#as someone who recently reached adulthood i think about this lots

[babygirlhaljordan]

look. i know a lot of ppl prefer cyborg in titans… but i think it’s hilarious to imagine college-aged vic stone in the justice league. trying to figure out his powers AND adulting shit. all the while he’s surrounded by grown ass adult men (~25ish) who’s seen the world already. meanwhile kid is still getting used to the concept of seeing his own medical history by himself and determining whether his family has access to it

[thehusbandoden]

MHA Boys x Couch Surfing!Reader (kinda) -Dabi, Hawks, Shigaraki and Tamaki (separately)

A/n: here you go @sour-patch2000, so sorry for the wait, I hope you enjoy!

And as always, feel free to reach out to me to rewrite any part of this or if you want to request again! <33

General info:

Genre: fluff/comfort/slice of life..? \\ wc: 1,159 in total (roughly 300 each) \\ posted: 01/25/2024 \\ requested

Warnings!: Hawks' real name, slight mentions of Hawks' and Shiggy's past, Dabi is over protective- kinda yandere? And I think that's it! Pls let me know if I miss any! <33

Dabi: (251 words)

Dabi gently stroked your cheek as you slept peacefully against his side, your head against his chest, one hand splayed across his torso while your other arm wrapped around his upper back. Anger swarmed in his eyes as he stared at the tear stains on your cheeks. 

He wanted- no needed to figure out what happened and who he needed to kill. No one is allowed to hurt his love. You were at the back of his apartment in the middle of the night, soaked from the rain and sobbing uncontrollably.  

Dabi immediately pulled you inside, hugging you against his warm chest, cooing comforting words as he stroked your head and kissed your face gently. You could have mistaken him for someone else entirely if it weren’t for his soothing scent, deep voice, and scarred hands.  

After a while you slowly calmed down. He didn’t let go until you did. He gently asked if you wanted to talk about it, and when you shook your head, he fell silent. He drew you a bath and complied to what you wanted.  

If you wanted to be left alone, he would be cooking you a hot meal (which ended up burning); or if you wanted him to stay with you, he would. You fell asleep snuggled against the person you loved most in the world, clad in his clothes as pajamas and surrounded by his comforting scent.  

You were safe with him. He loves you, and he would do anything to protect you.  

(Dabi's masterlist)

Takami Keigo: (321 words)

“Okay- is this enough?!” Keigo calls from behind a heap of blankets in his arms. The fluffy material hid his face, his gorgeous wings poking out. “I hear women get really cold at night- if this isn’t enough, I can go buy more!”  

Your troubled frown lifts at his playful antics, before you could say anything he continued ranting on. “How many more do you need?! What brands do you like- what sizes? Money doesn’t matter so tell me honestly! Oh, and what fabric? What col-” you silenced him with a playful jab to his side.  

“This is too many!” You giggle ever so slightly, beginning to forget about the traumatic events you went through in recent weeks.  

“It is?” Keigo pouts, dropping the fluffy blankets on the floor next to the couch. As he sees your amused smirk, he puffs his chest out proudly. “I knew that! I know everything!” Keigo teases, grinning ear to ear as he sees your bright smile come out.  

“Sure you do, Birdbrain!” You giggle, sticking your tongue out at the goofball in front of you. The two of you have been friends for a few years now, though something tells you that you may end up as more.  

“Oh! I know how we can use the blankets!” Keigo’s honey eyes go wide with excitement, causing you to giggle fondly.  

“And that is~?”  

“We can build a huge blanket fort! We can use the entire flat! We’ll have to buy a lot more blankets though!” He grinned, his wings shuddering in excitement.  

Giggling, you were about to tell him that that was silly when you remembered how he didn’t have a proper childhood- or adulthood for that manner. He needed some pure fun in his life.  

“Of course! But- I call dibs on the fluffiest blanket we can find!” You giggle, putting your shoes on.  

“Hey- that’s not fair!” He playfully whined.  

“Is to!”  

(Keigo's masterlist)

Shigaraki Tomura: (246 words)

“Kurogiri, clean my room. I want every inch of it cleaned and the stench of smoke nowhere near it by tonight.” Shigaraki commanded, crossing his arms across his chest as he stared at his loyalist servant.  

Many would think that he was being rude and bossy- but Kurogiri could see that he was anxious about something. Putting the rag down, Kurogiri nods. “As you see fit, Shigaraki Tomura. May I ask why?”  

“Someone very close to me needs a place to stay until further notice. She deserves the best we can offer- so she gets my room. It can’t stink from all of these idiots’ smoking habits.” Shigaraki snarled, scratching his neck.  

Kurogiri’s eyes widened before softening. So that’s why he’s so anxious... “Of course, Shigaraki Tomura. I will have only the best provided for your special one.”  

“Good. She arrives in a few hours; I expect it to be done by then.”  

“Anything else, Shigaraki Tomura?”  

“Kick that burnt arsonist out of his room. I’ll be staying there for the time being.”  

“As you see fit.” Kurogiri bows before walking away. Once Shigaraki was out of eyesight he smiled softly. Shigaraki has never cared for anyone but himself that much since AFO took him in.  

It made him happy to see his master getting along with other people. This was good for him... really good. As Kurogiri begins cleaning, he can’t help but imagine how special this woman is to capture Shigaraki Tomura’s broken heart...  

(Shiggy's masterlist)

Amajiki Tamaki: (316 words)

“I-it’s not much b-but I hope i-it'll do...” Tamaki muttered anxiously; eyes glued to the floor. 

As soon as you told Tamaki you needed a place to stay, he offered immediately; surprising you, Mirio and Nejire. Tamaki has labored the past two and a half days to make sure his guest room was perfect for you.  

Mirio and Izuku helped him take out his several bookshelves and desk out of the room. Once the furniture was out of the way he deep cleaned every inch- including the carpet. Once he was positive that the room was in top condition, he began shopping. He bought a full-sized bedframe and mattress. 

He begged Nejire to find out what your dream room was- and she agreed after about the fourth text- which was a lot for Tamaki if he were asking for something.  

He did his very best to make it your dream room, buying you several pieces of furniture and decorations. He did a pretty dang good job too! He bought a few things for a few of his favorite hobbies, snacks, drinks, and left an envelope of money for hygiene products –and more-.  

He wanted you to be comfortable, if you wanted to be alone you had everything you needed inside your room or right outside of it and if you wanted company, he would be willing to talk.  

Tamaki immediately started panicking as he saw tears form in your eyes. “Y-y/n I’m so sorry! D-did I do something wrong?! Is it the wrong color!? Is the bed too big or too small?! Do you not like the-”  

“No Tama, it’s perfect.” You whisper, hiding your face in his shoulder. Tamaki immediately stopped talking, his ears turning red as a flustered smile makes its way on his lips. “Thank you.” You whisper, sealing your gratitude with a kiss to his cheek.  

Tamaki’s brain literally stopped functioning. He stuttered an incoherent sentence before blushing in embarrassment, hiding his face in his hands. You giggle fondly, letting him be.

(Tama's masterlist)

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[ell-arts]

I wanna theorise the Ghost Gang's ages

I think it's widely accepted that the Ghost Gang are believed to be kids, or at least the same age as the Pac trio. Their exact ages are never mentioned of course, but it has never really been brought into questioning either.

It's often a point of interest when fans talk about the Pacworld Wars or the Repository - either that Betrayus was cruel enough to enrol children to fight in his army, or that Stratos/The Freedom Fighters were cruel for supposedly allowing children to be sent to the Nether.

I've thought about this a few times, also as someone who saw the Ghost Gang as teens, but recently I've looked a bit more closely at the semantics of it all, and it's led me to this one big question:

Why are we assuming that the Ghost Gang ARE children?

Don't get me wrong, we have good reasons to believe they are.

They sound young

They often display childish or immature behaviour

They're familiar enough with the Pac trio to get along in ways that teenage friends would

Pinky has a crush on Pac, so we assume that they are both at least the same age...unless Pinky is a closet cougar.

But when you think about it, these traits can sometimes carry over into adulthood and do not always indicate child-like or teenage behaviour.

I've thought more on the matter, and I've come to realise that we also have a few reasons to believe that the Ghost Gang are in fact adults, or at least young adults.

Blinky is a Pac-Fu Master. The art of Pac-Fu is considered a powerful form of martial arts, supposedly more powerful than Kung Fu, and thus would take years to master. I highly doubt that a child would be able to reach Pac-Fu Mastery before becoming an adult, unless its a child prodigy. I think its safe to assume that Blinky spent several years mastering the art in order for him to reach Master level, so it makes more sense for him to be an adult. A young adult, at the very least.

Clyde speaks 9 languages. For a person to learn new languages, they have to reach an age of proficient academic understanding and dedicate some years to be able to speak multiple languages. According to google, it takes 2-3 years to become fluent in a new language. Multiply that with Clyde's languages, and he must be at least 27 years old. A loophole to this theory would be if Clyde learned all of his new languages in the Netherworld after he became a ghost.

Perhaps a gray area, but Pinky did allude to having a very busy social life. This could mean many things; either she's a teen who just likes to socialise or she's a young adult that likes to socialise. Leaning a bit more towards the latter, it could be that she's independent/old enough to make her own choices regarding dating and maintaining her busy social life (even though she spends most of her time with the boys).

A bit of a messy point, but it doesn't make a lot of sense for the Freedom Fighters to deliberately allow children to be turned into ghosts. These guys fought for freedom against Betrayus' war and tyranny, and good people like Zac, Sunny, Sir C, Spheria, etc were all part of the side that fought against Betrayus. Compare the Freedom Fighters with Betrayus and his army, and it's more likely that the Freedom Fighters would've opposed sending children to the Nether. So how did the Ghost Gang end up bodystripped? Probably because they weren't children, but were old enough to join Betrayus' army and thus face the consequences of such a choice. This makes it all the more likely that the Ghost Gang are young adults, between the ages of 18-30.

In the real world, some countries allow citizens to become part of the army as early as the age of 16. If we apply this to Pacworld, then we can stretch the perimeters a bit and speculate that the Ghost Gang are between the ages of 16-30. It would definitely make more sense in Inky and Pinky's case, who seem to act the youngest/least mature out of the four.

The Pacworld Wars and the politics surrounding who got bodystripped, and the bodystripping/soul-extraction matter itself, is quite the can of worms. For me, knowing all that we know, it would make more sense for the Ghost Gang to be young adults. They would be within the age of enforced enrollment in Betrayus' military, and that subsequently puts them in the same category of soldiers to be bodystripped.

What do you guys think? Am I reaching too far with this theory? xD

With all that being said, here is a ROUGH estimate on how I hc the Ghost Gang's ages to be, slightly tweaked from my previous guesses:

Blinky - 23

Pinky - 16

Inky - 18

Clyde - 27

Again, this is just a theory! If the Ghost Gang are legit teens, then they're teens I guess. This is just me trying to plug in the holes in the story for why children were fighting in the war in the first place - and send to the Nether in the first place.

