#tread carefully [writing sensitivity]

[impishjesters]

Pomni, Kinger, Caine & Jax's reaction to their s/o abstracting

warning(s): angst, hurt no comfort, self-blame, "death" of the reader, implied "death"/abstraction of another character (spoiler: Kinger), hopeful outcome note(s): There's nothing incredibly heavy or detailed, just tread carefully if "death" is something you are sensitive to, please. The "hopeful outcome" implies that Caine will at some point in time be able to fix those who've abstracted. A/N: I was feeling particularly cruel and wanted to write some angst, this came to mind and I'll be honest. I made myself a little sad.

Pomni

She never saw it coming, of course, you were acting different lately but she didn’t think it would… lead to you abstracting…

It took forever for things to get some semblance of normalcy, and you being with her was a major part of it.

Sure the relationship in a place like this was a bit, weird, but you cared about her, and she cared about you.

You kept her sane and grounded, so when you were found abstracted? It felt like she failed you.

Ragatha tries to assure her that you aren’t completely gone. Like Kaufmo you’re being kept in the cellar. Caine claims the abstracted are being kept there until he can find a way to “fix” them. (Whether he’s genuine or not though, none of them know.)

It’s all empty promises though, she still feels like she failed you.

Kinger

Not again…

Kinger silently promised himself not again, he was fine being friendly with everyone else that fell into the circus, but he had no intentions of being more than that.

But then you happened, and while he was still in shambles from the time and the insanity spent here, you were there beside him. Like a knight in shining armor.

He hadn’t been around when you abstracted, in fact, he didn’t know you abstracted until there was yelling, and boom an abstraction was causing chaos.

Kinger didn’t know who it was until it was sent off to the cellar, actually, he didn’t know who it was until he realized everyone was present except you.

There’s a high probability that losing someone again, losing you, is what ends up being his own downfall. The other’s (not including Jax) try their all to get him to calm down but it’s not enough, it’s too late…

Caine

Of all the humans to be pulled in he never once got attached.

This was never supposed to happen, he’s incapable of love.

Caine does his best to keep the humans from abstracting, and as many eyes as he has over the place, there are always ones that slip through his grasp.

Of course, he’s not around when you abstract, it takes a bunch of hooting and hollering from everyone before he shows up and oh hey an abstraction.

At an immediate glance, he knows it’s you, abstractions never remotely look like the person they were before but he knows it’s you. You don’t recognize him as you lash out, of course you don’t, you can’t.

He’s unsure about tossing you with the others in the cellar, there’s nowhere else he can truthfully keep you without causing problems. So into the cellar, you go.

Caine visits you though, not for long but he does check in on you. Not that anything changes, but out of all the abstractions down there, he knows exactly which one is you.

You’ll be the first human he fixes as soon as he’s able to.

Jax

His s/o abstracted? Nice joke, though it’s in poor taste. You’re completely fine, he just saw you earlier.

Jax doesn’t believe it until he sees it, and seeing it absolutely ruins him. He’s seen countless others get abstracted and thrown into the cellar, but why, why does it have to be you?

Why couldn’t it have been literally anyone else? He didn’t give a shit about anyone else, the one person he cared for, and you…

Similarly to Pomni, he feels it’s his fault like he could’ve, no should’ve done more. Was he so wrapped up in everything else that he didn’t notice the signs? Why didn’t you talk to him? You didn’t, didn’t do that on purpose, did you?

For the first time ever, the others are genuinely worried about Jax, they all saw/know how much you meant to him. The two of you even spoke fondly about what the two of you would do if you got out of the circus.

For a while Jax becomes even more irrational and unhinged, they try not to hold it against him too badly, even when he oversteps. He’s grieving and none of them know just how long that’ll go on.

Jax isn’t quite the same afterward, but he makes sure that nobody else tries to worm their way into his heart.

If it’s possible, he’ll make sure Caine fixes you the second he’s able to. Even if Caine can fix only one person, it’s going to be you.

#the amazing digital circus #the amazing digital circus x reader #tadc jax #tadc #jax x reader #jax #tadc pomni #tadc caine #tadc kinger #pomni x reader #caine x reader #kinger x reader #kinger #caine #pomni

[writingwithcolor]

Sri Lankan Fairies and Senegalese Goddesses: Mixing Mythology as a Mixed Creator

[Note: this archive ask was submitted before the Masterpost rules took effect in 2023. The ask has been abridged for clarity.]

@reydjarinkenobi asked:

Hi, I’m half Sri Lankan/half white Australian, second gen immigrant though my mum moved when she was a kid. My main character for my story is a mixed demigod/fae. [...] Her bio mum is essentially a Scottish/Sri Lankan fairy and her other bio mum (goddess) is a goddess of my own creation, Nettamaar, who’s name is derived from [...] Wolof words [...]. The community of mages that she presided over is from the South Eastern region of Senegal [...] In the beginning years of European imperialism, the goddess basically protected them through magic and by blessing a set of triplets effectively cutting them off from the outside world for a few centuries [...] I was unable to find a goddess that fit the story I wanted to tell [...] and also couldn’t find much information on the internet for local gods, which is why I have created my own. I know that the gods in Hinduism do sort of fit into [the story] but my Sri Lankan side is Christian and I don’t feel comfortable representing the Hindu gods in the way that I will be this goddess [...]. I wanted to know if any aspect of the community’s history is problematic as well as if I should continue looking further to try and find an African deity that matched my narrative needs? I was also worried that having a mixed main character who’s specifically half black would present problems as I can’t truly understand the black experience. I plan on getting mixed and black sensitivity readers once I finish my drafts [...] I do take jabs at white supremacy and imperialism and I I am planning to reflect my feelings of growing up not immersed in your own culture and feeling overwhelmed with what you don’t know when you get older [...]. I’m sorry for the long ask but I don’t really have anyone to talk to about writing and I’m quite worried about my story coming across as insensitive or problematic because of cultural history that I am not educated enough in.

Reconciliation Requires Research

First off: how close is this world’s history to our own, omitting the magic? If you’re aiming for it to be essentially parallel, I would keep in mind that Senegal was affected by the spread of Islam before the Europeans arrived, and most people there are Muslim, albeit with Wolof and other influences. 

About your Scottish/Sri Lankan fairy character: I’ll point you to this previous post on Magical humanoid worldbuilding, Desi fairies as well as this previous post on Characterization for South Asian-coded characters for some of our commentary on South Asian ‘fae’. Since she is also Scottish, the concept can tie back to the Celtic ideas of the fae.

However, reconciliation of both sides of her background can be tricky. Do you plan on including specific Sri Lankan mythos into her heritage? I would tread carefully with it, if you plan to do so. Not every polytheistic culture will have similar analogues that you can pull from.

To put it plainly, if you’re worried about not knowing enough of the cultural histories, seek out people who have those backgrounds and talk to them about it. Do your research thoroughly: find resources that come from those cultures and read carefully about the mythos that you plan to incorporate. Look for specificity when you reach out to sensitivity readers and try to find sources that go beyond a surface-level analysis of the cultures you’re looking to portray. 

~ Abhaya

I see you are drawing on Gaelic lore for your storytelling. Abhaya has given you good links to discussions we’ve had at WWC and the potential blindspots in assuming, relative to monotheistic religions like Christianity, that all polytheistic and pluralistic lore is similar to Gaelic folklore. Fae are one kind of folklore. There are many others. Consider:

Is it compatible? Are Fae compatible with the Senegalese folklore you are utilizing? 

Is it specific? What ethnic/religious groups in Senegal are you drawing from? 

Is it suitable? Are there more appropriate cultures for the type of lore you wish to create?

Remember, Senegalese is a national designation, not an ethnic one, and certainly not a designation that will inform you with respect to religious traditions. But more importantly:

...Research Requires Reconciliation

My question is why choose Senegal when your own heritage offers so much room for exploration? This isn’t to say I believe a half Sri-Lankan person shouldn’t utilize Senegalese folklore in their coding or vice-versa, but, to put it bluntly, you don’t seem very comfortable with your heritage. Religions can change, but not everything cultural changes when this happens. I think your relationship with your mother’s side’s culture offers valuable insight to how to tackle the above, and I’ll explain why.  

I myself am biracial and bicultural, and I had to know a lot about my own background before I was confident using other cultures in my writing. I had to understand my own identity—what elements from my background I wished to prioritize and what I wished to jettison. Only then was I able to think about how my work would resonate with a person from the relevant background, what to be mindful of, and where my blindspots would interfere. 

I echo Abhaya’s recommendation for much, much more research, but also include my own personal recommendation for greater self-exploration. I strongly believe the better one knows oneself, the better they can create. It is presumptuous for me to assume, but your ask’s phrasing, the outlined plot and its themes all convey a lack of confidence in your mixed identity that may interfere with confidence when researching and world-building. I’m not saying give up on this story, but if anxiety on respectful representation is a large barrier for you at the moment, this story may be a good candidate for a personal project to keep to yourself until you feel more ready.

(See similar asker concerns here: Running Commentary: What is “ok to do” in Mixed-Culture Supernatural Fiction, here: Representing Biracial Black South American Experiences and here: Am I fetishizing my Japanese character?)

- Marika.

Start More Freely with Easy Mode

Question: Why not make a complete high-fantasy universe, with no need of establishing clear real-world parallels in the text? It gives you plenty of leg room to incorporate pluralistic, multicultural mythos + folklore into the same story without excessive sweating about historically accurate worldbuilding.

It's not a *foolproof* method; even subtly coded multicultural fantasy societies like Avatar or the Grishaverse exhibit certain harmful tropes. I also don't know if you are aiming for low vs high fantasy, or the degree of your reliance on real world culture / religion / identity cues.

But don't you think it's far easier for this fantasy project to not have the additional burden of historical accuracy in the worldbuilding? Not only because I agree with Mod Marika that perhaps you seem hesitant about the identity aspect, but because your WIP idea can include themes of othering and cultural belonging (and yes, even jabs at supremacist institutions) in an original fantasy universe too. I don't think I would mind if I saw a couple of cultural markers of a Mughal Era India-inspired society without getting a full rundown of their agricultural practices, social conventions and tax systems, lol.

Mod Abhaya has provided a few good resources about what *not* to do when drawing heavily from cultural coding. With that at hand, I don't think your project should be a problem if you simply make it an alternate universe like Etheria (She-Ra and the Princesses of Power), Inys (The Priory of the Orange Tree) or Earthsea (the Earthsea series, Ursula K. Le Guin). Mind you, we can trace the analogues to each universe, but there is a lot of freedom to maneuver as you wish when incorporating identities in original fantasy. And of course, multiple sensitivity readers are a must! Wishing you the best for the project.

- Mod Mimi

#asks #multiracial #multicultural #south asian #sri lankan #senegalese #west african #identity #representation #worldbuilding #fantasy #mythology #folklore #fairies #deities #adoption #identity issues #mixed experiences #coding

[saetoru]

✩ ‧₊˚ ✩ APATHY OF THE CHIEF JUSTICE — NEUVILLETTE.

contents. archon quest spoilers, liddol weepy dragon neuvillette :(, established relationships, reverse comfort, lots of kissies 4 him, it’s a bit self indulgent my bad but he’s just a sensitive lil friendly guy who tries his best he makes me sad :(, maybe ooc idrk how to write him yet

it starts raining out of nowhere on a sunny day, hard. you frown—you know exactly what this means, walking up to neuvillette’s office in concern.

