#there's a lot of problems with this in practice

[woso-dreamzzz]

Read II

England Lionesses x Child!Reader

Mary Earps x Child!Reader

Summary: There's a reason you don't have sugar

You hold reading lessons every day at camp because you want the rest of the England team to not be knuckleheads anymore and to prove Mikey from school wrong.

It's not easy to learn how to read so you know you need to come back to make sure everyone has been keeping up with their learning because that's what Mummy and Daddy do to you.

They started teaching you how to read very early so you were fairly advanced when you went to school.

You think Mikey's just jealous because you're a good reader and he's a bad one but, still, you want to make sure to prove him wrong.

Mary always says the best revenge is proving haters wrong. You don't know if Mikey's a hater but you'll assume he is because better safe than sorry.

You've done a good job at teaching everyone though because Maya, Millie T and Tooney all give you some sherbet sweets. They make your mouth go a little tingly when you try them but you like that feeling so the three of them keep feeding you more.

They're responsible for you while Mary's getting the last bit of treatment before you all get on the coach to go to the stadium. Usually, someone else is responsible for you but you did a quick reading lesson for Maya and Millie with Tooney as your assistant so they're supervising you before the journey.

You decide that you really like the sherbet straws they give you and Maya dares you to see how many you can finish before you have to go.

You don't count but it's definitely a lot.

Enough for you to feel super hyped when you're finally reunited with Mary. She's picked out a set of four seats with a table and she's already got your rucksack full of books open for you to pick from.

You're very advanced in your reading for such a young kid but even you struggle a little bit. Now that you've taught Mary to read, she can read very well from the books that are a bit too complicated for you right now so she's in charge of reading them to you as you drive to the pitch.

"Er..." You say as you look at the selection," That one."

"Alright," Mary says, cracking open the book and clearing her throat. She gets about halfway through before she notices how wiggly you're being. "Hey, rugrat, do you need the toilet?"

You frown. "No. Keep reading, Mary."

"Are you sure? I can take you."

"No, Mary. My book, please."

"Alright." Mary keeps reading but she's acutely aware of the way you keep wiggling in your seat.

You seem to think you're fine though. Or, at least, you don't think you need the toilet which is Mary's main worry.

"Okay," She says finally," Go and find someone to hang out with. I need to talk to Tooney."

You seem all too happy to scamper off, practically throwing yourself at Beth across the aisle.

"Tooney!" Mary snaps, interrupting the conversation she and Alessia are having.

"Jesus, Mary! You scared me there!"

"What did you give my sister?" Mary demands," She's never been like this before."

"Like what?"

"Like that!"

Mary points over to where you've decided it's a funny idea to crowd surf over the girls at the front, who are bouncing you a bit as they pass you off to the girls sitting behind them.

"She doesn't do that! She's also not wiggly on the bus! What did you give her?"

Tooney winces. "I gave her nothing!"

Mary narrows her eyes. "What did you let Millie and Maya give her?"

Tooney's eyes dart to them quickly before she clears her throat. "I've got the right to remain silent! Anything I say or do can be used against me in a court of-"

Mary's already moved off before Tooney can finish and she crosses the coach to confront the other two. "I'm not interested in excuses. Tell me what you've given my sister."

Her gaze is clearly intimidating because Maya and Millie fold instantly and Mary's on her way back to her seat, easily plucking you from someone's arms to set you back down next to her.

It seems most of the sugar rush has disappeared now but then another problem makes itself known.

The bus goes over a series of bumps and you make a little aborted movement forward.

Mary recognises the action and whips out a plastic bag. "Here, rugrat," She says," Let it out. Let it all out."

She rubs your back as you throw up. It takes a lot longer than usual to hurl up your guts and Mary narrows her eyes over the top of her seat to look at Millie and Maya.

This is all their fault, Mary knows it.

It's because of all of the sugar you've consumed that you've thrown up so bad and, as she ties the bag shut, Mary briefly contemplates throwing it at Millie and Maya.

"Juice, please," You say and Mary hands it to you," Sorry, Mary."

"It's okay," She says," It's not your fault. Do you want to continue your book?"

You nod, leaning against your sister, energy drained. "Yes, please."

[coca-lastic]

5 Green flags 🟩 VS 5 Red Flags 🟥

I'M BACK 👹

Well well, My last post about Keigo have lots of support from you all, and like I said, I'm willing to do a part 2 about Bakugo Katsuki sooo, here I am.

Tell me if you want a part 3 and which character you would like.

Let's start with his red flags. Let's be clear that Katsuki does have a few, it's true that it's nice to imagine him as an attentive boyfriend who takes the initiative, and I firmly believe that he would be like that, but that shouldn't hide the little things he has that can get on your nerves at the time of a fight.

Now, let's start listing his bad things:

1. He acts like you're a burden: I don't think he would do this on purpose, but he would. Comments like "What the fuck do you want now?", "Stop bothering me", "You're too intense", "Will you shut up?" can come up at the beginning of the relationship. Even to the point that you feel bad about his independent actions, as if you were just another thing on his list. Of course, deep down he doesn't consider you a burden, but he expresses himself as if you were one.

2. He doesn't open up to you: Katsuki has this constant thought that he can't be inferior, that he has to be the best and his feelings can be a difficult thing, and I think that in a relationship he feels a lot more pressure about all this to be strong and show you how tough he is. So I think that for a long time he won't tell you if something is wrong with him even if it's clear that something is wrong with him. This could just be something normal, but I add it as a red flag since a large part of Katsuki's life is clouded by those insecurities, so he doesn't tell you how he feels every time he sees Deku, or how he was in training, or how he felt when he won something, because if he does, his facade will fall apart. This ends up being something that can affect the communication between you two.

3. He doesn't understand you: He tries, he really does, but he just has a hard time understanding when you feel bad. He's so used to minimizing what's happening to him that he doesn't understand why it affects you so much. So you might be crying in his arms, and he might be hugging you, but deep down he doesn't understand, and that's terrible in arguments, because he doesn't understand why you're angry or why you're sad or why you're disappointed, he tries to fix it but he doesn't understand the roots of the problem.

4. He's jealous: Like, not jealous to get insecure when he sees you with a friend, jealous to get furious when he sees you with another man. And that, OBVIOUSLY, brings problems. He trusts you, he doesn't trust them, he knows you're hot and he also knows that the other jerks know it. So don't doubt that he's going to complain to you repeatedly that a certain person shouldn't be so close to you, or that he doesn't get along very well with a certain friend.

5. His anger: In the anime we can already see that he is a little bit... impatient. He tries to control himself with you, he truly loves you and treats you with his best version, but there are times when you simply act in a bad way, I mean, you also have your red flags, and that makes him angry, and you too, then you fight. A lot. For a long time. A lot of yelling. And probably a lot of painful words that he doesn't really feel, but says them, because his fury is faster to speak than to think, analyze and meditate.

Now, like every person, he has his flaws and his virtues. He has things to improve and things that you should love, because they are incredible.

So let's see what those good sides are and let's see which side of his personality ends up winning, let's see the second side of his furious personality.

1. He doesn't talk, he acts: Maybe he doesn't open up to you as much as he should, but he decides to make you feel comfortable by letting you know that he loves you through more practical methods. Are you hungry? He cooks, are you sick? He takes care of you, do you want a snack? He buys it. Because actions are worth more than words, so he decides to act, he decides to give you what you want, and consider yourself lucky because you are the only one who sees his helpful side.

2. He puts you first: If his friends invited him out to eat something, he won't care if you sent him a text telling him to go with you to buy something. If his mother told him she was going to celebrate a birthday with the family, he'll run away because you asked him to bring you some chocolates. Because he knows that if you love someone, you're not going to replace them with the smallest things, so if he has to make a decision that involves you, you'll always be the right answer.

3. He is not ashamed to show you off, he loves to do it: You are also part of his achievements, and being the show-off that he is, he will show you off. God, he has a sexy, smart, strong, kind and hot girlfriend, he has to show you and show them that you two are together, that he is a lucky and happy man.

4. He knows you: I think this is important, but not all men do it, in fact those who do are very few. Because not all of them observe you, remember, learn and please you, but Katsuki does. He is observant and knows how to listen, maybe he doesn't understand perfectly why you feel so much, why you get excited and sad about small things, but he knows that you do it, he knows how you feel, he knows how you reacts, he knows what you like and how he knows you, he knows how to please you, he knows how to make you happy with a gift, he knows how to excite you, he knows how to make you laugh and he knows how to make you feel loved.

