#I just want to know what utilities are included!!!!!

[nameforthemain]

okay FINALLY getting around to reblogging this but I did read it when it was posted and absolutely loved it <333 (cannot remember if I told you that directly or if I was still crashing out about coursework then but either way telling you now. IT'S SO GOOD)

also literally perfect fic for me despite the fact the only help I gave was "include jeff" (which was really more of a hinderance than anything)

anyway, onto the actual reblog:

[You had the fastest record in all of Mr. Jones’ class] - is this a record for the fastest to go down the slide or is R just quick at everything? either way, love that for them.

[she joined a soccer team] - up the chels west chesapeake valley thunderbolts

[Natasha was watching from up high with the forest stars] - well she certainly is doing that now, isn't she 😭

[You waved at him through the window of the backseat, eye bright, hopeful. He didn’t so much as smile in return.] - lad's just chill about his child being kidnapped right in front of him, wow, maybe the red room was for the best

[And your mother had killed herself shortly after your tenth anniversary] - this did get dark very quickly, it must be said

[it gave you peace of mind to know that you were taking out the good guys while still utilizing your skills] - now is this meant to be the bad guys or does R just crave evil 👀

[You know you’ve healed in some capacity that you can think about Natasha at all without crying] - 😭😭😭

[But she doesn’t want to, because you’re still you, and she’s still Yelena, and somewhere out there in the universe there’s little six year old girls skipping to the playground together, a solemn blue haired pre-teen leading their way.] - I LOVE THIS LINE BUT ALSO IT HURTS

[but it had been your own fear of rejection that had kept you away for another four] - relatable tbh

[Shark with legs? Ridiculous.] - JEFFREY!!!!

[“Fanny Longbottom. She is named after Natasha.”] - R is probably so confused about what the relation is between those

[“You do it with one step forward at a time.”] - it's all so sweet, love the idea of Yelena and R being there for each other in future <3

thank you for the birthday fic Oaks, it was brilliant. Sorry it took me so long to get around to reblogging it 😭

LIGHTNING BOLT

summary — before there were the thunderbolts, there was a girl as fast as lightning in a small ohio town

warning(s) — platonic relationship, practically sisters, aroace!yelena, childhood friendship, kidnapping, child trafficking, mentions of the red room, red room typical violence/assaults/inhumane treatment, mention of mind control, mention of the blip, mention of endgame events, slight/potential thunderbolts spoilers, grief, trauma, alludes to depression/mental health struggle, reunion, fighting, hand-to-hand combat, russian dialogue, healing, jeff the landshark mentioned, natasha romanoff is not alive but she makes an appearance, friends to child soldiers to strangers to sisters, comfort, angst

authors note — happy birthday, @nameforthemain !! early (and not the straight fluff i promised) but alas the road led me astray on the journey. definitely needed to sleep, wrote this instead. not edited. not proofread. aura’s 2am yelena thoughts.

The elementary school playground has the fastest slide in Mount Vernon, that is a known fact amongst everyone who had grown up in the public school system. It’s yellow like a lightning bolt, or a yellow jacket, and you whirl down it like a twister every time you set your course.

Yelena hadn’t been your neighbor in preschool. Not when you’d been in Ms. Cindy’s class at the elementary school and had gotten to explore that yellow slide every day at morning and afternoon recess. But, she’d been your neighbor in Kindergarten and you made up for the lost time quickly.

It had taken three days for Yelena to realize that nothing she did could help her beat you. You had the fastest record in all of Mr. Jones’ class, let alone the fastest record on the block when summer came around and your friendly competitions carried on into the change of seasons.

When Yelena was six and you were seven, although she’d always felt like she was bigger than you, she joined a soccer team. They had practice behind the elementary school, and Natasha would walk you and Yelena there with her bike. Melina never came. You remember asking Yelena if that upset her, but at the time she’d only shrugged and said Natasha was watching from up high with the forest stars. You remember she named that soccer team the thunderbolts. A persistent little body on the field when she wasn’t at your side babbling on the sidelines; probably disappointing Natasha who was always drilling the rules of the game into her head on the walk to the practice fields.

She was. Natasha always was. Sometimes, she walked you to the playground even when your parents said you could make the journey alone, trusting fully in their almost first-graders as summer came to an end. But, Natasha was a worrier. Yelena said as much when she slept over at your house.

It was October when you slept over at her house for the very first time. It was the weekend before Halloween. Last Halloween, she hadn’t come out to trick-or-treat with you, even though you saw that she had a costume because Melina brought it inside from the grocery store outside of a shopping bag. Natasha had answered the door and given you three handfuls of candy, not looking all too glum about missing out on the thrill of the hunt. You never did understand her as a kid.

Yelena was obsessed with My Little Pony. She knew the whole theme song by heart, and she always carried around a purple Twilight Sparkle figurine that your father said you couldn’t have. She let you hold it sometimes, but that day wasn’t one of them.

Natasha had shown you how to do a backbend in their backyard after school, and Yelena had cheered you on from her own upside down position near the swingset. You scraped your knee in the crash landing, and the tears had been an immediate response to follow. Natasha rushed your left side, leaving the right for Yelena to fill as she shrieked for Melina to come outside and tend to the blood bubbling over on your kneecap.

You’d eaten two bites of the dinner Melina made with a My Little Pony bandaid on your knee when Alexei corralled you and Yelena outside without even your shoes on. Your father was just getting home from work. He was pulling into the driveway, his tie already undone around his neck. You waved at him through the window of the backseat, eye bright, hopeful. He didn’t so much as smile in return.

You never saw him again. There’s been gunshots, screaming, blood. The sun was hot wherever Natasha landed the plane. You don’t know where that was. You’ve never known where that was. Yelena had held onto you the entire time. She wasn’t a brave kid. She hated the dark. She was scared of spiders even though she told Natasha she thought they were cool. She doesn’t like the wind at night because it sound like wolves. But she’d been brave in that moment. She’d been brave when she’d held onto you, Natasha holding onto her. She’d been brave when she raised her chin, mimicking Natasha when a man reached out for you, seeing you as the weakest link. She never let go of that Twilight Sparkle toy. Not until it fell from her unconscious hand and was abandoned on whatever island you’d landed at, but her bravery didn’t waver even though it had been tethered to such childhood innocence.

Yelena’s bravery hadn’t wavered from that day forward, even when yours had. Yelena never cowered in the face of discipline and structure. She never let the lashings of a cane unmake her entirely, or the assault of a guard strip her of her autonomy. You’d been together until you were eleven. It had been some cruel joke by Madam B. The first installment of their mind control experiments that eventually led to Yelena’s undoing. Not that you knew that. No, you hadn’t known how deep Dreykov’s claws had been into her mind until you were twenty-six and suddenly free of the same prisons.

Were you ever truly free through? One minute you’re walking away from Yelena on the battlefield, one last hug from Natasha the only reason you’d lingered amongst the debris for as long as you did, and the next thing you knew you were surrounded by things you didn’t know and people you weren’t familiar with, being told that Natasha Romanoff had sacrificed her life to bring yours back after five years being just… gone.

You’d been gone before. You’d been gone in your head, in Dreykov’s mind games and his serums. You’d been lost in the traumatic replaying of your assaults and your beatings. There’s been a three week period of clarity in the red room when Madam B had weaned the dosage of your mind control. You’d been near comatose in a psychotic break. Whimpering and muttering nonsense about a closed-quarter assault that had taken place seven years ago, but only resurfaced in your memory at the ‘reward’ of conscious thinking.

After the blip, it had felt impossible to carve a path for yourself with no lead. Yelena was in the wind until she suddenly wasn’t, on your radar after an altercation with New York’s own Katherine Bishop. Eleanor Bishop’s incarceration following a scuffle on the ice rink was the news that pulled you to New York at all, chasing the only ghost that remained from your past life.

Your father had lost his life in a collision not even a year after Melina and Alexei disappeared off the face of the earth with you; a collision he caused after having one too many drinks at the bar and then insisting on driving home himself. Not an abnormal routine even when you had been around to kiss goodnight. And your mother had killed herself shortly after your tenth anniversary, unable to bear the weight of your disappearance and lack of recovery.

Natasha was dead. Gone. Not even on this planet anymore if your sources proved accurate, not that you trusted anyone enough to ever fully know the truth of Natasha’s final chapter. You hadn’t wanted to accept that it hurt you when you did find out of her passing; that it ripped something apart in you, you held onto the image of Natasha Romanoff as a big sister in Ohio, even though mind control and chemical subjugation.

Yelena didn’t fare a much better lifestyle after Natasha’s death had broken her either. She threw herself into work with Valentina when she wasn’t tending to Natasha’s grave or going on walks with Fanny. You’d tailed her to Milan once, hidden in the shadows. You’d almost been disappointed in her for not noticing you until it dawned on you that it was a sign of healing. Somehow, Yelena had healed from the traumas of the red room enough to only look over her shoulder when she felt it necessary for survival.

That’s how you ended up face to face for the first time in nine years. You’d snuck into a New York City apartment. A high level pimp in an underground sex ring operation. It wasn’t the cleanest line of work. Your hands were still bloodied at the end of every day. But it gave you peace of mind to know that you were taking out the good guys while still utilizing your skills. Melina and Alexei had taken you away from your life with no consultation, and you refused to let it be in vain. You refused to lose your way any more in life than you already have.

Yelena had been watching you. Not just Yelena, but the entire ‘New Avengers’ team that you’d seen officially deemed on nationwide television. You weren’t blind to Valentina’s objective and manipulation. You’d seen her blubbering for what it truly was, a cover up, a way to save her own ass that she’d initially never even foreseen, but even if that wasn’t her goal, you’d nodded quietly from the sidelines as you watched Yelena play her game.

She’s a lot better at this hero thing then she ever was at soccer. You know Natasha would be proud. You know you’ve healed in some capacity that you can think about Natasha at all without crying.

“Chto ty zdes' delayesh'?” Yelena questions, her cheeks flushed, her hair slicked away from her face, giving you the perfect and clearest view of her eyes and the few hundred emotions racing through her stare. Hurt, confusion, hesitation. She’s blocking every punch you throw at her, but she’s not giving any back. She was a higher level then you when she was still beneath Dreykov’s thumb. You know that she could win this fight in four minutes if she wanted to. But she doesn’t want to, because you’re still you, and she’s still Yelena, and somewhere out there in the universe there’s little six year old girls skipping to the playground together, a solemn blue haired pre-teen leading their way.

When you don’t stop fighting, your target just minutes out from returning to his apartment, Yelena grabs your wrist, spinning you into her chest until her biceps lock around you protectively, keeping you still even when you flail like a deadly catch out of water. ��Ty mozhesh' ostanovit'sya? YA ne khochu prichinyat' tebe bol'.” She seethes, and while Russian is neither of your mother tongues, not like it was Natasha’s, it feels like a piece of homecoming off of her lips. It’s been over two decades since you’d been just a little American fourth-grader with neglectful parents at the best. You hardly resonate with that girl anymore, but somehow you think it’s the only thing Yelena can see right now. “Stop it! Stop it.”

“Let go of me.” It’s been almost ten years since Natasha freed you from the confines of the Red Room with Yelena’s help, but neither of you have lost even a touch of the russian accent that Dreykov and Madam B drilled into you despite wanting perfect and seamless transitions between accents and dialects. It’s one of the many reasons you know, and have come to terms with the fact, that your entire life had been a rigged system from the time that you were seven-years-old and kidnapped from right beneath your parents noses. “L-Let go!” The feeling of Yelena’s arms around you is suffocating. It brings you right back to that last day in the Red Room before she’d advanced and you’d stayed behind at the same infuriating level, only kept around by Dreykov because of the experimental serum running through your veins.

It gets harder to keep the objective of your mission clear in your head the longer Yelena keeps you wrapped up in her embrace, reminding you of how much you’d missed her over the last five years. The blip had stolen half a decade from you, but it had been your own fear of rejection that had kept you away for another four.

“Tebe bol'she ne nuzhno borot'sya. My svobodny. Natalia osvobodila nas.” There’s a thickness in Yelena’s voice, an indication that Natasha is not an easy topic to hold, even though it’s been four years since the weight of her absence had reached Yelena. It will never get easier to live without her. To know that she sacrificed the idea of everything she deserved without even getting to have a taste of it at all before she died haunts you. It haunts you enough to let you believe that this is what she would want for you. It’s not. Natasha would be horrified to know that she’d plunged head first off a cliff and you’re still fighting, still adding red to your ledger when all she’d wanted for you and her and Yelena was to wipe it out entirely.

You were good kids once. It’s not your fault that the world was so cruel.

Your knees collapse, sobs shake your form, but Yelena does not let go of you for even a second. She sinks to the floor, holds you as you cry the way Clint had held her. It’s an intentionally restrictive position, one learned in the Red Room from handlers that go on to teach other handlers. Your wrists are grasped between her tight, unwavering hold. You can’t break free and claw at her wrist no matter how many different ways you move your knuckles. Your back is pinned to her chest, giving you the disadvantage to blindness. It doesn’t matter. You wouldn’t have stood a chance anyway. You needed this.

She doesn’t even bristle when your target walks through the door. She shoots him with her stun gun, a single pulse to the chest, and he crumbles to the ground like a sheet of paper. The sight sobers you, reminds you of your purpose even if it doesn’t have to be just that anymore.

Yelena helps you to your feet, and the minute her eyes fall upon you without the constant punching and scratching, she’s back in Ohio like she never left.

