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glam-targaryen · 1 day

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In Your Dreams: I ☁️🌙☁️

Azriel x Reader

A/n: Okay this is my first time writing in years but Az is Bringing me out of retirement. Opinions and ideas are always appreciated. Enjoyy😌

Summary: Az isn’t very fond of the newest member of the Night Court so much so that you even plague his dreams.

Warnings: This is a smut series. MDNI

Song inspo:

“Az, you’re back!” Cassian’s booming voice probably alerts everyone in The House of Wind of his arrival just as Azriel touches down on the balcony.

Az can’t help the small smile directed at his brother. After being away on a mission for days, he appreciated Cassian’s loudness, it means home, comfort, relaxation-

Or so he thought until his eyes land on you, lounging on a sofa, book in hand but your empty eyes set on his own.

His smile instantly vanishes, replaced by a displeased glance before turning away.

Azriel cannot stand you. The newest member, a pick pocket from the Hewn City turned spy pupil for The Night Court. A dark presence that made him physically ill.

It’s no surprise you’re sat in the far corner of the room. Azriel hasn’t seen you speak to anyone beside Rhysand since your arrival. Even then, it was only about the minuscule missions he’d been sending you on the last 3 months.

Azriel simply nods at Cassian and Nesta. Words failing him as that illness returns deep in the pit of his stomach.

He can feel your uncanny gaze still focused on him, despite his obvious distaste for you. He knows that is precisely why you do it too.

Gods, you are the bane of his existence.

With a slight twitch of the brow, Az makes his way toward Rhysand’s study ready to give him yet another ear full about you.

How Rhys had even given you a position is beyond Azriel considering you were a straight up criminal.

Azriel had been on a mission in the slums of the Hewn City, the worst part, in fact. A part so small and forgotten that crimes are a first nature.

He just found the information he’d been looking for and his mood was nothing less than happy knowing he’d be back home soon.

That was until a cloaked figure had bumped him and continued on their way.

Naturally being in a more poor part of the city, Azriel pats his left hip making sure none of his weapons or money had been swiped. But they hadn’t.

It isn’t until he brings his left hand to move his own cloak and double check that he realizes his siphon is gone.

“How the fuck…” Azriel hasn’t been caught off guard like this in a long while. How could they swipe a stone embedded in his leathers without him feeling a thing?

Azriel wasted no time looking over the crowd to find the grey tattered cloak gracefully zipping through the crowd.

He follows just a swiftly. His eyes glued to the figure as he maneuvers past on goers.

The thief, as if sensing him, looks back for half a second before darting through the crowd, ducking and jumping over items and people. Still managing to move past them without bumping into anyone.

Az mutters a breathy, “Asshole” when he takes note of that.

At this point Azriel begins to push past the crowd. He can’t let them leave with it. Something that valuable, not just on market but to himself personally, will not fall into some slick criminals hands.

Just as they are about to round the corner Azriel sends his shadows in a silent command to detain the culprit. The shadows weave through the crowd even more speedy and graceful, wrapping around the hooded figure and yanking them back.

Their back hits the ground with an ‘oomf’ before they quickly try freeing themselves from the shadows constraints.

Azriel grabs their collar in one hand, lifting them up and bringing them to his eye level. The other hand snatching back the hood of the cloak.

He nearly gasps upon laying eyes on you. The bewitching darkness in your eyes bore into his, reaching for his soul as if you’d take it right from him.

Taking advantage of his perplexed state you kicked him in the stomach causing him to let go and his shadows to withdraw.

Azriel groans holding his middle and coughing once, twice.

You don’t hesitate to run down the empty alley but Azriel is quick to snap back.

You don’t make it half way through when he winnows in front of you. You slam into his chest and fall again, mud splattering the two of you. Azriel’s shadows bind your wrists above your head as he straddles your thighs.

You thrash beneath him, growling and clawing. His hands scanning over your arms, sides and hips until he felt the bulge of it settled on your hip…beneath the waistband of your pants.

He looks up at you, amusement dancing behind your wicked eyes as if he were being tested, ‘a will he, won’t he?’

His eyes flicker from yours to your somewhat now exposed navel. He can’t just…reach in there.

But he can’t just let you have it. He wouldn’t be wrong to take back what is his.

He scoffs, reaching under your waistband and pulling up a belt with a pocket attached causing you shriek almost inaudibly.

Azriel pulls the dull blue siphon from the pocket and looks back at you. He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t half amused himself.

A strange girl from the slums of the Hewn City stealing his siphon and testing his honor as a male.

Though he is not crazy enough to indulge the amusement. You are a thief. Not just a common thief but a a thief able to pick a very valuable possession off of a very cautious male.

“What is your name?” Azriel asks still hovering over you.

You only glare back.

“I asked what your name is.” Azriel grows impatient above you but you do not respond.

It could have been over. He could have let you go and steal from some other fool who wouldn’t notice but…he didn’t want to. Perhaps your crime against him was too personal and punishment seemed fit.

“Get up.” Azriel roughly pulls you to your feet, shadows still binding your wrists. Your struggles are deemed futile when he whisks you away to his High Lord.

Azriel all but stomps into Rhys study, shutting the door behind him. “Your newest addition has a staring problem.”

Rhysand looks up from his notes to see his irritated brother throw himself into the seat across from him. “What happened to ‘hello’ ‘how are you’?”

Azriel sighs. “Rhys.”

Rhys leans back in his seat, a smirk on his lips. “What harm is a bit of staring? Maybe she likes what she sees.”

“Please.” Azriel rolls his eyes. “She likes nothing and no one.”

Rhys shrugs. “She’s not so bad, Az. You’re just pissed she was able to pick something off of you.”

“I’m pissed that you gave her a job instead of consequences.”

“How couldn’t I? I’d rather have someone that can out sneak my spy master on my side.” Rhysand teases.

“She did not ‘out sneak’ me. Her methods were textbook. Not sneaky at all.” Azriel grumbles his blatant lies. He knows not just any theif, not even an exceptional one, could do what you did.

Rhysand chuckles. “Whatever you say, brother.” He clears his throat. “I assume you found the shop?”

Azriel shakes his head. “I did not but I heard rumors of where it will turn up next.”

Rhys had assigned him a rather odd case, a book of lethal potions stolen from a temple in the Hewn City by a traveling shop now supplying those lethal drugs. Reports saying it makes users hyper aware, a party drug when used correctly but as expected there are those who abuse it, turning them aggressive and eventually killing them when too much is consumed. Azriel has spent the last week trying to track the shop down with nothing to show for it until today.

“Where?”

Azriel’s jaw tightens. “Coincidentally, in two days it will be in the same part of town…she…is from.”

Rhys chuckles at his brother’s pettiness once again. “She must really get under your skin with her staring.”

Azriel shakes his head, “Rhys, I’m telling you there is something off about her.”

“She’s been here for 3 months without incident. What do you suppose she will do?” Rhy asks entertaining the idea purely for the amusement of seeing a riled up Azriel.

“Steal. Spy. Hells for all we know she could be plotting everyone’s death.”

“Well, then I guess I should fear for your life when she accompanies you on your assignment?” Rhysand lifts a brow in mock questioning.

“Absolutely not. She will not be accompanying me anywhere…ever.” Azriel laughs at the notion.

“She knows her way around, she is successful in her missions and you need to get over your bruised ego and get along with her. She is supposed to be your pupil.”

Azriel shakes his head but before he can deny his High Lord, Rhysand continues.

“You will be taking her with you to retrieve the book and shut it down. That’s final.” Rhysand crosses his arms.

Azriel hesitantes but ultimately nods, dreading the thought of having to spend any amount of time near you.

.☁️🌙☁️.

Azriel is sat in the lounge, a book in one hand and a glass of scotch in the other. His eyes read over the page for the millionth time before he slams it shut and rubs his temple.

Sleep had evaded him, unable to stop thinking of this damned mission he has to take you on. At the fact that he must push away the alarms going off in his entire being when you are around.

