#Unbelievable the carelessness of these parents

[whydoidothistomyselfandothers]

I KNEW IT

[nenoname]

Journal 3’s references to Stan

Post-Portal Ford

"How is it that I am back? It turns out that despite my warnings and possibility of global catastrophe, Stanley managed to re-activate the portal and bring me back to my home dimension. While his intentions might have been pure, he was just as careless bringing me back as he was knocking me through in the first place. He destroyed the portal in the process, risked endangering the entire fabric of reality, and even found himself the target of a federal manhunt by the U.S. governement (a logical progression from his days in the principal's office)."

"When I first saw him, I assumed I had once again found myself in an alternate parallel dimension! Gone was the stubborn mullet-haired, frostbitten vagabond who had pushed me into the portal many years earlier, replaced by a wrinkly carnival barker with my father's face, fez, and girdle.

I'd spent the last 30 years contemplating what I might do if I saw Stanley again. Would I even be able to look him in the eye after what he did? Would I apologize for shutting him out of my life?"

"As it turned out, instinct took over and I punched him right in the face. I feel kind of bad about that!

Face- Inherited Dad's nose and Mom's untrustworthy tongue.

Gut- I've spent the last 30 years keeping up an extensive exercise and diet regimen. Stanley... hasn't.

Suit- Dad's suit, which he gave me after graduation. He thought I'd wear it for my wedding. I thought I'd wear it to accept an award. Instead, Stanley has used it to trick tourists and sell key chains."

"Machinery- Operated my portal like a monkey pretending to be a mechanic. Half of the instruments are held together with duct tape.

Yes, despite the extra pounds and wrinkles, Stanley is still the irresponsible, shortcut-loving overgrown child I remember from the past. Most unbelievable: his first thought upon seeing me again was to expect a thank-you - a THANK YOU - after destroying my life!

Even worse, he spent the last 30 years avoiding the law by faking his own death, impersonating me, and scamming the local townsfolks with a moneymaking ruse so absurd it would even make my profit-loving father blush. Once a cheater, always a cheater. And it turns out he's become a fraud for a living. I nearly fainted when I saw what he had done to..."

[THE MYSTERY SHACK] "Unbelievable. Once a haven of scientific study, the cabin I built with my grant money has been transformed by Stanley over the years into a hokey freak show that mocks everything about the study of the paranormal!

Signage- There are legal disclaimers in almost-impossible-to-see fine print painted up and down nearly every entryway. It's a wonder Stanley hasn't been sued yet.:

“Walking around my old lab, I feel like a dead man’s ghost haunting a strange fun house mirror version of his past life, I resolve to take back my home and rebuild the life that Stanley has taken from me.”

“The strangest thing about [Soos] is his utter idolization of my brother Stanley.”

"At least there is some GOOD news: I am a great uncle! (Or "grunkle," as Stanley seems oddly insistent on saying.) Apparently, Sherman Pines's grandkods have been staying with Stanley for the summer. (It's hard to believe the parents would trust these kids with Stanley; they clearly thought he was ME!)"

[Mabel] "Shares the family sweet tooth. Diet seems to consist solely of items with the word ‘gummy’ in them. I will need to discuss nutrition with Stanley.”

[Dipper] “Observations: 1) Constantly sweating. Perhaps he takes after Stanley. (…) 4) Rank odor. Clearly hasn’t bathed recently. Stanley should never be put in charge of children!”

“It is just as I feared; apparently, Stanley’s reckless use of the machine overtaxed it and ripped a tear in the dimensional fabric- the same way an overheated oven might burn a hole in kitchen linoleum.”

“Containment dome- A home for the Rift. Admittedly, I was inspired by the snow globes in Stanley’s gift shop.”

“When I tried to share my burdens with my brother, he knocked me into the portal, separating me from my home for 30 years.”

“Stanley always mocked my love of [DD&MD], and even some of my college friends called it "Girlfriend Repellant.”“

"Well, the harm in showing the [infinity sided die] to Dipper turned out to be quite large. During one of our games, my hotheaded brother got his hands on it and accidentally conjured this jerk.”

“I’m proud to say that the Pines family was able to beat the wizard at his own game. Stan’s contribution was (of course) to cheat our way to victory.”

“Ironically, in the multiverse I’m just as wanted as Stanley! But my crimes had a noble purpose”

“Stan would have loved this place, but it just made me depressed. Although I had a good run in the Gambling Dimension, the dimensional bouncers ended up kicking me out for counting cards! What are the odds?”

“[The Oracle] looked deep into my eyes and said I had the face of the man who was destined to destroy Bill.”

[A Better World] “On this Earth, I was never pushed into the portal by Stan. On this Earth, my brother listened to me and took Journal 1 away from Gravity Falls.”

“I reentered the world of my youth to face a brother I had not seen in 30 years. My frustration was indescribable- once again, my brother’s actions had sabotaged everything I had ever worked toward.”

“To help Dipper understand, I borrowed Stanley’s car, and we drove until we reached the town border of Gravity Falls.”

“I suggested it would be a good time for Stan to take the kids on that road trip he’s been talking about while I puzzle over [the cracked Rift]”

Other sections: Pre-Portal, Post-Weirdmageddon, Lost Journal pages + Ford's letters

[factsilike]

I don't know why so many people are coming to LXC's defence recently, like he never did anything wrong or never had a choice or that he was only manipulated, because 'JGY was just that good of a manipulator.'

Like no, the novel makes it clear that at several points that he was being willfully blind and ignorant of JGY's and the cultivation world's faults. The fact that LWJ and WWX found out about JGY killing NMJ after only a little bit of digging because they thought to suspect him, which Lan Xichen somehow didn't think to do despite spending close to twenty years working with him. That's a very long time, and that says more about his tendency to turn a blind eye, to not look deeper, to look away from the uncomfortable truth, than any good about JGY's manipulation abilities.

That is not to say Lan Xichen isn't a good person. He is. The problem is that he's not willing to put in the work to be good. He's unwilling to stand up to anyone. When WWX rightfully calls out JGS for trying to be the next Wen Rouhan, (about which JGY was like 'I mean, you're right, but you're not supposed to say it...."), he convenienly ignores that, opting to irrelevantly comment about how 'his heart had changed'. (Which made no sense?? LXC barely knew anything about WWX at that point!)

He's content to stay in his comfort zone, to go with the easy solution of letting others decide. If there's a problem, he'll go with the flow, and if there's a deeper ugly truth to it? He doesn't want to know about it. The situation of his parents is a perfect example. He says it himself: he doesn't want to know, and thus doesn't want to understand what happened with them.

Also for someone whose whole thing is being nice, he can be unbelievably tactless. Look at the ending events of the Guanyin Temple, where JGY is missing a limb and LXC, without thinking, asks Nie Huaisang of all people to give him medicine to heal. You know, the same Nie Huaisang who, at least to LXC's knowledge, has just learned that this same man is responsible for the death and dismemberment of his brother's body, as well as many others. And he now wants his help. To heal his brother's killer. Yikes. It's a wonder that NHS didn't immediately plan to kill LXC right then and there. And even if LXC was physically and mentally exhausted, it was still an incredibly thoughtless move.

Look at the way he laughs about NMJ (a member of the gentry) taking a third of the prey on Phoenix Mountain- "Oh typical Dage, that's just like him!"- while ignoring accusations against WWX (a son of a servant) doing the same, because he's subconsciously agreeing that it was a problem when WWX did it. He's being blatantly hypocritical and it's frustrating that he doesn't even realise it, or acknowledges it.

One of his redeeming factors can be his love for LWJ, but he's frustratingly careless about that too. For all his teasing (in which we never see LWJ indulging, he just unhappily and sulkily endures that. Teasing is not supposed to be fun or amusing if it's only one sided. Compare that to how he responds with snarky remarks to WWX's teasing, meaning he enjoys their banter) and pushing and advocating for LWJ's happiness, he never seems to deeply consider what actually makes him happy.

Everything he does for LWJ turns out to be the very opposite of what Lwj actually wants; inviting WWX and the others for the Caiyi hunt? Not what Lwj wanted, LXC merely convinced himself of that. His pushing LWJ to go talk to WWX at any chance? Doesn't ask or seem interested in why exactly LWJ would want to talk to WWX, nor help him in not letting their conversations constantly devolve into arguments. Shutting LWJ's protests at how WWX was right at the banquet with the 'his heart had changed'? Convenient for him to say, both hurting (even if it was unintended) his brother and changing the subject. And somehow everyone forgets that it was LXC who led the thirty three Lan elders to the cave after the Nightless City for Lan Wangji to fight against, for 'his own good.' And of course his whole angry, projection and deflection fuelled rant at the Guanyin Temple, where he tries to make WWX feel guilty about his brother's confession (which, you know WWX didn't remember because of the trauma clouding his memories), and make him think that he owed LWJ a relationship, which was exactly what LWJ was most afraid of.

His failings hit harder for me than any other character, because unlike JGY or XY or JGS who have no qualms about their immorality, he's supposed to be one of the good guys, a righteous clan leader who abides by honour and dignity. And yet he fails to do anything of sustenance all throughout the novel, and is a painful reminder of how easy it is to go with the wrong crowd, and that how so many 'nice' people like him exist irl, people whose willful ignorance comes at other's expense, people who want to be good but are too afraid of conflict, too set in their comfort zone to speak up against injustice, people who are all too willing to turn a blind eye and do nothing if the injustice or tragedy to others doesn't affect them.

[pinpurin]

sjiabsiws look what can be requested and I want to do something about the moral twins! Miles 42 has a girlfriend who is a reader who has been friends with the twins since they were little and Miles 1610 suspects that her brother has a girlfriend but he doesn't know who. I want to know how the family and twin 1610 would find out, to that add that they have been together for more than two years 💜🖤

I love the idea of 42!Miles hiding stuff from his family bc it sounds so much like him, for all the stories about the twins 42! miles will be addressed as milo, simply so things don't get confused and 1610!miles will still get called miles, now onto the story. Also they're juniors :))))

To say you were friends with the Morales twins was an understatement, you guys were unbelievably close, you were always with one or both of them, from the moment you guys were seen playing together by your parents in the playground when you were little to now.