“good afternoon, sedene,” you smile, patting the melusine on the head. she leans into your touch happily, content with the small show of affection.

“good afternoon. if you’re here to visit the chief justice, i have to warn you. today, he seems…” sedene trails off, unsure how to finish, and you hum knowingly as you nod.

“i see,” you murmur, “i’ll see if i can help.” you turn and knock on the office door—it’s silent for a moment before you call, “it’s me.”

you hear some shuffling before neuvillette finally answers. it’s a quiet, “come in,” and nothing more. you sigh before entering—that can’t be a good sign.

neuvillette looks…well, devastated. with red rimmed eyes and a slightly pink nose, his cheeks trailed with delicate tears that break your heart. you walk over, cupping his cheek and brushing away a stray tear with your thumb as he closes his eyes.

“what’s got you so upset,” you murmur, “the weather has taken a rather drastic turn, wouldn’t you say?”

he sniffles, the poor thing—it’s as precious as it is heartbreaking. “i believe…i believe i may have made a mistake,” he mumbles, “a terrible one, in fact.”

“oh?” you raise a brow, leaning down and brushing your lips against his forehead soothingly, “i’m sure you’ve done your best, neuvillette.”

“no,” his voice breaks, a fresh round of tears falling past his lash line and staining his skin. you furrow your brows, cupping both sides of his face as your forehead presses to his, “no, i didn’t…i didn’t do what i should have. in fact, i did nothing at all.”

“i’m sure that’s not true,” you reason, “you always do what you can.”

“i could’ve stopped the duel,” he shakes his head, and instantly you know what must be on his mind. “i thought…i thought i understood but i didn’t. i still don’t.”

neuvillette doesn’t understand humans as well as he hopes—it’s changed a bit since you’ve shown up, but their emotions are far too complicated for him sometimes. you help him, sometimes—you try to show him they’re not much different from him, but he’s learning slowly on his own.

you nod slowly at his words, as if you understand, before pressing soft kisses along his face. you scatter them along his cheeks, over the tip of his nose, just at the corners of his mouth and right on the center of his forehead.

he sniffles again, miserably.

“oh, love,” you murmur gently—callas has always been a complicated topic, one you’ve carefully treaded since it’s happened. his lips wobble, and you pull him into you, letting his head rest against your chest as you sit on the armrest of his chair. “callas wasn’t your fault,” you whisper, “none of us could’ve known.”

“i believed he was guilty,” he confesses, “otherwise, why duel? i…i didn’t think he would do it for…”

“and you weren’t alone in your assumptions,” you reason. that doesn’t seem to make him feel any better—in fact, you feel your shirt dampen, and the rain hits the glass of his window harder.

“but i am the chief justice,” he insists, “how i can be so if i let innocent men throw away their lives?”

you’re silent for a bit—it’s difficult to give him an answer. it’s difficult to offer him any solace over something like this. but you do know it’s not his fault—and soon enough, you hope he’ll accept that too.

but until then, you thread your fingers into his hair as you press a chaste kiss to the crown of his head.

“being the chief justice doesn’t mean you have all the answers,” you say quietly, catching a tear as it slips down his cheek with your thumb, “you won’t have all the answers. but you’ll do your best to find them. i think that’s enough.”

“lady navia yelled at me,” he tells you. you want to chuckle a little at the way he says it, like child who’s been scolded—but now is not the time, not when he’s so upset. “a few days ago. because i did not stop it. she…she was right—”

“lady navia is grief stricken,” you interrupt, “you have to understand. she didn’t mean—”

“but i could’ve stopped it—”

“anyone could’ve, neuvillette,” you insist, “lady furina, or even clorinde. but no one knew, and that’s okay. it’s how callas wanted it, i’m afraid.”

he’s silent for a bit, weighs your words as he presses against your chest further, let’s your fingers trail through his hair and stroke along his cheek for a bit.

it rains in fontaine—whenever there is something to mourn, it rains. perhaps the people can know this way that they are not alone in their grief, that there is always something, someone to share the burden of pain with them.

“i’ll visit,” he mumbles after some time, “to pay my respects to mister callas.”

“i think that’s a lovely idea,” you smile, poking the tip of his nose and pulling the tiniest of smiles from him, “would you like me to come?”

“no, i think i should do it alone,” he says thoughtfully, “but thank you.”

you feel his hand grab yours, his fingers lacing with yours as he gives it a small squeeze—perhaps he still has a long way to go to understand humans and their complex emotion. but this one, he thinks he understands well enough.

he loves you, just as much as you love him—it’s simple enough to understand.

my lil cinnamon roll :( my emotional liddol weepy dragon :(

#teepods.writings #drabbles. #neuvillette x reader #neuvillette x you #neuvillette fluff #genshin x reader #genshin x you #genshin fluff #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact x you #genshin impact fluff

[ab4eva]

‘Ain’t That Loving You Baby’

Summary: Reader is out of sorts all day - grumpy, petulant, rude and just plain bitchy. Elvis takes it upon himself to set her straight.

Warnings: NFSW 18+, spanking, non-con spanking, established relationship, time period related ideas about marriage/relationships, copious use of pet names, use of the term “daddy”, fingering, aftercare, fluff. Please let me know if I missed anything.

Authors note: Y’all, sometimes inspiration for a fic strikes in the most unexpected of ways, as with this one. I know this isn’t everyone’s cuppa, so if I’ve tagged you and you aren’t into it, apologies and please just keep right on scrolling. Now please enjoy one of my top Elvis fantasies that I will write in as many different ways as humanly possible until the day I die.

Word count: 3.6k

-

You couldn’t quite put your finger on it - why you were so out of sorts today. One minute you were close to tears, feeling sensitive and tender if anyone so much as looked at you the wrong way or seemed the least bit careless with you. The next minute you were blowing up at some poor member of the Memphis Mafia, Vernon or even Elvis himself. You were grumpy, combative, and just generally in a very bad mood. It was as if a black cloud were hanging over your head, following your every step, raining on your own personal parade just to piss you off. The worst part was you knew you were being a brat but you were powerless to stop it. You felt itchy and irritated, on edge from the moment you stepped out the front doors of Graceland that morning to run your errands.

It didn’t help that when you returned, Elvis and the boys were lounging in the living room, making a right mess of things - beer bottles littering every surface, ash trays full to the brim with cigar ash, dirty plates covering the floor - it looked like a literal bomb had gone off. You’d just cleaned the entire house yesterday from top to bottom. Elvis had begged you to hire a housekeeper after you’d gotten married, but you were old fashioned, you saw it as the wife’s job to keep a clean house. And so you did…until all of these beastly men came and messed it up again. You surveyed the mess, a look of displeasure coloring your pretty face, your hands clenched into tight fists. Your heart pounded as you dug your fingernails into the soft flesh of your palm and tried very hard not to scream.

“Oh hey Y/N,” Red said lazily, the first of them to notice you standing in the doorway. “These cookies are damn delicious.” Your eyes zeroed in on his hand and you saw he held one of your freshly baked chocolate chip oatmeal cookies, the ones you’d painstakingly made dozens of last night. They were meant for the cookie exchange your book club was having tomorrow. Your eyes slowly surveyed the rest of the men in the living room, all of them perched here and there on the furniture or the floor… and all of them with cookies in their hands. The big platter heaped with cookies you had carefully placed on top of the fridge now sat almost empty in the middle of the coffee table. Your eyes found Elvis’s as you inhaled sharply and gave him a look that could kill. He had the good grace to look abashed as he quickly dropped the cookie he was holding, standing up slowly from where he sat on the couch as he moved towards you, holding both hands in front of him in a gesture meant to placate you but it only enraged you further.

“Now baby, we didn’t mean to eat all these here cookies, but you know they’re my favorite and I-I-I couldn’t resist. And I had to share with the guys, otherwise what kind of host would I be?” His blue eyes were sparkling with something close to amusement and his voice dripped honey, soft and low, soothing. He knew the look you were giving him, knew he had to tread carefully.

“Elvis…baby,” you said in a dangerous and mocking whisper, “those cookies were for my book club.” You spat the words out through gritted teeth, barely containing your rage. The thing is, you were usually so easygoing, so even-keeled, the very definition of hospitable to guests in your home. Normally, this wouldn’t even phase you. But today? It made you so angry you could barely speak. Poor Jerry had the unfortunate thought at that moment to try and smooth the situation over by offering to clean up the mess they’d made only to have you snap at him (“Don’t bother! None of you had the bright idea to even think before turning my living room into a pigsty!”) as you stomped out of the room.

Things didn’t end there as your rampage continued for the rest of the day, cutting down anyone and anything daring to cross your path. Vernon made the mistake of asking you about a shopping bill for some new dresses you purchased last week, innocently wanting to know the total so he could add it to the monthly expense account. You almost wrung his neck - the sheer audacity of the man! The Colonel came sweeping in cheerily in the late afternoon, trying to pull one of his old carney tricks on you, thinking it would lighten your mood. It had the opposite effect and you told him off so completely that even Elvis had to chuckle at it with a bemused smile. But the final straw came that evening, as you and Elvis sat peacefully (for his part, at least) in the living room, quietly reading after a rather tense dinner. You made some snide, off the cuff remark aimed at the way your husband’s business was being run and in an instant, you knew you’d stepped over the line, pushed Elvis past the limit of what he’s willing to take.

As soon as the words fly out of your mouth you wish you could pull them back in, gather the broken pieces of them and keep them inside. You suck in a gasp, your eyes flying to his face, realizing your mistake too late, realizing your bad mood has landed you here, in uncharted territory. Only once before had you taken things too far - two weeks after your wedding - Elvis had stormed out of the house in a barely suppressed rage only to return the next morning, acting as if nothing had even happened. You see his body still and his blue eyes widen in surprise before they darken, anger and annoyance flashing across his face before being replaced with a look of willful determination. You know that look, it’s the one he gets when he has an idea in his head, and like a dog with a bone, won’t let go until he gets what he wants. Your heart speeds up in your chest, pounding almost painfully, you feel a little lightheaded and your mouth goes dry. You swallow thickly, opening your mouth to apologize, to take back the words you’ve already said, anything at all to stop this train from hurtling off the cliff. “Elvis, I-,” the words start to tumble from your mouth in a rush before he cuts you off angrily.

“That’s enough!” he yells, his voice booming loud and firm, your ears ringing with the force of it. “Now listen here, girl, I don’t know what’s gotten into you today, but that’s. Enough.” His voice is now dangerously low as he punctuates each word with a stab of his finger in your direction, his gold rings glittering wildly in the soft light of the room. He stands abruptly and strides towards you, grabbing you by the wrist and pulling you to his chest, wrapping his arms around you tightly and holding you there. You struggle against him, beating his solid chest with your closed fists like a child, not wanting to be held.

“Lemme go…let me go!” you practically scream in his face. Something inside you refuses to be comforted in this moment, you feel as if he’s suffocating you. You don’t want him to touch you, don’t want him near you. And yet, it’s all you want, to be here, in his arms. His deliciously musky scent fills your nostrils as he presses your head into his shirt in an attempt to calm you. His chest is heaving with restrained emotion and his wiry chest hairs tickle your nose through his unbuttoned collar. Confusion swirls in your brain, you’re too upset to sort through the emotions that have been tormenting you all day as you thrash against him. His lip curls up in an annoyed smirk as he grabs your flailing fists, pinning them to your side as his jaw clenches, his strong arms vise-like as he clutches you tightly to his chest.

