#Partially an affirmation and partially a statement

[chaoticbuggybitchboy]

mobility aids are part of the gender they are part of the fit my identity and my disability are integral to each other because my disability is a part of me and it does not detract from my identity

[asvterias]

𝘭𝘦𝘵 𝘮𝘦 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 ~ 𝘥𝘪𝘰𝘳 𝘨𝘰𝘰𝘥𝘫𝘰𝘩𝘯

dior masterlist

warnings: none

pairings: dior goodjohn ✘ black!fem!reader (not a celebrity)

summary: in which spending time with your girlfriend after

word count: 1.4k+

tag list: @addil244 @onxlyficcharacter @wtafidh @mymyapplesigh @cosmopretty @starless-nightz @silent-phantom120 @glwmcres @f4riedimples @babyzzlove @lov3rgiiirl

author’s note: kinda just got this idea and decided to flow with it.

being a teen actress wasn’t as fun as it seemed, there were pros and cons to that title. for instance, the overdue long hours of filming and attending to their personal lives afterward.

thankfully, today’s practice music session was soon over. dior knew if she spent one more hour in the studio, she’d go absolutely crazy in there. she needed a break, from overworking herself to the limit, despite you warning her about this numerous times.

once her friend said everything was all good, indicating the end of music practice, she instantly rushed out of there and started her journey to your house.

stumbling into your room, she watches you occupied by reading a book.

you looked so cute when concentrated, all caught up in your own world. she loved your quiet moments, giving her the chance to admire you as long as she pleased.

her eyes were slanted and tired, still holding some annoyance, a frown set upon her lips as she sluggishly held her bag against her shoulder.

“what’s wrong, baby?” you asked, discarding your book on the bedside table. instead of replying to your question, she shook her head and released an exhaustive moan from her mouth.

your girlfriend’s mood immediately brightens up at the sight of you, her tense shoulders and slanted tired eyes relaxed.

very begrudgingly, she sauntered over to you, crawling on the bed, and instantly snuggled up into your touch, gently resting her face on your chest. playing with her loose thick curls, you massage her head as you feel her sigh against you.

“nothing baby,” she finally spoke, partially muffled by her face in between your breasts.

“you don’t have to lie to me,” you reassure her.

she sighs yet again, nuzzling her head further into your chest.

“i just don’t wanna talk about it right now…if that’s okay with you.”

seemingly, you understood her statement with a soft nod, despite the small frown tugging at the ends of your lips. now wasn’t the time to be curious. she just wanted peace with her favorite girl and you were going to respect her wishes, no longer bothering dior on the subject any further until she’s ready.

you just wanted to comfort her, scratching her scalp slowly as a way to ease her worries.

from the moment dior laid eyes on you, she never knew how hard she’d fall for you, and if she could unconditionally fall in love harder with every moment spent with you. no one else made her feel like this before, completely smitten and in love, vaguely expressing her softer side, the vulnerability that weighs heavy in her heart can wither away just as easily. only you could achieve this and dior was determined to keep it that way.

“hmmm that’s okay with me, babe,” you pressed a soft kiss on her forehead. her forehead creases in response but relaxes.

dior was blessed to have such an understanding and caring girlfriend who never failed to comfort her with your affirmations. your thoughtfulness and unwavering support were a source of comfort and reassurance for her.

“thank you, you’re the best.”

“…do you wanna get on instagram live with your fans? i know it always calms you down,” you suggest, with a warm grin massaging her head.

all she did was hum once and slightly raise her eyebrows at the suggestion. as always, you were right, it was a good idea. somehow, she unleashes everything on instagram live, disposing of her worries, by just talking with her fans but not this time. in fact, it wasn’t even the idea she had in mind, wanting to rather display those needs right now. for you and to you.

“maybe later…” dior shuffled on you, leaning her head closer into your neck, “i’m too comfortable with my girl and she’s so addicting to not eat up right now.” she seductively whispered in your ear, her voice hoarsely as flush appeared on your cheeks.

“i thought you were tired,” you murmured, staring down at her. the butterflies in your stomach erupted widely, fluttering all around.

focusing your attention, ignoring dior’s intense stare, or how dangerously close her freshly done nails are teasing upwardly against your exposed thigh.

you knew what dior expected out of you. for you to give her a reaction, giving her the upper hand in this situation. normally, you’d always give in, handing dior’s dominance over you directly on a silver platter, but this time will be different. you refused to give her this satisfaction of dominance.

it was time for things to change, and they were going to change now and for good.

“i was,” she admits, looking down briefly at her fingers trailing across your thighs. you shuddered slightly, holding your breath, hoping your girlfriend wouldn’t notice. sadly, you were mistaken and she did notice, deciding to tease you even further, pretending to turn a blind eye to your small reaction. dior stares back up at you with an evil smirk, “but not anymore,”

“the sudden switch up is insane,” you flustered underneath her alluring gaze.

“well…what can i say, you’re my medicine, mamas,”

“whatever makes you happy,” you retorted with a heavy sigh.

“you; you make me beyond happy,”

“aren’t you quite the flatterer?” throwing a playful wink at the curly-haired girl.

“only for you,”

you inhaled softly at her comforting touch as her lips trailed down to your neck.

“don’t you wanna relax, though?” you asked her, goosebumps appearing all over your body from her magnetic touch, “with all the filming and the release of your first song, you really need your head in the game, you’re an aspiring actress after all,”

“oh, really?” she looks at you with a raised eyebrow with an unimpressed smile, “is that all i am to you? a multitalented aspiring actress, nothing else?”

“stop doing those rhetorical questions. you know i hate it when you do that,” you hit her shoulder, watching a smile form on her face, “we both know that you’re much more than that to me.”

“then stop treating me as such, and let me love you,” she finished her sentence with a seductive smile.

you felt your heart drop, a pit in your stomach forming massively, whether it was from an undeniable excitement or an unspoken fear, you didn’t know. either way, you wanted to remain unaware and live in the moment, the adrenaline pumping through your veins, your thoughts running wild, and your heart pounding against your chest.

you wanted to spur her even further, push her to the tipping edge, want her to lose all self-control, and have her way with you. fortunately, the perfect statement swiftly came to mind, and all that was needed was to confidently assert it.

“so, what’s stopping you then?”

she fell right into your trap, as the goodjohn girl leaned in for a kiss, and with a warm smile, you accepted it, hypnotized by her lips. both of your movements were slow-paced and gentle, and her hand caressed your cheek, deepening the intense kiss. slowly but surely, her lips trailed down to your jaw, settling into your neck, placing small wet chaste kisses there. she sucked on your neck, tugging at the bare flesh, almost nipping at it, reveling in your soft whimpers and moans. if anything, your noises of pleasure only further encouraged her to create a small hickey and she did just that, allowing you to throw your head back.

oh, and she did love you alright. she loved you so much that your neck was covered in hickeys, leading up to the point where it was absolutely embarrassing for you.

due to your brown skin color, it wasn’t that noticeable unless someone was really observing your neck very thoroughly and pointed it out.

clearly, it was very stupid of you to give her that suggestion with your approval. you shouldn’t have even made that remark. of course, your mouth moved faster than your brain, telling you to dive headfirst and forget about the consequences.

next time, you definitely weren’t underestimating your girlfriend’s tactics.

likes, comments, and reblogs are highly appreciated!

© asvterias, 2024. please do not copy, repost, or translate any of my works onto any other platforms without my permission.

[sleepinthrumyalarms]

— loving the beast, loving it whole

pairing: wednesday addams x fem!oni!reader

warnings: descriptions of mild gore, slightly suggestive themes, mentions of demon rut, it's mostly fluff

summary: wednesday insists her oni girlfriend spends a blood moon with her and a small inconvenience even she couldn’t have possibly foreseen takes place

word count: 5.2k

a/n: she's so silly like y/n: it's ok wednesday my transformation isn't a big deal haha :) also y/n: springlock failure sounds + bloodcurdling screams

When Wednesday welcomes herself into the dorm of the oni, (Y/n) doesn’t turn to acknowledge her. The seer is certain it’s because the demon has sensed her coming back when she was just starting to make her way up the stairs, having learned the pattern of Wednesday’s gait and her smell just a few days into their relationship.

The oni’s pointy ear twitches at the sound of the lock clicking. There’s a crease in between her brows, the mildest of expressions that betrays the anxiety swelling in (Y/n)’s chest. Wednesday, too, has grown to recognize a lot of habits of her demonic lover.

She watches (Y/n) fumble in front of the mirror, barefoot, her haori draped over her naked shoulders. It covers most of her backside in a flow of luxurious fabric in (f/c) and black colors, and if the circumstances were different, Wednesday would turn around and leave the room abruptly to give the other girl privacy. She’d most likely never enter without knocking again.

She finds the broadness of the demon’s shoulders, the muscles of her neck and the plain between her breasts enticing instead. They call for the touch of her lips but, much to Wednesday’s disdain, a more pressing matter is calling for (Y/n).

“I’m assuming it’s a blood moon tonight.”

(Y/n) hums in affirmation, her eyes fixed on her reflection as her fingers keep struggling with the twine of the pendant, her claws catching onto the rope and preventing her from finally fastening it around her neck.

“Would you like me to bring you back a souvenir?” She offers, and the seer isn’t deaf to the slightest hint of exasperation in the oni’s voice, “A pair of deer horns would look amazing above your bed. I could bring you a whole head if you’d like.”

“I’d much rather have you here,” Wednesday replies with no desire to entertain (Y/n)’s mockery, “You know your absence mauls at my bleeding heart like nothing else does.”

If the circumstances were different, the ravenette would be physically revolted by the words that have just left her mouth. She’d go drink a bottle of cyanide just to wash the nauseating sweetness of the statement off her tongue.

But she has long since accepted the influence of the Addams family curse – the influence of (Y/n) on her, and she can’t help her blunt honesty.

Although it doesn’t really seem to move her girlfriend in the way it usually would.

“No. I can’t. I’m... I have to go and hunt, otherwise...” The oni tries to find some morbid, unnerving wording to explain the consequences that would follow but ultimately realizes all of them would serve to excite rather than deter the goth.

Wednesday seems to catch onto the hesitation, “Otherwise what?” She asks with a small frown, taking a few steps to end up behind (Y/n), looking at her through the mirror, “Is there some ungodly sanguinary pact that forces you to spend every blood moon deer-slaughtering?”

“Not just deer – “

“Is there?”

(Y/n) huffs in irritation, partially from her necklace still unwilling to cooperate, partially from Wednesday’s persistence. She drops her hands, pressing them into the edges of the dressing table, the golden dragon squeezed in her palm.

“No, not really. Then again, my whole existence isn’t really that different from a sanguinary pact.” She barks, and immediately regrets the bite in her tone, lowering her gaze shamefully.

She always gets easily vexed in that state.

Wednesday reaches for the pendant, and (Y/n) finds her fist relaxing on its own accord under the surprisingly gentle touch of the ravenette. She lets the seer take the necklace into her own hand, and watches Wednesday’s reflection in the mirror get on her tiptoes to wrap the twine around the oni’s neck, fastening it with skillful precision. The metal is a cold sensation on (Y/n)’s naked skin, but it’s nothing compared to the chills that run through her body when she feels Wednesday press her soft lips to her nape in a comforting, sensual kiss.

“Have you ever tried staying?” The goth asks, her voice soft and free of scorn, plush mouth moving against (Y/n)’s flesh, and the oni can’t suppress a shiver.

(Y/n) doesn’t even try to rack her brain for any memories that would provide her with an affirmative answer. She never has. She remembers standing, miles away from her clan’s territory, a young girl, barely over ten, half-naked and scared to death in the crimson light of the blood moon, clutching the golden dragon pendant given to her by her father with the instruction to never, under any circumstances, lose the amulet.

She remembers the pain of the metamorphosis vividly, too. She never liked how people would compare that and whatever is behind the transformations of werewolves. Unlike them, (Y/n) didn’t get a head-start – she couldn’t afford to be a ‘late-bloomer’, nor did she have any time to grow, both physically and mentally, before it happened the first time. She was just thrown out there – it was like teaching a child to swim, except there was no helping hand of her parent to catch her in case she started to drown.

(Y/n) thinks it’s what’s made her strong. Her tenacity, persistence, and her will to live. Although Dr. Kinbott always begs to differ.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” the demon murmurs, “I don’t want to hurt you.”

To her surprise, Wednesday chuckles in reply, “Do you really believe you’re capable?”

(Y/n) frowns, failing to see the humor in the situation, “The point is that I... can’t transform in front of you.”

The ravenette’s brows furrow, “Why not?”

Jesus, (Y/n)’s damn well certain Wednesday hasn’t ever been this oblivious.

