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dykeknightrises · 7 months

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FALLING

A/N: Sooo, I never actually wrote anything like this, but this one pretty much wrote itself randomly in my brain and I kinda liked it! So I appreciate any feedback I can get and I really hope you guys enjoy it :)

(Also english is not my first language. I did check it but something may not be quite right )

Next parts: Part 2 - PROMISES Part 3 - US

She smelled like the sun. Whether this is a real thing or not, Y/N didn’t care. Right now, buried under and completely surrounded by her, Y/N would vow on whatever entity really existed that Alexia smelled like the sun.

It wasn’t always the case. Before, Alexia smelled like comfort, maybe even a little bit like being under the covers, a mug of hot chocolate between her hands while the rain poured outside. Now everything changed. Now she smelled like summer, like the water wetting your feet right on the edge on the sand on a hot day spent on the beach.

The in-between of then and now, and even the before that, if Y/N was being honest, was a rollercoaster of joy, happiness, heartbreak, and sadness. Falling for Alexia was far too easy and almost a habit for her, she had been doing that for years now.

Y/N first fell in awe of Alexia when she watched her play her first u-17 Euros, back in 2010, when she was just fifteen. Even when the Young Lionesses didn’t go very far, Y/N managed to convince her parents that they absolutely had to stay for the whole tournament.

Alexia was still a wide-eyed teenager, shy to give interviews and speak up, but so confident and skilled in the pitch that Y/N could not helped but to feel in absolute awe. It wasn’t even a question that the midfielder would be a great player and it wasn’t even a question that Y/N would start to keep up with her career the best she could, she would even use the poor excuse that the shared their position when her friends bugged her too much about it.

Y/N first feel in admiration with Alexia when she played against her during the 2012 u-19 Euros. Despite being only fifteen, Y/N was called up when someone got injured and even made the line-up for the game against Spain.

Ninety brutal minutes later that resulted in England being eliminated, Alexia made sure to speak and praise every single one of her opponents. That was the first time they ever spoke. Y/N wasn’t even sure if Alexia remembered that, but the praise the older girl gave her and the sheer amount of respect she was given made her admire Alexia as a player on a whole new level.

The “See you in a Champions League game.” that the older girl said goodbye with echoed in her head for years, until the moment she signed with Arsenal as her first professional contract a couple of years later. Y/N really hoped to play against Alexia again.

Y/N first fell in respect with Alexia in Budapest, during the Champions League final in 2019. Despite the overwhelming loss from the start, she watched as Alexia gave her blood on the pitch. One of the most agonizing games Y/N had ever watched, being able to even taste the desperation while surrounded by thousands of culés ins the stands.

She watched the absolute heartbreak the team faced, the broken stares as they watched Lyon lift the Champions League cup again. She watched as the twenty-five years old fourth captain picked her teammates up, reassured them and listened to them. She watched the midfield swallow her own despair and angst to take care of her teammates, as a captain and leader would. Y/N could help but to respect the Catalonian as player, as person. Not everybody can do that.

Y/N first fell in fondness with Alexia when she was the first to make her feel at home in Barcelona. Leaving Arsenal and home behind was terrifying, even if Lucy and Keira were in Barcelona too. It’s a new city, a new culture, a new language, new teammates, and a new sense of self.

Arriving and settling in Barcelona was easy, but fitting in and becoming a part of the team was much harder. Spending so many countless evenings and night trying to learn the language that Y/N began to neglect herself a little bit seemed like a small price to pay to be in the team. It wasn’t until Alexia herself asked to speak to you, realizing that you were unconsciously closing yourself off until you were “ready” that you realized what you were doing. Upon seeing the realization in your eyes and knowing that her mission was complete, the older woman slipped a bar of your favourite chocolate over and left with a squeeze on your shoulder.

After that, it wasn’t long until you were a part of the very chaotic Barcelona family. By the time that the Winter Break arrived, the team had settled in a very nice post-practice routine. On Mondays, the guiris got together, helping each other fit with the country. Tuesdays and Wednesdays the whole team holed up at someone’s house, usually Irene’s, and just bonded, going from watching trashy movies to destroying each other on board games. When there were no games on the weekend, the Fridays were for going out on a very non-wild night, just to eat out and spend more time with each other.

Thursdays were sacred. You and Alexia got together, spending the whole time watching old matches, nitpicking plays and dissecting games from opponents or your favourite players. The night usually ending with you cooking, her cleaning and crashing at the bed after taking Nala for her night walk.

Y/N first fell in love with Alexia after the Winter Break, when Alexia was opening the gift, she brought from England. It was a grand thing, but the older woman’s eyes shone so brightly when the Christmas tree’s light sparked that Y/N was sure her heart skipped a beat.

Being in love with Alexia was easy. Between the team’s bonding and their own, all their weekdays were spent together, and Alexia usually dragged Y/N over for lunch with the rest of the Putellas family, where she fit right in. Her days were filled with Alexia’s presence and her nights were filled with dreams of her.

Y/N never entertained the thought of Alexia loving her back. Not she was an asshole or anything, but Alexia was different. Keeping her feelings to herself, not even telling her best friends came naturally, as she knew they would encourage her to try something, but that is just because they didn’t see Alexia like she did.

Friendships with Spaniards were very confusing at first. They were very touchy and very feely and, at first, it made Y/N a bit uneasy to be able the differ when they were hitting on each other and when they were just being friends. She finally settled in taking everything as a friendship moment if she wasn’t told otherwise and left at that.

On a Thursday, instead of watching a game like their usual, Alexia wanted to go dancing. They got ready at arrived at the Sala Apollo when it was already packed, heading to the bar, and having a couple of drinks before the older woman dragged them both to the dance floor. The closeness and intimacy of dancing with each other came easily for them. Letting the heavy bass of reggaeton guide their moves and being pressed together was almost as natural as cuddling on the couch after a movie.

It wasn’t until Alexia’s hands began to wonder that Y/N though better about the whole night. When the older woman’s lips found a spot on her neck and her hands found their place on her hips after squeezing her ass, Y/N was gone. Turning around and kissing Alexia, they were locked in a much wilder dance at that point. Not staying too long after that was natural, as it was sharing a bed of a whole different manner.

Y/N first fell in heartbreak with Alexia when she called their night a mistake. Waking up the next day, surrounded of filled with the midfielder, Y/N smiled and lost herself on the skin of Alexia’s back being hit by sun. Having coffee turned sour on her mouth after Alexia’s words and feeling has heart break on her chest was hard enough, but she could let the older woman know the damage her words had done, she loved her too much for that.

Leaving Alexia’s house that day was one of the easiest and hardest things Y/N had ever done. It was easy because she desperately needed to leave, she needed to let the tears stream down her cheeks away from the other woman’s praying gaze. It was hard because it closed the door on any possibility of the words being a mistake themselves. After promising Alexia, and lying through her teeth, that everything was okay, Y/N left.

People say grieve has five stages. Y/N was no expert, but she was pretty sure that whoever was supposed to go through them was the person grieving, so she didn’t quite understand Alexia’s sudden avoidance. The captain found new teammates to do all the training exercises together, spoke to her only when necessary and cancelled all Their Thursdays for the past few weeks.

A part of her told herself that maybe Alexia felt guilty, maybe she wanted to take the word Mistake back. That part was very strong, it was pulsating, it gave her hope. That part told her to not give up and just give her part.

Y/N arrived just in time on the locker room to overhear Alexia answering a question about a date. Her latest one. On a Thursday. She couldn’t pay a lot of attention to the midfielder answer without had eyes tearing up, so she tried to block the conversation as much as she could, and it was going pretty damn well until she lied to her teeth once again when someone asked if she didn’t mind that the dates where always on a Thursday.

The called up to represent the Lionesses came as a blessing, giving her a break from the club. It was much easier to be her usual self, joke around with her teammates and going on a full-blown prank war against Georgia when she could pretend Alexia didn’t exist. It was also much easing swallowing down her hopes and downloading Tinder when she was sure Alexia would not pop-up on her screen.

Swiping left on all the women that the app showed her was unconscious. Y/N didn’t even realize she was doing that until Leah caught her with the app opened and started to swipe with her. When the captain asked for the billionth time what was wrong with the last woman, the only answer she had to give was that none of them were her. That prompted her to tell her best friend everything. After convincing Leah to not do something stupid, the captain just told you not to worry and that she would find you the perfect date.

With the time with the national team up, Y/N flew back to Barcelona, smiling as the she sees the city lighting up against the night sky. She barely has time to settle back before Leah texts her that she found her a great date and saying that they will both fly out for the Champions League match in a couple of weeks.

Between trying to find out more information on Leah’s mysterious friend and the sting that came whenever Alexia promptly ignored her, Y/N days passed slowly. It’s easy to distract herself on the days that are occupied by the team, but Thursdays were the worst. The hurt that came the being subbed out of Alexia’s life was just more prominent on these days and Y/N didn’t quite know what to do about it.

