#and i... like not having to skip or remind myself of the Convention as i watch the /first/ episode. not every show has to be intellectually

[leatherbookmark]

i decided to give a k-bl series a chance -- i'm not a fan of k-dramas, and most bls i've watched were "yeah, it's nice" at best, so this is Big -- and my loves -- reader -- what did i get in return? what did the show give me in return for my enormous leap of faith? can you guess? hm?? hm???

second-hand embarrassment through the roof STRAIGHT between the eyes

[natalievoncatte]

“Careful with that! We have to assume everything here is dangerous.”

Lena would have preferred to be anywhere else. The last thing she wanted to occupy her afternoon was dealing with yet another reminder of her brother’s sprawling insanity. Every one of these weapons caches -he probably would have melodramatically called them “hideouts” or “secret bases”- was like a tombstone marking the grave of the only truly sincere, loving relationship she’d ever had in her life.

He hadn’t always been the slavering maniac with an incoherent obsession with killing a superhero. He’d been a protector and a benefactor, a chess opponent and a confidant, the only person in her life who presented an uncomplicated human connection, without any ulterior motives or conditions.

Everyone else wanted something from her. Money. Power. A competitive advantage. Technological secrets. Or just sex. Lena resented that most of all, the gray old men who saw nothing of her achievements or her intellect and regarded her as just another piece of ass with blue enough blood that they had to ask permission rather than simply grope.

Watching her crew load up the equipment in this sweltering heat made her physically ill, and she was glad she’d skipped breakfast. Kara would be upset if she knew.

She’s had to text Kara and let her know that she’d be out of the office and would have to skip their lunch plans. Kara was…

Kara was becoming a complication, because Kara was doing the one thing Lena wished she wouldn’t: She was giving Lena hope. She’d barreled into Lena’s life with an earnest intensity that had been bewildering at first and intriguing afterwards, with her insistence that they be friends, and constant reminders that they were friends, even as her eyes wandered to Lena’s cleavage or she unconsciously bit her lip and stared that smoldering stare just to look away at the last second.

Lena shook her head, clearing her thoughts of yet another Straight Best Friend taking her down that well-worn path of sapphic suffering. She had bigger fish to fry right now.

It was too bad that her relationship with Supergirl had been so chilly lately. It might have been easier to simply tip off the hero and the government agency she worked with and let them handle the clean up.

Lena was deep in reverie when one of the crates, a bulky reinforced one, dropped a good two feet from a forklift and the wood splintered as the locks burst free.

“Idiot!” Lena shouted at the driver. “This equipment is sensitive and potentially dangerous, and…”

“STARTUP SEQUENCE INITIATED.”

A metallic voice ground out of the crate and it shifted as something vast and bulky moved around inside. Lena stumbled back, glad she’d opted for a sensible set of flats for this, and turned to run.

A metallic claw crashed out of the crate, followed by an arm-mounted rotary cannon. The older model Lexosuit, one of the originals that Lex had planned to illegally smuggle out of the country in a fake theft scheme and sell to the Kasnians, stood up in its shaky, clanking way and took a few steps, shaking off planks and nylon straps the way a baby bird might shake off pieces of shell.

There was nowhere to go. The machine scanned the room, moving jerkily as it zeroed in on her.

Lex’s voice, a recording, boomed from its loudspeakers.

“Ah, dear sister, I see you’ve found another of my hidden fastnesses.”

You melodramatic-

“Oh well. I should thank you for setting off the security system. I won’t have to waste my precious time killing you myself. Au revoir, Lena!”

The suit spun its arm cannon and aimed at her. The barrels assembly made a half turn, the electric motor charging up as it cycled the first 32mm mass-reactive exploding shell into the chamber. Lex had once called it a masterpiece in the art of violating the Geneva Conventions. It was about to blow Lena inside out, and the subsequent shots reduce her to a the chunky consistency of a good bolognése.

But then there was a wind that was not a wind, and SHE was there.

Supergirl seized Lena with precision and grace, hands that could crush diamonds pressed just so over Lena’s ears to protect her from the roar of the guns. Lena wasn’t sure who screamed louder, her or Supergirl, as the revolving barrels ripped out their entire supply of ammunition in a few seconds, pummeling Supergirl’s back with explosions that could have shredded a tank, as the hero cradled Lena, sheltering her with her superhuman body.

When the hellstorm was over, the machine charged at them.

Supergirl did scream now, and fell upon the machine in a berserk rage. Lena had seen her in a fight before and knew she could be terrible to behold, but this was different. The empty suit was struck with such unending fury that she reduced it to shreds of metal and oil-spitting chunks of machinery in moments, spreading it halfway across the floor of warehouse.

When Supergirl rounded on her, Lena’s heart skipped. The hero’s chest was heaving, straining at the crest on her chest even as the bunching muscles on her arms and stomach pulled at the material, her perfect hair swirling around as she turned, that angelic face marred by a streak of oil and a sheen of sweat.

How dare she just look like that. It was incredibly unfair.

Before Lena knew it what was happening, Supergirl was lifting her into a heart-skipping bridal carry, pulling her much too close as she took off. On instinct, Lena pressed her eyes shut and buried her face in the Kryptonian’s neck, to hide from the heights.

Moments later they landed, and Supergirl threw Lena’s balcony door back and deposited her on her feet, leaving her stumbling back against her kitchen island in a daze. Supergirl stared at her, looming over Lena with the height difference increased by her stacked heels and Lena having lost her shoes at some point, so her stocking toes were left curling on the cold floor.

“That thing almost killed you,” Supergirl snapped. “If Is been a millisecond later you’d be dead.”

Her voice was tight with emotion, somewhere between anger, exasperation, and terror, and it felt like a fist closed in Lena’s chest.

“Are you sure you just weren’t there to make sure I wasn’t taking Lex’s old suit for a spin myself?” Lena spat, though her voice trembled. “You don’t seem to trust a thing I say lately. If I tell you the sky is blue you’ll go check.”

Supergirl��s face flushed and Lena braced for another booming, self righteous speech about trust or safety or the meaning of teamwork or some such heroic nonsense, but then her voice shattered into a million pieces and tears welled wet in her eyes.

“All I want is for you to be okay.”

A thousand thoughts danced in Lena’s mind. To ask her why, to defy her, to taunt her, to demand what exactly it was that made Lena so damned important that this woman was so intense about her safety one moment and so angry the next.

In the dance of all those thoughts, the more base instinct won out. Lena grabbed Supergirl by the neck of her suit, just below those delightful collarbones of hers, and used it as a handle to pull herself into a hard, aggressive kiss.

The world hung still for a moment, and Lena felt it all pivot around her. Something big was happening here. Something huge, something…

Something forgotten entirely as Supergirl’s tongue roughly claimed Lena’s mouth and her hands raked over Lena’s ass, dragging her skirt up.

Oh God, she thought, this is actually happening.

Lips pressed to her skin, the words burning hot into her flesh like an invocation.

“Is this okay?” Supergirl whispered.

“Yes,” Lena moaned, without hesitation.

To be continued…

[a-s-levynn]

I am might just be able to actually close a chapter on my life, that was haunting me for years. I am very very close to it anyway.

Long personal post, feel free to skip.

You know when something just doesn't let you go move forward? Of course you know. All of you do. It can be a plethora of things and usually not even big ones. But a constant reminder of something that is just.. not right.

Some of you might remember me talking about a decently toxic friendgroup i was in a few years back. And as much as i told myself that i slipped out, i am free of it in every sense, because they probably even forgot me completely at this point, there was this one single tether on my end.

There was this book i loaned to one of them. We were good friends back than so it was obvious. But it was a book that was very very close to my heart. You see i got it from my mom as a birthday gift as a child, at a time when we really had no money for stuff like that at all. And the book was not cheap for our standards.

After i was not with the friendgroup anymore about a year or so, i messaged said former friend, if she could drop it off at a convention to someone we both knew and they could get it to me. We would not even had to meet that way. She said no. There were further attempts to get the book back. As you can guess, after a message or two i did not even get answers. I never got the book back.

I presume it was supposed to be some sort of last kick type of thing or maybe an attempt to assert superiority. I don't know. I don't really care about the why. Especially after all this time. There is something more important that's bothering me.

You see, that is it. That book is my tether. I tried to look for an other copy, but it went out of print well over a decade ago. Ever since i was on the lookout for antiquaries if one pops up at a reasonable price. Every day i checked my mails, if there is one that is in good condition and nor severely overpriced. Because trust me, it was overpriced 97% of the time. The few that was affordable was either in bad condition or already sold when i got to the page.

But 10 minutes ago one did pop up. Now i'm eagerly waiting the moment i can pick it up because if i can have it in my hands -even if it is not the exact same copy- it will be the book. It will finally put the tail end of that entire ordeal's closure.

[rh3maji]

Some musings abt the soon to be Precure season

So i took a look at the new website and bruhhh

they're so tacky looking and cute I love them! I'd actually gotten spoiled for Cure Wonderful and Cure Nyami's designs thanks to fanart on pixiv, and at the time I thought the season was going to have an Alice and Wonderland motif thanks to Wonderful's crown [thought she was gonna be like the queen of hearts but nope]. After checking out the website and trailer tho, it seems like the theme is more of a zoo and or animal companion theme. When I first realized that I thought to myself "wait haven't we been here before?" but thinking about it further Healing Good's theme was more along the lines of veterinarians and the earth[?] and Kira Kira Precure's was moreso just animals as window dressing/attack inspo with sweets being the main theme so I suppose we're not technically retreading old ground here. Speaking of not retreading old ground- HOLY SHIT THE MAIN CURE IS A DOG??

Just like...a full on dog dog bruh, like dang man I never thought i'd see the day where we'd essentially get a fairy leading the team. It seems like the team's split into both humans and animals, with Cure Nyami definitely being that white cat

This is exciting! I love that Precure's held onto having fairies transform into humans, it's so heckin fun! Back to the designs- In order of my favorite to least favorite it's Cure Nyami [look at that hair bruh! she is beauty, she is grace]

Cure Friend [the poncho and hair are my fav]

Cure Wonderful [she looks like such a peppy kid awwww]

and lastly Cure Lillian [her arm thingies remind me of Futari Wa and I adore that ribbon]

Honestly, I think this may be the first time since Kira Kira Precure that I've been immediately on board with the designs. I ended up loving Hirogaru's over time but at first glance, I couldn't get over how weird they looked [never fully ended up liking Cure Wing's design but still love the character]. The only thing I dislike about them is Lillian's headband, and the big heart on Friend's shoes. I'm sort of a big sucker for poofy/frilly skirts, long straight hair, and ponchos so I feel well-fed. I'm especially looking forward to seeing them all in motion, especially Lillian since based on her turnaround she seems to have a bit of sass to her. Based on Nyami's turnarounds/previews she seems to be more of a kuudere[?] type which isn't something we've gotten for a main cure in a while. There's also all of these guys just hangin' out on the site too

Can't wait to see what these lil guys can do, hoping that they'll be connected to powerups and maybe even special outfits/attacks [really enjoyed it when Happiness Charge did that]. But maaaan this is so cool. It seems like ever since Hirogaru decided to play around with Precure conventions they're going all out with unique approaches to the formula. One thing I hope they continue doing this season tho, is keeping the fighting style as a literal fighting style like super sentai where they actually throw punches. I love Kira Kira, but there's only so many times [like 2] that I can watch someone fight by pointing a wand at something before I start skipping the battles. Really loved how Hirogaru frequently would have the characters strategize in battle, it really kept me engaged even if I always know how it'll end. All-in-all, it's sad to see Hirogaru go, but I'm excited with what new stories await in the new season! ^^

[lifmera]

Hello! I adore your writing! May I please have a match up for Hazbin Hotel, Chainsaw man and Sally face if it’s not too much trouble? I'm demisexual 27 year old plus sized woman. I’m 5"7 with fairly wide hips that dip to more narrow center and broad shoulders. My eyes are pale green bordering yellow with short almost shoulder length dark brown hair that is an orange blond from the top of my ears down. I have a septum piercing, two sets of ear piercings and glasses in sort of an aviator style that I forget to wear. I'm a little buff under all this fluff as I am a baker by trade. But I have been dealing with a shoulder injury has kinda left me feeling a bit fragile and frustrated. I've been told I'm fairly pretty but I just kinda don't see myself that by conventional standards. I'm not really self conscious about my body, I am just a large animal and people will just have to deal with that. I prefer to dress comfortably but if I can I enjoy wearing jumpsuits as well as black dresses.

I would describe my personality as caring but very direct. I Tend to prioritize others well being over my own. However, I am working on ensuring I take care of myself just as well. I tend to be reserved around other people but once I get comfortable I tend to ramble on my interests in short bursts, primarily around biology, cryptids, animation and practical effects. Honestly I enjoy being a bit aggressive with my friends- usually intimidation play or picking up people to help make them feel a little small. Admittedly when I feel comfortable around someone I prefer feeling small and protected if I’m not needed for comfort. I have many creative hobbies, primarily sketching, painting, sculpting, and crocheting. One of my favorite things to do is wildlife drawings. Though I find it difficult to hold on to my passions for prolonged periods of time, if someone I'm close to is passionate about something- I'm completely enthralled and try to be as supportive as possible. I love word play, often trying to force puns where they don't fit. I love horror and thriller movies and have a decent tolerance for gore but to be perfectly honest I have a hard time with handling prolonged scenes with people actively suffering.

This sounds a little silly but I imagine if I was a demon in hell I would probably resemble something of a chimera. I do apologize if this is a bit of a long submission! Thank you so much for your time!! 💚

I read sally face and started tweaking….

God i love sally face. AND THANK YOUUUUU.

.. I’ve decided to pair you with… ALASTOR, DENJI & LARRY JOHNSON!

Let’s be real. I think at first you’d remind him of his dear old mimzy. Before she died anyways, and obviously not dependent on him to fight your battles.

Alastor would find your rambling interesting, and he’d honestly probably learn something he hasn’t before? like “wow! Thats new.”

He’d want to learn more about your interests, also because he’s the radio demon, and doesn’t seem to really know much about the modern world- or care for it. But he IS based off a wendigo. So i’d think he’d find it interesting!

He LOVES when you paint, draw, crochet for hum! It reminds him or his own mother, and he’d probably become attached to you.

He’d also enjoy it if you did all of this, while he’s broadcasting too. He’s not able to always be there, but if he is, he’ll want to be with you.

Alastor would LOVE to watch horror movies, but if it makes you uncomfortable, or a scene does, he will pay no mind and skip it. Not like theres anything new he hasn’t seen.

If you were a chimera. He definitely would’ve been surprised at your look! Like- “oh ! Thats new.”

Ok … Denji time..

This man would NEVER JUDGE YOU. He can’t even bag someone.

Honestly i think he’d prefer someone chubbier, he’d LOVE to give hugs.

I think Denji would be a very physical touchy person, esp after what happened with… everyone. It’d help him protect you :)

When he found out about your shoulder injury? He was on your ass all day, every day. You don’t get away!

He loves that you take care of others, but this man is always hurt. He’d rather you be okay than he is!

He would love to listen to you ramble. Denji knows when to shut up, and i think he would enjoy listening!

Okay i know I’ve said this before but denji WILL make you draw pictures of you and him together- or he’ll draw them himself. Like stick figures holding hands!

If you crochet him something? Over the MOON. If its a piece of clothing he’s always wearing it. If its a plushie? He’s sleeping with it at night.

Denji would be indifferent to horror movies. I think he’d prefer comedy. He’s seen enough! :(

NOW LARRY 💛

I feel like i shouldn’t have to explain.

He’d LOVE YOU. You remind him of his friends :)

Your personality allows his to come out! He loves that you care for his friends, and his well being cause we know damn well he doesn’t.

Larry is a Listener instead of a talker. He’d love to listen to you ramble and ask questions while he’s painting! His favorite things at the same time!!

You draw with him, you paint, you crochet? Holy SHIT!!!! HE’D BE IN LOVE. Like! Okay !!! I LOVE YOU!!! 🧡🧡

I think he doesn’t mind any movie you guys watch. As long as it’s a mean of being able to cuddle with you on the couch and watch a movie.

