#because i am first and foremost a self-indulgent man

[machveil]

2, 38, and 55?

2. where do you get your fanfic ideas from?

the depths of my brain. I chronically think about CoD, I see something and my brain makes the connection, “Hey… that should be a fic, write that down.”. I also possibly see certain video content on Twitter that warrants a fic being made

38. what is your most self-indulgent posted story?

Sleepy!Reader x König, all of it. every single word. not to be dramatic, but I am the sleepiest person I know and I know I need König. he’d be the best fucking weighted blanket, it’s the truth. I’d sleep so well. also, I just went nuts with that post lmfao

55. have you noticed any patterns in your fics? words/expressions that appear a lot, themes, common settings, etc?

absolutely, I can’t not mention a CoD man’s crooked nose, first and foremost. most attractive feature they can have in my opinion

forget settings, time. I like writing stories that take place at night - either immediately or at dusk as the sun sets. I feel my best at night (winding down) so I typically write with it being dark in mind

otherwise, usually I reuse descriptions of (x) character because I think it’s accurate. König? icy blue eyes, copper hair, crooked nose (shocker). Simon “Ghost” Riley? short-cropped hair, skin marred with scars… crooked nose (shocker). if I like how I’ve described a character I’ll probably keep describing them that way

fanfiction asks

[beanghostprincess]

I talk quite a lot about Sanji going on a journey during the story and having to discover himself first to accept his feelings for Usopp, but I don't talk enough about the importance of Usopp becoming a brave warrior of the sea first and foremost before seeing himself capable of confessing his feelings to Sanji. He has already accepted he is in love with him. He just needs... To be braver. Stronger. For him to actually do something about it.

So I imagine this happening by the end of Elbaf. Do not ask me what happens during this arc in this concept, because I do not know. What I do know, though, is that Usopp becomes stronger. Not in the physical sense, but emotionally. He learns to see his qualities and begins to stop running away from every danger. Perhaps it happens right after a catastrophe, the whole crew getting hurt and him being the only one capable of saving them. Maybe he acquires Conqueror's Haki, but that's just self-indulgence because I really, really like the whole concept of Usopp saving everybody with it. It is not the point-

Everyone is safe now. He has his big brave warrior moment. Maybe he even breaks the Sogeking mask at some point when he was trying to hide himself. It's a whole deal. And he is supposed to feel like he has accomplished his dream or, at least, that he is close enough to do so. But Usopp realizes that this is only the beginning of a journey and his dream is something he can only achieve by accepting the title for himself (I love this bit of his character so much you don't even know). And there is one thing left.

The whole crew is still recovering from whatever the hell happened, but at least now they can freely enjoy their time in Elbaf. So it is that type of moment at the end of an arc where everybody is chill and you know nothing can go wrong because the music is cute and everybody is eating and drinking like they've been starving for ages.

Sanji is probably learning about their cooking methods, and I really wanna see him fascinated by the giants' cuisine. Imagine the biggest of pots and this little guy literally skywalking to cook because he can't reach the thing on his own. Adorable. I adore him. Everybody is having the time of their lives.

And you know... Usopp knows Sanji knows. Sanji knows Usopp knows. It's that kind of "I love you and I know you love me and we love each other but we need some time first" relationship and they haven't had any time to talk about it. This has been going on for, like, forever. Since Skypiea type of forever. So Usopp is dying. He wants to reach out to him. He wants to go ahead and kiss him without hesitation and finally become the man he wants to be next to Sanji. He is shaking with fear.

The thing is, he is afraid. He is still scared. And Usopp doesn't think he will ever stop being scared when it comes to stuff like that. When it comes to love. But as long as he keeps pushing forward and being brave, then, it will be alright with him.

So he approaches the huge kitchen they have going on outside in the party (because of course they're having a party) and he sees Sanji skywalking to cook. Again, it looks silly, but Usopp is extremely fond of seeing Sanji cooking with the people he admires so much and learning stuff about the culture Usopp loves. He knows Sanji is not doing it for him, but it makes his heart do a funny twist anyway.

And I imagine that this could be funny-- Sanji looking down at Usopp from up there while he cooks and kind of losing balance (because who wouldn't lose their balance when looking at Usopp? He is definitely wearing Elbaf's attires too, and he looks... Good. Saying good is an understatement. Extremely fucking hot slounds better) and falling right into Usopp's arms.

Usopp catches him, of course. He always does. And Sanji is having this moment™ where he is feeling dizzy and out of balance and safe in Usopp's arms. I am going for a superhero type of comic looking pose here, btw. And Usopp is still scared. And anxious. And Sanji is looking extremely handsome in his clothes too. And Usopp just really, really, wants to kiss him.

For him to do so, Sanji only needs to bring his hands to Usopp's neck and joke, saying "Oh!! My hero!!" or something like that. He isn't expecting Usopp to do anything, really. They have been flirting that way for ages and he was just messing with him, bringing his face closer and calling him hero and brave warrior and my savior. But it makes Usopp's head spin with confidence, and he kisses Sanji.

Imagine fireworks behind them and dramatic music because that is exactly how Sanji sees all of this. Usopp just feels sweaty and nervous and extremely happy. Except that now Usopp has the confidence to, when he moves away from Sanji's lips (still close enough to kiss him again and again and again), say: "Sorry it took so long."

"Was it the outfit?" Sanji pinches one of Usopp's cheeks, raising an eyebrow at him. He can't help but smirk. "Do I look handsome enough for our brave warrior of the sea to want to kiss me finally?"

Usopp frowns at him, but Sanji's smile is contagious. "You always look good, idiot."

The cook hums teasingly. "Mm. It did take you long to kiss me, though."

"I was figuring some stuff out."

"Still scared?"

Usopp takes a deep breath. "Always. But now I feel..." He wants to drown in Sanji's blue eyes and grin. He feels safe. "Braver."

It makes Sanji laugh. Beautiful. "News flash, you have always been brave and you are the last one to notice."

Usopp chuckles. "I guess so."

"Well..." Sanji sighs dramatically, getting ready to light up one of his cigarettes. "Was this just a one time victory kiss thing or is the brave warrior of the sea going to kiss me again?"

Usopp doesn't need to think twice for this. He doesn't think he ever will.

[coveriingyou]

Hi hello I just wanted to say, I didn’t think I would like your Nico/Keons tbh because I am first and foremost an old man enjoyer who would usually prefer the bishops be evil old men but I’m?? Super into your Nico/Keons actually??? Anyway keep up the good work lmao ❤️❤️

TYSM !! i still promised a ramble about my Keons so i feel like i might as well just word vomit my husband and i's entire little universe we have with the Bishops at some point in the future, but for now i will say !! that we've sort of taken a self indulgent AU-type vessel usage approach to the Bishops and that's why Nico has the form of Blurryface (frosted tips era bc there's smth abt that that makes me go crazy LMAOLMAAFAO) and Keons does Spooky as well !

that being said, they're just old men wearing these vessels so i think despite looking youthful and free, Nico still rolls out of bed every morning and pops his back and gripes about not having a memory foam mattress topper or smth ADSKJGHJKS

[chewchuck]

AND ANOTHER THING! (IM BACK FOR MORE)

I absolutely picked up on a few things that honestly had me just asking more questions about Chilchuck’s pov. On one hand, I usually love seeing each pov within the chapters, but! on the other, it was very what’s the word… fitting? nicely done. how you handle the showing and telling of the story

My internal dialogue was a lot of “Oh surely this man is not entirely oblivious to dog boy over here.” “Oh he has GOT to be thinking thoughts rn.” So eek! Yes I am so excited about the addition lol

Also I have no idea WHAT they’re put in this stuff, but Dungeon Meshi has just… gotten me in a chokehold. The Chilaios Nation, don’t know what y’all are doing, but it also has me in a chokehold. Scarily dragging me in. I am obsessing I am refreshing my tabs I am unwell I am blessed with a feast fit for a king this is affecting my mental health I need sleep. Anyway, love all the chilaios nation folks <3

listen to me. look me in my eyes. i am gripping you by the shoulders. this is everything to me

because so genuinely while writing the first part, i considered every single aspect of what chikchuck thought about what was going on. what was he feeling what was he thinking etc etc and i while i don’t always think that’s necessarily for a limited pov fic, especially not when it comes to one that boils down to self indulgent smut, like i said *i* knew what he was going through and wanted to try to translate that to the audience with out like. making it so obvious that laios should have picked up on it.

and when trying to convey something subtle like that it’s so easy for it to go completely unnoticed. and honestly i do think i would have been just fine with that actually! bc i never intended to make a second part of this from chilchucks pov!

but the way sooo many people have been like “i am picking up on this” just made me so happy!!! like i said a billion times while writing this i made and am still making this for me first and foremost! it’s self indulgent and all about what *i* want to happen and what makes me happy

but that doesn’t change the fact that i am so overwhelmingly happy that so many other people are enjoying it!! im over the moon about that! and thats a HUGE part of why i got inspired to actually write a chilchuck pov!!!

