#i know i know ill try to do something now

[legalandnotease]

OK, you got me started.

Maybe you didn't know that. Maybe you honestly had no idea that you were saying something that is a direct attack against people who have gone through the exact mental illnesses Tony had and recognize his struggles as their own.

I have PTSD and depression and let me tell you something straight from the start.

Tony Stark does not represent me or anybody like me. Lose this ridiculous idea that Tony Stark has PTSD. He doesn't. He displays zero symptoms of PTSD.

He has anxiety at best, and is probably a narcissist. Yes, his actions and behaviour are very consistent with Covert Narcissism.

His "fear of loss" is the fear of abandonment, of no longer being able to control those around him.

His "my way or the highway" mentality, his inability to listen to or trust others, his paranoia and inability to accept responsibility.

All are massively consistent with narcissism.

...and before the Tony fans shriek, guess what the main cause of narcissism is? Childhood neglect. QUELLE SURPRISE! That said... His daddy being nasty to him does not absolve him being outright abusive to others. That is the excuse real life abusers use btw.

Whatever he has though: let us stop right now blaming mental health for Tony Stark's shitty actions. The idea that "trauma" absolves him is a harmful and dangerous idea which perpetuates negative stereotypes about mental health.

The sheer amount destructive and harmful things Tony does which cause mass death is what prevents him from being "representation" for mental health.

If Tony was anybody else... nobody would be saying he should not take responsibility for things which actively hurt and killed others because *muh trauma*.

Name a time when Tony was in a safe place to heal. I'll wait.

Every time he retired. He retires MULTIPLE times in between moves. Between Iron Man II and Avengers?

2 years.

Between Avengers and Age of Ultron

3 years.

Between AoU and Civil War

1 year

Between CW and IW

2 years

Between CW and Endgame

5 years.

That is a total of 13 years. Tony had 13 years of relative peace and quiet in which to get some self care and healing.

Compare that to Bucky who is confirmed as having PTSD and gets the sum total of 2 years to recover from 70 years of torture abuse, brain damage, trauma guilt and self-hatred. With NO support network. Unlike Tony, who had various people to support him. And Bucky has to contend with a fuckton of victim-blaming that Tony never did.

You literally just ignored the first part of OP's post, in which they noted that people constantly ignore Wanda's and Bruce's parts in Ultron.

These are excuses designed to absolve Tony of his responsibility for Ultron. Wanda did not mind control him: she gave him a vision.A vision he did not have to act opon. He chose to.

Tony was acting of his own free will and with his own agency the entire time. So was Bruce. This is why people blame Tony.

Unlike say,,,, hmmm I dunno Bucky who was literally mind controlled and had the very capacity for free choice and agency taken away from him, who was literally forced and tortured into doing things.... Tony was making a choice

(But isn't it WEIRD how people- usually Tony Fans) still insist on blaming an actual mind control and torture victim for his actions on the ground that "his body did it" - whilst trying to absolve the guy who was not mind controlled and had full bodily autonomy because "muh good intentions" and "muh trauma"

Yes, that's called victim-blaming.

You ignored how OP pointed out that the illegal arms dealing was Stane's actions, not Tony's, and that Tony shut it down as soon as he learned of it, saying "there are lines we don't cross.

Except... that's not what happened. Tony ran the company for 17 years as an adult. In all that time you're telling me he didn't notice his own stock going missing? He didn't notice the protests against his weapons being used on civilians in places like Sokovia?

The fact that it was only when he realized they were being used on *American soldiers* that he considered the line to have been crossed speaks volumes about Tony.

If he took drugs that were stopping him from doing his job as a CEO that is on him, not anybody else. Just like if somebody took drugs and decided to drive a car, you would not blame the car or the drugs.

Would Wanda not have attacked Tony's mind, then?

Since Tony was alreasdy planning to build Ultron even before he met Wanda, this bascailly makes no difference, but carry on.

Would Nick Fury and Black Widow have suddenly left him alone? Would he not have been dying from palladium poisoning?

How are Nick Fury and Natasha responsible for the stupid and reckless things Tony did when he thought he was dying. Did they make him do them? No. Thought not.

Would he have been able to suddenly change the route his company was taking without his friends turning their backs on him (which they did at first) and Stane trying to kill him?

Actually, yes. He's was the CEO, for goodness sake. He was also a grown-ass 38-year-old man, not a little kid.

You know he could in that capacity just fire Stane right? Right? As soon as he had evidence for his activities he could fire him on the spot? That's what CEOs can do? He could fire the whole Board of Directors if he wanted to.

But even if! Even if he went to therapy! Do you think therapy is a magical cure-all? Do you think people who go to therapy for PTSD suddenly don't have panic attacks anymore? That they don't get triggered, or fall back into their personal hells, or have days where they regress to who they'd been before therapy because healing isn't a straight line?

OK. Let;s talk about PTSD triggers.

People who are triggered may go into "fight or flight" mode. They may freeze. They may lash out. They may start having flashbacks. They may become depressed. They may become withdrawn.

What they do not do is take a highly dangerous object and use it to build abother hightly dangerous object despite warnings that it might be dangerous.

What they do not do is attack helpless unarmed people for 10 minutes with multiple weapons, pinning them against walls and attempting to blow their heads off.

What they do not do is ignore clear evidence for **years** of theft in their company, and ignore evidece their stock is falling into the wrong hands.

Nothing *repeat* NOTHING Tony does in the movies can be put down to him just being triggered. Blaming PTSD for Tony's violent and deliberately reckless actions is vile.

Honestly, shame on you for talking about therapy as if it's the cure-all for the world, as if every single problem life throws at people becomes butterflies and rainbows the instant a person talks to a professional about it all. As if Tony was The Main Problem of the MCU, and his capital sin was in not booking an appointment with a psychologist.

No, SHAME ON YOU.

People already think mental illness is an excuse for bad behaviour and Tony Stans are making this far worse with using conditions like mine as an excuse for everything Tony does.

Whether it be sexually harassing women

Building a murderbot

grooming and blackmailing a teenager,

or trying to murder an abuse victim in cold blood because he was upset about his disgusting daddy being killed.

How many people here, in real life, have mocked and derided Tony Stark as a character because he's a cis straight rich white man?

Let me tell you this right now.

Nobody would make excuses for Tony's actions the way they do if he was not a rich white male.

Just like in real life Tony can get away with things that anybody else would be thrown in jail for because he has money and connections.

Do you really think that poor people can get away with murder like Tony on the ground of abuse or trauma? No. They can't. They also can't get support or therapy. THEY will be persecuted and prosecuted, even for things they were driven to by desperation.

I am going to compare him to Bucky Barnes, fandom's favourite punchbag again because it illustrates this well.

One is working- class from a poor immigrant background who never had the power to say "no" or refuse to do what the high-ups told him. He was conscripted into into the army: if he refused to join up he'd have been imprisoned or worse.

He gets captured, experimented on, tortured, mutilated it, has his "brain put into a blender" and is forced to kill against his will?

What is the reaction? "He's still to blame. He chose to join up, he chose to go on that mission.... he could have escaped, he could have said no...."

Or "his body did it" as is the favourite excuse of Tony fans who want to entirely ignore the fact he had no control, autonomy or choice.

The other is a rich, priveleged guy with inherited money who had the best of everything. He is fully able to tell the government to go screw themselves, to refuse to do what he is told, and to buy his way out of any trouble he might get into.

He *chooses* to to drug himself into oblivion and drink himself silly when there are other options available. He chooses to do reckless things. He chooses to ignore the problems in his company. He chooses to go along with it because alternative is too hard.

He chooses to break multiple laws because his girlfriend is kidnapped. He chooses to mess with a highly dangerous supernatural artefact because he fears loss. He chooses to ignore advice, and people die. Over and over and over again because of his reckless actions and bad choices.

The reaction? "Its not his fault, he was manipulated" "its not his fault, he meant well!" "its not his fault, he's just trying to protect the people he loved"/

Its not about shaming: it is just a simple fact that rich white people can and do get away with the most henious things imaginable because of who they are. If Tony was poor like Bucky or black or Asian he would not be able to.

everyone always focuses on Sokovia and Ultron and Tony's involvement but no one ever thinks about how Bruce was also involved completely because they're both scientists. no one thinks about Wanda purposefully going in and digging in Tony's head, amplifying his PTSD and putting visions of all his friends dead in his head with the intent of making Tony create Ultron

Everyone always focuses on blaming Tony for the bomb that killed Wanda's parents but no one thinks about Tony being so shit faced he couldn't see straight at that time bec he was so deep in self-medicating his trauma that he could not even run his company and that it was Obidiah Stane that was the one in charge of the company and illegally selling the weapons that killed her parents

Everyone focuses on Tony selling weapons in the first movie but no one thinks about how it was Howard Starks company and that Tony was groomed from birth to run it and that he had tried multiple times to make something else of the company but was constantly shut down with guilt tripping until he was kidnapped and he forced the manufacturing to end

Everyone focuses on Tony being "conceited" and "arrogant" and not "caring about anyone but himself" but no one thinks about how every single action he makes in his movies are about protecting the people he loves and cares for. His biggest fear is his friends- not himself- dying. he goes into every battle he's in fully prepared to die and does make the sacrifice play many many times

everyone always focuses on what Tony did wrong, but no one thinks about how much he has grown and how he spends every single waking moment trying to be a better and better man who cares so deeply about everyone and is trying to protect everyone the only way he knows how- and that is with the brain and intellect that had been the only thing about Tony that was ever praised about

[beloveds-embrace]

I'm sorry, but I'm a big angst lover and i just read the angsty spinoffs of the duchess au. Kinda combining the general Jonny-purposefully-fucks-up-the-food, and the duchess gettin sick Can i ask what would happen if the illness wasn't from the weather but from eating raw food (ex chicken). Assuming she lives, i doubt she will touch Johnny's food again - leaving price with the option of hiring duchess reader a new chef or letting her starve and hope she relents. Anyways, i just wanted to say i love your poly 141 fics, so if you don't feel like writing this ask, it's completely fine. Thank you for all your work in writing!

Thank you sm anon!! 💕🫶🏻

Dukedom masterlist

All I can think about is the abysmal shame Johnny would be feeling. Yes, he served you bad food on purpose but fuck- flat out raw? And in that time period it might as well nearly be a death sentence on its own and they all know it.

John sits at your bedside, his face carved with an unreadable expression. Guilt flickers in his eyes, barely veiled by his usual stoicism, though he says nothing at first. He’s been here for hours, watching over you, but you’ve hardly acknowledged him.

A tray of food rests untouched on the small table near the bed. You haven’t looked at it, haven’t even turned your head in its direction even when it was brought in steaming, and the silence stretches thin and sharp between you.

“Duchess,” John finally says, his voice a low sigh. “You’ve got to eat. You won’t recover if you don’t.”

You shift your gaze to him, dull and tired. For a long moment, you just stare, your chest rising and falling with the effort of breathing. When you finally speak, your voice is hoarse, almost as numb as you feel.

“I’m not eating anything from Johnny.”

The bluntness of your words lands like a physical blow. John straightens slightly, brows furrowing.

“You don’t mean that,” he starts, his tone more defensive than he intends. “He-“

You interrupt him, your voice cutting through the air like a blade.

“He served me raw food, John. And none of you noticed. None of you cared.” Your tone is flat, devoid of anger or venom, but it’s the emptiness behind it that makes his chest tighten. “I got sick because of him, and not one of you thought to check on me until I couldn’t get out of bed.”

He opens his mouth to argue, to defend, but the words die before they reach his tongue. Because you’re right, of course.

“I won’t eat anything from him, not anymore,” you repeat, your gaze falling away from him and back to the ceiling. “Or from the chefs in this manor. I don’t trust any of you to care enough to make sure I’m not poisoned again.”

“Poisoned- ?” John recoils slightly, faltering.

You let out a bitter, hollow laugh, the sound scraping against your raw throat painfully. “What else would you call it? Carelessness? Neglect?”

The silence that follows is suffocating, just as you’d hoped it’d be. John leans back in his chair, rubbing a hand over his jaw, guilt now a tangible weight pressing down on him. He knows you’re justified- knows that your trust, fragile as it was, has been shattered by their collective apathy.

“I’ll… I’ll make sure it doesn’t happen again,” he mutters eventually, the words heavy with shame. “I’ll handle your meals myself if that’s what it takes.”

You don’t respond beyond a derisive huff, don’t even spare him a glance. You’re too tired. His promises feel like empty air now, incapable of undoing the hurt and mistrust that has settled deep in your bones and now landed you sick in this cold bed.

All you can do is close your eyes, shutting him out, and hope he gets the message.

Johnny stands just outside the cracked door, his back pressed against the wall as your words seep into the hallway like a cold wind. He wasn’t trying to eavesdrop- at least, that’s what he tells himself- but when he heard John’s voice through the door, something made him pause.

And now he wishes he hadn’t.

Every word cuts deeper than he thought possible. The way you said his name- not with anger, but with the hollow finality of someone who has already given up- makes his stomach churn. You don’t trust him.

