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claimedcrossbows · 1 year

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Served! Sanji x Fem!reader Pt. 2

Slight anime spoilers/foreshadowing.

THANKS FOR ALL THE SUPPORT ON THE FIRST CHAPTER!!! <3

Your anxiety was at a full ten as all you could do was listen to pots banging and clattering and Sanji yelling at his makeshift team of chef’s that consisted of a green haired sword fighter, a liar, and a rubber man who wanted to eat everything he saw.

You almost got up from your bed when you heard what sounded a awful lot like a fire extinguisher.

“Oh my God i’m doomed.” You mumbled still clutching your stomach.

You sighed looking over at the orange haired woman occupying your sisters bed and wondered how this woman had managed to make it this far with a crew full of idiots.

If she survived she definitely had your full sympathy.

You sighed looking back over your recipe book that contained numerous healing recipes that you had mastered over the years.

From the looks of the woman it seems she has been bitten by some type of insect, probably from a warm island climate if you had to take a guess.

You skimmed through your book trying to see what recipe would best suit the woman.

Your thoughts were however interrupted by a knock on your door.

You slowly got up and answered the door surprised to see Sanji standing before you.

“How’s Nami?” He immediately asked, looking slightly past you into your room to see his friend still unconscious.

“She’ll get better when I start on the recipe I need to heal her, I already have a few in mind, but that’s not going to happen anyway unless you serve a meal worthy of a outstanding letter of recommendation from the food critic.” You said crossing your arms.

He nods, “That’s why I came up here, come down stairs for a food test.” He said.

You nod your stomach still doing sommersaults but you’d brave anything to make sure your got a good review tonight. So you followed Sanji down stairs and nearly fell out when you saw the state of your kitchen.

It looked like a sea beast had torn apart your kitchen.

“Sweet Jesus…” You said.

“I promise I will clean it thoroughly.” Sanji quickly intercepts seeing you look like you were about to collapse from the sheer shock. “LUFFY I TOLD YOU TO STOP STANDING ON THE TABLES!” Sanji yelled kicking him off.

“Owwww Sanjiii!! I was trying to reach the pots!!” Luffy groaned.

“I Put you on untensil cleaning what could you possibly need a pot for!?” Sanji angrily yelled.

“TO BOIL THE CRAB DUH!” Luffy yelled back.

“WHY ISN’T THE CRAB BOILED!?” Sanji seethed.

“BECAUSE USOPP DIDN’T WANNA TOUCH IT!!” Luffy yells pointing at Usopp.

“IT PINCHED MY NOSE!” Usopp exclaimed.

“I’m lost..” Zoro says holding up two spoons one which was the soup spoon and the other the tea spoon.

“WHEN ARE YOU NOT!?” Sanji hissed throwing a ladle at the mans head.

“WATCH IT CASANOVA!” Zoro seethed.

Sanji sighed turning to you, “Come this way Y/N.” He said directing you out to the dining hall that to your surprise had been miraculously fixed up and in front of you were the main courses and appetizers for the night.

“These are the samples that your sister helped me make, she’s currently looking for some more seasonings for the seafood gumbo.” He paused then continued, “She’s a really fantastic cook, i’m sure she learned from you.” Sanji said giving you a more pollite smile than the flirtatious ones he used earlier.

All you gave was a nod as you began trying some of the lobster mac and jambalaya.

You watched Sanji stare at you with the upmost confidence in his dishes as you chewed and swallowed the rest making sure to have a complete poker face all throughout.

Your little sister enters the room and sees you testing the food.

“Y/N how is it!? I made sure he followed your recipe’s to the highest degree!” She boasted.

You put your fork down and stared at both of them, “The jambalaya could definitely use more kick, the lobster mac a bit more salt, and i’m assuming you prepared the alligator?” You said looking at your little sister.

You take the entire platter of alligator and basically shove it at her.

“Y-yes!” She said shakily.

“It’s too tough, 86 it, and do it over again.” You said flatly.

“R-right!” She said taking the platter and immediately running off her face heavily dissapointed.

You look back over at Sanji who to your surprise had sat down pulled out a cigarette, lit it, and was already mid smoke watching you and your sister interact.

“Ooh your tough, reminds me of Zeff.” He notes blowing out a puff of smoke.

“Who told you you could smoke in my restaurant?” You said plucking the cigarette out of his hand.

He smiles, “My apologies.” He says. “So back to the cutting board?” He asks.

“No. Yours was actually good it can go out.” You said then added, “Guess Zeff instilled some sense in you when it comes to cooking.” You noted.

Sanji laughs, “I can out cook him on my worst day.”

“Hmm, add some more seasonings to those dishes and they’ll be set.” You said. “Just no oregano okay?” You stressed.

Sanji paused and stared at you with a awe struck look followed by a bright smile that nearly blinded you, “I think I just fell for you harder.” He said breathlessly.

“I don’t believe in love at first sight.” You say flatly.

“Then maybe I should walk in again?” He offered a flirty smile gracing his lips once again.

“You are really making me sick.” You sighed feeling the nausea creep back upon you.

“Love sick?” He raised a brow.

“No. Just sick, sick.” You plainly say as his smitten look remained on his face.

You shoot the cook a puzzled look and shake your head, “Okay lover boy, dinners in a few, i’m going back upstairs to look through my healing recipes.” You say turning to leave before the love cook could utter another word.

Before you went upstairs you could hear Luffy screaming, “SANJIII ONE OF THE CRABS ESCAPED!!”

“HOW!?” You could hear sanji angrily yell back.

“IT’S NOT OUR FAULT IT HAD A KNIFE!” Usopp could be heard squealing.

“ZORO FIGHT IT!” Luffy could be heard yelling.

Next thing you heard was “THREE SWORD STYLE!!” Followed be a whole lot of ruckus.

It would be a miracle if you pulled this dinner service off you thought.

It was dinner time and you had succesfully managed to find a recipe you think would work on the bedridden woman now it was just time for Sanji to uphold his end of the deal you. Your stomach was still in knots but you managed to dress yourself up for the dinner service and walk yourself down the stairs to a restaurant full of customers some seated, some waiting to be seated.

Your sister along with Zoro and Usopp seemed to be waiting tables, you laughed just a bit when your sister had to instruct Zoro more than several times where the empty tables were for people to be seated.

Your sight suddenly caught a man to the far right back corner of the restaurant by himself and every chef’s insight when it came to food critics kicked in and you knew this must be the food critic.

You nearly threw up again this time anxiety induced as you quickly ran towards the kitchen and screamed for Sanji.

“Sanji!” You yell out of breath by the time you entered the kitchen.

“Mon cheri is everything okay?” He asks setting the frosting down since he was in the middle of decorating desserts.

“The-The Critic is out there far right back corner table.” You stressed. “ I cannot meet him in the state i’m in.” You explain.

“You look stunning though.” He said admiring your outfit.

“If sweaty, pale, and exasperated is stunning I must be frickin gorgeous then, Sanji go out there and talk to them!” You say grabbing the man by the tie and dragging him towards the door but not before the door opened and your sister stood their smiling.

“I met the food critic!!” She boasted.

Your blood ran cold immediately.

“You what?” You asked.

“I met the food critic!” She repeated, “And guess what since we were running out of appetizers due to the crawfish shipment being delayed I offered him some of the shrimp skewers I made left over from last night, they were such a big hit I thought he’d like them!” She excitedly said.

“There were leftovers…I thought we ate them all-”

“Well yeah but I saved a plate for myself for later, it’s a good thing I didn’t eat them though.” She smiled excitedly.

Your heart rate was in over drive and you had never ran so fast in your entire life.

“Don’t eat that shrimp skewer!!” You yell in a room full of crowded people who all pause and look at you appauled.

Your eyes meet the food critic and his empty appetizer plate and you nearly collapse right there.

Your sister hurries behind you followed by Sanji who looked just as lost as everyone else in the room.

You watch the food critic approach you and you swear the world is spinning at this point.

“Are you the owner of this establishment?” The critic says their eyes boring into you with peak interest.

You couldn’t read his face which only heightened your panic, “Y-yes sir..” You stutter.

“Well Ms, I suggest your get some new wait staff, that gentleman over there ate my appetizer before I could even take a bite!” He angrily says.

Your eyes widen in confusion until the critic points to the back of the restaurant where you could see Luffy laying flat on his back on a table surrounded by gobbled up scraps from desserted plates.

“LUFFY!” Sanji yells.

“Uhhgggg I don’t feel so well.” He groans.

“Ah..I apologize sir, please allow us to get you another appetizer and perhaps a bottle of our fancy wine?” You offer.

The critic contemplates for a minute and then nods, you sigh and relief and Sanji quickly goes to serve the critic his food.

You let out a sigh of relief as your sister still looks at you puzzled by everything that had just occured.

You say nothing as you walk back upstairs suddenly needing to lie down.

The dinner service ended and you were too scared to go back downstairs to see what had happened. It wasn’t until you heard a knock on your door that you got up and answered it. There stood Sanji still wearing his suit and famous smile.

“Come downstairs?” He asked.

You nodded following him downstairs as he lead you past the dining room, past the kitchen, and outside at the back of the restaurant where a nice deck stood over looking the ocean.

“So you found the deck huh?” You quipped as you saw a table and two chairs set up that hadn’t been there before.

“It’s peaceful back here.” He noted.

“It is.” You agree sitting down noticing a lidded tray in the middle of the table.

You shoot him a bewildered look and he just smiles unveiling the plate just like he would any other customer.

There in front of you on a plate layed a single letter, and a drink.

“The drink is a pear ginger smoothie to help settle your stomach, and the letter is from the critic, bon appetite.” He says smiling warmly as he sits across from you.

