#and if anyone has better sources than the ones ive been seeing for the past four years PLEASE let me know!!

[thatneoncrisis]

I was just catching up on your most recent fic after a busy week and saw your AN and came here looking for more clarification.

I guess I don’t understand why you felt the need to take it upon yourself to write something that you knew would get the attention of the people you were satirizing. Your whole stance on fan fiction (based on your own personal statements in both your asks and your ANs) seems to be that if people aren’t doing it the way you personally like, they shouldn’t be doing it at all. You keep saying you want people to just talk to you about it but why should they when you haven’t extended that gesture to them?

Also it’s very odd of you to be speaking for an entire group of people you yourself do not identify with. To what end exactly? So you can pat yourself on the back and tell yourself you fandom correctly while everyone else doesn’t? Did someone come to you and ask you to advocate for them? It just doesn’t make sense why you felt like this was your responsibility to correct or something.

It kind of reeks of moral (and fandom) superiority, like you’re just doing the most to educate people (which is. Not a thing we need in fandom spaces) and keep them on your straight and narrow instead of letting fandom works be what they are which is, for most people, a fun, exploratory way to engage with the source material. Your GOTCHA attitude towards readers who were enjoying your “bland” fic was very shocking. It does come across like you just want to embarrass people who enjoy those types of stories and tropes and make yourself feel enlightened and better than them because you thought outside the box.

I don’t know. The idea of using these tropes as a tool to spring “THIS WASN’T REAL” on readers is fun but I think it would have been much better if you hadn’t actually been making fun of other people. That kind of spoils the whole experience of your fic. I’ve been a fan of your writing and art for a long time and I do genuinely understand the desire to have people write more of what you want to see/write things that feel more in-character, but the approach here is confusing and off putting and it’s pretty disappointing to see you openly hurt people just because you like dicking around and can’t just scroll past stories/ideas/headcanons you don’t agree with.

Anyway I doubt any of this will change your mind about what you did and I doubt you’ll even care about what I have to say about it. It’s hurtful and upon deeper inspection and reading and rereading the fic and your AN and asks, I’m pretty sure I’m one of the intended targets. This is kind of word vomit at this point as I try to get my thoughts out but you asked for the people you were criticizing to reach out so here I am. Discouraging and disappointing but I hope you found what you were looking for I guess.

see thats like. completely antithetical to the point ive been reiterating for like a week. i CANNOT stop anyone from writing and i dont want to this is not the take away and it never has been. if they want to write fifteen fics like that to spite me then good on them i really just

cannot keep saying enough that i dont want anyone to STOP writing. this was just me kind of screaming in the dark because i see the exact same patterns repeated over and over. you should never ever stop creating because some fucking nobody is frustrated with the content produced en mass for free as a hobby. there is no actionable Thing that can take place here i cant stop anyone from writing any of this i just kind of wanted some people to Think about what they were reading. ive gotten messages from people saying they didnt like the initial tone of the story before chapter 4 but kept reading it because they were desperate for content. thats nuts to me! but i also understand that those people just have very little to choose from. if anything i want MORE people to write

like i keep saying again and again i do not want and cannot stop anyone from writing whatever they want. im not your mom! and to a certain degree, this did come out of nowhere there was no big thing that set it off, it was just me being obscenely frustrated.

and what i am REALLY frustrated about is how presumptuous youre being! i do feel bad that i hurt people and i decided basically a day after i posted the chapter i would never do something like this ever again. theres just too much room for misinterpretation. you are actively reading me as malicious like we can just talk in dms. "im so disappointed in you" YOU DO NOT KNOW ME. THAT is the shit that is getting to me youre acting like i am incapable of acknowledging how i know this fic could have been interpreted. its up now i made my bed im not going to plug my ears and pretend a public vent wouldn't catch people unawares. i am no stupid and do not treat me as such

i am actively choosing not to post most of the asks i get in FAVOR of this because they are dumping on the kinds of fics i dont even necessarily like and i think that's just adding on. again this is why i spoke about braid tropes used, shit that could basically be applicable to any fandom, and not a particularly fic. i didnt want to go into someones comments or dms and say hey! your fic is personally, to me, bad and hard to read, might you explain yourself? like theres nothing TO explain its aet it just exists how it is. there was no nice way of doing this kind of thing, but itd be so sweet if people didnt call me a friendless clout chaser and do some "you'll never work in this town again" shit.

[fatal-blow]

anyways look at my new killifish theyre such little angels (i have three, this is the male)

my betta, senna,

shes very chill as far as bettas go, but you better believe she was flaring like mad at the new guys to make sure they know shes in charge. im honestly very impressed though because shes handled learning to live in this little community tank like a champ, and every day her fins look back and a lil bit more colour seeps back into her (shes had it rough, you can see shes holding her tail fin all crimped in the middle where the rays healed weird because she had some fin rot when i got her, and she's still healing the tear which you can kiiiinda see at the end)

the panda corys who are fucking everything to me. on the left is motorbike, i think right is salvadore (with steeb the clown killifish photobombing) but there are three others, marble (my beloved girl, who was tiny and had an injury when i first got her and now she fucks like a champ), no-stache (sick when he arrived, lost his barbels but theyre growing back!), and newguy (who i got with no-stache and never got around to naming fjfj)

THIS tiny, TINY little snail who hitchhiked in with some pond muck and has been hanging out for the past few months (i keep thinking it died because i only see it on the glass but nope it moves around, nocturnal perhaps?)

AND LAST but not least, the Rummies, all 11 of them who were the first residents of the tank still going strong. the sex ratio isnt great (3 females, 8 males) but the ladies have now formed a lil coalition and honestly are thriving. always first to the food. dotsa in those first two pics is head honcho, bigger than everyone else, and an absolute fiend. she's always the first one to figure out a new food source or try out smth new im feeding them. recently ive caught her poking around in some of the plants and chasing off anyone who tries to investigate, presumably having found a meal of little creatures she's not willing to share

and bonus picture of grek, my scoliosis killi

[sophieinwonderland]

i was scrolling r/SC and its weird the mods are saying you arent responding to their modmail responses and claiming you are "threatening sub members". I have seen no evidence of this anywhere.

Ive seen the odd claims that somehow you are only citing older DSM sources because it "supports your narrative" but then they dont read the criteria for how vague it actually is. Nothing you have show has supported the sysmed claims and I have a degree! I've studied this for more then 6 years and I'm licensed! It's vague for a reason.

The mods there seem to think that our life should revolve around them just because I sent a message to them asking them to remove a post mentioning my name and age. I have asks in my box, and other posts I want to make. I got what I wanted from that conversation, which was proof that I reached out to them to ask them to remove comments naming me. I might respond further if I find the time and the interest. But I haven't yet decided.

As for threatening members of the subreddit... I really have no idea what they're talking about. If anyone there has received any actual threats, it wasn't from me.

I think either they're making things up, or are taking some sort of statement that I'll continue to post about their hate sub as a "threat."

I don't have any idea what they're talking about with citing older DSM entries either. I rarely discuss the DSM, and when I do, it's almost always the DSM-5.

I prefer the ICD-11 as my go-to source, as it explicitly acknowledges that you can have multiple "distinct personality states" without a disorder.

Furthermore, most of the published papers researching and acknowledging endogenic plurality that I cite have all come out within the past decade.

Varieties of Tulpa Experiences: 2016

The Plurality chapter of Transgender Mental Health: 2018

The ICD-11's Boundary With Normality for DID: 2019

Exploring the Utility and Personal Relevance of Co-Produced Multiplicity Resources with Young People: 2021

Conceptualizing multiplicity spectrum experiences: A systematic review and thematic synthesis: 2023

It's just a body: A community-based participatory exploration of the experiences and health care needs for transgender plural people: 2023

And many others.

Practically the only time I cite the DSM is when debunking people falsely claiming the DSM says you need trauma to be a system.

Otherwise, I generally don't consider it that relevant. It never claims you need trauma to be a system. It acknowledges possession states as real phenomena. And the existence of criterion C implies you can meet the other criteria without a disorder. But I feel there are better sources out there to use.

Like you say, it's vague. Despite leaning towards the existence of non-disordered and endogenic plurality, it doesn't go far enough to make it valuable for me.

I'm certainly not going to use older versions of the DSM as sources.

But yeah, there really is nothing to back up their claims. I've been asking anti-endos for years for even ONE single peer-reviewed paper stating that you can't be plural without trauma or a disorder. Just one.

Because I can name countless reputable psychologists and psychiatrists who have made it clear they believe in other forms of plurality in peer-reviewed papers from reputable publishers. I've seen others who are open to the possibility but seem neutral for no other reason than the fact their specialization is in trauma disorders, and they don't deal with people who aren't traumatized or don't have mental illnesses of some kind.

What I have never once seen is a single anti-endo provide a peer-reviewed source stating that you can't possibly be plural without trauma. And I mean this with any wording. It doesn't have to say "plural" or "system," as long as it communicates that this is the only possible way to have multiple self-conscious agents in your head.

See, for example, how the creators of the theory of structural dissociation have said in one paper that "self-conscious" "dissociated parts of the personality" may be involved in mediumship and hypnosis.

In the years I've been asking for this, not one person has been able to link to a peer reviewed source where a psychiatrist or psychologist has stated the opposite.

All they have on their side is The Big Lie. I've talked about this recently. Just repeat a claim over and over again until people believe it. Claim the experts support and agree with you, and you never need to source any of those non-existent experts. That's what r/systemscringe, and sysmeds in general, are depending on. That their members will be gullible enough to just accept whatever they say.

[yesimwriting]

playing vices

“A/n a blurb bc ive been working on my novel and ive missed writing for Kirigan :))

--

I am a fool that has played into her vices enough to make them addictions. That must have been Kirigan's plan. He knows that I don't agree with his methods. He is also much too aware of the fact that I am beyond attached to him. He plays into that fact often, lulling me to him whenever he feels that my conscious is in danger of driving a wedge between us.

Which is why I have become accustomed to falling asleep while running my fingers along his skin as he whispers things much sweeter than anything he would say while fully awake.

But now it's late and he's not here. I sit up, kicking the comforter off of me slightly. It seems Aleksander has been more and more absent these days. When he's not with me, the odds that he's doing something that hurts people are high. His absence is also starting to make me feel like he's losing interest in me. It would make sense considering the fact that he looked twice at me in any capacity has never seemed logical.

Maybe that's why we've never indicated commitment to each other. I don't know what commitment would be with him. He seems to grand to be considered a 'boyfriend', but there's something more than friendly about how he holds onto me. I've never cared for labels until I started feeling displaced.

"You're still awake."

I press my lips together, trying to seem a little calmer. "Couldn't sleep."

"Troubling thoughts?" The question is more weighted than it should be. Everything with him is. 

“Has anyone ever called you dramatic?” 

His lips quirk upwards, hinting at a smile. Warmth pools in my stomach, the way it always does when he lets me see the slight glimmer of light that’s still in him. Sometimes I think he only shows me this softness when he feels that I may pull away. It may be rooted in manipulative intent, but I know that it’s real. 

“Only you would have the gall,” he says, voice low yet not dark. 

Kirigan’s easiness coaxes a smile from my lips. A small one, but I can feel the way the crack in my tension feeds his confidence. He takes pride in slipping past the walls I only try to create when cautious or irritated. Today I’m both but I need to pretend like I’m neither. The more resistance he senses, the more forward and effective his advances become. 

I keep my expression neutral. I’m sure Alina could get away with calling him that. I wish she was more unlikable. It would be easier to hide my irritation if I could blame that displaced feeling in my chest on two people. But of course Alina is wonderful, beautiful, and his equal.

Whatever. It’s not like we’re really anything. Every time I see him I wait for his betrayal. There’s nothing worth using me for, and somehow that makes me feel worse. He should have never looked at me twice let alone encourage whatever strange relationship we’ve created. 

My silence seems to displease him because he approaches my bedside easily in quick yet patient strides. Now that he’s close enough to touch I feel some of the ice I managed to solidify melt. 

Kirigan lifts a hand and places it on my knee easily. I stiffen instinctually, he runs his thumb over my skin to fight my resistance. “Who’s upset you?” 

I breathe, forcing myself to ease. “No one has.” I don’t have to meet his gaze to know he doesn’t believe me. That’s the core source of our attachment, we can read each other with less than a look. “I’m just getting a headache,” not a full lie, “I’ll feel better after some sleep.” He squeezes my knee slightly, a soft way of asking me for more. “I don’t think I’ll be good company tonight.” 

His hand leaves my knee, fingertips barely grazing my thigh as he moves his hand to hold beneath my chin. I still as he turns my head so that I have no choice but to meet his gaze. “You don’t need to be good company when what I want is your presence.” 

I press my lips together to avoid melting into the promising pools of warmth that make up his irises. He spent all day with Alina, took Zoya’s side in an argument I had with her earlier this week, and now he comes to me late at night. He seems to only want to acknowledge me when we’re alone, and it’s not like I want more than that. I just don’t know how long my heart will be able to teeter the line between nothing and something. I’m a fool for having let it go on this long. 

The only problem is that his steady stare is chasing away all of my rationality. “I’m sure you’ll be able to find someone more in the mood to offer their presence.” 

My curtness leaves something behind his expression dull, the hint of a smile that was growing on him has now vanished. I am met with a stoic disposition I have never had directed at me. 

“They’re not you,” he counters, voice edged by something I don’t understand. 

That’s the point. They’re not me--I’m average. I can’t offer power and my relationship experience is basic at best. I don’t want to have this argument, not when I’m basically fighting for him to let me go when that’s not what I want. 

I’m making it easier. If it hurts this much when I was only on the cusp of something, imagine the pain I’l feel if I let it continue. I turn my head away so that he’s no longer holding my chin. “Not a bad thing.” 

“To me it is.” He doesn’t hesitate, my chest swells. His thumb brushes against my cheek, soft and comforting. “I’m tired,” he says this like it’s a confession. His admission hangs in the air for a long moment, as heavy and weighted as my heart. “If you’re angry, wait until morning.” 

Something in my heart cracks. “I’m not angry.” My gaze drops, my thoughts struggling to come together. “I’ll be nicer to deal with in the morning.” 

“Y/n,” his tone twists from distant to warning, “the last time you asked me to leave was when you discovered something you didn’t like.” 

I almost wince at the way he’s worded it. When I found out what his real plans were, I told myself I had to leave. He skirted past all of my reservations and walls, twisting my doubt away through coddling whispers and shy brushes of fingers.

“This isn’t like that.” Not a lie. 

He exhales slowly, the sound dangerously sharp. “Then what is it?” 

“Why did you come here so late?” The question leaves me too sharply. I’m exposing too much but I can’t help it. “If you don’t want to answer, that’s fine.” My voice is flat. “I’m sure Alina will be happy to fill me in.” I can’t bring myself to take in his reaction. “And if she can’t, I’m sure Zoya will be able to.” 

He’s silent for a long second. “Unwarranted jealousy doesn’t suit you.” 

His confidence sparks something angry within me.  “I am not jealous.” The most blatant lie of the night, but I don’t care. I turn my head to glare at him, “and don’t just tact on ‘unwarranted’ before something that’s true just because it’s easier for it not to be.” 

I watch his expression cautiously until the slightest tilt of his lips adds to my anger. He’s enjoying this or he did this intentionally or both. “Darling,” he hums, voice soft, “you are the only person that makes me feel peace.” 

My stomach flutters, the sensation threatening to break my weak resolve. “I am not particularly powerful,” I breathe, voice stiff, “or particularly...” How do I explain this all to him? “Anything.” He’s everything, and I am nothing but average. “I’m average at best, there’s no reason for you to want anything to do with me, and that’s fine--but don’t lie and pretend that that’s not true.” 

The sentence is barely out fo my mouth before I feel myself pulled towards him by the collar of my nightgown. His lips are on mine before I can question where this is going. I kiss him back too quickly, but any effort I expend is returned fervently.

He pushes me back slightly as quickly as he yanked me forward. He doesn’t explain. I don’t ask him to. I should demand an answer and shove him away from me or pull him back towards me. But I do nothing. I just stare at him as he stares at me. 

When the weight of the silence threatens to break something in me, I force myself to speak, “Kirigan--”

“Aleksander.” The name is soft and so fragile I worry it will shatter in the air before it can fully reach me. “You know there’s much I’m not ready to say, but that,” he exhales, the sound so sad I want to reach for him, “that is the one name I have not given to myself and I want you to have it.” Something conflicted crosses his features. “I would never give that to someone average.” 

Emotion swells in my chest, heavy yet not painful. “Aleksander.” I’m not sure if I’m trying to call to him or if I’m just trying to feel his name--his true name--on my lips. 

His eyes widen, something unbearable behind them. He moves the hand holding the collar of my nightgown to my cheek. I lean into the contact like a fool as his eyes flutter shut. “Say it again.” 

I don’t hesitate, “Aleksander.” I lift my hand, fingers hesitant to find their place on his cheek. “Aleksander.”

He sighs into both the contact and the name. “You’re the first thing I’ve allowed myself to want,” his eyes open, but I cannot bring myself to meet his gaze, “I should make you feel like it.”

Something about the way he says that is sad. “I think that if it’s fair to say you were a little distant, it’s just as fair to say that I was a little jealous.” 

Aleksander smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “I’m tired,” he admits, “I’ll enjoy my victory in the morning.” 

I roll my eyes, but scoot over to give him a place by my side regardless. “I’m not sure you won, I think it was more of a draw.” 

He takes the space I offer quickly, never letting the contact between us disappear as he settles himself against my pillow. I let him pull me towards him. “This feels like a victory.” 

I try to ignore the warmth in my chest. “You’re lucky I’m tired enough to find that endearing.” 

I relax as his fingers trace shapes I’ll never know about onto my back. “I agree.” 

[airis-paris14]

See You Again

A/N: Just something short I never posted. It probably sucks, but I thought I'd share anyway. WE OUTSIDE YALL. (Please be outside RESPONSIBLY. COVID is still a thing. Please get vaccinated and or wear a mask.) Love Y'all.

Masterlist

“My King,” Okoye called, handing T’Challa a bag he forgot. “Next week.”

“ I know Okoye. I promise I will be ready to leave.” Okoye nodded before reboarding the jet. The king watched before beginning the short walk up to his friend's front door.

He rang the doorbell before staring up at the building. It’d been years since he’d last been in this apartment. Freshman year of college to be exact. Anaya’s parents had invited him to spend Thanksgiving with them after finding him and their daughter studying together on a surprise visit to their daughter's dorm. They weren’t in the room, lucky for them, but it seemed that her parents were invested in a dream that wouldn’t come true. Not that either of them was ready to admit they couldn’t be together either. At least that early on.

So much has changed since then. They graduated. Got two Ph. Ds respectively and then moved on. Anaya became a celebrated fashion historian and critic, and T’Challa a king. Halfway across the world, they’d reconnected by chance in Paris and hadn’t let go since. Somewhere T’Challa had been holding on to a silly notion that maybe he and Anaya could give being together another go, but he knew it was a fruitless endeavor.

Same as his ringing of the doorbell had been. Worried, the king began knocking on the door. “Quit your racket! She’s not here!” An elderly woman crooned from her front porch. “Pardon?”

“She ain’t here! The baby called.” The woman chuckled to herself, “Ran outta here like a firecracker. Her two friends following close behind.”

“She was pregnant?”

“Don’t know how you missed it sonny, big as a blimp, carrying high though. My bets on a girl you know,” she paused to size up the young king. “And you must be that no good bastard baby’s father. Walking out on her like that you know I should-!”

“Ma’am, I promise you I am not him. As much as I wish I could have been,” the king mumbled the last part.

“Well then now’s your chance son. The real father ain’t here, and I hate to see that child grow up without a father figure. What’s keeping you from claiming that child?”

“A lot more than you’ll ever know..” T’Challa looked up, despair written across his face. The woman's gaze softened. “You’ll never know till you try. At least go and see her. I mean you came to her house. All dressed up with flowers and a bag of gifts. You must really care for her.”

“I do.”

“She’s at the university hospital.” The old woman instructed. “Thank you,” the king nodded. “Anything to see her happy, ever since her parents died she’s been sitting up in that house all alone. Make it right.”

Two hours and four phone calls later, T’Challa pulled up to the hospital in his hired car. The driver opened the back door of the SUV to allow the king and his baby present out into the air. He nodded at the driver before making his way up to the reception desk. “Hi, how may I help you?” The woman looked up from her computer. “You must be looking for our maternity ward. This your first?” She nodded at the gifts. “You could say that,” T’Challa chuckled.

“May I have your name and the patient’s?”

“T’Challa, and Anaya Johnson.”

“Great, Ms. Johnson is in room 408 in the maternity wing. Go down the hall, on the left, there will be an elevator. Take that up to the fourth floor, make a right and it should be the fourth door down. You can’t miss it.”

“Thank you,” the king smiled hoisting up the big teddy bear, careful not to crush the flowers and various other bags. “Would you like an escort Mr. T’Challa?”

“I believe I can handle this one,” The king insisted. “Very well, and congratulations.”

The king frowned. “Thank you.”

Four floors up, and three doors down, T’Challa finally stood outside of room 408. He took several steadying breaths before knocking. “Who is it? A familiar voice called. He heard footsteps on the other side of the door before it carefully creaked open.

“T’Challa?”

The king smiled in surprise. “Tella? Hi.”

“Hey, what are you doing here?” The brown skin woman beamed, opening up the door, her eyes widening slightly as she saw all of the gifts.”She said she hadn’t heard from you in months.”

“Yeah, I was on my way to visit Anaya and her neighbor told me she was here, having a baby.”

“Yeah, um come in. She and Jean went for a walk, the doctor said it would help with contractions.” Tella grabbed the bear from T’Challa and moved to set it in a corner, while he found space to set down his other gifts. “So how’ve you been? We used to get status updates from Anaya for you. Then you just vanished.”

“Well, there is a lot I haven’t told you all. Wakanda is a monarchy, and my father, and his father, and his father, and his mother, and her father, and his mother, and so on, have all ruled our country. Now it is my turn.”

“To rule?”

“To rule.” The king nodded. “So you vanished because you became king?”

“I vanished because there was a coup, an attempt on my life, which was almost successful. The coup sent my country into a civil war,” The king explained.

“T’Challa, this doesn’t even sound real,” Tella interrupted. “I mean, how is anyone supposed to believe you?”

“May I see your phone?” T’Challa stopped her.

“T’Challa,”

“Just let me prove it to you. I did not ghost Anaya by choice. I still want to be with her.”