Slowly but surely, you had gotten a lot little closer to milo, something about him being so mysterious had reeled you in, don't get it wrong you were still close with miles, milo just tended stay on your mind. I mean why wouldn't he be? he looked like he was sculpted by gods and blessed by Aphrodite.

As time grew miles started acting weird, he would cancel on your hangouts, abruptly leave during randoms times, wouldn't answer his phone and more. You had started to hate when he would do this without an explanation but at the same time you are thankful for it happening, because of him ditching you (and milo) you were able to get closer to the other brother, getting to know him on more than a friend level

he was always more reserved but with getting to know him more you were able to open up that hard exterior. With the hangout without his brother, he started to look at you in a different way. One day he had gave you a letter telling you to meet him at the rooftop of his apartment, when you got there laid Milo with flowers in his hand asking you to be his girlfriend.

That was two years ago.

you both had agreed to keep the relationship a secret until you decided you were ready to share the big news. "Mi vida?? are you listening??" Milo asked waving his hand in your face. "huh??" you gave him a questioning look. He rolled his eyes before smiling and pulling you closer to him. You had suddenly remembered where you were, the rooftop, where you and Milo go for privacy.

"I said.." he continued, grabbing your chin and making you face him. "Miles is catching onto us" he added. you pulled away from him "What?! How?" you questioned, He pulled down his hoodie showing you a kiss mark that you left on his neck, you pulled you hand to your mouth from shock. How could you be so careless?

"Why haven't you wiped it off?" you asked him quietly. "Because I like it ma, you could mark me more if you would like, sé que te gusta" he fixed his hoodie while smirking at you. "Shut up" you say smacking his chest, suddenly the door to the rooftop was open, you scoot a little bit farther from milo as you looked to see who was at the door. Miles. "Wassup yall" he said walking up to you both. "Hey man" you smile to yourself slightly relieved.

"Yo you wouldn't believe what i saw the other day, Milo had a big ass kiss mark on his neck, damn near looked like he was attacked by something." Miles exclaimed dramatically. "Nigga shut up" Milo huffed. "oh? this is true?" you asked Milo playing dumb, milo rolled his eyes at you but couldn't even hold back his smile. "Literally look at him cheesin mad hard" You and miles began to laugh. "So big bro when am I gonna meet this girl?" Miles asked putting his arm around Milos shoulder.

"You aint" milo replied taking his others halfs arm off of his shoulder. "bro, WHY? stop tryna be mysterious cuz your not that guy" miles folded his arms, "you must be confused, because i am HIM" miles replied.

you stood there with the most puzzled look on your face. "whatever" you said walking away from their nonsense. As you had opened the door to the Morales home, Ms. Morales greeted you. "Hey dear, where are the boys?" she asked while she was cleaning the table.

"On the rooftop arguing about who knows what" you replied, rubbing your temples as if you had a headache. she sighed before making her way over to you and wrapping you in her arms. "Youre the only one who keeps me sane" she said patting your head and you giggled at her "There not THAT bad" you said before letting go, she gave you a knowing look before you laughed again.

"I'm gonna be in the boy's room if you need me" you turned and walking away hearing an "okay dear" behind you. You walked in the room sitting on Milos bed scrolling through your phone for a couple of minutes before hearing someone one come in. "mi amor" miles sighed before flopping on top of you. "Ugh Milos get OFF!" you groaned as the man was crushing your windpipe. "Missed you ma, you didn't miss me?" he asked while peppering your face with kissed.

"How could i not miss my big baby?" your fake pout at him while he rolls his eyes, getting off of you, before you could say anything Milos lips were on yours with his hand cupping your cheek, you squeal from shock but nonetheless kiss him back with the same passion, now having your hands around him arms before pulling apart. As you open your eyes you see that Milos eyes are wide open from shock, you turn to see what he is looking at only to see his family staring back at you.

Sorry for the rushed ending, took all my brainpower to see how this would play out~ purin🤎🫶🏽

[miragee19]

REVENGE

💛: What is a popular ship you just can't get behind, and why?

💚: What does everyone else get wrong about your favorite character?

💛 CLOUD X TIFA:

Their relationship looks very boring and empty and it's not only sad because it makes their everyday life depressing but also because it holds them back from finding a partner for a more emotionally fulfilling relationship. It's not like being alone is a bad thing either.

Cloud seems to have been forced into a domestic setting where he is with a woman he has no romantic interest in and with two random children.

Tifa lectures him and gaslights him by saying that whatever he feels is just "shally dally" invalid.

About 6 years old Marlene harshly lectures him about life and how he should act and behave and that he should stop being so selfish all in all.

Excuse me miss, half of Remake was about saving your ass (having to save Aerith was a direct necessity coming from the fact that she traded her freedom for yours), and dozens of people were killed in the process. So if you feel yourself old enough to lecture your parent who sacrificed everything to save this world for you then please feel free to be old enough to self-reflect a bit and compare the sacrifices done for you to the things you have done for others.

Tifa's dad is also a dick in my opinion. It's not directly related to her relationship with Cloud, only from the aspect that Tifa is using her father's death to emotionally connect to Cloud and to connect Cloud to herself. However, unlike Claudia Strife, Brian Lockhart could have lived, if only he has not been so extremly stupid to confront Sephiroth in the reactor. Confronting him was a deliberate suicide and even though he was rightfully angry at the moment, it's still an unbelieveably careless and stupid act. He had a 15 year old daughter he should have looked after and should not have left there orphaned.

I don't know whose idea it was that Cloud and Tifa should raise orphans at the beginning of their 20s but it comes off depressing and Cloud looks like a prisoner.

Furthermore, Tifa's dressing style is straight up slutty. Women who show this much of their bodies in public usually intend to gain some kind of advantage from men around them. Also, most men don't like it if their woman dresses like this. Cloud especially doesn't seem to be the type who would try to show off his girlfriend's body. So it only comes off as tasteless and makes the whole atmosphere around Tifa very uncomfortable.

Other people on Tumblr also mentioned it and I find it very true that Tifa doesn't take Cloud's side whenever people are unreasonably rude to Cloud.

Lastly, in Junon when Tifa tells Cloud a story about one of their hometown buddies, Cloud admits that he doesn't really care about her stories. All in all, I detect zero chemistry and a very forced domestic set-up when I think about them, where Tifa is using and gaslighting Cloud constantly.

💚 SEPHIROTH:

Many people say it in a joking manner but I truly believe that Sephiroth has done nothing wrong in his life. He has never fallen from grace because he has never been at any place that could literally or figuratively be associated with any kind of grace in the first place. He was just an abused kid who killed for survival and had severe depression. And I don't think he is truly guilty for the things he has done.

1) If we believe that he has gone mad in Nibelheim, then as a mentally ill person he is not accountable for the things he does. As for the idea of him "choosing to be mad/evil": a person cannot deliberately go crazy. It is something that is happening to someone due to severe stress or trauma or some other trigger, it's not a choice. One simply cannot choose to go mad, it doesn't work like that.

2) If we believe that Jenova controls him then he is not guilty because Jenova controls him.

But if we really wanna measure his sins in human measures then we should first measure the shit that has been done to him with human measures and ask ourselves the question whether we or anyone else could do any better in his situation and the answer would probably be no. He has endured more and kept himself together far longer than it was expectable in human measures. He doesn't need to seek anyone's forgiveness, people who tortured him and used him could say sorry to him a thousand times and it wouldn't be enough.

Thank you so much for the ask 🖤 I hope I met the _really_ unpopular opinion criteria. 😂 Ask me more, people! 😅

[pomegrnteseed]

Come Together

Prompt: "I want you" made me think perhaps H is a Beatles girlie cause her parents, and I've never seen Sirius as a Beatles Guy in fic before

Thank you to Beatificbean for this prompt, I really enjoyed piecing this together

“I want you.”

She shrieks, heart in her throat, not just because she’d been sure she was home alone, but because he’s uttering the words that haunt her nightly.

Hermione turns to the doorway and sees Sirius leaning oh-so-casually against the wooden frame, arms crossed as he looks at her. She’s in an ACDC t-shirt of his that she’d stolen from the washing basket and a pair of red jersey shorts. Perfectly acceptable loungewear for baking in the kitchen.

“That’s the song, you’re humming, right? I Want You, by The Beatles? Merlin, Hermione, you’re practically the perfect woman, knowing music like that.”

He laughs and she tries to copy him, but it’s hollow.

Of course he didn’t mean it.

She was more than 20 years his junior. She was the final stray haunting his home; Harry and Ron having moved out and moved on two years earlier. She rattled around the house like a ghost, hardly straying from her bedroom, the kitchen, or the small office they’d transformed into a potions lab for her to mess around in while she figured out what she did next with her life.

Funny how ambition quickly dries up when it’s a reality instead of a child’s dream to survive long enough to live.

“I didn’t know you knew The Beatles,” he continues on, unaware of her internal monologue, stepping towards the oven where she’s finished pouring batter into a loaf tin.

“Don’t you dare stick a finger in there, there’s raw egg! And yes, of course I know The Beatles. My father worshipped them,” she informs him with a wry smile. “Makes me think of home, of learning to bake breads and pastries on Sunday afternoons with him. Mum was useless at the sweet stuff, but Dad was a whizz at baking, you know. Ironic, given his professional quest to save every tooth he met. He’d stick a cassette in and-”

The tears overwhelm her and he pulls her in for a hug. It doesn’t soothe her like he intends, just twists the knife of loneliness harder, but she swallows it all down, pushes and pushes until she doesn’t feel it anymore.

“I have the vinyl in my room, if you want to listen over banana loaf and chai?” he offers.

The only way he knows how to offer comfort is through company and hot drinks. It’s kind of adorable, though she’d never tell him as much.

Forty minutes later, she’s at his bedroom door with chai and a plate with sliced banana loaf, hovering, knows crossing this threshold changes nothing - it’s Sirius, the man who sees her as his ward - but nonetheless the trepidation tangles in her tummy.

The door opens and he’s lounging on his bed, vinyl cover in hand, patting the mattress beside him.

The opening chords of Come Together fill the room. She perches on the edge, pushes a plate in his direction, and busies her hands with her own.

“Did you add cinnamon?”