[nexus-my-beloved]

This isn't my usual content but I recently (four days ago) decided to read the actual book for IT so here's a couple of headcanons (specifically centred around 1990 IT, but I'll specify which years just in case):

-1990 Eddie likely had severe anxiety around showers and baths after the time he saw Pennywise in the gym locker room showers. He probably always had a fear of the clown stretching open the drain again and reaching to grab him and drag him into the sewers. Eddie is afraid of disease and germs, though, conditioned to it, so he still took showers and baths- but he probably scrubbed hard enough to make his skin red and raw and he did it fast before rushing out, always racing against an invisible clock that when the timer was up Pennywise would grab him. This fear probably carried over to adulthood, even when he forgot about Derry, and he likely got better with it but probably still was afraid for some unknown reason- he probably took ten minute showers, fifteen at most.

-1990 Reddie headcanon: when they were kids, Richie probably had a small crush on Eddie, but he likely had more feelings for Stanley (1990 Stozier truther here but also universal Reddie enjoyer). When they were adults, though, Richie probably grew out of his feelings for Stanley and I like to think he had more feelings for Eddie that resurfaced the moment he saw him. Eddie probably liked Richie a lot when they were adults, but probably wasn't very big on him when they were kids.

-1990 Stenbrough headcanon: for years after Derry, Bill probably would say random bird species when he was anxious. He wouldn't remember who this was from or realize it was from one of his best friends until he got back to Derry, and that friend was dead. Bill likely held on hope that Stan would come, and probably felt his heart bleed a bit when he realized Stan had killed himself. He never got to fess up to the little crush he used to have.

-2019 Reddie headcanon: based on the fact that Eddie yelled "I knew it! I fucking knew it!" when they were leaving the restaurant after Richie admitted to not writing his own material, I like to think that Eddie probably watched this comedian he recognized but didn't know from where on TV and swore up and down the material was scripted from someone other than him. He didn't recognize the Tozier standup guy until he got the phone call from Mike and realized it was Richie "Trashmouth" Tozier from when he was a kid. Eddie probably kept tabs and watched Richie for years without ever realizing that used to be his best friend.

-2017 Bill Denbrough headcanon: I like to think that Bill particularly stuttered on s-words. Which means he probably stuttered like hell whenever he'd have to say Stan/Stanley sometimes. Imagine how he'd have to use nicknames instead, silly or not, and how much more important it'd be when he said just Stanley, even if it was hard.

-All Media Bill Denbrough: there's no way he could've looked at paper boats without feeling like crying. Even as an adult he probably couldn't explain it. He'd just cry.

I probably have more but I think this is a big enough post for tonight. Have these I found on Pinterest!

The sillies <3

Bowers Gang Slander but it gets progressively worse/better (depends how you see it)

Abso-fuckin-lutely it is them. I can imagine little 2017 Eddie running after Finn Wolfhard Richie with inhaler in hand and trying to keep up while Richie laughs his ass off and promptly smacks his face into an open locker and eats shit

Twink Eddie <3

In all fairness though I love adult 1990 Eddie. He looks like the embodiment of if kindness were a human being and he just makes me so happy I would hug this man and love him forever I want to keep him in my pocket

[spectrumgarden]

Okay so I've never really joined the whole "small talk" argument that's been happening increasingly over the last years because I tend to just not agree with anyone I see discuss it. Like no I dont think people who use it are evil or making things hard on purpose, I also dont think it makes them lesser, ... I Also dont think that someone who refuses to use it / cant use it is automatically worse and will not make friends.

Importantly i also dont think everyone can learn it. I should know because I spent multiple years with professionals trying to teach me how to have a conversation At All and I still am actually nowhere near what would be expected at my age group. (Most recent reports usually go something like "makes slight improvements in having a two sided conversation" - because I can say nothing, or I can ramble on and then not react to your answer. The rest? Struggle time, to this day, in every aspect) No matter how many intricate guides you write, if I fail at the basic concept of a conversational structure very frequently then I will not succeed at small talk either. And additionally I also genuinely can not tell what might be too personal for this other person.

A lot of these people who get upset when people say "I cant do small talk because I'm autistic and I cant learn it, I tried and failed" and go "of course you can!", just sort of like. Ignore that a lot of the developmental delay in conversation and / or (nonverbal) language never closes up for many of us, the way a lot of us generally never reach the developmental level of our peers (in some areas). and it's not because we have not seen enough complex flow charts or not practiced enough. when so many of us literally spend so much additional time of our youth sitting in front of whiteboards and workbooks and such, being explained over and over how to talk to someone at all. I am 22 and after years of explicit teaching I still have to ask for verbal confirmation and explanation of any nonverbal cues that I think were used by my conversational partner, but do not know what they mean. Which is pretty much all of them. And I probably miss a lot of them existing at all. You can scream "just practice until you can recognize the other persons little cues on if they want to deepen or end this" until you turn blue but it will not actually make me accomplish it if the fucking people who've been spending their whole life teaching it didnt make me figure it out. On account of, you know, the developmental delay.

Sure some people can learn! That's why they try to teach us after all! Cause it has been successful! But generally stop with this shit of "everyone can learn this you're just choosing not to!"

I will never be rude to someone for engaging in small talk, I will obviously fail at their attempts to engage me in some, which usually makes them stop trying (thank god). But I will not tolerate others talking shit about it that is uncalled for (implying malice from every user, making fun of people who seem to crave it, ...).

But I also do not care to learn it anymore at this point? It's no goal of mine. I have made multiple friends, most non autistic, without ever using small talk. Including in adulthood. We simply skipped that stage. We went from "hi!" "Hi!" Immediately to "heres when it went wrong in my life (humorous but still often dark / personal). Also these are my political opinions. Sure I want to hear about the girl you dated for years in excruciating detail. Let me retell you the plot of this old indie movie you will never watch for 20 minutes and why I enjoy it. Let's go to a concert together after talking slightly in depth like this twice". Is this the way that you creep everyone out in everyone's friendship acquisition theory I've been seeing? Sure! It's been working perfectly fine, enough of the times for me, though.

Will this work in like a work environment or something? Most likely not, which is why I generally plan to keep to myself. Does this mean I still confuse every stranger who approaches me trying to small talk? Sure. that's why I'm still fucking disabled. But I have created meaningful relationships as an adult without small talk. I have genuinely tried learning in many ways and failed. And I'm done apologizing for that, either you take me with my inability to small talk or you wont.

[flanaganfilm]

hello Mr. Flanagan,

My name is Anthony. Just want to start off by saying that I love everything you've made. There's something I can relate to in every one of your projects and I eagerly await your next works.

I'm in the process of rewatching the Haunting of Hill House because I want to write something for a website that's doing a month of articles centered around siblings. As someone who is very close with their siblings, Hill House has always had a special place in my heart. I cry multiple times per episode. The way you blend the feeling of the purity of childhood joy when you're around your siblings with the bitterness of adulthood baggage and how difficult it is to get out of your own way makes me feel so seen. I've been curious about the original novel and how there wasn't a family at the center of the story there. Did you know you wanted a family and talk about the relationships between siblings when you were going to adapt this story? You have talked about it before but I was wondering if you'd expand a little about your thought process behind that decision and why it was important to you that Hill House was about a family.

Side note, my mother is equally close to her five siblings. Recently the first sibling of the family passed and it's been a haunting experience. Your show is the first time I've felt that weight fully since the funeral and I feel so grateful. As you say in the show, a ghost is a wish and I know this grief I feel can be a gift as well. Thank you for putting your heart on the page and the screen like this.

With great admiration,

Anthony

Hi Anthony,

Ambling first approached me for HILL HOUSE, they had the television rights and were asking people for takes. I felt that the book had already been adapted perfectly by Robert Wise in 1963, and that there was little point in doing a direct adaption of the source material. It would need a lot of expansion to fit the long format (the book fits neatly into a 90 minute movie, and we needed 10 hours). The sibling dynamic is one that is fascinating and important to me. Each of my parents is the oldest of six kids, and so I grew up watching those complex sibling dynamics at work. I'd really enjoyed exploring the sibling dynamics in OCULUS, and this seemed like an opportunity to take that much further. I pitched Amblin on a take that repurposed the existing characters of the novel into a family unit, and expanded it with other fun references (Shirley is named after Shirley Jackson; Steven is named after Spielberg, etc). I think SIX FEET UNDER is one of the greatest works of art ever created, and I thought the way they used the long format to examine such a beautiful and bittersweet tapestry of family is something I've long aspired to emulate. So my intention was always to do THE HAUNTING by way of SIX FEET UNDER and OCULUS, and luckily for me they liked that idea a lot. My mother's family had suffered a devastating loss several years prior, and so a lot of the series became a way to process what I'd felt and witnessed in my family as she and her siblings dealt with the loss of one of their own. As long as the show was about family, grief, loss and living after the loss, I felt like we had something special. It just happened to also have ghosts. But we were aligned from the start that HILL HOUSE wasn't a show about ghosts - it was a show about family, and the rest fell into place. I'm sorry for the loss in your family as well, and thanks for reaching out. Best wishes to you and yours.

[ficoandleo]

Hi guys, what do you think of me Romeo headcanons ?

All the best <3

The word 'headcanon' makes Romeo look to Leo for clarification. He's not exactly a fandom person and the combination of words is foreign to him.

"Headcanon is exactly what it sounds like. 'Canon,' but only in your head. Not the biblical kind of canon."

"So it's just a bunch of ideas that somebody--who probably doesn't know you to begin with!--gets in their head about you?" Romeo's phone gives a little buzz, a message from Leo allowing him to open your post. He already looks annoyed at the thought. The last thing he wants is more people spreading stupid, awful rumors about him.

"Well they're usually about fictional characters and not real people, but. Yeah, basically!" It's so funny how they think they're real people.

As a clarification from the writer, most anything Romeo says is 'right' or 'wrong' is merely in application to himself, here. It isn't meant to be applicable to all presentations of Romeo, only my own, on this blog. And even those are subject to change. Your headcanons are always valid, and I, personally, like most of them quite a lot! But you're not here for me!

"This is quite the list. . . ." Romeo crosses his legs and sits back in his chair, making himself comfortable. This is going to take a while. Leo makes himself comfortable, fiddling with his phone.

"I'll leave most of that to you. They're about you, after all. But no worries, I'll provide some witty commentary of my own if I see fit~!"

"Saying that I started at Darkwick 'a couple of years' after I turned 17. . .I've been here almost three years now, just how old do you think I am!?"

"The correct answer is~~~ don't ask💔! It's rude to ask someone pretty their age, okay?"

"Well, I didn't come to Japan before I reached adulthood, I can say that much. I lived in Italy until. . .until it didn't seem safe to continue to do so. Around four years ago." Ha. He wished he could have just come to Tokyo peacefully. . . .

"My parents were quite busy, and I won't deny that I wasn't as close to my father as my mother or nonna. I think most people are--it seems fairly common that fathers aren't the most. . .available for their own children." He doesn't know very many people who wouldn't say they're closer to their mother than their father. Maybe that was just the company he kept, though. "Expected to act as an heir, yes, but I negotiated a bit more freedom through my own skill and efforts. Although I don't think we have the same perspective of what I was supposed to be inheriting."

He briefly recalls how Taiga called him naive shortly after they met. How even recently he said he was still as naive as that day.

". . .but maybe even you know better than I did in this case." Every day he plays mafia. Sometimes he wonders how close he was to 'playing' mafia without ever having to leave the comfort of his own home.