He definitely finds your puns funny.

~~~

I HOPE THIS WAS OKAY!!!

[queen-scribbles]

WAIT ]:          realizing the receiver is about to leave the room, the sender hastily reaches out and catches their wrist, preventing them from continuing their departure.

Unfocused

hoo boy, full blast pining!Arcann Ardrali fic for you. Like. High-key isn’t even a strong enough descriptor. It’s stratospheric. (ps this is post-Unbowed, so she’s pining too, but POV is all him :D)

----

Arcann was halfway through stack of reports he’d agreed to review when the faint flicker of another presence disrupted his focus. He’d been so absorbed in his task, he’d failed to pick up the quiet muttering from the next archive aisle over until the individual moved closer. There was an intensity that gentled around the edges--white hot focus framed in soothing blue--which made him fairly certain he knew who it was.

Arcann let his gaze drift up from the datapad in his hand, biting the inside of his cheek as he debated whether it would be a good idea to interrupt her. There was a subtle flare of something... irritation? frustration? that broke his internal stalemate in the selfish direction, and he pushed out of the chair. He needed a break, anyway. 

The muttering stopped as he stepped around the end of the aisle, and Endrali met his gaze with a sheepish smile.

“Is something wrong?” he asked, managing to school his reactive smile into something more acceptable than it wanted to be.

“Not... really. Some information is eluding me. Sorry if I bothered you.” Endrali ran a finger around the hood of the search terminal in front of her. She cocked  her head and studied him. ”Though, come to think of it, this isn’t somewhere I’d expect to find you to be bothered.”

“I offered to look over the recent reports from Admiral Aygo’s men,” Arcann explained. “To see if I noticed anything in the unrest they’ve been handling that bears connection or similarity to the... incidents we’ve handled.”

Endrali huffed a laugh, which was a fair reaction. Tassar at least was more than an incident. “Ah, good idea. I’m sure that’ll be appreciated. You’re doing it in here because...?”

“It seemed the place I’d be the most out of the way while still having easy access to the information I might need.” He didn’t mind the prodding; this was hardly one of his usual haunts around the base. “And you? What information is proving so elusive?”

“Oh, I told Hylo I’d do some research on the Unknown Regions and people who had visited or explored them to see if there’s any leads on resources we could use.” She wrinkled her nose and played her fingers idly over the terminal’s keys. There was a tremor of something he couldn’t place to her sense before her gaze dropped back to the query screen. “One of the predominant explorers isn’t where he should be listed in the database...” Something flickered in her eyes. “Unless....” She tapped keys more deliberately, and her brow furrowed even as triumph flared through her sense. “There you are! “

It took a strong effort to suppress a laugh at her mingled pique and enthusiasm. 

Endrali plugged in a datastick to download what she needed and flashed another apologetic smile as she looked up, tucking hair behind her ear. “So it appears the archive staff need a gentle reminder on how to honor different cultures’ naming conventions when adding to our database.” She flicked a glance toward where he’d come from. “Sorry again if I disturbed you.”

“It’s alright,” Arcann assured her, fighting the urge to smooth back a strand she’d missed. “I was starting to see double, so a break is probably wise.”

She cocked her head. “Don’t work yourself too hard.”

I’d work myself into the ground for this second chance. Even if the care in her tone made his heart skip a beat, it was a rather pot meet kettle sentiment, and he couldn’t bite back this smile. “I won’t. The report I was reading happened to be more detailed than the previous few, and thus was a longer read. I’d planned a break when I reached the end, but I don’t mind it happening early.” Especially if it means I get to talk to you. He snatched the thought back, shoved it down, hoping it hadn’t resonated strongly enough for her to pick it up.

“Good,” she nodded, leaning one hip against the console.

“So I take it naming conventions are an interest of yours?” he asked, partly because her quiet passion had been endearing, partly to keep talking. “To be so frustrated it was recorded wrong.”

“You could say that,” Endrali laughed softly. “It goes with the love for archaeology and cultural history. I might be primarily focused on Jedi history, but other cultures are fascinating, too. And names are an important part of that; there are several where the naming habits are a clear look into their values. Family, status, class, that sort of thing. But it can get tricky keeping track of the family, individual, in some cases clan or ancestral name orders. And sometimes there are differences when the origin tongue is translated into Basic...” She shifted her weight. “So there are guidelines for how to weight aspects for archiving, and apparently at least one member of our staff is unfamiliar with them. So. A gentle reminder.”

The terminal beeped completion of the download and it was almost a shame to watch her reel herself back in.

“There we go,” she murmured, plucking out the datastick. She flashed him another warm smile. “I’ll leave you to it.”

“Endrali.” Arcann wasn’t sure what drove him to take a half-step forward and catch her wrist as she started to leave; something instinctive or selfish or otherwise.  It had his heart pounding in his chest when she paused, regardless.  “Perhaps we could help each other.”

Her smile widened and he almost dared think she’d been hoping he’d stop her. His grip was loose enough for her to easily shake and she hadn’t. “How so?”

“I’m familiar with the Unknown Regions to aid with your research, and you are an.. alternate perspective on the incidents I’m comparing with the reports. It would be a more thorough result for both. If you’ve the time?”

“Of course.” She shifted back toward him and he let go of her wrist. Her fingers flexed. “If you don’t mind the company?”

“Not in the slightest,” Arcann said, and he meant it, despite the one slight problem with this arrangement. 

Her smile as they headed, together for where he’d been sitting was going to make it very hard to focus.

[thej320]

Week 4: Masculinities in Sports

Exploring toxic masculinity and its prevalence in sports

You’ve probably heard the saying “men don’t cry”, "tough it up" or “be a real man.” In sports, these harmful phrases are omnipresent. Hearing these things from a young age can cause men to feel the need to hide their emotions. This can result in hyper masculinity or toxic masculinity. It can also lead to men expressing their emotions in unhealthy ways and feeling insecure. The strong presence of masculinity in sports has also made being a female athlete very challenging. Women are often compared to men in sports because of the difference in their physical ability. They are looked down upon for not having the same levels of engagement or interest in professional sports. At the same time, female athletes are also criticized for not being womanly enough. Masculinity in sports has set an impossible standard, even for women. Hearing "don't throw like a girl" is equally as harmful for women to hear. They have to work harder to go past these stereotypes.

We will often see male athletes have moments of aggression in sports. This “tough guise” can lead to athletes getting injured while they are taught to play through the pain. It can also be mentally upsetting. Athletes undergo a lot of pressure and stress. On top of this, they experience the hardships of life just like everyone else. Dallas Cowboys quarterback Dak Prescott, experienced a lot of hardship. His brother committed suicide and his mother was battling cancer (Gordon). He opened up about feelings of depression and emphasized the importance of being vulnerable. For many men, it can feel impossible to talk about mental health because of the fear that it is not “masculine”. This fear is real because of the discourse and backlash that professional athletes face on a daily basis. Skip Bayless, a sports commentator, discussed Prescott’s depression in an insensitive way. This shows how the media aids these stereotypes and supports unhealthy expectations.

However, some male athletes are resisting this. Two great examples of this are NFL quarterback Caleb Williams and college basketball player Jared McCain. Conventional ideas of masculinity are put to the test by the existence of non-traditional gender identities in sports. These two are both known to paint their nails, which in male sports is extremely uncommon. This simple act is a great reminder to express yourself in whatever which way you choose. These are both amazing athletes, who are just as good with their nails painted. It should not diminish their masculinity or their image as amazing players. Williams received backlash after being seen crying in the arms of his mother after he just lost a big game. People do not like to see these things because it goes against stereotypical “masculine” acts. When we see someone step outside of this bubble, media viewers can get uncomfortable because it does not match their idea of “American Football.”

It is extremely important to put these stories into light and show people that there is not one thing that makes a man. Jared McCain recently signed a deal with a nail polish company, Sally Hansen. McCain says, “Everybody should do self-care. For me, it’s nail painting. I’m sorry if that offends any of you guys. My favorite nail polish to use is the Sally Hansen Insta-Dri because it only takes 60 seconds to dry. There’s no crazy reason I (paint my nails). It helps me not bite my nails. I went to a salon one time, picked out a color, and thought it looked nice. Many people disagree and don’t like it, but I’m going to be myself and do what I think looks nice (Thornton).” Having this representation is necessary-It is imperative that we keep pushing for more inclusive and wide-ranging depictions of masculinity in sports media. Promoting stories that defy clichés and present a more comprehensive understanding of what it means to be an athlete is one method to do this (UNESCO). 

Sources:

[fatalism-and-villainy]

20, 40, and 63 for the asks!

20. Have you noticed any patterns in your fics? Words/expressions that appear a lot, themes, common settings, etc?

There are so many words I have to hold myself back from using because I'll just default to them, though I'm blanking on most of those now.

As for settings - I loooove pseudo-academia. I don't get to use it nearly as much as I'd like, but it has cropped up in more than one fic. Erotic triangles are another - that's one reason I love Hannibal so much. I also just love a good character study.

I guess something I'm often interested in writing is established relationship fics. There was a fanfic tier ranking going around awhile ago and I saw several people say they didn't like established relationship fic, which surprised me - I guess it didn't occur to me that some people didn't like that. Personally, I love exploring how two people learn to function together and how they navigate sex and kink and cohabitation.

40. If someone were to make fanart of your work, what fic or scene would you hope to see?

I don't honestly have a preference! I would be delighted enough if anyone did that I wouldn't care which scene it was. Most of my scenes are pretty "filmic" in my head, so there's not really one that stands out over the others in terms of something I'd want to see visually represented.

63. Something you hate to see in smut.

HA. Honestly, a lot of things. It's funny, because sex and sexuality and eroticism are usually the main things I want to see explored in fic, and yet a lot of sex scenes in fic tend to bore me. I think sometimes there's too much meticulous focus on every single step rather than the emotionality of the experience, which is what actually interests me.

Which reminds me of how much I hate the 1-2-3-dick convention. I wouldn't mind it if the fingering and lubrication were actually hot, i.e. focused on as something pleasureable and worth lingering on in their own right. (Lube can be hot! It can really heighten sensation!) But as it is, it feels like many people take care to include it because it's the "correct" way to write anal sex, and at a certain point I'm like... unless it's really important, we can just skip this. If a dick is going into someone's ass at all, I'll just assume there's lube unless stated otherwise.

Also, I do just plain like m/m better, but one reason I don't read a lot of m/f and f/f is because of the potential to be blindsided by the word "pussy" out of nowhere. I don't necessarily mind that word in dialogue, because it does feel appropriate if the characters are saying it during mindlessly horny dirty talk. But when the third person narrator is saying it... GODDD no.

[77angelnumbers77]

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ How I organize my Drive!

Do you have a hard time finding projects you started? Do you have 1000 documents called "Untitled Document"? When was the last time you closed all those writing tabs?

I'm going to share how I sort my Drive. Alright, so to begin with, I hate sorting by genre, pairing, whatever within my Drive. It just gets too granular! I use 4 folders (well, 5 if you count the umbrella folder).

As follows:

I feel like a genius for devising this system. I'm going to explain each of these folders in more detail below.

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ Concepts

This is for 1-2 sentence snippets of text that I think of when I'm out and about. I get an idea, I open a doc and write it down. Observe:

What you see is what you get! The docs themselves don't involve much more than what the title has to offer.

These work for all sorts of things! See:

Writing prompts for when you're blocked

Little moments to incorporate in your longer fics

Just getting a half-baked idea out of your head!

Why shouldn't you keep an idea in your head? Mostly because you'll probably forget it. Things happen in life! You could be thinking about nothing but your fic and still forget some detail you thought up when you were out and about.

In my case, this means . . . a plethora of terrible Christmas puns. But I'm still glad I wrote them down, because frankly I have no memory of creating this document.

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ Abandoned

I'm skipping a step here, but I want to go in order of the screenshot 😭

Do you ever write something and realize it just doesn't resonate with you anymore? Or that it has too many plot holes? If you've ever abandoned a fic for whatever reason, I encourage you to have a folder for abandoned fics. My rule of thumb is to never delete old work. Why? Lots of reasons!

Older work shows your progress! Something that gives me a big self esteem boost is going back and reading older works to see how I've grown as a writer. There is value in preserving the timeline of how you got to where you are now!

There will always be bits worth saving. Maybe most of the fic is garbage, but there's a little snippet in there that could be recycled for a newer piece. Maybe the characterization is particularly good. Maybe you coined a word that you don't want to forget about! Every piece has something to offer, even if it never sees the light of day.

Having a place to store old work can be just as valuable as having a place to store your concepts.

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ WIP

Short for work in progress. This is the folder for everything between concept and completed!

Actually, a lot of these follow the same format as the concept folder for me.

The biggest difference is length! Most of these don't even have titles. A good majority of them are <1000 words, which is my minimum publishing length, with no coherent plot. Most of these will never be published, but that's okay! The time I spend on them makes me a better writer, and I have fun.

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ Complete

This is genuinely just a hall of fame for me.

Not all of these are published, and some of them never will be, but I think it's nice to remind myself that I am able to finish things. Writing takes a while, and it can be thankless, but putting pride in your achievements makes it easier to write long-term.

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ Naming Conventions

One more thing! You may notice I don't have any documents with the default title. You may also notice a lot of my placeholder titles are overly descriptive. This is just to make it easier for me to find things! Two or three words to jog your memory is endlessly better than this:

Where is the soul? What's in it? Should I be scared?

Do yourself a favor and write a quick title. It doesn't have to be the final working title! It's a placeholder that can be changed at any time, and it'll save you a lot of time that could be used for writing.

Alright, well, I think that's it! Thanks for reading this far. I hope this helps someone! Happy writing ♥️

[hismercytomyjustice]

Omfggg I cannot believe my little BG3 fic is about to hit 70 subscribers!!! (*꒦ິ꒳꒦ີ)

It is wonderful and terrifying all at the same time haha!!! It’s also weirdly humbling knowing almost 70 people trust me and this story enough to want updates as it’s posted???

Thank fuck I’ve written most of it already because otherwise I would be STRESSING TF OUT.

I crossed the 75k word threshold the other day. The 75k maximum I thought I would probably hit seeing as I’ve never written much over like 50k before and that was only once in the fanfic world and 3x in the “this will likely never see the light of day” original work world haha.

PLEASE TELL ME HOW THE FUCK I STILL FOUR FULL CHAPTERS LEFT TO WRITE.

In the event you clicked to see more, just know you’re about to see a lot of rambling of mental health and writing.

I’m winding down chapter 14 now and chapter 18 is at least 50-75% done after I skipped to it in a panic due to the massive writers block I hit in 13 over hardcore stressing over my characterization of Cazador. Just “he is not being horrible enough, he needs to be more horrible, but not too horrible or this fic will need to be even longer and I’m already wildly out of my word count comfort zone” lol.

So that leaves the tail end of 14 and 18, and then I just have to write 15, 16, and 17.

Oh thank fuck. It’s only three I thought it was four full length ones left. Oh god. This simultaneously brings me relief and anxiety lmaooo.

Oh god.

But this fic is going to have such a special place in my heart because writing it has reminded me THAT I LOVE WRITING.

I’ve barely written in the last decade for a variety of reasons and tbh until I started writing this fic, I was starting to wonder if I really even enjoyed writing and wanted to do it anymore.

Not because I didn’t, but because the level of passion I used to have for it seemed to just be…missing? I kept thinking “it’s so weird how writing used to be such a huge part of my life and now I never seem to be able to do it or want to do it”.

I’ve come to realize in the last month or so, the biggest culprit was my previously semi-diagnosed OCD. Second biggest may have been my definitely undiagnosed ADHD.

Any time I’d try to sit down to plot or draft or anything I would get into OCD spirals and either completely talk myself out of it or get into it for a little bit and then hit a roadblock in the story I couldn’t get past or convince myself what I wrote was awful and no one would ever want to read it because I would get bored writing it so why the hell would anyone want to read it? So then I’d convince myself I needed to read up on the craft of writing to make up for my deficiencies. And the more I learned the more I realized I didn’t know or the more deficiencies I saw and the more I’d get into my own head.

I spent some much time kind of wishing I hadn’t read so many books, went to so many convention panels, listened to so many podcasts about writing, etc. Because any time I looked at a blank page, I couldn’t get out of my own head enough to fucking WRITE.

Just an endless stream of: The first line is super important and has to hook the reader, make sure you start in the middle of the story, your protagonist should have xyz, your villain should have abc, every sentence should do more than one thing, if you don’t regularly make time to write you’re not a real writer, all these other people make time to write and their lives are way busier than yours so what’s wrong with you, you must hate writing otherwise you’d actually do it, you’ll never get anything published because you lack discipline, etc etc etc.

I just desperately wanted to go back to the days where I could just flip open a blank notebook and go to town without giving a shit about what anyone else thought a story had to be and without second guessing every single letter I put on the page.

And then such a weird combo of stars aligned that finally made me remember why I fucking love writing and why I do it in the first place???

Consuming media that makes me passionate about storytelling and reawakens my creative drive.

My friend offhandedly mentioning she writes on her phone sometimes and isn’t a phone kind of like a little notebook you can carry around and whip out whenever? Bonus, you don’t have to retype everything after writing by hand!

Getting officially officially diagnosed with OCD. Third therapist’s is a charm amirite? If I had a nickel for every therapist who told me I was exhibiting signs of OCD I’d have three nickels… I didn’t even go to my current therapist for OCD. My former therapist suggested finding a specialist in exposure therapy to help with an unrelated phobia (I will not go into on here and probably never will because it’s deeply personal) and the specialist I found happens to specialize in OCD because exposure therapy is often used to treat it.

And my current therapist taught me what OCD thought spirals are, how they start up, how they take root, how they get out of control. Suddenly it wasn’t just “oh, I have anxiety so I need to use decision techniques to combat it” it was “ohhh this is therapy designed with my brain in mind and my brain isn’t as weird or scary as I thought.” It’s just wild to spend decades of your life thinking your brain is fucked up and you don’t understand what’s wrong with it so how could anyone but then you get a literal fucking worksheet that maps out an example spiral with a note on it that reads “this you?”.

Specifically, she taught me about Inference-based Cognitive Behavioral Therapy (ICBT). If anyone reads this and is curious about ICBT. this article does a pretty good job of explaining it.

