#like. a part of my body is supposed to work/exist in a specific way‚ but it didnt. it was broken‚ it couldnt perform its intended function

[gibbearish]

i can't take any discourse post seriously if it says "x side is refusing to listen to survivors" because if you can't accept that survivors are not a monolith and may disagree with you in regards to your shared type of trauma then it really begs the question, are YOU actually listening to survivors? or are you only listening to the ones who say what you already thought and disregarding the rest as a) people who are incapable of understanding their own trauma and therefore can't be trusted to make decisions about it for themselves or b) outright fakers?

#i also go out of way to try and take all discourse posts with a heaping helping of salt but these ones specifically im like #conflicting access needs dude what hurts you might help another person so you need to step back and ask yourself if what they're doing #is overall harmful or just harmful to you specifically and act accordingly #theres nothing wrong with you being the problem here‚ its ok to be like 'i cant be around this' and dip #ik the word problem has negative connotation but idk ive always felt like my brain worked a little differently than other ppls w that #problem doesnt mean anything morally bad it just means somethings not working as intended and so #you need to problem solve to fix it #you have a problem that is you can't be around xyz thing while others can #and in your own spaces youre allowed to solve that problem by requesting others not bring it in with them if doable or to work together #to minimize its impact on you if you have to be around it #but in spaces where that thing is accepted and enjoyed and you are the outlier‚ theres nothinf shameful abt the solution to that problem #being removing yourself from that space #you were the problem‚ so you solved the problem. it doesnt have to be a bad thing yknow? #same with 'broken' ive had multiple people to me explain why i shouldnt use that word about myself but im like #no i understand abt forming neural pathways with negative words but its not negative to me genuinely !!! its just a descriptor!!!! #like. a part of my body is supposed to work/exist in a specific way‚ but it didnt. it was broken‚ it couldnt perform its intended function #it was broken‚ and we fixed it #you wouldnt tell me to call a broken bone a fuckin. 'area for improvement bone' it got broke! it dont work anymore!! #my brain doesnt produce the chemicals its supposed to‚ its BROKEN and im taking medicine to fix it #i think veronica got it but i only got to see her for a few months #anyways. that was kind of offtopic but i think still follows the central theme of just. understanding that sometimes people's brains #work different from yours and they process the world differently than you #i dont call other people broken because i know that would be mean given how their brains interpret the word but i do feel comfortable #using my own version of language to describe myself #autism dialect KENFKSBFKSBFMDB

[angelgoddard]

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐏𝐋𝐄𝐓𝐄 𝐆𝐔𝐈𝐃𝐄 𝐓𝐎 𝐌𝐀𝐍𝐈𝐅𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐀𝐏𝐏𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐄 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐒 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐒𝐀𝐓𝐒! ♡︎

𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒑 𝒐𝒏𝒆: 𝒅𝒆𝒄𝒊𝒅𝒆 𝒘𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒘𝒂𝒏𝒕. 🎀

technically this should be step zero. but it's important to get clear on what you actually want. there are a lot of ways to do this. below i've compiled a small list for you!

- look into archetypes + system. they are patterns and associations based on body type, facial features, and personality traits. (i know there's ones that exist for feminine presenting people, i'm not sure about masculine presenting people. you are obviously not obligated to follow these, but they can be fun sometimes, especially if you're looking to curate a specific image of yourself.)

- observe the people you admire. this is a great way to try and find patterns in the people you look up to. (for example, i tend to gather inspiration from celebrities who have very youthful, sweet, and angelic faces. this helped me realize what my desired face was.)

- get creative. use faceswap and apps similar to blend together people you want to look like! if the beauty you're going for is more conceptual, make a collage board of things that visually describe your beauty. (for example, my collage board included things like cats, bunnies, deer, angels, dolls, etc.)

- you can also look at pinterest and save images of bodies, body parts, and facial features to help you know you want. this is especially useful if you're a person who has trouble keeping track of things you're manifesting.

- write a list of all the features you want. (notion is a great app to make lists and sort things if you don't enjoy using paper.)

- if you just want to become better looking overall, your subconscious knows what you truly want, so don't stress about specifying it if you're having trouble doing so.

♡- knowing that we are limitless can be a very freeing feeling, but it's important to remember that just because we can do something, doesn't mean we should do something. remember to be critical of what you want, especially when it comes to manifesting appearance changes. society has taught most of us what we are supposed to deem beautiful and healthy and what is ugly and unhealthy. do not allow indoctrination to control you. read this for more clarification.

𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒑 𝒕𝒘𝒐: 𝒈𝒆𝒕 𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒓𝒕𝒆𝒅. ˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

fulfilling yourself is the most important part of the process. you must do it continuously until you feel as if you no longer need to do it because your desires are truly yours. you do not engage in methods to get anything, creation is finished. this post focuses specifically on fulfilling yourself using the state akin to sleep. there's many tutorials that already exist, explaining how to get to the state. here's a few of my personal favorites: 1, 2, 3, 4.

i personally have trouble quieting my mind down and getting into the state of thinking about my desires, so i like to either listen to music or do a meditation beforehand. here are some mediations i enjoy using: 1, 2,. while i relax my body, i sometimes listen to soundscapes to calm myself down (1, 2, 3,). depending on how i feel, i will either use the lullaby method or visualize. below, I've listed some ideas for imaginal scenarios.

- people asking you if you're [insert celebrity/person] because you look just like them!

- overhearing people gossiping about you, and accusing you of having work done when you're really just a natural beauty

- people constantly asking you for makeup tutorials or what your skincare routine is

- seeing yourself on thumbnails of subliminals/seeing yourself all over pinterest

- getting showered with compliments everywhere you go, people give you things for free and do you favors bc of how beautiful you are

♡- you don't have to fall asleep in the state for it to work. it's beneficial, but not essential. i personally like to do sats visualization midday, and the lullaby method at night.

♡- try not to make your scenarios too convoluted or have too much going on, especially if you're going to fall asleep looping it. it will be more difficult to keep track of what's going on as you slip farther into sleep. (from personal experience, the people in my scenario start slurring their words when i get too sleepy during a complicated sats scenario.)

♡- sats also works for revision. just imagine scenarios working the way you wanted them to, or an event in the past, and imagine you had your desired appearance then.

as for the lullaby method, here are some phrases you can repeat.

- it is done.

- i am stunning.

- i am beautiful.

- it is finished.

- i am free.

- it has been this way.

♡- remember that while doing this, you don't have to feel any particular emotion. you don't need to feel happy, grateful, sad, or peaceful. if you do that's great, and if you don't, that's also perfectly fine. knowing isn't this wise, specific feeling, it's just being aware and accepting what you have as truth. the device you're using to read this post now exists, right? you know you just have it. that's how it should feel to you while fulfilling yourself. it is also okay for the scenario/phrase to not feel natural at first. just keep doing it and eventually the sense of realness will begin to set in.

𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒑 𝒕𝒉𝒓𝒆𝒆: 𝒅𝒆𝒕𝒂𝒕𝒄𝒉𝒎𝒆𝒏𝒕 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒑𝒆𝒓𝒔𝒊𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒏𝒄𝒆. 🎀

the art of detatchment is an essential one. detatchment doesn't refer to completely neglecting 3d responsibilities, shutting yourself in a dark room, not going to the bathroom, or not showering— it means do whatever you need to in the outer world, but don't identify with anything that doesn't align with your desires. if you find yourself crying about how ugly you are, seek comfort in imagination and remind youself that the true you, the inner you, doesn't cry over their appearance because they are confident in how they look.

detatchment includes stopping yourself from controlling things that don't manifest, like thoughts. stop thought flipping, forcing yourself to think positively, and putting yourself on these super strict mental diets because they don't solve the real issue. thoughts stem from states, and they do not manifest anything. you have the power to reject thoughts that don't align with your desires, and accept the ones that do. anything you think that aligns with your desire say "i accept this thought." and anything that doesn't, simply say "i reject this thought." as soon as you fully fulfill yourself, your thoughts will begin to naturally flow from your new dwelling state (the wish fulfilled). you should not be burning yourself out, take it easy.

detatchment also refers to letting go of the how. logic and law of assumption absolutely do not mix, they're oil and water. you have to let go of logical limitations and focus only on the end result. obsessing about waking up with your new appearance or revising it is not going to help you. how you get your desires is not your problem, nor your job. you do not need to take any sort of 3d action, like working out or eating well (although this is a great thing to do, of course!). mental work is the only work you need to do. everything else will simply fall into place, that's the law.

persistence is another important aspect of manifestation. you cannot manifest anything without some degree of persistence. once you decide you have something in imagination, you have to remain faithful to the idea. you can't continually go back to wanting your desire when you've decided it belongs to you in imagination. persisting in the idea that you truly have what you want will end your hunger and allow you to feel free and fulfilled.

a good way to continually fulfill yourself is to set up a sort of routine, like entering sats before getting out of bed each morning, or doing the lullaby method as you fall asleep. as neville said, we are creatures of habit, and habit acts as law, even though it is not. changing your negative habit of remaining in an undesired state into a positive one of consistently remaining in a desired state is very beneficial in solidifying persistence. your routine doesn't have to be extremely convoluted or detailed, it just has to be consistent, like skincare. you don't see results if you only wash your face once a day, you have to persist in your assumptions for them to become facts.

𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒑 𝒇𝒐𝒖𝒓: 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒔𝒂𝒃𝒃𝒂𝒕𝒉. ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

the sabbath is the rest period in which you are completely aware that you have your desires, and know that they absolutely must materialize. although the experience of the sabbath can be slightly different for everyone, what typically happens during this stage is:

- feeling no desire to use any methods (why would you need methods if you know you have your desire?)

- not feeling anything towards your desire (in the same way you feel nothing towards objects in your 3d, you just know they exist)

- thoughts naturally flow from the state of having your desires

- not spiraling or wavering

𝒕𝒊𝒑𝒔 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒂𝒅𝒗𝒊𝒄𝒆. 🎀

question: is the lullaby method just vain affirming?

answer: according to neville, it is not. i am aware some blogs say you can just affirm, but he has always suggested to add feeling to your words, as feeling acts like glue, connecting the imagined reality to the physical one. (again, the feeling is not an emotional one, but rather a feeling of knowing.)

question: minnie, i'm always reminded of my 3d appearance by my family/friends, what do i do?

answer: i think this ask would be helpful!

question: what if i am unable to visualize?

answer: use your other senses (smell, touch, taste, hearing). you can also try studying images of whatever you want to visualize to make them stick in your mind.

question: i can't get into sats on my own, i need guidance, any suggestions?

answer: this meditation is absolutely perfect!

♡︎- stop overconsuming information! you know everything you need to know. there are no more new discoveries to be made. the law is easy and simple. get off tumblr if you're using it in hopes of finding some kind of life-changing information, because you will not find it.

♡︎- stop procrastinating. no, that youtube video you're choosing to fall asleep to isn't going to fulfill you, but doing the lullaby method will. that video will always be there to watch later. what is more important: your happiness, or your momentary entertainment?

♡︎- forget about time. time is not real. focusing on time is focusing on lack- which isn't what you should be doing. continue to fulfill yourself in imagination. what you experience there must be expressed.

♡︎- don't stop persisting. do not let the lack of results in the outer world deter you. if you really want your desires the way you say you do, is persisting really that much work? if your answer is yes, you probably didn't want it that much in the first place. what do you have to lose by visualizing every night or saying an affirmation as you fall asleep? the law is universal, it does not discriminate. no matter how "long" it takes, it shouldn't be worth giving up if you truly, truly want it.

thankyou for reading! <3 (please don't repost without credits)

#manifestation #law of assumption #minnie luvs the law ♡ #state akin to sleep #neville goddard #law of conciousness #desired appearance

[luvring]

I LOVE YOU (NOT IN A CLICHÉ WAY)

akaashi x gn!reader | a love letter from him to you! i forgot i wrote this for myself as a supposed birthday surprise so. i guess that worked out for me

the thing about clichés is that at some point, you stop feeling anything at the sight of them.

yearning, infatuation, love so tender and whole that it wrapped around someone completely and sunk deep, deep, deep into their skin and bones, into their veins where they felt it was the same as the oxygen already flowing through—i need you like i need air to breathe.

the same idea repeated over and over until the point of akaashi’s current existence—where he sits, favourite blue gel pen in hand, with at least seven crumpled pieces of paper in the bin next to his desk and the light of his lamp more of a headache than anything—until it no longer feels like enough for whatever he feels for you.

he curses every film and novel for making oxygen too little, too mundane of a comparison for how fundamental you are to his existence.

five hours. five hours he’s been sitting here, reading poetry and writing drafts and bullet points of what he wanted to say, utterly failing at writing a single coherent paragraph. but he couldn’t afford to fail, not this time. this birthday was more important than any other before—it was the first of your birthdays together as a couple.

definitely not the first together, period. keiji thinks if he didn’t meet you when he was thirteen, he’d have turned out to be someone completely different.

and after so many years, everything about you came naturally to him. it was to the point that other friends and acquaintances had come up to him before with questions about gifts for you. you already had a mug with that design, you weren’t a fan of the shirt’s texture, and you could be picky about art of that character, but he could send some of your favourite artists for reference. the person who knew you best, second to no one but you, was akaashi keiji.

he has been since you were fifteen years old.

so the fact that he’s sat here for hours, failing, is a blemish on his record.

he refuses to call it a phenomenon because that word makes it seem so grand, when in reality his situation makes him so incredibly frustrated it was more of a curse. it was an ugly, annoying, unbelievable stain on his identity and soul because for fuck’s sake, shouldn’t it be easier now as your boyfriend?

not only does he know your different laughs and the way your lips wobble while you try to hide it, now he knows how it feels when you try to stifle the noise in the crook of his neck, a smile pressed against his skin. he knows the feeling of your fingers intertwined between his while walking through the farmer’s market, and raking through his hair after he’s showered while it’s soft and fluffy the way you adore. he knows the taste of your favourite lip balm against his lips, what it sounds like when you hum or giggle as you’re pressed against his body and your arms are wrapped around his neck. he could pick you out in a line up of people blindfolded if asked, just by the way you hugged him.

it should be easier for him than anyone else, because you weren’t just his oxygen—you were part of him.

but even that was another cliché.

keiji lets his head hit the desk, hands coming up to pull at the roots of his hair while a loud groan escapes his lips.

“should i learn how to bake?” he mutters to himself before grimacing. “watch me bake a cake and give the love of my life food poisoning. incredible plan. what the hell is in a cake? what would i even put on it? awful cursive lettering?”

no one talked about the pressure that came with the first birthday in a relationship. why is this not a more pressing specific situation for newly dating people? why did no one tell him he’d feel like a heavy rock rested on his chest at the thought of disappointing you not only as a friend but as a boyfriend. he thinks he could die.

he can’t, won’t, die, but you’ll get home from your friend’s place in only a couple of hours and he’s running out of time (not really. he’s doing this a week early, but he set a schedule for himself and it’s the principle of the thing.)

“fuck it,” he murmurs. “whatever, whatever. let what happens happen, and if it’s bad i’ll just…internally die.”

resolute, keiji puts his pen to the page and starts writing before the ink can bleed.

hi.

i’ve written drafts of this too many times already. maybe i shouldn’t tell you that so it seems like i’m a natural romantic, but it probably doesn’t surprise you that i’ve crumpled up a lot of paper in the last couple of hours because i tried avoiding being too cliché. but if i’m being honest i love you so much it feels like a cliché in and of itself. so i guess i’ll just lean into it and write whatever comes to mind.

i love you. i love you. i love you. i love you.

i love waking up to you every morning. i love cooking breakfast with you. i love wearing the “kiss the chef” apron kuroo gave us so i have an excuse to ask for a kiss on the cheek, even though i know you’d kiss me without it.

i love listening to you talk about your day and seeing the photos you took with friends. i love when you send me pictures while you’re out and ask what i think about your outfit. sorry i’m bad at knowing what to say, i’m really not lying when i say i think you always look nice. i know that isn’t super helpful when you’re being indecisive, but i hope i’ve gotten better over the years? i feel like i have but if you want to disagree i guess i’ll accept since it’s your birthday.

i love when you ask if i want to go out somewhere with you. i love sending you places and things i think you’ll enjoy. i love seeing how excited you get and i love surprising you with them a few weeks later. i love seeing our gifts for each other and souvenirs around the apartment every day i come home.

i love taking care of you, even when you think i shouldn’t, when you think you’re a burden for me. i’ll do the chores when you’re tired. i’ll get in the bath with you and wash and dry you, no matter how long it takes. i’ll dress you if you ask me to, let you steal my bracelets and slippers when you want them. i’ll make sure the bed is cold but the blanket is warm so you can cuddle beside me. i love being the person you come home to, and i hope i make it worthwhile every time.

you’ve always been there to remind me you love me, even when i think you shouldn’t, that it’s impossible that you do. so i hope you know i feel the same way about you, that i’ll love you despite what your head might say, and even if the world would end because of it.

i love being with you. even after a decade together, i only love you more and more.

and i do need you like oxygen. i need you like plants need the sun. you’re my favourite person, you’re my safe place, you’re my home. you’re my better half and your own person that just happens to fit with me. you’re my soulmate and also someone i was just lucky enough to meet. you fit every possible cliché and trope i can think of. every single one is true, which makes me think maybe you’re the kind of person old poets and writers were inspired by. they’re not around though, so i hope i can be enough.

happy birthday :) i’d say i hope we only get to spend more together, but at this point you couldn’t get rid of me even if you tried. (please don’t try though i’ll cry.) so instead, i hope every birthday is as warm and bright as you. i hope you remember i’m here with you, and always will be. every midnight you get a little older, all the way until the end. as cliché as all of this might sound, i love you forever,

keiji writes your name especially careful, making sure it sits perfectly on the line and each pen stroke is clean. then he draws a little heart beside you before signing off with his own name, and letting out a deep breath. his fingers tremble a little when he finally puts the pen down.

there’s blue ink on his hand, and he thinks there might be some on his temple from forgetting to unclick his pen. but it’s a problem for nightly routine keiji to wash off, not him now.

the letter would sit in a gift bag for another week, but then it would be in your hands. it wasn’t proofread—he could have spelt his own name wrong at the end and no one would know until then. but he can’t bring himself to reread it this time. maybe because he’s tired or doesn’t want to feel cheesy, maybe so it feels more romantic, more raw. maybe because at the end of the day, whether you loved the letter so much you framed it on your bedroom wall, or you accidentally spilled water and rendered every word illegible, he’d have you anyway. and you’d have him.

and he’d just write another one, once again filled with clichés and an embarrassing amount of i love you’s, as long as you’d let him.

pleak pretend this letter really is for u. it's half of this post come onnn it's for u now. happy birthday! i love u i love u i love u i love u (4 so it isn't a cliche) mwah

#haikyuu x reader #akaashi x reader #haikyuu fluff #akaashi fluff #haikyuu x gn!reader #i really did forget i had this. i wrote it like. 2 months ago #i was supposed to post it then too but i thought it was too boring and cheesy which is kind of ironic isnt it. #happy birthday from me/akaashi 2 u. read this on ur birthday. pleak

[ms-demeanor]

I went diabetic earlier this year, since then I've had far more serious health concerns to really focus on it. I've listened to my primary care and reduced my average a1c from 13 to 7. I've recently been looking into diets and what not that are the best. Currently, I'm trying to cut out all carbs, on my doctor's orders. What I'm seeing though is that a plant based diet is best. It looks like a ketogenic diet is what my doctor wants me to follow? I've watched videos on both diets and I don't know, I agree with you that keto is evil. What are your thoughts about this?

