#i know its okay for your identity to be fluid. but it brings me so much distress

[captainscabins]

my friends esp friebds who have recently figured out theyre trans come to me often for trans advice because im like. “professional trans” in their eyes (coming up on 9 years of identifying as trans). and it sucks because my trans experience doesnt align with most of my friends’ so i feel like i cant give proper advice and sometimes it even makes me question if im really trans, or just some.. attention seeker

it seems like most of my friends are sure of who they are. 100% solid identity. and im proud of them! so, so happy that theyve discovered who they are. so why dont i know yet? why, in all of my years of being trans, cant i fucking figure out just who or what i am? why is my sense of identity so unstable? why do i feel so Fucking Unstable???

[syngrafaes09]

Strange Nights | Vampire! Dr Strange x Y/n

Logline: After Y/N gets imprinted by a vampire Dr Strange, living under a fictive identity, they must unravel the cause behind her constant misadventures before their hopes are crushed forever.

Masterlist

Chapter 14 : Unexpected Visitor

Warnings: Blood & Violence

Wanda pulled the girl against her chest as she shook with silent tears. "Its okay, Stephen will be alright." She knew though Y/N said she didn't want either of them, she could never watch her mate getting mauled. Furthermore, the fight was way too brutal for her to watch. Maybe bringing her here wasn't a good idea after all. All she could do know was sooth Y/N till Stephen was able to break through the wolf's hold. She looked up worried at his friend, who was withering under the beast. If he didn't break free soon, Bucky would be successful in ripping off his head from his torso before tossing it into the fire.

As if listening to her unspoken concerns, Stephen finally managed to swap their positions. Now the piercing screams of the vampire were replaced by horrifying, agonised howls. He wasted no time in digging his fangs through its black fur, and clenching them till his inhumane howls became thin, despairing bark-howls and then choking whimpers - the cry of hurt. Though Bucky had tried to finish him off completely, he wasn't going to take his life. He kept drawing as minimum blood as necessary till the wolf stopped trying to squirm out from under him.

Y/N finally opened her eyes as the screams subsided. Relief flooded through her as she noticed through her tear-filled vision that Stephen was no longer the prey but predator. But it was short-lived. Red viscous fluid was still oozing from his neck. Underneath him, the ferocious beast was withering in capitulation. After a full long minute, he let go, spat out blood - the wolf's blood - and trudged away from him.

Stephen staggered across the clearing, towards Y/N who had successfully managed to stop her tears and was clutching to Wanda as her lifeline. She swallowed hard, as she took in his form. Against expectations, the alpha did not look triumphant; he did not even seem especially pleased with the success. What part of him wasn't covered in red was white- while as milk, and chalky; and his eyes... The terror screamed through Y/N. They weren't soft grey ones that had met her brown ones few minutes back. His eyes were murderously black - the pupils filled the entire iris. They slowly started to revert to their original form. She tumbled a few steps back as he approached near.

"Don't touch me, I'm not your property or anything," Y/N cried out on top her lungs, surprising herself with the intensity of her voice, not knowing whether it was fear, despair, or anger that caused it. Maybe it was all of them. "So presumptuous," he snarled, brushing past her. Tears brimmed her eyes once again as she cursed herself for the wrong assumptions. She looked back at his limping, retreating form and wished to take away all his pain.

"Stephen," Tony called out, "you need to hunt." He stopped in his tracks and nodded. "Give me some minutes to recover first," he spoke heavily, and then winced. He felt something tugging away the pain sharply. He winced once again. "Fuck...," he heaved, "Wanda, is that you?"

"No," the witch answered, her eyes incredulously fixated on Y/N. "Y/N is doing it... I can feel it." Like others, Y/N stared at Wanda, not understanding what she and Stephen were talking about. "It's faint... she is unaware of what she is doing," the witch concluded.

But then Y/N felt something odd. Like the air around her was shifting. Then kicked in the sickening sensation of her insides being wrung out. She grasped and fell unto her knees. Wanda had caught her before she hit the ground. "Stop it... you'll kill yourself... you aren't trained to do it," Stephen hissed, coming to her side. "Stop what?" She asked, her chest rising and falling rapidly. Stephen pondered a moment about how to explain her. "Try not to think about easing Stephen's pain," Wanda helped in. Y/N nodded weakly and complied. Soon she felt the pain wash away.

Suddenly all the vampire heads snapped in northern darkness. "How close?" Tony asked. "Two minutes," Peter answered.

"What's wrong?" Y/N asked, puzzled. But nobody paid any attention to her question. "Leave now," Tony ordered, his eyes flickering between Y/N and Stephen. "Won't be able to make much far without my sling ring."

"Let him or her come," Thor declared, flexing his muscles. In a split second all the Rochesters were scattered in position, in a fight like stance. Instinctively, Stephen pulled Y/N close to his body. Unlike her, he wasn't much concerned about staining her clothes with his blood. As she attempted to pull away, she earned a grumble from him. "Stay very still, keep quiet and don't try to move away from me, please." He reached out and materialized his cloak from thin air.

"It's of no use," Jane spoke, from the front of the formation, as the cloak wrapped around Y/N, "I can still smell her from here." Y/N human eyes couldn't spot her in the darkness, only her ears could hear faint incoherent words. "I know," Stephen rumbled in frustration.

They all waited in silence for a few long seconds before they heard Jane's concerned cry, "Thor!"

"BROTHER!!!" His voiced boomed, as he leapt on the moving vampire, tumbling both of them to the forest floor. "Get off me you oaf," a silken voice echoed. Though his voice was heavy with resentment, nevertheless, he wrapped his arms around his brother lightly. All of them, except Y/N, eased from their position and gathered closely like before. Though it had turned out to be a false alarm, Stephen wasn't convinced to let go of Y/N. Besides all the noise, had scared Y/N enough to cling to his blood-soaked torso, like her she had seen- heard a ghost. She further sank into him, as the raven haired man dressed in all black steeped into her visibility.

Examining rest of the coven members, he shiny green eyes finally set on Stephen and Y/N. "Looks like I missed something."

"Yeah, brother you missed the best Omega Fight of the decade," Thor boomed. "Stephen here just had beaten Bucky to death, before letting go."

"Not before bleeding himself to death, I see," he remarked. All of them waited of Stephen to snap back like he always does but he just clenched his jaw in response. "And who that lucky Omega might be?" He toyed with words further as if the answerer wasn't obvious. "You mortal?" He raised an eyebrow at Y/N, grinning wide enough to shine his pointed fangs.

"What do you want, Loki?" Stephen calmly spoke breaking the unnerving silence. "Nothing, doctor," he chimed.

"Should I take your presence here as a sign of the Council tumbling to rubble?" Tony intervened, his tone thick with sarcasm. "You can," Loki answered.

"It's nice to see you after a long time Mr. Loki," Peter butted in the conversation trying to lighten the air. "Nice to see you too Spider-vamp boy," he spoke with a warm tone, unaccustomed to others. "It was a long journey from Norway," he continued, "Anybody cares to join me for a hunt?"

"Sure brother," Thor opted.

"Me too," Peter responded, Tony grimaced. "Fine, Stephen?" Tony looked expectantly at the only person who was in dire need of a hunt. "You all go, I'll catch up."

In a heartbeat they were all gone. "Wanda... Pepper will you drive her home?"

"Of course Stephen," Pepper answered promptly, "Wanda fetch the car, I'll take Y/N to the edge of the forest."

Waiting for Stephen to lighten his iron grip, Y/N looked up, unsure whether she was going to meet the usual calm face or a ferocious vampire. Though he had softened, but his stare had unbearable intensity. She looked down, way into the strange, dark forest, suddenly aware of his closeness.

Snowflake melted on her skin when cold lips were pressed against her thin hair. The feeling fleeted slower than the lips that left as abruptly as they had come in contact, nor was Stephen anywhere near her. All she was left of him was his cloak.

"Come dear," Pepper cautiously called her.

[bird-of-eternia]

Persephone and Friends talk gender

"They said 'i think Aunt Persephone is non-gendered.' Like, what's that supposed to mean?! What about me says non-binary?" Perry chuckled.

"I'll be right back, then we can talk." Alex raised his eyebrows and headed for the kitchen.

Perry slowly swirled in her friends computer chair. She stared at the ceiling waiting for Alex to get done in the bathroom. Quiet footsteps padded across the wooden floor. Alex's partner, Lux had come from their downstairs "lair", a futon filled with pillows, stuffed animals, and numerous blankets. It was so strange how the subject of gender kept arising in her life lately. Her niece coming out as gender fluid and commenting on Perry's own sense of identity. Yeah, sure, sometimes it felt like a long skirt and crop top kind of day, she'd put her make up on and some dangly earing's to go take a walk and feel like a magical forest witch. Yeah, sure some other days she would slap on some jeans, a tank top and a Hawaiian shirt, finish it off with a ball cap and running shoes. That didn't mean anything. You could express yourself in whatever way you wanted, clothes had no gender.

"Hey Perry." Lux sat in the chair opposite Perry, swirling to face her.

"Hey." Perry smiled and lolled her head towards Lux. "Whats up?"

"Why do you get so nervous talking about your gender?" Lux's question was genuine but the glint in their eye told Perry they knew the query would make her uncomfortable.

"I...I don't know." She shrugged and sat up straighter, the leather of the chair crinkling under her.

Lux's smile grew. The bathroom door opened and shut. Alex stood in the doorway, arms folded, head leaning against the frame.

"You bring it up an awful lot." He commented.

Perry felt her face heat up. "What? No I don't! You just brought it up!"

"Its just you've brought it up like three times in the last week." he stated.

"Uh, no. I don't know...what...why?" Perry was feeling mildly uncomfortable now and not the least bit put on the spot.

"I'm just curious." Lux waved a hand as if dismissing the subject. We can move on.

"I've just never thought about it. I mean..." Perry twisted in the chair. "I'm just a lady!" she exclaimed. Lux and Alex giggled at this making Perry feel even more embarrassed.

It was true though. She had never thought about her gender. Or at least the significance of it to her. She was born a female and told to act like one. She was raised like a girl, dressed like a girl. In recent years she had started to dress slightly more masculine but that was just because she was finding her own style and what made her feel most comfy. Right?

"Okay...." She looked at her two friends. The two people in the world who knew her best. "Okay....what makes you think I'm anything but cis?"

Alex and Lux stared at each other for a moment.

"Shall I go first?" Alex asked. Lux shrugged giving him the lead.

"The countless stories you've told us of your childhood."

"I was a kid. I was playing..." Perry had flashbacks to fourth grade, talking on the phone with her female friend.

Lets play boyfriend/girlfriend Persephone!

okay.

You be the boyfriend!

She didn't know why they always wanted to play that game with her, or why she always had to be the boy. Then there was the time she pretended to be a boy playing pretend with her cousin and peed standing up in the back yard. She remembered it feeling slightly painful.

"You've sent me dozens of selfies using that beard filter. You were kinda obsessed with it."

"Well I...." It had been a striking difference between clean shaven and bearded Perry. He was cute in that trashy way where his favorite pass time is Call of Duty and he drinks way too much Mountain Dew and wears baggy pants kind of way. She would totally bang bearded Perry. No strings attached.

Lux interjected. "The way you dress and present yourself." Perry thought of the phrase What does assuming do? Makes an ass out of u and I, but then remembered Lux was non-binary and might have knowledge of non-binary symptoms. "You dress like a boy often."

"And," Alex lifted a finger, "Told me you like how the title King sounds better than Queen."

"Yeah but you called me a King before and I hated it so..." Perry stuck her tongue out at them.

"Okay, alright." Alex raised his hands in surrender. "This isn't some weird gender intervention, whatever makes you happy babe."

Lux shrugged again. "Honestly, whatever makes you most comfortable."

"I just don't like thinking about it..." Perry fiddled with her hands.

"I love thinking about it." Lux grinned sympathetically. "If you need anything ever you can talk to us okay?"

Perry nodded. God, friends could be a pain in the ass huh? Especially ones who cared.

[gayacademicwriter]

a snippet | and you call me the villain | hero & villain

trigger warnings: abuse, guns, knives, death, blood

The villain crept around the edge of the hero's house, gloved fingertips gripping practically nothing as he edged around the narrow cover over the garage. Finally reaching the porch, he leapt silently over the railing, snickered soundlessly at the patio furniture (who paired gold-thread pillows with a beaten, battered sofa?) and paused at the open sliding doors, a sliver of an opening in the curtains allowing him to peer inside.

Damnit. The lights were on. That meant the hero was still inside, and the documents he had been planning all week to grab would have to wait a little longer.

Obviously he was looking into a study of sorts, with a large wooden desk and white bookshelves and an obscene amount of just blank space. The space seemed empty. But then if the villain listened, there was yelling. And there was the crack of something, something swishing through the air and snapping at its end.

His grip tightened on the doorframe.

"How many times have I told you?" The hero's voice roared. The swish-crack came again. "It's not that hard to be the top of the class!"

"I tried—" another, younger voice gritted out. The only response was the swish-crack. This time, the breeze lifted the curtains just enough for the villain to confirm what they were already sure of.

Someone—a kid, the villain thought, because they couldn't be older than sixteen—was clutching the end of the desk, white-knuckled hands tensing as the swish-crack came again, the source of which was a whip, commandeered by the hero. No bottles of alcohol were in sight, merely a single piece of paper on the desk that the villain would bet his entire stash of ill-gotten gains was a report card.

Rage tore through him and he threw all his meticulous plans to the wind as he stepped through the curtains, gun raised.

"Put the whip down."

The hero looked up and snarled. "Get out of my house."

"And leave the kid here with you?" The villain's eyes flashed. "Not on your life."

"I said, get out of my house."

"I came here for some bloody documents, and here I find you whipping your kid over a report card. And you call me the villain?"

The hero snarled again, and in a single fluid movement threw a knife at the villain—evidently the shelves weren't as bare as he thought they had been—which he narrowly dodged.

Eh, I tried to be civil.

He fired the gun and the hero yowled, his dominant arm wounded as he dropped the second knife and attempted to staunch the bleeding in his forearm. The villain stalked over, and stood over the hero.

"This is for every time you ever laid a hand on a kid."

He shot the hero through the hand, relished in the hero's scream for a split second, and then slammed the butt of the gun into the hero's temple, knocking him out without any more of a fuss.

The villain turned to the kid, whose shirt was nothing more than bloody ribbons. "Grab whatever you want and let me know when you're ready."

"W-what?"

"You're leaving with me. Unless you want to be here when he wakes up," the villain jerked his head to the unconscious hero, slumped against the bookshelves, "which I doubt would be a pleasant experience. You got siblings?"

"...Yeah, three. Two sisters and a brother."

"Your mom in the house?"

"Probably passed out drunk," the kid admitted.

"Look, kid. What's your name?"

"Finley."

"Alright, Finley. Get your siblings too. Tell them to take their favourite things with them, anything else we can buy tomorrow."

"We've got school tomorrow—"

"You're not going anywhere until you get those wounds looked over, and your siblings aren't going anywhere where that piece-of-shit bastard can pick them up again. Do they have a lot of friends there? I assume you're in high school. Correct me if I'm wrong."

"I am in high school. My brother is too. The twins are in elementary. They have a couple of friends there, I guess. I could ask them later."

"Sounds good. Here," the villain shrugged off his jacket. "Don't want them to see you like that."

Finley took the jacket—it was a little too large for him—and left the room. The villain slipped his phone out of his pocket and dialled a number.

