#preachy dai warning

[godslush]

RE: Last reblog (preachy under cut; I was originally going to put this all in tags on the original post, but didn't want it to clog up the Note view)

I'm on team 'everyone is a sinner, including myself, and Jesus died for everyone who is willing to accept His sacrifice.'

Being a jerk in Jesus' name does more damage than good, and takes the Lord's name in vain.

So is being a gatekeeper who says 'that's not my lifestyle, therefore I have deemed it unforgivable and deserving of abuse and violent exclusion and needs to be shed before accepting Jesus, whereas my own sins are acceptable and forgiven~'

I trust Jesus will have some choice words for people who wave signs and spout bile to drive people they personally disagree with away from His love. It's the only thing that keeps me on the path I'm on. My Walk is my own, and I know I don't set the best example in terms of my quality of life reflecting blessings expected from a loving Lord, but as far as I am concerned, that is my own fault.

In the mean time, I simply aim to not spread hate and abuse and cruel prejudice in the Lord's name.

And... if hate and abuse and cruel prejudice do turn out to be the 'truth,' and if the people preaching it are right and have any power in Heaven...

...well, quite frankly, I'd rather go to Hell than spend an eternity with insufferable, hypocritical gasbags.

(old gif of @voodooval, not me, just Mood)

#preachy dai warning

[potatoes-tomatoes]

I’ve had this exchange in my head far longer than I’d like to admit

#south park #sp kyle #sp ike #south park kyle #kyle broflovski #ike broflovski #cels doodles #this is ike’s number 1 comeback when Kyle tries to get all preachy w/ him #like Kyle can warn of the dangers of cartman all he wants but then he gotta explain why cartman has his own ringtone #and why they hang out every damn day #anywho I think it’s adorable and hilarious that Ike likes Cartman #I think the broflovski fam would be chill w cartman (he’s had tea with sheila before) it’s just kyle who’s pressed hfkfkfhf

[faith-forgxtten-land]

Mikey mikey mikey mikey mikey mikey mikey mikey mikey mikey mikey mikey mikey mikey mikey mikey mikey mikey mikey mikey mikey mikey mikey mikey mikey mikey mikey mikey mikey mikey mikey mikey mikey mikey mikey mikey mikey mikey mikey mikey mikey mikey mikey mikey mikey mikey mikey mikey mikey mikey mikey mikey mikey mikey mikey mikey mikey mikey mikey mikey mikey mikey mikey mikey mikey mikey mikey mikey mikey mikey mik–

Valentine's Day | Michelangelo

i agree, anon. bayverse again since i might as well complete the set!

warnings: shitty and uninspired title. swearing which i probably should've added to my other pieces too but oh well. everyone is always 18+!! hints of suggestiveness but its very minor. also fem!reader with mention of lady, gal etc. never proofread!!

summary: mikey loves valentine's day; side-note, leo is a communist

word count: 830

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

Mikey loved Valentine’s Day. He’d woken up early to decorate the Lair with the most garish shades of pink he could find, and he’d covered Raph in flower petals while he slept, having to cover his mouth with his hand to hold back his sniggers. It happened every year, and every year he found it funnier. His brother’s didn’t. Raph would rage, Donnie would roll his eyes (although he would chuckle a little when no one could hear), and Leo would sigh.

He knew they saw the day as the epitome of a life they could never have. Raph especially found it hard so why not have him concentrate his insecurity and anger at the injustice of the world on Mikey for the harmless pranks he pulled? If it helped him forget the pain inside him for a short while, then Mikey would gladly face his ire. Donnie would just lock himself within his lab (how unexpected), and Leo would pretend nothing was wrong. Leo did that a lot.

The smallest turtle privately thought that their oh-so-Fearless Leader was more emotionally constipated than Raph. Especially on Valentine’s Day. Leo would never admit the real reason for his dislike of the day and Mikey could already hear this year’s excuse:

“Valentine’s Day is a capitalistic endeavour reliant on pressure and novelty, designed to scam consumers and perpetuate the relentless commodification of the self and emotions blah blah blah blah blah…”

Leo always got all preachy after reading. He’d go on rants (“calm and factual explanations that you might actually benefit from listening to Michelangelo”) about two dudes called Marks and Angles (who the fuck called themselves Angles?) and the others would tune him out. Maybe Leo was right, but Mikey didn’t really care. Especially not this year. Unlike his loser brothers, he actually had a date. Mikey resisted the urge to giggle at the thought. Of course, he was the most facially blessed so it would make sense as to why he’d have a beautiful lady accompanying him this evening. Plus, Donnie was a raging nerd, Leo was a fucking weeb, and Raph was, well, he was Raph.

He hadn’t told them yet. You wanted to keep things quiet, at least for now, and the terrapin eagerly agreed to your terms. Silence wasn’t exactly his forte, but he knew how to keep secrets even if his family didn’t believe that. He’d planned the date in secret; he couldn’t be too elaborate, he was still a mutant turtle after all, but he’d done everything he could think of to make it special. He frowned in thought at a fuchsia heart that he'd stuck on the wall. You’d like it. You always liked the things Mikey did; you always laughed at his jokes even when everyone else groaned.

“I’ll love anything you plan, Angelo.” He believed when you said that. You were patient and kind in a way his brothers rarely were with him. That didn’t stop the fluttering of butterfly wings in his stomach. He’d never been one to be nervous, he’d quite literally jumped out of an aeroplane on a skateboard, but you made his palms sweat, his heart jump, and his words stutter. He was normally so smooth with women (or, well, woman since he’d only known April before you but that was irrelevant), yet you made him a flustering mess. He’d never let you catch on to that, though; he preferred if you thought he was just feeling extra goofy in your presence.

“Angelooooooo–”

Speak of the devil. Or angel, he supposed. “ANGELCAKES!” Mikey grinned, hearing Raph curse at the booming shout, then curse again as he no doubt realised what his brother had done for the seventh year running. Last year, Raphael had stayed up all night to avoid the flowers, so Mikey had waited in the shower (also all night) to pop a confetti canon full of petals in his face. He’d probably resigned himself to his fate the night before, but that wouldn’t stop his irritation.

You raised your brow. “Roses again?”

Mikey winked at you. “Carnations. I was on a budget this year, spent all my roses money on this gorgeous gal, you wouldn’t know her.” He grinned wider at your snickers, then somehow even wider as you pressed a kiss to his cheek before anyone could interrupt.

“You’re so…”

“Handsome? Charming? Dashing?”

“Of course, babe.”

God, Mikey loved you.

“YOU HAVE TEN SECONDS NUMBNUTS!”

You rolled your eyes affectionately. “Run, Forrest, run. Just try not to let him bruise your face.”

“Aw, I was hoping you’d kiss it better.”

You smirked and Mikey felt his face flush as you gave him a sultry look, your eyes tracing the length of his body and pausing pointedly. “How about this, I’ll kiss anywhere it hurts on our date tonight.”

If Mikey let Raph catch him quicker than usual and put up less of a fight than normal, well, that was no one else's business, was it?

#tmnt mikey #tmnt mikey x reader #tmnt michelangelo #tmnt michelangelo x reader #tmnt bayverse #bayverse tmnt #bayverse michelangelo #bayverse mikey #tmnt x reader #tmnt imagine #tmnt #mikey is so cute he needs more love

[darlingmbappe]

The Loneliest [Epilogue] | Kylian Mbappé x Fem Reader

[Part One] [Part Two] [Part Three] [Part Four] [Epilogue]

Summary: A glimpse into your life with Kylian Mbappé.

Warnings: Smut, oral (male and female receiving), cussing, crying, pregnancy, badly google translated french, super cheesy (sorry not sorry), I feel like I got a little preachy at the end there but I feel like it fits, so it stayed in, 10.8k words so read when you have time to spare lmao. Let me know if I missed anything! – English is not my first language –

Masterlist

"You seriously need to get out of this place." Kylian grunted as he wiped his hands on a dirty hand towel, sweat shining on his forehead.

You scoff. "You're telling me." You leave the fruit you were slicing on the counter to lean over and quickly peck him on the lips. "Thanks for fixing the AC, babe."

"Don't thank me yet. I don't even know if I did any of that right." He chuckles, stealing a peach slice from the cutting board and popping it in his mouth.

Fair point. Though you felt the air finally blowing coolly on your sweaty neck, Kylian was absolutely not a handyman. But all you had to do was bat your lashes and he was game, taking his shirt off with a wink and throwing it at you jokingly.

Even after almost seven months of living in this shoebox, your landlord had only come once to replace your doorknob which promptly fell off the next day. Besides being absolute dog shit at his job, he's a creepy man. Always with a lingering stare and invasive questions. Kylian met him one time and assured you you didn't have to call that guy ever again, that he'd take care of any maintenance issues. You laughed out loud when he told you this which bruised his ego, but he's kept his word.

So far, he's successfully captured and released a rat, unsuccessfully repaired your ceiling fan, and more recently, accidentally sprayed himself in the face with a vicious stream of water while trying to fix your drippy kitchen faucet. He was pissed, but only for a second. Your unstoppable laughter cut right through his bad mood that was sure to explode out. Instead, you both shared a moment of wheezing, clutching your stomachs and clinging onto each other for balance.

It had been a good six months officially back together. Better than good. The relationship itself was easy. Of course it was easy… you knew him inside and out, and vice versa. You’d tried to keep your guard up, truly... but, whenever Kylain wrapped his large hand around your waist like he was now, you melted into him.

You continue slicing peaches and berries, Kylian's sweaty and shirtless body pressed behind you to look over your shoulder, resting his chin on your bone, placing only one kiss to the side of your neck to hear you giggle. The sweet sound was his absolute favorite since the moment he met you. The spot where your shoulder met your neck would scrunch into his face when his lips landed there — a useful piece of information he took advantage of ever since he discovered it.

“I have a knife in my hand, you know.” You warned playfully, making him squeeze you affectionately.

“Wow, I’m very scared.”

“You should be.” You set the knife down and turn in his arms, facing Kylian, only a couple inches away from his face. “I’m deadly.”

“That, you are.” He mumbled in a sultry tone, pressing forward to kiss you without hesitation, letting his hands begin to move on your hips, pulling your body directly into his.

You wrap your arms around his neck and move your mouth against his, careful not to touch him with your sticky fingers. He smiles against you, walking your entwined bodies backwards until his leg hits the couch, bringing you both down onto the soft cushions.

“Kylian!” You chuckled delightedly, pulling away from his face as you straddled his lap, his hands resting on your ass comfortably. “I’m making a tart.”

“Let’s make out first.” He dictated, biting his lip as his stare became needier.

You rolled your eyes, shaking your head with an adoring grin. “It won’t take me long to finish.”

“Me neither.” He joked, wiggling his eyebrows, defensively laughing as you smacked his arm at the comment.

You still haven’t had sex, not since before the break up. It wasn’t a precaution or punishment you intended on keeping for this long, but you wanted the timing to be perfect. You understand that this is quite a large amount of pressure to put on one single moment, but it’s a part of you you didn’t want to give away just yet. A safety net, of sorts. It had been almost eight months since that dreary night of your birthday. To some, that might seem like a long period to not have sex — but to you, the broken intimacy extends far past the parameters of time. You’d do it when you were sure you were ready.

Thankfully, Kylian accepted your decision and respected it, but refused to hold back his affections. Physically, he didn’t think he could. You were just so cute, so sexy, and exclusively his again.

You climbed off his lap, tusking at him as you walked away back into the kitchen. Not a far walk, but Kylian enjoyed the view nonetheless.

He wanted you so bad. Obviously, the amazing sex wasn’t even close to the sole reason for wanting you back… but he was just a man. An impressive man, yes. But still only a man. He could whine about it as much as he wanted to, but this was still your timeline and his fuck up.

You were stuck in a daydream as you began to roll the dough out. Your shitty oven preheated fourteen degrees hotter than your recipe called for, but the heat mechanism inside was as old as Paris itself. You’d had one too many under baked dishes until you finally figured it out. You made sure the line was drawn for handyman-Kylian when he needed to stick his head inside of an oven.

You were snapped out of your thoughts when the oven started to click. Now, you’re no expert, but that’s not something an oven should do. You and Kylian both locked eyes, a furrow of concern growing on both your faces as the clicking turned to rattling. Then, it began shaking, shaking until it plopped itself open like in a cartoon, the oven door breaking off completely and clanging on your floor, sending a wave of strong heat straight to your face.

“Jesus!” You jumped back and Kylian was pulling you away toward the front door in a millisecond.

“Stay there!” He yelled running back to the kitchen, carefully stepping around the heated door on the ground while avoiding the scorching air from the oven, turning the knob to turn it off hurriedly. He sprinted back to you as you both watched the oven calm itself, the laser red heaters inside slowly dwindling.

You stared at your kitchen with tears of frustration brimming your eyes, uniting your apron and throwing it down. “I fucking hate this place!” You crossed your arms, well aware your pout looked like a third graders.

Kylian hooked his arm around your shoulder, bringing your crying figure into his chest. “I know, amour. I know.”

Kylian felt waves of guilt in moments like these, knowing that if it weren’t for him, you’d be comfortable in your shared home, lavishly living like he wanted you to. Like you were meant to. He’d offered many times to at least let him pay for an upgrade, but the scowl alone let him know that he was not to do that. You made it clear that your life and his were to be separate until further notice. Even offering to buy you a new shower head was crossing that line, no matter how badly you wanted one that didn’t feel like you were being pissed on by an elderly man.

“How ‘bout we finish your tart at my place?” He murmurs, tilting your head up, wiping the tears away carefully. You nuzzled your nose back into his skin, nodding and sniffling.

He helped you place everything neatly in Tupperware containers while you made yourself an overnight bag.

You kept disposables at his place; toothbrush, extra face wash, makeup wipes… the sort of things that were replaceable in case anything went awry. But recently, you’d notice you’d leave your charger there accidentally, a couple of nice shirts or jeans. Though you scolded yourself for the carelessness, a part of you was happy your subconscious knew you’d be back there. The possibility of everything going to shit again wasn’t anywhere in sight, but you didn't want to jinx it.

His place always smelled the same. Woody, slightly floral, airy like the windows were always left open. Your place, on the other hand, always smelled of mildew, no matter how long you’d let fresh air in, how many candles you lit, how many air fresheners you bought. His home was evocative. Comforting. The perfect place to finish your tart.

“Can I help?” Kylian asked, taking yet another peach from your tray.

“Yeah, how about you stop stealing my ingredients?” You poked, sifting more flour on his countertop.

“But they taste so good.”

“Don’t care. Chef’s rules.” You shrug, pulling the bowl of fruit away from Kylian.

He clicked his tongue disapprovingly as you focused on making your desert, continuing to roll the dough out like you had been trying to do for the past hour. Suddenly, you felt a sharp whip on your ass.

“Ah!” You squeal, turning around and seeing Kylian wearing a shit eating grin and holding a kitchen towel innocently. “You whipped me!” You try and hold back a grin, but it slipped through.

Kylian shrugged. “You can’t prove anything.”

“Oh, you wanna mess with me?” You shake your head, taking the towel that was thrown over your shoulder and twisting it menacingly, instantly sending Kylian on defense with his own towel.

You both were set in position, just waiting for the other to make a move. You tried your luck and it worked, whipping him right on the leg.

“Putain!” He curses, immediately retaliating but missing when you step back. You tried again, hitting him in the butt as he attempted to run away, laughing when you heard his playful scream. “Oh, now you’re really gonna get it, mon chérie.”

You both psyched each other out on opposite ends of the kitchen island, giggling at every move you made. This was Kylian's game. Having professional practice at this daily, he caught you when you tried to make a run for the living room, strong arms wrapping around your waist.

“No!” You cackled, doing your best to hit him with the rag as your limbs went weak with joy, letting him carry your full body weight down to the couch, your head landing on the cushion as he straddled you. He poked your sides, successfully tickling you into a silent laughing mess, big intakes of air were few and far between until you could pull yourself together enough to wave your white flag. “Okay! Okay! I give up! You win!”

He stopped, chuckling at you who was still calming down, arms protectively covering your stomach. Kylian was absolutely filled with adoration at this moment. He loved seeing you so happy, so candid, so full of life. He loved knowing he played a part in that. That he made you laugh. He was responsible for the now subdued giggles that found their way up from your chest by their own accord.

He couldn’t help himself. He leaned down and kissed your lips so sweetly that it made him dizzy… it made you dizzy. You placed your gentle hands on his face, pulling him in deeper, scratching the nape of his neck and pulling back enough to watch the goosebumps flood his skin.

“You still love when I do that.” You mumble, voice quiet and wispy.

He hummed, turning his head to kiss your wrist. “I just love you.”

Your heart thumped at his affirmation. It did every time. “I love you too.”

With nothing else left to say, you pulled him back into you, letting the passion take over as your leg wrapped up and around his waist to pull him closer.

He might as well have been devouring you, soaking in every ounce of love you presented him with. His tongue lapped yours, hands roaming up and down your sides, feeling the hums you sang in his entire body like electricity.

His hips began to grind gently on yours, lost in the sweet kisses you bombarded him with as he moved down your neck, leaving purposeful hickeys on it as proof that he was there. Proof that you were his. He began to get hard, something he’d usually try and hide to not make you feel bad about the no sex thing, but he didn’t this time. He was too caught up in this moment with you.

Without much warning, you flipped both of your bodies around, now straddling his taken-aback figure. You leaned down and pressed one single long kiss on his lips before pulling off completely, standing and walking away.

You left Kylian on his back, a disappointed look on his features as he caught his breath, your body nowhere near his anymore. He wanted to fully feel you again so badly, already making a plan to excuse himself to the bathroom for approximately 5-10 minutes to take care of himself.

Before he could, a piece of clothing landed on his body. He looked at it confused, leaning up and over the back of the couch to see you standing halfway up the staircase, topless, a flirtatious smirk dancing across your features. Once you saw the realization hit him, you giggled and jogged up the stairs.

He only let himself sit in shock for a second before he jolted up, making long strides toward the staircase, following the trail of clothing. Your shorts, your socks, until he reaches the doorknob that you hung your bra on. He took them all in his hands, slowly opening the door.

There you were — revealed, laying with your arms propped up, facing his direction in nothing but a pair of underwear, your figure shining in the afternoon sun that was steeping through the open window. The backlighting provided a luminous halo around your head, eyes traveling down to your hardened nipples, your navel, your legs — you looked completely angelic. His limbs lost the ability to hold up your strung clothing anymore, letting them drop to his feet as he exhaled, eyes hooded with need.

“Shut the door, baby.”

He does as he’s told, closing it with his foot so he wouldn’t have to turn away from your practically naked body. As he walked to you, he shed his own clothing, leaving himself only in boxer briefs when he reached you, laying on top of you. He wastes no time kissing you, showing you how desperate he is for this moment to go on.

His left hand held his weight up as his right traced a gentle path from your thigh to your neck, pulling your face ever closer to his, noses smushed against each other.

You whimpered, feeling wetness pool between your legs, moving your hips against his now obvious erection. You placed your thumb under the hem of his boxers, tugging them down as far you could until he rolled over on his back and pulled them down the rest of the way, erection slapping his stomach. His eyes were wide as you straddled him again, placing your warm hands on his bare chest.

“You’re so sweet to me.” You praised, voice like candy but extremely sultry. You pecked his bicep. “And patient.” You kissed his chest. “And thoughtful.” Just above his belly button. “You’re… everything to me.” You sigh, kissing almost the base of his wanting member, keeping eye contact as you grab it, kissing his red tip.

He whined at the contact, caressing your hair. “Bébé…” He wanted to say so much more, but when he saw your lips wrap around his head, all he could do was throw his head back into the pillow and lift it just as fast, not wanting to miss a second of this moment.

You took him down slowly, twisting your hand up and down with slight pressure, tracing the familiar veins as you went on. His moans were pure filth, just getting filthier the deeper you took him. You were proud of yourself for not losing your deepthroating abilities as his tip went down your throat and your lips met his base, massaging his balls as he groaned into the air.

You pulled back and flattened your tongue against his slit, using the tip of your tongue to circle around it stiffly. “Mon dieu…” He hissed, breathy and laced with unadulterated pleasure.

Finally, you gave into your craving – fully realizing how much you’d missed having him in the palm of your hand like this. Taking the entirety of his length all the way back in without warning made his hips jolt into you, causing you to gag but not pull back. His eyes were fixed on yours and how tears formed on your lashes. Your mouth is so full of him, bursting at the seams as your lips touched his base. The way you tried to take him deeper with a slow shake of the head… it all drove him mad. He felt like he was under your spell.

The shallow breaths and whines Kylian sounded out made you soak your panties even more. You felt as if he were close, but you didn’t want him to come. Not yet.