She nods, not meeting his gaze.

He hums.

“My favourite.”

She knows.

They listen to the entire album in silence, only moving to turn the disk over in its player. She lets the songs surround her in a nostalgic blanket, wistful for the easy, breezy carelessness of childhood.

“Oh darling,” Sirius breaks the silence when the final song ends and the record player clicks off.

She peers up at him, questioning.

“My favourite song on the album is probably Oh! Darling.”

She smiles, it’s weak and thin but that’s as sincere as she can muster. Wishes those words meant something more.

“Because is mine. You know it’s inspired by Moonlight Sonata? The complexity of the harmonies is unbelievable, it’s so layered. And yet, the sound is almost deceptively simple. A real conundrum of a track.”

His mouth twists, not a smile or a grimace, but something pained nonetheless.

“I was sure you’d say Here Comes the Sun,” he murmurs. When she quirks a sardonic brow he grins fully. “Y’know, because you’re so hopeful and full of light. Always looking for the silver lining.”

She’s not sure she is, but she takes the mischaracterisation as a compliment with a snicker.

“Sure, Sirius, whatever you say.”

A beat.

“I best go clear up my mess,” she says, moving to stand.

“I Want You.”

“What about it?” she asks, stacking empty plates and mugs.

“I’m serious.”

She blinks, confused and feeling as though he’s making fun of her. The vulnerability rolls her shoulders in anticipatory defense.

“Hermione. I want you. It would be a literal crime to let you walk out of this room now I finally have you in it. Wearing my fucking clothes, no less.”

She must surely have entered an alternate dimension. Or she’s having a stroke. Because there’s no way in hell this is actually happening.

His tattooed hand shoots out to grab her wrist, pulls on it, forcing her to look him in the eye.

What she sees knocks the wind out of her.

His expression is open, vulnerable, eyes gleaming. Hermione is baffled, completely unprepared.

“Unless, of course, you’re not interested. And- well, why would you be. Ignore me darli- Hermione. Just, forget it. Call it a senior moment, let me get the door for you.”

He leaps from the bed, jostling her as he passes, opens the door, head bowed.

“You- you want me? Seriously?”

“I’m always Sirius.”

“I will smack you, Sirius Black.”

He chuckles but it quickly morphs into a weary sigh.

“You don’t understand how incredible you look when you’re lost in the music, Hermione. Transcendental. You’re a vision. I mean, you always are. But you’re sitting there in my fucking t-shirt, listening to my favourite album, and you have this dreamy little grin. You’re hardly in the room, but it doesn’t matter. You’re comfortable enough to let yourself fully feel the music around me. And that’s no small thing. I know it isn’t. So, yes, I’m struck by an epiphany listening to my favourite band with my favourite witch who’s added my favourite spice to my favourite fruit loaf. Is it really so surprising?”

She laughs and it’s melodic. She’s euphoric.

“Yes, you dolt. It’s utterly baffling. Completely bewildering. Now kiss me.”

And he does.

[sol-consort]

How do you think cross species kid friendships would go?

Can't speak for the alien species kids, but I spent a lot of time around toddlers and it's very very bad my dude. We have to teach kids empathy and respect of other humans, and it's ten times harder convincing a 3y old to respect a plant and not tear off all of its leaves just because, or to be gentle with a cat otherwise you'll get scratched.

Realistically, it'd go abysmally bad.

Kids are hard work. Humans are not born with a sense of right or wrong for other creatures. You nurture empathy into them. If left to their own devices, they'll go by whim and pure instincts—those said instincts telling them these alien kids aren't human therefore it's fine to be pull and hit them since they might as well be plushies or toys.

Exposing a human kid raised on Earth to an alien kid will go horribly. They will pull on the hanar tentacles, attempt to scratch the turian plates or insist on holding their claws only to end up injuring themselves by accident, be generally rude towards salarians and call their smooth skin gross, or stubbornly attempt to lift the helmet off a quarian kid.

We teach kids to act better and show respect, we remind them constantly, and they won't see a point in it until they near their pre-teens and start comprehending why empathy is so important once they become self-aware.

But what if you raised your kid in the Citadel or a cross species colony amongst other aliens? Then, intergrating them into having empathy and respect for aliens will go much faster. But it will still be hard since they won't view them as human for a while.

Infants will cry if you hand them to a turian or a vorcha because human instincts find them scary. Human toddlers wouldn't want to play with the turian toddlers they meet at the park, not to mention a lot of human parents would hold prejudice against turian toddlers since they are "careless" with their claws near human children, and warn their kids against playing with them.

And that's being hopeful here. Most parents don't care enough to teach their kids empathy for other humans. A lot of kids are spoiled and ill-mannered to no fault of their own. A product of neglect and short-tempered parents. Kids require patience. They are not born horrible. They don't mean the bad they do. They just don't know any other way yet. It's supposed to be our job to teach them these alternative ways to help them through the vulnerable early stages of life and the mess that is having a soul and emotions.

Humans aren't born polite, nice, respectful, or kind. Humans aren't born bad either. We just are. We have no prior knowledge hardwired into our brain besides pure curious instincts we have no control over. Human children are unbelievably hard to get along with, at least in comparison to how easy it is to handle animal children. No matter how well behaved you think a kid is, an alien is so out of range to what they consider human, that they might do something horrible out of curiosity once you turn your back.

[whisper-and-tangle]

hey do you guys ever think abt angels do you guys ever think abt being born an untouchable so-called "holy" being made by a creator who would discard you at a moment's notice (and is more than capable of doing so!) an unloving "parent"- Or, well, a sad excuse for one- whose love makes it so horrifingly clear that you aren't just one, you're one of many. And that's /neg. You're one of many produced beings that are considered "above" others, yet you can't bring yourself to their level. How is anything inherent above something else? You're holy, you're powerful, you're unbelievably strong yet you cannot kiss you cannot farm you cannot feel the grass on your human skin because it is not "human" skin you have you cannot run through the rivers with reckless abandon completely careless to whatever may come next you cannot fish you cannot eat you cannot experience life's simple pleasures or even any of it's pleasures at all. You don't have memories of a childhood you can't grow up because you're already grown, you weren't allowed to live your life you weren't allowed to ever be a child. You can't experience the simple pleasures of life and you can't experience the pain, either,- You'll never feel that exciting feeling of blood dripping from your nose as a loud crack is heard from the side of your face as a warrior's armored fist collides with it, you'll never feel the pain of glass shards digging into your skin as salt and beer soaks your wounds after a drunkard smashes a glass into you in the middle of a barfight, you'll never feel you'll never be allowed to understand the eroticism of blood and the feeling of it. Yet they yearn. They yearn so deeply for the simple pleasures and if not that atleast the simple pains.

At least let me feel agony at least let me feel pain at least let me feel anything at all. At least let me be human, something that you'll never let me be. Something that I never can be.

And so, maybe being holy isn't a blessing. Maybe being discarded and considered unloved, deemed unworthy, deemed fallen, isn't the insult your god- Your "creator", your so-called "parent"- believes it to be.

Maybe it lets you reclaim your own life. Maybe it helps split you apart from your parent. Maybe it lets you become your creator.

Because now you're weak. Now you're fleshy. Now you're flawed. Now you're a sinner. Now, you are just another being on this earth.

It's not being outcast. It's escaping a land of isolation and abuse. That escape was always deemed a punishment. It was always considered wrong, deeply, deeply wrong.

And now you know why.

Because now, your "creator" doesn't have control. Now, your sad excuse for a "parent" isn't manipulating you. Now, you are free. Now, you can be your own creator.

Now, you can be yourself, and not just clay for them to mold. ive never read the bible and dont know shit abt religion. smokes a big fucking blunt .

[idyllic-musings]

i didn't feel like formatting this one so....... 🙏🙏🙏 ambrose enjoyers, here is a random unformatted minimal dialogue drabble of yaoshi being an attentive parent and easing ambrose through an episode of mara 🫶 i love writing about characters who have said less than ten lines canonically fr /lh

a thick, impenetrable haze had settled in ambrose's mind.

it happened sometimes, generally after injuries or stressful encounters; they weren't unfamiliar with it, and if they really focused on it, really thought about what may have caused the hazy episode, they could feel a dull, pulsating throb in their side. that was undoubtedly what had caused them to fall into such a poor state. a nasty hit from one of the anitmatter legion's elites... right. they'd almost forgotten about the encounter, really. they were somewhat surprised by the fact that it still hadn't healed. it should have. the child of abundance themselves should have healed by now.

a scalding, burning sense of frustration boiled in their chest. the destruction, damn the destruction—how could nanook be so careless? how could they stand to live with themselves, knowing the kind of pain and suffering they have plagued the universe with?

(some would say the same about yaoshi. the thought only made ambrose's blood boil further.)

nanook, nanook, what a vile aeon...

the gentle drag of nails on their cheek lovingly guided their mind back to where it should have been—far away from the festering fury and unrest.

to be so angry was unbefitting of the child of abundance.

(although...

would it be unbefitting for them to have an abundance of rage, just as they do love? there was no clear answer. it didn't matter, because that rage was not a product of them, but a product of the mara they suffered from.

they were not an angry person. they sincerely weren't.)

newfound peace bloomed in their chest. the fog thinned slightly, and they subconsciously leaned towards the source of their respite.

two of yaoshi's hands reached out to cup ambrose's face, a fond coo dancing on their lips as they observed their child and the way they immediately sought out the aeon's comfort the second it was offerred to them. ambrose looked as if they were about to cry.

'poor thing,' yaoshi mused, thumbs brushing away the beginnings of tears pricking at their emanator's tired eyes. still... a little smile pulled at their lips. they couldn't help but squish ambrose's cheeks ever so slightly. such a delicate little thing ambrose was.

(of course, the child of abundance noticed. it made them pout a little. they almost wanted to tell the aeon to take them seriously! they really weren't some defenseless, scared little kid with separation anxiety anymore. they had long since gotten over it!