I am not a medical professional so i can't give you medical advice, but I'd say that you should ask your doctor for a referral to a dietician (an RD or an RDN, NOT a "nutritionist" - RD/RDN are protected terms that mean they have completed specific training and have specific board certification) and ask the dietician for advice on your specific dietary needs for your specific medical conditions.

What I can say is that trying to cut all carbs is pretty dangerous - not only is it a macronutrient that our body uses as the most available fuel for your body processes (we *can* get fuel from protein and fat, and ketones can *theoretically* replace sugars for energy but nobody is actually sure how long our bodies can do that and we know it's a LOT less efficient, it's supposed to be less efficient, and what that means is it makes a lot of people feel exhausted when they try it because they literally have less available energy) but also there are certain nutrients that are fortified in the US that are going to be hard to get if you're cutting carbs completely. The example that I always use is folate, because when I had to cut wheat out of my diet (i have grain allergies and celiac disease) I didn't know to supplement it and ended up with a form of anemia and stuff like "fainting" and "dizziness" and "low oxygen saturation."

Which is part of why massive diet changes should be undertaken with the assistance of a dietician! That's why I started studying nutrition! Because nobody supervised my medically necessary diet changes and it went very poorly!

Your GP very likely doesn't have a ton of training on nutrition, and is even less likely to have training on nutrition specific to your condition. If your GP is telling you to cut all carbs, they are telling you to do something dangerous and not nutritionally sound (even really restrictive keto diets call for 20g of carbs a day). Ask either them or your endocrinologist for a referral to a dietician (again, you are looking for a Registered Dietician or a Registered Dietician Nutritionist, RD or RDN, NOT just 'nutritionist') who is familiar with helping diabetics manage their nutrition.

Now, all of that said, in the choice between two fairly restrictive diets I will always say to try the one that requires less effort. It is much easier to eat a plant-based diet long term than a keto diet, and it is vanishingly unlikely that you are going to end up protein deficient (the primary concern for most people who are starting plant based diets, and it's just not all that likely - we need a lot less protein than a lot of people seem to think; though if you're going completely vegan you do need to be careful to supplement your B vitamins and to ensure that you're getting plenty of omega fats)

Because the thing is, for a diet to "work" you have to be on that diet forever. If you stop being on that diet, and stop adhering to its restrictions, whatever benefits exist for that diet go away. So the best diet for *anybody* is one that will provide them with the nutrients they need in a way that they can access regularly and affordably, that they enjoy eating and can comfortably maintain for long periods of time, and that includes a variety of fruits and vegetables because the only diet advice that is nearly universally applicable is that people should be eating more fruits and vegetables and they should be eating a wider variety of them.

I am not a fan of "diets" as a concept and I think that people should think of nutrition in terms of "my diet" not "the diet that is meant to be one-size-fits-all for millions of people that I am attempting." Your diet is what you eat and drink, and that is what you should be looking at adjusting. If you want to reduce carbs in your diet it's better to tweak your consumption than it is totally replace your diet with a one size fits all keto diet. If you want to increase fat in your diet it is better to tweak your consumption than it is to replace your diet with a one size fits all atkins diet. If you want to go plant based I think it is better to start by adjusting your diet to include more plants and to slowly replace animal based products than by trying a one size fits all vegan diet right out of the gate. You can always (and should!) make adjustments to what you eat as circumstances change and you may end up at a vegan diet or a low carb high fat diet and find that that works for you, but part of the reason that I think nutrition studies on diets are so screwy and hard to pin down is because your body is going to *flip the fuck out* when you change from, say, an average american diet to a study-provided Mediterranean diet for a 12 week experiment. If you drastically change your diet all at once and get good results immediately it's very hard to say if those results will be lasting because your body may just adjust to the "new normal" of your diet six months down the line.

But like seriously if your GP is telling you to cut all carbs you need to see a person who specializes in nutrition, and to prepare for your appointment with that person you should make a list of your goals (for you it sounds like you want to manage your blood sugar levels, reduce a1c, and *ask about* low carbs if that is something that interests you), a list of things you think that you'll have trouble with or that you want to include in your diet because they're important to you (if you really like nuts but have to be on a low fat diet, ask if there's a way to work around that with your needs, for example; if there is a cultural staple that you will find difficult to cut from family meals, TELL THEM THAT), a list of questions that you have about different types of diets, and *VERY IMPORTANTLY* information about your food budget and cooking skills. Be clear about it if you can't cook. Be clear about it if you can't afford certain ingredients.

Anyway. Once again, not medical advice, please speak to a medical professional, good luck.

#tw diet talk #food tw

[yoon-kooks]

better than sex | myg | 1

🍑Pairing: Yoongi x Producer!Reader

🍑Genre: fluff, smut, studio!au

🍑Summary: As Min Yoongi’s studio neighbor and self-proclaimed nemesis, you’ve always seen him as someone who knew how to maintain a clean, well-put-together image without any careless slip-ups. But after nearly walking in on him with a hand around his cock, you gain a new perspective that leads to steamy fantasies in your bedroom and much-needed inspiration in the studio for Bangtan’s next album. A week before track submissions are due, you give Yoongi a taste of the dirty demo, and now the selfish bastard wants to claim it for his own solo album. In exchange, he offers to help you produce another Bangtan track by the end of the week. Your only condition is for this track to be better than the sexual fantasies that inspired its predecessor.

🍑Word Count: 4.7k

🍊Parts: 1 ◆ 2

🍑Warnings: yoongi touches boobs, masturbation (m/f), a lot more smut to come in future chapters

🍑A/N: this fic started as a shower thought🚿

As a songwriter and producer, you’re expected to create something out of nothing. You’re expected to turn a blank canvas into the next big hit—something unique, something that would never exist without you. But the thing is, nothing is truly ever spawned out of thin air. Like superheroes who save the world, every song has its own origin story.

This, of course, includes the final track you’ve been working on for Bangtan’s next album. As with many of your best tracks, inspiration hit you while you were showering at one in the morning. Sometimes the inspiration is a reflection of how good or bad your day went. Sometimes it’s sparked by the fruity dessert you just devoured, or the heated breakup you witnessed on your walk home. But not this one.

This one was lust. More specifically, it was the lust you felt after entering Genius Lab with pure intentions and leaving with the vivid mental image of Min Yoongi jerking off in his studio. You hadn’t caught him outright with his hand around his cock, but you certainly walked in before he had time to hide the evidence. You’d always thought him to be a man who never slips up, never shows any sign of weakness. 

But boy did he slip up.

One week ago

“Hey Piano Guy, can I borrow you for a sec?” You knock on the studio door next to yours. “I have a melody in my head right now, and I think it’d sound kinda sick on the piano.”

After 30 seconds, there’s still no response. You could always work it out on the piano by yourself, but it’s a lot easier with an extra set of hands. And besides, you don’t hate the idea of spending time with the handsome boy.

“Yoongi, please. Before I forget how it goes. My memory is fading, please.” Just as you raise your fist to pound on his door some more, it swings open. Yoongi leans against the doorframe with a hand in his pocket. The first thing he does is pinch down on the hem of your sleeve, coaxing you to lower your fist out of his face. You don’t think too much about how his forehead and cheeks are looking extra dewy today. He smells like his usual cedarwood cologne, so you don’t suppose he just finished working out, either.

“Isn’t it too early for you to be picking fights with me?” His voice is low and calm, almost like he’d just woken up. On most days, you probably would fight him—he’s the enemy, after all. Not like an actual enemy, though. Just someone who goes along with your banter and gives you something to look forward to at work. Unfortunately, there’s no time for his teasing when there’s a billion-dollar melody on the line.

“I’m not picking a fight with you.” As you correct him, you do a mental calculation of the space between Yoongi’s body and the opposite side of the doorframe. A tight fit, but it might be just enough room to weasel your way in. “I’m enlisting your help for a potential song idea.” 

He must’ve caught a glimpse of that mischievous sparkle in your eye because he’s quick to put his arm up across the entrance. “Don’t even think about it.” 

You frown, but it doesn’t last long. With a playful grin and fluttery eyelashes, you say, “C’mon, this could be the hook that wins Bangtan a Grammy.”

You notice his fingers slowly slipping against the doorframe. The ends of his lips curve upward ever so slightly. This barricade is coming down whether he likes it or not.

Yoongi looks behind him, combs his fingers through his hair, and lets out a sigh. “You need me? Like right now?”

It’s hard to tell if he’s genuinely trying to shoo you away or if he just wants you to admit that you enjoy being around him. Usually, it’s the latter. But he does seem a bit off today.

“I mean, I could ask Namjoon—”

“Five minutes,” Yoongi cuts you off, dragging you with him into his lair and mumbling to himself about “the things he does for you” and how “you act like you can’t figure it out yourself on the guitar.” You take a seat at the piano bench and pull the boy down right beside you. He supposedly only has a handful of minutes to spare in his busy schedule, and yet here he is, taking his sweet time warming up with some scales.

Either he doesn’t trust Namjoon’s piano skills, or someone’s a little jealous.

For as many times as you’ve watched Yoongi at the piano, it never gets old. His long fingers stroke each key so gracefully, yet with purpose. It takes way more than a few years of dedication and a genuine love of the instrument to be at his level. It’s mesmerizing.

“So what’s this Grammy award-winning banger you speak of?” he asks, creating his own piano version of Yet To Come. Oh right, the banger. How did it go again?

You search every inch of your brain, but instead of recalling the melody you felt so confident in, all you find are Yoongi’s piano covers of Bangtan songs. Well this is awkward.

“It… kind of disappeared from my memory,” you say in a hushed voice, still staring down at the keys. In your defense, Yoongi was a huge distraction with those dexterous piano fingers.

He stops mid-measure and shakes his head at you. “Tsk, tsk, Y/N.” Rather than annoyed, he’s amused. “So were you just using that as an excuse to infiltrate Genius Lab or what?”

You roll your eyes. Yoongi always acts like his studio is some sort of sacred chamber only accessible to those he deems worthy. Maybe you should set up your own high-tech security system for your studio so that you don’t get 20 weekly visits from him like an alley cat coming back for more table scraps.

“Bold assumption, but I only came here with the purest of intentions.” With a hmph, you slide your ass off the bench. Instead of heading for the door, you wander over to the side of his studio with all of the fancy producer equipment. You make yourself comfortable and spin around in his big cushy chair. It’s still radiating leftover heat from Yoongi’s own ass cheeks. “Were you in the middle of something just before I got here?”

The boy strides over, waiting for you to have your back to his desk. He steadies the chair with a strong hand so that you’re facing him and can’t spin around anymore. “That’s confidential information.”

“This chair is still warm, so you were obviously sitting here working on something. You might as well fess up.” You hug your knees to your chest and peer up at him with wonder. “Is it your solo album?”

He doesn’t answer you right away. It’s a yes-or-no question. There shouldn’t be anything to think about. Eventually, though, he shakes his head.

You try not to frown so he doesn’t see your disappointment. Ever since D-2, you’ve been patiently waiting for a solo album from him. Because you’d love to snag a spot on it as one of the producers he collaborates with. But Yoongi doesn’t need to know that right now.

“Can you at least give me a hint, then?” You hop out of the chair, scurry around the boy, and examine his desk. Not much is on it aside from his computer, a few MIDI controllers, and a black bottle of cologne. You wiggle the mouse around to wake the computer up, but the screen remains dark. “Seriously? You turned your computer off so I wouldn’t be able to snoop? Is that why it took you a decade to answer the door?”

“We all know how nosy you are. Like a curious kitten.” His voice comes from right behind you. With the clicks of several buttons, the computer screen flashes on, and he types his password in faster than you can decode it. He takes control of the mouse, but you don’t move out of the way. You can feel just how close his body is to yours, and the cedarwood is starting to drown your mind in mildly dangerous thoughts.

As Yoongi looks through his files for a track that’s “safe enough to show you,” your eyes lock onto the fancy black bottle of that intoxicating cologne. It looks expensive, sleek, and something you’d want to get your paws on. 

You scan the bottle for a brand, a name for the scent—anything that will help you get ahold of what’s on Yoongi’s body. But all you find on the front side of the bottle is a simple product description: Personal Moisturizer.

That’s definitely not cologne. 

You quickly turn back to the computer screen. An unfinished hip-hop track you’ve never heard before is playing in the background. You don’t even know when Yoongi pressed play. All you know is that you can’t exactly focus on music right now.

You’ve been in Yoongi’s studio plenty of times, and you’ve never seen this bottle sitting so casually on his desk like that. Probably because it’s normally stored away where curious kittens would never check. If it’s still lying around out in the open, then… 

Oh god. You’re so fucking oblivious.

No wonder he was trying to shoo you away. No wonder he looked like he’d just gone through an intense workout. No wonder his chair was still warm but his computer wasn’t on. He wasn’t in the middle of work when you knocked on the door. Min Yoongi was in the middle of jerking off, and you just entered his studio without a single clue.

Oh no. You can’t unsee it. It’s too vivid—the image of him panting, slumped in the same chair you were spinning around in like an idiot, hand around his hard wet cock. The long fingers that danced across the piano keys so elegantly were the same violent set of fingers that stroked him into a fervorous state where every ounce of his stoic demeanor had come undone. If his computer wasn’t on with porn plastered across the screen, you wonder who or what he was getting off to. 

A tiny, tiny part of you hopes it was you on his mind.

The funny thing is, you’ve never once even thought about him like that. Sure, the two of you have some flirty banter going on, but to you, he’s always been the kind of guy who’s more focused on his music than his sex life. And to be honest, it never actually occurred to you that Yoongi did in fact have a sex life. With that small bit of information, you feel like you’ve gained a whole new perspective. This is why they say curiosity killed the cat. It completely shattered the perfect, well-put-together image you had had of him all this time.

You’ll never see Min Yoongi the same way ever again.

When you return home that night, you aren’t thinking about the company meeting you have tomorrow morning, or what you should pack for lunch, or the award-winning melody that vanished into the abyss along with the rest of your rational thoughts.

You plop your body onto your bed and let yourself think of Yoongi. It’s probably a big mistake, but you can’t help it. 

He’s incredibly handsome, you’ve always thought so. And you admire the work he puts into each and every one of his tracks. Likewise, you know he respects you the same. After all, he lets you into his sacred studio more than anyone else. He couldn’t say no to you, even with a whole ass bottle of lube still out in the open.

The image of him with his fingers gripping tightly around his swollen cock haunts your mind once more. His head is thrown back, sweat running down his neck, and he’s out of breath. You want to know how he sounds when he’s overwhelmed with pleasure, when he’s lost all control. His voice is already so raspy, so low, and so goddamn hot. You want him to call you kitten again, but maybe without the “curious” part attached to it. Anything to hear his bedroom voice. A single moan from him might be enough to set you off. 

You unbutton your shorts and slip your fingers beneath the lace of your underwear. To your surprise, you’re already soaked in these erotic fantasies you never thought you’d be having about your studio neighbor. You’ve known the guy for two years, and it’s only now that you’re lusting after him? How did you have that much self-control for so long?

