#but there’s more to come anyways because i don’t care about my own sanity

[loosiap]

TS4 SP08 Braid Tied converted by Memento-sims and Simborg – in Poppet V2

Simborg’s retexture recoloured in Poppet’s v2 natural colours and all unnatural ones + BerryNooboos’ cosmic, Wyxii’s mint, Furbyq’s afterglow and PMG’s amphitrite.

Polycount 5k; both male and female frame; child-elder; grey binned to black; all natural colours binned in 1 file (well... 2 - one for each frame); mesh included; files compressed; choose M and F standalone or repositoried!

DOWNLOAD: MEGA | SFS

UPDATED 2024.04.11: Now there's 10 unnaturals instead of 8.

Credits: EAMaxis, @memento-sims​​​​, @simborg, Poppet-sims, BerryNooboos, Wyxii, Furbyq, xWhitepolar, IaKoa, Seaben, Peppermint-Ginger

EDIT: per request I made a default replacement of mhairmulletlong using this hair, you can find it here: LINK

all colours shown below

[idkwhatever580]

Absolutely not!

Masterlist

Pairings: Natasha Romanoff x reader

Prompt: Natasha and y/n decide to switch up their typical styles for a stark party. What if they switch up something else afterwards?

Warnings: SMUT, switch!natasha, switch!reader, kind of dom/sub in the end. Masturbation kink,

A/N: y’all know the drill

\/ if y’all wanna listen lol

Nobody’s pov

Natasha was really regretting her life choices right about now.

You see, y/n is usually the feminine kind when it comes to parties. And Natasha is more masculine.

So it’s always y/n in dresses and Natasha in suits. Leaving y/n a hot mess by the end of the night as well.

Of course. They decided to switch it up for a party. And Natasha was about to go feral if they didn’t leave now.

So y/n let Natasha drag her down the stark tower and to their sexy corvette.

Even the driving situation is switched. Y/n is typically the passenger princess and not because she can’t drive just because Natasha likes to.

But Natasha doesn’t care about anything right now. She needs some relief.

Natasha is gripping onto the seat when lunch by Billie Eilish comes on.

Y/n starts singing it completely oblivious to Natasha’s needs and it sets her off.

Natasha moves her hand onto y/n’s thigh and squeezes it.

Y/n’s pov

I get it now.

She wants me.

But I’m not about to let her distract me. I must stay strong. It’ll be better anyways.

She rubs her hand up my thigh and I decide to deflect and act innocent. I lace my fingers through hers and pull her hand up to my lips for a soft kiss.

My plan works for a few minutes and then she’s back at it again. She puts her hand on my core and I push it off of me shaking my head.

Then she huffs and says

“Let me have something!”

I shake my head and keep my eyes on the road. 15 minutes. That’s all I need then we’ll be home.

But Natasha just can’t fucking wait.

She grabs my hand suddenly and pulls it onto her own core. She’s hot. I can feel it.

Fuck

I speed up slightly and pull my hand away and she says

“Please”

I widen my eyes knowing she doesn’t just beg whenever. I don’t think I’ve actually ever heard her genuinely beg without being asked to.

I give her a small look and she says

“Please touch me”

I huff and pull away from her grasp again and say

“Absolutely not! That is a one of a kind designer dress and you are not about to ruin it for a quickie”

She whines which makes me clench a bit. Yeah it’s hot but that dress was expensive.

“Please baby. I don’t care. I’ll have Tony buy me another!”

I roll my eyes and say

“Nat. The whole point of a one of a kind custom dress is that there is nothing else like it!”

She squirms a bit and tries to bargain with me

“I’ll have the designer make another one”

I come to a red light so I stop and glare at her and say

“Nat. The designer spent hours making that dress perfect for your body and they will not make another one. It will ruin the integrity of their brand. They never repeat a design”

She huffs and crosses her arms and the light turns green so I speed off.

Can’t this thing go any faster?

I know I said I wouldn’t do it with her dress on. But that doesn’t me I don’t want to do it.

After a bit she whines and humps the air making me almost whimper at her own neediness.

I glance at her and grab her hand to make sure she doesn’t take things into her own hands and I say

“Almost home baby. Then I’ll get that dress off carefully and fuck you. Okay?”

She nods her head and says

“Baby I’m so horny”

I let out a breathless laugh and say

“I can tell. I promise I’m not doing this on purpose but I cannot let you ruin that dress okay?”

She has a moment of sanity and nods her head saying

“I know”

I smile and realize I’m far enough away from the city to floor it.

So I absolutely slam the gas and we make it home in about 4 minutes.

I pull into the garage and Natasha almost jumps out of the car.

To be fair, I do too.

We get inside and Natasha is thankfully, carefully taking off her dress and she can’t get it anymore so I finish it.

“Here let me baby”

I trail my hands down her back and she shivers.

I quickly hang up the dress and make sure it’s safe before turning to Natasha and I almost tackle her into our bed.

Usually when she would let out a grunt she lets out a moan and I smirk.

Maybe I should tease her.

Natasha literally pulls me out of my thoughts when she pulls my head into hers. Crashing our lips together and she makes out with me until she decides it’s enough and starts pushing me down to where she wants me most.

I give in and trail my kisses down her naked body and I get down and see how wet she actually is.

It’s leaking through her fucking underwear.

I accidentally let out a straggled breath and it hits her core making them jerk.

“Fuck baby. You’re dripping”

She rolls her eyes and says

“It’s not my fucking fault”

I smirk and say

“Oh? And whose fault is it?”

She grunts and decides to answer hoping I’ll be nicer

“You”

I smile and say

“Wow. I make you this wet?”

She nods her head begrudgingly and I chuckle a bit and pull her panties down.

I get back up to her core and lick a soft strip up and nudge her clit slightly.

I can’t wait any longer so I dive right in.

Her hand instantly grabs my head to keep me from pulling away.

I eat her out like it’s my last meal and her legs start to tighten around me indicating that she is getting close.

In order to help her out I decide to pump a finger into her which makes her groan and then I add another one after a few seconds. I ease it in and she moans when I suddenly curl both my fingers and suck her clit at the same time.

Her hand tightens on my head and pushes me further into her. Not that I mind. This wouldn’t be the first time I passed out from her hands and legs squeezing me. And it probably won’t be the last.

I moan into her when she tugs at my hair sending vibrations straight through her and it sends her over the edge.

I don’t think she’s ever come this fast before, but I don’t dwell on that as I clean up her juices.

She lets out a strangled moan and then I get a devious picture in my head.

I keep licking and sucking and she’s already wanting to come again.

Ive always had a masturbation kink and sure I’ve thought about it. But I’ve never asked Natasha until now.

“Can we try something new?”

I suddenly get shy when she looks down at me. Although she’s frustrated she understands that I’m taking a big step with asking this so she nods her head and says

“As long as I cum soon”

I giggle and sit up and say

“Will you touch yourself for me?”

Her eyes narrow and she looks me up and down before smirking and saying

“Would that make you happy?”

I look at her and try not to let my submissive side come out and I nod my head shyly.

She grabs my face softly and says

“I’ll do whatever you want.”

My eyes light up and I wait patiently. I pull away and let her situate herself.

She trails her hand lower and gasps and how wet she is and then she softly rubs circles on her clit.

I’m sitting on my knees in front of her on the bed as she starts to finger herself.

Fuck. This should not be this fucking hot.

My legs spread open a bit and I somehow bunch up the sheets under me enough to hump them slightly.

It’s not great but it’s relieving some of the pain.

I whimper and Natasha smirks knowing I’m under.

She slides another finger into her hole and I watch it swallow her digits.

I bite my lip and clench my thighs together. My own wetness is almost flowing out of me onto the bed.

Unfortunately the fact that I am only barely humping this damn sheet is making it so much harder for me to do anything.

So I just resort to watching Natasha as she pumps her hand in and out of her core.

She brings her free hand up to her tit and starts massaging it and tweaking her nipple.

I bite my lip hard and she looks at me with a knowing face and says

“Baby this feels so good”

I nod my head and say

“You look so pretty”

She smiles at me and says

“Thank you baby girl. Do you want to touch me?”

I nod my head furiously.

“Words baby”

I look at her and find my words and say

“Can I please touch you?”

She nods her head and says

“Only my breasts. I’ll do the rest like you asked me to.”

I nod my head and immediately go to kissing and sucking her boobs.

Every now and then I pull away and massage them with my hands to look at her fucking herself.

And then I fall into a daze. I’m positioned above one of her legs and she lifts it up and hits my sopping core and she says

“If I’m gonna fuck myself you’re gonna fuck yourself on me okay?”

I bite my lip and whimper at the thought and I start moving back and forth on her leg. Sliding my juices everywhere.

I end up humping her like a crazy person while my eyes are locked on her hands that are in her pussy.

She moans out and says

“Oh fuck baby”

I moan loudly at that and she says

“You like watching me fuck myself? Do you have a masturbation kink?”

I bow my head in embarrassment but I don’t stop my hips and I slightly nod ever so softly, but Natasha sees it and chuckles a bit and says

“I bet you’ve thought of me doing this. Have you touched yourself thinking of me doing this to myself baby?”

I nod my head and moan. I’m so close and she seems close but she’s been going for a while. I’ve only been going for a little bit.

She smiles and says

“I guess I’ll work it into our very tight sex schedule”

I smile knowing she’s making a joke and I throw my head back when she flexes her muscle.

“Oh fuck Nat! I’m so close”

She smirks and says

“Wait a bit baby. I’m close too. I wanna cum with you”

I nod my head as best I can and it falls back. Natasha grunts and firmly says.

“Look at me”

So I quickly snap my eyes to hers and I pant a bit.

“Oh fuck natty. I’m gonna-”

“Cum with me baby! Oh!!”

I roll my eyes back and grab her boobs again for stability which sends her over the edge and her muscles flex even more making me hit my clit hard and I jerk and thrust a bit more and then my orgasm crashes over me.

We slow down but keep our movements going until we can’t anymore and I look down at her panting. She smirks at me and says

“I didn’t know you liked that.”

I send a half smile her way and say

“It was so hot. You’re definitely gonna have to do that again soon”

She moves her wet fingers to my lips and I open willingly and suck and lick her fingers.

Then she pulls away with a pop and looks down saying

“You made a big mess on my thigh. You’re gonna have to clean it up baby”

I let out a shaky breath and move down to her legs and lick my own cum off her leg and moan at my taste and hers mixing on my tongue.

Once I’ve sufficiently cleaned her up I move back to her face and kiss her making sure she tastes both of us on our lips.

I pull away and lie down next to her and say

“That was so good. Thank you.”

She smiles now in her right mind and says

“No thank you. I’m so glad you didn’t let me ruin that dress. I don’t know what I was thinking”

I giggle and cuddle next to her and say

“I’m sleepy”

She brushes my hair out of my face and says

“Sleep. I love you baby”

I smile and say

“I love you too”

A/N: I tried to finish it quickly. This isn’t really my day I guess but I wanted to get it out since I promised it. <3

Taglist

@ilovesnat @ihartnat

[klaus-littlestwolf]

Weekend Away-Klaus M.

This wasn’t a request but I was feeling the need for something cute! I needed some warm and fuzzy Klaus in my life.

‘Come on love, it’ll be fun…’ he tempted, knowing how badly I wanted to be able to spend time with him. Klaus and I had been hiding our relationship for a month now, the Scooby Gang still believing he is into Caroline but almost every night he had been climbing into my window in the Boarding House.

It wasn’t sex at first, in fact the first night he knocked on my window I told him to get lost, but Klaus Mikaelson was nothing if not persistent. He kept coming back, I would let him in and he would just lay in bed beside me while I watched whatever movie I had on that night. A week in I began bringing snacks to my room that he told me he liked one night, even sneaking one of Damon’s bottles of bourbon for him. It was that second week that he kissed me for the first time and it had spiraled out of my control.

