#I hope this doesn't come across as combative because it's really not

[drbased]

ok I have to talk about 'the dialectic of sex' by shulamith firestone because it was one of the first proper feminist books I read and I didn't have the confidence back then to address this book:

so this is still the only book I've read so far that actually uses the words 'radical feminist' - except her definition of this politics is essentially transhumanist luxury space communism. because her understanding is that the 'root' of women's oppression is our reproductive capacity and therefore no matter what happens society will never fully be able to share the burden of childbirth and child-rearing across both sexes.

this book feels so evocative of its time - like there was a small window of pure hope shortly after the invention of the pill and the hippy movement where everything entirely changed for women. like, think about it: up until that point unless you use some sort of condom (which men don't like using - and also not 100% effective anyway) you're basically always vulnerable to being impregnated by a man during piv, which is considered the basic form of sexual intimacy wth men, which women are expected to engage in to be considered full members of society. so women would have all been in some sort of constant state of low-key fear; one sex - or rape - away from having a child that would change their entire existence. that's got to really fuck you up, especially your relationship with your own body. and you could get an abortion but only if you're incredibly lucky, and still getting an abortion is probably more like surviving a car crash than anything - like you're glad you made it through but also you're still damaged psychologically and probably physically as well. and it's such a silent fear as well - because women are supposed to want babies and babies just happen so you're not allowed to complain that this is because your husband always wants sex and he's the one who impregnates you but if he does people say 'she got herself pregnant again'. like there's layer upon layer of psychological terrorism surrounding men's impregnation of women and that's gotta mess you the hell up.

so the invention of the pill - holy shit, just imagine it. the hope. you can take the pill in secret, you can take the power back, you're not uniquely vulnerable to your own bodily forces anymore, that gives you time to fucking think, to be alive, to feel, to feel vulnerable, to feel free. it's like literal magic. if the most basic of happenings - pregnancy - can be actually prevented, then what else can we do to the body? what else can science do for us?? how more free can we get?? It's women's first time to (ironically) feel like a god, able to transcend the body. I'm actually surprised that I've not found more writings like shulamith's - that there weren't more women spurred on by this amazing discovery into further transhumanism. I guess the problem was that women were starting to notice that whilst women were able to change their own individual lives with the pill, that wasn't making men behave any differently.

but I still find it fascinating how this definition of radical feminism hasn't survived at all. as it stands on radblr, the 'root' of women's oppression is men, and therefore the only real solution is separatism. but like, what happened to the brand of feminism that says, uhhhh isn't it actually kinda fucked up that half the human race are burdened entirely with pregnancy, birth and child-rearing? and could we maybe be freed from that if we used science to bring about children another way? I'm not even agreeing with her that that would solve everything (because regardless even if we *could* make babies in a tube, that doesn't mean all women are going to magically become infertile, and it certainly doesn't mean than men are going to be less violent against us), but I'm very interested in questioning what the 'root' of women's oppression is - because modern 'radical feminism' has a lot of gaps to allow for a simplistic narrative that I'm sure many in the community, definitely myself included, are rapidly tiring of. and I think it shows in the separatism debate, which rages on because no one can think of any other solution, because the unspoken tenet is that what the 'root' is is solved and agreed-upon, and therefore the answer is just so damn obvious that the women who don't agree must be scared and stupid. I've been wanting to address this in some form or another for years now, and I guess I'm dipping my toes in it now.

at the very least, I'd like to know if someone has a good source on where the term 'radical feminism' came from and how its meaning has evolved over the years. in ariel levy's 'female chauvinist pigs' she touches on this debate that started in the late seventies that led to the fracturing of feminism and the creation of liberal feminism - and it seems to be along these same lines of separatism vs fucking men. I've always found it odd that there's essentially no middle ground here - like you don't need to embrace 'sluttiness' in order to want to have a healthy sexual relationship with a man, but it seems the liberal feminist side chose that, meanwhile the only other 'mainstream' option seems to be separatism. obviously a lot of the women in radblr don't actually fully agree with that - but all us hetties are suspiciously silent on that subject.

to me the issues with separatism go further than simply sex with men - sure it's psychologically good for you to only purchase from women owned businesses and only read books by women etc etc, and it financially uplifts other women. but also we live under capitalism, which obscures our reliance on each other. when you buy from that woman-owned business, the person delivering your package is likely to be male, the person who assembled the vehicle he drives is likely to be male, the person who constructed the roads he drives on is likely to be male. this is not to say that men are vital - but rather, your 'separatist choice' is a fundamentally capitalistic one that exists more for your peace of mind than being anything actually radical - as in, nothing about the 'root' of women's oppression is addressed in doing so. there's no ethical consumption under capitalism yadda yadda. and only speaking to women irl is also less of a capitalist action but still ultimately an individual one. there's so much emphasis on personal actions as the height of feminism and it screams liberal individualist to me. like you took 'the personal is political' and ran with it.

but if the root of the problem is men, then that's simple, isn't it? just don't interact with men. don't have sex with men. don't pay men, apart from the men who happen to be an inescapable part of the supply chain, they will inevitably get paid by your actions anyway, but you don't have to think about that because that's what capitalism does: it makes you think you have this magical power as an indvidual to make real radical choice in the world, to 'vote with your dollar'.

I'm not exactly calling for firebombing a walmart but I'm bored with the capitalism-loving individualistic liberalism of what this community calls 'radical feminism' - but that same thought-terminating cliche keeps getting thrown at us: 'we're radical, which means we grasp at the root, and the root is male violence, so you can't call yourself a radical feminist if you don't want to do the basic things of not wearing make-up and not fucking men'. and nobody ever seems to stop and question, does any of that actually address the root of our oppression? capitalism isn't the only economic system that has ever oppressed women, but it's the one we live under, and it's very good at sneaking into the backdrop of our lives and naturalising hierarchies - capitalism becomes its own justification, e.g. women choose low-paying jobs just because that's what we gravitate to, yanno?

being genuinely anti-capitalist recomplicates politics all over again, because suddenly it's not an easy men vs women but also men vs women vs rich people, some of whom are women??? and like, what's the solution to that? do we stand with men agains the capitalist system and risk our voices getting silenced, or do we go full single-issue and just go fuck it, capitalism was created by men for themselves like solanas said, so if we stand against men then idk capitalism will just sort of fall by itself? or in reality it's just not addressed at all. separatism itself always sits there as a thought-terminating cliche in and of itself - an accusation ready to be levelled at anyone who wants to question any of these unspoken tenets of radblr. and the goal-post is ever-shifting - separatism is women's land, but if you say that's not a real solution in our capitalist interconnected world then you get accused of not wanting women's spaces because that's obviously what separatism has been about this whole time. also separatism is not fucking men, actually it's not about that it's about prioritising women (vague), and on and on and on - the argument always shifts so the word stays pure. but like, is separatism an end-goal? a political tactic? something you do to enrich your own life and psyche? something to give space for consciousness-raising? I saw someone ages ago claim that the suffragettes wanting the right to vote was somehow separatist because idk, the women were making spaces for themselves? but wanting to involve yourself in male politics is literally assimilationist, no??

I'lm going to stop rambling for now but this was good to get my thoughts out there - I enjoy my theorising in this space but I'm also deeply interested in questioning. I've noticed time and time again that discourse is always stopped by 'you're not a real radical feminist if you do/don't do x' and I've found it really odd and telling that no one's questioned that? like sure I know we've built our whole political framework on 'words mean things' but also it's always worth questioning the definition of 'radical' and what the 'root' of our oppression is, and what we can actually do to address it, and if our narratives and assumptions are too simplistic. the community would be all the better for it imho. I already think the influx of 'tirfs' in the community and the khelif debate has been opening up these unspoken simplistic narratives on the nature of gender vs sex, of socialisation vs low-key biological essentialism, and I think we can push that kind of questioning even further. ramble over.

[damnation-if]

Hi, I just played the demo and I loved it! I was wondering if you could give us an estimate of when the next update is coming?👉👈 (Or link a relevant post, if you already talked about and I just didn't scroll down far enough to see it 😆)

Also, I wanted to check, can you be in a romantic relationship with more than one character, and not just a sexual one? Because I might be in love with every single character in this game 🤭

hi, thank you! i'm glad you're enjoying the game :) i've answered the question about romancing multiple characters a couple of times in a couple of different asks but the posts all kind of link back to each other so you should be able to find all the info by. following the various links in each ask i think, starting here XD

i'm going to put the answer to your other question under a cut because some of it is quite emotional for me

i did Sort Of talk about this at the time when it happened, by which i mean that rather than making a post, i talked about it in the tags of an unrelated post i was using to distract myself (i think it was character playlists and how i'm not sure if it's a good idea to do them or not if i recall), but earlier this year while i was already going through a really rough time, my laptop died and i lost a lot of work on the game.

i knew my laptop was old and that this was possibly approaching so i made regular backups and the good news is that because i write in a separate word document and keep backups of those also i didn't actually lose any Writing. however. my twine has a problem in that every second or third game file that i publish from the build is Haunted - it contains passages i removed weeks ago, or writing that i deleted long before publishing it, that kind of weird annoying shit. (other authors have seen my files do this lmfao) and i just have to hope that the backups i make either won't be needed or aren't haunted. anyway... because hope is futile, the last backup i made was indeed haunted, and utterly useless to me as a recovery file. because it's just twine, i still have all the writing, as i mentioned... but i would have to re-code the entire chapter and put it all back together again because of how much the file did not export, which is a complicated and daunting process.

so i made a rambling explanation of this in the tags of a post and decided to take maybe a couple of days off and cool down from this specific disaster before getting into it.

i wake up the next morning to find the IF community absolutely plastered all over with Helpful Informative PSA posts about how Silly it is not to make backups and how if you just make backups you'll never have problems again and you should know better than to not make backups.

now. i'm not a catastrophist. i know for a fact that nobody was making or spreading these posts out of cruelty or a desire to make me feel bad. i also know that it's not particularly realistic to expect people who don't even know me to hunt down the source of a piece of hearsay that's like "i heard from someone that someone said that an author lost a bunch of their files and is really upset about it" to find out what the situation is and whether or not it's what they imagine. i don't even think the vast majority of people knew who it was that was the author involved, or who i am either.

but to already be going through an extremely stressful time and then lose my laptop on top of that and then be obliquely referenced by people i thought of as my peers as kind of just a big silly bumbling goose who didn't know how to manage my files and a "don't be like this person" attitude really, really hurt me. i can't express just how deeply it hurt me. one particular author was openly laughing at me and saying it was my own fault for being too stupid to make backups using a certain twine peripheral program.

so. there was a period of time where i could have found the motivation to just restart the whole chapter myself and re-code it in a frenzy because i wanted to get right back into writing it because. like a lot of authors, i LOVE writing. that's why i do this even when it's difficult. but that potential recovery was sandblasted away by the reactions of people that i thought of as my colleagues in some sense (even though i understand that they didn't do it with bad intentions, in most cases). and i hope people can understand that it greatly lengthened the amount of time i needed to spend away from the game recovering emotionally, despite being a Very Small issue to most people. i'm literally upset again just typing out this answer lmfao

however one other small piece of good news is that my laptop seemingly just lost the ability to turn itself on (because of its age) so i Think the hard drive is intact. meaning that i think i can get someone to pull all the files off it and just have them back fine once i do. the other piece of bad news is that my life is a trainwreck! and i cannot afford that right now. which is why i sort of pivoted to writing the 2000 follower celebration sidegame as a way to enjoy myself while i hurtle through hell sdjgbdfhfdgh

shortly after this thing with the laptop the house i was living in was sold out from underneath me, even though it wasn't supposed to be, and i had to find somewhere to live with my 18 year old cat, but the city i lived in had zero places that would allow cats (they're totally fine with Dogs though of course) so i had to move to an entirely new city on my own while worrying about her health. and right now i spend every fortnight desperately trying to scrape together enough to survive the next fortnight. there were entire months where i had no access to internet! it's been pretty Bad!!

so i get that people really want updates, and i'm really flattered that people do and it makes me happy that people like the game so much. but i am currently expending so much time and energy trying not to die lmfao, and i need to save up the money to get my files back around that. i truly cannot tell you when the next update will be, but i promise you that it Haunts me, probably more than you can imagine XD the sidegame will Definitely come out before it though, if that's something you're looking forward to.

thank you again for your message, and i'm sorry that i don't have good news for you. but i am trying, constantly. every day.

[uzurakis]

hi kiara! can you please make a continuation of “their act of intimacy” but with gojo, toji, and sukuna? i melted the first time i read them with the other characters 😭 hope you have a good day ahead of you ❤️

THEIR ACT OF INTIMACY?

featuring: gojo satoru. ryomen sukuna. toji fushiguro.

n. aaa thanku for liking the previous one! this is for you nonnie <3 didn’t really proofread cause i’m running late on sleep lol. PART ONE HERE :0

GOJO SATORU. gojo finds it calming when you both take a shower together. however, his notion of "calming" may differ from the ordinary. instead of drowsing in warm water and doing all those private things such as soaping his back and shampooing his hair, you and him sometimes have other spontaneous ideas in mind.

as the warm water cascaded down, you couldn’t help but feel a sense of closeness that's as comforting as it is exhilarating. satoru, with his irrepressible charm and mischievous grin, stood beside you, his presence filled the space with a playful energy.