"I mean, your family owned that super famous fashion brand. Not sure what else you'd be inheriting." Leo chimed, half joking. As if it weren't obvious what Romeo could have been in store for in another life--possibly even in this one.

"Ah. But, yes, three siblings and the languages are right. I understand little bits of other regional languages here and there--only what you pick up doing business and singing in other regions. I understand English and Japanese far better. Isn't that strange?"

Romeo frowns as he reads the part about his father, about gambling. He thinks of Taiga calling him naive and greedy. Like your old man. You gotta be more careful with your chips, Lulu! Of parroting words--he never really thought about it, but they may have been nearly the exact same ones--that his father had yelled at. . .his mother? His sister? His nonna? No, his father would never yell at her--

You're being ridiculous. He doesn't have a problem.

Even if he acknowledged it, what good would it do? His father was still in charge of everything--

He partially skips that one. "I was expected to take over for my father eventually. But our brand name was taken from me--from us. And everything went with it after that. I run the casino because that BTH won't do his own damn job and run the business he started. I don't need a reason to hate gambling--it's designed to make you keep trying and losing even when you're already at a loss. What is there to like about it if you aren't in the house position that's meant to see those profits?"

Even in the house position, he doesn't much like gambling. And he'd rather not admit that it might be more personal than that.

"And the drugs makes a profit, same as any other contraband. I wouldn't touch them if I weren't selling them. I don't smoke, either. I don't touch any of that unhealthy garbage. Do you know what that crap does to your body!?" It's a wonder Jin and Haku are in the conditions they're in with how much they smoke. Or, in Haku's case, smoked--he heard he's trying to quit. Good luck with that. "I'll admit to drinking, but I try and keep it to meals and celebrations." And moments of extreme stress. "The drinks Mickey makes are made from anomalous ingredients--all of the effects but none of the risks of actual alcohol. So it doesn't count."

But if that weren't an option he would be drinking real alcohol every night. He may not smoke, but Rui is currently, literally, the only thing keeping him from becoming a full blown alcoholic. . .no pressure or anything, Rui.

He grimaces at the mention of Catholicism or faith at all. "Is anybody back home really religious? Be honest, no one really practiced any of that BS." Well, some people did, especially older people. But it was more tradition and custom than actual belief that kept a crucifix hanging around his neck for most of his life. "I made a deal with a demon. That isn't a sin God would forgive, even if He were good. Even if I believed, what choice would I have but to put my faith elsewhere?"

The first thing he threw away himself after making that deal was the cross he'd worn around his neck. But he couldn't bring himself to blow it up. That felt. . .a little too dangerous, even for something he didn't feel like he really believed in. He'd simply thrown it as far as he could(much further than he could have thrown it a few hours prior) and left it behind.

After all, if a demon came to him and granted him great power, perhaps there was a God too? But by then it was too late to worry. If God saw fit to strike him down he would.

"I don't think most people like school, let alone Catholic school. And I assure you that any attempts to bully me wouldn't have needed my family or their connections to get involved. But they respected me and my family, so if anyone had any SAC about my middle name, they were smart enough to hold their tongues.

". . .as for keeping contact with my family, I don't know if any of my direct family--nonna included--are still alive. And they don't know that about me, either. As far as anybody back home knows the eldest son of the Lucci brand and his personal bodyguard have been missing for several years." Although he has quite the online presence, so if anybody wanted to reach out to him it's far from impossible. He still wears his name with pride.

"My indirect family, with whom I share my last name. . .I never spoke much to them, despite that they provided our security at home. I don't think they cared for me much when I pretty much had Taiga replace their men." But you really can't beat one guy who can beat up two or three guys at once and tells you how pretty he thinks you are all the time. "So I can't say I speak to any of them anymore. Even through letters. I CBA to find out if anyone's alright anyway."

It's probably paranoia. But if your family was attacked over unpaid debts that were out of your control you would probably be paranoid too. If he reached out or started some sort of investigation, someone could get hurt. What if it were him!

"It is virtually impossible to find good, authentic Italian food in Tokyo. Especially if you want something specific or regional--the available ingredients aren't the same either. We had people who cooked for us back home--anyone with money like ours would have, I'm sure--but I don't think that would stop anybody's grandmother as long as she had working hands."

He resists the urge to smile. "But she taught me how to sew more than she taught me how to cook. It's a wonder we got away with that--I had never liked my father simply having others make my designs without any input beyond sketches and notes. I wanted more involvement so that everything would be perfect. . .but that isn't what you're asking about. Nobody cooks like your mother--and even less people your grandmother."

Leo makes a contemplative noise and looks thoughtful about this. Sho is very good at replicating tastes and recipes based off of description. . .and getting good ingredients imported. And he loves making food from different cultures--'Highway To Home' was called that for a reason. For Leo, no one's made better food than Sho, even either of their mothers. It probably wouldn't be the same. . .but he likes the idea of Romeo owing him a favor and giving Sho a challenge, and files the thought away for later.

"Kurossa, which one is pansexual again?"

"Huh? Oh, it's 'where there's a hole, there's a goal,' more or less."

"I thought that was bisexual."

"These days it's pretty much the same thing depending on who you ask."

". . .Which one are you?"

"Awww, do you wanna be like me, Ro-Ro?"

Romeo smirks back at him, tilting his head. "What can I say, you have good taste."

"Honestly, I don't really care. The pan flag's colors look like printer ink, so I just say I'm bi because I don't want the ugly ass neon flag? It's so bright, those colors can look good but you've really gotta put effort in for it. The bi flag colors are a little more muted? The aro colors kinda suck too though."

Romeo appears to be looking up the flags and scrunching up his face. "They're workable colors. I think the fact that they're plain bars is part of what makes them look so unappealing. . . ." But then he realizes he's getting off track and goes back to the headcanon list. "Well, in any case, I favor men as a. . .noticeable pattern. But I've been attracted to others before, so I would say you're probably right. But my interest in fashion is from my family business, and my interest in self care is from both my desire to maintain personal perfection and an upbringing in the fashion business. Top tier clothing wouldn't be tolerated on a face and body that don't compliment it. It would be a waste."

"Like, still put the effort in obviously, even if you can't get it perfect. Some effort is a million times better than no effort." Leo adds, rolling over on the couch.

"Of course. Not everyone can afford the price of true beauty, and not everyone is patient enough for it even if they can. But that doesn't mean you don't do anything at all. They say you can't polish a turd but hikaru dorodango still manages to make some aesthetically pleasing work of simple mud.

"Speaking of brands, while I certainly favor Italian brands," especially his own family's when he can find their older pieces, "I don't shop them exclusively. Primarily, yes, but I'm not going to refuse good and aesthetically appealing products out of some sense of national pride.

"There's a bidet in my private office bathroom and my bedroom's attached bathroom. I've had both almost entirely remodeled, although fortunately, as this is a luxury cruise ship, there wasn't much to be adjusted.

"I'm not interested in sports." Which is to say you're correct in that he acts like he isn't interested, but he does follow it. He's a little too busy to be watching football games on the other side of the planet all that often, but he does keep up. "And I don't hate being called Romeo. I'm used to the mispronunciation by now, although I'm really not certain when it arose considering Japanese is a phonetic language and I've never written it ro-mi-o. Like I've said before, I don't like being called Vice-Captain because it makes me sound off-brand! So I gave myself my own title that they can use instead--there is no doubt that no one here but me is Fico! The only people who have to refer to me as such are my underlings, the casino staff, and the underlings of other houses!"

"I use 'Romi-sama' and 'Ro-Ro' for him and other people use different nicknames too. Maybe that makes it seem like he doesn't like his name since he lets us call him nicknames?"

"How is that I don't refuse friendly nicknames a sign that I dislike my name, as opposed to that the company I keep tends to be people who are much too friendly for their own good!? Most of them use 'Romi' in some way anyway!"

"I'm just speculating! You are so loud all the time."

"And, finally. Of course I have things imported for me from outside of Japan. If I can afford to do it, why wouldn't I?" Especially his fancy €12 bottles of sparkling water!? "It's annoyingly expensive but I've worked out a deal with the mail room. If I can't find something here I'll simply bring it here. I won't compromise my quality of life."

Romeo sighs in exhaustion. Why did he do all of that? He could have just said no, really! But instead you made him give a verbal essay on his own existence. You did it, not me. "There. Do you feel sufficiently validated or invalidated now?

[pompompinkyy]

A few years back I made a post that echoed this sentiment but I’ve just been thinking about it a lot lately. I am so grateful that there are spaces online where there are other people with the same interests as me and are unapologetic about the things that they enjoy and collect. However, in person it has always been a struggle not to feel a certain loneliness that comes with the interests I have. As I entered junior high, my friends were all selling their dolls & plushies, I still remember getting roasted by one of the girls in my class for still having Barbie dolls. I realized rather quickly that my love of dolls & toys in general was something that I should outgrow. But for some reason, I just never did. By the time I reached high school most of my toys were gone, not of my own accord. My parents moved us to another town and we were not allowed to bring all of our things. So I packed what I could and it wasn’t a lot. I found myself missing my stuff often. Even sitting in class and just being sad that I couldn’t go home and play with them. The summer in between my freshmen & sophomore years my ex boyfriend’s (bf at the time) mom gave me a whole bunch of Barbie dolls that she didn’t know what to do with. And I felt a certain joy that I can’t explain. I played with the dolls, made things for the dolls bc I was too poor to buy accessories for them, and I found a dollhouse on the side of the road and brought it home. eventually my ex even bought me some dolls & plushies too because he saw how much I genuinely loved them. On & off throughout adulthood I’ve always struggled with these interests though. There’s a certain shame that comes with loving toys at my age. I’m not an age regresser, I don’t buy toys to keep them in a box for all of eternity so I wouldn’t say I’m a collector necessarily either, I just genuinely love them. Sometimes I wish I would have outgrown my love of toys more than anything. Tumblr is the only place I have ever felt 100% safe sharing these interests of mine. Throughout my entire adult life I’ve gone thru phases where I’d try to hide away my love of toys by shoving them in a closet and I’ve definitely been in that phase lately. Everytime someone comes to my house who isn’t a sibling of mine I feel so incredibly judged. I truly wish it didn’t bother me, but it does. I couldn’t tell you the last time my calico critters saw the light of day or my Barbie’s or bratz. Recently, I put all of my plushies away save a shelf in my bedroom. It can just be really embarrassing when a guest makes a comment on my things. What I really want to say is ty tumblr for being the home base for me to share about all of the things that make me very happy.

[pspkisser]

HULLO! 🎮

ADVOCATING FOR VIDEO GAME PRESERVATION! Visit this link below for more information:

my name is laddy and i would like to introduce y'all to my brand new tumblr blog!! here i'll mostly ramble about my own life as well as MY OWN AUTISM!! long live all autistics!!

i'm a french silly gal using she/her pronouns who just reached her adulthood recently and is seeking out for other sillies here just to be able to socialize and continue grinning during my life! i'm not someone who likes relying a lot on tech but i do think it would be so fun to find others who relate to me! ive been a big enthusiast of computing since a year and as a result i know quite a lot about how it works, you could even ask me some questions about its sub-domains OR EVEN about myself if you wish,, just don't ask for anything that looks personal!

