#but we do not need more individualism here

[troglobite]

(i agree w op and it's a good point; i'm pushing back against a couple things in this second addition/rb & some implications in the op, as well. still not trying to be argumentative, but push the conversation further & challenge certain entrenched ideas. bc again, i agree & am coming from that angle.)

hotter take: the demonization of "ultraprocessed foods" is damaging no matter what. highly recommend this nutritionist for any info abt that. if [general, not op/rb] you won't listen to me, maybe [general] you will listen to a thin and licensed nutritionist.

the intent here is good: don't deprive your child of unifying and delightful social experiences. let them enjoy food. don't give them complexes about food. don't micromanage your child's diet to the point where they resent it, etc.

but also, maybe, just let them enjoy food. and teach/show them how! they are CHILDREN. unless they have allergies, sensitivities, or other serious health concerns, they will be FINE if they eat some candy MOST days of the week for various stretches of time. or ANYTHING sweet. or salty. basically every person in the world (with medical exceptions, exceptions for taste/preference, etc.) would be fine having at least 1 dessert every day. (and also this is only using "health" as a reference, which is a Whole Thing in and of itself)

maybe, also, as is the solution to most things: simply treat children like people who are just learning how things work.

instead of limiting what they eat without their involvement, instead of demonizing food and scaring them away from it or shaming them, or even acting like certain kinds of diets are even accessible to most people, how about we instead:

teach kids abt what we currently know abt how food works. why do they crave sugar and salt? why do these foods taste really good, and these ones don't? can we make them taste better? sometimes tastes change over time, so every few years we can try this food again, if you're up for it. how do you feel after you eat A LOT of food, regardless of what it is? what do you want to eat at different times? how do different foods make you feel? what kinds of tastes do you like? here are traditional and culturally relevant foods, and how/why they're important. how do we MAKE food? what abt food safety?

give them knowledge and choice in what they eat and how they eat it and when.

this is only possible if we education ourselves abt food, as well! which is why education around this is so important. but even the basics: hunger is this, food gives you energy, you need different kinds of energy, you probably should have a wide variety of it, etc.

for example, there is no such thing as junk food, there's just food. nutrition isn't just about calories or vitamins, etc., it's also abt social connection (covered well in this post), cultural connection, and emotional regulation.

it also looks different for everybody. no two people will require the same kinds of food in the same amounts prepared in the same ways. and what we know about nutrition is actually quite limited! not to say what we have is Completely Wrong, but that it's silly to paint with such a broad brush when we keep having to research and revise--and there are so many factors to health and diet that are difficult to account for, and make each person's needs individual. food & movement aren't the only two. and your socioeconomic status & geographic location control what you eat way more than anything else.

"ultraprocessed food" serves so many purposes: it lasts longer, it's typically more reliable and widely available, it's generally more affordable, and it's, crucially, more consistent and predictable, which is a HUGE thing for children (not even speaking of neurodivergent people in general). for ppl who can't afford the money or time of fresh foods, "ultra processed foods" are GREAT. (and they're also great for anyone who loves them)

if you have a problem with them, take it up with the government! we can have "ultra processed foods" that don't hurt people--it's the hormone disruptors and unnecessary food dyes that are the problem. they're outlawed elsewhere. we could follow their lead. preservation of foods isn't inherently bad. (and on the labor side, again, take it up with the govt: all workers deserve to be safe at work, protected, have a more than livable wage, benefits, etc.)

all of this is an overarching pipe dream about how we talk abt, teach abt, and interact with food, particularly as it pertains to raising our kids. but that's the point i'm going for here.

op is completely right, as is the addition; my hackles rise against "more wholesome foods" and "ultra processed foods" and the "let them have it every once in a while". you can go a month eating "junk" food (again, no such thing), and unless you have particular allergies or health concerns, you'll probably be fine.

determinants of health are so much bigger than what we eat and what we physically do.

so when it comes to teaching kids about food, we have to stop categorizing some foods as bad and others as good. it seems to be easier, but oversimplifying things for kids never goes well. if you're gonna simplify, at least be accurate and at least don't give them fucked up complexes abt shit.

tree nuts are WIDELY considered a Good Food. but they hurt me and could possibly even kill me, because i'm allergic.

fresh greens are WIDELY considered a Good Food. but they're raw, uncooked, and staring down the barrel of fewer safety regulations--so not only are they inconsistent in quality and texture (bad for kids & anyone with sensitive tastes), but they're also riskier. and ALSO, i have hEDS, and my body Cannot Digest fresh greens very well. (if accessible, an opportunity to teach kids abt where food comes from and maybe grow your own! but also [stares at heavy metals in most of the US soil] so y'know. ymmv.)

they're no better or worse than an "ultra processed" version of greens. that includes things like salsa, flavored veggie smoothies, premade soups, frozen veggies, etc.

the sum of my response to op & addition is: yes, absolutely. but also, there are no bad or good foods, and nutrition is more complicated than that. as per uszh, the solution is to treat kids like people and give them what knowledge you can, then let them make their own choices.

and the sum of everything else is: basically what i wish more people knew so that they COULD teach their kids that stuff. and also for themselves! and also this doesn't even get into the concept of "health" as a Whole Fucking Thing.

This is a controversial take that everyone will hate but it's one thing to feed your kid better, more wholesome food than twinkies and hot pockets daily, it's another thing to force them to adhere to a crunchy granola beige colored diet where they cant share the snacks their peers are eating or have a normal childhood or have fun. None of you were raised like that and if you were you know what im talking about.

[teaboot]

Hey! Bamboo toilet paper person here. Your response was very thoughtful-- I want to apologize for placing the onus of climate issues on individual action, haha. I work at a zoo that bills itself as being very heavy on conservation messaging, but as a non-partisan organization we're obviously not allowed to talk about the evils of capitalism. This means that in our programming, we MUST place the responsibility of stopping climate change on individual guests, encouraging them to make more environmentally conscientious decisions like buying reef safe sunscreen or reducing carbon emissions by driving less. The most "political" we're allowed to get is telling people to stay educated and vote in favor of laws that will have a positive impact on the environment. I think I've been drinking the Zoolaid a little TOO much recently, because you're totally right-- the vast, VAST majority of damage to the environment is caused by major corporations, not random people working around their own unique needs. It was also low key a little ableist of me to take issue with that ngl.

Obviously no obligation to respond to this publicly (though it's fine if you choose to do so), but I did want to thank you for your response and mention that it did get through the nonprofit mission-based-organization propaganda living rent free in my head haha. Cheers!

Hey, you work at a zoo? That is SO cool, aadsdggjjg@!!!

And hey, no worries, you totally had a good point about endless waste and trying to counter it where possible- Just from personal experience involved in the barest edge of the fashion industry, I really, really, REALLY hate the idea that, like... people can't access simple shit like plastic straws, even if they're the best, most practical, least-harmful option for them.... because a 12 year old made up some random number for a school project about plastic waste

Where, as a zoo person, I imagine you're already aware that the average sea turtle is WILDLY more likely to die from abandoned plastic fishing nets or ocean-dump grocery bags than accidentally get a straw inside it

So here we are, using paper straws!- which may be an improvement, or may not, I don't have that data, and construction emissions are their own thing- BUT WE STILL HAVE OCEANS FULL OF ABANDONED NETS

WHICH ARE OBJECTIVELY WORSE, but MUCH harder to get rid of, and as the average person doesn't USE fishing nets, it'd much harder to market as a "You, not me" sort of issue.

Cleaning up fishing nets isn't trendy. It isn't sexy. You can't troubleshoot a cute little trendy solution for it that you can market to upwardly-mobile tweens.

But a reusable water bottle? A cute canvas tote? A metal straw? That's a solution you can buy and feel good about.

Never mind that you need to use a single cotton reusable bag somewhere like a million times before the cost of its construction counterbalances the cost of a single grocery bag every time you shop- which, hey, some of us were reusing as trash liners for their wastebaskets, or bundle bags for donating clothes, or lining for our leaky winter boots!

If a better option is available, I'll take it. But as ZERO HARM is next to impossible at this time, I personally am gonna aim for MINIMAL HARM as long as I can.

...sorry, I didn't mean to ramble off again.

But hey, if your nonprofit is doing good things, feel free to shoot me a link! I can post it on my blog :D

(Link to original post for context lol)

[rafeskai]

Life as We Know It — Rafe Cameron

Chapter Five

Two opposites must navigate love, loss, and unexpected parenthood to discover the meaning of family.

Summary: When tragedy strikes, two very different individuals find their lives unexpectedly intertwined as they become the guardians of an orphaned child. As they navigate the challenges of co-parenting, balancing careers, and confronting their pasts, they discover that family can form in the most surprising ways. Through heartfelt moments and unexpected humor, they explore what it means to build a life together—one step at a time.

Pairings: Rafe Cameron x Reader

Warnings: Character deaths & angst.

Author's Notes: 2 more chapters to go!

Masterlist: Here

The courthouse doors slammed behind you as you stepped into the empty hallway, your chest heavy with grief. The weight of the decision still hung in the air, pressing down on you like an unbearable burden. Ward had won. He had won Willa.

Your heart was a storm of emotions: fury, betrayal, hopelessness. You had tried so hard. You had fought for Willa, for Sarah and John B., to give her the life they would’ve wanted. But it wasn’t enough. In the end, the system didn’t care. The judge didn’t care. No one cared.

You found yourself sinking against the cold marble wall, your body trembling with the overwhelming sense of failure. You had promised Sarah you would look after Willa, that you would protect her. And now, in a single blow, it felt like you’d lost her.

You felt a tear slip down your cheek, and before you knew it, a sob broke free. The grief, the exhaustion, the helplessness—all of it hit you like a tidal wave. You buried your face in your hands, trying to steady yourself, but it felt like everything was slipping through your fingers.

And then you heard him.

Rafe’s footsteps echoed in the hallway, and you didn’t even have to look up to know it was him. He didn’t need to say anything at first—he simply crouched beside you, his hand reaching out to gently pull yours away from your face. His eyes, red-rimmed and brimming with pain, met yours.

“I... I don’t know what to do, Rafe,” you whispered, your voice thick with emotion. “I promised Sarah and John B. that I would protect her, that I would keep her safe. And I failed them. I failed her.”

Rafe’s jaw tightened, his own pain etched across his face, but he didn’t say anything. Instead, he reached over, pulling you into his arms, holding you tightly as if he could shield you from the storm of grief swirling around you both.

He didn’t say anything for a long while. The only sound between you was the occasional shaky breath, the quiet sobs that escaped without warning. But then, Rafe spoke in a voice that barely reached above a whisper.

“You didn’t fail her,” he said, his voice raw. “You fought like hell for her. We both did. We’ve still got a chance to fix this. We’re not done yet.”

You pulled away slightly, looking up at him, trying to see some trace of hope in his eyes, but all you saw was the same frustration, the same loss that mirrored your own.

“I don’t know how we can fight this anymore. Ward’s got everything on his side. He’s won... and I don’t know what to do, Rafe.” You shook your head, feeling the tears come again. “I just want her back. I want to make sure she’s okay.”

Rafe’s hand cupped your cheek, his touch gentle despite the storm brewing inside of him. His eyes softened as he gazed at you, and you saw something there—a kind of resolve you hadn’t noticed before.

“I’m not letting her go, [Y/N]. I’m not,” he said fiercely, his voice trembling. “I’m not giving up on her.”

You nodded slowly, letting his words sink in. You needed to hear that. You needed to believe it.

“Okay,” you whispered, your voice cracking with emotion. “But how? How do we stop Ward?”

Rafe was quiet for a moment, his eyes drifting away as if he was piecing together a plan in his head. His brow furrowed, and you could almost see the wheels turning. Then, his gaze locked onto yours once more, filled with an intensity that made your heart race.

“We take it back to court,” Rafe said, his voice steadying with determination. “We find a way to show that Ward’s not fit to raise her. That we are the ones who should be raising her, not him.”

“Rafe,” you said slowly, your mind racing. “How do we do that? We can’t just... ask for a new judge or something.”

Rafe stood up, pacing back and forth as he thought. You watched him, waiting for him to finish putting the pieces together. He was quiet for a moment, then stopped in front of you, a glint of determination flashing in his eyes.

“We need evidence,” he said, his voice hardening with resolve. “We need proof of what he’s done. All the times he’s hurt us, hurt Sarah, hurt me. All of it. If we can show the court that he’s dangerous, that he’s unfit to care for Willa, we have a shot at getting her back.”

Your heart skipped a beat as Rafe’s words settled in. You knew what this meant. You knew the kind of things Ward had done. The abuse. The manipulation. But it had always been buried under layers of lies and secrecy. It was the one thing that had kept Ward in power for so long.

“You really think we can do that?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

Rafe’s gaze softened, but the fire in his eyes didn’t flicker. “I know we can. We’ve got to fight for her. We’ve got to fight for Sarah and John B. We owe it to them.”

You stood up, wiping your eyes, feeling a spark of something in your chest—a glimmer of hope, the first you’d felt in weeks.

“Okay,” you said, your voice steadier now. “Let’s do it. We’re not giving up. We’ll fight him.”

Rafe smiled slightly, though it was tinged with sadness. He reached out, pulling you into a tight hug, and for a moment, neither of you spoke. There was only the quiet comfort of each other’s presence. The grief was still there, weighing heavily on both of you, but now, there was a plan. A way forward.

“We’ll get her back, [Y/N]. I promise.”

And for the first time since the hearing, you believed him.

Together, you’d fight for Willa. You’d fight for Sarah and John B. And this time, you wouldn’t lose.

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

It was late into the night when you and Rafe began mapping out your plan. The house was eerily quiet, the silence only broken by the occasional murmur of Willa's soft breaths from her room. Rafe sat across from you at the kitchen table, the dim light above casting shadows across his face as he tapped his fingers on the surface, his thoughts clearly miles away.

You, too, were deep in thought, mentally piecing together everything you knew about Ward, everything you had endured growing up in the Cameron household. The years of his emotional and physical abuse. The fights. The silence that followed each blow.

You felt sick just thinking about it, but you couldn’t stop. You had to. This was the only way forward. If you were going to keep Willa safe, you had to make Ward’s past a part of the case, even if it meant digging into old wounds.

“I can’t believe we’re doing this,” you muttered, staring at the open folder on the table in front of you. It was filled with legal documents and notes from your lawyer, a roadmap for how to fight back. But it felt impossible—too big a task, too much to uncover.

Rafe leaned forward, his face tense, but his eyes were determined. “We have to, [Y/N]. We can’t let him get away with it anymore. For Willa. For Sarah.”

His words hung heavy in the air, and you knew he meant it with every fiber of his being. The weight of Sarah’s death had been unbearable for both of you. But now it was more than just grief. It was about keeping Willa safe, keeping her away from the monster that had shaped so much of their lives.

“We need proof,” Rafe continued, glancing at the stack of papers. “We need to find something. Anything.”

You nodded, your mind already racing. You knew that Ward’s past was buried in the same place as all his lies and manipulations. His anger had always been a weapon—aimed at Sarah, at Rafe, and even at you when you had been younger. There had to be something—some record, some shred of truth that you could use to show the world just who Ward really was.

“Do you have anything?” you asked, looking at Rafe.

He exhaled slowly, his gaze distant. “I know a few things,” he admitted quietly. “But they’re not enough. Not on their own.”

You sat back in your chair, trying to calm the nervous fluttering in your chest. “What do you mean?”