You pulled him out with a pop, wiping the corners of your mouth as he wasted no time sitting up. His gaze didn’t falter as he watched how you stood on your knees on the bed, straddling his legs, looking down at Kylian who made eye contact as his hands were placed flat on the outsides of your thighs. Slowly, he pulled your panties down. He was practically face to face with your pussy but felt the need to look at you, your eyes, the way you bit your lip. He finally looked forward and groaned appreciatively at the sight, seeing you glisten for him.

“You’re perfect.” He said almost to himself, putting his hands on the round of your ass to get you to shuffle into his face. Once you were close enough, he buried himself in your slit immediately as you grabbed his shoulders and dug your nails in.

He tilted back to get the perfect angle for his tongue to meet your clit, expertly moving his tongue back and forth, up and down, every direction with consistency and pressure. He couldn’t get enough of your taste, feeling like an addict who’s relapsed on his drug of choice.

He couldn’t be positive that this wasn’t another wet dream as he watched your chest heave above him, the light now hitting you directly. It illuminated every goosebump, every divot, every curve, every stretch mark, every bit of your skin. He didn’t even know if he was blinking, taking a mental video of the way you looked right now for later, whenever he was alone.

Your legs shook as he added a finger up into you, then another to accompany it. “Holy… fuck… yes!” You couldn’t keep the moans in if you tried, your mind blank from anything but the thought, why the hell did I wait this long again? You’d know the answer in a heartbeat if Kylian hadn’t begun scissoring his digits, curling them like he had a map telling him exactly where to go.

“Oh, god… Kylian… yes! Right there… feels so good, baby.” You blabbered, maybe not as coherent as you meant for it to come out, but Kylians ears perked at any noise he could get out of you, pressing his face lower and deeper into your pussy. He continued to eat you out, fingering you mercilessly. His own moans were blubbered, sending the vibrations through you anyway, amplifying the sensation of him being tucked between your legs.

“Ky… fuck!” Your voice shook along with your legs as you neared your climax. “You’re gonna make me cum so hard, baby.” You grabbed the back of his head and pushed it harder against you. He wanted to tell you how he wanted to feel you cum all over his face, on his tongue, on his fingers… but couldn’t find it in him to pull away from your sweetness.

Instead, he laid down on his back, doing his best to pull you with him to not break his movements. You let him pull your body down to effectively sit on his face, eyes rolling back at the increased pressure as he tugged you deeper.

“Holy shit.” You groan, grabbing the headboard with a white fist, peeking down at Kylian who had his hands wrapped around your upper thighs, his eyes the only visible portion of his face from where he drowned himself in you.

His long, long fingers were relentless at speeds you’d only attribute to him, tongue lapping perfectly in sync, brutally abusing your sensitive bundle of nerves over, and over, and over, and over…

“Oooh, fuuuck!” Your high pitched voice elongated and wobbly as your orgasm nearly brought spots to your eyes, sending waves of pleasure through your body. You shook uncontrollably as Kylian continued to lap up everything you gave him, fingers still working inside of you until you instinctively used any strength left in you to pull off of him, moving your hips lower until your upper body rested completely on top of his.

Kylian breathed heavily on his back, feeling so accomplished and satisfied, no matter how painfully hard he still was. He was surprised he didn’t blow his load watching and listening to you scream his name. Even now he could cum with the feeling of your wetness bare on his skin and your lazy kisses on his peck, shaking fingers reaching down to tangle your hands together.

Without saying anything, you pulled yourself up, shifting your weight until you were lined up with his cock, pressing your wet core down on it and grinding against him.

“Ah…” He groaned, shutting his eyes at the friction. “I really am not gonna last if you do that, bébé.”

You bit your lip and smirked lovingly down at him, untangling your hands and used them to run up and down his bare chest. Feeling his muscles flex and heave was so intimate, wanting, needing to feel every inch of his skin with your own.

You lifted your hips once more, using one of your hands to line up his girthy member to your weeping core, letting it prod you open like he has hundreds of times before. The tightness from your last orgasm, the slick mix of his own spit and your cum, the feeling of finally getting to bury himself inside you once more… to think it all felt elusive to him just six months ago. To think he could have lost you forever.

His brows furrowed as you took him to the hilt, resting there to let yourself adjust to his massive size. Kylian looked to where your bodies connected, biting his lip to keep from moaning at just the sight. His hands grabbed your ass cheeks as you slowly began to move. The stretch was perfect, the pain from it even heightened the sensation of the intimate act.

“Fuck.” Kylian breathed as you found a slow rhythm, bouncing up and down on his dick.

He began to meet you halfway with his thrusts, hypnotized by the way your tits bounced in his face as you leaned forward. He hummed in pleasure, reaching out in front of him to grab two handfuls of your breasts, tweaking your nipples under his fingers, tugging at the supple skin.

The sun beamed on you like a goddess, as he continued to watch you in perfect clarity. The noises in the room were filthy, moans and grunts, skin slapping together, low curses that groveled out straight from your chests.

Your legs became tired and you leaned forward more, bodies pressed up against one another completely as you moved your hips against his, feeling your second orgasm beginning to brew inside your lower belly.You buried your face in Kylians neck as he held your body tightly, hugging your torso as you continued to move back and forth.

He could tell your muscles were sore from riding him, so he shifted his hips up slightly. “You’re so amazing.” He praised into your ear, kissing your shoulder as he propped his legs up. “I love you so much.”

Kylian, though not on top, wanted to have some of the control. Make you feel so good. He positioned himself perfectly to fuck up into you… and he did.

The first thrust was deep and hard. “Oh, Ky… oh… fuck!” You moan out, pulling back from his neck to look him in the eye. The second thrust was the same. And the third. And the fourth. His pace was ruthless and tender, perfectly rough as the drag of his dick going in and out, poking and poking that spot that made your toes curl into themselves.

You cussed out, moaned out his name — the vibrato of your moans matching the continuing thrusts into you that didn’t falter, didn’t stop, didn’t hesitate. Not even when you saw the familiar scrunch between his eyebrows raise up.

“You gonna cum inside me, baby?” You heaved, not knowing how much longer you’d be able to hold your own climax.

He screws his eyes shut, trying to form a word but just grunting instead, nodding quickly. You leaned down and kissed him, gently biting his lower lip and tugging it.

He held you tighter, leaning up to press his forehead to yours, lips and noses brushing against each other, breaths becoming one as your opened mouth pants fanned the others face. “Cum with me, amour.”

“Mhm.” You hummed out a moan of agreement, actual words being much more difficult.

Staring dotingly into the eyes of the man you love, letting him make love to you… Bare and vulnerable together. Tethered to each other through years of good humor and solid devotion. In that moment, you two felt unbreakable. Whether that was true or not didn’t matter. Not even a little bit. You’d weathered the storm and found out it was impossible to survive it without the other. That feeling of true love translating into a physical act, knowing that the emotions you held for each other were authentic and reciprocated was a feeling you’d carry with you for the rest of your life.

You felt the warmth spread in your lower abdomen as you curled into Kylians sweaty body. “I’m gonna cum,” you pant, bracing his shoulders.

“Me too. Fuck.” He cursed, not wanting this moment to end. He continued his thrusts, watching the pleasure and torture grow on your face by the second. He thrusts again, again, again, again, until he knew he couldn’t stop himself anymore. “Cum for me, bébé.”

You cried out into his mouth. He did the same, squeezing your body against his so tightly. Simultaneously, your orgasms ripped through your bodies. Your walls shook around him as he spurted his hot seed inside you, effectively painting your walls white as he fucked it deeper into you. He did his best to keep his eyes open, needing to see how you fell apart… It was magic.

His thrusts slowed until they halted altogether. Your ears rang at the silence that followed the passion, slowly regaining the ability to listen to the synchronized breathing, the rapid heartbeats that thumped loudly against the others chest, the faint ambiance of the outside world you both had forgotten about, only focused on the one true love in front of you… in front of him.

“Kylian?” You heaved after a moment of basking in each other's presence, feeling his hand move up and up your bare back to hold the back of your head against his chest.

“Yes, mon amour?”

You paused, smiling and kissing his chest tenderly. “I don’t think I’m ever gonna finish that tart.”

Five months later

“Okay. Fine. I’ll hand it to you.” You sigh, hand resting on your hips as you try and catch your breath. “This was definitely worth the hike.”

Kylian blew a raspberry as he set the blanket down on the tall grass. “That was barely a hike.”

“It was a steep hill.”

“You didn’t even carry anything.” He pointed out, setting the basket down and gesturing to it. “That shit is heavy.”

“You packed it.” You respond, walking over and sitting down on the checkered material and shuffling through the items in the wicker basket. “Oh, damn. Ky. I thought this was going to be like… ziplock baggies and canned wine kind of picnic.”

“Canned wine?” He repeated, shocked and almost offended.

“It’s a thing.” You shrugged, pulling out the glass tins full of food, opening them, spreading them around neatly as he sat next to you and helped by lighting a candle he brought to keep away the bugs.

He pulled out a bottle of cabernet, wiggling his eyebrows at you. “Tonight is for real wine.” He stated, uncorking the bottle with the corkscrew.

He really thought of everything.

You thanked him as he handed you a stemless glass full of red liquid. “You’re so cute.” You mumble, watching him as he opened the container with pastries, neatly organized, somehow unaffected by the long drive and trek up to this spot. A light laugh escaped his lips, shy under your loving gaze. You squeeze his hand for a second before you request, “let me take a picture of you, honey.” 

It obviously wasn’t a suggestion as you shuffled opposite of him, positioning yourself behind your cell phone.

Kylian smiled, squinting slightly at the direct sunlight of the lowering sun. The captured moment couldn’t be more sweet, feeling a goofy giggle rise from your chest looking at your man digitally captured. It couldn’t possibly compare to the actual sight, but it was a close second.

“Adorable.” You go back to your spot, now leaning some of your body weight on his shoulder. “Let's eat. I’m starving.”

He chuckled, having heard that from you the second he began driving from the small rental cabin in the French countryside to this spot. A secluded hillside facing west, painted with wildflowers and tall grass. He felt around discreetly in his pocket, finding that the small box was still secured safely in there.

He handed you a cloth napkin when he saw you devouring one of the finger sandwiches and using your hand as a plate. You thanked him with a giggle, not even embarrassed about the glob of mustard you felt at the corner of your mouth.

You both carried casual conversations while you munched on the packed dinner; listening to his stories about the team, asking about family members, laughing at inside jokes, gossiping about people at your work… domestic conversations that flowed like a river downstream.

The way you gently brushed away a crumb on the corner of his mouth… how you’d take a bite of his pastry even though you had your own…  watching your nose scrunch up and your head tilt back when he made you laugh… when he shielded you from the gentle spring breeze and you tucked yourself deeper into him until eventually, the pair of you might as well have combined into one. It was all so comfortable.

He noticed as you became distracted from the conversation, the clouds in the sky whisking together as the colors change catching your attention more than his locker room story.

“It's so beautiful here..." You mumble softly, trying to conserve this serene moment. You romanticized this kind of life; settling down in the French countryside; acres of open land and rolling hills, living off of homegrown vegetables and freshly squeezed lemonade.

Kylian pulled your shoulder down into his body, letting you use him as a headrest until you shuffled your way in between his open legs, falling into his warm embrace as if it was chiseled just for you by whatever higher power was out there.

He wrapped a snug and affectionate hug around your waist, pressing his cheek to the side of your head. Solely your presence in this time was enough to make him yearn to grow roots; plant himself deep into this soil with you in his embrace. The old oak trees that were scattered across the land were calling him to settle down with them. They reached toward the sun, strong and tall, branching out with leaves that danced happily in the sporadic gusts of air, content in their growth, their place, their permanence.

Ever since he'd known you, he knew you had a thing for sunsets. You would point them out so frequently as if it were your first time ever seeing one. His fondest memory is winning your love back while watching the long rays of sun break through the clouds in his Paris home, the home you finally share again. Well over a year has passed, but he remembered every detail like it just happened the day before. That's why this was the place he'd ask you – again – to marry him. This time, he'd see it through. He'd watch you walk down the aisle. He'd kiss you after declaring his love in front of everyone. He'd spend the rest of his days cherishing you, growing a family of your own, reminding you how perfect you are to him.

He kissed your temple, warmth spreading when you pressed into his lips, hearing you take a deep breath in. He took one also, preparing himself for what’s to come. "Come on. I gotta show you something."

He stood up and helped you along, grabbing your hand and entwined your fingers, leading you down the hill, walking hand in hand for a couple minutes. You saw it immediately, even from yards away; the field of wildflowers that sprung up from the ground, invading the land for miles was impossible to ignore. The untouched area leaves them at peace to grow and be beautiful, insusceptible to the wrath of lawn mowers and weed-wackers.

As their petals reflected the gold rays of the sun, the light changed the colors of your skin. He couldn’t focus on the deep warming hues above him like you were, completely distracted from the sight. The sun kissed the horizon and he could see its mirrored image in your eyes. He decided that was a much better way to experience this.

“Kylian.” You breathed, your voice airy and dreamy. Your eyes couldn’t be torn away as you walked into the field of flowers, feeling the stems tickle your ankles. Kylian stayed in place, your hands parting when you walked too far away. “Look at the sky.”

He found himself in this situation before, having to disobey your request once again as his eyes were preoccupied. He wished he was a painter so he could recreate this scene and look at it forever; put it up in a museum with a silver plaque that told everyone how much you mean to him — though he was sure that even with the largest of vocabularies, the words to truly explain the way you made him feel didn’t exist. It was allconsuming. Overpowering. Unreal.

He thought about the last time he was in this position – with a ring burning a hole in his pants pocket. The sweat beads on his forehead were obvious that night, having to use his suit jacket’s sleeve to keep them out of his eyes. He remembered how all of your peers cheered when you said yes, the rooftop restaurant rented out for only your close friends and family. It was nice experiencing that blissful moment with others, but today felt calmer. Like the eyes of the world couldn’t reach you. The pressure of it all was still heavy, but his soul was still as water in a pond, only riddled by the distant worry of the inevitable day's end — healed rapidly by the knowledge he’d have you in his arms every day after.

You faced the horizon still, back turned to him when his knee had found the earth below him, his fingers clutching the pocket sized box. He should be nervous now like he had been all week, overthinking every integral moment of the rebuild of your relationship — but he knew right now, in this moment, in his heart, it’d be you and him forever. Just as the universe intended.

“Isn’t it perfect?” The words escaped your lips just as you twirled around, not expecting to have to look down to meet your lover's adoring gaze. You gasp, putting your hand on your chest at the man on one knee.

You two shared a second of silence, throats clogged with weeps that waited patiently to break free inside your throats, hearts beating at the same pace, bound to each others’ without the promise of a ring.

“In all my years, I’ve found many things that make me happy in this life. But none of them compare to you.” The emotion of it all brought tears to his eyes, matching your glossy ones. “From the first moment I saw you, I was yours. Every day since, I fall deeper in love with you. I promise you, I will fight for our love until my last day on earth. I’ll work hard to keep a smile on your face, because no one can make me smile like you can. I’m so in love with you. I can’t wait to grow old with you. To grow a family. To spend the rest of our lives by each other's side. The good and the bad.”

Your hand covered your mouth, but he saw the smile reach your eyes, trails from your crying running down each finger. You sniffled into your palm, Kylian's beaming and hopeful smile radiating brighter than any sunset ever has.

He flipped open the box, still fixated on only you, and you only him. “You’re the one I’ve been waiting for my whole life.” His voice cracked as the words escaped him, speaking directly from the deepest part of his soul. “Will you marry me?”

You clutched your heart once more and stumbled toward Kylian, getting down on your own knees to be at his level. You grabbed his face softly, staring into his sparkling irises, giggling happily through the tears, wiping his own with your thumbs.

“Yes!” You rejoiced, words laced in pure honey, kissing his lips aimlessly. “Of course I’ll marry you, Kylian.”

You wrap your arms around his neck, both your faces fitting delightfully in the crooks of each other's necks, wetting the skin with the endless waterfalls that fell freely.

You pulled back, kissing him once more. He kept his head close to yours as you both finally looked down at the ring inside the box.

“Oh my god, Ky.” You gasped, allowing him to take your left hand in his. “It’s gorgeous.”

His eyes wrinkled at the corners as he kissed your ring finger before sliding on the band, fitting perfectly.

“They’re the same diamonds.” He explained, referring to your first engagement ring while you took in every detail of your newest and most permanent piece of jewelry. “It didn’t feel right to give you the same ring but I couldn’t get rid of it, so...” 

He had spent months with a designer figuring out the different cuts and bands to symbolize a second beginning for an eternity with you.

“It’s perfect.”

You both stood together, heads leaning into each other until the trees turned to shadows. The moon's faint blue light provided no guidance for finding your way back to the car, yet neither of you grew any concern over it, finding security in entwined fingers and shared laughter.

Seven years later

“I’m definitely balding.” Kylians voice echoed from the hallway over the soft music playing.

You shake your head with a chuckle, arms tired from rolling and kneading a ball of dough. “No you’re not. You’ve been looking at the back of your head too much, hun.”

He saunters into the kitchen holding his phone out at arms length toward you. “Look.” You stare at his screen displaying an awkwardly self-taken picture of the crown of his head, only slightly less hair on the top than a couple years ago. “See?”

You shrug at him as he continues to analyze the image, pinching it to zoom in. “I think the back of your head looks just as handsome as the day I met you.”

He clicks his tongue, setting the phone down as if that’ll make him stop thinking about his inevitable aging. Kylian leans against the counter next to you, obviously eyeing the strawberries you’d just washed inside a bowl in the sink.

“Nuh-uh. Don’t even think about it.” You read his intentions, Kylian being a notorious and shameless ingredient thief.

A playful smirk found its way to his lips as his hand inched closer to the pile of fruit, watching and waiting for the reaction that he craved to get from you.

“Kylian…” You warned in a whiney tone as he snatched one by the stem, bringing it to his grinning lips. He made a whole show of taking a bite of it, humming and closing his eyes like it’s the best thing he had ever tasted, even rubbing his belly comically for dramatic effect. You sigh, biting back a grin that would only fuel his shenanigans. “I’m gonna have to start putting out decoy ingredients covered in hot sauce, or something.”

He smiles wider, showing off the creases in his face that are now permanent. Though he felt insecure at times about his aging skin that portrayed wrinkles even in his most relaxed state, you couldn’t love them more — a souvenir from decades of laughing and happiness. Proof of a joyous life. It’d formed your semi-new habit of kissing the crows feet at the corners of his eyes, loving how it made them more prominent as he’d grin at the simple act of adoration.

Kylian extends the other half of his bitten fruit to your mouth, feeding you the rest of the strawberry, feeling your lips brush against the pads of his fingers.

You hummed at the sweet juice, savoring the flavor. “I don’t know how your mom’s strawberries always taste so perfect.”

“I’m pretty sure she gives us the best ones.”

“She’s so cute.” You praise, washing the flour off your hands. “When are they getting here, again?”

Kylian looks at his watch. “Uh, like seven, I think.”

You nod, seeing that you’re cutting it close on timing to finish the tart, but it should give it enough time to chill once the crust is cooled off. Kylian made himself a snack as you put the crust in the oven, immediately beginning the clean up of the mess you've made with a big sigh.

While munching on a sandwich, your husband helped you by putting away the refrigerated items. You’d gotten used to the little things after all these years, like him cleaning the kitchen with you. He hated cleaning but simple things like that show love and respect. He never expected gratitude when he did these things, but you always showed him anyway.

Sometimes, you'd get to thinking about all the small acts like those that add up to keep you both feeling like equals in the relationship. Your heart just fills up, usually leading to you roughly grabbing Ky’s face and smushing your lips to his cheek, dramatically smacking loud kisses onto him with a flooding wave of appreciation for your significant other. It’d take him by surprise at the most random of times, but looked forward to your next smooch attack every time. When you’d get to looking at him for too long, sentiments you’ve collected through the years take over your brain like wildfire, needing to express your love in some physical manner before you explode. 

Kylian’s more immediate with his affections. He’d have one thought and would have to share it with you that instant. Ranging from easy compliments when he’d wake up before you, claiming “I love your nose” from the deepest part of his soul; to “you’re really turning me on right now” when you ran your hands down his chest post-shoulder rub after his training. His affections poured out of him into you.

You hummed along to the music mindlessly, songs you haven’t heard in years shuffled on your mass playlist. The beat had your hips moving and head bobbing as you began wiping down the counter, but you found yourself grinning down at the marble when the soft piano began to play through the speaker.

“I haven’t listened to this in forever.” You mumbled, not looking up to see your husband trying to contain his smile behind you at the familiar and lovely tune. 

Kylian pressed two warm hands at your hips, kissing your cheek from behind you. “Me neither.” He slowly swayed your movements to sync with his, moving his hands to wrap around your stomach loosely. “You know, I almost cried when we danced to this at our wedding.”

“Yes, I know.” You giggle, collecting some crumbs on your hand and tossing them in the sink next to you, wiping your palms with a rag. “You’re a big softie.”