“Now, you’re gonna tell me why ya got a bee in your britches, darlin. Why ya been a goddamn brat all goddamn day… or I’m gonna make ya tell me,” he commands, his voice rough and low. His eyes search yours and his nostrils flair slightly as he breathes heavily, trying to keep you in check as you still struggle against him. You can see the vein in his neck, the one that drives you wild, popping out - which means he’s excited or angry - or both.

“I’d like to see you try,” you spit at him scornfully, your bright eyes challenging him, your lip turning up into a slight sneer as you wriggle some more.

“Don’t test me, little one. I think someone needs an attitude adjustment and I’m just the one to give it to ya.” He squeezes you tighter in his arms as you squirm, still trying to break free, and suddenly you’re having a little trouble breathing. You stop moving for a moment and his grip loosens just a little as you gulp in a breath of air. “As your husband, it’s my job to set you right when you’re misbehaving. So I’m gonna ask ya again, darlin - why are ya so outta sorts today?”

You stare at him, at a loss for words. Truthfully, you don’t know what’s gotten into you. It’s just a bad day. You remember waking up and feeling fine, maybe a little tired. Elvis was already gone, his side of the bed cold and empty. He’d been distracted with contract negotiations when you found him in the kitchen, already eating breakfast. Without you. You had wanted to tell him a story about something that happened yesterday that made you think of him. But just as you were about to he was up and out for a meeting, without ever kissing you good morning. Or goodbye. All of these little things, you suddenly realize, subconsciously added up to you feeling neglected and uncared for by him. They had curled inside your belly without you knowing, sending sad thoughts to your brain all day long. You bite your lip as it all comes rushing in and you feel yourself close to tears.

You can’t tell him these things. They’re all too silly, too small, too insignificant in the grand scheme of it all. You just stare at him, your chest heaving, your eyes silently pleading with him to understand as a tear slips down your cheek unbidden. He softens for a moment, a dozen different thoughts flashing across his readable face. He gently wipes your tear with his thumb and presses a kiss to your cheek where it fell. Then he nods once, as if making up his mind about something. He releases you, grabbing your wrist again, practically dragging you over to the big, comfy chair at the edge of the living room. You go rather willingly, unsure of what his plan is. His other hand settles on the back of your neck, gently, as he starts to push you down over the back of the chair. You suddenly understand that something you have no control over is about to happen and you start to fight him again. But he keeps a firm grasp on your wrist as he keeps pushing your head down until you are bent almost in two over the back of the chair. If his iron grip on you didn’t entirely prevent you from moving, his strong, lean body standing behind you and pressing you into the chair does.

“Stop squirming, or I’ll have to tie you down.” His voice in your ear is breathy, somewhere between amused and annoyed. “Don’t think I won’t, honey. You’ve been ornery all day and you don’t get a say in what happens now, ya hear me? Just remember, this is for your own good. And I love you.” You stop moving, knowing he’ll do whatever he deems necessary to see this through. He releases his grip on you and steps to the side, his left arm settling heavily across your back to hold you down as he rucks your short dress up around your hips. You feel him run a hand across your round ass, cupping it and squeezing softly. You hear what can only be described as a delighted breath escaping his lips behind you, the soft huff of a chuckle, his ribcage expanding against your arm as he breathes deeply. The pressure as he grips your ass gets harder and harder before he suddenly stops and his cool fingers toy with the edge of your panties around your waist before he unceremoniously yanks them down to your ankles.

“Last chance, baby,” he says through gritted teeth, his tone stern as he pins you to the chair. You start to squirm again, panic rising in your chest. He’s about to spank you. He…he’s never done that before. Not even for fun. Your body starts to tremble and you shake your head, refusing to speak. You feel him raise his right hand and a ghost of a breeze whispers across your bare bottom. You squeeze your eyes shut and take a deep breath, your heart banging painfully in your chest, preparing as best you know how. You haven’t been spanked since you were a little girl and there’s something wrong, and slightly exciting, about it.

He delivers the first slap to your bottom with a firm, open palm, the impact of it echoing throughout the living room, the only other noise that can be heard is the ticking of a clock, your gasp and Elvis’s heavy breathing. You inhale sharply at the sting of it, but it isn’t as terrible as you were expecting and it dissipates quickly. You let out the breath you’d been holding, if this is all it is you can handle it. All is quiet and still behind you, and you wonder if that’s it…until you feel him lean down to speak in your ear again.

“That was just a warm up, little girl, ain’t gonna go that easy on ya for the rest of ‘em,” he murmurs, and you hear the love in his stern voice as you try and process what he’s saying. The rest of them? That was going easy? You start to wiggle, trying to break free once again and realize the whimpering noise filling the room is coming from your mouth. Before you can get too worked up he swats you again, twice in quick succession, a little harder than before.

“Ow!” you yell, incensed by your situation, kicking your feet a little. “That hurt!” You spit out through gritted teeth, angry now. “Elvis Aaron Presley, you let me go this instant!” Your demands are met with an amused laugh, and you let out a frustrated growl, trying and failing to twist out of his grasp.

“I see I haven’t sorted you out yet, honey. Still got some of that brattiness left in ya that needs to be broken. Your choice, little girl.” Elvis lets a small laugh slip, his eyes on your body as he slowly and deliberately brings his hand down on your ass again. It’s strong and forceful, but not cruel. It leaves you breathless, speechless. Finally the stinging has permeated your skin and refuses to leave. It’s starting to be uncomfortable and you can tell that if he doesn’t quit soon you’re going to have a hard time sitting tomorrow.

“You’ve been petulant, rude, acting like a damn child all day. And that’s not the woman I know and love, the woman I married. No wife of mine is gonna act that like that and get away with it - not to my friends, not to my father, and especially not to me. Do you understand?” His hand gently cups you as he lectures, rubbing softly over what must be your quickly reddening ass. You hiss and grip the the pillow in front of you. “Answer me, girl. Do you understand?”

You’re not done pouting…if he thinks he can break you, sort you out, punish you - let him try. You stay willfully silent, refusing to speak. You hear him sigh as he removes his hand from you and you brace yourself for another round.

“Have it your way, darlin’…I’m gonna give you six more and if you’re still in a state, then we’re gonna have to have a serious talk, you and me," Elvis says, suddenly quiet and solemn and your heart drops in your chest. Maybe this isn’t some game he’s playing? You didn’t realize it was as important as he’s now letting on. You know you were a total bitch today and you do regret your words and actions… You cry out as he spanks you again without warning, his palm landing with more force than he’s given you so far. He continues and the spanking is relentless, but there's also something almost hypnotic about it. It feels like his hand is on your skin forever, but before you know it, it's almost over. And unexpectedly you realize the last couple of swats have sent lightening straight to your core, your nipples are tight buds rubbing deliciously against the coarse fabric of the chair through your thin dress and you’re surprised to feel slickness gathering on your thighs. You don’t know when your cries turned to breathy moans but he stops abruptly as he hears you, still two spankings left to give.

You’re breathing heavily, still clutching the decorative pillow adorning the chair as you clench around nothing, surprising yourself and Elvis as an obscene squelching noise echoes across the now quiet living room. You let out a breathless laugh, flushing a deep red, thankful he can’t see the embarrassment written across your face. You feel Elvis laughing silently as well, quiet little snorts as he tries and fails to keep from giggling.

“Well now, this is a development I wasn’t expecting,” he murmurs in your ear, leaning over you, his warm breath floating across your cheek. You turn your face towards his, your glassy eyes trying to focus on him as you blink slowly. “Now that it seems I’ve sorted you out, what kind of daddy would I be if I didn’t also take care of my baby?” His right hand squeezes your bottom lightly as his left arm finally releases you and his hand slips underneath your hips, his long, cool fingers gently sliding up your soaking folds. Your breath hitches at his touch, letting out a whimper as he reaches your aching clit, circling it deftly with calloused fingers, once, twice, before dipping two of them into your wet heat.

“Goddamn, mama, so needy for me? Maybe I oughta spank ya more often,” he says breathlessly, his voice taut with desire. You know your husband well - it’s the way he sounds when his cock is hard and straining against his pants, aching to be set free. He’s probably already starting to leak, you think dimly, and the thought has you fluttering around him.

“Oh…” you manage to breathe out as he starts to pump his fingers into you agonizingly slow, his thumb finding your clit and applying light pressure. You rock your hips, already so close to the edge you can almost taste it. His right hand smacks your ass hard and you jolt forward, the feeling of his fingers inside you and his punishing hand on your backside has you starting to whine, unable to stop. He speeds up the movement of his hand, curling his digits just so into that sensitive and spongy part of you just as he delivers the final slap to your ass that has you clenching tightly around his fingers nestled inside you, coming harder than you have in a while, your high-pitched whine turning silent as you stop breathing for a moment. He groans above you and you feel him shaking slightly as he bends over your body - you know it’s taking everything in him to hold it together. After a few moments, he slowly releases you, helping you stand and your legs immediately buckle underneath you. Elvis grabs you under your arms to try and keep you from falling but you’re both so weak with spent energy and desire - yours fulfilled, his aching - that you both tumble to the ground in a heap.

"There. All sorted out, sweetheart?" Elvis smiles down at you as your head rests against his shoulder, his arm encircling your waist. His voice is rough but tender as he smoothes the hair back from your face. "How did daddy do?" he asks, a smirk pulling his lush lips up into a lopsided grin. You blink dazedly, trying to form a coherent thought.

“Daddy?” you finally say, rolling the unfamiliar word around on your tongue. “Hmm, I could get used to that, I think.” You smile softly as your hand reaches up to cup his face, your thumb brushing the scratchy stubble across his jaw as your eyes turn serious. “I am sorry, Elvis. For all of it,” you whisper, blinking back tears.

“Shh, little one, I know,” he says, kissing your forehead softly and pulling you closer into himself, cradling you on his chest as your hand nestles in his chest hair, right above his heart that beats only for you.

And at book club the next day, when you’re settled on a mountain of pillows, no one even bats an eye.

-

Tags - I don’t have a general tag list so I’m just tagging some lovies who have enjoyed my previous fics: @jelliedonut @elvisabutler @precious-little-scoundrel @butlersxbirdy @missmaywemeetagain @headfullofpresley @powerofelvis @notstefaniepresley @amydarcimarie @prompted-wordsmith @dkayfixates @sillybookmarks @melancholicbutterflies @thatbanditqueen @eliseinmemphis @godlypresley @ccab @richardslady121 @rjmartin11 @claire-elvisgirl @literally-just-elvis-fics

#elvis presley #elvis #elvis fanfic #elvis fanfiction #elvis x you #elvis x y/n #elvis x reader #elvis presley x you #elvis presley x y/n #elvis presley x reader #elvis imagine #elvis presley fanfiction #elvis presley fic #elvis smut #ain’t that loving you baby #written by ab4eva

[milesandcorysupermacy]

All jokes, mami

42!Miles Morales x Hothead!Black!Reader

Genre: Angst to fluff

Warnings: First time writing but I think it's pretty good 🤷🏾‍♀️, use of n word, cursing, Miles crying, mentions of trust issues, that's it I think

Word Bank: Hija: daughter Bien: Good Muy Bien: Very Good. Ay Dios mio: oh my God Tia: Aunt

Summary: You're having a great time with Miles, Talking about drama and laughing your ass off! But, when you go in the bathroom you find some press on nails that DAMN sure aint yours, and are WAY too dramatic to be his mom's. What do you do?

