#both are good and have their merits of course

[princesssarisa]

I just came across a YouTube video complaining about the changes made to the musical of Wicked from the original book.

One of its main arguments is that in the musical, Glinda is too easily forgiven – both by Elphaba and by the show's narrative – for working with the Wizard, not to mention the other morally questionable things she does.

Now, I haven't read the book, or analyzed every word of the musical's script and lyrics, but I'm not sure if I agree with that claim or not.

I agree with what @cto10121 has written in the past, that maybe the musical focuses too much on Glinda when it's supposed to be Elphaba's story, but I don't think the show glosses over Glinda's flaws or bad decisions. I've always thought she was a very morally gray character who has a redemption arc in the end. And she most definitely pays a hard price for her mistakes, ending up in power but all alone on a personal level, thinking the two people she loved most are dead because of her.

But just from scrolling a little on both Tumblr and YouTube, I think the musical's fandom might idealize Glinda, whether the musical itself does or not. I don't know how widespread it is, but I've definitely felt as if the fandom idealizes her entire relationship with Elphaba, and they do leap to defend her whenever someone misguidedly calls her "the real wicked witch"... sometimes with defenses I don't buy.

Again, again, and again, I've heard people say "The message is that there are two sides to every story and no one is all good or all bad."

(Which of course is true to an extent, but which IMHO, paints false moral equivalency between Elphaba's side of the story and both Glinda's and the Wizard's.)

I've also seen "The whole point is that Elphaba starts out as the heroine while Glinda starts out as a mean girl, but Glinda becomes a better person while Elphaba becomes a worse person over the course of the story, until they become the characters we know from The Wizard of Oz. Ultimately Glinda is the more heroic one."

(That's... not quite the way I would describe their arcs.)

And, most thought-provokingly of all, I've seen this:

"Glinda deserves more respect for her intelligence. At first we're made to think she's a dumb blonde, but it turns out that she's very clever and shrewd, and her claim that a good image is what matters most in society turns out to be totally right. It's by working within the system and pleasing the Wizard and the people of Oz that Glinda gains power, which lets her oust the Wizard and Morrible in the end, while Elphaba's rebellion crashes and burns."

Even if part of the show's message is "Society values a good image more than real merit or truth," aren't we meant to view that fact as a bad thing that needs to change, rather than admiring Glinda for knowing it all along and benefitting from it?

This reminds me of commentary I've read about Amy March from Little Women. A character who has a lot in common with Glinda in some ways, though without the political aspect. I like Amy and I don't think she deserves the hate she traditionally gets from Jo fans, but some attempts to defend her annoy me. Namely the fans who praise her for conforming to society better than Jo does: i.e. "Amy is the smartest, most mature March sister because she knows how to please her social betters and make the system work in her favor – unlike Jo, whose rebellious ways get her nowhere and who needs to learn to be a proper docile lady for her own good." Again, I like Amy as a character, but as a neurodivergent feminist who relates to Jo's independence and her failure to conform, I don't like that talk.

And Amy doesn't serve a fascist regime.

I'd like to know what bigger Wicked fans than I am think of all this. Does the show absolve Glinda too much, or if not, does the fandom? Or do both the show and fandom have a more-or-less accurate view of both her flaws and her virtues?

[twothpaste]

wonder why mother 3 lets you sequence break in chapter 7. it's definitely not an oversight - there's adjustments to dialogue & staging depending on which party members you have (ie. tanetane without kuma/duster, chimera lab with duster, etc). in theory, it's neat that the game offers the player the freedom to do the big island-wide adventure segments in any order they like. but it also works very hard to guiderail you to the "correct" areas. and there's obviously no level scaling. and the story plays out much more smoothly in the intended order. doria's needle is more narratively cohesive with just kumatora. tanetane without the full party misses half the point. etc. fetching duster early to keep him on-level with the rest of the gang is a cool trick, but then again, i've never actually had any issues whatsoever with an underlevelled duster.

when the game's not balanced around sequence-breaking, and the story's only barely written around it, it makes me question why the player's given the option at all. esp since it's kinda possible for first-time players to miss cues and go off in the "wrong" direction, earning them an experience that's worse in most respects.

[peach-jam-on-toast]

Ok tangentially related to Neverafter, I saw this post last night at 3/4 in the morning and the idea gripped me like a madness so I have to explain the final product of my thought process from last night to you

Gerard and Gilear are equals, but in different categories; Gilear is pathetic, and Gerard is cringe and there's a difference, lemme explain sksjskd

Gilear's life has just been a normal level and type of sad for most of Fantasy High. He found out his wife cheated on him, they got divorced, he moved out, got fired, was really down on his luck, etc. That's a real thing that real people in the real world experience all the time. So while it is really sad to look at, that very pity for his lack of agency in his life that just keeps getting worse is what makes him pathetic instead of cringe.

Gerard, however, looked down the barrel of the worst choice he could possibly make in any given situation, went "yup, that's good!" and then got a one way ticket to Rock Bottom shoved up his ass because of HIS OWN CHOISES he CHOSE to make. Yes everything is bad because of the Neverafter and yes Murph rolled poorly, but there were a hundred other ways to try and get Elody to see where he was coming from. Murph chose to do that, you can see the same cackling horror of watching a train about to crash on his face that Lou had during Fabian's bad day.

(memes stop)

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

(character essay starts)

His agency in doing the exact wrong thing is what makes him so cringe that it circles back around to endearing, and I think him being cringe is part of what makes him such a compelling character.

Gilear's life is funny as a bit because he keeps experiencing Looney Tunes levels of misfortune but Gerard's life is interesting because he keeps making these huge, UNWATCHABLE mistakes but every time he does he genuinely learns from it in some way. This isn't someone coming to terms with the fact that everything X person said about why they're bad is true, this is a dude learning to grow up in that slow and painful way adults do. It's messy, and it's bad, and it's frustrating, but it's organic, and fulfilling, and honest, and that's why it's so special to me.

[splishfish]

Toys (NSFW)

Tomura Shigaraki x AFAB Reader

Tags: PiV, Use of Vibrator, Overstimulation, Squirting, Unprotected Sex, Pre-Established Relationship, Slight Dacryphilia

WC: 1.5k

"C’mon…don’t cry…let’s do it again…”

Sex with Tomura is amazing. Truly, it really is! Although he can be very rough in bed, he’ll always make sure your comfortable and enjoying yourself. If you ask him to change positions, he’ll always shuffle around just for you, even if he’s grumbling under his breath about how needy you are.

He’s an amazing partner in bed. Really…it’s just that…

More than half the time, he can never make you cun during sex.

That doesn’t mean the sex isn't good! No, of course not! It’s amazing! His cock curves so sweetly into your hot cunny, rubbing up into that squishy spot just a few inches deep inside you. And he loves to pound into you like his life depends on it, his heavy balls slapping against your ass / clit depending on your position, and his fingers so tenderly rub against your aching clit, causing your sweet little pussy to clench around him…

But it’s never enough

In the end, once he finishes, he’d have to use his long slender fingers to plunge inside you, desperately finger fucking you into oblivion until you cum. He doesn’t care if you cry and sob against his fingers, begging ‘Please! No more! ‘s too much!’  with your sweet little voice, he’s determined to make you cum.

Whenever you fail to cum during sex, he always seems so grumpy. So mad and upset at himself for failing you. It’s gotten so bad that he’d even end up scratching at his poor neck until it bleeds, beating himself up for disappointing you. All of this makes your heart ache, and eventually, you bring up the prospect of using toys during the bedroom.

When you first bring this up, he stays silent during the conversation, his mind whirring with different thoughts.

Were you seriously thinking of replacing him for some silicone dick? Was he not enough? Were you that unhappy with your sex lives? Would you break up with him? How fucking dare you try and replace him?! He was going to fucking kill-

Before his thoughts delved deeper into hatred and despair you quickly explained to him that no, this wasn’t a way to replace him, and that you were happy with your sex life. The conversation lasted a long time, the both of you sharing your opinions and thoughts on the matter.

Tomura was blunt about his thoughts on the matter. He refused to let you bring any dildo’s or toys that would require any sort of insertion into the bedroom. No, that was his job, only he belonged deep inside your weeping cunt, not some plastic toy.

He also didn’t want any toys to be used on him either. He was already upset about bringing in toys to begin with, so even bringing up using toys on him would cause him to start scratching his neck.

Eventually, the both of you reached a conclusion. You’d go out together, and buy whatever toy would suit his merit and your needs. 

When the day finally came to go shopping, you were absolutely buzzing with excitement! Not only would you be able to go shopping for something for your sex lives, but also you’d be able to spend time and help Tomura understand your needs.

Entering the sex shop hand in hand, you dragged Tomura towards the first few toys you saw, holding them up and explaining their function to him. At first, he didn’t really pay attention, his eyes darting throughout the store, his body stiff and his hands constantly coming up to tug the black hoodie further down his face.

You weren’t too sure if he was embarrassed, or maybe paranoid of being recognized, but eventually he managed to calm down enough to actually help you browse throughout the store. He scowled at every dildo or phallic item you passed, and he even spent a few seconds gazing at the wall of monster dildos in the corner.

For a moment, he imagined you struggling to take such a monstrous cock, and how your pretty little cunny would squelch and cry at such a big size. But he quickly pushed those thoughts away.

Eventually, after spending around an hour or so of browsing, you both decided on what you thought was the most basic purchase, yet best item you could have gotten. A hitachi wand.

As you two warped back, you spent the first few hours unpacking and letting the wand charge completely. Once it was finished, you took it back to Tomura’s room, holding it up like a prized possession as you spoke.

“Let’s try it out now!”

As you laid on your back, your legs spread wide as Tomura stood between them, his cock sliding between your puffy folds. Your slick mixed with his pre, your body buzzing with lust and excitement. Tomura grabbed the base of his cock, slowly sliding it down your slit until the tip of his cock nudged your eager hole.

You sighed in relief as he slowly pushed in, the head of his cock sliding in with a small squelch as you reached over the bed to grab the vibrator. You could see his lips twitch into a small frown, but he didn’t comment on your actions as he bottomed out.

Once you felt the familiar slide of his cock moving inside you, you turned on the vibrator, the buzzing noise causing his hips to stutter as he pulled back far enough to watch you place the bulbous head against your clit.

Instantly, a breathy curse escaped your lips, eyes fluttering shut as your hips bucked up in response to the intense vibrations against your needy bud. You could hear Tomura whimper from above you, his hips beginning to move as he spoke.

“Oh fuck…I-I can feel it even when i’m inside you…”

From above, Tomura felt chills of pleasure run down his spine. Everytime he moved, he could feel his cock buzzing from the pleasure, and everytime he pulled out far enough, the force of the vibrations would go straight to his tip. He groaned, his cock twitching as he moved faster, your slick causing his light blue pubes to stick together, a small string connecting the both of your bodies every time he moved away.

You could feel your pussy begin to drool, your tits bouncing with every hard thrust of his hips. His grunts became louder from above you, his hands coming up to grip at your thighs, the plush flesh pooling out of his fingers as he rammed himself deeper into you.

“Fuck…you feel so fuckin’ good…hah…so tight, you gonna cum already?”

You didn’t even notice the way your cunt so desperately clung to his cock, the coil in your stomach forming so quickly you could only babble a whiny ‘yes’ as you pressed the vibrating head even harder against your clit.

Your throat burned as you screamed out in pleasure, your orgasm ripping through you in multiple waves, both the vibrator and his cock drawing it out until you were nearly crying. You pulled the vibrator away from your overstimulated clit, gasping out as he grasped your wrist and forced the toy back against your nub.

You yelped, a searing pain that felt way too good suddenly coursing through you, your body squirming under him as you sobbed in response to his actions.

“No! Aagh! Tom-Tomura! W-wait wait wait! It's too much!”

He giggled from above you, a breathy moan escaping him as his hand pressed the toy against you even harder as he spoke in a dark tone, his hips stuttering against your pulsing cunny.

“Fuckk…feels so good baby…I can feel the vibrator against my cock-shit! Oh god…mhn…just a bit more..!”

You couldn’t stop the tears from falling from your face, your clit burning from overstimulation and pain. It felt so painful but with every second the vibrator was held firm on your clit the more you could feel another tight coil forming, ready to burst once again.

But this one was different.

Your legs began to tremble involuntarily, loud sobs escaping your throat as your cunny began pulsing against his cock in an almost painful vice. You didn’t even notice the sudden gush of liquid that squirted out of you, hitting Tomura’s pelvis and forcing his cock out of your gushing hole due to the intense pleasure of your second orgasm.

Tomura groaned in surprise as a sudden force caused his cock to pull away, watching as your sweet little cunny quivered and pulsed as you squirted against him, the strong yet short stream eventually dying down to a dribble, falling onto a pool of your fluids beneath you.

He couldn’t tear his eyes away from the sight, and only after a few moments of staring, laughter began to bubble up in his chest, leaving his mouth in small manic giggles as he trailed his eyes back to your face.

Oh, what a beautiful sight you were. All sweaty, flushed and wrecked. Fat salty tears escaping your eyes as you shook, small pretty sobs escaping your lips as you laid out all blissed out and messy.

He leaned down to lick the salty tears off your face, his cock pulsing and throbbing with eagerness as he grinded against your sloppy pussy.

“Oh fuck…that was so fucking hot…holy shit..eheh…c’mon…don’t cry…let’s do it again…”

Did you enjoy this? Check out my Masterlist for more!

Requests are open!

[foxtrot91]

sweet like syrup

The batter sizzles as Tommy pours it into the pan, the scent of the pancake batter wafting up and filling Tommy’s senses. Evan is still sleeping in the bedroom, having arrived home late last night after his shift ran over. He’d showered at the station and had practically collapsed onto the bed next to Tommy, barely managing to grunt out a greeting before being pulled under into a deep sleep. From the messages he’d received throughout Evan’s shift, it had been a rough one.

Which is why Tommy is out here now, trying his hand at pancakes made from scratch. He takes a moment to mourn the loss of his store-bought pancake mix that he used to have before Evan had taken one look at it, shot Tommy a look of disgust and declared it sacrilege before tossing it in the trash. So now Tommy has to troll Google for pancake recipes and thank whatever god might exist that Evan has also taken to expanding the ingredients Tommy has on hand even if Tommy barely touches them himself.

The Canadian Pure Maple Syrup has been a wonderful addition, actually, – “Bobby has it shipped in from Montreal, so you know it’s legit.” – and while he wishes he had the convenience of a premade mix to go with it, he accepts the trade-off. He still hasn’t figured out the whole maple syrup grading colour system, however, but he’d enjoyed listening to Evan discuss the merits of each grade and their best uses in the kitchen.

