#we're all people and this is a conversation

[woso-dreamzzz]

Helper:Christmas

Arsenal Women x Child!Reader

Summary: Christmas with Guppy

"I...I don't understand. What's...What's going on?"

"Just keeping holding it up," Codi whispers to Rosa, who looks like she's about to lower the tinsel that she's holding up.

"I don't get it. What's going on?"

"We're decorating the tree."

"No, I get that. But why are we holding it up in a line?"

On her other side, Leah huffs. "Because Lia's raising a kid who doesn't like mess and gets freaked out by Christmas trees. Ow! Lia!"

Lia's elbow, none too kindly, digs a bit further into Leah's ribs.

"Don't make fun of her!" She snaps, imaginary hackles raised in annoyance at Leah's dismissal before turning to Rosa to explain, much more kindly. "Guppy...She gets a bit overwhelmed about this kind of stuff and these cretins like to go overboard until the tree's a big mess. So, Guppy gets to pick the theme and then we all decorate. Leah's exaggerating."

"I'm just saying! Maybe exposure therapy will be good for her! I love her, Lia, I do. You know that. But you have to admit, this-"

Lia whips her beads at Leah in annoyance.

"Alrigh! Alright! I get it! Sorry!"

Lia's not finished though as she points to practically everyone in line in turn. "None of you are allowed to talk about that kind of stuff while y/n's in the room too, do you understand? She's sensitive and I'm not letting any of you make it worse!"

"I think they get it," Mario intervenes quickly," No one wants to make her feel bad."

Rosa's kind of glad that Mariona did. She's never seen Lia angry before. Annoyed, yes. Overtired, yes. But never angry. Not truly anyway but she's heard how protective Lia gets over you.

You're not really an oddball. You're not overwhelmingly weird either. But something that Rosa's noted is that you're very particular. She's never met a child so particular in her life. You like things done in a certain way.

You get all fidgety and anxious if you're not allowed to do things in the way you want and tend to start things over if it hasn't gone perfectly. You flick the lights on and off twice in whatever room you leave and you always knock on doors twice.

Rosa's seen you on the team bus, getting Lia to buckle and unbuckle your seatbelt twice over just before the bus sets off to whatever away match they need to get to.

You're just...

Different.

It's clear that Lia knows that too and a lot of her energy is put into making sure no one makes you think that you don't fit in.

"Alright!" Kim comes in holding your hand and from what Rosa strains to hear from Mario and Lia's conversation, this is normal too.

Kim helps you pick out the theme.

You both whisper together, Kim clearly going along with your childish wonder and happiness. She crouches down at your side as you look between Rosa and Kyra's tinsel.

Rosa's holding a red one and Kyra's holding a gold one.

Kyra wiggles it enticingly in your face but your features all scrunch up at once as you move away from Kim to take Rosa's hand and then to choose Codi and her matching green tinsel as well.

"Alright," Kim says," And what about baubles?"

"Er..." You look at the rest of the team and all the baubles they hold up to you, suddenly overwhelmed with choices.

You look at Leah's glittery baubles and shake your head.

"Not-Not glitter ones."

Then you catch sight of Lia and Mario, immediately breaking away from Kim to go crashing into them.

"Mummy!" You gasp," You bought the special beads from home!"

Wound around what looks to be an old piece of cardboard, is a long string of silver beads.

"I did," Lia says," Because our tree is too little for them this year. I thought we could use them on the Arsenal tree."

You nod, head bobbing up and down happily before you also take Mario's hand, dragging her into your little group of chosen people without even looking at the bauble in her hands.

"Nah!" Leah complains," This is so unfair! Why can't I be chosen?"

"Because you clearly didn't choose a good bauble this year," Beth teases," Not like me."

"Not Beth's bauble either," You say to Kim.

"Wait...What? Come on, come back!"

Decorating the tree is a team effort because while you may have been the one to make your selection, you're much too small to decorate it all by yourself and Rosa's found herself with you on her shoulders as you strain to put a candy cane onto the tree.

"Careful," Lia warns her," Keep straight or she'll fall."

"Rosa's doing fine," Steph says," And it's not like Guppy is going to start throwing herself around. She's very responsible."

"I am, Mummy!" You say," Very responsible! I helped Mrs Gina find the missing gluestick lid yesterday!"

So, Lia ends up worrying from a distance and insists on being the one to lift you up so you can put the star on the tree before letting you down and leading you from the room without any more preamble.

"What's happening now?" Rosa whispers as it looks like everyone starts sitting down on the floor in a little circle that she has no option but to join.

"Lia's been doing this since Guppy was born," Caitlin explains," We're getting presents now. It was pretty cute the first time, little gifts in baby y/n's hands. It was her handprint the year she was born and then it was like little keychains? She's old enough to give them out by herself now."

The present Rosa gets is kind of soft and squishy and it doesn't rattle or anything when she holds it up to her ear and shakes.

"No opening until Christmas!" You say once everything's been given out and everyone's attention is on you," Because that ruins the surprise! You can only open them on Christmas!"

The little Arsenal teddy bear you got her sits on Rosa's desk for the rest of the season.

[rivergirlabby]

We're all human. Individuals, capable of good and evil.

I'm transgender, all but one member of my family voted blue, and my immediate family members are either abusive or wave away the behavior of my abusers. The one member who voted for Trump never asked any questions when I came out. He just accepted that I'm a woman and immediately started using my chosen name.

The differences between right and left are imposed, engineered to keep us divided. But when we find parts about each other to respect, the true enemy becomes clear: the rich who make their money off of our blood and suffering.

It comes down to the leaders, the ones who dictate policy and mentality and who say "this is your ideological enemy, go fight them." Right wing pundits saying for trans people to be wiped out, left wing people saying to cut out all who voted for Trump and make them stew in regret, people who say I should remain with my abusers and cut out the one supportive family member, and people telling him that he should subject me to conversion therapy (he immediately cut ties with the old friends of his who said that), those individuals are the true enemy, not the other party.

We need to stop writing off our supposed enemies and start rallying with them against the boot that's on both of our necks.

a comment under one of Ben Shapiro’s latest videos that i like

[genderqueerdykes]

this whole anti-transmasc shit is making me way more depressed than bs discourse should because for years i thought it was about us. Big US. all of us. I thought we were us. thats why it didnt matter that not a lot of the conversation about trans issues were about trans men, or that very few public figures who talked about trans issues were trans men. I thought it was enough that it was us. but apparently this whole time I wasnt included in that? apparently this whole time I was this like. half trans person who doesnt actually count as apart of the conversation? it really sucks ass.

honestly that's a great way to put it. it's bone chilling to realize how many people have been excluding you from the start, and are only trying to make it worse. this divide in the trans community is manufactured as hell. it's like you said, you thought it was about "us"- all of us. all trans people. but for some reason, there's this common online rhetoric that trans men aren't trans somehow? like being a trans man isn't "Actually trans" or you're being trans "wrong" somehow.

like how are we still perpetuating the idea that the only "right" way to be trans is to be a trans woman and everyone else is a tomboy, or a confused butch, or a crossdresser, or whatever the fuck. like we somehow still have people within the community who just deny up and down that trans men "count" as trans. what are we doing? this isn't community. it's bullies looking for fresh meat to target, and i've had enough.

i don't care if people assume shit about the trans male experience. i don't think that people believe that we instantly gain cishet male privilege (or gain it at all) and are basically cishet men and oppressors. that's just not how this shit works. we're still trans. we are a part of the trans community. you can't ignore us anymore. we're right here. and we're going to occupy the spaces we rightfully can. and we're going to keep talking about our experiences until it pisses off every last transandrophobe.

people who want to make an entire queer community about themselves are a detriment to those around them. people who think they're somehow the protagonist of a given community deserve to face pushback. we don't have to sit here and let people walk all over us anymore. this is what cishet society does to trans men. why should we have to get walked all over on in our own home? are people serious with this shit right now? you can't kick us out of our own home. we live here. we've always lived here.

[cloversnstrawberries]

will you do platonic yandere alastor x teen reader for the “refusal/acceptance” prompt? like the teen reader was kidnapped by him and refused to accept him as their father but as time goes on he manipulates them into accepting him.

"refusal / acceptance" plantonic!yandere!alastor & teen!gn!reader ! !