(and not to curse myself but uhm. based on the current word count compared to the equivalent part of the first part it. well it might end up longer. but shh don’t tell anyone)

BUT YEAH WTF DID RYOKO KUI PUT IN THIS FUCKING SHOW AND WHAT IS IT ABOUT CHILAIOS NATION.

i think it’s crack cocaine

i’m would like to reiterate/make it clear that i made this blog LESS THAN A WEEK AGO. that’s how insane this shit had made me. it’s been less than a week and i’ve made a whole side blog, wrote over 11k of fic, made several friends, joined a discord server and am HAVING THE TIME OF MY LIFE. i am having more fun in this fandom than i can remember having in almost 15 years

sorry this reply got REALLY long but. it just feels good. i’m happy. i’m having fun and im glad there are other people along for the ride who are having fun as well :3

[corruptedplaylist]

looking out for you: act ii behind the scenes

just pretending like im on a talk show i am both the interviewer and the host <3

motivation for writing the lance and keith solo chapters

i've been raring to write the solo winter break chapters (i just called them the winter break interlude in my head for a bit) since september/october actually. i viewed it as my reward for finishing act ii 💀 not just because i love angst but also i love a good character study/character development heavy chapter and i really got to dig into each character and their home lives.

the foundation of this fic is entirely based on my dissatisfaction with how the show progressed and ended and subsequent self-indulgence— i've just been addressing a lot of the issues i had with vld. one such issue for me was the lack of in-depth character development. i enjoy a good romance as much as the next person but i really wanted to understand keith and lance as individuals who functioned outside of each other and the context of the group, and the solo chapters were a great writing exercise for me in terms of characterization and character-driven storytelling. so let's get into it baby!

lance's section (chapter 11) first.

we never got to see lance's growth as a character beyond "the dumb one" or the guy who cracks jokes for the sake of the team. the smaller vulnerable moments lance had, where he broke down and felt like he was useless and tried to leave the team or when he admitted he missed his family and Earth— they never got properly resolved. i think lance's identity as a 1.5 generation immigrant (immigrating to the States as a little kid) as well as his status as the youngest in a large family impacted his thought process and self-perception and i wanted to showcase that.

for children especially, immigration can be traumatic. i know "trauma" is an oversaturated buzzword used in pop psychology these days but i refer its definition as something established in one of my classes: "an event or series of events that is perceived as frightening, distressing, or life-threatening and has long-lasting effects on the survivor's emotional, social, mental, and physical processes." i imagine that for a 5-year-old lance, who has always been family-oriented and prone to bouts of homesickness, he experienced his immigration as traumatic when he had to leave behind everything he knew in cuba (his house, his friends, his neighbors, most of his family members) and start his life over in america. like, that's a LOT for anyone, let alone a little kid, to have to deal with. and that's where i extrapolated the notion that lance is afraid of being left behind— he didn't really have a choice in whether or not he got to leave cuba and so he's carried this fear that everyone in cuba will move on without him.

on top of that, i think lance acted as a sponge for his family's negative emotions related to immigration (stress, anxiety, sadness). that's partially where he developed the conception that he had to perform, to always be on and distract them from their negative feelings. ofc, it also doesn't help that as the youngest, he really has to jockey with his siblings for a Thing (i.e. Luis is the family man, Marco is the athlete, Veronica and Rachel are the career-driven women).

i knew from the get-go i was gonna make this bitch have daddy issues lol. first and foremost, i do not want to dismiss the very real fact that there are tons of immigrant parents who hold homophobic notions and ideals because that is 100% real. however, the way that it's portrayed in media can sometimes flatten a lot of the potential for a nuanced relationship. i'm not excusing homophobia by any means but i am coming from a place of engaged empathy. our parents are a product of a society and culture that has ingrained in them homophobic ideals and fucked notions of gender expression. it's difficult to break a way of thinking and acting when you've had that logic shoved down your throat since birth. i think there's a lot to be said on the concept of masculinity and the "strong silent immigrant parent," which i haven't seen much in the voltron fanfiction i've consumed. i wanted to craft a relationship between lance and his dad where it can be boiled down to: "your love hurts." their conversation at the end of chapter 11 is by no means fixing everything, but it's a step in the right direction.

i also just really love lance's relationship with his siblings. i'm the oldest so it was a fun exercise to just see how lance interacts with his siblings as the youngest. also that's not the last you'll be seeing of the McClan in this fic......

let's talk about the keith section:

ok first, we've been able to view shiro from keith, lance, and adam's pov thus far. the thing is, though, is that lance still kind of views shiro as his idol/someone he's looked up to, and i wrote adam's pov primarily so the audience could view klance as a unit. shiro's character felt a little flat, and that was kind of on purpose thus far. keith and shiro are obviously incredibly close since they're brothers in this universe, but there's been an underlying tension so far because keith feels distant from shiro and i wanted to address that finally.

i think it's a natural thing for relationships to change once people hit college/move out. keith's mom left when he was a kid and his dad died and he bounced from foster home to foster home so ofc he's going to develop a huge complex about forming attachments to other people. i think it makes sense that one of keith's biggest fears is that shiro will leave him or grow tired of him, which obvi isn't true, but when you get in your head about something, after years of trauma and reinforcement of a spiral of bad thoughts, it's hard to get out of it. so keith's chapter was kind of confronting this idea that he deserves good, and that he might be good, and maybe he should stop running and learn to accept that he is loved.

i'm sure y'all have picked up on the whole thing i have for keith about showing the evolution of his willingness to be vulnerable and open up through cooking. at the end of keith's chapter, he is making kimchi fried rice with akemi which holds a lot of nuance.

1) keith is slowly but surely exploring his own heritage. (i know i haven't touched on keith's korean identity in a bit but dw that's coming in later chapters). fried rice isn't an entirely new concept to him bc he was raised in a japanese household (and also just exists in the world) but he's embracing positive change within himself and even initiating it himself by trying out a korean recipe, using kimchi, a korean food

2) not only is he trying out a korean recipe, he felt safe enough to attempt it for the first time at college, in a shared house with all his friends, and even served it to them, which is a HUGE step in his willingness to be perceived.

3) he is sharing this recipe with akemi, his japanese kind-of mom. it's the fact that cooking is kind of a love language for keith and akemi, and he wants to share something he's found for himself, away from the texas house, and integrated it into his old life, mixing what he knew with what he knows now.

akemi, who has shared her own recipes she learned from her family with keith and took on the role of teacher, is now the student. she's learning a recipe from keith and engaging in his explorations of his koreanness through cooking. and keith is sharing his culture with her because he tried it on his own with his own little found family, like "hey look at this thing i tried out for myself can i share it with you?"

tl;dr for chapters 11 and 12

i wanted to use the solo chapters as ways to show how lance and keith react to change— the ways they view it and the reasons they fear it. it can be boiled down to this:

lance: i am afraid of being left behind and i wish things would stay the same so i do not have to address the fear of being left behind because that implies i am not good enough for someone to stay for. keith: nothing has ever stayed the same for me and i am afraid of getting comfortable in the love that my community has for me because that could all be ripped away at a moment's notice. i will leave first as an act of self preservation.

allura 💖🧚🏿‍♀️🥰

i love you allura!!!! i got to have keith and lance each have a little moment with our fave princess because 1) keith and allura didn't interact a lot in this supposed found family in the canon other than when allura found out keith was galra and 2) i really liked the friendship between lance and allura in seasons 3-4 and i wish there were more moments like that. i think keith and allura could both connect more on grief and heritage since they both lost their parents, bridges to their respective cultures (keith korean, and allura jamaican). that little moment in ch 6 between both of them was very special for me as well— as an adoptee, i felt disconnected from a lot of traditions and holidays and foods that were a part of my birth culture but i didn't have anyone to celebrate it with. having keith and allura kind of discuss that together was not only a great character development moment but also was me projecting a lil 😗

side note: allura saying goodnight to keith in chapter 8 after halloweekend shenanigans parallels chapter 2, when they're outside the bathroom and she goes to touch his shoulder but he ducks away. i thought it'd be a nice little easter egg to show the progression of their friendship— in chapter 8, keith lets allura touch him and affirm their status as friends who have fun together.

i like lotor as a character but i had to nerf him a bit in this fic in regards to his relationship with allura. i think allura's relationship with lotor adds to her depth as a character— she's seen as the strong girlboss who doesn't take shit but hinting at her toxic relationship and portraying its affects was important to me. yes, allura is a badass but also she is not immune to shitty stuff, and even the most badass of people can get into bad situations. it doesn't make them weak, it just makes them human. i wanted lance, who def has this image of allura that's different from reality, to kind of find allura in this vulnerable moment and 1) realize that she's a person first and foremost, not an infallible goddess and 2) comfort her wholeheartedly because lance, to his core, is a very kind person and even when drunk, he's going to try and find the right words to say.

allura is a side character in all of this but i wanted to give her some complexity as well, since lance hangs out a lot with hunk and pidge and keith is closer with shiro and adam.

ch 9 klance development

ok look everything everywhere all at once left a fucking imprint on my brain when i saw it. "in another life i would have liked just doing laundry and taxes with you" ok stab me in the gut. that being said, i know i really wanted to give klance a moment to just be friends who run domestic errands together, to start nudging them in a direction where they're both like, "hey i kinda enjoy hanging out with this person one-on-one, and im comfortable enough to feel like i dont have to perform in front of them." klance just being domestic and folding laundry together at a laundromat and sharing airpods askgjakdjghlkadjfhgadf.

i also wanted to include the little adam and lance moment toward the end, because let's face it, adam would have absolutely adored lance (i say from the 2 minutes of screentime canon adam w got). lance has hunk and pidge and he's friends with allura but i wanted to give him someone to look up to and rely on the way keith has shiro. esp since lance is the youngest and away from home— adam probably reminds him more of his siblings initially, because lance has a more grounded perspective of adam than shiro, who's a microniche celebrity.

about the beach episode

i love beach filler episodes so fucking much. it's just a great time to get the ensemble out of the typical college setting and see how they function as a unit in a different environment. from the car rides, to stopping for food at some dingy ass fast food chain, to fucking around on the beach and chasing birds and sharing lunch ugh i love it so much it was lovely to write. mirroring adashi's relationship development with klance's was fun, i've had that idea in my head for awhile now so it was gratifying to see it come to fruition. i knew that i would have lance realize he liked keith first simply because keith takes a bit to process his emotions. dw this isn't gonna be some one-sided, drawn out pining for too long.

this beach chapter was a way for me to simultaneously reflect on how things have progressed with klance's relationships. not just with each other, but the rest of the group as well. i wanted them to have gotten a natural dynamic where they're all close enough to go on a beach trip and just fuck around and be normal college kids taking a break for finals. it also allowed me to plant the seeds for further klance development, as well as hint at the central conflict that would follow lance in chapter 11. chapter 10 was a great wrap up for the overall dynamic of the group and a way to end the fall semester.

what was it like to write in adam's pov?

that was so much fucking fun ahhhhh. for one reason, klance aren't together yet and i wanted. to write. domestic bliss. second, it's a great narrative tool to kind of zoom out a bit when viewing klance. we can see how the boys interact in a group setting from an outsider's perspective, without all the gay panic or inner monologues, as fun as they are to write. they just exist as they are, and adam takes note of it. third, i love adam and the potential of adashi and i am so so so sad that adam got killed off after less than 90 seconds of screentime. nothing against curtis, but i've just been more attached to adam since his character was revealed in the show (even if it wasn't for long). shiro deserves a loving partner and healthy relationship and i think adashi are so fucking cute. and yeah, i'm paralleling adashi's relationship development with klance, i just couldn't fucking resist.

when tf are lance and keith gonna get together?

