#and she wants me to seek out a professional for my own good

[herawell]

.

[drdemonprince]

At one point he was down in between my legs, fingering me, and he made a throwaway comment about probably being Autistic. 

I leaned back, trying to relish what pleasure I was getting. “Well, we can talk about that subject, if you like,” I said vaguely, not really wanting to bring my professional life into things. 

He kept working away at my body, kissing between my lips and thighs. “Oh I know who you are,” he said suddenly. “Your book changed my life. In a way, I guess this is me thanking you.” 

I made him exit my body and we went to the kitchen to hash it out. It turned out he was a big fan of many things I’d written. 

“I’ve seen you around the neighborhood many times,” he confessed. “But you posted online that you don’t like when people come up to you, and so I always decided to leave you alone.” 

He said, “Your book is the reason I got divorced, actually. My ex-husband was a therapist, and when I showed him your book and said I thought I might be Autistic, he didn’t believe me. We have been separated for a year.” 

He asked, “Did I just make this weird, telling you when I did that I was a fan?” I told him that if he’d said it sooner, I would have never fucked him at all. 

People never realize that when they approach me, what they are doing is dragging me into work. It doesn’t matter whether I was at breakfast, or an orgy. I was just some guy standing there, enjoying his beer, but now they have made me the known scholar and author. And sure, my job might be meaningful, but that doesn’t mean I like to work. 

I tell my friend that I no longer want to be a public figure, and that I am planning how to make it all end. She tells me, “You’ve got to do what is the best for you, even if it’s something that the rest of us wants and can’t imagine giving up.” 

I ask myself, did I want this? It would be more flattering to say I didn’t, and play the role of the hermetic author whose work developed its own life purely because it was so good. But that isn’t true. 

From the moment I got a Myspace account in high school, I was publishing essays about my political views. I serialized multiple novels on Tumblr, guerilla marketing them with giveaways and custom-made images until they hit the Kindle sales charts. I have made memes, tried starting viral trends, coined phrases, and given hundreds of hours’ worth of media interviews. I write prescriptive nonfiction, for Christ’s sake. Of course people seek guidance from me. I offer it up! 

I have been strategic about how I dress, and my video backdrops, and retaken clips of myself speaking over and over again until they sounded right. I’ve hosted debates with my most vicious critics while I’m in the shower, started public beef with creators who had larger accounts than I did, and rushed to my keyboard when upsetting news broke, because I alone was possessed of the most correct take on it.

I wanted this. I didn’t know what this was, this internet fame I was chasing, but I did all I could to make it mine. I thought that by writing so much, I would one day be able to escape myself, maybe really feel connected to other people. Instead it has meant never being able to stop thinking about myself: how I am seen, what I am working on, how it all fits together, what comes next. It has also meant being spoken about, theorized about, and criticized, and developing a firm exoskeleton of disdain between myself and the world. 

I believe now that that it is immoral for any person to be listened to by ninety thousand other people. Holding authority and status like that runs counter to my anarchic ideals. I am not more important or correct than anyone. I should not be trusted to tell people which commodities to buy, which companies not to support, what to read, what to think, what words to use, or how to conduct their lives. 

All the other animals know there is no one way that a creature “should” live. There is only the way that it does. The world has no consciousness, no beliefs. It cannot pass judgment. We only feel so watched and evaluated because we have covered the planet with so many millions of our eyes. But we can stop performing dignified human goodness at any moment. 

I think that celebrity is an evil, corrupting force that pits the human instinct for bonding against itself. Instead of appreciating the singing of our friends around the fire, we stream Chappell Roan until stalkers break into her house. Rather than playing card games together, we stan Twitch streamers, filling up their chats with highlighted messages until they acknowledge us. We long to be famous novelists because then we would have the social permission to write, and we don’t have the money or time to enjoy the activity on its own. 

I wrote about Chappell Roan, stalker stans, and how turning art into content creation ruins the work, and the creator's life. It's free to read in full (or have narrated to you by the app!) on Substack.

[marvelstoriesepic]

Ocean’s claim

Pairing: Lifeguard!Bucky x Amateur!Surfer!Reader

Summary: Seeking a thrill, your friend Natasha convinces you to go surfing during stormy weather conditions - a bad idea as you come to experience.

Word Count: 5.9k 🌊 🫧 💧

Warnings: Reader is a non-professional when it comes to surfing; vivid descriptions of near drowning; mentions of death; slight hypothermia

Author's note: Felt like some angst since my last fic was fluff city. (There is still some fluff in it because it’s me) I'm also already taking notes for a possible second part, so if you like this and would like to see some more, please let me know. 🩵

Masterlist

“Nat, I really don’t think this is a good idea,” you repeat for what feels like the hundredth time in the past half hour, voice trembling with urgency.

Each step feels heavier than the last, your heart pounding in your chest as you draw closer to the beach. You barely hear the playful groan of the redhead in front of you over the howl of the wind whipping around you, making your ears ring uncomfortably and your eyes water slightly.

Natasha struts forward, strands of her hair dancing wildly in the gusts, but she doesn’t seem fazed by the worsening weather. She has her surfboard casually tucked under her arm as if it’s just another sunny day at the beach.

“Come on, buzzkill,” she calls back, her voice light, teasing. “This is the perfect time! Nobody out here to hog the waves.” She glances over her shoulder at you, grinning, eyes bright with excitement that only amplifies your anxiety.

You swallow hard, trying to keep your footing steady as a strong gust nearly knocks you off balance. Your own surfboard feels heavy in your arms, the wind tugging at it like it wants to rip it away from you. Grip tightening, the rough texture of the wax sticks against your palms as your fingers dig in, fighting for control.

The wind picks up as you feel the sand underneath.

Glancing at the sky there are dark, doomy clouds over the horizon, swirling like an angry beast ready to pounce. The ocean beneath them churns restlessly. The waves are massive, their white crest crashing unforgivingly against the shore, louder than normal, almost angry.

Jagged shards of shells skitter across the beach like lost treasures and the wind tugs the sand into tiny tornadoes. The beach is deserted, foreboding, and your heart squeezes at the way the waves crash with unruly vigor.

There is a warning in the air, heavy and electric and your body aches to listen. The hair at the back of your neck stands on end. Every instinct in your body is screaming at you to turn around, to leave before it’s too late.

“Nat!” you shout, your voice barely carrying over the deafening whistle of the wind. It comes out almost as a scream, your desperation clawing at your throat as you try to get across how badly this could end.

But Natasha just throws a glance over her shoulder, her face just as bright as moments before - resolute and unfazed - as if the danger you can practically taste doesn’t exist.

“Come on, Y/n, it’ll be fun!” she shouts back, her voice carried away by the wind before it fully reaches you. Her steps quicken as she nears the water, eagerness fueling her, despite the gusts pushing against you two. She’s practically running, buzzing with adrenaline, her surfboard bouncing under her arm as the storm closes in.

It had been Natasha's idea to come out here, of course. She loves chasing a thrill, convincing you that surfing under those weather conditions would help you two get skilled. “No crowds, no waiting, just us and the ocean.” It’s what she said.

Though the ocean doesn’t seem welcoming at all right now.

You knew she would have gone either way. If you agreed or not. That’s basically the only reason you’re here right now, because as reckless as she could be, there was no way you were going to let her walk into danger alone - or her grave as it seems.

You’re not a professional surfer - neither of you are. The two surfboards you’re clutching onto for dear life are borrowed, a generous loan from the instructor who had run the beginner’s surf class just last week. He’d been a laid-back guy, happy to hear you and Natasha were interested in keeping up with the sport.

Unfortunately though, when he let you take the boards, he couldn’t possibly have any idea that you’d be sneaking out to the beach in the middle of an impending storm.

How could he? This is crazy. The wind tears at your clothes forcefully and your stomach churns, knots replacing your insides.

You’re not ready for this. The boards surely aren’t made for such waves - neither are you for that matter. Your experience amounts to a few rides on gentle waves under the perfect conditions. But this? This is something else entirely.

You watch in dread as Nat wades into the water. She pauses briefly to recheck the leash wrapped around her ankle, the heavy surfboard snug against her body. Your heart races as you hold your breath, bracing yourself for what comes next.

For a fleeting moment, you survey the beach again, hoping against hope to spot someone, anyone, who might help knock some sense into her, to pull her back from the brink of this reckless decision.

The stretch of sand is empty save for the lifeguard’s wooden stand in the distance, its white rescue board secured to the side. You squint, trying to make out if there is someone inside, but the fog of the approaching storm blurs everything, and it’s impossible to tell. Even if there is someone, you’re sure he’d have difficulty to even catch sight of you and it’s too far to run.

You turn back toward the water but the second your eyes meet the rolling waves, a stone lodges in your throat, pushing your heart to the depths of your body. Panic flares up inside you.

She’s gone.

The spot where Natasha was just moments ago is empty, swallowed by the towering swells. The dark water rises and falls, chaotic and aggressive, and your friend is nowhere in sight. Terror seizes you, cold and sharp, tightening your chest as your mind boils over.

The ocean looks so alive, merciless, and indifferent, pulling her deeper, under, with every second that passes.

“Natasha!” you scream, voice raw with fear.

Your body moves before your mind can tell you otherwise, and there is no longer hesitation, no second-guessing as you run to the shoreline. Your legs pump through the sand, lungs protesting and you fight against the force of the wind with everything you have. It feels almost personal.

The freezing cold instantly numbs your legs as your body hits the water. You charge forward, the surf breaking against your thighs. The water threatens to knock you down with each shaky breath but you push deeper, ignoring the icy shock and the way the current pulls at you, fighting your balance.

Blood rushes in your ears, your heart hammering so loudly that it drowns out the roar of the ocean for a second.

Every pulse of the water feels like a living force, hurling you in every direction, a relentless barrage that leaves you gasping for control. The waves slam against you from all sides, tossing you like a leaf caught in a storm.

You grit your teeth, trying to remember what your instructor had taught you. “Don’t fight the waves, use them, move with the water. It’s your friend, not your enemy.”

Well, fuck that, because friendly feels different.

You try to stay calm, arms trembling as you cling to the board, the slick surface cold and uncomfortable under your fingertips.

With a desperate effort, you manage to stay on the board long enough to scream Natasha's name again, your voice strained and choked by the salty wind. Just then, another monstrous wave smashes into you, enveloping you in a wall of water. You’re plunged into darkness, swallowed whole by the chaos, and for a disorienting moment, this doesn’t even feel real anymore.

But then your head breaks the surface again and you gasp for a breath, lungs burning. You clutch the board with a grip so tight it sends sharp stings all the way to your fingertips. The rough surface digs into your palms but you’d be damned if you let go of that thing.

With every ounce of strength you can muster, Natasha’s name leaves your lips again but the sound is ripped away almost as soon as it leaves your throat, swallowed by the howling wind and the whizz of the waves. It feels like screaming into a void, hopeless and hollow.

Then another wave slams into you - so hard, you feel the entire impact - and you’re under again.

Cold water surrounds you, suffocating your head. Your vision is nothing but an unfocused blur and salt stings in your eyes. All sense of direction is once again lost on you, your body twisting in the currents. You feel like a ragdoll, losing all control you have.

Each wave drags you further from the shore, further from safety, and the cold grip of despair tightens around your heart.

Breaking the surface, you gasp like you’ve never breathed before. Each gulp of air is a frantic, panicked effort as if the wind might steal it from you at any second. Each breath that follows fills your body with urgency, littered with the stifling sensation of the sea.

A few waves and more salty water later, you manage to regain some sense of balance, moving back up on your board and scanning the horizon, head whipping around hastily and eyes wide. You would be proud of the second of control you have but your heart sinks lower the longer the water lacks any sign of her.

The panic spreads like ice, the cold seeping into your bones, but the fear for yourself and your best friend burns hot.

You try to focus, to do what you’ve been taught - stay on the board, ride the wave, don’t let it pull you under - but it feels like a losing battle.

Another wave crashes and saltwater fills your mouth and lungs, scorching your throat, gurgling with every ragged breath. You’re still on the board. That’s a surprise you let sink in for a moment.

