#I want to learn about history without being traumatized please

[secretcherimaybe]

I really would love American Girl to have an 1784 or 1794 girl

(of course they seem to have lost interest in older history 9_9)

Another native American girl would be wonderful but I would prefer her in more modern times, like a girl of the year! (Ah, pipe dream)

You could do the whole George Washington becoming president and constitution stuff

1792

March 1st: The adoption of the Bill of Rights is formally announced. December 5th: George Washington wins the second presidential election.

perfect!

Gimmie a 1792 girl!

And

a Native American girl of the year

And

The Chinese immigration into Oregon! She could be like, 1870s!

And make it good quality! Like back in the day! With respect and research!

[meightyone]

FORMULA WHO?? tell me more please omg i love when my interests intersect

EEK you have nooo idea how happy i was to see this in my askbox. as you've probably gathered, it's an f1 x doctor who au that myself and my good buddies @ilikestopwatches and @goldenretrievettel are cooking up. it's still a little half baked but i'll give you our current rundown of doctors/companions... and i'm sorry this is SO LONG so erm. readmore

past regenerations we've mentioned but not discussed in great detail are james hunt (with niki lauda companion) and DC (with mika and michael as a pair of companions, and then mark). the doctors we've spoken more about, in chronological order:

sebastian vettel (mark, kimi)

seb as the doctor is very much young red bull seb vibes. incredibly capable and competent but a bit of a menace/agent of chaos/etc, and quite young and immature to boot.

he inherits mark as a companion from his previous regeneration, DC, and where mark usually felt like an equal to DC and had great synergy with him, seb is a lot more unpredictable and, accidentally or otherwise, often leaves him in the dark. it's a new energy that he struggles to adapt to. eventually, things turn sour when [insert traumatic event here - we've talked about mark having a near death experience that seb doesn't take seriously, but nothing's set in stone], mark demands to be taken home, and seb. refuses. after much more tense adventuring, he eventually does let go mark go (and mark later goes on to join unit).

he eventually runs into kimi, who is much more go-with-the-flow than mark ever was, and him and seb get on real well. they complement each other's personalities, kimi is comically unfazed by all the crazy alien bullshit, and seb is super fond of him. unfortunately for seb, kimi eventually asks to return to earth, knowing he wants to have a normal life and family at some point and can't venture across the stars forever. seb, although heartbroken, has kind of learned his lesson with mark and brings kimi home.

we've also talked about mick being a one or two episode companion, although michael is probably not all that pleased about seb dragging his son across the universe without telling him, so it doesn't last...

seb eventually Gets Got by the master (shocker it's fernando), who has previously been thwarted by the presence of seb's companions but can now kick him while his super lonely ass is already down

lewis hamilton (jenson, valtteri, george and alex)

luckily for the doctor, he regens into someone who, unlike seb, is totally NOT lonely and doesn't need ANYONE so he can rock fernando's shit without any help, thanks. lewis travels alone for some time (possibly some one-off companions like heikki), but eventually...

he runs into jenson! or rather jenson probably worms his way into the tardis and refuses to leave. he loooves the adventuring he keeps changing bits of history he's on a mission to sleep with as many aliens as possible he keeps telling people he's The Button, whatever that's supposed to mean. he's fun he's annoying he'd love to get into lewis' pants and lewis is constantly on the verge of losing it. he'll later reflect on these memories with fondness and silently thank jenson for helping him to loosen up and have fun again but also man. wtf. jenson somehow ends up immortal and terrorises/entertains the universe for many years after he departs with lewis. he's very jack harkness vibes

valtteri comes some time after jenson. he's a nice guy who's a little too eager to help. the doctor is used to people sacrificing themselves when he shows up, and frankly it's nice to have someone around who is heavily intent on being a problem solver rather than a problem causer like jenson often was, so it's not until it gets pretty bad that lewis starts to notice Hrmmmm maybe valtteri is doing a bit too much. he's not stupid and he doesn't have a death wish he is just worryingly willing to put himself in the firing line. probably ends up doing something like clara with the whole tattoo countdown thing, but despite being frozen in the seconds between life and death he somehow manages to grow a moustache and a mullet and ends up happier than ever so erm. Win win?

speaking of clara, george is a period companion, probably from the 19th century. he spends most of his first episode freaking out and demanding to be taken home, until he realises that erm. he actually quite likes this adventuring stuff and also he doesn't really like home. there's plenty of time which is just george and lewis, before they also find alex, who is like... 2020s. lewis at this point has matured chilled out opened up etc (think early 2010s old testament lewis when jenson first became his companion, vs lewis Today for galex) and the vibe in the tardis is just Good. george and alex really hit it off, learning about each other's times which includes george learning that a) being gay is an option and b) being gay for alex specifically is an option that alex is totally down for. everything's awesome and cool until gasp! tragedy strikes! they're all under great threat, alex has been kidnapped or something idfk and is in mortal danger and lewis, having taken a hit and needing to regenerate, promises george that he'll save alex...

max verstappen (george, checo, daniel, liam, pierre yuki and isack)

max doesn't save alex. oooooops? the situation probably gets to the point where max determines it's too dangerous, and that he'd rather leave alex than risk all of their lives, but george is (quite understandably) very pissed off with him regardless of the reasoning. max brings george back to his time of origin and offers that he can leave, but george decides that max is unfit to be the doctor, too incompetent and uncaring to save alex - so naturally, he has to stick around and make sure the great responsibility that max wields is actually being fulfilled. lots of arguing, lots of george pretending to be the doctor himself... after outdoctoring george and saving him (and others) from sticky situations enough times, george is eventually convinced that max actually be half-decent. when he leaves, he goes back to alex's time rather than his own.

max later meets checo, who is probably not from earth (for reasons linked to some earlier slagclaren adventures/mclaren tooned jokes...). we haven't talked too much about checo but i figure he would be a liiittle bit of a father figure to max. he's much more of an enabler of the fun stuff + max's more callous attitude than george ever was, but equally he does help max realise that he's not like. inherently destructive or whatever (regenerating and immediately killing off one of your companions gives you a bit of a complex). the vibes are good with these two

the vibes are even better with daniel. i mean idrk what to say about maxiel because frankly they are exactly as weird as they are irl except now they're doing it across spacetime. they get on like a house on fire. unfortch for max everything he learned redeeming himself with george + checo is pretty quickly undone by the horrible tragic ending that daniel gets as a companion. either he dies or he gets trapped in another universe rose-style... no matter what it's not good. such is the danny ric way. sucks to be max!

also sucks to be liam, who gets picked up as a 1/2 episode companion and gets so horrifically traumatised by his first adventure that after he is immediately like. uh. can i go home. [staring into the middle distance]. and max is like Ahhh fuck yeah ok that seems like that would be for the best

but things look up after liam's brief run because max somehow ends up with yuki and his frenchmen in the tardis. it's all just very stupid very silly max doesn't really know how it all happened but he's not mad at it. probably the showrunners changed. this season's almost pure comedy. he probably does drop them back home before his next regeneration

oscar piastri (lando, mark)

oscar is a pretty dry, cool, calm and collected doctor compared to max's hotter temperament, which is a welcome change. does regenerating into an aussie have anything to do with max's fav companion being an aussie..? who knows mate

oscar works alone for a while, mostly just following up on trouble or anomalies and dealing with them. when he's investigating on earth, lando is nosy enough about it that he manages to get himself dragged into whatever oscar's doing and then yay companion. lando is good company and has occasional moments of brilliance, but his travel requests are also like 'take me somewhere cool', and since him and oscar have slightly different ideas of cool oscar ends up having to rescue lando from being executed or eaten by a dinosaur or something of the like. carlos is to lando as mickey is to rose, aka all too happy about lando running off to venture the galaxy with an alien. he probably ends up tagging along once or twice, but him and oscar never get along

while still travelling with lando, they at some point have to work with unit where lo and behold the doctor and mark meet again. in a cocktail of being probably miserable at work and thinking that oscar is far more sensible and admirable than seb ever was, mark joins them on their adventures. him and oscar are very much get-down-to-business and solve problems, and he's not super fond of lando, seeing him as kind of incompetent and a bit of a damsel in distress. on one of many visits back to earth, lando's time, mark lies and tells oscar that lando wanted to stay home with carlos, and they set off in the tardis without him. problem solved! (in mark's eyes, although lando is far from pleased)

oscar and mark are probably one of the more efficient doctor-companion duos in terms of actually getting shit done. mark's worked in unit for years and oscar's generally no-nonsense, so they mostly find problems and solve them rather than adventuring for pleasure. mark believes the doctor to be an entirely changed person from the likes of seb or even max, but he sees plenty of glimpses of the doctor he originally adventured with in oscar... how they end i'm not really sure but they prob end up dying together L

lewis hamilton pt 2 (charles)

next regeneration is lewis again wowie! he meets charles on a wartorn planet and brings him into the tardis, promising to take him to times and places where he can just. have fun and make good memories. the first few stops are fine, although with doctor who-typical chaos ensuing (which lewis assures charles is normal), but as they continue to different places, problems go from bad to worse, to the point where lewis is struggling to save everyone - not to mention that the tardis is freaking outtt. lewis eventually discovers that charles has some kind of... curse? on him, like he's a bad luck charm who brings the destruction of his home planet down tenfold on wherever he goes. he starts to try to find a solution without telling charles (having grown all too familiar with the good ol' self-sacrifice move thanks to valtteri), but charles eventually finds out too and is. naturally very upset. lewis convinces charles that they'll find a way to sever the link, charles begrudgingly agrees, but after watching too many planets crumble and hearing 'just one more stop and i'll have it' one too many times, gets sick of hurting people. he takes control of the tardis, sends himself to the end of time where there's nothing for him to ruin, and sends lewis to the supposed next location. worst part is lewis does find the answers he needed there - but he can't go back and save charles because wherever he sent himself is timelocked. #sad!

and that's all we've got so far... oh my god i'm so sorry this post is massive. you did ask but. um. sorry. next regen would possibly be kimi antonelli (with ollie companion) but that's merely a concept of an idea.......

[storiesbyjes2g]

3.211 Snake in the grass

I tossed and turned all night, plagued by vivid, terrifying nightmares that left me feeling exhausted and on edge. I'm surprised I didn't wake Sophia. A heaviness sat on me like a thick sweater, so I sat on the edge of the bed, reminding myself of Sophia's words: I'm okay, we're all okay. If I ever needed a yoga session before, it's now. But when my little lady finds out I did it without her, she'll be upset. I want her to sleep. Between our travels and our traumatic night, we all need rest today. I went downstairs so I didn't disturb Sophia and hopped on Social Bunny to see everyone's Winterfest pictures. No sooner than I sat, Maira sent me a text with two pictures in it. No context. Just two extremely random pictures that raised all kinds of questions.

All my alarms blared. This snake duped my friend, and I wanted to knock some sense into him. I didn't need this kind of energy today. My finger was just about to hit the call button when her face popped up; I never answered a phone call so quickly.

"Maira what the hell??!!!"

"Calm down, Luca. Let me explain."

"Why would you send me those?? Why not just call and THEN send the pictures??"

"I wanted to surprise you!"

"Well, I'm not surprised! I'm concerned! Who is this man?? And why are you both in white?! Please tell me you didn't marry him!"

"I can't do that."

"MAIRA!"

"Well, if you'd just listen!!"

"FINE!"

They met about a week ago and eloped yesterday, and it took everything I had not to scream. Yes, I see the irony of being upset about this when I moved into Sophia's house after one date. But Maira is someone I care about, and she has a history of men trying to take advantage of her. It also reminded me of Alessia's situation all over again. I kept saying to myself, I don't need this right now and muted myself so I could take deep breaths. But as her story came together, I calmed down. Oliver O'Keefe is his name, but he didn't sound like a snake at all. Honestly, he sounded like a proper gentleman. Maira is super clumsy and tripped while walking up some stairs at a restaurant. Oliver was coming down on the other side and helped her up. The next day, she went back to the restaurant, and I'm sure you guessed it; he was there. They arrived around the same time, and she invited him to dine with her. Turns out he's a big foodie and was obsessed with the restaurant. They had hilarious conversations and learned a lot about each other. She wanted more, so she gave him her number. To her surprise, he called a few hours later, saying he wanted to make sure she got home okay, and that she wasn't sprawled out at the bottom of anymore stairs. Funny. I gave him points for that one. They talked for the rest of the night—the rest of the week, actually. She invited him out every day, and he always left her wanting more. They had chemistry, but she cared for him in ways she's never cared for anyone. I could tell even in her voice that she had stumbled upon something special. She kept her feelings to herself for a while because it seemed crazy to have fallen in love that fast, but she couldn't deny it for long. Earlier this week, she invited him to her place to confess. She told him she'd understand if he didn't feel the same and needed to step away, but he confessed to feeling the same. He respected her and didn't want to put her off by making a move too soon. Needless, they had an amazing night, if you know what I mean. The next few days were quite epic, too. Finally, on Winterfest Eve, he invited her to an address in Chestnut Ridge. She felt special because he'd never asked her out before. She got dressed up, thinking it was a date spot, but when she arrived, it was just an old ranch. He acquired it long ago and restored it gradually until it was move-in ready, but he didn't want to live there alone. And he wasn't looking for a roommate, either. He wanted a companion to fill the space with love; Someone to enjoy the journey with him; A partner worthy of being a mother to his children. He wanted a wife. He wanted Maira.

I was all smiles by the time her story was over. My dreams for her had finally come true! I always wanted her to open herself up to love, and I wanted a worthy man to see her. He sounds worthy, but I'll reserve judgment until we meet because he could still be a snake. Predators don't strike right away. She invited us to hang out with them for New Year's Eve tomorrow if Sophia and I didn't have anniversary plans. I told her we had just gotten back in town and weren't gonna do anything for a while, and we'd be happy to swing by.

[bewitched-by-sorns-tiddies]

... also like, I get that traumatized people are going to be traumatized people and that dealing with traumatized kids especially is like... difficult for many reasons.

but I remain BAFFLED that my therapist didn't diagnose me as autistic.

