighs oddly on your heart.

It’s not something Marc would do.

Distress lines the body in front of you. Your eyes trace over those broken capillaries again, the tacky sweat and tears drying on his skin. His shoulders hitch a little as he sniffles and you realize he may start crying.

You relax your hand on the edge of the door, taking a long breath.

That did leave the question of what was actually happening, though.

He’s disheveled and distressed, swiping the sweat away from his temples with a shaking hand while he waits for your judgment.

You think briefly of the stress Marc always seems to be under, the fear in his eyes when he’d found you conversing with his father, how you’d considered his reactions far too exaggerated for someone with just a tense relationship with a parent.

Maybe, maybe the stress had finally caught up with him.

It didn’t matter really, you wouldn’t leave him standing there on the street no matter what.

You glance back at Marc - Steven, you mentally correct yourself - and smile. He still looks nervous, like he’s afraid you’re going to turn him away. Like he’s been rejected before, like he’s been accused of lying before, and he fears it's about to happen again.

“Okay. Steven,” you give a firm nod, the name an odd taste in your mouth. It feels strange to see Marc, and call him something else.

You just need to understand, you think. You just need to understand what’s happening.

“Steven,” you repeat his name, trying to get used to it. Deciding you should treat him like someone you don’t know, if he’s insistent that he isn’t Marc. And if you don’t know him, he might not know you. “Are you comfortable coming inside?”

He nods, stepping closer to you and his voice wavers, “Don’t think I can go back there…not while I don’t know what’s happened. I’ll explain everything! Honest, I will. Sorry, I know how confusing this all must feel. I’ve-I was, when it first happened.”

When what first happened?

You don’t ask just yet, smiling again instead while you hold the door open wider to let Steven step inside.

“You’re shivering,” you fuss at him, closing the door gently and twisting the lock back into place.

You reach out and cup your hands around his shoulders, rubbing his arms lightly. He’s wearing a black t-shirt and jeans. His skin is clammy and chilled, tacky with a dried anxious sweat.

It’s something you never do with Marc, you don’t usually touch him at all. But the action doesn’t feel strange with Steven, and he leans into it, accepting, stepping closer to you.

“Explain what?” You ask as gently as you can, the dark of the shop hemming you in close, cocooning you together. “Steven?”

“Something must have happened with Marc and our dad…that’s the only thing that could explain it, yeah? Why I was - this doesn’t usually happen. Not anymore. He must be really upset.” He seems anxious at the thought, and you find it hard to keep up, to understand what he’s saying when he’s talking about himself like Marc is another person.

Which, you suppose, he must be.

An idea fractures in your mind, something you’d read about online once. Back when you were still thinking of finishing college, when you thought getting a degree in psychology might be a good idea.

“I’m so sorry,” you say as gently as you can. “I still don’t understand. I don’t know what’s happening.”

Steven takes a breath and meets your eyes, frowning apologetically.

And it is Steven.

Because the longer you look at him, at the sloped curve of his shoulders, the soft cast of his gaze, and the fluttery nervousness of his hands, the more you realize this truly is not Marc Spector before you.

It can’t be.

He doesn’t even look like Marc, not really.

“Steven,” you trail your hands down to his wrists, note that his hands are still shaking. “What happened?” And then, not quite knowing if it was the right thing to ask, “Is - is Marc alright?”

Steven nods at you, nods and nods and doesn’t look away from you, his eyes growing round and soft. “Bloody hell, you are gorgeous. Marc doesn’t tell you that. He thinks so too.”

“Oh,” you feel something pleasantly warm pool in your gut. “No, he doesn’t. Tell me, that is.”

It’s strange, to be speaking to Steven about Marc, like he isn’t there.

And he isn’t, you suppose.

You just need a bit of time to adjust to that.

“Okay, Steven,” you repeat his name, trying to convey that you’re starting to understand just a little. “Would you like to come upstairs?”

Tales Untold, Chicago 3:04 AM

Steven is much chattier than Marc, and much more willing to part with information.

You settle him on the same stool Marc usually takes at your kitchen island, and go about making a cup of tea for each of you. “Sorry, I only drink tea at night so I only have chamomile. It helps me sleep.”

“That sounds lovely, actually,” he says, his eyes soft as his gaze follows you around the apartment. He’s much calmer now, the hitch in his breath gone.

So you make the tea, and find that Steven takes his with just the slightest amount of honey.

You’ve only ever seen Marc drink coffee, and always with too much sugar and a splash of milk.

With the first sip of tea, his shoulders loosen just a fraction, the muscles in his face and neck relaxing.

Even so, his limbs are looser than Marc’s ever have been and you realize you’ve never seen Marc fully at ease. “So,” you move around the counter and grab the blanket from the sofa to drape around Steven’s shoulders, worried that the shaking in his limbs might never stop. “You’re Steven.”

Steven nods at you, hands cupping around the warmth of the mug in front of him. “I’m sorry about bothering you so late,” he falters. “It was very kind of you to let me in at all…I know how I must sound to you.”

“You don’t sound any particular way,” you quickly chirp. “Really. It was more of a shock than anything. I should be apologizing to you.” Before he can contradict you, you continue, “And it’s no bother that you’re here,” you assure him. “Really. Uh -,” you hesitate. “Marc is here all the time late. He was drunk on my doorstep the first time.”

Steven chuckles. “Yeah, I remember bits of that. What an absolute plonker he was.”

You stifle a laugh, and then wait, sensing he’s going to get to explaining things to you without your coaxing, in his own time.

Very different from Marc then.

“Not sure - I mean if you’re confused then obviously - obviously Marc never talked to you about it.”

You tilt your head and wait for him to continue. “Talked to me about what?”

“Us. Me and Jake. Why would he though? No need, yet, yeah?” He chuckles uncomfortably.

“Jake?”

“Sorry, I’m still not, not explaining things right. Probably just makin’ it more bloody confusing.” He shakes his head, eyes clenching closed briefly.

You smile, “Just a bit.”

Steven blinks back over at you, watches you for a moment, not looking away like Marc would. It’s odd to feel his eyes linger for so long, gaze trapped on yours.

His brows are tilted out and up, rather than lowered over his eyes, divoting that little space between his brows with tension.

“Well, I guess it's better to just say it, innit? Marc didn’t explain things to me properly and that turned out just bloody brilliant, didn’t it? No.” His smile is warm. The brown of his eyes is warm, like melting molasses to Marc’s umber.

You don’t try to hide the laugh that bubbles up. Strange as the situation is, it doesn’t feel wrong. It feels like something that was always meant to happen. You reach out and lie a hand against Steven’s forearm, silently encouraging.

“Marc has Dissociative Identity Disorder,” Steven says, watching your hand, the slow stroke of your thumb against his skin. “Well, I suppose we all do, really. I didn’t know about Marc for a long time. It was an accident that I found out at all. He would have kept himself a secret from me if he could have.”

His skin feels warm now, and you’re glad the chilled feeling has retreated. Your heads are bent close together, and when you look up, Steven’s nose nearly brushes yours. So, you’d guessed right earlier, that fleeting thought. “What happened?” You ask.

His brows quirk up. “You…believe me?”

You blink, not expecting to be questioned. “Should I not?” Then, a hot anger creeps in, “Do people usually not?”

He swallows, and you release his arm and lean away from him, trying to remember he’s a stranger, that Steven and you do not know each other despite how familiar he is to you. “Just, just a bit strange.”

“I believe you,” you reassure him. “Of course I do.”

He hesitates, then continues, his words stilting and slow. “Marc is protective,” he explains. “He’d rather shoulder everything alone.”

You smile, and drum your fingers against the counter to quell the urge to touch him again. “That does sound like Marc.” When Steven takes another sip of tea, tucking the blanket tighter around his shoulders, you continue, worried you were making a mess of things or not reacting appropriately. “It’s really nice to meet you, Steven. I’m sorry about how I answered the door.”

Steven’s face relaxes, his shoulders loosening a bit more. “You couldn’t have known. I’d say you’re taking everything rather well.” His face is loose, a curious expression tilting his features. “You are really very kind. I see why Marc likes you.”

A nervous flutter beats in your belly and then moves up to knock against your ribs. It’s an innocent enough sentiment, still, you find yourself oddly delighted to know Marc does actually enjoy your company.

You can’t imagine what makes Steven say it, though, so you just smile. “That’s such a strange thing to hear about yourself. Thank you all the same,” you move off the stool and back around the counter, giving him a little more space.

You retrieve your own cup of tea, watching the familiar body glance around your apartment with curious eyes.

