Marvel cinematic universe
'Tis the Season
Popular tags: cu:mine, writing stuff
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KIROKAZE

titsay

Origami Around
Peter Solarz
Game of Thrones Daily
d e v o n

oozey mess
PUT YOUR BEARD IN MY MOUTH
art blog(derogatory)
trying on a metaphor
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Claire Keane

ellievsbear
Lint Roller? I Barely Know Her
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NASA

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i don't do bad sauce passes

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@cuinaminute229
Marvel cinematic universe
'Tis the Season
Popular tags: cu:mine, writing stuff
Socials: ao3 main blog prompt blog
Asks are welcome
(under construction)
And They Were Roommates Lesbians
Yearning - Friends to Lovers Au - Rio/Reader - Sunday in Love | AO3 | |My Stories MasterList | Rio MasterList | Tip Jar💰
Warnings : Yearning Core / Friends to Lovers Gooey Fluff / Declarations of love / Painting House / U-Haul Lesbians / Gay Jokes / F@ggot Used / Iced Coffee Cranky Reader / Overalls and HGTV / Renovations and Lowes / Inside jokes and love / Older Rio younger Reader / Sunday Scarries turned lovely / 18+
babe wake up ao3 came up with the only funny april fools joke in the history of the world
The blog post is pretty great too.
my programmer ass fully originally thought they'd upgraded out of beta testing then did a full mental reboot and went "fuck no that's gamma testing you idiot why would they skip all the way to omega"
I FUCKING CALLED IT
Kind of funny how when you're obsessed with a certain character their mere presence on your screen can lift your mood. Like yeah I have probably like 10 diagnosed and undiagnosed ways my brain works atypically but one of those quirks makes it possible for The Character to salvage my whole day.
I will always find it poetic that the Rio's heart is supposed to be made out of obsidian on her costume. A hard but brittle material. Also that it can be used for purification of negative energy. The heart that beats for Agatha Harkness.
nothing online is ever truly deleted. except that one fucking thing you're looking for
I talked with someone who works in book publishing, and they mentioned they get a lot of AI slop these days. I asked how they know what's human-written, and they said that there's one thing that will reveal AI slop without error, and that's the author not knowing their own creation.
A real author can talk about their story for hours. They love to elaborate every character, every twist, every detail. Because those existed in their head long before they ever made it to the paper. They were loved before they were written.
AI slop wasn't. It was just vomited into existence.
Someone who generates their story with AI will never bond with their story the way real writers do. That's why they may not know what to say when they're asked why did the character do this, or even remember the scene in the first place. It's something they read, not something they wrote. And to a writer, those are not the same.
There's a unique bond between the creator and the creation. If your writing doesn't come of you, you'll always lack that.
I keep hearing soon we won't be able to tell. And perhaps, in a superficial sense, that's true. But there is a difference. It's not em dashes or repeated words. It's whether the story was made by someone who loves it and cares about it.
If the writer's eyes light up when asked why did the character do that? and they start their very own Ted Talk about that specific scene...
then it's real.
Edit: I did NOT expect this post to get this much attention. I'm truly sorry I made some people feel I'm doubting their genuinity as writers. This was not the point of this post; actually it was the opposite. My words aren't flawless, either; sometimes they come out wrong. I despise "AI witchunts" (if you read my earlier posts about this matter, you know). I tried to say, your love for your art is what makes it yours. No matter how you show it. I believe art is a connection between souls; a machine can't replicate that. It felt nice to hear that professionals in the industry (at least this one person) still search for that in what they choose to publish, too. That's why I wanted to share.
Edit 2. Please be kind in the comments. We're artists and writers, so passionate people, but we're on the same side here. Lift each other up. ❤️
Edit 3. (the last one, I promise) I'm restricting the comments for now to let this conversation cool down a bit. Once more; I did NOT mean, nor did the person I spoke with, that you need to remember every detail of every story or it's AI. This post is not about detecting AI. It's about love and passion injected to art by those who create it. With "not knowing their own story" I didn't mean having a perfectly crafted marketing speech about it. I meant just... knowing it. Loving it. In any way that feels natural to us. That's how I feel about my stories, anyway.
ho ho holy shit it’s december first (1st)
im doing good! you know. besides the underlying feeling that I'm fundamentally incapable of fitting in in a society. besides that i'm chillin
A Cat Named Binx
pairing: Rio x reader
a/n: Happy holidays!
