#but we shouldn’t pretend that both options are the same

[tolkpopfan]

…

[jimblejamblewritings]

love letters and second sons | part 4.

Summary: The princess is finally ready to debut in society. But before she does, she decides to disguise herself and see the true faces of the ton.

Warnings for the Series: light sexism in line with the times, light classism in line with the times, mental health stigma, shitty doctor care, smut, suicide attempt (will get it's own warning when the time comes)

Warnings for this part: smut

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x princess!reader

Word Count: 4.7k

Previous Part | Series Masterlist

The cloak wrapped around you felt like velvet. The softness between your fingers calmed you down significantly. Reynolds grabbed your hand after the fifth time you balled it up in your skirts. You looked up to see your three valets trying to hide the concern on their faces. You could have an incident or get caught or both. None of those three options were ideal or even good. 

“Do I look decent?” you asked as the carriage got closer and closer to the party. 

“You look perfect.” 

“Maybe I shouldn’t wear the mask?” 

“You don’t have to but keep it on you.” 

You agreed, exiting the carriage with a letter from the princess version of you — complete with a wax seal — that was basically a pass to enter any establishment no matter what. Spotting Penelope and Colin out of the corner of your eye, you breathed out a sigh of relief and ran over to them. Both of them wore wide smiles at your surprise arrival. They had been expecting a letter or something to signal your arrival back from Ireland. 

You were sad to hear about Marina not joining you all for this evening. It would have been nice to know her more than a little bit in between the courting of suitors. But there would be more times to meet and catch up later. Plus, hearing your friends’ stories of their daily lives proved to be a good enough distraction. You let them go after a while so Colin could escort Penelope to the dance floor like he promised to do after a run in with Cressida Cowper. 

Looking around, you failed to immediately locate the rest of the Bridgerton children. You grabbed a drink from the lemonade table and began to wander. The alcohol had looked appealing but you had never drank, afraid of the consequences if drink mixed with your illness. Someday you’d try some but not after an episode. Never right after one. 

On the outskirts of the party, still close enough to hear the music, you ran into Benedict. He gave you a smile and the same surprised look on his face as Penelope and Colin. You leaned in closer to hear him over the deafening melodies of the orchestra. Small talk that was mainly about your fictitious trip made up the first half of your conversation. After a while, you grew comfortable with each other as if you never left. 

“The lights are beautiful,” he commented, staring at the small lantern display that a scientist presented. 

You nodded. “We have some at the palace. They add more day by day but it would be nice if all of London, maybe all of the world, had these little lights. How has your art been?” 

“Not terribly well. Nothing seems to be good enough.” 

“Well, what are you drawing?” 

“Still life. I can’t expect my free drawings to be good if I can’t depict what is right in front of me.” 

“You are too hard on yourself, Benedict seriously,” you argued when he scoffed. “Sometimes we have a problem seeing our own greatness. You ju—” 

“Would you ever consider marriage to someone, me, perhaps?” 

You choked on your lemonade. “Pardon?” 

“Apologies.” He finally turned to look at you. “With Daphne out in society, people have started looking at Anthony and because my dear brother does not care to at least pretend to be a proper viscount, they have started to look at me. Ravenous mamas are eyeing me and it must be a matter of time before they talk to me.” 

You laughed. “You still call me Miss Beckett yet you want me to help you through a marriage?” 

“Wait, what is your name, actually? If you are to continue being a friend of the family then I am at liberty to refer to you by first name.” 

“Bergamot. My parents were a bit too keen on gardens. My second name is Sophie.” 

“Bergamot Sophie Beckett. That is a lovely name.” 

“Thank you… I still won’t marry you.”

Benedict scrunched up his face as he bent over to try and plead with you. “Please! I can’t be out here with the wolves.” 

You patted him on the shoulder. “Your whining, no matter how pathetic and cute, will not work. I will see you tomorrow, alright.” 

He muttered something that you didn’t hear while you took off into the gardens for a stroll. You’d have to leave soon, pressing your luck wasn’t the way to go. You put your cloak back on and closed it to hide your dress completely as you finally put your mask on. The gardens at night were very beautiful. Perhaps because you were alone. 

You chuckled at the thought of your interaction with Benedict. Even if it happened only a few moments ago, it was hysterical. It was only funnier because you were sure that when you finally introduced yourself to society, you’d get even stranger proposals. Only they wouldn’t be to avoid hungry mamas. And they wouldn’t be coming from one of your friends. 

Hopefully, they wouldn’t be too upset with you. Hyacinth would never but she was more like a little sister than a friend. Benedict would think the whole situation is funny, hopefully. Daphne might as well. Eloise and Penelope could go either way. Anthony would probably be mad that you let him attempt to woo the princess when you knew the truth which would make Colin and Gregory and Francesca mad at you as well. But maybe it would be fine after you explained everything. 

The sound of voices caught your attention. Spying was wrong but you couldn’t help yourself. You started to walk into the hedges, ignoring the twigs catching everywhere. The view wasn’t the best but you could see well enough. What could be a scandal between Daphne Bridgerton and Nigel Berbrooke seemed to be a very different scene to you because you knew the man from her letters. You tightened the mask around you just in case you needed to leave the bushes. 

Nigel kept coming close to Daphne. You began to run when he grabbed her, thinking of how to protect your friend. You’d have to hit him. That was the only option. There was nothing else you could do about it… You paused as Daphne pulled her hand back. There was Nigel Berbrooke on the ground. After being punched. 

You and Daphne looked up from Nigel to see the Duke of Hastings running into the garden clearing as well. The two of them seemed to realize that you were the princess and you were in the garden with them having witnessed everything. They bowed to you deeply, something you returned. 

“I will survey the area. If I do not return then you two may safely leave the garden.” 

“Thank you, Your Highness.” 

“It is no trouble really. I am so sorry for your distress, Miss Bridgerton, and I do hope your hand feels better in the morning.”  

You did a thorough check of the area to make sure that Daphne wasn’t compromised before fleeing to your carriage before anyone could spot the mask. Assuring your valets nothing went wrong, you closed the carriage door and let it drive back to Kew. 

“Thank you,” you said as you took off your mask and cloak and opened the carriage window since it was night. 

“For what?” 

“For making me go out tonight. I did need it. I feel better, immensely.” 

“That is good. We are glad to hear it. Will you be going out again tomorrow?” 

“Just to the Bridgertons.” 

“Oh, to home then.” 

You rolled your eyes but didn’t argue because they were right. Being at the Bridgertons felt like home more than your own at times. Maybe because your mother and father were the only ones who even tried to be a proper family. But there was no trying with the Bridgertons. They just were family. 

That much was true when you walked into the house a lot later than the early morning to see everyone but Eloise in the drawing room, talking about Daphne and the Duke. You said hello, greeted by hugs from everyone who didn’t see you yesterday. You took the plate of toast from Violet, who was trying to get her daughter to eat, and shoved the bread under Daphne’s nose. She took a bite before actually grabbing it from you. Relieved of your mother bird duties, you plopped down on the couch in between Benedict and Colin. 

“What are your plans for today?” 

“Fencing and then a gentlemen’s club and then preparing for a party tomorrow and, dreadfully, a picnic the next day,” Colin said as he handed you a chocolate from the box on the side table. 

“May I watch?” 

“Of course, Sophie. A beautiful lady will only encourage us.” 

“Since when did you learn to be a flirt?” 

He just shrugged, sitting back to listen to Daphne play the pianoforte and tease her about the duke. You clapped at the end of her piece and requested a second one that she obliged. Daphne would have to play at the palace some time or at least at Kew. She sounded lovely. Closing your eyes, you just listened for a moment. 

“How does a lady come to be with child?” 

Your eyes flew open to see Eloise standing in front of everyone. Violet jumped up from her brief moment of sitting on the couch across from you. 

“Eloise, what a question!” 

“I thought marriage was a requirement.” 

Daphne tilted her head. “What?” 

“Apparently, it’s not even a requirement.” 

“Eloise.” 

“Mama, the princess did say all young women nearing their debut should learn.” 

Violet stuttered as she took the tray of food out of the room, forcing Hyacinth and Gregory to go with her, stating she’d be back in a moment she just needed some water. She turned back for a moment. 

“Daphne, dear, do go on. I’d like to hear some calming music when we return.” 

Eloise trudged over to the couch, sitting on the other side of Benedict. She smacked her brothers’ knees but neither one of them wanted to answer her directly. Colin turned his head. 

“Have you ever visited a farm, El?” 

You laughed as Benedict smacked the back of Colin’s head but stopped when Eloise slumped down in her seat. You tapped her on the shoulder, making her perk up again. Your hand rested on Benedict’s thigh so you could prop yourself up as you leaned over him.

Covering your mouth and Eloise’s ear, you began whispering to your friend everything you thought she needed to know about sex. Unable to help himself, Benedict leaned in to spy, surprised that your information was actually correct. You weren’t lying, the Princess’ court really taught all the valets everything. Eloise sat back, finally satisfied and a lot less worried about a spontaneous pregnancy. Until she became curious again. 

“But why would anyone want to initiate it? Who wants to be with child?” 

You leaned over once again. “No one wants to be with child. Even those who want children. It’s about the pleasure. Sometimes the pleasure of actually liking someone and other times the pleasure being about nothing but you.” 

“What?” 

“The… think about when you start breathing a bit heavier, feeling warm when you touch each other, a… I’ll tell you the rest when your brothers aren’t here. It is a bit awkward. Oh, I’ll even draw you pictures. Only a certain amount of posit— mov— steps are important. The rest you should figure out with your husband.” 

“So you do truly know what you’re talking about?” Benedict interrupted the nearly finished meeting. 

“Did you doubt me?” 

“A bit,” he admitted. 

You sat back down. “Men aren’t the only ones that know what they are talking about.” 

“Sorry to offend.” 

“No offense. None at all. I expect even the kindest and smartest and prudest of men to think such things.” 

“Well, I am still sorry. If not because of offense then because of my ignorance.”

You squeezed his thigh in appreciation. Benedict laid his hand on top of yours. The two of you stayed like that for a moment until his hand held onto yours a bit tighter. He turned to look at you. There was an understanding shared between your eyes. There was no breathing heavy or loving eyes. It was for both of you but in purely selfish pleasurable ways. 

“Sophie, are you coming to watch our fencing match?” Benedict asked.

“Yes.” At that he moved your hand closer to his private. “A bit after the calling hour starts. I like to watch the men make fools of themselves.” 

“I am not surprised by that at all. Shall we wait for you?” 

You closed the gap and placed your hand over the top of Benedict’s pants. “No. You may start without me and I’ll just come when I find the time.” 

“Okay. We’ll play again soon, maybe even another game today. So don’t be too bothered if you miss us playing for your calling hour.” 

Giving an experimental squeeze, you watched the man next to you nod ever so slightly and swallow his spit before moving your hand himself. You both relaxed into the couch completely, satisfied with your understanding. The two men left when Violet came back — it was fairly obvious that calling hour was about to start. The calling hour was several hours but at some point you had just dropped the s and you weren’t sure why. 

You thought it would be only one or two men but the duke seemed to have lit a fire under the other men’s feet. The line became rather long rather quickly. You were happy for Daphne. The more men the better. Maybe she could get a love match.