His gaze lands on the piano in the corner, the key lid still slid back from the last time you’d played for Marc. Steven opens his mouth and you expect him to question you, but instead he merely murmurs, “I see why Marc likes coming here so much.”

You nod, “I play for him each night. It’s why he decided to do some repairs for me. He’s pretty closed up about the piano though. Think maybe it’s something to do with your mother.”

Anger you don’t expect wells up inside you, wriggles between your teeth. You tuck your robe tighter around yourself with a sudden chill, thoughts of Marc’s insistence that you not get out of the truck, his body physically blocking yours from the house, flashing through your mind.

You know the origins of DID, and a lump forms in the back of your throat.

He must be so angry at you, for not listening to him.

Angry, or terrified. You can’t decide which is more likely.

You’re brought out of your reverie when a crisp piano note floats through the room.

Steven has moved to stand by the piano, staring down at the keys with a soft expression. When he glances up, he looks a tad embarrassed. “Has Marc told you why this is so important to him?”

“No,” you take a few steps forward. “He won’t even touch it.”

Steven depresses another key, decidedly not sitting down. “Does he know how to play it?”

You laugh and move to sit on the piano bench, feeling the ghost of all the times you’ve sat next to Marc there, his shoulder gently pressing into yours, the contact so light it was almost nonexistent, like he was afraid to take too much, make too much of a mark. “He said he used to know.”

“Maybe when we were children then,” Steven surmises, taking a seat next to you. “Reminds him of something.”

“You don’t know?” You ask, surprised.

“Won’t bloody tell me, no. Said he would sometime.” He continues quickly, “And he will, just needs a bit of time.”

You watch his hands, not touching the keys now but hovering over them, tapping out a silent song. “Looks like you know how to play it. Maybe you should try.”

Steven hesitates, hands hovering still over the keys suddenly, fingers frozen. “Not sure I should. I don’t know why Marc won’t.”

“He’s trying to protect you from something,” you guess.

Steven slowly shakes his head, fingers lowering and knotting together in his lap, “Not this time, no. I don’t think so. Usually I’d say yes, but I don’t think he’d keep bringing us over here around it if it were something bad.”

“He said he’d tell me,” Steven repeats, anxiously, like the words aren’t quite coming out the way he wants them to. Like he’s preemptively trying to protect Marc from your judgment, though you have none to level against him. “He - he tries to tell me things. But he’s not good at it yet. Talking about things, that is.”

You nod, “Yeah, I understand.”

Steven’s hands hover over the keys again, tapping out music you can’t hear. “He hasn’t told you anything? Nothing at all?” You shake your head and Steven rolls his eyes, but it's with a gentle affection. “Bloody hell, Marc,” he mutters to himself.

“It’s okay,” you murmur. “We don’t know each other that well.”

He turns to stare at you, his knee pressing into the side of your thigh. “Hang on,” he blinks at you, “Marc, he’s here everyday, yeah?” You nod. “What an absolute twat. Really? Nothing?”

You find yourself smiling, leaning closer to Steven, “Yes, well, I haven’t exactly asked. And like you said he’s kinda closed up. I know a little but I try not to push him.”

Steven fidgets, glances around the room. “I could tell you - just a few things.”

You hesitate. Though you want to know more, about Marc, about Steven, you don’t want to know if Marc doesn't want you to.

“I’m not sure-,” you start to hedge.

“Just about me then,” he smiles. “Nothin’ to do with Marc. He can tell you when he gets his head out of his arse.”

You snort, the laugh that bubbles up so unexpected. “Alright then. Just about you.”

Steven is beaming at you, “You have a nice laugh.”

He smells like Marc, of course he does, wide brown eyes watching you with an unearned amount of affection. “Sorry,” he chuckles, just a bit self-deprecating. “I do feel like I know you, just a bit.”

“I understand.” You look away and clear your throat. “I feel like I know you too.” You meet Steven’s eyes again and then turn to the keys, slowly playing the song you always tap out for Marc. “Can I ask who Jake is?”

“As far as we know,” Steven answers easily. “There are three of us. Jake, he’s rather elusive. Rarely around really.”

You nod, and Steven leans into your side, much more heavily than Marc ever has. The warmth of him against you is nearly hot but not unpleasant. “Mm,” you hum so he knows you’re listening to whatever he wants to tell you.

Steven tells you that they don’t usually switch without the other’s knowledge, not anymore. “So, something must have happened, that the switch was involuntary, yeah? It only happens when we’re upset.”

You tilt your head, beginning to see why he’d been so anxious. “When things get too much,” you tread lightly.

“Yes,” Steven smiles at you. “Exactly.” His grin fades, “Don’t remember anythin’, though. Just - just staring at your shop.” You don’t have time to contemplate that, your body reacting on instinct as you suddenly turn and take his hands, a horrible thought occurring to you.

“Are you-,” you glance over his hands, press your fingers up his arms. “Hurt. Are you hurt?”

His smile is sad and gentle. “No. Not physically anyways. That’s somethin’ we don’t have to worry about anymore.” He avoids your gaze when he says it, an odd grief lodging in his eyes.

You find it hard to breathe for a moment, something hard sticking in the back of your throat.

Their mother, then.

Anger pools in your gut but you swallow it. It’s bitter. It burns going down.

“Well,” you release him. “That’s good to hear.”

It’s silent for a moment, in which you stare at Steven and he stares back at you. “He must feel very safe. To come here to you.” He swallows. “To bring me here. Us.”

“You’re always welcome,” you say. “Any of you. Even Jake. You’re all safe here.”

You’re surprised to see a tear streak down his cheek, before he leans in and takes your hands and deposits them back on the keys. “Keep playing. Please.”

Tales Untold, Chicago 5:13 AM

The sky is starting to lighten when you finally stop playing.

Steven offers to leave, or to sleep on your couch.

But all you see is the grief in his shoulders, the cast of shadow beneath his eyes, the broken capillaries, the pin pricks of red. You imagine how hard Marc must have been crying and decide you can’t let either of them be alone.

Steven doesn’t protest so much, or outright refuse when you tell him to sleep in your bed. It’s big enough, you argue, and you don’t want him to be alone, not even across the room.

Something in his face crumbles when you say that, and a torn, aching, raw hole of loneliness in them makes itself known to you.

You imagine Marc, if he could even be convinced, would lie stiffly next to you.

But Steven relaxes, laces his fingers with yours across the stretch of sheets between you and tells you how much he likes the stained glass that hangs in your window.

“I’ve been thinking of making some, for downstairs in the front window.”

“You made those?”

“Yeah.”

“Bloody brilliant. They’re beautiful.”

You smile.

Steven’s eyes are on your hands in the dark, his thumb tracing over the back of your hand. “Maybe I could help you? Since Marc is helping with everything else.”

“I would love that.”

He tells you about his job, about London, until his voice slows and slurs and eventually stops altogether.

You stay awake until his breathing evens out and slows. Only then, do you let a couple tears slip out and take a shuddering breath.

Tales Untold, Chicago 7:24 AM

Pale sunlight streams from between the slats of the blinds. It bends around the stained glass hangings, purples and reds splotched against the far wall.

The light wavers over the floor in long ribbons. The room is warm, the threat of the first truly hot day looming.

And Marc can’t make heads or tails of where he is for a moment.

His last memory is the heaving, soul crushing grief blocking his throat, the divoting fingers of the past gripping his lungs in tight fists. He remembers staring up at the front of your shop, empty and dark, without your sign and those pitiful fucking flower boxes.

The worming hurt had seized him again. He couldn’t brother you, not like this, not again.

Not after you’d seen too much, not after he’d frightened you and made you flee. You had wanted nothing to do with him. You had been eager to be away from him, and that’s something he could never blame you for.

Another howling sob had climbed up the back of his throat, so hot and hard he’d choked on it, swallowing down the sound until the pressure behind his eyes felt like it might bleed.

And then -

Nothing.

Just flashes of what came after, of you opening the door to Steven, your hands on piano keys, the twist of your mouth when you smiled.

Now, bright sun.

He blinks into it. Something heavy and warm rests over him, something soft and weighted with fragrance.

Marc freezes when he recognizes the scent.

Lavender and rosemary. You.

The sun retreats, his eyes adjusting to the light, and he finds himself blinking at the changing screen patterned with baby’s breath and tulips.

The thing on his chest is a cream colored duvet.

He’s in your fucking bed.

Surely not.

Surely Steven had not-

Slept next to you. Imposed them on you like that.

He shifts, and finds the bed empty. But the sheets on the other side of the bed are rumpled. And when he slides his hand across the mattress he finds it still warm with fading body heat.