“After all this time-”

“Please, I know it seems implausible, but let me show you,” the king reached out a hand.

“Fine T’Challa-” Tella handed over her phone. “Ask siri,” the king instructed.

“Seriously?” Tella frowned. “Just ask her.”

“Siri, who is the king of Wakanda?”

Her phone glowed before responding, “T’Challa Udaku was crowned King of Wakanda after the passing of his father last summer during a United Nations Assembly. I found this article online from the New York Times and several other sources.”

“T’challa if this is true, I mean since this is true, the prospects of you and Anaya getting together is now even more impossible. Why are you here?”

“Because she is my friend, and I love her. She is having a baby, and I will support her.”

“You are not its father!”

“Don’t you think I know that? Do you know how much it hurts me to know that I’m not? That I may never be the father of any of her children.”

“This isn’t about you T.”

“I know, but the child’s father is not here. I am. Even if he was, I still would be, because she is my friend too Tella.”

“I just do not want to see her hurt. Don’t give her false hope T’Challa.”

“On the contrary, I believe it is she who gives me false hope,” the king sighed. Tella pulled him in for a hug. “Just give it time, and who knows, you’re a king now aren’t you?”

“That I am,” T’Challa nodded as the room’s door squeaked open. A nurse helped Anaya back into the room and T'Challa couldn’t help the way his eyes widened at Anaya’s pregnant form. His heart erupted in butterflies, imagining if that had been his child. Tella slapping his arm startled him back to reality. Tella jerked her head towards where the nurse was trying to help Anaya and maneuver the IV stand back into the room with her. T’Challa hurried over to wrap an arm around Anaya’s waist and grab her other hand. The nurse smiled in thanks and surprise. No surprise could top Anaya’s expression. She gaped as T’Challa shot her a smile. “Long time no see,” The king teased as he helped her further into the room and onto her bed. A grimace stole her smile as another contraction hit.

“I’ll grab Dr.Ben and she’ll be right in to check on your progress, Ms. Johnson.” The middle-aged black woman smiled at the expecting mother. “Thank you,” Anaya smiled before turning back to her best friend. “What are you doing here?”

“I came to surprise you, only to find out from your neighbor that you were in labor,” The king smiled.

“Mrs. Patterson told you where I was?”

“I guess so,” the king frowned. Anaya and Tella laughed. “What did you do to her? Mrs. Patterson doesn’t like anyone. Especially men.” Tella explained.

“She did almost try to beat me up when she thought I was your ‘bastard baby’s father’.” T’Challa told the two women who groaned. Anaya grimaced her way through a contraction and T’Challa stepped over and offered her his hand. The mother smiled at his touch and threaded her fingers through his as the contraction dissipated.

“I’m gonna go find Jean in the gift shop,” Tella excused herself, leaving T’Challa and Anaya alone. “What’s been going on with you King T’Challa,” Anaya teased as she tried to push herself into a seated position.

“Nothing much. The world of politics cooled off for a while and I wanted to apologize for being awol these past months.” T’Challa helped rearrange the pillows so she could sit up. “What about you soon to be umama?”

“Well, this has been my life pretty much, still don’t know how I’m going to manage working at museums and shows towing this one around.”

“Where’s the father?” T’Challa asked softly. A tear formed in Anaya’s eye, “He doesn’t want to be involved. We were drunk that night and you know…..”

“You don’t have to explain,” T’Challa squeezed her hand. “Thanks,” she murmured. “What are you having?” The king inquired, sweeping some box braids back over her shoulder. “I don’t know. I wanted to be surprised.”

“Your neighbor thinks it’s a girl,” T’Challa laughed. “She’s been telling me about me carrying high since it became visible I was pregnant.” Anaya laughed. “I guess we’ll find out today or tomorrow.” T’Challa chuckled. His face quickly fell as she slipped into another contraction. He tried to help her breathe the way he’d seen on television but ended up making her laugh. “You’re really bad at this,” Anaya reclined back onto her pillows rubbing her stomach absentmindedly. “Thanks for the vote of confidence,” T’Challa smiled. “It’s two quick ones and long out. Not in out in out,” Anaya explained. “I’ll do better next time,” T’Challa promised.

“How long are you visiting, you don’t have to stay. It could be another day or so before I give birth.”

“I’m here for the week, until next Tuesday. And Anaya I want to stay. Besides, I can give Tells and Tonya-Jean a break to walk around.”

“Thanks,” the pregnant mother smiled. Her face contorted as another contraction washed over her. “There you go,” T’Challa soothed as she squeezed his hand. He helped her breathe through and eventually, she settled back. “At this rate, it’ll only be a couple of hours until they’re here with us,” the mom to be sighed. “Then I’ll be here as long as you’ll let me be here,” T’Challa kissed the back of her hand. Sweat had gathered on her forehead and he reached for something to dab it away. “I want you here as long as you can be, distract me.”

“Why? You are not enjoying the miracle of life.”

“Says the man not currently pushing a baby out of his body.”

“Fair enough,” he raised his unoccupied arm in surrender. “Tell me about Wakanda and being a king,” Anaya asked, groaning through another contraction.

“Well,” T’Challa started.

Eight hours later, the room was silent. Tonya and Tells had gone home to catch up on sleep. Anaya was sleeping off her exhaustion and the king of Wakanda sat rocking a sleeping baby girl. Well, she was sleeping. Sydney Iesha Johnson’s big brown eyes fluttered open and stared at the man holding her. She stretched out her tiny body and T’Challa’s heart soared at the feeling of her moving around in the swaddle.

“Hi pretty girl,” he whispered. “Hi,” he cooed, smiling as she yawned. “You are so beautiful, just like your mommy. She was the most beautiful girl in the world and now she’s tied with you.” He rocked the infant softly. “T’Challa?” Anaya croaked. “Hey,” the king stood up and walked the baby over to her mother. “She was fussy in the crib, and the nurse suggested I hold her, I hope you don’t mind,” he rambled. Anaya laid a hand on his arm and shook her head. “It’s fine. I love seeing you with her.

“You know I’m here for you right? Both of you now,” the king searched her eyes. “I know I’m not her father, and I’ll never try to be that for her, but she’s a part of you and that makes her important to me.”

Anaya teared up and nodded.

“I want you to move to Wakanda.”

Taglist: @almostpurelysmut @blackbypurpose @tchoking @sisterwifeudaku @wikiwakanda @royallyprincesslilly @90sinspiredgirl @thedelightfulone @autumn242 @purple-apricots @kumkaniudaku @queertrex @kaciidubs @halfrican-heat @skysynclair19 @dramaqueenamby @leahnicole1219 @kreolemami @mzbritt @derangedcupcake @chaneajoyyy @lalapalooza718 @ororowrites @leahnicole1219 @sarcastic-sunshines @sarahboseman @faatassbitch @lady-love-and-glitter-roses @cxnismajcr @tchallasbabymama

[likeadog]

okay so im seeing people get anons about this and its coming up in friend groups so i think now's actually a pretty good time to tackle the idea of religious (specifically cultic) abuse in media and how we as an audience interact with it

TLDR: dehumanization and sexualization of cult victims furthers the misunderstanding that cults "don't exist now", and RA survivors would feel much safer in fandom spaces if people acknowledged and analyzed the harmful portrayals of cults in media.

cw: discussions of cults, abuse, and sexual assault

also, if you have questions, please shoot me an ask or dm (off anon preferably, though)

let me start this with a disclaimer that i dont think every media that features ra is inherently bad. i think thats a bit harsh and as an ra survivor ive come to terms with the fact that there are going to be depictions of it in ways that maybe dont give it the respect it deserves, and trying to "what about [x]" everything will only lead people to talking in circles with themselves. what i want to address here is how you, as a consumer, respond to and parse out what cultic abuse means in any particular portrayal of it.

*also please don't harass people about their RAS status, like, if you see someone enjoying something with a less than stellar portrayal of cults, don't send them asks or dms like "well are YOU a cult survivor?" reducing the consumption of media to a yes or no game based on identity-- especially an identity that comes as the result of explicit pain and spiritual violation is not only derivative but also degrading to survivors and the people you're grilling. all we want is for people to think carefully about what they spread and portray, and how they think about those situations.

so, i think the first thing to tackle is...what is a cult? This is something that's surprisingly hard to define, especially in fictional settings with fictional cults. For example, (and pardon the use of this example, I don't feel like hunting for others), My Hero Academia has an organization in it that I would say fits the criteria for being a cult, but by and large isn't considered one by fans because it's not explicitly called a cult. (Although numerous cult jokes have been made about it). It also has an organization that IS explicitly referred to as a cult.

So, when you're dealing with how to process what is and is not a cult-- and how to make your presence safe for RA survivors, you have to be able to sift through more than just "did the narrative tell me this is a cult?"

There's a few different models people use; one of the most popular being the BITE model-- but I should clarify that the BITE model is really tailored towards religious and strictly hierarchal cults, but can be applied to other kinds of cults.

(and yes, there are cults other than religious/spiritual ones. corporate cults and wellness cults have been on the rise, and it's good to keep that in mind both when engaging with media and also in the real world.)

However, I'm a religious cult survivor, so a lot of my experience is strictly irt this, so please take what I say with a grain of salt, and know that I don't speak for every cult survivor, every religious cult survivor, or every religious abuse survivor. I am One Guy on the internet.

When it comes to media, I have a few questions I run through in order to figure out if something is A Cult.

1) Fringe Ideas. This one is one of those that most people know-- and often incorrectly use to attribute cult status to other things. However, it is worth mentioning, that you don't become a cult by following mainstream ideologies. BUT. BUT. not every group with weird ideas is a cult! Some groups are just weird and are fine being weird. It's a rectangles and squares situation. All cults have fringe ideas and behaviors, not all fringe ideas and behaviors belong to cults.

2) Hierarchies. Cults always have people in power, at least in my experience. There have been ideas thrown around about "completely decentralized cults"-- but to be honest, I'm not sure how I feel about that concept, and I don't know enough about it personally to say whether or not it's legitimate. If you have any sources, hmu.

BUT. Most cults have a power structure. You're going to have leaders, usually with a handful at the verrrrry tippy top, whose word is law. This can be associated with things like religious ideas (channelling god) or being "a genius", like in corporate cults.

3) Control. I cannot stress this enough; cults are all about control. How you think, feel, behave-- they discourage critical thought, encourage snitching on each other, buddy-group behavior; the BITE model explicitly lists these models of control.

4) Us V Them. Cults will give all those that oppose them or simply don't believe them a bad name. They're uneducated, they're evil-- it varies cult to cult, but you'll see them turning the non believers into a homogenous, frightening group. They want to discourage looking outwards, and they want to viciously isolate members.

Other things of note are extremism, talks of enlightenment, harsh punishments, the cult eating large portions of the member's finances, etc.

However, this post is largely to address FICTIONAL cults. and the unfortunate fact of the matter is that fictional cults are rarely fleshed out in a way that can be held one to one to a model, and, more often, don't even afford the victims of a cult humanity.

and this is one of THE biggest issues you find in cult portrayals. the leader is usually a charismatic, or perhaps menacing, figure, one that usually our protagonists-- who are rarely cult victims, they are typically outsiders (not inherently bad, mind you)-- faces personally, with the hoardes of mindless zombies forming one giant hurdle.

Naturally, this can be...hurtful. There's nuance to who is and is not a victim in a cult (although my rule of thumb is to look at what abuses that person specifically exerts over others-- and you can be both a victim and perpetrator of abuse. to treat them exclusively is lacking all nuance), but the people are the bottom, even if they joined willingly, are people who were preyed upon. Not only that, but many media cults forget that people can be born into cults, and never really had a choice to begin with. To treat these people like they are mindless-- or that they deserve the suffering they are in because they are there-- completely erases all nuance, humanity, and understanding to the cult survivior struggle. Not only that, but it continues to sensationalize and deify cult leaders, which is doing their job for them, really.

The second biggest issue is the romanticization and sexualization of cults, religious abuse, and cultic abuse.

(yes...this is a thing.)

The use of cults as a way to make a character edgy or tragic is one thing, but there's something sinister about using it to project a certain sexual behavior onto that character-- whether it be as the subjugator or subjugated. Sexual abuse is rampent in cults, and ritualistic sexual abuse is used to justify it. To sexualize the idea of a cult(ist) raping and abusing someone is...beyond offensive to anyone who has been in a cult where their sexual safety and autonomy has been compromised. Or, in some cases, the cultist is so naive and sheltered they can be easily coerced and taken advantage of due to their brainwashing.

This is...bad? This is bad. To ignore the fact that these depictions are just as harmful as any other romanticization of abuse is to ignore the real suffering of cult victims.

Really, the larger problem is that people don't really think cults exist, not really. They're all things of the past, or things that exist solely in fiction-- when in reality, every day cults form and continue to grow. If you've ever met a mormon, you've met a cultist. The moment you begin to process and parce the fact that this isn't as bizarre and unusual and fictional as it seems, you take the steps to respecting people who have been in that situation and become better at detecting cults, cult recruitment, and are able to more clearly assess what you take in.

Once again, there's so many bad portrayal of cults that it would be...stupid to call for an immediate disowning of anything with it in it. I personally have come to terms with the idea that I will have gripes about these portrayals in most cases, but rarely do I see people other than fellow RA or cult survivors discussing these portrayals. I'm hoping people can become more aware and willing to discuss cults in a serious and analytical context and criticize how they're portrayed in the things they love.

And once again, cult survivors are NOT a monolith. If a cult survivor expresses they are uncomfortable with something I said here that I'm not, or vice versa, listen to the people who actively surround you and whom you care about.

[berryblissbby]

Fiercest; devoted;

Pairing: Princess!reader x Guard/Warrior! Hajime Iwaizumi

Word Count: 9,500

Warnings: Use of blades and knives

A/N: Sooo this is the longest thing I've ever posted on tumblr and one of the longest fics I've ever written. Ive only even written a handful of things to completion before so please be kind (⩾﹏⩽). I'm currently reading TOG and this story was born from me trying to process HOF so if you see some parallels just look away! This is fanfic we borrow, not steal. And finally I must say, must I write a plot? Can’t they just learn to tenderly love each other in the end? 

AND! AND! Here's the pinterest board i made for this fic, i'm so sorry that all the references are white people omg, pinterest has shit diversity.

Summary:

The moonlight won’t let you forget, the sunlight brightens the truth.

You are his princess, and he is your warrior. Raised together Hajime is your greatest source of comfort when he suddenly pulls away, igniting your temper and flaring animosity towards each other. Either under the light of the moon, or the rays of the sun, you’ll fight it out, just like always.

 You were the princess of an empire. Heir of the kingdom that was the pinnacle of learning, healing and safety for anyone who wished to stay there. Books, music, and art were all treasured, and culture was allowed to thrive and breathe. Your court was beloved, held strong by devotion and loyalty, “the strongest court in the world” the people said. You were loved as well, by your parents and their people. Adored, you were their future.

 Hajime was a lesser by his kingdom's terms. In a kingdom of magic wielders, he was unwanted nobility. So he was sent to you, to your kingdom, where compared to your human court, with a little magical blood in him, he would be strong. He was to be your guard, to keep you safe, and when you were ready to rule your bond would be unbreakable.  

You were nine and he was thirteen . Delightfully shy- to adults- you lacked true friends. Hiding behind your mother, father or nursemaid, you could be found with your nose in a book. Even at celebrations it was the same, unless you convinced your mother or father to dance with you, much to everyone’s joy. 

 But then you had Hajime, and even though you were scared, with red rung hands and shifting eyes, he danced with you. Uncoordinated and silly, gentle smiles turning to grins and grins to giggles, you landed on the floor in a heap of laughter. Everyone could tell- when you were with him your timidness melts, and is met with ferocious quips and laughter full of love- that you would grow to be a shining queen. You didn’t worry, your child princess self, because when you were sat on your heaviest burden, your own little throne, he would be behind you. With his chest puffed up, his daggers sharpened and shining. Already your fiercest warrior and most devoted protector. 

 -

 You grew together, his dark eyes were always watching you, blanketing you in warmth. When you learned  how to fight and hold a dagger correctly he practiced with you, until your coordination and form were perfect. When you were strong enough for a sword he was right there as well, much to the captain of the guards dismay. You practiced together, but he never let you win. It was infuriating, his determined expression and unrelenting jabs. But “it’s for your own good” and you knew you'd best him one day. 

 -

 He snuck into your room, when your chambers were too big, and the darknesses fingers too long. He stayed in the chair in the corner, and listened to you talk until your words slurred and you fell asleep. Your maids usually find him still there, curled up, in the morning.

 -

 He was right beside you when you learned how to ride a horse by yourself at ten years old, with shaky hands and gasping breaths. And when you fell off- the one and only time- he picked you right off the ground, dusted off your dress, and growled at the stable master. 

 He wiped the tears off your face as fast as they fell. Your little hands gripping the front of his shirt begging him not to leave.

 Hajime pulled you to his chest, shushing you again. It was awkward, just two little kids clinging to each other, one barely old enough to comfort the other. But you needed him nonetheless.

 He was right there the day you got it, hanging off the rails of the round pin, pumping his fist in triumph as you and your horse trotted in circles.

 Looking over, a grin breaking across your face,  you met his own grin. It sent shivers down your spine, blooming in your tummy. You could see it, with that feral grin on his face, you understood what type of man he would be. He truly was a warrior.

 -

 He stood behind you when you first attended state meetings with your father, against the wall with the other guards. You had been terrified. You hadn’t known, really, what they were talking about, and you had been scared that they would ask you questions you wouldn’t know the answer to. But Hajime was there, and that made your words a little more steady. 

 -

 He was eighteen and you fourteen, budding into adolescence, and it seemed to be everyone’s business. He was turning into a man and you couldn’t help but notice, not that you would ever speak of it.

 He was leading you horse, walking you around the gardens. He liked to pick and choose when you should be treated as a princess. With swords in your hands he tended to ignore it, but at times like these, you were an heiress and he was an indentured servant.

 “I don’t understand”

 “It’s a tragedy, it's supposed to make you sad!” You say. “It’s about the ‘what if’s’ and the yearning, you have to focus on the yearning.” You giggle at your words, as you drag out your syllables. 

 You were telling him about your latest book, and how it had left you heart broken for the two lovers. With bad timing, and greedy people stealing their chances at love, they could never be together. 

 You always told Hajime about your books, you couldn’t help talking about the ones that you couldn’t get out of your head. He was an amazing listener, and you appreciated him dearly for it. Even though his face would remain blank and his eyes would shift all around you, looking for threats, he would always pay attention.

 He scoffed. “ Well, what if I don’t care about yearning, what if they’re just stupid? The answer was right in front of them.” 

 “That’s not the point Hajime,” you pout.

 He scowls up at you, stopping your horse. 

 “What?” You can’t help but laugh at both of your dramatics.

 “Just don’t let me catch you doing anything dumb like that,” he doesn’t let you answer, starting your horse walking again. ¨Idiots.¨

 ¨Hajime!¨

 You appreciate him, in every sense, always protecting you, in body and soul.

 -

 He was twenty and you sixteen. Your temper was epic, it shook the stone walls and snapped as easily as the ribbons on your dresses. But your heart was just as easily broken. You were a slave to your emotions and you could feel it, festering in you. You would never let it show to the court, but your family knew, and so did Hajime. There was little left of the girl who used to hide behind skirts.

 You didn´t know if it was a gradual process, or if you woke up to it one day, but suddenly you couldn´t stop watching him. You couldn´t stop admiring him. He was so big, and strong, and he made you laugh so hard. His hands were soft, and large. He was smart, catching things you hadn’t in meetings, and his voice would send shivers down your spine when he whispered in your ear, telling you things about the people you were surrounded by. Things that he had learned to keep you safe; precautions. You couldn't stop your cheeks from heating up anymore, they were perpetually flushed, and it was impossible to hold his gaze. Things that wouldn't have mattered before made you stutter. But what set you off, was when you would look up to him, when you expected to meet those cool eyes, they would be somewhere else.

 Before, when you had been upset, you would drag Hajime to the training rooms and throw him a sword. He would let you get a few hits in, before winning, of course. But only after you got everything you needed out. He was the cool water to your raging disposition. He had a sternness to him now, even though his fiery character could rival yours sometimes, he knew when to hold back. And when he did, his easy answers and cool voice were equally frustrating as they were calming. You shared more together while in those practice rooms swinging swords than anywhere else. But now you had lost the thing that had made it better.

 Now you only saw him when mandatory, behind your throne and next to you at meals. He seemed to be more interested in the guards and other warriors than you, so you ate in silence and read alone at night. You eventually requested a new guard, and your parents said no. You two were friends, and he was sent here for you, that would not be changing overnight. But he didn't feel like your Hajime anymore, your friend or defender. Because he wasn't paying attention to you anymore, not like he was supposed to. Or how you wanted him too.

 It made you burn when you looked up and he wasn't looking at you. The embers in your chest that would flare when you didn't get your way, when someone disagreed with you, when Hajime said something brash, were a roaring fire. You didn't understand why things had changed, where it had come from.

 You saw it, when his eyes met the older courtiers- well, older compared to you. You saw the eyes of the women on him, how they trailed over his broad back and strong arms. You knew that the lady’s had started taking their walks through the section of the palace they had previously thought of as unpalatable. They would bat their eyelashes and fan their fans in front of them as they walked past the training rooms, hoping to catch Hajime in only a thin damp shirt. It was infuriating.

 You took to ignoring him, long lonely months. It was intense, the war between you both, silently throwing glances at each other, both sets of eyes holding promises of worse words to come. He was a weight behind you at all times, dragging your heart deeper into a pit of solitary despair. He left you whenever he could afford, never letting your parents or the other guards see. You were kept safe, but it wasn’t comforting like before. The walks to your rooms after dinner were the worst, the internal battle inside you was tearing you to shreds. Should you talk to him? Confront him? Bear a dagger and rough it out? But he would leave you by your door and walk away before you could decide anything at all. 

 You had burned too bright, the fire in you now gone. The fury that had kept you warm was nothing but a cold pit in your chest.

 You were all alone, every day that knowledge split you open like a cold blade. You were determined to stay away from him, to not bother him, since he obviously didn’t want anything to do with you. But one day, it all became too much. 

 You had attended a dinner tonight, with a distant royal family. And they had said things to you that they had no right to say. They had spoken as if they had known you. They knew things about you that made your skin crawl. All of those things were somewhat common knowledge, but then they had started making assumptions about you, asking you things that if you were a queen you would have known the answers to. But you weren’t, you were a stupid little princess, with no one. And you felt so small. 