"ah, feels like heaven," he sighed, whilst eyes gleaming with shenanigans. you chuckled, reaching for the shampoo. “don’t start a water fight again, satoru. let us enjoy a nice and relaxing—“

but before you could react, a splash of water hit you square in the face, causing you to sputter and laugh. “gotcha!" the man exclaimed, his laughter echoed through the tiled walls.

"it’s sooo on now!" you declared, retaliating with a splash of your own.

and just like that, the bathroom transformed into a battleground, with water flying in every direction as you both engaged in your playful antics. amidst the laughter and the splashing, there's an undeniable sense of joy that filled the room.

"careful, satoru," you warned, dodging his playful advances, "you're going to get soap in your eyes."

but he just grinned. "not before you get ‘em first, babe.”

and so, you guys continued your playful banter. soaked to the bone and grinning from ear to ear, gojo satoru defines his own calming moments with you.

RYOMEN SUKUNA. your boyfriend is a big guy, or so he believes before you swoop in and baby him. does he resist? yes. but will he eventually agree? absolutely.

the aroma of freshly cooked pasta filled the air as you stood in the kitchen. across the room, your boyfriend, sukuna, leaned against the counter, watching you with a bemused expression. you took a small portion with a spoon in hand, "say 'a' for me, sukuna.”

"hell nah.” his face was holding back the disgust. “you know, i can feed myself, right?"

"come on, baby, just one bite," you urged, eyes pleading. he hesitated for a moment, then sighed, giving in to you. “no—tsk, fine.”

“just this once.”

as he reluctantly opened his mouth, you couldn't help but suppress a giggle at the sight of him being spoon-fed like a child. your boyfriend’s cheeks flushed with embarrassment, and he quickly swallowed the pasta, avoiding your gaze.

"see, that wasn't so bad, was it?" you teased, unable to contain your amusement.

he grumbled something unintelligible in response, but as you proceeded to feed him, he took every piece and never turned it down until the last bite.

TOJI FUSHIGURO. toji never declines your offer to groom him. he rarely takes attention to his appearance, whereas you insist on cleaning up him up and do it with your own hands. at first, he doesn't think of it as intimate thing because isn’t it just about cutting and shaving? but as time goes on, he understands how much you value him and treasures the time you spent solely on him.

the soft glow of evening light filtered through the curtains, casting a warm hue over the cozy living room. toji sat on the couch, his unkempt hair falling into his eyes. you watched him from afar with a fond smile tugging at your lips.

“toji,” you called out. “your hair has gotten longer than the last time i remember.” he chuckled softly, already accustomed to this routine. "is it that time again?"

with scissors and a comb in hand, you approached him with a smile. “c’mere, sit down, baby.”

letting a shrug plus a grin, the man complied, settling onto the stool you'd placed in the middle of the room. as you draped a towel around his shoulders, his eyes met yours in the mirror.

"you know, i understand why you enjoy doing this so much.” he admitted, leaning back as you began to comb through his hair.

"you know why?” you replied, your voice soft as you worked. "it's about taking care of each other, babe. showing love in the little things."

he fell silent at your words, mulling them over as you continued to trim away stray strands. gradually, the tension seemed to melt from his shoulders, replaced by a sense of ease and contentment.

@uzurakis — requests are open! <3

[ddejavvu]

in a hotchy mood you say? 🤨

i like it when we make that old man flustered 😌

wouldn’t it be fun if we ran into the team hanging out at a bar & they all are eyeing us like 😏 hold up she’s cute and hotch is trying to keep his cool.

When Aaron returns to the slightly sticky, loose-screwed bar table that his team is stationed at, Emily is tugging down the neckline of her shirt and tucking her elbows beneath her chest.

"There," She puffs, pulling at individual strands of hair so that they frame her face, "Does that look okay?"

"You look hot," JJ admits, sipping the drink she takes from Hotch with a nod of appreciation, "Only way she'll say no is if she's totally and completely straight."

"That's what I'm counting on," Derek props his elbows up on the table, forearms flexed.

"God, let's hope not," Emily cringes in anticipation of rejection, "Oh- she's coming this way!"

Aaron typically has no interest in his coworkers' escapades. Well, he'll admit, it's fun to gossip with Penelope over them later, but she's in on this one, too, shiny eyes glued to whoever the team has their eyes on.

He finally decides to follow Penelope's starstruck eyeline, and- oh, fuck, that's his girlfriend. You're staring straight back at him, but Emily's wishful thinking has made her think your eyes are on her, and Aaron can hear her breathe out a low sigh.

You send him a flirty little wave, and Emily nearly hits her head on the table.

"God, god! I can't," She laughs, still holding what she thinks is eye contact with you, "I don't think I can do this, I mean, I can never come back from this if it doesn't go well!"

"I'll step in," Derek assures her, sending you a wink that Aaron is sure just makes you laugh inside, "Don't worry, Emily. Some women aren't for the faint of heart."

"And they're not for the dumb of ass, either." Penelope sets a comforting hand on Derek's muscled shoulder, "Stay out of this one, Hotshot."

Aaron doesn't really know what to do. He's not usually lost like this, but half of his team is eye-fucking his girlfriend from across a bar like animals, and he doesn't know how to tell them he's seen you naked. Multiple times.

You break the eye contact when your friend taps your shoulder to tell you something, and Aaron does too. He sends subtle glances your way afterwards, but so does the rest of the team, and he isn't noticed. It seems like you're preoccupied for a while, because no new comments are made, but everyone can see Spencer combing his fingers through his hair every ten seconds.

He's sipping casually at his drink, about to speak to Rossi, when he feels a hand slide beneath the fabric of his suit jacket that he hasn't had time to take off yet, and hook around his waist. His first instinct is to tense, to reach for his side, even, but then a familiar scent washes over him and calms his nerves before they're burning for long.

"Hi," You croon, pressing yourself to his side, "I'm Y/N. You must be Aaron's team?"

There's tense silence so thick around the table that a bullet would pierce it, broken only by Rossi's snort into his glass.

"Yes," Aaron fills in, hand flying to your waist and hooking around it proudly, "Emily," He gestures with his free hand, "Derek, Spencer, Penelope, JJ, and Dave."

"Hi," You wave sweetly, albeit awkwardly, much like you're a kid new to a classroom, "It's nice to finally meet you all."

"You're, uh," Penelope stammers, blinking slowly, "You and Hotch- you're...?"

"We've been seeing each other, yes." Aaron nods once, then turns to you, "Honey, do you want me to get you your usual over here? You can join us for a round if your friends are busy."

When you peer back over at them, they're sucking each others' faces.

"Yeah, they're busy." You scoff, leaning into Aaron's shoulder, "That would be nice. Thanks, Aaron."

"Mhm," He ushers you into his chair, and he'll admit to drawing sick satisfaction from smoothing his hands up your shoulders and planting a firm kiss to your cheek before he leaves. He's even more smug when you lean into it with a warm-cheeked smile.

"Get to know each other," He prompts his team members, already stepping away, "And Derek, you can roll your sleeves down."

[bitchinbarzal]

waiting | R Mcgroarty

summary: song fic for waiting by norah jones

-

Hush now watch the stars fall Into a fire wall

I am waiting here Waiting for you to come home

You stood shivering on the side of the road, wrapped in that foil blanket the firefighters had given you.

You watched with watery eyes as they finally pulled him from the car.

It felt like an out of body experience watching his lifeless body lay in the street before they finally covered it up.

Luca screamed your name from behind the yellow tape until the police let him through, the rest of the team still there watching.

He ran to you, standing infront of you and taking your eyes off Rutger for once this evening.

“Y/N, what’s happened? What’s going on? Are you-“

You mumbled softly “He’s dead… he died Luca, Rut is dead” before dropping the foil blanket to show him your blood stained hands.

He held your shaking hands “It’s gonna be ok”

“He’s gone…”

Melting icy snow l am waiting here, Waiting for you to come home

As the semester carried on, the world continued to spin around you.

You went back to that intersection everyday.

You sat on the bench across from where it happened, you could still hear the tires screeching and the yelling. You can feel that blood soaking your hands when you fired to shake him awake.

You sat at the intersection just hoping he’d roll up to that stop sign and call for you to hop in.

You felt sick.

You’d been feeling sick lately, tired and moody too. The doctor said it wasn’t out with the norm for victims of trauma to suffer these side effects even two months on.

You didn’t like sleeping because it would happen all over again infront of you while you slept.

The boys took turns sleeping on your couch to keep an eye on you. Majority of the time they’d end up in your bed holding you as it was the only way to sleep, when you’d wake up you’d forget for a split second that it wasn’t Rutger holding you.

Those few seconds were the best few seconds in your day.

Now, they were holding back your hair as your projectile vomited into the toilet bowl.

Mark’s hand rubbed small circles in your lower back, coaxing you through “You should see a doctor”

“I did, she said it was fine”

“This” he gestured to you “isn’t fine! This isn’t grief, I mean if I didn’t know any better I’d say you were pregnant”

His comment made your body run stiff “What?”

“I said-“

“I know what you said Mark! What if I’m- I think you’re right” realization settled over your body when you slumped down against his leg to think of your missed periods, sickness, mood changes all were excused as grief.

Your head dropped onto Mark’s knee while you sniffled softly. His hand combed through your hair “You good?”

“I really, really wish you were Rut”

When will I ever learn that If I wait it doesn't mean you will return

You sat in the damp grass with your head leaning onto the side of the stone.

“She thinks you’re a little weird for not coming to the appointments” you commented, shifting to get comfortable “How awkward would it be if I told her where you really were”

It felt weird to joke and not hear his laugh in return.

Sighing, you pull the envelope out of your jacket pocket “find out together, eh?”

“I miss you baby, so much” you start, hands shaking with the envelope in them “This is so scary going through this, I really want to just hold your hand Rut… I’m waiting for you to just come home”

You paused for a moment as if waiting for an answer and when it didn’t come you continued opening the envelope.

“Okay… three, two, one-“ you pulled the paper out, the blue writing confronting you head on.

A tsunami of emotions hit you at once and you began sobbing

“A boy, our boy… your boy, you’re coming home to me Rut”

“Come home”

Now all the stars have gone, cracks of dawn

Towards the end of your pregnancy things got better. You spent less time at the intersection and more time painting his room.

You smiled now which nobody had seen in a long time. You were excited about things and it made everyone so happy.

You called his sister everyday to give updates on babyboy, listening to her as she’d tell the bump stories of his dad.

You also told him stories. The ones where you fell in love, the things you wanted him remembered for.

“Your daddy is the best person ever, but you already know that he’s keeping you safe before he sends you home to me”

I'm waiting here, Waiting for you to come home.

He came early.

The baby wasn’t due in March, he wasn’t due yet.

You panicked, crying for Rutger to hold your hand and sobbing when you realized that wasn’t an option.

“I want Rut!” You cried, squeezing Luca’s hand

“I know, it’s ok”

“It’s not ok! This isn’t-“

Luca pulled your phone off the table and fiddled about with it until he pressed play.

“Hey pretty girl, just calling to check in” it was Rutgers voice, a voicemail he’d left when you were studying late one night “I love you, you can do this! You can do anything”

When his voice stopped you cried “What-“

“You heard him Y/N, you can do it… he trusted you”

You heard his voice the whole night coaxing you through it, you just thought of him.

He finally arrived, perfect and healthy. Like he was right one time. Heaven sent.

Rutger McGroarty Jr

30 March. 06:25am

You held him in your arms, rocking him back and forth.

“You came home to me, you’re finally home… I’ve been waiting for you”

[002yb]

For the secretary au I wonder what would happen if Jason ever had to take Damian to the office for any reason like he was sick and really clingy or the babysitter had to cancel last minute (also I hope this doesn't bother you and if it does feel free to ignore it)

Chances are that if Damian is sick, Jason will take time off until his boy is back in good health. Damian and his well-being takes precedent over everything for Jason, so regardless of the situation/circumstances, Jason is staying at Damian's side. Damn anyone that tries to take him away, too.

The first time Jason calls out of work, it's with little explanation. Bruce receives a text/email explaining that Jason needs to take a sick day. And of course Bruce frets, but he lets it go with a simple, 'Understood. Feel better.'

Then Jason calls out again the next day and Bruce immediately gets so intense about it. Like there's an actual aura coming from his office as he sits at his desk and doesn't do any work because he's brooding behind the steeple of his hands.

He's using every bit of willpower not to overstep bounds to go and see Jason and bring him a care package or a doctor and--

Tim heaving the greatest of sighs because it's probably a cold, just give him a few days to recover. Stop being weird.

But then another day passes and Jason is still calling out sick and suddenly Tim is right there alongside Bruce, sat across from him at his desk. And they stew together and contemplate their game plan.

They conference call Alfred and Dick to loop them in to this really deep, convoluted plan (courtesy of Tim, who steamrolls the conversation; Bruce is so on board though - the true disaster duo) to check in on Jason and get him help; Bruce has his concierge doctor on call, so—

Alfred chiming in because, 'Or you could message him on his condition, sirs.' Or if Jason needs anything.