You're sitting in Miles' room. 'Neon Guts' by Lil Uzi Vert and Pharell playing in the background. You guys are doing what yall usually do, gossip about things that go on at Visions.

"Nah, that nigga was trippin', ma. In what world is it EVER ok to crease another man's forces? I'm not the issue."

Miles said in his own blissfully ignorant (hilarious) way. Talking about yet, another incident he's had within the past two weeks with the same guy, Bryson. He hates this man with everything in him. You try to get them to stick together since they're 2 of the handful of students that are minorities. But, as I said earlier, he's ignorant.

"Bae, I get that, I do. The forces were clean. Fresh out the box." You say, trailing off. Playing with your faux locs, thinking of what to say next. Trying to tread carefully because you know Bryson is a sensitive topic. He's your ex, and yall are still cool. But, Miles just NEEDS to be throwing blows with him all the time.

"But that doesn't mean you punch him in the face! A simple 'Ay watch where you goin' bro' would've worked perfectly, but now he look like a busted, lightskin, balloon." You say doing a horrible impression of Miles and his suave brooklyn accent.

Miles chuckles at your description of Bryson, deciding to add onto it.

"Nah, he don't look like no balloon. His ass look like a clown. Matter a fact, a whole ass circus, and he the star. That nigga a bitch anyway. He really think he look like Drake?Nah, bro. Yo ass look like French Montana, stop playin'. Like, Drake? Nah nigga more like Brake, because he needa pump the brakes and slow down before Plankton come and steal the secret formula for that big ass forehead! Cartoon looking ass." Miles said breaking you two out into a fit of laughter. Silent laughter. The worst kind of laughter.

The laughter where you two are just rocking back and forth on his bed, slapping each other's arms and legs, wheezing slightly, and barely gasping for air. You two calm down and you think of a joke. You gasp from realization.

"Nah, because why do he for real laugh like Mr. Krabbs?" You say laughing again. Miles starts laughing too. Snorting this time, which only adds to the excitement.

"I love how funny I made you, Mami. I'm rubbing off on you, bien. Muy Bien." Miles says in a slightly creepy way.

"Damn, I can't even get credit for being funny, Morales?" You say pretending to be offended.

"No, it's better like this." He says before giving you a peck on the cheek and putting his hand around your waist.

After like 5 mins of talking about more drama at Visions (with no laughing fits). You and Miles settle down and start cuddling. With 'Good Days' By Sza in the background. You wrap your arms around his back, with your legs on the outside of his. Miles, just laying on his back and wrapping his arms around your waist. (I hope this makes sense 😭) Cuddling in a bear hug kind of position. You guys stayed like this for about an hour, and just as you're about to doze off, unlike Miles who fell asleep 20 minutes ago. You have to pee.

You slip your hands from around his back, and try to subtly move his hands from your waist, but he woke up. Damn, getting to the bathroom is not gonna be easy with his clingy ass.

"Where ya goin', mamas?" Miles mumbles half asleep, with a raspy voice. Your heart flutters from the nickname.

'How tf does he have this affect on me, and he's half asleep?' You thought.

"Baby, I gotta pee. I'll be right back, ok?" You say trying to dumb it down since only half of his brain works at the moment.

"No, you're gonna take too long. Just stay with me, we'll get you a pamper or sum." He says gripping your waist even tighter. You usually would've given up because of how sweet he was being, but you deadass were gonna pee on yourself.

"Miles." You say sternly. He lets your waist go with a dramatic sigh, and you walk into the bathroom.

You do your business, flush the toilet, and walk over to the sink, starting to wash your hands. But- oh, what's this?

You pick up a pack of orange, rhinestone, one inch, press on nails. You don't wear press on nails. Shit, Miles would know because he pays for you to get your nails done. You feel the anger boiling inside of you. Maybe they're his mom's? No, she hates orange. It reminds her of Halloween. "The devil's holiday". You remember that's what she calls it and you start to smirk. No! You're supposed to be mad right now. You finish wiping your hands on a paper towel and throw it away. Grabbing the nails and marching into Miles' room.

You see miles on his phone, he must've been waiting for you to come back. Or texting his other ho-

"Hey, Ma-"

"Whose nails are these?" You say throwing the box at his face.

He groans and inspects the box, tilting his head in confusion. "I dunno, these seem a little too... crazy to be yours, why?" He says completely oblivious.

"Nigga" You chuckle from anger, pacing around the room. "Stop playing dumb. Miles you're not stupid, you've never been stupid. So I know you understand what pisses me off, and one of those things is lying. Imma ask you one more time, Miles Gonzalo Morales. Who's fucking nails are these?" You spat gritting your teeth during the last sentence. Miles shot up out of the bed, knowing what you were getting at. Trying to convince you with all his heart he'd never do that. This poor boy has lost enough, and he's not about to lose you to a pair of ugly ass nails.

"Mami, I promise I don't know who's nails those are, It's wild that you're even accusing me of this right now. You came over every day this week!" Miles expresses, desperately trying to give you enough evidence.

"Yea, and I always come over after school, maybe your hoes have a scheduled time for after I leave. Who is this bitch? Hm, Miles? Is it that Mexican girl on the 2nd floor, she seems like she's our age." You scream at him, sure that Rio had woken up from her post-work nap.

"Mami, I don't love anyone but you, I promise, ok? Even if I did, with all the money I spend on yo shit. You really think I have enough to buy another girl some nails?" He shouts back. Pointing to the Gucci Mini-Purse he got you for Christmas, he had saved up all year to buy it ever since he saw you eyeing it at the mall. But he could have it back now and give it to his other hoe.

"You know what? You can have this back since my only purpose is being a charity case, fuck nigga." You say taking out your keys, phone, headphones, Lip Gloss, and card out of the purse, shoving it in your pockets. Throwing the purse at him.

"Mami, you serious right now? Sit yo hot-headed ass down and listen to me, you actin' crazy!" Miles grimaced realizing what he just said already knowing your reaction.

"CRAZY?!?!?! I WILL SHOW YO ASS CRA-"

"WHAT IS GOING ON IN HERE? Dios mio¡ It sounds like the real housewives in here. Hija, what did he do this time?" Rio asked.

"Mama Rio, who's nails are these?" You ask her. (She gave you permission to call her that after the 6th dinner together, don't worry)

"¡Ay! I was looking for those, they're Miles' Tia's. She came over yesterday, and was showing me them. She took them from Miles' cousin because that little mama is only 12 and does not need those." She said grabbing the nails and walking out the room to call his Tia. Leaving you and Miles in the most awkward silence. You slowly turn around to see Miles standing there. You thought he would have some sassy remark but no. His lip was starting to quiver and you knew what was next. He starts letting tears fall which surprised you.

"Papa, why are you crying?" You say walking over to hug him. Feeling the worst guilt ever.

"I....I thought you we're gonna leave me, Mami. I would *hiccup* never do something like that to you. Honestly if the roles were reversed I'd forgive you. I don't think I can even see my life without you. I'm so sorry." He says.

"Miles..." You whisper.

"It's not your fault I shouldn't have jumped to conclusions. You've done nothing to prove that you're untrustworthy. I have trust issues and that's something I need to work on. Not you. I'm so sorry, baby" You say sitting down on the bed for one of the most needed cuddle sessions yall have ever had. And after a few minutes of comfortable silence, Miles breaks the ice.

"What if I just made my mom cover for me, and I am cheating on you?" He asks with a shit eating grin.

"Miles..." You warn

"All jokes, mami"

--------------------------------------------------

FIRST FIC! what'd yall think? I'll accept constructive criticism. If you have a request or a way for me to make my writing better, just send a ask!

#across the spiderverse #42 miles morales #miles morales #earth 42 miles fluff #earth 42 miles x reader #earth 42 miles x black reader #rio morales #uncle aaron #atsv imagines #miles morales fanfiction #sza sos #lil uzi vert

[slowandsteddie]

Claudia Henderson and Her (Two) Boys

Link to Part One

Link to AO3

I don’t really have a preamble here. Just know that I am incredibly happy to have this one off my WIP list. I’ll probably do a part three at some point where I focus more on her story, but I need to knock some other stuff out first. I never realized how much we are starved for Claudia content until I started trying to write some.

Steve talks about the night that his mother died in this one. Tread carefully if that’s sensitive content for you but you want to read anyway.

2,242 words.

“You never really explained how you got those scars.” Claudia said softly.

She walked into the kitchen and set her bags down on the counter. While that wasn’t the most correct greeting with Eddie sitting across the table from Steve, it did go to show that she saw the guy with matching scars as part of the family. She had been dating his uncle long enough, in any case, to have claimed him as one of her boys.

“Protecting Dustin.” Steve said after a moment.

She ignored the fact that his face went through a lot of emotions over that one, like he couldn’t decide what he was allowed to say to her. She knew there was a cover up of sorts and lots of NDA’s that he had to sign. But surely he could tell her something.

“And, who was protecting you?”

His eyes flicked to Eddie and she noticed the way that both of them blushed. It warmed her heart to know that they were safe with each other, but she’d let them admit what she already figured out in their own time.

—

“She, uh. She caught him cheating on her.” Steve said suddenly.

She sat down the plate that she had been washing, and turned off the faucet after rinsing the soap off her gloves. Claudia turned around to look at Steve. It had been years, and this was the first time that he had talked about it. That night. She didn’t say a word, just watched him as he watched the table.

“She was so calm about it until the other lady left, you know?” His voice caught. “She was calm when she told him that she was going to file for divorce in the morning and that she was going to take everything. Including me. And I was so happy, you know? Because I realized that she did love me…”

Claudia felt tears well in her eyes, but made no move to wipe them. She didn’t even dare to sniffle, in fear that it would get him to clam up.

“Then there was screaming. So much screaming. A bang, and then silence.” He shuddered. “I called Hop when the screaming started. Let him hear it over the phone, even as I… I couldn’t even breathe, mom.”

The word that slipped out made her heart squeeze painfully. He had never called her that so sincerely before. She wanted to wrap him up in her arms, but refused to move. Not until he was ready to look at her. Now wasn’t the time to potentially startle him.

She wanted to go to him, desperately. Wanted to wrap him up tightly in her arms and remind him that he was safe now. But, Claudia knew that if she made a move before he was ready, Steve would react like a cornered animal. And he deserved to feel safe in his own home, damn it.

“My dad tried to find me. Got more pissed when he couldn’t. I think… I think he would have killed me if he found me.” A humorless laugh passed his lips. “Hop found me, first. Knew the room I liked to hide in from finding me there on previous, uh, house calls.”

Claudia’s heart broke. How many times had Steve needed to call Hop before? How many times had her poor boy had to endure knowing that his mother was hurting and he was too young to do anything but hide and call for help and pray?

Her hand went to her throat because she needed to hold something and she wasn’t about to move right now. Steve needed to talk about that night. It was good for him to let it out instead of keeping it bottled inside. She wasn’t going to do anything to make him clam back up. Not unless he asked her too.