[2024 christmas/holiday event, entry 3]

event post ! | event masterlist !

description; When you fell to hell, you hadn't expected yourself to make it this long. 5 years wasn't very much at all to most sinners, but to the younger ones-- it was a massive milestone, you included. However, your relatively peaceful (as peaceful as it could get in hell...) existence was abruptly interrupted by your own curiosity getting the better of you.

Really, you shouldn't have poked around the house you'd basically been squatting in for the past 5 years like you were, all it could lead to was trouble, and you should've known that.

additional notes; the first part is very focused on the reader themself/the mysteriously unoccupied and very nice house they found after first falling, but i promise you alastor does show up and is very much his usual overprotective self :D

warnings; Kidnapping, vague possessiveness, overprotectiveness, imprisonment, entrapment, Reader is convinced Alastor wants to kill them, brief/vague mentions of violence, murder, torture, etc etc, Reader has trust issues (for a good reason, it is alastor we're talking about), manipulation, and if i missed any others, please let me know!!!

w/c; 5.5k (oh lord)

You aren't sure how long you've been here, isolated with The Radio Demon in some messed-up pocket dimension(?).

In all honesty, you don't know what you did to deserve this. To catch his interest like this, and by god you don't know how the hell you've been keeping it.

Both in life and death, you knew many people like The Radio Demon-- you knew how they operated, the ins and outs of what their main goal was. For some, they prioritized wealth, and others prioritized power above all else--

You've come to the very clear conclusion that the Radio Demon prioritizes his own amusement above anything else in the world. Yes, he most definitely has a thing for power (as all Overlords do, it's practically a requirement for the position), but that's certainly not his intentions with you.

Being a younger sinner wasn't necessarily rare-- it was hard to come by them, yes, but that's because they're usually snuffed out before they could even get a look around the place.

It's a wonder you've made it this far, five years wasn't much in the eyes of Sinners like Alastor, but to you-- it was far beyond how long you'd expected yourself to make it.

The Exterminators that come down each year-- they target the younger ones, the vulnerable. On more than one occasion, people have claimed they heard Adam, the leader of the Exterminators, proclaim "Oh, I just love killing the small ones!"

Not very holy in your humble opinion, but that opinion was not asked of you; so you'd never shared it to anyone but yourself.

Dying at the hands of other sinners wasn't uncommon for the younger ones either, obviously-- which is why you were (understandably) a bit of a hermit.

This is, ironically, how you encountered and was promptly swiped up by no other but the Radio Demon himself. You never interacted with others much, but you'd still heard tales of him-- little snippets of conversations as you did your monthly grocery shopping. One of the few times you'd ever leave your little shoddy cottage on the outskirts of Pentagram City.

You were always a very curious person-- cautious, so you'd keep your curiousity to yourself. Let yourself silently mull over information, but forcing yourself from never seeking any more than you could passively pick up.

But this one time-- God, you really don't know why you did it. Perhaps you were getting bored with it all, with the monotony of your afterlife; always on edge, even in your own 'home'.

This cottage you lived in was abandoned once you found it, just a few days after you'd fallen into hell. It was close to the field you'd woken up in after dying, and you'd curled up on the cold, scratched up wooden floor and slept for the first time in Hell.

Ever since, you'd claimed the place as your own. The first few months-- scratch that, the first few years, you were always on edge, expecting its true owner to come crawling back-- and slaughter you, who by all means was a squatter, simple as that.

You didn't mess with the items much, and you stuck only to where you needed. The bathroom, the kitchen, and the living room-- where you'd set up shop, claiming it as your bedroom.

Only recently had you begun exploring the other rooms. The kitchen was simple, having an icebox and a gas stove; besides the archway was an apron hanging on a hook that read "Don't kiss the cook". You'd snickered when you first noticed it.

You never used it, you only used what you had to-- never rearranging, never touching what wasn't absolutely necessary to your survival. Forever in fear of if-- or when, the original owner returned.

A few months ago, after residing in this cottage for so long, you came to the conclusion that owner probably was never coming back. They'd most like died in an extermination-- when you'd first discovered the house, it already had a light covering of dust over all the objects.

And yet, nothing looked out of place. Nothing stolen, nothing broken. That's what put you on edge, making you certain for so long that the owner would come back and rip you to shreds.

You started small, looking and eventually locating an unassuming hall closet in search of cleaning supplies. You pulled a duster out, a wooden handle with a metal bit attaching the real feathers on the end-- it was ornate, in your eyes, because you were so used to having a duster made of synthetic fibers. It looked quite old, but that fit with the rest of the house.

You pulled it out and began dusting-- once you were done, you were surprised by how much nicer the place looked by then. You turned the feather duster back to its home in the closet, still careful about disturbing anything else.

A few days later, you took a mop and cleaned the floor of the living room and kitchen.

The next day, you cleaned and reorganized the bathroom, but didn't dare throw away anything.

Then, a week later, you finally removed those mounted heads of various cervines, stashing them in a corner of the living room. Out of sight and out of mind, no longer looming over you as you slept on the cushy sofa every night.

Your boldest move by that point-- but after that, it was like a gateway had been opened. No longer so nervous, you moved furniture around; inspected all the cabinets of the bathroom and kitchen, looked through the large oak armoire standing by the entrance.

In it, you found a few coats, an umbrella, a couple hats that hadn't been in style for decades, maybe even nearing a century-- and a few bits and bobs a like. One thing in particular caught your eye-- a coat made in beautiful earth-toned colors, with jewel-red accents as well.

You took it out, and began wearing it around your house.

In the following months, you'd branched out into a few other rooms-- no longer sleeping in the living room, you settled down in what you assume to have been a guest bedroom. It was plain, with a queen-sized mattress held up by a metal wire frame.

It was done up in blues, and it looked like it'd been rampaged through when you first entered. Slate blue covers ripped off the bed, drawers pulled from the dresser-- spilling its contents all over the floor; and a 1950s CRT TV on the floor, a hole running right through the screen and out the casing. The glass of it was still strewn about the floor.

You cleaned it up with careful hands, and took the broken TV to sit beside the mounted stag heads in the corner of the living room.

A few more changes-- you found a storage room, stacked high with neatly folded clothes; hunting gear, and various different items from a bygone eras, along with dozens and dozens of boxes-- most, if not all, were labelled in some shape or form. You placed the TV and mounts in there, not having the heart throw anything away. You'd even kept the glasses pieces, placing them in a Tupperware you'd discovered in a particularly dusty cabinet in the kitchen.

One night, you'd grown bored again-- a terrible thing to be in a place like this, something you both did and did not consider your own. But, you'd ventured into the storage room regardless; careful of the items piled high, you pulled out a random cardboard box from the top of one of the less precarious towers of stuff.

In neat, swooping cursive; it was cryptically labelled "Cherished Belongings". Against your better judgement, you pried the top open--

Inside were a few radios, far more modern than the rest of the cottage appeared to be. Deep gouges were in the side of some, but the marks didn't dig deep enough to make it unable to be used.

A stack of letters you didn't dare touch, feeling like it'd be going too far to look into the private affairs of your home's previous owner-- a couple small boxes, that once you opened revealed little knick knacks that reminded you of your great-grandmother.

She had a farmhouse out in the country, and every time you'd visit her when you were young and she was still alive, you were always so enamored by the little trinkets placed all over a wooden shelf hanging above a corner-countertop.

They were delicate, bisque porcelain and well maintained. Your grandmother had a thing for rabbits and birds, many of those trinkets being one of those two things;

In the box, wrapped oh-so delicately in bubble wrap, were three tiny bisque porcelain deers. By the looks of their make and paint job, you guessed they were from the 50s or 60s.

You set them aside, along with the other boxes like them (though, you didn't open those yet. you wanted to explore the big box in its entirety before delving into the details), and explored the box a little more.

You found a beautiful Cathedral radio, from the brand Philco-- it was at the bottom, obviously an antique model. It appeared to be a custom, made of red wood and brass accents; it was polished to perfection, obviously a treasured item to the person who lived here before you did.

You pulled it out, and then closed up the box. You didn't place it back on its tower, as there was still more you could dig through in the large box; you took your findings to the living room, and set them carefully down on the accent table near the sofa.