...

they also noticed, however, that yaoshi's fond attention was dulling their pain, so they supposed it was tolerable to be cooed at...)

the aeon wondered how it was possible for a single being to be so unbelievably cute, so unbelievably fragile in their hands. perhaps this was how mortal parents felt towards their own children—an indescribable warmth towards their fragile and weak offspring, an unearthly pull, some comeplling need to tend to the needs of their children.

then again, perhaps not.

the intricacies and complexities of immortal bonds were far too complicated to be put into mortal terms. the lord of longevity's feelings could not be described in such a simple way.

ambrose sniffled, fingers gingerly clasping onto yaoshi's wrists. the aeon took that as their sign to gather their child into their many arms, as if to shelter them from the threats and dangers of the universe.

yaoshi leaned down slightly, kissing away what remained of the emanator's tears, as if to whisper kindly reassurances.

'shed your tears no longer.'

'i am here.'

'you will get through this, little one.'

to those with a bond that transcends space and time itself, words were trivial. unnecessary.

the aeon of abundance and their child had no use for words.

[leogichidaa]

Psychoanalysis Sunday #47

Non-magical AU where Regulus is put in therapy with a psychoanalyst

Part 1 | Previous | Next

"When I go away to school," Regulus says slowly, looking at the analyst with his brow furrowed slightly. "Will I keep meeting with you? I will not be in London during the school year, you know."

Dr. Robertson does not respond right away, in keeping with his annoying habit of long, uncomfortable pauses that make Regulus' mind race. Instead, he looks at Regulus with an odd, almost pitying expression on his face. This, too, is annoying and altogether typical behavior for the analyst. Behavior that Regulus will likely only be subject to for a handful more weeks before he is off to school to learn the unsettling habits of his professors (not to mention Hogwart's polarizing headmaster, who Regulus is privately looking forward to meeting in person).

"What would you like to do, Regulus?" the analyst asks, finally breaking the awful silence.

Always another question. Never a bloody answer.

Regulus hopes that the adults at Hogwarts are more straight forward, although he has no reason to suspect they will be. Nothing he has heard about the headmaster, either from those who adore him or those who hate him, indicate that he is a man who says what he means. And Regulus already knows Professor Slughorn. While he is easy to please and easy enough to read, he is not particularly well known for speaking directly either.

"It would not be practical for me to come back to London every week to speak with you," Regulus says. "Besides..." he trails off and examining the cuff of his sleeve with sudden intensity.

"You do not want the other children to know that you meet with a psychiatrist."

Regulus looks up at the analyst in surprise.

"I read it on your list," Dr. Robertson explains.

"Oh. Right. There is a decent chance that everyone will think I am mad anyway. Sirius knows I see you, obviously, and I think he might have told his awful friends. When I was over at Potter's last summer, he made a condescending little comment about 'mental well-being'. I suppose I could tell them that our parents wanted Sirius to see you originally, that he is the mental one, but I doubt they would care what I had to say. Even though I cannot imagine they would find it unbelievable that Sirius is in need of psychiatric intervention. If they were any kind of proper friends, they would try to convince him to come and see you, but they are awful people who do not have his best interests at heart in the slightest.

"Evan knows I come to see you too, and while I do not think he would spread it about maliciously, he is a bit...careless about other people's private information."

Regulus sighs. "Essentially, I am counting on my visits with you being public knowledge at some point. It will be a bit difficult to deny it if I disappear to London once a week. And mother says that I would not be allowed to have lunch with her if I did keep coming to see you during the school year. That might have persuaded me to agree to it, but she said it would be rewarding bad behavior."

Dr. Robertson arches his eyebrows. "Interesting."

"I wonder if she would have lunch with me if I told her I was not coming to see you anymore," Regulus says, perking up a bit. "Not once a week, surely, but perhaps monthly. I am sure Professor Slughorn would be happy to make arrangements."

"You are worried about being away from your mother while you are at school," the analyst says.

Regulus makes a face. "Not especially. It would be nice to see her, of course, but I am not, you know - " Regulus waves his hand vaguely. "I will be fine without her. I will be fine without you, too."

"I am sure you will be," Dr. Robertson says mildly. "Are you sure you will be?"

"Yes. No. I - I think I will be fine. As long as the sorting goes well, anyway."

"The sorting?"

Regulus swallows and smooths out the wrinkles on the front of his trousers. "Yes, of course. The sorting."

[sentientburrito]

Y'all wanna hear some even scarier shit?

-Tornadoes emit a specific electromagnetic howl that can be detected from up to ~30 miles away. There are alarm boxes just now entering the market that will EEEEEEEEE when they pick it up.

-There is no law or rule that a tornado has to be visible. Tornadoes form from the ground-upwards. The funnel coming down is just a side effect. Humid soil, no debris to pick up and a high cloud base means that bitch can be invisible even in clear air.

-We still do not know exactly why a tornado successfully forms. There are storms that have all the perfect ingredients and will never show their dangly bits, yet some of the strongest tornadoes can come from a careless whisper of forecasted risk.

-Extremely strong tornadoes can have vortexes that reach out to the side and split vortexes on the ground. These are so indicative of a monster that the Native Americans had a saying (paraphrased) "If you see the dead man walking, you're already a dead man."

One of the most legendary tornadoes, the Tuscaloosa Multivortex EF-4, sported them in spades.

-Tornadoes in the Northern Hemisphere rotate counterclockwise 99% of the time. But if a storm's updraft/"horseshoe" is strong enough, a clockwise tornado can form on the other side aswell, and sandwich you.

-Tornadoes can be so unbelievably strong that they scour the dirt three feet deep.

-Tornadoes are not beholden to the motion of their parent storm. There is nothing to stop one thinking "Fuck this town!" and sitting stationary for ten minutes, turning 90 or 180 degrees, or retreading their tracks.

I've been reading facts on Wikipedia again, and i'm overcome with the need to terrify non-Americans with the most underrated Terrifying American Thing: TORNADOES

Due to a quirk of mountain and ocean placement, the east-central United States has a higher number of tornadoes (particularly exceptionally strong tornadoes) than any other place on Earth.

And they're so fucking scary oh my God

[plusvanity]

well now im definitely curious about ur take on varg/abbath. the drawing on the last ask was a nice surprise btw – varg/fenriz anon

Glad you liked it! My sketches are usually absolute shit lol, but anyway

My idea of Varg/Abbath is basically 'friends with benefits'. It may not sound sensational (it's not, really), but things get interesting when Varg gets so frustrated with his life at home that he needs to take his teenage anger, never-ending boredom and hormonal imbalance out on something.

This all happened during his time as a rhythm guitarist in Old Funeral. Him and Abbath become close 'friends' cause Abbath is more of his type of people (reckless, careless and up to do crazy shit more than any other bandmates). So, they make a team lol. They get to set shit on fire, shoot guns in the woods and do basically what Varg suggests every time he leaves his home.

This dubiously escalates to 'more' when they get drunk (things that Varg doesn't want to remember) at Abbath's place while watching porn and Abbath's remarks about 'wanting to bang that chick on the screen' turns into him unceremoniously unzipping his pants and starting to wank. 10 seconds after, Varg goes 'yolo fuck it' and does the same thing.

Emotionally speaking, they both think they're 'cool' with each other, and they are for a while until Abbath gets a girlfriend (this is the most unbelievable thing in this story) and Varg's 'needs' get pushed aside. There is a bit of drama here and there, but they start doing things again anyway.

Varg's internal drama is based on the fact that his rebellion towards his parents made him do a lot of promiscuous things. He wants to believe that both him and Abbath did things 'equality', but he feels used somehow, so he does what he always does and warps the reality into an illusion that he was the one using Abbath all along and he's always got an upper hand on the narrative. That's basically his mentality. He needs to make himself live in a lie to protect his fragile ego and inner world from breaking.

On a side note, Abbath actually gets a bit attached to Varg at the end of their 'messing around' time. He never admits that because he doesn't know what to do with this realization, but he 'tries' to get romantically closer to Varg somehow. But, Varg had already made up his mind and he's cold towards his friend.

Old Funeral splits and not long after that, Varg is already ditching all of his previous friends. He's very bitter towards his mistakes and Abbath lol, but Burzum is his new priority and life goes on.

Fingers crossed that they never met again 🤞🤞🤞

Sorry for the long waffle and I hope you enjoyed this insight in their story lol

[dfroza]

A full disclosure.

“Some people’s sins are clearly on display before the world. They lead the way to the final judgment. But it’s not so easy with other people because their sins trail behind and don’t catch up to them until later. The same is true regarding good works; some are there for all to see. Other people’s works can be inconspicuous; but at the final judgment, they cannot remain hidden.”

Today’s reading of the Scriptures from the New Testament is the 5th chapter of the letter of 1st Timothy:

Respect an elderly man. Don’t speak to him sharply; appeal to him as you would a father. Treat younger men as brothers, elderly women as mothers, and younger women as sisters in all purity.

Honor widows, but be discerning about which ones are truly widows. If any widow has children or grandchildren, then go to the descendants first and teach them that it is their spiritual responsibility to care for their own family, to repay their parents and grandparents because this is what pleases God. Here’s how you know if she is a true widow: she is all alone with her hope fixed in God, crying her pleas, prayers, and appeals to God day and night. But the woman who is living for pleasure is dead as she stands. You should command these things to everyone to keep them free of blame. And listen, if someone is not providing for his own relatives and especially his own household, then he is denying the faith and is worse off than an unbeliever.

Now only these should be put on the widow registry: a woman who is at least 60 years old, was a faithful wife to one husband, is well thought of for her good works, has raised children, was hospitable, has washed the feet of the saints, has tended to the sick and suffering, and has devoted herself to do good wherever possible. Don’t add younger women to the widow roll because when their desires for pleasure overtake them, they get careless in their devotion to the Anointed One. Their constant thoughts become, “I want to get married,” and such thoughts disqualify them because they have tossed aside their first commitment to Him. Plus, they get into the habit of being idle. Not only are they idle, but they band together and roam from house to house, gossiping about and meddling into other people’s business; they talk about all sorts of things that should never be spoken of. That’s why I think it’s best to have the younger widows remarry, have children, and take care of their households so that the enemy gains no opportunity to come with accusations. (Unfortunately some have already lined up behind Satan!) Tell any woman of faith: if you have a widow in your family, help her so the church is unencumbered and is free to extend aid to the widows who are truly in need of its help.

