#but trying to imagine myself actually being with a man? hm.

[lepakonpaska]

caution, gay joy and rambling in the tags ⚠️

[catnippackets]

disclaimer: as a sex-repulsed aroace person myself--

on one hand, there is definitely a bit of a double standard when it comes to handling canonically queer characters like, from what I've seen in the circles that I frequent (if you've had different experiences then great but I'm just telling it how I see it). for example, you're morally reprehensible if you ship a canon lesbian with a man or refer to a canon bi character as a lesbian. people will be so angry with you. and it's understandable, since there's so little queer rep in comparison to cishet rep that when there IS a rare actual queer character, the unofficial rule is "don't take that away from them when you add more headcanons to them". like, respect that this one is REAL and NOT just a headcanon. I think it makes perfect sense to feel upset when people take that away, even if it is just fiction and not even canon to the original source. and yet, whenever there exists a canon asexual character suddenly it's all "oh well asexual people can still have sex so it's fine if we headcanon THIS canon sexuality as something different". it makes me feel so genuinely heartache-y and depressed to see ppl ignoring that aspect of a character.

and by "canon" I'm also including characters that were never specifically referred to with a label but are very obviously coded as something, because those characters will still get the "even if it's not stated it's pretty obvious!!" treatment when it comes to showing attraction to the same gender, but not when they DON'T show attraction to any gender. like aro and/or ace coding just doesn't count. I understand that it's kind of hard to represent an absence of something, especially when you're only implying it and not even directly showing it, but it's not impossible. there's a lot of characters that you could argue are aroace coded the same way you could argue a character is gay coded. obviously to a degree every queer identity gets disrespected in fandom and it's something you just kinda have to deal with, but it's easier to notice when it's something you personally relate to. I don't think it would bother me as much if we didn't have that unofficial "respect the canon" rule and everyone just went wild with whatever, but the double standard does genuinely hurt me, especially when I see people I thought were cool about this stuff participating in it. so whenever I see someone fiercely defending an asexual character it really makes me feel good, like I'M being defended, not a random fictional character that I might not even recognize the name of. I feel safe, like that person will respect ME.

THAT BEING SAID,

AS a sex-repulsed aroace person who enjoys thinking about the entire spectrum of intimacy and where a character may fall exactly on that spectrum, ALSO as a person who is aware that "asexual" simply means "does not experience sexual attraction" and not necessarily "is violently repulsed by anything sexual", sometimes I DO want to play out scenarios for my own enjoyment. sometimes I DO want to think hm I wonder where this ace character's line is, compared to a different ace character. I wonder if there is anyone who would be an exception for them, and how they could go about dealing with that exception. I wonder if they're favourable, neutral, or repulsed. if those aspects of their character aren't explicitly stated then what's to stop me from playing around with them and working through my own issues in a controlled and non-canon environment? if they have the same identity as me, I am way more likely to want to play around with them like a doll and perhaps play out scenarios that I might have thought about before but don't actually want to do for real. I'm not taking away their identity, after all; I'm just, in this scenario, imagining this ace character as an ace that might have sex on at least one occasion for whatever reason. either just to try it, or because they do have someone they'd make an exception for, or if they got bored enough, whatever the reason. it isn't quite disrespecting their truth unless it's explicitly stated either in canon or by word of god that it's something they're uncomfortable with. and to be honest, if I see another asexual creator headcanoning a character as somewhere on the asexual spectrum and depicting them in sexual situations, it makes me almost happy, to know that they're still acknowledging that character's canon identity and accepting and exploring the nuance that could come with it, even if I personally believe that this specific character would be repulsed instead of neutral or favourable. there's this understanding of "I'm doing a character study exploration thing", and not "I don't care I just wanna sexualize this character"

but I literally feel GUILTY when I want to write what is essentially a thinkpiece disguised as a fanfiction or original story on asexuality and take an asexual character (canon or coded) and involve them in sexual situations to explore different avenues of the spectrum. I feel like I'm betraying everyone who's like me and is frustrated with how aroace characters are treated within fandom. I'm like "am I being just as bad as those other people who will disrespect a character's canon sexuality just because they think that character is hot and want to ship them with someone? do they do the same thing with other types of queer characters? how does this reflect that person's view of people, if they're explicitly told someone feels a certain way and decides to ignore it for their own amusement? or is it just because they're fictional and not real people and I'm being really sensitive and thinking way too much into it? am I not doing the exact same thing? do I have more credence to explore scenarios like this because I am aroace and sex-repulsed myself and therefore have a pass to do whatever I want and it won't come off as a little weird the way it might if someone who's allosexual did it?"

and these two opinions are at war in my mind constantly. like both of them can and do co-exist but I still struggle to accept that lol

[lvrxly]

NNN w the COD men, pt 1

cod x fem!reader

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

SIMON "GHOST" RILEY

would 100% not participate, he sees it at stupid and more of a "bragging right" than something actually worth it.

"Why should I deprive myself of such a perfect little cunt just because of a stupid month? hm?" he whispers against your neck as you sit on his lap, your back against his chest, your legs spread open as his hand glides down your leggings. his fingers tease you through the fabric, the friction causing you to writhe and buck your hips.

"See..listen to those pretty sounds..I can't go a single day without drawing them out of your pretty little lips..."

KONIG

sees it more as a punishment rather than a challenge. he would try his best to attempt said challenge but would fail only a few days into November, he can't stand watching you saunter around the house without his cock in your mouth, or even better, in your little cunt.

" 'm sorry meine Liebe..fuck..i needed this so bad it hurt.." his voice was full of lust and need as he thrusted into your mouth, one of his hands caressed your cheeks, wiping away a tear that had fallen from your eye as you gagged around his dick.

" 'm can't imagine an entire month without your pretty pink lips wrapped around my cock.." he groans again, this time holding your face in both of his hands, face fucking you as you moan around his thick cock..

JOHN "SOAP" MACTAVISH

he 100% would participate, leading to you being the one craving his touch instead of the intended vice versa. he's extremely competitive and will beat NNN.

"soap..please baby your killing me here." you complain as the two of you lay together on the couch, a random shitty romcom playing on the TV.

he hasn't touched you since november started, the two of you are sitting on opposite ends of the couch for fucks sake. this was getting out of hand. he was committed to this stupid month and it was infuriating.

"sorry doll, no can do. i'm a man of my word.." his last few words trail off as his eyes land on you and your body, his gazing dragging up and down your figure. god, he couldn't wait for this month to be over so he could absolutely ravish you.

JOHN PRICE

he would participate but with a twist of his own. NNN is generally for men, but it doesn't say anything 'bout you not reaching your all time high over and over again at his mercy.

"aw..come on y/n, one more for me baby," his voice is laced in a teasing tone, your hands cuffed to the bed frame, price on his knees between your legs, and a bright purple vibrator pressed to your clit as you writhe under the sensations.

"no- no no more..johnny please.." you whimper, the cuffs clanking against the metal of the frame, your wrists already rubbed raw from how much you've squirmed.

"lookin' so pretty just fur' me, just you wait till this damned month is over, i'll have you cummin on this cock instead of this little toy.."

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

a/n: lmk who you'd like me to include in pt. 2!! and your thoughts on how i see these (extremely sexy) men taking on NNN. thanks for reading lovie!

[afreakingdork]

Deep Dive: Rise of the TMNT Donatello's Bad Boy Persona, His Cute, But Mean Type, and Why He is None of These Things

I made this presentation to delve into my take on Rise Donnie!

It was a power point, but I'm going to break it down here. I do want to preserve the first slide though because...

Did you know Black dahlia's aren't actually black? They're very dark red and in flower language they represent dishonesty!

Apropos, let's get into it...

Donnie is a Bad Liar

We see this throughout the show

“No? No… Of course I did… n't.”

"Uh, nothing. Just having a typical normal mystic free day."

"We are just typical, normal humans who got lost in the middle of our normal, everyday human lives. Nailed it."

"Oh man. Uh. This hurts me. Uh. I'm very sad?"

He has all the characteristics of a terrible liar. He sweats, his pitch warbles, his eyes dart, ect, everything you would expect.

Sarcasm! The Perfect Cover?

When Donnie does go for the use of sarcasm, he almost always points it out.

"I feel better already," he said without a hint of sarcasm."

"Oh, sure. Let me just load my tap-into-every-security-camera-in-New-York app. I'm sorry if that sounded like sarcasm, it wasn't. I am in."

Point Out the Obvious Much

However, when he doesn't point out the sarcasm, he also can't help but make mention of the oxymoron. We see this a lot, especially in Donnie vs. Witch Town.

"Oh yes very cool says Donnie as he quietly lets something go."

"Ooh, fireworks. Science never would have thought of something it was originally inventor of."

So basically, if Donnie tries to lie; he gives himself away. If Donnie tries to fudge the truth; he's compelled to make note of it.

I bring this all up to specifically tackle this sentence:

“So unfair. Although it is a boost for my emotionally unavailable bad boy image. “Y’ello.””

Why do I do so? Let me remind you of my first slide...

But how can that be? We just established that he's a bad liar. In the 'bad boy' line, he's not falling for any of his tells. He's body language gives no indication of lying. He doesn't make any note of sarcasm. No one after this line makes a face or corrects Donnie and he doesn't point out any discrepancies.

How could this be a lie?

Because Donnie himself doesn't know it's a lie.

Let Me Take You Back

Things I Did Unironically as a Teenager

Added Japanese honorifics to the end of my friends nicknames (-san, -chan, -kun)

Had my friends help me wrap myself up in caution tape for my birthday, but told people they made me

Wore a dog collar with a dog tag that had my name in Romanji on it

Had screen names like RubyBlueSango62 and blahweeblah626

But That’s Just Personal Experience!

Things Donnie has Unironically as a Teenager

"Ah, yes, so in this case a game of bask-eh-ball."

"Prepare to eateth thy words."

"Oh, hey guys. What’s the haps? Huh? Oh, oh this? I didn’t realize I had it on. This is my sweet new purple satin jacket- Got it from being a bit of a tech wiz. Purple Dragons. Members only. No big deal. Mm-hm. Well, you better grab some toast, fellas, 'cause you are all jelly!"

“It's Bootyyyshakker9000. Capital B and three Ys in booty.”

I believe it's a universal experience for teenagers to push boundaries. For so long, most parents decide everything for you. With hormones and growth, you want to experiment, but since autonomy is new, you try to break from the mold and do it uniquely. Anything that is outside your norm, especially things that swing wildly from what you once new seems especially exciting. From embellishing speech, to wearing specific clothing items, and even your first screen name, you don't know boundaries! It may be 'cringe' in the future, but when you first do it, it seems like the coolest thing ever! It's something that wholly represents you. This online space you. This you that is ungoverned! I'm an only child so I can't imagine, but I bet you especially want to do this when you have siblings. Where the shame in that?

I mean... Kat Haynes agrees with me on this...

Low Empathy

Now to get a little more serious. Alexithymia is a term that describes those who have difficulty feeling emotions. While not always associated with autism, it is more common in individuals with it. About 1 in 5 people who have autism also have alexithymia.