A voice cuts through the storm - Nat’s. Desperate and terrified. Your name. It sounds like it’s coming from the shore, but it feels impossibly distant like she’s miles away instead of just down the beach.

The realization hits you like a crash with as much power as the waves around you. How far off are you? You twist your neck to look toward the beach, but the looming waves obscure your view, and the horizon is just a blur of grey, indistinguishable from the sea itself.

You have no idea how far you’ve drifted, but it feels like the beach might as well be a world away.

You scream back desperately. This isn’t just fear anymore. It’s a raw, primal terror that digs into the fabric of your being, knitting utter despair tightly with the frantic rhythm of your heart. It’s unlike anything you’ve ever known - this paralyzing panic that roots itself deep inside your bones.

It’s the kind of fear you always imagined would come with the knowledge that death would follow. That slow, creeping certainty that there is no way out, no escape. It wraps around you like the icy water that threatens to pull you under and your clothes that cling to you pressingly, only weighing you down.

You’ve heard of drowning, read about it, seen it on TV, but never once did you think it would happen to you. Not like this. But is this how it ends? The thought flashes through your mind, bitter and cruel. You never envisioned going out this way - suffocated by the ocean, your last breath stolen by the waves.

Sometimes, you’d like to imagine that drowning would be a quiet, perhaps even peaceful descent into darkness. But this is a cacophony, a battle of breath and will, a struggle against an unforgiving beast that demands tribute.

Drowning isn’t an elegant surrender. It’s ruthless and visceral and you’re defenseless in the face of its power.

You cling to the surfboard as if it's the only thing tethering you to life, your muscles blaring in protest as the water laps at you greedily, eager to pull you under, to claim you as its own.

The water is relentless, an unfeeling, unstoppable force. It doesn’t care about your fear, your pain, your will to live. It just keeps coming, wave after wave, crashing into you with a ferocity that feels almost personal.

Your strength is ebbing, but the sea shows no sign of slowing. It’s a living thing, testing your resolve. It’s waiting for the moment when you will lose your grip, when the board will slip from your fingers, when the leash that binds you to it will snap, and you will be claimed.

The dark water beckons, yawning wide, promising oblivion - a cold quiet grave beneath the surface where you would lie, not as a person, but as a forgotten droplet, swallowed by the depths. Because that’s all you are - a speck; a drop of water in its vast, uncaring expanse. The thought terrifies you. The image that the sea will take you and forget you in the same breath.

There is tightness in your throat, a swelling of emotion so overwhelming it feels as if the ocean itself has seeped into your heart. You can’t tell if the salty water on your face is mingling with your tears, can’t tell if you’re actually crying.

You feel like you’re unraveling, piece by piece, your strength, your hope, your very sense of self slipping away with every wave.

Perhaps the water has already masked your sorrow, each rush of water a reminder of your frailty - the fight for one more breath, one more heartbeat.

Numbness creeps through your limbs, a heavy fog settling over your consciousness. It’s strange how empty you begin to feel, devoid of sensation. Not just your body, though that too is beginning to lose its fight against the cold, the chill sinking deeper into you, making it harder to move, harder to care.

But there is a nothingness inside you, like part of you has already accepted what’s coming - an abyss that waits with patient malice and a gaping mouth.

You fight it. Of course, you do, but in the back of your mind, a small voice whispers that it’s only a matter of time. The sea is stronger than you, more patient. It’ll wait for you to falter, to let go, and then it will take you.

There are more wails and screams coming from the shore, all faint and distant. They became as constant as the waves around you. Though the deeper you are engulfed in the surf, the fainter the screaming feels, slipping away like grains of sand between your fingers desperately reaching out for solid ground.

For a moment you imagine letting go. Letting the deep, dark silence of the ocean swallow you, pulling you down to its unreachable and endless depths. A cold, quiet grave, the kind you never expected but that now feels so close you can feel it on your tongue.

Another towering wave rises before you like a mountain, its treacherous crest poised to unleash its ferocity. In a single, brutal shove, it hurls you from the board, and for a heartbeat you’re airborne, a marionette cut from its strings, suspended in an agonizing moment of uncertainty.

But something deep within you ignites, a primal need - a will to live - stronger than anything you’ve ever felt and it pulls you to the surface and up the board again with a strength you didn’t know you had left.

You gasp for air and every single part of your body wants reprieve, but your mind sharpens with a clarity that sears through the chaos. You won’t let the ocean take you. You need to find Nat.

Determination fills your veins like fire and you whip your head around to pinpoint where her relentless screams come from. Her cries, frenzied and panic-stricken, echo from everywhere suddenly, piercing through the tumult like a siren’s wail.

But as you strain against the tide, attempting to hear her better, something halts you for a dangerous moment.

It’s not just Natasha’s voice.

There’s another voice, calm and steady, weaving through her frantic cries, almost soothing in its cadence. The words are impossible to make out over the sound of the storm, but you can tell it’s a man. He’s speaking to her, perhaps trying to calm her down.

You don’t have time to process that before something else grips your attention. A third voice; deep, more resonant - another man - drifts in and out between the wafting waves. It’s closer, much closer than the others.

Your heart pounds so loudly, you can hear it over the storm. You strain your ears, desperate to catch that voice again, to make sense of it, but the wind tears the sound away before you can latch onto it.

With every ounce of focus you can muster, you whip your head around frantically, eyes scanning the water, and then you see it. A flash of white, cutting through the churning grey of the sea. A board?

Your breath catches.

Nat’s board is blue. Yours is still beneath you. The only white board you’ve seen was back on the beach, strapped to the lifeguard’s post.

Could it be?

Is your mind playing tricks on you? Are you that far gone?

But then it appears again. A flash of white and then red between the flooding currents, coming closer to you.

Hope flickers in your chest, fragile but bright. You squint your eyes, willing that shape to appear again, your heart racing in anticipation. But the sea remains relentless, making it impossible to get a clear view.

Your concentration costs you.

The next wave blindsides you, slamming into you with a blow that knocks the breath from your lungs. You yelp in shock as the water swallows you whole again, dragging you down beneath its unforgiving surface once more.

Your body tumbles, twisted by the current, and for a moment, you’re lost in the dark, cold world beneath the waves.

You are weightless. The ocean’s embrace is absolute. You can’t tell where the surface is anymore, can’t feel which way is up or down. Yet, there is that voice again. It’s blurred by the water filling your ears but it seems to surround you.

An urgent shout, muffled and distorted, yet oddly comforting, like it’s reaching through the water just for you. You can’t make out any words, but the tone is strong and deep, cutting through your panic, grounding you for just a moment.

You feel the leash around your ankle tugging, pulling you as your board drifts with the current, but you no longer have the strength to reach for it. You let it pull you along, your limbs flailing uselessly in the water.

Your body is beyond exhausted, each muscle burning with fatigue, your arms and legs barely responding to your desperate attempts to swim. You’re too drained to fight anymore. You feel the air still trapped in your lungs, but your body’s energy is slipping.

Slowly, you let your eyes fall closed and everything blurs. The only thing in focus is that voice. It almost seems like a part of the water, surrounding you, enveloping you. You want to hold onto it, but you’re so tired.

Then, suddenly there is a slight splash nearby - different from the waves. It cuts through the water like a jolt, a ripple of something deliberate. For the first time, you think you might know where the surface is.

Before you can do anything to react, a firm hand clamps onto your arm.

The grip is solid, unwavering, and with a sharp pull, you’re yanked upwards, your body dragged through the water with a sturdiness you couldn’t summon on your own.

Another hand grasps your other arm, and now you’re being lifted, hauled out of the water, breaking the surface.

Your body moves limply, like it’s no longer your own, the weight of exhaustion too much to fight.

Air hits your face, cold and bracing and you feel your lungs expand in relief of it. The sound of the ocean and the wind rushes back into your ears as you’re pulled up onto something hard - a board beneath you.

The tug on your ankle leaves you but you don’t have it in you to question it. Panic ebbs as more air floods into your chest, aching and yet so sweet. You feel the warmth of skin at your back, around your body, keeping you from slipping back under.

But you’re too weak to open your eyes. Too drained to look back at your savior, to see who has pulled you from the water’s grasp. You can only feel the firm grip, the solid presence behind you, and the way the board keeps you afloat.

The world feels so distant, the sounds around you muffled, your body so heavy it’s almost like you’re still submerged.

Fingers are pressing down on your wrist, as steady as the rest of him, perhaps feeling your pulse or just to balance you.

A thought strikes through your weak frame, igniting a flicker of energy fueled by adrenaline. Natasha. Worry surges within you. Is she even safe? Sure, you’ve heard those voices but what do they really convey?

With a sudden burst of resolve, you push away from the muscled body behind you, choking on the saltwater that clings to your lungs, gasping wildly for breath, your throat feeling like sandpaper.

A sharp exhale of relief sounds out from your rescuer, his grip loosening just enough to give you the space you need to find your breath, but your focus is somewhere else entirely.

“Thank god,” he mutters under his breath, but you don’t even register it.

“Nat!” you rasp out, voice trembling and barely more than a croak. “Where is she?” You’re not sure if you’re asking him, yourself, or pleading with the vindictive ocean still around you. The question is ripped from your chest with a feral need to know. She has to be okay.

“Hey,” your savior tries but you shake your head fervently, panic closing in and you snap your head around for a glimpse of her, only feeling his arm tighten around you, pulling you back against his chest.

“You need to get Natasha! She’s somewhere out there, she-”

“Hey, hey,” he interrupts, his tone firmer and louder by your ear, yet still soothing and gentle, and you let it ground you for a second just like in the water moments earlier.

“Your friend’s alright. She’s safe. Sam is looking out for her,” he sweetly explains to you, his thumb brushing tender circles against your arm while his other arm works to maneuver you two back to the beach.

You barely hear him, your gaze still flickering across the waves, but then he turns your head gently. “There, look.”

He nods to the shoreline that’s slowly coming into view. There, through the haze of wind and saltwater, you see her. Natasha is waving frantically, her face pale as a ghost, her mouth moving as she shouts something. Her voice is hoarse, barely audible.

Next to her stands a tall, dark-skinned man, his arm securely around her shoulders, making sure the blanket wrapped around her stays in place at her distressed movements. He is speaking to her in low tones, his hands rubbing warmth into her skin.

She looks wild with fear, the strands of her hair looking dark as they are pressed to the sides of her head. And she is shaking. But she is visibly safe.

Relief crashes into you like another wave, but this time, it doesn’t knock you down. Instead, it lets you breathe again. The tension in your chest that had kept you moving and looking for her, releases. Your body grows heavy, muscles giving in to the exhaustion that had been building since you hit the water.

Your body slumps back against the chest behind you, and you feel the steady, rhythmic rise and fall of his breathing. He only tightens his arm around you, pulling you closer, letting you breathe in his warmth.

Your head rests against a sturdy shoulder, your cheek brushing his wet vest. And for the first time since you entered the water, you feel safe.

As you reach the shore, your body betrays you. A violent shiver takes over, teeth clattering uncontrollably, as the wind continues to bite into your soaked skin. But all you can focus on is Nat’s words finally reaching your ears.

“Y/n!” she screams, her voice cracking with emotion. “Oh my god, Y/n!”

You’re barely aware of the man behind you guiding you up to your feet, now both of his arms wrapped around your waist to keep you steady as you stumble forward.

The ground beneath you feels wobbly, the world still swaying like you’re trapped in the rhythm of the waves, but his unyielding grip keeps you from collapsing.

Natasha breaks away from Sam, or at least you assume that’s who he must be, and runs toward you with so much hurry, you’re scared she might knock you over. But again, the strong presence behind you balances your wavering body as she crashes into you.

Her arms sling around you in a tight embrace that makes you forget about your current situation for a second. You feel her sobs against your chest as she pulls back just enough to look at you, her tear-streaked face filled with regret and agony.

“I’m so sorry,” she chokes out, her hands gripping your shoulders, afraid to let go. “God, Y/n, I’m so sorry!”

You try to shake your head, to give her some semblance of reassurance, but your face is too numb, muscles too drained to manage more than a faint twitch of your lips. “It’s okay,” you whisper.

