#not being able to regulate your body temperature | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

reiding-writing · 4 months

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I feel bad for sending one request after another but like okay hear me out, Spencer is cold and it's very obvious that his skinny ass purple scarf doesnt do much, so reader lends him theirs and he gets really flustered because it smells like them 😭

scented scarves [ s.r ]

Summary:

Vegas was a pretty warm city even in the winter, a stark contrast to Quantico’s freezing temperature. Needless to say, Spencer wasn’t fairing very well in the cold, and your offer of your scarf leaves him flustered and mildly overwhelmed.

WARNINGS: n/a

pairing: spencer reid × gn!reader

genre: fluff

wc: 1.2k

masterlist!!

a/n: this one’s pretty short but i hope it suffices nonetheless!

thank you for the request, you’re welcome to send as many as you want <33

It was -2 degrees celsius. 28 degrees fahrenheit.

In other words, absolutely fucking freezing.

The joys of living in Virginia.

It was blatantly obvious which of your team members were acclimated to the colder climates, or more accurately, who wasn’t.

Anyone who walked into your office, profiler or otherwise, would be able to tell.

Garcia was wrapped up in a chunky knitted sweater, a pair of thick tights under her skirt as she padded across the bullpen back to her tech dungeon with a cup of hot chocolate in her hands.

Prentiss was wearing a shirt and a sweater, her hands held out in front of a mini heater on the top of her desk in a desperate attempt to warm up her extremities so the rest of her body would follow suit.

And Spencer…

Spencer was sat cross legged in his chair with two pairs of socks on, a knitted vest over his shirt and a cardigan over his vest, his signature purple scarf wrapped around his neck and covering his chin as his hands gripped his coffee mug like it was the only thing keeping him from turning into a human icicle.

Poor Spencer Reid. Vegas really didn’t serve him well when it came to Quantico winters.

If his trembles weren’t so adorably funny you’re sure you’d feel bad for the boy, but instead you’re muffling a laugh as you walk across the bullpen to sit at your desk beside him, disposing of your bag under the table and unfurling your chunky knitted scarf from your neck to drape over the back of your chair.

One of the pros of being born and bred in Virginia is that you didn’t have to worry about freezing from the inside out.

Spencer’s eyes follow you as you take your seat, and you swear you can see him shudder when you remove your scarf, as if you removing a layer of warmth made him colder.

“You good over there?” You can’t help the amusement painting your face as Spencer stares at you like you’ve got a second head.

“How are you not freezing?” Spencer’s tone carries genuine bewilderment as his eyes scan what you’re wearing, a pair of black slacks and a white shirt, alongside a semi formal blazer that you also shed to lie over your chair.

“It’s climate acclimation Spence, you of all people should know that,”

His expression doesn’t change at your answer, continuing to blankly stare at you like some foreign species that had just invaded the earth. “I know that- logically… But still i’m literally shaking from how cold it is,”

“That’s what happens when you’re a Vegas baby who moves to Virginia,” You shrug your shoulders nonchalantly as Spencer huffs, taking another sip of his hot coffee in attempt to regulate his body temperature back to something warmer, tucking the narrow purple strips of thin-knitted fabric under his chin to expose his mouth to the mug.

“That scarf isn’t going to do you very much you know, it’s basically a glorified fashion piece,” You weren’t trying to knock on Spencer’s scarf by any means, it’d become a staple of his office wear, one that you definitely weren’t complaining about, but in weather like this it wasn’t really doing him any favours.

“I know…” Spencer sighs at his own intolerance to cold weather.

You’d think having worked in Quantico for half a decade would have stopped him from turning into a human icicle the minute the temperature dropped into the negatives, but no, of course it didn’t. Of course he continued to feel like he was sat in a bathtub full of ice despite having four layers on. Of course he did.

You push your chair back from your desk, the noise of it’s friction against the cheap carpeting of the floor drawing Spencer’s eyes to you once more, and to you bring yourself to your feet and pull your scarf from under your blazer with a small amount of struggle before walking over to him, the scarf stretched out between your two hands.

Spencer doesn’t have the time to question what you’re doing before your scarf is wrapped around his neck, immediately engulfing him in a cocoon of extra heat that his own scarf failed to provide.

He didn’t have time to thank you either, as you departed with a ruffle of your hand in his hair towards the kitchenette to fix yourself a coffee.

At first he’s confused.

Then he’s warm.

And then the lingering scent embedded in the yarn hits his nose and he flushes a bright pink, thankfully hidden under the knit.

Of course it would smell like you. It was your scarf. Your cells would cling to the yarn as you wore it and leave a permanent trace of you behind.

But it smelled like you. And any lingering molecules of coffee in his sensory neurons were immediately overridden with your scent instead.

Any conscious sense of being cold had left his body. His trembling had seemingly stopped, his brain too focused on your scent invading his nose and making him feel fuzzy inside.

You returned with your cup of coffee soon after, Spencer still coming to terms with his reality as you take your seat again. “You look much warmer now,”

You half insinuate the flush on his cheeks, although he’s unsure if you recognise the origin behind it or if you genuinely just believe that your scarf has helped insulate his neck and warm up his face. Which it had, but not as much as your scent had done.

Spencer’s normally sharp mind stumbled over words, and he couldn't help but fidget with the ends of the scarf as he tried to formulate a response.

"Yeah… thanks," he mumbled, avoiding eye contact, his cheeks tinged with a subtle blush.

His reaction brought a soft smile to your face, alongside a small chuckle at his seeming inability to form a full sentence. "You're welcome Spencer, but it's just a scarf,”

But for Spencer, it was more than that, it was a tangible connection to you. The combination of your proximity and the familiar fragrance leaving him pleasantly flustered and mildly overstimulated.

As the day unfolded, the team couldn't help but notice the change in Spencer's demeanour. Teasing remarks were exchanged, and Spencer, although still focused on his files, couldn't escape the playful banter.

At the end of the day, you approached him, a twinkle in your eye. "I think you should keep the scarf," you suggested, "You need it more than I do."

Spencer's shy smile revealed his appreciation, and he nodded, holding onto the scarf as a cherished memento of a day that had unravelled his usual composure.

#criminal minds #spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #mgg #criminal minds x reader #spencer reid fluff #criminal minds fluff #asks 🫶

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becca-e-barnes · 1 year

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"Here comes trouble."

Getting back to the 'Shit He Said' series because I've been missing it and you've said some truly wonderful shit recently.

This one is pure fantasy. I'm fully just indulging myself and I'm okay with that. I've thought about this way too much.

Pairing: CEO!Bucky x Female Reader

Word Count: 1.8K

Warnings: Semi-public, vaginal fingering, dom Bucky, sub reader, power imbalance, degradation, choking, penetration, creampie, this is bound to be so unhygienic irl but I can enjoy the thought leave me alone 😩

Summary: You manage to find some time for a quickie with the CEO

For some extra vibes: “Out Of My Mind” by The Killers

Minors, do not interact

Heat meets you the second the door opens but you only feel the true intensity of it when you’ve stepped inside and closed the door behind you.

Everything is hot. Stiflingly, oppressively hot. Even the glass panel of the door is warm under your touch. Between the humidity and the ambient lighting, your eyes struggle to focus. Taking a seat inside seems like a good idea. Sit down before you fall down.

It’s impossible to get a deep, satisfying breath. The air feels so heavy, water droplets forming on your bare skin, clinging to your eyelashes and dripping from the ceiling onto your hair. As the seconds pass, you feel your body begin to adjust. Your breathing starts to regulate, albeit faster than usual. You succumb to the weight in the air, taking a seat on the wet bench to the left of the door. You close your eyes for a few moments in an attempt to shield them from the heat, breathing in the fresh scent of eucalyptus essential oil.

“Here comes trouble.” Fuck. You hoped this might happen but you hadn’t fully let yourself believe it was actually a possibility. Your eyelids flutter open again, looking in the direction of the voice but you don’t need to see the silhouette of the person sitting at the back of the room to know who had spoken.

“Hello, you.” He speaks again, low and soft and this time you’re more focused on ensuring you’re alone. A quick scan of the room and it’s empty, save the two of you.

“I didn’t think you’d be down here!” You feign innocence. It’s a lie. You knew he would.

He’s always been wonderfully talented at seeing right through you.

“I mentioned earlier that I might go try out the steam room.” He’s right; he did. These work trips get awfully long sometimes and it’s hard to keep your head in it without giving yourself a break. In fact, you’re surprised more of your colleagues aren’t down here taking some time to themselves.

“Might. I had no way of knowing you actually would.” You’re not wrong. Nor is he. It’s an elaborate dance around the fact that you’re both now exactly where you want to be.

God, he’s gorgeous. His usually soft, fluffy hair has drooped under the weight of the steam, curling a little. Droplets of water roll slowly down his bare chest, meeting at the waistband of his swimwear but the condensation gathering on his body makes his skin look slick and kissable. Your thoughts wander, daydreaming about how you’d love nothing more than to trail your tongue down his chest in the wake of those droplets until you’re able to sink to your knees in front of him and find a better use for your mouth.

“Stop thinking. Get over here.” He perhaps doesn’t mean to sound as sharp as he does but with time being of the essence, he’s not wrong to be demanding. Anyone could walk in any time now so you might as well use the time you have wisely.

You’re so eager it’s difficult to slow yourself down. Within seconds, you’ve moved to the bench at the back, beside Bucky and his lips are on yours before you even realise it. They’re soft and plump, his mouth tasting faintly of the coffee you saw him drinking earlier. His tongue rolls gently against your own and you feel yourself moan against his lips more than you hear it.

Your heart is speeding up, thumping in your chest and with your elevated body temperature, it feels like it’s pounding against your ribs.

Once you start touching him, it’s impossible to stop. His chest is wet against yours, your bodies pressed together and your hands wandering with an urgency that would have you thinking you’ve never touched him before. You’re desperate and the humidity does nothing to help you both think coherently. You aren’t thinking about what might happen if someone walks in. You aren’t thinking about the fact that if they did, they’d catch you and the CEO all over each other. You certainly aren’t thinking of any of the consequences that would follow.

“Fuck, you’re desperate.” He rumbles out a low groan against your lips, his fingers pulling the bottoms of your bikini to one side to let his fingertips graze your soft folds. You’re soaking wet but it’s very distinctly nothing to do with the fact you’re currently in a steam room. The slickness of your arousal is unmistakable, not to mention the all too evident desperation in the way you roll your hips into his touch, silently begging for more. “You could take me right now.” His fingers tease your entrance, testing the resistance from your body and it’s delightful to feel him slipping into you so smoothly.

“You’re filthy, you know that? Getting fucked in a steam room knowing anyone could walk in and see you. Anyone could see what a slut you are for me.” His ‘for me’ hits you hard because this is only for him. You wouldn’t do this with anyone else. You wouldn’t ask anyone else to do the depraved things you ask him to do. All of the darkest, filthiest thoughts you have are about the man who’s now got you seated in his lap, your back to his chest with your swimwear tugged to the side so he can tease your cunt with his throbbing length, rather than his fingers.

“Beg me for it.” Confidence drips from his tone and he’s got every right to be this confident. You’ve never wanted sex as often as you have since you met him. Your sex drive goes through the roof when he’s around, a testament to how comfortable and confident he makes you feel. He makes you feel desired and God, you want to be desired.

The head of his dick strokes the softest part of your body, teasing from your entrance to your clit and back again. You have no doubt he’s smearing his precum over your cunt, claiming you. The thought alone makes your walls flutter.

“Please fuck me. Hurry up, Bucky, please.” You sound pathetic and it only makes you wetter. Only he gets you like this. There’s not a hope in hell you’d beg anyone else for anything at all. Anything you need, you can do for yourself. Except this. He’s let you feel safe and able to live out your wildest fantasies and that’s not something you’d experience with just anyone.

You feel him hum, kissing your shoulders, lowering you down onto his tip and stopping after the head has just slipped inside you.

The first glide into your body always leaves you breathless but this isn’t it. He isn’t fully inside you yet and he’s stopped already. “Just the tip, sweetheart. That’s all you’re getting. Unless you act like the little slut I know you want to be.” He kisses down your neck, as far down your spine as the angle allows him to reach before licking back up and the shiver it sends through your body feels like a cold electric current.