The Champions League finally came and with it, Leah and her friend being in town. The date was going to happen the day before the match and Y/N wasn’t sure whether the anxious feeling she had were for the match or for the date.

Getting ready was almost automatic. A nice short black dress paired up with a light makeup as they would go to dinner at a nice restaurant that Y/N absolutely loved. Waiting for the time to go out, she turned the TV on started watching and old match, absently minded remembering that it was a Thursday. Not that any of that mattered anymore.

The doorbell rang just as Ronaldinho scored a goal, making her tear her eyes away from the game. Y/N walk to the door in confusion, not expecting anyone today. The team was doing their own Thursday thing and Leah was out with Lucy and Keira, leaving literally no one to be at her doorstep at almost eight.

Hazel eyes greeted her upon opening the door. Alexia stood in front of her, in her comfiest hoodie and sweatpants, the beanie tucked in her head, cheeks rosy from the wind. Her gaze, holding hope and a thousand secrets, wandered through you figure, before settling back in your own eyes.

“I was hoping we could have our usual Thursday? I have a lot that I need to say to you.”

#woso imagine #woso imagines #woso x reader #alexia putellas imagine #alexia putellas x reader

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rosesaints · 11 months

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help wanted ! chapter three.

pairing: miguel o’hara / f!reader summary: your first week on the job. rating: 18+ explicit (minors, do not interact) warnings: oral (f! receiving) series masterlist / previous chapter / next chapter

There’s no comprehensive and all-encompassing instruction manual for parenting. You could make a point about the parenting books that you could easily snag off the bookshelves of your local library, but they’re not always effective.

Every child is unique, and what works for one child might not work for another. Parenting manuals often provide general advice and strategies, but they don’t always address the specific needs, temperament, or circumstances of an individual child or family. Parenting is also a deeply personal experience, and different parents have different philosophies, values, and parenting styles. What one parent finds effective or important may differ from another.

You took a quick glance from the comfort of your living room over to your next-door neighbor’s front yard and see that they’d progressed from soccer to softball and now… volleyball, it appeared, in the course of one Sunday morning. Little Gabi O’Hara seemed to have boundless energy and a penchant for the most active range of hobbies a five-year-old could possibly have, and it was only ten in the morning.

She was receiving, diving, and scrawling around the grass frantically, happy as can be, as Miguel set the ball to her side of the yard, steadfastly coaching and guiding her through the motions. Faintly, you overhear him yelling words of encouragement, and when Gabi saves a particularly difficult ball, you watch as he runs excitedly over to her to pick her up about his shoulders and whooping in glee. “¡Qué orgullosa estoy de mi hija!”

You fought the urge to celebrate along with them and tried to concentrate back on what you desperately needed to get done before Monday sneaks up on you. You’re not a parent, but if you were going to be in charge of watching, protecting, and caring for Miguel’s pride and joy, you had some reviewing to get done.

Miguel O’Hara probably didn’t need a manual or a guide to learn how to parent. It came naturally to him, took hold, and became second nature. It’s evident in the way Gabi hangs onto him like a lifeline.

Now, you know deep down that you wouldn’t be able to replicate what made him a good dad, wouldn’t even dare to try, but it was a good thing you only had one job: to babysit for a summer. And manuals and guides for babysitting happened to be a lot more useful and concise about what to expect in your new role.

Forty-five dollars later, you were signed up for an online Babysitting & Advanced Child Care Certification. You were well aware that this course was usually reserved and taken by eleven-year-olds, took it yourself almost ten years ago, but desperate times called for desperate measures.

You didn’t take it half as seriously back then as you did now. (It was really not that deep.)

As four hours passed, you gradually checked off lessons in basic first aid and CPR (Stayin’ Alive by the Bee Gees was a very good point of reference ), developing age-appropriate activities (though you probably could’ve just looked out your window to see more of what Gabi was interested in), behavior management (she was also an avid fan of your mom’s blueberry muffins), and business and professionalism skills.

Now where do you even begin with your last lesson?

Your mother had done the brunt of negotiating this job for you, overselling you and your skills heavily, so you were covered in the marketing aspect of the “business.” Everything else in the lesson were skills you learned early on in college and through common sense, so you felt confident in that aspect. The real struggle was under the bullet point:

Professionalism.

The memory of him was still fresh; red marks just beginning to turn purple on the flesh of your skin as you replay the way he told you he would wait for his decision with a patient and composed tone, but his hands betrayed him, drifting down low to your thigh, the downright inappropriate way in which he looked down at you, intense brown eyes that seemed to intensify in a reddish hue.

Uncertainty bloomed in your chest reluctantly, concerns beginning to fester like wildfire.

Now, unfortunately, since the course was designed for pre-pubescent individuals, you were a little bit at a loss. What exactly was the proper etiquette for working with what was meant to be a one-night stand?

Googling “what to do if you slept with your boss/neighbor accidentally before you start the job,” ended up being fruitless since most of the searches came up with oversleeping and arriving late, attempting to salvage it with a quick, additional search through r/AITA: “what to do if job included taking care of one-night stand’s daughter,” and then frantically looking up: “how does someone become good at three different sports in one afternoon” in a panic-induced haze.

There was no right answer, it seemed, other than to wait it out and see. That last question was a long shot anyway.

You ended up passing your certification with flying colors with relative ease, sighing with relief as you finally shut your computer off for the day. By the time you finished, the sun had begun its descent, warm daylight receding quickly from the living room you had locked yourself into to try and get the exam done. At that point, Gabi and Miguel had concluded their front yard practice hours ago and you let your mind wander, thinking about how summer was going to go.

Last summer, you were barely home, too preoccupied with thoughts about your future and your engagement, and your internship. The world seemed impossibly vast, and everything was going so fast, way too fast for your liking but you made yourself push through it.

Sitting cross-legged in your living room, listening in on your parents bickering over the right seasoning proportions as you thumbed through a babysitting certificate, you found this was a lot better. Peaceful.

Sleep came easily and softly, this time with no dreams of your next-door neighbor.

When you knocked on the door of the O’Hara house for the second time that week, you felt a bit more prepared, but your fingers still fiddled with the hem of your dress. Your room currently looked like a warzone, having spent a good chunk of your morning deliberating on what to wear, and you had settled on a well-worn and familiar dress, but you were starting to have doubts.

It was early–cars were only just beginning to pull out of their driveways, rushing off to work and you could still feel the mist lingering in the air. Miguel had texted you the night before and told you to pop in around 8 AM before he headed off to work an hour later.

You considered knocking again before the door opened, and Miguel lit up at the sight of you. Compared to you, he looked relaxed, eyes crinkling softly around the edges as he invited you in. “Come on in, Gabi’s still asleep.”

Gingerly, you followed him through the house with padded footsteps, careful not to make any noise as he leads you into the living room. He gestured for you to sit as he walked back into the kitchen, and you were left to examine your surroundings. Once again, spotless—and was that a signed guitar by Llewyn Davis?

Miguel returned with two mugs of coffee and some cream and sugar, chuckling as he noticed what you were staring at. “I see you’ve noticed the infamous guitar. I don’t really play all that often anymore, because of work and Gabi, but it has good memories.”

“It’s gorgeous,” You sighed breathlessly. “How in the world did you get it signed?”

You spent a few minutes going back and forth with him about music, “you were in two punk bands in high school?,” to which he rolled his eyes, but you didn’t miss the small smile that lingered as he brought his mug of coffee back to his lips, “I had a lot of pent up tension back then.”

There were a few other things you went over with him, like Gabi’s bedtime (he usually tried to be home by the time she had to go to sleep but work sometimes prevented him the opportunity so he makes sure to stay until Gabi woke up in the morning), potential allergies or dietary restrictions, if she could go over to your house, visits with Abuela, and little lessons and habits that he had picked up in the five years as Gabi’s dad.

One thing you learned was that he was very thorough; there were phone numbers stuck to the fridge in the event that anything went wrong, emergency contacts a mile long being added to your phone, a list of preferred hospitals and clinics in the area, and maybe excessively, a list of soccer parents to avoid at grocery stores, playgrounds, and practices.

You had raised an eyebrow at that last point. “What, did you have an argument with a mom at Bed, Bath, and Beyond or something?”

“I might get a little too competitive when Gabi’s playing soccer.”

“Miguel,” You tried to resist the laughter bubbling up your throat at the mental image of Miguel going wild at a little league soccer game. “They’re five. How competitive do you have to be?”

When the hour was getting close to done, and after making more fun of Miguel to your delight, he looked down at his watch, eyes lowering slightly in disappointment. “It’s about time for me to head to work, and I wanna go wake up Gabi before I have to go,” Miguel stood up, and you couldn’t help but stare as he stretched, lean muscles rippling underneath the fabric of his button-up, shirt riding up just right as you caught a glimpse of tan, sunkissed skin—

Focus.