“First off, it’s beastly and messy and loud, and I’ll, I’ll get... huge, and I might break something or hurt you or...” (Y/n) sighs, her shoulders sagging, “I strive to keep you happy. And safe. It’s... instinctive, kind of. Multiplied by what I feel towards you. And it’s scary.”

“Why would it be?”

“The things I’d do for you. They scare me sometimes.”

Wednesday is silent for a moment. She doesn’t blink, seemingly digesting the raw emotion of the demon’s words, before she finally speaks, “If it’s as bad as you say it is, I’d conclude that I’m in no danger,” she leans away from (Y/n)’s back slightly to meet the gaze of her reflection, “As much as I am capable of protecting myself – the ability you seem to constantly underestimate,” she adds, making the oni grunt, “I believe I’m the safest when in your presence. I also believe you’ve proven that countless of times, so my words aren’t groundless.”

A small smile touches the demon’s tusked mouth, “You and your way with words.”

“The Addamses are known for their skill in poetry and negotiation... as well as flattery,” Wednesday hums nonchalantly, idle hand rubbing a pattern on (Y/n)’s shoulder in an attempt to persuade her further, although it’s already far from necessary, “You’ll be staying, then.”

“I suppose so.”

A single glance outside reveals a big, blood-red orb staring back at the goth, painting the scenery outside in crimson colors, “There’s not too much time left now. Is there anything that needs to be done beforehand?”

(Y/n) looms closer to the window, watching the moon, “No. This is everything that can be done,” she says, reaching her hand up to her chest to hold the dragon pendant in her fist.

“Does it work like an equivalent to a wolfsbane potion? Is it... charmed?”

“More like blessed. And, well, yes, it’s something like that. You should still keep your distance though.”

Wednesday nods, but plans to disobey. She can’t lie, she feels... intrigued at the chance of seeing an oni’s full form up close. The two times in the past have just been slight glimpses in the dark of night, mere traces of what a beast (Y/n) actually is. It must be an unusual reaction for the her, the goth muses, as she watches the demon glance outside the window, twirling the pendant between her clawed fingers.

“Are you nervous?”

(Y/n) seems hesitant to answer at first, “...A little, maybe. It... doesn’t get better. It always hurts like the first time. And I’m always alone when it happens. Back home I couldn’t spend any blood moons with my father because we get aggressive and territorial in that state even with our families,” a small smile touches her otherwise grim expression, “But with you here, I guess... It’s not as terrifying as–”

Before (Y/n) can finish what Wednesday’s sure was supposed to be something awfully sweet and sappy, she’s interrupted by a sickeningly loud crack that startles the ravenette enough to jolt backwards. A bone has snapped in the demon’s right calf, bending her knee at an inhumane angle and almost making her double over. The demon grits her teeth, her top lip rising over her big tusks in a manner of an angered wolf, and she grasps at the windowsill to keep herself upright, her knuckles white over the wood, just in time as her other leg snaps in the same fashion.

“It’s fine- It’s fine,” she grunts, her voice so strained and rough Wednesday can barely recognize it, “Stay back.”

This time Wednesday listens, taking a few steps away from the writhing form of the girl that grows and changes before her very eyes. The talons on the demon’s hands grow impossibly big, fusing with bone, and her tusks grow almost thrice their usual size, protruding from under her lip. Her frame stretches in a heap of powerful, tense muscle, and (Y/n) is unable to stand on her legs anymore, falling on her knees and plunging her claws into the floorboards at the excruciating pain that makes every nerve in her body stand at torturous attention.

A pair of long, slightly curved horns spurts from the oni’s forehead with a disgusting fleshy sound, and a big, scale-covered tail like that of a dragon emerges from her tailbone, ripping her pants in the process. It snaps back and forth aggressively, hitting the wall with loud thumps –  the demon jerks with pained groans that mix with raged growls of a wounded animal.

Wednesday has seen quite a lot in her life. She watched people be tortured, skinned and burned alive, yet nothing could’ve prepared her for what she was witnessing at that moment. The ravenette couldn’t bear to watch any longer, yet some invisible force makes her freeze in her spot, unable to look away.

The transformation stops – it feels like it’s stretched for hours, yet it’s barely been a minute. The demon’s back heaves on the hardwood floor, her shoulders rising and falling heavily, before she raises her head.

A pair of golden eyes with snake-like slits stares into Wednesday’s dark ones.

Slowly, still aching from the metamorphosis, the creature rises to its feet, so huge the tips of its horns scrape at the ceiling. It huffs, releasing a small puff of hot steam from her snout, and a dangerously low growl rumbles in its throat.

There’s a feeling in Wednesday’s gut stricken in her by the sound – a feeling she isn’t used to, and doesn’t like. A feeling of pure fear. Her eyes go wide and she begins to back away from the demon who lowers her stance and slowly pads towards the small ravenette. The floor creaks in protest under the weight of the monster. Her eyes are fixed on Wednesday’s, unblinking, like a predator prowling as her huge talons scrape the wooden surface, muscles flexing under her grayish skin.

Wednesday’s back meets the wall. She can’t keep her eyes off the monstrous being, unable to move from fear, fear and fascination as the beast steps towards her. It’s like a train wreck – she knows she shouldn’t look, knows she should be moving... but she can’t stop herself from staring at the horrifying sight in front of her.

The demon towers over her even on all fours, casting a menacing shadow over the smaller girl, something close to... magnificent about its appearance. It is a beastial abomination, sure, coarse and sharp around the edges, a man-eating predator, but the well-defined muscles and the rich (h/c) color of its mane suggests that there is something almost regal to the monster.

It leans its big head down, long pointed ears flicking, and takes a small sniff. The creature's mane of hair swishes with the movement, before it releases another puff of smoke right into Wednesday’s face. It's a dangerous, intimidating show – the oni stares into her grey eyes, and something inside the goth clicks.

The fear is still there, but the curiosity and the fascination she’s somehow also feeling take over for one split second, and she reaches her hand up and towards to the monster. Something inhumane draws her in – her hand is shaking slightly, but she can’t stop herself, attracted to it in an inexplicable way, almost transfixed. Wednesday’s palm stops just a few inches away from the oni’s snout, not daring to proceed any further.

To her utmost surprise, the demon leans towards her hand, butting its nose into it gently. Wednesday’s breath is taken away – she watches in awe as the creature closes its eyes with a low sound of approval, but before she can let her intrigue be known, the oni’s massive jaw hangs open, and a long, rough tongue slithers out of her toothy maw to glide against Wednesday’s cheek.

The demon... licks her face.

The goth grunts in disgust, trying to press her hand harder into the demon’s snout to make her stop but failing to overpower the strong creature, “(Y/n), this is unbecoming.”

The demon ignores the girl’s disapproval, giving her face another lick. Her tongue is long and slithering like a snake’s, rough and strong like a lion’s, or... some other big cat for that matter. If Wednesday had to choose one animal – one that wasn’t taken off a page of a book on Japanese myths and legends and that could easily describe the beastly image of (Y/n)’s blood moon form –  it would certainly be a feline.

She isn’t completely sure how she should treat this giant beast in front of her. Obviously it isn’t her first time encountering the oni in such a state, but this is the first ever time they meet in such close proximity and, dare she say… intimate conditions, compared to chasing after the wild creature in the woods outside Nevermore, at least. Sure, the monster is far from human-looking, but its morphed face with the toothy maw and widened, cat-like snout still bears some features she can easily recognize as belonging to her lover.

Taking one last lick of the seer’s now excessively wet cheek, (Y/n) pulls away, a very wide and satisfied grin on her face. Wednesday wonders if it’s the last thing the demon’s prey usually sees before it’s torn to shreds — the display is off-putting night terror material and she finds it charming.

“Alright. I suppose you’ve never tried sleeping in this form either. I hope I won’t have to wrestle your excited self to bed.”

When Wednesday turns to head over to the closet in the corner of the room, the demon moves to stand on her feet, wanting to follow the small ravenette, and her horns bump against the ceiling, making the room shake slightly.

“No,” Wednesday frowns, “Down. Be a good girl and wait for me.”

(Y/n) grunts in bratty annoyance but complies, plopping herself on the floor and giving the room another solid mini-earthquake, huffing at Wednesday in what the seer is sure would’ve been some sort of a sarcastic comeback if the demon had any vocal cords to verbalize it with.

Wednesday is quick to get a change of clothes, picking the first shirt out of (Y/n)’s closet she can reach, afraid that the demon might turn to mischief if she was out of her sight for too long, but when she turns back to look at (Y/n), she finds her on the exact same spot. The demon watches her, slitted curious eyes fixed on her face, the display of obedience utterly surprising. It seems like the pendant is indeed working its wonders, though Wednesday can’t help but think it’s not the only reason.

“Come now. Get off the dirty floor. I can’t have you sleeping on a rug like some animal.”

Wednesday is faced with yet another challenge to her impeccable mind – fitting a 10-foot creature into a one-person bed. She looks up at the demon at her side, then back at the bed, and for a second considers to just let the oni sleep on the floor – of course (Y/n) would want Wednesday to take her bed, but...

(Y/n) yawns, maw wide open and baring her huge crooked tusks, then moves towards the bed, collapsing down onto the poor mattress heavily and curling up. Her clawed feet dangle over the edge, and her tail is left to lie on the floor.

Well, this would just have to do.

The demon presses her back to the wall as far as it could go, leaving a small, cozy spot next to her.

She will just have to suffer.

With a heavy sigh Wednesday moves to flick off the desk lamp and joins the oni in bed, facing her heavy jaw. Golden eyes shine in the pitch darkness, and a warm cloud of vapor flutters from (Y/n)’s nose, making Wednesday squeeze her eyes. She receives what she thinks is an apologetic lick to her chin before the demon shuts her eyes too, and Wednesday can feel the monster’s rough tail slither around her waist it a tight grip.

At least she doesn’t have any fur to shed all over the place.

Wednesday tucks her head under the demon’s chin, and finds herself in a warm, nest-like embrace of one of the deadliest creatures in the universe. It’s relieving, protective even, as much as Wednesday has never craved either of those abstracts. She feels a big clawed hand cradle her head, and the soft purring wrapping around her whole being like a soft blanket lulls her to sleep almost immediately.

(Y/n) awakes with a throbbing ache all over her body – not unusual or surprising, though still rather unpleasant. She grimaces, lifting her right palm to rub at her face, her sleepy clumsiness causing her claw to scratch at her cheek slightly. She tries to lift her left arm to join the other in rubbing the pain away from her head and face, but finds it unable to move.

The demon opens her eyes finally, glancing down to find a small body cuddled to her chest, asleep like a baby – or rather like a corpse, a comparison more fitting considering how cold and unmoving the body is, and (Y/n) shivers when she feels the freezing temperature of Wednesday’s feet entwined with her own.

I’m getting you a pair of fuzzy socks this Christmas. Hot pink ones.

The demon’s thoughts trail back to the events of the previous night, blurry and fragmented, but comprehensive enough to assure (Y/n) that she, in fact, did not hurt the seer in her beast-like state. The only thing harmed, she supposes, was her pride, as she recalls licking Wednesday’s cheek and wagging her tail like a dumb, excited dog.

She could live with that.

The oni lets her troubling thoughts roam free somewhere in the back of her mind and focuses all her humane attention on the black-haired girl in her embrace instead, resting her hand between their bodies. (Y/n)’s other arm is trapped under Wednesday, her bicep serving as a perfect pillow for the goth’s neck, and the demon watches the ravenette breathe calmly, exhaling through her soft lips, with gentle fondness. It’s a nice privilege, she thinks, to be able to see Wednesday like this – peaceful, guard down completely, face devoid of an annoyed expression.

(Y/n) feels her heart racing in her ribcage as she stares at the plush of the goth’s mouth, so full and perfect the demon can’t keep a small, almost possessive growl from rumbling in her throat lowly, unable to convey her feelings in any other way without waking the very object of her ardent passions. In her head she’s already tearing down the walls and gnawing at every bit of furniture she can find.

The oni resorts to leaning in and resting her own lips on Wednesday’s gently in an effort to calm the beast inside of her. Her hulky teeth bump into the softness, ungainly and rough against what she swears is like virgin cotton to the touch. The growling in the back of her throat is replaced by purring.

With both herself and her monster satisfied she pulls away, leaning her head back on the pillow and huffing in content. She continues watching Wednesday, observing the faint touch of freckles on her nose and cheeks, then moves her still vacant arm to place it over the smaller girl’s waist, careful not to disturb her. The goth hums in her sleep, unconsciously nuzzling further into (Y/n), and the demon shudders again, this time at the coldness of Wednesday’s nose pressing into her neck.

Wednesday wakes up to the sound of what she thinks is some powerful machine engine vibrating right against her right ear, warm but surprisingly soft.

She opens her eyes and finds she’s still tucked under (Y/n)’s jaw – although the jaw is of a normal size now, and Wednesday allows herself a small affectionate smile when she finds the demon girl back to her usual self, albeit naked, slightly disheveled and purring up a storm.