Marc jerks his hand back like he’s been stung.

A headache begins at the base of his neck, the weight of this, of you knowing about Steven, of you and Steven bonding, combined with the night before, is too much.

He's not upset you've met Steven, he's more concerned with what Steven might have told you.

The conversation with his father floats back through his mind. The way you’d been all too keen to get away from him on the street. You hadn’t let him take you home, you clearly hadn’t wanted him to come over for dinner like he normally did.

He’d been trying, so fucking hard, not to let you see, not to let you get too close and see too much. You don’t deserve that, no one does, to have to carry inside them the things that he already did.

What had Steven told you? Marc doesn’t know. His memory is nothing but random flashes.

Marc sits up slowly, rubbing at the back of his neck as he tosses the duvet back and swings his legs over the side of the bed.

“Steven?” You call out at the sound of him moving around.

He freezes, the cut of your voice light and hopeful.

Do you always sound like that? He suddenly can't remember. Maybe it was a tone reserved for Steven.

Fuck.

He clears his throat, disentangling himself from the sheets. “It’s me,” he rumbles.

You appear around the side of the screen, eyes wide. “Sorry, I wasn’t sure who-,”

“It’s okay,” he interrupts, not quite meeting your eyes. A hard knot of shame swells in his chest, choking him. “So,” he grates. “You met Steven.”

He sounds irritated to his own ears, but he doesn’t correct his harsh tone. He doesn’t move to meet your gaze, training his gaze on your sock clad feet instead when he stands.

“Yes,” you say, stepping back when he moves from around the changing screen to face you fully. “I did.”

Marc huffs out a self-deprecating laugh, his headache increasing in intensity. “Great.”

A long silence slips between you. Tension floods his shoulders and rakes up his spine. Shame makes a familiar home in his heart, curling tight around the arteries.

He finally turns his eyes up to yours.

But you’re just watching him with a quiet intensity. Gently, like you’re speaking to a wounded animal, you say, “He’s lovely. Me and Steven got along well. I’m glad I got to meet him.”

When he doesn’t answer, you continue, “Are you okay? What happened? Steven didn’t seem to know.”

“No,” he lashes out, hating himself even as the words spill forth.

It’s easier. Hatred and embarrassment are easier to swallow than your acceptance. He wants your hatred and rejection and embarrassment. Because at least that makes sense. “Still told you plenty though, huh?”

Marc curls his hands into fists at his sides, waiting for you to snap back at him. You just shrug and step back, circling your kitchen island. “Yeah, we talked. Nothing important really.” You pull down two glasses from one of the cabinets. You have to stretch and your shirt slides up, revealing the soft skin of your lower back.

He shifts his eyes away from you, trying to hang onto the fraying threads of the shame and anger welling up inside him.

But you aren’t rejecting him, that’s clear. Not in any sense of the word. You aren’t treating him any differently than you normally do.

He feels inadequate, bad. Guilt lingers long against the wings of his lungs.

“I’m going to make some iced coffee.”

You don’t ask if he wants any, and Marc doesn’t answer. The acrid emotions floating inside his lungs like black smoke, starts to fade when he realizes you aren’t going to engage him at all. You aren’t going to entertain his anger or his shame. There’s nothing to be angry or guilty about.

“Come sit down,” you direct. “You don’t have to tell me what happened. But you should probably talk to Steven if you can. He was pretty upset.” You fill the glasses with ice, the clink loud in the quiet early morning. “He really didn’t tell me anything,” you add quietly. “Really he didn’t.”

Marc takes a long breath, closing his eyes for a moment, before he crosses the room to sit on his usual stool. “I shouldn’t have come over here,” he rasps, dragging a hand down his face, elbows braced against the counter. “You didn’t want us here.”

You turn and offer him one of the cups, sliding it over the counter to him. You plant one hand on your hip and tilt your head at him. “Really, Marc? Who said I don’t want you here? It certainly wasn’t me. Steven just explained that you have DID. Okay? That’s it. And that’s nothing to - to be ashamed of. Okay? And I don’t think Steven remembered what happened so he didn’t tell me anything else. He couldn’t.”

The glass is patterned with bumblebees. Marc traces a thumb over one of them. “Yeah? Wasn’t that enough?”

“Enough?” You ask, confusion coloring your voice.

He doesn’t answer, doesn’t know how to tell you that he’s crazy, even if you don’t recognize it yet. You don’t know everything, but this should be enough. Enough to put distance between the cradle of your care and him.

And how much he’s come to rely on you.

“Oh,” you whisper suddenly. Because you’re smart and intuitive and you just seem to always understand, even when he doesn’t say anything. “Oh, Marc, no. No.” And then, your voice light, filled with a strange levity, “I really like Steven and you promised to make me planter boxes.”

He chokes down the laugh that threatens to burst free. “Yeah, I did.” His shoulders loosen, the adrenaline flooding his system eases out and leaves him feeling exhausted, wan and dried out.

“Right. So you aren’t allowed to go anywhere just yet. I don’t want you to anyways.” You push a bottle of coffee creamer across the counter to him. “Here. I saw this one at the store and thought you might like to try it. It’s probably sweet enough for you.”

He just nods and takes it from you.

You round the counter and sit next to him with your own cup, fingers sliding up and down the sweating glass nervously.

“Can I tell you what I felt when I touched the piano?” He freezes, doesn’t dare look over at you. “My…I don’t like to think about it like a power. Because it doesn’t feel that way, and I don’t control it. I don’t want to control it. I trust it to know when I should know something.” You pause, swirling the straw in your glass. “And the piano wanted me to know.”

Marc turns to look at you, and finds himself reflected in your eyes. You look ashamed, guilty. Your smile is warped, sitting on your skin like you expect to be rejected. He remembers that first time you’d mentioned it, that the piano remembered him. You’d looked embarrassed then, too.

And the next time. So, shit talks to you, huh?

You’d snorted, avoided talking about it.

He must be silent for too long, because you nervously continue, fingers drumming on the counter. “I know it’s weird. It’s okay if-,”

“No,” he interrupts. “No. Tell me.”

“It’s weird, I know-,” you repeat again before you pause and take a breath. Your mouth opens and closes several times, like you don’t know how to continue.

He wants to tell you it's okay. Instead, he says, “Tell me.”

You blink and then smile, taking a sip of your coffee and watching from the corner of your eye to see if he does the same. He rolls his eyes and lifts his own glass.

You’re right, he likes the coffee creamer. White chocolate mocha, the bottle says.

It’s so sweet it makes his teeth itch. He loves it.

“It’s good.”

“I knew you’d like it,” you chime before you clear your throat. “When I touched the piano that first time, and everytime after that really, it felt like peace. Like happiness. Maybe like gold and mornings. To me, it’s like a conversation. And all it wanted me to know is that it was not ready to leave it’s home.” Marc stares at you, eyes flickering down to your hand which rests next to his, not touching his skin, not quite. “It was waiting for someone. Wouldn’t say who.”

You swallow. “So I never suspected, Marc. About your mother. I’m sorry. I don’t know what happened but I’m sorry and I understand why it’s so complicated for you. The piano and being here and how it used to be hers.”

Steven might not have told you anything, but you’ve been able to guess, at least about some things. He fidgets, pressure spilling down his sides, raking over the skin of his belly. He inches his hand into yours, so your pinkies are touching. “You weren’t supposed to know.”

“I’m sorry,” you say and you sound like you mean it.

Marc moves his hand until it’s settled fully over yours. Your skin is soft beneath his calloused palm. “There’s a lot you don’t know. You don’t have to be sorry about any of it.”

The shame has retreated, replaced by this odd acceptance.

You flip your hand up and press your fingers through his.

Tales Untold, Chicago 6:59 PM

He’s repointing your brickwork, or starting on it at least, digging out the old mortar from between the bricks and letting it lie where it falls.

You’re sitting on the step up to your shop, quiet in the setting sun. You look content, capable hands sanding down the sides of the first completed flower box he’d brought over the day before.

“Before…before things changed, we were really close.” You look up but Marc doesn’t look at you. He speaks to the brick. “My mom and me. We played the piano together. All the time.”

You carefully set the box down, leaning your elbows against your knees as you listen. “She started drinking a lot. Piano got covered up. We never played it again. Maybe that’s why you feel good things from it. Because that’s all it knows. That’s all I remember.” He jams the chisel into the mortar hard, sweat drips down his temple, slides along the curve of his cheek.

“I’m sorry for - for what happened the other day with my dad. I didn’t mean to scare you.” You shift, sitting up straight but Marc still doesn’t look at you, shoving the chisel between the bricks again without preamble. His arms strain, and he thinks he should stop, that he’s digging in too far.