If he noticed you staring, he didn’t mention it, but you could see the small traces of a smug smile as he turned away from you to head to Gabi’s room. On the way, he pointed out other rooms, his office, where to go do laundry, and a guest bedroom if you ever needed it, though you reminded him that you did only live a good ten feet away from his house.

Before you went in, Miguel knocked softly, opening the door to a bright, blue bedroom. It’s a gorgeous room, filled with various posters of the sports and cartoons that Gabi loved, a bunch of toys that were still strung out on the floor, and there’s a picture of her and Miguel on the nightstand from Disneyland, with Gabi as a baby wearing lopsided Mickey ears as he beamed proudly at the camera.

He pushed in first, sitting down on Gabi’s bed then he leaned in closer, whispering a gentle “it’s time to wake up, Gabi.” The sound, barely audible, wafted through the room as she slowly stirred, warm honey-brown eyes still drowsy.

“Well, good morning,” Miguel greeted. “¿Lista para empezar el día?”

Gabi nodded as she sat up, still practically half-asleep, rubbing her sleepy eyes with tiny fists. When she noticed you standing by the doorway, she smiled, waving softly, but still focused her attention on her dad. “¿Vas a trabajar?"

Miguel hummed in response, and then looked back at you. “Promise not to cause too much trouble to your babysitter today?”

“No promises,” Gabi grinned and you thought Miguel might as well explode on the spot with pride.

You and Gabi stood at the porch as Miguel pulled out of the driveway, Gabi on your hip as she waved frantically, blowing kisses to the outline of his car as you waved too, laughing as Miguel blew his own kisses back to the two of you.

There was no trouble with getting Gabi settled with breakfast, having decided on a generous helping of eggs and toast. You got her meal ready as she started setting a volleyball back and forth, hands still clumsy and slippery with inexperience, but she asked you a series of rapid-fire questions as you flipped over her eggs.

“Do you play sports?”

“I used to, a long time ago, but I’m afraid I’m nowhere near as good as you are. I can set some volleyballs over to you later if you want,” You replied as you set the egg down on her plate. At that, Gabi cheered and made her way over to you, little hands reaching for her food.

“Last week, my dad hit his toe on one of my legos and he accidentally said a mean word. I don’t think he knew I heard him. Can you tell him that’s not appropriate?”

“I’ll relay the message,” You tried your best to stifle a laugh from her innocent, mindless questions. You’ll definitely bring that up with Miguel later.

“Can your mom make some more blueberry muffins?”

“You know what,” Your eyes lit up as a light bulb flickered above your head. “Why don’t we just show you?”

Gabi absolutely adored your mom—those two had latched on to each other more than you thought in your disappearance, and she was hanging off every one of your mom’s words as she explained how to prepare the muffin batter, as you took little pictures to send over to Miguel with flour on the tip of her nose and fingertips sticky with batter she was caught sneaking bites from. The last part was gross, but still, admittedly cute.

You had a mental checklist prepared (courtesy of your little certificate) of things you should prioritize when babysitting. The first one was responsibility: Babysitters must prioritize the safety and well-being of the children in their care. They should be reliable and trustworthy.

Of course, you had to rein in a few of your mom’s liberties as she snuck some more bites of the batter to Gabi, sighing exasperatedly as you had to explain the risks of salmonella to your own mom. Not that it stopped you from taking small swipes at the batter either.

Your first day was a soaring success, the day well spent with baking and a trip to the park in the beautiful weather, letting Gabi run around and cause havoc for a few hours before the sun began to set. Lots of photos and updates were texted to Miguel, another bullet point in your checklist, namely communication: Effective communication with both children and parents is essential. Babysitters should be able to understand and engage with children, as well as provide clear updates and instructions to parents.

Miguel responded to each of them in kind with personalized messages, watching with bated breath as he saved the one of you and Gabi grabbing ice cream by an ice cream truck.

Gabi was knocked out and tucked in by the time Miguel got home from work, and you were waiting on the couch, watching intently as he walked through the door, loosening his tie with a relaxed sigh. He settled next to you on the couch, voice velvety and smooth as he greeted you. “Hey. Did you guys have fun?”

There was a natural ease to your conversation, and you took the opportunity to ask him more questions about music, and his work, and let him try the new muffins Gabi had made while he asked his own questions in kind, about what you liked to do, what made you decide to go back home.

You were both halfway through laughing and snortling as you had explained the one time you had attempted to sneak into your university library, to no avail as the near-hundred-year-old security guard had caught you almost immediately.

Miguel’s eyes softened, the edges of a laugh softly settling into a smile as he gazed at you, the room feeling smaller, lighter. “I’m really glad you went back.”

“Me too,” You smiled in return, head leaning into the crook of your arm. “I mean, who else is going to make fun of you for getting way too passionate about five-year-olds playing soccer? Like come on, you did not have to get her minivan towed just because her kid sidestepped Gabi in a game.”

“Oh, I absolutely did.”

The rest of your week passed in a whirlwind. Gabi was a really easy kid to watch, you really couldn’t take that much credit. She took every activity you threw at her with the easygoing nature of a five-year-old with not many qualms, and it made things so much easier, but of course, you didn’t want to just barely do your job. Case in point, creativity: Great babysitters often come up with fun and engaging activities to keep children entertained. They can think on their feet and find creative solutions to challenges that may arise.

On your second day, you spent the day with her running around the block, showing her various sights and spots you had frequented when you were a kid, answering her curious questions in stride, and ending your little adventure with some waffles at your hometown restaurant. You delighted in the way Gabi practically squealed at the amount of whipped cream.

Of course, your next priority was patience: Dealing with children requires patience, especially when they are upset. Babysitters remain calm and handle difficult situations with composure. Gabi had a sugar rush the moment the two of you left the restaurant, and you had to deal with the fallout.

“Oh my god, Gabi, look both ways before you cross the street!” You didn’t think you could handle a lawsuit from her father.

The next couple of days were a lot more relaxed; as rambunctious and active she was, sometimes she could just use a day of lounging around the couch, binging various movies and asking you your favorite parts about them, eyes twinkling in curiosity as you explained the mechanics of some of the animation in the cartoons you watched.

Miguel would occasionally come back for lunch or return with some takeout after work, and you were able to cycle through various restaurants that had opened up in your time away from college, eager to talk through a lot of them and give him your opinions.

The whole time, he remained warm and welcoming, innocent glances across the dining table, a far cry from the man you had hooked up with a week ago.

At one point, your hands gestured wildly and your mouth ran on fire as you tried some spicy pozole that Miguel and Gabi urged you to try. You hadn’t noticed the simultaneous way their heads had tilted to the side, flashing equally mischievous smiles.

Guzzling milk as you glared at the both of them (at Miguel, more than Gabi), as Miguel struggled to contain his laughs, breathlessly wheezing as he wiped some stray tears that had gathered in his eyes. “Did we not tell you there were some ghost peppers in there?”

“No!”

Friday came around much sooner than you expected, and at that point, you had settled into a routine.

The sun was starting to set, casting a warm glow through the windows as both of you plopped down on the couch. You were both exhausted from a day of running around and kicking a soccer ball in the front yard, and you had endured your fair share of kicking the ball and missing the goal by several feet for Gabi’s sake. With messy hair and rosy cheeks, you had tucked Gabi in under a cozy blanket, flipping through the channels until you eventually landed on something that you had started just a couple of days before.

Before long, Gabi had fallen asleep, and you had moved her to her bedroom without much fuss, ready to go settle in the living room and wait for Miguel to arrive. On your way down, you noticed his office door was slightly ajar, and you went to close it until something caught your eye.

Against your better judgment, you pushed your way in, surveying the state of the room. There were books scattered everywhere, old files and papers haphazardly set around his desk. A few articles of his old works were framed on the wall, and in photos, he seemed more constricted. Less free, more serious, dark brown piercing eyes judging you as you walked around his office.

What caught your eye, in particular, was a photo of Miguel with two other individuals, one of them you could only assume was his brother, due to their similar eyes and smile, and in between them was a woman with blue eyes and brown hair, a similar shade to Gabi’s.

Before you could ponder on the similarities further, you heard the door to the office crack open, and spinning around wildly to see Miguel standing at the doorway.

In your concentration, you missed the sound of a car pulling into the driveway and Miguel stood, blanketed by the light of the hallway, in sharp contrast to the dark that shrouded the room. You felt guilty, small like a child caught dipping their hand into a jar of cookies. To your surprise, Miguel merely flickered the light switch on, eyes carrying the weight of fatigue. “Is Gabi asleep?”

You sheepishly nodded, folding your hands behind your back as you struggled to come up with an explanation. “Listen—”

“Come with me,” Miguel’s voice was calm, carrying none of the backlash you were expecting. “Let’s talk.”