Something is a bit off though. A weird clamping on her lower half.

It feels like a thick rope wrapped around her leg, squeezing – Wednesday is mostly familiar with the sensation of being tied up – but the pressure isn’t at all uncomfortable. Grounding, rather, and pleasant in a sense.

The seer cranes her neck to look down and finds a long, textured tail wrapped around her thigh.

(Y/n)’s tail.

The demon herself is sleeping soundly, her arm on the ravenette’s waist, completely unaware of the new attribute to her appearance.

Wednesday stares at the appendage, unsure how to proceed. This is... new, and she doesn’t want to overstep any boundaries with the demon, so trying to unwind the tail from her leg manually is out of question. She thinks about waking (Y/n) up, but that doesn’t sound pleasant either, not with the girl lying there, snuggly wrapped around Wednesday in all the possible ways, blessed with what must be the best sleep she’s gotten this week. This month, even – blood moons have been gaining frequency recently.

Wednesday huffs through her nose softly, then presses her head back against (Y/n)’s chest, ready to accept defeat. Unfortunately – or maybe fortunately – for her, the slightest movement of the small body next to (Y/n) stirs her awake. Her throat rumbles with a sleepy prrbbtt sound that makes Wednesday bite her lip to keep a small smile from overtaking her usual scowl. The arm on her waist presses her closer before (Y/n) changes her position suddenly, rolling over onto her back and tugging the smaller girl on top of her, and this time the seer can’t hold back a noise of surprise as she’s handled like she weighs nothing to the demon. Which she probably does.

“(Y/n).” She calls softly, but the oni doesn’t budge.

Wednesday frowns, then reaches her hand up to tug at the demon’s long pointy ear gently, raising her voice a bit, “(Y/n).”

This time the girl squints one eye open.

“It’s early.” She grumbles, voice hoarse with sleepiness.

“I don’t want to alarm you,” the goth begins, trying her best to come up with a euphemism to describe what’s happening, “But it seems we’ve become... tangled in a small predicament.”

“Hm?”

There’s a slight subconscious squeeze to the meat of Wednesday’s thigh that makes her breath hitch.

“What the hell?”

(Y/n)’s eyes fly wide open, all the grogginess gone as she looks down at where she holds Wednesday in a way she never thought she would.

The beast inside of her purrs with possessiveness at the sight of her tail snug around the seer’s thigh, but the rational part of her screams that the appendage isn’t even supposed to be there in the first place.

(Y/n) untangles it quickly, and Wednesday finds herself missing the warm pressure immediately. It’s replaced with the demon’s warm hand padding at Wednesday’s thigh carefully to smooth away any pain and check for an injury or a bruise. The touch sends a small shiver down the goth’s spine.

“Are you alright? Did it hurt? How did that even happen?” (Y/n) exclaims, grabbing at her tail to give it a sharp tug, as if to check if it’s really there, attached to her loin, and winces when the not-so-gentle movement brings a sting to her coccyx.

“It must be some kind of a side effect of your transformation,” Wednesday observes calmly.

“This has never happened before!”

The smaller girl is grabbed and lifted, as gently as possible, off the demon’s frame before she can retort – the oni gets up from the bed hastily, her brand new appendage swishing behind her with aggravation, knocking a picture frame off the bedside table that Wednesday manages to catch before it can hit the floor and shatter into many pieces.

“(Y/n). You need to compose yourself.” The ravenette places the frame back carefully, tilting her head to inspect the photo. It’s a picture of her and the oni at the last year’s Rave’n Dance, Wednesday’s hand on (Y/n)’s shoulder as she looked up at the demon with what could only be described as adoration.

“I can’t!” The demon flings her arms, “Look at this!”

She makes a demonstrative movement of her tail, the long scaly limb moving sharply from side to side. The sight is, indeed, bizarre, doubled by the fact that the demon is stark naked.

Wednesday finds her gaze lingering.

“What am I supposed to do with it?”

“You’re exaggerating,” Wednesday sighs, swinging her feet over the edge of the bed, “Go cool yourself off. I’ll think of something.”

(Y/n) shakes her head in irritation but complies, walking into the bathroom, her tail hitting the doorframe as it swings around furiously. The door slams closed, and Wednesday is left alone with her thoughts, some of which are far from innocent.

The water’s been running in the bathroom for half an hour now as Wednesday sits at (Y/n)’s desk, having moved closer to the window for better lighting, the demon’s uniform pants in her hands as she works with a needle carefully, making a stitch around the small circle she has cut out from the back of the garment. Her brows are furrowed in focus, her thin elegant fingers handling the tool with masterful precision. She makes a few of the last stitches, tugs at the seams to check the sturdiness of her work, then cuts the thread with a quick bite of her teeth and puts the needle away. She holds the pants up to the sunlight, a small smile on her face, just in time with the door bursting open to reveal a fuming half-dressed demon.

“I’m skipping classes today.” (Y/n) grunts, holding a towel in a clawed palm and rubbing at her damp hair with extra vigor.

“No, you aren’t,” Wednesday gets up and offers the improved garment to the girl, “Put these on.”

The demon dresses reluctantly, leaving her blazer undone, then tugs her uniform pants up her waist. She growls with ire when the base of her tail bumps against the belt.

“This fucking thing.”

Wednesday smacks (Y/n)’s hands away and pulls at the boney limb gently, guiding its end through the makeshift hole as the demon continues to whine and growl softly.

“I hate this.”

“I know.”

Just as Wednesday expected, it fits like a glove, sliding through the hole smoothly.

“There.”

The demon is silent for a moment, moving her tail back and forth to check for any discomfort or obstacles for the appendage, before she turns round and gives herself a once-over in the mirror, eyeing the hole in her pants.

“Did... did you do this?”

Wednesday hums noncommittally.

“It’s nothing complicated.”

(Y/n) grins at the goth, leaning down to press a kiss to the corner of her mouth.

“Thank you. I love you.”

“It’s quite alright. I assure you... the view is more than appealing. It would be a shame to hide.”

The demon purrs in reply, her tail moving to wrap around Wednesday’s middle and pulling her into its owner’s chest so she could press her lips to the seer’s.

“Honestly, I don’t think I’d be able to hide it. It’s worse than a boner during a rut.”

Wednesday hums, her hands busying themselves with buttoning the taller girl’s blazer up.

“Don’t worry. I’d take care of that, too.”

She gives a small satisfied smile at the red hue of (Y/n)’s cheeks.

The long, boring essay on botany is the last thing on Wednesday’s mind when they sit together, shoulders touching. The demon seems focused, the tip of her sharp tongue sticking from between her lips as she scribbles something on her paper, determined to get a good grade (or maybe a praise from her very intelligent girlfriend, but that’s irrelevant), and her tail swishes slowly and calmly in her concentration.

The Addams girl eyes it discreetly, her gaze following the blunt spikes framing the texture of the appendage, before she gives the class a small look around. Everyone’s heads seem to be down: Enid is on the verge of tears, struggling over her paper, Kent scratches at his temple with a pen, and somewhere in the front rows Bianca is whispering something to Divina.

Perfect.

After a brief moment of mischievous scheming, Wednesday leans back in her seat and reaches her palm to rest on the small of the demon’s back experimentally.  (Y/n) gives a quiet appreciative hum, but doesn’t switch her attention to her girlfriend, too engrossed in her writing. The seer palms at her waist for a bit, caressing gently, before she curls her fingers and begins to scratch at the demon’s lower back.

(Y/n)’s eyes widen, and she turns to meet Wednesday’s, her face flushing slightly. The goth only offers a small smirk as an answer to the silent inquiry of the demon’s confused gaze, and slides her hand even lower, slender fingers slithering under the waistband of the oni’s uniform to scratch at the base of (Y/n)’s tail.

A small surprised whine leaves the taller girl’s mouth, and she folds over the desk, burying her face in her hands to keep any more pathetic noises from escaping as goosebumps raise up her spine and all over her limbs at the feeling of Wednesday’s blunt nails at one of her most sensitive spots.

Wednesday scratches deeper, and the demon grasps at the edge of the table in an attempt to calm down, her talons leaving deep marks on the polished wood. Her tail starts to wag emotively, catching the attention of some of the students – the ravenette meets Xavier’s amused glance, and the glare she sends his way is enough to refrain him from looking in their direction again.

“What’s it with you and humiliating me in public, Addams?” (Y/n) seethes through clenched teeth. She lifts her head from the desk, revealing her crimson cheeks.

Wednesday can’t hold back a smile. The tiniest bit smug one, too.

“Oh, I just can’t help it. Chaton.”

[amyriadofleaves]

outside it starts to pour — neuvillette | chapter six

synopsis: in the limelight of fontaine, the prying eyes of its people never truly tears their gaze off the iudex and you, the présidence du conseil d'état, which makes for baseless rumours to fester and echo throughout the theatrics of opera. you and neuvillette are challenged by the reputations the both of you are expected to uphold, and the weighty decision to navigate these intricacies rests upon the discerning judgement of fontaine's archon.

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⌗ pairing : neuvillette x fem!reader ⌗ feat : neuvillette, reader, charlotte ⌗ warnings : n/a ⌗ word count: 4.8k

A subordinate of whom you do not recognise leaves a copy of the latest news on your desk and you do not pay it any mind until your lips leave your teacup of Fonta.

A MOST ROMANTIC SIGHT OF FONTAINE’S MOST INFLUENTIAL COUPLE SHATTERED BY THE BURSTING OF THE FOUNTAIN OF LUCINE!

You cannot say you are surprised; such a reaction was to be anticipated. The events of last night were far from ordinary, and the ring adorning your finger gleams in the sunlight streaming like bands through the blinds, affirming the reality of it all.

“An official report of this has been issued. Of whom do you wish to appoint this case to?”

“Why, myself of course,” you say primly, intonation insinuating the end of your phrase — but you take in a sharpened breath to continue. “Unless the Chief Justice — my fiance, might I add — wishes to accompany me. And if that ever so happens you may scribble his name of contribution in a footnote.”

The boy takes a hesitant step forward. “But, Madame, we have fresh graduates awaiting a job to take up. Wouldn't it be easier to have them do the work for you?”

You tut. “Oh, but that just won’t do. Doing the ‘work for me’, young man, does not mean doing the work effectively. I am not partial to cleaning up after my… protégés, if you will.” Another sip of your Fonta seems to shush any questions he might beg, and he complies, leaving you alone in your office. 

And he’s left the door ajar. Pity.

As you stand, your chair scrapes against the marble and you wince. I should call for someone to replace the rubber padding of the legs, you note, rolling the tabloid into a scroll. 

Though your stride is fast and your heels click a little too loudly for anyone’s comfort, you steal some time to skim through the newspaper.

A monochrome print of your outfit from yesterday makes a statement in a tiny corner of the paper you hold in your hands, and you almost smile. So people do like me! Perhaps it is your own self critique, but the words on the street after the Poisson incident were nothing shy of foul — not to mention how your rising to fame caught the attention of all the aristocrats in Fontaine (as Furina had once quipped, unaware you were right outside Monsieur Neuvillette’s office). You do not know what to take from it. 

If more surges of the prophecy begin to manifest, it is mostly up to you to take yourself up on the job — another result of Furina’s damned dereliction. 

Being proposed to does not cease the relentless flow of living, and thus is the sole reason why your feet drag you to the very precinct of Palais Mermonia. Fear lingers; you had just narrowly scraped death by a hair’s breadth, saved by your own reflexes at freezing the Fountain of Lucine before you could witness people dissolving into the very floors at which justice is determined.

Though the case is not very much ‘civil’ as your title suggests, there is no one better to take care of the problem if not you. And it does take into account the lives of people, so you do suppose that it is quite ‘civil’; in the context that it won’t very well be if more people die.

In layman’s terms, you have a case to solve that is very much your sole responsibility.

But this does not mean that you aren’t blazingly furious at the one who is supposed to spare her subjects from the injustice that is death; the sole guillotine looming over Fontaine. 

Before you allow the guards to open the door, you lose the pencil in your hair and card your fingers through it to restore its lost volume. When the door does open, a crowd seems to swarm when you make an appearance at the front step — and you eye them with a sort of caution that has you preemptively biting your tongue. The stench of sweat and body odour shoot through your senses in one swift motion, and you almost lurch forward to gag, the flashing of cameras a blinding curtain over your sight. 

And the queries commence.

"What measures have you taken to avert us from the prophecy?" a reporter cries out, thrusting a microphone toward your face, his crew trailing closely behind.

Another person, to whom you presume to be no older than twenty shouts warily. “Is it true that you are to be wed to the Chief Justice? What does this mean for your future and your new career?”

“Over here!”

“One for the cameras!’