It was just wild to look at this piece of paper that was like “oh, no, this is a regular/common enough brain thing that we’ve done research on it and made a fun little worksheet for it” that makes it all feel so weirdly mundane and less scary as a result? Like decades of “I’m scared of my own brain” turned into “your brain isn’t scary, there’s a clear pattern to this kind of thing and lots of people go through it”.

And then I decided to take piano lessons. Because I started writing a POTO AU before I started my BG3 fic and I remembered how much I loved music in the same way. How much I enjoy the violin but struggle to get myself to play now that I’m not part of an ensemble. And that was another thing I haven’t found much joy in lately either.

And my OCD went off the fucking RAILS with that. Because of all my insecurities around being someone who always struggled to practice regularly and realizing how much of a refresher I needed on music in general after so much time away. Leaving lessons wanting to cry because of how fucking stupid an inept I felt and being utterly convinced I was wasting my teacher’s time.

BUT. Because of ICBT and my therapist, I could see I was hardcore OCD spiraling. It marginally helped because at least part of me was like “okay, these feelings aren’t the truth and they are irrational” even as I still struggled to find any actual self-compassion over it all. Because why the fuck is wrong with me it’s piano, I am paying for lessons, I do not have to be perfect. My therapist insisted my only obligation was to just show up for the lessons and SHE IS RIGHT. Like, yeah, it’s great to practice and I want to get better at it, but OCD-ing myself to the point I’m fucking miserable and never practice (much like I did with writing) is not the answer.

Piano made me realize my OCD impacts my day-to-day life in a variety. Not just my 10/10 OCD spirals/fears.

Do I still struggle with how fucking ridiculous getting worked up over voluntarily taking piano lessons made me feel? 10000%. Am I actually enjoying and looking forward to my lessons and actually practicing because I want to instead of feeling paralyzed or over analyzing or avoiding or forcing myself to? Also 10000% true!!! It’s fucking wild how much you can enjoy things you like when your OCD SHUTS THE FUCK UP FOR FIVE GODDAMN SECONDS.

Like obvs I still have a lot of work to do on the OCD front, but I’ve made so much fucking progress over the past few months. It feels like night and day sometimes. If you’d told me like 6 months ago I’d have written 75k on one fanfic in addition more on others, I would have laughed on your face and then doom spiraled about it.

God I have missed actually ENJOYING things. My therapist was not exaggerating when she talked about me having a breakthrough last session about overcompensating and how it negatively has impacted myself and my fledgling self-compassion.

It feels so fucking GOOD.

Navigating OCD and ADHD, especially as a late diagnosed person isn’t easy. I’m still learning so much and also puzzling out what does and doesn’t work for me. But for the first time in such a long time, I feel like I’m actually making progress on those fronts and it is such a fucking relief after borderline hating myself for years now.

This got wildly out of hand, but OH WELL. I’m just so fucking happy and relieved to be seeing some progress for myself that I was starting to worry might never fucking happen.

[seravphs]

I caught a moment to catch up with DDAO :)

"You leave a piece of yourself behind every time a child cries." rip mc...my beloved...I need Yaga to get on introducing therapy to Jujutsu High ASAP 😭

"It’s reaching that time of year you feel the most lethargic, where people and time pass by you in a blur. In the spring you’ll wake up fully, and it’ll the cold will have faded like a bad dream." Off-topic but I'm so sad summer is ending! Also rip mc please google seasonal depression for me thanks babe

Rip mc makes me so so sad with her willingness to prioritize others but not herself. She got up instantly when she was worried that Shoko was cold but she wouldn't do the same for herself and it's so heartbreaking to see.

I hate to see rip mc isolate herself even further from the world. I think this year of my life in particular has taught me about how quickly time runs - and runs out, in particular. Entire weeks disappearing of her life...where she's alone...I'm deeply worried. So often throughout DDAO I want to reach into that universe and wrap my arm around rip mc.

This is a HUGE tangent lmao skip the next paragraph to ignore me talking to myself

Rip mc isn't even catholic (afaik) 😭 but she's so self flagellating. I think part of the reason rip mc makes me so sad is she reminds me a lot of high school. It's such a deeply (often specifically teenage) girl mindset to punish yourself for your desires. This is not that relevant to DDAO but there's something painfully resonant about the way rip mc is going about this. Tbf rip mc is (in her own opinion because stsg are morons and terrible at communicating) a homewrecker so it isn't THAT applicable BUT in general it just feels like looking into my own past to see rip mc take on the weight of a literal apocalypse, her world collapsing, and blame herself for it. I read something once which I wish I could find again about how Jesus could never be a woman because female suffering isn't subversive, it's expected. Suguru was there! Suguru was very much in control of his own actions in that moment! But rip mc is laying the price of destruction at the feet of her greed and it makes me so miserable :( I feel like so often women are socially conditioned to want less, to be less greedy. Bitter over this forever.

Back to DDAO

LMAO SHOKO she's so real I love her. I'm also very pragmatic so I feel like that's how I would react. I think Shoko is my self-insert in DDAO haha: takes care of rip mc and is the voice of reason.

We know so little about Mimiko and Nanako, it's nice to imagine a world where they get to grow up as normally as they can. With friends, teachers, a social life etc. God. Life gets better, don't read JJK lmaooo not a single person (worth caring about) in this damned series is happy.

Something I really like about DDAO is how it's like JJK, since it's canon-adjacent, but also how much I feel like I'm talking with my friends about her toxic situationships like I really am watching rip mc interact with stsg with the fond horror of two girls sitting across from each other in a restaurant booth recounting what happened last week in their lives.

Megumi is such a good kid.

I can't seem to remember rip mc liking sweets. Maybe it was just a random choice but since she just saw Gojo, I also can't help but wonder if she bought one because of him.

HE'S SUCH A GOOD KID.

I think I've talked about this before, but I feel so strange about aging. I don't mean this in the conventional spoon fed aging propaganda sense because I'm not afraid of wrinkles/etc. It's more that recently, I've become so aware of the concept of 'youth' - and the fact that I'm losing it. At some point last year, I turned eighteen, and this year, nineteen, then the year after that, I'll turn twenty - how did I get so far from four and six and eight? What happened? It's terribly beautiful and beautifully terrible because change is inevitable and yet so scary. I'm evolving with the world, or perhaps it's evolving with me, but I'm at a loss for how to react to that.

Rip mc's monologue about returning to a place she knew with the sudden awareness of her lack of being a child really hit home. Many things I've loved are memories now. I loved stars, too. I miss my mom and dad, too. And no matter how much I miss them (my parents are alive I just spent my first year away from them at college lol), I can't go back to the past! I can scream and cry and beg but I can never, ever go back.

Both rip mc and I are going to have to learn to be okay with that. Somehow. Wow. If I keep relating to rip mc I will consider seeking professional help. Thanks Morgan!

Megumi's such a good kid, it makes me endlessly sad and happy. Nothing like Fushiguro Toji made me laugh, though. I think that would've made Toji happy too.

I can't stand stsg. They're so evil 😭. Stsg and rip mc really are such a dynamic because she's weak to their advances specifically. Like who else are they trying this on that it would work? Just her. Poor baby.

stsg being shocked by how easy it was to get rip mc to agree made me laugh.

One day I will see rip mc develop some sense of self worth. One day. I know it'll happen. DDAO chapter 289. I'll be there and I'll be celebrating with champagne.

The realization that the mission that traumatized rip mc so badly was just a grade 2 mission made me physically flinch. I'm really bouncing between jjk canon and 'girl he said WHAT' and it's so good. Whiplash between stsg being assholes per usual and fuck, I forgot that these are child soldiers who somehow made it to adulthood - with all the baggage of being child soldiers.

I should get used to rip mc pulling away from people who want to take care of her but I never do. JJK never goes into detail with how horribly traumatic the lives of sorcerers actually are. Gojo didn't blink in reaction to some of his oldest friends dying. It feels so good, even if it's so horribly sad, to get that experience with rip mc and see how this life of blood and curses has affected her.

Sorry I actually DO love that Gojo is feeding rip mc lmaooo. I got so excited to read that scene. He's terrible and it's so fun! Kiss tax hahaha. Love him. I actually think Gojo wouldn't like my personality irl because he's a terrible bully but I would play along too well and he wouldn't get the reactions he wanted. I think I’d actually get along better with literally anyone else haha

This one made me really introspective and moody. It might be the end of a season affecting me. Either way, it was incredible per usual. Hope you're enjoying Japan and having lots of fun!

dog days are over | chapter five

pairing: gojo satoru x fem!reader x geto suguru warnings/tags (for this chapter): mentions of virginity loss, threesomes, depression (the holy trinity lmfao), birth control, full on dissociative panic attack but not in detail, obligatory stsg warning. also cheating mention (but not really gojo is just jealous and geto likes the attention. they gaslight each other for fun btw) word count: ~9.2k

fic masterlist read on ao3

The nightmares start after Nagoya.

You wake up bleary eyed and distinctly worn out, with a heaviness in your chest that you carry with you. It only gets heavier.

The auxiliary manager you worked with promised to share any more relevant information with you about the case. You should have left it at that.

It becomes harder to stay uninvolved in your assignments, you're beginning to find, especially when innocent lives are taken.

You leave a piece of yourself behind every time a child cries.

You sit up from your bed and glance at the clock above the doorway. 11:54 AM. Light streams in from your windows, and you close your eyes in the temporary warmth before it fades, leaving your room cold. Outside, the trees are barren and the overcast is gray in preparation for the upcoming winter. It’s reaching that time of year you feel the most lethargic, where people and time pass by you in a blur. In the spring you’ll wake up fully, and it’ll the cold will have faded like a bad dream. 

It's almost Satoru's birthday.

It’s cold. You feel goosebumps form on your arms. It occurs to you that you may have forgotten to turn on the heat in your apartment. Central heat. A rare luxury in these types of apartments. But you don’t want to leave the warmth of your bed, so you lie back down and curl into your bed.

Just as you’re about to succumb back to temporary emptiness, the door to your bedroom is thrown open. You wince as the door slams into the wall, raising your head.

“Something happened,” Shoko says plainly, crossing her arms. “I hope you haven’t been hiding from me on purpose.” 

You don’t recall giving Shoko a key. But you must have, if she’s inside of your apartment. Guilt churns in your stomach. You’ve been avoiding not just her, but Satoru and Suguru. You’re unsure of how to act around them anymore. You don’t know how much you can tell her. How much you should.

Then she lightly frowns. “Why is it so cold in here?”

You sit up, worried the cold might be bothering her. “Let me turn on the heat.”

Before you can stand, she waves you off, taking off her coat and lazily throwing it on a nearby chair. “Forget that,” she sighs, walking over to your bed and motioning you over. “Move over.”

You wordlessly comply, scooting to the far end of the bed as she settles next to you, lifting the covers over her body. 

The two of you look at each other, at the opposite ends of your pillow, sharing your comforter. At the warmth of her body, you almost close your eyes. You think if you fell asleep now, no nightmares would come to you.

“Shoko,” you say quietly. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to ignore you.”

But you had. Days passed in a blur. You didn’t give much thought to it, devoting all your efforts to routine. Luckily, there were no assignments after Nagoya. This bitter winter is a slow season for curses. You went from your apartment to Tokyo University and back, buried yourself in your studies, and blocked out the world. You hadn’t meant to. You kept on telling yourself you’d reply to that text, that you’d show your face again, that you’d pretend everything was alright even though it wasn’t. Now you’ve caused Shoko undue worry.

She simply looks at you. “Something happened at the party, didn’t it?”

You think of Satoru. Then Suguru. It’s the most you’ve thought about them in weeks. You don’t want to think about them because the longer you do, the more your thoughts stray in ways it shouldn’t.

You pull your covers up to your chin, troubled, and your silence speaking volumes. She softens. 

“Never mind. I’m not here to force you to talk,” she pauses. “But if something happened. Something you didn’t want , then I want you to tell me.” She exhales. “Even if it’s Satoru and Suguru. Especially if it’s those two.”

It wasn’t…They didn’t…They…

You’re conflicted. “They wouldn’t…” you trail off weakly.

She looks at you blankly.

“It…”

You bury your face into your comforter. You don’t have the words to explain. It’s okay, you want to tell her. You’re more worried about Satoru and Suguru’s relationship than anything else. They’re arguing about something, you want to tell her, and engaging in acts with you you know they’ll regret. You’ve never cared much for what they do with you. You’d do anything, give them everything if they asked. If she asked. You lower the blanket.

She eyes you, suspicion lining her face. “Did they—”

“No,” you blurt out before she can finish. “Yes. Maybe.” You hesitate. “It wasn’t…”

Bad.

It feels like an admission of guilt. It felt so good it was horrible. You shouldn’t have enjoyed it. You shouldn’t have succumbed to the pleasure, not when the future of Satoru and Suguru’s relationship hung in the balance. It’s your fault, you think once again. The world is collapsing on top of you, and you can’t help but think it’s punishment for your existence. For taking more than you should have.

“Are you on birth control?”

You stare at her. “What?”

“Birth control,” she repeats, deathly serious. She rises from the bed. “I should get you started now—”

You reach for her delicate wrist, stopping her. “It’s not like that!” Your face warms with embarrassment. “I promise, it’s not like that.”

It's not that serious, you're sure. Even the thought gives you pause, makes you apprehensively embarrassed. It's not...like that. 

Luckily, it’s something you don’t have to worry or think about. 

“...If you say so.” She says, not believing you in the slightest. She retakes her position on the bed. “So,” she says after a pause. “Shirokami visited the infirmary.”

Right. You forgot Hideo had gone and introduced himself to Shoko.

Your stomach flutters, nervous. “Did you like him?”

“I did,” she replies. “He’s…” a thoughtful pause. “Nice. A country boy.” A wry smile. “Nothing like those two. At all. It’s refreshing, actually.”

Relief. You suppose he did grow up in the countryside, so it’s not too far off from the mark. As for being like Satoru or Suguru…

You resolve not to be hurt. The two of them are under no obligation to meet anyone. You won’t be hurt. 

“He made it seem like the two of you are close friends.”

You’re sure he’s just being polite. Hideo is nice like that. Nonetheless, it makes you a bit happy to hear you made an impression on him. That he thinks of you fondly. He considers you a friend. Maybe there’s hope for you after all.

The comforter is warm with the shared heat of your bodies. Sleep calls out to you.

“He…scares me a little,” you say quietly. Hideo reminds you of a part of your life you don’t like to revisit. He makes you feel like a child again, afraid to be alone. “There’s a lot I don’t like to remember…about…back then. But I’m glad I met him again.”

“I see,” she says, smiling. “Then me too. I’m glad the two of you found each other again.”

You blink drowsily, smiling back at her. Shoko’s face is the last thing you see before heaviness drags your eyelids to darkness.

—

When you wake up, you are pleasantly revitalized and a little more alert. Shoko is gone, but there’s takeout on your kitchen counter. You take a bite of the Vietnamese noodles and realize that your taste buds have somewhat returned. You eat the entire meal, full for the first time in what seems like months.

You reply to a text from Hideo about the crowd at Shibuya crossing, smiling at the litany of exclamation points accompanying by his texts. You realize Megumi texted you earlier, about when you’d be coming by again and another pang of guilt hits you. You’ve been neglecting the kids too, lately. You wouldn't survive Mimiko and Nanako's wide eyes, gazing up at you, pleading at you to stay with them.

It’s six now, and the sky is pitch black. You know for a fact that Suguru and Satoru won’t be at the apartment until later. Yaga-sensei had mentioned Gakuganji visiting Tokyo accompanied by several other clan members for some annual conference. You didn’t pay attention to the details.

You���could visit. Suguru would have already fed the kids by now. Maybe you could take Megumi and the girls out for dessert. Or order something to the apartment. You feel lighter at the thought. Spending time with the kids always made you feel better. It’s something you can do, as small as it is. Small things.

Small steps.

You change and you’re out the door shortly. It doesn’t take you long to reach the apartment, greet the doorman, and take the elevator up. You knock. A few minutes later, the door swings opens, revealing Megumi.

“Hi,” you say brightly. “Have you been well?”

“Fine.” He lets you in. “Don’t you have a key?”

You laugh, still a bit breathless from the cold as you hang your coat up. “It doesn’t feel right to use it. I’m still a guest after all.”

Megumi doesn’t respond to that as the two of you enter the living room. It’s unusually quiet. “Where are the girls?”

“Mimiko and Nanako are with their friends. Tsumiki stayed after school for club.”

Just a couple of years ago, the thought of Mimiko and Nanako willingly spending time out of the apartment would have been a surprise. The two of them had been so recalcitrant about attending school. Suguru wanted to keep them homeschooled while Satoru thought putting them in school would be the best way to ease them out of their shell. It had taken time and patience, with several bad days, but eventually the two warmed up to their teachers and fellow classmates, Nanako especially. And where Nanako went, Mimiko always followed.

Mimiko had flowered into a sociable butterfly following her reintegration into society. It makes you happy to know that the two are alright now, so readily available to spend time with their friends.

“Just me and you, huh.” Megumi wouldn’t leave you though. Not yet. “Have you eaten?”

“Yeah,” he states. “Earlier. I was just finishing my homework.”

You glance at the kitchen counter, finding Megumi’s homework spread around. “You don’t usually do your homework outside your room.”

“It’s quiet with everyone gone,” he says bluntly. 

You smile, taking a seat as Megumi slides in next to you. He resumes his homework, and you let him carry on, helping him when he asks, simply content to watch. A few pauses during this science homework which you help him through easily. He glides through his English homework, and you feel unnaturally proud of him as you proofread his work.

It doesn’t take him long to finish. Soon, he’s gathering his homework up and packing it into his backpack.

“I was thinking,” you start. You hear the door open in the distance. It must be the girls. Perfect timing. “That we could all go out for—”

You turn, every hair on your body rising in panic.

“Sato—s’guru,” you blurt out, frozen. “What are you guys doing back so early?” Your question comes out more accusative than you intended. Of course they could come back as early as they wanted. It was their home after all. You were the interloper. 

It’s just..

You thought that you’d have a little longer!

The two of them look at you. You shift uncomfortably, gaze bouncing from them to the floor to the wall behind to anything else. You’re a little more aware of the heat of their gazes on you, pinning you to the spot. Your collar feels warm, nerves jumping beneath your skin.

“The meeting ended early,” Suguru says amicably, smiling at you in a way that would be reassuring at any other given moment. “Satoru didn’t want to stick around.”

Satoru is oddly quiet, gazing at you. Even with his sunglasses on, you feel the weight of it, that prickle that tells you he’s focusing his attention on you. Your bottom lip twinges. You are determined not to meet his gaze. Or hold Suguru’s for too long.

Satoru cocks his head to the side. “You staying over?”

You think it’s Satoru’s way of telling you to leave. That you’ve outstayed your welcome. Suguru is too nice to say it outright.

“No,” you say, voice thin, throat growing thick. “I’m leaving now.”

“Can we talk?” Suguru asks quietly after murmuring your name. He gazes at you.

That’s the last thing you want. To be alone with the two of them. You don’t want to hear what they have to say. You want to imagine things to be okay, just for a little longer. Until you can’t.

“I’m sorry!” You say suddenly, antsy, hit by a sudden need to justify your presence at their home. You hope Megumi forgives you for the lie you’re about to tell. You glance down at him. “I just came over because Megumi needed school supplies!”

There’s a long silence.

A shadow of a twitch of an eyebrow falls over Satoru's face. "Since when does Megumi need school supplies?”

Suguru watches you carefully. 

Your face burns in silent shame. You stare at the floor, feeling horrible. 