"Pierre."

"Yes?"

"I need you to come pick me up at 5834 Riverside Crescent. I also need you to have the medic ready when we get back."

"We?"

"I'm bringing four kids with me."

There was a beat of silence.

"I'll have it all ready."

"Thank you. Come as soon as possible, will you?"

"Of course, sir."

The line cut and the villain stuck the phone back into his pocket. Unbuttoning the top button of his shirt, he rifled through the drawers for the papers he'd been looking for. May as well take advantage of the hero being unconscious. The asshole was lucky that the villain didn't shoot him dead on the spot.

A few minutes later, the papers were tucked away in the inside pocket of his waistcoat. The villain stepped outside of the study and shut the door. Finley had returned with his siblings—a similarly-aged boy, and two identical girls, each clutching a backpack. The rev of an engine pulling up outside alerted the villain to Pierre's presence.

"Where are we going?" One of the girls looked at them with big eyes.

"What's your name?"

"Jessie."

"Okay, Jessie. Well, your daddy is not very good at being a dad, so I'm going to take care of you now."

Jessie looked at her sister in relief. "Okay."

The boy blinked. "Really? Our dad always said you were evil. No offence," he added hastily.

"If anything I do can be considered evil, my greatest sin would be to walk past this house and ignore what was going on inside. But I'm standing here, instead."

The boy nodded.

"Are all of you ready to go?"

Nods and quiet mutters of 'yes' rang around the dead-silent house. The villain tilted their head to the front door.

"Let's go then, kids."

—

if you enjoy my writing, please consider buying me a coffee!

[demonslayedher]

Dream Analysis of Mugen Ressha

Spoilers for the movie, while it does not depart from the plot of the manga, they made adaptational choices which I may refer to within.

While Enmu has control over what kind of dream his victims see, ultimately, he would have no way of knowing all of the details of his victims' lives, so we can assume that he is prompting his victims to fill in a lot of the details themselves. These are the worlds they surround themselves with consciously, but their untouchable unconscious spaces say just as much.

I've said some of this before, but these dream sequences give us so much to say about Inosuke, Zenitsu, Kyojuro, and Tanjiro.

Into the dream: Did that "Rengoku-aniki" thing really happen???? It's animated like a fever dream (or drawn like a typical Gotouge-being-Gotouge panel), but both the movie and the manga leave this inconclusive. It can be interpreted two ways: 1. The two other demons were there all along as decoys, set to appear only when Enmu's blood technique slowly started to take effect so that they'd let their guard down. In this way, we'd know that the boys had a true way of witnessing Kyojuro's prowess and a true bonding moment, thereby making his death hit all the harder later. This would also mean that one of the cars was totally unusable for passengers, and many of the passengers were already thoroughly spooked before falling into sleep. It would also imply that they were all super excited, thoroughly relieved, returned to their seats, and then just passed out.

2. The moment the tickets were clipped, Enmu's very, very, very realistic dreams took immediate effect, but he still needed time before it took effect enough that their guards would go down. If this is the case, then it implies the following: 1. Enmu's illusions can be shared 2. Everyone syncs extremely well together to have all been sucked in by the same illusion (it's possible it was only Tanjiro's, but since we get in everyone's heads a little in this part, I believe they all experienced the same thing). Reacting in ways so true to how they would in waking like, they learned as much about each other as truthfully as they would have if they were fighting while awake. 3. The "Rengoku-aniki" thing is the moment they're falling into a deeper stage of sleep, when any bizarre thing will make sense. They've lost any sense of holding back and are embracing the emotions as they hit them. Even if that was all a dream, the bond formed was very real. But then, as they fall deep, they fall into their own headspaces. Inosuke: I love how bombastic this dream is. It moves at a very fast pace, and everything revolves around Inosuke. He is physically much larger than Ponjiro, Chuuitsu, and Pyonko, who clearly follow him as their leader, the most powerful person in this cave exploring world full of wonder and excitement. True to life, these underlings can at times be frustrating or stupid, but there is no one else Inosuke would rather have at his side to take on a hugely impressive foe. It's a relatively simplistic world, what Inosuke really cares about is his place in it, and who is there.

Taking it a step deeper, he should not be able to manifest in his self-conscious space, but Gotouge attributes his and Zenitsu's ability to do this and protect their cores from intruders to their strong senses of self. What's telling is that his subconscious space is practically identical to his conscious dream space; like there is no breakage between one stage of reality and the next. In its Zen-like simplicity Inosuke's mind is never at odds with itself, its interpretation of reality is fluid and seamless. However, being at this deeper state brings us to a deeper state of self actualization, with Inosuke manifesting closer to the ideal beast he views himself as.

Now, with Inosuke being so fully invested in what he sees as reality, he's still got a carry-over effect from dream after waking up, which one could interpret as not having fully shaken the effects of Enmu's blood technique. After all, Zenitsu simply never broke out of it, Tanjiro had to kill himself in his dreams each time to fully snap out of it, and Kyojuro was the only one powerful enough to have broken through its effects through his own willpower. When Tanjiro says the train is a demon, he buzzes with "I was right!" (a conviction that only got stronger in his dream), and Inosuke's declarations of being the boss and Tanjiro being his underling are indignantly plentiful and he fully believes what he is saying every time he brings it up, even if he's aware that he's no longer in the cave exploring dream. But, given that Inosuke is so at peace with his own version of reality, it's also just as likely that his conviction of being The Boss was also only compounded by the dream, and all that dream did was give him a more fun setting in which to play around in. But, what was so fun about the dream, what made him sleep-giggle with pleasure, was that everyone else was finally getting with the program and recognizing him as the boss, as they should. Finally. It's so frustrating in real life that he has to keep reminding them to get it right. Get it, Santaro?? GOOD. Zenitsu: What I love here is the contrast between subconscious and conscious space. Both of them have the same theme melody, but played in very, very different ways. They also both play with the same core desire in very different ways as well. Is it so much to ask that he can just spend some time alone with the girl he loves?? If we jump straight to the pitch black unconscious space, he specifies to the intruder that only Nezuko is allowed there. Not just girls in general, not a close friend like Tanjiro, only the one girl he loves, and even then, you'd have to love someone a lot to invite them into the deepest, darkest corners of your soul. And it is a very, very, very, very dark corner. Zenitsu's spent most of his life building that dark, pessimistic personality, compounded by the treatment he's always received throughout his life and what he believes about himself at his core. He's ugly and depraved there, and very defensive. Because he holds himself in such darkness, that makes him desire the bright, happy, completely idealistic world of his conscious dream world. It's rich with detail and warm and he knows it well, that places is the first place he ever felt someone have hope for him; it's Jiichan's home, that sunny place with delicious peaches and full of clovers and lush greenery and a charming stream. Of course he'd want to show it all to Nezuko, she deserves to see such a happy, pretty place! And, while the world is idealized and happy, Nezuko is e-x-t-r-e-m-e-l-y cute and actually wants to hang out with him too. She's willing no hold his hand, none of the girls who dated (read: used) Zenitsu in the past were ever willing to hold his hand. He even gets to show her that he can be cool, and she likes it!! She looks him in the eyes and is totally honest about enjoying his company!!

He just wants someone to want him back. He wants to belong in the sunshine too. So, even if he had it in him to wake up from Enmu's blood technique, who can blame him for staying there? (You know, besides Tanjiro, who has been desperately screaming for them all to wake up and help him protect the passengers. Zzzzz, five more minutes, Tanjiro, zzzzzzz----) Kyojuro: This... isn't really a happy dream. Kyojuro has accepted a lot of sad parts of his reality so wholeheartedly that he doesn't seek the comfort of a dream in which his mother is still alive, or a dream in which his father is proud of him. Instead, what Kyojuro was looking for was the chance to go back and say more to Senjuro. This implies that on the real day he knelt in that room, while his father faced away and read the book* while Kyojuro told him all about how he defeated Lower Moon Two and became a Pillar, and was met with his father's heartbreakingly unenthusiastic reply, he later went outside and...

...didn't say any words of comfort to Senjuro.

This regret, that he didn't do more for his brother whom he knew was hurting in his own silent ways this whole time, was what sat most bothersomely in Kyojuro's otherwise peacefully self-assured psyche (or fired-up psyche, if you go by his subconscious space) . It makes sense that in his dying wishes, the first thing he requests is that Tanjiro do this in his stead. *Speaking of that book, Kyojuro had forgotten about it until his memories pulled together to create the details of the dream, which was why he thought to mention it to Tanjiro later. This shows that Enmu is not an architect of people's dreams, he only sets them in motion. How believable they are depends on each victim. (Totally unrelated, I love the design of the Rengoku estate's garden??? It's primarily evergreen and unflowering trees, meaning it stays relatively steadfast throughout the year, a garden designed in samurai villa taste. Plus the details of the house also fit really well, I think??? Would need to review research of buke-yashiki architecture to say more.) Tanjiro: ...*deep breath* This boy really, really wants to go home. Like, the climax of the movie is amazing and all, but it's the scenes with Tanjiro's family that make me cry. Ugh, where do I start. Enmu probably just grabs on to whatever thread of a desire a person has, and then he just tugs on it and says "this way, let's go really far in this direction, show me where it goes, hmm, okay, nice, lovely. Have fun here, I've now seen enough to write my own angsty version for later." So... so I'm just going to work backwards a moment. Enmu screwed up here, thinking he could really read the depth of Tanjiro's family and his feelings for them. He thought he could make a convincing version of these "characters" cry and shove Tanjiro around and speak meanly to him and make him feel shame. And the cut to that dream, OH MY GOSH, truly horrific sound and color change. But Tanjiro's sees through it so fast that he wakes up immediately and uses that anger at how Enmu wrote them to cut off his "head." You screwed up, Enmu, you blew it, maybe other people would very so blown down by the shock that they wouldn't question how unreal that dream sequence is, but Tanjiro has honed his fighting spirit so much that it's been nagging him even throughout his happy dream. And he really, really, really wants to stay in that happy dream. Like, even though he's on guard at the beginning, so much so that he only focuses on the familiar feeling of a demon being around and does not notice the familiar landscape AT ALL. But the moment Hanako and Shigeru step in, convincingly made from Tanjiro's memories and unedited by Enmu, Tanjiro throws that all away in an instant. As he says when he's trying, after trying and trying and trying to rip himself away from the dream, he was never even supposed to had left this world. He was never supposed to had touched anything like a sword, they were all supposed to stay there together, living their simple life. If things hadn't gone wrong that one night. Tanjiro cares deeply about his mission, he's adopted his training deeply, he has serious desire to improve, which is why his subconsciously keeps trying to call himself back to reality, but it's so hard, because this is where he wants to be, and it's even harder because it feels so real. It's a little peeve of mine when families with lots of little siblings are written to be too angelic and idealistic, and there is some of that with the "let's make sembei, yaaaay" scene, but... but that's actually pretty true. I'm giving myself away with how close this hits to home, but it's a dynamic in a lot of large families, especially large families pretty happy to stay to themselves and people who live the same sort of conservative, traditional lifestyle, to foster in the older siblings some pride in taking care of the little ones and helping create that happy world for them, even if taking care of little kids can be rough. It's not to say that things are always happy and fluffy, they're not, and that's not to say even

happy kids don't resent being in a large family sometimes. But there's plenty of moments in daily life, especially in the presence of small children, that you get swept up into a sillier, happy, caretaker side of yourself, and since you all grow up with these silly moments together, you're going to naturally fall into into some silly, scripted-feeling moments of "then I'll be in charge of eating the sembei!" "no faaaaair!". So, I'll give the sembei scene a pass because that IS a moment that happens in years of moments with the same posse of kiddos around you all the time. But it's also so striking to me how each of Tanjiro's siblings, however idealized, has their own personality. The traits are so subtle but consistent and Tanjiro knows all of them. They pick up on things about each other, they grow realistically annoyed and surprised and concerned and scared like they would if they were real instead of only Tanjiro's memories of them. Those kids feel so real to me, even if they are annoyingly overidealized in some parts as Tanjiro is letting himself get swept away. And just when he's managing to part from it to go face reality, Enmu makes more attack: he brings in Nezuko, trying to make it feel like there's no point in Tanjiro running at all. She's fine. There's nothing left for him to fight for. Everything's fine. And all over again, Tanjiro just stops. He KNOWS it's not real, but he's hurting so much to hear her voice again that he just sto-o-o-o-ps. And his desire to stay with the others catches up to him all over again, and he's tempted all over again to stay, EVEN KNOWING IT'S NOT REAL and there are very, very, very pressing matters to attend to. Even if it was all a little happy and idealized, more than anything, it felt like life always did. It's telling that when Tanjiro finally, FINALLY pulls away from that that time, he doesn't look back, and the family stops chasing him. This is Tanjiro accepting reality, however much it hurts. He's already had a couple years to accept this, but it was all overwhelming to get such a vivid taste of it again.

Tanjiro wants to do well to his organization and honor Urokodaki's training and avenge the fallen and prevent anyone else from being hurt and see an end to Kibutsuji Muzan and make Nezuko human again, but more than anything, he wants that simple life. And it's so, so heartwarming that at the end of the manga, he gets it.

It's not the same. It'll never be the same.

He never wanted a life with a sword, but he's been working so hard at it anyway.

[redheadbigshoes]

Hi, I noticed your bio says you’re open to giving advice and I don’t know if this is comp het or not but id be really grateful for any insight.

Basically, I am 20 and have never been in a relationship.  Is it okay to identify as a lesbian if I’ve not 100% felt like a lesbian in the past and haven’t been in a relationship?

I used to identify as bi but I now cant imagine myself or feel like I would want a relationship with a man. But because I have maybe liked a boy when I was younger I feel i should now or if it was just comp het.  It feels a bit alien to me, although if I picture it in a very queer way with me being a boy or more masculine (I am quite femme) and the boy being queer too or the perfect kind of Disney animation. I can imagine it blurrily but not really in reality. Sometimes I feel as though I need to just find a man and that I can like boys like everyone else. I feel like if i found a boy who was basically Remus lupin I might be interested and I used to find boys like timothee chalmet attractive but again, I don’t know .

I identify as a lesbian and have used the word to describe myself with friends. Although I have explained that im not sure if im bi. But I feel like I am a lesbian because the word brings me a lot of comfort, joy and is freeing. It feels like me.

The feeling that people wont see me as potentially being with a man or have men thinking id be open for a relationship with them is so nice but scary. I feel like i can talk to me friends like i would my journal, like they know me better now. I feel like for the first time in my life I feel comfortable with cis het men because it is like I can treat them like brothers I never had.

Although, at the same time I feel a lot of sadness because I never knew this. I didn’t grow up wanting a girlfriend, I felt very happy watching straight rom coms, talking about my dream wedding. I remember being on the bus at the age of 16 and seeing a random boy I didn’t know . For some reason I wanted him to notice me , wanted him to know me. It feels weird to me now, to think of how much of my early teens revolved around imagining id love a boy and believing I could when that’s so confusing to me now. Now, I feel like I actively don’t think of men because so much of my life I thought I’d had to and I don’t want that to take up space even though maybe I’m just denying I’m bi? I guess this makes me feel discomfort because i feel like ive found who i am but what if i havent.