Ma'am. Ma'am, I may be the first person in the history of psychology to have gotten a PTSD diagnosis without any confirmed trauma because you were like '.... wow that thing is traumatized, it won't tell me what the trauma is- but you see it right? you see that your kid is traumatized?' and my parents were like 'oh! yeah, that makes sense. Their sister just had a whole court case over the man who broke in and SA'd her- I imagine that might be traumatizing.'

and so I got the PTSD diagnosis at like 11? 12?

and okay, I know you were riding hard on that fact. but I saw you *weekly* for almost 5 years. If my memory is correct, and I know I cannot trust it- I think I saw you for /8 years/ in total.

and I spent 3 of them in sessions like 'I do not understand other people. Other people are foreign to me. Please explain to me in detail all the reasons that the people in my classes are behaving the way they are.'

until I decided that psychology was my special interest and instead spent the next 2 years showing up like 'please confirm that my theories are reasonable. I know you cannot tell me if I am Right, I just want to know that I am being reasonable.' A practice that I now call dart throwing.

while occasionally, very very very occasionally sparkling in the occasional 'oh yeah- I've been couch surfing cause B came at me with a knife again' 'I talked B's boyfriend down from suicide and now he won't leave me alone and he said some Real Freaky Shit about how I was the only angel in a family full of devils and demons and I kind of think he might want to eat me.' 'yeah I've decided the best way to deal with grandma is grey rocking her and also when she threatens to kill herself, I just tell everyone around us to call 911 and then get the kids out of the house.' 'there were people in the house with guns so I hid with the toddler in a closet and I'm so fucking pissed off because it made me realize the window in that bedroom is broken so I couldn't get us out the window. All my life I've been told it's my responsibility to protect the children if something happens- how am I supposed to protect them if I can't get us out the window?''mom asked if she should kill us all again because she feels guilty. I really wish she'd stop asking that while driving the car.'

Ma'am. Kelly. Can I call you Kelly? I think I deserve the right to call you Kelly at this point.

How did you at no point go

'.... this kid spent 3 years being confused by other children having crushes, other kids having friends, other kids behaving in quite frankly- normal child ways. I have since learned that their family was engaged in incredibly toxic and problematic shit that entire time. At no point did they go 'explain to me why the adults in my life are behaving this way'- only 'explain to me why children are behaving like children.' '

and not go.... 'yeah that kid is probably autistic on top of being highly traumatized.' Like I get that traumatized kids are often lil freaks who don't understand kids who get to be kids but like... I do feel like maybe I was a bit Egregious.

[cupidsworstcrime]

sorry to out your tags like this, id hate for them to get lost!! and i also have something to say about them lol

non-traumatized people are more than allowed to enjoy harder kinks. like, seriously, why is that such a controversial take? especially when it comes to stuff like CNC (consensual non-consent), people act like you have to have trauma or you’re somehow not allowed to enjoy it. and that’s just… wild.

here’s what bugs me:

1. why the hell do people feel entitled to force others to disclose their trauma histories just to have some consensual, private kink? that’s none of your business. kink isn’t a therapy session you get to gatekeep.

2. sometimes people just want rough sex. like, it’s make believe. it’s roleplay. it’s fantasy. no trauma necessary. not everything has to be an emotional coping mechanism or a deep healing process. sometimes it’s just fun and hot and consensual.

letting people enjoy what they enjoy without policing their backstories is part of respecting kink as a whole. stop making kinkers feel like they have to prove their pain to deserve the things they like. that’s exhausting and unnecessary.

consent, communication, and care—that’s what matters. not your assumptions about why someone likes what they like.

then there’s the nonstop misogynistic “setting women back decades 🙄” shit i keep seeing everywhere and like dude—shut up. seriously. shut. up.

first of all, kinks are fantasies. they’re not policy papers. they’re not blueprints for society. liking a “patriarchy kink” (aka power exchange that looks like old-school gender roles) doesn’t mean you want to erase women’s rights or go back to the 1950s. it means you enjoy a certain dynamic in a safe, consensual space.

second, stop weaponizing feminism as a moral high road to police what other people enjoy sexually. kinky women can be feminists. kinky men can be feminists. people can want whatever power dynamics they want behind closed doors and still be dedicated to equality and respect in the real world.

third, this kind of take is lazy and reductive. you’re oversimplifying complex desires and reducing people’s sexuality to political statements, which is not how kink works. kink is about agency, consent, and exploration—not politics.

so, to everyone throwing this tired “setting women back” crap: learn the difference between fantasy and reality. stop policing other women’s pleasure. and please stop acting like your take is the only “correct” feminist stance.

oh and the rampant ableism that creeps into conversations about kink?? like the second someone mentions they're neurodivergent or mentally ill, suddenly people outside the community start clutching their pearls like “you don’t have the capacity to consent 🥺”

...excuse me???

first of all: consent is nuanced. capacity is contextual. and a diagnosis does not automatically strip someone of their agency. it’s infantilizing. it’s dehumanizing. and it’s literally none of your business.

do you know how exhausting it is to constantly hear “well, i just don’t think people with x disorder should be allowed in kink” like we’re broken little dolls instead of full humans with the right to explore our own bodies and power and desires? like sorry bethany, but being autistic or bipolar doesn’t mean i need a conservator—and it doesn't make me unsafe/dangerous.

and here’s the thing: many of us who are mentally ill or neurodivergent are more cautious, more deliberate, and more self-aware than so-called “normal” people. we live in a world that pathologizes us, so we’re constantly checking and double-checking our actions. our boundaries. our intent. we know how to communicate our needs because we have to.

anyways ill end my rambling here, thanks for cumming to my ted talk.

"rape play / misogyny kink / trauma play / age play / fauxcest is bad and romanticizes real issues!!!" shut UP bethany. we’re consenting adults. we know the difference between fantasy and reality. you being uncomfortable doesn’t make it immoral.

like sorry but you’re not a better person because your kinks are vanilla and you only fuck in missionary to indie playlists. some of us have trauma. some of us have dark fixations. some of us just like fucked up shit because it hits right. and guess what? that doesn’t make us bad. it doesn’t mean we endorse it. it means we’re acting out control, pain, power, shame—safely. consensually. with people we trust.

it’s literally called a kink. a roleplay. a scene. not real. not actual incest. not actual rape. not actual abuse. just two (or more) people pressing on a bruise because it helps them feel something—or reclaim it—or just get off. and that’s okay. that’s fucking okay.

you don’t get to weaponize morality against people who are already managing their own darkness. you don’t get to stand on a pedestal built from your own repression and throw rocks at people healing, exploring, owning their wants. you’re not better than us. you’re just louder. and more annoying.

“but what if a predator sees it and—” okay. what if a predator breathes oxygen? what if a predator eats toast? are we banning that too? stop holding survivors and kinksters responsible for the actions of abusers. blame the fucking abuser. not the people doing safe, consensual shit with their own bodies in their own bedrooms.

grow up. learn the difference between catharsis and endorsement. between fantasy and reality. and stop pretending your comfort zone is the moral high ground.

we’re playing pretend. you’re playing cop. who's actually hurting people here?

[farity]

First Night, part 3

Pairing: aemond targaryen x unnamed ofc

Warnings: history of sexual trauma, i.e. aemond being dragged to a brothel by aegon.  

Summary: the repercussions of a traumatic event when he was 13 come full circle on Aemond’s wedding night.

.

Part 1, Part 2

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Aemond kissed her until her lips were pink and swollen, and then kept kissing her some more.  She didn’t seem to grow bored of him, the little noises she made only encouraging him to keep going.  

“Sweet,” he whispered.  “My own sweet wife.”

She smiled up at him and slowly reached up to brush the back of her fingers against his cheek.  He went very still, but she did it again, just a soft caress, once, twice.  “Is this acceptable?”

He let out the breath he’d been holding.  “Yes.”  Reaching up, he pressed her hand flat against the side of his face.  “Gods, yes.”  He felt burning behind his eyelid and shame flooded through him.  Shame for being weak before her, shame for letting one night long ago cut into him so deeply, shame for not having consummated his marriage yet.  What must she really think of him.

“Aemond.”

He was trying to stop the tears, holding onto her hand against his face.

“Husband.  I am not going anywhere.”

He felt a single tear fall, looked at her.  No disappointment, no disdain.  She was still looking at him like the world started and ended with him.

“The Gods sent you a very stubborn wife.  I once spent six days without speaking because mother said I couldn’t.”

He felt himself smile.  “I cannot imagine such a thing.”

“I was five.”

He pictured her as a little girl.  Those determined eyes observing everything, that delicate mouth pursed as she refused to talk.  Would a daughter look like her?  Would a daughter be bold and brave like her?  

“I want to bed you, wife,” he whispered.  “I want to touch you, from the top of your head to the tips of your toes.”

She shivered against him.

“I want to kiss and mark your skin, I want to do all the things I cannot stop thinking about.  I want all the things I know . . . all the things I know how to do.  I want them with you.”

He knew she didn’t understand.  She couldn’t possibly know what things he meant, the things he had been taught, just like she couldn’t know how he had learned them.  Would she think him twisted?  She had never been unkind, he remembered.  There was hope, and he chose to embrace it.

“I was thirteen.”

He pressed his forehead against her, his breathing coming in heavy and harsh.

“Aegon took me to the Street of Silk.  It’s where you can pay women to lay with you.  He’d decided it was time for me to lay with a woman and had paid an obscene amount of money for the owner to give me a complete education.”

Aemond opened his eye,  Her eyes were wide, and she said nothing.  He decided to continue, still holding her hand against his cheek.

“There were three women.  The owner and two others.  They undressed me, untied my hair, they . . . touched me, all over, they had these things with them to show me how to lay with a woman, what I could do, what I could make a woman do, how to make a woman please me.  I couldn’t help it,  I couldn’t stop it.  They knew how to make me . . . make my body do what they wanted.  I didn’t . . . I didn’t want any . . . “

He couldn’t speak any more, angry tears were falling and his chest was so tight and he was terrified that he would look at her and find disgust in her eyes.  So he kept his eye closed.  Hid in the darkness.

“You were a child,” she said softly into his hair.  “You were a child, Aemond.”

He felt his knees give, the relief at the kindness in her voice, the sweetness of her tone.  He knelt before her and felt her kneel down with him.  

“May I put my arms around you?”

“Please.  Gods, please.”

* * * * *

She was wrapped around him, half kneeling, half sitting on the floor, her arms around him as he wept, poured out years of rage and shame and fear.  She was silent, simply caressing his hair, holding him, wishing she could take all the pain away.  

They stayed like that, intertwined, for a long time.  She would hold him for the rest of her life, she vowed, if that’s what he needed.  She couldn’t imagine how terrified he must have been.  A child thrown to the wolves.  

She held him as the sobs began to slowly subside, until he was merely letting his head rest in her shoulder, letting her touch his hair and kiss his forehead.  He wiped the tracks of tears off his face, but stayed where he was, and she just kept letting his hair slip through her fingers, over and over.

“Thank you,” she finally whispered.  

He looked up at her then, his eye puffy from crying but clear and steady.  “Are you disgusted?”

“By what was done to you when you were but a child?  Yes.”

She didn’t add she could cheerfully punch the king in the face, repeatedly, for what he had done.  Maybe she could trip him when he was drunk.  Which was often.  If he happened to land on his face, then it was the will of the Gods.

Aemond placed his head back on her shoulder and tightened his arms around her.  “I seem to have a fierce one for a wife.”  

“And stubborn,” she reminded him, getting a small laugh from him.  “Do not forget stubborn.”  She kept running her fingers through his hair.  To soothe him, to soothe herself, she didn’t know.

After a few more minutes, he got to his feet, extending his hand to help her up.  “You’ve started to fall asleep.”

“I have not,” she protested, and then ruined the protest by yawning.  “Will you lay down next to me?  Unless you’re not tired yet.”

He helped her undo the laces in her gown, left her in her shift and she slipped under the covers.  He turned away to remove his clothes and she couldn’t help but look.  He was stunning, and his lean, muscled back and arms were making her mouth water.  A few scars, shimmering brushstrokes on his pale skin.  

Aemond turned, caught her admiring him.  One blond eyebrow went up.  “Like what you see, wife?”

“Very much,” she replied, meeting his gaze.  There was no point, she thought, no reason to be coy.  “You must know how beautiful you are.”

“I was not aware your eyesight was so deficient.  You should truly have disclosed that failing before I married you.”  But she thought he sounded pleased.  He slipped in beside her, grabbed the back of her head to kiss her.  Murmuring her name, he stretched out beside her, pulling her down to him.  

“I have perfectly good eyesight,” she replied as he moved to kiss her neck.  “And you . . . you are very beautiful.  The first time I . . . I saw you, Aemond, I decided that . . . “ his mouth felt so good, kissing and nipping at her neck, and she turned her head so he could do the same to the other side.  

“What did you decide, wife,” he whispered against her skin.

“What?”

* * * * * 

Aemond smiled.  His little wife was practically melting in his arms, sighing with every new spot he discovered, until he slipped her shift off one shoulder.  She pulled back to look at him, said his name softly, almost like a prayer.

He slipped the shift off her other shoulder, pulling it down, baring her breasts. Her hands instinctively moved to cover herself but she stopped halfway, biting her lower lip.  

“May I touch you?” he asked.  She nodded, and took his hand, placing it on her breast. Her skin was impossibly soft, and he lowered his mouth to her, taking the silky soft tip of her breast and suckling gently.  She gasped, reaching up to cup the back of his head and he immediately stopped, pulling back.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered.  “I’m sorry.”

He shook his head.  “You have nothing to be sorry about.”  He looked up at her face, holding nothing but kindness and love.  Maybe they did not love each other as husband and wife should, maybe they never would, but what else could he call the way she had treated him in the short days of their marriage?  It was some kind of love, he thought.  And he’d had so little of it in his life.

Taking her hands in his, he brushed his lips against hers.  “Come here.”  He pressed his forehead against hers.  “Will you let me try?”

She didn’t ask him what, merely nodded, as he held her hands in one of his, and began kissing her again.  He felt her legs part beneath him, felt the heat of her against his stomach.  He wanted that heat, wanted to sink into it, truly claim her as his wife.  The thought of taking her made fire bloom inside him and he instinctively pushed his hips against her.

Pulling up her shift, he drew it over her head, and watched as she gripped one of the bars that made up the headboard, her small hands wrapping around the dark iron.  

He felt himself harden at the sight of her, and reached between their bodies.  He was in the brothel again, the woman beneath him telling him how to use his fingers to prepare a woman before taking her.  

“Aemond,” she said softly.  He looked up and the woman from the brothel began to fade away, the sight of his wife offering herself to him, the scent of her arousal, the sounds of her unsteady breathing started wrapping themselves around him.  He began to push inside her, letting instinct drive him.  She was so small, so tight, and he knew he would hurt her, but the need to take, the desperate hunger to claim her was stronger than reason and he thrust hard, seating himself fully inside her.  

She gasped, her body stiffening at the sudden invasion, thighs clenching at his sides.  She was breathing hard, eyes watery, and he reached up to kiss her.  

“May I touch you,” she asked, and when he nodded, she let go of the headboard to cup his face in her hands, brushing his hair back.  

It was going to be quick, he realized, and he began driving his hips against her, his mouth on hers as he felt the fire inside him began spreading  She was chanting his name, her own personal prayer, when he closed his eyes and let himself fall, knowing well she would be there to catch him.

* * * * * 

She had never known you could feel so close to another person.  She had felt his body stiffen just before he’d buried his face in her neck and made a broken growl sort of noise, hips sinking into her.  She’d felt the hot rush inside her, she had been told so little before she left home but she knew it meant he had found his pleasure.  