You opened the rest of the little boxes, and placed the little figurines all around the kitchen, a few in the living room as well. Once you were satisfied, you sat down on the couch and began fiddling with the radio.

When it buzzed to life, it was already on a station. It was playing... swing music, you think it is-- you weren't too sure, since you weren't incredibly familiar with that era of music.

You tried turning the knob, but it always managed to come back to the same exact station. A second or two of static as you moved the knob, a spark of hope-- before it was quickly dashed as you were redirected right back to the same station.

Still, some music was better than none-- you'd found yourself going stir crazy without much background noise, save for the woods outside and the occasional animal prancing around; so this find was actually quite nice, you'd thought.

Until the song ended abruptly-- you thought it might've been a technical error of some kind, interference on your end. Until, right as the song stopped midway through a word, a talking segment began.

The show host was directly addressing you. And in that moment, you knew that you were done for-- one you heard that voice, everything started to make so, so much sense.

"My oh my, it seems like we have a special listener!" He'd started out, and it felt like there was somebody watching you. Hair on the back of your neck stood immediately, skin crawling as you nearly dropped the radio in fear-- your hands having grown clammy and trembling.

Laughter, cruel and mocking-- as you fumbled with the radio "Ah ah ah, don't drop it! That is quite priceless to me, you little thief."

Your heart dropped to your stomach, and in a moment of haste, you haphazardly tossed the radio onto the sofa-- not doing it too hard, making sure not to damage it in the meanwhile-- and quickly stood, ready to get the hell out of dodge.

Something grabbed at your ankle, and you shrieked-- a shadowed, clawed hand was coming out from the ground. Its nails dug through the cheap material of your pajama pants, and you toppled over; wincing as you landed directly on your tailbone.

That was, by far, the least of your worries at that point of time.

"I apologize, loyal listeners! We'll have to go to intermission, but I assure I will be back-- a new guest in tow, if all goes accordingly!" More laughter-- cackling, before it cut to a soft, almost lulling sort of music.

It did little to calm your nerves-- in fact, it worsened them tenfold, knowing what was to come next. Who was to come next,

A wordless cry escaped you, frantically clawing at the hand around your ankle-- but it was almost... slippery, non-corporeal as well. You couldn't seem to get a grip on it, as it just--

Your fingers just moved right through it, and it tightened its death grip in warning. But you were too afraid by now, the realization that for the past five year you'd been staying in the Radio Demon's house came crashing down on you in an instant.

That's why it hadn't been ransacked already, why it had such nice things, why there was barely anything that exceeded the 1930s technology or aesthetically wise-- the mounted deer heads, the-- the everything!

You'd fallen after he took his 'sabbatical', but you still heard so much of him. In the past few years, the fear of him had died down-- but still,

You knew exactly what he meant by a 'new guest'.

In that moment, you had the stupid thought of I'm too young to die like this, which was ridiculous, because you were already dead. You were in Hell,

and yet, the truth lied in the 'like this' part of that statement. You didn't want to be tortured and eaten on air, you didn't want all of Hell (or at least a very, very large portion of it) tuning in to hear the first 'guest' The Radio Demon got on his show post-disappearance.

Stomach flipping, vision blurring from your tears, your ears rang as your heart worked overtime-- You're sure your face was red and blotchy, tears already making tracks down your cheeks.

Half-hysterical, you were saying "Please, please, please--" in such a desperate tone, directed to no one but yourself. begging yourself to just grab the hand and rip it off, to make it out of this in one piece--

You don't know why you fought so hard, and as you look back, you realize that might've been what made Alastor want to keep you (for the time being). Surely, he adored the fact that you-- teetering on the edge between child and adult, crying and begging-- fighting so hard for a life not worth living.

Really, you had nothing to fight for. No family down here, no friends or even acquaintances, nobody knew you; you were a hermit, one of the younger sinners that people assumed would be snuffed out quickly, and leave behind little to no impact.

Panic surged as you look to your right, a pool of shadows forming-- then, out came the tip of antlers. Then, fluffy ears-- a head, shoulders...

And soon enough, the shadows dissipated. Leaving behind what you assumed, what you were so sure would've been your killer.

He'd opened his mouth-- but as he looked at you, for a reason entirely unknown to you; he buffered. Looking down at you, sobbing and shaking-- lip wobbling, face red and soaked with tears.

You know you looked pathetic at that point.

Maybe that's why he did what he did, why his demeanor entirely changed as he crouched down. Antlers shrinking and the static surrounding him dying down (though never ceasing entirely) as he extended his arms your way. Like he was trying to beckon forward a scared child.

And maybe you did look like one-- but you hardly believe that he genuinely saw you as one.

You know men like Alastor, you know that they could never make room for anyone else in their hearts but themselves-- and a select few people who'd managed to worm their way into his close circle; one way or another.

You were not one of those people.

And yet, he did not harm you.

Even as an indeterminate amount of days, weeks-- maybe even months, passed; he still hasn't harmed you once. He clothes you, he gives you gifts upon gifts (nearly all of which go unopened, shoved in an ever growing pile in the very corner of your room)-- he set you up in a nice room, he feeds you; he claims that you can have all you ever wanted, as long as you ask.

You never did. It was a trap, and you knew it. He was-- was trying to lure you into trusting him. You don't know why he was doing this, maybe he got bored with every horrible act he did being a one-and-done thing.

He was fattening you up like a pig to the slaughter. Making your life all nice and cushy, only to pull the rug from under your feet and reveal what you knew all along.

No matter how many times he said something along the lines of "I won't hurt you, you're safe here, my fawn." or "I view you as my own, a child I never knew I wanted before you came along.", you knew how people like him went about life. People were stepping stones to their goals, his being entertainment; always getting the last laugh.

Once upon a time, you'd heard that his youngest 'guest' he had featured was an 11 year old-- early in his stay in Hell, right as he began to blossom into a fearful Overlord, that child had done something to upset him.

That was, allegedly, back in the mid '30s; and that after that, he never dipped lower than 19 year old. Now, you aren't entirely sure how true that could've been, either part of the claim--

But it was all you had.

You were curious, but not foolish enough to externalize that curiosity. Especially not to like Alastor.

He didn't keep you in the cottage you'd grown accustomed to-- he took you somewhere else. It looked like the cottage; all the way down to the knick-knacks you'd placed all around, right before you made the mistake of touching that radio,

It was always dark out, and when you look out the window-- it was not a forest, but a swamp-- bayou, what-have-you. It was a wetland, with fireflies buzzing around at all times,

There never was a moon, the only light outside came from what seeped out of the faux-cottage and the fireflies that were all over, but that hardly illuminated much.

You didn't leave your 'room'-- the room that looked like the one you'd claimed as your own in the real cottage. He tried coaxing you out of it a lot-- tried making you move rooms, saying he'd set up a room much more suited to your needs.

Every single time, you gave a quiet shake of your head-- that was the furthest those one-sided conversations ever got. Alastor didn't seem too pleased with it, but he laid off it. Didn't force it on you, and he'd then bring you food on a little bed-tray.

Today, you got a little too bold-- or perhaps you just wanted it over with, finally coming to terms with the only way out of here was... well, to force Alastor's hand and get him to snap-- then kill you.

It was obvious he wasn't going to let you go any other way.

You left the room for-- jesus, it must've been the first time you'd done so since the first couple days after you got stuck in this strange other-cottage. The living room didn't look very different.

Noticeably, the trinkets you'd placed before were right where you'd placed them. Not a centimeter out of place.

You tried to ignore it, and sat down on the sofa. You frowned at the Philco Cathedral radio beside you, sitting oh-so-innocently on the accent table near your head.

You glared at it, and while you knew that, realistically speaking, you were entirely to blame for getting in this situation-- not so much the radio, it was still a little cathartic to have something else to blame but yourself.

You turned around and laid on the couch, arms crossed as you pulled your legs to your chest-- back of your head resting against the arm of the couch, you closed your eyes and tried to sleep. Tried to pass time that way,

Predictably, your nerves refused to let that happen. But you retreated into your mind-- and soon enough, you heard Alastor shadow-warp in. You kept your eyes closed, tried to look as peaceful as possible. As vulnerable as you could, open and easy to atta--

A hand, a hand landed on your cheek. it was soft, caring, even. It confused you. Did he know you were awake? Was he trying to pull one over on you as well, because theres no way he'd do this if he didn't know you were witnessing it--

His hand pulled away, and you heard his footsteps pattering away; a door opening, fainter footsteps, the door closing-- and his footsteps getting closer.

