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Homecoming
Agatha Harkness X Reader
Summary:
"Can we go home?"
Agatha, Reader, and Billy clean up and go home after the showdown with Rio. Home, of course, being the Kaplan residence in Eastview. Three bloody witches in suburbia.
Established AgathaxReader, can be read as a standalone or with my other Agatha fics.
“Can we go home?”
You’re bloodied and battered, having just been launched around the backyard like a toy. Your voice is raspy but steady as you stumble to your feet, moving almost unconsciously toward Agatha. Agatha, whose arms are opening to you.
What a nightmare. Trust Agatha to have the single most dramatic closure talk with an ex you’ve ever seen. You would question her taste in women if you weren’t also one of her choices.
You find purchase in Agatha’s arms, sagging against her. She, with her recently recovered powers, seems better off than you. Billy, too, is in relatively good shape. He holds his hands out under your arms like he’s waiting to catch you if you fall. You want no one’s touch but Agatha’s right now. “Want to define home for me, honey?”
You consider her words. You had meant the place where Agatha had lived, but that was currently a little busted, what with the showdown with Rio that took out several windows and inexplicably, a sink. Not to mention the lack of a front door and the probably trashed interior, thanks to the Salem Seven. “Okay. Can we go somewhere else?”
You don’t know where that would be, but you’re desperate for a place to rest. Agatha might be one of the most powerful witches to ever exist, but you were relatively ordinary as far as witches went, and you were well past your limit. Agatha didn’t offer a solution, but Billy piped up almost hesitantly.
“You can come with me. I mean, to my house.”
You’re too tired to argue, and Agatha seems to follow your lead. She nods at the boy and you all three make your way around the side of the house to the road, where Billy’s Subaru is miraculously untouched. “What a shitshow,” Agatha mutters as she sets you in the backseat, and you can’t tell if she means the events of today or the state of the car. Both, probably. There are tumbleweeds of crumpled receipts back here, and you’re acutely aware of the amount of crumbs you’re sitting on. Teenagers have never been known for their cleanliness, but this is really something.
Instead of getting into the passenger seat like you expected, Agatha slides in next to you. She buckles your seatbelt and then hers. Billy waits until you’re both set to start off down the street, and before long your head is lolling against the window as you slip into a fuzzy half-sleep state.
The next thing you register is someone’s fingers in your hair, lightly stroking across all the knots and snarls you’ve accumulated. Your head is no longer against the window but on Agatha’s shoulder, soft and reliable. She gently tilts your head up once your eyes start to flicker open, and she reaches over you to undo your seatbelt. With a whispered “hang tight,” she gets out, leaving your side cold without her pressed against you. She opens your door and half lifts you out of the car. You wind your arm in hers and make your way up the walkway of Billy’s house. It’s quaint, not unlike Agatha’s house. Very suburban. The door isn’t locked, and the three of you walk right in. Billy shucks off his shoes at the front door, and you attempt to do the same. Agatha makes no effort. Billy’s mother is on the couch, her back to the door, but she turns around when she hears you come in. “William?”
Billy ducks sheepishly. “Hi, Mom, I–”
“Where were you? You’ve been gone for 24 hours!”
Billy’s father comes in from the kitchen and joins the conversation, which at this point is more of a monologue. Lots of “All day, no communication, where on earth were you?” Their lecture pauses for a moment as both parents simultaneously switch their attention to you. And what a sight you must be. A very disheveled and rather bloodied woman in the arms of a centuries-old witch, who is visibly older than you. Although the age difference is negligible after so many centuries, Agatha does look older than you by appearance. It must be quite the shock, you think, to have your son come home after going missing for a day and bringing with him two unusual guests. Fortunately, Billy’s parents seem more relieved to have him home than anything, and are fairly dismissive of the fact that you’re also here.
“Uh, Mom, Dad,” Billy says, “we’ve had a really long day and they’re going to crash here, okay?” He motions to you and Agatha, who is at this point holding you up almost entirely, her arm tight around your waist.
Mrs. Kaplan nods, turning back to Billy. “Yes, of course, sure,” she says, barely paying you any mind. “But you need to communicate with us, William. We were so worried. And it’s so late!” As the three of you walk past her and up the stairs, her eyes linger on Agatha’s swirling dress and coat. You quickly turn your attention back to the stairs, lest you miss one and send you and Agatha both tumbling back down.
–
“So, this is my room,” Billy says, casting his arm around the space, “and this is the bathroom, if you need it.” It’s a nice little space. Very Billy Kaplan. Maximoff? Who knows. Your attention is fixed on the bed. You want nothing more than to lie down and sleep for a century, but you’re also uncomfortably aware of the blood drying in sticky patches all over your face and neck, courtesy of Rio’s death by a thousand cuts. You’re so tired you’re numb, and you can’t really tell what blood is Agatha’s and what’s yours anymore. But judging by the way both she and Billy look at you, a good bit of it is yours. Ouch.
“Let’s get you fixed up, then we can sleep,” Agatha says, gently prodding you along toward the bathroom. You follow mutely, taking a seat on the closed toilet while Agatha starts running the sink water. She cups her hands and holds the water up to the tiny window, and you recognize Jen’s healing spell. Agatha looks at you and tilts her head back, and you get her message and do the same. She opens her hands over your face, and the water starts to rinse away the blood. It’s certainly messy, and Billy starts to interject that maybe you should move to the shower for this, but one look from Agatha shuts him up again. She repeats the process several times, picking glass out of your hair and skin where she finds it. Eventually, you’re looking better, and she takes one of the Kaplans’s pristine white hand towels and uses it to gently wipe away the rest of the crusted blood and dirt. You close your eyes, leaning into her touch. She finishes, but keeps her hand on your face, steadying you. You could fall asleep right there.
“Hey,” Agatha waves a hand toward Billy, who has been observing the entire process from the doorway of the tiny bathroom. “How about some fresh clothes? Find her something normal, please,” she says. That might be a dig at his current outfit, with its emo sweater and cape. She’s one to talk, you think. That purple coat was dramatic as hell. Billy ducks back into his room and rummages through some drawers, and returns with a clumsily folded tshirt and a pair of sweatpants. “Okay?” he asks, and you and Agatha both nod. She closes the door in his face, not taking her hand away from you. Your pulse thumps against her fingertips and she’s never been so glad to feel it.