Which strikes Bruce and Tim dumb because, yeah. That's a real well-adjusted way of doing it. Huh. Cue embarrassed CEO and COO who stay suspiciously quiet because such a simple thing didn't make its way into any of their considerations/plans

So Dick interrupts because he's already done the above. Back on day one. You know. Like the average person does?

Tim grumbling about how Dick is far from average. Meanwhile Bruce is back to being intense because, 'what is his status?'

Long story short: Damian is down with a cold/flu; Jason is taking care of him.

Bruce stating that he's contacting the concierge doctor immediately; they can get Damian in to a pediatrician at the nearest children's hospital and—

Alfred cutting Bruce off by asking Dick if Jason needs help. Because Alfred is happy to assist.

And Dick lets them both down easy, because he's got it under control

Which. What? Traitor.

Just Dick already being there to help out. Running errands and taking care of Jason while Jason is busy caring for Damian. Maybe a bit of Dick looking after Damian, too ;U;

Ffffffff just the cuteness of Dick seeing Jason care for Damian and being reminded of how his mother used to look after Dick, way back when. The softness, the fretting. Forehead kisses to check for fever, fingers combed through sweat mussed hair. Lukewarm towels to heated skin and gentle soothing with the coming of chills and the desire for heat. Just little back rubs and assurances until Damian dozes off from exhaustion.

And the sweetness of Dick going to buy medicine and making sure Jason is taken care of, too. Cutting fruits or bringing easy meals. Cleaning up when Damian gets sick over himself and the floor ;n; Holding Damian to his chest while they're all on the couch so that Jason can doze for just a few minutes (only for Jason to wake a couple hours later to Dick walking slow through the apartment, Damian's head cradled to his chest as he talks at him, voice low and calm and steady enough to help Damian drift back off)

Something something Jason resting his head against the back of the couch and watching them fondly. And when Dick realizes that Jason is awake and watching, he smiles but carries on as he was

Sitting at the table, slouched over cups of coffee after putting Damian down in his bed to rest properly. And Jason thanking Dick for the help, but he doesn't need to put himself out for them

Only Dick isn't. Not at all

Then they talk. Quiet in the low light of the kitchen, in those hours between late and early.

(Specific talking point: slipped comment on how certain things Jason did reminded Dick of his mom. And Dick is so fond that Jason feels something like pride—so flattered he might be endeared. It's such a sweet comparison to draw, especially since Dick holds his parents in such high regard)

(Other talking point: Jason asking if Dick has kids because he's really good with them. Which Dick huffs a laugh about and tells Jason no (and it sounds a little sad, a little melancholic because infertile!Dick Grayson agenda, yep). Which Jason thinks is a shame. He'd make a good parent. And the sentiment wounds Dick so much it's so sweet ;3;).

Anyway, Dick relays to the family that Damian is just about recovered. And that Jason should be back to work soon. And that it'd be a real shame if he came back to a ton of work that the CEO and COO couldn't get done in his absence. ◉‿◉

Alternative sick!Damian situations, or just a continuation from the above:

Where Alfred offers to look after Damian (after he recovers from the worst of the cold/flu and is on the mend)

Jason being reluctant because he doesn't want to put Damian's fussiness on anyone, let alone Alfred

Although nearly back to 100%, Damian gets clingy and ornery after he's been sick and once Jason returns to not being available all hours

But Alfred insists because that's his grandson it doesn't matter how fussy he is he raised Bruce; he's got this

Which makes Jason snicker and eventually relent

At which point Alfred gets quality time with Damian and although Damian sleeps most of the time, Alfred is 𖤣.𖥧.𖡼.⚘ about it

As for Damian being at WE...

It's an anticipated visit and Damian dresses for business, toddler/small child though he may be lol

He's well behaved because Jason asks him to be, spending most of his time drawing

When anyone dares to approach Jason's desk though, the Al Ghul demon glare comes out and scares them off hahaha

Since Damian is tucked away behind him, Jason wouldn't notice. He'd just be confused because usually his co-workers put up a bit more of a fight?

It's Tim who overhears about the cutest guard dog sitting at Jason's workstation -- so protective and sweet! Sometimes coworkers walk that direction just to see the sour expression that takes over Damian's features. Then they'll leave and laugh over how sweet it is.

Tim witnessing the intense scowl for himself and grimacing because wtf, there's nothing cute about that it's so intimidating??

======

Thank you for the ask!! It wasn't a bother at all. This was really fun to reply to, so thank you again. Sorry for the delay though. <3

[daisynik7]

This is gonna sound like a silly little request BUT Nanami is the type to get cute gifts for reader. She always has cute ribbons, hair pins and scrunchies in her hair, he can't resist thinking how fruit pattern scrunchies he got for while away on mission will look on her. What he didn't expect tho, is that he'd end up wearing one of her frog scrunchies on his wrist - after he presented her with ones he got, she took her favorite of, put it on his wrist and went to try out new ones. And he rarely takes it of, he endures Gojo's (or anyone else's) teasing but the frog scrunchie stays on! In his mind, she always there with him, it smells like her and when he is to stressed he leans his nose into it (and moment is ruined with Gojo's cackling, the headache is back). ALSO, pretty sure he sits drying and combing her hair (after he washed it), even braiding it for her. No way he doesn't end up with a hair clip in his own hair sometimes, like she'll pin his bangs up when they get into his eyes while cooking or reading.

cw: established relationship, fluff, reader has longish hair.

Author’s Note: omg anon, this is SO CUTE, you are brilliant for coming up with this! Not a silly request AT ALL, I LOVE IT SO MUCH! I basically just expanded on what you sent me, so I hope you like it, let me know what you think! You definitely deserve all the credit here for coming up with this one. 🤩

Divider created by @/dividers-and-banners!

“Nanamin, no way you’re wearing that right now.” 

Gojo sits across the table from him, the typical cocky smirk on his face, covered eyes staring at Nanami’s hand. Your boyfriend rolled up the sleeves to his dress shirt, forgetting that his cuffs hid the froggy scrunchie on his wrist, exposing it to his annoyingly observant friend. He sighs, prepared for the ridicule he’s sure to endure for the next several minutes. Without taking it off, he responds, “It’s my girlfriend’s.”

“Obviously. The answer I really want to know is why in the world are you wearing it?” The grin on his face grows even wider, irritating Nanami. 

Deciding to be honest about it, because there’s no other way to explain it, he answers, “It brings me comfort.”

He’s doesn’t expect the uproar of laughter from his now former friend. While Gojo is doubled over, cackling, Nanami brings his wrist up to his nose, inhaling the faintest scent of you into his nostrils, instantly relieving the incoming migraine caused by his white-haired colleague. He nuzzles his nose against the soft, spongy fabric, picturing your ponytail swinging with it tied around your hair. He misses you, a little too much. But this small trinket is enough to get him through the day. A little piece of you that stays with him, even if it is in the form of a silly frog scrunchy. He’d wear a hundred more of them all along his arm if it meant more of you could be with him. 

This all started when he began to buy you different accessories whenever he was out on a mission. Your collection has grown, thanks to him: Butterfly clips, silky ribbons, hair pins with faux pearls on them, scrunchies with different types of patterns. He’s found a use for them himself: you managed to pin a clip onto his bangs while he reads his novel in bed, growing tired of seeing the stray hairs cover his eyes. At first, he protested. After seeing the gleeful smile on your face, he had no choice but to relent. Now, it’s expected of you to slide a bejeweled clip onto his luscious locks every night. 

The latest set he got you was fruit themed; he was so excited to see you in it, proud of the selection he chose all on his own. So much so that he offered to do your hair that night. His fingers were nimble and smooth on your scalp as he washed your hair, rinsing it through with warm water, making sure that none of the suds got into your eyes. He wrapped a towel around your dripping mane, massaging until it was damp instead of soaking. He even took the time to blow dry, combing through the tangles with your brush. Finally, he tried every hairstyle he could think of to model his gift for you. A strawberry scrunchy for the classic ponytail. Lemon and watermelon for pigtails. Orange for a French braid. Banana for a top bun. His smile grew each time, seeing the literal fruits of his labor decorated in your beautiful hair. The only outlier that didn’t match with the rest of them was the random frog it came with. So, as a joke, you slid it onto his wrist, claiming it was his to wear forever. 

It comes in handy more than you expect. Several occasions, you’ve asked if he could help tie up your hair as you leaned over the kitchen stove, cooking dinner. Each time, it was froggy scrunchy to the rescue. Nanami made sure that it made its way back to him whenever you were done using it. It’s never left him since, either worn as a bracelet or resting peacefully in his pocket for easy access. 

Gojo finally calms down from his fit, readjusting his blindfold. “How could that thing possibly bring you comfort?”

Nanami smiles to himself, brushing his thumb over the frog wrapped happily around his wrist. “It lets me carry her around with me wherever I go.”

Even after more ridicule and some incriminating photos, to which he gave up trying to convince Gojo to delete, Nanami makes it his top priority tomorrow morning to stop by the mall and purchase more scrunchies for his sweetheart.

[still-scribblin]

Please, Please, Please

i just followed where the story took me, it was a few hundred words when i realized there was no smut in the books for this one????? none for now anyway and!! this doesn't seem directly derived from the song the longer i wrote but duhfaiuhdfjnldjfb whatever - also just posting this as soon as i finish so i don't have time to second guess or be shy so there are probably mistakes somewhere here isdbfhs

tags: inspired by a song, rlly mild angst at first but it's all good, reader-centric, 'Reese' is a nickname, if you read the whole thing here you'll get where it came from lmao

written for @stargazingfangirl18 's birthday! 🥳

hey siri! happy birthday! i'm one of your readers and i think it’s so cool that you hosted an event for writing for your birthday. it’s always a treat reading the stories you’ve written (and even the ones you’ve reblogged) when they come up on my dash and you’re one of the first cevans writers i’ve come across that just got me hooked on him and made me appreciate the different characters he’s played in his career! also one of the writers that probably influenced me to try writing for cevans characters too hihi. anyway i hope you have a great birthday here on tumblr and irl with your loved ones and closest friends, and i hope writing keeps you happy and that you share more of those happiness with the community here on tumblr. happy birthday!!! 🎈🎁🎊

i’ve been meaning to write for ransom using this song so i’m glad i got to use this event as a motivator for that. i chose to write for ransom first because he’s usually who i’m reminded of when i look at your blog (probably bc of the icon?) anywayyy yea :)))

wc: 1,269

-------

“Are you ashamed of me?” 

“Wha- no! Never! You know I’m so proud of you, right?” 

“I mean I understand you know,” he said bitterly, ripping your heart to shreds. “I wouldn’t want to be seen with me either.” It took a long time for him to be alright after realizing what he’d done, it took even longer for him to regain his confidence and show his true, lovely, colors after all that. Now it seems like all of that progress will be set back all because you’d lost the ability to speak.

“It’s not that at all Ran, I promise.” 

“Really? Because I heard you threatening to pull your sister’s hair until she went bald when we ran into her at the supermarket if she said anything about us.” you couldn’t breathe. he heard that? “I didn’t even know you were capable of saying violent things. It was a nice change, definitely made you hotter.” somehow you knew he meant it even if he was avoiding your eyes this time around, trying to keep the hurt off of his face. 

“Please believe me when I say I’m not ashamed. Of you, or us, or anything you’ve done and been through. It’s a problem with me, I swear.” your heart hurt at the disbelieving look he gave you. 

“You’re a saint, why would it be a problem with you? Just be honest with me, Reese. I’m a grown man, I can take it.” You hugged his head to your chest, combed his hair with your fingers, and choked on your tears. Words that you couldn’t say tripping over each other, suddenly in a rush to be spoken when they’d been stuck in your throat for days. It wasn’t his fault that this meeting would be doomed to fail, and something inside you would die if you let him go back to the driver’s seat believing that you saw him as anything less than the man he was, the most loving partner you’d ever had. 

You didn’t even realize your position had changed until you inhaled a mouthful of the fibers of his sweater. 

“Why didn’t you tell me?” you shrugged. The sigh he’d let out at least let you know he’s okay and out of the self-deprecating hole he’d dug himself into while he waited for you to speak. 

“It’s going to be okay.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Maybe, but I have high hopes. You’ve always spoken so highly of your family, and if you’re right about them then maybe they’d give me a chance, just like you did.” the way he looked straight into your eyes with unshakeable faith stole the breath from your lungs, and that was that. you didn’t know what you did to deserve him. 

Whatever happens, you were content knowing that Ransom knew where you were coming from, and that whatever anyone would say, you didn’t think of him any less. You steeled yourself as you both got back out front, the ride still quiet but definitely more comfortable as you felt the weight of your intertwined hands on your lap. 

“Well that wasn’t so bad. What were you so nervous for?” staring at the ceiling of your childhood bedroom, squeezed against Ransom’s body and the wall beside your twin-sized bed, you’d barely heard what he said, feeling so snug and comfortable at finally being able to relax now that all’s said and done. You didn’t even know you lost sleep over it. 