You took the last bouquet of flowers for Daphne, thanked Lord Colfield, and went to go put the flowers in a vase on the fireplace mantle. You were about to tell Daphne that you were leaving to see her brothers’ fencing match when Anthony came storming in. A gasp escaped you when Nigel Berbrooke came up behind. You were completely over this little man and his obsession. 

Without thinking, you approached Anthony. “What do you think you ar— Anthony, you and Nigel need to either leave the drawing room as this is your sister’s calling hour or wait in line if he is here to call? These lords and gentlemen have waited a great deal to talk to her and they are very patient. It is not right nor just nor of any class to disrespect the patience they have shown.” 

“Nigel?” Berbrooke scoffed. “Who do think yo—” 

“The Young Princess’ valet. She’s become a family friend,” Anthony cut Nigel off. 

At least Berbrooke had the decency to be surprised and then give you a bow. Their tunes towards you changed completely as they almost looked like they were going to wait their turn or just leave. Nigel smiled. 

“Callers were unexpected as we have already been talking extensively.” 

“Lord Berbrooke is the only man who proposed and therefore the only person I consider.” 

“I’m sorry, what?” You looked at Anthony.

“He is the on—” 

“Everyone! I am very sorry but you must leave. Miss Bridgerton’s calling hour is currently closed. Please leave your name with Heroldt, starting with the order you have been waiting, and two days from now we will continue.” You turned to Anthony as everyone filed out without complaint since they thought the princess was the reason for calling hour being over. “There. Now, Lord Berbrooke, I must speak with the Bridgertons alone. I hope that speech staved off the wolves for you if only for two days while matters are discussed.” 

“Thank you, Lady…” 

“Miss Beckett,” Anthony answered. “Thank you, Sophie. Lord Berbrooke, do you need me to escort you?” 

“No, no. You have business. I can find the front door on my own.” 

The moment he left, you, Daphne, and Violet descended on Anthony. Every word that came out of Anthony’s mouth made you scoff. Violet looked between all three of you, very upset. Anthony was ruining both Daphne’s prospects as well as his own prospects with the princess. And you were there to witness it all.

You backed Daphne on everything. Even if she was wrong, Nigel was a foul man that you would never allow to marry. You approached Anthony, speaking lowly although your friend and her mother could still hear it. 

“I hope you survive whatever poison you are drinking. Whether the Duke is a serious man or not, there are plenty of serious men here. You will not sign away your sister to such a foul man that you barely know as well and pretend it is in her best interest. And you will not expect her to be understanding or appreciative when you don’t care an ounce for your sister’s happiness. And you still wish to draw up a marriage contract? Please, just think for a moment… Good day, Viscount Bridgerton.” 

You stormed out of the drawing room and straight into the backyard where Colin and Benedict were handing their fencing gear back to a servant. They noticed the furrow in your brow. Benedict clicked his tongue. 

“I will find out what is wrong. You, brother, instruct the kitchen to leave something out for us. If there is crying then we will be long.” 

Benedict practically dragged you to the far side of the backyard. He knew no one would think anything of it when you were very angry about something Anthony did — that part was loud enough for everyone to hear. He looked at you when the two of you finally stopped. 

“Was that a ploy to get away? Or are you genuinely mad at my brother?” 

“I don’t want to talk about why I’m mad at Anthony. There’s nothing you can do anyway. Not without a good scandal… Sorry, I came out here for a fencing match. Let us focus on it. On you.” 

He took your hand again, placing it over his trousers. You began to rub it back and forth, the fabric between you guys creating friction. You reached into his pants and pulled out his cock, stroking it a bit more freely. Benedict pulled you closer. His hand reached around your ass to squeeze it.

Every time you stroked him closer to finishing he would squeeze harder than before. You watched his face the entire time. If you got back exactly what you were giving him then you would be a very happy woman. It was truly going to be about selfish pleasure for both of you. 

You gasped when he all but ripped the top part of the dress as he tried to push it all down to expose your breasts. He wanted something else to stare at that would get him off even quicker. You tried to stifle any moans threatening to escape your lips as he groped you — some of the marks so hard you were sure they would be a bit red until tomorrow. This was his turn. Yours would be later. If you both tried to get pleasure at the same time... Well, that's how people fall in love. The two of you weren't stupid to test that.

Benedict moaned and for a moment both of you were worried someone would come see what was the matter. He laughed underneath your hand covering his mouth. 

A shudder went through him and he grabbed your wrist. “I’m going to come. I-if you let g-go… just in m-my britches.” 

You dropped to your knees, shocking your friend. He grabbed your head with one hand while he bit down on the other until he finished. A very gentle touch lifted you up. He wiped stray bits of lipstick from around your mouth, wiping the evidence away on the inside of his vest. 

“I have to say I did not expect you to sit down for the last round of fencing. We were done anyway.” 

“Well, I wanted to help put up the equipment so we could all relax later. Plus, if the princess does choose to invite you all to Kew then I would like you to help put up the equipment there too.” 

Benedict laughed. 

“I promise whether I win or lose. The next time we have a round of fencing, I will put up the equipment. All of it.”

He leaned down to whisper.

“Even if you are not a lover, I would never have you on the ground, sullying your pretty gowns and body..." He squeezed your breasts one last time before helping pull your dress back up. "with grass and dirt stains. I promise I’ll bring you your pleasure next time we are inside and alone. I will leave first and retire to my room. You stay out here and eat the sandwiches the cook left. I won’t be able to return for at least an hour.” 

“Okay. I have to go see the Featheringtons and Miss Thompson anyway.” 

You did just as Benedict suggested and no one even gave you a suspicious look. You took your own sweet time going across the street. You had moved the physician and all of Wednesdays special tutors to Tuesdays so you would have more time in the city. Despite not wanting any visitors, you were the obvious exception and could go upstairs to see Marina. She looked up from her writing desk when Penelope announced she was coming with a visitor. 

The three of you gathered on the bed to share a plate of sweets. You mainly listened to Marina and Penelope, not having much to add. You wanted to figure out a way to help her. Trying to meddle in daily affairs and save the lives of one subject at a time seemed almost ridiculous. But, that was what you should do as a royal. 

“Did you say Spain?” 

“Yes. That’s where all of George’s letters are coming from at the moment. They all say Spain.”

“If you ever need a letter to Spain or to anywhere else they send Sir George, just let me know. The princess wants to help her subjects, especially women, so give me a letter and I’ll give it to her. Whenever you need.” 

Marina flung herself at you. “Thank you. If there shall ever be a problem, I promise I will say such.” 

“Oh, the princess is going back to the palace for a few weeks because of something important so I won’t be so available for a little bit.” 

“What will she be there for?” 

“You will find out when it happens.” 

The two of them giggled. “You are so mysterious.” 

~~

You were tired after an exhausting day but a letter you received from a footman that same day made you get up. Anthony had given you a key to the front and back garden gates as well as the back door that led into the kitchen. You entered through the backyard so you could actually get inside the house without waking the entire house with your knocking. You only needed Violet and Daphne. And you had a letter to leave just in case you couldn’t wake a single person. 

Voices made you pause. You recognized Eloise and Benedict talking. Instead of going any further, you just listened. Eloise — like so many other women — wanted better for herself. It had never been a question of something you would plead to your brother… You sighed. You knew your brother. It was time to stop thinking of him as the heir. There was a reason everyone was going to support Younger Charlotte’s claim over her father. And Young Charlotte listened to you. She planned on making you her advisor. There would be no pleading. You would make better laws for women. 

You didn’t want to disturb them too much so you flung the letter at Benedict’s head. Running as fast as you could, you ignored their confused calling out for you once they recognized the letter coming from the princess. Hopefully, Benedict or Eloise would get the letter to their mother before Nigel could come back. 

Dear Dowager Viscountess, 

I am nothing but my mother’s daughter and therefore it is, in fact, my job to meddle in the lives of our precious subjects for a better and more peaceful United Kingdom. Miss Beckett has told me much of your troubles in regards to a man called Lord Nigel Berbrooke. I don’t have much information on him but I do have a request that I would ask you to aid your princess in. 

I recall an acquaintance of his. A maid. She used to work at the palace but asked for a job in the ton so she could be closer to her aging parents. I believe she was employed by a neighbor of the Berbrookes? Or a friend? Or maybe them, who knows. She was supposed to come back two years after they died but has yet to return. Nigel or one of his neighbors must know. Or perhaps, his mother, she’s very close to the maids. Knows every single one of them by name. I care terribly for this maid and would like her working back at the palace.  

Please meet with his mother. She loves crumpets with any sort of preserves or a chocolate dipping sauce. It was all she wanted when she requested a meeting with my second brother. 

That is all I have to say. I do look forward to seeing your family properly. 

Yours Truly, 

Princess Y/N Kew 

P.S. Please tell Anthony that it took him long enough but I am proud he finally came to his senses. If only he can learn to listen to a woman first then he might have less problems.

You smiled to yourself as you sat in the kitchens. The staff couldn’t stop talking about Nigel Berbrooke’s bastard that he doesn’t take care of and the mother he sent away before she even gave birth. You would feel bad but you had a very personal and up-close view of the man’s real personality. The morning only got better when Brimsley and Reynolds came in with Lady Whistledown’s Society Papers. It was on the front page of the pamphlets. Absolutely worth paying the two pounds per pamphlet for everyone in the Kew household. 

“Do you think he’ll ever show his face again?” 

“No,” the cook said as she handed you your breakfast. “You did a good thing for Miss Bridgerton, Your Grace.” 

“Your Grace?” 

“It is just a title we are trying out.” 

You hummed suspiciously. The cook ignored you. 

“You better pack if you don’t want to be late for the carriage coming today.” 

You nearly forgot. The reason you couldn’t hang out with the Featheringtons and the Bridgertons arrived. Your cousin Friedrich, the prince of Prussia, was coming for a visit. He agreed to marry a British girl to strengthen the alliances and prove that Prussia and Britain were still close family. It was neither a complete truth or a complete lie. The entire family was not close. But you, your cousin, your father, your mother, and your aunt were very close. 

Sneaking out wasn’t an option. You thought that much as the carriage neared Buckingham. It had been a while since you snuck out the palace — a completely different thing from simply leaving Kew. Pandora, Brimsley, or Reynolds would sneak you your letters and you would be satisfied. Besides, even though your family was coming for an indefinite amount of time, you only had to stay a week or two. 

The carriage hadn’t even stopped completely before you ran to hug your cousin. It had been years since you last saw each other. You could hear your mothers laughing in the background. They left to have tea inside while the two of you stayed out. 

Friedrich took your hand in the crook of his arm. “Come, cousin, let us take a promenade. Have you been well?” 

“I have been better. However, I am doing well.” 

“And your illness?” 

“Not better. But I haven’t had an episode that I couldn't recover from on my own.” 

“That is good. I suppose that is the best we can ask for. Especially since I have a surprise for you.” 

“A surprise?” 

“I asked Aunt Charlotte and she agreed to let the princess accompany me to events as she knows the ton better than the both of us. You have to wear your mask but it is still a good deal.” 

“It is a wonderful deal.”

“Good. The first event is a ball tonight.” 

“Tonight?! But I’m not prepared.” 

“I’ve already had everything arranged.” 