 The only thing that made it worse was when you realized you were bracing for something. After every one of their comments, you were waiting for one of Hajime's raging blows. For him let his temper go, just a little. To tell them how it was, to defend you. But it didn’t come, you looked over and he wasn’t paying attention. What happened to your warrior? Your watcher? Your protector?

 -

 You remembered a conversation between you and Hajime, before. It was late at night, Hajime was laying on the rug in front of your heart, his arm thrown over his eyes. Your book set to the side.

 The candles had all burned low, but the fire stood strong. It casted a blood orange glow across half of his body, the other half a stark blue. You didn’t know if he was asleep, and took your time admiring him.

 The side away from you, from your vantage point lounging on the couch, was flushed. His mouth was pulled down slightly, but it didn’t scare you. That looked like you’re Hajime, with sharp teeth and a barking laugh. Who felt everything thrown at him. 

 You didn’t know how he hid it so well, but he really did experience everything; he might conceal it, but it was in there.

 You looked at the other side of him, the one in a cold blue light from the moon coming in your windows. You wondered if that was what other people saw, the straight backed man, who knew who he was and what he stood for. 

You said his name gently, he grunted in response.

“Do you remember… that tragedy I read years ago, about the two lovers…” you explained a little more, trailing off.

He took a deep breath saying, “ yes, with the idiots.” 

You don’t bother hiding your pursed lips before you say, “what… what would you do in their situation, since they’re such idiots.” You pluck at a thread on the couch, not looking at him.

From your peripheral vision you could see him turn his head to look at the flames, and suddenly a wave of anxiety hits you, you're scared to know his real answer, his honest one.

You get up and walk to the window, and the stark difference in temperature makes you shudder. It was starting to snow, just barely. The moon was so bright, causing the gardens below your window to glow. The marble walkways mirroring back the moon.

“I would…” you look back at him, with a hand still on the window sill, and almost gasp. “I would run too, because I wouldn’t know any better, just like them.” He had sat up and turned away from the fire, his whole front blue and cold. 

You couldn’t stand the window anymore, and went to sit by the hearth. 

-

You think he’s run. He’s carried himself as far away from you as he can without abandoning his responsibilities. The gap between you is the largest thing you have ever felt. A dark ravine, and on the other side was him, with his back turned to you. Everything is blue, the moon won’t let you forget, it refuses to shroud out the light, so you can’t remain ignorant. You hate it. And every day, you come closer and closer to falling into that deep crack in the earth, reaching out your arms, stretching your fingers, feeling the rocks shift under your feet, pebbles falling into the dark pit, maybe to never hit the bottom.

-

 You couldn’t calm yourself even hours later, your mind would go back to dinner when you tried to read, and you couldn’t sleep. Sometimes, when it was too late to brandish swords or you were too young to hold one, Hajime and you would walk the palace halls. Running from guards not to be caught, jumping on chairs in forgotten sitting rooms, daring each other to grab things from the kitchen. All before putting his grumpy cool mask back on and escorting you back to your rooms. But you never dared walk the halls yourself, you were always too scared. Hajime... Hajime, he would always take you, and make you feel better. 

 You had been pacing your rooms, trying to find a way to fix your hurt. Trying to come up with any solution. Sitting down on your bed, you put your head in your hands, pleading with the tears not to fall. You wanted him to make you feel better again, you wanted to feel safe with him behind you, not cold and unwanted. 

 You didn't know what to do, really, you told yourself as you snuck your way into his rooms, holding your breath the whole way there, still scared. Closing the door behind you you leaned against it, and for a moment, it felt like before. He smelled the same and the room was so warm it made you shiver in satisfaction. But he was a warrior, so your moment of peace didn’t last long as he rolled over, almost reaching for a weapon before he realized who you were. 

 You tried smiling, but seeing him like that, with his dark hair messy, and cheeks ruddy from sleep just hurt you more. You couldn’t stop the quiver in your lip.

 “You've been crying,” he said, pushing himself off the bed slightly. You tried not to watch the blanket fall off his shoulders.

 Nodding, you turn your head, wiping away tears with your wrist, not looking him in the eyes. You took a moment, trying to calm yourself and almost took a step towards him, but you caught yourself. That made the tears come faster. If things had been like before, you would have ran to him. You won't have hesitated, you wouldn't be bracing for something foul to come out of his mouth. 

 But those things didn't matter, not when he finally sat up and opened his arms letting you throw yourself at him.

 He rocked you back and forth, pulling you onto his lap, cooing at you. “What’s wrong, what’s the matter my princess.” The vibrato in his voice echoed through you, made you want to melt, but it was also painfully familiar. 

 His kind words only made you cry harder. How long had it been since you had heard him speak to you at all? And it had to have been even longer since he had been kind to you like this, only reserved for when you were totally alone, and desperately in need. 

 There was so much wrong, but you could only find it in yourself to shrug. He let out a scoff. Pulling you back, you tried to hide your face, but he grabbed your chin to make you look up. He swiped a thumb under your eye, catching a falling tear. You almost smiled at his frown, how you had missed it, when it only promised light scolding, not cruel disregard.

 “I j-just... want you t-to m-make me feel better,” the last word comes out in another desperate sob and he pulled you to him again. 

 He hummed saying, “Don't tell me someone did this to you.” 

 You shake your head, burying your face in his chest. You didn't want to face the truth, that he had been so neglectful that he really hadn't seen what had happened at dinner.

 “Let's get you to bed, okay?” 

 You desperately nod, you had missed this so much. You had missed his kindness so much. You almost felt like little kids again, and he led you through the dim hallways clutching your hand. Like when you had first met.

 You woke up alone.

 Cold, sober reality washed over you like water, slithering down your spine. Oh. Things were not back to before. You hated Before, it taunted you. It laughed at you as you broke each time the word crossed your mind. Before was better, the most shining and brilliant version of what you had lost. 

 -

 He was escorting you across the castle, and you battled with yourself again. Just like always but worse, now that you knew he was still in there. The contrast ached more. You almost didn't say anything, but you passed by a set of windows and happened to look outside.

 It was spring, almost summer, and everything was green again. The hills outside rippled as the green grass swayed. Beyond the grass were wildflowers. You wish you and Hajime could ride out there and lay in them. But you couldn't- or, he wouldn’t.

 That makes you stop for some reason, and you walk up to the window looking out. He stops too, remaining behind you.

 “Hajime,” You say quietly. He doesn't say anything, facing forward.

 He wouldn’t look at you. He refused until you grabbed him as hard as you could with your little hands, not holding back when your nails dug into his wrist and forearm.

 He tried pulling back, but you wouldn’t let him. Grabbing one of your wrists he made you yield. 

 “I’m not... we’re not going to talk about this, not yet,” he said the words with shifting eyes, not able to meet yours for too long. “I can’t.”

 You had never minded him when he was his serious self, because you would always see the loving side of him eventually. When you were alone, when it mattered. But this, the firm cold shoulder, it wasn’t the protective one you were used to, it was cruel. 

 “Well,” you spit out, ripping your wrist from his grip, “ when you can finally tell me your secret, it better be important, because right now I don’t appreciate being ignored- ignored and...” you struggled to find the right words, your chin quivering, eyes filling with tears. Unloved? Unprotected? 

 “Whatever this is,” you gesture at him, the venom in your voice dissipating with each syllable. Until each blink yielded more tears.

 ¨You´re dismissed,¨ you tell him, you could make it to tea just fine by yourself.

 -

 You were furious, angry, livid. The only thing that dosed the ever flaming embers in your chest was the announcement your father made. You had known it was coming, but him telling everyone solidified it.

 He had called you and Hajime to his private rooms a few nights before, you two had met in front of the door.

 You were to decide which member of your court  would take the oath to be your protector and advisor. Everyone knew it was going to be Hajime, but sometimes a ruler didn't have such loyal followers, and they would choose from a selection. But your father wanted to follow tradition and tell you properly. You had come of age, it would be time for you to take up more responsibility, and this was the first step.

 You could feel him standing next to you, facing your father and mother where they sat. The emers in you were doused, replaced by a rush of freezing water that contrasted your hot tears. You couldn't imagine spending the rest of your life like this. You would be a horrible queen if this was the future that awaited you. 

 Before he made his oath to you, there was to be your birthday celebration. A frantic day of eating, receiving gifts and dancing. Who would you dance with?

 Tight lipped, you thanked your parents and walked out. You could hear Hajime behind you, and you didn't try to quiet your ragged breathing as the tears flowed. 

 They had threatened to fall when your father stood up at dinner and told your court.

 -

 It was your birthday, you hadn't danced with Hajime, and you always danced with Hajime. Everytime you could, you let your face relax and your smile melted away. You were exhausted. But someone asked you to dance.

 The man no older than Hajime, with fluffy brown hair and beautiful brown eyes, asked you with a hypnotizing smile. He spun you around and said the most outrageous things in your ears, you couldn't help the grin that spread across your face. 

 You would pass a couple and he would share their most treacherous secrets. Nothing too bad, just outlandish enough that you would blush and want to hit him- only lightly.

 He asked you again and again, until you finally had to say no, your face was hot, your skin was covered in a layer of perspiration and you were sure that your hair had fallen out of its updo.

 You made your way back to your seat on the dais, next to your parents. You didn't realize that Hajime had moved from his spot on the wall, blending in with the other guards, to stand behind you.

 Taking a seat, you hear a scoff. Straightening your back you almost don't believe it. Maybe it was the exercise, or the fact that you were feeling loose after laughing so hard. Or maybe it was because you were actually having fun, but you found that tonight- tonight you had energy. 

 You could feel it in your chest, that scoff has blown a harsh wind over those embers, fanning them a glowing orange.

 “Yes, Hajime,” you say, slightly turning your head in his direction. You tried to keep your tone light.

 He grunted, not saying anything. You place your hands in your lap. He won't even give you words.

 “Tell me,” you say, face blank, friendly tone gone.

 “Nothing, Princess.”

 How dare he scoff at you and pretend you were the crazy one.

 You spun in your seat. There he was, in his nice uniform, with your kingdom's mascot and colors. Your mascot and colors. Your kingdom's mascot and colors. The kingdoms that you would rule, mascot and colors. 

 The blades strapped around him were intricate; polished and shrap. He looked straight forward, not acknowledging you. He looks good, something inside of your chest whispered, but was whisked away as your eyes caught on the dagger on his belt, with the same color jews as his uniform

 You stood up in a flurry, so fast that he only had time to brace himself before you were grabbing the back of his neck and pulling him down to your level. Nails digging into him all the while.

 “Follow me,” you say through gritted teeth. Pulling back looking him in the eyes, you tell him exactly what he needed to know. It was an order, an order from his future ruler. The exchange was so fast you knew no one would see it.

 Spinning on your heel you walked down the dais and straight into the crowd of dancing people as they desperately tried to not step on you.

 “Princess,” Your father said from his seat behind you. You knew he was objecting at your rudeness, but you didn't care, the act of disobedience spurring you on. You hear the music halt, only for a second, but you keep moving.

 You could feel everyone's eyes on you as you made your way further and further towards the doors out of the hall. Each breath wasn’t enough oxygen, and your vision spotted, but the chills rippling over your skin were addicting. 

 You knew Hajime was behind you.

 -

 You didn't answer any of his furious remarks as you grabbed his forearm, dragging him through the palace. You turned down a certain hall and he stopped talking.

 You threw open the doors of the practice hall, letting go of Hajime’s arm. Marching down the long open space, so big it could probably hold dozens of bodies, you open one of the cabinets across from the row of tall windows. The room was dim, and you don´t think of lighting candles.

 Selecting two swords, you slide one to him across the floor, to where he stood still at the door. He stopped it carefully with his boot, as it spun towards him.

 Looking up from the sword, he says, ”No.”

 “Pick up the sword, Hajime,” You say from across the room, sword in your hand. You’re not sure why you threw it at him, he already had one on his hip. Maybe because it was unfair, that he could always have one and you could not.

 He scoffed at you, leaving it on the ground. 

 “Pick it up,” You growled.

 He didn't have time to roll his eyes before the twin dagger to the one on his belt landed in the door frame, next to his head.

You watched his eyes flick to your hand, smoothing out your skirts, hiding the slit that led to your thigh. You switched your sword back to your dominant hand, breathing already ragged, not looking away from those sharp eyes as he picked the sword off the ground. 

 You stayed exactly where you were as he walked towards you.

 “You are b-”

 “I don't want to hear any of what you have to say about my behavior.”

 He rolled his eyes, stopping in front of you, getting into his proper stance. You mimicked him.

 “You are being a brat.”

 You swing for him, and he easily blocks, sending your sword arcing through the air, still in your hand. He sends a shallow jab at you, which you take a step back from.

 “What right do you have judging the people I spend my time with?” You say, jabbing right back at him, which he blocks with a sweep of his sword. “And when am I not?”

 You go for his left, which he dodges, and as he came around spinning to face you again, he swung low at the wide skirts of your dress. You hear it rip and feel the cold air hit your calves. Taking two steps back he observes you, lowering his sword, intentions clear. 

 He thought that would end your little fight.

 He thought that the ruining of your dress would make you stop, that you were shallow enough to ask for his mercy just because of a tear in your skirts. It made you furious, knowing he wasn't taking this seriously.

 You feint lunging at him, he swung from the right, and you blocked, swords suspended in the air for just a moment. 

 “Stop it.” You say, voice almost a whisper.

 You grunt and pull back. Circling each other, you watch as the moonlight brightens his face. The circling continues, and no words are exchanged, giving you time to think about what had been said, only making you more upset.

 You had faults, in moments like these, you couldn't hide your next move, anger making you just want to act. You swing at him, and he blocks. While your sword is up, he takes the chance to roll, and shove you backwards away from him. A dirty trick.

 “Stop what?” He says to you, looking at you from where you had stumbled a few steps away, face blank.

 You looked at him, with his back to the windows, face shrouded in darkness, and you hated him.

 Before you could think about it, before you could flinch and regret your actions, your arms were arching up, throwing your sword across the room. Watching as Hajime involuntarily followed its arch through the air, sinning blade spinning over handle, until it landed in a clatter. You watched him all the while, and saw his shocked expression before he could hide it.

 “I am your princess,” You growl, his head snapping back to you.

 “I am your princess!” You yell, taking a step towards him, chest pressed to his.

 “I am your Princess!” You scream, shoving him backwards toward the large windows.

 You pressed against him, leaning him back against the window sill. You stretch to your tiptoes, your hands clutching his shirt as you stare into his eyes. With all the venom you can manage, panting, you say, “I am your princess! I am your princess and you will do as I say!”

 “What are you doing?” He asks, eyebrows furrowed. You barely hear his words, or his sword clatter to the ground, your breathing too ragged, your heart beat too loud. You could feel it, in every part of your body, it echoed through you.

 And in that moment you can almost see him. That flash in his eyes, that tone of voice, his breath fanning over your face. He was your Hajime, only for a second.

 “Stop it,” you say, losing momentum with each word, “stop it.”

 He finally tugs himself free, ripping your hands from him. He doesn't let go as he presses you a few steps back and leans down to look into your eyes. 

 His eyes were dark, and you lost him again, the Hajime you want. You yearned to bang on his chest and beg for him back, but you don't dare break the delicate dance you two were in.

 “I see them,”  you hiss, trying to get in his face, “I see how they look at you.”

 “Who?” He spits.

 “Your courtiers.” You say the words as if it's a curse.

 He throws your hands down, taking steps to the door, still facing you.

 “Nothing?” You ask. “You never have anything to say anymore.”

 “Why does it matter?” Squaring his shoulders he looks at you straight on. 

 “Wh-”

 “Why does it matter if they look at me?”

 “It- I-”

 “Tell me why it matters, Princess, and maybe we can talk. I don't want part in your tantrums.”

 You watch him walk away, listening to every fading step, until you only have your breathing to fill the silence.

 -

 You couldn’t stop thinking about that night, it made you sick, haunting you with the memories of what you had said to each other.

 Maybe you had been wrong. Wrong to order him to follow you, wrong to act so brash, wrong to scream at him, and to accuse him of those things.

 You scolded yourself for acting that way, to let your temper control you. It had felt good, until you had crashed. 

 The option-less future spread in front of you. What would you do? Exhaustion was seeping into you, a new type of tired, one that you would do anything to amend. 

 If your temper wouldn’t fix your problems, you would have to try something else, even if it burned you from the inside out.

 -

 You called him to your rooms, something you had never done before. There was no need to call upon each other, you always knew where the other was

 Hajime found you in the chair in the corner, the one he used to stay in; you rarely used it.

 The last rays of evening sunlight were shining in your windows, cascading over your body.

 Your face was illuminated by the sun, every beautiful line and imperfection was open in the light. It made you glow, like you should have been kept in a painting so you could be adored forevermore. You were golden, hair caught fire, glowing like a beacon of truth. The heir of an empire, the hope of thousands. 

 “Majesty,” he bowed, something he had only done a handful of times, for special occasions. It felt forgien and stiff doing it there.

 “Iwaizumi” you said, it sounded like a song, a sigh and a prayer and a plea. But it wasn’t right.

 When was the last time you had called him that? Never, a furious voice in the back of his mind told him.

 “It’s almost time for me to choose.”

 He stood up straighter, meeting your eyes for the first time. There wasn’t that look in them like before, of hurt and hardness. Determination that you would power through. It was just a fact.

 It was almost time for you to choose the person of your court to swear a never ending bond with. To protect each other, in body and soul, to in turn protect your kingdom.

 You looked down at your hands, and he was compelled to take a step forward to make sure he heard you, but not too close. He had a feeling that if he took another step he would see your  red rung eyes, and he didn’t want to think about that.

 “I want it to be you… I'm sorry for that night, for yelling, and trying to cut you into pieces. But…” You take a deep breath and look out the window. “ I don’t know what’s changed, and I’m so sorry for how I’ve acted, and whatever I’ve done, but I want it to be you” 

 With those last words you looked him in the eyes. The anger was gone, and all he saw was a tired princess. His tired princess. You didn’t break his gaze, not saying anything more .

 He almost wanted to question you, the maturity in your words shocking. But he stayed quiet; that wasn’t his place anymore.

 You had said your peace, he knew, as he looked into your eyes, with your face passive. It was his turn now, to come to you and bear his teeth, to gouge the hurt out of his chest in to lay it bare for both of you.

 -

 Hajime had a memory he kept close to him, right on his hip. He might have kept it on his ribs, the ones that protected his heart, if that was where you kept daggers. 

 It was the winter solstice celebration from years before. Hajime and you were in your parents' private rooms, giving gifts.The two of you sat on the floor next to the fire, with your parents on the couch in front of you. 

 “Now this one is for both of you.” Your mother explained, handing you both identical boxes. “Open them at the same time.”

 You gave Hajime one look before tearing into yours. He didn’t get to see your reaction as he worked on delicately undoing the ribbons, but he heard your gasp.

 Resting in your hands was an exquisite, shining dagger. You gently held it up, and both your heads turned in to stare at it. 

 “Oh my…” You gawked.

 Hajime went back to his gift and opened it to an identical dagger. Twins. 

 He held his up, and you two compared.

They had blades of shimmering silver, with curved tips that looked sharp enough to split hairs. The handles were of matching silver formed into delicate patterns, inland with jewels that matched your kingdom's colors. The metal reflected the light of the fire behind you, flickering gold and orange, like the blades held the sun.

 Looking up to your parents your father explained. “I had those made for the two of you.” 

 You waited, but that was all he offered. Hajime watched you balance the dagger in your hand, turning it over and examining it. 

 “They’re beautiful.” You say.

 “I would hope that you don’t use them on each other, and only wear them for celebrations, but I doubt that is something that will happen.” 

 Hajime chuckled, looking down at his own dagger. The king might not have said it, but he had a feeling he knew what the daggers were for. 

 They were the two of you. Cut from the same stone, at each other with blades as sharp as diamonds, all while in your shining castle. 

 They were to remind you where you came from, that you two were one in the same, and that you were to work together. Much better to mar an enemy with the same blade than have the one that matches your in your gut. 

 “Thank you,” he said.

 Hajime looked at you, and you were smiling. Leaning over, your grin was feral, and he couldn’t help the electricity that went down his spine.

 “Do you know what this means?” You ask. “I need to get my dresses tailored.” 

 Hajime ruffled your hair, but your smile was burned into his memory. One in the same. Maybe his future queen really would be as strong as him. 

 Hajime could learn to like that.

 -

 Hajime was trained by your father and his men to be a warrior. Your warrior. While you were trained in how to fight men across oceans and continents, he was taught how to fight men with steel and teeth. You did give him a run for his money when you brawled, but he knew that he would never want to be facing you in a killing field, with an army at your disposal.

 Your cleverness was beyond him, not that you would ever give yourself credit for it. But you were still young, and when he caught something that you had missed in meetings or conversations, the sparkle in your eye, the way he knew you were in awe of him, was addictive.

 In all honesty, Hajime wasn’t your only lover, or admirer, you had many. Your parents were kind to you, your father could often be found making you giggle, especially when you were seated next to him at meetings. Your mother and you discussed books and music. You would often receive compliments from your father’s advisors and friends, which always made you blush in thanks. And your mothers lady’s loved to give you advice about clothes and any romantic endeavors you might go one. Not that there were many. The boys liked winking at you, and making you blush. Hajime tried his best to keep that to a minimum. Your court did love you, they loved the princess that was bashful and kind, but had the cleverest ideas at council meetings. You were the beautiful shining light, in your beautiful shining castle, and you would keep your court strong.

 Those were all things that Hajime knew well. Painfully well. Because he was always the first to notice. He had seen how they all cared and vowed to make sure that you would stay that way, that you were protected and cared for. So your light never went out, so your kingdom was always strong. He would do what he must, he would not let your court fall.

 So when he had looked at you and the light in your eyes had changed, he felt responsible.

 It wasn’t a bad change, just different. It only took him a short amount of time to pinpoint what it was.

 He couldn’t love you, not like that. He couldn’t let himself break you, because he knew he’d manage somehow, he was always a little heavy handed.

 What protector would he be if he broke your heart? If he was the first one to weaken you? To welcome you into the cruel world you would be entering, of choosing the best of horrible options, of lying and deceiving? He would not be the one to welcome you to that.

 -

 Maybe he was wrong, maybe you could take it. He wouldn’t be the one introducing you to the hurt, he could be the one to guide you through it.