“Since today,” Megumi returns testily. “We’ll be going now.”

Satoru looks mortally offended.

Megumi takes your hand and walks you out while you can't bring yourself to lift your head.

Outside, you bury your face into your knees. “Sorry,” you mumble. “Just give me a few…”

You squeeze your eyes shut and take a shuddering breath while your heart races in your ears.

“Are Satoru and Suguru okay?” You suddenly ask Megumi, who stays silent next to you. “Any issues?”

“They’re the same as ever,” Megumi says tonelessly, but his face is softer in its worry.

You smile. “I’m fine,” you tell him reassuringly.

He's right. If anything, at least the two of them don’t seem to be fighting. Not like they were during the wedding. But you still don’t think you can go back in there, and now you’ve forced Megumi out of the apartment.

You feel a mixture of guilt and horrible, horrible dread slowly spreading through you.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper. “I shouldn’t have come. You probably don’t want to be out this late—”

“I don’t mind,” Megumi says. “I was going to take a walk anyway.”

That brings a small smile to your face. “It’s a bit late to take a walk, don’t you think?”

He shrugs. You feel a bit better at the fact that he’s not bothered at your impromptu outing. Rising, you take his hand once more. “Then let’s walk.”

You and Megumi walk around the neighborhood. The streets are dark, illuminated by streetlights in the mostly residential area. Other than the occasional dog walking passerby, the two of you walk in comfortable silence. Until the two of you find yourself all the way in Shibuya with its bright lights and noise. It’s easy to get lost in the lights of Tokyo’s busy nightlife. Throngs of people pass you by as you meander, following the crowd, with no particular destination in mind.

The two of you stop by a 7-11 tucked a bit further away from the bustle. You buy yourself a strawberry daifuku and ask Megumi if he wants anything. He isn’t hungry, so you buy him green tea.

More aimless walking takes you to Sakuragaokachō, away from the crowd. Streetlights and dark buildings greet you, but something about the area looks familiar. Nudges at muscle memory, the nerves in your foot. If Megumi notices your pace pick up, he doesn’t say anything.

You make your way down the street and slowly approach.

It’s a small, odd shaped building. With a curved dome of a roof that makes it look like a half moon.

You stare. “I think I used to come here.”

You remember the pitch blackness of a room, the steady hum of the ac that had filled the room, and the slow blinking of the stars coming alight on the ceiling. You remember this building. 

The memory feels distorted. Incomplete. You feel like a clumsy child putting together a 500 piece puzzle, slotting pieces that don’t fit together. Your head hurts. 

There’s a sign taped to the window next to the entrance. You momentarily squint.

Closing for good. All bookings are final. 

Closing…for good…

Megumi calls your name.

“Sorry,” you blink it all away. “It’s nothing.”

“...Do you want to go in?”

“No, it’s fine. It’s just…”

“It’s still open.”

“That’s okay.” You don’t want to force Megumi along with your whims even more than you already have tonight.

“I want to go in,” Megumi points inside. “We can buy tickets right now. It’s the last show”

He looks serious enough that you consider it, glancing at the building. If it were any other child but Megumi you might have worried that it would be boring. “Alright,” you say slowly, less troubled. “If you really don’t mind…”

He tugs you forward. The two of you enter the carpeted lobby and approach the usher who hands you two tickets without much fanfare and tells you that this is the last showing of the night. To your great relief, nothing looks familiar. It’s all different. It might not even be the planetarium you had regularly been taken to as a child.  

The two of you enter the dark room faintly lit by dim stars dotting the curved ceiling. There are three couples scattered across the room. You let Megumi pick your seats in the corner and slide in next to him on the reclining seats.

The seating is different. It used to be standard seating in rows. You think. You aren’t sure. Maybe you just aren’t remembering it right. You must not be remembering anything right, right now. You’re buffeted by a perturbed feeling that grows stronger with every passing second.

The room is enveloped in darkness. A recorded woman’s voice begins to play. One by one the zodiacs appear above you while the voice drones on about creation myths and history. Amanominakanushi, Takamimusubi, Kamimusubi.

Different constellations are projected onto the ceiling, constantly in motion, forming new shapes, fading in and out.

You used to come here. You were a child then. You aren’t a child anymore. Nothing is the same. You aren’t that naive child that had proclaimed this planetarium your favorite place in the world. You hadn’t cared about the planetarium as much as you loved being pressed against your warm father, and his steady hand on your head. Your mother’s hushed whispers pointing out more stars.

You suddenly can’t breathe. You are keenly aware of Megumi right next to you, the humming of the air condition in the background, the narrator on the speakers, and every single breath trapped in your chest. Your head spins.

You close your eyes, slowly fisting your knuckles until they’re tight, feeling your legs and arms go numb. It’ll pass. It’ll pass. Don’t bother Megumi. It’ll pass. It’ll pass.

“—a’am”

“She’s occupied.”

Megumi’s curt voice.

When you open your eyes, the lights are on and you are on the floor, clutching your knees to your chest. You blink, readjusting to the light.

The attendant looks unsure. She looks barely out of high school. “The show’s over and we have to clean up so…”

“Right,” you say unsteadily, embarrassment slowly creeping in. You stand. “I’m so sorry.” 

“It’s alright…” She looks more relieved than bothered. “The exit’s to the right.”

You quickly gather Megumi and make a dash for the outside.

“Sorry,” you tell him breathlessly, once the two of you have made it far away enough that the embarrassment isn’t as painful. You squeeze your eyes shut, press your hands into your eyes, and take a big gulp of air. “Megumi,” you mumble. “I’m really embarrassed right now.”

“It’s okay,” he says quietly.

There’s a horrible, sinking feeling in your stomach. You kneel down, meeting him at eye level, and manage your best smile. “Hey,” you say, cupping his face with your palm to even your gazes. You meet the dark purple of his eyes, the sincerity in their depths, and think that Megumi has all Fushiguro Toji’s roughness and grit, but none of his meanness. He couldn’t be more different than his father. Your Megumi is a good boy. “I’m alright. Thank you for spending the night with me.”

His gaze lowers. “Yeah.”

You stand back up, brushing your pants off. “I should take you back to Satoru and Suguru now…” You take out your phone to call a cab, but Megumi speaks up.

“Can I stay with you tonight?”

Your first thought, guiltily, is relief. You can’t send Megumi to the apartment himself so you resigned yourself to having to face Suguru and Satoru once more. You have a late morning tomorrow. It’s Saturday so Megumi doesn’t have school either. It’s the perfect opportunity. 

You smile. “Of course you can.”

——

You text Satoru and Suguru that the two of you have arrived home, shut your phone off, and find Megumi already tucked underneath the covers of your bed. Thankfully Megumi had left some of his clothes the last time he had visited. You watch him for another minute, the steady rise and fall of his body, and the smallness of him. For once, he looks his age. Just another sleeping child.

A couple of years and he’d be as tall as you. You doubt the two of you would be able to comfortably share a bed as the two of you do now. You observe him, adjusting his sheets, smoothing out his hair, until you join him in slumber.

——

You wake up with a start, a scream building in your throat. 

Megumi isn’t in bed. It’s still dark out. Fear grips your heart as you look around your room. Maybe your shuffling had woken him up and he had gone into your guest room to sleep. The thought makes you feel marginally better. But you also feel bad. You should’ve delivered him back to the apartment, swallowing down your discomfort in exchange for Megumi’s sleep.

“I got you water.”

You startle. It’s Megumi standing in the darkness of your doorway. You blink, adjusting to how the shadows meld into him, almost swallowing him whole.

Your throat happens to be parched. “Thank you,” you rasp out as Megumi presses the glass into your hand and climbs back into the bed. You drain the glass. “Did I wake you?”

Megumi’s silence tells you everything.

You sigh. “I’m sorry. It’s not usually this…” Bad. You figure it’s all the stress of your life. And then with Nagoya…

Megumi looks at you. “You were…” he trails off, pulling the covers up higher, up to his neck. “Nevermind. It’s nothing.”

You hope you haven’t been talking in your sleep.

Megumi falls asleep easily enough again, while you thread your fingers through his hair.

When sleep claims you once more, you hope for the forgiving light of the morning to come quickly.

You’re about to head home from the campus of jujustu tech when you catch a glimpse of blonde hair in your peripheral, turning the corner to the courtyard.

“Nanami!” You call out, and the figure stops.

Your kouhai turns to you as you approach, a respectful downtilt of his head. “Senpai.” 

It’s been a while since you’ve seen him. He looks as good as you can normally attribute to him. Straight laced and responsible. Nanami’s always had a maturity to him that you’ve always thought highly of. It’s been years since the two of you were in high school, but sometimes you can still see the slight sullen downturn of his lips when Satoru does something particularly annoying. Some things don’t change.

“How have you been?” Judging from the overnight duffel in his grip, he must have just gotten back from an assignment of his own.

“The same as always,” he responds. “Thank you for asking.” A sensible answer you’d expect from him. He pauses, looking you over, the tinted eyepiece over his eyes offering you nothing. His gaze doesn’t pity you. He doesn’t offer you condolences. It’s an understanding that makes every single troubling thought resurface.

Oh, you think.

“I heard,” he says quietly. About Nagoya.

Your smile turns tight. You force it wider. “It’s over now.” You don’t know what else to say.

“The children…”

It’s a rare moment when Nanami is at a loss for words. You hadn’t expected Nanami of all people to bring this up in conversation. You’re not as upset as you could be about it. Talking to Nanami is and always has been…surprisingly easy.

“An aunt volunteered to raise them.” You think of the shell shocked son and the blank eyed older daughter. Your mouth turns sour. You stare at your shoes. Hopefully, they’ll get settled in soon. You will yourself to say the words but nothing comes out. 

Nanami understands. “Ah. I see.”

The two of you stay silent.

“Nanami!” A voice exclaims loudly.

Satoru.

You don’t have time to react before Satoru is there, in front of you, loudly slapping Nanami on the back. You wince, both at the noise and Satoru’s sudden unwanted arrival. “If I didn’t know better I’d say you were ignoring—”

Wordlessly, Nanami inclines his head to you once more, before turning on his heels and walking in the opposite direction of where he had been headed previously.

“He hasn’t changed one bit!�� Satoru sighs. “Just when I thought the shared bonds of adulthood brought us closer…”

“...”

You wonder if you can slowly inch away.

He turns to you, as if sensing your intentions. You brace yourself for impact.

Satoru cocks his head to the side, studying you in silence, gaze shielded. You swallow, pulse starting up as you stare back at him.

“Seven tonight,” he finally says, to your great confusion. “Wear that…” he twirls a finger, “dress.”

A slow smile pulls at his lips. His fingers smooth out the collar of your dress shirt, and you swallow nervously when his fingers brush the heat of your neck. “Suguru barely got to see it, you know?”

Oh.

You hadn’t even thought about it since you shoved it back into your closet, hadn’t touched it. It felt wrong to throw it out. Shoko picked it out specially for you. Despite it all, you wanted to hang on to it.

He takes a step forward. You take a step back into the wall. He leans into you.

“Don’t be late!”

–

You hadn’t planned on wearing the dress. Then you looked up the restaurant on Google and nearly dropped your phone at the price range. 

-

After taking your jacket, the hostess brings you to one of the private rooms in the back before leaving with a bow. You hover at the shoji, feeling anxiety grip you tightly, knowing that Satoru and Suguru are already inside. You wonder if you have to. You could lie, make up some excuse about an emergency as (un)well as it would be received.

The door abruptly slides open before you can decide.

“There you are,” Satoru simply says.

You aren’t given time to do anything else but take off your shoes as Satoru takes you by the wrist with an ironclad grip and leads you to the opposite of the table where Suguru is already seated.

He smiles at you as you slowly lower yourself onto the tatami matting floor. Even now, you still find comfort in Suguru’s smiles. It feels wrong.

“Have you eaten?” He asks as Satoru settles down next to him. “The wagyu here is famous.”

“I’m fine,” you say tightly. Hunger is the last thing on your mind as Satoru and Suguru watch you. Suguru with a carefully crafted smile, and Satoru with an unreadable expression. You’re so nervous you might pass out.

You stare down at your lap.

You are saved from the silence when a waitress knocks and enters the room with a tablet in her hands. Satoru begins listing off an obscene amount of food with Suguru occasionally chiming in with one thing or another. Wagyu, house smoked salmon, lobster, a colorful variety of more seafood, and more. They must be hungry.

Satoru goes quiet. You realize the waitress is waiting for your order. You raise your gaze with a small, polite smile. Had there even been a menu? “I’m not hungr—”

“Double everything,” Satoru says.

You stare at him.

“Add hot chrysanthemum tea to that,” Suguru adds.

“And that,” Satoru completes. “Put it all on my card, would you?”

You’re taken aback. You look to the waitress, hoping she hasn’t put in the order yet. “A-Actually—”

“That’ll be all,” Suguru says smoothly. “Thank you.”

The waitress bows and slips out of the room before you have a chance to say anything else. You don’t have time to comprehend her disappearance and you’re left staring at the empty space she had previously occupied, mouth slightly agape. You turn back to them.

“I ate bef—”

“Then you can eat a little more,” Suguru replies easily. A winning smile playing on his lips. “Right?”

You can’t meet Suguru’s gaze, but you feel it travel over you. “...”

When you chance a glimpse up, Satoru’s face is cradled in his palm. His gaze is centered a little lower than your face. You briefly wonder what he’s looking at when your hand automatically comes up to slap the memory of his teeth on your collarbone. The bruise is gone, but with Satoru looking at you like that you can’t be too sure.

The two of them share an infinitely amused glance.

Satoru opens his mouth. You beat him to it.

“I’m sorry!” You blurt out. You feel like it needs to be said before anything else. You clear your throat. “I’m sorry.”

Satoru raises an eyebrow. “Already?”

“What are you apologizing for?” Suguru asks.

Your fists curl, anxious to be speaking everything to existence. You struggled between acknowledgement and the relief of denial. You didn’t want it to be true, but it still happened, hadn’t it? “Everything,” you say plainly. “I didn’t…I don’t want to come between the two of you…I think that the two of you should talk things out more instead of…”

You think of Suguru’s face between your thighs. Satoru’s lips on yours. Your face feels embarrassingly warm. You want to crawl into the nearest closet, shut the door, and burrow into the floor.

There’s a knock on your door. Your waitress places your drinks down and leaves once more. Glad to have something to occupy your hands, your hands circle around the tea mug. It’s hot enough to burn, but the prickling of pain in your hands oddly enough, grounds you.

“It’s okay to be mad,” you say quietly. You should’ve stopped things before they escalated. Instead you let yourself be caught up in everything. “If the two of you want to be mad at each other then I’d rather you be mad at m—”

“Just a second!” Satoru raises his hand.

“Y-yes?”

He proceeds. “We’re not mad at you.”

Satoru meets your wide gaze evenly. Disbelief. You look to Suguru. You need confirmation. 

“I was never mad,” he says, regarding you with concern. “More worried.” A wry smile. “You started avoiding us so suddenly…”

The revelation stuns you. They aren’t…mad? They don’t hate you? The two of them know everything. More disbelief. Relief wars with confusion. You don’t know what to think. You thought the worst, and maybe that was all your fault. You’ve always gotten too caught up in your head. It’s easy to spiral when you’re left alone with your thoughts. You don’t like being alone, the loneliness, but it’s your most familiar friend. 

“I thought the two of you hated me,” you admit, fingers clinging to the warmth of the tea in your hands in lieu of fidgeting. “I thought the two of you would never want to see me again…” It doesn’t feel real. They aren’t mad. They aren’t mad at you. You could cry from the relief.

You eye them warily. “Are you still fighting?”

It’s Suguru who answers you, expression soft. “You could say we’ve come to a compromise.”

You straighten, feeling lighter than you have in what seems to be ages. They’ve called you here to forget about everything. Everything is alright. Everything is going to go back to how it was. Well, not exactly. Satoru and Suguru may get married in the near or far future, and you'll naturally, slowly, take your leave from their everyday lives. But you’ll still be friends. Suguru will still look at you fondly. Satoru will still afford you the same considerations that everybody else thinks he lacks.

“I’m glad,” you say earnestly with a wide smile. “Then I’ll forget about everything. I’ll pretend nothing happened.”

Everything is going to stay the same. You take immense comfort in that fact. Your nerves settle. You take a long sip of your tea.

The two of them share another look.

Suguru reaches out, his fingers brushing one of your hands that you laid palm down on the table sometime after Suguru told you he was never mad at you. His thumb sweeps over your wrist and you startle, pulse spiking. “Did it feel good?”

You blink. You don’t need to guess to know what he’s referring to. You glance from Suguru to Satoru and then back again, wordlessly opening and closing your mouth. You can’t escape from the question, or their combined scrutiny.

You press your legs together. “It…did…” There’s no need for you to have felt as if you shouldn’t have enjoyed it, but you still feel a pang of guilt. Satoru and Suguru aren’t mad at each other, or at you. They still love each other. Everything is going to be alright. Everything is going to stay the same.

“That’s good,” Suguru says warmly. “I wanted to make you feel good.”

“Oh,” you reply, breathless and unsure. “Thank you.”

Satoru exhales with a laugh that shakes his shoulders. It’s not derisive like you expected. It’s fond and amused. “How about all three of us feel good?”

You blink.

The implications aren’t lost on you. You open your mouth and then close it. Maybe Satoru and Suguru’s odd actions towards you had nothing to do with their argument in the first place. Maybe you were overthinking it all from the start. It’s just sex.

If you could help them feel good, then you don’t mind. “Okay.”

The two of them stare at you.

You wonder why they look so...surprised. It’s not as if you’ve never seen an occasional third breach their bedroom. A man or woman you've never recognized. It’s just sex. It’s normal. You think that maybe, like you, they want the comfort of something familiar. And if anything, you are familiar. But—

You’ve never had sex before.

You hesitate, feeling oddly self conscious about it as your gaze drops back to your lap. You’ve entertained some thoughts about it all, but you always figured the ugly scar on your abdomen would be discomfiting to most. And explaining it…

“I’ve never been with anyone before. I hope that’s alright.” You fidget. “I’ll try my…” you reluctantly meet their gazes, ”best.”

There’s a brief silence.

“That was easy,” Satoru remarks, squinting at you as if you’ve been replaced by an identical lookalike. He glances at Suguru. “We should’ve just done this earlier.” His gaze joins yours once more. “That easy?”

Earlier…

You stare at them, almost dumbfounded.

The two of them should’ve just asked earlier, to save you the emotional turmoil if anything! 

It was only ever sex. It only is sex.

You hesitate. You don’t mind. You really don’t. It doesn't need to mean anything, especially with you. You prefer to look at it in simpler terms. Sex can be pleasurable, and with you, that’s all it would ever likely be. You doubt there are any other intentions involved.

Then you say, quietly, meaningfully, “I like…spending time with the two of you…”

A bark of laughter leaves Satoru’s mouth. “Well, we’re not exactly going to be watching movies —”

“You don’t need to,” Suguru suddenly says. “If you don’t want to, then you don’t need to.” He gives you a soft smile despite the sharp jab of his elbow into Satoru’s abdomen. Satoru hisses. Suguru doesn’t miss a beat. “Don’t let this guy pressure you.” There’s a pause. “Everything would stay the same.”

Maybe a part of you had been waiting for those words. Everything would stay the same. Suguru always knows what to say, you think, because his words feel like a confirmation.

“Are you two alright with me?” You ask. “I’m sure there are plenty of other people…” who know what to do.

You are gripped with sudden anxiety and your stomach twists into knots. You don’t know what to do. You wouldn’t know how to make them feel good. You’ll be terrible and they’ll wish they never asked you in the first place. You swallow the knot in your throat. “I’m sure Sasaki-san would love—”

“No,” Suguru’s fingers momentarily tighten over your wrist. “Only you,” he says at the same time Satoru says, “Who the hell is Sasaki?”

You blink. “5’4, brown hair cut into a bob, hazel eyes. She was wearing a silver colored kimono…” You pause thoughtfully, recalling the shapes and patterns. “There was an embroidered crane on it.” Running down the side of her left leg. “She smelled like apple blossoms and had soft hands…” She smelled good. You remember that, along with the heat of her fingers when they brushed your own. You stare down at the hand that had touched her, momentarily lost in thought.