As already stated, it is clear the Donnie suffers from alexithymia. Most Donatello-centric conflicts in Rise have nothing to do with Donnie being emotionless and instead often deal with him lashing out due to his confusion or insecurities. We see this a lot especially in Witch Town where he is grappling with himself the entire episode. He's insecure about how he doesn't understand mysticism and he doesn't know how to process it or his place on the team. He's not emotionless, he's insecure when he doesn't understand something.

"Yes, feelings. Hot, cold, sleepy, hungry…"

"I don't normally feel things, but that one got through!"

Emotions on his Metaphorical Sleeve

Nothing about alexithymia says that you don't feel emotions. Instead, it's characterized by not understanding them. Donnie feels his emotions big and large just like Mikey does and especially if something is important to him, you'll see those reactions dialed up to eleven.

All Talk

While many think of the classic "semi-lethal" line and the "Speak for yourself" when Mikey says they aren't savages in regard to Donnie, he's not really the bad boy he plays himself up to be. When the theatrics are set aside, most of Donnie’s snap judgements are the altruistic kind or he thoughtfully plans out ways to not only take care of his family, but actively ensure their safety (to varying degrees of success, but that's not what we're saying here):

created devices which both counteracted his brother's flaws because they were getting them hurt

Used himself as a shield for Mikey on multiple occasions 

Risks his own safety and bodily harm especially in Turtle-dega Nights: The Ballad of Rat Man and Breaking Purple

Builds Escape pods for everyone 

Enters a sensory nightmare for the sake of the world

Often asks, especially Raph, if he's okay and looks out for the oldest brother

Yet the Presentation Continues?

Why yes, because there is another line of Donnie's that I want to tackle that I believe falls exactly in line with the 'bad boy image' one...

"Oh, you’re so cute, but so mean. Why do I always go for your type?"

You know what I'm about to posit again...

Insecure

As touched on previously, Donnie is insecure. He's insecure about his emotions. He's insecure about his place on the team. He's insecure about anything he doesn't understand and his insecurities are exceedingly personal in nature because he ties them intrinsically to his personality.

"The real thing is much more personal and thoughtful, and I really hope you like it, ‘cause if you don’t I will just be crushed!"

"This’ll teach you to compliment my work and give me my first positive reinforcement from a parent aged adult, ever!"

Speaking of parent aged adults... i wonder where this could stem from...

Role Model

Who do all the turtles model themselves after, but their own father? Whether they knew it or not, Lou Jitsu was someone they all strived to be like. They commited to learning all the lines from his movies. They fought like him outside of the training course Splinter sets them on. Heck, Donnie takes his hero worship so far that his character defining brows are exactly Lou Jitsu's! Babies start learning how to establish social and emotional relationships around 18 months. We have Splinter, a despondent, but loving care giver who unfortunately did not give Donnie the validation he craved. This manifests in his insecurities where he bends over backwards to get the attention he craves. He wants to be seen, again compounded by having three rowdy mutant-powered brothers, and so he ends up tying his worth into his ability.

Now, while for a majority of the series, the turtles don't know about Splinter's past or that he dated Big Mama, but it wasn't as if Splinter hid that part of himself away so obviously. In fact, because he himself is still mourning his lost humanity, he ends up feeding his son's a hardy diet of his life's existence. The boys are secondarily raised by Lou Jitsu movies in place where Splinter is not always present. Obviously, Lou Jitsu seemingly disappears, but Splinter's feelings on the matter don't. He openly still cares about Big Mama in the present and this I don't think it's a stretch to say that he would let these feelings leak in a similar way to how he presents Lou Jitsu in the boys lives. Big Mama is a attractive, albeit manipulative woman. This is awfully close to a little line someone says, especially when we consider that he models himself after this man.

Also, if we're taking models into account. Something we know for a fact shapes teenagers. Something we know for a fact that Donnie does. Something that is equally canonized in the show, then we have to talk about.

Donnie’s True Canonical Idol

That's right. You know her. You love her. You believe that Donnie is a thigh man because of this Lass' existence. Donnie says flat out that Atomic Lass is his childhood idol. He goes to great lengths to dance with her, smashing Leo out of the way. He then even goes so far as to ask if her and Atomic Lad have split up because his intention to date her is so clear. Now she was obviously a mutant in a costume, but that didn't matter because he loves Atomic Lass that much and Atomic Lass?

She's a heroine.

Only cute and mean in the context of the episode, this is not the Lass he fell in love with. The Lass he loves is a comic book hero that travels the universe doing good.

Also....

Ron Corcillo Agrees With Me

A staff writer on Rise, I apologize I can't show the origin tweet because it was deleted, but it was a dual question that asked both about the Turtles meeting Spider-man and about Donnie's preference. Now you could say he's forgotten a line that may not be as important to him, but doesn't that in and of itself say something? It says that it could have been a one-off joke or that it wasn't something that was necessarily intrinsic to the character.

To Recap:

Donnie doesn’t always know himself

Donnie is a cringey teen

Donnie is insecure

Donnie has difficulty understanding emotions and himself

Donnie isn’t actually an 'emotionally unavailable bad boy'

Donnie doesn’t actually like the ‘mean’ type

Sources:

Rise of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles episodes:

Mystic Mayhem

Donnie's Gifts

Pizza Pit

Hot Soup: The Game

Shadow of Evil

Donnie vs. Witch Town

The Mutant Menace

Breaking Purple

Turtle-dega Nights: The Ballad of Rat Man

End Game

Repo Mantis

Mascot Melee

Donnie's Gifts

Bug Busters

War and Pizza

Goyles, Goyles, Goyles

Lair Games

Rise of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles: The Movie

lactoseintolerentswag's post on Rise Characterizations Pt. 3!!!

skulltrot's Donnie (Rise of the TMNT) | Autism Representation in Media video

Ron Corcillo's tweet from Cartoon Brew's Feb 10, 2024 AMA

Alexithymia | Autistica

earthytzipi's post not understanding why people characterize Donnie has hiding his emotions

hyperfixatinator's post about ROTTMNT Theory: Donatello's Hidden Role

[alacetor-the-duckies-deer]

I have this headcanon for Alastor's back story where he's trans, and just as himself, as he is in the show, even as a kid. So his parents sent him of to a convent, were upon ww1 breaking out in his late teens, he ran away, forged a new identity as a man, got found out once he was already over seas, blackmailed a superior into letting him stay on, where he was introduced to radio communication, and the rest is history.

But all that to say, I like to then imagine, whenever anyone tells him something mildly outlandish, but definitely true, he likes to respond with "Yes, Vox, and I took a vow of celibacy when I was a catholic nun"

To which of course people think, "so you don't belive me? I mean but aren't you a virgin? Are you not????"

And of course, this never gets asked because who's gonna ask The Radio Demom about his Sexy Life.

Angel Dust that's who.

I imagine him doing an interview on Al's Show, just a mix of publicity for them both, hanging out because they're friends, and it's all a big middle finger to the Vee's.

Maybe it's pride month and so they were planning some talk about that, Alastor joking about a possible comming out, even though its plenty well know Alastor is some where on the ace spectrum to anyone with eyes.

They get on the topic somehow, Angel says something like, "I never laid myself across the bar like that! Second set of arms at most! Never my butt, never mind my legs! not after the first time!"

"Mh-hm. You got desperate in your flirting, and I took a vow of celibacy, when I was a nun. We all do silly things, Angel."

"Well, maybe I've laid out on the pool table, but it makes for good pictures. Anyway, I been meaning to ask you about that."

"About being a nun?

"No," angel laughs, plays it off, thinking he's joking. "About your being ace and all. No pressure, but like, you really never even wanted to try?"

"No, I find it quite repulsive. The idea even,"

"You don't watch nothin'? Read nothing either?"

"Ha! No! The filthy little novel Sister Amillia sneaked in the once was quite enough- are you okay Angel?"

Angel had infact just chocked on his latte. "Wait? Sister Amillia? Sneaked in? To where!?"

"The convent, Angel. I was 14, she was 16. Wonderful woman, taught me how to handle a knife, she left shortly after the novel was discovered- Sister Tabitha was as squeaky a little rat as she looked- never saw Amillia again, though."

"Wait, sorry. You were a nun, like, actually? What the fuck?"

One of the little lights that says they have a caller lit up, but Alastor ignore it for now. "Yes, Angel, do keep up."

"Wait, so like that nun costume you wear on halloween?" Angel blows right past the fact Alastor just came out as trans, because yeah. Didnt see it comming but, the trains already wizzing by, and more importantly- "Is that like your actual nun costume?"

"Ha! No, I flung that horrid thing in a garbage can on my way to the enlistment office when I was 17."

"Enlistment?" Angels begining to see what Alastor meant when he said this episode was going to be a unique experience for his listeners at the start of the braodcast. "Like world War 1, right? You were alive for that..."

"Yes, I figured with all the confusion one little girl-"

Angel's phone goes off. It's Val. Angel hits ignore.

"Fuck off Val, I'm off today" Angel says into his mic.

But they get interrupted again and again until Angel turns his phone off.

At which point all twelve of the little light that indicate the show had callers on the line, light up.

"Ah fuck. What does he want that bad? Can you just answer it real quick?"

Alastor flips a switch and answers.

"The fuck you want Val-"

"I'm not calling for you!" It's Vox on the other end, his voice booming from the speaker "Alastor! Are you fucking serious? You were a fucking nun?"

"Yes, Vox." He says with faux patience. "My goodness, did you all stuff your ears with cotton this morn-"

"So you DID actually take a vow of Celibacy? The other day at the meeting during my presentation, you said "that'll work, Vox, sure- and I took a vow-"

"Yes. I was there."

"And!?!"

"Celibacy, among other things. If this is a dig at my sexuality than-"

"Nah fuck that, hang on I'm doing math! Okay you were born in 1901, makes you 17 in 1918, yeah that tracks. Okay so 2024 make you 123, minus the 17 years to be conservative, thats 106 yeah?"

"I was 15 when I took that vow, and under threat of being institutionalized, if that's what you're getting at-"

"108! Ha! Oh my God! 108 years! That's gotta be a record!"

"What are you getting at Vox?"

"You took a vow!" Vox screams through his laughter. "All the pomp and circumstance! On consecrated ground! before god!? To abstain from sex! And even here in hell, were sin and blasphemy are rampant and free-"

"Careful Vox, your televangelist is showing-"

"Who gives a fuck!? You're the one whos upheld their vow to God for over a century like some devout saint!"

Angel and Alastor sit there staring at eachother while Vox laughs his head off around them

"Saint Alastor the Abstinent! The pantron Saint of Virgi-"

Alastor hangs up. "Well that was informative!" Alastor chirps "Well, What's to be done about this? Hm, Angel?"

And for some reason, an unholy one, surely, the first thing out of Angel's mouth is "I could suck you dick? If that- would count?"

And it's a testament to how far they've come as friends, or pooooossbily Alastor's nerves, or maybe his sheer unwavering bravado, but Alastor only bursts out laughing, shaking his head as he get out between laughter "I don't- have one!"

And then they're both laughing and laughing and laughing, and eventually they calm down, and Alastor gets a thoughtful look. "Though, Vox did have one good point."

"Oh?"

"That does have to be a recorded, at least among sinners. Why! I very well might have redeemed myself! We should certainly bring this up with Sera at the next conference!"

And then their off both laughing again, imaging Serra's face when she realises she's going to have to look into yet more research onto the workings of redemption from Heaven's end.