Elders who are leading well should be admired and valued. Double up on the honor shown them; care for them well—especially those constantly and consistently teaching the word and preaching. For the Scripture agrees, “Don’t muzzle the ox while it is treading out your grain,” and, “The worker deserves his wages.”

Listen, when or if a charge comes against an elder, don’t even acknowledge the accusation unless there are two or more witnesses. Bring any believers who persist in sinning before the community and publicly scold them so that all the rest will know to fear sin and its consequences. I challenge you—in front of God, Jesus His Anointed, and His select heavenly messengers—to keep these instructions. And don’t do anything out of favoritism. Don’t be too quick to lay hands upon anyone or share in the sins of others—stay clean.

Concerning your health, Timothy, don’t just drink water; drink a little wine. It is good for your stomach and will help with your frequent ailments.

Some people’s sins are clearly on display before the world. They lead the way to the final judgment. But it’s not so easy with other people because their sins trail behind and don’t catch up to them until later. The same is true regarding good works; some are there for all to see. Other people’s works can be inconspicuous; but at the final judgment, they cannot remain hidden.

The Letter of 1st Timothy, Chapter 5 (The Voice)

A set of notes from The Voice translation:

Paul instructs Timothy not to let his youth cause distraction: meet this objection with loving speech, faithful conduct, pure action, and transparent living as an example for all.

Family members have a duty before God to support their relatives. But when a widow has no family to support her, the church must step in to be her surrogate family. Paul, of course, is thinking of those widows who have served faithfully in the ministry of the church. The elderly are easily forgotten, especially those without caring families. The church is called to honor those who have been faithful servants by maintaining relationships with them and helping them when they are in need.

Today’s paired chapter of the Testaments is the 6th chapter of the book of Ezekiel:

The word of the Eternal came to me about Israel’s coming destruction.

Eternal One: Son of man, turn your gaze to the mountains of Israel; prophesy against them. Tell the mountains of Israel to listen to the word of the Eternal Lord. I have a message for the high mountains and green hills, riverbeds and lush, fertile valleys: I am bringing the weapons of war against you, and I will demolish the shrines on your heights. Your sacrificial altars will be ruined, your incense altars smashed. I will throw down your slain before your lifeless idols. I will lay the remains of the dead Israelites in front of your lifeless idols; and I will scatter your bones around your altars so the place is contaminated with death. In every place you live, the towns will be left in ruins and the high places will be rubble so that every place becomes a desolate wasteland. Your sacrificial altars will be destroyed and abandoned, your idols crushed and flattened, your incense altars smashed, and all you have created will be wiped out. Your towns will be full of corpses. Then you will know I am the Eternal One.

But I will spare a few of you, and those who escape My punishing war will be scattered throughout other lands and nations. In the nations where they have been taken as exiles, those who have been spared will remember Me—how I have been wounded by their promiscuous hearts that turned away from Me, how I have been hurt by their wandering eyes that desired lifeless idols. They will hate themselves for the evil they have done and for their detestable actions. Then they will know I am the Eternal One. They will understand I did not utter empty threats when I said I would bring disaster on them.

Here is what I, the Eternal Lord, have to say: Clap your hands together, stomp your feet, and shout, How awful it will be for the people of Israel because of all the evil, shocking actions they have committed. They will be slain. War, famine, and disease will fall upon them! Those who are far away will die of disease; those who are near will fall in battle; those who are spared will die of starvation. This is how I will spend My wrath on them. After all the destruction, you will know I am the Eternal—when the rotting corpses of their slain are spread out among their fallen altars and shattered idols, on every green hill and high mountaintop, beneath every green tree and leafy oak, any place they offered sweet incense to their breathless idols. Wherever they live, I will stretch out My hand against them and make their land an empty wasteland, from the wilderness to Diblah. Then they will know I am the Eternal One.

The Book of Ezekiel, Chapter 6 (The Voice)

A link to my personal reading of the Scriptures for Thursday, november 2 of 2023 with a paired chapter from each Testament of the Bible along with Today’s Proverbs and Psalms

A post by John Parsons about the inner condition of the heart:

In his famous "Sermon on the Mount," Yeshua revealed the inner condition of the heart, despite the various pretenses that people may contrive to evade the truth.... "You have heard that it was said, "Do no murder," but I say to you, harbor no anger; you have heard "do no adultery," but I say to you harbor no lust..." You have heard it said, "Do not break an oath," but I say to you swear no oath at all, but let your word be enough. Yeshua brings the Torah inside, to the heart, to reveal our great need. A person who makes an oath assumes he can keep the law, that he can control the impulses and sickness of his own deceptive heart. That is the source of the problem (Jer. 17:9; Eccl. 9:3; Mark 7:21). The Lord reveals what we are inside so that we may realize our need for deliverance from ourselves. What we really need is a miracle on the order of splitting the sea or raising the dead, namely, a new heart (לֵב חָדָשׁ) and a new spirit (רוּחַ חֲדָשָׁה) put within us. For those who might struggle with pride, fear, anger, lust, and hardness of heart, please take hold of hope. God can turn "stone to flesh" and make you fully alive by His power.

The heart (lev) is the inner person, the seat of the emotions, thought, and will. A new heart (lev chadash) represents the transformation of the whole of your inner nature - with the impartation of new appetites, new passions, new desires, etc. (Psalm 51:10). A new spirit (ruach chadashah) implies the renewal of your inner life – the rebirth of your will. This is the “law of the Spirit” (תוֹרַת רוּחַ הַחַיִּים) and the new principle of eternal life (Rom. 8:2).

The “stony heart” (lev ha’even) represents unfeeling, self-serving numbness of being. This heart is the locus of yetzer hara, the inner selfish impulse that is the common heritage of the “natural man.” The Targum renders this as, "I will break the heart of the wicked, which is hard as a stone.'' A hard heart has a form of "sclerosis" that makes it closed off and impermeable to love from others, and especially from God. Scripture uses various images to picture this condition, including a "heart of stone" (Ezek. 36:26, Zech. 7:12), an "uncircumcised heart" (Jer. 9:26), a "stiff neck" (Deut. 31:27), and so on. Stubbornness is really a form of idolatry, an exaltation of self-will that refuses to surrender to God.

The heart of flesh (lev basar) represents an inner life of genuine feeling and joy that makes a fit habitation for the radiance of the Divine Presence. After all, the word for “grace” (χάρις) is directly linked to the word for “joy” (χαρά). This heart is soft and tender - a spiritual and sanctified heart - that is submissive to the will of God. It is upon the inner “tablets” of this heart that the Torah of God truly written (Jer. 31:33).

There aren't two gospel messages: one for the sinner and the other for the saint... The message of the gospel is always "good news" for those who are sin-sick and riddled with guilt and shame, and it is always "bad news" for those who deny their inner condition before God and believe that they can justify themselves. In other words, there's no "gospel" message apart from the message of the cross of Yeshua, and the cross represents the end of the ego and its devices. We don't get saved in order to follow the path of self-righteousness; we get saved to be witnesses of God's righteousness (Rom. 1:16-17). We love God because He first loved us (1 John 4:19).

May it please God to give us all soft hearts and renewed spirits that are empowered to love in the truth and to walk before His Presence... May He perform a divine "heart transplant" so that we may feel the heartbeat of the Spirit within us. Amen.

[ Hebrew for Christians ]

­========

Jeremiah 24:7a reading:

https://hebrew4christians.com/Blessings/Blessing_Cards/jer24-7a-jjp.mp3

https://hebrew4christians.com/Blessings/Blessing_Cards/jer24-7a-lesson.pdf

11.1.23 • Facebook

from yesterday’s email by Israel 365:

Like an unexpected cool breeze on a hot summer’s day, Samuel reinvigorated his people. God appeared again in Shiloh! A nation that had forgotten its mission as God’s chosen people was once again infused with prophecy.

Today’s message (Days of Praise) from the Institute for Creation Research

November 2, 2023

Belief and Behavior

“And the LORD said unto Satan, Hast thou considered my servant Job, that there is none like him in the earth, a perfect and an upright man, one that feareth God, and escheweth evil?” (Job 1:8)

Job was blameless. But since “all have sinned, and come short of the glory of God” (Romans 3:23), how could he avoid bearing blame? His friend Bildad had the same question. He asked Job, “How then can man be justified with God?” (Job 25:4). Bildad assumed that Job based his self-proclaimed right standing with God on his own good works. It appears that blamelessness through God’s grace never entered Bildad’s mind.

According to God, however, Bildad and his two like-minded “miserable comforters” (Job 16:2) “have not spoken of me the thing that is right, as my servant Job hath” (Job 42:7). The three men apparently thought that righteousness arises from behavior, not belief. But for God to see sinners as blameless, He must pardon them by grace alone.

Did Job believe blamelessness comes by faith and through a sacrifice? He did think his family’s sins required blood sacrifices, since he “rose up early in the morning, and offered burnt offerings according to the number of them all [10 children]” (Job 1:5). Good works don’t earn right standing before our holy God. Job must have trusted that God transfers sin and blame to an appropriate sacrifice, a promise that would be realized with the death and resurrection of our Savior, Jesus Christ. After we believe, we find inspiration for right behavior from our newfound freedom in forgiveness.

God directed Job’s friends to “go to my servant Job, and offer up for yourselves a burnt offering” (Job 42:8). The Lord points out that belief in Him, not behavior, is our necessary source of blamelessness. Good behavior follows faith. BDT

[me-uglypretty]

the killing & the pinning

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x Fem!Reader

Summary: Natasha finds herself enjoying the company of death, both literally and physically.

Warning: 18+ (G), au, serial killer!natasha, grim reaper!reader, blood, killing, dead bodies, violence, mention of knife, smut, bottom natasha, pet names, r being a top, minor mention of scythe used for sex | 3755 Words

| spooky week ‘22 masterlist | Notify | Masterlist |

Amid the summer’s harsh warmth of 2016, fallen leaf crunches under worn out boots and the victory grin on Natasha’s face after committing her first murder. The sun’s glimmer felt refreshing after seizing her first opportunity into the rush of a serial killer with a charming smile and eyes flickers of every excellent qualities.