Satoru stares at you blankly while Suguru looks vaguely resigned.

You try again. “The matchmaking ceremony you ditched…?”

Satoru is characteristically unrepentant. “Which one?”

“...”

Suguru looks like he’s trying to stifle laughter.

All those poor girls…

“Masaru Sasaki,” Suguru murmurs. Satoru makes an annoyed face.

“ That girl. She was practically hanging off your arm—” Satoru bites the rest of his sentence off, blue eyes narrowing at Suguru. “You cheatin’ on me?”

Your palms immediately turn sweaty. It could be a joke. It could also not be. Sometimes, with Satoru (and even Suguru at times) it’s hard to tell.

“Jealousy doesn’t suit you,” Suguru replies blithely. “Maybe you’ve been neglecting me.”

You busy yourself with your lukewarm cup of tea, unsure of what to do. A second’s glance upwards and you’re met with an amused glint in Suguru’s eyes and a lazy grin curling at his lips.

If Suguru was lonely maybe that was why he sought you out in the first place. The more you think about it, the more it makes sense. You’re not one to comment on things that aren’t your business in the first place, but it seems more and more likely.  You knew their boundaries. They knew you’d never push for anything they don’t want. If Satoru doesn’t like Sasaki-san, maybe they compromised on you.

You think back to Suguru’s words. They’ve settled on a compromise. That’s what you are, a compromise. The thought consoles you. In the end, it’s nothing serious. Nothing you should have given more than a second’s consideration. It’s as insignificant as a loose lipped comment. The two of them will have stopped fighting now. You’re glad for it.

Satoru snorts. “Neglecting you right into her open arms,” a derisive twist of his lips, “or should I say le—” 

“She seems very nice!” You exclaim, sweating. “It’s not very nice of you to say things like that, Satoru.” You chide lightly, before you smile brightly at Suguru. “She’s very pretty.” You hope you come off encouragingly so that you can convey to Suguru that you are on his side. “She seems wonderful.” 

Suguru blankly smiles back.

Luckily you’re saved from having to salvage the conversation when there’s a knock at the door. Your waitress returns with a cart of food, quickly laying down platter after platter. It doesn’t stop until almost every open space on the long wooden table has been filled with seafood. You stare at it. The abundance of it all. Maybe Satoru shouldn’t have doubled everything…

Your tea is refilled as Suguru murmurs his thanks. When the waitress takes her leave you’re still staring at all the food, unsure of where to even start when Suguru sets a stacked plate down in front of you.

You stare at the colorful array of sashimi and uni and the perfectly cooked wagyu. Your stomach already hurts at the coming richness of the meal, but now that the load of potentially ending Satoru and Suguru’s relationship has been lifted off of your shoulders you’re a bit hungrier than you were when you arrived.

Satoru keeps on loading your plate with more and more food. You pick up your chopsticks, intent on slowly shaving down the precariously tilting seafood tower on your plate when he conversationally asks, “So how was Nagoya?” as he places a large piece of uni on your plate.

You think of a sobbing, blood stained child clutching his mother’s severed hand in his arms. Then you think of Megumi.

Your appetite dies, stomach curling inwards.

They don’t know, you think as you look at the both of them seated across from you, waiting for your response. It was classified as a grade 2 mission after all. Two worlds shattered, and it hadn’t even merited a full time auxiliary manager. It’s considered beneath them now, eliciting the same mundane response as Suguru asking Satoru to check the week’s weather so that he can put umbrellas in the kids’ backpacks. The other week Suguru captured a curse that could have easily leveled Tokyo with a crushing tsunami. Satoru had been away in Malaysia.

It was just another child alone in the world, another corpse, another casualty.

You stare at your cup of tea. You hear Nanami’s gentle, quiet murmur in your ears. I heard.

You wonder if this is something you should even bother them with. There are always more important things to worry about than one of your bad days. In the grand scheme of things, it doesn’t matter. Not really. You don’t matter. You never have.

“It was fine,” you hear yourself say. It was horrible. You’ve been having nightmares again. It’s been a long time since an assignment hit you this hard. “Just another assignment.”

“Did something happen?” Satoru stares you down.

“Not much.” You reply easily, wondering when it had gotten so easy to lie to them. Just about the small things.

You silently pick at a piece of hamachi. It’s not your place to get involved. You can’t get involved in the tragedy of all the assignments that make you feel as if everything you’ve ever done is redundant, even if you can logically acknowledge you’re unlikely to make a real difference. Not on a real, tangible level. It still makes you feel horrible. 

You are suddenly, very, very tired.

“Are the kids home?” You want to see Megumi, wrap your arms around him, and squeeze him tightly just to reassure yourself he’s okay. You want him to never have to worry about jujustu society or the responsibility of being a jujustu sorcerer. You want him to be able to choose. It’s wishful thinking. It’s already late and the four of them should be getting ready for bed. You wish you could just hold Megumi, Tsumiki, and the twins. The four of them are so young, and already too old.

Suguru’s smile turns affectionate. “The twins are asleep by now. They had a late night yesterday. But Tsumiki’s probably still up doing her homework. I’m not sure about Megumi…”

“Probably sleeping,” you confirm. An early sleeper, and early riser. The boy had his habits.

“You wanna stop by?” Satoru asks casually.

You blink. You must be imagining the suggestion in his voice. 

“I was just wondering about the kids,” you rush out, embarrassed for having even thought it in the first place. Of course not. It’s not as if they were expecting anything from you right now. If anything, you should bring the night to a wrap so the two of them can get back home instead of having to entertain you. “It’s getting pretty late out though, isn’t it? Maybe we should call it a—”

“You haven’t touched your food,” Suguru lightly frowns and although his displeasure isn’t aimed at you, you still feel somewhat chastened. “Still not hungry?”

“A-ah…” You pick your chopsticks once again. “Thank you for the meal,” you murmur, taking a bite of the first thing your chopsticks come into contact with. Octopus. You realize that it might have been rude of you to not eat anything when they’ve so graciously invited you to an expensive restaurant like this. Now that you’ve taken a complimentary swallow, you look up at them expectantly. “I don’t want to keep you two—”

“Maybe we should order some drinks,” Suguru takes a couple of bites out of his own food. “Satoru needs something sugary or he’ll be too restless to sleep tonight.” He sighs forlornly, despite his lips pulling into a teasing smile. “When he gets in a mood, he likes to push me around in bed.”

You blink.

Suguru looks at him, fond. “He’s a horrible sleeper.”

Satoru huffs. “And you love me for it.” A thoughtful pause. “I could use a drink.”

“Great.” Suguru presses the button on the table. It doesn’t take a full minute until your waitress appears in the room. “Your most sugary nonalcoholic drink and a cup of sugar. I’ll take a bottle of your most expensive Junmai Daiginjo. Two cups.”

You open your mouth to object, but Suguru beats you. There’s a concerned look on his face. “Is there something wrong with the food? I thought you would have at least finished your plate…”

Your waitress almost imperceptibly freezes, the smile high on her face. You look to her in a panic. “It’s delicious!” You look to Suguru and say once again, “It’s delicious!”

Satoru looks a few seconds away from breaking into loud laughter. He succumbs, snickering into his elbow.

Suguru breaks into a smile. “I’m glad. You’ll eat some more, won’t you?” Then to the waitress, he says, “Two cups.”

The waitress hightails it out of the room after a bow. You stare at your plate in silence as Suguru and Satoru have a pleasant conversation about how although Satoru hates going to the Zenin compound, he had found something interesting there the last time he visited (two weeks ago). Your ears perk when Suguru says heavenly restriction.  

You take another bite of the food on your plate, intent on finishing half of it before your waitress comes back in an effort to make her feel more comfortable.

This time, your drinks are delivered by a waiter. You feel bad for your waitress who had probably asked to be transferred to a different room. Suguru pours you a cup as Satoru takes a long sip of what looks like a strawberry cream float. It looks like something out of an amusement park cafe, but Satoru looks satisfied.

You’re about to ask about the heavenly restriction, when Satoru eyes you.

“I should feed you,” he announces.

You stare at him. “What?”

He stands up abruptly. You watch as he makes his way to your side of the table in three long steps, and plops down next to you. He takes a large piece of uni and holds it up to your lips. 

“Open up!” He says cheerily.

You do not open up.

He’s making fun of you, you’re sure of it. “You don’t need to feed me,” you say pointedly. You look to Suguru for help, but you only get a grin in response.

“Indulge him,” it almost sounds sympathetic. “He’s in a mood.”

Up close, his eyes are piercingly determined. You relent, opening your mouth as Satoru places the uni in your mouth.

“Now be good and finish your food,” he says smugly. “Or you can finish the rest on my lap.” 

You stare at him in unabashed horror.

"At least try to look somewhat interested," Satoru deadpans.

Suguru snorts.

Under the threat of Satoru’s continued intervention, you slowly make your way through your plate as Suguru refills your cup. Time passes in a blur. Satoru is warm next to you, shoulder pressed to yours, and you resist the urge to lean on his shoulder. It’s almost reflexive, to sink into him. The two of them quietly talk about a child called Zenin Maki. You force your shoulders straight while their voices drift in and out, feeling your eyelids slowly dragging shut.

You blink when Suguru says your name. The two of them are looking at you.

“Sleepy?” Suguru inquires.

You slowly nod. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt. I should go.” You gather your things, but when you rifle through your bag to find your keys you realize they aren’t there. You pat your pockets, search your bag once more, and still. “My keys…”

Satoru lifts a finger to your face, the ring of your keys looped around his index. You reach out to grab it but Satoru lifts it away. You’re confused. Those are your keys. You reach for them again, but Satoru swiftly moves away. You’re debating on stopping him with your cursed technique. Infinity isn’t on, you can tell.

“Satoru—”

“How about a kiss first?” He murmurs, leaning in, lips hovering close.

Your bottom lip throbs, as if remembering the shape of Satoru’s teeth and the way it had drawn blood.

…

…

…

You’re already putting on your shoes. Satoru must have sneaked a few sips of Suguru’s alcohol. He’s drunk.

“I’ll stay somewhere else tonight,” you say quickly. Shoko would probably still be up. If not, there were always hotels around. In the morning you’d ask your building’s super to open your door. You have a spare key inside.

Satoru sputters. “Hold on!”

Suguru laughs, long and loud. You relish the sound, despite your back being turned against him. He says your name.

You pause, meeting his gaze over your shoulder. To give him the benefit of doubt if anything. Suguru pats the floor next to him.

You eye him. Suguru’s expression is full of innocuous intent.

“At least let me look at you before you leave,” Suguru sighs out. “Before you leave us again.”

Suguru looks sad. It makes you feel…kinda bad. You have been busy lately, haven’t you? (Avoiding the two of them.) You don’t like it either. You’re glad this dinner has resolved most of your worries. You crawl to him, intending to say your goodbyes to his face, but Suguru takes your hand.

You aren’t sure how you end up on his lap. You really aren’t. You were on the floor and now you aren’t, and Suguru’s chest pressed to your back. You open your mouth and then figuring against it, you close your mouth. You opt for staring down at your own lap and trying to stay still enough to rival a statue. 

Suguru’s arms wrap around your waist. “Much better,” he murmurs, playing with the hem of your dress that reaches down to your ankles. “I like this color,” he says conversationally, as if your mind isn’t white blanket quiet in your panic. “Did Shoko get this for you?” His lips brush your ear.

You nearly bolt but Suguru’s arms hold you down.

“Pfft.”

You give Satoru a wide eyed look pleading for help from where he’s made himself comfortable on the floor in front of you, lying on his side, head propped up to the side by a hand. 

…You hadn’t expected Satoru to help.

You really didn’t.

You feel your will to flee slowly drain out of you. Prey resigning itself to be dinner.  

“Shoko…picked it out.”

“She likes dressing you,” Suguru says with a small laugh, releasing your hem and hiking your skirt up high enough for his hand to slide up your thigh in a caressing gesture. “How about you give Satoru and I a turn next?”

You blankly burn a hole into your lap, deathly mortified. “That’s…” a little embarrassing, you think. Why would they ever want to do that? Satoru is looking so intently at you that he could be jealous, and you think you might be sick. After all that talk about Suguru feeling neglected…

“Like…another dress?”

Suguru hums.

“...Shoes?”

Suguru laughs. You can feel his smile. "Among other things."

“S-Suguru,” you start, putting your hand over his arms locked around you. “I should really get going…”

He sighs, and you can feel it in his chest. “Right. Of course.”

You wait for him to loosen his arms, to free you, but he doesn’t move.

“...Suguru—”

“Kiss tax!” Satoru interrupts, suddenly in front of you. He’s insistent, leaning into you once again with a hand on your thigh, except you have nowhere to back away but into Suguru. “Just one and you’ll be on your way!”

This is humiliating. You want to die.

Satoru’s face hovers closer and closer. Without thinking you intercept his lips with a hand, muffling his mouth.

“We shouldn’t,” you blurt out. “Not in public.”

Satoru doesn’t deign you with a response. Instead his gaze exaggeratedly sweeps the room, as if to emphasize the lack of other people. 

Someone could come in. Anyone could see. They don’t want to be accidentally seen with… you. “Nobody can know.” Then for good measure you say it again. “Nobody can know.”

Satoru isn’t happy. You can tell by the press of his lips. Suguru’s gaze bears into the top of your head. But you’re worried about their prospects. About everything they might regret. It’s best to keep this a secret. They’ll thank you for it later, you’re sure.

“Who car—”

“Please.”

Satoru momentarily glances upwards. He’s still unhappy. “Fine. Right Suguru?”

“That’s right,” you hear him say from behind you. His tone is carefully measured. You don’t want to look at him, and you can’t discern his feelings either. “A secret.”

You exhale. “Thank you.”

After a second of agonizing hesitation, you lean forward and press a small, short kiss to Satoru’s waiting lips. When you pull back, you shyly say, “kiss tax paid.”

“That was nothing,” Satoru says immediately. “Ten more.”

You frown.

“You forgot someone.” Suguru’s voice is light, almost chiding.

You didn’t forget. You just hoped it wouldn’t have to come to this. You turn your head to the side and lean in. Suguru meets you halfway, lips soft on your own. Almost immediately, Suguru’s arms go lax, as a hand comes up to cup your face, thumb running along your cheek.

It lasts a second longer than Satoru’s kiss, which is already enough to get him whining about timing the length of your kisses which means more kissing.

All that matters is that you’re finally free. You jump to your feet, swipe your shoes, and run out the door without a second thought.

[potteresque-ire]

Hi I posted an ask regarding your view point on GGDD's safety by people shipping them openly by bus designs, digital hoardings in their country and various other ways. I am not sure if you have already replied because I can't seem to find it. If not, please notify in case you would be interested in posting, there is no pressure or complaints if the answer is not affirmative. Also, I am hoping to read your piece on current issue DD is facing in relation to Nike. I am sure a lot of people enjoy your straight, detailed and analytical thought process and information presentation. A lot of people especially ifans needs to understand the perspective and position an actor or any national level influencer/celebrity is in when they are a citizen of totalitarian regime.

I would love to read, if you decide to write.

Thank you for your blog. It is highly appreciated and welcomed.

Hello Anon! I sincerely apologise ~ my ask box has been very full, and I answer based on time availability (which isn’t much) and “urgency” of the matter (for example, the recent post on Dangai/WoH skipped the line because it’s current). My whim too, occasionally and admittedly; sometimes I’d like to take a breather and talk about something a little more fannish and fun (like window cleaning robots!) Above all, I prefer giving delayed but responsible, or even no answers over irresponsible ones, given some of the subject matter I touch upon. I’ll ... probably have to write up an ask box policy at some point.

Now, my thoughts about Dd’s current situation ... or maybe, my thoughts about the things around it ...

I should explain where my highly disorganised thoughts this time come from first. I’m a Hong Konger by birth, and I grew up at a time when it was still conventional for Hong Kongers to refer themselves as Chinese, following the tradition of referring to the (believed) origin of one’s paternal family as our own origin. I’ve never, however, sworn allegiance to the Chinese government; the two citizenships I’ve ever held are 1) United Kingdom (Hong Kong was still a British crown colony when I was there), and 2) United States.

The distinction between China, the country, and Chinese government, as the country’s rulership, has therefore always been clear to me. You can love, feel a bond with the country, its people and culture and its 5,000 year old history, without having feeling anything with its 71 years-young government with foreign (soviet) roots. To quote Hamilton: Oceans rise, empires fall, and just the central plains of China alone went through a total of 13 recorded dynasties, during which its border waxed and waned, often splitting what is now Chinese territory into multiple countries under different rulership that sometimes split along ethnic lines—China, in that sense, isn’t even historically a country as we define one today; it’s a piece of land in East Asia where different countries have taken over, risen and fallen. And the major ethnic group, Han, which also includes the vast majority of the current political elite, wasn’t always in control. The Yuan dynasty (1271–1368) was famously built by Mongolians; the Qing dynasty (1636–1912), Manchurians. Beijing, the current capital of China, began its illustrious history as The Capital City for the non-Han based, north-of-central-plain dynasties of Liao and Jin. Liao people were believed to be either Mongolic or Tungusic. Jin people were Tungusic, and would eventually become Manchurians. Xinjiang (新疆), meanwhile, was only under the influence of the ancient Chinese empires sporadically, and its formal conquest / incorporation by a Chinese dynasty didn’t happen until ~ 1760, and by the (Manchurian) Qing dynasty. Its late incorporation is also reflected in its name that means, literally, “New Territory”.

What does this all mean? It means: 1) Loving China =/= loving the Chinese Communist Party;  2) Chinese culture =/= Han culture; especially the Han culture infused with “Core Socialist Values” as defined by the Chinese Communist Party; 3) X dynasty’s territory (where X = one of the ancient Chinese dynasties) =/= What has to be People Republic of China’s territory.

And by writing down these three =/=, which I’d argue are simply conclusions from historical facts and logic, I’ve committed an act of subversion in the eyes of the current Chinese government. Remove the “/” in “=/=“, and you’ve got three of the most important talking points of Chinese propaganda.

The sacred, un-violatable rules the Chinese government tells its people.

Why do I mention them? Because the scrutiny, the attack on Dd read familiar to me, and is probably familiar too to all those who’ve kept even a brief eye on Hong Kong and Taiwanese entertainers who work in China. When a topic that violates one of these propaganda points makes news (for example, the HK protest, Hong Kong/Taiwan Independence), entertainers from Hong Kong / Taiwan—anyone who’ve achieved name recognition—are often placed under immediate scrutiny by Chinese netizens to see whether and when they’ll confirm their loyalty towards the Chinese government. The argument is that only those who display absolute loyalty to the Chinese government deserves to earn China’s money, and the main motivation behind this scrutiny, in this case, is mistrust: Hong Kong, after all, is crawling with British loyalists and rioters according to Chinese propaganda, with separatists who’re conspiring with foreign governments to overthrow the Chinese government; the democratic island nation of Taiwan, meanwhile, is supposedly a rogue child who has escaped its mother (China) ’s arms for the past 70+ years—the child who, by the way, shall be brought to their knees (along with into their mother’s arms) by military intervention. Both places, in other words, are serial violators of =/= 1) and 3), and not to be trusted. If their entertainers fail to affirm their loyalty towards the Chinese government, or if the timing of their patriotic display is perceived as off, vicious accusations—similar to those Dd has endured—will fly, and calls for boycott begin. 

Here’s a related observation, while I’m at it ... no one in c-ent is really allowed to keep their political views quiet, even if they’re not particularly well-known. No one can say, politics isn’t for me, it’s too ugly/too complicated/doesn’t fit my image and shove it under the proverbial carpet. Under an authoritarian government, control is exerted via politics, via propaganda that seeps into day-to-day language. It’s an oil slick that taints and swims in even the smallest crevice of life—there’s no where to hide.