You give him a short smile and sip the smoothie actually surprised with just how good it is.

“It’s not a healing recipe, but it should still help ease the nausea” He says.

“Thank you.” You say as you focus your attention back onto the letter, “Did you read it?” You ask.

“It’s your restaurant Mi’lady.” He says, “You should do the honors.” He says.

You nod as you pick up the letter and take a deep breath before reading it.

As you read you could feel Sanji’s eyes locked onto you and you weren’t sure if it was due to anticipation or something else as you could feel his inquistive eyes never leave you.

You set the letter down and look at him.

“Well East Blue Boy, you did it!” You smiled watching a wide smile spread upon his face.

“Great review?” He asked happily.

“4 out of 5 stars, mostly because of the poor wait staff-”

“I Apologize for Luffy.” Sanji immediately cuts in.

“Actually I think he saved me.” You sigh putting the letter down as sitting further back in your chair.

“Yeah what was that about earlier?” He asks shooting you that same questioning look as he reached in his pants pocket and pulled out a lighter and another cigarette.

“Geez what are you a chimney?” You quip.

“I’m assuming it’s okay now that we’re outside?” He asks before he lights.

“Eh it’s your lungs.” You shrug.

He gently laughs, “You trying to stall?” He asks.

You sigh frowning a bit, “I know what caused me and my entire staff to contract food poisoning.” You admit.

“Yeah I was wondering about that, how does a chef as talented as you get food poisoning?” He asks.

“It wasn’t me..” You admit. “It was my sisters shrimp skewers.” You explain.

“Wait-the ones she gave the critic!?” Sanji eyes widen. ”Those very ones.” You nod, “Thank God Luffy ate them before he did, ohh wait he’s okay right?” You ask kind of worried about the bouncy kid.

“Luffy’s immune to most poisons, he’s fine just a mild stomach ache I gave him one of the ginger smoothies as well.” Sanji says.

“That’s good.” You say tiredly.

“Your sister though? She’s so talented?” Sanji asks.

You shake your head, “She’s amazing, she’ll probably be better than me at some point..but she’s young, passionate and quite forgetful, always so quick to move from one thing to the other, like leaving those shrimp skewers out for hours and only fridgerating it after it had been out most of the day.” You sigh.

“Ah..so that’s how it happened.” Sanji sort of chuckles. “Zeff would’ve had my head if i had let something like that happen, but you made her my sous chef?” He wonders.

“She’s young, and makes mistakes, but when she’s serious she’s one of the most talented upcomers i’ve ever seen.” You say proudly. “I knew with a critic coming in she was going to give it her all.”

“You trusted her even though it could’ve meant the end of your restaurant?” He states admiration for you ghosting his face.

“Of course, she’s my sister.” You shrug giving a small smile.

He returns the smile as you both fall into silence.

You can’t help but notice his blue eyes and how much they shined looking at you in a way you couldn’t quite place.

You clear your throat and stand up, “Well since you fulfilled your end of the bargain I better start making the recipe to heal your friend.” You say.

He nods and you begin walk to the door turning around as you see him still seated there.

“Aren’t you coming?” You ask.

He raises a brow in confusion.

“Come on your going to help me.” You say watching his eyes light up.

“Yes Chef!” He says smiling as he puts his cigarette out and follows you in.

Hey guys wow this was supposed to be 2 parter at most, but now I'm thinking I might make a 3rd part, let me know if it’s something you want though.

Oh and here's a video of the crab fighting Luffy, Usopp and Zoro!!

youtube

#sanji x y/n #vinsmoke sanji #one piece sanji #sanji x reader #opla sanji x reader #sanji #roronoa zoro #usopp #one piece netflix #Youtube

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tumblingxelian · 5 months

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Trope - Disney Princess Syndrome

"Disney Princess Syndrome" is my personal name for the trope of a rich or powerful character portrayed as "Nice", "Good" or "Down to earth". Because they want to hang around "Normal/Real people" and want to be treated like a "Regular person" or otherwise does not think their phenomenal wealth makes them abnormal.

This trope/character concept is usually contrasted against another rich or powerful persons who flaunts their wealth intentionally, is aware they are rich and tends to be snooty, cocky or otherwise act in a manner that is more reflective of their phenomenal wealth.

Usually these characters are contrasted so that we like the former but hate the latter but weirdly… I often find myself either disliking both or liking the latter more. Largely cos they at least seem self aware of their circumstances and so come off as less frustratingly flippant or willfully ignorant.

Examples will be drawn from, Miraculous Ladybug.

I will largely avoid talking about how X character was raised, or trauma that might influence this behavior. But keep in mind people with bad home lives can often act out in ways that don't make them a "good" victim.

In ML, you have "Wants to be a normal boy" Adrien, "Wants to meet sincere people" Princes Ali, and "This is all so artificial" Musician Jagged Stone. They are contrasted against hotel heiress, Mayors daughter & smug about it Chloe.

Now:

Chloe's a brat, a jerk & a snob to be sure, however I still somehow find her less hypocritical or deluded than these other three because at least she seems aware of her circumstances and what they mean for her VS others. Jagged treats doing a small autograph session with the mayor like its some horrible imposition and he flips out at being expected to follow trends he deems artificial. But he also drags his literal assistant with him everywhere to manage his life, keeps a pet alligator on him at all times & can be extremely rude and demanding. But it never feels acknowledged in the same way as with Chloe, because he's 'real'. Prince Ali acts like its weird for people to try and charm or otherwise please him when assigned to give him a tour for a whole event about himself. He also seems to neglect what would be fairly typical greetings for someone of his class & position despite likely being taught them. This again ties into making him seem 'genuine' but comes off as just odd. Adrien balances it best by wanting his father to be less controlling and his father is indeed controlling. But he's also only bothered by Chloe, her parents or his fathers haughty behavior if it alienates him or people he wants to be friends with. He laughs it off or otherwise tends to ignore it with staff but is meant to be better.

This isn't to say a character 'can't' want these things, or find the trappings of wealth utterly unsatisfying. Especially children who are not themselves actually rich and exist at the whims of their parents who are often functionally immune to the law.

Its more an issue with how the trope tends to be executed. Both in terms of the "Disney Princess" who wants to be "Out there" having no self awareness of their wealth, or internal hypocrisy. With this being framed as more endearing than anything, despite often coming off as entitled or selfish by accident.

Or in how the rich jerk just ends up feeling more grounded, or accidentally becomes sympathetic because they are usually an antagonist. Thus meaning they not only have to lose, but usually are surrounded by people like themselves. Leaving the impression their behavior is less to do with having the money to get away with t and more born of mistreatment.

& that as they say is that.

#Meta #Text Post #Miraculous Ladybug #Disney Princess Syndrome

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jihnari · 5 days

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watching miraculous ladybug with a friend who isn't into mlb but who DOES have just enough cultural osmosis knowledge to know when something is New is one of life's special little joys

- what, her? oh no, she's dead now.

- yeah he's dying, he got hit by [redacted] and has been rotting from the inside for months

- hawkmoth gave everyone ptsd and then hypnotized them, don't worry about it

- he used an ai deep fake to radicalized the public

- evil mind control rings. weren't you here for the mind control rings?

- he was fired. oh also [redacted] is still mayor. their homeroom teacher is running for the next term, she'll probably win

- that's her hot wife

- he's in solitary confinement right now

- oh you missed that, they're dating now. well not NOW now, obviously

- huh? that's still her, that was never her real hair. we think she's a time traveler. what? no time travel has been a thing for seasons

- no bro the moms were real, all three of them. yeah the paid actor theory was fake news

- he ran off with his dad and the alligator on a sabbatical. you didn't know that was his dad??

#mlb #miraculous ladybug #text post

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seizethedre · 2 months

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(In the Land of Gods and Monsters)

Chapter Nine: Screwed Up

Lucifer faces off with a monster's shadow, and maybe decides that Alastor isn't as horrible as he thought.

When Lucifer woke up in the morning, the devil found himself feeling surprisingly cozy. Hell, he hadn’t even realized when he had slipped into unconsciousness, yet there he was, curled up in the large, comfy seat of one of the armchairs and staring up into the dark sockets of the alligator skull mounted above the fireplace. The front room he was in didn’t have any windows, so it was impossible for him to tell what time of day it actually was, but he felt rested enough to assume it was well into the morning.

Briefly he wondered why he was still in Alastor’s rooms to begin with. The sinner didn’t seem like the type of guy who liked sleepovers, much less with people he didn’t like, which, yes, Lucifer remembered that part of their little conversation last night all too well and no Alastor’s opinion of him didn’t bother him at all. Who cared what Alastor thought anyway. What did he know about friendship?

So what if the pair of them were at each other’s throats half of the time? No one ever got hurt in the end, and it’s not like Charlie would ever let it go if either of them went too far. Sure, Alastor was a world-class asshole, but Lucifer couldn’t deny that he had a knack for pointing out truths and reasonings that the king was often too preoccupied or ignorant to see himself. Maybe he wasn’t always as nice about it as he could be, but in the end he always got his point across and Lucifer had to admit that he would leave those particular discussions feeling a little better than he had going into them. It’s not like he could fault him for not showing a little compassion, they were in Hell after all.

In Lucifer’s book they were definitely past the point of casual acquaintances or coworkers who occasionally threatened homicide against the other. Alastor would have his head if he ever heard him say that outloud, but he felt that they had turned a corner last night. Besides, it was impossible for him to ignore the fact that they had both exposed vulnerabilities to one another and made it out in one piece. Surely even an egotistical asshole like Alastor could see that there had to have been some sort of advance made on the front of trust between them. Even if that change was only visible under a microscopic lens, Lucifer was of the opinion that any progress was good progress, especially when it came to such a prickly character such as the red-eyed demon.