Natasha Romanoff was born in Russia, but her family moved to Ohio when she was twelve. Adapting to her new life wasn’t easy with the cultural and language barrier. Her auburn hair easily drawing attention from left and right, even when she dyed it blue. But if given the chance to leave her new home, she would politely decline with a reassuring smile that was sure to melt hearts.

From her perfect grades, awarding ballet skills, and manners that went beyond capturing hearts of boys her age to elderly gushing about her politeness. Natasha’s overall personality wasn’t hard to love or adore, she was often kind and deem as the golden child—either secretly or openly from those around her and her own parents, despite having a younger sister trying to reach the same level of admiration.

She once heard her neighbours complains, forefinger pointed at his reckless children with a new lesson leading to their expanded annoyance, “Learn something from Natasha! Good grades, good at sports, and she doesn’t disobey her parents! Everyone loves her…and she graduated university!” and she walked away before greeting another pair of parents admiring her.

They merely entered the church when her name was showered with such beautiful petals. She wondered if the god they preached felt jealous of her, so easily engulf of sweet words and gestures without a second doubt.

It’s shocking and unbelievable how time drastically changes people.

Natasha huffs, wisp of auburn hair tickles her moisty forehead while hauling the lifeless boy that seems eager to smear blood on the once spotless floor. But out of everything that could rendered someone disgusted like the pool of blood one part of the floor or the obvious slice of skin gushing with blood, Natasha felt most uneasy when her darken eyes meets the sight of a naked body. Not even the knife stuck between his chest made her sick.

The bloody path on the floor leads from where she successfully heard his final cries to where she now stands, trying transfer his body. Part of her felt disappointment in herself from sheer careless in executing her plan. Thought, each step of her favourable gruesome activity was laced with do’s and don’t’s which are exactly what she noted to ensure the next murder is better.

Natasha grumbles under her breath with curses that sounds sweeter in her mother tongue. Her hands grip the mop’s wooden stick, frustration was slowly seeping into her enjoyment. The mop’s grey threads were soaked darker substance, red bleeding through and mocking her avoidable mess. If only her direct anger didn’t drag her into reacting instantly before listening to her sense of clarity.

But it’s over and done.

The dead body, Brady or Bruce, a name that wasn’t significant. Only that he was an obstacle. He played the role of the perfect man, religious since his youth and passing his years of lessons to his children. He was forty something and a complete creep. It was almost impressing seeing his calm demeanour under the god’s oath, then witnessing his sleazy hands guiding intoxicated girls into the bar’s restroom. Several drinks, whispers of sweet nothings, and the lack of judgement on their side.

And he most definitely winked at her by the bar’s entrance. That was his first and final strike.

He became the next victim in her list of those murdered over their negative traits. One of which was her roommate of two months during her first year of university. That woman was in her thirties and insisted on sharing Natasha’s food. Whatever fruits or prepped food according to Natasha’s strict diet was often eaten without consent and she hated it.

Bye-bye Michelle, and hello to her satisfied hunger. Alongside with her stocked fridge.

Now, Bruce’s lifeless body was lying in Natasha’s unnamed apartment in the rundown part of New York. It took her a lengthy time to obtain the perfect location after she decided to leave her beloved hometown. There was more of life beyond her small town that she years to discover. University was her first step then the next was completely adulthood with an even consistent career.

“And there’s another both. Oh, nice, the man you complained about the last time.”

Natasha’s round lips curves, her previous frustration melted at the voice seeping through her consciousness. The sound that tightens her chest for the mere seconds before exploding, pulsing at every trudge of her legs and her hands clammy. She shifts her gaze to the voice pulling her closer and meets the sight of you form hovering by the opened window.

Completely dressed in black from head to toe, broad shoulder holding a flowy cloak, and standing taller than her, almost towering over her. The obvious glimmer of red pulses through your round eyes and the scythe being held your hand. Teeth sharp when you speak and the taunting smirk that doesn’t fade till you completely disappear from her sight.

The first time Natasha met you was forever imprinted in her memory. It was a cheerful day she committed her first murder and the start of an endless encounter. Natasha remembers every detail of the eventful day, from the pleasurable fear in her victim’s eyes to meeting yours after the last seconds of life faded. She would had proudly gushed about meeting the you as the Grim Reaper, but of course, it remains a secret.

Natasha’s eighteen-birthday was the first time she realised how she craves to hear helpless bodies begging for mercy. A sight she long to witness on repeat. The awful man was screaming his forties away at every jarring stab on his body, a euphoric sound for her. It wasn’t weird or scary, but something she felt pleasant about. Her first murder wasn’t meaningless either.

Mr Stark tried running over her sister’s dog twice. Each met with her dangerous glare and his grimy face. He was a blabbermouth too. He tried convincing her parents that she was sneaking out her room to participate in unholy activities.

But she conveniently saw him jerking off. Specifically, ten minutes after catching her kissing Wanda Maximoff. The priest’s daughter and her then, supposedly forever, girlfriend.

On that graceful night, Natasha met you—the legendary Grim Reaper intertwining into the life of an unknown the killer.

Natasha was surprised at first, seeing someone watching her from the corner of her mother’s home office and the obvious polished blade glints under the harsh light. She was mesmerised as her eye’s trails pass the sharp object to the structure of your face, a mysterious persona. An undying hunger was awakened from within after that day.

You weren’t known to most, but you had the softest smile on your face as your gaze drops on the lifelessly body, “A little disorganized for your first murder.”

Laughter erupts, sounding carefree and at ease after Natasha’s scrambled to pull out the hidden knife in her boots and pointing it towards the stranger. Tension sizzles in the air, Natasha was sure her first and hopefully, her last murder would had been executed without any kind of interruption or mistakes. It was an act of vengeance for her sister and his big mouth. A death for things that was incredibly wrong.

After her first time, Natasha laid in bed without anyone else’s knowledge of her gruesome truth. The crime committed just hours ago. Her mind flashing with images of blood tainted on her hands, the fear in his eyes and lips quiver as if she would reconsider his actions, the knife sliding through his skin and his muffled screams. The satisfaction garnered from knowing someone received their well-earned death made her feel better.

And the mysterious stranger, you were watching her clean the mess made while offering words of assistance. Mostly unhelpful, but a teasing tone at your every touch of voice that made her cheeks warm.

Then, the introduction that her left her mouth gape—your mysterious self and so effortlessly beautiful, a collector of souls, known as Death, soul harvester, a fulfilling sight—and your name that wasn’t known.

Your response to her bewildered expression was your chilling step closer, the air made Natasha shudder and your cold hand slithers out from beneath your dark cloak. The same hand grasps Natasha’s jaw then softly pushing her jaw up to complete shut her mouth, “Don’t wanna catch death flies.”

Natasha’s urges only amplify. She wondered if another round of cries and a bloody mess would grant her the appearance of Death. Will you grace Natasha with your presence again or were you simply a fragment of her imagination and if that was it, she might really be losing her mind.

A week later, Natasha committed her second kill and you appeared with a flattering smirk.

The unlikely friendship manifested after every encounter of unimaginable death. It was after her seventh that Natasha found peace within her inner battle. Those hours spent killing people and the solace she found wasn’t her unwinding herself from stress but embracing her true passion. Accepting her desire to see you again. There wasn’t another way of meeting Death, if not committing murder.

Killing, murdering, unliving someone in the most gruesome way. That was her source of self-indulgence and the direct connection to you.

Conversations were brief, mostly surrounding Natasha’s recent kill. Gradually, conversations evolve into your questions about her life that wasn’t revolving dead bodies. Casual conversations became your thing with her, but still, you were nothing more than an acquaintance.

Why was she attached to a mystical creature? Why was every act of murder accompanied with aching anticipating for you?

Slowly, after throwing her frustration at her fourth kill, a woman who tried cutting her line at the grocery store then proceeding to flaunt her money which was a direct descended of stolen money— that she finally realise how she was incredibly fucked up and she was harbouring feelings for the Grim Reaper.

The unusual amount of time she had spent rehearsing conversations then trying to start said conversation wasn’t normal nor was it easy with you. Death or simply you weren’t someone who speaks as much. Natasha’s fear of messing up her words creeps her confidence and the fear of ruining her honoured title as Death’s favourite killer.

Your favourite serial killer.

Natasha Romanoff had successfully committed a total of thirty-seven kills, seventeen were committed within the span of one week. It wasn’t her brightest moment. You waver your presence at some visits till you started visiting her most often and longer which made Natasha excessively happy, not only from the sheer liking of killing but the chance of seeing you.

But the murders weren’t only committed with the purpose of seeing you.

“This was a bit messy. Don’t you think?” you asked, sauntering into the room and crossing your arms, gazing down at the lifeless body wrapped in an old carpet then your eyes wanders to the blood stains on the floor.

The smirk on your lips extends to your cheeks, wickedly scary and Natasha felt her legs trembles for the sheer seconds of your eyes meeting hers.

You snap your fingers, regaining Natasha’s attention from her daze state. The killer, the name so profound, snaps from her thoughts and takes a step back when she realises your proximity. Her tongue tied, throat burning of words she dares not utter and her gaze momentarily falls on your round lips.

“You’re making my job way harder than it has to be, Natasha…” your voice emits a certain coldness of death which instigate a shiver on Natasha’s skin. Hint of silver glint from your teeth beneath a malicious smirk, tongue darting across smooth lips. “And you’re such a good girl, aren’t you?”

Natasha doesn’t favour commands from those assuming they had some sort of authority over her, not even parent’s righteous or the overcrowding teachers flinging their advice at her innocent face. There’s always an alternative response in those moments with a faultless performance.

But the current thumping of heart’s desire, good girl—prodding into Natasha’s mind, swiftly nudging her head as she nodded obediently and the corners of her lips curves, drawing a smile on her face while your distinguishable smirk blurs in her vision to reveal an astonishing smile.

The skilful killer whose body count was so distinct from what was assumed of her, realises something on that dusky night.

She loves your smile and she worship the intimate exchange over splattered blood.

An abrupt thump on the ground stirs Natasha’s drifting mind as the surge of opaque mist envelopes her surroundings. Absolute darkness buries her vision, hands reaching for something, but not the slightest fear crawls at her skin.

Then, a hushed sound emerges to her left and seconds after, another wisp of icy air blows at her right cheek.