You take a calculated move to disregard their questions and push further through the crowd — only to realise how much of a grave mistake you’ve made. An influx of more people come pouring in, snuffing the place out of any oxygen you can steal for yourself; and before you know it, you are unable to breathe. The throng of people swells and the contact of skin against skin from all the pressing bodies floods over you like a deluge.

Navigating your mind is the main challenge for a situation like this; how is one meant to think straight if all compass fails?  Your eyes flicker to the floor, and you realise the space that surrounds you as if you are a magnet repelling its own pole; but this does not stop them from pushing in further. Regret is the first emotion you feel out of anything; Why did I sign myself up for this job? Is one of the questions that cry out— but it dissipates when the more people fight through the field.

Shitshitshitshit! It almost feels like the very ground you stand on begins to cave in and you’re shrinking under the captious gazes of all the cameras and you feel so small. A fruitless attempt to create space brings everything to an impasse; and then everything falls silent. 

The crowd parts as your vision clears and your breathing slows. Damn it to the heat of the moment, but you swear you hear your heart pounding like a gong in the very forefront of your head. There he is, your knight in shining armour, as another headline stated — and if you were any more spiteful, your voice would’ve dripped with malice at the very notion of having him, the Chief Justice, by your side at every inconvenience.

But he seems to just do that at this ‘inconvenience’.

A low voice vibrates against your back and you feel a chill tease at your spine. “It is not necessary for you to converge at the Palais at this hour. I implore you all to return to wherever you came from, for my partner and I have important matters to attend to at this moment.”

This only prompts a surge of questions that drown out any attempts of the people to break through the surface of the stampede. Something — of what you presume to be a sharp edge of camera gear — grazes your side, and you physically feel a stitch come undone. The initial sting is almost akin to an ant bite, and you instinctively press your palm against it and hope that the pain from the pressure can override any pain from the wound. Pivoting, your left knee buckles as you shift your weight, your frame now shielded from the majority of the crowd. Lifting your cupped palm away from your hip, a little patch of red comes to bloom under the soft drapes of fabric of your blouse. This is what happens when you don’t take health care seriously, you jest in your mind: a fruitless attempt at diverting your attention elsewhere even if it is for a measly few seconds.  Allowing your arm to slacken, your elbow nestles firmly against your side, offering brief respite from the discomfort.

Your ears begin to ring at the sudden crescendo of voices after the Iudex’s silence, and you briefly glance at him before you realise he is peering closely at you, ultramarine eyes trailing to the very curve of your hip. 

“Must I reiterate — my partner and I have an urgent case to attend to, so if you would please excuse us.” A brief smile tugs at his lips, but it is an exasperated one. He reaches for your waist — to which he then withdraws, choosing instead to have his fingers interlace with your own. Almost dazed, you stare at your now elevated hand, and then to him, with an almost astonished awe that can only be considered as such: a want to slap him. This is certainly not of his character! What audacity…

It all happens so swiftly you have no time to turn your head at the voice that comes from the man to your left. He brings his lips to your ear and you barely make out the words — and yet the main message still prevails. “Stay close to me,” is the honey-lined command he mutters under his breath. 

He starts his advancement through the crowd, and you absentmindedly comply and attempt to replicate his pace — albeit with a noticeable limp in your gait (your attempt to shield it only has the multiple daggers piercing from within to grow into a grotesque violence). A certain demographic splits away from the crowd, retreating; another, more resilient and stubborn, stand as though secured with screws embedded into cement. Some claw at your blouse, and some to your skirt — and you cannot tell if the shouts that leave their mouths are profanities, praise, or whatever else stands in the blur of the in between.

The autumn chill freezes the warmth that once wrapped around your limbs and leaves a delicate, yet lingering frost on the apples of your cheeks. Suffocating as the influx of people was, you are now free from them, and you look back to see the aftermath of dejected faces and the subsiding of camera shutters. 

Awareness has you stealing a  brief look downward and and you feel a slight prickle of a sting at the clarity. You do not want to tend to it now; hence why you freeze a layer of ice under the gauze with strained effort. 2-in-1! Numbing cream and makeshift stitch!

With now being spared the imploring curiosity of mortality, you do not hesitate to drop Neuvillette’s hand. 

For good measure, you look past the man’s shoulder and over your own; a part of you tells you that no one is around — but how can you trust your surety? You are human; and to be human is to be defined by the errors that scream through the flesh of your being.

“There was no necessity for you to aid me, Monsieur. I was — and still am — completely, and utterly alright.” You do not turn to face him, nor do you dare to stop walking.

Neuvillette lags behind, his presence only recognisable from the shine of his boots under the sun. “I assure you it was not an action of intent, Madame; I was only off to seek a brief reprise from my duties, but instead, I was met with quite the group of people swarming you outside the Palais. Surely you must know this act was merely my own responsibility as —”

Strides fueled by adrenaline come to a brief stop and you whirl on your heel, met with a bewildered Neuvillette stopping just before he can collide into you. “Yes I do, very much know that, Chief Justice.” You lift your heel and swing it lightly backwards, stretching the distance between the two of you. “Now if you’ll excuse me; I am to mediate the threat that the Fountain poses right now.”

Instead of being patient enough to wait for a response, you curtsy and turn to leave. Someone just so happens to not take the memo, and you stop your stride again. “What is it now?”

“I am a man of my word, Madame; I claimed to have a role in what happened last night to the people, and so I must certainly be of service.”

Dejected as you are, you still remain unwavering in your gaze. “...Right.”

Neuvillette chooses not to refute, and you do not find it in yourself to speak. It is a walk of shame, almost — but the indignity lies not in the quiet, but rather in the Chief Justice's inaction in releasing the tension.

You steal a glance at Neuvillette, hoping for some sign of reassurance or understanding, but his expression remains impassive.

Your pace is now unrhythmic. The impulse to disrupt this unsettling silence with anything — a word, a gesture, or a mere breath — becomes a refuge sought in the recesses of your mounting desperation; because, God, you cannot stand another minute with this man! Yet, a brief flit of what he might be thinking gives you a taste of how, most probably, he is not feeling as disturbed as you are right now. Observing him from the corner of your eye, his demeanour remains unperturbed. Damn him and his impartiality.

Someone chooses to finally shatter the static, and it is not you nor Neuvillette. Instead it is that reporter: Charlotte. Though you do not see her, the sheer recognition of who it is is confirmed when she sounds from behind, and the two of you turn your heads almost in unison. A head of baby pink hair is the first aspect of her that you notice, and everything else comes into full view.

She claps her hands with a roll of paper in her left. “Oh. My. God. I have been struck with luck today, it seems! You would not care as to spare a few minutes of your time for some questions, would you?” 

You exhale a nervous laugh, looking to Neuvillette to reject the offer.

Beaming, she turns to you, and lays a friendly hand on your wrist. “I’m a big fan. It is an honour to finally meet you in person.” 

That is undoubtedly a first. Maybe she thought you were the acting chief justice? As President of the Conseil d'État, you haven't accomplished anything particularly noteworthy to warrant or merit such commendation. 

Clearing your throat, you bring forth the most professional smile you can muster. “And to you, too, Charlotte. Though I am afraid we are quite occupied with other responsibilities… Perhaps we could arrange an official meeting for an interview? Just let me know of your schedule.” 

“Oh! That is very kind of you, Madame. I will certainly send you my schedule and please, pick what date as you see fit.” Her eyes shift from yours to Neuvillette. “And congratulations on your engagement! The topic of your engagement has been thrown into every conversation under the sun. Trust me, I’ve seen it.”

Neuvillette closes in a little nearer, clearly piqued by her claim. “Really? I certainly did not foresee this to be upped to such a… grand scale. But surely —” He jolts at you nudging his arm to stop. “Ah. Yes. I apologise greatly, Charlotte, but the matter at hand is far too grave.”

“Yeah, sure — no biggie. See you two around!”

And there she goes, frolicking like a little girl in an open field. “A strange one, that girl.” You say, a tinge of amusement in your tone. Deep down, you are grateful that she happened to be there: a casual catalyst to have conversation up and running again. You pretend you do not dislike the man in front of you.

He hums a little. “Her childlike innocence is seldom seen nowadays; it is a quality I have so wished to feel.” 

You turn to him, eyes narrowing in scepticism. “Never have I met someone with a childhood so terrible.”

His expression seems to tighten, almost as if he’s been caught. “That was not what I meant, I am merely enamoured and simply jealous at how people can still enjoy their youth. You feel that way, too, don’t you?”

You do not completely buy into his claim, yet you decide to play along. “What do you think?”

Another beat of silence.

“We must make haste,” he says.

“Indeed we must.”

To feel relieved or concerned at the lack of people at the Opera Epiclese is another question that looms like jeopardy trivia. Its perimeter is boarded by tape and identified with a bold AUTHORISED PERSONNEL ONLY at its entrance. A peculiar stillness blankets Erinnyes, the previously flowing waters now arrested in their motion, the sight of a frozen fountain showing bright and iridescent in the setting sun.

The man next to you looks forward as if entranced, the reason for the fall of his expression unreadable. His gaze drops to yours and he snaps himself out of it. “Ladies first,” he says, extending his arm as a gesture of courtesy.

“I do not like that this is the first time you’ve shown me such courtesy in the context of such dire circumstances in which I could possibly die if the water thaws,” you jest offhandedly, but you do not think he takes it the same way. 

“Forgive me if I have insulted you, Madame. I did not think my actions through,” he starts, but you stop him with a tut before he can continue further.

“Yes, Monsieur. You have insulted me and you certainly did not think your actions through.” you shoot him a glare.

"Was that... a joke? I certainly have not the talent which some people possess of conversinf easily. I apologise."

You scoff and brush past him, and though you do not see it — you just have a feeling he won’t attempt to overtake you in the dominance of your stride. And he doesn’t.

The Fountain is now dripping as it melts, its opal waters catching itself in the crevices of the ground. It lulls you ever so slightly, at how it trickles with an inexplicable slowness, a second longer than that of normal water; a possible explanation for why the Fountain has not fully melted yet.

There is a puddle of the Primordial water in front of you, and a sudden desire to touch it surges through you; it is a strange longing, but it lures you in like a moth to a flame.  It wouldn't harm anyone to continue staring at it for a little bit, would it? You've always questioned if you were indeed Fontainian, and the solution to your dilemma is poised in front of you, pulling you toward it. 

“Just what do you think you’re doing?” The Iudex has his hand wrapped around your wrist, his gaze a warning. You do not know what has gotten into you — hell, you don’t even remember reaching for it. 

You wriggle your arm from his grasp. “Don’t think much of it.” You feel protectively at your hand up until the base. 

Neuvillette’s gaze lingers, before he soundlessly leaves your side. He makes his way to the other end of the Fountain of Lucine, where he examines it with such curiosity you begin to wonder what he finds intriguing about the rear end of a Fountain that appears uniform at every angle.

A shout sounds from you and reaches the man on the other side of the fountain. “So. Mister Chief Justice. What do you think we should do?" He seems just as entranced as you are, eyes not compensating to find yours as his lips move to find a response.

“I think I can possibly revert the waters to how they once were — store it deeper inside the Fountain,” as he speaks, he begins to advance in a return to your side.“But I can only work with bodies of water, not ice. So I need to request a favour from you.”

Unsure of where he is taking this, you reply with a diffident: “Sure.”

He is now standing in front of you (it is a little too close, however — so you shuffle backwards). “Could you… possibly — no, that wouldn’t work.” He stops midway, a wrinkle forming between his blond brows. What an awfully peculiar man he is, you think, eyeing the way he seems to be finding other words to phrase what he was to say better. You think he fails to do so when his slightly ajar mouth closes.

You would be a fraud to say you weren’t curious. “No. Tell me.”

“It was merely an afterthought, and I suppose now that you still wouldn’t be up for it if I told you, so I might as well. Is it possible for you to reverse your freezing of the ice? To revert it back to its liquid state, so to speak?"

Your eyes dart to your hands, and you bargain the sheer potential of your power; you are able to manipulate the waters into ice — this you know — but to revert ice to water? It is certainly not unheard of, and yet you would consider such a method to be unorthodox; nothing of the sort was ever taught in schools, let alone by tutors. A memory from your youth resurfaces, your father’s blaring, forceful voice a menacing exploitation of your power he so desperately wanted to possess.

Flair was a spectacle — a luxury; for flaunting your own strength resulted in punishment.

“I cannot promise you anything. Do not be so much as dejected when my attempts prove to be futile, Monsieur.”

With an interest piqued, he brings his eyes to level with yours. “There shall be no need to worry if it fails. I have another idea we could resort to.” Something in your intuition had you feeling he thought you wouldn’t agree. 

“Wouldn’t the water annihilate the both of us?”

His eyes shoot to the now dimming sky, not stealing a glance at the gloves he begins to adjust. “I will restrain the flow of water, you need not be concerned.”

