#don’t think about the perspective please

[supernaturallyliterate]

One thing I don’t see enough people talk about is the control vs autonomy dynamic in Fizodeous.

Yes there is a literal power dynamic (Ozzie being a Sin, with more magic) and a socioeconomic power dynamic in their relationship. But there is also an undercurrent of Ozzie controlling Fizz’s autonomy and independence. Especially in terms of Fizz leaving the house.

It’s played off as innocent and playful, even by Fizz and Ozzie themselves. Ozzie says he wants to protect Fizz. Makes jokes about keeping him all to himself. And Fizz uses his pouty face, says “pwetty pwease”, they banter, it seems fine. But underneath the banter is the truth. Fizz doesn’t like being cooped up and under Ozzie’s “protection” all the time. It feels like control.

And I think Ozzie is starting to recognize this, genuinely. We see a small step when he reaches out to Blitz to bodyguard the clown contest. Yes, Ozzie is still hovering and protective of both Fizz’s physical movements as well as his emotional state, by encouraging him not to participate in the contest.

I think Fizz making the joke of “never leaving the house again” at the end of the kidnapping by Striker and Crimson is also a self-defensive and self-protective impulse. He says it, and I think he does legitimately want some time to recover from the traumatic experience. But I think it’s also a subtle, “maybe Ozzie was right. Maybe I can’t handle myself in the outside world. Maybe it’s better if I stay inside, under Ozzie’s protection/control.”

And it’s a very dangerous line of thinking. It’s subtle, it’s under the surface, and it’s definitely an unspoken aspect of their relationship. (Unspoken in terms of serious convos, not banter that can easily be misinterpreted or brushed aside.)

Anyways, this control vs independence tension has always been a bit of a red flag for me in their relationship. And I think it does a good job of showcasing that even in perceived healthy relationships, there can be some unresolved shit lingering under the surface. Some unspoken beliefs and pain.

Ozzie’s unspoken belief is that Fizz can’t handle himself or protect himself without Ozzie there to protect him.

Fizz’s unspoken belief is that Ozzie doesn’t trust him, doesn’t see him as an equal who is free to independently act, to come and go as he pleases.

And that’s something that I hope they get a chance to work through! I think it’s a similar case to Stolas & Blitzø—not seeing it from the other’s perspective, their socioeconomic background affecting how they see the world and the relationship in ways they don’t fully understand (Stolas’s “I don’t look down on you!” For example)

Anyways, I am curious if others have noticed this tension in Fizzmodeus

"Oh relax. I'm sure your big royal chicken ain't gonna let anything happen to his peppy lil' fuck doll." You already know the drill, rambles under the cut 😌

As much as I want them to eventually find out about it, I'm glad Blitz didn't know about Stolas' involvement in resolving the kidnapping situation in Oops. With the level of denial he was in, Blitz absolutely would've found a way to spin it into something negative. This art originally started off as an observation on how hard Blitz is projecting his own feelings about his relationship with Stolas onto Fizz's relationship with Oz. That if Blitz had known, the above line probably would've summed up what he'd think of Stolas' actions. The more I worked on it though, the more I realized it kinda went the other way as well, with Fizz doing a bit of his own denial and projection. Fizz wasn't wrong about Blitz missing the mark on Stolas' feelings, but his viewpoint has always struck me as having a bit of the rose-colored tint of exceptionalism, Fizz believing he earns his treatment (good or bad) via performance and separate from being an imp. That if he's good enough being an imp (and disabled) doesn't matter.

(spoiler: you can't succeed your way out of systemic inequality, sorry) Fizz and Blitz (pre-Mastermind) are both in relationships with unequal power dynamics and while I wouldn't consider Fizz and Oz's relationship unhealthy*, there's a sense of push-back against the inequality that isn't present for them but is for Blitz and Stolas. Despite their rocky start, Blitz and Stolas clearly see any inequality between them as something to resolve or address, whereas Fizz and Oz seem more resigned to it (or content to ignore it). Blitz is wrong about Stolas, but his dissatisfaction with their relationship isn't wrong - and Fizz could stand to learn a bit from that. So this piece ended up being more of a two-way conversation than I initially thought (and this post ended up being a lot longer than I planned 😂) *obviously it has room for improvement, but it's imperfect in ways that are realistic and non-worrisome. Even if I'm hoping for a bit of conflict between them going into season 3, I have absolute faith their relationship is solid and would make it out intact. Anyways, have this fun and relevant screenshot:

[luvseisagi]

— not too much, just enough.

ft. michael kaiser x reader. wc. 4k

summary. on endless nights that feel like drowning in your own mind, you know michael kaiser is the only one who truly understands. content. gn!reader, no pronouns used. established relationship. hurt/comfort, toxic relationship turned healthy. mentions of emotional manipulation and gaslighting. kaiser had a redemption arc (so ooc because hes super sweet). reader is dealing with mental health issues —depression, anxiety, self harm in a way (nothing explicit) + has avoidant attachment style. other than that, i think it could even be fluff. author's note. i had an episode and i was sad as fuck so i wrote this cause the only character i think would really understand it is kaiser since he's had it even worse. so yeah. here you have !

𝜗𝜚 english isnt my first language, so any corrections or advice are highly appreciated, as well as feedback (please) ! enjoy

the room is dark, the air so hot its difficult to breath, yet so cold it chills you even under the pile of blankets. the blinds are still up, window cracked open, but it's past midnight. no moon tonight, so nothing but the faint light of your phone screen on the bedside table illuminates the closed space.

you’re sitting on your bed, back against the wall, legs crossed. your pajamas stick to your skin, uncomfortable, but you have no strength left in your body to change clothes, too drained to move or even adjust the blankets over you.

you tried to sleep, because you feel exhausted, but your mind doesn't seem to want to cooperate. your eyes are wide open, and from where you are sitting, you can see all the notifications on your phone —a reminder of all the messages you’ve been ignoring.

today's been a rough day, but you don't even know why. you didn't do anything. didn't even leave the house, or your room —not today, not the whole week. so why do you feel exhausted? why does it feel like the worst day of your life, if nothing happened at all?