He yawned, his body already berating him for thinking too hard too early in the morning, and blinked long and slow, stretching through the soreness of his muscles. He sat in the silence as he mulled over the previous night’s theatrics, all the while hoping he’d be able to find that tendril of sleep that had snuck away from him and reel it back in for another round. Seriously, this chair had no business being that comfortable and the low fire was warming his skin deliciously, coaxing him back to that place of blissful absence. For good measure, he toed out of his boots which had miraculously remained put all night long and tucked his bare hooves back under the soft safety of the blanket. If he was capable of purring, he was certain he would be doing so right then.

Besides, he reasoned that if Alastor truly wanted him gone, he certainly would have kicked him out by now. With that in mind, the angel snuggled further into the blanket he’d woken up in. Finally content and oh so comfortable, he tucked his hands under his cheek and closed his eyes again, resigned to dozing just a few minutes longer.

Well, that was the plan at least, and it was a good plan, too. Maybe even one of his best, but the flickers of light that the fire had been casting behind his eyelids were disrupted by a wall of darkness and he knew it was all too good to be true. He stayed still, hoping beyond hope that Alastor would think he was still sleeping and leave him alone, or at the very least kick him out gently. When the figure didn’t move, Lucifer let out a loud sigh.

“Good morning to you too, sunshi–- Oh my father, what in the unholy hell are you supposed to be?”

He’d managed to pry open an eye, hoping to fix the demon with a long-suffering look so that he’d take pity on him, but instead of Mr-long-legs-deer-man, he came face to face with a massive, scraggly shadow thing that sported a feral grin the same shade as a fresh stab to the gut. Okay, yeah, Lucifer was glad he couldn’t dream because otherwise he’d be seeing a lot more of this guy in his nightmares.

Lucifer slowly sat up, eyeing the shadow the entire time, its smile never letting up as it followed his movements. Creepiness factor aside, the thing seemed harmless enough, if not a bit unsettling. It had certainly taken a keen interest in the king as it brought its smiling face closer to where the man sat, getting right up in his face and whirling around him, observing him from all angles.

Normally, Lucifer would be flattered by the attention, but right now he just couldn’t get past the fact that shadows were typically accompanied by something a little more solid and worthy of casting a shadow in the first place. Unusually, Sparky here appeared to be completely solo, sniffing around him like a lost puppy looking for some schmuck to bring it inside from a rainstorm.

Curious, he raised a claw towards it despite his better judgment with the intent to see if he could figure out what this thing was made out of. Despite how solid it appeared, his finger slipped right through its inky depths. It was a weird sensation, cold and wet like dipping a finger in a pool of water in the winter, except maybe a little less dense. The shadow vibrated at his touch and he watched as its grin brightened, showing off more of its bright red grandeur as it widened in delight. Lucifer aimed his finger at that peculiar gash of color next, wondering if it was made of the same stuff as its body.

“Do be forewarned, Your Majesty: he has a tendency to bite.”

The angel quickly pulled his finger back as the shadow’s mouth clamped shut with an audible snap . All digits thankfully accounted for, Lucifer scowled at the amorphous creature with half a mind to lecture it on the importance of not eating innocent body parts along with a stern finger-wagging, but before he could so much as swat it away, the shadow was already shrinking back down to the floor, a big frown pulling firmly at the ends of its maw. The sad little face pooled on the floor, speeding over to where Alastor stood at the foot of the spiral staircase before manifesting itself again in front of its master. It gestured mutely, emotions flitting back and forth across its featureless face. Alastor just watched, seemingly able to communicate with it or at the very least understand what it was trying to express wordlessly. He hummed on occasion, narrowed his eyes at a particularly wild-looking wave of shadow arms, and finally brought up a hand, halting the creature’s antics.

“Let me stop you right there, pet. While I understand the temptation to take a bite out of an angel, please do refrain from maiming His Majesty as I don’t suppose he would take too kindly to it.” The shadow opened its mouth as though protesting something. Alastor sighed tiredly. “Yes, I understand that he was practically offering it to you, but that doesn’t mean he wanted you to eat him. Take a look at him, he’s not exactly bright now, is he?” Looking like it wanted to argue further, Alastor flashed his darkened eyes at it, effectively putting an end to the protesting. “And no, we will not be having a repeat of this discussion later on. Do I make myself clear?” Shadow-Alastor nodded its frowny face, little black ears deflating before it collapsed back into the floor, disappearing under the demon’s figure.

“Um, what was that all about?” The angel, who had been watching the exchange from the safety of his warm armchair sanctuary, finally asked.

“Oh it was nothing,” Alastor said, waving a dismissive hand. “Just a little tiff between a man and his shadow.”

“Care to explain?”

“I’m afraid there’s nothing to explain, Your Majesty. He simply thought you were an afternoon snack. Nothing out of the ordinary, I assure you. His appetite is quite ravenous.”

“It’s bizarre is what it is,” the king countered, lifting an eyebrow as he folded his arms over the back of the chair, resting his head on them as he stared at the taller demon, daring him to say otherwise.

“You’re looking at me as though it’s perfectly within the realm of possibility for me to control what he decides to do.”

“It’s a shadow.”

“To expect me to keep an eye on him at all times is completely unreasonable.”

“It’s your shadow, Alastor.”

“And? If you’re so keen on keeping it on a leash, go ahead and wrangle it yourself. He’s hardly worth the effort if you ask me, devilish little thing.”

Alastor, quite over the conversation, stepped up to one of the nearby mirrors and straightened the neat little knot at his throat and dusted off his already pristine shirt before striding over to the coat rack by the door, slipping it over his shoulders in one fluid movement. He maintained his position, turned away from Lucifer as agile fingers did up the buttons of his coat.

For the second time in the past twenty-four hours, Lucifer found himself staring at the demon’s back. His long neck was bent to watch his hands work. His eyepiece threw off flashes of reflected firelight from its spot on the little table by the entryway. Next to it was a vase of dried flowers. Huh, Lucifer hadn’t noticed that little detail when he came in the night before, but he supposed he was too preoccupied with staying alive to pay it much attention.

His shoes were still tucked beside the wall, Alastor’s hoofy feet out in a rare display and Lucifer noted that they weren’t unlike his own. His coat sat a little off on his frame as the sinner worked on fastening it, and as he straightened up and started adjusting his cuffs and sleeves, the angel watching him wanted nothing more than to reach out and straighten the fabric, tug it into its proper position. It dawned on the king that the Alastor he was seeing now was different from the one seen by everyone else.

This Alastor was a work in progress. He was all crooked coat and bare feet, bow tie undone and strung limply around his collar. His eyes were as bright and as sharp as ever, yet still bore the lightest traces of sleep, and Lucifer could only assume that the demon hadn’t been awake much longer than he himself had. For some reason, the thought of Alastor sleeping seemed unreasonably foreign to the mind of the angel. In his defense, it was always hard for Lucifer to reconcile Alastor with anything that fell under the umbrella of the mundane and ordinary.

After all, Alastor was proud–-walked that fine line that bordered arrogance and foolishness with incredible restraint and finesse. He was an overlord, and a powerful one at that. Lucifer,not entirely removed from the happenings in his realm as many assumed, had heard the horrible stories of his arrival in Hell, and even he could give respect where it was due. And yet he was also infuriatingly quick-witted and silver-tongued. He knew exactly what buttons to push to get someone to crack, which Lucifer could attest to as his eons of restraint seemed to nosedive out the nearest window anytime they were left alone for more than a few minutes. He was terrible and manipulative, cunning beyond reason, sadistic, sociopathic, and brilliant.

A sinner he was, just like everyone else, but ordinary he was not and the man would probably take great offense to the implication that he could be reduced to anything as simple and unimportant as that.

Pondering over the demon’s character made the angel’s face warm, and he knew that this time he couldn’t blame it on the fire that crackled behind him. He caught sight of Alastor’s profile as the demon turned from one side to the other, trying to catch any lingering imperfections in his appearance in the mirror he had conjured up.

He had straightened everything up nicely: suit pressed and hanging nicely from his shoulders, tie expertly knotted at the base of his throat while his trousers neatly followed the long stretch of his leg. His shiny shoes hid his hoofy toes from the rest of the world and Lucifer was only mildly disappointed that he didn’t tell more people about them, but he supposed that the demon probably got enough heat for the fluffy ears and little antlers as it was, nevermind the addition of some other not-at-all threatening body part to the mix. The poor man would never be taken seriously, at least not without biting off a few heads first. Did this mean he had a tail too? Lucifer couldn’t recall seeing one, but then again that was probably something that Alastor would definitely want to keep hidden away from the rest of Hell.

“You look fine. Perfect as always,” Lucifer offered from his spot. Alastor paused from brushing off his shoulder and met Lucifer’s easy gaze in the mirror with a narrowed, suspicious look.

“Of course I do, Your Majesty. I am the face of this hotel after all, can’t go around giving the rest of Hell a lousy impression of the place now can I?” He hummed, taking in the king of Hell’s appearance, raising a judgmental eyebrow. “Pity we can’t all hold ourselves to the same standards of excellence.”

Lucifer rolled his eyes at the obvious jab at his appearance that morning, grinning at the sinner’s usual antics while looking down at himself.

“I don’t think I look that bad,” he defended absently, trying to smooth out a wrinkle in his waistcoat. He was creased in all sorts of places and rumpled everywhere else and at this point it might be easier to throw himself entirely through an industrial steamer to even everything out, but that was nothing he couldn’t fix with a well-intentioned thought and a little grace. The demon had turned back to his reflection, toying now with the pristine angle of his tie.