You roll your shoulders back. “Well. Doesn’t hurt to try.”

Though he does not respond, he takes a step back, allowing you the full expanse of the Fountain. You wriggle and flex your fingers. Shouldn’t be too hard, you tell yourself. How difficult could it possibly be? If anything, it is just a test of your skill; where are the cameras? If they were to take photos of you, you would love it if they would right now. Or maybe they find it all too mundane. Downfall and drama is what they prey on, after all.

Your eyes flutter closed, and you begin to reach into the ice with everything within you, forcing it toward you with a tug so hard it has you winded. The autumn chill intensifies as the wind carries the ice like a vice. Of all the things you think of, you are reminded of your father’s distant coldness: an extinguisher of warmth (of which belonged to your mother). It is a bitter childhood memory — one of an empty seat at dinner tables and palpable fury. You can almost hear your father’s voice, distorted as all memories are (they all come perfect, uniform — and yet they leave like glass breaking off at the hands of an all-too-passionate lover).

Ice crawls up your arm, the numbness a factor you do not pay any attention to. You cannot deny that this does bring you an odd discomfort, for the discomfort you usually feel at the use of your Vision is a draining of energy to create; yet this is the first time you’ve ever been required to destroy. 

It slows your pulse, as ice does, and your eyes fight to shoot open at the idea of a slip of your consciousness. Yet you still pursue. Pulling harder this time, the oxygen in your lungs grows frigid and cut like knives against your ribcage. You attempt to channel more with pure instinct, but you cannot. There is nothing for you to reach.

With finality, you permit your eyes to flutter open, all the pain you should be feeling blurring into the foreground when greeted with a vista of bright blues and the billowing of the Iudex’s robes. Your arm instinctively lifts to shield yourself from the roaring wind.

A halo of azure hues encircle his wrists, lacing through his hair. The water remains frozen, but it is not from the ice that you hold dear, and instead it is from his outstretched hands, twisting against the tide in attempts to turn back time against the current.

You stagger backwards, and yet you miraculously feel grounded in place, a paradox of numbness and pain you wish not to acknowledge. The seal he begins to place against the water ripples through the air like a soundwave, stripping you of any hearing and in its absence is replaced by a constant ringing. 

Neuvillette drops his arm, the suspended droplets of water following suit, crushed under the weight of his command. Everything seems to snap into motion the second the Fountain stills, a single wave of harsh wind fluttering through Erinnyes, the familiar rattle of trees swaying teasing at your ears.

Something about the whole spectacle seems like a fantasy, those of which you hear about in fables and folklore. 

“Bravo,” you muse, noticing the way his shoulders sag.

The Chief Justice looks over his shoulder, slate eyes morphing into wide ones as he takes in your frame. “My, you’re awfully pale.”

You flash him a tired smile. “Nothing I can’t handle. And no, I am not pale — this is an insult. I am perfectly sunkissed, so much so that every man and woman desires me or desires to be me.” You wave him away, your hand limp in its action.

The Iudex’s face only deepens in distress. You do not give him room to speak. “Why the long face hm? Surely you don’t think so lowly of me. Surely you…” Weights weigh in on your eyelids, and your knees buckle. An attempt to balance yourself with your other foot fails, and instead of meeting hard cement the warmth of an unwanted embrace greets you. 

“(Name),” he mutters. Your name rolls off his tongue like a curse; ludicrous. “You’re bleeding.”

Instinctively you use his arms as leverage. “I am fine, Monsieur. I am no princess in need of saving — oh! Nevermind, you are right,” you slur, a hand you never realised was on your hip coming away red. A drunk smile flickers on your features for a brief moment before you slump again into his arms.

He stumbles backwards at the suddenness of your movement, but his grip is firm. “You are unfit for a trip back to the city. I must escort you.” His breath brushes against the nape of your neck. 

You push him away. “Do not treat me as if I’m a child, young man. I can manage myself, I am a grown woman and I am employed. That says something, doesn’t it?” Defensively, you point at yourself to prove that you are not injured. Your claim contradicts itself; your sight begins to fail, blurred by growing black spots dotting your vision.

“Madame, please. You have over-exerted yourself.”

The Iudex’s voice comes as a muffled blur, and you attempt to take a step forward — but it is limp and miscalculated. Neuvillette's gaze briefly falls to your hands, his touch supporting you with one hand on your back and the other delicately grasping your fingers. “Goodness. Your hands are cold.” Sapphire peeks through the ice, the engagement ring a cruel reminder of the tie that binds you both.

You manage a whisper. “Not entirely. Just the palm.” You wiggle your fingers slightly, albeit with great effort. 

“Please, refrain from speaking,” he implores gently, a hint of concern laced in his voice. “It is imperative that I help you back home, so forgive me if my hold happens to be a little rough.” Before you can cry out in protest, he scoops you up, arms sliding under your inner knees and upper back. Platinum strands fall against your chest, his own rising and falling peculiarly slow. You can still make out a frown that pulls on his lips, and you almost smile at the notion that you’re the reason for his agony.

How sightly.

Your arms naturally curl around the groove of his neck. “I’ll hate you for this. Up until I am brought to my grave.”

“I believe your disdain for me would be far greater had I abandoned you,” he says plainly, no hint of jest in his tone. He adjusts his hold of you, and you slide further down into his grasp, now sandwiched between his arms and chest; you do not make any alarm of it, however, thoughts trailing to your fluffed mattress and plush pillows.

“My disdain for you is already much too cruel for a soul to comprehend,” you garble, a wisp of your misty white breath escaping as a plume.

"As it is for me," he breathes out, but you cannot read his lips.

Pointing blindly in a direction you assume is north, you declare: “Well then; if you don’t have any objections, to my apartment it is."

a/n: spot the subtle pride n prejudice reference I put for fun teehee

taglist : @sek0ya, @souxiesun

[feminismisstillahatemovement]

If you are not a close follower of American college campus politics, you are likely to be unfamiliar with a woman who has been making headlines for over a month in the US and increasingly around the world. The lady in question, one Claudine Gay, was President of Harvard, one of the most renowned educational institutions in the world, until earlier this week when she resigned over plagiarism allegations.

Why does or should anyone care about this? Well, Gay’s decision to step down is the culmination of long-running efforts to address the cancer at the heart of Western societies: the idea that the way to fix injustices of the past is to commit injustices today.

Following her resignation, Gay’s defenders were quick to emphasise the racial dimension of this story. Ibram X. Kendi, for example, tweeted that “Racist mobs won’t stop until they topple all Black people from positions of power and influence who are not reinforcing the structure of racism”.

And while his claims of this being a racist campaign are absurd, it is true that Gay was not targeted solely for seemingly adopting the personal motto: “I came, I saw, I copied”. She became a focus of major Harvard donor concerns and a media campaign led by Christopher Rufo – a man I would approvingly describe as the diversity industry’s greatest enemy – in the light of her mind-boggling testimony in Congress. Her statements, given alongside the Presidents of MIT and UPenn, revealed the core of the ideology the entire Western education system is based on in all its glory.

The oppressor vs. oppressed mindset which is - no matter how uncomfortable this may make some readers - cultural Marxism, says simply that white people and “over-performing” minorities like Indians, Jews, Chinese, Japanese and Korean Americans should be discriminated against in hiring and student applications in favour of “underprivileged groups”. As a result, college campuses on which regular meltdowns have occurred for a decade over such “hate speech” as dressing in a Mexican costume for Halloween found themselves with nothing to say about pro-Hamas demonstrations and the harassment of Jewish students on their campuses in the wake of the October 7 attacks.

But even that is not painting the full picture. Yes, Gay, a darling of the diversity industry, was targeted for her plagiarism following her complete failure of leadership in recent months. But she was also partially targeted because of the assumption, if not outright conclusion, that the reason she was appointed in the first place was, to put it mildly, not merit alone.

After all, Gay’s primary achievement is not stellar academic work, exemplary managerial skills or even charisma and force of personality. She was appointed President of Harvard following a distinguished career in fields like “improving diversity” and researching “race and identity”. To put it bluntly, many people believe that she is a diversity hire and the reason she pushed the DEI ideology that eventually led to her appalling testimony in Congress is that she is herself a beneficiary of it.

To be clear, she has not been forced out for being black. She has been forced out for being placed in a position for which she had neither the skills nor experience to succeed and then failing in it. This is the rotten legacy of affirmative action, which, as Thomas Sowell explained decades ago in 90 seconds and in many of his books since, hurts the very people it is attempting to help:

If allowing students to enter universities in which they are destined to fail for the sake of diversity harms them, then what might be said about hiring people for leadership roles in major institutions in which they are destined to fail? This harms not only them but also the people who work and study at those institutions.

To be clear, I have no evidence that Claudine Gay was hired ahead of better, more qualified candidates. But it is not hard to imagine that a position holding the prestige, reputation and nearly $1-million-a-year salary the role of Harvard President commands could have been filled by someone with more executive experience, academic achievements and other relevant expertise.

This is the other curse of the counterproductive attempts to artificially increase the presence of “underrepresented” groups in employment and education. Because everyone knows that some people are routinely given unfair preferential treatment, it becomes easier and easier for the rest of us to suspect specific individuals of being there for reasons other than merit.

So here is the truth: we must return to pursuing the goal of a colour-blind society immediately. There is no such thing as positive discrimination. All discrimination is wrong. And because it is wrong, it will create precisely the kind of resentment that Claudine Gay is now facing. She is seen as the standard-bearer of the DEI industry and is being treated as such by people who have had enough.

All of us must be treated on the content of our character. When we refuse to follow this principle, we hurt everyone: white, black, hispanic, Asian, Jewish. A healthy society relies on the equal treatment of all individuals. The fact that we have to say this out loud in 2024 is a sign of how far we’ve fallen.

DEI must be dismantled. This will take years, perhaps decades. But, in recent weeks, for the first time in a long time, we have grounds for optimism.

[olderthannetfic]

A question regarding this ask: https://olderthannetfic.tumblr.com/post/745442144318259200/so-have-you-seen-the-new-changes-patreon-pushes

I know the ask is specifically about Patreon's changes regarding NSFW stuff and I admittedly haven't looked at the changes myself, but the phrasing "creators demonstrate consent in all works between adult participants or characters" sounds to me like it could just as well endanger SFW stuff on Patreon. Maybe it's just my brain being funky sometimes, but I'm imagining a piece of SFW art that's just supposed to be cute or funny and is meant to be completely non-sexual, depicting a couple that's asleep and cuddling in a spooning position. Now, since the characters are asleep, and since people who are asleep cannot in that very moment give a "specific, informed, unambiguous indication of consent by a statement or by a clear affirmative action" due to being unconscious, could that mean it potentially wouldn't be allowed unless it's just one panel in a comic with previous panels showing the couple first getting into bed and giving clear affirmative actions and/or unambiguous spoken consent?

I just feel like the phrasing is very vague... I may just be misinterpreting things though.

Looked at the community guidelines (in german) now, and apparently it's specific to 18+ stuff (I think?). So now I'm wondering what if that picture described above was NSFW, like showing through visual cues that the couple had just had sex and they've fallen asleep together, as in the couple is depicted partially naked (but not explicitly shown), they're under a blanket and the big spoon is cupping the breast of the small spoon, and on the nightstand there's an open condom package, and they have some indicator that they're asleep above them like speech bubbles that say "zzz..." or something. Since they're asleep, they cannot consent through statement or conscious action, so the breast being cupped or the general situation may lead to the art be taken down if someone decides to be a dick and reports it, due to no totally unambiguous clear consent being given, even if the artist and their patrons know and understand it to be.

I'm probably being silly here and probably overlooked a shitton of obvious things, but I still feel like the phrasing is a bit too vague and isn't as unambiguous as Patreon and its creators are hoping, and may really fuck over some creators...

I've never used patreon as a creator or a patron, only sometimes downloaded public free Sims CC and posepacks by other simmers, but I know for example of a Sims 4 fan who creates or used to create sexual poses/posepacks for adult sim couples and published them for free public download on Patreon, and I'm also wondering how that will/would affect them.

--

Based on Patreon's past behavior, what I expect is unequal enforcement where they use the new rule to selectively go after porn peddlers they find distasteful.

[good-old-gossip]

Annihilation of education: 100 European academics sign Euro-Med Monitor petition against systematic Israeli destruction of Gaza Strip’s educational system

Occupied Palestinian Territory - About a hundred leading European academics have condemned Israel’s genocide against Palestinian civilians in the Gaza Strip, ongoing since 7 October 2023, and its physical and cultural liquidation of them. including the systematic destruction of the educational system in the Gaza Strip.

In a Euro-Med Human Rights Monitor petition titled “Annihilation of Gaza Education: Israel is systematically erasing the entire educational system”, the academics decry Israel’s physical and cultural liquidation of Palestinian civilians in the Strip and express deep concern about the Israeli army’s continued targeting of academics, educational institutions, and cultural heritage sites there.