...
Please, Don't Leave Me
Natasha Romanoff x Fem!Reader
Summary: One phone call. That's all it took for Natasha's world to turn upside down.
Warnings: in depth talk of an accident, in depth talk of medical procedures and surgeries, heavy angst.
A/N: Can anyone tell my major depressive disorder is flared up lol. I did a lot of research on this one so hopefully it seems believable.
“Is this Natasha Romanoff?” The woman’s voice on the other side of the line made Natasha throw the magazine she’d been reading on the loveseat and stand with haste. Decades of decoding vocal cues told her that this unknown woman was trying to soothe her.
“It is, who is this and how did you get this number?” Every fiber of Natasha’s being locked down, steeling herself for the blow of the news to come.
Her mind was whirring with possibilities, trying to piece together what could have happened. She had just talked to you a half hour ago and you were still at the grocery store with Sergio. She hadn’t talked to the rest of the Avengers in a couple of weeks but she doubts they would leave her out of a global crisis, retired or not.
“I’m Officer Burgess,” she replied. “There was an accident on the Major Deegan Expressway tonight, a semi-trucks tire blew and the trailer jackknifed into oncoming traffic. I am sorry to say that your wife and son were in one of the cars affected, Mrs. Romanoff,”
She collapsed back onto the loveseat in an instant. The air was stolen from her lungs as her heart seized in her chest. The cushion dimpled where her free hands nails bit in. Everything was spinning wildly, and she felt a terrifying, uncontrolled sensation of falling, accompanied by the most profound pain she'd ever experienced.
“There was a multiple-vehicle pileup and upon investigation we believe that your wife’s car was one of the first to collide with the trailer. The force of the collision caused the vehicle to roll down into a narrow ditch and land upside down,” she explained. “They are on their way to The Mount Sinai Hospital and their trauma surgeons are nearby,” she included. “Mrs. Romanoff, did you hear me?”
“Yes,” She gasped, the words trapped behind her lips, “I heard you” Natasha wanted to get moving, to run to her family but her legs wouldn’t work. She wanted to beg and plead with whoever would listen to let this be some cruel joke but her voice wouldn’t speak any further.
“The paramedics did everything they could to stabilize your family before transporting them to the hospital. I am so sorry, Mrs. Romanoff.” The unexpected click of the receiver left her at a loss and in a fog.
Natasha knew more than most that informing the family of an incident was the extent of their job, but being on the receiving end of it for once had her reeling. It was so cold and detached.
Gaining her feet at last, she remembered she was wearing her running clothes. Natasha had been feeling stressed out as of late and had decided to go for a run while you ran to the grocery store with Sergio. She tore up the stairs, the physical exertion only matched by the crushing regret of not going with you.
The officer had alerted Natasha to the severity of the accident, yet she was callously silent about her family's condition, keeping the details to a bare minimum. She wouldn’t know the truth until the doctor spoke with her, but her mind didn’t wait. It painted every heartbreaking possibility: deep gashes, fractures, head trauma, internal bleeding. Each image is sharper than the last. Her knees hit the floor, the hardwood unforgiving beneath her, and Natasha pressed her hands to her face as the tears finally began to emerge.
Their joy filled chat from thirty minutes ago made the subsequent, terrible news even more jarring. You had been on the verge of giggling as Natasha tried to lay down the law with Sergio through the phone's speaker. He could only get one flavor of ice cream from the store, not two. When your giggles finally broke through your stern facade followed in quick succession by the little boys; it became quite clear that Natasha was being conspired against. And now she wasn’t sure if she’d ever have the privilege of falling for one of her son’s schemes again.
This isn’t how things were supposed to turn out. You and her were supposed to grow old together, surrounded by the family the two of you had created. And Sergio? He was five years old, on the cusp of starting t-ball in a couple days. He’s supposed to have his whole life ahead of him.
No. It couldn’t just be over. Not now. Not after everything you and her had fought for.
xXx
Natasha drove to the hospital in a daze, her mind torturing her with flashes of bloodied bodies she’d seen over the years. The faces of her wife and son replacing theirs. Upon reaching The Mount Sinai Hospital parking lot, she bolted from the car with all her might. Disoriented and unsure where to turn, she shot through the ER doors and headed straight for the first reception desk she saw.