“Clearly we have different definitions of what constitutes ‘bad’, hm?”

“Oh fuck off, Al. I was just starting to like you.”

“Pity.��

With great effort, Lucifer heaved himself off of the comfort of his napping spot, shrugging off the toasty blanket and walking over to where Alastor was now polishing his little red eyepiece. Stepping in front of him unceremoniously, he glanced at his appearance in the mirror noting that, yeah, he could have looked a little better, but not to worry! With a snap of his fingers and a burst of red sparkles, he was transformed from looking like some haggard survivor of the running of the bulls to the fearsome and regal King of Hell. Using his nifty little superpower, he ran his fingers through his hair, styling it to perfection once more.

Satisfied with his look, he turned around and gave an affronted looking Alastor a smug smile.

“Better?”

“Monumentally.”

“You jealous that your silly little green magic can’t do that ?” He teased. Alastor bristled, feedback screeching as his smile sharpened dangerously at him. He decided to risk his luck. “You know, Al, if you needed help getting ready in the mornings, all you had to do was ask. I would be more than happy to help out a friend in need.”

“We are not friends and my name is Alastor- –not ‘Al’.”

“Sure sure, whatever you say pal. Let’s get this day started, shall we? Coffee?”

“Don’t tell me when to leave my own rooms.” The angel placed a hand on his chest in mock indignance.

“Now what kind of ruler would I be if I didn’t put my subjects before myself?”

“If your track record is anything to go by, a much better one. Anything would be a tremendous improvement to the present, Your Majesty.” Ouch , okay, a little too on the nose with that little tidbit of honesty, but Lucifer had walked right into it.

“So you’re just going to stay here all day?”

“I never said I didn’t plan on leaving. I simply suggested you mind your own business and not tell me how to do mine.”

A shadowy tendril erupted from the floor in front of them in a burst of green light and wrapped itself around the doorknob. Alastor stepped through without a second glance at the king, walking with his head held high and his hand clasped orderly behind his back. Lucifer followed after, eyeing the writhing appendage warily as another one sprouted and attempted to whip in front of his foot.

He kept pace with the sinner’s pace easily enough despite the sinner having a much longer stride, but Lucifer was light and quick on his feet and walking down to the kitchen was hardly anything to break a sweat over. He thought about popping open a portal, but thought better of it when he remembered how green Alastor had gotten after traveling in that fashion last night.

Despite the pleasant turn of events that had occupied their morning, Lucifer couldn’t help the nervous feeling that sent his heart racing as they neared the main floor. The gravity of their discovery hadn’t escaped him and he was still very much concerned about whose power Adam had flown into battle with.

“Alastor,” he asked, stopping as they reached the bottom of the staircase. The sudden drop in the angel’s voice immediately set the demon on edge.

“Hm?”

“Do you still have your staff?” Alastor tensed, sensing the urgency underneath the king’s inquiry.

“I do. It’s in my rooms.” Lucifer nodded, glancing around the lobby for any sign of the others before quickly stepping closer to the demon. Alastor leaned back slightly at the sudden intrusion.

“If you wouldn’t mind, I’d like to try taking another look at it. I don’t have a good feeling about what I felt last night, but it’s important that I get to the bottom of it. Could I come by and pick it up tonight?”

Alastor nodded his consent.

Not that he could have truly denied the King of Hell anything that he truly wanted, he knew that the angel was only asking out of common courtesy. Frankly, the sinner was interested in knowing who that power had belonged to as well. He had lived with it for weeks now, along with the wounds he had obtained from his stand-off with the First Man and it had frustrated him beyond belief to be so useless against fending off its effects. He wasn’t stupid enough to get in the way of perhaps the only one who could identify the source and diffuse the potential threat.

Lucifer looked him in the eyes for a few more seconds, trying to find any sign that would suggest that they weren’t both on the same page, but only saw the neutral, schooled and steady red gaze of the sinner.

“Okay, then. Tonight.” He made another move towards him, leaning in and placing a firm hand on his arm. The demon stiffened at the touch. “One more thing,” he added, his eyebrows furrowing above troubled red eyes. “Charlie doesn’t find out about this, Alastor. I mean it.”

“Of course, Your Majesty. I am aware of how her well-intentioned plans to help usually play out and I would rather keep this second life of mine. I’ve grown rather fond of it.” Alastor stepped out of the angel’s grasp and Lucifer dropped his arm.

Maybe he should have been offended by what Alastor had implied about his daughter, done or said something to defend her honor, but for some reason he just found the sinner’s expression far too casual for the severity of the situation they were just discussing and he ended up laughing loudly at his words instead.

Alastor was glad the king’s eyes were closed, otherwise he would have noticed the surprised swivel of his ears at the king’s delighted outburst, or worse, would have made some obnoxious comment about the flush that spread across his cheeks with a violent heat. He didn’t exactly understand why the angel was laughing so carelessly, surely he hadn’t said anything that was worthy of such a great reaction. He simply stated the truth of how he saw the situation, and as well-meaning as Charlie was, rarely did her ideas work out in their favor. But as he heard the peals of laughter escape from Lucifer’s mouth, he was perhaps more startled to find that he wasn’t being mocked or goaded by him; this was a different laugh, a new one aimed not at him, but because of him.

Alastor huffed, digging his claws into the flesh of his newly healed palms in agitation.

“Are you quite finished, Your Majesty? Or are there any other demands you’d like to make of me?”

The angel, with great difficulty, managed to settle down and wrestle his weezing back into breaths that were somewhat more appropriate. He shook some clarity back into his head and grinned up at the deer, who looked about as far from amused as a man could get.

“Sorry, sorry. I’m an idiot, I know, yada yada yada. You’re kinda funny when you want to be, aren’t you?”

“I’m always funny,” the demon protested indignantly. “Few can actually appreciate the scale of my humor, but that’s hardly my own fault.” Lucifer just smiled and shook his head. The two resumed their walk towards the kitchen, affairs having been set in order for the time being and the tension that perpetually simmered between them was unusually absent.

Of course, the day was still young, and there would be plenty of time and opportunity for their temporary peace to erupt in flames, much like it did when they walked through the doors of the kitchen to reveal complete and utter chaos.

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#radioapple fic #radioapple #appleradio fic #appleradio #alastor x lucifer #lucifer x alastor #alastor #lucifer morningstar #hazbin hotel fic #hazbin hotel #ao3 #ao3 fic #inthelandofgodsandmonstersfic #itlogam

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awholelotofladybug · 6 months

Note

(Stammering Adrien AU: Chloe and Katrina getting along? Based on Fate Kaleid Liner Prisma Illya 2wei scene)

Marinette: Although Katrina is always hate and despite Chloe, she's actually being nice to Chloe this time.

Adrien: *stammers* I-I guess y-you c-could s-say t-the same w-with Chloe too! S-she's getting a-along w-with K-katrina v-very w-wells. I g-guess th-they're-

(Before Adrien could finished his sentence, both Chloe and Katrina falling into a bottomless swamp)

Marinette, Adrien, Alya and Nino: *sweatdrops*

Alya: A bottomless swamp...

(Both Chloe and Katrina's heads came out from the swamp)

Chloe: *yells* Why is there such a fatal trap in a place like this?!

Katrina: *scowls* What's the meaning of this?

Adrien: *stammers as he pulls Chloe's hand*: C-Chloe!

Marinette: *pulls Katrina's hair* Are you okay, Katrina?

Katrina: *cries* Ow, ow! Why are you pulling my hair, Marinette?!

Nino: Oh, it doesn't look you can pull them out...

Alya: Guys, with a bottomless bog like this, I believe we'll have no problems disposing of the bodies.

Plagg: *inside Adrien's bag* It's not the time to say something like this!

Marinette: Wait, I have an idea. Let's go, guys! Chloe, Katrina, stay here. We'll be back to laters.

(As Marinette, Adrien, Alya and Nino began to hiding in some trees. Chloe and Katrina cried)

Katrina: *cries* Don't leave us here!

Chloe: *cries* Where are you guys going? Come back and pull us out!

(Chloe and Katrina were fighting inside the swamp. While, the Miraculous gang began to transformed)

Chloe: *growls* Stop trying to climb up me!

Katrina: *screams* You thinks I want to climb up to your body, you stupid blonde?!

(Chloe kicked Katrina and Katrina knocked Chloe out while both of them are almost drowning)

Katrina: *growls* That hurts, you stupid blonde!

Chloe: *yells* Let go of me, you sausage-curls! You stay there, I'm getting out first!

Katrina: Why, you...

(They were almost drowning inside the swamp)

Chloe: *glares at Katrina* I won't let you get out before me!

(Five minutes later)

Chloe and Katrina *drowns but you could still see their hairs outside the swamp* Ughhhhhh...

Ladybug: Chloe! Katrina! Are you guys okay?

Marinette: I don't get it. One minute, Katrina hates Chloe's guts, the next they're practically sisters. You think something's up?

Adrien: Who knows? They s-s-s-seem to be pulling it off though. Maybe Katrina's finally...

*Suddenly, Chloe and Katrina fall into a bottomless swamp*

Marinette: Mon Dieu!

*the gang rushes over to find them*

Marinette: Chloe! Katrina! Are you guys alright?!

*Chloe and Katrina pop out of the water*

Alya: This trap seems a little too convenient. An easy place to hide bodies.

Chloe: Can we PLEASE skip the morbid observations and work towards a rescue?!

Marinette: Wait right here! We'll get help!

*the gang leaves to do just that*

Katrina: Wait! Don't leave!

Chloe: Guys! There are SNAKES and ALLIGATORS down here!!!

Katrina: Oh, this is hopeless! I knew this would backfire!