LMAO yeah i knew this was gonna be a slowburn but damn i really am drawing it out. i do want to follow a somewhat logical progression and pacing, though. act i was building klance up as people who could find some common ground and humanize each other instead of just butting heads. act ii has been following the development of their friendship and planting the seeds for romantic attraction, as you might have seen from chapter 10. dw, there is a spike in the klance development in act iii as i focus on their navigation as a couple, and as y'all know, i already wrote the confession scene. it's coming!!!! soon!!!!!!!

multilingualism as a plot device

i've talked about it before but i love!!!! using language as a plot device to demonstrate a character's personality/development/interpersonal relationship!!!

i'm not a fluent speaker in any of the languages that have appeared or been mentioned in this fic (spanish, japanese, korean, jamaican creole, tagalog). i've studied most of them lackadaisically and i'm sort of fuzzy on grammar and cultural nuance. i've been consulting with actual native speakers of these languages to try and make it as authentic as possible but ofc, if you do speak those languages and something sticks out with the translations, please let me know!

i studied spanish in high school, but it was a mix of mexican and castillian spanish because i had different teachers between the years. diving into cuban spanish, which is an entirely different dialect because of its history in the caribbean, has been really fun (and also a lot of work my god i haven't had to bust out my spanish in years). learning all the different curses has been sooooo cool, i love profanity in other languages.

that being said, i think it's really interesting when writing from keith's pov and incorporating language. i have this idea that when keith first moved in with the shiroganes, akemi and shiro tried to encourage him to go to korean school but he probably got embarrassed because he was put with a bunch of little kids due to his speaking ability and stopped going.

the linguistic and cultural barrier was fun to craft between keith and akemi because when they first met each other, keith probably spoke 0 japanese and akemi was more comfortable in japanese and less in english. from the flashback in chapter 12, we see that keith has already been studying hard to work to a conversational level of japanese, and he can understand basic phrases (akemi tries to accommodate him as well). even so, keith still uses ��寧語 or teneigo, the standard level of politeness for japanese, when he's speaking with akemi. it shows that even though he's progressed in his japanese, he still puts some distance between him and akemi, like he sees himself as a long-term houseguest. ofc there's layers of respect that are interlaced with teneigo, but close family units don't use teneigo when they speak to each other.

this has been a disorganized and rambling behind the scenes of looking out for you act ii. thanks for tuning in and see y'all next time <3

[thatndginger]

Happy STS, K! What is a story element/setting/trope/what-have-you that you've always wanted to write but has been elusive? Tell me about your white whale! :)

Happy STS to you too, Jasper!

I had to think on this one for a bit, because honestly, if I want to write something, I can usually find a way to do it? I am nothing if not a self-indulgent writer ^.^

However, I think there are a few things that I want to use and haven't yet found a way to slot into either of my main writing projects.

first and foremost - sci-fi. I fucking love sci-fi stories in any form. There's so many possibilities, so many new things to play with, aaand I think that's why I haven't touched sci-fi yet. My easily-distracted ass has a hard enough time staying focused on the single world and trajectory of War Witch's homebrew world, there's no way I could keep everything straight for a whole galaxy! Or a whole universe!

The other big one is spy plots and intrigue. I've recently started rewatching Burn Notice and man I love a good spy caper. But trying to write one? That shit is complicated and maybe a bit too much for me at the current time. Maybe someday....

[gojoest]

Hey!! I just wanted to say that I LOVE your posts, your writing is amazing and your love for Satoru is sweet. <3

This isn’t necessarily a request but more so a question because I’m curious to know your thoughts on this. If you’ve answered this before then I apologize in advance! You can ignore this request if you already have obviously.

But do you think that Satoru would be a boy dad or a girl dad? Or both? And how many kids do you think he’d have? I’d love to hear more of your thoughts on Dad!Satoru.

Thank you for reading and have a good rest of your day/night ^^

omg thank you so much! 🥺🤍

if you know me, you also know i can’t stop talking about girl dad satoru. in my mind’s eye he is first and foremost a proud father of beautiful twin girls! this is definitely a bit of self-projection on my part bc everything i am about to say is lowkey derived from my selfship lore. i’ve talked about this in the distant past but i am usually very shy about sharing this part of my selfship with him, for some reason ahahah.

satoru has twin girls whom he’s incredibly attached to, they are his biggest soft spot and absolutely the apple of his eye. but eventually, he also becomes a boy dad! so he’s both a girl dad and a boy dad. while he loves his son just as much, there’s definitely a playful divide in the house. the twins are for sure daddy’s girls, and the son is mommy’s boy. it’s not about playing favorites, that’s just the dynamic in the family!

i think satoru sees a lot of himself in his son. not only does he look exactly like him (a spitting image of him i swear) but he also has some of satoru’s personality traits….which sometimes messes with his head in the most bittersweet of ways, i like to think :,) but, i always picture how, before satoru heads to work, he kisses you and the twins, then gives his son a little peck on the cheek, ruffles his hair, and tells him to look after his sisters and his mother while he is away…tells him how much he counts on him, the tiniest person in the family….

overall, satoru spoils his kids a lot and often indulges them in mischievous adventures bc he is as much a kid with them :,) but beyond the fun, he’s also very much determined to teach them how to treat their mother with love and respect bc he wants them to grow up understanding just how special you are not only to him, as his wife, but as the heart of the family! and truth be told, while he might cut his girls some slack every now and then, he is definitely stricter with his son! (yk, no man can disrespect his woman, even his son ahahah) he will show him how to care for you through sweet little gestures like picking flowers for you without any special occasion, complimenting your outfit and how beautiful that dress looks on you, opening doors for you and etc etc i just love dad satoru so much, he is so so so soooooo perfect and built for it, ough ……

[yes-these-obsessions-are-healthy]

Yes, yes, and to add (!!) his emotional maturity regarding how he feels about other people, and how others make him feel, is stunted. If you’re romancing him, then in Act III when his siblings ambush him at camp there is a dialogue option you can pick (forget which one) that has him respond with this:

“Don’t look at me like that. With that sweet little, ‘disappointed I’m not getting cuddly Astarion’ pout. I can’t take it. I can’t be what you want to see in me.”

You’re together, he has chosen to be in a relationship with you, but he is setting forth on this journey hyperaware of how love now has tied his own arm behind his back—he now cares about how you feel about his decisions and how you see him—a huge problem for any self-reliant, self-loving (for there no room or opportunity for him to love while under Cazador’s thumb) individual who wishes nothing more than to do what they want. He has hardened himself against guilt because to allow himself to feel it would destroy him from the inside out, so he learned to center himself first and foremost for the purpose of survival.

But love means you must care about someone other than yourself. It means you must put in effort to maintain that bond, and that means being receptive to how the person on the other end feels about your behavior, and thus adjust or compromise as necessary.

In this scene, your disappointment makes him falter, for it hurts him to think that you are unhappy with him. He has done something you disapprove of, which means he has made a mistake, which means he has threatened the stability of the relationship, and he does not know by how much. Do you love him less for his behavior? Does you think less of him for it?

Often when people feel guilt, anger follows shortly behind. It is a reflex by the ego to reassure the Self that it is not lesser.

‘Don’t look at me like that. With that sweet little, ‘disappointed I’m not getting cuddly Astarion’ pout.’

(‘Stop it.’ Redirecting blame: the real problem here is the judgmental look you’re giving him, not his behavior which inspired it.)

‘I can’t take it.’

(Hastily establishing a boundary right then and there, building a wall between him and his partner so that the guilt-inducing response by his partner might cease. ‘I do not like that.’)

“I can’t be what you want to see in me.”

(Dodging the opportunity to learn from his mistake compounded with his declaration of forfeit of responsibilities by way of fatalism: ‘I did not fail. And if I did, I was never trying in the first place’ is held in conjunction with the dismissive ‘I was never going to live up to your impossible expectations, anyway. You believe me to be something that I’m not, and for that you should feel guilty for impressing a false image upon me. I am not the foolish one, you are.’)

Essentially, ‘screw you for making me feel this way’. His egoistic self-assurance and his sense of freedom feel threatened. In that moment he is quietly grappling with his desire to indulge in his antisocial tendencies, but now that you are together, he feels a sting when you disapprove where before there hadn’t been. In a way it feels like another form of compulsion, another leash for him to be dragged along by, hemming in his wants for the sake of satisfying someone else.

You have the means to dismantle and destroy him with this newfound love he feels for you, and certainly a large part of him is frightened, for he is a man that has gone centuries feeling powerless. The theme of your relationship with him (assuming you proceed with him Unascended) is that the ‘weakness’ that love inspires is also its strength. It is okay to possess weakness, because someone who loves you will be there to protect you. They will not exploit it but guard it, supplement it.

As a survivor of abuse/torture, I keep thinking about Astarion spending 200 years under Cazador. When you're being abused you live on a knife's edge of panic at how horrible it is, how frightened you are, and an empty regurgitation of your abuser's beliefs because abusers become omniscient*.

Time moves differently. Time moves really fast if there's some time limit placed on you by an abuser. Time moves unbelievably slowly when you're in the part of the cycle that is most violent, most dangerous. It's lightning quick when they're love bombing or pretending you're their golden child or feigning apology.

And because of this... you get the traumatic maturity of a person who knows how horrible, painful, & cruel things can be. The wisdom of knowing no one is immune to control or cruelty. But you don't age. You don't grow up. You don't evolve. You're being held in the liminal ooze of victimhood.

Feeling that, going through that, and it has been TWO HUNDRED YEARS... I can't imagine processing that level of loss.

In a lot of ways, leaving an abuser is experiencing the hormonal and psychological shifts of being a teenager but inside of like... a Darren Aronofsky montage. It's horrific in the best of circumstances. Trying to do that amidst another traumatizing, life threatening event? Trying to do that with that and you stumbled over a found family you can only aid as much as you can aid?