I remember shutting the idea that I could be bi down at 15 because id never felt like that... and then realised later i was not straight because i thought about wanting a girlfriend very often. I just don’t want to be lying, but I don’t feel happy identifying as bi because I can’t imagine wanting a boyfriend. I also have never had sex, and I cannot imagine it with a man at all unless I change. I watch a lot of Tv/films with lgbtqa + characters to feel validation and comfort. I can sometimes / more often imagine having sex with a women and it feels safer in my head to me.

I have also questioned if im maybe asexual, because I don’t know comparatively what its like to really like someone and wanting sex feels quite externally pressured sometimes.

Id love to have a girlfriend and yet I haven’t found anyone that I really like. Maybe this is because I am a big introvert but hey I don’t know. Anyway, I’m sorry for this big ramble, but I guess I think about this a lot.

Hi!

First is that having had previous experiences with men or not having any type of experience in terms of relationships doesn’t mean you can’t be a lesbian (or any other identity for that matter).

You have to understand that sexuality can be fluid, even though it’s not fluid for a lot of people. So it’s definitely possible for you to have liked a guy in the past but right now think you don’t like men nor can’t imagining yourself with a man in the future.

Also, what you felt about that boy doesn’t mean it was a crush. When it comes to comphet our “crushes” aren’t actual crushes. You can find guys attractive while not being attracted to them. Noticing their physical beauty has nothing to do with sexuality.

When it comes to unattainable men they’re usually portrayed as perfect and made to be appealing to women, those men don’t really exist in real life.

I think trying out a label can definitely help you understand whether you actually fit that label or not. There’s nothing wrong with doing that.

And as a lesbian, I really relate to your feeling that you’re more comfortable (in some ways) around men. Because after you figure you’re a lesbian you also understand you don’t have to do anything for men and to always please them.

I think a lot of lesbians didn’t really grow up yearning to have a girlfriend, because that would mean that we all knew about our sexuality right from the start. And in the society that we live in it’s perfectly normal to figure your attraction later in life. I can speak for myself that as a child I’ve never wanted a girlfriend, but that’s because it wasn’t shown as a possibility to me, I thought only boys could be with girls in that way.

We as women (and anyone who is treated as a woman by society) are taught to like men and center them in our lives since we’re born. We’re influenced to want marriage and a family with a man, so it’s perfectly natural for little girls (even lesbians) trying imagining themselves with men and liking straight romance, because that’s the only thing you were shown as possible. I’d watch rom-coms and pretend the guy didn’t exist and that the story wasn’t all centered around a straight romance, and that would make it a little more enjoyable to watch.

Believe me I also spent my childhood and teen years revolving around eventually finding a man to settle down with. All that does not make me any less lesbian because I’m not responsible for what other people taught me was the right thing and what they influenced me to be and to believe.

A lot of the things you said I relate with, so I think you really could be a lesbian.

Now for the advices:

1) I think you should watch the comphet related videos I post here, you just click on the tag “source: patronsaintoflesbians” after you watch that video because there’s a bunch of those videos that can help you figure out your identity. 2) Maybe read both the lesbian masterdoc and the bisexual manifesto? They could help you understand your attraction (or the lack off) and even if you end up not being bi or lesbian I’d still advise reading both. The only thing is that I think you shouldn’t only rely on the videos or the masterdoc/manifesto, try watching the videos and reading the docs to make sure of your identity. The masterdoc’s link is on my pinned post.

[quazartranslates]

Welcome to the Nightmare Game II - CH33

**This is an edited machine translation. For more information, please [click here]**

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Chapter 33: Star Death Reality Show (XVI)

With He Yi's intermittent narration, Qi Leren finally connected all the dots.

The amphioctopuses, a cosmic alien that could destroy civilization, would hatch once they had spread to a civilized planet and sensed nearby creatures. Generally speaking, this kind of "hatching" was slow, and it took more than half a month to break free from the outer shell of the glowing stones and begin to parasitize. However, there were also ways to stimulate the amphioctopus to incubate quickly, that is, to make an organism's body fluid—usually blood—come into contact with the amphioctopus’s shell, and the amphioctopus will complete the incubation within a few minutes and enter the parasitic state.

That smear of blood on the glowing stone in the church: apparently Annie or Mark had consciously awakened the octopus inside and made it parasitize Mark.

Once parasitized, the host would quickly lose self-awareness and become the octopus’s puppet. The amphioctopus could develop into a mature body within 20 hours, enter the breeding period, lay eggs once a day, and parasitize the surrounding creatures in a relatively closed space, where the number of prey available for parasitization was less than the total number of amphioctopuses.

The amphioctopus was an intelligent creature. The smarter its host was, the smarter it was, because it perfectly inherited everything from the host after capturing its self-awareness. It would use its brain to "think" about how to reproduce more. Its ultimate goal was to reproduce and expand by hook or by crook.

In the late night of the first day, Mark, the first infected person, appeared, and in the late night of the next day, the second infected person also appeared—by various indications, it was Xue Jiahui. The "amnesia" after she woke up was not just her forgetting because she had been parasitized, but because the octopus in her body had borrowed her brain. After thinking, it had concluded that she had better pretend to have amnesia and hide what she knew about amphioctopuses.

On the night of the third day, two new infected people appeared again: one is most likely Annie, the other was uncertain at present, and the most likely one was Lara, who was responsible for taking care of Xue Jiahui. However, Qi Leren had doubts about this, because if Lara had been parasitized, she wouldn’t have mentioned the "contagious physiological conditions" key to Qi Leren when listening to the Best of the Day that morning.

Then there was tonight. There would be four new victims tonight, and the total number of amphioctopuses would exceed that of human beings. After these larvae reached the mature stage, the eight mature octopuses wouldn’t be able to get enough prey. They were about to start a massacre in order to get enough energy, and then enter a long dormant period like the original octopus until new prey appeared.

It was preliminarily estimated that this time would be on the night of the fifth day.

"If you want to save them, time is running out." He Yi’s tone was exhausted as he looked at Qi Leren. "Are you sure you want to try? There are probably eight amphioctopuses outside, at least four!"

"We still have time and methods. I can't think of a reason not to do it," Qi Leren said.

"Methods?" He Yi frowned.

"The instrument that can identify whether someone is infected." Qi Leren remembered that He Yi had used it to confirm that he wasn’t infected.

He Yi's face changed: "No! Don't bring them in! You can go out, but don't come back after you go out. I’ll wait here until the army arrives, but I will not let the infected people enter here!"

Qi Leren frowned and thought: "Well, this research institute is very big. You can find a safe room to go in and lock it. I’ll bring some people who may not be infected to come in for testing. If there is an accident... you can close the door along the way and hide in the power room. In case the situation isn’t good, you can immediately cut off the power supply so that all the doors are difficult to open. Even if there are infected people, they cannot enter your area."

He Yi still shook his head: "No, I won't let the monster in!"

"...Well, at least let me out." Qi Leren sighed, but he understood He Yi's concerns and his frightened mood at this time. If he wasn’t an outsider at this moment, but an innocent ordinary person who was involved in this dangerous situation, he wouldn’t have been able to behave righteously as he was now.

Deep down, Qi Leren still held a wait-and-see attitude towards He Yi, and there were still many doubts about this person, so to speak. But Qi Leren didn't even ask, because it was impossible to get any useful response by questioning He Yi face to face here, and it might even startle him.

"How do you want to leave? The entrance where I came in has been completely blown up, and I can't get out. The door to the outside needs a special ID card, and there is a life detection system and a gait recognition system inside the passage. The AI will automatically analyze your walking posture, which is much stricter than any fingerprint authentication. You can't cheat at all. Once the system determines that you’re not a person in the database, the laser defense system will start until the life detection system determines that there’s no living thing inside. Are you confident you can pass again?" He Yi asked.

Without confidence, Qi Leren silently thought about how the S/L Data’s cooling time was one hour, and that it hadn’t passed yet.

And the Prophet had said to minimize the use of the S/L... Qi Leren actually had no actual feelings, but he only vaguely felt that this skill was a bit evil, and dying too much would cause him to have frequent nightmares. But at the critical moments, he still instinctively relied on this skill.

I can't. There are too many gravestones on Undead Island.

"Where is the general control room for the laser corridor?" Qi Leren asked.

"It's useless, I’ve looked for it. I suspect that the door to the defense system’s general control room can't be opened without a password, and the monitoring can't be seen. Even if we find the password and go in, this system isn’t like the equipment that checks for the octopuses. It can't be operated at all without knowing the language here." He Yi shook his head.

Qi Leren pondered over it. To go out, you had to pass through the laser corridor. At the end of the corridor, next to the door that led outside, an ID card had to be used. However, Qi Leren had experienced the danger of the laser corridor once. Unfortunately, S/L solution was still needed to pass smoothly. Was there any other way...

"I have an idea!" Qi Leren shouted and scared He Yi, who looked at him suddenly. "He Yi, I need your cooperation!"

"...Go on."

"It’s like this: I will go to the laser corridor. You will go to the power room to turn off the power, so that the laser corridor won’t start, and the gait recognition system will be the same. I will go through the laser corridor to the front door and wait for you to turn on the power again, so that the ID reader on the door will start. I can open the door and go out once it starts ago!" Qi Leren said.

"Are you sure? What if the gait recognition system or life detection system starts first?" He Yi disagreed.

"It’s more likely for the door to start first once it’s powered on, rather than the laser corridor," Qi Leren said, "And isn't there you? It took me about one minute to pass through the laser corridor last time. Please calculate the time for turning the power on. Turn off the power again after about forty seconds. Forty seconds is enough for me to open the iron door and go out. If there’s an accident, I won't be able to open the door as I’ll be blocked by the lasers. As long as you turn off the power, the lasers will be turned off again with it."

He Yi thought for a while and nodded: "This method is good, double insurance."

For Qi Leren with S/L Data, this was three insurances. What he relied on was not luck, nor He Yi’s cooperation, but his own strength. Otherwise, he would rather study how to get out of the collapsed passage that He Yi had come in through, and would not consider such a dangerous laser corridor.

The two discussed the details again. Qi Leren also took off the watch he found when collecting materials and gave it to He Yi: "You can watch the time."

He Yi took the watch, nodded solemnly, and said, "Oh, I also found the arsenal here. Heavy weapons can't be used, but you should be able to get started with weapons like a handgun and hand grenade, you'd better take some with you."

No wonder this boy has a gun in his hand. Qi Leren glanced at He Yi: "Okay, thanks a lot."

The two men went to get the weapons, which were well preserved. Qi Leren picked a few easy-to-use ones and took them apart for maintenance. He could give them to Dr. Lu for use, while he took his usual ones and tested them on the spot. He Yi, who was on the side, said faintly because of his skillful technique: "You are indeed a military person. Or did you know there would be octopuses here? Did you secretly hide the octopus in that cave?"

Qi Leren said helplessly: "Oh, I’m really not, why do you think so?"

But he really had known there would be octopuses.

"Then who are you? Is it really possible that you’re an ordinary band lead singer?" He Yi was adamant.

Of course not. My singing is terrible, Qi Leren thought.

But... Should he pave the way for his skill card? So as not to expose the skills at the critical moment, be questioned by the audience, and lead to the failure of the task? With this in mind, Qi Leren decided to add some personal settings for himself.

"Actually, I do have a special identity," Qi Leren said with a dignified face. "I tell you, but don't tell anyone else."

He Yi waited for a while, looking at him carefully: "Then wait, should I turn off the tracking camera?"

Qi Leren couldn't help laughing, which exposed the fact that he was joking. Seeing He Yi looking at him with bitterness, Qi Leren corrected his expression and asked seriously, "Do you have a faith?"

He Yi was confused by his question and shook his head blankly: "I’m an atheist."

I used to be an atheist, until I got involved in the Nightmare Game, Qi Leren thought. In fact, he couldn't be regarded as religious even now. He just thought that there must be some great and incredible powers in the world beyond their knowledge. These were what were regarded as "gods".

—You can admire and question, but don't worship blindly and slander maliciously, otherwise you’ll be doomed to be unable to surpass yourself and enter a higher level. That's what Chen Baiqi had told Qi Leren, who thought what she said was very reasonable.

Seeing Qi Leren's delay in answering, He Yi asked again, "What about you? Are you a Christian? "

Qi Leren smiled: "I am an apostle of God."

“……”

"If I’m killed, I will be resurrected immediately."

“…………”

"When danger comes, God will give me strength to become an angel and fight against evil forces to the end."

“………………”

Qi Leren showed a sage's smile full of divinity and gently stared at He Yi, who was eager to speak.

Before the show begins, give the audience a little psychological preparation.

-----

Editor’s Notes: [Player Qi Leren has leveled up an ability: Bullshitting.]

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[fandom-collective-writers]

Fervor (Kenshin Uesugi x MC)

Fandom: Ikemen Sengoku

Pairing: Kenshin Uesugi x MC

Prompt: Sweaty

Warning: Smut!

Intended Audience: Female Audience

Word Count: 3,904

Requested by: anonymous

Written by: @lordsisterxotome​

Disclaimer: I do not own Ikemen Sengoku or any of its characters. All of that goodness is the property of Cybird. I do, however, own the plot of this fanfic. Please do not repost this on any other website.

       Uesugi Kenshin was a god - really and truly. The air seemed to part for him as he swung his sword with inhuman ease, the movement so fluid, so graceful, so deadly it had her breath catching in her throat as she stared, rooted to the spot in awe. A primal part of her keened for him, attracted to the sheer power he wielded, and she swallowed and shook her head, banishing her mind of embarrassing thoughts of good genetic material.

       MC had originally come looking for Kenshin to tell him to take a break, but had quickly become distracted by how beautiful her lover was, completely in his element with Himezuru Ichimonji in hand. She couldn’t tear her eyes away. A trickle of sweat ran down the back of her neck, making her shiver, and she knew it wasn’t just from the heat. It didn’t help that he was topless, the sleeves of his kimono pulled down to drape against his hakama. Every swing of his sword brought new coils of muscle into focus, the parts of his body moving in perfect sync through years of training and battle. 

       Her eyes followed a drop of sweat as it ran down his back, following the chiseled lines of his trapezius and spine. His skin wasn’t flawless - the pale expanses of his back and chest were littered with pearly scar tissue, some nearly faded while others shimmered in the sunlight - and her heart ached a little at the thought of what he had put himself through to earn so many. She knew, however, that he wore the marks like regalia, symbols of his prowess and battlefield dominance as the God of War.

       MC startled a little as mismatched eyes finally settled on her, pinning her in place with their differing colors and identical heat. Kenshin’s muscles rippled as he performed another slice that cut a leaf fluttering in the breeze in half, his eyes sending a silent signal as he did, and the intention behind his movements became unmistakable. He was trying to impress her, woo her, to make her melt so all she could think of was him, him, him...not that he really needed to anyway.

       Satisfied at having her undivided attention, he performed another few swings, the air separating with a series of whooshes beneath his blade. A final turn brought him to face her and she swallowed at the image staring her down. Sweat dripped down his arm as he lowered his sword, the heaving of his chest as he panted bringing her attention to his chiseled abs and pecs, and his eyes. Kenshin’s eyes were so heated they rivaled the summer heat, dark with sinful intent as he took one step closer then another, prowling towards her.

       Each breath became more of a struggle as he approached, never breaking eye contact once. It was like her body was forgetting how to function under his intensity. She didn’t realize she’d stopped breathing completely until a tightness in her chest forced her to inhale slowly, as if afraid to alert him to her presence. Kenshin stopped a few feet away, looking up at her from his place amongst the carefully manicured flowers and bushes. The raised floor of the hallway gave her a good foot of height on him, but she still felt like the prey here, her handsome predator staring at her like he would pounce at any moment. She had to admit, she would be lying if she said it didn’t excite her. He knew exactly what kind of effect he was having on her right now and he was enjoying it if the smirk she noticed pulling at the corner of his lips was anything to go by.