5. You're part of his future: If he sees himself as a great hero, he sees you by his side, making and fulfilling your dream. Holding your hand. Kissing you. Hugging you. Caressing you. That's what he sees. Maybe two house, or a single one, whatever you want, maybe 2 children, or maybe none, just a pet, maybe a red car, or maybe a black car, but within all those variables there is one constant: you.

Sorry, this doesn't match your way of seeing Katsuki. Remember that he is still a character that each one sees and imagines in their own way, but I try to do it in a way that everyone feels comfortable.

Now, did the 🟩 flags or the 🟥 flags win?

[random-fun-polls]

can you sight read music notes/sheets?

yes, with little to no problem

yes, but with some delay

only if i practiced a lot recently

kind of

no, but i can figure it out if u give me some time

no, not at all

[slutshamethesquirrels]

Suguru Blue - Part 3

Pairing: cult leader!geto x reader

Word Count (Part 3): 4K

Warnings: dub-con, rough sex, mentions of violence, sexual trauma, murder, mind games

From then on, he was playing a new game. One he’d never before played, and one he wasn't very fond of. He’d always been a sore loser.

It was part of his problem with Satoru all those years ago. The white haired beauty had forever been two steps ahead of him in almost every facet, whether that be skill or strength or sheer willpower. Satoru was always just a bit better in every way. An inch or two taller, a smartass retort just a second quicker, the bravery to kiss another boy just seconds before he himself had built up the confidence to do so. It was only natural that the only person who could be even more prideful than himself was Gojo. He knew he had no chance of convincing him to join himself in his defection; to do so would be convincing him they were on the losing side of history.

When the time came, he couldn't even look at him, knowing the ultramarine eyes of someone who once trusted- once loved him were boring holes in the back of his skull. But in a way, he'd finally won. The victory wasn't sweet. Going back on that decision would be to admit defeat yet again, so he never had.

Victory tasted a lot like curses sometimes, he decided, but not as intense. Less of an assault on your tastebuds and more of a kind of bile and acid constantly lodged in the back of his throat. Perhaps it was his urge to finally taste something a little sweeter that had him bending over backwards for you.

It was uncomfortable at first, practicing your stupid therapy terms. Boundaries strangled him. Coping Mechanisms felt like a serrated knife to his jugular. Repairing and Rebuilding felt like getting tossed down the stairs of some abandoned hotel by a first-grade curse at sixteen years old, every step knocking the wind from his chest.

It was helping, though. Whether he liked it or not. His first real reality check had come not from you, but from Nanako, who’d casually pointed out over breakfast how happy he’d seemed recently. He didn’t know if that word had ever been used to describe him, and he wasn’t sure he’d use it himself.

And still. This had to be at least close, right?

Here, on the couch with you, some old band he didn’t know emanating from the television, the screen just bright enough to cast shadows on the walls of your living room. There’s a faint acknowledgement swirling in the back of his brain that there was midday sunlight streaming in through the windows when he’d settled here with you nestled against the plush of the sofa, but he can’t care, not when your giggles are flooding his ears, your shoulders shaking against him as you scroll through social media. In the past fifteen minutes or so, you’d found an account full of cat videos, and he’d found himself entranced by just how easily you were amused.

He was learning a lot about you. You didn’t have many friends, but the ones you did were incredibly good ones (“Quality over quantity”, you’d said.) , you preferred fruity sweets to chocolate ones, you had the most irritating habit of getting in bed with your socks on and then kicking them off in the night. Each new detail was a brush stroke, your quail feather pen dipping into indigo ink and broadening his horizons, somehow without the slightest hint of knowledge about his world.

He wanted to tell you, to kneel at your altar and confess his transgressions, but he couldn't even expect God to have mercy on him, much less a monkey- human girl.

In another world, another life, somewhere far away from reality it’s different. He decides as he twirls his fingers through a loc of your hair, watching the way the lapis glow from your phone screen makes it shine. It's just the three of you; You, Satoru and himself. The two of you fight over who gets to sleep in the middle damn near nightly, and he ends up taking the spot for himself. He swears it's to stop the bickering, but the truth is he loves the way your individual breaths caress either side of his neck. It is because he feels the best trapped underneath the weight of the both of you. It's because he knows you'll fall asleep first and he'll get the last kiss from Satoru, but not before he watches one half of his soul trace the other one's sleeping features with his fingers-

“Hello? So far away.” Your voice cuts through the fantasy, and he’s ripped back into reality, clearing his throat as if he'd just been caught doing something wrong before humming in acknowledgment. You had a habit of making him feel raw, but right. Like a callous cut from a heel. Tender, painful, exposed, refreshed.

“Penny for your thoughts?” You prod again when he doesn’t elaborate, and he chuckles.

“Just a penny? I’ll have you know, these are expensive ideas-”.

“A nickel then.”.

“Quarter.”.

“Okay, listen dude. I know the economy’s bad but holy shit.”.

He smirks as you discard your phone on the table and crawl up his body until you’re straddling his abdomen, his hands gently cradling your waist. It's the closest you’ve allowed him to get in a while, and it makes his skin itch. Though if he's honest, he doesn't know what to do when you finally let him truly touch you again. These days you felt more fragile than you used to, or maybe that wasn't the word he was looking for.

Not fragile, but delicate.

You were healing just as much as he was. Every time he saw you it seemed he made a new mistake. When he would move too fast and you’d jump, only to grab his hand and assure him you were okay. When he'd get a little too quiet, furrow his brow in thought and catch you staring at him like a deer in headlights. When he rolled over to hold you in the middle of the night last week and you’d awoken in a complete panic, desperately crawling away from him and gasping your safe word before he’d reoriented you.

“Blue!”

He didn't want to be the cause of your nightmares. And yet he couldn't bring himself to walk away. Not even for your own good. He’d done that before. This time, he was determined to do it differently.

Your hand moves to brush his hair back away from his face, and his eyes flutter shut almost as if to spite him. Vulnerable, raw. Hurts.

He's unsure if he's annoyed by or thankful for the shrill and sudden ringing emanating from the pocket of his hoodie, and at this hour there was really only one option for who it could be. And no matter how much he enjoyed his time with you, they would always come first. He can't explain why it is that he grabs the front of your shirt to keep you there as he shifts and produces his phone from his pocket and presses it to his ear. There's something in him that craves the pain, it seems.

Nanako doesn't wait for him to greet her before she starts.

“Are you coming home or not?!”

Somewhere in the distance he hears her twin chastising her for being so rude, and he cracks a fond grin at the sound, his eyes watching his own hands fiddling with the hem of your shirt as he argues with her. Yes, he's aware he’d been away quite a bit in the past week. No, of course he didn't hate them or wish them a slow and painful death. Yes, he would be home when they awoke in the morning. Yes, they could go out for breakfast.

When his eyes meet yours again your brow is furrowed, confusion twisting your pretty features.

“Who was that?” You ask, and he notices your shoulders growing tense. You didn't fully trust him yet, like a dog that had been wounded by a hand that was supposed to lead.

He flips through his repertoire of rules. Communication, honesty, vulnerability. Did it count when it came to his home life? Of course, he could never be completely honest with you, or at least not anytime soon. There was a large part of him that hoped he'd meet his end before he was cornered into breaking your heart like that. You were the only one that could make him feel real guilt. It was the one thing you possessed that Satoru didn't. Regardless, he had to at least try, to give you what he could.

“My kids.” His grip on you tightens as he watches emotion swirl in your eyes, unwilling to let you mentally or physically run from him until he could explain.

“They're not my blood. Fate brought us together when I was around nineteen. They were in a bad place, so was I. At the time, I think all three of us needed someone who understood… we just kind of never left each other.”

You soften a bit and he mirrors you, melting back into the couch as you seem to relax some. He loves that feeling, he realizes. There's some sort of reward center in his body that seems to be triggered only by your approval. It feels like when he used to steal Satoru's expensive jackets in the winter. Warm. Heavy.

“Nineteen is really young to take on two kids.” You murmur.

He can't exactly wrap his head around the way you're looking at him, so he just pulls you down into the crook of his neck instead, wrapping his arms around your frame.

“You're correct. Of all the mistakes I’ve made, though, that's not one of them. I’d do it all over again for them.”

“You're sweet.”

He doesn't respond, too focused on the way your breath is fanning across his neck to argue with you.

***

He can't justify his actions.

None of them. He’d never made a single rational decision in his life, actually. Geto was a rollercoaster of contradictions and conundrums, but somehow things always worked out. He survived, preserved, weathered the storm time and time again. His foundation was solid, though the paint on his walls weathered and the windows of his soul were cracked and patched with trash bags and duct tape.

