#Nativity Coloring Pages

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10 Nativity Scene Coloring Pages for a Peaceful Christmas

Hello Lovely Parents and Kids! Celebrate a Peaceful Christmas with Nativity Scene Coloring Pages for Kids! ✨ This Christmas, bring the beauty of the nativity scene to life with these 10 printable nativity coloring pages. The nativity scene is a beautiful reminder of the true meaning of the holiday season, and these pages offer a wonderful way for kids to explore the story of Christmas. From the…

[cringefail-clown]

the book has arrived. currently im on a page 33. i have Thoughts. idk if yall would be interested in my rambles, but maybe ill post some of em as i get through it

[kailoros]

Hiy sketchbook pages

Vienna comic con was very fun :))

Also when u need to do smth with ur hand while listening to an audiobook, highly recommend hand studies

[queenemilythedlgnt]

"Nativity - Stained Glass"

"And she brought forth her firstborn son." - Luke 2:7

First of a set I will be doing. :)

Benefits of doing stained glass. I get multiple versions out of one picture. Comment which version you like best by typing the number of the order posted. I'm curious for I like them all. XD.

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A post shared by Emily Anne (@handsforhim)

[rafedarling]

𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞’𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠

pairing: dad!drew starkey x mom!reader

summary: drew tries to play a playful prank by taking off his wedding ring, but his smart and sweet 2-year-old son, rustyn, immediately notices and innocently points out that it might make mommy sad. what starts as a simple joke turns into a heartwarming reminder of the love and connection between you, drew, and your son, and the importance of the little things that symbolize that love.

warning(s): english is not my native language. pure fluff, heartwarming family moments, playful teasing, and deep emotional connections.

au’s: like, reblog and feedback are much appreciated. taglist | tagging: @rafeyslamb @tracymbcm @enjoymyloves @akobx @rubixgsworld @xoxohoneymoongirl @mileyraes @maybankslover @noobmazter69 @littlelamy @wearemadeofstardust0 @xoxosblogsblog @saviorcomplexrry @bisexualcvnt @stuffyownswrld @anamiad00msday

The warmth of the sunlight and the gentle sound of waves from outside made everything feel peaceful and calm—your perfect little haven. You were curled up on the couch with your son, Rustyn, nestled comfortably in your lap, his small head resting against your chest. He was two, but sometimes you marveled at how much older he seemed, with his sharp curiosity and his endless questions.

Rustyn’s favorite book was in your hands as you read to him, your voice soft and soothing as you flipped through the colorful pages. Every few moments, Rustyn would point to a picture and ask you about it. His little hands would grab at the air in excitement as he processed each new detail.

“Mommy, why is that bunny wearing a hat?” Rustyn asked, his bright blue eyes full of curiosity.

You chuckled softly, brushing a hand through his soft curls. “Maybe he’s going on an adventure, sweetie. What do you think?”

Rustyn considered this seriously, his face scrunching up in concentration. “Yeah, maybe. I like adventures.”

“I know you do,” you said with a smile, kissing the top of his head. “You’ll have lots of them when you get bigger.”

Rustyn nodded, clearly satisfied with your answer, and snuggled closer to you. He let out a small sigh, content in the warmth of your embrace. You couldn’t help but smile, your heart swelling with love as you continued to read. These were the moments you cherished—the quiet, everyday moments that made your little family feel complete.

As you were nearing the end of the story, you noticed Drew standing in the kitchen, leaning casually against the counter. He was watching the two of you with that familiar look of affection in his eyes, the one that always made you feel so loved. But today, there was something else—a mischievous twinkle that you hadn’t quite noticed before.

Drew took a sip of water, then set the glass down with a small, playful smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. You raised an eyebrow at him, wondering what he was up to. He didn’t say anything, just casually strolled into the living room and leaned down to scoop Rustyn up from your lap.

“Come here, little man,” Drew said, his voice warm as he lifted Rustyn into his arms.

Rustyn squealed in delight, wrapping his tiny arms around Drew’s neck and giggling as Drew spun him around in a playful circle. “Dada!” Rustyn cried out, his laughter echoing through the room.

“Having fun with Mommy?” Drew asked, settling Rustyn on his hip, still grinning as he glanced at you.

“Yeah! Mommy was reading to me,” Rustyn said proudly, his voice full of excitement.

But as Rustyn snuggled against Drew, his sharp little eyes caught something unusual. He tilted his head, his gaze narrowing in confusion as he stared at Drew’s left hand. You hadn’t noticed it before, but now, following Rustyn’s gaze, you realized that Drew’s wedding ring was missing.

Rustyn furrowed his tiny brow, clearly puzzled. His voice, though small and innocent, was filled with a sense of concern. “Dada...where’s your ring?”

You blinked, surprised by how quickly Rustyn had noticed. You hadn’t even realized it yourself, but there it was—Drew’s left hand, conspicuously bare. You glanced at Drew, raising an eyebrow as you waited for him to respond.

Drew, ever the playful one, kept his cool. He smiled down at Rustyn, shrugging his shoulders nonchalantly. “Oh, that? Dada just didn’t feel like wearing it today, buddy.”

Your mouth dropped open slightly as you watched Drew, a mixture of amusement and curiosity bubbling up inside you. What was he up to? He knew how much that ring meant to both of you, and though it wasn’t a serious situation, you couldn’t help but wonder how this was going to play out.

Rustyn, however, wasn’t so easily fooled. His little face scrunched up again, and he looked from Drew’s hand to your face, his innocent expression filled with concern. He tugged lightly on Drew’s shirt, trying to make sense of what he was hearing.

“Dada,” Rustyn said in his most serious tone, his voice soft but full of wisdom beyond his years, “you know you gonna make Mommy sad.”

The room fell into silence, the weight of Rustyn’s innocent words settling between the three of you. You felt your heart swell as you looked at your son, his little face so earnest and full of love for both of you. His concern for your feelings, even at such a young age, was enough to make your heart melt.

Drew’s grin faltered slightly as he looked at Rustyn, clearly taken aback by his son’s sharp observation. The teasing light in his eyes softened, and he let out a small chuckle, shaking his head in disbelief. “Oh really?” he asked, his voice filled with affection as he looked back down at Rustyn. “You think Mommy will be sad if I don’t wear my ring?”

Rustyn nodded, his tiny hand reaching out to touch Drew’s bare finger. “Yeah, ‘cause it means you love her.”

You felt a lump form in your throat at Rustyn’s sweet words, and you had to blink back the sudden tears that pricked at your eyes. How did this little boy know so much? How could someone so young be so in tune with your feelings? It was moments like these that reminded you just how special Rustyn was.

Drew’s eyes softened even further as he looked at you, and the playful smirk faded into something much more tender. He reached into his pocket, pulling out his wedding ring with a slow, deliberate motion. He slid it back onto his finger, never breaking eye contact with you.

“Well, we can’t have Mommy being sad, can we, buddy?” Drew said softly, his voice warm as he turned his attention back to Rustyn. “Is that better?”

Rustyn’s face lit up with a smile so wide it made your heart flutter. “Yeah, Dada! Now you make Mommy happy again!”

Drew chuckled, glancing at you with a loving smile. “What do you think? Is our little man right? Does the ring make you happy?”

You smiled back at him, your heart full as you nodded. “He’s always right,” you said softly, reaching out to gently squeeze Drew’s hand. “You know how much that ring means to me.”

Drew leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead, his hand still entwined with yours. “I know, baby,” he whispered, his voice low and full of affection.

Rustyn, clearly pleased with the resolution of the situation, snuggled into Drew’s chest, his tiny arms wrapping around his dad’s neck. “Dada loves Mommy,” he said with absolute certainty, as if there had never been any doubt.

Drew smiled, looking down at Rustyn with nothing but love in his eyes. “You’re right, Rusty. I love Mommy very much.”

Rustyn nodded solemnly, as if he had solved a great mystery. “I knew it,” he said with a proud grin.

You couldn’t help but laugh softly, your heart swelling with love for both Drew and Rustyn. You reached out, wrapping your arms around both of them, pulling them into a warm hug. “I love you both so much,” you whispered, pressing a kiss to Rustyn’s cheek before turning to Drew and kissing him softly on the lips.

Drew smiled against your lips, his hand resting on the small of your back as he held you close. “We love you too,” he murmured, his voice full of warmth and tenderness.

As the three of you sat there, wrapped up in each other’s love, the world outside seemed to fade away. It was just the three of you—your perfect little family, full of love, laughter, and moments like these that made everything else seem small in comparison.

Rustyn, ever the observant toddler, let out a small yawn, his little body relaxing as the excitement of the day began to catch up with him. He nestled deeper into Drew’s arms, his eyes fluttering closed as he snuggled into the warmth of his dad’s chest.

As you watched Drew tuck your son into bed, your heart swelled with love once more. It was moments like these—simple, sweet moments—that made you realize just how lucky you were to have this little family.

As Drew gently closed Rustyn’s bedroom door, he turned to you with a soft smile, his hand reaching for yours. “You know I was just teasing with the ring, right?” he asked quietly, pulling you into his arms as he led you back toward the living room. His voice was low and full of sincerity now, the earlier playfulness gone, replaced by a quiet tenderness.

You smiled up at him, resting your hand against his chest as you felt the steady rhythm of his heartbeat under your palm. “I know,” you replied softly, your eyes meeting his. “But Rustyn was right. It does mean a lot to me, even if it’s just a ring.”

Drew’s expression softened even further, and he lifted your hand to his lips, pressing a gentle kiss to the back of it. “I know, baby. I’ll never take it off again, I promise,” he said, his tone serious but still filled with that warmth you loved so much. “At least not without a really good reason.”

You laughed softly, leaning into him as his arms wrapped around you, pulling you close. “You better not,” you teased, your voice playful but laced with affection.

Drew smiled down at you, his forehead resting against yours as he held you in the quiet comfort of the moment. “I know I joke around sometimes,” he began, his voice barely above a whisper. “But I don’t ever want you to doubt how much I love you. This ring��it’s a promise, not just for show.”

Your heart swelled at his words, and you nodded, your hand still resting against his chest as you leaned into him. “I never doubt it,” you whispered back. “Not for a second.”

The two of you stood there for a few more moments, wrapped up in each other’s warmth. The house was quiet now, save for the soft sound of Rustyn’s rhythmic breathing coming from his bedroom, and the golden light of the setting sun cast a warm glow through the windows, making everything feel peaceful and serene.

Drew’s arms tightened around you slightly, and he let out a contented sigh, his lips brushing against your temple as he held you. “Rustyn’s growing up so fast,” he murmured, his voice filled with a mixture of pride and awe. “I still can’t believe how smart he is—how much he picks up on.”

You smiled softly, pulling back just enough to look up at him. “I know,” you agreed, your voice filled with love for your little boy. “He’s always surprising me with how much he understands. I wasn’t expecting him to notice your ring like that.”

Drew chuckled, shaking his head slightly. “Neither was I. I thought I’d get away with the prank at least until bedtime.” His smile softened, and he glanced down at his hand, where the ring now sat securely. “But you know what? I’m glad he noticed.”

You tilted your head, curious. “Why’s that?”

Drew’s eyes met yours again, his gaze full of love and affection. “Because it reminded me how much this little ring means. Not just to you, but to him too. He understands that it’s important—he gets that it’s a symbol of how much we love each other. And that… well, that makes me even prouder to wear it.”

Your heart melted at his words, and you reached up to cup his face, your thumb gently brushing along his jawline. “You’re a good man, Drew Starkey,” you whispered, your voice thick with emotion.

Drew smiled, his eyes soft and full of love. “And you’re the love of my life,” he replied, his voice just as tender.

He leaned down then, capturing your lips in a slow, sweet kiss that made your heart flutter in your chest. His hands rested gently on your waist as he pulled you even closer, and you could feel the steady beat of his heart against yours, a perfect rhythm that matched the quiet contentment of the moment.

When you finally pulled away, Drew rested his forehead against yours once more, his breath warm against your skin. “Thank you,” he whispered, his voice so quiet it was almost lost in the stillness of the room.

“For what?” you asked softly, your fingers gently threading through his hair.

“For this. For our life. For Rustyn. For everything.” He pulled back just enough to look into your eyes, his expression filled with so much love that it made your heart ache. “I wouldn’t trade a single moment for anything.”