       Yes, he was very satisfied with himself.

       Swallowing, she summoned what little stability she had left to speak coherently. “I-I was wondering what you were doing out here.” 

       He hummed, an enticing purr that she could feel in her bones. MC doubted she would ever fully comprehend the depths of Kenshin’s effect on her, just as she would never know how she enraptured him in return. 

       “Practicing. Why? Is there something else you need me for?”

       Her already warm face grew hotter at the implication in his tone, and she had to avert her gaze from the suggestive raise of his pale brow. Normally, she would play along with his game, turning to putty in his lovingly molding hands as she let him worship her with whispered promises against flushed, sensitive skin, but today felt different. Today she wanted to play with him, have him begging for her as she loved him slowly. She wanted him to get a taste of how desperate he made her.

       “Not really,” she answered, giving him the most nonchalant look she could muster. “I think Sasuke was looking for you. Something about installing more crawl spaces in the ceiling. I’m going to get back to work now.” With that she turned on her heel and strode back down the hallway, not looking back to see his expression. 

       His little performance had charmed her, that was for certain, but that didn’t mean she had to give in to him every time. Kenshin could come get what he wanted from her outright...is what she thought at least. In reality, MC hadn’t taken more than a dozen paces before she was swept off her feet and pinned against the wall, a hot mouth dominating hers as an even hotter body pressed flush against her own. 

       Kenshin’s tongue quickly found its way between lips parted in surprise, tangling with her own in a passionate dance of frustration and unrestrained lust. He swallowed her soft moan, answering with his own deeper croon. “Lies,” he hissed when the need for air became too prominent. “You need me. I can feel it.”

       “Do I?” she shot back innocently, trying and failing to restrain the tiny smirk that pulled at the corner of her lips. “I think I’m okay right now.”

       A snarl tore from him as he hefted her over his shoulder, thundering down the hall as he headed towards their shared room. Briefly, she wondered if she’d just bitten off more than she could chew, but a second later she was landing on a futon with a god of a man kissing the living daylights out of her.  

       “Admit that you want me,” he purred, leaving a burning trail in his wake as he trailed kisses down her jaw to her neck. MC mewled when his mouth attached to her skin, biting and sucking in what was sure to be quite the hickey later on. His hands went to her obi, pulling at it until it loosened around her waist enough that he could pull her kimono open, and his mouth left several more marks on her neck, in places that she wouldn’t be able to cover easily, before traveling downwards to lap at her collarbones. 

       Still, despite how good it felt and how much she wanted to moan and cry for him, her lips remained firmly shut, much to her lover’s displeasure. Clicking his tongue, Kenshin pulled away from her to undo the last ties holding his hakama around his hips and she averted her eyes as the clothing rustled to the floor, biting her lip. 

       “Look at me,” he husked, his body settling on top of hers and his hands pinning her above her head as she writhed beneath him. “Look at how much you affect me.”

       The heat of his naked body on top of hers only stoked the fire in the pit of her stomach and she almost gave in and spoke the words she knew he wanted to hear. Instead, she bit her lip and dug her fingernails into her palm, trying to ground herself as his erection rutted against her clothed core, his hips settling between her legs. 

       She cried out when his hand grabbed a breast, rolling the soft flesh in his palm as his mouth attached to the nipple of the other. Her hands strained against his strong hold, desperate to tangle her fingers in his pale hair as he bit and sucked, rolling her nipple between his fingers. Kenshin’s moans against the sensitive flesh only made it worse, his eyelashes tickling her skin as he closed his eyes in rapture at her taste. 

       Releasing her wrists, he wrapped an arm around her waist, his teeth and tongue continuing to lavish her breasts while his other hand ghosted down her body. Fingers trailed up her calf, pushing her kimono apart, before tickling across the supple flesh of her inner thigh. MC shuddered when his hand cupped her through her undergarments, rubbing her through the cloth barrier. 

       “So wet for me already,” he chuckled, kissing the spot above her racing heart as his skillful fingers pulled the cloth away and exposed her to the heated air. “I know your body better than my own, my love.” Yet Kenshin refused to touch what was his, leaving her to whine helplessly as his hand stroked her thigh. She tried tilting her hips in a way that would bring his fingers into contact with where she needed them most, but they danced away as he chuckled at her desperation. 

       “I’ll give you what you want,” he husked, “but first you have to answer my question. Why deny me, love?”

       “I-ahh!” Her answer cut off on a cry as a finger brushed teasingly against her clit, her head thrown back as her body shuddered.

       “Go on,” he purred against her throat, sucking at her pulse point. 

       “You have me wrapped around your finger,” MC managed, biting her lip. He made a curious noise and she continued, “I’m so in love with you, it practically only takes a smile from you to bring me to my knees. Sometimes I feel like I’m the only one who’s this desperate.”

       Kenshin was silent for a heartbeat, and she wondered if he’d understood, if he was angry, until teeth dug into the juncture of her neck and shoulder and he pinched her clit hard. Her back arched and she cried out as his tongue laved against the shell of her ear, his breath fanning against the sensitive area as he spoke. 

       “That’s where you’re wrong. You see…” A long finger slipped smoothly inside of her, parting her velvet walls as it curled in a come hither motion. Gasping at the intrusion, she ground her hips against his hand as he thrust the finger in and out of her. She could cry it felt so good, partially relieving the ache that had begun to build from the moment she’d seen him in the courtyard.

       When he pulled away from her neck to gaze down at her, her eyes widened at the sheer yearning in his expression. His pale cheeks were colored a beautiful red, lips parted around husky pants, and eyes hazed by lust and need. “I’m always desperate for you,” he moaned, hips rutting against her leg in time with his finger. The bare cock humping against her thigh only served to make her wetter and she whimpered as a second finger joined the first within her. “So many times, when I caught another man looking at you, I just wanted to bend you over in front of everyone and show them who you belong to.”

       The feral possessiveness in his voice made her core squeeze around his fingers and he groaned in her ear, the deep sound sending shivers down her spine. Kenshin’s gaze left her face to peer at where his fingers still plunged inside of her relentlessly and she briefly wondered what he was thinking as an amused smile curled at the corners of his lips.

       “But…” Flipping their positions, he settled her on top of him, and MC blinked down at him as he smirked expectantly and said, “I’ll let you do as you wish. Show me I’m yours.”

       It took her a second to realize the extent of his words, but once she did a flustered blush broke across her cheeks and down her neck. It wasn’t as if they had never been in this position before, but it had never lasted long, Kenshin’s insatiable hunger quickly taking control. She wasn’t about to let that happen so easily this time though. No, if he wanted her to show him he belonged to her then that’s exactly what she would do.

       Feeling his erection prod her dripping core, she rolled her hips down against him and pushed him back so he was lying flat on the futon. Kenshin moaned, the deep sound music to her ears, and his hands moved to her hips, grinding her harder even as his hips bucked up into her. She could feel him trying to aim himself inside of her but evaded each thrust, his cock slipping through her heat over and over.

       MC could tell he was starting to become exasperated by it, brow pinching and breath coming in short pants as he tried and failed to impale her on his cock with each upward thrust. “Let me in,” he demanded, teeth gritting. A particularly intimate roll of her hips had his head falling back beautifully and she took advantage of the pale, exposed column of his throat, leaning forward so she lay with her breasts pressed against his chest as her fingers flicked his nipples. 

       “How badly do you want me?” she murmured against his ear, leaving her own marks on his neck as she kissed and nipped. 

       “So badly that if you don’t sit on my cock right now I can’t be held accountable for my actions,” he growled back.

       “Hmm? I thought you said I could do what I want?” Another roll of her hips made him hiss, the head of his cock catching on her entrance before slipping away again. Kenshin’s grip on her hips tightened, and she knew he could easily hold her still enough to thrust into her, but he didn’t.

       “You can,” he grunted, “but I’m so hard it hurts.” The angle of his grinds changed and she gasped at the sudden stimulation against her clit, arching her chest against his as he looked up at her through half-lidded eyes. “Please, I need you. Let me be inside of you.”

       His begging made something release inside of her and MC suddenly felt so empty, like she would implode if she didn’t have him that instant. Reaching between them, she wrapped her fingers around his cock, feeling the velvety firmness throb under her palm, and coaxed it into position against her entrance. Both of them moaned in relief as her hips sunk down on him, her core welcoming the intrusion as it sucked him deeper into the comfort of her warmth. 

       “That’s it,” he grunted as she took him in deeper. “Just like that. Such a good girl. You feel so good.”

       After making love with Kenshin for so long she needed little time to adjust to his impressive length and began to roll her hips, her pace increasing with a little coaxing and directing from him. He leaned up to capture her lips in a messy kiss as she bounced on top of him, moaning as a hand dove into the hair at the back of her head, effectively holding her in place as he devoured her mouth.

       A purposeful squeeze of her inner muscles received a violent buck from him in return, nails digging into her skin as he grunted, “Do that again and you'll regret it.”

       She giggled softly, pressing her lips to his neck as she continued to work him in and out of her tight heat, his praises encouraging her to move against him harder, faster. She squeaked when his hands grabbed her ass hard, forcing himself deeper into her as a muscle jumped in his neck. 

       “So close, ahh...Keep going...keep going, just like that. Yes, yes, yes,” his voice deepened with pleasure and she watched his beautiful eyes close in bliss, lips parted and head tilted back. So enraptured by how angelic he looked in the throws of passion, MC didn’t notice the hand that slipped between them until it was too late, an unexpected push to her clit drawing a scream from her throat as her core clenched hard around him, her sudden climax knocking the breath out of her. 

       She heard him grunt something about how tight she was before a pleasured moan vibrated through his chest and his release painted her walls white, warmth shooting deep inside of her and making her shiver against him.

       He held her still as he continued to thrust up into her shallowly, working his seed deeper into her, and the aftershocks made her whimper. All she wanted to do was curl up against him and bask in the afterglow of their lovemaking, but it seemed Kenshin had other ideas, a hungry glint in his eyes as he peered down at her, limp against his chest.

       “We’re not finished yet,” he panted.

       MC had just enough time to gasp before she was suddenly flipped over onto the futon, a god humping his still-hard cock between her legs and his mouth sucking at her breast. She cried out from the sudden overstimulation, the engorged head of his cock hitting her swollen clit as his length slipped through her soaked heat, drenching himself in their combined releases as it dripped from her.

       “Please, Kenshin,” she cried, arms wrapping around his back to pull him closer as her legs instinctively moved to wrap around his hips. Despite having just climaxed, she wanted more, needed more of him, never having enough of this man who had devoted himself to her so wholeheartedly.

       “What is it?” he murmured in her ear, “Say it and I’ll give you everything you want and more.”

       “Fuck me, please!” she cried, eyes closed tight against the tears of pleasure that blurred her vision. “I’m all yours! I need you! Only you!” She would never know how much he adored hearing those words, how they made every part of his body and soul sing with delight and pride, how they made him want to prove it to her over and over and over again until everyone knew that she was his and he was hers and anyone that challenged that would meet his wrath.

       Grabbing her legs and throwing them over his shoulders, he speared into her, making her scream as her sensitive core spasmed around him. Stars danced across her vision as Kenshin immediately set an inhumane pace and all she could do was hang on for the ride. Through her half-lidded gaze, she could see how beautiful he looked like this, porcelain cheeks flushed with need and blue and green eyes hazed with desire as he panted like a wild beast, claiming her animalistically.

       A calloused hand grabbed one of her bouncing breasts roughly and she mewled as he pinched her nipple, twisting and pulling as he continued to rut into her. “Scream for me more,” he ordered, voice low and dangerous. “Tell me who you belong to again, loud enough that the whole castle can hear you.”

       Maybe MC would be embarrassed by it later but all she cared about right now was fulfilling that order, of letting him know how good he was making her feel. “Kenshin!” she screamed, begging for more. “Please- ahh! -keep going! Don’t...Don’t stop! It feels-ngh! S-So good!”

       “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

       She sobbed when he suddenly pulled out without warning, the absence leaving her feeling unbearably empty. Flipping her over onto all fours, Kenshin grabbed her hips and sheathed himself inside of her dripping core once more. A cry broke from her lips at the depth he reached with the new position, his fingers digging into her skin as her tight walls squeezed him. Hot lips graced her shoulders as he leaned over her, his chest meeting her back as he moaned wantonly in her ear. “You’re so tight, my love. Your body wants me so badly.” A shudder wracked her form as he pulled back for a hard thrust, resuming his previous pace.

       It was all too much for her. With each thrust, she felt his cock kiss her cervix, sending shockwaves through her overstimulated body. The pain it brought melded with the pleasure, her hands fisting in the futon and her face pressed into the sheets as she cried out for him until her throat was raw and all she could think of was her lover’s name.

       As for Kenshin, each thrust felt like heaven, his balls slapping against her ass as he firmly reestablished his claim over her. It was getting increasingly harder to pull out, her walls clamping down on him and threatening to send him over the edge and milk him for all he was worth at any moment. His hands shifted from their grip on her waist, one grabbing her breast while the other snaked between her legs, circling her clit teasingly. “Do you want to come?” he panted in her ear, jaw clenching on a particularly tight thrust.

       “Yes! Yes, please, Kenshin!”

       He chuckled breathlessly, closing his eyes and burying his face against her shoulder. “Then come.”

       His fingers pressed down on her clit hard as his other hand pinched her nipple and the stimulation sending her into her second climax of the evening. His name tore from her on a scream as he growled his release into her skin, teeth lodging in her shoulder as her walls squeezed around him like a vice. 

       Kenshin’s hips continued to move throughout his orgasm, drawing out both their pleasure as he released inside of her again and found absolute bliss in her body. Her whole body felt wrapped in his intense heat, beads of sweat rolling down her skin as her lover held her weak body against his in an iron grip.

       His body slumped on top of hers as they slowly calmed down from their high, his warmth seeping around where he was still buried inside of her. Kissing her shoulder, Kenshin rolled her onto her side, sweaty body curling around hers. Even though it was so hot, the heat of his body didn’t bother her in the slightest, making her feel loved and protected as he held her close. 

       “Have I convinced you of how desperate I am for you?” he husked, brushing strands of hair away from her forehead as he littered her face with soft kisses.

       “Yeah,” she panted, reaching back to cup his face in her palm. Turning her head to look back at him, MC placed a tender kiss against his cheek. “I love you, Kenshin.”

       He smiled dazzlingly as he nuzzled his face into her hair, replying, “I love you more.”

       Closing her eyes, she smiled, enjoying his ministrations as his fingers started kneading her pleasantly tired body. “Mmm, I don’t know. I really love you a lot. It’s kind of crazy how much.”

       “Want to bet?” he offered, his hands massaging her bruised hips.

       “Actually, I think I need a bath.” A slight squeeze of her inner muscles around his limp cock had him gasping as you looked back at him, smirking. “Care to join me?”

       He licked his lips, heat and hunger already alight in his blue and green eyes. “It would be my pleasure.”