A gasp escapes your throat as you rub around your center. You squirm to your own touch as you apply more pressure and speed. Harder, faster. You love it, but it’s familiar and predictable, and it’s been a while since you’ve been pleasured by someone else’s hands. Your body aches for those long veiny fingers to play with you like a piano.

As the pleasure builds, you wonder how far Yoongi had gotten before you rudely interrupted him. It’d feel pretty shitty to be so close yet denied of it all because you decided to knock on his door right at that moment. If you had known what was truly going on behind that door, would you have still chosen music over lust? Or would you have thrown that Grammy away to learn what Min Yoongi tastes like when he’s overtaken by his deepest desires? 

In the end, it doesn’t really matter because you came out of his studio with neither.

After a rather underwhelming orgasm, you roll off your bed and drag your feet into the bathroom for a hot shower. 

You know you should stop while you’re still ahead. Fantasies need to remain fantasies and nothing more. Sex between you and Yoongi isn’t going to happen. It’s not worth sacrificing the music you need to be making with him instead of love. You hate that you were considering it for even a second.

But your irrational desires need an outlet.

As hot water trickles down your body, the steam clouds your thoughts. And in the haze, you long for something new and different. Now that you know what you know, you wish Yoongi would show you that other side of himself, the side he keeps hidden behind those studio doors. 

You want it so bad.

And that’s when it hits you.

It’s been a week since you visited Yoongi in his studio on that fateful morning. You’ve been hard at work, piecing together the final track for Bangtan’s album. The demo is nearly complete, and you’re actually super satisfied with how it’s turning out. The vibe is sensual, full of temptation, and far dirtier than any other track with your name on it. 

It only makes sense that the file name for this track is “sex.wav,” which will of course be changed before anyone else sees it. You’ve always had a bad habit of naming your track files based on the first thing that comes to mind, and it really shows where your head has been at this week.

Even Jimin, who helped you record the demo, asked if there was some sort of recent breakthrough in your sex life. When you told him no, he winked and said, “Yoongi is single, you know.” Sometimes you regret confiding in Jimin about your desire to make it onto Yoongi’s solo album because now he’s under the impression that you have some sort of crush on the rapper.

For the record, you don’t have feelings for Yoongi. It’d just be nice to fuck him once, get it out of your system, and the two of you will probably be back to the usual harmless banter that keeps you going every day.

You have to admit, though, your sexual urges came through when you needed them most. After losing the precious (and very wholesome) brain cells containing that award-winning melody, you were in desperate need of a new idea to go off of for that final track. Thanks to the hot and bothered part of your brain, you became super inspired and productive. 

For once in your music career, you’re actually a whole week ahead of schedule instead of just barely meeting deadlines at midnight. With the sex.wav demo near completion, you’ll have this week to relax and take time for yourself.

Thank you, Min Yoongi.

“Y/N, can I come in?” Speaking of the devil, Yoongi pops his head in the doorway. It’s his third visit to your studio this week, and it’s only Monday.

“Come, come,” you say, gesturing for him to hurry on in. You’re confident he’ll vibe with the track, and you’re excited to hear what he has to say about it.

“Jimin told me you guys finished recording the demo,” he says over your shoulder. He places a hand on top of your chair and leans his weight against it like he owns the place.

“We did.” You sit up tall in your chair with a healthy glow and hand the boy some headphones. “I might still go back and tweak a few things, but it’s pretty much done.”

You stare up at him shamelessly as he focuses all of his attention on your demo. Yoongi is the type of guy who doesn’t react or say much on his first listen. He’ll always listen with an open mind and give you his honest opinion once he’s had time to take it all in. That’s why he’s always one of the first people you show your work to.

When the demo ends, he doesn’t hit replay. Instead, he hangs the headphones around his neck and stares at your computer screen, deep in thought. You start to think he hated it so much that he can’t even give it a second listen and he’s trying to find the right words to tell you.

“Why did you name the file sex.wav?” Ah shit, he wasn’t supposed to see that. No one was.

“It’s sexy, isn’t it?” you say softly, starting to shrink in your chair. He still hasn’t said whether he likes it or not.

“Yeah,” he agrees. He drums his fingertips against your desk. You wonder if those fingers have touched any cock lately. “It’s different from your usual stuff.”

You just blink at him, unsure of how to react. Good different or bad different?

“Good different,” he clarifies, as if he’s read your mind. He’s still not giving you much to go off of, though. And you’re starting to get impatient.

Yoongi looks at you, opens his mouth to say something, but then closes it. You’ve never seen the boy so speechless.

“What?” you ask. If he doesn’t spit it out right now, you’re going to lose it.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Please.” It’s hard to read his straight face, but something’s definitely on his mind. You need to know what’s bothering him.

“Who inspired it?” he asks. Not what. Who. This must be his not-so-subtle way of asking who you’ve been sleeping with. It’s none of his business, really. And he knows it. That’s why he was so hesitant to ask in the first place.

“Are you sure you want to hear about all the guys I’ve had sex with?” You casually raise an eyebrow at him and watch closely for a reaction. Maybe it’ll make him jealous.

“It’s about all the sex you’ve ever had?” He looks like he’s not fully convinced. No, it’s actually about the sex you haven’t had. The good kind. The wild kind. The kind that ends with you all tangled in the sheets with Min Yoongi. But you can’t tell him that.

“I’m just fucking with you. I wish I could say I’ve had good enough sex to inspire this track.” You take a jab at yourself, but you really hope you aren’t coming across as lonely or needy for a man. 

Yoongi’s face relaxes a little more, still drumming those fingers against your desk. “I wouldn’t have guessed.”

He doesn’t elaborate on that, nor do you ask him to.

“Can I have it?” he asks out of nowhere. Have what? Sex with you? “On my solo album?”

Oh.

“You want this track on your album?” Is the boy really tempting you with something you’ve waited so long for? Of course you want to scream yes, but… “You’d really steal from Bangtan to claim it as your own?”

“Well, when you put it that way, I sound like a selfish asshole,” he pouts. Since when did Min Yoongi ever pout? You’ve never seen this side of him either. It’s fascinating.

You bite your lip. “Yoongi, I’d be down, but the deadline is approaching and I’m going to be one track short if I give you this one.” 

“When’s the deadline?”

“Next Monday.”

The boy pulls out his phone and flicks his thumb across the screen. If you had to guess, he’s checking his schedule.

“I’ll help you produce another one for Bangtan,” he says so casually and confidently.

“Are you sure you’ll have time for that?” You don’t know Yoongi’s full schedule off the top of your head, but you do recall Jimin mentioning this week would be hectic for the group.

“I’ll make time.” All he does is shrug. “I should be free after 10 on most nights. Sunday, I can be in the studio by 6AM—”

“Yoongi.” You stop him before he can say anything else outrageous. Not that you’re being any more rational. You’re about to kiss your much-deserved week of freedom goodbye all for this boy with a pouty lip. “I’ll see what I can do, and you can pitch in. But please don’t overwork yourself for this.” You point at the screen, at the track he wants so badly.

He nods. “Thanks, Y/N.”

You want to ask Yoongi what he’ll give you in return for doing him this favor, but you aren’t really interested in anything from him aside from his company. And maybe sex. 

Instead, you ask, “May I ask why you want this track so badly?”

“Because I like it.” He pulls the headphones off his neck and hangs them around yours. There’s no way he fell in love with the track after listening to it only once. That’s unheard of for him. There must be another reason. “Oh, and I also heard you wanted a spot on my solo album.”

You’re going to kill Park Jimin.

“Right,” you say, spinning your chair around so that Yoongi can’t see the nasty texts you’re sending to his friend.

Y/N💅 [8:23PM] “fuck you park jimin”

Y/N💅 [8:23PM] “i thought we agreed not to tell my nemesis that id like to be on his solo album”

Jimin🍡 [8:24PM] “Yoongi’s your nemesis?”

Jimin🍡 [8:24PM] “I thought you had a raging boner for him🍆”

Y/N💅 [8:24PM] “i hate you btw”

“You have a raging boner for me?” You hear a mix of shock, amusement, and arrogance over your shoulder. But mostly arrogance. You lock your phone screen even though it’s already too late. You’ve been caught. Evidently, you aren’t the only nosy one here.

You swing your head around, practically nose to nose with your nemesis. He can probably feel the heat radiating from your cheeks. But you don’t back off. Instead, you glare. “Neither you nor Jimin know what you’re talking about.”

“I guess only you know then, Y/N.” Yoongi doesn’t back away either. He eyes your lips the way you eye a strawberry popsicle on the hottest day of the year. You make a conscious effort to not let your eyes do the same. You don’t need to be reminded of how perfectly plush his lips must feel against everything they touch.

But if he wants to play this game with you, you’ll play along. And you won’t lose.

You lean in closer and graze your cheek against his. In a hushed voice, you say, “Do you want to know who really inspired that track?”

He nods against your skin. Your lips tickle his ear.

“I was visiting a friend last week, and I left his place with a new perspective. I thought, maybe this guy wasn’t just the grumpy asshole workaholic I knew him to be. Maybe he’d been hiding this dirty, sexed-up side of himself the whole time.” You pause for dramatic effect. “Do you want to know why I thought this?”

He nods again.

“You forgot to hide your personal moisturizer before I walked into your studio.” You finally lean back to see the look on his face. His pupils are huge, his lips are parted, but he doesn’t necessarily look embarrassed for someone who was practically caught with his hands in his pants.

In fact, the more time he spends thinking about it, the more he realizes what your story says about you. “So what you’re saying is that you do in fact have a raging boner for me and I was your inspiration for that sex track? I’m honored.”

You hate that he’s such a good listener who knows how to dissect every word you say.

“Would y’all quit saying I have a raging boner?” You roll your eyes, but it does feel oddly satisfying when Yoongi and Jimin treat you like one of the guys.

“What should I call it then?” Yoongi chuckles. He doesn’t do it often, but you like it when he laughs. “Horny eyes? Unfulfilled sexual desires? A wet p—”

You get up and give him a light shove against the desk. He’s still got a smirk on his face as you pin him there. “Call it a severe distaste for your bullshit,” you say sweetly with a handful of his shirt in your fist. 

A strong hand cups your chin. He leans in close enough for you to smell the minty lip balm you always see him applying. You want to taste it. “Admit it,” he says, “You like my bullshit.”

You feel each of his words against your lips. By the time he reached “bullshit,” you’d already pressed your lips into his. He doesn’t fight it. You taste the mint, then his tongue.

His hands start to wander along your curves. He finds the bare skin between your crop top and high-waisted shorts and works his way up your ribs. You hope he can’t feel the goosebumps when his thumbs sneak into your bra and flirt with the sides of your breasts. You just want him to keep exploring and familiarizing himself with your body. 

In the next moment, he has you pinned in with your ass on top of the desk. In front of you is not the grumpy idol boy you’ve maintained a clean, professional relationship with for the past two years. The Yoongi standing here between your thighs is an irresistible temptation. He’s your fantasy turned reality. And maybe he wants you as much as you want him. 

But before you can loop your limbs around him and lasso him in for more, he steps back and points his thumb at the door. “I have to get back to my studio.”

No, he doesn’t. He’s just playing hard to get. And you hate him for it.

“To work or to jerk off?” you call out as he walks further and further away from you.

“Work, of course,” he sings. You don’t believe him. He’s a liar and a tease. “I’ll see you tomorrow night, Y/N. To work on the new track.”

You almost forgot about that replacement track. After all, Yoongi’s hands and lips were pretty big distractions that you once again fell victim to. But regardless of the hold he thinks he has on you now, you still want to establish strict criteria for the song you’ll be working on with him. Only one thing comes to your flustered mind.

“Wait, Yoongi.” You wait for him to turn back around in the doorway. There’s still a hint of a smile lingering on his face. He probably thinks you’re calling him back for some more studio mischief. Too bad he’s wrong. “I have one condition for that new track.”

“Go on.”

“It has to be better than the sex track I’m giving you for your solo album.” You kick your legs back and forth—the same legs that could’ve been squeezing Yoongi’s waist in a heated makeout session right about now. “Way better.”

You won’t accept anything less from the man.

“So it has to be better than your cute little erotic fantasies of me?” Yoongi puts a hand up. Then he’s gone. “Shouldn’t be an issue.”

#bts smut #bts scenarios #bts imagines #bts fanfic #yoongi smut #yoongi fanfic #yoongi x reader #suga smut #suga fanfic #suga x reader #bts fluff #yoongi #suga #bts

[mythicalartisttm]

What’s your opinion on transgenders people? I ask as i have seen you reblog a few things and I am unsure on your stance. I mean this in no judgmental way i would just like to know your thoughts

anon this ask both excites me and fills me with caution, but! I will provide you with what you seek!

what do I think about transgender people? Here’s my answer to that, but be warned, it is lengthy!

1) they’re to be treated as people, not outcasts. Human is human, and we are supposed to treat fellow humans with love, care, and respect, even if we don’t agree with the people in question, or if it’s just plain hard.

2) I say this with gentleness: their perceptions of themselves are skewed*, and there are many reasons for this with the primary one being that we live in a broken world, which leads to everything else. But one of the absolute worst things we can do to trans people/ people who want to be trans, regardless of the reason, is to go along with the idea that they are or can be any other gender than the one they were born with. As you can probably tell, I believe in the God of the Bible, and that while human hands may have written the physical book, He speaks through the people that wrote it. So let’s let His Word do the talking.

You know the creation story, yeah? It’s ok if you don’t, let’s recap anyways:

Every day for 6 days, God made aspects of our universe, and when He declared everything finished – perfect! God’s work ain’t finished ‘till it’s perfect – He rested on the 7th day (Genesis 1 and 2). On the 6th day He made humans, male and female, and they were made in the image of God Himself (Gen. 2:26). They were also the only aspect of creation God formed with His own hands; Genesis 2:7 says God made the first man from the dust of the earth, and verses 21-22 says He took a piece of the man to make the first woman.

That might not seem huge to you, but it speaks volumes of the care God put into humanity specifically. Everything else – the sun, stars, sky, trees, dogs, almost everything you can think of – God simply spoke them into existence. But for humans; for you, anon? He got up, got His hands dirty, and shaped your head, your heart, your spirit, your body. He gave humanity a literal special touch that He gave to nothing else.

This is reinforced again by God speaking through king David’s Psalm 139, verses 13-16:

13 You made all the delicate, inner parts of my body     and knit me together in my mother’s womb. 14 Thank you for making me so wonderfully complex!     Your workmanship is marvelous—how well I know it. 15 You watched me as I was being formed in utter seclusion,     as I was woven together in the dark of the womb. 16 You saw me before I was born.     Every day of my life was recorded in your book. Every moment was laid out     before a single day had passed.

God is omnipresent, meaning that He’s everywhere all the time any time, and nothing escapes His knowledge. This includes the creation of a new human being (again: male or female, no secret 3rd option for this one). And because God Himself – who makes no mistakes – oversees and ordains the creation of every new little boy or girl, wouldn’t it make sense that God would make them as He intended to make them: perfectly, without mistake? There is then no ground for the “born in the wrong body” argument to stand on, because God made your body with you in mind; your body was made specifically for you, and there were no errors on His end.

Now, what if you just straight up don’t like your body? I think everyone has disliked their body and/or felt uncomfortable in it at some point, that includes me. If someone’s going through puberty then they are almost guaranteed to be uncomfortable in their body because that kiddo and their body both are growing up. Sometimes you’re uncomfortable in your body simply because it’s changing, but this particular change is a good thing! Going through puberty is a sign that your body is working as it should, even if it feels weird. To try and block this transition from happening, or deliberately alter it, is to actively harm your body’s natural progression.

So yes, I do think that a trans person’s view of their body – that they were made for a different body and so they should change it – is not only wrong, but harmful to themselves in the long run. Why are we affirming this; giving people of all ages the means to scar themselves to feel good in the now?

Last bit before the TL;DR: if there’s anyone out there who thinks God won’t except them for any reason that you can think of, I’m gonna stop you right there. There is grace for you. Yes, even for that; please refer to my pinned post. And also this.

My explanation doesn’t cover all bases I’m sure, but the TL;DR is that the human body is a sacred thing designed by God, with care, made differently and specifically for every individual person, and it is medical malpractice (evil) to alter it within the context of transgenderism. If you have undergone the gender transition at any time – or have done anything else, ever – God still loves you with his whole heart, and He wants you to let Him help you with whatever may have dragged you down this time. Even if it was self-inflicted.