He can’t even blame you. He made- a terrible mistake. An unforgivable one. His parents would likely never forgive him if they ever heard of what he’d done.

His hands tremble at his sides, fingers curling into fists. He wants to step in, to apologize, to defend himself, to say it was a mistake- a terrible mistake he regrets more than anything. But what could he possibly say to undo the damage? Nothing.

The knot of guilt in his chest tightens as he hears John try to reassure you, his own voice betraying his shame. Johnny doesn’t wait to hear more. He turns and walks away, each step feeling heavier than the last, his heart pounding with the weight of what he’s done.

How is he meant to ever find pride again in what he does best?

[postmoe]

So, I'm getting around to doing Amphoreus and... we're at the bath house... and there is a special bath house for heroes.... can you imagine being taken in there without anyone else knowing just to be banged senselessly?

With Mydei and Phainon x Reader

girl we on the same wave length. I just added a bit to something i had going but didn't like it enough for the story i wanted lol.

non-con, helplessness, a bit of choking, bathhouse, ambrosia, master/servant dynamicish

Translations off google so (I went the Ancient Greek route)... Dominus - Master. He philtatē - dearest love. (feminine).

.

Amphoreus is full of many heroes, and though they are all strong and worthy of their titles, there are some that put true unease in others.

Like Mydei. Even with Phainon right next to him, trying to lighten the mood in the room, people still fear his sharp looks and dominating muscles. Everyone has seen what these two heroes can do, and no one wants to be on the wrong side of them.

Not to mention how protective they are of each other. Back and forth arguments seem like nothing when their anger is truly displayed, especially at people who speak ill of their partner.

And then there's you, their precious, priceless darling. A warning isn't good enough if you were to be picked on, broken bones, lost jobs, people are still debating whether or not the person who moved lands is dead or still alive.

So, when you're dragged from your station, or told to meet them somewhere, everyone drops everything to make sure you comply. Which is why, even if people did see you be hauled into the heroes bathhouse, you know calling for help would do nothing good.

That's why you stand there, sweat soaking through your white road, nipples poking into wet, sheer fabric, face stoic and hands holding a large jug of wine like it were any other client. They seem entertained enough by each other, hopefully today they will just leave you alone.

However, as Mydei pulls away from the heated kiss, grinning drunkenly your way and leaning his head against the edge of the in ground bath, you know there is no such luck. "He philtatē, come drink ambrosia with us," he practically moans, Phainon grinding his naked body in his lap, kissing and lapping up the sweat of his lovers neck.

You make a point to keep your eyes facing forward, not wanting to give them the thought that you're indulging in their actions, "No, thank you, dominus. I am working right now." That's not to say you would if you weren't on shift, but, it's as good an excuse as any other.

Phainon finally frees his mouth from the other's body, sculling the rest of his drink, red ambrosia trickling over his lips, down the cleft of his neck, and over the pecs of his chest before mixing with the bath water and disappearing. His eyes are hooded, cheeks dusted red with the effects of alcohol and lust, "Why the sudden harsh treatment, He philtatē, you were never this reserved when we first met."

With a bow of your head, avoiding his gaze, you say, "Kindess is part of the job. I welcomed you in, my job is done."

"Boo~" Phainon whines, rolling off of Mydei and sitting next to him in the water. "You're not like this after work or with your colleagues," he mutters, now holding out his empty cup, "Refill, please!"

You're not even going to ask how he knows what you're like when they're not around, already having the sneaking suspicion they've been following you and paying someone to tail you when they're gone. You crouch down to aim the jug into the goblet, only for Mydei to snatch the wine from your hands which makes you cry out a, "Hey!"

Within moments, you're being dragged into the water by a laughing Phainon. You thrash and splash the water as you're manhandled, thick fingers pulling your clinging robe over your head, leaving you in thin panties and the gold chains around your torso to help support your breasts. You're held tightly against his chest, coddled like a sweet pet until you stop moving so violently. Once you calm down enough, Mydei hands a cup to Phainon, who then promptly presses the rim to your tightly sealed lips, "Ambrosia~ Ambrosia for He philtatē~"

His other hand is roughly grabbing your jaw, the ache forcing your mouth to part enough for the liquid to slip through. You grunt, swallowing the sweet drink, a lot of it falling down your front, until the cup is empty. His hand is swaying in front of your face, the motion annoying you so you backhand the goblet, it flying and dunking in the water. He's so out of it that it takes him a minute to realise what you've done, the man laughing and messily petting your head in a playful manner.

Mydei exhales, sinking further into the bath to relax his muscles, "The whole trip he wouldn't shut up about you. 'When can we see (Y/n) again?' 'How much longer until we leave for (Y/n)?' 'Do you think if I send a letter, it'll reach her before we get back?' Couldn't even focus on fighting."

Phainon cheekily pinches your cheek, directing your attention back to him, "Funny he says that. Just whose name do you think he was calling every night we fucked?" You grab at his wrists once they start to slip to your cunt, fingers brushing your clit while your strength did nothing to hold him back. He didn't even acknowledge it, choosing instead to ask, "We have those new heroes, too. Should we introduce them to our private hole?" A wince escapes you as he slips a finger in, your pussy clenching from the intrusion. He swirls his digit around before adding another, "And what of Anaxa? Where is he?"

"Anaxa is still busy, he won't be back for another month," Mydei steps from the tiled ledge and stands in front of you, his large hands stroking over your shoulders, cupping your breasts in his palms and grazing the nipples with his thumbs. His eyes follow every move with a predatory gaze, "They certainly have proved their worth..."

You zone out as they talk about you like some object. Gritting your teeth, frustrated tears mix with the sweat on your face as you silently cry. What sort of a God or Titan or Deity would allow something such as this to happen to one of their subjects? It just proves how lost your soul really is from everyone else's. Everyone was right, you were abandoned by the titans the moment you were conceived.

Mydei pushes himself against your front, sandwiching you between him and Phainon so he can easily kiss your tears away, "Now look what you've done, you made her cry."

Phainon coos against your hair, his fingers hooking inside you to get a jerking reacting out of you, your hips trapped between the two, "It's okay, He philtatē, we won't share you if you don't want to. It actually makes me happy to see your heart is ours alone."

That's absolutely not true.

"Just be good for us tonight or else we might have to get them to 'help' hold you down," Mydei chuckles drunkenly as if his joke was actually something worth laughing at.

It pissed you off how he could just say something like that and get away with it. You pushed a sturdy hand against his chest, halting him from your boldness. (E/c) eyes look to the door, longing for anyone to enter and stop this madness. Your voice is quiet, moisture inside your mouth gone from the alcohol, bath heat and sexual actions of these men, "One day... One day someone will stop you."

The amused rumble from Phainon's chest made your heart sink. Then, when Mydei's fierce eyes sharped as his grin showed too many teeth to bring an intense foreboding to flood your veins, you shrank back into Phainon as he suddenly seemed to be the lesser of two evils. Mydei scoffed and gripped the base of your neck, your chin tilted up on the curve of his thumb and index as he held you just hard enough to make you wheeze and meet his eyes, "That day won't be a day you're alive."

When he finally let go, the world around you went white and your head couldn't tell which way gravity was holding you. Thankfully, you had your two heroes to keep you safe.

[cheolieji]

Seungcheol

warning: Smut,unprotected sex, breeding kink and idk what else im too lazy

A/N: This is in no way to say mingyu acts like this. it's just part of the fiction

not proofread

I'm lowkey bad at writing smut🫢

feel free to send requests!

check [17] (pink highlighted) to see my yes and no's

seungcheol is the type of guy to walk on the street side of the sidewalk

seungcheol is the protective boyfriend everyone wishes for

the perfect and clingy boyfriend

you wanna wear a short dress? go ahead, he can fight

a guy just looks at you the wrong way, his fist is tightened, his jaw is clenched, and his death glare... goddd if looks could kill

you love it when he's protective over you

but something happened that made you think, is he a little too protective?

now you're sitting in his living room beside him, hands rubbing against each other, nervous to say it

seungcheol, of course, notices this. "You okay hun?" "Yeah! why wouldn't i be?" weird... but he just nodded his head, turning his attention back to the show playing. the sound of tv playing in the background mixing with your thoughts, should you really ask him about something so little that could turn into a heated argument?

"Hey-" "babe-" "Yeah? you say it first"

"no its just uhm. i" his eyebrows raised in confusion. What are you trying to tell him?

"Okay. will you promise not to get mad?" "Of course baby, why would i get mad at you?

"You know how we went to the kims gathering?" he just nods "yeah and how mingyu kept looking at me and stuff?" "Where are we going with this" his eyebrows still raised

"Nothing like that. It's just the way you were glaring at him. felt a little.... i don't know.. rudee? I'm sure he didn't mean it like that. " "Ah, that? i know him, babe he doesn't have good intentions. when he looks at someone like that, it means he wants something out of them." he pauses for a second, "and plus, you're mine..."

you blushed in your seat

"okay good i guess... i thought you were being a little too protective"

"Hey. It's good to be protective over what's mine!" he giggles while hugging you and placing you on his lap. and you're straddling him now. Suddenly, the air shifts

noticing this, seungcheol pulls you in closer before pressing a kiss on your lips. It starts to turn into a makeout session with you grinding on him while heavy breathing leave your mouths

"Can i?" As he's looking down at your pants, you nodded. he takes your pants along with his off. "No panties? want me to fuck you that bad? huh?" You nod again, eyebrows furrowed. "Say it, baby, i wanna hear you" "yes please cheol just fuck me, please"

he teases your opening with his dick before slowly entering your already wet cunt. shit did he get bigger?

"You feel so good, baby, just for me." Now he's fully inside you. He waited a bit for you to get used to his size

he's balls deep inside you, and you're a moaning mess, but he's looking at you like you're the prettiest thing in the world

he's hitting all the right spot "ah- cheol please" your gummy walls wrapped around his thick cock feels like heaven, for the both of you

he's leaving hickeys all over your neck as you're riding him like there's no tomorrow

bouncing on his dick as you're moaning his name loudly. it's like music to his ears

you feel the familiar pit in your stomach "fuck cheol im gonna cum" he lets out a loud grunt before cumming inside you "fuck ill fill you with my babies"

" gonna make you forget about that fucker" he continues thrusting inside you until you reached your high before softly kissing you

you let out a loud moan before falling on his shoulder. "You know, if you wanna put babies inside me, we should probably do more." "you wanna move it to the bedroom?" he carries you to the bedroom for a night of pleasure

[ritualcaster]

I know we're at totally different spots still but i read the article and it i think i've generally figured out what about me pissed you off so much.

Tone policing is a subsection of ad hominem. I'd like you too reread your posts to see if ur making that mistake too.

And yeah i mean it makes sense for the most part I was aligning with the "usually used by" section especially with how i was talking, and for the record i dont usually talk like that that, i just try to punctuate n stuff when it feels important to me i guess.

Im not trying to dismiss anything at all, I'm trying to help somewhere i felt like i could help. And idk why we aren't clicking rn but just read that sentence like 15 times.

Continuing

Yeah i said the equivalency was wrong right in those parantheses right there, yk what just stop looking at the red text in that image just pretend there is NO text there. I was using sex because i felt like you would get what i meant better, but it seems like it just sparked misunderstanding.

Continuing

Sorry for rexplaining all the stuff you already knew i just thought that that was what you were talking about me not getting. Like i just wanted to say it out loud so that its on record that i know too? Like that's something we are agreed upon.

Continuing

I'm not mad that you can't "transition into intersex" and honestly I highly regret using sex as an example like. At all. You guys are crazy. Sorry.

Honestly I have a pretty lax stance right now on people who would "want to be intersex" (so i can change it if need be) because even after research i just don't really have experience. As an intersex a mean. Like there are a seriously high amount of medical complications, theres all the oppression, all the forced "surgeries" that are an insult to surgery as a concept, nearly complete infertility, and plenty of general pain an unpleasent sensation. so this time I'm asking you a more personal question.

Do you feel like there is anything about being intersex that would make it prefferable to being perisex.

Any positives at all worth metioning? Or would it be better to have the term as something like being disabled. Do you feel like it's just something from birth that just inherrently sucks?

Continuing

I mean this so sincerely i'm honestly just not even sure how to word it, do you just want me to stop? Like replying? I can delete everything right now, or do you think I better serve as an example? If my stances seem to shift or contradict ir just completely change as we keep going back and forth, its because they are, and you changed them. I'm actually trying my damndest to listen and fix my shit man.

I thought you were here because you wanted to change my beliefs, but if you're just here out of anger i'd feel pretty bad.

on this subject, youre the one who knows everything. If youre here to tell me, ill listen, and if you aren't, then? Im not sure why youre still talking to me at all, and id like to hear about that too

I know that i shouldn't correct even tone on subject im unqualified for

I know that being intersex isn't something to be sought after, even for those who are non-bianary

I know that i am a hateful tar pit whos going to hell

And man thats just all the shit i learned in this convo alone so id say im learning plenty already

In case anyone needs a reminder…

Being transgender does not make you intersex.

Going through HRT does not make you intersex. Surgery cannot make you intersex.

Intersex people are born with atypical variations of physical, biological sex characteristics. That is what makes someone intersex.