‘I can’t. They’ll notice I’m gone Nik and then what? If I tell them I’m fucking you then I become a disloyal bitch-‘

‘If they’re really your friends then they’ll support who you want to be with, and you and I both know this is more than just fucking…tell me it’s more than just sex.’ The look on his face made me believe that he really did like me which is the only reason I gave in instead of either pretending this is all nothing for my own sanity or teasing him. The look on his face told me how much he cared for me and I knew in that moment that I couldn’t tease him and hurt his feelings. Anyone else would tell you that Klaus doesn’t have feelings but I know different. Klaus Mikaelson is one of the most sensitive men I’ve ever met in my life.

‘Okay. It’s more than sex, but that makes it worse Nik! That means I’m in love with the enemy-‘

‘You love me?’ I froze as I realized what I had said making me sigh heavily. ‘I knew it! They use you Y/n and you know that, you have to because my girl is not stupid. If they want to ditch you because you fell in love then they don’t care about you at all.’ I didn’t say anything, looking at him and unsurely waiting. ‘I love you too Princess. I love you very much, how could I not? You’re perfect! Now come with me, pack a small bag, you’ll be back on Monday and they can fuck themselves.’ I considered this, both his proposal and the fact that he had just admitted to loving me for the first time, I had known I loved him since that second week when he first kissed me but hearing that he reciprocated those feelings was the greatest feeling in the world. I grinned, jumping into his arms and pressing my lips to his excitedly and he lifted me by my butt, my thighs wrapping around his waist as he continued to kiss me. ‘Okay, pack! Let’s get going, I want to see you spread out in a hotel bed, tipsy on champagne with a strawberry between these perfect little lips.’ I couldn’t help my giggle at that, jumping down and grabbing an overnight bag, packing 2 pairs of clothes and my cutest underwear, knowing we probably wouldn’t be leaving the hotel room at all. He slapped my ass as I bent over to pull on my boots before grabbing my phone, him taking my bag and jumping out the window. ‘Come on then!’

‘You’ve lost it, no way-‘

‘You don’t trust me?’ I knew he was teasing me but his eyes looked at me like I would be betraying him if I answer anyway other than by jumping and I huffed a sigh, climbing through the window and falling very ungracefully into his arms. ‘There’s my girl. Now, let’s go get you naked and drunk in some silk sheets, hmm?’

‘I knew you only loved me for my body.’ He glared playfully at me before carrying me to his car. One of my favorite things about being with Nik is that he’s fun, when we’re together, just us, he smiles in a way that is completely contagious.

The drive to the hotel was fun, I made him listen to some of my music which I know he tolerates solely because I love it so much and an hour later we were checking into the fanciest hotel I had ever seen in my life. I felt like if I so much as touched something in here I would damage it with my poor people hands, half of the guests walking around looked like they belonged in Downton Abbey, even the staff looked richer than me.

‘Nik, is this really necessary? This place looks more like a castle than a hotel, I feel like everyone’s staring at me.’ He pulled me close by my waist and nuzzled into my neck, breathing me in which is something he often does to feel calm.

‘They’re not staring at you, when we get to the room it’ll be worth it, I promise. Only the best for my girl.’ He stepped up to the front desk and I toyed with his hair as he spoke to the clerk, getting the room key, the man’s voice changing from disinterest to excitement when Nik gave his name.

‘Ah yes, the Honeymoon suite. It’s been prepared to your specifications, if there’s anything I can do to make your stay here for the week more comfortable you just let me know.’

‘I will, thank you.’ I looked up at him as he pulled me away and towards the elevators.

‘The week? I’m here for a weekend! Who is joining you here after me, huh?’ He rolled his eyes, pulling me into the elevator and hitting our floor button.

‘Don’t be daft love, I was going to talk you into staying longer and once you sleep in the most comfortable bed you’ve ever laid on you’ll want to stay too, okay? Just give me a chance.’ He reasoned and I shrugged, going along with it as he led me to a door, unlocking it and watching as my jaw dropped. The door opened into a huge living room area, comfortable looking couches and a wall of windows looking out over the mountains that we were practically in the side of and it was gorgeous. ‘Come here.’ He led me to the door off to the side and the bedroom was bigger than the living room, another wall of all windows with a patio and a sliding door looking out over the trees. It took a second before I noticed the bed, bigger than a king size somehow and the white sheets were covered in rose petals, a huge heart spelling out “I love you” inside of it.

‘This is so cheesey and dumb and I love it so much!’ I could feel the tears escaping my eyes and I turned to pull Nik down to kiss me, him wiping the tears away with his thumbs gently. ‘Thank you…I love you so much.’ I kissed him again, pulling his jacket off, followed by mine.

‘Don’t you want to get some room service first? I thought-‘

‘Oh we will. It’s only 5, we can order dinner in a bit…though I do feel bad about fucking up the flowers…’ Nik growled, ripping my shirt over my head and my pants were gone before I could blink, him throwing me into a pile of rose petals which felt like silk on my skin.

‘You’re right, dinner can wait.’

By the time we had gotten room service it was nearly 9pm and I realized how desperate this place is to keep Nik happy. I’m not sure whether it’s the rich as fuck thing or the honeymoon suite thing but either way I love it.

I talked him into coming down to the pool with me and though it was 11:30 at night the front desk opened it for us and promised us privacy.

‘This is awesome!’ I exclaimed, pulling off my top and shorts, leaving me in the forest green lingerie set that I had chosen while he ordered dinner, knowing it was his favorite set.

‘I would have told you to bring a bathing suit but I never thought you would want to go swimming.’ Nik teased, stripping to his boxers and hopping into the water.

‘No problem, I wouldn’t have if other people would have been here.’ I reached back to unclip my bra and his eyes widened. ‘Sorry, did you think I was going to ruin my panties and expensive bra by jumping into chlorine? Fuck no.’ I tossed it into the clothes pile before pulling my panties off and walking to the edge and jumping in. When I came back up I wiped my face and looked around, unable to find him, the dark room making it eerie and somehow also romantic.

His hand suddenly grabbed ahold of my ankle, pulling me under and as I opened my eyes I could see my boyfriend grinning excitedly at me. I pushed away from him, swimming backwards and seeing that he had also ditched his underwear, chasing after me until I had to breathe. ‘How is it that you’re even more gorgeous underwater?’ He teased, trying to pull me close.

‘My tits defy gravity?’ Klaus pulled me forward and pinned my tits to his chest, spinning us around playfully. ‘I’ve always wanted to go night swimming, this is amazing.’ His eyebrows went up, clearly shocked by that.

‘We’ll go to the beach and-‘

‘NO! Nopety nope nope. I meant a pool, sun up and down is when things like sharks start eating. I will not get in an ocean, pools though! I want a big pool with a waterfall and a grotto and all that, but fairy lights hanging all over above the pool as the only light, no neighbors to see me skinny dipping! I’ve always wanted to do this, it’s fun…I never thought you would join me though.’

‘You think I’m going to miss my Princess naked in a pool? You’re crazy!’ He laughed, leaning closer and pressing his lips to mine and wrapping his arms around my waist and prompting me to wrap my legs around his hips. ‘I’ll just have to get started on having a pool installed.’ At that moment he thrust his hips up and shoved himself straight up into me and I cried out, my voice echoing in the empty pool room making his eyes widen in excitement.

‘Klaus, no! No, people are going to hear and come in here to-Ahh!’ He used his grip on my waist to push and pull me on his cock, thrusting up hard which seemed to be extremely easy in the water. ‘Oh God! Fuck Nik! Don’t Stop! Please don’t stop-‘

‘Scream for me Princess! Let me hear you!’ He wrapped his arms around my body and held me almost painfully hard, shoving himself into me.

‘Yes! Oh-Ah! Fuck Klaus!’

‘That’s it Baby, scream for me! I can feel you squeezing my cock nice and tight, are you gonna cum for me? Cum all over my cock!’ As if his words were a magical trigger I felt that tightness in my belly, snap, and I cried out so loudly I worried about the glass walls shattering. ‘Gonna fill you up Baby, fill you so full it’ll stretch your insides, fuck-Fuck Ah!’ He growled, fangs pressed against my neck firmly and I held the back of his head, my fingers tangling in his wet hair before he bit into my neck. I could feel the pulls of my blood around his fangs but he was done quickly, not willing to hurt me by taking too much.

‘I didn’t see this being where our weekend went.’ I teased and he chuckled, pressing our lips together tenderly.

‘I love you.’

‘Hmm, I know. I love you too Nik.’ I told him, letting go of his hair and moving to pull away and get out but he didn’t let me go.

‘I love you so much Y/n.’ I looked back at him, curious why he’s talking like this.

‘I love you too. I know that the both of us haven’t always had love from people but I love you, do you hear me? I love you forever and that will never end! I’ll tell you every day if that’s what you need.’ He nodded slowly, as if admitting that he did, in fact, need that. ‘Good. Now let’s get back upstairs and you can pin me to a shower wall.’ I teased but he just held me firm.

‘I love you and I want you to be mine.’ I looked at him oddly.

‘I am yours you dumbass.’

He shook his head quickly. ‘Mine. All mine, in front of everyone with no reservations. I want to show you off, I want everyone to stop thinking I’m flirting with Caroline and I want men to stop thinking they can flirt with you while I can’t do anything about it…I want you.’

I had never in my life seen Klaus this open and vulnerable and I briefly wondered if anyone had. ‘Klaus, my friends-‘

‘Hate me and I’m fine with that. But if they won’t be okay with you being in love then they’re not your friends. I’m proud to show you off as mine, and I will never let any of my family say anything against you, despite how much Rebekah hates you…be mine Y/n, for real.’ I was stunned, never having expected this from him. He was the one who wanted to hide us in the first place and now here he is, wanting to tell everyone, I was just shocked. Apparently I hesitated too long because he sighed and pulled away but I grabbed ahold of him quickly, pulling him back to kiss me roughly.

‘All yours…for real. You’re gonna be the one taking me in when they kick me out of the Boarding House for fraternizing with the enemy.’ He snorted, his eyes shining in excitement. ‘You want them to kick me out, don’t you? You want me to move in with you and instead of asking you do this?’

‘Yup. You’re all mine love. Take this week to get used to waking up beside me in bed.’ I shoved his chest, making him laugh at my pathetic attempt at “hurting him” before I pulled myself up and grabbed my towel, running around the pool to the door and darting towards the elevators. I was barely covered as I pressed the button, watching the doors close just before he got to me. I giggled as I watched the numbers go up, exiting the elevator and moving to the room before arms encircled my waist, lifting me up and pinning me to the door. ‘You’re in for it now.’

‘I’m shaking, can’t you tell.’ I teased and he looked down, his face falling and looking worried as I said that.

‘You are shaking. What’s wrong?’ He worried, opening the door and whisking me inside.

‘I’m just cold from the water baby, I’m fine.’ I promised but all the joking was gone from his face and he locked the door, yanking my towel off and carrying me into the bathroom to start the warm water. ‘This is what you’re like as a boyfriend? A worry wart?’ His eyes were concerned as he rubbed my arms firmly and lifted me into the shower. ‘I could get used to it.’

‘Good. Because you’re all mine.’

Klaus Mikaelson Masterlist

[saijspellhart]

Tumblr keeps recommending me posts with some of the worst takes on Catra’s character. Always an//ti//Catradora posts. (Like, did we watch the same show? We couldn’t have possibly watched the same show. Why the fuck would anyone compare her trauma to Hordak? Because they are on two entirely different character journeys, at wildly different age ranges and maturity, and with wildly different amounts of time to grow and change. Never mind the constant outside negative authority influences on Catra all the fucking damn time, that Hordak never has to deal with until season 5. And fortunate for Hordak, Prime doesn’t allow him the free will to choose a path, so Hordak gets a free pass, his character growth and budding humanity remain intact.) Don’t get me started on this, I could write a whole critical analysis on why Catra is a wonderfully written complex character, and why comparing her to Hordak is fucking ludicrous. Honestly the lack of comprehension about writing, character, fantasy, narrative and trauma astounds me when I see some of these Catra hate posts pop up in my recommended feed.