Then, you felt something being thrown over you. It wasn't easy, resisting the urge to snap your eyes open-- obviously he knew you were awake, trying to trick you by being all sweet; reaching levels of deception you never thought possible before.

You realized he was trying to deceive you, because you were trying to deceive him-- and any such combination, made your head hurt if you thought about it too long.

Then, he leaned forward; you knew this because his hair brushed against your cheek in the process; both hands went to your face-- cupping your cheeks as he leaned forward and planted a little kiss on your forehead.

He began to tuck you in, and brushed some stray hair from your forehead. In a soft, almost reverent tone, he said "Sweet dreams, little fawn.", then ran his hand through your hair one last time--

Then he was gone. And nothing more came of it-- it was a little embarrassing to admit you'd really fallen asleep, so you reasoned with yourself that you hadn't. Just as you opened your eyes (which you'd totally just been resting, absolutely no sleep having found you. nope, nuh uh), you realized you hadn't been alone.

On the other side of the sofa, pressed as far against the other arm as possible-- almost like it was afraid of startling you if it got too close, was Alastor's weird Shadow creature. The same one that had restrained you that day you'd turned on the radio and spelled your own doom.

"...Hi?" You asked, trying to make yourself sound as groggy as possible (as if you needed to put any conscious effort into that in the first place); trying to sell the impression that'd you'd just been asleep, even though the Shadow probably knew otherwise (you hoped it believed that you hadn't actually fallen asleep, but you're pretty sure it did because nothing felt out of place-- obviously it hadn't attacked you while asleep).

It chirped, jolting up. It's face split in to a jagged grin(?), bright neon blue made up its mouth and eyes as it jumped from its seat and ran to the kitchen. You sat up, blanket falling into your lap; it was a nice, large quilt made up of reds and earth tones. Alastor's signature colors, and if you had to guess, he'd probably pulled it from the storage room.

You'd never been in his bedroom, but you doubt he'd sully a blanket he sleeps with by putting it on you. Even if the point of doing so was to manipulate you or whatever the hell he was playing at.

Around 30 seconds later, Alastor popped his head out of the archway leading into the kitchen. He found you rubbing your eyes with the back of your palm, just now awake enough to realize you smelled something cooking in the kitchen.

Oddly enough, he didn't speak until you pulled your hand from your eye and registered his presence. You looked up at him, eyes wide-- confused. His... his smile,

It looked so real, so genuine. It was soft, something you never thought a man like him could accomplish-- either in a genuine or otherwise manner. It reached his eyes, causing the skin around them to crinkle slightly.

And for a second, just one second, you believed that he actually did care for you.

When he spoke, he did it quietly. He sounded... different, and at first you couldn't quite place your finger on the difference.

"Mornin' fawn! Did you have a good rest?"

First off, he sounded way too... eh, cheery-- actually happy to see you, and like he actually wanted an answer to his question. And secondly, he sounded southern! With how much he talked about being from New Orleans, you should've made the connection that he had an actual accent underneath that transatlantic one; it was so jarring, hearing it gone completely like it was.

You sat in silence for a little bit, Alastor waiting for you to respond to pick up the conversation. Not rushing you, just standing there. God, if you didn't know any better, you'd say he was being patient with you!

In lieu of a verbal response, not trusting yourself to keep the bewilderment out of your voice; you gave a quick nod, and his smile grew by a fraction. He probably thinks he's caught you in his trap--

He gave you one last look, before turning around and heading back into the kitchen. You heard something boiling, and you didn't know what he was making-- it smelled good, though.

"That's good." He called from the kitchen, and it felt so terribly domestic that it had your stomach flipping. Him peacefully cooking, continuing to talk to you even as he did so.

You were beginning to feel nauseous, no longer liking this game he was playing (let's be honest, you never did-- but it was getting too real, blurring too many lines. you knew that, at some point, he would up the ante; but you really wish he hadn't),

(he's beginning to make you believe it, despite you knowing for a fact it was all a dirty trick to get your guard down.)

"I'm so happy you've started to warm up to me!" He started again, and you clenched your hands in the soft, probably expensive, quilt fabric. I'm not warming up to you, your mind supplied-- trying desperately to grasp at straws, and hide away from the fact that you were, you were starting to really believe his lies.

You suppose that it was inevitable, that being isolated with just Alastor (and his shadows, but they were extensions of him-- they didn't count much as another person) for long would get to your head.

You'd like to think that you were mature, hardened by living in Hell for 5 years beforehand-- but deep down, you knew you weren't. That little showcase you'd done when you two first met, cowering on the ground as you sobbed and shuddered and fruitlessly clawed at your restraint was more than enough to prove that.

After everything, you were still a child. You were still that scared little kid, who thinks they're so much better than all their classmates because one of your teachers said "You're so mature for your age!" as an offhanded comment.

There was some clanging and clattering coming from the kitchen, a cabinet opening and something being taken out. A pan, probably; it sounded like a large, flat metal thing. A baking sheet, actually; not just a regular pan.

What on earth was he making in there? A dangerous, curious part of you wondered. Urging you to stand up and go look, but you keep firmly rooted to you spot on the couch. You wouldn't walk right into a trap, you refused to be that unknowing fly that didn't see the spider-web right in front of their face.

You heard (what you assumed to be) the baking pan placed on the tile countertop, a drawer being pulled out, metal utensils clinking together--

"You know," He started off, a bit more rustling came from the kitchen before he continued his though. "I was starting to worry that you never would," He paused, and if you didn't know any better-- you'd say he sounded sad.

But as soon as it showed up, it was thrown right out the window-- Alastor exchanging what seemed to be genuine emotion for the upbeat, almost saccharine sweet tone he'd held moments prior.

"But, I'm so glad you decided to prove me wrong! It was torturous for me, my child refusing to so much as look my direction when not forced to..." Alastor trailed off, leaving you in relative silence-- the conversation went dead for a while, as you process his words.

When you realized what he'd called you, panic flooded you. He'd never called you that before-- or maybe he has, and you just tuned it out. He said so many things, all of which you had a very hard time believing were based in even an ounce of truth;

Maybe it was the tone that finally brought your attention to the title-- his child. You were not his child! You were some random squatter who just so happened to be a minor! You weren't a kid, and you certainly weren't his kid--!

"I'm not-" You tried to say, spine stiffening, hair on the back of your neck standing straight up at the realization. But, in true Alastor fashion, he quickly cut you off and diverted your attention-- out of the blue asking "Could you come and help, my dear? I think it's about time you start learning how to cook."

okay, rude, you thought. Alastor couldn't have known you for more than a few months; you're sure you would've realized if a year had passed (you hope you would, anyways), and never once had he asked if you could cook.

You had half a mind to try and push how far his patience could go, refuse to stand-- to follow his 'invitation' (demand) for you come help him in the kitchen.

A much more rational part of you screamed at you that no, no-- don't do that, you absolute idiot!

You wish you could say you didn't give in to him, that you stayed right where you were and tested how far he'd go with his promise of not hurting you. That would, however, be a lie.

It was almost like you were on autopilot, pulling the blanket off and making a half-assed effort to fold it before setting it on the couch. You felt a little numb as your feet seemed to move on their own, eventually leading you to the kitchen.

One hand of the edge of the entryway, you stood cautiously at the very edge between the living room's hardwood floor and the kitchen's black-and-white checkered tiles.

You're not sure how long you stood there-- not long at all, you think. Alastor turned around, offering a small, horribly soft smile and quietly beckoning you.

You took one step in, and Alastor laughed at that; he lifted his arm, gesturing to his right. Obviously, he was instructing you to come stand by his side.

It was out of fear, you told yourself-- that when you'd followed his orders, standing next to him; you didn't fight at all when he laid his arm over your shoulders, pulling you impossibly closer to him.

"Isn't this kind of impractical?" You asked, mumbling under your breath-- you were halfway between wanting Alastor to hear and not wanting him to, but of course, the former was the outcome.