Lastly, some stuff I didn’t know how to cleanly fit into All That

*it is worth noting that basically everyone has a skewed perception of themselves about different things and to different degrees, but in this context I mean “a skewed perception of how a trans person relates to their body”

Creation was deemed “good” before people, but after people, God declared it “very good.” Again, in Genesis 1. I literally cannot stress enough how much God wants people to come to Him for whatever the reason

Chloe Cole's discussion with Dr. Peterson + the comment section and the testimonies in it

this post

#tm answers #heavy post #there's always stuff i can phrase better i am positive #but this is my best atm #long post #also anon how did u find me i am genuinely curious

[elvisabutler]

spark ( chapter two: prayer )

fandom: elvis presley | elvis ( 2022 ) rating: m pairing: elvis presley ( fameless big daddy electrician/handyman ) x female original character word count: 10570ish so just shy of 11k this time. warnings: talk of children. a bit of negative self talk. infidelity in some form. elvis in glasses. religion playing an at least faintly important part. use of a washcloth in inventive ways. faint naivety regarding come and precome and pleasurable parts of sex, i suppose. fingering. implied/referenced masturbation ( m and f ). pining. talk of female reproductive issues. author’s note: so before you read anything involving this. i need you all to either go into this chapter blind other than my note about female reproductive issues or i need you to scroll all the way down to the bottom of this past the tag list for a bit of an explanation for that warning. i'm fine either way but i didn't want to spoil it in the warnings considering i left what happened fairly nebulous. all that being said hi y'all, welcome to the second chapter of spark! there is not a lot i can say other than telling you all i am so very thankful for every single one of you who read it and especially those of you who left comments in the notes or reblogged because hearing what feelings i invoked or what i did to y'all was a highlight and truly makes me want to interact with all of you more and makes me just want to hear more from all of you. this chapter and the next are a doozy but this one specifically has the nearly 6k bath scene as i've called it so you're in for a treat. special thank you to my southern gothic/southern sticky romance soulmate @precious-little-scoundrel because y'all know this wouldn't exist without her little whispers. additional thanks to my discord wives @ab4eva and @butlersxbirdy, my princess and my peach y'all know how much hearing y'all scream about my snippets made me know i was heading in the right direction. @blurredcolour thank you for also reassuring me that the one bit i showed you worked and wasn't just completely a mess. and last but not least @powerofelvis and @prompted-wordsmith thank you both for the edit job and smitty specifically for a few choice lines. i still am never gonna not laugh about you trying to sneak weepy in there though. and now before this author's not gets much longer, i present the second chapter of spark, titled prayer.

It's so quiet in the room. It's too quiet in the kitchen. It's too quiet even as Lilly hears Elvis's deep breaths against her back, hears her own softer breaths mixed with something that sounds almost like a whimper—a soft cry of elation with every other breath and shift of her body against his. Her vagina—her pussy—oh, she doesn't know what to call it now—aches in a way she's never felt before, not even when her husband took her for the first time in their bed. It aches but it doesn't hurt, it burns but in the way her legs burned after she would go running with Melly or how her arms burned after lifting up a basket of Nathan's clothes. Her—what had Elvis called it?—her clit, her button throbs as she feels his soft cock brush up against it as he moves forward just a bit, causing a noise that sounds so obscene Lilly can't help the way her cheeks darken even as another noise leaves her. Another whimper, this time lower in pitch, a keen leaves her mouth as Elvis stills his attempt to separate them.

"Lilly, darlin' I gotta—you gotta let me let ya down. Ya leg's startin' to hurt, ain't it?" Elvis murmurs, his hand moving down her flank, watching how her body starts to shiver, their shared sweat starting to cool on her body as the fan–the fan he just fixed whirrs above them. "Don't… it's gonna start hurtin' the more we stay here, darlin'. Let—" His hand moves to her thigh, feels how it's so sticky and slick with God knows what fluid, his or hers or both, and he's not sure how he's going to take his hand off of her if it starts to stick. Her shivers are starting to strengthen, be it from nervousness or the cool air or a combination and Elvis can't help the way a singular one flows through him, causing him to tighten his hold on her thigh and bury his face against her shoulder, a groan leaving his lips as he feels her clench at it. "It's—come on, Lilly, I gotcha, let me help ya."

It's those words, that mild parroting of words he had just whispered against the shell of her ear not even 15 minutes ago that has her head falling forward just a little, has her body going lax completely, a rag doll for him to maneuver how he sees fit. She doesn't trust herself to help him, doesn't trust the thoughts in her head that tell her to make him keep her this way, to keep him inside of her and keep her filled and aching all at once. Doesn't trust the traitorous thought that tells her Nathan would have never done this, would never be this gentle and calming with her. She'd already be standing on shaky legs with him tucking himself in his pants before telling her that was good. Elvis's arm catches her, holds her tight against him still as he helps her pull her leg down off the counter even as she hears that noise again that—squelch of her arousal and the sheer amount of come he had released in her. If this is how he sounded inside of her, what would happen when he pulled out of her? What would happen as he left her stretched and satisfied? Would—perhaps some would take. Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps. 

"Lil." His whisper is gentle, almost as if he's scared she'll bolt. "You hold onto me. Gonna get outta ya now. Gonna pull out of ya."

Her arm and her hand grip his own tightly, her shivers increasing as she feels Elvis start to pull out. The more he inches out bit by bit the more empty she feels, the more she feels as if there's a wound there that won't heal caused by him leaving. It's never felt like this with Nathan and she knows, she knows so deep in her bones and soul that should worry her. But her mind, her body, her everything has narrowed down to her and Elvis as he finally breaks free of her vagina and she feels a wetness like she's never felt before slide down her legs. Unbidden and unrestrained, a sob is wrenched from her throat as she's set down, her feet finally touching the floor once more. A sudden shift back to reality she wasn't prepared for.

Elvis's arm tightens around her even as her shivers worsen and as he feels and hears the sob that comes from her. He doesn't think he hurt her—not physically, at least—but he can't… he can't check her like this. Not when he looks down at her legs and sees his release sliding down her leg.

A realization hits him in that exact moment as his arm tightens around where—where a child would grow if any of his release caught. Where their child would grow if it caught. He hadn't worn protection. He allowed himself to enter her bare and come not once, but twice. Right in this very moment he could be sealing both of their fates. Her to have the child of a man who is not her husband and him—him, to see another man raise his child. To see his child grow up through pictures instead of being there for every waking moment. His thoughts are interrupted by another of Lilly's sobs and he shakes his head. She–she needs a bath, he can't let Nathan come home and see her like this. Even if he had been neglecting her, leaving her to wilt and leaving her to be watered and in the worst of cases fertilized by another man, Elvis couldn't be sure of his reaction to seeing the proof leaking out of his wife.

The fan creaks as it spins, unused to spinning after the break it had been given from being broken. Elvis's brain settles on the noise even as the air circulating causes even his body to let out a shiver. His own natural heat feels like it isn't enough in this one moment, as if it's too busy trying to keep Lilly warm to remember to keep him fully warm and yet he thinks he can handle it. It's nothing compared to winter in France. Nothing compared to the bite of the cold against his skin then. And yet—and yet it cuts far more to the bone, through his muscles and fat and everything that should protect him. Straight to the heart of him.

His arm finally falls from around Lilly’s waist as she moves to stand on her own, her legs a little shaky like a newborn deer. He hastily tucks himself back into his jumpsuit—she can't see what he put inside her, can't see his uncut cock even if it brought her pleasure he wonders if she's never had before. When she finally looks at him he has to stop himself from pulling her into his arms to kiss her. She looks… she looks like an angel and he's corrupted her like a devil. He's touched something that might not have been pure and innocent but was as close as he’s seen in such a long time and sullied it. Touched it with hands that have seen war and have seen death and threatened to cause death even in peacetime. What sort of person did that, what sort of man who believes in God with all his being now would do this to another man’s wife? Breaking not one, but two sins, and for what? To try and fix something that it isn’t his place to fix, that will never be his place to fix? To try and fix something only to potentially cause more things to break inside and out. He hopes she doesn’t see how his hand clenches into a fist, hopes she doesn’t see how he can’t look her in the eye right at this moment. He hopes—he hopes—he hopes she can forgive him, he hopes God can forgive him. 

Lilly can’t help the way her legs shake slightly and how her body trembles just a little bit. She’s not cold, not in a way that would cause this much shivering and yet here she was acting as if she had been dunked in a bath filled with cold water and shoved into a Yankee winter. Elvis was—is warm in a way she knows would help. Or at least she feels as if it would help because it would just be an extension of taking care of her, wouldn’t it? It would be him continuing the duty he’s given himself despite not… not being the man who promised to love and to hold and to take care of her in every conceivable way. He is just a man. He is just a man who she has grown quite fond of but a man nonetheless. A man who is not her husband and yet—no, this was just both of them being tempted and falling for temptation. In her mind, she thinks of never having Elvis speak to her again, thinks of a world where this act has ruined their relationship. No, their friendship, and she bites her lip to keep from crying out in anguish. He had been such good company. He is such good company and to lose that would have her all alone once again with nothing to show for it except… perhaps. Perhaps his release could catch inside her. Perhaps it could catch and form a child, their child and she would have someone to be with. She would have the child she longed for to spend her days doting on and mothering. She would have her company and she could be so much less angry—despondent over her friends and she could enjoy Melly’s pregnancy and any other ones that would come after because she’d at least have her own child. Too preoccupied with her thoughts, she nearly misses Elvis speaking to her and grabbing ahold of her hand. 

“Lil darlin’, ya shakin’ like a leaf. Ya got a robe or somethin’ in that bedroom of yourn?” He asks all while walking them ever so slowly to the bathroom near the other bedroom. It has a bathtub, that much he knows from using it but he knows it’s likely not anything compared to the one in the main bathroom adjacent to her bedroom. Lilly can only nod as an answer. “Ya good to go grab it? Don’t wanna—it’s not my place to see ya bedroom.”

He’s right and she knows he is but a part of her, the part of her that’s clinging onto his hand for dear life and doesn’t trust her legs to carry her into the bedroom and back to him shakes her head. “I’m—I don’t—walk me to it?”

“Lilly,” he starts before he looks up and sees her face pleading with him, begging silently in almost the same way it was up against the sink and he stops himself before nodding. “Just keep holdin’ my hand. I’ll walk wit’ ya.”

Between the walls and Elvis’s hand, Lilly’s steps are a little more certain by the time she makes it to the doorway of her bedroom where just on the inside there’s a hook that has her robe. She creaks the door open just slightly to grab it before pulling it on. It smells faintly of Nathan’s cologne and she can’t help but crinkle her nose in distaste, wishing it smelt different. The walk over to the other bathroom is just as slow and just as measured but the moment they reach it, Elvis moves to set her on the toilet after shutting the lid. His knees crack audibly as he gets down on the floor with a groan. Lilly winces as she hears the water turn on. “Warmer than you think I should have it.” 

He hadn’t asked what temperature she wanted the water but she figured it was best to tell him ahead of time, just in case he thought she needed it only lukewarm. His response is a chuckle before he turns the hot knob just a bit more. 

Her mind wanders as she sits there feeling more of his release sticking to her leg. Her mind wanders as she looks at Elvis in his jumpsuit still half open but done up so she can’t see what was between his legs, what had given her such pleasure that her vagina clenches 

involuntarily at the memory. Clenches at the memory of how full it felt, how it felt like it was catching, how it felt different than Nathan’s penis. Surely—oh surely with how full she feels even now with his release inside her it would take. It would catch and take and her belly would swell with new life. Her child would grow inside her and kick and roll and make her so happy even as she pushed them out, painful as everyone had told her it was. Her child would look like her if it was a daughter or perhaps a healthy mix of her and Elvis if it was a boy. Her breath catches at the image and she finds herself leaning against the toilet and clutching her hands to her stomach with her eyes shut. Her eyes shut so that the lord could hear her prayer because she’s only focusing on Him and the words she was praying up into the heavens. Please, Lord, please let it catch. Bless me with just this one baby.

Elvis looks over at Lilly over the rims of his glasses and is struck by how she looks so serene in the moment. How her robe covers her and how her head is tilted up as if she’s praying for something. His eyes drift down and notice her hands on her belly. Her hands that seem small compared to his on her belly and briefly, in a flash he berates himself for later, he pictures her growing round with his baby after the release he's just left in her has taken root. Pictures her blossoming and blooming right before his eyes as she thanks him with his favorite dinner with their child rolling inside of her under an apron. The word please leaves her lips, though, and it shatters that image quicker than anything else. She is married to an idiotic child, yes, but he is still her husband and is still a strapping young man. Perhaps still more suited for her than him. More suited to give her those children to help her bloom. He has to shut his eyes and pray for forgiveness and for God to dissolve his come before it reaches those parts of her that can bear fruit. She’s pleading with God that it doesn’t take—that they aren’t caught with their indiscretion and his mind is being selfish with the desires it has for her.

It doesn’t take long for the tub to fill and Elvis turns off the water before it gets to be too much. He can’t look at Lilly, hasn’t looked at her since he heard the word please fall from her lips and yet he knows he has to. He knows to help her into the bathtub he has to but he stares at the water, watching it ripple just a little until he hears Lilly’s voice. 

“Are you—? You can… can you stay?” Her skin flushes at her own question, as if it’s the worst possible thing for her to say, as if it’s mortifying to have it leave her lips. He is not her husband. He is, at best, a new friend—and she wants him to see her completely bare. “You don’t—”

Elvis cuts off her words with a shake of his head. “I’ll stay for ya. Since ya want me to.” He pauses, his eyes finally looking at her: specifically looking at her legs where his release is still sliding down onto the floor of the bathroom. Had he honestly come that much? “Ya—e need to—I came in ya, Mrs. H—Lilly. It’s gonna need to be washed outta ya,” his hand twitches as his eyes drift to her stomach and he has to stop himself from placing his hand on it with his next words. “Don’t want ya bein’... Don’t wanna cause ya any issues.”

Don’t want to have my child growin’ inside of ya, is what he means, Lilly thinks. Her traitorous mind wants to be that mean woman Nathan’s accused of her of being and spit that she wants to swell with his baby. She wants to grow round with his baby because she wants a baby and Nathan won’t give her one. She wants a child to love and dote on and to cherish. She bites her tongue though, because it’s not right to say it, it’s not proper to admit she might do anything for a baby. Instead she nods and moves to take off the robe, motioning for Elvis to help her with the rest of her clothes as she stands up. Ever the gentleman, he obliges, and Lilly can’t help the goosebumps and shivers that dot her in his hands’ wake as his fingertips glide across her skin. Her body hunches over just slightly to protect her modesty as if he hadn’t just had her against her kitchen sink not once, but twice. Elvis frowns slightly when he sees this, the frown only deepening as she moves to step into the tub on her own. It doesn’t take him but a second to scoop her into his arms.

Lilly squeaks slightly at the unexpected touch before she leans against him, her hand moving to play with his chest hair until he sets her down softly into the tub. A whine escapes her lips as her vagina hits the water, the temperature difference reminding her of their actions. A moment passes before Elvis opens his mouth to ask something and Lilly tilts her head to the cabinet above the toilet. “Middle shelf.”

A nod is his only response to her direction until she hears the crack of his knees signaling how he’s back down on the ground. Her eyes haven’t left the water, watching how there’s little bits of white, stringy and almost clear swirling around the water. It was all going to waste. It was all going to be going down the drain and she was going to remain barren, a woman with no fruit of her loins to call her own when there should be no reason for that. Elvis eyes her before setting the washcloth in the water and humming, his hand moving to touch her shoulder, a strangely domestic touch that she doesn’t shy away from.

“There’s so much of it.” Lilly whispers absentmindedly, her head tilting just so as Elvis hums and chuckles slightly because she’s not wrong. 

“It’s just—that’s my—that’s what I produce before I actually release inside ya. Hell, I think most of it might be that ‘cause I ain’t ever produced this much.” A truth if he’s honest with himself, even in his younger days he doesn’t remember this much being in a condom and yet he had filled her with so much it’s just leaking out of her. He had filled her like he was her husband and they were trying for a child. He had done the unthinkable and yet there’s a small part of him that wonders how much of his release is inside of her. That small part has his cock twitching just slightly against his leg, ready to give her more if she asks, to fill her up and replace what’s being lost in the water. He shakes his head to clear it, to direct the blood flow back to his thinking self and not the desirous snake in his pants.

“This ain’t the part we gotta worry ‘bout anyway. It’s the thicker stuff,” he points to a small bit that’s floating from her vagina as he speaks, “like that right there that we gotta worry ‘bout. But the rest? Ya see how it's slidin’ right out? We don't gotta worry bout those parts.”

Lilly has to stop herself from perking up at that knowledge. That there’s more where this came from and that this? She can lose as much of this as she is right now while still perhaps having his seed catch. This was just the initial bit, the majority of it is still inside of her and she clenches, tightens her vagina even as it feels to be an insurmountable task as it throbs and pulses from the effort. She can't tilt her hips up like her mother had told her but later, perhaps, later she could lay in bed and tilt her hips to help whatever is left behind reach where it needs to be. 

Elvis can't put it off any longer as he stares at rippling water, he needs to help this along, other than those small bits not much of his release is coloring the water. If too much stayed within her—her body would change soon, her body would change and it would be all his fault. He would be responsible for her blooming and blossoming but with a child that wouldn't be, couldn't be taken care of the way he'd want them to. He leans closer to Lilly and finds his hand holding the washcloth sliding up her leg. 

"Don't—I gotcha Lilly. Gonna help clean ya out, alright? Gonna be as gentle as I can." He waits to see her acknowledgement of a nod before he finally moves his hand up to between her legs, the heel of his hand against her mound and his hand covering everything else.

Her body—her vagina feels as if he's shocked her, as if there's a live wire from his hand to her. A gasp leaves her lips even as she inadvertently grinds down on his hand, chasing a feeling she can't quite put her finger on. It’s almost instinctual the way she reacts, the way her eyes shut as she hisses, the pressure too much while at the same time too little. At her hiss Elvis pulls back his hand as if it’s been burned. It’s not his job to take care of her, it’s not his job to make sure she’s alright after their intercourse against the sink and yet he doesn’t think he could live with himself if he hurt her. He knows how to take care of a woman after sex and he’d be damned if he didn’t treat Lilly with all the respect—and love, his mind traitorously whispers—she deserves.