“Up,” she coaxes, and you obey. She gently shimmies you out of your old shirt, which is beyond repair, and gently pulls your arms through the new one. It’s a band you don’t recognize, but it’s very Billy. She slides your pants down your legs and you brace yourself on her shoulders as you step out of them one leg at a time.
“I feel like a baby,” you say as she slides the soft black sweatpants up your legs, settling them on your waist. Agatha looks at you. “You had a rough go out there. Let yourself be a baby. You’re my baby.” If you weren’t so tired you could’ve cried.
Agatha opened the bathroom door again and you emerged back into Billy’s room, feeling slightly more alive than before. Billy is sitting on the bed, but Agatha motions for him to get off. “My mom said she’s going to bring the air mattress, so we can–”
“Teen, I am four hundred years old. I am sleeping in a real bed. And so is she.” Her hand settles on your shoulder, and Billy understands what else she’s saying.
“Oh, I didn’t–”
“I’m aware,” Agatha snaps. She turns abruptly from him to pull down the covers for you, helping you into bed. Your bones nearly melt as you relax into the mattress. Agatha walks around the bed to the other side and slides in. You lift your tired head and she helps you nestle yourself in her lap, your face pressed against her soft thigh. It’s familiar and comforting, and you smile unconsciously. Cracking your eyes back open, you see Agatha stealing a glance at you, before she readjusts herself against the headboard and rests her hand on your side. Billy starts talking, and Agatha responds, but you can’t bring yourself to focus. You’re alive, Agatha’s alive, and you’re safe. You’re getting real sleep in a real bed for the first time in a week. You drift to sleep with the buzz of Agatha’s voice in your ears and her warmth against you. You breathe deep.
Everything else is for tomorrow.
____________________
“Is she asleep?”
“No, she’s–” Agatha stops herself. Too soon for jokes about that. She pets your hair and you sigh, pressing your face against her lap. “Yes, she’s asleep.”
Billy shifts on the air mattress. “I didn’t know you were, like, together,” he said.
“Well, now you know.”
“I thought you and Rio–”
“That was a long time ago. Things change.”
Billy paused. “Is that why she was so mad? She wanted you back?”
“Gee, I should have stopped to ask her. Maybe when she was busy trying to reap your soul to restore cosmic order.”
“Okay, nevermind.”
Agatha sighed. “I don’t know. I don’t care.”
“You don’t? But you two were together, you had a ki–”
“I’m aware, Teen. But it wasn’t supposed to happen. The universe was against it, and I didn’t care. I wanted to spit in the face of the universe. And it came back to bite me. I wanted to be as strong as Death.”
“You were angry.”
“Of course I was. I have always been angry. You try being almost executed by your coven at 19. Given a killing power you never learned how to control. You got just a taste of power and couldn’t handle it. You’d have gone on a spree.” She certainly had, but she didn’t say that part out loud.
Billy knew, all the same. Who wouldn’t give in to the most powerful, most protective part of them? “Are you still angry?”
Agatha looked down at you, breathing deep, eyes still behind your heavy lids. “Anger is a part of everyone. If you’re not angry, you’re either stupid or lying. But there are more things than anger. And don’t let anyone give you that positivity bullshit. Life hurts. You can’t stop it from hurting. You just do things anyway. And then you find things to hold onto.”
Billy’s eyes fall on you too, and Agatha clears her throat loudly. He readjusts and looks back at Agatha. “Alright.”
“Turn off the light, Teen. I’m going to sleep.”
__________________
Life had not been kind to Agatha. Gifted with a power that was more of a curse, despised by the one person who was supposed to love her above all. Forced to fend for herself against a cruel mother and a coven that never accepted her. No wonder she turned to the one most reliable part of her, the darkest part of her. No wonder she wanted to get back at the universe, be more powerful than life and death. Bend the rules. But no one is stronger than death. Nicholas, being made partly by Death, was never meant to live. Agatha bent the rules as far as she could. And despite her best efforts, the universe came crashing down on her again, taking her son. Reminding her that she cannot force something that was never meant to be. It was enough to end a person. But Agatha was nothing if not a survivor. And eventually she found things worth holding onto. The most central of whom was now fast asleep in her arms, in the bedroom of a teenage boy. Four centuries of life, day by day, and now she was here. With an emo sidekick and the love of her life and the memory of her very own coven. What a journey. What a way to begin.
Taglist:
@polaris-likethestar
#agatha x reader#agatha harkness x reader#agatha harkness#agatha all along#agatha spoilers#hurt/comfort#agatha harkness fanfic#agathario#soft agatha#my tag- Agatha
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Oh, Hold Me Now
Zayne x AFAB!Reader
Guess whose period just started haha The things I would do to be in Zayne's arms rn istg
Title from "Hold Me Now" by the Thompson Twins
Warnings: menstruation, period fic, lots of domestic fluff, reader has a uterus but no other gender-defining things
Word Count: 1,726
Main Masterlist
Love and Deepspace Masterlist
AO3
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With a whimper, you curl in on yourself. The pain in your abdomen rapidly ramps up. You clutch at your belly, willing it to stop, please god stop. It doesn’t listen until tears prick at the corner of your eyes. Then it slowly ebbs away, letting you breathe again.
You reach behind you, but all you find is a cold bed. You whine, annoyed with your emotions and just how upset you are that Zayne isn’t there. Even on his day off, he doesn’t sleep in.
You slowly slide out of bed. Your feet touch your warm slippers, a gift from your husband when you were dating and had just moved in together. They hug your feet in a familiar embrace, cushioning your weight as you force yourself to stand. You shuffle off to the bathroom.
It’s miserable and uncomfortable and you’re cursing your existence by the time you finish on the toilet. On top of that, you’re almost out of product, and what you have definitely isn’t going to last the day. You groan to yourself thinking about Zayne, on his nice day off, having to take care of you. He wouldn’t complain, but it gives you half a mind to change into real pants and go to the store yourself, just so he doesn’t have to deal with this. The other half is just oh so comfortable in your pajamas. You have enough stuff to last a couple hours, you’ll just go then.
After you scrub your hands within an inch of their life, you open the medicine cabinet and pull out some good ol’ painkillers. As desperate as you are to get rid of this pain, you’re not desperate enough to wash the pills down with water from the tap. Not yet, anyway.