 -

 He was surprised when he found you, always too afraid to wander the place at night. You were in a sitting room, long forgotten by the court, locked away and covered in sheets. 

 It was one of the rooms you would play in as children, with the furniture pushed to one corner; each and every one of the walls between the tall windows was covered in paintings.

 By now both of you had them memorized, whether that be by sunlight, candle light or moon light, both of you knew each of them well.

 You were only looking at one, standing right in front of it, your favorite painting of them all. 

 Hajime watched you, in the light of the moon, stare at the picture. Your profile was perfectly outlined by the stark light.

 “Tell me about her again,” he asked, voice carrying across the room.

 You spare him a glance before turning back to the painting.

 You take a step closer and take a breath. “Her name was Kiyoko.”

 You bring your hand up, and with only a finger you delicately trace the frame. 

“She was the most beautiful woman in the land, and the man who painted her was in love with her, but there were few who weren’t.”

 Hajime didn’t have to see the picture to know what it looked like, he had spent plenty of time looking at it with you. The girl was beautiful, with silky black hair, pale skin, and eyes that felt like they knew all, like they were windows into the fiercest storm.

 He knew the curve of her lips and the mole on her chin, and the pastel color of her dress. She was framed in a sea of greenery; plants, grass and trees all around her. Despite her pale dress and cool eyes she was surrounded by orange flowers, and in the corner of the painting, were perched crows.

 He wasn’t sure what made you stare at that painting like you did. Like you could see details that weren’t there. You had always said that when you looked at it, you longed for the frame to expand, for the picture to grow wider, to see what she saw.

 You also had a thousand questions for her, you wanted to know her as intimately as you knew her face. But she never answered, staring back with those eyes, until only Hajime was left to answer your questions.

 “She was loved by everyone, it was said that you would be blessed if she acknowledged you, and if she spoke to you, you were destined for the most devine heaven.” You move your finger from the frame to the painting, looking like you would touch it, but you don’t, only coming infinitely close.

 “She married the man she loved, and had a laugh that sounded like bells.” You bring your hand down and step back from the painting. 

 “You would be her most devoted admirer.” Hajime said.

 “I already am,” you smile looking down at your hands, “but I think she would have deserved a beautiful friendship.” 

 -

 It wasn’t a real story, her name was Kiyoko, that was the name of the painting, but each time you told it, it was different.

 Looking up to reply to Hajime, you met his eyes. On his face was a smile that delicately curved, turning his mouth up.

 That smile… the curve of his mouth, the sharp teeth behind it. It made your knees week, the relief of seeing it again.

 He took steps towards you, until you were standing shoulder to shoulder looking at her again. 

 “What do the crows mean,” he asked, encouraging you to keep going.

 You take a moment before answering. “They’re her other admirers, only to ever love her from afar.” 

 He hummed, and you swear you could feel it in your bones. 

 You turn to look at him, right in the eyes.

 “It matters… it mattered because you weren’t looking at me.”

 He tried to speak, but you stopped him. “No, listen to me.”

 He wouldn’t look away from your eyes, face cool.

 “I couldn’t- can’t- you just… you weren’t looking at me, and I didn’t know what to do. It’s unbearable.” Your words were so quiet, always so quiet in moments like these

 It seemed like he couldn’t bear to break the silence as he said with narrowed eyes. “You think I don’t know, that I didn’t see?”

 “You won’t break me Hajime,” you say with a scoff. He almost flinced, coming close but stopping. Like you had seen right through him when he wasn’t expecting.

 “You don’t know that,” he hissed, “I know, saw it, everything, and I made that decision. I won’t be the one to introduce you to that, to be the first one to hurt you.” 

 He spoke with his hands, and you watched them as they moved. They were so wide, well taken care of, you remember them being softer than expected.

 “You’re supposed to protect me,” you grit through your teeth. You don’t know if he can tell how flushed you are, but you know he can see the silver lining your eyes.

 “H-how am I supposed to protect this kingdom, t-this court without you! I can’t do it without you.”

 “You’ll do just fine,” he said, standing up straighter.

 “Don’t say that! Why would you- why would you say something like that.” 

It was getting hard to get the words out, every time he spoke you ached more and more.

 He was panting, like those words had winded him. His face was hard, unyielding. You wrapped your arms around yourself, and covered your wobbling mouth. A sick imitation of a comforting embrace

-

 He didn’t know what to do. His princess was shattering right in front of him and there was nothing he could do. 

 There was no one to point a blade at, no where to keep you safe. Looking at the tears in your eyes, he knew that this had been happening for a while. You were begging him to take his words back, any of them, but he wouldn’t let himself.

 Hajime resisted the urge to look down at his hands. He’d always been heavy handed, that's what he had said to himself. He was trying to shield you, gods-dammit, but those hands had done more harm than good when it really mattered.

 All he could do was watch you crumble in on yourself, while he stood feet away.

 -

 He was clueless. He always knew what to do. Your faithful, balanced Hajime was at a loss.

 You could see it, you blinked and you were there. No longer in that moon-bathed room, but outside, children again.

 How old were you? Nine? Eleven? How old was he? Thirteen? Fifteen? You were just children; the same as always. Had you even grown up, were you always clutching each other like this? So dependent yet so unaware of each other?

 You had never seen him like this, he lived with a sword in his hand and a shield on his back. His upper lip stiff, his will unmoving.

 But the man standing in front of you was desperate, with his hands splayed in front of him, like they would burn you if he got too close.

 Why couldn’’t you just say it, why were you two always dancing around it? Your own choreography, your own sacred, unique steps. 

 “I’m tired,” you say, shoulders dropping, eyes lifting to the ceiling.

 “I am too,” Hajime admitted.

 You closed your eyes tight, feeling more tears fall from your lashes. And when you opened them again, you were met with steel. Not like the steel of blades, but unforged steel, ready to be shaped, reborn.

 Looking into those eyes, the irises that framed hurricanes, it felt like those roaring winds blew right through you. Breathing life into you, fanning your flames. Maybe she could answer just one question for you.

 This is the last time, you vowed to yourself, no matter how it ends.

 -

 Hajime didn’t ask questions as you dragged him through the palace, his presence giving you a little more confidence than before.

 Up and up you went, just when he thought you were done taking him up stairs you found another set, and headed right to the top. You only felt him hesitate once, but you didn’t look back, and he followed. You made it to the top. A tower that was once a sentries station. 

 “How did you… isn’t there someone working here?” Hajime asked.

 You didn’t have to look at him to see the crease in his brow. “No, there’s no need to have anyone up here.”

 Your kingdom had been peaceful for years, if any attacks were to come, they would not be so often as to need guards on the lookout every day. Hajime knew that, so you followed. “I haven’t been sleeping, so I’ve just been walking around at night… and I wound up here.” 

 He didn’t say anything, but you knew what he was thinking. You never walked alone, the fact that you had been in that sitting room tonight was shocking. But you? Wondering up here?

 On one hand, you hoped that he was feeling guilty. On the other, you felt horrible for tearing him up like that. But you knew that was how he was feeling, he wouldn’t push it to the side this time. Not with it spelled out in front of him.

 Crossing his arms and leaning back, he gave you a look of disapproval, but you were no stranger to those cunning eyes. You tried not to dwell on the picture before you, slowly focusing into something- someone you recognized.

 You walked up to the window, leaning against it, staring at the slowly brightening horizon. 

 “Just tell me why.” Was all you said.

 -

 Hajime stepped forward, shoulder to shoulder with you, hand on the cool window sill. The warmth that encompassed Hajime's side almost made him purr, you were so close.

 He took a moment to look at the view, the mountains in the distance, silhouetted by the rising sun. The dark sky was slowly becoming a splash of deep colors.

 “I don’t just protect you, your life isn't your own. What I do affects you, what I see keeps you safe. What I let you do… it could change so much. If I stumble, if I overlook something- so much is at steak. And I know what you were thinking when you looked at me.”  He paused as you nodded, and watched your eyes move from the horizon to the city nestled below the palace. “So I stopped, and you were pissed.”

 “I’ll be disappointed if you say you didn’t see that coming.”

 “Well, it worked to my advantage… until you woke me up that night…” 

 Your smile melted, but you didn’t say anything. Maybe he was bracing for something, that crackling irritation he was used to. But it didn’t come.

 Hajime stiled. Maybe this wasn’t him talking to his princess anymore, as you listened, as he spoke, he realized it was his queen in front of him. 

 “You hurt me. You were mine and then suddenly you weren’t.” He sat there and listened as your voice cracked

 “I’m sorry”

 You turned to look at him. “You can’t break me that easy Hajime, we’re one and the same, in sword and devotion. I want you at my back, I want you protecting me. I need you to want the same. I thought- I thought we agreed on that. So please… let me choose you.”

 “Please let me be your princess, please let me choose you, I want you to protect me, the right way.”

 With you next to him he could see the sunlight reflected in your eyes, how it made them sparkle, how the roofs of your city seemed to wink up at you with the last slivers of moon light. Telling him how much hope they had for you, how they knew that their princess would keep them safe.

 “I'm sorry,” he whispered.

 With that admission, you threw yourself at him, wrapping your arms around him and squeezing him as hard as you could. You took a few breaths before pulling back, still keeping your arms around him, looking into his eyes.

 “Let me be your princess Haji, please.” It was like you were looking for something in his eyes, not breaking the connection.

 “Always,” he whispered, leaning closer, not looking away.

 “But you aren’t my princess.” He watched your eyes flutter and he drew closer and closer, wrapping his arms around you, keeping you right against him. “You're my queen.”

 He met your lips, and you were the sweetest thing he had ever tasted. He didn’t think he could ever forgive himself if he made you feel like you had again. 

 And as the sun created the mountains, and it's morning rays illuminated you and Hajime, he knew that his hands might have broken you, but they had also put you back together. 

 -

 Pulling away from Hajime, you try not to look as out of breath as you felt. You stared into his slate eyes and felt like he had never left, that the time between you that had hurt you  was just a memory, a distant past.

 They say you can’t remember pain. Maybe its to give you the courage to forgive, to be able to try again.

 You watched his mouth as he said, “I'm a fool.”

 “Then that would make me a fool too,” you muse, tone playful.

 “No,” he said, shaking his head slightly, furrow in his brow. “We can’t have a queen who's a fool.”

 “Then what am I?”

 “An idiot,” you watched his mouth as he said it. His smile was crooked, like he was trying to hide it.

 “Like the lovers,” You breathe, your own smile spreading across your face.

 “Like the lovers,” he repeated.

 The word lovers echoed in your head when you decided you wanted to kiss him again.

 -

 With each breath, you felt the embers inside of you cool to ashes, blowing in the wind like ash. 

 You might have lied, that night wouldn't be your last fight, but it would never be like that ever again.

 Hajime and you were once again in the practice hall, but this time things were different. You were both giddy, as the early morning sun glinted in your eyes. You tumbled and swung your swords at each other, but this time it was laughter shared between you, not savage words.

 You felt like you two were dancing again. With your dress whispering around your legs, and the dagger that matched Hajimes visible around your hip, you felt like you had that night as children, when Hajime first taught you to laugh. 

 You weren’t upset, or nervous this time, as you gave each other bruises and sore shoulders. Because later that morning at the ceremony you knew who would be standing next to you, with his back straight and his shoulders down. Your fiercest warrior and most devoted lover.

[trini-trin-trin]

Sharing this from a FB group that I am in. I was very moved by the article and felt affinity with the experiences shared. A really sweet read.

Here is the article if you don't want to click on the link (I know it is a little long, but well worth your time to read!):

The letter I received ten years ago was unsigned and bore no return address. Clearly its author did not expect, much less want, a reply. A message in a bottle, from no one to no one, that letter still remains the most bizarre form of communication. It asks nothing but to be read, promises nothing but to share a few facts and feelings, and, seeing that it must have been dashed off on a lined yellow sheet that seemed hastily torn out of a pad of paper, the author would not be surprised if, after skimming through it, the recipient decided to crumple and lob it into the closest dust bin.

The letter is one page long. One page is enough. The handwriting is uneven, perhaps because the author had lost the habit of writing in longhand and preferred the keyboard. But his grammar is perfect. The man knew what he was doing. I assume he was writing the note by hand because he didn’t want traces of it on his laptop, or because he knew he was never going to send it as an email and risk a reply. Now that I think of it, he probably didn’t care if it even reached its recipient, a local Bay Area reporter who had mentioned my novel about two young men who fall in love one summer in Italy in the mid-1980s. The reporter eventually forwarded it to me, minus its envelope with the postmark. It took no time to see that all the author of the letter was looking for was a chance to blurt out the words he couldn’t dare breathe elsewhere.

My book had spoken to him. His letter spoke to me.

So here it is: dated April 16, 2008.

I came upon Mr. Aciman’s book while on a business trip back East. Not the type of book I am normally able to read, so I bought a copy for the flight home. I think I’m glad I did.

You see, I was Elio. I was 18 and my Oliver was 22. Though the time and place were different, the feelings were remarkably the same. From believing that you are the only person who has these feelings, to the whole “he loves me – he loves me not” scenario, Mr. Aciman got it right. I was particularly impressed with the attention he gave to the morning after Elio’s and Oliver’s first encounter. The guilt, the loathing, the fear. I felt it too much. I had to put the book down for a while.

But in the end I was able to finish the book before we landed at SFO. Which was good, because I couldn’t take the book home. Unlike Elio it was I who married and had children. My Oliver died from AIDS in 1995. I’m still living a parallel life. My name is not important. His name was Dwight.

Instead, I kept the letter. I kept it for ten years.

What moved me was not just its sobering matter-of-factness or its hint of downplayed sorrow, but the associations it provoked in my mind. It reminded me of those short, clipped messages to loved ones, written by people about to be shipped off to the death camps who knew they’d never be heard from again. There is a chilling immediacy about their hurriedly scribbled notes that say everything there is to say in the fewest possible words — there wasn’t enough time for more, no smarmy pieties, no hand-wringing, no treacly hugs and kisses before the tragic end. It also made me think of the moving phone messages left by those who finally realized they were not going to make it out alive from the Twin Towers and that only their family’s answering machine was going to take their call.

“My name is not important,” he writes, almost as an apology for remaining anonymous; yet the author drops quite a number of hints about himself — hints he likely knows will stir his reader’s wistful curiosity to know what made him write the letter in the first place, what he hoped to accomplish, and if writing did indeed help. The letter itself allows us to see that he travels for business. We also sense that he probably lives in the Bay Area and that he travels not infrequently to the East Coast, since, as he writes, he is “back” in the East. And we know one thing more: that he simply needed to come out and tell someone that a man called Dwight had been his lover when the two were young. The rest is a cloud. We’ll never know more. Writing has served its purpose. We write, it seems, to reach out to others. Whether we know them or not doesn’t matter. We write to put out into the real world something extremely private within us, to make real what often feels unreal and ever so elusive about ourselves. We write to give a shape to what would otherwise remain amorphous. This is as true about authors as about those who want to correspond with them. Over the years, many have written to me either after reading or seeing Call Me by Your Name. Some tried to meet me; others confided things they’d never told anyone; and some even managed to call me at the office and, on speaking about my novel, would eventually apologize before bursting out crying. Some were in jail; some were barely adolescents, others old enough to look back at loves seven decades past; and some were priests locked in silence and secrecy. Many were closeted, others totally out; some were widows who felt a resurgence of hope if only by reading about the loves of two young men called Elio and Oliver in Italy; some were very young girls eager to meet their long-awaited Oliver; and some recalled former gay lovers whom they’d occasionally bump into years later but who’d never acknowledge what they’d once shared and done together when both were schoolmates and neither was married. All were keenly aware of living a parallel life. In that parallel life things are as they perhaps should be. Elio and Oliver still live together. And no one has secrets there.

Unlike Dwight’s lover, everyone who took the time to write to me did not withhold their names, but all had, at one point or another, withheld something very primal. They withheld it from themselves, from a relative, from a friend, a classmate, or colleague, or from a beloved who would never have guessed what troubled longings seethed below their averted gaze whenever they crossed paths.

Some readers wrote to tell me they felt that my novel had changed them, and given them new insights into themselves; some felt it was urging them finally to turn a new leaf in their lives. But some couldn’t go so far and, despite their perfect command of language, confessed lacking the words to explain why they were so moved by my novel or why they felt an unresolved longing for things they’d never considered or desired before. They were experiencing an upwell of emotions and of ungraspable might-have-beens that were asking to be reckoned with because they seemed more real than life itself, a sense of themselves that beckoned from an opposite bank they’d never known was there and whose potential loss now was a source of inconsolable grief. Hence their tears, their regrets, and the overpowering sense of being lost in their own lives.

And yet, they said, theirs were not tears of sorrow. They were tears of recognition, as though the novel itself were a mirror for readers to watch their own emotions laid bare before them. These responses made me aware that Call Me by Your Name does not call attention to anything readers didn’t already know, nor does it bring new truths or revelations; all it does is shed new light on things that were long familiar but that they never took the time to consider. It would be so tempting to say that they are reminded of their forgotten first loves; the truth is that all loves, even those that occur late in life, are first loves. There is always fear, shame, reluctance, and not a tiny dose of spite. Desire is agony.

Everyone who’s read Call Me by Your Name understands not only the struggle both to speak and hold back their truth but also the shame that comes whenever we want something from someone. Desire is always cagey, always secretive — we’ll tell everyone we know about the person we crave to hold naked in our arms, but the very last one to know this will be the person we crave. Same-sex desire is even more guarded and watchful, especially in those who are just discovering their sexuality. Awkwardness and desire are strange bedfellows at a young age, but shame and inexperience are just as paralyzing as fear when we watch them tussling with the urge to be bold. You’re torn between the raw horniness that makes you dream scenes you hope to forget as soon as you’re up and the scenes you pray you’ll dream again and again — if dreams are all you’ll have. Silence and solitude exact a cost that leaves us emotionally wrecked. At some point we need to speak.

So “is it better to speak or die?” asks Elio, the narrator of Call Me by Your Name, quoting words penned by the sixteenth-century Marguerite de Navarre in her collection of tales known as The Heptameron. Marguerite was the sister of King Francis I and the grandmother of Henry IV, himself the grandfather of Louis XIV, hence she was plenty familiar with court intrigue, gossip, and the risks of opening up to someone who may not welcome what’s in our heart and could easily make us pay for it. Not everyone who has written to me has dared to speak their hearts to those they loved. Some have sought silence — slow, lingering droplets of quiet desperation taken every night before bedtime until they realize they’ve been dead and didn’t even know it. Many have written to me with the feeling of having missed their chance when someone tethered his rowboat to their jetty and simply asked them to jump in. “Some sentence or thought on almost every page,” writes a reader, “triggers tears and knots my throat and chest. Tears well up in my eyes on the subway, at my computer at work, walking down the street. Perhaps I am weeping in part because I know that at my age there is virtually no possibility of experiencing anything remotely comparable to what Elio experiences with Oliver.” Someone else writes, “Reading Call Me by Your Name made me feel a love I never had.” A happily married 50-plus colleague took me aside and said, “I don’t think I’ve ever been this much in love in my whole life.” “I'm 23,” tweeted someone else, “and have never felt such love, until I read Call Me by Your Name. I feel like I lived it.” “Elio and I are essentially the same age,” writes a teenage girl. “I have never really experienced his environment of the Italian summer…My experiences have only taken place halfway between nature and smog, however I have felt the same tension, fear, guilt and overwhelming love that you express perfectly through both Elio and Oliver…Finding myself in Elio was something I never expected and I’m positive that I won’t experience anything quite like it ever again. The first girl I ever loved remains…the only girl I have ever loved and though everything she and I shared…lives now as a secret between two friends.” “I finished reading Call Me by Your Name a couple of days ago,” writes someone else, “and wanted to let you know how much it affected me. It felt like a narration of my thoughts that I had systematically buried long ago.” And finally this from a 72-year-old: “I was fascinated by the idea of parallel lives where would I have been if I had gone with him, where would I be if I traveled alone? Maybe the point is just what do I do with the gift you have given me during the remainder of my life.”

There are at least 500 more such letters and emails.

Some find themselves weeping at the end of the film or the novel, not for what happened long ago or for what did not and might never happen in their own lives but for what has yet to happen, for the terrifying moment when they too will soon have to decide whether to speak or die. This from an 18-year-old: “[Your novel] gives me hope that one day I will meet someone whom I desire so badly that I’ll actually find it in me to make a move, the way Oliver is that someone for Elio. Maybe my Oliver will also turn out to be someone that I realize I love as well as desire.” She was crying for a week, as was this 15-year-old young man: “I stopped reading…because I didn’t want [the book] to end, didn’t want the wounds that you caused me to close, I didn’t want to overcome, for some reason that I have yet to find out. I wanted to stay a wreck, emotionally and mentally fragile….My mother handed me tissues because she had never seen me cry like this. I had finished your book and ‘moved’ is too weak a word to express what your book had done to me. Here a week later and it is literally all I can think about, not my midterms coming up, but…Elio and Oliver and if it is better to speak or die. You answered questions I didn’t even think I had.”

Indeed, the whole novel seems to enable the outing of all manner of feelings, feelings from Elio’s relentless inward journey and obsessive self-examination that readers are invited to identify with. Through Elio’s unfettered introspection they too feel exposed and sliced open like a crustacean without a slough, now forced to look at itself in the mirror. No wonder they are moved. The mask that is torn off their faces is not just the mask that conceals same-sex desires from themselves and from others. Rather, it is the realization, through Elio’s voice, of what they truly feel, who they truly are, what they fear, what bears their signature, and what coy little shenanigans they go through to read others and hope to reach them. Some identified with some effusive sentences in my novel so much that they had them tattooed on their bodies. They even attach photos of these tattoos. People have also tattooed peaches on themselves!

But what moves most people — and this is as true now as it was when the novel first came out — is the father’s speech. Here he not only tells his son to nurse the flame and “don’t snuff it out” after his son’s lover has left Italy, but that he too, the father, envies his son’s relationship with a male lover. This speech tears away the last vestige of a veil between reader and truth and is a moving tribute to the irreducible honesty between father and son.

Most readers have written to me about the scene because the father’s speech rekindles the very difficult moment when they decided to come out to their parents — or, as is often the case with people 60, or 70 or older, it reminds them of the conversation they wished they’d had but never did have with their parents. This is the loss no one forgets and from which no one recovers after seeing Call Me by Your Name. It bears the very essence of that precious and life-defining might-have-been moment that never happened and never will.