It may be the things I've personally stumbled into but between sexualization and woobification I don't know if anyone is really approaching Astarion with that lens.

*this is a huge thing for me, I've seen people question, "if Astarion was abused, why does he not want to do good or help people," and it reminds me how society is not only NOT trauma informed, it's often greatly misinformed by the perfect victim/self sacrificing victim/chosen one narrative. Your abuser's beliefs don't necessarily become your beliefs but after enough violence a part of your brain is being driven by them at all times. You're not thinking of what is good/right, you're thinking of what won't get you harmed. And sometimes in groups it's worse because you feel like if you do something wrong your abuser will not hurt only YOU but everyone around you

[transgenderboobs]

may i have some jonmartin w/ 14. ( Singing and dancing to their favorite song ) in these trying times,,,

14. Singing and dancing to their favorite song.

oaugh my uwus.....

- - -

The first 24 hours are clumsy and awkward. 

Fleeing the country is definitely not as cool as it looks in the movies, Jon thinks. Mostly it involves a lot of stumbling and fear and confusion and buying train tickets in cash, at full price, because even though Martin has a railcard, using it would be too close to leaving a paper trail.

The keys stick in the front door, and the hinges squeak from disuse, but finally, after a day of nonstop travel, they’re standing on the threshold of Daisy’s safehouse an hour outside of Inverness.

At his side, Martin sneezes.

Jon looks up at him, raises his eyebrows. 

Martin smiles sheepishly, twists his hands around the strap of his duffel bag. “Dusty.”

Jon hums, trails a hand over the wall as they go, trying not to marvel too obviously at every word Martin says to him. “It does smell a bit like the Archives my first day on the job.”

Martin huffs, dry and quiet, but still the closest thing Jon's heard to an actual laugh from him in so long. "You mean the day I let that dog in?"

Jon's heart does something complicated. He remembers feeling so nervous that day he thought he might throw up, but now looking back on it he feels a pang of something almost like nostalgia. Things were easier, back then, when the worst thing he had to worry about was a dog making a mess on the carpet, even if the memory is marred by how abhorrently he'd treated Martin.

"Yes." He nods fondly. "The day you let the dog in."

Martin does another of those little huffs, this one with a bit more life in it. He shrugs his duffel off his shoulder, lets it fall to the hall floor at his feet. "Well. Better than... blood and rotting meat, or something, so. I'll take it."

"Fair point," Jon gives him. He slips his own bag off his back, clutches it momentarily in front of his chest, before setting it cautiously on the floor beside Martin's. "I suppose we should... take inventory?" He suggests. "Give it a, a look-over?"

Martin hums, nodding. "Yeah, we could do that."

"Right. Yes. Um..." Jon scuffs his toe on the floor, eyes flitting away from Martin before invariably being drawn right back to him. "Where would you like to start?"

"Uh, I-I can take the back half? You check out the front?"

"Ah." Jon bites his bottom lip, tells himself there's no reason for his heart to skip uncomfortably. "S-should we split up?"

"We're hardly splitting up." Martin shrugs. "I think this place might be smaller than my flat back in London."

Jon swallows. He taps his fingers against his thigh. "Still..."

Martin peers curiously at him over the rims of his glasses. "Would you rather we stick together?"

"W-well, I— I, i-it just seems like t-the best, er, that is—" Jon stops himself, purses his lips, sighs. "Yes. I would rather not be apart from you yet."

"Oh," Martin breathes out softly. His cheeks go pink, a barely-there dusting of blush that still manages to knock Jon sideways. "Okay. Sure. Let's, er, have a look at the kitchen then?"

Jon exhales in relief. "Yes. Let's. That sounds good."

They start with the kitchen, Jon leading Martin in with a hand on his wrist, because— well. Because he likes being able to touch Martin, now. Will find any excuse for it.

Martin finds a meager supply of canned goods and nonperishables in the cabinets (no peaches, he's pleased to announce), and Jon finds cookware in the drawers by the oven. It's not an impressive collection, but it'll do. Maybe he'll even get to cook something nice for the two of them. To do something nice for Martin.

Kneeling down, Jon opens the cupboard under the sink. He finds a handful of cleaning products, an old hatchet, a rusty-looking toolbox, and—

"Hm." Pushing a bottle of window cleaner aside, Jon grabs the dusty gray box in the back, turning it over in his hands. He's a little wary of old-timey audio equipment these days, but they're going to have limited entertainment up here on the lam, so anything that's not a tape recorder can stay, he supposes.

He feels more than hears Martin coming up beside him on almost eerily silent footsteps. "What've you got there?"

Jon stands with the ancient bit of tech, setting it on the counter. He pulls his sleeve (Martin's sleeve; it's Martin's cardigan he's got on, after all) over his hands and makes a clumsy swipe to clear away the dust. "Old radio."

Jon sees the way Martin perks up. He sidles cautiously closer, hands stuffed in his pockets. So this he's afraid to touch, but boxes of C4 are fair game. Jon is hopelessly endeared. "Does it work?"

Jon gives him a look, raising his eyebrow, trying to hold back the rush of fondness threatening to make itself known as a dopey grin. "Only one way to find out."

He finds an outlet by the sink to plug the thing in, pulls out the creaky antenna, and fiddles with the buttons until static crackles to life, making them both jump. Twitchy, the both of them, but fleeing the country does tend to set a man's nerves on edge.

Jon twists at the dials, crawling through different tones of static one after the other, until, finally, crackly notes of actual music break through.

"Oh!" Martin's hand lands on Jon's arm, stilling his hand before he can switch to the next station. "Stop, stop there!"

Jon is helpless to do anything but oblige, fingers falling away, head tilting so he can watch Martin, sidelong, as his eyes go wide and his face lights up. Jon wants to frame that expression and hang it on the wall; would do anything to be able to make Martin look that delighted any time he wants.

Jon's a little proud that his voice only wavers a little when he finds it again. "Like this song?"

The corners of Martin's lips tick hesitantly upward, the beginnings of a smile that catches Jon's breath in his throat. "I do, actually."

"I suppose that makes sense. Suits your... retro sensibilities."

Martin snorts. "Okay, it's not that old."

Jon can't fight his grin any longer. He's sure Martin can hear all the syrupy-happiness of it dripping into his voice. "It came out in nineteen-seventy-six, Martin."

Martin politely ignores that Jon Knew that particular bit of trivia about a song he's heard maybe once or twice in his life, crosses his arms over his chest. "That's— Okay, well, it was on when I was a kid!"

"Whatever you say, old man."

Martin stabs a finger at him. "Oh, shut it. You are six months younger than me, grandpa."

Jon loves the splotchy indignation, the put-out blush, the stubborn set to his brows, because this is so much more than he ever thought he'd get again. After months of avoidance and vague disdain, after how painfully empty Martin had looked in the Lonely, Jon feels like he's finally come up for air after a long time spent underwater.

He feels, if he's honest, a little bit giddy.

Chasing that feeling, he carefully holds his hand out. "Alright. Come on, then."

Martin looks down at his proffered hand, head tilting. "Are you... Jon, are you asking me to dance?"

"I'm trying to, but there's only a minute-and-forty-eight seconds left of this song, so we'll need to hurry."

Martin raises his eyebrows. Jon frowns, but wiggles his fingers. Martin's face softens, and he slowly slips his hands into Jon's. "I don't know how to dance."

"That's fine," Jon tells him, smiling. "Neither do I."

And then Martin laughs for real, a small, soft thing that still sends every cell in Jon's body chiming like a bell as he pulls Martin into motion.

They really are horribly awkward: the song doesn't allow for slow dancing, too fast, too energetic, but it's still delightful to hold onto Martin's hands and move together.

"I warned you," Martin huffs immediately after he narrowly avoids stepping on Jon's toes.

"You're doing fine," Jon tells him, knocking his bony knee into Martin's thigh for good measure.

Martin giggles (actually giggles!), a flush rising high on his lovely cheeks. Shedding his self-consciousness as the seconds tick by, Jon watches his movements become freer and more confident as they unfreeze from fog-chilled shores and hours of travel.

He even, delightfully, picks up the song and quietly starts humming along. After a few seconds of holding his breath to be sure he heard right, Jon even picks up the odd word or two here and there.

Then, he starts hearing entire lyrics, soft and shaky and a little awkward in a voice that's unused to having presence enough to speak, let alone sing along to seventies rock songs.

Jon doesn't realize he's gone reverently motionless until Martin stops moving, too, looks at him with something that borders too close to nerves. "What?"

Jon wants to say something to preserve the mood, get Martin back out of his head. Maybe quip out decided to serenade me now, have you? or something.

Instead, he says, "You're lovely," in that awed, earnest voice Martin always seems to drag out of him.

Martin goes completely still, now, sucking in a sharp breath, eyes round and mouth half-open. "Oh."

"Er." Jon swallows. "What I mean, is, um." What he means is Martin is absolutely fucking lovely, all of the time, but seeing him like this is a revelation, should be categorized as the eighth world wonder, probably. But he hadn't meant to say it yet; had meant to give Martin more time to feel like a person again. He can't take it back now, though. "Well, actually, no. T-that's what I meant."

"Oh," Martin says again, small and soft and a little dazed.

Jon looks down. Martin is still holding his hand, even though the dancing's stopped and the last notes of music are fading out to make way for the next song, faint pinpricks of static filtering through the airwaves in the growing quiet. "Th-that okay?"

"Yeah, Jon. That..." Martin smiles, small but bright as dawn light, his fingers squeezing where they're still wrapped in Jon's. "That's definitely okay."

Jon's heart, fragile as it feels, bursts with a sun-hot affection. "Good. Because you are."

Martin looks about as fragile as Jon feels, and just as lovestruck. It's good, Jon thinks, that he's able to hear things like this and not shrink away.

"Okay." Martin gives Jon's hand another squeeze before he slides it free. He turns the volume down on the radio, but not all the way off, so the next song filters quietly into the room. "We should, um. G-get back to it, right?"

"Probably," Jon agrees regretfully. He already misses Martin's hand in his.

And together, they set to it, the hopeful start to a long undertaking.