Wanting nothing more than to be at the peak of coziness right now while your insides tear themselves apart, you throw on one of Zayne’s sweaters and leave the bedroom to face the cruel day ahead.
You see Zayne’s head peeking out over the top of the couch as he reads a medical book, as big as his head and as thick as your arm. You would chastise him for working, but he’d say he’s reading for his leisure. The threat of an oncoming cramp forces you to ignore him and turn to the kitchen.
“I already got you a glass of water,” he calls. He turns to look at you over the couch, expression softening with sympathy as you double over, hugging yourself as though you could compress all the pain into a tiny little ball. It grows in intensity for a moment, forcing a whimper from your throat, before finally receding. You take a deep breath and stand back up, continuing to hug yourself. “Come sit down, my love. I’ll make you some tea.”
How could you refuse? You shuffle over and settle down into the plush cushions. You almost whine when he gets up, but you bite it back. You do pout, though, which makes him smile despite your pain.
He rounds the couch and plants a kiss to the top of your head. “I’ll only be a minute. Take your medicine.”
The water is still nice and cold when you take a sip from it. So cold you can feel it running down your throat. The pills go down smoothly, and you’re more than grateful not to be choking on pain meds today of all days.
You close your eyes and lean back into the couch, abandoning your slippers on the floor in favor of tucking your feet underneath you. You can hear the kettle starting to bubble as he opens and closes cabinets, gathering what he needs to make you the perfect cup of liquid gold to ease your suffering. The thought brings a mix of guilt and affection; both upset that he is taking care of you on his day off, and glee that he’s, well, taking care of you on his day off. If this was the weekend, maybe you wouldn’t feel as guilty. As it is, he has work again tomorrow, and he had work yesterday, so it’s not so much a day off as it is taking a house call.
He returns with a matching pair of mugs, steam rising from the tops and the warm smell of tea and bitter coffee filling the air. He sets his drink of choice down on the coffee table, but you greedily cradle yours to your chest, letting the heat warm your face and the scent relax your body. He sits back down beside you, drawing you closer to him while being extra careful not to spill your tea. He doesn’t say anything about you wearing his sweater, but he does playfully tug on the hem, signaling that he’s noticed.
You smile for the first time today and tilt your head up to kiss him good morning. “Thank you,” you hum, kissing him again for good measure, before adding, “and I’m sorry.”
He shoots you a disapproving look, softened from his lack of glasses and the morning light coming in from the windows. “Don’t apologize. It’s completely out of your control.” He slips his hand under the sweater to massage gently right where you need it. You relax into it immediately, practically melting against him as he takes care of you. His massages are always the best, and they drastically lessen the cramps that torment you this morning. “Do you need anything else, my love?”
You make a disgruntled noise at the reminder. “I need more product.” You quickly cover his hand with one of yours, heated from holding your mug, to make sure he doesn’t pull away. “It can wait a bit longer, though.”
He chuckles softly, but he makes no attempts to move. His fingers press gently into you, seeking out where you need it the most. You hiss as another cramp assaults you. You instinctively draw your knees up, leaning more of your weight into him as you curl up. He slips beneath the final layers of clothes to lay his warm palm fully over your lower abdomen. The heat sinks in slowly, but it does help.
“Can we watch a movie?” you ask as the pain comes back down, voice slightly rough. “Unless you wanna keep working.”
“Reading a book isn’t working,” he retorts, fully catching onto your jab. You point it out nearly every time you go to the library and he checks out something from the medical section.
“It is when it’s almost a thousand pages of nothing but medications and surgical procedures.”
He leans forward to reach the remote and passes it on to you. While you turn the TV on, he also grabs his mug, before relaxing back into the couch. “What do you want to watch?” he asks instead of continuing to pointlessly defend himself.
You hum noncommittally as you scroll through the library of films and shows, ready to watch at the press of a button. There were a few medical dramas you liked watching with Zayne, if only to listen to him correct the show or insult how unprofessional the main cast is, but they don’t really strike your fancy right now. Something funny would be nice. Or something comforting.
It’s only a matter of time before you put on a familiar movie you’ve seen about a thousand times. Zayne makes no comment on this. Instead, he blows gently on the surface of his coffee and takes a tentative sip. His coffee contains enough sugar to mostly negate the bitter flavor of the drink, but it’s just perfect for him. You drop the remote to the side and take a sip of your drink as well, humming at the perfect flavors that ease down your throat. The morning sun warms you both.
-
“Get up for a moment.”
You hum sleepily, looking at him with tired confusion. “The movie isn’t over,” you mumble.
He gives you a reassuring smile as he rubs your back. “I know, my love. I’m not leaving yet.”
With a gentle nudge, you pull your feet from under you and stand on wobbly legs. You watch as he lays out along the couch, legs parted, and gestures for you to lay back down. He can almost see the spark of excitement in your eye as you situate yourself on top of him, your legs between his and your head tucked safely under his chin. He pulls the blanket from the back of the couch overtop of you, before wrapping you in his arms. One hand massages the tension from your lower back while the other pets your hair. It’s heaven, being in his arms like this. You melt fully into him, forgetting the movie in favor of hiding from the sun outside, burying your face in his chest and shoulder, and breathing him in deep. He smells warm and sweet, with the shock of his aftershave. He smells like home.
You scoot upward to hide your face in his neck. He welcomes you readily, pressing a kiss to your temple. “I’m sorry I’m ruining your day off,” you mumble.
He tilts his head toward yours slightly, hiding you further from the sun. “How did you ruin it?” he asks softly. “I get to watch one of your favorite movies with you while we cuddle. How is that ruining my day?”
“Cuz you have to take care of me…”
“I always take care of you.”
You huff. “You know that’s not what I mean.”
“I don’t think I do.” He rests his cheek against you. His lips brush your forehead as he speaks, like little kisses with each word. “Why do you think taking care of you would detract from my enjoyment of being around you?”
You remain quiet. The only reason he knows you haven’t fallen asleep yet is because of the hand you have on his chest that traces shapes over his shirt. He stops massaging your back to catch it, holding it firmer to himself.
“I can’t think of a better way to spend my day off.”
Your sigh fans across his skin, making the hairs on his arms raise. “I love you…”
He smiles. You feel it against your forehead as he kisses you again. “Get some rest. When you wake up, I’ll run to the store.”