Azriel knows something is wrong with you. It’s your expressionless gaze, the eerie aura that follows you and the stillness of your existence, even just standing around you’re still as a statue. You’re like a ghost. His own personal poltergeist.

As if on cue, he shadows curl up his neck whispering of your presence.

His stomach drops. He’d be damned if he had to endure you anymore than he has to.

Just as he retreats into the shadows in the corner of the den, you glide straight past the room entirely. Not even peaking into the only lit room of the house.

He knows it’s ridiculous but it irked him that you didn’t even look. Had you no curiosity either? And if you aren’t coming to the den, where are you going?

Regardless, he definitely isn’t going to find out. He has no intention of being anywhere near you. He wouldn’t subject himself to that.

…

But he wants to know. What if you had some secret hobby or routine? Something that made you…a person.

Why should that matter to him!? He doesn’t give two shits about what you do. His own curiosity only further proves how offbeat you are. He certainly will not follow you and he definitely won’t care what you are doing.

…

But what if you were up to no good? What if you were stealing from the High Lord every night after he goes to sleep?

Now that he can’t allow.

Azriel emerges from the shadows, peaking out from the door frame to find you at the end of the hallway. You enter the library and shut the door closed behind you.

He slips through the hallway and into the library, careful not to make a sound.

The empty library felt cold in your wake though there was no sign of you. You weren’t sitting on the sofas or searching for a book. There is only silence in his company.

Azriel strides through each row of bookcases lined throughout the room to no avail.

And now you’ve even disappeared like a ghost.

A beam of light enters at the back of the room earning his attention. The balcony.

Azriel stealthily crosses the room, concealing himself behind the bookcase closest to the balcony.

There you were. Sitting on the marble bench, staring up at the sky. Not causing any trouble.

Well, he has his answer, he can leave. He can go about his sleepless night.

But once again he did not want to, despite those alarms going off and the growing pit deep down. He couldn’t bring himself to move.

So he didn’t for a very long time.

He only watches your ominously still figure watching the sky. You do not look away or blink or breathe it seems. Not even a twitch of the fingers.

You just cannot be of this world.

“Azriel.” You call softly.

His heart drops into the swirling void in his stomach as chills sweep across his skin and the hairs of his arm stand.

You’d sensed him there. For how long? Though he doesn’t care what you think of him, he did not need you telling anyone he’s some stalker creep.

“You can come out.”

Azriel contemplates. He can leave as he should have done an hour ago but you already know he is here. Then again, maybe if he leaves you’ll think you were mistaken.

All of those options fly out of the door when you look back, directly at him.

He winces at his lack of options and being caught. How did you even know? He’s the fucking spy master and now he can’t even hide from you?

Azriel lets out a deep exhale, not even realizing he’d been holding his breath before coming out into your full view.

You look right into his eyes as he approaches you. Each step feels like a crushing weight as he struggles to maintain his composure.

“What are you doing out here?” Azriel asks firmly, not a shred of friendliness behind the words.

You only look back to the sky.

Were you ignoring him now? After telling him to come out?

Irritation begins to fill the void in him. The audacity. HE is the one ignoring YOU.

“What are you doing out here.” A command rather than question this time.

You subtly shrug.

Azriel rolls his eyes.

For a while the two of you are silent. What is he even supposed to say to you? You are the one that called him out here.

He isn’t surprised that you hardly speak but that doesn’t change the fact that it is annoying.

“You don’t speak much.” Azriel states plainly wanting to escape the awkward, silent tension.

“That’s your perception.” You match his blunt tone provoking his wonder. How could it be his perception when you don’t speak to anyone?

“I haven’t seen within 10 feet of anyone here.”

“That’s because you disappear anytime I’m in the same room as you.”

Azriel didn’t know what to make of your straight forwardness. Though he tends to speak directly himself, he’s not fond of such attitude. But coming from you, it seems fitting. “Perhaps I simply don’t enjoy your company.”

“Curious.” You look at him, standing up and making your way back into the library. “No male has ever complained about my company.”

Azriel follows close behind, watching your every poised step.

“As a matter of fact I’ve been told I’m quite the pleasure to be around.” You glance over your shoulder. That familiar sinister delight returning to your eyes, the same look you gave him when he realized where it is you held his siphon.

Azriel nearly trips on over his own two feet. The void beginning to whirl again. He cursed himself for needed to clear his throat. “Is that so?”

You stop abruptly and pivot on your feet, coming face to chest and tilting your head back to look up at him. His stomach leaps at the sudden proximity and your intense stare. He steps back.

“With my bright and bubbling personality, how could they not?” You raise a brow.

Azriel didn’t know if it was relief from the cut tension or the actual joke or both but he lets out a breathy chuckle.

“Not to mention my breasts and ass.”

Azriel’s shock couldn’t have been anymore evident. His lips part unable to form a single word, not that his brain could form a single thought.

Azriel hadn’t thought of you in any way other than suspicion but now, standing before him, he can’t help but notice your deadly beauty. The enthralling darkness dancing behind your eyes and those plump pink lips. The thin strapped shirt clinging to your ample breasts. The outline of your peaked nipples. The perfect angle he has of your soft cleavage.

“That was also a joke.” You clarify and turn on your heel continuing towards the door. “Kind of.”

It most certainly was not a joke.

The loose shorts gripping your waist do nothing to hide the outline of your backside. Each step you take further away from him only giving him a better view of the swish of your hips and the bounce of your ass.

“Goodnight, Spy Master.” You bid farewell without so much as a glance back.

.☁️🌙☁️.

Azriel couldn’t stop thinking of you, yet now it’s in whole different light. He would have never thought you to be so vulgar, in a cruel way maybe but not in a humorous way.

You’re so quiet and reserved and unsettling. He didn’t think you capable of making a joke, let alone a sexual one.

He couldn’t deny that it is a rather riveting piece of information. He should have known when you all but challenged him to reach into your pants a few month ago.

The memory of your tits sitting nice and pretty, your waist and full hips, your ass, all flood his mind.

Lying in his bed, Azriel turns onto his back, shaking the thoughts from his head.

He needs sleep. And he needs it now.

.☁️🌙☁️.

Exhaustion cannot begin to describe what Azriel felt. He needed not just to rest but recharge, and there is nothing better than laying down after a hard days work.

After what felt like forever he finally reaches his bedroom, twisting the nob and shutting the door behind him. He sighs, shutting his eyes and resting his head against the door.

“Azriel.” You call just as softly as you had earlier in the night.

Azriel whips around to find you sat on the center on his bed, feet under you and hands politely placed on your knees, as if you’d been waiting for him.

Azriel scans the room. Possibly a prank brought on by Rhysand but it’s only you in here.

“What are you doing in here?” Azriel hisses, sending a vicious sneer in your direction. And he thought ignoring him was the hight of your audacity but to enter his private quarters at such late hours?

“I haven’t been on my best behavior, have I.” You tilt your head to the side, feigning innocence.

Azriel’s brow pinches. “What?”

“I’ve displeased you in some way.” You slowly stand from his bed. “I can’t have that.”

Azriel swallows hard as you inch closer with every word. “After all, I am a pleasure to be around.”

Azriel can only watch. Your shorts doing little to hide your exposed legs and soft thighs. That fucking shirt hiding your tight nipples.

You come to halt with only centimeters between you, looking up at him with that deceptively virtuous gaze.

He could smell you. An intoxicating scent of amber and jasmine. Like a garden in the fall.

Azriel’s heart thunders in his chest. Not fast but hard. He was sure not only you but everyone in the house could feel it. His whole being pulses with each thump as you reach for his chest.

“Let me be a pleasure.” Your delicate fingers just barely touches his chest, drawing a line down his chest. Then lower. And lower. And lower-

Azriels eyes widen as he snatches your hand in his. His chest heaving, trying to gulp down the air that slips away from him. You, however, seem un phased, eager, if anything. “W-what do you think you’re doing?”

The scent of his own arousal permeates the air he desperately tries to breathe.

With half lidded eyes and a slight pout of your lips, you take your wrist from his loose grip and place your palm over the back of his hand, brining it up to your cheek and leaning into it.