He was still breathing hard, holding himself up on one elbow so he wouldn’t crush her, and she was happy to stay like this, with him in her arms.  She was his in the most primal way, she thought, as much as he was hers.  He’d surrendered so much to her earlier, and she felt humbled by him, by his trust in her.

Aemond lifted his head from her neck, eye piercing hers with blue fire.  “How badly did I hurt you?”

She shook her head.  “Only for a moment.  And it’s over now.”

“I know it wasn’t pleasurable for you,” he began, and she placed her fingertips over his mouth.  

“I like having you close.”  She didn’t say, I liked feeling like you were part of me, like we were one.

He kissed her fingers, slowly drew himself out of her, gathered her in his arms.  “It will be better.”

She smiled to herself.  They would do this again.  She would get to hold him like this again and feel him lose himself in her.  She placed one hand on his chest, feeling his heartbeat, and let it lull her to sleep.

* * * * * 

[samwisethewitch]

An Open Letter to Christian Witches

On this blog, I often champion the idea that witchcraft is a practice, not a religion, and that a witch can practice any religion, provided that religion does not explicitly forbid witchcraft. I still very much believe this, and the point of this post is not to tell Christians that they can’t be witches. However, as a non-Christian witch who has been deeply traumatized by Christianity, I do wish Christian witches would be a bit more mindful of how they show up in witchy spaces.

Recently, I’ve noticed a pattern of self-identifying Christian witches dominating the conversation and centering their own beliefs in spaces dedicated to witchcraft. Now, I wholeheartedly believe that this is unintentional, and most of these Christian witches seem like lovely people. But it’s still deeply frustrating and upsetting to be promised a safe space and support from other witches, only to be preached at.

Or be told that I’m doing witchcraft wrong because my ethics are not the same as someone else’s.

Or be told that I don’t understand Christianity, despite having spent the first two decades of my life fully immersed in it.

Or have my trauma invalidated because, “Not all Christians are like that!”

Or spend the majority of our time together reassuring and comforting a Christian witch who is uncomfortable with the inclusion of pagan and/or occult elements in a ritual.

These are all genuine experiences I have had with Christian witches in 2021. And in every single one of these situations, the Christian witch had a very negative reaction to any kind of constructive criticism or request that they be more mindful of the diverse beliefs and experiences in the space. Any suggestion that their actions may be causing discomfort for others was met with defensiveness, if not straight-up denial. The result is a situation where Christian witches are at the center of every discussion and demand (knowingly or not) coddling or hand-holding from teachers and facilitators, while those of us who are not Christian are left deeply uncomfortable but unable to express that discomfort without upsetting someone or being accused of creating conflict.

And I get it. I really do. Because for most of the people in the above scenarios, this was the first time they encountered a situation where their religion wasn’t the norm. But what I need Christian witches to recognize and be mindful of is that this discomfort of being surrounded by people who do not share your beliefs is something those of us who are not Christian experience every day.

In the Western world, and particularly in the United States, Christianity is a religious hegemony. (A hegemony is a group with total political, social, economic, and/or military dominance in a given area.) Everything in Western society was designed for Christians, to serve a Christian worldview, and to reinforce Christian hegemony. Everything from our government to our business practices to our media reinforces Christian values. For Christians, this creates the sense of comfort and security that comes from being part of the in-group. For non-Christians, it meas being constantly bombarded with someone else’s religion. For former Christians with church-related trauma, it means reliving that trauma constantly.

Here’s a look at an average day in my life as a formerly-Christian pagan with religious trauma. Please note that this is not an exaggeration — this is a description of what I experienced on the day I wrote this post.

I get up and, because I live with Christian family members, I walk past exactly five images of Jesus and/or the Virgin Mary on my way from my bedroom to the front door. On my commute to work, I drive past at least a dozen churches, including the one I used to attend, where my religious trauma occurred. I stop at a red light, and the car in front of me has a bumper sticker with an image of a cross and the message, “If this offends you now, just wait until you see it on judgement day!” I happen to know that these bumper stickers are for sale not at a local church, but at a privately owned, nominally secular business. When I get to work, the woman who greets me at the front gate is wearing a crucifix necklace.

I work in diversity education. When I get to the office, my boss asks me to join the local Interfaith council because I am the only person in our department who isn’t Christian. My current big project at work is trying to get a transgender speaker to visit our organization and help us lead a workshop to work towards amending a history of transphobia in our organization. My boss tells me today the she isn’t sure the speaker I arranged will be approved, because our administration might not think it is in line with our organization’s values. When she says this, I know she means evangelical Christian values. She doesn’t have to spell it out — there’s a chaplain down the hall from our office.

After my lunch break, my coworkers are talking about a church event one of them attended over the weekend. I do not contribute to this conversation. It has been several months since I attended an in-person religious event with people who shared my faith. As I’m leaving the office at the end of the day, I pass a Bible study group that has set up in our recreation area. On my drive home, I pass the funeral home where my grandfather’s memorial service was held earlier this year. The programs for that service had the Lord’s Prayer printed on them. My grandfather was an atheist.

This is my level of exposure to a religion I not only don’t believe in, but have been actively hurt by, on a daily basis. This is my normal. I’ve learned to live with it, tune it out, and self-soothe, because there is no other option.

When I’m finally able to be around other witches, many of them are coming from similar experiences. I am finally in a space where I can be vulnerable, where I can talk about what I really believe, and where I can receive support from like-minded people. But if there is even one Christian witch in the group, it’s highly likely that this space too will be dominated by Christian hegemony.

It’s a noted fact that a person exists within a hegemony, they have very little ability to tolerate challenges to this hegemony due to a lack of exposure. This is the origin of the term white fragility, which sociologist Robin DiAngelo uses to describe the discomfort and defensiveness white people feel when confronted with “racial discomfort” such as being asked to consider racism as a system they are complicit in and benefit from rather than as the actions of lone extremists. White fragility is something I have personally experienced as a white woman involved in antiracist work, and it’s something I have taken years to work through and am still actively working on. Since DiAngelo popularized this term, similar terms have been used to point to similar phenomena in other hegemonic groups, as in the cases of male fragility/fragile masculinity, cishet fragility, and yes, Christian fragility.

I’m not trying to argue that all hegemony is the same, and I am definitely not trying to say that my personal religious trauma is anywhere near the level of pain caused by the mistreatment of Black and brown people by white supremacist society. My point here is simply that being part of the dominant group breeds a very low tolerance for exposure to other groups.

Christian witches are members of a hegemonic group entering a space historically occupied by marginalized people, which creates an imbalance of power. (And yes, you can benefit from hegemony even if you are marginalized in other areas. Identity is multi-faceted. Queer Christians, disabled Christians, Christians of color, and yes, Christian witches still benefit from Christian hegemony.) The only way things are going to get better is if Christians are willing to do the work themselves of building tolerance for religious discomfort. The rest of us can host as many interfaith and secular events as we want, but if Christians aren’t able to tolerate the inclusion of other belief systems, we’ll never truly be on equal footing. Until Christians stop centering the Christian experience, it will continue to dominate interfaith spaces, including witchy spaces.

TLDR: I’m asking Christian witches to be mindful of the privilege they bring into interfaith spaces. I’m asking you to be willing to feel uncomfortable, and to recognize that your discomfort does not invalidate the work your facilitators have put into creating the space and/or program. If you truly can’t stand the discomfort, I’m asking you to politely excuse yourself instead of demanding emotional labor from other witches.

[queerautism]

(warning: rambley and possibly nonsensical, sorry T.T)

hey, can you talk about how and why you ID as traumagenic but not disordered/a pwOSDDID? just curious (lol, autocorrect tried to change “curious” into “furious”, bro wtf??) because that sounds maybe like what I am discovering myself to be like???

because I am rather confident that I’m a system/multiple but also pretty sure that I don’t have OSDDID but that I am not endogenic either. essentially, my spiritual beliefs explain how it happened (in a way that is more intuitive/makes more sense to me than anything psychology-based), but I wouldn’t be multiple without the trauma. so, my multiplicity has been influenced/caused by both trauma history and spirituality, and so I don’t really know how to consider myself in terms of genesis/community terms (and I really don’t want to step on any toes)

additionally, I am rather new to online system spaces, so I apologize if anything I’ve said is just blatantly misinformed/misguided and for any incorrect use of terms. I have come to all of these conclusions/self-reflections on my own, and have been observing/learning about systemhood online through a more general lens for a few months now (though this will be my first interaction lol…. *extremely nervous smile/grimace*)

so, ultimately, I’m just looking for guidance/to compare experiences (as you are comfortable, of course) and you have been the first person in the system community that (I think) I relate to. super sorry if this is too much pressure, I tend to overshare when I’m anxious/uncertain

if you’ve addressed any part of this (long and moderately complicated) ask previous, please feel free to link to that instead of rehashing it. I tried searching this blog (and came up with nothing) but I have heard that that function is iffy/inconsistent/untrustworthy and I wasn’t sure what terms to search either

sorry for any and all incoherence, four different parts have had a hand in composing this ask and unfortunately, I don’t have time or brainpower at the moment to edit for clarity. additionally, do you have recurring anons with identifiers?? if so, can I be one please?? with 🗝/“key” as my identifier/name??? I’m unfortunately not comfortable coming off anon to publicly message a blog with 4k followers lol

and finally (at last!!!) would you be interested in/receptive to me sending an ask explaining/rambling about my spirituality and how it relates to multiplicity?? I’d love to get thoughts from you (and your followers) and/or see if there’s anyone else out there with similar beliefs/who can relate, but I also understand if that (either spirituality generally or spirituality in relation to systemhood) is a sensitive/uncomfy topic

thanks!!! (and sorry again)

-🗝

I don't mind talking about it at all. We went through an extremely traumatic event in this past year and we survived it through becoming a system. It was an adaptive change, and a positive thing.

We do not fit the criteria for disorders like DID and OSDD because we do not experience clinically significant distress related to being a system. Trauma is not a requirement for dissociative disorders, endogenic DID and OSDD systems are absolutely a thing.

We also refuse to medicalise our plurality. We formed due to horrible medical trauma and really resent the way some people attent to force us to medicalise our systemhood and further traumatise ourselves.

You don't have to choose one specific origin label, btw. It's perfectly fine to say your system or plurality is based on your spirituality and leave it at that. No one is entitled to know this information about you, the current focus on origins is absurd.

Feel free to send asks about your spirituality yeah that's fine :) We do have some recurring anons so that's totally fine too

[finnzhal]

I'll take care of you

Diavolo x GN!Tired!MC

@erina-leah asked :: Can I get Diavolo x GN!MC who is feeling really drained and unmotivated , Barely wants to get out of bed , and is struggling with a little bit of anxiety ? ? I would love to see how Diavolo Helps his S/O when they're down !

Of course ! Thank you for requesting ^^ I'm sorry I sped this one up and making it so short . . I have a headache and lost creativity on the last part T T

If someone's interested on requesting , Please read this first !

Little side note , I only researched the Anxiety symptoms / Types / causes and treatment from Google .

TW MENTIONS :: Lesson 16 Spoilers‼️ , Just serious and dark topic on the little story I've made , Remember that Anxiety effects people differently and I wrote some of the effects I have .

Little Context

Ever since Day 1 , Getting into another world without your knowledge and not knowing what the hell is Devildom . It already stressed you out . How can someone be so calm after getting taken away by some random demons just for an exchange program ? ?

Suddenly giving you some tasks you didn't even agreed to and forcing you to be in some college school , The six demon brothers just talking insults about you . But of course , you just accept it all just so you can live .

You've learned some magic / curses , History , the Celestial realm , Knowing the youngest brother getting locked in a room , Making pacts because of the youngest brother peer pressuring you . You getting pushed by the 2nd demon brother into anything , getting into lots of trouble , just making you completely anxious . You've been handling your problems and attacks on your own but the himbo red head man Demon prince always asks you to come by for tea , Those tea times and little conversations always calms you and distracts you from the problems . How can such a kind man be a DEMON prince of Devildom ? ? It was nice having someone to talk to .

After a few months

Traumatized by Leviathan's and Belphie's childish acts . It was still bothering you since it was not too long ago , , Your neck itches everytime you remember it but you're becoming more open with them after a few months and actually getting more comfortable .

Now . . You still are the same but you're more off than usual . The brothers thought you're just having a rough day but it turned into days to weeks .

You barely get out of your room , you isolate yourself away , rarely talk to your friends , Grades dropping , You basically decline into every social events / hang outs , You tried doing your favourite hobbies as a distraction but now it turned into feeling like a chore , You feel anxious or feel the sense of danger on everything you do , You talk to yourself alot but whenever you're talking to other people you feel sweaty and anxious and need the urge to get out of the conversation , You felt uncomfortable on just social interaction , You're easily distracted , You overthink alot more , You're having a hard time controlling your own emotions , Extremely unhealthy sleeping schedule , You forgot to eat meals to the point that Lucifer or other brother have to bring You food , tried to force yourself to do something or find something that makes you motivated but everything you do just makes you even more unmotivated you try so hard and try to be at your feet again . It's worse that the devildom is making you more unhealthy , having no sun , the air , haunted house , etc . You sometimes wished to be in your own world again but you know it will be the same . You wanted to get out of this unhealthy routine but you felt this pressure on you that makes you feel down everytime

The brothers tried to help you whenever they can but it just makes you more frustrated

.

I don't really have an idea on how you guys start having romantic feelings or date in the first place . . So it's up to you !

Diavolo wouldn't notice this at first because of him being busy . Lucifer would probably talk about it with Him , Yes Diavolo felt something was off because of how different your text messages look like but he brushed it off thinking he was being overdramatic .

After he heard about the news , He literally ask Barbatos to do his job for him and run to your room . Jumping on to you and whine about why you didn't tell him about it sooner

After explaining why you didn't told anything about it to them , He didn't get it but later then understand and ask you to tell what you're feeling in the future and that it's fine that you feel this way . He felt so bad not knowing you're mentally drained and you of course reassured him aswell .

You guys talk about it for hours while cuddling face to face and after you finished talking , He comforts you with sweet words and compliments you . His words were . . Rather corny but you didn't mind it and it made you feel warm but you cringed at the part where he tried to make flirtatious jokes and ask him to stop it .

After jokes and laughter , You got ask sit up and wait for him . Well after a few minutes , he carefully open the door with a tray full of food he cook for you , he spoon feed you and says 'ahh' everytime . .

After that he peppers your face with kisses and tells you how he's so lucky to have you

Since this is hell , , there aren't really have therapy there and so Diavolo just learn the things he saw while he was in the human world and help you with your Sleeping schedule , putting alarms to your phone to remind you , helps you stretch / exercise while on the bed . He ask Barbatos , Solomon and Simeon for help since they know more about this .