[finniestoncrane]

Can i have arkham or dano riddler (or both 💦) with a busty reader who's just chilling around doing their thing but is distracting the green beans with their badonkadonks

(Could be pre-relationship cause I do love to watch the boys pine)

Distraction

Arkham!Riddler x GN!Reader, word count: 350 arkham duh i'm sorry you should never give me the option because 9/10 times i'm gonna pick my beloved SO ANYWAY like literally I have played this scenario in my head a lot shamefully and I picture him a lot like anthony bourdain as lance casteau in archer with his “get your distracting tits off my line” bit so yeah this was…self-indulgent request info • prompt list • send me a request • kofi • masterlist minors DNI!! 🔞 cw: just eddie being a little sleaze and then blaming you for it

“Ok, that’s it. I’ve had enough.”

You were busy hammering dents out of a sheet of metal, the kind of boring task Eddie reserved for you alone, when you were hit in the face with something soft. As you pulled it off of you, you could make out the green fabric of the shirt, Eddie’s shirt. Looking up, you could see him stomping over to you.

“What… the fuck?”

“You! With your…”

He made a vague and exasperated gesture with his hands, staring directly at your chest.

“… those.”

“Breasts.”

His face reddened at the word, truly an isolated and inexperienced man.

“Uh… yes. Get rid of them.”

“Get… what?”

“The shirt, put it on, cover yourself up.”

“I’m sorry, is this a sweltering hot workshop or an insane cult’s compound?”

“I’m not asking for you to talk back, I’m asking for you to have a modicum of self-respect and hide your…”

“Breasts.”

He grunted, furrowing his brows.

“Yes… they’re a distraction.”

“Oh! That’s what it is! So I’ve to be uncomfortable because you can’t stop staring at me, is that right?”

Cheeks blushing, he glared at you.

“I… that’s not… nothing distracts me! I am focused on my work, first and foremost.”

“Well in that case, I’ll give you the shirt back.”

You tossed it in his direction, smiling at him as he caught it, mouth open, ready to stutter out a retort, but you beat him to it.

“Besides, it’s so warm in here, Eddie. If I put that shirt on, I’ll be all sweaty, and wet, and dripping…”

You teased your thumb down your front, letting your fingers graze over the top of your breasts. Eddie’s eyes followed you, mouth still open, tongue moving out to lick his lips before he let out a disgruntled little huff, turning away from you and moving to the other side of the workshop where your body couldn’t distract him. Though you remained in his thoughts for the rest of the day.

[devils-dares]

Hello my dear friend,

First and foremost, CONGRATULATIONS ON 100 FOLLOWERS!!!!🎉✨ So so soooo well deserved and hears to 100 more!

Now that we’ve got that covered, I would like to request number 17 from the fluff list because Matt deserves some love. Be as fluffy and self indulgent as you like we’re basically the same person, and you’re a great writer, so I’m certain I’ll love whatever you write lol and again, cheers!

hello friend, thank you so much for being here for me throughout all of it!!

17. I'm pretty sure they're my soulmate.

“‘M not dru-*hic* drunk, swear… *hic*” Matt and Foggy are grabbing you by the shoulders as you three and Karen stumble through Josie’s to a seat.

“I’m sure you aren’t. Just as sure as I am that Matt isn’t Daredevil.” That one earned him a smack on the back of his head from Karen.

“Foggy, if you don’t shut the fuck up-” Matt’s whining is cut off by a grunt as you almost fall to your knees on the grimy floor.

Settling into a booth seat while Foggy and Karen grab another drink, you reach up in a drunken stupor to run your hand over Matt’s jawline.

“Anyone *hic* ever tell you *hic* that you’re pretty?” You giggle and he scrunches his nose from the obscene scent of alcohol that hits his nose from your breath.

“Alright, sweetheart, I’m cutting you off.” He says, and he swears the smell of salty tears follows his sentence almost immediately.

“No! I want it, don't snatch my drink, bitchboy.” He laughs at that.

“Bitchboy? Oh, would you look at that! A glass full of vodka!” He hands you a glass of water, knowing you were too far gone to taste the difference.

You tuck into his side as he wraps an arm around, gripping the glass with two hands as you bring it up to your mouth. Chugging it, you turn to him and open your mouth to say something until you spot Karen screwing with Josie’s jukebox, biting her lip with concentration until she finds the song she was looking for. She looks up at you with a shit-eating grin, reaching her arms out to you to invite you to dance.

Squealing, you jump out of Matt’s hold and run over to her, the water having sobered you up just enough. Running into her arms, the two of you swing around the back of the cramped bar in a fit of giggles.

Foggy sighs, slipping into the seat across from Matt.

“If only you could see them, Matt. I’ve never seen the two of them so… carefree.”

“It's been a rough couple of weeks, that case took a lot out of all of us.”

“Yeah, but look at us, man! Big shot lawyers! Still getting chickens and pastries… but still worth it, right? Matt?” Foggy glances at his friend, whose head is tilted towards you and Karen.

“I’m pretty sure they’re my soulmate.” He says, matter-of-factly.

“You- wait, are you- oh my god, that’s- it’s been in your voice!”

“Wha- wait what?” Matt's brows furrow, causing stress lines on his forehead to appear.

“Love! Matthew’s in looooove!”

“Oh dear g- Foggy, shut up.”

“Oh you’re whipped for them, aren’t you? So totally whipped! Normally I’d be upset, y’know, they are our employee, but jeez Matt, you deserve some happiness in your life, and they can give it to you.”

“I can’t, Foggy. There’s too much da-” Foggy slaps his hand over Matt’s mouth.

“If you finish that sentence with ‘too much darkness in my life’ or some bullshit excuse, I don’t care if you’re the devil boy, I’ll hit you.”

“Fair enough.”

“Now go, my young padawan, woo your person.” A chuckle escapes Matt as he gets up from the seat to join the dancing duo.

“Man, they grow up so fast.” Foggy sighs as he watches Matt whisper something in your ear and you laugh, wrapping your arms around him and pressing a kiss to his cheek.

[murdockbarnes]

Hormones - B.B.

pairing: bucky barnes x fem!reader

summary: bucky will help you kick your hormones' ass any day

wordcount: 975

warnings: this fic is centered around periods and pcos, so obviously those serve as warnings. mentions of puke, ridiculous amounts of fluff, soft bucky, because he is a warning in every way

A/N: i'm having one of the worst periods i have ever had and so, this fic is completely self indulgent. i don't know yet if i want to make this thing into a small series or not, but i am definitely considering it!

any feedback would be greatly appreciated. have a great day!

*not edited, all mistakes are mine*

"she gave you the key for emergencies, it's ok barnes," he reminds himself, finally fitting the key into the lock and twisting. he is met with a dark apartment and complete silence upon opening the door.

he tries calling out your name, but there's no answer, which only serves to make him even more concerned. cautiously, he sweeps his eyes over the kitchen and living room, before finally going to your bedroom.

the bedroom's dark too, so he uses the flash on his phone as he makes his way to the bed. bucky can see the silhouette of your body under the blanket but you're not moving. concerned, and with his heart going a million miles a minute, he peels back the corner and flashes the phone torch directly onto your face as he shakes you awake.

"fucking hell, barnes!" red, swollen eyes meet his concerned ones as the snarl rips its way from your throat at the bright light. "get that shit away from my face."

if he hadn't been so relieved that you were alive, he would've died from that look alone, bucky thinks as he puts his phone away.

"i was concerned! you haven't come out of your apartment for a whole day and you wouldn't respond to my texts, and now i come here and you look like death! what the hell is going on? i'm worried about you." the bed dips as he lays beside you, gently tugging the blanket away from your face again.

imploring blue eyes meet yours, adorable worried expression on his face that you had absolutely no business finding as adorable as you did. turning away from him, you answer him.

"you don't wanna know, barnes. it'll ruin this whole neighbours-who-fuck-on-the-downlow thing."

"well maybe i wanna know," bucky stands his ground. "trust me, i'm man enough to know it. i wanna know what's got you in such a state, honey."

one look at the gentle look on his face and you were already melting. fuck james buchanan barnes and that stupidly, insufferably, adorable face of his.

"it's my period," you declare with a sigh.

"i didn't realise they could get that bad," he says with a small sad frown.

"it's always like this. i have pcos and each and every period is accompanied with migraines and nausea and photosensitivity, along with all the other usual jazz."

"oh, honey," bucky wraps an arm around you, bringing you closer and snuggling you. "is there anything i can do to help?"

"no, it's fine. i took some pills. you can go, it's no use being stuck around me while i'm like this."

he just scoffs and tightens his arm around you. "absolutely not. i am, first and foremost, your friend. i am not leaving you alone like this. now go back to sleep. no buts."

knowing how stubborn he could be when he wanted to, you gave up and felt the tiredness creeping it's way back in. you fell asleep easily, what with your eyelids getting heavy and a dull ache throughout your whole body.

bucky eventually fell asleep, but was jolted awake when you dove for the large bowl next to your bed around 3 a.m. and started puking. he rubbed your back through it and helped you clean up. after that display, you were sure he'd be gone when you woke up. so it's safe to say that you were surprised when he was still there when you woke up, staring at you with a soft smile, handing you water and gatorade because "you need energy and electrolytes, i googled."

after, he helped you shower, ever so patient, drying you off carefully with a towel. this felt... strangely intimate. so very different from every thing you two have ever done before. that was not a thought you wanted to ponder yet.

you drifted in and out of sleep while he sat next to you in bed working on his laptop. you stared at him silently for a while, bathed in the late afternoon sunlight, eyebrows furrowed and the tip of his tongue poking between his lips in concentration. a strange, warm feeling was blooming in your chest, unfurling further and further every second, a gentle smile taking place on your lips.

your quiet moment of staring was brought to an end when he noticed you were awake. after asking if you were feeling better, refilling your water and are you sure you don't need any more heating pads or painkillers?, bucky finally resettled next to you. his hair was fluffy and soft and unruly, and he was wearing a worn and loose t-shirt and pyjama pants, expression soft and unguarded. it was a sight you got to see very rarely, so you savoured it as much as you could, the warm feeling in your chest returning full force.

"you didn't have to do this, y'know," you broke the silence, his fingers tangling in yours. "i'm sorry you had to see all that, i must look terrible," you said with a light laugh.