He’d always been strong. Resolute. Assured.

So why, then, was he here? Standing at the door of your apartment in the dead of night, trying to find the will in himself to knock? Like you might reject him? You had every right to reject him. You should reject him.

He needed you. Never in his life had he needed anyone, but he was certain the weight in his stomach would crush him if he couldn't see you. Quickly. You’d become a strange safe haven for his sensitivities, something he wasn't all that happy about. It was like being stranded on a sinking ship.

Alone, he'd be able to consign himself to his fate, nothing but indigo waves spanning for miles around him. He could find a sense of calm in the inevitable.

You were a lighthouse. A beacon of hope in the distance. You gave him the idea that there was a way out of his fate, and with it, all the anxiety of chasing that faith. You gave him a chance, choice, and raised the stakes to desperate levels. Without you, there would be none.

He isn't sure what's worse, but he knocks anyway.

It takes you a minute and a few more rounds of knocking, but just when he's about to turn on his heel the door swings open.

“Suguru?” The half question comes through a yawn as one of your hands moves to scrub at your eyes with a balled fist. He’d feel bad for waking you if you didn't look so angelic in your sweatpants and oversized t-shirt. Your knotted hair frames your face in a way that makes you look younger, softer, more vulnerable.

He immediately feels a little lighter.

“I-”

Right. Here he was, running to you for comfort, with no good excuse as to why. He didn't even understand it himself.

“I had a nightmare.” He can't look at you when he says it.

A small hum escapes you, along with a yawn, and then you’re stepping to the side, motioning him in. He hopes you're too tired to notice the tension in his gate, the way his skin bristles like he’s stepped past the barrier of a veil and directly into a domain, like there was a guaranteed hit barreling his way and he could do nothing but his best to protect himself. He’d walked the floor of your apartment so many times, slept in your bed, ate at your table– so why now did it feel foreign? Why did the click of your lock behind him sound like the cock of Toji Fushiguro’s revolver?

He shouldn’t have come here. Not in such a chaotic state. He should’ve waited until the sun was out, until the sky was painted a much lighter shade of blue; one that wasn’t so difficult to see through.

Your fingers find his wrist, tugging him lazily back to a bed he considered sacred.

He lets you.

He lets you get settled, guide him forward, pull him down to you with delicate fingers on his arms, his shoulders, his jaw– until you’re tucking him into the crook of your neck, undoing the hasty bun he’d made out of his hair on his way over, massaging his scalp with your fingers– soothing him.

“I’m too heavy for you, y/n.”

It was true in more ways than you could possibly conceive of, but you only pull more of his body weight over your frame until your drowning in his hair, his broad shoulders, his battle-sculpted arms. The large scars that form an ‘x’ on his chest brush against the fabric of his tshirt, and it feels like they might tear open once again.

“Don’t care.” You sigh out, dipping one hand below the fabric of his shirt you rake your nails lightly along his back. He shudders, watches the way the moonlight streaming in through the window dances across his forearm, illuminating the scars you’d blessed him with.

He didn’t know where all his scars had come from, to keep count would be pointless. He kept track of the important ones, though. The four on his arm, the two across his chest, the bite mark on the inside of his thigh from where Satoru had gotten just a little too rough back in the sweltering dark of his dorm room. Sex was always like that with Satoru, with himself. Less of an act of love, and more one of consumption, of control, of power– of revenge. Another game to win.

“You deserve better.” He argues, self assured in at least that.

“I don’t want better.” You’re just as resolute as he is.

He lifts his head to protest, but you silence him by pressing your lips to his. It’s a comfort and a curse, a gentle hand and a closed fist, a lullaby and a jolt of electricity that makes every neuron in his body fire off in quick succession.

How long has it been since you kissed him? Did it always feel like this?

“Please.” The pathetic word escapes him before he can stop it. Would humans always be his weakness? You brought new meaning to the idea.

Another kiss, and then two, and then three. Chaste, gentle motions that burned worse than any fire he’d ever faced. His whimpers sing a song of mercy, knuckles ice white as he grips the bedsheets behind your head, head diving forward for more, more, more–

He wanted to consume you, swallow you down like one of his curses, pull you out when it benefited him, telepathically know where you are at all times, trap you in his web of darkness and chaos and never ever let you leave him. He licks into your mouth and you release a gasp that makes his stomach clench.

“Suguru.”

It sounds like a warning. His lips tremble when he parts from you, and he just can't move back as much as he knows you’d probably prefer. He rests his forehead against yours, keeps his eyes shut, breathes in deep drawls of your breath, whispers an apology.

Your hands card through his hair.

“You're really pretty, you know that?”

He peeks at you through heavy lids “So I've been told.”.

You roll your eyes and he grins, sly but genuine.

“I’m trying to be nice to you, dickhead.”.

This time, he giggles childishly as your hands push at his shoulders, guiding him flat on his back so you can straddle is waist. It's almost ridiculous, the way the heat of your body turns his insides to a blended mess of organs and raw emotions. His heart swells, his lungs tighten, his stomach flips, his cock twitches.

Your hands slip under his shirt, palms stroking against his skin as you slide it up over his head and toss it to the side. His abdomen flexes under the soft skin of your hands. Your fingers dance along the scars, trace his rigid form.

Your mouth replaces your hands, wet warm silk gliding down his chest, swirling methodically, flicking over his nipples. He gasps for air, fists your hair, trembles against the urge to fight you, begs himself to take your worship. He had no problem accepting it from anyone else, after all.

“You’re shaking” You note, but don't stop your assault on his senses, licking one long stripe from his naval to his neck, the way his back arches is mortifying.

It feels like forever you stay there, exchanging spit, moans, blotting each other purple with no teeth. All suction, pressure, aching.

When he finally dips his fingers past the band of your sweatpants he's met with an obscene amount of slick. He circles your clit a few times, swiping your whines out of your mouth with his tongue, panting when you get impatient all too quickly, reaching down to guide his fingers into your body.

“Is this okay?” He murmurs, but he already knows the answer.

“More.”

Who was he to deny you?

It isn't long before you become insatiable, finding yourself sinking down on his cock with his sweats still gripping his thighs and your shirt still clinging to your frame, damp with sweat.

He loves the way you look when he splits you apart, lips quivering and brow furrowed as you struggle to accommodate him. He loves hollowing you out, carving a place for just him to nestle deep inside your pretty little body. He loves the way your pussy clenches, sucks him in, holds tight like he was meant to be slotted inside you, jerking against your cervix, painting you from the inside out with his precum.

He helps you, guides your hips as you bounce desperately against him, chasing your high shamelessly, melting his brain with every moan. Electricity strikes his body with each stroke, his muscles jerk in tandem.

You struggle when you get close, your thighs jerking against your own desire, pace stuttering. He thinks it's precious, the way you're edging yourself to tears with your sheer inability to keep up with yourself.

Eventually, though, he does find a bit of mercy within himself, flipping you over on your back, fucking into you steadily, toying with your clit.

You dig red stripes into his back as you come unglued, sink your teeth into his already bruised shoulder. He hopes the burn never fades.

When he cums, he doesn't pull out, stuffs you full of him, hopes you can feel it in your soul. Your legs lock around his waist, hips rut animalistically against him, making sure nothing goes to waste.

He can't win this game, he tells himself as he watches you sleep, traces your features with his fingers. There was no world in which you were safe. Not in this timeline, but maybe the next.

Which game was more childish? Thinking he could change anything for Satoru? Or thinking he could change anything for you?

He falls asleep with you nestled in his grip, sometime after the sky turns a bright baby blue.

[hyperlexichypatia]

What some of y'all call "recovery" and "healing" is just... growing up.

The theme I keep coming back to, the theme I keep writing about over and over, is the inextricability of ableism (specifically neurobigotry) and ageism.

The pathologizing of youth. The infantilizing of disabled adults. The structuring and micromanaging of childhood leading to ever more opportunities for "deviancy" to be classified as "disordered." The "neurological" push to raise the age of majority. The constant framing of disabled parents and caregivers as "unfit" or "bad influences" on children. And on and on.

Ageism and neurobigotry are such an interconnected tangle loop mobius strip that people are using the "healing"/"recovery" framework for basic human maturation.

When you were little, you uncritically accepted the worldview of your parents and other adults in your life, but now that you're older and "recovered," you see it differently?

That's called growing up. You grew up.