If he’s completely honest, Tommy doesn’t notice much of a difference between the light or dark syrups and is halfway convinced that the Canadian government is involved in a conspiracy with the maple syrup companies to hoodwink Americans into spending more money for their pretentious, robust flavoured syrup. Jokes on them, Tommy decides, because he would’ve bought it regardless of some made-up grading system just for the way Evan lights up whenever Bobby brings over their portion of his latest order. Also, and he is mature enough to admit this– it’s a thousand times better than the thick, artificial table syrup he’d grown up with as a kid.

You win this one, Canada, he thinks, eyeing the can of syrup with the proud maple leaf emblazoned on the label.

He's nearing the end of the batter by the time he hears a faint shuffling coming from the direction of the bedroom. By the time Evan joins him in the kitchen, Tommy has turned off the stove and has moved to set the table with two plates, cutlery, butter – real butter, not the margarine Tommy used to carry which was another quick casualty once Evan had moved in – a stack of pancakes, and of course, the can of syrup.

“You made breakfast?” Evan says, barely suppressing his yawn long enough to get the question out. He’s sleep rumpled, wearing one of Tommy’s slightly too big sweaters and a pair of sweats that he’s yet to tie up, and Tommy knows that if the sweater weren’t hiding it from view, he’d get a delicious peek at the sliver of skin and trail of hair that leads into Evan’s pants.

Small mercies, he thinks, because if it weren’t for the bulk of the sweater, Tommy is certain they wouldn’t make it to breakfast, and he’s spent way too much time putting this together to not eat it with Evan.

“I did,” Tommy says, smiling as he pulls Evan into his arms and gives him a soft, lingering kiss before pulling back. “Thought I’d surprise you… are you surprised?”

“You hate cooking,” Evan says in lieu of an answer, smiling when he looks over at the table. “It smells amazing.”

Laughing, Tommy ushers Evan over to the table and pulls a chair out for him. “Hopefully it tastes just as good,” he says with a wink as Evan sits down.

Tommy takes the seat to his right and serves up the pancakes onto both of their plates. Once adequately buttered and drenched in syrup, they both dig in. They’re definitely not as good as Evan’s – he really should ask him for the recipe he uses – but they’re still good, if Tommy does say so himself. And by the look on Evan’s face, he’d say they’re at least good enough to pass his muster. They’re quiet as they eat, the sounds of their utensils clanging on their plates the only real noises filling the dining room. It’s a comfortable silence, and given Evan’s rough shift the previous night, Tommy imagines it’s a welcome one as well.

Once they finish, Tommy stands to gather their plates, leaning down to press a kiss to the crown of Evan’s head before he turns to wash up. There’s a certain domesticity to this that Tommy has never felt in any of his previous relationships. Evan isn’t the first boyfriend he’s lived with, not by a longshot, but he’s the first who’s ever made the kind of effort for Tommy that he is. The first to speedrun a sexuality crisis for the sheer fact that it was Tommy he wanted to be with, the first to cook him meals outside of any special occasion just because, and the first to make room for Tommy in every aspect of his life, to seamlessly fit Tommy in amongst the people he values most without a second thought.

He’s the first to make Tommy want to match his effort.

When he finishes cleaning up, he turns back to see Evan staring at him over the back of his chair. His elbow is rested on the back with his chin perched on top and he’s gazing at Tommy in a way that has a warm prickle starting up in his chest.

“What?” Tommy asks as he wipes his hands on the towel hanging off the oven handle.

“Nothing, it’s just…” He trails off, but Tommy doesn’t try to interject. “Nobody’s ever made me breakfast before.”

That can’t be true.

“What about Bobby?”

“That-he doesn’t count,” Evan says, like it should be obvious. “I mean like… in a relationship.”

“Oh,” Tommy says, a little stunned at the thought. Evan has had many partners; surely at least one of them would’ve–

“Yeah,” he says, smiling as he stands from the chair to join Tommy where he’s standing near the counter. “Usually it’s me,” he waves a hand vaguely towards the counter before looking back to Tommy. “It was nice, being on the other side for once.”

“Well, you better get used to it,” Tommy says, “Because I’ve got Google at my fingertips and a whole host of new ingredients, kitchen appliances, and fancy pots and pans at my disposal.” Evan laughs, ducking his head at the reminder of how absolutely batshit insane he’d gone overhauling Tommy’s kitchen when he’d moved in. “I hope you’re prepared for a lot of terrible meals,” he adds, because cooking the kinds of meals Evan is capable of has never been in his wheelhouse. Pancakes are about as good as it gets. Evan giggles and shakes his head, shoving lightly at Tommy’s shoulder in response.

God, he thinks, I fucking loves this man.

“I love you,” Evan says, eyes bright.

I love you too. He thinks it; goes to say it in return as he takes in the bright blue of Evan’s eyes.

“I want to marry you,” is what comes out instead.

Evan’s eyes go wide as saucers and Tommy has a split second to think – fuck fuck fuck… before landing on, fuck it. – as Evan sputters in shock, “T-Tommy, you can’t mean-”

“There’s a ring in my sock drawer,” he says on a slightly panicked breath, “I had it all planned out for our trip next month.”

“Wait, what trip?”

“It was going to be a surprise, Bobby put the PTO in for you,” this was the one piece that Tommy had been somewhat anxious about, but Eddie had been adamant that Evan would be very much on board with Tommy’s surprise. “I’m flying us out to a private lodge a buddy of mine owns. Just you, me, and a whole lot of forest to hike through.”

“Fuck,” Evan says, eyes wide in disbelief and Tommy feels a curl of anxiety forming in the pit of his stomach. He can’t help worrying that he’s stepped wrong here, that maybe it’s too soon. Sure they’ve been together for nearly two years now but really, what’s two years in the grand scheme of things– “Yes.”

Tommy’s brain goes abruptly offline as he processes, “What?” he asks, like an idiot.

“Yes, I will marry you,” Evan is grinning, chest shaking with barely suppressed laughter as his arms loop around Tommy’s neck and tug him in for a bruising kiss.

Groaning as they pull away, Tommy lets out a dry chuckle, “I had a whole plan,” he laments, shaking his head.

Evan isn’t having it; he takes Tommy’s face in his hands and draws him in for another heated kiss before pulling back. “Whether in some private lodge or here in our kitchen, my answer is still the same,” he says, and Tommy feels breathless.

“God I fucking love you,” he confesses, resting his forehead against Evan’s, noses brushing together.

“I know,” Evan says, and then, eyes sparkling with a little bit of mischief; “Wanna find out if engagement sex is better than normal, living-together sex?”

Tommy doesn’t have time to answer in the affirmative before Evan’s mouth is on his again, his lips still sweet with maple syrup. He feels a hand snake up his shirt as they start maneuvering towards the bedroom, losing articles of clothing along the way. He has more words to say, a whole speech he’d planned out that would show Evan just how much he means to Tommy. He’ll say them sometime, later, he thinks, when the desperation has worn off and they’re laying in the afterglow, sated, and happy.

Ao3

[heabitfruity]

Silly Hobbies: Primarch Edition

Apparently I wrote too much according to tumblr, so I'm sorry if it's choppy :[

Lion El'Johnson - He actually really loves analyzing "literature"; but not normal literature like Shakespeare or Kafka. He likes analyzing things like The U.S Constitution and The Treaty of Versailles. He does this because he thinks it will help him diplomatically (it doesn't, nobody gets why he does it otherwise, not even his sons).

Fulgrim - This man knows how to dance to every K-Pop song known to man. He can throw it back to "Baby Got Back" and has tried to teach Sanguinius and Ferrus Manus how (It didn't go well, Ferrus threw his back out ). This man knows the exact choreography to "Womanizer", "Nude" and so many other songs.

Perturabo - He likes making useless contraptions; like infomercial level sort of inventions. He has invented bread-dogs, a time-machine to go back exactly two seconds for each use, a voice-recording recorder, etc. He uses Dorn to test it out, despite their... feelings for one another. He knows that Dorn will give him a blunt answer; even if he is told that the invention is "stupid".

Jaghatai Khan - He's really good at acrobatics, specifically everything with the asymmetrical bars; this man could easily escape a pack of dogs with a pen in his pocket (If anyone gets this reference I will be so proud). He attempted to teach Angron how to do the basics, but it didn't go that well; the man is just simply not flexible enough yet.

Leman Russ - This is a secret that he will take to his grave because he suffers from major internal misogyny. He knows how to knit, and he's REALLY good. He grew up on a planet that is 75% of the time below zero, of course the second he got ahold of yarn and wool he got to making warm things for his marine-sons! However, he plays it off as things like: "the citizens of Fenris have donated these for our cause".

Rogal Dorn - He likes making massive forts, societies and various massive structures in Minecraft, with Legos, Lincoln Logs, and those small, ceramic Christmas towns. They're usually quite extensive, but not extravagant. He will pester Perturabo and Magnus to look at them, and this often leads to debates about how these civilizations would function.

Konrad Curze - He teaches cooking classes; however, they are not pleasant. At the end of meal prep, all students are covered in blood due to Konrad butchering whatever protein they had prepared. The food actually tastes amazing, however the process of making it is certainly a battle within itself. Sevatar is his sous chef, which means he frequently has to do most of the work that isn't butchering.

Sanguinius - Honestly, animal rehabilitation. I know this sounds absolutely odd, but due to him having wings, he has to know how to keep a healthy batch of feathers! He's excellent at bird handling, and actually really enjoys it. He's saved at least 54 birds (he doesn't get to find many, his sons typically try to steer him away).

Ferrus Manus - Dude actually makes some really mean jewelry; like the man makes the permanent ankle chains, ring engravements, earrings (with the help of Fulgrim). He's made a lot for his brothers like Leman, Fulgrim, Magnus, and the Khan. They're all very appreciative (though Ferrus has to make Leman a special mixture so he doesn't chew through it by accident).

Angron - He does extreme sports! It helps focus on something that doesn't direct his anger at things that he doesn't need to focus on. It's somewhat funny to think of him riding a BMX, but his absolute favorite is bungee-jumping! He has forced demanded that his sons and brothers try it to "toughen them up". However, nobody except Konrad wanted to. (They both had a great time! One of the few times they've actually bonded over anything.)

Guilliman - He enjoys grading papers... He enjoys signing up to grade the essays of AP classes on Terra and does it every year if he has the time. He takes the pleasure of learning things about literary merit from other people's perspectives, and every time it makes him consider becoming a professor (even though it would be highly impractical).

Mortarion - He enjoys escape rooms, especially with Konrad and Horus. They actually usually have a great time, though sometimes they have to stop Konrad from digging into the walls. He actually commissioned Perturabo to make an elaborate escape room with hatches and secret pathways all around a set of shipping containers. It was so fun that he actually decided to keep it. (He still discovers new routes and puzzles in it every time he goes in.)

Magnus the Red - He plays Dungeons and Dragons with Khan, Guilliman, Perturabo and Alpharius and Omegon. He ALWAYS is the Dungeon Master, no matter what. This is not because he is selfish and possessive (he is a little), but because nobody in the group can seem to maintain a regular gaming schedule. They have simply resorted to Magnus being the godly controller of their games.

Horus Lupercal - This man fishes. I'm sorry, he does the straight, white man fishing and poses. He takes pictures of the fish with the awkward raised arm but genuine smile. He sometimes gives the fish to Konrad, however, less so after finding out from his students what happens during his classes.

Lorgar Aurelian - He writes fanfiction. He likes to show Magnus and Horus his angsty stuff. This stuff is even enough to make Magnus cry a little. Lorgar, however, also writes smut. I believe that this man has never had the intimate touch of any person. Not because he's celibate, but because he's a bitch. The smut's written like in the early days of Wattpad. It's disastrously bad (Think "his meat-cicle entered her mound"). Leman found it one time, he tormented Lorgar for weeks with it.

Vulkan - He bakes! He has learned all the favorite sweets of all of his brothers, making sure to surprise them occasionally whenever they haven't spoken in a while. He loves it whenever there are big events, gives him a chance to see all of his brothers and see them enjoy his work. (There have been some small altercations due to people hoarding food)

Corvus - He likes fashion; but not in a New York fashion week way, more of an Edna from The Incredibles way. He uses the help of Ferrus and Leman to help sew cloaks, shape up boots, and they use Sanguinius and Fulgrim to model it to make sure it looks good and it works.

Alpharius Omegon - They like mimicking their brothers as much as possible; in a "try to look exactly like them" way. It is actually really impressive, even going past the uncanny valley vibe. This led to Mortarion walking in on two versions of himself standing at his bedroom door and it made him piss his pants; and nobody believed him when he told the rest of them.

[rose-maidenn]

Destiny swapping among mars nakshatras

What is destiny swapping ?

The interchange of your life course with someone else , generally occurs when someone close to you tries to copy you to the point of exchanging fame and popularity and your talents , you lose your position and feel drained while the swapper gains more and more .

Generally occurs when people with bad intentions have too much access to you .

For more info watch this by Chokoladka ✨️

Some of the widely known examples of destiny swapping are

Aaliyah and Beyonce, Paris and Kim

In both the cases Aaliyah and paris ( both Dhanistha natives ) were destiny swapped by Beyonce and Kim ( both Chitra natives) .

Dhanisthas have the khyapayitri shakti to gain game and abundance so that is very natural to them , people being jealous too , dhanisthas have to be careful about the people around them . In case of Chitra they have punya chayani shakti to achieve good merit , use this power to create the best in art like Vishwakarma himself .

Apart from celebrity cases even in real life I have observed this in case of Aries ( mars sign) natives , the other girl was getting too close to my friend was adopting her clothes her vocabulary and her energy , slowly my friend was feeling bounded by her , by God's grace she recognized the thing and moved away from the other girl.

In case of Chitra swapping with Dhanistha it's like the Martian restlessness in case of Chitra, Dhanisthas experience the height of mars , if a Chitra native isn't well knowledgeable they will do it intentionally or unintentionally, my advice is to be careful and knowledgeable and avoid such circumstances because all of us have our unique Destiny.

Apart from in case of mars nakhatras and signs this can also happen in case of Sagittarius natives with Sagittarius natives ( Purva ashadha, uttara ashadha and mula ) so please be careful .

Destiny swappers get to know you by being close to you and ultimately swap , cause loss of popularity or being astry from your true path

To be away from destiny swappers maintain discrepancy and choose your closed ones carefully .

