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soapskneebrace · 3 months

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It’s going to sound mean but you seem so pressed over Umiko’s alleged earnings, it’s worrying. Don’t get me wrong, I understand that seeing what she probably earns could make you feel hurt, but you sound jealous and not in a ‘I wish her well and I hope I’ll be able to earn as much or even more’ but more like ‘why the hell people pay her for her art if they don’t pay me for mine?’. And mentioning her specifically couple of times in your recent posts??? It almost sounds like you have a problem with HER and that SHE is being paid for her art and not you. I both write and draw, I know how much work, effort and time it takes and I am happy for Umiko and other artists, because it seems that people are willing to pay for what we create, you just have to know how to sell your product and it is not Umiko’s fault that it took you this long to figure something out. I’m happy her success motivated you and you decided to talk to your friend who can help you with your art, but seriously your recent posts made me feel like you have a serious problem with that girl. One more thing, you mentioned that she earns more in whatever amount of time than your mom in a year like what about it? Is it Umiko’s fault? People per her because they want to support her and they want to have access to her art, and I guess she wouldn’t earn as much in a normal job.

So first of all, I welcome you to quote directly (not paraphrase--highlight, copy, and paste) where I said or even implied that I think that Umiko should not be paid as much as she is.

Second of all, I mentioned Umiko as often I did because she is one of my favorite artists, not because I dislike her. I adore her work and believe she deserves every dollar she has made. She works very hard and is one of the few artists who I think is actually getting adequate compensation for that work. In addition, she seems to be a very kind person, and I will never resent the success of good people.

Thirdly, am I like not supposed to be jealous of someone making nearly $1million a year off fandom work????????????????????????? Sorry, but I think I'm allowed to feel envious that someone in my community is making more than twenty-four times the money I make, especially considering that I've been making fandom work for cod for about as long as she has. Maybe not as much, but I've been pretty consistent for the past year, despite the fact that I've been doing it for free.

I'm allowed to be salty that fandom culture permits her to ask for payment but fanfiction is just taken for granted as free content. Fandom does not bat an eyelash when artists ask for a subscription fee to access fanart porn, but writers can barely get readers to kick them an occasional $5 through ko-fi. Umiko didn't "figure something out" before I did--she has been allowed to monetize her work every step of the way because fandom has collectively agreed that it is acceptable for her to do so.

Umiko is not the only artist, either--Bluegiragi and Wombywoo are both making a significant amount of money off of their fanart. This is not guesswork on my part; the number of these artists' paid subscribers is available publicly on their patreon pages, and if you went to fourth grade math you're probably able to multiply that by the average fees of their tier lists. It is not hard to figure out that these artists are making a very comfortable living, or at least an extremely lucrative side hustle, off of work they produce for the Call of Duty fandom.

And I'm not saying they shouldn't! I never did! My beef with this fact is that this mode of income is not available to fanfiction writers! I have known writers who have written full length novels of carefully crafted stories that will never see even a fraction of a penny for their work, because fandom insists that fanfiction should not be monetized!

And knowing what I know now, I reject that notion entirely. It is beyond ridiculous, it is exploitative. My work, and the work of my friends, is just as labor-intensive, just as time-intensive, and just as skill-intensive as the work Umiko and the rest produce. If these artists deserve compensation for their fanwork--and I reiterate, they do--then how can we say that fanwriters don't?

As a postscript, I think you took my arguments in very bad faith, and I don't appreciate the finger-wagging you came into my inbox to do. I don't have to simper about other people's worth for my assertions about my own to be valid.

#answered

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radama-zard · 1 year

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Dungeons & Drabbles - 2022

Day 8 - Truculent

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Ashton/FCG

Anger.

It wasn't like the emotion was entirely foreign to Fresh Cut Grass. He understood it well enough. When injustices happened, when one insulted you or something you liked, when you were hurt by others… anger was the result.

Well, at least it was for most people.

Ashton certainly seemed in tune with it!

The barbarian was basically fuelled by rage, breathed it as easy as most did air. It came easy to them, and FCG had to admit, they were a tad jealous.

To be so in tune with one’s inner aggression, it sounded delightfully freeing! He desperately wished to have his inner strength, the power to scream in the faces of those who wronged them. To wheel right up to Jiana Hexum and call her… her… well, as might say, a ‘dumb bitch’.

Not that THEY would ever say that! They couldn't even honestly think it.

Dear god was it frustrating.

“You right there, Letters?”

FCG’s head snapped up, finding Ashton mere inches away from him. Funny how someone so tall and heavy could sneak up on them like that! Or could be so sneaky in general. It was something they envied as well.

“Sorry Ashton! Seems I’m a little lost in my head today,” FCG replied with a weak laugh, earning a slight quirk of a frown in turn. Had he worried them?

“What's eating at you? There somebody I gotta punch? ‘Cause you know I’ll fuck anybody up REAL bad that's upset ya.”

There it was again, that truculent spirit of Ashton’s.

Always eager and quick to fight, a shining beacon of aggressive defiance.

He really ought to have their picture painted and placed in every dictionary right next to the word.

To have even a fraction of that burning, that passionate spirit…

“I know you would, and I'm real grateful for your kindness. It means a whole lot to me that you're willing to fight for me. But, well, this… You can't fight this. Unless you want to punch me in the head?” FCG paused, cocking his head to the side. “Maybe don't though, please. You're real strong, and this body is pretty old. I think you’d do a lotta damage and I don't wanna make Milo have to fix me up agai-”

“Fuckin’ woah there,” Ashton leant down, now eye level with him. A jade hand dropped down on his shoulder, the simple weight of it relaxing in and of itself. With it being Ashton’s, that calming effect was doubled. His touch was always so gentle with FCG, like they were precious and soft and… and alive as any other flesh and blood person.

If they had a heart it may have skipped a beat.

“Sorry…"

“No sorries, Letters. Just don't want you working your ass into a panic. I got you, okay?”

“I don't have an ass.”

“Haha. Hilarious.”

Ashton rolled his eyes, yet even with that he was unable to keep the affection they felt for the little automaton from glimmering bright.

“I… I guess I was just thinking about anger, and how hard it is for me to really reach it. You know, when I'm all normal like. Maybe if I could express it as wonderfully as you do, I wouldn't snap anymore!”

“Huh.”

A beat of silence passed, and FCG wondered if he should apologize once more.

“Maybe I could teach you to let loose. To release the beast and fuck shit up.”

“Really? You wouldn't mind? I don't know how good at it I’d be and I'd hate to frustrate yo-”

“Shut up, Grass. Quit acting like you're a fucking burden! You're… fuck, you're gonna make me say it, aren't you?” Ashton groaned, the sound only growing louder as FCG stared on in confusion. “Fine!! You're my best friend, okay? You mean more to me than anyone in this gods forsaken world! So quit shit-talking yourself so we can go beat on some trees.”

If Fresh Cut Grass could smile, they’d be positively beaming right now.

“That was so kind of you to say, Ashton!” they chirped, oblivious to the way Ashton’s face started to heat up. “You’re my best friend too! You’ve been my favorite person since the day I met ya!”

“Yeah yeah, no need to get so mushy now…” Ashton muttered, in what FCG might have thought was embarrassment. “You're makin’ this sound like some kinda cheesy ass love confession.”

“But I do love you?”

Oh. They hadn't known that Ashton's face could go so dark! That was a lot of blood rushing to one place… how concerning.

“Fuck, Letters, you can't just say shit like that!”

“Why not? It's true! I love you very much. Is…” FCG quietened, his voice now almost meak in nature. “Is it because of what I am? Is it wrong for someone like me to love someone like you? Someone more… more alive?”

That made sense. No one would want to be loved by someone like themself. Someone so cold and rigid and impossible to-

Before that thought could even be finished, Fresh Cut Grass found themselves pulled tight into Ashton’s embrace, and with it they found their insecurities crushed.

“Fuck that! You're just as alive as I am, okay? Don't give me that bullshit. You're fucking incredible, Letters. I was just being a little bitch over all the affection and the… I haven't had someone say that in a long ass time. It just- It threw me off guard. You aren't wrong to love me. You just have shit taste.”

“... I don't have any taste. I can't taste anything.”

“You know what I meant, you little shit.”

FCG laughed weakly, clinging to the genasi with surprisingly shaky hands. Gosh, how had everything gotten so out of hand?

“So it's… it's okay then? For me to love you?”

Ashton dropped his head, lips coming to lay the sweetest of kisses right to their forehead.

“Fuck yeah. The feeling’s mutual, just so you know. Still think you have shit taste, but hey, who am I to judge?”

Mutual.

The same.

A feeling returned.

Perhaps it wasn't so bad to be lacking in rage when they could feel a joy, a love so pure, as strongly as this.

Ashton could keep the rage.

They’d champion love instead.

#dungeons & drabbles #drabblewrimo #critical role #FCG #Ashton #Ashton Greymoore #FCG/Ashton #Ashton/FCG #if their ship name isn't rock and roll i'm gonna RIOT #Angst again today #but this one ends happy #so more #hurt/comfort #i guess #Rock & Roll #day 8 - truculent #Dungeons & Drabbles 2022

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bi-demon-ium · 2 years

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IF you're doing instinct prompts, "with you" for lizzie and dylan? 🥺

[crying] feeling safe with your friends!

8. "with you" + dylan & lizzie

It was kind of amazing how much Lizzie had come to mean to him in such a short amount of time. They'd immediately clicked. She'd taken well to his slightly abrasive sense of humor, not taking offense where it wasn't meant and then sniping back as good as he gave it, and she'd been... kind. Understanding. Non-judgemental.

He found he trusted her, and had started to rely on her just as much as he did Andy, albeit in a different way. They were partners of another sort, but partners nonetheless. He felt safe with her in a way he did with very few people.

He'd always thought that his past had broken him, in a lot of ways. Made it hard for him to trust anyone. It had taken a while for Andy—beautiful, good-hearted Andy—to work his way into Dylan's heart. He and Julian had bonded mostly over life-or-death situations, although they'd since become closer in other ways as well.

But Lizzie had just slipped past his defenses with a wry smile, easy as could be. He'd thought he could barely trust anyone, and yet she'd earned it in practically the blink of an eye.

He wasn't sure if that was him, or just some quality she had—she'd won over Julian, too, which was no easy feat.

Whatever the case, he could only hope he helped her even a fraction of the amount that she'd helped him.

It wasn't like Lizzie had been entirely alone in that year before Dylan. Charlie was gone, and she had little to no friendly relationships at work anymore as she withdrew into herself, but she had Jas. And the guys at work, well, most of them meant well.

Her sister was really in and out, but not completely absent. She just... had her own shit to deal with.

But Dylan—Dylan had really pulled her out of her funk. She'd loved his book, had read it three times and could quote it from memory, and meeting him was... well, she'd had no idea what to expect, but it wasn't quite this: a goofy, sort of... pleasantly annoying and infuriatingly intelligent professor with a flair for style.

And there was plenty of room for the unexpected under all that tweed—a husband (at least she didn't have to worry about a wandering tongue, since he was apparently gay, although actually, come to think of it, even if he was bisexual she could already tell she wouldn't have had to have worried about it anyway, and not just because he was married—which really said something about the guys at work, unfortunately) and the fact he was apparently a real tough guy (CIA handler? paramilitary? jesus) despite appearances.

But he was also just... funny. Kind. He was willing to poke fun at her but would also listen earnestly and never treat her different for having been vulnerable, no matter how ridiculous she felt crying on the job over something as stupid as a dog.