“You planned this?” 

“I figured it would do you good to get some fresh air and get out of the palace… or Kew, now.” 

“Thank you, Friedrich. Seriously, thank you.”

(part 5)

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hey cupid! ☆ iwaizumi h. x reader

5. Maturity

warnings: language, implied kms joke, iwaizumi might be a little ooc but its fine, lmk what i miss

an: ignore timestamps they’re misleading

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☆ this chapter contains written content! ☆

Iwazumi was finally safe. He had made his peace, started to get over whatever weird spell she’d put on him, and was ready to forget her forever.

He's decided to take the road of Maturity. Not letting the little things get to him, but focused on supporting himself and his friends.

And he's going to support himself with a large iced americano to cure the worst hangover known to man.

He tipped the barista extra today. He's not bothered by his friends using twitter over private messages. Even the song playing in the cafe was pleasant. Maturity really is the way to live a life.

“Iwaizumi?”

No. Nope, nope, nope. He must be dreaming. No, not dreaming. Having a nightmare. The only way he would be hearing this voice again is in his nightmares. Reliving the worst night of his life on an endless loop. 

“Iwaizumi, I know it's you.”

Okay, great. She’s here and unavoidable. He takes a minute to think over his options. Maturely.

Continue to ignore her and let her run her mouth until he leaves (promising). 

Talk to her and get her to leave him alone (unlikely).

Pretend he doesn’t know her and say she has the wrong person (embarrassing for both parties. Not worth it).

As he's pondering this she lets out a defeated sigh. Somehow, without even trying, he’s won. 2-0 Iwaizumi, and it's all because of Matur-

“I’m sorry.”

He blanks, not expecting those words to even be in her vocabulary. Realizing she's not joking, he doesn’t fight the self satisfied smirk that spreads across his face as he finally looks up at her.

“For what?”

She clearly doesn’t want to be doing this. Even less so now that he's got leverage on her.

“For whatever you want. I’m sorry for talking, I guess, even though if I hadn’t then-”

Clearly, Maturity was a one-way street.

“Yeah, I’m not doing this.”

He shouldn’t be surprised really, rehashing an argument for the sake of it seems like it’s right up her alley. He goes back to his phone.

“Wait. Just hear me out.”

He almost laughs. “And why would I do that?”

“Because you care about Bokuto and his happiness. I think. I don’t really know though, you don’t seem to have that much of a heart at all.”

God. It’s like she went back to the time of his birth, got a manual for ‘how to annoy the ever-living shit out of Iwaizumi Hajime’, and studied it cover to cover. “If you want me to hear you out this is not the way to start.”

“Fine. God. You care about Bokuto and want him to be happy with Akaashi, right?”

He nods.

“And I care about Akaashi and want him to be with Bokuto. We have a common goal.”

“What are you getting at?” He knows what she’s suggesting, and he’s thought about it himself. It makes him nauseous but the life of Maturity demands it. 

“If they ask us to come along with them again, can we both agree to be civil? You don’t have to like me because I certainly don’t like you, but we can’t argue through the whole thing again.” 

Even in her peace treaty, she can’t resist getting a jab in. She truly might be the death of him.

But Hajime can also see that she means it. She must really care about Akaashi to be putting herself- and him- through this.

He pauses, lets her sweat for a minute. “Fine. On one condition.”

She lets out an obnoxiously loud sigh and gestures for him to continue. Any growing respect he had for her is immediately squashed. 

“I won’t pick any fights as long as you give them some space to talk.”

He might be being overly cruel to her, knowing full well that he plans on being cordial. But this seems to get to her in the same way that anything she does gets to him, and he can’t resist.

She physically bites her tongue twice. The internal debate going in her head almost makes him laugh because she has no poker face and Hajime can see how badly she wants to push back.

“Iced Americano for Iwaizumi?”

Wait. That’s not her voice.

It seems she unknowingly sucked him into a time warp. He’s almost late for class, and he can tell by the panic on hers that she’s in a similar situation. If his coffee hadn’t been called, they might have been talking there for the rest of the day.

“Um, I have to go. We can discuss your…condition later.”

She’s gone within the second. Iwaizumi picks up his coffee, feeling overly cold in his clammy hands, and waits just a bit too long before leaving too.

fun facts!

☆ akaashi is kinda regretting ever asking Bokuto out because he's never fought with yn so much and its getting to him.

☆ tsukki and kenma are TIREDDDD. they know something went down and are considering real threats to get yn to spill.

☆ bokuto has fully doxxed a hangout spot once because he constantly forgets he's semi twitter famous

and most importantly,

☆ having to tell yourself you're being mature is the most mature thing out there! yep! an: i know the end is rushed but i don't want to fix it sorry

prev. / mlist. / next

taglist: open! fill out here.

@chemiru, @whosmarjj, @seroh, @skrunkly-soaked-rat, @yessimo,

@walllflowerrrsss, @bae-ashlynn, @themoonismymarble, @ryuverse, @yuminako

[shaunamilfman]

you would find your way in

pairing: Lucy MacLean x Reader summary: The blight hit vault 32 hard, which is why it was such a big deal when a trade offer from vault 33 for new seeds was received. A sacrifice, on your part, was all that was needed to assure the prosperity of your home. You would leave everything you've ever known to marry the overseers daughter, Lucy MacLean, but maybe it wouldn't be as much of a sacrifice as you'd originally believed.  note: pretend they can have a test tube baby for the sake of the fic ♥️

You watch as the door separating the only home you’ve ever known, vault 32, slowly opens to reveal vault 33. You’re nearly sick with nerves, much as you’ve been the last few days. Nearly being the key word. You think she’s mostly excited about the feast after your marriage, not that you blame her much. You’d think the same way if you weren’t the one paying the price for it.

There’s not nearly enough food in the vault after the blight to be able to waste it on something as pointless as a wedding, after all. You can’t help but laugh at the figure next to you bouncing excitedly on her heels. She looks up at you at the sound, rolling her eyes as she realizes you're laughing at her.

“Shut up,” your sister mutters, feigning a glare as she looks back at the doors. “It’s awfully exciting, isn’t it?”

You hope your sister enjoys herself. She is, after all, the only reason you agreed to go through with this sham wedding in the first place. Even as anxious as you were at the uncertain future lying ahead of you, you were content in the knowledge that at least she’d be taken care of once you were gone.

Seeds and machinery parts, as you’ve reminded yourself over and over again since the deal was struck.

You knew arranged marriages were common enough even in your own vault, but you’d always held out hope that you’d be one of the lucky few that got to marry for love. You supposed you were marrying for love in a roundabout way, just not the way you pictured. Still, there were very few things you wouldn’t do for your sister’s health.

A bitter feeling comes over you, but you try to shake it off. It's not their fault we almost starved: the vault's stayed separate for a reason, after all. Only ever for one of the rare trades between us were the doors ever opened, and it made you a little bitter knowing that Lucy's lack of marriage options was deemed important enough, when your people nearly starving to death was apparently deemed an acceptable loss.

You watch the inhabitants of vault 33 curiously, slowly taking in the sight of what’s probably the only people you’ll see for the rest of your life. As much as you’ll miss your family and everyone back home, at least you’d get to hear new stories for a while. Living in such cramped quarters as you do, you tend to learn everything interesting there is about a person entirely too quickly.

At least that was something to look forward to for a time.

You weren’t told what Lucy looked like, but you think you’d be able to pick her out of a crowd even without the wedding dress she was wearing. She was breathtaking, as much as it annoyed you to admit. You suppose you could have gotten paired with a worse partner, all things considered. At least she was nice to look at, even as you hoped she’d make a better conversation partner than she looked like she’d make.

She was practically glowing with excitement, nervously shifting on her feet in a way that you found endearing despite yourself. You took a moment to take her in, wishing you felt as self righteously angry as you did just ten minutes ago.

Lucy smiles as they go through the introduction before interrupting, "So, which one of you is to be my wife?" 

There's a moment of silence before there's some muffled snickering from both sides. You could tell it had taken everything she had in her to hold off as long as she did, a fact that shouldn’t have made you grin as widely as you did. You wipe the grin off your face as you slowly step forward. Lucy gasps, a faint blush covering her face as she takes you in.

"I suppose that would be me," you say softly, stepping forward past your other vault mates to meet her. Your hand twitches as you start to hold your hand out for her to shake it before thinking better of it. 

Is that the kind of reaction you should have to meeting your wife for the first time? You weren’t quite sure. It was sort of like a business deal, so you decided it probably would have been appropriate, anyway. Before you have the chance to rectify your mistake, Lucy’s already grabbing at your arm, leading you further into the vault while talking incessantly.

Oh, great. She’s a talker.

You nod along to her explanations, hoping to seem nice even if your gaze held disdain hidden beneath a polite smile. You try to give her an appropriate amount of attention while scanning your new surroundings as surreptitiously as you could manage. You've always been the curious type, and it has gotten you into trouble more times than you could count. 

It wouldn't do to be accused of casing the place before your vault’s future could be secured. Besides, this was your home now. First impressions are hard, or so you’ve heard. It’s not like you’ve ever had the chance to make one, but that’s what your books always said. Luckily for you, this is the last time you'll ever have to do it, once more for your forever home.

“It's a really nice place,” Lucy says suddenly, startling you from your reverie. She gives you a knowing look as she gives the open room a quick once over before meeting your eyes again. 

You're pleasantly surprised that she's figured your game out so quickly. You incline your head in acknowledgement, choosing not to comment on the skip in her step as she notices your approval. 

“Maybe I could give you the grand tour after everything,” she offers. 

You give her a wry smile, appreciating the sentiment even if you find her reasoning a little dumb. Your vaults were built to be exact copies of each other, after all. There's very little difference between them beyond surface level decorations, you're quite sure. Still, it was an olive branch you were willing to accept.

"That'd be nice," you say simply, offering her your hand as you let her lead you up to the altar.

You take your place across from her, listening idly as her father drones on. Duty to humanity this, returning to the surface that. You're oddly comforted by the familiarity of the refrain: at least some things would never change. Did the overseers learn their speeches from the same book? Someone ought to write them a new one. 

You focus your attention on Lucy, really taking in the sight of her, as she's only all too happy to return it. You can't help but stand a little straighter under her attention, a surge of pride rushing through you at the pleased look on Lucy's face as her eyes roam your body. 

Your smile fades slightly at the sight of her in her wedding dress, a silent reminder of everything you're giving up to come here. You were never all that excited about having to wear the community wedding dress for your own ceremony, but at least it would have been something you shared with your mother.

Instead, you were left only in your jumpsuit, and even that you'd have to return by the end of the night. It was the issue with marrying outside of your vault, after all. Nothing was allowed to leave it, not even the clothes on your back. 

Resources were tight enough in normal times, but with everything going on… Well, you made do with what you were given. 

You shake off your feeling of melancholy, returning Lucy's smile with a smaller, more forced one of your own. The least you could do is give your wife your full attention on her wedding day. 

Lucy's hands are warm as she reaches for yours, entwining your fingers together as she speaks her vows. You repeat the lines you've long since memorized, giving them special care as you speak them, if only for Lucy's sake. 