Perisex trans people (especially on Reddit) have been recently insisting that just being transgender makes you intersex, and therefore able to speak over intersex people on issues that specifically affect us, especially when it comes to dangerous and offensive terminology. This is not true.

Also the idea that you can somehow “make yourself intersex” is untrue. You can make your body more androgynous through things like hormone treatment and surgery, but that does not make you intersex.

Falsely claiming intersex identity based on these things isn’t *always* malicious (though it is often done to speak over us) but it is always harmful.

[lightavii]

something im so fascinated by after reading some posts about severance online is ppl saying they like mark’s innie more than his outie. which like, do NOT get me wrong, me too. but i cant help but think abt how odd the implications of that are sometimes, when u think about why innie mark is the way he is.

like, outie mark is an asshole. for understandable reasons, of course. but he’s super abrasive and has major issues with alcohol and honestly it’s so painful to watch him lash out Over and Over at the people in his life who are literally just trying to help him. and it makes me want to rip my hair out, because with the way he acts sometimes it’s a wonder people even try to help at all.

innie mark is literally the complete opposite of that. he’s meek and polite and his actions aren’t tainted by grief (that he’s aware of) every waking second of the day. but he’s only that way because any and all of the fight has essentially been abused out of him. He mentions how he threatened to kill the disembodied voice when he first woke up but now he’s quick to admit to any wrongdoing before he’s been caught because he’s painfully aware of the what the alternative could be. when he and helly are about to go up the elevator that final time in S1, she asks if he’s scared and he says he’s scared /of being caught/. He’s mustered up all of this courage to rebel and he’s still scared shitless of the consequences.

Not to mention (if I’m remembering this scene correctly) that one of the earlier times he kind of “talked back” to Cobel, she proceeded to fling a mug at his head, and his immediate reaction was to people-please by asking if she wanted the office door closed or not. Jesus christ man. Slides my hands down my face

Innie mark is objectively more likeable for some of us but it’s because he’s been treated like absolute garbage. For a good chunk of S1 he’s just in this constant state of anxiety because who wouldn’t be?? And even in S2, (SPOILERS FOR ANYONE WHO HASNT YET WATCHED S2E1!!!!) when he barges into Milchick’s office and grabs the speaker his hands are fucking shaking, both from the adrenaline of his plan working but I’d also imagine that barging into his ex-bosses office and attempting to communicate with the Board directly goes against literally all of his conditioning and that’s gotta be terrifying.

It’s been great seeing innie mark become way more defiant than he used to be. I think it’ll be interesting continuing to root for him as the story goes on, because I know full well that as outie mark’s personality starts to shine through he could very well become more unlikeable, even though that change would be an objectively good thing. Arghhhh severance mark you make me sooooo mentally ill

I had to ramble these thoughts out somewhere because my friends dont like mark at all so they wouldnt gaf about any of this LMFAO

[ippipo]

self aware caleb

part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | slight smut chapter

you haven't been able to get off for a while now. every time you try to orgasm, you suddenly get so frustrated and it never happens. even your vibrator was annoying you now. your fingers never reached the right spot anymore. it's like your body just wants something else. something more.

you rise to the notification in your phone.

caleb

you saved my name as just caleb?

thought you liked me more than that, princess

you

i like a lot of things and you're not in that list

jk ill change it

kale 🥬

almost cried but alr

you

get annihilated

kale 🥬

if its by you, gladly

kale??

really???

you

you asked for it

kale 🥬

ouch

you

bye

kale 🥬

bye

"hi," a familiar voice suddenly calls out and you jump from your initial position. "holy fuck, caleb!" you clutch your heart in a dramatic way. "you ended that conversation so quickly, whaddya expect?" he says it in a matter-of-fact tone.

"do you not have mc to bother?" you ask, your brows knit together in faux annoyance. "do you really want me gone?" you notice the sudden shift in his tone, making you feel guilty. you just meant it playfully. "no, no, i was kidding," you try to reason with him.

"that didn't sound like it," he points at you. "you didn't have to be so mean, it hurts my feelings. mind you, you're the only actual human i talk to, you should be a little considerate about that," he explains.

"i'm sorry, i was just a little frustrated today," you explain, making him frown. "what happened?" he asks. "it's nothing, i just need a little time to myself."

caleb raises a brow at this. he notices your cheeks were flushed, your expression looked like you were in a daze and you were looking at his......hands? the entire time you were talking. something was up and he had to know, because it was eating him up inside. could you really blame him?

"fine, i'll talk to you after a few hours. hydrate and sleep until then. keep your phone next to you, i'll wake you up," he instructs. you nod and wave to him with a smile. you take this opportunity to try something new.

you play some music, trying to rile yourself up. caleb could hear everything from his side. you slowly take off your shorts, completely unaware that your phone was still propped up against your bedside lamp, and a certain someone could see everything.

you rest on your back and you lick your fingers, sliding them downwards. you start circling your clit slowly, doing it until wetness builds up near your slit. your fingers move towards your hole that was waiting to feel something. you slowly insert your fingers inside, gasping at the intrusion.

you moan as you thrust them in and out, curling them inside to intensify the pleasure. you grab your vibrator and turn it to the lowest setting. the dim buzz makes your pussy clench in anticipation. you draw it towards your clit, whining when it finally touches it.

the music was blurred into the background, your entire focus was solely on your body, trying to reach the climax you've been chasing for days.

caleb watches you intently, playing with his shaft that was covered in precum. god, you looked so hot right now, he swears he could cum in a minute after seeing you. cold sweat trickling down your temples made everything look even more sensual than it already was.

you increase the vibrator's setting even more, and your moans amplify. you buck your hips at the stimulation, wanting more and more. "oh, fuck!" you cry out loud when your fingers hit that one spot. caleb halts his movements, not wanting to cum before you.

this was what you were so frustrated about. he chuckles internally, thinking how nice it would be if he could take care of you, drinking your sweet moans in while making sure you're too dumb filled with his cock to even think.

your thoughts suddenly shift to caleb, imagining it was his fingers that were inside you and you gasped when you felt your pussy getting even more wet. you increased the pace, feeling a familiar twist in your tummy. you tug at your clothed nipples, drunk on the feeling.

you increase the setting on your vibrator and it becomes overwhelming. "caleb!" you moan out loud. caleb freezes when he hears his name, thinking that you caught him but when he sees that you were still high on pleasure, his eyes never leave you. he smirks to himself. his cock was pulsating in his hand, aching even more after he found out you moaned his name. he wonders if you had done it on other occassions too.

your vibrator and your fingers that you imagined were caleb's were making you come closer and closer to your orgasm. "ah, fuck, caleb," you moan desperately. it finally hits you like a tsunami. waves of pleasure washing all over your body as you twitch at the sensation. your vibrator was now lonely beside you, buzzing as your chest heaves from the intense orgasm.

he lets out soft moans as he fists himself, thinking it was your cunt instead. when you moan his name again, he finally gives in. ropes of cum shot out of his cock, coating his abdomen. sweat coating his soft skin, his ears were red, and he was so down bad.

your entire world was spinning, the pleasure still lingering around. all your senses were overwhelmed, and the music was louder than ever. you flinch as the cold air hit your sensitive pussy.

you freeze when you hear a cough. from your phone. "caleb...?" you call out, praying to yourself that it wasn't him or you were definitely going to jump out. caleb immediately freezes too, realising what he had just done. "d-did you hear anything?" you ask in embarrassment.

"no, i came to check up on you just now, what happened?" he plays it off cool. you sigh loudly. thank fucking lord. "no, i was just wondering," you stray away from the topic. caleb closes his eyes in relief as you bought onto his lie. images of you still playing in his mind. "i'll go back to sleep then," you say softly, earning a hum in response.

fuck, that was close.

[gothghostiie]

Hello! I looove your work, and I had a thought on like a cod firefighter au??? It would kinda be like a scent kink thing I guess... Please feel free to ignore this completely if it makes you uncomfortable at all!!!!!

Ok so, when firefighters come back from a fire they REEK of smoke and chemicals and stuff and honestly it makes me think of two different scenarios:

Scenario 1: cod man gets home from a fire and this man is smelly. Butttt you're so excited he's home and you're just all over him, burying your face in his neck, licking the grime and sweat off of his torso- all of it. Just obsessed with him, his smell, and the fact that he's alive and healthy.

Scenario 2: (Ngl, this one makes me think of your bully!soap). Okay, cod man gets home and you're happy he's home, happy he's safe, but you beg him to go shower because yuck. He finds how grossed out you are funny or something, and it leads to some deviant activities... Such as being stuck with your face buried in his armpit as he drills you from whatever position and makes fun of you. Or grabs your hair and makes you huff his scent from his crotch before he encourages you to suck him off. That kinda stuff.

With either scenario I can just imagine reader getting dizzy off of the smells and stuff and it's just- yeah.

Anyways! Thank you so much for taking the time to read this, and I hope you have a wonderful day/night! Remember to stay hydrated and eat good food :)

have the greatest day and take care of yourself lovie🫶🏻 and i LOOOOVE this and ill be damned if that isnt bully!soap as your boyfriend bc c'mon. you don't seriously think he'd stop being a bully just because hes your boyfriend now, right?

cw: bully!soap is his own warning, CNC, scent kink, facesitting, gn!reader

It's natural and normal that he sweats when he's at work, considering his profession. it's normal for you that he smells a little funky when coming home, but today? today he just reeks for some reason. he comes home and hugs you, kissing your head, you scrunch up your face and push him off slightly. his brows furrow and he almost pouts, holding you tighter. "the hell are you doing?" he asks, you frown softly, tell him to plesse just shower really quick, he can get all the hugs and kisses he wants after, just get washed up.

its needless to say this turned on you the second the words left your lips.

hes grinning, grip on you tightening. "what, y'dont like the smell of a workin' man? a man providing for ya?" he scoffs playfully as you try to squirm out of his big, calloused hands, his grip only tightens. "can't even fuckin' handle a little bit of me huh? might have to help ya get used to it, aye?" your eyes widen at the implications. you know you're in for it now. he picks you up with ease, hands under your ass, you wrap your legs around his waist for support. with a devious grin on his face he carries you into your bedroom, dropping you on the soft bed unceremoniously. his hands fiddle with his pants as you think about your poor sheets, before you even realise it he's already crawling over you in just his underwear. you can't even speak up to ask him what he's doing as his thighs find home on either side of your head, you see him grin down at you before he sits down, planting himself firmly on your poor face. you make a protesting noise, being forced to breathe in his musky scent, the sweat of a long day of work. you cry out, hands grabbing at his thighs, he laughs at you.

"what's the matter babe? don't like your own boyfriend's smell? that's devastating." he says, his tone mocking as he rocks his hips slightly, making sure to really rub it in. you cry out again, nails digging into his skin, trying to somehow get him to get off your face, even if you know the attempts are for nothing. he laughs, patting your hands gently, shaking his head even if you can't see it. "y'really dont like having to endure that do ya? want me to get up off that pretty little face?" the offer is almost too good to be true, you don't even think before nodding; only when you hear his deep chuckle you know he already has another thing to put you through.

he ruts his hips sharply one more time, his semi twitching before he lifts his hip, staying knelt down. you gasp for air, sputtering with a proper pout on your face, it makes him laugh. he pats your cheek briefly, cooing at you. "poor fuckin' thing, can't even handle that, hm?" he chuckles, his hands going to his underwear, pulling it off off him with skilled movements, never getting off of you. you whimper, pressing your lips together, expecting him to shove his filthy cock into your mouth - but no. one hand grabs your face, the other bunches up his underwear. "open up. now." his tone leaves no room for argument, neither does the harsh grip on your face, forcing your mouth open. you whimper in defeat, jaw going slack, he smiles. "there ya go.. thats my baby.." he says softly, genuine affection in his voice, despite what he's doing to you. his other hand forces the bunched up fabric into your mouth, making you gag briefly.

"there there.." he chuckles, patting your head like a dog. "don't worry, gonna distract ya." finally, he gets off your face, you blink at him with teary eyes, letting him have his way as his taste fills your mouth. his hands undress you with a surprising gentleness, caressing and squeezing softly as he smiles down at you. his touch stays gentle even as he pushes his cock into you slowly, inch by inch as you moan, heat rising all throughout your body as muffled moans fill the room. he smiles down at you, leaning down to kiss your forehead as he bottoms out - thats the last bit of gentleness he gives you before putting his weight on you, immediately humping you like hes in heat. your eyes widen, moans growing more frequent and louder, mixing in with his low grunts and skin slapping against skin.

it takes a few moments before you let yourself relax into the brain melting fuck, but by now you should know better than to trust your boyfriend like that. a strong hand grips the back of your head, before you can even open your eyes your face is forced into his damp, unshaven armpit. you yelp, hands trying to push him off, but he just laughs once again, keeping you held there as his thrusts get firmer, knocking the breath out of you, forcing you to breathe him in.

"gonna keep ya like this 'til you learn to fucking love it.."