(Not that Gary was stupid. She would have to apologize later. But just—oh, you know what she meant.)

He made her laugh, and could take jokes in stride without thinking she was actually heartless or a bitch, instead poking back. Or if she needed it, asking what was wrong.

Oh, he could be infuriating, he could say exactly the wrong thing or run off and do something stupid and put himself in danger, but she found she was growing to love him very fast. They were partners, best friends.

This is likely why, in a haze of panic, she called Dylan, of all people.

She hadn't had a nightmare this bad—this vivid, this real—since the weeks after Charlie had died.

She barely remembered the details now, only Charlie dying in her arms and the certainty that it was her fault, vague familiar shadows of old hurts, and then Charlie was Dylan, motionless and pale, and it was all her fault if she'd just been faster if she'd just seen if she'd j—

Lizzie called him.

He seemed worried, and she was sure she sounded far too frantic and incoherent despite how she was trying very hard to keep her voice steady and casual, and then he said (with a quick murmur to Andy, who she could just barely hear sleepily mumble something along the lines of go on, babe, make sure she's alright, and she felt a pang of guilt and deep affection) that he was on his way, in a tone that left no room for argument.

When he arrived, she felt like. a mess. She'd really tried to get herself together because this was frankly ridiculous, they were work partners and she was bothering at him at—fuck, what, three am? But there was no irritation on his face, not a single trace of it, only worry.

He'd pulled her into a tight hug and she'd ended up shaking apart in his arms, crying into his shoulder and feeling stupidly, stupidly vulnerable, but he only ran a gentle hand through her hair and held her tighter.

It was far more comforting than it had any right to be.

(Lizzie had always been fiercely independent, even with Charlie insisting on depending on no one, especially not a man, because she wanted to be taken seriously and it was hard enough in her line of work when she was already dating her partner, no matter how little she regretted that.

But this—didn't feel like giving up anything. She was still a little embarrassed, but even that was mostly overwhelmed with the feeling of relief. She knew, of course, he wouldn't think any less of her for this, and right now it was so very clear that he was warm and alive and here.

(Later, when they hesitantly broach the topic—because, ironically, despite both of them very much having problems with opening up, they'd always been pretty good about communicating with each other—he asks her, sort of soft and uncertain, why she'd called him and not someone else. And she'd said, like it was obvious (because it was), Because I trust you. I feel safe with you. I needed to feel safe.

And he'd looked at her like she'd slapped him. And then a little disbelieving smile touched at his lips—why on earth was he so surprised, was she going to have to get another fucking tragic backstory out of him, because it was getting sad, the absolute clown car of tragic backstories this man had—and said, very quietly but with sincerity, that he felt the same way.

She shifted a little, and said, well. Good.

And that was that.)

#instinct #my writing #snippet #askbox #lizzie needham #dylan reinhart

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a-parody-0f-tnt-news · 11 months

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Bizarre Discovery Unveils a Secret Jungle Junkyard of Epic Proportions

In a slapstick-worthy scene straight out of an action-comedy film, police officers emerged from the depths of a dirt track in North Trace, battling their way through thick branches and wild vines. And what did they find? Hold on to your seats, folks, because they stumbled upon vehicle parts of all shapes and sizes, from measly headlights to complete car shells!

The recovery operation kicked off on Wednesday afternoon, led by the daring Inspector Roland Ramlogan and his Southern Division crew. They toiled tirelessly until midnight, extracting just a fraction of the scattered parts lurking within the bushes. Talk about a wild treasure hunt!

Not willing to leave their newfound comedy gold unfinished, Senior Superintendent Richard Smith, Sergeant Bacchus, and the CID officers gallantly returned the following morning to complete the outrageous rescue mission.

Picture this: harnesses swinging from tree branches, engines hidden under a pile of leaves, and doors peeking out from the midst of shrubbery. Smith, surrounded by the chaos, humorously briefed reporters at the scene, "We've found a wild assortment of vehicle parts—wiring systems, engines, doors, trunk lids, and even the whole interior of cars! It's like a car enthusiast's dream come true, or a mechanic's worst nightmare."

And the variety of vehicles they uncovered was truly a sight to behold. The New Grant hideout seemed to be the secret dumping ground for Nissan Tiidas, Toyota Aquas, Honda Citys, Nissan Fielder wagons, and Hyundai H100 pick-ups. Who would have thought that a random dirt road could turn into an automobile graveyard?

With a touch of melodrama, Smith gestured towards the six halves of vehicles standing proudly behind him, remarking, "These treasures behind me are the result of our relentless work. We've already nabbed six suspects in connection with these vehicles. In the past few weeks alone, we've recovered around 20 different types of vehicles, with eight of them right here."

The senior superintendent couldn't help but express his heartfelt sympathy for the victims of these car thefts. "A vehicle is a person's second most important investment, you know? Seeing their precious investments reduced to mere scrap metal is absolutely heart-wrenching," he exclaimed dramatically.

To the unscrupulous buyers lurking in the black market, Smith had a stern and comedic message, "Hey, you heartless buyers! Take a moment to reflect on the havoc you're wreaking with people's hard-earned money. You're the driving force behind this twisted trade. Stealing vehicles is no laughing matter, but I guess some folks only learn the hard way—when it happens to them or someone they know!"

In a final punchline, Smith urged everyone to ponder the vast scale of this operation. "Think about all the others who passed through this jungle junkyard before we stumbled upon it. And guess what? There are probably more secret spots like this waiting to be discovered. Don't worry, though, because we're on the move! We've got insider information on these car thieves, and we're hot on their trail."

As the curtain falls on this outrageous spectacle, the stolen vehicle parts are finding temporary refuge at police stations in Princes Town, San Fernando, and Ste Madeleine. Inspector Lazarus and his team from the Stolen Vehicles Unit in Port of Spain even joined in on the hilarity, providing technical support during this whimsical adventure.

So, fellow citizens, fear not! Once the parts are properly cataloged, victims of vehicle theft will have a chance to reunite with their lost treasures. And who knows what other comedic escapades await our brave law enforcement officers as they continue their quest to bring justice to the world of

car thefts? Stay tuned for the next episode of "The Absurd Chronicles of Southern Police Division"!

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genshin-scenarios · 3 years

Text

About: You're a spirit that's recently gained a human form. You took inspiration from the humans you've seen before to design your appearance, but it seems that it might still be hard for an inexperienced one like yourself to blend in.

Thankfully, Mondstadt is a land with helpful people - or should you perhaps say… a helpful archon.

“Hmm…” The bard leans closer, looking you in the eyes with a tilt to his head. “This could become a problem.”

“What could?” Was there something odd about your appearance? If you remember correctly, you'd chosen a fairly common eye color... or was it something else?

Venti smiles enigmatically, pointing at his that seemed to glow for a fraction of a second. “You haven’t gotten your eyes under control yet, they’ve been quite noticeable during the evenings.”

Ah. “That… Isn’t good.”

“Nope!” He agrees, like a chime in the wind. “They’ll likely shine brighter when your emotions are heightened, but I can help you hide it temporarily.” He leans in closer to reach your face. You close your eyes, feeling a cool breeze brush your eyelids as his knuckles barely grazes your cheeks. “...There. All done!"

You check your reflection in the lake's surface to see that they now indeed seem more human. You blink at your reflection curiously, as if to check the spell's effectiveness. “How long will this last?”

Venti taps his chin. “Until the next full moon, perhaps?" That would give you about a month - more than enough time to adjust.

“Anyways!” He claps his hands, breaking your train of thought and earning a curious look from you. “You never did let me update me about your progress. Did you have any time to work on it?”

Progress… “With getting used to the city…?”

He almost starts to pout. “Have you already forgotten about it? I meant your playing!”

You deflate at the reminder. That was what he's checking up on?

“I’ve practiced a bit. Though not in front of the fountain like you suggested." You try to recall what you could. "There’s almost always other musicians there, I worry that I’d simply disturb them.”

Not to mention that you could barely play and sing as effortlessly as the other bards. You were still getting used to functioning like a regular person in the city, so learning an instrument on top of that? Venti makes everything look easy, but you're quite certain that no other spirit in your shoes would be able to improve any faster within two weeks.

That, and you were only learning how to busk and perform because it's what Venti was most familiar with. (Not that you could complain much - it was already a miracle in itself when you bumped into him by chance, and he decided to lend you a helping hand from one spirit to another. Venti had quite a number of questions for you as well, like what you did before gaining this form, or what your hopes are for the future.)

"In that case," Venti hops off his seat on the boulder, offering you his hand. "What do you say to a paired performance?"

"I don't think I could keep up with you." You admit, smiling in apology. "The audience will probably just find it odd that I'm there."

While you try to explain yourself, Venti purses his lips and studies your expression. When he finally comes to a conclusion, he steps forward to take your wrist, tugging you along gently.

"I don't mind." Venti smiles encouragingly. "I've taken you under my wing for now, so to speak, so there's nothing wrong with a duet once in a while." He winks. "Besides, what kind of bard would I be if I couldn't lead a beginner in a performance?"

Well, you're definitely a bit less reluctant now. "If you're sure…"

"Definitely sure!" And so, you start on the path back to fhe city. "Let's catch a spot at the plaza before we're too late, shall we?"

#genshin imagines #genshin x reader #genshin impact #genshin writing #genshin scenarios #genshin drabbles #genshin venti x reader #gi venti x reader #genimp venti #genshin x you #traveler wishes #soft dreams

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sonofthedragon · 2 years

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As i've been mapping out the direction i wish to take my "Etherian Reborn" series on ao3, I made a point to look into alternative views on the Etherian Horde & the Princess Alliance. As i've studied the observations of bloggers like @soranis-sunshadow, @cruelfeline & @bishonenrockmysocks among others is the presence to two concurrent & interlocking divisions among the population of Etheria. Those divisions being...

1. The divide between those who can access the magic of Etheria and those who cannot.

2. The divisions between the descendants of the First Ones (to be called humans from this point forward) & the descendants of the various native races of Etheria (to be collectively referred to as nonhumans)

2b. Furthermore among the nonhuman population there seems to be a subdivide based on how closely you resemble humans. For example if your only nonhuman attribute is a pair of pointed elf-like ears then theirs nothing stopping you from living in one of the human kingdoms. Perhaps if you work hard you could even earn a position of respect & authority like Bright Moons General Juliet! If however you're a large "humanoid reptile" like Tung Lashor you're resigned to living in the wasteland that is the Crimson Waste. Further still magic is only ever seen being practised by humans or the races that closely resemble them, which kind of suggests that the other, more bestial looking races are prevented somehow. This also means that only a small fraction of Etheria's population is able to learn magic at a time.

One thing i haven't seen anyone speak too is the...interesting position this puts the Scorpioni. On the one hand they possess a Runestone-The Black Garnet-which allows them, via the one bonded to it, to access the greatest magic available on Etheria (the mages of Mystacor openly describe their magic as "lesser" then the Runestones)

What complicates the Scorpioni's position is how...well...obvious their nonhuman traits are. Using Scorpia as a guide, they weren't as nonhuman as Tung Lashor's people, possessing large sections of human-like skin & hair. But their tales, pincers & the sections of scorpion-like carapace mark them as decidedly more nonhuman then say Norwyn.

So it seems to me the Scorpioni are in the odd place of being at the top of the magical hierarchy while simultaneously being in something of a middle ground of the racial hierarchy. I can see this as creating something of a tension as the Black Garnet's magic means the Fright Zone can't be ignored entirely while some of the more, shall we say close minded of Etheria's human populace chaffed at having to treat these large intimidating looking very clearly not-humans as equals to their own kingdoms.