you did nothing but rot in bed for hours, gathering the very little strength you had left to drag yourself to the bathroom, splash some water on your face and eat whatever you could find in the kitchen that didn't get you nauseous just from the smell. and even that had been a struggle.

you are not fine. 

actually, you haven't been fine for a long time now. however, u are able to ignore it most of the time —your busy everyday life has you distracted enough to avoid the dark thoughts, usually. but there are times when it’s just too much.

when everything's too much is when you feel absolutely nothing.

you always say you are a pretty logical person. it's one of the things you like about yourself: always taking in every perspective, always finding rational answers for your emotions. that's why these episodes hit so hard —they don’t make sense. you can’t even grasp them, can’t analyze something you can't understand. it drives you crazy. it makes you want to cry.

it chains you to your bed for hours, for days and even weeks —when silence becomes too loud is when your mind can't quiet down.

and still, all you feel is emptiness. 

a soft knock on the door is the first sound to fill your room in days. it startles you, and you flinch.

"are you there?" 

the voice on the other side of the door is low and sweet, almost honey in the way it slides so easily from under your door to the edge of your bed. 

your throat feels dry for not speaking for days. 

there's no answer from you. you can't grasp even a trace of your voice.

"i'm coming in, okay?" 

you don't say anything, but he doesn't need you to reply. the door opens, and your boyfriend enters the room.

"hi, love. i've brought you dinner, in case you’re hungry. and water too." 

you can only watch him in silence as he walks in, setting his bag down on your desk —the food is there, you assume, given the smell. 

you swallow, but at least you don't feel the urge to throw up. the way your stomach growls, you're pretty sure hunger won this time over anxiety.

“here."

he hands you a bottle of water after opening it for you. is cold, and it calms the itch on your skin for a moment.

"thank you." you manage to mumble, avoiding his gaze. 

he's seen you in so many ways —completely naked, just waking up, ugly sobbing, and sick and feverish —but for some reason, embarrassment gathers on your cheeks when he sees you like this.

it's not that you don't look good. it's that you look vulnerable, and broken —and you hate it.

you manage to take a sip of water.

"wanna talk?" he asks then, sitting beside you on the bed.

there are no sheets, the pillow is on the floor, and you have nothing but the blankets over you and other things you didn't care to set aside scattered on the bare mattress —your headphones, the phone charger, the laptop with no battery because you didn't want to get up to plug it in. one of his hoodies is there too, wrinkled and tear-stained. you had taken it off in a heat attack that had left you choking on air last night. or maybe this morning. you are not sure.

one of his hands goes to your arm then, and caresses your skin softly. that brings you back to reality.

"i don’t know." you tell him, answering his question. "i mean, i can talk. but i don’t know what to say. i don’t know why this is happening.”

he stays silent. meanwhile, the tips of his fingers run down your arm until they reach your wrist. then they stop —he waits for you to be the one to grab his hand.

you do it immediately, but when he squeezes it to confirm you that he’s there and he’s not going anywhere, you flinch.

kaiser raises an eyebrow, but he doesn’t say anything. his gaze shifts down to your hand, and, even though he knows what he’s going to see, he feels his chest swell with worry at the sight. he sighs quietly.

“love…”

“i know. i’m sorry, i… i didn’t…”

you try to let go of his hand, but he’s grabbing it firmly —enough strength to keep you from letting go, enough gentleness to avoid hurting you.

so you pull your knees up and bury your face between them. short flashes of pain run through your whole hand when kaiser brushes your knuckles with the tip of his fingers, skin red and purple throbbing under his touch.

it’s not the first time you do this, nor the first time he’s found you like this —alone in your room, gaze lost in the darkness, purple knuckles covered with dry blood and traces of a red stain on your wall. you swallow, a wave of shame flooding your throat, chest and stomach. 

you don’t know how to excuse yourself, how to justify that pain is the only way for you to feel alive, like you’re still there, sometimes. —when reality is so distorted you need something, anything, to anchor you to reality. 

luckily, you boyfriend doesn’t feel the need to say anything. he just holds your hand, and brings his other hand to your cheek. slowly, his fingertips caress your cheek, index and thumb holding your chin delicately. he tilts your head up slightly, and waits for you to look at him.

when you lift your eyes to meet his, you feel your whole soul breaking.

michael kaiser’s beauty is breathtaking, and right now, the sadness in the depth of his blue eyes knocks all the air out of your lungs. 

and that hurts even harder than saying anything.

because you can deal with him scolding you —you’d just nod, fake that you’re listening, and start a new day as if nothing had happened—, you can deal with him telling you he’s disappointed, that you shouldn’t do this to yourself, or whatever people would say after finding out about it.

but he doesn’t do that. he just holds your gaze, eyes locked on yours while he caresses your cheek with his fingers. and then he places a gentle kiss on your dry lips.

a salty tear forms on your low eyelashes, which releases it on michael’s hand. a crystal-clear drop runs down the back of his hand, his wrist, and ends up spilling onto the blanket.

he kisses your cheeks, now wet with your silent crying, and your heart shatters just a little more.

kaiser knows more about pain than anyone in this world —and you know it. even so, he thinks nothing could ever be as painful as watching you cry in front of him.

if someone told you that you’d be in this situation a year ago, you would have called them crazy. your relationship with kaiser had been complicated from the start —the flirting and the teasing were fun until real feelings got involved, and neither of you knew how to manage them. becoming an actual couple and learning how to love each other had been a very long, thorny journey.

at first, he loved you so much it pleased you —he was sweet, thoughtful, gentle. he brought you flowers after your shifts, welcomed you home with dinner and very expensive wine, wrapped you in his velvety robe at night and covered your body with kisses.

you weren’t really dating, but everyone in your lives thought you would end up in a relationship sooner or later. the few times a month that you could see each other, due to your schedules, were truly the best days of the week —like coming back to a five star hotel where you could fully relax and empty your mind.

but a five star hotel, even though beautiful, is not a home. the exclusivity becomes boring after a while, when it stops feeling like a gift and becomes something that’s just there. all the time.