“Lil, ya alright? Did I…” he starts before his words are cut off with a violent shake of her head. Words are failing her and his eyes search her face for a clue as if that will explain her actions and finds it in the way she shifts in the bath slightly. “Ya sensitive down there?” 

Lilly nods and breathes slowly through her nose. “I think so? It’s—It feels like it’s throbbing, Mr. Pre—Elvis.” 

In the back of his mind he knows that means she took him well and that he pleasured her thoroughly. It means that her body is overwhelmed with the sensation. It means that it’ll be like that for days to come. A small, sick bit of joy shoots through him at the thought of her aching for him and his stomach roils as soon as the thought comes to him. He would be no better than her husband who ignores her if he took pleasure in the idea. If he took pleasure in knowing he left her aching for him while she is married to her husband. 

His words are measured when he speaks, a low murmur as he leans closer, taking the washcloth back in his hands. “Ya ain’t—I’m a lil bigger than most, should have prepped ya better. Jus’. We both got a lil’ overwhelmed, didn’t we? ‘S’alright, ‘m gonna make it better, darlin’. Gonna be gentle as I can. Gonna help ya get all this out of ya. Keep ya from having my baby.”

Lilly’s face falls at his words even though he doesn’t notice, too preoccupied with shifting his focus downward to her vagina. Her breath is slow and measured as she watches him, trying to give this a clinical air, trying to make her body realize there’s nothing arousing about this. This is him just trying to clean his release out of her to keep from being tied to her in some way permanent. Her hand drifts to her belly as she curls into him, her head leaning onto his shoulder. He’s methodical with the outside of her and using the cloth he tries to reach between her folds, tries to open her up only to feel as she tenses just that little bit harder. Forcing her open isn’t an option, not one he wants to seriously consider, at least, and he pauses. His fingers through the rough washcloth threaten to ignite another fire low in her belly as they rub slightly against her skin—at least, if the way she whimpers softly is any indication. Perhaps if he brushed against her clit, perhaps that could open her up. It’s helped in other times when he’s wanted to pleasure another woman. His thumb is already near it and without dwelling on his thought his thumb swipes against it, the wash cloth adding friction that has her unclenching faster than he thought was possible, the shock of it ricocheting through her system. A gasp escapes her lips. A gasp that sounds like his name. He refuses to dwell on what that means as he brushes his thumb against her clit once more. 

“Elvis,” she whimpers his name as his thumb swipes a third and a fourth time and she can feel her vagina clenching and unclenching at the feeling, at the sensation as finally she relaxes fully, allowing his fingers to enter her without a question. “Sensitive.” 

Her mind is narrowing to single words, the swirl of arousal curling tighter and tighter in her abdomen with each brush of his thumb and each press of his fingers inside of her. The washcloth shouldn’t help the feeling, it shouldn’t make her eyes want to roll in the back of her head from the friction and the slight roughness. The splashes of his arm and hand hitting the water as his fingers move in and out of her ground her and yet have her floating away. Her brain registers him speaking through her whimpers of pleasure. Pleasure that she doesn’t know what to—to do with, having been denied it for so long. 

“I know it’s a lot but gotta be thorough, Lilly. Gotta make sure it's all out,” he whispers softly to her, his fingers never stopping their task. “That's it, unclench for me, Lil darlin. Let—ya gotta help me, we gotta make sure there isn't anything left up there."

Faintly she can hear him and feel herself nodding, too busy trying not to rock against his fingers. That’s not what he’s doing this for, he’s trying to prevent—he’s trying to prevent a child. He’s trying to protect her marriage and yet her body wants to move on instinct. She wants to be beholden to her instincts just this once. Just this once she wants to have pleasure and happiness she doesn’t have to beg and plead for. It’s nice, this haze that overwhelms her senses, and she can’t truly recall the cold, distant figure of her husband leaving each and every day for work without so much as a kiss on the cheek as it has been recently. Instead she is nestled into the crook of Mr. Presley’s neck, lips tasting of the salt of his sweat. She wants to feel like he made her feel against the sink. Her body cants itself just so in order to earn another swipe of his thumb and she feels herself dangling on the precipice of something—of her orgasm, maybe? Was she about to find release on his fingers as he cleaned her body out with a washcloth? As he cleaned his release so a child didn’t form inside her, giving away their actions from tonight? A miniscule part of her feels as if she ought to be mortified but it doesn’t drown out her sighs and whines as she feels his fingers curl just so—trying to make sure she’s clean. It doesn’t drown out how her hips move once in another attempt to grind before he puts his hand on the back of her neck. A comforting gesture, yes, but when paired with his next words seals her fate.

“Take what ya need right now. Jus' takin’ care of ya. It’ll help get more outta ya. That’s it, Lil darlin, Elvis’s gotcha.”

A keen, high pitched and pained, leaves her mouth as she feels herself fluttering around—no, clenching around—his fingers before becoming practically boneless against him, the aftershocks from the orgasm causing a new round of shivers and goosebumps to happen. Her face burrows into his shoulder as he works her through them gently before her hand moves to grab his wrist, the sensitivity finally becoming too much. 

“Elvis it’s, o-oh—” Lily struggles to articulate her words and breathe and exist in this moment, the sensation drowning out any thoughts other than the pulse of her own heartbeat she feels between her legs. “It—”

Elvis shushes her, trying his hand on her neck, rubbing it and tightening over and over as he finishes cleaning her out, knowing that whatever is left is too high up for him to reach. He’d have to just pray to god for that to be done away with. "Shhhh, Lilly… Darlin', I'm sorry, bein' as gentle as I can.”

Lilly should object to how his hand at her neck feels almost as if she's a kitten being dragged along by their mother but she can't find it in her to do such a thing. She can't find it in her to since objecting would mean he'd remove something that truthfully is keeping her tenuous grip on reality and the Earth there. She figures she'd float away without it. There's a part of her that doesn't think she'd mind in that moment, that she'd understand floating away after what's happened because it almost doesn't feel real, especially as he takes care to wash her body despite her being fully capable of doing it herself. His grip loosens for the last time as she watches him lean over and unplug the drain. The water swirls slowly at first, gaining speed the longer she stares at it and the more of his release slides down the drain. She hears the crack of Elvis's knees as he stands up and winces for him even as his shadow towers over her. She should get up out of the tub, she knows this and yet her legs feel just shaky enough that she finds the task impossible until she feels his arms underneath hers.

Getting out with his support allows her to fully catch her bearings as he hands her a towel that she wraps around her body, drying herself off as he grabs another and assists with her legs, his knees cracking once again at him getting back down. She makes the mistake of looking down at him and seeing him look up at her with a surprising sense of worship she only ever usually associates with church and God. A shiver makes its way through her at the realization. 

Her voice sounds like it's going through a tunnel as she says something about how she's fine from here. She swears she hears herself say Mr. Presley and hears him say Mrs. Harris like he hadn't seen her naked and like he hadn't just helped her to clean out his release. Their formalities would make her laugh in any other situation, especially if she thinks of his seed catching inside of her. It wouldn't do to call her that when she was carrying his child, now would it? Wouldn't do for her to call him that as her belly rounded out with his baby, would it? Would it?

He leaves and she waits until she hears a goodbye burst forth loud enough to break through the tunnel her ears are in to finish drying off and getting ready.

She barely finishes making dinner as Nathan walks through the door.

Elvis… Elvis finds himself under his shower cursing his actions even as he remembers her face and her pleasure. He dreams of a life. He dreams of a life with her. He dreams of their life together. It feels worse than any nightmare.

Charlie notices something is up the moment he walks in the diner and sees Elvis already sitting down at their table, a plate with just bacon in front of him in addition to eggs and what looks like toast, or at least he hopes it’s toast. It looks like a plate for him and Elvis and yet he sees the man he's willing to call one of his truest friends eating it all as if it's just for him. He ought to be gentle about the whole thing, ask Elvis a question calmly and innocently. 

Instead, as any sensible friend who’s seen you naked and bleeding and cryin’ for your mama does, he steals two pieces of bacon and sits down in the chair across from his best friend and chomps on said bacon before asking one, singular question: "What are you doing?"

Elvis's hand darts out with a speed that betrays his army training to grab the other piece of bacon only to be rebuffed with a frown. "Eating bacon, Charlie. Ya suddenly blind now? Short and blind, what a catch for ya wife."

Charlie visibly recoils and waits for Elvis to apologize or give him some clue that the statement was just his normal, playful ribbing. The crunch of the bacon disabuses him of that notion as the minutes tick by. "We got a family so she must've seen something in me. Just thankful she didn't see you first."

"Ain't that everyone's damn thanks. Thankful I didn't see their wives back then but if I see 'em now they ain't gotta worry. Women don't go for this body like they did back in the day." Elvis stabs at his eggs and Charlie—Charlie thinks he knows what's going on and he can't help but roll his eyes internally. 

"Did some woman turn you down and now you're moping? Over a plate of bacon after church?" He tries to keep the judgment out of his voice but there's still a hint there that he can't do away with. 

If looks could kill as well as every gun both he and Elvis have ever used, Charlie's certain in this moment he would be preparing to go to sleep in his eternal resting place. As it stands he once again realizes that perhaps he ought to not poke his absolute bear of a best friend. Elvis's next words punctuated by another crunch of bacon and a laugh so bitter Charlie's never heard it come from him seals that idea.

"Oh. Charlie, my boy, my boy, that would have been better. I would have handled that like a champ," he shakes his head, "ya 'member Mrs. Harris? The—the woman I told ya 'bout?"

“Yeah, the one with the niece and the husband who can’t work his way ‘round a wrench. What about—?” Charlie stops mid sentence and stares long and hard at Elvis trying to school his face into something normal and something less like he looks about ready to murder him before realizing it’s impossible and saying the first words that come to mind in the most hushed tone he can manage. “Wasn’t one of your rules you wouldn’t sleep with a married woman?”

Elvis can’t help but curse the fact that Charlie has seen him through some of, if not the worst, parts of his life and can regrettably read him like an open book sometimes. He doesn’t answer with words. Instead he allows himself to eat a piece of toast that is both soggy and crispy all at once. His silence is practically deafening before Charlie exhales. 

“You—ou got me thinking your daddy died or something and all this is because you slept with another man’s wife? A man who’s practically ignoring her despite how she looks like a—” Elvis swallows and holds up his pointer finger before practically growling. 

“Not other fuckin’ word, Hodge. Not a single fuckin’ word. Lilly ain’t some fuckin’ European floozy we forgot ‘bout the next day. Don’t ya say ‘nother fuckin’ word.”

A chuckle leaves Charlie’s mouth despite his best efforts to stop it. Elvis is moping about a woman alright, just not the way Charlie thought he was. He wouldn’t have—He loves Elvis, he does but he would have never predicted him managing to charm a woman like that if she didn’t know who he was beforehand. If she didn’t know him as he was when they both came back from the war, both struggling with things they had seen yet pared down to a lean type of beauty: the scraggly pines that grew on Italian mountaintops. Yet maybe, just maybe, there was hope. Very stupid and unwise hope, but hope nonetheless that Elvis might be able to enjoy the same sort of life he has. 

"Cursing on the Lord's day. At me. She's got you—pass me your whole pig's worth of bacon and tell me what happened, E."

Elvis stares at the plate and lets out a heavy sigh as he scoots the plate over. “It ain’t a whole pig’s worth of bacon.”

“It’s as big as my head.” Charlie states, motioning to get the attention of one of the waitresses in an attempt to get a plate and different food even as he eats a piece of bacon.

“Ya have a tiny head, Hodge. Like a damn lil hedgehog.” 

Meanwhile across town Lilly finds herself in her sister’s kitchen, sitting at her dining room table with the light of the sun shining on her through the window. Her sister Melly busies herself with the finishing touches of a lunch for the two of them and Jerry. Lilly had tried to help only to be waved off with an ease that had her sitting down in the chair watching, her hands settling on her stomach as they had been since that fateful afternoon. It’s too soon to know, she reasons, too soon to know if Elvis’s seed took and has filled her empty womb with a child she’s craved for years. Yet her hands gravitate there anyway, almost trying to provide a cradle as if to tell the child she hopes is forming inside her that it’s okay to stay, it’s alright and that she’ll be their mother. She’ll take such good care of them and they’ll get to meet their cousins. They’ll get to meet their cousins and grow up with the one swelling underneath Melly’s apron. 

Melly notices this, of course, notices how her sister is cradling her belly and yet she doesn’t dare ask. She doesn’t dare ask if Nathan’s finally done right by her sister and given her the baby she so desperately wants. Her chest hasn’t changed and she hasn’t felt a firmness when she’s brushed against her but perhaps it’s just too early.

“You’re looking happier,” Melly comments as she sets down the plates of food. She leaves Jerry’s on the counter, knowing her husband will grab it when he comes back inside from dealing with the yard.

Lilly can’t help the way she smiles slightly and practically preens at the acknowledgment that she seems happier. Elvis might not be—Elvis might not have been by since that afternoon but there was something so beautiful about his actions, so gentle and nourishing about him that it stuck with her. The throbbing in her vagina’s finally stopped after days of her cupping it and playing with it next to Nathan’s snoring body, wishing her fingers were thicker and longer and wishing it was Elvis’s cock sliding in and out of her. That he was keeping her full and telling her he’s got her, he’s always got her while filling her with so much of his release that there’d be no other choice but to swell with his child. 

She doesn’t dwell on the fact that it’s taken another man to make her feel a way she hasn't for years. She can’t dwell on that because it’s improper and she’d like to just bask in the glow of everything for now. She’d like to bask in the glow of things before a different glow would overtake her. 

“I feel happier.” Lilly answers, still continuing to grin as she digs into the food. There’s a hint of nausea at some of it but she chalks it up to being hungry. “I feel different.”

Melly’s eyebrows both move upward as she settles into her chair and takes a bite of her toast first, knowing how her stomach reacts to food without a bland base to start off with. “Different. Does that have anything to do with Nathan and you? Anything you want to tell me?”

Lilly’s hand stills in its subconscious rubbing as her eyes widen. “No. Not—not yet.”

There’s something that shifts in Melly, a brightness that shines through as she looks at Lilly. If she is pregnant it's too soon to tell but the idea that she'd be carrying her second while Lilly is finally carrying her first delights her in ways she can't put into words. It's perhaps a secret dream she's always had. The scrape of her chair against the linoleum is harsh to both their ears and yet it’s a small price to pay for the feel of Melly’s hand against her stomach. 

“You’ll tell me as soon as you know?” Melly’s voice comes out as a whisper, as if she’s scared to speak it any louder. “You’ll tell me I’ll have a niece or nephew on the way?”

Lilly nods quickly as she hears the door open and hears Jerry’s voice carry into the kitchen. Melly’s hand moves off of her stomach as quick as can be before Jerry pops his head in and smiles. “Won’t ask what you two were doing before I got here.”

Life doesn't stop that Sunday and instead continues on and on with one week passing by and then another and another until Lilly knows she's due for her cycle and yet it doesn't appear. Her underwear remains pristine and white with not a drop of blood in sight. She doesn't dare tell Melly or anyone yet, knowing it could be a fluke, a stress induced issue but she swears she feels her womb hardening. She swears she feels it bloating in a way that feels different than what comes before her cycle. Perhaps, perhaps Elvis had done it. Perhaps Elvis had filled her and their child was forming unbeknownst to either of them. It occurs to her that she should try and reach out to him and see if he can come by her home. There's nothing that's broken for him to be fixed and yet he deserves to know what's happening inside her. That soon her stomach will round outward and their child will kick and roll and grow inside of her. That she is still married but it would be cruel to deprive him of ever knowing of their child. 

It's too soon for him to know, she'll tell him when she's sure, when there's no mistaking what has happened to her because of their actions that afternoon. She'll tell him then, she'll convince him to come by and press his hand against her stomach so he can feel what he's—what she wished and prayed to have happen even as he washed himself out of her. He ought to be able to be in their life somehow because he's their father and he'd make such a brilliant one. He'd make such a brilliant one and her mind traitorously tells her it's a shame she wouldn't be raising the child with him. 

Six weeks is a long time for him to be avoiding Lilly and he knows that. He knows that she didn't deserve to be left out in the cold like that—to be left without company and companionship like that but he can't help it. He can't help how his mind drifts when his exhaustion sets in remembering how her body felt against his when they danced and when she sagged against him. It’s a sin to covet a man’s wife as much as he covets Lilly. It’s a sin to want to be in another man’s home taking care of his wife in any way she’ll let him. It’s a sin and yet it feels so right, it feels like he’d be doing what he’s meant to be doing. Elvis is not her husband and yet his mind—his traitorous mind and soul tells him he should be and tells him she needs him in some way. She’s been happier, he thinks, since that afternoon—and his mind tells him that he had something to do with that. There’s a glow about her and it draws him in like a moth to a flame before he pulls himself away every Sunday when she passes off her niece. A nagging thought crosses his mind as the weeks go by and he swears that glow is stronger every time he sees her, that perhaps it wasn’t just happiness and joy causing her to glow that way. He ought to ask her and yet the idea feels invasive in a way that makes him think he has to find the right time for it. If his suspicions prove to be correct, he figures they both will need time to process it. 