Now i'm neither a sociologist or a historian but it seems to me that when you have a situation in which there's an extremely important & powerful resource i.e magic which is then denied to a large section of the population. And the ones seeming to make the decisions are themselves from people who, and this bares stressing, are descended from people who are NOT native to your planet AND are seeming making their choices based on how much the other person looks like them, well i don't think you should be surprised if some fighting breaks out,

The real question is, where do the Scorpioni, with their access to the strongest magic on the planet & their distinctive non-human features, stand when the battlelines are being drawn? I'd love to hear some thoughts about that.

#spop #spop meta #Scorpioni #magical classism #speciesism #etheria #etherian horde #cause of war #spop theory #spop headcanons #long post

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blindingdutchy · 3 years

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lamentation | THREE

{peter parker x fem!reader AU}

based on All the Bright Places by Jennifer Niven

SERIES MASTERLIST

word count: 3,310

warnings: depression, anxiety, grief, mental illness! descriptions of injury/blood/gore! angst

18+!!! minors stay away!

Peter Parker: are you okay??

Peter Parker: (Y/N)?

Peter Parker: why aren't you at school? please tell me you're okay

You shut your phone off and buried your head under your pillow again, wishing for nothing more than to go back to sleep and escape life completely. All weekend long, and especially all morning, your phone had been ringing non stop with texts from Peter Parker. As much as you wished you could say you hadn't read them, you had.

You'd read them all almost as soon as you'd received them, but you just couldn't bring yourself to respond. You didn't need friends. You didn't want friends. Peter Parker was not your friend, and you were determined to keep it that way. No matter how hard he tried to force himself into your life, you were not going to let him in; you couldn't.

You couldn't let him in and risk getting hurt again, and today was yet another painful reminder of why. It was her birthday. At least, it would have been if she weren't dead. If you hadn't put her in the wrong place at the right time, ending her life and ruining yours forever.

For one tiny moment after you woke up, one minuscule fraction of a second, you forgot the importance of the day. You forgot what made the day different, and you forgot that your sister was dead. Or, rather, did you forget you ever had a sister at all? Had--that was the word that made you weep.

That fleeting moment of ignorance was the exact reason why it should have been you and not her. Surely, she never would have forgotten your birthday, or you, or your absence. She never would have looked at the date and even hesitated in remembering what the significance was. Always the better sister, the better person, the one who deserved it all.

Since that moment you had not left your bed, and Peter's latest slew of texts forced you to look at the time and acknowledge that hours had passed. It was lunch time, hours and hours since you'd awoken, and you had not moved even an inch. Everything felt too heavy.

The air felt too thick, gravity too strong, your body made of stone; you wondered if you were even able to move. Of course, you had shut your phone off so clearly you could move, but you didn't want to. It was so hard, so unbelievably hard to move. Why did everything have to be so tough?

As you laid there, staring at the blackened void of the backs of your eyelids because you just couldn't shut your mind off, your thoughts wandered through all the darkest places. Would she have been ashamed to see you like this? Would she have been disgusted with how you were acting, the person you had become?

God, why couldn't you just shut it off? Why couldn't you just make it all stop? That was all you wanted anymore. You wanted the thoughts, the feelings, the memories, everything, to just go away. You wanted to just exist in the empty void that only came about when you were sleeping. The space where your senses were gone and it was just you.

Or, maybe, you didn't want to exist at all. That wasn't to say that you wanted to die, even though you did, but rather that you just wanted to cease to exist. You wanted to never be, to never have been. It was complex thought that was equally as heavy and taxing to ponder.

Would that have made a difference? Would she have lived if you had never been around, never been alive, to lead her down all the paths that lead to that moment? If you hadn't existed, she wouldn't have been in the park at that perfect moment. If she, by some mystical force, had been there anyways, she wouldn't have lingered behind to save you.

Everyone's lives would have been so much better without you. Your parents wouldn't have had to work so much to afford everything for you and your sister. Your grandma might have lived longer, not having to exert herself so much to watch after the troublesome child that you had been. Maybe the butterfly effect of your lack of existence would have reached so far that the world would generally be a better place, too.

You barked a laugh at the thought, your voice hoarse from dehydration and lack of use. How pathetic it was of you to think you had so much of an impact! You surely were not so important that you changed that much about the world.

"(Y/N), honey?"

The world got a little heavier at the sound of your door creaking open and your mother's soft, hesitant voice. When you didn't respond, nor even move a muscle, she sighed, "(Y/N), you need to eat. I made some soup, I'll even bring it up to you if you want."

Despite the fact that you didn't feel hungry in even the slightest capacity, your stomach rumbled loudly at the mention of food. "Okay." you whispered, and when the door clicked shut again the silence was overwhelming.

She would have been so disappointed in you. You knew just how much you worried your parents with every passing day, and as much as you wanted to be better and make them feel better, you just couldn't bring yourself to care. You couldn't bring yourself to care about your wellbeing or how all the things you were doing, or not doing, affected your parents.

Caring wasn't easy anymore, and it felt foreign. You were so bogged down under all the baggage on your back, on your shoulders, and on your head that you couldn't expend any of the energy required to do so. If you did, if you tried, you'd surely have collapsed under the weight.

Your mother came back and left once more just as quickly, sighing quietly as she tried and failed to rouse you from your bed. You'd remained silent through the creak of the door, the soft clatter of the bowl and spoon being placed on your nightstand, her soft breathes of disappointment, and the click of the latch as she left again. You even held your breathe, so immersed in listening to all her little noises that you forgot about the air you needed to live.

When your mother returned to your room later that day, though it felt like seconds for you, she ripped the blankets from your body and blinked down at you tearfully. "You didn't eat." she stated simply, gesturing to the still full bowl of soup that was now ice cold.

You blinked back, though the tears in your eyes were due to the sudden burn of being open rather than emotion. The numbness had creeped in at some point during the day, and you couldn't feel a thing aside from empty. She waited there for a long, pregnant moment for you to respond, but you had no words.

What were you meant to say? You could hear your sister's voice scolding you for ignoring her, but you just couldn't think of the right thing to say anymore. "Get up, (Y/N). Dinner is getting cold and you're going to eat with us, even if I have to drag you out of this bed myself." your mother finally demanded.

Weakly, you clambered out of your bed and followed her downstairs. She tried to hide it, probably for your sake, but you could see the pleased smile on her face as she finally got you out of your bed. You wondered what it felt like to smile anymore. Could you smile anymore? You'd tried a few times, but it always felt awkward and forced and never looked quite right.

"She lives!"

You grimaced, your version of a smile, at your father's bland attempt at humor that earned a warning glare from your mother. Yes, you lived, and that was the problem. You didn't want to. You shouldn't have. It should have been her coming down to dinner to celebrate her birthday, not you trudging to the table to try and ignore the party that should have been taking place.

She would have been nineteen. Would she have liked college? Would she have found a cute college boy to date, maybe have brought him home to meet the family on her birthday? Your mother made her favorite food, a family recipe, and you pretended you didn't notice.

It didn't taste as good without her around to gush over it in anticipation. You'd never been much of a fan in the first place, but as a little sister it was your duty to love everything your big sister did. Food included, and you'd eagerly sucked down that casserole for years and claimed it was your favorite too.

"I'll be right back, don't go anywhere!" your mother announced, wiping her hands on a napkin as you choked down the last pea on your plate.

When she returned a few moments later with a large chocolate cake in her hands, a cold sweat blossomed over your body and you stiffened. "What's that?" you demanded, staring wide eyed at the all-too-familiar cake incredulously.

It was a rhetorical question. You knew exactly what it was, but you were horrified to see it. She'd made her famous chocolate cake, the same cake she'd made every year for your sister's birthday because, like the casserole, it too was her favorite.

Was this some kind of sick joke? Why did she make a cake? Your sister was gone, and there was nothing to celebrate. If anything you wished to still be hidden away under your blankets, moping and wishing for peace. Yet, here was your mother, placing the cake down on the table with a sheepish smile and watery eyes.

She stared at the cake, avoiding your eyes as she sniffed, "I just... I thought that maybe this would make it feel like she's still here. I just wanted a little bit of her to make the day a little less sad."

"She's not here, Mom." you snapped, "She's not here, and this isn't going to change that."

With a loud screech from your chair that scraped across the floor, you bolted away from the table and back to your room. God, why are you being so horrible? She's just trying her best, you don't have to be so hard on her... Your sister's voice echoed in your mind, rattling around your skull so hard you swore you could feel your teeth chatter.

She was right, and you knew it. You knew you were being unfair, cruel even, but you couldn't help it. You couldn't help the uncontrollable guilt that seeing all your sister's favorite foods brought creeping back over you. You couldn't help the bile that steadily rose up your throat at the thought of her, the sight of her ever-present empty chair.

You couldn't help any of it. The anger and guilt was too much to bear, especially as you heard your mother's choked sob echo from the dining room all the way to your bedroom. You'd done that. You'd made her cry with your selfish contempt. You were truly the worst.

Collapsing back onto your bed and burying yourself under your blankets, you smothered yourself with your pillow until it felt like your lungs were going to explode. The tears never came, though you wished for them desperately. You felt like crying, you wanted to cry, but you couldn't. You were all cried out once more.

A loud knock on your window startled you awake, and you blinked in surprise at the pitch darkness of your room. You couldn't remember falling asleep, but that was fairly typical anymore. When you don't dream, there's never really much to differentiate between wake and rest. It was always just like blinking your eyes--one moment it was one day, and the next it was another.

Time moved pretty strangely ever since the incident, you'd discovered. Sleep made time seem longer, more impactful, and without it the days all blurred together. Another knock caught your attention, followed by another, before there was a steady rapping at the glass pane that made you furrow your eyebrows.

You clicked the power button on your phone only to huff when you remembered you'd shut it off, and turned to face the window. A shadow passed before it and your heart stuttered frightfully. Another knock, another shadow, and you were surprised you hadn't peed your pants in fear. There was someone out there.

A head popped up over the windowsill, falling heavily against the glass with a loud bang that made you jump. "What the--Peter?" you gasped, your eyes slowly adjusting to the dim lighting until you could make out the familiar suit of Spiderman.

What the hell was Peter doing at your window, and why was he still dressed up in his stupid costume? Begrudgingly, yet secretly curious, you creeped out of your bed and opened the window with furrowed eyebrows. "Peter, what are you doing here?" you whispered, but he didn't respond.

Well, he didn't respond with words. He groaned, a strange gargled noise like he was trying to talk through a mouthful of water, and his head lolled to the side weakly. Prodding his shoulder, he nearly tumbled to the ground until you caught him awkwardly and strained to keep him upright. "P-please, help." he gasped.

Your heart was racing, and your mind was moving nearly as fast with a million questions. How the hell did Peter know where you lived? Why was he at your window? What was wrong with him? Why did he think you were the person to help him? Why, what, why, how, all the questions remained unanswered.

It was a great struggle to drag Peter through your window, a task that was done without much help from the surprisingly heavy boy who leaned nearly all of his weight onto you. You did it, though, and bit back a scream when you pulled your hands away to find them covered in blood. As you stared at the dark, red stains on your flesh, the smell of it hit you and your head was spinning.