YES as you can clearly tell by my username i'm actually an objectum,, i learned that in july of this year and since then it's become one of my favorite topics to talk about, objectums really are so cute and since i'm one myself i gotta say it improves my mood soooooo much geheheheheh

even though it might be hard for me i'll aim to be active almost everyday during the evening in my time zone! it'll also include for just reposts but i'll still make my own very regularly, i also won't reblog too much to make my blog easier to access!

AND FOR MORE INFO... i'm kinda part of multiple fandoms but it especially includes BFDI, II, little miss and mr men, bloons and even more! my interests are highly varied but they fluctuate from time to time :3c

WITH ALL THAT SAID i'd be very glad to make new friends here too!! it's ok if u don't wanna be one but i'd still be happy about knowing you, just remember that! PLUS i've got a G/T blog in case you're interested, you can check it out by searching thetoweringneedle!

FOR SAFETY REASONS, anyone who is under 16 or any problematic and rude shall not interact with this blog! thank you for understanding.

[missmastectomy]

hey so do you think it's possible to purposefully change your mind so you don't feel dysphoria anymore (before transitioning)? I'm a teenage female and I've socially transitioned to looking and acting male because it makes me genuinely happy and I'm dysphoric about being female (i have penis envy and everything) however recently I've started reading more gender crit stuff and really really wanting to get rid of the feeling of being trans. I just wanna be normal. It really is a mental disorder, and I wish there were resources for changing your mind rather than changing your body. I just want to be a normal girl, I want to be happy with being a girl rather than just delusionally happy when I'm pretending to be male. It's so damn hard to find gender critical resources for gender dysphoria, or it's just for parents of kids who have the disorder, not for the kids themselves cause no one actually consideres that there's people like me who genuinely want to have a normal brain without gender delusions. I'm sorry if this is TMI, or if you don't wanna answer questions, I just saw your blog in my "for you" and got excited cause it's so rare to see gender crits on this crazy website. I just wanted to ask if you have any advice (or know of resources) on changing your mind cause you're a detrans and I really wanna reach the point of being detrans without it causing me so much pain cause I'm so attached to my identity.

Not TMI at all! Yes, you can successfully treat gender dysphoria without a medical or social transition. You have already done the most difficult step - realizing that identifying as a man while being female is not conducive to your mental health in the long term. You sound very clear-headed and that is the most important aspect of managing dysphoria.

You say you are attached to your identity, and I think this is a big reason why people transition, despite the red flags that are there. The next step in accepting your body and sex is to realize that your sense of identity is fluid. Your identity as trans is not fixed, especially because you are a teenager. Take it from someone who's in her early 20's, you will change a lot as you grow up. You'll believe things and feel things that are in total opposition to the way you think now, because you are still a kid. In fact, without a social transition, most kids who experience GD will naturally just grow out of it as they enter adulthood. This is most likely what will happen with you. As you become an adult, you will feel more comfortable in yourself. I'm warning you now it will take a few years, but you just need to be patient.

However, you will still have to put in the work. I recommend going through my "mail" tag, because I've answered questions similar to this one. For you, I'd suggest digging into where your dysphoria stems from. Since you're a teen, you most likely are just experiencing growing pains and identifying out of "womanhood" is probably an outlet for that. It was for me. This can stem from many things - CSA, discomfort with feminine gender roles, hostility from others when you exist as a GNC girl, internalized homophobia... identify what the problem is first, then work on it. I'd suggest going to a non-affirming therapist OR a therapist who just doesn't care about all the trans stuff. They will give you advice that isn't grounded in ideology, but be warned that a more generic therapist might mistakenly try to validate your identity because they're not trained to actually deal with dysphoria. Transition is seen as a quick fix to dysphoria, but as you know it usually creates more issues than it solves, and doesn't deal with the feelings that caused it in the first place.

Ask yourself: am I ashamed to be a woman? Do I feel belittled as a girl? Why do I feel that way? Is it because I don't like to be pidgeonholed into stereotypes that don't fit me? Do I have some trauma related to my body? What would life look like for me as an adult woman, who may not prescribe to femininity?

I highly recommend seeking out butch lesbians who are very positive of their identities. Even if you're not butch, there perspectives are invaluable. I link it in another ask, but look up "Carol detrans" on youtube. She's an older butch who detransitioned and has great advice.

The important thing to remember is that often mental disorders and trauma are not permanent, in the sense that how they effect you right now will not be how the effect you in the future. Time truly does heal all wounds, but you need to be proactive about it by asking yourself hard questions. Don't be afraid of the answers, no matter how ugly they are. This is a pretty generic how to but if you have any other questions feel free to send another ask.

[voiceoffenrisulfr]

Multitudes Chapter Sixteen

Are We Crazy...

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 -> Clint Barton/Natasha Romanov, James "Bucky" Barnes/Clint Barton/Natasha Romanov, James "Bucky" Barnes/Clint Barton, James "Bucky" Barnes/Natasha Romanov, Clint Barton/Steve Rogers, James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers, Steve Rogers/Natasha Romanov, James "Bucky" Barnes/Clint Barton/Natasha Romanov/Steve Rogers

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 -> The pair meet a therapist, and Widow meets Clint... In a nicer way.

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓 -> 5920

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 -> (E) Shitty therapists, dismissal of symptoms, forced viewpoints, just general crappy approaches to mental health, particularly psychosis. But also self-realisation and cute stuff.

𝐀/𝐍 -> Dead Dove: Do Not Eat. Please read the warnings, and proceed with caution. You know the drill. A surprisingly feel-good chapter in the end, though. Corresponds to Magic and Madness - Chapter Five, though the two events are unrelated. Masterlist can be found here. It's here that the main reality starts to become evident in this work, in a way that is, for us, beautifully poetic. We deeply hope you enjoy this turn of events. Creators reserve the right to discuss their own condition however they see fit. And uh, smut. Lots o' smut. Sorrynotsorry. Is squirting a porn trope not often seen in real life? Maybe. Is it still something that we think needs to be normalised? Yes. (consider this a content warning for uh mess rip)

Check it out below, or on AO3 here! The snazzy Black Widow divider comes from @/firefly-graphics and I love it <3 The Multitudes Universe one is our own!

<- Previous Chapter (15/72) Next Chapter (17/72) ->

Bruce still wouldn’t let me look at the scale, but between his subtle smile and the bloat still settling in my abdomen, I knew my weight had gone up.

Lunch was a buffet of reheated dishes, quickly polished off throughout the morning by a cycle of Avengers dipping in and out.

For once, Clint and I were the only ones actually sat at the table – a condition of my treatment plan – and it was a startlingly laid-back meal, for once.

… I could get away with it. There’s only Clint here to watch me. He’ll never notice if something that made its way to my plate carefully makes its way back.

Maybe, Widow conceded, but then we looked in unison to the archer beside us, gesticulating wildly, crumbs spilling from his mouth, and they smiled fondly. But you shouldn’t. For him.

For him, I agreed, taking another bite.

“Why don’t you tell me why we’re here?”

I hate her.

The disdain was instant as she’d settled herself opposite me, all sharp angles and high cheekbones, gaze flicking over my body indiscreetly.

Someone that looks like that is supposed teach me to eat?

Widow snorted, rolling their eyes. Talk about the blind leading the blind, huh?

“I have an eating disorder rooted in a history of sexual, emotional, psychological and physical abuse, both in childhood and in adulthood. Oh, and there’s a voice in my head that tells me if I don’t starve myself, I’ll be killed when the people who raised – tortured  - me from a young age finally hunt me down and take me back there. I go days at a time without eating, I make myself sick, and I dig knives into my flesh; the most recent example of this actually put me into a coma for two weeks. We're here because it’s reached a point of no return, and if this doesn’t stop now, it won’t stop all.”

Widow winced as I spoke of them, and I murmured an internal apology. I just want to shock her. She seems unflappable.

“A voice?” she prompted evenly, making a note on the sheet on her lap. “What voice is that?”

“A part of me,” I countered quickly, eyes narrowed. “An irrefutable and profound part of who I am.”

She hummed, watching me carefully. “You seem very attached to something you say causes you distress.”

“They’re learning to do better.”

“’They’? I thought you said there was only one.”

I rolled my eyes at her arbitrary focus, unable to hide my petulance much longer. “They’re a ‘they’ because they don’t fit in to human concepts of gender, not because they are plural.” An amused snort echoed in my mind, wryly but gently pointing to the amount of times I’d referred to us as ‘we’.

“I see,” she murmured, making way more notes than my response had warranted. “And this ‘voice’. Is it here with us now?”

“They are always here.”

“I see. What is it saying?”

Fuck this bitch. I’m not an it.

I bit back a smirk, shrugging. “They don’t always say much.”

Her eyebrow quirked, unimpressed. “Then how do you know it’s there?”

“They are always there. A part of me, like I said.” Fuck this bitch. You're not an it.

“I’m concerned about the validation you are giving to this ‘voice’ through your personification.”

Since when was therapy about just bashing me? I’ve made mistakes, but damn...

I shook my head, willing to give her one more chance. “They aren’t especially relevant; can we just get back to my issues?”

She hummed, chin balancing on perfectly tented fingers. “Actually, I think it is profoundly relevant. I think that most of your behaviour – which I’m reluctant to label an eating disorder, or trauma – is based upon this ‘voice’, and your steadfast dedication to it is deeply troubling. I think it’s highly possible that normal human emotions – sadness when something goes wrong, low self-esteem – have been twisted, not as a result of a litany of various mental illnesses, as you seem to believe, but as a result of an auditory hallucination, your determined belief of which seems akin to psychosis. I think that you would find significant relief in treating and eradicating this ‘voice’, and that the removal of it would be endlessly beneficial for you. Would you say my assessment is accurate?”

I blinked.

I blinked again.

Please… Please let me take this one.

Have at it.

I was jerked backwards, body unmoving but impossibly distant, and I vaguely recognised the sensation when I had conceded control to Widow once before – when they broke Clint’s heart.

“You know nothing,” they ground out, fingers curled into intimidating fists by their sides as they stood, entire body bristling with fury. “You are nothing. You are a poorly-trained fool who wouldn’t understand a real problem if it slapped her in the face – and believe me, it is tempted.”

The therapist paled with understanding, fingers reaching unconsciously for something unseen. “I-I didn’t mean to imply-”

“You did not imply anything. You told this poor, damaged girl that all of her issues are in her head – that they are her fault, rather than the blame resting solely on those who treated her – treated us – the way they did. Do you have any idea how much damage you could have caused? Three days ago, Nat just might have believed you, and it would have killed her.”

“And as for my own ‘treatment and eradication’,” they quipped, fingers quoting sarcastically as they stepped closer, predatory and terrifying, “what do you think now? Do you think I am just an ‘auditory hallucination’, a symptom of psychosis? A voice without a name, or even deserving of the basic fucking dignity of not being repeatedly addressed as an ‘it’, despite being told that I am, in fact, not an it?” Their hands slammed down on the arms of the chair, leaning closer to her trembling face, no longer an inspiration of cheekbones and jawlines, but instead a mess of sweat and terror as she shook her head quickly. “My name is Widow, you little bitch. And if Natasha was asleep right now, you would not be walking out of this room. I will always protect her, and fuck you for trying to tell her otherwise.”