“After you left,” he continues, even though he can see you opening your mouth in his peripheral vision, probably to contradict him, but he doesn’t want you to have to lie for his sake. “After you left, my dad asked about you. Too many questions. Why I didn’t want you to come inside. He asked like he didn’t know how hard it is for me to go inside.”

Marc knows, he knows you’ve already guessed at the abuse. Steven had told him how you’d asked if he was hurt. And Marc remembers, can see your face in his mind’s eye, the gears turning in your head as you put the pieces of who he is together.

You’re too intuitive for your own good.

So he might as well just get the words out.

“I…usually handle it better but I was so -,”

He was so fucking scared. Anxious.

“Stretched thin,” he says. “That I couldn’t - that the truth just came out.”

You haven’t moved, and Marc sets the chisel down, his hand shaking. “What happened?” Your soft voice asks as he sits on the pavement and leans back against the ruined brick wall.

“I reminded him,” Marc says, bracing his forearms on his knees. “Of why this has been so hard. I reminded him of everything that happened in that house.” He manages to look over you, fastening his eyes on your ankles, the old pair of sneakers you wear. “Told him that’s why you’ll never fucking visit. Not as long as I’m there.” He swallows, “Especially now that I know…I don’t want you to touch something, see something you won’t be able to forget.”

When he finally drags his eyes up to yours, the last part is easy to say. “Went to bed. I shouldn’t have tried to sleep, not when I felt the way I did.” He swallows, thinks briefly about how pretty you look in the sun. “Nightmare, from the stress probably. I could feel how close I was to slipping but I couldn’t stay there and - and I’m trying not to become her, so I can’t drink and -,”

Marc doesn’t finish that thought, and the silence stretches for a long minute.

“What was the dream about?”

What it’s always about. Rushing water. Begging cries. Bruised hands. Slamming doors.

“Doesn’t matter,” he shakes his head. “I shouldn’ta come here. But, maybe I knew - you and Steven would put things back together.”

You stand, hesitating for only a second before you join him on the ground. You push your head against his shoulder and let out a long breath. “You can always come here. You’re safe here. Steven and Jake too.”

“Not sure you wanna leave the door open for us like that,” he tries to joke.

But you just nod fervently against him, “Yes, I do.”

He should let you go. He shouldn’t tell you these things.

Instead, he twists his fingers with yours. “You gonna paint that one tonight?”

“No,” you squeeze his hand. “It’s almost dinner time. I thought we could order Chinese.”

He nods, presses his nose into your temple even though he shouldn’t accept your comfort.

“We gotta get out more,” you say suddenly. “Outta this shop and you outta that house.”

He nods against you, eyes closed, breathing in the lavender and rosemary of you.

His hands are dirty but you still clutch at him like he’s not sweaty and gross. You inhale against him like he’s made of something much more valuable than flesh and blood.

“Do you want to reconcile with your father?”

“I don’t know,” he answers honestly.

“Well,” you start. “You could bring him to dinner here. It’s a start. It’s neutral ground.”

Marc doesn’t answer but you don’t demand one from him. Like you know he’ll answer you sometime, eventually.

“We gotta go to a Cubs game,” he says. “I haven’t…there’s a lotta stuff about Chicago I miss.”

“Like the Bean.”

He snorts, “Oh yeah.”

“Pizza.” You lift your head, “Navy Pier. Skydeck. Shedd.”

“Yeah. Mostly the pizza though.” Then, hesitant because you’re like a mirage, like something too good to believe. He squeezes your fingers, feels you echo the touch, squeezing right back. “Wanna go to a Cubs game with me?”

“As long as you buy me pizza afterwards.”

He can feel you smiling against his arm when you duck your head.

Marc huffs out a gentle laugh. His chest feels distinctly lighter. “Okay.”

“It’s a date.”

Thank you for reading! Another special thank you to those keeping up with the series, and for all the continued love and support.

Comments and feedback are so appreciated. New parts will be posted Saturdays at 3PM EST! You can add yourself to the tag list on the series masterlist.

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#marc spector x reader #marc spector x you #steven grant x reader #steven grant x you #jake lockley x reader #jake lockley x you #moon knight fanfiction #moon knight fanfic

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aguineapigcouldntdothis · 7 months

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More sets of reminders for ppl with sensory nerve damage! Idk if this'll be a regular thing i do but probably bc it's super helpful to write these things out. and i hope it helps other ppl too bc i dont think nerve damage is talked abt enough in physical disability spaces (or i just havent seen it!)

are you wearing tight clothes, jewelry, scratchy fabrics, etc. on your affected areas? are there any abrasions?

is there any pain in those areas? is that pain typical or atypical for you?

is moving around easier, harder, or as difficult as it usually is?

are there any external injuries you haven't seen before? can these be treated at home or do you need to see a doctor?

check any healing tattoos/piercings in those places. infection is so easy to miss with sensory nerve damage even if you have partial feeling

if you are someone that experiences nerve pain, is that worse, better, or just the same as it usually is?

If you are someone like me that still has partial feeling then poke and prod at yourself a bit. see if anything feels or looks different than normal and decide if those things are concerning or not.

I hope everything is ok as possible! If there are any problems I hope they are easily managable and if you need to see a doctor then best of luck to you. may the guinea pigs be supporting you through this. <3

also totally unrelated but im gonna start including the cripple punk tag in my disability posts. ive been meaning to for weeks i just legit keep forgetting:(.

#disability #nerve damage #sensory nerve damage #cripple punk

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tinyidle · 1 month

Note

how would each G idle member express an exhibitionism fetish?

isn't it kind of ironic how i kind of incorporated this for the minnie post i made the other day..

any who, ill make and mtl because i havent done that in so long-

MTL of (G)I-DLE Having an Exhibitionism Fetish

━━━━━━━━━━•❅•°•❈•°•❅•━━━━━━━━━━

WARNING: suggestive smut, mention of subspacing, description of orgasms, idol × implied fem reader, fiction

Most

Soyeon

Minnie

Yuqi

Miyeon

Shuhua

Soojin

Least

and yes i put soojin because i can. she's a bonus when it comes to these things...

┊ ┊ ┊ ┊

┊ ┊ ┊ ✯

┊ ┊ ★

┊ ✯

★

was this a surprise? soyeon, despite being reserved, loves showing off what's hers, especially if she's proud of it. she's proud of you, so that should easily check out. public sex is almost a must, with it usually be a "you were bad, so this is your punishment". but is it a punishment really?

minnie loves pda with you. holding your hand, snaking an arm around your waist, putting her head near yours when she laughs hard. but she just loves showing you off. when she comes back from a miu miu invite, she loves making you wear the free outfits out in public- even the matching lingerie.

something a lot of people forget is that yuqi is extremely outgoing, but she doesn't show off on purpose like that. she only does when its something very special. she'll introduce you to her friends an hype you up, but when it comes to sex, the people who see have to be very close to her.

when it comes to affection, miyeon is always here for it. however, when it comes to be in public, she likes to keep her cool. in no way shape or form will you see her getting more handsy than holding your hand, and even then she'll make it look like friendly hand touch instead of a "this is my girlfriend and i love her so much" hand touch.

NEVER expect shuhua to show you off. she's just jealous like that, it's to the point where she forbids you from wearing more-than revealing clothes around her closest friends, even though she knows you'd never try to leave her. later on, you'd have to "show her how much she means to you".

soojin's just shy. she sometimes contemplates blurring out her own face in her insta selfies (in which she sometimes does for the aesthetic), so how in the world would she do anything romantic, let alone suggestive, to you in from of others? at least with the other you could try to convince them, but not with this cherry.

it's been months to a year since ive done this. i want so badly to get into writing like i used to, and with some further adjustments to my schedule i promise i will.