Blood, and a lot of it. Immediately your mind brought you back to that fateful day, images of your sister's lifeless form flashing before your eyes and blurring the world around you. Your breathing grew shallower, and just as the tunnel vision started to encroach, Peter garbled, "Please, (Y/N), you need to help me."

He weakly slapped at his chest until his suit deflated like a balloon, peeling away from his body like a loose tarp that was easily pulled away from his skin. "Oh, my god!" you wailed. His body was riddled with cuts, scrapes, and bruises galore. You wondered if any of his skin remained unbroken, because everything was black, blue, and red.

For the first time in what felt like forever, your fight or flight switched gears to fight. You weren't entirely sure why, because you were crying and holding back vomit like your life depended on it, but you raced around your room to gather anything you could to staunch the bleeding. Every breathe you took overwhelmed you with the smell of blood, that familiar metallic scent of iron or pennies, but you couldn't breathe through your mouth.

If you opened your mouth, you were surely going to lose all the food you'd eaten for dinner. All you could think of was your sister. You thought of what she would have done, and you knew that you were making the right choice in helping him. She would never have left him to fend for himself. Most of all, though, you thought of your sister and how you hadn't stopped her from dying, and you couldn't do that again.

You couldn't let another person die as a result of your actions. You couldn't, and you wouldn't. So, you worked hard and fast through all your crying to patch Peter up as best as you could. Nothing needed stitches as far as you could tell, but nearly every inch of his skin was broken with some form of scrape, scratch, or cut.

It was messy, and by the time you finished you were pretty sure you had more of Peter's blood on your skin and clothes than he had on himself. He was asleep, or unconscious, you weren't entirely sure. What you were sure of, though, was that the sun was rising and he needed to leave. You needed him to get out, both for the sake of your mentality and your parents'.

So, you jabbed your fingers into his shoulder and hissed, "Wake up!"

He awoke frantically, his eyes snapping open and his body lurching upright as he looked around in a panic. "Get away--(Y/N)? What... What am I doing here? Where am I?" he stammered, slumping back onto the floor with a wince as he continued to scan his surroundings in confusion.

"You're in my bedroom, Parker, and I don't know why. You showed up covered in blood and begging for help." you grumbled in annoyance. "You need to go. It's almost morning."

He blinked in surprise, glancing out your window to see the early hints of dawn on the horizon. "I, uh, I'm... I'm sorry. I don't remember coming here." he mumbled, "Woah, did I hurt you? Oh my God, I hurt you, I'm so--"

"This is your blood, Peter." you growled, cutting off his frenzied rambling as he finally caught sight of the red stains all over your body. "Get out."

He stared at you with parted lips, eyes wide with panic and apprehension. "Are you crying?" he finally asked, his voice timid.

It took you a moment to realize that, yes, you were in fact crying. You hadn't realized that the tears were still flowing from your eyes, but as you did the adrenaline wore off and you choked out through a sob, "Get out! Get out of here, Peter!"

Without the adrenaline pumping through your veins to keep you grounded, the emotion of the entire situation caught up to you. All the fear, anguish, guilt, and anxiety--it all washed over you in an instant and you were losing it. But, you were also angry. You were angry with Peter for putting you in that position.

You were angry that he'd show up, barely alive and begging for your help, when he knew somewhat of what you'd been through. He knew, at the very least, that your sister's death was on your hands, and he put you in a position to put another name on that list. Most of all, though, you were angry that already all of your worst fears were thrown in your face.

Peter wasn't your friend, but some part of you wanted him to be, and already you were faced with the prospect of him dying and you being helpless to stop it. Why was the universe so cruel to you? Were you cursed? It was all a sick, twisted joke, and you wanted no part of it.

"(Y/N), what's wrong--"

You cried, "Just, please, go. I'll see you at school, okay? Just go!"

And, after a moment of hesitation, he went. He climbed out of your window from where he watched you for another minute longer, clearly unwilling to leave you alone in such a state. Peter watched wordlessly as you fumbled to close and latch the window, until you shut the curtains and shut him out again.

Peter Parker: i'm so sorry

Peter Parker: please be okay

Peter Parker: i better see you at school tomorrow or i'm coming back to check on you

Peter Parker: or today i guess

SERIES TAGLIST {ask to be added}:

@msmimimerton @zendayasfwb

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astheravensighs · 4 years

Text

[Double Dark and Darker]

Gray meets Dazai for the first time, and things go as well as you would expect.

"Um," Gray almost whispered, tugging on Chuuya's sleeve gently. "Who is that..?"

Chuuya followed her gaze to the benches along the sides of the abandoned stadium, spotting a familiar pair of eyes watching them both like a mischievous hawk. Legs crossed and body bent forward in rapt fascination of the new addition to their equation.

"Ah. That's Dazai. He's…" Chuuya paused thoughtfully, if not slightly bitterly. "Well, let's use the word friend." He glanced back over at her and saw the same confusion as before she asked. "Just- he's not gonna hurt you. He's just watching. You can… trust him." He felt his throat sting, briefly thankful he was out of earshot. Gray kept her eyes on the distant figure. "He doesn't seem safe," she stated, retreating farther into the too-big coat he'd lent her. Chuuya choked down the embarrassment of showing his least favorite person his soft side and leaned down to her height.

"Hey," He said softly, waiting until her eyes met his own. "I've never once given you a reason not to trust me, right?" She hesitated, but slowly nodded. "Right. I promised I would keep you safe. I know for a fact he's not a threat," He stood back up to his full height and puffed out his chest a little bit. "But even if he was, I'd kill him before he ever got near you." "K-kill him?" "Or, uh- I'd knock him out, y'know," His posture deflated as he tried to backpedal his accidentally fearsome persona.

Watching curiously, elbow on his knee and chin resting on the back of his hand, Dazai couldn't help but grin a little bit. Chuuya was going soft. As funny as it was, he felt a certain responsibility to stop the odd change clearly taking place in his psyche. His rival should be his equal. Seeing him distracted, giving in to his overwhelming protective instinct, was irritating. Unfortunately, he found himself being affected too.

This little girl was barely shoulder height to his tiny ex-partner and probably jumped every time he coughed. Her eyes were colorless, no blue or green or brown at all. Just gray. He wondered briefly if Chuuya had given her the uncreative name based on her eyes. The clothes she was wearing he recognized- they were Chuuya's. They fit him when he was maybe 17 (and honestly, probably still did) but they completely enveloped her, and he recognized the way she retreated into it as if it was a bulletproof shield.

He could read her like a picture book. Everything about her, from the way she held her arms to her chest as she walked to the way her eyes darted around to assess every threat, screamed out to him one word- pitiful. And as much as he was a monster, and as much as he hated to admit it, Dazai had some human left in him, and that humanity was screaming for him to protect her too.

"A-anyway, y'know why we're here, right? I'd like to teach you some self defense stuff." Gray gave Chuuya a look that was equal parts fear for her own safety, and fear for his. He gave her a reassuring smile and took a few steps back. "Just outta curiosity, to see what I'm working with," He spread his arms out, completely opening up his abdomen, unguarded. "Try just a punch or something. Right here," He gestured to his stomach.

Gray looked down at her hand, clenching and unclenching her fist for a few seconds, before meeting his eyes again, eyebrows pushed together with worry. "But what if I… hurt you?"

An absolute guffaw from the sidelines startled her, drawing both participants' gazes. Dazai was attempting to stifle the giggles spilling out of him, eliciting a sigh from his 'friend'.

"Ignore him."

Gray gave him one last look before turning her eyes back to her protector, trying to ignore the redness she felt burning her ears.

"Just a punch. I promise you won't hurt me. You really, really won't," He insisted.

A few moments of silence and stillness as Gray takes a breath, calming her nerves, rattled by this simple task. She clenches her fist again, and forces it forwards, shutting her eyes and hoping for the best.

As the backs of her fingers make contact with the threads of Chuuya's vest, they all but rolled off, only creating a soft 'thud', and throwing her off balance. "Oh, woah-" Chuuya sputtered, not sure what he was expecting, but knowing it wasn't… that. He steadied her before she fell, withdrawing his hands quickly, remembering how she'd flinched at his touch the day before. He could almost feel the heat emanating from her cheeks in shame.

"…Okay, let's try again."

She turned to face him again, head tilted, still uncomfortable voicing her questions, but knowing he knew what she was asking.

"No, you didn't hurt me. I swear," He reassured, adding only in his own thoughts, 'You almost hurt yourself'.

He gave her the most encouraging smile he could, approaching her slowly. "Let me show you how to do it," He offered, reaching out to guide her before stopping- "Can I touch your hands?" She nodded and braced her skittish instincts as his gloved fingers barely brushed her own. Ignoring the alarms in her head as they began to scream at her to run, she watched carefully as he gently pushed her fingers into a proper fist.

"Chuuya, I think she's more of a visual learner, you know?" a singsong voice from behind them earned a small yelp from the already wary girl, as Chuuya whipped around to face it.

"Oi, you're supposed to stay back-" "I know, I know," Dazai interrupted him with a dismissive wave of his hand. "But I know how to demonstrate much better." "Dazai!" Chuuya watched him as he circled around him, holding out a protective arm to shield the now very uncomfortable girl behind him. "I told you-" He began, but was interrupted as Dazai pulled his own fist back, meeting the scared, colorless eyes peeking out at him. "Watch this carefully!"

Dazai knew Chuuya's guard was focused entirely on protecting his little fosterling, and not on his own safety. So as his fist struck the smaller man's abdomen, there was a look of disbelief on his face that Dazai reveled in as he followed through, putting all of his force behind the motion of his arm, sending Chuuya's body directly into the wall behind him with a disturbing 'crack'.

A moment passes completely silent as Chuuya's back slid the few feet down the wall to impact the rough dirt. Taking a second the shake off the shock, he gaped at the blood now dripping from his forehead, off his chin, staining his clothes. Steeling his glare, he moved to get up, to retaliate, to- Shit, he needed to get /her/ away first- But as he looked back up, the fire in his eyes faded.

Dazai had already seen what he was only just now seeing, already turning to face it. A shadowy mass of tendrils and dark smoke was taking over the spot Gray had just been. A low growl, rising in tone and intensity, echoed through the stadium, but was directed right at Dazai, who just couldn't help his own shit-eating grin. He saw the attachment between them. He knew there was potential hidden beneath that timid exterior. He knew she wasn't created in a lab, researched and studied and hidden away for years, just to turn out useless. He KNEW there was something to her, and he knew how to find out what. And as she stared him down with smoke and shadow where her eyes used to be, he felt no fear. He had no reason to. His ability was a nullifying get-out-of-jail free card, so to speak. And the satisfaction he felt from a successful plan almost outweighed the rumbling in his chest as the growling got louder.

"You know," he turned to fully face her. "You're cute when you're mad."

The growl turned into a roar as the mass of shadows lurched backwards, rearing up like an angry stallion, before careening back towards him. He lazily outstretched his hand, letting his ability activate, but it was for nothing.

The enraged, shadowy creature that was once a girl charged into him, almost through him, and out of the dark mist emerged a hand, black as night, balled into a fist so tight the claw-like nails dug into a bleeding palm. The limb was barely visible as it rocketed directly into Dazai's outstretched palm.