[partitionis]

on the horror of fame:

something that I often find myself thinking about when I’m back in Taiwan and around people who are far richer than I’ll ever be [1] is how the day-to-day experience of being rich and powerful is actually pretty… dehumanizing

there’s a sweet spot where you’re wealthy enough that you don’t have to worry about money ever and still anonymous enough that you can pop down to the 7/11 without anyone knowing who you are, but once you’re famous enough that people on the street tend to recognize you? you’re fucked.

ok, you haven’t driven a car in a few decades because you’ve been rich enough to employ a driver and someone of your status isn’t really the type to drive themselves around. this is fine. except now your driver knows all of your business. that’s also fine, you pay him for his discretion. do you pay him enough? can you be sure that his institutional loyalty is enough to stop him from taking a tabloid payment? maybe you want to go somewhere spur of the moment. you could call your driver, and he’d drop whatever he was doing and be at your house to get you within fifteen minutes [2], but you know, maybe he’s with his kids or something. you could take the subway, except if you do that multiple people will recognize you and everyone will treat you like you have some sort of infectious disease [3]. guess you’d better stay in.

and every moment of every day is like this! being a famous man is great because women want to have sex with you and men want to be you. except mostly what everyone wants is access to the wealth and power you represent: people tell you half-truths to try to convince you to invest in some bullshit or they put their hands dangerously close to your penis in public social situations [4]. you— the person you actually are— are mostly treated like an obstacle to be overcome or a puzzle to be figured out. ‘what kind of currency do I need to put in to the old man to get what I want out of him’

so you have all of the things people want, but they’re poisoned by abundance. you can go anywhere and buy anything, but you can’t do it without feeling the eyes of the world on you. you have more friends and potential lovers than you know what to do with, but do you? one of the great privileges of being a regular person [5] is that you can generally trust that social gestures are genuine. I’m just a regular guy and the only benefit anyone gets from throwing me a birthday party or having sex with me is that we ate birthday cake or had sex. none of these things will unlock access to money or power because I’ve got none to give, but once you do, you invariably attract these people. they’re not all of your social circle, but they’re a lot of it, because competing for your limited time and attention with the people who are willing to grope you in public feels vaguely debasing

no wonder musicians are alcoholics! no wonder the people I know are all withdrawn and snappish. you’re just some guy, and you’re living a life so divorced from the rest of the world that you have more in common with the god-kings of old than you do with your own parents. is it worth it? I mean I won’t lie, sometimes it’s pretty sick; I’d never buy a $5,000 watch, but I can pretty easily imagine what I’d do with thousands of dollars of pocket change. but then I remember that one person I know refuses to tell anyone when his birthday is because people make such a big fucking deal out of it and I think, hm, if that were me I’d probably develop a heroin addiction [6].

[1] presumably

[2] let’s not consider how much it sucks to be the driver in this situation

[3] you are not the good kind of famous in this story, sorry.

[4] I’m sure this was titillating at one point but I’m also pretty sure it got old by the third decade, never mind what it’s like in the fifth

[5] unless you’re an Olive Garden manager who posts a lot about fake friends and backstabbers on Facebook or wherever the beleaguered Olive Garden managers of the world are posting today

[6] at least I’d be able to pay for it

[projectcaramel]

Obey Me! Random Headcanon #5

The brothers' kissing styles ig:

Lucifer

This man makes up for his reluctance to kiss you in public by doubling up in private. Kisses you frequently all over the place, and I do mean all over the place.

His favorite place tends to be your neck, which he also has a habit of biting despite his preferences for privacy.

"If someone sees the marks I left on you... Well, you know what'll happen tonight, don't you?"

Mammon

Naturally, The Great Mammon likes showing off that you're his partner, but he's usually too embarrassed to do anything more than a quick peck on the lips. That said, stressful situations (like you being in danger) make him less shy.

His favorite place is the tip of your nose, which he also likes to boop.

"Boooop. Boop. Hehe, are ya annoyed? No, no, no, wait, please I didn't mean ta make ya mad for real!"

Leviathan

Our poor otaku is the only one usually can't initiate kissing you first unless he's in one of his incredibly jealous and possessive swings. In which case, he'll attack you with kisses.

His favorite place to kiss happens to be your lips because they're just as soft as he always imagined.

"U-U-Uh, hm, yeah I was... Thinking about doing that since... I um... Nevermind! Let's play Super M*rio Bros!"

Satan

In front of anyone else, Satan will kiss your hand because he likes acting like a gentleman. In front of Lucifer, however, Satan has a habit of passionately making out with you like he's trying to prove a point.

His favorite place to kiss is your temple because it reminds him of when you read detective stories with him on his lap.

"So she was the culprit; you were right, MC. You're a veritable Sherlock, and I'm your ignorant Watson."

Asmodeus

The avatar of lust kisses you as a greeting, usually on the cheek because he doesn't want to ruin your lipstick. If he really missed you though, he doesn't care and just fixes your makeup for you later.

His favorite place to kiss also happens to be your cheek since yours are so cute.

"They're so cute, that's how I'll tag the Devilgram photo! Oh, wait, let's take another picture with me in the background so you really shine!"

Beelzebub

Kisses you the most often at mealtimes, usually because sharing food with you is when he's at his happiest.

His favorite place to kiss is usually the corner of your lip since he often gets away with saying you had food there (regardless of its actual presence).

"...okay, I'm sorry for lying; there was no chocolate that time. But it was true that I couldn't help myself, okay?"

Belphegor

This brat kisses you both in your dreams and and when he's asleep, and he kisses whatever part of you happens to be in front of his head. Arm? Yep. Foot? Yep. Collar? Yep.

His favorite place is at the corner of your eyes because he thinks your eyes are like galaxies, though he'll never tell you that and just says he likes the taste of your tears.

"Mmnnn? Don't wake me to ask something so stupid... Your eyes are... mn... hmm... zzz..."

-- It's been done many times, but I love these anyway. No, this blog is not quite dead yet. --

[koofete]

in motion, in 3D. ー jeon jungkook.

pics not mine!

you touched yourself so well through the screen of jungkook's cellphone that he couldn't help but call you in the middle of the night.

jungkook × f!reader.

mature content, maybe fluff, mentions of squirt, sweet and trying something new, sex call.

note: i'm doing a lot of drabbles 'bout jk, but this man is living in my head! especially now with '3D' lyrics.. hope you guys don't mind!

Jungkook drove alone to the hotel he would stay with his band members, being the last one to arrive because he wanted to stay with you a little longer before traveling again.

Getting out of the car, jeon grabbed two bags, ready to go inside when his cellphone vibrated in the pocket of his jeans. Knowing who was possibly calling, he immediately dropped everything that had in hands and grabbed the phone. Your name appearing on the bright screen.

pretty girl 💕 sent a video.

pretty girl 💕 : i'm already missing yoooou

pretty girl 💕 : trying something new, ive never recorded myself like this before

pretty girl 💕 : sleep well ;)

You actually sent him a 'sleep well' after sending that abused pussy of yours gushing cum in a way that jungkook had never in person before?! No fucking way.

How cute of you to think that he could at least close his eyes for more than five minutes without thinking of your little cries in the back of that video, fitting perfectly with the wet sounds.

Her clit clearly needs more than just fingers. ー jeon thoughts making his dick even harder.

Unfortunately, jeon couldn't just grab his bags and go back but he had something on his mind. When entering the hotel, he tried his best to be cool and smile at some people who recognized him, but he was in a hurry.

Anxiously, he locked the door of the room in which would spend the night, not needing to share bed with anyone this time.

gguk: hope you're still awake

gguk: cause i am

You smile at the notification, not expecting him to respond so late at night.

Or maybe you expected, since the sheet beneath your body is a complete mess, your legs are still open and the only piece of clothing you wear is a white tank top from jungkook. You didn't move a finger, wanting to make sure if he would return soon or just the next morning.

gguk is calling . . .

And there you go.

You answered quickly and put it on speakerphone, leaving the phone aside since it wasn't a video call.

"what was that?" Jungkook immediately asks.

"what?"

"you know what i'm talking about, pretty. that fucking video is driving me insane."

"oh!" You chuckle a bit, feeling dizzy by the way his voice sounded hoarser than normal. "did you like it?"

Suddenly you receive a new notification. It was a photo of your boyfriend sitting on a hotel bed, in front of a mirror wearing only dark sweatpants, no shirt. His tattooed arm held his clearly hard cock through the fabric. Strands of his freshly cut hair fell over his forehead and a silver chain hung around his neck.

Your body will always burn with desire and shyness whenever you see him like this, despite the years of relationship.

"this answer your question, love?"

"y-yeah." Still staring wide-eyed at the photo as your legs close without you even noticing; thighs pressed together.

"i can't touch you through the phone and that's torture, baby." He growls the last word, left hand going down to his dick. "but you can fuck that sweet pussy of yours while i'm away. do this for me, yeah? now."

"mm-hm."

He smiles with the way you already seem so surrendered. "tell me if you're still wearing my tank top, pretty girl. i want to imagine you."

"yes, i'm still wearing." You say in a sigh. Now, with both hands free and the cellphone's close, fingers play with your nipple and pussy at the same time.

"fuck..." Jeon curses. His wide hands are already running up and down on his cock, slowly but firmly. "so wet my tank top and our sheets with your cum, love. 'want to smell your scent as soon as i get back to home."

"koo..."

"just like that..." At this point you can hear how wet he is and vice versa. "say my name louder, princess. put three fingers in like you know i would, fast and deep."

He gives the instructions calmly and affectionately, but still manages to sound dominant to your ears, which makes you even whiny. You do as jungkook asks and he notices it by the way your moans become louder, knowing that maybe you could even have tears in your eyes. He furrows his eyebrows and lets the air escape from his lips adorned with a small silver jewel in the corner, muttering small 'ooh's.'

Jungkook was loving having sex with you over the phone, but nothing compares to the feeling of having your body pressed against his, sweat running down his forehead as he gives his life while eat you out. He simply loves the sound that echoes when his balls slap against your ass and can't wait to see you squirting now he know that you can. But in person.

In motion.

"i'm cumming, koo!"

"go ahead, baby. i'm so close too..."

And more than ever, he can't wait to see you again.

`✦ !

[itsagrimm]

He Who Comes from Under the Water

Chapter 7 - The Knife

Monster!König X she/her afab Reader

CN  Pressure of having children, emotional midlife crisis of a dead woman (it sounds funny, but I made myself cry writing that part), grieving dead family members. Discussions of female* relationship issues in hetero relationships, implied talk of rape, implied forced pregnancy, talk of sexual assault and rape in relationships, talk of forced marriage, mentions of drowning and past trauma, pregnancy as body horror. Implications of potential abortions using herbs (don’t try this at home).

eventual smut.

Notes for better understanding at the bottom!

Beta-read by @queenquazar. thanks having me despite my extreme questioning if this is actually good. I wrote half of this while having a slight fever and it shows.

5k words

Masterlist

You remembered your mother as a beautiful woman. The edge of life and age had polished her, making her shine brighter year by year, until the day she died. With her back to you, she stood in the kitchen, working on something as you entered the room as you had so many times before.

“Is it you, daughter?”

You missed her voice. She sounded so real, the memories coming back as those words rang bright and happy, while she turned to greet you.