“Hey, lightning bolt.” She smiles coyly, and your own lips quirk into an emotional smirk. It’s easy with Yelena. Everything is. It doesn’t matter how many years pass, there will never be another person like her by your side. She’s your best friend, your sister, your thunderbolt.

“That is still stupid nickname.” You mention, and Yelena scoffs, shaking her head. Her stubborn persistence has not faded, even when it had been unmade temporarily by chemical subjugation imparted on her (and you) by her own mother.

“No. What is stupid is that… thing on your shirt. What is that? Shark with legs? Ridiculous.” She narrows her eyes on your appearance, realizing that despite surrounding yourself with the same workload and guilt, you’d grown into a version of yourself that was alike the child she’d known once. You think there are glimpses of that blonde girl in her too, even if her hair is bleached, slicked back with grease.

Your lips pout, “It is a landshark. I have read all about him. He is better than that vest you had.”

“No, no. My vest was practical. So many pockets. I put so many things in those pockets, I tell you. Should never have left it to Natasha. You know, she is very bad at keeping track of things.” Yelena’s voice strains when she remembers that Natasha will never actively be bad at keeping track of things anymore. It’s been years, but it never gets any easier to remember.

“My mission.” It dawns on you that this is a fork in the road. A clear split between what you’ve always known, and what you can remember dreaming about before you were anyone important. Your eyes trail back to the predator on the floor. You’d justified this job for four years because it was doing more good than just sitting around, and you feared letting your skills get rusty, but it wasn’t what you wanted. Not anymore.

“Come with me.” Yelena pleads, and you know that it’s the first time you’d heard her say anything like it since the last time you’d visited that yellow slide in Ohio. She’d begged to know the trick to going faster. You told her that she has to swing herself down from the bar, because there never was any secret keeping with Yelena. Not when you asked the right questions at least. “Come back to the tower. You can meet Fanny.”

“Fanny?” Your eyes crease, because you’d followed Yelena for years, but the name of the dog had never sparked your curiosity.

“Fanny Longbottom. She is named after Natasha.” Yelena nods before her face sobers, and you know that time has passed just by that level of composure and self awareness. You don’t possess it. She’s paced the path to recovery after Dreykov, but you still linger by the entrance, terrified of what awaits you when you finally accept that it’s all over and done with. You don’t know how something like that can just end and be over. It will never leave you, just like it’s never left Yelena. “You do not have to be alone. You are not alone. I am here with you. And, and I do not believe in Gods, or, or Jesus, but I believe that Natasha can see us. I have to believe that, because… because she is my sister, and if I do not believe that she is still here, then… then I do not know what to do anymore. But, we can figure it out together. Because Natasha did. And we can do anything she does, just not as good. It is infuriating.”

“I do not know how to start over.” You sniffle, stealing one last glance at the man on the floor before you decide that it’s worth it to see where freedom leads with Yelena.

“You do it with one step forward at a time.”

Chto ty zdes' delayesh' — What are you doing here?

Ty mozhesh' ostanovit'sya? YA ne khochu prichinyat' tebe bol‘ — Would you stop? I do not want to hurt you.

Tebe bol'she ne nuzhno borot'sya. My svobodny. Natasha osvobodila nas. — You don’t have to fight anymore. We are free. Natasha freed us.

[lynniethebeegirl]

I swear apartment hunting was not this difficult five years ago

[sinful-karateka]

I'll bite and talk about something that doesn't get enough spotlight in general, which are Demetri's and Eli's family life. So obviously several fic authors have their own twists and flavors to this, but if I may sell you something for a sec.

So far into the series, what we've got are these facts:

Demetri's Mom is the only family member to be mentioned in the show.

Eli's parents were mentioned a couple of times.

That should be enough context to deduce two things:

Demetri could be an only child to a single mother, and;

Eli's parents involve themselves in the stuff that he does — including karate, who knows — though they tend to be tone deaf with his actual needs.

There's strong evidence to why the boys act the way they act (brain functions notwithstanding, but this isn't the post for that), which is why I think these deductions make sense. How their hypothetical upbringing is part and parcel to how characters behave in this series. Of course societal influence comes in second because obviously you've got a show that encourages learning karate as defense against bullies, but this show is also about generational chains and traumas! So why wouldn't their home life inform the way it informs the LaRusso's, Lawrence's, and Nichols'? But I digress.

In the span of the entire series, I've held onto this headcanon that Demetri's neuroticism and ability to anticipate his actions carefully stem from a household that needs these systems in place, much more for someone who likes to be on top of things. Since he's just a student, the only authoritative figure who can make executive decisions... is his mom. Add to the fact that she may be a working mom, so when Demetri tells Daniel about certain restrictions in learning karate, what could have made her decide to just write a letter instead vs. taking the time out to go with his son herself? I know I know it's narrative writing but like do you seeeee where I'm at here

Eli's family life is by far gave us early indications of his dynamic with his mother — but not so a father — in earlier seasons. It's possible that his mom is a stay-at-home one, but if I were to push the bounds of this box even further, I'd even speculate that she's retired early if it meant that Eli's dad is the one making most of the living. Like of course they'd get mad at Hawk for getting a tattoo at his age, I think any parent would! But the way he tells Aisha to exclude him from her stories tells us that there's not a lot that his parents know about the life he lives as Hawk. At this point we all know the kind of effort it takes to successfully carry it out because he has to go home every night. It's either he a) puts in a lot of effort into concealing this identity once he gets home, or b) his parents are rarely ever home, which again, feeds into another assumption that maybe Mrs. Moskowitz works certain hours.

All we know is they're never around a whole lot for these boys, which is sad! and also again, very Indicative of their classification as awkward nerds pre- and early karate. When I read along certain fics that consider and include how the rest of their characters besides the found families they've formed, it gives much more depth and potency to writing them, their flaws, and how they think.

For all we know, Mrs. Alexopoulos could be a lesbian making fun of her son for not slinging pussy like she does being rizzless unlike her, but don't let me explain that when we have @demetriandelibinaryboyfriends!

[ranger-kellyn]

i wish i understood why cruise people so badly want you to go on a cruise with them, or to just experience one as well. there is literally nothing i would ever want to do on a cruise that would justify the cost. why did i have to listen to 20 minutes of my family trying to convince me to go on a cruise with all of them

[absolute-flaming-trash]

Oh I'm fucking SICK

Horrorfest: The Formula for Life [Yandere Mahito x Reader]

Title: The Formula for Life [Yandere Mahito x Reader]

Synopsis: Mahito is your creator, and you ought to listen to his rules. But something inside you wants more.

For Horrorfest request: I got two different requests for Mahito + creating a Frankenstein-monster style of reader, so this is for those!

Word count: 5400ish

notes: yandere, very dubious consent, power dynamic abuse, non-graphic descriptions of sex; violence and death (not against reader); Mahito in general is a warning

You are perfectly imperfect. 

Mahito is not entirely sure where he heard the phrase before –a women’s magazine, maybe, or some 1960s British film with upbeat, witty dialogue and blonde starlet at the helm–but as he stares down at your prone, sleeping body, he decides that it’s a phrase which suits you well.

You are a perfectly imperfect human, naked as the day he made you. Something in him puffs up at the thought, a hot sensation that makes his chest tingle. Yes, he made you, didn’t he? He is your… creator. Or as close to a creator as you will ever get in this world or the next, because whatever came before no longer matters. 

There is no before-you. There is only the you-of-now, resting with your eyes closed and your mouth slack and ah, here, now, finally–

You wake up.

Limbs jerk and your neck twitches and he wonders how much it hurts–the stitches criss-crossing your body like his own, keeping the various parts of you held together. The skin and muscle and sinew, bold black stitches sewn across your hands and arms and legs and chest and every single part of you. There is even, and he finds it a delightful detail, a stitch across one of your ears. It’s cute. 

Like you, he thinks. Cute.

Cute as you sit up on his makeshift operating table, testing out your newfound limbs. Cute as your eyes squint, as your pupils adjust to the dim lighting, as your gaze steadies on the only other living thing in the near vicinity–him.

Cute as you try to say your first words. 

“Ah…” You say, or try to say, and he wonders just how much of speech your soul remembers, and whether or not that connection will extend to the way your body works. No matter. He’ll just teach you, if necessary. 

He grins, and puts his fingers on either side of your lips, squishing them together.

“Hel-lo,” he says, slow, moving your mouth with the words. “Can you say that? Hel-lo?”

You blink at him, awareness and confusion seeping into your expression. The stitches that cross your face, going from the corner of your scalp across the top of your nose and landing around the curve of your neck, scrunch in with the effort.

Your mouth opens, and closes; he can hear the spittle in your mouth working, can see the way your cheeks move, the pink of your tongue testing out its boundaries.

And then–

Then, you lean forward, and he grins, eager to hear you try; but ah, you surprise him. Cute, ugly thing that you are. Your hand extends, wobbling, and your fingers loosely grip his own lips like they’ve never held anything before. 

“Hel-lo,” you mimic, slow, warbled, the word coming out almost foreign. “Hel-lo?”

He grins, and can’t help the croon of pure, unadulterated delight that follows. 

–

He has a lot to teach you. You, dear pet, are a lot of work. Not that he minds. Not that he views it as a chore. No, teaching you is some grand, extended hobby. More fun than reading, more fun than experimenting, even, because isn’t that what you are? A complex experiment.

A beautifully awfully blank creature that belongs to him: that’s what you are, and that’s the first thing he teaches you. That you are his, wholly, and everything you should know and do will come from him.

You accept it so easily that he laughs until he cries, and then laughs some more, when you reach up to touch his tears and ask him what they are, and why they come from his eyes, and why your own eyes don’t leak like that.

“Don’t worry,” he told you, catching his breath, adoring the way your recycled callused fingers felt on his cheeks. “You’ll get some of your own eventually.”

And you did, of course. At the most stupid time, which was frustrating, but something he could work with.

The first time you cried was the first time he brought a human home to experiment on. Some salaryman he’d fetched on his late night walk home, exhausted, barely able to hold up his briefcase.  Mahito had set you on the ground (you never complained about it being hard, and maybe soon he would give you something soft to sit on, sweet thing that you are) and told you to watch, excited to see how you’d react. Would you be confused? Scared? Or simply feel nothing, and watch blankly as the man died?

But ah, how disappointing. You’d cried, of all things. Your hands had flown to your cheeks, feeling the wetness; your skin had gone all splotchy–”My head hurts, I feel warm,” you’d told him–and your lips curled into a nasty frown.

“Why are my eyes leaking?” You asked, and Mahito had to think about it. Because he wasn’t quite sure. He decided to root around in your soul for the answer, and it was so strikingly simple that he imagined slapping himself for it. You felt empathy for the man. You thought he was like you. And if you were being hurt, well, you’d feel downright awful, too. 

Silly thing. So that was the next thing he taught you: that the people he brought down into the sewer were simply experiments. Not living beings, not like you, and certainly not like himself. Nothing for you to worry about at all.

And you simple, sweet thing, what do you do after he tells you this? You listen. You’re so good for him that when he pats you on the head and says, ah, silly goose, this is not a person, it doesn’t matter if it gets hurt, if it dies, if it screams until its mouth bleeds…. You believe him.

And now, you simply watch–or don’t, if he says it’s okay to go about your simple day–as he goes about torturing countless living souls. Stretching, twisting, bending, hurting. None of it makes a difference, because Mahito told you it didn’t. The most you react is sometimes covering your ears–”Why does sound hurt, sometimes?”--and curling up on the nest of blankets he’s seen fit to give you.

You’re a bit like clay, he muses. To be molded and shaped in just the right way. And if something doesn’t work out, well, he can simply squish you in and start over. 

There’s something freeing, something altogether delightful, in the fact that you learn what he teaches you, you know what he gives you. 

He does not teach the concept of freedom–why should he?--or the outside world. 

There shouldn’t be an outside world for a creature like you, only the world he creates for you; this damp, dim world where he is the only thing you need to care about.

-

You do come with some surprises. Some things, it seems, came along with your soul.

“I know what this means!” You blurt out, beaming, looking to him for approval as you grip the well-worn cover of one of his stolen books. You read the title slowly, carefully, but there’s that flicker of recognition in the way your mouth sounds the words, understands the connection between the printed text and its meaning. 

You know something he hasn’t taught you. 

He frowns–and you frown just as easily, setting the book down like it burned your precious fingers. Your eyes get wide and your mouth gets slack and you stammer out an apology, even if you don’t know why.

It is one of your most endearing qualities, this readiness to understand that what he thinks is bad is bad, and the uneasiness in him flickers away, just a bit. You’re still his clay, his creature, his pet. 

He reaches out and runs his fingers into your hair, gripping your scalp hard until you grunt. 

“Well,” he says, when you look up at him with those confused doe eyes. “I suppose you could read my notes back to me, when I do my work.”

If you had a tail, it would be wagging.

And oh, he almost drools on you, from the way your expression shifts from that confused worry to unadulterated delight despite the pain that must be radiating through your scalp–

It feels good, sometimes, to make you look this way. It’s a strange notion, one he doesn’t want to think too hard about. It’s only natural that you should feel pleasure when he is pleased with you, but why should he feel the same? 

It’s a conundrum. Something to write about in his notes–the private ones you’ll never see, of course. The notes about you, and himself, plans and plots, theories and guesses. 

It wouldn’t do, really it wouldn’t, if you saw his scribbles about making sure you didn’t learn something that annoyed him. A something that would make you want to leave, or know other people, or comprehend that you were your own individual being.

Ignorance is bliss, or so he’s read, and he intends to keep you that way. 