“You’re delicious. Go on, be a good whore for me. Take what you need.” You don’t need to be told twice, lowering yourself to take the rest of his length. He glides into you beautifully, sliding into the wet, inviting heat between your legs.

“Oh God, that’s it. Stupid girl. Acting like you’re just a hole for me to fuck. Maybe you are?” He knows that will get to you. You’re more than that.

Your head shakes, your hips rolling mindlessly, your body enjoying his presence inside you of it’s own accord. “I- I’m not just a hole.” You argue, trying to stifle your own moan at the feeling of him rubbing against the soft little sweet spot inside you.

“You’re not. I know you’re not. But for now, sweetheart, that’s all I want you to be. You’re just a pretty little hole and I’m going to make you cum like it’s all you’re good for.” You didn’t expect the punch to your chest that his kindness delivers but it’s appreciated all the same.

His hand cradles your throat, applying just a nice amount of pleasure. The humidity was already dizzying but Bucky’s grip on your neck adds another dimension.

“God, the way you gripped me when I put my hand on your neck. Pretty little pussy just doesn’t want me to pull out.” He’s rutting into you, groaning against your shoulder but he still can’t drown out the obscene sounds of wet skin on wet skin.

“Feels perfect.” You feel your eyes rolling back in your head, barely able to string more words together than that.

“No sweetheart, you feel perfect. Fuckin’ made for me. Pretty little stupid fuck toy.” His free hand squeezes and massages your breasts in turn, giving each of them the attention they deserve while he fucks himself into you. “You’re dripping. Fuck, you were made for this.”

You grip the wrist of the hand that’s massaging your breasts, trailing it down your body to settle between your legs. “Can’t even tell me what you want, can you? Can’t manage the words anymore. Did my cock make you that stupid already?”

You nod and it only makes him chuckle, rubbing your clit almost entirely out of sympathy.

Deep breaths don’t help. The steam feels like it’s catching in the back of your throat with every breath but it only heightens the pleasure.

“I want you to cum. Now. I want to fuck you full while your cunt is trying to milk every drop from me. You got that?”

“Faster.” You plead, right on the edge of slipping into an unbearably intense orgasm. Bucky obliges, rubbing your clit faster, tightening his grip on your neck just a little and it sends you spiralling, your walls clamping around him so tight, it coaxes him to spill his release into your body.

You hardly notice his climax until the crest of your own subsides. “Such a perfect cunt. Fuck, I can’t stop.” His forehead rests on your damp shoulder, panting and groaning as he fills your body with ropes of cum. It’s messy and rushed but it’s an overwhelming ecstasy and you wouldn’t have it any other way.

When he’s entirely spent, he lets his hand fall from your throat but that does nothing to help you take a deep breath. Water drips rhythmically from the ceiling onto the bench beside you both while your bodies separate and you allow yourselves a few seconds to enjoy being together.

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katelynnwrites · 2 months

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Laura's Honigbiene | Laura Freigang x Baby!Reader

warnings: preemie baby and medical stuff

word count: 546

summary: laura calls you her honeybee

a/n: very much of a short one but we will see where this goes i guess, part of Laura's Honigbiene

You’re born so absolutely tiny that Laura can’t hold you.

She has to watch you lie in an incubator instead. The neonatal intensive care nurse puts a special eye mask on you, to protect your eyes and your Mama can’t stop looking at you.

The doctors tell her that the lights in the incubator will treat your jaundice and the incubator itself will help keep you warm.

They also tell her that it will be weeks before she can take you home because of how early you were born.

Premature is the term the doctors had used because you weren’t supposed to have been born for another two months.

Your Mama sits by your enclosed plastic bassinet and just listens to the beeping of the monitor measuring your vitals.

To Laura, the soft hum of the machines working kind of sounds like the buzzing of a bee. She takes comfort in it, knowing that it means you are going to be okay.

‘My Honigbiene.’ She murmurs fondly, associating the sound and insect with you after that.

She watches you grow in the incubator, watches you squirm around and begin to become more alert.

The overwhelming relief she’d had when your doctors told her that you were now big enough for her to hold you, your Mama doesn’t think she’s ever felt relief like that.

She cries when they put you on her chest, you’re still so small and you kind of wiggle around under her shirt until she puts her hand on your back.

Then you still and blink up at her slowly.

Laura simply cannot tear her gaze away from you, soaking in the feeling of finally being able to hold you. She can feel your breathing against her bare skin as precious little puffs of air.

There are still chest leads, your feeding tube and a pulse ox attached to you but your Mama doesn’t care. She’s holding you close and that’s all that matters.

‘I love you.’ She repeats, over and over again.

Kangaroo care seems to be your thing because you regularly fall asleep on your Mama. Something about the direct skin to skin contact soothes you and Laura falls in love with the way your tiny body feels on her chest.

Her body warmth helps to regulate your body temperature and she makes sure to spend as much time holding you as she can.

******

You are allowed to go home when the doctors are sure that you can bottle feed and breathe reliably on your own. Your body temperature has stabilised and you have gained weight in the time you’ve spent in the hospital’s intensive care nursery.

Bringing you home is a special moment for your Mama. She cradles you gently as she walks you through the front door.

‘Welcome home Honigbiene.’ She softly says.

Your Mama gives you a tour of your home, monologuing to you about anything and everything as she goes.

When she reaches your nursery, she gives you a little kiss on your forehead.

‘And this is your room. I think I’ll need to add some honeybee decorations to make it truly yours. What do you think?’

You make a little grunt, one of your many newborn noises and Laura smiles.

‘I’ll take that as a yes.’

German Translation:

Honigbiene - Honeybee

#laura freigang #laura freigang x reader #laura freigang imagine #woso x reader #woso #woso imagine #gerwnt imagine #gerwnt x reader #dfb frauen imagine #dfb frauen x reader #gerwnt #dfb frauen #eintracht frankfurt frauen #katelynnwrites

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talkethtothehandeth · 1 year

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You deserve to be comfortable in hot temperatures. In fact, it’s very dangerous if you wear clothes that prevent you from cooling off because it stops your body from being able to regulate/cool your core temperature as you’re not allowing sweat to escape properly. Not only can it worsen symptoms of already being outside in higher temperatures— such as nausea or dizziness, but it can also increase your risk of heatstroke.

If you have body hair, you deserve to be comfortable in hot weather.

If you have stretch marks, you deserve to be comfortable in hot weather.

If you have self harm scars, you deserve to be comfortable in hot weather.

If you’re fat, you deserve to be comfortable in hot weather.

If you have any other scars that you might hold shame or embarrassment over, you deserve to be comfortable in hot weather.

If you’re disabled and it affects the way your body looks, or you have additions to your person like an ostomy bag, an insulin pump/cgm, or any other extension of you, you deserve to be comfortable in hot weather.

No matter the person, what you look like, how you feel about your body (whether you hate it or love it or somewhere in between), you deserve to be comfortable.

I absolutely understand hiding under a hoodie, I used to do it too. However, when you cover your body with layers, or a hoodie or long pants whatever, you block out its own ability to help you survive. When you sweat, it cools your body down and also releases sodium and other electrolytes from your body. The harder your body works, the more you will sweat. And the more you sweat, the more fluids your body loses. Which is why you see all of those Gatorade ads for athletes. Also, your body begins to work harder when the weather becomes warmer because it’s already triggering that natural response. And if you’re not drinking at least water, you will make it worse and it can become life threatening if you’re not careful.

You do not have to be in the sunshine to get heatstroke. It can happen to anyone, anywhere— including indoors. (And that’s why you see the “don’t leave your kids or pets in the car” warnings and advisories.) Keeping yourself cool can mean life or death. You won’t ever win against the sun.

You deserve to be comfortable this summer and every summer after that. Please, take care.

#please please take care of yourself #especially when this summer hits!#long post #chronic pain #chronic illness #cripple punk #disabled #body posititivity #lgbt #summer #postural orthostatic tachycardia syndrome #scoliosis #arthritis #ehlers danlos syndrome #gi issues

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max-nico · 6 months

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"Well, what do you like, Shadow?" Sonic asks, staring up at the cloud covered night sky.

Shadow finds himself pausing, his eyebrow furrowing in contempt. "I liked Maria."

"Duh, I'd be concerned if you didn't, Shadow. I meant what do you like now?" Sonic huffs through an exasperated grin. "Like–If you could only bring three things with you on a deserted island, what would you pick… or do you like dancing or are you more of a cooking type-a guy? What would your perfect day be like? If you had to choose between a cottage or a penthouse, which one would you buy? Do you prefer warm temperatures or cold?"

"As the ultimate lifeform my body temperature is always perfectly regulated, I have no need to think about that."

"It's not about what you need Shadow–" Sonic sighs, flippantly gesturing his hands. "–It's about what you like, about what makes you happy."

"What makes me…happy?"

"Yup."

Shadow thinks for a moment, his head now turned toward Sonic, who's still not looking at him. Though in all fairness, Shadow himself is more looking toward Sonic's direction than at the hedgehog himself. He's lost in thought, focused on finding something he genuinely likes on this godforsaken planet.

Shadow opens his mouth to answer.

"And don't say something that Maria liked, I'm asking about you."

Shadow closes his mouth. Back at square one he supposes.

It's hard to think of something he genuinely enjoys. He's spent so long preserving life for Maria, growing plants for Maria, saving people for Maria, eating for Maria, living for Maria. What begins with him and what stops with her is a giant mess. It's a tangled ball of raw emotions that he can't even begin to decipher, let alone understand.

"C'mon dude, I know you have some good memories in there." Sonic finally turns to Shadow, his whole face lit up in some amalgamation of amused and disbelieving. "Better than having no memories at all, am I right?"

To that, Shadow's introspection halts. His face flattens at the joke as he doesn't find it funny, and he remembers the absolute dolt he's talking to. God, this whole conversation is stupid, isn't it? He has to wonder why he's talking about literally anything with the hedgehog next to him, he's a moron on top of all other morons.

Sonic has enough emotional competence to at least be apologetic as Shadow gets up to leave. A hand coming up to stop him before he can get very far, and a repentant look to accompany it as well. Shadow simply deadpans in response.

"Too sensitive? My bad." Sonic looks down at the grass. "I've been trying to get better with… that."

Shadow tries to pull away, his counterpart doesn't let him.

"I won't make another joke like that, promise. Come sit back down."

For a reason unknown to Shadow himself, he complies. He takes the same place he was sitting before, Sonic is a little closer now, but it doesn't really bother him. The grip on his arm doesn't either. At least not enough to make him do something about it.

"Now, you still haven't answered my question."

"Have you considered the possibility that your question is stupid?"

"Humor me. Just a little bit longer."

Shadow sighs, rolling his eyes and looking back up at the sky. It's easy to fall back into his reappraisal and forget about the blue hedgehog all together. It's easy to focus solely on Maria too, but it's hard to think of himself. Not being able to answer Sonic's question makes him feel dumb in a way he's never experienced before, shame is probably a better word for whatever he's feeling, but it's even harder to admit that then think about himself.

He repeats the question to himself a few times, as if that will magically give him an answer. Repetition makes him irritated, God he's so irritated right now. Stupid ass hedgehog asking him stupid ass questions.

"I'm tired of thinking about this. Let me leave."

"Aw c'mon, Shads." Sonic frowns. It's an odd look on his face. It makes Shadow uncomfortable. "Look, I'll try and help. You like Rouge and Omega don't you? I've seen you walk out of Tails' garage before–which was a little surreal for me by the way–but I assume you enjoy hanging out with him, right?"

This makes Shadow think. Sure, he's okay with Rouge, grateful to her at least. He's been staying with her for the past few weeks, and though she lives on takeout, talks enough to make him deaf–don't even get him started on her attitude, and hoards like she's never had anything of her own before, he's truly indebted to her. He would never say this out loud of course, she would hold it above him and never ever let it go. Rouge is annoying enough without him giving her leverage.