Alastor's hand had settled on top of your head, absent-mindedly smoothing down your hair as his other hand whisked eggs into... something. He laughed, amused. Not entertained, not the joy he so obviously took in toying with others-

He sounded endeared.

That spelled the beginning of the end for you-- for your staunch position on the idea that Alastor was just messing with you, playing the long game and what not.

The realization of how... real he was being, with his actual accent out in the open... it opened the floodgates, and your grip started slipping on the idea that Alastor wanted to do you harm.

He was patient, more patient than you'd ever think he could be (from you'd heard previously, of course), he cares about your boundaries (somewhat, but that's way, way more than you ever thought you'd get with him), he fed you, he provided you with clothes and books-- claiming he'd give you anything if you'd just ask.

Your head felt full of cotton, ears ringing slightly-- drowning out Alastor response of "Mm, i suppose it is. But is it such a crime for a father to want to have his darling child close?"

Numbly, you shook your head, only have vaguely registered what he said. He gave a pleased hum, and went back to his cooking.

Really, he wasn't teaching you anything-- just doing his own thing while he kept you glued to his side.

You found yourself not minding it too much. You couldn't find it in yourself to care that you didn't mind it, actually.

[bringbackmaes14]

My mom has her TV on in her room almost 24/7 and it's always on some news outlet or other. We talk a lot about politics and world/national/local events. And we do have a lot of varying views on a lot of things but we're both adults who are capable of saying "well we've both stated we have differing opinions and it's clear that we're actually arguing at this point and not just talking so let's put away the topic for now." But there are also other times where I'm just too overwhelmed by my own life to think about what's going on in the bigger world around me, so my mom knows to be hesitant to bring up news stuff with me (i.e. she doesn't just start talking about politics/world events with me rather she'll ask if I'm in the mindset to discuss things when she wants my opinion on something). This is all relevant.

We've always been able to talk about nearly everything from the economy to the school system to human rights to human tragedy and we've never tried to censor ourselves around each other (outside of getting too emotional with our language). But about two weeks ago when the United Healthcare CEO was assassinated, my mom, who is in her 50s, came to me and she said "Did you see that the CEO of United Healthcare got unalived?"

And I just sat there and looked at her completely confused and she was like "did you not hear about it? It's all over the news. It happened in clear view on the street." Like the problem was that I hadn't heard of the event not that my Gen-X mother had just in a real life conversation said the word "unalived".

And I told her as much. "Yes I've heard that. Why did you say 'unalived' instead of 'murdered'?

And she told me that she just thought that since I'm touchy about heavier topics sometimes (which is definitely true, that does occasionally happen) she thought it would be better to just not use the "heavy" words. I asked her if she realized, honestly, how stupid that was because regardless of the word she used, she was still talking about a murder, it didn't change the subject matter, she was only making the subject matter seem less significant and severe by changing the word to baseless internet lingo that a bunch of misguided, clout-chasing influencers spread.

She hadn't. She's doesn't use the Internet replacement words a lot, online or otherwise. This was a first. She thought this was a different situation, and a fine one to use it in, and like the above stories people shared, it's still not.

I'm allowed to say there are days where I want to avoid heavier topics because I'm overwhelmed. I'm allowed to not ever really discuss certain topics because they actually trigger me based on my own experiences. But people who are out here living their whole lives like just talking about about difficult or controversial topics, or asking questions about it, or enjoying media where it's portrayed (especially when it's actually portrayed respectfully) are being ridiculous, and they're handicapping themselves. They're never going to learn how to talk about hard things, or how to handle hard things. And honestly I feel bad for them.

Luckily, in my case, once I explained why my mom saying what she said was incredibly weird and honestly devaluing to the conversation, she backtracked and told me that (like I said above) she doesn't talk like that regularly and she has no intention to start; it's just that this was a huge news event and that day had been particularly rough for me emotionally and she wasn't sure how to approach it. So her intentions were good and I'm very lucky that she understands and also agrees that the Internet censorship language is incredibly unnecessary.

we have GOT to kill tiktok/twitter self-censorship i just witnessed a grown adult say the word “smex” out loud to our professor

[goddessinnerglow]

Become Your Best Version Before 2025 - Day 23

Personal Style & Self-Presentation

Hi Goddesses! Let's talk about something that can be both super fun and slightly overwhelming, developing your personal style. This isn't about following trends or completely overhauling your wardrobe. It's about discovering and expressing who you are through how you present yourself to the world.

You know that feeling when you put on an outfit and just feel like you? That's what we're aiming for, not just occasionally, but every day. Whether you're a minimalist who loves basics, a maximalist who lives for patterns, or somewhere in between, your style should make you feel confident and comfortable in your own skin.

Let's break this down into areas where your personal style shines through:

Your Physical Space: Notice how some people's homes or workspaces instantly tell you something about them? That's personal style in action. Start by choosing one small area, maybe your desk or bedside table, and arrange it in a way that feels uniquely you. Maybe you love minimalism, or perhaps you're drawn to cozy chaos. There's no wrong answer!

Communication Style: Some people tell detailed stories, others are direct and brief. Some use lots of gestures, others are more reserved. Your communication style is part of your personal brand. Pay attention to when you feel most natural in conversations, that's often your authentic style peeking through.

Digital Presence: Whether it's your social media, emails, or work presentations, your digital presence is an extension of your personal style. Does your online presence feel aligned with who you are?

Body Language: Your posture, gestures, and how you move through space all contribute to your personal style. Try this: When you're feeling great, notice your natural body language. That's your authentic style in motion!

Alright, now for the fun part you’ve been waiting for: bringing your inner self to life through the way you dress! Your style should feel like an extension of you, not a costume you put on. When you choose clothes that reflect how you truly feel and who you are inside, that’s when everything aligns. Your confidence, your energy, and your authenticity will shine through, and you’ll feel more like yourself than ever before.

First steps to finding your style:

Notice what catches your eye

Pay attention to compliments you receive

Think about your lifestyle needs

Consider your comfort level

Remember your favorite outfits

Finding Inspiration to Create your style vision:

Make Pinterest boards by category

Save Instagram posts that inspire you

Notice patterns in what you save

Look at your favorite influencers' style

Take photos of outfits you love wearing

Understanding Your Style. Ask yourself:

What makes you feel confident?

Which colors brighten your mood?

What fabrics feel good on your skin?

What's practical for your daily life?

What represents your personality?

Building Your Wardrobe:

Choose a core color palette

Invest in quality basics

Find your perfect fit

Know your power pieces

Identify gaps to fill

Smart Shopping Tips:

Create a wishlist

Research before buying

Check fabric quality

Consider cost per wear

Sleep on big purchases

Keep your style accessible:

Group by category

Color coordinate

Make everything visible

Keep a donate box ready

Maintain seasonal rotations

Mix and Match. Creating endless outfits:

Learn your outfit formulas

Use the rule of three

Play with proportions

Experiment with layering

Accessorize thoughtfully

Beyond the Clothes. Complete self-presentation:

Develop a skincare routine

Maintain good grooming

Practice good posture

Keep clothes well-maintained

Pay attention to details

Growing with your style:

Adapt to life changes

Try new combinations

Update key pieces

Experiment safely

Trust your instincts

Quick ways to feel put-together:

Plan outfits ahead

Have go-to combinations ready

Keep shoes clean

Maintain accessories

Press key pieces

Creating Your Signature Look. What makes you, you:

Choose signature accessories

Find your perfect silhouettes

Know your best colors

Identify your style words

Discover your signature scent

Practical Style Tips:

Pack a backup outfit

Keep an emergency kit

Master quick fixes

Know your best angles

Plan for important days

Your Challenge for today:

Create a style mood board

Try a new combination from your closet

Remove three items you never wear

Take photos of your favorite outfits

Write down your style words

Remember these key principles:

Your style can evolve as you do

Authenticity trumps trends every time

Comfort and confidence are non-negotiable

Small tweaks can make big differences

Your style should support your goals and lifestyle

See you tomorrow for Day 24! Don't forget, the best style is the one that makes you feel like your most authentic self.

♡ ☆:.｡ Keep glowing, babes! ♡ ☆:.｡ With love, Goddess Inner Glow.

[alexanderwales]

I've been thinking about "if you don't like it, don't watch it".