Lucy's eyes sparkle with happiness, looking as if it was everything she could do not to jump up and down in excitement. It was flattering, a lot more than you cared to admit. It's been quite a while since someone looked that excited to see you. 

Her smile is wide enough that you start to wonder if it hurts, but if it bothers her, it doesn't slow her down for a second as she moves forward to kiss you. You can feel her smile against your lips, never dimming for a second as she seals the deal. 

Your eyes are wide as she pulls away, a little lost as your thoughts jumbled together. Her lips were soft, at least. And she smells nice. You were embarrassed to find that the kiss had left you a little dumb, but you figured Lucy would have that effect on anyone. 

You can feel the thrum of her heartbeat where she's pressed up against you, her face resting in the crook of your neck as she throws her arms around you in a tight hug. Her cheeks are flushed with excitement, warm against your skin as she bounces on the tips of her toes.

She pulls away after a moment, still holding your hands together as she leads you down from the altar. You're happy to follow her lead, drunk on a feeling of levity you'd become unfamiliar with lately. 

There’s a small part of you, larger than you’re willing to admit, that wants to pull her into another kiss, but you restrain yourself. Out of everything you’d worried about, the thought of seeming too forward on your wedding day was not one of them.

“You’re really good at that,” she confesses in a whisper, verging on shy as she rests her head on your shoulder. 

You laugh quietly, nudging her head with your own. “Glad to be of service, wife.”

“Makes me wonder if you’re good at… other things.”

You exhale roughly, stunned, almost as if the breath was stolen from you. Lucy looks proud of herself, a smug smile that you can’t bring yourself to wipe away from her face. You clear your throat as you look away, your face flushed as you spin her under your arm. She giggles, swaying in time with the music as you come back together.

“You’re cute when you're flustered.”

“Yes, well…” You trail off. “You’re awfully pleased with yourself, aren’t you?”

Lucy shrugs, guilty as charged.

You try to think of something, anything, to say, but you keep coming up blank. This was exactly what you expected, and nothing like you expected at the same time. The decor, the people, the atmosphere were just what you imagined. But you don’t think anyone could have predicted Lucy MacLean. 

You’re almost relieved when her father comes over to take the next dance, handing her off with a small wave as you head over to the table. By the time you’re nearing the table, you could already hear your sister talking a mile a minute, eagerly taking in the sights of everything vault 33 had to offer. The blonde sitting next to her, who you think might be Lucy’s friend, shoots you a wide-eyed look as you collapse in your seat.

You leave her to her fate of entertaining your sister with a dry laugh, leaning down to inspect the scuff marks on your shoes. Lucy had many talents, it seems, except maybe dancing. You’re quick to turn your attention to the plate in front of you, no longer needing to worry about the state of shoes that will soon be taken from you.

With that happy thought in mind, you finally dig in, watching Lucy and her father dance out of the corner of your eye. You're surprised about how quickly she returns to join you, an eager look on her face the second she realizes she has your attention.

She seems to talk at you more than to you as she tells you about her life, but it doesn’t bother you much. You’re very content to listen to her ramble on, interjecting with relevant commentary whenever the time calls for it.

“History, huh?” You prompt. 

Lucy nods, resting her chin on her hands as she talks. “Yeah,” she says. “I just think there's a lot of things about the future you can learn from the past.”

“Like how to end civilization?” You joke, wincing as you realize what just left your mouth. 

Lucy frowns for a moment, taking in your expression before shrugging.

“That's not quite what I was going for,” she admits. “More like how to avoid making the same mistakes, you know? That sort of the thing.”

“Second time’s the charm, I suppose.”

Lucy snorts, covering her mouth sheepishly as she looks away. “Take it history was never your strong suit, then?”

Without waiting for a response, she leans closer, lowering her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “And here was me, thinking you were the serious type.”

You gasp, leaning away from her with barely hidden amusement as you hold your hand up to your heart. “You wound me.”

“I think you'll live,” she comments wryly. “You wouldn't make me a widow before our wedding ends, would you?” Lucy pouts, making a show of sticking her lip out as she catches your eyes flicking toward the movement. 

“I think I can understand the draw of it. History, I mean. How often do you get to start again?” You muse, your voice soft and contemplative. You were drawing uncomfortable similarities to your own situation. 

“Besides,” you continue, quick to add some levity. “It's a lot more fun than fixing pipes.”

“Exactly!” Lucy exclaims, her eyes lighting up at your interest in the subject. “I mean, think about it–” 

“And your fertility tests?” A voice interjects suddenly.

You glance away, not hiding your shock as you meet her father’s eyes. “My…”

“Your fertility tests,” he repeats, a hint of irritation hidden behind his somewhat charming smile. His eyes flit between the two of you, betraying his intentions. He didn’t seem to like how much you were holding Lucy’s attention, it seemed. Curious.

“Daddy,” she says softly, her voice strained with embarrassment. A frown tugs at her lips, shifting uncomfortably in her seat. 

“What? It was, after all, the whole point of your marriage.”

Lucy winces, giving you an apologetic smile. Were you supposed to be offended at the lack of romance? It seemed par to the course, at this point. It was relaxing to have things back on track, just as you’d expected it to be.

You turn to face him, briefly mentioning the results of your tests with enough details to assuage him. He nods along as you speak, his expression neutral and unreadable. You’re sure he’s already seen everything he’d wanted to know, but you got the odd sense that he was reminding you of it. No, you think after a moment, watching Lucy’s face. 

He was reminding her.

You reach over to squeeze her hand reassuringly, surprising yourself as much as her. She lags behind for a second as she registers the gesture before returning it with a quirk of her lips. She leans closer toward you, a gleam in her eyes as she reaches over and stabs a fork full of food from your plate. She brings it to her lips with a mischievous smile, unaware of the way your body tenses in reaction before forcing yourself to calm down.

You catch your mother’s eye further down the table, watching the scene carefully before looking away. 

Meeting Lucy’s eyes again, you raise an eyebrow, stealing food back from her plate before she could stop you. She pouts, glancing down at her plate before nudging your leg with her foot under the table.

“We’re married now,” she complains. “Half of that is mine.”

“That means half of yours is mine too,” you point out. 

Lucy hums dismissively. “Technicality.”

“Is that right?” 

Lucy's about to answer as you feel a hand rest on your shoulder. Glancing up you see the Overseer standing behind you with a sad smile on his face. 

Was it time to return your meager belongings already? 

He nods at your questioning look, glancing over at Overseer MacLean, who stands up and walks away with the obvious intention of you following him.

“I'll do it,” Lucy says suddenly, grabbing you by the arm as she pulls you off in his direction. He waves Lucy on with a fond look, leaving you to her as he rejoins the table. 

You glance briefly at your surroundings as you trudge through the halls, each step feeling heavier than the last. The finality of the moment was really settling on you as you came to a stop in front of your new home.

“I thought it would be better if it was me,” Lucy says softly, a hesitant smile on her face. 

Stepping inside the room, you send her a confused look over your shoulder. “Why?”

“Why not? We're partners now.”

You stare down at the new outfit waiting for you on the desk, slowly running your fingers over the lettering. 33. Almost completely identical to the outfit you've worn every day of your life, but just different enough to give you pause. It was too late to back out now. 

“It's not like I know you either,” you say finally. 

Her face falls, but she tries not to show it, fiddling anxiously with her hands as she steps in behind you. You pause, your zipper coming to a halt as you purposely clear your throat. 

Lucy huffs. “Seriously?” She doesn't seem all that upset about it, more offended than anything. 

You give her an expectant look. She dutifully turns around, not without a murmured complaint. “You know we're married now?”

“You just want to see me naked,” you accuse idly, switching your clothes out as efficiently as you can manage. 

Lucy doesn't bother to deny it, making an affirmative noise that draws a chuckle out of you. God, you hated that she was growing on you. You wanted so badly to hate her, but she just made it so hard. 

“It's a time-honored tradition,” she insists playfully. 

“In the community wedding dress?” You question. 

“It's for the benefit of humanity that we reproduce as quickly as possible,” she states, almost robotically. You roll your eyes: you've read the same manuals, after all. 

“Though,” she continues thoughtfully. “I suppose it's not technically a requirement for us, specifically.”

“Huh…” You trail off hesitantly as a thought strikes you, not sure if you should be the one to say it. 

“What?”

“How long after your parents got married were you born?”

“About nine months,” she says hesitantly. The confused quirk of her head kills you inside, but you can't resist the urge to continue. 

“Wouldn't that mean you were probably conceived in that wedding dress, too?”

She takes a second to do the math as it suddenly dawns on her. Lucy pales, her hands gripping the fabric of the dress before her horrified eyes meet yours. “Why would you say that?” She whispers. 

You break into peels of laughter at the comment, and every time you manage to catch your breath, you catch sight of Lucy's still horrified face and start laughing again. Finally, Lucy cracks a grin, her eyes fixed on the mirthful look on your face. 

“You're prettier when you laugh. Did you know that?”

You almost choke as you process it, your laughter cut off by a sudden cough as you look down at the floor. As you sit down and start pulling your new shoes on, you can hear Lucy let out a laugh of her own, the sound marking her exit as it echoes down the hallway. 

… 

The room is nearly empty by the time you make your way back in. A few members of vault 33 are still mulling about but otherwise the room is eerily quiet. Overseer Jackson makes his way over to you, clasping a hand onto your shoulder as you hand over your suit. His hand lingers just long enough to be awkward before he pulls away, sniffling as surreptitiously as he can manage as he rubs at his eyes.

He’s teary-eyed as he stares down at you, his uncomfortably kind smile tinged with more sadness than you think he has a right to. You’re not sure you’ve ever had a conversation with him long enough to warrant this kind of reaction, but your vault mates have always had a tendency to overreact. There probably wasn’t much else to do after the monotony of daily life got to you, you figured.

Still, you weren’t keen to comfort a man you barely knew. Catching your mother’s eye you wave, pretending she was trying to get your attention as you excuse yourself from the conversation and leave him clutching on to your things. You’re not surprised when you catch sight of your sister’s grinning ear to ear as Lucy engages her in conversation, clearly over the moon to have her attention.

Yeah, you could relate to that.

You speak quietly to your parents as you make your goodbyes, choosing not to acknowledge the teary-eyed looks lest you start crying too. You’d made your peace with the idea of leaving everything behind a few days ago, but it seems like it was really starting to set in for them that they’d never see you again. For your sister too, it seems, as you suddenly feel her wrap her arms around your waist.

It takes an impressively long time to peel her off of you, and it’s only made possible with the help of Lucy’s gentle coaxing. You watch with nothing short of awe as Lucy manages to talk her down from her tears like it was nothing, her voice soft and soothing as she manages to effectively distract her long enough for you to escape her grasp.

Realizing she’s been played, your sister shoots Lucy a betrayed look, but she gets over it quickly enough as Lucy shoots her a playful smile. She kneels down to speak with her, whispering in her ear as she squeezes her shoulder.

You stand with Lucy as your parents cross through the gateway, watching as they try to comfort your sister in quiet, somber tones. 

“She really adores you, huh?” Lucy says softly, her hand tentatively reaching to rub at your back. The gate slowly starts to close, and your family slowly disappears from view with it.

“Do you like kids?” You ask, hoping for a distraction. “You seem to have a real knack for them.”