"of course i did. i wanted to." bucky holds eye contact, making sure you know that he's being sincere. he squeezes your hand reassuringly before continuing, "and besides, what are friends for? i'll help you kick your hormones' ass anytime you want."

his cheeky smile was met with an eyeroll and a grumbled out thanks. he only laughed and wrapped his arms around you, bringing you closer to his chest, pressing a small kiss to your forehead. he only tightened his hold when he felt your lips curl into a smile in his chest, one of his own taking over his face.

as bucky kept holding you, tangled in your blankets bathed in the late afternoon sunlight, a familiar warm feeling blooming in his chest, he knew he wouldn't trade it in for the world.

[hesthermay]

𝐋𝐈𝐕𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐁𝐔𝐂𝐊𝐘 𝐇𝐂’𝐒

ʚϊɞ headcannons, word count? again i do not know

ʚϊɞ gn!reader, fluff, domestic!bucky, mechanic!bucky, extremely self indulgent, again i am not sober LOL

— first and foremost, i think there are two versions of bucky

— the one where he stays a city boy his whole life, brooklyn has his heart and always will. which is fine!! i love this bucky to the moon and back

— and the one where he leaves all the hustle and bustle behind to live a quiet life in literally the middle of nowhere. this is my favorite version of bucky to think about, bc my head is my head and i can do what i want

— i picture an old farm house on a plot of land surrounded by woods, nearest neighbor is at least a mile and a half down the road (an old woman who has ‘mama’ in front of her name. she lives on her own and invites the both of you over every sunday night)

— y’all’s driveway is gravel, and the road you turn off of is a dirt road. your mailbox is old and has your last name on it, with a very tiny ‘BARNES’ scribbled under it

— you guys have dogs, two specifically

— and a cat

— bucky is the best pet dad ever. he works at the mechanic shop in town and alpine, your always dirty white cat who’s stuck on him like glue, is his favorite coworker

— alpine rides in the passenger seat or on the dash of the old truck you gave bucky when y’all met. it belonged to your brother and had been in the shed in the backyard for a while, but he’d had that spark that made you want to bring back that part of your life

— the dogs always greet the both of you when you get home from work. they sit by the mailbox with tongues sticking out and tails wagging. they chase the trucks to the end of the driveway and expect their lovins right then and there

— bonfires in the backyard all the time. it’s something the two of you cherish, nights where you pile into one lawn chair with a blanket and talk the night away. it’s also something you share with your friends, music playing loud and beers and such in hand

— it took bucky a while to get acclimated to your friend group, but after a while he found his footing. his personality really comes out one summer, the first summer spent as your boyfriend, and everyone falls for him even more than they already had. they’d loved him from the beginning, but once he let his laugh get loud and true, rolled his sleeves up and took the glove off, they knew he could be their friend

— your group frequents your place; whether that be after work, on lunch break, when they need to be patched up a bit—your home is the Mom and Dad home

— you don’t mind it, it just means the house you worked hard for is creating a space for all the love you’d hoped for. bucky doesn’t mine it either, because it makes him feel so much like his regular self to stand by your side as you make a large dinner with the sounds of the screen door opening and closing ever so often in the background

— bucky talks to sam a lot. they may bicker, but a phone call is still a phone call

— sam also loves you. to death

— bucky snores in his sleep. some nights he’s able to sleep in the bed, other nights it’s the bedroom floor. he falls asleep on the couch a lot, or in the recliner (like an old man lololol) you don’t complain tho. wherever he gets his sleep, as least he’s getting it

— living with bucky is so fun. seeing him become himself is so great. watching him begin to love life again is the best thing ever

— you love bucky and he loves you. it’s evident in the little things that domestic life brings—washing the dishes together and his hand touches yours as the plate is passed along, one person getting home from work before the other and starting dinner for the night, dropping off lunch for him at the shop when you’re on your break, him following the dogs as they run out the door hollering “hey mom!” as your truck pulls into the driveway

— this is a constant daydream i live in goodbye

ʚϊɞ reblogs are always appreciated luvs ! ʚϊɞ

all works on this blog belong to hesthermay.tumblr.com: do not copy, repost onto other sites, or claim my content as your own. 

[thetravelingmaster]

News - Open Invitation

Greetings to all

I am the Traveling Master, but don’t let that moniker fool you. I am first and foremost a humble mind control erotica writer and a basic human being. I’ve soaked in this wonderful community for a few years now as I shared my words and fantasies with you all. My words have always had a hypnotic pull, which has granted me the gift of writing compelling stories, but it also affords me the tools to capture someone’s imagination. 

And in some ways... Capture and entrance their minds...

I’ve been asked many times if I hypnotize people and I always answered no. There are many reasons for that and if you wish to know them, feel free to contact me. My asks and DMs are always open to all. 

Well today I’m writing this to say that the answer to that question is yes.

As much as I write about hypnotic dominance, I do not own anyone nor do I wish to. If you want to fantasize an escape into my world and talk about your fantasies, I’m all for that and already indulge a few of you. But if you are looking to be truly dominated, there are others out here that will gladly take you under their wing.

As far as hypnosis goes, inductions and sessions can surely include erotic and sensual elements as a trance can enhance any number of fantasies. I’m already sending your minds into my world as you read my stories, so if we add a hypnotic experience, you can experience powerful fantasies in the comfort of your mind. 

Hypnosis needs trust and as a good friend of mine keeps pointing out, it takes rapport. 

And how can one build rapport without knowing someone?

So let me be the first to tell you a little about myself. My REAL self.

My name is Tom, at least here online. I’m a French Canadian man that is happily married to a wonderful woman. My offline life will always come first so if I’m away from Tumblr, it’s not because of a lack of interest, it’s because I have an active offline life. I’m 39 and my curiosity about people and their desires is basically boundless. 

I enjoy movies, anime, craftsmanship, music, books... And many other things you might want to discover. 

I have my own personal website to host my stories. You can find it here: 

mc-diaries.com

I have a very large capacity for acceptance, but once my trust has been broken or I discover that a person is intentionally fraudulent with me, that acceptance instantly crumbles into dust.

I am firmly against all forms of NON-consent. And I do mean it. I don’t promote or endorse ANY from of it and despise those who engage in it.

Consensual non-consent is a whole other matter however.

The reason I chose the ‘Traveling Master’ as a handle here is because I travel a lot for my work. It has afforded me the time to write wonderful pieces of erotica and work on my website. It also prevents me from being available 24/7 however so I will thank you to keep that in mind.

As will I as I respect the time you afford to spend here in this community.

My guilty pleasure is control, but only as far as it was giving to me. I might write about covert take overs, but that is FAR from who I am as a person. Like I always say, fantasy IS fantasy.

And that guilty pleasure doesn’t have to be sexual.

I enjoy the whole process of earning control and applying it in ways to surprise and delight. The truth of that is in the rush I feel when I know a reader experiences exactly what I intended them to feel. 

And THAT is what I am all about. I offer experiences so you can enjoy fun and pleasant emotions. That included my writing, but now it includes my hypnotic skills.

Hence the open invitation.

If hypnosis is something that intrigues you, send me a DM or an asks. Anonymous or otherwise. I will always give you my full attention.

I am officially offering my services to those that wish to explore hypnosis. 

My pledge:

Hypnosis can be a very personal thing and I understand that more than most. Security and comfort is the first things I’ll talk about with you. I will only indulge you in what has been freely given and only push you if that is what you want to experience.

Trust is the most important thing to me and so it should be for you. 

With the exception of the personal details of my life, I am literally an open book. Always feel free to ask me anything about myself or my experiences. 

I will always be open and honest with you.

I do not ask you to trust me. Far from it. You should NEVER trust someone online without getting to know them first. I’ve personally made that mistake and don’t plan to do that again anytime soon.

Safety in this kink community should be your first concern. 

Make me earn your trust and I’ll make sure to be open to trust you.

So if you are curious to explore the worlds and experiences I can make you experience, take my hand and we’ll see just where your beautiful mind can take us.

Tom, The Traveling Master

[robininthelabyrinth]

Prompt - Wen Ruohan insists that Jiang Yanli come to the Wen "lecture" as well...

ao3

Jiang Yanli tended to deal with stress in one of two ways: cooking and taking care of people. Luckily, or perhaps unluckily, the Wen indoctrination camp provided many opportunities for both, although not with the people she might have expected.

Wei Wuxian spent most of his days being valiant and light-hearted, trying to give them strength and courage, and Jiang Cheng followed his lead the way he always did, brave and serious and thoughtful and – well. It’s not that she didn’t appreciate both of them, because she did, but it was only that her own anxiety was more easily dealt with when she could distance herself from her current situation and focus entirely on someone else.

She might have tried to take care of Jin Zixuan, but the Jin sect disciples closed ranks around him, glaring at her as if she were the one who broke off their engagement. Either way, she won’t go where she’s not wanted, and so she backed off and went elsewhere to look for someone that needed her.

Luckily for her, Nie Huaisang was very loud and very vocal and very, very needy.

They made for a surprisingly great fit.

Jiang Yanli had perhaps been forced to step into a maternal role a bit too early – Jiang Cheng had always been a soft child, and their father’s dislike of him had hurt him deeply where it had always seemed somewhat unimportant to Jiang Yanli, and Wei Wuxian was of course a big baby masquerading as a man. Her mother had always been disinterested in playing the mother, more fond of training and discipline, and so they’d turned to her when they were young, and still did today. Back at home, they would often descend to bickering and playing for her attention when she was around, knowing how much she liked it: Wei Wuxian demanding to be called A-Xian and fed spoonfuls like a toddler (albeit one capable of eating extremely spicy food), Jiang Cheng too proud to go that far but somehow managing to lose at least ten years of maturity, always looking at her hopefully to affirm that he did well and to sneak him treats behind everyone’s back.

That was the way she liked it, too. Possibly more than she really should, but it made her feel wanted and useful in a way that her weak cultivation never would.

Nie Huaisang, in contrast, had always been babied - by his father, by his over-protective older brother, by his long-suffering sect that nevertheless indulged him in everything. He’d suffered some things (his father’s death, first and foremost) when he was very young, and it sometimes seemed as he’d reacted to that by purposefully staying that age forever: useless and self-indulgent, spoiled and with a tendency to fuss, an unreasonable expectation that he could just turn his big eyes on anyone in his vicinity and they would immediately feel moved to cater to his every need.