“Hop got me out of there so fast. So fast, mom. I was in his car and he was peeling out before the on duty cops even got there.” His voice cracked. “I heard a gunshot and I swear he just drove faster. I never really knew what it was like to feel safe with an adult before, you know?”

Steve had to stop to breathe. To gather himself. Neither one of them acknowledged the tears sliding down his face.

“I was twelve and terrified. I knew that Hop would come when I called. Kind of his job, you know? But I never would have thought that he would…you know, uh… Get me out of there himself and promise me a safe place to stay.” A shuddery breath passed his lips. “He was right, by the way. You are safe. And I’d really love for you to hug me right now, mom. Please.”

That was all Claudia needed to hear. She closed the distance between them and wrapped her boy up in her arms so tight that she could feel his heart pounding as he hugged her just as tight. He was shaking so badly as she whispered soothing words against his ear. He was taller than her, but it was easy to get those gentle words right where they needed to be with the way he curled into her.

“You are mine, Steve Henderson. As long as I have air in my lungs, you are safe and have nothing to worry about. Ever.”

“H-Henderson?” He pulled back, then. Not a lot, but enough.

“Yes. You’ve been a Henderson to me since the day you stepped foot in my house.”

“Can… Can we make that my legal last name?”

“We’ll go Monday.”

—

“Five years and you’re finally a Henderson,” Dustin said with the biggest grin that she had ever seen.

That really did say something because he had this habit of somehow smiling with his entire face when he was genuinely excited. And that happened a lot.

“Ew. The same last name as you? What was I thinking?” Steve teased while pulling him closer. He yanked off his hat and messed up his curls, his fingers not tangling for once. “Nice! You actually brushed it this time.”

“I’ll have you know I did no such thing. This is from when I tricked you into brushing my hair for me last night.”

Steve took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “You’re telling me that you didn’t brush your hair this morning? You woke up in plenty of time, I heard Lukas on your walkie-talkie.”

“Why were you eavesdropping?”

“One. Your friends are loud. Two, don’t change the subject on me.”

That was when Claudia decided to clear her throat. Both boys stopped and looked at her, eyes wide, and she couldn’t help the giggle that escaped.

“Hi, mom,” they said sheepishly.

She held up the envelope. “Steve, you want to do the honors of opening your new documents?”

Steve walked toward her and reached out, delicately taking the envelope from between her fingers before sitting down. Dustin was trying to crowd around him, wanting to be the first to see them with him. She couldn’t help but to smile. Her two boys, brothers in all the ways that mattered.

“Can… Can I wait until Wayne and Eddie get here, too? Want my whole family here for this.”

Her heart swelled with pride and adoration for the teen she had taken in all those nights ago.

“Of course we can wait, baby. Whenever you’re ready.”

Claudia listened as Steve and Dustin went back to the importance of taking care of their hair. She smiled, shook her head, and started putting away the groceries. Usually, she’d ask her boys to help her out. But, Steve seemed to be making headway and she really would love for Dustin to actually brush his hair more than once a week.

She waited for a lull in the heated discussion. “Spaghetti or meatloaf?”

Steve said meatloaf at the same time that Dustin said spaghetti and she was prepared for another argument. But then she heard a cheery “meatloaf!” coming out of Eddie’s mouth as he walked in the front door like he owned the place. Her face broke into a grin, but only because she knew that Wayne wasn’t far behind.

Wayne’s face immediately lit up the second he saw her and it had her blushing like she was still just a school girl. She was almost tempted to try and hide behind her hair, but then she remembered the effort that she had put into the updo and left it alone.

Dusty grumbled and it made her pout at him playfully. “Sorry, baby. You were outvoted, but I’ll make spaghetti when all the leftovers are gone.”

That seemed to appease him for the moment and that was enough for her to start getting all the ingredients together for dinner instead of fretting over her boy. Wayne easily found his way into her space in a helpful way. He did kiss the side of her head when the opportunity arose and Claudia almost squealed over it. Nearly five years and she still got excited over the affection he had to offer.

“Hey, uh. Everyone’s here,” Steve said suddenly.

Claudia nudged Wayne to go take a seat at the table with their boys. She washed her hands before doing the same as she had been messing with raw meat before.

“What’s up?” Eddie asked after a few seconds.

Steve was just staring at the envelope that he had sat on the table after his statement. He cleared his throat.

“I wanted all of my family to be here when I opened it, so I had to wait for Dingus and his uncle to get here.” He cracked a smile.

“You’ve been spending too much time with Robin. Dingus.” Eddie joking mocked that last word before shuddering.

“Shut up, Ed’s. This is a big moment.” Steve said without any heat. He was too busy grinning.

Claudia smiled, watching the boys bicker.

“Open it, Steve!” Dustin demanded, throwing his hands in the air. “I’m tired of waiting.”

Steve took a deep breath and let it out slowly before opening the envelope so carefully. Dustin opened his mouth to say something but thought better of it over the pointed look that Wayne gave him. This was Steve’s moment, Claudia thought, and she was glad that the other adult in the house agreed with her.

He pulled the letter out, carefully unfolding the paper and his eyes scanned the page quickly. His smile just kept getting wider and wider. He turned it around so that everyone could see it when he was finished.

“Officially a Henderson!” He exclaimed and it was met by cheers.

Claudia’s were the loudest of all. While she couldn’t officially adopt the boy who showed up on her doorstep all those years ago, she could give him a family name that doesn’t make him flinch when he hears it. She got up and closed the distance before pulling him into a tight hug that he was quick to return.

It was kind of funny, in a sad sort of way, that Steve couldn’t be adopted because his father, who was in prison, refused to relinquish parental rights — but, they could get his last name changed and it was more or less the same to them.

“I’m so happy,” Claudia murmured against his temple, which she promptly kissed.

That was when the rest of her boys came in to join the hug, effectively squishing Steve into a pile of love and affection that she knew he’d never have to doubt again.

—

Dustin, Steve, and Eddie were all in Steve’s room with some of Dusty’s other friends. They were playing that dice game that she couldn’t seem to understand no matter how much they tried to explain it. What mattered was that there was math and science involved somehow and that they were having fun.

She leaned into Wayne who was sitting beside her on the couch. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders and she smiled as she settled into him. He placed a kiss on top of her head that left her blushing pretty badly.

He was watching the game with a beer in his other hand. Claudia, meanwhile, had a glass of wine. She was more than content to just sit close and spend time together. Sports was another thing she didn’t know much about. Wayne had tried to explain this game to her and she did get the general idea, but she was never going to be able to remember all of those stats.

“I’m happy for ‘em,” Wayne said at the start of the commercial. “Steve, I mean. He seems so much lighter now that he has your name.”

“I feel like I can breathe easier, now. Like I have some sort of legal claim to him now that we share a last name.” Claudia took a sip of her wine.

Wayne hummed his agreement before taking a drink of his own beer. Apparently it was the last drink because he sat the can on the coffee table and it sounded pretty empty. When he leaned back against the couch, she leaned back into him and rested her hand over his chest.

“I think you should stay tonight,” she said.

Almost like it wasn’t the first time that she invited Wayne into her room while the kids were home. If it shocked him, he didn’t let it show.

“Then I will.”

#stranger things #Claudia Henderson POV #Claudia Henderson and Her Two Boys #Claudia Henderson #Steve Harrington #Steve Henderson #Dustin Henderson #Wayne Munson #Eddie Munson #cw: mentions of death #cw: mentions of cheating #cw: mentions of abuse #let me know if I missed anything #claudia is a good mom

[kelcemenow]

Birthday Suit - Chapter 4.

Pairing Travis Kelce x Reader

Words 1936

Warnings Strong language and smut. Seriously, just like, tread carefully. (I cannot believe I'm writing this at work!)

And the end of this little series is here! The series that I didn't plan on being a series! I hope everyone has enjoyed it, especially the Anon who requested it. You got more than you bargained for with this one!! “Request!!!!! Travis and the reader meet on a club in Vegas they immediately hit it off, as the night continues the enjoy the Vegas strip having fun and once they get to his room travis really shows the reader how much he adores her. Fluff / smut”

CHAPTER 3

CHAPTER 4

You gasped lightly as you stared up into Travis' eyes, "Are you sure?"

Travis exhaled a laugh, "Baby, you've been turning me on all night." His voice lowered to an almost whisper, "And if it's okay with you, I'd like to spend whatever is left of tonight, fucking you in my hotel room."

You slowly ran your tongue along your top lip, "I can't think of a better way to end the night."

Travis grinned and grabbed your arm, pulling you towards the road in order to hail a taxi. As soon as you stepped into the vehicle, Travis's hand latched onto your inner thigh.

"The Four Seasons, please."

You looked to him with dark eyes as his hand slowly moved upwards, pushing the fabric aside and hooking his fingers inside of your thong. Your breath hitched when he touched your sensitive clit and an intense throb took over you. You already knew how wet you were but Travis' eyes widened when his fingers found your soaking core. He rubbed circles across your folds, giving extra attention to your swollen clit. Your eyes began to flutter and roll back into your head but Travis used his other hand to bring your attention back to him.

"Look at me." He said quietly, not wanting to gain the observation of the taxi driver.

Your hazy eyes tried to focus on Travis as the intense pleasure began to take a hold of you. He gently pushed two fingers inside of you, pumping back and forth with an agonisingly slow pace. A soft breath escaped your lips as you felt Travis add a third finger, your walls stretching with a slight sharp pain. Travis' eyebrows narrowed slightly as he pleasured you, signalling his own arousal. You glanced down to see a growing mound in his pants which you placed your hand on top off, grazing it lightly.

The taxi pulled into the hotel entrance, the bright yellow lights of the lobby streaming through the glass double doors.

Travis removed his fingers from you with a wet sound before placing them in his mouth, sucking your juices from his skin, "To be continued."

Your breath caught in your throat and you wiggled your dress down your thighs, anxious that a noticeable damp patch would be visible. Travis placed his hand around your waist and headed into the hotel, guiding him with you. Large elevators lined a wall and Travis pressed one of the buttons, causing one of their doors to slide open.

You both stepped into the lift and as soon as the doors were closed, Travis lunged towards you, pinning you against the wall. His hands grabbed at your body desperately, exploring your thighs, your breasts and your ass in quick succession. You groaned lightly as his mouth was on your neck, alternating between kisses and nibbles. You clawed at his large shoulders and biceps, grasping onto them in case your legs completely buckled underneath you.

The elevator doors flew open to show a single door at the end of a short hallway. Travis lifted you with impressive strength and you instinctively wrapped your legs around his waist. Your hands found themselves at either side of his head, pulling it towards you for a long, deep kiss. Travis held you up as he made his way to the hotel room, fishing for his key card from his back pocket and letting himself in.

The dim lamp lights clicked on and Travis eased you down onto the couch, stepping back to admire you. You rose to your feet, slowly peeling your dress from your body and letting it drop onto the floor. Travis' expression changed to pure hunger. His eyes scanned over your breasts, down across your midriff and towards your thong.

"Take it off." He said in a low growl.

You obeyed, looping your thumbs under the fabric and pulling it down past your thighs. You kicked your underwear away from you and Travis took a step towards you.

"Good girl."

Your pussy pulsated with his words, causing you to squeeze your thighs together. Travis reached out and snaked his hands around your waist, pulling you closer to him.