You smiled, feeling the same rush of love and gratitude that you felt every time you looked at him. “Neither would I,” you whispered back.

The two of you stood there everything felt perfect—your little family, your life together, the quiet joy that filled your days. It wasn’t always grand gestures or big moments that made life special. Sometimes, it was the small, simple things—like the way Drew looked at you when he wore his ring, or the way Rustyn’s innocent questions could change the course of a day—that reminded you just how lucky you were.

[dirtyvulture]

The Maid - Part 3

Socialite!Wanda Maximoff x Beefy!Rich!Reader*

Maid!Natasha Romanoff x Beefy!Rich!Reader*

18+ only, read at your own risk

Word count: 3973

Summary: You are married to a wealthy socialite, but your newly hired housemaid doesn’t approve of the marriage.

AN: I am so glad everyone is enjoying this fic! Now we get to see who's guesses from Part 2 were correct...

*Reader has a penis, no pronouns used.

Things with Wanda have become increasingly difficult lately. Your temper inches shorter and shorter with every argument the two of you have, which seem to be almost every conversation now. After your night out with Natasha, which felt dangerously normal, you realized what you were missing with your own wife. But the two of you had been together for nearly a decade–surely there were bound to be rough patches, right?

“I have to work late tomorrow night,” you say as the two of you get ready for bed, and as soon as the words come out of your mouth you regret it.

“Late again? Really, Y/N?” Wanda shoots back. “I already made the reservation for our dinner. What am I supposed to do with that?”

“Reschedule it?” you suggest, trying to hide your frustration. How many dozens of dinners (and anniversaries) had she stood you up?

“That’s ridiculous. I’m not doing that,” Wanda says, angrily climbing into bed and turning away from you. “If you can’t put the effort in to remember when we have dinner dates, then we’re not going to one.”

“You literally forgot our anniversary,” you respond, finally losing control of your temper.

“I did not forget,” she argues. “I had other plans that you forgot. And don’t use that tone with me. You’re not the one who should be annoyed right now.” Anger flares up inside you, but you hold your tongue. Arguing further with her would be pointless. You crawl onto your side of the bed and look over at your wife, balled up and small-looking under the covers.

You loved her. That was never a lie. But sometimes you wonder why you allowed her to cause you so much pain. Was it just to further prove your love to her? And how much more of it could you take?

***********************************************************************

After Natasha returns from picking up Wanda’s dry cleaning, she neatly hangs up the half-dozen dresses in the closet and begins dusting the house from top to bottom. It’s not an exciting chore, but due to the vastness of your home and the few people living in it, a lot of dust has accumulated and even she knows Wanda’s not exaggerating when she complains about her allergies acting up.

Natasha starts in your bedroom, carrying around a small stool to help her reach high places. She gently pats the dust off a plush teddy bear sitting on your dresser. She gets on her knees to brush the floorboards running along the perimeter of the room. Although the work is painfully dull, she finds satisfaction in the way her duster fibers turn grayer and grayer. She cleans the glass doors of the china cabinet with a special wipe, smiling at a little ceramic turtle perched on a shelf at eye level. She waltzes through the kitchen, which needs the least cleaning because she spends the most time there, but pauses to give special care to the rainbow-colored plastic cow looking out the window.

In the living room is a massive bookshelf that takes up an entire wall’s worth of space.Natasha doesn’t even know where to start, but she hops onto her stool and begins dusting the spines in every row. When she gets to the end of the fourth row, a title catches her eye: Crime and Punishment by Fyodor Dostoevsky. She had read the book for the first time in its native Russian, and while it may not have been a child-friendly novel, it did bring back more fondful memories of her childhood.

She takes it off the shelf, surprised at its weight. It’s over 500 pages, but much heavier than she remembers. The front cover swings open and something big and metal falls out, nearly landing on her foot. Natasha gasps in surprise as she pulls her leg back, her eyes widening as she stares at the revolver on the floor.

She opens the book, finding a huge rectangle cut out of the center of the pages to house the weapon. Whose gun was this? Neither you nor Wanda struck her as physically violent people. Maybe it was for protection? 

The garage door rumbles open.

Natasha scoops up the gun with shaking hands and puts it back in the book, shoving it onto the shelf again. She grabs her duster and continues to dust the shelf.

“Natasha? Are you here?” Wanda’s voice rings out.

“In the living room! Good afternoon, Mrs. L/N!” Natasha responds, not turning around and staring at Crime and Punishment as if the gun will go off on its own.

“Why are you dusting our bookshelf?” Wanda asks. 

“I’m dusting the whole house,” Natasha answers. “Just want to make sure every area is clean–”

“You read?” Wanda interrupts.

“I can, yes.” Natasha has no idea where the conversation is going and her stomach twists in knots.

“I mean, do you read for fun?”

“Yes,” Natasha lies.

“You ever read Crime and Punishment?” 

Natasha just wants Wanda to leave her alone. “Yes.”

“A little advanced for you, don’t you think?” she says, and Natasha doesn’t even feel the need to defend herself from the cruel comment. She still hasn’t faced Wanda and wonders if she’s holding another revolver pointed at her back.

But Wanda is still waiting for an answer, so Natasha draws herself taller and says, “I’m Russian. I read it in high school.”

“Of course.” Wanda shifts her weight and the floor creaks. Natasha tenses and closes her eyes. “Well, I pay you to clean my house, not read my books. So keep your hands off my copy. Understand?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Good.” Footsteps indicate Wanda is going to another room.

Natasha has never been genuinely scared of Wanda until now.

***********************************************************************

It’s laundry day in your household, another chore Natasha completely despises due to the sheer amount of bedding you and Wanda seem to accumulate. Wanda insists that she wash the sheets in every guest room, despite the fact that you and her only sleep in the master bedroom. While Natasha is certain she knows the real reason, she overheard her telling you it was to prevent bed bugs. 

Still, Natasha knows better than to question your wife and falls into the routine of stripping every bed, washing one load at a time, and redoing all the beds. The laundry machine is so noisy, she doesn’t hear the garage door open, nor the footsteps down the foyer. She doesn’t listen to music while she works, afraid Wanda will accuse her of being distracted, so she hums the soundtrack to Mamma Mia. 

When the next load finishes, Natasha gathers up the bedding in her arms, almost smothered by the heat from its tumble in the dryer. She precariously walks up the stairs, trying to remember which bedroom the sheets are from, when she hears a thump from the master bedroom.

Natasha freezes. She thought she was alone in the house. Maybe you had snuck by while she was in the laundry room, and clearly she didn’t learn her lesson from the last time she walked in on you and Wanda to stay away. Heart pounding against her chest in anticipation, Natasha inches towards the door and peers through the crack.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck me,” Wanda moans, followed by the repetitive banging of the headboard against the wall. Natasha shifts around to get a better view of the room, straining to see what’s going on. She catches a glimpse of Wanda on her knees, moving in and out of her view, someone holding onto her waist from behind. 

“I want you to put a baby in me,” Wanda pants, and her partner grunts in response.

While the two of you had no children that Natasha was aware of, she wonders if that was an intentional decision or perhaps you two were waiting for a better moment. Kids would certainly give you a reason to stay with Wanda, and maybe that was exactly what she was planning. 

Natasha hates the way she keeps watching, wanting more material to fuel her never-ending fantasy of being betrothed to you.    

“Honey? Are you here? I’m home!”

“I’m upstairs!” Natasha calls. She hears you tramp up the steps as she patiently waits for you in the bedroom. You poke your head through the door first, the top few buttons of your shirt undone, and although the exhaustion from work is evident on your face, you perk up when you see her.

Especially with what she’s wearing, or lack of it.

“I hope you had a good day at work, baby,” Natasha says, turning around to face you. She’s wearing the red lingerie set you bought her for her birthday. It hardly leaves her assets to the imagination and she can feel your gaze lingering on her body. She’s never felt so appreciated or wanted before.

“It was a good day that’s only getting better.” You step into the bedroom, hastening to take off your clothes. Natasha comes over to help you and you easily scoop her up in your strong arms, and she wraps her legs tightly around your hips. “You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” you whisper, your mouth hot on her neck as you nip at her skin.  

You walk forward until Natasha feels her back bump into the vanity. You rest her on the edge and spread your legs to jerk yourself to full hardness. Natasha struggles against the impatience in her core, wanting nothing more than for you to fill her to the brim. She watches the veins in your muscular arm pop out as you move your hand back and forth faster, your cock swelling to its large size.

Finally, Natasha cannot wait any longer. “I need you,” she begs, swatting your hand away and sliding forward, ready to practically fall on your dick. 

“Careful, baby,” you warn with a chuckle, gripping onto her thighs and stepping forward to find the right angle to insert yourself. 

Natasha sighs in relief when you enter her, holding onto your shoulders in case you get any ideas of pulling out too far. Her walls clench around you tightly, drawing a moan from you and you press your hips forward until your whole cock stretches her out. Natasha loves how much you fill her, how you soothe the empty throbbing in her. She must be the luckiest woman in the world to have you like this.

The vanity bumps against the wall with every thrust. Natasha squeezes her thighs tighter around your waist, trying to hold you in as long as possible. She runs her hands up and down your broad back, digging her nails into your shoulder blades when your thighs meet hers.

“When are you gonna put a baby in me?” she asks, her lips crashing heatedly onto yours.

You grunt with another deep thrust.

“You would look so beautiful carrying my child.”

Natasha’s blood goes cold when she hears Wanda’s partner. Because it’s not your voice.

It’s Vision’s.

She angles herself to see better and feels sick to see her stomach when she sees your wife and Vision tangled on the bed together. She can’t bear to watch another second and flees down the stairs, the bedsheets still in her arms, not even caring if they hear her. 

She has to find a way to tell you. That was the least you deserved.

***********************************************************************

You stand in the dim hallway, watching as Wanda whips around, grabbing her coat and Louis Vuitton purse. “Where do you think you’re going?” you ask.

“I’m not allowed to leave the house now?” she bites back, not even looking at you.

“It’s Friday night,” you point out.

“So?” 

“Friday nights are our nights,” you stress, and Wanda finally looks at you when you raise your voice. “It’s been that way for years, unless you’ve been so bored of me you haven’t noticed.”

“You can survive without me for one night,” she shoots back. “I have a dinner night with the girls–”

“Don’t go,” you say, your tone changing from anger to pleading. “Please. We hardly spend any time together since I started the new job here and–”

“That’s not my fault,” Wanda clips. “That was your decision. Moving here was also your decision, in case you forgot.” You don’t miss the way she stresses the blame on you. “You thought it would be better for your business, and you’re still in the red. I gave up my old friends and relationships to be here with you, and then you have the audacity to act like this is my fault.”

“I asked if you wanted to stay, and you said you were fine with moving,” you remind her, although you are uncomfortable at the truth of her words.

“I said I was fine moving because I thought it’d make you happy,” Wanda says. “But it looks like out of the two of us, I’m the only happy one here.”

You know it’s wrong, but you can’t help but be frustratingly jealous of your wife. Even waking up every day is now a struggle for you. You’re buckling under the pressure of work, unable to meet the deadlines or find the capital to pay your mounting debts. The only person you have to support you is Wanda, but she���s always off partying with her new friends or going to some made-up meeting meant to give her a false sense of significance. You’ve never felt lonelier, and it scares you that the only person you have may be slipping away.

“I’ll be back tonight.” Wanda whips out to the garage and clearly doesn’t want to hear any more protest from you. You stagger back and collapse onto a sofa, holding your head in your hands and feeling a burning sensation in your eyes.

Natasha peeks around the corner of the kitchen, wondering if you remember that she’s still here. “Y/N? Is everything okay?” she asks.

“No,” you say, forcing yourself to laugh. “I’m sorry if you heard any of that. That was very unprofessional of us.”

“It’s okay.” Natasha inches out so you can see her. You’re rubbing your eyes and she’s startled to realize you’re crying. Not knowing what to do, she retreats into the kitchen, grabbing a handful of rambutans from the bottom drawer of the fridge and a box of tissues and brings them to you.

You laugh when you see her offerings. You pat the sofa cushion next to her to indicate she is welcome to join you. “Have you had one of these before? I can show you how to eat them.” You peel off the furry red exterior, revealing a pearl-colored center. “You just eat this part. It tastes like a grape.”

Natasha takes one and follows your example. When she bites into the center, the taste is not as exotic as she expected but quite mild, reminding her of an oversized, fleshy grape. “It’s pretty good,” she says.