#gidle smut #gidle suggestive #gidle mtls #gidle mtl

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lucid-daydreaming-art · 14 days

Text

intro post whoopee!!!

hi guys im lucid :D you can also call me daylin i don’t really care but i may be like woah how do you know my name (i will forget about making this post 2 seconds after posting it) also I AM AN ADULT im 22 and i do not use pronouns just use my name pleaseeeeeee if you have a disability that makes words hard to process i understand if that’s difficult you can just use they/them instead

first off just getting this out there if youre proship, zoo, pedo, incest supporter, endo system supporter, any kind of discriminatory against protected minority groups, and anti-otherkin, shoo. dont want you here youre not welcome. bye bye my content isnt for you.

immmmm an infp-t 4w5 sanguine-melancholic existential-intrapersonal-visual learner seer of heart prospit dreamer true neutral rogue shifter airbender and dragon type trainer for all you personality label freaks

i like to DRAW!!!!! this is an art blog!!!! i will only post art here, all of my reblogs will be on @trickstergemini save for the posts my close friends make that i want to support here. sometimes i will post just text but thats only if i really need to let you guys known something or im answering a question

my commissions are OPEN!!!!!!!! right now they are strictly on emergency status, which means you choose the price and what i draw and ill agree if its not ridiculously unfair. check back soon for it to be changed to fixed price commissions though

im AUTISTIC i am on that mf spectrum been diagnosed since i was three. for me this means im not naturally fluent in social norms or what’s expected from an interaction or how to read others very well. i also have heavy special interests and find it really hard to turn the conversation away from something im fixating on or specially interested in. i also have extremeeeee sensory issues and a hard time being completely flexible when im comfortable in a routine so just be patient with me man adjustments are hard for me. my empathy is also extremely low and im a really really high masking person so if i come off as well versed or allistic just know that i either took a million years to format the right way to say things or i am entirely going off a predetermined script and will fumble if caught off guard. other important stuff ive got adhd bpd cptsd and major depressive disorder which all those combined makes me really flaky when it comes to responding or follow through. i may not reply to you for like 500 years or maybe i will be gods speediest most motivated soldier. just don’t expect me to be a readily available fully capable robot ok?? ok.

i am one half of @ask-kas-n-lamp the other half is some guy i don’t know he just hacked himself into the account and now i have to deal with him

in all seriousness mod dum, aka @unoriginal-and-dumb or unodum or unoriginal or whatever u know him by, thats my best friend my number one my pal my buddy my servant i keep locked up in my basement and i feed him cement and staples for every meal and for dessert maybe he gets rust shavings. he will be featured in my art like a lot or in my comments and reblogs and i will also be present in his stuff sometimes. if im drawing kasper im drawing his design, that design is not made by me its made by him sooo you should check him out and support him if you like that style or how about instead we get a mass unfollowing going there and you all come to my page and i exclusively will draw his design of kasper and get all the credit lets do that instead

if my requests are closed that means theyre closed EXCEPT for lampert requests those will always be open please ask me to draw him and i will take like three weeks but will happily draw him

uuueeehhhmmm my special interests are pokemon homestuck regretevator geography disney parks and personality psychology. i guess i also am specially interested in dragons but its less of an ill infodump to you interest and more of an i want to be surrounded by this thing because it brings me extreme comfort because it feels like me. i am otherkin im a dragon and i look like this:

i will also represent myself like this if im feeling it:

yes i know i am not actually a physical dragon and im not a spiritual kinner i kin for identity purposes and the fact that i feel some pretty intense crippling species dysphoria idk ive been like this since i was 5 i don’t really have memories of my life where i wasnt experiencing animalistic behaviors and instincts

my favorite music artists are s3rl twenty øne piløts onerepublic imagine dragons of monsters and men thefatrat glass animals ajr queen nine inch nails and muse my favorite medias are httyd movies pokemon homestuck regretevator invader zim our flag means death infinity train gravity falls rosencrantz and guildenstern are dead doctor who my little pony fim dont starve and the mcelroy brothers content

heres some more characters i represent myself as:

ok BYE

#me #about

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nonbinaryeggrolls · 9 months

Text

Battle of the Larynx I

Miguel O’Hara x afab!reader

Pt. 1, Pt. 2, Pt. 3, Pt. 4

Synopsis: Having Spider-Man as a boyfriend was becoming increasingly more difficult, and his reoccurring absence is tearing you apart

A/N: hi y’all! ik ive been so MIA with my stories lately. if im being honest sometimes i just don’t have ideas for new chapters or how to continue in progress stories, but hopefully i can get some more done soon! but for now enjoy this quick Miguel O’Hara story cuz i am OBSESSED with this man atm

Inspired by Battle of the Larynx by Melanie Martinez!

Warning: smut (fingering), toxic relationship, ANGST (yk i fucking live that shit), neglectful Miguel, LONG ASS CHAPTERS

MINORS DNI. AGELESS AND MINOR BLOGS WILL BE BLOCKED

You knew what you were getting yourself into when he told you. You knew the nights that laid ahead for both of you filled with his crying and screaming after a failed mission led to a loss of innocent life. You knew the days would consist of hours holding your breath wondering if he was alive or not, and finally exhaling when he arrived there at your doorstep; battered and bloody but still, he was there. That was really the only promised you asked Miguel to keep— be there. You could handle him leaving randomly and not coming home until 2 in the morning, it was his obligation as a hero and that came before anything else. But he also took an obligation as your partner to be present when it mattered most, and according to him he cherished that concept with his life. So if that was the case why wasn’t he here now?

Miguel had been gone for 5 days now, longer than he’s ever been gone for. Five days of nothing, no calls, texts, emails, even an owl with a note would’ve sufficed at this point but he chose to leave you in the dark yet again. You touched up your mascara in the shiny elevator door reflection as you prepped yourself for the celebration party you and your art school classmates planned after you all landed the animation internship. What was supposed to be a chance for your friends to finally get to know Miguel was clearly turning into yet another evening third wheeling other couples. Another night of watching girls curl up with their lovers while you downed a spiked lemonade to forget about yours. This was the 26th time Miguel had abandoned an important event with no notice whatsoever (yes you’ve been keeping track). It started with simple things like picnic dates or small get togethers, then his absence gradually became more impactful. Missed family dinner’s, birthdays…anniversaries. Disappearing for days on end with no check ins, it was becoming torture. It was becoming increasingly obvious that people started to question whether or not you even had a boyfriend, and slowly you did too…

To Miggy 🧸:

please tell me you’re coming tonight, you know this means a lot to me Miguel

4:23

can you just call me and let me know youre alive at least????

4:49

i hope youre chaffing in your suit asshole

8:14

The elevator door opened letting you onto the top floor of Alchamex, it was pointless checking but you always did anyways. You crept your way into his office hoping to see his usual tired figure slumped over in his chair, ready for you to nag him like you usually do to take a break and eat something, but the only thing occupying the space was scattered papers. You looked through his window that towered over the Nueva York city streets trying desperately to hold back the tears that were fighting their way out.

“Y/N?”

Y/N: “Jess! Im- Im really sorry.” You turned your head only slightly so she couldn’t see your puffy eyes.

Jess: “Y/N, you’re part of reception you know you can get in a lot of trouble being up here without authorization.”

Y/N: “I know I know I just…I thought Miguel be here.” You mumbled between hiccups that came up from you failing to hide your sobs. Jess wasn’t stupid, it didnt take a genius to know what you were upset about, or who you were upset about, “If you um… if you see him can you just ask him to come home please.” Working through your sniffles, you wiped your face with your sleeve and made your way out of the office before she even had time to respond

Jess sighed feeling a twitch of anger brew inside her towards the young man, she scowled and muttered obscenities under her breath as she dialed Miguels number…

The next week came and you missed the party entirely, the calls from all your friends and colleagues went unanswered. Honestly, your self esteem couldn’t take another embarrassing, lonely entrance into an event that Miguel was supposed to accompany you too. Another endless night of sympathetic looks and pity hugs.

The clock read 7:48 pm when you arrived home from work, another day of taking calls and booking meetings for a man that wasn’t even there half of the time. With a heavy sigh you set the bags of groceries you had in hand down in order to get your keys out of your back pocket. The space was dark and cold when you walked in, it had been for the last week. You stocked the fridge with your new groceries then before taking a quick shower and finishing your nightly routine. You were in the middle of applying your night cream when you heard a loud thud causing you to finally leave the bathroom. In the corner of your eye you caught a glimpse of a tall dark figure emerging from the window. You let out a shriek managing to fumble everything in hand as you scrambled to find your pepper spray.

Miguel: “Woah woah! Relax it’s just me! it’s me Y/N!” Usually you’d be used to Miguel’s late night window entrances but it had been so long since you last saw him you forgot he even did it. He turned on the living room light revealing his tired and bruised figure. He was still dressed in his spider suit, the suit you excitedly spent hours on your ipad drawing and redrawing to get the perfect design; now you hated the sight of that thing.

Y/N: “Miguel?”, seeing him gave you relief knowing it wasn’t an intruder, but the anger that’s been stirring in you for the last 2 weeks slapped you back to reality. Silence filled the space between you two, neither of you taking the initiative to speak first. It took 2 weeks for him to come back and you weren’t going to wait another second waiting for him to find the balls to say something.