Chloe: Backfire?! Wait, you were a PART OF THIS?! You know what, don't answer. I already know. This has your deranged uncle's fingerprints all over it.

Katrina: W-What?! Wh-Who told you about my Uncle Anton?

Chloe: Katrina, your mom's maiden name is Moreau, and there are, like, four other people in Paris with that name. It took me twelve seconds on the Internet. I'm not stupid.

Katrina: *gets angry* Could've fooled me, you dumb blonde *shoves her*

Chloe: Hey! Don't you shove me! *shoves back*

Katrina: Well then you stop shoving me! *shoves back harder*

*Thus begins a fight between the two, which causes them to sink, only for a yo-yo to pull them out*

Chloe: *coughing and pulling seaweed off of herself*

Ladybug: Are you girls okay?

Chloe: *panting* I'm fine. Katrina, look, I know that... *sees that Katrina has made a run for it* Katrina!

Chat: Let her g-g-go. We'll deal with her later.

*Katrina turns down a dark alley, and pants then panics as Bogeyman (aka her uncle Anton) appears*

Katrina: Uncle, I-I-I-I can explain...

Bogeyman: Explain what?! That you jeopardized my plan because you forgot that you were only pretending to like Bourgeois?! Criminy, Katrina, you're supposed to be smarter than this!

Katrina: Hey! It was YOUR stupid idea to make some sort of dumb swamp deathtrap, and maybe a warning could have... *gets grabbed by her uncle*

Bogeyman: Are you talking back to me?

Katrina: Uh.. I-I-I-I...

Bogeyman: *eyes glowing bright red* ARE YOU TALKING BACK TO ME?!

Katrina: N-No, I'm not! I'm sorry!

Bogeyman: *softens* Look, my little dandelion, please understand, that I have long-term plans, and they're all for you. To give you what you deserve, remember? But they can only work if you do what I say.

Katrina: Yes, Uncle Anton...

Bogeyman: So follow my instructions as closely as possible, understand?

Katrina: Yes, Uncle Anton...

Bogeyman: Good girl. Now you run along and remember, this is between you and me, okay?

Katrina: Y-Yes, Uncle Anton.

*Bogeyman slips into the shadows and disappears*

#miraculous ladybug #stammering adrien au #chloe bourgeois #katrina blanchet #anton moreau aka the bogeyman

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atsadi-shenanigans · 11 months

Text

Feeding Alligators: Chapter One

Screw schedules. Posting the first chapter of my (very) slow burn Astarion/Tav fic, Feeding Alligators.

Turns out, it’s not heart disease that gets you. Not a car crash, the second coming, or even a plain old slip in the shower that removes you from this mortal coil. It’s motherfucking aliens. Your Uncle Randy would be so proud. Or: two losers cheat, stab, and flirt their way to a win.

Turns out, it’s not heart disease that gets you. Not a car crash, the second coming, or even a plain old slip in the shower that removes you from this mortal coil.

It’s motherfucking aliens.

Your Uncle Randy would be so proud.

You wake to heat and smoke. The acrid taste clings to your tongue, and grit crunches between your teeth. Your first thought: the Big One finally happened; your apartment has collapsed in the earthquake and you’re stuck in the rubble. You were in bed. That might have saved you from being completely crushed?

Only you’re not on your bed, anymore. Nor are you on a pile of splintered wood and concrete. The floor is cool and disgusting, in a kind of spongy way. You can tell this rather intimately, as you’re naked.

Then the smoke clears, and you’re not in a debris pile. Because there’s a squid-face motherfucker grabbing at you. The ancient, primate part of your brain that remembers loping along tree branches and eating bugs takes one look at that thing, and it starts shrieking.

And that’s when you realize you’re not on something, you’re in something and it’s a goddamn cage and you flail around, buck-ass nude, as Squidward lifts something squirming towards you.

“Fucknofuckthis!” you say, in a long, one-word primate screech.

Squidward jerks its hand and your head slams the back of your cage. Things go a little fuzzy.

More smoke billows into the room, and your cage shudders around you. Squidward is moving fast and frantic. It gives the smoke a hateful glare like the smoke insulted it.

You can’t move. Can’t even blink. Can only pant and wheeze and shriek as it all but smashes what you think is a worm onto your fucking eyeball.

Pain digs in. The little fucker writhes, chewing, flattening itself around your eye. The pain blinds you.

The next time you wake, it’s to the feel of empty space. You cartwheel once. Hit the ground. Pain blasts through your left hip and knocks your breath out. You lie there for a second, lungs spasming and trying to inhale, and it’s like sucking air through a coffee straw.

The floor has the same, unpleasant squishiness. It makes you think of congealed slime, like bare toes sinking into cold cat vomit, and you finally recover enough to gag.

You’re in the same room, you think. You’re not sure. It’s moderately on fire, hazed in rancid smoke that smells like the worst crossover of burning rubber and scorched slugs. You force yourself up—your bad knee miraculously not popping like the hateful bitch it is—and find yourself alone. Except for dead Squidward.

***

The ship is large. A lot of it is made of cat vomit floor, and the doors are people-sized buttholes. You find a room which sets off your “xenomorph from Aliens” phobia. And inside, you find the intact body. It’s another human, a large man dressed up in some kind of SCA reenactor’s clothes. They’re not crusted in blood or anything else, and it’s way better than running around with your tits flapping. After a struggle that leaves your out-of-shape ass flushed and panting, you slip on an off-beige tunic. It comes down to mid thigh.

So now you’re in a large, on fire alien butthole ship, still defenseless and alone, dressed like medieval Winnie-the-poo. It’s an improvement.

***

You find an H.R. Giger box. You almost don’t open it. But your white women ancestors reach out through you, and your hands are fiddling with the thing before you can think, “Hold on.” Inside is some weird shit: a slug in a jar, a funny rock, and—is that gold? What the fuck? There’s also a little voice whispering in your mind, that you follow over to some slack-jawed dude strapped to a chair. And you know it’s not his voice because 1. it echoes in your skull and 2. the back of his skull is gone, leaving exposed brain.

Your primate brain is having none of that. You end up reflexively slapping the thing when the creepy voice speaks again. You don’t mean to? You probably don’t mean to. You’re high as a kite on adrenaline and shock, and your hand just kind of does the thing. Oops.

“Getting the fuck out of here,” you say to the actually this time dead guy.

You haven’t seen any other aliens. Might be because the whole “on fire” part. Something bad is happening, and a very loud part of you insists you better find somewhere to hide. But an even louder part rages at this entire situation, and it would really like you to find a gun or space laser or a goddamn butter knife please.

Things do not improve in the next room. The far wall is gone. It’s not the vacuum of space that tugs your short hair. Your nose doesn’t fill with what one astronaut described as the “burning metal” smell of low earth orbit. What hits your nose is sulfur and smoke. The outside holds no stars. It’s orange and hazy, with weird, shifting dark slashes. And it’s filled with demons.

The butthole ship is in hell. Actual, literal hell.

Your Aunt Patty May would be so self-righteous right now, the stupid bitch. You really did die and go to hell.

You take a couple of steps and catch yourself on the slimy edge of a wall. You manage not to fall onto your knees.

The ship zooms along what looks like a twisted, red ground swarming with ants. A rush and—is that a dragon—swoops past the hole.

Aliens, you can deal with.

Hell, you can be bitter about.

But dragons? You’re not on anything. None of your medications cause hallucinations. There’s no explanation for this 80’s metal album fever dream. Your brain has just about had it, and fuck if it’s not reaching for the shutdown switch.

Which is when a lizard woman vaults and flips over your head. She lands and twirls, and points a sword at your face. She’s green. She’s in metal armor. She opens her mouth and snarls something at you.

And you…you have no idea what she’s saying.

Index - Next Chapter

#baldur's gate 3 #astarion #tav #tav has backstory #fanfic #astarion x tav #it's a goddamn isekai #i'm not sorry #no betas we die like men

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hisbeautysurroundsus · 4 months

Text

My Faith Journey

My faith journey begins with my death. Not my figurative death. Not my death to self or death to the old nature. But my literal death. My two-year-old body lying drowned in an irrigation canal on an orange grove in South Florida. This event would shape the rest of my life and the work God called me to do.

In October 1976, my parents worked as laborers at Shawkey Groves in Ft. Pierce, Florida. To get from the small single-wide trailer we called home to the orange groves and garden, we crossed a narrow log positioned precariously above a canal filled with alligators and poisonous water moccasins. While playing near the house, I fell into the canal one day.

Working in the garden on the other side of the canal, my mother realized that she could no longer hear my voice playing with my siblings. She immediately knew something was wrong. As everyone searched near the house, she ran towards the canal. Knowing the canal was the only place I could be, she feared the worst. As she got to the narrow log crossing the canal, she looked down and saw my pale, lifeless face. My body was below the waterline, covered in algae and lily pads; only my little expressionless face showed.

I had succumbed to the green water filled with black poisons used to treat the fruit trees. "Jesus!" she screamed as she leaped feet-first into the canal. "Jesus! Save my baby! Jesus!" she begged as she held me by my feet and ran up the canal bank. She later recalled that my feet felt like two stiff pieces of wood. She held me upright, cleaning slime and debris out of my mouth. My body was cold and stiff. Once on the upper portion of the canal bank, I suddenly began to breathe again. Movement returned to my body as I vomited water and green algae slime. Color returned to my face. I was miraculously alive.

The grove was located in rural Florida and had no phone service, making it impossible for my mother to call for emergency services. She had no choice but to trust God to save her little boy. She could not share this miracle with anyone outside my immediate family until she attended Sunday school that week. Sunday school often started with a time of testimony, with people sharing the good things God had done throughout the week. My mom prepared all week to share this miracle with her church family. She poured over every detail in her mind.