First off ... yeah, probably better to just not engage with things rather than being a hater. Better not to piss in someone's Cheerios. Your Kink is Not My Kink But Your Kink is Okay, or whatever. I don't think the path to happiness lies in making haterdom your whole personality, and I think most of the time a single "wow, that sucked" is what's appropriate, or a longer "woooow" if you want to write some analysis/review.

However, we live in a society, and that society can only produce a limited number of quality pieces of media. You might immediately object to that, saying that we're living in an unending sea of content so vast that no one could swim through it all, and my reply is that this is only kind of true. There's a lot of content, yes, but there's a limit on how much budget is going to get spent on content in a given year, and there's certain to be some kind of power law distribution the higher the budgets involved. Those budgets are being used to procure talent from a limited pool.

So every piece of art that gets made which isn't to your preferences does, in some sense, mean that something you actually like doesn't get made. In practice, if that piece of art weren't made, maybe nothing would be made, or maybe some different piece of art you wouldn't like would be made. But there is, ultimately, a limited pool of labor and talent, when it comes to art.

I think that's something to chew on. Obviously a lot of the things that are made are made because someone, somewhere, really had a passion for it, often the artist, and other things are made without passion but because there was a wide market. I think if you're a utilitarian, you might want them to keep making lots of things that are "for" other people, because this is what's best for the greater good (the greater good).

But seeing all that time and effort poured into something that you do not care about? Or something that's poorly made and no one likes? Seeing Hollywood spend a hundred million dollars on a flop? Seeing a game get crippled by its monetization?

There is a part of me that says "well hold on, I do want to talk about why I hate this, why it's bad, what I hated about it, and in fact, I hope that in doing so I can even marginally shift the needle to help the vast ecosystem of creative works move more in a direction that I actually enjoy".

How to message in such a way that this is what you're doing is another conversation entirely. There are lots of very irritating ways to phrase this. But I do think the mindset makes sense, and in certain forms is defensible.

[jbk405]

For this playthrough of ME3 I was very active in changing my off-duty clothing depending on whatever situation I found myself in. It doesn't effect anything, but it was important to me that Shepard dress "appropriately".

Once I got the opportunity to change my clothing I first switched to the N7 hoodie, but almost immediately I switched back to the standard shipboard uniform ("Crewman's outfit"). Unlike when I was working with Cerberus in ME2 I don't have any moral opposition to the Systems Alliance or desire to separate myself from the crew of the Normandy, so I dressed in the same outfit as everybody else.

I swapped into my dress uniform when I went to the summit between the Turians, Salarians, and Krogran. I'm here representing the Systems Alliance and the Citadel Council, so I need to make the right impression. It shows I'm taking the role seriously, and also shows respect to the Heads of State that I am meeting with.

I kept the dress uniform until the genophage was cured and all of the dignitaries departed, and switched back to the crewman's outfit. But I made sure to switch back to the dress uniform for every interview that I had with Diana Allers. Again, to make the right impression in front of everybody who would see the interviews.

I deliberately didn't change into the dress uniform when the Quarian admirals came aboard. I stayed in the shipboard work outfit. It was a calculated insult to represent how furious I was at their war against the geth. I would help to save their lives, but I wanted my very presence to show how little respect I had for them.

Despite how much I love the N7 hoodie, I only put it on for the times when I invited people to my cabin for informal conversations. I wanted to look "professional" while out and about. I did, however, wear the hoodie to meet with Aria and retake Omega. Since she's a shady criminal figure, the Systems Alliance should not be officially seen working to restore her to power.

I wore the Sexy Dress for the Citadel party, because it's a party and I want to look nice.

Then I switched to the dress uniform for the attack on Cerberus and the final mission to Earth. Because now we're the spearhead of the united galaxy, and that means we show up looking our best in our dress blues.

Does any of this matter? No. None of these give any buffs or stats, and they don't get any comments or unique dialogue in different situations. But it helps create a character for Commander Shepard.

[captainquake42]

> ♡ °. INKED UP

♡ four

☆ kwon jae sung x fem!reader

summary:

You go out to a bar with your team and kwon sees an opportunity.

OR reader teaches kwon a few moves

notes:

I can't dance so I did my best describe it.

Also, if you are the person who asked me to write a fic of the reader getting hurt. I accidentally deleted your request, but that is something that i'm working on a little bit.

part one // prev part

1.1k written by:

S A R A H

You sat with Sam and Robby a table away from Dimitri and Eli. The bar buzzed with music and chatter, but you were more focused on your water (you didn’t like drinking, same as Robby, and pop was off-limits during the season—you were strict about keeping your body in peak condition). Sam and Robby were deep in conversation about Tory and Miguel, their voices low but laced with tension.

“ I hope Carmen is okay.” Robby said idly, spinning his straw in his glass “ Did you talk to Miguel before they left?”

Sam shugs, “ for like thirty seconds. We were excited to go exploring but now…” 

You nudged your twin with an elbow. “ You feel any better?” 

He scoffed, his lips curling into a humorless smile. “ No, honestly I'm actually thinking of adding rum to this coke.”

Sam smiled a little thinking he was kidding. “ Yeah right you don't drink.” 

Robby’s gaze dropped to his drink, his fingers tightening around the glass. “ might be the time to start, I've been screwing everything up since Tory put us on break and it's not even affecting her.” 

“ Like salt on an open cut.” 

“ Yeah, she's fighting better than ever.” 

 Sam leaned forward letting her arms rest on the table. “ Tory chose the other side and I feel terrible for her but we can't keep letting her get in our heads like this. We just have to accept she's against us.” 

You huffed, rolling your eyes. “ You guys are acting like we're at war, she's not against us.” You said with a shake of your head. “ She picked a different team because she was vulnerable, and a master manipulator took advantage of that. It’s not that simple. You of all people know that, you were talking about it last night.” 

Sam stared over your shoulders without replying, her facing falling. “ I'm gonna get some air.” She said getting up. 

Both you and Robby turned confused  following her gaze to the door. That’s when you saw them—Tory, Kwon, and a few of their teammates walking in, looking every bit like they owned the place.

Kwon stared at you and gave you a little nod. A smirk tugged at the corner of his lips as he made his way across the bar.

Your back straightened unconsciously, and you had to put your hands in your lap to stop yourself from messing with your hair. 

Kwon stopped beside you, his smirk growing wider. “ Hey,” he said smoothly, his eyes locking with yours. “ Dance with me?”

Before you could say anything, Robby’s chair scraped back as he stood abruptly, squaring his shoulders. “ She’s not interested.”

Kwon barely glanced at Robby, he only had eyes for you. “ I’m pretty sure she can speak for herself, man.”

“ Robby cool off, it's fine.” You said, trying to defuse the situation.

Robby frowned, his jaw tight, but he didn’t say anything else.

“What do you say?” Kwon asked, his voice low enough that it felt like the rest of the room disappeared.

You hesitated, glancing at Robby, who was still standing stiffly. Then you looked back at Kwon.

“ Okay,” you said, taking his hand.

Kwon’s smirk turned into a genuine smile as he led you to the small dance floor at the center of the bar. “ I didn’t think you’d say yes.”

“ Why?” You looked up at him.

“ You don’t like disappointing your team.” He huffed. 

“ One dance won’t kill them.”

“ Just one?” He teased, slipping an arm around your waist. “ I plan to keep you here all night.” 

You felt your cheeks get warm, but put an arm around his neck anyway. “ One,” you repeated, though your lips twitched into a smile. 

“ Counter offer, ten and a kiss.” He said with a sly grin. 

Your jaw dropped, and your eyes went wide. “ Damn you got a drink in you already?” 

“ Nah don’t drink in season.” 

“ That right?”

He hummed swaying with you to the beat. “ That’s right.” 

“ Five and I teach you how to two-step and a shoulder dip.”

“ Deal.” He said almost before you could finish talking. “ Sounds like you know your stuff.”

“ My mom used to take me and Robby to bars all the time, I learned a few things.” You took both his hands and held them up by your sides. “ A two step is easy, all you do is step forward with your left foot, then follow with your right foot. Then go back, right foot first and repeat.”

“ Just go back and fourth?”

“ Yep, super simple.” 