Rafe leaned back, rubbing his hands over his face. “I remember... there were moments. When I was a kid. I overheard things. Conversations. There were times when Sarah would—she’d try to protect me, try to shield me from Ward’s anger. But there were... documents. Letters. Things that could prove how he manipulated everything.”

You felt a chill spread over you, a sense of urgency taking over. “Where are they? Can we find them?”

Rafe’s eyes narrowed, and he looked down at his hands. “They’re in the attic. A box of stuff that Sarah and I hid. I don’t know exactly what’s in it, but I remember Sarah saying she didn’t want Ward ever getting his hands on them.”

Your heart raced as a plan started to form in your mind. "We need to go through it, Rafe. Everything we can find. We need to dig through all of it."

He nodded, his jaw tight with determination. “I’ll go through it. I’ll find it.”

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

The following morning, Rafe and you set out for the attic. It felt surreal as you made your way up the stairs to the small, cluttered space that held so many memories—memories of a past neither you nor Rafe had wanted to confront, but knew you had no choice but to face now.

Dust filled the air as Rafe opened the attic door, the wooden steps creaking under your weight as you followed him up. The space was cramped, boxes piled high, old furniture tucked away, things discarded and forgotten. You could smell the mustiness of years gone by, but there was no time to linger. No time to let the memories flood you.

Rafe began to dig through the boxes, pulling out old papers, photos, and forgotten trinkets that had once meant something to Sarah and him. You watched him closely, the tension in his shoulders unmistakable. He was doing this for her—doing this for Willa.

After a few moments, Rafe paused, his fingers brushing against something wedged behind a dusty old coat. He pulled out a small, weathered cardboard box, the tape on the sides barely holding it together.

“This is it,” Rafe murmured. He opened it cautiously, as if he expected something to jump out at him. You peered over his shoulder, trying to calm the pounding in your chest. Inside, you saw a tangle of old photographs and folders—records from the past that, hopefully, would be the key to winning Willa’s custody.

Rafe pulled out a folder first, his fingers trembling as he flipped it open. Inside, there were handwritten letters—letters that Rafe had clearly never meant to read, written in Sarah’s handwriting, detailing arguments, moments of fear, and Sarah’s attempts to escape their father’s control.

“I knew it,” Rafe muttered, his eyes scanning the pages. “Sarah... she tried so hard to protect us from him.”

You felt a lump in your throat as you read over his shoulder. The letters were raw, emotional, detailing Ward’s abusive behavior—his temper, his verbal cruelty, his violence. There were accounts of physical injuries Sarah had tried to hide from the world, and she’d written about the times Ward had hurt both of them, though she never named it outright. She’d tried to find ways to escape him, even at a young age.

“This is what we needed,” you said softly, a feeling of relief flooding through you. “This is it, Rafe. This is proof. We can use this.”

Rafe stared down at the letters, his eyes glossy. He didn’t speak for a moment, and the weight of everything he had lived through—everything you were now uncovering—seemed to press down on him.

“I never wanted her to know,” Rafe whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “I never wanted Willa to go through what we went through. I thought I was protecting her by keeping her away from all this.” He swallowed hard, his voice barely audible. “But we can’t keep running from it. If we want to win this, we need the truth.”

You nodded, reaching out and placing a hand on his. “You didn’t fail, Rafe. You’re doing everything you can for her. We’ll make sure she’s safe. We’ll make sure Ward doesn’t win.”

Rafe exhaled deeply, looking at the papers in his hands. “We’ll do whatever it takes. We’re not losing her.”

And for the first time in a long time, you believed him.

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

The attic felt smaller as the hours passed, the musty air thick with the weight of the secrets it held. You sat beside Rafe on the dusty floor, the pile of evidence between you growing larger. Letters. Photographs. Police reports. Even old school records. It was all beginning to paint a picture of a man no one ever truly understood—the man who had shaped Sarah, Rafe, and their entire childhood.

You flipped through a few more papers, the words on the pages starting to blur as your emotions overwhelmed you. There were times Sarah had begged to be seen, to be heard, and each word you read was like another stab to your heart.

“God…” you whispered, your hand trembling as you gripped the edge of a photo. It was one of Sarah, just a child, smiling in a way that didn’t quite reach her eyes. The darkness that had been lurking in the background of their lives, the abuse they had endured, was so clear now. It wasn’t something you’d seen before—perhaps because you hadn’t wanted to see it. But now, as the layers were peeled back, the reality hit you like a flood.

You didn’t realize you were crying until Rafe’s voice cut through the silence, soft and gentle. “Hey, you okay?”

You blinked and wiped at your eyes, trying to keep it together. But the tears didn’t stop. “How could he do this to her?” Your voice cracked as you looked down at the photograph. “How could he hurt them like this? How could he… do this to you?”

Rafe was silent for a long moment, and you felt him shift beside you. You could feel the heat of his body, the tension in his muscles, the quiet grief that hung in the air like a thick fog.

You turned to look at him, catching him staring at you, his eyes shadowed with pain. The walls he had built around himself were always so thick—so hard to penetrate. But now, in this moment, with all the pieces of the past laid bare, the mask he wore seemed to crack just enough to let you see the real him.

“I’m sorry you had to see all this,” he said quietly, his voice heavy. “You didn’t deserve to know the ugliness of it.”

Your chest tightened. “No, I needed to know. I need to understand.”

Rafe took a deep breath, rubbing his hand across his face. His shoulders slumped, and for the first time since you’d met him, you saw a man who wasn’t just the spoiled, angry son of a cruel father. You saw a man who had been broken by his past, a man who had been fighting every day to prove he wasn’t his father. But in his search for redemption, he’d never realized that the hardest thing to do was forgive himself.

“I know I’ve done a lot of things I’m not proud of,” Rafe muttered, his voice barely above a whisper. “But I didn’t... I didn’t want to be like him. I never wanted to be like him. I was just... trying to survive. Trying to protect Sarah, protect myself.”

You swallowed hard, your heart aching for him. You had always seen the worst in him, the ways he lashed out, the cruelty that sometimes bled through. But now, as you sat there with him, you understood. You understood that his anger, his rebellion, was just a defense mechanism. A mask for the hurt he carried, the fear that had been instilled in him from a young age.

“Rafe…” Your voice trembled as you reached out, placing a hand over his. “You’ve done so much for her. For Willa. You’re not like him. Not in any way. You’re more than what he said you were. More than anyone ever saw.”

The words were barely out of your mouth when you saw something flicker in his eyes. Vulnerability. Pain. A need for validation. For the first time, you realized just how much he needed to hear that. Needed someone to see him for who he truly was.

Rafe leaned forward, his forehead coming to rest against yours, his breath shallow and uneven. For a moment, neither of you spoke, the weight of everything hanging between you. His hand, warm and slightly trembling, cupped the back of your neck, his thumb brushing the sensitive skin there. You could feel the electricity between you, the way his body tensed, the way you both seemed to exist in this moment where everything else faded away.

And then, as if something snapped, you moved without thinking. Your lips found his in a soft, tentative kiss—a kiss that was born from shared grief, from the fragile hope that had flickered between the two of you ever since you had started this journey together. It was a kiss full of longing, of understanding, of something neither of you had been ready to admit until now.

Rafe kissed you back, slowly, as though he was testing the waters. His hand slid to your jaw, holding you gently as his lips pressed against yours with a tenderness that surprised you both. There was nothing frantic about it, no rush. Just the simple, raw need to connect, to feel something good after all the loss.

When you finally pulled away, your breaths came in shaky bursts. Rafe’s eyes were wide, his lips slightly parted, as if he couldn’t believe what had just happened. You didn’t know what to say. Words didn’t seem to matter in that moment.

But then you both spoke at once, as if trying to make sense of the overwhelming emotions swirling between you.

“I… I didn’t mean to—”

“Wait, that was… I shouldn’t have—”

You both fell silent, the awkwardness creeping in. But something had shifted. The tension between you had transformed into something else—something deep, something unspoken. You realized, maybe for the first time, that the lines you had drawn between each other were no longer so clear. The walls were crumbling, and in their place was a fragile, but undeniable connection.

“I just…” you started, your heart racing. “I just needed to tell you that you’re not your father, Rafe. You never were. And I... I see you. I see all of you.”

He exhaled sharply, his thumb gently caressing your cheek, his gaze intense. “And I see you too. I don’t know what this means, but I—”

Before he could finish, you pressed your forehead against his, closing your eyes. “We’ll figure it out. We’ll figure everything out. For Willa. For us.”

Rafe nodded, his hands still resting on your face. You both knew that the road ahead was going to be hard—there was no easy way forward. But for the first time, you felt like maybe, just maybe, you weren’t alone in it anymore.

© 2024 rafeskai | All rights reserved. This fanfiction is a work of fiction inspired by characters from Outer Banks, and no part of it may be reproduced or distributed without permission.

[goldfades]

gender reveal! | JOE BURROW⁹ [006]

free palestine carrd 🇵🇸 decolonize palestine site 🇵🇸 how you can help palestine it's crucial that we stand in solidarity with those who need our support. right now, the people of palestine are facing unimaginable hardship, and it's up to all of us to do what we can to help. whether it's raising awareness, donating to relief organizations, or supporting calls for justice and peace, every action counts. we can amplify their voices, shed light on their struggles, and work towards a future where every individual can live with dignity and freedom. your support can make a difference! FREE PALESTINE!

MASTERLIST

⟢ ┈ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 | 1.2k

⟢ ┈ 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 | you and joe's gender reveal! what will it be, a boy or a girl? regardless, joe is gonna spoil the hell out of it and his beautiful, glowing wife.

⟢ ┈ 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 | SO FREAKING FLUFFYYYY!! like so sweet, might give you diabetes! mentions of pregnancy and pretty sure nothing else

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐀𝐈𝐑 𝐈𝐒 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐕𝐘 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐈𝐂𝐈𝐏𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍, the kind that buzzes under your skin and makes every second stretch a little longer. You and Joe stand side by side in your backyard, the quiet hum of cicadas and the soft glow of string lights overhead creating a cocoon of intimacy. It’s just the two of you—no big party, no social media announcements, just you, him, and the tiny new life growing inside you. Exactly how you both wanted it.

On the patio table between you rests a modest cake, its white frosting smooth and unassuming. Inside, though, lies the answer to the question that’s been playing on a loop in your minds for weeks. A boy or a girl? Joe’s hand is warm and steady against the small of your back, his thumb drawing lazy circles that do little to calm the nervous flutter in your chest.

“You ready?” he asks, his voice low and familiar, the kind of tone that feels like home no matter where you are.

You nod, biting your lip. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”

Joe grins, reaching for the knife. “Alright, here we go.” But before he can make the first cut, he pauses, looking at you with that playful sparkle in his eyes. “You sure you don’t want to do it?”

You roll your eyes, laughing softly. “No way. You’ve been more impatient than me, and I didn’t even think that was possible.”

He chuckles, shaking his head. “Fair enough.” With a deep breath, he steadies the knife over the cake. Time feels like it’s moving in slow motion as he presses down, the blade slicing through the soft layers with a satisfying shhhk. The moment of truth is just a breath away, and yet it feels like the air has been knocked out of you.

“Okay, okay,” you whisper, your hand gripping his arm as he lifts the first slice.

And there it is. The blue inside is unmistakable—bright, bold, and bursting with meaning. You clap a hand over your mouth, your eyes immediately welling up as the reality of it sinks in. Joe’s reaction is instant; his face splits into the kind of smile that could rival the sun.

“It’s a boy,” His voice cracks slightly, and he stops, laughing at himself as he turns to you, his own eyes suspiciously glossy.

You nod, unable to form words through the tightness in your throat. You let out a shaky laugh, and that’s all it takes for the tears to spill over.

“A boy,” Joe says softly, as if the words themselves might float away if he isn’t careful. His grin grows impossibly wider, eyes shimmering in the warm light. “We’re having a boy.”

You can’t help but laugh through your tears, the sound bubbling up from a place of pure joy and disbelief. “Maisie called it,” you manage, wiping at your cheeks. “She’s been saying ‘boy’ since the moment we told her. And Mom, too—she said she just knew.”

Joe lets out a low chuckle, shaking his head. “Remind me to never bet against either of them.”

You lean into his chest, your arms looping around his waist as you take a deep breath, inhaling the familiar scent of him—clean linen and a hint of cedar. His heartbeat thrums steadily under your ear, grounding you in the moment.

“Our boy,” you whisper, the words tasting sweet on your tongue. “Can you believe it?”

Joe tilts his head down, his chin brushing the top of your head. “I can now,” he murmurs, his voice thick with emotion. “And I can already see him—running around the yard, throwing a football, stubborn as hell.”

You laugh, picturing it so clearly you almost feel the warmth of the sun on your face. “If he’s anything like you, we’re in for a wild ride.”

“Oh, he’ll be worse,” Joe says with a playful smirk. “He’ll have your sass and my competitive streak. We’re doomed.”

You swat at his chest, but the playful banter quickly dissolves into another wave of happy tears. Joe tightens his hold on you, resting his chin on your shoulder as you both stand in silence, soaking in the enormity of the moment.

The cake sits forgotten on the table, a simple slice revealing the bright blue inside, as if the whole universe conspired to mark this occasion. Above you, the stars are just starting to peek through the twilight, tiny pinpricks of light against a deepening sky.

“I can’t wait to meet him,” Joe says softly, breaking the silence. His voice is filled with a quiet reverence, the kind reserved for life’s biggest, most beautiful moments.

You pull back just enough to look up at him, your eyes meeting his. “Me neither,” you say, your voice steady despite the lump in your throat. “But I already know one thing.”

“What’s that?” he asks, his thumb brushing against your cheek.

You smile, your gaze unwavering. “He’s going to have the best dad in the world.”

Joe’s face softens, his eyes shining with a depth of emotion that takes your breath away. He leans down, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. “And the best mom,” he whispers, his lips lingering for a moment before he pulls you back into his arms.

The world feels quiet, still, and full of promise. In this moment, under the string lights and a canopy of stars, you know that you’re ready for whatever comes next. Together.

Over the next few weeks, your home begins to transform. Boxes start arriving at your doorstep daily, each one containing something more extravagant than the last. A designer stroller with gold accents, a baby-sized leather jacket that looks like it belongs on a runway, and tiny sneakers in every color and style imaginable.

One afternoon, Joe bursts through the front door carrying a box nearly as big as he is. “Baby! Check this out!” he calls, setting it down in the living room.

You follow the sound of his voice, curious. “What now?”

He opens the box with the enthusiasm of a kid on Christmas morning, pulling out a baby swing that looks like it was designed for royalty. It’s covered in plush fabric, with a built-in sound system and a gentle rocking mechanism that mimics a mother’s heartbeat.

“It’s top-of-the-line,” Joe says, his eyes sparkling. “Supposed to be the next best thing to being in your arms.”

You shake your head, laughing. “Joe, he’s going to be sleeping in our room for the first few months. Are you planning to keep all this in there too?”

He shrugs, unbothered. “Why not? I want him to have options.”

It doesn’t stop there. Every time you turn around, Joe has another surprise—whether it’s a thoughtful gift for you, like a new pair of comfy maternity jeans or a stack of your favorite books, or something for the baby, like a custom onesie with “Daddy’s MVP” printed on it.

But what touches you the most are the little things he does without fanfare. The nights he spends assembling furniture, carefully following instructions even when they don’t make sense. The way he starts humming lullabies under his breath while doing the dishes.