When the time came, she raised her hand. Shaking nervously, she stood up to testify about what God had done. Before she could speak, her Sunday school teacher interrupted. "Mrs. Betty, before you begin, does this have anything to do with your boy drowning in some dark, murky water?" "Yes sir!" she exclaimed with flowing tears.

He explained, "I was awakened suddenly from a dream the other night. In my dream, a little boy was drowning in dark, murky waters. Under his head, I could make out two sticks. The sticks had formed a cross under the back of his head and were holding his face out of the water. I immediately woke up. I awakened my wife and said we must pray; a little boy urgently needs our prayers."

He continued, "I don't know what this dream has to do with your testimony this morning, but I wanted to let you know that I have been waiting all week to tell this story. Is this at all related to what you are going to speak about?" My mother burst into tears and exclaimed, "Yes, sir!" She then told the class about the events that had transpired at the canal.

There was no teaching or preaching at the services that day. Everyone gathered around the altar, praising God for his miracle. The church erupted in joyous gratitude, singing and praising God for his great goodness. Jesus saved the life of that little boy in the murky waters of Header Canal that day in October 1976.

My Salvation.

It was 11 p.m. on the night of October 27th, 1992. I was alone in a cheap hotel room in Tampa, Florida. I was 18 years old and anxious for how the next 48 hours would unfold. I only had $20, money my dad had slipped me when he and my mother had dropped me off with the Air Force Recruiter earlier in the day. I had just a few hours before I boarded a flight to Texas to begin a career in the United States Air Force.

Until this point in my life, I had always thought my personal testimony of salvation a bit uninspiring. You see, I was raised by Christian parents, every-time-the-doors-were-open, church-going parents. They were Sunday school teachers and bus ministers who lived what they believed throughout the week, not just on Sundays. From an early age, I was taught by example that nothing trumps a close personal relationship with God. Even now, as I search the recesses of my mind, I only always remember being in love with God.

So went the first 18 years of my life. I loved God, asked him to forgive me when I failed him, and prayed for my typical adolescent struggles. I took great comfort in scripture. From an early age, God's beautiful words were written on the table of my heart. I strayed a bit and dabbled in things, but I quickly returned to the shelter of my God. I experienced the truth of scripture in my own life, for myself, removing any doubt that God exists and that he loves me.

On this night alone in a hotel room in Tampa, I made a decision that impacted everything that has transpired since. Even though I had accepted Christ as my Savior and was baptized as a child, that night, I made my salvation a matter of record as an adult. I knelt at the foot of my bed and asked Christ into my heart — a man confirming a commitment made as a boy. I submitted my life to God's care from that day forward. I trusted in the Lord with all my heart.

Since then, my life in Christ has been anything but boring. He, who began a good work in me, has whittled away at the rebellious nature I inherited. I have been stubborn. There is still much work to do, but God faithfully performs it. My salvation experience might not be some great drama, but it is the best kind of testimony. While I have many shortcomings, God has spared me much of the heartache and misery this world has to offer. My salvation story is one of God's great grace, giving me so much more than I deserve. Who am I that God would be mindful of me from my youth? I put my sincere trust in him as a child, acknowledged him from my youth, and he has directed my path. Nothing is uninspiring about that.

Air Force Basic Training.

Basic Training was six weeks long when I entered the service in October 1992. I was scared to death but was immediately appointed to be an element leader in Flight #050. It took much prayer to get through the sleep deprivation and constant fear of being "recycled" due to failure to comply with the minor details of an obscure task. Being recycled was the worst possible penalty, as your six-week training course could be extended by several weeks depending on where the next Flight was in progression behind you.

One of the most feared tasks in Basic Training was door guard duty on the 0400-0600 shift. The shift was when the Training Instructors gained access to the bay and would wake everyone up with furious yelling, flipping of beds, much cursing, and threats of violence. The poor Airman on shift at the locked door was often the first to get recycled into a junior Flight for failing to verify proper access before unlocking the door.

The task was simple: verify the Training Instructor's proper credentials, unlock the door, and let them in. The Training Instructors would flash a Mickey Mouse badge or some other false credential and start yelling with a phrase that typically started with "If you don't let me in, Airman, I am going to come through this door and…" Many Airmen would cave in fear and off they would go, recycled for failure to pay attention to detail.

My bunkmate was particularly scared to pull door guard duty on the 0400-0600 shift and asked if I would cover for him. We agreed he would do some of my more menial tasks in exchange. This led to a host of other Airmen doing all my work in exchange for me pulling their 0400-0600 door guard shift. This continued for a couple of weeks until the Training Instructor caught on. One morning, he showed the proper credentials, calmly entered the bay, and said, "Storman, you're not on Door Guard duty again."

I relied on God to calm me and give me courage. He gave me the confidence and clear-headedness to think under pressure, something on which I would come to rely throughout my military career. One thing about pulling those early morning shifts still haunts me. Under the fear and duress we were all facing, I heard grown men whimpering, sometimes in their sleep, crying out for their mothers. The experience only drew me closer to God, knowing he would always be there with me, even when my mother couldn’t be.

I scored sufficiently high in electronics on the Armed Services Vocational Aptitude Battery (ASVAB), so in Basic Training, I was selected for the Meteorological and Navigational (MetNav) Systems career field. The only issue with this selection was that I would have to perform a fear of heights test. Being from flat Florida, I feared standing on anything higher than a chair. My knees would shake, my legs would tighten, I could hardly breathe, and I would freeze up. The fear of heights test meant I would have to climb a sixty-foot tower, and once at the top, I would have to take both hands off the ladder, lean back to the full extension of a safety harness, touch the tip of my nose with both hands and answer the question, "What is your name?"

As the test day approached, I frequently prayed to God, "Lord, you know I cannot even stand on a chair for fear of heights. If this is the career field you want me in, you must give me the strength to pass this test." I was confident that he would either help me through or move me to a different career field.

On the day of the test, the sixty-foot tower looked like it was a thousand feet tall. Many of the Airmen who seemed confident back in the unit were now unable to climb more than twenty feet before being escorted back down. When I was next in line, I prayed, "God, if it is your will that I die on this tower, so be it. But I ask you to keep me safe and give me the strength to get to the top." Slowly, a calm came over me. God would either take me up this tower, or I would die. Either way, his will would be done.

With stiff legs and shallow breathing, I climbed to the top of the tower, touched my nose with both hands and softly breathed out my name with the only air my tightened lungs could muster. I could hardly stand when I returned to my unit that night; the stress decimated the strength in my legs and body. I would go on to climb communications towers for the remainder of my career, my crippling fear of heights never entirely going away. I was even appointed climbing training instructor for the Pacific region, providing climbing certifications for hundreds of technicians in Japan, South Korea, Alaska, Guam, and Hawaii.

On graduation day, just before we got on the bus for the airport, my Training Instructor called me into his office. I was sure that I was being recycled. He asked me to sit on his couch, something we were forbidden to do. I reluctantly sat only after he repeatedly assured me that it was okay. He questioned me: "Were you in ROTC?" "No sir," I replied. "Was your dad in the military?" “No sir,” I answered. “Anyone in your family in the military?” “Not that I know of,” I said, worried by the line of questioning. “Hmm, okay, go get on the bus.” The confidence he saw when I was under pressure was not my own or a result of some pre-exposure to the military but God’s unwavering strength. Just like that, I had completed basic training in the United States Air Force.

I Know God, But Who is Jesus?

My first assignment after basic training was a technical school in Biloxi, Mississippi. The school was nine months of intensive electronics training for eight hours daily, five to six days per week. Of the fifty students who started basic electronics, only twenty-four completed it. In the “sets” course that followed, where I learned in-depth theory on specific systems, only twelve of the initial twenty-four made it through to graduation. Many late nights were spent on my knees, praying for the strength to get through the course. Even though I possessed no special abilities, God was sufficient.

Technical training was rife with temptations. I dedicated my free time to studying the Bible to avoid the traps of military life. I grew up knowing the God of my salvation, even accepting him as my Savior. I trusted in Jesus and the sacrifice he had made for my sin. However, when I prayed or thought of God, it was always in a father-son relationship. And so, I prayed that God would help me to see who Jesus was.

Who is Jesus? Why Jesus? Had I known the spiral these questions would take me down, I would likely not have asked it in prayer. Over the next few months, God showed me who Jesus was and why salvation had to come through Christ and Christ alone. The journey was as uncomfortable and challenging as I would ever face, but one that I had to experience.

The answer came during a Bible study I attended at the base chapel on Friday nights. Raised in the Pentecostal church, I asked the leader to pray for a family member who was “backslidden.” He asked if I thought a person could lose their salvation, and I, of course, answered, “I was raised Pentecostal, and we don’t believe in eternal security.”

He challenged me to show him in scripture where a single person who believed in Christ unto salvation had then lost it. I could not. In just a few minutes, he showed me dozens of scriptures contradicting everything I had learned from my parents, Sunday school teachers, and childhood pastor. I became frustrated and angry. I dismissed this as false teaching, Satan trying to lead me astray, and was confident I would see the truth I was taught in scripture during my personal Bible studies. I left the Bible study and never went back.

Over the coming months, I searched the scripture to back up what I had been taught as a child. The more I searched, the more I saw that when Christ saves, he saves to the uttermost. I saw that the gift of God is eternal life. Eternal life is eternal, not just until I sin again. When scripture says I will never perish if I believe in him, it means everlasting life—life that lasts forever. I understood that I did nothing to earn salvation, and it made no sense that it depended on me to keep it.