Though the version you had at the wedding was much different than the original, the words still rang true. The lyrics to La Vie en Rose begin to take over the kitchen.

“Des yeux qui font baisser les miens, un rire qui se perd sur sa bouche. Voilà le portrait sans retouches de l'homme auquel j'appartiens” A gaze that makes me lower my own, a laugh that is lost on his lips. That is the un-retouched portrait of the man to whom I belong.

“Dance with me.” He whispers, stretching his fingers over the material of your shirt.

You chuckle like a schoolgirl, looking down to try and hide your love-struck timidness. “You’re so cheesy, Ky.”

“I don’t care.” He walks your bodies away from the counter, turning you around to show you his dimpled face, looking absolutely content to just be there with you. “I want to dance with my beautiful wife.”

You gaze up at him like he hung the moon, already over yourself as you wrap your arms around his neck, letting him pull you close by the small of your back.

“Quand il me prend dans ses bras, qu'il me parle tout bas, je vois la vie en rose. Il me dit des mots d'amour. Des mots de tous les jours, mais moi, ça me fait quelque chose.” When he takes me into his arms, He speaks to me softly, I see the world through rose-colored glasses. He speaks words of love to me. They are everyday words, but they do something to me.

He touches his forehead to yours, closing his eyes just for a second before lending them back to you. The eyes that made you feel seen so many years ago are making you feel seen, still. 

Some fights and rough patches you thought you could never get over… but you could. You did. Sure, time heals all wounds and all, but earning forgiveness takes a lot out of a relationship. Both of you had to set aside your own agendas and get over useless spurts of bitterness, grudges; forcing yourself to put aside your pride because your heart just can’t go on without the other. Love isn’t about forgetting mistakes, but growing past them together. Love is about mutual respect and security. Having a companion through it all. It’s about commitment and feeling safe in that commitment. Allowing them to see the lowest lows and trusting that they’re right there with you. 

“Il est entré dans mon cœur. Une grande part de bonheur, dont je connais la cause. C'est lui pour moi, moi pour lui dans la vie.” A bit of happiness that I know the cause of. It's only him for me, and for me, only him, for life. He told me, he swore to me, for life. 

You nuzzled your face into his chest, letting your arms wrap completely around him as he did the same. To be loved by him was fulfilling and exhilarating and placid and right. The feeling of your family home, familiar in ways you can't describe but can only experience through the nostalgia of fond memories. 

You didn’t even need to say the words anymore. You both just knew. Always. 

The song ends and Kylian pulls his head into the crook of your neck, needing to feel the crinkle of your skin when he places his kiss there, smiling dopily when he gets his wish. “Mon coeur.” My heart. His breath tickles you more when he whispers into you, but you just hug him tighter, feeling your devotion for him heighten in every nerve in your body.

You scratch your fingernail on the spot you have been for over a decade. The reaction not as prominent anymore. Not as it was when you were only a young couple, but it meant more to both of you than just a reaction. It was a form of saying I love you, that you know him just as he knows you, that your affection for him still lives in you just as strong as your fidelity. 

He puffs out some air with his giggle, feathering your neck again with the sudden gust as he pulled back just to take another look at you, brushing his nose with yours. 

He places his hands on your stomach once more, looking down at them as he caressed the tiny forming bump. “Number two can’t get here fast enough.”

“You can’t call it number two when they're born.” You say, voice soft to match his. “Especially not around Meline. She already has only child syndrome and she’s barely three.”

“My baby Meli is perfect.” He defends instantly. 

You shake your head, pulling away from his warm embrace. “That girl really has you wrapped around her tiny little finger.”

“She got that from you, didn’t she?” He always knew how to make you blush, even after all this time.

Kylian was head over heels for his daughter. They were attached at the hip, similar in so many ways that it frightened you. She looked just like him despite everyone saying she got your nose and smile. It was the eyes. The dark chocolaty brown, the deep set almond shape that caught the attention of anyone in their line of vision. You knew you were in trouble when you caught the first glimpse of them after she was born, already finding it difficult to say no to Kylian when he’d bat his lashes at you. Now there were two of them, getting away with their tomfoolery like masterminds, abusing their built in god-given charm. 

A nice shower and some quick tidying up later, you realized that your crust was fully cooled and you hadn't even started on the filling yet. It sat on a rack that you eyed as you finished off the pear salad. 

It’s any second now until Fayza and Wilfried arrive with Ethan to bring Meline back home. It was nice that she got to spend so much time with her grandparents. They’d pick her up in the morning and drop her off at night, sometimes she’d beg to stay at her pépé and mamis house.

Planting roots in Paris was the best decision you both could have made for your family. Kylian had explored different teams, different cities, but when you found out you were pregnant the first time around, Kylian made sure that the family had a steady base under their feet.

Kylian was marinating the chicken thighs as the grill out on the patio warmed up. You giggled as you watched him through the window, sporadically swatting at a bee that buzzed around him. It kept coming back for as long as he was out there, visibly spooking and frustrating him when it got too close to his ears.

“Stupid bee.” Kylian mumbled under his breath as he walked back in, tongs in one hand, a dirty dish in the other.

“Hello!” You hear Ethan's familiar voice bounce through the home, three sets footsteps clicking closer until the family appeared in the kitchen. Meline squealed when she saw you two, wiggling out of Ethan's arms as she reached out as far as she could for one of you to take her. 

“Mon canard!” My duckling! Kylian cooed out her nickname as he clattered the dishes in the sink to whisk her out of his brother's arms, kissing her cheek repetitively as she giggled.

You greeted your in-laws and Ethan with big smiles and hugs, taking Mel's overnight bag from Fayza. “Was she good today?” You ask as you lean over to Kylian to plant a big smooch on your daughter's chubby little hand. “Were you good for pépé and mami?” You direct it playfully at the toddler.

“I was! I pwomise!” Mel claims almost defensively, balling Kylian's grilling apron into her small fist. Everyone giggles at her. She immediately won everyone over, bringing a bright light of joy to any room she was in. “Me an’ Teetin even did clean up time.” 

Teetin is what she calls Ethan. When she was first learning to talk, Ethan constantly crowded her, trying to make her say “Oncle Ethan” since she had referred to everyone else as some sort of coherent name for days at that point. One day, she blabbered “Teetin” and he went nuts, boasting about how he finally got her to say his name. Turns out, she was saying “teetee”, as in, she was teetee-ing her diaper while he held her on the sofa. The nickname stuck, though Kylian called him piss baby for the following month.

“Yes, she was an angel, as always.” Fayza confirmed, still making googly eyes at Meli. 

You set the table outside with the help of Fayza, serving iced tea and chatting with her. Kylian and Wilfried stood together by the grill and Ethan and Meline rolled around on the grass, your baby girl giggling so joyously it warmed your heart. 

Crap, the tart.

“I’ll be right back out.” You mumble to Fayza and speed walk back in, getting all the ingredients out to make the filling, pretending you’ll be okay if it doesn’t fully chill like it’s supposed to. You’ll just have to pretend you’re okay with the tart not being firm. It was a sudden frantic feeling that hit you as you stood alone in the kitchen, overwhelmed by the raw ingredients in front of you.

Kylian was posted up at the grill with his dad, talking football as usual when he felt a tug on his jeans. He looks down at his little girl with wide eyes.

“I have t’ go teetee.” She disclaims, bouncing slightly. 

“Okay, mon canard, let’s go.” He scoops her up in his arms, feeling like they should move fast after seeing her potty dance, a tell-tale sign she waited too long to ask. “Give the thighs another minute or two before you take them off.” He instructs his father, handing him the tongs before walking back inside.

She was off of diapers and was usually good at not having any accidents, but lord knows once that little girl gets distracted, tinkle time gets pushed to the back of her to-do list.

He walks past you in the kitchen, you give him a knowing look as he scurries into the bathroom, getting her on the toilet just as she began to fuss about not being able to hold it anymore. 

“Remember, Meli, let papa know as soon as you gotta teetee, ‘kay?” He reminds her as he holds her up to the sink so she can wash her own hands. 

“Okay.” She promises, but Kylian knows her well enough to deduct that this will still happen every day. Even if you ask her if she needs to go potty she’ll say no because it’s not about to burst out. 

Ky and Mel walk out of the bathroom hand in hand into the kitchen. You were almost frantically mixing together your ingredients, puffing hair out of your face. “Need some help, maman?” Kylian questions.

“Um,” you look around at the cluttered countertop. “yes, please. Can you slice these?”

Kylian smirks as you hand him the bowl of strawberries. “It’ll cost you one strawberry, mon amour.” You give him a warning look. “We’ll share it.” He points to his daughter making grabby hands at the fruit.

“Pick a small one.”

He did not. 

Kylian picked out the biggest one in there, making sure you were too distracted with mixing your concoction than on the cheeky pair. Kylian cut the berry, handing his daughter the bigger half as she sat on the counter, legs dangling down and swinging back and forth as she sucked on the sweet fruit. It was an effective distraction from begging Kylian to let her help with the slicing. No knives for her just yet.

Kylian saw the look on your face, brows furrowed. You seemed distraught as you added the jam into the bowl, hands almost shaking. “Relax, bebe. You okay?” 

“What? Oh, yeah. I’m good.” You fake smile. “Allll good over here.”

He raises his brows, not believing you at all. He wiped his hands and put Meline back on her own two feet, leaning down to her level. “Meli, baby, go show grandma your strawberry.” He whispers. She nods, running back through the open door to the patio. Kylian watches as she holds the strawberry up to his mother, a wash of pride taking over his body for his baby girl.

Then, he walks right next to you where you were beginning to sweat from the vicious manner of mixing. He places his hand over yours holding the spatula, taking it off of the utensil. 

“Kylian, come on. I have to finish this tart.” You whine, upset at him for making you stop. 

“Relax.” He soothes as you try and break free from his grip.

“I am relaxed.” You groan. “Just let me finish this tart.”

“Forget the tart. This isn't about the tart.” He points, effectively taking your attention away from your mixing bowl, though you weren't happy with him about it. “Tell me what’s wrong. What are you thinking right now?”

You sigh, rubbing your forehead as if it would clear your mind. “I think…” You stop, toying with his fingers as you look down at them. “I think I’m just a little freaked out about having another baby.”

Kylian hums, then goes quiet. You seemed so excited the first time you found out. He remembered how you jumped in his arms when the two lines showed up on the pregnancy test, how you’d already begun decorating their room, how many baby name books you’d gotten out of storage and kept on your nightstand. 

“Freaked out how?” He gently asks.

“I don’t know… just... yeah, just forget it." You grab the spatula again. "Because I really do have to finish this tart or else we won’t have dessert. It’s already going to suck because it won’t have time to cool and your mom always loves my desserts but this time she’ll hate it and I’ve been planning this since she gave us these strawberries but now it won’t even go how I thought it would. So, now, you’re all just gonna pretend to love it, but I know it's gonna be soggy and it won’t be firm and it’ll be embarrassing, so please. Just help me finish it quickly. Please.” You rant mindlessly, roughly folding the mixture together. 

Kylian's eyes are wide as he watches you. He had no idea you’d been carrying this worry about another baby but he’s seeing it simmer out of you, hoping you won’t blow your top completely. 

Slowly and silently, Kylian stands next to you once more, slicing the berries into slim pieces one by one. He lets the silence sit for a little to let you calm down and gather your actual thoughts before he speaks again.

“I’m a little freaked out, too.” 

You look up for only a second and look back down. “...You are?”

“Sure.” He shrugs like it’s nothing. “I mean, I'm excited, yes. But babies are a lot of work. Meli didn’t make it easy on us. Remember, she was such a night owl and wanted us with her all the time. She would literally cling onto us in the rocking chair to make sure we wouldn’t leave. Oh, and remember how scared of leaves she was for a couple of months? That sucked. Also balloons... God, that birthday party was a nightmare.” He recalled. These stories send a grin to your face as you wondered where the time went. She was so big and only getting bigger every day. Soon, she wouldn’t even need your help to reach things on the table or tying her shoes. 

“I can’t believe she’s three.” You sigh, tasting the filling and feeling your shoulders relax when you realized the consistency and taste was just right. Kylian finished slicing, now leaning against the counter to continue the conversation.

“She already told me what she wants for her next birthday.” He scoffed and you shook your head. Her third birthday was only last month. “A real life purple hippopotamus. But it has to be tiny enough for her to hold it.” You laugh at her request as you begin filling the crust. “She has a name for it already, too.”

“Oh, does she? I bet I can guess it. Monsieur purple hippo?” 

“Close.” He laughs. “Monsieur petite purple hippo.”

“That’s a mouthful, but very on brand for her.” You point out, scraping the last bits from the bowl. You begin to place the berry slices neatly on top of the tart, much calmer and relaxed. Your hands weren't even shaking anymore.

Kylian kissed your temple sweetly, helping you put the finishing layer on. “It’ll all work out. I promise. It’s scary, but nothing our family can’t handle.”

Your heart swells. He’s so right for you. The way he easily noticed and eased your racing mind made you focus on your left ring finger, feeling the weight of the bands that wrapped around it. They’ve been on for so many years that it just feels like part of your body, not uncommon to overlook their beauty or forget the promises they hold in your daily life. But it's simple moments like these that you remember the words engraved on them. Always pressed against your skin, never failing to stay close to you. Mon cœur t'appartient was the promise he’s kept for years, and you have as well. My heart is yours. 

Though you thought you messed up your dessert, you now look down at the finished product, and it’s perfect.

Dinner went long, caught up in conversations and hilarious stories that embarrassed Ethan and Kylian. You looked around at the family you’re a part of, physically feeling the love from every single one of the humans sitting under the dim shine of the string lights in the gazebo. With good food and better people, time slips too quickly. 

Life is short, moments graze by like a freight train passing a station. You never know what could happen tomorrow, the future is in no one's hands. Things can happen in the snap of a finger. You say your last goodbye without even knowing. You can wish to control the clock. You can wish that you could turn it back and do some things differently. You can wish you could jump forward and prepare for what’s to come. But all this wishing would do is drive you insane, because everyone lacks control when it comes to time. Appreciate the moment. Live in it. Dwelling on the negative will only comfort the pessimist that lives inside of you. Worrying about the future will only hold you back from the journey you take to get there.

So, for now, you sit sipping wine in front of empty plates while your daughter slowly falls asleep on your husband's shoulder, your mother in law's sweater drapes over your cold legs, the stars are left alone to shine brightly without a cloud in sight. Everything was just as it should be. Everything will be okay.

All this escaped time allowed for your dessert to chill. 

Finally, your tart was finished.

A/N: Officially the end of this fic, and if I do say so myself, it's satisfying. I had so much writers block through this so I'm sorry I haven't updated in over a week. I wanted to make sure this one was good after all the love that I got from this fic. Love you all so much! Thank's for reading!

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[saintmurd0ck]

just the tip, princess | matt murdock x f!reader | one-shot

masterlist | art | thoughts

summary: it's finals week. maybe a study night turn truth-or-dare is the one thing you need to finally relax.

warnings: college matt murdock, drinking (only a little), religious references (BLASPHEMY), matt's cocky personality, oral m and f receiving, protected p in v, orgasm denial, penetration denial (i think?), look there's a lot in this

a/n: in honour of all the recent dd news, i give you this: an unholy anthology of self-indulgence. that is all.

accompanying songs: so it goes… (taylor swift) & false god (taylor swift)

Matt’s voice breaks your concentration, tearing you away from your short-response test booklet. “One more practice question, and then we’ll take a break, deal?” 

You fling a hand out to the side, swatting at him absentmindedly until your finger finds its mark against his lips. “Shh, Matty, one sec, let me finish this.”

He gives you a reluctant sigh as your pencil scratches away at the paper, movement flickering in the corner of your eye as he waves his hand around his feet. His fingers close around something quietly tucked away to the side of your desk, liquid sloshing in the bottle as he brings it up to his lips.

“Matthew Murdock,” you mock-gasp, eyeing him with a mix of awe and disdain, “we have a final in two days and you’re supposed to be studying.”

He shrugs, taking another big sip.

“Oh, give me that,” you chastise, reaching forward for the bottle, but he swerves out of the way haphazardly, wheels rattling as his chair thumps against the side of your bed. You turn to face him as he’s knocked off balance by the impact, tapping your pencil on your chin as you watch him feel for the mattress behind him, then as he hoists himself up on the bed.

“Foggy said we could have this to ourselves,” he chuckles, raising his eyebrows, then the bottle – “so I brought it with me.”

Your lips press together in disbelief before curling into a wry smile. “Fireball, Matthew? You’re drinking straight Fireball.” You shake your head as he tips the bottle into his mouth. “You’re sick.”

“It tastes go–” he rasps, fist coming up to his face as he coughs. “It tastes good!”

You set your pencil down on the paper, eyes quickly scanning over what’s been written, curt nod affirming your satisfaction of the response. “Okay then,” you lean forward on your knees, interlacing your fingers under your chin, “are you gonna share any? Since, y’know, it’s for the both of us.”

He tilts his head to the side, hand coming up to wipe his mouth before nudging his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “You want some?”

You shrug indifferently. “Yeah, I’ll indulge.” 

You reach forward for the bottle but he yanks it backwards, head tipping back with roaring laughter.

“Matt, give it to me!”

He flashes you a shit-eating smirk as he raises his eyebrows. “You want it that badly?”

Oh, for fuck’s sake. You hide your flustered face in your hands. “You little sh–”

He holds out the bottle in front of him, head cocked, intently listening to the shuffle of your feet against the carpet. “Well? Are you gonna come and get it?”

You huff, hand beginning to close around the bottleneck, brushing against the slippery glass where the whiskey’s spilled down the side, but he pulls backwards again. 

“Matthew Michael Murdock!” you bellow, watching him clutch his side as he breaks out into an infectious fit of laughter.

A sound of bewilderment. “How do you know my middle name?!”

You scrunch your nose, slapping his knee. “I’m your best friend, silly. It’s my job to find out.”

“Foggy told you, didn’t he?”

Silence from you.

“Maybe,” you mumble.

“Foggy looked at my state ID and told you, right?” 

“Maybe!” you yelp, suddenly very interested in your essay.

“You both looked at my ID?! You pickpocketed me?!”

You throw out a measly insult as you avert your gaze, face hot with embarrassment. “Don’t get all preachy on me now, Murdock.” 

He gasps with feigned disbelief, hand curling tighter around the bottleneck as the other points to the ceiling. “Don’t bring the big guy into this.” 

“You– oh! God, now I need a drink.”

Without second thought, you lunge at him, but as if he can predict your every movement, he sticks his foot out to trip you as you reach for the bottle. Suddenly, you’re a flurry of arms, movement and profanities, tumbling forward into something that breaks your fall… something warm, comforting, surprisingly muscular.

Not something.

Matt.

The world stops for a second as you hover on top of him, his Fireball-tinged breath mixing with yours, chest growing taut as your mouths are mere centimetres apart. It feels as if your heartbeat completely vanishes for a second, thick silence accompanied with only the sound of your stuttered breathing and the blood roaring in your head. You study the deep rise and fall of his chest, ignoring the unfamiliar feeling coursing through your veins as his arm wraps around your waist, holding you steady. 

His tongue snakes out to wet his lips, and that movement alone sends you down to hell. Your stomach falls through your body, dampening your panties with a sudden desire you didn’t think you possessed. Sure, Matt’s attractive and all, and he knows it – well, surely he has to, considering the number of people in your cohort alone who wanted to take him to bed – but you’ve never looked at him that way. He’s always been your friend, your support system. Insufferable at times.

You flick your gaze downwards to where your legs are, straddled over his hips. You’re hovering over him, but with one little movement, just one… you’d be pressed up entirely against him. You’re suspended here, unaware of how heavy your breathing has become, consumed with thoughts about your best friend that friends just… aren’t supposed to have.

This can’t happen.

It’s an awkward shuffle as you push off him and shoot straight back into your chair, but it’s followed by the exchanging of gently stifled laughter, ice quickly broken as you take advantage of his stupor, snatching the bottle off him. 

The liquor goes down easy. Easier than expected.

“Damn Murdock,” you say in between mouthfuls, “you’re lucky you didn’t spill any on my bed, or I would’ve kicked your ass.”

His retort comes out fast. “I kinda wanna see you try, but you’d get in trouble.” Your eyebrow arches at the cheeky grin that proceeds. “Y’know, for beating up a blind person.”

The opportunity to stick your tongue out at him is a moment rarely passed up, and this situation changes nothing. 

He grabs the bottle off you. “Hey, stop making faces at me. I can tell by the way your mouth moves.” His attempt to mimic you falls flat, and all he has to show for it is the cutest frown.

“Not even close, Murdock.”