She's oddly kind though, in her own special way. She doesn't touch his stuff unless asked to, makes sure to order enough take out for him to eat too, she's even allowed him to put up the few portraits of Maria he has. Rouge constantly gives out mixed signals because of this unfortunately, so it's hard for Shadow to get a read on her.

All of this being said, he wouldn't call Rouge a friend, but he wouldn't call her a foe either. Rouge is also way past the acquaintance stage, but not nearly close enough to be called family. Their whole relationship is completely out of Shadow's depth.

Omega's is easier to classify. Not with one word, nothing that simple, but it makes sense in his head. Simply put, he and Omega bond over their mutual love for blowing shit up. If they talk, they're discussing bombs and war tactics. If they're hanging out, they're testing explosives. Sending messages? You guessed it, they're talking about how funny it would be to bomb GUN.

They're like… bomb buddies or something. He thinks that's how Tails referred to them. Omega would think it's stupid a name though, which is fine, because Shadow also thinks it's stupid a name. They work well like that.

They're still not friends though.

Now, as for Tails, that's another complicated case. They both enjoy engineering and talk shit about Sonic when he's not around. They both enjoy learning, and find space fascinating. They both enjoy mutual silence as well, making talking to him easy with no pressure to keep the conversation going.

He still doesn't think Tails qualifies as an answer though, because the whole reason he even began to give the kid the time of day was because of Maria. Young, hopeful, naive, bright blue eyes, golden hair. He was like a bucket of water while being surrounded by wildfire. He still is, because Tails reminds him so much of Maria that it hurts sometimes, but the nostalgia feels like a reprieve from all the newness so the pain is welcomed. The pain is greeted, given a tour, and then shown its bedroom in his mind.

So sure, he'll give Sonic this one, the fox is his friend, he genuinely likes the fox, the kid is easy to talk to and incredibly sweet, sue him. He neglects to say this out loud anyway, both because it's not a valid answer, and telling Sonic he found companionship in his kid brother makes him want to keel over. He'd never hear the end of it, and the hedgehog already talks enough to power the sun.

"I think I like when it rains." He says instead, just barely catching a distant flash of lightning behind Sonic's head.

"That's a good thing to like, Shadow." Sonic accepts Shadow's answer easily, shrugging his shoulders. "I like the rain too."

"You hate the rain."

Sonic smiles, letting go of his arm. "Yeah, I just didn't want you to feel bad."

Annnddd that's it. This is pre-sonadow technically, but I wrote it with platonic intentions lol. This is pre all Shadow relationships.

I am incapable of not giving Shadow and Tails a wholesome relationship sorry not sorry.

Anyway, this fic is titled I Think I Like When It Rains on AO3. I posted it there a while ago so I decided to put it on Tumblr bc why not.

Please feel free to hit up my DMs or askbox, though if you're requesting I prefer my askbox lol. I am a multishipper if ships are your jam, but I mostly post Sonic and Tails being brothers (NOT A SONTAILS SHIPPER PLEASE DON'T TALK TO ME ABOUT THAT LOL)

#sth #sonic the hedgehog #miles tails prower #shadow the hedgehog #team dark #sonadow #shadow x sonic #sonic x shadow #sonic fanfiction #pre relationship #i have the mic #can you tell i am incapable of retaining Shadow lore? im so sorry im doing my best #shadow and sonic #shadow #sonic #for info on the fic before you read it scroll to the bottom 👍🏾#first post about shipping and its about gay hedgehogs... whoops

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seakicker · 2 years

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brainrot about naga reader its v incoherent...

wwhat do u think of a pretty little naga reader... soft and small and nesting in her soft bed of stolen blankets when in heat.... then wake up to see big naga hunter childe standing in front of her, groping and petting her tail and tummy, trying to take her home to take care of her because he knows its mating season but getting sad when he remembers he cant give her eggs... but if he remembers correctly,, he has a friend whos a dragon hybrid...

ANON (GRABS YOU) (YANKS YOU IN CLOSE) (KISSES YOU) i have NOT been able to stop thinking about this ask since i got it holy shit. monstergirl reader is always a major bonus!

fem reader, reader is a snakegirl/lamia/naga (however you’d like to call her), zhongli has two cocks, exhibitionism (childe watches it all happen and eventually joins in), threesome, breeding, oviposition, heat/rut, and pregnancy below! also some references to some dark undercurrents like poaching, the illegal pet trade, and murder. i might have made this story a little darker than you intended, so i did my best to keep it to a minimum! but will happily elaborate on childe and zhongli here if asked

also crossposted to ao3 after some cleanup and editing to make it more consistent with the style of my ao3 works, as i tend to be a little more casual here (ie using first person and no capitalization)

i’m thinking about a reader whose heat maybe came earlier than expected or just otherwise failed to get a mate before mating season began, and now she’s left to suffer all alone and unbearably horny in her den in a hollow cave… the only comfort you’re provided comes from the blankets and pillows piled below you, but it does absolutely nothing to calm the hot spell raging through your body. lamias don’t sweat either since they’re cold-blooded and don’t self-regulate their body temperature, so you have no way of calming yourself down whatsoever— just a poor, whiny little lamia reader bemoaning the fact that she doesn’t have a mate to give her the comfort she so desperately needs… the only thing that would calm you down now is a lover breeding you full of his eggs as any good little mate should be receptive to receiving.

you’re so desperate you’re crying and whimpering as you try as hard as you can to take the edge off your heat by masturbating, but it’s pointless— it’s not pleasure you need, it’s breeding. lamias aren’t like humans in the sense that having sex purely for pleasure rather than procreating is a common concept— while there are surely lamia and naga couples who have sex for pleasure, especially ones who are already mates for life, that doesn’t mean it takes priority over true breeding the way it might for human couples, so to speak. your lamia instincts demand that you attempt to breed every single mating season, and the fact that you don’t have a mate this time seems to be hitting you especially hard. you've been at it for hours, hurriedly rubbing at the outer lips of your cunt and spreading them open for your other hand rather than to entice a partner into breeding you silly, and yet it's all proving to be a downright fruitless endeavor in your quest to satiate your heat.

you don’t realize that you’ve fallen asleep in the midst of your exhaustion— being kept up for a consecutive thirty hours or so by your raging heat will lead to such an outcome— until the soft, loving touch of a foreign hand rubbing against your long, scaled tail wakes you. were it literally any other time of the year except for mating season, you’d already be twisting yourself into a defensive position, ready to pounce on the foreign intruder for encroaching upon your den, but that’s the last thing on your mind right now.

what you’d really like from this visitor rather than his immediate departure are his eggs in your belly, but you can barely muster up the energy to even ask. all you can manage is a tilt of your head as you gaze up at your visitor, your bare chest falling with each shaky, heavy breath you draw. modesty is irrelevant to you, as horny and needy as you are now; if anything, you hope it arouses him into giving you exactly what you need.

“hey, it’s alright,” a cheery, masculine voice whispers, soothing you with soft movements that don’t trigger any of your danger alarms. “i won’t hurt you— i’m not so evil as to kill someone this helpless. the fight is what makes a hunt fun, y’know?”

ah. a naga— or perhaps just a general exotic beast— hunter. exactly what a lamia at her most vulnerable needs; not only that, but he's a human, meaning he won’t be able to meet your needs. though there have been many, many stories of humans being impregnated by monsters, the inverse is a rarity considering the relative weakness of humans as breeders... as far as beastfolk are concerned, humans make better incubators or hosts than breeders. additionally, in creatures that don't have live births such as lamias and mermaids, impregnation from a human lover is generally outright impossible.

despite his outright proclamation that he’s generally someone who kills your kind, you still can’t quite find it in you to feel afraid or territorial— were you in a more clear state of mind, you’d probably feel somewhat embarrassed by the fact that the only thing running through your mind is breed me breed me breed me breed me breed me as your new visitor continues to talk. you know that he can't breed you, but it doesn't matter— your mind is too far gone to be rational.

“besides, mating season brings its own kind of fun for hunters,” he adds with a grin, licking his lips and tracing his hand up the softer scales of the frontside of your tail to make his way to your more human bits. he rubs a palm over your belly, pressing against the space where your woefully empty womb rests. “if only i could solve your problem for good, right? i know someone who could help you, though, if you wanna come with me.”

agreeing to let a stranger—and a hunter at that— take you from the safety of your den and into the uncertainty of his home is something only a dumb, desperate, pliant, needy, and hormone-drunk lamia in heat would do… which is exactly why you’re agreeing to this stranger’s offer because the promise of getting bred stuck in your mind far more intensely than any hint of danger might have.

he’s exceptionally gentle with you despite the aura of danger a hunter innately carries with him— he doesn’t sling you over his shoulder like a sack of flour as he carries you into his home, instead he wraps one of your blankets around your shoulders (for modesty’s sake, one would assume, though you heatedly wonder if it’s his way of comforting you with a familiar object as he brings you into an unfamiliar environment) and gently carries you all the way to his home. aren’t you and your yards and yards of tail heavy?

then you figure he’s used to this. he’s used to hauling lamias away from their dens to either fuck them or kill them or fuck them then kill them, because that’s what hunters do… but that’s none of your concern right now. all you can focus on is the excitement of being able to be filled with eggs, assuming this stranger’s offer was a promise rather than a trap.

it's difficult to dwell on possibilities or any apparent danger when the only thing your mind can seem to focus on is your biological instinct to be a mother.

“you’re beautiful,” he purrs, eyeing your emerald scales with the same greed and scrutiny as a jeweler admiring his stones. “xiangsheng’s going to love you. such a lovely little lamia… you’d fetch me a pretty penny if i were in the market of selling exotic pets; you’re surely lovely enough to be one! i’m sure he’ll be excited to be with someone more similar to him than a human is.”

a naga male?

“please, i…” you gasp, clawing at your blanket to uncover your breasts, the sensation of even a shred of fabric on your body proving to be claustrophobic. “i need it, i need him, i…”

“so desperate,” he hums, gently lying you down against his bed once he’s managed to get you up the stairs. “oh, you’re just my type. really, it’s almost cruel that celestia didn’t make me a naga so i could breed you myself… i’ll be sure to have plenty of fun with you once xiangsheng’s done giving you what you need.”

the man offers you a wink and turns to leave the room as you settle back into his bed, clutching his pillows with your clawed fingers as you pant and writhe against the covers. even just the smell of a human male is driving you downright mad— he smells of the forests you're familiar with: earthy, rich, and strong. archons, if you don’t get bred right this very second…

“childe, you know i have no interest in your… hobbies,” another voice admonishes from just past the doorway, finally assigning a name to the man who rescued (or perhaps doomed) you. “i was unaware that this is what you were planning when you first invited me over.”

“but xiangsheng,” childe protests playfully, bringing the other man back into the room to greet you. “you couldn’t let a poor little lamia go so lonely, could you? lamias and dragons are friends, right?”

not a naga male, but a dragon male? though lamias and dragons—both being reptilian beasts—certainly have their similarities, there's no doubt in any lamia's mind that dragons are much stronger, wiser, and more well-respected than other reptilian beastfolk. dragons are touted as the destroyers of villages and entire armies, bringers of ruin and destruction, keepers of knowledge and treasures, and guardians of nations and nature, and the most representation lamias get in fantasy tales comes in the form of seductive temptresses preying on innocent, unassuming travelers. to receive the honor of carrying a dragon's clutch... the natural order of things spurs you to sit up a little straighter and whimper at the scent of his innate reptilian pheromones, gasping and pleading once more for what you need.

“please!” you cry, gripping at the pillows behind you. you don’t miss the way ‘xiangsheng’s’ pupils dilate in response to your body and your pheromones— he certainly seems to be a man more than capable of keeping his emotions in check, yet nothing is stronger than the forces of reptilian biology and instincts. he doesn’t appear to be in his own rut— does he already have a mate? does dragon mating season occur at a different time of year than other reptilian beasts’ mating seasons do? do you not arouse him past the scent of your pheromones?

"he brought me all this way here... so i could..." you manage between heavy pants, one of your hands wandering down to trace the outer lips of your cunt. it sits just above where your reptilian scales end and meet human skin at your hips, flushed and wet like a human's might be when aroused, yet yours is so discreet when unaroused that it’s practically unnoticeable; the bloodflow as a result of arousal is what makes it noticeable and enticing to mates.

the man known to you only as xiangsheng casts childe a suspicious and disapproving glance as if he knows something you don't— childe only raises his eyebrows and smirks in response.