When you had less information and experience informing your worldview, you saw things one way, and now that you've "healed," you see things differently?

That's called learning. You learned new information and changed your perspective accordingly.

Look, learning and change and growth and maturation are (or should be) lifelong processes with no endpoint, and one of the cultural factors making people so weird about "maturity" and age of majority issues is the assumption that a "Real Adult" is in their fixed final form. So people think "If I've changed and grown in the past 5 years, that means that 5-years-ago Me was Still A Child and should not have been allowed to make major life-altering decisions," and also think that once they reach An Endpoint, they can or should stop changing. And that's a problem.

But. But. Changes in one's relationship to oneself and one's family of origin are especially common during times of major transition. That's not pathological. That's not even abnormal. If you see the world differently than you did before a major life transition, that does not mean that you went from a diseased state to a nondiseased state ("recovery"), or from an injured state to an uninjured state ("healing"). Time passed. You got older. Everyone else got older. You changed. Other people changed. Your family changed. The social context in which you live changed. The pathology paradigm has no place in this phenomenon.

People are out here saying that "People should heal themselves before they have their own children," and then when asked, what they mean by "heal themselves" is "learn how to effectively communicate with children." That. That is a skill. Learning a skill is not "healing." Lack of a particular skill set is not a disorder you have to "recover" from. You just have to learn the skill.

But that's also why when we say "You don't have to recover from your disabilities, recovery isn't a moral obligation," people say things like "You want to use your disability as an excuse not to change and grow."

My good bitch, what does change and growth have to do with recovery?

And this isn't even a new observation, because people have talked about how parents of developmentally disabled children will credit "therapy" and "recovery" for their children's natural developmental trajectory (if your child gained a skill after a year of intensive therapy, that doesn't mean "the therapy worked," that means they got older and developed the maturation to acquire that skill). A lot of the rhetoric around early childhood education does the same thing (the reason your 6 year old can hold a pencil now and he couldn't last year is because his bones got stronger and his fine motor skills improved, not because his high-quality preschool made him ready to compete).

But this. This is adults doing it to themselves! And it's so very original-sin-coded. You are born Unhealthy, but through continual effort and right practice, you can Recover and Heal.

No! You just grew up!

[gabessquishytum]

Hob Gadling has a small cock. He’s never put up with anyone saying anything though- he’s given black eyes to a lot of locker room assholes who thought they could joke about it, and more than proven that size doesn’t matter to his lovers. He’s a proud bastard and refuses to feel any other way.

Until Dream that is.

Something about that smooth, deep voice degrading him just does something to him. The first time he goes to bed with Dream and he starts talking about Hob’s useless little prick, Hob tries sooo hard to snap back. He puffs up, snarls, threatens to kick Dream out, all with his face bright ready and confusing arousal in the pit of his belly. Dream lets him get it out of his system, no reaction except a raised eyebrow and a pointed look at the way Hob’s tiny cock is hard and leaking.

To make matters worse, when Dream moves away from him Hob can’t hold back a whimper.

Dream just smirks victoriously. But he insists he’ll take Hob at his word. If he doesn’t want Dream’s help with his little problem, fine. But if he does? He’s going to have to beg. For exactly what he wants.

-🦇

I do very much enjoy the small cock Hob content. Very much indeed.

Dream thinks that Hob's cute little cock is even cuter when he's being all macho manly and getting angry, telling Dream to shut the hell up, getting all red in the face. It makes such a lovely contrast to that cute pink prick. Dream would love to paint him, or take a photograph perhaps: Hob’s rage perfectly captured and yet totally undermined by his (small) arousal. Making Hob beg for his attention is so satisfying - Dream can practically hear Hob’s teeth grinding together as he begrudgingly admits that he wants to be touched. Except... Dream just isn't convinced. He'll need a better performance. He needs Hob to truly demean himself, because he's going to look so pretty when he does.

How long does it take Hob to give in and start babbling about how he wants Dream’s hands to please, please please touch his tiny, hard little dick? Not very long at all in the grand scheme of things. He's very willing to abandon his dignity if it means that Dream will finally get him off. And Dream is so sweet with him after that. He cooes over Hob’s inches, and sucks him delicately between pouting lips. It's the attention that the adorable little thing obviously deserves! Maybe next time Dream will tie it up with a pretty bow and get Hob to show it off properly. Pretty things should always be admired, right?

[kibbles-bits]

any voxval fics you’d recommend?

Ah, yes, voxval fics... The one ship that finally made me cave and read explicit stuff. I am now numb to everything.

Everything.

I'll only be posting completed fics. Warnings, almost all of these are explicit. A couple also have Angel, you know, suffering.

And please mind the tags.

First off is a couple of favs that I always go back for a reread:

Corrupted Love by DoveFactory (Words: 149,495)

In a moment of blind desperation to one-up Alastor, Vox puts himself in a compromising situation that leaves him worse for wear. His state triggers something in Valentino who decides to change the nature of their relationship.

The title and summary of this is so misleading I thought it was going to be a dark fic but nope. The Vees are a bunch of goobers and Valentino always wins. I would scream about this every time it updated. I love the characterizations and their banter it almost made me forget there's sex in like every chapter. Honestly I wish there was more tags referencing the character/story stuff.

Virtual Reality by passthevoxcord (Words: 7,634)

Vox gets tired of his cybernetic biology being a barrier to his sex life, so he starts a new project to fuck Valentino in VR. Val will try anything once, but he has something else in mind.

This one ends up being so sweet I want to die. passthevoxcord's other fic, Only a Shadow, drives me nuts but its a WIP and hasn't actually gotten to the voxval yet.

choke behind a smile by gloriousmonsters (Words: 19,881)

"I'm not scared by extreme, although I doubt I'll find it interesting. What is it?" Valentino's eyes narrow slyly over his smile. "If you aren't scared, why do you need a warning?" Vox has everything under control in his new business partnership with benefits. His emotions, his unfortunate desires, the little mind games they play. Even Valentino himself. When Val offers an invitation to a special show he's performing, Vox knows it's a dare, and knows he has to take it, show Val that he can't be scared or destabilized. He has no idea of how deep under his skin the show will get.

Everyone's so normal. I love this Valentino. There's another Valvel fic that has the same Valentino I also recommend called bad girls go backstage.

Great Expectations by MarenRose (Words: 11,280)

“It’s his goal. Those three simple words. If he could get to hear them once, could let the reality of their meaning and spoken existence occupy his mind for only a few indiscernible moments, then maybe, Vox could learn to see the appeal of this god forsaken holiday. He might even learn to ‘love’ it too.” Or: Vox hates Valentine’s Days. His prick of a ‘wife’ is just too damn hard to please.

This miiiight have been the fic that made me Lock In on voxval? I'm not sure. It's sweet. Alastor is hilarious.

biting keeps your words at bay by Subedarling (Words: 1,511)

“You can’t hit me,” Valentino says. He’s practically vibrating with rage. “You’re not allowed to—you can’t hit me!” Vox sneers, cruel and mocking and hopefully masking the way his heart is breaking apart inside his chest. “Baby, I can do whatever the hell I want.” A decade into their partnership, Vox and Valentino have their first and last physical fight.

This might be the only non-explicit fic in this list. I am all for Val being the worst just because he's Like That. But I will not say no to an implied tragic backstory. I read this one a lot and want to die. Can I draw this. I want to draw this. Oh my god I have free time I can totally draw this...

And my other recs:

Just For The Record by PeppermintWalrus (Words: 13,795)

Vox is thrilled about his new film enterprise with his business partner, ready to build a lucrative empire for the denizens of hell to experience true cinema, in the only genre their depraved minds desire. There’s just one problem that he finds out too late; Valentino has never filmed porn before. Vox decides that some... hands-on teaching, is necessary to save their production.

Yeah you read that right.

a putrid feeling that i've addressed by spoondrifts (Words: 5,162)

They weren’t a couple because Valentino was pathologically noncommittal and Vox simply knew better. He tried the whole romance thing with a certain radio demon a few decades back, and he’d learned his damn lesson. Hell just wasn’t the place for that sort of cutesy bullshit. Also, he was pretty sure that Valentino was straight up incapable of love, which was both par for the course for Vox’s friendships and amazingly convenient—things couldn’t get complicated if there was nothing to complicate in the first place. Or: Full Moon, Vox/Val edition.

Haha I love pain. I lied, this is the second non-explicit fic.

Little Miss Hellion by DoveFactory (Words: 10,657)

Hell’s worst married couple spends a day of family bonding at a beauty pageant doing whatever it takes to make sure their daughter takes home the crown, because failure is never an option for the Vees. Pilot AU where Vox and Valentino are married and Velvette is their adopted daughter.