🫶Thanks for reading

[writeforfandoms]

Let It Snow

Find my John Price masterlist

This is for @glitterypirateduck winter challenge! I took inspiration from the song Let It Snow, because who wouldn't want to use this man as a source of warmth. Really.

John Price is your neighbor. Just your friendly neighbor. Nothing more.

At least, until the heat in your flat dies.

Warnings: Swearing, fluff, sweetness overload, really this is all just cute and fluff.

Word count: 2.5k

You still weren't quite sure how you'd fallen into this thing with John Price. You'd moved in to the flat next to his, the shared wall between the two of you giving you only hints of his life. Mostly, there was silence. 

But sometimes there was the rumbling of a deep, lovely voice. Singing. The muted sounds of a TV. Music. 

The first time you talked to him, you were coming back from a date that had ended badly. You still weren't sure whether to be angry or upset, and had settled on some potent mixture of the two. 

John Price was standing outside, shirtsleeves rolled up past his elbows, heedless of the chill of the evening. He nodded once to you, gaze sweeping over you. 

“Evening,” he greeted, neutral pleasant. 

“Hi.” You managed a smile. “Haven't had the chance to introduce myself yet.” You held out a hand to him, giving him your name. 

“John Price.” He shook your hand, firm but not painful. Quick. 

“Nice to finally meet you.” You glanced beyond him to your door, the temptation to cry rising as upset won over anger. “Hate to run, but…” 

“Of course.” He stepped back, out of the way. “Have a good night.” 

You bit your tongue to keep the bitter words trapped, simply nodding to him before stepping past him. Your hands only shook a little as you unlocked your door and stepped inside. 

You kept your emotions to yourself until you showered, hot as you could stand. Then you allowed yourself some release. 

After that, it became much more common to see him, at least when he was home. You passed him frequently when you came home, and once or twice he rescued you by getting the door when you had bags of groceries. 

The two of you circled each other, pleasant and friendly and not much else. 

Despite his charm, despite his kindness, despite his obvious good looks… you couldn't believe anything more. He was friendly, and that was all. He was neighborly, and that was all. 

Even if he was good-looking. Even if the way he looked at you made you both self-conscious and want to preen. Even if you developed a little crush on him despite your best intentions. 

And you held on to those thoughts all the way up until your heater broke. 

You stood in the middle of your flat, shivering, bundled up in layers and silently cursing the snow outside. And cursing the landlord, who promised he'd get the heater fixed… in a couple days. Three, or maybe four. But you'd be fine, right? 

Which left you seething and debating the merits of buying a space heater, if you could find one. It was late in the season, but maybe you'd be lucky… 

The knock on your door startled you, and you about jumped out of your skin. Who…? Frowning, you stepped forward slowly, hands trembling from the cold and nerves. 

John Price stood outside your door, arms crossed loosely in front of his chest. 

“John?” You blinked at him. “Can I help you?”

“Actually, might be able to help you.” He scratched at the hair on his jaw, brilliant blue eyes holding you captive as easily as breathing. “Heard something ‘bout your heater through the wall.”

You warmed, ducking your head briefly, even though you knew you had nothing to be ashamed of. “Ah. Heard that, huh?” You huffed a little laugh, shaking your head. “Sorry, I forget how thin these walls are sometimes.” 

“Don't fret,” John assured you. “I'd offer to take a crack at your heater but I might make it worse.” 

You smiled, torn between amusement and embarrassment. “It's fine, I think I'll just go find a space heater.” 

John paused, not moving from your doorway, one hand hooked at the collar of his shirt, gaze fixed on you. “Or,” he offered slowly, weighing each word as he spoke. “You can stay at mine.” 

You blinked. Twice. “...Beg pardon?” You must have misunderstood him. There was no way–

“I've got a second bedroom,” he said, shrugging, like it was nothing. Like it was that easy. “You're welcome to it. Be awful cold without heat.” 

You swallowed. That was… a lot. And far too generous. “I couldn't, that's too kind.” 

His lips quirked in a smile, the first real one you'd seen from him. “Yes you can,” he countered. “It's just a few days, yeah? Won't bother me, I wouldn't have offered otherwise.” 

You bit your lip, torn. It would be warmer to stay with him, and cheaper. “Are you sure?” 

“I'm sure.” He even nodded for emphasis, holding your gaze. 

“Okay.” You breathed in slowly. “Thank you, I appreciate it.” 

“Gather up whatever you need,” he said, something pleased in the tilt of his lips. “Just knock when you're ready.” 

“Thanks.” You waited until he stepped back and turned towards his own door to close your door.

Not that it helped at all with the temperature. 

Clenching your jaw and trying not to think about it, you grabbed a bag and some clothes. You weren't going to impose on him any more than necessary - you'd come back to shower and take care of your own things. And you'd be fine at work. 

Your first knock on the door was tentative, almost too soft. You shifted your weight from foot to foot, a little anxious. You knew enough about John Price to trust that he wasn't a crazy murderer, or anything like that. He'd always been friendly. 

You were mostly sure you could trust him. 

The door opened, warmth spilling out over your half-frozen fingers. John had shed his jacket, leaving him in a soft-looking shirt that clung to his chest in ways you tried not to notice. 

“C'mon in.” He stepped out of the way, ushering you in. You couldn't help but shiver as the warmth of his flat cocooned you, your skin tingling where it was exposed. “Bedroom's this way.” 

You followed him quietly, though you couldn't help but look around curiously. The flat was sparse but clean, walls mostly bare. Simple furniture in the main room, very little decoration. 

It felt a little impersonal… except for the book on the couch, the couple dishes in the sink. 

John led you back to the bedroom, nodding you inside. The bed was made up all in pale blue, with an extra blanket folded at the foot of the bed. Honestly, this was better hospitality than you'd gotten from some family members. 

“Thank you, really.” You paused in the doorway, still clutching your bag. 

He smiled again, easy as anything. “My pleasure. Get warmed up, I've got the kettle on.” 

You couldn't help but smile at his retreating back. He was too kind. 

It didn't take long to warm up enough to be comfortable, and you even shed a layer to be more comfortable. “Should I keep my shoes on?” You called from the doorway, uncertain. You couldn't recall if he'd been wearing any. 

“Nah, leave ‘em.” 

You kicked your shoes off but left your socks, padding out to the kitchen to a charmingly domestic scene. John stood with one hip leaned against the counter, mug in one big hand, another steaming gently in front of him. He was also wearing socks, thick gray ones.

“Got milk and sugar, if you'd like.” He nodded to the mug to be clear what he meant. 

“Thanks.” You fixed your cuppa and clutched it between your hands, fingers tingly-hot as they finally fully thawed. “Can I at least treat you to dinner?” 

He tipped his head down a little, smiling. “Won’t say no to that,” he murmured. 

Discussing food was surprisingly easy with him. He seemed happy to go along with whatever you wanted, although true to his word he didn't argue with you about paying. 

The first night passed easily, with bits of conversation between the two of you. You caught him looking at you more than once, something soft in his gaze. Like he couldn't believe you were here.

You warmed under that gentle gaze, the little embers you'd tried to smother in your heart catching and trying to grow. 

Two days passed in the same kind of ease. His flat was bigger than yours, and set up backwards as far as you were concerned. The second time you opened a door expecting the loo and got the linen closet you swore loudly. John just laughed at you, leading to a round of playful bickering. 

(“It's not my fault that this is all backwards!”

“Well perhaps if you looked before you opened the door you'd realize it was on the wrong side.”

“Perhaps if this place was oriented correctly I wouldn't have to.”) 

The two of you got along quite well, better than you'd expected. Better than you'd ever hoped. The ease with which the two of you conversed fanned the little flames secreted in your heart. 

The fourth morning was clear and cold, faint light coming through the window in your room. You dressed, even more glad to be in John's nice warm flat when a perfunctory look out the window showed snow still falling. 

“Morning,” John greeted you, flashing you a smile, hair still a little rumpled from sleep. You tried not to be charmed. 

(It didn't work, you were hopelessly charmed by him.) 

“Good morning.” You couldn't help but smile at the sight of him. “How long have you been up?” 

“Couple hours. Tea?” 

You hummed your assent, though you drifted to the kitchen window to look outside. Snow drifted down in fat flakes, languidly coating the world in white. “How long has it been coming down?”

“Started in the middle of the night.” John pulled out the mug you were beginning to think of as yours. “Don't have to go anywhere today, do you?”

“Fortunately, no.” You shivered at the thought of having to go out in the cold. You kind of hated when it got this cold - the snow was pretty but ice made for treacherous commutes to work. “You?”

“No.” The mug clinked as he set it next to you. “Got everything I need here.” 

You turned, just catching the tail end of his teasing little smile as he stepped back. You blinked at him but didn't push, not quite sure if you wanted to know. 

Tea was perfect to keep you warm, and you settled near John. He shifted enough to press his knee to yours, and you just relaxed into it. 

He'd gotten you used to little touches over the last few days, and you didn't quite want to admit how much you loved it. 

“Care to make a day of it, then?”

You blinked at John, curious. “What do you have in mind?” 

“We could watch that movie you've been wanting to watch.” John's lips twitched in amusement. “More tea. Order in for lunch.” 

“You're going to spoil me,” you teased, although you were only half teasing. 

“Only if I'm doing it right.” He smirked, watching you as you ducked your head, fiddling with your mug. 

“You don't have to, you know.” You looked at him out of the corner of your eye, gripping your mug a little tighter so you wouldn't fidget with it. 

“What if I want to?” He tipped his head a little, watching you, blue eyes intense. 

You warmed under that look but resisted the urge to hide. “Well… that would be a different story.” 

Emboldened by your reaction, John moved closer, his thigh now pressed against the length of yours. “I'd like to spoil you for longer than just the few days it takes to get your heater fixed.” 

“Would you really?” You blinked at him, a little incredulous and a fair bit flattered. 

“I would.” One of his hands landed over yours, big and warm and calloused. “Would you let me?”

You swallowed. Part of you wanted to say yes, wanted to bask in the warmth of him, wanted to give in. But you were scared. There were so many things that could go wrong… 

“I don't know,” you whispered, your fingers curling under John's. “I could try.” 

“That's all I ask.” He leaned a little closer to you, so close he could probably feel the thump of your heart. “Just need to talk to me, hm? Tell me if anything is too much.” 

You nodded, swallowing, eyes wide as he held your gaze. “Okay.” 

“Good.” He backed off again, slowly pushing to his feet. “Go get the movie set up, I've got tea handled.” 

You blinked, feeling almost bereft as he stepped away. But you shook the feeling off, instead going to the couch to set up the movie. 

It only occurred to you long minutes later, when John brought your tea fixed how you liked, that you'd gotten very comfortable here very quickly. But so had John. He'd learned your preferences faster than you'd expected. 

“Warm enough?” He asked, voice a low purr as he settled next to you. 

“Yeah,” you answered, which was mostly true. Your feet were chilly, but that was manageable. 

He eyed you for a moment, and you had the feeling he knew exactly what you didn't say. But he didn't say a word, just grabbed a throw blanket off the back of the couch and draped it over your lap, fussing over you in a way totally foreign to you. 

Foreign… but nice. 

Halfway through the movie John paused it to discuss lunch. You ended up not ordering in - snow was coming down harder now, a thick coating of white obscuring streets and sidewalks. Neither of you wanted to go out, or force anyone else out. 

“We'll find something here,” you said with a shrug, unconcerned. “I've got food at mine, too.” 

John hummed, one arm settling around your waist. “Could do cheese toasties.” 

“Are you offering to cook for me?” You couldn't help your smile, or the way you leaned in closer to him. 

“Can’t make anything fancy,” he murmured, smile small but warm. “But I can do this.” 

That smile finally did you in. You kissed him. Nothing more than a brief press of your lips to his, just enough to feel the warmth and pressure, the gentle scratch of facial hair. He looked a little stunned when you pulled back… for all of two seconds. Before he kissed you again, one big hand cupping your cheek. 

“Is this okay?” He whispered when he pulled back, scant space between the two of you. 

“More than,” you assured him, hands resting against his chest. 

He hummed, the sound vibrating against your hands, and kissed you again. 

If this is what him spoiling you looked like… Well. You could get used to this. 

Even if it kept snowing like this. You weren't worried about being cold anymore. 

[mysteryshoptls]

SSR Leona Kingscholar - Platinum Jacket Vignette

"Happy 100th Anniversary"

[Land of Dawning – National Museum of Art]

Leona: Who'd've thought I'd get to lay my eyes on paintings that I've only ever seen in artbooks like this…?

Leona: That's the Land of Dawning's National Museum of Art, for ya. This'll probably be good for perusing.

???: Heey, the King of Beasts's got a great lookin' mug in this painting.

Floyd: I wonder what's goin' on? Oh hey, Sea Lion-senpai, you tell me.

Leona: Huh? Why should I have to explain anything to you?

Floyd: 'Cause you're right here. But hey, if you don't know nothin' about it, that's cool too?

Leona: Tch… Fine, whatever, just don't start something annoying. You better get lost after this.

Leona: In order for him to establish his ideal nation, he required cooperation from the hyenas…

Leona: Once he came to that conclusion, he himself went to where the hyenas lived in order to negotiate with them.

Leona: There, he spoke at length as to how he could best utilize their strengths and abilities. This painting depicts that scene.

Floyd: Uh-huh. 'N so, what'd the hyenas do? They just went along with what the King of Beasts said without causin' a fuss?

Leona: The hyenas were already pretty hated. And the king was offering a trusted position directly under him.

Leona: It was a tremendous boon for the hyenas, from their perspective. So, of course they took him up on his offer.

Leona: He didn't let what society thought of them sway him, instead he gave jobs to each hyena as what suited their individual abilities…

Leona: This single moment shows just how accomplished the King of Beasts was as a ruler.

Floyd: You think so? I know I wouldn't like having someone sizin' me up and choosing what I gotta do～

Leona: It's the same with sports, ain't it?

Leona: Imagine having a good shooter stuck on defense, or a spindly guy on offense…

Leona: If the team goes along with a coach that gives asinine directions like that, they'd lose even the easiest of matches.

Leona: That goes for both you all in the basketball club, as well as us in the Spelldrive club.

Leona: Anyone can be useful, even if they don't have the constitution or strength.

Leona: For example, if you got a guy who's got nimble fingers, you just gotta put 'em where they can steal the ball or disc from the opponent.

Leona: Then, you use someone who can stay in control of game and send them towards the goal.

Leona: There's no need to have everyone rushing around the field. Any number of tactics can be used to score goals.

Floyd: I get what you're sayin, sure, but whaddya do if your teammates don't listen to what you say?