There was no blackout this time, no disconnect as Widow brought true fear to the dangerously underqualified therapist, and I whooped my support as they turned on a heel, storming from the interview room, the glass above the door cracking with the impact.

That was amazing – you are amazing!

“Thank you,” they grunted, bare knuckles stinging as they collided again and again with the heavy boxing bag, sweat running in rivulets down their arms.

“Heart rate spike – Natasha Romanoff, gymnasium.” Friday’s lyrical voice was soft but distant, and I rolled my eyes.

You know we shouldn’t be exercising, right?

“Punch the bag or punch the bitch, it is your choice,” they quipped, and I revelled in the passionate ache in our straining muscles.

“Nat? You in here?”

Widow froze, panting lightly, dropping instinctively into a half crouch. What do I do?

I shrugged internally, stepping back as they tried to drag me forward. It’s your call. But you don’t have to be afraid of facing him as yourself. He might not understand – not at first – but he loves me, and you’re a part of me. He loves us; he just doesn’t understand that we’re not one and the same yet.

Nodding stiffly, they straightened, bruised knuckles curled through habit as Clint stepped around the corner, taking in the bedraggled person stood before him and the steady swaying of the bag.

“Nat, what the hell? Your therapist just left, looking like she’d had the fright of her life – she said… Well, it doesn’t matter what she said, but she definitely won’t be coming back. You’re not supposed to be exercising, either. C’mon, let’s get you out of here.”

“Нет,” Widow replied, shaking their head as they stepped back, hands raised defensively. (No.)

… You’re scared. How did I never realise, all this time? You’re not mean, or angry, or vindictive. You’re just scared.

“Nat?” Clint pressed, head cocked with concern, extending his fingers.

Widow met his gaze steadily. I’m terrified. “Нет.”

His brow furrowed, and then cleared, nervous understanding dawning. “You’re not Natasha.” They nodded once, jerkily, eyes narrowing as the proffered fingers receeded. “You’re… You’re The Voice, aren’t you?”

“She calls me Widow now,” they replied, tongue still thick and heavy through a lack of familiarity.

C’mon, Clint. You’ve got this. Please, please don’t be afraid of them.

Please… Don’t be afraid of me.

Clint nodded, fingertips brushing the tattoo on his wrist unconsciously. “She’s safe?”

They flinched minutely, wounded at the implication. “I will always keep her safe.”

Snorting softly, his gaze found the cracks on their knuckles. “You’ve not always done the best job, have you?”

I winced, but Widow simply rolled their jaw, head shaking. “Нет… But I am trying to be better.”

Clint paused, watching them carefully before he inched slowly closer. “That therapist… She didn’t have many nice things to say about our Natasha. Is that why you scared her?” They nodded, gaze dropping, and he extended his fingers once more, reaching across the space between us and him. “Then I’m glad you were there to protect her. Thank you, Widow.”

They looked up in shock, finding his eyes, firm and genuine, resting on their own. “… You are welcome, Clint.”

I gasped as Widow backed away, finding myself once more in control of our body, muscles trembling with exertion and adrenaline, heaving air into tired lungs. My knees trembled and I sat quickly, hands buried in my hair as I sobbed.

There were no more words until I was tucked up in our bed, Clint’s hands gently smoothing antiseptic across our battered knuckles, the skin softened by lack of training. “…Nat?”

I nodded quietly, burrowing closer against his side. “Hi.”

He exhaled softly, placing a gentle kiss to my hair. “Hi.”

“Am I crazy? She… The therapist – she said Widow is a hallucination, and that I’m psychotic. Is the right?” My words were soft, muttered against his hipbone shamefully, but he tipped my head to meet his eyes.

“I can’t say I exactly understand what is happening in that head of yours – but I don’t think you’re crazy, Nat, and I definitely don’t think Widow is a hallucination. She seems as real as you or me.”

I nodded once, swallowing around the lump in my throat, but Widow baulked. “They,” I amended quickly, sensing the cause of their discomfort. “They don’t like ‘she’ – and definitely not ‘it’. They like ‘they’.”

His fingertips brushed my forehead, smiling softly. “They. Got it. Sorry, Widow.”

I grinned as they did, my fingers wrapping with his. “They appreciate that. The therapist… No matter how many times we corrected her, or when I explained that Widow doesn’t really fit gender, she just kept saying ‘it’.”

He grimaced, returning to his careful ministrations on our cracked knuckles. “Yeah… I think Fury might need to reassess the therapists he employs. And, ideally, get rid of a few in the process.” He leant to kiss my hair, and I purred. “Don’t worry. We’ll talk to Bruce, see if he has any thoughts, and then we’ll find one more suitable. If you’re willing to try again,” he added, lip curling. I nodded, and he paused. “I… If both of you are willing to try again.”

Are you?

Widow snorted, rolling their eyes. I’m always happy to scare the shit out of an idiot, so yeah. But thanks… for asking.

Smiling fondly, I burrowed closer against my partner. “Yeah. I think we can do that.”

There was a pause, and then he sighed, wrapping light bandages around my hands. “You know we’re going to have to tell Bruce you were beating up a punching bag, right? I mean, he knew about the alert, and the therapist hauling ass, but I’m gonna have to tell him you were exercising.”

I flinched, but nodded my acceptance, a blossom of pride blooming in my chest at him making the difficult choice. “It’s okay. I get it.” His lips brushed my tender knuckles, soft and tentative, and he hummed thoughtfully. “... I know recovery should be motivation enough for its own sake, but I had an idea for our own little contract.”

I quirked a brow uncertainly. “We... We’re not meant to be deviating from the treatment plan, Clint. Last time-”

He shook his head quickly. “No, nothing like that. This is more of a reward-punishment kind of deal.”

“Oh? That’s... Interesting.”

He smirked, pulling me bodily onto his lap. “Well, Bruce cleared us to still... Be us, right? So… How about we try that ‘pillow princess’ thing, huh?”

I grinned in response, arms snaking around his neck, purring lightly. “I can’t say I’m opposed to the idea.”

He shivered as my tongue met his jaw, then drew back, swallowing. “Well, there lies the reward-punishment part. I’ll spend all evening, every evening, letting you just lay on that pillow... As long as you’ve been following your treatment plan that day,” he added, his thumbs skimming the bandages on my knuckles, and I scowled.

“But I didn’t know today – that’s not fair. Besides, I did so many good things today, remember? A good first day. I even...” Head ducked, I looked away. “It was just us for lunch, and I knew I could have gotten away with it. But I didn’t.”

I glanced up as his chest puffed with pride, lips brushing my forehead tenderly. “I really appreciate you telling me that, Nat... I guess you’re right. We’ll consider adherence from now. But this is your only free pass,” he added, one finger raised warningly, expression barely shifting as I wriggled in his lap. I nodded and grinned, wrapping my fingers with his, delighted by this new motivation I’d been given. Clint, however, simply paused and cocked his head, watching me uncertainly.

“What is it?”

“How does this... Work, now? I mean... It’s their body too, right? And you know how important consent is to me. I don’t want to... Do anything they don’t want, too.”

Fingertips brushing my chest, I sighed softly, touched. “Clint...”

He really is nice, isn’t he?

He really is.

“Honestly, I don’t think either of us quite know the answer to that. It’s... Complicated – and I’m sure Widow will correct me if I’m wrong – but I think... It’s largely up to whoever is currently in control, y’know? There’s... We don’t have to be around for something, if we don’t want to be.”

Though we should probably discuss any ‘hard no’ limits at some point. Like Clint said... It’s our body. There’s a difference between not wanting to be present for something, and not wanting it to happen at all.

Clint hummed, oblivious, and then glanced at me. “... Has it always been you?”

My hand wavered back and fourth, indecisive. “It’s always been at least me. I’ve always been the one in control. And before you ask, yes – the other night was my idea. Widow wasn’t even around for most of it. It actually... It was a turning point for us, when we took care of you, after. I think it was the start of stuff changing.”

I couldn’t have said it better myself.

“I’d like to get to know them better,” Clint murmured, his hands trailing my sides lightly. “I think we have a lot in common – we both only want to protect you. And we’ve both been a little… Misguided about how to do that in the past, but we’re trying to do better.”

… I think I’d like that.

I relayed their sentiment, and he grinned, fingers smoothing my hair gently. “And hey, you never know… Maybe one day I’ll find out what they like, too,” he noted, smirking, before paling in panic. “Not that I would ever assume… I don’t think I have a right, or anything. And you’d have to be okay with it, of course. I mean, is it cheating? You’re separate people, but it’s still your body…”

I laughed, pressing my hand soothingly to his chest. “Clint, take a breath. It’s fine. I think we’d enjoy that.”

Speak for yourself. I jerked back, horrified at my lack of clarification, and they laughed. I’m kidding, Nat. I’d very much like a front row seat to his… Prowess. You’ve had your first, I think I’m overdue.

I snorted, rolling my eyes affectionately and pressing my forehead to my partner’s. “Does this mean we’re in a throuple, or something?”

“I think the kids these days call it ‘polyamory’, Nat,” he laughed, lips brushing mine. “But I think we don’t need to put a label on it – at least not yet.”

“You’re the one who called us a couple,” I pointed out with a smirk, recalling his declaration after the attempted car theft. “They picked ‘the wrong couple’, remember?”

Blushing lightly, he nodded. “I remember. I also really hoped you hadn’t heard that. I wanted to ask in a better way.”

“Ask what?” I pressed, biting the inside of my cheek to keep from grinning.

“If you – oh, God, I feel like a child, but I want this to be official,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair, face darkening from pink to magenta. “If you’d be my girlfriend, Natasha.”

A pure, innocent thrum travelled through my body, a happy shiver following in its wake. “I’d be honoured, Mr. Barton.”

After dinner – an uneventful, if somewhat challenging affair – Clint and I cornered Bruce, retiring to the lab with mugs of coffee.

“… And that was when Nat came back – our Nat, I mean. But it’s not the first time – and sometimes it’s not a full takeover like that, she just goes a little… Blank, you know?”

Bruce hummed, watching me carefully. “Do you lose time? Come around in places you don’t remember getting to?” I nodded enthusiastically, unable to count the amount of times I’d disappeared during a particularly stressful mission, or even just ‘woke up’ in the middle of my kitchen, with no recollection of getting out of bed. “How’s your memory?”

I rolled one shoulder thoughtfully, chewing on my lip. “Not too bad, now. But… I don’t remember a lot of stuff from my past. Even things I should. I get flashes sometimes, but… Mostly it’s just a feeling. Fear. Panic. Desperation.” The nights spent exercising and purging that I can only get vague impressions of.

Leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees, Bruce surveyed me, head cocked. “How long have you been hearing her for?”

“’Them’,” Clint and I corrected together, and I shot him a fond smile. “I’ve heard them… I guess since the thing with Cl-… The thing with Loki,” I amended, wincing apologetically. “But… I think they’ve been around longer. I think the reason I don’t remember a lot of the horrible things that happened to me is because they do. I think they just… Want to protect me.”