Tumblr, hopefully your algorithm gets this, but I LOVE Catra. I love her. I love this tortured mess, I love the writing that went into her character, I love her waffling precarious hold on sanity and reason. I love how she struggles to cope with her trauma. I love the realism put into her character despite the fantasy setting. But I also love that they didn’t push the realism too far, because it is at the end of the day a fantasy story. I love the delicate balance they wove into her character. I love the complexity and thought put into her entire character arc through the whole series. (And before anyone comes to crucify me, I say I love Catra, as a person who suffered immense parental trauma and manipulation. As a victim of some of the worst of it. I shouldn’t even have to mention my own trauma to justify appreciating a FICTIONAL character. But here we are.)

Would I have loved one extra season to really explore her redemption more thoroughly? Yes of course. An extra season would have been delightful to explore a lot of the character relationships more thoroughly. But we didn’t get that, and what the show creators did give us was still wonderful and satisfying. (Even if I have some critiques on some things.) the writing of the show at the end of the day is still smart, and tight, and so so competent. (Looking at the myriad of other story driven cartoons and shows that fall apart in the later seasons or just have an overwhelming amount of inconsistencies and botched writing. **coughs** Voltron, Miraculous, YGO, Netflix Carmen Sandiego, Bleach, many animes in general, just to name a few. Not that I didn’t love and adore most of these shows too.) the fact that She-ra (2018) stayed consistently tight and snappy and smart with their writing, narrative, and characters from beginning to end is a treasure.

Anyway. Catra is great. I could write a character analysis going into why from a writing and storytelling standpoint. But honestly I don’t think anyone cares that deeply, and I don’t exactly have followers who are particularly interested in She-ra. Tumblr, you god forsaken windfall apple, please stop suggesting an//ti//Catra and an//ti//Catradora posts. I don’t want to see them. I support the canon relationships. And I support the non canon ships too. What I do not support is hating on shippers who like other ships. It breeds contempt in a fandom, and leads to a fandom canabalizing itself until there are no fans left. Also letting hate and disdain take up such a large amount of time and space in your brain, leads you down some dark paths mentally.

[milimeters-morales]

chapter 8 of my transfem miles fic <3

Chap 1 / Chap 2 / Chap 3 / Chap 4 / Chap 5 / Chap 6 / Chap 7 / Chap 9

Wordcount: 4k+

Warnings: Nothing graphic, but some bones get broken

“I’m trying to say that even if you say it’s fine, and that you did it on your own, you shouldn’t have had to.”

Okay, he gets that.

“And that simply doing something doesn’t get rid of your fear. Which, is a reasonable one! I don’t want you to think I think it’s crazy or something.”

Miles starts to fiddle with his earrings as he listens.

“I’m just saying sorry for not trying to figure it out… further. Like, more detailed and planned out, before you came out to your brother and Peter again.”

“Ganke, it’s—“

“Don’t tell me it’s okay, please,” Ganke sighs, twirling his pen, “I’m fine with you thinking that, but really think about what I’m saying, too.”

Miles lays back on his bed with his arms folded under his head. Staring at the ceiling really hard while he thinks certainly doesn’t help in the thought process, but it does feel like it.

So Ganke is… upset isn’t the word. He’s a bit guilty, maybe, that Miles came out on his own, despite everything being fine. 

…He wishes Uncle Aaron were here. He’d know exactly what to say to make Ganke feel better.

But Uncle Aaron isn’t here, so he’s going to have to man up and figure this out on his own.

And it should be easy, he become Ganke’s best friend before becoming his boyfriend! But it still feels like he’s missing something.

The bed dips, and Ganke rests his head on Miles’s chest, slightly curling into him. His body is warm, and Miles hooks their ankles together. A sense of calm washes over him as he focuses on the other boy’s heartbeat, and he starts breathing in sync. 

He can’t fall asleep. But man, he wants to soooo bad right now.

Maybe this entire situation is easy to understand, and Miles is the one just not getting it, like how he is with some unspoken rules in the world. Or maybe, it’s a “journey, not destination” type of thing he isn’t seeing. Sure, it would’ve been really nice if Ganke was there, but Miles isn’t sure that would’ve helped that much. He’d have to be extra careful jumping dimensions with a normal human with him, not to mention if the coming out went super bad.

If Ganke got hurt in any type of way on his watch, he’d never be able to forgive himself. Ganke would never trust him again, and they’d drift apart…

Ugh. Stop thinking about that. It turned out fine, Morales.

Maybe it isn’t about guilt. Maybe it’s like… how he can lift gigantic things by himself, but it is appreciated and a bit easier when other spider-people help out. They don’t need to, but that didn’t matter to them. 

He wasn’t ready to come out. He still doesn’t feel ready to tell anyone else. Managing to actually do it, much less to three people (four if you count Peter’s friend, which for Miles’s sanity, he does not), was only because Ganke was getting fed up, and Miles promised to come out to one of those people anyway. 

It was a bit more bearable coming out to Hobie, but was that because Ganke was there, or because Hobie was Hobie? 

Removing a hand from under his head, he places it on top of Ganke’s.  

Maybe he should just ask Hobie. They could ask him, together, even.

“Ganke, hey. Are you asleep?”

A light snore answers him.

Okay, maybe they can ask him later.

____

Having super-senses is as much a blessing as it is one of the worst curses in the world. 

The lady thanks him profusely, patting his shoulders as he lets her down from his hold.

Her perfume is overwhelming. It wasn’t a bad smell, but man, did she have to spray so much this morning?

“A good man, a good man,” she mutters afterwards, the shock still in her system.

“Here ma’am, there’s a few ambulances over there, they’ll take great care of you,” he gently tells her, “I have to go.”

“Yes you do, you’ve got to fight, good man… good man…”

Anyway, he’s here, fighting some dude with too much strength and not enough brains to realize he was also hurting himself in the process. He was yelling something about being followed, but it’s by nothing that Miles sees, so maybe it’s another invisible enemy just biding its time or something. Or the guy’s lost it.

The bulging muscles look grotesque, reminding Miles of zits that would pop from the slightest pressure. Eugh, gross. The guy, who he’s taken to calling Brick because come on, is barely protecting his modesty.

Oh he sounds old when he says that. 

The guy’s barely covering himself with some torn black briefs and black wrestling mask.

“Hey man! I don’t know what your deal is, but—“

He launches himself closer (which he really didn’t want to do, he doesn’t want to get close to this man at all), but Brick grabs a nearby truck and launches it at him. 

Without enough time to dodge, and the perfume smell lingering and making it hard to focus, Miles shouts in pain as the truck hits him full force, the crack of ribs and something on his face made him panic for a second, the pain not hitting him yet (hopefully it won’t be too bad). He quickly rights himself midair, webbing the truck to the ground as he continues to go flying into a wall. 

“Shit,” he wheezes out as he smacks into the hard brick and falls down to his knees. 

His parents are gonna kill him if he makes any of this worse.

Quickly standing up, he swings back over to Brick, landing on his back as the man bends over to lift up part of the sidewalk.

“Hey man, that hurt! Talk to me! What’s going on?” He snaps his fingers near the man’s ear, swiftly webbing his arms and legs to the ground. 

Not like it’s gonna do much , he thinks.

He feels something warm spreading all over his face as he stands up, and wonders if he should just avoid going home for a few extra hours. Give everything some extra time to heal before he freaks his mom and dad out…

“They’re after me!” Brick yells, ripping his arms free from the webbing and trying to swat Miles away with a large hand. 

He simply scuttles to a different part of Brick’s back-- why hasn’t that perfume faded yet?!

“Who?!” Miles shouts back.

“Them!” 

Thanks, man.

Miles huffs and webs the man again, not sure if he should paralyze him with his venom. Brick already looks really… unhealthy, his heart is for sure working overtime, and though Miles can (usually) control the amount of venom he uses, it seemed too risky.

Maybe he should just play along? He thinks he’s read that somewhere.

“Okay man, I’ll help you!” Miles pats Brick’s back, feeling for a heartbeat. Yeah, way too fast to be healthy. 

Did this guy take something that mutated him this badly? Like, super-steroids? Steroids on steroids?

“You can’t!” Brick shouts, ripping free again with a strange sob-yell, and starting to run towards another truck.

“Oh no you don’t,” Miles mutters, hopping off and grabbing Brick’s wrists before sticking his feet to the ground. “I can help! I’m super good at this!”

“Let me go!” Brick shrieks, trying his best to free himself from Miles’s grip. For a second, Miles is worried Brick will start ripping skin, but he tries to kick Miles square in the chest.

“Hey, that’s not nice!” Miles shouts, adding a bit of whininess to his voice, releasing Brick and jumping on top of the man’s foot to flip back onto his back. “Why don’t you tell me what their plan is?”

“They know I stole from them! Look at me!”

Okay, so Brick definitely took something. Miles feels pretty bad for calling him dumb earlier… how’s he supposed to proceed? The perfume still lingering makes it hard to focus, but he knows three basic things that might help. One: make sure Brick is as safe as possible. Two: get him water. Three: make sure he gets medical attention.

“I see you man, you’re huge,” Miles tells him, placing a hand on his shoulder, “how’d this even happen?”

Brick growls and goes to swat Miles again, but he dodges-- a bit too slow, because the mighty hand clips him on the shoulder, jostling him almost off of Brick’s back.

“I gotta know what happened, man! Do you have a name?” Miles asks, righting himself on the man’s back. 

Brick starts to run down the street again, away from approaching police sirens.

Great , Miles thinks sarcastically, shoulders drooping.

“Are the cops the ones after you?” He asks Brick, trying to hold on with his wavering vision and strength. “I can get them to leave you alone for a bit,” he says, not fully knowing if he actually can. He’ll try though.

“No! The-- Those scientists, they’re after me!” Brick stumbles over a pothole, sending Miles tumbling over onto the pavement. Ugh. There’s two of everything now. Is he losing too much blood? No, right? Nosebleeds don’t bleed that much for someone like him, he’s almost 100% sure of that.

Brick quickly grabs his arm, hand dwarfing the limb, and puts him back on his back as he runs down the street. The sudden movement makes Miles groan, but he pushes on. Brick’s about to go into spaces filled with people, and that perfume smell is starting to drive Miles mad.

“I have a scientist after me too, she hates me. Well, hated. I defeated her, but she might come back,” Miles tells him. “I might be able to help you get rid of those scientists, too!” He says, making his eyes wide and pointing in the air..

“Really?” Brick asks him, slowing down. Good.

“I promise to try! But we have to get somewhere away from all these people, and get you back to normal,” Miles says, taking a deep, shaky breath. His shoulder twitches as he waits for Brick to come to a complete stop.

Oh, thank god. 

Brick immediately jumps over twenty stories into the air, landing on the roof of a building. 

Miles feels ready to pass out. He thinks he did, for a few seconds.

“Okay… okay okay okay…” Miles repeats to himself a few times, slipping off of Brick’s back and onto the roof. “Alright, so just tell me exactly what happened.”

There’s definitely police gathering at the bottom of whatever building this is, so he has to be quick without freaking this guy out, and without messing up from being too disorientated. Fucking perfume.

“You won’t get me captured?” Brick asks, distrust lacing his tone. 

Miles takes a moment before responding. Captured… he probably means by the cops and the scientists. He won’t get Brick arrested, no, and he’ll try his best to make sure the man gets medical attention and adequate care, but he can’t prevent the cops from arresting him. He can delay it, but they could find Brick again, and arrest him for things that people have no doubt already recorded. 

The scientists, if they’re real, however… 

The man’s skin is severely flushed, his eyes are red, his muscles are unhealthily huge, and he’s convinced (reasonably so) that there are scientists after him because he stole from them. 

Miles feels so lost.

Brick starts to look uncomfortable, and Miles wonders if he’s finally going to explode, but then the man starts glitching. 

Miles gasps and backs up, mind racing.

Brick shouldn’t be glitching. Nothing should be glitching! Rifts that swallow people up shouldn’t even be happening anymore!

Quickly calling Peter-- no, Hobie, quickly calling Hobie, Miles frantically explains the situation with Brick currently screaming in pain as his body is contorted beyond belief in a matter of seconds before returning to normal like nothing happened, leaving him to collapse into unconsciousness.

“-Miles, Miles! Stop talking, I’m on my way with a stabilizer, stay with ‘im.”