Floyd: See, I don’t like doin' anything if it's boring, y'know. There's tons of times I get bored in the middle of a basketball game, too.

Leona: Heheh. What, they not giving you any rewards over there in the basketball club?

Floyd: Eh, you saying the Spelldrive club gets somethin' for winning?

Leona: That's right. We get the finest reward one could ask for:

Leona: Victory.

Leona: Our club runs on the merit system. Anyone who can't show their worth during a match gets dropped from the starting team…

Leona: But with just a bit of effort, anyone can get their chance in the spotlight and even find their names on the lips of people outside this academy.

Leona: Plus, this school throws a lot of support towards the Spelldrive team, so even certain grades can be overlooked from time to time.

Leona: Essentially that means each one of our victories matter much more than any of the other athletic clubs' wins.

Floyd: Hmmm… I thought you guys in the Spelldrive club were a bunch of try-hards, so I didn't think I'd like it, but I'm likin' the sound of that merit system.

Floyd: Maybe I'll join the Spelldrive club too. Don'tcha think I'd be great at it?

Leona: No way, absolutely not. …Also, how long you plannin' on following me? I'm already done explaining things, hurry up and leave me alone, already.

[Land of Dawning – National Museum of Art]

Floyd: Mmkay, next. What's this painting?

Leona: [sigh]… This painting's showing the Thorn Fairy's men all celebrating their master's endeavors.

Floyd: They're, what… dancing around a green fire? Looks kinda like a campfire! Bet they're havin' fun～

Leona: True, they look pretty carefree. Seems like the Thorn Fairy's subordinates don't mind doin' menial tasks.

Floyd: Menial tasks…? Oh, right, there's a ton of cleanup to do after making a fire, or something like that, huh.

Leona: An astute observation, little merling. I'd expect nothing less from someone so naïve in the intricacies of fire.

Leona: Here on the surface, even the smallest flame can grow into a blaze with a little mismanagement.

Leona: Especially in places where the air is dryer… like where I come from in the Sunset Savanna.

Leona: It's not that bad during the rainy season, but there's gotta be extra caution thrown to the wind during dry season. As a precaution, we've enacted regular fire drills.

Floyd: Uh-huuuh. Didja do those fire drills too, Sea Lion-senpai?

Leona: Yeah. Like I said, fire can be a matter of life or death in my country. That's why those fire drills are essential services.

Leona: It's a pain, but the royal family's gotta do it, to set a good example for our people.

Leona: Since a majority of the country get together to observe, it's basically just another huge traditional event at this point.

Leona: Although… Let's just say there's been times that I've had other things on my plate that I completely forgot to take part.

Floyd: Mhhmm… And so, what all do ya do during those drills?

Leona: To be perfectly frank, it's basically getting practice in with handling water. A buncha people'll hold onto a large hose and put out a huge fire in real time.

Floyd: Wow, that's lamer than I thought. Doesn't sound like much fun to just watch happen.

Leona: Oh, not at all. It's not so bad if you're just there to watch it go down.

Floyd: Eh, whyzzat?

Leona: Because they get to witness the glorious scene of the royal family being tossed around by a giant hose.

Leona: You might think that'll invigorate the gathered public, seeing how willing we are to risk their life for the country…

Leona: But if you ask me, I think there's something more to it.

Leona: People can see them in regal attire caked in dirt, and their miserable faces all swollen from the smoke in their eyes…

Leona: They can even see those well-groomed manes completely sopping wet and pathetic. I bet it bring a gleam of joy to them all, heh.

Floyd: Heh, Sea Lion-senpai, I see right through you. You say you'd sometimes forget, but you def haven't been takin' part in it for a while, haven'tcha?

Leona: Well now, who can say?

[Land of Dawning – National Museum of Art]

Floyd: Hey, I think this is a painting of when the Sorcerer of the Sands got his hands on a magic lamp.

Floyd: He looks like he's havin' the time of his life. Most of the Sorcerer's paintings are of him lookin' real smart and proper, so this one's kinda cool and different.

Leona: This tale is of one where he finally achieved his heart's desire after a long and difficult journey. No wonder he'd be ecstatic.

Floyd: You mean he worked super hard for that single lamp? Bet all the trouble he went through to get there was fun, at least.

Floyd: It's boring if you can just easily snag something you want. The more you want something, the more it's worth tryin' to get it.

Leona: Makes sense to me. So what, when I saw you slackin' off the other day, that was you trying your darndest to get class credit, or something?

Floyd: You're one to talk. 'Specially since you skip class waaaay more than I do.

Floyd: Wait, so you were in the botanical garden then too, huh. You shoulda said something, we coulda been skiving buddies～

Leona: Unlike you, I ain't all that impressed with conversation. I was taking a snooze in the tree shade.

Leona: I'd just found a good place to get some shut-eye, I ain't looking to waste time on idle prattle.

Leona: I prefer a quieter, cooler, more comfortable place…

Leona: Now, that would be a place worth sleepin' in.

Floyd: Ahah, that's some stuff to be picky about when you're just plannin' on sleeping there.

Leona: I ain't asking for much. At the very least, all I need is for you to not be there.

Leona: Trying to sleep somewhere noisy'll affect my sleep quality.

Floyd: What, you saying there's different types of sleep, now? Doesn't seem like where or how ya sleep really changes anything to me.

Leona: I am much more of a delicate being than you are, is all. If the quality of my sleep ain't pristine, then it'll slow down my thinking processes.

Leona: I ain't gonna be happy if I can't be quick on my feet and some conniving sneak tries to get the better of me.

Leona: At the very least, I make sure to increase the quality of sleep I can get in my room by taking precautions.

Floyd: Huh, like what?

Leona: I'd roll out a rug under my bed, for one. Even just doin' that'll keep the noise coming from the floor below to a minimum.

Leona: You got all the freshmen, four to a room. There's fighting and arguing over their personal space almost on a daily basis.

Leona: And it wouldn't do 'em any good if I were to intervene on their behalf every time they got in a tussle, right?

Leona: That's why I try a buncha different things to help keep the volume down. It's for all our sakes.

Floyd: You say it's for your underclassmen, but you're just doin' it to get some nappin' in.

Leona: Oh me, oh my. How absolutely wretched that you cannot even see just how loving and kind of an upperclassman I am.

Floyd: Uh-huh, sure… Anyway, I'm gettin' bored lookin' at all these paintings. I think I'll go look around elsewhere.

[Floyd leaves]

Leona: Yeah, yeah, get outta my sight already. Geez, his attention turns on a dime. Whatever, I guess I'll also… Hm?

Leona: This artwork depicts the scene where the King of Lions introduces his newly born cub to his people. Well now, what an absolutely cheerful looking spectacle.

Leona: When their belief in a future filled with hope is suddenly overtaken by despair…

Leona: I feel like I would be able to say this from the bottom of my heart: …Long live the king.

Requested by @farfalla049 and @sakurakudo.

[ebodebo]

The Fugitive

—the cia is going against taskforce 141, making ghost a fugitive. unfortunately, he gets hurt and a detective takes him to a near by hospital, that an old friend happens to work at.

—ghost x f!reader

—2.3k+

wanna be on my taglist ? fill out this form !

"Hey, Marcey, I don't suppose you could squeeze one in the schedule?" Detective Marsh's voice rang in the matte black Dodge Charger he sat in. 

She huffed out. "John." 

"I know. I know." He quickly supplied, sparing a look to the backseat, where an injured, bleeding Ghost sat. "But, this one is messed up pretty bad." He could feel Marcey roll her eyes. "They usually are "messed up pretty bad." She said, quoting his words.

"Honey." He sighed. "I know the guy. He's a friend." He exhaled. Marcey paused for a moment. "Okay. I have a doctor on rotation who's available." She finally said. "But, this is it. I can't keep doing favors just because your boys flubbed up." 

"And you won't have to anymore because, effective immediately, I'm firing Jensen and Miles." He states. "It's too much Goddamned paperwork. Gives me a headache." He says while bringing one hand to rub his temple, the other gripping the steering wheel. 

"Good for you, boss," Marcey emphasizes the last word, causing Detective Marsh to let out a gruff laugh. "Park in the back when you get here." She stated, swiftly typing on her computer. 

"I'm outside. In the front." He confessed. "Of course you are." Marcey sighed. "I'll be right there." 

Detective Marsh looks up at the rearview mirror, carefully observing Ghost. "Does it hurt?" Detective Marsh questioned.

"What do you think?" Ghost snarkily said, his voice deep and gravely, as he held his bleeding side. Detective Marsh gave him a light laugh. "Stupid question." He confirmed. 

Marcey appeared through the revolving doors that led into the hospital. She carefully knocked on the driver's side of the Dodge, where Detective Marsh sat. 

"You seriously couldn't have parked in the back. You are going to scare my patients." She crosses her arms as she opens his car door. "This was closer. I'm sorry." He said, unbuckling his seatbelt, then stepping out of the car. "He's in the backseat." He opens the backseat, revealing Ghost. 

"Oh my-" Marcey begins inspecting his bloody side before beckoning the two nurses she brought. "What the hell happened?" She questions, hands on her hips, moving aside so the nurses can get him out of the car, though he stubbornly swats them away to get out on his merit. 

"From what I know, the guys were in pursuit, and they found him all bent to hell." He shrugs. 

"That's what they told you? Jensen and Miles?" She skeptically asks as Ghost begrudgingly allows the nurses to get him out of the car. He nods. "I know. I know. I'm going out to get a full report from some pedestrians at the scene." He grips her shoulder a bit. "Might not answer my phone for a bit. I already know the DA got wind of this. So, he's going to be busting my balls and the entire PD's for the next week or so." He kisses her temple before getting back into his car.

"No need to worry, John. We'll take care of him." She smiles.

He smiles back, closing his door. Before he pulls away, he rolls his window down. "Also, I forgot to mention, he's wanted by the CIA, so this place might be swarmed with suits. Love you, bye." He swiftly states as Marcey's face contorts. "Wait. Wha—" she begins, but he pulls off before she can rain her terror on him. 

Marcey curses before she turns to the nurses heading inside the hospital. "Unfortunately, we'll have to take him through the lobby since my husband decided he was too lazy to spring for the extra yards around' the back. Just take him to the OR." Both nurses nod and attempt to grab Ghost. 

"I can walk," he proclaims as he stumbles to the revolving doors. Marcey stares at the nurses. "Just make sure he doesn't fall on his way." She lightly waves them towards him. 

"The OR is this way, sir." One of the nurses steps in front of him, leading him towards a big metal door. 

All three of them pushed through the door and immediately are met with the room's cold air. "Just lay on the bed. Careful not to lay on your right side," one of the nurses chimed. 

"Got it." He grits as he carefully lays himself on the bed, positioned on his back. "What hospital am I at?" Ghost questions, gripping his side. 

"Highlands Medical," one nurse answers as she gets his IV drip ready. He makes a thoughtful expression. "Don't suppose Y/N still works here? Huh?"

"Oh yeah. Dr. Y/L/N. She still works here. Has been for a couple of years, actually." The nurse quickly finds his vein and gently sticks the IV in his arm. "I want her." He plainly states.

"Sorry, she has another patient at the moment. Dr. Brazo is great, though."

"No." He looks at the nurse. "I want her."

The nurses look at each other for a moment. "I'm sorry, but unfortunately—" He is quick to pull his IV out. 

"What are you-" The nurse questions. "You can't leave." The other nurse chimes as Ghost sits up, gritting his teeth as he feels his side ache. "I told you. I want her." He pauses. "And if I can't have her, I'm leaving."

They eye each other once again. "Okay, okay. Just lay back. I'll go get her." He narrows his eyes. "I will," she assures him. He gently lies back as the nurse once again sticks his IV in his arm. 

Before the nurse could leave, there was a knock at the door, followed by an intense voice. "PD," the voice said, opening the door. It was three police officers. "Simon Riley?" one asked, looking at Ghost, to which he nodded. 

"Gonna' have to handcuff you." He strolled over to the bed, pulling out his handcuffs and cuffing him to either side of the bed. "We're also gonna' have to stay in here." Two police officers stood in front of the door, and the other moved closer to Ghost's bed.

"Isn't this a bit overkill?" One nurse said as she grabbed Ghost's chart. "Direct orders," the officer who handcuffed him said. "Well, I need to go get the doctor. I can leave, right?" The two police officers by the door stepped aside and let her slip through.

The nurse made her way to room 104, where you were, gently knocking on the door. "Sorry to interrupt, Dr. Y/L/N. Can I speak to you for a moment?" You raised your brow, issuing an apology to your patient before stepping outside. 

"What's going on?" you ask, crossing your arms. "Well, we have a guy in the OR. He's uh... he's requested you." The nurse hands over his chart.

"No name?" You say, examining the blank name section of the chart. "He won't talk much. So, we just wrote down where he was injured." The nurse looks at you. "Did you tell him I was busy with another patient?" You hand the nurse the chart back. "Yes, several times, but he threatened to leave. Even pulled out his IV." The nurse let out a little laugh

You titled your head. "Call Dr. Lindley. She can take over this patient; she owes me." You grab the chart again. "In the OR, yes?" The nurse nods. You glance over the chart again before opening the door to your patient. "I'm sorry, Ms. Lawson. There is an emergency in the OR. But Dr. Lindley will be here shortly. I have sent her your charts so she knows your condition. Again, I apologize for the inconvenience." You earnestly say, but to your surprise, she seems fine with the change. 

You step out of room 104 with the nurse by your side and notice the influx of police in the lobby. "What the hell is going on?" You turn to the nurse with you. "I'm not sure, but earlier, three police officers came in the OR. I think they're still there." You breathe out and head towards the big metal door, though you are unable to open it.

"Excuse me. I need in." You raise your voice, knocking on the cold metal. The door is instantly opened, and he meets you.

"Simon." You question observing his disheveled state. 

"Hey, doc." You cringe at his voice. It was deep and rough. Commanding. It spliced through the air and demanded attention. It was the same, but slightly different than the voice you heard all those years ago.

"What happened to you?" You walk over to him, assessing his side.

"Got injured." He matter-of-factly proclaims.

You roll your eyes. "I see your sense of humor hasn't changed much." Your gaze travels to his hands, both glued to the bed and held by cuffs. "I can't work on him with cuffs," you remark, turning to the officers. "Sorry, I can't remove them," one says.

You frustratingly sigh. "I can't operate on him with handcuffs." You continue. "And if I don't operate on him, he'll bleed out and die." The officers glance at each other and then at Ghost.