---
Tag List:
@the-golden-jhope @deepzombieyouth @huen1ngk41 @armycaratlover @cheesemachine44 @nyx2021 @angel-jupiter
#fanfic#fanfiction#zayne#zayne x reader#love and deepspace zayne#lads zayne#lnds zayne#love and deepspace#love and deepspace x reader#lads#lads x reader#lnds#lnds x reader#afab reader#x afab reader#period fic
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nggghmhh... been thinking about Nikto getting into a fight and Reader fussing over him and cleaning up the blood on his knuckles and bandaging his hand as he watches them with hearts in his eyes... ��💞
It wasn't that nasty of an injury, really. Really.
You were simply fussing over him too much, as per usual.
His knuckles were split after punching someone in the face perhaps a tad too hard. Just a little. Just hard enough to knock out a few molars, maybe... or a row.
"This will sting," you murmur — though, mostly to yourself, as Nikto isn't particularly talkative, and usually only replies in grunts.
Eventhough Nikto could have gone to medical to have his injuries treated by a more qualified individual, he went straight to you instead: maybe you applied too much pressure on accident when disinfecting the wound with antiseptic and his skin would sting; maybe the bandages were never tight enough and always on the loose side; and maybe your handiwork wasn't as precise or skillful, but Nikto found that simply being around you was enough to heal him.
Yes, it does sting. A lot.
Or it should. Nikto has become desensitised to pain, and it doesn't register like it used to. What should be excruciating agony feels like a dull throb in the background, or the aftershocks felt from a body that didn't belong to him, yet does. Not to mention that he dissociates a lot, so he can make active pain... passive.
So yes, it does sting. It just doesn't hurt.
Nikto lets you do as you please, watching with silent attention the entire time. He keeps his hand limp, letting you hold it however you want...
...Just as long as you're holding it.
The size difference is stark, his large fingers easily encircling your wrist almost in its entirety. He’s big and built, scars and old wounds littered across his pale skin, pink and raw in the places that he was burned. You? You are small and... soft.
Your biceps aren't as big as his. Your muscles aren't as defined as his. Your build isn't as solid, strong, and stout as his is.
Instead, you are… delicate. Like a porcelain doll. And as pretty as one, too. Especially when your eyes are as glassy as they are now, and catch the light at such an angle that it makes them sparkle like rare gems to be treasured and cherished. Nikto's treasure.
Delicate to him, at least; because, no matter how much you insist that you are not petite, not tiny, and not fragile, it further solidifies in his mind how he ought to protect you. Which was annoying as fuck, since you weren't a child that had to be coddled and protected, but it was what it was. It was almost... adorable?
"Is it alright?" You ask, antsy with anticipation, absentmindedly chewing on the inside of your cheek without realising. "Maybe... try flexing your hand?"
He does, surveying your handiwork, twisting his hand this way and that, clenching his fingers into as tight of a fist as he can make it.
"Or... is it, erm... too tight? I-I can wrap it again, if it's uncomfortable—”
“—No.”
Truth of the matter was, it could have been better — any nurse would have been appalled, and hastily bandaged Nikto's hand again for themselves.
But, since it was you that treated him, it was the best treatment which he could have ever asked for.
And it was not "alright", but immaculate, thank you.
With a sigh, you release his hand, and miss how Nikto instantly tenses, missing the intimacy, as subtle and fleeting as it was.
“You get into too many fights," you say, eyebrows furrowed slightly over your eyes in unconcealed disapproval.
A shrug. “Too many people provoke me," Nikto puts bluntly.
“Provoke you how, exactly? By breathing? Existing?"
For a long moment, Nikto was quiet. You were on edge — your sarcasm did not bode well with Nikto sometimes, and it probably came across as malicious and accusatory...
Fuck. Fuuuck...
However, through gritted teeth, Nikto utters: “They… were saying bad things about you.”
Instantly your demeanour changes, and although you attempt to disguise it with a stern expression and cold tone, your features soften considerably, and the furrowed brows and the wrinkles in your forehead smoothen, like ice melting.
“Nikto…”
Nikto, defending your honour? He, punching not just recruits, but other operators, and threatening the commanders with death lest they mess with you? Hurt you? Merely talk badly about you?
Oh fuck... your heart aches, and stubbornly clenches with affection eventhough you ought to scold him, to tell him to stop, to behave rationally... despite not particularly wanting to.
Since the idea of being defended by Nikto is... nice.
Still.
“Nikto... please don't fight people on my behalf.”
Immediately, he becomes defensive, and gruffly grunts a harsh: “Why not?”
You bite your lip. “Because… I don't want you to get hurt. Okay?"
“I don't care if I get hurt. All I care about is you. You're all that matters."
“And I care about you. I care if you get hurt. Because it matters to me. So… don't, okay?"
"...Hmph."
"...Please," you whisper, pleading nonverbally with your eyes. "...For me?"
For you? He would do anything...
...not get hurt, that is.
Next time a person insulted you or made a snarky remark about you in any way, he would hurl a chair at them. Or plot the most inconspicuous murder.
Just as long as he wouldn't get hurt, yes?
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@blackinkniko @arrozyfrijoles23 @wil-xyz @revnatheshadow @feelya @liminal-chickenskin @zoloftwithdrawalnausea @soupiiiie @lizzy019
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A/Ns
One Nikto wip done... 12+ more to go!!!!!, 🎉🎉🎉🎉🎉🎉🎉🎉🎉🎉🎉🎉🎉🎉🎉🎉🎉🎉🎉🎉🎉🎉🎉
.....i will only pass away peacefully if i finish these .....
..... then and ONLY then im going to bash my head against a wall so i am in a coma 😇 (JOKE)
Going to miss my anons:(((... Im verysad to have closed my inbox but it was necessary for me 😟...
Anyways, my closed inbox gives me motivation to write as fast as possible so I can interact with them (you!!! <333) again ☺️💞💞💞
#aking10592_ ≛彡#Nikto#nikto#Nikto x Reader#nikto x reader#Nikto x You#nikto x you#Nikto Fluff#nikto fluff#Nikto Fic#nikto fic#Nikto COD#nikto cod#COD Nikto#cod nikto#Nikto Call of Duty#nikto call of duty#Call of Duty Nikto#call of duty nikto#MWII Nikto#mwii nikto#Call of Duty#call of duty#call of duty x reader#call of duty x you#cod x reader#cod x you
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THANK YOU OMG You summarized my thoughts on trans character fic lately, it feels like it’s treated like a kink. One thing that I feel like shows me that is there’s never any mention of bottom growth in those fics yk? It’s always treated like “guy with vag” instead of “trans guy” and it sucks to see that kind of fetishizing adjacent fic get popular :,( also they never make the trans characters tops so the whole vibe is off. Every trans guy I know is a top/vrs an there good at it !