[wearequeer-andwearehere]

Hello! I’m hoping that I’m doing this right, but I honestly have no idea, since I’m not a tumblr user… I’m just going to babble about life for a second, if that’s okay. So. I’ve been questioning my identity for about a year, and after cycling through the labels “straight”, “lesbian”, and “bi”, I discovered “pan”. I feel the most comfortable with it, and I’m really excited to have found something that seems to describe me! Now, that being said, I don’t know how to come out. I’m so lucky to have parents I know will be supportive, but it’s such a daunting thing.

They know I’ve been questioning for a bit, but they don’t know about all of the not-quite-right labels I’ve given myself, and they definitely don’t know that I’m pan. I’m afraid that they won’t know what pan means or that they’ll see me differently after I come out. They’re both teachers, and they’re so anxious teaching during the pandemic - what if my coming out puts more stress on them? (these are the things I think about at 3am…) I have come out to one friend who I know is supportive and well informed about the community, and she’s been very kind and understanding, but I really screwed up telling her. It was supposed to be a calm and collected speech, but I really just spouted out some keywords and hoped she got the point (thankfully, she did). But, she’s not my closest friend.

Which brings me to my next point - I don’t know how to tell my best friend either, since our families are super close and I would honestly have to come out to all four of them at once. Of course, I want to tell my parents before that, but I need her help in figuring it out. So, I suppose I’m caught in a vicious circle.

And, moving past sexuality: I’m suddenly super unsure about my gender. It’s always been one of the few things I’ve been sure about, but over the past month or so I’ve been thinking about it. Sometimes I feel very strongly feminine, (but not in a girly-girl kind of way; more like just liking my long hair and things like that.), and some days, not so much. I’ve never felt masculine, but I’m thinking perhaps enby? Maybe?

I’m very sure of my sexuality, but this feels like my mind is seeking attention. I’m also wondering if I’m too young. I’m a middle schooler (rather not reveal my exact age), and I’ve noticed that every queer person in books is so much older than me. Did I put too much pressure on myself to figure it out? It’s so confusing. Well, anyway, that’s my collection of random thoughts. Thank you so much if you read through it, and I’m sorry for its messiness and length!

Hey there friend!

So first off, you sent this in as a submission, and I sent it to myself as an ask so I could answer it—also, dude, when you sent the submission, you added your school email—I’m not gonna release it but mate I could see your full name and school, so uh, be a bit more careful aight? Try getting used to tumblr and learn how to send in asks and stuff, okay? I ain’t gonna do anything and I’ve already deleted the info, but someone else might not do the same, so be careful aight?

Okay mate I think the best idea is to tell your close friend first. Try telling her over text maybe if you’re scared it’ll go wrong, and then say you need her help in figuring it out and her support! You could try coming out to your parents with a note if you wanted, or wait for a day they’re both free and try sitting them down and talking to them!

My dude, a child coming out won’t make a parent feel stressed or make them see you differently if they’re a good parent. They may be a bit stressed for your well-being bc they’re worried of how homophobia might affect you, but like, a good parent won’t see you differently at all!

Hmm, you might wanna check out the label genderfae!

Genderfae (click for link to wiki page)

Genderfae is a form of genderfluidity that never encompasses male or masculine genders.

Genderfae individuals can be fluid between any range of feminine, unaligned, and neutral genders, or genderlessness, but they never experience masculine genders. Genderfae is sometimes considered a non-masculine subset of fluidflux.

And here’s my advice for gender questioning:

Don’t connect gender to physical presentation. It doesn’t matter if you like skirts or trousers or shirts or dresses or long hair or short hair—whay gender do you feel most like yourself in? You can be feminine and be a trans guy, you can be masculine and be a cis girl—don’t connect presentation to gender.

The only way of being trans is being yourself! Don’t force yourself into cisnormative and binary gender roles.

Don’t force yourself into labels that don’t fit. You’re not supposed to fit labels, labels are supposed to fit you

There’s nothing wrong with not having a label or using only umbrella labels!

Feel free to experiment with labels! Live your life for one day and say “I am [gender],” try it out for a day or so and see how it feels!

Labels are like sweaters, you can try them on for a bit and see which one is comfiest!

“What makes me happy?” and “what makes me feel truest to myself?” are better questions than “what am I?”

The goal of gender questioning isn’t to find a label, it’s to make yourself happy—whether having a ton of microlabels, a few umbrella labels or just going unlabelled!

It’s okay to have “contradictory” labels as long as you aren’t hurting anyone

And last of all, take your time. You don’t have to find a label tomorrow or today. It’s okay. Don’t rush, take a deep breath. Maybe you’ll find labels, maybe you won’t! And that’s okay! Live your life and be happy, that’s all that matters

Feel free to look through my #gender questioning tag or send me an ask if you want to!

I hope I could help you out, and I wish you luck with coming out and questioning! Lmk if you have any more questions and have a great day/night :D

[moonlightchess]

a brief interlude in which a young mortician finally meets his patron saint.

(Diaphanous).

Around five years old, when he first started hearing them. Soft, muted weeping echoing lightly through the cavernous halls just beyond his bedroom door, and by ten he was accustomed to sliding out of bed, yawning, padding to his doorway to step out into the endlessly shadowed maw veining through the upstairs of his family’s home. The moaning creak of the floorboards was easily avoidable if you knew where to slide your feet, which by then he did, and he’d whisper into the dark: “You’re okay. It’s all over now, but stay as long as you need to. You’ll be getting along when you’re ready.” And even then, there was something profoundly tender and melancholy wrapping itself around little Theodore like an aura, to which the ghosts usually responded favorably. On occasion, they’d even slip into his bedroom after he climbed back into bed, gently tugging his duvet over him in thanks.

Sixteen, and Pere introduced him to the family business in the most definitive sense yet, bringing him down into the embalming room. There, he was shown how to drain the bodies, to sew their gums securely closed, to carefully apply powders and lotions to suggest sleep despite death. Pere helped him to remove the heart and lungs of a corpse in the preparation process of the old fashion, despite it having fallen out of favor in more recent years. Bellefontaine, Louisiana, lingered a decade or two behind much of the nation, in every way from embalming practices to racial sensitivity, both topics having already been addressed with young Theodore. “A person is a person, deserving of respect and love and dignity regardless of their skin, wealth, or any other such thing that the ignorant might think defines them,” Theodore senior had informed his small son firmly, long ago, meeting his midnight-blue eyes that were so solemn and sympathetic even then. “Do you understand?”

“Yes, Pere.” Theodore had not understood, not entirely, back then. But at sixteen, hunched over the dead body of a local bait shop owner whose wife made the softest, sweetest beignets he’d ever tasted, clarity rose sharp and bitter. “Monsieur Dumonde,” had escaped him before he could swallow the words in the interest of professionalism. “I knew him. Used to buy worms from him when the boys wanted to go fishing, but it’s been so long. I didn’t know he was sick.”

“Everyone dies, ti-Theodore,” and he’d been in love with the way his name rolled from his father’s tongue in a thicker cajun accent than his own - tee-tay-oh-doure, Theodore junior. It was enormously soothing, even now as he considered shaving Monsieur Dumonde’s thick mustache away for his funeral - but in the end, he placed the straight razor back onto his father’s table of sharp tools, aware that his decision had been a test. “No. We leave the mustache, he always had one when he was alive. He used to tug on it and laugh at our homemade fishing poles whenever we went into his shop. His mustache was a part of him, and it’s important that we send him to the next with as much of the man he was intact as we can.” He’d been a little nervous, meeting the dusk-colored eyes that he’d inherited from his beloved father, holding his breath.

“Good boy,” and he’d exhaled. “There are many who would have shaved him, cut his hair, put on some strange new clothes he never would have chosen himself. But you, my sweet and quiet boy, you understand.”

Mere had been a dancer, once. Ballet had been her life, her identity, until a careless would-be principal prince had stumbled into her leap - during a rehearsal no less, she’d been denied even the dignity of a grand disaster to end her career in the middle of a soaringly tragic performance - and her ankle had snapped, had never healed properly. She limped a touch even then, bringing sweet tea out to their wraparound porch thick with creeping ivy and heavy flowers bursting open at random, studding the lush green like jewels in a necklace, where her teenage son sat cross-legged on a battered loveseat long since dragged out to face the elements of the swampland. Together, they would count the darting fireflies, tiny pinpricks of golden light waging a valiant war against the encroaching southern dark. “I was beautiful once,” she’d said to him. “They all used to come watch me dance, in the city.”

“You’re still beautiful, Mere.”

She’d only sighed, slipping a hand into the pocket of her pea-green silk skirt to retrieve a shot bottle of bourbon, hoarded from the liquor store in town, and poured it into her tea.

They were both gone now, six, seven years proper. He’d prepared their bodies, and in death all of his mother’s pain and longing had been exposed to him with the first incision into her cold and rigid flesh for the draining, sixty-two years of ballet and resentment filling up the glass reservoir of the tubing’s end, dark red. She’d always done up her soft, honey-colored hair into elaborate braids, draped over one shoulder or both or trailing down her back or even wound up into a twisted crown if she was in a happier mood than usual. Theodore had sat beside her, holding her stiff milky hand with his own and with the other, scrolling through youtube tutorials on how to create the perfect fishtail braid until he was confident.

Pere had gone five years after, the light in him having drained out as clear and real as every fluid in his wife’s body had eventually found its way into the belly of their aspirator in the basement. Pneumonia had taken his mother - she’d always had a poor and fragile immune system - but his father had been just shy of seventy and to this day, at thirty-two years old, Theodore had never been offered a satisfying cause of death for him. “Just his time, sug,” a nurse in powder blue scrubs had tried, patting his hand soothingly and because this was the south, “I’ll be praying for y’all - well, just you I suppose. Oh lord, you’re the only Bissonette left now, ain’tcha?”

He was. They’d left the entire mortuary to him, and with it all the responsibilities of being the local mortician and funeral director at such a tender age, and his head had at first swum dizzily with all the pressure and expectations. Theodore senior and his wife Lisette had been fixtures of their country community, familiar and comforting, always there whenever someone had passed on to arrange flowers and platters of cold cuts, to deliver gentle words to cushion the grief. They’d been known, trusted, but Theodore junior, well. Ti-Theodore Bissonette, so young to be running the whole house himself, and the folk of Bellefontaine just weren’t sure. Until the death of little Suzette Marchande.

Hit by a car, she’d been, some hideous beast driving drunk through the winding access road circling their little cajun town and pointed out toward Nola proper. He was in prison now, but Suzette remained dead, and in his huge, capable hands Theodore had poured every bit of his father’s knowledge and sensitivity into that girl. He’d dressed her in yellow, one of her own dresses supplied by her mother, but he’d also remembered that she’d loved frogs. She’d catch them in the swamp and hold them in both hands, laughing at their croaky sounds, but then she’d carefully deposit them onto some leaf somewhere. “They got big ones, in the jungle. The Amazon,” he remembered her saying when the Bissonettes had run into she and her parents in town once, years ago. “Big as cars, they are. I’m gonna go there someday and study ‘em.”

So he’d bought sparkly little green frog clips for her hair online, pinning it back from her freckled face. Her favorite stuffed froggie, named Monsieur Ourauron, Mister Ribbitt, had been lost in the crash, but he’d found one in the Amazon - or at least on amazon - that looked largely the same. When her parents had seen her during the open-casket service, they’d wept and clutched his hands, thanking him in a babbling blend of French, English and grief. That day had declared the end of one life and the beginning of another, as little Suzette had been delivered unto whatever waited after, but thirty-year-old ti-tay-oh-doure had been manifest and confirmed.

There was something to be said for how tall he was. He would have thought some would find it intimidating, difficult to relate to considering that he was six-seven or perhaps a touch over, impossibly long limbs and a hawkish nose, soft mouth borne of his Mere and his father’s nearly indigo eyes the color of a sky five minutes before the moonrise. His was soft, floppy, peanut-brown hair and a quiet timbre resonating in his voice that was immediately associated with the unthreatening sense of calm authority that his father had once carried around easy as an old sweater. Theodore would take care of everything, Bellefontaine knew. They’d be left free to grieve their lost, because he was here with his huge hands and endless legs and fleeting smile.

He lived alone, now. There had been flings, lovers, Audrey from Nola with her autumn-brown skin and fox-gold eyes, elegant and sure, but she hadn’t stayed long. “This place is charming, but you can’t actually expect to stay here all your life, can you?” she’d told him once, after the sex, the two of them naked and wrapped around each other in his sprawling bed with a gentle breeze from outside floating through his open window. She didn’t understand, and neither did the men, not even sweet Peter with his auburn curls and dimples.

“You’re all alone out here, doesn’t it get boring? Lonely? My god, you live in a mortuary.” His shiver had been all that Theodore had needed to kiss him tenderly and send him on his way. His father had been extraordinarily lucky to find Mere, he knew - so few understood, the nature of a curator of death. The ancient contract they’d signed, the tradition they’d inherited. It was sacred but horrifying to most, because everyone wanted the convenience of their holy order at the end of all things, but no one actually wanted to have to think about dying. About the fact that literally all of them, rich or poor, pious or skeptical, afraid or unafraid, was going to die. The repulsion, he understood, was instinctive, and he’d only made his lovers breakfast in the morning and never called any of them back.

Some of the ghosts never left, as it was, and there were mornings in which he’d make his way into the kitchen to find his black tea already steaming, his chair already pulled away from the table. Some of them had found their peace here with him, and so he’d leave his cello out on occasion so that they could pluck the strings or plink a few keys on his mother’s old baby grand in the living room. He was happy too, his natural introversion leaving him largely content in his solitary life. There were those who sought comfort in his touch after the funerals of their loved ones, holding onto his hands a beat too long as he bade them goodbye, meeting his eyes meaningfully, but he always released them to the hazy swamp air outside. They were hurting, vulnerable, and he was a gentleman.

It rained the night the stranger arrived, or stormed rather - Theodore’s lights had been flickering throughout the manor all night. He’d collected candles and charged his phone, but his power had soldiered on even as the thunder crashed and jagged needles of lightning slashed open the churning charcoal sky outside. He’d yanked open the heavy oak door in response to some insistent knocking, only to find a man roughly his age standing there on the porch. He was oddly untouched by the rain despite no car present behind him, moon-pale, spilled-ink hair thick and soft over limpid, silver-mirror eyes, colorless as a deep-sea creature’s, slicing through the dark.

“Saints alive, are you lost? Are you all right?” The man, he didn’t know personally, but a truth and clarity rolled from him like steam off the swamp, and he felt enormously familiar somehow.

“I wouldn’t say lost, no. May I come in?” His voice, soft and polite, still clear and steady over the storm.

“Yes, forgive me. Please.” He stepped aside, watching him enter, translucent eyes sweeping over the yawning, shadowed maw of the grand old manor’s entryway. “Who are you? I’m sorry, but I’m not taking in any bodies until morning.”

“I understand. Terribly sorry to intrude upon your evening like this, but you and I, we have a matter to discuss.” His accent was not local, nor was it unfamiliar. It felt like a forgotten dream, abruptly remembered, an old song once loved playing on the radio years later.

“I’m afraid I don’t recognize you, Sir. Have you been to one of my funerals?”

“Sweet Theodore, I have been to all of them.”

“I don’t understand.”