But Nat shakes her head so fast, it overwhelms you, her eyes wide. “No, it’s not okay. Don’t say that. It’s not.” her voice cracks and you see the guilt warring in her eyes. “I should’ve never asked you to come with me. I should’ve never done this. Fuck, I’m so stupid.”

This time, you’re able to shake your head with more conviction, pulling strength from the man’s touch at your back. “Stop, okay? Please!” you ask, your voice more certain. “I’m just… I’m just glad you’re okay.”You offer her a real smile, though your lips tremble from more than just the cold.

Natasha curses under her breath, shaking hands pulling you into another tight hug. You close your eyes, sinking into her.

You hug for what feels like an eternity, her grip never loosening, and you realize your rescuer doesn’t even attempt to leave your side. At some point, he drapes a warm blanket over your shoulders, which Sam must have given him, and the slight weight of it makes you blink, pulling you back to reality.

The shivers don’t stop, but it’s a comfort to feel the warmth seep into your skin.

When you finally pull back from Nat, strong arms immediately wrap the blanket all around you from behind, his hands unshakable as he rubs in the warmth of it. Sam returns Natasha’s blanket over her own shoulders and you watch the curt nod he shares with the man behind you, a silent acknowledgment that everything went well.

You don’t make a move to do anything, mind still a hazy maze, exhaustion heavily wearing down on you, so you’re thankful to hear the gentle voice again near your ear. “Let’s get you warm, yeah?”

All you do is nod, but it seems to be enough and you let him guide you to the wooden lifeguard post down the beach. Wind is still whipping around you, but you don’t register that anymore.

He gently walks you up the ramp and you notice the missing white rescue board, the one he used to pull you from the water. Another shiver whacks your spine.

He pushes open the door and you step into a small room that seems to be well-organized. The air inside feels warmer, a welcome change from the biting cold you had been under way too long, though it still carries that smell of salt.

There is a wooden bench in front of you with a neat stack of folded towels and blankets in bright red and yellow. He sits you down, layering the blanket over yourself so it is completely enveloping your shivering frame.

He kneels in front of you, moving slowly and deliberately, as if careful not to startle you too much too soon. His presence is calming and you don’t shy away at the intense way he searches your features, the soft expression he wears soothing your aching muscles.

The warmth that radiates from him makes your heart flutter in a way you don’t quite expect.

“Is it okay if I ask you a few questions? Have to make sure everything’s alright.”

His voice. God, you love his voice. There is that slight rasp in it and a boyishness that makes it so soothing, so grounding. It’s as enveloping as the blanket that already surrounds you.

He only makes you feel reassured, and the quiet curve of your lips turns into a small smile as you nod in agreement. His gaze sweeps over your face, checking for any signs of pain, discomfort, or lingering fear. The way he studies you is careful, but not invasive.

“Alright,” he whispers, blue eyes not leaving your face. “I’m Bucky, by the way.”

You can’t help the stretch of your smile at the almost bashful way he runs his fingers through his tousled and slightly wet hair. It’s endearing, considering the fact that he just saved your life. The confidence and the sureness he carried while saving you from the water seem to melt into quiet humility now that you’re safe.

You tell him your name and age after he asks. Watching his facial reactions to your words feels so calming, it’s all you can do to slow your heart rate down a notch and stop the involuntary shaking of your body.

There is a small tug at his eyebrows, and a frown threatens to overcome his features, revealing a hint of underlying worry and he keeps drifting his eyes over you, watching the way your shoulders are still shaking.

A little hesitantly he moves his hands up to your knees and rubs the blanket over them softly, hoping to warm up your legs.

“Are you feeling okay? Do you have any trouble breathing? Anything that hurts?” The concern you see on his face is evident in his voice as well and a swell of warmth rises within you, spreading through your body. You relish it.

Sam, who attends to Natasha a foot away, raises an eyebrow in Bucky’s direction, a question in his eyes, but teasing in his smirk.

“Normally, you wait for your patient to answer, before moving on to the next question man,” he chimes in with playful sarcasm. He looks up to you for a second before his gaze moves back to Bucky.

Bucky straightens up before you, the teasing from Sam seemingly lost on him as he clenched his jaw. His face flushes slightly and he looks down at his hands, still gently rubbing circles on your knees. “Yeah, right,” he mutters under his breath, but you pick it up.

A small giggle rises in your stomach and you let it pass, coming out a little breathless and weak, but genuine enough for Bucky’s head to snap back up. His eyes soften, a sparkle shining in them you are able to make out because you watch him so intensely. A smile brightens his face and his momentary embarrassment is lost.

You answer Bucky’s questions one by one, recalling the disorienting moments of your rescue after he almost hesitantly asks you to do so. His hands still soothingly rub your knees.

Bucky listens intently, his eyes never leaving your face, nodding softly at your words. You see him trying his best to remain calm but you notice the tension in his stance, the tick in his jaw, and the slight frown never leaves his face - the weight of his concern lingering in the air.

Sam, who has been standing nearby, leans in slightly. “Gave us a pretty good scare there, sugar.” His tone is light, clearly trying to cut through the tension with a bit of humor, but the moment the words leave his mouth, Bucky’s head snaps up. His gaze hardens drastically as he shoots Sam a sharp look, his voice laced with frustration and irritation.

“Now imagine how she must feel, you fucking idiot.”

His tone catches you off guard. It’s the first time Bucky’s words carry an edge, so different from the gentleness he’s shown you since. Sam raises his hands in a gesture of surrender, licking his lips as he tilts his head slightly.

“Alright, grumpy pants, my bad. You’re right,” he concedes. His demeanor shifts and he becomes more serious, sincere as he steps closer, crouching down to your height and laying a hand on your shoulder. “No, but really,” he says with a nod of his head, “I’m glad you’re okay.” His words hold weight, and the smile he gives you is genuine, toothy even.

You offer him a smile in return, and Sam nods back, satisfied. You can feel Bucky’s gaze still on you, but it’s Nat’s soft, broken voice that cuts through the moment.

“It’s my fault this happened,” she whispers, barely audible. She is hovering nearby, her eyes red and swollen, shoulders hunched under the weight of guilt and her fingers fidget with the edge of the blanket. Her words hang heavy in the air, filled with regret and self-blame.

You react immediately, not letting her fall into that pit of guilt. “Nat!” you say firmly, facing her. “It was my decision to come along.”

Your best friend looks almost childlike in her distress, eyes glistening again with unshed tears. “You came along because you didn’t want me to go alone,” she counters, voice thick. “You and I both know I would have gone without you. I basically pressured you to follow me because I knew you would. You always just want to make sure I’m safe and now-”

Natasha’s voice falters, the words catching in her throat before a heart-wrenching sob leaves her. The sound pierces your chest, and you can’t handle it longer, feeling tears sting behind your eyes.

Without thinking, you push yourself up from the bench, your legs shaky but driven by the need to embrace her. Bucky, still kneeling before the bench, opens his mouth as if to protest, clearly concerned for your state.

You’re sure he was about to remind you that you should be sitting down, but the urgency in your movement stops him.

Nat clings to you immediately, her fingers gripping the blanket around you, sobs muffled into your shoulder. You start to gently shush her, whispering words of comfort as her body trembles in your arms.

You basically feel Bucky and Sam share a meaningful look behind your back.

Sam clears his throat softly, not wanting to intrude on the fragile moment. “Hey,” he says quietly, his voice gentle. “You two are going to be okay.”

Bucky doesn’t say anything but you can feel his quiet support behind you, like ever since he saved you.

“To feel safe around someone's energy is a different kind of intimacy”

- Petra Rush

[mysticheathenn]

Messages From The Art of Not Giving a F*ck

Hi, Hexlings!

This pick-a-card reading is all about messages from things that you should not be caring or giving a f*ck about. This could be you having the fear of being seen. What does the world think of you at the gym? Basically, petty things that stop you from living your life.

This is a general reading, remember to take what resonates and leave what does not. This reading does not supplement your need to seek professional help. Tarot should be used as entertainment and not a for sure answer to your problems but as a guide, a sense of hope, and amusement.

Take your time when choosing your pile. Ask yourself the question and choose the picture that you can’t stop looking at. Listen to your intuition.

MasterList

Patreon Link

Pile l:

What should you not give a f*uck about? Tarot: 8 of Cups, 7 of Wands (reversed), Awakening, 9 of Cups, The High Priestess

The opinions of others concerning any and everything you do. You are meant to shine and show up as your most authentic self pile l. You do not need anyone's permission, advice, or even guidance on knowing who you are or what you should do with your life especially if these people are doing the exact opposite of what they try to preach to you. For some of you, I am getting that there is a family member or even just family in general who likes to dictate everything that you do and who you are. While I can't tell you what to do and can only provide you guidance for your situation, please ask yourself are these people happy? Do they ask anyone what they should do with their life and who they should be? Are they paying any bill of yours or financially supporting you? If you have answered no to any of these questions, my suggestion and only suggestion and opinion is to stop paying attention to anything that comes out of their mouth when it regards to you. I have a story for you once upon a time a little mystic heathen had parents and family who would dictate and tell little heathen what to do up until it got time to actually put their money where their mouth was and would back out while telling little heathen still what to do. Little heathen wanted to major in English while her parents medicine or computer science. It wasn't until little heathen saw that no one was paying the bills but herself that the only opinion that mattered with what she majored in, where to move, what career, and who I should be friends with was the opinion of her own. She broke free and stopped giving a dam because once you give someone the power to mold and control you it never stops. Unless the opinion from others saw red flags that I did not see everyone's opinion or suggestions could fuck off. Again this is all a suggestion and my opinion as you're an adult and can make your decisions for yourself but if you have been looking for a sign as to what you should do, this is it. Be free and release yourself from the holds of others that hold you at a standstill or make you unhappy.

Pile ll:

What should you not give a f*uck about? Tarot: 10 of Pentacles (Reversed), 2 of Cups, Queen of Cups, 5 of Swords (reversed), Knight of Cups, Queen of Wands (reversed)

Validation from romantic partnerships. I get the strong feeling from this pile that you love to watch and read future spouse pick-a-card readings. No matter the topic of love when it comes to tarot you are there waiting to see what it has in store for you. It is also similar to how you are in a relationship. You see the validation from your partners that you are good enough. Some of you might even have a small bit of pick-me energy. Whenever your partner says jump you don't ask how high you keep jumping and ask them if this is good enough and if it's not you keep jumping higher until they are satisfied not realizing that you, darling, are the prize. People should be jumping through hoops for you and not the other way around unless the energy is being reciprocated but I need you to understand that you are powerful just you alone without the opinion or approval of a love interest. You don't need anyone by your side at all. I know you're thinking I know I don't need anyone but I want someone...do you know pile ll. Do you really know that you don't need anyone? You are the Queen of Wands and the Queen of cups pile ll, you turn a house into a home, food into a cooked meal, etc. Anything someone gives you, you multiply it and tax interest and you are out here answering questions like "What do you bring to the table?" as if you aren't the table, the napkins, silverware, plates, and whole packaged deal. See yourself through the lens of a goddess/god. You are powerful, start acting like it, and stop putting yourself through hoops for someone who wouldn't do the same or doesn't even wash their own ass not knowing their shit stinks, they are no one special.