YEAH it's just so weird....... There seems to be very little fic with transmasc characters that actually touches on bottom dysphoria resulting from penetration, or bottom growth, or vaginal dryness (why are all your transmen on T constantly gushing?) or acne.... There's some fics that include T-induced hirsutism, which is awesome! But just.
Give me trans men who've had bottom surgery. Give me trans men who exclusively top their partners - yes, even their partners who have penises 🙄. Give me trans men who have complicated relationships to penetration and genuinely don't enjoy it and never want to be penetrated, anywhere. GIVE ME TRANS MEN WITH BOTTOM GROWTH. please.
Like obviously yes, trans bottom guys exist - but, same here, the vast majority of transmascs I know personally, myself included, prefer to top or are vers. Yet in fic, it's fully the other way around?? It's so weird?????
I just wanna shake fandom as a whole and be like. You know pussy =/= bottom, right??? You know people with vaginas top all the time and that is hot and sexy and awesome???????? You know that people with dicks often really enjoy being penetrated, right????? You know some people with vaginas exclusively top, and some people with dicks exclusively bottom, yeah? Your acknowledgement that genitalia doesn't define people's sexual preferences doesn't go out the window as soon as you include a trans character in your smutfic, right?????????
To be clear: there's no WRONG way to write a trans character, unless you're being purposefully hateful. There's certainly no wrong way to BE trans! But the absolute lack of variety in smutfic is very exhausting, and it flaunts a kinda narrow-minded and fetishizing view of transmen that makes fandoms feel pretty unwelcoming.
#fandom#sigh#THERE IS NOTHING WRONG WITH WRITING TRANS GUYS BOTTOMING. TO MAKE THAT VERY VERY VERY CLEAR#just please... some variety.......
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Yellow - Godhood as Dehumanisation
Brynne Rebele-Henry, Prelude to Becoming Holy // Malevolent - Part 21 // Mortals and Fools - Death Note Musical (English Concept Album) // Billelis (Twitter) // Langston Hughes, God // Malevolent - Part 40 "The Order" I // Cultist Simulator Steam Achievement // @yffresbeard // The Winged Throne | Adobe Substance 3D // Malevolent - Part 40 "The Order" II // Walk the Circle in the Other Direction - Moonface // PARSIFEL (Twitter) // Malevolent - Part 40 "The Order" II // Minotaur Forgiving the White Bull - Moonface
Reblogs appreciated 👍
This is how a girl becomes holy: first she becomes empty, becomes nothing but absence.
YELLOW: Humans put so much stock in hope. Hoping for a greater outcome, hoping for a better result, hoping for a brighter tomorrow. You waste away the hours, waste away your lives. Watch as the sea beds dry up, as hope takes the water away from you. Hope is unique to you and your kind. Even animals know that hope is a wasted feeling. It's why you're so weak.
[Rem, Misa] Try as you might, you will not understand it [Rem] Love is for mortals and fools
I am God- Without one friend, Alone in my purity World without end.
YELLOW: You know nothing about what has happened to me. I have grown more powerful than I ever was with you. ARTHUR: Power?
(The Dodo and the Dragon) I have become something winged, dark and undying; something that no longer exists.
you're not a person anymore, just a personification. you're a concept, an abstraction. all neatly defined boundaries and borders, none of the vagueries or blurring of lines or grey areas that come from being mortal. you can never change, now. never grow or evolve. you are this, forever, stagnant. and the thing you've been made to embody might not even be your best trait.
KING IN YELLOW: Ignorant. Foolish. Mortal.
Wouldn't it be wonderful to not have to turn to stone?
YELLOW (loathing): Friends! What a waste.
So I guess I am an outcast And I guess I am a monster And I guess I am a god
#statement given [original post]#malevolent#yellow malevolent#malevolent yellow#malevolent podcast#webweaving#web weave#malevolent spoilers#malevolent part 21#malevolent part 40#tw christianity#tw religious themes#tw skeleton#tw sharp objects#also sorry for the tag I thought it'd be better than doing the / in front of it in case you wanted to ask me to take it out
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https://olderthannetfic.tumblr.com/post/765800540685959168/so-the-kinsey-scale-famously-measures-only#notes
No hate but, you do realize there's no real way to measure the attraction to NBs in the same way you'd do men and women? When you are attracted to men or women you then narrow it down with preferences, but in the end you're feeling an attraction based on their gender. Famously NB isn't some third binary with clearly defined boundaries. Being Enby is some murky gender soup that doesn't fit neatly into some sexuality. How do you measure the attraction to NBs when you can't even clearly defined what it means to be NB? Agender? Bigender? Genderfluid? Masc, femme, Gender neutral presentation? Fuck you it ain't your business?
I hate how people try to push being enby into some third binary gender, where it's easy to decide if you're attracted to the "entire gender" when that's just not how it works. Being NB is a lot less defined because it's NON BINARY, you don't have an easy answer as to who is enby and how they fit into existing sexualities.
Even if you made a magical sexuality for NBs most would literally just treat it like "homo- and het-lite"
--
You wouldn't know it to see some of the NBs around here.
I kid. I kid. But it is interesting how this has shaken out over time. Some people are overtly using it as an umbrella term for things that don't fit the binary, and some people are using it as one specific identity.