"Don't worry, I'll be a good boy for the doctor." He remarks, the corners of his eyes crinkle as he smirks under his mask. "Fine, but don't try anything." One skeptically says, walking over to him and uncuffing both hands. 

You make your way over to him and carefully cut his shirt off, where his injury is. "So-" You begin, grabbing some iodine to clean the deep wound. "What's all this about? Are you a criminal now?" You question, gently laying some surgical drape over the area.

He shuddered at the direct contact, quietly cursing. "Sorry. It's going to hurt a little." You called for one of the nurses to grab the suture kit. "So, criminal?" You pushed again as the nurse handed you the kit.

He lets out a gruff laugh that tickles your ears. "No. Not a criminal." He pauses as you begin to use the kit to sew stitches under the skin. "It's complicated." He brusquely states. "Mhm. I see you're still the brooding, mysterious type. Huh?" You smile at him as his muscles contract at the needle going into his skin. 

"Brooding?" He huffs. You let out a laugh. "Very much so." You look up to notice he's staring at you. Your eyes instantaneously locked. It should feel awkward. There were five other people in there, but it felt like it was just the two of you at that moment. 

A knock at the door jolted you out of your daze. "Open the door," the voice on the other side demanded. The police in front of the door jumped but opened it a bit before opening it wider to accommodate the person.

"Christ. Why are all of you in here?" Detective Marsh gestures to all three officers. "You two sure as shit shouldn't be here." He gestures to the two officers standing in front of the door. "The DA has the whole departments ass because of you two." He wipes his hand across his jaw, which is covered in stubble. "Get out." He demands.

"But, sir-" One officer starts.

Detective Marsh's jaw tightens, causing both officers to hurry out the door. The last officer stands adjacent to where Ghost lays. "Sorry about that." Detective Marsh declares. He points at the remaining officer. "Come with me. I need backup downtown." The officer glances at Ghost. Detective Marsh rolls his eyes. "He's fine." The officer nods, and they head off. 

"Sweetheart." Ghost croaked. You look at him. "Your hand." He gestures to your hand resting on his side. "Sorry." You quickly pick up your gloved hand and reach for the saline to clean his wound. 

"I forgot I had a case scheduled today with Dr. Raines." You look up at the nurses. “Will you two go assist her?" They both nod and head out the door.

"Gotta' lot of patients today, doc." Ghost lifted a brow as you applied some antiseptic. "I thought they would have remembered that Dr. Raines is on maternity leave." You give him a cheeky smile.

"Wow. Lyin' to your coworkers? How insensitive." He sarcastically remarks as you snicker. "I just...I needed to talk to you." You confess, applying a large bandage to his side.

"In private?" You look up at him after you finish putting the bandage on. "In private," you confirm, gently pressing the bandage around the edges to secure it onto his skin. 

"What?" He tilted his head, taking notice of your silence. 

"I hate seeing you like this." You look up at him. "All bruised up."

"I'm fine." He assures, which makes you let out a laugh.

He tilts his head. "What's so funny?"

"You've always been so stubborn," you remark, absently stroking his thumb. “You never let anyone help you. You always want to do things on your own, even if you can't."

"I let you help me." He lifts his finger to graze yours gently. "I know. I'm glad you did." You smile. "So, will you tell me why all the cops are interested in you?" You question, raising a brow. "No. I think I'll stay brooding." He quips. "Simon Riley, did you just make a joke?" You exclaim, making him let out a laugh. 

You both sat there for a moment, falling into a comfortable silence. You knew you most likely wouldn't see him again, and he knew the same. It's just how your relationship worked with him. You see him once in a blue moon, and then he disappears off the face of the earth for what feel like an eternity.

You loved Simon, and he loved you, but you both knew a relationship beyond what you had currently couldn't work, especially with him being God knows where with God knows who. There are too many trials and tribulations involved. It's better to keep it simple and one-dimensional, something Simon Riley is not. 

"I'll have the nurse fill out your discharge papers." You finally break the silence, gently squeezing his hand. He nods.

You don't know what possessed you, but you find yourself bending down to kiss him. He's quick to kiss you back. You pull back and head to the door, holding it open.

"Goodbye, Simon."

"Goodbye, Sweetheart."

reblogs & comments are encouraged!

[diagonal-queen]

The ADA as your roommates

♡ characters: Atsushi Nakajima, Dazai Osamu, Kunikida Doppo, Yosano Akiko, Jun'ichiro Tanizaki, Naomi Tanizaki, Ranpo Edogawa, Yukichi Fukuzawa

♡ synopsis: How good are the ADA at being roommates?

♡ cw: This is a post born out of medication-induced sleeplessness and months of pent up unfiltered fury directed at my shitty, shitty housemates. Some of that resentment may shine through in the headcanons. Also naughty words, NSFW themes with Dazai

note: hey y'all. i know it's not a request but it's the best i've got right now. law school and depression are kicking my ass. y'know that meme with the tiny man, and then the two buff dudes start beating the shit out of him? that's law school and depression with me. as always apologies for errors and i hope you enjoy x

Atsushi:

Help he's so sweet and awkward all the time?? Always gives you a little wave or a smile and nod when you pass each other in the halls

He buys candies and chocolates and things and leave them in a bowl on the table for people to take if they want :')

When his roommates feels sad he takes the time to hang out with them and help them through whatever problem they're having

In the morning when he comes into the kitchen to make breakfast he's all yawny and has a scruffy bedhead and it's SO cute

He doesn't do it consciously, but on occasion Atsushi will fall asleep on the couch, and even more occasionally he'll transform into Byakko in his sleep. You get used to it after a while, but you can't really invite friends over unless you know Atsushi is in his room or out of the house T-T

But he really is so sweet. If you bring someone over they develop a crush on him immediately, but of course he's oblivious. After they leave he turns to you and is like 'aw your friend is nice' (they were hardcore flirting with him)

If he ever has an issue with you or the house, he gets very nervous when bringing it up because he doesn't wanna cause any conflict (you could be smashing the plates on the ground every day and he'd be like 'hey so i'm super duper sorry to bother you like i really hate to nag but-')

My mans. Is doing. His BEST

Dazai:

Screw you.

Holy shit this guy is an absolute nightmare to live with. he'll drive you crazy within the week just because of how *little* he does around the house

He doesn't clean his dishes. He doesn't buy stuff for the house. He doesn't do a DAMN thing.

Preferably, if you're gonna be living with him, you'll also wanna bring Kunikida. He has his own issues but at least then there's a balance between a chore-driven man and the embodiment of sloth, the deadly sin

He will stumble through the front door at 3am with unkempt clothes and the stink of alcohol on him. and he won't bother trying to be subtle or quiet either. Just crashes around until he pukes on the floor and falls asleep on the couch

At least he flushes (more than I can say for my housemates /gen)

He drinks in the house, and leaves bottles everywhere. The entire place is damn near bordering a safety hazard because of all the glass

Tries to cook but absolutely can't do it- he sets fires, ruins the kitchen, etc etc. It wouldn't be unreasonable for you to assume that all takeout packaging and pizza boxes you find strewn around the house belongs to him

He's fully up for a secret hookup if you're into that, though. Just give his door a knock after 11pm and you're in

Kunikida:

This guy is both a saint and a total pain in the arse

On one hand, he does his chores and he does them literally perfectly. Is there even a perfect way to wash the dishes? There is now. Kunikida is here

On the other hand you can kiss your hopes of getting out of your own chores goodbye. This man makes a schedule. a chore chart. a system. he pulls out the whole nine yards

Thanks a lot DAZAI

Anyway, he has his merits. Kunikida brings it upon himself to bring up the slack (even if he doesn't want to) because he can't stand living in a messy space, so your home is always spick and span

He organises weekly or monthly meetings to discuss home affairs (he's a real Louis Moriarty, he will also make you omelettes)

Kunikida is also kind of a walking talking alarm clock- he wakes you up in the morning if you're not up by a certain time, and also gives you a lights out time at night when he deems it bedtime

He pretends that this is just a part of routine and etiquette and whatever- in reality, he just really cares about your health and wants you to get enough sleep and keep a consistent routine

He also encourages you to go out if you're an introvert because "staying inside all the time is bad for you". Damnit Kunikida

Yosano:

Oh she's so great to live with

Every time you run into her you two always end up bitching to each other about something. She's the ultimate bitch buddy

If you get sick she takes on the role of home doctor, quarantines you in your room, and tends to you until you're well again. Or, if she doesn't like you, she just chops you up and gets it over with lmao

Yosano drinks a lot though. You eventually get used to falling asleep to the sounds of crashing, whirring chainsaws and maniacal laughter from the next room over

She takes AGES in the bathroom, so you really ought to keep a bucket on hand or something just in case. Like this woman will be in there for hours on end (RIP your water bill)

She also always takes up the phone line because she's a lil social butterfly (RIP your phone bill) but she'll also take your phone calls for you if you don't like talking on the phone so there's that

Yosano is really sweet but she always leaves her stuff laying around. Like there'll just be patient portfolios and medical tools in the living room?? Girl

Some nights she comes home with a bigass pizza in her hand and a bottle of wine in the other, and you know you're in for a GOOD time

If you ever need some spare cash she'll give it to you but if you take too long to pay her back she WILL chop you up so beware

Tanizaki:

He's a perfectly adequate roommate.

In all honesty there's barely anything to say about Tanizaki. He does his chores, respects his roommates, helps them if they need help, etc etc. He's just a real stand up guy!

Though I HC that Tanizaki gets sick pretty easily, so he can sometimes be seen wandering the house with a pale face wrapped in a blanket making sad boy noises

He gives you lifts as long as you're able to provide gas money (or McDonalds, either works as payment)

He doesn't usually accept invitations to go out drinking, but he's more than happy to grab a coffee with you if time permits it. He's just a responsible guy �� (if you don't have time he'll also bring you a coffee because he's just that nice)

Tanizaki always has backup stuff in case you guys run out of anything. This man basically has a bunker's worth of extra supplies for literally no reason, but hey free stuff!

He likes to make dinner for you sometimes, and you guys eat together and chat (it's something he grew used to while living with Naomi)

He's always happy to lend you his stuff if you ever run out of things (because of Naomi he even keeps backup menstrual stuff on hand, so you vagina owners are all safe)

You guys definitely do face masks and manicures together too

Naomi:

Naomi might, literally, be the roommate ever

She does her chores, she keeps quiet at night, she lets you know if she's bringing people over. Her only flaw is that she's always talking about her brother. Naomi please

She's also very vocal whenever her brother's in the house. What are they doing ffs

She bakes cupcakes and cookies and stuff each week for her roommates

She also brings around her friends sometimes for movie nights, and if you come into the living room she invites you to watch movies with her and her friends

Naomi honestly invites you to everything. Parties, gatherings, hanging out with friends- she's a true extrovert and will adopt you if you're an introvert, you have no choice sry :/

She also decorates the place really well- in all honesty she really did miss her calling as an interior designer because miss girl makes your home look CLASS

Naomi is the roommate you go to when you're preparing for a date and you need help with your outfit or nerves. She's like the ultimate wingwoman fr

She also buys incense and air freshener so your house smells nice as FUCK

Ranpo:

He's almost as bad as Dazai, aside from the fact that he can respect rules, and so (although begrudgingly and with a lot of whining) he actually does his chores

If you all live together he steals all of the candy Atsushi left out for everyone :(

Basically lives in his pyjamas. He gets home from work and immediately gets changed into his jammies

He also hogs the TV and won't let you watch Netflix until his own shows are finished :( and he also judges you for your taste in TV regardless of what it is

Ranpo never cooks for himself or you, but he LOVES when you cook for him. It makes him feel so special

You guys also get takeout all the time. You make a tradition of it and get different stuff on different days. It becomes a part of the autism routine and now you're stuck wasting your money (haha)

You also have to take him places and accompany him everywhere because he knows fuck all about taking the train. You basically live life around Ranpo's (annoying spontaneous) schedule

He uses too much soap in the shower and gets bubbles all over the bathroom, but at least he smells nice?

He does all the house paperwork, so silver lining and all

Fukuzawa:

He's lowkey kind of scary 😔

Like, he's a really respectful roommate who does his chores and pays mind to his living companions, but he also just like barely comes out of his room or talks to anyone.

Plus, detective daddy kinda has a massive case of RBF which really isn't helping

That being said, he will make tea for you if you feel blue, and he'll sit in your room and silently listen to you complain about your issues for hours. The PATIENCE of this man

He randomly does really sweet stuff for you without saying a word about it. Replaces broken stuff, makes you pancakes in the morning etc.

Fukuzawa tends to work late hours so he's often awake late in the night. He enjoys when you keep him company on your sleepless nights, and will give you a blanket if you end up falling asleep in his bed or on the couch

He's also super neat and never touches your stuff without asking <3

He knocks on your bedroom door and the bathroom door every single time, just in case, and he never enters unless you give him the heads up

His own door is never locked in case you need him too. Or in case there's a break-in. Good luck to that person fr

taglist~ ♡ @gettinshiggywithit, @fyodorhatr, @flower-of-darkness, @bejeweledgirl, @kokoenjiandco, @pinkiipeachiikeen, @call-me-albie, @sayyestoheaven00

[theonceandfuturequeenoftarts]

Harry wants it known that he’s at the ministry’s Yule gala under duress. It was all he could do to force himself into his dress robes and make himself presentable; he can’t fathom where he’ll find the energy he needs to get through the rest of the evening.

People he barely knows keep coming up to him – as they always do – to shake his hand, chat with him about this and that, thank him for his role in defeating the dark lord. (Still. He really wishes they’d stop doing that. It’s been more than six years now.)

And then there are pockets of people, staring at him and whispering behind their hands. Another constant in his public appearances, though he imagines the content of their conversations is at least a little different from usual, if not the tone. 

He’s just escaped another fan and is looking to make a beeline for the bar when it happens. Harry sees his doom approaching from several metres away but, since they saw him first and he (stupidly) refuses to run away, he stands there like an idiot, wishing he were anywhere else.

“Hi Harry,” Ginny says. It looks like she wants to hug him or get close, and his shoulders stiffen involuntarily. Thankfully, she stays where she is.

“Hullo Ginny,” he replies and, without looking at the man, utters a terse, “Malfoy.”

The smug arse smirks at him. “Potter.”

“How’ve you been?” Ginny asks, which. Rude. If she actually cared about that, she wouldn’t have cheated on him with the git on her arm, but whatever. 

“Oh, fine. Y’know, keeping busy.” God, he hates small talk.

Before he can respond with the requisite, ‘And you?’, Malfoy jumps in. “Yes, I suppose you have been, from what I’ve heard.”