Pile lll:

What should you not give a f*uck about? Tarot: 2 of Cups, 3 of Swords, 6 of Cups, 6 of Pentacles, The Wheel

Pile lll you may have also been slightly drawn to pile ll as both your piles kind of go hand in hand. Pile ll is all about validation from being in a romantic relationship while yours is simply you acting as if being single is the worst thing in the world. As mentioned in Pile ll you probably watch and read a lot of love and Future Spouse pick-a-card readings because you have a hard time being by yourself. If not pick a card readings you read a lot of romance novels. Your favorite authors are probably Emily Henry, Ana Huang, Ali Hazelwood, Lauren Asher, Elsie Silver, etc. You watch as others around you fall in and out of love and you want that for yourself. If romance was oxygen you would die the moment you're not with someone within .5 seconds and I need you to release the need for romance just for a split second. Enjoy singlehood and realize that not everything is about love. There is more to life than being in a partnership with someone. You may not think that but have you tried and I mean really tried to enjoy being single? Travel to other places, dining out alone, watching a movie all without someone constantly talking or ruining the moment with spoilers. This message is only for a small few of you as it is very specific but you need to leave your ex alone. Stop thinking, dreaming, looking at their social media, or even reaching out to them. What's done is done...don't let someone tell you they don't want you more than once. This also goes out to those who are in situationships wanting a relationship from their person. They are telling you with their actions for some time now that they don't like you they just want you for your body and the things you can do for them. You are a placeholder until they find that person they want a commitment from. That was a specific message for those who resonated with the message but to continue on with the general reading love is beautiful, kind, and sweet, but it's not the end of the world if you don't have someone by your side. You are free to live life beautifully without someone else there to witness it. You remind me of the era when everyone would always post that they were going to the gym on Facebook and the meme was "If you don't post that you're at the gym, did you even go." If you have fun without someone being there with you to also have fun...did it even happen. Yes...yes it did pile lll. One day you will find a beautiful and harmonious relationship but until then enjoy singlehood. Also, give the love readings a break. Go outside and touch the grass for 30 mins everything will be fine.

Pile lV:

What should you not give a f*uck about? Tarot: 3 of words, The emperor, Ace of Swords (reversed), Page of Swords (reversed), The Empress (reversed)

Pile lV You are my only pile where I have to tell you to give a f*ck about something. You've been through heartache, after heartache, and loss to the point you have closed off your heart to the world because of how many times you have been hurt. This is leading you down a path where sometimes you can't focus or make the best decision because you have closed off your heart to the world or even love in general that anything where you need to involve feelings, showing a small bit of compassion, or even empathy goes out the window. Sometimes even logic goes out the window because you are so strung on not getting yourself tangled up in anything where it could lead to heartache or betrayal. For most of you I am getting this is a relationship or several might I add. While others of you probably had a shining light. You were a lighthouse pouring your beautiful light, energy, and guidance out onto the world for others to take advantage of you and make you cold, aggressive, or deemed in the eyes of a few, an asshole. I need to remind you that it is okay to open your heart to others or even love again Pile lV. I get it, it's scary thinking about the chances of being hurt again but I have to remind you that, this is part of life. You get knocked down and you get back up again but don't harden yourself off to the world. Not when the world needs so much kindness and love right now. There is already so much hate and lack of compassion in this world, open yourself up again even if it is for a little bit or for certain situations. The things that happened to you weren't meant to harden you up but to teach you lessons about boundaries and having self-respect and love for yourself. Instead, you hardened up instead of doing the work that is necessary to establish standards and boundaries for yourself. Do the work. Open yourself up again. The world needs your kind and gentle heart the way it was always intended.

Thank you for liking and reblogging my readings. I always appreciate you guys on here and on Patreon.

Stay safe and be blessed

[bitethedevil]

The True Meaning of Fear

Warnings: NSFW, Arachnophobia, Choking, Very Violent Oral, Abusive behaviour, Fear Play, Non-Con, Devils Who Are Deviling.

AN: I'm having fun writing more angsty and loving stuff for other characters like I mentioned in my update post, but sometimes you just got to write some fucked up Raphael stuff to clear your palate a bit. Seriously: mind the warnings. It’s…yeah…pretty fucked. I will be seeking professional help and saying some Hail Mary's to repent for my sins🚶‍♀️‍➡️Enjoy! 🫶

”Pleeease, Raphael,” she sobbed. ”It won’t happen again. I promise.”

“Please what?” he asked with a smile and a soft tone that made him seem like the perfect image of innocence. “We are only having a conversation …”

She was not buying this attempt at lulling her into a false sense of security. She knew him. He had brought her to a cell in the bowels of the House of Hope. Had he simply wanted to talk, he would now have done it here.

“I will ask you again,” he said, still in that soft tone. “What did you see?”

She gave a small sob and shook her head. His yellow eyes narrowed slightly at her, but the smile stayed on his lips. He was in the cell with her too, on a chair in front of her sobbing form on the floor.

“What was it that frightened my little bird so much that she neglected all of her duties? I do so hate to repeat myself…”

Her bottom lip quivered as she tried to hold in more tears.

He had come home to find his house in complete disarray. Multiple dead debtors had laid scattered across the floor, as they had tried to defend the house against intruders. He had found her shaking in the corner of his office. A powerful fear spell had made her hide instead of dealing with the intruders or alarming Raphael.

He had been furious when he found her. He had lost a small fortune in gold and an invaluable staff that dated back to the early days of the Netheril Empire. He had yelled at her, but due to her fearful state, he did not receive the reaction he wanted. She had been too out of it to properly react to his words, so he took her here instead.

She could see from the way his tail flicked and the way he drummed his claws on the arm of the chair that he was running out of patience. She had to give him an answer.

“Death,” she lied and dried her tears with her sleeve. “I saw my own death.”

The corners of his mouth turned upwards in an amused smile and gave a huff of laughter.

“Death, hm?” he repeated. “Are you truly such a simple creature? I find that difficult to believe. If death was what you feared the most, you would not dare lying to my face in such a manner. Try again. The truth this time, if you would be so kind.”

She started shaking again and she could feel her skin become clammy. She had a good idea what would happen if she told him. She also knew what he would do to her if she did not. It was hard to decide which was worse.

“Come now,” he said, his tone softer again. “You will receive no judgment from me. Is it something embarrassing? Something completely irrational? Those do tend to be my favorites…”

She remained quiet.

“Or,” he said and looked at her with a bored expression. “I could bring the Omuan dreamcatcher in here, present you to every fear known to man, and I can deduce what it is from there. I’m certain that Hope would not mind if we borrowed it for the day.”

“No,” she said quickly. “No-no. Please don’t.”

She had seen how Hope had been after her time with the dreamcatcher. She was an empty shell of a person after those sessions.

She swallowed hard and looked at the floor in front of her.

“Spiders,” she admitted quietly. “I’ve never liked spiders…”

“Ah,” Raphael said with a satisfied smile. “A classic.”

She looked around. Her skin was tingling at the thought. She was already becoming paranoid.

“When did you acquire this fear? Were you always afraid of them?”

Her hand shot to the back of her neck where she felt a tingle. Nothing. It had only been her hair touching her. Her skin was becoming increasingly sensitive.

“As a child,” she said.

“Do elaborate,” he purred with a smile.

Her breath hitched at the memory a bit.

“I was in my bed,” she explained. “I turned to lay on my back and looked at the ceiling. I saw it just before it fell down into my face.”

“Mm,” he hummed. “That does sound rather unpleasant.”

His eyes slowly turned upwards to look at the ceiling above her. She flinched and looked up. Nothing. Raphael chuckled at her movement.

“I can almost hear your heartbeat from over here,” he purred. “Such a pretty sound…”

“I beg you, Raphael,” she pleaded. “I’ll do anything. Just please don’t—”

“Shh-sh-sh,” he hushed gently. “We are only talking.”

He leaned forward slightly in his chair.

“I am a jealous man, my dear. It’s one of my less attractive qualities, I’m afraid, but it is so. So, you must understand how it irks me to find that your fear of me is only second to that of the eight-legged vermin you seem to hate so much.”

Her hand darted up to her hair where she scratched her scalp. She swore that she could feel them everywhere, even though she knew that it was only her fear that made her feel things. For now, anyway.

She felt something hit her shoulder from above and squealed. She brushed her shoulder in a panic and swore that she felt something furry touch her hand as she did. She quickly moved her body away from the wall she had been sitting against, closer to Raphael and let out a whine. Her eyes searched where she had just sat but once again: nothing.

“Tell me,” Raphael said in an amused tone. “What do you think causes this fear of yours?”

She was practically sitting between his legs now. He ran his claws slowly over her scalp and it made her shiver in her overstimulated state. She wrapped both her arms over her head like a stubborn child refusing to let their parents comb their hair. She knew that she was pathetic, but she could not control it at this point.

Raphael brushed two claws against the back of her neck in a featherlight touch, making her flinch again. He still wanted an answer, and maybe as long as she spoke, he would not do anything. She quickly tried to construct a sentence in her scattered mind.

“I—I don’t know,” she said. “Too many limbs maybe. I don’t know.”

“Well,” he said with a mocking laugh. “I am one limb short of eight in this form. That doesn’t make you fear me any more than your eight-legged friends, evidently. It must be something else, mustn’t it?”

His claws tapped her arm in a way that mimicked a spider’s legs, and she flinched away from him. She moved back to where she was sitting before. She could see on his face that he was enjoying every second of this.

His smile widened as he unstretched one hand and snapped his fingers with the other. A fat, long-legged spider hovered over his hand, and she started crying again. She did not want to look at it, but on the other hand, if she did not, she could not know where it was. She watched in horror as the small creature clumsily and frantically tried to move in the air but could not.

Raphael studied it with a bored gaze while she pleaded for him to stop.

“Have you ever noticed how the creatures humans fear irrationally are rarely mammalian?” he mused over her sobbing. “Spiders, insects, snakes, birds…I do suppose rats and mice are an exception, but there is a theme, isn’t there?”

She had backed herself into the corner of the room. She could not get further away, and she was still uncontrollably crying.

“Cats, dogs, horses…Feeble-minded creatures, but the human need to anthropomorphize makes you believe that they are perhaps not so different from yourself. A spider, on the other hand…”

She let out a long whine as he pinned the spider to one position in the air and made it hover slowly towards her face. She screamed when it came to a stop in front of her. Its legs were still moving, but it was facing her. She could not breathe.

“It’s scared,” Raphael cooed mockingly. “Terrified, like you. Yet you cannot sympathize with it. Your brain will not let you. So much for human compassion, hm?”

He got up from his chair. He snapped his fingers, and the spider disappeared. He leaned down slightly and loosely put his hand around her neck. The claw on his thumb dug into her as he tilted her head back to look at him.

“Look at me.”

She whimpered and looked up at his face.

“Tell me, my sweet,” he purred. “What is it like to stare into the eyes of a creature and realizing that they do not work like you? That they do not have feelings in any way that you understand them? That there is nothing human in there…”

She looked into those yellow eyes of his and felt the same way as he just described.

“Terrifying…” she muttered.

“Good,” he said in a low growl, smiling at her. “Terrifying, yes.”

He snapped his fingers, and she felt something on her shoulder. She frantically tried to move away, but Raphael’s grip around her neck tightened. He pushed her head back against the wall.

“Don’t. Move,” he said firmly. “You are not leaving this cell before you realize that the only thing in this world you will ever need to fear, is me. Serve me well, and you will never have to fear at all…”

She felt the spiders furry legs move slowly over her skin. She gasped for breath as her tears started rolling down her cheeks again. She knew that Raphael would not stop this before she did as he said. His grip loosened when he saw her freeze instead of continuing her attempt to flee.

He let go of her and stood up tall to admire her pathetic state on the floor. He began unbuttoning his doublet while he watched. She felt the spiders legs on her collarbone, slowly making its way across her chest. She sobbed quietly and did everything in her power not to move.

“I think it likes you,” Raphael purred in an amused tone.

He hung his doublet over the chair. He was only in his white shirt and pants, and she could now see just how excited the whole situation was making him. His erection strained against his pants. He walked closer to her so that he was now towering above her.

He slowly tipped her head back with a claw under her chin.

She screamed but the fear had now paralyzed her so much that she could not move even if she wanted to. There were hundreds of them above them on the ceiling, and they were all the size of a palm. The scream turned into a sob as she stared upwards.

He was smiling in an almost fond way as he feasted on her terrified expression. She felt his hand cup her cheek. He wiped the tears on her cheeks with his palm, before moving his hand to his now freed member. He gave it a few lazy strokes, using her tears to lubricate his length while he watched her with a heavy-lidded gaze. He gave a content sigh.

He put his thumb and index finger on each side of her jaw with his free hand, forcing her to open her mouth.

“If I feel teeth, I will show you the true meaning of fear,” he warned.

He ran the tip of his cock over her bottom lip, smearing his precum on her trembling mouth. He pressed his cock inside and her mouth closed around it. A deep groan escaped his mouth.

“Such a good girl,” he purred with a smile.