–

Oh, oh, oh–your breath comes out in wispy pitter-patters that almost match the rapid beating of your heart. 

This… This is not allowed. It is not allowed because Mahito, your master, your creator, said so. And what your master tells you, you obey, because that is how the world works. He’s told you so many times, and it makes perfect sense.

He knows what’s best, because he’s smarter, and stronger, and you’re just a simple person. You’re supposed to make him happy, and would it make him happy, to break this rule? No, is what he would say.

And yet–you wonder. He likes it when you learn, when he teaches and you actually get it and can repeat it for him on demand. 

Like when you learned to walk without falling down, or when he taught you to stay still while he squeezed and touched and tickled your various body parts to see if they still worked. That was difficult, and it took many tries, but when you finally did it right, he praised you. Even if it made your stomach flutter in strange ways, and you were sometimes sore afterwards.

Would doing this make him praise you? Or would it make him angry?

Your fingers ghost over the covers, some of them all cracked and worn, others looking fresh and shiny. Books. His books. They’re all over the world, in stacks and stacks. On his hammock, on the floor, on the stacked table he said was a “book shelf.”

He said you weren’t allowed to touch any of his books or papers. Only what he gave you, when he gave you, and sometimes he even pointed to a line and said don’t you read past that, little pet, and you didn’t.

But he wants you to learn, doesn’t he? And you can learn from these books. Maybe you’ll learn something that makes you better, helps you avoid those stumbles that sometimes make him frown. Like when you first remembered how to read, or the time you tried to talk to one of his experiments.

Oh, you didn’t mean anything by it! You were just–bored. And while Mahito hadn’t been as sore once you told him why you tried to talk to it, he’d still punished you (rightfully so, you had been bad) and told you never to do it again. Unless he said so. 

So–so yes. He said not to read these books. But. If reading these books helps you be better, and being better means you’ll make your master mad less often, then reading these books is the right thing to do.

You just won’t tell him, and he won’t have any reason to be mad about it.

It’s so simple, you can’t believe you hadn’t thought of it before. Well–you can believe that. You aren’t very smart, or so your master says, and he knows everything. 

This will help then, won’t it? He knows what’s in these books, but now you will, too. 

With a lurching feeling in your stomach, you pick up the first book, a hard one with a shiny glossy cover that says HUMAN BIOLOGY, and flip to the first page.

–

You read about lots of things, and every one of them makes you wonder. 

The biology books make you wonder why your body looks like this, but all of the pictures of people (inside and out) look like that. You had never wondered before; you looked like your creator, and that seemed normal enough. But… none of these other people were all mismatched and jumbled. None of these other people had scars everywhere, patched together by black stitches that sometimes itched. 

The romance books are nice, even if they make you feel a bit funny. Your master touches you like the people in these books touch each other, but it’s not quite the same. He never says the same words, “I love you,” or asking, “Do you want me?” before he touches. You’re not sure exactly what love is just yet, but you’re sure one of these books will explain it properly.

One thing you learn is that the world is not actually the world. The world, you thought–you were taught–was just… here. With Mahito. In these walls, within the damp stone. But there is a whole entire world out there with things you’ve never seen before. 

Things you’ve never seen or done. Things that make you wonder why you live one way, and the people in the books another. People seem to live in houses, but this place does not match the descriptions in the book at all. People get married–you’re not sure what it means, really, except they are together, so maybe you and Mahito are married, after all? He does kiss you, and more besides. 

People have children, and these seem to be tiny people that grow up. But you don’t have any children that walk down a staircase–you have seen these in photos, and patch them into your images of houses–in the morning and complain about being tired. You don’t have a yard with a garden to tend to; you wouldn’t mind it, actually, from the pictures of flowers you’ve seen. They could be pretty.

You wonder how they smell. The books tell you most of them smell quite nice. 

It is this sort of wondering that gives you the strongest itch to tell your master that you’ve been reading, so that you can ask him to take you outside. Sometimes you even mouth the word to yourself, when you’re alone. “Outside.” It feels wonderful on your tongue, all tingly. But then your stomach hurts and you think he would be mad about the reading, so you don’t ask at all.

Not everything you read makes your stomach curl. You read about lots of things, things that make you smile, make you laugh. Things that make you forget the reason you started reading was to make Mahito proud of you, to learn how to be better. Things that have nothing to do with being better at all.

Even you realize that learning about the world outside isn’t going to help you in here. But the world outside sounds so… so… big. Big and full of things to see and do and experience. Full of people, trees, buildings and even animals. 

Oh, you really do love the idea of animals. One of your favorite books is a well-worn guide book to birds. Birds. What a wonderful thing they must be, all pretty colors, flying around in the sky; in the outside. 

What would it be like to fly? To have feathers with so many different colors? To make what the book calls “chirps” and “calls”? You’ve tried to imagine what they must sound like, but it’s hard, with no frame of reference.

And you can’t exactly ask your master to mimic them, either.

Sometimes, in your dreams, you turn into a bird. Feathers sprouting from your stitches and taking you up in the air. Birds, the books say, use their chest and supracoracoideus muscles to fly, flapping their wings in just the right way. You don’t think you have supracoracoideus muscles, except in your dreams, and you’re too afraid to ask. 

You’re glad Mahito hasn’t asked you about your dreams in a while. 

–

You are being so good today. So good, in fact, that Mahito has told you to sit quietly on your nest while he works on his latest experiment. You didn’t even have to read him his notes–you didn’t mind, and told him so, but he’d simply patted your head and said it wasn’t necessary today. 

So instead, you watched quietly, legs pulled up to your chest. It was harder to watch, ever since you started reading, because sometimes–

Sometimes you wondered if it was true, that the experiments were not people after all. They certainly look like the people in your master’s books. They talk like the people, sometimes, when they’re not screaming. 

But if your master says they aren’t people, well, he must be right. It does get a little frustrating when they beg you for help, because most of them can’t even see your master at all. That makes you feel a little sorry for them, sometimes, if they haven’t been screaming too loudly. If they could see your master, they might know he’s not doing anything wrong when he hurts them. 

He’s just learning.

Today, the experiment seems to be going well. Your master is smiling, humming, writing down his notes. You hope you’ll get to read these ones, eventually, but he doesn’t always let you. 

(He’s even got a private book, you’ve seen him scribbling in it sometimes. It is, however, the one thing you dare never to read. Not even to learn.)

And then the experiment does the silliest thing! When your master touches him, elongating his arms into a strange shape, he tries to run. Silly experiments, they never get far; but this one tries. He screams–ouch–and begins to run, flapping his arms like they’re on fire. No, flapping them like he’s a–

“Oh,” you say, leaning forward, a delighted smile on your face. “Like a bird!”

The man does not last long. Whatever your master did takes full effect, and he’s misshappen, no legs, a wiggling blob. Not like a bird at all, anymore, but it was nice while it lasted.

Nothing happens, for a moment. And in that moment you realize that something is wrong. It’s suddenly quiet, suddenly heavy.

Mahito, your master, your creator, slowly turns his head towards you with an expression you’ve never seen before. His pupils are too small, his mouth open in something like surprise. “A bird?”

“Yes,” you say, slowly, not knowing yet, not catching on. “It’s–his arms, you see? The way they moved.” You sit up on your knees and mimic the way you’ve seen birds flying in still photographs, the way you sometimes try to fly in your dreams. “When birds fly, they use…” But you stop, because Mahito is frowning. And when Mahito is frowning, you are doing something wrong.

But what, and when, and…

“How would you know what a bird is, pet?”

Oh, no.

The realization makes your guts clench so hard that you almost think you wet yourself, and you throw your hands over your stomach at the strange new sensation. An awful stomach-churning feeling. 

You don’t quite know what it is, but a memory from a book you read comes wafting back; a book about a woman who lives alone and a man tries to break into her house and kill her. She’s scared. Is that what this is? Are you scared? 

There’s no time to really wonder about this, because Mahito stalks over and grabs you by the hair, yanking you up until you’re on your feet, reflexive tears in your eyes. 

You don’t struggle, because he has explained to you that when you’re bad, he’s meant to treat you like this. And sometimes when you’re good, too. You’ve never figured out if there is a difference. 

“You’ve been reading my books.” Not a question, and you don’t answer. “What else have you been reading about?”

“Nothing,” you say, your voice hoarse. You scrunch your eyebrows together: that wasn’t what you should have said. You have read about lots of things. He asked, and you should have told him. That’s the rule he gave you. Simple and easy.

“I’ve read about lots of things,” you correct, confusion spilling from your mouth. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to say nothing. I don’t know why I did.”

His eyes widen, and you don’t know what he’s thinking, but there’s that small-pupiled look of surprise again. “You lied,” he says.

Something in you wants to struggle against the tight grip on your hair. It hurts. You don’t like it, when it hurts, that something says. Even though your master says it’s okay for things to hurt. Which is right, your master, or that something-inside-you that has only gotten louder in the last few weeks. 

“I didn’t,” you say, some instinct pulled from deep inside you to deny, deny, deny. Then you pause. “What is a lie?” 

His expression never loses its own sense of almost horrified wonder, even as his other hand comes to caress your face, catching against your stitches. 

“When something isn’t true. And it’s not true, is it, that you haven’t read about anything else?”

“Yes–no.” Your little head is confused, and the sting in your scalp doesn’t help. “I did read other things. Lots of things.” You swallow hard. “I just wanted to know… to know…” 

But how do you explain it, this desire to know? The desire to know that went beyond pleasing him, making yourself better for him?

“Know what?” He murmurs, almost not a question, releasing your hair. You take the opportunity to put your hands in your lap, holding them tightly together, as all of the knowing you’ve been doing in the past few weeks catches up with you.

The questions come like bubbles in the water, one after another, having been crammed inside your head for far too long without a proper outlet.

“Why don’t I ever talk to other people? Why do I look like this, when they don’t? Why don’t we go outside? I want to see, I want to know–” Your fingers hurt from how hard you wring your hands together. “About the sky and the animals and the birds and what music is and how a train sounds and how many wheels do they have, and there’s more, there’s more, I just can’t say it all–”

You can see his expression shifting, but you’re so steeped in your own release of the knowing that you don’t heed it as a warning. Instead, you ask something that has been bothering you a bit. A lot, if you were honest, and you were supposed to be honest, weren’t you?

“What are we?”

His gaze narrows as he looks down at you, and you don’t want him to look at you like that. Not with the question you want to ask. 

“What are we?” He repeats, a hint of something in it that makes you feel ashamed. A joke–no, that’s not the proper word. Mockery, you think. Mimicry. Birds can do that, but, you’re not wanting to stay on the topic of birds just now.

“Are we…” Your brain fumbles for the word, flipping through the figurative pages you’ve read and read and read. “Married?” Yes, that was it. Many of the people in the story books you read had marriages. And other things, too, that you don’t have, and he hasn’t talked about giving you. 

“Do you love me?” You say, voice rising in pitch. “What is love, exactly? And why don’t we live in a house, in a neighborhood, with a street and a fence? Why don’t we have children? Why don’t I have a job or a dog or parents or ride an airplane–” 

He shoves a palm over your mouth and you do finally heed the warning: Stop. Talking.

Your breath comes out your nose against the top of his palm, and your stomach hurts, and all of this feels so awful that it’s a relief when he speaks, even if he’s not happy with you.

Mahito’s eyebrows furrow and he frowns and his mouth twitches before he smiles, but it’s not a smile that makes you feel better. It almost looks–like a lie, you think, the connections falling into place. He’s smiling, but he’s not happy, and that makes it a lie.

“Why do humans always want more,” he asks lowly, and you almost try to answer before he presses harder against your mouth, making your teeth ache. 

“Even broken ones, remade ones,” he continues, “always seek out more.”

If his hand wasn’t on your mouth, you would ask what he meant. You try to think about an answer, and maybe when he pulls his hand away, he’ll be happy that you came up with one. But it’s hard to get your mind around the question.

It’s too slippery, too vague. Are you the broken one? If so, he should fix you. And what was wrong with seeking out more? Isn’t that why he taught you things? Maybe you learned the wrong things from the books; but he should have read them to you, and corrected you, if he was worried about that.

It’s all too much, too confusing, and before you can stop them, tears are leaking from your eyes. Hot ones that make your eyes scrunch and you cry openly against his hand, wanting the confusion to stop, wanting the ache in your chest to go away.

Instinctively, your hands reach for his arm, holding him like you sometimes hold your blankets.

His eyebrows raise again, and there’s a flash of surprise before he smiles. This time, it doesn’t look like a lie.

“You poor thing,” he says, crouching down and bringing you to your knees with him. His hand leaves your palm and your little sobs come out openly, almost barking into the air. “You’re so confused, aren’t you?”

You nod, and it’s true, and you resolve to never lie again. Lying hurts. 

“I-I don’t know what I did wrong or why I did it wrong and you’re mad,” you tell him, open, honest, like you should be. The words come out fast and stumbled.  “I thought I could read books to be better but now I know about birds and I don’t know what they sound like or why I don’t have things and why I’m so… so…”

The word doesn’t come and that only makes you cry harder. 

He coos, and pulls you against his chest. It’s familiar, this soothing, and it makes you feel warm even as those confusing thoughts stay stuck to your brain.

“Want to know a secret about the two of us, pet?” He asks, speaking against your hair. “A secret about you?” Every syllable is soaked in the promise of knowledge.