He'll go by his way to cook for you , bath you , hug you , kiss you , hug you again and kiss you again

You can see and feel how the demon brothers are more calmer[?] towards you and always checks if you're doing alright

Of course he's still busy and have no choice but to work . You're always on his mind and he spam text you , Replying messages along with photos

Whenever he's free , He comes by to see you

He sometimes sneak out or make tons of excuses just to hang out with you but Barbatos always caught him

Buys you gifts that reminds him of you

Whenever your anxiety gets worse , He'll drop everything just to help you .

He'll always try and ask you if you can come with him on more calmer places in Devildom or do something fun together without feeling pressured

He always looks at you with those love struck eyes

Overall , He would treat you the best of the best whenever you're feeling down .

That's it for today !! I hope you like it , I have some major problems with this one . I'm sorry once again if this isn't what you asked for . .

[unwelcome-ozian]

That ask that was asking about your trauma history/"autobiography" felt so slimy and manipulative to me, it's actually making me feel genuine anger because of how these kinds of questions are frequently used against trauma survivors as a form of manipulation and usually as a means to gain the tools for further abuse.

To that anon: literally nobody, not a SINGLE trauma survivor owes you jack shit. You DO NOT get to ask for personal details about someone's trauma, to judge whether you should believe them or not. The fact that you had the gall to do that tells me you're either knowingly manipulative towards victims of trauma, OR incredibly insensitive and uneducated. This might blow your mind but it doesn't matter whether you believe someone or not, at all. Trauma victims don't need to "earn" your support or belief by telling you personal details, because honestly, if you weren't going to believe them WITHOUT personal details, your belief would not have been very genuine or sincere in the first place, and thus, isn't worth it to begin with.

Survivors do not need to "buy" someone else's belief in their trauma being real in ANY way, and statements like that, which basically boil down to "I want to hear your personal history to make the call to either believe your trauma, or label you a 'fake survivor'." are just a sign for trauma survivors that it's better to just stay the hell away from that person altogether, than to even try to "convince" them by opening up about incredibly personal and difficult things.

Even IF Oz & Ozzie (and the rest) chose to share their "autobiography" as anon put it, and the anon chose to believe them, to me it shows the anon's support would have been very disingenuous and insincere in the first place, because the anon had to "decide" based on incredibly personal details in the first place.

And honestly? When it comes to people who consciously ask this stuff as a means to learn someone's trauma history, "supporters" like that are literally not worth it. Their belief in someone's trauma being real is not worth it. Because if someone's belief is conditional- i.e. "I need to know xyz personal details about your trauma first, before I'll choose to support you", they are already setting up a manipulative dynamic between the trauma survivor, and themselves as the "supporter".

People who consciously ask stuff like this (and continue to do so even when told why it's manipulative) most likely know very well how suspectible trauma victims are to manipulative language and how desperately many of us crave to be believed, seen, and recognized, to have our trauma seen as real and "valid". Holding one's belief and support over a survivor's head as a thing they have to "earn" is absolutely disgusting, and something many of us have already experienced coming directly from our abusers.

Often these people are trying to create a dynamic where they'll have leverage over the traumatized person by knowing deeply personal details about them- such as what could trigger them, what they went through, and how their thinking may be warped by trauma. And guess what? Only abusive people need that kind of information! Only an abusive person would demand to know such personal things as a condition for their support, because it gives them the tools to manipulate the victim later.

Rant about manipulative people and statements aside, I understand there are people out there who do ask genuinely out of curiosity, and don't realize how insensitive it is, and the dynamic it creates. Intention is always key in these things, and if anyone reading this HAS asked something like this in the past from a trauma survivor, I urge you to examine your motivation for asking and the reason for your curiosity overall. Also, please learn from it, and don't do it again. Everyone makes mistakes based on not knowing any better, but it's important to learn from those.

I truly hope this anon learns, too, but if not, well, they're not the kind of a person who trauma survivors should keep close in their life.

Thank you for sharing your thoughts and your support of us.

Oz/Ozzie

[baku-bowl]

broke 1,000 followers (the fuck? I don't even make content people), so decided to write up a list of some (but not all, I'll make other lists later) of my favorite Bakugou-centric fic recs. my tastes run towards hurt/comfort, as you'll probably figure from the list. if there are some Baku-centric fics that you've enjoyed that aren't on here, please add them - this is definitely not a complete list of the ones I've read and love, but I'm always up for some recs. <3

fair warning, most of these are wips.

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

Social Media 101 by WindsChild8178

Part 1: Survival Guide to Fucking Up

[Solely Bakugou’s point of view]

Katsuki Bakugou doesn’t have a gentle bone in his body. He’s aggressive in everything he does and does everything with 100% of his heart in it. After the Sport’s Festival, Katsuki starts to get harassed by strangers for his unheroic demeanor. It starts with letters but it doesn’t end there. The moment Katsuki realizes the harassment has entered dangerous territory and he needs to tell someone, it’s already too late.

Part 2: Post Traumatic Life Disorder

[Point of View opens up to Bakugou, teachers and classmates]

When the Dorms are finally built, everyone is settling in well, but things become tense as people begin to realize something isn’t right with the recently rescued Bakugou.

[Cannon compliant right up to after the License Exam]

hands down my favorite fic in the fandom right now. it’s the one that converted me into a Bakugou lover. if you have any fondness for Bakugou as a character then it’s likely you’ve read this one already, but if not, I can’t recommend it enough. incredibly depressing, but with the hope that comfort is coming soon in the next few chapters.

The Kids Will Be Alright, Eventually by NotWithThatAttitude

Bakugou is spiraling in the aftermath of Kamino and his friends are starting to notice. He's stubborn, aggressively independent, and less than willing to dig into his past, but after a breakdown that ends with a painful secret revealed, he starts to get help.

Whether he likes it or not.

Meanwhile, a new kind of villain threatens an uneasy peace following the loss of Allmight. Whispers build as a new narrative slowly takes shape:

Hero society needs to change.

Feat. Therapy, Dadzawa, best boy Kirishima, dysfunctional families, healing, growing up, and the mortifying ordeal of being known

guys.. the medical accuracy of this fic is just... *chef’s kiss*

I rarely see mental health genuinely handled well in fics, but this one goes above and beyond. kudos to the author for doing such excellent research into psychology, and making the application of it in here not-boring. also, while this one does have abusive!Mitsuki, it’s done in a way that feels realistic, and how I usually will see it occur in real life, rather than just for the hurt/comfort feels.

fair warning, the fic can be incredibly triggering (themes of severe depression, PTSD, panic attacks, rape survival, abuse survival, suicidal ideation/attempted suicide, among other things), so be safe and heed the tw’s if you decide to read. legitimately one of my Top Favorite fics in this fandom.

Lock and Key by autochorystalize

Bakugou made a choked, gravelly noise before croaking out a low, “You can’t be serious.” His fingers ached to blow up everything in the room.

“I’m sorry, young man, but you can’t change reality! This sometimes happens.” Recovery Girl clicked through his file, adding a new symbol in a previously empty slot.

- - -

A pair of eyes discreetly locked on to an explosive blond plowing his way forward, parting people in his path. He recognized the kid, of course. Anyone in the underbelly of society would recognize him, after the publicity of both UA’s Sports Festival and the events leading up to All Might’s fall. The uniform he was wearing cast away any doubts about the young man’s identity.

It was a bit of a surprise that the little firecracker presented as an omega.

- - - - - - - - -

Or: there are certain types of evil that seemed too distant, archaic violations and perversions that would never actually threaten bright-eyed heroes-in-training in the clean, modern world...but sometimes those evils aren't as distant as one might think.

remember when I said that I love a/b/o fics that are full of plot and world-building and gender-induced tension? that’s this one. the OC’s are fabulous and you love to hate ‘em. also, it’s the fic that made me fall head-over-heels for the TodoBaku dynamic, so it’s got a special place in my cold, dead heart. 

be warned, there are rather explicit non-con scenes between an adult (OC) and a minor (Bakugou) in this one, but the author warns for them in advance, and you could likely skip those parts without missing too much if you need to.

Never and Always, Eventually by Wawa_Boonliang

"Katsuki can remember the exact moment that he and Deku…that he and Midoriya Izuku became friends. He can also remember the moment he and Izuku became fierce rivals, a time when they were almost enemies.

However, what he remembers most clearly about their relationship is the moment that they moved passed rivals and became something more close than mere friends. Something more like brotherhood, something forged in fire and secured in the middle of a battlefield or in the midst of natural disaster where the number of the dead was climbing ever higher. And then it was torn from him."

Katsuki is given a second chance. A chance to save everyone. A chance to change everything.

But should he?

y’all. I’m a slutty, slutty whore for time travel fics. a time travel fic with autistic!coded Bakugou? it was love at first read.

Lessons Learned by Sif (Rosae)

Rather than the police station, Katsuki's friends bring him to a hospital after rescuing him from the villains. His wounds were minor, but it didn't make having them treated any less important. As it would so happen, Best Jeanist was also brought to this hospital after the attack.

Sometimes, small choices have a big impact on how a story plays out.

classic Bakugou hurt/comfort. this fic opened me up to the potential that could be a genuinely good Best Jeanist & Katsuki mentor-mentee relationship, and I kind of dig it and search ravenously for it in other fics now. I’m also a huge fan of the behind-the-scences Pro Hero Chat group.

Slope by sunfleurmoon

“I’m not a hero. Or a good person,” Katsuki says, giving Aizawa a pointed look, “So leave me alone. I don’t care about the League or UA, or you—” The two years he’s been away have been fine, more than fine, fucking fantastic actually if you ignore the bi-monthly near-death experiences. He doesn’t need this place. He doesn’t miss this place.

And yet, longing, a childish desire to tear up, or maybe blow something to bits, they all twist in his chest like a band of traitors regardless. “—I just want to go home.”

Or: the one where Katsuki and Izuku fail the first term exam, Aizawa discovers their pasts, and Katsuki is booted from UA. Featuring questionable descriptions of villain organizations, a slightly illegal moving shop, and your favorite emotionally constipated badass in distress with a newly discovered penchant for collecting strays.

paaaaaaiiiiiiiin. the hurt is ALIVE in this one. lots of tortured, angsty exploding child goodness. the OC’s are excellently crafted, and the Bakugou & Eri relationship? beautiful. definitely deserves a read.

Ground Zero by WindsChild8178

In the wake of Kamino, Katsuki is tested more than anyone could imagine. Bound by a villain’s quirk to keep his silence or die, he lives each day knowing it might very well be his last. He continues to work towards becoming a hero, keeping his secret from his classmates and teachers, focusing on making it through each day and trying not to allow the panic or depression to get the best of him. When the villain finally corners him with demands in exchange for his life, there is really only one answer Katsuki Bakugou can give.

honestly don't know which I want updated more - social media 101 or ground zero. this author's fics are amazing, and I really wasn't expecting the twist in this one. can't wait for windschild to come back to this fic some day.

The Defect by LadyGreenFrisbee

"Why do you want to win the Sports Festival so badly?" 

Because I want to see if the defect could usurp the masterpiece.

(In which Endeavor holds a terrible secret and Bakugo has to suffer since childhood for it.)

a great concept, and I adore the shouto and Katsuki sibling interaction here. hoping the author will come back to this one some day.

A Name That You'll Remember by Heronfem

Kirishima Eijirou is a Hero. Bakugou Katsuki... is not. Trapped in his toxic workplace and increasingly desperate to get out, Red Riot's days are only brightened by a new villain known as Caution, who's not exactly villainous and keeps accidentally doing good deeds. But when a real villain appears, a threat from the past that demands that Red Riot make the ultimate sacrifice to keep the public safe, Bakugou is forced into saving the day... and eventually, Red Riot himself.

sob story good guy villains are my weakness, this fic is a gem, and I'd kill for the sequel.

Our Hero by AnonymousTwit

He felt everything jerk to the side and throw his balance off before he saw anything, dust clouding his vision and irritating his lungs as the earth itself opened up to swallow them whole. For a single moment, in a millisecond's time, his wild eyes locked with Raccoon Eyes', hers alight with fear and adrenaline-fueled desperation. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he realized that it was the first time she'd looked at him with something other than long-deserved hatred in days.

And then he was free falling.

Or

After a particularly nasty encounter between childhood friends, the class learns about Bakugou and Midoriya's dark history and practically ostracizes Bakugou while trying to defend Midoriya. An earthquake during an outing has all sides regretting their decisions.

just fucking tear apart my self-sacrificing faves in every way imaginable while their loved ones watch on in terror. 💖🥰💖 this one is heavy on the Bakusquad and Class-1A feels, and VERY heavy on the Mina & Bakugou relationship (platonic).

Running back the tape, watching it replay by Faralyne

For someone ripped from their time, ripped from the few but strong relationships built by time and personal development, by self-reflection and swallowed pride, ripped from the one thing that made him feel worthwhile and needed and put-together, and forced to forge everything over again—Katsuki thinks he is handling it pretty fucking well.

Or

A villain’s quirk sends a 29-year-old Bakugou back in time to his middle school days.

am I a sucker for time travel? yes. am I a sucker for vigilante!bakugou? also yes. am I a sucker for this fic? literally refreshing the page in wait for an update as we speak.

Liability by sandelf

After All-Might dies rescuing Bakugou from the League, Bakugou is determined to prove it wasn't for nothing.

But the world is against him, his grief is overwhelming, and his stability is splitting at the edges.

very self-indulgent bakugou angst. tw for harassment, severe depression, and suicidality.

Special Mentions:

How To Win The Sport Festival: A Step By Step Guide by mhwright

Short re-imagining of the Sports Festival Arc if Shinso had planned a little better and worked a little harder to win the Sports Festival and if the match-ups had been slightly different. Self-indulgent fic of watching him succeed.

this is completely Shinsou-centric, not Bakugou-centric, but I love and adore it and am dying for a sequel. Shinsou is Best Boy here and you'll be rooting for him the whole time.

[tortoisesshells]

Behind the scenes lore for "a little more comprehension than a machine, and still feeling like a lost soul" and vintage gold "there is no unreturn'd love", please!

"a little more comprehension than a machine, and still feeling like a lost soul" - first and foremost, there was an alternate ending, where it did not, you know, close with Maura and Eyk realizing that there's something wrong that they don't fully comprehend yet, and implying that they would see each other again, somehow. Ultimately, it didn't fit with the rest of the fic, but I was fond of it, so here it is, in its incomplete and uninspiring glory:

“I think it unlikely I will see you again, Captain Larsen. But until I do – I hope you find what you are looking for.”

She offers him her hand to shake; he does, but does not let go, immediately. Maura does not blame him for it. There has not been much comfort on this voyage, but what little she’s found has mostly been on his account.

“I will hope so, Miss Franklin.”

They're so cute when they think they're going to see New York City alive. But like I said, thematically inconsistent with The Horrors. Season one spoilers and speculations under the cut.