Azriel’s blood turns cold at how tender your touch is, gentle as the embrace of death. Your skin warms his palm as you drag his hand down the side of your neck painfully slow, his thumb tracing the column of your throat.

Gods, he wanted to bite it. To latch himself onto that spot. If it was possible to envy one’s own hand, he’d turn green.

“I see how you look at me.” Your voice low and sultry. “You despise me.”

You move his hand down your collar bone, to your chest, settling between your breast. Something deep inside Azriel twists and knots, his cold blood turns hot as it rushes into his pants.

“Let me fix it.” You groan, trailing his hand further down to your stomach. “Let me show you…”

Azriel bites the inside of his cheek to keep his own sounds at bay. His brows pinch together at the sight of you. The rise and fall of your swollen, flushed breasts. Your bottom lip trapped between your teeth and the look of pure carnal desire.

“…just how much of a pleasure I can be.” You whisper breathlessly when you lead his scared hand beneath the waistband of your shorts.

Azriel chokes back a guttural groan when his fingers reach the slick folds of your cunt. Looking into his eyes with a feral hunger, you guide his fingers in sensual circles around your most sensitive spot. Hushed whines hum from your chest, purring at his governed touch.

His middle finger twitches against your clit, testing for himself. You respond with a low moan.

Azriel’s eyes flutter shut trying to reason with himself.

This was wrong. So fucking wrong. Azriel can’t even stand the sight of you yet here he is with his hands down your pants for the second time, and he felt just as he had the first time, he wanted to ruin you.

Another flick of his fingers causes you to throw your head back.

Azriel growls. A fire ignites in his chest, coursing through every nerve of his body as he gives in to you.

His fingers take a course of their own, rubbing your center with fervor. A noise somewhere between a yelp and moan escape your parted lips. You grabbing onto his arms to steady yourself as pleasure over takes you.

“Fuck, you’re dripping.” Azriel leans forward to whisper in your ear. His warm breath tickling your skin as he asks, “Who made you this wet?”

You only moan, digging your hands into his bicep.

Still massaging your clit, he brings his free hand to strike the fat of your ass earning a very loud moan.

“Tell me.”

“You!” The stinging sensation mixes with your pleasure, encouraging you further. “Azriel made me this fucking wet.”

Azriel hums, gripping your hair and tilting your head back. “Mhm. Keep being a good girl and I’ll forgive you.”

His attacks your neck, teeth clamping down hard in what he knows will scar but he didn’t care. He wanted you marked. Proof that he could take control, even over someone with such a silent attitude as yours.

You hold back a scream. As much as it hurt, he knows you like it. “Dont hold back. I want to hear the pretty noises you make.”

Azriel’s tongue laps at the column of your throat, finally nipping at the spot he craved minutes ago. Your moans vibrate against his lips.

He pulls away to look at you. Eyes shut and jaw hung in ecstasy. His cock twitches in pants at how good he can make you feel.

The sight was anything but dark. Dare he say heavenly.

Suddenly, your eyes open, fixating on his. Lust and desperation laced in your stare as you plead, “I want your fingers in me. Please, Az.”

Azriel smirks down at you arrogantly. “Yeah?” You nod frantically, your moans and pants driving him absolutely wild.

“Whatever you want.” Azriel pulls away from you, sitting at the edge on his bed, knees spread as he pats his lap. “Come here, pretty girl.”

You stand between his legs but before you could straddle him, he grabs your wrist, roughly turning your back to him.

His texture hands glide down your back, feeling every curve until he reaches your shorts, yanking them down in one swift motion and leaving your rear exposed for his viewing enjoyment.

He gathers as much of your ass in his hands as he can, squeezing, caressing and parting for an even better view. Your slit and inner thighs glistening from your wetness.

He does dare to say heavenly.

“So fucking pretty.” He leans forward, placing a soft kiss on your ass cheek and quickly slapping it right on top.

You jerk forward with an amused hum.

Azriel grabs your hip and brings you down to him. Your full weight falls onto his solid cock, strained in his leathers. He moans at the impact.

Azriel’s hands trail up from your hips, over your stomach and under your shirt and to your breasts. You whimper as his fingers lightly trace over your firm nipples and kneed at your breasts.

Azriel revels in it. The way you feel, the way he makes you feel. His lips latch to your neck sucking as he rolls your buds between his fingers.

“Azriel, please.” You breathe, writhing against him.

He groans, flicking your nipple harshly and immediately finding your center. The tip of his middle finger sliding up and down, toying with your hole.

“Please! Please put it in.” You whine, reaching up to tug at his dark locks. The sensation pushing him over the edge.

Promptly, his middle finger plunges into your cunt, pumping at a hungry pace.

“Oh, fuck! Azriel, yes!” You grip his hair stronger, receiving another painful bite and a slap on your tits in return.

Azriel adds another finger and you clench around them. “So fucking tight, angel. I bet you’ve never been fucked so full with two fingers, have you?”

You shake your head and throw it back over his shoulder when his fingers disappear in you to the knuckle.

“Can you take one more for me, angel?” Azriel hums placing sloppy open kisses to your bruised neck.

You dont respond.

“Answer me.” Azriel pinches your nipple, urging for your response.

“I…I don’t know.” You hesitate.

Azriel guides you to look at him, your face inches from his. His brows pinch and with a slightly patronizing pout he nods. “Yes you can, angel. Don’t you like how full I make you feel?”

You bite your lip and nod. “I can take it.”

“Good girl.” He breathes with a smug expression. Azriel can’t get enough of you like this. Pleading. Submissive to his every whim. The satisfaction of seeing that stoic demeanor dissolve because of him.

Azriel slides a third finger in slowly. Hells, you’re so fucking tight around his fingers, he can only imagine how you’d feel on his cock.

You release a long, aching moan and arch your back against him.

Azriel gasps at the sudden movement against his pants. It wouldn’t take more than a minute to make him explode. “F-fuck, y/n. Keep doing that.”

You grind in his lap, feeling his length throb beneath you. “Like this, Az?”

“Yes, angel. God’s, yes.” Azriel’s fingers sink into your cunt, over and over. Your screams of pleasure blend with the sopping sounds of your wet pussy.

Azriel was absolutely sure this was heaven.

“I’m so close! Mm, you gonna make a fucking mess out of me?” You rut against his cock.

“Fuck yes.” Azriel’s free arm wraps around you pressing you further into him and he fucks you with his fingers. “C’mon. Make a mess for me, angel.”

“Azriel!” That’s all it took for you to crumble in his lap. Your entire body trembles and euphoria seizes control of your body. Your screams informing all of Veleris of who made you cum so fucking good.

As you ride out your orgasm, Azriel lifts his own stuttering hips to grind against yours. The full weight of you quivering and fidgeting against him builds a blissful tension deep within him. And with the string of his name still being sung from your lips, the coiling pressure couldn’t hold anymore.

“Oh shit, I’m gonna-”

.☁️🌙☁️.

Azriel shoots straight up out of his bed and on to his feet, panting and looking around his room, illuminated with the first light of day.

But there was no one. No you.

Azriel blinks and wipes his eyes. It was a dream?

He looks around once more.

It couldn’t have been a dream. He’s dreamt of many females but never anything so…real.

He could still feel the weight of your body flushed against him. He could still feel the blissful aftermath of an orgasm.

Azriel looks down at his stained tented pants. His half hard cock still dripping on his thigh.

What the fuck was that? Why the fuck would he dream of that? Of you.

Mor? Sure. Elain? Once or twice, but you? Someone he couldn’t even stand to be in the same room with?

Azriel huffs and makes his way to his bathroom to clean up, angry with himself and his deplorable dream. A nightmare, he decides, considering it involved you.

#a court of thorns and roses #azriel #azriel smut #azriel fanfiction #azriel x reader #azriel x reader smut #acotar smut #acotar #azriel spymaster #azriel shadowsinger #azriel acotar #azriel angst

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jeannineee · 9 months

Text

Being mated to both Cassian and Azriel…

a/n: Just some headcanons!! The fact that they don’t exist irl should be a crime 😐 anywho…requests are open :)

nsfw under the cut (18+)

SFW:

It took a while for them to get acclimated with sharing you.