One evening, as you’re curled up together on the couch, you rest your hand on your belly, feeling the baby kick. Joe places his hand over yours, his face lighting up when he feels it too.

“He’s already got a strong leg,” Joe says, his voice filled with pride. “Might be a future quarterback.”

You smile, leaning your head against his shoulder. “Or maybe a doctor. Or an artist. Whatever he wants to be.”

Joe nods, his expression softening. “As long as he’s happy, that’s all that matters.”

↳ make sure to check out my navigation or masterlist if you enjoyed! any interaction is greatly appreciated !

↳ thank you for reading all the way through, as always ♡

[dresshistorynerd]

#Please keep morrisposting I'm very interested in him#Though I do feel kinda chagrined now about my William Morris print rug from Ruggable lol#Although it does at least look WAY more aesthetically pleasing than those H&M clothes#It looks so nice in my dining room honestly it does make me happy every day

Please don't feel bad about your rug! If it's making you happy, it's at the very least fulfilling it's purpose. In this day and age there's really almost no options available that would clear Morris' standards for art (like basically just artisanal products, which are not at all readily available and usually way too expensive for most people). Morris probably wouldn't be happy about his designs being used for any of these profit making purposes, but nothing can be as egregious as H&M using his designs. Except if like SHEIN would do it. It's not a crime to need furniture and choosing from the options you have available and loving your rug, the crime here is that we don't have reasonably priced high quality rugs made by workers who are able to enjoy their work and have agency. Since you do have to have a rug and choose from these options we have today, the best you can do is to love your rug and cherish it for a long time. Morris' view was that you shouldn't have anything in your home that isn't useful or doesn't bring joy and beauty into your life, and that's probably the best you can do with your individual agency. The rest we'll all have to figure out together.

The Morrisian case against fast fashion

Today I discovered that H&M made a William Morris collection some years ago. The heath death of the universe can't come quickly enough. We can stop now. Satire is dead and we killed her.

It's not just the whole concept of H&M using William Morris' designs for their fast fashion which is insanity inducing, but also the critical response it garnered. Like sure, people did realize this is insane and there was a lot of think pieces about it at the time, but I read several of them and they all seem to still miss the point in spectacular way.

The basic premise of these think pieces go along the lines of: "Would William Morris spin in his grave with a speed of light because of the H&M collection of his designs? A difficult question indeed. William Morris was a complicated man. He wanted art to be affordable to everyone. Isn't H&M affordable? That kinda fits. Though probably he would have some concerns about H&M's practices."

On the surface - yes - but like in reality - fuck no. There's no nuance in this particular issue. He talked about many times what he though of the H&Ms of his time, the retailers selling poor quality industrially produced "fashionable" bullshit. We know exactly what he would have thought of H&M. Here's couple of quotes from his 1884 lecture "Art and Socialism", which makes it very clear.

"It would be an instructive day's work for any one of us who is strong enough to walk through two or three of the principal streets of London on a week-day, and take accurate note of everything in the shop windows which is embarrassing or superfluous to the daily life of a serious man. Nay, the most of these things no one, serious or unserious, wants at all; only a foolish habit makes even the lightest-minded of us suppose that he wants them, and to many people even of those who buy them they are obvious encumbrances to real work, thought and pleasure. But I beg you to think of the enormous mass of men who are occupied with this miserable trumpery, from the engineers who have had to make the machines for making them, down to the hapless clerks who sit day-long year after year in the horrible dens wherein the wholesale exchange of them is transacted, and the shopmen, who not daring to call their souls their own, retail them amidst numberless insults which they must not resent, to the idle public which doesn't want them but buys them to be bored by them and sick to death of them."

He is describing the birth of consumerism, which was taking form during his lifetime in the late Victorian Era, which fast fashion is the extreme logical conclusion of, and he fucking hated it. He specifically railed against endless consumerist products, which H&M is the perfect representation of. It was definitely not the art and beauty he believed everyone required and deserved. He makes the distinction often.

"Now if we are to have popular Art, or indeed Art of any kind, we must at once and for all be done with this luxury; it is the supplanter, the changeling of Art; so much so that by those who know of nothing better it has even been taken for Art, the divine solace of human labour, the romance of each day's hard practice of the difficult art of living."

"And here furthermore is at least a little sign whereby to distinguish between a rag of fashion and a work of Art: whereas the toys of fashion when the first gloss is worn off them do become obviously worthless even to the frivolous—a work of Art, be it ever so humble, is long lived; we never tire of it; as long as a scrap hangs together it is valuable and instructive to each new generation. All works of Art in short have the property of becoming venerable amidst decay: and reason good, for from the first there was a soul in them, the thought of man, which will be visible in them so long as the body exists in which they were implanted."

When he thought of popular Art he thought of the craftsmanship of the common people. The art people have made from useful everyday objects with skillful handicrafts. This is what he means by "divine solace of human labour". It's not reverence of Puritanical work ethic, on the contrary, it's the reverence of creation, of the earnest joy people feel when they get to express themselves through their creative pursuits. He certainly didn't believe in work for work's sake, work needed to be worthwhile and enjoyable. He summarized his own position on what labour should be thusly:

"It is right and necessary that all men should have work to do which shall be worth doing, and be of itself pleasant to do; and which should he done under such conditions as would make it neither over-wearisome nor over-anxious."

He urged his middle class audience to reject consumerism (the lecture was for a very much middle class atheist society):

"For I say again that in buying these things: 'Tis the lives of men you buy! Will you from mere folly and thoughtlessness make yourselves partakers of the guilt of those who compel their fellow men to labour uselessly?"

I think it's glaringly obvious H&M and fast fashion in general is what he would consider luxury. Rags of fashion that are just churned out and discarded without thought and produced by compelling people to labour uselessly. It's not popular art that's made by workers and craftsmen, who are able to express themselves through it. There's no agency for the abused workers in H&M's sweatshops, they are not expressing their joy of creation, they are simply labouring uselessly.

Morris didn't shame workers for buying affortable things even if they weren't Art with big A, because that's the problem he despised the whole economic system for, for taking away the popular Art from people, making it inaccessible, and selling back mass produced products with very little practical or aesthetic value. So I don't think he would have problem with people who can only afford fast fashion today. They are the victims of capitalism too, because Art has been taken away from them. But the idea that some of these think pieces had that perhaps the H&M's Morris collection can be good actually if you squint, that H&M has the capacity to bring the art and beauty Morris advocated for for the people, is level of stupidity that's hard to express in words.

Morris didn't believe anything made with exploited labour could be truly beautiful, truly art. In his 1879 lecture "The Art of the People" he put it like this:

"That thing which I understand by real art is the expression by man of his pleasure in labour."

The way I understand this, is that art is communication. Through it we communicate feelings, ideas and thoughts, that is it's purpose. So for that communication to work, for it to be imbued with message, the person making it needs to feel passion and love for it's creation. How can there be love and passion if the hands making the garment belong to a tired exploited worker who has no egency what so ever in their work and can only think about survival to the next day?

Beyond the fundamental exploitativeness of H&M and fast fashion, this collection would still get zero points on aesthetic values from Morris even with his own designs. Because the work itself was such an important part of art for Morris, good design was nothing without good craftsmanship. Good design in his mind was always relative and dependent on it's purpose.

"For everything made by man’s hands has a form, which must be either beautiful or ugly; beautiful if it is in accord with Nature, and helps her; ugly if it is discordant with Nature, and thwarts her; it cannot be indifferent." (The Lesser Arts, 1877)

Here when he says nature, he means the nature of the thing that is made - basically it's purpose and function - and the nature of the materials it's made from. Basically, the design must always be made to bring out the function of the art and the qualities of the material it's made from, not fight against them. This is because he believed handicrafts were uniquely suitable for expressing the love of creation, therefore superior labour, and to really bring out the qualities of the craftsmanship and enjoy the creative process, the design should be suitable for that craft. The other side, which was the joy of using and experiencing art, required the craft to be selected for the suitable purpose. Using poorly functioning furniture for example is not very enjoyable, nor is using clothing that's made from materials that are not suitable for the climactic conditions it's supposed to be used in.

H&M of course utterly fails in this. They use Morris' designs in fully unsuitable ways. They print patterns made for example for wall papers on poor quality fabrics with synthetics dyes they weren't made for. This line from one blog post I came across really got me: "Therefore, without cheapening the artistic value of Morris’ designs, H&M’s collection offers an unparalleled potential for accessibility to them." No. Fuck no. They do in fact cheapen Morris' designs in every single way possible. Literally this is atrocious.

Despite the popular depiction, Morris wasn't in fact against industrial machinery or industrial art even, or at least he wasn't once his views on art and politics matured. He did think technology was useful, but he thought the people should use industrial methods for the benefit of all, not be enslaved by the industrial machine.

"I have spoken of machinery being used freely for releasing people from the more mechanical and repulsive part of necessary labour; and I know that to some cultivated people, people of the artistic turn of mind, machinery is particularly distasteful, and they will be apt to say you will never get your surroundings pleasant so long as you are surrounded by machinery. I don't quite admit that; it is the allowing machines to be our masters and not our servants that so injures the beauty of life nowadays. In other words, it is the token of the terrible crime we have fallen into of using our control of the powers of Nature for the purpose of enslaving people, we care less meantime of how much happiness we rob their lives of." ("How we live and how we might live", 1887)

However, he thought that the designer should approach it the way they approached any craft, by designing for the strengths of the machine work.

"But if you have to design for machine-work, at least let your design show clearly what it is. Make it mechanical with a vengeance, at the same time as simple at possible. Don't try, for instance, to make a printed plate look like a hand-painted one: make it something which no one would try to do if he were painting by hand..." ("Art and the Beauty of the Earth", 1881)

He did use some machinery for fabric and wall paper printing, but he was very intentional about their use. Still his designs weren't made for the type of methods these modern H&M machinery uses and he did for example use natural dyes. Particularly insulting is that some of the H&M clothes are made from viscose, rayon made with viscose method. Viscose method is extremely toxic and is known to cause long term health consequences for the workers and the people in surrounding areas. This has been well proven knowledge for ages. William Morris' wall paper factory in the beginning used the typical method used at the time which involved arsenic, but once he learned this could pose risks for the workers, he changed the method. Many of the new synthetic dyes were toxic at the time, which is the major reason he so favoured natural dyes, known to not cause health issues for workers or pollute the environment.

The question many of these think pieces about the H&M Morris collection posed was, would Morris disapprove and should we care? The first part of that is very easy to answer. Yes. Of course Morris would disapprove. He is currently powering the whole of British isles with purely the kinetic energy his grave-spinning produces. Should we care though? If you care about Morris' art, if you want to see more of that kind of art in this world, you should care. Morris' art is not about the superficial qualities. Copying his designs and aesthetics and styles, will only lead to hollow imitations, that are exactly what he described the rags of fashion to be; as the shininess of novelty wears off they will reveal themselves to be soulless, useless and utterly empty. This collection is just that. To see more of the kind of art that makes you feel like his art makes you feel, not just something that reminds you of that feeling, you should focus more on the way the art is made and less on the specific aesthetics. If his vision of labour and art was realised, all art produced of course wouldn't be loved by every person, but all of it would be loved by someone, even if that someone was just the maker. And that would be more worthwhile than every single rag of fast fashion.

I will stop William-Morris-posting now and return to my thesis.

[shukraastro]

BTS Jeon Jungkook - spouse traits analysis based on his D9 chart (part 1)

(This is strictly for Vedic Astrology teaching purposes only)

The 7th house in the D9 chart gives us more deeper insights into the details about the spouse. While the D1 chart shows what we're looking/seeking for in a partner in the bigger picture, the D9 cart tells us what kind if a spouse we will get in the end. And I have observed that the traits of the spouse which are indicated in the D9 chart do not apply on the romantic relationship partners (boyfriends/girlfriends). In my experience it has only applied on the person which an individual got officially married to in the end. Anyway, for this analysis we look at the 7th house, its ruler/lord planet and it's placement placement (house, sign and Nakshatra). Furthermore we look at the ruling planet of its Nakshatra placement and where that is positioned. We consider the archetypes of the planets and signs, the symbolisms and traits and mythical stories associated with the Nakshatras. Every single detail needs to be considered in order to get a full picture about the spouse's personality and appearance.

Next we start looking at the condition of the following houses, because they tell us more about the spouse's life, their family and every aspect of their life basically.

In this post I will break down the 7th house and 8th house matters in Jungkook's D9 chart. The 7th house is the 1st house of his spouse and the 8th house is the 2nd house of his spouse, means Jungkook's In-Laws and their financial matters.

Based on his given Birth information [September 1st, 1997 at 3:23pm in Busan] this is his D9 chart:

His 7th house resides in the sign of Capricorn with no planets in it. Therefor the 7th lord is Saturn, and it's placed in the 8th house in Aquarius, Purva Bhadrapada Nakshatra. The 8th house, as already mentioned is in Aquarius, again the lord is Saturn and occupies its own house. Saturn here creates a mutual aspect with Venus (which is placed in his 2nd house), this can first if all give him a spouse who is a couple years older than him, someone who comes from a lower class than him and a foreign ethnic background. Btw to further clarify Venus in the second house, this is a big indicator that the spouse may culturally originate from persian-to-middle eastern region. In my next posts when I get to his 2nd house in the D9 chart I will brake it down more deeper. But for this part as I analyze his 7th lord Saturn it makes a mutual aspect with his Venus which is indicative for the traits that I mentioned above.

The positions of the 7th and 8th house reflect a life marked by resilience and strength, especially in her role as the pillar of her family. With Saturn ruling the 7th house in Capricorn, she embodies responsibility and maturity, likely from a very young age. Capricorn, ruling her ascendant (spouse’s 1st house), reinforces this image of someone serious, composed, and steadfast.

Emotionally, the spouse is someone who is loyal and deeply committed. They’re not the type to jump into relationships lightly, they take their time to really connect on a meaningful level, but once they do, they’re all in. They probably come across as a bit serious or reserved at first, but beneath that, there’s a lot of depth. They’re the kind of partner who sticks around through thick and thin and doesn’t back down from challenges in the relationship.

Saturn’s placement in Jungkook's 8th house (his spouse’s 2nd house), in Aquarius and Purva Bhadrapada Nakshatra, highlights the depth of her sacrifices for her family. Saturn in the 2nd house shows that her family has relied on her heavily to accumulate assets and manage finances, perhaps from a young age. This placement suggests a childhood where resources were scarce or unstable. With Saturn in the 2nd house doesn't mean she comes from a poor family, no. Saturn does give a good amount of financial support or "wealth" so to say, but with immense hardships and very long periods of struggle. As being most likely the eldest child, she would have been the one her family turned to for stability, a role she embraced with quiet determination. This shapes her to become someone with traits of immense strength and self-sacrifice, qualities that define her role within her family from an early age.

Saturn in the 8th house also deals with hidden matters, and this makes the spouse someone who’s very private about their struggles. They probably don’t share the burden they carry with others, they just keep pushing forward and handle things on their own. This can sometimes create a lonely feeling, as they tend to take on too much without reaching out for help. But the one thing they can always be counted on for is being steady, reliable, and there when their family needs them most.

There’s a karmic feel to the spouse’s relationship with their family. They may have been born into a family where financial stability was always a concern, and they feel it’s their role to fix that or maintain it. They might have had to grow up quickly, stepping into adult roles early in life, and now they carry that weight into adulthood. Saturn in the 8th house ties them deeply to their family’s financial legacy or debts, and they might feel as if they are the one who must handle it all.