I had the vague idea to start that I wanted to write a pre-history of what we saw in season one, and had read a few theories about whether or not things had or had not been getting worse over the course of multiple time loops - and whether or not characters who instaconnect in season one do so because they're together in some way outside of the loop/simulation, or because they've been together across multiple loops and that's become it's own kind of muscle memory. I'm not sold on one idea or the other, but I'm leaning towards Maura and Eyk not being an item out of 1899/ in 2099 - that they very gradually learned to like and trust each other over dozens of successive loops, and now they're just. Like That.

(that, and I'm deeply entertained by the idea that when Maura wakes up in 2099 and sees Eyk, that it's no so much a reaction of "oh shit you were dead last time I saw you!" so much as "holy fuck I wanted to climb that fucking guy like a tree?".)

There's eight sections for the eight days that Daniel Solace says each run of the simulation is supposed to take up; one for each day, but I don't have any ideas about how many loops are between one section and the next. Choose your own adventure there, I'm afraid!

Lastly, for a fic title, I think it's one of my better ones - and I was pleased (and a little surprised) to find such a perfect title in The Awakening - in a section where Edna Pontillier and another woman are talking about working/sewing with a machine - pedal-powered, of course, and the other woman is not even driving it herself put having a servant power it for her. The narration is aware of the irony, even if the other woman isn't aware that her words are a little hypocritical. This is getting away from me. *

Full disclosure: I had not reread "there is no unreturn'd love" in years, which is sad but predictable, and the scrap file for that fic didn't get salvaged from my old laptop, so this is partly from memory.

I'm deeply entertained by my note (his is Extremely Dodgy in terms of historical accuracy - Emma in the field, again - and it pains me to say it, but look! A story without tiresome context and footnotes! What year is it? Where are we? Who knows! mirabile visu.) which then ... segued into me talking about looking through antiquarian genealogies of the IRL Hopkins family to figure out how many siblings Fictional Henry Hopkins might have. god I'm a loser. In my defense, I have no idea WHAT the context for this is and I didn't then. is it 1863? 1864? 1865? I guess maybe this is the Overland Campaign of '64. If Emma and Henry are on the outskirts of The Wilderness, I'm not surprised Emma's traumatized for life. When I wrote this - I'd been planning to take a road trip to see FredSpot (Fredericksburg & Spotsylvania National Military Park) and I still haven't ever seen it, but I know I had the maps out in front of me when I was writing it.

I never finished reading The Minister's Wooing, but I picked it up again recently - regrettably, I know more now about Hopkinsianism and Puritan theology than I did then, so perhaps some of the theology that's so amusing to Henry (evidently) will make sense to me now - but it DOES make me think a lot about changes in American Protestantism, and the Second Great Awakening, and how that all might affect Our Chaplain, Patron Saint of Rolled Sleeves and Rage Issues. Maybe, after I finish reading The Minister's Wooing (for realsies this time) I'll revisit my thoughts on Henry and Emma and the book?

[wolfstar-in-color]

July Colorful Column: Remus is a Crip, and We Can Write Him Better.

There is one thing that can get me to close a fic so voraciously I don’t even make sure I’m not closing other essential tabs in the process. It doesn’t matter how much I’m loving the fic, how well written I think it is, or how desperately I want to know how it ends. Once I read this sentence, I am done.

It’s written in a variety of different ways, but it always goes something like this: “You don’t want me,” Remus said, “I am too sick/broken/poor/old/[insert chosen self-demeaning adjective here].”

You’re familiar with the trope. The trope is canonical. And if you’ve been around the wolfstar fandom for longer than a few minutes, you’ve read the trope. Maybe you love the trope! Maybe you’ve written the trope! Maybe you’re about to stop reading this column, because the trope rings true to you and you feel a little attacked!

Now, let’s get one thing out of the way right now: I am not saying the trope is wrong. I am not saying it’s bad. I am not saying we should stop writing it. We all have things we don’t like to see in our chosen fics. Maybe you can’t stand Leather Jacket Motorbike Sirius? Maybe you think Elbow Patch Remus is overdone? Or maybe your pet peeves are based in something a little deeper - maybe you think Poor Latino Remus is an irresponsible depiction, or that PWPs are too reductive? Whatever it is, we all have our things.

Let me tell you about my thing. When I first became very ill several years ago, there were various low points in which I felt I had become inherently unlovable. This is, more or less, a normal reaction. When your body stops doing things it used to be able to do - or starts doing things you were quite alright without, thank you very much - it changes the way you relate to your body. You don’t want to hear my whole disability history, so yada yada yada, most people eventually come to accept their limitations. It’s a very painful existence, one in which you constantly tell yourself your disability has transformed you into a burdensome, unworthy member of society, and if nothing else, it’s not terribly sustainable. Being disabled takes grit! It takes power! It takes a truly absurd amount of medical self-advocacy! Hating yourself? Thinking yourself unworthy of love? No one has time for that. 

Of course, I’m being hyperbolic. Plenty of disabled people struggle with these feelings many years into their disabilities, and never really get over them. But here’s the thing. We experience those stories ALL THE TIME. Remember Rain Man? Or Million Dollar Baby? Or that one with the actress from Game of Thrones and that British actor who seemed like he was going to have a promising career but then didn't? Those are all stories about sad, bitter disabled people and their sad, bitter lives, two out of three of which end in the character completing suicide because they simply couldn’t imagine having to live as a disabled person. (I mean, come on media, I get that we're less likely to enjoy a leisurely Saturday hike, but our parking is SUBLIME.) When was the last time you engaged with media that depicted a happy disabled person? A complex disabled person? A disabled person who has sex? No really, these aren’t hypothetical questions, can you please drop a rec in the notes?? Because I am desperate.

There are lots of problems with this trope, and they’ve been discussed ad nauseam by people with PhDs. I’m not actually interested in talking about how this trope leads to a more prevalent societal idea that disabled people are unworthy of love, or contributes to the kind of political thought processes that keep disabled people purposefully disenfranchised. I’m just a bitch on Tumblr, and I have a bone to pick: the thing I really hate about the trope? It’s boring. I’m bored. You know how, like, halfway through Grey’s Anatomy you realized they were just recycling the same plot points over and over again and there was just no WAY anyone working at a hospital prone to THAT MANY disasters would stay on staff? It's like that. I love a recycled trope as much as the next person (There Was Only One Bed, anyone?). But I need. Something. Else.

Remus is disabled. BOLD claim. WILD speculation. Except, not really. You simply - no matter how you flip it, slice it, puree it, or deconstruct it - cannot tell me Remus Lupin is not disabled. Most of us, by this point, are probably familiar with the way that One Canonical Author intended One Dashing Werewolf to be “a metaphor for those illnesses that carry stigma, like HIV and AIDS” [I’m sorry to link you to an outside source quoting She Who Must Not Be Named, but we’re professionals here]. Which is... a thing. It’s been discussed. And, listen, there’s no denying that this parallel is a problematic interpretation of people who have HIV/AIDS and all such similar “those illnesses” (though I’ll admit that I, too, am perennially apt to turn into a raging beast liable to harm anything that crosses my path, but that’s more linked to the at-least-once-monthly recollection that One Day At A Time got cancelled). Critiques aside, Remus Lupin is a character who - due to a condition that affects him physically, mentally, emotionally, and intellectually - is repeatedly marginalized, oppressed, denied political and social power, and ostracized due to unfounded fear that he is infectious to others. Does that sound familiar?

We’re not going to argue about whether or not “Remus is canonically disabled as fuck” is a fair reading. And the reason we’re not going to argue about whether or not it’s a fair reading is because I haven’t read canon in 10-plus years and you will win the argument. Canon is only marginally relevant here. The icon of this blog is brown, curly haired Remus Lupin kissing his trans boyfriend, Sirius Black. We are obviously not too terribly invested in canon. The wolfstar fandom is now a community with over 25,000 AO3 fics, entire careers launched from drawing or writing or cosplaying this non-canonical pairing. We love to play around here with storylines and universes and races and genders and sexualities and all kinds of things, but most of the time? Remus is still disabled. He’s disabled as a werewolf in canon-compliant works, he’s disabled in the AUs where he was injured or abused or kidnapped or harmed as a child, he’s disabled in the stories that read him as chronically ill or bipolar or traumatized or blind or Deaf. I’d go so far as to say that he is one of very few characters in the Wide Wonderful World of media who is, in as close to his essence as one can be, always disabled. And that means? Don’t shoot the messenger... but we could stand to be a tiny bit more responsible with how we portray him. 

Disabled people are complicated. As much as I’d like to pretend we are always level-headed, confident, and ready to assert our inherent worth, we are still just humans. We have bad days. We doubt our worth. We sometimes go out with guys who complain about our steroid-induced weight gain (it was a long time ago, Tumblr, okay??). But, we also have joy and fun and good days and sex and happiness and families and so many other things. 

Remus is a disabled character, and as such, it’s only fair that he’d have those unworthy moments. But - I propose - Remus is also a crip. What is a crip? A crip - like a queer - is someone who eschews the limited boundaries placed on their bodies, who rejects a hierarchy of oppression in favor of an intersectional analysis of lived experience, who isn’t interested in being the tragic figure responsible for helping people with dominant identities realize how good they have it. Crips interpret their disabilities however they want, rethinking bodies and medicine and pleasure and pain and even time itself. Crips are political, community-minded, and in search of liberation. 

Remus is a character who struggles with his disability, sure. But he’s also a character who leverages his physical condition to attempt to shift communities towards his political leanings, advocates for the rights of those who share his physical condition, and has super hot sex with his wrongfully convicted boyfriend ultimately goes on to build community and family. Having a condition that quite literally cripples you, over which you have no control, and through which you are often read as a social pariah? That’s disability. But using said condition as a means through which to build advocacy and community? Now that’s some crip shit. 

Personally, I love disabled!Remus Lupin. But I love crip!Remus Lupin even more. I’d love to see more of a Remus who owns his disability, who covets what makes him unique, and who never ever again tells a potential romantic partner they are too good for him because of his disability. This trope - unlike There Was Only One Bed! - sometimes actually hurts to read. Where’s Remus who thinks a potential romantic partner isn’t good enough for him? Where’s Remus who insists his partners learn more about his condition in order to treat him properly? Where’s sexy wheelchair user Remus? Where’s Remus who uses his werewolf transformations as an excuse to travel the world? Where’s crip Remus??

We don’t have to put “you don’t want me” Remus entirely to bed. It is but one of many repeated tropes that are - in the words of The Hot Priest from Fleabag - morally a bit dubious. And let’s face it - we don’t always come to fandom for its moral superiority (as much as we sometimes like to think we do). 

This is not a condemnation - it is an invitation. Able-bodied folks are all but an injury, illness, or couple decades away from being disabled. And when you get here, I sincerely hope you don’t waste your time on “you don’t want me”ing back and forth with the people you love. I’m inviting you to come to the crip side now. We have snacks, and without all the “you don’t want me” talk, we get to the juicy parts much faster. 

Colorfully,

Mod Theo

[16woodsequ]

Can I have some more Steve headcannons please?

Okay! *rubs hands together* Today is a kind of ‘meh’ day for me, so Imma hype myself up with some headcanons ^^

Previous headcanon post, and second one.

TW: discussion of PTSD and panic attacks, and just general angst

Alright *checks notes* first headcanon:

Steve knew about the bugs that SHIELD had in his apartment before Fury told him.

I really like this headcanon, and I put it everywhere. But basically, I think that Steve is smart and observant enough to have found the bugs that SHIELD put into his apartment. 

So why would he leave them there? That feeds into another headcanon that I sort of mentioned before, that Steve likes to underestimated. Obviously, SHIELD thought that he either wouldn’t suspect them to bug his home, or he wouldn’t be tech-savvy enough to find the devices. I think Steve wanted to keep it that way. If he removed the bugs, then SHIELD would know he found them, and would react accordingly.

I think Steve would decide it was better to know where the bugs are, rather than remove them and risk having SHIELD put more in that he can’t find. Also, if SHIELD thinks that he doesn’t suspect anything, then they will think whatever they get from his apartment is genuine.

Usually in my mind, SHIELD only implants audio bugs, instead of visual, and they leave his bathroom without bugs.

This is important cuz, for extra angst, now we get to imagine Steve trying to manage his PTSD in an apartment that he knows is bugged. 

As you might know with my ‘SHIELD’s A+ Parenting’ headcanon, I fully think Hydra was willing to let Steve struggle with his PTSD, and I doubt they would have done anything if/when they learned about it... but Steve doesn’t know that. So now we have Steve trying to cover for his PTSD in his own home, and the only respite his has is maybe the bathroom.

With audio feeds only at least, he only has to worry about not making a lot of noise during his flashbacks/nightmares etc, but that is still a lot of pressure. (And don’t imagine Steve curled up and panicking on the floor of his bathroom, cuz that’ll just make you sad).

More SHIELD A+ Parenting/ Hydra is terrible

Going along with Hydra-being-inside-SHIELD-didn’t-help-Steve’s-PTSD: If SHIELD gave Steve some kind of counsellor or psychologist after he woke up from the ice, then I headcanon it was a Hydra agent.

That is terrible for several reasons. For one, Steve’s first experience with modern psychology would be with someone - unbeknownst to him - who did not actually want the best for his wellbeing.

Second, and going along with that, if his Hydra-therapist were to be less helpful than would be ideal, Steve wouldn’t know the difference really, and the people at SHIELD would not suspect that there was a problem. They would think he was getting psychological help, when in reality, he was getting anything but.

This would explain why SHIELD dropped the ball so hard with Steve.

Third, after SHIELD, I imagine Steve would be reluctant to get actual help. At some point he is going to have to learn what actual therapy is like. And, maybe, when Natasha puts all of SHIELD’s records onto the internet, he finally learns the his original psychologist was Hydra. That would be extremely violating, and I imagine it would take him a long time afterwards to trust going to a therapist at all— even with encouragement from Sam.  

Final headcanon for the day, and going along with the terrible Hydra psychologist: Hydra and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Cabin

This one gets my blood boiling because it is actually canon that SHIELD (/Hydra), sent Steve to “The Retreat” at some point after he woke up from the ice. (This is mentioned in Agents of SHIELD, not in the movies.)

What is The Retreat you asks? Here is the wiki on it, here is the gist:

This safe house retreat is a log cabin that is lined with the same vibranium alloy that is used in "The Cage" on the Bus. The S.H.I.E.L.D. battering ram took a long time to penetrate the door, even though it took very short for them to penetrate the highly armored SUV of Nick Fury. The kitchen was fully equipped with a fridge, sink, and microwave. The living room has a few couches, however, they are very uncomfortable. There is a computer in one corner. A laser fence also lines the perimeter of the property, keeping everything inside contained. Security cameras show everything that happens along the area.

 So. A cabin in the middle of nowhere, with security cameras everywhere, and a laser fence around the perimeter.