“this wouldn’t be your first time with one of my sweet little prey, right? you don’t need to act all dignified,” childe laughs, patting him on the back and gazing over at you again. “look at her. she’s soaked. i’ve never caught a lamia more willing and desperate. help out one of your own kind, will you?”

“serpents and dragonfolk aren’t as similar as you seem to believe they are, childe.”

“you both have scales. you both have claws. any supposed difference past that is nothing more than humans having different eye colors,” childe dismisses him with an indifferent wave of his hand. “besides. you can give her what she needs; i can’t. she wants to be a mommy, xian— no, zhongli. help her out and i’ll make it worth your time, alright?”

childe pulls a coin out of his pocket and flicks it into the air with his thumb, an act that catches the other man’s attention momentarily. "and why, may i ask," zhongli asks, turning back to face you as you lie helpless and quivering against childe's bed. "are you so insistent upon aiding this woman if your hobbies typically involve... capture and execution?"

childe only grins at him again, humming a light tune as he moves to sit on the edge of his bed. he runs a hand up the sleek, shimmery scales of your tail, whistling in approval at the texture and luster of them. "because she's a beauty, that's why. and i like to help the needy, you know? such a sweet, desperate little thing can't be left to her own devices for the rest of mating season... that'd be cruelty!"

zhongli signs with resignation and joins the two of you on the bed, taking care to avoid sitting on your tail as he makes himself comfortable. he meets your hazy gaze again, his molten amber eyes burning with very apparent desire as he joins childe in sliding a hand up the smooth expanse of your tail.

"you are lovely," he nods in agreement, prompting a delighted hum from childe.

"i told you so," childe adds, grinning at you. "i told you he'd adore you. xiangsheng has a real eye for beauty, you know... he's accurately appraised more gemstones and jewelry than every last jeweler in liyue put together."

"their intentions lie with creating a profit, not appreciating the beauty of each gemstone for what it is," zhongli says matter-of-factly and almost somewhat proudly. "much like you, childe."

"right, me," childe feigns offense by placing a hand over his chest, "but let's save the insults for later, alright? i'm worried our sweet girl will just burst if you keep her waiting even a second longer for what she really needs. isn't that right, dear?"

you nod frantically, parting the puffy lips of your cunt with two of your fingers to helplessly show off how soaked you are. you've been soaked since the moment you first caught whiff of both childe's scent and, more effectively, zhongli's draconic pheromones.

"getting drenched just like a human girl," childe laughs, reaching over to tease at what he assumes is your clit— he's always surprised by just how similar lamia reproductive anatomy is to human reproductive anatomy on the outside; all the differences seem to be internal. his fingers rub and prod at your clit in ways that make you cry out and wiggle against the bed, the tip of your tail twitching rapidly as you try to steady your breathing. "what a doll. a prize catch, if you ask me."

zhongli removes his gloves and cufflinks and sets them aside, his jacket and belt joining soon after. childe seems to be following suit despite the fact that he won't be breeding you— he sheds his outer coat and belt, shamelessly groping at his growing bulge as zhongli takes to teasing your cunt instead.

"have you ever been with a dragon mate before?" he asks you simply, running his fingers down the slick inner lips of your cunt and collecting your wetness on his thumb. you shake your head, too worked up to attempt forming words, your tail gently wrapping around his thigh in a display of serpentine affection.

"then i'll be gentle," zhongli replies, kneeling over the apex of your tail where scale meets skin and freeing his cock— no, cocks— from the confines of his underwear. two cocks... naga males tend to have two as well, and the downright delicious sight of them makes you salivate. "dragons can be a little more... vicious than naga lovers are."

it's familiar, that much is for sure. his cocks stand tall, proud, and flared; the flares and ridges are more dramatic than naga males' are, and you're genuinely twitching with anticipation as he gently guides his cocks towards your sopping cunt.

"yeah, be gentle with her," childe warns. "don't want to hurt her when she'll fetch me a..." he trails off, clearing his throat and groping roughly at your exposed tits instead. "when she's being so good for us, i mean."

zhongli nods in response, and you're breathing so heavily an unexpecting onlooker may assume you to be hyperventilating as he eases both of his cocks into you at once. while the stretch is by no means comfortable or easy, it's at least something you've experienced before in past mating seasons with your naga lovers— though zhongli is far, far thicker than any of them ever were.

"feels good?" childe murmurs, leaning down to kiss your forehead as you whimper and clench around zhongli's cocks. "so cute, look at you... you wanted this so badly, huh? poor little thing, almost went an entire mating season without someone to help you feel good and give you what you want... what do you have to say to xiangsheng for being so nice to you?"

you lift your head off the pillow so you can get a better look at zhongli as he begins to hammer away at your cunt, his cocks effortlessly spreading you open and filling you up all at once. "thank you," you wheeze out amidst your moans, squirming helplessly when childe pinches both of your nipples.

zhongli's hands grip at your waist as he fucks you as quickly as he can, low grunts and groans leaving him on each thrust. he looks just like any mate should as he pounds you— assertive, commanding, domineering, and brutal. jaw clenched, eyebrows furrowed, and eyes lidded as he downright uses you, you've never been more satisfied in your entire life. your future naga lovers will never, ever be able to hold a candle to a dragon lover ever again.

"then show your gratitude by bearing my children," zhongli groans, losing himself to his own reptilian instincts as his mind becomes clouded with nothing but the idea of breeding a pliant, submissive, and wanting mate. childe grins down at you as he slips his cock past your pretty lips, stroking your cheek with his thumb as he begins to slap his hips against your mouth.

"and watch those teeth of yours," childe teases, lovingly pinching your cheek. "fuck, you're good... that tongue..."

you gasp around childe's cock as you feel the push of zhongli’s first egg into your body— you whine as you can feel one of his cocks expanding to accommodate the egg as it passes into your womb, settling nicely into you.

this is what you've been wanting all this time. this is what you've been needing and craving ever since your heat first began. this is what you were made for, what you're best for, what you're only good at— and knowing that you were able to catch the eye of a dragon only adds to your belief that this is truly what you were made for.

childe reaches a hand down to lovingly rest against your belly as zhongli continues to pump you full, your belly rounding out further and further with each egg that pushes into your womb. the sensation makes you moan out with ecstasy each and every time, your body finally, finally calming down now that you're finally, finally being bred nice and full.

"that's it," childe murmurs, spilling his load into your mouth, enjoying the way you cough and gag on his cock as you do your best to swallow as much of his seed as possible. "good, good girl. you're almost done; zhongli's just got a few more, right?"

you shyly reach down to cup your swollen belly as zhongli pushes his last egg into you, and he's stuffed you so full that you're somewhat amazed your body was able to make room for just one more. archons, it's heavy... though your exhaustion is partially at fault as well, your tummy feels so heavy and full like this that you couldn't even lift yourself up off the bed if you tried. you can only gaze proudly at your tummy as zhongli pulls himself out of you, leaving a slick trail of cum along the way that drips from your hole and down onto the sheets.

"you did so well," childe chirps, giving your belly a loving pat. "get some rest, okay? i'll wait to have a go at you until after you've gotten some well-deserved sleep."

you nod dumbly and oblige, allowing your heavy eyelids to fall as you drift off into a comfortable, happy slumber, body and mind satiated and heat effectively quelled by zhongli's efforts. what you feared would be your most barren mating season to date has become your most successful in only a matter of a couple of hours— getting two lovers in one day who are so, so very gentle with you?

you just can't wait for the next season... will childe and zhongli keep you until then?

you sure hope so.

"fifty-fifty works for you again, right?" childe asks zhongli, glancing over at your sleeping form as he redresses himself.

"you know better than to discuss business in front of the product," zhongli replies firmly, fixing his tie and cufflinks dutifully.

childe moves to gently pluck one of your scales from your tail, holding it up to the light of the bedside oil lamp to watch how the keratin reflects the light. "don't worry about that," childe smiles. "she's out like a light. a good girl... we should keep her around for another season before we get rid of her. i'd feel bad about losing a product this nice too quickly."

perhaps you'll get your wish to be with them for one more year granted.

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elliewlums · 2 years

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i’m sick and i’m just thinking about steddie taking care of their sick girl… (a lil something for u @mad-elia)

you’re restless in bed, writhing and wriggling in pain; you can’t get comfortable no matter what you do and you’re tangled in blankets, limbs askew, not being able to regulate your own body temperature. you violently interchange between being so hot you want to rip your skin off and so cold that you tuck your entire body under one of the boys, seeking warmth.

eddie and steve have been sharing concerned looks all night, sleep far away from the pair of them as they tend to you diligently.

when you whimper and throw the blankets off again, steve slides out of the bed and heads to the bathroom. you hear his footsteps grow faint as he retreats and sniffle.

“sorry,” you croak. your voice is cracked and sore. eddie’s cool hand comes up to cup your cheek and you nuzzle into the cold touch.

“shh, shh,” he soothes. “stevie’s coming right back.”

sure enough, steve slips back through the bedroom door, armed with a bowl of cold water and a flannel. he crouches by you, wrings it out and folds it neatly before placing it on your searing forehead. you whine.

“good girl,” he coos. “i’m here. i gotcha.” his voice is oh so soft and you close your eyes like a puppy as he smooths a hand over the creases in your worried face.

“‘m sorry, stevie.”

“whatever for, sweet thing?” he asks, feigning disbelief. “it’s not your fault you don’t feel well.”

“i’m just being the worst.” you sniffle again and eddie crowds you from the side, a gentle finger hooking around your flyaway baby hairs and stroking them down against the top of your head.

“far from it, sweetheart,” he reassures. “it’s no fun being sick.”

“sorry for keepin’ you up,” you murmur. steve trails the damp flannel across your cheeks and down your neck, bringing you more relief than you can fathom. your eyes droop at the sudden comfort. “‘s really nice.”

“yeah?” steve asks, grinning as his efforts pay off and you start to doze.

“mm.”

eddie chuckles as you shuffle over and tug at steve until he climbs back into bed next to you. both boys stay pliant as you manoeuvre into a comfortable position, an arm around eddie’s and the other clutching steve.

“good girl,” eddie laughs. you’re already dead to the world, out like a light and snoring softly.

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xerith-42 · 4 months

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18 or so Shadow Knight Headcanons

If you saw the earlier version of this post where I fucked up the tags no you didn't

Ever since falling back down the Minecraft Diaries rabbit hole like two seconds after I showed up on this site, I have come up with a lot of headcanons about this series, especially pertaining to Shadow Knights and Shadow Knight characters. And a lot of mine and others best ideas have been written in comments, reblogs, or in discord servers, or I just never wrote them down anywhere. So I want to make this post compiling all of them. Most of these headcanons are mine, but a few I would call collaborative processes and I will credit these people when they come up. I love this community. It feels really nice to say that.

General SK Headcanons

All Shadow Knights fluctuate between having cold or warm blood depending on if/how they've answered the calling. If they've yet to answer the calling, their blood is cold until the calling pulls on them and makes their blood warm in an attempt to draw them back to the Nether. If a Shadow Knight answers the call, they gain full regulation over their blood temperature because they're immortal. That doesn't really matter anymore. (original idea came from a convo with @laurencezvahlslefteyebrow )

Shadow Knights have less of a need for sleeping or eating, and if they're fully immortal they often forgo the concepts entirely. This leads to incomplete ones often forgetting to sleep for days on end, or neglecting their need to eat if they aren't reminded to.

Time moves slower in the Nether than it does in the Overworld, so a lot of Shadow Knights often struggle with their perception of time. Especially Laurance because he was already struggling with the time dilation AND THEN got flung fifteen years into the future. Man does not know what day it is or what year it is, and sometimes Vylad will tell you the date and it's like weeks off.

Garroth just has an innate ability to fuck with the heads of Shadow Knights. It's just what he does. At first it's largely through Laurance by showing him a patience and understanding, all while being able to assure his own safety. And when he starts caring for Vylad, it completely upends how they're used to looking at something they thought they had come to terms with.