The Purva Bhadrapada Nakshatra adds an intense and transformative quality to her life. Ruled by Jupiter, this nakshatra emphasizes themes of sacrifice and spiritual growth through hardship. For her, accumulating wealth and ensuring financial security for her family is not just about survival but about building a foundation for her family's future. Her efforts go beyond the material, as she also provides emotional stability and wisdom, guiding her family through difficult times. Purva Bhadrapada is symbolized by two faces or twins, which adds an interesting layer to their life. There’s a possibility they could be a twin themselves, or they might have twins in their family/household, maybe siblings (very high chances of their own children even being twins in the future). But Jungkook's 8th house shows his In-Laws, the spouse's family, so it could quite literally manifest in twins amongst his In-Laws. If not literal twins, this symbolism could show up in the spouse's life in other ways, like them playing dual roles in their family. For example, the spouse serving as the financial backbone and the emotional support system, or they might juggle two careers or responsibilities that feel equally important. Either way, duality is a big theme in their life. Whether she cared for twin siblings or navigated a similarly dual dynamic within her household, it added another layer to her already multifaceted role as the family’s pillar.

Purva Bhadrapada is also about transformation, here we can also see that this sacrifice isn’t just financial, it’s also emotional. The spouse might feel torn between their own desires and their deep sense of duty to their family. They likely experience a push and pull between wanting to pursue personal freedom and having to stay tied to responsibilities. This could even translate into some feelings of inner conflict, maybe they yearn for more space or time for themselves but feel trapped by their sense of duty. This is the part where Saturn's and Jupiter's influences are clashing. She is put into this role of a servant, because Saturn represents a servant and it also represents restrictions/limitations. But deep down through the influence of Purva Bhadrapada she has a hidden explorer side of her which yearns for freedom and expansion, because Jupiter is a guru, and an eternal student of life, it represents expansion and learning/exploring new things. Her Family may not see this side of her, because the 7th lord (in this case her 1st house, her identity) is going into the 8th house (her 2nd house, her family) and the 8th lord (her family) stays in the 8th house, they can't look beyond their own position. But she has this other side of her outside from her family matters through the Nakshatra in which Saturn is placed. Purva Bhadrapada's ruler Jupiter goes into Jungkook's 1st house (his spouse's 7th house). Jungkook will see this side of her and her close social relationships, they will also see this side of her.

When we are going through the key traits of the Purva Bhadrapada Nakshatra, let's also mention that this placement can also indicate frequent injuries of one foot/leg. She will have at some point in her life ran into situations where she seriously injured her foot/leg (most likely seen in the left one), this is a part of her Karma. But it will bring her luck, wisdom and spirituality because Jupiter's full potential is being released after such an event. Purva Bhadrapada Nakshatra must be a very prominent and key placement in her own birth chart, because it is reflected as the placement where Jungkook's 7th lord (Saturn) is placed in his D9 chart. Also Saturn must be playing a significant role in her own birth chart. This could play out as Saturn being her Ascendant ruler or Atmakaraka or other strong Saturnian placements in her birth chart.

This Nakshatra is all about duality and transformation, so the spouse might also have a kind of mysterious or complex vibe. On one hand, they’re super responsible and grounded (thanks to Saturn's influence), but on the other, they’ve got this deep, philosophical side that’s always looking for meaning in life (thanks to Jupiter's influence). They might be drawn to spirituality or some kind of esoteric wisdom, and they probably have a unique way of balancing both the practical and the mystical sides of life.

Let's look closer to Jupiter, the ruler of Saturn's placement in Purva Bhadrapada, it is placed in Jungkook's 1st house (which derives as the spouse’s 7th house), in Cancer. This adds an emotional and nurturing dimension to her personality, especially in the context of her family. While Saturn brings discipline and structure, Jupiter in Cancer softens this with compassion and care. Her family likely sees her as not only a financial but also a source of emotional support and wisdom. Her sacrifices are not limited to material concerns, she also ensures her family members feel valued, loved, and protected.

Jupiter in Cancer highlights her role as the emotional cornerstone of her family. She likely takes on the responsibility of guiding her family through hardships, offering them strength and stability even when she herself is struggling. With a nurturing nature and responsible approach, creating a balance that makes her indispensable to her family. She is the person everyone turns to in times of crisis, the one who provides comfort and solutions with unwavering dedication.

Physically, Saturn’s influence might manifest in sharp, smaller features and a serious expression, while Jupiter in Cancer adds a softness that hints at her compassionate nature.

Emotionally, her sacrifices for her family are profound. Saturn in the 2nd house indicates that her family relies on her for financial stability, and she takes this responsibility seriously. She likely manages her family’s resources with care and precision, ensuring that everyone’s needs are met. Her sacrifices were not limited to financial efforts, she gave up personal ambitions to ensure her family’s needs were met, displaying an extraordinary level of selflessness. This role might at times be very draining and overwhelming for her nevertheless she fulfills it with reliability and a sense of purpose.

Jupiter in Cancer amplifies this selflessness, adding an emotional depth to her actions. She doesn’t just provide material support; she nurtures and protects her family in every sense. Her sacrifices come from a place of love and duty, and she is deeply committed to ensuring her family’s happiness and stability. She has the ability to balance discipline with compassion which makes her an irreplaceable figure in her family’s life.

In every sense, she is the pillar of her family. From managing finances to offering emotional support, she has taken on a central role in ensuring her family’s well-being. Her strength, resilience, and selflessness are qualities that inspire admiration from outside, not just for what she has endured but for how she has chosen to respond to life’s challenges. Her ability to carry the weight of her family’s needs, while maintaining a spiritual inner world filled with wisdom shows how life must have shaped her to become such a strong individual.

Her physical traits:

Purva Bhadrapada’s ruler Jupiter placed in Cancer can result in a shorter-to-average height, especially for females. So she can likely be moderate to short in stature.

Purva Bhadrapada often exhibits a slightly plump or curvy body type, even if Saturn tries to impose a leaner structure. Jupiter adds fullness to the hips, thighs, and overall frame, creating a soft, nurturing appearance.

While Saturn might emphasize angularity, the Cancerian Jupiter influence softens this, leading to a rounder or fuller face. Cheeks may be prominent, with a healthy or robust look.

Saturn in Purva Bhadrapada, paired with Jupiter in Pushya enhances the eyes further, giving them a large, expressive and soulful quality. Her eyes may stand out as one of her most attractive features, holding in lots of deep emotions. Saturn’s influence often manifests as shadows or dark circles under the eyes, especially if the native has experienced stress or heavy responsibilities in life.

Saturn rules over Hair. It's influence can result in dark, thick, and mostly wavy-ish or slightly coarse hair. Jupiter will add volume and richness, while Saturn may occasionally dull the shine and cause dryness.

With Jupiter in Cancer and especially in Pushya (a nurturing Nakshatra), the chest area may be well-developed or prominent, reflecting Cancer’s association with nourishment. One of Pushya's symbols is the cows udder, so chest size will be very voluptous.

Jupiter in Cancer amplifies the softer, maternal aspects of her physicality, giving her a nurturing appearance that contrasts with Saturn’s sternness.

It also contributes to her curves, especially around the hips, lower abdoman (Cancer's association with the womb) and chest, softening Saturn’s otherwise lean tendencies. Saturn can still ensures the curves are well-supported and defined by a strong skeletal frame. It also provides strength and durability to the overall body structure. She may have a medium build with noticeable strength in her posture and limbs, even if she appears softer or curvier due to Jupiter’s influence. This blend of Saturn, Jupiter, Purva Bhadrapada and Cancer could most probably make her a skinny-thick type.

Saturn could still blend in with some well-defined, angular features in her face, such as high cheekbones, a sharp jawline and prominent eyebrows. Bushy or thick eyebrows are common, with a slightly angular and arched shape reflecting a Saturnian serious and striking appearance.

Saturn may darken or give the complexion a slightly earthy or ashy undertone, though Jupiter in Cancer can balance this with a healthy glow. The overall skin tone might be medium to darker, with a smooth to somethimes rough or dry texture depending on outside factors, like seasons for example (Saturn rules over time).

Saturn’s slowing nature combined with Jupiter in Cancer ensures that she maintains a youthful appearance for longer. Fine lines and wrinkles may develop much later in life, contributing to a gracefully and slow aging process.

🌺🌺🌺🌺🌺🌺🌺🌺🌺🌺🌺🌺🌺🌺🌺🌺🌺🌺🌺🌺🌺🌺🌺🌺🌺🌺🌺🌺🌺🌺🌺🌺🌺🌺🌺🌺🌺🌺🌺🌺🌺🌺🌺🌺

I hope this was very educational and enlightening in understanding how deep diving the art and science of Vedic Astrology can be and could show you what you need to be looking at in your own D9 chart in order to get a closer picture of the traits about your future spouse.

In my next post I will give you deeper insights into the following two houses, the 9th and the 10th house. I think I will keep this as a series and analyzing always two in each part.

Thanks for reading and see you soon.🌺

[nemisuki]

Welcome Home

Dating AU | There was one rule every person at the butterfly mansion obeyed at all costs - never offer to help the wind hashira. Unfortunately the brand new medic wasn’t aware of this, but thankfully the only expectation to the rule was there to help. 

᧔o᧓ || Sanemi Shinazugawa x f!reader, no manga spoilers, no nsfw, pure fluff, mutual feelings, injuries mentioned, he hates everyone but her trope, tending to wounds, oneshot, 1.5k word count

Everything at the butterfly mansion was nothing but peaceful this early morning. 

It was a rare sight of sunny skies and little to no patients. Leaving all the medics around the building at ease, calmly filling out paperwork and mashing some herbs togethers to resupply their medicines. 

Well that was until the doors swung open with a loud bang. 

Everyone in the front lobby collectively jumped at the sudden noise. Occasional startled gasps we’re heard all around. 

Loud footsteps echoed throughout the silent room as he walked in. 

The atmosphere suddenly changed in a matter of seconds.

Everyone quickly avoided eye contact and knew from prior experience what to do. 

No one looked at him for longer than five seconds. No one approached him with haste despite the wounds he sustained from his missions. And no one uttered a word in his direction. 

Except for one poor individual. 

Those with more experience watched in dread as a newer medic approached the wind hashira. Some were about to call out to them but it was too late. 

The newbie was already at his side, “Oh excuse me, let me help you! Here let’s get you into a room. This guy needs immediate medical aid over here-”

Her hand grabs his forearm to stabilize him, only to be met with a cold glare from the man. 

Sanemi quickly shoves her hand away, so fast that no one even saw his hand move. Courtesy of his endless training. 

“What the fuck are you doing?” 

The temperature of the room suddenly felt as if it decreased from the sheer hostility he was radiating. 

“U-Um I just…” she was practically frozen in fear at his presence. Already starting to tremble with fear.

Majority of the medics that have been watching were unable to move, feeling as if his existence alone stripped them of all their courage. 

The older medics, all veterans who have been around for ages, approached the wind hashira. Seemingly more used to his outbursts than the younger ones. Yet despite the long time they’ve been here, unease still courses through their bodies. 

“M-Mr. Shinazugawa, we do apologize for this woman's actions. You see, she's quite new to the butterfly mansion. She meant no harm I assure you” one of them states, safely from behind the front desk. 

Regardless of their words and excuses, his glare doesn’t lesson by any means. Another person quickly chimes in, “We’re sorry Mr.Shinazugawa! We should have informed them during training.”

Everything is tense in the room, the newbie completely shaken up by her oblivious mistake.

His mouth begins to open, likely about to criticize their actions, but then nimble footsteps were heard steadily approaching. 

A figure appeared from behind the corner, a radiant smile in a room of suspense, clearing away its troubles. 

“Oh ‘nemi your back! Gosh look at those wounds, I told you to be more careful next time!” 

She treads over to the grumpy hashira, her smile already faded into a small pout as she reaches his side. 

To all the newer medics they gasp when this random woman suddenly tugs on his ear.

He hisses at her actions but doesn’t push the woman away, “watch it idiot! My damn wounds-”

“Well you wouldn’t have gotten these wounds if you were more thorough and didn’t just rush into danger like a madman!” she says essentially scolding him while pulling him to follow. 

“Tch just let go would ya?! I can walk just fine!” he utters under his breath with furrowed brows. 

She clutches his uninjured arm to help him walk, much to his complaints. Surprisingly he doesn’t shove her off, and just follows her lead with an annoyed expression. 

Her head turns back before they spin around the corner in the hallway, a kind smile on her face to the others, “Sorry for him everyone! I’ll take it from here, no worries!” 

With that, they go ahead and leave everyone's view, disappearing deeper beyond the corridors. Where the private medical rooms are. 

As soon as they are no longer present, everyone suddenly gains the energy to breathe again. The newbie nearly falling over as she reclaimed her senses. 

She looks around completely baffled at the chain of events that just occured. But the warm smile of that woman stayed in her mind, “w-who was that?”

“Ah sorry dear, that must’ve given you a fright. That man is the wind hashira, Mr.Shinazugawa is a scary man but he’s a good boy at heart you see” a elderly woman says as she gently pats the newbie's head. 

“O-Oh but um that woman… he didn’t seem to mind her as much?” 

All the newer recruits look at the granny as she chuckles, “Ah that woman… that’s his lover, Miss Y/N. A sweetheart that one is, but not afraid to speak her mind. She’s a hashira as well and the only one allowed to treat his wounds.”

Hushed whispers we’re heard all around. That grumpy man has fallen in love with someone? What a sight to behold.   

✦ ⎯⎯ㅤִㅤ୭ ୨♡୧ ৎㅤִ  ⎯⎯ ✦

“There! All patched up. Now care to explain what's gotten you in a bad mood? You’re extra snappy today” she smiles, now standing between his legs as he’s sitting on the examination table. 

He sighs, annoyed at the fact she noticed the minor change in his demeanor. Reluctantly he tells her, solely because he knew Y/N wouldn’t stop asking til he answers honestly, “One of those idiots tried helping me. Was gonna touch my arm and everything.” 

“Seriously? And here I thought it was gonna be something more important” she mumbles as a giggle escapes her mouth.  

A scowl forms on his face and she playfully rolls her eyes in response. 

She knows he's in an extra bad mood right now, so she wraps her arms around his neck, comfortingly staying close to him. 

It takes him a moment, his muscles tensing for a split second, but then relaxes as she gives him a few seconds to process her touch. He huffs and rests his hands on her hips, pulling her close. 

A warm smile is present on her face, “I missed you. Haven’t seen you in about 2 weeks or so-” 

“2 weeks and 4 days” he flat-out corrects her with a frown. 

“Oh? Did you miss me that much?” she teases followed by a small snicker. 

The grip of her hips slightly tightens as he mutters a quick “shut up” to her. 

She hums and leans closer to him. Resting her head on top of his own as she's still standing up. Pressing him tightly against her, “You should really be more careful…” she says with a hint of vulnerability. 

She couldn’t help but to suddenly be clingy today. It’s not often they see each other at headquarters. 

Above all, he's so reckless in his fighting style, how could she not worry? 

His hands move to completely wrap around her waist now. Burying his head against her upper torso as he murmurs, “Those demons won’t kill me. I ain’t weak.” 

“I know you aren’t. I just-” she couldn’t even finish her sentence, thinking the worst. 

A moment of silence passes between them.

And without warning, his hand rubs her backside as gently as he could. It was still firm given his strength but she cherished the feeling.

It reminded her of the power he holds, the wind hashira could indeed take care of himself.