“Dear, we haven’t seen each other for too long.”

Her face was like you remembered it. Maybe.

“Let me look at you. Are you eating well? Sleeping well? You need to take breaks in the sun. Soon, it will be too cold to stay out again.”

You nodded to the beautiful, kind, stranger called mother.

“Sit down, daughter. Tell me, have you found a husband? Is he treating you well? A good young man from the village or maybe from a bit further away?”

You let yourself get pushed onto one of the familiar chairs, the wood of the rest pushing into your back, and a cup of tea being placed before you.

“I’m about to be married. I… he… he is good to me.”

“And what does he do?” A friendly but practical look danced over ‘Mothers’ face.

Nervously, you fumbled with the tablecloth before placing your hands flat on the table, “Uhm- he is really good at fishing, and currently he is building a new home.”

'Mother' nodded.

“A fisherman and carpenter. Hm. Hm. It’s good to have a capable man in the family. He better give you beautiful children or I’ll haunt him.”

“Uhm- I’m not sure that will happen.”

“Of course, it will. You will love it,” The stranger chuckled. “Or more like you will be loved. For a while at least.”

“And then what?”

The stranger shrugged her shoulders.

“Then you turn older. And wiser, so you will know what you want. And stronger, so you will ask for it. And then you know how to move or dress to feel beautiful. And he will hate it. You will be loved no more, except by your children and the other women. So have children. And friends.” ‘Mother’ nodded. “That’s how it goes, daughter. You say he is a good man?”

“Yes?” A strange feeling weighed you down deep in your stomach. A feeling of doubt, despite your decision to stay with König. “Are you saying he isn’t?”

“How should I know? I am dead. Just do what I did. It wasn’t too bad. Right? I had you. And I loved you until I died.”

You looked across the table. ‘Mother’ smiled softly, looking down at her hands like a shy girl admitting a secret. She was a stranger. She had lived with you in this house, every day you could recall. And yet you had hardly known her. Was that what she had wanted? Staying in the house and watching her children grow, only to have them leave one day when they did not need her anymore? Or had she stayed because she could not imagine anything else? Because she did not dare to leave?

You could not help but reach over the table, taking your mothers’ hands.

There was not a thing in the world you would back down from to protect the woman that had given you a life. And your heart ached with the realisation that it was too late for her.

But maybe not for you.

“Right, mother. I love you too.”

You opened your eyes, staring at the familiar ceiling. Getting up was out of the question. Instead you laid there, tears filling up your eyes before slowly running down to the side of your face.

The dream felt too real to simply brush it aside. Instead, you wanted nothing more than to have your mother back, hold her, talk to her, and give her all the things she had ever wanted from life. It was unfair how she had given you so much and all you could give her was … what exactly? Your mother was dead. It mattered little what she had expected of you, wished for you… or herself. You could do how you pleased; the villagers had shunned you anyways. That freedom however, felt hollow without the woman who had sacrificed so much for you.

And was it wise to use that freedom for König?

Doubt crept up in you, the possibility of death and sadness, present once more.

Was there a life without marriage?

Where you could leave, live, and maybe love, how you wanted, without fear or fighting to survive?

A knock woke you from your melancholy thoughts.

“Who is it?” You called as you sat up and wiped away your tears while turning to the door.

“Wrong direction, darling. Check the window!” A stranger’s voice called out.

Confused, your head whipped around. A woman was before your window, staring directly at you.

How is that possible? You could not help yourself but wonder at the sight of someone peeking through your upstairs window.

The woman waved at you.

“Hi, People call me Baba Yaga but I prefer Farah. That no-good-wet-little-king-and-fiancé-of-yours asked me to come here to help.”

You rushed to get dressed while König, always on guard these days, waited for you downstairs. As you finished braiding your hair, you stumbled downwards. You knew of Baba Yaga. She was no one to anger or to leave waiting. There were guards and gods out there in the world, elders to be respected and traditions to be followed. And then there was her, putting all of them to shame.

She was the maiden, the mother, the old one to turn to when cursing a former lover or in need of help when slaying a monster. Baba Yaga was the knife - ready to make a pleasant meal or spill blood.

You did not know what to make of Königs decision to call Baba Yaga for help. Was it wise? Or was the price for her help higher than you could afford?

“I’m ready,” You called out as you entered the kitchen. “Oh, wait!” You grabbed a bowl of collected berries, “Can’t go into a house without a present,” You explained.

That would be rude. No one gets away with being rude to Baba Yaga.

König nodded before getting up from his seat, a chair this time.

For a brief moment you saw his eyes wander to his axe leaning at the wall, before he moved on.

He is nervous too.

“It’s gonna be fine.” You tried to reassure him. Or yourself.

König managed a smile before reaching for your hand and holding it, his large clawed hands clasping carefully around yours. 

“I know, Bride. We can do this.”

Together, you stepped out of your home only to see a wooden house on chicken legs in your garden trampling over your sorry attempts of growing buckwheat.

“Great,” You could not help but comment dryly. “How do we move it?”

“Allow me,” König declared before loudly calling out to the house. “Избушка, избушка, повернись ко мне передом, к лесу — задом!”

The house stilled in its light swaying, like a cat that got reprimanded for what it planned on doing.

“Пожалуйста!” König added pleadingly and the house trotted around and tilted forward, appearing oddly unwilling about it.

“Thank you for moving from the field,” you mumbled.

König stepped up to the Chicken-legged-house and knocked on the door while you lingered beside him.

“Honourable Elder, please let us in and hear our words.”

“You made it,” Was all the answer you got before the door flung open. “Finally. I hate waiting.”

In the doorway before you stood Baba Yaga, the woman who had waved at you in the window. Now you knew she had done it from her unusually high and walking house.

“Honourable Elder sounds lovely, but Farah is enough,” She noted and stepped aside. “Come on in. I made tea.”

Carefully you followed König’s soft tug as he helped you up to the high door, lifting you like you weighed as little as the logs he brought you.

Inside, it was just like any other house you had seen. There was a large oven, a table, jars with pickled contents and marmalade everywhere, and a beautiful tapestry with symmetrical flowers on the wall.

“Welcome to my home,” Farah declared and motioned to the table and a few chairs for you to sit.

“Thank you for having us,” You replied politely and passed her the bowl of berries. “I am sorry. It’s not much. But I hope our little gift pleases you.”

“It does. Sit, sister.” Farah gave you an approving nod.

 And so you did, taking a spot next to König, who had chosen one of the chairs which protested loudly, with troubling creaks as he sat down.

Waiting for Farah to finish setting the table, you studied her. She was beautiful and carried herself with confidence. Farah appeared maybe a bit older than you. But you felt like a child getting a visit from an aunt, not some years, but centuries between you two.

“Thank you for having us,” You said with a timid nod as Farah finally sat, intimidated by the powerful stranger. It had been so long since someone new was barely passing the threshold of being just nice to you.

König looked stoically like nothing was out of the ordinary, the little cup of tea looking ridiculously tiny in his massive hands. Being in the presence of powerful beings was nothing unusual for him, you reminded yourself, no matter what - he was one of them.

Farah tugged at her scarf as she sipped from her tea while eyeing the berries before finally releasing you from the awkward silence your words had left in the air.

“You are welcome. It’s a pleasure meeting you.” She  reached for a spoon to casually stir her tea, while avoiding your careful yet curious gaze. “So, you are König’s fiancé? The rumoured Bride of the Vodyanoy?”

“Yes,” You answered plainly.

“Congratulations.”

“Thank you.”

She looked up from her cup, her dark eyes finding yours and pinning you to your seat with unforgiving kindness before switching over to König, like a blade slashing around.

“Lovely. What business do I have with that?”

“Oh, none at all,” König interjected smoothly like an eel slipping over wet stones. “We want no trouble with you. Just your blessings.”

Farah leaned back and put down her cup, her eyes piercing through the air like you and König were made out of nothing but thin skin and brittle bone, ready to be dissected and studied. Under her gaze, that likely was true.

“Don’t waste daylight, slime king. I could have spent my time other than coming here.”

“My utmost apologies, honourable Farah,” König continued with a most charming smile. “There is just the issue of my bride's possible death by drowning when she becomes my wife and queen. Do you, by any chance, maybe, possibly-”

“Cut it, König. You want me to waterproof your bride like she is some kind of unsinkable boat. Got it.”

He stilled in his movements before replying, “Yes. Can you do that?”

The honourable Farah sighed as if she had heard that request several times this morning already.

“Is that all? What else do you want me to do, hm? Make the fish sing and dance at your wedding? Build that new palace of yours in one night? Make her a wedding dress while I’m at it?”

“I wouldn’t be opposed,” König snapped back, his charming smile now more frozen than friendly in his face.

“Listen, König. I never took you as wanting to marry. You always looked so content with splashing around the ponds on your own. You did not even care much for the company of your own kin. Why not marry a rusalka? At least they can not drown.”

Uncomfortably, you looked at the cup in your hands, trying to be as invisible from the conversation as possible while gathering as much as you could. The idea of König being with someone else, a beautiful watery creature like himself, shifted something inside you and you did not know where to put it.

“No. I want to marry her. She is my Bride. I promised it.”

His words pearled down like warm summer rain.

He was so sure of it.

“To whom did you promise that?” Farah inquired further.

“Her grandfather. He used to fish at my pond.”

For a brief moment it was silent as you stared into the dark liquid in your cup as if it held the secrets of the universe.

Then Farah broke out laughing.

“That sounds more like you, König.” She gasped. “Acquiring a bride from a fisherman. Alright, that sounds precisely how the King of everything From Under the Water would get married.”

Amused, Farah looked back at you. “Are you happy with that, dear?”

You blinked, like a deer that got stuck between two rivalling wolves. Your eyes wandered to König who had the most trying neutral expression on his face somewhere under all that tangled hair.

“Uhm. I suppose,” You answered, dumbfoundedly. Since when did your happiness and not just your survival matter?

Farah raised one of her eyebrows.

“You suppose…” She repeated and grabbed her cup and spoon. “Get out.”

It was on you to raise your eyebrows.

“I’m sorry?” You questioned, a little fire in you giving you strength. You might have been just a tiny little human with brittle bones and thin skin, but you had tasted kindness again and you weren’t ready to give up on that yet.

“Not you.” Farah waved at you dismissively, “You, yes you heard me, König. Get out before I turn you into a frog. I need to talk to her alone.”

For a moment König stared angrily at Farah to be kicked out of the house like an unwelcome guest.

Then he turned his head and looked at you.

It was terrifying to be alone with Baba Yaga, may she call herself Farah and talk like a pleasant relative coming by for a visit, or not. The woman was powerful. But she had treated you kindly so far. And you needed her. Maybe this was for the better? Perhaps you could convince the powerful Baba Yaga to help you on your own, where König was failing. You could do this.

Smiling the most reassuring smile you could muster, you nodded. 

“I will be fine, König. Can you stay close please?”

König grumbled a ‘of course’ before getting up and exiting the house, leaving you and the Baba Yaga alone.

“They say it’s magic what I do, but most of my craft is giving stern looks and straight words,” Farah smiled deviously.