“Hey.” Ransom poked your cheek. He laughed as you groaned and buried your face in his chest. 

“I don’t even know.” you exhaled, watching his chest rise and fall calmly. 

For once in your life you were happy to be proven wrong. You’d thought that it would be a disaster of an afternoon, but your sister – godbless her blabbering mouth – had already told the whole family about Ransom, and about how she saw you two goofing off in the supermarket that day before approaching you two. The family had already known apparently, and were just happy that you found someone who wouldn’t take you for granted, regardless of their past. 

Tears stung at your eyes at the idea of Ransom staying, not because he needed anything from you, but just because he wanted to. 

“Come on,” you felt him grumble. “get out of that pretty head and come into bed with me. you already left me to fend for myself the whole afternoon.” he complained. 

“Do I have to fuck your soul back into your body?” that got your attention. 

“What?”

“What?” you could only watch, incredulous, as Ransom palmed his growing hard-on and proceeded to position himself between your legs with a mischievous grin. “I’ve been thinking of this since you told me we were visiting.” at your blank look, he sighed.

“Fucking you in your childhood bedroom, of course.” he snorted as you suddenly sat up and began hitting his arm out of embarrasment. seriously, where was the filter on this man’s mouth? 

Apparently having had enough of games, you soon found yourself unable to move, hands pinned by one of his own above your head, your view taken up by Ransom furrowing his brows as he took his pants off with only one hand. 

“Are you serious?” 

“Yep.” he said, insufferable. You could only watch as he made a show of sucking on his particularly placed middle finger — the eyeroll you gave him only widened his stupid grin — and pressed said finger in the middle of your panties, tracing your slit over the cloth and breaking your unimpressed stare that he wasn’t buying. 

“You’re such a worrywart,” Ransom said as he slid a thick finger into you, the gusset of your underwear pushed to the side, his eyes never leaving yours. “but I shouldn’t complain, that is how we finally got to talking, after all.”

The hand holding yours slid down to push your thighs further apart. The mental image of what you must look like, inside your family home, with only the four thin walls of your bedroom to keep your dignity intact sparked a fresh wave of arousal over you. Ransom, who had always been attentive, raised a curious eyebrow at the subtle twitch of your body. “you like this, don’t you?” 

you refused to answer the accusation, refused to watch his infuriating smirk grow, but you should have known that would never fly with him. you squeaked as you felt a firm slap on your clit. 

“answer me.” 

“...yes” you whispered. you closed your eyes as he began chuckling, muttering to himself about how ‘he knew it’. One thing you’d learned about Ransom was that the guy loved to talk. The only time he ever shut up was when you sat on his face, because even asleep he liked to mutter random things, like book quotes or threats to family members that were nowhere near him, thankfully. 

the sound of footsteps nearing your bedroom had you looking back at him, panicked. Ransom on the other hand, seemed excited, going by the way his eyes lit up. 

“hey!” your sister knocked. “movie starts in 10 minutes so if you two aren’t down by that time I’m busting this door open even if I have to do it blindfolded!” 

“kinky!” Ransom replied. The loud thump of your fist against his shoulder was drowned out by your sister’s laughter. 

“fuck you!” you whispered, unbelievably embarrased. 

“that’s exactly what I’m trying to do.” Ransom says matter-of-factly, his face speaking of the herculean challenges you’re no doubt going to have to endure for the next 9 and a half minutes.

[lightofraye]

Hi there! You certainly didn't waste any time, jumping straight into your concerns.

With respect... I disagree. He might've had some fillers, but I believe any and all Botox might've been done for his depression (as I mentioned not too long ago). The lines around his forehead and other areas of his face would not have settled that quickly if it had been done for wrinkles.

(Someone I follow on Facebook had gotten Botox for wrinkles and it took her a good number of weeks, not a week or two, for it to settle.)

Because as you can see... his face is pretty similar here! He's always had those kinds of cheeks and lines when he smiles!

As for the rhinoplasty... I must disagree. I've searched high and low for any differences in his nose since Days Of Our Lives and honestly? I don't see it. Because look:

That nose has always been asymmetrical. I don't think he's ever bothered to get it fixed. But, ah, the red lines? Let's see!

Nope. No red lines that I can see. I would love to see where you're seeing them!

No worries! I've kept your name off the ask as you've requested!

And you're very welcome! I love Sign Language! It comes in so handy, especially in loud places or wanting to communicate across the room! No need to shout! Just sign and be 'heard'! Plus, it allows me to really read body language. It's amazing how many people miss that.

I absolutely hope to teach my son--his father is being combative about it, but I keep trying!--and my daughter is learning as well.

I wasn't sure if you wanted me to post the last part, your "private aside", so I'll just try my best to address it without actually, uh,... sharing what you said.

RE: Danneel. Yeah... she... she tries on many masks, pretending to be something she's not. But everyone can see right through her because she's such a bad actress. She's an awful mother, unable to parent without the nannies around. She's an awful wife; can't even support her husband in his worst moments (like the Rust shooting). She's a terrible producer; cue The Winchesters lawsuit. She's a terrible actress; cue her non-existent acting career. She can't even pretend to be a decent being without folks giving her the side-eye about all the "compliments" and "jokes" she slaps around.

She's offensive as a human being, honestly.

I just wish she'd go away.

Back to your main message: I understand we may disagree. I know some would say "Yeah, Jensen's had some work", and it may be he's had a little bit, due to Hollywood being what it is.

However, he didn't have nearly to the extent that Danneel's had--her face is unrecognizable to what it was like, way back when. She's even messed up her philtrum lines (the curvature between our nose and lips) so now it's all crooked because she's had so many botched fillers.

I mean, imagine looking at this face and thinking it's all natural:

I can almost guarantee some of that are filters from the photographer because no human skin is that smooth and untextured. Her lips? Fake and fillers. Her cheeks? Unnatural fillers. Her forehead? Botox and tons of facelifts. If she doesn't stop her eyes are going shrink in the creepy way from too many plastic surgeries. Hell, even her eyebrows are fake.

So yeah. Jensen has a long way to go before he ever reaches her extent and I hope he never does.

Thanks for the ask! (And don't worry. I may disagree, but I'm not offended! Everyone's free to disagree!)

[heartfullofleeches]

would there be any way the staff!reader could stay overnight in the gallery safely? without being turned into an art piece so everyone doesnt have to worry about losing them? maybe this reader, somehow hired to take care of and maintain everyone in the gallery, doesn't really have anywhere to go home to...?

honestly? i'd feel very protected if i had to sleep in an art gallery full of art + director that love and cherish me. after i get used to them being alive first–

BTW i hope you are safe, happy, stress-free, are eating well and drinking lots of water! have an amazing day whether you choose to answer this or not!! :D

Well, as long as you manage to make it clear that you'll never leave them, the gallery won't have to resort to turning you into a painting. I imagine living there would be the best way to do so actually. The topic will most likely come up again as you age or if you get seriously injured, but for the time they would be content with the arrangement and (somehow) work together to make sure you're given the same care that you've given them.

-

"Is Y/n comfortable?"

The question's accompanied by light snickering as the hands at work complete their mission. You wrestle against your binds, but their softness and the persisting presence of hands pinning to the mat as well as combing through your hair makes you still. You accept defeat physically - but you're not down for the count yet.

"Scavenger, I really appreciate your effort, but I need to check on the other floors before I get some rest."

The Scavenger only laughs more, yet there's a notable difference to its tone. While clocking out for the night and tending to the rest of your duties off-shift, you were ambushed by the painting and dragged back to the storage closet you slept in. Your own bedding had already been laid out; added onto by the various blankets, foods, and other comforts they had stolen for you. The Scavenger used said blankets to swaddle you in and has been trying for the past half hour to get you to fall asleep. It hushes you with a finger to your lips.

"Shhhh. Quiet. There are new rules to follow. New rules to keep Y/n safe. Once their shift is over, it's our turn to take care of them. Might get sick otherwise."

The Scavenger runs its blackened fingers across the dark circles under your eyes to prove their point. As you prepare your rebuttal, the storage room door opens. Your stomach drops seeing who walks in.

The Lady in White. Red clings to the tails of her dress like haunts of her crimes and a knife welt in her hand. Crimson decorates the blade, but it's not blood. On further investigation, its revealed to the remaining skin of the item resting on the plate in her opposite hand. Her face scrunches up in disgust as she looks at all the processed foods around you.

"Please, stop feeding my darling garbage. I've left them in your company because I believe its for the best for us all, but I am not afraid to cut you all down if I must."

She places a plate of apple slices on the floor. "The Rose has been growing these for you. It's not much, but its food. If I had the right ingredients, I'm sure I can make a proper dish with them. Use this to buy them for me, and whatever else you may need."

She sets a wallet beside the plate. At least she tried to scrape off the blood the time. As soon as she takes her leave, another member of the gallery enters the room. Two in fact. The Painter, and a newer addition to the team, Soleil. The living clock had a habit of leaving its parts about for you to find, but seemed to be in working condition as it cocks its head at you quizzically. Its companion stares down the halls with a worried expression; shocked when they look over at you.

"Oh, dear. You're still awake, Poppy? That's no good- no good at all. I came all the way from my workshop to capture your-... I mean, check on you before the Angel stopped by to play guard."

"I told you they'd be up. They're always up at this hour no matter how often I tell them the time."

"Quiet, you overgrown alarm clock. We need to let them get their rest."

Then wh..y aren't you?

Soleil jumps at the new voice, while The Painter merely slacks their shoulders. No hope in getting that perfect picture now. The Faceless Angel stands behind the duo. They have gotten better with speech since they first lost their face. Slurred, their deep and raspy voice is much clearer now with only the smallest hiccups when they speak for long. Singing and talk to you while you winded down for the night help their progress immensely. In their hands, they hold a bright pink rose which yips in excitement the closer it gets to you. The angel puts it next to your bed and takes a seat; acting as your guardian angel for now, and as long as you will allow.

With your alarm clock, guardian, and two slightly bothersome, but still caring paintings - your eyes start to grow heavy. You don't remember when you start to dose off, or how long you actually slept, but the time on Soleil's open chest reads 4am when you're woken by a gentle shake.

"Hey, Y/n. Sorry for waking you, but I lost my house keys. Can I sleep next to you?"

You mumble a reply your coworker takes as a yes. Anri snuggles up beside you, careful not to touch you aside from placing a hand over your arm. You'd save wondering how they got their hands on a new uniform in the morning.

With the gallery's residents returned back to place, the director shuts the storage room door with a prayer of pleasant dreams. It feels so good to know that you're home.

[unbidden-yidden-deactivated20240]

So this post really highlights a line of thinking that has been normalized in Christianity that I would love for Christians to really stop and consider from a Jewish perspective. Try to let go of your current understanding of it and open yourself to a completely different view. I've screencapped it because I don't want to come across as combative about other people's deeply held spiritual beliefs; however, I do think it's an important conversation to have:

There is naturally a huge focus on the crucifixion within Christianity because it is so central to Christian theology, including very graphic details of this torture method and the suffering involved.

However, I'd love for you to consider the following:

This was a specific torture/execution method used by the Romans on political dissidents, and in particular, the Jews whose land they were occupying. It's not just a horror show; it's something with specific cultural historical baggage. That we now see artistically portrayed, literally everywhere in Xtian countries.

This focuses so much on how he died that it almost seems as if people have forgotten how he lived, and what he had to say while he was here.

Xtians like to reassure Jews that they're cool with us by saying "Jesus was a Jew, of course we love Jews!" Now think about how that line sounds when juxtaposed with this focus on the torture and death of Jesus-the-Jew.

I hope it doesn't escape anyone's notice that this is comparing Jesus (and his corporeal Jewish body) to a flayed animal carcass. This same idea is repeated, if more poetically, by the idea that he was the [animal] sacrifice to end all [of the Temple] sacrifices.

Really though, I keep coming back to this point: why are y'all so focused on the how and the why of his death, when, according to your theology, you literally had God here on earth, to talk to face to face, physical human to physical human being, to learn directly from. Aren't those words more important to your immediate daily lives?

??

[radioactivepeasant]

Chaos Wednesday (doesn't normally happen): Demon Slayer Baby au!

Two back to back snippets: how DJ got his nickname, and how Damas caused A Misunderstanding (long post, be forewarned)

Nickname

"Daxter!!"

Tess brightened, flinging her arms open.

"Angel!"

Daxter leaped up onto the bed, careful to avoid the stack of pillows Tess was using to prop up her swollen ankle.

"How's my best gal doing?"

Tess fell back against the headboard with a groan. "Booooooored. Nobody can get out to check Dead Town for old medpacks, so I'm stuck in here for now. I hope Krew isn't being too hard on you!"

Daxter scoffed. "Pssh. Me? Never. He finally appreciates my skill in drink mixing."

A snort of derision from just below the bed contradicted this. Tess noted the pitch of the voice and raised her brows.

"No fights on the way here to get the eco out?"

Daxter cuddled up next to her and shrugged. "I think he just wanted to feel safe, actually. He's getting better at transforming at will!"

Tess smiled and patted the bed. "Hey goober! Come on up!"