And Dd is far more famous than almost all of these HK and Taiwan based entertainers. 表態 — a public announcement of his stance — is the only option left for him when he becomes the centre of a sensitive political issue such as this one. And there’s really only one stance he can take.

In that sense, what happened to Dd isn’t something I’m too worried about—this kind of attack under the guise of a “loyalty check” isn’t new; and the motivation behind the scrutiny of Dd is the safer to-take-down-his-career rather than political mistrust. I believe this storm shall pass soon, as long as his team doesn’t make an unexpected, big mistake. His non-fan fellow country people will probably view him with a more positive light as well: he walked the walk and did what he believed is patriotic — breaking a contract like this is no lip service when in China, performative patriotism is often lip service — reportedly even among the top Chinese Communist Party officials.

If I must find more defence for his stance ... please forgive me, Anon, but I don’t have much more to say than what I said last night, what I said before about China’s access to information—

—because, admittedly, following, talking about this incident is difficult for the Hong Konger in me, even if I’ve expected this kind of incidents from the moment I joined this fandom, even if I’ve expected, as I’ve learned from RL experience, that most people I adore in China will at some point support causes that I deeply disagree with. The online patriotic rally by c-motors and c-turtles under the associated Weibo tag, while impressive and good for Dd, is nonetheless heartbreaking/frightening for me to watch. Why? Because I know this can easily turn into a call to persecute all Hong Kongers involved in the democracy movements sometime in the future. Because I know the rally will probably be as impressive if this has been a call to persecute all Hong Kongers involved in the democracy movements. Frankly, I stopped thinking about Nike as I scrolled through the posts — I was thinking about the now impossibly wide gulf that separates most Chinese and a Hong Konger like myself; I was thinking about why a Gg / Dd performance can trend on Twitter in 10+ countries all over the world but makes almost no noise in Hong Kong or Taiwan, places that should’ve most easily fallen in love with Gg / Dd with their closeness in language and customs. 

As it turns out, the closeness has only driven HK and Taiwan away; the closeness only brings them more insight of the beast—the government that looms over, cast a long shadow over everything that lives under it, including Gg and Dd.

I was reminded of the fact that many young Hong Kongers probably see me as a traitor just for being a turtle — young Hong Kongers who are n>1 generation immigrants from China, who never spend years reconciling the conflicting viewpoints, the even more conflicting emotions when it comes to this ... almost irreconcilable difference now in political beliefs north and south of the China-HK border. Unlike the older generations who often have immigrants/refugees from China for immediate, un-severable family, who often don’t have the option to walk away from the conflicts, to simply point to the other side and call it evil.

And here are my even-more-conflicting emotions: 

While, over the years, I’ve learned to harbour no ill feelings to the vast majority of supporters of pro-CCP causes—I reserve blame for those who conceal the truth, who’re involved in its policy making, or people who live outside the Firewall and should know better (such as every HK entertainer who’ve expressed support)—I’ve also learned, over the same years, to be fully, painfully aware that every endorsement is still an endorsement for the regime to carry on its ways, and the damage is real, is significant even if the endorsers may not know about the true nature of their endorsements. 

A simple thought experiment: the sheer size of China’s population means it can easily control the narrative on English-speaking social media. The Chinese government already has a history of mobilising its people to scale the Great Firewall and spread its propaganda on, for example, Twitter. It has also mobilised fan circles for propaganda purpose. Again, as a thought experiment *only* (ie, SJD!), imagine the Chinese government mobilising Dd’s Weibo supertopic fans to spread misinformation about Xinjiang.

Dd’s supertopic has 5+ million members—all savvy social media users and many skilled in the art of comment control (a collective effort, performed by fans to bury critiques/dissent on message boards); the total number of Uyghurs in Xinjiang is ~12 million, but their communications are heavily scrutinised and they can’t really talk. Just for the sake of argument, we’ll add the ~ 70% pro-democracy HK population to Uyghur’s side: that’s another 5 million, but most of them aren’t good at raging a battle on social media.

Which side will control the narrative in the end?

And so: I understand why Dd’s statement is what it is. I don’t fault him for making it. Still, I can’t in good conscience say to anyone, myself included, that the statement is a personal opinion and doesn’t matter. It matters a lot. His announcement is another stab to the Uyghurs, and the knife is sharp because of Dd’s social influence.

(Today, I saw Dd’s name for the first time in a Hong Kong pro-democracy online news site.)

The statement carried this sentence:

國家尊嚴不容侵犯，堅決維護祖國利益 The dignity of the country is not to be violated; the interest of our motherland is to be resolutely defended. Firstly: it’s character-for-character propaganda language. Secondly: even if we do not consider the labor camps, this is the condition in Xinjiang’s city of Urumqi. Where’s the dignity of the people who’re living there and who’s preventing that from being violated? The interest of the motherland—what kind of motherland answers an allegation of human rights violation with “interest” (利=profit, advantage; 益=benefit)? What kind of motherland has “protects its interest” being synonymous with surveillance and abuse of its own people?

I have a motherland, but it’s not the one in this narrative.

The issues of Xinjiang and the Uyghurs have also become even closer to Hong Kongers since 2019, when the fates of Hong Kongers and the Uyghurs became intricately tied—as dual examples of Chinese government’s human rights violations and indeed, these two populations who previously had very little in common have shown solidarity with each other against all odds. Their connection being this one simple, awful fact: both having what they value most stripped away by the same government—the traditions, religion and culture for the Uyghurs, the promised freedoms and hopes for democracy for Hong Kongers. As an online meme goes: “Today’s Xinjiang; Tomorrow’s Hong Kong” — expressing the fear that Hong Kongers may soon be subjected to the same surveillance as the Uyghurs today, for the same reason of having put up a fight against who they saw as their oppressors (this article offers an objective summary of what led to the 2009 clash between the Uyghurs and the Chinese government, which precipitated the former’s treatment as will-be terrorists today)(Note the role the US played in this.). 

As such, I cannot look away from Xinjiang. As such, I cannot look at our two beautiful stars, Gg and Dd, without also seeing the flag with its blood red looming behind with its own five stars—the biggest of them symbolising the Chinese Communist Party.

How do I reconcile all the feelings? As I said, it’s a constant work-in-progress, possibly a lifelong one. Re: Gg and Dd, that’s what I tell myself at the moment: that my being an i-turtle shall not sway my view or silence me on any sociopolitical issues, that my being a fan of anything, anyone shall not mean any other human life is suddenly worth less to me, or its suffering, something I shall suddenly look away from. The moment this becomes true—that I find myself depreciating human lives, or ignoring the pain of others for the sake of my fannish pursuits—that’s when I must leave my fan identity until I find my discipline (I do understand the lure of a happy fandom bubble, and I’m far from immune to it). I’m a person before I’m a fan.

These are the rules of my world.

我的世界不退讓。

[nhlandotherimagines]

Family isn’t Always Blood-Part 3

Masterlist | Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 4 |

Summary: will it be a boy? A girl? Will Kinsey and Elias be able to plan a wedding while expecting? Guess you’ll have to find out.

Author’s Notes: This took me WAY too long I’m sorry! Let me know what you think though? Was it what you expected? Was it bad? Good? I’d love to hear from you :)

Word Count: approx. 4.5k

Warnings: The usual really. Lots of crying (both happy and sad tears), pregnancy, absent parents, strong language, nothing too crazy though. Let me know if there is anything I should add here please

3…

2…

1!

Elias’ fingers find the zipper on the garment bag, and I place my hand gently over his. His hand shakes under mine, and although I know it’s mostly excitement, I can tell he's nervous as we slowly pull down the zipper together.

As the garment bag falls away, my heart stops. There is no way this is happening, not right now! Elias’ hand drops from mine as he steps back slightly, as the people around me seem to let out a collective gasp. Tears burn my eyes, and before I can stop them, they’re falling down my face. This is NOT what I expected.

“Kinsey?” Elias’ voice is nervous, likely because I’ve yet to react to the scene in front of me. The jersey was not pink, or blue. In fact it wasn’t even a jersey at all. In place of the jersey we had all been anticipating, was a white onesie with red lettering across the front. 

My hands at some point made their way to my face as I’m now using them to hold in the ugly sobs wracking my body. The tears in my eyes blurring the words in front of me, but it doesn’t matter, because I’ll never forget them. I’ll never unsee them. The five words that changed my life. 

WILL YOU MARRY MY DADDY?

“Baby, turn around. Please?” Elias' voice is gentle when he speaks, but it sounds loud in the intense silence that has settled over everyone.

I slowly turn around, my knees feel weak, my vision is blurred, and my entire body is trembling. It’s a miracle I’m still standing, and even breathing for that matter. When I’ve finally turned around completely, my whole world stops. Elias slowly drops down on one knee, and as he looks up at me with those beautiful blue eyes no one else is here. It’s just him and I at this moment. A nervous smile on his face as he slowly pulls open the velvet box I hadn’t even noticed until now, I lose it. I collapse to my knees in front of him, arms wrapping tightly around his neck and as I cry into his shoulder.

“Last time I checked I’m the only one supposed to be on their knee for this.” Elias chuckles, and the room around us does the same, reminding me we aren’t alone. I lean back to look at him, but don’t let go. His face is blotchy, and his eyes are bloodshot as tears stream silently down his face. “Kins, you amaze me more and more each day. You’re an amazing woman, girlfriend, mother, and there is absolutely no question that you’d make the best wife. So, if you don’t mind, I’d like to make you mine. Kinsey Waters, will you marry me?”

“R-really?” The word is choked out in between breaths, as I search his face for hesitation.

“Yes!” He chuckles, lifting the ring up in front of my face. He shakes it teasingly, eyebrows raising as if to say ‘would I be lying?’.

“Yes.” The word tumbles past my lips, and I can’t stop it. Not that I want to. “Oh my god! Yes!” The squeal that escapes me is quickly drowned out by the cheers surrounding me, as I gather Elias’ face in my hands and crash my lips to his.

I cling to Elias like I don’t want to let go, grasping at his shirt, his hair, anything to ground myself. The kiss, the moment, this man; it’s all so overwhelming. I never want it to end. 

As it turns out, not everyone is on board with that. “Okay! Okay! That’s enough, can we please find out about the baby. There will be time to fornicate after we’re all gone!” Brock yells from behind the camera, as more laughter fills the apartment.

Elias groans in response, but pulls away. I smile brightly as he slips the ring onto my finger, and for the first time I actually look at the ring. It’s simple, not too flashy, and yet I know if I saw the receipt I’d likely vomit at the price tag. It’s elegant. It’s everything I’ve ever dreamed of and so much more. “It’s perfect.” I breathe out, and Elias chuckles. Bringing my hand to his lips he places a gentle kiss to my knuckles before rising to his feet, helping me off the floor in the process.

“Please tell me you have the actual jersey somewhere.” I giggle, catching Brock tapping his foot impatiently out of the corner of my eye.

“I do, one sec!” Elias quickly leaves the room, and I’m immediately swarmed by the other WAGs and Brock. Brock is quick to zoom in on the ring with the camera, as he makes commentary that is definitely not needed, but something Elias and I will both enjoy when we watch the recording back later.

“Okay! ” Elias announces, as he makes his way back into the room. “Are you ready for the real thing?” He’s now holding an identical garment bag to the one we had unzipped minutes prior, and I can’t help but wonder just how difficult this whole surprise was to pull off.

Elias removes the first hanger from the stall, and replaces it with the new garment bag. He motions me over, a large grin on his face, as everyone goes back to where they had previously been standing.

Elias’ hand finds mine again, as we both grip the tiny zipper. It feels different this time. Maybe it’s the ring sitting on my finger, or maybe it’s just the adrenaline coursing through my veins. As the countdown begins around us for the second time today, I become more and more impatient.

3…

2…

1! 

My stomach flutters, and I can’t bring myself to look as Elias’ hand moves with my own to pull down the zipper. Instead I watch him. His eyes bright as they seemingly shimmer with excitement. He’s so beautiful, and he’s mine. My fiancé, and the father of my child. The new weight on my ring finger, and my round stomach physical proof of just that. 

Almost instantaneously, I feel his hand fall from mine and it finds his face, along with the other. He falls again to one knee, but this time he cries into his hands as everyone around us erupts into cheers. The moment feels absolutely surreal, and overwhelming, and I have yet to even look at the tiny jersey in the garment bag. It doesn’t feel like it matters, not in this moment anyway. The only things that matter are that we are happy, life is good, it’s pink, and we are a family. It’s pink.

Immediately my eyes snap back to the now open garment bag that my eyes had previously skipped over. The tiny jersey hanging before me was a tiny replica of the one I was wearing. It’s pink alright. It’s a girl.

As I turn back to Elias, his arms wrap around my waist as he begins whispering against my stomach. Again, all of his words muttered in Swedish. All I can make out is ‘I love you”, and ‘my girls’, and even without understanding any of the other words, my heart swells and tears wet my cheeks again.

I card my fingers through his hair, the beautiful ring standing out even more against the blonde. Cameras and flashes, along with many cheers and exclamations of ‘I knew it!’, fill both the room and my heart. This is it, the family I’ve always craved. Although it may not be conventional, it’s mine. 

———

The movie Elias is playing on the tv does little to hold my attention. Not even because it’s bad, in fact it’s one of my favourites, but my head is all over the place today. 

“Everything okay love?” Elias asks, eyebrows furrowed in worry when I look at him. I nod, but it’s evidently not enough for him to believe me. “Talk to me Kins.” He continues, pressing pause on the movie, removing my only form of distraction.

“She doesn’t have a name.” I’m deflecting, and Elias knows it. Instead of pressing the issue further though, he smiles sweetly over at me. I’m stretched out comfortably across the majority of the couch, my legs draping across his lap. His hand lightly rubs my thigh in comfort. 

“Well did you have any in mind?” I shake my head stretching my hands over my growing bump, my ring on full display. Elias clears his throat, and I can tell he wants to say something, but he looks nervous. “What about your mom?”

“What about her?” My response is unnecessarily rude, but his question caught me completely off guard. He’s been trying for months to get me to talk about her, and I’ve successfully shut him down every time.

“Did you maybe want to incorporate her name?” His eyes refuse to meet my own, instead they stay fixed on his fingers that are busying themselves with the hem of my sweats. The scoff that leaves my mouth is dramatic, sure, but I’m beyond pissed he’d even make that suggestion.

“Why would I? She’s done nothing for me.” 

Elias’ face falls, and his eyes meet mine. The look of pity he sends me would normally make me feel better, but today it makes me even more angry. “I’m sorry, I just thought-“

“Yeah well you thought wrong didn’t you!” I snap, cutting him off as I rise to my feet. I stand up too quickly, and immediately I feel light headed. My knees buckle a bit, and my vision goes fuzzy momentarily. Elias is quick to his feet, hands finding my waist to steady me. 

Once my vision is back, and I feel steady again, I push away from Elias. He calls after me, but I just keep walking. 

It’s not his fault, and I’m being dramatic. As soon as I step into our shared room, I know I’m out of line. It’s embarrassing, my whole life is. How can I tell someone, like Elias, who loves their mom dearly, that when I think of the woman who gave birth to me, the thoughts aren’t pleasant. Very little about my childhood was. Yes, I sound ungrateful, and to a degree I am. There were always good times, always. However it’s hard to look back fondly on those times, when almost all of them are plagued with heartbreak or disappointment in some form or another. 

As I close the bedroom door behind me angrily, I pull off my sweats and crawl into the empty bed. Though I’ve slept without Elias many nights given his schedule, the bed has never felt so lonely. Tears soak my pillowcase, but my body barely even reacts. No dramatic sobbing, or trembling. I just lay here, numb, tears flowing steadily.

After what felt like forever, but was likely only a few minutes, the bedroom door creaks open. I don’t dare to acknowledge Elias as he closes the door behind him quietly. I lay silently, my back to him, as he removes his shirt. The covers pull back, and I feel the bed dip as he climbs in behind me.

We both lay there silently for a moment, neither of us moving. Only a few inches separate us, but they feel like miles. I can’t take the silence, or the fact that I can practically hear the gears turning in my fiancé’s head.

“I’m sorry.” I mumble, sniffling slightly. Elias lets out a breath, before wrapping himself around me. He places a gentle kiss to my head, letting his hand travel under my shirt to rest on my bare stomach.

“Me too.” He whispers into my hair. “I should’ve known, I just thought because it was a tradition, that maybe you’d want to. I didn’t mean to upset you Kins. I’m really sorry.” His voice shakes a little, but he takes a breath again to steady himself before adding, “I love you.”

Before I can even respond to him, it hits me. I sit up quickly, and Elias’ arm falls into my lap. He pushes himself up on his elbows, eyes widening with concern. “Adeline.”

“What?” He is obviously confused, and I can’t blame him. I just ignored his entire apology to blurt out some random name.

“Adeline Irene Pettersson. Addy for short.” I pause, suddenly feeling embarrassed by my wave of excitement. “I don’t know. What do you think?” I pray the nerves aren’t apparent in my voice. Picking a name for a person is a big deal, it has to be perfect.

“Adeline.” Elias repeats the name out loud thoughtfully. The name rolls off of his tongue beautifully, and I can’t fight the smile growing on my face. “Kinsey, I think it’s perfect.”

Elias rolls onto my legs, his face resting just in front of my stomach. I lean back, and run a hand through his hair. 

Placing soft kisses to my stomach, Elias once again whispers to the baby. “Adeline, you have the most amazing momma. She loves you so much. Probably more than she loves me, and that’s a lot.” I can’t help but giggle softly at his words, despite the tears in my eyes. “You’re so loved, and we cannot wait to meet you.”

I smile down at Elias, a single tear slipping down my face. He returns the smile, but it quickly falls as my eyes widen in shock. “She’s kicking!” I practically scream, grabbing Elias’ wrist, bringing his hand over to where I had just felt our daughter kick. He waits hopefully for more movement. 

Moments pass, and still nothing. “C’mon Addy, do it for daddy.” I plead, my heart breaking at the disappointment on Elias’ face.

As if she had actually understood the task she’d been given, the baby kicks even harder than before. Her foot jams hard into my stomach, right against her father’s waiting palm. The feeling, although still relatively new for me, was an entirely new experience for him. His eyes nearly pop out of his head, jaw practically hitting the floor. 

“A daddy’s girl already?” I giggle, another tear slipping down my cheek. “There is no hope for me now.”

Elias shakes his head, and glances up at me briefly. His eyes find mine for just a second, with a smile on his face he looks back at my stomach. “You’re not going to be a daddy’s girl or a momma’s girl are you Addy?” He whispers, as the baby kicks again as if in response to his question. “You’re gonna be your own girl. Strong and independent, just like your momma.”

Elias fell asleep like that a while later. Head resting on my hip, a hand on my stomach, while my hands threaded through his soft hair. Life is good. I have a family now, and I would do anything for either of them. “I will make sure you never question my love for you both. No one deserves that.” I whisper before drifting to sleep myself.

———

“Shit!” Something hitting the floor loudly, followed immediately by Elias cursing wakes me. I’m quickly on my feet and rushing down the hall. I had been asleep on the couch, having passed out while reading some parenting book. So, when I round the corner into our bedroom, I’m confused to find it lacking my fiancé’s presence.

“Elias? Where are you?” I call out, fear lacing my words. 

“I’m in here sweetheart.” He calls back. I follow his voice further down the hall to the guest room.