A portal opens, a guitar riff momentarily playing over the wailing of police sirens, and Hobie lands next to Miles, carrying a clunky looking multi-colored bead bracelet. It kind of looked straight out of a kids toy section, but gave off a faint hum. Hobie quickly unclasps the bracelet somehow, and wraps it around Brick’s wrist, reconnecting it together with an almost inaudible click.

“Okay, what happened?” Hobie asks, gesturing to the unconscious man on the ground as he turns to Miles.

“I don’t know! He was freaking out, throwing stuff and hurting himself in the street, and I tried to calm him down so he jumped up here with me, but then he just started glitching! That’s not supposed to happen! We fixed-- that’s the entire-- it’s done--”

Hobie holds his hands up, slowly getting closer and finally placing them on Miles’s shoulders. “Hey, slow down. Take some deep breaths for me, yeah?”

Yeah, okay, he can do that. He can totally do that. If only it didn’t start sending sharp spikes of pain through his chest with each inhale. The adrenaline must be wearing off…

“I’m-- I think some of my ribs are messed up,” he admits, fighting the urge to cough. Something warm runs down the back of his throat, and he wants to thrash his head around at the feeling.

“Mm,” Hobie’s hands are gone in an instant, “we’ll get you home. I’ll call Gwen, she can handle this fella, no sweat.”

Miles feels the pain hitting him all at once. His nose is definitely broken, and now his shoulder hurts like hell in addition to the pain spreading from his chest to his entire torso. And that stupid perfume is still lingering to him like some skunk decided to get different and fancy. His head might explode in the next 30 seconds. 

“Wait, I don’t think he should be alone,” Miles says, “he took some drug, and he said some scientists are after him-- he might be right. I mean, I don’t know what world he’s from, but maybe we should just…”

Hobie looks back at Brick, and then back at Miles, “Don’t worry, he’s gonna be in good hands. We’re getting Margo on it too, see what’s going on, get him some real help-- he’ll be right as rain before you know it.” His lenses squint happily, “you did good.”

Gwen lands gracefully on the roof from her own portal, giving Miles and Hobie an excited wave. “So, what’s wrong?”

Miles can’t speak. It hurts so much. With each second that passes, everything becomes harder to understand and do.

Hobie fortunately speaks up for him. “This guy’s from another dimension, might be being hunted for taking a drug that made ‘im like this. Got the stabilizer on ‘im, tell Margo and get to a hospital.”

Miles notices his accent is practically unnoticeable right now. Isn’t that strange? 

“Huh, thought those were supposed to stop?” She asks as she gently picks up Brick. “Don’t worry Miles, it’ll be okay.” Her lenses squint happily, and then she’s gone.

His head starts to droop down, so Hobie hurries to hold it in his hand.

God, these police sirens. The perfume. The iron taste in his mouth. Even his own suit. It’s all teaming up against him. “My nose,” Miles mumbles, not wanting to move his face much. It’s not like he had the energy to, even if he did want to.

“Alright, I’ll take you home. This is gonna hurt, m’sorry.”

“M’the one, should be ‘pologzing,” Miles mumbles as Hobie tries to pick him up as gently as possible. He was right, it hurts like a bitch. That’s all he really has the energy to describe it as. 

“No, don’t say that,” Hobie tells him, swinging off. There’s the vague sound of gasps from below, but Hobie continues as if nothing else in the world really deserves his attention. “You did the best you could. Anyone could see that.”

“‘Cept Miguel,” Miles mumbles bitterly.

“We don’t have to think about that tosser,” Hobie responds, “society’s done with, remember?”

Miles nods slowly. He doesn’t like to think about the society at all. But sometimes the bitterness and lingering anger just seeps out.

“Do you think you can turn invisible? Just for a minute,” Hobie hesitantly asks.

Hissing through his teeth, Miles makes himself disappear. 

“Great, you’re doing great, bruv. Just hold on for me?”

Miles nods again, letting his eyes close. 

Some minutes later, he feels Hobie land and hears a door opening. It creaks loudly, and Hobie curses quietly. 

Opening his eyes, he notices the familiar walls, and almost startles right out of the other boy’s arms when it hits him that he’s being taken home.

“Hobie, my parents are gonna lose it,” he gasps, “let’s just go back to yours--”

“Can’t mate. If your ma and pa try it, I’ll get us right out to Pav’s,” Hobie promises as they head down the flights of stairs and to his door. He knocks harshly with his boot, and Miles swears his heart freezes when his mom opens the door.

“Shoot,” he mumbles.

____

His mom is talking to him, and there’s a press of lips to his forehead, then silence. He doesn’t want to open his eyes.

“I’ll be fine… in a bit,” he breathes out. Honestly, he’s been Spider-Man for nearly two years now, he thought he would be way more used to the pain and able to push through it.

“Papá, you did push through,” his mom’s voice is close to his ear, and he feels a gentle pressure on his arm.

Yeah, but only because he didn’t feel the pain. When the pain hit, he was like a baby.

“You’re always gonna be my baby. No matter what you do.” Her voice is directly above him now, and there’s a dip in the bed by his head. He feels his mask being carefully pulled off, slightly grimacing at the cool air on the blood caked on his face. “No matter what,” she repeats.

“Countdown?” Hobie’s voice almost echoes in the room. It was so weird. 

Remembering Gwen’s fake countdown, Miles furrows his brows. “Jus’ do it,” he mumbles.

His mom holds his hand. He really is a baby.

The pain explodes across his face again, making his leg kick out harshly and move the entire bed a few centimeters, probably. Tears sting at his eyes, and he fights the urge to twist his head away by shaking in place. 

“You’re doing great, so great,” he feels a warm and wet towel gently dab around his mouth and cheeks, “let me help.”

“His ribs,” Hobie informs, sounding like he’s messing with some sort of clothes.

“Heal on… own,”

“We know,” his mom and Hobie say at the same time.

“A few days,” he sighs, feeling scolded.

“And lots of rest,” his mom must feel something wrong with the shoulder she’s caressing, because she’s telling Hobie to “give that here” and to fetch extra ice packs instead.

Toilet paper, or he assumes that’s what it is, is used to wipe up the watery-blood left behind and the blood that keeps managing to run down the sides of his face. 

Hobie comes back, placing small bags full of ice wrapped in towels on his chest, sides, shoulder, and nose.

“I’ll get the ibuprofen,” his mom says, patting his hair with a feather-light touch.

“Still pretty new for me,” Hobie tells him casually once she leaves for the bathroom. 

“Wha? The… ‘profen?”

“Yeah, was made around when I was born.”

“…S’crazy.”

“And, um, sorry ‘bout your forehead,” Hobie chuckles, not sounding that sorry at all. 

Miles forces his eyes open, slowly focusing on Hobie, who has a small, almost unnoticeable smile on his face. His eyelids look heavier than usual, those mismatched brown eyes scanning his face. 

“…What?”

Hobie simply wipes his pinkie across his bottom lip, leaving an almost-black purple stain on his finger. He wags it, and gently wipes it off on his forehead again. 

Oh, does he have lipstick on his forehead now? That’ll wash off easily, right?

“Yeah, should be gone with a good shower.”

His mom comes back in with a large bottle of ibuprofen tablets, a water bottle, a chair, and extra pillows from the couch. 

“I don’t think I’ll ever get used to you recovering in less than half the time it would usually take,” she tells Miles, opening the bottles for him. 

Hobie tries to wipe the lipstick mark off with the wet towel used to clean up his blood, but it just smears the mark even more. He grimaces and shrugs.

The sound of a portal opening way above them, probably on the roof, makes Hobie glance up. “That’s Gwenny.”

Sure enough, there’s a knocking at the front door.

“I’ll get it,” Hobie says before his mom even opens her mouth, quickly making his way out of the room.

Ugh. He’s not ready for his mom and Gwen to awkwardly interact again. Even if his mom has mostly accepted that Gwen was in a bad situation, and treated her kindly… you could just tell Gwen was waiting for the other shoe to drop every second. The stilted conversations and added confusion from dimensional differences makes it almost painful to watch them interact without anyone to intervene.

But it’s all got to start somewhere. Even their… rekindling, he guesses, was more painful and awkward than that.

Gwen quietly makes her way into the room, appearing next to his mom and handing her a dark blue bottle of something, and some square that crinkled .

“It’s one of Mrs. Parker’s fudge brownies. She used to make them for m—a lot. Like, a ton,” she hurriedly explains. “Um, Margo managed to get that Spider-Doctor dude to take a look at the guy you helped, but if you don’t wanna talk right now…?”

He really doesn’t. But he needs to know if Brick is okay.

“He should rest first,” his mom explained gently. 

“Is he… alright?” Miles asks, focusing his eyes again. The sunlight from his window was making him regret opening them in the first place. So bright.

And that fucking smell. That perfume clung to him like its life depended on it, and it was all he could smell. He couldn’t stand it. He needs to bathe and wash his hair immediately.

“Language, Miles,” his mom gently but sternly scolds him. “And I’ll wash your hair for you.”

He is such a baby.

“I don’t know, the doctor said he seemed seconds away from heart failure, but he was able to at least find out what dimension your guy was from. He don’t wanna send him back, but he did mention going there to find what drug he took. Maybe to reverse the effects?”

“When your father gets here, he’s going to freak out way more than me,” his mom points out, conveniently ignoring the fact that they freak out equally as bad anytime he shows up with severe injuries. “Gwen, can you get another pillow from the couch? Hobie, run the bath with warm water. It should be at a good temperature by the time these painkillers kick in.”

Ugghhhh.

____

One bath and one assisted hairwash later, Miles still smells like that damn perfume. Not nearly as much, thankfully, but he can still smell it all over him. Before they left, Gwen and Hobie made faces when he got out of the bathroom, so he knows they still smell it too. His mom assures him it’s fine, it’s barely even there, just like the lipstick still smeared on his forehead. 

“They’ll just think I did it,” she laughs, “I’ll get my makeup remover. Don’t move.”

He relaxes into the pillows propping him up on his bed, wishing he at least grabbed his sketchbook before he laid down. All he has is his phone, and that’s been vibrating with several text notifications from Ganke-- must’ve finally woken up-- and his dad.

Oh man, his dad. It must be a miracle that those painkillers also made him drowsy. He doesn’t want to have to have any serious conversations about Spider-Man stuff anymore.

His mom comes back and wipes the lipstick off of his forehead, having to use a bit of pressure. “Sorry,” she apologizes, “I didn’t know you and Hobie were so close.”

“I didn’t really expect it either,” he mumbles tiredly. Hobie was pretty physically affectionate with his friends, but a kiss? Last on the list of things Miles would think Hobie would do. Much less to him… he’d expect it more with Pavitr or Gwen, to be honest.

His mom hums, “You should talk to us about your friends more. They seem like they care a lot. Do they know Ganke?”

“Yeah,” he replies as he feels his eyelids get heavy again. He really shouldn’t be this tired, he’s sprung back from broken bones and concussions before, but the injuries, the overwhelming scent of perfume that must have been cursed, the bath, and the hair washing somehow did it. 

He should still be out there, it’s not even three. 

A yawn escapes him and makes him grimace at the faint pain in his face.

“I’ll tell your father to be quiet when he comes in,” she kisses his forehead and leaves the room, letting him slowly drift off to sleep. 

_____

Thanks to the enhanced metabolism he’s been wonderfully blessed with, the medication wears off quickly. He’s still tired though, so he doesn’t make any real effort to keep himself awake, opting to just hover in between fully alert and half-dead. Maybe this is all a very real-feeling dream anyway.

“Are you awake?” he hears his dad ask softly.

“No,” he mumbles.

“Alright,” his dad responds, followed by the sound of a closing door.

This happens a few times, and each time Miles is no more awake than the last.

“Is that perfume?” his dad asks during one visit.

Miles forgets how he responds to that the second it leaves his mouth, but his dad brushes a thumb over his forehead and leaves again.

Maybe the final visit, or the final visit Miles remembers, his dad actually sits on the edge of the bed and removes the ice packs.

“You’re gonna get yourself killed one day… I don’t think I’ll ever be alright with it. This. I can’t…”

And Miles remembers moving his hand, to do something, maybe offer a comforting pat on the back because he’s absolutely awful when it comes to this, but his dad catches his hand and holds it.