Nothing prepares you for the effect his resounding snort has on you; the way it makes itself home in the centre of your chest, the sweet sound sending your brain into overdrive. You’re looking at him, big shiny eyes and all, flitting over his every breath, his every action. Fuck, it’s like he’s laced the atmosphere or something, drawing you to him like a moth to flame. 

God fucking damn it. He always knew how to tease you, how to leave you biting back a smile, but this time, the feeling isn’t irksome. He’s getting your heartrate up, making you cross your legs, leaving you wanting to twirl your hair and kick your fucking feet together.

Thank God your roommate is away, even if for a few nights. You’re thanking your lucky stars, because if she were here, she would’ve made at least ten comments about how you two needed to fuck already. You can hear her voice, clear as day, echoing in your mind. ‘Stop flirting and just do it already. It’ll probably be the best of your life.”

You clench at her latter comment, at the way she’s so nonchalantly arrived at that conclusion. Your spine tingles at the thought, at the way you secretly want to find out for yourself. 

Maybe all this is the result of the universe telling you to get laid.

By him.

No! Not by him. 

You know you want it. 

“Anyway,” you clear your throat, ignoring the angel and devil sitting on your shoulders, “I cannot believe you asked me for a break, Matt. I didn’t think the word was in your vocabulary.”

Amusement glints in his laugh.

“Ahh,” you start, nodding, “it’s because you’re drunk. I so knew ordinary Matty wouldn’t ask for a break.”

He reaches for your hand, which you give him without a second thought, to pull you and your chair towards him, wheels turning against the carpet. Suddenly you’re close to him again, knees touching as he shakes the bottle from side-to-side. “More drinking, less observing?” 

A giggle eases from your lips as you lean forwards, forehead touching against Matt’s. His skin is warm against yours, presumably from the alcohol in his system, and your lips flicker into a smile.

“What uh… what are you thinkin’ about?” he asks, tilting his chin downwards as he pushes harder against your forehead.

You bite back a yelp, fighting every instinct within you to keep your composure as his hands creep forward to interlace his fingers with yours. Every nerve in your body is firing at rates beyond your comprehension as his breath fans over your face, pearly grin tugging at the knot building behind your stomach.

“I… um–” The growing smile on your face does little to hide your thoughts, and you can only muster a few words as your voice comes out in a squeak. “Um… drink, please?” 

Matt lets out a breathy laugh as he pulls away, reaching down to retrieve the bottle by his feet. He brings it up to your face, nudging the lip of the bottle towards your mouth. Your toes curl at the action, thighs snapping together to curb the building throbbing between your legs, but you quickly polish off what little remains in the bottle, praying that the burn of the whiskey is distraction enough from your feelings.

It works well enough.

“So,” Matt asks, listening to the creak in your chair as you set the empty bottle on the ground, “what do you wanna do?”

“Hmm?” 

“C’mon, let’s do something. What about a game? Do you wanna play a game?”

You squint your eyes as you examine your nails, picking at invisible dirt along your cuticles. “A game, Matthew?”

“Yeah. Somethin’ like… I dunno, truth or dare?”

“What are you, sixteen?”

Matt scoffs, slapping his hands on his knees. “C’mon, it’ll be fun.”

That whiskey-burn “distraction” lasted all of thirty seconds.

The little whine in his voice widens your eyes, more so as you notice Matt’s growing smirk, and the way he tries to hide it in his hands as he waits for your answer. You’re not sure if it’s the liquor talking or well, just you, but your answer rolls off your tongue.

“Alright Matt,” you say, getting up off your chair to sit across him on the bed, leaning against the headboard. “Care to go first?”

The bed dips as he shuffles towards you, nestling his head in your lap. “Nothing would bring me a greater honour,” – a comment that makes you roll your eyes –  “truth or dare?”

“Wait a second, is there a punishment if we don’t want to do something?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, like, if you ask me something and I don’t wanna answer it.”

“Oh! I mean yeah, I guess you don’t have to.”

You flash a smile at him as he relaxes his body, bending one knee as he straightens his other leg. “Truth.”

“Hmm… lemme see.” He purses his lips together as he thinks of a question. “Where do you see yourself in ten years?”

A wistful look dances across your face as you contemplate his question. “That’s– that’s surprisingly a good question. Alright, well, still close to you and Foggy, of course. And, I dunno, maybe have my own law firm. Ooh! And I wanna travel. Europe, especially.”

Matt hums at your answer. “That’s a lot of things.” He waits a moment before adding, “I like that about you. You’re ambitious.”

You swallow thickly as his words brand themselves in your head. “Y-your turn. Truth or dare?”

“Truth.”

“The same question then. Where are you in ten years?

Matt grins. “Still here, in the city. And… I have a law firm. It’s called Nelson and Murdock” – he brandishes an invisible sign in the air before continuing – “Attorneys at Law.” Your heart skips a beat at his earnest confession.

He goes quiet. “I, uh, I just wanna do what’s right, y’know?”

“Yeah, Matt,” you whisper. “I’m excited to see where this all takes you. And it’s sweet that you and Foggy picked that out already.”

Matt beams, in no particular direction. “Alright. Your turn again. Truth or dare?”

You hesitate for a second. “Dare.”

“Aw, but I’m so comfy lying here.” 

You hiss at him as you pinch his shoulder. 

“Fine, fine. Okay. I dare you to… tell me a secret you’ve never told anyone.”

“Matthew Murdock, is that not a thinly veiled truth?”

He reaches behind him to pat your thigh, biting his lip at your discovery.

Oh, you’re gonna make him regret being lazy. You contort yourself over him, leaning down into his ear. “When I was in high school, I snuck a friend of mine in through the window and we…” you drop your voice, whispering the rest of your story, dragging out every syllable so the words stick in his mind.

His face reddens at your admission, chewing on the inside of his cheek as he tries to find the words, but they don't come out. Your next words are laced with the smugness of your previous efforts. “You go now.”

“I choose dare.”

“I dare you to call Foggy and say you’re madly in love with him.”

Matt erupts into laughter. “You’re not serious.”

“Feel my heartbeat, Matthew.” You pick up a hand from where they’re folded on his chest, lifting his palm towards you. Your eyes lull back in your head as he flattens his hand against the left side of your chest, voice shaking as you speak. “See, Matthew? Steady.”

He sits up in a flash, holding his palm outstretched as you hand him his phone, Foggy’s number already dialling. 

Loud music blares over the phone speaker. ‘Hello? Matt? You okay?’

“Yeah, yeah, everything’s fine, um–”

“Matt, you’re gonna have to speak up a little.” A woman’s voice calls out Foggy’s name.

Matt clears his throat, raising his voice just a little. He bites his lip, tilting his head away from your snicker. “I love you, Foggy.”

“Oh man! I love you too, buddy.”

You nudge Matt to say the words. “No, no, I mean, I love you.”

“I love you too!”

“No!” Matt pushes his hair back, exasperated. “I mean, I’m in love with you.”

A moment of silence fills the air.

That woman’s voice again. “Foggy, is everything okay?”

“Yeah yeah,” – Foggy says to the woman, before focusing back on Matt. “Um… everything alright with you, Matt?”

“Yes! I lo– Everything’s fine. I’ll just… I'll see you tomorrow.” 

The phone clicks off without another word.

“Oops,” you tease, words slurring a little, “sounds like someone has some explaining to do.”

Matt cracks his knuckles before placing his phone back on your desk. “Oh I am definitely going to get you back.”

.

Sprawled vertically on the bed with your legs hanging off the edge, you lay shoulder-to-shoulder with Matt, the contents of the Fireball bottle already long gone. Your hands are clasped together on your chest as your eyelids flutter closed, content in Matt’s presence. The last couple hours were the most fun you had in a long time, and God knows you deserve it, especially after this semester.

Matt is the first to break your temporary silence, words quiet as he directs them towards the ceiling. “So, you think Foggy and Marci are gonna last?” 

“I dunno Matt, I think your little confession there might’ve broken them for good.”

A half-smile blossoms across his lips. “You know what? I wouldn’t blame Foggy for picking me. I am loveable after all.”

“You are very loveable. Even my roommate thinks so.”

“Really? Her? I didn’t think she could love anyone.”

“Yep,” you sigh, stretching your arms out and putting your hands behind your head. “She loves you so much she thinks that we should get together. Sorry, I mean, that we should” – you lower your voice – “hook up, for lack of a better… less rude… word.” A shiver runs through your body at what you’ve just said.

Matt’s on his side in a nanosecond, facing you as he props himself up on one elbow. His expression is unreadable, mouth tight-lipped as he cocks his head to the side.

You take it as a cue to keep going. “She’s always saying it, seriously. I think she tells people in the hallway, too. And I think Foggy knows? But I haven’t really given it much th–”

“Would that… would that be the worst thing?”

Your eyebrows furrow together, face flooding with confusion. “Huh?”

Matt goes on. “I mean, people don’t really say stuff like that if they don’t mean it, right?”

It takes a full minute for you to register what he’s saying, and you move quickly to respond as the heat begins to bloom in your chest again. “Oh trust me, she says a lot of things she doesn’t mean.”

“No, but, would it really be the worst thing in the world?”

You shudder, every subsequent breath getting heavier. “What are you asking me?”

You watch as Matt’s nostrils flare, as his tongue peeks out to lick his lips again. You’re mirroring him, in the same position that he is, propped up and lying on your side. He lifts a finger to your arm on top, tracing your skin from elbow to shoulder with a featherlight touch. It loosens a gasp that comes from your chest.

“I’m asking you… if it would be the worst thing in the world.” Something shifts in Matt’s face, and he looks uneasy now. “What if…” – he lowers his voice to a whisper – “I wanted to… do that with you?”

No fucking way.

“Do… what? Matt, where is this coming from?”

He tentatively shuffles closer to you, but still keeping a far enough distance that you can roll away if you need to. “Your roommate’s right. I think we should stop pretending.”

No. Fucking. Way.

“Matt, of course it would be the worst thing in the world. I mean, okay, not the worst thing, but sex can ruin friendships. And c’mon, I’m not ready to lose you.” Your breath hitches in your throat as you get the words out. “Besides, I’ve– I’ve never thought of you like that.”

“That’s a lie.”

You suck your cheeks in, the silence louder than anything you could’ve said to defend yourself. A shit-eating grin appears on his face. “You’ve been thinking about me like that tonight, haven’t you?”

Damn you, Matthew Murdock. “Fine. I have. Is that what you want to hear?”

He sits upright now, smirk disappearing, tilting his chin towards the ground as he plays off a nervous chuckle. It’s as if your answer isn’t what he was expecting. “Look, I just– I like you, okay? I’ve had a really great night, and I– I don’t want to do anything to ruin that. Or our friendship. So, it’s– don’t worry about it.”

He reaches for his cane, neatly folded on your desk, but you make a split-second decision, feeling your heartbeat race as you grab his wrist and tug him back onto the bed. “What if…” 

He raises his eyebrows, beckoning you to continue. “What if we, um, I don’t know, this is gonna sound stupid but, what if we explored this using the game? Using truth or dare?” You wait a moment to read his expression. “That way it’s just a game right? And it won’t mean anything, unless we want it to.”

“That’s– that’s good. That’s smart. I like that,” he nods. “And we can end the game at any time.”

You affirm what he’s saying. “Yes, if there’s something either of us don’t want to do, we can say the word.”

“Wait,” you pause. “I– maybe that was stupid. I think we’re both drunk.”

Matt furrows his eyebrows. “I’m not drunk.”

You bite your lip, answering him quietly. “Neither am I.”

“Okay, then.”

“Okay.”

“You wanna… go first?” Matt gulps.

Your chest caves inwards, heart thundering so hard it feels like it could burst out of your ribcage. “Truth or dare?”

“Dare.”

Your knees go weak at the word. “I dare you to… come closer to me.”

Matt pauses for a moment to take his glasses off, setting them down on your desk. Then, he turns towards your voice, laying down to face you where you’re still propped up, where you’ve been this entire time. The only difference is that he’s close now, so close you can feel the heat radiating off his body, and the way his breath flutters against your lips. “Truth or dare?”

“Truth,” you murmur.

“When was the first time you… thought of me like that?”

A soft chuckle escapes your lips as you recall the memory. “It was the first year of college, when Foggy tried to hit on me and you apologised for his behaviour.”

Matt grimaces. “I’m sorry about that… again, and so is Foggy. But that’s… wait a minute,” his eyes narrow, “that was forever ago!” He presses his lips into a choked laugh as you punch his arm.

Ignoring him, your stomach starts to flip as you ask Matt the next question. “Truth or dare?”

His mouth moves into a cheeky grin. “Dare.”

Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck– “I dare you to kiss me.”

The butterflies roil in your stomach as he smiles at you earnestly, bringing one hand up to cup your jaw. His grip is firm, melding to the contours of your face with a surprising ease. He holds you there for a second as he blows a soft chuckle your way, flooding your face with a heat that crawls up your body. He leans forward, slowly, melting his lips against yours, so softly that you can’t fight the moan that slips from your mouth. 

The kiss is everything you ever imagined it would be, his mouth moulding to yours in a way that turns your legs to jelly. He nips affectionately at your bottom lip, using your slight surprise to slip his tongue against yours; the taste of Fireball so, so faint. 

“Oh my God,” you breathe, breaking the kiss, your foreheads still touching, his hand still on your jaw. 

“Oh my God,” Matt affirms, eyes squeezed shut as he loosens a breath. 

“I pick dare,” you whisper, biting your lip as Matt reciprocates your shy smile. 

“Okay, I dare you to…,” he pauses for a second, pursing his lips, “tell me what you want.”

“That isn’t a dare.”

He’s insistent. “Tell me what you want.”

“You, Matt. I want you.”

His nostrils flare in response, tips of his ears going pink as he nods, leaning in to kiss you again. Tangling one hand in your hair, he flattens his other palm against your collarbone, mouth roving over your jaw, then trailing down your neck, sucking on a sensitive spot near your shoulder that makes you moan. Your hands press against his chest, relishing in the way he grunts at your touch. 

“Matthew,” you groan into his hair, as he soothes the bruise on your neck with his tongue, “I want to take your clothes off.”

“You wanna take my clothes off?” 

“Mmhm.” And another moan as he guides you to lay flat on your back. 

“That’s not a dare either.”

“I know what I said.”

He doesn’t waste any time in tugging his shirt over his head, leaving only his leather-corded crucifix hanging around his neck, metal cross dangling off his chest as he moves down to kiss you. You’re breathless, unable to speak, utterly incoherent as he grinds himself into your core, the evidence of his growing arousal straining against his sweatpants.

“Damn you, Matthew,” you exhale, pulling your own shirt over your head, unhooking your bra and throwing it to the side. 

“What?” he moans, hands moving over your skin, your breasts now bare to him. 

You yelp as he rolls your nipples in his fingers, expression darkening as he acquaints himself with your body, the way you buck your hips up into his. “You’re so—“

“Loveable?”

Your head tips back with a cry as his mouth seals around your nipple, tongue flicking against the hardened peak. “No— well, yes, but fuck you’re just… how long have you been hiding that… body underneath those pullovers? Has anyone told you how good you look?”

“I may or may not have heard that a few times.”

You smirk as his mouth meets yours. “Foggy doesn’t count.”

“In that case,” he rasps in your ear, deft fingers trailing up your inner thigh to then unclasp the button of your jeans, “you can be my first.”

Your lips move over his chest as the words flutter into his skin, catching the cross in your teeth. You yank at it lightly, the strained breath he gives you music to your ears. “Oh Matthew, now you’re giving me the honour.” 

Mouth curving upwards, Matt hooks his hands into the waistband of your jeans and panties simultaneously, taking his sweet time in dragging the fabric down your legs, exposing you, inch-by-inch until you’re completely bare for him. 

Even though the two of you were close before this, closer than most friends were, it feels… jarring to expose yourself like this. With other guys, you wouldn’t hesitate; you’d keep going, get them undressed, have your fun and be done with it, but it’s not like that with Matt. 

He’s one of the few people that makes you nervous.

Your legs instinctively move closer to cover yourself but he wedges a hand in between your knees. 

Oh, he’s good. He knows, somehow, what you’re feeling.

So he says something that knocks any semblance of your apprehension on its head, something that makes you throb.

“Keep ‘em open. I want you spread for me.”

You surge upwards, the intensity of his words spurring you on, pressing wet kisses down his chest. One to his crucifix, one to his sternum, one in the middle of his– Jesus Christ, those abs. He cards his fingers through your hair at the sensation of your tongue dragging up his navel before nipping at his jaw, stubble scratching at your mouth. Your pussy floods at the guttural moan he makes as your fingers graze over the outline of his cock, the idle circle you trace on his head making him twitch. Your lips meet his as you replace your fingers with your palm, shuddering at the string of dirty curses he groans into your mouth. 

You pull away only to marvel at the size of him under your hand, every thick inch of him tenting painfully against his sweatpants. Foggy had mentioned in passing that Matt was packing, but this? Oh, you didn’t expect this. 

“Matty,” you exhale, “let me taste you.”

He raises a hand to your chin, tilting your head back with his grip to deepen his next kiss. “Anything you want.”

You latch your fingers onto the elastic waistband of his sweatpants and his boxers underneath, pulling it down to his mid-thighs, unable to contain your gasp as his cock springs free. Your eyes pulsate at the sight of him, pupils completely blown as you take him in his entirety, perfection as you’ve ever seen from base to tip. 

You lick first at the precum beading at the head, the salty taste of him coating your tastebuds as he bucks his hips involuntarily onto your outstretched tongue, eyes lulling in the back of your head at the primal sound that escapes his lips. You look up at him with your doe-eyes, watching a muscle feather in his jaw as you wrap your lips around him, flicking your tongue over his tip. He caresses your face with his hands, fingers supporting your jaw as you take all of him in. He hisses as he finds the back of your throat, throwing his head back in ecstasy as you begin to bob your head, not caring that you’re sloppy, that the spit is dribbling from your mouth all over him. From the way he’s grunting your name, you don’t think he minds either.

Matt hums your name dulcetly as you begin to use your mouth and hands in tandem, begging you to let go of his cock, a string of saliva still connecting the two of you as you pull away to wipe your mouth. 

“Lay down on your back,” he commands softly, making quick work of shedding the only pieces of clothing left on his body. He kneels for you on the bed as you shuffle back, spreading your legs for him once again. It’s from this angle that your mouth goes dry; the sight of his glistening cock, wet from your spit, ready for the taking.

He leans down to nip at your earlobe as he traces himself up and down your folds, slapping your clit with his cock once. He chuckles deeply in your ear at the mewl you make, purring for you to make the sound again. 

So you do.

“Condom, Matthew,” you whisper, breath caught in your throat as you reach over to your nightstand, but he grabs a hold of your wrist and shakes his head.

Your eyes widen at his answer. “I don’t need it just yet.”

He hovers over you for a second, just long enough for you to catch his crucifix in your teeth again, before moving down, settling in between your thighs. You’re sucking your cheeks in at his hot breath against your dripping pussy, so slick with arousal that the air is thick with it, but he doesn’t do anything. He just grins.

He tilts his chin upwards to grin at you, the gesture a little mirthless; a predator about to devour their prey. The metal cross swings with his movements, and you almost bite through your bottom lip as it hits against your clit.

“Not so much a godly man now, are you Matthew? I didn’t think you were allowed to do… this,” you smirk, squeezing your eyes shut as he pinches your clit with his thumb and forefinger.

“I get a pass, y’know, since I get to make an angel feel good.”

A shaky laugh escapes your lips. “Matty… you don’t mean–”

He cuts you off, his sweet tone darkening in an instant. “But since you bring it up, yeah, I’m no saint.” He lifts your hips, shoving his hands under your ass as he brings your pussy to his face.

“But out of all the sins in the world, all that we could’ve chosen to commit…” he clicks his tongue, nostrils flaring as he inhales your scent, “I promise, sweetheart, this one will feel the best.”

And with that, he dives into you. 

You’re a squirming mess on his tongue as he licks a broad stripe up your centre, tasting all that you have to offer. He seals his lips around your clit, flicking and sucking at the sensitive bundle of nerves, until your back is arched off the bed, until you’re gasping and unable to stop the moans breaking from within. 

Matt’s always been polite, classy, the perfect person to bring home to meet your parents, but the way he’s slurping at you like you’re his last meal on earth? 

“Naughty, naughty boy,” you purr, grabbing a fistful of his hair as he slips his tongue inside you. You’re grinding into his face at this point, desperate to be filled, to be stretched out, desperate to cum for him as many times as you can. 

Your muscles go taut as you near the edge, the threads of your willpower unravelling to one final, fraying strand. He knows it too, that sly bastard, and breaks away from you with one final kiss to your clit.

“Not yet,” he grins, licking wet circles up your thigh. 

“Goddamn you, Murdock,” you huff, pulling him up by the shoulders until he’s breathing down your face. 