His fingers pressed to his lips, deep in thought, and I exchanged another glance with my partner – my boyfriend, I amended with a shy giggle. “Natasha, I am not a psychologist. But I have some thoughts, and I believe I know exactly who I need to refer you to.”

I swallowed dryly, hands clenched tight. “Do you think I’m crazy? Or psychotic?” I added, heart hammering.

The doctor simply smiled sympathetically, shaking his head. “No, Nat. I don’t think you’re crazy. And I certainly don't think you're psychotic.”

“So… What is it? What’s going on with me?”

He hesitated briefly, glancing between the two of us. “I can’t say for certain, and I don’t want to give you inaccurate information if I turn out to be wrong.”

“Just a theory, Bruce. Please. I… I feel like I’m losing my mind sometimes,” I admitted, voice dropping to a whisper.

Wincing empathetically, he nodded. “… What do you know about Dissociative Identity Disorder?”

“So it’s often thought to be caused by childhood trauma?”

Bruce nodded, the end of his pen between his teeth. “Though there are arguments about that – but this isn’t the time, and nor is it applicable to Natasha’s situation. I think it’s pretty clear that Widow has been around since her childhood, trying to protect her from the things she endured in the Red Room.”

“Oh, so I’m a textbook crazy,” I snorted, pushing a hand through my hair.

All jokes aside, I felt lighter than I had in a long time. Widow and I had listened quietly as Bruce explained the disorder and common symptoms, becoming increasingly awestruck as to the accuracy of what he was saying.

Though if anyone ever calls me a ‘personality state’ again, I’m going to get violent.

I laughed aloud, drawing the men’s eyes to me. “Widow doesn’t agree with some of the terminology,” I explained, still grinning. Bruce reached for a piece of paper, and Clint leaned forward, listening intently.

“Why don’t you tell us how we can make them more comfortable, then?” the Doctor pressed, pen poised.

My archer nodded, gaze flicking briefly to Bruce. “I’d like a copy, too.”

“Of course.”

I blinked in disbelief, startled and touched by this display of consideration, a far cry from the trained professional who had simply questioned my sanity. “W-Well, uh… ‘Personality state’. ‘Alter’. They’re just… Widow. A person. It makes them feel less important – nobody refers to me like that, after all.” Bruce nodded, his  pen moving blindly across the paper, his eyes still focused on me. “Uh… I guess the idea of their existence being a ‘disorder’ kind of sucks too, you know? Like… They’re not something that needs to be cured.”

“Is there another way you’d like us to refer to your… Situation?”

I smiled fondly as a suggestion echoed in my head, nodding in agreement. “We are… Multitudes. Many. I guess we're just... Nat and Widow, you know? Natasha.”

Clint beamed, reaching out to take my hand fondly. “And I love every part of your multitudes, my dear, sweet Natasha,” he assured me – us – while Widow flushed.

“And we don’t want ‘treatment’,” I added, brow furrowed. “They’re not something that needs ‘eradicating’. The only thing we need is to learn how to communicate more effectively.”

Bruce nodded again, making another note. “I’ll make sure to find a therapist who doesn’t push for integration – fusion, of the alt- the people present, into a single individual,” he explained, wincing sweetly at his fumble.

I shook my head fiercely. “I don’t want that. Neither of us want that.”

… Really? I’d have thought you couldn’t wait to get rid of me, if you had a real chance.

No way, I scoffed, shaking my head once more and drawing looks of confusion from the two men around me. You’ve saved my life, Widow.

I also tried to end it.

What you tried to do – everything you’ve ever tried to do – might have been… Misguided, at times. But you were just trying to keep me safe, even though I never extended the same courtesy to you. I’m sorry, I added, eyes lowering in shame. I… I hated you, and that wasn’t fair of me. No wonder you lashed out – I never once thought about how you actually felt. But we can both do better, right? Together.

Together.

I was exhausted and shaking by the time we finally made our way back to the room,  my body and mind not used to so much work. But that didn’t stop me from flopping back against the pillow with a grin, extending my arms to my lover. “I did good, right?”

He smirked, nodding. “You did… But Bruce had stipulations, remember?” He turned on his heel, leaving without another word, while I blinked quizzically after him.

Juice before, snack after.

Oh yeah. Ugh. Fine.

The small bottle was delightfully cool as he handed it to me, and I purred, pressing the condensation-peppered container against my chest. Clint simply swallowed, looking away, jaw tight, as he drained his own juice in two long pulls.

…He didn’t want you to have to do it alone.

Grinning, I shook my head. Nope.

The archer’s eyes flicked back to me, eyeing the still-sealed OJ. “Nat. Drink your juice. Please.”

I quirked an eyebrow, momentarily offended – I was only enjoying the coolness for a second – before I noticed the slight increase in his breathing rate, the mild expansion of his pupils, and the hands curved into fists in his lap.

… Oh. He’s not being a jackass – he’s impatient.

I slowly unscrewed the lid, humming casually under my breath, while he twitched and fidgeted, teeth grinding audibly. I was halfway through the bottle before he met my gaze steadily, suddenly serious – and nervous.

“I… I’d like to know who… Who’s around for this. If that’s okay?” he added hesitantly. Smiling, I wrapped my fingers around his.

You don’t have to stay, if you don’t want to.

Oh, I want to. Neither do you, you know.

I smirked, meeting the oceanic eyes of my dear, beloved Clint. There’s no way I’m missing this.

I wonder if I could…

There was an odd feeling somewhere indescribable, almost a shuffling and rearranging, and we sighed in soft wonder, finally together.

“We can share,” we whispered, half in answer to his question, and half in awe.

His eyes grew wide, trembling fingers caressing our cheek. “Widow?” We nodded, and he smiled. “And also Nat?” Another nod, and he shivered, gaze dropping back to the bottle in our hands. “Finish your goddamn juice, guys.”

The container was empty and tossed away a heartbeat later, and we dropped heavily back against the pillows, arms extended once more. “Now?”

He growled, dropping himself over us, his lips finding ours. “God, yes.”

Clint was patient despite his hunger, and we spent a significant amount of time just kissing and reaffirming consent before he eventually slid his hand under our shirt, light fingertips brushing our ribs. “Is this okay?” he clarified once more, brow furrowed in sweet confusion.

“Clint, Natasha has had several orgasms at your hands by now. It is my turn. Please stop hesitating. This is fine.”

I snorted at Widow’s words, and Clint’s eyes widened comically. “You want me to… Give you your first?” He laughed softly, pushing a hand through his hair. “I could get used to this honour. You’re going to make me cocky.”

We raised a brow at the double entendre, and he pinkened slightly, but our amusement was quickly forgotten as his teasing, tugging fingers found our breast, toying with the pert nipple gently. A soft sigh was dragged from our lips, head tipping back as we hummed. His lips found our throat, licking and nipping, and our hands balled in the sheets, back arching into him. A brief interruption while our shirt was pulled from our body, and then he was on top of us once more, body weight pinning us to the bed. I felt our breathing hitch nervously, and Clint paused.

“Is this okay?”

I… I think so. I think so.

“Nervous,” I murmured on their behalf, gesturing to our position. “Submissive. Vulnerable.”

He winced, raising himself higher on one arm. “Should I move?”

Our legs wrapped around his waist, pulling him back closer, pressing our hips against his. “No,” Widow growled, fingers tightening in his forearms. “Make me love it.”

He swallowed dryly, then nodded, rolling his body against ours, eliciting a stuttered groan from our parted lips.

His mouth started again on our throat, but slowly began to migrate down, pausing briefly to press his teeth lightly around our nipple, drawing out another hiss and whimper of desperation, before he continued his trail, stopping at the line of our sweatpants and meeting our eyes imploringly.

I shivered at the memory of his tongue on me, and we nodded fiercely.

By the time he was back between our legs, which were anxiously half-closed to hide our now-naked body from view, a low tremble had started in our bones.

Are you okay?

Terrified, they admitted, voice soft. … What if he hurts me?

I glanced down, taking in the man patiently rubbing our thigh while he waited for us to relax, content to wait as long as it took, knowing he’d stop if we asked him to – or even if we didn’t, because he didn't need us to say anything to know we'd had enough.

He won’t.

Whether through my words or Clint’s careful ministrations, Widow unlocked our muscles, allowing our knees to fall apart slowly, the archer’s eyes flaring with desire, gaze locked on ours as he slowly inched forward.

“Oh…” Widow sighed, our body leaning into the contact as his tongue trailed slowly over our heat. “Wow.”

I felt Clint chuckle, hands around our thighs to pull us closer as he set to work, licking and nibbling and sucking and – Dear God, what sorcery is this?

I hummed in agreement, our head dropping back. He was, admittedly, even more adept when he wasn’t tied down, the full range of his talents at our disposal.

Though there was another benefit, too.

Widow froze as an uncertain, questioning fingertip touched to our hole, patient and inquisitive.

… We’ll be okay?

I promise.

“Green. Green, Clint.”

They groaned as he entered us slowly, our own fingers finding his hair and tugging lightly, desperately. “Fuck, Barton. Nat was right. You really are worth it.”

He simply moaned in response, redoubling his efforts - tongue swirling - first one, then two digits pumping steadily inside us, caressing and perfect.

We swallowed around the lump in our throat, unintelligible words beginning to fall thick and fast from our lips, hips twitching desperately.

You know what to do, Clint. You know how to break them.

On cue, he looked up, face still buried between our legs, his cerulean eyes on ours as he drew back just long enough to speak. “You wanna come for me, Widow? Prove it. Come for me.”

They whimpered desperately, hips jerking, thighs clenching, our hands grasping frantically to push him ever closer as the climax hit. We – they – couldn’t help ourselves, an undeniably deafening scream of pleasure tearing from our lips as he fucked us enthusiastically, tongue caressing every inch of us, driving us through with unrelenting passion until we were mewling and whimpering, writhing beneath him.

He tapped our thigh, and we unclenched, permitting him to draw back for breath, ears red from the force of our hold. “… Sorry.”

“Are you kidding?” he groaned, raising his head to look at us. “That was the hottest thing I’ve ever experienced.” He wiped his face, and our head cocked in confusion at the droplets peppering his skin, eliciting a wry smirk. “It seems Widow has a talent I hadn’t yet found in this body.” When we merely frowned further, he gestured to the significant wetness on his cheeks. “Squirting. Female ejaculation. Basically, shooting instead of flowing,” he added when our confusion didn’t ease up.

Oh. Oh. “Oh.”

Our face flamed, and he scrabbled quickly up the bed to grasp our chin. “No. No embarrassment. God, no embarrassment. I fucking loved it. You’re so hot.” His fingers tightened in our hips as he growled, his arousal pressing against us indiscreetly. We reached for him, hand brushing the very tip of his member through his boxers before he twitched his hips away, shaking his head.

“Pillow princess, remember?”

“But…”

“You don’t have to worry about me, guys. I’m more than happy to go without if it means you two are satisfied.”

We hummed, back arching, legs around him once more. “There’s ways we can help without putting in much effort, you know,” we murmured, hips rolling meaningfully. He let our a staccato groan, one hand finding our waist.

“You don’t have to-” “Clint. Shut up and fuck us. And besides,” I added, grinning. “Widow now has an experience I don’t. We’ve gotta even things out, right?”