It's more Vees than voxval but they're married so.

The Art of Pimping by MarenRose (Words: 9,161)

Desperate to close a deal with one of the most lucrative investors in Pride, Vox does the unthinkable and pimps out Valentino for a one-time date. What could go wrong?

Val's attitude in this one is funny and Vox. Yeah. Vox made a mistake.

You Found Me by passthevoxcord (Words: 4,338)

Long before Velvette came along, it was just them. Vox and Valentino. Valentino and Vox.

Sobbing.

Something Less Than Dishonest by daphnerunning, Galiko (Words: 33,931)

He isn’t expecting the way Valentino walks, for some reason. Maybe it’s the extra limbs. Maybe it’s the wings. Maybe it’s the heels. Vox had skipped briefly through a few of the slut’s movies, for research, and isn’t expecting the way Valentino moves in person to feel so… Different. “…You must be my four o’clock,” he says, standing and offering a hand. Oh, shit, he’s huge. Valentino towers over him, easily would without the stripper heels. Vox is not afraid of heights.

Vox is so offensive in this it loops back around to hilarious.

Red Skies and Valentino by alternatedoom (Words: 86,050)

"Vox and I are special friends, doll. Go give him a kiss," Val says to the boy.

Angel does not have a good time. But the Voxval is nice.

before you go by xoTsundoku (Words: 4,426)

Before Alastor came into their lives, Vox and Valentino were happy. Maybe they still can be.

A Farewell to Ghosts by Accidental_Ducky (Words: 37,149)

"What do you think that is," Vox demands, pointing at the new guy. Valentino turns, eyes raking greedily over the man's body. He's gorgeous, skinny in a heroin chic way with big blue eyes and blond hair that falls just so across his eyes. "Hot." "Don't fucking call the ghost hot!"

The only human AU I've liked so far. Love the character interactions. Vox and Val are hilarious.

God I hope I didn't miss any. There's definitely some good WIP ones out there.

[jermer10]

Hope it's okay to ask, could we maybe gets his of engie, pyro n sniper finding out their gonna be parents with reader? Or if that's uncomfy at all, maybe he's on them raising a kid with reader/ parent hcs? Hope you have a great day aayyy

TF2 mercs finding out their s/o is pregnant + raising kids hcs

afab reader | the "raising kids" asks are so sweet omgg, thnku anon!!

includes: pyro, engineer, sniper

drabbles under the cut :P

Pyro: - Pyro would be ecstatic, even though their response might be hard to interpret due to their mask - Lots of celebratory gestures—like random dancing, holding your hands, and excitedly pointing at your belly - Would immediately start childproofing everything despite the baby being months away - Pyro might take on an almost overprotective role, always wanting to be close and keep you safe from harm - They would be an incredibly fun parent - always up for playing games, telling wild (and confusing) stories, and engaging in imaginative activities - Loves making colorful, creative toys or crafts for your kid - Your child would likely grow up with a great sense of imagination - Safety is top priority - Pyro would always make sure their child was safe around their beloved fire-related equipment (although you have caught Pyro attempting to teach the small child how to use their flame thrower - weapons weren't allowed in the house after that.) - Tends to take a very hands-on, involved approach - always wanting to entertain, comfort, and spend time with the child

Engineer: - Engi's always wanted kids, and knowing that you were the person to help raise them? It's safe to say he's over the moon - Immediately starts planning both emotionally and practically - he’s a problem-solver, so he begins researching how to best support you through pregnancy - Will design a crib or other baby gear on his own, making sure everything is safe and perfectly customized to how you would like it - Takes on a quiet but confident role, ensuring you’re comfortable and have everything you need - Engineer would be the cool, nerdy dad - building toys, helping with science projects, and encouraging a love for learning - Loves teaching the child practical skills from a young age, whether it’s mechanics, math, or just how things work in general - Will always be there to fix things and solve any problems around the house, and likely pass those skills down to the child - Very patient - always ready to help the kid with whatever they may need - Family is everything to Engineer, and he’d prioritize spending quality time with you and the child

Sniper: - Sniper would be quietly stunned, not sure how to process the news at first, but once it sinks in, he’d be terrified but deeply moved - He isn't someone who wants kids, but seeing you in front of him, smiling and excited to be a parent - it instantly changed his mind - Likely to be concerned about providing a stable life, given his nomadic tendencies, but would resolve to settle down to ensure the best for his future family - Sniper would be a practical, no-nonsense kind of dad, but with a surprising soft side, especially when it comes to bedtime stories or quiet moments - He’d teach the child important survival skills, like camping, fishing, and tracking, wanting them to be independent and capable - Values alone time with the child, whether it's exploring nature or simply sharing quiet moments - Protective, especially in the outdoors - always keeping an eye out and making sure the child is safe in any environment - Although not overly expressive, he’d show his love through actions - always being there, ensuring the family is provided for, and offering quiet support

[delusion-mostly]

Regina George x Reader

Part 2/32

Warnings: suggestive flirting, reader gets injured, lots of cussing, mention of pain medication

Word count: approx. 1,805

The next day you see Regina at her lunch table. Even after last year she still sits with Cady, Karen, and Gretchen. She waves you over.

"What the fuck did I say about talking to me George? Especially after last nights words I REALLY am not interested in speaking with you." You whisper-yell at her.

"You didn't add me to that stupid group, I have no clue when things happen. Missed that detail didn't you sweetie." She gives you a condescending smile.

"Hm, call me sweetie one more damn time and your ass will be facedown in the ice. Got it George? When it comes to my sport you respect me or get the fuck out," you send a link to the group chat to her as you rant, and finally look up at her, "you know I was willing to be nice, and potentially be acquaintances this season, but after what you said? I was trying to help you and you had to be a bitch. Same old Regina."

You walk to your table with your teammates, Kendall and Mac, and slam your tray down. You don't know why, well, you do; but Regina filled you with a red hot hate. Worse than any other person you have ever met. Worse than the girls who took your state championship away from you, worse than your exes, worse than your bullies. Regina made you burn with anger, but damn did she look good with that condescending smile on her face.

She walks by your table, picking you up by the arm and drags you with her as she walks out of the room. You don't want to make a scene, so you don't fight it and instead walk next to her; besides, Regina on your arm made girls look at you. She pulls you into the nearest empty classroom and you yank yourself out of her arm.

"What the actual fuck." You swipe your letterman down.

"Y/N. I'm sorry. Okay? I lashed out. My back hurt, it was raining, I didn't like the way you treated me at practice. I have a lot on my plate. i didn't mean to yell at you," she sighs, you aren't convinced, "You were trying to be nice, I understand. I shouldn't have gotten so angry. I really am sorry."

"Oh it's never your fault, is it? The burn book was Cady's. Total bullshit by the way," you put your hands in the warm pockets of your wool letterman and pace, "and you lashing out was all your stress, and your pain, and I guess me?" You sarcastically laugh and throw your hands up, dragging the sides of your jacket up with you.

"Oh my god. No. I admit it. The burn book? Me. Me lashing out? Well, I should have kept that inside. I really didn't mean to. And I know why you were so mean, it's because I was mean first."

"Right on the money, Miss George. Now tell me, did we learn how to properly apologize in elementary school? Or do I need to teach you how to lace up skates AND apologize."

You sit on the teacher's desk, it squeaks under your weight. Regina turns bright red and looks like shes about to cry, she tilts her head down and fidgets with her sleeve. A tear streaks down her face, mascara rolling with it, and she swipes at it with her blue sleeve, leaving the spot a muddy blackish grey.

"I'm sorry, Y/N. For practically calling you a slut, saying you couldn't score points, AND for lashing out. I don't actually have that big of a problem with your sexuality." She gets out.

"Thank you. And I figured you didn't, it's just the first thing you notice to pick on me about. I'm not ready to accept your apology yet, or talk to you. But maybe, just maybe, we can learn to get along," the bell rings and you open the door to leave, "peace out George."

———

That night at practice Regina walks in almost the same time as you. You try to be civil by holding the door open, and she gives you a small smile as she walks through. You still hate her, but she has a nice smile. You walk down the steps leading into the locker room. You quickly change into your practice jersey, pants, and skates after putting on your gear, and you head on to the ice.