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🌌
#god I feel like there's not enough posts talking about the fear of not being good enough#or maybe there are idk but just the soul crushing absolute panic of sharing my work only for it to be subpar chokes me#I can't tell what's worse the fear that someone will think it's terrible judge my inexperienced writin#or that it will fail to have any effect at all...I know I'm supposed to write for me I know I'm supposed to write because I love it#and I love it so so so much but also I love it so much that the thought of being bad at it feels like a betrayal#that every time I fail to put these immense thoughts and feelings into words that convey how much they fill me up inside and bring me life#that I am failing the one single thing that has saved me time and time again words#and when I don't have them when I expand and expand to the point of bursting with no relief that comes with pen to paper#it's as if I've wronged my one true purpose in life and if I don't write if I don't fail at least not in a way that anyone can see it#it's almost as if I can pretend that it's not happening that I'm made sick by my own inadequacy#so maybe that's what people fail to talk about how do you keep going when the one thing you were made to do#the one thing that defines your existence is......#well it looks like the words have failed me once again or maybe it is I who have failed them
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a fellow japanese learning friend told me there's 2 major "weed-out" learning curves to japanese, and that's 1) learning hiragana and katakana and the 2) learning kanji.
but I propose that there's a 3rd difficult learning curve and that's when you're in what I've called The Intermediate Soup where you don't have any specific thing to work on anymore but you know that you aren't There Yet
#mocha speaks#japanese langblr#learning japanese#like. you already know hiragana/katakana and know enough kanji to make it through some readings#and you can speak a little and write a little#but there's no more easily defined goalposts and the ones that exist (like going by JLPT) are still nebulous#and even beyond things like JLPT you can be N1 level and still not know a lot of things.......#anyways in the Soup you just have to make your own goals but that's hard when most resources are for people not in the Soup#(i.e. still somewhat beginner focused)
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☆ de fontaine
{☆} characters furina {☆} notes cult au, imposter au, drabble, gender neutral reader {☆} warnings angst, suicidal thoughts, hurt / no comfort {☆} word count 1.4k
This wasn't fair. This wasn't fair. This wasn't fair!
She thought, for one moment, she could put the mask down and breathe – for one moment of daydreaming, she thought she could just be Furina. She thought she would finally get to live the live she should've had in the first place, the life she threw away to play God to an audience who saw her as nothing but a circus animal, dancing to their whims. Furina just wanted to be selfish for one brief and fleeting moment..and it was gone before she could even grasp it in her hand. A comet soaring past far out of her reach.
She can barely keep her hands from violently shaking as she looks down at them – broken and bloody and more a corpse then a person – and she feels so numb she can't even feel the rain pelting against her back. None of this is fair, she wants to scream, why is it always me? But her voice is silent beneath the torrent of rain. She wonders if the ocean would take her if she sank into it's depths – just for a moment, she wonders how it would feel to finally be able to sleep at ease.
Furina is tired.
But Furina is nothing if not useful, isn't she?
So she forces her feet to move, dragging against the stone beneath her heels, and drags their bloodied body into the nearest empty building, letting the rain do the work of washing away the smeared blood following her path. The smell makes her feel sick, the feeling of it sticking to her hands and gloves makes her lightheaded, but she persists. Because Furina is useful, because Furina won't let them die out in the rain, because Furina won't stand by and just let them rot on the streets like some..pest.
Furina wants to go home. She wants to sleep and she isn't she if she wants to wake up, this time. But she keeps going anyway.
Because it's all she's ever done, and the habit sticks.
An Archon she may not be, not anymore, but the expectations of five hundred years still linger like eyes on the inside of her skull. They watch her, pry and prod at her thoughts, mocking laughter and judging eyes following her as she forces herself to dance to the song they weave with glee. Furina never stepped off that stage – she's still there, she thinks, watching the crowd stare at her in disdain as the curtain call looms above her like a guillotine. She still hears Neuvillette deliver her damnation and salvation with a trembling voice, still feels her hair stand on end when electro crackled like the crack of the whip, Clorinde's blade aimed at her like a loaded gun.
She's trapped on that stage and she never left, not really.
She hates it. She thinks she hates them, but it's not their fault. They didn't ask for this, didn't ask for everyone to turn against them, didn't ask for her to save them. Neither did she..yet here they are, she thinks.
She tries to tell herself she's in control this time, though. She can stop performing her part in this horrible, bloody play any time she wants. It makes her feel better, just for a little while, if she convinces herself she's still Furina, painfully human.
And Furina has always been good at lying.
It's the believing that's the hard part.
There isn't time for her to wallow in her own self pity, though. They're still bleeding out onto the dusty, creaky floorboards of some random, broken down house and she's just standing there as the blood stains the wood. She can fix it – she's good at fixing things. She's done nothing but fix things – try to, anyway – for five hundred years. She can fix a little wound, how hard could it be? Her hands are clenched so tight they ache as she kneels down, wincing at the creak of the floorboards beneath her heels– she hesitates just long enough to wonder if she's making a mistake before she peels away just enough of the outer layer of their clothes to see the deep, bloody gash across their chest. She tries not to think about it – it's deep, too deep, and she feels dizzy just looking at it, but she's handled worse, right?
Furina can fix it. That's what she's good at.
She doesn't feel so confident when she tries to wrack her brain for..something. Five hundred years, and a little wound stumps her? No, she had to have learned something, right? She's decidedly not trying to buy time because she's panicking, parsing through hundreds of years of memories like flipping through a book. Furina isn't made for this, not really – she's running on nothing but adrenaline and she's really not sure what she's doing, but she's trying. And just like before, it won't be enough, will it?
She'll fall short again – she'll be too late to fix it before she's alone again.
Furina was an Archon..used to be. What use would she have for that sort of knowledge? Which makes her predicament all the more harrowing and bleak. What was she supposed to do?
Furina had heard it first hand, that vitriol in Neuvillette's voice. She isn't sure she's ever heard him that..angry before. She's not sure he would listen to her if she tried, either. And that scares her more then anything. All of Fontaine was up in arms about this..imposter, yet here she was, staring down at them bleeding out in front of her, and she was trying to save them.
Why? Why is she throwing away her only chance at normalcy for a fraud? Why didn't she just turn them in?
They were dying – that should've been a good thing, shouldn't it? So why didn't it feel like it?
"Why you?" Her voice breaks as she speaks in harsh tones, grabbing the front of their shirt in trembling, bloodied hands. "Why now?" She wants to scream, to demand answers they can't give, to claw back the reprieve she was promised after five hundred years of agony..and all she can do is sob into their chest, pleading for an answer that will not come. "Why me?"
Silence is their answer, and it hangs heavy on her trembling shoulders as she cries.
Of course they don't, she thinks bitterly, no one has ever answered her pleas spoken in hushed sobs. Not her other self and certainly not them.
Furina has always been alone. Furina will always be alone.