As we know, Fae males are territorial, and these two Illyrians are no exception. However, they both value their relationship with one another, and value you enough that they worked through their jealousy and insecurity.

On the topic of being territorial, Cas and Az are terrifying when it comes to you being threatened/harmed. Neither of them have any qualms against ripping apart anyone who would hurt you.

They’re both protective, but not overbearing. They know you can handle yourself, but also know when to jump in.

The three of you occasionally go on dates together, but they both need their alone time with you as well.

Azriel and Cassian would do absolutely anything for you. They worship the ground you walk on.

NSFW:

Oh boy!!

So, similar to dating, they need to have their own individual time with you, but they have no problem sharing you in the bedroom as well.

So let’s talk about when the three of you are together!!

Sex is never a dull experience with them. Ever.

They both lean towards being dominant, Azriel more so.

Azriel is more strict/harsh. Cassian is a soft dom, for sure.

As in, Azriel will be at his limit with your bratty behavior, ready to put you over his knee, and Cassian will say something to the extent of, “But she’s so good for us.”

Or Azriel will be edging you, and Cassian will be telling him to give in. To which Azriel tells Cassian that he gives in too easily.

They can both very rough, or the most tender lovers on the planet. Depends on everyone’s mood.

They love it when you take them both at the same time.

One of them in your mouth, and the other fucking you from behind is one of their favorite positions.

It goes without saying, but they’re both amazing at aftercare. Cleaning you up, making sure you’re hydrated and content.

Bonus:

You cannot tell me the batboys haven’t experimented w/ one another in their FIVE CENTURIES of being alive. I think once Azriel and Cassian are comfortable enough in your relationship, they’ll pleasure each other too.

See this fic and this fic for more details. 😌

Love you guys :)

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andy-wm · 7 months

Text

You might be a 10, but he's Park Jimin.

or,

Friends and lovers of ARMY, be thou a buttress in the cathedral of Park Jimin.

Disclaimer:

Although this post is a direct result of the Jimin's Production Diary Fanmeet, it meanders through a quagmire of seemingly unrelated thoughts and mixed emotions. There is passion, there is incredulity, there are tears, there might will definitely be lewdness... because in the last 36 hours I have had approximately 2 hours sleep and now i am writing this instead of going to bed. Therefore I take no responsibility.

Moving right along...

Did anyone else notice the way Jimin shook hands with female presenting ARMYs...

vs the male presenting ARMY?

He launched himself at that man like he was meeting an old friend!

Ok that's not exactly true, but he did head towards him and offer his hand.

I nearly swooned, i can tell you.

If i had knows such a handshake might be on offer, I would have commited crimes* to get into that fanmeet.

Not that I needed any more encouragement.

If I had won a ticket in that raffle i would have been there with bells on.

The fact that my own gorgeous husband was returning home tonight after nearly 4 weeks overseas would not have stopped me. I would have left him a perfumed love letter promising all manner of treats and favours on my return. And then I would have stashed the front door key under a pot plant, and been on a plane before you could say 'Is that really wise?'

This is a PSA for people whose partner or spouse or FWB is a Jimin stan.

Listen up, silver medalists. Sulking, grumbling, or resising Park Jimin will do you NO GOOD.

You can save yourself an ocean of tears if you accept what cannot be changed.

There's no point trying to compete with Park Jimin.

Because let's be real, he won just by existing.

The only way forward is to accept your fate and support your Jimin-biased ARMY in their times of need.

Because there will be times of need, let me assure you.

Although you may not realise it, being a Jimin-biased ARMY is a dangerous calling.

When Jimin unleashes the devastating force of Dimple, your partner will need you to tend their wounds and you will have to listen to to endless recounts of how PJM chose violence that day.

They will need you when Park Jimin incapacitates them with an irresistable mochi attack. It may seem harmless, but extended exposure will render them useless and leave them in a gooey heap on the floor.

When he shamelessly and without remorse launches a full frontal attack, you will need to be on hand to drag them away from the danger, regardless of how much they kick and scream.

You are advised to wear protective clothing in instances such these...

Or these...

Picture yourself as a buttress in the cathedral of Park Jimin.

This is a necessary and noble undertaking, and a compromise you will ultimately be happy to make.

You are shoring up your ARMY's defences against the dark arts of Jimin's lips, hips and vocal flips.

You are sheltering them from the burning brightness of,his angelic visage.

You are their comfort in the storm of passion that Jimin will stir in their loins... and if you play your cards right, you may also be the happy reciepient of their pent up lust - that's definite win for you.

Ultimately, this is how you will prevail.

A word of caution though:

Do not underestimate the power he wields.

There will be an ever present danger of you yourself succumbing to the charms of Park Jimin.

Remember this ancient warning:

Once you Jimin,

you cannot Jimout.

*I would never. I am lawful good, but with a side of chilli and a few shots of whisky (so really, anything could happen). Also, be gay do crime is a thing. I dont make the rules.

#park jimin #국민 #jiminie #bts jimin #jimin production diary #jimin cute #jimin sexy #jimin lovely

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shreddedleopard · 6 months

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Sherliam-shaped ramble incoming 🥴🥺

Rewatched Morimyu op. 3 for the millionth time and can’t stop thinking about Albert’s words to William about leaving the real Jack The Ripper culprits’ bodies there for Sherlock to find, and how much trust William had in this man despite only having met him a handful of times.

Like he really said ‘you and I are on the same wavelength to the point that I trust you not to fuck up this whole scheme to unite the current discord in London between Whitechapel and the Yard without even exchanging an actual word with you on the subject.’

He must have really felt so … vindicated to have found someone who could take one look at his actions and piece together his real motivations behind his criminal acts. Sherlock quickly paints the Lord of Crime as a ‘Robin Hood’ figure who’s seeking to rebalance their world, and although he can’t forgive the law-breaking methods employed by Liam, he recognises that Liam took on that role and condemned himself for the sake of the common people.

William found someone who could identify the real heart of him, and then he trusted that person with his life — to carry out the real justice to balance out his wrong-doings.

You know, the more I think about it, the more it hurts and the more I love Sherlock. I think for William, the answer to Sherlock’s ‘why me?’ (Why not a perfect actor instead?) is that an actor might see William’s acts but not really understand them in the way Sherlock does, or care to, and that is incredibly important to William.

William knew he had to die because what he was doing was passing judgement in a way he shouldn’t really be allowed to do, in a fair and righteous world, but he has to do it that way in order to make an impact and affect change. But at least let the person who ends his life truly understand why they’re doing it — not because William is rotten and hateful at his core, but actually, filled with love and compassion for others, so much so that he’s willing to become the villain for everyone else’s sake.

I believe it was the last comfort he could hope for — to have his act, his show, his existence brought to an end by an individual who would not hate him or misunderstand him as they ‘pull the trigger.’

He called Sherlock ‘the real devil!’ angrily in their final (and only) fight on the bridge because Sherlock hesitated, and William’s hard-wired view of his own guilt pushed him to think that Sherlock’s moral compass might suddenly be off, and he lacked the conviction to condemn William to death as William believed should be the just and moral end to his plan.

But then he realises that actually, it’s not that Sherlock is weak hearted and unwilling to follow through with the path of justice. What William has underestimated is Sherlock’s own depth of compassion — but compassion for him, specifically. In all his planning, even in his joy at finding Sherlock — a man who would understand his goal and dream and what it might take to bring it to fruition — William had failed to account for the possibility that someone might be moved enough by his sacrifice to want to save him.

The idea that he is as deserving of love as everyone else is not a thought he’s allowed himself to entertain, and he steels his resolve and decides that he will jump himself if Sherlock cannot do it.

But this idea that Liam is an individual hugely deserving of love has been at the forefront of Sherlock’s mind for a long, long time before they faced off on that bridge.