“You’re killing me here,” a quiet, sad laugh comes from his dad. 

Please don’t cry, Dad. He doesn’t know how to handle that.

“You’re our baby.”

Please don’t cry. 

“Aw, Miles, don’t cry-- look, I’ll get new ice for these, you don’t need to cry.”

A/N: I only did a few corrections and I think I missed some things, do not point them out please 😭 i should have posted this ages ago! also, 'im and 'em are not being used interchangeably, in case anyone thought they were. apparently past me thought this chap was rushed at the end, but i don't see what he meant? if you noticed that don't point it out either though thank you so mash

[pochipop]

＃OVERWATCH !! ♡ — MISERY BUSINESS (MOIRA X READER).

#. synopsis! — moira is many things, and your lover. . . is almost one of them .

#. characters! — moira .

#. warnings! — angst, canon-typical unhealthy relationship dynamics .

#. word count! — 2.6k .

#. others! — navigation & masterlist .

#. alt accounts! — @ddollipop (nsfw), @hhoneypop (moodboards) .

#. a/n! — come join my discord server? title/description subject to change, wrote this on a whim lolol

Moira likes you in the way a cat likes a mouse. There’s layers to the fun, and you’ve been in the “playing with your food” stage for a while longer than you’d have been willing to admit to anyone on the outside. In here though, where she’s free to run about and experiment to her heart’s content, well. . . You don’t have anyone to explain yourself to anyway. Talon wasn’t your first choice, to be clear on the matter. In fact, before the fall of Overwatch and the subsequent destruction that waged on your city in the wake of it, it probably wouldn’t have been an option at all.

But you know better than most that sometimes things just don’t work out the way you’d hope. This was one of them, though there’s plenty of times when you’ve been able to swallow that fact a lot easier than you can right now. It’s not always so drab or hopeless, and the feelings come and go as they would if you were being holed up anywhere else. You try to soothe yourself by insisting that this place isn’t any worse than those well-protected shelters out there that monitor your food intake and your whereabouts at all times. In that sense, you’re sure you might even have more freedom than those subjected to those so-called havens spread across the world’s face.

You’re less stifled here than you probably would be at any of those safe spots, even if danger is more liable to lurk around the corners here. It’s give and take, —unlike this twisted thing you’ve got going on with Talon’s most notorious geneticist. That’s just give. Give, give, give until you’ve spread yourself so thin that there’s nothing left to offer, and then give some more, because she asks it of you. But she still cares in her own way. . . At least, you think she does. Or, maybe you’d just really like to.

It’s been a few days since you last heard from her, which isn’t particuarly unusual. She’s a grown woman, after all, with her own endeavors that she often gets so lost in that time becomes a meaningless construct only serving to interfere with her work. Beyond that, she’s a top choice for field combat at Talon, despite much preferring to stay in the labs where the both of you have long agreed she belongs. Her, because it’s a preference, and you because it’s easier to ensure that she hasn’t gotten herself killed on the battlefield when you know exactly where to find her.

She didn’t tell you she was leaving this time. You chalked it up to a midnight ushering of her out of bed and off to some other place in need of defending for now, stifling worries that she’d just chosen to up and leave without telling you beforehand. Every other time, she’s mentioned it in advance, even if it always seemed more like a casual slip into a conversation than a true heads up for the sake of your sanity.

It’s not like you’re naive to what’s going on between you. As cold as many assume her to be, she’s not some repitlian creature posing as a woman in human flesh. She’s just as much a person as you, albeit quite a different one, —and sometimes she gets a little lonely. So when those cravings seep out and she’s in need of a fix, you’re the one she reaches for. But all the same, you’re replaceable.

“Doctor O’Deorain isn’t in.”

You pause in the hall, looking over at the man who’d spoken to you, —mid thirties, by the look of him, scraggly facial scruff and tired eyes. If he hadn’t said what he did, you’d have deduced as much by the exhaustion written all over his face. When Moira’s away, someone has to be there to pick up the slack.

“I don’t know when she’ll be back,” he explains, as if having read your mind.

Though you don’t recognize him, you’re sure he’s seen you come and go from her personal office every now and again. Nobody has ever dared to question it, granted, but you’re certain they must be curious about what happens behind that closed door. It’s none of their business, but human curiosity is seldom concerned with what it needs and needs not be piqued by.

“Okay, thank you,” you answer simply.

He seems confused when you keep walking down the hall toward the labs, but doesn’t bother to question it actively. Being part of Moira’s “in-crowd” must give you some kind of special privileges down here that you hadn’t been previously aware of.

The button on the outside of the door takes a lot more force than one might expect to press it inward, but you’re used to it by now. The two iron slates pull apart and give you access to the main lab, —one that branches into several other rooms, all of which have identical doors to the main entrance. These, however, are all guarded by fingerprint recognition software, and your hand only offers you access to a single one. . . That aforementioned personal office of Moira’s that, as far as you're aware, has only ever seen your face and hers since she took over its residency.

The main lab is empty, save for a few test rodents in their various containers. You pay them the same kind of attention you would if they were on display at a pet store and not sitting in wait to be experimented on. All white fur and red eyes, you whisper little greetings to them in the same way Moira has poked fun at you for in the past; only this time, she’s not around to snicker at you just under her breath. You kind of wish she was, though. It’s a dull ache, but not one that you can completely ignore in this nearly silent lab.

Hand against the sensor now, you wait for it to recognize and authorize your identity. When it does, the second set of iron slates come apart, granting you access to the small room behind. It’s nothing grand, in spite of Moira’s well-known status amongst the rest of the staff. As far as you know, she’s the only one who even has an office at all though, so its size isn’t much indicative of its importance.

It’s just as neat as it always is, —papers mostly filed away, and the few left on her desk neatly aligned and set off to the side. To be honest, you’re not completely sure why you even came down here in the first place. You could just as easily have gone to her apartment just a few blocks from Talon’s base of operations. She gave you a key a few months back after deciding that you could probably make more use of it than she did most days. That’s probably why you’ve found yourself here rather than there. . . The sheets of her bed smell more like you than her, but the lab coat draped across the back of her chair is rich with her fragrance; a little musky, a little citrusy, but still so feminine and divine.

You might often chase after Moira like a feline on the prowl, but make no mistake, —you will always be the mouse. No matter how many times you all but purr beneath her fingers, no matter how many times she has you mewling at her touch, you are and always will be the shivering little rodent to her devilish lioness.

“Am I really this foolish?” You mumble softly, a bitter laugh catching in the back of your throat.

You are. It's a rhetorical question, —you already know the answer, and you've known it perhaps since that very first kiss. No matter how often or in what manner, it's always nice to be wanted by her. . . To be desired by the kind of woman that lives and breathes on what often feels like a completely different plane of existence. Sometimes she speaks and it's like the world has caved in at her will, and you feel yourself crumble into pieces at her feet. She can look your way and leave you stuck with thoughts of her for hours, even days, to come; until she decides you're once again important enough to spare another glance at.

So yes. Yes you are really that foolish.

You stand around in her office for a while, fiddling with things you know she wouldn’t mind you touching, like her excessive collection of ballpoint pens and the fake succulent she keeps on her edge of her desk to “liven the place up.” Even if she isn't there right now, a part of you feels more connected to her here than anywhere else. It's where she beckons you to whenever she has an itch to scratch, —where she pushes you against the off-beige wall and kisses you until you're not sure what it really feels like to breathe anymore. It's where she sits in a variety of odd positions very befitting to her long legs and talks with you about the progress of her work, about the grievances she has in her day-to-day life, and sometimes, even about her past as a part of Overwatch.

It doesn't hurt that your opinion of the organization is about as positive as her's, which is to say it's rather low, all things considered. You found them to be undeniably underhanded and the fall of the organization was simply all too convenient, leaving people like Moira to pay the final resting price. . . Leaving people like you dispersed from the only real home you'd ever known.

So you made a new one amongst the rubble and destruction, and it's fucking beautiful. All smooth skin and ginger hair, —dual-colored eyes with lips like fire that set your heart ablaze.

You're thinking too much, you've concluded by the end of it, so you snag her lab coat and make your way through the winding halls of Talon's base. You're just another civilian they've taken in, convinced that because you survived the wreckage, you must be useful for something. . . That you were strong enough to make it out, and wise enough to accept their help. You're not sure how true you really believe that to be, but at least you're not alone sometimes. The quenching of your lonely ache might even make up for the various acts of horror you’ve been instructed to perform that you’d much rather forget about and pretend like they never happened at all.

When you’re with Moira, it’s a lot easier to pretend that you’re still an innocent. She wears the remnants of her perhaps more nefarious misdeeds on her own augmented arm, —always an angry shade of purple with protruding veins, and she never holds you with it. You still hold out hope that she might one day, when you’ve both grown much too used to one another and she doesn’t swallow “I love you”’s down like bile. You’re holding onto hope that one day she’ll call this what it is.

You flash Moira’s key at a Talon operaterive who asks where you’re going on your way out the door. Question answered, and she doesn’t even ask why you’ve got the good doctor’s lab coat clutched in your grip like a vice. Nobody has to say their worries out loud for you to know they’re festering just under the surface. They choke back warnings to be careful, to be mindful, to not let yourself get swept up in Moira’s game of life.

But the truth is, this is all you’re getting, and you don’t even feel like you’re settling. It could always be worse, and for whatever it’s worth, you feel pretty damn good when she’s around.

And when she’s not, you manage. Some times are better than others, though. This time, you’re somewhere in between lost and peaceful, okay with the quiet, but disconcerned with the lapse of warmth in her absence. So you’ve found yourself here again, that spare key in the lock of her door, letting it swing open to this all too familiar place of near nothingness. Moira spends more nights in the lab than she does here, but there’s little traces of her splayed around, —like the bottle of red wine on the counter, or the few books she has on an otherwise barren shelf.

Past the wine and the books and the coffee table littered with syringes, you enter her bedroom and find yourself pausing, just looking around at everything (though you’ve likely seen it a couple dozen times before by now.) Her lipstick sits on the vanity shoved over in the corner, a reddish-orange color that you’ve watched her apply through half-lidded eyes in the early hours of the morning. That same color has stained your whitest shirt collars, and you’ve chosen not to wash those marks off just yet.

Pencil eyeliner, likely once sat right beside the other cosmetic, has rolled nearly to the edge now. She’s just as precise when she adds it to her eyes as she is when she measures chemicals in her lab. A little collection of nail polishes sit off to the side, —black, red, white, and the half-empty shade of deep violet that you see her don most often.

Her closet door is half open, slid away from the wall just enough that you can see a sliver of her collection of white button-ups hanging down from the rod inside. You wonder if they all smell as much like her as the lab coat in your hands, but you doubt it.

There you are again.

Foolish little you, wrapped in her sheets that hardly have a scent at all beyond the detergent she uses to clean them, her lab coat positioned just so that you catch hints of her with every breath you take in. You close your eyes and let lethargy win. It’s hours before you stir again, awakened by the rustling of Moira stealing her coat away from your grip. You don’t bother to open your eyes, letting her take it away and slip it on her lithe but surprisingly muscular frame. It’s hers, after all. . .

You imagine she must look tired, —but you know it’s not enough to make her stay. That’s never been enough of a reason. So you don’t ask for it. She’ll go from this apartment to her lab, and she’ll stay there for hours upon hours, from the early hours of the morning to egregious hours of the night, and somewhere in between, she might call upon you to stop by so she can tease you for taking the coat from her office, for sleeping in her bed while she was away, for stopping to wave to the test rodents, —and then she’ll press your back to that beige office wall, slit her knee between your legs, and take your breath away again.

Like she always does.

And you might even ask why she didn’t tell you where or when she was going when she left this time. She might even reward you for your nerve by cooking up some half-baked reply about responsibilities and authority and blah blah blah, all those things she’s told you a million times before in lieu of just being straightforward. You’ll take her explanation with a grain of salt as you always do, and she’ll sense your apprehension just in time to nip it in the bud, —hand under your chin, forcing you to look up at her, asking if you trust her.