“Always come back home to me” Y/N whispers, leaning down to place a gentle kiss on his head. 

 ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ 

He can feel the rapid beating of his heart, the combination of her words and actions made him spiral.

Home huh.

Why did that make him feel things? How foolish. 

“...Yeah. And take your own damn advice would ya? Don’t get yourself killed out there idiot” he slowly looks back up at her with his signature grumpy look. 

“I won't, or who else is gonna treat your wounds?”  

His fierce eyes barely soften at her words, making her lean down and nuzzle her nose with his like a bunny. She makes the tips of their noses gently rub with one another, a sign of affection. It was cute.

Or so she thought.

“What the fuck are you doing” his brows immediately furrow, now acting on his cranky emotions again. 

“Alright I was trying to have a cute moment with you, and it's ruined. You jerk!” she whines and starts squishing his cheeks for revenge.

“Agh- there was nothing cute about that! It was dumb! And for the love of- let go!” he groans trying to pry her hands away. 

The two go back and forth in a small battle of dominance. Despite his wounds she didn’t go easy on him. Making the wind hashiras lips curve slightly upwards. She understood him like no one else. 

The moment was broken a few seconds later. 

Suddenly in the middle of their quarreling, a small thump was heard as something fell from his pocket. They both pause and look down at the ground, noticing it.

A red bean mochi.

She gasps dramatically and bends down to pick it up, holding it up in front of his face “Are you serious?! ‘Nemi you ate these without me?!”

He avoids eye contact and the tips of his ears hue in pink, “shut up!”

[pro-sipper]

where is the post where someone linked a carrd as a source? i need to see it

Here's the post I was referencing

And here's the actual carrd that it links to

To their credit, they do have plenty of "sources". But so much of it has been debunked, is taken out of context, in bad faith, isolated incidents, etc etc. Not to mention how many licensed professionals disagree with their sentiments

Like. They think that proshippers think fiction does not have any impact on reality at all, when more often than not that's not what we're talking about lol. We just say it's not a 1:1 comparison, or seeing something fucked up on a screen doesn't mean we're automatically going to run out and recreate it in real life.

The carrd has a whole section for how saying "fiction doesn't affect reality" is racist when again, that isn't anything near what we're saying. Yes, representation is important, period. We can all agree on that, right? But how does that equate to thinking everyone who watched Game of Thrones went out and fucked their sibling irl? It's not even apples and oranges at this point it's like apples and toenail clippings

Five hundred million people interact with a piece of media, 499,999,999 people walk away from it and go about their normal lives. But one person claims to use it as inspiration for some fucked up crime in real life, then it's automatically the fault of the media and not the fault of the individual. Make it make sense.

[moghedien]

this isn’t meant to be judgement on what other people choose or their opinions and there are reasons why there is no actual ideal solution, but if I’m playing the game in which I want every character to get what I feel is the best outcome for them personally, Shadowheart is always ending the game with her parents alive

There are a couple of reasons for this. I’ve done both endings with the Selûnite path for her, and I literally just let her pick what she wanted the first time (which ended in her parents dead) and seeing both, I do think she’s happier with her parents alive in general. I think, as with other characters (specifically Lae’zel comes to mind in her romance) you have to kinda challenge them on what their first immediate response is when giving them an option in order to get to what actually makes them happiest and what they’re afraid to admit

But if we’re not even taking like the arbitrary measure of happiness into account, I do think that thematically, keeping her parents alive is the only real option if you don’t want Shar to win.

The options here are either let her parents die and Shadowheart is free of the pain in her wound, or save her parents and Shadowheart spends the rest of her life with the threat of the wound hurting her at any moment. Basically no parents and no pain or parent and chronic pain for the rest of her life.

Harsh options either way, and especially when you phrase it as “chronic pain forever” being the thematically correct path, but look at it from the angle of rejecting Shar and what those options really signify form a Sharran angle.

If her parents die, she has no pain, which is good, but she also has no parents. She has no way of learning about her past other than random scraps she might find or maybe eventually remember somehow. She also has no attachment to her Sharran cloister anymore and no attachment to any Selûnite community either. She’s void of everything, including the physical pain. Now there’s obviously like emotional turmoil she’s feeling, and you do get a scene where she expresses that, but it’s from her loss. She only has loss now. The Lady of Loss gave up her physical hold on Shadowheart and in doing so, made Shadowheart embrace loss. Shar might not win completely, but she doesn’t really care about her individual followers and communities as much as they want her to. This is still a win for Shar because she still got Shadowheart to make Sharran choices in the end and embrace losing everything: the pain, her parents, her community, her past.

Hell, the desire to free oneself from pain entirely is a very Sharran pursuit. It’s why we see people turn to Shar. Ketheric turned to Shar as a way to get Isobel back and free himself from grief. One of the people that can lead you to the Sharran cloister is a man who remembers nothing about himself except that the House of Grief helped him because he was very sad and now he isn’t. Nevermind the fact that he doesn’t even know where he lives now or that Ketheric didn’t get what he wanted, it’s the motivation of freeing oneself from some kind of pain that drives people to Shar.

That is why Shadowheart received the injury in the first place.

I jokingly call it a shock collar sometimes, but that is basically what it literally is. You can get Shadowheart’s dad to reveal more about it if you control her and go talk to him in camp. The wound is because Shadowheart was constantly misbehaving and her parents weren’t converting, and they needed something to keep her in line and also motivate her parents. Shadowheart’s pain was supposed be negative reinforcement for her not to act on her kinder inclinations and for her parents to finally fall in line and reject Selûne so that they would stop seeing Shadowheart in pain. The desire for no more pain was supposed to drive Shadowheart and her family closer to Shar.

And all of this on top of the fact that Shadowheart’s memory was wiped repeatedly to an extreme degree, even by standards of the evil memory wiping cult. She was supposed to be a blank slate that only desired to feel nothing by the end. The perfect Sharran.

So if she keeps her family alive, what does she get? A life time of guaranteed pain from Shar, but also her family. Guilt over learning all she’s done to her parents over the 40 years they were held captive, but also answers about her life before Shar and kinder memories with them after Shar. She doesn’t get to not know all that she’s done and all that’s been taken from her, and she’s forced to feel all the negative emotions that come with that, but she gets comfort and positive feelings too.

The moment I keep going back to is the scene you get after she saves her parents where she’s clearly distressed. You get a similar version of this if her parents are dead, but if her parents are alive, they show up at the end of the scene when she’s crying because of the guilt she’s feeling toward all that happened to them. The specific moment in that which I obsess over a bit is when Shadowheart apologizes to them and says that they shouldn’t have to see her like this (because they just walked in on her crying). And it’s her mom’s response to that which makes me a little insane

It’s the emphasis on feeling that really gets me, and I think is the most important part here.

Because Shadowheart was apologizing specifically for them seeing her feeling. She was in this moment apologizing for them having to see her crying and in a very vulnerable emotional state over her own personal struggles and the immense amount of guilt she feels over seeing the extent of what was done to her parents, some of which she did. She’s not supposed to feel anything about that, as a Sharran. She’s not supposed to feel at all as a Sharran, good or bad.

But it’s her very visibly feeling something that her mom points out wanting to see. it’s the one word she puts emphasis on, because that alone is proof that Shar doesn’t have a hold on her. If she’s feeling something, even if it’s bad, then Shar isn’t winning and isn’t controlling her. Shar literally had to resort to trying to coax her into wanting nothing more than to be free of feeling in order to get her to behave, after all.

If Shadowheart accepts that she’ll have pain for the rest of her life in order to save her family, Shar doesn’t get anything but the shock collar she already had. And the point of the shock collar was to eventually never use it. Hurting Shadowheart wasn’t what Shar wanted. Shar wanted to eventually stop hurting Shadowheart because that meant she was a good perfect little Selûnite-turned-Sharran who had been properly corrupted. Pain wasn’t the point and was supposed to have an ending if Shar got what she wanted.

So when Shadowheart rejects the loss of the pain, that’s about as close as she can get to telling Shar to go fuck herself. Her plans didn’t work, not even a little. Shadowheart isn’t wiping her slate clean (again) and rejecting feeling things just because they’re painful. She’s reconnecting with the past that they spent 40 years trying to erase and she’s doing it even though it’ll be hurt.

Basically by keeping her parents alive, she’s doing every single thing Shar has spent four decades trying to stop her from doing and giving Shar absolutely nothing in return. Shar gets nothing besides the ability to hurt Shadowheart, which isn’t even something she wanted in the first place.

And proof of this is shown in the epilogue, where if you romance Shadowheart and kept her parents alive, you both point out what Shar hasn’t been triggering the wound much lately. She triggers it a lot and randomly in the end of the game, and it’s clear she’s pissed off, but by the time six months have passed, it’s apparently barely happening. Because pain wasn’t the point and it wasn’t what Shar wanted. The pain was Shar throwing a tantrum because she didn’t get what she wanted. Shadowheart calls it petty in the game and that’s literally what it is. Just pettiness from a god. And it’ll probably happen to some extent for the rest of Shadowheart’s life, yes, but it’s clear that Shar is bored and realizes it’s not going to work. She might try some other ways to get at Shadowheart eventually, but in making that choice, Shadowheart denied her any ounce of power that Shar actually cares about. Even if the pain is there, the fact that it’s there is proof that Shar failed.

[serialkilluh1996]

𝐃𝐄𝐍𝐒𝐄™

Simon "Ghost" Riley x Bimboish-female-reader

Warnings; none. Just pure foolery.

Simon loved you. He wouldn't admit it, of course, but you were his favorite subordinate. You were kind and generous, like some princess who belonged in a castle, only to have wound up working as his assistant. He wondered how you even got hired at such a tough place. Maybe you'd sprinkled fairy dust on your application.

You made him weak, merely a facade of the stone cold man he used to be. It's like you had dug a hole in his heart, making a soft spot for yourself to burrow in. You made coming to work more bearable for Simon.

He was eager more willing to get up in the morning cause he knew he'd see you not once, not twice, but a plethora of times throughout the day. He'd see your defined smile and your lively eyes and your bubbly enthusiasm. Simon was convinced it was all just a facade you put on at work. There was no way someone could be this....happy all the time.

You walk into his office, a grin on your face so firm that it pulled the skin from your throat. "You called, Mr. Riley?" "It's lieutenant, sweetheart. But, yeah, I did." He didn't seem as chipper to see you today. He never expressed true happiness anyway. He was just more neutral when you were around. Not today, though. His brows were tense, his eyes were squinted, a tight and precise stare glaring you down like a sniper. "Have a seat." He demands, waving his hand in a come hither motion.

You comply, skipping over to the chair before plopping down and spinning in it. "Don't spend in the chair, please. I'm already on HR's ass about replacing these before they give out."

"Right, of course." You kick out your foot, stopping yourself on the desk, eyes landing directly on his. He looked pretty upset about something.

"I got a complaint about you being out with my men last night. Wanna explain what's going on?" He leans forward accusingly, elbows against the desk and hands under his chin. "Well, we were just out for drinks an–" "Oh, you were out for drinksss?" He says sarcastically, slightly more irritated. "And let me guess, you went home with them too?"

"Of course I did." "Oh, christ." He facepalms, leaning back in his chair, making it creak under his weight.

"Let me explain somethin'. You are MY assistant, you got that? That means your work here is exclusive to me and what I ask you to do. You don't take orders from anyone else here. Not even the captain. Therefore, you have no need or reason to be fraternizing with my men." He lectures you, now visibly angry.

You could tell that going home with them was what pushed him other the edge. "I couldn't let them go alone. They were too drunk to drive." You defended. "Sweetheart, these are grown men. They know their limit and they purposely exceeded it. It's not your responsibility to baby them. They can face the consequences of their actions. They are dangerous individuals that you should distance yourself from. You don't know my men."

"Of course I know them, we see eachother everyday." Simon sighs at your statement. "I'd like to believe that too. but at the end of the day, men always have ulterior motives."

"Ulterior motives?" You tilt your head in confusion. He huffs, muttering under his breath. "Alright, let's say Price, for example. You're this cute girl, smaller than most of the people here. And price is this huge caption, some hairy old weirdo pushing 40. And he invites you over his house. What do you think he wants from you?" His brow arches. "Well, I don't really know John enough to know what he wants."

".....god, why...." it took everything in his will power to hold back his emotions. How could you be so dense? He breathes, steadying himself for the next question.

"Well, would you go or not?" "Yes!" "Yes!?" His voice is strained with shock and distress. "Well, how else am I gonna find out what he wants?" You fold your arms, becoming upset yourself. "Did it not even cross your mind to just ask?!"

"Well, what if he lies?" "What if he lies...." Simon repeats, chuckling under the aggravation, holding back how much you were angering him. How could you be this...slow? "And that's your concern.....tell me, sweetheart...how old are you?" "21." You respond, a small pout in your tone.

"Twenty..one... just...take the week off. I want you to come by my office later on tonight..." "for what?" You ask. "Does it matter if I tell you? What if I lie?" He laughs with exhaustion, and you follow suite. You two were gonna have a looong talk.

You can support me by liking, commenting, reblogging, and/or cashapping me @fundsbrownie. Donations are optional, but much appreciated. Have fun! And remember, take care of yourself.

[pinkbambi444]

Descent into Barbie Bambi

My descent into Bambi was not something that I anticipated would be achieved to this extent. Yet, when I met my master I almost knew right away I’d give my life away to him. Equally daunting yet exciting experience. The deeper we fell in love the more both of us fell into our natural dynamics. Part of this was me serving my man’s needs, I always knew that I’d dedicate my life to my owner however I wasn’t prepared for just how far we would go ! Now that we’re on this path together, I couldn’t be more Barbie pink excited to become who I was always meant to be 🎀🎀💝💝 A Barbie Bimbo Bambi doll!

Life through service is an incredibly beautiful life and as woman a huge part of our purpose should we chose to accept it, is to submit to and love and nurture the incredible man in our lives. Not every woman can or wants to do this however, as the independent woman motto is quiet highly strung in todays society. The Bimbo lifestyle is underrated and I believe not promoted enough. However perhaps it’s not something to be promoted, because I think the bimbo lifestyle has a funny way of choosing you. It’s not something you ask for or go chasing, now that I’m here in it, I think you’ve either got it in your or you don’t. Either you align with its values wholeheartedly or you’re on the other end of the spectrum. Either is fine, whatever suits the individual #peacetoall

To me, becoming the most feminine, soft, sensual and thoughtless version of myself to present to Master is something I view as a true gift ! My purpose in this life is to be the best woman and be best mumma to our children, when daddy decides to breed me when he thinks the time is right ! So to me it’s an ultimate act of submission becoming the prettiest, dumbest and happiest version of myself!

Only a few months ago, my Master is the one that introduced the term Bimbo and away I went on my own research and guided by him. I fell in love with the representation and how freeing this lifestyle truly is. I quickly realised that a girl is allowed to relax and is not needed to be on top of everything. Becoming a Bimbo Bambi felt new, yet natural. It was sexy and fulfilling. More importantly it was me, precisely the lifestyle I had always envisioned but societal conditioning told me I had to be otherwise.