Lucy's quiet for a moment before nodding. “I like to teach, and kids always have such an interesting way of looking at things.”

She smiles, reaching over to hold your hand as she traces your fingers with hers. “We'll be starting our own family soon,” she muses. 

“Are you excited?”

“... Of course. It's our duty, after all.” You think it must be the most unenthusiastic thing you've heard her say all night. 

You pause, looking at her in a new light. She was doing her duty to ensure the future of humanity, after all, and you could respect that. You wondered how much of it was due to her moral compass and how much was just to live up to expectations, but you didn’t mind much.  It’s not like you didn’t have your own ulterior motives for agreeing to be wed, after all.

What a pair you made.

…

You stare at the door long after it's been closed for good, even after Overseer MacLean squeezed your shoulder was a surprising gentleness as he quietly left the room. He probably knew what it was like to leave his home behind. He was from vault 31, after all. 

Finally, you manage to turn your attention away from the door, turning around to see Lucy leaning silently against the doorway. You almost smile at the sight of her, your mood lightened as you realized she's been here waiting for you.

She's quick to grab your hand as you offer it to her, escorting you back through the vault towards your new home. Lucy's quiet as she leaves you to your thoughts, unsure of how to even begin to comfort you. 

Lucy's visibly startled as you squeeze her hand to get her attention, but she quickly recovers as you say, “So about that time-honored tradition…?”

Her face lights up, tightening her grip on your hand as she almost sprints down the hall towards your new bedroom. 

[fuckyeahisawthat]

I’ve seen a few metas now that describe Crowley as self-loathing and…that’s not quite it to me.

Crowley for sure has Issues. He has a lot of anger and doesn’t always deal with it in constructive ways. He is hypervigilant as all fuck, and the fact that he is almost always correct about the amount of danger he and Aziraphale are in at a given moment just reinforces that hypervigilance feedback loop.

He has the hair-trigger flight response of someone who has spent millennia dodging oppressive forces that are more powerful than him, and this makes him default to RUN even when on some level he knows that is not the right response to a situation. He’s very aware that there are a lot of people out there who can hurt him, and there is no one coming to protect him. The only option is to try to avoid the blow.

And he is absolutely terrified of rejection, for very understandable reasons. This also encourages him to have one foot out the door of a situation, to pretend he doesn’t care, because if you leave first and actually never cared at all then you can’t be hurt. He is painfully aware that good things can be taken away from him without warning, that love that looks absolute can turn out to be conditional, because that already happened to him.

But. As much as I love a self-loathing blorbo, I don’t think Crowley hates himself.

Sure he talks a good game about how he’s not nice. But I don’t think, for example, that he thinks he is unworthy of Aziraphale’s love, that he is not good enough for Aziraphale because he is a demon or for any other reason. Because as far as Crowley is concerned, angels and demons are the same! All that good and evil stuff is just names for sides. I think he is afraid, because he’s still not sure, after all this time, if Aziraphale feels the same way he does, and broaching that topic is an enormous risk compared to just staying in the ambiguously-defined status quo they have now. (And then he works up the courage to do it anyway, and seems to have his worst fears confirmed.)

FWIW, I don’t think Aziraphale thinks that Crowley is not good enough for him either. Not at all. But I think Crowley might think that Aziraphale thinks that after the end of s2. And that really stings, because as much as they both gave lip service to the idea of “I’m good, you’re evil,” I think Crowley always assumed that Aziraphale saw through that when it came to him as a person, that it was just something Azirphale said and not something he really believed about Crowley, and now he’s not so sure.

I also think Crowley believes he did not deserve his fall (hot take: none of them did) not because he is extra-special Good, but because that’s a fucked-up thing for someone who said they loved you to do. While he is clearly still dealing with the trauma of it, I think he knows by now: I shouldn’t have been hurt like that. I didn’t deserve it, and it wasn’t my fault.

And so the horror of Aziraphale accepting the offer of going back to Heaven is partially I thought we both understood how this system works; I thought we were on our own side together and partially I can’t believe you’re going back to the people who hurt you and at least a little bit I can’t believe you’re going back to the people who hurt me. Do you think they were right?

(And Aziraphale doesn’t! He doesn’t think that! He thinks they were wrong, but he thinks they were wrong about Crowley, that it was an individual mistake and not a feature of a system that squashes questioning and nonconformity of any kind.)

I wrote a whole meta about “I won’t be forgiven, not ever” and “unforgivable, that’s what I am” in 2019 that I won’t rehash here, but tl;dr, I don’t think Crowley is saying that as a statement of his self-worth. I think he is saying, Heaven would never let me back in, and if they did, I wouldn’t go. Because I don’t want or trust the “acceptance” of people who don’t value me as I am.

And it’s part of the cruel dramatic irony of the Final Fifteen that one of the things that breaks them apart is that Crowley values himself enough not to go back to Heaven. Crowley, who we’ve seen will do almost anything for Aziraphale, says, No. I am not putting myself back in that abusive situation. You shouldn’t either; I really wish you wouldn’t; but if you do, I am still not going back there. Not even for you.

[sasheemo]

When we collide

Chapter 5

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Chapter Summary: Agatha returns home from the forest with a new secret. While thoughts press at the back of your mind, you and your mother join the coven as it gathers in the crowded hall. Fleeting glances over bowls of soup stir emotions you’d rather ignore.

Word Count: 2.1k

A/N: Hey there! Hope you're all liking the story so far 💜 Btw I know in this chapter there is not that much A/R interaction. Initially the chapter was way longer but, because I am trying to have roughly the same word count in each chapter, I decided to split it. I guess you'll have to trust me on this one 😜

Agatha Harkness, the girl you barely used to think about, is now a relentless, and very much unwanted, presence in your mind. Frustration rises, and you shove the memory of her face to the back of your mind. She shouldn’t matter. She never has before, and yet here you are, feeling the weight of her words and glances more than you’d like to admit.

You take a deep breath, pushing yourself up from the bed. If you’re going to this coven thing, you might as well prepare yourself, perhaps find some semblance of calm. You draw a bath, letting the hot water fill the small wooden tub until it steams. The room warms with the scent of dried lavender and rosemary hanging from the rafters, and you allow the faint herbal fragrance to draw you away from the chaos of recent days. As you slip into the water, the warmth engulfs you, soothing your tired muscles. You close your eyes, feeling the heat seep into your skin, untying the knots in your shoulders, loosening the tension that has been building since yesterday. For a moment, you can almost pretend that nothing has changed—that the forest is still yours, untouched and free of anyone else’s chaos.

But as you lean back, eyes closed, Agatha’s image flits across your mind again. Somehow, she’s woven herself in there like an unwelcome shadow. Angrily, you try to banish her from your thoughts, focusing instead on the water’s gentle lapping against your skin, on the scents that fill your lungs with each deep inhale.

Once the water has cooled, you step out and wrap yourself in a thick linen cloth, drying off as you prepare for the gathering. You open your wardrobe, and your hand immediately sets on the smooth fabric of a plain black dress. It’s simple and well-fitted, made of light wool with long sleeves and a round neckline tied with a thin leather lace that you choose to leave a little loose, letting both of its ends sit casually against your collarbone. You could pull it tight, as decorum would suggest, making the neckline neat and formal, but instead, you leave it undone just enough to feel like yourself. A small act of defiance in a world that expects you to be anything but.

Over the dress, you drape a dark blue cloak, the fabric pooling around your shoulders and the hood resting loosely on your upper back. You’ve always felt a particular fondness for cloaks with hoods, not because you always need to hide, but because you could if you wanted to. That quiet option, the choice to retreat into the shadows on your own terms, brings a sense of control, a shield against the world’s prying eyes.

As your hands move to fasten the cloak, you find yourself lingering on the image of the forest. It used to be your sanctuary—untouched, yours alone. But Agatha had invaded that space, not once, but twice, leaving you to be the one who walked away first each time. A sense of injustice rises in you, powerful and irritating. Why should you have to be the one who leaves? Why should she get to linger in the one place that has always felt like home to you?

The thought sits heavily on your chest, and you shake your head, trying to dismiss it. But the doubt that started to plague your mind yesterday after the incident remains: if the forest is no longer the place of peace it once was, will it ever be again?

Suddenly, as you’re absentmindedly fastening the thin silver clasp of your cloak, you hear your mother’s voice, sharp and impatient, calling from downstairs. “It’s time to go!” With a final glance at yourself in the mirror beside your bed, you gather your thoughts and head down. 

Agatha sits in the forest, the quiet that surrounds her feeling fragile, like it could shatter with the smallest movement, but the warmth of the little creature in her lap keeps her rooted to the spot. She certainly hadn’t expected the rabbit to approach her again, let alone come near enough to rest in her lap, but somehow she’s grateful for its presence, its silent, forgiving company.

She lifts the rabbit carefully, cradling it close to her chest. Her fingers graze its soft fur, and an unexpected tenderness rises within her. It feels foolish to feel attached, yet something in her can’t bear to leave it behind. She glances around, ensuring no one is near, before rising to her feet and slipping the rabbit into her worn canvas bag. “You are coming with me.” she whispers.

With a last look at the charred remains of her outburst, she turns and begins the walk home, clutching the bag tightly. The rabbit shifts inside, but she murmurs a soft reassurance, hoping it stays quiet. The path back to her house feels inexplicably longer today. When Agatha finally opens her front door, the inside is eerily quiet, that is until Evanora’s sharp voice rings out from the kitchen the second the door shuts closed. “Where have you been, Agatha?” her mother’s eyes are narrowed, assessing, a mix of anger and annoyance clear in her expression. “Do you have any idea what time it is? We’re due for the coven meeting, and you’re already late.”

Agatha swallows, keeping her voice steady, one hand subconsciously rushing to hide her bag further under her cloak. “I didn’t know there was a meeting today. You didn’t tell me.”

Evanora scoffs, crossing her arms. “It’s been decided this morning but I shouldn’t have to tell you. You should know when you’re expected to be present.”

Ignoring her mother’s reproach, Agatha glances toward the stairs. “I’ll be quick. Just let me change.”

She turns and slips away before Evanora can say another word, her heart pounding as she ascends the stairs, each step feeling like a race against her mother’s scrutiny. Once in her room, she closes the door with a soft click and immediately opens her bag, lifting the rabbit into her hands. Its small body trembles as it adjusts to the new surroundings and Agatha gently strokes its fur, instantly met by a strange comfort in its warmth. She clears a small corner near her wardrobe, layering it with spare cloth to create a makeshift bed. Gently, she settles the creature into its new nest, her fingers lingering for a moment in a silent promise of safety. She can’t help but hope it will stay tucked away, shielded from her mother’s unyielding gaze.

With one last glance at the rabbit, she hurries to change into her formal dress, her fingers moving quickly overt he smooth buttons and fine stitching of her dark purple dress. The fabric, soft yet heavy, falls elegantly around her, with fitted sleeves that taper at her wrists and a high collar that lends an air of formality. Over her shoulders, she fastens a black hooded cloak, its material dense and cool to the touch, shrouding her in shadow.