As I reach the doorway of the guest room, the scene in front of me has a giggle bubbling up my throat. Elias is on the floor, surrounded by various tools and wooden pieces, a frustrated, and thoroughly exhausted look painting his face. “Everything okay in here?”

“Wha- oh yeah.” He huffs, tucking a pencil behind his ear. He’s holding two identical pieces of wood in either hand, letting out another noise of frustration. 

“Whatcha doing?” I place the back of my hand over my mouth trying to suppress my laughter, though my smile is audible in my words.

“Well.” He groans, placing both pieces down before pulling himself to his feet. “The plan was to have the crib together before you woke up from your nap.” He walks to me placing his hands softly on my hips. “Though, as you can see, that hasn’t happened.”

“Well the instructions can’t be that confusing are they?” I smile, and his face falls slightly. “You did use the instructions. Right?” Elias’ cheeks darken, and his eyes fall to his feet. 

“I thought I could do it on my own.” He mumbles, and there is no stopping my laugh now. He frowns in embarrassment, as I do my best to catch my breath. 

“Babe! The instructions don’t do it for you, they are a guideline for you to do it. On your own.” I explain shaking my head with a giggle, and pushing past him into the room. I quickly find the instructions crumpled into a ball on the floor. I unfold it, and read through it quickly. 

“Well?” His voice hopeful, as he watches me inspect the now crinkled paper. 

“Yeah I have no idea.” I sigh, leaning against the wall. “Time to call in the boys I think.”

———

“Who thought it was wise to let the three of you do this?” I giggle, placing three beer down on the dresser.

“You?” Quinn answers, eyebrows furrowed in confusion while Elias sends me a glare. 

“Oh right. Well I’ll just blame my poor judgement on the pregnancy.” 

Elias is obviously getting quite flustered about the whole process. He curses in Swedish, while poor Quinn sits beside him looking scared for his life. Brock finally finishes screwing two pieces together, and beams over at me before grabbing a beer. “Thanks Kins!”

“You’re very welcome Brock.” I place a hand on my stomach and make a point of talking dramatically. “See Addy? That’s why uncle Brock is our favourite.” 

“Addy?” Quinn and Brock both ask in unison. 

“Adeline. Addy for short.” Elias explains, with a smile bright enough to blind someone.

“What do you guys think?” I ask, pulling my lip between my teeth. Sure, we don’t need anyone’s approval, but their opinions are very important to both Elias and myself.

“It’s cute!” Quinn smiles at me.

“Cute?” Brock sends Quinn a look I could only describe as a mix between shock and disappointment. My heart rate increases. Great Brock hates it! “It's absolutely beautiful!”

The sigh of relief that leaves my body has all three men laughing. I can’t help but join in, as the three of them begin bickering over the next step in the crib building process. They are always so chaotic, and yet I love every second of the chaos. This baby will likely learn all kinds of trouble from Brock and Quinn, but I certainly wouldn’t want it any other way.

———

As my pregnancy progresses, Elias becomes more and more doting almost daily. Not letting me lift anything bigger than a book, tying my shoes, helping me get dressed, you name it and he’s done it. Honestly, it’s become slightly annoying. On nights like this though, I truly appreciate it. 

Elias sits on one end of the couch, as I lay across its length, my feet in his lap. He rubs the balls of my feet, as I write in the wedding planner he’d purchased not long after our engagement. He smiles softly at me, as I chew the end of my pen deep in thought as I stare at the guest list. 

“How many groomsmen do you want?” The question falls past my lips as he reaches over to pull the pen from between my teeth.

“Well, definitely I’d want my brother as my best man, and probably three more guys. To keep it even just how you like it.” Elias winks, nudging my leg with a chuckle. I roll my eyes, but smile anyway, because he’s absolutely right. Even numbers are always nice.

“Okay.” Four people is reasonable, but now I have to find a maid of honour and three bridesmaids. That shouldn’t be hard, but I have no idea who to ask. Holly for sure was a given, but beyond her I wouldn’t even know where to start. 

“Are we inviting your parents?” Elias’ question comes entirely out of left field, and it feels like someone punched me in the throat. Were we? Do I want to? Should I? They only know about Elias from a singular instagram post. They don’t even know about the baby. 

Elias must see the gears in my head turning, because he sends me a soft smile. “Why don’t we make invitations for them, and you can decide later if you want to send them or not? No need to let it stress you out too much babe.”

Reluctantly I agree. Would I regret not inviting them? Would I regret inviting them?

———

I’ve spent the last week making the invitations, painting each by hand. Was it crazy to do? Yes absolutely. I know that, but I want them to be personal.

“Have you even moved since I left?” Elias’ voice startles me. He left some time ago for his morning practice, at that point I had already been up working on them for an hour. He chuckles as I shrug, and places a kiss to my temple. “You’re crazy.”

“And yet, you’re going to marry me.” I tease, sticking my tongue out at him. 

He places a sweet kiss to my lips, pulling away with a smirk. “Who told you that?”��

Rolling my eyes, I shove a hand playfully into his chest. “Well you don’t have to, but if I just spent a whole week making these invitations and there isn’t going to be a wedding,” I pause sending him a ‘threatening’ glare. “You better run Pettersson.”

Throwing his head back, Elias laughs heartily. Hand clutching his stomach, as he struggles to catch his breath. “You’re adorable.” He manages to get out between laughs.

“Great, so you’ll drop these off at the post office on your way to the rink later.” Punctuating my request with a wink. 

A groan leaves my body as I pull myself from the chair at the kitchen table. Elias is quickly by my side in aid, no longer laughing. His face twists in concern, hands finding my hips. “Don’t worry babe, I’ll drop them off. Now come nap with me?” He doesn’t wait for an answer. Instead he wraps a hand softly around my wrist, pulling me gently in the direction of our bedroom. 

I can’t argue. Instead I follow him, body aching from how I’d been sitting at the table all morning. Elias carefully pulls back the covers, rearranging my pillows, and strips down to just his sweats. I quietly thank him as I attempt to get comfortable, something that’s become increasingly more difficult as of late. 

Climbing in behind me, Elias pulls me into his side and places a hand gently across my growing bump. “You going to let Momma rest Addy?” He asks softly, eyes already closing. I watch him closely, and a small smile forms on his face as he rubs gentle circles on my stomach.

“You know watching someone sleep is kind of weird.” His voice is gravely and my face flushes in embarrassment.

“I wasn’t-“

“Mhm.” His lips quirk up into a smirk, eyes not opening once. “Get some rest babe.”

“Fine.” I grumble, placing my head on his chest. His breathing evens out, and his heart beat is steady in my ear. I place a hand on his chest, curling into his side the best I can given the fact my stomach is in the way. My fingers lazily trace patterns across his bare chest, eyes beginning to feel heavy.

“Love you Kins.” Elias’ voice is low, and I can hear how tired he is.

“Love you too Lias.”

It’s not long before Elias is snoring quietly beneath me. Everything feels so right, here in his arms. Like nothing bad could happen. With the feeling of ease settling into my bones, it isn’t long before I’m falling asleep too.

———

Somehow I managed to sleep through Elias getting up and getting ready. When I finally wake up, he is long gone. 

Picking up my phone, my face lights up at the message displayed on my screen.

Elias❤️: I let you sleep. You needed it. Don’t worry though, the invitations were mailed. There is some pizza in the fridge for you if you want it. See you tonight xx

I respond with a quick thank you text, making sure to wish him luck with his game. Grabbing some pizza I settle into the sofa, and turn the game on. 

Watching Elias play hockey always manages to put a smile on my face. He’s so incredibly talented, and extremely humble. It’s one of the many things I love about him. 

No matter how important hockey is to him though, he always makes sure I know that our family is more important. Always. It’s the reassurance I never knew I needed, but Elias has always made sure it’s there without being asked.

———

Lazy Sundays have become somewhat routine for Elias and I. We wake up, Elias works out while I write, we eat breakfast together, and we spend the rest of the day working on our own things. Today has gone a lot like that. 

Currently I’m editing some of my writings while Elias scrolls through Instagram from his spot beside me. Aside from the clicking of my keyboard as I type, and an occasional chuckle from Elias, the room is peaceful. That is until there is a knock on the door. “Babe can you answer that please?” 

Elias hums in response, pulling himself from the couch. We aren’t expecting anyone, but it’s not uncommon for one of the boys to drop in, or to have someone trying to sell us something on a Sunday. So much to my surprise it’s a woman’s voice at the door, asking for me specifically. “Is Kinsey here?”

Elias walks back into the living room, a look of confusion on his face. “There is someone at the door for you babe?” His statement sounds more like a question, and has my heart rate increasing. Who could be at the door looking for me? What happened?

Setting my laptop on the coffee table, I pull myself awkwardly from the couch. I take a moment to adjust my tshirt and fix my hair before rounding the corner. The figure standing in the doorway, has me stopping dead in my tracks. My face pales, as my body goes rigid. This must be some sick joke.

Grasped in her hand is an envelope. One I recognize well, because I had sealed it weeks ago. I knew making that invite was a bad idea. 

“Mom?”

———

Another cliff hanger? Why not? Let me know what you think! Part 4 is going to take some time, but I will get it out eventually I promise!

Tagging: @anastasiyaigorevnadobrodevskaya @heatherawoowoo @dripkingpetey @ya-pucking-nerd @jonnytoews19

[why-rock-look-tasty-if-no-eat]

Below isnt even a quarter of everything I've through, but it is stuff that I have previously told to some friends and all of them have agreed that it's fucked up. So if you're not ready to hear about some stuff from my 23 long years of life then skip this for your sake and mental wellbeing

I have:

Been starved for most of my childhood, some of it intentional by an adult, but most of it came from being so poor that I, a 6-10 yo, had to fish for food to feed the family. I'm the youngest. I was 13-14 when I was denied food every other weekend at my sperm donors house because his gf didn't like my older sibling and I. She apologized to my older sibling about it but not to me

Lived through at least two murder attempts by two family members before I turned 12. One was strangulation (8 yo) another was drowning (11 yo). It wouldn't surprise me if there was attempts on my life while I was sleeping

Accidentally joined a space cult when I was 5, but that cult got ran out of town a few months later

Heard more death threats than my name, I love you's, and nighttime stories between the ages of 5-20. I played a cd of a Junibee Jones book when I 6-7 for comfort before my sperm donor threw it away

Developed a trauma response for sleeping because I thought my sperm donor would kill me in my sleep when I was at his house and my mother didn't believe me even though he was making public death threats against my older sibling and I on facebook. So now I can function for 30+ hours off 2-5 hours of sleep or sleep for 19 hours straight when I feel safe and have been particularly sleep deprived

Been so emotionally, socially, medically, psychologically, and physically abused and neglected that I spent most of my teenage years reminding myself that I'm human because I had to think myself as not-human growing up otherwise I would have gone insane otherwise

Complained so much about being hungry when I was 7-9 that I would sometimes be shoved in the dog kennel (with a corgi and basset hound) and forced to act like a dog to be let out. Including eating dog food and drinking from the water bowl

Been jabbed in the chest when I was 7 with a butter knife and told to shut up or they'd stab me with a kitchen if I asked one time for a spoonful of peanut butter out of the jar that they were eating from

Had to play ignorant when my mother implied that I, a 13 yo at the time, was purposefully plying for the gym teachers 'special attention' (nothing happened except for him looking at me but he did get charged with sleeping with a few cheer leaders)

Under the Geneva Convention I have been psyologically tortured, I don't really know how many times, by social isolation (once, two weeks where I got fed twice a day or they sometimes forgot about me the whole day) and sleep deprivation (idek how many times. Maybe three times?) while working at my last job

Been starved so much for so many years that I developed a habit of eating pieces of dead/ripped skin and scabs. Though I stopped eating scabs when I turned 8

Never said 'I hate this family' since I was 11 after I was practically dragged by my hair off the top bunk and into the kitchen and got my head shoved into the oven and told to be grateful that I have such a good family because other families put their kids in the oven and turned it on and if I didn't stop saying stuff like that, then that's what would happen to me

Eaten moldy foods like bread and grapes because I was to hungry to not waste food, and the mold would help my immune system get stronger

Talked my older sibling out of suicide when I was 14 just for them to suicide bait me every time we've talked this past year. Including on my birthday and our grandfather's funeral. No baiting during their birthday though

Almost lost use of my thumb because a corgi bit through my hand when I was 7-8 and I still have scars from the bite. I don't blame her for it though, my sperm donor was abusing her and I approached her right after he beat her. My mother didn't know this happened until last month despite it being a hospital worthy wound

Been told it was my fault for getting my sperm donor and I in a car accident when I was 5 because I was asking questions at an intersection. The other driver ran the red light and he made me get in a car with people I didn't know, but he did know, to go to kindergarten (where he was driving me) less than fifteen after the accident happened despite me bawling for him to not leave me

Lost two childhood homes (10 and 20) because I wasn't told we/they were moving out until the day of. An older lady poked fun of me when I was 12 for being materialistic about my items and told me about how she once lost everything as a kid and I had to pretend that I also didn't lose most of my childhood items when I was 10

Been in so much pain from a right hip nerve injury that I was able to sit through 3 hours of dental surgery with the local and topical anesthesia being to low of a dosage so I felt most of it. I signaled that I needed more but the dentist and assistant ignored me. That injury was purposefully undiagnosed by 3 doctors and now I have the equivalent sense of touch of wearing a rubber glove over my toes and I have to consciously think where I step

Been told by a group of 5 men that they wouldn't have hesitated to rape me if we didn't work together. I worked night shift with them in a loud environment and wouldn't be off schedule with them for another 2 weeks

My older sibling constantly invalidating my traumas by saying that others have it worse than me while bemoaning about their own life. My mother likes to pretend that my older sibling and I didn't have that bad of childhoods

Cried over two packets of fruit snacks when I was 19 because I asked a roommate to buy me some fruit snacks as a joke and didn't expect her to do it. I kept getting yelled between the ages of 16-18 just for asking to get a 5 dollar meal after a 2 hour long workout twice a week and was told that buying that for me would be a waste of money

One of two of my most prominent memories from childhood is when I was 8 during winter time I walked out of my bedroom before the sun rose and stared into the empty pantry for an hour imagining what it'd look like to have food in there and wondering if it was safe to eat raisins that were 10 months expired

Started a life long hatred towards raisins because they kept those there for months after the above happened and I didn't want to risk eating them but they were one of three things in the pantry at any given point

Two out two most prominent memory is when I was sick with a fever of 103°F (39°C) but was told by my older sibling to get something from upstairs for them because they were playing a game (TS2). By the time I got to the stairs I couldn't walk anymore so I crawled up them but collapsed a few feet from the door. Older sibling told me to stop being lazy and get up to finish my task and started yelling at me when I said I couldn't move so they got up to get it themselves. When they passed me on the stairs I heard them saying "So pathetic and useless, can't even do one thing right" and left me there crying until our parents came home an hour later

Been forced to sit outside during a thunderstorm when I was 6 because I was 'being annoying' about my fear of thunder and I wasn't allowed to go back inside until I finished eating my blueberry bagel

Developed a hatred towards bagels that I only got over a few years ago but I still refuse to touch blueberry bagels. My favorite bagel is cinnamon raisin ironically enough

Known for 8 years now that my older sibling wishes that I was never born and blames me for our fathers war related PTSD and abusive alcoholism after he came back

Never been smart enough for my mother despite me constantly scoring in the top ranks of national tests and being in; AP Literature, AP (English) Language, AP Chemistry, AP Physics, AP US History, AP US Government, AP Psychology, (not AP but its not a normal curricular so I think it gets a pass) Sociology. I played in regular/marching bands, competitve Jazz and City Bands, and a competitive marching band (I played 3 instruments) and I sang in Women's Varsity Choir. Not to mention that I could have gotten my Associates in Criminology before I graduated HS if my mother agreed to drive me to the second year campus. During my last year of national testing I scored in like the 70% range of my weakest subject (math) and my mother told me I could have done better even though I literally only missed I think 2 questions in the English section and like 5 in Science, I don't remember my general score range for History. Legit though, that memory still pisses me the hell off and her reaction as well as me not getting to complete my Associates made me give up for the rest of my HS year and a half. Genuinely though, out of everything that moment was the moment was the straw that broke the camels back but now that I got spinal surgery , I'm filled with the rage of a million yellow jackets whose nest was shooken.

And I'm turned out fine!

Nothing quite like dropping some deranged lore about yourself only to follow it up with, "and I turned out fine!"

[i-know-my-value-darling]

Supernatural stars reflect on the show's undying legacy

Jared Padalecki, Jensen Ackles, and Misha Collins discuss 15 years of fantasy, family, and flannel. 

"We only get one shot at this." Sam and Dean Winchester are surrounded. The monster-hunting brothers are standing on the edge of a cliff. They look to Castiel, their brother in arms — or is it wings? — but even he can’t help. One move in the wrong direction could ruin everything. After years of fighting demons, going toe-to- toe with Satan himself, and saving the world multiple times, they once again find themselves in a position of having to perform under pressure. But this situation is unlike anything they’ve ever dealt with before. All eyes are on them as they have one shot…at getting the perfect picture.

It’s a dry, hot August day in Malibu — when people were still allowed to gather outside — as Supernatural stars Jensen Ackles, Jared Padalecki, and Misha Collins prepare for the last setup of their final Entertainment Weekly cover shoot. With a bottle of champagne in each of their hands, Ackles once again reminds them they get “one shot” to do this right. But if their characters can shoulder the weight of the world, surely these three can handle a photo. Read the whole story below

The champagne soaking is meant to be a celebration of 15 years, of making television history. Supernatural, the story of two brothers destined to save the world, is the longest-running genre show in the history of American broadcast television. (So old, the first three seasons shot on this thing called film.) What started as an underdog story, living its first few years on the verge of cancellation, has become an institution, a milestone to which other shows aspire. Supernatural not only survived the move from The WB to The CW after its first season — it’s now the final WB show left standing — but became the backbone of the now highly successful CW network. Over the years, the sci-fi series has aired on every weeknight, helping to launch shows including Arrow and The Vampire Diaries. The network moved it one final time, most recently, to Mondays, to help Roswell, New Mexico expand its audience. “Supernatural is a major link to many of the shows that we have successfully built to market,” The CW’s chairman and CEO Mark Pedowitz says. “Almost every one of our shows has had it as a lead-out or a lead-in.”

And to think, it all started as a promise to bring horror to television. After Supernatural creator Eric Kripke had finished working with Warner Bros. on 2003’s Tarzan series, he pitched the idea of a reporter who travels around hunting urban legends. As he puts it, it was a Kolchak: The Night Stalker rip-off. But when he realized the story would benefit from having brothers at its core, he started writing. “At the time, The Ring and The Grudge were huge hits in theaters,” Kripke remembers. “We said, ‘We’re going to take that experience and we’re going to put it on TV,’ and the initial goal was to be scary.” After Warner Bros. passed on his first, what he calls “uptight,” draft, Kripke had to reassess the kind of show he was creating. “I canceled all my Christmas plans and wrote that second draft in three weeks,” he says. “That was when the show got its sense of humor, because I was locked alone, over winter break, in my office. I couldn’t do anything fun, so I started entertaining myself.”