Becoming Bambi was not something I thought would feel this deep and endearing. I know it’s meant to be fun and sexual, but for me it goes deeper than that. It’s freeing. My owner showed me it’s okay to be the Barbie girl of my dreams and that I don’t need to be on professional girl mode at all times, that actually I am allowed to relax and switch my brain off. In fact, doing that is attractive !! I was so used to living in survival mode than sometimes I forgot to live and enjoy the moment. Being a Bimbo lets me not only be happy but also ensure my Masters cock gets whatever satisfaction he desires hehe xx

I truly believe I was always meant to be a Bimbo, however i just never knew this lifestyle existed as an option for me until my master. I must disclose it was never something that he pushed or pressured me into, he mentioned it once by way of ‘hey what do you think’ and off I went …. Onto this beautiful path aligning me with my sensual soft feminine goals and being able to be my best self.

The Bambi mixed with Bimbo lifestyle is something that flourishes on one’s unique sense of femininity; passion for sex and pleasing men/your man and the need to be pretty no matter what. Bimbos take great pride in their appearance for that is their prized treasure ! No wonder they’re so happy, because they’re always dressed cute and feeling fantastic !!

The effort into one’s appearance, the removal of pesky big girl thoughts and atlast being daddy’s personal sex doll - amongst the highest achievements as a woman. So, descending into Bambi is simply an extension of my way of life previously however ever since meeting my master, it is now a way of life and embodiment of who I am. It’s a tribute to how much I love my master. I am not my degrees or outwardly achievements, I’m not the hard working girl others know me as. I am simply Bambi, owned by my Master and a slave to all his needs. This is what I believe I was truly made for, because with him my heart has never been happier and through his leadership and guidance I am able to thrive as his woman.

This lifestyle allows me to cater to my man the way I’ve always dreamt of, dedicating my entire life and body to him ! It also enables me to be my absolute best. Bimbos are viewed as stereotypically dumb and brainless, however they are extremely emotionally intelligent when it comes to men, pleasure and giving their femininity away so generously. Pleasing their man is priority and I couldn’t be more proud for my goal in life to be that as well!

Furthermore, I firmly believe that my descent into becoming Barbie Bambi is the ultimate form of self love. I’ve always been a pink and feminine loving girl however now I just get to experience it to an incredible degree of embodiment. To be pretty and dumb and on display for my Owner, I love it, there is no greater pleasure !

This descent into Bambi will allow me not only to flourish in my feminine energy on another level, but it’s a channel in which I can serve my owner. I am his property and owned by him in every single way and being Bimbo will let me be my best self to make Master happy🥰🥰🎀🎀

[fight-nights-at-freddys]

i've been seeing a lot of posts recently about the proship community, and their "obsession" with complaining/talking about them, saying stuff like "i miss when fandom was more than just "i ship taboo things and that's my entire personality"", and i think i disagree with a lot of those posts.

the thing with fandom is that it used to be that way, UNTIL antis started policing what you could and couldn't do. it was inevitable that some of us were gonna double down and talk very openly about all the dark stuff we ship. is it totally reactionary? yes. was it without cause? no. this stuff doesn't happen in a vacuum.

but also, like. i feel like y'all (not you reading this post but. the ppl that make those kinds of posts) are missing out on a few very key details, being:

the proship community was started as a reaction to antis in the first place. they are intrinsically linked together, whether we like it or not. being proship is reactive, fork found in kitchen,

all these different terms exists because of antis, not because of proshippers. complain all you want about "x/y is a comship!" or "a/b is a darkship!", because i agree, it doesn't matter! it's all shipping in the end! antis are the ones that actually gaf because to them it matters A LOT if you ship The Bad Thing™,

fandom is what you make of it. if you don't wanna ship taboo things, have at it! do what you want forever, but the need to shame people that like darkships and talk abt it openly on their blogs is odd,

you don't have to tag generic fandom stuff with "proship", you are allowed to exist in the main tags!! you don't have to go searching for positive fandom stuff in the proship tags!!

i think y'all forget this is a blogging site, not just a social media site. i'm here for my *own* enjoyment, entertainment, and sometimes catharsis. if i see an annoying take from an anti, i'm gonna post about it, bc it's *my* blog. yes, we can (and often do) block antis, but that doesn't mean we can't bitch about them. the blocking feature exists for everyone, and if you don't like what those kinds of proshippers talk about, block the individual, not just the tags.

like, i'm sorry to break it to you, but things don't have to be all unicorns-and-rainbows positive all the time. sometimes we wanna bitch and complain, and that's OKAY!

there's nothing wrong with having your "entire personality" being liking darkships! (i have issues w that phrasing btw, bc most of the ppl that talk Like That™ are bait accounts, or it's a side account where they only want to talk about their darkships. point is, them liking taboo ships is def just one facet of their personalities, not their whole personality)

the problem isn't people in this community "killing the vibe", the problem is you letting your vibes be killed by stuff you don't like!

[woodywood101blog]

Experimental: Delivery, Part 2

They were able to move Yazan into the car and urgently drive across to the Royal Prince Alfred Hospital. Anna urgently dialled one of the other research assistants to arrange a private delivery room for Yazan to pick him up from one of the private entrances. The assistant managed to secure the room by declaring it a research facility, meaning the only authorised individuals in the room were Mike, Anna, the other research assistants, plus Randy and Yazan.

On the way, Yazan groaned more aggressively as the contractions became stronger. “Ahh, I honestly don’t know how much longer I can do this!”

“Yaz, we’re almost at the hospital. Once we’re in, we’ll see how far along you are and see if we can do a c-section, okay?”

“I -”

“I know, it’s not exactly our birth plan, but these kids are going to make a lot more calls over your life in the future, okay? Better start getting used to that.”

Yazan mumbled, before moaning when another wave of contractions kicked in.

As they were checking into the hospital, Yazan was speedily put into a wheelchair and strolled into the room, pulled out of his shorts and bra and into an open hospital gown. He felt comfortable holding one of the hospital bed rails and standing upright.

“Okay, Yazan, can I take a look and see how far along you are in labour?” Mike asked.

“No.”

“Yazan, now is not the time -”

“I said no. You are not going anywhere near me.”

Mike groaned and raised his hands in frustration. “Yazan, your babies don’t have time for this! You are in a really serious situation here. We need to see what is happening so that we can work out how to help you and the babies stay alive. Now, can I take a look?”

Yazan looked towards Anna. Anna meekly smiled to try and give support to let Mike take the lead. “No, let Anna.”

Anna looked across at Mike in confusion. She’s a medical student, she shouldn’t step on her research director’s toes. “Alright, fine. Anna, step up and inspect Yazan’s anal cavity for me, please.”

Anna’s eyes bulged as she looked back towards Randy, who had just walked into the room. He sensed there were issues when Mike stepped back and was walking around the room in frustration.

Just as Anna was about to inspect, another contraction hit Yazan, which felt much stronger than before. Everyone witnessed Yazan’s belly tighten as he moaned out in pain and frustration, “Ahhh, get them out of me!!”

Anna slowly moved two of her fingers into Yazan’s ass, and could sense the contraction easing. She noticed his ass felt loose. As she moved her hand further, she quietly gasped.

“I can feel Baby A’s head. I think we should try and get Yazan to squat to help speed the delivery of Baby A. If we can do that, we could then still consider a c-section for the remaining three babies.”

“Good call, Anna.” Mike smiled. He looked towards Yazan, who looked more exhausted than ever. “Right, Yazan, we’d like to have you squat so we can get your first baby delivered. Can you do that, or do you want help?”

“I want you to fuck off out of here, that’s what I want!” Yazan screamed.

Randy stepped up from behind and rubbed Yazan’s shoulders. “Yazan, Mike is really trying to help here. Please… I know it’s not a comfortable experience at the moment, but we’re all here to make sure you and the babies are safe. Okay?”

Yazan quietly sighed. Yes, this is a pretty shit experience. Four babies hanging on for dear life, stuck behind a ‘loose’ asshole which shouldn’t even be giving birth to babies in the first place. But Mike, for better or worse, was the doctor who got him in this mess, and he was going to be the doctor to get him out of this mess.

“Fine. I’ll squat.”

“Thank you, Yazan. I really am sorry for putting you through this.” Mike quietly replied as he walked towards Yazan, held his waist and helped him squat on the floor. Yazan held a deep moan as he felt the further discomfort of the babies shifting and kicking around.

Almost immediately, a new contraction hit and Yazan felt Baby A move even closer towards delivery. Anna guided him through the breathing, while Randy wiped the sweat and rubbed his back when the contractions were stronger. Mike stepped back and let Anna take the lead.

“Okay Yazan, Baby A is crowning. I think a really strong man like you could do this in two really powerful pushes. Ready, let’s go! And push!!!”

Yazan screamed as he felt a new contraction rip through him. He gave all his might as he pushed the baby. Yazan held Randy’s hand extremely tightly, to the point where Randy was worried he might break it.

“The head is out! Well done, Yazan! We’ll just let the shoulders move around and at the next contraction, we’ll get to meet Baby A, alright? Ready, and push!!!”

Yazan screamed even louder as he felt the shoulders shift around, and almost immediately felt the body start to slide out into Anna’s hand. Yazan cried out as he heard the first baby cry. He also looked briefly down at his breasts and saw more colostrum than ever before start spilling from his nipples.

“Your baby girl is here, Yazan!” Yazan and Randy started crying as they heard the baby cry. Mike grabbed the baby and took it to a nearby crib to clean the baby. He returned and brought the baby to Yazan, who had slowly moved to an upright position.

“Hey there, little one!” Yazan whispered as he kissed the baby girl. However, the joy was short-lived as Yazan almost instantly felt a new contraction rip through his body and crouched back down to the squatting position. “Ohh, fuck!”

Anna quickly stepped up and looked at Yazan’s butt. “Hey Mike, I think we might need to put a pause on the c-section. I can see Baby B’s head.”

Yazan groaned in more pain as he realised he had no choice but to deliver all of his babies naturally at the rate he was going. These babies really are calling the shots.

With each building contraction, each of the three sons moved closer to being born. About 5 minutes following Baby A’s birth, Baby B was born. 8 minutes later, Baby C was born.

“Alright, Yazan, I can see Baby D’s head now. You’ve done such an amazing job today. We’re in the home stretch now! You’ve got two more big pushes to do and then you can relax.”

Randy was worried Yazan was slipping in and out of consciousness with the extreme pressure and pain his body was experiencing. He tried to dab some icy cold water on Yazan’s forehead to keep him alert, plus the contractions were also helping him stay alert. Yazan deeply moaned then screamed at the peaks of the contractions.

Yazan could feel another extremely painful contraction come on, and could sense this was the last one he could do at full power. As such, he screamed so loudly Randy needed to move his head back to avoid hearing damage, and pushed as much as he could.

Anna was shocked at how much power Yazan was using to push Baby D out. While the ass was loose, he could still conserve some energy. However, Yazan wanted this to be done, so he kept pushing to the extent of the contraction and birthed the baby’s head and shoulders. Anna took the hint and tried to see if she could grab the baby’s shoulders and pull him out.

“Yazan, you might feel some discomfort, but I’ll see if I can pull Baby D out for you, okay?” Yazan nodded while trying to catch his breath. Randy could see Yazan’s eyes glaze over. He might actually pass out, he thought.

Anna was able to use a set of forceps to latch onto Baby D’s shoulders and slowly pull him out of Yazan’s ass. “And, here we go! Baby D is born! Well done, Yazan!” They waited a couple of seconds before seeing Baby D squirm then cry loudly.

Yazan smiled briefly as he saw Baby D being carried away by Mike. Almost instantly, Yazan collapsed into Randy’s arms.

“Yazan? Yazan! Yazan, can you hear me?” Randy screamed desperately as Anna and Mike ran across to see what happened. The team leapt into action as they helped Randy lift Yazan onto the table, and pulled Yazan’s gown off him.

“He’s unconscious. We need to check his vitals.” Anna and Mike strapped a new heart monitor onto his finger. “Low blood pressure. Is he bleeding?”

Anna checked around Yazan’s body. “No, I can’t see any external bleeding. Has he birthed the placenta?”

“Shit, no he hasn’t. We need to get the placenta out and check for uterine rupture.”

Anna turned around and saw Randy distraught. She turned to one of the other assistants. “Hey, I think we might need to take Randy outside.”

An assistant moved across to Randy and quietly led him outside and shut the door. As soon as the door shut, Randy burst into tears and dropped to the floor. One of the midwives on the floor ran across to help him and move him towards one of their family rooms.

“Hey there, it’s going to be alright, sir. She is going to get the best care from the doctors here. Let me get you a cup of tea and somewhere to sit.”

Randy struggled to process what was happening. There are four perfectly healthy babies, but the love of his life - a man - is fighting for his life.

[preet-01]

Since it's the Bills bye week and the Vegas GP, here's a quick little one-shot of Daniel going to Buffalo for the weekend that I wrote at 2am while watching quali

Though he stays in Los Angeles for the LA Kings game, Daniel is quick to leave sunny California for rainy Buffalo. “It’s bye week, I could come over there-” 

“I like your bed better than the one I have here,” Daniel cuts off Josh when they’re talking on the phone. He’s technically not in Vegas, but it’s just a short 4 hour drive which is completely doable and Daniel wants to put as much distance as he can between him and the streets he should’ve been racing on. 

“It’s dreary here and cold, baby,” Josh retorts. 

“More the reason for me to have you all over me,” Daniel replies, unable to help the grin that takes over his face. Thoughts of Josh did tend to distract him from everything and right now Daniel needed the distraction. 

“Want me to pick you up from the airport? I’ll get a sign and flowers, the whole shebang,” Josh jokes, but still half serious. Daniel knows he only needs to say the word and Josh would do it. Hell, he’d made an offhand comment about Josh promoting Enchante once and the younger man now took every opportunity to wear Enchante for his pre-game tunnel walks. 

“Yeah?” Daniel asks, “save the flowers for another time, bring a blanket.” 

He should’ve known that Josh would take his words to heart and find the most comfortable blanket in existence to greet Daniel with. “Hi, baby,” Josh says, wrapping the warm blanket around Daniel’s shoulders as he pulls him into a hug. It’s innocent and platonic and exactly how everyone would expect them to greet one another in such a public setting. Later, when they’re in the confines of Josh’s home, there’ll be a kiss and quick tugging off of clothes as they stumble from the front door to the closest bed or sofa. For now, Daniel breathes in the warmth and comfort of Josh’s hug. 

“Missed ya,” Daniel mumbles despite the fact it’s not been very long since they last saw one another. Not long since they’d broken a table that Josh had Daniel bent over on. “Wanted to celebrate with you again,” he continues. 

“Want me to put you through a table again, baby?” Josh questions with a smirk as he pulls away just the slightest, letting in cold air between them much to Daniel’s dismay. It’s a sign that they should put a move on it and get to Josh’s home so Daniel can make grabby hands at a naked Josh instead of just chasing the warmth of a hug. 

____

“It’s unfair, you know,” Josh says suddenly. Daniel can’t begin to think what Josh thinks is unfair, not when they’re both naked and Daniel is giving him a blowjob. 

“Hhm?” Daniel questions with a simple hum, absolutely refusing to take his mouth off of Josh’s dick to properly ask a question using words. He loosely wonders if he should be offended that Josh is thinking of something else while he’s got Daniel sucking him off. 

“I can’t have sponsors on my uniforms like all the other guys you talk to,” Josh replies. And well, Daniel’s less offended since Josh is still thinking of him…and the other men that Daniel talks to?

“What?” Daniel questions, pulling off Josh’s dick with a pop. “Is this about Hunter?” he questions with a raised brow. Josh was far from the first of Daniel’s… friends… to reach out about the sponsor placement on Hunter’s racesuit. There had been many questions on how it got approved and what his individual sponsorship looked like. Daniel had ignored those texts in favor of partying in LA with the boys and planning a week-long trip to Buffalo that had Josh all over him – the very thing that was not currently happening due to the sponsor logo placement. 