“Tell you what, sister,” She paused. “You don’t sound unsure about this marriage. König might be a king, but I never paid attention to titles anyway. They are all the same sorry puffed up men to me. If you want to get away from him, I can help you. It would be fun to have someone willing to learn the craft from me. You could be like a sister to me. I will not do that unkempt king's bidding, enable or convince you to marry, if you don’t want to.”

You looked away. An offering to stay by the Baba Yaga herself.

She is a knife, you remembered, she cares but she cuts too. I do not want to be cut no more.

“That is kind of you, Farah. I am humbled by your offering. But even if it’s complicated, I want to stay.”

“Foolish girl,” She said with a tone that did not mean it. “How is it complicated, sister? Do you not love him then?”

You took a sip from the cup. The tea tasted like nothing in your mouth, but you hardly paid attention.

Would there be a point in lying? You knew the stories of the powerful and clever Baba Yaga. And you had met speaking animals and beings you only knew from tales. Farah would have her ways to find out if she truly wanted the truth. And she likely would not appreciate being lied to.

You swallowed and decided to play it safe.

“My family is dead. All of them. The village shunned me because they thought I was cursed, and one of them repeatedly berated and even attacked me,” You explained. “König is fine. I don’t know him very well, yet. But he looks out for me, he really does. And he does not expect me to do anything more … physically - He promised. And he never forced himself closer to me even if he certainly had the chance and strength to do so. He just needs a queen to show around. And I need a protector. It is … okay. I have made my peace with it… so I thought. But … I had a bad dream. And it confused me. And König told me I might be in danger from drowning because I am human, and he is not. I nearly drowned already. I fear the water since I know him. Can’t stand being deeper in it than to my ankles. That’s why he sent out for you to maybe help with that. So that I will not die in the water by being with him.”

Farah slowly blinked, inhaling and exhaling before leading back in her chair.

“That’s a lot,” Farah finally spoke. “And they say a maiden’s life is light.”

You huffed. “Do they?”

“Older men in taverns do - talk like they know of the world while sitting around.”

“If you say so. I have never been to a tavern. Never left the village.” You answered, feeling foolish now like you knew nothing of the world.

Farah only hummed, closing her eyes as if in deep thought.

“Tell you what, sister,” She opened her eyes. “I will give you knowledge to protect yourself from death by that wet boy of yours.”

Farah got up and started cutting and mixing dried herbs in a large mortar.

“Like most men out there, he probably never even considered that a suffering. Acting like his presence is a gift to the world. You say he does not touch you? Fine. Here, take this.”

You stretched out your hands over the table and she passed you a pouch of the herbal mixture.

“Have you paid attention to what and how much I put in it?”

“Yes.”

“Good. As long as you want, you shall be barren. There will be no child coming from your womb. Just drink a cup of tea made from this mixture every day. Even if that wet-rag-king breaks his promise or you two might change your mind, you shall choose your fate. Quite frankly, without some intervention and knowledge, his dick is more likely to cause you harm than any water ever could. Drowning is faster than carrying a child you don’t want. If your mother were still alive, I’m sure she would tell her beloved daughter all her secrets.”

You looked at the pouch in your hands.

A knife, you thought, a knife to care and cut. Is that a betrayal? To König? To my family? To Mother?

“I don’t know if my mother would have ever told me.”

Farah crossed her arms, grumbling disapprovingly.

“Who knows. But I did. Your choice now. You can always just not drink the tea, right?”

You thought about it. Your mother haunting your dreams and speaking as if having children was the only path to happiness out there. And then you thought of König, his careful act towards you, his hand holding yours, his chest pressing against you, and how observant he was of what you need. How he asked and listened to you. How he would be towards a child. And then you thought of his size and what kind of child from him could grow in your tiny body. If that even was possible. Instinctively your hand closed around the little pouch.

Maybe no one but me is truly looking out for me. Maybe that’s all I am doing? Since when is that a betrayal?

“Right. Thank you,” You mumbled.

“If he ever does break his promise, you are welcome to live with me, and I will boil that fishy king in one of his ponds,” Farah continued as she returned to her seat at the table, sipping from her tea and smiling with glee, “As a little sign of gratitude for my wisdom, entertain me and tell me all about that village of yours and what gossip came from it. I want to know about those who think they can recognize a curse where there is none.”

A knife to cut and care. But not me. Not today.

You leaned back and started telling the stories and lies about you.

And Baba Yaga listened.

You stepped out of Baba Yaga's door and the chicken legged house titled forward to help you walk down the steps to the ground. König was sitting there in the grass, waiting for you.

“Is everything alright, Bride?” He asked while he got up and helped you down.

“Yes.”

You nodded, the herbal pouch hidden between your fingers. It felt exciting to have it there, hold it in your fingers, scary to go against what you had been taught since you were a little girl, mischievous, guilty, fun, safe.

You did not know exactly how to feel about it yet, but you did not let go either. Farah might not have turned you into an unsinkable boat, but she did give you an anchor.

“Hey, walking puddle!” Farah called out behind you from her house. It straightened up again as you reached the grass, acting like a proud pet imitating its keeper.

“I gave your problem a bit of thought and I think you yourself can solve it, oh mighty king of smelly bogs.” She declared. “Sacrifice something you hold dear. Give it to your bride. Coming from a being so tied to the waters should do the job better than any curse or wisdom I could come up with.”

“And what exactly should that sacrifice be?” König grumbled.

“How should I know what you care about?” Farah hit back as her house started to turn away and back to the forest. “Give her your favourite frog? Share an algae salad? But be nice. I like her well enough to return and teach you a lesson if you are not, fish head.”

“That’s it!” König called over to Baba Yaga and her chicken legged house. “You are not invited to the wedding. What kind of help is that? And will you stop it with the names?!”

Farah laughed. “Now I definitely will show up. You will repay me for my wisdom then and give my home a good bath. So long!”

And with her house having finally turned away from you, it started walking off into the forest under Königs loud protests.

Finally, he gave up and sighed.

“Well, at least we have a clue now. Even if it is a riddle.” He turned to you. “Are you sure you are alright? She is a dangerous woman.”

“I am,” You grinned. “We talked about the villagers. I told her everything.”

Königs concerned look turned into a grin as well.

“You are a dangerous woman too, dear Bride.” He nodded approvingly while he giggled. “She hates people who lie and they tell a lot of lies about you.”

“They sure do.”

“I don’t even want to imagine what she will do to them.”

“I do.”

König laughed and took you by the hand. Quickly you hid the pouch in the other behind your back.

“Good thing I am not planning on getting on your bad side, Bride.”

A strange kind of relief washed over you, taking away a tension you did not know you had held. Baba Yaga had given you as many fears as she had given you assurances.

A knife. A knife. A knife.

“Are you afraid I will tell Farah if you did?” You teased, stepping closer into his reach and decided to leave all worry behind you for now.

“No.” He paused, his watery eyes wandering over your form and you suddenly felt very aware that no one, not even the Fox or Heron, was around. Just you and your fiancé. And day time left to explore what that could mean.

“Alright, maybe. A little bit. She is terrifying,” König admitted, breaking the spell that had captured you.

You smiled and stepped away from him. “She is. Next time, please tell me who you invite over so I can brace myself. I like her but she is a force to be reckoned with. Can’t wait for the wedding to see her again.”

“Can’t wait for the wedding too, my beloved Bride.”

You paused, considering telling König about the pouch in your fingers and what that could mean for you - both of you - on your wedding night.

He probably does not even want me like that. I am no powerful being, no rusalka, no Baba Yaga with eyes that pierce everything. Just me. You thought to yourself. Why even give me the pouch when it will never be used? I was foolish enough for a day. No more of it.

“When will we marry, König?” you asked instead.

“When the palace is finished,” He replied. “Come. There is much to be done today. While you tell me what you need, we can think of what Baba Yaga had meant by sacrifice.”

“Good idea. But for today, a sacrifice of fish for lunch will do it for me.”

König chuckled.

“Of course, dear.”

XXX

Cultural Context Notes

Maybe this is a very personal observation but the relationships and friendships among eastern European women* or the dynamic between mothers and daughters is much more important and closer than it is in central Europe or the US. Correct me if I am wrong.

Another more personal observation: I am very cut off from my Russian roots basically since the annexation of Crimea and lost on how queer joy and life can look like ‘back home’. This bleeds into the text, reading very hetero. Since queerphobia is rampant in Russia where my family is from, I’m lost on how to depict eastern european/slavic queerness in my stories. I did not want to replace those gaps by just making a central european take on queerness so this is how it is. But I am a queer writer. And the lack of queerness in my story steeped in eastern european/slavic culture in itself feels like an accidental metaphor and I wish I could change that.

Many are somewhat familiar with Baba Yaga as a powerful evil witch since that is her most present depiction in international media post-Christianisation. But that simplifies her complex character. Some stories hint at her being a goddess of the earth or a similarly powerful being. Other stories describe her as one of three immortal sisters: the maid, the mother, and the crone in which Baba Yaga tends to be the crone. That too makes her an immensely powerful sorceress who reigns over death, life, and rebirth. Depicting her as just an evil witch in the western-European tradition clashes with stories about her being wise and helpful even if she is dangerous and unpredictable. And unlike many classical images of witches from more western parts of Europe Baba Yaga originally had no pointy hat, no black cat, or a broom to ride on. Instead, Baba Yaga appears to have no unusual dress from her peers. Nor does she have a side-kick except for maybe the woodhouse on chicken legs she lives in. And depending on the story Baba Yaga rides an oven, a large mortar, or just walks incredibly fast, which stresses that she is not an old hag in all her depictions but can be of different age and agility depending on the story. Baba Yaga is also associated with bones and death. In some stories she is the mother of the царь кощей / кощей Бессмертный - (Translation from russian) “undead king”/ “The one of bones and who can not die”. I decided to place Farah in the story as Baba Yaga because (I can and) Farah comes off as a reasonable wild card in the CoD franchise which is parallel enough to some Baba Yaga interpretations. Since the character Farah and the creation of a fake middle eastern country just to have that Orientalist theme in the CoD MW plot reads incredibly insensitive and racist to me, I’m making Farah the most powerful being in my story just out of spite. Also, Eastern Europe and Russia is not just Christians but has a lot of other religious influences too, the biggest one being Islam. Farah my beloved and everyone who identifies with her, this is for you. <3

Baba Yaga’s house in many tales is a wooden house on chicken legs that can walk wherever it wishes. To enter the house one needs to call out for it and ask it to turn around. There are several versions on what to say and I’m sure there are other variants in other languages. I used this one because I grew up with it: “Избушка, избушка, повернись ко мне передом, к лесу — задом” - translation from Russian: “Hut, dear hut. Please turn around towards me and with your back to the forest.” The added “Пожалуйста” is also Russian and means “Please”. I wanted to write this phrase in Old Church Slavonic but could not find the right words for it in the dictionaries so I had to stick with what I could execute, sorry. If there is a motivated linguist out there to research this, I’m absolutely willing to edit it and learn more about Old Church Slavonic or other fitting phrases. The origin of this house tale might come from the practice of building stilted houses in swampy regions. To keep the houses from rotting they were built on stilts, which got charred to avoid mould and rot. In some tales Baba Yaga is bound to the house and can not leave. In others she is not. Obviously, I understand staying in such a cool house forever anyway.