Fighting for breath, she clung to the counter, her heart a wild thing in her chest. Natasha fixed her eyes on the floor, battling to regain control of her racing body before looking up at the nurses. Her face was slick with sweat, her hair frizzy and unkept from the speed of her movements.
“I’m trying to locate my wife and son,” The words were ripped from her throat, each one a physical agony. “They were in a car accident and Officer Burgess informed me that they were brought here.”
“Could you tell me their names, Ma’am?” One of the nurses asked. “All of the victims of the semi-truck collision are being brought here but some are still being transported.”
“Y/N Romanoff and Sergio Romanoff,” Natasha drew in a shaky breath, her gaze darting around the ER, searching frantically for any sign of her family.
“It appears that both your wife and son were taken straight into surgery,” The nurse said as she scrolled through their files on the screen. “I’ll have their doctors come speak with you as soon as they can,” she added, offering Natasha a gentle, uncertain smile. She could tell it was a rehearsed kindness, one she must repeat countless times a day when breaking bad news. “Through those doors,” she said, gesturing across the ER, “turn right, then take the second left. The waiting room’s there. I’ll let the doctors know their family has arrived.”
“Thank you.” Natasha bobbed her head. She knew that was all the nurse could tell her, and there was no point in getting angry or demanding more. With her knees still unsteady and her heart racing, she turned away, pushed through the doors, and headed for the waiting room.
xXx
It was a mere twenty-five minute wait, but to her, it felt like a lifetime of anguish. Natasha remained motionless on the rigid waiting room chair, head sunk in her hands, desperate for news.
The frantic edge of her panic softened, and a blanket of despair settled over her. The memory of her wife and son’s giggles echoing through the phone earlier that night felt like a tender bruise on her heart, throbbing with each recollection.
Remembering joyful laughs brought a brief, private smile to her face, a moment of inner sanctuary. But the immediate sight of others' pain and anticipation quickly pierced that bubble, causing her own tears to cascade down her cheeks, and the shallow breathing to start.
Natasha wished she could trade places with her family. It wasn’t fair. She was the one who had always expected to go first with the kind of life she’d lived as an Avenger. But somehow, she’d made it to retirement, built a little family, found peace and now they were the ones in emergency surgery in who knows what condition.
Natasha had endured more trauma than most people could imagine. The Red Room had broken her down, stripped her of autonomy, and turned her into something she was never meant to be. But none of it had destroyed her. Deep down, she knew losing her family would. That would be the final blow; the one she couldn’t come back from. So she prayed to a god she didn’t even believe in.
She had no idea how long she’d been sitting there, praying over and over for her family to live. The words blurred together, but their rhythm was the only thing keeping her from breaking.
“Mrs. Romanoff?” She bolted upright, hearing her name being called from behind her.
She shot up from the chair, only for the room to tilt violently. A sharp hand went to her temple as the edges of her vision blurred. She hadn’t eaten in, how long? The sudden movement didn’t help. Forcing her eyes toward the doctor, she scrubbed her hands over her face, trying to erase the tears that refused to stop.
“I’m Doctor Robbins,” the blue eyed woman began. She wore a vibrant scrub cap covered in wild flowers and dark blue scrubs. “I’m the pediatric surgeon that’s been working on your son, Sergio.”
“Is he okay?” Natasha dared to ask her.
“Yes, he is,” Dr. Robbins replied. “Sergio’s holding on. The impact caused multiple rib fractures, a splenic laceration, and some internal bleeding. We were able to control the bleeding in both the abdomen and spleen and remove bone fragments from the fractured ribs.”
Natasha’s breath caught in her chest as she waited.
“He’s stable now,” Dr. Robbins continued. “He should make a full recovery, though the healing process will take time.”
“Oh my God.” Natasha’s gaze shot upward, the harsh hospital lights blurring through her tears. She tried to hold it together, to find a reason not to cry but there wasn’t one. Her body wouldn’t let her stop. She paced in slow, uneven circles, one hand over her mouth, the other braced on her hip, while the doctors stood back and let her breathe.