Little black claws appeared at the edge of the blanket and scrambled for purchase. Tess didn't really understand why he didn't just adjust his height -- he had full control over the proportions of his limbs like this. But she didn't mention it. Jak was so much happier in this state, acting more like Daxter said he did before they came to Haven. Tess may not have had a full picture of what was going on in that prison when Daxter rescued Jak, but she knew what complex trauma looked like. If it made Jak feel happier, feel safer to be some kind of little goblin, then who was Tess to stop him?

"C'mere, kiddo." Tess reached over to help him up.

With a little gasp of triumph, Jak scooted up over the edge and flung his arms up in a victory pose. His sleeves, sized for a teenaged boy of regular size, unrolled themselves with the motion and flopped over his hands. The travel-sized dark warrior shook them in annoyance, sending them flapping back and forth.

"Awww, come here you cutie!"

Tess scooped him up and danced her fingers over his sides.

"Tickle tickle tickle!"

Jak hissed, but his ear to ear grin gave him away as he batted at Tess’s hands.

"Weirdo sis!" he signed with a snort. "Daxter help!"

"Look bud, she was gonna go after one of us. You gotta take one for the team," Daxter said. "I just got this fur combed flat."

"Who's my favorite murderbuddy? Dee-Jaaaay! DJ's my favorite murderbuddy!" Tess sang, scrubbing her knuckles across the hissing eco being's scalp.

Daxter scratched his nose and frowned. "Huh? DJ?"

"Yeah!" Tess grinned at him. "Dark-eco Jak! DJ! Get it?"

The ottsel looked over at Jak, who was clearly enjoying being fussed over for a change.

"DJ...huh. Whaddya think of that, pal?"

"Yop!"

A soft look overtook Daxter. He reached out to muss Jak's hair. "Alright, DJ it is."

"Yee!" The newly nicknamed DJ flailed his arms even faster in excitement. The sleeves smacked Tess and Daxter in the face. It was absolutely on purpose.

He didn't know why everything was more fun at this size -- was it because there were more things to climb on? Because fights were more of a challenge? Because people were nicer to him? -- but he loved how wild and big all the eco -- and even all his feelings were. Most of the time.

He didn't like Big Sad and Big Scared. He had to go back to tall DJ during those feelings to get them under control. Or let Sig carry him around, but sometimes that was embarrassing.

"Torn is going to come back here before long," Tess warned the boys, "So if you didn't want to do some work today you'll have to make yourself scarce."

DJ began to snicker and pulled his scarf over his head like he was hiding before flailing his arm out from underneath. Daxter cackled, knowing immediately what Jak was suggesting.

"No, bud, I don't think Tattooed Wonder would appreciate it if you hid under the bed and grabbed his ankle when he walked by. It would be funny though."

"Nooo that's so mean!" Tess giggled.

DJ kicked his arms and legs up in the air, made a croaking screech, acting out what he thought Torn's reaction would be before collapsing into giggles as well.

"You're a menace, DJ," Tess cooed, scratching the base of Jak's horn nubs.

"Why yes," DJ signed, "Yes I am."

Damas Causes Problems (on purpose)

"No leads on Mar yet."

Sig slouched in the corner booth, eyeing the empty bar as he spoke quietly into his talk-box. "Been trying to work out why Jak does the...the thing. Why he looks like a desaturated Mar when he does it. All I got is that Praxis picked up a hu'men experimentation hobby."

"I wish I could say that didn't sound like a logical progression of his depravity," Damas hissed on the other end of the line. "Do you...know which form is Jak’s natural one?"

Sig knew what Damas was thinking. He'd wondered it himself. Was Jak made in Praxis's lab? Was the tiny child resembling Mar his truest form and the young teenager a disguise to protect him?

But to the best of his knowledge, it was the other way around.

"The taller one -- with- with Mar's kinda hair -- that's his base shape. He's still learning how to control the dark stuff. That's why he gets stuck in Baby Mode as often as he does. Used to make him real mad, now he just thinks it's funny. But while we're on the subject...I have a request. I know you don't want to get involved in the civil war beyond runnin' guns, but-"

"Spit it out, Sig."

Sig rubbed the skin under his prosthetic eye and groaned.

"I'm scared for Jak, man. Every time I see him, he's weaker. Kid’s about to drop over the edge of exhaustion and he keeps trudging on because he says "they" told him to. And I'm pretty sure he's talkin' about the Underground. Now, I know it's off agenda, but- I wanna follow him back. Find out whose trying to work him to death and straighten em out."

He could almost see the shrug as Damas answered.

"Why're you asking me? He's your kid."

Something warm fluttered in Sig’s stomach and he grinned despite himself. "Yeah. He kinda is at this point, isn't he?"

The line was quiet for a few seconds. Time enough for sounds to begin emanating from the street. Then,

"When you find Mar-"

When. Not if. As if his success wasn't even in question, even after two years.

"When you bring him home, bring Jak, too. I want to meet this kid -- in person, this time."

"You think I'd let him and Daxter stay here?" Sig scoffed.

Just then, the door swung open, bringing with it the ottsel's familiar voice.

"I'm tellin' you, sweetheart, it's all about the pine-pears. Slice em, grill em, put em on the steak. I guarantee even Hoverboy will love it."

Tess walked in with the boys -- Sig didn't blame them for walking together. This wasn't the nicest neighborhood even without the KG -- and she giggled.

"Daxxie, I've never even had pine-pear. How am I supposed to convince Krew to put something on the menu if we can't get any?"

Jak looked worse than before. The circles beneath his eyes were deep and purple, and he looked dehydrated. Daxter perked up from his shoulders to glance in Sig’s direction.

Crap. He loved the boys, but they weren't ready to know about Spargus yet.

"Hey, shift's gonna be starting soon, hon. Imma have to call you back."

"I beg your pardon!?"

Damas sputtered, not sure whether to be offended or amused. After a beat, in which he must've heard the other voices, he sounded calmer. "Ah. You have company. Carry on."

"Yeah yeah yeah. No, I'll remember. Don't worry about it," Sig said quickly, and a little louder than necessary. "Milk, eggs, paper towels. You need me to grab anything else when I clock out?"

Jak stopped next to his table and cocked his head with a soft frown.

"Who you talkin' to?" he asked.

With a sardonic lilt, Damas’s voice grated in his ear.

"Oh, is that my "stepson"? Tell him to take a nap."

"Tell him yourself!"

"Sure. Watch your ears."

And before he had time to brace himself, Sig had his ears ringing as Damas raised his voice and loudly called,

"Hey kid! Be good for your old man today. Take a nap when he tells you to this time."

Sig flushed scarlet from the tip of his ears to his neck when he heard the usually stoic king burst into uncontrolled cackling.

"I am going to get him for this," Sig muttered as Jak’s face twisted in confusion.

"Who the heck is that?"

"A menace, that's who," Sig growled. "Ignore him."

Jak, unfortunately, did not.

[buddietommys]

// ||bucktommy and tevan|| OOC content is mostly because Tommy and Eddie wouldn't be wrapped up in mafia business lmao //

Mafia!au where Buck works at some tiny bar in a really shady part of LA. He isn't oblivious; he knows who he needs to avoid and who he should be friendly with to avoid any type of misunderstanding or altercation. He's not above getting into fights and can hold his own, but he doesn't want to worry his sister. Speaking of his sister, she really wants him to leave his job. Maddie tells Buck that she can pick up another shift at her job, but he refuses to have her work more hours. Buck wants to make enough money so he can move with Maddie to a tiny house in the countryside, far, far away from this part of their lives. He's always felt like a fuckup and blames himself almost daily for their parents leaving them in the dark once Maddie turned 18. Maybe if he wasn't so stubborn or so defiant, their parents would have stuck around instead of leaving Maddie to care for the both of them. He remembers the yelling the most, especially on his hard-to-sleep nights. Buck works late hours at the tiny bar, and usually that's when shady characters tend to start making their way inside. He always gives a small nod in acknowledgement, and at this point he knows what certain customers get and just pours out the drinks. Two drinks in particular he remembers like the back of his hand: whiskey on the rocks, and it cost exactly ten dollars, yet these two men who walk in flashing their expensive watches and rings will always slip in an extra amount of cash, "keep the change beautiful." A wink and a slight brush of fingers on his hands always send shivers down Buck's spine. He never takes the money and never acknowledges the few hundred he sees folded neatly. Buck isn't stupid, and he wasn't born yesterday. He knows that these two men are definitely some type of gang members, and the cash they try to slip him is probably money made in some type of illegal activity (murder? bank heist? A hit on another gang leader?? Buck watches too much TV, and he blames Maddie for leaving those true crime documentaries on in the background.) They never comment on him not taking the cash, but he feels their eyes on him when he moves across the bar. He can't put his finger on it, but their eyes always have a certain fire behind them.

/hunger/ /desire/

Two words that come to mind as predators looking at prey, waiting for any opportunity to pounce. The taller and bulkier one of the two always approaches him first when he clocks out of work. "You know, gorgeous, you can take the cash; promise we won't bite if you do." The shorter one with the perfect combed hair and a tan that always looks sun-kissed is always the first one to try to hand him the money. "You know, if I were to guess, I would think you're avoiding us, darling, and I hope you aren't, cause that hurts our feelings." he would say with a slight smirk and a chuckle. Buck hates these two, but god, he cannot deny how unbelievably handsome they are, but he isn't going to put Maddie and himself in shady business just for dick. He just says no thank you and walks away into the night. They never follow, and they don't talk further, but he always feels eyes on him when he walks back home (he takes different routes when walking, but he can never shake the eyes he feels stalking him). These two strangers somehow have slithered their way into his mind and his work, and he can't stop the nagging feeling that something is going to happen.

And oh boy does something happen. It was fast and it was extremely sudden, but one day after walking home after an extremely tiring shift, he feels a hand grab his wrist, and as he tries to swing with his other hand, he feels something cold on his neck. 'a knife' he thinks to himself before he could say anything. He's hushed by his assailant. "If I were you baby I'd stay quiet. Trust me, I don't want to put a scratch on your pretty little body."

Oh, he knows this voice, and all Buck can say is a simple "fuck."

He hears a laugh from behind him, and the hand that was holding him along with the knife to his neck is lifted. Buck immediately spins and notices the two men who have been trying to give him an absurd amount of cash for about a month staring right at him. "Hey doll face, fancy meeting you here," says the shorter one. Buck lets out an annoyed laugh. "Well, you have my attention. What do you guys want? If you're going to mug me, just leave me my wallet; it was a gift." The two men just look at him with smiles, and the taller one doesn't say anything and instead goes into his pockets and throws several photos into Buck's face. He was going to say something about the absolute dickhead move until he catches a glimpse at a photo. "How did you?" he's interrupted immediately. "We know all about you, Evan; we know where you live; we know about your sister; we know what you eat for breakfast down to the routes you take to go home. We know everything about you, so let's make a deal here." For the first time in his life, he has absolutely no comeback. Words aren't forming in his mind, and he feels his hands getting cold. These two men know about him. Forget about him. They know Maddie. They know where she works based on the photo they have of her leaving her job and the coffee shop she likes to visit. Evan Buckley, for the first time since starting this job, is terrified, and he sees no way out right now. He wants to punch them; he wants to yell for help FOR SOMETHING....but all that comes out is a hushed voice: "What do you want?" The two men look at him, and they just smile at him as if they aren't two predators holding him hostage. "For starters, call us by our names, cariño, my name is Eddie, and my friend here is called Tommy. What we want is simple. We want you." the one that introduced himself as Eddie grabbed him by his chin roughly, "we've had our eyes on you since you started working at that bar, but waiting is getting boring, and we're impatient when we don't get our things." The taller one, who he now knows is called Tommy, goes to pick up the photos and neatly organize them again into his pockets. He just smiles a sickly sweet smile at Buck "We tried doing this nice, but you seemed to ignore us either way, so we figured a little pushing would make this quicker."

Buck is now forced into a whirlwind of emotions and feelings, being forced to be arm candy to not only one but two high-ranking Mafia members and having to do whatever they want just to make sure that Maddie doesn't get mixed up in this mess.

[whumpdoyoumean]

Whumptober #1

A/N: Wow! Hard to believe we're already back to October, it feels like Whumptober 2023 was just a few months ago. This piece is a little shorter and less complete than a lot of my fills have been in the past, which is something you might see more of this month. I'm really wanting to avoid burnout this year, and am also trying to break through some of my perfection paralysis. So that means writing what I can and not being too hard on myself! (:

xxx search party

When trying to enlist the aid of local authorities, it's always a toss-up whether they're going to help willingly or circle their wagons. In small towns like this one, it tends to be the latter. More often than not, they see federal agents as nothing more than government lackeys, over-reaching and meddling in things they couldn't possibly understand. So Scully was a little surprised that Sheriff Walters readily agreed to form a search party to comb the hilly woods at the edge of town.

Perhaps she shouldn't be, though, considering one of his deputies is the reason they don't know where in the hundred acres of forest Mulder is.

He was doing his job, Scully reminds herself. The young officer had just been following his training; she can hardly blame him for that.