“My favorite.” You peel open another one, leaving the exterior on a pile on the table.

Natasha has another one and anxiously looks around the room, as if Wanda is still in the house. “Y/N, I need to tell you something,” she finally has the courage to say, heart pounding in her chest.

“Yes?” There’s a soft crunch as you bite through your rambutan. 

“Wanda’s cheating on you with Vision,” Natasha blurts out, with no build-up whatsoever.

You are completely silent, chewing the fruit as if it’s the last thing you’ll ever eat. 

“I saw them together in bed yesterday.” Natasha now realizes how foolish she sounds. What if you didn’t believe her? What if you thought she was lying in order to get you for herself? She could’ve taken a picture (as weird as that would’ve been) to provide actual proof. 

“I know,” you say, to Natasha’s shock. “I know she’s cheating on me with Vision.”

“You do?” Natasha is stunned. She wonders how long you’ve known, and why you’ve never acted out on it.

“She’s cheating on me with half the fucking neighborhood.”

***********************************************************************

One month earlier…

“Need a hand?”

“No, I think I’m good, thanks!” You roll out from under your car, your arms and face covered in grease and oil. A skinny man stands on the sidewalk, surveying your propped-up car on the driveway.

“What’s wrong with it?” he asks.

“Not sure,” you respond, reaching for a rag in your tool bag and wiping off your face. “It won’t start though, so I’ll probably have to get it towed to the shop.” 

“Need a lift?”

“Uh…” You glance back at your empty house. Wanda was out until nightfall, although you wouldn’t put it past her to be gone until tomorrow. Despite the brand-new house the two of you had just moved into, she didn’t seem to want to spend much time in it.

“It’s no trouble,” the man insists. “I live over at the end of the street. You can call me Vision.” He comes forward to shake your hand. 

“Y/N,” you introduce. “Well, I’d really appreciate it. We just moved here and my wife’s out of town right now, so I don’t have many friends I can call on here yet.”

Vision waves off your comment. “You have neighbors! That’s what we’re for, right?”

You call a tow truck and join Vision in his purple Camaro with a yellow racing stripe along the center of its hood to tail your vehicle to the shop.

“What do you do for work?” you ask, genuinely impressed with his sports car. He didn’t seem like the type to own one.

“Oh, I’m retired,” he says, effortlessly shifting the gears and the vehicle purrs in response.

“Really?” He hardly looked a few years older than you.

“Corporate life just wasn’t for me,” he says. “It paid very well though, so I retired early and bought the house out here. It’s just me though, never found the right person to settle down with.”

“It’s not for everyone,” you admit, because sometimes you wonder if you even found the right person.

***********************************************************************

After the mechanics determine your car needs an overnight stay to repair, Vision drives you back home. He drops you off and speeds down the street to his own. You find him to be a little quirky, but harmless. You head inside for a much-needed shower. When you’re done, you wrap a towel around your waist and step into the bedroom to find some clothes. You pause when the front door creaks open. 

Excited to greet your wife, you rush out to say hello from the top of the stairs, but stop in your tracks when you realize she’s brought someone in.

“Oh, Y/N isn’t home,” Wanda says, her voice carrying through the foyer.

“This house is huge!” It’s Steve. Your heart bangs against your chest and you retreat to the bedroom, unsure where to hide. The closet seems like a decent spot, and you nestle in between your hanging jackets as you hear Wanda and Steve stomp up the stairs together. You peek out through the crack in the door.

“Ours was built first, but it looks like this one has a lot of improvements that we could’ve used,” Steve goes on.

“Yes, yes, it’s very nice,” Wanda says. They walk into your bedroom, Wanda behind him with a mischievous glint in her eye you recognize all too well. “I wish Y/N could be around more,” she continues, and you fight the urge to burst out of the closet. “Like you said, it’s such a big house and it feels so lonely in it without another body to keep it warm.”

You see Steve’s gaze travel along the walls and over your furniture. To his credit, he does seem genuinely impressed with your home. He always struck you as a simple man, maybe even a little bit ignorant at times. But now you were about to see if his ignorance was true or an act.

Wanda approaches him so closely you’re sure her body is rubbing against his. 

“Y/N isn’t here, but maybe you can keep me company for a while?”

“Hey, hey, what are you doing?” Steve jerks away from Wanda when she puts her hands on his hips. 

“We can be quick,” Wanda insists, taking off her jacket. “No one has to know–”

“Wanda, stop it,” Steve says, sounding angry. “I have a wife and kids at home and you’re married to Y/N–”

“So?” Wanda replies, and it makes your stomach clench with how dismissive she is. “I’ve been married to Y/N for four years and I’ve been cheating since day one.” She shrugs. “Honestly, the only reason I settled down is for the thrill of it.” She holds her hand up, the wedding ring you gifted her with three months’ salary glinting in the light. “It’s much more exciting to get what you’re not supposed to have, right?”

“You’re disgusting,” Steve says. “Stay away from me and my family.”

He hurries out of the bedroom, but Wanda doesn’t go after him at first. She puts her jacket back on and admires her reflection in the mirror, clearly a little frazzled by Steve’s rejection. How many people hadn’t rejected her? You always had a hunch, but had never heard Wanda admit it outloud before. How could you be so stupid this whole time?

Your body starts to vibrate with rage and you accidentally knock a jacket off its hook. While the jacket falls soundlessly to the floor, you can’t see well enough to catch the hanger and it lands with a quiet thump on the carpet. You look through the crack, holding your breath as Wanda’s head whips towards the closet. 

The next few seconds are so tense you want to vomit.

But then Wanda turns back to her reflection, fluffing out her hair, and leaves the bedroom.

***********************************************************************

Your paranoia kicks in like a drug that won’t let you rest. You buy cameras and sprinkle them all around the house, in the trinkets and knick knacks Wanda insisted on showcasing in every room. The teddy bear on your dresser in the bedroom. The ceramic turtle in the china cabinet in the living room. The plastic cow on the windowsill of the kitchen window. You monitor them religiously, but it doesn’t take long for more evidence to show up.

Vision is the most frequent offender, visiting during your long nights at work or sometimes in the middle of the day. Steve never sets foot on your property again, although sometimes the camera in the potted plant by the front door picks up the conversation of Wanda trying to convince him to come over. As nice as Steve was to turn down your wife’s advances, he never came to tell you what she had tried to do with him either.

There are some visitors you don’t even recognize. And Wanda isn’t a stranger to women either. She brings over Agatha, her supposed HOA nemesis, and many of the ladies who would greet you so kindly and fawn over you every time they saw you working in the front yard. You would bet money that she was also fucking some of her girlfriends on their trips away.

And now you have it all on camera, your wife fucking multiple strangers in your own home. The proof didn’t make you feel better; in fact, it made you feel worse. All that time, effort, and money you had spent trying to cultivate the perfect relationship with her when she would turn around and fuck the first thing that looked at her. 

It made you so angry you couldn’t see straight. But you knew you couldn’t act hastily. You would formulate the perfect plan to get out of the marriage and leave Wanda behind, even if it meant leaving her for dead.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

AN: Whomp whomp. So...was it who you expected? Or worse? 🤭And I think we collectively owe Steve an apology.

Next part is here!

Please like, reblog, and comment! Follow for more content. 🥰

[uwmspeccoll]

Cannupa Hanska Luger, New Myth, Future Technologies, 2021

Dana Claxton, Headdress-Jeneen, 2018

Teresa Baker, Hidatsa Red, 2022

Raven Chacon, For Zitkala Sa Series, 2019

Caroline Monnet, Echoes from a near future, 2022

Marie Watt, Skywalker/Skyscraper (Calling Sky World), 2021

Anna Tsouhlarakis, The Native Guide Project, 2019

Meryl McMaster, Harbourage for a Song, 2019

Marie Watt, Companion Species (Calling Back, Calling Forward), 2021

Staff Pick of the Week

An Indigenous Present proposes that a book can be a space for community engagement through the transcultural gathering of more than sixty contemporary Indigenous and Native artists. Published by BIG NDN Press and Delmonico Books in 2023, An Indigenous Present was conceived of and edited by Mississippi Choctaw and Cherokee artist Jeffrey Gibson (b. 1972) over the course of nearly two decades. 

In Gibson’s own words, “An Indigenous Present celebrates the work of visual artists, musicians, poets, choreographers, designers, filmmakers, performance artists, architects, collectives, and writers whose work offers fresh starting lines for Native and Indigenous art. But the book does not attempt comprehensiveness. Rather, those included here are makers I admire, have collaborated with or been inspired by, and who’ve challenged my thinking. . . . These artists and what they make will guide us to Indigenous futurities authored by us in unabashedly Indigenous ways.”  

An Indigenous Present features over 400 pages of color photographs, poetry, essays, and interviews resulting in a stunning visual experience for readers and a shift towards more inclusive art systems. The front cover art shown here is by Canadian artist Caroline Monnet entitled Indigenous Represent. 

View other posts from our Native American Literature Collection.

View more posts featuring Decorative Plates.

View other Staff Picks.

– Jenna, Special Collections Graduate Intern 

[mo0nfairy]

ᥫ᭡ . # ۫ , ⸺ BLOMSTERTID, PART ONE !

summary :: Centuries-old mage, Y/N L/N, possesses magical abilities unheard of. A few citizens monopolize the remnants of magic they find, of which they now title “Hextech”. Hearsay of this power bleeds through all of Runeterra, until Piltover and Zaun find themselves in an anarchic war to obtain said power. Before Y/N can even blink, however, the humans neglect their plans when they realize they’d rather have Y/N instead.

chapters :: the masterlist.

word count :: 4.3k

content warnings :: NO SPOILERS! g/n reader, harassment, death, parental abuse/neglect, animal neglect/cruelty, & elements of sexism.

⋆ ｡ ˚ ⋆ ⸺ The sun feels blistering as it blankets you in its sweltering embrace. Body sheen with sweat, you halt your early-afternoon endeavors and begin the lengthy journey home. The flowers you’ve spent the past several hours plucking now rest in your wicker basket. It will be the perfect apology for your parents, you surmise. After all, you are miles away from being the exemplary model-child they swore they raised you to be. 

You take a moment to admire the Shurima empire in all of its glory. Even in the short frame of several decades, the discovery of this continent has managed to flourish so elegantly.

It is rare you are given the opportunity to see the fruits of the founder's labor. Nonetheless, you were not born in the lap of luxury. You were raised in the poor corners of civilization, which is exactly where you return to.

Stepping into the streets of the dank city, you are immediately met with the perfusion of dust and sand. You cough into your elbow from the sudden exposure (the mountain air has evidently spoiled your senses). All you can do is hope you survive the journey back home, and more crucially, the wrath of your parents. 

You still have yet to forget the stifling look of enraged disappointment in their eyes from the day before. 

A charming suitor, an impossibly rich one at that, gifted you a vase full of flowers native to his home country. You check off the list of physical and verbal cues your parents set out for you: batting your lashes, good posture, and how can you forget, the obnoxiously-flirtatious compliments and the innocent “damsel in distress” etiquette. 

So engrossed in the tasks at hand, the vase in your hands then slips from your butter-fingers and shatters against the pavement. A few of the cracked pieces nick the suitors ankles.

He had some particularly colorful words for you. Now, there is certainly no hope of marriage with this man. 

A selfish part of you is relieved. Marrying a man twice your age is a page torn straight from your worst nightmares. When you are inevitably faced with the incessant scolding of your parents, however, you find yourself wishing he’d just jam a ring on your finger and call it a day.

Doing anything to make your parents happy is the disposition you have molded your life around. Hence the flowers currently in your possession.

The very picosecond you became an adult, your parents scrambled to find you a spouse. Your mothers insistence on maintaining your “beauty” struck as strange, as you have never viewed yourself or others through an aesthetic lens. Even when a myriad of suitors were kicking your doors in to claim you as theirs, you still don’t understand where she is coming from. 

After all, they take one glimpse at your (in your father’s words) eccentric personality and they’re making a dash for the hills. 

It didn’t take long for you to understand that their proclamations of “ensuring a delightful life with me as my respected spouse” meant forging you into their submissive, braindead pet. So, in a petty, rebellious manner, you do not hinder the vibrance of your personality. Of course, you are acutely aware of how this behavior will never earn you a spouse. No man or woman would want something as unconventional as you, that has been made abundantly clear.