“Such a good girl.”

Natasha sucks a deep breath, feeling slender fingers at the nape of her neck before flickers of light invades her sight—and those familiar eyes of yours, an endless abyss and a taunting smile, merely an inch away from her.

“You don’t have to stand on a mountain of bodies for my attention,” your voice echoes through her mind, “Just tell me what you want and…” and your eyebrows furrowed, giving an impression that you know of those flowing thoughts behind starving eyes.

Natasha’s breath escapes as gasps when your feverish lips contacted hers. It jolts something within her soul, the terror screams of her victims couldn’t compare as she submits, lips parting slightly as unfamiliar velvety tongue slips into her mouth.

You’re mine, Natasha.

She doesn’t utter a word. The silent hums of lips meeting were enough of an acceptance. Natasha felt like a virgin, so clumsy and inexperienced, savouring the distinctive taste in her mouth, how hands were daringly crossing bridges of which she would had cut their hands off—but these hands, so cold, so rough and yet, emits a placid feeling that she craves.

She doesn’t know how long lips melted against each other or when her body falls on a bed of grey clouds, flicker of red somewhere in the room she couldn’t care to know. Natasha hasn’t thought of life ahead, she hasn’t encounter anything as satisfying than the thirst inside to kill then she found herself consumed by the persistence of Death; your mystical self, adoring darkness from your core to the lifts of your lips, mocking her and teasing, relentlessly tugging her heart into a dangerous zone.

“You are an astounding human,” you whispered, luring Natasha from her daze to realise her position. Your thighs straddle her waist, holding her down as your dark cloak pools on her lower half. “I had never met someone so corrupted and so eager to please.”

It was absurd how easily she surrendered, “Please…” she was writhing beneath you. Natasha doesn’t understand why she was begging for mercy. Fear of her life merely exist, but the aching inside that seeks a healing touch, heart begging for more than your lips risky endeavour on her skin.

She feels the surge of energy setting her insides with a fire and her mouth gasping as your hand enclose around her throat and the other trails a path down her abdomen. The twist of hips, pelvis hitting at each thrust, body savouring ever messy touch and moans echoes around.

The cloak shielding your body slowly peels slightly, glimpse of nude skin and Natasha’s mouth waters to unveil more as her greedy hand reach over, pulling the offending material as it falls lower.

“Oh god,” Natasha whimpered, her eyes distracted by firm breast mercilessly shifting at every thrust. “You’re beautiful,” she observes the scene for a lustful moment before feeling a gust of wind on her skin, almost naked if not covered by matching coloured lingerie.

“Almost feel like you were waiting for this, were you?” you teased, forefinger drawing a line between Natasha’s slit, scoffing when the famed killer whimpers for more. “You’re so helpless under me. Was this what they felt?”

Surprised was an understatement at your influence on her body. The clothes seemingly disappearing in air and her mind spiralling in immoral thoughts, craving for you to completely remove your dark cloak.

The ambience of the room or what space she couldn’t decipher, launches herself into an arouse state as her wide-eyes watch your head declines from her clear sight to finding your head between her thighs, fingers digging into her warm skin, nails leaving crescent dents as she sucks a deep breath.

Your cold tongue licks a stripe over her heated core. Realisation creeps in of her complete naked state and the eagerness for her body to uncover more as your mouth thrust into throbbing core. Natasha’s mind clouding with euphoria, aimlessly moaning at ever nudge over her swollen clit and when cold tongue slips into her opening, and her hands falls on the head breaching her common sense.

“Fuck, please don’t stop, don’t stop,” she whined, begging and plunging her entire self into a prodding desire.

The humming from your mouth stirs her body, cold mouth wrapping around her clit as a finger replaces the emptiness in her hole then pulling out and back in, another finger provoking a pleasurable loud moan from her mouth.

“You taste so good,” you praised, soft and grumbled like as your mouth continues their action, and Natasha’s thighs shakes from the sheer sounds of you. Muscles tightening as she closes around your fingers and immersing herself into the pure sensation of warmth invading her stomach, skin sweaty and sticky and your teasing chuckle at her helpless state.

Death. Death. Death. Echoes a defenceless sound in her mind, clouded by the image of your bare breast, the head between her warm legs, taunting smiles and eyes striking her heart to the core, shelving every other thought in replace with one; you.

“You’re such a good girl, uh?”

Obedient too.

Natasha hears your voice occupying painting the walls of her mind and amused as her mouth mumbles of incoherent words. You swiftly lifted her body, shifting position to lay down as Natasha is left straddling you, and your hands guides hers to the breast she was waiting to drag her tongue over. Rough hands press over hers, your pointed eyes urging for her to please you—someone so powerful, commanding her to do something that she swore to perfect.

If she could kill by her own rules, then she would easily master the needs of you.

And she did, trying to dominate the body beneath her, but she was mostly led by every sound of satisfaction from your mouth.

When her tongue wraps around your harden nipple while the other fed with attention from her fingers. Death, so bizarre to fall from her mouth, pants and praises from yours, even when she gulps, completely mesmerised by the sounds pulled from her touch. It wasn’t the sound of useless bodies begging for their life that sets her off, it’s this.

It’s you.

“Don’t stop,” your muffled voice shudders Natasha shoulder with a peculiarly coldness grazing her skin and her head turns to see the scythe’s blade almost clashing with her jaw. “Down…” you ordered, using the extensive hook to nudge her shoulder downwards.

Natasha wordlessly obeyed, nudging her body where she was led to face your glistering core and her own pulses, eagerly anticipating the next rule of orders as her mouth waters for the sleek that coats your thighs. Head lifts for the mere second to see flashes of red behind your dark eyes and your taunting smirk as the silver blade glints close to her cheek.

“Good girls don’t make messes,” your warned with a quirk of your eyebrows, the scythe’s sharp blade grazes Natasha’s cheek. The touch made the latter gasp, feeling a slight pinch on her skin and the trickle of crimson trailing down her face. Your icy hands wipe the red on her cheeks and smiling softly at her tolerance to be used.

Natasha Romanoff doesn’t think that she’s another woman with a gruesome secret or ponders of how her hands waved at elderly couple and guided them across the street, the same hands which she spends hours trying to rid of bloodstains. She simply doesn’t think at that significant moment as her tongue dives without hesitation, dawning her new sense of life by your moans filling the space in her head.

If someone asked of her life’s biggest achievement, she wouldn’t utter of those bloody bodies but would proudly exclaim of tasting life between the threats of death—your thighs clasping around her head, fingers tangled and tugging at her hair, murmurs of command that sets a fire to her lungs, how she felt the sharp blade hovering so dangerously over her back—and they wouldn’t know.

Natasha met the Grim Reaper before she desires for death, then meeting you again and realising the extend of death. Countless of hours spend while a lifeless body accompanies you and her then the hours spend as bodies embrace the other’s need, as she huffs and grunts, moaning and cursing at the pure euphoria erupting from within, and hearing the equally pleased sound from you.

And when morning wakes her in an empty bed, the smell of sex stirs her insides with a hunger.

Bloodstains her hand and underneath her nails, exactly an hour after.

Death gives her chills, and your taunting smile greets her first. Carelessly did she merge her body into yours, the blood stains your skin and hers. Where moans echoes in her mind, an addiction to only satiety with your touch, while scythe trails a line down her body, the end parting her folds and the discovery of a miraculous pleasure as her mouth gape, absorbing your thrust and the sinful words that seeps so sweetly down her throat.

Falling into death’s arms wasn’t a killer’s dream, but Natasha wouldn’t dare wish for anything else when you were there, luring her into your sinful arms and the words spewing from your mouth that seems to thread with her thoughts. Not a mountain of bodies could stop her from reaching the high you had forever embedded on her body.

[husbandohunter]

Hey I saw that your requests are open so, remember your genshin impact x reader, where the reader was very smol :X I have been recently Been simping intensely for ayato. Could you maybe make a part 2 where ayato is present? I would love to see that happen!

Inazuma Daycare [Baby Male Genshin]

Characters: Itto, Ayato, Thoma, Kazuha, Gorou

Synopsis: A supposed demon, a Yashiro Commissioner, a former criminal, a foreign servant and the General of Watatsumi…all under the age of six. Since it can’t be helped, you must do everything for them.

Tags: gn reader, platonic love, children

(A/n): When someone request the child series, it's free real estate *proceeds to insert the rest of the boys*

Arataki Itto

The loud kid who speaks before raising his hand. The kid who brings trading cards and aggressively shows off how poggers his legendary collections are worth MILLIONS (they're not). The kid who sucks the life energy out of your body.

"Teacher! Pick me, pick me!"

But you just can't hate him.

Itto would undoubtedly still be the tallest. His horns were like little bumps, barely poking out. He's not particularly savvy with his face painting skills yet, which you must fix it up for him after he got into a mess as always.

"I wanna use the colour red. Make it streak down like tears of blood on my face! Oh man, I'm going to look so cool!"

Okay Itto, now sit properly or this marker is going across your nose.

During art time, he likes to create his own version of 'Teyvat Creatures'. You had an earful of them: King of Hiligalaticalspectadogchurls and Evil Beans (the main villain of his hand-made manga by the way). Colours outside of the lines too. Very proud of his work. Sells them for 50 mora each.

Lunch time was the messiest for him. He can't hold his utensils and prefers to use bare hands.

The reason why Itto has such good beatboxing skills was that he practiced at a young age. Though he ends up spitting everywhere instead. You hope that he'll get better as soon as possible.

Voice cracks. You can hear him across the playground field.

But no matter how rowdy he is, Itto gets along with everybody and never leaves them feel left out. You find him inviting little children in the corner to a game of tag during recess. Sadly, he still ends up being last place in these games. Might pout. Might get salty. Might cry.

Itto refuses to agree that he is a crybaby. He runs a lot outside and would end up scraping his knee when too careless. You remember fixing a wound for him, his face would be all scrunched up as tears were piling up. He'll just keep repeating the same phrases: "this is nothing"/ "I'm a man and men don't cry".

You laughed, "Yes, indeed you are."

Kamisato Ayato

The kid whose parents fund your entire business. The popular trustfundkid. The kid way too mature for his age. Ayato holds tight to his refined image that he may come off a bit vain. Why is he even in your daycare anyways?