He began slowly moving in and out of her mouth with languid thrusts. His hand moved to where the spider had nestled in her cleavage to pick it up. He gently placed it on her head, making her sob around his cock. She choked as she forced herself not to bite him. He growled in pleasure.

“We are making such wonderful progress, my dear,” he said. His voice was slightly breathier and huskier now. “I believe that you are beginning to understand… Fear does not excuse negligence.”

Her eyes closed shut as she could feel the spider’s legs on her face. She whimpered, but the sound came to an abrupt end when he shoved his cock further down her throat. He gently shushed her and caressed her tear-stained cheek with his thumb. She could not breathe.

She gagged but he did not seem to care. The sounds she made, the way her crying and trembling was making her throat feel, the way she looked so utterly pathetic: it was pure bliss for him. He suddenly snapped his fingers. She felt the spider on her face disappear. Her eyes opened and she looked at the ceiling: nothing.

She did not get to revel in her relief before Raphael started fucking her face with hard, violent thrusts. His hand clasped around her throat again in a hard grip. She could not breathe at all, and she started squirming and panicking. Her limbs flailed as she tried to get away, but her back was up against the wall. There was nowhere to move.

She tried pushing him away, hitting his legs, but he was unmovable. She looked up at him with panicked and pleading eyes, and it only seemed to excite him further. He did not cease his violent assault on her face.

“I lost a small fortune,” he growled. “All because of a frightened, stupid, little girl.”

She tried everything to move, but his grip on her only tightened when she did. Soon, she would not have the energy to fight anymore. Her throat was hurting so much. The grim thought that this might be how she died flashed into her mind, making her panic even worse.

“Nothing would excite me more than watching the life leave your eyes,” he growled as if having read her thoughts. “Instead, I think I will let this be a reminder to you, dear girl: the next time you feel tempted to let your fear control you, remember what it gets you… Nothing.”

She stopped moving and she could feel herself slowly beginning to lose consciousness. He shoved his cock as far down her throat as it would go. Her nose was brushing against his pelvis. It was painful and she felt like throwing up. He gave a deep groan as he came down her throat.

She gasped for breath when he pulled out. She coughed hard. She spat a mix of blood, cum, and saliva onto the floor in front of her as she wheezed for breath. She felt like throwing up, but she couldn’t.

When she finally looked up, Raphael was watching her with a small smile as he began buttoning his doublet.

“I trust you have learned your lesson?”

She nodded quickly. She could not stop coughing, and every cough felt swallowing knives.

“Good,” he purred. “You did well…”

He turned and opened the door to the cell with a snap. She tried to scramble to her feet to follow him out. Just as she had gotten up off the floor, he stepped outside the cell and closed the door in her face.

He smirked as he looked at her for a long moment. Then his eyes slowly drifted to the ceiling above her. Her lips began trembling again as she kept looking at him.

“Korrilla will come get you in the morning,” he said in a cold, even tone. “If I have decided to forgive you by then…”

There was the softest thud as she felt something land on her shoulder. Then another on the floor. Then another as she felt something fall off her head. Then another.

There were no more tears in her, and no screams came out of her ruined throat. Just a quiet, broken wheeze came out of her mouth as she looked upwards.

[pm-my-beloved]

heyo! i've doing some analysis on some lcb egos in my spare time but i can’t for the life of me figure out a semi decent analysis of wingbeat ishmael, so i wanted to see if you have any analysis on wingbeat! [sorry if this comes off weird! >.<]

I was asked about EGO analysis in DM's! I have made it! Preface, as stated earlier, I am not an Ishmael scholar, having read only a few chapters of her book as of now, but I will still try my best in interpretation

Lets start with what Fairy Festival itself is as an abnormality. They are the originators of the "Fairy" abno cathegory, where every abnormality has heavy ties to gluttony and predation, If I recall correctly, all of them also use trickery to try to lure their prey in, attempting to appear as hospitable. An interesting divergence that happens with Fairy Festival specifically, is that its Ruina form, and in Limbus, is more openly predatory, AND FAMISHED. My personal reading on it is that in a perfect enviroment for them, they are such hyperpredators that they run out of prey, putting them into starvation.

So, how does that relate to Ishmael? Partially it can be explained by my post about predatory themes in Ishmael when making prediction for the Christmass E.G.O., so I will focus on alternative angle of interpretation.

Remember who was Ishmael BEFORE even the voyage? She was a feather, so utterly bored with her existance that she sought out ANY way out of her current life, one could even say that she was starved for excitement. This goes along with early book presentation of Ishmael, where the character seeks to go out on voyage specifically because he's about to go nuts from boredom.

So what did our Ishmael do? She hard jumped onto ONE OF THE MOST DANGEROUS JOBS IN THE CITY, HUNTING MERMAIDS AND WHALES, Literally a form of predation of humanity upon natural life, solely to satiate that hunger inside for some adventure.

I believe of course, that this exists ALONGSIDE the Ishmael being perfectly suited to be a predator in her own right within the city, even with a persona of proffesionalism.

When it comes to her Awakening line "Very good. Sit still and be gentle. Scarred meat isn't... tasty." I think its mostly the abnormality channeling her metaphorical hunger into a more literal one.

Corrosion is more interesting on the other hand "Y-you suspected me, didn't you...? Bastards harboring such evil thoughts must be...!" This, together with the fact that Corrosion gains bonuses from harming its allies, leads me to specific line of thought. Throughout the story of Limbus and her Identities, we see how strongly Ishmael attempts to keep up her facade of detachment and professionalism. Thus, I think this might partially be a clue that Ishmael is very averse towards her persona being seen through, not wanting others to see her thriss seeking behaviour for what it truly is, even if she herself is unaware of it.

Lets move onto Sin costs now shall we? At 3 cost we have Gluttony, which just plainly makes sense as going out of ones way to get more thrill and excitement than one is exposed to is pretty gluttonous behaviour. Then we have 2 Pride cost, which is somewhat difficult of a read to me. The main one thought that comes to mind is a sense of superiority over other living beings that would be required to pursue hunting as ones way of life when its not some need (As opposed to bloodfiends) And lastly, we have 1 Lust cost, which in my opinion, reflects how Ishmael in spite of everything, genuenly enjoyed, and still enjoys, the thrill of the hunt.

The last aspect that is to read, is the Sin Resists. Pride Fatal, with weakness to pride being emotional subservience, imho relates to how Ishmael upon getting onto the voyage let her decisions be guided entirely by Ahab at the time. Envy Fatal I believe could reflect either the judgementality she put onto Ahab after the encounter with Pallid Whale, OR judgementality towards her own previous way of life that she grew so bored with. Gluttony ineffective I think reflects how in that life, her need and pursuit of that excitement were satisfied, not having to go out of her way in pursuit of more. And finally, Lust Endured comes from the reluctance that came from realisation of the struggles and issues that come from both being a sailor, and being Ahabs sailor specifically, she was not completly seduced by that world, which is also partly why managed separate herself from the crew after the failed attempt to defeat Pallid Whale. Phew, thats it. I hope this made some sense.

[grits-galraisedinthesouth]

20 minutes of my life I'll never get back. 🤦‍♂️

I must be a glutton for punishment because I actually watched Kinsey Schofield's 20 min interview w/Valentine Low. May this rant save you from making the same mistake:

Valentine Low & Kinsey Schofield just reminded me that the British press is in desperate need of a grief recovery workshop to let go of their palace manufactured PR image of Sparry, "the CONSERVATIONIST," and accept the REALITY: Sparry has ALWAYS been a member of the lost boys who never intend to grow up. He loves drugs, perverted soho house sex play pens, and living a secret lifestyle in San Francisco, CA. As we saw in the South Park Documentary, Sparry has always wanted to be left alone so he can just bang on his drums all day.

The British media needs to accept that they never knew the Sparry aka Prince Harry. Much like Fergie & Andrew: The Meghans are two (2) intellectually below average individuals who married in haste. Both their academic & professional work histories indicate that these two (2) immature adults, lack even the basic skills necessary to function in society without the help of a PR "machine" whose job is to clean up their messes and repeatedly rebrand them into more acceptable members of polite society. It's past time for Valentine Low and other UK journalists to admit that they never really knew Sparry. All their Diana goodwill should now be invested into the future of the BRF (the family of Prince William)

No amount of hoping for the best or "covering up" for Sparry's misdeeds can transform the moral rot in his character. They bought and sold the PR image manufactured by the palace. It was the paparazzi & other "undesirables" who had the misfortune of observing the REAL Sparry. They watched him mistreat drivers, security, staffers, etc long BEFORE he was seduced by MEgain.

V Low believes Sparry flew a helicopter! 😳 Come on! Too many REAL service members have spoken out about Sparry's military character and performance and there's nothing good about it.

Sparry, like his wife is also a liar and a bully. He's not intellectually bright, he never was... He even bullied his grandparents before the "spectacle," he bullied Meghan's father...we heard reports about seeking a left wing wife and his interest in living in the US----all before MEgain.

Low also thinks Sparry loves his children. Has Valentine Low ever seen the invisibles? No. He's transferred a PR image to a couple of never before seen kids and their so called father. A so-called "father" who is willing to destroy his brother's children (and the innocent children of other couples) through the spread of destructive lies, has zero interest in the REAL wellbeing of anyone's kids, least of all his own.

As for the Wife: her ability to earn a college degree as an American teenager/young adult without even the offer of an ACADEMIC scholarship means that she too is mediocre and overrated. Her university commencement program states that she was a candidate for a degree in "communications" NOT some whip smart area of study like biochemistry or engineering! 🤦‍♂️

As a university student, thanks to her dad's brother (mike), she spent a measly six (6) weeks in Argentina on an exchange program (paid by her father) until she failed an exam that would have allowed her to apply for (real) jobs in the States. An intellectual or any hard worker would have studied until she passed the test. Not Rachel Meghan Markle. If no one was willing to make an exception for her low marks, then she would whore her way up a series of ladders until she found someone dumb enough to give her a platform.

No, this is NOT a "smart" couple. This couple is a cautionary tale about how Water seeks it's own level: Sparry's mother and teachers did him a disservice, just as MEgain's father did her a disservice: SPARE the rod & SPOIL the child

Kinsey believes that MEgain is "smart" because she achieved a Duchess title. (What does this tell us about Kinsey's IQ. 🤦‍♂️😳)

MEgain became a "Duchess" because she was a professional "seductress" employeed by Markus Anderson & Soho House. Everything this couple achieves is smoke & mirrors based on TRANSACTIONAL relationships where they bully & harass anyone standing in their way.

They don't even possess good work ethics, let alone above average IQs. Please call a spade a spade (or in this case a spare a spare) and stop gaslighting the public about what Sparry could have done had he not been involved with the wife.

We watched the wife verbally abuse KP staffers over bereavement flowers and feckless Sparry stood by in AGREEMENT. Wicked queen Jezebel 2.0 and traitorous king ahab 2.0. Let them go!

[hugintheraven]

How to fix Amy Dallon

This is mostly me getting my thoughts in order. I doubt I will ever write Amy fix-it fic, but I want to have this just in case.

So the thing is, I don't think wretching Victoria was inevitable, far from it. That took a very specific set of circumstances. HOWEVER, "Amy does something selfish and harmful with her power that she can't fix, spirals and blames herself, does worse stuff in response"? I think that was fairly likely.

The problem is...a problem is...the various problems are...well I'll simplify. First, she has no support structure. Mark is useless, Carol is actively exacerbating her issues, and the rest of the family is their own kettle of fish. Victoria is the only person looking out for Amy, which quite aside from how that affects Amy, means that when Amy is in trouble, she turns to Victoria for help. If Victoria isn't around, then Amy has literally no one. Any friends she has are friends through Victoria, and I doubt the teenage superhuman is on friendly terms with her coworkers at the hospital(though seriously the professionals there should have noticed her issues LONG AGO).

Then we have Amy's power. Which is pushing her to use it in aggressive, selfish, and harmful ways. She's holding that off through sheer force of will, but that's not sustainable.

There's also her physical and mental limits. She's working her power to the limit normally, not sleeping, and straining herself to do more. Which isn't good at the best of times, let alone long-term.