Because of this, you have resorted to pursuing other forms of validation from your parents.

Every ache that pulsates through your fingertips reminds of your utmost passion. Playing the harp has tended to your needs the way no suitor ever has.

You managed to snag the instrument when an indecisive elite tossed it out after a single attempt at learning how to play. It has now made a home in your bedroom, hidden behind the panel of the unfinished wall. When the weight of the world becomes too heavy (and when your parents have left the premises), you indulge in the peace the music provides. Every flick of your calloused fingers against the thick strings provides a solace you cradle close. 

With this passion follows hope, as well. You’re positive that with enough effort, you can convince your parents to let you pursue the art of music instead of marriage. Soon, you’ll flaunt your polished skills with the harp and earn the approval of your parents. That is most imperative now.

Something furry then brushes against your leg. A familiar purr rustles against your skin. When you look down, you are not surprised to find a Poro.

It is common for the rich to own them as pets, but of course, you get the few bunch who grow tired of the animals and chuck them out like trash. A few find their way to the poor side of civilization, where the critters are now lethargic and emaciated from the abandonment of their caregiver. 

The Poro's black, bulbous eyes peer at you in hesitation, before he flings his tiny body into the dark alleyway just ahead. You coo at the creature in an attempt at beckoning him back out from his hiding place. A fresh idea in mind, you dig a hand into your satchel and fish out the lunch you had forgotten to eat. It is mere scraps at most, but you have an inkling the little guy will be desperate for any form of nourishment.

Soon enough, you spot an eye peeking out from behind an empty wooden crate. When his gaze lands on the torn piece of bread in your hand, he takes a few cautious steps forward. Freezing periodically, anticipating your next move, the Poro soon makes it to your palm. His wide, slobbering tongue slithers around the small chunk of bread, before gathering it into his mouth.

Just as you reach your hand to pet the feathery tufts of fur atop his head, a door behind you bursts open. A burly man appears in the threshold, a tower of several more empty crates balanced in his fat arms. When the man's gaze meets yours, his expression drops into one of irritation. 

“Goddamn L/N…” 

He chucks the crates into a pile of many others, the collision loud and tumultuous. The Poro shrieks and scurries off into the distance. 

“Thought I told you to stop feeding the strays. Fur-balls always come back for seconds.” 

Animals have always struck a soft spot for you, more-so than others evidently deem admirable. You still remember the red-raged lecture you received from your father when you saved a suitor from a sly snake, before cooing at the slithering friend in your grasp and presenting it to the woman. 

In your father’s eyes, this was apparently inappropriate of you. What would other suitors think, after all? That you’d bring wretched creatures like that into their mansions? The answer is obviously yes, but you’re better off without more incessant scolding from him.

You shove the remaining clumps of food back into your satchel as though the incriminating evidence would vanish once stashed away. As you do so, a prideful smile creeps onto the mans face, enlarged cheeks stretching wide. 

“Finally meet someone stupid enough to set the date?” He asks, gesturing to your hand. 

When you follow his gaze, you see the ring you crafted yourself, realizing he had mistaken its origins. 

You have a tendency to sneak off into the rich side of Shurima and “borrow” a trinket or two. The ring you snagged happened to be an engagement ring a forgetful fiancé left by a bathroom sink. The intricacies and glittering shimmer were too stunning for you to ignore. So, the poor woman had to return home empty-handed that night.

“Never thought I’d see the day.” A mocking chortle exhales from the man's chapped lips. 

“Poor bastard.” Another man chuckles.

The two clearly find the prospect of you marrying to be hilarious. You don’t have it in you to tell them the truth, knowing they’ll surely find a way to twist your words to fuel their amusement. The ring is not even on your ring finger, to begin with. Rather, your index finger. 

You pretend to ignore the sounds of their wheezing laughter and hasten forward, desperate to escape their cruel words.

Unfortunately, these heavy words did not end with random pedestrians in the streets.

The very moment you enter your home, the anger of your father is almost palpable. It is uncomfortable and distressing, but foreseeable. With your track record, there is always something you’ve done to provoke his irritation. And the sight of you soiled with dirt and sweat leads him to wonder why he ever considered having a child in the first place. 

“I… I figured we could give a bouquet to the suitor and his mother as an apology.” You present the flowers to him. “Perhaps not in a ceramic vase, this time.”

You accentuate your idea with a dry attempt at humor, despite knowing how aloof your father is. As expected, his expression remains stern. You can’t recall a time you have ever seen him smile, for that matter. 

“Y/N…” He buries his face into his hands. “We’ve spoken about this…” 

Ah, yes, how could you have forgotten? 

Another lecture of millions instilled into your brain about how suitors only like someone who spends their time with meaningful tasks. These tasks include slaving the hours away cooking and cleaning, as well as raising enough children to fill a wagon. The mere thought of being prisoner to such responsibilities sends a wet shiver through your blood.

“Well…” You scoff. “You act as though any suitors still remain in town. What do you wish for me to do? Swim after their ship and grovel at their-?” 

His fist slams into the surface of the table. The force causes you to flinch; you would not be surprised if a hole was forged from the impact. His ugly face twists into a scowl as he points an accusatory finger at you — another sight you know all too well. 

“They have all left with no hope of marriage! Even with our offers of dowry, no man nor woman would ever want to waste a second more with you!” 

He speaks nothing of the truth, but still, it pierces sharp. 

“Day after day, your mother and I work tirelessly to ensure your future and you do nothing to express any gratitude!”

Speaking of the devil, your mother then enters the premises, startled from the sudden noise of her husband's anger. And like clockwork, her expression descends into one of disappointment at the sight of you. 

“Dear Lord, what have you gotten yourself into now?” She stomps over and begins fussing over the stains of dirt and grass smeared into your clothes. “You are surely something arcane, child.” 

You attempt to explain your intentions, but any hope of obtaining their approval falls on deaf ears. You should have known from the start they would not roll over so easily. Still, you keep crawling back to sit at their feet. Like a beaten dog desperate for a loving hand. 

Your mother proceeds to force you through another tangent about the horrid state of your appearance. How your poor diet is clearly showing through your choice of clothing, how the sun will ruin your already hideous skin — another lecture of millions detailing everything you are doing wrong in your life.

“Beauty is not eternal, Y/N. You do not have much time before your attitude begins reflecting in your appearance.”

Her words may sting had that not been the plan in the first place. 

What your parents fail to realize is that you are intending on allowing your “beauty” to decline. In the end, you’ll just be another atrocious, old bat who will never hear about the prospect of marriage again. Therefore, your parents will have no option but to support your dreams of music. Maybe then, they’ll finally learn to love you as you are. 

“We cannot survive another season without marriage.” You hear your father mutter as he turns to face your mother. “Will you inform them or shall I?” 

Your attention is now fully piqued, expressed through the furrowed brows and curious pout plastered on your face. Something that will provoke wrinkles, your mother always remarks.

Brutally, they enlighten you on how they intend on fixing your rebellious attitude. 

In the dawn of the following week, you’ll board a ship with other troubled youth and sail across the sea. When you arrive on uncharted lands, you’ll be handed over to a man old enough to be your grandfather. Here, he will “train” you into becoming a better spouse for future suitors. Once you prove yourself to him, only then may you come back home. Set to be married the very second you return.

Nausea stirs in your stomach as the weight of the situation settles at your feet. You’ve been receded to that of an object; a ticket to obtain the fortune your parents so desperately crave.

“Is that truly your intention? Sell me off like livestock while you both lay here comfortably!?” 

“I assure you, my child, this is for your own good-!” 

With forced sympathy, your mother attempts to console you. You tear her cold, neglectful hands from your shoulder and glare at your parents, glossy eyes overwhelmed with anger. They do not respond further; they have said all they have needed to say. 

Like a fussy toddler, you slam your basket onto the cement. The wicker weavings are now awkward and awry. With another scolding bridging on their tongues, you then stomp out of the house and slam the door in your departure.

The calluses in your feet pulse with every loose twig and pine cone you step upon. You neglect the unforgiving city and devote your journey to the forest, traveling as far as your body can take you. Past the spreading moss, the sky-high pines, the simmering fog; farther than you have ever ventured before. Anything to escape what remains at home. Why on earth would you want to return, anyway? To receive yet another lecture about your maturity? To inevitably be handed off to a stranger like chopped liver? 

You’d rather starve beneath a canopy of branches before you ever board that damned ship.

Time passes unbeknownst to you as you explore further. When the sun begins its descent into the sky, only then do you realize how far you have traveled. At this point, you have become lost in the maze of trees. Finding your way out is a fool’s errand now, but in this moment, you almost find that as a blessing.

Fortunately for you and your weak self, you find a river stream and can practically feel your legs sigh with relief. The frigid temperatures are almost equivalent to that of a warm blanket, soothing your muscles of the incessant labor you’ve forced upon them. The water swooshes and sways against your feet, following the drifting stream.

When you spot a foreign cave nestled beneath the hill’s ledge, overwhelmed with ivy and greenery, your curiosity is snatched like a feeble mouse in the claws of a hawk. The entrance is illuminated by the rays of the setting sun, almost as though the universe wished for you to stumble upon this sight. The rest of the area is drowned in a vast darkness. Something inside of you wants to explore further, despite the dangers you are positive lurk within.

To test the waters, you grasp a loose stone and toss it into the dark depths. You expect a gentle thud to help you judge the distance inside. Instead, the wall within crumbles from your intrusion and the avalanche sends a surge of rocks and dirt your way. 

Before you can question where you’ve obtained this sudden strength, an odd light sprouts from the darkness. The light is opalescent and dances in hues of violet and blue, almost swaying through the air like oil spilled into clear water. A tender frequency churns when the thundering destruction dies down. The sound shivers, but maintains an almost heavenly disposition. 

Sparkling in the corner of your eye, your gaze shifts down to your feet. There, you find that same light appearing like an ink splotch beneath where you stand. It increases in brightness, before fading away like a snuffed candle. Then, the light glistens again a few inches ahead of you, before dying out the same way. This process continues onwards, pressing footsteps into the jagged stone and leading to the destruction you caused. 

It’s as though something was beckoning you to step forward, yanking the strings of your curiosity like a child with a toy.

Now rendered silent (and any lasting rage eased), you tread further into the cave and follow the scintillating light. Peering a suspicious eye around the corner, you find the very last thing you expected. 

A crater had been carved out by some form of impact. Surrounding the crater are glimmering crystals, now jutting out of the cave walls. In the middle is a hunk of rock, blistering in even more intensive hues of blue and purple. It pulsates, as though it were alive — its heart hammering just like yours. 

For a reason you cannot explain, every cell in your body is alive with a strange, fiery exhilaration. The bliss encompasses your head, before spreading down to your toes, threading with every vein you possess. There is an underlying fear tickling the goosebumps across your skin, but the euphoria perceives it as delicious adrenaline. 

Simultaneously, your entire body is oddly tranquil. Like you’ve been submerged in thick honey, blanketing your muscles in complacent ease. 

It is an intoxicating oxymoron. So much so, you find yourself stepping closer to the ethereal boulder. When you are a mere feather touch away, your vision swims with delirium. It sways side to side in a sea of nauseous excitement.

Lifting a finger, you creep your hand closer to the boulder. A mere nudge of your fingertip against the rock and a blinding light floods the cave. 

The magical, colorful aura is snatched away when a sudden force bludgeons through the expanse. Without a mere second to spare, you no longer feel the ground beneath your feet. Your body is thrust against the cave wall. Rock matter plunges straight into your skull.

And just like the closing curtains you’ve always dreamt of being behind, everything cuts to black. You’re now lost in a dark void. No thundering applause or flower bouquets to welcome you.

When you gain consciousness, you are overwhelmed with suffocating darkness. 

Chunks of dirt flood your mouth, your eyes, your throat, and ensnare around your entire body. You struggle to no avail, with all of your limbs restrained beneath the weight forcing you down. Your heart thrashes like the bashing of a war drum. Oxygen abandons you and leaves your lungs burning with need. 

The fear enveloping your bones intensifies with its bitter touch. It intensifies and hastens until your body cannot withstand the force of it all. 

Another explosion pervades with a thundering force. Only this time, you are not met with harm. Instead, a light invades your vision.