You reached up and ran your hands underneath his t-shirt, feeling his muscled chest, "Well, this hardly seems fair. You're fully clothed and here I am, completely naked."

His eyes glistened, "I quite like it."

Suddenly, Travis picked you up and tossed you down onto the couch, pushing your knees apart. He flashed you a quick grin before lowering his head between your legs. His tongue latched onto your pussy, licking and sucking at your clit with a gentle pressure. You pressed your head back into the couch, arching your back and stretching your arms out. You pelvis squirmed slightly with the intense pleasure but Travis held you steady with one hand and he used the other one to intensify your growing orgasm by sliding two fingers into you in addition to his tongue. A guttural scream left your lips and you curled your toes tightly, letting your muscles contract and relax repeatedly.

Travis removed his mouth from your core, leaving his fingers in place and moved his face close to yours, "You like that, babygirl?"

You nodded quickly.

"Do I make you feel good?"

You whimpered quietly.

"What? I can't hear you."

"Y-yes, you make me feel...so good." You stuttered.

His fingers stopped moving momentarily and he studied your expression, creased eyes and open mouth, before curling them upwards to graze your g-spot. You gasped with wide eyes and Travis smiled down at you.

"You look perfect like this."

He continued with his stop-start actions, watching your face change with each motion. Your mind began to whir, a dull ache burning inside of you until you couldn't take any more and you released all of your tension, your wetness covering his hands.

Travis looked down and grinned wildly, "Holy shit, I did make you feel good."

Your legs felt weak but you carefully stood up from the couch, some remaining cum seeping down the inside of your leg.

You took hold of Travis' hand, "My turn now." You whispered before pulling him towards the bedroom.

Travis quickly wiped his hand on a towel as you kneeled in front of him, reaching up to undo his belt. His eyes were locked on you and your skin shivered when you revealed his athletically toned legs. You ran your hands over them, occasionally squeezing to feel his immense strength. Travis bit down on his bottom lip when your hand ghosted over his crotch, the fabric of his briefs tightening over his hard dick.

You pulled his briefs down briskly, his thick cock springing free. Your jaw dropped slightly at his sheer size.

"Go on, babygirl. Take it." Travis groaned.

You placed one hand around the base of Travis' erection, applying a small amount of pressure and noticing the thick veins that were protruding. You opened your mouth further and ran your tongue along the underside of his dick, playing special attention to his tip, taking some saliva between your lips and spreading it across. Travis removed his t-shirt quickly, his chest muscles bulging with pleasure.

He placed a hand on the back of your head, stroking your hair, "You're so good...use that pretty mouth." He mumbled.

You complied, parting your lips and wrapping them around his length, slowly bobbing your head up and down, taking more of his dick each time. Travis moaned as you sucked his cock with impressive skill, tilting your head occasionally so that your tongue ran over the thick ridge. His thigh muscles twitched and his free hand gripped the dresser behind him.

You pushed your head into his crotch, feeling the head of his dick pressed into the back of your throat. Your eyes were wide and tears were forming quickly and you craned your neck to look at Travis. His mouth was open and his eyebrows were furrowed. He took your face in his hand and used his thumb to wipe away the moisture under your eyes. You started to feel dizzy and your vision was blurring but the sensation was exhilarating. Travis bucked his hips forward a little, intensifying the feeling. You could feel your heart beating out of your chest and your blood was pumping around your body with force. You quickly pulled your head away with a croak and gasped for air. Travis leaned down and steadied you, placing a gentle kiss on your lips.

"Well done." He stroked your hair and stared into your eyes, "You did so well."

Travis helped you to your feet and laid you carefully on the bed, lightly dragging his hands over your body. Your breathing was laboured but you yearned for him to fuck you. He pressed his lips firmly onto yours and positioned himself in between your thighs, your pussy twitching at the feeling of his dick pressing against your entrance. You lifted your knee, spreading your pussy and opening yourself to him. With barely any effort, Travis slid his cock inside of you, allowing you time to adjust to his size. Your walls clamped around him immediately, squeezing and causing Travis to grunt as he began to thrust into you.

You closed your eyes tightly and whimpered with the sting of your pussy stretching but you slowly adapted to Travis' length and the initial pain became ultimate pleasure, washing over your entire body.

Travis ground into you with ease, his steady rhythm fuelling your second orgasm. The hotel room was soon filled with moans, groans, whimpers and cries from the pair of you, the air thick with passion. He hooked your knee under his arm, pressing into the mattress to steady himself. His dick was slamming into you, forcing itself against your cervix with every thrust. The sound of wet skin slapping together drove you crazy and you had to bite the pillow next to your head in order to stop yourself from screaming too loud. Travis buried his face against your shoulder and his hot breath against your neck sent waves of tingles across your skin.

Travis' pace became unpredictable and he began to thrust harder. You dug your fingertips into his back as his hips stuttered against your pelvis. He lifted himself up, giving you a perfect view of his toned body, his chest peppered in hair which currently had sweat dripping down in thin lines.

"I'm gonna cum." He panted.

You pushed your chest towards the ceiling, "On my tits, cum on my tits."

He quickly pulled his dick out of you and shuffled his knees so that he was at your side. He grasped his length and quickly pumped his hand, locking eyes with you in an intense stare. You squirmed on the bed, placing your hands on your breasts and tweaking at your nipples, letting out soft, breathy moans. It wasn't until you reached out and ran your fingers gently along his balls when his mouth dropped open and his grip tightened. Cum shot out and landed in sticky pools on your chest. You breathed out a loud sigh and smiled up at Travis who was still coming down from his climax. He rested one hand on a pillow as he regained the strength of his legs. After a few seconds, he collapsed on the bed next to you, resting on his elbow.

He held his hand out and stroked your cheek lightly, "Fuck, that was good."

You looked down at the mess on your chest, "It was." You smirked, "I need a shower, are you joining me?"

______________________________________________________________

Well...I'd better get back to work.

Taglist @rd14 @dandelionwrites8 @keiva1000 @fantasywritersstuff @caelipartem @anacarangel @she-lives-in-her-dreams @kkrenae @kristencochefski1125 @countrygirl120983 @killatravtramp @charmed2000 @nouis-bum @cixrosie @delicateearthquakellama @wordsaresimple-imnot @amylouwho9 @queenisa17 @talicat713 @luvvtrent @purecinnamonextract @savaneafricaine @caelipartem @beyxgrande @caitdaniels @ezgirl1108 @vir-tual @lightsoutstyles @macey234 @s294749w @luvvtrent

#travis kelce x reader #travis kelce imagine #kelce x reader #nfl imagine #original story #travis kelce fic #travis kelce #nfl fluff #travis kelce fluff #kelcemenow requests #travis kelce smut #nfl smut

[shieldedreams]

[🦋] goodnight my love (n.s. + l.a.)

summary ⇾ in which you can’t seem to sleep and they... details ⇾ 885 words / neteyam sully x na’vi!reader + lo’ak sully x na’vi!reader (both separate) / 🌸 fluff / established relationship / gn!reader / the sully’s and the reader are in the omatikaya clan (at the hometree) notes ⇾ i wanted to do something a lil’ different of writing reactions for just neteyam and lo’ak! like mini-fics of the same situation for our fave sully boys ✨ more to come in this format! 

on most nights, it was fairly easy to fall asleep; to succumb to slumber after a long day but tonight didn’t feel like most nights. instead of feeling like sleep would soon consume you, your eyes were as wide as an owl's as you stared at the pattern of leaves above you with the light glow sprinkled about in the night.

[🦋] neteyam with a soft sigh, you carefully turn to your side, lightly jumping in surprise to see that neteyam was already staring at you with a small smile on his face.

though surprised, it... truly was a nice surprise to know that you weren’t awake alone. it seems like it’s been brewing in his mind, the question he wants to ask, and it shows even in the way he looks at you.

the answer, comes out in a question: “can’t sleep?”

you shake your head with a sigh, shifting closer towards his welcoming arms that curl around you tighter. it’s secure, it’s comfort; it was home. you find your face slotted along the expanse of his neck, your hands meekly slinging around his waist as he leans his head against yours gently.

“don’t know what’s wrong with me,” you murmur, “i usually sleep well with you...”

“wanna go for a walk?”

you lean back just enough to look up at him, meeting with his coy smile that already has the answer.

“that’ll be great.”

the night didn’t go the way you had expected but it felt right nonetheless. neteyam easily lured you down from the trees, an occasional creak here and there but for the most part, silently treading away from the hometree. as you leisurely walk with neteyam, stories spill out of nostalgia and the serene that the peace of the night offers. he feels at ease, his heart swelling as he watches and listens to you speak of happy memories with your hand in his. though neteyam may or may not have fallen asleep, this was much better than sleep, anyway.

tl;dr: this lovely boy would try to help you by going for a walk, or other ways to take your mind off things so it gets you to sleep. it feels like he’s a sensitive bean, and too considerate for his own good, so he’ll try to make sure you sleep first before him (if he can, if not, he’s told you to wake him up if you can’t fall asleep). expect long walks, climbing trees, going to a river, maybe even him stroking your head to lull you to sleep. (not neteyam finding other ways to hold you despite already quite literally cuddling you to sleep)

[🦋] lo’ak your eyes open for the umpteenth time, a soft huff leaving your lips as you do. that grants you the slightest shift of lo’ak’s arms around you as he groans into your neck, making you turn into a statue at the fear of waking him up but it seems–”y’know, if you couldn’t sleep, you could’ve said something.”

you remain unmoving until you see lo’ak peels his eyes open and the way he’s smiling has you lightly hitting his arms holding you captive. when the hilarity subsides, you’re conscious that lo’ak is awake with you; his eyes are merely observing your features, resting on your lips as you say: “sorry, i didn’t mean to wake you.”

“wasn’t exactly asleep,” he chuckles, moving away so he’s able to face you properly, “do you wanna... just talk?”

that gets you to turn your body so you’re facing him with a raised brow, “you wanna talk to me until we fall asleep?”

“do you actually wanna move?” he scoffs.

he sees the answer in your eyes and the way you press your lips together, making no moves to... move.

“what do we talk about?” you ask, softly, as if you’re shy and lo’ak finds this all the more amusing. instead of teasing you, he decides he might as well take this opportunity to talk to you; as cheesy as it sounds, he appreciates being able to at any time of the day. even if it’s when he’s supposed to be sleeping.

“hm... how was training today?”

it was such a simple (and initially silly-sounding) question but it’s one that usually gets the ball rolling. from a question that’s asked on the daily, it easily threads to something else, jumping from point a, to b, to c, to the rest of the alphabets that lo’ak can’t ever keep count (but he doesn’t need to).

what lo’ak does know is that it’s seemingly helping you ease the weight in your heart restricting you to sleep. funnily enough, it helps him rest easy that night as well as he curls you into his embrace and feels like he can breathe right when he watches you drift off to sleep.

lo’ak slept with a smile on his face that night (as he does with many, many nights of having you in his arms).

tl;dr: cheeky little thing would just wanna talk to you as a way to get you to be tired. he loves hearing the sound of your voice; it calms him as much as his voice calms you. he’ll ask questions to hear stories, to hear your opinions (maybe even a debate here and there) but for the most part, light-hearted conversations and occasional sentimental mentions; pouring your heart out to one another. 