He moaned, rutting shamelessly against us. “Pretty sure you experienced it too, Nat.”

I nodded thoughtfully, reaching down to slide his boxers down as far as I could reach. “True… But I want to start it. If you think you can manage that,” I implored, eyes wide and innocent as his tip touched to our wet heat.

He slid inside us easily, drawing a sigh of pleasure from our lips and a ragged groan from his own. “Fuck… You’re so wet,” he purred against our ear, hips setting up an immediate, punishing pace. We whimpered at his words, body growing impossibly hotter.

“I love it when you speak to us like that,” Widow admitted tentatively, fingers catching on the skin of his back. “We both do.”

“Oh?” His teeth found our throat, free hand pawing blindly at our breast as he stretched us. “You like hearing how good you feel, huh? How hard it makes me, just thinking about you?”

“Y-yes,” we stammered, head falling back once more. He growled against our skin, deep and predatory.

“You do – you feel so good around me. So tight, so wet… So desperate for me to fuck you, huh?” We nodded with a whine, our own hips jerking upwards to meet him. He hesitated briefly, swallowing audibly, then- “I just love this slutty pussy.”

A gasp of surprise and a moan of delight, our fingers reaching for him desperately, pulling him closer, deeper. “Please-”

“What is it, my little ones? Do you want me to let you come? To let you squirt?” We nodded frantically, and one hand pulled our hair back, his lips finding our ear as his hips snapped forward, frantic and furious. “Do it. Squirt for me, my loves. You can do it.”

We cried out as our body imploded, forcing him out as we contracted, wetness flooding the sheets below. Clint leaned back quickly, pushing himself back in as he watched, revelling in the bursts leaking around him, hands finding our hips to jerk us closer, his thrusts short and deep. “God, you’re hot. You’re so fucking hot-” With a surrendering groan, he pumped himself impossibly deeper, comforting heat filling us up from the inside.

We lay panting in his arms, drenched in sweat – and other things – as his seed slowly leaked from between our legs.

Ok. I… I need a break. But that…

Good, isn’t he? I smirked.

Incredible.

I stretched my tender muscles as Widow receded, sighing contentedly. “I think you broke them.”

Clint glanced down in sleepy alarm, heavy lids as wide as they could be. “Fuck. I’m sorry. Are-”

Shaking my head quickly, I placed one exhausted finger to his lips. “In the best possible way. Evidently, you’re ‘incredible’.”

He laughed, embarrassedly rubbing the back of his neck. “I wouldn’t go that far…”

I gestured idly at the mess of our bed, placing a tender kiss to his chest. “You already did. The words were a bold choice,” I added, one brow cocked in amusement.

He flushed crimson and sat upright, shifting himself from beneath me. “I… Aren’t you supposed to have a snack?”

“Clint.”

He paused from pulling on a fresh pair of boxers, red and nervous.

“Yeah?”

“We loved it.” I gestured to the bed once more, smirking. “That should have been obvious. And besides, Widow was right – you know how you love the marks? Well, we love the words.”

He swallowed dryly, colour fading. “…Noted.”

[bloodsworn-marshal]

Writing Prompt: Contravention Word Count: 1540 Bandit AU

It all started around ten years ago. 

When a teenage lalafell of an unknown background started to cause havoc for Ul’dah’s wealthy—but not nearly the lucrative job it would turn out to be later down the line. It started with your basic thievery. Pickpocketing here and there, stealing from merchant stalls when they were not looking or making a run for it when taken notice. Just little things here and there, with the help of some other unknown friends of theirs.

For the times he was caught, it usually ended with either a slap on the wrist due to age or a night’s stay in the gaol to try and frighten the squad of individuals who were involved in the petty crimes. Nothing serious or anyone hurt, just your common band of thievery people expected out of impoverished livelihoods. Punished but never helped. Let go and never knowing where they would go after.

Except none of them were officially from town. Their hideout far, far beyond the great walls and hidden deep within Thanalan’s desert. What goods and coin they managed to steal stowed away in these secretive locations to prepare for something more down the line.

Some years later, when they had reached adulthood and the pack of thieves had swelled… they were no longer regarded as an empty threat. Word was starting to get around of an organized group of bandits starting to make some headway in the local area. They were no longer resorting to petty thievery—they were outright starting to target those of the upper echelons.

These bandits, unable to find a foothold in Ul’dah quite yet, had started attacking traveling caravans full of merchant wares or known to be owned by those of high wealth. Stealing what they could and either selling things off discreetly, or slowly but surely growing their base of operations. Adventurers and sellswords would be sent after their lot but would either be knocked out if protecting someone’s possessions or they just could not locate the bandit’s base. It was that well kept a secret… no one knew where they went or where they hid.

There were, however, slip ups. And mainly made by one infamous young man in particular.

“Watch over him, soldier.”

“Aye, sir!”

The recently formed band of Immortal Flames had been instated within all of Thanalan’s grasps in preparation for trouble arising all over Aldenard. Wars were being waged with Garleans and castrums that were popping up like flies. The likes of a couple bandits were the least of their worries, but they had kept an eye out regardless. And so did they catch a suspicious young-looking man they would likely interrogate and see where they stood.

But before that, they had been captured and thrown into the gaol of which a certain Zura Calderon had been stationed on night watch. No questions asked of his superior, he merely stood guard as was necessary of him.

The unruly looking man appeared to be about Zura’s age in fact. Dressed in torn cloth and desert wear, not in the best of shapes as ratty ashy blonde hair pooled out from beneath their bandana. Dark menacing eyes that seemed to look so done with the world.

Zura couldn’t help but wonder what would lead someone down such a path that they ended up looking like this. So depraved and worn looking, as though they were lost in life. Against his better judgement, he couldn’t help but be curious.

“What are you in for…?”

“What’s it to you?” The man tilted his head as he sat upon a stool in his gaol. “They just think I look suspicious. Too close to their makeshift base or whatever. I wasn’t even doing anything.”

“You should know that it’s unwise to be anywhere too open at the moment! Lots of dangerous going on in the realm at the moment, so they’re checking just about anything and everywhere to make sure there are no Garleans in our midst—”

The guy simply rolled their eyes. “Do I really look like a warmonger to you?”

“Not exactly.”

“Well there you have it then.” They scoffed as they crossed their arms. “It’s just an excuse. Bet they’re locking up anyone that looks them the wrong way.”

Zura couldn’t exactly defend nor deny. He had yet to debut on the field after all and was just a simple private who had been but recently recruited. There to help as the crisis grew around the realm! So… one couldn’t help but feel a little bad if the guy was apprehended for no good reason.

“I’ll make sure to put a word in with the others if all is true and you’ve done no wrong. What’s your name, by the by?”

“Pipin Tarupin.” A name no one would soon forget in the near future. “Remember it, I won’t repeat it twice.”

This was but one meeting between the two that would result in many more down the line. 

As they made small talk, Pipin made himself out to be naught but an innocent bystander. And indeed, when no evidence of any wrongdoing could be found on his person at the time… he would be released in the morning and warned to stay away from the Immortal Flames encampments that weren’t official strongholds like Drybone.

Since then, no particular troubles had occurred until after the Calamity. The realm torn up as it was and in dire need of assistance from their neighbors, the great city-states focused on themselves and the alliance. Attempting to rebuild whilst burying the insurmountable amount of dead from Carteneau.

…That was when the bandits finally upped the ante and made their presence known.

For in the wake of the calamity, those of nobility and wealth hoarded a majority of resources for themselves in Ul’dah while the people suffered greatly. It wasn’t unheard of the lower class hitting rock bottom, hardly having anything to eat or coin to get by while the Sultanate made laws that benefited themselves.

It was then that the bandits targeted the great Ul’dah houses one after another. Breaking into homes and stealing off into the night, a band of thieves who had grown in great number since many years ago. Everything they stole of great worth and weight in coin… yet it was not fully distributed amongst themselves.

No, it was given back to those of lesser fortune. Secret agents of theirs would target those in great need and give to them a portion of the riches. Slowly growing in size and number of those they helped without there being a clear connection of where it came from. Their reputation grew in popularity amongst the impoverished in quick succession. To the point they were being aided in new ways and given the foothold they always needed.

And their leader? None other than the mysterious Pipin Tarupin. Who would get captured here and there on the off-chance that his banditry didn’t go fully to plan… but would always escape one way or another before he could be met with actual punishment.

Whether it be slipping out of his gaol, sweet talking the guards, or simply having a secret aid within the Immortal Flames; he would always get away with it. One way or another.

…So too would he clash blades with that selfsame soldier who had been promoted countless times over the years. Except now with knowledge that Pipin was the one who was orchestrating the bandits, Zura gave the man no mercy.

A thorn in each other’s sides they were. But sometimes. Sometimes they’d talk! Whether it be during a bandit run or if they’d happen to run into one another privately. Zura would try to get to the bottom of why the bandit leader was the way he was. Trying to make him understand that what he was doing wasn’t beneficial to anyone, to which Pipin would always laugh and prove otherwise.

Enemies… rivals… many ways to describe their relationship. As easy as it would be to kill the other, they would hardly shed blood. Nor did it help either’s moral predicament when Pipin’s main code for his bandit crew were that they would shed no blood. They were not to kill under any circumstance unless backed into a corner. And even when they were, they opted not to unless they were under attack by other rival gangs.

It was impossible for any regular Ul’dahn to hate them. They were the robin hoods that saved those of lower wealth from having a worse fate. Just in a not so legal fashion. To a point that it started to look bad on the Immortal Flames for giving them as much trouble as they did—even if it’s their job to actually do so!

It put Zura in a rough predicament thanks to the bandit leader’s reputation. Oft did he try to sway the leader to see his side of things or at least stop him from having such a stronghold on the citizens, but never would Pipin listen. Instead finding fun and amusement in seeing Zura squirm.

Regardless, Pipin Tarupin was wanted by the law for his many violating actions. Good intentions or no, he would eventually be brought to justice!

…Or would he?

[y-so-hungry]

Don’t know if it’s okay if I ask you this, but I’ve always been a lurker on your blog and you have a chill vibe. If it’s too personal feel free to ignore this ask.

I’ll preface this by saying I’m not a minor, I’m just someone who is ace-questioning, and was discouraged from engaging in sexual activities in my adolescence and young adulthood (small town, shit sex edu…etc). I was never able to actually explore my more intimate interests until recently, even if I always knew I had a “thing” for stomach growling. It’s led me to question if I like hunger as a kink/fetish, or just as an odd interest….so I wanted to reach out and see if this was common, or just a me thing.

How did you realize you were into hunger as a kink? And for you, is it purely for pleasure, or is there a non-pleasure aspect that you like about it too?

I actually was asexual when I realized I had this kink, so I was in a similar boat you're in now!

For context I was completely asexual until I started Testosterone about 2 years ago, and I gained sexual attraction, mainly for men/masculine people, including masculine nonbinary folks and masculine women.

However I've had a fascination with hunger just about my whole life, and it developed into a kink when I hit puberty. Even though I was asexual, I could tell it was a kink because it genuinely made me feel horny, made me want to jack off. I remember being very very confused by this and knowing that I, at the time, NEVER wanted to have sex, but for some reason this specific thing made me feel something physical. Basically to be really explicit, if a non-sexual thing makes you feel sexual arousal, getting wet/getting hard, then it's probably a kink. So I knew it was a kink because despite being overall asexual, not having sexual feelings towards any person, I had sexual feelings for this specific thing.