“No,” you breathe out, and it’s that buried-deep-down instinct again, pushing the word through your lips for you. You’re glad, though, because you realize this wasn’t a lie at all. You don’t want to know a secret. If the books you’ve read are to be believed (and are they?) then secrets always lead to trouble.

You don’t want any more trouble. Not now. 

He presses a kiss to the top of your head.

“Really? I thought you wanted to know everything.” A touch of amusement in his face, and you cling to it like a lifeline. You remember this side of your master; the side that smiles and pats your head. It’s much better than the side that smiles when he’s not happy at all. 

Your arms latch around him, snuggling as close as you can get, your face pressed against his chest. “Can we go to bed?” Your words are muffled against him, but you’re sure he understands. “I’m so confused.” And tired, and worried, and scared. All these awful feelings swirling around in your guts, making you want to be sick. 

Mahito pulls away from you, and there’s a brief snatch of fear before he begins to wipe at your tears with his fingers. He wipes too harshly, and his nails catch on the lid of your eye, making it sting. You don’t pull away. You remind yourself, if he thinks this is how he ought to stop your crying, it’s the best option.

Is it really? says that deep-deep-deep-down voice, and you tell it to be quiet, you’re tired, you aren’t thinking right, and it should stay buried with whatever secret your master knows. 

“Poor pet,” he whispers, cooing. “It’s all too much, isn’t it?” You nod, chin wobbling. His hands go from your cheeks to your head again, petting you on both sides, snarling in your hair. “I could make it go away, if you want.” Sticky words that you want to reach for.

His hands smooth all around your head now, and it’s almost like he’s trying to feel something inside. Like your brain, like your thoughts, like everything that makes you tick. 

Your eyes get wide and all you know is that when your master says something, it’s true. 

Is it really? repeats that voice.

“You could?” is what you say, because it’s simpler that way. Simpler to remember the way things were before the world had birds, when what he said was exactly so. 

“If you’ll be agreeable to it,” he tells you. 

His hands trail from your head down your shoulders, your neck, your chest, down and down and down, tracing each stitch on your body. And something in you–that deep-deep-deep-down part of you–says this is wrong. He shouldn’t touch you, you should be screaming, clawing at him, getting out of here. 

But you push that something down, with the birds and the children and the stories of courtship, with the way your hands trembled as they flipped each page, with the way you felt proud of yourself for finishing each book. 

Those things were nice, until they were not so nice; until they upset the very creator of your being, and made you too confused and hurt to think about them. What good was knowing about the more when the more made him upset? 

It feels better, not to think too much. Not to know so much. And if he can fix you–if he’s willing to fix you ,then it’s what you want, too. You think. Maybe. Yes? 

“Of course I will,” you stay, trying on a smile.

You can’t tell, even as his hands go from touches to gropes, if it’s a lie or not. 

–

You’re finally sleeping now, and he doesn’t mind sighing, sprawling out on the floor and watching with his chin propped into his elbow.

What an awful human trait, this desire for more-out-there-in-the-world. What good is creating your own little creature if it always wants to find out its place in some grander scheme of things? The only world you should know is here, and him, and yet you had to get your grubby little hands on his books and read about ridiculous notions.

You probably didn’t even understand some of them, maybe most of them. That is fascinating, in its own right. He wonders what you would do, if you saw a pretty little robin hopping on the ground, about to get pounced on by some neighborhood cat.

Would your expression of delight turn to horror as the bird was mangled in the cat's jaws? Or would you not process it as horror at all, but simply an experience to learn about? Could he touch you to overlook it, as he has his experiments?

It’s tempting, sometimes, to see what you would do with more outside stimuli. But that temptation doesn’t go too far, because the whole point of your being was to shape you for himself. And that does not include this damned human desire to explore the inside and outside, forever expanding your knowledge of whos and whats and whens. 

Well. At least you didn’t put up a fight at the notion of being fixed. At least you seemed properly subdued, once he made it clear he wasn’t pleased. He’d brought you up well enough, after all. 

He’s not sure he can really pull it out of you. There are many ways to reshape the soul, and the soul he pulled into that cobbled-together body has certainly been–well, changed, by the experience. 

Could he change it further? Wipe out your memory of those books? Maybe he could reach further down, deep down into your soul, and yank out the offending desires like weeds from a garden.

Maybe so.

For his own pleasure, he’s willing to try again and again, until you are just right. 

He owes it to himself, after all, to never give up on his most thrilling experiment. 

[chibistarlyte]

i was notified by my SIL that denver was added to the mass deportation raid list, so i wanted to share information in case anyone needs to know what to do if they're targeted, no matter what city (images first, followed by text)

.

I am sending this message to everyone. Please forward to anyone you know who may need to know about these rights and resources as Denver was just added to the deportation raid list.

You DO NOT need to open your door.

You DO NOT need to let them into your home.

You DO NOT need to speak to agents.

You DO NOT need to sign absolutely anything.

Even if you are not a citizen, you have rights under the constitution. These include the right to be silent and the right to not have unlawful search. Even if you believe your rights are being violated, don't resist. It won't help.

Be prepared. Do the following:

1. If an officer knocks on your door: Do not open the door. Teach your children not to open the door. Officers must have a warrant signed by a judge to enter your home. ICE “warrants” are not signed by judges; they are ICE forms signed by ICE officers and they do not grant authority to enter a home without consent of the occupant. If you are unsure if a warrant is signed by a judge, do not open your door. Do not let them in.

2. If they do take you, do not lie about your status. Dont say anything. Find lawyers in your area. Don't call unless you need to. Those with lawyers are significantly more likely to not be deported. You can find low cost nonprofits here: https://www.immigrationadvocates.org/legaldirectory/

3. Create a safety plan. Know your emergency contact numbers. If you have children, let the school know who else can pick up your children if needed. Provide authorization in writing to an emergency contact allowing them to make legal and medical decisions for your child.

4. Emergency documents. Gather documents showing the length of time you have been in the United States; the most recent two years are most important. This can include U.S. income tax returns, utility bills, leases, school records, medical records, bank records, or other documents. Make sure your emergency contact knows where to find your documents.

5. Print a red card or find places that are giving them out. They are printed in multiple languages and outline your rights. You can present them or show them through your window to any ICE agent who may approach you. DO NOT OPEN YOUR DOOR TO GIVE IT TO THEM.

https://www.ilrc.org/red-cards-tarjetas-rojas

[postplus-protest]

Hey everyone! 

I know it’s been a minute, but with the recent news that Automattic has laid off a portion of its workforce (including a sizable percent of tumblr's staff), it's a good time to have a quick chat about the future.

Now, as far as we know, tumblr isn't going anywhere just yet. No need to panic! However, I do recommend that you take into consideration a few things.

1: Backup your tumblr! Here's tumblr's official guide to doing so. It's always a good idea to have backups of your data and now is a great time to do so.

*I’ll also be including a handful of other links walking you guys through other backup methods at the end of this post. As I understand it, each of them have different pros and cons, and it might be a good idea to have more than one type of backup depending on what you want to save/how you’d like the backup to look/etc.

2: Have some place your mutuals/friends can find you! A carrd or linktree is a great way to list off anywhere you might find yourself on the internet. 

3: Once again, don't panic! We don’t know that anything is happening to tumblr anytime soon—it just doesn’t hurt to have a backup. Better to have a plan now instead of being blindsided later.

*The other backup methods I’ve been able to find:

—First off, someone put together a document with several backup methods & pros and cons for each. (I believe it originated from a tumblr post, but with search being the way it is I haven’t been able to track it down.) This goes over a lot, but I’m adding a few more links to this post in case they might be helpful too. 

—This post and this video were a good guide to the older “bbolli tumblr-utils backup for beginners” method mentioned in the doc (I used them during the ban in 2018 to make sure I had my main blog saved).

—I’ve also found a handful of python & python 3 tumblr backup tutorial videos out there, in case those would be helpful for you. (I haven’t personally tried these methods out yet, but the videos seem to go over the updated version of tumblr-utils.

[hiwaaranit]

I should have known if I brought up wc I’d have to talk about. But it includes of a lot of issues with feral/furry designs that use feathers in hair. I don’t necessarily know why the conversation only started and stayed in the wc fandom when horse/wolf/lion feral fandoms are still doing the same thing.

Now having feathers in the design isn’t a racial attack first thing off because there’s a lot of context around what feather’s are used, the shape, and where they are placed. If the look is anything like "rave Coachella looking tribal fantasy feathers and beads" it’s probably insensitive. I’m not to sure why it has to be feathers, I honestly think the wc fandom are holding themselves back when it comes to forwarding designs in a unique way. Tail feathers are also left out in this conversation as well, one or two feathers or feathers in the shape of a birds tail are fine but bunched together feathers are leaning to close to how we have our horses wear feathers. This is in the context of the design already looking like a "medicine cat" already its bad. it’s like those yt girls wear feather head bands but animal addition.

I’ve talked about this before but silhouettes are so important, like Native American stereotypes are on the global scale you cannot escape this silhouette you just have to avoid it. There’s no "but it’s in so many other cultures" no it’s not it’s totally unique to our people that’s why people flock to it because it’s so "mysterious, sacred" whatever their weird twisted up reason is. There’s so many unique ways to break this silhouette you just gotta be more creative. And I feel like instead of being more creative and coming up with totally different ideas it’s just easier to lean on these visual native stereotypes to get across "wild mythical nature fantasy"

I could get into the horse fandom and the weird situations they’re doing over there but that’s another crazy thing. I should say because someone will ask, ostrich feathers on like show horses or knights or puss in boots style is fine not the same thing (breaking the silhouette) they’re not related.

And it comes down to understanding what you are drawing and where this imagery comes from, I’m not gonna get my feelings hurt because of your design but I’ll question why are you drawing stuff like that. You cant remove that cultural/stereotypical imagery, and if you don’t care about it then you don’t care about the history or how it looks on your character and art.

I made it this far on the internet but if you want to be conscious about these things good on yea it doesn’t take much☺️👍

Edit: can’t believe I gotta say this but yes other cultures utilize feathers, if people are using feathers that are used in their culture then don’t harass them. That’s weird have some common sense. Ostrich feathers, peacock feathers it’s actually so interesting how native birds to an area affect the culture there.

[sailorsoons]

Chat, is that Rizz? (j. ww)

PAIRING: Streamer!Wonwoo x Streamer! F.reader 

SUMMARY: Your rivalry with Wonwoo has existed for as long as you’ve been streaming. It’s fun, and both of your communities love it. Wonwoo is happy to play along - at least until you question his rizz while live, and he feels like he should remind you just how much rizz he has.

WC: 5,366

AU: Established Relationship, Faux Rivals 

GENRE: Smut, a hint of fluff

RATING: 18+ Minors are strictly prohibited from engaging in and reading this content. It contains explicit content and any minors discovered reading or engaging with this work will be blocked immediately.

WARNINGS: This is so cheesy and stupid and I don’t care!! Explicit language, teasing and light antagonization, gamer and streamer speak in spots, sexually explicit content including spanking, fingering, unprotected sex, hint of overstimulation, playful banter and teasing during sex, bodily fluids, soft dom if you squint. UNEDITED.

A/N: Originally written on sailorrhansol for @daechwitatamic I'm pretty sure this came out of us doing god awful puns and this was the result.

A/N 2: This is unedited sorry!

MASTERLIST | ASK | PERMANENT TAG LIST 

“YOU’RE NEVER GOING TO HIT IMMORTAL WITH THAT STRAT, WONWOO,” you tease, cringing as he gets gunned down by the enemy team’s Reyna. “Rotated too early.” 

“Here they go,” Seungcheol mutters into the mic, his exasperation making you grin as you fix your eyes on the screen. Like both you and Wonwoo, Seungcheol has already died in the round, watching as Mingyu navigates the map to pick up the bomb to attempt to save the round. 

“I’m sorry, I couldn’t hear you while you were dead,” Wonwoo shoots back. You scrunch your nose, knowing that it is, unfortunately, true. “I was in the land of the living. You know. Because I didn’t dry peek long and die.” 

“Seungcheol told me to push site!”

“Maybe push with util, though? Or be better.”

On the right side of your screen, you can see your chat blowing up. You grin and roll your eyes - you aren’t actually bothered by Wonwoo and you know he isn’t mad either. Playing games with him always elicits teasing and a steady back and forth.

Once upon a time, his poking might bother you. Now, you’ve played enough games with Wonwoo over the last two years to know better. It’s all in good faith, and it’s part of the joke, this ongoing way the two of you bicker and go tit for tat. 

“I am nothing if not an accommodating teammate,” you offer back. Mingyu manages to get to the site, swinging wildly to check for enemies. “I’m a helper. I like to help people.”

“You can help me by shutting up,” Mingyu mutters. 

“Yeah,” Wonwoo echos, a smirk prominent in his voice. “Shut up.” 

“No I’m talking to you too,” Mingyu assures. “And you did rotate without me and too early. So she’s right.”

That shuts Wonwoo up, a chorus of laughter echoing in the headset as your team watches Mingyu try and go for the clutch. Your laughter fades and you mute yourself on Discord in an attempt not to distract Mingyu, eyes flicking over to the comments flooding in on your stream.

It’s a rewarding feeling to see how many there are, donation notifications popping up on the top of your screen making your heart stutter a little. You can see Seokmin moderating as usual in the chat, reminding people the commands for frequently asked questions and removing anything weird. 

There is a lot of weird. 

“Thank you for the dono, Shaezy98. Yes, PiCheolwinning, I hit Immortal a few days ago! What do you guys think about doing a nonstop stream until I hit Radiant? Would that be fun?” 