"Listen up ladies. We still have 2 months until our first game, but I am putting us on this ice early. Short practices for now, but it gives us more time to enhance our skills since we are playing the fall and spring season," you spoke, and the girls cheered, "so like yesterday, drills until 4:30 then everyone can go. Everyone knows Regina, she's our new manager. Leave your messes for her." You joke, and everyone starts skating laps.

For an hour you trade off teammates. 2/3 of the team will use half of the arena to skate down and backs, the left over 1/3 practices making shots while swapping out goalies. The clock lets out a loud buzz as it did last time, and everyone shoots their final shot and exits to the locker room, except you. You stay and keep skating around the pucks.

Regina laces her skates up and grabs the net that the pucks go in, then skates around the ice with the goal, collecting them all and stuffing them in. She leaves 5 pucks for you to keep shooting with. The click of the puck against the ice and walls as it bounces into the net made your brain happy, especially as Regina left you alone to go put away the others.

Regina suddenly hears a loud scream as she sets the puck bag into its spot and quickly hurries onto the ice to see you gripping your ankle tightly with your helmet thrown on the ground.

"Damnit I slid." You shout, ripping off your gloves and throwing them.

"What happened!?" Regina kneels beside you, concern laced in her voice.

"I was grabbing the net to collect the pucks, one wrong move and my skate got caught in the..." you started to yell, "damn net!"

"Where are your keys." Regina asked seriously.

"What do you mean 'where are my keys'? In my bag, why do you need my keys?" She begins to walk to the locker room, "Regina George, I may not like you but you better not leave me here!"

She rushes back up the steps, keys in hand, "I'm pulling your car up. You can't walk on this, let alone drive." And she exits

You set your head back on the ice, pain shooting through your leg. Maybe she really felt bad for what she had said, maybe this was her way of truly apologizing? Or had she actually changed and wanted to be helpful.

She rushes back in and helps you up to pull you off of the ice, you limp while putting most of your weight onto the blonde girl beside you. She puts you on a bench in the locker room, unlacing your skates and setting them in your locker. She reaches to pull down your pants.

"Woah! George this isn't what I thought you meant when you said you didn't have a big deal with my sexuality! Not the time!" You stop her.

"Don't flatter yourself captain. This is to get you into something more comfortable, and so you can fit in your own car. I don't have to but it would sure be easier." She looks at you sternly as you begrudgingly nod.

She pulls off the gaurds you have over your shins and then starts pulling off your pants, you look away and try to help as the awkwardness is unbearable. She opens up your locker and pulls out the grey sweats you had tucked away. She does the same with your jersey and a black tank top you had.

"I very easily could have gotten the jersey myself, George. Someone being nice today?" You playfully punch her arm.

"Don't be weird Y/N. Now get up. I'm taking you home." She helps lift you and wraps your arm around her, assisting you to your car.

She puts you in, gets in on the drivers side, and buckles herself, "where am I going, captain?"

"Where did that name come from?"

"Being captain of the hockey team is like, your one personality trait outside of being a massive player, Y/N." She chuckles.

You direct her to your house, which is nearly 20 minutes from the school. Aside from you telling her where to turn and the occasional groan in pain, the ride is rather quiet. It is incredibly awkward.

She pulls in to your driveway and helps you out, getting you to your front door and knocking. Your mom steps out, concerned, looking down at you holding your foot off of the ground.

"Y/N Y/L/N not again! Goodness. And you make this poor girl drive you home? Come in sweethearts come in!" She opens up the door and Regina guides you as you limp in, setting you on the couch and sitting beside you.

"This one is such a clutz. She did the exact same thing last year you know. Let me guess, skate in a net? We are still getting the prescription from that one! Oh goodness where are my manners," your mom holds out her hand to Regina, "I’m Patricia, but you can call me Pat. Would you like to stay for dinner?"

"Oh no ma'am I have to start my walk home, thank you though!" Regina awkwardly declines.

"Oh nonsense! Y/N can't drive right now and I have to pick up her pain medication so why don't you just stay the night! It has been so long since she has had any friends over aside from Kendall." Your mom continues. You hope she shuts up.

"You know, Pat, that sounds wonderful," Regina smiles and looks over at you, her look growing more spiteful, "I will call my mother right now, you have a very safe drive to the pharmacy and I truly thank you for opening your home!" She gets up to call her mom.

Your mom kisses you on the forehead and exits into the garage. You hear the mechanical whir open, then shut. The couch dips beside you.

"Now you have to listen," Regina looks at you, "Can we please talk about my apology?"

You certainly did not want to accept the apology, but you couldn't run away from it now.

Well. Shit.

[shentheauthor]

Sick Wyrms (and Vessels)

Long post under the cut

What could possibly get a wyrm sick???

Well there’s a number of things: starvation, lack of sleep, basically most things that can fuck up a human. Wyrms are just VERY durable, so it’s hard to get them that way

There are natural pathogens, of course, but most can’t infect Wyrms. Their immune systems are crazy strong, since they consume countless parasites when they dig. They can fight off pretty much any disease

To truly get sick, Wyrms have to be very young, very old, or naturally weak

The Pale King is the third one lmao

His albinism gives him a lot of health problems, leaving him vulnerable to the few pathogens that CAN get Wyrms sick.

He sure isn’t going to get sick more than once every several decades, but he definitely can get sick

Fevers, delirium, aches, and since he has lungs, sneezing/coughing, are all on the table. So is vomiting, rip

PK will try to hide it as much as possible, shoving down all of his discomfort, or if he can’t, holing up in his study all day for “important business”

He’s the type to pretend everything is fine, even when he’s alone, because he’s a workaholic and he’s overcompensating for his natural weaknesses

Even after centuries away from other Wyrms, he still has this intense fear of being caught off guard by a competitor. He almost died several times when he was wandering, and it left him paranoid

He can be coaxed into resting by his wife, and her alone. She’s strong enough to protect him, even if her main power isn’t combat-related.

Now, what about the Vessels? (Note: my THK is named Vess, so I will be calling them that)

Vessels are an odd case, since many of them are incredibly weak for higher beings, too. It doesn’t help that most of them are already dead

Many vessels get sick easily. The void does a great job of getting rid of pathogens, but that doesn’t mean that chronic illnesses and pain won’t get them

It isn’t uncommon for vessels to spend days bedridden due to the pain and malaise caused by their semi-organic bodies trying to reject the void

Ghost was spared the pains and sickness, but they’re really fragile for a long time. They only gain strength because of items found in game, and eventually ascending to godhood, making them immune to all disease

Vess is not so lucky. They didn’t have chronic pain before, but they sure do now! The radiance fucked them up BAD.

Their immune system is practically nonexistent now, leaving them vulnerable to disease

They get sick a lot after the godhome ending. They’re not okay.

Another one who gets paranoid when they’re sick. If you even SAY the word sickness around them they start shaking, and don’t you dare sneak up on them unless you want your face to be speared by their horns

About Hornet:

Hornet is arguably the luckiest of PK’s children, because she’s pretty good at avoiding diseases

If she takes care of herself, that is

Which she doesn’t

She’s sick a lot too, but she can power through it. Herrah’s genes do a lot to help her immune system, so she can fight off the diseases that get her pretty quickly

She’s like PK, in that she refuses to show any vulnerability. If she’s sick, she gets super paranoid, and won’t even let her siblings touch her

She can actually get a wider range of diseases than most bugs, but her immune system can actually remember the pathogens, so she rarely gets the same bug (ha) twice

[isalisewrites]

TERRIBLE, BUT GREAT - CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

SUMMARY:

“Harry Potter.” The cold burrowed into his flesh, the scent of cloying death and molding earth clogged his senses.

“The Boy Who Lived.”

A strange sense of loss and disappointment rose within him. That brilliant, yet cruel boy could’ve been so much more if he’d not stepped down this bloodied path.

Terrible, but great. He pitied this creature.

“Come to die.”

Harry Potter faced the flash of green light with the bravery of a Gryffindor and the broken heart of a Hufflepuff.

---

When Death gives Harry a third option, one that can save everyone he ever cared about, he takes it unflinchingly. Even when that means doing the impossible: falling in love with the enemy, Tom Riddle.

---

THIRTY-THREE EXCERPT:

Sebastian leaned forward in his seat. “You don’t think it’s Grindelwald, do you?” he asked with a frown. “Could a dark lord control them?”

“He didn’t say,” said Simon. “He did say that occasionally one or two of them will float out to sea before coming back, but…” Simon met Tom’s gaze, a dark look entering his eyes. “About six to seven of them have gone missing. They can’t find them and they have no idea what happened to them.”

“Fuck,” said Harry, growing pale. He rubbed his face with his hands. “Fuck.”