The stranger clasped his hands behind his back, idle as a museum patron, gazing thoughtfully up to the enormous and heavily framed oil paintings of Bissonettes past lining the walls of the entryway. “It’s my fault for allowing myself to become so fond of you, but you’ve never really understood just how rare a person you are, have you Theodore? I shouldn’t have come here, but I had no choice. I couldn’t let you leave here tonight, that tree would have rendered your car to a smoking wreck and your body to worse. And you, sweet Theodore, you deserve so much better. After all the respect and care and compassion you have shown so unfailingly to myself and my vocation over the years - I’ve come to love you, and you deserve a soft and quiet end. So much sweeter than the one planned for you, I had to make sure you didn’t die in that crash. I had to come here, on this night. For all your kindness, tonight I will be kind to you.”

Drunk, perhaps. Some sauced-up tourist stumbling through the bayou after a bar crawl, but - this far from the city proper? “I’m afraid that you’re still losing me, will you please tell me who you are?”

He turned then, colorless gaze meeting Theodore’s, an echo of sorrow in his faint smile.

“You know who I am.”

In the end, it was true. He supposed at least a part of him had known from the moment he’d opened the door.

“I do. I didn’t think I’d meet you this young in life, but I’m pleased to find you a gentleman, Sir. I can only hope that in the time you’ve allowed me, I’ve done you proud.”

“You and your whole dear family. You don’t know how much I owe you, all of you. You would have lingered, in pain, on life support, for months. It was unbearable, unacceptable. Not you, not my Theodore who has served me so gently and so diligently for so much of your life.”

“I suppose it’s time, then.” He was not afraid. Death, he knew. He’d existed out here in a kind of stasis for years, honoring his patron saint, the man standing before him in a soft black sweater and reaching out to slip an arm through his.

“It is. But I think the storm is winding to a close, and the mists are always so lovely. Why don’t we go see.”

Nodding, Theodore allowed himself to be led to the door, turning briefly to look back just one last time into his beautiful old house, his shrine to a softer death than most knew existed. He’d always done his best, to make the transition as easy as possible for those on their way to some other place, and now it was time to go.

“Will it hurt?”

“Not for you, no.” The stranger opened the door then, and Theodore couldn’t be sure that the new world laid before him looked the same to both of them, but he smiled at what he saw.

“You were right. It’s beautiful.”

The house and the ghosts left wandering its halls signed in unison with the departure of their beloved Theodore, but the rain had slowed and the moon had risen and they were patient enough to wait a while. Someone would come, someone as warm and bright as him, someone who would take care of them as tenderly as he had, some new Theodore born. In the end, after all, nothing ever really died, and daylight was coming on soon, sure as a promise.

[jemej3m]

Listen bud, hunger games au, Andrews the mockingjay, Neil’s been captured by his dad aka the game maker

if you’re looking for an extended hunger games au @gluupor‘s on ao3 is my all-time favourite, but here’s a oneshot (are oneshots all i know how to do??)

*

Andrew doesn’t want to be here. The whole place is writhing with death and misery, but there’s a whole camera crew asking him to interact with these people, these men and women and children who are fighting and dying for an idealistic cause. 

Andrew is not an empathetic person. Kevin says that doesn’t matter. Just the sight of him, with his Mockingjay pin, will be enough to inspire hope. 

At least he’s here, shepherding Andrew around, doing all the talking. Nicky’s being all amicable too, crouched by overcrowded beds and talking nonsense. Aaron’s probably somewhere, being useful. 

His team. His support. Coming out onto the front lines with him, because they genuinely believed that Andrew was going to change the world.

When Andrew volunteered in Aaron’s place, he didn’t think he’d ever see his family again. 

Just goes to show: nothing is predictable. Not in a world like this. 

Andrew beelines for the lonely kids, the ones without parents, shunted into the corner. There’s one with a stump instead of an arm, like Kevin, and one who was avoxxed in the raid, like Nicky’s boyfriend. They all learned sign language for him, so Andrew kneels on the floor and says hello.

The kid’s eyes light up when he realises Andrew can talk to him. The others get excited too, crowding around.  

They ask him questions. He talks whilst he signs, keeping his voice low. He tells them what sunrise looks like from the capitol’s training tower, how to properly throw a knife, why you choosing your family is important, and protecting them even more so. Their eyes are as wide as saucers, drinking in every word. Andrew has always been good with kids. 

He realises that the cameras have been trained on him and stops talking. The kids get sad, but then a nurse comes around to move Andrew along so that they can have their checkups. Andrew hoists himself up off the ground, ignoring his cousin as he comes closer. He has tears in his eyes. 

“That was beautiful,” he says. “Neil would -” 

“Shut up,” Andrew snaps, because there’s a lot of things he tries not to think about, and Neil is one of them. 

His and Neil’s story is a long one. Andrew was in the 5th district, the fostered son of the mayor. He had a best friend, one he didn’t tell anyone about lest his older brother, Drake, discover how pretty Neil was. Neil’s mother was overprotective, hiding him away from the public eye, but together they would climb outside the district’s boundaries and play together in the woods. 

Then Andrew met his biological family when Major Cass Spear was invited to the 12th district for diplomacy. He decided to stay. He was twelve at the time: he and Aaron entered the reapings that year. His cousin had three years left, but would never be voted in: he was also the son of a terrible mayor. When Nicky turned 18, Tilda died, his parents disowned him, and he looked after the twins for another 2 years before Aaron was reaped and Andrew took his place. 

That year, a scrawny seventeen year old from the 2nd district, who wasn’t a career tribute, volunteered himself. It wasn’t until Andrew had met all the tributes in the capitol that he realised who that kid was: Neil, his childhood best friend, who was fulfilling an old promise of protection. 

Andrew had hated him quite a bit for it: only one of them was meant to escape the arena. There were bets placed on how soon Andrew would kill him and how. None of them knew the truth. None of them knew that Andrew would rather die than kill Neil. 

So, in the end, when it’d just been the two of them, they swore a truce. They fought against the capitol’s attempts at whittling them down till the capitol gave up. Andrew thought they’d beat the system: it took him a hellish victory tour, another trip back to the arena and losing Neil to the capitol to know that wasn’t true. 

Neil. Neil, Neil, Neil. The other reason Andrew doesn’t want to be here. Neil’s back in district 13, recovering from his weeks spent being tortured at the capitol’s hands. The rebels weren’t given the chance to grab him before the capitol snatched him away. Andrew had paced grooves into the ground during his absence. 

And when he came back? Well, Andrew would’ve rathered that Neil forgot him entirely. Instead they - his father, his worst nightmare and most talented gamemaker in the capitol - had turned Neil against him. Made him loathe Andrew with every fibre of his being. Enough so that he’d tried to strangle Andrew when they’d first been reunited. 

He is better now, but still avoiding Andrew at every possible junction. Andrew inexplicably still wants to stay by his side. Abby says his memory will return with time. Andrew will just have to wait. 

Nicky’s eyes go wide. “I thought you were going to sort things out with him -” 

But then Kevin is yelling, sirens are wailing. The hospital begins to dissolve into panic. Andrew only has to hear someone yell “Bombs!” to understand, being directed out of the building. Someone’s trying to set up artillery to shoot them down. It’s too late. Andrew’s lot makes it out, but only a handful of patients are able to stumble out after them before the building explodes. Andrew looks over his shoulder as they’re running towards where their helicopter is descending. The warehouse structure has collapsed inwards. Those who hadn’t died in the explosion are being torn apart by shrapnel and debris. All those kids. Gone. 

“Turn the camera on,” he murmurs, holding out his hands. The bomber planes aren’t turning around, but there’s a second fleet of carrier craft behind them, bringing peacekeepers by the dozen. 

“Andrew,” Aaron says, stricken. The camera’s red light is already flashing. 

“This is what you get for remaining neutral,” Andrew spat out, flinging a pointed hand behind him at the burning hospital. “Massacred. Think about that next time you assume the capitol will be on your side.” 

He’s facing away from the carnage. It’s the only reason that he doesn’t see the peacekeeper aim and fire. He doesn’t even realise he’s been shot until the rest of him start screaming. 

By then it’s too late: he’s falling, falling into darkness, wishing that he’d never involved himself in this stupid rebellion in the first place. 

*

He blinks awake and stares at the ceiling. District thirteen, being a burner district, doesn’t have many variations in its ceilings, but Andrew knows this one all too well. 

He’s in the hospital. 

His hands go to his arms: the armbands are still there, but they’re rolled down and his knives are gone. There’s a morphine drip in his left elbow and fluids in his right. He can barely feel his body. 

“I have your knives,” says a familiar voice. Andrew has to be dreaming. 

Neil’s appearance has always fluctuated: when they’d first met, his hair had been black and his eyes natural blue. During the games he’d started off with brown hair and brown eyes, but a lack of resources meant that he’d ended up forgoing the contacts and letting his roots grow out. He’d forgone the brown eyes but kept up with the dye till the second games, which hadn’t lasted long enough for any major changes. 

Now he is fully and unequivocally Nathaniel Wesniniski, son of Nathan, scarring on his cheeks, arms and torso telling a narrative that is a hard-won fight. Nathan and his lackey Lola had both been killed brutally in Neil’s rescue. Andrew is glad.

“Hey,” Neil says, when Andrew isn’t exactly forthcoming. “How are you faring?”

“You’re not here to finish the job?”  

Neil’s lips quirk. “Drama queen. Your suit was fitted with kelvar: there’s a lot of bruising, but you’ll be fine in a week.” 

Andrew drops his head back down onto his pillow. “Dammit.” 

Neil snorts. He’s in a good mood. Andrew can tell he’s still on edge, but he was always a paranoid kid. It’s not going to take some genial bedside manner to undo everything his father did. 

“I know that everything they told me was fake,” he says, looking at the knives in his hands. “I have always been a jumble of identities and false pretences. This  shouldn’t be news to you.” 

Andrew just hums. He can’t even wiggle his toes. How the hell did they had stuff this strong down here? They were all eating onion slop rations but had morphine good enough to even send Dan into a spiral.  

“I gave this knife to you,” Neil continues, holding up a sleek blade. Matte black. Andrew’s sharpest blade and perfectly weighted for throwing. “This was my mother’s. You must have been very special to me if I gave you this.” 

“I hate you,” Andrew says. 

“Are you sure?” Neil asks. “Because I’m not.” 

Andrew just huffs. 

“I remember...” he hesitates. “I remember us. Together. In your district 12 victory house, after the tour...then again, in the tower before the 75th games.”

Andrew stares at the wall opposite him. He really doesn’t want to have this conversation. “It didn’t mean anything.” 

“I think it did,” Neil says, softspoken. He’s never soft-spoken. “My father - he couldn’t create new memories. He could only twist old ones. For me to hate you as much as I did, I must have really...You know. Lo-” 

“Don’t,” Andrew says, because this a war and if he hears something like that fate will go against him. “I’m not your answer, Neil.” 

Neil shrugs. “Okay.” Then, with methodical precision, he checks Andrew’s vitals, removes the needles and rolls up his bands. Then he slides the knives in place, fingertips briefly brushing over Andrew’s skin. Andrew, for some reason, lets him. 

“Your last morphine dose was seven hours ago,” Neil says, settling back into his chair. “It’ll wear off soon. You were asleep for nearly 2 days, did you know? Aaron says the bruising is horrific. You probably won’t be able to move for another 3 days. But hey, at least all the districts are in revolt now. You getting shot on camera actually helped the cause...” 

He chatters innocuously. Andrew listens. Neil’s still nervous, still schooling his bodily reactions of hatred and disgust, but he’s here anyway. Distracting Andrew from his own snare of a mind. 

Maybe there’s goodness in this terrible, terrible world. 

Maybe Andrew can have it. 

He’ll just have to live long enough to find out.

*

yeehawwww

[enchantedlokii]

Healing Takes Time

Rating: PG-13

Warnings: language

Chatacters: Tony Stark, Peter Parker

Mentioned: May Parker

@whumptober2020 Day Twenty-One: Infection

Sequel to Lost!

Tony woke up to the sound of whimpering and was confused at first, unsure of the noise. Then, as he became more alert, he remembered what had happened. Seven days ago, Peter has gone missing on his school trip. He had found him two days ago, and the boy had been taken into surgery immediately for compartment syndrome and severe osteomyelitis. While the former was fixed and his body was healing, the infection would take time to run its course and he was still at high risk for sepsis until the antibiotics they were giving him started to work.

Peter whimpered again in his sleep and Tony stood up, walking over to his bedside. May had left to return to New York the night before, her work not allowing her anymore days off, so he had promised to stay behind in Tennessee and watch over him until he was well enough to transfer. He knew that the boy would be better off at home with doctors who knew him, but they didn’t have much of a choice right now. With May’s permission, he had to make the decision to reveal his identity to the hospital so he would get proper treatment. He had made them sign off on it, of course, but they could never be sure that the law would be upheld.

“It’s okay, Kiddo,” he whispered, taking the boy’s hand and squeezing it. “You’re okay.”

He could feel the heat coming from Peter and knew he must be running a fever again. That was likely the cause of his discomfort, Tony guessed. The medicine he was on had helped keep it down for the most part, but it was early in the morning, and his last dose would be wearing off now.

Peter blinked up at him, his eyes only half-opened. “Hey, Buddy,” he said softly. “You’re running a fever again.”

“Ma’es sense,” Peter mumbled, struggling to try to push himself into a sitting position. He got halfway up before closing his eyes and flopping back down again with a huff that sounded like a mix of exhaustion and annoyance. “Don’ feel good, T’ny.”

“I know, Pete,” he said softly, squeezing his hand again. He looked up as he heard footsteps, relieved to see the nurse coming in. “He’s running a fever again.”

“This should help bring it down,” the nurse replied, walking over to the IV pole and changing the bag out and turning the drip up a bit. Once she was finished, she moved closer to Peter’s bed. “Peter?”

“Mhm?” Peter hummed, tilting his head to look up at her. “Yeah?”

“Do you want me to bring you a water and see if you can drink any?” she asked carefully. “You have plenty of fluids coming in right now, but it’s good to drink a little if you can.”

“Too ti’ed. Wanna sleep,” Peter mumbled.

“Okay,” she replied softly, glancing at Tony. “I’ll come check on him in an hour or so and see if his fever has gone down any. If he’s awake I’ll ask him again. If you need me, just press the call button.”

“I will, thank you.”

When Peter woke up again, his body was soaked with sweat. As gross as he felt, he knew that meant his fever had broke. He was a bit surprised that his head didn’t feel quite as fuzzy as before, but he noticed he could feel a slight pain in his leg. He guessed they had started to lower his pain medicine.

For a moment, Peter thought that he was alone. He was on his side, turned towards the side of his bed where May had been staying when she was there. He felt a hint of panic at the thought, trying to listen for a second heartbeat in the room but unable to get his senses to focus enough to do so. “Tony?” he called weakly, his voice shaking.

“I’m right here, Buddy.” Peter relaxed a bit at the voice. He heard footsteps and tilted his head as Tony came around to the other side of his bed. “Are you alright? Do I need to get the nurse?”

“Jus’ thought I was alone,” he admitted, giving him a weak smile. “I’m a’ight.”

Tony gave him a small smile and nodded, sitting down in the chair that was still pulled up to the side of his bed. “You look more awake,” he commented.

“Head’s not as fuzzy,” Peter told him. “‘S been fuzzy lately. You druggin’ me?” He gave a look that he hoped conveyed his joke, and he replaced it with a lopsided smile when Tony chuckled at him.

“Maybe I have,” he replied lightly. “Maybe you’re just going insane. Either sounds like a fair assumption in my opinion.”

“‘M not insane,” Peter mumbled, lowering his head to his pillow. “That’s you.”