Resounding yes responses flood the comments. You grin, pulling your legs up into the chair to make small talk with the community you’ve so carefully built over the last few years. You see a suggestion in the comments that makes you laugh, leaning forward to unmute yourself in Discord. 

“Hey Wonwoo,” you ask. “My chat wants us to try 1v1 where we customize each other’s settings. Thoughts?” 

It’s a common question. People love the dynamic you and Wonwoo specifically have, enjoying seeing the friendly rivalry grow over the years. You can recall several streams you’ve done just playing together, hosting charity events and promoting new games as a dynamic duo. 

Some wonder if you’re together. There’s no hard evidence, but there's chemistry there. A lightness to your banter that comes with a familiarity your fans try to piece together, a gentleness that sounds the edges of your insults to make sure the other knows your kidding. 

Wonwoo lets out a deep hum. “You’re gonna go demon mode on my settings. Then I’d have to change them back.”

You can’t help but roll your eyes. Of course he’s worried about his settings, as if he can’t export them. “Is that a no?”

“What’s in it for me? Besides my fucked up settings and the risk you change all my weapon skins.”

Clearing your throat, you put on your best telemarketer voice. “The benefits to this offer are endless. For a limited time only, you can take advantage  of quality time spent with me-” 

“Not a benefit.” 

You ignore his interruption, a vein in your forehead ticking at the comment. “You can protect your honor and pride as a gamer, and as a special early bird offer, I’ll give all donations from that stream to a charity of your choosing. Thoughts?” 

Mingyu ends up losing the round, earning a resounding sigh and curse from everyone on the team. You move your mouse around to click through weapons and set yourself up for the next round. “They’re going to force,” you say, momentarily distracted from your sales pitch by strategy. “Wonwoo I can buy you a marshall.”

“Yeah.” 

You make the transaction for him and drop the weapon so he can pick it up, noting the comments coming in from viewers.

NoLo88: See, she always does stuff for him - I swear they’re together!!!

EzBoyZ: No way would she date him.

NoLo88: Are you kidding? Have you seen Wonwoo? He’s like the hottest streamer ever.

LoLPog69: Ugh I hope they’re not dating, she’s better single. 

 “See, I’m fun. I’m nice. I’m a team player who helps win games. What do you say?” 

“Fine, it’s a date.” 

The way he so casually says it makes your stomach flip. You hesitate for a moment, blinking in surprise before you realize he’s said it without really thinking about it. Biting  your bottom lip to fight a smile, you ask, “Oh? A date? Chat, is that rizz?” 

“Oh fuck off,” Wonwoo huffs, trying to cover up his mistake. You can’t help it - your smile spreads as he rushes to gloss over what he said. “It’s a figure of speech.” 

“He’s trying to rizz me, chat!”

“In your dreams.”

“You should change your tag from WonuWizard to WonuRizzard.” Wonwoo curses as he gets killed. You cackle, killing an enemy and taking their gun. “Oo, an operator. Do you want this, Wonwoo? What about changing your tag to RizzardOfOz?” 

Wonwoo groans on the other end of the mic and you can imagine the way he pushes back in his chair, sinking a little further down as he spectates the match. “Yes, save the op for me, please. Also, get your chat out of mine. I’m going to get a Rizzstraining order.” 

You note the way he says for me when he asks for the weapon you’ve picked up to keep for him. It is a favor to him, intended for him. Your viewers notice. 

Seungcheol swears. “You two are insufferable to play with sometimes. We’re trying to win a game.” 

Mingyu huffs. “Just stop Rizzsponding, Cheol. They’ll shut up eventually.” 

With a laugh, you settle in and focus on the game. Even as the teasing dies down, you and Wonwoo fall into a comfortable give and take, working together to win the next few rounds and eventually, the entire match after Wonwoo closes out the game with an ace. 

“Wow.” You lean back in your chair, stretching. It’s getting late at night, and you feel a little tired. “Mad Rizzpect, Wonwoo. Up your rizz game and maybe I’ll go on a date with you.” 

“Up my rizz game?” His tone has shifted as everyone starts talking over one another, Seungcheol and Mingyu getting into it over something sports related. You’re focused on the soft purr of Wonwoo’s voice, though. The raspiness of it. “If I wanted to rizz you, I would.” 

Fuck. His voice. You shift a little in your seat, clicking around your secondary monitor that is off stream to pull up Wonwoo’s stream. It loads, immediately showing his dark room with slow pulsing RGB lights in the background and shelving displaying different collectible items. 

Wonwoo looks like he always does: leaned back casually in his seat, the glow of his computer reflecting in the lens of his black-frame glasses. Dark bangs hang in his eyes, the rest of his hair hidden by the hood that is pulled up over his head. He’s chewing on one of the strings of his hoodie as he talks to his chat, voice gentle.

His hoodie has a little animated version of him over the left side of the chest, the character winking and giving finger hearts. You feel your lips twitch - you always loved the little cartoon version of himself. As always, he looks totally at ease. It’s the same even in an intense game, Wonwoo never feeling the need to lean closer to the screen or showing the tension in his shoulders.

Calm. Cool. Collected.

Except when you can force a rise out of him, of course. 

A bunch of notifications flood in your chat. You look over to them, reading through them and grinning. You pull your mic toward you, shaking your head. “Ugh I have all the Wonwoo apologists in my chat defending your rizz.” 

“Good” he shoots back. You watch in delayed time as he smirks on his end. He so rarely does a full smile, but you know it’s beautiful when he does. “You need to take Rizzponsibility for implying I have no rizz.” 

“No way,” Mingyu gasps. “Two Wonwoo puns in a single night?”

“Puns and attempted rizz?” You ask, cocking your head. “Huge day for Wonwoo fans everywhere.” 

“Again, that wasn’t rizz. You’ll know it when I use it.”  

“Sure, sure. Or maybe you just… don’t have any.” 

You watch the tick in Wonwoo’s jaw. A grin spreads across your face and you try to suppress it, knee bouncing in anticipation as you watch the minute changes in his expression. He drums his fingers on the armrest of his gaming chair, hypnotizing you for a moment. He has long, elegant fingers paired with a beautiful set of hands. 

“You really think I have no rizz?” he asks, voice low and oh you know that voice. You suppress a shiver and shake your head ‘no’ before realizing that he can’t see you. Or he does - because he says, “Use your words like a big girl.” 

If you weren’t on stream, your eyes might roll back in your head at the soft purr of his voice, the way in which he immediately switches gears, put out by your accusations that you already know are false. 

And because you’re you, you push him a little more, interested to see where it goes.  “Are you watching my stream, Jeon Wonwoo?”

“Mhmm. Trying to learn rizz, since apparently I have none. Go on, show the class. What have you got?”

Seungcheol and Mingyu both ooo and quiet down, putting you on the spot. Heat tiptoes up your neck to your ears. Being a streamer by nature is being under the spotlight, especially when you have a high follower account. This is different though, the pressure suddenly flipped to you as your friends settle in, waiting. 

“It’s all about the charizzma,” you joke, voice a little raspy. You swallow, eyes flicking to your secondary monitor where you can see Wonwoo watching his screen with a growing grin. “I can’t teach you how to have that, Jeon.” 

“What can you teach me, Angel?” 

Jesus. Fucking. Christ. You know that commanding tone anywhere, the soft shift from teasing to something a little darker, a little sharper. He doesn’t care that you’re both on the screen for live viewers, that this will be recorded, or that you have friends on the call, who have taken a backseat to watch the fencing match. 

And the angel. Sure, it’s a small part of your brand and gamertag, but the way Wonwoo says it implies something intimate. Darker. A gentle caress of the word against your skin. 

When you come up with nothing, Wonwoo grins on screen, devastatingly handsome. He knows he’s surprised you. “Not a problem,” he quips. “I’m an excellent teacher. I can teach you how to rizzpond to a direct question.” 

He surprises you by ending the stream suddenly. You blink in surprise, both Seungcheol and Mingyu calling Wonwoo’s name, assuming his internet has gone out or has been interrupted. With shaking hands, you remove one side of your headphones, listening. Heavy footsteps sound in the hall and you squeak, hitting the hotkey to show be right back on your stream.

Wonwoo stands in the doorway. He gives you a single, lopsided smirk before waltzing toward you, a predator stalking prey. His dark eyes are focused on you, drinking you in. 

“Noooo,” you yell at him, giddy and panicked all at the same time. You hold your hands out to push him away but he links your fingers instead pressing his palms against yours and pulls you toward him. He jerks your computer chair toward him, your knees crashing against his. “Hiiiii.” 

“No rizz, huh?” his voice is barely a murmur. 

“Ummm,” you glance over to your set up where the be right back glows. Wonwoo follows your line of sight before dropping his gaze back to you, eyes asking a question. “Do you… want to?”

Elation falls across his face. “I’m down if you are. You know that.” 

Chewing your lip, you smile and nod. You’ve long been planning to reveal that the two of you have been dating for a long time, and the present feels right. Not to mention the implication of him ending the stream and you slamming the be right back on at the same time. 

Wonwoo leans down and grabs the arms of your computer chair, spinning it around and pushing you back into the frame. He leans over your shoulder, the smell of sandalwood and lavender enveloping you, making your head spin. He hits the hotkey to turn your stream and mic back on. 

Your eyes drop to where you’re displayed in the camera, Wonwoo leans against the back of your chair, chest pressed to your shoulder as he grins at the camera. Your thighs clench, seeing that same cocky smirk you’re used to making a brief appearance on camera. 

“Sorry chat,” Wonwoo announces. “Sorry Cheol, Mingyu. I have to handle the disrizzspect going on in my own home. Say byeeee to chat, Angel.” 

“Byeeee,” you squeak on instinct, watching as he waves while your comments explode. He closes out the stream and cuts off the Discord call where Seungcheol and Mingyu are screeching, shutting down your computer entirely so there’s no chance for accidents. 

Stomach fluttering, you take off your headphones and look up at Wonwoo to find he’s already staring down at you, dark eyes hungry. You slide down a little in your chair, feeling your mouth go dry. You got what you wanted, but now that he’s there and you can feel the intensity crackling between you, you can’t help but balk just a little.

“What?” he asks, lips twitching at the corner. “Rizz got your tongue?” 

“I guess maybe you have a little rizz.”

“Ohhh, I see.” Wonwoo pulls your seat backward, spinning your chair around so that you face the bed. He lets go of the chair and walks backward, sitting on the edge of your bed. You stare at him, heart beating, breath quickening. “Now that there’s no one here I have rizz.” 

You pout. “It’s our brand.”

“Mhmm.” He leans back on your bed, the mattress dimpling under his weight. He pats his thigh with one hand. “You just love getting under my skin, don’t you?”

You climb out of your computer chair, stumbling a little as the blood starts to flow from where they were crisscrossed. He tsks at you as you regain your footing, padding over to where he sits, legs spread, thighs straining against his athletic shorts. 

Carefully, you climb into his lap. Your body buzzes as you settle over him, one knee on either side of his hips. You lean your weight into him, hands resting on top of his shoulders. Even through his hoodie, you can feel how warm his skin is. 

“Are you happy now?” 

“Huh?” 

One of his hands leaves the bed and cracks against your ass, starling you. You squeak and lean forward, the sting making your eyelids flutter. “You’re not even listening, are you?” 

“I wasn’t.” 

His hand kneads your ass through your shorts, soothing the sting from the slap. “I asked, are you happy now? Did you get what you wanted?” You nodded, letting your head hang down, burying your face in his neck. It’s warm and safe there, your thoughts sticky as his hand continues to explore your ass. “Remember when I said use your words like a big girl?”

“Yes. Yes, I got what I wanted.”

“And what was it you wanted?”

When you hesitate to answer, too focused on your slamming heart and stuttered breathing, his hand comes down across your ass again. You curse, melting into him, letting him bear your weight entirely. “Wanted to rile you up.”

“It worked.”

“I can tell.” 

Wonwoo’s hand trails to the edge of your shorts, fingers dancing along your thighs. You’re hype aware of his touch and the way it sends fire through you, stomach in knots and cunt aching between your legs as he fingers the hem of your shorts. 

“Is it okay that I interrupted your stream?”

The question is so much softer than he was a second ago. You lift your head to look at him. His face swims into focus, a momentary flicker of nervousness. Wonwoo is rarely impulsive, but the move to announce your rivalry is more romantic than most people knew was unplanned and spur of the moment. 

“It’s definitely okay. Is it okay with you?”

He nods, leaning forward to run his nose up the side of your neck. He inhales, taking in your scent and humming while the hand running along your shorts pulls at the fabric. “Just wanted to make sure you wouldn’t be upset.”

“No. Now the people in your chat know you’re mine.”

“Yours?” His mouth brushes against the hollow of your throat, hot and wet. Your head tilts back, lips parting as his tongue flicks against your skin. “Just wanted to claim me, is that it?”

“Your fans are horny?”

He nips your neck and a moan drips from you. “Yours aren’t?” 

“Not like yours.” 

“Too bad for them. There’s only one angel who can get under my skin.” Wonwoo takes you by the waist and rolls you over. Your breath leaves you in a huff as your back hits the mattress. He leans over you, knees caging you in on either side of your hips as he presses his mouth to your jawline, sucking kisses up toward your ear. “Only one drawback - she thinks I have no rizz.” 

You bring your hands to the hem of his hoodie, desperate to feel him. Sliding your hands under the fabric, you press your palms against his stomach, feeling his muscle flex as his skin warms your hands. His mouth is wet against your skin, teeth nipping your earlobe teasingly, drawing a raspy sound from you. 