The scholars point to knowledge and education as fundamental to human civilisation worldwide, but emphasise that for an occupied people like the Palestinians, education plays a distinctly vital role in society. Education preserves hope and freedom against oppressive, apartheid-era, and depressing policies, plus fosters culture and is essential to the achievement of both individual and societal prosperity.

The current Israeli military assaults on the Gaza Strip have caused the entire educational process there to be completely disrupted, assert the scholars. The petition warns of grave long-term ramifications due to the bombing of homes of academic, scientific, and intellectual figures without prior notice, which has already led to the killing of hundreds of teachers and thousands of students. The academics also cite estimates from the International Monetary Fund that 70% of the Strip’s colleges and universities have been destroyed, costing the education sector $720 million.

Israeli military attacks have entirely or partially destroyed six universities in the Gaza Strip: Islamic University, Al-Israa University, Rabat University, Al-Azhar University, Al-Aqsa University, and Al-Quds Open University.

The academics state that on 11 October 2023, Israeli airstrikes completely destroyed the Islamic University in Gaza City—one of the oldest institutions of higher education in the besieged Strip—in violation of the rules of international humanitarian law. These rules prohibit deliberate attacks against civilians and require the distinguishing of civilian objects from military objectives; they also call for special protection for educational and cultural institutions.

Al-Israa University was completely destroyed after the Israeli army blew up all its buildings and facilities on 17 January 2024. Before attacking the school, Israel had turned it into military barracks and then used it as a temporary detention centre. The destruction included the National Museum, which housed over 3,000 rare antiquities under licence from the Palestinian Ministry of Antiquities. The university’s administration affirmed in an official statement that the antiquities are believed to have been stolen by the Israeli army.

Additionally, three university presidents have been killed in the Israeli attacks, along with more than 95 university deans and professors; 68 of whom held professor’s degrees. Meanwhile, 88,000 students have been deprived of receiving their university education, and 555 students were not granted the international scholarships they were offered prior to the genocide.

According to the Palestinian Ministry of Education, 4,327 students have been killed and 7,819 others have been injured during the ongoing attacks, while 231 teachers and administrators have been killed and 756 injured.

The Israeli military actions may amount to premeditated killing and destruction, i.e. an attempt to kill and silence scholars involved in the Palestinian education system, which would have a massive impact on Palestinian future generations. The petition states that attacks by Israeli forces on civilian objects, particularly those classified as historical or cultural monuments protected by special laws, not only constitute a grave breach of international humanitarian law and a war crime under the Rome Statute of the International Criminal Court, but also fall under the purview of genocide.

Signatories to the Euro-Med Monitor petition urge academics, scholars, and higher education institutions worldwide to vehemently denounce Israel’s unlawful killing of Palestinian academics and its systematic destruction of Palestinian cultural and historical assets in the Gaza Strip, such as schools, universities, libraries, and archives. The academics call for the international community to shed light on this specific example of Israel’s crime of genocide, which aims to physically and culturally destroy the Palestinian people as a whole and render the Gaza Strip uninhabitable, in order to force them to relocate.

The petition demands a boycott of Israeli academic institutions that support the occupation of Palestinian lands, especially those situated inside illegal Israeli settlements and in the Occupied Palestinian Territory. These establishments normalise apartheid policies against the Palestinian people, gradual ethnic cleansing, and occupation, contend the academics.

In the same vein, over 180 British academics recently signed a separate petition denouncing the effects of the ongoing Israeli military assaults on Gaza Strip educational institutions as well as the targeting of professors, researchers, and students.

Both petitions stress that these Israeli military attacks against educational institutions in the Gaza Strip represent a clear violation of international humanitarian law, and, in addition, express solidarity with the people of Gaza, particularly students and researchers, in light of the targeting of their basic rights to survival.

Source - https://euromedmonitor.org/en/article/6220/Annihilation-of-education:-100-European-academics-sign-Euro-Med-Monitor-petition-against-systematic-Israeli-destruction-of-Gaza-Strip’s-educational-system

[raycatz]

PLEASE TELL ME MORE ABOUT YOUR DARK CRYSTAL AU (if you want to)

OH MY GOD YES PLEASE THANK YOU HELLO

Thank you for giving me an excuse to write this all out. I've written a rambly essay about wings, brief timeline thoughts, and dreamfasting!

I've been thinking way too much about gelfling wings. I like the headcanon that Hyrule is trans ftm so he gets wings (since gelfling born as girls have wings and boys do not)! I don't think he minds them at all. But it's got me thinking about other trans gelfling or how wings relate to gender for gelfling, if at all, and their utility. I've watched the original movie, the netflix series, and have read The Power of The Dark Crystal. I've skimmed Beneath The Dark Crystal and it seems like the flying troops and ground troops are split mostly between those with and without wings. One of the significant side-characters is trans and has a set of wings which are attached to like, a corset, wrap, thing. She gifts them to Kensho and he flies with them. There is a comment that "the council wants a winged leader anyways" which speaks back to the matriarchal society of Age of Resistance, but Kensho does not change anything gender-wise and still becomes leader pretty sure so like, leaders being women is what has been done traditionally but isn't required. But also like, are the worn wings magic? Can they fly on their own? In the movie Kira can't fly with her wings but only glide. Do different wings have different function, have they changed over time? I did a google search and came up with a quote from the novelization that it's the latter, that gelfling have lost the ability to fly. But then they get it back by PoTDC. Was it a symptom of the darkening, then?

BUT ANYWAYS- how does this apply to LU? Also I haven't read any of the other comics or books so I'm making a lot of this up. BUT LIKE wings seem like they'd serve a great utility. Especially for warriors even if they cannot fly but at least to glide (in the situation where the worn wings aren't magic). Maybe wing harnesses that can be worn? So Wild and Sky would get a pair as gliders. Four and Legend get a pair in place of the roc's cape and feather. I swear I saw a picture of the puppets once where it's shown Jen or Rian maybe have the outline of wings on their backs but I could also completely be making this up. But like, is the emergence of wings a coming of age thing? And if male gelfling do have vestigial wings what if there's gender affirmation surgery for trans mtf gelfling? Would it be for gender affirmation and presentation? Would it be for fashion? Utility? Would the wings have function? For gliding? What about full or partial flight? Genderfluid Wild where he's had the surgery and has some flight capability yet his wings are too small on their own so she still keeps a separate full pair which clip on and are then secured with a harness which allow for full flight. And they can swap between depending on how they feel like presenting or for utility. Legend also has a worn pair. He wears them to dress more effeminately, sometimes for gender, sometimes vibes, or as a fashion statement. (Wars too) He might also have a pair of wings that emerged but never developed to flight. There's a lot of interesting things to be done with the headcanon! (worn wings with different shapes to telegraph their function? Legend would have so many pairs, then!)

Would the worn wings be fabricated or something inherited from a passed family member, warrior, donated? There is Onica who has lost her wings so I don't think they grow back. I think Aughra would be miffed but proud of the gelfling's ingenuity: "Gave gelfling binaries to make things simple! Easier to understand! And yet they choose to listen to Thra anyways! Find their way back! PAH! What marvelous creatures! Seems they don't need Mother Aughra after all! PAH" and all the gelfling are like oh stop we do love you.

(and you know what? we can redirect Legend's righteous god-hating anger towards the Skeksis. This man would get along with Mother Aughra like a house on fire. Maybe she gives him too many quests, and maybe he resents her somewhat, but he's too fond of her as well. Aughra is Thra, after all. Maybe he just stops listening for a while. OoooOO internal conflict that has consequences in the world!!! >:D )

aaAAA Happy Pride?! Gender affirmation surgery for gelfling!

I've also been thinking about where to place these guys on the timeline. I think it'd be a shame to take them out of the same reality as the series as the preexisting cast has so much lore. Which I am not as versed in as I could be. But Age of Resistance is what sparked this so probably somewhere in that time or nearby. There's literally a great tree which bestows a vision unto Deet to leave home and save Thra but I don't want Hyrule to replace her... hmmm... I know I want them to be facing the darkening and that the crystal calls them (or calls their Zeldas). From there, idk. I mostly have ideas for some encounters for these guys with the creatures of Thra and general designs and how they're living taking the AoR clans as inspiration. (Currently I've placed them in Thra. I could also apply Thra to Hyrule. I need to weave in more Zelda elements.)

Wind would be Sifa. atm Hyrule is Grottan though that may change. I think Legend would be Sifa and Spriton, spending the harvest and planting seasons with the Spriton, and at sea the rest, but spends most of his time now traveling after an incident at sea. (He does not trust dreamfasting. OH GOD THE POTENTIAL ANGST FOR DREAMFASTING. Dreamfasting has been shown to share experienced memories- I'm unsure about actual dreams or imaginative things. Are the voiceovers in the shows shared through the dreamfast or are the gelfling speaking aloud, I'm not sure. I think that the great tree and probably Aughra might be the only characters shown to share visions? Can you imagine Legend refusing to dreamfast because he doesn't want to find out if Koholint is something he experienced in person or only dreamed of??? You also cannot pass on someone else's dreamfast and it's believed madness can be transmitted through dreamfast so there's that as well. Would there even be a way for him to tell? What if he can share it but is convinced its madness that he willed into memory? Wild's regained memories on the other hand can be eerily confirmed through dreamfast. Though that means I need to find a place earlier on the timeline to place him where something traumatic happens.) (THOUGH THE DARKENING SICKNESS- it manifests in various ways- in Power Of it grows on the gelfling and needs to be burned off with fire or purified by the crystal. It's how Kensho got his scars! It could be how Wild got his scars!) (there are lots of potential little ties to malice, gloom, and the triforce)

Wolfie is very big and has lots of teeth. I want him to be a much scarier creature to gelfling than a wolf is to a Hylian. Currently with six legs and amphibious.

That's all I've got for now. Props if you read everything! 'xD Thank you for asking!

Here are the downfall duo again!

[euphorajeon]

a/n: you = jeongguk, i = reader

You are known as someone who always dresses in dark, cold tone of the color spectrum. Black, grey, navy, maroon, you name it. So imagine how surprised I feel when you show up in front of me looking like a nice, warm day in the middle of summer.

“Hi!!” you say, grinning like a child in a candy store. You let out one of your adorable giggles through the smile, crescent eyes barely visible under the strands of your hair. It still baffles me how you make my heart skip a beat by doing just the bare minimum.

Maybe my questioning gaze is too obvious that your grin dims a little. “I look weird, don’t I?” And your inquiry makes me splutter out a rushed no so you don’t entertain that thought further. How could you think that, when all I could think about is how radiant you look?

“You look like a sunflower,” I say around a smile, relishing in the way the corners of your lips start turning up again.

“Because of the yellow jacket?” you say, hand reaching mine to entertwine our fingers together.

You’ve always liked the entertwine-kind of handholding, instead of the holding-kind handholding, I don’t know what it’s called but yeah, you know my point. You said it makes you feel safe, lets you feel my fingers in between yours, reassures you that I’m not going anywhere. I wish you’d stop worrying about stuff like that because I’m here to stay.

“Yellow jacket, black hair, blue jeans.. all that makes me think of a painting of sunflowers with the sky as the background.”

“Does that mean you think I’m beautiful?”

The wide grin is back, and it’s obvious that you’re only teasing, but I do.

I do think you are beautiful.

You don’t need to wear bright clothes to be beautiful. You don’t need to give me big grins to be beautiful. You don’t need to hold my hand to be beautiful.

Because everything about you is beautiful, from the way you scrunch your nose to the way you talk to the way you think to the way you love me to the way you let me love you even when you think you are the worst version of yourself.

You’re beautiful for so many reasons but I decide to keep it to myself and only give you an affirmation on your statement earlier.

“You’re beautiful too,” you whisper, hand tightening its hold on mine, and I don’t correct you this time, letting you think for a while that I agree with you even though my mind says you’re lying and only saying that because I said the same thing about you before. No. You made an effort to be different today, so I should too, right?

I never told anyone but my favorite thing about you is your smile. It literally looks like an emoji and it just lights up the dark corners of my brain whenever I see it. Sometimes your smile is so wide it makes your eyes form into crescents, crinkles appearing around your eyes. Sometimes your smile is accompanied by a nose scrunch. Sometimes it is with a hearty giggle, and sometimes it just appears as a simple, close-mouthed one. Either way, I will still like them all.

Right now, though, your smile is the shy kind, partially hidden by your ginormous yellow jacket that you managed to drown yourself in. It hides part of your cheeks too, but I can still see the beginning of a blush coming.

Even your shy smile can wake up the heart of a dying star, can you imagine what your wide smile would do? It could light up an entire galaxy, and the universe would be grateful to have a human being like you to exist within its arms.