All of which is tied up with the psychological issues package, her self-hate, feelings of inadequacy, severe dichotomous view of the world, etc.

Her crush on Victoria is a problem for her, don't get me wrong. But I don't think it's at all the main source, or even a significant chunk, of what was needed for Amy to screw up SOMETHING.

Here's what I see as needed for Amy to end up going villain(in her eyes and possibly the eyes of the law): A significant crisis that strains her control further, and Amy not being able to talk to Victoria about it. That's it. That leads to Amy losing control of her power and not having anyone around to keep her from doubling down. The specific circumstances in canon(she screws up Victoria, after a month of fighting with her family, post-Endbringer, and then her downfall is pushed along by Jack Slash) is what led to the Victoria flesh-coffin etc, but "Amy breaks someone she can't fix, freaks out, makes things worse" was a pretty logical place for her to end up given...everything.

So how can this be avoided? We can't stop constant crises from occurring, this is Brockton Bay. And the longer things go, the more tired she gets, thus the smaller the needed crisis would be. And fixing her mental issues probably takes a team of professionals a few years.

Step one, therefor, is bulking up her support structure. Doesn't matter if it's Taylor, Lisa, a SI char, having Amy join the Wards/Travellers/Uber and Leet/a book club, whatever. Just have her talking about her life on a regular basis to SOMEONE who she isn't related to. Preferably more than one person, otherwise there's still a risk of her turning a child into a Nilbog creation while her new friend and Victoria are both busy.

Next, we remove her from some of her sources of stress(meaning Carol). Anything you try to do while Carol is still around will just be undone by Carol's pressures.

THEN we introduce the team of professional head-shrinkers. This could happen earlier, since a therapist is one more person Amy can call with "I just screwed up", but I distrust Carol's reaction to her disliked daughter seeking professional help. (and it doesn't have to be a professional TBH, just someone to help work through her issues, but a professional is both trained in not making things worse and also is disconnected from the broader cape community, which lets them be objective in a way that, say, Lisa isn't).

Now I don't think this stops Amy from eventually losing control of her power and hurting someone. And she probably still can't fix it, her shard is canonically a dick. There's enough crises in the Bay to both make her overwork and to make her break her rules at some point, even if it's not specifically the S9 who does it. But if she screws up when she has multiple people she can call for advice, when she's been away from Carol's additional stress, and when someone's been unpacking her list of issues, I think further damage could be prevented and Amy could keep helping people despite the bumps.

[raventao]

DCxDP idea

What if ...

Reveal gone wrong, Danny and Dani are discovered by Jack and Maddie who react badly, to say the least. They expirament on them for a weekend (Jazz was gone and they wanted to be done before she got home. Obviously they wouldn't want to upset their daughter with confronting her with the knowledge that Danny was dead, had veen for a wbile now, and that Phantom had killed him and was wearing his body like a meat puppet.) Before they literally sell them off to the GIW. Vlad and Team Phantom don't find out about this until it's too late and aren't able to break them out. They try anyway, of course, but Vlad isn't even able to get on the premises due to a ghost shield, and Team Phantom is just liminal enough to ping the alarm despite being human enough to get past the shield. They all get captured as well. No one knew where they were, and the GIW denies Mayor Master's claims that the kids were being held by them.

Out of options, Vlad makes a call. He's going to fix this properly his way. It takes a week of back and forth and several bribes all over the east coast, but Vlad has finally found what he's looking for. It takes considerably less effort to set up a meeting with Deathstroke than it took to seek him out, but now that he has his attention, he places two folders in front of him. "I have two jobs for you. One is more time sensitive than the other, but both do need to be taken care of immediately should you accept." He states seriously. Inside one folder are two pictures and a small dossier on both Drs Fenton. Inside the other is everything he and Technus had been able to dig up on the GIW, the facility they were keeping the kids in, and the Anti-Ecto acts as background for why the government thought they could commit the atrocities Vlad knew they were deep inside the compound. There is also a small list in the back of the folder: Daniel Fenton, Jasmine Fenton, Samantha Manson, Tucker Foley, Danielle Masters, and Valerie Gray.

"I want the Doctors Fenton dead. I don't care how. Preferably slowly and painfully, but I am aware that could take time away from the other job." Vlad says, tapping the second folder. "This is a government facility, one that has stolen my daughter, my godchildren, and their friends. I want it, the ground it stands on, and all of the agents inside it razed to bedrock. Not even ash or bones left." He seeths.

"Rescue missions seem more like a professional hero's scene." Slade muses flatly. "Have you considered the Juatice League?"

"Heros won't kill these bastards, and prison is too good for them. My daughter, Danielle, is likely already dead by their hands. She was already only tentitvly stable before the Fenton's expiramented on her, and I doubt the GIW have been treating her any better. I will be damned to the burning lake of fire before I let Daniel and Jasmine meet the same fate. I will pay whatever I must to ensure my children be returned to me alive. Their friends too, I suppose. I would never hear the end of it if I left them. Daniel might even try to go back in for them, even at the risk of his own life. Just name your price, money is no object." Vlad argues back.

[alexusonfire]

Old Wounds, New Dances

Larissa Weems x teacher!Reader

A/n: My heart always cracks a little at Weems' face when she recalls her own Rave'n; thought a little dance to cheer her up was in order 🤗 Came up with this during the scene when Wednesday confronts Tyler at the Rave'n, and this song is playing in the background. Hope y'all enjoy!

"Larissa?"

You'd seen her disappear into the little alcove off the side of the Great Hall, having kept somewhat of an eye on her all night. She looked beautiful, her hair twisted up elegantly, silver dress hugging her in all the right curves; you'd tried not to stare, but whilst her gaze was fixed elsewhere you couldn't help but admire her for a few seconds more. She'd greeted you cheerily when you entered the dance, and you didn't miss the way her eyes flicked down your body before giving her most professional smile and wishing you a fun evening.

Now, tucked away from the flashing lights and booming music, she seemed softer, an air of wistful melancholy hanging over her. You slowly approached her, catching her gaze before continuing.

"Are you alright?"

She gave you a sad smile, ducking her head for a moment before regaining her composure, straightening her shoulders back and clasping her hands in front of her.

"I'm fine. Needed a moment is all. Are you enjoying yourself?"

You could tell there was more to it, and you had a sneaking suspiscion it had to do with the conversation you'd overheard between her and Marilyn earlier; your heart had sunk upon hearing of Larissa's own devastating Rave'n experience. Admittedly it confused you, how someone could so easily reject the stunning woman in front of you, even all those years ago.

"I am. It's nice to see the students so excited, especially after the Outreach incident."

"Good, I'm glad to hear it."

Her fingers began to twitch, as they often did when something was on her mind. You knew you should probably just leave her to it, give her the space she had obviously been seeking out, but her face when recalling her rejected youth flashed through your mind again and you were overcome with the urge to comfort her.

"I probably shouldn't say, but I overheard your conversation with Miss Thornhill earlier. Whoever that boy was, he was clearly blind, stupid, or both, and missed out on a wonderful opportunity."

At that she laughed, a real laugh, and it made your heart soar to see her shoulders relax and a pretty blush creep up her neck.

"Thank you dear. Truthfully I wonder if it's the boy himself who upsets me still or simply the teenage angst I suffered. I suppose neither matter now though do they?"

You nodded in agreement, a slow song floating through the entryway giving you an idea. With her eyes twinkling down at you, you felt the air rush from your lungs before finding the words to the question you'd wanted to ask since you first laid eyes on that damn dress of hers.

"Would... would you like to dance Larissa?"

Her eyes widened for a moment, and you prepared for her to politely refuse, perhaps even ask you to leave her be once and for all-

"Yes."

It was quiet, so timid you nearly missed it. You blinked once, twice, then shook yourself back to reality. Slowly you reached out to grab her hand, placing it on your shoulder before sliding yours onto her lower back. She bit her lip (nearly sending you toppling to the floor) and pulled you slightly closer as you began to sway to the music. At first it was somewhat awkward, needing to adjust your steps a couple of times and neither of you being used to such physical closeness, but you got the hang of it, relaxing into eachother's embrace and enjoying the small bubble of peace...

Until a couple of students started giggling behind you.

"Awe, you guys are so cute together!!"

Larissa fixed her most serious glare onto the group of girls, but that only seemed to encourage them, the giggles growing louder as they pushed eachother back out to the dance.

"I told you Ms. Weems liked her!" one exclaimed to the other in a not-so-quiet whisper as they left, the girls tittering amongst themselves at the idea. You couldn't help but chuckle yourself, remembering how you used to pair up the teachers in your school days too.

"Well... they aren't... wrong I suppose."

You looked up at her, surprised by her statement. She attempted to pull back, but you tightened your grip on her waist ever so slightly, willing her to stay.

"I... I like you too Larissa. Quite a bit actually. And um... if you're up to it, I'd like to take you out for dinner sometime. On a date. If you'd want to, that is-"

Larissa laughed at your rambling, finding it rather endearing, and silenced it with a kiss to your cheek and a squeeze of your hand.

"I look forward to it. Now, shall we finish our dance before facing the rumors I'm certain are already spreading amongst the students?"

It was your turn to laugh, and you simply nodded in agreement. You dared to pull her flush to you, her head tilting with a flirtatious smirk as you started to sway once more. As you lost yourself in her sapphire gaze, her body heat mingling with yours and her sweet perfume the only thing you could focus on, she encompassed every sense you had in the most delicious and delightful way.

Indeed what an utter fool, that mystery boy was, to have passed up on this.

[valentinsylve]

CW: Past suicidal ideation, mental health talk.

So, something very beautiful happened the other day, and I want to share it just because I know some of you are struggling with various forms of mental illness and perhaps have been diagnosed with personality disorders, which may or may not be professional assessments of misunderstood developmental anomalies and attachment trauma.

I've been working with my therapist, B., for over 10 years. When I first started seeing her, I vetted her with a longtime trusted friend who'd been her client, and I knew this friend had dealt with a lot of rage and traumas similar to mine. I asked her, "How comfortable is B. with anger?" and her response was "You would be in good hands with her."

Anyway. My therapist took me on as a high-risk client when I was already on the young side of middle aged. She quickly became aware that I was both unstable and halfway organized enough to take my own life. I was feral. I was a bitey whirlwind of grief and a kind of desperate need I found indescribable. I was 40 years old and had no idea of how to regulate my emotions. After we'd been working together for 2 years, I mused at the end of a session, "I think it's been several months since I verbally abused you." Her reply was, "Signs of healing." and she smiled and offered a hug, which I accepted.

The other day in our session we were talking about the usual sort of thing, and I was feeling emotionally soft but safe, and I noticed she seemed misty-eyed. I asked if she were OK. She told me, "I'm fine. I'm feeling very tender toward you, and after all this time you are able to accept this tenderness. You have had a hard time accepting love, because it's so often been entangled in betrayal; but now, in this space of trust you've given me, that we've worked hard to create together, I can communicate that I see you and in this way I love you."

I have always had a hard time with any kind of love. It feels so intense and frightening. I have lived with eruptions of attachment which were impossible for me to navigate. To be able to experience tenderness without pushing it away is relatively new to me. When that tenderness has appropriate boundaries, well, that's something.

I saw a therapist for the first time when I was barely 18. I have to emphasize that at the time I was required to see them. With few exceptions, my experiences with therapy in the following years were lacking or actively damaging. It took utter desperation to seek therapy again so late in life, but at last something took. I still have a ways to go, but so much is freshly possible now.

It's not too late for you, if you're worried about that. I guess that's my point. I think of my grandmother, the one whose physical, emotional and creative being I uncannily resemble, who took her mother-wounds from an abused childhood all the way to her grave, and I wish she could have met B. I hope you meet your B. as well. Maybe they won't be your therapist, but I hope they are someone who sees you and is not afraid to seek you out exactly where you are.

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

AITA for telling my bff what my ex said about them?

I had broken up with my ex 6 months beforehand and didn't talk about it with anyone but my mom and therapist for that amount of time. My friends knew it effected me pretty bad but didn't pry when I just wanted to keep it private. My ex was very long distance and didn't have many friends, so I introduced her to my irl friend group so she could have some people to talk to virtually at least. I didn't want me wanting to break up be the reason for our friends to pick sides or anything like that.