you started to lose interest, and he realized it pretty quickly.

so he loved you even harder —loved you so much, it scared you. 

kaiser became obsessed with you, needy for your attention —throughout his life, he had been used to being the one in charge of the relationship. the one his partners depended on, although it was him who really needed them. and he had never had a problem with using the worst, most toxic traits known to humanity to practically force them to stay with him, convincing them that, without him, they would be lost forever.

you weren’t like that.

if he didn’t reply to your text for a couple of hours but post on social media, you would ignore him for a few days. if he told you he was hanging out with other people, reminding you on purpose that you weren’t dating yet to make you jealous, you would just answer with a “fine, have fun” and show him you didn’t really care. if he canceled your plans at the last minute, you would just take a walk alone and send him some pictures.

so he tried the opposite approach, but the result was the same —when he tried to shower you with affection, buy you presents, take you on expensive dates or just cancel his whole agenda to spend the entire day with you —you’d tell him he was being a bit too much and you needed space.

none of his old methods were working on you —not the intense lover behavior, which was supposed to make you fall irremediably hard for him, nor the avoidant partner traits, which technically would make you crawl back to him, begging for at least a bit of his attention.

he was stunned. he was confused, and, before he could realize it —he was the one who needed you so badly it could kill him.

and it seemed like it didn’t bother you at all.

of course, that wasn’t true, but his behavior had been driving you mad, and since you didn’t know how to react to his unconditional love on some days and apparent indifference on others, you just tried to convince yourself that you didn’t actually care about him. 

oh, but you did care about him.

for the almost four first months you had been going on dates, hanging out, and really like a couple, kaiser had completely fallen in love. and you knew it, but you were still not sure —not about loving him, really, because that you did. 

even if you didn’t really want to, after getting to know him better and seeing his most vulnerable, broken side —a few weeks ago, following a very heated argument that ended in angry cries and bitter kisses—, you could not not love him. 

but you were not really sure you could give him the kind of love he deserved.

walking away was easy at first —it wasn’t the first time you had done it. you tended to run away from everything, anything that started feeling important for you. from everyone who started loving you too much —which was exactly what michael was doing.

you usually made it look like you didn’t care at all, but it wasn’t exactly that —you were terrified. scared of being liked and not being enough, scared of loving too much and ending up hurt.

frightened of being known by someone —really, deeply known— and being so repulsive on the inside, no one could ever love you after that.

so you pushed him away. constantly. when he sent bouquets of flowers and when he invited you to germany, when he hugged you from behind or tried to hold your hand. 

when he started calling and texting you daily because you hadn’t shown any sign of life for a whole week.

you remember it vividly, it was about six months ago —the first time he saw you the same way you are now. 

kaiser showed up in your apartment after five days with no response. and, truthfully, he had learned to give you your space —especially lately, when you seemed to be stressed by even the slightest physical contact. however, when he asked your friends, they didn’t know anything about you either, and you lived alone, so he was really worried about you.

so, he showed up at your door, with a lot of questions on his tongue and a single blue rose on his hand.

kaiser kissed you as a greeting that day, on the cheek, a salty kiss that stained his lips forever —it was the first day he tasted your tears. then he asked, he asked so many things you can’t even remember them all. and, at first, you didn’t even try to answer —but then he sat next to you on the same bed you are now, and words started spilling from your mouth. even you were surprised to be able to explain something not even your own mind could understand.

later, when he gave you the rose, you had tried to blame the blood in your hands on its thorns. and yet, instead of feeling repulsed, kaiser had kissed each of your fingers —each of your bruises, each of the wounds still bleeding. 

and then he cleaned the red stains in the wall, helped you make the bed and raised the blinds on your window to let the pink sun rays of the sunset enter your room.

he asked to stay the night, and you let him. then, for the first time, he told you about his past. 

the last memory you have of that night, is your fingertips wiping away his tears softly, both hiding from the world under the freshly made sheets —and your lips muttering a very sincere, though slightly shaky, i love you over his mouth.

and you were still terrified, but he made it look a little bit easier. not loving him, exactly —but letting him kiss you back, and tell you he loved you too.

your relationship got better after that —it got official, actually. there were still arguments from time to time, and some nights weren’t easy —but you were learning to be together. to be there, at least.

and what is love if not that?

because he had exploded against you a few more times, screaming at you, belittling you, slamming doors and blaming you for things you didn't even know about. and you had stayed there, rational mind intact and a hand he could hold onto when reality hit him and he finally collapsed in front of you. you didn’t go. you never left him alone.

and you’d had three more episodes like the one you’re having now since that day, ignoring him and the world, hiding in your room and even seriously considering breaking up with him, thinking yourself undeserving of his care —and after each of them, kaiser had stayed there, eyes sad and kisses that reminded you that he would never stop loving you. he would never leave you.

neither of you left when yours wasn’t really love, but obsession, and need, and pent-up trauma. neither of you ran. instead, you stayed. you worked. you held on, not to what it was, but to what it could become.

and slowly, it did —a little purer, a little more beautiful—and much more fragile, too.

so here you are now, for the fourth time —weak, vulnerable and broken. your boyfriend looking at you as if he were watching the most precious thing in his life fall to pieces in front of his eyes, and he could do nothing about it.

kaiser places one last kiss on your cheek, then decides it’s time to help you feel a little bit better.