Adjusting to the harsh intrusion of sunlight, you soon catch the sight of that familiar blue and violet light. They scatter in flickering specks through the air, like curious fireflies drifting through the Summer wind. As your eyes adjust to the new environment, you find yourself buried in a grave, of some sort. 

Climbing your weak body out of the hole, your brain is infested with mountains of questions. Was that just a dream? How did that even happen? How did you end up here of all places? 

Are you dead? 

And, of course, that unhealed part of you wonders where your mother and father are and why you cannot cling to their comfort. 

“Mama…” You whimper, not recognizing the voice crawling from your throat. 

You feel like a fresh fawn on legs when you bring your weight to your wobbly knees. Stumbling through the newfoundland, it does not take long before your body fails you and you collapse at the edge of a river. Your attempts at catching your breath are halted to a stunned silence when you catch a glimpse of your reflection in the water. 

The person you stare upon has been replaced by something different. Splotches of saturated colors splatter your skin, contrasting in varying sizes and hues. Most of which are the same purple and blue that have made a stark appearance time and time again. Your pupils, swimming in those same blistering-bright hues, have enlarged drastically. Your teeth are now crooked and bent as they jut in violent directions inside your mouth.

Trailing your gaze further, you find chunks of flesh missing from your body, which have now healed over rugged, rough, and raw. In the sun, incomprehensible gibberish glitters across your exposed flesh. Almost like some form of ancient rune. Sparkling when a certain patch of light hits it right. 

Something undead — that is your conclusion. You have died and been revived as a monster, that must be what has occurred. You peer over your shoulder to the grave you were buried in to confirm this suspicion. As you do so, something captures your attention.

In the sand, a footprint stands out to you as explicitly familiar. You’d recognize the pattern of that shoe anywhere after the multiple occasions you spent sweeping the debris in your home.

Your father was here. Likely your mother, too. 

The city must have heard the explosion from miles away, crowding to the source to identify the cause. In the debris, your parents had found you. Dead. In a sloppy attempt at concealing the truth of your disappearance, they had dug an impromptu grave and tossed the lifeless body of their only child within. No gravestone, no flowers, no proper burial. Absolutely nothing. 

All for your name to be forgotten about and to never see the light of day again.

You cannot piece together where exactly everything went wrong, what heinous actions you pulled in the past to deserve such cruelty. For all the years of your fleeting life, you’ve been balancing on the tightrope of perfection. Every inch of you has been scrutinized like a passionate scientist. No matter what step you took, you were always too much in one area, while not enough in another.

Now, you are overwhelmed with the revelation that it was all for nothing. 

It never earned you a spouse, it never earned you the status of a harp player, and most imperatively, it never earned you the love of your parents.

Betrayal squeezes the weight in your chest, snagging out rib-burning cries from your body. Globs of snot and tears embellish your deformed face. Standing to your feet, you can almost swear you heard a… Harp? The melodies swarm around you, like a lulling cloud of tranquility. 

In your attempts to step forward and locate the source of the sound, the sudden sound of squelching twists beneath your feet. 

When you glance to the ground, you find a flower blossoming just behind your ankle. It glistens with glitter, woven around the blue stems and fading into purple petals. When you take another step, the same occurrence happens. Another flower, just the same as the other, blossoms at the edge of your foot.

Your rendition of horticulture is weak, but you have never seen a flower quite like that before. Even when the richest suitors presented their collection of bouquets from all around the world, not a single flower shared a speck of familiarity with this new discovery. 

The sounds of harp still hold your attention, but despite your efforts to locate the music, all you find surrounding you are fields of nature, accompanied by these strange flowers you’ve somehow conjured out of the dry soil. It was almost like the sounds of harp were reverberating from you; as though the strings resided in your chest.

Step after step, flowers continue to blossom and harp strings echo in celestial tunes. You do not know where you intend to go, but you now know that all you have centered your life around has proven to be immaterial.

The only thing you have now is yourself. 

You dare to think that is all you need to survive.

To this day, this revelation proves to be correct. It manifests into everyday life where you have remained on the grounds of the Shimura Empire. 

Thousands of years have now passed. The powers that cave had gifted you have now been utilized to your greatest ability. Your parents are long dead, your suitors found better spouses to continue their bloodline, and your precious harp is now a mere gust of wind. You’ve watched civilizations crumble and rebuild themselves to fruition, all while you maintain the same powerful, immortal body. 

Who would have guessed that an “eccentric” personality like yours would lead you to where you are today?

Another year of thousands has reached its middle point. 2021 has begun like any other, but has suffered an abrupt shift when a few citizens tread a bit too close for your liking. It is merely a fragment of power they find. “Hextech,” they call it. With enough intricate studies and prosperous experiments, however, you fear it is only a matter of time before these scientists yank you from the comfortable shadows.

When hearsay bleeds through Runeterra of your powers being capitalized for violence, you know you have no choice but to stop them.

No matter what it takes.

        ⁺  🎧 ,  🪷  you are currently listening to . . .  ⁺  🪺  , 🎵  ꪆ

❝  THE RAYS OF THE SUN

APPROACH AND ALL IS REBORN . . .  ❞

gif creds.

tag list: @honey-beeuwu @mrprettycom @makangelo @thelonelyme @solavily @eldritch-bunny @decaffeinatedclodbagelweasel @orbitingmarswithp @frickidyfrog @phantomdomi @mermaidm0tel6 @numbu5 @applepinsss @anon34570 @biohazardousbunny @vogelaqwry @lorely788 @mellowangeltree @myathegoat @alix-37 @lavandercinnamon @vrnicky @mellowfishauthoreggs

[hello-gloomy]

Maybe a xeno x fem reader. She's his girlfriend and a part of the American colony. This is set when senku and the others first arrived. One day the reader just got very sick and xeno needed medicine but he couldn't make anything because he needed something that wasn't native to the US(just pretend) and when he learned that senku had the sulfa drug, he called a temporary truce so he could get the medicine to help her.

Sorry it's short again. I hope u like it anyway.

-------------------

In Sickness

Xeno Wingfield × Sick Fem!Reader

Description: Xeno makes a deal with the Japanese colony to get medicine for you.

Warnings: SO much fucking sap bro and a nit of angst with fluff ofc.

A/N: My bad if the end felt rushed I started strong and then it felt down hill ngl. Future edit: I feel like some of yall be stalking my page jus waiting for me to post lmao 🤣

Words: 663

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A warm cloth brushing the sweat off your head woke you from your restless sleep; when you opened your eyes to the dim room, you saw your sweet doctor taking care of you. He looked like he was in a sour mood; something must have blown up again. You smile at and greet him; he pouts in response and lays his head on your chest, analyzing your face. Your sickly color has gotten worse, and your eyes are sunken in and more red than usual. His eyes felt dry with tears. You weren't improving, and he could do nothing about it. You took notice of his turmoil about your situation and started brushing his silver hair. He buried his head in your chest in response, not bearing to look at the love of his life slowly dying and not being able to do anything about it; what was the point of all his knowledge if he couldn't even use it to help you? He stayed with you longer than usual today and didn't leave until Stanley called him to the lab for an emergency.

"I will make you better, I promise." With that, you went back to sleep, this time with a dream of you and Xeno enjoying dinner at a table instead of a sad white room.

When he had finished questioning Gen, he finally asked about the medicine they had acquired in Japan and if they had taken any with them on their voyage; when the boy had answered him truthfully, he tried his best not to get his hopes up. He would hate to have to give up his plans to get the herbs, but he wouldn't want to risk losing you by taking it forcefully.

"I'll support you with either decision you make, Xe." Stanley had put to him; he motioned for Stan to follow him to the communication room for now and dragged Gen along with them. He held his face in thought for a bit before coming to the choice of working with them for now, and if he did like how things turned out with you, he'd just have Stanley kill them all, slowly.

"I'm willing to have a truce with your group, Dr. Taiju, on the condition that you share any of the medicine you have in your question with me." There was a pause, and he could make out some muffled chatter before being answered.

"You have a deal." That new voice sounded oddly familiar. They planned to meet in a neutral zone so neither could try to exploit the other. He visited you before leaving, telling you he loved you and would return soon. He placed the important ring on your finger before he left, placing a kiss and a promise in your hands.

They started their trek to the neutral point. When they arrived, Xeno was surprised to see that the familiar voice was precisely who he thought it was.

"Dr. Senku." Said Xeno; the boy scoffed and rubbed his neck in response. They exchanged tense greetings and traded supplies. Xeno would have prolonged the moment with his pupil but was more haggard about getting back to you as fast as possible. He wanted you to be better, enjoy this new world with him, and be at his side, healthy and happy again, just like you used to be. He returned to your room and saw you sleeping peacefully; you were still breathing, which eased his heart significantly. He put you to rouse you gently; you blinked at him with bleary eyes and smiled at him; he whispered to you gently about the medicine and made you sit up.

"You went through all of that for me?" You asked him after a smaller coughing fit; he, in turn, hugged you close, crushing you in his arms.

"I would gladly watch the world end again for you." That night, he spent it in your bed, finally getting the sleep you both deserved.

[starry-agere]

Hello!! I was wondering if you had any suggestions for age regression related activities to do that don't include looking at something with a screen (phone, computer, etc)? My eyes get dry really fast so staring at these things can cause some pain. If it helps to narrow things down any, I'm a middle regressor (tween-teen) so some activities around that age work! Thank you in advance!!

hi !! here are some ideas that will hopefully work for you :)

offline activities for tween/teen agere

make friendship bracelets, loom bracelets, or kandi

do activity kits! there's tons of types, like science, painting, jewelry, and so many more. i know that michaels sells lots of these !

visit science or history museums! there's always so much to learn, and you can always bring a journal or sketchbook and write about or make drawings based on what you see

if you have a friend or family member to play with, play board games, card games, chess, or checkers!

jump rope! try learning more complex tricks for an extra challenge

bake some treats! it doesn't have to be complicated; you definitely can make something from scratch, but using a mix from the store is easy, fun, and delicious

make something out of duct tape, like a wallet! (remember when that was a thing?)

build with legos! there's so many different kinds of sets, for any kind of skill level and age. i've completed space, animal crossing and minecraft sets !

put together jigsaw puzzles !

buy coloring books or print out coloring pages! there's such a big market for adult/more detailed coloring books these days, so you're bound to find something fun to color

make origami - all you need is some origami paper, and it's tons of fun

make slime! you can even buy kits from the store to make specific kinds of slime

garden! you could plant native wildflowers outside, plant a vegetable plant or herb, or you could even just plant a flower in a pot on your windowsill. there are also gardening kits that you can buy; i've done a couple of Back to the Roots' sprouts kits, and they're really fun!

i hope that these provide some good ideas for tween + teen age regressors looking for some offline activities! have fun <3

[delulusionwl]

♡ I Can't Keep You Off My Diary ─ pt ii

♡ I Can't Keep You Off My Diary ─ pt i Pairing ── Clarisse La Rue x Fem!Reader! | Apollo!Daughter Word ── 4k Synopsis ── In wich Clarisse see drawings of herself in reader's diary, and after beign ignored for long days, confronts the Apollo daughter. Warnings ── Nothing, I believe. Pls let me know if I should warn something! A bit of angst? Idk. Maybe a kiss? This is a kiss warning. A/n ── Hello my fave demigods, this is delulu again lol! Finally dropped the second part of "I Can't Keep You Off My Diary". Huge thanks for all the love and kudos on the last post! ♡ I'm excited to bring more about the characters from pjo (and other series too, pls let me know if you have someone in mind) Images are not mine, so credit goes to the respective owners. English is not my native language, so sorry in advance if I messed anything up! *Y/n/n = Your nickname

Mortified. Disoriented. Shocked. Stunned. Devastated.

Y/n could list these and thousands of other words to describe her current state. The girl walked with heavy, deep steps toward her cabin, unintentionally ignoring some people who greeted her along the way. Her eyes were fixed on the ground, her face completely red, and the color even reached her ears.

"Worst. Day. Ever." Y/n thought, gritting her teeth in embarrassment as soon as her feet crossed the threshold of the cabin, slamming the door behind her without even noticing, drawing the attention of some of her siblings who were nearby.

The dark-haired girl marched to her bed and threw herself face down, screaming into the pillow as she thrashed on the mattress, angry, reliving the scene and becoming even more embarrassed.