In other words. A very fancy cell.

*unidentifiable sounds of rage*

Okay. *breathes*. So. We don’t know when, or how long Steve stayed at the cabin (Coulson said ‘after he was defrosted’ and ‘a few weeks’), but, as you can imagine, I have headcanons about those.

Usually I headcanon that Steve is at the cabin for about two weeks, and that SHIELD/Hydra sold it to him as ‘a quiet place were he can catch up on what he missed’. Meaning that they left him there with all the files of the history he missed and told him he could leave once he was finished going through them.

I imagine his (hydra) therapist told him that in order to pass his psych exam for SHIELD, he would need to go to The Retreat. Which is wonderfully manipulative, because it would force Steve to go through all those (probably traumatic) files all by himself if he wants to a) leave the cabin, and b) work for SHIELD (and you can bet that his hydra-therapist made it seem unlikely that he would be able to manage working anywhere else in the 21st century.)

Now, headcanons as to when he did this. I have two separate versions that live side-by-side in my head:

One: SHIELD did this to him before the Battle of New York. 

This is just sad because it would mean that Steve spent two+ weeks isolated and alone, reading up on everything he missed, but not really being able to learn about and experience the world he woke up in, before suddenly having to fight aliens and meet his dead-friend’s son (who is 15 years older than him) shortly after finally getting out. 

If you want a reason for Steve being high-strung in Avengers, and doing his utmost not to show his PTSD because then he might get sent back to the cabin? Then there you go.

Two: SHIELD sent him to the cabin after the Battle of New York. 

I don’t know why, but unlike a lot of people, at the end of Avengers, I didn’t assume that Steve was driving off on his motorcycle to ‘see the world’ or whatever. I instinctively interpreted it as him just driving back to his apartment.

So, if we decide that Steve decides he wants to join SHIELD at the end of Avengers, then that is when SHIELD/Hydra might decide to send him to the cabin.

Which is just great cuz I’m sure fighting aliens and watching people die only a short while after waking up from the ice was just great for Steve and he didn’t need any support or anything during that time. Nah. Isolate him alone in a cabin. Should be fine. 

If you want a reason for Steve distrusting therapists and never wanting to admit having problems because he thinks that basically institutionalizing people is still a legitimate technique? There you go.

One day I will write a fic about this bloody cabin, but I haven’t yet.  

So yeah. SHIELD/Hydra sucks. And Steve suffered for it.

Apparently we got really angsty headcanons today, but they were fun to share! I hope you enjoyed, and if you want more headcanons let me know! 

Headcanon masterpost

[starshine583]

New Girl on the Block (12)

(Are you guys getting tagged for these??? I’ve been putting all of the names on here, but it doesn’t look right.. anyway, sorry if the tag doesn’t work. I tried!!! Anyone else who wants to get tagged or asked but isn’t getting tagged, please contact me and let me know!!!)

Ch. 1 / Ch. 11 / Ch. 13 (ao3) (Journal Entries- a mini series connected to this fic)

Chapter 12: Quiet Conflictions of the Heart

Felix tapped his pencil against his textbook, staring blankly at the words that he wasn’t reading. The minutes ticked by on the grandfather clock that sat across the room next to the stairs, informing him of exactly how much time he was wasting by sitting there, and moonlight poured through the wide windows in front of him, signifying the beginnings of the evening. The fact that he started this assignment during the day and still had hardly anything done should have been frustrating, but Felix’s mind was too far lost in other thoughts for him to care.

As soon as Rosemary found out about his direct involvement with the akuma,  they sent him, along with Marinette and the others, home for the day with light homework assignments and instructions to “take it easy”. The procedure was meant to help them regain composure and process the traumatizing events, but it only gave Felix more time to think. 

And think. 

And overthink. About him hitting the ground with Marinette, about her pulling them behind the fence only to run right out again, about her shocked and panicked expression upon being picked up by the akuma. 

About her flailing body falling from the sky.

Felix set his pencil down and rubbed the bridge of his nose with a sigh. That scream still rang in his mind even hours later, sharp and blood-curdling, like a constant echo of a bad dream. He couldn’t help wondering what might have happened had Chat Noir not arrived on time, how she might have felt hitting the pavement, or if she would have survived at all. The very thought left him gripping his textbook and forcing a deep breath to relax. It hadn’t happened, after all. She was fine. Everything was fine..

And yet, no matter how many times he tried to push the gruesome images out of his mind, they continued to worm their way back in, fueled by how tame Allegra, Claude, and Allan’s reactions had been towards Marinette’s incredible risk of self. The girl almost died multiple times over the course of a single hour, and the only thing those idiots did was hug her and tell her that her actions were justified. Who cares if they were justified! Justification does not equate to rationality, and doing something for a good cause doesn’t always mean that it’s the right- or wise! -thing to do. 

Normally, he could brush it off and ignore it. The experience had been daunting, of course, but he could accept it knowing that Marinette had learned her lesson, realized how stupid her decision was, and vowed not to do it again. The problem came with the little fact that Marinette hadn’t learned her lesson. Oh, she’d apologized and admitted that her actions weren’t properly thought through, but it was clear that she didn’t intend on waiting for the heroes any time soon. He couldn’t quite explain how he knew- maybe it was how calm she looked when she returned, as though everything had been in her control the entire time, or how she only smiled when he asked her not to do it again instead of fervently agreeing to his request -but he knew. Her entire demeanor gave way to her belief that her sacrifice had been both necessary and acceptable, and it disturbed him to think of how far she might be willing to go under that belief. What if she challenged another akuma that wasn’t nearly as polite or rational?  What if she was alone next time this happened and didn’t have Allegra or Claude or himself to help her when things inevitably got out of hand? Why was she so willing to throw away her own life without a second thought?

“Felix?”

Felix flinched, his eyes snapping upwards. His mother stood next to the couch with a frown, which was odd. He hadn’t heard any footsteps approaching. How long had she been standing there?

Bridgette shot him a concerned look as she sat down next to him. “Are you alright, sweetheart? You’ve been on that same page for half an hour now.”

It’s been longer than that. He thought to himself, plucking up his pencil and closing his textbook. There was no point in leaving it open if he wasn’t going to read it. 

“It’s nothing.” He muttered. “History homework just tends to be monotonous after a while.”

Bridgette narrowed her eyes at him, though her tone remained gentle as she said, “Oh, come now. You don’t expect me to believe that. We both know that you would sit and read every history book available if you had the time. What’s wrong?”

A small, bittersweet smile tugged at the corner of his lips. She could always read him well. Too well at times. 

“Is it about the akuma attack?”

Felix felt himself stiffen, and he silently chided himself for it. That would be all she needed from him to know the answer. 

It’s not that he wanted to hide his distress from her. He was simply unsure of whether he wanted to talk about it or not. The threat was over now, meaning all of this worrying was somewhat unreasonable, and Felix didn’t want to express irrational thoughts to his mother only for them to fade away by morning. It would just make this a bigger problem than it probably was.

Then again, watching your classmate casually wave off their jumping headfirst into an akuma and almost dying was a decently sized problem.

Bridgette lightly touched his shoulder. “Felix, honey, if it’s bothering you, then you need to talk about it. You can’t let things like this weigh on your mind unattended. It doesn’t have to be with me, but communicate with someone, please.”

The amount of earnestness in her voice caused him to avert his gaze, and he began tapping his finger on the arm of the couch. Her wording could almost be considered amusing, as he had no one else to talk to aside from her and Father. Allegra, Claude, and Allan clearly didn’t care as much about the subject as he did- not to mention, he’d rather spend his days putting up ad posters for Adrien Agreste than confide in them about anything personal -and Marinette was the cause of the problem. Besides hovering around those four, Felix was a common shut-in who proudly (and happily) hid himself away in the penthouse with his books and, on pleasant occasions, Mother’s tea.

Nevertheless, he knew that Bridgette was right. He needed to get these tangled ponderings off of his chest, but to do that, he’d have to unravel them first. Where should he start? The attack seemed as though it had happened within five minutes, yet it also seemed to drag on for hours. Time is a shaky illusion when your entire body is buzzing with adrenaline.

“I just don’t understand,” He said slowly, beginning with the thoughts at the forefront of his mind, “how they can all act like nothing happened. Marinette risked her life for no reason, and they all want to treat it as though it’s an everyday occurrence.”

“Who risked their life?”

Felix and Bridgette turned towards the stairs, where Felix’s father was now standing. The man’s eyebrows knitted together as he continued his descent, similar to how Bridgette’s expression had been a moment earlier, and in a few, long strides, he was standing in front of them. 

“Oh, Francis.” Bridgette greeted with a smile. “I thought you were still working.”

“I was,” Francis replied, leaning down to give her a light peck on the lips, “but I came down to get a drink. What’s all this about someone risking their life?”

“Apparently, Marinette did during the akuma attack today.”

A disapproving hum came from him as he settled on the couch next to Bridgette. “Isn’t that the girl from school that he’s always talking about?”

Felix bristled. “I don’t always talk about her.”

A soft chuckle fell from his mother’s lips. “You do talk about her more often than anyone else, though.”

“Can we get back to the point?”

“Of course.” Francis said, lazily wrapping an arm around his wife. She leaned back against him naturally. “Start from the beginning. How did you get caught up in this akuma business in the first place?” 

Felix sighed, letting his irritation quiet down before thinking back on the attack. Where were they when it happened again?

“I believe we were exiting the café.” He said. “Claude was telling some story as we walked to our cars, so we didn’t notice the akuma flying towards us until she was landing in this gust of wind that knocked us over.”

A ghost pain trailed up his back at the memory of skidding across the pavement. He didn’t get a chance to see it during the battle, but the prickling sting of the injury told him that his shoulders and back had been scraped up immensely, especially during the second blast. If the miraculous cure hadn’t healed him, he probably wouldn’t hadn’t been able to sit up straight now. 

“As you can imagine, we were all terrified, since we’d never seen anything like this in person before, but Marinette wasn’t. She grabbed all of us and helped us hide behind a fence within the first few seconds of falling. It was like she hadn’t been phased by it at all.”

“Perhaps she’s simply more level-headed during a crisis.” His father suggested.

“I’d assume so,” Felix replied, “but it’s strange considering she’s usually someone who would jump at their own shadow.”

“True, but people with anxiety can still flourish in a stressful environment.” Bridgette remarked.

Felix tilted his head in a nod. He supposed that was true.

“The akuma said she wasn’t going to hurt anyone, only the buildings to get the heroes’ attention.” He continued. “But Marinette didn’t like the thought of that, saying the people in the buildings might get hurt or killed. So she decided to counter the claim by running out to the akuma to lure them away.”

“That’s very noble of her.” Francis commented.

Felix tisked. How many times has he heard that now? 

“Noble and stupid. She was a powerless bystander running straight into danger. Am I the only one who sees a problem with that?”

“Sometimes you have to try to do what’s right even though you might not be able to succeed,” Bridgette said softly, “but I can understand why you would be distraught about her actions. You didn’t want to see her get hurt, and that’s not a bad thing. It proves you care.”

Felix’s gaze flicked to the ground. Admitting his recent attachment to Marinette hadn’t sounded irksome before. She was a kind and compassionate person who hadn’t failed yet in giving him a sense of satisfaction after each of their conversations. Anyone with half a brain would gravitate towards her presence. After everything that’s happened today, however, a part of him was starting to resent that sentiment. Why did he have to care for the one person who would openly throw themselves to the wolves without prompting?

“What happened next?” His mother prompted, tugging him from his thoughts.

Felix drew in a breath and continued again. “She told the akuma that she could lead them to the bigger, corporate buildings, since that was apparently what they wanted. I didn’t understand it at the time, because wouldn’t that bring more death? But looking back on it now, it was probably a ploy to stall time. I doubt she actually intended on leading the akuma anywhere.”

It was quick thinking, considering they’d all gotten attacked seconds earlier, but it hadn’t been quick enough to account for the consequences. 

“The akuma accepted the offer and used more wind to carry Marinette into the air with them.” Felix paused, Allegra’s horrified cry resurfacing in his mind. “It was.. nerve wracking. We didn’t know what was going to happen or what the akuma was going to do to her later on.”

Bridgette reached forward and rubbed his upper arm, giving her silent support, and Felix leaned into her touch as thanks.

“I ran after them. I’m not really sure how, but I did.” He said, gazing absently towards the windows again. His reflection stared back at him, along with the glittering stars and illuminated city behind it. How many alleyways did he run through? Five? Seven? He knew he couldn’t see the cafe by the time he stopped, nor could he hear Allegra and the others calling. 

“I followed them for a few blocks,” He resumed, deeming the exact number of alleyways unimportant. It was what came next that shook him to his core. “I thought I had lost them at one point, but then I caught a glimpse of Marinette in the air again. She looked like she was talking with the akuma again, but I couldn’t hear what was being said. Then..”

Felix briefly closed his eyes, once again trying to push the image of Marinette’s flailing body out of his mind. 

It didn’t work.

“..Then she fell.” His voice was quieter than he expected, but he kept going anyway. “I’m not sure what happened. All I saw was this silver pole that came out of nowhere and hit the akuma, and suddenly, Marinette was falling from the sky and screaming.”

And screaming and screaming and screaming and screaming. He had to stand there and watch her fall, knowing full well that he couldn’t do a thing to save her. The feeling of helplessness that overtook him in that moment had been overbearing. 

A classmate passing away was not something he hadn’t experienced before- accidents happened every year, and sometimes, those accidents involved Rosemary students- but he’d never witnessed their deaths personally. It was something you heard about over the morning announcements or from your teacher at the beginning of class, not something you stood there and watched in a daze, and he’d certainly never lost someone that he-- someone that was so-

“I heard later that Chat Noir saved her mid-air.” He added, if only to help his parents’ nerves. The anxiety crawling across their expressions was evident. “I wasn’t aware of that until after I went to look for her, though.”

Until after he scoured the dismantled streets and ever-increasing debris for signs of her. Until after he lifted boulder upon boulder by adrenaline alone and being torn about whether he’d want to see her under one or not. Until after he called her name till his voice was hoarse and searched relentlessly for some kind of clue, like a shoe or a purse or even blood.

Gosh, he looked for blood! Felix was out there, in the middle of a terrorist attack, looking for the lifeless corpse or the splattered blood of his classmate, and everyone wanted to act like that was fine simply because she came back alright. How could any of them be considered alright after that?

“She could have died.” He stated for the millionth time it felt like. She probably will die if she keeps doing this. “But no one seems to care. They all brush it off because she’s safe now, instead of worrying about the fact that she purposely decided not to be safe beforehand.”

Bridgette let out a breath and pulled Felix into a hug.

“I’m so sorry that you had to endure that.” She whispered, her voice full of emotion. It reminded him of Marinette’s apology back at the cafe. The way she carefully held his hand, the warmth of her palm against his- it told him, in that moment, that she truly was there and that she truly was safe again. That confirmation had admittedly been one of the things to keep him from unraveling towards the end of the fight. 