Six weeks is a long time for him to avoid her and it makes it so that when he gets a call that sounds like Lilly crying there isn’t a moment of hesitation before he finds himself jumping into his truck and driving to her house she shares with her husband. Her door is unlocked and he wants to admonish her for it, tell her that she shouldn’t leave the door unlocked because you never know who might come in but then he sees her. He sees her tear stained face and her rumpled dress and fears the worst. A flash of pure anger courses through his veins as his mind swirls with possibilities of why she’s crying. Why her face and body betray such anguish that it twists his gut and has his mouth opening to speak before her voice sounding so small in a way he’s never heard interrupts him. 

“I was waiting. I was being careful!” Her words don’t make sense to Elvis even as his eyes trace over her form and around the house where they’re standing as if either thing holds the clue for what’s going on. As if some part of the way she’s carrying herself—hunched over—or the way things seem out of place—her lunch was sitting on the table only half eaten—would explain what’s happening, why she had called him crying, muttering about needing to fix things. 

His tone is soft and comforting as he moves to touch her shoulder, to pull her into some form of a hug. “Darlin’—” The word slips out before he can stop himself but he continues. “What’s… what’s wrong?”

Her eyes look up at him and he’s struck by how bloodshot they look. How long had she been crying? How long had her body been wracked by sobs that no one was there to comfort her from? Elvis watches as her mouth opens and closes several times before she shakes her head. “I—the oven is broke again.”

“Lil—Mrs. Harris, things I fix don’t break like that. Not this quick.” He tries to defend his work, knowing there’s no Earthly way that it was broken already. He had made sure to fix it, he had made sure that her oven wouldn’t need his touch for quite a long time after he was inside of it that day. In the back of his mind he thinks he’s missing something.

“It’s broken, Mr. Presley. It’s broken and can’t keep heat and bake anything and I’ll call someone else over if you won’t fix it. Just please take a look at it. Just make it work like I thought it was.” Lilly’s voice shakes but doesn’t waver when she speaks. If anything it seems to get stronger the longer she speaks. It seems she’s more insistent with every word that comes from her mouth. Something is broken—the oven he was supposed to fix is broken and she wants him to check it again. That nagging feeling grows as he looks at her in confusion. He prides himself on being a smart enough man, but… maybe it’s because she clouds his judgment. He can’t tell what she’s talking about.

“Lil—Lilly, why did you call me here?” He manages to almost stutter out the words, wincing he hears it. She has to answer him when he asks point blank, doesn’t she? 

Lilly is silent for the longest while and Elvis thinks he pushed too hard, thinks that he’s overstepped for once—twice—in their friendship and opens his mouth to apologize before she grabs his hand and places it on her stomach. In a rush everything clicks into place for Elvis and swears his heart stops. He should move his hand and yet he can’t, it’s almost as if there’s a magnet keeping his hand attached to her stomach. The oven is broken, her oven is broken and empty and can’t keep heat. 

The night before, when his body gave out and had him sleep he tossed and turned over images of him and Lilly together. Images of her swollen with a child and laughing next to him. He remembers being on his knees kissing her still-flat stomach and laughing with her hand over his and telling her how she’s made him the happiest man alive. He could still hear her giggles ringing in his ears when he woke up. That was fantasy, a dream dreamed up by an old man who shouldn’t be dreaming of a life with a woman he isn’t married to and who is married to another. They’re brilliant company for each other but—but she is not his wife and he is not her husband. 

“I’m sorry.” Elvis whispers the words and they feel so insubstantial, so insignificant to what he feels in this moment. The sorrow he feels for her being fed by her tears and the way her silence just drags on and on. Perhaps this was his doing, perhaps there was something there and he had broken it. Perhaps—perhaps he should have been selfish and not cleaned his release from her. Or perhaps—he can’t dwell on it. It threatens to drive him mad if he does. 

And yet his mind can't shake another time and place where his hand is there for another reason, with her hand over his, a smile on her face instead of tears rolling down her cheeks and onto his suit as she curls into a hug he offers. She looks so young and yet like she's been crushed by the world all at once. A flower run over on the side of the road, soaked in the gutter. The attempt he finally makes to move his hand is thwarted by her own grasping his wrist, forcing him to press down to feel that she's bloated but still very empty.

It was supposed to be different. Things were supposed to go well, she had prayed and begged and cradled her womb and for what? For her cycle to be off and there to be blood mocking her in her underwear? For there to be cramping that feels like it might threaten to tear her in two. No one she’s known has lost a baby, there’s no one she can ask to see if that’s what’s happening. If the child she swore was growing from the moment Elvis released inside of her not once but twice was gone. Or if there just wasn’t one at all and she had been deluding herself. Either option feels almost unbearable and feels like a lead weight in her stomach.

Elvis doesn’t speak and Lilly’s thankful for it. Her dream of telling him and them figuring out how he would be involved has been flushed down the toilet multiple times today and is currently flowing between her legs. Her hand finally loosens its grip on his wrist and her chest tightens as she looks into his eyes. Those blue eyes shouldn’t be so caring, they shouldn’t look so caring when looking at her. There shouldn’t be sympathy in those eyes directed toward her or her empty womb. Yet there is and Lilly is struck not for the first time at how different Elvis is from Nathan. She’s struck by how she’s been in this sort of position before with her husband and she doesn’t recall there being nearly as much care and—dare she even pretend?—-anguish in his gaze. She remembers frustration at himself or, or her? She doesn’t know. She can’t recall just now.

“I—I was late,” She starts, and shakes her head, sniffling. “I was late for my cycle and I didn’t—I don’t know why I called you.”

Elvis doesn’t dare say the first thoughts that come to mind. Doesn’t dare tell her that he thinks she knows exactly why she called him because the mere idea shouldn’t be put into words. He’s already damned himself and her anguish, her pain is perhaps a consequence of it. Had he not given in to his baser urges perhaps Nathan would have given her a child that she could tell him she was growing inside of her. If he hadn’t given into his baser urges she wouldn’t have thought his child was growing inside of her. He shuts his eyes, trying to not think of the image of her swollen with his child once again. 

“Comfort?” The word as an answer feels safe and from the look on Lilly’s face, how it relaxes just a little bit and how her hunched over position straightens out even as she grimaces in pain he was right. However, that urge to fix that had caused so many problems rears its ugly head again and Elvis knows he should ignore it but the grimace on her face reminds him that she’s in pain and to leave her in pain without attempting to help her feels cruel. It feels cruel to just allow her to deal with this on her own. Perhaps that’s why she had called him, taken the chance that he wouldn’t want her to be alone in this situation. Taken the chance to assume he missed her and just wants what he's craved from her more than anything else: her company. 

A nod is the only thing she manages before her body is wracked with another flare of pain as Elvis watches. He’s never��he’s never been here when she’s on her cycle so he doesn’t know if this is normal or not but he remembers June and remembers the other girls and knows, in this moment, he can’t leave her like this. Especially after she had called him. His mind tries to think back on what other women would do before he remembers how some would curl up in bed and ask for heat and any number of other things. The flash of memory at her in the bath after their activities and a flash of a fantasy of her in the bath with him runs through his thoughts until he shakes his head to clear it. 

“Missus—Lilly. Darlin’, I—wouldn’t it be better to be laying down? For your pain?” His words are chosen as carefully as he can and yet he still feels like he might have said the wrong thing until he sees her move to lean and sag against him as if he’s the only thing that’s going to keep her standing in this exact moment. 

“My—oh, just help me to my bedroom, you don’t—” The words are lost as Elvis picks her up, earning a bit of a shocked gasp from her. “You don’t have to pick me up, I can w-walk.”

Elvis stays silent for a moment or so as he walks, ignoring the ache in his knees that tell him he should have prepared more for this. That he should have known better than to pick Lilly up like this and yet he finds that it’s easy to ignore the ache as her protest grows a little quieter and she practically burrows into his hold. He is not her husband and yet he wonders if her husband’s ever done this for her. Ever treated her with care when she’s like this. 

Nathan had noticed her pain that morning and brushed it off, much to Lilly’s frustration. It’s not that she wanted him to know she had engaged in a transgression but she was his wife and she was in pain. Jerry had made sure Melly was taken care of after Lizzie and Nathan couldn’t even be bothered to call her sister or anyone. The neglect is what feels like an even worse knife than the one she swears she feels in her lower stomach. The neglect is why she called Mr—Elvis. Even in the short time she’s at least partially known him—the actual him, not the image she had of the man who taught her niece’s Sunday school—has taken care of her and hasn’t left her to rot and wallow in her pain and loneliness. He’s kept her company and fixed so many things around her house that at this point she’s thinking she’s going to have to break things just to have an excuse to get him to visit under the guise of working. 

She knows she shouldn’t relax in his hold, she shouldn’t burrow into his arms like he’s her husband and he’s just carrying her to their bed but she can’t help it, the sheer joy and calmness that settles over her from the care he shows overwhelming her. His arms allow her to feel safe in the moment, help her to forget how much pain she’s in physically and mentally. They are a balm to her aches even as she potentially causes some for him. It doesn’t take too long for him to reach her bedroom, using his body to open the door the entire way from its cracked open position. Lilly hears him sigh and feels his head move to try and avoid looking around before she feels him shift her in his arms.There’s a difference, she thinks, in knowing that he would have to eventually set her down on her bed and him actually doing it. 

A shiver runs through her body that has Elvis’s grip tightening as he moves his hands away. It’s not cold and yet here she was shivering like she was that fateful night.

“You alright?” he murmurs, low and questioning in a way that he shouldn’t be.

“You’re warm,” she whispers back at him, looking into his eyes and trying to pretend that answers everything. Pretend that telling him he’s warm will get him to stay and comfort her until it’s time for Nathan, cold, icily indifferent Nathan to be home. “I feel—it felt good.”

Elvis opens his mouth to speak before his breath catches in his throat at the sheer intensity of the look she’s giving him. He can’t put a name to what he sees in her eyes, only that it threatens to overwhelm him if he stares at her for too much longer. He has to leave, he needs to go back to work or home or just somewhere where her eyes aren’t burning holes into his soul. He finally starts to step away only for Lilly’s arm to find its way in front of him, stopping him in his tracks. Her hand moves to grab his and grasps it so tightly he can’t wrench it from her. 

“Can you—can you stay?” She asks, quiet as a church mouse and looking as if she expects him to say no. As if she expects to be left alone to deal with things once again. It makes his stomach roil and twist and he feels almost like throwing up before he moves to sit down on the bed. 

“Not for too long, Lilly,” he answers, as he watches her move to the other side of the bed, letting go of his hand as she does. He sits down, groaning slightly as he does at the feel of her bed underneath him. It dips more than it did when she was occupying the same spot, his weight causing the springs to creak just a bit more. Lilly waits until he gets comfortable to move closer to him. He stays sitting, his body leaning against the headboard, not even daring to try and lay down in her marriage bed. It makes trying to cuddle with him harder than it should be but after a moment of a deliberation she settles on laying her head in his lap. The warmth of his belly seeps into her head, soothing any headache she’s gained from crying and the vantage point allows her to feel encased in what feels like a protective shell. Elvis tries to keep his hands to himself but as he feels Lilly settle against him and sees every wince and shift his hands move to her hair, running his fingers through it. Scratching ever so softly against her scalp. Lilly’s sigh tells him it was the right thing to do and emboldens him to sing, breathe out into the world the first song that comes to mind when he thinks of her. 

Lilly hears Elvis’s voice singing Jo Stafford to her, a song she’s only heard once or twice before but it feels so romantic that something inside her chest feels warm and feels almost like it’s blossoming the more she hears his voice singing in that low tone, his hands flowing through her hair. 

“But just remember, darling, all the while, you belong to me,” he sings, watching as Lilly’s eyes start to flutter shut, the pain and the emotions of today getting the best of her. The more he sings the more he realizes he wishes those words were true. The more he wishes he wouldn’t have to leave in a few hours. But she is not his wife and he is not her husband and he’ll leave in a few hours as he should. He’ll leave after he shakes her awake lightly, grimacing as she winces in pain and as her eyes practically beg him to stay once again. He'll leave watching her curl back into her sheets but won't see her head move to where he had been sitting or see her hands grab at the pillow that had been behind his back.

She will wake up alone right before Nathan comes home. She will wake up to a simple dinner made with two plates on the table. 

She calls him back over the next day.

taglist: @ab4eva, @blurredcolour, @butlersxbirdy, @precious-little-scoundrel, @eliseinmemphis, @prompted-wordsmith, @missmaywemeetagain, @lookingforrainbows, @thatbanditqueen, @ellie-24, @be-my-ally,  @austinbutlersgirl67, @heartbrake-hotel, @ccab, @18lkpeters, @slutforsomegoodlettuce, @dkayfixates, @kendralavon7, @chasingwildflowers, @notstefaniepresley, @wanderingelvis, @kxnnxy, @powerofelvis, @stylespresleyhearted, @marriedtopresley, @memphis-menace, @steph-speaks, @coolgirl462, @vintageshanny, @memphisflash1935-1977, @j-v-9-2, @sexystarfish, @duhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh, @jessicarcates, @chirssycrumble9456789, @shantellescrivener, @yomammalolha, @honey6578, @urmom11111111111119, @myradiaz, @elvispresleyxoxo, @tryingtogettoelvis, @joegramoe, @rainblue-art, @fav-fanficssss, @moodyblueriver, @misspresley, @fallinlovewithurlove, @ash-omalley, @yynneessmons good heavens, i think that's everyone. those of you who didn't get the tag, know i'm gonna head to the messages within the day. also i including those of you who reblogged the first chapter. i would have done likes as well but there- there was a hefty chunk and i didn't know for sure if you all wanted to be tagged.

additional explanation: so if you haven't just read the fic instead of just scrolling down to the bottom to see what's up, hello. but even if you did just read the fic, let the record show that i myself did write this with the idea that lilly had a very early miscarriage. and it's why i added a tag just in case for it since i know some people avoid the subject matter for their own mental health. however i purposefully left it nebulous because she herself wouldn't know for sure and it's- the same result occurs either way, she is not pregnant and that wrecks her emotionally because she had put so much stock in the possibility that she would be. no matter what if she wasn't pregnant she was going to be sad and depressed and generally in a state of anguish. so, you can read this whichever way you want, it does not really change the intent/what happens afterward in this. but i didn't want to directly spoil all of you in the warnings especially since it causes a turning point of sorts, but i also don't want anyone to be in duress because of me. also i promise honestly these two have a happy ending, just trust me like y'all trusted me with professor presley, okay?

#elvis presley #elvis presley fanfic #elvis presley x oc #big daddy elvis #big daddy and lil darlin' #elvis x lilly #elvis presley fanfiction #elvis presley smut #elvis fanfic #elvis fanfiction #spark universe #elvis x reader #crawfever adjacent #elvis #ally writes #tw: miscarriage

[enby-iggy]

Im going to try and explain my gender to the 0 people who are paying attention to this blog, because I deserve to ramble a little bit I think

For context I'm afab. I've pretty much always known I wasn't a man, which is a big part of why it took me so long to question my gender at all. I specifically remember seeing the term transmasc online when I was first discovering queer terms and being like "hmm I wonder if that could be me" and then looking it up and seeing it listed as a synonym for trans man and just being like "oh ok then guess im still cis". I didn't start seriously questioning until like. April of this year I think

I don't know why it took me so long to consider the idea of being nonbinary, but it was actually a conversation with some of my trans friends that made me consider it. I remember saying something like "I may be cis but I'd trade my female body for a completely neutral one in a heartbeat" and one of my friends was like "r u sure ur cis lmao". Silly stuff. My whole thing was like, I want a body that looks like nothing, that I can make look like anything. If I want to wear mens' clothes I don't want boobs that get in the way of that. But I want to be able to wear a dress and not have like, idk body hair and a dick getting in the way of that. And I said stuff to my friends like, I don't rly want hormones but Id wear a binder to look more neutral, Id voice train and get my voice deeper, that makes sense right

My biggest hangup was on pronouns, because I was REALLY proud of being a she/her. But I decided, hey I can't knock they/them until I try it right? So I proposed a they/them test for a week, and never looked back lmao. I went through a phase of absolutely despising she/her for a month or two, but I've since made up with the pronoun set as you can see in my bio. She/her and I are good friends now we've settled our differences <3

Putting the rest under a cut for the sake of my 2 followers' TLs not being flooded because I still have much to say

My gender is very multifaceted, but in the physical realm you could call me transmasc. It took me a while to realize but I hate my boobs (or rather, took me a while to realize that disliking your boobs is not normal lmfao), to the point where I very quickly went from "eh I might get a binder for some outfits" to "I NEED to get top surgery". I'm also not a fan of my hips and ass, never have been but I don't think there's much I can do about that one. I also have solid evidence for vocal dysphoria, in that I can remember a specific time as a kid where I learned that your voice sounds deeper to you than it does to other people because of the way you hear it through your skull. This disappointed me GREATLY because I always prided myself on the idea that I had a boyish voice. I do think I'd like to train my voice lower, if possible. Lastly for physical dysphoria I've always had a thing about my height, but I mostly learned to ignore it since boys LOVE to make fun of girls (and other boys I suppose) for their height. I learned to shut it out and make fun of myself as well as a coping mechanism, because it really did and always has bugged me. But what can I do, I've 5 foot even at 19 years old and it doesn't seem to be changing any time soon.