You’ll say: “Yeah, of course I do. . . You know that,” even when that’s flimsy at best.

She’ll give you a smile that’s more reminiscent of a smirk before leaning in to hold you captive in her kiss. You’ll give, give, give, and give some more. . . Because she asks it of you.

Your thoughts still when she rests a hand against your head, smoothing it over your hair, petting you like a kitten.

But you’re still the mouse.

“Sleep well, darling.”

[chaifootsteps]

I’m gonna be completely, 100% honest and say that I don’t hate HB or HH, or even really dislike them. I actually enjoy both of them, though I suspect this may be partially due to the fact that my brother and I watch them as Our Thing, and he also discovered them during lockdown: he’s the extrovert of the family, so quarantine was very difficult for him, and I think these shows kind of acted as a tether to sanity for him.

What I WILL say about them (at least regarding HB) is that I’m disappointed. I think that I was under the impression it was really going to dive into very mature, adult, nuanced topics, and it drives me batty that it only scratches the surface of these issues when it absolutely has the potential to be /so much more/. I agree with almost all of your criticisms and critiques about the writing, especially regarding the female characters, because hooooly moly, that could be a separate message of its own. It feels like it definitely wants to be like “BoJack Horseman”, but it just doesn’t have the kind of complexity that that show does, nor is it able to balance comedy and drama as effectively, either (which, to be fair, isn’t an easy thing to do well.)

I’m still invested in the stories of all of these characters, in spite of how I desperately wish things had been handled differently. But it does feel weird watching HB, because I believe the people who have come forward and said they’ve been negatively affected in one way or another in the making of these shows, and what happened to them is absolutely unacceptable. You’ve said before that you wish someone else owned these shows, and honestly? I’m right there with you. I won’t pretend these shows don’t mean a lot to me, because they do, and I won’t lie: if it turns out HH only gets one season, I’ll be bummed. That being said, if the cancellation of these shows is what will help some people heal/get closure, then so be it. People always come first.

I’m sorry this got a bit wordy, but thank you in advance for listening anyway. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to fully disentangle these shows from my heart, but it’s horrible that they’ve caused harm (in multiple ways) to so many people, and I really, really, really do wish a better person owned them.

No, they're excellent words, and this was well said. It's tough when you care deeply about a piece of media with someone like Vivzie behind the wheel.

Hating HH/HB is easy, even fun. Loving these little people and their world, and how great it could have all been, is a lot harder.

[crowrave]

I Hate You (Because All I See Is Myself)

Crown‘s insanity gives way for his mind to truly dwell in his resentments of existence. He also gets into a verbal fight with the magic of the Dark Sea that controls his mind.

⚠️ self-depreciation, slight description of blood and injury, manipulation attempt, and feelings of isolation. (Also my writing is still kinda shitty)⚠️

Story is under the cut, as always!

It’s the middle of the night in the Nimbus Sea. The dull, unfeeling moon remains stagnant in the sky, gleaming down at the waters below it. The chilling cold of the ocean breeze, paired with the beginnings of a hellish war brings forth a particularly sour mood for a certain Vice Captain.

Cain Crown sits at his desk, glaring at a mirror on the wall in front of him. He stares it down with burning hatred in his eyes— scorning its very presence with as much contempt he can muster.

The reflection does not react. The only thing interesting about it would simply be his own reflection staring back. Crown does not seem to agree with this observation.

The Navy guard continues to grip onto the wooden table; leaning as far forward as he can while looking at the mirror the entire time. He remains silent for a few minutes longer.

Eventually, he finally slumps down in his seat, grumbling to himself and keeping an eye on the frame of the glass. He seems rather discontent with the mirror’s continued existence.

He glowers at the reflective surface, seething with rage at his own appearance in the mirror. The face looking back at him seems… off. As if it’s using the man’s face to express a very smug expression.

“Stop looking at me like that. How about you fuck off, and just leave me alone?”

The one before him simply smiles— although, Crown himself retains a scowl. He can feel his mouth speaking, and hears a gentle, but mocking voice come from his throat.

“What look am I giving you? Perhaps you’ve simply gone mad again. You’re quite easy to rile up, you know.”

The Captain continues to express his displeasure of seemingly being used as a vessel for another.

“If I could, I’d stick a foot up your ass. Why insist on sticking around? I know you’ve got far better things to do than stay here and taunt me.”

The man in the mirror hums. They tilt their head with a smile that feels far too fake to be genuine.

“Why not? It’s fun. You can’t get rid of me. I’m you. No amount of warding potions or denial will change that.”

“Come back to the Dark Sea. It’s much more interesting there when you’re around. Perhaps you might even rid yourself of me, yet.”

Crown returns the reflection’s smile with a scathing glare. He narrows his eyes, and slams a fist down onto the wooden surface.

“Don’t play games with me, you asshole. You’re just gonna try to take over again, aren’t you? You’ve done plenty of that even out of that cursed place. There’s not need for returning when you made it clear you don’t even require being there to take control of my life.”

The looking glass silently gives a scrutinizing gaze. The smile on its face becomes strained, and its hands begin to clench in what appears to be frustration.

“Your opinion on the matter means nothing to me. Why defy my suggestions if you already know there’s no point in fighting back? Give me the reigns. Your time has come to an end, anyways.”

“Your friends don’t care for you. I can make them regret it. They’ll be worshiping you like the god you are. All I need is your support. Give in.”

The last bits of the vice captain’s sanity scream at him to get the fuck away. To flee, and break that god-damned mirror and kill other him that seems oh so entertained by his misery.

He doesn’t dare to show weakness. Not when he’s face-to-face with such a despicable foe. He snarls at the reflection, and draws his fist back.

…the resounding sound of glass shattering likely woke up his crew. Blood drops from his knuckles and down to his arm, leaving droplets of blood on the desk. Glass lodges itself into his hand, and the searing pain from it just makes him angrier.

He doesn’t care. They’ll just think he’s fucking around again, and go back to sleep.

And that’s the worst part. They don’t know just how much he’s struggling. How the ‘leader’ they look up to is hardly even alive at all. How no matter how hard he tries. No matter now many opponents he’s fought, no matter the amount of people he’s killed for the sake of their safety.

None of it will ever amount to the losing battle he’s fighting. Himself. Because they were right. They are him, in a sick, and twisted way. And that will never change.

He may be Cain Crown, fierce Vice Captain of the Grand Navy; near-invincible and immortal demigod that has slain thousands for his own personal gain—!

But he shall forever be fated to become nothing but Cain Crown, an amnesiac dumbass that lost his mind to his own curiosity. The Dark Sea will consume him, and he will become nothing but another story to tell of a lost soul who was swept away into history.

The man feels the sanity of his mind receding once more. He grips his head, and sighs.

The small moment of clarity is hidden away. No one takes a second glance at them in the morning when he gives the crewmates a friendly wave with a bandaged hand.

[saras-devotionals]

Quiet Time 3/30

What am I feeling today?

Kinda frustrated and annoyed. There’s this guy and I want to lose feelings for him. I just don’t think anything could ever happen between us so for my sake and sanity I need to move on. But every time I think I’m fine, I see him again, and all the feelings come rushing back and it’s so frustrating! Anyways, I’m just feeling this way because I briefly saw him last night and then I dreamt about him and it brought back memories that I’m trying to put out of my mind because I just can’t take it anymore. I wish to be free of him.

Luke 14 NIV

(v. 3-5) “Jesus asked the Pharisees and experts in the law, “Is it lawful to heal on the Sabbath or not?” But they remained silent. So taking hold of the man, he healed him and sent him on his way. Then he asked them, “If one of you has a child or an ox that falls into a well on the Sabbath day, will you not immediately pull it out?””

There’s not much to add to this other than it was kind of Jesus to heal on the Sabbath and tried to show how it would be similar to saving someone or something you love. You wouldn’t just let them suffer for another day but you would immediately try and rescue them!

(v. 11) “For all those who exalt themselves will be humbled, and those who humble themselves will be exalted.””

Jesús used the parable of a wedding before he said this. That if you are a guest, you wouldn’t take the place of honor (like bridesmaids) otherwise you’d be escorted and embarrassed. And if you take the lowest place, the host will bring you up and take you to a better spot. All in all, it’s to support his point right here. We should not value ourselves so much higher than we are because we’ll be humbled. Rather if we already humble ourselves, we will eventually be exalted.

(v. 13-14) “But when you give a banquet, invite the poor, the crippled, the lame, the blind, and you will be blessed. Although they cannot repay you, you will be repaid at the resurrection of the righteous.””

This applies to us now in who to love and care for. We should constantly be aware of the fact that there are people in need, people less fortunate than ourselves. It should be put on our hearts to care for them, to offer what we have, because we’re all human at the end of the day. Our lives are not more valuable than theirs.

(v. 26-27) ““If anyone comes to me and does not hate father and mother, wife and children, brothers and sisters—yes, even their own life—such a person cannot be my disciple. And whoever does not carry their cross and follow me cannot be my disciple.”

This verse does not actually mean that we should hate our family or ourselves (we need to love them and us!). But instead, our love for Jesus should be far, far greater! Our love for Jesus should be so evident that all our other relationships appear as hate because of how great our love is for Jesus. Also, as disciples, we all need to deny ourselves and carry our cross daily!

(v. 28-33) ““Suppose one of you wants to build a tower. Won’t you first sit down and estimate the cost to see if you have enough money to complete it? For if you lay the foundation and are not able to finish it, everyone who sees it will ridicule you, saying, ‘This person began to build and wasn’t able to finish.’ “Or suppose a king is about to go to war against another king. Won’t he first sit down and consider whether he is able with ten thousand men to oppose the one coming against him with twenty thousand? If he is not able, he will send a delegation while the other is still a long way off and will ask for terms of peace. In the same way, those of you who do not give up everything you have cannot be my disciples.”

This scripture goes over what it’s like to count the cost of being a disciple. Before you become a Christian, you have to see whether you can be. Are you willing to commit the rest of your life to Christ? Are you willing to keep his commands every single day? Will you preach the word and evangelize? fulfilling the great commission because that’s what all his disciples are called to do, not just the ministry? there’s a lot you need to consider and if you’re not willing to give it all up for Christ, you can’t be his disciple, he says so himself.

[sith-shenanigans]

tier iv headcanons blease 👀

4. Makes a character or situation more relatable to me:

Let’s jump immediately to the heavy/complicated one. Force users are never neurotypical, by definition; their thought patterns and senses differ from their species’ norms. And I approach darksiders specifically and deliberately as being mentally ill—which, uh, sounds awful if it’s coming from someone who isn’t, but I am. Mental illness is part of the sapient condition, and it deserves narrative empathy and respect.

Using the Dark causes certain distortions in thinking, which differ from person to person, but tend to (as a basic rule) involve getting “stuck in their own head”; being much more seriously biased towards their own perspective (and often not realizing they should care about anyone else’s), tunnel vision on whatever they’re focused on, sometimes to the point of emotional solipsism (you know other people are real, but they don’t feel that way, or it doesn’t feel important). There are some people who vary from that—Ahene doesn’t really do a lot of that, because she’s so hypervigilant about analyzing other people that the characteristic thoughtlessness doesn’t appear—but they tend to have other issues, and generally those get drawn out the same way. (Okay, she does the tunnel vision thing, but she does that for autistic reasons. She just does it more now.) It basically tends to shove you very hard into whatever mindset you’re using to access the Force, and that is usually where “I want to do a thing” goes.

There tend to be emotional effects, of course (hypomania/actual mania and intense anger being most common, but it can go in most directions, honestly), though I don’t… like the interpretation some people have of “entirely kills your emotional control, usually in ways that don’t really read like any kind of realistic emotional reaction.” It makes it harder. Accessing the Force through yourself (which is what using dark side really means, in my headcanon) tends to magnify whatever is there. And some people… get the idea that they don’t really need emotional control? Which is an entirely different thing.

But, like, the important thing here is that cognitive distortions? Can be managed. Not perfectly—which is the other thing that bothers me, having characters who just Heroic Willpower through it unscathed—but it’s possible to have strategies. You can channel that druk. It’s going to affect you anyway! But being a reasonable member of society doesn’t require being “sane.”