Felix felt the slender fingers of his father ruffle through his hair. “You went through something that no one should have to go through, but you also made it out alive. And so did everyone else. Remember that.”

Bridgette’s cheek brushed against Felix’s forehead as she nodded. “I know it’s scary, and you have a right to acknowledge it in your own way, but don’t let yourself get carried away with the ‘what if’s and ‘what should have been’s'. You’ll never be satisfied with them.”

Felix heaved a heavy sigh and allowed his eyes to drift shut. After a full day of almost dying, almost watching someone else die, and worrying about both of those subjects for hours on end, he was officially exhausted. Felix couldn’t remember the last time he’d put so much energy into a single event.

Maybe it was best to just let it go..

~~~~~~

By the time Marinette arrived home from Rosemary, her parents were beside themselves with worry. Apparently, they saw her on the news while they were working and spent the last hour and a half trying to reach her. Marinette had been either running around as Ladybug or talking with Allegra on the phone so she hadn’t noticed her phone ringing.

They doted on her and hovered around her for a good twenty minutes, with Marinette insisting that she was fine and apologizing the entire time.

“Chat Noir saved me before I could really get hurt.” She assured, plastering on a bright smile. “And the miraculous cure healed any scratches that I might have gotten. See?-” she held her arms up and did a small twirl “-I really am fine. But I’ll try to keep my ringtone on from now on.”

Her parents’ worried looks didn’t change.

“We were hoping that transferring schools would keep you away from akumas.” Her papa lamented. “How do you keep getting caught up in these fights?”

“I don’t know, Papa.” She replied honestly. Maybe some of her partner’s bad luck had rubbed off on her. “I was hoping I wouldn’t run into any more akumas too.”

Sabine sighed and gently rubbed her daughters back. “Well, as long as you’re alright.. Would you like to see the package that came for you?”

Marinette furrowed her eyebrows, confused. “A package? For me?”

Tom nodded, a small smile returning to his features. “From a Mr. Claude Herolds. We put it upstairs in the living room.”

“Tried to.” Sabine corrected under her breath.

Marinette tilted her head slightly. A package from Claude? But what could he be giving her that he couldn’t give in perso-

“My fabrics!” She gasped, immediately shooting for the stairs. Her parents chuckled behind her, but she hardly heard them in her excitement. The fabrics finally came! How many were there going to be? What kind of fabrics? He hadn’t really specified when he talked about buying them, though she gave him as detailed of a list as she could. Oh, please, be the good ones-

Marinette threw the front door to their apartment open, coming to a dead stop as soon as she entered. The mere sight of their living room had her jaw dropping to the floor. 

Claude had indeed sent her a package of fabrics, but her parents happened to leave out exactly how much fabric he had sent. There were rolls upon rolls lining the couch and the floor, hiding in the corners of the room, sitting on the coffee table and the dining room table- it was too much to count. She was quite certain that she couldn’t see the floor!

Just- Just fabrics.

Fabrics everywhere.

Marinette turned to her parents, who had since caught up to her. They shared eager smiles as they waited for her reaction, and she quickly found herself smiling as well. In fact, she found herself down right laughing at the ridiculousness of it all. Who needs this much fabric for three suits? How did Maman and Papa manage to bring it up in the first place? What did the deliverer think as he loaded this up into his truck to take to one person? How was she going to fit it all into her room?

Nevertheless, despite the insanity of the situation, she couldn’t help being ecstatic. This was more fabric than she could have ever dreamed of having, and it was all of the highest quality. So, with the help of her parents and her steely resolve, Marinette got to work on carrying the “package” up to her room in the attic. 

It took a while, as one would expect. They had to stop several times for Marinette to rearrange her room simply so she wouldn’t be completely swimming in fabric by the time they got everything up there. They also had to make sure she could reach her trapdoor to get out of her room, her stairs to get to her bed, and her desk to work with the fabrics in general. This resulted in her creating a sort of obstacle course with the few solid things in her room that she could stand on without the fear of breaking something. 

“I can’t even believe it, Tikki.” She said to her kwami once her parents went back down to the bakery. “Look at all of this! How am I even going to use it all? This is crazy!”

Despite her words of disbelief, she had the widest grin on her face, so wide that it was starting to hurt. Claude had told her that once she was done with his suit, she could keep any of the leftover supplies, since he supposedly had no use for it. She assumed it was his own little way of paying for the outfit, even though she’d told him that she would make it for free. 

Tikki zipped around the room, giggling as she inspected the different types of fabric. “You could make him ten different suits with all of this!”

Marinette laughed. “Tikki, I could probably make him thirty five different suits and still have some leftover.” 

She walked over to the piles of fabric in front of her and plucked up the first one that caught her eye. It was a deep blue silk that sheened under her bedroom lights, and she smiled at the mesmerizing display. Marinette had used silk before, but nothing like this. This was the type of silk that she imagined royalty to have, something smooth and soft and slick as butter. It was incredible, and she couldn’t wait to start working with it.

Marinette picked out a few more fabrics, the finest of the bunch, and brought them over to her desk to compare the colors and theorize how they might look together. If Claude was going to give her the best of the best, she was certainly going to return the favor by giving him the most regal and enchanting suit she could muster. Not to mention, this was an amazing, probably once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. Fabric of this quality was something she could never get on her own without saving months and months of allowance, and that was only to buy one roll. The fact that she had piles upon piles of this fabric at her disposal now was a miracle in and of itself. She couldn’t waste a piece of it.

She rolled the blue silk out across her desk to begin measuring, but just as she pulled out her sketchbook for extra notes and other things, her phone buzzed next to her, informing her that she’d received a text.

DancingQueen: Hey guys! Mom said that February eighth would work well for the sleepover if you’re all free! I think it’d be a great way to celebrate winter break.

A soft, delighted gasp passed her lips after reading Allegra’s text on the group chat. With the whole akuma battle and receiving Claude’s fabrics, she’d completely forgotten about the sleepover that they talked about earlier.

She quickly switched the calendar app to check her schedule, and her smile widened at the sight of an empty time slot. She appeared to be free that day.

Marinette found herself beginning to wiggle with joy on her rolling chair as she switched back to the messaging app. This was going to be her first sleepover with her new friends! It would also be the first time going to one of their houses! What was Allegra’s house going to look like? Would it be a mansion like Gabriel Agreste’s? She hoped it didn’t have high walls. 

Another text drew her thoughts back to her phone, where a message from Claude had just appeared.

TheBetterShakespeare: works for me! What time are we gonna come over?

DancingQueen: I was thinking right after school like usual

TrebleChild: Sounds good to me :)

Marinette perked up when Allan joined the conversation. That meant most of them were going to be there! All they needed now was Felix.

She began typing.

Our-Cinnamon-Roll: February eighth works great for me too! I’ll probably stop by the house for my clothes and stuff first though lol

DancingQueen: Of course! I can send a car by to pick you up if you want?

TheBetterShakespeare: Woohoo! Mari’s coming! All we need now is Felix

Our-Cinnamon-Roll: Oh, you don’t have to! I don’t mind walking

DancingQueen: Are you sure? The walking distance is pretty far, and I totally don’t mind sending a car! (no pressure though. If you wanna walk that’s also fine!)

Marinette pulled her lip between her teeth in thought. Whatever the walking distance, she could probably just swing over as Ladybug within a few minutes. That way, she didn’t have to bother Allegra. If she got there too fast as Marinette, though, they might be suspicious.. Well, not suspicious, but curious because getting there faster than her legs could possibly carry her would be odd.

Ugh, just take the car. She told herself. It’ll be easier than carrying your luggage around while swinging through the air anyway.

TrebleChild: You think Felix is going to respond on here?

Marinette glanced down at Allan’s text and frowned. That was a good question. 

After the akuma, Felix seemed to shut down. He hardly uttered a word to anyone, even after they were sent home early from school. She supposed he tended to be quiet in the first place, but it just felt different. It was as though he were in some trance, lost in the distant corners of his mind. He wouldn’t even talk to her all that much. Not that she was someone special to him or anything. They just.. They normally exchanged more comments to each other than they did on the way out of the school. Either way, she’d be surprised if he actually texted them back that night.

TheBetterShakespeare: Oh he’s going to have to respond when I’m done

Claude’s reply caused Marinette to suck in a breath and cringe. Oh, what was he going to do to poor Felix now?

Allan and Allegra appeared to have the same thought, as they quickly texted back.

DancingQueen: Oh dear

Marshmallow Man: Uh oh

Our-Cinnamon-Roll: Claude, maybe you shouldn’t bother Felix. He already doesn’t like the group

TheBetterShakespeare: LET’S

TheBetterShakespeare: FLUSH

TheBetterShakespeare: HIM

TheBetterShakespeare: OUT

DancingQueen: Claude, please-

TheBetterShakespeare: I’M

TheBetterShakespeare: NOT

TheBetterShakespeare: STOPPING

Marshmallow Man: Dude

TheBetterShakespeare: UNTIL

TheBetterShakespeare: FELIX

TheBetterShakespeare: DECIDES

TheBetterShakespeare: TO

TheBetterShakespeare: SHOW

Rolling-Eye-Emoji: What do you want?!

TheBetterShakespeare: HIMSELF

TheBetterShakespeare: Oh hey Felix!

Although she felt extremely bad for the blond, Marinette had to purse her lips to avoid laughing. She could practically hear the growl in his voice, and the image of Felix’s signature glare flashed through her mind. He had to be so annoyed right now.

TrebleChild: I’m surprised you didn’t just delete the app again

Rolling-Eye-Emoji:You know, that’s a marvelous idea.

The BetterShakespeare: NOOOOO ALLAN SHUT UP

DancingQueen: lol we were wondering if you were free February eighth, Felix.

Rolling-Eye-Emoji: Free for what?

TheBetterShakespeare: Can’t you just tell us if ur free or not?

TrebleChild: for the sleepover at Allegra’s house

Rolling-Eye-Emoji: We’re still doing that?

TheBetterShakespeare: Absolutely!

Our-Cinnamon-Roll: If you’re up for it!

TheBetterShakespeare: Mari that statement was way too nice for Felix

TheBetterShakespeare: You gotta drag him kicking and screaming or he’ll never do anything!

Rolling-Eye-Emoji: Why don’t you take a guess as to why?

TheBetterShakespeare: because you don’t know how to have fun and it’s our job to teach you

TrebleChild: Claude, you’re never going to get him to the sleepover that way

Rolling-Eye-Emoji: Claude, you couldn’t teach a cat how to climb a tree, and I know how to have fun just fine.

Marinette snorted towards Felix’s reply. She often wondered how he managed to perfect his sarcasm and cutting remarks to a fault. Did he read a book on it somehow or was it just practice?

TheBetterShakespeare: RUDE

DancingQueen: lol Felix, are you free on the eighth or not?

Rolling-Eye-Emoji: ..I’d have to check my schedule.

TheBetterShakespeare: Don’t laugh at him Allegra!

DancingQueen: Hey, if it’s funny it’s funny lol

DancingQueen: Do that please, Felix

TheBetterShakespeare: Betrayal!! I can’t believe I was naive enough to trust you!

DancingQueen: Oh whatever. It’s not like you haven’t laugh at me before

Marinette chuckled as she continued to set up the silk fabric. She almost worried about using her sewing machine for it in case it ripped, but hand sewing it wasn’t an option either. That would take way too long, and she wanted to finish this for Claude as soon as possible. (without cutting corners of course)

“Oh!” She gasped, straightening in her chair. She hadn’t told Claude about the fabrics arriving yet! He’d probably want to know that.

Our-Cinnamon-Roll: Hey Claude, I almost forgot to tell you but your fabric arrived today!

TheBetterShakespeare: Really?!

Marinette smiled and stood up from her rolling chair to take a picture of the room. She then sent the picture to the group with an added message:

Our-Cinnamon-Roll: I could barely fit it all in my room!

The responses were immediate.

TrebleChild: WOAH

DancingQueen: CLAUDE

TrebleChild: you sent that much?!

TheBetterShakespeare: …

TheBetterShakespeare: I may have gotten carry away

Marinette giggled and shook her head.

Our-Cinnamon-Roll: PLEASE feel free to get carried away anytime you like, I’ve literally never been happier

DancingQueen: lol

TrebleChild: lol

TheBetterShakespeare: Will do! 😉

Marinette smiled and set her phone down again, before rolling her chair over to the other fabrics to pick another one out. Her phone buzzed as she rolled back, notifying her of the new additions to the group chat. 

Rolling-Eye-Emoji: Mother said that the eighth of February would work fine.

Marinette let out a squeal. They were all going! This was going to be the best sleepover ever!

TheBetterShakespeare: Aw yisss group sleepover!!

TrebleChild : awesome, so we’re meeting right after school?

DancingQueen: Yep! Except for Mari who needs to go get her clothes. Did you want me to send you a car Mari?

Our-Cinnamon-Roll: If you don’t mind :)

DancingQueen: Nope! I’ll make sure to tell you when it’s on its way.

Our-Cinnamon-Roll: Thanks 😁

DancingQueen: Of course! See you guys at school tomorrow!

TheBetterShakespeare: See you Al!

TrebleChild: Bye A

Our-Cinnamon-Roll: See you tomorrow!

Marinette set her phone down and let out another squeal of excitement as she kicked her legs back and forth. 

Her first group sleepover with everyone!

How do you make time go faster?

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[robininthelabyrinth]

Delight in Misery (ao3) - part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5

- Chapter 6 - 

It was strange, Lan Wangji reflected, to be in public again after so long an absence. Stranger still to be addressed by strangers, to be called the Second Jade of Lan, or Lan-er-gongzi –

He wished that they would use his personal title instead. It might reduce the awkwardness.

Though, he reflected, it was likely that nothing would really reduce the awkwardness inherent in the situation, for all its old nostalgic familiarity: his brother walking in the lead, he and his uncle one step behind him, the representatives of the Lan sect in all their glory, beauty, and righteousness.

Looking at their tranquil expressions and sedate pace, one would never know that Lan Qiren was still furiously angry at Lan Wangji for his decision to abandon his sect and family, now made several times over; that Lan Wangji had been shockingly disrespectful by Lan standards in his response; that Lan Xichen had ordered that neither of them were permitted to speak until they could behave civilly (he’d used the term “like human beings”) once again.

It had been a very quiet journey to Koi Tower.

Luckily, even once they arrived, their customary reserve meant that no one noticed the tensions between them – not even the normally astute Lianfeng-zun, who greeted them at the door, much less his father and brother, and certainly not Chifeng-zun, who was listening to another sect leader speak with the stiff and stern expression that, after several years of keeping company with Jiang Cheng, Lan Wangji now recognized as please stop talking to me.  