As for my internal experience of gender...I think this low-quality ms paint chart will explain it best.

Basically my gender exists on two simultaneous sliding scales--one of them a distinctly gendered outside-of-binary gender that I'm choosing to call neutrois, because it's an existing term that works for what I'm talking about. The other gender is a female-aligned gender that is distinct from cisgender femininity but is still feminine in nature, which I am choosing to call femme because I hate the words woman and girl and female in relation to my own gender. I can experience both of these scales at maximum intensity--bigendered as both neutrois and femme at the same time--or minimum intensity--essentially agendered, no distinct experience of gender either way--OR I can be some strange combination of these, such as minimum femme and maximum neutrois or half neutrois and full femme, etc. I've found that the strength of ANY gender fluctuates over longer periods of time, in that I tend to feel low amounts of gender for a period of about two weeks, followed by higher feelings of gender for about two weeks, during which the relation of femme to neutrois fluctuates on a daily basis.

As for labels, the best way I can think to describe this is bigenderflux, and also demigirl (or demifemme, as I prefer to call it). But for obvious reasons I usually just call myself nonbinary. I also like terms like librafemme, describing the property of being both agender and feminine, and juxera, describing the property of being feminine aligned in a way that is different from the way cis women are feminine. But it's...hard to label.

The funny thing about this is that it doesn't really line up with my gender expression much at all. There are days that I'm feeling fully agender or fully neutrois, and am strangely in the mood to wear a dress. Or days that I'm feeling mostly femme and want to present like a boy. So realistically my gender doesn't really have any bearing on anything at all. But I like charting it, because a few months ago if I'd woken up feeling feminine I would have spiraled into a panic about how I must be faking being trans. But this allows me to understand myself and predict how I'll feel so I know that when I feel a certain way, that's normal and part of who I am.

I feel like I had more to say in this post but I guess this is purely a gender summary. Now you know I guess

#iggy's gender #queer #pride #lgbtq #trans #transgender #transmasc #enby #nonbinary #agender #neutrois #femme #gender #demigirl #bigender #genderflux #juxera #that's all the tags i can think to add #if anyone sees this post hi hello #yeah.

[angelbirdo]

Weird Human Shit: Neurodivergency Edition

Wow hey so I died for a while and came back with a totally different hyperfixation? Who'd'a thunk it.

I've seen a total of one (1) post about neurodivergency in humans and how aliens react to it, which is like well and fine, it was a good post, but I haven't seen any posts like "some humans chew things. like a lot. it's bad for their teeth but they feel violently compelled to. they don't drink from a cup, they need a rubber straw because the metal ones in space are "icky"." These won't all be about neurodivergency specifically, but I wanted to hop on the band wagon and have it on my mind so here we are.

-some humans talk a lot. like. a lot a lot. sure, most of them talk a lot compared to most alien species, but some of them get really into specific things for very short periods of time and then forget about them entirely for up to a few years before going "I wonder why I stopped thinking about that" and the cycle repeats. If your human starts talking and talking and talking and talking, it's not rude to ask them to slow down.

-Imagine being an alien and most humans expect you to and initiate eye contact when starting and god forbid HOLDING a conversation. You meet another human and think "here we go again", look at them, but they just. won't look at YOU. you worry you've done something wrong until they look at you for a second and go "You're staring, are you okay?" and you remember that human norms are non-existent and that the only consistent thing about humans is the inconsistency.

-Aliens on a ship with a (relatively) strict schedule, at least in terms of work hours. In space, days are irrelevant because, yk, ship, days are very different on different planets. A day on Venus is 5,800 hours. A day on Earth is 24. You get the picture. Human wakes up at random times during the "night" to do god knows what. they're not supposed to be out of the sleeping quarters at night, but honestly, the other crewmates are too afraid to stop them. Eventually, another alien is disturbed by the sound of singing from the bathroom. There's a human bathing in the middle of the night. WHY. are they AWAKE. they're not SUPPOSED TO BE. Go the fuck back to SLEEP.

-Humans will eat anything, right? Except for some humans. Some humans will only eat like... a few different meals. They are picky eaters. They don't like the texture of rice. They love mashed potatoes for some god awful reason. They drown everything in whatever liquid is appropriate to whatever they're eating (gravy for the aforementioned potatoes, ranch for chicken, you even saw a human with KETCHUP on their macaroni and cheese. you've only ever smelled ketchup but you know better than to expect anything less from a human by now) and will not eat it without that liquid. They only eat meals THEY prepare because the way it was made was Not Right. They didn't spread mayo on both buns. They didn't put cheese between the pickles and bun. This food is Inedible and I will Starve to Death before I eat it.

-Some humans make strange noises with their mouths. Talking could be considered a strange noise, to be fair, human language is always evolving, but sometimes the noises mean nothing at all. You're confused because it has to mean SOMETHING, they just don't want to tell you, but repeating the same sound over and over again is just. strange. they do it alone. they do it with a select few crewmates around. They won't tell you what it means. They eventually tell you they just LIKE making the sound, and you leave it at that.

-Humans are social creatures, they enjoy physical contact. What's sort of strange is that some humans will go out of their way to find fake body parts to hug (*cue boyfriend pillow infomercial*). What's even STRANGER is that they will find MADE UP CHARACTERS and print them onto a pillow. Why, you ask them? They're just lonely.

-A human that likes cats so much they sometimes slow blink at other crewmates. Nobody has asked why, but they sort of want to. Humans are just weird, they tell themselves.

-Some humans hurt other humans for fun, especially when they're young and have power over them. This is called "child abuse" and often leads to something called "emotional trauma" and results in even stranger, even more instinctual behaviors from humans, and sometimes even "personality disorders".

-Imagine being an alien and a human crewmate has BPD. You're just minding your own business and they storm in, stomp around the room, then storm back out. You ask what's wrong, they go "nothing im fine" and you just. what are you supposed to do?

It's literally 12:16 AM as I hit post, I hope these aren't totally ineligible lmfao

#humans are weird #space australia #neurodivergent

[y-rhywbeth2]

I said I was done, but this still is on my mind and I lied.

Here's me bashing the mish mash of conflicting lore together in speculation on how Bhaalspawn work for my own "fuck you collective of official gibberish, this is my take on it" canon (again, BG2 spoilers):

I have settled on extraplanar outsider rather than native (despite the majority being born to humanoid parents). As outsiders their bodies and souls and intrinsically tied together in a way humanoids' aren't. If they die outside of the plane of Gehenna then their body dissolves and they return to that plane; if they die on the plane the rules are that "To die in this place is to cease to exist," as Irenicus helpfully put it. He's still around afterwards, so I assume he's referring to Charname (Gorion's Ward) specifically. Should the soul somehow depart to the Lower Planes without the living body, the body might follow it there (I think the body dies? I was never terribly clear on the exact details of what happened in that part of BG2...)

When Sarevok died, his body and soul dissolved and returned to the Throne of Blood, where he/his independent part of Bhaal's essence was absorbed into the "pool" of collected Bhaalspawn souls/essence. "Echoes" of dead Bhaalspawns' personalities exist within Bhaal/the collective, much as the mortal mage Midnight is an echo within the goddess Mystra, and sometimes they can be separated back into independent beings if a portion of Bhaal's essence is granted to that echo allowing them to reform a physical body and live again.

Sarevok was able to reform because he was given a fragment of Bhaal's essence (independent from the whole) - not enough to restore him to true demigodhood, but enough to materialise a physical body.

(There is... an interesting way to interpret the Dark Urge's creation here, where they're one of the original Bhaalspawn reborn - although it's not one I personally plan to use. Also the fact that they're apparently born from Bhaal's dead physical body, not the pool of essence, implies something strange happened, regardless.)

I'm not sure where Bhaalspawn stand when it comes to souls; judging by Bhaal complaining that Charname is "strange amongst their kin" because their soul has independence, they're not supposed to have one inherently separate from Bhaal's essence, that independence is just a quirk (Charname was explicitly a special prophecy child, they're the exception to the rules). Bhaalspawn can have the divine essence/their soul extracted from them and still physically exist, although it will eventually kill them. Their bodies are also considered part of Bhaal, he is described as existing in "the very fibre of their being[s]." Even after supposedly ceasing to be Bhaal's children, both Sarevok and Durge are explicitly stated to still carry Bhaal's essence in their bodies and will pass it on to any offspring they have. As 5e lore has retconned the possibility of having Bhaal's essence totally cleansed from a Bhaalspawn, rendering them pure mortal, I am rolling with that one and ignoring the mortal ending (I always go for the god endings anyway). Bhaalspawn remain what they are always. As I like them.

It does seem like their body, soul and Bhaal's essence are one big chunk, instead of the usual division of body and soul seen in full mortals. As he says: "he is [them]"; their "whole being is borrowed"; etc.

Which leaves the question of "Withers what the fuck did you do. What are you planning??" in regards to Durge being resurrected. I have no idea, but I didn't play the special snowflake demigod to have my special snowflake status stripped from me, so I'm clinging to "Durge is still a quasi-deity, and you cannot pry that from my cold, dead hands." Larian can even release a DLC or BG4 that tells me otherwise; I will ignore it.

"BG3-" Larian has left out, changed or ignored/forgotten a load of stuff about how Bhaalspawn work in their story (which is their right, it's DM fiat). There should be no "Little Brother Toop's" corpse on display on the hall of wonders because he shouldn't have a corpse. I'm blaming the tadpole, ignoring it and moving on.

Imoen is disqualified as an aberration; her thing is purely game mechanics not matching the lore that was established before they retconned her into a Bhaalspawn. Doesn't count.

We are not in Larian's house for this interpretation, just as they are not in Bioware's; we are in mine now and I'm ill and grumpy.

#But what about- #nO #babbling #nausea induced delerium? #ranting? #lore speculation #headcanoning. #/durge

[astroyongie]

🔮 Magic Info Part 1 🔮

Note: if you have any questions you want to be answered, please send them here: https://forms.gle/mHUTZhqvXmp2Cc1N6

-> Also I am answering everyone's questions, if your question isn't here, it will appear on the next Magic Info <3

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ Followers Questions *ੈ✩‧₊˚

Can you pls tell more about selling a soul? Like give us pls full info it’s so forbidden ik but yet so intriguing : 

Like I have once said on the blog, I will not give you a full step to step on how “selling a soul” works. If it is forbidden and dangerous, it’s for something.  But I will try to tell you why you shouldn't do it and why you should stop obsessing over it. You can basically sell a soul to any entity (so not only demons and dark energies from the low astral, but also to angels or deities). Those are only made through very specific rituals, on certain dates, under certain circumstances, etc. Do it wrongly and the consequences suffered will be the same as dying through acid. Is selling a soul worth it? No. No matter what you ask for the entity what you will have to give is far more than what you can handle. Your life certainly but also the ones of people you love (after you have seen them suffer because of it). It doesn’t matter if it is an angel. When selling your soul you become a lifeless body and no reincarnation will be possible since your spirit will simply disappear. 

Does every human have angels around them?

If we follow what is written in the Bible, Kabbalah or the Qur’an, God is with us all, and with it, so are the angels that are supposed to look over us and protect us from evil. I do believe that everyone has their own guardian angel out of the 72 written in the Kabbalah but I also believe that not everyone is connected to them due to spiritual guides that aren’t angels (spiritual guides can be human souls that have passed or haven’t incarnated, could be deities or spiritual being of the high astral). Some people will be a lot more in tune with spiritual guides instead of angels and that is okay. But if you ask me, yes I do believe that everyone has their own Angel (some even more than one) the same way they also have their opposite (low astral entity). Life is made out of balance. Light can only exist if there’s darkness. 

My dog has been more clingy around me recently. Could this potentially be my dog's way of trying to protect my me/my energy from negative energy/spirits? Or could my dog be signaling to me that something is wrong with me/my body? 

There are 4 reasons that can make a pet become more clingy all of a sudden. 1: there’s no reason, they are just seeking company: 2: their owner is indeed having a very low energy and they are trying their best to be by your side and raise your vibration higher (which the purr of a cat does very well); 3: the owner is feeling low or sick and the pet is trying to warn you about it; 4: it is the pet who is sick and trying to show you their low mood by being clingy. 

I always wondered who actually came up with tarot cards and their meanings. The symbols like lovers, hermit, swords, wards etc. do they have any deeper meaning or is it just some sort of random thoughts:

This is a very interesting question because there are two answers to this. We got the “scientific” answer made by scholars and we have the “spiritual” made by the 14th-century occultists. For the scholars: Tarot were created in Italy in mid 15- century as a card game, that later was taken by “occultists” who made propaganda with it saying they were divination tools that had originated from ancient Egypt manuscripts, the Kabbalah, Indic Tantra and even the Ching which is a divination book made in China around 1000 BC. 

The spiritual reference however states indeed that the tarot has power over the future because they originated during these periods but also because the Major Arcanas were the “high secrets of the world” that were contained in the King Solomon book. Alesteir Crowley, explains that a lot in his books and research. 

One thing is certain, I believe that no matter the origin, Tarot has power. Even if it was not influenced by any pre-Christian society, they were still created by humans and for years there was power and manifestation given to the meanings in the cards, which with time stays. 

What is your opinion on egyptian zodiac signs where every person is assigned one god/goddess?

Since I am not too much into Egyptian Mythology, I don’t know much about it, but I do find it interesting. Mostly because it shows how the greatest empires and societies (Egyptian, Greek, Chinese, Roman, Arab, Maya, Celtic, ect)  in our world still believed in astrology and lived their lives based on the stars. For anyone curious, this site says it all: https://belowthestars.com/egyptian-astrology/ 

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ Curiosities *ੈ✩‧₊˚

Seeing the dead: Contrary to popular knowledge, everyone is able to see dead people to a certain extend. It is known that only "mediums" are clearly able to connect, see and talk to the dead, but even with mediums, they aren't able to contact everyone. But why's that? why are there some that are more in tune with certain dead people and others not? while it all depends on your gifts that's for sure, but also on your own spiritual energy. Some people are able to see them but not talk to them. Others are able to hear them and not see them. Some are able to see and communicate with them through dreams and some even through divination tools. The spiritual world is vast and the knowledge we have of it, is very little.

Healing through magic: Remember that life is about balance. There are spells that exist that are able to help someone heal on certain things but when practicing it, remember that the diseases you are taking away need to be put somewhere else. If you aren't able to choose someone or if your values stop you from doing it, you need to be prepared for disease to stay around you and the people that you love and care for (animals included).

Graveyard dirt: It is a powerful and energetic ingredient for certain spells and rituals. But I definitely advise you not to use anything that deals with death (ingredients, such as dirt, bones, blood, dead people accessories) if you haven't been yourself close to death. The reverse effects will be just very hard to handle if you don't know what you are dealing with

Sigils: DON'T USE SIGILS THAT YOU DON'T KNOW THE POWER THEY HAVE! sigils are made through energy, when they are used, it's with intention. And, although your intuition is very important, using sigils that are used centuries ago without having a clue of what they are for, can be very dangerous. The same goes when you work with angels, demons or other deities, do not use their sigils. I won't be able to help you if you do.

Religion and Magic: Magic is seen through the eyes of religion as something made by the devil. I do believe that these beliefs are due to the monotheist religions that wanted to protrait it as the devil in other beliefs. Remember, plants and remedies are "magical" based. meds are just a scientific way to say "magical herbs". Remember that religion is something personal, and beliefs are something personal. Be connected to your high self, to your values, and practice whatever you feel comfortable with. Don't allow other people to tell you it's evil or wrong. If you feel at peace, that's the most important thing

[hockeybabe]

Baby On Board||𝘑.𝘛𝘢𝘷𝘢𝘳𝘦𝘴

*Gif not mine*

Not edited

Pairings: John Tavares x wife!reader

Summary: When wanting a baby for so long, you’re scared for how John will feel when he gets something he isn’t exactly ready for.

Word Count: 760

Warnings: swearing, fluff, babies, angst with a happy ending

Requested: no

Note: I actually like this one, kinda rushed ending though.

Me and John have been married for a little over three years and on the second year of our marriage we tried having a baby, but nothing. I cried for weeks when I thought I was pregnant but wasn’t.

Even worse John wasn’t around to give me comfort. It put a stop In our love, it got to the point where I know sleep in the guest bed room. That was until one drunken night, where the two lovers made actual love since the beginning of their marriage.

And that brings me here, sitting on the guest bed waiting for five minute for the one test that could change our lives forever. A million thoughts running through my head.

Would John be happy?

Would it end your marriage?

Would John even have the time of day?

The alarm goes off on my phone signalling that the five minute are over. Cracking my knuckles, I walk into the guest bathroom. A sudden nervousness and anxiety take over my entire body.

Turning the test over I clamp my eyes shut, my hands are shaking and I can feel the tears taking over. Slowly I open my eyes and look down.

Positive. Six weeks.

My heart aches thinking of how I’m supposed to tell John, he so busy on the road and constantly being in different parts of the world. The thought of having to raise a baby now seems so wrong.