(Or I’d be kinda screwed. No shame to anyone who doesn’t like the idea of “sanity” as a concept, but sometimes it’s reassuring to me to go “there is literally no reason why I should be incandescently angry about the idea of interacting with people I love, or feeling like my parents are strangers with no emotional connection, or whatever is happening here today” and the way I tend to think about that is “I’m objectively not sane and that’s just something I have to work around to be a reasonable person.” This personality disorder is a mood disorder in Groucho glasses, etc, etc.)

Anyway, while most Sith aren’t really managing things well—imo, they do kind of all have strategies? Most of them don’t think of it like managing a mental illness (Ahene and Verok being the exact opposite ends of that aside), but they all have their particular ways to wrangle themselves in the direction they want to go. And Sith society and social norms are built around that to a significant extent. A fair amount of the management of it unfortunately gets offloaded onto the regular people (bad), but the rules for Sith-to-Sith interaction are all calibrated around “how do we society when all of us are 90% problems by volume,” and I think that’s neat.

And also everyone can probably tell that I have one of the ✨bad ones✨ where sometimes when I get upset my brain flips the Wounded Abuser mindset and then I need to go hide away from society until I’m done being a werewolf because otherwise I am putting way, way too much effort into not deliberately being horrible to people. I’m not writing my darksiders as borderline (except the ones that actually are), but my brain is so good at inventing awful thought patterns, you guys. I’ve got to do something with them.

[tiers of headcanons]

[holocene-sims]

next // previous

july 7, 2021 1:15 p.m. grant's house

[colm] wait, how do you have this recipe then?

[grant] i literally don't know. i found the note with it when i moved to los angeles before and, uh, it just said "xoxo, your boyfriend" at the bottom. like i know vaguely where it came from but my memory stops there.

[grant] now stop deflecting!

[colm] you first.

[colm] but alright, alright. you know the basic shit about my life, right? single mom, dad out of the picture, three siblings all with different baby daddies, and no other family because they disowned my mother for getting pregnant with me as a teen. the white trash experience. but wait, it gets worse.

[colm] my mom’s oldest brother was kind of still there, but not in any real fashion. more like: “sure, ellen, i suppose your son can sit at the back table at my pub and watch hurley on the television until his sisters are done with their after school activities and can walk them home.”

[colm] bastard. hey, ellen, i know you’re nearly homeless and your nine year old son is reading on the internet at the library how to make macaroni and cheese for dinner for all of you while you're busy waiting tables, but i won’t come over to babysit or nothing.

[colm] still, he let me over in the afternoons and was nice enough to teach me how to pour beers and such when i was the right age to do it, so here i am.

[colm] it’s really the only skill i have. despite my degree in philosophy, i was always a terrible student. i have the worst dyslexia known to man and my other jobs in the past were doing security at an airport and moving furniture. real impressive. so, this is miles better in pay and for my sanity.

[colm] besides, if we’re getting real emotionally squishy here, i was so lonely all the time growing up. nothing’s better for your social life than your mom always out working, no other family around, and having to turn down your friends’ invitations to hang out most of the time because you have to look after your siblings.

[colm] going to my uncle’s place was the least lonely place i ever was because all the old men who came as regulars felt bad for me and would talk to me. mostly about sports, but i like sports, so that was fine. i suppose you could say this place i own makes me feel a little less lonely as well.

[grant] i'm sorry things were so–

[colm] ahh, cut that shit out, it’s fine! i'd rather the man with a mammy who beat him not apologize to me about my childhood. i'm over it. fucking sucks but whatever. at least my guardian wasn’t my biological father. that piece of shit’s in prison for life for murder.

[grant] mur–

[colm] he got in with organized crime because he was broke and out of work. oh, and he was way older than my mom. surprise, surprise. classic stab city in the 90s. he actually tried to murder my mother once after she broke up with him, too. that day's hard to forget.

[grant] man, that sounds pretty bad. like egregiously bad. major childhood trauma bad.

[colm] old ellen’s alive.

[grant] uhhhhh, well, some person out there isn’t.

[colm] people.

[grant] oh.

[grant] oh my god.

[grant] anyway, uh, i was just going to say that i'm sorry you suffered. you deserved to have your needs met and you deserved stability and safety. i know nothing can be done about the past but that’s not a fair way for a child to grow up, even if your mother has reasons and explanations for it. and you don’t have to minimize it on grounds of other people’s experiences. bad is just that: bad. it’s not the sad childhood olympics here.

[colm] i really don’t care. i left all of that behind when i came here to live with shannon. you all are very nice to me. you’re my replacement family. you all mean a lot to me.

[colm] maybe replacement sounds bad...but, ah, well...

[colm] i can't believe i'm telling anyone other than shannon any of this bullshit. i feel absolutely disgusting.

[colm] sometimes when i was younger i'd look at other families and wish i had that. i used to wonder what it was like to have a family, and i suppose i finally understand. and it's nice.

[grant] i'm glad that you know we love you. you are a part of us. you are family. hell, i love you dearly. you're a great friend and a great person and you make shannon happy, which is important.

[grant] do you ever talk to your family? like your biological family?

[colm] yes and no. i invited them to the wedding and clearly you know they came. you were there. the only one i talk to often is molly but it’s because they’re the youngest and, well, the most like me, so i try to steer them away from making the same mistakes as me. that is, please don’t become a delinquent and please tell someone you think something’s wrong with your brain when you think there is.

[colm] my mother just pisses me off. i know she loves me and always has but she tries so much harder to show it now that i'm an adult and i can’t stand it. it’s overbearing. it's like, where was all this affection twenty years ago, ellen? and my other siblings...one’s fine, the other i don’t get along with.

[colm] don’t go apologizing about that either.

[grant] i won’t. but i get it. family relationships are complicated. siblings are difficult sometimes.

[colm] do you have–

[grant] i have two sisters. and yes, i don’t talk about them, like, ever. now continue what you were saying!

[colm] don’t get me wrong, i love all of them. i'd die for them. i might not want to talk to them much but i'm not disloyal or nothing. but because i love them, i reserve the right to admit when they’re obnoxious or what they’ve done wrong. it’s a disservice to all of us to lie and say i'm so happy with them and that we get along swimmingly.

[grant] so...you’re admitting things weren’t great.

[colm] i'm alive and not all the way fucked up. that’s good enough.

[colm] but thank you. i know you mean it. you’re like shannon and you say it because you care, not because you pity me, which is what a lot of others do. i do appreciate it.

[dearcat1]

(The Caring of the Overworked)

Part 16 of An Exercise in Patience

For now, the shop is an extra addition to the kitchen in Sawada's current den. Apparently, the omega is willing to compromise on moving until he's saved enough to make the new den easier to afford. The shop is built surprisingly fast and Xanxus has his suspicions about the liberal use of flames to speed up the process but as he has no proof, he won't say shit. Besides, it’s not like he’s against it. Sawada is either none-the-wiser or doesn’t mind it because he doesn’t say anything either. 

To Reborn’s chagrin, Sawada seems more excited running around picking the right tools and decorations for his shop than any lesson plan to become Vongola Decimo. Xanxus supposes it makes sense, to this day Sawada insists he isn’t Vongola at all. The alpha gets the feeling that Sawada could be picked by the rings and attend his own inauguration and still claim that he’s not Vongola anyway. Xanxus has more or less learnt to roll with it. 

Lussuria is, of course, an enabler. So the Sun has no issue giving Sawada and his elements tips and some contacts for supplies. He even shares his cookie recipe, which seems to be some sort of sacred bonding experience that Xanxus can never hope to comprehend. He’s mostly resigned to dragging an exhausted but stubborn as hell omega away from the shop with an excitedly babbling Lussuria dogging his steps. It’s a new experience and it earns him more pouts than Xanxus’s sanity should reasonably have to endure.

“I wasn’t finished.” Sawada huffs, landing on his feet and glaring at Xanxus.

“Which is why you’re swaying.” Xanxus arches a brow and waits. 

Sawada rolls his eyes but starts walking up the stairs. “I’ll have my revenge, don’t think I won't.”

Xanxus sighs. “This isn’t about bugging you, you’re overworking yourself.”

“Revenge,” Sawada repeats, not backing off. “I will have it.”

“Fine. As long as you go to bed.” Xanxus ignores the little voice in the back of his head that calls him a hypocrite. It sounds suspiciously similar to Squalo.

The omega pouts, crossing his arms. “What if I don’t want to sleep?”

“You can barely walk straight,” Xanxus sighs. By now, however, he’s learned to recognize when Sawada is being stubborn. And the omega is walking down the stairs again, anyway. Xanxus pulls him into his arms as soon as he’s close enough and guides them both to the couch.

Sawada leans into the touch, ducking under Xanxus’s chin. He’s always far more willing to cuddle when he’s too satisfied with himself or tired. Xanxus doesn’t call attention to it, he sits down and pats the spot beside him to invite the omega to join him. Sawada huffs but drops on the couch, laying down with his head on Xanxus’s lap. “I’m picking the movie.”

Xanxus gives up the control with no care, he doesn’t want to watch a movie but it will get the omega sleepy enough to fall asleep for an hour or two before waking up and dragging himself up the stairs. “Alright. Nothing too ridiculous.” If Xanxus gives up too easily, Sawada is going to be stubborn on principle.

“Lussuria calls me Tsu-darling,” Sawada murmurs.

It makes Xanxus blink because the comment comes out of nowhere. “He can be like that,” he pets his companion’s hair. “Does that bother you?”

“No.” Sawada huffs, rolling over and hiding his face against Xanxus’s stomach. “I’m just saying.”

“Ok?” Xanxus looks down, frowning slightly and trying to figure out what the problem is. 

“You never say my name.”

Ah. Xanxus hums, he supposes he doesn’t. It’s not unusual for him, Xanxus doesn’t usually call people by name. ‘Trash’ at best and he’s not about to go around calling this omega that. Something tells him Sawada has been keeping this in for a while, though. “Do you want me to?” Xanxus pulls on a strand of hair, trying to catch the omega’s eyes and sighing when the younger Sky doesn’t move. “I didn’t do it to bother you but I can start using your name if you want me to.”

[sigynpenniman]

You can tell it’s 1 AM and I’m sleepy because I’m posting a lot anyway let me talk about myself a bit more

I reblog (and post tbh) a LOT of anti-cringe-culture pro-shameless expression stuff and that’s literally just because like. it’s what I believe in. but I don’t actually walk the particular walk of living without shame myself as well as I pretend I do a lot of the time like I SAY that I do but the reality is I am occasionally overcome by waves of self consciousness I am *excruciatingly* aware that the way I behave here in my internet corner is likely perceived by some/many people as extremely weird sometimes when I hit publish on AO3 the demon on my shoulder is like. absolutely no one alive wants to read your self insert. when I started this post 30 seconds ago I literally had to fight the urge to add “in a mildly conceited fashion that perhaps embarrassingly assumes that anyone cares what I have to say” after it. but I somehow didn’t. because I’m grabbing that demon and beating him to death with a baseball bat. it’s like my favorite post in the world that says “am I being annoying about my interests? No, it’s my house” and that’s right babey this is my fucking house. And planting myself in that has done more for my sanity and confidence than just about anything else. you will not come into MY HOUSE and call me cringe or give me shit or what have you because it’s my house! if you dislike the decor in my house you may leave! And I mean that in the kindest and most cool and non-emotional and levelheaded way like if my weird displeases you please! don’t subject yourself to it! As for me and my house I’m gonna keep doing it because 1. It makes me feel good and this + adjacent spaces are the only places in my life where I’m allowed to be just as weird and bizzare and cringe as I god damn want and 2. If one single soul sees one single post I reblog or self insert I shamelessly post or what have you and feels the least bit better about their own weird then I will have done some kind of good in this world. please go kill the part of you that cringes and go forth into this world and be weird and strange in ways that are genuinely unappealing and unpalatable. I am kissing you on the forehead.