“I think,” you gasp as he drops a hand between your legs to press against your clothed cunt, “That she might be wrong about the rizz.”

Wonwoo’s fingers apply pressure, barely circling your clit through the fabric. It worsens the ache between your legs, your thoughts getting scattered as you squirm underneath him. He brings his mouth to yours, stealing a greedy kiss. 

This is the part of Wonwoo that you know only you see. Where the calm and collected gamer turns into an all consuming force, stealing the breath from your lungs as his tongue presses against yours. You kiss him back with equal want, whimpering into his mouth as he presses his fingers a little harder against you. 

“Please,” you breathe against his mouth between kisses. “I know I was mean but please.”

“Why should I?”

“Because I’m sorry!”

“Are you, though?” He mouths down your neck to your collarbone, the sting of his teeth soothed by the rough pass of his tongue. “You got exactly what you wanted and more.” 

“I ammmm.”

His laughter is rough. The hand between your legs comes up to the top of your shorts, dipping past the waistline to sink downward. He groans when he feels the dampness of your underwear, the way he’s already worked you up. 

“No rizz,” he mutters to himself. You throb when you feel his fingers pull your underwear to the side, knuckles running up your wet folds where he stops at your clit to press down. Your nails scrap against his abs, body tensing under the stimulation. “This is a wet fucking fucking pussy for someone who has no rizz.” 

You can’t think of a response, mind reeling as Wonwoo plays with you properly. You writhe in his hands, melting as his fingers brush up and down your slit before coming back up to gently circle your clit. Your feet kick a little under him, unable to sit still as he works you - teases you. 

Fuck you realize he might do this all night. 

“You have a lot of rizz,” you breath, pressing the back of your head into the bed, gasping in surprise as he sinks a finger into your entrance. Already you’re clenching down on him, wanting more. “Fuck.” 

“I don’t know… maybe I just… lack what you need.”

“No,” you answer quickly. “Just… ugh like that.” 

The ease at which he knows how to touch you makes everything feel tenfold. Wonwoo knows you like the back of your hand, both intimately and mentally. What had started as two streamers annoying one another had turned into friendship at some point - you’d met him at a convention and realized he was far gentler and softer than you imagine. 

That had turned into something further - something deeper. The want when you were around him was something that you hadn’t expected, but it hasn’t gone away since. Even though you get to have him like this, finger stroking your inner walls and palm pressed against your clit, you always want more. Can’t stop wanting him. 

“Want,” you mutter, the only word you can think of. You feel the smile pressed against your skin, the wetness slicking his fingers as he presses in a second, stretching you. Your hips can’t off the bed but he pushes you back down, making you whine. 

“Why should I?” 

“Cause.”

“Not a good enough answer.” 

Wonwoo starts to retract his hand and you scramble, digging your nails into his hip to claw him back toward you. “Cause I love you.” 

“Closer…” 

“Cause I want you.”

“So close.”

“Cause I need you.” 

He hums in thought. “Good enough. Help me take these fucking shorts off.” 

Wonwoo pulls his hand out of your shorts and leans upward. You rip your hands from his hoodie to slide your shorts off, peeling your underwear down as you do. He taps you on the thigh, fingers sticky from your arousal as he shifts higher. You know what he’s asking, scooting backward on the mattress to give yourself more real estate.

His mouth comes back down to yours, lips soft. You love kissing him, tongue tangling as you bring your hands up to slide your fingers through his hair. He makes an appreciative sound, one hand supporting his weight as he hovers over you while the other slots back between your legs to resume where he left off.

Unrestricted by your shorts, he’s able to thrust his fingers properly. Your gasps break his kisses, hips rolling to meet the stroke of his fingers. He’s always been skilled with his hands, able to peel you apart, pressing the pads of his fingers into that sweet spot over and over again. 

His thumb presses against your clit, adding stimulation as he moves it from side to side slowly, aided by the wetness gathered there. You let yourself get lost in him, pressure tightening in your stomach as you climb toward an orgasm. 

Your hands are everywhere - pulling at his hair, pulling at his shoulders, pulling at his arms. He lets you grip at him, lets you squirm beneath his ministrations, letting you have free reign. It’s a favor to you, in a way. He’s letting you get away with your earlier teasing, not drawing it out like he’s known to do, not making you beg.

Moans bracket the wet sound his fingers make in your cunt as he works you to the edge. Your breaths come out in short hisses behind clenched teeth and your thighs squeeze his hand. He’s unfettered, laughing roughly against your ear, breath hot.

“What would your chat say?” he asks. “Huh? What would they say if they knew you fell apart like this? That your cunt melts around my fingers.”

“Fuck,” you whisper, so close to your orgasm that your ears are starting to buzz. 

“All this time they thought we were frenemies. Have no idea I get to have you like this whenever I want.”

“I’m gonna-”

“Yeah, you’re gonna.” His fingers press harder, the pressure mounting further. “Gonna come all over my fingers, yeah? Just like you always do?” 

You do. 

Everything comes together in one, cohesive snap. You arch into him, muscles squeezing, teeth clenched, eyes shut. It feels good when you unravel, coming around his fingers as they fuck you through it, determind to extend your high for as long as he can. 

Your breathing is ragged by the time you start to come down, shirt sticking to your skin and neck and face flushed as you try to escape him. He laughs a little, hand slowing until his fingers are still inside you, pressed deep. 

When you open your eyes, the room is spinning. It takes you a second to focus on him. His head is hanging, gaze focused where his fingers are still shoved in your pussy. You can see your arousal shining on his wrist and feel where you drip down the curve of your ass. 

“A lot of cum for someone with no rizz,” he notes, lifting his head to grin at you. 

“Oh shut up.” 

“Oh?”

He retracts his hand and you make a pitiful sound at the loss. He stands up, suddenly leaving you cold and shivering. He brings his fingers to his mouth absently, popping them between rosy lips as he sucks your fluid off easily, making an appreciative sound. 

“I mean if you want me to leave-”

“No, no! No need for that.” He smirks. “You’re already… here and stuff.”

“And stuff.” 

Rolling his eyes, he peels the hoodie up and over his head. You watch, suddenly entranced by the blue tint on his tan skin and the way his muscles flex when he leans to kick off his sweats. Wonwoo is beautiful, his body made up of equal parts streamlined edges and softness. 

Sleeper build, you’d joke the first time you saw him shirtless. On stream, he’s always hidden in baggy shirts and hoodies. You’d never realized he was hiding a body that was at peak athletic form, oversized clothing giving way to rippling arms and a hard chest. 

Naked, he shuffles back to the bed. You let him pull you out of your top, thankful for the warmth of his hands skating over your chilled skin. Your nipples tighten in the cool air, your toes curling at the sensation as you lay back on the bed and look up at him.

Haloed by blue light, Wonwoo looks like some sort of demon or angel. You’re not sure - perhaps he’s equal parts. His hands reach behind your thighs and lift, pressing your legs upward toward your chest. The stretch feels good but it also pries you open, making you writhe when you feel the weight of his cock on your pussy. 

“Hold yourself open for me,” he murmurs gently. Your hands reach behind the back of your knees, pulling. He gives you a lopsided grin, leaning over you to press his weight into the backs of your thighs, helping. “Stay just like that, fuck.” 

You do as he says. You have no other choice, especially when he presses the head of his cock into your entrance, sinking in slowly. You let out a loan moan shaped in his name as he presses in, the fit tight and the pressure delirious. 

Wonwoo bottoms out, holding himself to you, hips to ass for a second. He presses in all of his weight, the mattress creaking under you as he does. He drops his chin to his chest, curses as he takes a few deep breaths, chest heaving. 

You fuck him up too. You know it and you love it, watching as he looks up at you, eyes glazed over with lust, but still full of love. It simmers right at the surface, so obvious that you wonder how anyone could ever not see it when it’s right there.

Slowly, he starts to move. You suck in a breath, head falling to the side. Your fingers ache where you grip your thighs, knuckles shaking. A light sheen of sweat wicks your legs, making your hold slip a little. It’s okay, though. Wonwoo leans into you, keeping you pried open as his hips fuck into you at a steady pace. 

Each thrust feels like it punches the air from your lungs. You draw in deep breaths when you remember, otherwise distracted with the way he crowds you in, crushing you to the mattress. The feeling of him is insane, your thoughts cobwebbing together, the only word you can think of being his name. 

He pants, his arms scooping around your shoulders to pull you into him. A curse leaves your mouth. He’s got you folded in half, no escape from the drill of his hips, the air turning to static between you. Wonwoo is pressed close and you somehow wish you were closer, wanting to drop the grip on your thighs to hold him instead.

Wonwoo reads you like a book. “Go ahead,” he hisses between thrusts. 

“Thank you,” you gasp, dropping your legs in favor of sliding your hands through his sweaty hair, nails scratching his scalp. You feel him shiver and you do it again, pulling his face to you so that you can brush your mouth against his, barely a kiss. “Fuuuuuuck, Wonwoo I-”

“I know.” 

“Close close close.”

He doesn’t pick up his pace but he throws his weight into you more, fucking you deep and hard. You see stars, squeezing your eyes shut as you slide against one another, muscles aching, lungs screaming. You feel like you can’t breathe but you don’t care, skating the line of your second orgasm so close.

Your heart pounds in your ears. Your breath scrapes your throat. There is a moment of absolute nothing but white noise and then you’re crashing, slamming into your orgasm with enough force to knock your head with his when you lurch forward.

It doesn’t even hurt, the electric pleasure outweighing the knock to your head as his fingers dig into your shoulders, cradling you harder as he pistons faster, getting himself to peak. You go limp, held tilted back as he growls your name and loses a rhythm, breath hissing between his teeth. 

For a moment everything is disjointed until he slows to a stop, letting you unfold but pressing his body down onto yours. His weight is comforting, grounding you as your thoughts wander, a little confused and without navigation as your system reboots from the orgasm, tired and staticky. 

Wonwoo kisses your jaw lightly, a gentle contrast to seconds ago when he folded you in half. 

Slowly, he slides to the side, giving you room to breathe. Your body is slick all over - especially between your legs - and the room cools your overwarm skin. You crane your neck to face him, eyes fluttering open as you come back to, a little more lucid. 

His dark eyes find yours and he grins before tossing an arm over your waist just to keep you connected. You place your hand on his arm, returning the gesture, just wanting to touch him. 

“I think I died,” you joke, voice rough. “God.” 

“Yeah? Hey chat,” Wonwoo hums, a grin splitting his face. “How about that for rizz?” 

-

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[dear-ao3]

by popular request: how to write an email

a disclaimer that this is the specific kind of email you send when people are absolutely smiting you and you know a phone call or an in person meeting is not possible/will not help. like youre 12 emails deep in an email chain and going in circles. youve been re routed to 13 offices 4 separate times. those kind of emails.

credentials: ive taken something like 13 semesters of college (dont ask) and every single semester have had to fight at least 3 offices for varying reasons in order to take classes. (including one time where i was shorted 5k in financial aid. i ended up getting 200 more dollars than i needed in the end) also my dad taught me everything he knows about emails (hes a tradesman turned corporate man and most of his job consists of telling people (nicely) that what theyre doing sucks and makes absolutely no sense)

Step 1: figure out who the email needs to go go

there is nothing wrong with emailing 11 million people if it gets the job done. if someone isnt helping you and you Know that they Should Be feel free to start to copy their boss on the email. copy your boss on an email. (or advisor or whoever). even if you think the person might only be like Vaguely helpful, sometimes people know people.

also theres nothing wrong with emailing the same email to several departments. sometimes you have to make a lot of noise to get something done (again. as like a last resort. dont email 11 million people right out of the gate)

Step 2: remember to be Polite

a very tempting step to ignore especially when you are 13 thousand emails deep in problems. but! if you are not nice to them! they will probably continue to smite you in the future! you want to make friends! not foes! so no matter how much people are smiting you, try to resist the urge to be an utter dipshit because it will not get the job done. vent to a friend or a coworker and send your polite and nice email

Step 3: articulate the problem Clearly.

a very important step. especially if you are adding more people to your email chain. dont assume they know your exact problem. they probably are dealing with other problems. articulate Clearly what is happening, no matter how long the email may be. its far better to get a long and detailed email rather than a non helpful short one. that will only prolong the process of how long it takes the problem to get solved.

Step 4: cite your reciepts.

wildly important. send your screenshots your attachments your whatever the fucking fuck youve got. its always good to have a paper trail. this is also where you would state any previously attempts to have the problem Sorted (ie i reached out to x person on x y and z days about x problem and it is still not resolved). you would not believe how many people dont scroll down in an email, especially a forwarded/replied one. so summarize whats Down There in your most recent email

Step 5: use the appropriate lingo

you dont have to be Overly Formal but there are a few good Buzz Sentences that usually get the job done. for example:

As Per My Last Email: a great line. emphasizes that youve already mentioned this. and this is not the first time youre mentioning this point. also emphasizes that the Thing has yet to be solved

See Attached/See Below: under utilized. again. people do not open attachments and they do not scroll down. almost had a friend once fail a class because a professor gas lit them in an email chain saying they didnt receive the final paper when the paper itself was attached earlier in the email chain. be Painfully Literal. it pays off.

Help Me To Understand: this is one of my dad's favorite lines. it really shows that you have no fucking idea what the person youre emailing is getting at and youre offering them the opportunity to spell out their nonsense for you. so that you can then be like. well. clearly This is where the miscommunication lies. its a great line. has saved my ass many times. because it is not accusing it is just offering someone to understand. it does not attack. it just is.