For now, I’ll just let you know that I like your smile so that I can continue watching it appear on the pair of your lips. One day, a star would be re-awaken and you’ll realize that it’s because of you.

“I like your smile.”

And you grin, bright as a star, and I fall in love all over again.

august 20th, 2019

masterlist | secreto

[practically-an-x-man]

Prompt:

"It's days like this that make me wish I had stayed in bed."

Hm... there are a few different characters who could fit this sort of angst, but I'm gonna go with Quinn for this one

____ Out to Lunch

Word Count: 2.0k Content Warnings: mentions of chronic pain, hurt/comfort, swearing

____

Quinn winced as she took another step down the street, leaning heavily on her crutches. She'd been walking too long, with too little a break, and she knew it. Partially it was the weather, too - wanting to rain but not quite summoning the moisture for it, which just left everything uncomfortably muggy and sent her joints into hysterics.

"Alright, love?" Billy asked from beside her, a crease pulling between his brows in concern. Quinn shrugged, not quite an affirmative.

"I've had worse."

It was true, but she was in a lot of pain regardless. Each step brought shooting agony up her legs, and her spine felt like the Leaning Tower of Pisa- which was to say, crumbling architecture at a very unpleasant tilt. She'd surpassed her daily quota of physical exertion at least an hour ago, and now she was paying the price for it.

"Dunno why One picked us for the fuckin' supply run," Billy muttered, Quinn's pain bleeding into him in the form of annoyance.

"Probably 'cause I pissed him off at that last briefing."

"Ugh. Dick."

"It'd have been done an hour ago if he'd sent someone else, too." Quinn pointed out, "And 'e knows it. It's a punishment that doesn't look like a punishment."

"I repeat my earlier statement. Dick." Billy huffed. He tossed his head, even as his eyes roved the storefronts and pedestrians they passed along the street.

Almost unconsciously, like a bell had chimed in their head, Quinn spotted a potential target. Their fingers slipped easily into the man's pocket, drawing out a thick wallet and tucking it into the sleeve of their jacket without so much as a heartbeat's pause.

"Not bad, Q." Billy murmured, hardly loud enough to be heard, "I saw that one too."

"Practically daring me to take it," Quinn agreed, pausing to adjust their crutches and using the motion to slip the wallet into a hidden pocket in her jacket. The weight of it was oddly comforting, the success even more so. Even on one of her worse days, her fingers were quick and confident. The pedestrian hadn't even spared her a glance. She'd never lost her skill.

A moment or two later, Billy's pace quickened as an idea struck him. They'd always found that awfully cute, the way they could read his thoughts in his movements like that. He turned to face them, walking backwards a few steps so they could see his smile. His green eyes shone in the sunlight.

"There's a good Greek place down the street," he said, "Can I take you to lunch?"

"I'd love tha-"

She took another step, but her crutch caught on an uneven sidewalk panel. She lurched forward at one, momentum twisting her body in an awkward way. Billy's eyes flashed with surprise, and he surged forward to catch her before she could topple. He moved quickly - quickly enough that she didn't go down - and briskly steered her into the nearest alleyway to look her over. His hands lingered on their waist, a firm grip that kept them from curling in on themself.

"Q?"

For a few long moments, she was in too much pain to speak. Their breath came in sharp gasps, and fire arced up and down their body in artillery bursts. Every muscle in their body locked up, like they'd been shocked with a bolt of electricity.

"Love?" Billy tried again, one warm hand pressed to her waist to keep her upright, "Talk to me, Aces."

"Fine." she managed, leaning her weight against the brick wall behind her to try and get the strain off her legs. She exhaled a tremulous breath, trying to pull herself together. Pain had scattered her thoughts like dandelion seeds to the breeze. She couldn't remember what they'd been talking about before.

"How can I help?" Billy asked, speaking fast. She could see the adrenaline wrought into his posture. His hands stayed steady on their waist, but one foot tapped restlessly against the sidewalk. He was a mover. He needed something to do.

Quinn shook their head.

"Just... hang on," they mumbled, face twisted in agony, "Holy shit that hurts. Fuck, man. It's days like this that make me wish I'd stayed in bed."

"Wanna take lunch to go, then? Head back?"

She grit her teeth. No, she wanted to sit down and enjoy a nice, private meal with her lover while she had the chance. Because she hardly ever had the chance. They never went into town like this. Either they were off on missions, or One forbid them showing their faces in public, or Quinn was simply in too much pain to consider so much time on her feet.

She wanted to take this chance to act like a normal couple. At least... semi-normal.

But she doubted crying into her souvlaki would go over well.

Billy saw the answer on her face before she said a word.

"Alright, uh, just hang here for a minute." he said, his hands finally drawing back from their waist, "I'll pick us up some food. What do you want?"

"I- I dunno," Quinn muttered. They were in too much pain to have an appetite, at least for the moment. That crease reappeared between Billy's eyebrows, but he nodded.

"Alright, I'll pick something for ya," he promised, then leaned in to peck her on the cheek, "Stay here, yeah?"

Quinn nodded, the action still tight with pain. Billy hesitated just another moment, his eyes flicking up and down her figure, and then he disappeared into the crowd.

And she waited.

Nobody spared her so much as a second glance. That was big cities for you - people saw a six-foot-three pink-haired punk propped up in an alley and weeping, yet they didn't even bat an eye. There was only one person who ever had, Quinn thought. Billy. Years ago. He'd found her in an alley a lot like this. He'd picked her up from the gutter, long before all of this.

For whatever reason, it was that thought that sent the tears falling.

They'd never wished for a normal life. That all sounded hopelessly dull, repetition into madness. For the most part, they very much enjoyed the life they had, all its excitement and risk.

But once in a while, they just wished they could have a normal day. Not a normal life- just a normal day. Twenty-four hours where they could go out to lunch, where their supply runs were for groceries instead of explosives, where they could hold Billy's hand instead of gripping their crutches.

Twenty-four hours where it didn't hurt to walk down the street.

Billy had to be so sick of this.

She wasn't the person he'd once known. They used to claim the rooftops together, all hairpin turns and leaps so daring it felt like flight. Now... here she stood. Leaned against a building like a coat rack with a broken stand, drowning in pain. She'd never be able to keep up with him again. Not like she used to. There would be thousands more days like this, and he'd be stuck taking care of her.

It was unfair in so many ways. He'd never complained, not once, but she knew that things were different. They could never go back to the way things were.

Did he really want to spend the rest of his life doing this? Changing plans with no warning, forced to surrender his rare chances at a normal afternoon, devoting his already-limited free time to taking care of her instead of doing something he wanted to do?

"Whoa, hey, you alright?" Billy's voice, shockingly tender, startled them out of their thoughts, "Need me to call Five?"

"No, ah-" Quinn started, shaking their head and swiping one hand across their eyes, "I just... need to get off my feet."

"Alright." Billy said, but didn't move right away. Instead he rustled through the bag of food, coming up with a Styrofoam container and flipping it open, "Loukoumade for the road?"

"Loukoumas," Quinn corrected, plucking one of the fried dough balls from the box and popping it into her mouth. Billy took one for himself, then closed up the box and tucked it back into the bag.

The walk back to the car was shockingly quiet. On Quinn's end, the pain sparked back to life the instant she started to move, and she was mostly focused on just keeping her steps steady. She wasn't quite sure what had Billy so quiet. Maybe he was still concerned for her.

Or maybe he's annoyed, her brain chimed in, Maybe he's not speaking because the restaurant was nice and he wanted to sit down, and instead you're making him eat his lunch in an old, sandy trailer in the middle of the desert.

They reached the car in near-silence. Billy held the door open for her, acting the part of a perfect gentleman. He set the food and Quinn's crutches in the backseat, then slid into the driver's seat.

He didn't drive. He just looked at her, fixing her with eyes the color of springtime. A moment later, his hand snuck over to rest on her knee.

"You sure you're okay, Q?"

"Aren't you tired of it?" they blurted, unable to hold the words down. Billy tilted his head.

"Tired of... what?"

"Just... all of this. The canceled plans. The fact that I can't keep up anymore. Just... dealing with me."

Billy opened his mouth and closed it a few times. He looked more confused than anything else.

"C'mon, love, you know I don't care." he finally said, speaking fast but with total earnestness in his voice, "Besides, they're not canceled plans, they're just... adjusted. And I'd rather have lunch back at the Graveyard where you're comfortable than cooped up in some stuffy Greek place. The hostess was glarin' at me anyway. They'd've gotten sick of us in there. And I've got that soda you like back in my trailer, too. The cherry kind. And booze. Don't forget the booze."

"You know I don't just mean lunch." Quinn pointed out, "I mean all of it."

"I know. And I'm tellin' you I don't care. We've been through this, Q. A dozen fuckin' times. Have I ever told you anything different than I'm telling you right now?"

"Well- no. I guess not."

"So wouldja just trust me on this?" he huffed, looking a little annoyed even as his eyes sparked with thinly-veiled concern. Irritation was easier than worry, they both knew that much. Neither of them had ever been the soft type. "I mean, hell, it's not like I'm just gonna wake up one morning and decide I'm done with you. We've made it this far, innit? I'm stickin' with you."

He squeezed her knee, his grip just firm enough to be comforting.

"It just... doesn't feel fair." Quinn sighed. It didn't, and it never would. She'd never be able to do enough to match the care he offered her. Even in this, she couldn't keep up.

"I mean, I'm the reason you've got to deal with One. I brought you into this whole mess." Billy shot back, a faint glimmer of humor shining through the words, "We're totally even. Hey- our food's gonna get cold. S'it alright if I start driving?"

"Yeah. Go ahead."

But he paused an extra moment, and stretched across the center console to steal a kiss. Quinn couldn't help but melt against him, emotions be damned.

"Hey, I love you, Q," Billy said as he pulled back, then shot them a broad and almost laughing grin, "Busted-up body or not."

It startled a laugh out of them, and Billy's grin widened for a moment. He dropped back into his seat and started the car, all heavier emotion cast aside just like that. Quinn tossed theirs out along with it. There was no point dwelling on it. Not with this, at least. Billy was right - they'd been through this a dozen times if not more, and he always said the same thing. He always stayed rooted to her, not faltering for even a heartbeat.

She'd never met a person quite as loyal as him.

[night-raven-miscellany]

haihai !!! for the ask game , can i ask for 💐,❓, and 💢 for everyone ?? or you can pick and choose if that's too much :D

✨Hi moot thank you for the ask! I had a draft almost done and then accidentally closed my app. As a result, this is gonna be way shorter than I had initially intended it to be. Everyone WILL however be responding in character this time around instead of me speaking for everyone else.

💐- What is their love language?

Yuna: I've always been partial to helping people out or giving them things to show my appreciation for them. It's kinda a force of habit at this point, but I don't particularly mind.

Heinrich: When I was your age and attending NRC myself (and honestly, when I was even younger than that), I never often received praise or verbal affirmation for my accomplishments. As such, I took to providing those words of appreciation and praise to everyone around me.

Lewis: I'm a bit of a quality time kinda guy, myself. My UM is kinda perfect for that, but also I just like vibing in the same space as everyone I care about, y'know?

Casimir: Dear follower, I commend you for inquiring into my personal thoughts about how to show my affection for others! What better way should an evil overlord show his love for his people than by spending time with them and gracing them with his presence? Of course, I am also fond of showering my most loyal companions in the highest praises, though many find it perplexing or even offensive, although I do not intend it to be. As such, I do not often get the chance to do such a thing.

❓What confuses them the most?

Y: Beastmen. Like, they're so cool and all! But like. From an evolutionary perspective, how do they work? Are they different or similar to mermaids? Like. How?

H: Some students purport that my monologues do not contribute anything of value to anything. Why? I'm imparting upon them vast amounts of knowledge from the previous generation! They should be appreciating my anecdotes, or at the very least taking my previous mistakes into consideration. Also. The slang and language that students use nowadays.

L: Why do people think it's funny to send me nothing statements to read on my radio show? Like genuinely? I don't know what a "skibidi gyatt" or whatever is. I also don't see how it's funny?

C: Why is it that many of my subjects (and many of the demon overlords lackeys...) find my manner of speaking to be befuddling? Many of my classmates insist that I am simply being "childish" or "dramatic"! I only wish to become the most powerful and evil overlord, and my manner of speaking is (at least in my own eyes) rather befitting of a person with such a status.

💢 What makes them angriest?

Y: Nobody takes me seriously because I'm just some girl who doesn't have magic, and that REALLY pisses me off. It doesn't happen as much now that I've survived several overblots and also just. All of the nonsense that happens here, but it never fails to make me angry when I overhear someone say something about "oh can she really do that?" Just because it's something that needs magic or whatever...

H: I'll be honest, I'm not really an angry guy. It's only when I or my family is utterly disrespected by others that I tend to get truly upset.