So that’s what you did, a back and forth two step until he seemed to get bored and spinning you. “ Alright now show me the other one.” 

“ Okay,” you laughed. “ First thing, take my hand,” he did. “ Now you're going to spin me out, away from you.” 

He did as told, spinning you out and pulling you back in, “ Like that?” He asked. 

“ Just like that,” You encouraged. “ But when you pull me back, spin me in twice, so towards your body.” 

He did both steps again. 

“ Perfect next cross your arm over and slide while I drag my hand around your back.” You explained while showing the moves you were talking about. “ Now I do a half spin so my back is facing you and I am going to fall.”

“ A trust fall?”

“ Yes. There is more but I don’t think your ready to carry me on your shoulders.”

He scoffed playfully, “ I can, promise.”

“ Swear you won’t drop me?”

“ Yes.” He says, “ what’s the saying?”

“ Cross my heart?”

“ And hope to die, yes that one.”  

“ Okay in that case, grab my waist.” He did. “ I’m going to jump onto your shoulders, on three ready?”

“ Yes.” He effortlessly picked you up, and ducked his head under your spit legs. 

“ Next I’m going to swing my left leg around and you are going to keep hold of my right, when I do that my body will fall into your arms while I keep an arm around the back of your neck to support you. When we both are standing again you will spin me one more time with the hand you have around my thigh. Got it.”

“ Understood.” He yelled back over the music. 

“ Ready?”

“ Yep.” He confirmed. 

You did everything you said you were going to, albeit a little clumsy, with it being his first time, but at least he didn’t drop you like the guy who taught you did. He was spotting Robby, who was holding you, the two of you were only ten and thought it’d be a cool trick to show mom. Instead you got your first concussion, and Robby broke his nose when he fell face first into the floor.

Kwon steadied you as you spin back to him, his arm loosely draped around your waist. His grin was wide and infectious, “ real speed this time?”

He didn’t wait for your answer before he spun you out and back in while you giggled.

[prepareforspamcalls]

Horrible Sister

(More insight on Lilli. Sad one guys. TW: child abuse and physical abuse.)

PEEPS!: @myluckymoon @city-of-c0rpses

Life has always been hard. At least to me, that is.

I want you to imagine what it's like to not be wanted. To not be loved. To know that you're just another burden and a failure to your family's expectations. Now imagine a little girl having to endure through all of that.

To this day, I still find myself crying to that. Because it happened to me and it hurt, a lot.

I was a child in a horrible situation. I couldn't do anything. It felt hopeless as each one of us was torn apart in pain and suffering.

Xena used to tell me about "the first failure". I remember it clearly. We were in her room, she was 10, I was 7, sitting on her bed painting our nails. What was supposed to be a fun activity turned somber as Xena looked me dead in the eye and asked, "Do you know what the first failure is?"

I remember being so confused. I was only 7 at the time. Sure, I was already more "mature" due to my father's teachings and mother's lectures, but this was a concept I had never heard of before. The sad thing is, this concept never applied to me. It wasn't for me. It was for Xena, and only Xena.

I only shook my head at her before she went into detail about it. All I could feel from it was pity. "Think of the first failure as this. You're born into the world, hoping to have a loving and caring family for who you are. Instead, those dreams get crushed as you realize from the beginning that you're not wanted here. Your parents, the people who have birthed you in the beginning for one specific purpose, don't want you. They see you as a burden and make it clear to you that you'll always be a failure to them because you we're born with a dick between your legs!"

The rest of that day has been long since forgotten. All I could remember was seeing the slight anger from Xena. Her fists clenching, lowering her head as she sniffles to prevent the tears from falling out. I don't blame her for getting upset, after all, she was just a child.

That conversation would always stick to me though. There would be nights where I would just lay in bed, unable to sleep as I thought about that conversation. I never knew why I would refer back to that conversation, not until the day he was born.

Xavier, what father always wanted. Because having four daughters wasn't good enough for him. Dad finally got the son he wanted, so there was no need for the rest of us.

I remember that day when we first visited him in the hospital, I can remember every detail clearly. And I feel horrible when I think about it. For I wasn't happy when he came into the world. I was mimicking Xena, not caring, feeling dull and empty. By now, both her and I have been through a lot with mom and dad. We knew that this baby would suffer like the rest of us.

I tried to somewhat be a decent sister. At first, I didn't want to take my anger out in him. He didn't ask to be born in a sexist family. So I would just hide in my room instead, studying early so I can leave early once I'm 18. As long as I didn't have to come into contact with him, we can live somewhat peacefully in the same house.

I only avoided him because of dad. Just by looks alone was a striking comparison to dad. He looked just like him, a spitting image. That's what I hated most. I hated dad, with my entire being I hated him, but that hate would spill over and hurt the innocent soon enough.

It wasn't meant to be like this, but it happened one day. Dad called me into his office, I was 11 at the time, he was angry about something I did. I can't remember what. All u remember was him yelling at me. Commanding me to look at him while he's speaking, only for him to slap me a few times. I think he broke my glasses that day as well.

It hurt and once I was allowed to leave, I was sobbing my way out of his office door, carrying my broken glasses with me. I went upstairs to go hide in my room like always, until I saw Xavier coloring in the floor in the middle of the hallway. Just something about him sparked anger in me despite the tears still flowing from my face. He wasn't even in my way to get to my room, he didn't do anything wrong.

But I went out of my way, I threw my glasses at him before getting close and slapping him as hard as I could across the face. "I HATE YOU!" I yelled at him before I ran off to my room, slamming the door and locking it. I could hear his crying from outside, I tried to ignore it using my ability but the guilt was already sweeping through the cracks.

It was a horrible night from there on out. Not only did mom yell at me, dad slapped me again and took away my door privileges for a week, but I was sent to bed with no dinner that night and in the mist of all of it I was having a internal battle with myself. The guilt trying to make me feel bad but my anger trying to justify my actions. It was truly a horrible night, and I just wanted it to end. I was so fueled by hate and anger that one thought led to another, and before I knew it, I was standing at the foot of the bed of Xavier's room, late at night.

Everyone else was asleep. He was asleep, vulnerable, and unaware. I had my shot. I could have had my kill. I could have taken that knife and jammed it in his throat. All just to spite dad. All just to I can get back at the man who has slapped me. Who has hurt me multiple times. Who has hurt everyone in this household in some way.

I could have killed my brother that night. I could have, but the guilt stop me. I'm glad it did. I would have felt horrible if I actually killed him. He was just a child like me. He didn't ask for this. He didn't ask to look like dad. He isn't dad.

That realization made me feel awful. Not just because I was about to kill someone. No, I was about to kill a innocent child who I didn't even see as a person, just a reflection of someone I truly hated. With the hate of my father, the guilt of standing there with a knife at hand, and with the realization that I had let hate blind me to the point where I didn't see my brother for who he is all caused me to slowly drop and break down crying. I think I slept in Xavier's bed that night, holding him close and sobbing sorry to him the entire night.

All I could say was sorry.

From that day on, I tried to improve myself and be somewhat of a better sister. At first, it was hard, considering the trauma from dad, but slowly, I started to spend more time with my brother. I don't regret it. It wasn't as bad as I expected. On the contrary, I actually enjoyed being around him more. I would go as far as even defending him when needed.

I wanted to make up for what I have done. To be a better sister and to let him know that it wasn't him who I hated. I didn't want to be a horrible sister. So I hope he has forgotten about the slap, but even if he hasn't, I want him to know that I'm sorry.

[starrycosme]

I invited a friend from uni to my parent's home for the holidays because she didn't have the possibility to go back home for Christmas. Obviously, she's coming with us for the family meals, and I have a feeling that people think we're a couple despite me always having introduced her as a friend from uni. I feel like maybe I should be grateful for having such an accepting family. Except, I don't feel like they really are.

For context, I'm aroace and non partnering, sex and romance averse for the most part. I have only come out to my close family because I feel like the other people in my family wouldn't take me seriously. My close family didn't for a really long time, and it took some really intrusive conversations for them to believe me. So, I haven't come out as aroace to my extended family, and I wasn't planning to.