Here is the speech:

“Look…[y]ou had a beautiful friendship. Maybe more than a friendship. And I envy you. In my place, most parents would hope the whole thing goes away, or pray that their sons land on their feet soon enough. But I am not such a parent. In your place, if there is pain, nurse it, and if there is a flame, don’t snuff it out, don’t be brutal with it. Withdrawal can be a terrible thing when it keeps us awake at night, and watching others forget us sooner than we’d want to be forgotten is no better. We rip out so much of ourselves to be cured of things faster than we should that we go bankrupt by the age of thirty and have less to offer each time we start with someone new. But to feel nothing so as not to feel anything — what a waste!...

“… {L]et me say one more thing. It will clear the air. I may have come close, but I never had what you had. Something always held me back or stood in the way. How you live your life is your business. But remember, our hearts and our bodies are given to us only once. Most of us can’t help but live as though we’ve got two lives to live, one is the mockup, the other the finished version, and then all those versions in between. But there’s only one, and before you know it, your heart is worn out, and, as for your body, there comes a point when no one looks at it, much less wants to come near it. Right now there’s sorrow. I don’t envy the pain. But I envy you the pain.”

I received the anonymous letter sometime in early May 2008. At the time, I was staying at my parents’, because my father was suffering from throat and mouth cancer and was already in hospice care. He had refused radiation and chemotherapy, so I knew his days were numbered; though morphine was clouding his mind, he was still lucid enough to bandy a few quips about a host of subjects. He had stopped eating and drinking water because swallowing had become very painful. One afternoon while I was stealing a nap, the phone rang. A reporter I’d met in California had just received a letter, which she wanted to share with me. I told her to read it over the phone. After she’d read it I asked if she felt she could mail it to me. I wanted to show it to my father, I said, and explained he was dying. She felt for me. We talked about my father for a while. I told her I was trying to make it up to him these days, and that he too had been exceptionally easy to be with. How was it growing up with him? she asked. Tense, I replied. Always is, she added. Then the conversation ended, and she promised to mail the letter soon.

After hanging up, I got out of bed and went in to see him. Over the past few days, I had made a point of reading to him, which he liked a great deal, especially now that he was having difficulty focusing. But rather than read to him the memoirs of Chateaubriand, one of his favorite authors, and feeling buoyed by the letter I’d been read on the phone, I asked if he’d like me to read from the French translation of Call Me by Your Name, the galleys of which I had just received from Paris that very morning. Why not, since you wrote it, he said. He was proud of me. So I began to read from the very beginning, and soon enough I knew I was opening up a subject neither he nor I had ever broached before. But I knew he knew what I was reading and why I was reading it to him. This made me happy. Perhaps it made him happy as well. I’ll never know.

That evening, after the rest of us had dinner, he asked if I could continue reading from my novel. I was nervous about arriving at the father’s speech because I didn’t know how he’d react to it, though he was the kind of father who would have given that very same speech himself. But the speech was two hundred pages away still, and that would have taken many, many days. Perhaps I should skip some parts, I thought. But no, I wanted to read him the whole book. My father didn’t last long enough to hear the father’s speech. And when the letter finally arrived from California, he was already gone. His name was Henri, he was 93 years old, and he inspired everything I’ve written.

[ravnicaforgoblins]

Ravnica for Goblins

The Azorius Senate

History: Founded by Azor I, the Sphinx responsible for writing a majority of the original Guildpact, the Azorius Senate had a big part in organizing Ravnica’s government and maintain it to this day. Theirs is the most complete history, as its members are scrupulous about keeping records. Recording and preserving history is a core tenet of the Azorius Senate, not just for themselves, but for all of Ravnica. As a result, if you need to find a book or a piece of information about the past, the Azorius should have it. Criminal records, personnel files, building blueprints, personal histories; it’s all here. It’s just a matter of getting to it.

Organization: More than any other Guild, the Azorius Senate is meticulously organized. Its three Columns are represented on the Guild’s symbol:

The Sova Column (judges, arbitrators, legal aides, librarians, lawyers, etc) are in charge of making rulings in legal disputes. They decide what’s legal, what isn’t legal, and provide mediation for tough calls. Their word is final and carries serious weight.

The Jelenn Column (scribes, elocuters, notaries, lawmakers, legislators, researchers, messengers, etc) write the laws. Every member dreams of one day adding a new law they’ve written to the Guildpact. Their knowledge of Ravnica’s laws is second to none.

The Lyev Column (lawmages, hieromancers, arrestors, nullmages, investigators, enforcers, soldiers, etc) uphold the laws. They patrol streets, issuing warnings, carrying out warrants, making arrests, and function as eyes & ears on the streets. They are equipped for the job of detaining, pacifying, or incapacitating lawbreakers from any Guild.

Alignment Spectrum: Azorius are lawful if nothing else. The Guildpact is the single most powerful magic on the plane of Ravnica and the Azorius’ knowledge of it is unmatched by that of any other Guild. Laws are literally the source of their power, so having any other alignment can be a serious hindrance to an Azorius member. Ideally, the Azorius are Lawful Neutral, concerned with enforcing the laws as written, with no favoritism for anyone. Lawful Good are those who want to use the law to make life better for others because they believe in it. Hero cops, basically. Lawful Evil are those who use the law to their own means. Dirty cops, basically. Thing is, as long as an Azorius has the law on their side, their Guild will back them up. There may be repercussions, however.

Signature Elements: Since Guildpact magic is as powerful as it is, Azorius don’t have many other requirements besides a strong commitment to carrying it out. Azroius is largely populated by humans, as well as a good number of Vedalken, and their fair share of Giants. Being primarily booksmart, Azorius are very likely to have high Intelligence. They wear white & blue uniforms based on their rank & position, have notebooks & writing implements on them at all times, ride horses or griffins, and standard issue armor & weapons for those out on the streets. Azorius magic is law magic and typically takes the form of runes, symbols, floating letters, and glowing bonds/chains. It is firm & iron-clad, but always more focused on detainment than injury. That said, a 4′11″ Azorius can stop a rampaging 25ft tall Simic Krasis with a word and a piece of paper. That’s not just metaphor, I literally mean a piece of paper and clear annunciation can have that much magical power. Combat-wise, Azorius prefer weaponry that discourages unlawful behavior, such as spears, shields, and hammers. It only hurts if you insist on fighting. Magically, Azorius prefer to nullify threats with spells like Command, Hold Person, and especially Counterspell. Take away a mage’s spells and they might as well be a normal civilian.

Your Role in Ravnica: Patrol the streets, research the Guildpact, follow your orders, and above all, maintain order. That last one is the single most important aspect of being an Azorius, but it doesn’t have to be as constricting as it sounds. “Order” in Ravnica has a different meaning than it does on other planes. If a Rakdos troupe is putting on a disturbing knife display involving blood magic at one of their venues, your job is not to stop the show. Your job is to make sure it doesn’t get out of control and spill out into the streets. The status quo is balance, not utopia. If a Guild is building up an army, your job is surveillance, if a Guild is overstepping their boundaries, your job is to put them back in their place. If a threat to the city or its inhabitants emerges, your job is to neutralize it.

Your Territory: Within the Tenth District, the Azorius are most heavily focused in the 1st, 2nd, and 5th Districts. 1st District, being central within the city and home of the Guildpact, is patrolled most regularly. 2nd District, being the site of the Azorius Guildhall New Prahv, has the highest concentration of Azorius in the entire city. Not just patrols, but living quarters, barracks, airship stations, stables, legal offices, as well as prison compounds. It is among the most heavily guarded & fortified structures on the plane. The 5th District contains Prism University, Ravnica’s most highly esteemed educational college, as well as the Ismeri Library, the largest collection of knowledge & information in the city. While not strictly Azorius, the Library is generally filled with lawmages, researchers, students, and bibliophiles, all commonplace amongst the Senate.

Your Guildhall: New Prahv is the single largest building in Ravnica. A trifecta of titanic pillars towers atop a fortress prison nearly a mile wide and a thousand feet tall. It is an impenetrable reminder of the Azorius’ presence within the city. It’s not particularly subtle, but that’s very much the point. Azorius might be annoying out on the streets, but here they are absolute.

Your Guildmaster: The Azorius Senate has been through many Guildmasters, some longer than others. Like many real governments, most of the Guildmasters have been elected to the position based on legal merit/standing as opposed to physical strength. Most have been human (Konstantin I-II, Leonos I-II, Lucian I-III, Augustin I-IV, Lavinia I), with one Vedalken (Dovin Baan) and a couple of Sphinx (Azor I and Isperia). Their role is to issue final judgements, much like a supreme court judge, as well as to oversee the operations of every branch of the Senate. It is exceedingly rare for them to leave their posts, and almost unthinkable to see them out on the streets or in a fight.

Why You’re Awesome: Azorius know a lot. Not just about their own Guild, but about every Guild. To them, knowing literally is half the battle. The Azorius Senate are that one kid in class who actually reads the textbook and raises the collective average of the rest of the class by at least one letter grade. Not only that, but you have one of the largest & most impressive arsenals on the plane backing you up. Your job is to maintain order in a city with Psycho Murder Clowns, make no mistake, Azorius are built to hold fast against any threat, no matter how big. Paladins, Clerics, Wizards, Bards, Airships, Giants, and Griffins. Azorius are best equipped for dealing with threats that rely on only their strongest skill. Thugs, berserkers, raiders, beasts, etc who can excel at physical combat but dump Intelligence or Wisdom stats. Wizards and Sorcerers with massive repertoires of spells at their disposal but no backup plan for having every spell countered or nullified. Seeing the expressions on these individuals’ faces when they realize they don’t have a contingency for such situations is priceless.

Why You’re Problematic: To call the Azorius unpopular is a bit of an understatement. The general consensus about them among the other Guilds ranges from pity to annoyance to outright hatred. The Azorius are unyielding and non-negotiable, and read way too many gods-damn books. There’s also the matter of Ravnica’s own legal system being your greatest weapon as well as your greatest hindrance. Part of your job is to record all crimes you see, jaywalking through illegal detonation of a Purple Wurm, and there are utter mountains of paperwork attached to report. In addition, your Guild moves at what could generously be called a snail’s pace, requiring any major changes or decisions to go all the way up the ladder before any action is made. Worse, many of the other Guilds know this, and have learned how to subvert and dodge legal ramifications over the millennia. Orzhov specialize in finding creative loopholes in specific laws, whereas your job is more of a broad understanding of them. Last, but almost certainly not least, the Azorius Senate strives to be the pinnacle of law & order within the city, but the system is far from perfect. Mistakes are made, and the consequences can be alarming. Azorius strive towards a Greater Good mindset, and some of their actions in pursuit of this have been downright unforgivable.

Myths: You're boring.

You have a stick up your ass that could crack an Orc skull.

Laws are stupid and you’re stupid for following them.

You are required to be a Rules Lawyer.

You can’t do anything in a real fight.

You have to play a high Intelligence character.

No one likes you.

Reality: You’re dependable.

They’ll thank you for keeping notes someday.

Law Magic is the strongest on this plane, only a few Guilds actually learn it.

Lawmages specialize in rules, Arresters specialize in enforcement.

Your warhammer isn’t for show.

You only have to be smart enough to know who you can hit and who you can’t.

You didn’t join this Guild to be popular.

[antiloreolympus]

11 Anti LO Asks

1. that confession is REALLY stretching it to excuse how rachel is shit at character design. yes the greeks saw the gods as flawless, but they still looked different. for example ares and hephaestus was depicted as more muscular than say the more lithe apollo and dionysus. hera and demeter had more wide hips and chests than aphrodite, who in turn was more curvy than the more slender artemis, and the list goes on. rachel is just not a good character artist, you guys, it's not that deep.

2. rachel literally just copy and pastes her character designs to absurd degrees, showing shes actually not that good of an artist and is exceedingly lazy. seriously, the nymphs are just persephone with pointy ears. leto is just hera with black eyes. apollo and hades looking /exactly/ the same. It may be rude to say, because when she actually puts in effort her art looks good, but Rachel has been shown time and time again to be a rather incompetent artist, especially for the past few years.

3. for anyone wondering, its likely rachel purposely picked graves and ovid over actual greek sources like homer and hesiod is because ovid had the version where minthe was destroyed by persephone (the greek versions had demeter doing it) and graves is the one who made up persephone's name is actually kore and said she was a nobody until she married hades and actually gained power and respect via him. they fit her twisted fanfic, not that theyre actual greek and legit mythology sources.

4. i know it wont happen but i just wish the actual romance was pushed off or even dropped for the time being so persephone could have had her own life and gotten her degree and lived a little bit on her own, instead of rachel doubling down and making sure persephone has NOTHING outside of him and dropping all her goals for him. its just sad she had inklings of being a real character but instead has been bogged down to hades' trophy to win and put on a pedestal for his own wants, not her own.

5. ive followed other webtoons and other stories where the male lead falls for the woman very fast, but the authors make a point they become friends first and slowly but surely over weeks/months/years in story to build up the foundations before they even go on a date, much less get together as an actual couple. the fact hades has only know persephone a MONTH and doesnt even know her and yet we're supposed to believe theyre soulmates and its ok hes burning every bridge for her is normal?? what???

6. zeus is clearly a better leader and king if hades literally assaulted him/yelled at him in court and yet didnt kick the everloving shit out of him for it. hades is completely unlikeable in this whole trial and yet im sure rachel thinks its so romantic hades is being a completely irrational, short tempered dick throughout the whole thing. like zeus isnt even a real threat persephone, tbh, theres no reason for hades to act like such a violent prick to his own brother who has reason to punish her.

7. in ep 109 it directly points out rhea and persephone look exactly the same and shes a "spitfire" to compare theyre both "badass goddesses" and its like ... rachel you know thats weird, right? does hades want to bang his mom?? or at least a lookalike of her?? why is this a thing???

8. Someone mentioned Hades being attributed to like oil and petrol and stuff and it’s funny that he’s given that since that’s a big part of his characterization in Hadestown as well. In Hadestown though, he’s the villain. Literally the only big difference between LO Hades and Hadestown Hades is that he’s actually acknowledged to be a terrible person in Hadestown and Persephone hates him for it. Honestly now I’d like to see Hadestown Persephone in LO. She’d tear LO Hades apart. 

9. let me make it simple for yall. calling rachel a bitch is misogynistic. saying her work is bad and pointing out the very real flaws and problems she constantly excuses and promotes such as good like toxic and even violent romances, misogyny, racism, classism, and even antisemitism is not. cool? cool.

10. This next chapter did nothing to undo anything mentioned in the previous. We got Minthe is a plant and persphone not even sorry for it, just that maybe she can turn her back to a person but don’t worry she’s not dead! Like Zeus cares about making an exanple out of Persphone, yet doesn’t remember Minthe was one of the people who turned Persphone in? Or that was hades almost fiancé? Like persphone is worse than they thought!

Thanatos talking about nepotism, and hades is literally doing everything in his power to defend Persephone’s sketches without even hearing what her plan was for the underworld. Like I know he’s her lawyer but even that is over the top.

Oh and Hades wanting to know why Demeter doesn’t like hades after he called her daughter hot? Gee no wonder why she doesn’t like you and would want to hide everything. Imagine, you hide something from the king of the underworld and he finds your daughter hot? He’s gonna go to Zeus and be like “I’ll forgive them if I get Demeters daughter was a bride.” Like yeah you’re unapproachable.

I feel like when RS addresses the problems she doesn’t fix them, she just acknowledges there there and moves past them. Like Hecate and Hera telling Hades Persphone is too young, hades didn’t prove himself at all, they just flipped their mind.

-----FP Spoilers/Mention-----

11. its so gross how RS is using Persephone's assault to excuse her actions of mass murder and torture as if the former wasnt well before she met Apollo and the latter had nothing to do with the SA, it was just her lashing out she would finally be facing consequences for her actions. Persephone can be both a victim and still be a bad person who has harmed so many others without using an unrelated trauma she went through to excuse it. Serial killers are often abused as kids, are they excused too now?

From OP: (Not exactly sure if they’re talking about FP but Hades’ comment in 183 makes me believe it’s about the FP. If it’s not, my apologies!)

[phoneybeatlemania-bit-the-dust]

Yoko threatening suicide happened more than once. She threatened to commit suicide if John didn’t sponsor her art in the beginning & she threatened to commit suicide if John continued to have a relationship with Julian. This was after the Kyoko kidnapping situation hence why John didn’t see or contact Julian for almost 3 years.

Threatening suicide is manipulative emotional blackmail. Everyone talks about John’s mental health but no one has ever seriously talked about Yoko’s mental health issues. She did try to kill herself after her first marriage collapsed and was in a mental institution.

Cw abuse, suicide threats

Does anyone have sources to confirm or elaborate upon the suicide threats?

Assuming anons claims are true (I don't think you're lying btw anon, but I just like to have sources before I make any sweeping statements), I agree! And its a point ive actually been trying to illustrate for awhile!Threatening suicide can be symptomatic of BPD, and while thats not a mental illness I believe Yoko struggles with*, its still telling us that we should be recognising her as a mentally ill individual. That doesn’t mean anyone has to like or forgive her, because similar to what I was saying here (x), forgiveness and whether reparations suffice is a personal choice. But we should at the very least recognise some nuance and empathy regarding Yoko, rather then just totally vilifying her.

(*Im not ruling that diagnosis out entirely, but in speculating on her mental health I just see other disorders as better evidenced - though I do admit im not the most knowledgeable when it comes to Yoko.)

After posting this quote (x) a lot of people have responded with a lot contempt towards Yoko, and whilst I do understand that point of view, and I don’t think people are wrong in being disgusted by her behaviour there - I just cant help but feel somewhat sympathetic for her. She was such a mentally ill individual, who perhaps had such a fear of abandonment or a compulsive need to control that she felt compelled to threaten/attempt suicide. It is an abhorrently manipulative and abusive tactic, and I understand the immediate disgust in reaction - but at the same time, I can acknowledge that this abusive behaviour came as a product of mental illness.

A lot of us have empathy for John because although he was inarguably abusive, I think we can understand that this was a result of his own instability and immense insecurity. Without justifying any of Johns abuse, I can still empathise with him in the sense that I understand what its like to be confused and cruel and disorderly - and I can understand that the pain we often cause others is just a result of our own.

I just think we can often be very quick to entirely dismiss Yoko's mental instability, rather then analysing her the same way we do with John. At the same time though, I admit that im a bit of a hypocrite in saying that - its not as if ive analysed her psychology in the same depth as I have with Johns. But I guess my point is that we perhaps generalise when we just call Yoko “evil” and don’t attempt to find any understanding within her. There just appears to be an innate hypocrisy in allowing nuance in examining John, whilst disallowing the same for Yoko (I know ive linked so many of my posts already, but like, yup made this point here (x) lmao)

But also as ive said here (x), I think that there are reasons why many of us can get past Johns history of abuse but not Yoko’s - namely, John showed remorse over his actions, and eventually grew as a person, and took full accountability for his wrong-doings. Many people would argue that Yoko has not done the same.

As I mentioned here (x) and here (x) Yoko was always in competition with Paul. As she invokes in her own words, she's a replacement, albeit she claims she's a replacement for Stu here, but I believe she was intelligent enough to recognise she was also a replacement for Paul in 1968. None of that means she was right to threaten suicide, but it really just speaks more so to my broader argument that the John&Yoko relationship was just unhealthy from both behalf’s. Both parties were using the other as a vessel, and it was not a relationship built on solid and loving grounds.

[anntoldst0ries]

Everything else is just the weather

Book: Open Heart Pairing: Dr Ethan Ramsey x F!MC (Dr Noelle Valentine) Word Count: ~5.3k (I sinned!) Summary: Ethan takes Elle out on their “first” date. Category: Fluff Warnings: None

A/N: It has literally taken me ages to finish this fic. To the point that I couldn’t look at it anymore, but here it is. I had it in mind for a really long time and now that OH is back, I feel like I’m ready to show it to the world. As always thank you for your support and I hope you like it!

This fic is part 2 of birthday present for my friend, part 1 is the fan art which you can see here. Once you read the fic, the fan art makes more sense :)

This is my submission for CFWC Silly Love Stories, Day 12: Date night.

Loud knocks resonated throughout the room. 

"Come in!"

"Good morning, Mrs. Peterson.”

“Good morning, Dr Valentine. I think you are the only doctor in this hospital with some sort of manners, everyone else just waltzes in here as if it was a damn barn!”

“Hospital or no hospital, everyone has their right to privacy.”

“Thank you, child. Once again, please call me Faye."

"Alright Faye, but only if you call me Elle.” She smiled sweetly, and the whole room seemed to be suddenly lit by a thousand suns.

“How are you feeling? Are the meds making a difference?"

"They are. I am ready to be discharged today.”

"Not so fast. I am not ready to say goodbye to you yet."

“Why would you possibly like to be lumbered with an old nuisance like me for even a second longer than necessary?”

Elle just laughed and shook her head. The ‘nuisance’, as the elderly lady so lovingly put it, was exactly what she loved about her job. She loved spending time with her patients, she loved their stories and their worldly wisdom. It made her sad to see how many of them thought they didn’t matter or considered themselves and their lives boring. To her, they were anything but. 

Many of Edenbrook’s staff members kept asking themselves: what is it about her? She was a great doctor, no two ways about it, and she was a genuinely nice person. But what was the source of power she had over people? If she woke up one day and decided to start a rebellion, patients would have most certainly followed her, even if it meant they’d be leaving the premises of the hospital with naked butts or trailing their IVs behind them. Doctors, nurses, administration, cleaners and security would follow shortly. She only had to say a word.

And how on Earth was she capable of turning Dr Ramsey, the grizzly bear of Edenbrook, into a benign teddy bear with as little as one look? It was beyond everyone’s apprehension.

Had they spent more time actually observing her, rather than gossiping in the corners, the answer would have unveiled in front of them within minutes.

It was very simple.

Noelle was truly curious about people. She genuinely liked them and was determined to get to know their story, for it helped her diagnose them faster and also satiated the young doctor’s hunger for knowledge.

Patients never felt like “curious cases” or “numbers” in her presence. They were… themselves - people with hopes, dreams, fears, pet peeves and odd habits. They were human. 

So little and yet so much.

Those never touched by serious illnesses often failed to understand that sickness strips you of your dignity and becomes your identity. Your true self becomes covered by this weird, annoying sticker that wouldn’t come off no matter how hard you tried to remove it. 