L: I hate it when people assume that because I don't like being told what to do or prefer to march to the beat of my own drum that I'm lazy or something. Way before my Housewarden overblotted the first time, we already had our typical disputes. But one time he insinuated that I was some kinda good-for-nothing schmuck because I wasn't interested in living by his OR the dorm's rules... Yeah we both wound up in the infirmary for that one...

C: As it pertains to my prior statement, many of my subjects (and the demon overlords lackeys) insist that because I speak with a bit of a flourish on occasion, that I am not to be taken seriously! Many simply play it up to be only a result of my short stature, but I am fully aware that they do not listen to a single word I say simply because of how I deliver it! (I... Only know this because I've heard them mocking me in the halls.. I hate it so much...)

[kp777]

By Jake Johnson

Common Dreams

Sept. 18, 2024

"The vast majority of countries have made it clear: Israel's occupation of Palestine must end, and all countries have a definite duty not to aid or assist its continuation."

The United Nations General Assembly on Wednesday passed a resolution demanding that the Israeli government end its occupation of Palestinian territories within 12 months, affirming a recent International Court of Justice opinion that deemed the decadeslong occupation unlawful.

The Palestine-led resolution, co-sponsored by dozens of nations, calls on Israel to swiftly withdraw "all its military forces" from Gaza and the West Bank, including East Jerusalem. The final vote tally was 124 member states in favor and 14 against, with 43 nations abstaining.

Unsurprisingly, Israel and the United States—Israel's top ally and arms supplier—were among the 14 countries that opposed the resolution, which is not legally binding. The United Kingdom, which recently suspended some arms export licenses for Israel, abstained from Wednesday's vote, a decision that the advocacy group Global Justice Now (GJN) said shows "complete disregard for the ongoing suffering of Palestinians forced to live under military-enforced racial discrimination."

"The vast majority of countries have made it clear: Israel's occupation of Palestine must end, and all countries have a definite duty not to aid or assist its continuation," said GJN's Tim Bierley. "To stay on the right side of international law, the U.K.'s dealings with Israel must drastically change, including closing all loopholes in its partial arms ban and revoking any trade or investment relations that might assist the occupation."

The Palestinian-led Boycott, Divestment, and Sanctions (BDS) Movement welcomed passage of the resolution, noting that the U.N. General Assembly voted "for the first time in 42 years" in favor of "imposing sanctions on Israel."

The resolution specifically calls on all U.N. member states to "implement sanctions, including travel bans and asset freezes, against natural and legal persons engaged in the maintenance of Israel's unlawful presence in the occupied Palestinian territory, including in relation to settler violence."

The resolution's passage came nearly two months after the International Court of Justice (ICJ), the U.N.'s highest legal body, handed down an advisory opinion concluding that Israel's occupation of Palestinian territories is illegal and must end "as rapidly as possible."

The newly approved resolution states that "respect for the International Court of Justice and its functions... is essential to international law and justice and to an international order based on the rule of law."

The Biden administration, which is heavily arming the Israeli military as it assails Gaza and the West Bank, criticized the ICJ's opinion as overly broad.

Nihad Awad, national executive director of the Council on American-Islamic Relations (CAIR), said in a statement Wednesday that "the Biden administration should join the overwhelming majority of nations around the world in condemning these crimes against the Palestinian people, demanding an end to the occupation, and exerting serious pressure on the Israeli government to comply."

"We welcome this U.N. resolution demanding an end to one of the worst and ongoing crimes against humanity of the past century," said Awad.

Ahead of Wednesday's vote, a group of U.N. experts said in a statement that many countries "appear unwilling or unable to take the necessary steps to meet their obligations" in the wake of the ICJ's opinion.

"Devastating attacks on Palestinians across the occupied Palestinian territory show that by continuing to turn a blind eye to the horrific plight of the Palestinian people, the international community is furthering genocidal violence," the experts said. "States must act now. They must listen to voices calling on them to take action to stop Israel's attacks against the Palestinians and end its unlawful occupation. All states have a legal obligation to comply with the ICJ's ruling and must promote adherence to norms that protect civilians."

[onecornerface]

The notion that the “root cause” of transphobia is the denial that trans people “really are” their self-identified genders is absurd. A statement like “trans women aren’t women” (or even “trans women are men,” which is distinct and more severe) is usually more a symptom of transphobia than its cause. Even when it is a contributing cause, it is far from a root cause. I’m so sick of this nonsense.

For instance, you can totally be a vicious transphobe even if you truly believe trans women are women, trans men are men, and nonbinary people are nonbinary. There are so many more layers to transphobia than a view about a murky and hard-to-interpret metaphysical thesis about gender category membership criteria.

Some trans-exclusionary feminists now say trans women may be women but aren’t female, and instead of “women only” spaces, there should really be “female only” spaces. Of course, the discourse on whether trans women are “female” is also largely a red herring too (on both sides), but still. It goes to show that affirming that trans women are women is far from sufficient to secure trans rights.

Affirming that trans women are women is also not necessary to secure at least most key aspects of trans rights (even if it is still important in other ways). For instance, some transfem nonbinary (perhaps among others) people are not women, but they obviously should not be forcibly removed from women’s spaces-- for many reasons. So we should recognize that being a woman is not strictly necessary for legitimate access to women’s spaces.

When determining that trans women should not be kicked out of women’s spaces, the important facts are that exclusion would harm trans women and some cis women (e.g. GNC cis women who “pass” for men) and trans women-- whereas inclusion would in fact not harm cis women. These are the main morally important facts. The discrediting quality of anti-trans stereotypes also factor in. But does an obscure metaphysical claim like “trans women meet such-and-such criteria for membership in the social kind ‘woman’“ also really matter in this discussion? Not really! Or not that much, if at all.

Some people even claim “science” proves trans people “really are” their self-identified genders. This is as nonsensical and irrelevant as the notion that “science” proves trans people “really aren’t” their self-identified genders. See this post for discussion on bogus neuroscience arguments in particular.

Utilitarianism is arguably false, but utilitarian-style considerations will help you un-break your brain on this topic. Would a utilitarian care if a new study somehow proved trans women were men (which, lol, fat chance)? No, of course not. And neither should any sensible deontologist.

And also, on both utilitarian and deontological grounds, I’d argue that disrespect toward people’s reasons for their gender self-identification is much morally worse and more important than agreement or disagreement with some claim about whether someone “really is” a given gender (whatever the fuck gender is). For a discussion of topics in this ballpark that I partially (not entirely) endorse, see trans philosopher Talia Bettcher’s article “Trans Identities and First Person Authority” (although she still considers the validation of self-identification important).

Only a few aspects of transphobia can plausibly be construed as boiling down to denial of self-identification claims, whereas most aspects of transphobia cannot.

[moony-books]

── ❝ shifting realities ❞

What is reality shifting? 🖋️

Reality shifting is a term used to describe us, shifters, moving our consciousness to another reality. For example: I am in this reality right now (this is my CR - current reality) and I have made my script here. I am not creating the reality but instead I am just specifying which (already existing) reality I want to go to. Think of your script as a search bar. You are searching for a reality you want to go to! Idk if that makes any sense!?

Another explanation:

Reality shifting is a term that refers to the spiritual practice of "transferring" or "shifting" one's consciousness to an alternate reality, and/or the attempt to alter the reality one is experiencing and transcending one's physical confines to visit alternate universes.

Methods 🪶

There are many methods of reality shifting. They include, but are not limited to, relaxation, visualization, manifestation, affirmations. These methods are considered to be similar to meditation and self-hypnosis. Nicole Hernandez, a hypnotist stated that "...shifting essentially taps into two techniques: lucid dreaming, associated with REM sleep, the fourth stage of the sleep cycle before waking up, and self-hypnosis, which shifters have rebranded into different methods." Although each method is a little different, they all involve the individual having intent, being relaxed, affirming oneself, and visualizing their desired reality, (DR.)

Scripting 📜

I know how writing a shifting script can be difficult, especially if you start from scratch. But with the right tools and instructions, it can get pretty simple and fun. So...Before we start, let’s go over some basic scripting terminology:

Dr : Desired reality 🗞️

Cr : Current reality 📜

Affirmations : positive statements that can help you get rid of a negative mindset and help you on your journey to change 🪶

Oh, and for all of you asking “Can you script on your phone for shifting?”, yes you can.

I recommend Amino app, Lifa App and notion!

No, it is not necessary to write a script in order to shift to your desired reality. Many people have shifted into their desired realities without writing a script. However, if you’re having trouble with shifting realities, incorporating a script into your shifting routine helps a lot. Writing a script can help you shift for the first time!

You write about yourself, your goals, and the people you know, among other things! Some argue that having a script is unnecessary because your subconscious knows what you want, which is partially correct. Most people I’ve read and watched who have successfully shifted, on the other hand, almost always recommend having a script. This is , it helps you by being crystal clear about where you want to shift, what you want, and what you don’t want in your desired reality.

Even if your subconscious already knows what you want, writing a script allows you to concretely define in words what you want to happen in your desired reality.

── source 🗞️

[mouth-almighty]

🔴 Popular Front for the Liberation of Palestine:

—

The US House of Representatives' condemnation of the use of the slogan "From the River to the Sea" comes within the context of the typical American stance biased towards the entity.

The Popular Front for the Liberation of Palestine confirmed that the US House of Representatives' adoption by a majority of 377 votes to 44 condemning the use of the slogan "From the River to the Sea... Palestine Will Be Free" is a decision that comes within the context of the well-known and typical American stance, which confirms the bias of the official American system towards the zionist entity, and its hostility towards the legitimate rights of the Palestinian people.

The Front considered the adoption of this resolution by the House of Representatives to reflect the hypocrisy of the American administration. While it declares its hostility and rejection of the slogan "From the River to the Sea" and accuses those who promote it of being "anti-Semitic," it allows the zionists to circulate the slogan "From the Nile to the Euphrates", which means the establishment of "Greater israel" on the ruins of the Arab states and not just Palestine.

The Front added: "However, what is noteworthy is the vote of 44 American representatives in favor of this slogan, which is something we have not previously seen from within one of the most important official American institutions that sponsor the zionist entity. This indicates a partial shift in the stance on the Palestinian issue."

The Front emphasized the need not to ignore the popular movement in the American streets that opposes the zionist genocide in the Gaza Strip, which is beginning to grow restless from the official American support for the zionist entity. This confirms the existence of brave voices inside America that oppose these stances or the continuation of the flow of American weapons, and explicitly calls for a change in these positions, with some voices adopting the strategic solution to the Palestinian issue, and refusing to recognize the legitimacy of the entity.

The Front demanded the withdrawal of American forces from the region and the cessation of support for the zionist entity, considering the presence of these forces to protect the entity and impose dominance at the expense of the American citizen and their livelihood, and from their pocket, exacerbates relations with the peoples of the region and places America as an outcast and hated by the peoples of the world.

The Front concluded its statement by affirming that the slogan "Palestine Will Be Free from its River to its Sea" will remain the realistic discourse that echoes in the squares of the world, for Palestine and its people are a bright reality, and "israel" is the fabricated entity with no future or existence at all.

The Popular Front for the Liberation of Palestine

Central Media Department

April 17, 2024

[walterdecourceys]

what do you mean official member of the church? why do you have to be in the church? if theyre saying all of that then why even go? whos making you?

okay i'm done sorting through books i can answer this now. for clarity's sake: the christian reformed church (crc) is a christian denomination that the church i attend is (at time of writing) part of. i'm a professing member of my church's congregation, which in simple terms means last december i sat down with my pastor and the church council and talked about my belief in god and they decided i had a complete and mature enough understanding of my faith to become an actual member of the church. so now i'm understood to be like, an actual active member of this particular faith community, rather than just going because my parents go or what have you, and i can do things like vote on church council decisions. it's very scary i don't know how i ended up in this position but i'm told it was a good profession of faith so i guess i did something right

following the decision by the crc a lot of lgbt-affirming churches that were previously part of the denomination have decided to split from it. this is all very typical church politics to be honest protestant churches split like it's their fucking job. it is likely that my church will also split from the denomination, because if they don't they will probably lose a good portion of their members, but they've never made an explicit statement either way regarding same-sex relationships and there's also some very staunch conservatives in my church so it's going to be kind of dicey either way. we'll find out! it's going to be fun and not at all awkward and distressing. thumbsupemoji

as for "who's making me," i mean, like.. i'm partially going because i live with my parents and it means a lot to them that i go, but also, like. i've been in this church my whole life and regardless of how my personal religious beliefs currently stand, the place and the community still mean a lot to me. and seeing as i'm now a professing member i do feel a certain obligation to actually participate in the life of the church. i have a lot of complicated feelings on attending church and christianity as a whole that are absolutely not your business but it still is kind of my choice to keep coming back. um so hopefully that answers your question