[nezukoo-channn]

— sinta ko (Zayne x F! Reader)

Tags: Non-MC F!Reader x Zayne, Reader isn’t MC, Reader is addressed w female pronouns (she/her), Spanish colonial AU! Not historically accurate , romance, pinning, domestic moments, possibly OOC Zayne and Caleb , there are translations (not exactly word by word but I translated it based on what's the most accurate thought behind it, it's italicized beside or after the dialogue) , fluff, so much pinning and longing, teasing and banter, different social classes, they haven't seen each other in years let them fall in love again, childhood friends to people who havent seen each other in years to lovers, childhood friends to lovers, established relationship at the end, courtship, theyre falling in love awwwww, zayne sings for youuuu and you sing back and and *sniffles*

TW: slight blood and injuries (in one scene), cussing (just once), and discrimination between social classes

A/N: part 2 of giliw ko! Thank you so much for waiting for part 2 (i know that i said ill post it soon but i didnt expect soon will be THIS long, had to settle some personal things in my life, deal with grief and stuff) but i hope youll like part 2 and that it wont disappoint you guys thank you so much for supporting giliw ko and sinta ko, i hope to be more comfortable in writing and publishing more fics one day.

Taglist: @sapphic-daze, @deusfoundry, @roseapov, @knorreine

Divider: @saradika-graphics

You don't remember the last time you saw Zayne.

Well, you could remember seeing him, but you don't remember when exactly was the last time you saw him. Was it months? Years? Decades?

Everyday felt ordinary. You wake up before dawn to tend to your mother and her weakening health. You and your father helped her up, allowing her to sit down to watch the sunrise.  

You prepared breakfast next, making sure your parents had something to eat before you left for work today,  which was selling products you and your father grew in your own garden at the back of the house at the marketplace. You dusted up your skirts, tied your hair up and grabbed the basket before saying goodbye to your parents and walking out of the door.  

You headed up to your usual area, amongst the other women, young and old , selling the same produce as you. You raised your voice,  loud and clear to call out to potential customers. People passed your way, some dropping by to purchase a vegetable or two , others tried to bargain with you about prices established, and the rest passed along. You didn't mind. Customers were customers; they were yours sometimes, and other times, they weren't. 

During the midday, You found a spot for yourself to have lunch before returning back to work. You did the same thing , trying to get your stock sold out and yet, like every other day, it wasn't. You sigh, glancing at the last few bits of onions and garlic.

As the day ends, you return home, clutching your basket close. When you open the door, your mother greets you. She was a slim woman, her bones seemed to poke through her thin skin and dull eyes. You set the basket aside and hugged her.

“Magandang gabi, ma.” You greeted, “Kumusta po tayo?”  Goodevening, mom. How are you?

Your mother, despite her illness , gave a sweet smile.  “Maayos naman, ija. Sabi ko sa iyo na wag na magtrabaho. Kaya pa man namin ng ama mo.” I am well, my child but didn't I tell you to stop working? Your father and I can still do it.

She gently chimed. You smiled, shaking your head as you placed a hand on her shoulder. 

“Nay,” You say softly, “May sakit ka po, diba? Hayaan mo na kami ni tatay mag-alaga sa iyo…” Mom, you're sick, remember? Let dad and I take care of you...

Your mother sighs. “Parehas talaga kayo ng tatay mo, no?” She laughs before shaking her head, “Kain na tayo? Hinihintay ka na ng tatay mo…”  You're really like your father, no? Oh come on now, let's eat dinner. I'm sure your father has been waiting for you.

You held your mother's hand, heading to the small dining room to eat together as a family.

Dinner was quiet, say for the occasional coughs from your mother and the mumbles of your father as he tries to make her drink water. And just like that, dinner was complete and then fell into a comfortable silence as you prepared to sleep. 

It was a life, yes, but a mundane everyday one.

A life you memorized and lived through autopilot countless times.

With the season getting colder, your mother's illness worsens to the point of her being unable to stand or leave the bed.

That gave you a reason to work even harder.

You found a bunch of other jobs — laundry maid, cooking maid, babysitting children of the elite, etc. Just to earn enough money to help your mother find a doctor or anyone willing to heal her.

“May kilala ka bang doktor, Señora?” Do you know a doctor, madame? You asked your mistress. She was a newer one to town, having married some impressionable bachelor.

She scoffs, “At bakit ka ba nagtatanong? Hindi naman parte ng trabaho mo magkasakit.” And why are you asking? It isn't part of your job to get sick.

You grit your teeth. There were really people like them, no? Just because they had more privilege or paler skin meant that they could look down upon others. You shook your head, “Para po sa ina ko, señora.” Its for my mother, madame. You reasoned. 

“Ano ba ang pakialam ko sa ina mo? ”And why should I care about your mother? She scoffs. 

You nearly dropped whatever you were holding, planning to aim at her, but that said, if she gets hurt, you'd be imprisoned and it will be more difficult for your family. You remained quiet, finishing up instead before leaving for the day. 

As you walk the path back home, a familiar silhouette stands beside you. You looked to your side and raised your hand to defend yourself, but it was caught between theirs. You glance up, knowing that cheeky smile wherever You go. 

It was Caleb.

“Gago ka!” Fuck! You say in shock, your hand fishing it's way out of his hold your hit his shoulder playfully. “Ikaw ha! Bakit mo iyan ginawa?” What was that for? 

He laughs. “At bakit ka naman galit? Di lang tayo nagkita ng ilang buwan at tapos, magpapa-sungti ka?" And why are you angry? We haven't seen each other for a few months and now you're acting all mean?

He teases, ruffling your hair. You hit him again playfully. 

“At bakit ka dito?” Why are you here? You asked. 

“Bakit? Bawal ba?” Why? Am I not allowed here? He retorts.

You sighed. 

“Hindi naman…” Not really You answered, dusting your skirt. “Uuwi na ako kinana Nanay At Tatay. Malubha ang sakit ni Nanay… Naghahanap ako ng doktor, O baka naman mangagagmot— kahit sino na lang.” I'm heading back home. Mom isn't feeling well and I'm trying to find a doctor, or maybe a healer--or just anyone who can help, really. You confined to him as you walked back home together.

Caleb wasn't present around the barrio nowadays, having gone to Manila to serve for the Guardia Civil , the Spanish police that her empire placed over her constituents to keep them in place.

“Alam mo, may kilala akong doktor.”I know a doctor. Caleb says , moments before reaching home. You glanced at his direction, eyes brimming with possible hope that it'll be a good doctor,  one that can save your mother's health and wouldn't dismiss her like others. 

“Saan?”Where? You ask immediately,  “Sino?” Who?

He smiles, getting a piece of paper inside his trousers and hands it to you , pressing his hands against yours. You stared in confusion,  tilting your head as you mumbled quickly before stepping inside. 

Dinner was the usual, but with the added bonus of Caleb being there and entertaining your parents with his various experiences .  You nod along, listening to him talk on and on as you can't help but wonder what a life beyond the comforts of a province would be like. What Maynila was truly like for yourself. 

As the night comes to an end, you escorted Caleb out of the house, a complete opposite from what a woman would do. He pouts playfully, trying to object to your behavior but you laugh along, dragging him out of the house as he says a goodbye to your parents.

And life continued on. 

It took a while to convince your mother that she should see a doctor, and not either a manggagamot or an albularyo. You practically dragged her to the place, making sure to hold her hand tightly so that she wouldn't get lost.

You paused, stopping at the gates of the familiar building.

It was Zayne’s old home. The same old home you met him with. The same old home where your mother and father and grandparents all worked. The same old home that held so many memories— it feels too good to be true to stand face to face with it.

But here you are. Standing in front of the familiar gates.

Getting inside was fairly simple, but the lines and amount of people were so many you probably wondered if the thing Caleb mentioned has any semblance of truth at all. You made sure your mother was seated and weaved yourself through the small crowd of people like the sea that washes upon the shore of everyday life— you memorized this place, but felt alien towards it. You walked over to the woman sitting down with piles of papers, perhaps that's the secretary of the Doctor. She glances up and smiles,

“Bago ka ba dito?” Are you new here? She asks. You nod. She gets a piece of paper and a pen and begins asking for information about you.

You immediately shake your head,

“Parang hindi tayo nagkakaintindihan. Hindi po ako yung may sakit, yung ina ko po.” I think there's a misunderstanding. Im not the one who's ill, but my mother.

You explained. She laughs and corrects herself before proceeding with the same thing all over again, this time with your mother's information instead of yours.

Waiting took even longer. There were plenty of people, young and old, men and women, the rich and the poor waiting patiently for their names to be called by the secretary. It was something new for you. You haven't been to the doctor's before, having trusted and used local medicines and believed to rid you of your illnesses as a child and teenager, the same thing your parents had used to because it was cheaper than a doctor and was more known in the barrio.

You glanced around. The familiar wooden walls had stood tall, photos of the family lined their walls as generations of men and women watched people come in and out of their home, hoping for a better solution to their ailments. Time ticks slowly as the sun rises higher into the sky And begins its descent . Your eyes were starting to get heavy, your mother leaning against you for a moment's rest.

Hearing your mother's name get called was like a bell that breaks the silence of night. You nudge her awake. “Nay,” Mom, You say softly, trying to wake her, “Tayo na. Tinawag na tayo.” Let's go. Your name was being called.

She mutters something in response before you help her up and lead her towards the room.

You had been inside this room before. The old smell of books and wood was replaced with ammonia and sterile supplies. You take a step, your mother following behind you as you face the presumed doctor.

Zayne.

He glanced down for a moment, reviewing the patient information given to him by the secretary beforehand. You couldn't help but stare at realizing you knew each other before. He was still handsome, yes, with soft and cold eyes, his hair short and kept nicely.

“Nay, si Zayne po ito.” Mom, its me, Zayne.

He says to your mother, his voice soft and modulated. Your mother's eyes lit up. “Ijo? Ikaw ba ‘yan , ijo ko?” My dear? Is that you, my dear?

He nods. “Opo, ang ijo inaalagaan mo noong una po," Yes, I'm the boy you took care of before.

He grabs his stethoscope, “At ngayon po, Nay, ako naman po ang maaalaga sa iyo.” And now, mom, I'll be the one who'll be taking care of you.

You watched as Zayne proceeded with his routine, A new sight from the boy you once knew. His hands were gentle, his voice firm and clear as he ran through several tests and asked your mother questions related to her health.

Minutes passed by as Zayne explained what was happening to you and your mother. He was direct, telling her she was ill but didn't crush the hopes of her making a recovery. He gets a piece of paper, scribbling down a few words before handing them to you. He gives a few more reminders, making sure your mother can take her medicines, not overwork herself , make sure she's rested well, and to return next week to get an update on her health.

You smiled, saying your thanks to Zayne before looking away, your eyes darting around as you tapped your feet. Zayne and your mother continued to talk, catching up with the years that passed.

“Ang laki laki mo na , ijo.” You're so big now, my dear. Your mother coos, squishing his cheek with her wrinkled fingers, “Naalala ko noong una—” I remember when —

Zayne chuckled nervously , looking away as he places her hand far from his cheeks. “Alam ko po.” I know, He says softly, “Hindi mo na kailangan sabihin.” You don't need to say.

Your mother scoffs playfully, making you groan from annoyance. The last thing you wanted to hear is an embarrassing story from your childhood or Zayne’s. She laughs, recalling how you'd always play together or how when Zayne was a little baby, he would always follow her or his own mother around like a little puppy. You laugh, imagining him just as your mother described in her story. Zayne stands there, covering his reddening face with his white coat, his eyes glancing elsewhere. He silently hopes that this will all end soon.

“Nay,” Mom, You say, placing a hand on her shoulder. You glance at Zayne, seemingly saying that you had this under your control. “Sa susunod na naman tayo mag-usap kay Doktor Zayne, Nay. Baka may gagawin pa siya.” We can talk to Doctor Zayne next time. Maybe he still has things to do.

“Bibisita ka ba sa amin ba, ijo?” Will you visit us , dear? She asks Zayne with hopeful eyes.

“Hindi pa ko maka-siguro po, Nay.” I'm not so sure, Mom. He answers, “Pero kung may oras ako, bibisita ako. Sa parehas lugar kung saan kayo nakatira noong una po?” But if I have the time, I'll visit. Its in the same place as before, no?

Your mother nods. “Aba, naalala mo pa, ijo? Kung hindi kayo sa bahay, diyan kayo palagi nina Caleb at Y/N. Palagi kayo naglalaro noong una. Naalala ko-” Ah, so you do remember, dear? If you weren't at home, you would always be at ours with Caleb and Y/N. You three always played together and I remember—

“At naalala ko na nag-aalala na si Tatay sa bahay.” And I remember that Dad is worried at home. You chimed in softly, grabbing her hand as you thanked Zayne once more and left the office. Zayne smiles to himself, waving goodbye as the door closes and leaves him alone with his thoughts.

You were always at Zayne’s more often as your mother recovers from her illness.

It was a slow and gradual process, yes, but you couldn't help but be proud, seeing your mother slowly feel better and get back on her feet. True to his words, Zayne visits more often. He brings his medical equipment in a bag and walks up to your door and like clockwork, you’d open the door to greet him hello before bringing him to your mother.