The other children of Apollo who were in the cabin watched the scene with question marks above their heads, seeing Y/n bang her arms and legs on the bed while her face was buried in the pillow, muffling her scream. Anyone who saw her would think she was just angry and dissipating the feeling instead of hitting someone and getting a punishment from Chiron. But we know what was really happening.

As soon as Y/n stopped thrashing on the bed, she let out a muffled sigh and let her limbs collapse onto the mattress, while her mind replayed the scene over and over again.

"Y/n?" Grace, the girl with caramel-golden skin and eyes that blended green and amber, approached, sitting on her sister's bed. "What happened?" She finally asked, and with the silence in the cabin, you could hear a pin drop.

Everyone there wanted to know the reason for the commotion since Y/n wasn't usually like this. She rarely fought, and if she had to settle some scores, she'd do it in Capture the Flag. But everyone thought, "Finally, something got Y/n really upset?"

"Grace..." Y/n muttered, muffled, embarrassed, and almost on the verge of tears. "Grace, I’m mortified. I’ll never leave this cabin. Never."

Grace let out a nasal laugh and adjusted Y/n’s thick dark hair, which was slightly wavy from all the mess until she reached the cabin. "What happened that’s so bad?" She asked again, adjusting her sister's hair as she lay face down on the bed.

Grace's touch was so gentle and warm that Y/n felt a little calmer, and the gold-decorated nails on Grace’s fingers—since she had been playing with Emma and a gold pen—seemed to reflect all the girl's shine and the surrounding atmosphere.

Y/n lifted her head slightly and saw her closed diary on the bed, a little further away from Grace, and that was enough for her to mumble and bury her face back into the pillow, crying. Grace noticed Y/n's look and raised an eyebrow.

Everyone in the cabin knew about Y/n's diaries. It wasn't just one. Over the years, the girl had accumulated more and more, and the pages of the notebooks always seemed to run out too quickly, even though she had never torn a single page.

"It looks perfectly fine to me," Grace said, observing the notebook but not touching it. An unspoken rule about the Apollo cabin was: don’t touch other people’s things without permission, and the demigods there took it seriously, except for the younger or newer ones who sometimes broke the "silent rule"—but nothing a simple conversation couldn’t fix afterward. "Let me guess. Did someone read your diary?" Grace asked, hearing another scream from Y/n, who tried to bury herself even further into the mattress, causing the other girl to laugh.

Grace looked at the other siblings, waving them off gently. She’d be the one to calm Y/n down. The rest of the children of Apollo went back to what they were doing without any fuss.

"Was it that bad?" Grace asked.

"Bad?" Y/n sat up from the bed clumsily, her face still red. "Grace, it was horrible! Gods! I can never leave this cabin again. Never, got it? Damn, why did it happen like this?" Y/n said, crying and embarrassed, covering her face with her hands.

"Can I see?" Grace asked, even though she thought her request would be denied. But after a sigh, Y/n nodded silently.

That was enough for Grace to carefully pick up the notebook and open it, discreetly so the others wouldn't see what she was looking at. After flipping past just the first blank page, she finally understood why Y/n was almost as red as a tomato.

"Oh..." Grace said, surprised, flipping through the notebook, which made Y/n mutter. "Okay. Who saw this? The Aphrodite cabin or Ares? Gods, I don’t even know which is worse."

"Clarisse herself," Y/n said quietly, which left Grace even more surprised. "And two of her brothers."

"Oh!" Grace said, closing the notebook, earning a disgruntled and embarrassed murmur from her sister.

"I know..." Y/n said tiredly, still feeling flushed, and hugged her pillow. "I can't believe this is happening," she said, crying.

"It’s still no reason to lock yourself in here," Grace laughed, leaving the notebook aside on the bed, still smiling. "Since when...?"

"Honestly? I don’t know. It was just one day I started drawing her, and in the end... I just didn’t stop." Y/n said, feeling guilty, not looking at her sister.

"You know what this is, right?" Grace asked with an even bigger smile, catching the attention of the other girl, who was still punishing herself. Without words, the girl with the gold-painted nails and fingers made a heart shape with her index fingers in the air.

"Grace, it’s not funny."

"It’s not meant to be funny. Well, maybe just a little..."

"Seriously, by now, everyone at camp must know." Y/n said, hugging her legs and the pillow. "How embarrassing..."

"Don’t feel that way. I bet this will be an episode that won’t spread." Grace tried to ease Y/n’s worries. "Clarisse will take care of anyone who starts talking, so relax. She’d never let her own siblings tease her. But then again, maybe it’s not just you." The girl said thoughtfully.

"What do you mean?"

"Clarisse has been giving you some glances." Grace traced her finger around Y/n’s face with a smile.

"Grace!" Y/n rolled her eyes. "No way."

"I’m serious, even the Aphrodite cabin has noticed. But we’re all keeping quiet for our own good, of course." The girl let out a little laugh. "Who would've thought..."

"Don’t get carried away."

"Not my fault." Grace raised her hands in surrender, still laughing softly. "Don’t take it too seriously, Y/n/n. Lie down and rest until dinner." Her words earned a grumble from Y/n, which made Grace laugh and pat her sister’s shoulder as she got up to finish her own things.

On the other hand, Alec and Darius had been giving Clarisse mischievous and amused glances from the moment they started heading to the Hephaestus workshop until they returned to their cabin. However, before they could enter, Clarisse blocked the door, her death stare aimed at both brothers.

"If you open your mouths..." The girl said, irritated, pointing at each of them, who barely managed to hold back their laughter.

"Relax, Clari." Darius said, unable to control his chuckle for much longer.

"Nothing’s coming out of my mouth." Alec said in response, slightly better at keeping his excitement in check.

"Try anything and you’ll be dead by morning." Clarisse said, storming into the cabin like a hurricane, throwing herself onto the couch in the strategy area, ignoring the others who were around.

One of her sisters, unaware of what had just happened, joined Clarisse to plan for the upcoming Capture the Flag game, as Clarisse was the one who practically designed all the strategies. However, even though she tried, the girl wasn’t paying attention to what her sister was saying. Every now and then, she simply nodded silently, her mind drifting back to what had happened earlier that morning.

Clarisse didn’t want to admit it. Maybe she never would, not even in death, but she had enjoyed looking at the drawings in Y/n’s diary. As soon as her eyes landed on the lines that curved and outlined her own face on the white pages, she felt the world stop for a brief moment while her heart raced like never before.

"Damn." The daughter of Ares thought, feeling her heart beat a little faster as she remembered the image of herself above faceless bodies, holding her spear high, adorned with a beautiful armor. May the gods not hear her, but she wanted that drawing for herself. "What am I thinking?"

"Clarisse?" Joscelin asked, bringing Clarisse’s attention back, her cheeks slightly flushed. "What do you think?"

Clarisse swallowed imperceptibly, furrowing her brows and adjusting herself on the couch, nodding. "Sure." The daughter of Ares agreed without even hearing what the other had said.

Then, Joscelin spoke again, but Clarisse’s thoughts drifted back to what had happened. The girl remembered the pressed and dried rose that was on one of the pages, the same page with her drawing, smiling gently, with the same rose in her hair.

Clarisse suppressed a breath. "Was that flower meant for me?" She wondered internally, feeling something strange in her stomach. That sensation only grew stronger when she thought that she wanted that flower for herself. After that last thought, the daughter of Ares stood up quickly, heading straight for the door and making her way to the camp’s training area, even as she heard Joscelin call out, "Clarisse?!"

"What’s with her?" Joscelin asked, looking at the others, who had finally noticed how quickly Clarisse had left the cabin. Some shrugged and didn’t care, but Darius and Alec exchanged mischievous looks. Reading each other’s minds. "Dumb and Dumber, what do you know about this?" Joscelin asked the two.

"It’s a secret." Darius said, not bothered by his sister’s joke, which made Alec laugh even more.

"Spill it." Joscelin said.

"Not even dead, literally. Clarisse would kill us." Alec replied, laughing even more, and soon Darius joined in. As the two left to do their own thing, still chuckling, Joscelin rolled her eyes and pushed it aside, hoping that whatever it was, it hadn't messed with Clarisse's mind for the Capture the Flag game.

Clarisse, nervously caught up in her own thoughts, hurried with quick steps to the camp's training area, quickly donning the mandatory safety gear and grabbing a random sword just to start delivering fast and strong strikes to her usual training dummy.

The girl tried to focus only on her task of hitting the poor dummy, but her thoughts always returned to the same place. To the same memory. And each time it happened—which was many—her strikes grew faster and more powerful.

The demigods passing by and training nearby watched with some concern, but of course, none were brave enough to say anything to Clarisse. Some even chose to cut their training short, not wanting to be the next target of the daughter of Ares.

After several minutes of trying to shake her thoughts, Clarisse sighed and set aside her strikes, glaring at the dummy in frustration. She was finally thinking about the beginning. Since Y/n’s arrival at camp and how Clarisse had never been so aggressive or petulant with her "jokes."

Her heart raced as she noticed things about herself connected to Y/n. Finally, everything made sense; it was even clearer now. "Do I like Apollo on mute?" The girl thought, a crease forming between her brows.

With that question ringing in her mind, she scanned the area with little interest, trying to find answers, until she saw a small group of Apollo’s children heading somewhere, and Clarisse tried to spot Y/n among them.

A snap happened in her curly-haired head as she blinked a few times, remembering she’d been looking for Y/n in the camp pavilion, just like she used to look for her by the celebratory bonfires. She remembered herself tracing the contours of Y/n with her eyes, noting how she blended into the surroundings and how she seemed to shine under the sunlight, covered by her less colorful features. She recalled that whenever she saw Y/n, she would go up to her and pour out her weird jokes, each one becoming less teasing and rude than the last, unlike how she treated other demigods.

Clarisse didn’t know when this had started, but she knew it had happened. "I like Apollo on mute," she thought.

The girl didn’t know how to react. She wasn’t angry, but she wasn’t happy either. It was a new feeling, a bit uncomfortable, her stomach felt strange. Clarisse had heard about what it was like to like someone, and before, she’d felt those same sensations, only for battle, the taste of future victory. Clarisse, like all other children of Ares, had been in love with the fight, but now, she was in love with one of Apollo’s daughters.

"How ironic." Clarisse chuckled to herself, but without showing a smile.

Noticing the day had finally turned dark, Clarisse took off her gear and placed it in its rightful place, heading toward the pavilion while thinking that she should do something about this.

When she arrived, she saw the usual gathering of demigods, most of them already sitting, while others prepared their food. As always, her eyes quickly scanned the room, looking for the presence of a certain someone, and it didn't take long before her eyes landed on who she was looking for. Y/n.

The daughter of Apollo was looking around the pavilion like a frightened animal, tapping her foot on the ground as she grabbed her food from the buffet beside some of her siblings. As soon as their eyes met, Y/n gasped and widened her eyes, quickly moving away from the buffet area and squeezing into her siblings to make her offering, doing so quickly to avoid giving Clarisse the chance to move from her spot.

"Hey!" Brandon complained, holding his plate tightly before Y/n nearly knocked it over in her haste, but he was ignored.

"Sorry, Dad, this will be quick." Y/n said, making her offering, burning part of her food in the fire before almost running to her cabin’s table.

Before Clarisse could make her way to the Apollo table, her attention was diverted.

"Clari, grab your plate and come on!" Olivia, one of her sisters, said as she passed by.

Reluctantly, the daughter of Ares did as she was told, seeing that everyone in her cabin was eager about the upcoming Capture the Flag game, and any place was good enough for them to talk about it. Even in the crowded pavilion, just to put fear into the other demigods.

Her eyes stayed on Y/n, who quickly averted her gaze from Clarisse and nervously tried to start a conversation with her siblings. The daughter of Ares thought to herself, "Not today, but tomorrow you won't escape."

Clarisse grabbed her food, made her offering, and sat at her cabin's table, listening to her siblings talk and occasionally joining in the conversations, with her eyes always drifting back to the Apollo cabin's table.

♡

"Tomorrow," Clarisse thought angrily, eyeing her spear as she donned her vest for Capture-the-Flag. "Tomorrow, you won't escape." She mimicked her thoughts from weeks ago in a low, sharp voice, almost rolling her eyes, still irritated.

"What’s this, Clarisse? Talking to yourself?" Liam asked, lightly amused, still inside the cabin along with a few other Ares kids who were getting ready for Capture-the-Flag, which was about an hour away.