“I want to prepare you,” the doctor said gently. “Seeing your son right now may be frightening. He’s stable, but very pale, and he needs strict bed rest at this stage. We’ve given him medication to help manage the pain and keep him resting through the night.” Dr. Robbins continued, “He’s also on a nasal cannula to provide extra oxygen and support his recovery.”
“But Sergio is breathing on his own, right?” Natasha asked.
“Yes, he’s breathing on his own,” Dr. Robbins said immediately. “Don’t worry, the nasal cannula isn’t a ventilator. It’s just giving him a little extra oxygen to help with the shallow breathing from his broken ribs.”
“How long will he be here?”
“It’s hard to say,” she answered, “His body has been through quite a lot and ideally I’d like him to stay here for a week or two. Just so that I can be there to step in if any complications arise.”
“Are there going to be any long term side effects from all of this?” Natasha turned to her, eyes wide with quiet concern.
“There shouldn’t be,” Dr. Robbins reassured her. “He’ll be weak for a while, very tired, but we’ll keep him on fluids and the necessary medication to help him heal. Once he’s stronger, we’ll slowly get him moving again, just a little bit at a time.” Her tone softened. “It’ll take a couple of months for the injuries to heal, maybe six before he’s back to being a normal five-year-old; if all goes well. A nurse should be here soon to take you to his room.”
“Thank you for taking care of my little boy.” Natasha offered her a weak smile.
xXx
It was nearing four in the morning when a nurse quietly entered the private room on the pediatric floor, informing Natasha that her wife's surgeon was ready to speak with her. She’d been sitting beside Sergio’s bed for hours, watching him sleep, unable to look away for even a moment. He was resting peacefully, just as Dr. Robbins had said he would, and the steady rhythm of the monitors confirmed that her son was doing as well as he could be.
“Mrs. Romanoff, I’m Dr. Bailey,” the doctor said with a look of compassion. “I’m your wife’s trauma surgeon.”
“How is she?” Natasha asked, her voice trembling. “How is my wife?”
“Your wife absorbed most of the impact through her pelvis,” the doctor explained. “It was severely compromised, with significant internal and external bleeding. She also sustained fractures to her arm and femur, which we were able to repair. Unfortunately, the internal bleeding was extensive and developed faster than we could manage surgically.”
“Please no,” Natasha reeled back and hit the wall with force, sinking down, “Tell me she’s okay,” she begged, tears streaming down her face.
“When the body loses too much blood, it begins to shut down,” she explained quietly. “The organs can’t get the oxygen they need, and the heart struggles to keep up. Eventually it stops.”
Natasha’s breath caught in her throat, her stomach twisting.
“She coded on the table,” Dr. Bailey continued, her voice gentle but steady. “Her heart stopped for several minutes. We used a defibrillator and administered multiple rounds of medication. After some time, longer than we’d like, it started again.”
Dr. Bailey let out a slow breath, the weight of what she’d just said hanging in the air.
“She’s stable now, but very fragile. We’ll be monitoring her closely over the next twenty-four hours. Those will be critical.”
“Her heart stopped?” The words left Natasha’s mouth in a broken whisper, her fingers tangling in her hair as the weight of it all crashed over her. She had heard every word the doctor said, but her mind had stopped the moment Dr. Bailey mentioned that her wife’s heart had stopped. “She died. No no, please” Natasha choked out, shaking her head hard. “This can’t be happening.” Her vision blurred, tears spilling freely as the room around her seemed to dissolve.
“We got it to start beating again, Mrs. Romanoff,” Dr. Bailey let Natasha’s body brace against hers as she helped the distressed woman up. “Your wife is alive, that’s the important part.”
“I’m afraid the internal bleeding wasn’t the only complication,” Dr. Bailey explained gently. “The bone fragments from her fractured pelvis caused extensive damage to her uterus and ovaries. Despite our efforts, they couldn’t be preserved.” She remained close, steadying herself as Natasha clung to her for support.
“But she’ll be okay?” Natasha pleaded. “Removing them means she’ll be okay, right?”
Natasha felt her stomach turn. You’d both talked about trying for another baby soon, you’d loved every part of carrying and this loss would destroy you. But right now, that didn’t matter. All that mattered was that you were alive. The fact that you had died, even for a few minutes, and she hadn’t been there; broke her.