“Hunter? That’s his name? Really?” Josh questions. 

“So why are we talking about sponsors when I could be sucking your dick?” Daniel inquires as he glances at Josh’s dick – still slicked with precum and spit and beaconing Daniel. 

“I just, they get to wear parts of you, your symbol, while competing. And I can’t do that,” Josh replies. He tugs Daniel onto his lap, groaning at the pressure it puts on his cock, “fuck,” he mumbles. 

Slowly moving his hips back and forth, Daniel latches onto Josh’s neck. Biting and sucking on the sensitive skin, Daniel leaves his mark for all to see. Though only a few people would know that Daniel had made the mark instead of someone else. But they would know. Him and Josh. They would know that Daniel had marked up Josh just moments after having Josh’s dick in his mouth. “There,” Daniel says, “now can I go back to sucking your dick?” 

____

Saturday night comes and goes with Daniel in Josh’s bed. 

His clothes are lost somewhere in the expanse of Josh’s closet  and have been since the first day in Buffalo. Handprints and love bites cover the most intimate parts of Daniel, just as Josh’s inner thighs and mouth are slightly red due to beard burn. 

“Do you wanna watch the race? I heard Max could-” Josh gets cut off with a kiss. 

Daniel doesn’t want to think about Formula One or how it’s happening in Vegas as they speak or Max potentially winning his fourth championship. RIght now, the cars should be making their way to the grid with Max lining up fifth alongside Lando – his closest competition to the championship. He’d gotten front row seats to Max’s first championship win and the controversy behind it all, he’d been racing when Max won the second, and he’d watched the third championship win from the comfort of his home. And he wants to support Max, witness him win another championship, but Daniel also knows that watching a full race would only further hurt him and drive the sharp knife of Red Bull’s politics deeper into his heart. 

“Could we just lay here?” Daniel asks, cuddling closer to Josh. “Just wanna be here with you,” he adds. Daniel doesn’t want to think of the sport he’d dedicated his life to or the team he’d given his blood, sweat, and tears to for the majority of his career.

“Anything you want, baby,” Josh replies, throwing an arm and leg over Daniel so he’s locked in place. Daniel smiles as he presses a kiss against one of Josh’s pecs. 

Tomorrow, he’ll watch some of the race highlights and send the correct messages to everyone, but for tonight he’s going to focus on the naked man he’s sharing a bed with and desperately wants to introduce to his mother. 

[scary-grace]

Expiation (Chapter 4) - a Shigaraki x f!Reader fic

Even after slaying the High Kingdom's greatest enemy and sparing its people from a terrible fate, Shigaraki Tomura's past crimes make him an outcast in the castle. Still, someone has to attend to him, and that someone is you -- and unlike the maids who came before you, you're not afraid to ask a question. (cross-posted to Ao3)

Chapters: 1 2 3

Chapter 4

The debate over the issue of the borderlands continues, although without any more challenges issued to Sir Tomura by Sir Katsuki or anyone else. The king’s council appears to be inching towards a decision in favor of a campaign to retake the borderlands from the warlords, but the more cautious individuals on the council wish to hear more testimony from those who hail from the region, and the intensity of the questioning means that only one or two people can be questioned each day. In the meantime, a new complication begins to arise: A steady stream of people emerging from the Forest Perilous, each more tired and ragged than those who came before.

“Never before have so many passed through,” Yui murmurs to you as the two of you carry loads of sheets down to the castle laundry. “Has the Forest lost its power to shield us?”

You shake your head, but she’s still speaking. “Did he destroy it when he passed through?”

“No,” you say firmly. Yui startles. “The Forest is stronger than any one person. It admitted Sir Tomura because he was meant to be here. There must be a reason for the presence of the others.”

There is, and you learn it later that day, when your token hums against your wrist and you hurry to answer Sir Tomura’s call. You find him on the battlements above the gate, watching today’s new arrivals climb the hill. Your token goes still when you reach him, and his must, too – he speaks without looking up. “Now we will see how far your kingdom’s generosity truly stretches. Do you think good King Izuku will let them in?”

“I cannot see why he would do otherwise,” you say carefully. “Those who pass through the Forest Perilous are those who belong here, and as such, they deserve a welcome like any other.”

“But these are not any other travelers,” Sir Tomura says. “They come from your Enemy’s kingdom.”

Your heart lurches. You fight to conceal your surprise, but Sir Tomura’s looking at you now. “Did their style of dress not reveal them to you? Or are you truly so ignorant of the kingdom you reviled?”

You shake your head, but you have no answer. “I see,” Sir Tomura says, scornful a gain. “You thought that they condoned his actions simply by dwelling in his kingdom.”

“No,” you say. Sir Tomura scoffs. “I did not condone the warlord’s actions simply by living in the lands he controls. If that is true of me, it’s true of them. But –”

You hesitate. “Speak,” Sir Tomura says.

“With the Enemy vanquished, their lands belong to them again,” you say. “Why would they leave?”

“If you wish to know that, ask them,” Sir Tomura says. He looks away from you, his eyes fixed on the travelers – the refugees – once more. “Now go.”

You aren’t sure how to interpret the order. Is he telling you to depart and speak to the others, or simply to depart? In the end, tradition guides you. When groups of travelers arrived together in the past, you’ve often gone to welcome them, drawn by a desire to help and by a secret, more selfish desire to understand. There is no reason why the refugees from the Enemy’s kingdom should be treated differently, and if Sir Tomura has no need of you, it’s as good a way as any to pass your time.

Rather than being received in the usual chambers, the new arrivals are being received in the large courtyard just inside the gate, and the supplies usually kept for such events are in no way equal to the task. Your magic is suited enough for this – mending ragged clothes so they’ll last a little longer, mending heirlooms broken in the journey – and so is your experience as a new arrival yourself, when you were barely more than a child. You answer their questions, and they in turn unfold their stories to you. Stories of the terror wreaked upon the Enemy’s kingdom in its final days. Stories of what remained afterward. Stories of Sir Tomura, and how he defeated the Enemy – and how he did not fight alone.

The first you hear of it comes from a little girl, when you compliment the silver ring that hangs from a twist of twine around her neck. “It’s still hot,” she tells you proudly, although when she holds it out for you to touch, it carries only the warmth of her skin. “It belonged to the Dragonheart.”

“Dabi the Dragonheart?” you repeat, surprised. You know of him, of course – his is another name mentioned in the chronicles of evil deeds – but you hadn’t realized that he was present in the Enemy’s kingdom, too. “Did he give it to you?”

The girl shakes her head solemnly. “I found it after,” she says. “After he fell.”

“The Dragonheart fell in battle,” you say slowly, and the girl nods. “How?”

“Didn’t see.” She spins the ring on its makeshift chain. “If people saw then, they can’t see now.”

You finish mending her clothes and thank her for the story, wondering what she meant. A few new arrivals later, you hear the rest of it. The Dragonheart burned so brightly in his final moments as he strove to deal a death blow to the Enemy that those who looked upon his brilliance went blind from it. But that isn’t the part of the story that troubles you. The Dragonheart fought alongside Sir Tomura. The Dragonheart died.

The Dragonheart isn’t the only figure of legend to have died in recent months. Others who fled the Enemy’s fallen kingdom tell you of the final spell cast by the dreaded witch Himiko, and still more relay the death of Spinner, a noted mercenary and the White Death’s closest friend. His closest friend, but not his only friend. When Sir Tomura challenged the Enemy, the others joined his cause.

Each of his friends was a monster, sowing terror in every village they passed through, just like him. Each of them paid the ultimate price, just as Sir Tomura would have if the Enemy’s final blow had been fatal. It’s the same contradiction you faced before, of monsters who proved more courageous than the true knights of the High Kingdom. Of villains who died doing something good. It makes your head hurt – and your heart, too.

Days pass. More testimonials are given before the council, more refugees arrive, and more stories are told. Stories not just of how the White Death’s comrades died, but how they lived. I saw the White Death smile once, a former soldier of the Enemy says. A few days later, from the mouth of a woman who once waited on the four of them in a tavern: I heard him laugh. And then, from a boy blinded by the Dragonheart’s last blaze, scarred from the wave of black magic that emanated from the Enemy’s fallen castle and scoured the countryside for miles: I heard him scream.

You want to ask your Lord about his companions, about what happened to them, about what happened to him when he slew the Enemy and incurred his terrible wound. You’ve tried to follow his instruction to speak to him as you would to an equal. But as much as you want the answer, you know that there are questions you would refuse to answer even if you were compelled to do so, and there’s nothing you could do to compel Sir Tomura. You wouldn’t want to.

But you’re a commoner, and little care is given to what you want. And at no point is that more evident than when Sir Tomura informs you that the King’s council requires your presence tomorrow.

“Your testimony is expected to sway them, one way or the other,” he says. He’s seated on his bed, watching as you store clean clothes in the wardrobe. “King Izuku requires a unanimous decision to approve a military campaign, and there are a few holdouts who would rather negotiate first.”

You know what the warlords do to negotiators – the warlord whose thumb you dwelt under most particularly. “They have spoken to everyone. They haven’t heard enough?”

“It seems not, and my word, of course, counts for nothing.” The bedsprings creak. When you look back over your shoulder, you find Sir Tomura sprawled out, staring up at the canopy. “Most who have testified left the borderlands as mere children, too young to remember what they saw with any accuracy. You lived there longer than most, and your warlord’s crimes are the justification for the war they are planning to start. They expect details.”

Your stomach turns. “No.”

“No?” Sir Tomura sounds surprised. “As much as it pleases me to hear that you plan to defy the king, it puzzles me why you’d choose this moment to make your stand.”

“Why does it puzzle you, my Lord?”

“As a daughter of the borderlands, don’t you want to see your people liberated? Rescued from the dread clutches of the warlords and returned to the smothering embrace of the High Kingdom?” Sir Tomura’s words are harsh, but there’s less scorn in his tone than you expected. “You have no fear of the council. You spoke before them well enough at the feast. What is it?”

“I don’t wish to discuss it.” You know it’s cowardly, know it’s foolish, and yet – “Even if you commanded me, my Lord, I would not. Just as you would not tell what happened in your battle against the Enemy.”

“No one has asked directly,” Sir Tomura says. “I have not had the chance to refuse.”

“But you would.”

“I would.” The bedsprings creak again. Sir Tomura sits up. “But my refusal, unlike yours, does not damn thousands to live and die under the warlords’ control.”

“My words cannot hold such weight,” you say sharply, sharper than you ever thought you’d be with a noble or a knight. “You and the nobles on the council will act or not as you see fit. I will not be their excuse.”

“They should not need an excuse to defend their kingdom’s borders. Is that what you mean?” Sir Tomura waits, but you don’t know how to answer. “Turn and look at me.”

You face him and find him studying you intently. Long moments pass before he speaks. “I thought it was self-consciousness, but I should have expected better. You’re angry, aren’t you?”

“No –”

“Of course you are.” Sir Tomura allows no argument. “The High Kingdom threw your people to the wolves to secure a stronger border against an enemy they had no intention of facing. They promised to protect you and broke that promise. They do not deserve your blind devotion. They deserve your rage.”

“So it is my Lord’s suggestion that I stand before the most powerful people in the realm and lose my temper?”

“You do not have to lose your temper to express your rage.” Sir Tomura beckons you a few steps closer, and you go with the utmost hesitation. “They want answers from you. Answer them. Leave nothing out. If they can look away, they will, so give them no choice but to keep looking.”

“My Lord –”

“They may be aggressive in their questioning,” Sir Tomura says, “but you have survived me these past months. Surely Sir Katsuki cannot compare.”

Your hands are shaking. You clasp them behind your back and try to slow the racing of your heart. “It is not simply anger, my Lord,” you start. “It’s –”

You and the others from the borderlands rarely speak of where you came from – enough to confirm that you were raised to know the same terror, and no more. Each of you carries it inside you, never to be revealed. You have no idea what the others said in their testimony, no idea how yours will land, and you’ve never spoken a single word of it aloud. It’s more than anger. It’s fear, deep and instinctual, and a conviction that you will not survive speaking of it – not to one person, and certainly not to the king’s council as they weigh the question of war.

You look down, then away. “What is there to fear in speaking?” Sir Tomura asks.

Many things, but one most of all. “That he will hear I did it.”

It’s quiet for a while. You brace for scorn, or worse, another question, but Sir Tomura surprises you. “You are dismissed for the night,” he says. “It seems you have much to think about.”

“Thank you, my Lord.” You curtsy – a gesture which looks ridiculous without a skirt, but you’re still unused to bowing – and leave the room without ever raising your eyes.

You barely sleep, and when you arrive to attend to Sir Tomura in the morning, you’re certain you look it. Sir Tomura prefers to take breakfast in his chamber, so you retrieve food and tea before coming to wake him. Enough food and tea for two, always – after the first time, when he asked what you planned to eat and you had no answer, you’ve fallen into the habit of eating with him. It’s expedient as well. He has yet to grasp the many layers of appropriate dress for a noble, and it falls to you to stop him from leaving improperly arrayed.

He lets you work in silence, for the most part – this morning, at least. He runs his hand through his hair once and then again, the familiar grimace rising to his face. “Does your wound pain you today, my Lord?”

“It always pains me.” Sir Tomura lets his hand fall to his side. “This costume is ridiculous.”

“It’s simpler than what the others wear.”

“They look ridiculous, too.” Sir Tomura looks you up and down. “Your clothes are more appropriate.”

“For a servant, my Lord.”

“For anyone,” Sir Tomura says. “Find the tailor. Tell him I want clothes like yours.”

You look down at what you’re wearing. It’s excruciatingly simple – like any squire’s clothes, in your Lord’s colors, your only ornamentation the summoning token around your wrist. “I will see what I can do, my Lord. He may refuse me.”

“See what you can do,” Sir Tomura says. “I will be with the council today. Depending on today’s witness, the meeting will be either very long or very short.”

“Yes, my Lord.” You straighten the plain brooch that fastens his cloak and step back. “Is there anything else you require?”

Before he can answer, you see his summoning token lying on the table beside his bed and answer the question yourself. “Here. If you should require anything –”

“What if I should require you to testify?” Sir Tomura asks, and you look up, shocked. “I have no intention of doing so. Speak or do not speak – it is your own affair.”

“You would not compel me?”

“I don’t own you.” Sir Tomura gives you an irritated look. “The sooner you accept that, the better.”

You step back from him, bow, and retreat out the door. Your Lord is a strange man, his nightmarish reputation notwithstanding. As always when you consider him, you fall victim to the same paradox. Sir Tomura has done monstrous things. He makes no apology, gives no excuse, the way others have done when King Izuku and his knights brought them to justice. And yet he had comrades in arms, those he considered friends, who fought and died in battle beside him. And yet he slew a greater evil, one who menaced your kingdom for a hundred years, sparing the world the pain and horror that would have resulted from a war. He is a noble, and you should be far beneath his notice, but he has been – fair – in his dealings with you. Far fairer than anyone you’ve served before.

You wonder if he’ll be the one to summon you to council, but he isn’t – Sir Ejirou comes instead, a sure sign that the council doesn’t plan to take no for an answer where your testimony is concerned. You could refuse and allow yourself to be hauled before them like a disobedient child, but the eyes of your fellow servants and squires are on you, and you don’t wish to make a scene. You bow in response to Sir Ejirou’s command, store away your work, and follow him to the council chamber on legs that feel all too steady beneath you.