“Babe I’m home!” I hear John shout from downstairs, I can feel my heart racing. “I’m upstairs!” I yell back to him, hearing him run up the stairs. “Hi Johnny.” I smile, tucking the test in my sleeve.

“You know how I feel about that nickname.” He grumbles. “Come on you love it.” I tease him. it’s almost the thought of the baby isn’t around. Just us. “So where’s the next game?” I ask playing with the sleeve that the test is in.

“Vegas.” He says quietly, looking down at the ground. I sigh feeling my eyes water. “John I think we should talk.” I say looking up at him with tears in my eyes.

“Don’t say that, no. Those words end everything.” He says walking closer to me. “Just take a seat John.” I plea. He nods sitting at the corner of the bed. I follow, taking a seat beside him.

“John I know we’ve talked about this for sometime and it never worked out, but just listen to me please.” I solemnly say. “Babe you scaring me. What’s wrong?” He grabs my wrists, specifically the spot of the test. John looks at me confused before rolling up the sleeve to pull out the test.

“John-“

“Stop.” He says sternly, “is this-is this real?” He asks with shaky hands. I nod not being able to face him. I hear John sigh, “Y/N look at me.” When I refuse he puts his hands on both sides of my face, tilting up so he can see the falling tears.

“John- I’m- I’m sorry. I-I know you don’t wan-want this.” I tell him hyperventilating. “Y/N, breath baby, breath.” He picks me up and places me on his lap so I’m straddling him with my head ready on his should while he rubs my back.

“Fuck baby, don’t say that. I want this, we both want this. It’s something we’ve both wanted for so fucking long.” He whispers into my ear. “You know this means we can dress him in baby jerseys.”

I laugh lifting my head up. “Or her.” I say with my nose pointed upward. “Or her.” He repeats bopping my nose. “So this is good, we’re gonna do this?” I question with a stern face. “Yes, we’re doing this.” He smiles.

“But what about the road trips?” I ask furrowing my brows. “Baby, you’re pregnant. There is no way in hell that I’m letting you out of my sight. Which means you and I and this future skater will be coming with me everywhere.” John says softly, rubbing over my non-existent bump.

I kiss him, after that he deserves it. “I love you.”

“I love you too, so fucking much. But just so we’re clear, your gonna start sleeping in our bed.” He hugs me tight. “Also mo socials, not till their born.”

“Agreed.” I will not have our baby be all over the internet till they’re at least born.

“Do I have to get a baby on board sticker.” He asks cutely. “Whatever you want.” I tell him.

“Not anymore. If anything it’ll be that troublemaker that makes the decision.”

#john tavares imagine #nhl #nhl imagine #nhl blurb #hockey #hockey players #hockey imagine #toronto #toronto maple leafs #Toronto maple leafs imagine #leafsnation #go leafs go #john Tavares blurb #John Tavares angst #john Tavares #baby #angst #imagine

[dailyadventureprompts]

Evening, Dapper. I'm a big fan of your work; I'm actually using a few of your NPCs in a campaign I'm running! As you've made a few 're-imagined' entries for demon lords already- how would you play Zuggtmoy in a way that's not just 'evil, but also brain-destroying and fungal'? What would she need to be like to motivate people to actually sign a pact with or worship her?

Monsters Reimagined: Zuggtmoy, Demon Queen of Rot and Regret

D&D has a problem with one note villains, blank slates that dungeonmaters are SUPPOSED to fill with their own ideas but end up coming off as pathetically shallow after their Captain Planet level concepts become increasingly rigid over successive generations. Occasionaly a great writer comes along and fills these concepts with interesting context, but they're few in far between.

Zuggtmoy is a great example of this, existing as what I like to call a "Fill in the blank baddie", as they adhere to a very simple formula that looks a little like this: X is an evil ____ who cares about ____, they want the whole world to be nothing but ____, they use ____ as minions and have a personality and ethos that one could describe as ____ like. For Zuggtmoy you could fill that blank in with "fungus" and you'd get her ENTIRE concept, indistinguishable from Jubilex the slime demon, Nerull the death god, and just about 90% of a high level party's rogue's gallery.

Below the cut I'm going to go into a complete lore revision for the dame of decay along with a bunch of adventure hooks, but for the TLDR: Default Zuggtmoy is weird because d&d assumes that fungus and decay are evil because they are gross, an odd stance to take because not only is rot a vitally necessary part of life, but fungus has brought us wonderful things like penicillin and mushroom risotto. My version of the demon queen is one that revolves around the idea of things “spoiling” when held on past their time, be they feelings, memories, relationships, or empires. Zuggtmoy herself is the mouldered and hollowed out remnants of a once queenly dryad, who’s influence appears in others unable to let go as a creeping blight that spreads through their mind, bodies, and surroundings.

When it comes to concepts Zuggtmoy is as about as “fill in the blank” as it gets, with her single notable character design concept and personality both being “She’s a lady made out of fungus”. This would be fine I suppose but she’s also specifically a demon lord, and that doesn’t tack at all for a whole bunch of reasons:

Do mushrooms have souls? Can they commit sin? Most of the creatures Zuggtmoy is described as being worshipped by don’t have traditional consciousness, if they have an intelligence score at all. Yeah, it sucks to be covered in slime and/or rotted from the inside out but those creatures aren't EVIL, so why is she a demon other than the fact that gross/ugly = evil in d&d world? She’d be perfectly fine if she was just the goddess of fungus, but she needs a reason to be considered one of the Pit’s big bads.

One could theoretically talk about how the grossness of Zuggtmoy is meant as a torment to those people who fear filth/corruption who might be damned to her realm, but d&d cosmology increasingly does not work like that. If Zuggtmoy is queen of a layer of hell, there needs to be a specificly demonic reason that her domain is one of rot and fungus.

Why is Zuggtmoy a lady? A giant mushroom or that happened to use feminine pronouns would have served but she is very specifically described as a humanoid made out of fungus, frequently depicted with signifies of being an attractive and elegant. The answer is obviousuly that sex sells, even when you’re trying to sell a list of demon gods, so while the male coded demons get to be grotesque blobs of muscle and bestial features the female ones need to be coded as traditionally attractive even if they have a few monsterbits stapled on. When redesigning her I could have gone with a purely fungal angle, but I wanted to play with the “lady made out of fungus” iconography

Taking all this into account, here’s my pitch for Zuggtomy:  There was once an archfey, a queen among dryads who found herself undone by heartbreak. None can say what tragedy or manipulation of the great courts laid her low, only that she knew a sorrow so profound that she simply could not be anymore, leaving her body as nothing more than a grief-hollowed statue of wood. Left exposed to the elements, the echo of that grief took root, and eventually bloomed into a being that knew only regret, only loss, only Zuggtmoy.

If sorrow is left to fester it can sour any happy memory, and thus is the case for the Dame of Decay, unable and unwilling to let go of the things that gave her joy and now cause her pain, even if her continued grief eats away at them until there is nothing left. So little is known about the story of the original dryad queen because Zuggtmoy’s influence ate away at anyone and anything involved in the events, leaving behind nothing but a spore choked barrens and hollowed out husks who mine out the events again and again without detail or reason.

When rot and regret had exhausted the dryad’s story it began to spread out across the multiverse looking for new places to take root, more tales of woe, more souls stagnant in their nostalga or sorrow where the queen’s essence might bloom anew.

Within a grand estate the revels of an indolent count are said to never end, as psychedelic indulgence rages every day and night while the lands around them decay. Folk say that the count had tried for years to drown the sorrows of his long dead brother, but he now appears to have succeeded with wild abandon. Rumors spread of the count’s riders gallivanting about the countryside decked in worn parade motley, snatching up performers and carrying them back to the estate. The party comes face to face with one of these agents looking to pressgang their local minstrel into service, only to lay the rider out flat in a brawl and have his body burst open with fungal rot for all to see.

The kingdom’s wilds contain the remnants of an ancient realm, once goverend by a queen who suffered a rotting sickness that the peasants still tell folk tales of to this day. Many of the fey of these reaches are sick, and seem intent on inflicting stories of this queen on any who pass by. Only after multiple ruins with these bestricken faeries do the party realize the truth: the story is the sickness and the sickness is the queen and all three are a curse that now spreads through the land with them as a vector.

After an encounter with a particularly fungal villain does the party realize that they’ve only defeated one bud of a deeply rooted threat, with multiple copies of their foe having sprouted off from some deeply rooted evil. More than simply bashing in mushroom caps, the party must exorcise the essence of Zuggtmoy’s influence, an act that will require them to call up the spirit infected by the demon queen and work through its particular issues to resolve its grief and deny the dame of decay her seedbed.

Art

#demon #fiend #dm tip #writing advice #rescue mission #random encounter #bard #Curse #Cultists #villain #Village #dungeon #mid level #high level #Cursebreaking #zuggtmoy #monsters reimagined

[merspots]

Knitted Tooka Cat

So, I knit, and one of the main reasons I do so is so I can make things that do not otherwise exist. For my birthday this year I decided to treat myself by buying a Loth Cat pattern with the intention of using it to create other types of Tooka Cats (because I love these weird little guys).

The pattern I bought was from https://www.etsy.com/au/shop/JessWorks, though it appears to no longer be listed there (or maybe it's just not showing up for me, lol). This is the first time I've bought a pattern, and I was very happy with how easy it was to follow. I used the White Loth Cat version of the pattern as it was the most straight forward. Any issues I had with making it were purely user generated and not a fault of the pattern.

And this was the result:

Obviously this is not a White Loth Cat, but my aim when working on this little guy was basically to figure out how to use the pattern to make a Generic Tooka so I just chose some colours that went well enough together from my scrap yarn. Still, I think it turned out cute, even with the very yellow eyes!

My original plan when I started this project was to follow the pattern as closely as possible. Unfortunately that was my first hurdle as I don't know how to knit in the round and couldn't figure it out after a few restarts. So I converted the pattern for flat knitting which surprisingly mostly worked out okay.

Things I'd do differently next time I make this (and there will be a next time as I have bought yarn specifically for Tooka making) would be:

1. Changing where I start the colour change for the face, because it's lower down on the head than I'd like and causes the face to be looking down slightly. I did it in the short rows but next time I'll start it a row higher and might finish it a row earlier too.

2. Figure out how to do some shaping of the face to give it a bit of a muzzle as the way I did it caused what was supposed to be the muzzle to now be the top of the head. Like, not a big muzzle, but a bit more definition to that area of the face.

3. Change the way I do the top parts of the legs. The legs are completely closed up before being attached, and I found trying to sew what were essentially two balls to each other kind of annoying. Next time I'll adjust the pattern so the top parts of the legs have only the outside half as I find that easier to sew on to and personally feel that helps them look like they're part of the body.

4. Change the way I do the face details, or at least use a thinner black thread next time. I'd also love to try out safety eyes as I feel they might match the look of TCW's Tooka eyes better.

---

Anyway, I'm mostly just writing this as I think this guy turned out cute and because I hope that writing out my plans will help me remember them, lol. Also, if you have any name suggestions I am all ears because I feel this little guy deserves one and I just can't think of any at the moment.

#my art #star wars #tooka cat #knitting #knitted toys #star wars knitting #loth cat #tooka cat plush #loth cat plush

[acaciapines]

I just read all your deltarune fics and. I have to know. do you have playlists for each of the characters. and if you do. could you please share them. i’m so so curious about songs you attribute to each of the characters bc i love your interpretation of them so so much

oh!!! im glad you enjoyed them!!

i do have several playlists but not in any form i could share so. uh. instead i'll just make a list of all my most favorite songs i associate with these kids 'cause if i did every song we would be here for A Long While.

do feel free to send in another ask if you want me to explain one in more depth!!! im one of those people who cannot escape associating songs w/ characters/stories so i have a LOT more i could say if that is wanted lol.

Little Fang - Avey Tare's Slasher Flicks: literally The Most Kris Song Of All Time, like do I even have to explain it. its just Them.

Real Love Song - Nothing But Thieves: this is a newer one on my kris playlist but i think it really fits their relationship with dess--taking the 'love' part in a familial/platonic way, 'can i sing this to you / got a thing about you / and it won't go away' i think this song really captures the sort of...hold dess's opinion always has over kris's sense of self, and the way they feel about her isn't exactly returned equally. in a sense this fits more with my dess-raises-kris au but it does work for kris in my other works too.

San Cristobol - Mal Blum: this is the dess song of all time to the point where it's my voiceclaim for her and is half the reason the band au exists. one big part of my dess is that she leaves voluntarily, even if she might get stuck in a dark world later on--she leaves ON PURPOSE, because she wants to. and this song is like, leaving people behind, 'sometimes i think i left you just to see if i'd be missed,' and sort of wanting to reach out but also maybe not. in a world where dess sings this she is singing it to asriel.

My Tiger, My Heart - The Boy Least Likely To: another dess song of all time, if the last one is dess singing to asriel, this one is her to kris&noelle. this song has been on my dess playlist for so long i've scripted out an animatic to it. specifically i see this as being a song for the space after she sees the bunker but before she leaves--like 'my tiger my heart / we're growing apart' in regards to how she sees kris, and then 'and i think it would be / happier / being free' LIKE. GOD. ITS SO GOOD.

Wash - Floor Cry: noelle about dess...specifically noelle as i write her in the holiday-dreemurr kids series, her pov fic in there was named after this song, but its just about. how you idolize your older sister and then she leaves and comes back and maybe isnt as good as you thought she was and you realize you're going to pick kris over her and so its about 'i never want to / become just like you / it's pretty simple / wish i could tell you why' because noelle struggles with this because she should be happy her sister is back, right? and yet...

Sidelined - The Garages: this is THE RALSEI SONG OF ALL TIME.....like. oh my GOD just listen to it. it's ralsei all the way down, how she struggles with figuring out who she is, with being a darkner, with the prophecy and the weight it puts on her, and how she's supposed to be left behind and forgotten but she doesn't want that and how scary it is to try and be a person when the world never wanted you to be one.

Pluto - Sleeping at Last: ANOTHER RALSEI SONG....this one specifically is in regards to the dess raises kris au lol since i explore ralsei/susie/noelle there but it works for ralsei in all universes. like just listen to it. it's so ralseicore. its similar in theme to sidelined so im not going to repeat myself but just 'i've been worried all my life / a nervous wreak most of the time' to the chorus of 'til one day i had enough / of the exercise of trust / i leaned in and let it hurt / let my body feel the dirt.' LIKE

and these are most of my big ones! i have more around somewhere but most of these i dont even have in a playlist i just sort of remember whenever the song comes on njdfgdfg. sorry theres not so much asriel or susie here i just dont have as good songs for them.

once again if you (general) want me to dive more into one of the songs lemme know!!! i will always talk about these kids!!!

#deltarune #noelle holiday #kris dreemurr #dess holiday #ralsei #ask

[rozieramati]

i think i've discovered the meaning of life

3/9/24

i have an affinity towards crows. it runs very deeply in the lore of my contract with the universe (ketu is rampant in my chart.) there's a herd of crows that: wake me up in the morning, leave feathers (from other birds) in the screen of my door, are always on the part of the roof that's above my bedroom, etc. one time i caught them organizing things they found in a straight line. it feels so strange, especially because it always happens when there's a huge change in my life. intuitively it feels like protection of some sort. i don't know. i usually divert from sharing stuff like this on the internet for fear of literally sounding insane. there's just this whole mystical side of existing that i really don't have a choice in ignoring. elephants in asia are burying their young at a specific gravesite and i'm supposed to wistfully let that go? there's rituals and lives and thoughts and emotions all around us. within a phone screen and beyond the screen view, in the walls of your room. there's emotions in the air when dust particles strike your nose to make you sneeze and get the fuck up. there's emotions in the first person you talk to, if you decide to get out of bed that day. there's emotions in the atmosphere of your neighbor's house, who may or may not notice you slamming the gate on your way to the coffee shop every morning. there's emotions in the barista who asks if you want the green tea or the latte, as they anxiously hover their hand over the ipad that holds your answer in its system. the emotions, the atmosphere, the divine, it slaps me in the face everyday whether i like it or not. that's why i make music, it feels like one of the most widely accepted forms of divinity in our current world. creation in itself is magic. every fabric of our being is working within a framework particularly built for us to toy with, to alchemize and create from. i hope they ban tik tok. it's not a place for creativity anymore. it's ruining everything it means to be human. what is everything it means to be human? creation.

humans create simply by existing. the seat you sit in on the bus creates the instant that someone sees you taking up that space and decides to sit next to you, across from you, or to stand instead. humans create when they breathe and one germ coalesces with another. then it runs through the body of someone strong, but not strong enough to be woken up without a sore throat. then that sore throat takes itself to a doctor. then it goes to the pharmacy and runs into a person they don't know yet, but will not be able to live without within the next couple of months. sore throats, bus seats, doctors, and pharmaceutical soul mates, all of which were created by us. the sore throat was created by some doctor or linguist, i'd presume. why does love always come when we're inconveniently stricken with illness? why are subway chairs that slippery muddy orange color? why why why. it's because we created it, it's because we are human and even more so, we are animal, we are mud, we are lily petal, oxygen, and feather in the screen door, a hand with lines on its palm braided between the fates and free will. the crows have something to say and create, just as much as we do. that is the meaning of life. from the creation in which we are born, we must continually give back by creating ourselves and others.

sometimes i forget where the beauty lies. i'll re-read this to remember.

#diary entry