In the kitchen, Miguel poured a couple of glasses of wine, offering one to you as you accepted. He let out an exhausted sigh before composing himself, back to the easygoing and light smile you had begun getting accustomed to that week. “How was she today?”

And just like that, the tense air in the room lifted as easily as it came in, as you went through the motions of the day, watching as he gradually lost the slump in his shoulders and the lines on his face that told the story of a demanding day.

Whatever it was, you didn’t want to pry, especially after having been caught looking through his belongings.

“You’re a natural, you know that?” Miguel’s eyes shined with admiration. “She adores you, tells me all about your days when you’re gone.”

Despite yourself, you couldn’t fight the smile that bloomed across your face, chest constricting at the praise. “Well, I really couldn’t take that much credit. She's a really easy kid to watch, she practically lost it when I took her to go get some waffles the other day.”

He smiles, full and unrestrained this time, and you share a few more stories about your week, ignoring the flush in your cheeks when he would quip in with his own stories from when Gabi was younger. Gabi was his whole life and he adored her wholeheartedly; in pictures, before she was born, you could tell that something was lacking, something missing when his smiles wouldn’t reach his eyes.

“So, what’s your secret?” Miguel cocked an eyebrow. “How’d you get the hang of it the way you did? It took a while for Gabi’s old babysitter to get used to how active she is. I’ve never seen her latch on to someone so quickly.”

“I… I did a babysitting certificate online that was meant for middle schoolers.” Thank you, Babysitting and Advanced Child Care Certification. Your laughter spilled on in bursts without even thinking about it, and you gasped for breath about the absurdity of learning more things by completing a small babysitting certificate over your college diploma. “If you need a better manual for parenting, look no further. Those eleven-year-olds have it cracked.”

“Is that so?” Your laughter was contagious, and before long, Miguel had joined in.

You nodded, still proud of your little achievement. “ Mhm. There’s four,” pausing to hold up four fingers. “Four key values.”

“Well, shoot, now I have to know. What are they?” Miguel leaned forward just slightly, and you ignored the way your heart swelled at the small motion, his proximity rapidly unthreading the small resolve you had left.

“There’s responsibility, then communication, creativity—that’s an underrated one—-and patience,” Listing them off felt a little bit silly, now that you looked back, but you continued. “It’s like, the four commandments of babysitting.”

“So which one do you think is the most important?” He looked down at you, and everything seemed heightened, more focused. Dark brown lashes fanned his cheekbones, skin warm and dusky against the contours of his face as he stared back at you. “Responsibility, communication, creativity, or… patience ?”

You knew the implications behind his words, this line that you were dangerously close to crossing over. “Patience.”

Miguel’s pupils dilated then, humming his approval at your words. At that point, the sun had fully set and you had lost track of the time. Without thinking, the words came tumbling out before you could even stop and consider the weight of them. Recklessly and impulsively, you took the leap. “Do you remember what happened a week ago?”

“Of course, I do. You think I’ve forgotten about you?” Miguel’s eyes darkened, voice dropping an octave as you suddenly felt very, very hot. “I haven’t been able to get you out of my head, cariño.”

He stood before you, all broad expanse of shoulders and muscle, and you’re reminded of the events of last week all over again, remembering how strong he felt underneath your fingertips. “What do you want?”

You didn’t need to answer, just leaned in and took his lips in yours, long wait finally over and you were falling apart like honey in his arms as you felt him push you against the cool marble of the counter, his warmth in sharp contrast to the cold pressing against your back. He tasted exactly the same, bergamot and crisp green leaves, patchouli, and vetiver. Fuck, you were addicted to it.

Your moans filled the quiet of the kitchen as his mouth moved lower, light and feathery kisses peppering the side of your neck, going over the bruises mapped on your skin left just a week before, sucking and kissing new ones in his wake.

“I wanna see you fall apart,” Miguel murmured, hot breaths fanning your neck as if in a trance. “Wanna watch you cum on my fingers again, wanna taste you.” All you could do was nod. Yes, yes, please—do whatever you want.

He returned to your lips, needy and unconstrained. You let your hands wander, disappearing into his neat, put-together curls just as Miguel bit down on your bottom lip, the sudden pain making you twist your fingers into his hair and tug. A low, rumbly sound vibrates against your mouth, his fingers pressing harder into your hips and then he’s hoisting you up on the counter.

One of his hands makes its way underneath your skirt, fingers skirting along the edges of your underwear as you whined, pleading for him to touch you where you needed him. You could feel his mouth nip at your skin and you clammed up like putty, as he pushes your complaints back down. “Patience,” he chastised, going even slower than before.

Minutes feel like hours as he held you there, hand cupping your face as if you were his salvation, proof that he wanted, no, needed this just as much as you did, had been crippled with thoughts of each other since the moment you had walked into his house. “Good girl. That’s it. You going to keep being good for me?”

Shaking your head yes, unable to formulate words at the way he gazed at you, definitive and ready to take the pleasure he had just begun if you stepped out of line.

Slowly, he knelt in front of you, slithering down your body and you feel exposed, goosebumps rousing in your skin as he kissed up the length of your thigh, grabbing onto your underwear and tugging it down with an easy confidence.

Miguel’s breathing adoration into your cunt and you felt like you were on fire, going crazy with his greedy back and forth, not quite reaching you where you needed him. His voice was clear and definitive, a stark difference to yours. "Tell me what you want."

You’re babbling, words merging and rolling off your lips with an uncontrolled force, and you’re not even sure if you’re making any sense, not entirely sure if you even cared. “Please. Please, Miguel, I’m begging you, do something—”

His thumb started to draw slow circles as he slowly stroked the lips surrounding your mound. You were sure that you were positively dripping, going slick around him as you keened under his touch. His mouth watered and Miguel decided quickly that using only his fingers simply will not do, nowhere near enough.

Something in your brain snapped as he pushed your skirt up, looking ravenous as he inspected you, still teasing, not quite playing with you just yet. And then, you felt his hot mouth exactly where you needed him, licking one strip, from base to top of your cunt, just to taste.

Oh my god.

You were leaning back on your shoulders, struggling to hold your body weight as he continued to explore you, and you just allowed yourself to feel it, really feel it, and let him do whatever he wanted to you with his tongue—letting him lazily slide it over your clit, tracing the soft skin of your inner thigh with his canines, occasionally allowing you the pleasure of letting it migrate inside your cunt, tasting, feeling, wandering around until you were dizzy and delirious.

The kitchen sounded absolutely filthy, filled with the sound of the slick of your pussy and the criminal way that he ate you out, moaning and groaning when he knew he found a spot that just wrecked you. Praises fell from him in short, Spanish increments, taken with the way you begged and leaned your cunt closer to his face as if you even had any remote say in his demonstrations.

His hands snaked around your hips, pressuring you to move even closer to him, leaving you with no room to escape, not that you would ever even want to, no. Not with the way he was fucking you on his tongue, not with the way the rough skin of his five o’clock shadow stimulated you further, forcing you to feel everything so much more.

There was nothing innocent about the way he growled into your cunt, then, “Cum for me, baby, please. I wanna taste you. ‘M starving. Just look at you.”

And then you were crooning, gasping as he went faster with his ministrations, wondering how in the world he had so much vigor, so much stamina, and then you gave him what he wanted, legs shaking and tightening around his face as he only held you harder, working you through it.

“Oh my god,” You let out another breath, head still spinning. “Miguel—”

His tongue was still hungry when it slipped back into your pussy, still desperate and needy for the taste of you as if you didn’t just cum mere seconds ago.

"I can't— I can't—"

Everything was so heightened, so close in such a short time to the pinnacle that he had you pinned under for what had felt like hours. This time, he was rougher, more impatient as he plunged two fingers inside of you. You resisted the urge to scream, biting down on your palm as tears well in your eyes, too taken with the pleasure he was lost in.

"You can't? Oh, I think you can. Give me another one, dulzura.”

And then you were rolling your hips, frantic as you sobbed, practically riding his face and you whimpered in ragged and staggered breaths. But once he pressed his rough thumb to your puffy clit, your eyes rolled to the back of your head as you came apart for the second time that night.

Slowly, you regained your bearings, pushing yourself up from the counter as you looked down to see Miguel still licking, cleaning you off. To your surprise, he was grinning, satisfied with only giving you a brief reprieve. “You didn’t think we were done, did you?”

This was not in your post-grad plan, but honestly? You were starting to warm up to it.

#miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara x you #across the spiderverse #spiderman 2099 #oscar isaac #mdni #miguel o'hara smut

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differenteagletragedy · 29 days

Text

Baxter sat in his car for a long while, thinking. Drumming his fingers against the steering wheel, leaning back against the headrest, absentmindedly fiddling with the radio -- anything to slow his mind down.

He was in the parking lot of a dance studio. A dance studio where he'd signed up for lessons. Lessons that were set to begin in just a few minutes.