Around her neck, Agatha clasps a delicate gold pendant, a small medallion inscribed with a protective rune she had crafted herself. She remembers the nights she spent, hidden away in her room up until early mornings, studying by candlelight a tome on runes she had secretly … borrowed from the coven’s grand hall. The process was grueling, the symbols complex, each line and curve requiring absolute precision. But she persevered, tracing and retracing the shapes until her fingers were cramped and her eyes ached. Finally, one night, she had inscribed the rune onto the pendant with practiced care, sealing her first true rune magic enchantment into gold. The medallion now rests close to her heart as she gently grazes it with her index finger, the reminder of a quiet victory.

Agatha stands ready but her mind races, both with thoughts of the gathering ahead and with the unexpected warmth that fills her as she looks once again at the small creature in the corner, a quiet companionship she hadn’t known she needed. For a moment, despite the rush, the heaviness of the long afternoon ahead seems to lessen.

You and your mother walk briskly through the village of Salem, her pace unwavering, her expression set in that familiar mask of determination. When you arrive at the gathering hall—a sturdy building of dark wood and stone, its walls blackened by time and the few shafts of light barely reaching the high-beamed ceiling—you feel the air shift. Inside, the faint scents of dried herbs, incense, and melted wax mingle together, grounding you in the tradition that fills this place.

The room is alive with murmurs, a soft undercurrent of voices that echo off the walls as witches of all ages stand in small groups, their quiet conversations mixing in your ears. In a corner, a mother and her daughter stir a large pot of soup, a simple meal to warm those gathered here on such short notice. A line of people has already formed, each waiting patiently for their share.

Your mother leaves your side almost immediately. Without a word, she moves with purpose to join a nearby circle of witches engaged in quiet discussion. As you glance around, your gaze lands on Evanora, deep in conversation with a small group just a little way off. Her presence is unmistakable, commanding, even in casual conversation. The sight of her brings Agatha to mind immediately, and it’s only moments before you spot her in the food line, closer to the front.

She stands alone, a wooden bowl and spoon in her hands, waiting her turn. A sudden rumbling sound coming from your stomach reminds you that you haven’t eaten since last night. Quietly, you move to the nearby table, picking up a wooden bowl and spoon for yourself before joining the line, glad for the people separating you and Agatha.

As you wait, your attention drifts to the woman serving the soup, a familiar face in Salem—a witch whose skill with potions has made her somewhat well-known in the village. When Agatha steps forward, the girl’s entire demeanor shifts: her eyes brighten, her posture softens, and she smiles just a bit wider, a hint of something almost playful on her lips.

You’re too far to make out any words they exchange, but you notice how the girl leans in slightly and how her fingers brush over Agatha’s as she hands back the bowl, the touch lingering a heartbeat longer than necessary. Agatha, for her part, doesn’t seem as engaged, responding with a few brief words and a polite nod, her expression unreadable. But the other girl’s interest is unmistakable, her gaze follows Agatha even after she’s moved aside, lingering in a way that feels almost intimate, something close to admiration written plainly across her face.

A strange sensation twists in your chest as you witness the scene, an uncomfortable, unwanted tension. You push the feeling down, telling yourself it doesn’t matter, even as it lingers, sharp and insistent. Then, finally, it’s your turn. You accept the ladle of soup from the woman and you thank her, its warmth radiating through the bowl as you step aside, seeking a place to sit. You find an empty bench and settle down, grateful for the solitude. You’re halfway through your meal when the sound of Evanora’s voice cuts through the room, commanding attention.

Your mother appears at your side almost instantly, her expression steely as her gaze sweeps over you. “That’s enough.” she snaps, voice low but sharp. “Stop dawdling and pay attention. Come, you’ll sit up front with me.” Her tone is icy, leaving no room for objection, as though your place beside her is a matter of necessity rather than choice. The words are a command, edged with impatience, leaving no room for argument.You bite back a retort and set your bowl aside, standing to follow her. 

She leads you to the third row, where you settle yourself, barely containing your irritation as her presence at your side feels like a weight pressing you into place. Her attention is fixed on the front of the room as Evanora steps forward, her voice cutting through the low murmur of conversation, calling the meeting to order. A hush falls over the room, and you force yourself to focus, feeling the heavy atmosphere settle around you. 

Everyone turns toward the front, where the discussion will begin, and as you look forward, your eyes land on Agatha. There, in the first row—a stark reminder of her status—she sits a little to your left, her back to you. Only a single row separates you, and yet somehow, she feels worlds away.

[fluentmoviequoter]

You Weren't Supposed to Hear That

Requested Here!

Pairing: David 'Deacon' Kay x shy!wife!fem!reader

Summary: After years of trying, you get pregnant. With Deacon's birthday coming up, you decide to surprise him with the news, but he catches on to your nervousness and you accidentally tell him more than you mean to.

Warnings: brief angst, lots of fluff, Deacon teases his shy wife

Word Count: 1.6k+ words

Picture from Pinterest (we're pretending this is Deacon's party lol)

“Deac,” you mumble, trying to turn away from him.

“Your cheeks are really warm. Maybe we should both stay home today,” Deacon teases before pressing more kisses to your jawline.

You keep your eyes closed, accepting your fate as Deacon moves closer to you, kissing over your cheekbones.

“It is my birth-week,” Deacon adds. “You shouldn’t deprive me of your love this close to my birthday.”

“And you shouldn’t try to make my cheeks warm so often,” you argue halfheartedly.

“Try? Oh, sweetheart, I succeed every time I set out to make you shy.”

You turn toward your husband, hiding your face in the crook of his neck. He chuckles, rubbing your back. Deacon doesn’t know, but you’ve been craving his touch more than usual the last few weeks. With his surprise birthday party approaching, you’re keeping more than one secret from him.

“Would you really stay home with me?” You trace your finger over his chest as he answers.

“In a heartbeat.”

“One of yours or one of mine?”

Deacon presses a hand to your chest, and you immediately regret the question. Your heart races beneath his touch, and he nods as if inspecting something.

“Yours.”

“Go to work,” you request, leaning closer to him.

“I’m getting mixed signals.”

“Then pick one.”

“Grumpy this morning, aren’t we?”

You don’t answer, moving impossibly closer and tangling your legs with Deacon’s. He chooses the first option of going to work, pressing apologetic kisses to your forehead as he removes himself from you.

“I’ll see you tonight,” he promises. “I love you.”

“I love you. Be safe.”

“Always. Gotta get back to those warm cheeks and racehorse heart.”

You frown at his teasing, and he chuckles on his way out. After his car leaves the driveway, you move your hands to your stomach, wondering if he can tell you’re not quite the same. Keeping the secrets is hard, especially when he looks up at you with his big, brown eyes, but you only have a few more days. As long as he doesn’t ask, you’ll be fine.

✯✯✯✯✯

“What’s the problem, Deac?” Luca asks, lowering the boxing mitts on his hands. “You’re not pullin’ your punches like usual.”

“Something’s up with my wife but she’s too shy to tell me. I’d think it was about my birthday, but she’ll talk about that with no problem.”

Deacon looks down, and Luca looks over at Hondo. Hondo shrugs, unaware of anything other than the surprise party.

“Any ideas about what she would keep secret?” Luca asks.

“Nothing, I didn’t think. It takes some time to get her to talk, but she tells me everything eventually.”

“Then she’ll tell you whatever this is when she’s ready, too.”

✯✯✯✯✯

You stare at the ultrasound until it grows blurry. The tiny baby growing inside you is just a speck of white ink. Since you got married, you’ve wanted to start a family with Deacon, but it never seemed to work. When you were late a few weeks ago, you didn’t think much of it until you saw the two pink lines on the test. After dozens of negative tests and nights of Deacon drying your tears, you thought you imagined it. The ultrasound in your hand is proof, though, as are the nausea and the weight gain no one except you has noticed.

When you hear a car door close, you rush to hide the ultrasound. Your heartbeat pounds in your ears, like Poe’s telltale heart beneath the floorboards. If Deacon finds the ultrasound before the party, he will assume you were hiding it. Which you are, but because you want it to be a birthday present. You’ve been nervous about Deacon catching on by himself, but with proof like this in the house, your nervousness grows into genuine fear that half of the surprise will be ruined.

“You okay?” Deacon asks.

Looking up quickly, you wonder how you didn’t hear him come in. “Yeah,” you answer softly. “Just thinking.”

Deacon nods, sitting next to you and pulling you into a hug.

“Are you sure everything is okay? You’ve been quiet, a different quiet.”

You shrug, and Deacon’s hands move to your waist. Freezing at the contact so close to your stomach, you open your mouth to explain, but Deacon removes his hands before you can.

“Sorry,” he murmurs, moving back to give you room.

“Wait, no, Deacon,” you begin aimlessly.

“It’s okay. You want space?”

“No. I don’t want space from you, I- I don’t know what to say.”

“You don’t have to say anything. It’s okay.”

Nodding quickly, you force yourself to remember how perfect the plan is. If you want the reveal to be memorable, you must find a way to convince Deacon you are completely fine, normal, even.

“What do you want me to do?” Deacon asks.

Unable to think of an answer quickly, you only succeed in growing more nervous. Terrified that Deacon will believe you’re hiding something much bigger or dangerous to your relationship, your anxiety over the reveal mixes with the uncertainty of what Deacon is thinking.

“Are we- do you trust me?” you whisper.

“Of course.”

“Then can you just give me a few days without asking and then I’ll tell you once I know for sure?”

“So something is happening?”

“Maybe. I don’t know.”

“Maybe or you don’t know?”

 Deacon’s voice is soft and kind, without a trace of his usual teasing, and you can’t take his genuine concern for much longer.

“Please stop asking questions. Just for now.”

Deacon nods, his eyes cast down at his wedding ring.

“I love you,” you whisper.

“I love you,” Deacon repeats. “And I do trust you. Sorry if I pushed too much.”

✯✯✯✯✯

When you wake up the following morning, you can feel much more weight on your stomach and chest. Usually, that would indicate Deacon is holding you close; when you open your eyes, he is entirely on his side of the bed, with a person-sized gap between you. Between your fear, nervousness, and the hormones of being pregnant, you don’t even form a thought before you start crying.

Trying to silence your cries, you push your hand over your mouth and shake against your pillow. It isn’t long before Deacon’s hands are on you.

“Sweetheart,” he calls, which only makes you more upset.

You sit up, letting him help you as you look up at him until you are eye-to-eye.

“I didn’t mean to lie to you,” you explain quickly, not thinking before you speak. “I just didn’t want to ruin the surprise and I thought that if you caught on to me being nervous you’d think it was about your birthday present, and part of it is, but you’re also so smart and you know me better than I know myself. So, if you realized that I was pregnant before I got to tell you it would ruin the surprise and your birthday, and I didn’t know how to keep it from you without being scared.”

You take a deep breath, and Deacon smiles brightly as he wipes your tears.

“You’re pregnant?” he asks quietly, cupping your face in his hands.

“You weren’t supposed to hear that,” you reply before sniffling.

“I can pretend I didn’t.”

“Are you- is that okay?”

“Are you kidding? This is what we’ve wanted since we got married. You’re amazing, sweetheart.”

“Didn’t do it alone,” you mumble.

“Ow,” Deacon breathes out, pulling his hands away. “You burned me.”

You pout, leaning forward until your forehead hits Deacon’s shoulder.

“You’ll pretend to not know?”