“listen, love, we are gonna do the following:” he says, gently pulling you by the hand that's holding his, forcing you to stand up. “first, we are going to take a shower —i’ll help you wash your hair and dry it afterward. then, we’ll put on clean pajamas, and i’ll change the sheets of your bed while you have dinner —brought your favorites for you to choose from. after that, we can watch a movie, or sleep, or talk, if you want. is that fine for you?” 

you nod, slowly, and the blue of his eyes shines softly as he looks at you. then he gently kisses your hairline, as if reminding you he’s going to be there for every step —he’s still as obsessed with kissing you as the first day.

so you walk together to the cramped bathroom in your apartment, still holding hands, and he helps you take off your clothes tenderly —delicately, as if scared of breaking you if he’s to harsh, but firmly, for you to know that he’s there if you need to break on your own.

then he takes off his own clothes and the two of you step into the shower, barely large enough for two people. you stand still as the water soaks your hair, trails down your skin. you let yourself open your eyes and look directly at him. 

blonde, irregular strands of wet hair stick to the sides of his face, blue tips brushing his chin. his skin is pale, but soft, and the rain of the shower slips over his muscles, traces the silhouette of the blue rose on his neck, down his arm. his gaze is still intense, but he smiles softly at you.

he looks like a sacred image, too surreal to be standing before you —you try to reach for it.

your hand goes to his cheek, little bit flushed from the warm water. you trace his features with your fingertips —the curve of his chin, the corner of his lips, the tip of his nose, the tattooed red line under both his eyes. 

michael kaiser is very much real, standing in front of you.

still, you can’t help but think you’re in presence of something blessed, something divine, as you watch the round water drops rest between his eyelashes. when he blinks and they fall, it looks as if he’s crying. 

but it is you, you realize, the one who’s crying, when he brings the shampoo to your head and starts washing your hair slowly, it’s your tears falling from your eyes as he massages your neck, your shoulders and you waist when he spreads the gel all over your body. 

you don’t say anything at all during the whole process —but your body leans into every stroke, like it’s slowly surrending to the touch of love.

after the shower, kaiser takes turns drying your hair and his, and he lets you braid the long blue strands of the back of his head absentmindedly while he brushes yours. 

time moves quickly after that —at least, faster than it has during this whole week. you watch him as you have small bites of the food he brought you, now a little more talkative than before, dressed in the clean clothes that smell like his fabric softener —as he changes the sheets on your bed and cleans up the mess your room had become.

the room has aired out while you were showering. the window is now closed, and the blinds are down. all the light, instead of coming from your phone —now turned off and forgotten on the nightstand, at least for tonight— comes from the starry lights hanging on the wall over your bed.

now it looks a little more like your room and a little less like a pit of despair.

your boyfriend has changed clothes too. he's no longer wearing his street clothes —which he's neatly stored in his space of your closet— but the silk robe he usually leaves at your house. his blond hair is pulled back in a half-updo at the nape of his neck, unruly blue strands sticking out. he's also put on his glasses —the ones he used to avoid wearing, but never forgets now since you told him you like how they look on him.

the air doesn’t feel heavy anymore. it’s warm, you think, as you let him wrap you in the freshly made blanket next to him. it’s comfortable, now that he’s here.

“so?” he asks, and then kisses your neck, and your chin, and your nose. you let out a soft giggle, and he feels his chest explode with affection for you “what’s it gonna be? movie, talk, sleep? or any other ideas?”

you smile faintly, and you snuggle up against him. his arms now surround your waist, his chest serving as your pillow. you can feel the rhythm of his pulse on your cheek.

“can we just stay like this for a while?” you whisper, voice small, almost unsure —but soft in a way it hadn’t been for days.

kaiser chuckles under his breath, and kisses the top of your head.

“that’s exactly the plan i was thinking about, love,” he murmurs, his lips brushing against your hair, “wish granted.”

you laugh —a small, sleepy laugh that feels almost foreign to your own ears after the week you’ve had. but it’s real, and it makes kaiser’s hold around you tighten just a little.

there’s no need to talk anymore. no need for a movie or to pretend everything’s okay. the only thing that matters right now is the weight of his hand resting gently on your back, the warmth of his body against yours, the quiet rhythm of your breathing finally syncing in peace.

and, a few minutes later, when you ask to yourself why is he so kind to you —how does he know exactly what you need, just the way you need it— you remember that first night you spent crying together, curled up on your bed —when he emptied himself in front of you, confessing everything he had never told anyone out loud.

you open one eye, and you shift your gaze to the desk, where you find a single blue rose in a fine, clear glass vase. then you understand it —he knows, because he’s had it even worse. and he would never allow someone he loves, someone who loves him, go through the same thing he did.

kaiser is asleep behind you, wrapping you in between his arms as if scared of letting you go. 

but you don’t feel the need to run away anymore. you draw a faint, calm smile for the first time in the week, and snuggle up against him. then you kiss his hand, that's softly resting close to your neck —he’s not trying to hold you down, just hold you close. 

for the first time in a while, neither of you feels like too much —just enough, for each other.

masterlist.

pls lmk what u think in the comments, reblogging, through messages, asks or wtv!! feedback is important to me in these first posts and i'd appreciate it a lot 🤲🏼

﹫luvseisagi, may 2025.

[eucatastrophicblues]

Hi! I know this is kinda a big/complex question but could you talk a little bit about what bridal mysticism means to you and how you, like, got into it I guess? There's been a few things that have made me feel like I might be called to it, but it's confusing and overwhelming and I'm a bit scared of, like, the perceived 'weirdness' of it, and I'm trying to figure out what it all means...

Please don’t ever apologize for asking big and complicated questions! Especially not about this. 

There’s a lot of this ask that I wrote before realizing you were asking about what bridal mysticism means to me, so while I’m going to probably stick it on the end because I think all of it’s important to talk about it’s not really relevant to the core of what was being asked. 

Bridal mysticism, to me, is about a number of things. It might not be about those same things for you, and that’s fine, because other people who’ve been in my shoes across history have vastly different experiences and perspectives. But strictly speaking about my own experiences? Bridal mysticism is about looking outward and inward at the same time. About choosing a religion based first and foremost on personal loyalty to a God who proved She was worth that loyalty a thousand times over. About examining my own flaws under a microscope because each one is a death sentence not to some abstract figure but to my wife whom I love personally. About struggling with submission, and finding confidence in myself because of what I can do for Her. About self-acceptance and self-esteem, about complete and total transparency with someone I love regarding my limits and my dreams. About religion as a relationship. Christ died for me specifically, and I didn’t really understand or appreciate that until I was in love with Her, you know? 