The show was still scary, but it was also funny and, over the years, would continue to evolve. Sure, you could say it’s a little bit X-Files — in its early days, the show often used the line “The X-Files meets Route 66” — and there were definite Star Wars influences (Sam and Dean were originally based on Luke Skywalker and Han Solo). But no combination of pop culture is going to perfectly describe Supernatural because the show has managed to do something remarkably rare in the age of peak TV, where audiences are so overwhelmed with content that an original idea seems foreign: It’s created a truly one-of- a-kind experience.

For starters, it’s a show about two flannel-wearing, beer-loving, blue-collar dudes from Kansas who for a good chunk of their lives traveled from cheap motel to cheap motel, paying for gas and greasy diner food with a mix of fake credit cards and money they earned scamming people at the pool table. “Almost all television is about rich people or, at the very least, middle-class people,” co-showrunner Andrew Dabb says. “The fact that we’ve been able to take this Midwestern blue-collar approach to this genre feels like we’re breaking the mold.”

But the mold-breaking didn’t stop there. Supernatural might’ve started out as a horror show with some snarky one-liners, but it evolved into some of the boldest, most experimental (and certainly strangest) stories on the small screen. “We’re a show of big swings,” co-showrunner Robert Singer says. “I used to say, with every idea, ‘This will be a home run or they’ll cancel us,’ but every year we wanted to do something really nuts." And when he says nuts, we’re not just talking about the episode with the talking teddy bear or the murderer targeting imaginary friends. Those are just some standard monsters of the week. We’re talking about the black-and-white episode shot like a classic Hollywood monster movie, or the episode that introduced Chuck (Rob Benedict), a prophet — who’d later reveal himself to be God — who was famous for writing a book series called Supernatural. That, of course, led to Sam and Dean attending a Supernatural fan convention as the show continued to redefine what it meant to inject a series with meta humor. And the swings never stopped. Season 13 featured a Scooby-Doo crossover as an animated Sam, Dean, and Castiel solved a case alongside the Mystery Inc. gang. And in season 14, after giving God a sister a few years prior, the show made the Big Man Himself its final villain. “I don’t think any idea, barring some production concerns, has been viewed as too crazy,” Dabb says. “Because we know that our fans are smart and that they’ll follow these guys anywhere.”

So long as each episode features Sam and Dean — and the occasional heartfelt talk on the hood of the Impala — the show can do just about anything, which is another reason Kripke had to rewrite his first draft of the pilot. Originally, Dean was the only brother who knew about monsters growing up, bringing Sam up to speed later in life. It wasn’t until Kripke figured out that they needed to be in this together that the series snapped into place. Because at the end of it all, they’re two brothers bonded by the loss of their mother and a life spent on the road with an absentee father. (It just so happens that their mother was killed by a demon and their father hunted them.) The familial dynamic — the irrational codependency, as the angel Zachariah (Kurt Fuller) once called it — is the most important part of the show. “The first inkling I had that we had something special was shooting the pilot,” Kripke says. “It was the scene on the bridge when Sam and Dean talk about their mother. It was the first time that you really saw their chemistry and their connection as brothers on full display. Because I’ve always said this show begins and ends with whether you believe that sibling relationship.” But Sam and Dean weren’t just the center of the show. For many years, they were the show.

Supernatural has never been an ensemble drama. For the first 82 hours of the series, Ackles and Padalecki were the only long-running series regulars — Katie Cassidy and Lauren Cohan briefly joined for season 3, appearing in 12 episodes combined. But Sam and Dean weren’t just in every episode; they anchored every episode. (They skipped table reads because there would’ve been only two actors there.) “I had many moments of not only questioning, ‘Can I keep this up?’ but an answer of ‘I cannot keep this up,’ ” Padalecki, 37, who’s been vocal about his struggle in the early seasons, says. “I borrowed strength from Jensen.” But even Ackles, 42, admits it was a tough job. “The 23-episode seasons were nine and a half months of filming,” he adds. “It was a lot of work, but I always came back to: I still enjoy it, I still like telling the story, I still like these characters and the people I work with.”

Not only did the guys stick around, they built a reputation of having created one of the warmest sets in the business, with a number of crew members staying with the production all 15 seasons. It all dates back to a talk Kripke had with his stars during the filming of the series’ second episode. “I said, ‘The show is about your two characters, and with that comes this responsibility,’ ” Kripke says. Padalecki remembers the exact setting of what he calls their “Good Will Hunting moment,” a bench in Stanley Park in Vancouver, where they film. It was a chat both actors took to heart. “We’d both been on other sets,” Ackles says. “We knew we wanted to enjoy it, to have fun with our crew; we wanted them to like us and us to like them and to have fun doing what we do.” It’s an attitude Pedowitz hopes bleeds into other CW shows, an attitude that launched an annual tradition where the CW chairman/CEO takes his new casts out to dinner with the Supernatural guys, a chance for the vets to share advice. “It’s always the most flattering situation,” Padalecki says, recalling a moment he had a few years back with the late Luke Perry, who was a part of the Riverdale cast. “Luke was sitting next to me and he was like, ‘What y’all have done and what we hear about you guys, it’s really cool to be associated with y’all in some way, shape, or form,’” he recalls. “And I’m sitting there pinching myself.”

It’s a behind-the-scenes legacy that’s perhaps just as impressive, if not more so, than the onscreen legacy. Collins, 45, who started as a guest star and the show’s first angel in season 4, has become the show’s third-longest-running series regular, and he still remembers walking onto set his first day. “When you’re coming onto a show as a guest star, it can be a little bit nerve-racking,” Collins says. “Coming to this set, it was an immediately different vibe. Think- ing about working on other shows in the future, that’s something that I aspire to bring with me.”

A similar reputation extends to the fans as well. Not only is the #SPNFamily one of the most dedicated fandoms out there, it’s also known to be a pretty nice one. (Not many fandoms can say they’ve helped launch a crisis support network for their fellow fans.) But their dedication isn’t just about seeing what crazy twist God throws at Team Free Will next. Thanks to fan conventions and social media, the viewers are just as invested in the lives of the actors. Supernatural’s not just about the words on the page, it’s about the actors saying them. “When you’re dealing with the public taste, there’s an alchemy of great writing, a great idea, and the close-up that’s required,” Peter Roth, chairman of Warner Bros. Television Group, says. “You need stars who you want in your living room.” And you need stars who want to be in your living room, and who, even after 15 years, care so deeply that they get emotional while taking photos in Malibu.

"It's going to be a long eight months," Ackles declares. Standing on that same ledge, an hour before the champagne shot, Ackles, Padalecki, and Collins walk away from a group hug after unexpectedly starting to tear up. It might be the setting — looking out over the ocean — or the occasion: their last-ever photo shoot. Or maybe it’s the fact that they’re almost a month into filming their final season.

It had been a question posed to the stars for years: How long will this show continue? How long can it continue? “Even my mom and dad were like, ‘When are you going to be done with this?’” Ackles says with a laugh. It was a decision the network and studio had ultimately put into the actors’ hands, and it was a conversation they’d been having for a while. Back in 2016, Padalecki told EW, “If we don’t make it to [episode] 300, I think Ackles and I will both be truly bummed.” But in season 14, they hit 300…and then kept going. While filming episode 307, they announced the upcoming 15th season would be the end, which will bring them to a total of 327 episodes when all is said and done. “[Jared] and I were always married to the fact that we never wanted to go out with a diet version of what we had,” Ackles says. “We wanted to have enough gas left in the tank to get us racing across the finish line. We didn’t want to limp across.” Padalecki remembers the moment it hit him �� not the decision to end it, but rather the opposite. “We had that moment where he and I both realized that we didn’t want it to end,” he says. “It finally got to a point, ironically, where it was like, ‘I never want to leave this. I could do this until the day I die, and then if I get the choice when I’m dead, I’ll re-up!’ But you never want to be the last person at a party. We just knew. That’s not to say there haven’t been vacillations, but we all trust the decision that was made.”

Starting in July 2019, the cast and crew returned to Vancouver to begin filming the final season, but in March 2020, with two episodes left to go, they were sent home. For years, fans had wondered what, if anything, could stop the Winchesters, and now it seems we have the answer: a global pandemic. As sets closed amid social-distancing measures due to the spread of COVID-19, it didn’t take long for fans to start connecting the dots, sharing relevant GIFs from episodes that featured viruses, most notably Chuck telling Dean to hoard toilet paper “like it’s made of gold” before the end of the world in season 5’s “The End.” (Did we mention that Supernatural is also kind of psychic? In a season 6 episode, Dean calls Sam “Walker, Texas Ranger,” which just so happens to be the role Padalecki has lined up after this ends.)

When production paused, it all felt a little like we were living in an episode of the show, just waiting for Sam and Dean to drive up in Baby, open those creaky doors, and save us. They might not be able to do quite that, but the thing with the Winchesters is that they never stay down for long. When Supernatural is able to safely resume production, it will. And though there are only two episodes left to film, fans will enjoy a total of seven unseen hours, including the return of Charlie (Felicia Day) and a mystery woman who visits the bunker and, for some reason, gives Sam and Dean all the holidays they never got to celebrate. “She makes Christmas for them and Thanksgiving, birthday parties, and all that. It’s a very good episode,” Singer says, adding, “I don’t know when it’s going to air.”

That’s the thing—no one knows, not even the guys who took out Yellow Eyes, stopped Leviathans, defeated Death himself, and are supposedly destined to be the messengers of God’s destruction. But Sam and Dean do know the value of a good plan B. “Obviously it’s a horribly unfortunate situation we’re in, but the silver lining is that it gives us an opportunity to recharge,” Ackles says. “We had just finished episode 18, we shot one day of episode 19, and I was reading these two monster scripts thinking, ‘It’s like we’re at the end of a marathon and they want us to sprint for the last two miles.’ I feel like this almost gives us an opportunity to refocus and go into the last two episodes and hit them with everything we got.” Because when they do return to set, shave their quarantine beards, and step back into Sam and Dean’s shoes for the last time, they’ll have one shot at ending this thing…and they’re determined not to miss. 

Photos: Peggy Sirota for EW 

https://ew.com/tv/supernatural-stars-cover-ew-to-reflect-on-the-shows-undying-legacy/

[xxisxxisxxis]

Gateway Drug | Part Ninety-Four [PT.2]

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Warning(s): explicit language

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VIVIAN

"Who was that?" Mandy asks me as I hang up the phone after talking to Nikki.

"Nikki." I reply, helping her get the straps on her dress adjusted. 

She doesn't look like a conventional bride in her satin black dress that reaches just below her thighs. 

"Looks pretty." I tell her. 

"Thanks." She replies. 

I think for a moment before clearing my throat. 

"Are you nervous at all?" I ask her and she looks at me. 

"No? Should I be?" 

"I mean, it's just a big step, you know?"

"Not any bigger than already living together. It's not gonna change much." She says. "It's just a silly piece of paper to me." She admits. "I'm doing this for him, he's always wanted to get married--don't get me wrong, I have, too--but it's never been on my absolutely priority list like it's on his." She explains. 

"If it's just a silly piece of paper, why does it take so long to get it annulled, or divorce finalized?" I ask her and she furrows her brows. 

"There's a lot that goes into marriage, Mandy, and it does change things to an extent. But it's a good change." I assure her. 

"No offense, Vivian, but shouldn't you be worried about your own marriage before you worry about mine?" She asks me, a little aggravated. 

I get aggravated right back. 

"I didn't mean anything by it, Amanda. I just think you shouldn't marry him because he wants marriage more than you do and you want to make him happy. You marry him because you love him and you want to do it without the pressure of living up to a standard he subconsciously has placed on you. I'm just trying to look out for both of you because I'm his friend and I'm--"

"--Trust me, I'm well aware." She cuts me short. 

"Then act like it and don't talk to me like that in my own fucking house." I snap. 

She just stares at me and I stare at her. 

"You know what? I need to get going. I've gotta run to town. Thanks for your help." She says flatly, getting the dress back off and pulling her clothes on.

When she gets to the door she stops and turns to me. 

"I get it. You're carrying his kid and I'm the woman he proposed to when you wouldn't stay with him. I wasn't trying to be a bitch. I'm just trying to fucking adjust to this shit, because it's hard on me, Vivian. This whole clusterfuck is really fucking hard on me." 

"Like it's easy for me?" I ask her, scoffing. 

"I have to know I'm second to him, Vivian. Do you know how much that fucking hurts? And he swears up and down I'm first, I'm a priority, but I know I'm not. I know if both of us was fucking dying and he could only save one, he'd choose you." 

"Well, like you said, I'm the one pregnant with his kid, so…" I blurt it without a thought and immediately regret it. 

She just looks hurt--betrayed even--and slams the door shut on her way out before she gets to her car and squeals out of the driveway. 

"Shit." I say to myself. "Vivian, you shouldn't have fucking said that...what have you done?" 

I figured Duff would call shortly after and scold me. Little did I know the phone call would be skipped altogether.

"What the hell, Vivian?!" Duff says, slamming my door shut and I jump a little, looking at him as he comes to me in the living room. 

"I didn't mean to say what I said." I tell him. 

"Didn't mean to say it?! You basically told her you were more important because you're knocked up with my baby!"

"Am I not?" I ask him, raising my brows. 

"That doesn't mean you're more important to me, Vivian. That doesn't mean Mandy's second place right now. You're both important to me in different ways!"

"Oh, so if I told you Nikki and I were done and I wanted to be with you, you wouldn't leave her within a matter of days and be with me?" 

"Not with you acting like this." He declares. 

"Like what?"

"Like fucking--" He stops talking before he says something he'll regret, before huffing out a breath of air… "You're jealous, and I get that, but you're not treating Mandy like shit just because you think you have the upper hand, right now." 

"I didn't treat her like shit, I just said--" 

"--I know what you said. She told me what you said. I love you, but I'm not doing the petty cat-fight drama so cut it out." He states sternly. "And if you wanna play the, 'I'm carrying his baby' card, that's fine. Be the woman I just got pregnant. But she'll always be the one I married."

"She's also the one hammering screwdrivers with you at brunch, I've heard." I tell him, crossing my arms, trying not to be hurt by his words. 

"Whatever makes you feel a million miles taller than everybody else, Viv." He gives up, heading to the door before turning to look at me. "You're taking your medication like you're supposed to, right?" 

"Go fuck yourself." I snap. 

"That's what I thought." He says sharply. 

"You can leave now." I say, defensively. 

I thought that was that...thought.

"I just missed a dose or two, Nikki, honestly." I tell him the next morning, not necessarily telling the truth but also not lying completely. 

"Vivian, we're not doing this shit where you don't take your medication, again." He tells me. 

"I'm not doing it, Nikki." 

"And I've heard some shit about fucking lithium and you don't need to just miss any doses if you can help it. It can fuck your body up and if it can do that to you it sure as shit can hurt the baby." 

"Nikki, I didn't miss any doses on purpose, I just forgot." 

"Right, like you forgot to take your Nardil for three months in a row at times." 

"Can you hop off, Nikki, I mean, seriously. I'm trying here." 

"I'm not trying to get on to you, Viv, I just want you to take this serious."

"I do." I insist. 

"Then why is Duff telling me you went off on Mandy and him?" 

"Oh, he told you that, too? Along with my lack of taking my medicine on time?" 

"He's worried, Vivian."

"He should be. He's fucking his life up by marrying her." 

"Vivian." He snaps and I look at him, sighing. 

"We broke up. And within a few weeks, he's engaged to her, Nikki. They're getting married in two months, did you know that? Who the hell gets married five months after they have a breakup from someone they were in love with? Not to mention his drinking." 

"So what if the guy had a few screwdrivers at breakfast or whatever? I've seen Sharise throw back mimosas at ten in the morning before." 

"Champagne and orange juice is a lot different than straight vodka and orange juice, Nikki." I state. 

"Alcohol is alcohol." He reminds me. "And besides, he's probably drinking because he's under a lot of pressure with the band right now, and you're catching a lot of shit right now, and he's got a lot on his mind." He adds. 

"I do, too, but I'm not rushing into a marriage to try to convince myself I'm making the right decision." I mumble. 

"Nah, I think you and I both did enough of that five years ago." He replies and I realize what I said, and look at him pointedly. 

"I didn't mean it like that."

"I didn't say you did. I just think maybe you're taking something out on him because you don't want him to me the same mistake we did." He suggests. 

"Oh, so you're the therapist now or something?" 

He just stares at me with a little smirk, his eyes searching mine. 

"I'm gonna blame the exponential amount of bitchiness on the pregnancy." Is all he says before trying to get up.

"Okay, I'm sorry, I'm sorry." I say, reaching out and grabbing his wrist, and he looks at me and sits back down. "I'm sorry, Nikki, alright?" 

"There's a reason I wanted to talk to you, I didn't just bring you down here so you could start a fight." He raises his brows. "I wanted to talk to you about something important." 

I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear and he rubs his face. "Look, about the whole sex thing…" 

My face burns with embarrassment and I let out a breath. 

"I don't wanna talk about it, Nikki. Let's just forget it happened." I tell him. 

"No, don't do that, Viv, it's not anything to be--"

"--I cried and whined over not getting dick. Yes, it is something to be embarrassed about. So let's just not even acknowledge it happened." 

"You were crying and whining because I, your husband, wouldn't be intimate with you. It has nothing to do with sex itself, but the feeling that comes with it--at least that's what Amber told me." He tells me. 

I just smile at the fact he's actually paying attention to his therapist instead of blowing off her intel. 

"I guess you're right." I reply. 

"And I'm sorry for that…it's not like I just found out about the baby. I've known it since you told me. I agreed to work this out with you, you know? So I shouldn't have thrown it in your face that I'm not attracted to you because of the baby thing."

"Well...are you not attracted to me?" 

"The first session we had I was trying to get you on Amber's desk, Viv." He reminds me, chuckling. 

"That was before you knew I was pregnant, Nikki." 

"...It was?" 

"I think it was." 

"...oh…" 

"Look, I'm just as attracted to you now as I was when we first met." He assures me. 

"You hated me when we first met."

"Doesn't mean I didn't wanna get you under me." He shrugs. 

"Oh, whatever." I roll my eyes and he grins. 

"My point is that I'm sorry for making you feel like something's wrong with you or you're undesirable or something. The truth is, Amber suggested that we wait on having sex for a while until we're mentally stable enough to separate sex and intimacy from problem solving and apologies." 

"...And you agree with her?" I raise a brow, not believing my ears. 

Since when the hell does Nikki Sixx take marriage advice from anybody? 

"Yeah, I guess I do." He shrugs.

I just scoff.

"Viv, you said it yourself multiple times the past few years that sex doesn't solve anything." 

"I meant using sex as a means to brush things under the rug. Not just happy-go-lucky-'we aren't just doing this to keep our marriage from falling apart'-sex." 

"Was there a difference in the two by 1986?" He raises his brows and I'm about to argue some more, but he has a point.

"I'm trying, Viv. You know I am. I haven't tried barely at all, and you know that, too, so please, let's just see if this works." He pleads. 

"So, what, we're just not gonna do anything until we get our crap together?" 

"That's a good way to put it, yeah." He nods. 

Despite it being an inconvenience, it'd be well worth it. Maybe if we aren't so focused on getting each other's bones jumped, it'll give us time to actually grow up, some. 

"Okay, Nikki." I agree and he looks relieved.

I made a very deliberate point to stop by Amber's office on the way out.