“Hey now,” the man started, crossing his arms over his chest in mock offense. “I’m going to leave you here if you keep that up.”

“No you’re not,” Peter countered, closing his eyes for a moment. “May said. . . She said somethin’. I don’t remember what she said but you wouldn’ leave.”

“I’m just messing with you, Kiddo,” Tony assured him. Peter felt a hand in his hair and leaned into the touch. “May wanted me to tell you she only left because her boss is an *sshole, by the way. She told you herself before she left, but wasn’t sure if you would remember.”

“‘S okay,” Peter told him, looking up at him. “You can go too if you needa.”

“Wouldn’t even think about it, Pete. I’m going to stay as long as you’re here.”

Peter just smiled in reply. “I’mma sleep now.”

“Alright, Buddy,” Tony replied, taking his hand and squeezing it once. “I’ll be right here when you wake up.”

“You’re okay, you’re okay. I’ve got ya.”

Peter tilted his head back, taking shaky breaths. He was gripping onto Tony tightly, leaning most of his weight on him. “I think I’m gonna pass out,” he breathed.

“Alright. You want to sit in the chair?”

Peter nodded and let Tony lead him to the seat, carefully lowering him into it. He closed his eyes in an attempt to calm himself, breathing heavy. His leg was hurting terribly even after just standing for a minute, and he had felt sick the moment he tried to move.

“Your blood pressure tanked, Buddy,” Tony told him, sitting on the edge of the bed. “We’ll get you back in the bed once it levels out and try again tomorrow.”

Peter sighed and nodded, feeling tears in his eyes as he opened them again. He had been in the hospital for over a week now and he was ready to go home, but the doctors said that he couldn’t be transferred until he was able to make it to the bathroom and back with help. Then, even when he got back to New York, he would be stuck in the medbay at Avengers Tower until he was completely healed. This was not how he planned on spending his summer.

“Hey,” Tony started softly, standing up and coming to crouch next to Peter. He took his hand and held it in his own. “You’re doing great, Pete. You’ve come so far.”

“I’m just so tired,” Peter whispered, trying to keep his voice from breaking. “I’m tired and I miss May and I just want to go home.”

“I know, Kiddo,” Tony sighed. “I wish I could take you home, I really do, but we need to make sure you’re strong enough for the trip.”

“I know,” Peter breathed. “I know, I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright, Bud,” he replied. “You’re doing so good. You’ve been so brave through this, and I’m so proud of you for that, okay? Just stay strong for me a little longer.”

Peter nodded, unable to reply because of the knot in his throat. He felt a hand on either side of his face and then a kiss on the top of his head. “I’m not sure I told you this, but I’m so glad you’re okay,” Tony murmured.

“Yeah?” Peter asked.

“Yeah,” he replied. “It’s going to take time to heal, but what matters is that you’re here and you are healing. I know it sucks, and I’m so sorry that you’re hurting, but in the end it’s all going to be okay.”

Peter sighed and nodded, pushing himself to the edge of the chair and leaning forward. He was glad when he felt arms pulling him close, then heard the familiar beating sound in front of him. “Thanks, Tony.”

“Of course, Pete,” Tony replied, ruffling his hair a bit. “Anytime.”

[iscream4clones]

this is more just ~advice~ but im kind of leaning towards being demisexual?? maybe ace?? im not sure but it’s just really isolating while im in college. my closest friends are all in relationships while i cant even get feelings for someone. it feels like something is wrong with me? like im broken? i /want/ to experience love and have sex but my life doesn’t revolve around it...help?? how do i feel more confident as i explore my sexuality?? how do i not feel so isolated??

Dear anon, I want to start this off by saying every single thing you are feeling is completely valid.

I also want to say that you Are. Not. Broken.

Also, I know from experience, being an asexual in college is very weird. Because as well all know, it’s a very sexual and romantic atmosphere. It’s really tough for people of all sexualities,

College is also, however, a place to learn about yourself.

The thing about sexuality is that the experience is always fluid. It comes in phases and you will constantly move through those phases in an endless loop for the rest of your life. They are practically like the four stages of grief (not the same though)

It looks like you’re in the questioning stage, which is always the most lonely, but also so important. Your life in college should not revolve around sex or relationships or other people’s relationships... it should revolve around you. Ask yourself questions... “how did you discover asexuality? demisexuality? why did it catch your attention? what about you, specifically, puts you in the asexual spectrum?”

And I know how tempting it is to think you want a relationship ASAP. But I can tell you no relationship can be satisfying unless you know who you are and what you want. It’s not fair to you, and in many cases, the other person.

So you have to be transparent with yourself before you can be transparent with another person.

Are you comfortable calling yourself asexual, or does something just still not feel right to you?

Sometimes, building up confidence in your own sexuality can be as simple as getting scholarly with it. Read about asexuality and its spectrums, about its history. Research it like you’re going to write a paper on it. Because, how can one accept themselves as something when you’re not entirely sure what it is? Or what it actually means?

Here is a great resource for you! LINK

Secondly, if you think this still sounds right for you, try to get used to using the word “asexuality” or “demisexual” to describe yourself.

“My name is y/n, and I’m asexual/demisexual”

Still feeling great? Alright, I have another step for you.

Find at least one other person you could trust coming out to. This is always the hardest step, but it’s huge when it comes to being confident in your sexuality. because it’s very difficult to be confident in what you identify if, well, other people don’t see it too. But I also know this step is sometimes not feasible.

Try to talk openly about asexuality. I don’t necessarily mean in regards to your own sexuality, but just the topic itself. Do you have friends or people you can have casual conversations with about asexuality? Sometimes even just sharing with people like “hey I just discovered this new sexuality let me tell you about it!” is really helpful.

Also, I know this is going to sound really weird, but try not to focus on yoru sexuality all the time. This is where people can get stuck thinking they need to fit into a certain “asexuality” box and diverging form it means you can’t be asexual anymore. There is no right or wrong way to be asexual.

Allow yourself to be yourself. Allow yourself to experience. If you go to a party and find yourself wanting to kiss someone, then do it! If you find yourself just wanting to dance and have fun, that’s ok too! Limiting yourself and your experiences based on certain asexual traits will only hurt you. Do what makes you feel comfortable, not by what you think you should be comfortable doing.

The thing is, if you’re asexual/demisexual, no amount of completely obsessing over making sure it’s right is going to bring forth any closure. Sexuality is really something you have to pay attention to your own thoughts, feelings, and emotions and getting a grip on what you like and dislike. You can’t base it on other people’s experiences or current situations in life because they are not you.

Please be okay with making mistakes in finding your identity as well, because I didn’t always think I was asexual, or even queer. There’s nothing wrong with changing your mind. There’s nothing wrong with being uncertain.

Most importantly, no matter what, don’t do anything you’re not comfortable with. Don’t ever force yourself to act or behave in a way because society thinks you should have done something like that by now.

And remember that your friends and family still love and care about you whether you’re in a relationship or not. Relationships do not define you. Relationships don’t determine your worth.

Being asexual can be very frustrating in the type of culture we live in, but anon please stay strong and do your best to focus on yourself and take care of you. I really hope my advice didn’t come off as completely useless to you, but please feel free to reach out again if you need more information or advice or anything.

I’m sending so much love your way <3

[aelaer]

[1/2] Now this is an actual ask as in asking for help. 👀 I have a problem with Steve and Tony. I spent too much time too early on reading anti/not-friendly post-CW fics about 'Team Cap', and because of that I have been unable to see Tony as a flawed human or Steve as a good person. It's a pattern I've become too familiar with, and even recent stories are often going into that sense. I have been trying for some time now to do something about it, but either the method was bad, or I couldn't

(I tagged a couple people in this post – if you were tagged, the question directed to you is wayyyy at the bottom! Feel free to ignore of course.)

You really hit me with a doozy with this ask. I might offend someone for not thinking the exact same way as them with… everything this topic entails… Steve, Tony, anti-fics. Followers from last year know what happened last time I talked about poor and OOC characterization in fanfic, lmao. Beware The Easily Offended! This Is A Critical Thinking Of Your Hobby Zone! I Am Being Critical Of Specific Types of MCU Fanfic!

Please don’t click the read more button if you can’t handle an opinion that might not match yours. Really. I’m fine with discussing different opinions in a mature manner but if you have issues with people saying they don’t like a specific type of plot, this post is not for you. (The read more button doesn’t appear on the original post for followers using the mobile app, but it works on desktop and in all reblogs. If you don’t see a cut and don’t want to read, just skip it, please).

Yeah. Okay. Moving on. Can’t say folks weren’t warned.

I’ve had this in my drafts for several weeks because of the abuse I got the last time I wrote something critical about certain plot points used in fanfic. I was definitely a bit reluctant to look at this specific topic from an analytical and critical look as I remembered that, but hey, it’s really easy for a coward to use a sockpuppet account and throw abuse. It’s harder to be a minority voice with stark opinions contrasting the popular trend. I’m okay with having a minority opinion amongst the MCU fandom.

(PS - you’re welcome to disagree with my opinions, so long as you’re respectful about it. Remember there are individuals behind the screens!)

Concerning Character Flaws

So the thing about really well-written characters is that they are flawed in some manner. Anyone who thinks Tony or Steve exist without flaws – and I mean real flaws, like arrogance, believing they’re always right, short tempers, and other *real* character flaws that both of these characters have – well, if they don’t think they exist with these flaws, how well do they know the character?

You don’t have to know a character well to be a fan of said character – there’s no rules about that – but if you’re going to write fanfic, and that fanfic entails the character you love against a character you don’t particularly like, I’d say any writer looking to do anything resembling a good job would do their due diligence in figuring out the strengths and weaknesses of both characters before writing the characters themselves. These mental lists of characteristics should be equal for both characters. No, “good abs” is not a character strength if you have no physical aspects in the other character strength column. You don’t have to like a character to still write them well.

Even professionals don’t follow this rule when, say, shows get new writers or comics get different writers, so you might consider me silly expecting those dabbling in fan fiction. But yeah, if an author wants me to take a story seriously as something with quality, I expect the characters to resemble themselves in some manner.

(This level of resemblance varies when you purposefully choose for the protagonist to be evil, be in a completely different time period, etc, but authors who do this *well* still get core personality traits solid, even if morality is out the window or the profession is entirely different. I have a lot of examples from the Sherlock fandom of total AUs that pull this off well – haven’t read nearly enough AUs in the MCU to have a good collection here).

But a resemblance of character, of capturing the three-dimensionality of a character, is what anti-fics simply fail to achieve. The characters they’re anti against usually suffer cases of Flanderization, if they’re not completely out of character altogether in showing traits that were never displayed in the canon, ever. I don’t know why anyone would be interested in such stories, myself, and remain baffled at their popularity. Is there some sort of enjoyment in seeing such a 2D rendition of a character in what is otherwise meant as a serious work and provides absolutely no sense of proper conflict between two characters? Not for me; it immediately takes me out of the story and when it gets too much, I abandon the story. It’s just not enjoyable for me. Turning a canon protagonist into a strawman is just lazy writing and offers nothing to the writer’s favorite, preferred character.

Concerning Steve’s and Tony’s Flaws

Every real human being has some sort of personality flaw that is decidedly unattractive. Some people are really good at showing it very rarely (and are some of the best human beings), but with these two characters we see them at their greatest heights and lowest of lows. Ironically, they actually share a lot of the same flaws, but display them in different manners in canon:

Both men believe they are the best man for the job and will do it without consulting someone who could actually fight against it - or go completely against them. Tony with Ultron is the easy example here. He’s the smartest man in the world and can tackle the issue of protecting it on its own. Steve, same issue, and his job is “helping Bucky”. *He’s* the one who can handle Bucky, the only one who can handle him - big thing in both WS and CW. If both of them had utilized their friends and allies a lot more, a lot of issues could have been avoided.

Both men are sometimes hypocritical. Steve promotes teamwork in all his speeches but again with the Bucky situation. Just… everything Bucky, man. Tony signs the Accords and immediately goes against them with what he gives to Peter, who most assuredly did not sign them (tangent: if he HAD joined the Avengers at the end of Homecoming, I have no idea how that would have gone since Peter would have had to reveal his identity to the UN and then there’s the whole ‘still a minor’ thing, and yeah, Homecoming’s end scene just makes me go nuts). But anyway, their occasional hypocrisy is one of the most realistic aspects of them because most human beings are hypocritical sometimes.

Both men are sometimes arrogant. Tony’s self-explanatory with his genius-playboy-philanthropist-billionaire. One thing he does not suffer from is low self-esteem in regards to his abilities. His arrogance comes from his genius. Steve’s arrogance lies more in his deep-seeded belief that he is on the moral high ground – and one reason I think a lot of people dislike him so much, because moral superiority is very much a faux pas in this day and age for some millennials and many Gen Z folk. He has a very, very solid sense of what is right and what is wrong, and that rubs some folks the wrong way. Tony is more morally fluid – but he is not by any means immoral.

Both of them have a really solid list of strengths as well. As this ask specifically is looking to find the good in Steve, I specifically Googled pro-Steve articles for you to click at your leisure (and one with both). If you need to go back to canon, I highly recommend rewatching The First Avenger and The Winter Soldier, which introduces Steve brilliantly and then lets Steve grow further in the second film.

(Note: I actually prefer Tony to Steve in terms of personal favoritism, but how a very loud segment of Tony fans have treated other characters has led me to be more vocal about the strengths of others, especially Steve and Wanda. So Tony might be in my top 5, but mean-spirited Tony fans have moved me to be a champion of other characters, if only to show other fans that there are indeed Tony fans that do like the other characters and treat them – and their fans – with respect).

Bringing Balance (to the Universe…) Fanfic-Style

This addresses the second part of your ask in regards to the fanfics. And this is where I started running into trouble, too, mostly because, well, just how many Stephen and Steve fics are there? Yeah, exactly. Stephen’s my main guy. So I did some research, outsourcing, and reading.

Here’s two I knew of before cuz Stephen’s in them in some capacity:

Identity Theft by KitKat992 - it stars Peter and both Tony and Steve play integral parts from what I recall. Good story too, very engaging.

A Dysfunctional Senior Year (series) by ApolloLoki97 - this also stars Peter and has a large Team As Family aspect, so it shows the entire Avengers team as just decent people. My favorite part is naturally part 3 because Stephen comes in that one, haha.

And to find other stories, I went into the Anti-Accords tag. It was nice to find fics that didn’t have such a love of hypocritical authoritarianism. Aannyyyyway.

Making Sense of Chaos by SparkedtoLife - mind the tags. Seriously, it’s heavy duty. Yet another Peter fic because he’s way more popular than my favorite character, qq. Lots of Netflix Marvel characters too! Anyway, deals with not only Tony and Steve really well (and has a different dynamic with Tony that isn’t IronDad, so that was a nice change of pace), it also deals with the Accords situation very realistically. And none of those are even main plot points. If you can handle the very serious, sensitive subject that is the main plot point, I highly recommended it. It’s a very masterfully done work.

Atlas by nanasekei - Stony. Treats all characters with respect and both Tony and Steve as three-dimensional, flawed humans with some serious self doubts. Also highly agree with the author that Thaddeus Ross sucks and is basically one of the biggest people to blame for Everything Going To Shit.

Homecoming by an orphaned account - Some Stucky. This is a lovely one-shot of things I basically wanted to happen when the team got together again but didn’t. Sigggghhh. Everyone is definitely in character in this one, traumas and healing and all. And look, another person realizes that trusting Ross is a really horrible idea.