For just a moment, time seemed to slow down for the two men as they simultaneously understood what was happening, what was about to happen. Chuuya's face was pure, unfiltered shock and awe. Mouth open, eyes wide, mind reeling- but Dazai's face was something that he'd later come to treasure. He'd relive this moment in his mind a hundred times, seeing the image of Dazai's cocky smirk suddenly shifting to shock, the corners of his mouth dropping, his eyes refocusing- this isn't right… My ability..!- and then contorting to fear, his teeth gritting and eyebrows high. This beautiful scene only lasted a fraction of a second before the fist against his hand ignored the blue glow of his nullification ability and continued its destructive path directly into his chest, sounding a loud "CRACK" as his ribs buckled from the force, body suddenly being wrenched into the same trajectory as the leading arm, rocketing hard into the wall right next to the wide eyed man he'd dropped just seconds before.

A hush fell over all three of them as the dark smoke began to fade from the outstretched limb, revealing the shoulders, the neck, then the face of a very scared, very small girl. There were tears in her eyes and her every limb was shaking like a scared puppy. As soon as her mouth was visible she was talking, almost chanting, "I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry-" The rest of her body came into view as the darkness evaporated into the air like a lifting fog and she collapsed to her knees, sobbing and apologizing to Dazai, to Chuuya, to herself.

Chuuya pushed down the shock- maybe even fear- trying to keep him frozen and wrenched himself off the ground, ignoring the equally astonished body leaning next to him. With some effort he lifted his own limbs to scramble over to the sobbing mess on the ground, unsure of what entirely to do.

"Hey, hey, hey-- Are you okay? Are you- Look at me, please?" She couldn't stop the shame that escaped from her throat and turned into wails but she did meet his eyes with hers. She could see the surprise in his face, but she could also see concern- for her. Before she could look down again he caught her chin with his fingers- gently- and tried to think of what to say.

"Hey… I'm proud of you."

The four words overtook her thoughts like a wildfire. How long had she waited to hear that? Longer than she'd been alive. Proud of her. He was proud… of her. She did something good. Even though her whole body ached, her mind was reeling, and her wrist felt broken, she couldn't help the confused, blissful smile that crept up to her face. Then her head fell forward again, and her body slumped, unconscious, into Chuuya's arms.

(thank u for reading <3)

#otp: double dark and darker #gray’s original #gray’s writing #s/i: gray valentine

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vesuviannights · 5 years

Note

Hi~ I just found your blog and I love it! Could I request Valerius x trans!reader (ftm) (if you're comfortable) using prompt #12 ( “you’re so hugging my cock so nicely, i don’t want to move just yet.” ) thank you if you do!!

Hello my wonderful anon 🖤 I hope you are still around, and I’m sorry that I didn’t get this to you as soon as I wanted. I always talk about wanting to create content for all types of people, and I wanted to be absolutely certain that what I was giving in this situation was not only fabulously hot, but also fabulously respectful and accurate.

I chose to write this with a ftm trans reader (top surgery, not bottom, male pronouns) in mind, and I hope this is what you were after. For the penetration parts, I have not specifically referred to a front or back hole, so you can enjoy yourself and imagine either!

I’m a little nervous and truly do hope that it is enjoyed by all, because I most certainly enjoyed writing it.

Valerius/You. Trans!reader (ftm). Lemon.

After using you as a cockwarmer for hours and ignoring every attempt you made to convince him otherwise, Valerius finally gives his good boy the reward you deserve. Lots of verbal praise and worship, while still containing the standard filthy level of dirty talk you would expect from me.

“Mmmm, you’re hugging my cock so nicely, little one. So warm and wet around me. Have you always been so perfect, such a good boy?”

Valerius sighs into your neck, a long and drawn out sound that seeps into the end of every nerve in your body, that you can just barely hear shaking in its last few moments—or perhaps that is just your wishful thinking.

You keen, so quietly, at the feel of being stretched around the base of his cock, at it being seated so completely inside of you. You want so desperately for him to move, and you have been begging in every way you know without your words—shifting your hips, squeezing his cock, letting out soft little mewls—but he has refused you each and every time.

And this time is no different. He smiles into your neck and releases another content sigh at your frustration. His lips are a little cracked from the warm day, dragging along your pulse as he begins yet another trail along the underside of your jaw while he speaks to you.

“Such a good pet who deserves all the pleasure I can give him…but I don’t want to move just yet.”

He is merciful, though, and he seems to know that you are growing restless and you need something to placate you. He drags his fingertips through your hair as you lean back against his chest, then flattens his palms and smooths them down over your neck, your shoulders, your scarred chest and down still, taking in every inch of your warmth.

You reach back, slow and unsure, to slide your fingers into his hair. He tenses against you, always so particular about his hair, but it is something he has grown to love you doing, especially when you are pulling just enough to guide him when he fucks you with his mouth and tongue, or when you are tugging softly to tell him without words yes, or thank you, or I love you.

You feel him twitch inside of you, reminding you of the frustrating stretch of him and the even more maddening knowledge of his resolve, that he hasn’t fucked you in all the time he has been inside of you despite every one of your best efforts.

Though perhaps you hadn’t truly been putting in your best efforts, enjoying the torture of it just a fraction more than the frustration. He has held you like this, been buried completely inside of you for so long, hours maybe, while he has worked and held you and sighed into your neck. You could never quite tell which you enjoyed the more—the euphoria of your release exactly when you want it, or the warmth that flushed your entire body when he called you his good boy for doing exactly as he asked and making him so happy.

“Do you want me to move, little one?”

You feel him smile into your shoulder, or maybe it’s finally one of his trademark smirks finally breaking through. You whine in response, and it is a little brattier and far more desperate than you had intended.

There can never be another one for me quite as glorious as you, he had murmured to you when he had first nudged the head of his cock against you, when he had asked to be warmed by you while he read his papers for the evening.

He had promised to reward you, call you his good pet, his good boy, praise you for your warmth and marvel at your body, but now—so many hours later, twitching and shuddering around him and only wanting him to move—you are struggling to see the light at the end of that tunnel.

Every kiss, every brush of his fingertips, feels like an electric shock of white-hot need jolting through you. He has a map to your body—every proud and wondrous inch of it—ingrained in his fingertips, to be used only at his whim and pleasure.

With that map, he could very well drag out your frustration and torture until dawn breaks the city—and by gods if you weren’t a desperate, pathetic mess in his hands who would very much let him.

“Well?” He asks. A familiar edge has lilted his voice, one that makes something inside of you stir, the part that recognises his different tones and the promises they bring. “Shall I move, little one? Have you been a good boy?”

You nod, and he shifts beneath you, giving you the first iota of movement in so long; you swallow a whimper, but that only stirs something inside of him.

“Don’t ever hide from me,” he murmurs quietly into your shoulder. “No sounds, no sighs, no words. All of you is mine, a gift I will take and devour without question, understood?”

You nod again, he lifts his head to press his nose into your hair.

And then he begins moving.

It is so slow at first so as not to startle you, to make sure you are still adjusted around him, slick and ready to stretch and squeeze his cock. His hands are on your hips, steadying you, holding you there so he can thrust in and out at a slow, intimate pace. Every thrust comes with a groan, a murmur of your name, something to tell you how good it feels.

“Do need more of me, more of my cock?” He croons to you. “I want you to take all of it, I need to fuck every inch of your insides until you are screaming out for the entire city to hear.”

You think you answer him—something definitely falls from your lips, a whisper, a babble, a plea—but it must not be the right thing because suddenly he is shifting you, pulling out of you despite your whining protests.

You feel almost painfully empty after warming his cock for so long, but he moves you quickly to lay back down along the bed, murmuring for you to be patient, giving reassurances that he will fill you with his glorious cock once again if only you wait a moment longer.

From his position above you, strands of his braid coming loose as it falls over his shoulder, he looks you over. You are a wondrous gift spread out below him, your cheeks flush with your arousal, bottom lip caught between your teeth as you run your hands down your chest. His lips crook as he follows the action, giving you a smile no one but you has ever been allowed to see—all the way to his eyes, a true smile without a hint of malice or disgust.

“You made it so hard for me,” he tells you, tilting his head to watch the uneven rise and fall of your chest. “So wondrous, hugging my cock so nicely while I worked, keeping it warm just the way I like, tempting me to fuck you every time you squeezed around me. I want to reward you for being so good, and yet punish you for being so tempting. Which do you think you deserve, little one?”

You swallow, your words catching in your throat for a few seconds before you answer.

“I want you to fuck me,” you say. It’s another whine, one you don’t bother to disguise. Valerius lifts an eyebrow at you.

“That wasn’t what I asked.”

“I deserve to be fucked!” Your fists bunch the sheets as you say it, pressing your hips up toward where his cock is bobbing between you. “I was a good boy, a good pet, I warmed your cock for so long and I didn’t move once. Please! Please fuck me, reward me for being good!”

Seeming satisfied with your words, he shifts forward and reaches down to between your legs, just his fingertips and with barely-there brushes exactly where you want him. His cock—hot, twitching, shining with the mess of you both and the lubricant he had applied—lays against your inner thigh, and he thrusts lazily against it as he leans over your body and kisses you.

“I do so love it when you use your words,” he murmurs against your lips. “I think it is definitely time for your reward.”

And then he is pushing back into you, swallowing every moan and sigh as he begins to fuck you, groaning as you squeeze and contract around him, as the hardness of his body moves and sinks into yours

“My love,” he groans into your neck, a shaking edge to his voice. “My little one, my good boy—will you moan for me? Will you scream? Do you want to squeeze and milk my cock with that tight, wet little hole? Earn it, you must earn it, let me hear you scream my name for all to hear.”

And the door is open, and perhaps even if you weren’t insane with lust and from your need to come, and perhaps even if he wasn’t fucking you to within an inch of your life and making you delirious every time the head of his cock hit that perfect spot…perhaps you still would have done it.

“AH! Val—Valerius—FUCK—”

“Tell me how good it feels, little one. Tell me how much you love me fucking that tight little hole.”

You do.

“Scream for me.”

Oh, you do.

He croons to you, pushing your hair back from your face as he does. “What a good boy I have pinned and writhing beneath me. Now…let’s give you your final reward.”

He drops his hips, the angle of his cock changing, the head of him dragging along your insides in long, slow pulls that make you feel like you could sob. His hand moves down to find you between your legs, moving in sure and certain touches, his lips whispering praises into your ear as he works you to your orgasm.

And when you come, you feel already so exhausted, and it crashes over you in shivering waves, your eyes closed, Valerius taking your bottom lip between his teeth to suckle gently.

You moan his name like a mantra, your tongue rolling over and over until it’s barely a whisper, until you barely have the breath to give it and you must stop, because you know if forced to choose between breathing and whispering his name, you would not survive the hour.

He pulls out of you when you settle beneath him, your muscles melting back into the lounge, your lids heavy in your daze. His eyes are dark and raking you over as he takes himself in his hand, grunting softly as he fucks it and fucks it until he is coming all over it in jerking movements that stiffen his jaw and rattle his entire body. Some of his seed spills out of his hand and onto your stomach and you moan softly at the sight, still too greedy for any mark of his to be on your body, even in such a sated state.

Exhaling in a long, shaking breath, Valerius drops back to his hands and knees, covering you with his body while he nuzzles into your neck.

“I’m so proud of you,” he tells you. His voice is that wonderful, soft caress he always prefers to give you after he has been mean to you, or after he has made you really earn your reward. “But I think you almost did your job too well as my cockwarmer.”

You smile and stretch out beneath him at the praise. He nips at your earlobe before pushing himself back and onto his feet. After wiping his hand on his robe he slips it into yours, taking the other to your hip, and helps you to your feet.