"None of your business," Clarisse grumbled.

"Hey, take it easy!" Liam replied with a grin. "Me and the others are heading out. Whatever’s been on your mind all this time, shake it off—we’ve got a flag to catch today." Liam said as he left the cabin, followed by three other siblings who continued chatting among themselves, causing Clarisse to roll her eyes.

Clarisse couldn't help but recall Y/n avoiding her like a camper avoiding an unexpected mission. The daughter of Apollo seemed to have adjusted her entire schedule to avoid bumping into Clarisse, from combat training to history lessons. But Clarisse was waiting for the moment to approach—when she would find Y/n walking through camp, carefree.

It had happened a few times, of course. But whenever Y/n made eye contact with Clarisse, she did one of the following: 1) She would sprint off like a madwoman, disappearing after just a few seconds. Clarisse remembered how fast Y/n was after their physical training sessions together, and now she found herself cursing Y/n's agility. 2) She would latch onto any nearby demigod and start talking nonsense, pulling them away from Clarisse. Y/n was good at starting and maintaining conversations, even though she wasn’t surrounded by friends. And of course, all of this was getting under Clarisse’s skin.

Irritated, Clarisse got out of bed and marched toward the field where they usually prepared for Capture-the-Flag. Only a few demigods were around, and those who were kept their distance, sensing the stormy mood of Clarisse.

However, it wasn't until she passed one of the cabins that she glanced to the side and saw someone else also heading to the field—it was Y/n, distracted as she examined her bow, her divine gift.

Clarisse quickened her pace silently, closing the distance until she reached Y/n and grabbed her arm, pulling her toward the nearest cabin, hearing the surprised murmur from the daughter of Apollo.

As soon as the daughter of Ares pinned Y/n against the wall, Y/n’s eyes widened in shock.

"C-Clarisse?" Y/n asked nervously, her cheeks starting to heat up as she remembered that earlier in the day, she had picked up her diary again just to doodle something. But before she knew it, her hand had sketched Clarisse, stunned with the notebook in her hands. And once again, she recalled what had happened weeks before.

"No. Apollo, I’m going to pull the sun out of my pocket." Clarisse responded sarcastically. "Why are you avoiding me?"

"Avoiding?" Y/n asked. "I’m not avoiding you… what are you talking about?" The daughter of Apollo laughed nervously, swallowing hard, not meeting Clarisse's gaze.

Clarisse looked at her seriously, causing Y/n to feel flustered and shyly glance at her, starting to feel embarrassed.

"The diary," Clarisse began after a brief pause, and that was enough to make Y/n almost jump out of her skin.

"Forget about it. I—I didn’t want you to see that, it was a secret... but even if it wasn't, you..." Y/n started nervously, trying to fix what had happened, but her words were enough to make Clarisse slam her hand against the wood behind Y/n, close to her head, causing the daughter of Apollo to shrink back.

"Let me speak?" Clarisse said, annoyed. "I see the damn diary and then you run off like... I don’t know, a satyr running from a flood?" Her narrowed eyes were locked on Y/n’s, who swallowed hard.

"Sorry," Y/n muttered softly, which earned a sarcastic, nasal laugh from Clarisse.

"You gave me one hell of a headache, girl."

"It wasn't... my intention," Y/n whispered, avoiding the girl in front of her, who was still slightly leaning against the wood that Y/n's back was pressed against. "Clarisse, just... forget it, okay?" Y/n said, preparing to walk back to where all the demigods were already gathered, waiting for the game to begin.

"You’re not going anywhere until I’m done talking." Clarisse said seriously, pushing Y/n back into place with her finger on her shoulder. "What? You think you can sketch all these things about me and not face me?" This made Y/n mutter under her breath.

"I didn’t want you to see!" Y/n grumbled, a little irritated, but still embarrassed, and Clarisse let out a nasal, sarcastic laugh at the pink tint of the girl’s cheeks, along with her slight irritation. "Besides, you shouldn’t care about what I draw in my diaries." Y/n swallowed hard, trying to maintain a confident and unshaken pose.

"Concern isn’t exactly what I’m feeling." Clarisse shrugged, her sharp, penetrating gaze locked on Y/n’s. "But you have a reason for it. Why am I in your diary? And don’t tell me I’m just a model because that won’t fly."

"A-a... Well... y-you..." Y/n tried to respond, glancing nervously at Clarisse, anxious and embarrassed. She soon remembered Grace making a heart with her fingers, feeling her face burn even hotter as her heart raced in her chest. "Argh, it was a mistake. Forget it."

Y/n tried to move away from Clarisse once more, but the other girl simply pressed her other hand against the wooden wall—still holding her spear firmly in her fist, trapping Y/n between her arms.

"C-Clarisse... the game," Y/n tried to remind the girl, looking at her arms on either side of her body.

"You’re not convincing me," Clarisse said, acting as if the proximity didn’t affect her, but in truth, her heart was pounding. Having Y/n so close made the butterflies in her stomach feel stronger, and the soft scent of Y/n's perfume was very pleasing. "And besides, I told you, you're not leaving until I’m done talking."

Y/n swallowed hard, breathing shakily with Clarisse’s closeness. Her heart was also racing, and the girl clenched her fists tightly—one of them wrapped around her bow with the same intensity, trying to keep Clarisse from noticing just how much more nervous she was.

"I’m waiting. Why am I in your diary?" Clarisse asked softly, with a nearly feline tone, trying to prove her point.

Y/n swallowed hard, taking in every detail of the close Clarisse, still trapped between her arms, knowing her mind would store all the details of this moment to draw in her diary. Once more. Perhaps one last time.

The daughter of Apollo lowered her gaze to Clarisse’s lips, which were close but still far enough. The same lips now curled into a small smile, perhaps a playful one this time, but with a touch less malice than when she was ready to tease some demigod.

Y/n thought, trembling and out of breath, finally confirming to herself why Clarisse had appeared in so many pages of her diaries: I like Clarisse.

"Cat got your tongue?" Clarisse asked, tilting her head, trying to catch Y/n’s eyes with her own. She was enjoying pulling these reactions from the daughter of Apollo.

"I like you," Y/n blurted out quickly, holding her breath and closing her eyes, afraid of what she might see next. But Clarisse smiled wider this time, satisfied—yet still entertained. "A-and I know it’s not mutual, so let’s just ignore this and move on—"

Before Y/n could nervously continue speaking, with her eyes tightly shut, Clarisse interrupted by placing one of her free hands on the heated, red face of the girl, silencing her with a simple, soft kiss.

Y/n’s eyes widened as she felt Clarisse’s soft lips against hers, and her face turned an even deeper shade of red, if that was even possible. With her free hand, the daughter of Apollo held the other girl’s forearm, closing her eyes and kissing her back, still trembling and anxious.

Clarisse was being gentle, knowing how easily Y/n got scared of things—this was proven by all her escapes over the past weeks. So, the girl kept the kiss soft and slow, gently stroking Y/n's face with her thumb before releasing her, easing away. Gentle and careful—two things Clarisse never thought she’d act like with anyone. But here she was, with the daughter of the sun, who more and more lit her up with her inner sunlight.

The daughter of Ares pulled away, her face slightly flushed, as she watched Y/n open her eyes and take a deep breath, swallowing hard, which made Clarisse chuckle softly, a smug grin on her face.

"Sorry," Clarisse began to say, and her words made Y/n tilt her head in confusion, not understanding why Clarisse was apologizing or how that word even left her lips—since it was so unlike her. "But I’m not going to lose the Capture the Flag just because you’re on the opposing team. Next time, I want you on my team." Clarisse said with that same cocky smile, stepping away from Y/n and looking her up and down, which made the daughter of Apollo feel even more embarrassed. "I’ll see you after the game, Apollo on mute, I want to take a second look at your diary. And don’t even think about running away from me again."

With that, the daughter of Ares turned her back and started making her way back to the playing field, leaving behind a breathless and embarrassed Y/n, her mind racing at full speed, knowing that her diary would soon have page after page dedicated to Clarisse.

Because the daughter of Apollo couldn't keep the daughter of Ares out of it.

< Part 1

[alllgator-blood]

I s2g if you add the layers of these comic pages together, it's over 350 layers. THIS is why I don't do full color for my comics lmaooo- ANYWAY EVERYONE HERE HAS AN AU APPARENTLY, SO THIS IS A BRIEF GLIMPSE INTO MINE. I don't know what to call it yet but I'm thinking of calling it "famous prophets" because 1. I like that car seat headrest song, 2. it's about shamura who is prophetic, 3. it's about trying to outrun fate with the Power of Love (and failing. Like the song!!!). It takes place when all the bishops were teens/kids during the age of hundreds of gods at war, and were trying to survive as a family.

I'm really excited to work on stuff for it but it's all gonna be drawn out of order. Maybe I'll write a full explanation of what it's gonna be about when I have a better idea...I want to channel my eldest sibling angst in a productive way, and maybe establish a QPP between shamura and a completely random npc everyone forgets about <3 also kallamar is trans too cause I said so. I'll do a comic about it eventually. Instead of an absence of gender he has TOO much gender. It simply cannot be contained.

I like that nonbinary genders are normalized in cult of the lamb to the point where nobody singles anyone out for being a they/them, it's not like "THIS IS MY SIBLING SHAMURA. THEY ARE NONBINARY AND USE THEY/THEM. ALRIGHT BACK TO KILLING YOU", it's just like "don't you fucking dare make my poor sibling wake up from their nap to kick your ass. Cause they deserve better than this."

But at the same time I like having the freedom to be more specific, and say "shamura is voidpunk and their gender is best described as the feeling that overtakes you during the first snow of the year, when everything outside is deathly quiet". This comic is actually derived from the time I was walking through a forest that's been torn down for a few years, and came out to my little sister as trans. I must've been like 13 or 14 and she didn't really get it as a 10 year old, but it was better than my mom FREAKING OUT about me coming out. So it was a nice little bonding moment between just the two of us. I don't have a good memory so I don't recall how it went unfortunately...

Now, the climate is a little different. My sis tried out transmasculinity for maybe 5-6 years before feeling happier as a woman, my mom is trying to be Based and flaunt her Woke trans children, and my dad remembered "oh yeah trans natives have existed before colonization. Maybe me being transphobic is a product of my culture being erased" and has gotten better about calling me the right thing. I have a mustache (thanks pcos!!) and wear skirts and am not a repressed "tomboy" teenager anymore. But I can't help but wonder what would've happened if I could've been like shamura and just...been nonbinary without people being fucking weird about it. Or been born as a badass war god who will tear you to shreds before you can perceive my birth sex. I know they're fictional but they are my ultimate gender envy GRRRRR BARK BARK BARK

Here is the secret image for this post- I listen to mostly EDM when I draw cause it keeps the energy up, but as I was finishing up shamura's poetry part, I was like THESE ARE JUST KMFDM LYRICS so I made this

[neishroom]

The pale sims thing is funny because I have different marginalized groups represented on my blog. You’d think the way it was phrased I only had lightskin Black sims. I have sims ranging from East and South Asia to Polynedia, The Middle East and South America and sometimes they happen to be pale. Mind you, the sims of color I make are NEVER phenotypically white.

I just think that’s so disrespectful to see my page full of sims of color and to just say well they’re pale.. insinuating because they are nonblack they are white.

Anyways a little bit about me is I’m an Afro-Latina and I grew up in the inner city around different communities of color. My father owned a shipping business in our neighborhood and we’d see different immigrant families come in and out, sending money, food or clothing to their home countries. Growing up I had a Korean Unnie, I spent a lot of my childhood being babysat by her daughter, eating Korean food and learning bits of Korean. I went to school with black and brown kids stemming from Ghana, Madagascar, Somalia, Brazil, Honduras, Jamaica, Dominican Republic and Haiti. I grew up in a neighborhood where we all shopped at the same place to get foods that were native to our countries but had to be sold separately from American food. We had block parties, we babysat each others kids, we all went to after school together, played in the library and road the bus the home. That’s what inspires my gameplay.. I’m inspired by being the little black girl at celebrating Korean New Years with my neighbors, eating Fufu and Egusi for the first time with my Nigerian friends, finding my lifelong best friend who’s Dominican despite the historical violence between our countries and my African American friends who had my back in the school lunchrooms. And that’s what I want my game to reflect :)

This is my last post about the asks lol

[digitalnewberry]

Ledger art and indigenous cultural continuity

Wooden Leg's ledger book, 1879-1881

Ledger art is part of a long tradition of Native people documenting their history on their own terms. Many Plains Native communities started chronicling events pictorially on materials like rocks and buffalo hides. Beginning in the mid-19th century, they used pages of ledger books obtained from settlers.