But this young woman, despite the nature of her profession, somehow managed to notice what was hiding beneath this misleading layer.

Had all these gossipers spoken to her patients, that’s exactly what they would have heard.

"What's happening today?" The older lady asked with a flick of curiosity in her wrinkle-haloed eyes.

"What do you mean, Faye?" The young doctor sounded genuinely baffled by the out-of-the-blue question.

"Well, I am no diagnostician, but I believe I am rather observant and you radiate with happiness. Something special is happening today, am I right?"

"Yeah, you are right." Elle blushed like a teenager caught in a lie. "My boyfriend is taking me on a surprise date today, but he won’t say a word about it, so I'm super excited to find out what he planned for us. He usually isn't one for romantic gestures, so the secrecy is killing me."

"Do you think he's gonna pop the big question?" Faye’s eyes lit up with excitement.

"No, we're not there...yet." Elle faked a smile, but a tone of doubt and sadness coloured her voice. They probably never will be, those things weren’t in the cards for Ethan, as he already stressed once.

But once was enough and she didn’t dare mention the subject again.

"Well, I'm pretty sure he's got some big guns in store, I would if I had a lady like you." - a male patient lying in the bed adjacent to Elle’s patient added smiling flirtatiously. 

"Jerry, you were supposed to focus on getting better, not stealing my girlfriend." They all jumped when a deep baritone echoed throughout the room, hitting present company like a wrecking ball. She must have left the door ajar or Ethan could penetrate the walls soundlessly, because no one heard him coming.

Exactly how long has he been standing there for and how much did he hear?

"Dr. Ramsey, flirting makes your blood flow faster. Isn't it the very definition of life itself?” Jerry’s tone was brisk and lively.

"Well, it definitely isn't the definition of recovery after a heart attack." Ethan used his authoritative doctor’s voice but knew this wasn't a battle he was going to win. Jerry had something he didn't: a couple more decades of life experience under his belt and even the best medical school in the country couldn’t compete with this.  

"Besides, Dr. Ramsey, I don't think that the beautiful Dr. Valentine here fancies old farts like me." 

"That's where you are wrong, Jerry, looks like this is exactly the type I fancy." The two women laughed, however Ethan was far from amused. "Dr. Ramsey is 10 years older than me."

"10 years? What is 10 years in these times? Nothing. When I was getting married 40 years ago, it was something. But today? Look at all them playboys with girls younger than my granddaughter. 10 years is actually a very healthy difference. Men are immature and slower with growing up emotionally. So I'd say you've caught up, Dr. Ramsey, and the two of you are emotional peers now.”

“Thank you for the fascinating lesson in human psychology, Jerry. To think I’ve wasted all this time and money on medical school and no one taught me this.”

“Dr. Ramsey, it’s because schools and useful knowledge are mutually exclusive.”

Elle and Faye were on the verge of bursting out in laughter, but managed to keep their composure and used the non-verbal communication of exchanging glances instead.

Once they made sure their patients had everything they need, Ethan and Elle wished them a good day and promised to stop by in 2 days, as the following day was their day off.

The moment the door closed behind them, Ethan crossed his arms on his chest.

"I lose you from my sight for one second and this happens. 5 more minutes with Jerry and I'd be single again."

"At least no one wants to poke your eyes out for being with me."

"And someone wants to poke yours?"

"Where do I start... nurses, who had a crush on you long before I even set foot in Edenbrook? Female interns? Anyone, who has a pair of functioning eyes and ever looked at you?"

She was adorable when she was doing this, her whole body overtaken by excitement and her hands waving. When she was talking about something really important to her she wasn't just conversing with her mouth, she was doing it with her whole body.

Suddenly, his pager painfully reminded Ethan that this was neither the place nor the time to lose himself in adoration.

"I need to go, I'm completely swamped today and I have my favourite cherry-on-top board meeting. In case I don't see you for the rest of your shift - I’ll pick you up at 7."

He was gone before she was able to form a response. Was it just her or was Dr Ramsey weirdly… nervous?

* * * * * * * *

At 7pm sharp, Ethan Ramsey curled his palm in a fist and gently knocked. The door opened in an instant, as if someone knew he'd been standing there for the past few minutes.

"Ethan! I mean Dr. Ramsey...please come in!" Sienna squeaked with nervous excitement as she let him in.

"Outside of Edenbrook Ethan is just fine, Sienna. If you don't mind me calling you by your first name, of course."

"Mm..mme? No, yes, I mean... Elle is on the balcony." She tried to hide her embarrassment and motioned towards the tall windows surrounding the living room. Some time ago, he would have been oddly proud to have such an intimidating effect on people - nowadays, more than anything, he was amused. Has he really changed so much?

The answer to his question was leaning against the railing, glass of wine in her hand. Gauzy, flowery dress enveloped her frame and tanned skin. 

For Ethan, it was as clear as crystal: summer had the face and scent of Noelle Valentine.

Long before she started leaving her toothbrush in his apartment and sleeping in his old JH t-shirts, Ethan noticed that whenever he laid eyes on her, his whole body started acting in a very irrational way. His doctor’s instincts prompted him to think of all types of biological causes and chemical reactions in the brain. Then, when he sort of admitted to himself it’s not just pure science, Ethan leaned towards the forbidden fruit theory - the more he couldn’t have his drug, the more he was craving it.

But the feeling never disappeared. Whenever he wouldn’t see her for a while - be that an hour, a day, or just when she went to take a shower or make a coffee - the very moment her face came into his view again, he felt his stomach somersaulting.

Every. Single. Time.

It wasn’t any different now.

"Drinking without me?"

She almost dropped the glass when his voice stopped the train of thought in her head. But then she saw his face, the way too seldom relaxed muscles and a barely-there smile.

A perfectly tailored shirt clung to his torso marvellously. If not in medicine, he surely would have made a name for himself in the fashion industry. Fortunately for her, the idea never crossed his mind. 

The warm wind blew in her face, carrying the scent of expensive cologne which overwhelmed her nostrils. She didn’t know this one, so it must have been new. But she did know that smelling it for the whole evening while staring at his handsome face will be a pure torture.

Simply put, she was a goner.

"I don't know why, but I was quite nervous. Had to summon the courage somehow.”

“As you should be. After all, it's not every day that one goes on their first date."

She looked at him as if she’d just been told that a UFO landed on the roof.

“On a what?”

"Well, I was thinking a lot lately about how we never had a first date. Nothing was ever...typical with us. I promised myself I will do my best to fix things that caused you pain or deprived you of the things you deserved. Maybe I cannot fix some immediately, but this one I can, so I will."

Her eyes, overbrimming with affection struck him like thousand lightnings. Thank god a comfortable silence fell between them - had she asked him a question, it would have been clear that right now he is nothing but a simpering moron.

With this in mind, he took his hands from behind his back, holding a small bouquet of pink gerberas.

"These are my favourites." Her face instantly illuminated at the well known sight and smell. "How did you know?”

"I had some amazing helpers."

Elle instantly turned her head left and looked inside, where grinning, Sienna was showing her the thumbs up.

"Wow, now I actually wish I'd downed the whole bottle."

"I'm glad you didn't. I want to go on a date with a woman, not her lifeless body, even though the body itself is very appealing. Shall we?”

“King of compliments…”

* * * * * * * *

"You actually look like you are having a good time, Dr Ramsey.”

"Why wouldn't I? There is alcohol, sitting under the sky definitely has its charm and the company is acceptable." She playfully swatted his arm, the gesture a quick reminder of how comfortable they felt with each other, something he constantly remembered to never take for granted.

“Although I love this, I still don’t understand why you dragged me all the way outside Boston, I’m pretty sure the rooftop bars are pretty acceptable there, too. A bit more crowded though, that’s for sure.”

“Are you complaining about the fact that we have this entire place to ourselves? I know the owner and he was indebted to me.”

“Of course he was.” Looks like the whole town is indebted to Ethan freakin’ Ramsey.

“With regards to why I brought you here… you’ll just have to wait and see.”

Gosh. She couldn’t decide whether the mysterious side of Ethan Ramsey was hot as hell or annoying as hell. But she didn’t really have time to contemplate, because her companion asked her a question.

“Why did you become a doctor?” The ocean eyes pierced her to the core and she had a feeling that even if she was the best actress in the world, there was no way she’d be able to hide something from this man.

“That’s a terrible change of subject. Also, I must have told you like a million times already.”

“No, you never told me.”

When she looked at him and really, really thought about it… she suddenly realised Ethan was right. Elle told the story so many times she sort of… assumed she told Ethan, too. 

“Are you sure you want to hear it today? It’s a pretty sad story, a mood killer I’d say.”

“It’s what makes you you, so yes, I want to hear all about it - the good, the bad and the indifferent.”

“I’ll tell you, but I need to ask something first. Why now? We’ve known each other for a while and you just… I just sort of assumed this isn’t the type of conversation you’d like to hold.”

“You’ve hit the nail on the head.” Ethan’s expression was gentle, not a hint of irony in his voice. “I’ve known you for a while now, but there are still so many things about you that I don’t know. At first, I didn’t want to ask, because asking these questions meant admitting that there is something more between us. What a fail would that be, after I’ve mastered the art of denial.” He laughed, but it wasn’t a bitter or a nervous laugh, it was a genuine banter between them, as the British half of her soul liked to call it. “But you made me want to dig deeper.”

Was it the heat that made her catch her breath, or did it have nothing to do with the temperature?

“Plus, this is sort of what first dates are for, right? I’m sorry for skipping right to the more complex questions. It’s not that I don’t want to know what you were afraid of as a child, I want to know all the details… but it feels like the atmosphere calls for something…bigger.”

So she told him all about her friend, how she fell ill, how she couldn’t be saved and how the experience wreaked havoc on her whole life, tears glistening in her eyes at the mere memory of the events that shaped who she was today.

Ethan listened, his whole body tense and eyes transfixed. She was giving him one of the most fragile parts of her and he had to make sure his hands were there to catch, carry and care for this treasure.

“And that’s when I realised that if I focused on becoming the best doctor I could be, then maybe one day, I’d be that person who has an answer, who can solve a mystery and save a relationship that means the world to someone. Sometimes, people don’t realise that when a person dies, it’s not only them that’s gone. The part of someone who stays, who has to deal with the whole ‘me after you’ - that part is gone, too. So for me, in a way, this meant saving more than one life.”

For a couple of seconds he didn’t move. Then, without saying a single word and with an unreadable expression he got up and offered her a hand, which she silently accepted. He led her to the railing, where the sun was slowly sinking into the boundless waters of Quincy Bay.

His lips found the all too well known way to her forehead, placing a loving kiss on her delicate skin.

“I am so proud of you.” There was something so mesmerising in his whisper, sending a shiver down her spine.

“As a mentor or as a boyfriend?”

“Both. I want you to know that your dedication to people who rely on you is astounding and hardly present in doctors your age. Or any age, for that matter.”

“Wow, Dr Ramsey, smooth. Trying to hit on me with a recycled pick-up line used on a national TV? No wonder you didn’t have too many girlfriends.”

“No, I didn’t. But I believe everyone has a limit of luck they can get per life. And looking at you, I got a couple of lifetimes worth of luck.”

This was enough to render her speechless. She smiled and at this very moment he knew he would do anything to make her smile like this. She wrapped him around her pinky finger and suddenly his whole existence revolved around finding ways of seeing her curve these breathtaking lips as often as possible and making sure he is the reason she smiles… not crying her eyes out.

Although the other didn’t know, because none of them said it out loud, they both thought the same thing.

This feels so right. 

There isn’t a hint of awkwardness in the fact that they can go from being serious or emotionally vulnerable to funny and teasing in seconds.

In one effortless movement, Ethan spun her and pressed her back against his chest.  Then, he started placing a series of tender kisses along her jawline and the crook of her neck, slowly moving towards her shoulder. 

Come on, just say it Ramsey. It doesn’t get any better than this.

He wrapped her palm in his and pointed them towards the sky. 

“There they are - the Little Dipper and the Big Dipper.” Their intertwined fingers were jumping from one tiny flashing point to the other, as if they were playing connect the dots. “And that’s Orion’s Belt.”

“I really don’t get why at this point I’m still surprised that you’re good at everything.”

Elle was drunk on his every word, as this annoying trait of Ethan Ramsey being the know-it-all was actually one of her favourite things about him. 

As for Ethan, he couldn’t help but think that life wasn’t perfect and was never going to be. But this - this moment - it was in fact perfect. Why take chances of ruining it, when so many things can go wrong?

What if she doesn't say it back?

What if she's just gonna laugh at him or tell him he had it all wrong.

What if he misinterpreted everything and she never thought about him this way?

He was terrified of being this exposed. The last person he loved so much left him without batting an eyelid and disappeared for 25 fucking years.

Maybe it was better to live in a perfect illusion than a reality in which there was even a 0.01% chance she doesn't love him back.

So they both drowned in the moment, drifted in the sea of rapture, lost in the illusion that it can all last forever.

It was her who broke the silence.

“I’m getting a bit cold, is it ok if we call it a night?”

“Right, of course.”

“Thank you for the first date, I loved it.”

Handing her his jacket (her favourite, the dark green leather one) Ethan was furious at himself. 

Maybe he was broken. Maybe he will remain broken forever. Maybe that’s the way it must be.

“Do you want to spend the night at mine?” The question slipped his tongue before he was able to fully reflect on it.

“At yours? Unless you have some secret place I don’t know about, just a quick reminder - I live there too.”

“Since this was our first date, I thought it was a gentlemanly thing to ask.”

“In that case… I am afraid I have the ‘after the 3rd date’ sleepover rule, Dr Ramsey.”

* * * * * * * *

The morning came all too soon and the hot, ruthless rays of the rising sun announced that Ethan is now way past his regular wake up and get up time. He barely slept, tossing and turning, replaying every second of the evening in his head.

His hand mindlessly reached for what he hoped to be the familiar curves and softness of the body he adored so much. 

But his palm hit the mattress with a loud thud. The bed was empty. 

The all-too-well known feeling of hopelessness slipped into the doctor's mind with ease. What did he expect? He was acting weird the previous day. First date, what a stupid idea. She must have realised something is wrong with him and finally left.

But before he was able to fully wallow in the mud of pity, the feeling was soon replaced by an old friend Ethan haven’t heard from for a long time.

Panic. 

Where was she? Is she ok? What if something happened to her and he was just sleeping like a log instead of being there to protect her. He couldn’t stand the thought of losing her… again. Something grabbed his chest in a tight grip and wouldn’t let go. 

Scenes flashed before his eyes, vivid and bright. Their hands touching through the glass wall. Her hand cupping his cheek through the layer of hazmat suit.

He got out of bed at the speed of sound and started running around the apartment, but she was nowhere to be seen. 

Suddenly, he noticed.

The balcony door was opened wide. 

Shit.

Heart in his mouth, Ethan crossed the distance between his kitchen island and the balcony door in the blink of an eye. 

Elle was just serving pancakes outside. The goddamn pancakes. The only thing he couldn’t cook. The one thing she kept teasing him about and he rolled his eyes every time she did.

God, he promised himself he will never learn how to make them, if it meant she would just tease him forever.

She was smiling as widely as ever, putting the sun and everything else in the world to shame. Ethan was still a bit shaken and his uneven breathing gave him away. Elle finally noticed his presence.

“Good morning, I was just about to—“

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

They both froze. 

The tension in the silence that had just set in was so thick you could cut it with a knife.

But the silence didn’t last long. As one man, with eyes full of disbelief, they both murmured simultaneously:

“What did you just say?”

This time, he felt obliged to break the silence.

"I...I...I mean, I…" 

Damn it, get it together, idiot.

"I didn't mean to…”

Great, Ramsey, keep digging an even deeper hole for yourself, then crawl in and stay there forever.

"You didn't mean to say it?”

"Yes. No. I mean, damn it, I am making things worse, aren't I?”

She didn’t set him straight.

"The thing is, I wanted to say it yesterday. I had it all planned, I took you for a first date and I wanted to say it for the first time yesterday.”

"Why did it have to be yesterday?”

“Give me a minute.”

She just rolled her eyes, but Ethan didn’t have a chance to notice before disappearing inside. A few moments later he re-emerged, his face and torso covered by a neatly wrapped, rectangle-shaped object.

"What's this?"

"Something you should have unpacked yesterday, but then... life happened."

Elle sat down on cold tiles, her hands trembling with a mix of fear and excitement. And just like he did months ago, he took her hand in his, only this time he cupped his own cheek with her palm and placed the most tender kiss on the inside of her hand.

It was her favourite medicine, a remedy for all things wrong. 

He sat beside her and nodded at the mysterious package. With impatience growing inside of her, Elle has torn the paper up.

Inside was a dark blue, framed print - the colour of it an instant reminder of her favourite set of irises.

She studied everything with intent. A circle must have been representing the earth and the irregular dots and lines must have been the stars and constellations. 

"A map of the sky? That's beautiful, Ethan."

He knew immediately that although her delight was sincere, she had absolutely no clue what she was looking at and why she was looking at it.

“It's not just any map of the sky.” Ethan explained gently, hints of pride colouring his voice. “It's a map of the Boston sky from exactly a year ago. Well, a year and a day.” He smiled faintly, now a shade of sorrow in his enchanting voice.

Silence. Was she supposed to know what that meant?

“Aren’t you full of mysteries today? Ok, you need to throw me a lifebelt here. What's so special about the sky from a year and a day ago?”

“For the world? Probably not too much. For me? Everything.”

At this stage of their relationship, she knew a lot about Ethan’s behaviours, triggers, his body language. And not just a relationship as a couple, but also everything that came before Ethan became someone she was running through life with (the life of two doctors in one of the busiest and most prestigious hospitals was certainly not a walk in the park).

But it still fascinated her how his demeanour changed whenever the subject was serious, whenever he was talking about something that truly mattered to him. It was as if he’d stripped down of all the layers and let her look into his bare soul. These rare moments of vulnerable intimacy meant more to her than any night of passion they ever shared.

Her eyes turned to him in pledge, because as much as she wanted to, Dr Valentine still couldn’t fully comprehend the scene unraveling in front of her.

“Read the description below the map.”

Dear God, did she actually hear shyness in his voice?

She skimmed through the image again, and there it was, right at the bottom. Elle was so focused on trying to decipher the meaning of the image that she didn’t notice the words below. 

The words which explained everything.

I WILL NEVER FORGET THE DAY 

THAT MADE ME REALISE

YOU ARE THE SKY

EVERYTHING ELSE IS JUST THE WEATHER

Her emerald eyes brimmed with hot tears as the meaning dawned upon her. Words were very unnecessary, but now that he summoned the courage to speak, there was still a lot he wanted to put into words. He gently took the frame from her hands and leaned it securely against the wall.

Taking her palms into his, he placed delicate kisses on her knuckles, his lips tracing the shape of these two tiny hands, which held all of him. Everything he had, everything he was and was going to be, he placed in those two fragile palms, with an unspoken hope that they will hold him and catch him if he falls. 

“Look at me.” The words were pulsing with care and affection, even though his voice coloured them in serious and desperate shades.

“One year ago… and a day from today…” He smiled and she felt the warmth spilling inside of her. The power he had over her was beyond the limits of understanding. 

Little did she know that the object of her affection was lost in the same thought.

“I was standing exactly where we stand right now. It was dark and the view wasn’t that spectacular.” He freed one of his hands, but only to make contact with her cheek to caress it slowly. In this moment, he had to touch her any way that he could. With his hands. With his eyes. With his soul.

“But I always found comfort in staring at the sky. When I was at med school, I had countless moments of doubt, I wanted to quit more times than I can count. So I used to go to a secluded place at night and stare at the sky. It made me realise how, in one respect, I am just a grain of sand in the universe and how little my problems are. Funnily enough, this thought actually brought me a sense of comfort. If I am as little as I think I am, then what is the harm in being brave and taking chances? A wise man once said… There are some things that are worth any risk.” 

She giggled through the tears, the sweet sound soothing his shattered nerves.

“I was standing right here and I never felt more miserable in my life. And I couldn’t understand why, for God’s sake. I was thriving at work. I had everything figured out and planned. I was pushing you to be the best you could be and I watched you turn into someone who would one day be far greater than me. But you looked so sad, so… broken. You already know I can’t just gloss over you feeling down. The sadder you were, the more miserable I felt. One evening, I was having a glass of scotch and I remembered some tiny exchange we’ve had earlier in the day, literally a chit chat. No idea what it was about. But I remembered your smile and your laugh. Every tiniest move of your muscles, your eyes, how your hair set around your face. It made me happy. Even if it was just for 5 minutes, knowing that you are happy in that very moment filled my chest with lightness. That’s when I realised I want to be the person who makes you feel this way.”   

She blinked the first time in a while, as if she was afraid to make the tiniest movement, afraid it will all disappear and turn out to be a dream. Giant teardrops rolled down her angelic face, trailing the path of joy.

“Noelle Sky Valentine, I love you. I have loved you for a long time but I was too stubborn to let myself give in. And that, as you already know, will always be one of my biggest regrets.” 

“Ethan, I don’t… I’m so sorry, I just don’t know what to say.” Her voice was saturated with emotions.

“I’d be lying if I said this wasn’t the reaction I was hoping for.“ 

“I love you too, Ethan Jonah Ramsey. You are by far the most complicated and stubborn person I have ever met. You are… everything I never knew I looked for in another human being.”

Once he heard her say it back, he couldn't get enough of it and a lifetime didn't feel like enough to tell her he loves her, as many times as he wished to.

“But I do have to mention this, Dr Ramsey… from the first date to a love confession in less than 24 hours? I’m sorry, I think this is moving too fast.”

“I’ll show you too fast…but I’m afraid we need to get inside, I don’t want the whole world and its wife to see how I teach you a thing or two.”

Ethan scooped her in his arms and carried her inside, despite her mock protests. He smiled and corrected himself. 

He wanted for the whole world to see.

Because the whole world was right there. 

In his arms.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

If you’ve gotten this far, I need you to know you are absolutely amazing 💗

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[sondepoch]

Do You Regret It? (Lucifer x Reader)

Lucifer’s pact mark is a reflection of his pride: subtle, yet demanding all the attention. Small, yet impossible to miss. Delicate, yet overpowering everything else. One day, he catches you staring at it. And he asks you a question.

~Oneshot 

MASTERLIST

"Do you regret it?"

You spin around to the source of the voice, flashing the intruder a disapproving stare once your eyes settle over the familiar figure.