“Are you ready for bed?” He asks. You shake your head, and he takes the chance to capture your chin between his fingers, his gaze tracing the curve of your lips as he smirks. “Excellent. I’ll draw us a bath to clean you up,” he pauses, seemingly for dramatic effect, then gives you a look that has you shaking. “Then we can discuss my plans for you in our bedroom. Perhaps a good few hours of orgasm denial will finally sate my need for you.”

And then he sweeps you toward the bath, your half-hearted protests and full-hearted moans lost to the sounds of the water crashing as it fills the tub.

#claire speaks #smutty drabble game #writing #valerius #trans reader (ftm)#anon #valerius x reader #lemon

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megaphonemonday · 5 years

Note

You're an amazing writer who does wonderful things with these characters! If you're looking for prompt ideas, how about a semantics issue w/ the twins telling someone that their aunt and uncle got married? Or Mike and Evelyn sibling cuteness?

Thank you!! That’s really sweet of you to say❤️ I’m playing a little mix and match with this one because @monkshoodr also asked for Mike’s first day as a WAG. I hope you enjoy this!

This fits post-the moral comments of the neighbors and the long game but works as a stand-alone.

some kick-ass to it | read on ao3

In theory, children, no matter how well behaved, were not allowed in the Padres Suite. The Padres Suite and its perfect view of the field was the realm of bigwigs and owners and the WAGs who didn’t have offspring to supervise. The ones who did could “enjoy” the family room down off the clubhouse.

In practice, Evelyn Sanders did not care.

She was no fool. She knew that leaving her two thirteen-year-olds—God, she was the mother of teenagers; how messed up was that?—unattended in a Major League stadium, even in the shelter of the Padres family room with its dedicated attendants/babysitters, was a recipe for disaster. Her boys might not be typical troublemakers, they made sure not to ever get caught at the least, but Evelyn wasn’t about to give them more leeway than they deserved.

They could work and scheme for their chances at mischief the way Evelyn had. It would build character or something.

Anyway, it was Opening Day. Marcus and Gabe deserved to see their dad take the field from the best seats in the house. Plus, it wasn’t every day that they got to skip school and watch their honorary aunt pitch in her first home opener.

If they got into trouble up here, at least she’d know what it was right away.

That was her intention, anyway.

Of course, Evelyn’s vision of trouble was pretty tame. She knew her boys; maybe they’d spill something on the new carpeting or demolish the appetizer spread in an effort to fill the yawning abysses of their stomachs. At worst, their newly gangly limbs would send them crashing into something and there’d be a spot of property damage. She could handle that. Evelyn herself had done much worse, not that she’d ever let them know that.

What she hadn’t imagined, though, was that the twins would entangle the General Manager of the San Diego Padres in their nonsense.

She really shouldn’t have underestimated them.

She also probably shouldn’t have taken her eyes off of them, not even for a second. However, she’d been a little distracted by Mike Lawson swaggering out onto the field to make his first ceremonial pitch as a retired man. Evelyn had promised Ginny she’d have a full report on his performance after the game, and she intended to keep her word.

Watching from the outdoor deck, Ev had an excellent view of Mike’s delivery to Blip—a little high, but nothing to be embarrassed over… if he weren’t an ex-professional athlete; as it was, Evelyn planned to roast him mercilessly for failing to execute an easy fastball in the zone at the first possible opportunity—and the manful hug they shared out on the mound before posing for pictures. Evelyn didn’t bother trying to get a picture of her own; it definitely paid to be friendly with the team photographer.

She turned to head back inside only to run straight into Oscar Arguella, Gabe and Marcus trailing—guiltily if she wasn’t entirely off base, and Evelyn Sanders never was—along behind him. Casting a cursory, critical eye over the Padres General Manager for any sign of foul play, she offered him a semi-apologetic smile.

“I hope these two aren’t getting underfoot.”

Her teenagers rolled their eyes, but Oscar just laughed, flashing a pearly white smile. If he didn’t hold the entirety of her husband’s future and career in his strong, manicured hands, Evelyn would probably like him more. She'd always had a weakness for a pretty face, and his face was one of the prettiest. Also, she’d seen pictures of Arguella back in his playing days; he’d been a fan of a snug fit to say the least.

“No, no,” he assured, tucking his phone into his breast pocket. His hands seemed strangely empty without it. “We were just talking about the wedding. I didn’t realize Blip had a sister.”

“He doesn’t,” she replied. Then, as the rest of his words sank in, Evelyn froze. Just for a fraction of a second, but a pause nonetheless. “Wedding?”

Oscar didn’t bat one long, naturally curled eyelash. “Your boys said their aunt got married over the offseason? It must have been your sister. Congratulations.”

“Thank you,” she murmured, eagerly smoothing over the fact that her own sister had been married for three years already. The only offseason wedding any of the Sanderses cared about, they hadn’t even been invited to. Not that Ev harbored any lingering bitterness over that. Both of her sons sheepishly avoided her suspicious glance. Evelyn smiled, resisting the urge to drag her boys away by the ears. “That’s so nice of you to say.”

Oscar smiled, polite as ever, but he was already reaching for his phone again. He glanced at the screen and excused himself, leaving Evelyn and her progeny alone.

Without her even having to say anything, they both started babbling out excuses and accusations.

“It wasn’t my fault! Marcus—”

“Gabe was totally the one who—”

“—said he was sick of looking at wedding pictures! I didn’t do anything!”

“—told him it was our aunt, like that made it any better! And you did, too, you liar!”

“Enough.” Evelyn didn’t even need to raise her voice for her teenagers to fall silent, and not just because they knew to listen to their mother. On the one hand, it was a little comforting to know her boys couldn’t keep a secret if their lives depended on it. On the other, who had even raised them? “I told you very specifically not to tell anyone about that wedding. And what did you two nearly do?”

“Tell someone about the wedding,” they mumbled in that funny twin-sync they still sometimes channeled.

“Exactly. Now if you can’t follow directions, then—”

They were saved from the rest of her threat by the entrance of Mike Lawson into the suite. Marcus and Gabe took their chance and made a quick escape. Their mother didn’t stop them; she had other fish to fry.

Even at a solidly over-the-hill age—Ginny’d cackled a few years ago when she’d ordered his birthday cake with Over the Hill You Go piped across it in cheery blue; since Evelyn had wheedled a firsthand account of the ways in which Ginny had eventually made up for that dig, she didn’t feel all that bad for thinking it now—and with his career firmly behind him, Mike Lawson knew how to command a room.

In all his years as a Padre, he couldn’t have had much occasion to come up to the suites, let alone watch a game from one, but that didn’t stop him from looking utterly at home as he greeted his former teammates’ wives and girlfriends and parents. He cheerfully chatted, looking more at ease in retirement than anyone who knew him would have expected.

Of course, no one who knew him knew the source of that ease quite as well as Evelyn Sanders.

Leisurely, like he hadn’t spotted Evelyn when he first walked in, Mike made his way through the room, drifting closer and closer to the balcony where she waited impatiently.

“Ev,” he greeted, jovial enough in spite of the wicked glint in his eye. He was up to something, and Evelyn was pretty sure she didn’t like it.

“Mike,” she said anyway, bussing an air kiss to his cheek. “The boys almost spilled the beans.”

His smile didn’t drop, but he did dart a quick glance around the room. Oscar hovered several feet away, but only offered a distracted smile and nod. Since his attention was all on his phone call and he hadn’t gone apoplectic with surprise, it was a safe bet that Mike and Ginny’s news was still safely contained. “They did, huh? I thought you told them it was a secret.”

“Of course I did,” she returned, waspish. Like she would be so careless.

“Then you must be slipping, Ev,” Mike teased, his shoulders dropping an inch as he forced himself to relax. His grin was lopsided and, yes, Evelyn could admit, at least a little charming. She didn’t get the appeal for herself, but if it worked for Ginny... “Didn’t quite put the fear of God in them this time around.”

“It’s not my fault they need the fear of God in the first place. I mean, who had to go and get hitched without telling anyone?” Evelyn muttered out of the side of her mouth. She didn’t huff and cross her arms over her chest, but that was only because she didn’t want to crease this blouse; the silk was delicate and it was such a pain to iron.

Mike had no such reservations. His arms crossed and he frowned around the suite, dropping the prodigal son act. Still, there was no mistaking the twinkle in his eye when he muttered back, “C’mon, Ev. It’s not the ‘anyone’ that annoys you. It’s the ‘you.’”

“You’re damn right, Lawson,” she bit out. “I should’ve been at my best friend’s wedding.”

“I’m flattered.”

His shit-eating grin faltered when her elbow dug into his ribs, hard. “Don’t be. If Ginny weren’t so happy with her small, island wedding and the husband she got out of it, I’d have no problem teaching you some manners.”

“I think I’m past saving there.”

“Tell me about it,” she muttered, earning an eye roll from Mike. If he wasn’t careful, his face was gonna stick that way. It’d be so much easier to convince Ginny to leave him. Just so Evelyn could plan the wedding that her best friend deserved, of course. Because not even an unfortunate facial tic was going to be enough to permanently keep Ginny Baker and Mike Lawson apart.

Mike nudged her, far softer than she’d done to him. Lowering his voice as a few more Padres family members circulated out to the deck as the count to the first pitch wound down, he said, “You know we would’ve had you there if we could’ve. It wasn’t like we planned it this way.”

Evelyn would have to beg to differ.

She had seen the proposal pictures. (Every last one of them, which was the only way she’d allowed herself to even begin to be mollified when they broke the news.)

The pretty landscapes of pristine sand and sparkling water in Mike’s camera roll quickly gave way to his favorite subject: Ginny. Ginny laughing as she splashed through the waves. Ginny clutching her sunhat as an errant breeze threatened to toss it down the beach. Ginny shocked as Mike’s hand entered the frame, holding an unmistakable light blue box. Ginny turned away from the camera as she fought off tears, her hands pressed to her lips, incidentally showing off a gorgeous oval-cut diamond.

Then, of course, there was the slew of selfies where she pressed kiss after kiss to Mike’s dazed, elated, bearded face.

Ginny’d taken the phone back before Evelyn could get to anything really good.

(”You asked for the proposal, Ev,” Ginny had laughed, using her long arms to beat her friend at keep-away, “not what came after!”

“I don’t care about you and Mike getting frisky,” she’d replied, mostly truthfully. “Now, show me the goddamn wedding pictures, Ginny.”)

Based on the time stamps, there were less than three hours between the proposal and Mike and Ginny walking out of some tiny Hawaiian chapel as husband and wife.

They looked good. Better than good. Happier than Evelyn had ever seen either of them, and she’d watched them win a World Series.

Still, she wasn’t going to budge on the real sticking point.

“You should’ve told me what you were going to do the minute you knew.”

“You were still pretending not to know Ginny and I were even dating,” he pointed out, so mildly it made her blood boil.

Evelyn ignored him. “You knew that you were going to pop the question. Just like you knew there was no chance you were coming home without walking down the aisle first.”

He sighed but didn’t deny it. Rubbing a big hand through his beard, which he had yet to get rid of in spite of all of Evelyn’s dropped hints, Mike asked, “Blip told you what I said to him when he found out about me and Ginny and he accused me of trying to use her to relive my glory days, didn’t he?”

“No,” she said, stubborn. Evelyn absolutely did know, but she wanted to hear Mike say it.

“I told him I wasn’t just sleeping with her.” Mike’s gaze had gone a bit hazy, a half smile playing over his mouth. “Just a minute with her was better than the best game I ever played, every homer I ever hit. And the minute she agreed, I was gonna marry her.”