Your mother’s eyes always lit up when she hears his footsteps and his familiar voice. She loved him like he was her child, having raised him all those years ago.

“May kasintahan ka na ba, ijo?” Do you have a partner, dear? She asked one time, catching him off-guard. He looked away for a moment, his face turning red as he shook his head.

“May babae bang nagpapatibok ng puso mo?” Is there a woman who makes your heart race? She asked next.

His ears turned red as he continued to look away.

“Parang wala pa po, Nay. Hindi ko rin alam kung pareho ang nararamdaman niya sa akin…” There seems to be no one yet, Mom.I'm not sure if the person feels the same.

You laugh, shaking your head in disbelief. This was Doctor Zayne, and you were sure that so many women had already swooned over his feet and had tried to melt away at his cold and aloof expression, but you digressed.

“Hay nako, Zayne. Ikaw pa? Walang kasintahan? At akala ko sa Maynila o sa Europa ka pa makakahanap ng babae na magmamahal sa iyo?” Really, Zayne? You? Without a partner? And I thought you would find someone from Manila or Europe who will love you. You teased, nudging his side, “O bake plano mo maging isang matandang binata?" Or do you plan on being an umarried bachelor?

Zayne laughs, turning his attention towards you.

“Hindi naman.”Not really, He says, “May taong nagpapatibok ng puso ko pero…” There is someone who makes my heart race however...

“Pero?” However?

“Pabayaan mo na.” Nevermind. He waves his hand dismissively. You pouted at his words, playfully hitting his shoulder, and sticking your tongue out in his direction. Zayne sighs, seeing your petulant expression.

“Tumahimik ka nga?” Can you keep quiet? He says, “Nagtatrabaho ako.” I'm working.

Your heart skipped a small beat. Was it the way he talked? The way his hands handled taking care of your mother? Or was it because it was Zayne? Zayne, the childhood friend you grew up with throughout all those years, whose face and expression never changed, his voice still modulated and poised just like how you’d always remember it. You shake your head. Now that kind of nonsense is something you don’t agree on, especially about you.

His checkup continues as he does an assessment of your mother’s current condition. Every answer she gave, he had written down and documented properly. Before he left, he presented them with fruits in a basket and money he had stuffed in his pockets.

“Alam ko na hindi ito magrabo pero sana po makatuklong diin sa iyo ito.”I know this isn't extravagant but I hope it will help. He offers.

“Ang sobra naman mo, Zayne. Hindi mo naman kailangan ito gawin .” Oh Zayne, you're too much. You don't need to do this. You say, your face red and eyes widen from the action he had done. He presses the basket of fruits closer to you.

“Tanggapin mo na.” Accept it. He insists. After another back and forth between you both, you resigned your fate and nodded in thanks, taking the basket into your arms. Zayne flashes a subtle smile before packing his materials and leaving out of the door.

This continues on for weeks more, even spanning months–close to a year even as your mother’s recovery was a slow and gradual process. She can move around more often and for longer without the need to catch her breath. She can clean up around the house, much to your father’s insistence of helping.

Whenever you visited Zayne in his clinic with your mother, you would bring a fresh basket of fruits and vegetables that you sell as a thank you to him. He would gladly accept it, claiming that you and your mother were planning to stuff him with food. You both laugh and shake your heads at his words.

When Zayne visits the marketplace to find goods, he’d look around, seeing the same things and products sold. The only difference was the person selling. He would look around, trying to spot you from amongst the crowd of voices. He would buy the vegetables he needed before paying and leaving to go to a different stall. There were times that you two bantered over prices of your products, as Zayne would explain the concepts of business to you. In response, you would shake your head and grumble about how he doesn’t really know a thing about how to really sell stuff to individuals.

He followed every rule of the book and conduct of society, and yet, here you are, holding a basket of fresh produce from the garden your family has, your face kissed by the sun with your hair tied up with your smile gracing your lips.

The same smile that had slowly melted through his exteriors once more and will continue to do so until the very end perhaps. The same smile that had caused his heart to skip a beat when he saw her again. The smile that got him going through medical school, the only thing he imagined him to greet her. Sometimes, he wonders if he should’ve stayed behind as a child to see her smile even more, but he didn’t regret leaving for Manila to study medicine, he didn’t regret going to Europe to learn even more. At least, not completely.

The only thing he ever regretted about leaving home was that he didn’t bring her and her smile with him.

Now that he is back, he only hopes to see it even more.

You missed him. That wasn’t a lie.

Of course you did, he was still your childhood friend and companion until he left to study. You had spent your whole teenage years wondering when he’ll be back and whether things will be the same when he returns–would he even remember who you were?

But seeing his face, his bright eyes that seemed to shift colors when the sunlight hit in different angles, his large and strong hands holding onto the basket of produce he bought from you, you realized that he hasn’t forgotten you, not one single bit at all.

Your mother noticed the way your face turned red at the mention of Zayne's name, your father noticed the small smile that graced your lips when you tried to hide your blushing face beneath your hand. Caleb had teased you both relentlessly about it, nudging Zayne by the shoulder everytime you three were together once more. It was as if you were kids once again, just much older than the ages you were before. And instead of playing together, you did errands together, with them being your most frequent customers. Your other friends had teased you as well, nudging and making noises you’d glare at them for.

And the worst of all, you noticed the way Zayne acted around you.

It was a subtle change, but one you noticed and took attention too. He was at your home more often, even staying for dinner with your parents. He’d laugh at old stories your father recalls about you that you wished he’d quiet about. He looked at you more often, his head resting against his chin as he watched you go on and on about today, or yesterday, or any other day. And once dinner was done and everything slowed down, he seemed hesitant to leave but always kissed your hand and said his goodbye. You kept a straight-face most of the time, but there was no denying of the red gracing your cheeks.

There was a time he was talking to your parents. You were in the kitchen, washing the dishes as their hushed voices talked. There was a gut feeling inside your chest, telling you to listen in. Holding a wet plate in your hand, you pressed your ear closer to the wall, curious on what he’s about to say next.

“Magtatanong ako kung bibigayan niyo ba ako ng pahintulot para ligawin si Y/N.” I want to ask your permission to court Y/N. Zayne says, his voice muffled by the barrier se separating the kitchen and living room.

There was a brief silence before he continued, “Hindi ako makakasabi na ako ay isang perpektong tao pero pinapangako ko na mamahalin ko siya ng buong puso.” I can't say that I'm perfect, but I promise to love her with my whole heart.

“Ang anak ba namin ang dahilan bakit tumitibok ang puso mo, ijo?” Is our child the reason why your heart races, dear? Your mother asks.

Another brief silence passes before he nods. “Opo, pero maliban po sa ganyan. Siya ang dahilan na bakit ako nabubuhay, kung bakit ako gumigising sa umaga at natutulog sa gabi. Sa totoo, parang hindi ko na kayang itago ang aking nararamdaman sa kanya. Kung pwede po sa inyo, gusto ko siya ligawin.” Yes, but she's more than that. She's the reason why I'm alive, why I wake up in the morning and go to sleep at night. In honesty, I don't think I can hide my feelings for her any longer, so please, give me the permission to court her.

Your heart freezes in your chest, skipping a beat. Your hand slips, causing the plate to fall down with a loud crash. You quickly knelt over, gathering the larger pieces, and accidentally drawing blood. Your eyes widened in a panic as you scrambled up and got cleaning supplies to fix the mess your nosiness made.

As you clean up, a silhouette looms over you, his hand touching your shoulder as he peers beyond and sees your bloody hand and broken shards.

“Ano ba nangyari rito?” What happened here? Zayne’s voice breaks the silence in the room. “Patingin nga.” Let me see.

You let out your bloody hand to him. He glances around it, careful and precise in his touch to ensure that there will be no further injuries. He helps you sit down, finding clean cloths and water.

“Wag kang gagalaw.” Don't move. He instructs. You nodded and tried your best to stay still. He begins to clean the wound with water and soap before leaving for a moment to get his first aid kit that he brought everywhere with him, especially during visiting patients. He cleans your hands with antiseptic, his hands firm and kind. Perhaps this was why he was a well-sought out doctor. The way he treated and helped nursed his patients back to health, his firm and unwavering dedication didn’t stem from ethics alone, but was grounded in a genuine love and care for the people he spends his whole life serving and taking care of.

You wince, trying to take your hand away but he holds on.

“Diba sinabi ko wag kang gagalaw?" Didn't I tell you not to move? He repeats himself. You nodded once more, murmuring an apology to him. He pauses for a moment before continuing.

In the silence of the kitchen table, your mind raced.

Ligaw. Courtship.

Zayne wanted to court you, he was asking your parents permission for him to court you. Honestly, if tradition never mattered, you would step out from where you’re hiding and give him the permission yourself, but for now, you kept quiet and listened on. You wondered if he knew you were swooping, or was he keeping that information to himself?

What surprised you more was his reasoning behind the reason why he wanted to do it.

You were the reason why he survived Manila, why he survived Europe and other parts of Asia he traveled to study.

You were the reason why he continued on with medicine.

You were the reason why he returned back to the province he was born and raised in.

In the coldest hours of morning, before the sun rises over the horizon and the small town bounces with life, you were the comfort he was looking for. That warm and never ceasing comfort he has been searching and longing for his whole life.

You were all of these things and more, and Zayne had kept that inside his chest for so long that he can feel his heart explode if it was kept in for longer.

“Ano bang nangyari?” What happened even?He asks, wrapping your hand in gauze.

“Nalaglag ko ang plato hinahawakan ko.” I dropped my plate. You admitted.

He hums, nodding his head at your answer. He made sure it was secure before letting go and reminding you to be more careful with the things you hold and your surroundings. His voice silences as the quiet sounds of your parents’ footsteps get farther and farther away as they rested for the night.

You said your goodbyes, watching him leave the house and the door closes behind him. Your hand lingers for longer against the wood, as if hoping Zayne would show up and remind you one more time to take care of yourself before going, but that wouldn’t be happening tonight.

The next time you saw Zayne was months later.

You were so busy taking care of your parents, and he was away for a while. You tried to ask the people who worked at his clinic, or Caleb, or your own parents about where he is and neither had a proper answer to your question.

You were worried,to say the least. Had he run away from his own feelings? Had he run away from you? No, that wouldn’t make sense for Zayne to do. You tried to think of other possible reasons to console your pacing mind. Perhaps he went to Manila to work, or perhaps visited his parents, maybe had other patients beyond their small town.

It was the middle of the night when you found yourself awake once more, your mind lingers on with the possible reasons why he hasn’t shown up, and about what you had overheard from the talk with your parents months ago. The windows were closed, but allowed some air inside to keep you cool and comfortable. You tossed and turned in bed when you heard a faint sound of a guitar being strummed.

You paused, glancing at the window. Another strum of the guitar and a cough. Slowly, you got up from the bed and approached the window, your hands lingering around, thinking about whether to push it open or keep it close.

That's when you heard singing.

That's when you heard Zayne singing.

His voice was crisp and clear, emotions pouring out of his mouth as he sang to the sound of a guitar. There were some snickers here and there, perhaps from his friends but nonetheless, he continued on. You smiled to yourself, allowing his voice to soothe your own troubles and worries. It goes on for several more minutes, but the idea was the same: please open your window and let me catch a glimpse of your face.

As the last song finishes up, you open the windows to your room and look down, your hands covering your blushing face.

Zayne was there, his hands outstretched with a smile on his face. When he sees your face,he lowers his hands and looks up. There was a hint of red plastered on his face too, making you crack a smile. His friends were there as well, supporting him in his endeavors to woo you over. Caleb nudges Zayne before saying something you didn’t hear. You went outside of your room, surprised to see your parents awake too.

“Oh? Papasukin mo ba sila?”Oh? Will you let him in then? Was all the confirmation you needed from your parents before opening the door to them. Zayne sighs in relief, he has passed the first test. He greeted your parents and you as they settled down for a while. You sat beside your parents, watching them prepare the next songs.

As Zayne sings throughout the night, he compliments various things about you. How you smiled, carrying yourself with grace , how your eyes shone under the sun and your hair forming a halo around you like an angel. How you treated others with love, how hard you worked for your family, how you loved so tenderly and freely that it felt like a crime if he were to let go of such a chance of loving you.

He continues to sing alongside the guitar being played, the words seemingly fly out of his mouth as he says sweet everythings to you. You smile throughout, unable to hide it any further as you lean in forward, eager to listen to him sing.

In a response to his efforts, you sing back to him. You came up with a response to his efforts, and mentioned the things you liked about him. His handsome face, his steady and strong hands, his dedication to his work, the way he cared about others around him and prioritized their safety first and foremost. You sing about accepting his love, comparing it to the home you lived in; stable and worth returning to time and time again.

His face turns to a brighter shade of red as you continue on. He tried to bury his face, but his smile was so big that his hands couldn’t seem to hide it. But just like you , he listened to every word said about him.

You sang a duet together, your voices mixing with the guitar’s melody. Singing a duet together means that you had accepted his effort into wooing you over.