Everything had happened so quickly -- the month before, he'd reconnected with his old flame from the summer he spent in Sunset Bird five years ago, and in doing so, he'd suddenly found himself thrust into a friend group. His former fling had ended up with an old friend, Derek, who he got along with swimmingly. Cove had warmed up to him, Terry was, as always, easy to get along with, and Miranda was getting more comfortable around him. Xavier, his own professional connection, had also turned into someone he could call a friend. It was an incredible shock to the system, but a nice one.

During the painful process of opening himself back up to things he'd thought he'd never have, Baxter began realizing just how much he'd closed himself off. His life had become a series of routines with no real joy in them, and he'd pushed away everything that could have possibly made him happy because he believed he didn't deserve it. A big thing, of course, was dancing -- it had once meant so much to him, but he'd let it go, along with everything else.

Now, he wanted it back.

It was funny how fast things could change, but still, he couldn't undo all the emotional bindings that had taken him years to put on himself overnight. He glanced at the clock, seeing it was just a few minutes until the lesson was supposed to begin, and began thinking of reasons not to go inside. He'd almost convinced himself when he felt his phone vibrate in his pocket.

When he pulled it out, he saw a text from Xavier: "You can do it! Proud of you!"

They could have been being cheeky, he wasn't sure, but still, it felt good. He couldn't remember the last time someone had been proud of him, if they ever had been, and Xavier was right -- he could do it. He could do this.

Before he could change his mind, he pulled his keys out of the ignition and stepped out of the car.

Baxter made it inside with just a little time to spare, and he took a moment to take in his classmates. He'd signed up for the first lesson that worked with his schedule, a beginners ballroom class. He wasn't a beginner, of course, but he wanted to dance, and he knew his skills would be rusty.

There were several older people, many of them talking in groups. Some younger couples were there, and he saw a few shiny engagement rings -- he could spot soon-to-be-married couples a mile away at this point.

And then there was you.

You were the only other person there without a partner, so he made his way over to you -- of course you'd be paired together, so, ever the gentleman, he wanted to introduce himself.

There wasn't much of a chance to chat before the instructor began the class, but he learned a few things about you then. One, that you were, in fact, there alone -- you'd recently moved to the city and you didn't know anyone. Two, that you had no dancing experience whatsoever. And three, that you were completely and utterly charming.

If Baxter had been paired with anyone else, there's a chance he may have regretted taking the beginners class. The first order of business was mastering a simple box step, something he could almost literally do in his sleep. But as you put your hand in his, only meeting his eyes briefly so that you could watch your feet instead, he didn't have any regrets.

By the end of the class, he'd lost count of how many times you'd stepped on his toes, and his palm was damp with the sweat from yours. But his hand had gotten comfortable in its place on your back, and your laughter rang sweetly in his ears.

He was happy.

The instructor ended things far too soon for his liking -- after mastering the box step, or attempting to master it, the class moved on to the basics of the foxtrot, and after a few songs, class was dismissed.

"Thanks for dancing with me," you told him, stepping back from him and giving him a grin. "And sorry about your feet."

"It's quite all right," he said, matching your smile. "I've been hurt far worse."

"Still, maybe I should give you my number? In case you need to bill me for any medical expenses."

His breath hitched, and he felt his cheeks getting warm. It wasn't an unusual occurrence for someone to flirt with him, far from it, but what was unusual was that he liked it. He liked it very much.

"That would be smart," he responded, pulling out his phone. He handed it to you, and as you were adding yourself to his list of contacts, he added, "Perhaps it would also be prudent to meet again, just to discuss what's happened so that we could avoid any legal action?"

"Legal action?!" you exclaimed. He didn't know you that well, not yet, but it seemed like you were biting back a smirk. "Surely we can come to an agreement before it gets that far."

"We could discuss it over dinner. Are you free tonight?" he asked.

The joke was over, but you were still smiling, and so was he. You stood like that for a moment, not paying any mind to your classmates trickling out of the studio until you were alone together.

"I am," you told him, your voice a bit softer.

"It's a date then."

After making the plans, you finally parted ways. He went back to his car, a bounce in his step that wasn't there earlier. When he got in, he pulled out his phone again, scrolling through his contacts. It had gotten so much fuller than it had been just a few months ago. It was a good feeling.

He looked at your name, knowing that it was too soon to text you but finding himself wanting to talk to you again anyway. Instead, he pulled up his texts with Xavier and typed out a quick message:

"I did it."

#our life beginnings and always #baxter ward #our life #olba #our life baxter #olba baxter #baxter x mc #baxter x reader #baxter x you #baxter ward x you #baxter ward x mc #baxter ward x reader

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selfaware-bungou-stray-dogs · 8 months

Note

So, you don’t have any rules that I can request by. So, um, what if the Reader is a hardcore fan of Dazai and Chuuya?

To the point of having all of their Mayoi cards and a Soukoku-themed room?

When you are a big Soukoku fan

Self-Aware! Dazai Osamu x GN! Reader x Self-Aware! Chuuya Nakahara

Description: There are things BSD Cast need to acsept with the fact, that they are fictional. Having fans is one of them.

Warning: OOC. English is my second language. Tiny spoilers for Fifteen arc, DEAD APPLE and The Guild Arc.

A/N: Quick clarification about me 'not having rules for requests'. I got this ask right before I post them.

🪢🦀🍷 There are some things that fictional characters should learn to live with after gaining self-awareness.

🪢🦀🍷 They should accept the fact that they aren't real.

🪢🦀🍷 They should accept the fact that thousands of strangers knew about their lives.

🪢🦀🍷And they should accept the fact, that they have fans.

🪢🦀🍷 BSD Cast quickly learned about BSD Fandom.

🪢🦀🍷 Their opinion about Fandom... varied.

🪢🦀🍷 Something was nice, something was bad. And Cast quickly learned about checking tags before looking at art or reading fanfic.

🪢🦀🍷But, in general, while seeing all this people liking them do feel a little bit strange, BSD cast do feel flattered.

🪢🦀🍷 Their Guiding Light also was their fan.

🪢🦀🍷 Specifically, Guiding Light were a fan of Dazai Osamu and Chuuya Nakahara. And Soukoku in general.

🪢🦀🍷 Characters heard, how you cheered for Dazai and Chuuya during their battles with Rimbaud, Shibusawa, Steinbeck and Lovecraft.

"Dazai and Chuuya managed to win a fight against a professional spy when they were fifteen! They were cool even in teen years!"

"Wow! Now I understand, why Soukoku was feared in criminal world!"

"They weren't fighting together, at least for four years, but manage to win against Lovecraft! Good fighting partners will always be winners."

🪢🦀🍷 They also saw, how you always tried to get all Chuuya and Dazai cards in BSD Mayoi.

"Great, cards with both Dazai and Chuuya on it! I will max 'An Unwanted Coalition' and 'Duo of Darkness' skills and level."

"Pity, that I didn't play in Japanese version of Mayoi. I missed Stage Play Scout and Fifteen Soukoku Card!"

"Boss Battle against Steinbeck and Lovecraft should be cleaned only with Dazai and Chuuya cards, and you can't change my mind!"

🪢🦀🍷 Dazai and Chuuya feel so much love and adoration from you. The rest of the BSD cast were a little bit jealous.

🪢🦀🍷 Especially Fukuzawa and Mori. They can be considered the original duo, they still can fight together and be victorious. Why won't you adore them as well?

🪢🦀🍷 When Ango manage to hack your gallery, they saw pictures of you and your room.

🪢🦀🍷 You had not only BSD manga/LN collection. You also had few figurines and posters of Dazai Osamu and Chuuya Nakahara. There also were paper figurines of Soukoku you made yourself. You also have shirts.

🪢🦀🍷Dazai and Chuuya feel flattered. Your love and admiration felt nice, and having Little Light constantly purring and floating above them make them happy.

🪢🦀🍷 Dazai and Chuuya are competing with each other. Who will become The Most Favorite Character. They mess with each other's scouts, send you in-game presents.

🪢🦀🍷 They can't wait to meet you in person. Chuuya want to show you his powers in real life. Dazai, among other things, plan to tease you a little. Both want to protect you.

____________

You were happy. You finally get your package. You have bought plush Dazai and plush Chuuya. Today, your package finally arrived.

You open the door at your apartment. Time to unpack your package and get your plushies. You go to the kitchen to grab scissors.

You open the package and take both plushies in your hand.

Your phone shined white. The whole room were filled with light.

Then light faded.

BSD Cast were standing before you.

You looked at them. They looked at you. And your plushes. You don't want to think, what would happen, if they saw your room.

You wonder, if putting plushies back in the box wile shouting 'It's not mine and this is not my apartment at all, I'm a burglar' will work and safe you from embarrassment, but decide against it.

Be that as it may!

Dazai take a step forward and grin.

"Hello, [Y/N]! Good to finally meet my biggest fan!"

Chuuya grumbles and move forward.

"You whimp! [Y/N] clearly love me more!"