Step 6: give a polite sign off.

something along the lines of "thank you in advance for any help" or "i look forward to hearing from you" does the job. something that sends the message you are not pissed to shit at them even if you are.

Step 7: follow up and follow up often.

polite email response time is 48 business hours/2 business days. if it has been longer than that you have every right to email back and say hi x person just following up on this email, have you had the chance to review it yet? again. keep it polite. you actually want them to help you. and if they still dont respond well then maybe its time to loop in a boss or a supervisor or whoever the hell else. dont be afraid to go above them if you need to. nothing wrong with getting shit done when it needs to get done.

and really, if all that fails, as my dad says, a little office bribe in the form of cookies has never hurt anyone :)

so an email. should be formatted something like this:

Greetings/Good Morning (Afternoon) (Person)

I hope this email finds you well (or something similar for a greeting). I am reaching out regarding X incident/problem/whatever the fuck it is. I have previously reached out to X person on X dates and (summary of whatever they did or didnt do). See below/attached emails/pdf/screenshot/document (if applicable)

(explanation of the problem in as simple and detailed terms as possible. have someone re read it to make sure that it cannot be misconstrued)

(explanation of what you are looking for as a solution)

Please help me to understand why this (solution) has not been able to be reached. (explain you are on x timeline if the situation is urgent)

Kind regards/Thank you for any help in advance/I look forward to hearing from you etc,

email signature

go forth and conquer your emails. remember, sometimes you have to be a squeaky wheel. and in my million cases of email sending, it has ALWAYS paid off and i have gotten the problems solved. dont be afraid of the emails they can help you.

[folkling]

Windbrook Save 2.0 (In collaboration with @cowboycid and @bobnewbie)- Feat. a family by @oshinsimss

DISCLAIMER: While this is a CC free save file, it is pack and kit heavy. To give more context, this save utilizes ALL EPs, GPs, and SPs (except My First Pets) as well as ALL KITS (except Bust The Dust and Poolside Splash) While you may not own every pack or kit that I used, the save file is still playable. Everything missing will be substituted.

What's new in 2.0

Willow Creek has new homes, rentals, and one new retail lot

Newcrest has been built (restaurant, gym, retail, and generic lots)

Magnolia Promenade has been built, while somewhat finished, still needs work

Every lot that's finished (including commercial) and families have descriptions, stories, jobs, etcetera

New townies from @simsontherope and @cowplant-snacks

Families from @bobnewbie

A special family, The Westfalls made exclusively by @oshinsimss

Special collaboration with @cowboycid

Other worlds are still empty, I do plan on building new worlds

SCREENSHOTS AND MORE INFO BELOW

SPECIAL THANKS

First and foremost I want to thank my good good friend @cowboycid for collaborating with me on this project. I'm so happy we met when we did because I was starting to lose light. You inspired me to keep going, and for that I appreciate you DOWN. You're a real one sis, no tea. Hugs and kisses for ever. I also want to thank @bobnewbie for coming through with families. You don't understand just how life saving they were. I didn't get a chance to use all of them, and my original concept for the save fell through due to time constraints, but I'm thankful to have had access to the diverse array of families you made for the save. A huge thank you to @oshinsimss for taking the time to create a beautiful family, The Westfalls, exclusively for Windbrook 2.0, I love them so much. Also a big thank you to @cowplant-snacks and @simsontherope for their townies. Without them, the townies would just be... ugh, you know. So, thank you for having them available on the gallery. I also want to thank @anthonydaydreamer for just showing up for me through this whole process. Like, you just get it boo! Hugs and kisses! Finally a quick apology to those I intended on sending preview copies of the save. Time was not on my side near the end, things took more time than I thought. Honestly, I needed to get this project off my computer ASAP. I really hope you guys understand. Big hugs and kisses. Thank you everyone for all the kind words and support over these past few months, your words kept me going, even if I didn't feel I had anymore left to give. This save is a love letter to you all, the simblr community.

Thank you, honestly, truly.

*terrain replacement in screenshots by K-hippie, you don’t need it, it’s just for screenshots + updated download link to include The Westfalls made by @oshinsimss for Windbrook 2.0 - please find more info here*

*updated download as of 10/11/23*

Download (SIMFILESHARE)

TOU: Don't upload any part of this save to any platform without explicit permission, thank you.

[utopianparadoxist]

Who's Retconning?

So the update's pretty exciting! Happy 4/13, it was a real good one. I'm very excited that Jake and Jane are on the Meat ship now, mainly because A) Jane being there means that permadeath is less likely for everyone, including Dirk and B) Jake is Dirk's biggest weakness and I want him to fuck that twink up.

That said, I've noticed the most popular understanding of this update seems to be that Vriska's doing retcons. I can understand why, she's certainly involved and doing a lot, but I disagree. I think what we're dealing with here is Vriska collaborating with Jasprose...and also June, who is the one doing the actual retconning.

Let's do a little bit of visual analysis of the imagery in this update so I can explain why.

First things first, let's consider the power we've been shown Vriska has gained here. Her ascension seems to have enabled her to travel through space at the speed of light, or even faster somehow--fast enough to escape the boundary of the black hole that divides Candy from Meat-- achieving the impossible, since not even Light can escape a black hole-- and then cutting through who knows how much Space to get to Deltritus practically instantly.

But there's a problem there. As fast as she is, Vriska is still depicted as traveling. She is moving in a trayectory across space and time.

If Vriska could retcon, doing this wouldn't be necessary for her at all. She could simply warp instantly from one location to another, like John warping into the Masterpiece. He doesn't *come into* the Masterpiece from anywhere--he's not there one moment, and in the next moment, he is. It cuts out the idea of travel entirely.

If Vriska is trying to get to Deltritus as efficiently as possible, and it sure doesn't look like she's wasting any time, then it doesn't really seem like John style retcons are an option for her.

The other thing that people are pointing to as a Retcon is Vriska burning John's farewell letters to his friends, with some even assuming this means she's retconning his death entirely from the beginning. I find this unlikely, because it would change Terezi's character arc and motivations considerably and a lot of weight has been put on the corpse in her wallet modus.

But honestly, it doesn't even look like she retconned the letters. It just looks like she outright destroyed them. There's still fire and scorch marks where they were laying--there's still a mark that they existed. Reducing something to ash isn't the same as making it like it never existed at all.

I think there's an alternate possibility, too. If the hellfire is a new manifestation of Light specific to Vriska, then she could have stolen the letters through Light instead. At the moment, most of Meat's cast doesn't even seem to know what happened to John.

What would happen if Vriska put John's letters, now abandoned completely since not even Jane and Jake are on Earth C to pick them up otherwise, in all their hands? It seems like a good way to get everyone organized and motivated to help John.

And Vriska probably isn't thinking about the Candy timeline folks, but what if John's letter to Jade reached Candy Jade, for example? There could be a lot of narrative utility and emotional catharsis in a beat like that. So I think it's likelier she just took them than that they're retconned out of existence.

Now don't get me wrong--Vriska definitely did something to the Meat crew. She's the one causing that turbulence, after all, and whatever she's doing definitely involves her powers. But her powers are also very, very visually distinct, in a way that conflicts with the idea that she's the one who put Jake and Jane on the Meat ship.

Because the narrative goes out of its way to show us this panel of Jasprose, and the wisp of blue depicted here looks nothing like the dark blue lasers and hellfire that Vriska manifests.

Instead, it looks very distinctly like a wisp of air, J00N's breathy blue.

As if June was just standing in front of her, and whisked out of the scene with Jane and Jake in tow, leaving her alone in Midnight City.

This is as Jasprose expected, of course. In her 666 conversation with Davepeta, Jasprose outright says that she's made progress improving Jane's politics, and that while Jake is still heartbroken over Dirk, she's confident she can bring out his latent heroism before "curtain call"--in other words, before it's time to take the stage where it's relevant.

Jasprose told us this was going to happen ages ago. She's been preparing Jane and Jake for it this whole time. So Catnapped's arc hasn't been retconned--it's simply been concluded, and this panel is signaling to us that Jane and Jake have just left her neck of the woods and departed for the Meat Ship plot.

So again--if Vriska's responsible, then why not her standard blue light and hellfire here? Why this wispy, breathy blue instead? If that's just meant to be smoke from her pipe, then why the breathy blue at all? Wouldn't a noir-ish grey make more sense?

Here's something to consider: We've already seen June Egbert exists at some point in the future. Whether she's a revived Meat John or a Candy John that has broken out of the black hole, as the most fully realized version of herself, she will almost certainly reclaim her Retcon power anyway.

To be honest, it's such a unique and character specific ability that I'd be pretty surprised if Vriska just happened to get it through helltier too. It just seems like a strange ability to give to multiple characters, though I suppose its not impossible. What it would be, though, is a little redundant.

If June exists and has retcon *ever*, even far in the plot's future from our perspective, then she can by definition go back in time to fuck with the plot at any time, in any place, retroactively. We may not have seen June directly yet, but it makes perfect sense that her touch would be felt:

She is already here.

Lastly, consider that if this Jake & Jane retcon on the Meat Ship is a product of Vriska, June and Jasprose collaborating to bring about a tactical timeline change, that paints a much stronger picture than if its just Vriska dominating the plot and taking charge of everything herself as is her traditional route.

It would speak to an increased ability to engage in genuine teamwork and coordination with equals on Vriska's part. I like that better for this new phase of Vriskaing. After all, she's normal now. She doesn't have to do everything by herself.

[double--blind]

(SPOILERS) breaking down how obsessed Andrew is w/his sister bc he's a repressed lil liar and I'm going insane

This post got longer than I intended it to

1. He claims they don't spend enough time apart from each other to even begin missing her so he doesn't even know if he would, but just earlier in the game he was apart from her for probs like 30 mins tops to investigates some cultists and guess what???? He was already missing her 😒

2. Says "I thought you grew out of this touchy-feely crap" when Ashley asks for a hug, but earlier when he was cooking dinner, he was the one with the inexplicable urge to "pull this broody bitch into [his] arms and force her to stay until she smiles" 😒

3. Piggy-backing off the last screenshot: WHAT OTHER THOUGHTS, ANDREW??? yOU WERE JUST THINKING ABT HUGGING HER. WHAT DO YOU EVEN MEAN. THESE ARE SIMPLY INNOCENT BROTHERLY THOUGHTS ARE THEY NOT????? 🤨🤨🤨

4. Bro just can't keep his hands off her. And everyone thinks Ashley's the clingy one jeez (lol the way he springs apart from her when Mom catches them is definitely definitelyyyy not worth analyzing. nope. not even when it happens a second time on the couch. nope. nooope)

5. What. What is he thinking here. Don't think I don't see those grey lil blush lines. Is this connected to my third point somehow bc like... 🤨😬 Is "Andrew" is gonna start doing and being what "Andy" was too spineless and afraid of doing?? That's what the vow was partly abt right?? Does that include—

5. WHEWWW BOY that little flashback with his gf has so much baggage in it I just wanna dissect. His girlfriend's tryna have a serious discussion with him abt his weird sister for the sake of bettering their relationship bc she genuinely loves him, but he just gets caught up in fondly talking abt said weird sister instead??

6. He's awfully hesitant abt Ashley learning some independence, bc y'know what?? I think he doesn't really want her to stop relying on him. But what do I know y'know

6. Wants his gf to put tie her hair up in a ponytail, then when she refuses bc he'll pull on it, says it's just "how boys express their love". Well. You know who else puts there hair up in a ponytail??? You know who else's hair he's always pulling on and touching???

7. The voicemails in his gf's phone left by Ashley are heard by him in his dreams, and his dreams are a construction of his mind utilizing his memories, personal hangups, and knowledge of Ashley. The voicemails irl were left on his gf's phone, and for all we know, he never actually listened to them in person. Bearing this in mind... odds are the things Ashley's saying contain bits of truths he believes within himself, filtered thru her crude, hateful dialogue.

Here. I transcribed one of them...

"DO YOU THINK YOU'RE BETTER THAN ME!? Just because you can fuck him and I can't? You think that's love?! Are you fucking delusional?? Cumdumpsters like you are just that. He will never love you. Not like he loves me. I am the only one. I am everything. I am the secrets you'll never hear. When he lies in bed at night, and when he needs someone to hold on to… It's not you he seeks out. It is me."

8. Claims Ashley's the one with the jealous streak, not him, but I think he's just as bad. The only difference is that Ashley's never given him reason to act on it since all she's ever wanted was him, but at the slightest mention of her gettin it on w/someone else, even as a joke, he gets mad. "OVER MY DEAD BODY!!" he says, when she's jokingly contemplating getting knocked up via the neighbor so an ambulance would come for her. "I wouldn't let them," he says, when she's complaining abt not being pretty enough for the wardens to bang her

9. Going hand-in-hand with that fact, he's intensely protective of her. Didn't hesitate to cleaver the warden who found her in the closet (probs didn't even BLINK lmaooo he chose VIOLENCE), and when the cake-stealing cultist insulted her just once, he stepped forward just like that

10. In their apt, when they were lying on the floor talking abt jumping off the balcony, he was really caught up in the "romantic" fantasy of them committing a double suicide and dying with their bodies entwined so irreparably by the impact they form one unified corpse "never to be separated!" and they get buried in the same coffin together. UM??? Bro fr thought he was the sane one of the two. That wasn't even true before the cannibalism and demon summoning 😭😭😭

BONUS:

11. This might just be me, but his reaction to seeing the post-sex vision doesn't strike me as someone who's inherently opposed to the idea. Instead of disgusted, he was... flustered?? He acted like she walked in mid-guilty pleasure wet dream. This wasn't a "GROSS THATS INCEST" reaction which is... the most normal reaction to have. That's the face of a man that got CAUGHT bro.