In honesty, you have accepted it for a long time already. You know that he loved you, in any way a man like he could. He loved you in his reminders, he loved you in his touch and longing stares, and most of all, he loved you since and had only taken the leap of faith to sing his feelings about you and you were there to catch him.

You sang a few more songs together before he finally wraps it up with a goodbye song. He thanked your parents one more time before he and his friends left, closing the door behind them. The silence of memory and song fills the living room but you were shifting around, glancing at the door. You bounced your leg, tapping your fingers against your bouncing knee.

“Pupuntahan mo siya?” Will you go to him? Your mother asked, as if she was able to read your mind. She knew you weren't the most traditional following girl especially when it was getting in the way of what you truly wanted. You glanced up before nodding.

“Puntahan mo na, ija. Sino ba ako para pigilan ka?” Go to him, my dear. Who am I to stop you?

You hugged your mother before rushing out the door, then heading back inside to get a shawl and change your slippers. As much as your mother allowed you to be more independent as you got older, cleanliness was a rule you followed.

You rushed outside, the cold wind blowing through your thin shawl and clothes. The full moon brightens up the way before you as the lamps slowly get dimmer and farther away.

“Zayne!” You yelled out, causing him to stop in his tracks and run back to you. He sets the lamp down on the ground and cups your cheek, inspecting to make sure you weren’t hurt.

“Ano po iyon, magandang binibini?” What's the matter, Miss beautiful? He asks, “Na-istrobo ko ba kayo? Pasensya na po, Binibini pero gusto ko lang makita yung iyong mga ngiti.” Did I disturb you? I'm sorry, Miss but all I want is to see your smile.

You huffed, and looked away for a moment. He chuckled, and tilted your face towards him. His eyes lingered on your lips, but he kept his restraint. It was far too early or quick for him to do that. He was supposed to take his time when he courts her and she in turn, wouldn’t give in so easily.

“At ngayon, nakita ko na ang pinakamagandang ngiti sa balat ng lupa.” And now, I have seen the most beautiful smile in the world. He smiles, his hands lingering on her lips, “Kaya makakatulong ako ngayong gabi ng mabuti.” Which means I can sleep well at night.

“Pero kung ikaw makakatulong ng mabuti ngayong gabi, paano naman ba ako?” But if you get to sleep well at night, how about me? You asked, your eyes glancing at his face. You cupped his cheeks in turn and pulled him close to you, making him hunch down.

“Pwede ba kitang halikan?" May I kiss you? You whisper, leaning in close.

“Pwede.” You may. He answers.

You leaned in close, holding his cheeks against yours as your lips met together. A soft yet bright flame burned through you both. You closed your eyes, your hands wrapped around his neck as you stood on your toes. Pulling away, you take a deep breath, your face turning even redder than ever. Zayne smiles, tracing your lips with his finger before kissing you once more.

Once the act was done, you both stood there , wrapped in each other’s arms. The comfortable silence filling the quiet night as the moon and stars served as witnesses to a love that took years, decades, in the making. You took your hands away from him, reminding him to head home safely. He picks up his lamp, waves goodbye and begins to walk away while you return to the steps of your home.

Your love continued to blossom and developed, increasing in passion and devotion as time continued. You and Zayne exchanged love letters, all of which you kept in a box hidden beneath your clothes. There were times you’d find him outside your window, courting you with sweet songs that you’d reply to. You would bring fresh produce to Zayne, making sure he had a sufficient supply and in turn, Zayne made sure to use them up, creating simple and warm meals for his patients and himself. He would buy his produce from you alone, carrying them in his arms with pride and satisfaction, knowing he had gotten it from the woman he loved and who loved him back.

As time continues to pass, he brings you around him, keeping you close as he was invited to event after event. He would hold your hand and proudly introduce you as the woman he loved, causing the others to stare in disbelief, awe, or envy, but neither of it truly mattered to him.

You were with him and that was more than enough for the both of you.

In the midst of dancing crowds and conversations, you both would slip away from the crowd to spend time together and danced to the beat of your rhythms.

You also became a more frequent face in the clinic he worked at, your presence bringing relief to Zayne especially. When he went to other places, you were with him as you travelled to even more far-fetched communities to provide them with the healthcare they needed and deserved. You watched Zayne work and take care of patients from various walks of life, age, and class, treating them all as individuals needing help. You watched him explain diagnosis to patients and possible solutions around it. You helped him clean around, making sure that the place was spotless and disinfected from any contaminants.

As the day comes to a close, you helped him lock the clinic for the day, changing the sign to indicate that clinic hours were done. You accompanied Zayne, visited patients under his care and checked on their current statuses. Luckily for you both, there weren’t many people he had to see so you two headed back.

When you both arrive back at Zayne’s , you find yourselves standing in front of the same place you both stood on years ago when he left for Manila for the first time.

Gone were the days that you were carefree children, gone were the days you played and read together, and most of all, gone were the days you admired Zayne from afar because you were in his arms. You grabbed something from your pocket, revealing a small cloth. You began to unwrap it, revealing to Zayne an old flower, its colors pressed away and its petals fragile.

“Naalala mo ba ito?” Do remember this? You ask, “Ito yung binigay mo sa aking pag-alis mo papuntang Manila noon. Tinago at protektahan ko ito.” This is what you gave me before you left for Manila before. I hid and protected it with my whole heart.

Zayne smiles, stepping closer to inspect the old and dried flower. He nods, “Oo, naalala ko.” Yes, I remember. He answers, “At pareho sa bulaklak na ito, aalagaan kita at ilalagay ka sa puso ko. Hindi na ko aalis kasi,” And like this flower, I will take care of you and place you in my heart. I don't need to leave because, He brushes gently against the petals and places it aside, “Kasi nakauwi na ako.” Because, I'm home.

As the years pass, both families had met and given approval should you and Zayne finally decide to settle down. There wasn’t a date as to when or where, but that's alright for the both of you. You were still enjoying your time as a couple before settling down for good.

You were both sleeping on a hammock, the wind swinging you and Zayne gently. You were resting on his chest,hearing the sound of his heart beating. A steady rhythm brings you comfort as you rest from the afternoon sun.

In your dreams, you and Zayne finally settled down. You called each other wife and husband, which turned into nanay at tatay when the dream children joined the picture. You’d like to imagine there are two of them, one boy and one girl that you and he would love endlessly. Perhaps both would act and look like him and you would smile and remark how they acted similar to him.

Yes, that sounds nice.

You continue to dream about the lives you would have one day, seeing glimpses of your routine being modified, seeing the children’s smiles and hearing their laughs, and the love you shared with them came from the love you and Zayne have and will continue to have.

“Gising ka na ba? Naririnig kita magsalita.” Are you awake? I heard you talking in your sleep.

Zayne’s voice breaks through the dreams and pulls you back to reality. You glance up at him, seeing his messy hair and his glasses perched on his nose.

You shake your head, “Ah hindi, hindi. Hindi ako nagsasalita." Oh no, no, no. I wasn't talking.

Zayne nods, “Pero nguniniti ka. Ano ba panaginip mo?” But you were smiling. What were you dreaming about?

“Tayo.” Us.

“Tayo?” Us?

You nodded.

He smiles and shakes his head, before placing a kiss on your forehead, “Parang hindi ko na kailangan panagimpan iyan dahil naging totoo siya.” I don't need it to dream about it because it is real.

[genderqueerdykes]

im feeling so stressed about transitioning under the new regime. i need to get my gender markers/passport/name changed legally but i am not on hrt and do NOT pass at all, so i feel unsafe with the correct docs. i have an appointment for hrt, but thats not for another month. by that time it will be too late to update my docs. ill be visibly trans with my birth gender/name which also makes me feel unsafe. i feel like im being forced to rush my transition or stay in the closet for the rest of my life. i do not have the confidence to be visibly trans as i live in an extremely red part of an extremely red state. i feel miserable and dont know what to do

remind urself its ok to be scared rn. it's very frightening. it's okay to feel unsafe rn. hopefully things don't pan out like that and you have to stay in the closet

we don't know what will happen for sure, n that's the scary part. we don't have control over the future, but we got control of the present and we can do what we can to influence the immediate future.

those laws n bills are still subject to the judicial processes of the house and senate and they can get strangled or killed there. trump isn't special, he thinks he is, but realistically, he still has to contend with them whether or not he wants to . he had to last time, this time will be no different. n u know what? if it is different? n he does put that shit into place asap? well guess what? everyone's calling for "revolution": nows ur chance babes, get started! gather! organize! resist! revolt!

for now what you gotta do is remind urself that it will never be illegal 2 be a trans person on the inside. u being trans, referring to urself as trans, acknowledging that ur trans will never be illegal and yes that IS something you can hold on to for dear life. it's a place to start. they can't take away who you are on the inside. start talking to other trans people and start building plans. look into queer resource centers in your area. look at colleges for these, though you may have some elsewhere. ask ur trans friends where they get their hrt.

going stealth or trying to pass for a cis man and/or woman doesn't mean u are not trans. a lot of trans people have to do this, and if u have to do it for safety, that is completely fine. that says nothing about ur actual gender. it sucks to do, but it doesn't change who u are on the inside, a lot of trans people have 2 do this

i hope things improve for u. i hope you're able to connect with some other queers in ur area and come up with some plans. do whatever u can to make sure that u can get hormones started if that's what u want. like chase it n don't let go. just do it. they can't take the hormone out of ur body. but they also can't magically know ur on hrt. this is just my stance. u can decide not to. but i say NOW is the time to pull the trigger.

get on hrt. do it. now before u literally fuckin can't.

hopefully not much changes if anything at all. i'm not impressed with Dumbass' speeches. he's a lot of hot air. he's about making an impression. but i'm not impressed by the bluff. best of luck. PLEASE remember to stick together right now. when things are stressful in the real world like this, we HAVE to band together. we have to figure out how to sort out THIS situation.

stop fighting with each other n realize that there is literally a way bigger threat n tryin 2 figure out if a stranger has a pussy or a dick. like cmon this shit is on a subatomic level of importance rn, u gotta have some priorities. snap out of it & focus.

[eldragon-x]

Gonna write out this idea that Silver inspired in me in a post because I'm not sure I'll get around to actually writing a fic for it and I just need more people to think about Mirabelle and Odile moments with me.

I've brought up before that it's kinda insane that Odile pulled out a spell that stopped Siffrin from looping back in time. Like whatever she used here is able to interact with Time Craft, which itself would normally kill the user.

So I think it's quite possible that she herself might suffer craft exhaustion as a result of this. Add on that the party had to run through the distorted House at night to catch up with Siffrin and that Odile isn't the most physically fit person at her age.

But maybe she pushes that aside. Siffrin was hit harder by Craft Sickness, everyone was concerned about him, the party decided to leave Dormont rather sooner than later for their sake, she can handle it.

But it does catch up to her soon enough after a long day of the party fighting their way through Sadnesses and making it to an Inn by the evening. She's tired, her body hurts, she feels ill, and she's bruised and dirty from the battles, not helped by her performance already dwindling since the party left Dormont.

So she's sitting on her bed, dizzy and aching, wishing she could take the opportunity to take a bath but feeling too weak to do so. It affects her to the point where Mirabelle can tell that she's not doing well and asks if she can help her in any way.

Odile admits at this point that maybe she didn't give herself enough rest since that day in Dormont and that she's frustrated because she can't do much at all right now. And now that she brought it up, she wonders if Mirabelle is alright, since she also performed a powerful spell that day.

Mira appreciates the concern, but assures Odile she's doing okay. The shield spell was complicated, but not so exhausting that she wouldn't have recovered over a good night's sleep. Moreso she feels rather guilty for not having checked up on Odile earlier.

All that being said, she offers to help Odile bathe. Being a healer and having spent a lot of time studying about anything in the House of Dormont, I imagine she has some degree of medical training and trusts herself to handle people.

Odile gets tense but weighting her options, decides it's probably the most logical step here and she'd rather Mira assists her than anyone else. It turns into a bit of a back and forth of them trying to assure each other that they don't have to if they're uncomfortable, but Odile wants to be practical and refresh herself, and Mirabelle can take the innitiative when she needs to and at worst will feel slightly awkward about helping someone she knows personally in such a vulnerable position.

Odile actually feels a lot more embarrassed about the whole situation because it's strange having to rely on someone notably younger than herself after essentially assigning herself as the Adult™️ of the party looking out for everyone else. But Mira doesn't hesitate, gets straight to the point, and after helping Odile settle, she stays to sit down next to the bathub in case Odile needs help reaching something or getting out, make sure she doesn't fall asleep and goes under, and tries to ease the tension for her by bringing up a book she's been reading.

Odile is surprised to hear that Mira's into horror literature but gets genuinely invested which helps her relax. Mira ends up convincing Odile to borrow one of her books and jokes that she will have to read through it while the party decides to stay at the inn for the following week so she can recover.

Odile's tempted to protest the suggestion that they should stop for over a week, just for her, but drops it. The party can take their time now, that the curse isn't threatening the country anymore. She supposes they also did promise to look out for each other, she just didn't think she'd need to rely on anyone else.

On Mira's insistence, Odile gets bed rest for the following days, with the rest of the party helping her get whatever she needs, while she picks up Mirabelle's book whenever she can.