"You need to start knocking," You mutter, crossing your arms. It's not the first time you've made the request; Lucifer has heard it from your lips a thousand times before. But never have you meant it so wholeheartedly. After all, it's at times like these when you need Lucifer to knock the most, times when you're vulnerable and concerned and completely lost to the world around you.

Lucifer simply laughs, a low chuckle rumbling from his chest as he walks forward.

He's quick to trap you in an embrace, one that's slightly reluctant on your end. And yet, you can't help but relax when he gently presses your back to his chest, turning you around so that you're facing the mirror once more. His fingers trail from your cheek to your jaw, angling your chin upward just the slightest so that he has better access to your face, and though you can tell he's staring straight at your face through the mirror, you know it's not your eyes he's looking at.

"Do you regret it?" He repeats, and this time, his voice is even softer. His gaze shifts just the slightest, and now you know he really is looking you straight in the eye.

You stare at him for a second, trying to figure out what's going through his mind. What does he want you to say? That you like having your face branded with his mark, that you enjoy the stares it's already earned you from the other demons?

Your gaze drops, and you stare at your reflection. Trying your hardest to ignore the delicate diamond positioned on your forehead.

Silence.

And then the sound of your reluctant sigh.

"I don't know," You finally confess, sheepishly raising your gaze to Lucifer. "It's just…"

"Strange?" He asks, chuckling.

You nod. "It's like I can feel it on me. Even when I'm not looking at it. And the moment I forget, others stare at it, and I remember all over again…"

Lucifer sighs softly, pulling you away from the mirror and onto your bed. The structure itself is quite giant, but Lucifer insists on keeping you close as he effortlessly lifts your body onto it, settling you down on his lap.

It's the first time he's held you close in any place other than his own study or bedroom, but you don't mention it as he presses your back against his chest, gently stroking your hair. It's oddly intimate, you think. More intimate and more loving than anything you've ever done with the Avatar of Pride.

"Do you know why demonic pacts manifest in the form of markings on the human body?" He asks abruptly.

"To show that we belong to you?" It's your best guess. "So that we don't forget?"

"Close," Lucifer murmurs. "But not quite. Just as you give us a piece of your freedom when you bind yourself to us, the exchange is completed only once we've bound part of our essence to you."

Lucifer's hand trails from your hair to your stomach, his palm flattening against the surface of your abdomen. He's seen you naked enough times to know exactly how large the pact mark there is, and a shudder runs down your spine the second his fingers make contact with the skin there, a rush of magic swelling through your body.

"Beel," He whispers into your ear. "He passed a piece of his gluttony to you when the pact formed. Your hunger is no longer yours, but mixed with his own."

"Levi." He taps at the spot above your heart. "You see the world through his lens, now. You may not realize it, but his envy has seeped into your life, and you will never be free from it."

"Mammon," Lucifer murmurs, his hand sliding to behind your back. "His greed is easy to forget, but it always lurks in the depths of your heart. At the back, where you may never notice it, but always present and eternally fueling your desire for more."

"Asmo." Lucifer slips a hand under your shirt and taps your side, running his fingers along the pact mark that wraps around the thinnest part of your waist. He doesn't need to explain this one, doesn't need to explain how the fifth-born has bound you with a belt that forever holds you close to his lust. "Belphie," He gestures, glancing toward the pact mark that snakes up your left leg, just as sloth itself has you caught in a silent pull that always compels you to its side for just five more minutes of whatever indolence you allow yourself to indulge in. "Satan," He finishes, tapping the back of your neck, just underneath your brain, where your blood pounds loudest on the rare occasion when you give in to the temptation wrath.

"You have each of us inside you, and you can never free yourself of our sins."

Lucifer offers you a soft smile, withdrawing his hands from your body in favor of cupping your cheek.

"And now…" He murmurs, gazing up.

You watch as his gaze traces the pact mark on your forehead, studying it intently as if he could stare at it for centuries.

Pride, you see in his gaze. There's no denying it—no denying the proud look in his eyes as he stares upon your face, now marked with the very same symbol of his own, true form.

Lucifer licks his lips.

His pact mark is by far the smallest when compared to the rest of his brothers, and yet it stands out the most. Much like the Morningstar itself, his pride binds you quietly, impossibly small but louder than all else. He doesn't need a giant pact mark like Beel, or one that wraps around your entire waist like Asmo, to assert his charge over you.

All it takes is a small diamond.

Something runs down your body as you watch him continue to study you, and for the first time, you register it as pride that possesses you, pulsating quietly but distinctly from the small etching on your forehead.

"You're perfect," Lucifer whispers, and now he's not staring at the mark but is staring at your eyes, and you know that you've never looked as enticing to him before as you must look now, your own face a testimony to the fact that you belong to each other. "All of you."

And with this sudden confidence possessing you, there's no hesitation as you close the gap between your lips in a single, fluid movement, locking your lips against Lucifer's with such certainty that there's no room for doubt before the two of you are moving against each other, shifting and gasping and moaning.

You close your eyes and lose yourself in the sensation as Lucifer takes control, pushing you down on the bed.

How many times have you been through this before? A quiet cry spills from your lips when the demon nips at your neck, and your arms fly around his chest to pull him even closer.

You open your eyes when you feel a shift above you, a sudden wave of power washing through your bodies, and you blink when the sight before you registers.

Horns.

You gasp lightly.

And wings.

Your eyes trail to Lucifer's face, trained on the black mark that looks oh-so-natural against the demon's porcelain skin as he hovers above you in his true form.

"This is what it means to be mine," He says, his words ringing richly through your ears. Your mouth hangs open just the slightest, staring in awe as Lucifer's hard gaze washes over you. His eyes have never looked as serious as they look now, staring at you so intently that you can't even break his gaze to look up at the beautiful mark that now seems to complete his face. "Do you regret taking my pride, taking my burden?"

My pride.

You stare deep into Lucifer's eyes, past the brilliant crimson, and into the abyss of emotion that lies underneath.

My burden.

Your eyes raise to the mark on his forehead, a mark so distinctive that it brands him even now—an emblem that tells Lucifer's entire tale, from his grace to his fall, in a single marking.

And you understand.

Lucifer's pact is one that you cannot bear unless you have the pride to go with it. It is a natural fuel for the confidence that already exists within your heart, not just a piece of Lucifer's pride but a design meant to propel your own to match his, binding you two together by something more intimate than even the closeness you already share.

"Do you regret it?!"

Lucifer's grip on your wrists tighten, and you see the beginnings of anger begin to swirl in those beautiful eyes of his as you keep him waiting. His tone, meant to come across as demanding and formidable, sounds nothing but painfully genuine as his question falls upon your ears, and you feel blissfully calm as you gaze up at him.

"No," You whisper, silently removing your wrists from Lucifer's hold. You raise your hands to cup his cheeks, not missing the way his eyes widen as you do so.

Before, you would never have dared to try something so bold with the firstborn demon, always leaving it up to him to take control of the situation and tell you with his actions what would and wouldn't be permitted. But now, the pride Lucifer has kindled in your heart burns a brilliant blaze, one that acts as a fiery shield that protects you from anything or anyone that might try to hurt you.

You move one of your hands from Lucifer's cheek to the back of his head, threading your fingers through the raven locks and gently pushing his head down until your foreheads are touching.

You close your eyes.

The sensation of power and pride washes over you, the diamond on your forehead seeming to pulsate in response to the one on Lucifer's own. You feel nothing but peace as you bask in the sensation.

"I don't."

MASTERLIST

Word count: 1.7k

Notes: i keep telling myself that im not a lucifer stan, but ive written over 60k words of JUST him so maybe im lying to myself idk anymore man

Comment & Like

Thank you for reading <3

I do not own the rights to Obey Me! or any of the characters within it.

[detectiveidiotboy]

His Time In The Commonwealth IV: Danse

so as my beloved fanfiction, The Black Widow’s Waltz, comes to an end, i’ve decided that i am going to re-release the backstory chapters as their own stand-alone fic, since they read well as their own story. before that, i thought i might do a fun little thing where i release each of the companions backstories as their own post here on tumblr under the tag #his time in the commonwealth.

i had to take a break from posting for mental health and to deal with some things in my home life, but i'm back now! and with me comes the continuation of this mini-series. now, on to part 4!!! Danse's story.

The walk from Listening Post Bravo to Nordhagen Beach took three days. Had Danse been in top shape and traveling in his power armor, he was certain he could have made the trip in less than two, but speed wasn’t a priority in this mission; this was a pilgrimage.

It had been twelve weeks since his banishment, eighteen days since he’d last had contact with Nate, and seven since the Prydwen had been destroyed.

Danse had only learned about the attack the day before his journey began as he was attempting to trade with a nearby settlement. Nate had been his only source of supplies since he’d begun his self-imposed isolation, and since Nate had stopped showing up to visit, Danse had been left to ration his dwindling supplies until there wasn’t anything left to eat. He had considered allowing himself to starve to death down beneath the earth - continuing his existence was a waste of resources now that he wasn’t even able to serve Nate or the Brotherhood - but that plan only lasted two days after his last meal.

Nate had told Danse to stay alive. Nate had given him orders to care for himself until he returned because Danse was special to him. Danse understood what he was: he was a tool, a synth, a man-made creation meant to serve and obey humankind. If he could not be of use to the Brotherhood directly, then the next best thing he could do was dedicate himself to serving one of their best. Really, if he were honest, the idea of being Nate's personal synth wasn't unappealing to Danse. If anything, it wasn't fair to Nate that Danse be kept around to tempt him into violating Brotherhood rules. Sexual relations with machines was strictly prohibited, as was homosexuality, but Nate carelessly disregard both rules when it came to Danse, and Danse couldn't be more grateful. He was an abomination, therefore it wasn't his place to question a human such as Nate; Nate wanted him alive, and in good health, and because of that Danse had packed a bag with the few things he had to trade and walked to Tenpines Bluff.

As soon as Danse arrived, he was met with guns and suspicion.

“Stay back,” The settler warned, warding Danse back with the barrel of a rifle. “We don’t want nothin’ to do with you or your freak of a friend.”

Danse had been aware that Nate had a… reputation around the Commonwealth. He’d been a witness to several violent (bordering on psychotic) outbursts from the man. However, he had accompanied Nate several times to this particular settlement, and the people there had never been hostile before.

“I… am sorry for any confusion,” Danse said, licking his lips. He was severely out of practice after two weeks of near-total solitude, “Paladin Nate is not accompanying me at this time.”

The settler narrowed their eyes at Danse. “You…  don’t know where he is, do you?”

“I have not had contact with Nate in weeks,” He confirmed. The sights came down after a moment of deliberation and the settler sighed.

“Jesus, I’m sorry,” They stretched their head with a hand. “Look. You just missed your buddies, but you should probably keep clear of them - they seemed to think you might have teamed up with Nate when the ship was attacked.”

“Ship? Which ship?” Danse felt his stomach drop, the pieces of the puzzle having presented themselves yet he dare not assemble them.

“The big one you lot got up by Nordhagen,” They said, expression turning from tired to something almost pitying. “You really don’t know what happened? The whole ship was blasted out of the sky. Damn near everyone in Boston had to have seen it - what, have you been livin’ under a rock for the past week?”

“There was an attack on the Prydwen?” Danse asked, taking a panicked step forward. The settler adjusted their grip on the rifle and Danse reminded himself that even without power armor, he was a large and unfamiliar man to these people. “When? Who?”

“About five days ago, I think,” The settler said. “We just heard about it when the survivors came through and raided our supplies - grilled me and my wife for hours about everything we knew about Nate.”

Danse’s heart stopped beating, he was certain of it. Why would the remaining Brotherhood want to know about Nate? The answer was obvious, blindingly so, but Danse couldn’t bring himself to even think it. Nate was Brotherhood, through and through - it was not the place of an Institute machine to question the loyalty of a flesh-and-blood human dedicated to the betterment of humanity.

Swallowing, Danse forced himself to put on a brave face and ask his question. “Was Paladin Nate there at the time of the attack?”

The settler actually laughed, though the question wasn’t funny and neither was his answer. “Was he there? I’m sorry but if what your pals said was true, he was the one that blew the damn thing up.”

Danse had ended up leaving his supplies with the settlers. There was at least 250 caps worth of ammo and scrap in the sack, but it would just weigh him down on his journey. The settlers insisted that he at least stay for dinner and leave in the morning, but Danse saw the state of their garden after the Brotherhood had been through and politely declined. It would be a waste to force humans to part with anything valuable to sustain the functionality of an obsolete machine. He had completely forgotten his hunger anyways; all that mattered to Danse was finding out if what he’d been told was true.

By the time he was close enough to see the empty spot in the sky where the Prydwen should be, he had his answer. Travelers, settlers and raiders alike had confirmed the story with identical depictions of events. According to the few witnesses left, Nate had walked onto the bridge of the ship with a gun and, without speaking to anyone, began assassinating high-ranking members of the Brotherhood, starting with Elder Maxson. The bloody massacre ended with Nate walking into the engine room and detonating an explosion - one that most likely came from the very mini-nukes that Danse had helped Nate secure.

Danse had tried to withhold judgment - he should wait to hear what Nate had to say. The descriptions all came second hand, after all. The Brotherhood survivors had all either retreated or were being treated in what was left of the major settlements. And the description of Nate that he was being given didn’t sound like his friend, his trainee, his partner one bit.

Except…

When Paladin Danse first met Nate, he had been backed against the wall by several hundred feral ghouls threatening the lives of his scouting team. While he would likely be fine so long as the fusion core in his armor held, Hayen and Rhys were vulnerable. He’d already watched the ghouls descend on Keane, tackling the knight in waves. Danse had shot them down, but it was too late. Keane never came back up.

So when Nate walked into the scene, rocket launcher in hand, and blew half of the mob to dust before Danse could finish warning his team to check their fire, he had been inclined to ignore the sinister, psychotic look of glee that Nate wore as he ripped apart the ghouls. Hell, Danse had delighted in it, feeling his men had been avenged. The moment the battle was over and those steel-blue eyes locked onto his, Danse knew he had found someone special.

Nate’s reputation hadn’t quite formed yet, but from the handful of missions that Danse accompanied him on it was clear to tell he would make a fine soldier. He was resilient and a fast shot; anything that stood in his way he took down. It was as if the man was made for the Brotherhood.

Danse offered Nate knight-ship several times before he was taken up on his offer. Nate rarely came to visit when he was in Cambridge, and when he did it was almost always to trade or ask for spare jobs to make a few extra caps. It was only when the Prydwen came rolling through that Nate seemed to seriously consider Danse’s offer. It was strange - Danse feeling honored for Nate to join his ranks rather than the other way around.

Nate made him feel a certain way, something he hadn’t felt since Cutler. Danse could watch Nate fight for hours, muscles flexed under his vaultsuit as he clubbed in the head of a ghoul or gunning down a cluster of synths. His nights were often spent imagining exactly what it would look like if it was his neck that Nate was crushing between those smooth hands and not some random raider. It was foolish, and wildly inappropriate behavior as Nate’s sponsor.

Maybe that was what made him overlook some of the man’s more obvious flaws.

By the time Nate was inducted into the Brotherhood, his reputation as a ruthless and cunning man had become fairly well known. Maxson was willing to overlook Nate’s violent past thanks to a combination of Danse’s vouching and the fact that most of Nate’s targets were shared with the Brotherhood. He had infiltrated and collapsed the Railroad, dismantled the Institute's hold over Diamond City, and struck down the mayor of a mostly-ghoul city in east Boston. His methods were harsh, but they were necessary - at least, that’s what Danse told the Elder.

“Still,” Elder Maxson had said. “It’s best we keep an eye on him. I’m not sure if our new recruit’s heart is in the right place.”

“Believe me, sir,” Danse had told him, “I would trust Knight Nate with my life.”

“That may be so…” Maxson said, “but I still have my doubts. It’s best not to take the word of a known liar at face value, and Nate has quite the reputation of betrayal.”

The truth had been there the entire time. Danse recalled the first time he had met someone who knew Nate outside of the Brotherhood, a young woman by the name of Curie. It had been shortly after the destruction of the Railroad and just before his induction into the Brotherhood. She had seemed nervous around Nate, agreeing a little too quickly to what he said and keeping her eyes on him the entire time. Haylen had taken to her rather quickly, both girls having bonded over shared medical knowledge, and Danse remembered well what she had to say when asked if she liked traveling with Nate.

“Oh- o-oui… I mean…” Her fingers tightened around the cup of tea she had been sipping at. “Monsieur is… complicated, in his motives. I am sure he has good reasons for what he is doing… I simply must trust him. He has done so much for me already.”

Danse had felt her words were foolish. She was lucky to have so much of the man’s attention, and it seemed strange that she didn’t recognize that. Less than a week later Danse watched as Nate dragged her into an abandoned shack, barred the door, and set the house on fire. Later, Nate informed Danse that the girl had been a synth and that he was only doing as the Brotherhood instructed of him. Danse had been forced to agree - despite the vast wealth of knowledge that Curie held, her existence was far too dangerous to be tolerated.

The screams that came from the house as the woman burned alive haunted Danse no matter how many times he reminded himself they were from an artificial being. For a while he wondered if synths could simulate humanity so closely as to feel pain; he had his answer now, he supposed. That girl had died in agony.

The Nate described to Danse during his expedition to the beach was far closer to the Nate in those memories than the idealized soldier that Danse had stuck in his head. The Nate who had eyes like Cutlers and spoke to him as if he were human, even after his synthetic nature was revealed. The Nate who had kissed him in the center of the old radio station on their first official mission into the Commonwealth. The Nate who would disappear for months at a time and then reappear at a moment’s notice, ready to drag Danse along on whatever new quest had taken his fancy. The Nate who never slept in the same bed as Danse after he came around for a quick fuck. The Nate who was rumored to have murdered his girlfriend a year prior. The Nate who had set his previous partner on fire when he was done with her, then walked across the field to press a loving kiss to Danse’s lips as she died. The Nate who had promised Danse to be there for him after his exile only to leave him to waste away in solitude. The Nate who had destroyed the Prydwen.

They were all the same Nate.

When Danse finally made it to the airport, he was surprised by just how familiar it seemed. The carnage had been mostly scraped away by local settlers, leaving behind only the hollowed out remains of training camps and supply stations. The opportunity for a new settlement hadn't been lost on the local population; by the time Danse arrived there were already the makings of several homes under construction. Upon arrival Danse was recognized by his uniform and a handful of the new settlers offered him their condolences. He was shown the way to the resting place for those who had been recovered - little more than a mass grave dug behind the airport marked with scattered crosses and hung holo-tags. It was more than Danse had been expecting. The locals he had met in this area before had despised the Brotherhood with a passion - the fact that they hadn’t just left the bodies to rot while looting everything they could hold from the abandoned stores was a genuine surprise. He walked along the grave sights, checking the tags for names he recognized. He found several, but Haylen and Rhys weren't among them. Whether that meant they were still alive or among the hundreds of nameless casualties, Danse would never know.

Danse turned away gifts of food and offers for a place to rest. His body was at its limit, exhausted and starving, but anything put into it now would be a waste. All of this destruction and death was because of him; he was not the victim, but rather the perpetrator. Danse intended to answer for his sins against humanity.

After politely asking for a moment alone from the concerned settlers, Danse left to walk through the empty airport. He had hoped that there would be something left of the Prydwen on land for him to do this in, but the majestic ship was resting with many of her inhabitants at the bottom of the bay. So Danse found the next best place - the first-story storage area that had been cleared out. He retrieved his pistol from his jacket pocket and knelt down before pressing the end of the barrel to the hollow of his temple.

“I am asking for you to do the human thing here, Knight,” Danse pleaded, knees on the cold, damp ground of the listening post.

“And I’m telling you I don’t want to,” Nate had argued, stubborn as ever. “I like you, Danse, synth or not. I’m not ready to give you up just yet. I need you to stay alive.”

The words had felt so kind at the time. Danse, who was nothing more than a machine lamenting the loss of what it had never really owned, had leaned into those words. They became his anchor, his world, his reason- no- his excuse to keep on living. Looking back on them after seeing the graves of his fellow soldiers - some hung with the hats of squires who were too young to have been given tags yet - he saw those words for what they were: selfishness. Nate acted for his own sake. He served no one but himself, and he had used Danse in every conceivable way. What else should Danse have expected? It was the nature of a machine to be useful to those who took advantage of it.

Danse was a foolish, treacherous, malfunctioning thing, but the very last act he would commit would be a human one. If reincarnation was something that existed for synths, he hoped he would get a chance someday to be more than just a cheap imitation of humanity.

“You know, I’m not an expert with pistols or anything, but I’m pretty sure you’re not supposed to put that end there.”

The gun dropped from Danse’s forehead. He unclenched his eyes and turned to face the newcomer.

“Mind your own business, Scavver,” Danse said wearily, though still managing to push through some of his commanding tone from a previous life, if only so he didn’t prolong this longer than necessary. He could already feel his resolve wavering.

“Aw, come on, man,” The person in the doorway stepped into the room, arms stretched out behind his head in a relaxed pose. A pair of mirrored sunglasses reflected Danse’s haggard appearance back at him. “Haven’t the guys around here had to bury enough bodies this week? Why add to the trauma?”

Danse’s eyes narrowed, but he did stand up and put this pistol back in his pocket. “You make an excellent point,” He said, headed for the door. “I will relocate myself to a more remote location as not to disturb the population.”

“Thaaaat’s not quite what I meant,” The man blocked the exit with an arm and refused to stand down, even as Danse towered over him. “Actually, I have a proposition for you - nothing weird - I promise-” He said, holding out his hands in a show of good faith. Danse used the opportunity to sidestep the stranger and walk out of the old hanger and into the hallway. The man scurried behind him. “So, I can imagine what is going through your mind right now - who is this guy? How did he get to be so handsome? Why doesn’t he want me to blow my brains out in an old-world aircraft hangar?”

Danse ignored the man, which did nothing to stop his ranting.

“In order - My name is Deacon, I moisturize daily, and I want you to join my super awesome resistance movement to take down the rat bastard known as the Sole Survivor of Vault 111-” Danse stopped dead in his tracks. “-though I suppose you were close enough to know him as Nate, right?”

Danse turned to look over the man - Deacon, as he claimed to be. He was bald, as evidenced by his ill-fitting wig sagging just enough to show his absent hairline. He was dressed like a civilian, but up close Danse could see the ballistic armor plates hidden under his flannel shirt. There was a look about him that Danse recognized from some of the scribes, specifically the ones who had been tasked with recon. His eyes twitched at Danse's every movement, and the slight tremor in Deacon's fingers pointed him in the direction of a pistol tucked into the stranger's pants line. In short - Danse’s summary of the man was that there was more to him than just a scavenger with delusions of grandeur.