Because Furina never left that stage, never left that moment when she looked at herself in the mirror and took up a mantle too heavy for her to bear. She always finds her way back eventually. There's no one on the other side anymore – she stands alone on a stage, waiting for an inevitable end she isn't sure will come.
"Please," She pleads through tears and choked sobs, clinging to them like they are all that keeps her from sinking. "Please don't leave me, too." The words burn on her tongue – how pathetic is she that she craves companionship from the bloodied body of the imposter? Perhaps she's truly lost her mind after all these years..perhaps she's finally gone mad. She must have.
But their presence is like the first feeling of gentle warmth upon her skin as the sun crests the horizon, like the gentle lap of tides along her heels, the sway of branches and leaves as the wind blows through them like an instrument all it's own. They are the soothing sound of rain against the window as she watches the dreary skies in fond longing, the first bloom of spring as color blooms upon the landscape like paint had been spilled across the hills and valleys.
They are like the faint spark she carefully nurtures and stokes, so fragile even the smallest wind could blow it out like a candle. She cradles it within her palms, pleads with whoever will listen – prays that someone finally listens, because if not for her, then for them.
She's failed to protect too much already, let too many people with so much trust in her fall between the cracks of her fingers like grains of sand. She won't let them go – she can't.
If nothing else, if she couldn't be saved when she begged for salvation from that five hundred year long agony, even if she never got that chance..
Furina will make sure they do.
#sagau#genshin sagau#self aware genshin#genshin impact sagau#self aware genshin impact#genshin cult au#genshin impact cult au#fic tag#furina#so um. looks around. okay look. i know im like THE ts@r1ts@ dealer (censored so it doesnt show in tags. hopefully)#but the moment i saw furi in fontaine the day it released she became my fav even more then the tsaritsa SORRY SHES SO..#this is my love letter 2 furi (making her suffer unimaginable horrors)#open ended kinda in case i decide on making a sequel maybe#furi makes me feel cuteness aggression so bad i start acting like a rabid animal#furina the woman that you are. thats my girlprince meow meow id kill someone for her#playing her part as archon so well but being so horribly irrefutably human in every way..#five hundred years not even knowing what the real plan was. when it would end. knowing if she slipped up it was over.#and in the end almost no one knew what really happened. a select few people know the real weight of her sacrifice.#furina's story was always a tragedy. it was never going to be anything but a tragedy.#and thats one of the most tragic parts of it isnt it? she didnt know how itd end. she didnt know her story was always going to be a tragedy#furina never knew a thing. and still she did it for the people of fontaine and succeeded.#how do you define “yourself” when you havent existed for 500 years?#to be so selflessly human you give up “yourself” to save people who will never know of your sacrifice.#sometimes i think about the confrontation on the stage and have a week long mental breakdown#sacrificing EVERYTHING for fontaine and still. still! the people closest to you turn on you.#heavy on clorinde. she was as close 2 furi as neuvi fight me on this. i bite.#her bodyguard and friend and she ends up staring down her blade wondering if this is it. she failed. she failed them all#because even when faced with the trial. with losing everything. she still thought only about fontaine. oh furina.#do you think she has nightmares. wonders if she was never meant to win this game of g-ds. that her story was always meant to be a tragedy?#do you think she still wonders if she was ever meant to have a chance at a happy ending? a doomed tragedy from beginning to end
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I've seen so many interesting and fun greek myth ships over the years both divine and mortal supported by text and just for fun, and yet I fear tonight, I will be throwing my hat into the ring as a propagator of niche greek myth ships because like, no seriously how is Aristaeus/Dionysus not already thing.
#ginger rambles#pursuing daybreak posting#my toxic trait is DEFINITELY the hoops I went through to justify this ship in my work LMFAO#“Oh Dionysus has a wealth of established lovers you could've used why give him Aristaeus” Buddy Friend Amigo Pal Pardner#have any of those lovers spent a considerable time teaching Dionysus the art of brewing only to lose to him#and have your long held position as the heavens' drinks guy be uprooted because Dionysus made balling wine using the techniques#you painstakingly taught him? Yeah I didn't think so#In general I think more people should think about Aristaeus because he is SUCH an interesting god#also he and Dionysus have the whole contentious birth and godhood thing going on which is nice#also despite both being rustics they occupy pretty different spaces meaning they can co-exist without it being a strict syncratic thing#I mean Aristaeus was identified with Dionysus and Apollo but like his identity apart from them is also pretty clear and defined#which is really really fun#these tags were supposed to be about Aristaeus/Dionysus but really I just want to spread Aristaeus propaganda#god he's SO COOL I wish more people talked about him#yeah I can talk about him but I've been thinking about and researching him for years I wanna hear other people's rad ass opinions!!#also in case it's not clear the ship is not a mythological thing - mythologically Aristaeus is Dionysus' uncle and sometimes#his foster father/one of his instructors in the rustic arts or the other way around in terms of teaching it varies#people: Aristaeus is the bee guy what else is there to say#me breathing heavily: well aCTUALLY --
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i think that while micro labels can seem useful and affirming ultimately they're isolating and kind of an obstacle to your understanding of self. that's because you can never find a word specific enough. there will never be a label or two labels or even ten, twenty of them to perfectly capture and describe all of your thoughts, feelings, experiences, preferences, needs, interests, identities, etc. because you learn more and more about yourself every day and then you change and your wants and needs change with you. having to hop between labels, fearing that you don't 'fit' into a label anymore (both in your own and others eyes), worrying how soon your current label will wear out, questioning if you'll ever fully fit a single one. all that causes a lot of uncertainty and anxiety which could be avoided by just picking a more general thing and molding it according to what it means to YOU. because words will always mean different things to different people, you will never be understood immediately and maybe never completely by anyone but yourself and that's fine
#another thing is that micro labels often feel like they fracture the community unnecessarily#idk how many times i've seen fighting over hyperspecific ace labels and what they mean and if people described in them even belong#and honestly i think this discourse wouldn't be so vile and neverending if people accepted the idea of falling under general umbrella#and accepted that you can't describe complicated weird and wonderful act of human existence with a couple of words#you don't need to explain yourself to anyone#i know in our present pronouns/sexuality/gender in bio carrd era it feels like you have to but you really don't#people aren't entitled to a short summary of your inner world and you can't speed run connection#also feel the need to say: i have nothing against people who use micro labels#if you feel like your micro label describes you perfectly? i'm really glad and happy for you#i'm just expressing my own thoughts and feelings that come from personal experience with exploring these things#at some point i started doubting if i could call myself a lesbian#i thought oh i'm not exactly what a lot of people generally think of when they hear that word#oh they'll misunderstand and i'm not being my 'true self' i'll find a word that fits me exactly if i just keep looking#and then i found out being aroace is a thing and boy did that add a lot of anxiety and confusion to the pot#i didn't feel like i fit in with both communities wasn't lesbian enough wasn't aroace enough#but at some point i just got tired of trying to justify myself to others and to myself#identities aren't houses you live in they're more like seas or rivers flowing into one another#and spaces where they intersect are vague and hard to define and they shift and change and this metaphor is getting away from me#basically#words are complicated#but they're the only direct way we humans can communicate#it is what it is#so make art#a lot of it#oh also unrelated but if you ever tell older queer folks that they're using wrong words to describe themselves i am going to jump you