“Well, that can’t be good, yeah?” said Roland, glancing around the group.

Alphard shook his head. “The dementors aren’t supposed to leave Azkaban. They’re under ministry control or at least that’s what the public assumes.” He sighed. “However, the agreement between the ministry and the dementors is a delicate, fragile one. The dementors could turn on us at any time when they’ve found a better source of food.”

“Why is your father informing you of this?” asked Tom. “This shouldn’t affect us, should it?”

“The issue is their numbers are dropping faster than he realized,” said Simon. “He said even more might disappear or go missing. He’s advised us to practice the patronus charm as much as possible.”

“The patronus charm?” said Quintus. “But that’s not to be taught until the end of our sixth year. That’s advanced magic. He can’t think they’ll come here, do you?”

William shrugged. “There are plenty of towns and cities between Hogwarts and Azkaban, so he doubted it, but he still wanted us to practice. They’re going to alert the public soon and the staff of Hogwarts. Problem is I can barely conjure even a bit of some proper mist as a seventh year and most of you lot haven’t covered it yet.”

“He also said we should be on alert and always keep some chocolate on hand.”

Sebastian shook his head. “Chocolate, that I can do, but learning the patronus charm is out of the question.”

“Why?” asked Harry. “I’ve seen you duel in class. You’re strong enough.”

A number of Slytherins snorted.

“Strength is not the issue,” said Tom softly.

“Harry, it’s a light spell,” drawled Sebastian. “I was casting dark magic when I was five years old.”

“What does that have anything to do with it?”

“It doesn’t like dark magic,” said Marcus. “And I’d prefer to not die a horrible death by maggots.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “I’ve done a dark spell or two and I can cast it.”

“Come off it,” said Sebastian. He shook his head, while the others shifted with interest. “We all know you’re powerful, Harry, but the patronus charm is a different brand of magic. Most sixth years never master it and like Will said, he can’t do much of anything even in his seventh year. Hell, a lot of adults can’t cast it.”

Harry lifted a defiant eyebrow and pulled out his wand. A little chill of thrill ghosted up Tom’s spine. Harry… you can’t be telling us that you can cast the patronus charm… can you? 

He was powerful, yes. Tom had witnessed that power firsthand. He’d seen Harry’s mastery of wandless magic, of wordless magic. It came to him with ease. But a light spell of this caliber? That was something else entirely.

But Harry regularly proved himself to be extraordinary.

“Expecto Patronum,” whispered Harry.

Light pulsed.

White light glowed, power filling the room. Soft gasps rippled through the group. The blinding, glorious light flooded the dimly lit dorm room, chasing away the shadows in the corners. A misty stag stood tall in front of Tom. The stag dipped his head closer to him and Tom reached out, but the stag vanished. 

It left Tom bereft.

[nunalastor]

Resident Evil AU

Eveline joining the hotel has a lot of interesting possibilities (great mini-fic by the way @randomreader92 love the demon Evie design) and all of it depends on if she can or would use the powers she had while alive.

When Eveline was alive, the moment she was welcomed in by the Bakers, she told the family's daughter "They're mine now," infected them with the mold, ostracized the existing daughter, and warped the family into what she wanted. Obviously, this would be Alastor's assumption and nightmare the moment she appears, and he would do anything he can to prevent that.

But in the Shadow of Rose DLC when she was dead, her powers worked a little differently. She didn't infect minds, her power focused on the hallucinations to the point of being practically reality-warping and ability to send people flying backwards. That could very well be the power she has in hell. In this AU, the mold originated in hell, so it wouldn't stand out and impact people nearly as much. She can't influence people and warp their souls, but her hallucination abilities are to the point of being almost identical to the reality-warping Alastor has. Her shift in power might also have something to do with the way Alastor killed her, since he has powers of his own and if the tech that created the thing to kill her in RE canon doesn't exist, he would have needed to improvise.

If Eveline does have her original powers, they probably don't work on Alastor, Charlie, Lucifer, or Niffty (Niffty being Guy's kid so she's got untapped mold power) but they would on Vaggie, Husk, and Angel. That's not worth trying.

Plus, she didn't care about the Bakers and Guy didn't know them before the incident, so they got twisted, but Guy was lucid most of the time (not counting memory problems) because he and Alastor are the people she wanted. The hotel is different. These are people Alastor cares about or at least protects. Would she take the risk of making him hate her more by trying to use her powers on the hotel, knowing that alive he could overpower her and he probably can as a demon too, or go along with Charlie's "don't brainwash people, it starts with sorry" thing if it meant having a chance to be around the person she sees as mommy?

Finding out the horrible fate that befell Guy after everything would probably also dissuade her from using that power again.

👀

[cal-daisies-and-briars]

Make Me Write ask answered

162 📖 for @inell!

---

When they arrive at the fire station, Eddie is indeed in rough shape. Scratched, damp, and wearing a heating blanket. 

“Buck, why is my dad dressed like a baked potato?” Chris asks nervously when he sees him. 

Eddie is sitting in the back of an ambulance, looking a little sleepy. The other paramedic - the one that isn’t Chimney - is talking to him. 

“It’s keeping him warm,” Buck explains. “Why don’t you go see him? That’ll make him even warmer.”

“DAD!” Chris calls out, heeding Buck’s advice. He picks up his pace a little in Eddie’s direction. 

“CHRISTOPHER!” Eddie calls back once he sees him. He hops out of the ambulance, dropping the warming blanket, and runs across the engine bay floor towards his son. When he reaches him, he scoops him up into the biggest, tightest, most loving hug Buck has ever seen. Buck honestly feels a little choked up, watching it. 

He doesn’t want to intrude on their moment, so he hangs back, holding onto Christopher’s backpack. After a minute of this hug, of Eddie speaking quietly to his son, he finally looks in Buck’s direction. He sets Christopher down, strides over to where Buck is, and hugs him too. Just quick, with a clap on the back, but it’s still a hug. It catches Buck off-guard a little.

“Thank you,” Eddie says emphatically. “Thank you so much for taking care of him.”

“No problem, really,” Buck says when Eddie pulls away. “Chris kept me in line. Made sure I knew the right answers to American history. Really he did me a favor.”

Eddie’s smile in response is practically glowing. “I owe you one, man.”

“Hey, don’t mention it. Just glad you’re okay.” Buck says. “Is Carla good? I couldn’t reach her either.”

Eddie nods. “Her dad isn’t well. She was visiting him today.”

“Oh,” Buck replies. “That’s… That’s too bad.”

Eddie takes a deep breath. “Listen, man, can I buy you a beer sometime? As a thank you?”

Buck… Well, for some reason, even though it’s totally not necessary, Buck really likes the sound of that.

“Yeah,” Buck nods. “Yeah, that’d be great. My number should be in your phone from when I tried to call you.”

“Perfect,” Eddie smiles. 

x.

It’s way too much fun. 

Buck meets Eddie at a sports bar. They grab beers. Watch a game. It’s probably the most fun Buck’s had in a while. Without work or a kid in between them, they connect as just people. And it turns out, they connect pretty well. They have a similar sense or humor and like a lot of the same things. Eddie listens when Buck goes on accidental tangents about subjects he finds interesting. Buck is genuinely delighted with stories about Christopher. They just sort of… Mesh?

By the end of the night, they’re making plans to hang out again, and Buck’s stomach can’t quite shake a fluttery, swooping feeling. Something that he’s only really felt before… Well, on dates. 

Which is strange for Buck because, well… Eddie is a man? And Buck didn’t know that another man could make him feel that way. 

Which probably means… Something. 

xi.

Buck and Eddie manage to hang out two more times by themselves, and once with Christopher, even, before the world shuts down. And Buck goes from the exciting thrill of a new friend/maybe crush to working alone in an empty library, filling online orders, and putting them in sterile pickup areas, with nothing at all to look forward to. 

It’s awful. It’s depressing. Buck genuinely struggles to get out of bed in the morning for the entire month of April. 

His sister is pregnant, and she can’t even stay with Chimney because of the risk. She’s alone. Buck’s alone. Everyone is boxed off from each other. 

They keep in contact. Eddie and Buck. Text. Social media. Buck does a few virtual homework help sessions with Chris out of working hours. But it’s weird. It’s like they almost had a friendship or something, and it just kind of gets stalled. 

All the nothingness means Buck has time. On and off work. He has nothing but time. It reminds him of the early years of his undergrad, where the coursework wasn’t challenging or interesting enough to keep his mind busy. He’d had to find ways to fill the time. Partying. Drinking. Sex. Working out. Those had been his options, then. Apart from working out, he doesn’t want to replicate the rest in a global pandemic. Which means Buck is left with way more hours to fill than even in undergrad. 