[halestrom]

oh my god PLEASE i need to hear about the hockey au

@iprefervillains you also asked about this! BUT

this is straight up my hockey au. as simple as that. basically san diego gets a whole new team as part of an expansion and there is DRAMA between jake and bradley ofc. and maybe spoilers for the whole story since i doubt ill ever finish it BUT the reason jake and bradley dont get along is they dated on the DL in jr's and when they both got drafted they made an agreement to come out. jake did before camp. bradley got terrified even with his family and didn't and they broke up and jake is salty about it and made it bradleys problem and he never backs down from anything so it gets worse even though bradley kinda wants to make up but jake wont let him in but now they're on the same teammmmm.

anyway here's the first part of it i wrote which i am happy about.

Beau rubbed a hand over his face as he leaned back in the chair, already knowing it was going to be a long day. They had just finished their first year and needed to do something to try and prove to the NHL that giving a team to San Diego had been the right choice over one of the other cities who had been trying to get one. He knew the bitching the rest of the league had been doing. Another California team, and another one in Southern California. But they had the population and money talked a lot more than passion did.

He grimaced as he thought about the stupid nickname that had instantly started circling when it had been announced. The Tri-Tip Rivalry.

He pinched the bridge of his nose and took a deep breath, dropping his hand when he heard a chair pull out and lifted his head. Natasha “Phoenix” Trace was the new General Manager for the San Diego Daggers. She had been the leading scorer for the six years she had played professionally between the CWHL and the NWHL before retiring. She had an Olympic gold and silver medal, and multiple gold and silver medals from Worlds. She was a star in her own right, and that was before she had accepted the job as GM.

Beau knew she was a PR gimmick, something to get more fans into the arena, especially female fans, and from the way Trace had stared him down at their first meeting, she knew it as well. The Daggers had been the last place team the last three years since it’s inception, and the fans were few and far between. She was there to try and drum up support, especially in the middle of a rebuild. But she knew her stuff, Beau couldn’t deny that.

“Phoenix,” he said, inclining his head.

“Cyclone,” she replied, inclining her head as well. “Or do you refer Beau? Simpson?”

Beau snorted. Cyclone was an old nickname from when he had scored the Stanley Cup winning goal by doing a spin-o-rama around three players and then scoring with a backhand of the third spin. “Whatever works for you.”

“Beau it is. Call me Nat. I think Phoenix might be a little on the nose for what we’re trying to do.”

That made Beau chuckle. “Fair.”

Nat nodded. “Alright, walk me through what we have.”

“A brand new team,” Cyclone said, picking up the remote and clicking. “Through a combination of, honestly I’m going to go with luck or a deal with a devil for you to get what you got, we have nine new potential stars.”

“The old one wasn’t working,” Nat replied, watching him carefully. “And I didn’t make a deal with the Devil. Most just assumed I didn’t know what the fuck I was doing until I made it happen.”

Cyclone kept quiet at that. He had been one of the ones confused as he watched Nat make trades leading up to the deadline, and then as soon as the off season started she made more. Everything seeming at random until suddenly all the trades came to an end and they had nine new players, all rising stars in their own right and now all on the same team. There had been an outcry when she had traded away the first round draft pick for the next season, but the return had been worth it.

It had been stunning to go back and see what she had done, tracing the trades and deals and it was the sort of move she was known for on the ice.

“Right. First up. Goalies.”

Cyclone clicked a picture. “Robert Floyd, mostly goes by Bob. Went sixth over all and got bumped down to the AHL almost immediately where he’s a solid, if boring goalie. Finally made it to the NHL, carried his team to the finals and lost in triple OT on a rebound. Got the Venezia as well as the Jennings. He’s a hell of a goalie. But, boring.”

“Boring isn’t bad,” Nat said.

“No, especially when the other goalie you got is Billy Avalone, nickname Fritz on account of how spastic he looks every time he makes a save,” Cyclone said, clicking to the next picture. Cyclone had seen more than one meme of Fritz making a save intercut with videos of cat’s spazzing out. The similarities were…obvious, but he kept his mouth shut.

“Fritz is also the only goalie to score two goals in one game and get a shut out,” Nat reminded him.

“He’s also weak on the left side and all the other team knows that,” Cyclone replied. “But, in theory, the new D-pairs should take care of that.”

He clicked the remote and two photos appeared. “Mickey Garcia, drafted fourth over all and Ruben Fitch, fifth overall same year. They were a D-pair out at Boston and their plus minus record is still unbroken. They got split and both of them are playing decent, solidly second or third line, sometimes first depending on injuries but nothing special. Fitch has a bit of a temper and is known for going after anyone who hits his goalie, which is where he got the nickname Payback.”

“They’re excited to work together again, and are assuming they’ll be on the same line,” Nat said.

Cyclone nodded. “I saw the Instagram post. I’m not going to promise anything until I see them work together.”

“Fair.”

He clicked the pointer. “Logan Lee out of Yale, and Brigham Lennox out of Harvard. Both drafted 10th in subsequent years. I don’t know how this is going to work since the two of them got into a fight every time they were on the ice together. To the point their previous teams healthy scratched them each time they played against each other.”

“Think they can play together?”

“I think it’s a crap shoot so we’ll see what happens. I know Garcia and Fitch want to play together but if Lee and Lennox can’t get their shit together they may not have a choice.”

“Do you know what caused the rivalry?”

“Lee lost his edge and took out Harvard’s goalie, knocked him out for the season with a concussion. Lennox took offense and it ended up with a line brawl on the ice,” Cyclone explained. “Which is fine, except the next time they played, Lennox high hit Lee’s D-partner and knocked him out, starting another line brawl.”

“Was it on purpose?” Nat asked, head whipping around to look at Cyclone.

He waggled a hand. “Lennox is tall, so head high hits are something he needs to be aware of. People are split fifty-fifty. Looking at the replay he wasn’t coming up into the hit, which is what Yale was screaming about. Personally, I think it was an accident and it would’ve stayed as one, if not for the previous game.”

“Good,” Nat said, looking back at the screen. “We can work with that.”

“Fingers crossed,” Beau said, clicking the remote again. “Javy Machado, mostly know as Coyote on the account of he’s the only player most people can name from the Coyotes. Current holder of the Hart, Lady Byng and Ted Lindsey trophies. Doesn’t score a lot of goals but he’s a team player and has no issue getting assists. He’s a solid offensive player and doesn’t shy away from playing hard. He was the leader in everything for the Coyotes for the past three seasons and the fact that you managed to dig their claws out from him is a minor miracle.”

“Luck,” Nat said, her smile small and Cyclone didn’t want to know what she had bribed or threatened people with.

“Right. He’s a fantastic player, on a team that can never find their footing and I think he would have the makings to be a star player if you didn’t get these two morons,” Beau said, clicking to the next pair of images, the headache he could already feel forming as he stared at the photos.

“Jake Seresin, drafted first overall. Got the Calder, Art Ross, Rocket and the Conn Smythe his first year. Led his team to a Stanley cup victory, scored the most goals and points in the playoffs and got the game winning goals in 12 of the 23 games they played, and the game winning Stanley Cup goal. He’s also the only player to even come close to Gretzy’s goal record with seventy-three his first year,” Beau said. “On the ice, when he’s playing, he is the best, there’s a long list of players people liken him to. But off ice?”

Beau went silent and looked over at Nat who shrugged one shoulder. “Off ice rumors have said he’s hard to work with. Constantly criticizing, judging and will often get into arguments with coaches over the right thing to do. Most of his former team calls him Hangman on the account of the fact he’ll happily hang them out to dry in the press. His only redeeming quality is if he’s an ass to his teammates, from my understanding he’s twice as hard on himself. Or so I was told.”

“You were told?”

“His old Coach and I go way back,” Cyclone said before he sighed. “He’s also the only player in the NHL who is currently out, and he’s been targeted for it more than once. So, I’m willing to give him a little leeway until I see how he is in person.”

“He’s the only player in male pro sports who is out,” Nat corrected.

“He is. And he runs his mouth so the fact he doesn’t get into more fights has more to do with how hard he can hit back. Seresin doesn’t shy away from the physical aspects of the game, even if he prefers to score goals as a fuck you to the rest of the league.”

Beau looked back at the screen and nodded to the second photo. “Bradley Bradshaw. The only child of Nick “Goose” Bradshaw and Godson of Tom “Iceman” Kazansky and Pete “Maverick” Mitchell. He’s a legacy kid, raised in the Kazansky-Bradshaw-Mitchell along with all their friends. There’s photos of that kid ice skating before he could walk. He’s got his Dad’s level head, Maverick’s hands and Iceman’s eye for the game. Drafted first overall, got the Hart and Calder his first year. He’s also the current holder for the Selke. Solid player, not prone to antics like Maverick is, and doesn’t score big goals like Iceman and Goose. He’s amazing at the tip in, which is why most people call him Rooster because he’ll perch himself in front of the net and tip anything that comes his way in.”

“What do you think of him?” Nat asked.

“I think he’s a solid player, but if you’re looking for something to draw a crowd he’s not it. He’s not flashy, and aside from a couple of fights here and there he almost never takes a penalty.

“People would say that’s a good thing.”

Beau was silent for a moment. “Hockey is a physical sport, if you’re not taking penalties I’m wondering how much you’re actually playing. Even if he’s not actively doing something, bad calls happen and he rarely even gets those.”

“You think he’s playing because of his parents?”

“Fucked if I know. I don’t give a shit why he chose hockey. All I care about is that he gives me a hundred percent when he’s on the ice.”

“Fair. Now for the elephant.”

Beau sighed, dropping his head back and closing his eyes. “Seresin and Bradshaw have a rivalry that makes the Canadiens and Bruins look like a bunch of kids fighting in a sandbox. The two of them have never said one nice thing about the other, and Seresin doesn’t get into many fights, but the majority has been with Bradshaw. It’s a miracle the two of them were on different coasts and only played each other twice a year.”

Nat folded her hands and looked at him. “You think it’s because Seresin is gay?”

Beau shook his head. “Nah, Bradshaw doesn’t have an issue with that. He was the ring bearer at Iceman and Mavericks wedding.”

Nat raised an eyebrow. “Wasn’t that recently?”

“Yep,” Beau said. “He had that quote.”

“Right,” Nat said, looking down at her notes. “’He’s gay. Congratulations. So are my Uncles. But unlike them, he’s a dickhead.’”

“Right,” Beau said, pinching the bridge of his nose. “And they’re on the same team.”

“Think it’s gonna work,” Nat asked, looking back at the screen.

Beau thought about it for a long moment before he shrugged. “With the way Coyote plays and Bradshaw plays the two of them could make a hell of the team. Coyote getting the puck, making the shot and Bradshaw tipping it in. Seresin is the wild card, which isn’t a bad thing. But I honestly don’t know how they’re going to play together and won’t know.”

“Camp starts soon.”

“It does. And we’re going to have all eyes on us with Seresin and Bradshaw on the same team. Half of them are expecting for them to get into a fight on ice even though they’re on the same team.”

“Can you get five for that?”

“No fucking clue.”

Silence fell for a second before Nat tapped her fingers against the table, the two of them looking at the pair of photos for a long moment. “Do you think this has potential?”

“It does. I just don’t know if it’ll happen, and if it does? It’s not going to easy. Kinda makes me wish I had asked for more money.”

“We’re paying you as much as we can, take it up with the NHL if you want more,” Nat replied before jerking her chin up at the photos. “Do you know how that rivalry started?”

Beau shrugged. “No one does. Hell, I had Bates ask Maverick about it and even Bradshaw’s family doesn’t know. All we know is that from the first time they were on the ice they had issues with each other. They didn’t go to the same college, they didn’t play together growing up, hell, they don’t even play the same position. Didn’t get drafted the same year, nothing. As far as the world is concerned, they never even met until that first game.”

The first game. Where they had dropped gloves five minutes into the first period and had gotten major penalties for fighting by the end of the first period. With both of them scoring two goals each in the same period. It had fueled a new rivalry and started a hundred rumors. Rumors and questions that Bradshaw and Seresin refused to acknowledge.

“Some people just don’t get along,” Beau said finally.

“We’ll they’re going to have to learn,” Nat said, voice steely.

Beau nodded. “Easier said than done. But I’ll do what I can.”

“I’ve talked to both of them, and they understand they need to get along. Understanding and doing are two entirely different things.”

“Think they can?” Beau asked.

“They can. I just hope they will.”

[xo-cuteplosion-xo]

A Light In The Dark | Telemachus x reader|

Link to Warnings/Both sfw and nsfw masterlists Click here

Chapter Two ~The Task~

You hum to yourself sitting on the lip of your window, staring outside while twirling hair around your fingers. You don’t feel like socializing today. You almost never do. Life is much easier watching as others move along. You pull your knees up to your chest, setting your head on your knees. You start dozing off, only interrupted by the slamming of your door.

You snap your head towards the door and shrink. “Don’t give me that look.” You’re the only one who gets to see him agitated or angry. He’s a better actor than you are. He never lets anything get under his skin in public. His peaceful nature is mostly a lie. He’s two-faced and taught you most of what you know.