Miguel: “Y/N please wait!…” he pleaded when you turned away and slammed the bedroom door behind you. You plopped down onto your mattress, you were exhausted and couldn’t stand to look at his face anymore, but you felt the empty bed space behind you dip with his weight.

Miguel: “Congratulations on your internship cariño, I knew you’d get it…” No response. “I…I got this for you. Y/N?” If you turned around you’d see the small gift wrapped box he held in his hand but you were motionless. This new silence terrified him. The possibility of you finally giving up on him made his heart sink a little

Miguel: “Y/N I’m really really sor—

Y/N: “Just shut up Miguel, shut up already…” you finally spoke through gritted teeth, “You’ve never cared about a single thing that I care about, if you did then you would’ve been there like you said you would but you weren’t! SO JUST FUCKING SHUT UP!” you sobbed and curled your legs closer to your chest

Miguel: “I know you’re angry at me… but Y/N I really am sorry. I’m sorry that I didn’t call you or text you. I’m sorry it took Jess calling me to make me realize how terrible I was being. I should’ve been there to take you to your friends party, like I promised I would. I wanna be someone you can count on and trust but I’m screwing it all up.”

At this point Miguel had already stood up from the bed, you could feel the floor thump as he paced back and forth trying to find the right words to say to you. You couldn’t help but peek over at him, he looked horrible with his head in his hands and blood and dirt still caked on his suit. Regardless of how angry you felt towards Miguel you always took pity on the poor man. He loved you with everything he was and everything he wasn’t, all he wanted was to be everything you ever needed, but you were the first woman he had ever been with since Dana and Gabriella passed. You knew loving you was like learning to walk again.

You called his name in your soft voice. His head shot up, you were finally facing him with your arms open inviting him in for a hug. Miguel practically jumped from his seat and into your arms. Words couldn’t describe how good it felt to feel your touch and even though he smelled like ash and rubble you felt exactly the same, practically crying as you melted into his hold

Y/N: “I thought you were dead Miggy, you can’t keep putting me through this I can’t take it.” He settled deeper into your embrace and rested his head into the crook of your neck

Miguel: “I know, I’ll be better for you…” You felt his lips latch onto your neck and pepper you in small kisses, “I love you Y/N. I love you so much.” He groaned against you, pushing his stiffened member against your groan and pulling out a desperate moan from your lips

Y/N: “I…I love you too Miggy…fuck!” You screamed has he drove his thick fingers into your already soaking cunt. Every curl and thrust against your plush walls pushed you closer and closer to your edge.

You cried against his shoulders. There were times when the space that was wedged between you two felt infinite then dwindled every time he came back home to you.

It was euphoria, to feel him with you again.

But every high has to come down at some point.

The sound of arguing pulled you from your sleep. It was 2 in the morning when you rolled over to see a space where Miguel was originally sleeping beside you. It wasn’t unusual for Miguel to wake up in the middle of the night to work at the kitchen table or yell to Jess about some other spider variant that messed up a mission; one named Peter seemed to come up very frequently. However it seemed like this specific conversation went on for a fairly long time, you could even begin to here Miguel’s voice shake with whoever he was speaking to.

You slipped on a new t shirt from Miguel’s drawer since the clothes you previously had on had been ripped to shreds. His voice became more and more clear as you made your way down the hall

Miguel: “Do you already have an idea on who it could be?…Fuck. Okay, I’ll *sigh* I’ll be there soon.” He hung up and pinched the bridge of his nose in a mixture of frustration and disappointment.

Y/N: “Youre leaving again aren’t you?” Your voice startled him out of his sulk.

Miguel: “…Jess suspects there’s a spider variant that’s purposely letting anomalies run loose in other dimensions. I have to handle this Y/N...”

7 hours, it took 7 hours to fall into the same old routine. It was honestly amusing at this point, all you could do was laugh. How stupid you were to think things could be any different. How stupid you were to think that HE could be any different.

Y/N: “Are you fucking serious?!” You shouted

Miguel: “Y/N Stop it, not right now please. I need you to just go back to bed and let me—

Y/N: “Let you what?! Let you leave me and come back anytime you find it convenient? How long are you gonna be gone this time Miguel, a month this time? Do you even care about the promise you kept to me? Or do I even cross your mind when you’re out there dimensions away from home playing hero for everyone else but me? This isn’t a hotel Miguel, this is our home! At least that what it fucking used to be!” You fumed. He towered above you but that didn’t stop from getting in his face, “It’s not fair Miguel! You don’t get to leave me alone for weeks and come back and fuck me thinking that’ll make it all better! You have to be better!”

Miguel: “You need to stop acting like you’re the only person in my world that needs my attention! I’m not a monster for putting the safety of the multiverse first. Im sorry I can’t be here to rock you to bed and give you a kiss goodnight all the time. Sometimes we have to put personal matters on the back burner Y/N, it’s called responsibility!” He gathered his phone and the rest of his belongings off the kitchen table

Miguel: “I have enough to worry about as it is, having you and Jess blowing up my phone to go to some party with people I don’t even know doesn’t he—

Y/N: “What?” Your tone was softer and started to become laced with hurt, it was evident in the way your voice started to shake, “Jess called you that night and it took you a week to come back?”

Realization of what he just said settles in and it makes his brows furrow in frustration and both himself and you. When he looks over at you with that same stupid emotionless face he always has you can’t help but boil with anger. His nonchalance towards your problems made you curl your fist until your knuckles turned white

Y/N: “No you’re not a monster, but you are an ASSHOLE for making me believe you could balance work and me! Why are you even with me if you can’t—

Miguel: “This conversation is over, I have a job to do and youre keeping me from doing it.” He cut you off harshly, dismissing your concerns yet again.

Y/N: “I never asked you to sacrifice your obligations! I said from the beginning that being a hero comes first, just make some goddamn time for me now and then! Why Miguel? Why do I have to beg you to see my family at Christmas?! Why do I have to beg you to meet my friends or give me an ounce of attention?! Why do I have to ask you to care about me?!”, This was frustrating him too much, your lack of understanding was infuriating. Miguel had to leave before he said something he might regret. He turned away from you and your manic sobbing and made his way to the window seal without another word, afraid that he might damage things worse than they already were by speaking

Y/N: “If we switched places I wouldn’t DARE treat you as terribly as you treat me—

Miguel: “WELL YOURE NOT ME! YOU SIT AT A DESK AND DOODLE ON A FUCKING COMPUTER! YOUR CAREER IS A JOKE, A CHILD COULD DO WHAT YOU DO. YOU CONTRIBUTE NOTHING TO THIS WORLD, I DO.” His nostrils flared and his eyes burned red with anger, “SO DONT YOU DARE SPEAK ABOUT MY LIFE LIKE YOU KNOW ANYTHING ABOUT IT, WHAT IVE HAD TO SACRIFICE JUST TO MAKE THINGS RIGHT IN THIS WORLD!”

Y/N: “GOD. YOU ARE SUCH A CUNT!”

Miguel: “AND YOURE A REPLACEMENT!”

Miguels eyes widened and his rampage instantly stopped. You couldn’t believe the words that had just left his mouth, and honestly he couldn’t either. He didn’t mean it at all, he wanted to take back those words as soon as the left his mouth, he just wanted to leave. Why didn’t you just let him leave? He wouldve been right back. The air was thick and uncomfortable, your combined heavy breathing was the only thing filled the space between the two of you.

Miguel: “I…I’ll be right back.” There was a shakiness in his voice and in his movement when he stepped out onto the fire escape.

Y/N: “Dont come back. If you leave tonight…don’t come back Miguel.” You spoke in a tone barely above a whisper

Miguel: “We’ve said things we don’t mean…I’ll be back later to fix things.” His suit integrated onto his body and he leapt off of the building ledge. A blur of blue and red was the only trace he left behind.

The truth was out now, how Miguel really felt towards you. You were never a first priority or even a second or third, you were nothing but a soul to fill the space where something else was missing. His wife, his daughter, you never tried to stand in their place or become what they were to him, but now you knew that’s the only reason Miguel kept you around. You were his vice

Your heavy cries carried throughout the apartment as you laid in bed cradling the maroon cardigan that was in the gift box Miguel got you.

The spider society headquarters was empty and calm, but the office at the top floor was anything but. Miguel sat atop of his hovering platform brooding in silence in front of his computer monitors, It’d been like this since he arrived. Miguel was always stern and reserved, he never held a conversation with anyone other than Jess or Lyla so him being fairly quiet was normal. But for Miguel to not say anything at all was strange, and it didn’t take long for others to take notice of his behavior shift since leaving your apartment

Margo, Peter, and Jess were the last people at headquarters, after a long day of interrogating potential rogue variants the crew was finally successful and able to apprehend Spiderman on Earth-3360. What will happen to the young man wasn’t decided yet but catching him was a cause for celebration. The group sat around the cafeteria table sharing empanadas and Soju for a few minutes before they went back to their own universes

Margo: “Yeah Ive been in his office all day with him and Lyla and he’s barely said 2 sentences, he wasn’t even mean during interrogation. It’s like he didn’t have it in him to yell. I think he’s depressed or something.”