#avatar fanfic #avatar scenarios #avatar the way of water #neteyam x reader #neteyam sully #neteyam sully x reader #neteyam scenarios #neteyam fanfics #lo'ak #lo'ak sully #lo'ak sully x reader #lo'ak sully x you #lo'ak x reader #loak x reader #loak sully

[pookasluagh]

Chapter 10 is up! This one gets dark (SH, panic attack, accidental deadname) so please tread carefully!

Fic description: Zee (Aziraphale) Marsh is a widowed hermit who secretly writes bestselling romance novels under the pseudonym Bella Swansea. His life is rigorously controlled until his new downstairs neighbor arrives. Anthony Crowley causes something to come alive in Zee that he hasn't seen in over twenty years, but Crowley brings with him some of his own very dark secrets.

Teaser from Ch 10:

An image blossomed in his mind. Sitting at his desk in front of the typewriter, a cup of tea at his side, squinting in spite of his glasses at the page as he considered the right words to use. On the other side of the room, Crowley sat in an armchair in nothing but his boxer briefs, his hair still mussed from sleep. He had a leg flung up over the chair’s arm, and he drank a strong cup of properly-made coffee. His whole attention was focused on the mobile in his other hand.

There was nothing erotic about the fantasy—the two of them weren’t even interacting with each other—but the intimacy of the scene bowled Zee over. He yearned for it. He wanted…ordinary with this man.

“What are you smiling at?”

Zee hid his face in Crowley’s chest, taking the opportunity to breathe in the scent of his skin. “Nothing. Just you.”

“Hmm. Well, I like you, too.”

Crowley reached out to stroke his hair. Zee caught his hand after a moment and held it, kissing the delicate bones at his wrist. Incredible things, hands. Whole networks of dexterous muscles and sensitive nerves. He wrote romance novels. How had he never noticed how much poetry could be contained in the tendons of an inner wrist or a stray freckle nestled in hair so fine it was almost invisible?

#good omens #ineffable husbands #aziracrow #good omens fanfiction #crowley #aziraphale #fanfiction #good omens fic #gomens #good omens au

[impishjesters]

Gangle, Ragatha & Zooble's reaction to their s/o abstracting

warning(s): angst, hurt no comfort, self-blame, "death" of the reader, implied "death"/abstraction of other characters note(s): There's nothing incredibly heavy or detailed, just tread carefully if "death" is something you are sensitive to. A/N: Someone on AO3 wanted the rest of the gang so I tried my best. I can't really get a good feel for Zooble since there's so little we saw of them, so it's not the best. I'm not too proud of it but didn't wanna leave them out. here's a link to my "Abstracted" playlist on Spotify

Gangle

Gangle knew something was wrong but didn’t know what, she’s clingier than normal but she’s scared to leave you completely alone. Even during Caine’s little activities, she pairs up with you. Unfortunately, Caine’s adventures have a knack for going astray, forcing you to separate.

She’s not there when it happens and even though you can’t voice it your grateful she’s not.

You had a feeling this could happen one day and had gone to extra lengths to leave her a bunch of letters, a box she knew of but was kept under lock and key. Filled with all your thoughts and fond memories, sweet words, and praise for her to look back on when she was missing you or questioning the world around her. Anything you could think of to write down, you wrote to ease her future of missing you.

All her daily concerns leave her mind when they find you, or what’s left of you. Gangle lets herself get hurt trying to talk to you, as if it could undo the abstraction, even despite the others warning her to stay away.

She’s formed such a tightly-knit bond with you, unlike the others. You listen to her ramble for hours about the animes she loves, you never judge her for her drawings and you even help her when she writes out fanfiction or makes little OCs. You’re her partner, she loves you.

It’s a fine line that she’s riding on with this whole thing. Step back and let Caine toss you into the cellar, be alone again, nobody could replace you. Or to remain at your side and just…fall into abstraction with you…

Ragatha

Abstraction feels inevitable to her, like a game that tests how long you can wait it out if you can wait it out. Just because she knows it’s coming doesn’t make it hurt any less when it happens to you.

The optimistic shtick goes out the window, no matter how long she’s been preparing for this or how hard she’s tried to not let it affect her, it hits her hard.

Even with you by her side, this place has taken its toll on her, but you being with her made the days just a tad more bearable to trudge through. She won’t sugarcoat it and say you made them better, but you were there for her and it’s something she had to look forward to.

Ragatha gets hurt by you, but not nearly as bad as her encounter with Kaufmo. Similarly to Gangle she tries to talk to you but it’s mostly for herself, spouting off how you weren’t supposed to abstract before her. How it was unfair of you to leave her like this, it’s a completely different side of her that the others have never seen.

Similarly to Gangle, it’s a fine line on this being what tips her off. She’s been stuck here on her own long before you showed up, she can do it again but it’s the question of if she wants to. Ragatha knows how long she’s been here, and how Kinger’s been here even longer—the hope of an exit has long since left her mind.

Or maybe, just maybe, you had the right idea—abstraction was a way out. Maybe it wouldn’t take her back to her old life, maybe it was just a death sentence. Maybe it’s just the hysteria getting to her, who knows?

Zooble

Zooble is an observer, words of comfort aren’t something they are great with—but boy do they wish they were, they knew something was up with you as of late but were hesitant to bring it up in a way that wouldn’t pressure you.

Nobody quite knows what Zooble is thinking on any given day (other than a firm “fuck off” mentality), but nobody especially knows what they are thinking when you abstract.

Unlike the others, Zooble doesn’t immediately react. There’s no crying, yelling, or trying to approach or talk to you, they just stand there lost and confused. Similarly to Pomni, they feel like they failed you a bit.

They know they are grouchy and seem standoffish, but that never deterred you before—you were patient with them, even though they didn’t open up about their emotions like you. Did they miss something? Did they miss it because they didn’t join in on Caine’s little stupid games and see how you were suffering?

Similarly to Jax, they aren’t quite the same afterward, Zooble is even more irritable and closed off than normal. A few others are worried but like with Jax, they try not to hold it against them. Zooble’s grieving and it’s worrying how—unaffected—they seem.

Though in privacy Zooble is a mess, from then on mention of you around Zooble is taboo. Zooble isn’t an impulsive person but when you’re mentioned in their presence they’ve been known to act out—they apologize later though, properly. (not half-assed like Jax does)

#tadc #the amazing digital circus #the amazing digital circus x reader #gangle x reader #tadc gangle #gangle #tadc ragatha #ragatha x reader #ragatha #tadc zooble #zooble x reader #zooble

[writingwithcolor]

Judaism, Angels, and Monstrosity

@neapolitangirl asked:

I'm writing a story about the angel Muriel traveling through a world inspired by American folklore (Ex. The Bell Witch, Fearsome Critters, etc) while hunting demons. I wanted to draw inspiration from the legend that says Muriel and Abaddon are one and the same because I thought it was interesting. However, I also know that Abaddon is important to Jewish cosmology and wanted to avoid any unfortunate implications. Muriel is very skittish and kind of a coward, but turns into the more violent and vengeful Abaddon in the presence of demons. Appearance-wise both Muriel and Abaddon are tall and skinny, but Muriel is more like an owly-human while Abaddon is a spiky skeletal being. Would this be connecting Judaism to monstrosity? Also, is there anything else I should try to avoid?

So…angelology, the whole idea of angels with names and personalities and individual jobs, is just…not something the average Jewish person thinks or cares about, even the ones who know a little about it. Not that it’s bad, it’s just not something that is prominent enough that it would have tropes attached that we might be able to warn you against.

That said, we’re posting on the Niche Scholarship and Special Interest website, so if there’s a reader who happens to have a lot of knowledge and feelings about Jewish angelology we would welcome the contribution and specialized expertise.

As it stands, my instinct is to give these more general considerations:

Balancing Jewish and Christian Elements

To what degree are you trying to tell a Jewish story, a Christian story that does not harm Jewish readers, or a story strongly influenced by Christian ideas about the heavens in a way that does not harm Jewish readers? How does deciding where you fall among those distinctions affect how you construct your story, and how you portray your angels?

Jewish Concept of God and Angelic Appearances

To Jews, God Godself does not have a physical body or visible appearance. If you’re describing the appearance of God as you’re navigating your angel-centering narrative, you’re squarely outside the territory of inclusivity toward Jewish readers. That’s okay, if you’re clear with readers that you’re not telling a Jewish story. It’s not okay if you’re trying to conflate Jewish and Christian ideas into a single narrative when they are often incompatible.

Angelic Appearances and Jewish Scripture

Angels might have appearances, and some descriptions of some types of angels in some Jewish scriptures have body parts of various animals. I haven’t the foggiest clue if it matters to anyone what appearances belong to which angels, so if it matters to someone reading this I hope they will speak up.

Are angels Jewish? This is a subject that could make for a fun discussion among Jewish people as a way of exploring the nature of Jewishness, but in your narrative you will have to think this through in your own way. If your angels engage in Jewish practices, then what does that look like and why, and if they don’t, why don’t they? The answer to that may of course be “Because I’m not actually telling a Jewish story.”

Christian Themes and Sensitivity to Jewish Culture

It’s okay to not be telling a Jewish story. But in that case keep in mind what demonstrations of Jewishness you include in a Christian story.

Especially, if you’re depicting a divine Jesus, or a Jesus character with any type of more-than-human powers or ancestry, or you are including any reference to the idea that Christianity might be in any way objectively correct, then you must tread EXTREMELY CAREFULLY with including any depiction of Jewish practice in your work, as the line where depiction turns to appropriation is in that case extremely near.

In all things, try and avoid depicting Jewish humans and any character who might be Jewish or be seen as Jewish in ways that are otherwise harmful: we’ve often talked about tropes around greed, sneakiness, power-grabbing, gender and sexual dynamics, and other tropes that apply to portrayals of Jewish characters. If your angels are Jewish, or Jew-ish in flavor, that goes for them as well.

Again, I know absolutely zero about Muriel and Abbadon and am not very interested in learning more as their lore has zero bearing on my Jewish practice in any way, and that’s a somewhat important point to me to be making because…2J3O. Two Jews, three opinions. So again, if a reader does in fact have knowledge and opinions about the specific angels themselves, please speak up.

–Meir

#Judaism #Christianity #Angels #supernatural beings #Jewish culture #asks

[miguelswifey04]

im too scared to ask this nonanon so I'm sorry if this looks like spam, I promise it's not!!