Her mind flashes back to that scene, hours ago now though it somehow feels like it's only been a few minutes and also an eternity.

"Where is Agent Mulder?" Her voice, raised to a raw shout as she stands with her weapon raised, hoping that she won't have to use it because doing so could mean losing him. Losing Mulder.

"Agent Scully?" The young deputy, calling out to her as he enters the house. She ignores him.

"Tell me where he is!"

The man, appearing to lose some of his resolve. Looking like he might actually relent.

"Okay. But I have something for you first."

The deputy, rounding the corner just as the man is reaching for something behind his back.

"Freeze!"

And the man. The man just keeps reaching, and Scully turns to the deputy with wide, desperate eyes, but by the time she yells, "Don't!" his finger is already tightening on the trigger. A crack. Blood blooming across the man's chest, and even as she rushes forward and puts her hands over the wound to try and stop the bleeding, to try and get an answer out of him, she knows it won't do any good. The deputy was a damn good shot.

"Agent Scully?"

Scully startles, pulled from the memory, and looks up at the sheriff. "Yes?"

"I was just saying that we've been at it several hours now with no luck and, well. Maybe we should wrap this up for now, get some rest, then make a plan and come back at it--"

"We keep looking," Scully interrupts. "It's already getting cold out here and the temperature is only going to keep dropping. Mulder isn't dressed for the weather. If we wait, it could be too late. We keep looking."

Sheriff Walters's face pinches into a slightly pained-looking expression, but he just nods. "Yes, ma'am."

She hates this. She hates how Mulder always seems to find danger, or else it finds him. She hates the seething anger that simmers no matter how much she tells herself the deputy didn't have a choice. She hates how scared she is, and more than anything else she hates the doubt that sits heavily at the back of her mind.

The sound of distant shouts makes her heart rate spike, and she looks up sharply, hope and fear mingling as she starts moving toward the noise.

"What's going on?" she asks an officer as she gets closer.

"I'm not sure, exactly, but I think one of the dogs found something. Could be--"

Scully doesn't let him finish before she's breaking into a sprint, crashing through the undergrowth. There are several officers crowded in one spot. Heads turn as Scully approaches, and the officers part to let her through.

Her heart sinks.

"Oh, god, Mulder."

He's lying at the base of a large tree, bound at the wrists and ankles, his arms behind his back. There's dirt and blood on his too-pale face. Scully is on her knees in a second, two fingers pressed to his neck. His skin is cool to the touch, and his pulse, when she finds it, is fast. But he's alive. He's alive.

"Somebody come get these ropes off of him," she commands. Nobody moves, and she turns. "Come on!" Then, quieter, "It's okay, Mulder. I'm here. Everything's gonna be okay."

xxx

[seenoversundown]

Sparrow Of The Dawn : Chapter Six

Sam x Willa (Fem OC)

Warnings: Mild anxiety, uncomfortable silences, awkward flirting (there's a theme brewing here) Cursing, & some silly goofy bestie time with our favorite buddy Daniel.

Word Count: 6.7k

Summary: Sam unfortunately finds himself in not so meet cute with Willa. Hopeful that he doesn't cross her path again; the world works in mysterious ways and not always in your favor.

You're Only Human - Billy Joel "'Cause all I needed was a little faith, So I could catch my breath and face the world again, Don't forget your second wind."

My eyes flutter open, Penny’s rough tongue lapping against my face. Wait, what time is it?! I blindly feel around for my phone. Am I on the couch? I rub a knuckle across my eyes, blinking them open and sitting up. I frantically search under throw pillows and cushions until I find my phone… under my coffee table. 5:34 am. Oh fuck, I’m late. Birdie is going to be here by like 6. Fuck fuck FUCK.

I run to my room, Penny hot on my heels, quickly searching for something to wear. I throw on a plain black sweater and a pair of black dress pants. You really can’t get any more professional than black on black. I sit on my bed, sliding on, you guessed it, a pair of black socks. And then rush over to the bathroom, nearly falling over Penny on the way there.

I splash some cold water on my face in hopes that it wakes me up a little bit. I pat my face dry with the face towel that always sits on my sink and reach for my hairbrush. As the only Kiszka who brushes their hair regularly, I have an image to uphold. I gently comb out the knots, careful not to take my head off while still attempting to rush. I finish brushing my teeth and gargle some mouthwash and then double check my smile in the mirror. Perfect.

“Oh, the photos,” I say out loud, slipping past Penny, who patiently waits in the doorway of the bathroom and bolt it to the living room. I gather the photos and look around for my folder. Where is my folder? I had it just here on the coffee table? Oh fuck. I check the time again, and there's a notification from Birdie. 

Birdie 🪿: On my way

Oh shit, oh shit. I haven’t even taken Penny out yet. I drop the prints back on the coffee table and shove my feet into my slippers, and shrug on my coat. 

“Come on, Penny girl,” calling her to me and, hooking on her leash. We head outside, and of course, she takes her sweet time because why on earth would she feel the need to rush for me? I love her dearly, but she’s the biggest and best pain in the ass that I deal with every day, only narrowly beating out Birdie these days. After she, thankfully, does her business, we head back inside. I pick up the photos again, searching for my damn folder, where the fuck did I put it? Penny’s hyped from the cold air outside and bursting with the zoomies.

“Stop, Penny, please.” Running my fingers through the fur between her ears, hoping to calm her a bit. I spot the folder out of the corner of my eye.

“Ah-ha!” I run over to it, and Penny bounds off after; I turn quickly, and “Oh fuck” I trip and fall over her as she tangles herself between my legs. I’m as bad as Birdie is, damn. I reach for the folder on the table from my seated position on the floor and search for the photos now strewn about the room. I tuck them into the folder and promptly shove it into my bag, sufficiently annoyed by my morning. 

Birdie 🪿: Here.

Is she mad.. nevermind.

“Alright, Sammy. You’ve got nothing to worry about. The presentation is going to go fine. Birdie will be fine. You look good. Everything is going to go according to plan… starting now.” I give myself a little verbal pep talk in front of my floor-length mirror. Fiddling with the final touches of my outfit until I feel confident. With this morning being a tragic mess, I have to leave it at the door so I don’t psych myself out for the presentation. I slip on my scarf and jacket, trying to stay bundled from the cold. I grab my keys from the key hook by the door and head to meet Birdie at her car. 

She’s staring down at her phone, biting at her thumbnail when I spot her, bright yellow sweater and all.  

Oh, she’s nervous too. 

I grab the chilly handle of the car door and open it slowly. Her head snaps up and she bites out, “The least you could do if you’re not going to respond to my text is turn your ‘read receipts’ on so I know you’re not asleep or something.”

“Well, good morning to you too, Birdie. Have you not had sufficient caffeine intake this morning?” I set my bag on the floor and scoot into the passenger seat, shutting the door behind me. 

“If I say no, does that mean you’re buying again?” She puts the car in drive and pulls away from the road. When I buckle my seat, I notice her hair is up, well, as much up as your hair can be when it’s short. You can see much more of her face like this. I refocus my attention to the road ahead. 

“Nah, I bought last time. It’s your turn, and I’m craving a caramel latte wicked bad.” I say, throwing her a cheeky smile. 

“Fine, I’ll stop and get coffee.” she shakes her head.

“I know,” I pouted my bottom lip out, “I just had to twist your arm, huh?”

As we make our way through the drive through, I open my bag and reach for my wallet. I pull out a five and hand it to her.

“For the tip,” I say plainly, placing the bill into her hand. She grabs it apprehensively before placing it into the tip bucket. She looks back at me, wearing an expression I can’t quite read. Her eyes catch sight of my open bag. 

“Oh, Sam! Did you buy me flowers as an apology for having to deal with you the past week? That’s soooo sweet of you.” her fake enthusiasm falls short, and she looks at me completely deadpan. 

“I uuuhh,” I clear my throat, unsure of why I feel so awkward all of a sudden. “I actually bought the daisies for.. Daisy. You know, the receptionist.” I swallow thickly. Seriously what's wrong with me. 

“It sounds stupid when you say it out loud, huh?” Her attention is called back to the barista, handing her our drinks through the window. I’ll never get over how sickly sweet her customer service voice is compared to the way she speaks to me. I grab my drink and place it into the cup holder, twisting the top off my straw wrapper and placing the straw through the lid. The squeaking of the plastic on plastic sends a chill down my spine. I put the wrapper in my jacket pocket to be polite but Birdie flings hers to her back seat, where all straw wrappers go to die in her vehicle.

“Girls like flowers?” I defend. “At least normal girls do.” I throw her a side eye she doesn’t catch because she’s keeping an eye out for an opening in the road. 

“You know, if someone bought me,” she takes a long pause, flicking her head side to side to double-check she’s clear to drive before successfully pulling out into traffic. “willows every time they tried to get me flowers, I’d never actually want anyone to get me flowers.” She blindly reaches for her coffee, taking a small sip.

“The thing is, your name is Will-A, not Will-ow. Besides, a willow is a tree; a pussy willow is a flower.” No sooner than the words are out of my mouth is she choking on her drink. She grabs a spare napkin and wipes her mouth, coughing a few times before wiping her mouth once more and throwing the napkin in the back seat to join the graveyard. 

“The point is, Sam. Buying daisies for a girl named Daisy– not the most original idea. I’m sure you’re not the first guy to do it.” she lowers her voice before finishing, “Or the last.”

“Flowers are more effort than your date put in.” I know it's a low blow but damn, cut a guy a little slack here. She purses her lips at my comment and I know I may have taken it too far. 

“This is gunna be a long fucking drive. Why don’t we just run through the presentation? That reminds me, you never sent me an email with the digitals you edited. Can you do that before we get there?”

“Yeah, I actually sent it over to you this morning before you got to my apartment. It should be in your email.” I bend down to rifle through my bag, mostly talking to the floor of her car, and try to find my folder of prints. 

“My bag is in the back seat. It’s in the blue folder not the purple folder,” she instructs.

I set my folder on the center console and twist my body, attempting to reach for her bag, but my arm isn’t long enough. I unbuckle my seat belt and mumble out a plea to not kill me while I’m unprotected and kneel backward in the passenger seat. I grab her bag from the back seat and plop it in my lap before I realize it's the same camera bag as the one I use, just in tan instead of gray. Maybe she can hold her own rocks now. I pull out her blue, not purple, folder and set it with mine before putting her bag back in its place. I open her folder and pull out her printed photos, waiting for her instructions.

“Okay, just to double check, I should have the dock, the bird in that bush, and the lobster boat. Then the full view of the rocks and water from Wolf’s Neck.” She recounts her photos on her fingers, tapping each one against her steering wheel. 

“All here. You know what points you want to hit?” I ask. 

“Yeah, I ran through it with my roommate last night,” waving my question away with the flick of her wrist. At least one of us is prepared; I got drunk with Daniel and passed out on my couch. 

“Alright, my turn.” I try to sound more excited than I am. If I’m being honest, public speaking makes me uneasy. Even though I know while I'm sitting there watching other people present, I couldn't give two figs on a rolling donut what they're saying, I always assume people are judging me. The nervousness is always present in the shakiness of my voice, and I hate it, no matter how confident I am about what I’m talking about. 

I flip open my folder and pull out my photos. I scan through them one by one until I count only three. Oh no, she’s gonna fucking kill me. Not only does she have to cart my ass around through this entire thing, but she can’t rely on me for the one thing I have to fucking do. God dammit. I close my folder and clasp my hands together on top of it, staring straight at the road. I can feel her glance at me. Eyes trained on me for as long as she feels like she can spare before checking the road again.

“What?” 

I internally scream. I want to say nothing. I want to pretend this isn’t happening. I want to jump out of the car a little bit. 

But instead, I pivot.

“You look nice today. Yellow, like a ray of sunshine.” I smile sweetly at her.

“Compliments are not going to help you.”  

“We even match. Look,” I point to my yellow and navy plaid scarf. “Isn’t that cute?” I laugh uncomfortably.

She glares at me.

“Don’t be mad.” I wince.

“No. Absolutely not, Sam.” she waves her pointer finger over at me.

“Don’t be mad,” I repeat. Please, please, please don't be mad

“If you don’t tell me what's wrong RIGHT NOW,” She emphasizes her words by slapping her steering wheel. “I will pull this car over and make you walk the rest of the way.” 

I take a deep breath, knowing that I’m about to endure the wrath of a thousand fire-breathing dragons.

“Promise me you won’t be mad, and I’ll tell you.” I am a fucking pussy. She is just a girl, so why do I feel so uneasy? 

“Samuel,” she warns.

“The rock path photo is gone…” I trail off. I know instantly she sees red even though she’s not making eye contact with me. Hoping if I explain she might grant me some leniency, I continue speaking. 

“I overslept this morning and was running around trying to get ready, but running gets Pen excited, and she was trying to play. Anyway, she came at me full speed and knocked me on my ass and.. I just thought I grabbed all the pictures.” I rush out. I should have stayed quiet.

“SAMUEL THOMAS KISZKA!” she yells at what I can only assume is the top of her lungs. I hate to think she can yell louder than that. 

“That’s.. actually my brother's middle name,” I respond, doing myself absolutely no favors. 