Ugh. Fucking Malfoy. Harry wishes he had a drink or seven. He can’t believe he’d rather be caught in another conversation with that weirdo from earlier about his wand-care habits, of all things.

Ginny gently elbows Malfoy in the side with a chiding, “Draco.”

He’s considering the merits of letting himself be ripped apart by the anti-apparition wards to get away from this conversation – splinching himself can’t be much more painful than this – when a hand bearing a very welcome drink appears in front of him. That’ll do for now, though splinching is still on the table. Especially when he follows the hand to the arm up to the face and of course it’s Ri– Tom.

Harry gives him the side-eye, but accepts the drink. “Thanks.”

Tom leans in slightly, just enough so the two in front of them can’t read his lips. “You looked like you might be in need of a rescue.”

And as he pulls back out of Harry’s personal space, he rests a hand low on Harry’s back. Harry tenses for a moment before just accepting that tonight is all about him being as uncomfortable as possible. He takes a gulp of his drink – something dark and spicy. It burns pleasantly.

When he starts paying attention again, he finds Ginny looking at Tom with surprise; Malfoy is looking at the other man with – is that a hint of fear? And Tom is staring them both down, but somehow managing to do it with a veneer of politeness. 

“Good evening, Draco,” he says pleasantly. “Ginevra.”

“Riddle.” Malfoy’s greeting is stiff, as is the awkward, aborted bow he gives. Hmm.

“And Harry,” Tom says, turning to look at him fondly. “So good to see you again.”

Hoo boy.

“You,” Harry murmurs from behind the rim of his drink. “Are not subtle.”

Tom takes the opportunity to slide his hand further around Harry’s back, lightly gripping his hip and pulling him closer up against Tom’s side. He returns Harry’s withering look with an undaunted smile. “I wasn’t trying to be.”

“Yeah, I’m getting that.”

“When did you two get so cosy?” Ginny cuts in. Her tone is playful, but there’s more than offhand curiosity lurking beneath.

“Uh.” Shite, he doesn’t ever want Ginny to find out how this started, but especially not in public. Who knows who’s listening in or watching. “We ran into each other by chance a month and a half ago” –actually, he’s how I found out you were fucking Malfoy behind my back– “and we’ve met up a few times since then. It’s nice to have someone… uninvolved to talk to.”

Tom looks amused at that. He’s definitely involved in the demise of Harry’s relationship, and if there’s one thing they haven’t been doing (but probably should), it’s talking.

“I’ve been helping him expand his horizons,” Tom says without apparent innuendo, yet somehow the layered meaning is still obvious. Prat. “Getting him to try new things, keeping him busy.”

“You and half the town,” Malfoy mutters under his breath.

“I see…” Ginny says over him. “Funny how that escaped the rumour mill.” 

Harry laughs awkwardly, wishing for a stray lightning bolt to strike and put him out of his misery. “Must not’ve been exciting enough.”

The conversation dies for long enough to become uncomfortable - well, even more so. Malfoy touches Ginny’s elbow and leans down to speak into her ear. Harry seizes their distraction to turn on Tom.

“Are you sure you don’t want to piss on me to mark your territory while you’re at it?” he asks dryly.

Tom wrinkles his nose delicately in disgust. “No need to be crude. Though…” He gives Harry a considering once-over. “I’m not at all opposed to the idea of you carrying my mark. How do you feel about tattoos?”

Harry snorts. “Not a chance.”

The other man tucks his face in close to Harry’s, breath hot against the skin beneath his ear. “What about bruises?”

As though he doesn’t regularly leave an abundance of those on Harry anyway, what with his penchant for treating Harry like a chew toy. Harry shivers all the same, just a little bit. He can feel the barest brush of Tom’s grin against his neck.

Ginny clears her throat pointedly.

“Good to know,” Tom breathes as he pulls back.

Ginny continues trying to talk to him while Malfoy makes the odd snide comment, Tom attempts to meld into Harry’s side while replying for him and being subtly insulting, and Harry tries to become one with the floor. He realises he’s missed a question when he breaks out of his daze to find both Tom and Ginny are watching him expectantly.

“Huh?”

Ginny starts to say something when Tom cuts her off. "Care to dance?"

If looks could kill, Tom would be in a bad way with how Ginny’s glaring at him. "Harry doesn't dance," she says tetchily. Tom doesn't bother with her, waiting for Harry's wary nod.

He looks back at Ginny smugly. "Perhaps yet another new thing to which I can introduce him.”

“Okay, that’s enough,” Harry says, grabbing Tom’s wrist and dragging him towards the dance floor. Best to get this over with, and all the better if it means he doesn’t have to speak with anyone else in the meantime.

"She's not wrong," he mutters once they don't have to fear being overheard. "I don't dance.”

"Just follow my lead," Tom replies easily. “Would it be correct to say you don’t particularly care about stepping on my toes?”

Harry stares at him blankly for a moment before he feels a reluctant smile appear on his face. “It might be the one redeeming part of this.”

“The only one?” Tom says archly, pulling him into the correct hold. And, without giving Harry a chance to breathe or think, they’re off in what Harry thinks might be a waltz. 

"That was quite the risk you took," Harry says, trying not to stare at his feet and hoping for the best as Tom spins him around the room. He is, oddly enough, a much better dancer when he’s not constantly concerned about crushing someone's foot.

"Was it?"

"Yes. What made you think I wouldn't refuse and let you look foolish?"

He catches sight of a pleased grin on Tom's face from the corner of his eye. "The same thing that made me ask you to dance when I've seen your previous forays. You rise to the occasion when I push you.” He looks at Harry, for a moment, proudly. “I also knew you’d be more than amenable to anything that got you away from those two.”

Harry can’t deny that.

“Now look sharp, and do try to keep up,” Tom says, the hand at Harry’s lower back gripping him a little tighter.

“Wha–?” 

And it’s all he can do not to trip over his feet and take them both down in a painful sprawl, but the rush, the heady triumph of making it through the successive, intricate turns, goes straight to his head. Before he can stop himself, Harry lets out a loud peal of laughter, further disrupting the couples around them and drawing sneers and disapproving glances. And he just doesn’t care. Not that he thinks he normally would’ve, but it feels like it’s been ages since he’s felt so light and happy. So, he doesn’t think about the people around him. He doesn’t think about how it’s Tom who’s making him feel this way. He just basks in the sun-warm feeling of contentment – of being okay for the first time in a while.

(One night)

[anniebeemine]

taking matters into our own hands- s.r x fem!reader

Summary: It's impossible to plan a wedding when you work at the BAU. Good thing you have a little connection to Sin City.

Warnings: Wedding planning, stress, etc.

Wedding planning with Spencer had proven to be a challenge, not because of any lack of enthusiasm on either of your parts, but because of the demanding nature of your work. Endless cases and the unpredictable schedule of the BAU meant that finding time to plan even the smallest details was a struggle. Setting a date had become a near-impossible task. Every time you thought you had a weekend free, a new case would come in, pulling you both away from your plans. Showings for potential venues had been rescheduled more times than you could count, and cake tastings, which should have been a fun and delicious part of the process, felt like an unattainable luxury.

One Friday morning, Spencer surprised you, and everyone else, by bringing a large sample plate of twenty different cake flavors and combinations to work. He had taken a detour on his way to the office to pick it up from a bakery that you two visited often. The sheer variety was overwhelming: chocolate ganache, lemon raspberry, vanilla bean, red velvet, salted caramel, and so many more. As soon as he walked into the office with the plate, the delicious aroma of freshly baked cakes filled the air, attracting the attention of your colleagues.

“Wow, what’s this?” Morgan asked, his eyes lighting up as he spotted the array of cakes.

“It’s a sample plate for our wedding cake,” Spencer explained, a hint of pride in his voice. He opened the box, reaching for a stack of napkins and plastic forks from a drawer in a nearby desk. 

Garcia clapped her hands in delight. “Oh my gosh, this is amazing! You two are the cutest.” 

Emily gazed over the samples. “Can we help taste?”

You nodded, smiling at the eager expressions around you. “Of course. We could use the help deciding.”

You and Spencer had gotten a smaller version of samples, unable to make a list shorter than six flavors. The team gathered around in the break room, each taking a small bite of a different flavor. There was laughter and playful banter as everyone shared their opinions. Hotch suggested a classic vanilla bean with white frosting. Sugar crystals gave the slice a subtle shimmer. Rossi leaned towards the rich chocolate ganache, while JJ and Garcia argued over the merits of lemon raspberry versus red velvet.

“This bakery is really the only detail we have planned so far,” you admitted with a chuckle, taking a bite of a delicious salted caramel slice. “Everything else has been so hard to schedule.”

Emily, savoring a piece of vanilla bean, gave you a sympathetic smile. “It’s understandable with our workload. But hey, at least you’ve got the most important part almost figured out—the cake.”

As the morning went on, the team continued to sample the different flavors, offering their insights and preferences. One by one, they began to feel full, each tapping out with satisfied smiles. Morgan, in particular, leaned back in his chair with a contented sigh. "I think I've had my fill," he declared, a hint of regret in his voice. He pulled a seltzer tablet from his drawer. 

With the break room finally quiet, Spencer motioned for you to follow him into the hallway. With a conspiratorial grin, he pulled out a small box from the bakery bag. "I got something just for you," he said softly, opening the box to reveal your favorite treat—a decadent chocolate croissant, perfectly flaky and filled with rich, gooey chocolate.

Your eyes lit up with delight as you took the box from him. "You remembered," you said, your heart swelling with affection.

"Of course I did," Spencer replied, his voice warm. "I know how much you love these."

You took a bite, savoring the treat and the secret moment shared between you. It was a small gesture, but it meant the world to you, a reminder of the thoughtful and caring man you were about to marry.

However, the stress and chaos of wedding planning seemed to rear its ugly head again. It had been a particularly challenging afternoon, the kind where everything seemed to go wrong. You and Spencer had finally managed to set a date for your wedding, the first concrete step in what felt like an endless maze of decisions. But that joy was short-lived.

You had scheduled a call with a venue in a nearby area, one that both of you had fallen in love with during your search. The large acreage behind the property had the perfect backdrop of DC that would make an appearance in photos. At the time you had to call, you’d been in California with the team. Amidst the chaos of the day, you had completely forgotten about the time difference. By the time you remembered and tried to call, the venue office was closed. With the rest of the case left to solve and travel time back to DC, you couldn’t find a spare moment to call again until four days later, only to find out that the venue had been booked for your chosen date. You asked and they were booked for the next seven or so months. Now, as you sat in your shared apartment, the weight of disappointment pressed down on you. You had a trip scheduled to Vegas to visit Spencer’s mother, and you desperately wanted to give her a set wedding date so she could arrange her travel. The stress and frustration of it all had finally caught up to you, and you found yourself sitting on the couch, tears streaming down your face.

Spencer walked in, immediately noticing your distress. He crossed the room quickly, kneeling in front of you and taking your hands in his. “Y/N, what’s wrong?” he asked, his voice filled with concern.

You tried to speak, but the words caught in your throat. Taking a deep breath, you finally managed to explain. “I forgot about the time difference and missed the chance to confirm the venue. By the time I called, it was already booked. Today was the day we were supposed to get married the first time and-”

Spencer squeezed your hands gently, his thumb brushing away your tears. “Hey, it’s okay,” he said softly. “We’ll find another venue, and we’ll set a new date, even if it is the tenth one. It doesn’t have to be perfect; it just has to be ours.”

You shook your head, frustration bubbling up again. “But it feels like we’re never going to get this right. Every time we make progress, something goes wrong. I just want to give your mom a set date. She’s excited about this, and I don’t want to let her down.”

Spencer moved to sit beside you on the couch, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. “You’re not letting anyone down, least of all my mom. She understands how hectic our lives are. She just wants us to be happy, and she’ll support us no matter what. We’ll figure this out together, okay?”

Leaning into his embrace, you felt some of the tension begin to ease. “I know,” you whispered. “It’s just hard sometimes. I want everything to be perfect for us.”

Spencer pressed a kiss to the top of your head. “Perfection is overrated. What matters is that we’re doing this together. We’ll find another venue, set a new date, and make sure it’s everything we’ve ever wanted. And if it takes a little longer, that’s okay. The important thing is that we’ll get there in the end.”

-

A weekend trip to Vegas had finally arrived, and you both hoped it would bring some much-needed respite from the wedding planning stress. It had been six months since the proposal, two since the first wedding date. Visiting Spencer’s mom, Diana, always brought a mix of emotions, but today, you felt a sense of anticipation. You were eager to share your updated plans and just enjoy some time together.

You and Spencer found Diana in her favorite spot in the care facility’s garden, enjoying the warmth of the sun. She looked up with a bright smile as you approached.

"Mom, it’s so good to see you," Spencer said, bending down to hug her.

"Hi, Diana," you greeted warmly, giving her hand a gentle squeeze.

"It's wonderful to see both of you," Diana replied, her eyes twinkling with happiness. After a little bit of catching up, she asked the dreaded question. "So, how are the wedding plans coming along?"

Spencer sighed, glancing at you. "It's been... challenging. We thought we had a date and venue, but it fell through. And then again. We're back to square one."

Diana's expression softened with understanding. "I see."

You nodded. "It is. We just want to set a date and make sure you can be there, but it feels like everything is working against us."

Diana smiled knowingly. "You realize what city this is, right?"

You and Spencer exchanged puzzled looks. "Vegas?" he said, still not catching on.

"Yes, Las Vegas," Diana said with a hint of amusement. "The city where people come to gamble and..."

It finally clicked. Spencer's eyes widened, and a slow smile spread across his face. "You mean... we could elope? Here? Now?"

"Why not?" Diana said with a shrug. "I know you wanted a big wedding, but sometimes simplicity is best. You could be married today, with me here to witness it."

Your heart skipped a beat as the idea took root. "Elope... in Vegas?" you repeated, turning the thought over in your mind. The more you thought about it, the more it made sense. "Spencer, what do you think?" 

He looked at you, his expression one of relief and excitement. "I think it's perfect. No more stress, no more delays. Just us, getting married."

A wave of happiness washed over you. "Let's do it."

Spencer hugged his mother tightly. "Thank you, Mom. This means the world to us."

With the setting sun casting a golden glow over the city, you and Spencer stood before an officiant in a quaint little chapel. The warmth of the setting sun bathed the room in a golden light, giving everything a soft, ethereal glow. Diana sat in the front row, her smile radiant as she watched her son and his beloved prepare to exchange vows.