Is it possible to use herbs as contraception and abortion remedies? Likely. And there is historical evidence that several remedies had been used in the past to do so with differing success. HOWEVER! Do not try to replicate this at home. This is a fictional story and not medical advice. I know abortion and access to contraceptives are under attack in several parts of the world. It’s important to fight that and guarantee everyone dignity and bodily autonomy. But playing around with herbs you just googled or heard from a friend, is not the solution and can kill you. This part of the story is vague for a reason. 

Buckwheat grows in colder climates and on poor soils. It’s a staple food in many eastern European and central Asian regions. 

Rusalka (singular), rusalki (Plural) don’t have a good translations. In some sense they are mermaids but for inland water, since there are a handful of stories that describe them as having fish tales. But I think the best translation to give a picture of the rusalki is that they are more akin to nymphs like those from Greek myths. Rusalkis are female. In some regions they are supposed to look like old women, in others they are tall and stern looking. I grew up with the Russian tales of Rusalkis being pretty girls or women, playing in or around the water. They can be benevolent, especially to kids and women by helping out with washing clothes, playing or just friendly chatting. But they also can be a threat, predominantly for men whom they trick, drown and eat. It’s fascinating how gendered that image of the rusalka is, as if it fits the same entity but from two binary gendered points of view with the “female” one seeing the rusalka as a free spirit who does as she pleases, and the patriarchal “male” being threatened by that. The stories I know of the rusalka associate her with maidenhood or at least younger women, which ties to the idea that rusalkis are young women who committed suicide by drowning due to being pregnant out wedlock, dying before / around her wedding night or while giving birth. Essentially there is a lot of sexuality coded in the figure of the rusalka. If anyone knows or writes a queer take on it, please tag me. I need a break from those harsh binaries. Also, in some stories Rusalkis serve the Vodyanoy. I don’t really buy that and interpret it as a possible later addition to the fairy tale canon to depict the rusalka as subservient to at least one male master to be honest. Rusalkis are as governable as a storm. 

XXX

@thesinsoflust @kdkj122920 @die-prophetin @lillianastuff @1234ilikecowsthanyoumore @fatedeniedhope @queensidillasworld @agspgrwasb @silelda @unlikepoltergeist @matcha-flavored-cake @blvkwondaland @diamondnightdreamer @brooklyn-1918 @thorns-x @icepancakes @sizzlingsaladpeach @peachymonsters @blackrockshooter780 @cl3rks @king-thunderstorm @hosshihusshi

If you like to be tagged as well, shoot me a message.

[lightofraye]

What A Supportive Spouse Should Be

I--and others working together--have been slowly going through the full panel video of Wales Comic Con. It's slow and hard going due to audio issues, technical issues, time issues (we do have lives y'know), and just listening to that one particularly horrid voice is... hard.

Then there's the emotional abuse aspect of it all. I imagine there are Elta supporters who are more than a bit irked. "It's just playing!" "They're teasing!" "Be married for 14 years, then tell us what it's like!"

Uh. My aunt and uncle--my father's twin brother--has been married almost 50 years, and I see them tease each other all the time. Guess what? That is playful banter. That is being married long enough to see humor and tease each other. And I grew up with it, and I'm... almost that old. I know what it looks like!

I also grew up around an emotionally neglectful, emotionally immature, abusive father. I also know what that looks like.

I also know what an unsupportive spouse looks like.

An unsupportive spouse is one who tends to their own needs and leaves you waiting for hours. As I was after my son was born and my ex essentially left me to starve for months. I lost thirty pounds in three weeks, I was burning more calories than I was taking in, because I was tending to a newborn on my own. (And no, Elta was not on her own; they had a fucking nanny.)

Meanwhile, I made sure my ex had a lunch for work every time he left. I supported him into going back to college for a welding degree that he then left to rot on the wall because he was too lazy to search for work. I supported him by working nights while going to full time college myself. I supported him by doing the dishes, making meals, taking care of my son (yes, I said my because it takes more than just sperm to make a father), tending to house and home. All just so he could...

... sit on the couch and never work. Never do his part.

Hm.

I supported him through everything. I believed him when he told me lies. I believed that he actually loved me. I did everything for him, and all I got was ashes in return.

I know what an unsupportive spouse looks like. No, I'm not "projecting" my trauma. I've had ten years, thank you, of processing this. It's not pain you're detecting in these words. It's rage.

Rage against the deniers. Rage against those who would dismiss it. Rage against those who would be all "But he's a man! You can't abuse him!" Or even "She's his wife!" As if that excuses anything.

A supportive spouse would stop putting him down. A supportive spouse wouldn't try to claim glory left and right, as she does. Oh I know--but he says it at conventions all the time! Right. Because where is her glory? Where is her spotlight? She doesn't have one because she's too damned lazy to get off her flat ass and put in some genuine work.

She couldn't even get into Supernatural on her own merits. She said it herself. No, it took her twisting Jensen's arm until he caved and got her in on a materialistic, lazy, self-entitled 'angel' character specifically written for her--and about her.

I know what a supportive partner looks like. I live with a pair--my daughter and her spouse. I see it in other people, whose love stories give me hope that it's actually out there, and not just some fairytale in books.

I was one too.

Whatever she is, folks, Elta isn't one of them.

[seeingstarks]

authorized (r.r x. r.r drabble)

summary : rhea finds herself in the midst of the tribal chief himself, roman. what will happen? pairing : rhea ripley × roman reigns cw : cursing, kissing, innuendos, blowjob, hair pulling, nicknames, sub/dom dynamic a/n : just something small i came up with after watching rhea's promo and as much as i wanna see them feud i can't help but imagine how unstoppable they would be together and how much they'd bicker. x) reblogs are very much appreciated! word count : 716 words tag list : @harmshake

"acknowledge me." the aussie's voice echoed throughout the hallway, a familiar phrase only voiced by the tribal chief himself, few having dared to defy him and failed.

rhea wasn't one to back down from a fight, staring down every single member of the bloodline and spearing them in the process. paul heyman being the only person in her way before her true target, roman reigns.

phone in hand, he dialed up the samoan's number as rhea shook her head with a tsk falling from her dark lips, "i'll do it myself. don't even know why roman keeps you around anyways. you're a useless manager." she yanked the phone from his hands not even caring if she hurt him in the process, fingers pressing down harshly on the keys.

"i'm gonna' bloody kill him! he doesn't mess with dom dom or anyone else for that matter-" rhea was fuming, pacing around the bloodline's locker room which jd had taken over earlier that night, dom was supposed to have matching attire but somehow roman convinced heyman to do his dirty work.

"you wouldn't dare to lay a single hand on heyman, doll. not when i can have those sharp nails wrapped around my neck or proving to the world that mami isn't always on top."

rhea clearly couldn't see roman on the other side of the phone but with how he spoke was with a smirk, smug in tone.

she decided to play along with his so called game, having nothing better to do for the night and get payback for earlier. little did rhea know he was on a jet to see her right now.

"in your nightmares, ro ro. on top no matter the circumstance, bet you're wantin' people to acknowledge you in order to compensate for somethin' else, hm?" rhea had venom in her tone, taunting the samoan with each word however she became more comfortable, laying back against the sofa as she chatted it up more with him, paul making his own quiet leave.

"wouldn't you like to know, sweetheart? good thing you won't have to wait long-" the handle turned and a tall, dark-toned, raven-haired man opened up the door.

rhea jumped up from the sofa, staring daggers into his brown hues. being a few inches shorter than roman the aussie hoped to still intimidate him but roman flashed that shit-eating grin he always did.

instead of it making her stomach turn like usual, it did something else... made rhea press her legs together which roman was quick to take notice.

"look at mami now.. not so immune to me when the tribal chief is infront of her - be a good girl and let daddy take care of you.."

rhea cackled at the man, laughing so hard to the point her ribs hurt and had to catch her breath, "you, my daddy? i'm a grown ass woman, ro. don't need your pencil dick." she scrunched her nose trying to ignore the growing wetness between her legs.

rhea gnawed upon her lower lip, causing some of the black lipstick to smear as she kept eye contact with roman, a few moments passing before they finally pulled one another into a heated kiss battling each other for dominance.

they eventually reached a wall, in which rhea had roman pinned up against it, he could easily reverse her but relished in the fact of being submissive for the woman.

rhea lowered herself as she tugged on his gym shorts and boxers, his exposed length springing free as drool threatened to escape her dark lips, "tell anyone about this and i'll actually kill you."

her lips parted making an "o" shape as her tongue teased the tip of his cock circling it before making way on more of his length, taking it in as roman leaned his head back letting out groans of pleasure.

"that's it, mami." he hummed and reached down to tug at her raven hair before rhea took him deeper, roman starting to thrust his hips against her throat.

"do you acknowledge me now?" he asked with a smirk.

"i acknowledge youmff-" her words were muffled due to having her mouth wrapped around roman's cock, but she was sure he got the point and him calling her mami was icing on the literal cake.

[thelavenderflamingo]

Night Shift

Fictional Interpretation/Short story of the Song Night Shift by Lucy Dacus.

Summary: Y/N goes through a horrific breakup with her now ex-girlfriend, Julien Baker. Instead of seeing Julien everyday at Y/N's 9 to 5, she decides to get a new job.

 I felt it in my bones that this was wrong. The spit of the man I was kissing was almost drowning me. Actually, it was. I pushed my tinder date harshly off my body and coughed into the floor. My date laid on one end of the couch where I had pushed, while I keeled over, coughing on the other side. “What the fuck? Are you okay?” His gruff voice only made me cough harder. “Julien I’m sorry” I regretted the name the moment it came out of my mouth, my head slowly whipping around in hopes the man would be replaced by a more comforting figure. He wasn’t. “Okay, you’re fucking crazy. I’ve got to go.” I quickly got up. “Hey I’m sorry. Julien- I mean Jacob please come back!” The door shut in my face. 

“I’m doing fine.” My hands rubbed against the soft fabric of my pants. “I’m just trying to derail my one track mind, you know how I get.” I looked up, trying to gather whether my therapist believed me. “You  know I’m regaining my self worth back in just record time.”  She let out a quick chuckle. “You’re not doing fine, Y/N. You choked when you kissed someone other than Ju-” “My ex.” “Do you see my point? You can’t even hear her name.” I was silent. “Have you spoken to Phoebe or Lucy?” I shook my head. “I almost reached out a couple of times, but it felt wrong. They belong to her. Not me.” My therapist nodded. “Have you been keeping up with what she's been up to?” I slowly nodded in sadness. “She comes back into town this weekend.” “Oh that's interesting! Will you see her?” “Oh no! Absolutely not!” She set her notebook down. “Well why not? You could gain a lot of closure by going to have coffee or something with her.” “She’s already moved on.” “Well this isn’t a get back together Y/N, It’s closure. Don’t entertain the thought.” “But I just can’t help but think of the other girl in the bed that was once mine every time I see her.” “Just try it.” 

I wondered if I was a masochist. That was my only thought as I stared at the brown eyes before me. The woman I once looked at as the sun now resembled a burnt out street lamp. She wore a backwards hat and slouched, like she always fucking did. Always trying to seem small in public so people wouldn’t realize she was Julien fucking Baker. In my head, I imagined myself punching her in her teeth. Her big ‘Dave Grohl’ smile, as Lucy once put it. I was so fucking angry. How dare she move on. She moved on in the four months of silence while I had been grieving the three years of love. “You’re a fucking bitch Julien!” My arms shoved her back so hard she slipped out of the metal chair. Her mop of beige hair flew into her face. “I fucking loved you! I never meant what I said in the breakup! I always assumed you’d come back! But you fucking moved on!” I kicked the table so violently the glass cups fell and shattered on the ground. Laying next to my broken heart. The glass crunched under my boots as I walked away. 