The Doll Headcanons!! (original image from @adepressedgaydragon)

Vylad is used to dealing with any symptoms of being a Shadow Knight on his own. He's been on the run/in hiding for like 17 years or something, and was clearly neglected and used to being on his own from a young age. So they've become very used to handling the moments where his body just stops working. Where all they can do is lay limp against the wall, occasionally jerking and having random muscle spasms. Vylad learned to control them a little, make it so he can just get it all over with in a few hours instead of randomly.

He forgets to hide as well once he's around others. Vylad enters one of these episodes and when he gains control of his body again, Garroth is sitting at his side. When he hastily tries to apologize, Garroth says very carefully "It's okay. I know it isn't your fault."

One time, one single time before his betrayal, Garroth notices Zenix in a state of standing completely still, but his shoulders are limp, and he isn't moving at all, lifeless like a puppet with its strings cut. When Garroth questions him on it, Zenix insists nothing's wrong and tells him to mind his own business. It's only after Garroth sees Laurance like this for the first time and Laurance explains that it's a Shadow Knight thing that Garroth realizes. He realizes he could have noticed what was wrong with Zenix before he had a chance to hurt anyone.

Gene and Zenix get in a fight and when Zenix slams Gene's head against the wall, instead of the sound of bone and blood, there's the sound of porcelain breaking. Both men sort of freeze. Zenix lets go and Gene stumbles back, and when he does, there's another cracking sound. There's a permanent scar of a crack going down his face originating from the left side of his forehead. It bleeds, but not in the way it should. The whole thing is so unnerving neither one talk about it and their fight is essentially over...

Sasha is a lot more like a wooden doll. Normally she's pretty reserved, but still has a lot of personality in her expression and the way she carries herself. But sometimes her movements are just a bit too stiff. There's a creak as she bends one of her joints, and her face gets stuck in an expression. This is especially annoying when it happens to her fingers while she's holding something and she just has to pray she doesn't drop her favorite mug directly into a pit of lava she happens to be walking past in the Nether.

I've already gone into my stuff with Laurance in my Garrance musings, but I have so fucking many more. Sometimes it isn't his full body that stops working. Sometimes Laurance's limbs or just his neck goes limp. He'll be in the middle of trying to rizz up someone and his arm just goes completely lifeless on their shoulder. He'll randomly stumble because he just loses feelings in his legs. One time someone thought he was asleep during a very important meeting because his head suddenly fell forward, and he just gave them a thumbs up like "No this happens, just pretend it's normal." Vylad SK Headcanons

Vylad hates to admit it, so he never does, but he almost gave into the calling the first time he was in the Overworld. He showed up very close to home, and had intimate knowledge of the security measures present at his families estate. They actually mapped out how easy it would be, and had a high success rate. It was only hearing that his brother had died that made Vylad break free from the calling.

Vylad knew Zenix was a Shadow Knight and deliberately helped to hide it from Garroth. He wanted to see if Garroth could handle Zenix because he still feared being around his brother. He feared that Garroth wouldn't be strong enough to stand against him if he somehow lost control.

After the fifteen years spent on his own completely aimless, Vylad sometimes forgets that he's a Shadow Knight. Like, it's just so... Normal. Someone with the ability to sense that shit gives him and odd look and they are just very confused because they can't use magicks?? Why are they-- Oh right, you're undead.

Vylad tends to keep his blood cold. Just easier to deal with. The first time he actively feels it get warm outside of the calling is after he's already defeated his temptation and can exist around his mother. When she reaches forward and places a hand on Vylad's cheek, his entire body becomes warm. Life returns to him all in a rush and it's a feeling he's sorely missed. Zenix SK Headcanons

If he hadn't gained a new lord shortly before becoming a Shadow Knight, Zenix's calling would have latched onto Garroth, the man he considered to be his mentor and the closest friend he has. Zenix scoffs at this idea now.

Zenix starts killing Shadow Knights instead of hunting his lord because the Shadow King realized that Zenix killing his lord meant Zenix killing Irene, and he wants to do that himself. So he deliberately persuaded Zenix to gain power by fighting other Shadow Knights instead. It backfired.

Zenix knows every single weakness a Shadow Knight can have both before and after answering the calling. He knows the most common symptoms, what happens to the weakest of them, how to manage the ups and downs. He could be a great life coach or therapist with this information, but the voices and bloodlust are a bit too loud to ignore so he just starts killing.

It's on sight between Zenix and Gene. Like he sees a guy who sort of looks like Gene and just instantly goes for the kill. Sasha once joked that his calling latched onto Gene and Zenix couldn't really disagree with her. It's certainly a similar feeling. Gene SK Headcanons

This is basically canon, but oh my Irene Gene has some awful takes on relationships, and this further ruined him as a Shadow Knight. Most Shadow Knights throw away their humanity when they answer the calling and never regain it. Gene is almost frighteningly human, always poking and prodding at people and being very reactive. He's always trying to push what is and isn't okay literally all the time and it usually isn't okay but he's literally immortal so what are they going to do? (god complex what?)

In spite of this, Gene does feel bad for what he did to Dante. He can never look his brother in the eyes, but if he could, he would have done things differently. Making everyone forget about him did more damage to Dante than he ever anticipated.

It was actually talks with Sasha that made Gene realize this. A lot of his time after gaining his immortality was spend serving the Shadow King largely because it always made things interesting. He was always pushing the world and those around him in new unknown directions that were fascinating to watch. Gene is endlessly enamored by humans but in the way a mad scientist is enamored with it's subjects.

It's why in spite of everything, he'll always have a soft spot for Sasha. Long talks with her are some of his fondest memories. He can't really decide if he's in love with her since his sense of love was skewed before the voice of the lord of darkness started making it actively worse, but he feels good things when he thinks about her. Sasha SK Headcanons

Sasha answered the calling, and doesn't often hold onto the idea of her humanity. She's not quite dead, not quite alive, and she knows she'll be this way forever. Unlike most Shadow Knights, especially the ones susceptible to the Shadow King's control, she's simply accepted her fate. He isn't able to promise her with something greater, and despite what some may think, she's actually the wild card the Shadow King is most afraid of because even he can't get a read on her.

Oddly enough, she starts to feel more human when she's captured in season 2. She gets a lot of chances to talk to different members of the group who are guarding her, and even if most of them don't trust her, she still feels something whenever they show her any sign of an emotion that isn't disgust. It makes her remember what's so fun about being human.

Similar to Vylad, Sasha feels a rush of warmth anytime she's in proximity to Kenmur, close to being alive without the influence of shadow magic. It's a feeling she doesn't want to get used to.

Sasha can never quite decide what she feels about Laurance. It's something akin to morbid curiosity. She can get into his head so easy, and she likes using him as a test of what can make a Shadow Knight tick. Though, sometimes it's a Laurance exclusive feature. Laurance SK Headcanons

A small part of Laurance really likes the extra power his Shadow Knight form gives in a twisted way. He doesn't like the emotions, but the physical effect is honestly great. It's an even stronger form than he would be capable of as a regular human that he can use to protect his demigod not girlfriend who keeps getting targeted by more insane magical bull shit.

During one of his times where he ran away because of the calling Laurance was alone in a cave and started cursing out his lord. Every vile word he could use to describe her came from his mouth, and while he regrets some of it, he will never admit the truth that he meant some of it too.

A lot of Laurance's resentment really just comes from the fact that he is severely not okay thanks to the calling and his experiences in the Nether. He never really had time to fully recover from that mentally, and everything keeps moving so damn fast, and he shamefully misses those slower days in the Nether when Sasha would sit outside his bars and talk to him, or when he and Vylad had conversations through prison walls. Laurance just desperately needs people to check up on him.

(Garrance Specific Headcanon) Once during a particularly sleep deprived conversation with Vylad while Vylad was calming him down from a calling induced panic attack, Laurance confessed to Vylad he was in love with Garroth and scared of getting him out of the Irene Dimension because he didn't want to risk the calling latching onto him. Even after Vylad very awkwardly assured him that's not how the calling works, Laurance is still paranoid.

The Calling is a contradiction. It's designed to be one because contradictions drive men to madness. Laurance's entire life from start to finish has been a series of contradictions, karmic imbalance and re-balance, and the fates seemingly toying with him for their own sick amusement. When he gets control of his body after running away and finds himself in the Nether, he has straight up had enough. The contradiction of wanting to be by his lords side and also needing to be as far away from her as possible basically broke Laurance back into being human?? Because he was never a proper Shadow Knight in the first place.

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queerfanfiction · 11 months

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Love Notes (Ch. 6)

Larissa Weems x musicteacher!Reader Thank you for being so supportive, even though it has been literal months since I have updated!! I will try to post a bit more regularly (but also who knows because depression is a bitch).

AO3 link

You decide to hop up and shower after Enid’s inadvertent pep talk, feeling more hopeful now than you have in days. After getting dressed and stocking the bathroom for recently arrived students, you head to Jericho. It’s time to finalize scavenger hunt plans. You don’t want to wait weeks and drag out the process through secret codes in your mixes.

Flowers were taken care of, thanks to your new acquaintance James. You had also created a few other clues but needed to access a few places, like the bookstore, in town to complete them. You try to push your latest trip with Larissa to Jericho from your mind as you begin jogging the wooded path from Nevermore grounds to the town square. The crisp spring air was welcomed, and hopefully you could use this time to clear your head. Besides, you didn’t want to check-out any vehicles to drive in case Larissa was nearby. Her quarters were right above the school’s scheduling office, and you weren’t ready to face her just yet.

Once you’re severely out of breath and think the pain in your side will topple you, you finally reach the outskirts of Jericho. Your pace slows, and you begin to map out a to-do list in your head. At the bookstore, you’ll need magazines and the clerk’s cooperation on the day of the scavenger hunt. At the flower shop, you’ll need to ensure James was able to secure lilies and might lend his labor in planting and arranging them. At the Weathervane, you will need to clue the new barista in on your plan. Since Tyler is now a guest of the state after everything went down a couple months ago, a new barista was hired. You two are friendly due to your aggressive kindness when they would accidentally make mistakes during training. You hated that people in town weren’t understanding of the realities of service work. Finally, you will need to visit city hall to ensure you don’t need a permit to occupy the public space around the fountain in the middle of the square.

As you check things off your list, you realize you still need a way to ensure Larissa makes it to the book store once in Jericho. You ponder this as you head back to Nevermore—this time at a reasonable pace. Once on the grounds, you cross through the courtyard to the dorms and see Enid giggling with Yoko. You smile softly at their carefree banter. It’s at this moment you have the idea to loop Enid into the scavenger hunt, especially since she had helped you put things into perspective when you were secluded away in your room. It’s also at this time that you know it would probably be a terrible idea to entrust Nevermore’s gossip queen with a secret regarding the school’s principal. Stumped at this conundrum, you trek up to your room to leaf through the magazines from the bookstore you bought.

You get to work creating the aspects needed to complete the scavenger hunt—a new mix CD, cut out letters, a fake newspaper crossword, and so on. After an hour or two, your energy and attention span begin to falter without food. Your eyes wander to the clock; with students back on the school’s campus, you could catch dinner before the cafeteria closes if you leave now. You toss on an oversized maroon cardigan and head downstairs.

As you wander, you wonder if Larissa will be tucked away in her office with dinner and wine like she usually is. You desperately missed the time you two would spend together. You also speculate about whether or not you two would stay friends if she rejected you. You think too highly of her to be sour if her heart does not feel the same magnetic tug that yours does.

—

The same morning as your talk with Enid, Larissa awoke in sweats. She normally regulated her body temperature well and wasn’t terribly affected by nightmares. She’d lived through enough monsters to not be effected by them in dreams. Recently, however, she had been agitated…fitful. She knew why, even though she tried to rationalize it away.

She didn’t have a lot of friendships, let alone close ones. Shapeshifters never do. That’s why she constantly worked so hard to change the perceptions of outcasts—both within and outside the community. Whatever she had with you, Larissa feared she had ruined it. At the beginning of her relationship with you, there was a feeling between you of treading carefully, of testing boundaries. When could you be silly or drop the professional façade? That hesitance quickly dissipated and was replaced with comfort and familiarity. Unfortunately, Larissa had learned to rely on it. She craved it. It balanced her. Letting others in didn’t come easily, yet it felt like you were meant to know her.