Evelyn kept frowning.

Mike huffed, clearly expecting her to soften. Nice try, buddy, but Evelyn wasn’t the softie that her husband was. “It didn’t quite happen the minute she said yes—filling out a marriage license takes longer than you’d think—but I wasn’t gonna put it off if I didn’t have to. Besides, it wasn’t like Ginny was all that eager to wait, either.”

It was the way he thumbed at the discreet gold band on his left-hand ring finger, grinning sweetly behind that mountain man beard the whole time, that finally got Evelyn to melt. Just a little.

She was still annoyed, but she got it. She did. After all, she and Blip hadn’t exactly waited around to plan out a big, elaborate ceremony and reception. They couldn’t exactly afford it on a minor league salary and with two buns in the oven, but they didn’t really want to, either. They’d just wanted to be married, to start a life together.

“Fine,” she said, grudging even now. It wouldn’t do to have Mike thinking he could win her over this easily all the time. “I forgive you. But you’re still letting me plan the reception for whenever you two decide to come clean and you need to earn everyone else’s forgiveness.”

Mike chuckled. “Fair enough. Actually, I think that’ll be sooner than—”

The sudden uptick in noise all around the stadium should have been sign enough that something big was happening. Instead, Evelyn and Mike took a much quieter, if closer, cue.

“Oh, my word,” breathed Dusty’s mother, one hand flying up to her mouth.

Both Ev and Mike followed her gaze straight out to left field. More specifically, the Jumbotron towering above the second deck. There, blown up for all of Petco Park to see, was Ginny Baker taking the mound for the Padres home opener.

Only, she wasn’t just Ginny Baker anymore.

Crowded across her back, almost too many letters to fit, was her new name.

BAKER-LAWSON

As one, nearly every eye in the suite turned to the grantor of that second name on Ginny Baker’s jersey.

Mike Lawson just stood there, looking smug as hell. He didn’t quite tip his cap to the camera blowing his face up on the Jumbotron, but it was a near thing.

A polite smattering of applause broke through the Padres suite, punctuated by a few calls of “Congratulations!”

Oscar, on the other hand, looked anything but congratulatory. He abruptly ended his call, staring blankly out at the screen. His handsome features were arranged in something approaching a smile, though the fact that his face was also rapidly turning purple didn’t do much to project an aura of calm confidence. Clearly, he was struggling not to blow a gasket. Evelyn could almost sympathize. He pivoted to face Mike, the movement as slow and controlled as his smile was strained.

“Care to explain?” he asked, probably cursing the missed opportunities for PR more than anything else.

“Not much to explain. That’s my wife,” was Mike’s only response. He shrugged and looked away, but the proud, elated grin on his face made it pretty hard to pull off nonchalance.

Oscar closed his eyes, no doubt running through some kind of calming technique that only almost worked. At the very least, when he opened his eyes again, his color had become far less concerning. Probably because he accepted defeat. He shook his head as he turned from Mike, writing him off as a lost cause.

Naturally, his gaze fell right on Evelyn.

“Your sister’s wedding?” he sighed, sounding far too put-upon for a man who still looked the way he did.

Evelyn smiled, not even halfway apologetic this time, and shrugged. Oscar just shook his head again and went back inside, no doubt to start up the spin machine of the team’s PR office.

At her side, Mike snorted. “Does that make me your brother-in-law now?”

Her nose wrinkled as she thought the proposition over. Mike was too cool a customer to fidget as he waited, but Evelyn knew how to push his buttons as well as any sister could.

She hummed thoughtfully. “I guess there are worse things you could be.”

“Like what?” He grinned, and it really wasn’t such a wonder that Ginny was absolutely gone for him. Mike could be downright charming when he wanted.

“Competition,” Ev replied bluntly. “Don’t think that just because you were a Padre yourself that you have a leg up on me in elections for President of the WAGs’ charitable organization.”

“That doesn’t sound very inclusive,” he mused, smirk tucked into the corner of his mouth. Scratch everything Evelyn had thought about Mike’s charm. “Shouldn’t it be W-silent-H-AGs now?”

“Like you’d settle for anything silent,” she jabbed.

Mike barked out a laugh. “Fair point. What if we just agreed to be co-presidents? We could run this town, Ev.”

“It’s cute,” she said, patronizing and loving the sour twist it gave his face, “that you think I don’t already, Lawson.”

Still, she’d think about it. There were probably worse people to have as her right hand than Mike Lawson.

And after all, they were pretty much family.

#Anonymous #bawson #bawson fic #pitch #pitch fic #long post #oh Evelyn #how i miss you and your wardrobe #and your inability to take shit from people

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godsheadangel · 4 years

Text

"THE HOLY💫HEAVENLY LAWS OF 👁GOD💫 YOU HAVE DISOBEYED SO FOR CENTURIES EVEN MORE SO IN THE LAST [6+ YEARS]

THAT HIS REAL BROTHERS IN HOLY SPIRIT KNOWN AS THE HEAD ANGEL KINGS👑👑 MERCY💫AND DEATH💀

WERE REVEALED UNTO THE WORLD🌎

YOU OF MANKIND [DID NOT] SO DESIRE TO ACKNOWLEDGE HIS REAL ANGELS AND YOU STILL TO THIS DAY [REFUSE] TO ACCEPT HOW CLOSE HIS POWERFUL BIGSIGN💫 IS UPON YOU LIVING IN HIS CREATED WORLD!!!

🌍🌎🌏🌍🌎🌏🌍🌎🌏🌍🌎🌏🌍🌎🌏🌍🌎

WHAT A SHAMEFUL DISAPPOINTMENT THE [BROWNSTARS]✔ HAVE BEEN LEADING ALL RACES OF MANKIND IN DISRESPECTING HIS HOLY💫PLANS AND HIS ANGEL BROTHERS EVEN WHEN THEY DID TO BLESS YOU FROM THE WHITE HOUSE FOR [8] LONG YEARS TO THE STREETS OF THE [CITY OF ANGELS😇]

THE WHITESTARS✔ AND DARKSTARS✔ DID SO ALSO DISRESPECT WITH GREAT FORCE WITH THE WHITESTARS ONLY A FRACTION AWAY FROM THE BROWNSTARS✔DOING [THEIR DIRT]👈 AGAINST HIS TWO ANGELS USING [EVIL DECEITFUL TACTICS] FROM WASHINGTON, DC.

NONETHELESS, TIME⏳IS NOW UPON ALL OF YOU FOR SURELY THOSE AWAKENED🌄

DO SO KNOW [ALL THE TRUTH] ABOUT THE REVEALING OF JESUS CHRIST✝ OUR SON RIGHT BEFORE THE WORLDWIDE BIGSIGN💫 AND THE GATHERING OF THE CHOSEN AND BLESSED ANGELQUEENS👑

WHO SHALL SO [CONCEIVE AND BIRTH✝] THE MOST POWERFUL BABYANGELS EVER😇😇😇😇😇😇😇😇😇😇😇😇😇😇😇😇😇

🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏

UNFORTUNATE AS IT IS IT IS TRUTH THAT THE BROWNSTARS✔ ARE CURRENTLY THE WORST RACE OF HUMANITY FOR SURELY YOU HAD THE OPPORTUNITY OF A LIFETIME TO HONOR OUR HEAD ANGEL BROTHER WHO HAD HOLY💫HEAVENLY💫ANSWERS AND REAL INCREDIBLE UNSEEN BLESSINGS FOR ALL OF MANKIND!!!

YET IT WAS NOT TO BE, FOR YOU CHOSE TO DO EVERYTHING YOU COULD DO PROVE THAT MY HOLY💫 HUSBAND✝ 👁GOD💫HAD [NO CONNECTION]TO MY BROTHER IN HOLY LAW💫THE HEAD ANGEL KING👑OF DEATH AS YOU [TORMENTED AND DISRESPECTED] 👉HIM FOR MANY YEARS👈

BUT NOW THE WHOLE WORLD🌎KNOWS OF YOUR [EVIL AND FOOLISH DECEITFULNESS] YOU [VOLUNTEERED AND DEDICATED] YOUR [EVIL LIVES] TO GO AGAINST THOSE WHO WERE SENT BACK INTO FLESH TO HELP YOU

EVEN THOUGH HEAVENLY REAL MIRACLES, [HEALINGS💫AND BLESSINGS] WERE GIVEN MANKIND MUST ASK ITSELF, WHO WOULD DO SUCH A THING FOR YEARS?

👉[[REAL DEMONS IN FLESH]]👈

FOR SURELY ANY NORMAL HUMAN BEING WOULD HAVE SURELY STOPPED🛑AFTER BEING 1ST WARNED BUT OVER 6+ YEARS [ESPECIALLY THE LAST 5+ YEARS!!!]

🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏

TRUST, I AM HER, KNOWN AS THE MOTHER OF HIM, JESUS CHRIST✝ KNOWN AS THE VIRGIN MARY✝ DO SPEAK IT TRUTH I SHALL NAME 12 NEW ANGELQUEENS WHO MOSTLY ARE [BROWNSTARS] TO REPRESENT THE SPIRITUALLY AWAKENED🌄 OBEDIENT💫 ONES OF YOU [BROWNSTARS] WHO HAVE ACKNOWLEDGED AND OBEYED OUR GOD💫👉[THEY SHALL REPRESENT THE GOOD] OF YOU BEFORE OUR HOLY💫ELDERS💫FROM PARTS OF HEAVEN💫UNKNOWN

🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏AND THEY SHALL BIRTH✝ BABYANGELS😇WHO SHALL REPRESENT THE RACE OF YOU THE GOOD IN THOSE OF YOU WITH FAITH💫 [MY BROWNSTARS ON ARMAGEDDON DAY]🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏

👇👇👇👇👇👇👇👇👇👇👇👇👇👇👇👇👇TRUST, I AM HER, HAVE NO SUCH POWER TO RELEASE THE TAG YOU HAVE EARNED THE 👉[WORST RACE IN🌎ALL OF HUMANITY]👈 EVEN IF I COULD I WOULD NOT FOR 👁GOD PLACED THE HEAD ANGEL OF DEATH💀 IN 💥[YOUR COMMUNITY FOR A REASON]💥

TO PROVE YOU WERE [THE BEST] BECAUSE THERE ARE SLIGHTLY MORE [BROWNSTAR] CHOSEN ANGELQUEENWIVES👑OR THAT YOU WERE [THE WORST] MORE PREJUDICE 👉THAN MOST RACES YOU TALK ABOUT👈

YOU PROVED TO BE THE LATTER IN FRONT OF [THE ENTIRE WORLD🌍]

👁GOD💫DID CHOOSE MORE BROWNSTAR ANGELQUEENS💜BLESSED MORE IN YOUR [BROWNSTAR COMMUNITIES] THAN ANY OTHERS [EVERYONE KNEW THIS] AND THIS IS HOW YOU SHOW PRAISES TO HEAVEN?

I SO AM HER, MARY MONET🙏GODS WIFE✝

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🌟5🌟VIRGINS😇ANGELS SHALL BE SO CHOSEN IN 2021 FOR IT WAS FORETOLD [2] YEARS AGO BY ME, I AM HE THY 👁GOD💫MY WORLDWIDE🌍CHAOSBIGSIGN💫SHALL HAPPEN LONG BEFORE THEY ARE CHOSEN

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IT IS DONE FOR THEY HAVE BEEN CHOSEN BY MY HEAVENLY💫HOLY💫QUEEN MARY✝ SHE SHALL CHOOSE NO MORE FOR YOUR GREAT SINS✔ AGAINST ME!!!