“I don’t care whose middle name it is. This is my car which means I say it's your middle name right now because I’m pissed off. You can remember to pack your precious daisies, but you can’t be prepared for the presentation. If we don’t do this, we don’t go to California, and if we don’t go to California, we can kiss the chances of us getting hired GOODBYE.”

I visibly cringe at her words, cutting me like.. tiny daggers. How ironic.

“It was an accident, Birdie. I would think someone as accident-prone as you would be understanding of this type of situation.” I’m deflecting hard. But I can’t stand the thought of disappointing another person in my life. I don’t work much at the bar like I feel like I should be doing to help out, because I’m trying to pursue my own career. My car is unreliable making me unreliable, and I'm constantly asking everyone to help me out. ‘Hey, can I get a ride?’ ‘Hey, can you watch my dog?’, ‘Hey, can I vent to you about my menial problems?’. And now, I’ve disappointed a girl I’ve hardly known for a week, and I feel like the ground could swallow me up in the middle of 95 South. 

“Don’t you Birdie me right now. I should pull over and make you walk.” she snaps effectively pulling me out of my own thoughts.

“I’m sor–”

“Don’t.” Oh if she never snaps this word at me again, it'll be too soon. 

“Ya know, you act like I did this on purpose. If you go down, I’m going down too. We’re in this together, Willa.” I try to reason with her, to no avail. 

“I don't wanna hear anything else out of you until we get there.” She scrunches her nose up at my response and turns the dial to the volume up to further reinforce her request for me to shut the hell up. I honestly don’t blame her. The rest of the ride to the office is filled with her occasional heavy sigh and the 90’s throwbacks being played on the radio station. 

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

After a sufficiently awkward rest of the car ride, we arrive at the office. If it weren’t for the fact that we took her car, I’m sure she’d have left me in the dust and hurried on ahead of me, but she waits for me to slowly and painfully get out of her car. Impatient, tapping her booted foot against the pavement and absentmindedly checking for stray hairs. As soon as I round the corner, she turns in the direction of the front door and speeds off. Thankfully, my long legs work in my favor and I catch up to her. The elevator ride up is just as silent as the car ride, though when we round the corner to the receptionist’s desk, I’m positive I make out a groan from her direction.

Without so much as a wave to Daisy, Birdie speeds off in the direction of the office room we congregate in. Daisy’s eyes watch her intently as she passes, and then they jet back to me. A smile paints her bright pink colored lips. She is rather adorable. 

“Morning, Sam.” She greets me warmly. 

“Morning Daisy. What a lovely color on you. It compliments your eyes.” I hear Birdie scoff from down the hall. 

“Oh, thank you.” She runs her dainty fingers over the large buttons of her powder blue cardigan. 

“I got you something,” I smirk at her. 

“Really?” She beams, and I pull the flowers out of my bag and present them to her. The baby blue paper delicately wrapped around them slightly crumpled from living in my bag for the last 2 hours.

“Your desk looked far too bare last time I was here. I thought it would give you something pretty to look at.” 

“Thank you, Sam. They’re beautiful,” a light blush reaching her cheeks. 

“I know daisies for Daisy wasn’t my best idea, but I didn’t actually know what flowers you liked. Just wanted you to know I was thinking of you.”

“You’re sweet.” her blush deepens, and I can already feel my failure of a morning starting to repair itself. “Ever heard of Bachelor Buttons? They’re just a type of cornflower, but back in the Victorian Era, they were used as a symbol of love and availability when men would court women.” By this point, this girl is about as red as a tomato, which I find endearing. 

“Anyway, my Nana told me about them when I was young, and it’s just always stuck with me. They’re a really pretty shade between blue and purple.”

“Surprisingly, pretty girl, I have heard of them. I’ll keep that in mind for next time.” I shoot her a wink. “I’ll see you later.” Wiggling my fingers in a small farewell, I head off toward the room I’m supposed to be in. 

When I round the corner, I can see Birdie furiously looking through her folders, opening them, flicking through some pages, shutting them, and setting them aside. How many folders does this girl carry with her? I set my bag down next to her on the table.

“Lovely of you to join me, Samuel.”  she doesn’t bother looking up at me. Oh, she’s pissed. I don’t entertain her comment with a response, just take out my own folder, sans one photo, and take a seat. I try not to psych myself out, thinking about having to get up in front of a room full of people I don’t know and speak. I hope my voice doesn’t shake. 

“Ah-HA!” she pulls out a photo, holding it out in front of her, eyes wide. “Here it is.” Her smile is smugly written on her face. I grab the photo from her grasp, admiring my work. The photo she was looking for was the one I took of her standing on the rocks like the Titanic. I know she liked it, but..

“You printed this? When?” I question her. 

“The other day, with the others.” She says plainly. “Just because I don’t like you right now doesn’t mean I can’t like this picture. I told you that.” 

I smile, recalling her response to seeing the negatives for the first time. She had such softness in her eyes when she looked at them gently held between her fingers. I almost wonder if people don’t see her. If the people she’s surrounded herself with have never seen her in that light. Just getting to enjoy a simple day doing what she loves most. Which she does, love photography above everything I mean. And it’s so clear to me. I’m not sure if it's because I also love photography but I can see it clear as day written across her face every time she gets a camera to her eye.

 Her delicate voice interrupts my thoughts.

“You said you took it because it reminded you what Maine is about… right?”

“Yeah, uhh yeah.” I rush out nervously. I did take it because of the project, but she also looked beautiful out there in that moment. It felt like a shame not to capture it. 

“Then we’ll use this one to replace the rock path one.” She smiles triumphantly, knowing she fixed the problem. Her resolution does nothing to subdue my anxiety about the presentation, though, given that now I have to talk about her in front of a bunch of strangers. 

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Jim enters the room, setting his bag down on his desk and sighing deeply. You can tell he’s just absolutely done with this job. Whether that’s working for the paper period or having to deal with all of us, I’m not sure yet.

“Good morning. Today, we’ll be doing presentations in alphabetical order to make things easier for me. You should all be prepared anyway, so it doesn’t matter what order you go in.” He takes a long sip from his coffee. 

“We’ll make the announcement of the winners before you all leave today and figure out the logistics then. Once everyone arrives, we’ll begin with Connecticut.” He sits back down.

Seeing Connecticut present only made me more nervous. Not because I’m worried ours isn’t good but because I’d rather be doing anything else on the planet right now other than presenting. I’d clean the back room of the bar on my hands and knees with a toothbrush before I’d ever willingly get up and speak in front of people. 

“Willa and,” Jim looks down to check his notes. “Sam? You’re up next.”

My heart leaps into my throat when he calls my name, and I feel like my stomach could fall out of my ass. I’m a fairly confident guy, honestly a bit over confident in situations I could be humbled in. I am self-aware.. sometimes. This is just not one of those areas I need humbling in. I stand up, gathering my things, and I look over at Birdie wide-eyed. Her brows knit together, and she tilts her head to the side in question. I purse my lips together, hoping that tells her enough. I’m not sure it does until she wraps her hand around my arm, giving me a squeeze of reassurance, but she plays it off as pointing me in the right direction to the front. 

She hands me her folder, blue, not purple, and goes to set up her computer to the HDMI cord for the digital part. I display the printed photos against the whiteboard, Birdie’s first and then mine, and then I scoot to the opposite side. I really hope she takes the lead here. 

After small introductions, Birdie, thankfully, starts speaking. “Trying to define Maine can be difficult when you’ve spent your whole life there. Despite it being one of the larger states in New England, I don’t think you could meet a single person from there that doesn’t consider themselves from a ‘small town.’’ She walks over to the board standing opposite me.

“But two things were made abundantly clear to Sam and I on our adventure to get brain food that day.” She looks over at me expectantly. I clear my throat.

“Uhm, the fi-first is that Maine is the pine tree state.” I swallow thickly, trying to clear my mouth of the excess saliva my nerves generated. “Me-meaning the woods are, uhm, a big deal here.” I release an anxious breath, and she relieves me of the stress of talking.

“The second is that a big part of Maine culture is that it’s coastal. They don’t put a lobster on the license plates for nothing, even if it is technically a dead one.” She laughs. So effortlessly, so clearly in her element, talking to these people while I can feel the sweat start to gather on my lower back and threaten to drip down my ass crack.

“Sam made another good point about the culture here, and not just here but New England as well.” Again, she makes eye contact with me, sending me a small smile. 

“New England is Old.” I let out an uncomfortable laugh. “Uhh, what I m-mean is that most of the buildings here are old, made of brick. Beautiful, but uhm… Old. We decided on, uh, using film and digital to capture and represent that.. uhm.. idea.” I finished a bit unsure of where I was going with that. 

We take our time explaining each photo, 16 in total, giving them a few extras to choose from for the feature if they decide to actually pick us. I can’t help but admire the way Birdie speaks about each place, her eyes lighting up especially when she talks about the water from Wolfe’s Neck and all the rocks she found there. A stark contrast to the way I stumble and uhh and uhm my way through mine. The shakiness of my hands doesn’t let up, but the more I talk, the easier it is until I get to the last photo. 

The photo of her. 

“Truth be told,” I start to explain honestly. “We had chosen a completely different picture to round out our, uh selection.” I scratch at my beard nervously. “But my dog knocked me on my ass, and it’s somewhere in my living room.” I laugh.

“Bir– uhh, Willa pulled this one out of her wonderful bag of tricks. It was a chilly day, well.. for her not for me.” I look over at her and scrunches her nose a little. “We’d wandered around those large rocks trying to find the inspirations around us, and she just took a moment for herself. Something I frequently love to do by the seaside here, as most people do. But the simplicity of her stealing that little moment away for her reminded me why so many people come here on vacation. Annnd, why Vacationland is also written on our license plates. It was a moment I had to capture because it truly represents Maine.” I suddenly realize how long I’ve been rambling for and clear my throat again, darting my eyes around the room. At least people don’t seem bored? I look over at Birdie for confirmation that I did well, but she’s looking for the same from Jim. Her cheeks are tinted pink. 

“Excellent, guys,” Jim says, more enthusiastically than normal. “Great job.”

The mumbled sound of his voice as he calls for the next team to go up and present sounds like radio static in my ears. Birdie comes up behind me, beaming and grabs onto my arm. Her smile is so wide, it’s like she slept with a coat hanger in her mouth. I laugh at the thought. We make our way back to our seats and I whisper to her, “So I take it you’re not mad at me anymore?” I throw her a small smirk. 

“The jury is still out.” She sends me a small cocky side-eye. 

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We break for lunch after Massachusetts presents. Birdie decides to head to the bathroom, so I pay Daisy a visit. 

“Hey, stranger. How was your presentation?” She asks sweetly when I reach her desk. I lean my forearms against the counter in front of her and give her my best eyes. 

“It went well, I think. Not to sound cocky or anything, but I think we have a pretty good shot at winning.” 

“I wouldn’t bet against you. You and Willa seem like a good team.” She raises an eyebrow. It feels almost as if she’s digging for some dirt on Birdie and I. 

“We.. do okay,” I say a bit apprehensively. “She’s brilliant. Though I’d never tell her that, of course. We butt heads sometimes, but I really do think we nailed it.” I say, trying to give Birdie her kudos and not give Daisy the impression I’m interested in her. Because I’m not.

I spot her coming down the hallway out of the corner of my eye, and I stand up straight. 

“Birdie!” I say with more enthusiasm than is normal. She rounds the corner, coming into our full view. 

“Birdie?” Daisy questions, and before I can answer she speaks. 

“You can either stay here and starve, or you can come with me to get lunch. It’s up to you.” She adjusts the purse on her shoulder and crosses her arms, clearly unamused. 

I freeze. 

The look on Daisy’s face says she's also unamused. 

My eyes dart back and forth between the two of them as they both stare at me. I clear my throat and awkwardly shift on my feet. 

“Uhh,” I run a hand through my hair. “She’s my ride, Dais. I’ll catch up with you before I leave, okay?” 

She gives me a small nod, and I follow Birdie out of the building. 

As we make our way down the sidewalk to where her car is parked, she grills me. 

“Can you not find another time to flirt other than on the clock?” She rolls her eyes at me. 

“I mean, technically, we’re on lunch.” I try to convey my own annoyance. “She loved the flowers, by the way.” Really driving the point home. 

“Go figure.”

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The Wendy’s parking lot is where we end up for lunch. Something quick but still not eating in the breakroom. To be honest, the break room is kind of depressing. There’s hardly any windows and everything in there is white. It's practically one step away from being a padded room. 

I take a large bite out of my burger and ask around my food, “So how do you think we’re holding up?” 

“Do you always talk with a mouthful of food, or do you do that just for my benefit?” her lip curls in disgust. 

“Just your benefit,” I mumble out and smile wide.

“Uhm, I think we have a decent shot. Mass did really well, but I’m curious to see how the rest of the projects pan out. If more people bomb like Connecticut did, we're a shoo-in.” She laughs and takes a sip of her drink, and wipes the condensation off on her knee, tightly tucked up to her chest. “I had no idea you were so scared to talk in front of people, though. You were up there shakin’ like a damn leaf.”