Dazai and Chuuya start bickering, while Kunikida start explaining the situation to you.

It was something. You don't know how, but BSD cast got into your world. And, it seems, Dazai and Chuuya heard you gushing about them. You don't know, how to react. You just stand there. You manage to whisper.

"Um... Can we talk in the living room? The whole situation is quite bizarre."

Dazai and Chuuya stopped bickering. Dazai nodded.

"Good idea. But I will take mini-me."

Then, Dazai grabbed his plush counterpart from your grasp. You almost dropped plush Chuuya, but real Chuuya got him, before the toy hit the floor. Instead of giving it back to you, Chuuya keeps it. Chuuya smirks.

"Sorry, [Y/N], but plush will stay with me. But, I must add, you looked adorable with them in your hands."

Dazai also chipped in.

"Don't worry, soon you can place them near the rest of your figurines."

You feel embarrassed. You had a feeling, that your life will change. And you were sure, that there will be a lot of teasing in your life.

#self-awareau #self-awarebsd #bungou stray dogs au #bsd #bungou stray dogs #bsd anime #bsd x gender neutral reader #gender neutral reader #Self-Aware Dazai Osamu #Self-Aware Chuuya Nakahara #dazai osamu x reader #dazai x reader #chuuya nakahara x reader #chuuya x reader #bsd chuuya #bsd dazai

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drdemonprince · 2 months

Note

Do you worry about being so open about your sex life under the same name you use professionally? How did you settle on your current approach to talking about kink/fetishism publicly?

That's my question. Below is some background but feel free to ignore it.

I'm asking because, like many people, my kinks are integral to my sense of self and engaging in BDSM has been significant for my psychological wellbeing. I don't like keeping these important aspects of myself separate from the rest of my life and I'm jealous of the people I meet at munches who share openly kinky stuff on their regular Instagrams. But I also have relatives on all of my socials, including a few adult family members who take any opportunity to create drama or get on their high horses, and teenage cousins who obviously shouldn't be given information about my sex life.

I like using social media to connect with people, and it feels harder to do that when big parts of me are walled off. I'm so worried about sharing anything 'inappropriate' that I'm only presenting this bland, watered down version of myself and it makes me feel alienated. Making side accounts is one option, but it feels like compartmentalising and involves more 'personal brand' management than I care to juggle.

That's without even touching on in-person disclosures. How do I embrace these aspects of myself without acting like they're shameful, but also without being obnoxious or unfair on other people who might not want to know?

I know "authenticity" can be an unattainable ideal, especially on social media platforms that necessitate curation, but I do want to stop tying myself in so many knots over this (in the figurative, unsexy way).

Sorry for venting in your askbox.

Yeah, I have a lot of thoughts on this.

I don't worry about the potential of my speaking openly about my sex life ruining my professional life because I hate my professional life and professionalism in nearly all forms. I have nothing but contempt for the academy, social psychology, my employer, the publishing industry, 99% of the organizations that hire me to provide workshops, and a decent-sized subset of my readers who are of the more liberal end of things. Alienating myself from these institutions and people and making myself incompatible with their viewpoints feels as necessary to me as breathing air.

when I was very young I was concerned with making myself palatable to academia and shucking off everything that was unprofessional and hillbillyish and childish and weird about me, but then I learned what success within the academy really entailed. I heard faculty members shrug and say they "didn't really care" about the topics they were studying (topics like racism, sexism, transphobia, etc) and were just publishing work on these subjects to further their own careers. I was trained to use questionable research protocols that generated false positives and specious results. Nearly all the research that I worked on for three years of undergrad and five years of graduate school would eventually be discredited due to failure to replicate. And I realized that I was being taken advantage of all the while, mined for cheap labor on meaningless projects that meant nothing scientifically, making $14k a year in a field where there were no future job prospects.

by the time i finished my PhD I knew that I wanted to be nothing like the people that had trained me and taken advantage of me, and that I had useless skills in a dying field. I was plenty happy to cut the shit by then and be real about who I was, what I believed, and what was and wasn't a virtuous use of my time. This only became more pronounced after I was screwed over by even more employers as a part-time instructor, and then finally hired full-time in a department that was doing good work, but which was constantly getting undercut by those in higher up administrative positions.

My entire career I have essentially been daring people to fire me and they never seem to do it. No matter how much shit I talk about the university and my profession and no matter how much I bear about myself, I just keep getting rewarded for it and allowed to float along relatively unbothered. There's a power in having a lot of audacity. I am not ashamed of who I am and I don't worry about how my employer and colleagues see me because as a whole I have zero respect for any of them or their opinions. (I have some individual coworkers who are great! but they dont represent Psychology or Academia as a whole or its values. my coworker friends are supportive of my freaky trans kinky self).

It's much the same dynamic in my family. I have no respect for the majority of people in my family and I don't concern myself with how they might react to the things I have to say. When I first started writing openly about Autism some relatives found it deeply offensive and talked a lot of shit about me behind my back, saying that I was embarassing all of them by associating us with a disability they found shameful, but my mom communicated to those relatives in no uncertain terms that I was gonna just keep doing whatever the fuck I wanted and they'd have to find some way to deal with it.

My mom had already learned that about me firsthand. I complain about her sometimes but I do have immense gratitude to her for just accepting who I am, even if there are elements of it she can't understand and probably does not feel good about. She learned a long long time ago that I was on my own separate planet and that there was nothing she could do to stop me from running my mouth and living my life, and I'm thankful to her for that. My actions have set the tone with my family pretty clearly: i came out as trans publicly before I told them, I started hormones and changed my name/gender marker without consulting them and then told them it was a fact already and they'd need to get in line. I approach most things about myself that others might take issue with in the same way: it's a fact, it's fucking happening, and you can't tell me shit about it that is going to keep me from doing it. and if you're too much of a dick about it I might end up writing about you in a book or essay so watch out, I guess.

That sounds more vindicitive than how I actually feel most of the time, of course. I just don't think about the opinions of people I don't respect. I care about what my friends think of me, and the people I look up to, and I try to rise to a level that is worthy of them. And of course I do experience fear of ostacism and failure in those respects and have not always coped with it in a confident, principled way. But with my aunts and uncles or my boss? Fuck them. I have no desire to win their approval because I've seen what they approve of and it sucks.

All of this is possible because I am not financially reliant upon my family, of course, and because if I lose my job I would have a back-up plan. I've always done freelancing and side writing gigs, even back when I was a part-timer with really insecure teaching jobs, and so the loss of any one position has never felt that catastrophic to me. I was already released by my PhD program into economically shaky ground and I never had a prayer of having a successful tenure track academic "career", so I'm not afraid of losing that. that's already gone. I feel generally pretty confident in my ability to scratch by making a living doing this or that even if somebody fires me, and I won't have to ask relatives for money so it really does not matter if I alienate any of them. that is an IMMENSE PRIVILEGE and someone not in that position shouldn't compare themselves to me or expect themselves to have that same degree of confidence. sometimes you have to just keep your head down to survive and there's no shame in that either.

as for the question about "authenticity" as an idealized end state and how to reconcile it with social media, here are some of my thoughts: it's not authenticity if it is focused on how other people interpret you. authenticity is letting go of trying to manage what other people think about you. that means you dont ever have to broadcast everything about yourself to the public or on social media, you dont ever have to share something that you dont want to, the pursuit of being perfectly understood is one that will never be fulfilled and there is no need to make oneself unnecessarily vulnerable just for the sake of appealing to people who might not ever understand and accept you anyway. authenticity is more about an energy than about revealment. it's an energy of self acceptance, not necessarily self love, and it's not something that one broadcasts, it's something one cultivates by developing secure, supportive relationships, improving one's self knowledge, and by working through one's baggage.

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nottapossum · 3 months

Note

is Rosie old school when it comes to discipline as if Alastor can even be punished

I doubt Rosie would ever spank or hit him despite being raised in another time zone

Nah, Rosie would never hurt Alastor. Maybe a slap on the wrist at most. And that wouldn't do much. Lol

I suspect if Rosie is a sinner, she must have died around the 1890s due to her attire. And back then they were all about rasing kids the proper way, the scientific way.

Because she died around this time, the idea of raising children properly was an interest, but not necessarily something she thoroughly researched.

Now, both Alastor and Rosie would both have been raised in a time where corporal punishment was common place, even in schools.

Rosie was probably raised by a nanny and had a very dismissive attachment style.

Back then people were told to not pick up or cuddle your child because it would cause them to be "weak".

But just because Rosie grew up with that doesn't mean she believes in it, she probably suffer greatly because of this upbringing and wanted different for Alastor.

Alastor died in 1933 and was 33 years old.

So Alastor was raised around 1900-1917.

Most likely he would be working at a very young age (perhaps alongside his mother) instead of attending a lot of school. (Perhaps he was instead learned basic skills from his mother like reading ans writing) and he eventually rose above his station when he became a well-known radio host 📻 (And serial killer)

Alastor may have had a great mother. But I suspect he lacked a real childhood, real friends, and I suspect a father.