He runs his thumb over the seam of your lips, nudging you for entry. He grits his teeth as you flick your tongue against the pad of his finger, while reaching into your nightstand for a condom. He smirks as you slap the foil packet against your hand a few times, groaning as he pumps himself with his fist. That shit-eating, stomach-stirring smirk grows bigger as he hears you rip the packet open, then as you slide the condom out of the wrapper. 

Matt’s hand is outstretched, beckoning for the piece of latex held between your fingers, but you smack it away, wiping all the smug off his face. The moan he murmurs as you squeeze his heavy cock in your hand makes your walls flutter; it makes you ache with the idea of him fucking up into you as deep as he can.

He shudders, sharply exhaling as you roll the condom onto him, then as you tease your slick entrance with the blunt head of his cock.

“We can’t go back from this,” you mumble, breath stuttering as you coat him in your arousal.

His chest heaves with the thought of you, wrapped around him, saying his name like a prayer. “I’m pretty sure it’s a little too late, y’know, considering what we’ve already done.” 

He coaxes the tiniest whimper from your mouth as his fingers brush over your clit.

“Hear me out, Matty…” you start, flattening your palms against his chest.

“Yes, angel?”

“What if… what if you just…” 

He presses a chaste kiss to your lips. “Just what? Whatever you want, angel. I’ll give it to you.”

Your breath catches in your throat. “I dare you…” – you linger your fingertip on the curve of his jaw, before tracing his shoulder – “to put just the tip in me.”

“First of all, we’re still doing that? The game?” 

You shrug nonchalantly.

“Secondly, just the tip? You know that still counts as sex, right?”

“No it doesn’t.”

“Okay, I’ll put it in and you tell me that doesn’t count.” His smug smirk that follows spurs you to punch him in the arm.

“Alright Matthew, we’ll see about that.”

“I promise,” he rasps in your ear, teasing himself at your entrance, pushing the slightest bit of himself in, just to make you squeal, “I’ll have you begging for more.”

Your resounding yelp is poorly masked, and it only makes his coy smile grow larger. You’ve known for a long time that Matt was a bit of a manwhore, but he was always so… innocent around you. Never, never in a million years did you think he was capable of… this. 

You dig your fingernails into his shoulders, chest heaving as he grunts your name, propping a pillow under your hips. “Just the tip, Matthew.” 

He leans his weight onto the forearm bracketing your head. “Just the tip, princess.”

You hiss through your teeth as he pushes into you, words transcending you in that moment at the burn of this thick cock stretching you out. You expect the burn to follow through, waiting for the sensation of being oh-so-deliciously full of him, but he moves only a little, only until just the tip of him sits inside you. Oh fucking hell. There is absolutely no way you’re going to let him win this one.

Relaxing your grip on his shoulders, you bite back the exhale that conveys your need, forcing back the urge to squirm on his cock for the friction you so desperately want. 

“God,” he grunts, “I’m barely inside you and you feel so… fucking good.” 

You allow yourself one breathy moan. Just one. 

You’re doing so well, keeping it together, showing absolutely no indication that you need him guts deep inside you, pounding at a pace that shakes the bed.

But then he starts to move.

Cock twitching in your heat, he jerks his hips so lightly, pressing his head into your warmth, before sliding out until he barely remains inside. He repeats the movement, his half-shudder half-chuckle evidence that he’s noticed the way you’re clenching around him, or the way you’re sitting upright, peering down to see where exactly he’s joined to you.

He’s painfully hard for you, latex glistening with the sheen of your arousal. You tilt your hips upwards to get a better angle, watching as he withdraws himself just that bit further, before thrusting into you; the sight of your folds enveloping his cock enough to make you curse. 

Abs contracting, and every cord of muscle in his arms going tight, you can tell he’s holding back. You can tell by the redness that blooms in his cheeks and the vast expanse of his chest that he wants more. That he needs more, needs to be deeper; so far inside you that all he could fall apart at any second. You watch where the thick head of his cock enters you, sliding in and out deliriously slow, and that’s when the silence breaks. 

All that heavy breathing, those controlled yet shaky stutters as your mouths are pulled apart by pleasure, is interrupted with your drawn out groan as he pushes the next inch into you. Only one inch. One delicious inch.

“Fuck, Matty,” you moan at the sudden fullness, tipping your head back as he flares his nostrils, grunting your name in response to your walls fluttering around him.

It – he – feels so goddamn good, but it isn’t enough. God, for someone who begged to be teased this exact way you’re impatient, so fucking impatient, but you need to find purchase. With every thrust of his hips, the hope – no, the demand – that he says ‘fuck it’ and sheathes himself fully inside you grows, from a dull ache to one that utterly throbs; one that sends reverberating shockwaves through every nerve in your body. 

He was right. Of fucking course he’d be right. Matthew, ever-clever, devastatingly handsome, Mr. ‘I just know you’ll need more of me’ was almost never wrong.

Matt slides his lips down by your ear, voice dropping to a bare whisper as he tangles his fingers in your hair. “Let me fuck you properly, please. I don’t care about the game, I just… I need you.” He lifts one of your legs up, hooking his arm around your thigh, opening you up to him even more.

“C’mon then Matty,” you smirk, flicking your tongue against his lips. “Show me what you got.”

The cry that heaves from your chest as he slams himself into you is nothing short of unholy. He moans your name sinfully as he buries himself to the hilt, hips stuttering as he jerks involuntarily, nudging against that spot inside you that threatens to break you in an instant. You whine at the sudden loss of fullness as he retracts himself, to the point where only the tip of him remains, but he fills you again, the pain from his cock stretching you out giving way to ecstasy. It doesn’t take long for you to splinter around him, for your back to arch as you flood his cock with an earth-shattering orgasm.

And in between his steady thrusts and his languid kisses, he pins your legs back, placing one hand on your waist while the other grazes your throat. His pace is ruthless now, all grunts and groans as he works to bring you to the edge once… no, twice more. This must be what heaven feels like. 

Your legs turn to jelly as he lifts your legs up straight, crossing your ankles over, holding them there as he bites his lip, the new position turning your pussy into a vice. A vice that wants to milk him bone dry. “So… fuckin’.... tight for me, angel,” he musters, panting as every drag of his cock against your walls brings you both closer and closer to falling apart. 

Just as you’re about to cum for him again, he pulls out, flipping you onto your stomach, hoisting your ass up in the air. 

“Matty…” you groan, as he tangles his fingers in your hair, kissing your back as he fucks you, relishing the feeling of your sweat-slick skin on his in the most intimate way possible. 

“I’m not gonna last much longer,” he murmurs, kneading your ass, spreading you apart so he can be as deep in you as possible. You lean back into him, arm reaching around to grab the back of his neck; the movement exposing your throat for his hand to grab. He’s getting sloppy, eyes squeezed shut as you near the edge together.

“Fuck, angel…” he pants, holding you tighter, spilling into you with a sound that turns your world to white. You pulsate around his cock as his hips stutter into yours to give you every last drop.

He collapses into you, holding you tightly, listening just to the sound of your breathing. “I know we said it wouldn’t mean anything but…” 

Your voice comes out in a squeak as he kisses your shoulder softly. “But?” 

A moment of hesitation. “I dunno, that was too good for a once-off game.”

Your mouth curves into a cheeky grin. “Matthew Murdock, pussywhipped already? I didn’t pick you for the type.”

He bites down on your shoulder, smug at your yelp that follows. “Who says it was just tonight that had me pussywhipped?”

You scoff, pushing him off you to sit upright and poke his collarbone. “Hang on a second, was this all some… twisted grand gesture of affection?”

“No! No, I swear, I didn’t plan any of this.”

“Alright, Matty, I believe you.”

He laughs nervously, running his tongue over his teeth.

“Matthew,” you start, sitting up on your knees to throw your hands around his neck. “We just had sex. You don’t have to be nervous to ask me out.”

A shy smile creeps across his face, red blooming in his cheeks. “I’m not nervous–”

You cut him off with a taunting giggle. “Yes, Matthew, I’ll go on a date with you. Of course I will.” A beat, and you poke him in the collarbone again. “So nervous and for what?”

He chuckles lowly, the sound pooling in your core, shaking your arms off him to pounce on you, to lay you flat on your back. “Do I have to do something dramatic to shut you up?”

There’s no mistaking the growing heat between your legs. “Maybe.”

He leans down to nip at your earlobe, smirking against your ear. “Alright then.”

.

You’re awoken to Matt’s elbow in your face and a string of profanities as he scrambles to get under the sheets, laying as still as possible with his head in your thigh. 

“What’s going on?” you hiss, pulling the covers up over your naked chest. 

Your eyes widen as the doorknob to your room turns, faint voices echoing in the hallway outside. “How the fuck did you hear that?” you panic, nudging Matt with your elbow. 

It’s Foggy’s voice that sounds the closest, although he’s still muffled by the door. “... Yeah, he was saying some weird stuff to me last night and he wasn’t home when I got back so I figured they’ve passed out studying together.”

Then your roommate. “Yeah, studying, sure. It’s about time they–” 

“Oh shit.” Foggy gasps dramatically as your knuckles turn white gripping the sheets, surveying the room before him. Nevermind that your thin sheets do absolutely nothing in concealing the obvious outline of Matt’s body; the multiple open condom packets on the ground and the empty bottle of Fireball is evidence enough. Matt’s head pops up from under the covers, his sheepish smile directed at no one in particular.  

Your roommate clasps her hands, smirking as she shakes her head. “I told you, Foggy.”

Foggy’s vacant expression is startled away as his eyes narrow in on the crucifix still hanging from Matt’s neck. “Do not tell me you left that on while you had sex. Why’d you have to bring the big guy into this?” He steps backwards, holding his hands up. “You know what? I’m outta here. I’ll see you” – he points at Matt – “later.”

Your roommate follows Foggy outside a second later, calling out to you as the door shuts softly. “Can you two get dressed? I have an exam in two hours.”

You giggle, pressing a tender kiss to Matt’s lips before whispering in his ear. “Surely there’s time for a little more?”

“Oh sweetheart,” he grins, “absolutely.”

#matt murdock #daredevil #matt murdock smut #matt murdock x reader #college matt murdock #daredevil smut #daredevil x reader #matt murdock fanfic #daredevil fanfic #x reader #rhi writes 💻

[dg-outlaw]

Blue Beetle - Movie Review

Finally got to see this on HBO Max... yes, "MAX" we still think of you as HBO just as Grogu is still Baby Yoda. Deal with it.

So, back to 'Blue Beetle'.

Long review, short, I thoroughly enjoyed this movie and think it's one of DC's best in their quasi-DCEU/not DCEU or whatever is going on with WB and the DC movies these days. From what I understand, James Gunn/WB is not scrapping everything from the Snyder-verse/DCEU, but changes are coming and there's rumor that this iteration of Jaime Reyes/Blue Beetle will stick around and I really hope so. I also think it helps that there were no character cameos in the film, only mentions of heroes like Superman, Batman, etc. so this Blue Beetle could easily be folded into the upcoming Gunn-verse.

As a latino I'm both ashamed to say I don't know much about Jaime Reyes' Blue Beetle outside of his appearances on the 'Young Justice' animated series, but I was also excited to see him on the big screen (metaphorically) and plan to go back and check out his comics.

I won't do a random synopsis as you can easily hit up a Youtube trailer or read an IMDb blurb to get that info, but I will talk about some of things I really enjoyed about this film. Warning: Slight Spoiler's ahead.

First off, this was overall a well-polished, well-written, directed, acted, and enjoyable film. The CGI was CGI, but it never felt janky and I could see the attention to detail in a lot of the VFX work, even with Jaime's practical Blue Beetle suit. I also truly appreciated that this film took risks and didn't shy away from taking those risks, creating stakes and sometimes following through, and addressing certain cultural and socio-economic subject matter without being preachy. In some ways I compare it to the MCU's 'Black Panther' in tackling the cultural and socio-economic things that mainstream, especially Disney, often tries to shy away from.

While 'Blue Beetle' isn't as serious in tone as 'Black Panther' there were several moments in the film where you knew that the writer and director had some creative leeway as opposed to having lots of studio oversight, just as Ryan Coogler had in the first 'Black Panther' film. I'm not sure if this is because WB wasn't paying attention because the DCEU was dying off or if they were somehow convinced to let the creators do their thing.

There were also so many moments where my Hollywood Blockbuster/MCU-trained brain said, "now is where they pull away from the hard moment, make a joke to pull away from a real emotion, or water down the stakes", but that didn't happen in this film. Yes, it was funny throughout, and jokes were made to lighten the mood where appropriate, but it was never at a disservice to the story or the characters. There were no moments where I felt like some director/screenwriter/studio-exec was getting embarrassed because it's a superhero movie so [insert Whedon-esque quip here] to avoid showing feelings.

Plus, you had George Lopez bringing his well-known loud, wild humor as the conspiracy theory spouting, 1% hating, mad-scientist Uncle Rudy, but if anything I think he was needed to give light to a story that potential to be really dark and sad at times. This is not to say there weren't moments that tugged at your heartstrings and made you feel or think. This movie went there because yes, we can think it's cheesy because it's just a superhero movie, but in-universe these events are reality for the characters and I think other superhero movies need to remember that. This was really well done in the first transformation scene of Jaime into the Blue Beetle as it started with light humor and slowly morphed into an almost horror-film like scene. There was no gore, but you felt the terror that Jaime and his family were feeling by watching things unfold. We, as the audience know what's going on, but for him and the family, the shit was hitting the fan and they didn't know what was going on.

Honestly, I didn't know what to expect from this film. Having recently watched Shazam 2, which I thought was really funny and better than the first, but also forgettable and the Flash movie (which I also thought was fun but forgettable), I just expected more popcorn fun--the last sugary drops of the DCEU slushie before the Gunn-verse got underway. What I recalled about the trailers and vague reviews about this film was that it was a fun superhero movie that focused heavily on family.

But unlike the popcorn, turn your brain off and enjoy chaos of the Fast franchise, it didn't require Vin Diesel, 30 movies, and an endless string of memes to drill that concept into your head. Yes, Jaime Reyes is the hero in the film, but it's the collective efforts and support of his family that ends up helping him win in the end and it's what gave the movie heart.

This is also not meant to take away from Xolo Maridueña's performance as Jaime Reyes as the hero, an actor I've enjoyed since first seeing him on the Netflix series 'Cobra Kai'. Just like in 'Cobra Kai', I continue to enjoy his almost innocent boyish charm, shyness, and vulnerability he exudes on-screen. In some ways his character and performance remind me of Tom Holland's Spider-Man as just this kid trying to do the right thing, but is totally in over his head as a teen superhero (even though Jaime is a recent college grad from Gotham U). And just like Peter Park, Jaime didn't ask to be a hero and had no real aspirations for being a hero, other than to his family, but in the end he stepped up. This was not for cool points, though Jaime eventually learned to embrace the scarab's many cool powers, but because he knew it was the right thing to do. And yes, Mr. Vin Diesel, because of family.

I could go on and on about all the cultural moments and subject matter addressed in this film that I thought was really brave and refreshing in a superhero movie, but I won't as that's a giant article in it of itself. But I honestly think Disney/Marvel could take some pointers here as they often pull away just as they are about to get there. Also, no hate on MCU. There are many of the MCU films I enjoy, but the overall formula hasn't gotten tired and needs a revamp. Again, another post for another day, but just putting in a BIPOC, female, or LGBTQ character in a movie doesn't make it good and marketable. And no, we don't need PSA sob-story movies beaten into our heads, but what does it mean to be part of a marginalized community and be a hero? What does that look like? What different perspective does that character bring to the table?

In the end, yes, enjoy 'Blue Beetle' as a superhero movie, but also keep an eye out for the smaller messages and heart of this film as it was a delightful surprise for me. I hope we get to see more Blue Beetle in the future of DC films and I'd even be down for a live-action adaptation of 'Young Justice', with Jaime on the team.

#jaime reyes #blue beetle #blue beetle movie #blue beetle 2023 #movie review #DG-ramblings

[shiningshenanigans]

When Sacrifice No Longer Feels Loving: Raw, Messy, Emotional Thoughts on Loki Season 2

It’s been a little over two weeks since the season 2 finale of Loki came out, and although it’s been pretty much all I’ve been able to think about lately, I haven’t really been able to put my thoughts into words. And I have a lot of thoughts. I need to get them out of my system, and I’ve tried to write them down on multiple occasions, but every time I do, they keep getting stuck on the way out.   

So, I’ve decided to do something different. Rather than trying to analyze the series critically, I’m going to just start writing about how it made me feel, and see where it takes me. I’m not really sure what’s going on in my heart and mind as I reflect on this story, but I have a vague idea of the truth that it’s tapping into. Fair warning: these thoughts are going to get very Christian-y and preachy, so if the gospel is not your thing, I don’t know how much sense this post will make. But, if you’ve been having a similar experience with the season and care to read, I hope that you find some encouragement and truth in these messy, emotionally honest thoughts!

When I try to sum up how I feel about season 2 as a whole, the only word that really comes to mind is “upset.” I’m just upset about it. The morning after the finale aired, I woke up with a deep, hollow pit of sadness in my stomach. I broke down crying a couple of times over the next few days just thinking about certain scenes in episodes 5 and 6, and I couldn’t rewatch the finale for almost a week. 

Is it weird to feel this kind of grief over something as simple as a TV show? Yeah, probably. But I think that’s kind of the point. I’d been looking forward to the release of this season for two years. Without getting too personal, I’ve recently been through one of the hardest years of my life. Just this year, I’ve gone to two funerals for people that I grew up with, been in a car crash, faced rejection in a relationship that I had grown emotionally attached to, and mourned with my community as we experienced one of the most tragic shootings in our country's history. The release of Loki season 2 had become a little bright spot in my 2023; something to look forward to in all the madness. 

When the first season came out, I remember being overcome by how good it was. It was wacky, and sweet, and funny, and sad, and redemptive all at once. Even in its darkest moments, there seemed to be a thread of hope that ran through the series from beginning to end. Over the years it had become a comfort show, a beautiful piece of art that offered me encouragement when I needed a pick-me-up. Because if a comic book super villain with a long history of screwing his life up can change his ways, make new friends, fall in love, find meaningful work, stand up to his oppressors, and ultimately write his own destiny, then gosh darnit, so can I. 

My roommate and I invited our friends over, every Thursday night for six weeks, to watch the new episodes as they premiered. Our watch parties started off full of excitement and anticipation. I even made key lime pie for us the first couple of times, which was a big hit. But as the weeks wore on, and the episodes started to spiral deeper into tragedy, our post-watch conversations became more full of questions and complaints than anything. When the credits rolled on the finale, we sat in an almost mournful silence, watching the screen, waiting with baited breath to see if there would be a post-credits scene. There wasn’t one. You could almost feel a sense of dread fall over the room. That’s it. That’s all they’re going to give us. That’s how they’ve decided to end the story. 

I think the first words that were uttered when the Disney Plus screen finally popped up were, “I hate Marvel,” before we all began to voice how we felt.  

I can honestly say this has been one of the weirdest, strongest emotional reactions to a piece of media that I’ve ever had. It’s genuinely felt like I’ve been going through the five stages of grief over this show, but the grief isn’t just stemming from the inherent sadness of the story. I’m also grieving the show itself; what it’s become, how it was handled by the people it was entrusted to, and the knowledge that there will likely not be another season to redeem it. I feel angry, unseen and unloved by the writers who set up everything over the course of six episodes to ensure that the finale was as heartbreaking as possible. 

At the same time, however, I can’t say that I hated it. A part of me knows that the reason it’s affecting me so deeply is because it’s so well-made. Art doesn’t grip you this much unless it’s objectively good. There are legitimate critiques of the story/filmmaking that I could make and a lot of people already have. The temptation to scoff and say “Michael Waldron wouldn’t have done it this way” and turn all my excitement towards Secret Wars is very strong, but that just seems like misplacing my hope. Underneath all the sadness and the frustration, there’s also a layer of confusion. Am I supposed to be feeling this way? Is this what the writers of this show wanted me to feel all along? And if so, why? What are they trying to say through this story?  

I don’t normally mind stories with tragic endings, so long as I can understand the purpose behind them. I remember feeling similarly unsettled when I finished the first season of Arcane, wondering what the point of it all was. But after a little bit of analysis and reflection, I could see how the tragedy was fitting; how the characters choices had led to the ending and the cautionary tale it was trying to tell me. Even in the tragedy, it was still good. I’ve also learned to love the grief that comes with watching a character make a heroic sacrifice for those he loves. I think of Tony Stark in Avengers: Endgame, Janner in The Wingfeather Saga, or Stoick in How To Train Your Dragon 2. All these deaths are heartbreaking and painful to watch, but there’s a certain beauty to them too, and you can feel the goodness and love in their sacrifices.

This one is different, though. Something about this one feels wrong. Something about this one feels deeply, inherently, not good. And analysis is only making it worse. 