Peter: “I thought he was always depressed, that’s like his thing isn’t it? That’s why he’s not funny.” He joked and finished off the last empanada

Jess: “I don’t know but I need to get home, my back is killing me and I can’t deal with The Grinch any longer.” She said taking letters hand to help her up from the chair.

The group said goodnight to each other, Margo logged off and Jess went home to some much needed rest, honestly this line of work seems too dangerous for a pregnant woman. Peter made his way up to Miguel’s office, who he knew could hear the entire conversation thanks to his enhanced hearing.

Peter: “You know they’re right Miguel…” he shouted up to Miguel who was brooding on his platform

Miguel: “About what?” he asked in a condescending tone

Peter: “About you, you don’t think we’ve noticed you moping around all day. Do you wanna tell me what the deal is so you can stop pouting?” he swung onto the platform and took a seat next to Miguel, crossing his arms and sitting firm in place waiting for Miguel’s response but he was met with silence, “Is it the rogue variant? Cuz we’re not gonna let this happen again…”

Miguel: “No.”

Peter: “Miles? Gwen? Ben?”

Miguel: “No it’s none of them.” He turned his attention away from him and focused on organizing the handful of papers on his desk

Peter: “Then what is it? Is it Y/N?”

Miguel: “Did I say anything about Y/N?! Why even bring her up?!” He snapped, it was exhausting having to work and act like every terrible thing he said wasn’t weighing on his mind. Miguel couldn’t even interrogate the variant with losing focus, having to have Jess switch him out is gonna remain one of the most embarrassing points in his Spider-Man career. Peter was never a first choice for a sounding board, but it was only going to get worse for Miguel if he didn’t turn to someone for advice, because Lord knows he was terrible at handling relationship problems on his own

Miguel: “I said something bad, really really bad Peter…” he confessed. He took a seat in the chair next to him

Peter: “Do you wanna be more specific?”

Miguel: “I told her that her career was a joke. Then I called her…a replacement.” Peters eyes widened, he knew Miguel was capable of harsh words, he’d seen it first hand with Miles but this was unexpected. Especially with you, the girl he fawned over and practically stalked at work until you made the first move.

Peter: “Shit, Miguel. That’s really messed up…Did you mean it?” He asked

Miguel: “No of course not! I didn’t mean any of it, I was just frustrated. I’m not the bad guy for prioritizing my duties! She just wasn’t listening Peter, she wasn’t understanding any of what I was saying or where I was coming from. I didn’t mean what I said.”

Peter: “So why did you say it?!” Peter exclaimed

Miguel: “I DONT KNOW!”, He slouched over in his chair and cradled his head in his hands, his own words made him sick to his stomach. How he urged to tell you how guilty he was for what he said, for never being there, for making you feel like you didn’t mean anything, “I just wanted her to be quiet, everything she was saying was right but it made me feel guilty and awful. I wanted to make her feel worse than I felt. God I’m so fucking dumb…”

Peter: “You know I’m not good with this, it wasn’t long ago that I was a sad piece of shit too with a partner at home who basically couldn’t stand me. That being said, I also know that when it feels like nothing you say can make up for everything you said, and you said A LOT, maybe too much. I would never say something like that, that was insane…”

Miguel: “Peter…” he said through gritted teeth

Peter: “Sorry sorry, that being said when it feels like there’s nothing you can say that could make up for everything you said, a simple apology means more than you think it does. A real apology Miguel.” Peter looked at him, he didn’t need words to know that Peter was basically tell him to finally get his shit together.

Miguel: “What if she doesn’t accept it?”

Peter: “She will if you mean it…”

Passing buildings were a blur to Miguel, he was racing home so fast he couldn’t even focus on anything around him. While he swung from structure to structure he planned out every single thing he’d say to you, how he’s sorry for failing you in this relationship and he’d change for the both of you. He even tried to remember if there was still cinnamon in the spice cabinet so he could make you your favorite comfort drink, champurrado.

Miguel soon landed on the fire escape outside your apartment, you made a habit of leaving the curtains open for him so he could see if you were up or not and now it was an involuntary part of your routine. He peeked inside and saw you sleeping peacefully on your bed, hoping to come join you he tried to open the window but it wasn’t budging.

‘Had you locked it on purpose?’ He thought to himself, no you couldn’t have, you always left in unlocked for him. But when he saw the book you had used to block the window from being moved he panicked. Miguel knocked on your window, frantic and desperate

Miguel: “Y/N! Y/N! Unlock the window!” He pleaded. His knocking stirred you out of your sleep and you sat up in your bed, your puffy eyes on full display. When you finally looked over at him you were emotionless just as he was to you, it terrified him seeing you look at him with no longing or affection

Miguel: “Let me in…please cariño”, he begged

You were so tired, you were so tired of wondering why your boyfriend left you to question his love for you and now after tonight you know why. You stood face to face with him, the window still a barrier between you and him. It ate away at you but you couldn’t stand another night asking yourself why you weren’t getting the love you deserved. You had your answer and you didn’t need Miguel around anymore, not if you were going to be another substitute for what was missing.

Miguel: “Y/N…Y/N please wait!—

You closed the curtain in his face and went back to bed but it didn’t stop his knocking and pleading, begging for you to let him in and mend what he broke. It continued for an hour until you were convinced he eventually gave up and left. Him being gone finally gave you a chance to break down once again into your sheets, but Miguel sat on the fire escape listening to every choked out sob and hiccup you let out. Every painful cry the he caused you and now he wondered if he’d ever be able to fix it.

#across the spiderverse #miguel x reader #miguel o'hara #miguel spiderverse #peter parker #into the spider verse #spiderman #miguel x y/n #atsv miguel #miguel o’hara angst #miguel o’hara smut #hobie brown #miles molares #atsv

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samijami · 5 months

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Re-redoing my pinned post

Disclaimer:

If you reblog my art (or any of my posts), please have third party sharing off in your settings!

And,

(There is currently no restrictions to my ask box)

As long as asks are on, they can be turned off. As long as anon is on, it can be turned off. As long as reblogs/replies are on, they can be turned off. I won't hesitate to take precautions to prevent any further harassment from happening to me in my personal corner (nor will I back down from defending myself and others).

I AM A MINOR (16)

Support the campaign against Matt Mullenweg (get his ass fired)!

It is important to note that the link has been permanently changed to be https://www.change.org/fire-matt-mullenweg incase you're interested in sharing it around!

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Basic info on me/my blog:

Hi! I'm Samuil Jane. I go by many different names however (as I am a name hoarder..), you can call me about anything you want; the names I've hoarded are: Samuil/Sami/Sam, Arco, Hans, Chez, Chris, SJ/AJ, CC, Julian, Sarco, Bunny.

I'm a nonbinary trans guy! (Intersex cafab who commonly refers to himself as afab or simply intersex). He/him, they/them, vi/vir.

Asexual demiromantic and pan :)

I have auDHD, DID, anxiety (+ anxiety tics), depression and ants in my pants that threaten to breach at any given moment.

^-- So that may explain some of my posting habits and behaviours.

I have alters so if an alter wants to link a seperate account, they can below.

@the-unknown-system9

My blog may include occasional venting, or triggering imagery. It will be tagged accordingly (and if it's bad, there'll be post cuts). Although if I don't tag, it's usually in the middle of some shitty shitty time where I am too demotivated to even type in the tags so sorry.

Just keep that in mind.

This blog has accidentally became a reblog and personal post haven when it was meant for my OCs, so I have a sideblog for my comics to keep that stuff organised.

Sideblogs/parodies:

COMIC BLOG!: @samijami-comics

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I have uninstalled C.AI because the buzzing when the AI is typing is too annoying for me. So I can't keep track of how many chats he has.

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If I don't wanna roleplay with a specific character, that either means the character is not fully developed (in personality, etc) or I don't think that character fits the roleplay type.

I have too many characters lmfao

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Anyways, have fun, don't harass me and don't cry to me if you forget to block a tag that may trigger you (for the love of God, please block triggering tags when on my blog).