Random tangent. It's always bound to happen with me lol 😆

So, when Rosie found out that Alastor age regresses (Might write a one-shot about how she found out) she did her own research.

She died at a time when scientific research was being done. So she seeked the help of modern experts and books to better help her to help him.

Not to say she doesn't use any old fashioned tactics or values.

She still believes in the strict schedules and being firm with Alastor when he does something wrong.

She's not exactly a good person, but she's a great friend and caregiver.

Even as an overlord, I suspect she's more calm, poise and her deals are done more professionally. She sees soul dealing as more of a business and not so much about power or control.

She doesn't let emotions control her or manipulate her actions, which is the calm Alastor needs to feel more at peace.

She does not encourage his cruel antics and manipulation. And wants to help him better himself without taking things too far.

Of course Alastor is still...Alastor though so..

Her attempts to make Him more calm and respectful are...hilarious.

The way she disciplines Alastor is

A harsh Scolding, maybe a time out, or she may even take away certain privileges if he does something too bad.

Most of the time, she just talks to him.

Tag: @todayimfour

#Little!Alastor #Cg!Rosie #ittybittysinners #Ittybittysinnersq&h #hazbin hotel age regression #hazbin hotel agere

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cosmicdream222 · 1 month

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hypnotherapy - I know what it is but at the same time I don't. Would a hypnotherapist be able to loke guide us to the void?

It’s a good question but might take a little explaining. So hypnotherapy is kind of an unregulated field. When someone wants to become a doctor, massage therapist, teacher or similar profession, they have to take a set curriculum of classes and become licensed by a federally accredited board, and remain up to date with their licensing and certifications.

When someone wants to become a life coach or hypnotherapist, there is no real standard, no board, no licensing requirements. You don’t even need any kind of professional training or licensing to be a life coach or hypnotherapist (which is kinda scary tbh)

I took a one-year coaching certification course in 2019 so I am “certified” in life & success coaching, EFT, hypnotherapy, NLP, and TIME Techniques - meaning I now have the knowledge to practice these techniques on myself and my friends/family/clients/whatever. But I only learned some basic hypnosis techniques and have a couple of scripts so I could record my own or guide others through it.

I did enjoy my class and I did learn a lot. But it’s kind of a meaningless piece of paper because the entire industry is unregulated, anyone can make their own coaching course and their own methods/techniques and tell people they’re certified in whatever they want. It’s pretty much just a free-for-all.

So all that to say, just because someone is a hypnotherapist doesn’t actually mean they know what they’re doing. They would have to continue their education beyond the basics to learn more advanced techniques and have much more experience.

I was not taught any techniques that would be helpful for entering the void or guiding someone else to it. Since most people in general don’t know about the void state, finding a hypnotherapist who knows about it would most likely be hard to find.

I do really like hypnosis tho and it works well for me, so a couple weeks ago I was looking on YT for a guided hypnosis for the void and I did find one, like only one. “Extra deep hypnosis - into the void”. Although I’m not sure if she knows exactly the power of the void, it’s meant to get you into a deep thoughtless state of relaxation.

youtube

I tried it once and she is a very good & skilled hypnotherapist. It is a safe & effective video and I plan on trying it again to enter. But as a warning, her channel has a lot of bizarre NSFW hypnosis videos too, so don’t go looking around her other videos unless you are 18+ and want to be shocked 😂😂

#hypnotherapy #void state

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fairy-switchblade · 4 months

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In light of random people suggesting my butch/femme dynamic is abusive, a special shoutout post for the butch lesbian community for actively ✨ protecting me ✨from abuse my entire life pretty much:

my dad was a bouncer, and he worked at a gay bar through the 90s. A lot of his work friends were gay people he met at work, including a lot of butch women. There’s a photograph of five queers and my dad painting my childhood bedroom pink with fairy stencils from when we got our first house. Apparently they worked really hard to protect that room from damp and brought me a proper mattress between them. My parents were doing their best but we relied on community support for a while. I doubt any of them ever suspected the two year old girl they were doing this for was going to grow up femme, but life is like that. A special kiss on the cheek for each of them.

The butch woman who was at the local convenience store when I was five years old, who let me borrow her phone and then waited with me outside for my parents to get there when a creepy man would not leave me alone. A hug for you.

Zir. Holmes, my middle school English teacher who let me hide in her office when the homophobic bullying got really bad, and who understood, and was a source of courage and inspiration for me. Another hug for you, a very tight one.

my first girlfriend Lianne who taught me a lot about boundaries and stood up to their family for me. A lil kiss on the cheek for you.

my ex Emma who taught me about safe queer sex, and more nuanced education on consent, and encouraged me when I wanted to pursue professional development so I could make better than minimum wage and have a real career. A lil kiss on the forehead for you.

my current partner who got me to read feminist and queer theory, has always taken my opinions seriously, who respects my identity and my ambition, and my boundaries, who has never once shied away from splitting the housework evenly between us, and has committed to learning new skills to support me, and consistently encourages and supports me to exercise properly and eat well, and stay in touch with my family, who is openly proud of our relationship, who works so damn hard to maintain their own empowerment and independence from me, who takes the time to observe and care about things I love, and who I trust 100% with my body, my time, my personal info, my thoughts and feelings. 1000 kisses be upon you, every day you live on this earth, my angel my man my blorbo.

And every other butch I meet, who reminds me to never accept anything less than my true self, and my own true happiness. ILY So Much, take care xxxxx

#butch #butch lesbian #Femme #femme lesbian #Abuse mention #Butch hype #Femme4butch

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sunsafewriting · 1 year

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AU - Chapter 2. Ava starts a dumb YouTube channel where she makes complicated recipes badly. Maybe people show up for that, but they kind of stay for her conversations with her roommate - who stays off-screen. Mostly.

chapter 2 excerpt:

It’s not, like, massively surprising that her subscribers manage to track down her Instagram account. Her account is public, and while Ava has never linked or promoted any of her other socials on YouTube, she’s no stranger to the idea of a bit of internet sleuthing.

Every now and then, she’ll even do a little digging herself. Most recently, her research powers have been directed to finding out exactly how tall Gwendolyn Christie is (for an argument with Lilith) and trying to get a read on that pretty girl from the gym who always asks Beatrice to spot her — just a teeny weeny background check, to make sure she’s not a serial killer. Or single.

(Lucia, as it turned out, is single. And she follows Hayley Kiyoko, Emma D’Arcy, and Janelle Monae on Instagram. That was not at all comforting for Ava to learn.)

Anyway, while Ava doesn’t have a problem with her new online buddies trawling through pictures of cool pebbles from the sidewalk and dogs she’s met at the beach, she’s never really considered the amount of identifying information in her posts. Until recently, virtually everyone who followed her was someone Ava knew in real life.

She raises it with Beatrice while they’re doing dishes. Considering the amount of mess Ava manages to create while cooking, it’s very fortunate that she lives with someone who finds washing up to be relaxing.

“Maybe you should make another profile,” Beatrice suggests. “Separate professional and personal.”

“I think the last thing anyone would call my channel is professional .”

“I disagree. Don’t underestimate the skills that go into it, just because you find it fun,” she replies, handing Ava another plate for her to dry. “You’ve managed to produce something engaging. That’s not easy. If I could do that, my students would’ve done better on their midterms.”

“Almost all of them passed! And you’re a great teacher. It’s not your fault they’re lazy little shits.”

“ Ava. ”

“I can say that! I was a lazy little shit. Slash am currently. I nearly gave you an aneurysm freshman year, remember?”

“You asked me when the exam was on the morning of the exam.”

“Lucky, right? Imagine if I’d missed it.”

Beatrice lets out a controlled breath. “Yes. Lucky.”

Except not that lucky, because Ava had actually been asking in the hopes of roping Beatrice into a study session or two or three. That was back when she was still trying to figure out how to gently nudge Beatrice into being friends with her outside of class, and Ava was not above drastic measures like actually doing revision to make it happen.

“Just — promise me that you’ll be careful?” Beatrice says, with that serious look she gets whenever Ava expresses even the mildest discomfort, boredom, or unease. “I know that you’re enjoying yourself, but I want you to be safe.”

Ava leans across and kisses Beatrice on the cheek, taking great satisfaction in the way the mug in Beatrice’s hands suddenly slips back into the soapy water.

“I’ll be super careful,” Ava promises.