I finally understood who Jesus was and why it always had to be him. I always fell short in attempting to secure my own salvation. Only a sinless savior could pay the penalty for my sins. This revelation shook me to the core. Could everything I was taught by the most trusted people in my life be wrong? Could the same God who commanded me to honor my parents also be showing me that they were doctrinally in error? I became angry with God. How could he betray me in this way? How could I ever trust him again if he allowed me to be deceived by this foundational truth? I became a shell of myself. I stopped reading my Bible. I stopped going to church and Friday night Bible study. I threw a temper tantrum like a little boy. All along, God was giving me the answer to the question I had asked him.

After a few months, I missed God. I missed the closeness of my relationship with him and the comfort and peace of scripture. And so, in a river of tears, I came back to my first love. He restored the closeness I had felt since childhood. I knelt on my knees and yielded myself to Christ. I now fully understood who Christ was to me. I realized that I did not earn my salvation, and in trying to keep it, I would always fall short and be miserable. I understood that God had started a good work in me, and he would faithfully complete it. My faith strengthened.

During the struggles of the brutal training and my anger towards God, I just kept to myself so as not to get caught up in the temptations that were becoming more and more available. The dormitory I lived in was organized into two students per room, with about twenty rooms sharing a common area called a day room. Everyone liked to gather around the day room and brag about what they were doing off base.

One Airman was particularly skilled at telling stories of his exploits in the local area. He always drew a large crowd hanging on every detail of his exploits and conquests. To avoid falling into temptation, I would avoid these gatherings altogether. While this made me somewhat of an outcast, most of my roommates knew my relationship with Christ was the reason. Besides, I was not otherwise an awkward person to be around. Even so, I was often teased for not being a part of the scene. I would pray for God to allow me to speak of him when given the opportunity.

While that opportunity seldom came, I continued living closely with God. I would sometimes be discouraged that God had not allowed me more opportunities to tell others about him. Twenty-four years after I graduated from technical training school, I received a Facebook friend request from the Airman who was particularly adept at telling the stories of his exploits in the local area. Upon accepting his request, he messaged:

“Hey there, Chief! Wow, how cool is that? Congratulations, that's certainly a huge accomplishment. The congratulations weren't the reason for this message, though. I wanted to encourage you about something. I've (about 4 years ago) come to the Lord. The circumstances were quite remarkable, and worthy of a later discussion if you'd like. But again, not my point. I wanted to tell you that I saw you. Back in those days. I saw that you had something I didn’t. I even knew what it was. You didn't ever try to hide it. In my faith walk thus far, I've many times recalled that about you. I just thought I should share that with you. While your accomplishments are impressive, I can't honestly say I'm surprised. I know with whom you walk. Keep on being that light, brother. I would have told you I was a Christian back then. I did actually believe in God, my sinfulness, and Jesus. I definitely didn't know Him though. I suppose there are differing opinions on what all is required for "salvation". I think we'd agree that in His grace He offers us a pretty low bar. He allows us our miserable failures. Though, my old life would truly qualify as a “colorful” one, and nothing befitting anyone even claiming to be a Christian, as I sit with hindsight, it is unmistakable that His hand was on me even then. Anyway, like I said, I just wanted to tell you what a mark you make on those you come in contact with. You did then, I'm sure it's more so now. This may be a decade’s overdue acknowledgement, but it's not like I just recently came to know what it was. I hope that can bring you a smile. It does me.”

Not Columbus, Ohio – Columbus, Mississippi.

Towards the end of technical school, we gathered around our instructor to learn where our first assignment would be. Some went overseas, others out west. When it came to my turn, the instructor said, “Airman Storman is going to Columbus.” I exclaimed to the class, “Oh wow, I’ve never been to Ohio.” I was corrected, “No, not Columbus, Ohio. Columbus Air Force Base. Just up the road in north Mississippi.” And so, my Air Force career would take me four hours north from Biloxi to Columbus, Mississippi. I would not have been so disappointed if I had known what God had in store for me in that rural town planted in the pines. But before a great victory, I went through a time of personal trial.

Columbus was a great place to cut my teeth on Air Force life. There were many great people in my circle, many of whom I consider my best friends to this day. However, it was also a difficult time. Many of the Airmen I hung around with were in their early twenties. They were falling in love, getting married, and having children. Now twenty, I felt lonely because my life lacked close companionship. I was always the single guy tagging along with several couples.

Living in a co-ed dormitory, temptation came often. Many offers were put before me. None of those girls were Christians, most generally lacking the character I expected in a companion. I wouldn’t say I was picky, I just wanted a woman heading in the same direction and keeping my pace. That made for a pretty lonely time in my life. I was social and dated a bit. But, not finding what I was looking for, I would quickly move on to avoid complicating things with physical connections.

To relieve my loneliness, I turned to writing. I had written poetry years before to ease the stresses of high school. Now, writing unto God consumed many lonely nights. I wrote poems about love and loneliness, never cynical, but always expressing my longing for love and companionship. God used this time to allow me to find companionship in him. Once again, he was sufficient. The four and a half years I spent at Columbus were filled with people and events that would shape my entire life, but none were as impactful as a flood on the Biloxi River in May 1995.

My boss called me into his office with an “opportunity.” In the Air Force, this was code for an opportunity to volunteer for something that could advance your career but likely not something you wanted to do. “Voluntold” is almost always associated with such opportunities to “volunteer.” He said he was an American Red Cross Disaster Response Team member about to ship out to assist the people impacted by flooding on the Biloxi River when an unexpected family emergency prevented him from leaving. He asked if I might be interested in replacing him on the team. I agreed to the arrangement because that’s what was expected when a Technical Sergeant gave an Airman First Class an “opportunity.” He told me that I would have to take about thirty hours of training over the next week to qualify for driving the Emergency Response Vehicle (ERV) and performing mass shelter operations. Also, I would need to be on leave for the two weeks we were expected to be in Biloxi. That was a big deal because I had barely accrued two weeks of leave in my short career. I wanted to say no, but I reluctantly agreed to the task, knowing it would take almost a year to build up that much leave again.

Following a crash course in caring for disaster victims, I drove the team to Biloxi. We immediately started preparing meals and stockpiling cleanup supplies in the Wool Market Baptist Church gym. My job was to make deliveries to those impacted by the flood. After a few days, one of my fellow ERV drivers said I had to meet another volunteer with whom he had been working. He introduced me to Rebekah in the gym at Wool Market Baptist Church. We briefly said hello and agreed to meet for a group dinner that night. At dinner we talked, and even though she was gorgeous, I felt she was too young at four years my junior. Over the next few days, we spoke between deliveries and at dinner with the group. She was different, not like any girl I had ever dated.

Following the relief efforts, we talked each night on the phone. Never, not once, did we ever stop talking. We were instantly friends, though it was not immediately apparent we would be more than that. We spoke on the phone for hours. She was a Christian, confident, yet humble. She did not play games. She was just who she portrayed herself to be.

After some months of talking and a few brief visits, it became apparent that there was much more to our relationship. I felt confident that God had brought us together and that this was the girl I wanted to marry. We dated for two and a half years and married in September 1997. As I look back on it, a thousand small things had to align for us to meet. The flood, my boss, the training, my leave, the introduction by a friend – so many small things had to align perfectly for our marriage to get off the ground. Only God can do that.

Our Life Together.

I would go on to have a 28-year career in the United States Air Force. I would ascend to the rank of Chief Master Sergeant, the highest enlisted rank in the U.S. military, limited by Congress to just one percent of the active force. Rebekah and I would travel to thirty-two countries on six continents. We served in every capacity of ministry in local churches in Germany, Hawaii, Curacao, Guam, Florida, Texas, and Japan. God blessed us abundantly with service in children’s ministries around the globe, even though we could not have children of our own.

Our twelve assignments brought unique challenges, but we met each with our faithful God's abundant blessings and grace. He helped us climb spiritual mountains and survive spiritual droughts. Three things remained consistent despite our location or circumstances: God was always sufficient, our love and support of each other, and my passion for writing.

I retired from the military in 2020. Rebekah and I moved to rural Clark, Wyoming, just outside Shoshone National Forest and Yellowstone National Park. I asked God what he would have me to do with the remaining balance of my life. Through the miracle of a lone elk calf, a story I have written but is too long for this account, he pressed me to spend my days writing of his beauty that surrounds us. And so, I have dedicated the balance of my life to mountains, rivers, and writing of divine beauty in wild places.

Sometimes, when photographing nature, I set the camera down and take in a sight without the cumbrances of my camera. I know what I am looking at will only be preserved in my mind, but that seems acceptable. I take comfort in knowing that the moment is just between me and my God and will never be fully appreciated by anyone but us.

Such is the story I am telling. My life is filled with a thousand examples of God’s goodness. I have experienced more love and life than anyone could expect in a thousand lifetimes. I could write volumes and not adequately express my gratitude towards God. I will set down my pen, knowing that most of what I have experienced in my faith journey will only be preserved within me. I console myself as a writer with the thought that God intended these moments to be just between us, to strengthen our relationship, and they could never be fully appreciated by anyone else.

#god #nature #beauty #mountains #clark wyoming #wyoming #optoutside #nofilterneeded

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fabseg-creator · 1 year

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Second part sketch of Miraculous: Inversed Personas (Opposite AU).

List of Opposite characters:

Bob Roth, music producer. Married to Anarka.

Anarka Couffaine-Roth, Bob's "wife". She has issues with her husband (Not good relationship).

Xavier-Yves Roth (X.Y.), essayist. He abandoned his musician's career for becoming novelist/writer. He rejects his father.

Jagged Stone, classic music player/pianist (instead of rock'n'roll). He's afraid of alligators.

Alim Kubdel, director of the Musée du Louvre.