Sherlock sees the role William has taken on — completely by himself. He understands the lonely truth of William’s compassionate and self sacrificing nature beneath the facade, and to this he says, I’m here, I am your friend, and I won’t let you do this by yourself anymore. I won’t let you fall alone.

They are just. Everything. The love is like a physical weight on my chest, I cannot. 😭

#sherliam #yuukoku no moriarty #william james moriarty #mtp sherlock #sherlock holmes #yuumori #moriarty the patriot #morimyu #morimu

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suncaptor · 5 months

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I feel like there's three sort of strands of OCD ableism. The one that impacts me the most is the negative ways in which people respond to the anxiety or compulsive symptoms portrayed. There are also people who judge someone for the being irrational or generally mentally ill in the first place and that often leads into the first but the first can exist completely without that. And then the third is just the basis around thought crime politics in general. you like. need to be comfortable with thought crimes not being real. there is no connection between where their thoughts lie and who someone is except often along the axis of what disturbs their brain in a way that sticks around and cannot easily be handled or separated.

#ocd #incoherents #mh #mental health #actuallyocd

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lowbranch · 2 years

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Okay— I really feel like this is something we need to go over in regards to the Nightheart trans situation.

I’ve seen way too many people say he is “trans coded.” This makes me feel like not as many of you actually know what coding means in a context like this. So let’s go over the difference between “coding” and a “headcanon.”

LGBT+/Queer coding of a character is when an author, USUALLY LGBT+/Queer, presents a character a certain way without explicitly stating they are LGBT+/Queer. This isn’t necessarily so they appeal to a wider audience, but rather to protect themselves while still being able to represent these identities without being hate crimed.

Nightheart is not and never will be trans coded, because the Erin Hunter team has very explicitly stated that they will not be adding any flavor of LGBT+ to the books. They have made it very clear time and time again that these cats are all cisgender and heterosexual.

However! You can absolutely headcanon him as trans! A “headcanon” is how the viewer personally interprets a character to explain why and how they act the way they do. You, the reader, have every right to interpret a character that way. If you find comfort in this headcanon and enjoy his character, that’s wonderful!

But too many people have been using this excuse of a “trans allegory” to defend Nightheart’s thoughts and actions in the book, when there is no trans allegory. You cannot attack someone for disliking a character because of the way you interpret them. Sparkpelt is not a TERF. Squirrelflight is not a TERF. Finchlight is not a TERF. Myrtlebloom is not a TERF.

That brings us to our next topic. TERF isn’t just another word for “transphobic.” It also isn’t another word to label women you don’t like. TERF stands for Trans Exclusionary Radical Feminist. TERFS are radfems who specifically target trans women, and label them as predators and “men in disguise.” Yes, TERFS are harmful towards transmasc people as well, usually labeling them as “confused little girls.” But they specifically target trans women, and more often than not, want to bring men, and who they believe are men, down. This is a real world issue that is hurting thousands of real people every day. This isn’t just a term to throw around whenever it benefits you the most. ESPECIALLY if it’s to justify the obviously misogynistic writing at play in the cat books. TERFS cannot exist in the warrior cats universe because women will always be treated as lesser, and there is not even the concept of trans folk in warrior cats to be prejudiced against.

Words have meaning, and you have to learn what these words mean before throwing them around like they’re nothing.

#transphobia #terfs #cw transphobia #cw terfs #nightheart #sparkpelt #finchlight #myrtlebloom #squirrelflight #a starless clan #flamepaw #sorry for the wall of text except i’m not sorry #goodnight i have a paper due in the morning and i’m ranting about the cat books again

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mosswolf · 9 months

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Home for me, or least one of the definitions of home, is Llanelli. The largest town in Carmarthenshire and just ten miles from the nearest city, Swansea, it was once a thriving trading port, and later known for its tinplate industry — and churches, of which there are over 40, at least, and many of them in various stages of disintegration. Now, Llanelli is known for having the slowest economic growth of any town in Wales in the past decade and has a bad reputation for organised drug-related crime, and ‘county line’ gangs. Llanelli, like The Valleys and many towns in the Western areas of Wales, are some of the poorest regions in Europe. What the future of Llanelli is, and what that future looks like, is yet to be decided. How do you treat a town with such a serious case of identity crisis?

The concept of a hometown is haunted right through to its construction. How do you begin to exorcise this particular haunting, that of my hometown upon me, when the town is choking on its own ghost? I have wrestled with my guilt; the feeling that I have abandoned my family, my class, my Welshness, to pursue something ‘better’. Better education, better opportunities, a better way of living. Even though I now live in Wales again, in Cardiff, and learning to find love and comfort in my Welshness, I still feel like some sort of traitor, for abandoning Llanelli and the more ‘Welsh’ West, for the Anglicised, wealthier East. Fisher states that, through the lens of Derrida’s theory of hauntology, that nothing enjoys a purely positive existence. All memory is tainted, nostalgia is inherently melancholic. I am grateful for my family home, everything my parents have done for me. I love them and my brother very dearly. But that gratitude and love is tainted by my feelings towards the town I grew up in. The two cannot exist without the other, all I can do is write about it.

ghost town of mine: reflections on llanelli, joshua jones

#i lived in llanelli for just under a year even and yeah.... yeah.#wales #cymru

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soup-of-the-daisies · 5 months

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HP Rec Fest 2023

Day 17: A fic that made you cry

Jumping in to join!! I was scrolling through my bookmarks and found a few that really need more attention, but this one in particular needs so much more.

Archetypes, by anotherbuskitten

Category: Gen

Pairings: Sirius Black & Remus Lupin & Peter Pettigrew & James Potter & Harry Potter

Relevant tags: Arthurian Mythology; Harry has PTSD

Relevant tags from me: Marauders Shenanigans; Reincarnation; (as a manner of speaking); Hurt/Comfort; Grief; Father-Son Relationship; Resurrection; very vague (mostly implied) description of a corpse

Summary:

There are some stories that exist over and over again. And over and over again. And James Potter is part of one of them, and always has been, even if Sirius was the only one to see it.

15349 words, 3 chapters.

You guys. This fic. The first time I read it, I was blown away by the sheer creativity and genius of how the Arthurian legends are incorporated in here. The second time I read it, I laughed, cried, and somehow managed to smile the whole way through. It takes skill to characterise the Marauders as well as they’re characterised here: Sirius’ single-minded focus is very in character in addition to being very charming; Remus’ calm is both a reality and a front, and I was pleasantly surprised when he jumped in to join Sirius’ shenanigans without too many pointed jabs at Sirius’ ‘instability’; Peter’s loyalty is somehow still unwavering even post-betrayal, which feels incredibly on point; Harry’s confusion is so me the first time I read this he’s SO well written in this one; and James, who (quite literally) pops up a bit later in the fic (in an official capacity), is just… *chef’s kiss*. The Marauders were a tight knit group made up out of genius and tired people, and this fic showcases them PERFECTLY. I cannot stress that enough. It is 100% Marauder absurdity, and that makes it so real.

Archetypes has 41 kudos and was posted in 2019–I’m certain that the reason for this is because it’s tagged very sparingly, and a lot of the ‘hard hitters’ that apply to this fic weren’t added. It just hasn’t reached the visibility it deserves.

A snippet:

“Hey Sirius, what’s happening? Can you tell us?”

“I suppose. Yes. See in sixth year it was just a game – a backup plan – but now it seemed back in fashion. I couldn’t say – I didn’t want to get anyone’s hopes up or get told to drop it.”

“Not that you would have done.” Lupin interjects.

“No. No I wouldn’t have done.” Sirius is still grinning but there’s a dark gleam in his eyes. “But it’s the same story again and again over history; it would be almost a crime to not try to bring him back.”

Harry sees, for the first time since their first meeting in the Shack, exactly why people thought Sirius could have been a death eater. Right now he looks very, very dangerous.

“Arthur?” He asks, swallowing his apprehension – but he still doesn’t understand the urgency behind this.

“No.” Sirius shakes his head. “No. James!”

“My dad?” Harry’s head shoots up.

Sirius and Lupin both nod. Harry’s mouth drops open; now he understands. His dad. Wow.