And remember. The greatest piece of advice I have ever read. If you want to say sorry in a moment of self consciousness where you haven’t actually objectively harmed someone else but you did something or said something that you’re scared was Too Much or perhaps made a social boo boo or are AFRAID you have made a social boo boo or what have you. and if simply resisting the urge to say something is too hard which it usually is. Instead of saying sorry. Try saying thank you. Thank you for being patient with me. Thank you for listening to me. Thank you for being understanding with me. whatever the case may be. It will change you I promise. Because it will fill the hole your anxiety is making that forces you to say something AND if you actually HAVE committed some kind of social boo boo it covers and acknowledges it in basically the exact same way as a Sorry, and if you’re with otherwise kind and loving people will have exactly the same impact, but if you, as likely is true, actually have done nothing whatsoever wrong or even slightly wrong, it’s still a kind and welcome and good thing to say and makes the people around you, and YOU, feel positive and good

plus getting all those apologies out of your vocabulary will make you feel better about yourself immediately

okay I have to work tomorrow I’m going to bed now. kisses.

[justmybookthots]

The Contortionist

My biggest feat this month is not DNFing this.

Quality is never guaranteed with anything, but even then, I didn't see this coming. To be fair, it hasn’t been trending on Booktok at all—I don’t think I’ve ever seen it on there, tbh—I knew of it mainly because of Reddit. All I can say is that that subreddit has taken a huge hit on their credibility (I’m half-joking).

This reads in some part like an edgy thirteen-year-old wrote this. There is so much telling, not showing. It feels… I don’t know how to explain it, but like I’m reading a high school composition / essay. I am constantly told things, like how “insane” Simon is, like how close the main character is to Trent, but I’m never really shown that, especially the latter. 

Let’s talk about Trent, her gay best friend and the driving force of most of the story. He’s supposed to be dearest pal and the person she wants to protect, and I’m like… Why? He acts nothing like a friend. He’s just a selfish, conceited person who only cares about his own interests. She tells him she was molested, and this—this monstrosity—is what he says:

 I… I don’t even know what to say about this. Firstly, what kind of friend advocates for fucking sexual assault? Secondly, this is a horrific caricature of how a gay person is portrayed. It's an insult to gay people. All this character thinks about is fucking hot men. The heroine, Cora, his best friend, is very clearly distraught because of the circus but he has never once noticed—never once cared beyond going there to get dick from someone at the circus:

And then later, when he’s in danger, she thinks: 

Ah, right. The good old flashbacks. Because other than flashbacks to remind us how supposedly close these two people are (which are just shoe-horned in and not convincing at all), Trent has never done anything worth risking her life to save him. 

Anyways, enough about Trent. Let’s talk about Simon, whose characterisation makes me puke.

I’ll start with the obvious—he’s insane. Don’t worry, you won’t forget this, because he reminds you of this every chapter. He’s insane. His smile “reeks” of insanity, whatever that means! He lost his sanity a long time ago! He is bonkers!  (These are phrases all written in the book)

This is the cheapest way to describe a crazy person to me. My petty pet peeve is that I hate an overload of adjectives—show me he’s unhinged through his actions. And him constantly thinking to himself that he is insane made me cringe; can he… not? I have nothing against crazy people in fiction (if anything, they’re hella interesting if done right) but reminding me over and over again as if ‘crazy’ or 'evil' is his main personality trait is... a choice. And if he’s not reminding you of this, his circus co-workers are: 

I... laughed, and I think I wasn't supposed to laugh. This story is supposed to be about a creepy, spooky circus, but other than Simon, everyone else just acts like normal people, save for the barker, who was creepy at first then had a personality transplant and became a normal, decent guy the next day. And them calling him “a dangerous, murderous piece of shit” had me in pieces.

I have to add that I read the “Unseelie Prince” by the same author and DNFed it, and it confirms to me that she writes the same type of male lead that is not for me. Why is he constantly cackling? Once or twice is… fine, I guess, but every time he cackles I envision a crazy witch-hag. And he gives big granny vibes too because he keeps calling the main character “cupcake”.  No, I'm not kidding:

(Of course, we gotta be reminded that he is a psychopath. Can’t forget the reminder!) Also, he'll sometimes go on long rants when he’s angry, and the abrupt switch and the way the dialogue is written is... not done well. It's hard to put a finger on it and say exactly why, other than it didn't work for me.

There’s a lot more issues with this book that I don’t care to go into, because I’m not continuing this nonsense. Cora constantly going back to the circus when she’s traumatised by it yet and yet again makes no sense, and the horrible characterisation of everyone is another step down. Even “Hide” by Kiersten White did a better job setting an eerie atmosphere for a circus than this book did. I think a part of me did compare this book to “Hide”, and it falls awfully short. 

Buried underneath this bilge is a plot that could actually work with the right execution. The puppet thing is honestly kind of interesting, but with their puppeteer being some man that talks like an edgy grandma, it is just not working for me. Goodbye, and good riddance. I've decided to write this author off once and for all.

- 29 July 2023

[thebtstaekooker]

My BTS Story

Starting off my BTS blog with a little ˚✧₊⁎history⁎⁺˳✧༚ Funnnnn!!! Another ARMY fan girl sob story!!! Yayyyy!!! -_- whatever. Here it is:

With Jin now in the military and the other members soon to follow, I’ve begun to question my relationship with BTS and how it might play out in the years to come as we all await BTS’s return in 2025. Before I begin, I want to make one thing clear. My story may just seem like another boring fan sob story but I think everyone’s story deserves to be heard.

         I was introduced to BTS by a friend of mine back in middle school but it wasn’t until I started high school later that year that I really started to become a fan. The first few weeks of school were extremely stressful. Let’s just say I knew a lot of people from my church and some of them I didn’t have good pasts with.

Honestly, I got into BTS because it was the only thing I had to keep my sanity alive. (BTS is, in a way, my savior which is why I’m now so attached to them)Gradually, I began to get more into BTS and my school life actually seemed to improve. I guess when the military news really sunk in was when I heard about Jin’s enlistment. I had heard about military but I thought it was all a hoax lol 😂 To tell the truth, I did cry. I cried at night, I cried with a school friend who likes BTS as well, and I cried over text. It was and still is really sad for me knowing that Jin’s enlistment is the start of all the members’ soon enlistment. And it made Jin’s enlistment even harder with my birthday a few days before his enlistment date. Now it’s a new year.

        My bias at first was RM. He was my first choice when I was asked for the first time who I liked. But then I started to notice V. I don’t know what it was that first caught my attention. Maybe his voice, maybe his personality and cute smile, maybe his beautiful and seemingly unreal looks, or maybe everything about him. Now I fall asleep listening to his soundtracks, I’m all for Taekook, and I have half a million pictures of V on my phone. Honestly, he’s my first celebrity crush. Wait…no…V, BTS, they’re more than celebrities. They. Are. LEGENDS!!! But yeah. Now my bias is forever Taehyung ❤️🐯❤️

     (Excuse my fangirling. Btw, this is only half of my photo album named and I quote “🐯❤️Kim Taehyung❤️🐯” whatttt?? I’m a fan! A big big fan. 😋 luv u, Tae tae <333)

Moving on.

  Anyway, because of my mistake of not getting to know BTS sooner, my teenager years will be concert-less, fanmeet-less, RunBTS-less, grouppicture-less. I graduate in 2026. Who knows how soon in 2025 BTS will reunite as a group again? I feel like my teenage years will always be missing something and that’s really sad. Also, BTS won’t be as young as they are now in 2025. I mean, V turned 27 just a few days ago. He’ll probably be 30 when they reunite. And he’s also mentioned that he wants to have a family someday. BTS has and will have their own lives to take care of. Who’s to say they will really be reuniting as a band in 2025? Thoughts like these are what make me emotional. 

         Finally, I have thoughts about what will happen to BTS if they decide to discontinue the band in 2025. Like what if BTS decides to pass on the band? Like choose seven new boys to continue their legacy? Crazy thought, I know but wouldn’t that be cool? And imagine 50 years time. Your grandchild asks who BTS was like some kids today ask who the Beatles were. What will you say? I know what I’ll say: “BTS were legends. They were the greatest boy band to ever walk the face of the Earth. They spread love and joy and incredible music everywhere they went, from continents to the internet to books and magazines. BTS were legendary superstars; they ruled the world of music. And your grandma lived to see them preforming, singing, dancing, laughing, crying. I present to you, my grandchild, I present to you, dear readers, I present to you, watching world, the seven pieces of the puzzle of greatness, the seven kings of k-pop, the seven human wonders of the world(lol maybe that’s a bit weird but anyway) Never forget BTS and their legacy.”

Now what’s your story?

[kayla-kai]

As Below, So Above: 2. Elaava

“Have you spent much time in the dark quarter?” Elaava let Iyara work the pulley to take them back into the depths. 

“I’ve gone through it a couple times using the stairs, but that’s usually for when I want to get a bit of exercise in the morning.”

The dark quarter spanned the entire top level of the pyramid. It was inverted, with the tip being at the bottom, giving the dark quarter the widest area of space. It was almost entirely residential, with very few shops or infrastructure of any kind. 

“Going through it and living in it are very different things.”

Iyara stopped the lift in the darkness, and Elaava stepped off to lead. She didn’t need her staff here anymore. Maybe because of how close to the surface they were, there was a very slight amount of bioluminescence. It was why the dark quarter was deemed unnecessary to light. But the light was so dim it took a while for the eyes to adjust enough to notice that there was any light at all. 

Behind her, Iyara used his staff to feel his way around. There was no real need. No one would be roaming the streets, there never was. Though they did sometimes loiter. Elaava had the twists are turns long memorized. Most homes had open doors, some had no doors at all. No one cared about crime, there was never anything to steal. Instead, they wanted the tiny amount of light that came from the walls of the halls. A scattering of people sat on the stone floor in the tunnels outside of homes, staring into the darkness. Iyara hit one of them with his staff. 

“Oh! I’m sorry,” he said, but there was no response. He saddled closer to Elaava as they walked and dropped his voice to a whisper. “What’s wrong with them? Are they sick?”

“No.” 

Elaava led them into a home with its door open, and closed it behind them. She took out a candle and a match and lit it up. A figure from the cot stirred, and after a minute or two, slightly readjusted so she was sitting a bit more up against the pillow. 

“Hey, auntie, how have you been?”

“Yeah.” She responded. “I ate some bread today.” Elaava moved the candle to look around. There was a small dirty table with a couple loaves of bread, both moldy and half-eaten. Scattered around the floor by the cot, there were chunks of moldy bread, where it looked like she ate around the bad part. 

“That’s great, auntie! You did a great job. I have a mango, if you want it. It’s not ripe though.”

“…” She paused. “No, thank you…I wouldn’t be able to taste it anyway.”

“How have the night ghosts been?”

“All good ghosts, all good.”

“That’s great to hear.” Elaava held the candle close, revealing a withered undernourished face. Her eyes had no shine to them, and the bags under her eyes gave her face a sunken look that made her seem far older than she actually was. “This is my friend.”

“That’s nice.” She made no attempt to look at Iyara, eyes fixed in the direction of the candle flame. 

“Okay, I have to go home now,” Elaava moved towards the door.

“No, wait!” The woman spoke with the first tinge of emotion of the encounter. “Please stay, it’ll be so empty without you.”

“I have to go now.”

“Do you at least have a candle?”

“Not right now but I’m making some tonight.”

“Oh.” 

“Okay.”

Elaava blew out the candle, feeling the heat leave her face. She left, leaving the door wide open, like it had been when they entered. Next stop was her own home, where she lived alone. She turned on a battery powered lamp that sat at her table. 

“They’re like husks,” Iyara said. 

“The darkness takes everything from you, your energy, your sanity, your personhood.”

“How does an entire floor live like this? How many hectares is that?”

“They’ll work when they can. some people deal with it a little better than others.”

“I mean, Ive seen the night ghosts too, usually late at night, but I can’t imagine seeing them all the time.” 

“Come on, snap out of it. I’ll show you how to make candles. There are plenty of ways to make light, if you don’t mind bending the rules here and there.” Elaava found a pot and dumped the wax from her bag into it. 

Iyara sniffled, and Elaava realized he had been crying. “Yes, yes, show me everything. Let me help you. Please.” He was a bleeding heart. That was good.

“Sure.”