Now long story short, my ex was not happy I was ending things. She got angry saying I wasn't allowed to do this, telling me how she'd lie to our friends about me to get them to leave me as alone as she was. She gave me an order of names based on how likely she thought they'd believe her. She made "rules" for the breakup that I would still have to talk to her daily and keep an eye on her mental health so she didn't "do something stupid" and how it was my fault she was like this.

I have had previous close relationships where I felt responsible for peoples lives so I agreed. I may not have wanted to be with her romantically anymore, but of course I wanted her to live and move on and be happy. Over the months I was listening to her talk about her declining mental health, her refusals to seek professional help, her angry speeches about how I was living my life, etc. One of these speeches was about my bff and about how she blamed my bff for our breakup. And how if I didn't talk to my bff I would still be dating her. (untrue of course, if anyone blame my mom and therapist lol)

One day, my bff came over for the first time in ages for some one on one time rather than a group hang out. Our schedules were always just all over the place. I listened to her tell me about some life updates, and then she brought up how weird it was that my ex had recently started dming her wanting to be closer friends. Bff made comments about how she thought it was funny because why would she want to be closer to the person causing me grief for this long.

At this point, my mind had gone through the cycles of fearing that my ex had gotten to my bff on her list of "friends to lie to to take her side" and also shock and relief that my bff was able to tell how bad my emotional state had been for months without talking to her about what happened.

I just broke down crying

After some comfort from bff, she asked if I wouldnt mind telling her what happened and I ended up telling her.

Now my bff was pissed at my ex after I told her everything. The next day she had written an angry message to my ex defending me, and told me about it. This had me panicking more because I was scared of what my ex would do.

It turned into my ex berating me for telling my friend that "she hates her" in reference to the blaming her for the breakup because it was something she didnt feel anymore (unlikely, she had told me like 2 weeks before this she still felt that way) so I was just trying to ruin her friendships. she ordered me to tell my bff i was lying about everything

I had grown so tired of this, so I said no. I told her I only told my bff the truth and she made her own opinions. I was not responsible for that. and I told her finally that I was not responsible for her at all and thought it'd be better to go no contact.

At the same time, my bff had removed my ex from our group chats (without me telling her i was gonna go non contact, but because she thought itd be good for me) and apologized for sending the message to my ex as it was just causing more drama.

It still eats me up sometimes though. Was I the asshole for telling my bff what my ex said about her? Given, I could have just told her the exact details of the breakup without what my ex said about blaming her after the fact. Given the heightened emotions of what brought the conversation up, I just let it all out.

What are these acronyms?

[dozing-marshmallow]

This may sound weird, but can you do Trans!Chris x Female!Reader? If not, then it's okay

Nah, this wasn’t weird! This was fun to write for! Thank you for requesting, I hope you enjoy !!💝

(This one shot involves gender dysphoria so please be mindful if this is a discomfort for you.)

TRANSGENDER! CHRIS MCLEAN X FEMALE! READER ONE SHOT

“You know, your makeup is quite decent today, (Y/N).”

Chris chirped one day when you were sitting with him in one of his yachts, surrounded by the glistening blue of the ocean and the whiteness of the sky.

“Decent today? What are you implying? That it’s bad every other day?” you chuckle.

“Maybe, maybe not.” Chris chuckles alongside you, taking a gulp of his black coffee,“Reminds me of when I did makeup back in the old days. I was always amazing, but now.” he smirks,“I’m wealthy enough to hire people to do it for me.”

“Uh huh.” you followed his smug face expression, stirring your own coffee with the teaspoon provided,“It’s just like you to be so pampered.”

“Yep, that’s me. Born to rule the entertainment industry with my Heaven sent looks and charisma! The whole world knows it! And yet,” Chris hangs his head as he goes on to say,“I’m not ready to tell it who I am.”

You cock your head,“Who you are? The world already knows that, McLean.”

However, he wasn’t sharing your sense of playfulness as he raised his head to cut you an unamused look,“Very funny. You know what I mean.” he looks to the side, his face softening,“I’m just so afraid. I don’t know what happened, but lately, I’ve been doubting myself. I don’t feel like the guy I was.”

That doesn’t sound good,“You wanna talk about it?”

“Sure.” he responds, taking a sip of his coffee. After, his gaze matches the angle of yours,“So uh, one day I kinda started feeling off; I wasn’t feeling my usual phenomenal irreplaceable self. Something was wrong, and looking in the mirror only made it worse. I know I’m a man. I know I am. But...” he taps the sides of his cup as though to maintain his grip on communicating,“It wasn’t me I saw, but that...thing. And now, she won’t leave. She’s there in all my reflections, copying all my moves, it’s so freaky. Sooo... I’m kinda in a um, position where I’m believing in signs. Signs like, what if that version I don’t wanna be is intimidating me just like how...I’m intimidating manhood? What if that man never existed, (Y/N)? Am I wasting my time?!”

You bring the edge of your coffee to your lips as you carefully considered your words,“Well obviously, this old you you’re seeing, is a manifestation of insecurities-”

Failing instantly,“Ugh, spare me the pretentious words! If I wanted to see a therapist to tell me all that, I would’ve done so years ago.”

You set your cup down,“I mean, there’s nothing wrong with seeking professional help.”

“Not when you’re a beacon of perfection like me! When therapists are done with me, they’ll be all over their secret accounts on social media, posting subtle stuff about it! Aw if he didn’t want me to out him, he should’ve paid me a little bit more!” his voice comedically changed to fit one jarring of a potential backstabbing therapist.

“I know some therapists make you sign a contract, but you could always create a contract of your own for them to sign if you feel that anxious.” you hummed, despite knowing that privacy would already be included in a contract designed by one.

“What do you mean, you know? You’ve been to a therapist before, (Y/N)?” Chris raised an eyebrow, leaning closer to your caught off guard face.

Again, there was nothing wrong with seeking professional help so you had no clue why Chris was scrutinising you like it was taboo,“...We’re getting off topic.”

“Damn it, you’re right!” Chris exclaimed in self-awareness as he took a loud, long sip of his steaming cup,“Ah... Anyway. I’m not joshing when I say I’m confused, (Y/N). Really, I am. At first I was content and relieved I got to be Chris. Now I just feel out of place. I feel like a living fraud. I can’t even recognise my own million dollar smile in pictures anymore.” he brushes a hand over his cheek,“I didn’t think I would actually feel unsure with my guts after so many years.”

You never thought you’d see the day where Chris was venting so deeply,“Well, it’s fine to feel disoriented with your identity at times, Chris. It’s a completely normal thing that many transgender people go through, even those who find themselves very early on.”

“Yeah, but I don’t want to experience it at all.” he groaned in a snappy manner,”I’ve tried shutting it out, ignoring it, moving on with my life, but it keeps surfacing. I’m sick of it.”

That’s one mistake,“You said you were starting to believe in signs more, right?”

“Yeah, what about it?”

“So don’t you think this is a sign that you can’t keep trying to dismiss how you feel and address it?” you propose, hope flowering in your irises.

“But I’m a guy. I’m not supposed to be all emotional and stuff anymore.” he mumbles, almost like it was just intended for himself to hear.

Though, you heard it and you’re thankful you picked it up. With that mumbled, you feel you’ve uncovered more depth to what this was about,“Okay well, what you just described is toxic masculinity, and that never solves anything for anyone. Look.”

You have trouble deciding if you should grab his hand,“I’m not going to try and say I know exactly what you’re feeling, but I can empathise from the perspective of somebody who’s known you for a very long time that you are definitely not impersonating manhood.” you decide against it, but you made sure his head was facing you,“You’re the happiest as a guy, and you’re not any less of one even if you express yourself, even if you were born female. I know being in the public eye, you have a certain expectation of smiles to convey, but just because you conceal it from the public, doesn’t mean you have to conceal it from yourself. At the end of the day, this scary feeling will only be gone if you confront it. Not me, not your agent or your fans. I can’t tell you how to confront it, but I can tell you, it’s fine to take your time in resolving it. Gender dysphoria is draining and you have a right to feel distressed.”

He doesn’t look very convinced, just a slight head nod to confirm he’s listening. Seems like he’s not sure how to take your words. To be fair, you’ve said a lot and he already denied therapy, so you decide to speak again with more simple words, smiling,“You’ve made a lot of progress. It takes a lot of courage to make the transition you’ve done. Isn’t that proof of a remarkable journey that can withhold your current uncertainty?”

“Maybe...” he sighs as he shifts in his seat,“Anyway. I’m still gonna keep this confidential. My entire career, as I know it, could crumble in the span of two minutes!”

You know he did not just say that,“Chris, you’ve done way more horrendous things in your lifetime and you still haven’t gotten cancelled. Being transgender would be the least of anyone’s concerns. Sure it may be surprising, but at least it’s not a crime.”

“Hey...” his dark eyes lit up,“You’re right! Maybe if I do come out, I can make myself more money and attention! Great thinking, (Y/N)!”

His enthusiasm seemed like an exaggeration, so you shrugged,“I mean, as long as you’re comfortable, no one has the right to say otherwise.”

“Yeah no, I was lying.” the laughter he emitted wasn’t organic- called it,“I don’t see that happening anytime soon.”

His laid back mask was slipping. The smell of coffee was weak- you noticed both of your cups have been emptied. He could do with a bit of alone time after what you’ve discussed.

“Want me to go get us a refill?”

He hands his cup to you,“Thank you.”

[mysticheathenn]

What Will Make You Financially Abundant?

Hi, Hexlings!

This pick-a-card reading is for my Patreon All Tiers. This pick-a-card reading is all about what will bring financial stability and abundance into your life.

This is a general reading, remember to take what resonates and leave what does not. This reading does not supplement your need to seek professional help. Tarot should be used as entertainment and not a for sure answer to your problems but as a guide, a sense of hope, and amusement.

Take your time when choosing your pile. Ask yourself the question and choose the picture that you can’t stop looking at. Listen to your intuition.

Extended Patreon Includes:

What do you need to let go of to bring this to fruition?

What will this abundance bring or gift me?

Extra Messages

MasterList

Patreon Link

Ko-Fi Donations

Pile l:

What will bring you Financial abundance? Tarot: 4 of Pentacles, Knight of Cups, Strength, 4 of Cups, King of Swords, Ace of Swords

Following your truth. I know you are probably looking for a straight answer like me saying your current career, a sugar daddy, or the lottery but pile l you are what will bring financial abundance to you. A lot of you are constantly sleeping on the many ideas that spirit has given you because you are either too scared to take the leap, don't believe you are good enough, your idea isn't good enough, or you believe it's already been done before. Either way, you are the key to bringing in this abundance into your life by acting on the ideas that come to you no matter how ridiculous or "bland" they may seem. You are basically sleeping on your own potential and what you can bring into your life. Some of you are even hold yourself back by having a scarcity mindset, not believing that you can bring in financial stability or abundance. Stand in your power or for a few of you stand in your purpose that keeps knocking at your door that you keep ignoring because of fear. This reminds me of a pile in my previous reading. I believe it was pile 3 from my "What Do You Still Need to Heal From?" Reading. Wake up. Smell the coffee and get to work. Stop putting off your ideas. Stop ignoring your ideas. Stop ignoring the path that keeps popping up in your life for you to take. This reminds me of the scene from Barbie where she didn't want to find out why she was "malfunctioning" but she had to find out because if she doesn't she would end up like weird Barbie. This is you pile l...if you don't walk the path you were meant to walk, listen to your ideas, and release this scarcity mindset...you will continue to struggle. Patreon Post Link

Pile ll:

What will bring you Financial abundance? Tarot: 10 of Pentacles, Ace of Pentacles, 3 of Cups, 4 of Pentacles, 4 of Cups, 2 of Cups, King of Wands