You’ve had quick glimpses inside the council chamber before, but never a real chance to look around, and you won’t have one today. The council members are waiting for you. Some faces are expectant; others already annoyed; still others are blank. Sir Tomura’s not even looking at you. He’s leaning back in his chair with his battered boots propped up on the table, cleaning under his fingernails with a tiny knife.

He looks like he couldn’t care less about anything – the borderlands, the council meeting, your testimony, you. If you were looking for support from him, you won’t find it. But you weren’t.  You face the councilmembers and bow, as deeply as the presence of the king requires. “Please rise,” King Izuku says. He’s smiling, but anxiety flickers behind his eyes. “Before we begin your testimony in earnest, we have questions that arose based on the testimony of others. Is it true that the warlords demand not only taxes, but protection fees, from their common folk?”

“Yes.” You see Lord Tenya in your peripheral vision, gesturing for you to elaborate. “There is no set fee. They resemble bribes. Families bribe the warlords’ soldiers to pillage their neighbors’ farms and not their own.”

“So one pays or is – pillaged.”

“Yes,” you say again. “Someone is always attacked. Much time and money is spent currying favor to avoid becoming the victim.”

“We have been told, too, that the warlord Kai collects those with magic to serve him,” Sir Ochako says. She smiles at you, like the king did. Like the king, she’s anxious. “Is that true?”

“No,” you say. “Those he takes do not serve him, except as subjects for his experiments.”

“We’ve heard the same rumor from many people,” Lady Momo says. “What evidence can you provide that it is true?”

Rumor, she calls it, when you know more than one person in Castle Ultra who lost family members to Warlord Kai, whose loved ones were dragged screaming into his fortress, never to emerge again – at least not in any recognizable form. A spark of anger kicks up within you, but it’s smothered almost instantly by terror. You speak of what happens inside the fortress to no one. Warlord Kai made that perfectly clear, and you know what he does to people who disobey.

The token around your wrist buzzes, and you startle. Startle, and with your eyes cast down to avoid suspicion, you look towards Sir Tomura. He hasn’t looked up, but a moment later, your token buzzes again. Is he trying to distract you? Lady Momo repeats her question, and the token buzzes a third time. This time, when you glance towards Sir Tomura, he’s looking at you.

Most in the High Kingdom cringe beneath his gaze, but you’ve grown used to it. You remember what he told you to do when you spoke last night: Answer them. Leave nothing out. But that would constitute speaking freely to a noble, and no noble would allow –

Lady Momo poses her question once more, her perfect features beginning to show irritation. You look back to her, and your token buzzes a final time. Sir Tomura doesn’t want you to look at her. He wants you to look at him.

If you look at him, you can pretend it’s only him you’re speaking to – and he ordered you to speak freely. You settle your gaze on his face and answer the question. “I am not repeating a rumor I heard from others. I saw his experiments myself.”

You worked as a maid in Warlord Kai’s fortress from the age of ten to when you were thirteen. Your parents thought it was best to hide your small magic in plain sight. In the time you were there, you saw prisoners brought in, heard their screams, scrubbed the floor of the warlord’s workshop when he was finished with them. You saw what they became afterwards – twisted, broken things, impossibly fused together and yet still alive. You don’t even know what he was trying to do.

“Who was he experimenting on?” Sir Katsuki barks at you when you pause for breath. ��Criminals?”

“Warlord Kai doesn’t punish criminals. He hires them,” Sir Tomura says. His eyes never leave yours. “Forgive the interruption, but it sounded as if Sir Katsuki was about to excuse the warlord’s crimes – so long as they were committed against the right people.”

Sir Katsuki calls Sir Tomura something unrepeatable, which King Izuku hastily orders stricken from the record of the meeting. “Go on,” he instructs you. “Who did the warlord experiment on?”

“Anyone with magic,” you say. “Those who displayed the gift, no matter how small, were taken away.”

“How did you survive?” Lord Shoto asks.

“How did you escape?” Aizawa corrects. You hadn’t noticed him, and a chill runs down your spine as he slinks into view to face you directly. “You worked for him. You have no great skill with magic, nor any fighting ability. How did a mere child escape such a fearsome man?”

“I never confronted him directly,” you say. “When I knew I would be discovered, I ran.”

Aizawa looks dissatisfied – as if you might be lying, as if the warlord might have set you loose in a decades-long ploy to destroy the High Kingdom from within. Sir Ochako poses a question, and you glance at her, grateful for the reprieve. She wishes to know how many people are taken per year, and you report that the number began to dwindle, even within your years. You can’t miss the relief that sweeps across her face – her face, and the faces of the others. “His experiments are tapering off,” King Izuku states. “Perhaps he discovered what he wished to already.”

That’s not what you meant at all, but you don’t dare speak over the king. Sir Tomura has no such concerns. “That’s naïve,” he says, scorn edging every letter. “He’s not tapering off. He’s running out of test subjects.”

King Izuku frowns, puzzled, and Sir Tomura rolls his eyes. “The gift can surface spontaneously, but most often it’s inherited. If the warlord has spent years collecting every magic-user he encounters, young and old –”

“Then the gift is nearly extinct in his lands,” Lord Tenya interrupts.

“Indeed.” Sir Tomura doesn’t look at him. His question is for you. “You have had a chance to observe him? Do you think he will cease to experiment once his supply of gifted individuals is exhausted?”

“No,” you say.

“When do you believe he will stop?”

“When someone stops him,” you say. “Not one moment before.”

Silence falls. Sir Tomura’s red eyes have yet to leave yours, and when King Izuku speaks, it feels as though some spell has been broken. “I have no further questions,” he says. “You have my leave to go. There is much for the council to discuss.”

You bow low and exit the chamber. No sooner have the doors shut behind you than the token at your wrist begins to vibrate without rest, as though Sir Tomura is pressing it repeatedly. You can’t imagine why he’s summoning you to a room you were just dismissed from – unless he’s ordering you to wait for him outside. You can do that. You find a place to stand out of the way, only to find yourself sinking to the floor as your legs give out beneath you.

You did everything you could. You answered their questions in full, without mercy, and Sir Tomura’s last questions left them nowhere to hide. You did everything you could, so why do you feel so sick? Why do you feel as if you’ve left something out, omitted some horrible detail that would have forced them to act? Why won’t the memory of what you saw every day for three years leave your head, when it was so easy to keep out before? Why does it still feel like the warlord’s hand is about to close over your shoulder?

You’ve comforted yourself forever with the thought that the Forest Perilous would keep Warlord Kai out. But it let Sir Tomura in. What if –

The doors open, and you struggle to your feet as the king’s council emerges. They’re talking urgently amongst themselves, summoning their squires, calling for scribes. The herald pops up from nowhere and King Izuku hands him a proclamation, orders him to spread the word. What word? You don’t want to guess, or hope. You’re too frightened to be wrong.

Sir Tomura stops just outside the chamber, looks left, then right. You uproot your nerveless legs to go to him, but he comes to you instead, a look you can’t read on his face. “Congratulations,” he says. “You’ve started a war.”

Your back hits the wall. “They agreed?”

“King Izuku has his precious unanimity at last,” Sir Tomura says. “After hearing your testimony, my conscience would not let me vote against going to war.”

He was the holdout? His voice is mocking, and although you’re certain he’s not mocking you, it doesn’t matter. You feel as though the floors been torn from beneath your feet. “My Lord? I don’t understand –”

“The longer I withheld my vote, the more evidence of their failure they were forced to hear,” Sir Tomura says. “Do you think they’ve suffered enough?”

You don’t know what to say. “I doubt it,” Sir Tomura muses. “When they march on the borderlands, they’ll see exactly what they deserve to.”

“Yes, my Lord.” You can’t speak more than a whisper.

“You were spectacular, of course,” Sir Tomura says. His voice is cool, neutral. “I expected nothing less. You have a way with words.”

He’s complimenting you. Your Lord is pleased with your performance, but you can’t summon even a spark of happiness – or if you could, it’s lost somewhere in the void of your memory, swallowed up in what you saw every time you set foot in the warlord’s workshop. You bow your head, because Sir Tomura’s standing too close for you to bow at the waist. You stay that way until Sir Tomura’s hand brushes against your jaw on its way to cup your chin and tilt your face upwards to his.

He’s frowning, and you force yourself to speak. “Have I displeased you, my Lord?”

“What did the warlord tell you would happen if you spoke of what you saw in his workshop?”

Speaking of it is unnecessary. The mere memory makes your skin crawl, sends a shiver strong enough to imperil your footing down the length of your spine. Shame follows almost instantly in its wake. They’re words. Only words, only a threat that Warlord Kai could not possibly carry out with the Forest Perilous between you. You don’t need to look at Sir Tomura to guess what he will think of such weakness on your part. You look down and away, waiting for him to let go of your chin and dismiss you from his sight.

“You need not fear him,” Sir Tomura says instead. “I’ve done far worse.”

Your response is instant, instinctive, and ill-advised. “Forgive me, my Lord, but you have not.”

Sir Tomura stares at you, incredulous, but the longer you think of it, the more certain you are. Sir Tomura has committed terrible acts of violence, slaughtering entire armies sent to defeat him, tearing cities down to their foundations, blighting the land and salting the earth with dark magic – but a death at Sir Tomura’s hands would be only that, and nothing more. Every day for three years you watched the warlord twist and mutilated the bodies of his victims, inflicting suffering without end, tearing their minds the same as he tore their flesh. If you had to choose between your former master and your current one, both monsters in their own right, you’d choose the White Death in an instant.

Sir Tomura hasn’t turned you loose yet. He looks truly taken aback, an expression you’re seeing from him for the first time. It’s subsumed seconds later into a sneer. “I suppose you prefer the monster you know.”

“No,” you say. “I prefer the one who’d kill me quickly.”

The sneer drops from Sir Tomura’s face. “I have heard many tales of your deeds, great and terrible as they are,” you continue, “and I have never heard it said that you are a torturer. I have heard it said that you revel in destruction, but not that you enjoy inflicting pain. Warlord Kai is worse, to me, because it pleases him – or does not discomfit him. I cannot say. Once I saw him draw out a man’s death over six months, finding new ways to mangle and deform him every day. If I displeased him and was caught, he would have done the same to me. But if I displease you, my Lord –”

“Be silent.”

“If I displease you, my Lord,” you say, looking up into Sir Tomura’s eyes, “I am confident that my death at your hands will not be drawn out.”

“No. It would not be.” Sir Tomura’s jaw is clenched. “I understand now why you stayed when others fled from me. You are well aware that worse monsters exist.”

“You’re wrong, my Lord.” You shrink from the thought of correcting a noble, but he asked you to speak to him as you would to an equal. “I made no such comparison until you forced it on me.”

“You’ve traded one monstrous lord for another.”

“To serve him was a nightmare,” you say. Your voice trembles. “To serve you is an honor.”

Sir Tomura still hasn’t let you go – and when he finally does, his hand falls to your shoulder even as he takes a noticeable step back. “It is as I said: You need not fear him. He will not live much longer.”

“Yes.” The kingdom has been preparing for war for a hundred years against an enemy who no longer exists; they are well-equipped to fight the one who’s been there all along. “King Izuku will defeat him.”

“King Izuku’s proved that he can’t be trusted with your safety,” Sir Tomura says. His hand falls away from your shoulder at last. “I’ll do it myself.”

[chatty-cat-cafe]

Moving Day!

“But Sliiiiiing!” A voice whined out as Sling was packing away his stuff, tail idly swishing behind him. Sling was happy the mantis demon had decided to help him with moving out, but Shuri’s insistent whining that the feline demon stayed was getting a little annoying at this rate. “Shuri, please.” Vine’s voice called out as she carried some of Sling’s bags to the front door, a gentle sigh escaping her lips. Shuri pouts as he does the same, trailing behind his sister in annoyance. He didn’t want Slingshot to leave, but he knew there was no amount of whining that would stop the blue demon from going. Sling snorted a little, he didn’t have many bags luckily enough, just enough to carry his clothing and accessories, his various cooking supplies and books and some other little items that the feline demon couldn’t part with. The bags were placed at the front door, the gentle “thump thump thump” of them making soft contact with the floor chimed out. Sling reached up and adjusted his headband, tail continuing to swish back and forth, brushing up some dirt that hadn’t been swept yet. Vine moved over and placed her hand on Sling’s back, gently patting it with a smile. “It’s going to be quite different without you here, Slingshot. Hopefully you’ll be okay in Playground.” “I’ll be fine, Vine! You don’t gotta worry about me, okay? I’ll be living with Skate and Boom, remember?” Vine blushes a little and nods, a soft giggle escaping her throat. “I know, I know! I’m just always going to worry for you, Slingshot. Just like I do with Shuri and sensei!” “Speaking of sensei…” Sling began and peeked out the front door’s little window, frowning softly. Where was Katana? He had told Slingshot and the others that he wanted to be present when Slingshot left the faction. “I’m sure he’s just running a little late, Sling. How about we head off to the front gates, hm?” Sling nodded and grabbed his bags, slinging two of them over his shoulder and holding the others in his hand. Shuri puffed and slouched slightly as he shuffled up to the other two demons, watching as Vine unlocked and opened the door, holding it up and letting both Sling and himself out the little apartment the three of them shared before she herself followed in toe. The walk to the front of the faction was admittedly a touch far, but the trio made their way there and were greeted by none other than Katana himself! The elderly red demon was dressed in his usual clothing and haori-jacket fusion, chest slightly exposed to show off the bandages wrapped around it, concealing the many scars and wounds from years of traveling and fighting. Sling smiles, hurrying over to the elderly demon and giving him a hug, his tail wagging slightly when Katana reached around the younger and patted his back gently. “Sensei! I thought you forgot about me leaving!” “I would never.” the older stated, the smile in his voice could be heard despite the mask he wore hiding his face. “You’re gonna like- Come back and visit, right, Sling?” Shuri pouted once more and kept his arms crossed over his chest. He didn’t like that Sling was leaving, Sling was the only person he could really have fun with! Katana was too old and Vine always told him off for being stupid and reckless. At least Sling TRIED to have some fun in this faction! “I will, Shuri. You don’t need to worry about that! Maybe I’ll bring Skate and Boom with me too, hehe.” Shuri’s little mantis tail perked up at that, his eyes widening in excitement as he smiled.

Conversations flowed between the Thieves’ Denizens. Little stories from childhood, memories shared between the four individuals and tales from past phights. Slingshot was happy, really happy. He was happy to share this moment with demons he loved the most. His tail was perked up, wagging happily before it froze up. A truck’s horn beeps a couple of times, causing the four to go silent as they look over. Zuka was there in his truck and waiting for the blue demon to come over and get in.

Sling breathed in and turned to the others, giving each of them a hug before he pulled back and picked up his stuff. “I’m gonna miss you guys… I promise to come back and visit!”

“Farewell, Slingshot.” “Take care, Sling! Please be careful!”“You better come visit me, Sling! It’s gonna be snoresville without you here!”

Sling giggled a little and waved goodbye, turning and hurrying over to the shark’s truck. He paused, looking back at his faction members. Thieves’ Den has been his home for years now, he never imagined he’d be moving to an entirely different faction. But this is what he wanted; he was chasing after his happiness. With one last shout of a goodbye, Sling got into the truck and vanished into the distance with Zuka. Playground, here he comes!