The first thing he does when entering you classroom was to mutter, "So this is where the donations went."

"Excuse you not everyone can afford high-quality furniture like you and for the record, I bought them myself."

When Thoma isn't available you'll be his substitute. It's unbelievable how rich the Kamisatos are. Ayato couldn't even fasten a sash knot and expected you to put on his kimono the moment he outstretched his hands.

You found a hidden bottle of Bubble Tea which of course, you confiscated. No desserts before lunchtime, Young Master.

Despite his rather lavish upbringing, you often found Ayato being picked up by his servants rather than his parents. His family loved him very much, but they were obviously too busy to attend their son's needs all the time. Since then, you saw him in a different light.

Thus when indoor recess was finished, you made Ayato in charge of putting the toys back into the toybox.

Thoma was about to help, that is, until you interjected faster than the Shogun's lightning.

This would be the first step to helping the young boy connect with his fellow classmates. He didn't have to be treated on a pedestal, he was an equal, a child who needed your attention more than anything. Initially, Ayato felt bothered by the tasks you gave to someone like him but those tasks ended up bringing the two of you closer.

For instance, serving the meals. Ayato genuinely liked your cooking much to your surprise. He was often served the best and healthiest dishes with the best ingredients but they lacked the cozy hearth-like feeling that you had. He said it tasted simple, yet honest.

Enjoys his hand being held when you both cross the street. Politely asks if he could keep holding onto you. “I like it when you hold me, teacher.” It's safe to say that the kid has grown attached, albeit clingy. Next thing you find yourself carrying him like a baby.

You will never know that Ayato intentionally finds excuses to follow you around. He'll get jealous when his classmates, even Thoma, steal your attention. And when you scold him for it, he'll get sad. But don't be fooled! They might just be puppy eyes.

Thoma

The kid every teacher- no, every MOTHER would dream to have. (Totally 100% a mommy's boy). He's got that vibe to attract grandmas and aunties of all sorts. Thoma deserves all the stickers and he always ends up claiming his sticker prizes first, for being such a good boy. In fact, he is the only kid that eats everything you serve, even the vegetables.

Give him the head pats, give him ALL the head pats (Ayato stares menacingly from the corner). "Whos a good boy? Yes you are, yes yoo are Thoma uuu!!"

In contrast to his master, Thoma was an appreciative, humble and attentive little boy. You found him glued to Ayato's side, performing duties such as carrying his luggage, smiling through the obvious heavy lifting. You feared that he was threatened and sold into child slavery.

Kid!Thoma would definitely be a ship figurine junkie. He'd bring in a new model everyday and held it tightly in his tiny, fat, little hands. It's so endearing to see him during indoor recess, when he drags his toy across the floor, making splattering sounds with his mouth.

"Sshhhhhhwishhhhhh, pow! Bam. Babababababbaammbam!!" he says while bumping two boats together in battle.

Thoma, boats can't shoot elements from their canons.

In art sessions, he drew you a picture of him and you together eating ?dango? (he tried his best, okay?), "This is for you teacher, because I love you soooo much!" HNNNNGG

*Clutching chest and dies of heart failure*

When there would be quarrels among the other kids (Oh the usual, Itto whining over how Sara took his favourite cup), he's the first to call you over. "Teacher said no more fighting, we have to be nice to each other!"

He's such a sweetheart. Thoma would pull in a stool and reach to sprinkle food into the fishtank before eating his lunch. He said he felts bad that the fish had to watch everyone eat while they wait for their turn :(

"Good job Thoma, here's your seventh sticker for the day."

Kaedehara Kazuha

The toddler 1/2

You recalled the day when Mister Tomo dropped off Kazuha on his in daycare for the first and he'd timidly clung to his pants while hiding from behind. He's a shy little one, still is. You had to do a little coaxing otherwise Mister Tomo would have been late for work and stayed in your school for the rest of the evening.

However when Mister Tomo managed to sneak out without Kazuha noticing, he started to cry immediately. It brought so much distress that Gorou felt like crying too. You had to carry him because if you didn't, Kazuha would have found some way and climb over the fence, chasing down the running figure.

It took a long time before Baby Kazuha became comfortable with you. He tends to be very sensitive, especially towards nature. You'd bring him to the school garden every once in a while to show him the flowers. He looked so cute when trying to grab a butterfly, twisting and turning in your arms.

Quiet reading time was when you spent most with the toddlers out of all the kids. Kazuha is the only one to take out a bunch of books but never go through all of them. He'd flip through a few pages before getting bored and moving on to the next. You found him to be an extremely fast learner when it comes to literate subjects.

The way his little smile stretches his chubby cheeks when he says a word out loud. That's it. That's the show.

Kazuha may be a toddler but he's old enough to walk and play with Itto and the other kids. The thing is, he never does. He prefers to quietly play in the sandbox with Gorou. It's a wonderful bonding experience for both of them. Since the day you taught Kazuha not to eat sand to draw shapes and build sandcastles, he couldn't pull away from it anymore. And if you did, he'll start whining.

Likes to play with the pet turtles. When I say play I mean he simply sits there and stares as they watch them slowly crawl on the floor. When Mister Tomo arrived to pick him up, Kazuha asked him whether they can have a turtle too.

Needless to say, he'll have no trouble coming to daycare anymore.

Gorou

The toddler 2/2

Juggling between Kazuha and Gorou was hard, especially when you had to shoo Itto away from petting his ears or prying Yae's hands from pulling his cheeks. He was often dropped off at daycare with a stuffed Shiba Inu in his arms, notably that it was his guardian and good luck charm. Everywhere he went, General Gorou Jr would follow him too.

Since he was still young, you also had to spoonfeed him his lunch. Ah but don't forget to feed General Gorou Jr! You would now be serving two small bowls as his stuffed toy took space on an empty seat. Most of the time it was just Gorou talking to his stuffed animal and you learned many things about his alter ego. From General Gorou Jr's birthday to the way that he liked his bread sliced up.

Gorou once placed his Shiba Inu against your cheek to mimic a dog kissing you indicating that General Gorou Jr appreciated all the work you've done. Totally not lowkey expecting a kiss in return.

It's funny how his dog sense would kick in and he would suddenly become shy about it. One of those moments was where he'll be digging the sand beside Kazuha's sandcastles and burying the shovels that were needed for the process. This would make Kazuha angry and they get into a fight over protecting/digging up the sandbox.

Then there were other moments when a ball would suddenly roll by (Yae) and it would distract him from whatever he was previously doing (ends up having his desserts stolen because no one was guarding it)

"Hehe, teacher did you know that Gorou sleeps while hugging his tail?"

See for yourself. When it was nap time, Gorou was the first one to fall asleep and the last one to wake up. He'd pull up his fluffy tail between his legs, nuzzling against the fur, dozing off into dreamland.

[greyeyedmonster-18]

AO3 WORKS:

COMPLETE (from newest-oldest, not all works here)

1. clear eyes, full hearts (can't lose either way): In this small, small town, only one night matters: Friday. When first-string quarterback James Potter of the Hogwarts Lions gets injured in the first game of the season, newcomer and runner-up Remus Lupin is charged with filling his shoes and leading the team to victory. It’s a shame he can’t stop staring at the coach's son.

(a friday night lights, wolfstar AU)

2. postcard from paris: They survived a war, and grew alongside each other, until life finally pulled the three of them in different directions. The night before James Potter leaves for a Healing residency in another country, he and Remus spend one last night together. Five years later, Sirius Black is getting married, and Remus finds himself face-to-face with James for the first time since that night . The night that ended in empty promises and a fever Remus couldn't sweat out.

Sirius is in love. James is charming and handsome as he had ever been. And Remus, without a doubt, is unbelievably ruined. (a Moonchaser AU)

3. ten reasons (to go to michigan): Best-selling novelist Remus Lupin, distraught and torn after his relationship of 10 years ends in nothing but doubt and litigation leaves the bustle of New York City, and retreats to the Upper Peninsula of Michigan in hopes of reconnecting to his childhood and getting his writing spark back. Sirius Black is a local ceramicist and single parent with a backstory all his own, who happens to frequent the coffee shop Remus grew up studying in. Remus for the first time in his life didn't have a plan when he booked a one way plane ticket--except for maybe the plan to never fall in love again. Except...

(Modern, Adult Wolfstar AU; set in the states; 60k.)

4. Carry Me Away: Sirius had devised the perfect plan. Two weeks in London before he started University. Two weeks of bars and football games and time spent out from under his parents gaze. Two weeks without rules or expectations. He concocted the perfect ruse to fool everyone about his whereabouts. And then he met Remus. And suddenly two weeks couldn't have ever been enough time.

(college/uni AU; 100k words)

5. No Matter the Wreckage: His first summer at the Potters after fifth year--the year of fistfights in hallways, chugging firewhiskey straight from the bottle, too much smoke, exam pressure, scathing letters from his parents, and a careless prank that nearly cost him his friends--was nothing short of painful and illuminating. Sirius Black returns for his sixth year at Hogwarts with longer hair, determined to be different.

A story on learning how to love, how to exist, how to be different through cracks and leaks. A story about love no matter the wreckage.

(a sirius focused marauders at hogwarts, getting together wolfstar fic; about 90k)

6. Fault Lines (as seen on tumblr): In which Remus and Sirius separated after Lily/James died, and are now doing their very best to co-parent Harry.

a falling out of love story in six parts. (19k)

TUMBLR Works (will not be posted to AO3) below the cut

1. The Best Worst Thing to Have Ever Happened

AU in which Jily lives. Harry chooses to stay with Sirius and Remus and all is not well. (links to part 1, at the end of every section there's link to the next part)

2. Soft Christmas Drabbles masterlist: everything i wrote for ficmas

3. RS Candy Hearts Prompts: Advertise You're Mine: on leather jackets, sharing clothes, advertising to the world whom you belong to. best day: on horrible days and a lot of love Good Luck Rituals: on jazz clubs, musicians, and weird superstitions.

4. mercy : What would you do for someone you love? Would you lie for them? Steal? Would you kill for them?

a story of seduction and crime in six parts (sirius black x petunia dursley cursed bullshit)