@hprecfest

#hprecfest2023 #sirius black #harry potter #remus lupin #peter pettigrew #james potter #day 17

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tenthousandislands · 1 year

Text

May 2023

Essay (But More of a Poem) on Grief

“Grief” is a word whose definition belongs to the person who experiences it. There is no one way to characterize it. Dictionaries equate grief with sorrow, anguish, distress and suffering, especially following the death of a loved one. Psychologists describe grief as the process through which a person adjusts to life after loss, consisting of the famed five stages - denial, anger, bargaining, depression and acceptance. I define grief as a state of being. Grief is a point in time when the person I was prior to my loss ceased to be, and everything I thought I knew about life was called into question. Grief is a life sentence I serve, shackled to a nagging sense of dread, a sinking feeling of emptiness, an intolerable air of injustice that I cannot shake no matter how much time passes, and even on my best days. Grief is a revolving door of sensations that arise without warning and assume control over my body - suddenly, my lungs struggle to draw in air as if from beneath a crushing weight, my mouth opens to speak but finds no words, my limbs feel at once fragile as if they might shatter and at the same time too heavy to lift. Grief is a sound that escapes my lips on rare occasions, from depths I didn’t know existed within me, and if such a sound has never made itself heard in you, you might not recognize it as human. Grief is not an emotion that comes and goes, or an experience with a beginning and an end. Grief is a thread woven into the fabric of my existence, so much has it become a part of me.

Grief is a lens through which I have come to see the world. Often, as I actively participate in creating a moment that will become a precious memory, I begin the process of grieving happy times past even before the moment has ended, because I am acutely aware that it will. Grief is reveling in the scent and softness of my baby’s skin for a minute longer, because I can’t let myself forget that he will soon be grown up. Grief is a shadow cast on past and present, and stretches as far into the future as I can see - photographs transformed into relics of what’s been lost, or what I am bound to lose; choices made based on what experiences I deem most likely to become cherished or regretted when I reflect on them one day in the future; the ever-present awareness that a life that was, is no longer, and a future that should have been, will never be.

Grief is a ripple that begins at the point of loss and travels outward until it encircles every aspect of my life. Milestones are no longer just milestones, joyous events are not only celebrations, and even mundane everyday occurrences take on a new significance, which is the palpable void that now exists within every one of them. Grief is not only feeling the empty space left behind by someone who lived and is now gone, but also carrying with me the ghost of dreams and visions I had for a future with a person who is no longer here to take part in it. Grief is feeling betrayed by a sun stubborn enough to continue to rise despite the darkness I feel inside, and a world that continues to turn when it feels like a crime to go on in the absence of someone I once believed I could never live without. Grief ebbs and flows as far as the attention it demands, but even when it recedes into the background, living with grief is like walking through a field of landmines - it takes only a small trigger to release an explosion of crippling emotion. What starts out as simple frustration or disappointment ignites a chain reaction that ends with a deluge of the heaviest waves of anger and sadness washing over me.

Grief is a wall that separates me from the people who surround me. No matter how much they love and support me, there is a chasm between us that can never be bridged. My grief cannot be translated into a language they can understand. They are all too aware that their sincerest desires and efforts to comfort me can never come close to easing the eternal pain of my loss. I am all too aware that their lives moved on long ago in a way that mine never will. Respecting grief involves acceptance and acknowledgement of this fact on both the part of the mourner and the comforter, and that may be our closest point of connection.

There is plenty of talk about the stages of grief, how they are more like phases in a cycle than a linear set of steps, and that the intensity of grief diminishes with the passage of time although it never fully disappears. No one tells you, however, how grief can fundamentally change the way that you experience yourself and relate to the world around you. Grief has expanded my perspective, deepened my appreciation for life, challenged my beliefs, and taught me so many valuable lessons. One of the greatest, perhaps, is that holding on to the pain and suffering does not tether a dead person to life, but rather chains a living person to death. I once felt that accepting my loss and learning to feel happiness again was the equivalent of abandoning or choosing to forget my lost loved one, and that denying the reality of death and refusing to be consoled was a way to keep my loved one close to me. The truth is the opposite - as I am learning to walk hand in hand with my grief, I am beginning to feel my loved one walking beside me again. As I integrate my grief into who I am becoming, and accept that it is to be my lifetime companion, it is becoming easier to feel the presence of my loved one alongside me. And the more I allow my grief to live within me, the more my loved one lives within me, too.

#poetscommunity #spilledink #poetsofinstagram #poems on tumblr #grief #grieving #bereavement #grief poetry

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chim-aera · 4 months

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divine rage

gods, it's always the gods, them and their shining helms of sunlight and symphonies, all their glory, all their splendor.

but it's bloody, all of it, marred by echoed screams, by silent pleas for mercy. nails raking down flesh, jaws agape crying torment to the heavens.

why did we ever choose to worship them?

blasphemy? oh I'm good at that.

sometimes I like to pretend my very existence is blasphemous. all gunsmoke mixed with gardenias. something saccharine yet sickening.

but the gods, what am I to even say about it? there's a rot, for someone everlasting, the undying ones have a festering madness.

call me Arachne, let me scream my truth as they drag me under, thrashing and clawing I will tip back my head and laugh like a Fury herself all marred maws and ink stained talons.

there is so much injustice, truly. I could name some.

Daphne, ran on fleet footed legs, swift, and seeking, no, no, no. she fled, past trees, past orchards.

Mother saved her, but was that fate, to eternally be held without movement, bark and branches instead of flesh and bone, is that truly a fate one wishes for?

it's a mercy though, yes. it was kinder then the fate she'd have met at the greedy hands of that glorious, grinning god. but still, why couldn't she have just been free?

Callisto, Io, Ganymede, Europa, Persephone, Leda, Creusa, Danaë. and many, many more. victims. all of them.

I cannot tell their stories, I cannot hear their truths from their very own lips but I can fasten my own from thread and threats, and my own bitter vengeful verbosity.

divine?

what's divine about it?

I feel so much, I am used to nothing, nothing at all.

why am I weeping for beings who may have never existed?

but the gods. oh, the gods, lately I have found far less comfort in them.

It is harder to offer prayer and penance when every story and myth is riddled with grasping, groping hands, and lecherous lustful violence.

what if were to rescind my worships?

would you strike me down where I stand?

I'm so tired but I have this fury, like a mouth full of blood stained bile, I want to bite I want to claw I want to flee.

I want to protect.

I have never been good at self preservation, but I hold empathy in my hand like a wounded, bloody dove, feathers ripped and withered, but still there.

ever persisting.

the humans looked to the heavens in hopes for guidance, for solace, we named the stars and saw patterns within them so we felt less alone. we are lonely, we are searching.

why are we here?

Is it some divine joke?

I fall from the hands of some sick bastard of a god but are my gods any better?

I feel like I'm falling, but not like Icarus, there is no sunlight, no warmth, no golden ichor staining my feathers, the wax burns and I choke on it, I choke on my screams, I choke on my savagery and my pain, and it kills me over and over and over.

oh Echidna, what fate awaits monsters like me?

but then again are we really the monsters when beasts hold thrones and shining goblets.

mortals. that's what we are.

it's cruel, irony really, generally translating to ones who die.

how fitting!

how lovely, how quaint.

oh I believe I must sound so bitter but trust me dear I am.

I am.

even Asceplius son of the golden god, his fate was brutal, met with a swift death for interrupting the order of the ichor-veined ones.

for bringing shades back to life, for saving others.

how horrible a crime.

of course he is fit to die!

humans have no place among your golden chambers!

Elysium is also a lie if it is but a forgotten fate of meandering in meadows with no recollection of who you once were, no love, no memories.

I will shun your asphodel, pitch the blossoms at Charon's feet, I will flee from those meadows you cannot take me.

you cannot touch me.

I will wither and shrink and fold into myself until I have become immortal in my own suffering my madness with make me mythical

no.