“Y/N. You okay?” My eyes blinked back into reality. “Hm?” “You went somewhere for a second.” “Oh yeah, I’m sorry about that.” “You know you never needed to apologize.” There was silence between us. The tension cut both of us off from talking. “I regret my part in the downfall of us, but you truly left me no choice, Y/N.” I felt sick. “I mean what was I supposed to do? Beg you to come back when I knew neither of us was happy? I certainly wasn’t happy.” Why did I come here? To sit and watch her stare at her fucking feet and absolve her guilt and just shake hands as if she didn't destroy me? I felt no need to forgive whatsoever. But as I looked into her eyes I figured I might as well. It would take time but I couldn’t live my life being angry at the woman I once adored. As I gazed at her I felt the urge to connect our lips. She looked at me with the same intensity she always had, eyes analyzing every part of my being. I need her lips on mine.  I just wanted to feel her one last time. No. I had to stop. I cleared my throat, shattering the moment. A crumpled up bill was in my pocket, I grabbed it and threw it on the table, paying for my part of coffee. “I gotta go Jay.” “Wait.” She grabbed my arm. “Say it again.” I turned around, confusion consuming my eyes. “Say what again?” “My name. It’s just been so long-” “I can't, I truly have to go, Julien.” My arm was ripped from hers as I quickly made my way towards the street. 

The sun was making its way down behind the tall buildings, the neon lights of Memphis slowly replacing it. I walked for hours on end. The last time I had checked my phone it was when I was waiting for Julien at 5 o’clock, checking my phone through blurry eyes, I saw that it was now 12 am. I sighed and turned the corner with all intentions of returning to my new, empty apartment, but when I rounded the brick wall I saw a small bar, nestled in between a Law office and a Record store. The bar looked cozy enough so I popped in through the red door. 

“Hey love, it’s four am, you have to leave.” The blond behind the bar spoke to me sweetly while trying to pull the vodka soda out of my hands. “Wait-no please. I need it.” “Here’s some water. Please sober up. You gotta leave here in the next 45 minutes.” I nodded sadly as I took the water out of her hands. I finished the water and my hands grew idle. My phone had sat neglected next to me, so I picked it up, tapping through stories. My eyes landed on what only could have been described as my worst nightmare. It was one of JUlien and I’s mutual friends' private stories. My eyes were glued to the image behind the two men posing. It was Julien, with the girl she had been seen with mere hours after I ended things. I grew angry and dialed the all too familiar number. The ringing stopped. “Hello?” The groggy voice that came through the line cut my heart.” “You know what Julien-” I was completely slurring my words. “Don’t hold your breath. I hope you forget you EVER saw me at my best. You know, you don't deserve what you don’t respect. You don’t deserve what you say you love and then you neglect.” “Avery I-” “Now bite your tongue! It’s way too dangerous to fall so young.” I took a well needed breath. “Take back what you said. You can’t lose what you never had.” I hung up just as the girl’s hand took my phone. “There will be no calling of exes.” “Whatever.” I sighed, slouching down. “Come on girl. Let's get you home.” 

I got over it the best I could over the next few weeks. I eventually ended up getting a job at the bar I had solemnly stumbled into. I was serving one of my regulars when he looked at me in my eyes. It wasn’t just a glance, but a look. It was almost like he could see my entire life in this look. “What are you doing here?” I laughed. “What do you mean?” “I mean this job obviously isnt you.” “Well that’s a bold statement.” “Im serious.” He grabbed my arm. “Tell me why you’re sad.” Looking at the him, I decided to give into it. “My ex, well we met at the recording company I was working at. I fell for her instantly, but after we broke up i couldn’t stand to be there anymore. She was there 9 to 5, so I just assumed it would be best if i took the night shift, somewhere else.” “You left your job because your ex recorded there?” “If i can help it, I’ll never see her again.” A slow love song that used to be ours started playing from the speaker. He waited for my commentary, “In five years I hope that all of these songs feel like covers, almost very distant, and I’ll dedicate them to new lovers.” 

The questions from my regular never stopped coming until we finally had to kick everyone out at closing. The floors were sticky with spilled alcohol, and my coworker had left me to close the bar by myself. I was mopping the floor when I heard it. The soft sound of Julien’s voice over the speaker consumed the entire building. I let the song devour me, dropping the mop and throwing my arms around myself as I swayed with the music. I was so consumedwith the sound around me I didn’t hear the soft sound of the door opening, but I did hear the steps of boots I had known so well. Instantly I whipped around and made eye contact with the person who broke me and engulfed me all at once. I took a breath. “Julien.”

Thank you for reading! This is my first work so pls be nice!!! Suggestions and critiques are welcome!!!

[mondaymelon]

HIHII!! Could i request a rose-scented letter in a blue & white envelope with wax seal and 💭? With love, Heizou? Tysm Melo and congrats! :333

HIIHIIII adfjakdgjlasdjg thank you astrieee T^T here's your heizou ♡ enjoy!

tw: yandere implications

Hey.

Are you home?

I really am just asking you like I don't know, huh...

Haha, you're probably a little confused right now, aren't you? The famous, renowned Mister Shikanoin Heizou, writing you a measly letter, of all things. Although for you, it seems that there really is not boundary to what I can do, is there? We'll just have to see~

Hm, that's right. I have your number, obviously, so why didn't I just text you??

That's what you're thinking right about now, isn't it? Don't act too shocked, I know you as well as myself... maybe even better.

Ahem! There's a reason such things as letters existed back in the day, y'know? Man alive... they do now too, but there's logic why they were so effective! Imagine, coming home, seeing a pristine envelope made and folded with heartfelt emotion... just about anything could be written inside!

It was that kind of romantic mystery that sparked the people's hearts!

Annnnddd that may or may not be what I'm trying to do right about now. You don't need to think too much about it! I'd hate to worry you.

Now then... ah, right. I've been dawdling for far too long, but it seems I'm still a bit scared. Haha... would you look at that, my hands really are shaking as I write.

Sort of cowardly, isn't it?

But I guess every hero has their fair share of difficulties, and if this is the price I have to pay for being with you, then so be it!

...I like you a lot. You know that, right? I-I've been making that quite clear, haven't I...

But it doesn't just end there!!

You're just so beautiful, my precious lady. So, so beautiful. You take my breath away every time I see you.

And it's a shame I can't even hear your soothing voice over the sound of my own racing heart...!!

I think about you before I go to sleep, when I wake up in the morning... I can't help it, really!

I just - I love you so much I don't know what to do with myself...!!

...Hah... there, I said it.

I'm sorry if I made you feel uncomfortable by saying this all so abruptly- Actually, let's be honest here. I'm not sorry at all.

Is it too much to say that I'll be expecting a yes?

Why you'd turn me down, I'd have no idea... but on the offchance you might...

Nevermind. I'll be preparing something. For later.

I'll see you tomorrow. I'll be expecting an answer.

With love,

Shikanoin Heizou

(a/n) PSPSPS FIRST POST OF THE EVENT DONE!! thank you all again ♥

[hannahssimblr]

Chapter Five (Part 3)

When we get back to my apartment, I have to pay the driver because Marnie can’t find her bag. I think I give him too much money but he doesn’t give me any change. The trip costs more money than I would spend in three days, and I dimly suspect that I will be upset about it in the morning.

I fumble my keys in the lock once we climb to the second floor of the apartment block, and it takes much longer than usual to get inside because the keyhole seems to be in a different place than it usually is, the whole lock moving around exotically in front of my eyes. I don’t turn the lights on, because the effort of finding the switch seems far too great, and we both stumble around in the dark searching for the staircase, my limbs so heavy and lethargic, but I can’t help but giggle as Marnie collides with a dining chair, sending its metal legs shuddering across the kitchen tiles. She starts giggling too, and then shushes me extremely loudly. 

“You shush.” I stage-whisper to her, right as I crash my shins into the coffee table and yelp out in pain, which makes her laugh even harder. A light flips on upstairs. 

“What’s going on?” Comes a clear, sober, and very irritated voice as Claire comes down the stairs in pink satin pyjamas. I’m stricken by how perfect she looks even with messy hair and marks on her cheek from her pillow, and how cretinous Marnie and I must seem in comparison, drunk, dishevelled, and one of us with actual vomit on her top. 

“Sorry.” I say weakly. “We were trying to be quiet.”

She looks us up and down. “Well okay, clearly you’ve after been drinking all night, and that’s your choice, like, but can you not make such a racket when you come in? I was asleep.”

“You weren’t out yourself, no? On a Friday night, like?” Marnie says cheekily, but Claire doesn’t answer, she just stares her down with the kind of venomous disapproval that could make a grown man squirm. 

“Sorry.” I say. “We’ll be quiet. We’ll go to bed and won’t disturb you again.”

“It’s fine, you could just be more considerate next time.”

While Marnie and I lay together in my bed she turns to me and sniffs “Your housemate is a bit of a culchie, isn’t she?”

“What do you mean?” I say, trying not to focus on the way that the bed is spinning beneath me like a the waltzers at a theme park. 

“Like, I mean she’s one of those country girls who’s really boring. She doesn’t know how to have actual fun.”

“She does.” I say defensively. “Just maybe she didn’t feel like going out tonight.”

“In general though, I mean.”

“Mm?”

“She’s got the vibe of someone who’ll marry a boy she met in secondary school, then have kids at twenty five and then live in her hometown for the rest of her life.”

“I don’t know if there’s anything wrong with that.”

“I suppose, but it’s not very interesting, is it? To never learn anything about the world outside of yourself or to experiment or have unique experiences.”

“Do you think that’s what you’re like? Open minded?”

“Yeah. I think we’re both a bit like that. We’re not meant to be caged in, we’re meant to make something of ourselves and to stand out as being different. I like to imagine myself written about in some magazine far in the future, to have been a notable woman with notable things to contribute to society, not just a mother, a wife, the property of some dull, unextraordinary man.”

“Hm.” I say, partially because my focus is still off-kilter, but partially because I’m busy contemplating her image of me, as someone who’s meant for something, someone too big for a banal, traditional existence. I’m enjoying thinking of myself in those terms because it ignites warmth inside me, makes me feel worthy of more.

She’s silent for a long while after that, and I’m beginning to think that she’s asleep when she rolls over to face me in the dark. “I kissed Fiona tonight.” She confesses. “In the bath.”

“Wow.” I slur. “What was it like?”

“It was pretty good. I don’t usually kiss other girls, but she was looking at me like she wanted to. She told me that I’m pretty.”

“Well, you are.”

“Mm.” She agrees.

“Do you fancy her?”

“No, I don’t think so. I was just trying it out. Unfortunately I think I prefer men.”

I chuckle, and then for some reason feel compelled to share something with her too, as though we’re now trading vulnerable moments like football cards. “Something weird happened with Dean tonight.” I whisper, and I hear her body shifting in the blankets to face me again. 

“Why? What happened?”