I’m having a really hard time seeing the beauty in the sacrifice that Loki makes at the end of season 2. This story wasn’t supposed to end in tragedy. It was supposed to be a reversal of tragedy. A second chance for a beloved character (one who has already sacrificed himself for love on multiple occasions) to finally receive some kind of reward instead of punishment.

To end the series the way the writers did feels almost like a stab in the back, a betrayal if you will, of all the hope and joy and restoration that the first season promised. I guess adopted children who are abandoned at birth really are destined to be alone forever, no matter how much love they have to give. I guess villains can’t find redemption, and even if they do, they will not escape eternal punishment for their sins. I guess quarrels between brothers (or lovers) can’t be resolved, and every relationship we cherish is doomed to fall apart eventually. I guess young women like me, who are strong and independent because we’ve had to be, are not worth pursuing, and we should be content with our middle-management jobs and casual friendships as if that is the peak of human existence. I guess we should embrace isolation and selfishness after all. I guess true love doesn’t really exist, and we should walk away from any semblance of it before it makes us bleed.

Bummer. 

The night after we watched the finale, I drove a couple of my friends home. On the drive back, I could feel the sadness of the story aching in my gut. I thought specifically about Sylvie, and how unsatisfied I felt with where the story left her. I’ve always connected with her as a character, and I hated the way she had been sidelined throughout the season. Every week, I had tuned in hoping I would see some kind of reconciliation between her and Loki. I just wanted some kind assurance that she loved him back, that they would somehow end up together in the end. One kiss, one hug, just… one conversation, for heaven’s sake. One apology from either side. One confession of love. But six episodes and it never came. Their relationship wasn’t even addressed. It was reduced to subtext, as if it wasn’t the back bone that Michael Waldron built his original pitch off of back before 2021.  

I thought about the way she shrugged and smiled when Mobius asked her what she was going to do next, and it just irked me. Why didn’t they tell us what her plans were? Why didn’t they give us some kind of clue? It seemed so obvious to me what she should do. She should make good use of her Tempad and go be with Loki. How could she just walk away, knowing everything he just sacrificed for her? Do people really think she could just… go back to her life after that, with so many things left unsaid between them? If she really does love him, how could she? How could she go through life, knowing that the truest love she’s ever experienced is lightyears away, always watching, always with her, but unable to be physically present with her in a mortal, tangible way? It sounded like such a sad, lonely fate and my heart broke for both Sylvie and Loki as I thought about it.  

But then it dawned on me: wait a second… isn’t that what it’s like to be a Christian? Isn’t that the reality I’m living every day, as Christ’s bride? The weight of that realization was so heavy I almost had to pull over on the side of the road because I couldn’t breath. My savior loves me more than anything. He gave up everything for me, just like Loki did for Sylvie. I don’t even know how many rounds he went with the enemy on that cross, just to bargain for my soul. And what do I do about it? I shrug it off with a smile. I forget about it until it’s convenient. I go back to my job, my house, my car, my record store, as if every second of my life hasn’t been paid for by the blood, sweat, and tears of a God who just wants me to be ok. As if I could ever fool myself into believing a life without Him is enough for me. 

As if I shouldn’t be fighting like hell to get back to Him. As if love so amazing, so divine, doesn’t demand my life, my soul, my all. Just so you know, I teared up again writing that last paragraph.

A lot of people have pointed out the parallels that can be made between Loki and Sylvie and Adam and Eve. The comparison really does work in a lot of ways. A perfect likeness, a counterpart created for a lonely man because “it is not good that the man should be alone” (Genesis 2:18). One flesh, two halves of a whole. Equals, balancing and complementing each other perfectly. A couple chosen by a higher power to rule the universe with authority. There’s something edenic about that scene where they snuggle in the grass under that blanket together: a man and a woman, wrapped up in a garden of green, completely unguarded and vulnerable with each other. The man promises the woman his protection, and the woman shyly offers him her trust and thanks in return. 

When they make it to the Citadel at the End of Time, their parting echoes deeply of the fall. The serpent (He Who Remains) sows seeds of distrust between them, knowing full-well that they are stronger together and could easily overpower him if they remain united. The two halves are torn apart and turn on one another. The woman, in her thirst for freedom, takes control of the situation, and the man fails in his duty to stop her. Free will is unleashed into the world, and with it comes consequence and chaos and danger.         

If season 1 can be read as the journey from the garden to the fall, season 2 reads more like the journey from the fall to the cross. Chaos and confusion, spiraling slowly towards death and destruction. Constant distrust between the man and the woman, between God and his bride. An inability to reconcile, to fix what’s been broken. The citadel goes from being Eden to being Gethsemane. When every other option has been tried and all hope is lost, Loki returns to the moment of the fall and pleads with his love, over and over again, to make a different choice. But she will not stop rebelling, even though it leads to her death every time. 

Unable to reason with her, Loki confronts He Who Remains to bargain for her life. But there’s no option that doesn’t end in bloodshed. Loki must either kill Sylvie, the woman he loves, and go on committing genocide in HWR’s place. Or, he must break the temporal loom and let the chaos that ensues destroy all of reality. These, according to He Who Remains, are the only two choices. So Loki makes a third choice. Instead of sacrificing others for the multiverse, he makes a total sacrifice of himself. I think you can see where I’m going with this. 

It’s not lost on me how weird it is to compare Loki, a marvel super villain based off of a pagan norse god, to Jesus. But the crucifixion/ascension parallels here aren’t exactly subtle. Loki puts on a heavy crown, carries a great burden up a hill, and “dies” on a tree of all things, to save both the woman he loves and the group of friends he’s grown close with during his time at the TVA. His last words to his loved ones before he ascends are, “I know what kind of God I need to be, for you, for all of us.” When I think about the story in these parabolic terms, I’m almost overwhelmed by how much truth is woven into this mythology.  And yet, something about it still feels deeply unsettling to me. There’s still a piece missing that makes it feel more like a Greek tragedy than a Jewish parable. 

As they are, Loki Seasons 1 and 2 show me a reflection of the fall, the cross, and in some ways, the ascension of Jesus Christ. What they don’t show me is a picture of the resurrection. And any christian will tell you that the resurrection is the most vital part of the story (1 Corinthians 15:16-20). The series shows me sin and what it costs. They show me what is lost in sacrifice, but they don’t show me what is gained. The hero meets a fate worse then death, and is forced to remain there, alone, for all eternity. There are no tearful reunions at the tomb, no assurance that death has been defeated, no eucatastrophe. No curse reversed. God and man are forever separated, and for some reason that’s supposed to be beautiful, according to Marvel. It’s not. It’s a question mark, a gaping wound at the end of the story that offers no comfort. To live in that tension, that separation, in those three days between Christ’s death and his resurrection, is literally the most painful, most hopeless place for the human heart to dwell. But, maybe it’s a tension that we should sit in more often, so that we can appreciate the weight of what Christ did for us. 

The more I think about it, the more I realize that I don’t really hate season 2 of Loki. It’s a beautifully crafted piece of art, well-written (sort of) and well-acted, with gorgeous production design and a deep, meaningful story at its core. What I hate, with every fiber of my being, is the thought that that is where the story ends. That it’s supposed to end there. That this ending is good. As a Christian, I almost can’t accept it. Everything in me screams that there has to be more resolution beyond the credits of the finale. 

That, I think, is where all the pain swirling in my heart around this story is really coming from. And whether they know it or not, I think that’s where a lot of the Loki fandom’s pain is coming from right now. The gospel is so written into our DNA that it pours itself out into every mythology we try to create. We are so desperate for the reassurance that the resurrection is true, that when we get even the slightest hint that it might not be, it triggers our deepest, darkest anxieties. Nothing scares me more than the thought of being alone, separated from God, for all eternity. Not even death is scarier, or more tragic, than that. It is, by definition, hell. 

So yeah. Curse you, Marvel. Curse you for telling me a story that hurts like hell, and expecting me to just be ok with it. For giving me an ending that could never, in any reality, be satisfying or conclusive, and then trying to gaslight me into believing that it is. For ensuring that I will probably end up buying a ticket for both Secret Wars and Kang Dynasty (even though I’m really tired of superhero movies) just so that I can see if I’m right, that love really does win in the end. I don’t really have any kind of expectation that the next two Avengers movies are going to give me the closure I’m looking for. But I think I know where I can find it.  

As grieved as I am by the way Marvel handled this story, I’m also kind of amazed by the way its incompleteness is revealing to me the total, satisfying completeness of the gospel. Marvel can’t promise me that, at the end of time, the God of Stories will be reunited with his warring bride and live happily ever after in the presence of his inner circle. But the gospel does. And the hope that I find there is immeasurable.

#loki #loki season 2 #loki series #geeking out gracefully #sylki #sylvie laufeydottir #christianity #when sacrifice no longer feels loving #eucatastrophe #ressurection

[skymagpie]

I was in the mood to discuss the most common criticisms for Below Zero today on Reddit because I feel like people do not give some of the writing of this game enough credit, it’s actually good, you just need to read a bit between the lines. Yes it could’ve been better, it was slightly underwritten, but the core line was great and with more polishing it would’ve been excellent. I can probably talk more about it (and I will make my full rant one day), but I just felt this at the moment.

[ ID: Reddit reply from user ‘SkyMagpie’ reading: I think it also comes down to taste and to each individual person, so I respect that some people will not like the plot. I have to just disagree on some of the points and comment on others because these discussions come up often (SPOILER WARNING for people reading this):

I think the current version of the story is less cliche and stereotypical than the original version (from the early access which was written by the same writer from the 1st Subnautica game). There Al-An was cold, uncaring and an asshole. Some aspects of that story were better (Robin working for Alterra and having a change of heart), but some were worse (Al-An being the stereotypical asshole alien and the villain guy being a clearly bad guy with malicious intent)

.Al-An is not an emotionless computer to whom Robin has to teach emotions, he knows emotions - he clearly realizes right away that Robin is angry that he invaded her mind and decides to give her space to process it, he talks how his people upon realizing their mortality found a shrine to think on what it means to die, he asks her about memories (so he is trying to process grief) and he correctly notes that she is upset about her sister's death and copes with food. He clearly understands Robin's emotions and his emotional changes come from within himself and not from Robin, he chooses to hide information from her and he is also scared she will be mad at him for it. The only thing Robin show's Al-An are human customs and cultural elements as well as human concepts such as music for the purpose of entertainment, having pets just out of pleasure of doing so and the meaning of poetry when referring to abstract concepts such as "hope".

To go off my last point, Al-An has knowledge, but he has a hard time grasping human concepts because he has not lived with humans. It's the same about not being able to understand jokes and comedy between IRL cultures because the difference in language and way of living means that a part of the joke is lost (for example not all people who don't speak English well or are familiar with British culture will find British humor funny). This is what Robin teaches him. Al-An knows what hope means in the semantic sense, but he doesn't know what hope means to humans. To Emily Dickinson, hope is the thing with feathers - even we as humans who know the poem can disagree on the meaning of hope and interpret the poem differently. I feel that Al-An's writing broke out of the common stereotypes for aliens in subtle ways which are not obvious straight away. A lot of his ignorance came off as charming curiosity rather than instant dismissal of emotion. The note he leaves Robin after she tells him the Emily Dickinson poem is really sweet and shows his willingness to learn and to understand.

Robin and Al-An mutually helped each other go through grief and came out changed. I'd argue that Robin's character is probably the weakest point of the story because it is not clear when she changes and she comes off as preachy, but she is still driving the story forward with enough space for us as players to insert our own emotions. The story with Sam was good, but I think it was pretty brave to take the less obvious route and not just have Alterra be evil and kill Sam, covering her murder as Robin believed, rather have Sam die because she wanted to do something good and she screwed up - she still did well, but not everyone walks out a hero, and in this she parallels Al-An who had a good idea and drove his race to extinction because he also screwed up. Not everyone walks out unscathed. But Al-An learned from Robin and Sam as much as Robin learned from his story and found peace with her sister's death. Robin finally met Sam after she died and learned that her sister was brave and willing to fight what she believed in, even if it ended in tragedy.

Thank you if you read this far, I just think that this story is very cute and it falls together nicely. Maybe the original premise is cliche, but the elements make it very interesting if people are willing to dive into them. That goes for most stories, strip any story down to it's summary and you will get the same stories over and over, but its the way the are told and the execution that people enjoy, that's where the charm is and for me personally this was a really nice story. However it's okay if some people don't like it. And we have to note that Subnautica games are PG10+ so these were written with a younger audience in mind and the plot lines are simpler for children to grasp. Older players and fans have enough things to dig through to still be entertained by the story. The original Subnautica had a pretty cliche story line too, but the way it was executed in combination with the world is what makes it so lovable. When it comes to story, both games are equally good in my opinion.” end ID ]

#subnautica #subnautica below zero #al-an subnautica #robin ayou

[thorns-and-rosewings]

As promised, this is a continuation of the Reaper King AU 💀 story from my last post. Sorry y'all, I had stuff that needed to be done or I would have just made it one long post. But honestly seeing how long this became, I think I will have to break it up even more... So be aware this is longer than the last one by quite a bit 😅

Anyways...

TW: Same as before, Definitely going to be touching on darker topics here, moreso than the previous part, so you've been warned.

Part 2...

18) KC and Bloodmoon claim their territory and to the locals it's like some sort of hellish cryptid just moved in. Murder rates skyrocket and the number of disappearances in the park also double, if not triple. And don't even start on the Park Ranger job turnovers rates...

19) Over time Bloody grows to trust this variant of Killcode more. As he's not preachy, nor a pacifist... He's someone who Bloodmoon can relate too and they have things in common. Not to mention this KC makes it quite obvious that he DOES care about the Bloodtwins. Nor has he once ever tried to use them...

-Bloodmoon is nearly impossible to control. But if he cares about someone he truly CAN be loyal and caring towards them.

-Aaand he will occasionally nap either near or on KC. Due to the core giving off a lot of heat... And Bloodmoon shows his inner cat and will just be drawn to the aforementioned heat. Which Killcode gets a small laugh out of.

20) As time continues to progress KC begins to take souvenirs from his kills. Frequently taking bones, teeth or claws from whatever he slaughters along with some of the victims blood. He takes these pieces and begins to construct a 'Rosary' using these pieces as beads after he cuts them appropriately and then paints them in the blood of the same victim. He knows the stories of each bead and can relate them all by heart.

-Bloodmoon tried to make a rosary but had little patience for it... He wasn't made to do arts and crafts sadly.

21) Things dramatically change one day when Killcode goes out for a solo hunt. He selects his target, one of the towns local drunkards and the reaper quietly follows him back to his home. Only when goes to sneak inside... He makes a disturbing discovery...

-...as he observes this piece of human garbage has a young son that he proceeds to beat senseless as soon as his drunk ass saw the boy trying to quietly get back into his room once his father came home.

21) Killcode entered a state of pure rage and he quite literally ripped this man's guts out and made him eat them. He then turned his attention to the injured and now terrified child, who is barely seven years old. And his voice becomes as soft and as calming as he can make it... And he offers this child a home away from other humans.

-The boy accepts to go with the strange creature that saved him...

-Thus becoming KCs second adopted child.

22) Now Bloodmoon had a MASSIVE problem with this. Again going back to his disdain for humans, viewing them as food and just things to kill and nothing more. But KC makes it VERY clear that this boy is now his child as much as Bloodmoon is.

-Killcode in no uncertain terms warns Bloodmoon to back off and not lay a hand on this child.

23) Bloody is PISSED for a long time... Ignoring his father and doing his own thing. Definitely releasing his stress in murderous rampages and KC let's him be for a bit. Focusing a little on helping his human child adapt to his new home.

24) But after about a week KC sits next to the sulking Bloodmoon and talks to him... Now that his anger has burned down to still heated embers. Explaining that this is something that seems to be written into his coding a need to be protective over children... possibly some leftover or entangled code from the Sun and Moon he was once a part of...

25) This discussion only gets angry growls and the Bloodtwins snap at how he's a killer like them but now he's turning into some pathetic pacifist!

...also their anger at being replaced and forgotten...

...KC just laughs...

26) He asks why in the world he thinks he's suddenly a pacifist? He's not... In fact his need to hunt and kill is even greater now. As he's going to need to bring food home for this boy to eat. Let alone how he's going to need to teach this child to hunt.

-He's got a lot to learn in order to be like them...

27) This conversation did the impossible. Calmed Bloodmoon down and... It was at that moment he grew to truly love KC as his father...

-He just grabbed onto the larger animatronic reaper and hugged him close. Not letting him see the tears of him being genuinely happy in his eyes... And he muttered 'You stupid old man...' under his breath repeatedly as he did so.

28) When Bloodmoon actually did calm down, he asked what the boys name was... To which KC shrugged and merely said that he'd get one eventually.

Bloodmoon: A new life leaves the old name behind and brings forth a new name in time.

29) Once he's healed up and ready Bloody and Killcode take the boy hunting... And his first kill is a rabbit. To which KC takes it's skull and cleans it up giving it to the boy on a leather string as it is now the start of his own rosary...

-He'll fit into this family just fine as he grows...

...However something else becomes apparent in time...

30) There was a reason the Creator put that core inside of an animatronic. As in the presence of organic material it can have a certain negative... Mutagenic effects...

-The core generates anti-matter a substance that seems to have a substantial affect on organisms, seeming to twist them to dark creatures. The Creator could not keep it to close to himself lest he fall under it's corruption. Stitchwraith never got to close to organic creatures as he was aware that the core would have a negative effect on them.

-Killcode is unaware of any of this...

-However what the Creator was unaware of was that this mutagenic effect could actually be somewhat controlled by the will of whomever, or whatever, was in control of the cube.

-Creator would have let every negative thing possible just happen without wanting to change anything. But Killcode only seeks the benefit of himself and those he cares for. Not to twist the world around him into a mindless dark parody of itself.

31) The boy in Killcodes care begins to mutate, losing human attributes and gaining inhuman ones. He better fits in with his father and brothers. No longer can he be considered human...

And he was perfectly fine with it...

...7 Years Pass...

32) Over seven additional years, Killcode has adopted even more kids. (Their info is below along with their names.)

-Wendigo (Nickname Wen): Age 14, the first adopted human. Has grown to look like his namesake. Covered in thick black fur with lanky limbs, protruding bones and razor claws. His mutation really came in after he took a slaughtered deer skull and began to wear it as a mask. One day it just didn't come off...

-Even as a young teen he's now a little taller than Bloodmoon, much to the older duo of brothers annoyance.

-Banshee (Nickname Ban): Age 12, the first daughter KC adopted. Her skin is a deathly grey tinged blue while her eyes are glowing blue and her hair is only black. She wears a long raggedy dress and a red shawl with a hood. She has the powers of her legendary namesake. She can create disorienting screeches that can even affect electronic devices.

-She's a sweetheart to her family but can be pretty ruthless to humans/prey. She often helps the Bloodtwins out with disorienting victims with her screeches so Bloody can rip and tear them apart while they're so gripped in terror.

-Vampire (Nickname Vamp): Age 10, The older brother of a pair of twins. Lives up to his name but is definitely NOT a sparkly Twilight vampire. His skin has the color of death and his eyes are blood red. He and his twin are jokesters and usually make bad ideas... That Bloodmoon goes along with because they sound like fun. He needs blood to survive, but also likes and can suffice on fresh meat too.

-He along with his twin, Lycan, get into the most mischief amongst their family. Very often with Bloodmoon as an enabler... KC often needs to save them from themselves. (Even if he secretly finds their antics funny, Killcode still has to be the responsible parent and try and stop them from being too crazy.)

-Lycan (No nickname this time): Age 10, the younger twin to Vamp. He also lives up to his namesake and looks like a werewolf. Although his features are not completely wolfish. His face still looks humanoid and closer to the earlier depictions of the Wolfman; it's unclear if he will continue to mutate or he will remain like this. He is as playful and mischievous as his sibling, though shows a tiny bit more caution. But he is most likely going to be off causing trouble with Vamp and Bloodmoon. Is allergic to chocolate, much like an actual wolf.

-Secretly Killcode has been wondering if it's a single braincell being shared between his two sets of twins, given how much insanity they get into. But damn if he doesn't love them chaos and all.

-Wisp (Nickname Will O'): Age 4, by far the quietest of KC's children. She resembles a small ghostly child wearing a light colored dress, but her entire body overall looks like a small blue flame and her long white/blue hair perpetually in motion like an aforementioned flame. She is very quiet, but undoubtedly due to her trauma prior to her adoption, (Straight up unwanted and eventually abandoned in the woods to die) she doesn't like being alone and she can be understandably clingy. Though it has gotten better over time given the proper love and affection by her new family.

-She is currently the only child of KC's without a kill count, but that is because she is simply not ready yet. This fact is understood even by Bloodmoon and no one is going to force her to hunt until she's ready.