I swallow my bite. “Yeah, if you weren’t so angry at me this morning, I might have remembered to tell you that.” 

She scrunches her face, and I try to decipher what’s going on in her head. I venture an educated guess, figuring I have nothing to lose. 

“Hey, I’m a big boy.” I laugh and place my hand on her knee. “I know this is important to you.” I shove a french fry into my mouth. “Besides, I’d gladly take your anger any day because it means we’re talking.” 

I look over at her and smile. 

She looks at me with eyes so wide they look like they’ll bulge out of her head. Did I say something wrong?

I snatch my hand back and run it through my hair. “Ya know, because we have to talk to .. ya know, work together.” 

She laughs louder and weirder than normal. Not that her laugh is weird normally. She’s just being weird now. “Oh yeah, yeah. Right.” 

There’s a moment of awkward silence. Why is this awkward? I’m so confused. Did I say something? Or do something? I thought I was being nice.

“Well,” she says, still loud and weird. “We should head back, shouldn't we?” 

“Yeah, sure.”

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Birdie and I share a nervous glance after New Hampshire’s presentation. But our nerves ease after Rhode Island does terribly. She poorly attempted to hide her laugh behind her hand, and yes, everyone looked at her. She turned beet red. At least I’m not the only one being slightly embarrassed today. During the last presentation of the day, I know we have it in the bag. I don’t think she’s as confident as I am of the state of her fingernails are any testament. She furiously chews at her thumb again as Jim re-enters the room after deliberations with the other department heads. 

“Alright, it’s close to quittin’ time.”

“Jim,” The woman next to him warns.

“It’s getting close to the end of the day.” He gives her a large sarcastic smile. “So the winners of the contest are, in no particular order…”

I grab Birdie’s hand, effectively snatching away her nervous snack, and weave my fingers between hers. I give her a small, excited smile, but panic becomes her. I squeeze her hand gently. I know the anticipation is killing her. 

“Massachusetts, New Hampshire, and… Maine. Thank you all for coming and participating. Those of you who were not chosen will report back to your home bases tomorrow. Will the winners please join me at my desk?”

We jump up, and she throws her arms around my neck. I wrap my arms around her waist and pick her up, her knees gently bumping against my thighs as I do. She tucks her face into my neck, and I take a deep breath in relief. Finally, something goes my way. Going to California means I have a real shot at booking a job in a field I love. Suddenly my senses are overtaken by the smell of.. Is that coconut? Does she use coconut shampoo? Oh no..

“Thank god,” she whispers. “I was worried.”

“I knew we could do it,” I whisper back. 

She lifts her head, our eyes connecting. Hers soften for a moment before they drop down to my mouth. A stupid smile resting upon my lips. She meets my eyes again but this time they’re wide and nearly bulging out of her head again like earlier. My brows knit in confusion, and I rush to set her down. She lands on her foot wrong and nearly falls over; my hands move of their own accord reaching out to steady her. She fixes her shirt and tucks a few loose strands behind her ear. 

“Uh, thanks. We should..” she points a thumb over her shoulder.

I follow her lead over to where the rest of the winners are hovered around Jim’s desk. 

“Congrats, guys. You’ll all be heading to San Francisco tomorrow. For your convenience, we’ll have you fly out of your local airports, so I need you to write your emails down here.” He points to his clipboard. “We’ll send you an email within an hour requesting certain info so we can book the flights. Then, a second email will follow with your airline booking information so you know when to show up to the airport. A car will pick you all up from the airport at the appropriate times, and they’ll coordinate with you from there. You’ll be gone till Sunday, so pack accordingly. And I think that’s it.” He scratches his head. “Yeah, yep, that’s it, you guys are free to go. Oh! The feature is going to run in next week’s issue, so keep an eye out. Thanks again, guys.”

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The drive home was much easier than the drive this morning. Birdie excitedly yammering about how she’s ‘never been to the West Coast’ and ‘Will it be as cold in northern California as it is here’ and ‘I could use a vacation. I know we’ll be working, but it still kinda feels like a vacation, right?’ I agreed with a laugh. I wait for the excitement to die down and her to realize she’s stuck with me for another week, but it doesn’t come. At least she’s happy. This trip might not be so bad. She makes me fill out the information for both of us while she drives, ‘not wanting to waste a second of preparation.’ When we pull up to my apartment I thank her again for the ride and send her off with a promise to text her to coordinate once the flight information is sent out. 

I could use a fucking nap, but unfortunately, I have to pack. I unlock my front door and step inside, greeted by my favorite girl. Oh fuck, I need to figure out what to do with her. I hang my coat and scarf up on the coat rack by the door and turn to see the chewed-up remnants of my missing photo. Thanks Pen. 

I pull my phone out of my pocket, selecting Daniel’s contact, and I wait for it to connect. His photo shines across my screen as it starts to ring, and I hold it up to my ear, waiting for him to pick up. Feeling like I’m short on time, I head to my room to start packing.

“What’s up?”

“Hey, I need to ask you for a favor..” I ask tentatively, searching for my duffle bag in my closet. 

“Does it involve my Penny girl?” he says, hopeful. 

“Yeah. Birdie and I won the feature, and they’re sending us to San Fran tomorrow. Can you come grab her tonight?” Aghhh, there it is. I pull it out and toss it to my bed. Penny settles down next to my bag. I could almost swear she’s pouting.

“Congrats, man. Yeah, I can swing by in a bit. I’m at the gym right now.” 

I breathe a sigh of relief and pump my fist. “That’s fine. Thank you, this is really helpful. I’ll see you in a bit.”

I hang up the phone and plug my phone in on my nightstand, making a mental note to remember to pack my charger tomorrow morning. I pull out nearly all my drawers looking for nice but casual clothes to wear in California, knowing full well it will still be cold over there. I checked on the way home, and they only seem to be the slightest bit warmer than Maine this time of year. The initial email outlined what we should bring to prepare, casual clothes, and an outfit for a black tie event. It did mention there was a pool in the hotel, we’ll be staying at so I packed a bathing suit just in case we have some free time. 

Just as I’m searching for some of my toiletries, I hear Daniel’s signature knock again, and Penny is bounding off toward the door. I catch up to her excitedly panting and open the door. She jumps on Daniel, her gentle ‘boofs’ greeting him warmly, and he loves her back just the same. Once she’s settled, we head back to my room where I finish packing. 

“So the presentation went well? You didn’t choke?” He asks, Penny’s head resting in his lap as he sits on my bed. 

“No, Daniel.” I roll my eyes. “I didn’t choke. I was a nervous wreck, and I forgot a photo, but Birdie saved my ass. Two other groups royally bombed, so the competition wasn’t too fierce.” I say, placing my dress shoes in my bag. 

“Ready for another week of Birdie?” 

“I don’t know if it's the excitement from winning or if she suddenly decided not to hate me, but we’ve been okay today. Well, towards the end.” I laugh

“What does that mean?” 

“She bit my head off on the ride down there when I told her I forgot a photo. This is important to her. I didn't take it personally. But she did cop an attitude when I stopped to talk to Daisy around lunch. But after that, she was sweet as pie, actually.” I recall, folding another pair of pants. 

“How’d it go with her? Daisy, I mean.” he corrects himself. 

“It went okay. She loved the flowers, and I managed to get her number before I left, undetected. I didn’t want to risk pissing Birdie off when she was in such a good mood.” I shove the final things into my bag and zip it up. I think I’m done, thank God.

“Probably a good call there,” He nods his head as he pets Penny. “You ever think about why she gets so pissed at you in the first place?”

I set my bag by my door and sit on the floor opposite Daniel. “Dude, I don’t fucking know. Everything I do pisses her off. She basically hates me.” Having worked up a sweat rushing to get everything packed, I take the hair tie sitting on my wrist and throw my hair into a bun. Daniel glares at me. 

“Funny how she supposedly ‘hates’ you, but y’all fight like an old married couple.” He cocks an eyebrow at me. 

Gasping in shock, I say, “But Daniel, how can that be when I’m married to you? You know you’re the only one for me.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Daniel waves, brushing me off. “If you don’t pull your head out of your ass, I’ll be serving you papers.”

Whatever the hell that means. 

After Daniel leaves, the only thing left to take care of is to secure a ride to the airport for the morning. I will no doubt be met with a resounding ‘Yes, Sammy! I absolutely will take you to the airport tomorrow’ from exactly all of my brothers. I pull out my phone and open up the group chat affectionately titled “The boys club: Sammy gets employed (potentially)📷” and pull the trigger. 

Sam: Alright boys which one of you can take me to the airport tomorrow?

Josh: How early?

Sam: I fly out at 6 so like.. 5 😑

Josh: no

Daniel: I literally just left your house with your dog, absolutely not.

Jake: I will if you promise to get your truck looked at when you get home

Sam: Done.

And Jake saves the day, and for that, he has earned his place as Tweedle Dee… for now.

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Author's Note: I hope you enjoyed and can't wait for chapter 7 🤭

Chapter 5 | Chapter 7

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[panandinpain0]

Big Family

Had some time during school today so I wrote this! Hope it isn't bad :P

Also, do you want to be added to the taglist @mailmango?

Ron Weasley x Male!Ravenclaw!Granger!Reader

---

Holding hands was always so calming to Ron. He was very touchy, not only with (Y/N). It wasn't anything weird, it's just that his love language is physical touch, so he'd hug his friends without shame, and after finding out his boyfriend was 100% okay with PDA, he went for it. Any moment he could, he'd be touching (Y/N): hands on his shoulders or around his waist, lips brushing his neck, and he really loved when (Y/N) would sit on his lap.

For the snuggles aspect, of course.

Not for any other reason.

But after feeling particularly ignored by his family, not that they did it on purpose- but it happens- he seeks comfort through the touch of his boyfriend.

Laying on his bed in the Ravenclaw dorms, to avoid Harry's teasing, the boys held each other.

Ron's head was on (Y/N)'s chest as he laid on top of him, legs intertwined. (Y/N) had his arms around Ron, one hand coming up to comb through his hair. The motion further relaxed the hot headed Gryffindor, nearly luring him to sleep.

Ron reached up and took the hand from his hair, pressing a kiss to it instead. A blush spread across (Y/N)'s face as Ron placed the hand to his cheek, nuzzling it fondly.

"Ron?" (Y/N) hesitantly whispered into the calm air.

"Yes, honey?" Ron replied, his voice muffled with sleep.

"I love you."

Ron gasped awake, putting his hands on the mattress under (Y/N). He pushed himself up until he was eye-level with his boyfriend.

"You love me?" Ron repeated with an incredulous look.

"Yes. I'm in love with you. I love you." (Y/N) cupped his cheeks, tracing his freckles. The Gryffindor merely started in shock, fists clutching the blue blanket beneath them.

He couldn't believe what he was hearing. Insecurity and self-doubt overtook him and he scrambled off his Ravenclaw partner, sitting a the edge of the bed.

(Y/N) took this as rejected, sitting up and staring at his boyfriend's side profile. HIs brows were creased and his lip was trembling.

"I'm sorry, I thought I'd waited long enough- is it too soon for 'I love you's'?" (Y/N) asked, voice filled with anxiety. Placing his hand on Ron's shoulder, he flinched back as Ron pushed it off just as quickly as it had taken its place. He stood up, a stomp in his step as he turned to face (Y/N).

Red in the face, his breath picked up, but (Y/N) could see the tears gathering in his eyes.

"Why?" Ron asked harshly, fists clenched at his sides.

"'Why' what?" (Y/N) repeated gently, more worried for Ron than anything.

"Why me?"

(Y/N) couldn't formulate a response, eyebrows meeting in confusion.

"I'm fucking worthless, (Y/N)! You're a Granger- and a Ravenclaw- top of your class. I'm such an idiot I barely get past 'Poor' in my marks! Not only that but you're so handsome it hurts- but look at me! You deserve better than-"

Suddenly his face was in (Y/N)'s hands, both of them crying. Ron hadn't noticed the tears until now, the wet drops being wiped away by the pads of (Y/N)'s fingers.

"Stop it, Ron. You are not worthless-" Ron opened his mouth but (Y/N) shushed him- "You need to listen to what I'm about to say. You are the most beautiful man I've every met. And you are so smart-"

"I'm not as smart as Percy-"

"Fuck Percy! Listen, I love your family, but you must stop comparing yourself to your brothers and me, no matter how often your mother does. Just because you don't get the same marks as Percy or me doesn't mean you're dumber than us. I know nothing about quidditch!"

"Yes, you do."

"All I know I learned from you. Wizarding currency? You taught me about that too. And I'm sure you could beat Percy in any trivia about historic wizards." (Y/N) laughed and Ron matched his watery chuckle.

"You are just enough for me, Ron. More than enough, more than I could ask for. I love you, and you are more than deserving of my love."

Ron smiled, still crying, before pulling (Y/N) into a hug. His head tucked into (Y/N)'s neck and he breathed in his comforting scent.

"It's okay that you aren't ready to say it back, I just wanted you to know how I feel." (Y/N) let his hand run up and down his back, his other hand slipping into Ron's hair.

"Thank you."

---

Ta-Da!!!

-Author Max <3