He asks "we're not like that, are we?" and "why are you like this?" and questions the veracity of the vision, but he never actually explicitly denies wanting the vision to happen, more focused on Ashley and her reaction. He buries the elephant under the rug as fast as he can, bc yeah, it struck a landmine, but it probably wasn't a landmine for the reason Ashley thinks it is. I bet the vision just hit a little too close... :P

[saintshadow]

ADVICE FROM YOUR SPIRIT GUIDES

pile i

Have more faith in your circumstances, it’s okay to feel unsure but letting it consume you will not aid in navigating the rough internal waters of your emotions. You’re not processing something, a fear, an anxiety, a reality- perhaps you have a hard time holding onto this particular lesson. Your spirits do see improvement; they just need a little bit more from you so that they can actually bring in more blessings and stability. If you are not internally stable then you will have a hard time cultivating external stability. Stay busy, stay active, don’t be consumed by fear of loss or destruction. Destruction happens to us all, but we must let go of that fear- there is so much more to life than the now but we cannot grow as intended if we cannot exist in the present. You’re being advised to go within for comfort, to rely on yourself for strength- this is not meant to be painful but it is meant to be empowering. You’re meant to do great things, even if you can’t see it now. One day, your time will come- and you will know that your suffering was not for nothing. Dare to dream, and dare to go after your desires.

They will come to you much quicker than you think. If you move in alignment with your goals they will come crashing towards you. Try not to get wrapped up in the chaos and try to remember WHY you are doing this. There is also a message about taking things slow and being patient with yourself. Making sure to do your due diligence, making sure to research and to find whatever information is available to you to help you in your case or in your situation. Sit with the moments of calm and clarity, where you see a steady path ahead. When things become muddled and confusing that's how you'll know that you're overthinking and living from fear/trauma.

I heard "you're ready" you can absolutely plant the seeds for what you're looking to do. For some it could deal with travel, since the 3 of wands did come out. Moving, travel, building something steady or solid that you can utilize as some sort of foundation maybe? This could even be about internal foundations, emotional foundations, with a lover, with a best friend, or with yourself. Take what resonates and apply the message as it is applicable. I see that you are seeking a "new beginning" or a "new chapter" perhaps you've felt as if you're tired of your current circumstances or feeling exhausted. You're being guided to take this leap of faith to an extent- with planning and practicality included. This is more like a calculated risk, than a leap of faith ngl. All in all though, I heard "smooth sailing" it may be a lot easier than you think to attain your desires. You have to believe in it though, and you have to do your very best to remain positive love.

Have strength through your heartache, and know that this is meant to wake you up to the possibilities. It is revealing what no longer serves you, or showing you something. You are being supported in this, I think there may be people or things that want you to feel hopeless. You have to remain hopeful and you have to remain confident that you will get what you want. For some of you this could be about love, or even a long distance relationship. You can't let fear overcome you, and you have to be strong. Your person feels strongly for you and things can absolutely work if you allow them to. You can't get caught up in the what-if's you have to get caught up in the "how will" so to speak. "How will I get my desires, how will I go after what I want, how will I attain my desires" Your fears are unfounded, essentially- pile 1. I hope this reading resonated, if you'd like to book a personal on this topic for 35$ feel free to reach out.

pile ii

Let go of the past, I understand this person or situation may have really hurt you but the hatred/anger you’re harboring in your heart is eating you alive. There may be things about the situation at hand which you’re not aware of. There’s a message of patience, and a calm before the storm. This message will resonate with those for whom it’s intended. As for the rest of you, you’re doing really good imo. Sowing your seeds, being patient, and minding your own. Something could be bothering you, like it just doesn’t sit right. You could have witnessed an injustice, or something you seem to be incorrect or unfair. You’re being advised to move away from pain and sorrow. To walk away from the sob stories, trust in your gut. This could be a lesson of intuition, are you going to trust yourself or are you going to repeat the cycle.

Don’t ignore the blatant and unarguable truth. Embrace it fully and accept it, live with that truth.

If you’re struggling to find that truth be patient, spend time in nature, in due time all will be revealed pile two.

There's a lot of movement in these cards, the 8 of wands, the wheel of fortune, the chariot, the fool- you're meant to be moving forward. You are supposed to be creating something for yourself- but you may be fixating on creating something for someone else? You have to stop doing that, and you have to start putting in actual effort towards your personal goals. You're not a babysitter for this person, or for a specific situation and you have to stop acting like one. Be aware of this person, they could have vengeful tendencies, they may feel slighted by you and you could feel hypervigilant of their next moves. Some of you could perhaps be leaving an abusive environment, friendship, friend group, relationship, or an overall abusive situation. You could spend a lot of your time trying to balance this person out, and it's literally killing you. For some of you it could be because you have health issues, for others it could simply be because you have too much on your plate already and you just keep stacking shit on top of it. For reasons unbeknownst to myself and you. You could be scared of using some kind of savings you have, you may be scared of running out or being in a bad financial situation but I see where you will actually benefit more from taking this action than you think. Take measured action, look at your options- and move accordingly to those options.

You need to be making balanced decisions right now, even if you can't move to a nice new apartment that's top of the line you can find a room for rent, or etc.. It's not going to be perfect, not at first- but you will be free and you should have gratitude for that. You have to make a decision, and you may be shocked by the outcomes. You have many possibilities, you have many choices, and you should map out carefully what moves you'll decide to make next. Thank you for reading pile ii <3

VERY LAST MESSAGE: Someone's spirit stayed after I asked them to depart, they want to deliver a final message I have no clue who this is for BUT: You have well thought our your plans and the actions will deliver the correct consequences I'm hearing? Consequences don't have to mean that something bad is happening I suppose. It could mean that the cause and effect for this is more positive than you think. Rely on this spirit, they could be an air spirit or when they were alive they could've been an air sign or had air in their chart or had stelliums in air houses. I'm hearing "Uranus and Jupiter" idk what that means lol, but a lot of things are being supported for you. Just know that, I heard something about "I'm sorry" as well, "I supported you the best I could" this could be a family member of some kind that passed away. Idk. Sorry about the add-on! Bye pile ii ! <3

pile iii

Keep your head up, you’re in a heavily creative energy right now and they need you to understand that. For some reason I feel called to the inky blackness of the sky in the pile photo, darkness is what existed before the creation of existence. This is something we hear in MULTIPLE religions and belief systems, darkness is ALSO the chaos. So all of this chaos around you can be bent to your will, but you have to actually believe in yourself and be strategic. You’re allowed to have flaws or faults, but for the next 6-8 months you need to remain determined. Sit with water, sit with plants, sit with god or your ancestors or who or whatever. You could be favored by Adonai(yhwh) but for some reason I felt called to call him Adonai. Perhaps you should pray to Adonai, I see he wants to help you but you must first call on him. If you’ve been feeling a hankering for frankincense smells that may be because of him.

I sense a lot of adventure coming your way, but they need you to brace yourself and handle the anxiety. Don’t be afraid, you have to stop conjuring your worst fears. When you feel afraid say “show me how good it can get”. “Prove me wrong, prove my fear wrong”, you have a hell of a lot more support than you think and it’s time to wake up to that reality and bloom. The skies can only stay rainy and cloudy for so long- but it’s up to you to make the sacrifices to bring forward your desires. 💚

Some of you could feel drawn to pile 1, there may be some messages there for you ngl. ANYWHO, I see here that you are seeking love, and I think that they are trying to get you to understand that you have to transform to meet this potential. There are a lot of interpersonal things you struggle with and they are urging you to stop letting this get in the way of your success. You have to be more self reliant and self dependent, you need to be self starting and a go getter. Don't be afraid of being told no, because I'm hearing "if there's a will there's a way" I do sense this will be much easier than you think, it just may take a lot of foot work/heavy lifting and you may have to think cleverly to get what you need. You could be perceiving more stagnation than there is, there has to be a transformation in how you view "home", home is where the heart is- home is not always how you might see it.

I see that there is some kind of transformation happening in a home or around the concepts of the home in some way? You have ancestral support in what you want, that may be the message that was trying to come through regarding the home actually. Your ancestors don't want you to fear anything, they're going to help you- potentially with a lawyer for some? I heard immigration as well, so some of you could be trying to speak to migration lawyers. I heard "be blessed and know that you are loved" they are going to help you with a lot of this foot work ngl, Some of you may have an enemy working against you, your spirits are advising you to continue pushing for what you desire. This person literally can't stop you, I think you don't understand how actually powerless they are. There could be some kind of spiritual blockage stopping this person from causing personal harm to you. Do your best to dream about your desires, to dream of the best outcome- it will help so much.

Be more positive, be more outgoing- this seems to be the people from pile I who struggle with faith and inner strength. I heard "honesty" as well, so don't be afraid to bite if you have to. Don't be afraid to call people out, to have high standards and expectations- just figure out what those standards or expectations are. I heard "your own personal hell is awaiting you in the depths of your mind" you have to learn to control this part of yourself, you have to maybe LITERALLY avoid that part of your mind and work physically and in the world around you to actively prove it wrong so it shuts the hell up.

[cheekycheesecake01]

Angsty smut headcanons I made up of Mark Grayson. Please read disclaimer. 18+

DISCLAIMER & TW: Before I get into this, I wanna say that I am extremely new to the Invincible fandom and will be utilizing the canon events in the comic book series. For this reason, SA is mentioned, and as a victim myself, I believe that completely isolating rape victims from any source of sexual media reinforces the idea that we are nothing beyond our traumas. I shouldn't have to explain myself, and I won't elaborate any further. But sexuality can still thrive even after one is assaulted.

TW: Rape mentioned, sexual trauma, highlights of a victim's mental state afterwards including self-blaming, please filter this post if this is upsetting, I understand. This is by no means a noncon fic, these headcanons are about the aftermath of being assaulted and how it affects victims lives.

Please note that this is my first time ever openly writing about a character who is canonically a victim of sexual assault. I don't want to censor us out of media. We shouldn't be objectfied, but we shouldn't be treated as though we're broken or unable to be more than something that happened to us beyond our control. If you want to give me feedback, I'm very much welcoming of it. But understand that I'm not fetishizing Mark's trauma in any way, shape or form. In fact, I find him comforting, because I can relate to some elements of his story. This is supposed to acknowledge Mark's lore and to comfort the disturbed.

It's difficult for Mark to engage in anything after Anissa. But after a few therapy sessions, he did want to try again since... well, he loves you... and before she raped him, sex was a way for him to express his affection in the most intimate way possible.

It's not like the other cases where Mark takes control, because the thought of doing anything paralyzes him. What would be good for him? If it feels good, is it supposed to feel good or is he just convincing himself that it feels good? Did he even want this? Or did he coerce himself into thinking he wanted it?

You make sure to praise him whenever because you understand how difficult this is for him. You tell how strong he is for choosing to do this, how you love him so much, how you could be his hero, how he doesn't always have to do the saving.... you could save him. You could protect him... no matter the cost.

Everything feels like it's vanishing or falling apart.... but here, he has you to hold onto and trust. You're not like his father, or his enemies, or.... her.... god knows what you'd do to protect him. At last, everything feels manageable.... because he's got a hero flying him up to heaven.

[spocks-husband]

Just hear me out on this; I'm absolutely certain that part of Bruce's Around The World Teenage Training Montage included training in childcare.

I mean-- we know that he studied medicine, both modern ideas and more metaphysical ones. We know that he studied psychology, both his own and how to use it against his enemies. Hell, we even know that he studied with Giovanni Zatara and learned Houdini-Style escape arts (and some information on fighting magic, but whatever). So, especially considering that the entire origin of his mission was to make sure that no child ever had to suffer the pain he did ever again, why on Earth wouldn't he study childcare?

So yeah-- Batman is a trained midwife, he can tie almost every single style of baby wrapping known to man, and he can silence a crying infant with no trouble at all.

He's well versed in Montessori techniques, always carries candy in his utility belt for the children he finds on the job (candy which, of course, he makes himself and infuses with extra vitamins because he's an overachiever [note-- Dick was 23 when he found out that his childhood patrol candy was full of vegetables and he was FURIOUS]), and keeps every single crayon drawing a kid has ever made for him.

He's excellent at deescalating teenage angst, helping runaways and abuse victims, making sure than when he catches them stealing or graffiting a wall or something it's the last time he does; not just because he scares the shit out of them, but because he gives them the support and resources to overcome their problems at the source.

(Of course, that just means it's all the more painful when he's not quite able to do the same thing for his own kids when they're struggling and angry and hurt, because they know his playbook and only get more angry when they realize what he's doing-- because they don't want Batman to help them, they want Bruce, and Bruce doesn't know quite how to do that... But that's for another, angstier post...)

And another thing-- of course, being Batman, no one other than the immediate Batfam knows about this little trove of hidden knowledge. So usually, when the JLA encounters a kid in the field they hand them off to Clark or Diana or maybe even J'onn or Barry depending on the circumstances, because obviously Batman wouldn't be good at helping the kid-- until the one time he's the only one available for whatever reason.

He does his thing, and after the kid is totally calm and safe, Bruce just hands them off to emergency services like nothing happened and immediately goes back to... You know, being Batman, and refuses to answer any questions on it.

I could go on about this forever but. Batman with kids, guys ☹️