-The Baby (Is literally a baby and doesn't even technically have a name yet, but is a little girl): Age is maybe 3 months? The story behind this child was that KC and Bloodmoon were out hunting together, as Killcode is always careful to give all of his kids affection and not overlook any of them, Bloodmoon included. As they were out they were looking for some fresh targets, but the smell of something burning and a baby crying caught their attention... Lo and behold there was a car that had clearly flown off the road and crashed into a tree, killing the two adults in the car but leaving the baby in the backseat alive... Which resulted in KC taking the little one and them burying the parents near the scene of the accident.

-The baby is the youngest child KC has ever encountered and is obviously a bit challenging to care for, thankfully he manages... And the older kids do help their father out as much as they can. Though the one who interacts the least with the baby is Bloodmoon, not because he dislikes her but because he's genuinely afraid he will hurt her.

Bloodmoon: We're built to rip and tear! Not hold tiny soft things that will tear too easily!

-He makes a fair point with this. He also has an immense dislike to the infants crying often resulting in him yowling something about the 'Alarm is going off again!' but his disdain isn't malicious. He's just not that great with infants.

33) Over those seven years it wasn't just KCs human children that mutated. The entire region that these guys call home mutated. With the forest becoming much 'darker.' The whole place has become a major hot spot for paranormal activity, specifically involving various cryptids. There are tons of reports of Sirenhead, Fleshgaits and all sorts of other horrors. As well as other just weird stuff like random stairs to nowhere in the middle of the woods and other people swearing that the forest can shift around and get unsuspecting tourists hopelessly lost.

-There is a certain amount of mutations that would occur naturally in the vicinity of the cube, but none of the mutations to the environment are overly malicious. But the dark energy can attract more things that definitely can give normal folks nightmares...

(...Also I love Creepypastas, sue me...)

34) There have been two attempts by the Creator to retrieve the cube in the forms of two low-intelligence high-fire power drones sent to find the cubes energy signature... Both attempts, several years apart, ended almost comedically bad.

(Okay yeah it's late and I am super tired now so I don't want to write anymore since I have to get to work in a few hours... But seeing as how I still have about one more portion to write for this I am going to post this now and finish the next part tomorrow 😅)

#tsams #tsams au #fnaf #fnaf au #the sun and moon show #dca au #dca #sun and moon show #tsams bloodmoon #the sun and moon show kc #the sun and moon show killcode #the sun and moon show bloodmoon #tsams bloodtwins #sams au #sams #sams bloodtwins #sams bloodmoon #sun and moon show killcode #sams killcode #kill code moon #killcode #Killcode kc #fnaf kill code #Killcode reaches the Ultimate Dad Mode here #He's loving every minute of it too #He loves his family #Reaper King AU

[castlecult]

saw you wanted frank castle requests!! how about him after he did something dickish (like get overly protective and preachy abt readers safety) and now readers not exactly giving him the silent treatment but isn't as affectionate. thank you!!

an : hello anon !! thank you for sending in a request and sorry it took me a few days to reply <3 i’m not very proud of the initial part, i think it’s a weak reason and it’s poorly written but anyway *looks away* … i chose to write for gender neutral reader bc you didn’t specified a gender, i hope it’s okay and that you’ll enjoy it !!

warnings : use of pet names ( baby & darling ), sad frankie, sad but fluff in the end !!! not proofread

gif here

“why would you treat me like that?!” you stormed into your apartment, followed by frank. “why would– are you being serious now?” frank raised his voice once the door was closed.

“yeah, i am! you acted like a piece of shit, all of that in front of matt. just because i’m slower than you, that doesn’t mean that i don’t know what to do or how to defend myself, okay?” you said while pulling off you jacket, trying to keep your tone low given that it was almost five in the morning.

frank didn’t agree. “bullshit! you almost got hit by a sniper, you completely lost your target and were about to die if it wasn’t for red!” he kept screaming at you. you knew it was just his fear and worry taking control but you couldn’t really excuse him now, you two have been working together for so long it disappointed you that his trust in your abilities was that low.

“oh thank god daredevil exists!” you turned to look at him. “i’m tired of arguing frank, just say that you don’t trust me and go,” you said before walking towards your bedroom.

“hey! do not walk away now, huh?” he followed you and you rolled your eyes, sighing. “i wanna sleep, okay? i don’t care about whatever excuse you have for your behaviour. i hope the couch is comfortable enough for you,” you pushed a pillow and a blanket to his chest, then waited for him to exit the room.

frank stared at you for a moment, a bit taken aback by your behaviour. he mumbled something under his breath and then walked into the living room, leaving you alone.

—

“hi baby,” franks voice filled the kitchen. you were eating, sitting by yourself. “hi,” you simply said, keeping your gaze focused on the newspaper.

frank sat by your side and kissed your cheek. you said nothing and kept reading the news, ignoring his presence. “i’m sorry about the yelling, it was really late,” he said after a while.

“yeah,” you got up and started washing the dishes, sighing. frank just watched you, a bit confused. he cleared his throat and got up, scratching his neck. “so um… i got a thing, to do…” he started, hoping you would turn around. “with curtis.”

“have fun, i guess,” you simply shrugged, without looking at him. “it won’t take long,” he added soon, getting closer, “okay, frank.”

he didn’t say anything, just kissed your cheek once again and got ready to leave the apartment. once you heard the door closing you released a long breath you were holding.

“asshole,” you muttered. you hoped he would enter and apologise for his behaviour, but instead all you got was an apology for the last night’s yelling, which you didn’t really care about because it was a consequence of what happened.

you spent the day doing stuff around the apartment, you also went out shopping.

you were almost falling asleep in front of the tv when the door opened and closed, you heard his heavy steps and quickly sat up, almost forgetting the way you decided to treat him.

“darling, i’m back!” his voice filled the apartment. you yawned, tiredly. you turned off the tv and freed the couch for him. “hey,” he finally showed up and noticed you were approaching your bedroom. “welcome back, frank,” you simply said before closing the door behind yourself.

frank silently stared at the closed door, confused once again by your behaviour. he finally understood that you were angry about something and he was the main reason you were acting like that.

what he would never think about, not even for a second, was that the reason you were upset was the way he treated you the other night, in front of matt.

you laid down, groaning. you weren’t expecting him to come into your room, so when he opened the door and entered you slightly jumped up.

“what now?” you asked, annoyed. “okay, enough,” he said and came sitting on the bed. you faked confusion, watching him. “don’t act a fool, i know what you’re doing,” he added.

“oh, i see,” you nodded and laid down again, turning your back to him. “stop treating me like that, y/n,” he sighed and gently grabbed your hand. you freed yourself and kept silence, staring at the wall.

“i’m tired,” you said, noticing frank was still sitting there, without moving or saying anything. “i know, but i can’t wait to talk tomorrow,” he said, his tone serious. “no, i’m tired about you not trusting me,” you corrected.

frank felt his chest tightening, scared he was about to lose you. “w-what?” he chuckled nervously, as if the words you just said were foreign to him. “you heard me,” you replied.

you sat, angrier than before. “you think you’re the best out there. well, i guess you are… but that’s not the point,” you shook your head. “you always complain about matt, and i understand that because you guys have different opinions, but me?” you met his eyes, taking note of a glimpse of fear. “you always complain about what i do, you say that it’s all because you want me safe, that i risk my life every time i try to help you guys, but you try to protect me in the worst way possible.”

you took a deep breath, noticing frank wasn’t gonna say something. “i know that you care about me, you care so much about the people that you love and maybe you don’t even realise that… but frank, you gotta stop acting like a dipshit, getting angry because people don’t do exactly like you said,” you moved a bit closer to him, sighing. “there are good intentions behind your actions, i know that for sure, but it hurts… the way you look at me, the way you speak in those moments…” you noticed him looking away for a moment, clenching his jaw.

“i’m sorry,” he muttered, closing his eyes for a second. he reopened them and met your eyes, gently grabbing your hands. you let him, waiting patiently for his next words. “baby, i- shit, i’m scared of losing you, like… i hate when you come along with me and red, but not because you’re not good, but because i’m scared that the second you’re out of sight you won’t come back to me.”

you felt him squeezing your hands, nervously. “frank, baby, i know that this scares you, but maybe we can find a way to work together… i mean, being a better team okay?” you tried to show him a smile, letting him know that you weren’t that upset with him. “you always act like you have to protect me, like you have to save me… but i’m here to help, not to make you more stressed,” you caressed his cheeks, comforting him. “i wanna help, but you gotta let me do it,” you spoke softly.

“i know, baby… i can’t help it, it’s just…” frank sighed, struggling to find the right words. “it’s okay, i know what you mean,” you said before hugging him, holding him close to your body. “i’ll stop treating you bad, but i make no promises about the protect you part, you got that?” he said and you chuckled. “i figured you would say that, but that was the point,” you kissed his cheek and then his nose, making him smile.

“i’m sorry for my behaviour,” you looked at him, feeling guilty. “don’t. i probably deserved that, i’m a piece of shit,” he caressed your cheek and stared at your lips for a moment. “i still don’t know what is holding you back from walking out that door and never come back,” he said that chuckling, but you knew that deep down frank feared that day with every cells inside his body. “you give the best bear hugs and no one can resist to those,” you kissed his lips and smiled.

extra an : feedback and reblogs are super appreciated !! if you wanna send me your thoughts about frank hit my inbox <3 have a good day

#rin writes #frank castle x reader #frank castle x you #frank castle x y/n #frank castle blurb #frank castle drabble #frank castle imagine #frank castle one shot #frank castle fanfiction #the punisher #frank castle #jon bernthal #marvel

[etherealbelphie]

Why Is Luke So Loyal To Michael?

Warnings: Obey Me spoilers, headcanons and angst below the cut.

So while I was writing Everybody Makes Mistakes, I ended up making a lot of headcanons about the Celestial realm. Of course, they didn't all end up being relevant in the final cut. But I came up with one headcanon that I found particularly interesting, so I thought I'd share.

It's no secret that Luke adores Michael. Throughout all of the story (or at least, what I've read of it so far) Luke has been incredibly loyal, and for lack of a better word, preachy when it comes to Micheal.

Luke is one of the angels Michael has taken under his wing (pun intended), so it's not that surprising that he's incredibly fond of him.

At least, it wouldn't be if Luke was like that with Simeon as well.

Although we play as MC and therefore have a limited point of view, it seems like Luke would be much closer with Simeon than he would be with Michael.

I mean, Simeon is Luke's caretaker and guardian, and is always there for him, so why wouldn't Luke look up to him as much-- if not more than Michael?

The answer is simple: Simeon hasn't always been there for Luke.

During the war, I think it would make sense that Simeon was sent to fight. And since Michael was fond of Luke, Luke stayed with him while Simeon was away.

Luke wasn't expected to fight (because he's a literal child) and Michael was too high ranking. Simeon on the other hand was likely on the front lines.

And while it's canon that Luke remembers the war, present-day Luke is already young. War-time Luke was even younger, and as a result, he probably doesn't remember the war that well.

At the very least, the Celestial Realm at war must've been terrifying and confusing for him. He didn't know where Lucifer (whom he used to look up to) was. And on top of all that, Simeon disappeared on him too.

So, from Luke's point of view, Micheal was there for him and Simeon abandoned him when Luke probably needed him most.

Which, if you think about it like that, it makes Luke's behavior regarding Micheal a lot more sad.

The reason he's so loyal to Micheal is because he's afraid Simeon will abandon him again.

And what makes it even worse is that he might. Much like how he didn't necessarily choose to go fight in the war, Simeon won't have a choice if he does end up falling.

And if you've been keeping up on your lessons (or at the very least, your lore) you'll know that Simeon isn't probably isn't that far off.

I believe he lost his angelic powers as a result of stealing the ring. It's only a matter of time before he loses his halo too.

#obey me #obey me headcanons #obey me luke #obey me michael #obey me simeon #obey me lucifer #obey me lucy #obey me luci #obey me angst #obey me hurt #obey me celestial realm

[kimyoonmiauthor]

The Lie: You can only make a story around character or events nothing else~~

USian Lit professors ruining writers again and World Lit with it. This isn’t one of those posts where I say, “If you start with character or events you’re wrong.” It’s about my core philosophy OPTIONS~~~ Options. The ones that everyone railed against after the 20th century and people turn their noses up at because, ya know, questioning status quo as PoCs, Women, queer people, disabled people–i.e. the majority of the writers and readers when you put the market together, yet somehow the publishing industry doesn’t want to cater to us... were told flat out if we do it, we’re being snobby, Literary, or Ohhh... insurrectionists. (Or whatever, mostly called “inferior”) And if you don’t believe me, go read Robert Scholes’ writing book where he thinks that only white straight men can write... (OK, maybe I’ve read too many of these bozos.)

My exact problem is being told we’re wrong for doing it another way. And that this way is too snobby, when it’s probably one of the oldest methods in the history of literature. So strap in, let’s get into it.

I get it, some people are going to act like victims at this point and say are you saying that it’s wrong? Or even, what do you mean this method was invented by a bunch of prejudiced white men who often tried to take credit from less privileged people? I cover that in the other series of posts so you a see how we got here (and I warn you I found it super depressing. Especially slapped with blatant racism, sexism, anti-queerness, etc.)

What I think is you can accept the origin story of where “It’s either events or character” comes from (Great Man Theory, BTW, which is imperialistic), delve and QUESTION it heavily, and then challenge the origin more deeply by thinking about it critically and how you would like to overcome that and make their story.

Questioning what’s handed to you critically is the whole point of the Worldbuilding and Worldwide Story Structures post. Doesn’t say it is wrong. It just gives you more options to think about and engage in.

Morals

Honestly, when it has the answers and is reinforcing the status quo, rather than questioning it, it is often boring.

Pros: It engages directly one of the two tenants (when done well), Makes people think. The secondary is then makes them feel.

Cons: When done badly, it can feel preachy, rather than introspective. And people often hate their morals being questioned so may refuse to engage. It’s also prone to getting banned.

Authors who stated they use this: Ursula Le Guin (Who gets hated by Structuralists)

Toni Morrison (Who said so on Charlie Rose--why would you think it’s conflict?)

Star Trek... most of it.

Some of the early writers of Star Wars.

A lot of Sci-fi writers including Octavia Butler.

A Tree with Deep Roots (K-drama) also engages in this.

As a secondary, Outlander often asks questions about Morality (Diana Gabaldon)

Making a story around this would look like finding a central moral question and then breaking that moral question into parts and then finding characters and events to address those parts.

You start from the widest point down and deliberately make it so.

Ways to Live

More common with Indigenous Peoples of N&C&S Americas, not all tribes/nations of course. And particularly with Plains tribes such as Zuni. Also common to Aboriginal people. A tad bit to some Polynesians, and parts of Africa (scattered)

Pros: When done well it makes you ponder on it for days, because often there is a central value, which is not a moral, and you’re turning it over in your head over and over again.

Cons: You have to craft the story very, very carefully, and it may take some time before you get it to land just right. This may not go over well for people who improvise their writing. Because when the story is well put together it suddenly has this clicking feel to it which is difficult to achieve.

Also kinda better for shorter stories (or I’ve never seen it done in novels yet--if you have one, drop it in the comments please~~) and made up folktales...

Themes

Thematic plotting is where you take a central theme and then kind of snowflake it out from that, similar to morality plotting. Often thematic plotting and morality plotting has overlap, meaning they often are done together.

But a theme can be anything like fairies, divorce, marriage, disability, etc. And then you’d break it down for each of the parts and figure out how to represent that through character and events.

So, let’s say your central theme is disability. You might break off Neurodiversity and put that to the side and ask if it is a disability. Then you might want to find someone to represent that and the views about it.

You might also then take someone who is a wheelchair user and then decide you need a character for that.

But you also may want someone who is in a walker.

Then you might decide that you need someone who is disabled, but doesn’t “look” disabled.

Then you might think about what does disability mean for each of them and how are you going to address disability rights in your story. So say the Neurodiverse person you’ve made has Sensory Processing Disorder. You might ask, “Is this really a disability?” And about ableism and disablism. From that, you might formulate an event to demonstrate this.

You can also do it from events. So for example, you think that a disability rights rally about X issue is needed to show the different views. But overall, it always loops back to the theme.

Pros: Engages the reader to think, primarily. Feel is kind of second on the list, if the theme is teased out well and focused. Generally the ones that do well are philosophical and delve deeper on an idea. Say motherhood. What does it mean to be a parent. Something with an endless well to talk about that interests the author. I love theme babies and when done well it can do things like make you cry over a damned potato. Or even rocks on a cliff. Damn you both. I’m tearing up thinking about it. WHY!? Why am I crying about rocks with googly eyes with text on the screen?

Cons: Themes that don’t grow beyond the base idea often feel stagnant. It’s better to let your themes evolve over the course of the story. If you choose a theme you don’t have a lot of ideas on it can feel too sparse. And if you over pack it without any kind of organization, it can feel chaotic, rather than organized.

Generally people who use milestones--or set out event points in the road do better with this one. Pure improvisers tend to dislike this, though it can work if you’re sure you can hit the points in an organized fashion.

Authors: 

Divorce Testimony by Na Hyeseok (Theme is divorce and marriage, and a memoir)

Hong Sisters (especially Greatest Love. Crying over a potato...)

Everything Everywhere All at Once (Primarily theme first, then tone).

Tone

I have to say Japan does it best... but I’ve also seen tonal theming from Indigenous peoples, Magic Realism, as a secondary on other East Asian drama regions, in Horror, as a secondary in some African Lit and West Asian Lit. It is really difficult to nail if you start with character+event. And honestly USians, in particular, have a really hard time nailing tone, in general.

Pros: Emotions come first and hits you directly in the feels first, which might make you reel in your head for quite a while. It’s much, much harder to guess plot points from the outside looking in. The bubble effect I refer to often in Japanese dramas which makes me envious is much easier to achieve. Because tone takes a while to develop over the course of the story, guessing ahead becomes near to impossible. You don’t know what the final effect will be until it hits you square between the eyes. And then the emotions are overloaded, when done well.

Cons: Tone takes a while to develop. It often dies a quiet death because of the whole “I NEED EVERYTHING ON PAGE ONE” mentality from US pressuring other regions to do the same. It does not work well with impatient people. Also, it takes a high amount of skill to do well, and usually command of tone on all levels is a last, not first skill for writers of all regions. Hitting people in the feels the same way across the board is HARD. Really hard, which is often why it’s paired with thematic and moral plotting.

Authors: 

Natsume Soseki Botchan is a master class in this.

(Central Story driver)

Sometimes, some regions just go by the central story driver which then dictates the rest of the events and character. Honestly, I think conflict is probably the worst for this because people don’t generally love it. Conflict is not on the list of things that makes things go viral. People LOVE cooperation, for example. But often people will go by a central tenant of the story driver and choose from there. Absurdists might think about ways to subvert the conflict to make a joke.

Other methods

For example, Diana Gabaldon takes pieces from her research, makes a scene from it, and then writes characters around it, and then slowly stitches it together. She started out originally with character, however, the bulk of her writing, according to her is done through research then write method. The downside of this is huge word count since integration is not the first concern.

Some people start with interesting subjects they’ve found such as Guy Gaviriel Kay. He starts with research, then works on integration. Similarly, Ordinary People by Judith Guest was started from a newspaper clipping.

Some authors start with a sharp image, rather than event or character.

Some authors start with setting. Since there are so many parts to “What makes a story” theoretically you can start with any of them. The only thing I would think you really have to think over is how will it hang together.

The point is, while starting with character or event is not wrong, finding other methods to plot might make your story stronger depending on how you command the tools. And let’s not forget that writing is a craft, so why not utilize as much of the toolbox as possible?

#writing advice #how to start a story #debunking

[cf56]

My thoughts on episode 7

SPOILERS for season 3, episode 7 of the Animaniacs reboot

The emotions of the past two days took my mind off of the isolated hell of my own creation, but now I'm starting to get antsy again. I'm also starting to feel the dread setting in that Animaniacs is about to end for me. I only have two new episodes that I haven't seen, and that's probably it forever. I have rarely in my life had a week with such deeply mixed emotions.

This episode was good. We finally got a third Warner song, and it only took 7 episodes. I still can't wrap my head around how it took so long, but at least the song was good.

I just thought they looked cute here at the very beginning, dying in the heat.

I liked Wakko comforting his sister.

I liked how BOTH little sibs got it wrong instead of Wakko being portrayed as the dumb one.

This very brief shot was also cute to me, the Warners staying entertained on the trip by playing a little game together.

I like how often I've seen their tails and fur get fluffed up in shock/fear this season. Makes them feel more alive. And it's cute, of course.

Now we get into the song. I like how, despite how cynical they usually are, the Warners seem to genuinely care about this issue and got a little shocked at the depth of Josh Polar's callousness towards it.

Gotta at least mention Yakko's dancing here.

While it did get me a little to see the genuine concern of Wakko's siblings here, it would hit much harder if I didn't know they were resuscitating him just to immediately celebrate his supposed death in the next episode. What happened, writers?