#introduction post #introduction #introducing myself #introductory post #introducing post #pinned post #pinned intro #pinned info #new pinned #info post

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cock-holliday · 8 months

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hey! genuine question, ive only seen the flag you have in your icon called the “butch lesbian flag” and i see that you say in your bio

do you also consider yourself lesbian? or are non-lesbians allowed to use the flag?

i ask because im butch but not lesbian and idk if i can use that flag

So, I for years would put the bi flag behind a character, as a headcanon or they WERE bi or because I just felt like it. I changed my icon to Van from Yellowjackets and, confident she would NOT ID as bi, it felt odd to put the flag behind her even if it was MY identity. So I put a shared one: butch.

Now, there’s lots of lesbian flags, trans inclusive or exclusive, there is the labrys, with all its complicated history and imagery. And there’s two butch flags. This one, which stresses butch lesbian:

And this one, which tends to either say butch lesbian or butch on its own:

I liked it, for its similarity to the Bear Flag, another group of shunned and complicated queer mascs.

Do I identify with the term lesbian?

Yes and no. I identify with it for the fact that many people have used it how I use bisexual throughout history, as for many it was more adjacent to “sapphic” or “likes women in a gay way.” There are male lesbians and bi lesbians and nb lesbians and lots of ways to be a lesbian. Some used the label AS a gender.

In many ways I identify with it, in others, the label makes me feel distant from another part of myself. My attraction to men would often be assumed absent if I used lesbian INSTEAD of bisexual, regardless of it I or others used it that way. So I hover on the cusp of the term lesbian and reach for bisexual first, sometimes only.

Now, words like dyke? I get told you cannot reclaim it if you aren’t a capital L Lesbian. But I’ve been called it. Plenty. I would attend dyke marches. The Boston Dyke March explicitly included bi dykes in their definition. Frankly, they said anyone who identifies with being a dyke is welcome to call themselves one.

So what about butch? I tell people to read it all the time but I went and copied the full opening essay of Butch Is A Noun titled “I Know What Butch Is” and will add it under the cut.

But long story (essay) short, if you identify with butchness, congrats, you’re a butch, and can use the butch flag.

I know what butch is. I know, and I’m going to tell you, so listen up and take notes. First of all, butch is a noun. And an adjective. And a verb.

Butches only ever wear jeans and boots, except if they’re wearing suits, and they keep their hair clipped down to a flattop you could putt off. Except if they have to for work. Or if they want to for sex. Or if they want to for some other reason. But otherwise it’s denim and leather and butch wax, kid, and don’t you forget it. Unless you’re vegan.

Toughness, even at the expense of gentleness, is a butch trait. Butches are outlaws. Also gentlemen. Gentlemen who open doors and pick up checks and say “after you” and hold your umbrella over you in the rain while the water drips down their sleeves. But butches not gentlemen if being a gentleman means imposing on the unsuspecting their sexist modes of acting out the cultural paradigm of the helplessness of women. Except if the unsuspecting are crying and need a handkerchief, or elderly and need a seat to sit down in, then it’s all right. Probably. But butches should never wait for a femme to tell them specifically that it is all right to behave in a gentlemanly fashion, they should just go ahead and do it because femmes like a butch with confidence, unless it turns out that she finds it offensive and feels as though you have imposed your gender fetish on her, you arrogant bastard.

And butches are monosyllabic, until you get to know them, which they will not allow but want, or will allow and want, or will allow but don’t want, or won’t allow and don’t want, so you may or may not get to know them, but you should try, or not. But butches are monosyllabic because all that talking is girl stuff, you know? Butches grunt in answer to questions; they speak sharply and emphatically. They do not share, process, or explain because these are activities that bring nothing but trouble, unless they are bringing relief to the troubled heart of a butch carrying around too much hurt or pain, though butches do not actually feel pain; they’re tough enough to either slough it off like dead skin or deal with all of that themselves. Unless someone wants for them to be emotionally available, in which case they can feel their feelings even though the presence of feelings is suspect in the first place, but they must stop immediately as soon as someone else is having a tough time so that all their resources can be directed to soothing that person.

I know what butch is. Butches are not beginner FTMs, except that sometimes they are, but it’s not a continuum except when it is. Butch is not a trans identity unless the butch in questions says it is, in which case it is, unless the tranny in question says it isn’t, in which case it’s not. There is no such thing as butch flight, no matter what the femmes or elders say, unless saying that invalidates the opinions of femmes in a sexist fashion or the opinions of elders in an ageist fashion. Or if they’re right. But they are not, because butch and transgender are the same thing with different names, except that butch is not a trans identity, unless it is; see above.

Butches are always tops. They always fuck the girls, and, for that matter, their partners are always girls; there is no such thing as a butch who is attracted to men. Well, transmen, but that’s just butch-on-butch repackaged as faggotry. But no non-trans-men. Unless the butch in question is a non-trans-man, then it’s okay. Except that non-trans-men cannot be butches, because butch is a queering of gender that assigned-male people cannot embody, unless they occasionally can, in which case they have to be gay men. Or the partners of femmes. Or not. But no one with an assigned-female body can be a butch and do it with assigned-male men. Unless they’re femmes. Or butches. I’m really putting my foot down on this one.

I know what butch is, and butches definitely, absolutely, do not get fucked, even if it feels so good to have someone slide in sweet and hard and rock them just right. They might eat pussy but they never suck cock, because licking pussy is chivalry without pants, and, of course, any butch would want to do anything to please the femme in hir life, if there is a femme. Which there has to be, in order to be a true butch, except if there does not have to be, but you cannot be a misogynist about it either, which a lack of interest in femmes and their attendant delights may be read as—if there is a lack, which there shouldn’t be. But anyway, cocksucking is about ownership and dominance, so butches must always be the ones having their cocks sucked, unless the owner of the cock being sucked by a butch is tied to something, but if a butch were tying down someone with a cock of some variety then the above rule would quite likely be violated, and I think I’ve been very clear about that, so never mind.

Butch has a lot of privilege because butches pass as men a lot, and butches also have a lot of privilege in the queer community because butch reads as queer and femme doesn’t always, and being able to pass to keep one’s self safe isn’t privilege if you’re a femme but it is if you’re a butch. Unless this is a butch who can pass as a heteronormative woman, in which case ze’s not really a butch anyway because no butch could do such a thing. Except that some of them can and also having kids really helps, even though no butch could have kids because of the rule about not getting fucked and also because that’s a femme’s job, but not everyone really understood their butchness all the way along and also sometimes there are fertility issues and also sometimes there’s not a femme so we’ll grandfather in some children but we’ll be suspicious of those butches. Unless they’re really great butch dads of whatever sex, in which case we’ll think it’s the damn cutest thing in the world and punch them on the arm, or if they’re awesome butch moms we’ll make approving comments about their ability to raise feminist men, but otherwise no children and no heteronormativity for sure, except for assigned male butches who do not exist.

Besides all of that, the butch pays. If there’s only one butch on the date. Unless the femme wants to. If there’s a femme present. If there’s a femme present, the butch pays unless hir paying would upset the femme or unless it creates class issues for the butch or patriarchy issues for the femme. Or if it’s two butches on a date, which they shouldn’t be. Or they should. In any case, they arm-wrestle for it. Except in such situations in which a public display of aggression on the part of butches, or an interaction which may be read as such, could potentially be detrimental to the community, to the mental health of those witnessing the act, to the butches themselves for feeling compelled to act out normative masculine-gendered conflict-resolution tactics, or to the glassware of the dining establishment, which so often gets broken. But otherwise, the butch always pays, and there’s just no getting around that.

I know what butch is. Butches are a brotherhood, or possibly a sisterhood, which would be a marvelous way to reclaim butch’s roots in the lesbian community except some butches were never part of the lesbian community and some were but aren’t any more, but placing masculine identities on butches is disrespectful, except when it’s desirable, but anyway, butches are a tribe, a tribe of people who have been maligned endlessly for, and in fact forged an identity in part out of, not fitting the gendered expectations of the culture in which they exist (until or unless they work to pass as men, which always or never or sometimes happens and is absolutely a great or problematic thing), so butches are very open to gendered variations in others and would never, ever try to make another butch feel like shit for having displayed a behavior which does not fit the microculture’s standard of what it means to be a butch, which is a useful or idealized or ridiculous or just plain complicated standard, so it should be adhered to, or critiqued, or aspired to, or not. Butches would also certainly never try to school younger butches in ways that are angry and dangerous because they feel like the process of toughening has disappeared from modern culture and butches need to be tough, dammit. Butches who do those sorts of things either are Real Butches or are Not Real Butches, depending who you ask.

There, that should be perfectly clear.

#ask #anon ask #butch #butch is a noun #I know what butch is

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