Having them assume behind my back that my friend is my couple is making me feel so uncomfortable I feel physically unwell. It's making me want to pull back from my friend. I feel like I no longer want to be near her, which is a problem because we're sleeping in the same room, even if in separate beds. I know it's unfair to her, and I shouldn't have offered for her to come here if I was going to feel like this and be distant because of it. I know I shouldn't feel like this, but I find myself wishing that I hadn't invited her at all.

I needed to say all of this because I feel like there's no one in my close environment who's going to understand. I don't think I understand myself. This is probably just me wanting to vent without having to face the judgment of anyone, even though I'd deserve it. I feel like such a bad person.

[beef-brisket]

Alastor thought about it for a moment: Hm. I see your point. But I have to disagree. Vox and I are more than compatible. Besides, you have started many relationships via text, so why do you think that Vox and I can't achieve the same level of "getting to know each other" as you have with your past lovers?

Adam: ...look- we're not talking about me!

Lucifer: I think what Adam is trying to say is that a child needs bonding with the parents, and don't you think it would be a bit weird if their parents don't have a bond of some kind?

Alastor: My parents had no such thing- but then, your parents, Lucifer, have the same relationship as to what Vox and I are hoping to achieve, and you turned out terrible. Hm, alright, Adam. It believe you have a point. I will contact Vox at once.

Adam sighs as Alastor walks off to his laptop. Lucifer glared as Alastor walked past. He was more than used to his insults, but that doesn't make them hurt any less.

-

Lucifer smiles at the ceiling in Adam's bedroom.

Lucifer: Wow...~.

Adam laughs and rolls off Lucifer, landed next to him. Lucifer rolls over to face Adam and tucks a piece of hair behind his hair.

Lucifer: ...I love you, Adam.

Adam's eyes widen, and he stares at Lucifer: Uh... thank you.

He smiles, and Lucifer, before rolling over and facing away from him.

Lucifer has never been more confused. With his mind in termoil, he eventually fell asleep. He'll talk to Adam about it in the morning.

Except that it never happened, for two weeks, Adam had avoided the conversation, and it was frustrating Lucifer. Making him lash out at the smallest thing.

The gang decided to go to a bowling alley to take their minds off everything.

Lucifer noticed that Adam was avoiding him, sitting further away and keeping to himself. It didn't help when Lucifer watched him talk with Will Weaton of all people.

Adam walked off to get some food before sitting down across from Lucifer, a bowl of hot chips on his lap.

Adam: Fuck- I love loaded fries.

Lucifer rolled his eyes: Not like, no, you LOVE them, huh?

Adam glared at him: What's your problem?

Lucifer: Oh, nothing. Just usually when someone's partner says "I love you", you usually say it back-!

Adam: Not after three months of dating!

Lucifer: We've known each other for years, Adam!

Adam: That doesn't mean I'm ready to say it back! Get off my fucking case!

Lucifer follows Adam as he storms off.

Lucifer: Where are you going-?!

Adam: Away from you! I'm fucking done, Lucifer! Done!

Lucifer stands there in shock as Adam leaves the bowling alley, leaving him alone in the foyer. Walking back to his table, he eyes the hot chips and groans.

Lucifer: Just had to open my mouth...

What about the Big Bang Theory?

An au like that where Adam is Penny and Lucifer is Leonard

The ANGST!

All of the fucking breakups would be so funny amd each of them have a handful of fail proposals under their belt.

Adam: Oh my god- what happened?!

Alastor and Lucifer walk into their apartment with no pants on.

Lucifer: Well... your ex-boyfriend sends his regards, and I think the rest is fairly self explanatory.

Alastor and Lucifer look between each other.

Adam: I'm so sorry! I really thought if you guys went instead of me, he wouldn't be such an ass.

Lucifer: N-No, it was a valid hypothesis.

Alastor: That was a valid hypothesis-? What's happening to you?

Adam goes over and pulls Lucifer into a hug, then Alastor. Lucifer tries to hold onto the hug as Adam goes to Alastor.

Adam: Really, thank you guys so much for going and trying, you're, uh, you're so terrific!

Adam opens the door and looks back at the two men.

Adam: Why don't you two put some clothes on and I'll grab my wallet, dinners on me, okay?

Lucifer: Really?

Alastor: Thank you.

Adam smiles and walks across the way to his apartment.

Lucifer and Alastor stand in the doorway and watch him go inside.

Alastor: You're not done with him, are you?

Lucifer: Our babies will be smart, and beautiful.

Alastor: Not to mention imaginary.

[aurosoulart]

the GREAT PATREON SMUSH

I was going to make an advertisement for this with bright colors and maybe animated sparkles but 1) I hate making ads and 2) we are all so exhausted by bright ads vying for our brain chemicals that I just don’t want to do that to you anymore!!!! I’m TIRED of things grabbing for my attention in an unending assault on my senses and I’m sure you are too!!!!!!!

if you’ve been doom-scrolling and need a break (a nice beverage, a stretch of the legs, etc.), take this as a sign to do so now. if you’ve got the energy for a little reading, though, and want to learn about my work - keep going!

ANYWAYS I’ll get to the point: ALL of my patreon benefits are now available to the lowest ($3) tier.

in fact, there ARE no other tiers anymore. they’re gone! scrunched! smunshed! stirred up all together into one big super tier soup of everything I offer now and will offer in the future!

everyone now gets:

over 100 4k desktop wallpapers

early access/wips

25% discounts on prints

livestream voice chat

art votes & art suggestions

commission slots

and access to the Art Grotto discord, a friendly and chill server with a small community of creative folks. we share art, writing, pets, memes, and also come up with fun art ideas together! 🌈

why am I smushing the tiers and giving up the higher pledge amounts?!

because capitalism sucks, we’re in a recession, and I’m lucky enough to have a full-time job that allows me to make art without being reliant on Patreon income. anyone who has sat in on one of my livestreams knows that I try to be a calming force in an often-chaotic world, and that I’m always looking for ways to make art more accessible to everyone. I want my Patreon to be a place where I can give back to those who are supporting me in this mission!

this tier smush is just the start of how I hope to transform this space! I have a bunch of fun ideas about stuff I want to do in the future, so keep an eye out for more announcements like this 👁

that’s all!!!! thank you if you’ve read this far, and here’s the link to the Patreon if any of this interested you!

[clemsharmony]

the funniest mischaracterisation 12 april bashers can make is having raph hate her. why would you, in a million years, genuinely think raph would hate april. raph. secretly soft-hearted raph from tmnt 2012. who let april lean into him like this! who celebrated april's accomplishments with her! who hung up april's tessen in his and donnie's apocalypse home!! we watched the same show right

[lucifitzgerald]

Daisy tries to smile at Aiden but she can't really get it together on her face. Luci seems to notice though, right away, that something is wrong. That's what makes her a good teacher, and that's why Daisy likes her. She's sweet with the kids and thoughtful, and so nice. It's not a shock to her that people like her.

It's...a bit of a shock that Aiden does, however. Not that Aiden doesn't...she tries to get the thoughts right in her head. She missed her chance. She just thought Aiden wasn't ready to date or see anyone.

There seems to be a silent conversation between her and Luci because she reaches out and squeezes Daisy's wrist. "I'm glad we're hanging out outside of school."

Luci draws in a breath because fuck. She didn't...she didn't know that Daisy felt a certain way about Aiden, but it's all over her face. She hopes they can still be friends?

But Daisy nods, giving her a smile that's more genuine. "Me too."

Ryan smiles at Luci and it's nice to have another female, not that Daisy and Sloane aren't great (they are) but it's also good to have more. They're a bit of an odd bunch through together but they all work somehow. Ryan turns her head and looks to see Daisy and she sees that brief hesitation in her face before it melts into something sweet and welcoming. Ryan turns and looks at August, her brows flicking and makes a slight yikes face.

Daisy's crush on Aiden isn't exactly hidden, well, not to people who notice which is everyone in their friend group but Aiden. But it definitely can't easy seeing your crush with someone else. Ryan would know.

"Hey Dais," Aiden smiles at her. "At least Daisy is one person you don't have to introduce," he chuckles softly, a lame joke but that probably makes it easier?

[aromantic-allosexual]

did you guys know that you can actually support aroallo people WITHOUT talking about asexuality and asexuals. did you guys know that you can actually do that. you can actually stand in solidarity with us without saying "and also asexuals"