After giving it more thought, Larissa isn’t completely sure if seeing you flirt with someone made her lash out or if it was about being confronted with her own feelings for you. Regardless, the underlying fear came true—damaging her relationship with you.

Once her breathing steadied after waking, she peered around her room. Her living quarters used to feel so luxurious and private, something completely hers in a boarding school that constantly pulled her in so many directions. Now, though, all she can sense is emptiness in the space. Bitter echoes of joyous moments she had with you throughout the room lingered.

Not only did you vanish from her room and office, but she hadn’t visibly seen you since that day at the Weathervane. You were no where to be found these last couple weeks. Instead of regularly creating music in the orchestra room and popping into her office, the library, the conservatory, and student dorms, you had hidden away. She knows this, because she had asked around about you to various faculty (and even some students). Larissa’s schedule often took her throughout Nevermore, and she ached to catch a glimpse of you—check in on you in some way. It wasn’t until she stepped away from answering emails to drink tea on her balcony for a moment that she saw you. You were outside in the spring air, heading away from the school.

Larissa had never seen you in athletic clothing…mainly because you two had joked about running being a punishment, that it was often a mutually constituted performance by people who bought into traditional, often limited ideas of health. Of course, that’s not why seeing you stunned her.

Rather, her heart ached. She felt panicked, as if she should make a decision about what to do right then and there before you ran completely out of sight. With a deep, slow breath to hinder acting impulsively, Larissa began to consider her options. Is it better to swallow the hurt and try to salvage the friendship? Surely, only a friendship with you is better than being without you completely. Or would doing that and being close with no hope for a future together hurt worse? Could she handle seeing you with the florist all the time? Larissa sat her teacup down to rub her temples.

A distant knock at the door to her office pulled her away from her thoughts. She stepped inside and called for the visitor to enter. There was work to do, meetings to be held. Quickly and neatly compartmentalizing her thoughts and emotions, Larissa moved forward to greet the mayor.

—

You were in the orchestra room, arranging a new composition in preparation for the scavenger hunt. You couldn’t sleep now that you had decided on a course of action, so you decided to make use of the extra energy swirling in your stomach and radiating out through your arms and legs. Thankfully the dormitories were on the other side of Nevermore’s campus, meaning students could not overhear or be disturbed by your work. You don’t quite remember how you got across the grounds or what time you left your room. All you knew was that this was your time, your safe space.

All of the sudden you hear heels from down the corridor and know that it must be Larissa. Who else would it be? Sure enough, Larissa comes in. No hesitation in her approach. Your stomach flips, and you’re surprised she seems so confident and determined. No silk pajamas; she’s still in a work outfit. You can’t remember if you’ve seen it before. Her sense of purpose impelled you to lean the cello in your arms to it’s stand instead.

Her lips are on yours before logic can catch up with you, her hands cradling your face as if you’re something holy and sacred. You let out a surprised “mmph” but return the kiss eagerly, wrapping your arms around Larissa and inviting her closer. When your lips part ever so slightly, she deepens the kiss without delay. Her hands drift downward from your face to your neck to your arms to your outer thighs. You feel as if your heart is going to beat so quickly and become so enlarged that it will begin to break through your ribcage. Still, you wouldn’t stop this long-awaited union for anything.

Larissa’s swift hands had begun to pull you up into her arms, urging you to wrap your legs around her torso. You couldn’t bother with whether or not the cello was okay. After feeling her warmth against you, knowing she could feel the heat radiating from you too, both of your movements turned frantic. Your breath mimicked the raggedness it had from your run the other day.

“I want you. I want you. I need you.” Breathy declarations from Larissa ring out and ring throughout the room. In response, you bring her hand from the small of your back to your front, just under the edge of your shirt. The encouragement makes the taller woman whimper in between fervent kisses.

Suddenly, a deafening, reverberating crash sounds out.

Heart racing, sweaty, you jolt awake in your office chair in the orchestra room. Looking around anxiously, you see the cello you were playing on the ground, still vibrating. You must have was accidentally kicked it over in your sleep. The reddest blush plasters itself onto your cheeks. You were no stranger to dreaming of Larissa, but this is the first suggestive dream since she left you in the Weathervane. You didn’t even know someone could feel this embarrassed with no one else present. You’re alone and unsure of what time it is or what time you fell asleep after traipsing across campus. Only the quiet singing of birds outside indicated it was early morning. You normally frowned upon clocks in the classroom, but maybe you’ll rethink that now.

You look to the sheet music stand near you and find your phone. It’s dead. With a deep sigh, you gather your items and make your way to your living quarters. You need to confirm what time it is and change your clothes. Today is the day that you’re putting your scavenger hunt into motion.

—

Outside of Larissa’s office is a corkboard for Nevermore news, flyers, events, and so on that she checks daily. You post the anonymous note that serves as your first clue and fade into the stone wall behind you just as her office doors open and she steps out.

Larissa moved towards the board, not suspecting any terribly special memos pinned on a Saturday morning. Her eyebrows furrowed as she read the pasted together instructions. Larissa knew the mismatched lettering had to belong to whoever was gifting her the elaborate playlists. It was finally time to uncover the truth that she so desperately desired. She quickly glanced around to see if anyone was watching or leaving the area. …No one.

The patchwork note from cut-out magazine letters read, “Alas, it’s time to confess who I am. Come and find me if you can. I can skip but can’t walk. I’d rather sing than talk.”

A wild goose chase? Larissa considered. Truly, what can come of this? Just another CD with no confirmation of who this is? Even with her skepticism, Larissa was intrigued. She enjoyed conquering puzzles. There was something so satisfying about hunting down information and excavating the truth. With everything going on with you, Larissa welcomed a distraction, especially from someone who she considered herself to have a certain bond or connection with.

Snatching the clue from the board, Larissa retreated back to her office, abandoning her morning plans to roam among the grounds. I can skip but can’t walk…sing rather than talk…hm… Larissa mulled over the riddle. After a few moments, she can’t believe it took her this long to realize: CDs. Of course, it’s telling her to go back to the CDs. It’s where this all started. She walked over to her media player where one was already in place and started from track 1. Larissa felt as if she had committed the sounds and occasional lyrics to memory. How is there a clue here?

Pacing in front of her lit fireplace, Larissa fumbled haphazardly with the CD case in her hands as she listened with new intent. On the third turn around, her hand accidentally brushed off a sticky note that was placed on the back cover. “Wha-” she began while bending over to pick up the small piece of paper on the floor.

“Finish” she saw written on it. Finish what? A bit frustrated that she can’t make sense of the notation, she went to her desk to examine the other gifts. Sure enough, there were post-its on the backs of them as well. When read all together, they directed her to finish the newspaper crossword. Okay, so whoever this was definitely knew her routine. That’s not exactly breaking news, though. Larissa stepped out onto her balcony where she laid the newspaper next to her finished cup of tea. Flipping through to the crossword section, she saw a custom crossword tucked into the paper. In all honesty, she admired the dedication and thought that went into these clues.

Once she completed the crossword, it very obviously did not read out her admirer’s name like she had hoped. Rather, the answers prompted her to go to Jericho. Larissa pursed her lips, attempting to win against a budding smile as she shook her head. This is ridiculous. The final part of this clue spelling out Jericho also mentioned finding an outcast and a normie laughing together. Larissa didn’t know if she hated or loved that prospect, seeing as many Nevermore students had passes to Jericho this weekend. How many will be hanging out with a local, though? she asked herself while grabbing her overcoat and heading out the door.

—

“Alright, and what’s the plan?” you quizzed Enid on the ride over to Jericho.

In the passenger seat sat a wiggly werewolf who bounced her legs with excitement. In a singsong voice, she responded,“Hey now, give me some credit. I’m the one who suggested Lucas and I could give Principal Weems the next clue!”

“What if she asks who is orchestrating the scavenger hunt? How do I know you won’t crack under her prodding?” You narrow your eyes at her briefly before returning them to the road. You try to keep the tone light while still voicing your concerns.

With a small scoff, Enid confidently replies, “Please, one time Thing accidentally spilled nail polish on Wednesday’s typewriter, and I was an iron trap. If I can handle Wednesday Addams, I think I can handle Weems.” She ends the statement with her arms crossed, seemingly very proud of herself. To be fair, that was impressive. “Besides, I’m on the side of true love. This idea is so romantic!” Oh my god was all you could think to yourself at that statement. Once parked, you and Enid walk into the center of the square to wait for the normie component of this clue.

“What are we doing here again?” Lucas, the mayor’s son, questioned once he was in front of Enid. She sheepishly glanced at you and back to Lucas and then swiftly elbowed him in the side. It was kind of cute how seriously she was taking this.

You’ve done all you can do, so all you can do now is hope for the best. You put your hand on Enid’s shoulder and reassure her, “If you need anything, just give me a signal and excuse yourself. I’ll be watching from the Weathervane.” Well, mainly you’re reassuring yourself.

—

Once in Jericho, Larissa felt it an insurmountable task to search every store and outdoor area for the right outcast and normie. It didn’t help that she automatically parked in her usual spot, which happened to be by the flower shop. Getting out of her car, Larissa saw that very florist outside, pruning and watering plants. He noticed her and waved. She could feel a scowl on her lips, so she looked away, pretending to not have seen his friendly gesture. At least that’s one person that the admirer couldn’t be…

Having walked past the flower shop, Larissa cups her hands over her eyes to look inside Uriah’s Heap. She can’t imagine a normie having fun in the morbid antique shop, but she’s nothing if not thorough. After being satisfied that Uriah’s Heap did not contain her next clue, Larissa turned around to consider where to search next.

Before she can decide to go into another store, she sees Enid. Actually, she sees multiple Nevermore students. It’s a beautiful day, and many students want to make the most of their time before classes officially begin. Curiously, though, all of the other students are with Nevermore peers, and here is Enid with the mayor’s son. Larissa wouldn’t have pegged them to be friends.

Attempting to take control of the situation, Larissa came straight up to them. “Enid? Young Mr. Walker?”

“Principal Weems! Wow. Hi!”

For a brief moment, Larissa considered if running into them was a red herring. There was always a possibility that at a boarding school, the person sending her gifts and love notes could be a student with a harmless crush. Could Enid be the admirer? Larissa had always considered Enid to be like a daughter or menteé. She had felt protective of her, especially when Enid’s own mother made some questionable choices at the last parents’ weekend. Larissa pushed the thought to the furthest recesses of her mind; the person from those letters had a connection with her that no one else compared to. Well, almost no one else.

“What are you-” Larissa began but was cut off by Enid’s excited voice. “You should try to find the building with the most stories!”

“I assume this is the next clue?” Larissa stood in the familiar pose she often used to command attention. Combined with her height and immaculate dress, it simply wasn’t hard. “Enid, I’m terribly busy with finalizing spring semester contracts, schedules, and arrangements. I need to know who has enlisted your help. I know you know more than you are letting on.”

In an effort to be defiant, Enid asked, “What do you mean, Principal Weems? What help?” Her face gave her away, though. Her lips were pressed together firmly, as if she was attempting to hold back a grin.

Larissa considered escalating, but before she could, the young girl interrupted again with a determined look, “Remember, find the building with the most stories.” With that, she grabbed Lucas’s wrist and skipped off, pulling him behind her. All Larissa heard was next was a distant, “Byeeeeee, Principal Weems!”

Larissa is a bit surprised Enid could hold out, but the young werewolf’s evasiveness helped in that regard. Sitting underneath her gaze made Enid uncomfortable. Larissa remembers a time when she pressed the girl on Wednesday’s whereabouts the night Crackstone’s crypt flooded and the water was dyed red. Enid promptly confessed after Larissa put on a semi-firm voice and a stern look of disappointment.

Back to this never ending task of uncovering the identity of her secret admirer, Larissa thought. Bars have quite a lot of stories… The only bar in Jericho is the Rabbit’s Foot Tavern, and the only tales it holds are repetitive small town musings and desires to leave the town behind.