“Her heart is very weak,” Dr. Bailey said softly, “and her body has been through tremendous stress. It’s likely she won’t wake up for several days. We’re transferring her to the ICU, where she’ll be monitored around the clock to make sure she remains stable. Right now, she’s holding steady but the next twenty-four to forty-eight hours are critical. We’ve done everything we can. At this point, her body needs time to strengthen and begin healing on its own.”
She paused, then added, “She’s under heavy sedation to keep her comfortable and pain-free.”
Natasha’s voice trembled. “Isn’t there anything else you can do to help her now?”
Dr. Bailey shook her head gently. “All we can do is wait, Mrs. Romanoff. Stability is a good sign, but we have to let her body recover naturally. We’re giving her medication to manage the pain and support her system after the surgery, the trauma, and the involuntary hysterectomy.” Her voice softened on the last word. “If we try to push her body too soon or use stimulants, it could cause more harm than good. For now, we watch, we wait, and we hope her strength returns.”
“Is she stable enough for me to see her?” Natasha implored Dr. Bailey. “Please, I need to see that she’s okay with my own two eyes.”
“You’ll be able to see her in the ICU in a few minutes,” Dr. Bailey told her gently. “You won’t be able to stay overnight, but you can sit with her for about an hour. I’ll let you know when it’s time to come up.”
Natasha nodded, her voice caught somewhere between exhaustion and gratitude. “I’ll just…” she gestured weakly toward the room behind her. Dr. Bailey gave a soft nod of understanding. She didn’t need to say it aloud; right now, Natasha just needed to be with her little boy.
The pediatric room was quiet and cold, lit by the soft blue glow of the monitors. Natasha walked to Sergio’s bedside, her fingers curling around the safety railing. Gently, she traced the curve of his cheek with her fingertip. He was still asleep, sedated, but even in his unconscious state, he seemed to lean into her touch.
She pressed her forehead against his for a long, steady moment, grounding herself in the warmth of his skin. Then she placed a lingering kiss on his brow, her eyes following the slow, even rise and fall of his chest. The steady rhythm of his breathing was the only thing keeping her upright.
As she waited for the nurse to come fetch her, Natasha whispered, voice frightened but full of love, “You and mommy have to make it through this, Mishka,” she said softly. “I can’t survive without the two of you… I don’t want to.”
{A very loving morning with Wife!Rhaenyra}
!!-18//MDNI-!! No dance au, I just wanted an excuse to write smut for her heheh… enjoy! <3
The newfound pressures of the crown seemed to melt away from Rhaenyra’s shoulders whenever you graced her with your presence— it was why she insisted that you attended the council meetings and court duties with her, although she’d never force you to— gods know how awfully dull they could be at times, she’d never subject you to that.
You were The Queen's strength and weakness all in one— she’d broken centuries-old laws just to have you known as her wife, anyone who dared to question or worse go against that… well, they were swiftly met with their end whether that be by the end of a blade or her dragon. There was truly nothing she wouldn’t do for you.
And right now that statement has never been truer as she admires you in all your sleeping glory, cheek smushed against the pillows and soft lips parted ever so slightly— prettier than any jewel she owned. Rhaenyra couldn’t help but reach out, letting her knuckles graze along your jaw.
Jealousy, jealousy
Rhaenyra Targaryen x fem!reader
Summary: Rhaenyra feels jealous of her lover.
Word Count: 0,4K
Warnings: mentions of homophobia.
note: this story was posted before my blog was deleted and is also available on AO3.
ENGLISH IS NOT MY FIRST LANGUAGE.
Rhaenyra watched with purple eagle eyes as you chatted and laughed with the young ladies of the court, you were surrounded by them all day long. She walked back to her quarters and waited for you to come to her like every night. She watched you come out from behind one of the heavy tapestries in her chambers, where there was one of the secret passages.
"Finally, I thought you would be surrounded by women all night." she said coldly, watching you walk over and sit down on the velvet upholstered chair next to her.
if i had to describe the rhaenicent reunion:
Its always
"Are you team green?"
Or
"Are you team black?"
But never
"Are you Team Milf?"
I am really only here for the women and the dragons. I'm just gonna be truthful.