I am rambling but I could not care less.

for something that is a god, you can change fate, you can bend rules.

you are immortal, if you have so much power what are you fucking doing with it?

oh I am so, so angry.

for all of them, let me be their rage, their fury

in temples. in fields. in cages. swans with beaks like blades digging into flesh.

a bull's hoof clamped against your chest bruising your ribcage, holding you down.

a lyre and a bow and a god who never tires racing behind you like a hound on the hunt.

gods. kings. men.

It is all the same, the same fucking story, over and over.

a cruel conundrum, an pattern of suffering and greed.

I'm so sick of it!

is there no safety in the ones who are meant to keep us safe?

are there no sanctums, no heroes, no deities, that protect us anymore, did they even ever?

why must I worship, why must I watch my tongue, why must I give respect to beings I cannot even see?

I am here, and breathing, I have lived through every twist and turn, every wound, every arrow life has shot at me!

where is my divinity? where is my justice? Themis, where is my reward? or my judgment?

but call me Atalanta because I will throw back my head as my hands shift to paws, as tawny fur sets in across my pallid skin, I will throw open my jaws, gleaming and sharp toothed and I will bark out a laugh to the heavens.

you cannot judge me.

I judged myself, and at the end of things, I did it well.

but gods.

perhaps I will even cease from saying it.

the word holy sits in my mouth like rancid rot, I am no Demeter, but I will spit it out to the earth, and chase my own silvery sunset.

away.

away from hands that grasp, from arrows, and storms, and crashing tides.

I find no glory in gods.

perhaps I am just getting older, jaded, harsh.

but for once, I see understanding in the mortals, the nymphs, the naiads.

I find a strange sympathy.

I understand. but for now, I'll sit here, seething, simmering in my own fury.

perhaps that makes me a heretic, but something about this feels righteous, perhaps one day, my damnation will be my own divinity. but now, I will hold this divine rage in my palms, and I will protect, I will persist.

I am.

#haha religious trauma #poetry #pagan poetry

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g-l-o-w-y-l-i-g-h-t-s · 4 months

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Tag yourself, Dracula (novel) characters edition:

Arthur:

Would die for his gf

Abraham Van Helsing:

PhD. Md. Esqu. Fuck. you.

Nobody is sure wtf he's talking about

Schlemiel

Let's talk about corn 🌽

Constantly spewing ominous vague shit

I'll get over it I just have to cry about it first

Will trust one (1) person with his problems and only even that if he's reached a complete breakdown

Will quote absolute bullshit at you as if it is proven fact

"Parrots can't die. I'm an expert."

Currently in a foreign country

Would commit a crime

Genre savvy

Mr Swales:

Death is inevitable 😊

Incomprehensible speech

Renfield:

Weird diet

An outlier

Clingy

Eldritch princess

Ambitious

🥺🥺🥺🥺

Should not be allowed to have a cat

Cleans by just eating the mess

Eats a lot of meat

You can control him by giving him food

Probably a sub

Mentally ill

Lucy:

Polyam

Hot Girl Summer

Voluptuous

Miiiiight have eaten somebody

Quincy Morris:

Cowboy! 🤠

Infinite Swag

Can handle the wackest situations perfectly

Hottie

Has a gun

The Wyrd Sisters:

Read (3:21 pm)

Seward:

Desperate

Owns/runs a lunatic asylum

$$$

At least he's pretty

Straight A student

Least cool guy you've ever met

Mad scientist

Podcaster

Wtf is even happening rn

Something is Very Wrong with this man

schlimazel

Desperately needs a Nap. Exhausted

Down bad for Quincy Morris

Very proud of himself for having a thought that will almost be a whole idea any day now

"there must be a reasonable explanation"

Undiagnosed mental illness

Needs his comfort items

Needs validation so bad

Ableist af

Keeps a diary

Mina:

Loves her significant other so fuckimg much

Journals

Homoerotic best-friendship times!! ❣️

Knows her partner better than anyone

My best friend is soooooo pretty and funny and cool

Goth

Protective

Repressed bisexuality

Repressed in general

Romantic ASF

Same taste as Dracula

Has read Dracula

Owner of all the Team Braincells(tm)

Says shit like "Everyone loves me" and she's right

Gets shit done

Secretary and the whole operation would probably collapse without her

Dealing with sexism

Gets left out

Feral devotion to her partner

Traumatized

Special interest in trains

Train fiend!

Girlboss

Dislikes garlic ever since the incident

Dracula:

"please assume I am normal"

Lizard fashion

"I PROMISE I'm normal"

Teaboo

Cooks for his friends

"I am so normal"

Graveful and elegant in public but as soon as you look away he has to do 19828291 things to maintain his image before anyone notices

So many red flags

Likes bearded men

Will just grab something from you and yeet it away

Fucked up little guy

Rock/Wall climbing expert

Wants to be liked so bad

Fraudster

Identity theft

Unhinged

Very effective beauty routine

Did not think this through

Cannot pace himself

Does fucked up horrendous shit just for the fuck of it/to fuck with people

Terrible/non-existent decision making skills

"Anything is free if they don't catch you stealing"

Grumpy idiot

Same taste as Mina

Hairy

Self obsessed

Will do anything for meat

Hates garlic

Edgelord

Cringefail

Gives up immediately

"If I avoid the problem long enough it will go away "

Ugly/can't make that hat work for him

$$$$

Jonathan Harker:

White boy - has spices for the first time and it affects him like drugs

Never shuts up about food

"Ridiculous but also uncomfortable"

British (derogatory)

Red flags are so sexy to him

Wife guy!!

Going through it!!

Logical

Doing his best not to get murdered but it is a Task

Everyone wants him

Racist 😕

Someone please help him

"Not again"-his response to the wildest shit you've ever seen happen

Will hit a bitch with a shovel

Badass survival horror protagonist

Loves his wife!

The Horrors are neverending

Cinnamon roll

Mentally ill but refuses to fully acknowledge it

*gets money* Bribery time!

Feral rage unlocked!!!

White hair early from stress

#im mr swales tbh

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tblsomedoodles · 2 years

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So what about the rest of the turtles' rogues gallery like Warren, Hypno, Meat Sweats, Ghost Bear, Repo snd the Dragons? If most of them didn't know about Big Mama being the turtles' mother they definitely do after BNNYC and it's one thing oa the annoying heroes they deal with kn a weekly basic are jsut a bunch of kids getting in your way... it's a whole other thing if those kids are the lost progeny of an overprotective mob boss.

How do they react to Big Mama and vice versa? I imagine the turtles have to make some sort of deal with her to stop her from going after them since they don't actually want to get any of their rogues killed.

Well considering most of their rogues are human-based mutants (or just humans) i don't think they'd know about Big Mama. From what i've seen, most new mutants avoided associating with the Hidden City (which...why? Is it b/c the Hidden city won't let them or is it just that most of the other mutants we know are just jerks obsessed with getting revenge on a group of rowdy teenagers? (Minus Bullhop and Todd. They are angels lol)) Anyways, they avoid Hidden City stuff, so i doubt they even know she exists. So anyone warning them off of messing with the boys b/c their Big Mama's kids are going to be met with a lot of question marks.

But i doubt Big Mama likes that there's a group of adult mutants being mean to her babies. I could see her sending people to threaten them but her kids would probably find out and be like "We don't need you to fight our battles for us! plus they're hardly a fight, and we actually like half of them. Even though they don't like us." And then eventually come to the agreement that she will stay out of it on the bases of they can handle some petty crime but if they need help she's the first person they call.

(the first time they actually have to call is the krang invasion and pains her she can't go to their aid.)

thank you!

Well he could hold four at least : ) (the last set of limbs are more spider in nature and, therefore, do not have fingers or thumbs. So unless someone taped swords to them, they cannot pick up anything.)

But hell yeah, he would be zipping around everywhere! it wouldn't be from the start though. They take a while to fully grow in and then, more often than not, they just seem to be in the way. It takes a lot of training just to get used to their pressence when using his normal number of swords (which would just be the odatchi at that point.) But by the time he's dual wielding again, he would probably be comfortable enough to start training with four.