Still, he turned back around.

“Even if what you are saying is true, I cannot in good conscience accept your offer,” Danse said, continuing his long walk. Deacon kept up pace beside him.

“Really? You’re still loyal to him even after he turned half of your buddies into flaming corpses?”

Danse felt rage hit him in a wave, but years of emotional control stayed his hand. Still, he faltered in his gait. “Nate is dead to me," He said with all the contempt he had left in him. "Should I have the opportunity I would gladly put that monster down myself. My issue is not with your cause, but rather with myself. I am a synth. Taking me into your organization would be too great of a security risk.

“Oh, right, that. Yeah, I already know about that, don’t worry,” Deacon said flippantly. Danse pushed open the double doors leading to the exterior of the airport, and despite letting the doors fall back on Deacon, the man kept following. “I asked a whole bunch of the Brotherhood guys if they wanted to join up, but most of them turned tail and headed back to the capital. But there was always this one guy who they kept mentioning, yeah? A pal of Nate's who turned out to be a synth. The guy was supposedly still running around in the Commonwealth, one M7-97.” Danse took a deep breath, hating every second he spent listening to this man speak. “That’s you right? See, I figured if I hung around here long enough I’d see you. Nate isn’t exactly… good to his friends when he’s done with them. And I’d say blowing up the Prydwen was about as done as done gets.”

“As stated, I am no longer affiliated with him,” Danse said, pausing at the water’s edge when he realized there was no shaking the persistent little pest. “If you are looking for intel on his current location, I have nothing to offer you. Last contact was precisely eighteen days ago at Listening Point Bravo.”

“Oh nah, I didn’t expect anything like that,” Deacon said, coming up beside Danse. He reached down for a rock in the sand and skipped it along the bay. “I just figured joining up with us might be a decent enough alternative to suicide.”

“It is not suicide, it is turning off a broken machine,” Danse clarified. He couldn’t see the man’s eyes, but he was almost certain that Deacon rolled them behind his glasses.

“Well, when that machine is sentient, we call it suicide,” He said with a sigh. “Look, man, I know what you’re going through, believe me.”

Danse’s eyes narrowed, no longer able to keep his contempt from his face. “How could you possibly know that? The Brotherhood was humanity’s best hope for a better future, and because of my malfunction its ranks have been compromised, possibly irreparably.”

Deacon fell down onto his ass, stretching out so his bare feet were caught by the waves as they lapped the shore. “I know 'cause you’re not the only one he’s stabbed in the back,” Deacon said, looking out across the water. “I was part of the Railroad.”

Danse’s neck snapped to the side, looking down at the man. His mouth opened in a prepared lecture about the folly of mistaking synths for human beings and the role of the Railroad in humanity’s doom, but he saw Deacon remove the sunglasses from his face and for the first time he was looking into the other man’s eyes.

“Nate took us out in the dead of night. No one saw it coming,” Deacon continued. “He was a new agent, but the higher-ups put a lot of faith in him, because someone they trusted had recommended him - me.” Deacon looked back towards the waves, propped up with his hands behind him. “Look, I’m not gonna sit around and babysit you. If you want out, there isn’t much I can do to stop you. But right now, I’ll be honest, the only thing keeping me going is revenge, and that’s a hell of a lot better than being dead.”

Silence fell between them. Danse had no idea what to say to all that. On the one hand, he was perfectly happy with the destruction of a dangerous underground movement such as the Railroad, and on the other, the parallels between his and Deacon’s story were not lost on him. Danse knew that the right thing to do was to decline Deacon’s offer - possibly even take the synth sympathizer down with him before he caused any more harm - and continue with his plan to terminate his existence.

But Danse didn’t want to die, or whatever one would call it when a synth ceased to be. And more than that, he didn’t want Nate to keep on living. There were hundreds of people on that ship - men, women, children . Not all of them were good, Danse was well aware of the unsavory types that were often attracted to the military lifestyle, but none of them deserved to die the way they did only to end up buried hundreds of miles from home in a mass grave.

Maybe it was selfishness, maybe it was revenge, maybe it was raw, human (or at least human-like) emotion, but Danse finally came to his decision with a decisive nod of his head.

“Okay.” He said. “Tell me what you need me to do.”

[secretsniper2]

A Walk in the Park

Morning, another dreary day ahead, usual routine, put my robe on, brush hair and put in ponytail, bit of makeup. Downstairs for something to eat and some coffee when i see it by the front door, a letter. Bit strange, i don't usually get letters but its addressed to me so why not check it out?

“Dear Emma, Our scouts saw you a few weeks ago and we believe you would be a perfect fit for our next event, you'll receive fair compensation for your time and equipment will be provided on arrival. we hope you accept.”

Looking over the letter again its as simple as its written, it even has a address, time and date, 5pm this Friday? well its not like im busy or anything, i was going to go to the movies with some friends but they bailed on me, and my account is getting rather empty.. sounds interesting.

“At least i now have something to DO in 3 days!” i chuckle to myself.

Sitting around the house with nothing to do, i think ill check out this address today while its broad daylight, its on the other side of town so i can walk through the park on the way and have some fresh air.

Sliding out of my robe i opt for a white shirt with black pants, always a good combo and some typical shoes for the park and walk. Busy today as usual as people rush in every direction on their way to wherever they are going, after a few brushes with clearly eager hands with 1 cupping my ass i manage to get to the park and take a breath, “pretty handsy today” i think to myself as i run my hand over my freshly groped ass. Another breath in and i continue away from the hands on crowd and move on.

Its quite impressive, iv walked past this building a few times before but this will be the first time i actually see the inside, its usually for high end events the kind of which id never enjoy, the high arches over the front door, the marble columns and statues lining the outside. what kind of job will it be anyway? im not good with food.

i shrug as i walk back through the park, longer route than i need but its a nice day to wander.

As i sit on a bench i can hear something i dont think iv ever expected to hear in a park, someone is moaning, quiet enough to not draw much attention but loud enough to hear if you get too close.. like me. Curiosity has me by the tits now as i turn to the bushes behind my chair and look around a large tree. Red hair swaying back and forth as right on the other side of the tree some girl is getting fucked, hard by her restricted moans, a red ballgag wedged tight in her mouth and a blindfold over her eyes, the man wont see me if i stay behind the tree but with his eyes closed he couldn't see the girl his cock is ramming.

The girl has some small clamps on her nipples with her blue minidress pulled down under her breasts and pulled up over her hips, its nothing more than a loose corset right now, 6 inch heels padlocked to her feet and a collar locked around her neck. Rose red cheeks almost glowing with heat as her moans escape the gag, on closer look the man has his cock buried not in her pussy, its her ass he is stuffing, her pussy is vacant but there's something covering it that has a few wires running up her back leading to a purple remote.

My adrenaline skyrockets as the man starts looking around for observers but luckily looked away first so i leaned back around the tree and was not gone as far as they knew, my own cheeks red now after watching what's going on, my own pussy pulsing as arousal sets in, i slowly look around the tree and the man is gone, the redhead is still there, on all 4s and shaking in a euphoric bliss.

A hand, grasping my shoulder and neck, squeezing tight my surprise wasted on a sharp inhale rather than a scream for help, im spun around and his eyes are staring daggers into mine, normally i would be thrashing by now but the sheer surprise, this man who was just fucking the other girl places a wet hand over my mouth. fear over the cause for the wetness keeps my lips sealed as my eyes lock to his own. The remaining hand which had spun me around was already working on my pants, pushing under and into my long since wet panties, his large fingers pushing in without a moments hesitation as his knuckle grinds into my clit.

I orgasm, faster than iv ever cum before, what takes minutes for me with my vibrator took this man seconds with 2 large fingers, 2 large fingers which are now moving like pistons as im spun around yet again, my back to him as his hand that was over my mouth leaves his mark on my lips as my neck is grasped. led from behind to the other girl who is now sitting up, blindfold off and eyes gazing at me, my body under the command of another's forceful insistence.

The hand that had been massaging me close to another orgasm withdraws as he trails my own juices up under my shirt and pinches my nipple through my bra. The man commands and the girl responds by crawling up and begins to pull my pants down, white panties soaked and stuck to my pussy in full view to this woman as my pants are pulled down to my knees. A little giggle from the woman reveals shes removed her gag, handing it to the man who then lowers to the ground, my body falling after him, the woman crawling under my pants and looks up, face now between my legs as my panties are dragged aside by her thin fingers.

As i open my mouth to beg her not to continue i see a flash of red and my mouth widens in surprise, the gag the redhead was wearing, biting and drooling on was now buckled into my own mouth, biting instinctively against the situation the man begins pulling my shirt and bra up over my head. Im helpless and exposed, 1 arm from this man is holding both of mine behind my back and i cant beat his strength. His remaining hand cupping my breasts 1 at a time as his friend peals my panties off my pussy.

“She looks so tasty! how much can i have?” the redhead gleefully says like a child talking about chocolate.

“Till i say so” the man responds in a deep throaty voice.

Its all she needed to hear as her face sinks into my sex, her lips locking with my won and her nose presses against my clit, her tongue working my walls over and then sinking in for a better taste.

To say im the loudest moaner would be natural, of course iv never been gagged and eaten out by another woman before, her nose running back and forth as i cum right on her tongue which she slurped up with a desperation iv never seen on anyone before. the sounds of her moaning into my pussy sending shivers up my spine, why couldn't i just ignore the sounds?

Eyes shooting open at the thought, what if someone else is now watching me cum at the tongue of this woman with a gag in my mouth? ill be seen as the pervert here more than these 2! The hand that had been working my breasts moves again, this time to my gagged mouth, covering it easily he pinches my nose as well, i cant breathe! and this woman has doubled her effort, at this rate ill cum for a 3rd time in as many minutes!

Mind begging for air, brain screaming for it as my eyes fall on the mans face, his cold expression telling me that it wont end soon, muscles tensing as my pussy shakes with a tongue and fingers working hard, another orgasm slurped up by the hungry redhead and still the man holds tight, the woman now focussing on my throbbing clit which, till now has only been rubbed by her nose on occasion, hot lips tight at the base as her tongue caresses as she sucks hard.

a 4th orgasm tears through my body, iv never had 4 in a row, most iv had till now was 2 in a row. These 2 are pushing me and they don't care if i break! Air rushes in as the man releases my nose, waiting for the exhale he pinches again, the woman pressing fingers deep inside, my G-spot being massaged as my clit is sucked.

“Enough Cunt” the man says, loud enough to be heard by just us as the woman breaks away from my throbbing pussy, her handiwork was leading me to a 5th, release the man has taken away as the source of pleasure slides out from between my legs with her face glistening in my pleasure, a smile on her face and eyes on mine. the lights dim as im forced to pass out.. not here, with them.

“nooo..” i weakly say into the gag.

____

Cold, wet, exhausted.. My eyes open and im alone, in a small, secluded alcove of bushes, no one would find her here but why am i here? im in another part of the park entirely! did they really move me while i was unconscious? at least my clothes are all back on, a bit forced, but with a noticeable difference.. my panties are gone, bra too.. my soaked pussy in my pants and rigid nipples rubbing against my shirt, its already chafing and i have barely moved!

“Home is.. that way” i think to myself as i shamble out of the bushes, my pants occasionally making contact with my hypersensitive pussy, my muscles jerk or twitch in response as it takes me 15 minutes to walk 3 minutes with me constantly looking over my shoulders, occasionally looking at others and becoming very aware of my nipples making their presence known to any who would look my way.

Safe, i think. Doors locked as i check the clock on the wall, iv been gone all day! how long was i out? did they do anything to me while i was unconscious? ill have to give my body a look in my room, walking up my stairs i look completely different compared to this morning, my neat hair in a ponytail? now a utter mess, my white shirt not missing a button and my nipples pressing through the thin fabric, my black pants now dirty and panties missing with a soaked pussy just underneath.

Stripping in my room i turn to my mirror, my breasts have bruises, my pussy burning red, clit still throbbing. looking at my soaked pussy my mind drifts back, i could have ran! i could have screamed! but i just watched and wanted and then joined them. was i really that needy? that pent up?

My hand already beating my mind to the punch as my fingers circle my clit, sitting on my bed i fall back as i work hard, my need burning again, harder than usual. My fingers clearly not up to the task i roll over to my bedside table, my toys will scratch this itch as usual, at least to release.

Why? WHY?! why did i enjoy what they did?! the man pinning me with 1 arm and the woman, that redhead, her mouth.. her lips, the skill and determination.. why did i love every second of her attention, rolling over, closing my legs, locking my vibrator against my clit it isnt enough! its always worked before,

“my favourite position and toy have never failed me before” i plead in my head as i curl into a ball as the vibrations stir me into a frenzy, memories of what happened still fresh in my mind, nipples pinched, clit sucked, pussy devoured.

“nnnngh! Cmmmm NNNNNNN” i grunt into my pillow!

why wont it work! i need to, i want to cum! why why whyyy! my mind racing with desire when a thought rose up. Moving my arms behind my back i grab my elbows with my hands and squeeze hard, i bite my pillow and moan as a colossal orgasm tears my pussy to pieces on its way out! the single largest orgasm iv ever had and my arms race to the vibrator and turn it off with tears in my eyes, i know what they did to me.. but what did they do to me?

[spookyboogie3]

The trope Last Minute Hookup shouldn’t be used for LGBTQ+ relationships.

AND DEFENDING MY LAST POST ABOUT THIS.

I DO NOT hate any of these pairings. A good many of them could have been handled differently by the creators, writers, and networks. But this isnt me hating the relationships or characters or shows. Just going off about how they shouldnt have been tacked on at the end of their respective series. 

As of writing this all of these shows have ended their original runs. Except for Supernatural which is on its last few episodes. And Supergirl, which announced its coming to end with season 6.

LGBTQ characters and relationships aren’t as common in the media as straight-cis characters and relationships. Sure things are improving but a lot of networks and writers still don’t fully understand why representation is important why they can’t keep using the same throwaway tropes they’ve been using for the straight-cis relationships.

You could name any piece of media and find and name one character that isn’t LGBTQ+, but you can’t do this with LGBTQ+ characters. We haven’t gotten to the point where they are as common as non-LGBTQ characters.

I have a whole paper I wrote on why asexual representation is important to have in the media and the same logic applies to any part of the LGBTQ+ or anything that falls under minority.

Back to the topic on hand. The trope of “Last Minute Hookup.”

Its exactly what it sounds like. Characters get to together at the very end of the story. These characters could have a on and off again relationship, lots of ship teasing, the classic “Will They or Wont They?” trope. What makes it different for non-LGBT characters in relationships to do this, we know what these relationships look like. Not to say the that both Non and LGBT relationship cant have similar struggles, however members of the LGBTQ+ community know how hard it is to feel like your identity and self matters and is normal.

I know that the whole “will they, wont they” thing is done for drama and networks and showrunners think if they give the fans what they want that they’ll start losing viewers and they have nothing to look forward to. Which is true to some degree. But most of this comes from the writers not knowing how to fucking write relationships.

Let’s just focus on whats it like to be in a non-straight relationship.

Heres an example: you have an action series, with 2 male leads and halfway through the show, they get together. Cool. Now you have a Battle Couple.

By making LGBTQ relationships happen at the end of a series that’s already had plenty of other non-LGBTQ relationships happen before it, it makes it look like the people in charge don’t care for it or were afraid of backlash. But it’s the end of the series so its not like they can get the show cancelled or anything. (The only people who are going to lash out at LGBT couple or characters are homophobic people, we don’t want them around any way so just make stuff super gay, so they’ll leave)

This is especially a problem when the writer and network have spent the whole series queerbaiting the audience with these characters.

 Side note for anyone is doesn’t actually know what queerbaiting is:

It’s a marketing technique used in entertainment, which the writer or creators hint at but then don’t actually depict sex-same romance or LGBTQ representation. They do this to attract (bait) the LGBT/queer or straight ally audience into the show with the suggestion of representation but at the same time avoiding this as not alienate other audience members *cough* (homophobes) *cough*

Definition is from Wikipedia, not a reliable source says my highschool teachers and college professors but fuck em

The Legend of Korra is a great example of Last-Minute Hookup. Korra and Asami had VERY little ship teasing, and that was in the last 2 books/seasons. Any thing that was perceived as romantic came from the fans wearing shipping goggles. So to a lot of people just casually watching, yes this looked like it came out of nowhere. Nickelodeon had some serious balls to say how brave they were for putting 2 girls into a romantic relationship.

Theres a few problems with this.

A. It never actually aired on TV (to my knowledge). The last 2 seasons of Korra were put on Nicks website.

B. The confirmation that this Korrasami was canon had to come from the creators on twitter because of how unclear it was.

C. The show did the bare minimum when it came to hooking them up in the series. They walk off holding hands (very cute btw). They didn’t even get a kiss. Aang and Katara had a Last Minute Hookup at the end of ATLA after 3 seasons of ship tease and THEY GOT A KISS. Hell the original end of LoK*, has Korra and Mako kissing. *(the first season, they didn’t know they were getting more seasons at the time, no matter what you hear the writers say, they’re full of shit)

D. Anything continuation of Korra has come in the form of comics, which her and Asami are in a fairly well written relationship. Yes, they do kiss. Yes it would’ve been great to see this stuff happen in series.

A show that handles this a little bit better is Adventure Time. Not by much though. It implied several times that Princess Bubblegum and Marceline have history together and its shown more and more in its last few seasons that there is some ship tease happening. However its not until the finale where they kiss, and they are shown in the last minute of the show cuddling together in Marcy’s house. HBO has picked up Adventure Time and has a miniseries called Adventure Time: Distant Lands, where Bubblegum and Marceline’s past relationship is shown.  

I had brought up in my original post about being upset with networks making LGBTQ+ relationships canon in the last season/episode. I originally had Catradora tagged. While Catra and Adora have history together, they did not become official couple until the end of the series.

Yes, I was wrong about the network making things canon in the last episode as they’ve always had ship tease with each other, and it probably was the writers’ intent to put them together by the end. They do technically fall under the Last-Minute Hookup, however.

I wanna talk about Once Upon a Time really quick. Fans of the show were hoping and wishing for an LGBTQ couple for the show as a lot of characters, especially Regina and Emma, have alot Ho Yay moments. The showrunners weren’t going to put those two together, for whatever reasons they may have for that (im indifferent on all the shipping going on with this show). The showrunners thought to put two characters together, and hoo boy did it not make people happy. The characters they put together are Dorothy from the Wizard of Oz and Ruby the red riding hood, which would be fine if they had properly been developed.

The entire episode they did this in was a mess. They stopped the current arc during the season 5 episode ‘Ruby Slippers,’ to go over the characters that haven’t been seen in years, Dorothy was introduced and last seen in season 3, and Ruby was introduced in season 1 and was last seen in season 5 before ‘Ruby Slippers’. The characters get together in the same episode the meet in and are never seen again. The characters barely interacted, barely got along, and showed little to no ship tease or interest in each other and BOOM they are in love and together aaaaaannnnndd they’re gone. Other than having One Million Moms, a Christian fundamentalist organization, protest against the show and want it taken off the air (yes this really happened). The fans weren’t please with this development of the characters either.  

(also Mulan was right there and already knew Ruby from a previous episode, and Mulan already is established to like girls as shown by her being in love with Aurora. Don’t know why the writers didn’t just put these 2 together but whatever I guess)

So they tried again in season 7 with MadArcher. The characters of Alice, a version of Alice in Wonderland from another realm (its complicated) and Robin, the daughter of Robin Hood and the Wicked Witch (it’s also complicated). And the writers did a lot better here. Both characters were allowed to have time together and have a history together too and it was done over the whole season. Not just one episode.

Now even though the writers decided to do something different with the last season and it could be detached from the previous 6 seasons, MadArcher is not really a Last Minute Hookup per say but still falls under my thing about it being the last season so who gives a fuck if One Million Moms gets mad us and tries to get us cancelled again.

 I would like to say I have never watched a single episode of Supernatural in my life. I may one day. But as of right now my knowledge of it is coming primary from what ive seen on tumblr. You know a great source for doing research and looking for reliable information among the piles of shitposting.

From what I know from fans, the writers of Supernatural have been queer baiting for years. I mean it’s the CW, I’m not that surprised. What also wouldn’t surprise me, that by the end of the series Castiel is back and he and Dean actually start and relationship or strongly hint at starting one. I actually fear for the writer lives if they threw out a confession scene after years of queerbaiting and potential ship tease (debatable) and they don’t put them together. Fans are going to be angrier than they probably ever have been with this show and the showrunners and writers really would be known for queer baiting.

From what I know about how previous shows have done and if anyone that has ever worked on this show wants to continue living, Castiel will be back from Super Hell (is that what yall are calling it?) and he will get together with Dean. And they will fall under the Last-Minute Hookup trope and my networks make LGBTQ relationships canon last season.

 One last show I want to talk about is Supergirl, which in has been recently announced that the 6th season will be the last. The show started on CBS but moved to the CW after the end of season 1. So more CW bullshit. There is no confirmation about whether the CW or any of the Supergirl writers are planning to do this, its all speculation. Supergirl is more LGBTQ friendly than some other shows on the Network. One of the main characters came out a few years ago and had a girlfriend a season and has had plenty of hookups with other ladies around the Arrowverse. They even introduced a trans-woman superhero in the form of Dreamer.

Let’s talk SuperCorp. Lena Luthor was introduced in the 2nd season and has been a major character in Kara’s life ever since her introduction. Even if she isn’t involved in the plot, Kara always goes to her to talk and check in on her and worry about her. They are best friends. Since the 2 have met, there has been plenty of Les Yay going on. The writers seem to be aware of the fans wanting SuperCorp to be canon and they keep throwing in moments like Kara and Lena struggling together or Kara carrying Lena bridal style.

Why I bring this up after the announcement of Supergirl’s final season to start next year. We may get SuperCorp. Kara has a relationship with William in the show and not a single person likes this relationship. The writers may scrap it and get put Kara and Lena together for the final season. This is a big maybe though. The Supergirl writers and crew get called out a lot for queerbaiting.

   Let me know if you guys have any other examples of last season/last episode LGBTQ+ hookup.

And please let me know if you see any mistakes. This was all done in one sitting so I may have some things wrong.

Also check out the video by @aretheygayvideos on this topic too.