Nie Huaisang, in other words, was just her type.

He was calling her ‘Jiang-jiejie’ within a shichen, putting his head on her shoulder a shichen after that, and kicking up such a dramatic fuss about everything that even Wei Wuxian and Jiang Cheng – who had come over with threats in their eyes about a strange man, even one of their friends, sticking himself so close to her – had ended up encouraging her to see what she could do to calm him down a little.

After they left, she looked down at his pathetic form and said, “You did that on purpose, you little brat.”

Nie Huaisang looked up at her with an impish grin that somehow still suited the tear stains on his face. “That’s true, but Jiang-jiejie won’t tell on me,” he said, as certain as any child. “Besides, this way we get to spend time together – and if we’re together, my guards will protect you as they do me, and your brothers won’t have to worry so much. Aren’t I smart?”

“Such a thoughtful child,” she praised, and he puffed himself up. “But you shouldn’t mislead your big brothers like that, you know. You could have just told them what you were thinking.”

“But where’d the fun in that be?” he said, and put his head on her shoulder again. “Jiang-jiejie will take care of me while I’m here.”

“Of course,” she said. “But that doesn’t mean I won’t punish you if you’re naughty, either.”

She did, too. She made him food out of the terrible provisions they received, she brushed his hair and let him teach her how to do his braids, she tucked him in at night before heading back to her tent, and even sat with him and helped him with his memorization and his chores – and when it was called for, she smacked him lightly on the backs of his hands that he held out to her for the specific purpose, scolded him and made him apologize.

She didn’t have any time to spare to worry about the Wen sect.

It was great.

“Uh, shijie,” Wei Wuxian said after a while. “Are you sure you’re okay with Nie Huaisang? He’s really…sticky.”

“He’s adorable,” Jiang Yanli said.

“He’s taking advantage of you,” Jiang Cheng grumbled. “Don’t think we haven’t noticed how he gets to sit with you in the shade instead of working with us.”

“He sits in the shade because the Nie sect disciples do his share of the work,” Jiang Yanli pointed out. “Just as you do for me.”

“Yeah, but…”

“He’s harmless,” Jiang Yanli said, even though she suspected that if he were pushed to it Nie Huaisang could escalate from brat past menace into actual threat. Hopefully it would never come that. “And it’s good to have company.”

“What do you even talk about?” Jiang Cheng asked. His cheeks were oddly flushed red, and he was averting his eyes – even more oddly, so was Wei Wuxian, who she previously would have said was too shameless to be embarrassed by anything.

“Art, mostly,” she said, puzzled, and even more puzzled when they both flinched. “Recently we were discussing famous landscape artists from the southern part of Gusu.”

“Oh, landscapes,” Wei Wuxian said, exhaling in relief. “That’s all right then. Glad you’re having a good time, shijie.”

“Have fun,” Jiang Cheng agreed, bobbing his head up and down like a fishing bird.

Later, Jiang Yanli narrated the conversation to Nie Huaisang and gave him a stern look when he started giggling. 

“Would you care to explain the joke to your Jiang-jiejie?” she asked, and he waved his hands for a moment of time to catch his breath before explaining to her that he had spent most of his time at the Cloud Recesses acting as a purveyor of a very different type of art.

Jiang Yanli rolled her eyes – fondly, of course, she was always very fond of her boys, even when they forgot that she was three years older than they were – and said, “All right, then, and when were you going to share some with me?”

“I was trying to figure out what types of things you liked first!” Nie Huaisang protested, and this was why she spent so much time with him even when her other boys were also here – he didn’t forget that she was the jiejie, the one who took care of him and made the decisions about what was appropriate, and he was the didi. He didn’t assume that being a man was more important than age, didn’t put aside their “games” of caring in favor of a valiant warlike demeanor; he remained, wonderfully, the same. “I’d gotten it down to three – here, you take this one; let me know what you think.” He winked. “Don’t worry, I’ll keep an eye out to make sure no one comes by while you’re reading.”

“If it’s anything too filthy, you’ll be punished,” she told him, and he looked so delighted by the notion that she suspected she was going to be getting something very filthy indeed. “Little boys don’t need to be looking at such things.”

“Without supervision,” he clarified, and sat down next to her with bright eyes full of anticipation, somehow even more shameless than Wei Wuxian. “From a qualified adult. Like Jiang-jiejie!”

The artwork was utterly filthy, but it was, in fact, just the sort of thing she liked when she snuck into her mother’s rooms to sneak peeks at books filched from the high shelves – better, even, and Nie Huaisang seemed to have an endless supply of it even though he complained bitterly that he’d only brought the cheap stuff that he wouldn’t mind losing, and that the best of that had been mostly bartered away.

That was what it was for, she discovered. Nie Huaisang was selling pornography to bored Wen sect retainers in exchange for creature comforts – better food, a nicer resting place, leniency when he inevitably failed to complete some chore or another – and using the conversations to elicit information.

Not spying, per se, that was far too serious for someone as determinedly frivolous as Nie Huiasang, but it was nice to know when the Wen sect was planning a surprise inspection in the morning or if it was a good day to put on their worst clothing because they were going to be wading through mud.

“You could be quite dangerous if you wanted to be,” she commented to Nie Huaisang one evening while she was brushing his hair. He was very particular about his braids, but he let her do the brushing and oiling; the repetitive action calmed his anxiety, and seeing him calm down and relax into her care in turn calmed her own. “You’re very good at being underestimated.”

“I think I’m estimated at just about right, actually,” he joked. If it had been Jiang Cheng saying it, he would have been turning a dagger on himself with the words; if it had been Wei Wuxian, he would have been boasting; with Nie Huaisang, it was just a joke. He had the confidence to be openly useless – the surest sign of a supportive loving family, she thought wistfully. “What about you? How dangerous are you when you’re not thinking about how to take care of someone?”

“I’m always thinking of that,” she chided him, and tugged lightly on his braids in chastisement; he shivered and quailed very satisfactorily when she did that. Such a good boy for her, when he wanted to be; a very good little brat the rest of the time. “And you know I’m not much of a cultivator.”

“Neither am I,” he said. “I still think Jiang-jiejie could be very scary if she put her mind to it.”

It was nice that he thought so. Nobody else did – perhaps what was why she’d become so interested in caring for people, in making food that they liked and brushing their hair and taking care of their clothing, the sorts of feminine arts that puzzled her mother and weren’t even necessary for a sect leader’s daughter to know how to do. She did it because it was something she could do that, and after a while it became something she longed to do.

Jiang Yanli loved taking care of people.

And Nie Huaisang was so very good at being taken care of. 

Even better than her little A-Xian, if she would allow herself the traitorous little thought – Wei Wuxian liked to play the child for her sometimes, to be spoiled, but he would get bored soon enough, staying only long enough for a few bites of soup and then running off to bicker with Jiang Cheng or to be the brave and chivalrous da-shixiong of the Jiang sect.

Not so Nie Huaisang. He was her little brat all day long: whining and in need of comfort one moment, running too far ahead and in need of a scolding the next, always pushing his luck to see what he could get away with. He was soft, like her; bad at cultivating and good at things like painting and cooking and gossip, feminine things, domestic things, which meant that they had an endless supply of things to talk about that no one else cared about. He made mischief but was obedient, and he thrived under the structure she provided for him, coaxed into doing what he ought and directed away from doing what he shouldn’t.

He was adorable, in a way that she’d never felt about her actual brothers.

Her newest little didi, her A-Sang.

They were, perhaps, growing a little too close.

(But no, Jiang Yanli still maintained the boundaries of being a proper young lady, good obedient Jiang-guniang. Even if she had picked up a very specific pornography habit – but she was never going to tell anyone about that.)

Still, it came as a surprise when they were all in the dark, wretched cave, when the Wen sect threatened them and the corrupted Xuanwu lashed out against the walls to bring down rocks, when one of the Nie sect disciples pushed her behind a rock, shouting, “Take care of Nie-gongzi!” to her as if they really expected her to keep him safe.

“Your men trust me too much,” she said into Nie Huaisang’s hair – his arms were wrapped around her, his eyes watching the battlefield, flicking from side to side as he tracked the course of battle with far more expertise than her. “Don’t you think they meant for you to take care of me?”

“They want you to help keep me from being upset,” he said, and disengaged from her long enough to pick up a fallen sword and throw it with surprising accuracy into the fray – it pieced one of the Wen sect soldiers from behind, breaking their battle line, and the Nie sect disciples overwhelmed them. 

It was a masterful stroke, but Nie Huaisang recoiled from his own hand as if he’d been burned by it. His eyes were wide and white all around the edges, old fears rearing up to rend him into pieces from the inside - she knew the look of it.

“It’s all right,” she said, whispering in his ear. “You did well, didi.”

His shoulders relaxed.

Whatever had made Nie Huaisang so very afraid of shedding blood must had hurt him very deeply, Jiang Yanli thought, and the Nie sect knew it. It all made sense now: that was why they indulged him, why they spoiled him, why they allowed him to grow up as useless as he was, even as they feared him falling into danger. 

It wasn’t that he couldn’t be dangerous - but he wouldn’t be able to bear it.

(Jiang Yanli was very curious to meet the older brother he spoke so very much about. Nearly as much as she spoke of Wei Wuxian or Jiang Cheng, in fact, and didn’t that say everything she needed to know?)

“You should be careful, Jiang-jiejie,” Nie Huaisang murmured as they watched from their safe place as the battle raged on. Every once in a while, he intervened, each strike perfectly placed to cause maximum damage and showing that no matter how much he whined about training there was still muscle and deadly instincts beneath his skin; after each move, she would squeeze him tight and help him regulate his breathing, suppressing the panic attack he immediately fell into so that it could be postponed until a more convenient time. “I might grow to rely on you, and then where would we be? You’d have no choice but to come back to Qinghe and spend your life there with me.”

It was an offer, she thought in surprise, however gently phrased.

It seemed she wasn’t the only one getting a little too close. 

As it happened, Jiang Yanli didn’t have time to respond before the battle finally ended as abruptly as it had started, the Wen sect fleeing the Xuanwu and closing off the exit to the cave, trapping them inside with a ravenous Xuanwu – although one that couldn’t reach them in the corner where they cowered away from it.