In practice it’s a lot of finding stolen moments. Looking for God everywhere and being delighted when I find Him. Learning to open myself up to being loved, which has been the lasting struggle in all this. I’m very very willing and able to throw myself completely into loving and pursuing and offering up everything in a relationship. I’m very resistant to letting myself be loved. It’s probably the biggest wedge between us now, because She’s so damned insistent I let myself be loved and desired and wanted and appreciated and I am very uncomfortable with that. It’s a work in progress. We talk, and I do a lot of those things that pagans with godspouses talk about doing ��� devotional playlists, nature walks, meditation, journaling – because the ways you bond with a god are kind of the same all over, because He made the mold and creation follows. (I’m more of a monolatrist and a henotheist than a strict monotheist – I believe beings that call themselves gods exist, and weren’t imagined or invented by humanity. I just don’t think any of them except my Spouse is worth my time and attention, and I worship and follow my God as my God has explicitly requested to be worshiped and followed. There is a version of me who would be an incredible witch. I am banned from practicing magic. She’s been real clear about that.) I sit with Her, and talk to Her about everything from theology to pop culture, and sometimes there are visions and insights and supernatural experiences in the physical world, and sometimes there aren’t.

How I got into bridal mysticism… well, I sort of fell into it and didn’t have a name for it until after I was already doing it. I was thirteen and I asked Jesus Christ to be my Lover because I was deeply depressed and socially isolated and in possession of barely any friends (and those friends were people I’d never understood or meshed with). I was already a victim of abuse of multiple different kinds, and I was diagnosed with several different mental illnesses and yet to be diagnosed with several more, and I was horribly, impossibly lonely. I didn’t really know if this was “allowed”, exactly, but I knew I had a heart that ‘might have held the empire of the world’ and I was not about to content myself with an opera cellar. It was probably the bravest thing I’ve ever done, because I knew it wasn’t strictly approved and supported by my (then-Protestant) church, but I wanted it anyway. 

From there it was a question of continuing to chase Him. You… you feel the intimacy, the closeness, the contact. It’s like nothing I’ve ever experienced. I wanted more, needed more, and I was willing to do whatever it took to continue to get it. That meant walking away from maladaptive daydreaming, and letting go of some delusions that He told me were false, and obeying when I was told to find real friends and real reasons to be alive and connect with the world here and now. It meant caring more about daily life and thinking about my future and developing ambition. It meant turning myself into someone who could do His will, which was a lot of work. And I just sort of kept going, following where I was led. We still talk. She’s still ridiculously funny. It’s become a comfortable marriage instead of a tumultuous adolescent fireworks show, and it’s been worth staying alive for. 

There’s a lot I could say that’s essentially “the greatest hits of being married to a god”, and I’ll talk about that if you want, but it’s a lot of repetition. I find Him in the Homeric epics, in my people’s traditional stories, in other indigenous mythologies, in pop culture and classic literature, in nature, in the love of the people around me. And very often in Yellowjackets, to a surprising extent. 

That’s kind of the whole of it, and below is my long ramble. 

Bridal mysticism, or nuptial theology/bridal theology, is kind of the black sheep of the family when it comes to Christian mysticism, and that makes a lot of direct writing about it kind of hard to track down. Not impossible, not at all, but the weirdness factor is high, and a lot of people either don’t have the language to effectively describe what they mean (this is what happened in the Protestant-authored book Captivating, in which they encourage women to picture themselves as the heroines of romance scenes in fantasy films and period dramas while picturing Jesus as the male leads, or discuss a woman who was “called to minister to the heart of Jesus” and prioritize Him in her devotion and her religious focus) or they dismiss the bridal mystic elements of someone’s writings or life. That’s more likely in Catholic spaces, where you’ll be reading some saint’s accounts of their visions or a hagiography and they’re like “Jesus told me I was His bride” or “Jesus was keeping [saint] as a bridegroom for Himself” or “and then I stuck my tongue in the side wound while Jesus was dressed like a woman, haha, wild”. There are some saints whose mystic marriages are really famous because they’re essentially unavoidable when discussing their lives, and then there are other saints and various lay Catholics whose writings touch on these themes of deep and intense yearning for matrimonial bliss with the Most High as a casual aside or a recurring theme that never gets talked about seriously in broader scholarship.

(Or else they just call us crazy. Historically in written record, in contemporary academic contexts, and in person, to our faces. It’s common to dismiss Margery Kempe’s writings as purely reflective of her mental health struggles, or her records of her conversations with Jesus as her essentially selfshipping with a fictional character to cope with her less than satisfactory marriage, even if the writer is Christian themself. I’ve also faced some pretty intense hostility from people who assumed that the only reason I thought I was hearing from God was because I was in psychiatric crisis… despite the fact that I was at a spiritual retreat with the explicit purpose of encouraging participants to hear from God. That is, unfortunately, something that I and various nuns from the 1200s have as a shared experience, and something that potentially you and I will have as a shared experience. It doesn’t make your calling any less valid or real, but I feel obligated to point out that following it will lead to at least a few people thinking you’re cuckoo for Cocoa Puffs.)

The writing is scant, but it’s there, and that’s important, because one of the first things that I experience as a bridal mystic is deep and intense loneliness. It’s a more inward-focused practice than a lot of the other kinds of Christianity, by necessity, but that I think makes connecting with other people all the more vital. I started this blog because I wanted to find other people like me, other people who were deeply religious and took their faith supremely seriously but were left-leaning/leftist and queer and marginalized on multiple axes that Christianity hasn’t always been good about supporting, and people who maybe had the same kind of relationship with my King that I do. We’re encouraged to isolate ourselves and make ourselves less present in current Church and broader Christian culture, because we’re weird creepy quasi-psychics who walk half in the physical world and half in the shadow of the Sacred Heart and we intimidate people who think that religion is a coat to be put on and taken off again. We’re messy and often a little crazy and our first and foremost priority is usually not “what does existing as a religious person look like” it’s “hey You give me some advice about where You want me”. We aren’t here because of cultural pressure or family expectations or long-standing tradition, we’re here because that’s our Spouse up there on that altar. 

Yeah, it’s weird. But it’s weird for good reason. I’d like to talk more about this, with everyone, really, because I am desperate to talk up my very cool awesome wife, and even more desperate to connect with others who know Her as I know Her.