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Mortifying ordeal of being perceived vs the burning itching need to talk about the lingering will. Woe, tag ramble upon ye
#saltfish speaks#fucking. i know the lw is pretty much just treated as a fragment of terra (which it is) and people tend to jsut think of it as terra#except stripped of his heart and body and voice#which is fine. that is technically true. more or less exactly whats going on#HOWEVER#ive developed absolutely catastrophic brainworms abt the very soecific version of the lw that lives in my brain thats kinda just#morphed into its Own Guy#complete with accidentally obtained it/its pronouns and very unique mental miseries whenever i think abt it for too long#augh. what do you even do when youre a barely lucid incomplete shard of another guy and your entire existence was born out of pure rage#and a single incomprehensibly powerful flash of instinct to Survive#that youre keeping yourself conscious and animaged purely out of sheer force of will#animated. not retyping that godbless#your entire incomplete soul defined by fury and desperation and the instinct to Protect#(yourself? your body? your friends who are one of the only things you can still remember when everything else has been torn away?#do you even know?)#uuhhghhgh. mmy bug#my strange and tormented insect#kingdom hearts#kh
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a lot of analysis of race / sex (including intersex-ness) / gender / disability &c., both online and in academe, is seriously hampered by a failure to consider how these categories are constructed historically
#'disabled people' or 'intersex people' or what have you used repeatedly as though it's a neutral self-evident category#and as if we should all know what it means and who it includes--#but the broader argument is one that would really benefit from understanding the ideology that goes into#deciding 1. that this category should exist 2. how it should be defined 3. who falls inside and outside of it#like I'm not complaining about people using a convenient shorthand--it's a structural problem with their conception of these things#and even if people acknowledge on some level that these things are constructed--it's much harder to really UNDERSTAND#that fact. and construct your ideas around it.#metablogging
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You know a world where your ability to carry something is determined by quantity rather than size or weight is very easy to accept in a video game, because of mechanical convenience, but would probably be so strange in a story in any other medium, and I think a few more books and shows could stand to get a little funkier with the fundamentals of their reality like that.
#just casually make a setting that functions different on a fundamental level#this is genuinely my favourite thing about minecraft fics is the absolutely alien setting#that gets treated very casually and with a 'thats just how the world works' mentality#people can exist in multiple worlds and the code that makes them them can be accessed and casually altered#and no one has any ethical problems with admins doing so#there is a clear and defined divide between players and mobs on all levels except emotional#but also players treat their own body as a toy the change and throw around because death means nothing#minecrafts a good one for it because the game has zero story its just a playground for creativity#but i think about final fantasy where entire skillsets are contained in some item or clothing and swapped between#or gta where it costs money to come back to life#theres plenty of media that explores the idea of lives or retries as a mechanic and a story element#but what about the fact that man made objects being and inherent part of the reality to where#a fundamental function such as peoples lives can be restored by paying money#not in a theres a god of greed sense but in a thats just how reality works#a lot of these things get placed on a godlike being when they do pop up and i think thats the boring route#let your setting just function different beyond magic being present#have the characters world and thus mindset be alien
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nothing more relaxing than like acting out a play in my room alone
#idk what it is about walking around in someone else's trauma for a little while but it just takes the pressure out#maybe it's bc it's easy 2 get a handle on it bc it hasn't happened 2 you. it gives u a sense of detached mastery that you don't have#over your own life#like you're analyzing + focused on convincing in your portrayal of something. + u can also change the performance to make it#more believable or impactful too. there's that control over the words‚ the implied experiences��� and then also the superficial thoughts#that war with the words + give a sense of direction#it's like... so freeing to be able to control all those things in someone else's trauma#cause like when awful things are happening in my life i can't change my point of view. i'm stuck with the thoughts that i have#+ the sympathies that i have + the shame i have + if something really important to me goes wrong then i can't control what i think#or feel. no matter how hard i try the outcome can't change. but acting like someone else + piecing their emotions together#just gives me back that sense of control.#i've been walking around for a while afraid that everyone could see my surface-level thoughts on my face + that they were being#misinterpreted. proving to myself that i can control those thoughts is good on one hand + bad on the other where i then#lose confidence in my authentic self's ability to walk around in the world. i guess i'll have 2 think about it some more.#i was figuring things out a bit in my own way. i think i'd still prefer that lol.#also when i think about my worst moments‚ they're rough for years because i wasn't able to be authentic at all. and all that was#punished in ways that were traumatic. i don't really want these bad moments to define my life so maybe it's better to just take these#experiences on the chin + let the terror inside of me exist‚ palatable or not
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I am constantly impressed with SpongeBob (show) for being able to make iconic lines and gags that don't feel overplayed even if they're repeated
#like when SpongeBob starts Sobbing Crying the animators find sooo many silly ways for that to manifest#and I am v obsessed#(I can only talk abt early seasons so this is what I am referring to)#la necesito#text#fun thing to do is rewatch/read/etc One thing you remember well over your life#and see how your appreciation for that thing changes#like as a kid it's just like oh kids show. n in hs I was like oh meme haha. now I'm like.#wow animation writing cartoons blah blah#it's fun!#and I get to laugh at stuff I forget about in the last 8+ years pfft#one episode that will remain constant for me however is Procrastination#truly the defining episode of my existence#like every time there's an irl bit like the hand it is ALWAYS funny#and the voice acting is incredible.#the way Tom Kenny made such an iconic voice that has such an iconic laugh and even sleep sound!
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