The valorous men and women debated what ought to be done next.

The useless ones sat around and waited for their fates to be decided.

Oddly enough, this was the part that began to wear on her. The battle had passed almost without her noticing it, all her attention on caring for Nie Huaisang, but this aftermath - or preliminary, depending on how you looked at it - was utterly agonizing. Watching her brothers ignore her (useless in a fight), think nothing of her (they don’t need her to care for them), no one thought anything of her (what use is she if they don’t need her?) – and then watching them yell at each other and argue and fight without quarter, without mercy, and knowing that she couldn’t intervene, that she was pointless. Her own stress began rising rapidly, her heart beating hard, her breath starting to come short –

“Hey, Jiang-jiejie,” Nie Huaisang said.

She looked at him.

He smiled at her. “I’m hungry. You should make me some soup.”

“Brat,” Jiang Yanli said automatically, and her shoulders slowly came down, calm returning to her heart. He was obviously saying it to comfort her, she wasn’t stupid, but at the same time the request somehow suited her down to the ground and did the trick the way nothing else might have – after all, if her cowardly little brat had enough energy and attention to spare to be begging for food, things couldn’t be that bad. “What type of soup were you thinking?”

His smile widened as he watched the Xuanwu thrashing in the lake, dissatisfied that it could not capture them and rend their bones with its teeth. “Turtle soup.”

(They served it at their wedding.)

[cryptiql]

untitled god song

pairing: bakugou/m!reader (trans reader in mind you can see it if you squint but can also be read as cis)

words: 2k

warnings: themes of religious trauma, homophobia, mentions of blood, the author projecting their mommy issues

a/n: this is purely self indulgent, don't mind me 😩✋ (written in first person)

i wish i had known him before the pain started. perhaps it is a fools dream to think that his presence would have solved anything, and it is likely that he might blown me sky high at the time, if given the chance, but i often ponder his place in my narrative. he is nothing less than a king—nay, a god—and what else am i to be except his humble servant, adoring him in the only way i've been taught?

i would bruise my knees as i kneel for him, and should he turn me away, i shall be lost and without purpose. but he does not, and instead, he snorts out a laugh and pulls me to my feet, roughly squeezing my cheeks together with a shit-eating grin. he'll tell me a joke i've heard a thousand times, and yet i laugh with him anyways, the pads of my fingers idly tapping the pulse on his wrists.

"dumbass, at least take me out to dinner first."

i never thought i'd ache to hear such a demeaning nickname, but it's like birdsong to my ears, and i long for the myriad of butterflies it provokes.

i would heed his every word like a faithful disciple, and—if i knew he would not use this power for the wrong reasons—carry it out without question. he'll roll his eyes at the notion, far too prideful at the idea of being praised, and card hands through my hair, gripping softly. "right. and if i told you to go to bed before five in the morning, would you listen?"

my smiles are genuine, as they all are with him.

"no." i wish my mother had been more open-minded; more loving to those she claimed were goners. maybe then, i could still call her my mother, and not a snarled version of her first name steeped in vinegar. maybe she could have met him, and maybe she would have keeled over in the process, but that is how we put it "killing two birds with one stone".

he was a fallen angel if ever i saw one—emblazoned in smog and ravenous inferno, the pieces of child-like innocence turning to ash. something happened to him when he was a kid, just as all gifted children, and oh, what a fool i was to let my gaze dawdle on his gorgeous form. but i will never regret it—no, not ever—for there is no such feeling that can compare to his eyes on mine, burning with a mind-fogging intensity.

it was instantaneous, the moment my thoughts turned on me with malicious intent, her voice ringing out like a gunshot.

you'll never be him.

his hand slots with mine perfectly; deliciously warm and comforting in a way i haven't felt in years; and hauls me up, the flecks of dirt and rubble from the road clinging to my jeans.

"watch it, pretty boy. i won't always be here to save you, y'know."

my heart batters against my ribs like a caged bird, screeching and wailing to be set free, and i wonder in a haze if i've died. judgement day must have come early, i think, not realizing that it was spoken aloud until the blonde quirks a brow inquisitively. he does not speak on the matter, but continues on his merry way, leaving my helpless; hopelessly enamored; and praying that we will meet again.

no, i could never be him. but i am like him. he has a sureness in his walk and fervor in the way he talks that is only recognizable when i look in the mirror. and we do meet again. it is a shame, however, that i must burden him with the weight of my past. i remember too often the troubles of my youth, even when all has passed into fleeting memories that haunt me as ghosts do to an abandoned house. yet, i still live in this house, and the ghosts are here to keep me company.

i remember the church, first and foremost; nestled between the barren country road and the outback; a beacon of hope to all those who stood in its doors. the luster of freshly polished wood still sits in my mind, accompanied by the echoing remnants of dulcet tones and multicolored bands of light, glaring from the stained glass windows and dancing across the musty carpet floor. the doddering pews were just as uncomfortable as the poorly padded chairs squatting in the front row, but every sunday, they were filled to the brim with hungry worshippers. they sang praise as though they were starved, but i was too young to understand for what. i am older now, and i still don't understand. all i know is that despite its reputation, the church was a cursed place, and i should never set foot in it again lest i go mad. i remember the creaking stairs which lead downstairs, and the winding halls that reeked of torment where shadows loomed. the paint was corroding and foul, and my conscious always loitered too long on the merlot stain on the ceiling; its origin unknown, but nevertheless urging my stomach to twist with nausea.

i remember the feeling of tall grass grazing my ankles; itching horribly from the old moth-eaten socks i was forced to wear. it had become second nature—running and hiding from my problems, from the church, from her. i shall never know a greater animosity than the likes that my mother encouraged, although unintentionally, with her pressuring views and sickeningly sweet smile. it's fake, and i would know, because ours are the same.

we are too similar, and i am sickened by the fact. will i become the wretched woman she is? will i fail to be the father i've dreamt of being? it is an easy thing to fall prey to haunting questions, and it serves as brain rot for every moment of silence that leaves me clawing at my skin, trying to reap the memory of her touch. then i began to think—about nothing and everything—and it does not stop. i will be kind; unforgivingly so, and without biased judgement; like my mother never was, and i'll make her hate me for it. i will grow in leaps and bounds, not for her sake or for god's, but for mine, as it always should have been. i will drink and curse with reckless abandon and kiss who i damn well please, because in no life does she have have the power to make me something i'm not. why should i feel sorry when the tears she wept were forged by my own blood; by the childhood memories locked away to rot in my subconscious? yes, she has suffered too, but it is through clenched teeth and raw-bitten lips that i must confess this, for her suffering was born in me and grew from a seedling into a thorned flower, nourished by her hatred and mine. she'll tell me the lie of all mothers before her: that she knows best, and i'll never know joy that is not from my savior's gracious hands.

one day, when she lies not with words but in silence, under worm-filled earth and withering pastures, i'll tell her that she was right. i'll tell her, with his hand in mine, that my savior arrived with hellfire in his eyes and fury unrelenting. his tongue holds venom that would make the devil blush, but he tastes of a sinful sweetness that i've drowned in more times than i care to count.

mother you should know, my god is like no other. he has a broad chest and muscles, i attest, that are sculpted like fine marble and smooth to the test.

my god is a man who loves other men, unashamedly; in all that is true; and kisses me like real people do. and i know it sounds silly, and a bit cliché, and he'd surely make a mockery of me if ever he heard, but i love him. i love him as passionately as you she does lord above, and it is a crime in itself how much i crave him, so yes, i will burn for this—not because my mother said so or by the ancient script that foretells it, but because i promise it. i promise to let neither hell or high water deter me from that which gives me life, and i'll do so with a ring.

"you hear that mom?" i'll whisper in the dead of night, his body flushed against mine in the most delightful way; his fingers curled into my nightshirt, pulling me closer as listless mumbles fall from his parted lips. he is dead to the world amid his dream ridden stupor, but still leans into my touch when i smooth back the wild tufts of hair to kiss his forehead.

"i'm gonna marry him." part of me wishes she didn't live on the other side of the planet, just so i could rub it in her face, but i won't give her the satisfaction of seeing me again. i won't let her think she's won, because i know, and katsuki knows, that he and i are one in the same.

i do not know who i should thank for my stubbornness, be it my mother or my father, so i will thank the pain they both caused me, for it made me stronger than they ever could. no, i did not become a better person, because the scars have yet to heal from how deep they cut, and the smell of blood still lingers, and i am angrier than i once was, but i cherish my wounds. the stench of my agony has long since been subdued, and i have learned to swallow the sickness it evokes. and yes, this anger is unhealthy and i've chosen not to purge it from my mind like the weed it is, but how lucky am i to have found one whose malice rivals my own?

the tales of his glory have littered my notebooks in smudged ink. you would hate him, is scrawled messily on the last page, but i only feel giddy with excitement. you would hate him for his spite and his unapologetic behavior, and that is why he's perfect. he's everything you hate about this world, but everything i love.

so when she gets to heaven and asks the angels "why?", they'll tell her it was him who made the devil cry. him, who held me like she should have—could have, if she hadn't terrified me—and who chased the nightmarish visions of her from my weary mind with his callous palms and soft-spoken reassurances. i wish i had known him when we were young; when things were not so simple and i needed a hand to hold; but i suppose we'll have to settle for faded photographs and stories told through the bitter aroma of alcohol. that's more than enough, i muse to myself, legs hooked over his as i rest my head on his shoulder, keening softly at the gentle scrape of his nails on my scalp. his arms wind around my waist as he mutters something along the lines of "i love you", his lips curling into a smile, illuminated by the televisions glow.

so when they ask of my religion, i will think of only him. i will recall the way he looks at me, the sound of my name on his tongue, the feeling of his lips trailing between the valley of my breast; featherlight, cautious and unfitting for a man of his nature. i've written songs of praise, all dedicated to him, and if only he knew, oh how smug he would be. but i love him, i love him, i love him. and when he spins me around like a marionette, it is with overwhelming pride and joy that i tell him this, and with rose hued cheeks and bashful grumbles, he tells me the same. so mother, wherever you are, i hope you know i've found my god.