[isbergillustration]

Hey, are you guys open yet?

[ixtaek]

Oh dear… I’m def biased about their games too which is why:

1. Wind (Fav game, plus look at him! Sunshine child doing his best. He’s not a pirate, he’s a HERO. He just hangs out with pirates. I sometimes remember he’s the age of my oldest speech class girls and it puts everything into perspective. He’s that kid who is trying to be honor roll, three internships, sailing team, babysitting, and he really just wants to sleep till noon.)

2. Four (3rd favorite game (MC) and I just love his vibe. Mr. Teamwork. The responsible one. We know he feels equal parts simmering rage and desire to cry for everyone he meets but he has learned to keep it together and to laugh about it.)

3. Hyrule (jumped a few spots since I started, I blame Monster Energy.)

4. Legend (I like him but he’s not as gruff or as hateful as people make him out to be! I wish more people had played the Oracle games because that’s my core Legend right there.)

5. Time (2nd favorite game (MM) but he’s so. The adult in the situation. Like I get why but also we need to see him on his own rather than just as the leader.)

6. Twilight (Least favorite game, sorry baby I can’t get past those dull colors and uncomfortable design choices. Which is a shame because you’re the most like me but WHY IS YOUR GAME LIKE THAT. -knows exactly why-)

7. Wild (Bless you, I love your games. But you are everywhere in the fandom. It’s not that I don’t love you I just wanna see. Everyone else too. Please. I love you baby.)

8. Warriors (Haven’t played the game, he’s a very nice young man, very responsible. He doesn’t deserve this. He deserves a middle management position and a mug that says “You don’t have to be crazy to work here but it helps.”)

9. Sky (I like you but the design of SS’s overworld was somewhat of a letdown and unfortunately that reflects back on you. Sky is what everyone THINKS Wind is—innocent face mixed with the most likely to do a crime. Has the vibes of an 80s teen movie protagonist—bullied but also kinda catty themselves.)

Everyone here is already tagged because we are mutuals in law. So anyone who i missed, this is for you. Yes, YOU.

Gonna try and start a tag game, so let's go!

We've all got our favorite Links, but I wanna know how ALL the LU Links rank for you.

I'll start! And just to note, I've only played Sky, Wild, and Twilight's games so far.

1. Sky- My favorite Link, though his game is my second favorite

2. Wild- Second favorite Link, but his games are my favorite

3. Warriors- Haven't played his games, but @crazylittlejester has made him one of my top three

4. Time- Gives big Dad vibes, he's just trying to keep his children out of trouble

5. Twilight- Absolutely the big brother

6. Legend- Not as bitter as I often see him portrayed. He's just a (older) kid whose been through a lot

7. Hyrule- Played his games a LONG time ago, never made it past the first dungeon. I don't really have much to say about him though

8. Wind- Cute kid, I like him but don't have much to day about him either

9. Four- I unfortunately don't know anything about him beyond LU, sorry Four!

Tagging:

@skyloftian-nutcase @crazylittlejester @skyward-floored @sprite-and-the-bunnydragons and anyone else is welcome to join as well!

[ariartcor]

Do you think he dreams of him sometimes?

[imonfire1985]

“the smoke in nyc is so bad right now” yeah and tons of people in canada are losing their homes and livelihoods because they’re literally being burnt down. so

[king-lena]

ew i hate looking back on any social media and seeing my old cringe posts (especially on tiktok) like help!!!! that isn’t me anymore don’t look please!!!! 😅 i can barely handle my current cringe posts don’t make me revisit the past please!!!! i am working so hard to constantly keep growing and learning and changing my mindset and becoming a better me every day and i am no longer that version of myself and i do not know her like that anymore. but dang like her reminants are still out there lingering and i do not like it one bit… 😔

[foxgloveinspace]

Something I’ve been thinking about a lot is that a lot of Sleep Token songs are about Vessel, and like I have a list, but I want to drop the concept that I have a thought that sometimes Vessel is the ‘she’ in the songs.

[rosedproblems]

I feel like I should rebrand my blog with all the free marketing I’m doing to get people finally talking about this show. I swear it doesn’t normally take so long for people to start making content for shows, so what’s the deal here???? I’m literally *this* close to looking up how to gif. Please don’t do this to me. I want to be mentally well but you make it so hard.

[likeadevils]

people are mad at taylor for her own actions. she is choosing to hang out with a man who assaulted a women and a women who defended it. both terrible people. taylor swift fans are mad that taylor is doing this. no one is at all blaming her for their actions, just voicing distaste for her own. brittany herself told the people to shut up. she dismissed the assault as him 'trying to find his way'. taylor herself made so many s.a victims feel safe to then turn around and high five the man and celebrate with him. fans have every right to be disappointment in taylor and who she is choosing to surround herself with. taylor is not a victim in this situation and swifties need to learn shes a grown adult responsible for her own actions. what you said about 'making a mans s.a. about 2 women' (no ones doing that btw? its blatantly obvious that its two separate thoughts) and 'holding women accountable for the crimes of men' (again... no ones doing that) is incredibly ignorant, dismissive and simplistic way to view a very serious situation and i hope you realize that eventually.

i’m not trying to dismiss what brittany said— it was disgusting. i’m also not trying to paint taylor as a victim, she’s a grown woman who can make her own choices. what i am saying is the vast majority of the ire i’ve seen is about taylor and britney, which is part of a wider societal trend of raking women over the coals while ignoring men who have done far more harm. brittnay’s words (again, reprehensible) pale in comparison to jackson’s actions, and yet the majority of criticism i’ve seen is directed at her. i don’t want to minimize the harm brittany has done with her words, but i am trying to add an additional layer of nuance and perspective, and that’s how women often take the brunt of societal ire, when the men in their lives are the ones doing the most violence

[titsthedamnseason]

now listen this might be wrong to say as a fan but i need taylor swift to get less popular before the next era. we need to find a way to weed out these trend followers

[shego1142]

This is honestly a good example of how autistic people use their special interests to relate to the world around them and how non-autistic people have trouble understanding that/not being mean to them for “always” making something about that special interest

if you told vin diesel fast and the furious you were gay he'd be like "Some people like driving stick…some people like driving automatic…what matters is you cross the finish line.." and then he'd rev up a dodge challenger and drive through a building and kill 16 people

[dexbian]

i kind of have my thoughts gathered now about what’s happened recently drafted. but i highly doubt that i will ever post them because i just really needed to take my time and really really think things over, but also cause i wanted to just separate myself from what’s been happening and reflect on my character.