The ceremony was simple and heartfelt, yet it felt somewhat empty as it was rushed through. The officiant, an older gentleman who seemed preoccupied and less enthusiastic than you had hoped, read the vows in a monotone voice. The lack of excitement in his delivery was a stark contrast to the love and anticipation that filled your heart. You stood there in your plain clothes, the casual attire a reminder of how spontaneous and impromptu this moment truly was, having come straight from Diana's facility.

Despite the officiant's lackluster performance, the excitement and love you shared with Spencer made the ceremony perfect. As you looked into his eyes, all the stress and chaos of wedding planning faded away. The hurried nature of the ceremony didn't matter; what mattered was the person standing before you, the man you loved more than anything.

Spencer squeezed your hands gently, his eyes filled with unwavering love and devotion. "I, Spencer, take you, Y/N, to be my lawfully wedded wife. I promise to love you, honor you, and cherish you, in sickness and in health, for richer or poorer, as long as we both shall live."

Tears welled up in your eyes as you repeated your vows, your voice trembling with emotion. "I, Y/N, take you, Spencer, to be my lawfully wedded husband. I promise to love you, honor you, and cherish you, in sickness and in health, for richer or poorer, as long as we both shall live."

As you exchanged rings, the weight of the moment settled over you. The plain gold bands, simple yet meaningful, were a symbol of your commitment to each other. When the officiant finally pronounced you husband and wife, his words felt rushed, almost an afterthought.

But when Spencer kissed you, sealing your commitment to each other, all the imperfections of the ceremony melted away. His kiss was tender and full of promise, a reminder of the love and dedication that had brought you to this moment. In that instant, the rushed nature of the ceremony and the disinterested officiant no longer mattered. 

Diana clapped softly, her eyes glistening with tears of joy. You turned to her, feeling a surge of gratitude for her presence and support. Despite the less-than-ideal circumstances, having her there made the moment even more special.

As you and Spencer walked out of the chapel, hand in hand, you felt a sense of peace and fulfillment wash over you. The ceremony may not have been the grand, meticulously planned event you had once envisioned, but it was perfect in its own way. The love and excitement you shared with Spencer made it a day you would cherish forever.

"Thank you for this," Spencer whispered, his voice filled with gratitude. "I know it wasn't what we planned, but it was perfect because it was with you."

You smiled, squeezing his hand. "It was perfect because we're together, and that's all that matters."

After the ceremony, you celebrated with Diana, sharing stories and laughter late into the night. The simplicity of the day had brought a profound sense of contentment. You knew that, while your wedding might not have been the grand event you initially envisioned, it was perfect in its own way.

As you lay in bed that night, Spencer’s arms wrapped around you, you whispered, “This is exactly how it was meant to be.”

He kissed your forehead, pulling you closer. “I couldn’t agree more. Here’s to our beautiful life together.”

-

Returning to your home after the whirlwind of a weekend in Vegas, you and Spencer were looking forward to some quiet time together. However, as you opened the door, the sound of hushed whispers and bustling activity greeted you. The unmistakable voices of your BAU family echoed from the kitchen. You exchanged a puzzled glance with Spencer as you walked toward the noise. Entering the kitchen, you found JJ, Garcia, Morgan, and Emily busy with various tasks. JJ looked up and offered an apologetic smile.

“Sorry for breaking in, but we have an important task at hand,” JJ said, looking slightly sheepish.

Before you could respond, Rossi appeared from the double French doors leading to the backyard. He gave a nod of approval. “Everything is ready.”

Garcia and Emily swooped in, each taking one of your arms and steering you toward the stairs. “Come on, you two, we have preparations to make,” Garcia said excitedly.

“Wait, what’s going on?” you asked, glancing back at Spencer, who looked just as confused. Derek was leading him to the office. 

“You’ll see!” Emily said with a wink as she led you upstairs.

In the guest room, you found a beautiful white dress laid out on the bed.

“This is your changing room. We were tired of seeing our friends stressed and decided to take matters into our own hands.”

The first bridal shop you visited had an array of beautiful gowns. The dress was tea-length, falling gracefully to just below your knees, allowing for a blend of classic and modern aesthetics. Its simplicity was its charm, crafted from a soft, flowing fabric that moved with you effortlessly.

The bodice was fitted, hugging your curves gently before flaring out into a subtly full skirt that swayed with every step you took. The dress featured a delicate lace overlay, adding a touch of romance and sophistication. The intricate lace patterns were carefully chosen to enhance the design without overwhelming its simplicity. Tiny floral motifs danced across the fabric, creating a beautiful, textured effect.

The neckline was a modest bateau, highlighting your collarbones and framing your face beautifully. The lace overlay continued onto the sleeves, which were three-quarter length, adding to the dress’s vintage-inspired charm. The back of the dress was adorned with a row of small, covered buttons, a subtle yet elegant detail that completed the look.

Complementing the dress was a short veil, which fell softly to just above your shoulders. Made from the same delicate lace as your dress, it added an ethereal quality to your appearance. The veil was attached to a simple comb, which nestled easily into your hair, ensuring it stayed in place throughout the ceremony.

As you stood in front of the mirror, taking in your reflection, you felt a wave of emotion. The dress was everything you had hoped for—elegant, simple, and perfectly suited to your body. The girls lost it when you came out of the dressing room. JJ helped you pick the shoes to go with it. You tried on a few more but in the end, you took the dress home and left it with Emily to send to her seamstress for alterations. 

You laughed, touched by their thoughtfulness. “You can stop this at any time if you’re not ready,” Emily added quickly. “I know you were excited about planning.”

“It’s fine,” you said, feeling a rush of gratitude. “I’m happy and grateful that you’d all do this for us.”

Morgan entered the room, holding some papers. “Got the marriage license right here. Hotch called in a few favors to get it on a Saturday.” Emily’s qualified to officiate, so it’ll all be official and legal.

You smiled at the thoughtfulness of your team. “Has anyone told Spencer?”

“Hotch is filling him in right now,” Garcia assured you. She had been hard at work with your hair, pinning it away from your face and touching up what she needed to. JJ did the buttons on the back of your dress and snapped your necklace into place. 

You took a deep breath, feeling a mix of excitement and nervousness. “Can I have a private first look with Spencer before we start?”

Emily nodded. “Of course. We’ll give you some privacy.”

"Are you ready?"

You took a deep breath, feeling a mix of nerves and excitement. "As ready as I'll ever be," you replied with a smile. 

Emily gave you a supportive squeeze before slipping out of the room, leaving you alone with your thoughts for a moment. You glanced at yourself in the mirror, taking in the sight of the simple, elegant dress that now felt like a part of you.

Downstairs, Spencer was waiting, equally nervous and flustered. Hotch had just told him about the surprise wedding the team had planned. As he stood by the window, his hands fidgeting with his tie, his mind raced with thoughts of you and the life you were about to start together.

Morgan, who had been Spencer's unofficial best man, walked over and clapped him on the shoulder. "Relax, pretty boy. She's going to look amazing, and you're about to marry the love of your life."

Spencer took a deep breath and nodded. "I know. I just... I can't believe you’re doing all of this for us." The gesture is single handedly the kindest thing anyone has ever done for him, and all for him and his partner. He began to tear up, laughing as Morgan pulled him into a tight hug. 

"That's what family is for," Morgan said with a grin.

With a final nod, Spencer made his way to the living room, where the team sat around the room. As he stood there, waiting for you, his heart pounded in his chest. The door to the guest room opened, and Penelope came out. She smiled and waved her camera as she descended the stairs. 

“Go on in, Wonder Boy,” she grinned. 

Spencer cleared his throat and climbed the stairs. He turned, his eyes widening as he saw you for the first time. Both of you froze, taking in the sight of each other, flustered and overwhelmed by the moment.

"Y/N," Spencer breathed, his voice filled with awe. "You look... incredible."

You felt a blush creep up your cheeks. "Thank you, Spence. You look pretty amazing yourself."

He stepped closer, his eyes never leaving yours. "I can't believe they did all of this. It's perfect."

You nodded, tears of happiness welling up in your eyes. "I know. I can't believe it either."

For a moment, you both stood there, flustered and nervous, unsure of what to say or do next. As you stood there, wrapped in Spencer's arms, you realized that this was exactly how you had always pictured your pre-wedding moment. The Vegas wedding had been perfect in its spontaneity and simplicity, but it wasn't the dream you had envisioned. Standing here now, in the home you shared, surrounded by the people closest to you, you felt an overwhelming sense of gratitude. Your friends cared enough to create this moment for you and Spencer, to give you the wedding experience you had always wanted. Their love and effort made this day even more special, and you knew that this was a memory you would cherish forever.Then Spencer reached out and took your hands, his touch grounding you. "Are you ready?" he asked, his voice soft and reassuring.

You smiled, feeling the last of your nerves melt away. "Yes, I'm ready."

Spencer chuckled, pulling you into a warm embrace. “Should we tell them that we’re already married?”

You laughed, resting your head against his chest. “I was going to ask you the same thing.”

For a moment, you simply held each other, soaking in the joy and love that surrounded you. Finally, you pulled back slightly, looking up at him with a mischievous grin. “What do you think? Should we let them in on our secret?”

Spencer’s eyes twinkled with amusement. “I think they’ll get a kick out of it.”

Hand in hand, you walked back downstairs, ready to share your secret with the team and celebrate your love in the best way possible—together with your chosen family.

As you descended the stairs, you noticed the subtle touches your team had added to make the day special. There were flowers everywhere, a mix of your favorite blooms that you had once mentioned to Penelope in passing. The dining table was adorned with a beautifully arranged bouquet, and you realized that Penelope must have remembered your ideas.

Emily met you at the bottom of the stairs, her eyes sparkling with excitement. “Okay, quick question: which flavor did you guys decide on for the cake?”

“We loved the lemon and raspberry combo.”

Emily grinned. “Perfect. Just wanted to make sure everything was spot on.” You saw JJ hand Penelope a few bills. 

In the living room, you found the rest of the team waiting, their faces lighting up as they saw you. Hotch stood next to Spencer, giving him a reassuring pat on the back. “Ready?” he asked.

Spencer nodded, and you could see the gratitude in his eyes. “More than ready.”

Just then, Rossi stepped forward, holding a small velvet box. “I believe these belong to you,” he said, opening it to reveal two simple yet elegant wedding bands. The rings glimmered softly in the light, their beauty lying in their understated design. Upon closer inspection, you saw that your initials had been etched into the surface, and inside each band was engraved “The Reids.”

Tears welled up in your eyes as you looked at Spencer, who was equally moved. “Rossi, these are perfect,” Spencer said, his voice thick with emotion.

Rossi smiled warmly, his eyes twinkling with pride and affection. “I thought you might like them. Consider it a little something from the team to commemorate this special day.”

You took one of the rings from the box and held it up, feeling the smooth metal against your fingers. “It’s beautiful,” you whispered, your voice trembling with gratitude.

Spencer took the other ring, his eyes meeting yours with a depth of love and commitment that took your breath away. “Thank you, Rossi. This means so much to us.”

David nodded, stepping back to give you and Spencer the space to exchange the rings. Emily stepped forward, a tearful but joyful smile on her face. “And now, if you’re ready, it’s time to make it official.”

You laughed softly, the sound mingling with the collective joy of your friends around you. As you slid the ring onto Spencer’s finger, you felt the weight of the moment, the significance of this symbol of your love and partnership.

Spencer gently took your hand, sliding your ring onto your finger with the same reverence and care. “With this ring, I promise to love you always,” he said, his voice steady and full of promise.

You smiled through your tears, feeling an overwhelming sense of happiness and fulfillment. “And with this ring, I promise to love you forever.”

Emily wiped a tear from her cheek, her voice choked with emotion. “By the power vested in me by the state of Virginia and our incredible team, I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride.”

Spencer leaned in, his lips meeting yours in a kiss that was both tender and passionate, sealing your vows with a promise of a lifetime of love and happiness. The room erupted in cheers and applause, the sound filling your heart with warmth.

Your eyes met Spencer’s, and you both laughed softly, the joy of the moment enveloping you. As you pulled away, still holding each other close, you couldn’t help but laugh. “Should we tell them now?”

Spencer grinned. “I think we should.”

You turned to face your friends, a wide smile on your face. “So, there’s one more thing.” 

You broke away from Spencer to dig through your bag. Penelope’s jaw dropped. “A baby?” 

Spencer’s eyes met yours for a split second. You pulled your Las Vegas marriage certificate up. “The official copy will come later, but surprise!” 

There was a moment of stunned silence, followed by a chorus of laughter and playful groans. “Of course you did!” Morgan exclaimed, shaking his head in amusement.

Hotch just smiled, his eyes crinkling at the corners. Rossi raised a glass. “To Y/N and Spencer, married twice in one weekend. Here’s to a lifetime of happiness!”

As you looked around at the faces of your chosen family, you felt a surge of gratitude and love. This was your real wedding, surrounded by the people who mattered most. And as you stood there, holding Spencer’s hand, you knew that your life together was going to be filled with joy, laughter, and endless adventures. With the formalities over, the rest of the evening was spent celebrating in true BAU fashion. Music played softly in the background as everyone mingled, sharing stories and laughter. 

At one point, Penelope came over to you with a knowing smile. "I knew you guys would end up married in Vegas. I just knew it."

You laughed, hugging her tightly. "You know us too well, Penelope."

She pulled back, her eyes twinkling. "Now, let’s get you some cake. After all, you did say the lemon and raspberry was your favorite."

As the night wore on, you and Spencer found a quiet moment alone. You stepped out onto the back porch, the cool evening air a welcome change from the warmth inside. Spencer wrapped an arm around you, pulling you close.

"Today was perfect," you whispered, leaning into him.

"It really was," he agreed, kissing the top of your head. "I’m so glad we have them in our lives."

You smiled, looking up at the stars. "Me too. I wouldn’t want it any other way."

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Margaret Killjoy’s “The Sapling Cage”

TODAY (Sept 24), I'll be speaking IN PERSON at the BOSTON PUBLIC LIBRARY!

The Sapling Cage is the first book in Margaret Killjoy's new "Daughters of the Empty Throne" trilogy: it's a queer coming-of-age tale in the mode of epic fantasy, and it's very good:

https://firestorm.coop/products/21646-the-sapling-cage.html

Lorel wants to be a witch, but that's the very last of the adventurous trades to be strictly gender-segregated. Boys and girls alike run away to be knights, brigands and sailors, but only girls can become a witch. Indeed, Lorel's best friend, Lane, is promised to the witches, having been born to a witch herself.