An example of adaptation and agency, ledger art is deeply embedded in the sociopolitical context of a given time. In the face of mass removal, assimilation efforts, and other genocidal actions taken by the U.S. government, Native communities found ways to continue observing their traditions and cultural practices using what was around them––in this case, repurposing found pages of ledger books when materials like buffalo hides became scarce.

Depicting everything from scenes of warfare to courtship, ledger art books tell readers about the memories, values, and presence of the communities who authored them. The images are drawn with a variety of materials, including colored pencils, crayons, and ink...

Read the full post at newberry.org

Black Horse ledger, 1877-1879

[milkshakesmoothiee]

Hi!!!! Pretty pretty please, could you write a ranpo x reader where reader usually takes care of him because they have a soft spot for him, but ranpo takes them for granted somehow, and they get frustruated and angry. Maybe a little angsty and fluff as well. Im so happy to discover your blog, i really like the way you write for bsd! Sorry for my english, i’m not a native

❝𝐖𝐚𝐢𝐭, 𝐈 𝐬𝐚𝐢𝐝 𝐬𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐲!?❞

︵‿︵‿୨🍪୧‿︵‿︵

𝐅𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭: 𝐁𝐮𝐧𝐠𝐨 𝐒𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐲 𝐃𝐨𝐠𝐬

𝐅𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫: 𝐑𝐚𝐧𝐩𝐨 𝐄𝐝𝐨𝐠𝐚𝐰𝐚

𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐱𝐭: 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐢𝐬 𝐚𝐥𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐛𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐬𝐨 𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐭𝐨𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐝𝐬 𝐑𝐚𝐧𝐩𝐨 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐬𝐮𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐠𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐡𝐢𝐦 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐬, 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐭𝐮𝐝𝐞 𝐢𝐬𝐧'𝐭 𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝.. 𝐰𝐞𝐥𝐥, 𝐥𝐞𝐭'𝐬 𝐬𝐚𝐲 𝐢𝐭'𝐬 𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐲 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐚𝐧𝐲𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐫𝐲 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐡𝐢𝐦 ... 𝐅𝐥𝐮𝐟𝐟 // 𝐀𝐧𝐠𝐬𝐭

【ＳＦＷ】

GENDER NEUTRAL BUT AFAB READER sorry :')

REQUESTS ARE OPEN ! Check my request page for info !

︵‿︵‿୨🍪୧‿︵‿︵

It's easy to say that Ranpo doesn't exactly have manners, and is easily persuaded by his own thoughts and often doesn't think before he speaks when he isn't on the job.

Often, he'll make people feel very dumb. That doesn't change for people he's close with, cough. You.

It's been a good few months since you had joined the Agency, being assigned as Ranpo's lucky assistant. Actually, no, now that you remember it more clearly, you were never assigned this role... It just so happened that during you're early days when you were still a lost noobie, Ranpo.. 'found' you, but not exactly in a positive or negative way.

When it was only you and Ranpo in the building, when everyone had gone to do their own thing, he was whining about being so hungry he'd die! Talk about childish.. and yet, after a while it grew on you.

You offered to go to the nearest convenient store and see if you could find anything, which you did, and after that Ranpo would use your more and more often to retrieve stuff for him, that the title 'Ranpo's lucky assistant' grew on you.

Ranpo didn't seem to care, actually, eventually he'd start to have you help him with cases... And by 'help' it just means you'd buy his train tickets. Basically you were treated like a guinea pig in some ways, even having to give the man piggy back rides when he felt tired.

╰┈➤ ❝Would you call this luck?❞

Actually, it isn't all that bad. Ranpo would always look so happy whenever you walked in the room. Word has it, whenever you weren't around, his head would perk up like a dog on alert at the sound of your name being spoken and he'd always feel so gloomy saying, 'man, I wish (Y/N) was here.' Although, that's probably just Yosano trying to mess with you.

Not to mention he'd always love to eat with you, seeming so glad as he'd get into your space and ask that you 'so kindly feed him like a good assistant' ignoring all the stacks of papers you have to finish.

Some part of you wants to say that he just has a sweet yet naive heart when he's not actually using his brain... And yet...

︵‿︵‿୨🍪୧‿︵‿︵

"pfft, don't be stupid. I don't need your little gift," he spoke while pushing your hand away.

For the past few days, you had found yourself growing a different perspective around him.. did you truly like this guy?

Earlier that day, as had been you passing through many stores, there was something in particular that caught your attention. You were a firm believer in luck and gratitude, always wanted it for yourself and others. When you saw basically some five dollar bracelets, there was one in particular that caught your attention.

A small bracelet, a very colorful one, that had little snack charms. It was pretty. It reminded you a lot of Ranpo.

"you don't need to wear it, I was just hoping-"

"you were hoping to give me a little good luck charm." He'd speak up over you with a tone voice that didn't seem completely annoyed but more like he was mocking you. He'd continue to place another chip into his mouth before continuing, "I don't need it. I'm the world's greatest detective after all."

"..i see." You spoke with a feeling of disappointment. "I'll just throw it away then."

Ranpo didn't seem to bat an eye about it as soon as you had left his line of sight that following day.

︵‿︵‿୨🍪୧‿︵‿︵

A few days followed and you didn't exactly forget that little item, actually it's disappointing you chose to throw away such a pretty gadget. Slowly the sun hit the inside of your room and you felt this pinging in your head. A strong annoyance, a headache.

Some part of you felt like this headache had to do with how you've been seeing Ranpo lately. One question that's been stuck in your mind, do you seriously regret meeting him? No, that'd be too much to say... But he can be annoying to deal with.

There were even moments where you'd have to step in because he pissed off the wrong person, stopping people from getting their fist in his face... It was always you taking a few verbal hits for him, huh? And he never seemed to mind, always doing it again and again no matter how much you've told him it's wrong.

Maybe you're wrong about your friendship with him.

︵‿︵‿୨🍪୧‿︵‿︵

"yo, I'm here." You spoke up while entering the Agency, that strong pinging in your head again. You looked around only to see Ranpo. "Where is everybody?"

"Dazai is skipping, Yosano is in her infirmary, and the rest of them are all on their own errands and cases." Ranpo spoke as he played on his little game console. He perked up at you with a smug grin, "Soo, let me guess. Today's snacks are.."

"actually I don't have anything."

"HUH? WHY?" He immediately jumped in his seat staring at you almost distressed. "I'll die without food y'know!"

"..if you're so hungry then go get yourself something."

"Nonsense!" He laughed out, mocking you in a way. "Last I recall your my lucky assistant, and you promised to get me food every morning."

"I didn't promise you anything, Edogawa."

Ranpo had noticed a sharp tone in your voice, you seemed oddly annoyed, which was different. He then grinned towards you, "Oh I see! Is this about your little gift to-"

".. you're such a pain, Edogawa!" You spoke up which made the man flinch. You definitely noticed that, you've caught him off guard. "Not once have you ever gratitude for what I've done? I know it's not much and maybe I'm being dramatic.. but it'd be nice to get a thank you every and now then? All it feels like is that you look down on me."

"..I'm sorry."

That's all he said which didn't make you an happier. Thats all he can say? Is he serious?

"I'm leaving. I have a bad headache and I don't want to deal with this, let Kunikida know I'm off." You turned on your heels to leave.

"Wait hold up-!" Ranpo immediately followed and grabbed your shoulder. "I said I was sorry!" After he didn't heard you respond and just ignore him, yet waited in your steps to hear if he had anything else to say, he pulled out the bracelet from his pocket. "..the reason I said I didn't need your good luck charm, was because my lucky assistant is what brings me luck."

"..."

"..and thanks."

[ilhliya]

"In My Seat"

ft. tom riddle

SYNOPSIS: tom finds his usual library seat taken by a stranger, setting off a series of encounters that disrupt his carefully maintained routine

wc 850ish, gender neutral reader, sassy tom lmao, maybe a little bit ooc i tried my best... written in 3rd person from tom's perspective! english isn't my native language if you see mistakes tell me pls 🙏🙏

Tom enters the library, strides steady and purposeful,  following a familiar path to his usual seat. He does not care for change, does not care for anything that might disrupt the perfectly routined life he has created for himself. There is a particular spot near the back of the library with just the right ratio of natural to artificial lighting. Not to mention it was quiet - almost no one goes near. It’s perfect. 

But today, as he approaches the seat, his steps come to a halt. There, right there in his spot, was someone else. A stranger, oblivious to the fact that they are completely violating his unofficial territory, peacefully writing in a notebook. 

He stares for a moment, silently willing them to sense his presence and move. But of course, no such thing happens. They are completely absorbed in what they are writing, not even looking up to breathe. With a resigned sigh, Tom chooses the next best spot a bit further down the table.

With more force than necessary, Tom slams his books onto the table, creating a small noise. It was enough to startle the stranger out of their reverie. But they only shoot him a curious, fleeting smile before burying their head back into their notes without a second thought. 

He feels his mood sour with each passing second. That was his spot. He can’t focus now, as the sounds of quill scratching paper, pages being flipped, and slight shuffling suddenly became amplified to him. 

Finally, he can’t take it anymore. 

“You’re in my seat.” he blurts blankly, staring at the stranger. They look up, startled.

“... I’m sorry?”

Tom huffs. “My seat. You’re sitting in my seat.”

The stranger quirks an eyebrow. “I wasn’t aware there were seating arrangements in this library.”

“I always sit in that seat.” he explains, as patiently as he can. 

The stranger huffs out what sounds like a laugh, before scooting their chair a bit to the left. “Right. Wouldn’t want to mess with tradition. Come here then, there’s plenty of space for the both of us.”

Tom feels his irritation spike. Plenty of space? Don’t make me laugh, he thinks. He wasn’t exactly looking for company, but he supposes he’ll have to take what he can get. 

“... fine.” he relents, standing up to move next to the stranger. 

He watches them from the corner of his eye, unimpressed with their messy, scrawled notes, the colorful sticky tabs that seem to serve no logical purpose. And yet despite himself, he found his attention drifting back to them, as if part of him needed to study them, understand why they could sit there so comfortably, like they belong anywhere they pleased. They don’t belong here.

“Do you always study here?” the stranger asks, their voice soft but clear, jolting him from his thoughts. 

He scowls slightly, irritated by the interruption. “What does it matter to you?”

They shrug, undeterred by his coldness. “Just curious. It seems like you’re a... routine kind of person.”

“Is that supposed to mean something?” he asks, his tone edged with disdain.

“No.” the stranger leans back to stretch. “I just find it interesting. I’ve never been one to stick to one place. I think it keeps it interesting.”

Tom rolls his eyes, not even bothering to hide his irritation. “Is that something I should care about?” 

The stranger let out a quiet, genuine laugh, as if they found his sarcasm funny rather than off-putting. “Maybe not. Take my words how you want.”

A quiet silence settles back over them. Tom pretends to be absorbed in his book, and yet he couldn’t help but notice the fascinating stranger beside him. The way they were so unlike him, with their easy-going nature, messy notes, the utter lack of the elegance he holds in such high regard. It pisses him off, but what pisses him off more is the way he wants to know more - wants to know how a person could be so different from him. 

He keeps stealing glances, ears trained on their every movement. Tom finds himself wondering why they’d taken his seat so easily, why they’re so unbothered by his irritation. Most people would have moved by now, but this person seems indifferent to his icy demeanor.

Finally, they stand to leave. As they gather their things into their bag, the stranger turns to him, giving a small nod. “See you around, maybe?”

He stares at them, the automatic disdain rising in his chest again, but this time, it doesn’t come out in words. He gives the smallest of nods, feeling a confusing sense of satisfaction at the thought. “Maybe,” he says, his voice a low murmur.

They smile, and for a brief moment, he feels the chill of his usual disdain soften, just slightly, into something else. An almost grudging acceptance. As they walk away, he sits in his usual spot, and the quiet returns to the library. He opens his book again, but his mind is already wandering, his gaze occasionally flicking to the door where they’d left.

an: this was my first post! feedback and constructive criticism is always appreciated, thank you for reading!!