Locks Not Replaced by Riverdaughter - first this writer has a Tolkien-based username so yay. Anyway, the fic starts off by Tony realizing that he almost killed Steve during the fight with his repulsors, and it was only Bucky that stopped him. Do people seriously think he’d survive a shot to the face with that power? This is one reason the ‘Steve tried to kill Tony’ people piss me the fuck off. What do you think those repulsors shoot, fucking rainbows? Honestly, guys. Anyway, mini rant over. This fic is great. Author comes in with a Cap favoritism but treats Tony well, and honestly Tony turning a blind eye to everything and ignoring Ross is what I like to think happened in canon (he clearly dislikes the guy). And also I love the Robin Hood parallels. Love love love. I think this fic is my favorite of the ones listed in this section.

Meeting Your Heroes by Riverdaughter - naturally after reading that fic I went to explore more and found this gem. She’s not incorrect in saying Tony wasn’t a good mentor at the beginning - I think he had his own growth after Peter’s actions in Homecoming especially (though even through Homecoming he was trying, just… not always successfully lmao). Anyway love these two together. It’s great.

Photograph by slytherclaw420 - A scene we deserved in Endgame and didn’t get. Sigh. Definite IronDad feels here. Hopeful Steve, rebuilding of a friendship.

And uh, an honorable mention of sorts:

Balancing the Scales by MoonFire1 - I’m not recommending this fic for good characterization or plot. It really doesn’t have either. The fic was written in retaliation for the nasty Tony fans completely trashing Steve’s character. You should only read this if you want to see the argument from “the other side” and if you want to see an anti-Tony fic like you’ve seen anti-Steve fics. Don’t harass the author though. This is presented as a counterargument to anti-Steve fiction, for those interested to read the other sides arguments. I don’t like the nature of the fic, but I loathe that “not Steve friendly” has 30 fucking pages of works with tens of thousands of kudos, so one anti-Tony fic (with a comparatively small three pages under that tag) really doesn’t compare. Ugh. I hate the anti culture in this fandom so much. Loathe it. It’s such a nasty energy! Why would you indulge in such negativity? But as I’ve mentioned before, I appreciate authors aware enough to tag it so I can avoid it. I wish that part of fandom culture didn’t exist, but well, can’t change it. Just can criticize the fuck out of it on my blog. Maybe encourage people to think less one-sided in the process if I’m lucky.

But there’s probably more good characterization Steve fics to be found, so I am forcefully recruiting two people via tag:

If you’re looking to dabble into Stony fics with good-guy-Steve, if anyone would know of any, I’d imagine it’d be @babywarg.

You don’t know this person, but @cairistiona7 has actually known me the longest of anyone here on tumblr (half my life! HALF! She even knows my real name :P She betaed a LOTR work of mine a decade ago I ended up never fully publishing… thanks again for all your help there…). Anyway, she’s a big Bucky fan, and Bucky friendships is the best thing. So if anyone would know any wholesome Bucky and Steve stories, it’d be her. (Or really I’d take any of your recs, Cair, as I’ll probably enjoy them as well).

I hope this was helpful to you md, and that I didn’t piss off too many of my followers in the process of answering this lol.

[silence-burns]

The Long Road //part 6

Fandom: Bright

Summary: Based on “Imagine Kandomere interrogating you.” by @thefandomimagine

The clock hanging over the automatic doors chimed at 3 in the morning. Around it, Kandomere could see the stains of what must've once been coffee, probably bought at the cheap and hygienically dubious booth he was currently trying to appear busy around. The person throwing it must've had good aim.

The lukewarm fluid swirling in his paper cup looked as dreadful as it smelt. Drinking something so thick and oily was a health hazard and a risk Kandomere was most definitely not ready to take.

The rain outside was loud in the strained silence of the night. It forced the few people desperate for a bus at this hour to wait inside the old building, freezing without the central heating. Stations like that one never seemed to be overflown with travelers, despite everything looking right at the first sight. There were a few stalls offering food, not exactly fresh, but good enough for individuals hungry enough not to care. There was a board with all the hours of departures and places you could go, and somewhere in the rain waited the busses you could take if only you had enough money.

Nothing was off, and yet the air stank of sweat, desperation, and cheap cleaning products poured on the floorboards twice a year. The few people that gathered in the restricted space of the waiting area didn’t utter a word to one another. Unconsciously, they tried to stay as far from the others as was possible on the chairs with gum stuck under the seat.

It wasn't a completely rotten place - Kandomere had a good memory of what truly hideous places felt like. There were, in fact, worse picks for those in need of a ride outside of town without gaining anyone's attention. Those places were of little interest to him, but in his line of work he'd have to be completely deaf or dense not to be aware of how many of those rides never reached their destination. With that in mind, Kandomere had to admit that things could've been worse. Still, he wasn't particularly happy about trying to blend in such a place.

He didn't really have to, actually - it was all a matter of choice that brought him there at such an early hour, preceded by a note with scraps of information. He was used to receiving information from multiple sources, but he had to admit some of them were lacking in skills you made him used to. Still, the note brought him there. He wished it could be done by someone else.

He felt out of place.

Kandomere pretended to sip from his cup, holding his breath for a moment to avoid the stench.

He heard steps from the second entrance. Those steps were lively, and out of place too. They belonged to a person far less desperate and broken than usual visitors.

Just as he guessed, you stopped next to him, in front of the large, far-from-clean window watching the busses.

"What brings someone like you to such a rathole?" you asked, a smile playing on your lips.

"You," the elf replied. A thin man looking like a shadow of his former self shot you a curious gaze from the nearby stall.

Kandomere eyed him. There was nothing on him to betray his profession, but the man fled anyway.

"Are you here to arrest me?" you asked.

"Are you here to commit a crime?"

"Who knows?" you shrugged and stepped away. Kandomere threw his cup into a bin before following you.

Your steps echoed in the old building. The roof was high, and in better days it must've looked grand. Now it was only a cobwebbed space nesting a few pigeons.

You approached a grate guarding the concrete stairs, shadowed because of broken lights. The glass from the cracked bulbs covered the first few steps.

"It's closed," Kandomere noticed sternly.

"Only for the good citizens."

You reached for the grate over the lock and shouldered it hard. The lock, already rusted, didn't last long.

With a dramatic bow, you welcomed him in. Kandomere was far from happy. The stench of old piss forced its way into his nose and down his throat.

The stairs led to the roof, wet from the pouring rain. It was loud, hitting the concrete with all the wrath the skies accumulated in the past days. You stopped on the edge of the staircase before it.

"I thought you'd give up your wait half an hour ago," you said, hands buried in your pockets. The air was cold and humid.

Kandomere tried not to touch the walls which were sweating brown, murky rain. "I had my reasons."

"Care to share?"

"Something tells me you were aware of everything," he snapped.

"Don't act so tough. I was just curious which one of my little birds would be careless enough to spy on me for you. There's nothing better than a double agent, but only if they do their work right."

Kandomere understood.

"You deliberately tipped them on yourself."

"I wanted to know how many would turn on me when I made my plans a little bit more official."

Kandomere eyed you carefully. "You're lying," he said at last. "You've been changing your plans for a while now. I want to know why."

"I want a great many answers too. What makes you entitled to get yours?"

"You." Simple as that. It made your smile dim.

"There was a period when all I wanted was to leave this town and this state and everything that made up my life up until now. I'm tired, Kandomere. No matter what I do, I feel like I'm running in circles. Sure, there are good days, and there are moments I cherish. I just lack… something grander. Something worth the bad ones."

You expected ridiculing. Maybe an exhausted sigh. Maybe even being called stupid, if he was in a particularly bad mood.

What you didn't expect was a laugh that echoed down the stairs behind you. You blinked, but nothing changed.

Kandomere brushed his hair off his face.

"Are you seriously telling me you're having an identity crisis?"

"And what if I am?" you pouted, crossing your arms.

"Nothing. Nothing, and that's precisely it," he nodded as if things were settled. He liked to do it, despite things very rarely being settled

"I don't understand."

"And that's okay. I'd be worried if you understood the whole premise of life." Kandomere turned and walked back down the stairs.

"I'm gonna take that bus if you make fun of me like that!" you said to his back.

"Go ahead. I'll find you wherever you go."

The rain continued to pour.

"I was going to use the favor you owe me," you said, "and make you promise you wouldn’t look for me."

"I'm glad you didn't."

[holyfuckthisfishcandrive]

Sweets and Name-calls

First, Previous, Ao3

Word count: 1435

Warnings: mugging at knife point (Janus and Virgil still don’t do normal 12 year-old stuff)

"My Pa is going crazy," Virgil said, letting his feet swing against the wall in a steady rhythm while inspecting the bandaids over his fingertips.

"Why that?" Janus asked and struggled with the bag of candy he had stolen from Walmart earlier. He had forgotten his knife at home and the taped-up fingers didn't make it any easier. "And do you have a knife or something like that?"

"Give it," Virgil reached for the bag. He had taken a few of Papa's knives again after he had confiscated them a month ago and cut the bag open with ease. "His crush invited him to a wedding or something."

He bit into a long gummi worm and handed the bag back to Janus who went for one of the lollipops.

"So, now he's like 'But did he mean it in a romantic way or in a just friends way and why did he mention that his parents would think we're dating? Did he mention to them that he was seeing someone and just doesn't want to introduce that person to his family yet?' all day long. It's horrible," Virgil continued. "I feel like I'm watching one of those shitty telenovelas or Wattpad movies and I can't turn it off!"

Janus laughed at him and threw the wrapper of his lollipop off the roof, down to the tracks.

"Mum is marrying my step-dad soon," he said after a beat. "Would be kinda funny if that was the wedding your Pa got invited to, wouldn't it? Then I could meet him without having any idea that I'd met him."

Virgil snorted.

"You'll have to describe the weirdest guests to me after. If it's the same wedding I'm betting all my CDs, bought and downloaded from YouTube, that Pa is among them."

"Nah," Janus shook his head. "You can keep the shit that's not in English. I don't want that."

"Hey! Just because you can't appreciate Scheißverein for the anarchist masterpiece it is doesn't mean it's shit! And what do I get if it's the same wedding and Pa is among the weirdest people?"

"Dunno," Janus moved the lollipop from one side of his mouth to the other. "I'm bringing you some of the leftover cake anyway... Five nights you can stay at my house if you fight with your Pa or can't stay at home for some other reason?"

"Until when?"

"Until you've used them up."

"Okay, I'll take it," Virgil agreed and swallowed the last of his worm.

"Say goodbye to your CDs," Janus grinned. "My family is weird as shit and there's no way your Pa can beat them."

"You have no faith," Virgil chastised and sat up to see if anyone had come with the train that had just arrived. "Hey, look! Some rich bastards from uptown! Wonder what they're doing here."

Janus sat up and looked down at the boys Virgil pointed at. They looked about their age, though it was hard to tell from up here, and looked nearly identical if it wasn't for one wearing a ripped green shirt and the other a white one.

Who the hell wore white? It just got dirty and then never really clean again! Well, rich bastards could probably afford that kind of stuff.

"Maybe they're trying to get robbed," he speculated. "Would be a shame to disappoint them, don't you think?"

"Hopefully they actually have something nice on them," Virgil threw up a caramel with one hand and caught it with his mouth.

"Can't find out if we don't try. It's not like we can get in trouble for it. Other than maybe from our parents but they don't need to know."

Virgil hesitated but Janus knew that he was already convinced.

"Okay, let's see," he said and stood up.

They snuck down the fire escape, Virgil let Janus borrow one of his knives and then they tailed the rich boys for a while, listening in on their conversation.

They even talked like rich bastards, Janus realised. He had half expected them to sound like Virgil with his weirdly posh British accent but they were clearly American. Just with rich accents. He wasn't sure how to describe it. They talked like the people in Hollywood and not like normal people.

"Now before someone else hears them," he whispered to Virgil.

They caught up to the boys by the next alleyway and pushed them in, using the surprise to their advantage.

The one Janus had grabbed let out a startled noise.

He tried to swing for Janus' face. There was a lot more strength behind the punch than Janus had expected but it was uncoordinated and sloppy. Easy to doge.

"Oi, stop that!" Virgil hissed, making his voice sound deeper than it actually was.

The rich boy looked over and froze, seeing the knife at his brother's throat who's face was pressed against the filthy concrete.

"What do you want from us?" the one on the floor, with the white shirt, asked.

Janus didn't answer but instead began to search Green-boy's pockets.

Gum, a ten-dollar bill, a rat skull (weird for a rich guy) and a business card with a phone number written on it with blue ink.

"Hey! The skull is mine!" the boy protested. "I just found it yesterday!"

"I don't give a shit," Janus replied. He would have usually left the skull but now he took it just to be petty.

"Ooh," Virgil grinned. "Keys! What do these open, huh, Princey?"

The boy underneath him sputtered. "They are my house keys! You can't have them! You don't even know where we live!"

"Yeah, yeah, Princey," Virgil rolled his eyes. "Calm your tits. I just thought there might be something more interesting to them."

"Stop calling me Princey!"

"Sure, Princey."

At that moment Green-boy noticed something and a wide grin split over his face.

"Police!" he screeched.

Janus looked up to see a man in uniform blocking the way out of the alleyway, a sandwich in hand. "What's going on here?" he demanded.

"They're robbing us!" Princey accused.

"They're rich," Janus said in their defence.

"They're committing a crime!"

The policeman snorted and bit into his sandwich.

"Stealing from rich people isn't a crime! Besides, it's lunchtime. Just get off his back or you might injure him, kid!"

With that he left again and Virgil stood up.

Both Green-boy and Princey were too stunned to react and Janus and Virgil bolted.

They only stopped when they were a block away and between laughing at the rich bastards' faces and being out of breath Janus had to lean against a wall.

"What did you get?" Virgil asked, still snickering.

Janus showed him his new possessions and Virgil showed him the pen, the five dollars, the chocolate bar and the crumpled paper Princey had had with him.

"Not bad," Janus said, giving the borrowed knife back. "We were just lucky the cop didn't notice the knives."

"We would've probably gotten better stuff if we hadn't robbed tweens," Virgil frowned. "By the way, you still owe me that cake you promised for the fingerprints."

"You mean we should do that now?"

"We've got money now, don't we?"

--~--

"Damn street rats!" Roman spat and tried to rub the fluid off his face. He wasn't sure if it was pee, alcohol or water but he was pretty sure that it hadn't rained in at least a week.

Remus was frustrated for entirely different reasons. "What do we train for if we can't even defeat two kids, shorter than us?"

He kicked a trash can over and its contents spilt over the floor.

"I just hope Patton will let me borrow one of his sweaters," Roman grumbled, looking down at the giant stain on his shirt.

"How did the dwarf even get you on the ground?" Remus asked.

"He just suddenly jumped onto my back! You would have fallen over too!"

They finally reached the street where Patton's flowershop was and just as they were about to go in Remus froze.

"You've got to be kidding me," he stared at the bakery across from the flower shop, where two eerily familiar boys were sat at a table by the window, each with a big slice of cake in front of them.

The taller one with the weird white spots on his dark skin waved at them with a smirk, before taking a bite of his cake and dramatically playing up how good it was, by rolling his eyes back and licking his lips.

Remus gave him a middle finger and the boy laughed at him.

"Stupid street rats."

Next

Taglist:

@patton-cake