“I’ll act surprised,” Deacon counters, dropping his hands to your stomach. “But I can’t promise anything else.”

“Sorry I ruined the surprise.”

“Well it was this or let me think you were falling out of love with me, so I’m not upset.”

“I could never.”

“Tell me again when my hands don’t leave your baby bump,” Deacon teases.

✯✯✯✯✯

When Deacon’s birthday finally arrives, after days of being shy, warm-cheeked putty in his hands, you’re excited for his surprise party. Despite your word vomit incident, you managed to keep it a secret.

“Why are we at SWAT H.Q. on my day off?” Deacon asks, his hands wandering your waist.

“Deac,” you warn. When he pulls his hands back, you answer, “Because I had your gift delivered to Hicks.”

“You didn’t trust me not to open it?”

“No, I did not.”

“Ouch.”

His teasing is cut short when his team jumps out, yelling, “Surprise!” and “Happy Birthday, Deac!”

He smiles at you before thanking everyone. Hicks makes his way to your side, pulling you into a hug as he hands you one of Deacon’s gifts.

“I’ll never know how you managed to keep this a secret,” Hicks muses.

“Me neither,” you agree.

After slicing the cake and giving Deacon his presents, you reveal the one gift you’ve dreamed of giving him since your wedding day: a positive pregnancy test. He, admittedly, does a decent job of acting surprised. But when he sees the ultrasound for the first time, he stops pretending and falls in love with you again.

“Thank you,” Deacon says through his tears, hugging you tightly.

You are then hugged and congratulated by everyone on 20-David and Hicks. Each man makes a short pitch of being the best uncle, and you laugh after all of them.

“Happy birth-week, Deacon. I love you,” you say as you get back in the car.

“I love you, every part of you and the baby you’re making,” Deacon replies, pushing his hand under the hem of your shirt.

“I think you were right… your hands on me all the time may be a dealbreaker.”

“Might I suggest…” Deacon pauses as he kisses you. “remembering that I’m the dad, and your husband, and madly in love with you?”

“I can try as long as you don’t keep doing that.”

[wjehfshs]

Imagine: human!reader gets their period and the since the Na’vi don’t get periods, when they learn what it is, they’re horrified

Inspired by this post

Walking along the beach with Neteyam and Rotxo, the sound of them mindlessly talking about whatever almost drowning out the sound of your breathing apparatus. You chose comfortable clothing this time, a T-shirt and shorts. You felt tired and sore all morning, and you were due for your period at some point, but it was usually weird with its timing. Going to add in your own two cents on something Neteyam said, you’re cut off quickly by the feeling of a warm liquid… no, oh god no why now? Now of all times?! Suddenly, you felt your abdomen start to hurt, oh Jesus it really did happen now of all times. Curse your body for deciding now would be a great time. You stop in your tracks, stop dead. Breathing in sharply, the both of them turn around, their ears perking up in hearing your sharp breath.

“Is everything okay, [name]?” Rotxo takes a step closer to you, leaning down a little to check on you

“You look pale…” Neteyam comments, his brows furrowing in worry

You can only muster up a nod, trying to say you were okay, trying to pretend that you didn’t feel like your stomach was being turned inside out as you stood there. You wanted to speak, wanted to say something. But doing that would require you to breathe out, and your head breath was the only thing that at least dampened it by a bit.

Your hand goes to your stomach, fingers grabbing onto your shirt right over where your abdomen is.

“Are you hurt?” At this point, Neteyam was on the verge of just picking you up and taking you to his dad… maybe even the Tsahìk if it was bad enough.

Rotxo looks worriedly and silently between you and Neteyam. Neteyam decides that even if you aren’t hurt, this silence is worrying enough, he picks you up and takes you to where he last saw his dad, the labs the scientists had set up at the Metkayina clan after the RDA was defeated… again.

While on the way there, Lo’ak, Ao’nung, and Tsireya and Kiri, who were picking fruits from one of the trees, see what’s happening and tag along. Many questions came from the all of them, but mainly Tsireya, the sweetheart she is, she insisted that if you were hurt she should get her mother, the Tsahìk. But Neteyam insisted himself that his father first was the best option.

You all arrive at the labs, Lo’ak hands out their own versions of breathing apparatus’s. Putting one around Neteyam’s neck as Neteyam pulls off your own mask to hopefully bring you some comfort from the unknown source of pain. By this point, you’re sweating and trying to control your breathing. This was humiliating, you knew what was going on, but they didn’t. So you just let them worry over you, you were in too much pain to try and explain it to them right now.

“Dad! [name]’s hurt!” Neteyam calls out, seeing Jake talking with Spider and Norm, Max looking up from the papers he was shuffling through.

“What?!” Jake’s ears perk up, his face hardening in worry “where?”

“We don’t know… they just stopped talking” Rotxo chimes in

Jake gets them to lay you down on an empty couch, Spider now joining the group of other teens

“What’s going on? What happened?” Jake tries to keep his composure, all thoughts cross his mind, the worst scenarios coming to his head

You seem reluctant to talk, looking between him and the small group. Jake notices this and gets them to back off a bit. They see you whisper something to Jake. Jake’s face going from worry to “ohhhh…”

Jake moves past the group and goes to Max, whispering something to him and Max suddenly gets that same look on his face.

“It’s gonna be alright kiddo” Jake picks you up and takes you to your small room, closing the door behind him. A couple minutes later, he comes back out and sits stands in front of the group

“Are they okay? Shouldn’t they be in med bay right now?” Lo’ak looks at his dad like he’s insane, his voice raising subconsciously in confusion and panic

“No… no they’re okay. Uh, look. I need all of you to be open minded, non-judgemental, and understanding here. This is normal” Jake puts his hands up to calm them, his inner white dad was really coming out right now

You get cleaned up and change clothes, settling yourself into your comforting bed. You only get a few minutes of comfort before Ao’nung busts your door open “YOU’RE PISSING BLOOD?!”

“No! Ao’nung, I just told you what it is!” Jake calls from the back

Spiders the first to crawl his way into your room, you loved them all, but right now, they seemed like a bunch of parasites. The last thing you needed was questions and yelling

Spider runs his way over to your bed as you reluctantly sit up “Dude! That’s so badass! You can bleed without dying!” Spider looks almost excited about this. It was now obvious that Jake told them was a period was. Tsireya was the second to make her way in, out of everyone, her presence seemed more like a blessing. “Are you doing alright, [name]?” She questions softly “you really scared us”

You give a light nod “I’m okay now, just in a bit of pain”

“Your organs are moving! What the fuck man!” Lo’ak now adds in his own thoughts.

“Give them some space, jeez.” Kiri lightly slaps his brother, like a warning. She liked picking on her brother the most.

“Alright, out, don’t bother them any more” Jake steps into the room and shuffles them all out, giving you a sympathetic look before closing the door behind him. You could hear them all asking questions and babbling behind your bedroom door

[catoperated]

At some point we’re gonna have to talk about how toxic websites like 4chan and Something Awful (rest in piss, Lowtax) influenced trans spaces online.

I only ever used SA back in the day, and it’s now mostly forgotten that “troon” came from a portmanteau of “trans goon” (goon being a member of something awful, not like a gooner… but, eh, it’s still apt), though it was always meant to be belittling.

And then there I was, a transmasc egg surrounded by transfemmes. I didn’t know how to express that I wanted what they had but different, cause I seriously didn’t know trans men existed back then. All I saw were transfemmes, and most of them were transmedicalists. I got called a transphobe when I said wearing a skirt shouldn’t be a required part of transitioning. I have since met many cool trans ladies who aren’t truscum, but the scars remain.

At the time I couldn’t fully articulate how uncomfortable I was with the idea of transitioning to the same old binary, because I also didn’t know GNC was a thing. So for a time I was suicidal because I had no idea of the options open to me. I’m not sure that reading Theory back then would have helped. Having read Theory now (both feminist and communist), I’ve come to the conclusion people lean on it way too much, take it way too literally, never considering that the things proposed have to be adapted to changing times and circumstances. It’s almost like evangelicals interpreting the Bible literally—to everyone’s detriment.

My point being, you can read anything, watch any YouTuber, but for fuck’s sake form your own opinions instead of just throwing books and videos at people like it’ll explain everything and also must be followed to the letter. It won’t, and it shouldn’t.

Yeah, I was also briefly suicidal over leftists dogpiling disability activists for daring to get groceries delivered or using plastic straws. Only other disabled people probably remember this, but it was perpetuated by that butter cat account, which was the most surreal fucking thing to watch unfold.

I’m just tired. Tired of self-proclaimed feminists failing to recognize the patriarchy is what makes us all suffer, including cis men, and that’s the real enemy. I know radfems are largely to blame for pushing the “all men bad” narrative again with the express purpose of dividing trans people, I’ve seen them cackling about what they get away with on accounts where they pretend to be trans. It’s sad people are making their work so easy for them.

I don’t hate or resent transwomen (I can’t remember if the space is preferred or not, but I’m sitting here sweating over it, afraid someone will call out my language when “troon” is already up there), but here I am right back at that awful feeling I had when trying to say skirts should not equal femininity. Fuck, I would probably be suicidal again if not for my partner, who is the best thing to ever happen in my life (love you, babe).

I don’t know how to word this better or more succinctly. My mind wanders a lot when writing. But it’s not just me, right? I see the schism forming and it’s bad for all of us, because the people who want us dead do not care how we present ourselves or how well we pass. We desperately need to support and uplift each other if we’re going to survive all the shit they keep throwing at us all in governments across the entire goddamn world.

So yeah, we need to look at how those websites poisoned the well, as it’s where that mentality of “if you’re not queer/trans in the proper way I deserve to call you a slur” mentality comes from. The pickme urge to go “I’m not like those cringe fags/trannies, I’m one of the cool ones,” too. To reiterate, the people who want us dead for existing do not care one way or the other.

Fuck, why am I worrying about how I word this? If people are gonna interpret this in bad faith there’s nothing I can do to stop them. I just wanted to get this off my zipper-tits—which I’m stealing from you fuckers who use it against transmascs. I got my dirty testosterone fingers all over it and it’s ruined now, sorry.

[autumn816]

fake dating + pregnancy fic👀

Hehe, here you go. Hope you like it😁

The double vertical lines glare at him.

The results are positive. They are positive. He is pregnant. He can’t be pregnant. There could be a chance that the results are wrong, right? They aren’t always true. But what are the chances that all five of the tests are wrong?

He’s pregnant. He’s pregnant. He’s pregnant.

Knock. Knock.

“George?” Lewis’ voice filters in from the other side of the door. “Can I come in?”

“Yeah,” George croaks, “it’s open.”

Lewis slips in the bathroom. He takes in George sitting on top of the toilet, lid down. Four pregnancy sticks laid on the sink and one in George’s hands. It doesn’t take an intellectual to figure out what it says but Lewis asks anyway.

“Is it—”

“Yeah.”

“All five of them?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh.”

This wasn’t supposed to happen, George thinks. Him and Lewis were two weeks away from staging a fake break-up. They had a whole plan for it. They had come up with that plan together with their teams.