(Lan Wangji briefly considered that he ought to suggest that Jiang Cheng spend more time with Chifeng-zun. They shared a history as young men who assumed control over their sects too soon as a result of the same enemy, and he knew Jiang Cheng highly esteemed Chifeng-zun – but then he rejected the idea as unnecessary and likely full of potential political pitfalls, especially given the Jiang sect’s role in the Jin sect’s current one-sided rivalry with the Nie sect.

As the Second Jade of Lan, he didn’t need to worry about political concerns, or at least not those beyond the basic premise of ‘don’t lose face for the sect’. His uncle and brother handled everything of that nature, just as they always had, holding up the sky for him and allowing him to focus on cultivation and his own interests, only he had been Jiang Cheng’s secret sounding board for too long now to fail to think of the potential problems anyway.

He found to his surprise that he missed it.)

Jiang Cheng would have noticed the tension, but he had yet to arrive – they had agreed that it would make everything easier if he would arrive to the gathering a little late, minimizing the amount of chatter they would need to endure about the two of them before the formal events began.

This would be Lan Wangji’s first discussion conference after having “left seclusion”, as people were calling it – his uncle with notably more sarcasm than usual – and the first test of his new public relationship with Jiang Cheng. They’d settled the public fight aspect with some degree of enjoyment, having a spar that extended throughout the rooftops and alleyways of the Lotus Pier, matching Bichen again Sandu and Wangji against Zidian, and the rumors had run wild ever since then. Finally, Jin Guangyao had intervened in his father’s name to “force” the compromise they’d all agreed upon: that Lan Sizhui would fall under Lan Wangji’s personal supervision, as was his right as the (assumed) father, but that he would remain at the Lotus Pier for most of the year to avoid a sudden and traumatic readjustment.

That this coincidentally would result in Lan Wangji spending most of his time at the Lotus Pier had largely passed unnoticed. Most people were far, far too busy gossiping about Lan Wangji’s mysterious Jiang sect wife, each one adding new salacious details atop the other. Some of the nonsense he’d heard…!

At least, he comforted himself, none of them would be rude enough to actually ask him about it directly.

“Lan-er-gongzi!” a voice called, and Lan Wangji would have stiffened if his back hadn’t already been straighter than a board. His uncle coughed and stroked his beard to conceal his expression of amusement – he probably thought that having to deal with Nie Huaisang, inveterate gossip and useless person extraordinaire, was exactly what Lan Wangji deserved.

He was probably right, too. Lan Wangji had brought this on his own head.

“Nie-gongzi,” he said, very reluctantly, as the Second Young Master of Qinghe Nie showed up with a feckless smile, promptly clutching at his arm and insisting that they go catch up and indulge in nostalgia about their shared school days.

Which ones, Lan Wangji wasn’t sure – Nie Huaisang had attended his uncle’s classes three times over before passing, and whether or not that final pass had been fairly earned or whether his uncle had simply yielded to his desire never to see Nie Huaisang’s face in his classroom ever again, Lan Wangji remained unsure.

Still, it suited him not to be forced to make nice with all those sect leaders pretending that they weren’t gawking at him, and so he permitted Nie Huaisang to drag him off to some unoccupied garden he had somehow managed to uncover, the other man chattering in his ear like a magpie the entire time.

“ – supposed I really should call you Hanguang-jun now, but that just seems so formal, though at least I remember it. I barely remember anyone’s title. Though now that my big brother’s sworn brotherhood with your big brother, I could probably just get away with calling you Wangji-gege –”

“No.”

“You’re so mean!” Nie Huaisang wailed. “Aren’t we old friends?”

“No.”

“Well, we’re close enough to count, anyway,” Nie Huaisang said. “Jiang Cheng’s my friend as well, you know; you can’t keep him to yourself just because you’re angry at your family! That’s just selfish. Aren’t there Lan sect rules against being selfish? I assume so, though I admit I’ve forgotten more of them than I’ve learned…don’t tell your uncle that, I’m afraid he’ll revoke my sympathy pass.”

Lan Wangji reflected briefly that it was good that Nie Huaisang was self-aware enough to recognize that the pass mark had likely been given out of sympathy rather than for merit, but then returned to the more critical point of what Nie Huaisang had said.

“Why do you think I’m angry at my family?” he asked. And what was that about Jiang Cheng?

It was critical that Sect Leader Jin, among others, not suspect that Lan Wangji and Jiang Cheng shared a closer relationship than apparent – even Jin Guangyao had agreed with that – and if they had been sussed out so quickly, and by Nie Huaisang…

Nie Huaisang rolled his eyes at him. “You may be an unreadable stone wall, my – er, acquaintance, but do you really think I can’t tell when your uncle is upset? Me, of all people?”

This was a good point.

“And if your uncle’s upset at you, again, of all people, and you haven’t apologized or made up to him yet, that means you’re the one that’s angry,” Nie Huaisang concluded. “And anyway, why else would you agree to stay for so long at the Lotus Pier if you weren’t angry? You and Jiang Cheng must drive each other up the walls.”

Lan Wangji relaxed minutely. That was a reasonable explanation.

A moment later, he tensed up again – he was abruptly convinced, albeit without any logical basis, that the explanation was too reasonable, meant to put him at ease, designed to allow him to move on with the conversation without thinking too much or questioning too deeply. No one else had put the facts together the way Nie Huaisang had, and, most notably, Nie Huaisang hadn’t yet asked a single question about Lan Sizhui, who was, without making an appearance, the main subject matter of the day.

But then, a moment after that, he relaxed again, somewhat unwillingly – this was Nie Huaisang, who’d been born useless, grown up useless, and remained useless. It was a little absurd to suspect him of having figured out something that had duped the entire rest of the cultivation world.  

As Nie Huaisang said – of all people…

“What do you want?” he asked, shaking his head a little to try to clear it. It must be the oppressive atmosphere of Koi Tower, gilded and rotten, that was affecting his thoughts.

“What do I always want?” Nie Huaisang asked philosophically, and then helpfully answered his own question: “Attention.”

Lan Wangji was starting to remember why he’d avoided Nie Huaisang so thoroughly in their youth.

“I’m not telling you anything about Sizhui,” he said.

Nie Huaisang pouted at him. He was still clinging to Lan Wangji’s arm, and Lan Wangji wondered whether it would count as ‘losing the sect face’ if he threw him out a window.

(He wished Jiang Cheng were around so that he could mention the thought to him - he suspected it would make the other man turn purple with suppressed laughter, and probably get some sort of comment about it being the only sort of flying Nie Huaisang could manage, with or without a blade.)

“Fine,” Nie Huaisang said sulkily. “Turns out you’re still no fun, even after all these years. I’ll have you know, Jiang Cheng’s a lot nicer than you. He appreciates all the things I bring to the table.”

Lan Wangji seriously doubted it – unless perhaps if Nie Huaisang was speaking literally, referring to fine foods and liquor – but his mood improved a bit nonetheless at the compliment. Given the Jiang sect’s relatively isolated political position, with all the smaller sects looking at it hungrily, just waiting for it to trip up and give them a chance to snatch away the title of being the fourth Great Sect, it was only good that the second young master of Qinghe Nie had a positive impression of the ever-prickly Jiang Cheng.

“Oh, that reminds me,” Nie Huaisang said, and dug something out of his sleeve. “Give this back to er-ge for me, will you?”

Lan Wangji stared blankly. “His passage token for Koi Tower?”

He had planned to ask his brother later if he could borrow it – perhaps not that night, since it was the first day of the discussion conference and he suspected his brother would want to visit with his sworn brothers, but in the next day or two. That was the only reason he had agreed to go to Koi Tower at all, agreed to visit Lanling at all: so that he might try to steal away at some opportune moment to visit Mo Xuanyu unattended, before anyone noticed where he’d gone, and talk to him about the request for safe harbor that he had made of Jiang Cheng.

Lan Wangji had still been thinking over how he would phrase the request for the token without giving away his suspicions of the boy’s mistreatment, which his brother would likely take as a slight against Jin Guangyao even though it was fairly obvious to everyone that Sect Leader Jin was keeping Mo Xuanyu as a weapon against Jin Guangyao. He hadn’t yet managed to think of a way to do it.

And now – how had the token ended up here, in Nie Huaisang’s hands?

“Well, yes,” Nie Huaisang said. “I wanted to talk to you privately, without everyone eavesdropping, so I asked him for it. Da-ge never lets me use his, he says I’m a menace to both people and property, and for some reason san-ge never lets me take his. Probably because he’s always so busy all the time.”

That sounded – very much like all three of them, in fact. Nie Mingjue, bluntly refusing; Jin Guangyao, politely eliding; his brother, yielding in utter capitulation to the first bit of begging, confident enough in his own righteous reputation to not worry about the consequences…

An idea appeared in Lan Wangji’s mind.

It was not the sort of idea that might naturally come to a member of the Lan sect. Perhaps his uncle was right in saying that he’d been lingering at the Lotus Pier for too long.

“Nie-gongzi,” Lan Wangji said, looking at the token. “You are right.”

“I…what?” Nie Huaisang frowned. “Are you getting sick, Lan-er-gongzi? I’m never right.”

“I am angry at my family,” Lan Wangji continued, deciding to ignore him. He did not specify why he was angry – let Nie Huaisang assume, as everyone else assumed, that it was because they had not retrieved Lan Sizhui earlier, and for sticking him with the ‘compromise’ of having to stay at the Lotus Pier, no matter how far that was from the truth. “I have not had the opportunity to vent my feelings.”

Nie Huaisang blinked at him. “You…vent feelings?” he said, sounding doubtful, but a moment later he brightened, as Lan Wangji had expected he would. “We could play a prank on somebody! That always makes me feel better – something petty and ridiculous, so that they won’t get really angry, but still know that you’re upset.”

Lan Wangji nodded.

Nie Huaisang appeared somewhat dazed by his agreement. “We could do so many things,” he marveled. “I mean, the possibilities are countless. We could throw paint at something, we could put water on top of a door, we could…”

“I do not want to be publicly associated with it,” Lan Wangji said.

Nie Huaisang pouted, but tapped his fan against his cheek, thinking. “That makes things harder, but not impossible, I suppose…oh, I know! Why don’t we pretend that you’re your brother? You two look like peas in a pod, but for the color of your eyes and your expressions – if I’m hanging around and calling you er-ge and no one looks too closely, they would have no idea it was you involved.”

That was precisely the idea Lan Wangji had hit upon, and the one that he had hoped to lead Nie Huaisang towards suggesting. He had gotten to the point much quicker than Lan Wangji had thought he would; it seemed, useless as he might be, Nie Huaisang was still apparently capable of accepting at least some guidance.

(Unless perhaps...but no. It was Nie Huaisang.)

“This evening?” he suggested, and Nie Huaisang nodded.

“That’ll give me time to think of a proper prank,” he said happily. It was as if he’d never encountered a care in his life, Sunshot Campaign or no. “Don’t you worry, Wangji-gege! Leave it all to me!”

Lan Wangji returned to the main hall, the token tucked into his sleeve, and said nothing when his older brother smiled at him, faintly apologetic, nor when his uncle turned his face away from him. By that point, Jiang Cheng had arrived, scowling as usual, and he was mingling, speaking with the smaller sect leaders with a stiff and stern expression that said please don’t talk to me – Lan Wangji really would have to see about convincing him to invite Chifeng-zun to the Lotus Pier, politics or no politics – and he and Lan Wangji stared at each other briefly before turning away from each other, whispers sprouting up around them like grass.

Why must we put up with people? Jiang Cheng’s expression eloquently conveyed, and Lan Wangji didn’t disagree in the slightest. Life was so much easier in his little room back at the Lotus Pier, where he could shut the door and not let in the world – sometimes he wondered if all of this was really worth it.

Later that evening, he was reminded that it was.

Mo Xuanyu had been invited to the opening ceremonies, sitting in the main row with the important people of the Jin sect – directly beside Jin Guangyao, as if everyone didn’t know his purpose already – but he hadn’t spoken at all, keeping his face down and demeanor as withdrawn as possible. Sect Leader Jin had found an opportunity to praise him for his humility and obedience, and even Lan Wangji, who did not like Jin Guangyao, was indignant on the man’s behalf in the face of such obvious humiliation.

Etiquette dictated that no one could intervene in another man’s family affairs, but Chifeng-zun had rather loudly remarked to Lan Xichen – as if only just remembering – that it must be good to have his brother (subtext: notable for being humble and obedient) out of seclusion at last, inquiring as to whether Lan Wangji was planning on attending any night-hunts in the near future and, if so, whether he would be bringing his son, for whom he cared so deeply, along.

Lan Wangji was accustomed to being the other person’s child, held up as a positive comparison to the annoyance of the person being compared, and it took Jiang Cheng’s eyes crinkling with barely concealed laughter for him to realize that the person he was being compared favorably against this time was Jin Guangshan, absent father extraordinaire, and not poor Mo Xuanyu.

Later, when his brother slipped away to meet with his sworn brothers, as Lan Wangji expected, and Jiang Cheng was gone reluctantly to take Jin Ling to visit with his grandfather, Lan Wangji headed out with Nie Huaisang, who had come up with some prank involving feathers and glue that Lan Wangji wanted nothing to do with.

“But it would be funny,” Nie Huaisang argued.

Lan Wangji blamed Jiang Cheng for the fact that he even considered it.

“We can simply walk around in the guise we agreed,” he finally said, banishing that unhelpful part of him that loved chaos a little too much – the Wei Wuxian part, perhaps. “That will be confusing enough.”

“Oh, all right,” Nie Huaisang said. “But the feathers are hidden in the linen closet off the main guest hallway if you change your mind.”

With Nie Huaisang complaisant, it was easy enough to gradually make their way through Koi Tower, seeming to stroll without any apparent goal but in fact edging closer to Lan Wangji’s destination: the Jin family quarters.

“Wangji-gege – oops, I mean, er-ge,” Nie Huaisang said after he had exhausted at least three other pointless topics. “Why don’t you trust me?”

Lan Wangji looked at him, surprised by the question.

Nie Huaisang was pouting. “You clearly have a goal,” he said. “I know I’m not much, you know, but I’m not nothing. I could still help. If you wanted.”

Lan Wangji opened his mouth to refuse on instinct – the idea that Nie Huaisang could be helpful to him in any way seemed utterly absurd, utterly impossible – but then he paused.

Attempt the impossible, he reminded himself. After all, was it really so long ago that he himself had done what he had never dreamt he could do and chosen to leave his sect behind?

For a life at the Lotus Pier with Jiang Cheng, no less?

Maybe even Nie Huaisang could overturn expectations.

“I want to speak with Mo Xuanyu,” he finally said. “And, if he is unhappy, remove him from Koi Tower. Is that something in which you think you can assist me?”

Nie Huaisang blinked at him, just once – he did not appear nearly as surprised by the request as Lan Wangji thought he probably should be – and then smiled.