YET, I WILL REVEAL AND HONOR [4] TRULY WORTHY PYRAMID CRYSTAL QUEENS👑ON 👉GODSHEADANGEL1.POSTHAVEN.COM👈

FOR SURELY THEIR ANGEL QUEEN SISTER IN HOLY💫SPIRIT ELY.IVY HAS BEEN REVEALED ALREADY YET I WILL SHOW ALL [5] TODAY

KNOW THIS TRUTH ALL LIVING THE REAL THE LAST END OF DAYS IS HERE!!! I AM HE, THY LIVING 👁GOD💫SHALL PROVIDE [NO] MORE [PROOF] TO YOU FOR ALL HAS BEEN GIVEN!!!

👁GODCREATOROFALLMANKIND!!!

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10,000 DEMONS SHALL SURELY PERISH

FOR NOT BELIEVING IN ME, THY GOD💫

FOR GOING AGAINST MY HOLY💫PLANS

FOR GOING AGAINST MY HEAD ANGEL👑

FOR VOLUNTEERING TO DO EVILNESS!!!

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THE SUPREME COURT WILL RULE ON DACA IN JUNE 2020🇺🇸BEFORE THE ELECTION🇺🇸

WILL THE BROWNSTARS AWAKEN🌄AND START TO RESPECT GODS💫POWER, HIS HOLY💫PLANS AND WE HIS REAL ANGELS?

👉[1] VIDEO AND POOF SHIT GOES AWAY👈BUT YOU MOFO'S RATHER DISRESPECT MY GOD💫

THE WORLD🌍IS IN ITS LAST END DAYS!!! YOU DUMBASS MOFO'S ARE COSTING YOUR OWN PEOPLE!!! NO!!! I DON'T NEED NO PASS FROM DEMONS👹ITS FAR TOO LATE!!! OBEY MY REAL 👁GOD!!! HE MIGHT CHANGE!!!

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WHEN YOU'RE SPIRIT IS💫AWAKE🌄YOU 👈👉DON'T EVER DOUBT 👁GOD💫IF YOU DO YOU'RE ONLY HALF AWAKE🌄PRAY🙏2 HIM💓💓💓💓💓💓💓💓💓💓💓💓💓💓💓💓💓🤜🤜🤜🤜🤜🤜🤜💀💀💀🤛🤛🤛🤛🤛🤛🤛GODSAYS💫10,000 SHALL PERISH FOR IT IS WRITTEN AND SURELY ALL IN MY CREATED WORLD🌍SHALL HEAR OF IT BEING DONE!!! FOR I COMMAND ALL OF MY REAL ANGELS AND IT IS I WHOM SPEAK IT TRUTH!!!

SURELY YOU SINNED GREATLY AGAINST ME!!

LIKE THE REAL MIRACLES💫HEALINGS💫AND REAL BLESSINGS THE DEATH💀GIVEN SHALL BE REAL!!!

🤜🤜🤜🤜🤜🤜🤜💀💀💀🤛🤛🤛🤛🤛🤛🤛🤜💀44!!! CURACAO

[STANLEY] WORK SHIRT!!!

THE BROWNSTAR LADIES IN FRONT OF ME LOOKED FRIGHTEN THEY ARE SAFE!!! BUT THEY KNEW THE DEMON👹FUCKED UP!!! SURELY 👁GOD💫RAISED MY FIST🤜WITH ME!!!

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GODSAYS💫I AM ALPHA AND OMEGA THEE, CREATOR OF MANKIND [WILL SO WATCH] THEE FROM HOLY💫HEAVEN AND SURELY MONITOR ALL LIVING ON EARTH🌎DURING THESE [CHANGING TIMES] ESPECIALLY IN THE CITY OF VAN NUYS AND PANORAMA CITY FOR SURELY YOU GO AGAINST ME!!!

JUST LIKE I MADE MY BROTHER IN SPIRIT💫 GIVE UNTO YOU MIRACLES, HEALINGS AND BLESSINGS💫[AS I RAISED HIS HAND✋FOR [YEARS] TRUST FOR YOUR DISOBEDIENCE I AM NOW RAISING HIS FIST🤜OF DEATH TO ELIMINATE YOU EVIL👹DISOBEDIENT!!!

ANY DEMON👹FEMALE WHO ASKS A FOOL TO LOSE HIS LIFE PLAYING FOR HER TRUST SHE I SHALL GIVE [💀CERVICAL CANCER💀]

IT IS YOUR CHOICE [OBEY] OR SUFFER!!!

~I AM HE, CREATOR OF ALL MANKIND💫TRUST I HAVE EVERY RIGHT FOR I AM HE!!!

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GODSAYS💫TRULY STUNNING EYE OPENING TESTIMONY WITHOUT QUESTION TRULY IS IMPEACHABLE HARD FACTS AGAINST THE EVIL👹DEMONTRUMP👹

SEE GODSHEADANGEL.POSTHAVEN. COM

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THE UPSTAIRS DEMONS👹DEMON👹CHILD HAS NOW BEEN CURSED WITH A DEADLY DISEASE!!! NO I WASN'T SLEEP JUST SO TALKING TO 👁GOD💫WHO YOU JUST PISSED OFF!!!

📖📖📖📖📖📖JOB 1:21 KJV📖📖📖📖📖📖

📖AND SAID, NAKED CAME I OUT OF MY📖 MOTHER'S WOMB, AND NAKED SHALL I 📖 RETURN THITHER; THE LORD GAVE AND📖 THE LORD HATH TAKEN AWAY; BLESSED BE [THE NAME OF THE LORD.]

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GODS💫UNDERSTAND THAT I AM HE, THY LIVING 👁GOD💫HAVE SO CREATED ALL THAT YOU SEE AND DON'T SEE FOR SURELY EVERYTHING AND EVERYONE I OWN!!! TRUST I GIVE LIFE AND TAKE IT AWAY FOR I AM ALPHA AND OMEGA IT HAS ALWAYS BEEN THOSE THAT FEAR ME NOT SHALL KNOW MY WORKS AND FEEL MY WRATH!!!

🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏SUNDAY NOVEMBER [17TH] 0925HRS EST

FOR THE LORD GOD💫HAS SPOKEN OF IT MANY TIMES IN HOLY💫HEAVENLY💫SPIRIT TO ME, THAT OUR BROTHER👑IN SPIRIT💫

THE HEAD ANGEL KING👑OF MERCY💫SHALL SO TAKE HIS CHOSEN [8] REVEALED ELITE💕ANGEL😇QUEENS👑 SO [TIED] TO HIM BY 👁GOD💫HIMSELF CENTURIES AGO FOR SURELY THEY SHALL BE AWAKENED🌄

SPIRITUALLY💫THEN HONORED🙏 BEFORE ALL IN HOLY💫HEAVEN💫AND THE WORLD ALL [EIGHT] ELITEANGELQUEENS👑SHALL 👉SO BE NAMED ON DECEMBER 8TH 2019

THE ANOINTED HOLY💫HEAVENLY💫SPIRIT SHALL ONCE AGAIN SO BE UPON THEM AS THEY'LL SPEAK IN HOLY💫SPIRIT💫WITH THE HEAD ANGEL KING👑AND QUEEN👑 USING THEIR BLESSED ANELIC💫MINDS

BUT [SHALL NOT ELEVATE] TO WEAR THE HALO💫CROWN👑AS HEAD ANGEL QUEENS [FOR] IN HOLY💫HEAVEN💫CENTURIES AGO [AS IT SHALL BE SO] ON EARTH🌍ONLY [1] SHALL ALWAYS BE HIS HEADANGELQUEEN AND THAT IS THE HEAD ANGEL QUEEN OF MERCY💫MICHELLE OBAMA👑

TROUBLE NOT YOUR MINDS [UNBLESSED]✔ WOMEN OF OUR 👁GODS💫WORLD🌎FOR THERE IS [NO NEED TO BOTHER EITHER] OF [THEM] FOR THOSE REVEALED ON 11/22/19 [HAVE BEEN HIS FOR CENTURIES] THEY ARE HIS REAL ANGELWIVES😇NONE OTHERS WILL BE REQUIRED GOD💫HAS PROVIDED

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1 ASIANSTAR, 1 DARKSTAR, 1 WHITESTAR,

1 BROWNSTAR, 1 FRENCHSTAR,

1 HAWAIIANSTAR, 1 AUSTRALIANSTAR,

1 ITALIANSTAR,

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TRUST 👁GOD💫DID SO CHOOSE THEM SO MANY CENTURIES AGO WE WILL PUT A [CURSE⚡] ON ANY WHO✔ PLAY THE GAME OF FOOLS!!! [FOR YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED]

THERE IS NO NEED WHAT SO EVER FOR ANY ADDITIONAL ANGEL QUEENS OF MERCY💫TO 💓BIRTH👣BABYANGELS😇OF MERCY💫

LORD, KNOWS THE HEAD KING👑QUEEN👑OF MERCY💫HAVE NO CHOICE FOR GOD💫HAS SPOKEN FOR HE IS, I AM HE, 👁GOD!!!

THE WHOLE WORLD🌍OF THE LIVING KNEW THIS WAS COMING!!!

NOW THAT THE BIGSIGN🙏IS NEAR IT IS SO TIME⏳TO REVEAL HIS [8]ANCIENT QUEENS💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥SATURDAY NOVEMBER 23RD 0415HRS PST

GODSAYS💫DO THE DARKSTARS KNOW WHY I AM HE ALLOWED THEIR SLAVERY TO LAST SEVERAL HUNDRED YEARS? UNDERSTAND THAT EVILNESS CAME UPON YOUR SPIRITS AS A WHOLE AGAINST ME [LISTEN TO ME] MY CHOSEN ONES [DO NOT MAKE] THAT SAME MISTAKE FOR SURELY YOU SHALL PAY A TRULY HEAVIER PRICE THAN TAKING THE TITLE FROM THE BROWNSTARS AS THE VERY ⬛[WORST RACE IN HUMANITY]⬛

👉👉[[DO NOT GO AGAINST ME AGAIN]]👈👈

DARKSTARS AS YOU HAVE FIERCELY FOR THESE LAST 6+YEARS LIKE THE WORST IN HUMANITY 💥[BROWNSTARS]💥 AND THE V💥[DISOBEDIENT WHITESTARS!!!]💥 KNOW THY YOU ARE THE CHOSEN ONES YET ALSO KNOW I WILL PUNISH YOU THE WORST FOR ANY DISOBEDIENCE ACKNOWLEDGE AND CONFIRM MY HOLY💫LAWS AND PLANS💫ACKNOWLEDGE AND CONFIRM MY REAL ANGEL FAMILY IF YOU SEE THEM A RARE SIGHTING INDEED!!!

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TRUST WHEN ARC💫ANGEL😇GABRIEL👑BLOWS HIS MIGHTY HEAVENLY HORN🎺

👉👉DARKSTARS YOU WILL NOT EVER👈👈👉WANT THE EVIL👹AND WICKED TITLE👈 👹👹👹WORST RACE OF HUMANITY👹👹👹👁HANGING OVER ALL OF YOUR HEADS👁

IT IS BEST TO KEEP YOUR SPIRITS RIGHT💫 KNOW THY PLACE AND KNOW THAT I AM HE THY LIVING AND REAL POWERFUL👁GOD💫👇👇👇👇👇👇👇👇👇👇👇👇👇👇👇👇👇

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