Sugar Daddy by Qveen Herby is playing in my head as I try to listen for your message pile ll. For some of you this is between a wealthy benefactor or you marrying rich. Especially with the 2 of cups being a card mostly related to romance but it can be used for business opportunities. Another song playing in my head is Finer Things by FEYI. This is my materialistic pile that wants the tips and trips to the island - Money Honey by Lady Gaga. You are all about living a luxurious lifestyle one way or another. You may resonate with wanting a soft life than constantly always being in your masculine energy and bossing everyone around. For some of you, you don't want to work because you believe that you were meant to be some CEO, NFL, NBA, or Tech's spoiled Girlfriend, and others, you want to have the option to work. Maybe you want a small side business like most Trophy Wives living in Beverly Hills where they have a side business to keep them busy instead of always shopping. I can already see you sitting at a cafe, or a spa trip, and international trips with your closest friends. You're surrounded by your spoiled girlfriend friends living the good life sipping champagne while receiving just because gifts from your lover and even push presents for those who want to be a stay-at-home wife. A push present is where you get a gift for your hard work in carrying a child. This pile reminds me of the TLC special that used to run called The Secrets of a Trophy Wife with Jennifer Stano and Layla Milani (I love both of them, especially Layla) her husband absolutely adores her and that's what you want pile ll. (Click the show name for the show trailer of what I was talking about). You want that soft life where you are adored, pampered, and living life of luxury filled with beautiful things and love. Patreon Post Link

Pile lll:

What will bring you Financial abundance? Tarot: The Fool, High Priestess, The Sun, 4 of Wands, 10 of Wands, The Hermit (reversed), 2 of Wands (reversed)

This is more my spiritual, philanthropy, and humanitarian pile. What will bring you financial abundance is walking in your purpose where you were meant to help others in some shape or form. This could be you working in the medical field, being a lawyer, a spiritual guru, life or spiritual coach, tarot reader, dietician/herbalist, whatever it is you were meant to make your abundance by being of service to other people. I feel some of you know this but you don't want to answer the call because of fear or because of the amount of hard work that comes along with doing this kind of thing. Yes it is taxing some days on the soul but overall all this is what you were meant to do, help others. Bring awareness to certain things in life that will get people talking. I don't want any of you to think the list of occupations is only it, it can also be a techer or whatever else occupation where you are making a difference for the future and in others lives. But it is something that will be hard work to the point some days you will question if it worth it because of how much you have to do in order to bring in this success but you will always be reminded in some form that it is definitely worth it and to keep going. Patreon Post Link

Pile lV:

What will bring you Financial abundance? Tarot: Ace of Swords, Ace of Cups, 3 of Pentacles, 7 of Pentacles, 6 of Pentacles, 6 of Swords

This pile is a mixture of walking away from your current job for something better, following a business venture, or even just doing freelancing (Etsy, Fiverr, Upwork, etc). I don't know what you are up to pile lv all I know is that you are unsatisfied with where you are currently because of either a toxic workplace or knowing that you can make more money elsewhere but aren't sure where to start. Here is your sign to leave and go where you are meant to go. Again this is a general reading and everyone has a different job. Leaving your job for a better environment and higher pay is one thing but for most of you I feel you want to open your own business, or just freelance your work or maybe even work from home is what I am hearing for a few of you. Either way, this idea you have is completely doable it just involves you leaving where you are currently at. Some of you aren't scared you just aren't too sure about the future and just need a push to get there while others of you are waiting for a sign or a more solid reason to leave because you listen too much to other people who wouldn't understand why you left because of XYZ and I am here to tell you to just do you. You do not need to answer to other people on why you left a job to pursue something better. Not every wave was meant to be chased or followed and this goes for where you are currently especially since you are miserable where you are now. Patreon Post Link

Thank you for liking and reblogging my readings. I always appreciate you guys on here and on Patreon.

Stay safe and be blessed

[lavendershowcase]

Queer Hispanic Stories for Hispanic Heritage Month

Summaries and notes under cut

Juliet Takes a Breath by Gabby Rivera

Juliet Milagros Palante is leaving the Bronx and headed to Portland, Oregon. She just came out to her family and isn’t sure if her mom will ever speak to her again. But Juliet has a plan, sort of, one that’s going to help her figure out this whole “Puerto Rican lesbian” thing. She’s interning with the author of her favorite book: Harlowe Brisbane, the ultimate authority on feminism, women’s bodies, and other gay-sounding stuff. Will Juliet be able to figure out her life over the course of one magical summer? Is that even possible? Or is she running away from all the problems that seem too big to handle? With more questions than answers, Juliet takes on Portland, Harlowe, and most importantly, herself.

Winner of 2017 Silver IPPY Award for best LGBTQ Fiction, selected by the ALA for the Amelia Bloomer List in 2017

The Prince and the Coyote by David Bowles, illustrated by Amanda Mijangos*

Fifteen-year old crown prince Acolmiztli wants nothing more than to see his city-state of Tetzcoco thrive. A singer, poet, and burgeoning philosophical mind, he has big plans about infrastructure projects and cultural initiatives that will bring honor to his family and help his people flourish. But the two sides of his family, the kingdoms of Mexico and Acolhuacan, have been at war his entire life – after his father risked the wrath of the Tepanec emperor to win his mother’s love. When a power struggle leaves his father dead and his mother and siblings in exile, Acolmiztli must run for his life, seeking refuge in the wilderness. After a coyote helps him find his way in the wild, he takes on a new name – Nezahualcoyotl, or “fasting coyote” (“Neza” for short). Biding his time until he can form new alliances and reconnect with his family, Neza goes undercover, and falls in love with a commoner girl, Sekalli. Can Neza survive his plotting uncles’ scheme to wipe out his line for good? Will the empire he dreams of in Tetzcoco ever come to life? And is he willing to risk the lives of those he loves in the process? This action-packed tale blends prose and poetry – including translations of surviving poems by Nezahualcoytl himself, translated from classical Nahuatl by the author. And the book is packed with queer rep: queer love stories, and a thoughtful exploration of pre-columbian understandings of gender that defy the contemporary Western gender binary.

Pura Belpré honoree, Kirkus Best of the Year, Bookpage top 10 Book of 2023

*Personally recommended by me

The House of Impossible Beauties by Joseph Cassara

It’s 1980 in New York City, and nowhere is the city’s glamour and energy better reflected than in the burgeoning Harlem ball scene, where seventeen-year-old Angel first comes into her own. Burned by her traumatic past, Angel is new to the drag world, new to ball culture, and has a yearning inside of her to help create family for those without. When she falls in love with Hector, a beautiful young man who dreams of becoming a professional dancer, the two decide to form the House of Xtravaganza, the first-ever all-Latino house in the Harlem ball circuit. But when Hector dies of AIDS-related complications, Angel must bear the responsibility of tending to their house alone. As mother of the house, Angel recruits Venus, a whip-fast trans girl who dreams of finding a rich man to take care of her; Juanito, a quiet boy who loves fabrics and design; and Daniel, a butch queen who accidentally saves Venus’s life. The Xtravaganzas must learn to navigate sex work, addiction, and persistent abuse, leaning on each other as bulwarks against a world that resists them. All are ambitious, resilient, and determined to control their own fates, even as they hurtle toward devastating consequences. 

Born Both: An Intersex Life by Hida Viloria

My name is Hida Viloria. I was raised as a girl but discovered at a young age that my body looked different. Having endured an often turbulent home life as a kid, there were many times when I felt scared and alone, especially given my attraction to girls. But unlike most people in the first world who are born intersex–meaning they have genitals, reproductive organs, hormones, and/or chromosomal patterns that do not fit standard definitions of male or female–I grew up in the body I was born with because my parents did not have my sex characteristics surgically altered at birth. It wasn’t until I was twenty-six and encountered the term intersex in a San Francisco newspaper that I finally had a name for my difference. That’s when I began to explore what it means to live in the space between genders–to be both and neither. I tried living as a feminine woman, an androgynous person, and even for a brief period of time as a man. Good friends would not recognize me, and gay men would hit on me. My gender fluidity was exciting, and in many ways freeing–but it could also be isolating. I had to know if there were other intersex people like me, but when I finally found an intersex community to connect with I was shocked, and then deeply upset, to learn that most of the people I met had been scarred, both physically and psychologically, by infant surgeries and hormone treatments meant to “correct” their bodies. Realizing that the invisibility of intersex people in society facilitated these practices, I made it my mission to bring an end to it–and became one of the first people to voluntarily come out as intersex at a national and then international level. Born Both is the story of my lifelong journey toward finding love and embracing my authentic identity in a world that insists on categorizing people into either/or, and of my decades-long fight for human rights and equality for intersex people everywhere.

Her Body and Other Parties by Carmen Maria Machado

In Her Body and Other Parties, Carmen Maria Machado blithely demolishes the arbitrary borders between psychological realism and science fiction, comedy and horror, fantasy and fabulism. While her work has earned her comparisons to Karen Russell and Kelly Link, she has a voice that is all her own. In this electric and provocative debut, Machado bends genre to shape startling narratives that map the realities of women’s lives and the violence visited upon their bodies. A wife refuses her husband’s entreaties to remove the green ribbon from around her neck. A woman recounts her sexual encounters as a plague slowly consumes humanity. A salesclerk in a mall makes a horrifying discovery within the seams of the store’s prom dresses. One woman’s surgery-induced weight loss results in an unwanted houseguest. And in the bravura novella “Especially Heinous,” Machado reimagines every episode of Law & Order: Special Victims Unit, a show we naively assumed had shown it all, generating a phantasmagoric police procedural full of doppelgängers, ghosts, and girls-with-bells-for-eyes.

Finalist for the 2017 National Book Award for Fiction, Winner of the National Book Critics Circle's 2017 John Leonard Prize, Winner of the 2017 Bard Fiction Prize, Finalist for the 2017 Kirkus Prize, Finalist for the 2017 PEN/Robert Bingham Award

[extremely-judgemental]

Wait, so if I'm critical of a book, I have to hate everything about it or else my opinions hold no value?🤣 Then by that logic shouldn't the fans love all the characters, including Tamlin, Lucien, Eris, even Beron, Keir, or Amarantha? I mean you can't spare them because they're cruel or hurt Feyre/Rhysand. SJM still created them, didn't she? I hate SJM and her books for the problematic themes she's propagandising, and yes, I have every right to talk about it as much as you do, as a reader, to preach how much you love a character or how they are the standard when they clearly aren't. If you can ignore the misrepresentations and move past the flaws with ease, good for you. That doesn't mean others can't share their opinions on a fiction they believed was worth their time and were disappointed. That's how we process media. If you can't understand someone's favourism, don't engage with them instead of insulting their intelligence and degrading them as a person.

Antis are getting so much hatred for openly talking about racism, sexism, faux feminism, internalised (and sometimes outright) misogyny, and misinformation of abuse, and so many more other issues I can't even begin to list out, in these books. And you want to attack every one of them, seek them out in their own blogs and send anons and threats who have clearly declared themselves as antis/critiques. These people are here educating others and validating varied interpretations of these books while you're trying to pit them against each other in their own community. In the 5 months I've been in this hellhole, I've never encountered one rude anti so far, or maybe I'm just lucky. Still that statistics is almost nonexistent compared how many pros think they are the messiahs to spread holy wisdom from SJM herself and pressured me into adopting their narratives.

Tbh I don't like any of the characters in these books, not one, not even Tamlin or Nesta whom openly I'm pro for. But I saw how much you want to hate on them for the most sensible thing to do in their positions or the natural mistakes one can commit. I saw the way you hated on Nesta for being a woman. I saw the way you hated on Tamlin just because he was a romantic 'threat' to your Rhysand. I am critical of every character in these books but there are some who don't deserve the redemption in the narratives or the love from the audience because of the abuse they inflict on the FMCs in a female-centered series.

You're triggered by the antis talking about abuse in these books. But you had no issues reading them described so vividly, so explicitly? You had no issues when the author gave you no warning beforehand? You had no issues when the characters you love were the instigators?

You are not Feyre. Rhysand is not your partner. SJM is not your mother.

I understand it's hard to tolerate when the illusion of fiction is shattered and you're confronted with reality and how it's parallel to what you go through everyday and what you condemn. But that doesn't give you the right to harass real people or ridicule them in name of defending these characters. At the end of the day, if you can't separate yourself from fiction, maybe seek professional help.