There is a non-sexual aspect to it for sure! I'm a very caring person, I like to take care of people and make them feel good and happy. When I was younger I didn't eat enough for a lot of different reasons, so I think my brain tried to cope by turning something that was hurting me into something that feels good. But it means that I really like to take care of people, make sure they don't have to feel the way I did. I want people's hunger to be something they excited by, something I can indulge in them with and then feed them up so they can feel okay again. In my real life my friends know I care a lot about food, they don't know about my kink, but they know that I have an important relationship with food, and that I have trauma with food. Usually when someone is hungry around me in real life, my brain goes immediately to concern, as I think there's still a part of me that assumes that hunger = physical pain.

There are also unfortunately times where hunger is triggering for me, such as when I haven't eaten in a long time and I start to panic about it or when I go out somewhere without food with me. To be honest I have a couple granola bars that live in my pockets at all times, and when I know I'm going to be gone for more than about two hours I'll pack a sandwich in a bag and take that with me. I don't always even end up eating it, I just need to have it or I get afraid and panicky.

TLDR: I know it's a kink because I get turned on physically by it, and no, it's not always a pleasure thing, it's part of my personality as a person and also a part of my trauma, so it effects multiple areas of my life, not just the kinky bit lol.

[mostdontknowit]

Shock

When I was twenty years old (2013) I struggled with adulthood. I had recently came out and fled my parents place. This resulted me in couch hopping between a few people.

One of them, who's name is Jeff, let me stay with him. He also gave me $100 to help me. We didn't have proper wifi, we stole it from a bar net to us, essentially. I didn't know yet at the time I was going to struggle with finding a job. I couldn't go to school and I just flat out didn't know how to job search which killed my motivation.

Jeff and I had sex once but he explained he's mostly a-sexual. He wanted to keep things entirely platonic. I was fully on board as I was still kind of struggling with that kind of stuff. I felt extremely shameful whenever anything became slightly sexual.

Jeff told me he was embraced in Chinese culture and had lived there for a while. His facebook was in Chinese. He also apparently had like several college degree's. He was in the process of getting a degree in counseling.

What I remember about him saying of his family was that they were from California and agnostic. They were slightly homophobic and didn't understand why he dived into Christianity. That kind of stuff isn't too common. Though I guess you hear stories about people converting.

One thing that urked me about him was he analyzed everything I did. This is hard to deal with when living with someone. He was deeply critical of my first love, who broke my heart. But was an insanely great guy and I still hold him dearly. I thoughtJeff analyzed me so much because he was studying to be a counselor.

Someone (let's call him Mike) who he knew from California, moved to Portland. If I recall correctly Mike was a member of Jeff's youth group he was a youth pastor for. Or maybe it was like he was the son of one of Jeffs friends, I honestly don't remember the fine details. But I remember going out with Jeff and Mike a few times. From what I remember about Mike is that he was also borderline a-sexual. I think he was maybe closer to his mid-20s. He was essentially a-sexual but wanted to explore and thought he might be gay too. But it may have been repressed? I also remember him being a virgin which was a big topic for discussion. I didn't know him as well.

I was supposed to live with Jeff until I either found a job or until the new school year. But someone invited me to stay with them who lived in a better location, had full wifi and I got a long better with. After that I never heard from Jeff again and wanted to wait a while before I reached out again. A few years ago I tried reaching out to Jeff but got no response. I wanted to pay him back for giving me cash and letting me live with him when I was experiencing my own housing crisis. But I never got a response. I tried googling him a couple times and got his business information, but I thought that would be inappropriate for me to contact him that way.

Anyway the actual crazy part of this all is that I just found out Jeff was arrested for "multiple charges of oral copulation of a person under 16, sodomy of a person under 16, and forcible lewd act upon a child," that took place between 2006-2008. This was several years before I met him. I'm in quite a bit of shock about it. There's a lot of things that don't make sense but then a lot of things that do. Like maybe he was saying he was practically a-sexual as some weird cover up or to disguise his own insecurities? Was him analyzing everything I did some kind of sign of him having control issues? I always thought the whole thing about living around in China sounded suspicious and I especially thought him having several degree's sounded suspicious. I wonder if "Mike" was one of the Victims, I remember thinking Jeff seemed interested in Mike but I always dismissed it.

[shadowravenswing]

Late Night Thoughts of Someone Who Over thinks

No one really reads my blogs here in Tumblr. Sometime I think Tumblr is all but a forgotten social media platform with cringy takes and a lot of upheaval. The more I go through life, the more I want to share my thoughts with people in a retrospective manner rather than ‘here’s my hot take now debate’. Not that it doesn’t matter when it comes to correcting just not something I am looking at here in my writing this blog post. Many of my thoughts are just that- thoughts coming from someone who doesn’t fully understand the world. Doesn’t understand the cruelties that I have grown into. I have found myself in my early twenties afraid of the actions other people may have on my life and individual freedoms that a younger, naive self would have balked at the thought of someone restricting what I did in life.

A younger me had stories to tell that the old me want to tell freely. In away, reconnect with someone who was swallowed up long ago from long ago.

With the news headlines causing more dread, I often wish I could come back to that time when the world’s thoughts had no affect on my mind. When my worries boiled down to what stories I would come up with on the playground or what book I would read that week. Such sweet innocent times they were.

Now I’m worrying about paying rent, trying to make sure I don’t get pregnant without risk of not being able to chose to keep it, working myself to the ground, and so on that is adult life. Even my ambition to be a writer has been galvanized as this business to make money, turning into how can I make more sales rather than can I make a good story. I’m sure it’s been this way before but I have noticed it recently on tik tok and other places. Amazon becoming a giant in selling books because that’s how indie and self publish authors can do business. Don’t get me started on the publishing companies and the recent Harper-Collins strike. Capitalism exploits people and it sucks that we are stuck in a cycle that we, as consumers, cannot stop.

Those who are in charge of us seemed to be constantly on fire. I am a firm advocate for women’s choice, worker’s rights or anything that has to do with furthering a human right to live and to be seen as a person and not an object. Scrolling through media, mostly tik tok, has me exhausted most times due to people spitting their hot takes or stating inaccuracies that are not true or not backed up with proper evidence. Partial stories are presented as fact or someone reads one line of a headline article and instantly think they have the entire story. I watched this take place on the house floor with bill after bill about huge misinformations being presented. Those elected not caring about the people whom elected them. I’m taking about average people, the you and me people and not the people the fill their pockets with doner money or bail them out. There’s a lot of frustration and outcry that fall onto deaf ears that turn the cheek. Some use religion to justify how right or wrong an action is l, no matter the hypocrisy of their words. While others use the words of what others have said of those powerful enough to stake their claim on other’s lives. Sometimes hiding their true colors out of sight.

The point I think I’m getting at is when did imagination and hope turn into cruel reality? When did stories of adventure, love and reinvention turn into a competition of how we can get on top of a list that is unfair. When did we live in a society that was ripped out of a dystopian novel? How do we go in life knowing many of the systems in our lives are unfair even thought we grew up with promise that fairness existed. When did we start seeing these divisions among ourselves? Was it when we reached adulthood? Was it when the world around us, the world that was promised, disintegrated in front of our eyes? When did we start to see the flames?

This may be the ranting of a mad woman but these are the questions that I’ve stayed awake asking myself. When did our innocents of the world disappeared? Was it ever really there?

As a writer, a pagan, a woman, and an over thinker, I ponder these and many more. My head is full these days that the dark corners of this platform maybe a safe heaven for such mindless thoughts.

[slickshoesareyoucrazy]

A Surprisingly Real Part

It's a tad embarrassing that I tend to only reach self awareness through having it pointed out to me by a trusted person close to me (like A or J or my friend M), or through fiction, either the stuff I wrote or stuff someone else wrote that I can actually relate to. And I've only recently realized how my fictional heroines that are probably the most like me are so very clearly autistic. Like...I almost always write an introverted heroine, but (for those of you who have read my work, the names are hopefully familiar) Mary Sue Rice, Samantha Jenkins/Goodman, Stephanie Bamford, and Jessica Fielding/Evers are...on the spectrum. They just...are.

Being both gifted but somehow also constantly feeling like a disappointment. Having a hard time connecting with people in person. Being sensitive emotionally and physically. Being a blunt, direct, literal, and honest communicator. Having the tendency to over explain things. Needing to know the reasons why people do things or believe things or why those rules exist in order to feel good about following them. Seeking certain activities and sensations for comfort/avoiding others because of discomfort, despite it being 'weird' or uncommon or unpopular. I mean...those things are ME. But because of the stereotyping and stigmas attached to autism, if you would have asked me even 3 years ago if I considered myself autistic, I'd have said no. No one ever mentioned that possibility to me in my lifetime. I think 'boys have it more,' and 'really self-centered' and 'really poor communicator' and 'robotic/unemotional all the time' sort of negated the possibility to anyone who might say it regarding me. I'm almost exclusively other focused, and autism is supposed to be a condition that means self-focused. And in writing at least, I'm not a bad communicator. But I've heard that 'heartless and cold' shit a lot in my life, and that's just false. I think a lot of autistic people actually have really high empathy, they just don't show emotion the way neurotypical people do. Plus, I mean...I had a LOT of emotional suppression as a kid. You're laughing too loud; talking too loud/too much; don't cry; don't sing; don't make that noise/face...I mean...of course I've learned to look and act like a robot. That's a lot of repetition of the same lesson.

People DID bring it up about my brother. In the early 1990s when he was a toddler and elementary school aged kid. My mom took him to a doctor after a couple of early educators used the word autism in front of her. The doctor she took him to (the same one who said there was nothing wrong with my legs and reproductive system when she took me there and he said growing pains and normal cramps and gave me painkillers that made me sleepy when other doctors in adulthood gave me corrective equipment for standing and walking and emergency surgery for an ectopic pregnancy) told her there was no way he was autistic, because he'd give us hugs and look at us when we called his name. He was 'too normal.' All autistic people, to this doctor, were Rain Man or more obvious about it. So my mom just moseyed on, assured her kid was normal. (My brother is quite blatantly autistic; strangers meeting him for the first time pick up on it right away). He has a master's degree in special education now and diagnosed himself; my mom probably should have listened to the educators when he was a kid, but on the other hand, he's doing great without specialized intervention. And so am I. But the denial of something that pretty significantly affected our lives as kids obviously had an impact.

When I read things written by and for autistic people, I always relate. I see myself. I see my brother. I see my dad. I told my mom that my dad is almost certainly on the spectrum too. And she said she feels like a fool, not only having to have her kids figure it out for themselves as adults, but not recognizing it in my DAD, the man she's been with for over 50 years and married to for 48. And for the first time she said she felt sorry about how she's treated all of us, especially my dad, for so long. I told her busting up routine and structure is kind of traumatic for people like us, and she admitted she did that to us, especially Dad, on purpose, pretty often. That's still pain I'm dealing with a lot. It comes out in the fiction. It's probably why I've written four fictional autistic women.

I dunno. Guess I just felt like writing this today.