Lane doesn't want to be a witch. She wants to be a knight. So she and Lorel swap places, so when the crones come to their little hamlet to collect the girl who was promised to her, it's Lorel who steps forward, wearing the black dress Lane's mother left behind. None of the townsfolk rate Lorel out to the witches, and just like that, she is on the march with the coven, a whelp – the lowest ranking inductee, aspiring to "apprentice" and then, "witch."

What follows is, in some ways, a very expertly executed coming-of-age story. Lane is getting trained up with the coven, among a new cohort of whelps of varying degrees of friendliness and hostility. The world is a richly realized fantasy landscape of monsters and giants, magic and political intrigue.

Lorel has signed up for witching just as the land is turning against witches, thanks to a political plot by a scheming duchess who has scapegoated the witches as part of a plan to annex all the surrounding duchies, re-establishing the long-disintegrated kingdom with herself on the throne. To make things worse (for the witches, if not the duchess), there's a plague of monsters on the land, and the forests are blighted with a magical curse that turns trees to unmelting ice. This all softens up the peasantfolk for anti-witch pogroms.

So Lorel has to learn witching, even as her coven is fighting both monsters and the duchess's knights and the vigilante yokels who've been stirred up with anti-witch xenophobia.

This is a good, sturdy, serviceable plot, and in Killjoy's hands, it is expertly handled. There are lots of reversals and double-crosses, brilliant fight scenes, all the things you could want in an epic fantasy. And of course, it's a coming of age, with Lorel seeing the world and discovering who she is and brushing away the comforting half-truths and lies her elders have cocooned her in.

That's where the fact that Lorel is trans comes in. Lorel is figuring out what that means, but she's also very worried about discovery. After all, she's entered the company of witches, the last all-female cohort in the land, and these are powerful women – what's more, they're anarchists, leaderless and fractious. Who knows what happens if Lorel gets discovered.

So you've got this incredibly well-turned fantasy/coming-of-age story going on, and Killjoy figures out how to work in this gender stuff not just as a way of doing "representation" or "queer joy" or any other value that's orthogonal to the literary merits of this as an adventure tale. Nor does she simply integrate trans-ness as an unremarkable fact of life, another kind of statement (indeed, there's plenty of queer characters in this story who are matter-of-fact in this manner).

No, Killjoy uses the special complications of coming-of-age while transitioning to heighten the stakes and thus fuel the suspense of the novel. In addition to all the normal merits of diverse characters, Killjoy is using gender issues to crank up the story, winding it up to a breakneck pace that makes the pages practically fly past.

Thematically, there's a bunch of chewy stuff Killjoy does with the way that magic transforms bodies, making monsters out of witches who push their powers too hard. The story has all these changing bodies – children coming of age, Lorel coming out as transfemme, the transformation of magic-users into monsters. It's just another layer of depth that supports a zippy, run-and-gun quest tale.

I've followed Killjoy's work for more than a decade, ever since her days publishing the seminal zine Steampunk (motto: "Love the machine, hate the factory"):

https://firestorm.coop/products/2624-steampunk-magazine.html

Years later, I had the pleasure of instructing her at the Clarion West workshop. She's published regularly all that time, and this is by far her most commercial – and, I think her best! – novel (to date).

Today, Tor Books publishes SPILL, a new, free LITTLE BROTHER novella about oil pipelines and indigenous landback!

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/09/24/daughters-of-the-empty-throne/#witchy/a>

[kay-elle-cee]

@jilytoberfest 31 Prompts: Day 4 || 641 Words || Read on Ao3 —

4 October 1985

Harry bounces between his parents, one hand clasped in each of theirs as they walk through the streets of Hogsmeade. “Can we go to Honeydukes after lunch?” he asks eagerly, grinning a gap-toothed smile.

“How else would we round out our Hogsmeade trip?” James asks, lifting his arm up a bit and causing Harry to kick and giggle.

“We should stock up on Peppermint Quills for the holidays,” Lily grins down at him, stepping through the door to the Three Broomsticks that James holds open for them.

“Happy birthday!” Harry shouts into the room, and Lily and James both look up to where Minerva McGonagall sits at a booth not too far from the entrance. A serene smile spreads across her face as the small family makes its way towards her.

“Thank you, Harry,” she nods, accepting the hug he offers her as his parents echo his sentiments before sliding into the booth across from her.

“I didn’t see many students milling around,” Lily muses, craning her head to look out the window. “Is it not a Hogsmeade weekend?”

“The first Hogsmeade trip for students is next weekend.”

“Well thank you for stepping out of the castle to meet us,” James says with a smile. “You know how much I hate to cause you trouble.”

This earns a laugh from the older woman, whose brows raise in interest as James slides a large envelope across the table.

“I know I could’ve owled it, but there’s something more satisfying about handing it to you directly.” He watches as she opens it and scans the first page. “I’ve been focusing on the intersection between Transfiguration and Charms theory the last few years, and would love to discuss it with you. Maybe Filius, too, if you think there’s enough merit there.”

“We brought a real present for you, too!” Harry chimes in, pushing a small, wrapped box across the table.

“My, well…” Minerva’s eyes flit between the box and the research in her hand, before settling on the small boy in front of her. “Thank you for the gift. All of you,” she adds, gaze wandering up to the parents. It lingers there, shifting from Lily to James and back again, and something in her eyes softens as she looks at them—two of her pupils, years out of school, with a horrible war behind them and a happy family.

“The thesis on this looks good, Potter,” she acknowledges, shaking the parchment and herself out of her nostalgic stupor. “Term is in full swing right now and I want to give this the proper attention. I likely won’t get to it until the students start revising for end-of-term exams—perhaps we can discuss it in detail around the holidays once I’ve had a chance to read?”

James nods. “Of course, at your pace.”

“We’d love to have you over to the cottage for some Christmas tea again,” Lily invites, raking her fingers through Harry’s hair as he fidgets in his seat.

“I’d like that,” Minerva nods, eyes darting down to the young boy. “Besides, I imagine I should be enjoying all my winter breaks while I can. With this one starting Hogwarts in a few years, I’m sure I’ll be needed at the castle over the holidays to undo his messes, if he’s anything like his father.”

A warm grin breaks out on Lily’s face as she looks down at Harry. “He’s not that much of a troublemaker. I like to think there’s a good bit of me in there.” She looks across at her old professor as her hands slip to cover Harry’s ears. “Though we do have to contend with the Sirius influence,” she adds in an exaggerated whisper.

This earns a laugh from both Minerva and James as Madame Rosmerta sweeps up to the table to ask for their order, and the birthday lunch truly begins.

[st-juliet]

Utmost Merit, Part V

Character: Henry Cavill as Sherlock in Enola Holmes

Summary: Sherlock presents the Reader with a most unconventional proposal.

Content: Absolutely 18+ for very very very filthy language, smut with minimal plot, purposely unprotected sex, breeding kink, spouses-to-lovers, pregnancy, and some period-typical gender roles, but nothing unkind or insidious.

Notes: What if I told you I'm back?

Previous Chapters: Part I Part II Part III Part IV

The first week of your married life is like a dream.

The day after your wedding, Sherlock whisks you off to his family estate, a rambling manor house set back within acres and acres of woodland paths and open fields, even more beautiful than he promised. His brother and sister’s absence and his generous afternoons and evenings off for the staff give ample opportunity for you to indulge in one another…all over the house.

He takes you in the library, pressed up against the shelves; bends you over the billiards table; and, with a wolfish grin, kneels and turns his lips and tongue to profane purposes as you perch upon the edge of his desk, clutching him closer by his hair and crying out in exaltation.

At first, this heedless freedom of passion is enough to distract you from the feelings which only grow the more time you spend with your husband, from your hours on the train and in the carriage—the conversation flowing and gentle touches exchanged—to boisterous picnics ending in you laughing your way across the lawn naked, with your ravenous lover in hot pursuit.

In these tender and impassioned moments, you find you can forget yourself: your fear and your longing fade as he pins your wrists above your head and ruts into you like an animal, growling sacrilegious curses into your ear, or when he gently, maddeningly slowly drags the head of his cock across the delicate bud at the apex of your thighs, cooing, “Such an impatient creature you are, Mrs. Holmes. I’ll have your pleasure from you first, then I will give you my cock…”

But these interludes of relief, when you can almost pretend that he returns your love in full measure, are more and more fleeting. As soon as your head rests upon his chest and your eyes flutter closed, drowsy in the warmth of his arms, you must shake yourself awake again, lest some sleepy murmur of affection escape you. When he tosses and turns in his sleep, you long to comfort him with promises of eternal devotion, your heart a safe harbor for all his worries and fears, but you can only try to comfort yourself with the knowledge that at least you get to bask in the light of him for all your days, even if the shadows cast by that light mar your joy.

A fortnight since the wedding and near a month after you first gave yourselves to one another fully, those shadows have prevailed. For the third morning in a row, you have awoken melancholy and quiet, slipping out to walk the grounds before he wakes. Your heart is most compromised in the morning, seeing Sherlock at his most vulnerable: fluttering eyelids, half-parted lips, his colossal form stretched out and laid bare to your besotted eyes and fervent hands. If you woke him with a kiss—or anything more—you knew you might not leave bed for hours. 

But you cannot risk it today. If he so much as opened his eyes, your first words would be “I love you”, and the spell would be broken, the arrangement betrayed, the trust between two equals thrown into an even greater imbalance. You are protecting him, you reason as you quietly dress, from a revelation that would only cause you both greater pain. The fresh air, you hope, will do you good and clear your head, and perhaps you will contrive as you walk some means by which you can fall out of love with the man who, you suspect more and more each day, has already given you his child.

Hours later, having traced course of a babbling brook back and forth a half dozen times and circled the tallest tree of the estate over and over again, your spirit and body grow weary—and your stomach unsettled—and you know you must return home. As you approach the house, you can see Sherlock through the wide window in the parlor, fully dressed and pacing back and forth, raking his hands through his hair. He catches your eye through the glass and, to your dismay turns away, whether in anger or embarrassment you cannot tell. Your heart plummets. You know you must go in to him, and when you arrive in the parlor, he faces you and acknowledges you with a slight bow, as if you were virtual strangers again.

“Was your walk pleasant?”

“Yes, thank you.”

For the first time since his proposal, a tense, wary silence grows between you. His manner is as sober as your own, and you uneasily hover in the doorway, unsure as to whether he welcomes your presence or would rather you go right back out again.

“Will you come and sit with me?” he asks at last, and you gingerly join him on the settee below the window. Not quite meeting your gaze, he continues, “Rosamund, these past few days, I have sensed a distance, such as has not been since we were strangers. Even when we…when I hold you most nearly…a veil has fallen between us.”

“I cannot deny it,” you murmur, steeling yourself for the conversation you have been dreading.

“Do you know the cause?” he asks.

He knows. He must know. And now he would have you name it.

“I know…I have realized that our feelings for one another…differ.”

He nods slowly, murmurs, “I have deduced the same,” and turns his face away from you, taking a slow, deep breath. The moment seems to stretch for hours, each second heavier than the last.

“Well. We are more fortunate than most,” he says at last in a measured tone, a pained smile barely flickering across his lips as he glances back at you, only to look away again immediately. “In that our minds, our tastes, and our purposes in life are so aligned. It would have been too much to ask of providence that our hearts be likewise matched, do you not think so?”

“Indeed,” you manage, feeling tears pool in your eyes. You know he does not mean to hurt you, in bringing this matter to light—entirely the opposite. You promised one another perfect honesty, but you began to think suffering in silence and doubt was far better than this excruciating surety: he had recognized your love, but did not requite it.

“If you are yet amenable to our shared purpose, I myself am wholly undeterred. Every word I have said to you is true: my respect for you, for the exemplary wife and someday mother you show yourself to be, takes precedence over all. But given the circumstances, we might perhaps continue with a more…restrained approach. If you prefer to cease our relations for the moment and wait until such a time as you may have surety of your condition, I will resume my lodgings at Baker Street in anticipation of a verdict. We may then renegotiate our terms, one way or another. But you must know that no matter what, you will never be without my protection and devotion. And my utmost fidelity.”

“Oh, oh, no, Sherlock, how could I ask—?”

“And, if one day you find you love another—”

“Love another?! I could not love another, I love only y—!”

“—I will turn my eyes away and bear it without hesitation or complaint. But I can no longer pretend! I love you. I will love you till my dying breath and whatever remains of me beyond this life will still seek your service, your comfort, your good. I cast myself upon your mercy, Rosamund!”

Sherlock Holmes, his eyes brimming with tears, falls upon his knees before you, taking your hands in his.

“Will you forgive me that I cannot pretend any longer? Will you still have me? Will you still allow me to be a husband to you, to care for you and build a life for you and for our…?”

His voice trails off into a stifled cry, and you throw your arms around him, covering his face with kisses as your own tears flow.

“Sherlock! Please, oh please don’t cry, my love!” The torrent of adoration you have stemmed for so long pours fourth from you as though a dam had burst. “My dearest friend, my very heart…we have mistaken one another! I thought you did not love me!”

Sherlock’s demeanor shifts in a heartbeat, as if he has been struck by lightning.

“You love me?”

“I have loved you since long before I knew it! And every minute we share delivers me a new reason to love you more, every day better than the last, every word I speak to you a profession of my love! I could not pretend either…for no other reason could I tear myself from your side. Forgive me my coldness! I thought it for the best—”

“No, no, there is nothing to forgive,” he insists, rising and drawing you up to stand, completely enveloped in his arms, pressing fervent kisses to your cheeks and forehead and lips. ““I have most of all deceived myself in swearing I was no romantic! What a fool to think I could resist the call of a soul’s companion? My perfect angel, my salvation! I will spend a lifetime making up for a month’s lack of telling you of my love.”

“I shall never grow tired of it,” you promise him, each breath a sigh of relief, a prayer of thanks, a new dawn of hope.

“There is no man alive who knows my joy, nothing on earth that can surpass it!”

“Nothing?” you reply very quietly, unable to be measured or careful now…it was far, far too late for that. “Then you do not wish to hear of another happiness?” For the second time in a single morning, the whole earth’s axis shifts as Sherlock’s eyes widen. You quickly continue, “It is early yet. Too early. But yet I…I feel it, in my heart, as surely as I feel I love you.”

Sherlock Holmes bows his head and weeps in earnest, burying his face in your hair as he holds you tightly and whispers over and over again, “My love, my wife…”

If you enjoyed, please do peruse my Masterlist!

And if anyone who read this story once upon a time when I first wrote it is still out there, and would like to be tagged in future updates, please let me know! 😘🥰