Tom & Sabine, bakers and Marinette's parents. They died in the arson of the Bakery when (Opposite) Marinette was 10-11.

Rolland Dupain, Marinette's grandfather. He's in good terms with young people ans kids.

André Bourgeois Anaximandre (spoiler from season 5), film director. He has never run for the mayoral election. He's hypocrite and arrogant (He fires Thomas You-Know-Who from the staff).

Clara Nightingale, pop singer. She's arrogant and annoying (similar persona to Canon Chloé).

Harry Clown, comedian and actor. He's known for playing dramatical movies, dramas and B-movies (like Captain Frite).

Wayhem, casual boy. He doesn't like celebrities (especially Adrien). He's an activist on Justice, Human rights and Climate. He's humanitarian.

Domino Brothers, Colt's twin bodyguards (based on bodyguards from Ladybug PV)

M.D.C., class representative from Fathom Academy (identity will be revealed soon).

Cash, Colt's intermediary/negociator in business. Mobster too.

Miss Secretary of Fathom Company (OC) (based on Sphinx's secretary from Ladybug PV).

Verdi (OC), Fathom Academy student.

Sheep (OC), Fathom Academy student.

"Rossi" girl (OC?), Fathom Academy student. Lovesick(?) for M.D.C..

Fei Wu, student transferred from Shanghai to Paris.

Opposite Marinette and Opposite Adrien will be introduced soon.

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ao3feed-ladynoir · 5 months

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#AO3 Link #FanFiction #AO3 Adrienette #💚#💖#❤️#Adrienette #♥#A:Toooldtolive #Royalty AU

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m0llygunn · 9 months

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⋆꙳•̩̩͙❅*̩̩͙‧͙ ‧͙*̩̩͙❆ ͙͛ ˚₊⋆ ⋆꙳•̩̩͙❅*̩̩͙‧͙ ‧͙*̩̩͙❆ ͙͛ ˚₊⋆ ⋆꙳•̩̩͙❅*̩̩͙‧͙ ‧͙*̩̩͙❆ ͙͛ ˚₊⋆ ⋆꙳•̩̩͙❅*̩̩͙‧͙ ‧͙*̩̩͙❆ ͙͛ ˚₊⋆

TO SPREAD SOME HOLIDAY CHEER…LET’S PLAY A LITTLE GAME

𝐜𝐨𝐩𝐲 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐩𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞, 𝐭𝐚𝐠 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐤𝐞𝐞𝐩 𝐢𝐭 𝐠𝐨𝐢𝐧𝐠

tag game by @trashmouth-richie

tagged by: @onegirlmanytales and @keeksandgigz 💗💜

𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐤 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟑 𝐟𝐢𝐜 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭...

𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚏𝚊𝚟𝚘𝚛𝚒𝚝𝚎: probably shy girl or the alligator and the weirdo because they’re my most recent and haven’t had the chance to rot in my mind yet

𝚖𝚘𝚜𝚝 𝚗𝚘𝚝𝚎𝚜: eddies notes

𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚝 𝚗𝚘𝚝𝚎𝚜: rockstars daughter I wrote it on my birthday and I was kicking rocks when it flopped lmao

𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚝 𝚊𝚖𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚠𝚛𝚒𝚝𝚎: probably any of my requests or sans toi orrrr I wish I had met you earlier

𝚖𝚘𝚜𝚝 𝚊𝚖𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚠𝚛𝚒𝚝𝚎: probably the third chapter of same old song and dance I went back and edited that doodoo like 62 times

𝚏𝚒𝚌 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚛𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚊𝚗 𝚊𝚜𝚔: i don’t get a lot of discourse in my asks so it was most definitely a request, I think my favourite was the virgin confession one because I think she’s a cutesy little thing

𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚛𝚊𝚌𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚛𝚊𝚛𝚎𝚕𝚢 𝚠𝚛𝚒𝚝𝚎 𝚏𝚘𝚛: eddie lol (I don’t write anymore fr so yeah it’s rare)

𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚛𝚊𝚌𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚊𝚕𝚠𝚊𝚢𝚜 𝚠𝚛𝚒𝚝𝚎 𝚏𝚘𝚛: lol eddie

𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚛𝚊𝚌𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚠𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚗𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚠𝚛𝚒𝚝𝚎 𝚏𝚘𝚛: anyone not eddie

𝚂𝟻 𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚍𝚒𝚌𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚜?: max lives and will have a miraculous overnight recovery because there is absolutely no sense of realism when it comes to injuries in the stranger things universe

𝚔𝚊𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚘𝚛𝚒𝚜𝚝, 𝚠𝚑𝚢/ 𝚠𝚑𝚢 𝚗𝚘𝚝? probably not because dumb and dumber aka the suffer brothers aka the duffer brothers never like giving people what they want

𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚗𝚌𝚢 𝚖𝚊𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚊 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚋𝚊𝚌𝚔 𝚠𝚑𝚢/𝚠𝚑𝚢 𝚗𝚘𝚝? i feel like it will because after everything’s all said and done, nancy might just want peace and comfort which Steve offers with his sense of stability (through money, class, status, etc.). her and jonathon are very different, which makes for an interesting relationship (and I can appreciate it) but bruh after fighting monsters and almost dying for like 3 years straight I’d be tired and just want to be taken care of and not have to put that type of effort into anything (that might just be me though, nancy’s built different honestly). that or she’ll keep doing the journalist thing and will end up with neither boys (cause jonathon’s never going to leave his family behind…. unless…. yeah that’s off topic anyways)

𝚊 𝚜𝚖𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚎𝚛 𝚋𝚕𝚘𝚐 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚍𝚎𝚜𝚎𝚛𝚟𝚎𝚜 𝚕𝚘𝚟𝚎: me and also readers who consistently reblog and like fics like I fucking love you guys and I will always follow you back if I see you in my notifs frequently

𝚊 𝚋𝚕𝚘𝚐 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚖𝚊𝚍𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚕𝚘𝚟𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚋𝚕𝚘𝚛𝚋𝚘 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚗 𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚎: I’ll be honest I don’t know what that means I see you guys saying it but context clues have not kicked in yet

𝚏𝚒𝚛𝚜𝚝 𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚛𝚢 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚏𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚘𝚖: probably like the yes policy cause I think I found it through a tiktok recommendation and then spent the first 7 chapters reading in my safari app and refusing to make a tumblr or ao3 account like a dumb dumb (I’ve learned better now)

𝚏𝚒𝚛𝚜𝚝 𝚏𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚍 𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚏𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚘𝚖: I’ll let my inherent unlikeability answer this question (she said no comment)

𝚐𝚘𝚊𝚕𝚜 𝚢𝚘𝚞’𝚟𝚎 𝚊𝚌𝚑𝚒𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚍 𝚒𝚗 𝚠𝚛𝚒𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚢𝚎𝚊𝚛: i don’t have goals I’m not a goal setting or goal achieving kind of girl I’m too unmotivated and self indulgent for that

𝚖𝚘𝚜𝚝 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚍𝚜 𝚠𝚛𝚒𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚗 𝚒𝚗 𝚊 𝚜𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚕𝚎 𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚝𝚎𝚛: my posted stuff probably like 10k, unposted stuff I have chapters with like 28k words of unedited stream of consciousness garbage😭

𝚏𝚊𝚟𝚘𝚛𝚒𝚝𝚎 𝚝𝚛𝚘𝚙𝚎: enemies to lovers or friends to lovers they are the best tropes and I will die on both of those hills. i also like friends with an ill timed boner twist or friends with one bed it’s always juicy

𝚜𝚖𝚞𝚝, 𝚊𝚗𝚐𝚜𝚝 𝚘𝚛 𝚏𝚕𝚞𝚏𝚏?: on the low I’ve been into fluff lately like I need innocent human connection

f̾u̾c̾k̾ ̾m̾a̾r̾r̾y̾ ̾k̾i̾l̾l̾

𝚝𝚎𝚍, 𝚖𝚞𝚛𝚛𝚊𝚢 𝚘𝚛 𝚖𝚛. 𝚌𝚕𝚊𝚛𝚔𝚎?: fuck ted lol, marry mr. clarke, kill murray

𝚓𝚘𝚢𝚌𝚎, 𝚔𝚊𝚛𝚎𝚗, 𝚘𝚛 𝚌𝚕𝚊𝚞𝚍𝚒𝚊? (𝚍𝚞𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚗’𝚜 𝚖𝚘𝚖): fuck karen, marry joyce, kill claudia sorry mama

𝚑𝚘𝚙𝚙𝚎𝚛, 𝚠𝚊𝚢𝚗𝚎 𝚖𝚞𝚗𝚜𝚘𝚗, 𝚍𝚛. 𝚋𝚛𝚎𝚗𝚗𝚎𝚛? fuck brenner, marry wayne, this is so unpopular but I have an irrational hatred for david harbour and I have to kill hopper (he didn’t do anything I just don’t like him but also I saw an interview where he just kept interrupting Natalia over and over again to say stuff that wasn’t even funny and since then he gives me the ick😭)

𝚊𝚛𝚐𝚢𝚕𝚎, 𝚓𝚘𝚗𝚊𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚗, or 𝚔𝚎𝚒𝚝𝚑? fuck jonathon, marry argyle, kill keith

𝚎𝚍𝚍𝚒𝚎, 𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚟𝚎 𝚘𝚛 𝚊𝚛𝚐𝚢𝚕𝚎? fuck and marry eddie, next question

𝚍𝚎𝚖𝚘𝚋𝚊𝚝, 𝚍𝚎𝚖𝚘𝚐𝚘𝚛𝚐𝚊𝚗, 𝚟𝚎𝚌𝚗𝚊? kill those nasty fucking rat demobats, tame a demogorgan and use as the ring bearer when I marry vecna and then brutally murder him and inherit the upside down and all his freaky like creatures as my own

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