“He touched my hand. Out of the blue. He grabbed it and started drawing on it with his fingers.”

“And he didn’t like, say anything before he did that?”

“No, and he looked weird.”

“Did it make you uncomfortable?”

“No, he was just looking.” Speaking is an effort, and I’m not sure I’m making the kind of sense that I think I am, but I don’t really care that much anymore. Everything feels surreal and dreamlike, even the words coming out of my mouth barely feel as though they belong to me. A weighty, sleepy feeling overpowers me and I shut my eyes, feeling myself carried away into the darkness behind my lids. 

I feel her turn over one last time beside me. “Do you fancy him?” She whispers. 

“No.” I say drowsily. “No, I don’t think so.”

Prev // Next

[kaylinalexanderbooks]

Find the word

Thanks @i-can-even-burn-salad for the tag!

My words: bring, cling, sing, ring

Your words: can, man, tan, ran

Tagging with no pressure @mk-writes-stuff @blind-the-winds @little-peril-stories @sarandipitywrites @sarahlizziewrites @eccaiia @sleepywriter00 @gottestod-writes @gothamxwattpad @willtheweaver @mysticstarlightduck @aalinaaaaaa @cowboybrunch @poethill @finickyfelix @ohnomybreadsticks @dyrewrites + ANYONE

TSP intro

TSP tag list (ask to be +/-): @thepeculiarbird @illarian-rambling @televisionjester @finchwrites

Keep reading for:

George is about to find out his power (flashback)

Carla and Carmen scene I'm kinda proud of

Someone is figuring things out

Oh no Carla is hurt

Bring - from The Secret Portal Part Two (George POV)

I leaned back in the chair, exhaling my annoyance. Jef Holtman was one of my father’s closest allies. They may have been friends, but I was only four when Dad died, so I only had other people telling me they were. I couldn’t imagine why my own father would like someone like Dr. Holtman. The one who hated my sister for supposedly being Inutilia. Eventually, I pulled out my tablet and tried to read. One of the teenagers, Isananika, teleported in at one point to take Eliza to bed so Damian could stay with me as long as he needed. The hour dragged on until finally, the APTA machine beeped to signal it was done processing the information. Damian yawned and wiped the sleep out of his eyes as he examined the results. My heart pounded. I could be a chronokinetic. It was a small possibility, but I hoped that was the case so I could help Carla. But maybe I would have intangibility, which was cool but not something that seemed particularly useful for the predicament. Maybe healing would be able to help Carla. The healers we did have couldn’t do anything, but maybe there was a way I could figure it out. Teleportation? Maybe I could find a chronokinetic and bring them here. Telepathy could help me communicate with Carla. Superstrength didn’t seem useful. Dad was working on using superspeed to reverse chronokinesis, so that would be helpful. Flight wasn't helpful, neither were any of the elementals. Maybe if I had dimensiokinesis, I could find a universe where they had more chronokinetics— “George!” Damian’s voice got me out of the mind spiral I found myself in. I realized I was sweating, and my heart was pounding.

“How did you know about that?” “Carla—Miss Baxter, I knew you growing up. You’re supposed to be twenty. You’re a chronokinetic—it doesn’t take a genius to put three and one together.” Carmen removed the sampling tube to place it into the computer. “Furthermore, Jedi and I did find your brother’s journal detailing his process to save you.” “You read George’s journal without his permission?!” “No, we asked him. He agreed we could see it. It’s not like your being frozen in time should be a secret. It’s not a big deal.” Carla fiddled with her hands. Maybe, but still, that time still haunted her. “Your father was actually working on a similar formula, in a complete coincidence. But Raissa Kamanzi was attempting to replicate a chronokinetic’s power, so he decided to try to counter it. He didn’t complete it.” “Why not?” “November 13, 2010.” Carla felt as if her blood had been frozen by a hydrokinetic. “That’s the day he left.” “I thought you’d remember.” “He was very angry. I never found out why.” Carmen’s back was turned, but Carla felt the tensity in the air. Carmen knew why, but Carla decided to back down. “Can I tell you something?” Carla asked, adjusting her glasses before returning her right hand to her lap to clasp the left. “After Pia died… I really missed you. You were a defining part of my life then. And… I’d like you to still… be that.” Carmen didn’t answer. She just stood and waited for the computer to finish its analysis.

Cling (how have I not used this??) Clasp - The Secret Portal Part Two

Spoilers in purple italics

Sing - from The Secret Portal Part One

“Hm,” Charlie mused. She set her tablet down and turned back to the hologram, zooming further in on the Numu district until the Tue Peena’yakoróo forest took up the screen. She scrolled toward the Taabe Village, keeping her eyes on the trees. She stopped when her eyes landed on a blob in the center of the hologram. She clicked on it to expand, and the hologram shifted its view to the front of the building. The program she had up automatically brought up all of the information she needed to know. It was registered under an unfamiliar name. She clicked on it, revealing a man who appeared to be of Tribus origin. He was apparently an ultimate—when he was alive. He’d been dead for nearly thirty years. Charlie scrolled down to his known relatives. He never married, never had kids. He had a sister—but she was under maximum security. He did, however, have a niece. Charlie clicked on her name, and a young woman around eighteen materialized in front of her. Apparently, that was the most recent picture, since she was supposed to be in her late forties by now. She disappeared a few months prior to her uncle’s death. Charlie saved the woman’s information, uploading it into a file to send to her superior. She pressed the comm button on her desk. “Oh, Rhe-ett,” she said in a sing-song. “You know how I have the most boring job in TRA?” “It’s hard not to know when you keep reminding me every day,” Rhett growled over the comm. “Check your inbox.” There was a pause before Rhett said, “What does she have to do with anything?” “I’ll explain in full later—maybe at the next meeting. Just put all available assets on this Carmen Asghar. I think she might be a lead in something big.”

Ring - from The Secret Portal Part Two

Carmen slid her glasses back on. “That black smoke can change atomic structure, but without being able to control her powers, I cannot provide an accurate enough sample to test what is going on.” “How have her powers worked before?” “She had to get angry.” “So…” Jedi gestured to Carmen to fill in the blank. “Making her angry doesn’t seem too hard,” Carmen muttered, crossing her arms. “Maybe I have to—” She stopped at the opening of the door, jumping to her feet at the sight that entered. “What happened?” George Baxter was setting his sister on one of the examination tables before Carmen finished her query. “We were in group training. Ash accidentally sent out a psychic blast, and it hit Carla.” “Accidentally?” Carmen spat, struggling to find the telepathic monitors. George suddenly had them in his palm, handing them to her, and she took them, placing them in the points around Carla’s head. “How does one accidentally hit someone with a psychic blast?” “Well, she did intentionally create the blast,” George explained as Jedi dragged over the psychic wave monitor. “But I think she only did it as an attempt to get out of Carla’s power.” Carmen paused for a split-second at the monitor before resuming. “She was able to break out of a chronokinetic’s hold? Psychically?” “I think so,” George said, his hand reaching up to twist his father’s ring that hung around the chain on his neck in concern.

[twilight-deviant]

hi question, have you ever wrote a scenario where wilson is jealous of someone flirting with matt?

sorry that last ask sounds like a request, more like want to know your thoughts on a jealous fisk.

No worries. I didn't take it that way. I only saw a genuine question. ♥ Though for the record, I'm more than okey dokey with FiskMatt requests. (✿☉‿☉) Just not right now because I'm doing Whumptober. XD

(Related/Unrelated: My two favorite Matt ships are FiskMatt and MattElektra, and I have decided they should fight over him.)

I'm trying... to... think... I know I've thought about jealous Fisk before. I'm trying to remember if I've written it, even in a wip. Hm, I'm not sure I have. Which is weird because, yeah, I've thought about it.

I'm trying to pin down how exactly Fisk would behave in such a scenario. First off, are they actually in a relationship, or is someone flirting with Matt when Fisk clearly called dibs?

I like to look at Fisk's canonical relationships for a good idea of how he is when faced with "romantic rivals."

Obviously, he's an absolute gentleman and simp for Vanessa. Forever and always.

Get you a man...

I wish I had more to go on with comic Vanessa, but I don't think anyone was ever stupid enough to flirt with her. 😂 Consistently though their relationship seemed to be Fisk saying, "Whatever is best for her, even if it is not best for me."

Daredevil: Love and War (1986)

That sounds like a tangent, I think. Haha. My point is Vanessa can do no wrong. Someone could flirt with her, she could flirt with someone. It's hard to imagine Fisk stepping in unless Vanessa objected to the flirtations. He would fantasize killing the person in his mind though.

But I don't think I have to spell out that Fisk puts Vanessa on a pedestal that no one else can even come close to. She is an outlier and should not be counted. lol.

VERSUS

How he behaves with Typhoid Mary when he was taken with one of her personalities while Matt dated another.

Daredevil #259

(A toxic af relationship, but they're lovey dovey married now, so hey, whatever works for them.)

So yeah, at least one version of Fisk is very capable of being jealous. But I like how Mary calls his bluff. She knows he cares too much to hurt her. It's that fact and the doubling down on his anger towards Matt (the one touching his Mary) which I think is deliciously relevant. He seems to get most mad at the "offender."

Daredevil #256

If we think about it instead as, "Fisk likes Matt but this other person is flirting with him," he'll be angry with Matt, but when it comes to actual action, he would want the person flirting to be punished. Matt would hate this btw (IF he found out).

And I think that's probably the conclusion I could live with.

Jealous Fisk (in a relationship with Matt):

More subdued and heartbroken.

Potential feelings of personal inadequacy.

Paranoia = surveilling Matt (fair chance Matt realizes)

Having trouble believing that Matt wants to be with him and will be faithful. (No actual reason to suspect infidelity, but so obsessed with elevating Matt's worth, of course everyone else wants him too.)

But at the same time, maybe wondering if Matt does deserve to be with someone else.

Jealous Fisk (not in a relationship with Matt):

Probably? gonna kill a dude? for touching what's his? At the very least, he's roughing someone up.

If Matt found out, he would feel guilty but angry. Now he's definitely not dating Fisk.

If Matt didn't find out, he would think it weird how everyone that was flirty/nice suddenly won't look at or speak to him. Or disappeared entirely.

Were I to write Jealous Fisk... I can never say for sure until I write it. Haha. I think it always just depends on specific ideas and scenarios. I could see myself writing either of the above. I also like the idea of cashing in on Fisk's inherent ability to influence people's thoughts and actions. (The man is a puppet master.) So that you could have an established relationship between Fisk and Matt where he slowly manipulates Matt to be more withdrawn from others. By becoming the only or most important person in Matt's life, he allows himself to be less concerned about potential rivals. Because not only would Matt never act on the flirtations, but he would feel obligated to shut them down. (But also Fisk is probably hurting these people for daring to try.)

End of jealous Fisk.

Random thoughts...

I'm thinking about how Fisk's relationship with Mary began. Maybe writers forgot Vanessa existed when she was in a coma for years idk. But he began things with Mary during that coma, still married to Vanessa. Then Mary faded away in his life and Vanessa was more relevant again. Then Vanessa left for Europe and he went back to Mary. Mary gone again, more Vanessa. Vanessa died, now he's married to Mary.

So Fisk's own fidelity is... hmm. Maybe Matt should be the jealous one. 😅