If you have time, could you do a Miguel x f!reader established relationship where the reader has been being harmed/harassed by someone at her job? She's scared to tell Miguel because she's afraid he won't take her seriously, used to past relationships downplaying her feelings and having to handle things herself. She acts different on the days that she works but sweetly tells Miguel it's just stress.

don’t worry!! thank you for the request and awww yeah for sure!!

remember if you or your loved ones are going through something like this please tell a trusted person, whoever it may be, or report it to your HR/boss/manager/even authorities (honestly anyone you can trust!) you are not alone!! i see you and you are loved <33 if you need someone to talk about anything remember you can shoot me a message, i always answer no matter what 🤎!!

miguel o’hara x fem! reader

warnings: harassment by stranger to reader, angst/comfort fluff, could be triggering (?)

you found yourself facing a difficult situation at work. someone had been harming and harassing you, causing you immense distress and fear. the weight of this burden took its toll on you, but you hesitated to confide in miguel.

previous experiences had conditioned you to believe that your concerns and emotions might be dismissed or downplayed. you believed you had to handle things on your own, afraid of being labeled as overly sensitive or needy. the thought of miguel not taking you seriously only added to your anxiety.

however, miguel was intuitive and perceptive, sensing that something was amiss. he noticed the subtle changes in your behavior on workdays and the way stress seemed to weigh heavy on your shoulders. deep down, he wanted to be there for you, to support and protect you, but he also respected your independence and strength.

one evening, as you sat on the couch, miguel approached you with a gentle look in his eyes. he took your hands in his, tenderly stroking your knuckles. "i can see that there's something on your mind," he said softly. "you don't have to face it alone. you know that, right?"

tears welled in your eyes as you looked into his caring gaze, feeling the weight of vulnerability lifting from your shoulders. you took a deep breath, uncertain of how to voice your fears. "miguel, i’ve been going through something at work," you began, your voice trembling with a mix of apprehension and relief. "i’ve been harassed by someone, and it scares me."

miguel's expression shifted from concern to a fierce determination. he squeezed your hands gently, his voice filled with a resolute tone. "i’m so sorry you had to bear this burden alone. i want you to know that i take your feelings seriously. you are not alone anymore, and o will do everything in my power to protect you."

in that moment, you felt an overwhelming sense of relief and gratitude. miguel’s unwavering support washed away the walls you had constructed to protect yourself. he proved to you that your feelings and experiences were valid, and he would stand by your side no matter what.

together, you discussed the situation in detail, exploring different courses of action. miguel reassured you that he believed in your strength, but he also emphasized that it was not your responsibility to handle it all alone.

with miguel by your side, you mustered the courage to address the issue at work, seeking help from higher authorities and implementing safety measures. and throughout the process, he provided unwavering support, reassuring you that your feelings were valid and that you were deserving of safety and respect.

———

a/n: sorry if this was short but i treaded carefully with this one to not make it as triggering as possible because these are harder to write !!

tags 🏷️!! @kairiscorner @meeom @emiemiemiii @sabcandoit

#spiderman atsv #spider man: across the spider verse #miguel o'hara #atsv x reader #miguel o’hara x reader #🌱 lin writes #miguel spiderman #miguel o’hara x y/n #♡´･ᴗ･`♡ lin answers #lin’s asks #miguel o’hara angst

[astral-mariner]

It's finally here---a preview of my long Vegeta/Raditz under Freeza fic, Homeworld Lost! I've posted the prologue and the first chapter of Part 1 as a teaser.

I've written 9 out of the story's 12 parts and have close to 130k words in my manuscript thus far. When I've completed and edited everything, I'll start posting regularly/weekly. Until then, I may update with more previews sporadically. (So feel free to subscribe on AO3 to be notified when previews go up.)

This is a fic 10 years in the making. I've had the story in my head for ages, and I began the short story that eventually turned into this novel-length work sometime in 2014. It took me a while to produce this preview because I had to rewrite some of my earliest drafts! (The majority of what I have written was all written after 2022, and I've written more than 70k words since the start of 2023.) I'm about 75% complete overall.

Please tread carefully in reading, however. Homeworld Lost is a darkfic. It's meant to disturb the reader, and I wrote it with a mature audience in mind. Genre-wise, it's a horror story in a science-fantasy setting. It deals with many sensitive subjects and handles them in an explicit way. There's blood and gore, fucked up relationships, torture, sexual violence, a lot of existential angst, and some in-depth explorations of trauma and its aftermath. And yes, there will be some kinky erotica. Heavy on the sadomasochism and twisted power dynamics. Sometimes it will be purposefully mixed with horror elements. If such things aren't to your taste, that's okay. But it was meaningful for me to write, and I'm sure that others can get something out of it too.

I made a pretty bold decision in how I told the story as well. It's in first person from Raditz's POV, and it is framed by Bulma's private journal entries as she processes what she reads/translates. I know this may put some people off, but I truly don't think the story I'm telling could be better told another way. Unreliable narration is a big element in Homeworld Lost and is part of the story all by itself. The reader is meant to question what's really going on and how honest the characters are being. 

Anyway, enjoy! Comments will give me fuel to finish this project 💖

#vegeta #raditz #vegeditz #dbz fanfiction #dbz fics #astral writing

[tavsboots]

Oh!

You've stumbled upon Tav's boots. A dusty but well worn pair that gets the job done.

🧝‍♂️Well met, stranger! The name's Astro, and it's a mighty pleasure to meet ya! Thanks for stopping by this little place. I do hope you enjoy your stay 🍺🧙🏼‍♂️

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🧙🏼‍♂️About me 🐲

I've pavlov'd myself to the name Astro after using it in my usernames for years.

Late 20s (time needs to slow down a bit pls)

Certified idiot

INTP (I think; I'd have to take the test again)...

Likes bullet points.

Avid RPG enthusiast. (Some of many: Zelda, Final Fantasy, TES, Soulsborne, Dragon Age, KOTOR, Witcher)

Lover of fantasy/sci-fi, collector of many things.

(Needs lots of sleep but doesn't get enough of it...)

Thank you kindly for reading!

#pinned post #introduction #astro's posts

[fandomfluffandfuck]

I know your prompts are closed, but I have to ask your thoughts on just out of the ice Steve struggling to fall asleep, because he just can't shake the fear that if he does, the next time he opens his eyes another ten, twenty, seventy, a hundred, years have passed, and he's even more out of time. So he looks desperately for solutions, medication won't work, a new place makes him feel too unsafe, white noise does as well, he doesn't like not being able to hear. ASMR doesn't work, at least, not at first. He hates the soft talking, the squishing and crunching of slimes. The taps and pops are to sudden, reminding him of the sharp cracks of gunshots in an otherwise quiet night. But then he finds a video of someone sketching, and the quiet rasp of the pencil and charcoal over the paper puts him to sleep almost before he realizes what's happened. -🐍

First, I have to tell you that you said ASMR, and immediately I was like, hold on, hold on, hold on--didn't I write something about Steve and ASMR? Did I just imagine that?

Because, exactly! I've always had the thought in my head of Steve not enjoying ASMR because of his super hearing. It feels like rather than giving him tingles, I would be grating and sharp to his ears, at least, especially out of the ice when he's so vulnerable and raw.

So... I had to take a minute to look through my masterlists. What I was thinking of was this drabble about Steve being touch-starved. So, that's something that might be something you're interested in, but also two other drabbles:

Steve and Natasha and their bad dreams while on the run

Steve and Bucky and sleepless nights

Based on those three drabbles, though, you can probably already tell what my thoughts are on Steve and sleep. And it's pain. Just painful. I am so here for angst, but really, I just can't see much otherwise for him, fresh out of the ice.

The thought of Steve finding unedited, real-time videos of people drawing traditionally--graphite on paper--and using those lengthy videos to find relaxation and eventually sleep is so tender, though. So thoughtful. It would be the perfect lull for him.

Which makes me think of this ask, also. Specifically, the idea that, "[Steve] said once that he's pretty sure he's had his fill of sleep after 70 years of it, but that was a lie. He's tired. Has he always been this tired? He's tired, exhausted, all the way down to his bones."

**This got a little darker than I thought it would. Please tread carefully if you're sensitive to thoughts surrounding suicidal ideation and descriptions of the symptoms of depression!**

Steve's been gone for seventy years. Unconscious. Not exactly asleep, not exactly dead. Just. Gone. He's missed seventy fucking years of the world turning and turning and turning. Yet... it's the same, too. When he plunged into the biting cold water--his body stinging with the temperature, painful and chilling to the depths of his soul and also a sensation of nothing at all as his mind simply stopped working, too much sensory imput to the point that he was wiped out, wiped clean with nothing left--he was fighting. Then, when he was here again, no longer gone, surrounded by purely new individuals and new expectations and a new reputation, larger than life, he's still fighting. He isn't even told to fight. No. He's expected to fight. No one ever slows down enough to ask him if he wants to fight still.

Does Steve still want to fight?

Is... is it okay if he doesn't want to fight?

What is he fighting for anyway? He doesn't know anything about what life is anymore. Life in the country he represented once alongside life anywhere. He's so disconnected, so out of place. And... how can he connect? He doesn't know. He doesn't know if he can connect. He doesn't know if he wants to connect again. Connecting, restarting his life in an alien world where everyone already knows about his old life, sounds exhausting. Steve's so exhausted already. He doesn't know if he has the energy to connect. He doesn't know if he has the energy to keep living. He doesn't know.

He feels so slow all the time. He feels, once more, like he's half-starved and wrecked by the last dregs of a fever, a battle with another round with another illness, shaky, his brain fogged and nonfunctional. He wanders through the fog. He's cold. He's unsteady. He can't sleep.

He wants to sleep so badly, he's so tired. Exhausted. But. He can't sleep. Every time he lays down, his mind is suddenly clear and functioning--over-functioning. Overthinking. Taking a nosedive into a downward spiral. Consumed and torn apart by fear. If he closes his eyes now, when will he open them next? How long will it be? How long will it be until he can move and live and breathe again? (Is Steve breathing now? How does he know he's alive? How does he know he can move at all? Now that he's on his back, his limbs feel leaden. He's rooted to the bed, rotting into the cold sheets and firm mattress, his arms by his sides, his legs straight, formation for survival in the tight, coffin-like spaces of the barracks.) How long will it be until he wakes up with his throat already raw from the screams, drowning in nightmares? Nightmares about war. Nightmares about death. Nightmares about the nebulous, unreal passage of time. Nightmares that combine all of that and show him in a whirlwind all the faces of everyone he's ever loved--

All of them gone.

Steve wants to sleep. Steve wants to sleep so desperately, too tired to even cry, that he just wants to be gone. He doesn't think sleep can fix this. He just wants to be gone.

Please.

Why can't the earth open up and swallow him whole. Return him to the ice. Steve almost wishes they never found him. He wishes they had left him in the ice. If he hadn't come back, he would never have known he was gone.

He wants to be gone.

#asks #fandomfluffandfuck #🐍 anon #steve rogers #i didn't get to the soft sweet part of this but i felt like that was a good place to stop #</3

[thebibliosphere]

I have a disability question that I'm hoping you might pass on to the broader community of your followers. I think of "nonverbal" as someone who has a physical voice but cannot or does not speak words, and "mute" as someone who physically cannot voice sounds. Am I using these terms correctly? Is there different terminology I should be using instead?

The "mute" one is going to be tricky to answer because it depends on where you are in the world. In the US, at least, "mute" is generally considered offensive, especially when used toward a deaf or hard-of-hearing person. (The last time I did speech therapy in the UK, it was still in use, but I do not know if that is still relevant.)

Depending on the context, you can probably use "speech disability," but if you want to get technical, you can use terms such as "aphonia" (different from aphasia) or "dysarthria."

If you're writing in a historical context, you could still probably get away with it, but I'd also tread carefully and get a lot of sensitivity feedback first.

As far as I am aware, nonverbal is fine in certain contexts, but I also know there are some communities pushing for "non-speaking" to become the norm. Non or low-vocal are also used.

Like most things, language disorders are a spectrum, and there's been a bigger push recently to be more accurate with descriptors.

That all said, I'm going to throw this open to the floor and see what others have to say because I'm by no means an authority on it.

Just a hoh gal with fluctuating aphasia and aphonia, lol.

#chronic health tag #disability tag