And he’s a librarian. So… One of the things he does to avoid going crazy? He reads. He researches. He learns. And one of the things he starts going all in on learning about? Human sexuality and attraction. Because the distance from Eddie doesn’t make Buck stop thinking about him. Doesn’t quell the curiosity, the thinking. The excitement each time a notification from Eddie lights up his phone. So Buck researches, and he tries to figure himself out. 

So, in the middle of a pandemic, where everyone is quarantined, and Buck is completely alone, he discovers he’s bisexual. Stellar timing. Really great work. Had he uncovered this little tidbit of identity earlier in his life? Maybe he’d be quarantining with a boyfriend or a husband or something cool like that. Since he’s historically fumbled all the women in his life. Who is he kidding? He’ll probably be the same with dudes. But until proven otherwise, he imagines he’ll be very smooth.

So. Bisexual. Alone in his studio apartment. Living through an unprecedented global emergency. Kind of thirsting over a man he won’t be able to see for months, and who he doesn’t even know is queer, so probably has no chance with. 

Buck is frustrated. 

He learns to cook. He buys a variety of plants. Tries and fails to learn to draw. Impulse adopts a cat; a Burmese he renames Begonia. Her previous name was Princess and to be honest she is way too relaxed for that designation. 

Nothing makes the sense of restlessness building in his chest go away. 

xii.

It’s late summer by the time he and Eddie can hang out again. At a distance. Outside, on a hike. Masks on if they get any closer. Eddie has a higher chance of infection on his job, and Buck wants to be safe. 

They fall back into their easy pattern of conversation and humor. It’s like whatever paused between them at the beginning of the year picks right back up without any issue. And Buck is relieved. Relieved and excited. Like they’re pointed towards a direction he hasn’t seen before, but is desperate to discover.

Buck tells Eddie all about the ever-changing library policies regarding the virus. Eddie tells Buck about childcare struggles. 

“With Carla caring for her dad full time, and my Abuela back in Texas, it’s been insane,” he admits. 

“And no aftercare programs at the library,” Buck says. 

“Or anywhere,” Eddie says. 

“Man, that’s rough. I’m sorry.”

“It’s… Well, single parenting is never easy. But global catastrophe certainly adds to it.”

“Hey, if-if I can help…” Buck offers, a little aimlessly. 

Eddie raises an eyebrow. “Is the library open to visitors yet?”

“Well, no,” Buck admits. “Soon, hopefully? But I mean, I can ask the head librarian - Janine - if he can, uh, sneak in. Masked up, of course.” “I mean, if he could. That’d be really helpful. He could do class from there, right?” Eddie asks. ”Only if it wouldn’t put you out!”

[recurring-polynya]

Ranking my Habitual POV Characters, from Easiest to Hardest to Write

Renji. Too easy, actually. He's a yapper. I love him, tho, he is my favorite narrator and I would never write anyone else if I could get away with it.

Byakuya. I hate this for me, too. He is a man of few words, but internally, he is also a giant yapper. Uses all the fun words you can't use irl or people will know you are autistic, like "repast" and "phantasmagorical".

Orihime. Also very fun to write! Sometimes insists on honorifics. A minor yapper.

Uryuu. Easy, but not exactly fun to write. I just gotta let my brain go into full-anxiety mode and ride the wave. It works, but, like. I write fanfiction so I don't have to listen to my brain's anxiety barf, please and thank you.

Rukia (present day). She would be a lot lower on this list if I didn't have a ton of practice and spend twenty hours a day thinking about her.

Ichigo. I don't write him very much because he's already got a whole manga about him, but he is fine and remarkably well-behaved as characters go. Also an internal yapper, worse than Orihime but not as bad as Renji.

Hinamori. The only problem with Hinamori is that she uses an entirely different naming scheme for everyone she knows than anyone else on this list and also often insists on honorifics.

Chad. Very pleasant to write, but much slower than other characters because he very carefully considers everything he wants to say before he says it, including his own internal narration. Says exactly what he means to say, no more, no less.

Kira. I am perfectly neutral on writing Kira-POV, I just think he's more fun from the outside looking in.

Have I ever written a Hitsugaya pov? I don't remember, but I feel like he should go here.

Inuzuri Rukia. What happens to Inuzuri Rukia is no one's business but her own. It is certainly not mine, the author.

Ikkaku. The problem is that I am a yapper, so every time I write Ikkaku having any sort of insight or introspection, I have to roll it back at least twice. His narration is just the thoughts that occur to him, completely in the moment, absent any sort of analysis. I could never. Doesn't use any of the fun words. Writing Kenpachi-dialogue is this, but even moreso, which is why I avoid him as much as reasonably possible.

(if you're a fanficcer and want to make your own list, please do!)

[rainstormfrost]

Sometimes I think... What if Willow was not a canon character? What if she appeared only in some fanfic on AO3, how people would feel about her?

I mean, she has pattern of standard Mary Sue from some fan fiction. Lemme explain.

Firstly, she is strong. Even stronger than Emperor's Coven scouts, who've been, I'm reminding, harshly trained for years and have a lot of experience. But Willow just beats them like it's nothing for her.

Meanwhile, there is no clear reason for her to be so strong. All creator says is «she is talented and trains a lot», but... Willow has started training after the Grugby episode from season 1. That means she's been training only for two or one month. I'm not an expert but I think you can't get so much strength by that little time.

Well, okay, we can assume that Willow started doing Flyer Derby specifically after the Grugby episode. Maybe she was training even before that, but... It's still a shitty argument. I have some friends who've been training for many years and I can say they can't defeat a trained soldier. After all, a soldier knows special techniques and special fight skills. Scouts in EC can use any kind of magic, so they MUST learn every of nine tracks magic. So, how do you think, can a schoolgirl-plant-witch defeat a trained soldier with an experience.

Secondly, Hunter's character after meeting Willow. Hunter was positioned (before «Any sports in a storm») as a goofy, strong, confident person, but then we know him as a traumatized, apathetic and lost character who needs someone to help him to get out from toxic influence of his «uncle».

But what he's becomed after meeting Willow? He became a poor little boy who needs hugs and comfort 🥺🥺🥺. After joining the Hexsquad Hunter lost most of his power, he sometimes becomes a damsel in distress so Willow can save her little meow meow.

Please, separate a traumatize character who needs help and spirit mentor from a poor little thing who need comfort. Hunter is not the first thing. He is the second.

I know, this is kinda not Willow's problem as a character, but just imagine if all episodes after ASIAS were just a fanfic. How would you feel if a strong and mean character (Hunter) became a weakling who needs help from his girlboss?

Thirdly, cliche. I don't think Willow's story is bad, but I must admit it's kinda unoriginal. She has a standard Y/N storyline. «Poor girl was bullied, but then she discovered her true power and became stronger than her bullies». Where have we seen that? Well, practically in every fanfic.

What do we have in result?

Willow is somehow stronger that trained soldiers.

A strong and complex character became a total mess and crybaby because of interactions with her.

She has a quiet standard backstory.

I'm pretty sure: if Park was a fan character she would've been hated by everyone. We would've seen a lot of angry posts about little girls spoiling canon character's personality for their own fantasies.

But why the canon character with such traits is considered as something good?

UPD: It gets more sad for me, because I read fanfics and have my own TOH fan characters. I saw a lot of good, fleshed out and deep OC, but they was branded as Mary Sues because they was smart and powerful. Must specify, but all, these powers were explained, so characters wasn't skilled out of nowhere. I'm trying to make my own characters as realistic as I can. I paranoidly make a lot of flaws to my OCs so they can't become Sues. But then I see canon TOH characters and think: does it worth it? Why am I trying if I know that all of the canons are overpowered without any explanation?

[netherzon]

I really like giving the nations weird quirks/reactions/powers/physical traits, like how Finland’s back gets itchy when Estonia talks about him in canon. I think its a fun idea, so I wrote this out for a fic awhile ago:

“Anytime a new type of dinosaur was discovered in America his brother’s hair would get so frizzy he looked like a dandelion. Canada was lucky enough to witness the discovery of the T. rex in person, not from the actual site, but from a meeting room in Washington D.C.. The static electricity was strong enough that every the diplomat in the room felt the effects themselves. They looked like a whole field of dandelions at all stages of life. They had agreed to postpone that meeting until a time when America was not a walking, talking tesla coil”