“You’re… upset?” You mumble, getting off the windowsill to approach him. “I… did I do something?” You fidget with the cloth of your chiton.

“It’s what you didn’t do N/n. Why do I find out from a maid that Penelope retired early last night and the prince was occupied with you? You said you were headed to bed.” He missed a chance to send a gift, to make another subtle move.

You flinch back… “I thought it… it wasn’t important. She… I… I was headed to bed Eury. I really was, but he stopped me and we just started talking. Nothing really came up. He mentioned she was feeling ill but I don’t see how that’s a detail you…” without finishing the sentence, you snap your mouth shut at the annoyed glare your brother gives you.

He takes a breath and smiles, stepping closer. He reaches towards your cheek. His touch is gentle as he stares at you with fondness… a look you’ve never been able to disconcert if it was honest or a lie. “It’s okay, my sweet little sister. You’re still new to this. I should have been more specific to get it through your little brain.” He sighs, shaking his head. “On a different note, I need you to confirm something for me.”

“Of course… anything.” You cling the scraps as they’re tossed towards you. 

He takes a step away. “Has the prince been acting off lately?”

You shake your head. “Not that I’ve noticed. I haven’t been able to run into him much the last month, though.” You hop back onto the windowsill, watching your brother try to form a plan in his head.

“And that isn’t weird to you?” He mumbles a few more words beneath his breath that you don’t catch.

You shrug and kick your feet. “No? I mean, he’s getting older, I’m getting older. He’s still a prince, so he has responsibilities. I figured that he’s just been busy.” You see it as a rational line of thoughts.

“N/n, you do want to see me succeed, correct? You want me to be able to keep you from having to go home to them, right?” He doesn’t mean anything malicious by his questions… you don’t think so anyway.

“Of course I do. I like living with you. I don’t want to go back there.” You search him, trying to figure out what is going on.

“And let’s say a certain thorn in our plans found himself with a fancy for somebody? Would that be a bad thing?” Your brother draws the question out as if you’re an idiot.

“Depends? If it’s love, then yes? Because he could marry and become king… ah… I am assuming a maid said something about him?” You should have pressed for more the other night. You’d just been teasing, but it seems it might be relevant now.

Your brother nods, pausing to lean against a wall. “You’ve tricked men, toyed with people… but do you think you could fool a Prince’s heart for me? It would make you very proud that you could ensure the prince doesn’t become more of a threat than he already is.” 

You freeze staring at him. “You… Do you want me to lead him on? Make him… fall for me? I… Eury that’s…”

“Oh no, I understand if it’s too hard. I’ll just have to find a different solution.” Disappointment coats his voice and you sink in on yourself. You bite your nails as you struggle with your decision.

It’s wrong… you already feel bad that, as his friend, you tell your brother his secrets. You already feel bad that the prince has had his life ripped out from underneath him. This seems vile, twisted, and cruel. You stare at your brother, the disappointment in his eyes. 

Crack.

You snap a nail between your teeth. You can’t lose him. You can’t disappoint him. If he stops caring, if you lose him, you go back home and that is game over. You like it here. You can run around gardens, talk to people, and have fun. You can’t do that at home. Your breath hitches as whatever shred of a moral compass you have strains against your need for his approving smile. 

“Okay… I… I’ll try. I don’t even know where to start, though.” You mumble, dropping your hand to your side.

Eurymachus shrugs as he moves closer once more. He ruffles your hair and sighs. “Just be your adorable self.” His eyes become gentle and kind again and you sigh with relief. 

He turns to leave but pauses at the door. “I’m counting on you little sis.”

“I won’t let you down.” You call out to him as he shuts the door. You run your hands down your face as you groan…

How are you supposed to catch the eye of a prince? You? Does he understand that he’s assigned to you what you view as an impossible task? This is nonsense. Still, you stand up and sit at your desk to try to brainstorm a plan. You’re attempting to go from trusted friend to love. Too much too soon will make him retreat…

Yet, you also know if you pull back, you’ll alarm him and he’ll either think it’s suspicious or be too concerned for you. 

Eurymachus said, be yourself, but which one? Adorable… he said adorable, but that’s usually his endearing term for you. You sigh, tapping your quill to your desk.

After several hours of thinking and crumpled paper, you’ve come up with a plan.

Step one: naturally ease into flirting…

Step two: start to act like you're in love

Step three: be awkward with some things but not with others

Step four: make him fall head over heels.

It’s simple on paper, but whether or not you’re confident enough to execute things correctly is something you’re unsure of right now.. 

You look out the window to judge the time. You were thinking of starting the plan tonight, but it’s already dark out and you doubt he’s going to be awake, so you decide on tomorrow.  Chapter 1 Click here Chapter 3 Click here SFW version

Chapter 3 Click here NSFW/TW HEAVY version

[beddybites]

Hi, I don't know if this is something that's been addressed lately but what ships do you ship in demon slayer? /nfta

-🍵

i admittedly dont rlly care enough to ship things (something something im aroace something something im more interested in the platonic dynamics of characters) but ill try to list the ones i remember

obanai x mitsuri (PEAK LOVE THIS SHIP)

sanemi x giyuu

obanai x shinobu x mitsuri (yuri)

shinobu x mitsuri

tengen x kyojuro (im half and half w this one, i feel like they're more flirty w each other but don't end up dating or anything)

genya x kanao

tanjiro x kanao

genya x tanjiro

aka genya x tanjiro x kanao is peak

tengen and his wives (i think its adorable how much they all love each other)

kanae x masachika (i like to hc masachika was projecting onto sanemi and really he was the one who was crushing on kanae all the time. i also hc kanae gets crushes super easily and is always pretty boy crazy)

kagaya x amane (PEAK)

now for fun heres some ships i dont like:

sanemi x mitsuri

giyuu x mitsuri (i hate how the fandom characterizes it)

kyojuro x obanai / kyojuro x mitsuri (mitsuri refers to kyojuro as a big brother, and while kyojuro and obanai's familial dynamic isnt canon, it feels canon atp and would feel wrong to ship)

giyuu x shinobu (the way everyone characterizes shinobu in this makes me crazy. stop babying giyuu ill find you)

gyomei x sanemi (in general i dont like any gyomei ship for a long list of reasons)

however gyomei x kagaya or gyomei x kagaya x amane could be super cute if done right though i prefer gyomei just being besties with the two

i dont really ship muichiro with anyone either, but i can see the appeal of genmui and tanmui and support it for my oomfs sakes

theres a bunch i dont like but im not about to go on a long rant over stupid fandom discourse. my philosophy is just look away and focus on what i actually like. i am 21 years old i have taxes to do

[loloelia]

Dearest sibling

(Fifth sibling short story)

Leshy and Eko (the lamb lmao) were sitting in one of Leshy's massive garden near his temple.

While Leshy was playing on a tall tree ,picking up fruits and the leaves that came with it , meanwhile the lamb was sitting on the edge of a fountain ,alguee sitting at the bottom of it ,all they could do was stare at the god of chaos ,in complete silence .

The mossy worm eventually looked in the way of Eko and noticed their staring and eery silence.

"Oh little laaaammmb, what's with the silence, little brother ? " ,Said the worm laying on a thick branch,looking down at the lamb.

-"please.....do not call me that lord leshy..."

-".... sooooooo ,little sis ?", asked the worm, swinging his clawed and mossy paws.

-"no !... dont call me that ,im not- "said the little lamb a bit panicked before getting interrupted by the worm's chuckling.

-"ohhhh ,little sibling then ? Got it !" ,said the bishop climbing to a lower branch in order to pick up the lamb.

-"no ! My bishop ! Please ,stop it ! You and I both know we are in no way related ! You know im not Narinder don't you ?....so why....why do insist on calling me a sibling ?..." asked Eko ,their voice getting lower with every word and their head lowering with their voice.

The worm had placed the small lamb on the branch next to him,letting the little lamb swung his hooves in the void under him

The bishop of chaos chuckled and answered the lamb's question.

"Easy enough ! They are 2 reason, my dear little sibling ! First, i know you arent Narinder but ill tell you something ,youre probably just like him ,but.....weaker ,smaller !" ,said the worm with a smile,poking Eko's cheek,"You sure will never be able to hurt us because you dont even know how to use the red crown !"

"But alsoooo~ ," he raised them by the back of the collar of their robe ,and bringed them to eye level," i do watever i want. And i wanna treat you as a sibling. But you still are nothing but a lamb. If you bore me out of my love for you,ill entertain myself by twisting your head of your spine. Shamura loves you ,and i do too, but that can always change."

The lamb was curled up on themself ,barely daring to breathe ,they knew their next death would be their last.

Leshy was right. They were still a fragile mortal despite the crown on their head, a crown they couldnt use.

Their life was hanging of one thread ,and those gods were the ones who had the scissor. They knew that the moment shamura realized they weren't their dear brother ,death would be quick to welcome them.

Leshy smiled a bit ,and giggled as if the look on Eko's face was but a silly joke.

The worm lowered his hand until the lamb's hooves were on the ground ,and letting them go.

"Now go ! Shamura's gonna wake up any minute now ,dont want our dear sibling to think youre gone ,would we ?" He said with a warm smile as the little lamb stepped back from the claws of the god.

They nodded and bowed to Leshy as if to say goodbye ,wich got a snicker out of the god of chaos, and they were on their way back to shamura's temple.

@kiko---random-stuff-probably ,since you asked me to tag you !!!!>:)

I hope you and anyone who reads this enjoyed this small ,not very well written , shirt story about my bigger cotl story !

Funny enoughim more proud of the art i made to go along with it than the actual story ,but i still think its great !

I really wanna start writing this but im afraid that my current vocabulary aint enough,im trying to learn but its kinda hard.

Anyway

I love you all!! All the people who said they like my 2 am idea ,and everyone who read this ,youre amazing !!!

Thank you for reading

Hope i get to write the actual story soon :,)

[pipileo]

OC Revamp: Cupie + Lore Drop

Cupie is an angelet, a creature that was created for the sole purpose of being used to correct the impurities of the universe. How? Cupie was given an ability to expel a potent cloud of gas of which caused any organism that inhaled it to immediately become docile and/or friendly, regardless of current level of aggression. It's very effective, maybe even overpowered, but luckily, Cupie doesn't know how to trigger his ability on command. It only ever goes off when he's scared.

The opposite of an angelet is something called an erronite. An erronite is created by the great mistake himself, Erroneous. Erroneous wants to spread his impurities across the universe, and the erronites were created to help with that, albeit at a smaller scale. Loomer, Cupie's current day boyfriend, is an erronite.

How did Cupie meet Loomer? Well, uhm. through cringe. More details under the line, but warning, its mostly fluff and corny boys love

Cupie met his boyfriend in a very peculiar way. When Almus, Cupie's owner, was looking for an impurity to capture, Almus spotted Loomer stalking people from a distance. So, without thinking, Almus jumped into action, and decided to test out Cupie's ability by trying to toss him like a grenade. Almus scooped Cupie into his arms, curled him up like a roly poly, and tossed him in Loomer's direction like a football. Cupie's ability went off in the air, much to Almus' frustration, and Cupie continued his flight towards Loomer with zero chance of his ability going off again in time. Loomer turned around, only to see a tiny angelet hurtling towards him at 70 miles per hour, and with no time to react, Loomer reached his hands out and caught Cupie before he collided with the ground. Everything in the world stopped for a moment to process what happened, and things quickly grew awkward when neither Cupie or Loomer moved to break the silence. They just stood there in silence, Loomer unsure whether to let Cupie go, and Cupie hardly resisting Loomer's grasp.

After a about a minute, Cupie started to realize how fluffy this Erronites chest was. He floofed it a couple times, to test the waters, before he straight up began to

Loomer found himself dumbfounded, but strangely finding a sense of comfort from Cupie's paws in his fur at this awkward moment. Suddenly, Loomer didn't want to hurt this angelet, nor did he want to make himself look bad from of them. When Almus came over to retrieve Cupie from the erronite, he was concerned at how neither of them looked at each other as enemies, but as friends. Almus decided that since Cupie still couldn't use his ability yet, they would just wait and see if Loomer would try to do anything bad. If Loomer did something bad, Almus would have Cupie purify his darkness forcefully. If not, Loomer would become a better person on his own terms. Comment the word cringe if you read this thoroughly.

When Loomer behaved himself, Almus allowed Cupie to be **FRIENDS** with him, and as a result, Cupie and Loomer's relationship grew stronger over time until they were changing their personalities to appease each other. These personality changes were actually reflected in their appearance as well.

Loomer was becoming more thoughtful and generous as a result of his introduction to Cupie. As a side effect of his transformation, Loomer's chest fur began to develop a bright yellow tint. On the other end, Cupie was being mischievous to keep Loomer from getting bored. Cupie began to develop dark fur spots on his arms and legs, reflecting his slow transition to the dark side, and maybe making him look like a cheetah, i guess.

Anyways- I think im done. Im probably done. Theres more but i dont want this to be too long. Erroneous does more stuff to annoy Almus, but maybe ill talk about it later. Bye now!!! Thanks for reading, if you did!!