The song really kicked into another gear at the end, which is what took it from good to great in my mind.

Nice to see the sibs pulling out their Bugs Bunny antics. I would call him their mentor, but most people don't realize that the Warners are canonically older than Bugs Bunny, so technically they set the example for him, in-universe.

I didn't really need the warning to know this was preachy, but I didn't mind it.

Wakko saw his brother pull out a whole turkey, but his mind instead saw the energy efficient lightbulb to be a tastier snack. What a cute little enigma.

The exchange about leftovers was genuinely great and totally in-character.

And it's nice to see Yakko accepting Wakko's ignorance instead of beating him over the head with it like earlier in the reboot.

Forget the impending and currently ongoing environmental catastrophes, forget the anarchic oncoming societal change, forget the impending doom of humanity, we need to pass green legislation to SAVE THE WARNERS!!!

LOOK AT HOW THEY HOLD ONTO HIM! Dot sitting on his leg... babies.

This segment was good and the song was pretty great. Definitely slots in as my second favorite song of the season so far, after Do It Yourself.

Lawn in 60 Seconds reminded me of The Flame from the original series. Anthropomorphizing a small background object you'd never think to anthropomorphize.

I already feel bad when I mow the lawn, and this segment didn't help. The grass and bugs who live there never asked to be savagely cut down by the lawn mower's blade, just for the purpose of humanity holding onto their perfectly manicured lawns!

All's Fair in Love and Door was interesting.

I liked that Pinky genuinely tried to listen to Brain and not go in the door, but he confused himself into doing it anyway.

I thought the alternate reality concept was kind of creepy until I learned it wasn't the real Julia he had trapped in there. It's still pretty creepy, though, considering this Julia proved herself to be just as sentient as the real one... Can't Brain just leave it alone? Now you've messed up two different versions of the same person you created in the first place to serve your selfish emotional needs.

I liked that Julia found out the truth on her own instead of Pinky spilling the beans.

It was pretty cute how Brain tried to silently protect Pinky in the trashcan.

Gay.

At this point, though, I'm not sure they're going to go all the way with it. This would have been the perfect segment to do it in.

I'm not sure if this will ever amount to anything.

It was an interesting segment that posed some deep moral questions on the nature of love and marriage. I think it could have been better if it went farther with things.

Cute Things That Can Kill You was a decent PSA, I guess. I'm pretty sure everyone was aware that pufferfish are deadly. That's like the whole reason they're a famous animal.

The episode was pretty good. I would have liked it better if I didn't know what was coming next. Even though I've already seen it, it still fills me with a sense of dread just to see the thumbnail next on the docket. I'll probably post the official review of it tonight to get it over with, and then move onto episode 9 tomorrow and finish it up with episode 10 on Saturday. Then I'll be free and depressed simultaneously, just as you're supposed to be on social media.

This episode isn't as hard to rate as the other ones I've seen recently. It wasn't as good as my two favorites this season. It's about on par with episode 4, which is currently in third place. It's a hard call between them. I liked the Warner antics in episode 4, but this episode had a killer song and a more intriguing PATB segment. I probably have to give this one the nod.

My current ranking of season 3 episodes:

Episode 6

Episode 3

Episode 7

Episode 4

Episode 2

Episode 1

Episode 5

The list is splitting itself into clear parts. The top 2 are my absolute favorites, some of the best Animaniacs I've seen. The top 4 are all the episodes I'd consider legitimately good. The bottom 3 aren't bad, but had parts that made me go "meh." You might think it'll be an easy call on where to put episode 8, but I'm not sure. Most of that episode was actually good. It's just a few small parts that soured the entire episode, season, and show for me. Remove those parts and it'd definitely be up along with the top 4 in the "genuinely good" category. It's just that those parts also happened to have an indescribably huge negative emotional impact on me in general... I'll tackle that dilemma when I get there.

Feel free to add to the discussion of this episode if you want, but don't say anything about the episodes that come after. Thanks.

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(I couldn't decide between the two)

#animaniacs #animaniacs season 3 #animaniacs reboot #animaniacs 2020 #animaniacs screenshots #animaniacs analysis #animaniacs spoilers #animaniacs episode 7 #cfposts

[aspd-culture]

Do you have books/movies recommendation that represents aspd well fiction or nonfiction?

Hhhhh I was waiting for this question to come one day. The answer is lowkey v v disappointing.

Because... no, not really. I've got like three, two of which do what I consider a fairly good job, and one that rides the fence of being a lil "oh great, the ASPD character likes blood and guts and death".

Sorry this is so long-winded tldr Ender's Game (book only), House, MD if you can handle some not ok 2000's comedy, and Wednesday if you never get into the fandom.

In order of, in my opinion, best to least best (they're all still p good):

I tried to make these spoiler free but it's hard while explaining good vs bad rep. I would recommend going into Ender's Game blind without reading what I wrote about it and coming back to this post after. I would read the warning attached to the other two.

Ender's Game by Orson Scott Card (The book not the movie, oh my gosh, not the movie) - Peak ASPD right here. When I was a kid with ASPD, this is the only book I ever related to and I randomly picked it bc it was the third name on the mandatory summer reading list and 3 is my OCD's favorite number. It rarely lets me down, and in this case, brought me a seriously well-done look at ASPD done, possibly entirely without meaning to. Orson Scott Card, as far as I'm aware, set out to write a book about trauma and the way that different types of trauma shapes the mind in early childhood, and preschool aged children engaging in active military training is... woof. It's a lot when something that you relate to so much is a depiction of a war-era dystopia. There are definitely parts that still push the stigma, and a lot of what makes Ender "good" is the sympathy and compassion and "purity" he shows, so be ready for that. That said, this also shows how a kid can still fit the definition of a loving, innocent child even while actively engaging in violence. It's a bit preachy with its message, but it is a damn good book. I will openly admit I have never gotten around to reading the sequels purely bc they were not in my school libraries. I wonder if Libby has them... *takes mental note*. There are also questions about if Ender's siblings possibly have cluster b disorders themselves. I have seen theories that both Peter and Valentine have NPD, and a more controversial theory that Valentine has NPD while Peter has BPD and the book just happens to focus on demonizing him (as a character to make a point about him and Valentine, not because of the disorder) so it doesn't emphasize the non-splitting behavior. Just, do yourself a favor and don't read into psych articles about Ender's Game. They make a big deal out of Ender being a good character because he is "saved" by his empathy and just... idk the book is written from his POV and I don't see much empathy there. I see compassion. I see cognitive empathy. I do not see affective empathy besides with a couple Exceptions.

House, MD - the profile pic is for a reason. More than House, MD is a show about doctors or medicine, it is a show about House's struggle with his mental health. We watch him slowly get through the process of recognizing, adapting to, and working on his symptoms throughout the show. It honestly helped me before I even realized I had ASPD to improve my relationships with people by learning from his mistakes.

House is (minor spoiler) canonically diagnosed with "Antisocial traits" around season 6 I believe, but he experiences them the entire time. He is written as a character who I believe was supposed to have ASPD. If not, he is one of the most accurate accidents turned canon I have ever seen. That said, this show does not shy away from the negative aspects of ASPD. Many people say horrible things about House throughout the series, many of them he does not bother to argue with or deny. It is... really emotional for me sometimes to see how they speak to and about him and how he handles that. It's really good, but does have one very triggering episode about a "true sociopath" and House's struggles with relating to her also around Season 5 or 6. It's one I wouldn't skip if you're watching this for ASPD reasons, but House *does* try and separate himself from a "true sociopath" so be ready for some stigma. Also please note that this show is from around 2004. Lots of flip phones, ha ha ha, but also lots of excess stigma on things, somewhat homophobic and transphobic jokes, etc. Although, it is worth noting that it is a symptom of House's ASPD to make these jokes - he expects that they know he is not serious because of his tone and doesn't, due to lack of empathy, understand that these jokes are hurtful even when people know you don't believe what you're joking about to be true. He builds his team around making sure they can handle that part of him, which is a pretty decent thing to do, in my opinion, even though the right thing to do would be to change the behavior. But yeah, shitty early 2000's humor incoming with this show. I still 100% feel it is worth the watch, but I am white and thus have the privilege of feeling comfortable while watching it. Black people especially may be really (understandably) unable to feel comfortable watching this because the person that House worries is most similar to him and thus most threatening to his position is Foreman, who is a Black man, and thus many of House's "it's ok because he knows I don't believe it" jokes are targetting Foreman and many times they are racist jokes. He in no way solely targets Foreman, but that is there and it is extremely frequent. When you meet people named Taub and Thirteen, Jewish and fellow LGBT people will join the club in being potentially seriously uncomfortable with these jokes. I could handle watching it, ymmv.

The third and somewhat problematic lil sister, Wednesday (2022) - Hear me out, it is so good, imo, but I cannot interact with the fandom on this one and it loses serious points because of that. The reason that I can't? The entire fandom has decided that Wednesday Addams, a long-time rare ASPD coded girl, is autistic and "through the lens of Tim Burton" vs acknowledging that she is ASPD coded. Everything that can be an autistic trait, many have cherry-picked as proof she is autistic, and they openly choose to ignore a major step in diagnosis, making sure that the symptoms are not better described elsewhere. I will concede she may be autistic (although tbh I don't think so bc of her serious lack of stimming, - and no the SINGLE DANCE SCENE AT A SCHOOL DANCE doesn't count - lack of meltdowns, and affinity for sitting perfectly still don't read autistic imo), but she has ASPD. A literal therapist talks to her about "the source of (her) antisocial traits" and because she is a child, that is the closest thing to a diagnosis of ASPD she can be given. The girl is loudly ASPD coded just like the character Wednesday Addams always has been.

Further, there is a point to be made about the ASPD coded character being given her own show for it to turn out to be a m*rder mystery as well as her obsession with everything dark, broody, bloody, and macabre. Admittedly, in The Addams Family, that's everyone in her family not just the ASPD coded one but in Wednesday, she is the only character who likes those things so it's a bit ick in that regard. Still, I relate a lot to her and always have and people used to try n bully me in school by calling me Wednesday but my mom showed me it and said I reminded her of Wednesday as a compliment when I was little and I always took it as one after that even when I knew they meant it in a mean way.

Unfortunately, ASPD, unlike many disorders, is not underrepresented in media. It is overrepresented in the worst ways possible. Every other book or movie I can find is full of stereotypes, mean-spirited commentary, and m*rder. There might be something to be said about a character from It's Always Sunny, but that show is a major trigger for me so I haven't been able to watch it to tell, and Lisa from Girl, Interrupted (book or movie) is just... painfully bad but well-loved rep. Like, I love her, but holy crap girlfriend, how did you manage to add stigma in a book and movie about destigmatizing mental health?

The fact that even counting bad but well-loved representation I can still count all of it on one hand sucks, and if anyone has more I am begging you to share in replies.

#book rec request #book rec asks #book reccs #booklr #tv shows #tc show rec #tw show reccs #aspd-culture-is #actually antisocial #actually aspd #antisocial personality disorder #aspd #aspd awareness #aspd culture #aspd traits #aspd culture is #anons welcome

[hellsvestibule]

Ok I’m finally ready to talk abt dobrynya. As an aside of Catgirl nikitich from fgo. And as usual please don’t take me as a authority, if you are really curious look the stories up yourself, there are summaries online but you won’t find all the variants of the tales because some of them are said to have like 50 variations because they are meant to be performed as songs, and when performing them they would often be tweaked to suit the tastes of the individual storytellers. So what you end up w online or when handed out summaries in class is probably just a single condensation of a story which in reality has a whole multitude of variants. so keeping that in mind, what I know of these tales comes from a combo of like, 6th grade mythology, my Ukrainian roommate who grew up w these stories and refreshed me on them, and my scrounging around google for as many translations as I could find. Long post long you are warned

I don’t like dobrynya...

I adooore the Catgirl but I’ve had it out for dobrynya since 6th grade when we first read transcripts of these songs and there was a boy in my class who was super adamant about defending the misogyny in these tales. I even forgot about him before rereading a summary of dobrynya and marinka brought back the memories and I was just like oh yeah! This guy saw some pigeons chilling in a woman’s window and killed them, because he took it as a wanton invitation for sex (#symbolism) and after he antagonized her she pulled a Circe and started turning him into an animal to mess with him, and even brainwashed him into falling in love with her just to hurt him more, so like, yes she is definitely a “bad person” but the story takes for granted that in at least some varients of this tale dobrynya antagonized her first, or even just at its baseline that a woman being a bit whorish deserves to be attacked and have her pets killed and maligned as being in league with the devil. The same w another dobrynya story that starts w his mother telling him not to trample the nests of dragons, which he willfully ignores and so again he antagonizes the dragons by killing their young and they retaliate, and dobrynya is written to be the one in the right.

Fgo chose to make the dragons sympathetic and honestly this felt right to me as someone who found this unnecessarily cruel when reading it. Like. I get it, Dobrynya was written to appeal to a certain type of strong wise male authority trope, and back in the day dragons were symbolic of a specific unambiguous kind of evil (in light of reading about the historical man dobrynya was likely based on though, it compounded my frustration, because the man he’s likely based on sure committed a lot of mass murder under a similar mentality that all opposition had to be stamped out as cruelly as possible) idk for me he just feels very preachy and inconsistently characterized, and while there are plenty of good things underpinning the tales and a lot of my points of contention with him can absolutely be said of Ilya and especially Svyatogor, Svyatogor is written as a sympathetic but overtly evil villain, and at least the preachy things like Ilya overcoming being crippled because he was so good and pious, is based on a real historical priest whose spine showed signs of a deformity having been adjusted, and then like allyosha being the unconventional asshole of the 3 is also the point so while I don’t “like” him he didn’t quite irk me the way dobrynya does at times. dobrynya is the most conventional hero of these stories and the most popular to this day, so his sort of paradoxical personality and insisting he’s such a good pious person just…idk

One thing I do like in his tales is the underlying message that despite him being strong, his physical strength is never really enough on its own. It wasn’t enough to defeat the dragon, he had to pray for mercy and hold his place for 3 days, and almost lost the fight we’re it not for gods intervention. And it wasn’t enough to defeat nastasia, who just laughed and put him in her pocket. By this metric, nastasia is absolutely the unspoken star of these stories for me, because she shows up, looks at this often assumed to be a buff tough guy, goes “you are my poor little meow meow” and like that’s that like he’s married now he has a wife and she could crush him like a little bug anytime thereby rendering his strength completely invalid as a tactic for controlling her, its just really funny tbh, I’ve already admitted I love Svyatogor despite his far more egregious cruelty for similar reasons, there is something about a massive sadistic giant who can’t totally relate to humans just putting a little human in their pocket and being like “this is my anime girlfriend now” and I would read Infinite variants of this.

So the Catgirl dobrynya nastasia hybrid we get in fgo is great to me, although if she’s actually nastasia I wish they’d kept her huge. Bc the thing is, everything mean or irrational dobrynya does is so much funnier when rationalized as coming from a catgirl placeholding his identity. The fact that she is both patient and wise but also stupid and impulsive? Catgirl. The mean petty behavior like killing the birds? She is a cat… On that note, her bond with the dragons and use of the last name nikitich rather than calling herself nastasia does still sort of indicate aspects of this character are based more on marinka than nastasia. For example in one version of the marinka tale dobrynyas brainwashing breaks because she deliberately cheats on him with a dragon in front of him. And nikitich fgos max bond CE seems to be alluding to or making fun of this by flaunting her relationship with zmey as a positive one rather than antagonistic one. Considering her whole gag was marrying dobrynya for the lulz I can’t help but wonder. This reveal would not make me love her any less (plus I do think whoever she is she’s earnest about her love for dobrynya it’s just mixed in w frustration) I like both these women as characters and think that fgo would absolutely make Marinka sympathetic bc the writers understand that women like Circe and Medea are interesting and in the modern day deserve more consideration than to be labeled as irredeemably evil.

That’s sort of just where I’m at w the dude. Fgo endeared me to him a lot more specifically because it’s -not- falling back on the portrayal of him as a big buff strongman who is always right, but playing to the parts of the story where he’s just sort of helpless and sad and overtly dedicated to a cause nobody else really understands, then gets bullied by women who are stronger than him. A guy who has to plow through the depths of despair to find hope and this hope is incarnated as a funny catgirl who displays all the machismo and paternalistic authority and all that but makes it fun and lighthearted bc you fundamentally cannot take her seriously. It captures the spirit of the tale in an earnest way and attempts to rectify what might not sit well with modern audiences, you can criticize that if you want, but fate has been doing this with its heroes by and large all along, so in that case its not a contention that would be unique to dobrynya by any means.

If you do like dobrynya and hate the catgirl like. That’s fine…like especially if you grew up w this tale I’m not here to shit on you for liking him. You’re welcome to challenge me on any point but the thing is you’re probably not going to change my mind, I wrote what I considered to be the positive aspects I took out of his stories up there which are often what get recited when talking about him, and which have even grown on me over time, but for me it never quite washed away the unpleasant taste of the more cruel aspects until fgo just decided to make him the most ridiculous character ever

#also I’m sorry most of these names aren’t capitalized my autocorrect keeps defaulting them to uncapitalized and I’m too lazy to fix #idk I’ll probably regret talking about this but my friends who enjoy that I enjoy dobrynya will like it at least

[nnschneider]

Tagged by @wurzelbertzwerg to share my WIP folder.

You've been warned.

Focusing on Jane Austen fanfic, I have

Note that I write for my own sake, and at the pleasure of my muse. I tend to pick something up and play with it for a bit then put it down, forget about it after a couple months, etc. And then think of it again, have to read thru what I've previously written, and maybe decide to add to it. Point being, I have a bunch of WIPs in various states of completion and in a few fandoms.

Bro (short for Brogency): Mr. and Mrs. Bennett decided to pass off their third (and final) child as a son. I'm like 24 chapters in and the main romance is better Ryan (aka Mary Bennett) and an OC.

12Days (short for the 12 Days of Christmas): Modern NA AU in which the Morland family has a rotating curse every Christmas (affecting one family member per year) related to the items in the annoying Xmas song.

C-Oz (short for Catherine In Oz): The night after Gen Tilney tells Catherine she needs to leave, there's a big storm at the abbey. Insert Wizard of Oz dream in which Catherine is trying to get home.

Baby 3 (short for And Baby Makes Three): Henry Tilney is a paleontologist and Catherine Morland gets a leopard. Bringing Up Baby for NA. I'm 14 chapters in and I think I'll be able to wrap it up in another chapter.

Beanstalk. Persuasion as Jack & the Beanstalk with Frederick as Jack and Anne as the harpist who gets the goose to lay golden eggs.

Extremes in Dating: A modern S&S AU in which Edward Ferrars just wants a quiet night alone and his girlfriend Lucy has other plans. (Related to Drynuary For Hookups and based on an abysmal date my brother told me about.)

Fox (short for The Mark of the Fox): A Zorro AU for S&S.

Gingerbread. S&S as Hansel & Gretel. Pairs nicely with Beanstalk.

GoodPlace (short for The Good NA-borhood): NA as the Good Place with Henry Tilney, John Thorpe, Mrs. Allen, and Isabella as dead people, Gen Tilney as the architect, and Catherine as the neighborhood's Janet.

L+A (short for Love and Agriculture): Greek-ish/Roman-y pantheistic version of Emma with Emma as the goddess of love.

Luna. A P&P covid allegory with werewolves instead of covid, centered on Lady Catherine de Bourgh and her circle of correspondence. (They don't really care if the mysterious illness is eviscerating poor people in Town so long as it doesn't threaten their country estates, etc). Probably too preachy for me to finish.

MBDE (short for Mr. Bennett Dies Early): Mr. Bennett sneaks to Netherfield to meet his new neighbor, has an accident on the way home, and dies. Mr. Collins shows up to inherit and decides to marry Jane who has fallen in love-at-first-sight with Bingley. Elizabeth tries to protect Jane from Collins' unwelcome regard. Darcy tries to protect Elizabeth from the same.

Anyway, I set myself a goal to get Brogency, Extremes in Dating, and And Baby Makes Three into peer review this year. So far (it's still January) I like my odds.

Mega Abbey 2. Sequel to Origin Story, a hero/villain AU for NA. Henry's dad shows up unexpectedly so Henry has to pretend he isn't dating Catherine to protect her from his supervillain father and Catherine wants to rescue Henry from his supervillain legacy. I'm about 8 chapters in, trying to figure a few plot points out.

Reindeer: I try to repurpose Christmas carols into JAFF poems and this is me slowly adapting "Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer" into "Lizzy the Leading Lady" about how Elizabeth Bennett is clearly superior to all other Austen heroines.

Sabrina. MP as Sabrina except Fanny won't end up with either Bertram brother.

#wip #work in progress #tag game #jaff #jane austen fanfiction