[jungwnies]

F1 GRID (2/2) | being lifted onto a counter

୨ৎ : featuring : lando norris, oscar piastri, kimi antonelli, ollie bearman, and yuki tsunoda (click here for part one) ୨ৎ : synopsis (requested by anon 🫐) : your f1 boyfriend picking you up on the counter... or maybe even vice verse for shits and giggles ;)

୨ৎ : genre : comedic romance & slightly suggestive (for some drivers) ୨ৎ : tws : suggestive if you SQUINT ୨ৎ : word count : 1774

୨ৎ masterlist ୨ৎ

ᡣ𐭩 a/n : who do you guys think is going to get podium this weekend >.<

ʚ・lando norris

lando was up to something.

you could tell from the way he was grinning like an idiot, bouncing on the balls of his feet as he stood in front of you in the kitchen.

“i bet i could lift you,” he announced suddenly, arms crossed like he was about to prove some great athletic achievement.

you raised an eyebrow. “uh… yeah? you literally train every day?”

lando smirked. “okay, okay. stand still.”

you complied, waiting for him to make his move. he bent his knees, placed his hands on your waist, and then—absolutely nothing happened.

he grunted. groaned. dramatically wiped his forehead. even pretended to struggle as if you were a literal boulder.

you blinked. “are you serious?”

lando huffed, shaking his head. “damn, babe. you’re, like… heavy.”

silence.

you narrowed your eyes, crossing your arms.

lando’s grin immediately faltered.

“wait—no, that’s not what i meant!” he panicked, waving his hands around like a madman. “i was JOKING—”

“oh?” you glared, stepping back. “i’m heavy?”

lando’s brain short-circuited. “no! i mean—well, yes, but not like that! i mean, like—you’re the perfect weight! no—wait, i don’t mean perfect weight, i mean—”

you stared, watching him dig his own grave.

“lando.”

he froze.

you tilted your head. “if i’m so heavy, maybe you shouldn’t try again.”

that was all it took.

suddenly, his hands were on your waist again, and before you could even react, you were lifted into the air with complete and total ease.

you gasped, hands gripping his shoulders. “HEY—”

he smirked up at you, holding you like you weighed nothing.

“huh,” lando said smugly. “guess you weren’t that heavy after all.”

you smacked his arm. “i hate you.”

he grinned, leaning in slightly. “no, you don’t.”

you narrowed your eyes. “you’re sleeping on the couch tonight.”

lando’s smugness disappeared instantly. “no, no, wait—babe, please—”

and that’s how lando norris learned there are some jokes you just don’t make.

ʚ・oscar piastri

it was the kind of quiet, cozy evening that made everything feel just right, no race weekends, no flights to catch, just you and oscar, home together.

you were standing by the counter, absentmindedly stirring your tea, wrapped in one of oscar’s hoodies that hung far too big on you. he was leaning against the opposite counter, arms crossed, watching you with that small, lazy smile that only appeared when he was truly relaxed.

“what?” you asked, narrowing your eyes playfully.

oscar shrugged, pushing off the counter and walking toward you. “nothing. just thinking about how nice this is.”

you smiled, setting your spoon down. “you mean me making tea while you do absolutely nothing?”

he smirked. “exactly.”

before you could roll your eyes, his hands found your waist, and in one smooth motion, he lifted you onto the counter.

a surprised laugh left your lips. “oscar!”

“what?” he stepped between your legs, his hands still resting on your thighs, thumbs tracing slow circles. “you looked like you needed a change of perspective.”

you huffed, but couldn’t fight the warmth spreading through your chest. “and you just had to lift me?”

he hummed, leaning in slightly. “well, yeah. it’s my boyfriend duty.”

you scoffed, wrapping your arms around his neck. “oh? and what else does your ‘boyfriend duty’ include?”

oscar pretended to think, his fingers still absentmindedly tracing patterns on your skin. “making sure you’re always warm. stealing your snacks, just to test them for poison.”

you laughed, shaking your head. “how noble of you.”

he grinned, his nose brushing against yours. “and, of course, making sure you never forget how much i love you.”

your heart stuttered. even after all this time, he still had that effect on you.

you softened, threading your fingers through his hair. “you’re doing a great job, then.”

oscar smiled, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your lips before pulling back just enough to murmur, “good. because i’m never quitting.”

and in that small, quiet moment, with the rain outside and his warmth surrounding you, you knew, you never wanted him to.

ʚ・kimi antonelli

kimi wasn’t big on public affection. not because he didn’t love you, he just wasn’t the type to put on a show.

so when you tugged at his hand in the middle of a crowded paddock, laughing as you challenged him, “bet you can’t lift me,” you thought nothing of it.

kimi, however, didn’t hesitate.

he simply stepped closer, hands settling at your waist, and you barely had time to react before you felt your feet start to leave the ground.

that was when he realized.

the moment it hit him that you weren’t alone.

that, in fact, several people were watching.

kimi immediately froze, muscles going tense. his grip slackened slightly, and you could practically see the internal debate happening in real time.

“…df, pdf… vdc…” he mumbled under his breath, his brain quite literally short-circuiting.

you blinked at him. “excuse me?”

kimi exhaled sharply, dropping his hands as if you had suddenly become radioactive. he took half a step back, eying the people around you with suspicion.

“i’m not doing this here,” he muttered, shaking his head.

you burst out laughing. “what, you’re embarrassed?”

he gave you a flat look. “no. i just—” he gestured vaguely at the people around you. “why are there so many witnesses?”

you grinned. “ohhh, i see. you can win races, but lifting your own girlfriend in public is too much pressure?”

kimi scowled. “that’s not—”

before he could finish, you took a step closer, lowering your voice. “so… if we were alone, you’d do it?”

he hesitated for one second too long.