Though it seems like a long shot, it’s her only lead. As Larissa headed in the direction of the bar, she began to pass the bookstore. She only made it two more feet before she stopped in her tracks. There are thousands of stories there!

Feeling pleased with herself, she steps inside only to be met with a tired clerk that is paid too little to care about town shenanigans. The worker behind the counter gives Larissa a sticky note with specific numbers from the Dewey Decimal System. He doesn’t even look up from his phone. Larissa blinks slowly and gestures appreciatively before she heads to the 700s, somewhere in Arts & Recreation.

The “book” that she finds at the detailed location is actually a mix CD on the shelf disguised as a musicology textbook. Torn between feeling excited to have a new playlist and determined the find the next clue, Larissa pushes herself to continue and try to examine the cover, rather than only appreciating it. The track listing is unlike the previous CDs, so she begins to break down what she assumes is a code. Finally, Larissa cracks it: “Make a wish, but don’t take a drink.”

—

Once you watch Larissa disappear inside the bookstore, you leap into action. Hopefully you’ll have enough time to sit out all the lilies before she figures out the next clue. Thankfully, Enid offers to help (and makes Lucas assist). Even James briskly walks over with an armful of lilies. You appreciate the kind gestures and make a mental note to send everyone thank you after this is all over. You’re not sure how long it takes, but your calves and lower back ache from the manual labor. You all successfully sit out hundreds of lilies planted in recycled Weathervane cups. Thank goodness the new barista, Emily, was on board to save as many used paper cups as she could throughout her shifts over the week.

When Larissa makes her way to the town square fountain from the bookstore, you are safely back inside the Weathervane, becoming more and more anxious as you realize she is so close to finding out you’re completely smitten with her and have been keeping it from her. However, she stands at the fountain, unmoving, for much longer than anticipated.

Larissa did not expect this—the humble lily of the valley, her favorite flower. She had never been gifted them. When she was younger and pining after Morticia, Larissa remembered getting the other woman an entire slew of flowers. Dark, moody flowers. Orchids. Carnivorous plants. Anything she thought Morticia would like. In return, when Morticia asked about Larissa’s favorite flower, she ended up giving her lilies. Larissa thought lilies were beautiful, but she had always adored lily of the valley. It hurt that Morticia did not care enough to get her the correct flowers, because it symbolized so much more when it came to their relationship.

The lily of the valley is always overlooked, considered modest and unimposing. Of all people Larissa thought Morticia would appreciate that every single aspect of the flower is poisonous. Now Larissa is at a loss for who arranged this scavenger hunt, because she hasn’t told a soul about what this flower means to her in years. Before she can intervene, tears begin to fall from Larissa’s eyes, staining her face. Sitting on the edge of the fountain, surrounded by hundreds of lily of the valley, Larissa takes a few minutes to appreciate the flowers, almost as if she is mending her relationship to them.

After awhile, Larissa stands, smooths out the creases in the front of her clothes and takes a deep, filling breath in. As she can infer from the cups, the next stop is the Weathervane.

At the Weathervane, Larissa takes notice that it is unusually empty for a Saturday. She strolls around the counter and then the seating areas, examining the area for any clues. Her eyes glance quite a bit to the booth she normally shares with you. Nothing seems to be out of the ordinary except for the much smaller amount of people she would expect.

When Larissa internally questions if this is the wrong destination, the barista calls out “Larissa” and sits a mug in the “pick-up” area before going back to make the rest of the drinks in the queue. Scrawled on the cup are the words “sit where you are most comfortable.” That doesn’t seem like much of a clue, she surmises incredulously.

The task at hand proves to be more difficult than expected. Larissa looks to her regular booth, the one you two often shared. Is that where I am most comfortable? She wants to face the door, to surveil the inside of the café for any changes. However, she normally lets you sit in that direction; Larissa liked to have her focus on you instead of the bustling environment. Longing for that familiarity wins out, and Larissa takes a seat facing the back of the Weathervane.

No more clues. You knew that was the last one. Once Larissa sits in her usual spot, you phase through the back wall near the bulletin board. Astonished, the taller woman steps up and out of the seat with a slight gasp.

Before preparing to explain the past several months and your previously concealed ability, you proclaim, in what you hope is the most impressive way possible, “I’m sure you have a lot of questions, but you owe me a hot chocolate date.”

You slide into the booth opposite to Larissa, waiting for her to sit back down.

—

Tagging: @lilsmeaux, @suckerforcate, @rickistheman, @tundra1029, @aster-loves-gwen, @justcallmelittleone, @poorwritingandstalecoffee, @lvinhs, @one-pining-queer, @kimiinou, @bobia13, @gwendolinechristieiscute, @kay-liah-scope, @readingtheentrails, @a-queen-and-her-throne, @weemssapphic, @ctrlamira, @im-a-carnivorous-plant, @winterfireblond, @gwendolinechristiesnumberonegirl. Let me know if you'd like to be tagged or have your tag taken off future posts. :)

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queer-apocalypse · 1 year

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I don't see people talk nearly enough about what having your bending taken from you must entail.

Your bending is not just a weapon: it's the tangible manifestation of your energy, it's a big part of how you interact with the world and a vital, organic function of your body.

And I'm sure this was especially true for Ozai, if Iroh's description of his aptitude towards firebending from the cradle in Legacy of the Fire Nation is anything to go by.

I can't help but think about how losing it must've affected the rest of his bodily functions.

Ozai struggling to regulate his body temperature in his cold, humid cell, hugging his own shivering body tight enough to leave fingers imprints on his arms and still not finding any comfort because the cold is coming from within.

Ozai suddenly finding himself breathless after the mildest physical effort because a lot of his breath regulation was based around fire control as well, and his lungs still try to steal more oxygen than he now has need for.

Ozai losing sensitivity in his limbs some days, and being so overly sensitive his rough clothes feel like sandpaper on his skin some others, because his nerves' endings are raw and burned with the trauma of deprivation.

Ozai's body being incapable of holding onto much food because his whole metabolism was partially relying on the fire inside him.

Ozai's mind floating aimlessly every so often, unable to focus with the decreased temperature of his brain, unable to keep track of time and faces and to discern the muddy blur of his emotions, if he's still able to feel any at all.

Ozai slowly flickering and fading away like a flame trapped under a glass, with no oxygen and nothing to hold onto.

#atla #ozai #firebending #energybending #aang #angst #depression?#yeah depression #I've been sick these days and maybe I'm projecting but yeah #are we sure this was the most merciful option aang?

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unbidden-yidden · 8 months

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For a number of years, I've been thinking about what an alternative to fast fashion might look like that wouldn't rely on companies to decide suddenly to stop selling us garbage or government regulators to actually make rules with teeth on planned obsolescence and externalities.

Obviously the goals would be to have the whole process from field to closet to waste degradation be environmentally sustainable and rely on fair, well-compensated labor.

The items themselves would need to be designed to last for a very long time: socks and underwear for a minimum of five years; bras for a minimum of ten; leggings, undershirts, t-shirts, and shells for a minimum of five hard-wearing years or ten light-wearing years; and outerwear, bags, and accessories for decades. Wool and leather coats, properly maintained, should be able to be passed down to your grandchildren. Shoes would vary greatly based on the exact material and purpose, but would be designed with the same durability considerations.

The fit should be unique to the person, and tailored to fit their exact proportions, body fat, and hard-wearing points. Therefore, items would not be labeled by size at all, but generally shown in different schematics to demonstrate what the item would be tailored to look like on different body types. Instead of just designing items for straight sizes and items for plus sizes, make general design plans that are easily adjusted to be shrunk or hemmed in some places, reinforced in others, and let out or expanded in others.

How the person wants to wear the item should also be taken into account: is this going to be a neck scarf or headscarf? Is this sleeveless dress going to be worn as a sundress or over a shell? Is this person going to be wearing breast forms or binding? Does this person use a wheelchair and if so, what are the touch points/hard-wearing points based on their actual chair? Etc.

Lifestyle should be taken into account: what is this particular item going to be used for? Are you hiking? Climbing mountains? Working on a farm? Working in an office or courtroom? Working retail or in a restaurant? Lounging with friends in your home? Playing sports? Wrangling small children? What do you need to do in your clothes? And what if you need something that will get your kids to daycare, yourself to your office day job, to a post-work workout or date with friends, and then to moonlighting as a cashier at a pizza place? (This is a real example of one of my friends, btw.)

It should not only be possible to move comfortably in the clothes to be able to do everything you want to do, but should be possible to easily modify the look to allow for multipurpose use with a simple reconfiguring of the garment and/or changing up the accessories. Pockets and ways to adjust the clothing for different external factors like temperature, weather, and time of day would be a must for basic items like button-up shirts, dresses, pants, and skirts. Additionally, sensory aspects should be taken into account as well - no itchy tags or ill-placed seaming, and certainly no plastic seam support tape or interfacing to make up for poor base materials. How the item wears over time should be considered, so that it starts out feeling good and wears into being extra comfortable and lived-in.

Simply put: the clothes need to be designed for practicality and comfort.

To the greatest extent possible, it should be easy to do immediate care for the clothes at home - stain removal, washing, drying, and even basic mending. However, for items with more technical maintenance and/or repairs, that service should be provided in-house to allow for more durability and control over sustainable practices for things that can't simply be washed, like wool coats. Repairability would need to be considered for common hard-wearing areas; extra panels in the inner thigh, elbow, knee, and armpit areas to help make the garment easily repairable to look as good as new would be things to consider.

Similarly, the look and style should be considered for the intended duration of the item. If it needs to look elegant for twenty-five years, then it needs to be designed with a classic look that will last the full time. Things like consistently flattering lines, colors, and patterns that tend to stay in fashion should be prioritized, with the ability to easily add or subtract embellishments to update the base garments. Accessories should be designed with a much greater range of colors and styles to allow for outfit variation and customization.

And the idea I keep coming back to is of a subscription styling, tailoring, mending, and recycling service with a lot of different plans and multiple payment structures to offset the cost of all of this. Realistically, the Vimes boots theory of economics is well in effect here. A dress that could replace thirty cheap fast-fashion items but will cost $5000 isn't going to happen for anyone who isn't exceptionally wealthy, even if over time it actually costs the individual less. The only real way to do this would be to treat it like an asset and structure payment accordingly. In the meantime, having a staff to handle maintenance of the items (such as repairs, style updates, and refitting as the person's body changes) would help to improve the sustainability of it as a business.

Anyway I'm not a business major, but I'm curious about what y'all think of that approach? Is this something you'd consider?

#aaaaanyway #who wants to start a business with me lol?

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blindbeta · 2 months

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hi, this is like, a REALLY oddly specific question, but i wanted to ask. would it be seen as wrong if i were to have my character's guide dog be in some way magical?

for more context on the specific situation, my characters are in a world where basically nothing is without some level of magic to it. my character has a guide dog, but i felt like it didn't fit the theme to have just. a normal dog? because i wouldn't put a normal dog somewhere else. the dog isn't like, telepathic or able to fix her blindness, (ive made it VERY clear to myself that at no point will i do that) i was mostly thinking something like the dog having some sort of elemental component to it, which would be a pretty common power in this world.

I just wanted to make sure it fit in with the rest of the characters in its world, instead of sticking out as just kinda being shoved in with no worldbuilding around it. there wouldn't really be 'normal' animals normally, so it feels like underdeveloped worldbuilding if i don't.

I'm worried though, that this is going to be wrong in the way that it'd seem... glamorizing? that's not what i intend, but I don't want it to come off as something in that vein. if that makes sense.

i hope this is like. sensible to ask about and not wasting your time. thank you so much, and thank you in general for running this blog, i think it's a really great resource.

I think having a magical guide dog is fine. You aren’t using the magic to erase the handler’s disability, as you mentioned. As long as you are actively working on that, it seems fine to me.

As long as the animal can make a good guide, be trained from infancy, and can navigate well, it doesn’t matter if they are a magical creature.

I list some qualities a guide should have in this post if it helps.