(Leo, quad wielding katanas against the krang maybe? they thought his teleporting was annoying before, now he's literally darting to every corner of the battle field without pause.)

Thank you!

and everything becomes a lot clearer once she finds out that her boys have been living in a literal sewer for those thirteen years. which would only bring about more discussions b/c

Mama: A sewer Lou?! They grew up in the Sewer?! You couldn't get an apartment in the Hidden City, or, i don't know, New Jersey?!

Splinter: You really think i could get Blue to live in New Jersey?

Thank you!

#asks #tmnt #rottmnt #family web au

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probablynotsamantha · 1 year

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ngl i hate that most of the responses to things like "you can't have trans women in the women's [insert place where nudity occurs] because a woman might see a penis" is something about how trans women are very private with their changing while being perfectly happy to accept (and indeed often reasserting) that having a dick in a space like that is a transgression that must be skirted around and avoided acknowledging as much as possible.

We don't make cis women do that, and I kinda despise that if/when i would be brave enough to use a women's changing room/locker room/whatever I'd still be subject to additional constraints that don't fall upon cis women. The pool I went to when I was very little had women changing everywhere, women naked in the showers, no dividers between the showers, and by some miracle nothing terrible happened when toddler me was there, not to mention nobody batted an eyelash about that.

I should be allowed to just shower naked without worrying about "oh but someone might see a penis". Big fucking deal. It's a body part. Some women have them. Another common refrain is "Just wait until bottom surgery." Somehow I don't think you'd be any more comfortable with me existing after that, since I'd still have my dick. Having one group being forced to undergo an expensive medical procedure they may not want and comes with an extensive recovery time before gaining "equal" status maybe doesn't seem terribly ethical.

It's frustrating to see the general consensus on this issue being that you absolutely cannot change in the presence of cis women, not because they might react poorly (though this is my main reason for not doing so) but because it would be unconscionable for a cis woman to have to see a dick and anyone "making" her do so would clearly be in the wrong (and i've even heard some people say that it should be considered a sex crime). It doesn't make remote sense to me that someone is responsible for someone else, in a space where nudity is expected, looking at them naked and being offended.

It makes it hard for me to truly accept someone as a trans ally when they say or believe or accept stuff like this. They're the type who are all for trans people, until it's slightly inconvenient. That's not allyship, that's posturing. If this whole mess of a post made you uncomfortable (on the off chance that anyone but a few mutuals read this), think about why that is. I'm genuinely curious why people think this, because it's never been a view i've held, but I can't come up with any worth holding onto (all i've got is thinking trans women are dangerous because of the risk of sexual assault, some puritanical bs about genitals and nudity being inherently sexual, some weird attachment to the gender binary, or "think of the children", which as mentioned above, doesn't make any sense because kids routinely go into locker rooms that don't correspond to their gender).

What's even more frustrating are the trans people who think I'm ruining things for them because I'm the scary type of trans people that they're nothing like. I had the gall to ask on r/MtF a couple years ago about locker room etiquette and someone told me I shouldn't even think about locker rooms until after I've had bottom surgery. It's a surprisingly common attitude that we shouldn't talk about this sort of thing because it plays into the narrative of trans women as predators, and instead of treating that assertion as the ridiculous argument it is, we're supposed to carefully tiptoe around everywhere to avoid doing anything that could conceivably be misconstrued as predatory, and guess what? We're still being called predators anyway. Almost like it wasn't a legitimate concern and just a scare tactic.

#reblogs are totally fine on this btw #i put some effort into this and ive decided i would be okay with people i don't regularly interact with seeing it

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psychological-musings · 7 months

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On the topic of Thought Crimes, Plurality, and Purity

[TLDR/summary at bottom]

I am a system of two people, divided into five alters, and uncountably many personalities. I consider myself plural, but am not sure if I would medically qualify as having DID— nor do I really care for a formal diagnosis.

I was raised in Christian and Christianity-influenced circles which placed a strong value on being morally upstanding and, in other words, "pure". The definition for how to be "pure", of course, varied by group, and sometimes was impossible to meet (possibly by design).

For example, one group (radical feminists, though they only identified as feminist) defined purity by gender, or proximity to those gender's conventional roles— femininity and female identity was "pure", while masculinity and male identity was "sinful", and something that could never be washed away. Internalizing this culture caused us a lot of long term psychological damage that we are still working on repairing today.

As a result, I find a lot of "proship" rhetoric, which dismantles this kind of purity culture, reassuring— the idea that metrics of "purity" which are not based on actual, real people's comfort and safety are essentially meaningless.

But one thing that I was never able to be comfortable with was the assurance that "thought crimes are not real/cannot be bad". I understood and appreciated the sentiment, but it never really felt right to me. After a recent altercation between my alters, I was finally able to pin down why— the idea that "thought crimes" are morally acceptable relies on the assumption that thoughts alone are not able to affect any other person. And, in my case, as a system, this assumption is false, because my thoughts can be heard by another, real, independent person.

So, functionally, "thought crimes aren't wrong because they can't affect anyone" is about the same as saying "things you say out loud in your own house can't hurt anyone, because no one can ever visit people at their own homes". It would be true if the assumptions were, but there is a small disconnect because it fails to account for a particular variety of the human experience.

I don't mean to nitpick— this is just my autistic need for precision speaking. And, specifically, I think a lot of people who identify as "antiship" are upset about this lack of precision, too. It seems like a conversation in which one side says "this is okay, because it cannot hurt anyone" and the other replies resentfully, "you have failed to account for the ways in which it could hurt someone".

So, for those who feel similar to myself, and need a way to distance themselves from purity culture without feeling like you are accidentally condoning things that genuinely hurt people, I propose the following ideal instead:

"A person's existence, emotional responses, identities, experiences, inclinations, desires, fears, distastes and dislikes, bodily functions (or lack thereof), neurotype, attractions, repulsions— in general, anything that they cannot remove or control, only mask or express differently— none of these things can ever be a source of moral error, because they cannot inherently, directly, cause harm to another person."

To be precise about my revised opinion on thought crimes— it is possible, if a bit of a special case, to hurt someone with your thoughts. Just as it is possible to hurt an external party by voicing an opinion aloud (typically after they have expressed a boundary about not wanting to hear it), it is possible to hurt an internal party with thoughts alone. In my opinion, thoughts are something that is often very difficult to control (one of my alters often struggles with intrusive thoughts, even)— so it would feel somewhat cruel to me to make an alter repent or feel guilty for their thoughts, but it may be healing or comforting to at least ask them to acknowledge that it may be uncomfortable or hurtful to others.

TLDR: The concept of "thought crimes" can be easily complicated by facets of the human experience, such as plurality or trauma. I personally think the best way to conceptualize the moral charge of it would be somewhat like stepping on a friend's foot— simply walking is not something you should constantly have to monitor and feel ashamed of, but perhaps if an instance arises where someone genuinely is hurt by your thoughts, it would be courteous to consider acknowledging that pain, even if it isn't somewhere that anyone else can see. Furthermore, the more precise definition of "thought crimes aren't real" could be something more like "actions which do not impact others cannot possibly cause harm to others, and it can be healthy to take joy in your existence and self expression whenever and wherever it does not harm others", perhaps along with the corollary "if your self expression (including thoughts) does harm someone, a compromise will need to be reached, with the same neutral moral charge of agreeing on what music to play in a living room." In true privacy —something that is very difficult to achieve with plurality, unfortunately— no form of self expression could possibly hurt anyone besides yourself, and therefore any and all self expression which does not create lasting effects (destruction of others' property, for instance) or break established boundaries or agreements (cheating on a partner, for instance) is simply an exertion of your own right to autonomy and agency, and therefore cannot be morally wrong."

#purity culture #proship #antiship #thought crimes #discourse #serious #human rights #morality #my thoughts #important to me #musings.txt #I Sure Hope I Dont Receive Hate Mail For This #These tags are not for reach at all. it's just so that if this DOES get reblogged then people who have the tags blocked can avoid it #well. here goes #AH SHIT FORGOT ONE LAST TAG #internalized christianity

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