“ha!” you pointed accusingly. “you would!”

kimi rolled his eyes, grabbing your wrist and pulling you away. “fine. come with me.”

you blinked. “where are we—”

the moment you turned a corner, out of view of prying eyes, he lifted you effortlessly, hands gripping your waist, placing you onto the nearest flat surface—a low counter, a bench, whatever he could find.

“there.” he smirked slightly, stepping between your legs. “happy now?”

you laughed, wrapping your arms around his neck. “you’re ridiculous.”

he hummed, leaning in just a little closer. “mmm. and you’re lucky i like you.”

and just like that, the kimi antonelli no-public-affection rule was officially broken.

ʚ・ollie bearman

ollie bearman liked to pretend he was smooth.

emphasis on pretend.

he was confident on track, composed when it mattered, but when it came to you? all bets were off.

which is how he ended up in this situation—standing in the kitchen, staring at you like he had just made the most genius decision of his life.

“i could totally lift you,” he announced, randomly, like he had just thought of it and immediately decided it needed to be said out loud.

you raised an eyebrow, setting down your glass. “and why exactly do you feel the need to prove that?”

ollie grinned. “because i just know i can.”

you narrowed your eyes at him. “have you been thinking about this?”

“…no,” he said, way too quickly.

you sighed, shaking your head. “you’re ridiculous.”

but before you could argue any further, ollie had already stepped closer, his hands firmly gripping your waist.

“wait—”

too late.

in one effortless motion, you were off the ground, lifted cleanly into the air like you weighed absolutely nothing.

your hands immediately gripped his shoulders, your laugh bubbling out before you could stop it. “ollie!”

he grinned up at you, looking way too pleased with himself. “told you.”

you rolled your eyes. “okay, fine, strong guy, put me down—”

his smirk widened. oh no.

“hmm,” he pretended to think. “maybe i won’t.”

you gasped. “ollie bearman, do not—”

before you could even threaten him, he spun you in a circle, his laugh mixing with yours as he effortlessly twirled you in the air before finally placing you onto the counter.

you stared at him, breathless, eyes wide. “you’re unbelievable.”

ollie brushed imaginary dust off his hands, still grinning. “you can admit you’re impressed.”

you tilted your head, crossing your arms. “okay. now you let me lift you.”

his cocky expression immediately dropped. “uh—”

“you were so confident a second ago.”

ollie laughed nervously, rubbing the back of his neck. “i—look, that’s different—”

you raised an eyebrow, challenging him. “oh? because i think i can totally lift you.”

“…can i at least finish my snack first?”

“nope.”

and just like that, his ego was officially on the line.

ʚ・yuki tsunoda

yuki tsunoda wasn’t the biggest fan of public displays of affection.

it wasn’t that he didn’t like affection—he actually enjoyed it quite a bit when it was just the two of you. but growing up in japan, where pda wasn’t exactly the norm, meant he was always hyper-aware of who was watching.

which is why, when he effortlessly lifted you off the ground in the middle of a very crowded paddock, he immediately regretted it.

at first, he was smug about it.

you had teased him about his height one too many times, so he had proved a point—his hands firm on your waist, your feet leaving the ground before you could even react.

“see?” he said, grinning up at you. “stronger than i look.”

you laughed, wrapping your arms around his neck. “okay, okay, you made your point—”

that’s when yuki realized.

you weren’t alone.

the second he turned his head slightly, he was met with several amused, wide-eyed faces.

a few team members. some journalists. and worst of all—pierre and lando.

pierre’s jaw dropped.

lando’s smirk was pure evil. “ohhhh, this is adorable.”

yuki’s entire body locked up.

he froze, mid-lift, realization hitting him like a freight train.

he had just done this in front of everyone.

you could see the exact moment his brain malfunctioned.

“…oh,” yuki muttered, voice flat.

pierre grinned. “don’t stop now! give them a kiss too!”

yuki immediately set you down, face burning red. “shut up, pierre.”

lando was laughing so hard he could barely stand. “mate, what happened to ‘not in public’?”

yuki scowled, grabbing your wrist and practically dragging you away. “i forgot, okay?!”

you, barely containing your laughter, let him pull you along. “so, lifting me was fine until you realized you had an audience?”

yuki groaned, rubbing a hand over his face. “i swear to god, i’m never doing that again.”

“you love me, though.”

he sighed dramatically. “yeah, yeah. i do. but next time, we’re doing this in private.”

pierre called after him, voice dripping with amusement. “are you sure, yuki? maybe next time you can dip them too!”

yuki’s entire body tensed.

“keep walking,” he muttered under his breath. “i’m gonna kill him.”

2021-2025 © jungwnies | All rights reserved. Do not repost, plagiarize, or translate

[mint-termsandconditions]

AAAAHHHH THE COMIC SERIES WAS SO GOOD!!!

I recommend anyone who haven’t read it yet to do so, the amount of effort put into these comics is crazy!

Also my boy is right there making this comic 10 times better /j

Either way, I think the idea of Aijo inviting the first person who beat him in some random popularity contest with random people is a funny concept so here’s a quick doodle:

part 15 FINALE

This, is the happy ending of Birby's Double Deluxe...

???: Gikan will come back... Haha...

credits

@kachikirby @george228732 @moonsharkss @moonmacabre01 @ehatnow @doroche @umbralknight1344 @ant-bunny @beepsnivy @that-fanperson-meg @thebunnywhoneverlikedcarrots @pruskita @bagelwizard @azzie-tangerine @ghostbny @cauli-flawa @inufaiya @galapathy @nokk0 @boa35 @the-chaos-axolotl @mistilteinn-magolor @novamayhem @metagalariod @iwontusethis255 @kamalemons @mint-termsandconditions @springbreezes-and-peonies @trainerbob23 @through-the-gamble-galaxy

(I'm so sorry if I bothered you ahfkkhafkhfa)