@moth-time created an excellent addition to this post in the notes:

i reread the guide linked by OP and now I'm thinking some kind of earth elemental or otherwise particularly magically heavy/stocky dog could be neat, bc it provides more stability than a regular dog (so more like a miniature horse). it could have a rocky/armored back that is easier to lean on than slippy dog skin, for example. Much like irl certain dog breeds are favored as guide dogs bc of breed specs, a magical universe could favor "earth elemental dogs" for same reason

you could have some magical component of the dog be helpful to the guided person, though i am struggling to come up with a good one for a blind guide dog. But for example a fire elemental therapy dog that can regulate it's body to be toasty warm and offer deep pressure and temperature therapy would be neat. It doesn't negate or "fix" the disability, but it's a little different/more magical while still recognizable

BlindBeta’s thoughts:

So I love this. An earth type dog would add excellent stabilization, orientation, and be additionally good at avoiding obstacles such as uneven ground. They could be great for balance and probably deep pressure therapy as well. Maybe they are favored as guide dogs because they are dependable, while also good at selective disobedience to keep a blind person safe, such as refusing to cross the street when it is dangerous (due to quiet cars or such). I could also see water or air type dogs being good alert dogs, perhaps.

Also not sure how common this is, but on this page about seizure alert dogs from the epilepsy foundation, it says some dogs are trained to put their body between the handler and the floor to cushion falls. Air type dogs might good at this because they are probably softer and could gently cushion a falling person without them hitting the floor.

I also had an idea that wood types might be more flexible and good assistance dogs for older adults, wheelchair users, etc. Like dog breeds, they have certain qualities that make them good at assistance, such as being depended on to retrieve any number of items, pull door handles, etc.

This is fun. I would love to see ideas from anyone else.

#blind #blind characters #writing blind characters #creating guide animals #guide animals #ask

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night-daily · 12 days

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I'll choose you, always | Peter Maximoff x fem! reader

summary: A guy tries to flirt with you while your boyfriend, Peter, is away on a mission in another country but he finds out and doesn't waste a second in making things clear to him.

warnings: none.

a/n: should i write for peter now??

a/n 2: english isn't my first language so sorry for the mistakes!

Everyone at the mutant school knows you and Peter are together. That you can't be away from the other for long, well more exactly, Peter, your friends say he looks like a lost puppy when you aren't around.

You two come as a package. And it was cute to see you holding hands and acting lovely but sometimes it was disgusting, especially when the others just wanted to grab a snack from the kitchen, but oh surprise, you and Peter are making out. You placed up on the table (or whatever surface is near) and Peter is between your legs, kissing you with passion when he notices the presence of someone else in the kitchen, “can't stop looking creep?” and all they can do is to turn back on their feet and mumbling apologies while feeling their faces turn red.

So when the Professor needed Peter to go on a mission to the other side of the world with Hank, you two spent more time together if that was even possible. Your friends loved your relationship but they wouldn't be lying if they said they weren't happy about you and your boyfriend spending some time apart, “Imagine going to the kitchen and being able to eat a fruit instead of a sexual scene” you would only roll your eyes and laugh.

The day of the mission came, Peter kissed you and promised you to come back soon and you believed him, after all, he was Quicksilver. He and Hank will be off at least for three days, so you could concentrate fully in your classes or at least that's what you thought.

When they left, a few hours later a new student arrived with a grin on his face watching all the girls bodies without even hiding it, but when he saw you walking in his direction, the grin on his face was bigger.

You were deep in thought, not caring about the people around you, “Hey, I'm—” You just walked past him, and his grin disappeared, did you just ignore me? He ran after you and stood in front of you, making you stop and almost fall, he stabilized you by grabbing your arm.

“Sorry, I wasn't looking where I was walking” You apologized and tried to pass him again but the hold in your arm was firm. “If you want to apologize, why don't you show me the school? I'm new and would like some help from a pretty girl like you” Pretty girl, that's Peter's nickname for you, and hearing it from another man's mouth, was gross.

“Don't call me pretty girl, ever again” And your power emerged, the heat from your body was directed to his hand, burning it a bit before he let you go with pain on his face.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The next day was very cold, and even if your power was to create fire and you could even regulate your body temperature to avoid getting cold, you didn't, because then you would miss the chance to use one of Peter's jackets and hell you're gonna do that.

You dialed your boyfriend's number and after the first ringtone, he picked up “Did y'know it's 3 am here?” He tried to act mad but you knew by the sound of his sweet voice, he was far to be mad.

“Oh sorry, I would call you later the—” “DON'T YOU DARE” Your laugh echoed through the phone and the halls of your room, he wished he was there to watch the way your smile lightens your face.

“So how's the mission going?” “Awful, it's horrible. I can't believe the Professor sent me on this mission without you, when I get back tomorrow, should I steal his wheelchair in revenge?” Peter replied with no hesitation, “Peter” you said but you were ignored, “I'm gonna return it babe, just gonna do some modifications, I promise”, “Peter you better let me talk or you're gonna need the wheelchair” He stopped talking for a second and even hold his breath.

You opened your mouth but were interrupted again, “I'm gonna need his wheelchair 'cause you're gonna fuck my ass so I won't be able to walk?” “Peter that's not—” But on second thought “Wait, don't distract me, Peter I think it's good for us to spend some time apart, you could make some friends and—” “Who needs friends? I have you! You're not just my girlfriend, you're my best friend too, y'know that right?”

Just his words make your heart beat faster, how could someone have this kind of power over you?

A knock on your door and Peter was groaning, “Oh come on! I just made the best declaration of love and now is ruined” “I'm just gonna ignore it, keep going—” Another knock and you were frustrated just like your boyfriend, “gimme a second” you put your phone on the shelf next to the door.

When you opened the door, you were expecting to see Jean, Scott or just anyone else but him.

“Good morning pretty girl, it's pretty cold, isn't it?” your boyfriend was fuming, who the heck was that guy? and why is he calling you pretty girl? You are his pretty girl! “Yeah, it is. Look I'm busy right now, so could you leave, please?” Your fake smile could be seen miles away but he didn't see it, of course. “So you're cold too? That's great 'cause I was thinking of a way to keep us warm, it includes you, me and your bed...” He got closer to you, making you step back and he took this as a sign to get into your room, “and no clothes”

Peter jumped out of bed like a missile and started running to the mansion, to you. He was pretty sure he had broken his record at the Olympics. When he arrived at your room, you were clearly uncomfortable and he knew you could handle the situation, but there was this feeling in his chest, a heavy feeling yelling at him to do something to the guy who was harassing his girl.

And he listened to this feeling, he grabbed the guy by his shirt, dragging him around the mansion, not caring if he hit his head or a part of his body. When Peter got outside, the fountain caught his attention.

A mischievous smile was on his face, “I think you need a shower, enjoy it” and in one blink, he was in front of you, holding you by your waist, “I will never be separated from you again” and he crashed his lips with yours, you're confused and ready to attack but when you see it's Peter, you relax and return the kiss, crossing your arms behind his neck, bringing closer and making him smile.

#peter maximoff #peter maximoff x reader #quicksilver #peter maximoff x y/n #peter maximoff x fem! reader #peter maximoff x you

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butts-bouncing-on-the-beltway · 10 months

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another anti-psych post from your neighborhood patient-therapist

In my last post I talked about the kinds of basic needs people and communities have, and asked what it might look like in your community to meet those needs as a baseline. This time we're going to talk more about what happens when communities and individuals are chronically un-/under-served.

Okay so let's break it down this way. We're gonna try looking at just one medical symptom of chronic stress: autonomic dysregulation. It's not going to feel like we are, but I promise that's all we're doing. This is a *serious* symptom and it often comes clustered with others due to the way it functions within the body, which is why I think it is a useful case study here. Autonomic dysfunction, especially chronic dysfunction, can temporarily (though for long spans of time if the dysfunction remains chronic rather than acute) alter the functioning of other systems within the body such as the endocrine system, the reproductive system, cognitive functioning through the hippocampus and amygdala, and muscle functioning, nerve functioning, and others. It is no joke to suggest that long term autonomic dysfunction can often lead to major long term health consequences that are life altering for the person experiencing them. While some can be treated, managed, or even cured, not all can be and this is something I want us all to keep in mind as we consider the need for building communities that do not cause this kind of harm to their people.

Let's look at some potential medical outcomes of autonomic dysfunction, per the Mayo Clinic:

Dizziness and fainting when standing, caused by a sudden drop in blood pressure.

Urinary problems, such as difficulty starting urination, loss of bladder control, difficulty sensing a full bladder and inability to completely empty the bladder. Not being able to completely empty the bladder can lead to urinary tract infections.

Sexual difficulties, including problems achieving or maintaining an erection (erectile dysfunction) or ejaculation problems. In women, problems include vaginal dryness, low libido and difficulty reaching orgasm.

Difficulty digesting food, such as feeling full after a few bites of food, loss of appetite, diarrhea, constipation, abdominal bloating, nausea, vomiting, difficulty swallowing and heartburn. These problems are all due to changes in digestive function.

Inability to recognize low blood sugar (hypoglycemia), because the warning signals, such as getting shaky, aren't there.

Sweating problems, such as sweating too much or too little. These problems affect the ability to regulate body temperature.

Sluggish pupil reaction, making it difficult to adjust from light to dark and seeing well when driving at night.

Exercise intolerance, which can occur if your heart rate stays the same instead of adjusting to your activity level.

Some common comorbid conditions may include Diabetes, Polycystic Ovarian Syndrome, Parkinson's, Irritable Bowel Syndrome, or an autoimmune disorder. In each of these cases I want you to remember the lens of an individual body being denied, in some way, its base needs (an edocrine hormone, a nutritional component, the internal security of homeostasis, etc), to such an extent that it begins to experience an internal catastrophic failure, as this lens may often be supportive of accommodating your disabled comrades, or yourself, in the future.

I also want us to consider some common social statistics relevant to these conditions. Nearly 4% of the world experiences and autoimmune disorder. Most are women, and Indigenous, Black, and Latina women are at risk than most for several of these. In the United States, there are suspected to be 37.3 million people with diabetes. Diabetes is also considered an autoimmune disorder by researchers, and is one that the Indigenous, Filipino, Indian, Latine, and Black communities are all at higher risk for than white people are, however, risk is also heavily influenced by poverty, and by a family's location with respect to food deserts which grow more and more common. In a truly wild statistic, 80% of lesbians versus 32% of heterosexual women had polycystic ovaries in one study, and 33% of lesbians versus 14% of heterosexual women had progressed to PCOS. Some studies find that transmasculine folks are more likely to PCOS as well.

When we consider the marginalization these groups experience, and the way that marginalization plays out in the social forum, the political forum, in the financial forum, and in the emotional forum, are we really surprised to learn that it plays out in the embodied forum too?

This is what people mean when they talk about social murder. These are health conditions that don't just change lives, they end them. A system that churns out people so chronically sick that their bodies are desperately killing themselves trying to stay alive is a society that has become desperately sick. Diabetes is something we have attributed to individuals, to families, and even every once in a while to corporations, but at what point have we sat down and looked at a society that produces this murderous autoimmune disorder at such high rates and asked the real question: how are we making so many people sick?

The answers are many, and that can feel overwhelming, but I encourage you to start in one place and learn your way around it as well as you can before you even consider moving on. Maybe start with food deserts. They're probably familiar to you, you've heard about them in passing before I imagine, even if you're not really too into this stuff. But ask yourself WHY food deserts are able to exist? What are the mechanics of one being born? How does one stay free from the stain of a grocery store or food market? Are there any places like that near you? If so, what points of leverage might there be in that location for you to break the homeostasis of the food desert? How can you add your weight to efforts already occurring, or stir up sentiment around the idea of a new homeostasis where a grocery store exists? Can you put up flyers or attend town hall meetings? Can you knock doors or phone bank? Can you bring some sugar by your neighbors and comment how frustrating it is you all have to go so far to get your groceries and wonder what's up with that and maybe start scheming together? What kind of store should it be? Bring in a local market? A chain? Build a co-op or merchant's stalls for a four season farmer's market?

Get really into one idea, and get others in on it with you. I bet you aren't the only one who'd like a better status quo.

#anti-psych #chronic stress #food deserts #this one is still fuzzy i may come back to it

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