#nonsense conference continues #i write this when my brain isn't working well enough for do a flip lmao #anywya #avatrice #ava x beatrice #avatrice fanfic #avatrice fic #sunsafewriting

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despairmakoto · 11 months

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Sometimes I think about an AU where the apocalypse didn't happen and the students graduated normally sort of like how they do in the V3 after-story minigame. Despite everything Makoto never really figured out any special skills or talents while he was at Hope's Peak, and Togami graduated the same way he was before: a cold and reserved young man who means business. The tragedy not happening made the two like oil and water; they would come close to eachother but never close enough to form any sort of real bond. Togami was simply not interested in making a friend, and Makoto didn't seem to be of any use for him. He heads off to live his life as the head of his (mostly still alive) family while Makoto decides to settle down and get himself a small apartment above a local bar and work as a bartender down below. It's a regular job but he's satisfied with it, and he can be social when he wants to.

A few years pass. Togami learns that things aren't quite as they seem for him. Due to the nature of his identity his father still is a major deciding factor over everything he does, including picking and choosing who he is to procreate with for the next generation's heir. Life is tense and shameful and he feels tricked. He's had a few children at this point but he doesn't get to see them, as when they're born they're essentially shipped off to be trained for the future battle they'll need to survive to have even a chance at becoming the next heir. He feels miserable and bitter; he hates the world and the people in it. Things feel bleak and he feels like more of an asset to his so-called retired father than the head of a conglomerate. Things get particularly bad when he finds out that the sires of his offspring were determined through a sort of bidding process. Disgusted and offended, he decides to head out into the city to get away from his family and the cold life he lives, even if for just one night.

He wanders around that evening, looking for a place to settle. Fate draws him toward a fairly commonplace but nice enough looking bar when it starts to rain, unforeseen. He enters to see the bar is empty today other than the bartender, who he doesn't immediately recognize. It isn't until said bartender raises his head to look over and cheerfully calls out his name that he realizes it's one of his old classmates. Togami solemnly and professionally wipes the rain from his glasses and goes to take a seat at one of the random tables that aren't immediately next to the bar. "Togami-kun, it's me, Naegi...! Don't you remember me? It's been a while, huh..." Makoto is rambling a bit while he wipes out glasses for later use; Togami listens to him without eye contact or any real show of acknowledgement, like a cat ignoring his owner without the flick of his ears. He doesn't respond to the other man until he is properly settled. "Yes, I remember you—just barely. I had to think for a moment, though. I don't usually waste my time recalling the names or faces of the unimpressive 99%." Togami scalds, but he is only met with a laugh. "You're still like that, Togami-kun...?" Makoto jests, teasingly. Togami sneers a bit. "Like what? And stop calling me that. We aren't children."

#i have more to this but this has been in drafts since march #maybe i should write a fic about this au #idk #wip #?#danganronpa #danganronpa au #makoto naegi #byakuya togami #naegami #dubious consent implied #dubcon implied #(not the naegami parts)#my writing #angst #also yeah Togami is a trans man in this #that is my headcanon for him no matter what

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ryoshudoodles · 4 days

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The Plushū Diaries

This is a long post about the plushie I made as a beginner and just me venting about the process. Just skip this is you don't like long posts. Also I will probably mix up UK and US English a lot here. The usual Internet learning experience.

Canto 1- I can (not) make a plushie myself

So... As you may gather from the existence of this blog, I love Ryōshū a very normal amount. And like many other PM fans, I wanted a plushie of my best girl.

Two problems arise.

Independently made plushies made by commission are EXPENSIVE (For a very valid reason, this things take AGES to make and require a lot of work and skill.).

And

All the "Mass" produced ones by indie designers that I saw had animal ears or features, which I don't really like.

So, Sunday at around 10:00 pm, I, in all my wisdom, say to myself "I want it! So I'll make it!" I already had some material from a previous failed attempt, so might as well use them.

I dug up the doll skeleton and the body I had and stuffed that thing. By then it was already late and I had to work on Monday so, to bed I went.

Canto 2- The Real Start

By morning on the following day, I had already gotten over the Idea of making a plushie myself. Too much work. Too little skill. Like any other good little ADHD demon, I am allergic to completing my own projects and I jump from new idea to new idea too quickly to get anything done.

So, imagine my shock when at 11:00 pm I get that little itch to just make the thing. That little night owl brain magic that happens when everyone else is asleep and you are just now deciding to be productive.

So I grab the body, my embroidery thread and a bathtub of coffee and I just started.

Luckily I already had a pattern that a friend printed out for me two years ago. But then, the mistakes also started.

Mistake 1- Improv

I had no idea what I wanted to make. I had a design that I had painted In photoshop before but I didn't have that materials nor skills for that. So I made a simpler one on the spot. I don't own a printer. I don't have transfer paper. So... like a person with a very aesthetically pleasing smooth brain, I just drew the design STRAIGHT ON THE FABRIC with BRIGHT red pen.

Mistake 2 - The bright red pen

At the start it wasn't much of an issue just something to mark the design because I don't have a tearaway stabilizer.

By the end of this saga, those smooth clear lines had bled SO MUCH I could no longer tell the difference between te guide and random stains. Oh! And you can also see the guidelines from the outside of the doll. Cool.

Mistake, the third - The felt hair

This doesn't seem like a mistake, but trust me, It will haunt the narrative.

Mistake forever after - Hubris

It took... around 1 hour to line up everything correctly on the embroidery ring? Why? Because I am stupid, that's why.

During this first day I decided that I didn't need to use pins. I could just put it on the ring by eyeballing it. How bad can it be?

I was a fool. There's a reason why professionals use them, and there's a reason why some people sew some pieces temporarily during certain steps of the process before finally attaching them together. Pins truly are unsung heroes.

Canto 3- The unembroidered

So... embroidery. Embroidery is hard. Symmetrical embroidery is hard. Symmetrical embroidery with bleeding guidelines and no stabilizer is HARD. Symmetrical embroidery with bleeding guidelines, no stabilizer and you are a total beginner is maddening.

I watched someone do it by hand on YouTube before and I tried to mimic the process as much as I could. It didn't help much. Youtube tutorials can only do so much to compensate my lack of experience.

By the time I had done one eye I was already seeing problems. My stitches were all scattered to the four winds. They were all going in different directions. Some of them were too far apart or too close to others. The lines in the back of the doll were piling up and there were more knots in the thread than in your average omegaverse fic.

I went colour by colour. First black since I needed it to line the hair and it was the most used colour, then white just for the little highlights and finally red.

(Funny thing, the number of this red thread of this brand is 666 wich is kinda funny for miss hellscreen over here.)

After the red thread it finally started to look kinda decent (by beginner standards)

Canto 4 - Revenge of the felt hair

After all the embroidery was done it was finally time to get her off the ring and sew the parts together.

For those unaware, the regular soft plushie material, Minky, is really lightweight and very thin. Felt... isn't thin. And when you are sewing a plushie head with may parts and layers, all those millimeters of fabric pile up really quickly. One layer of felt is easy to pierce with a needle. Five layers? Not so much. Several needles were broken in the process of joining the front of the head with the back. I do not own a sewing machine. I did all of this shit by hand.

Thank god for the tetanus vaccine. When I say this little creature has my blood, sweat and tears, I MEAN IT.

The curse of the felt hair didn't end there.

Now that the head was done, it was time to stuff it.

Naturally, I had to rip parts of the stuffing to get it inside the head and around the skeleton. This sent bits and pieces of the thing flying everywhere. My room is FILTHY. And the felt hair got the worst of it. All those little dusts and microfibers stuck to it like a fly in a web. As I write this I am still trying to rip out bits of stuffing without damaging the felt. It is horrible. My girl is DIRTY.

(Also, plushie heads take WAY more stuffing than I thought. Holy shit.)

Finally, on the last day, it was time to attach the body to the head and sew the back of the hair. (I should have done that before but... more layers of felt. Broken needles. You know... nheeeeeee)

So, with a lot of fear in my heart I ladder stitched those bastards together and mocked up a decent enough pattern for the back of the hair. And just like that.... she is done.

Canto 5- The Plushie Defining

So... what did I learn?

Use pins. Stitch things temporarily with an obvious visible line that you can cut out after and test things before committing to a permanent stitch. If you are a beginner, like me, and are afraid to sew pieces together because you don't want to ruin your embroidered parts that you spent SO LONG working on, do this before.

Fuck felt.

Don't use a bright red pen.

Mess up. Make your plushie. Make it ugly. If you hate making bodies like me, buy one made and practice the head. Despite everything, I love my asymmetrical girl a lot. Like... I made this little bastard. She is MINE and I made her. This never stops being magical. It's a nice feeling.

And I did it without specific materials.

Some cheap threads, a body you can probably make too, some felt I found at the discount bin and random needles. That was all. No tearaway stabilizer, no sewing machine, no printer, no embroidery machine. The minky fabric is the only thing that was more of an investment. The rest is pretty accessible.

Do you know that post that says "Everything worth doing is worth doing poorly." Yeah, that applies to artistic projects. Go for it! Just... don't start with something hard like a human... Christ sake that was a nightmare.

I'm probably still gonna get a better plushie of her in the future, but for now, this is my baby.

Goodnight Tri-state area.

#not a doodle #long post

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