After some fucking media released pictures of George and Lewis from a private event, they had pretended to be dating. Telling the fans they were just fuck buddies wasn’t even an option. So with Mercedes and Ferrari, George and Lewis had agreed they’ll pretend to date for a few months and then break-up. It was all going so smoothly until the night Lewis dropped him home after having dinner with the older man’s family. They had gone long enough without sleeping together when they started fake dating. That night was all it took for them to break their unspoken agreement.

So really this is on them more than anyone or anything (except maybe the condom they used. It clearly didn’t serve its purpose). They shouldn’t have slept together that night.

Cold hands flatten on his stomach.

“Crikey!” George hisses, breaking out of his daze. “What’re you doing? And why are your hands so cold?”

Somewhere during his daze, Lewis had come closer to George. Because Lewis is crouching down between his legs, rubbing circles on his skin. His eyes are on the same level as his stomach. “You’re pregnant.”

“Yes, now stop it.” George tries to pull Lewis’ hands away but the older man stays persistent. “Lewis, you aren’t going to feel anything yet. I, on the other hand, am feeling your cold hands. So please take them off.”

“Sorry.” Lewis doesn’t sound sorry at all and takes his hands away very slowly. His gaze stays fixated, nonetheless. “There is a baby in there.”

George snorts. “Yes, thank you for letting me know.”

Lewis looks at George.

“Sorry.” George is the one apologising this time. “I know we are both in shock right now.”

“Shock is a fucking understatement.”

Silence befalls over them for two minutes until George speaks. “We’re supposed to fake a break-up in two weeks.”

“I mean, we still could.” Lewis shrugs his shoulders. “Exes co-parent all the time.”

George rolls his lower lip between his teeth, gnawing at it.

Lewis tugs George’s lip out, swiping his thumb over the flesh. “But, I don’t think we should. I think it would be easier if we’re still—if we still pretend to be together.”

“You still want to do that?”

“Whatever we do,” Lewis says, cupping George’s cheek, “we do it together. You won’t be alone, love.”

George’s breathing slows. He knew Lewis wouldn’t just run away but hearing it is different. It felt good. It calmed him down, no matter how little.

Lewis presses a fleeting kiss on George’ stomach, making the man jump, and stands up. “Come on.”

George places his hand into Lewis’ extended one so Lewis could pull him up. “Where?”

“We can talk about the rest and what to do later. Right now, we’re going back to sleep.”

George opens his mouth to protest.

“We can’t do anything until our minds are clear. The edges of Lewis’ mouth curve upwards. “We have to take baby steps.”

George stares at Lewis.

“Too soon?”

“It hasn’t even been half an hour yet.”

——————

I was originally gonna do gewis fake dating because George is pregnant. So gewis are sleeping together and George falls pregnant. So to avoid backlash and people talking bad about George, him and Lewis decide to tell the others that they are together. But then I remembered one of my wips so this is basically a fic divergence, if you will. I was like what if gewis are already fake dating and George ends up pregnant during that🤔It was a different take to the prompt and I already liked it so I went with it.

—

Mash-up trope

[another-day-another-shadow-ban]

Only Pretending #6

Word count: 3.5k Author's note: sooo, I've decided that until I'm shadowbanned, I'll be posting this series here! I'll still reblog the chapters so it is on my primary blog. I won't be able to reply to comments still (as this is a secondary blog), but know that I sincerely appreciate every single note you people leave, so thank you so much in advance, you are so beautiful!

If pressed, you wouldn’t be able to tell how long you spent kissing that night. Wouldn’t be able to remember when you straddled her lap, holding on for however long you could.

Larissa’s hands were the gentlest torturers you’d ever known, softly but surely going from caressing your face to gripping your neck and ending up on your hips, pressing you closer with a desperate feel to it.

You could not remember the last time you were so thoroughly studied. Maybe never. There was no part of you her hands did not travel through and for the first time, you cursed your fuzzy pyjamas. What wouldn’t you have given to feel her fingers grip your thighs without any barrier between you? It was a curse but also a blessing. If you had felt cold fingers on your heated skin, you might not have had the strength to stop it.

Larissa was following a clear path. She had a goal, and it was undeniably thrilling to know she wanted you, but you were both intoxicated by more than one another. This was not a pure desire-driven endeavour; you were drunk and while your feelings and want were very clear to you, you could not know of Larissa’s. Hell, only yesterday she had asked you to be her friend. You could very well be the available option.

When you felt her hand skirting dangerously up your thigh, you mentally kicked yourself and put your hand over hers.

You separated for just a fraction, looking her in the eyes. They were heavy-lidded and you could see more than just a simple adjustment to lighting on her wide pupils. It killed you to know what your next words were when she looked so incredible, still towering over you even when you were on her lap.

“Larissa…” you whispered, and she chased your lips, stealing a brief kiss before you had the strength to part again, “I know this is frustrating, and you might hate me or thank me tomorrow, but I’d prefer having the knowledge that you were completely clear minded before choosing to go down this route with me.”

“Why are you so concerned about me all the time, it should be me who’s saying this,” she sounded defeated, dumping her head on your shoulder for the second time that evening.

You brought your hands to her nape and started to gently scratch her scalp.

“You’re concerned with everyone around you all the time.” You smiled. “Only fair that someone does the same to you.”

Her arms circled your waist, and she buried her nose in your neck. You kissed the tip of her ear and nudged her up to face you again. You felt a satisfying surge of pride seeing her small affectionate smile, and had to kiss it one more time, just as affectionately.

Getting up and turning to lie on the bed, you pulled her with you so she would be the one on top. You went down kissing, smiling, and chuckling once when she pressed her thigh between your legs a little too much and made you groan.

“Tomorrow, we discuss it, ok?” you breathed in the now darkened room and felt Larissa nod against your chest.

“Good night, y/n,” she whispered.

“Good night, Larissa.”

You woke up alone the next morning. Sunlight was coming through the half-opened deep-red curtains, warming a line up your jaw and burning your ear. Larissa must have woken with it in her eyes.

You got up and dragged yourself to the bathroom. Larissa was probably downstairs, which shouldn’t bother you, but you thought you would talk first thing in the morning and the fact that she preferred being in Morticia’s company instead of waking you to accompany her was nauseating. Maybe she was sparing you the bother of putting up with the woman and you were just worrying unnecessarily.

Taking your time to get ready and dress, you left the bedroom almost forty minutes later.

Upon stepping into the main hall, you were surprised by the large front doors opening abruptly. Through them, a squealing Enid ran inside, dropping two travel bags by the stairs and returning just as quickly to hug an unimpressed Wednesday, walking calmly inside (though the slight quiver on the side of her mouth hinted at her true feelings).

“I can’t believe I’m finally here! Stop with the pout, Addams! Your brooding days are over, time to enjoy the holiday!”

Wednesday rolled her eyes in your direction, still in Enid’s arms, as if she could convince you she wasn’t happy her girlfriend had arrived. As if it wasn’t all she talked about at dinner last night on the rare occasions she bothered to make a comment.

“Professor!” you were next in the queue of hugs, and Enid’s joyful skips towards you managed to soothe the minor discomfort that Larissa’s absence had caused. “I’m so happy that you’re here,” she whispered timidly and quite adorably, “I didn’t talk with my parents yet. I’ll do it in person, but I wanted to thank you again for our talk.”

“Of course, dear,” you tightened your arms around her, “And I’ll be here no matter their reaction if you want to talk again, ok? We can go to the Weathervane or the park, whatever you’d like.”

You separated and she smiled sweetly at you. You knew it was young love, but you wished they’d work out because looking at them, you could think of no one else who would protect Enid as fiercely as Wednesday and not a single soul that would keep Wednesday in check as Enid did. They were such an adorable pair you almost felt jealous.

“Rissa?” Morticia’s voice sounded again, a bit louder, snapping Larissa out of her reverie.

“Yes?”

“If you’ve finished eating, I’ll summon Lurch to clear the table for you.” She gestured while seating in one of the garden chairs around said table.

“No, I’ll wait for y/n, thank you. I think she’d like to have breakfast in the garden,” she smiled, remembering your idea of what your first date would have been like. She didn’t know much about you from these last few days, but she was certain you’d appreciate the fresh air and Morticia’s deadly plants.

“You know, I don’t understand what you think you’re doing,” the woman replied, rushing through the words in an uncommon manner.

“Whatever do you mean, Morticia?”

“Oh, don’t roll your eyes at me! I can see clearly what’s happening here!” she sounded impatient, which wasn’t unheard of, but she rarely showed it to anyone; that’s how Larissa knew they were alone, she got used to that secret side of the woman twenty years ago.

Masking her discomfort with a long-since practised smile, Larissa tidied the spread while choosing her words.

“And what do you think that would be?”

Larissa heard a snort, “You’re being used! You always had a soft spot for the unremarkable and that is a very generous quality of yours. I admire it, truly, but it’s the third time around, amore, and this will end up badly.”

“What?! Careful with your lies, Morticia, they’re getting bigger and bigger, and someday they’ll lodge in your throat,” Larissa was shocked by her own reaction. She thought she’d mastered how to maintain the higher ground around Morticia, but clearly, she was mistaken; at least when it was about you, apparently. “Be honest, you can’t care less about how this will end. You didn’t care the first time, why would you now?”

At that, her old roommate stilled.

“I didn’t know about her, and you know it very well,” her tone was dangerously controlled, she was looking ahead with her jaw set and from time to time her eye twitched, “When I heard the news, Gomez didn’t even have to finish sparring, I just ran to the car.” With a deep breath, Morticia turned to face Larissa, eyes sparkling and nose flaring. “You are an intelligent woman, Larissa; we both know that. So, you must have noticed the recurrent theme of charming young ladies trying to use you for their own purposes.”

“Don’t forget to include yourself on the list,” Larissa’s tone was colder than she’d expected, but Morticia’s uncharacteristic avoidance of her gaze was an exquisite treat.

Without another word, the woman stood up and walked back through the path from where she came.

The previous night, you attributed the mansion’s imposing aura to the melting of its high towery roof against the darkening of the skies that created a strange sense of elongated walls. However, through the morning sunlit corridors, the high ceilings and medieval-like decorations didn’t alleviate you of the notion in any way. You could swear one of the rooms you passed through had an actual medieval torture device.

When you started walking down the rock path, Morticia appeared from around tall white oleander bushes, looking sour, and even though her sweet smiles had been mostly false until that moment, you preferred them. Whatever happened to her, you prayed you didn’t have to know.

Upon seeing, though, her face morphed back into “alluring menace mode”.

“Good morning, my dear. Did you sleep well?” she said in a slightly hoarser version of her baritone, coming right up to you and standing close.

“Yeah, you have very good beds,” you smirked, “they barely make a sound.”

The twitch of annoyance in the corner of her lip gave away her feelings, and her expression changed again in a matter of seconds, brows knitting together and downward lips.

“Oh, did something happen in the morning then?”

“What do you mean?” what was she talking about?

“I’ve just spoken with Rissa, and she seemed very pissy about something, could barely talk to her for a minute…” you knew you shouldn’t trust her concerned tone, the glint in her eye had amusement written all over it.

So, Larissa wasn’t in bed because she was angry? Or she regretted your actions last night and seeing the person whom she started this all for irritated her? If she hadn’t wanted to prove Morticia wrong, nothing would have happened. No cuddling on the sofa, no trips and highroad hugs, and definitely no kissing like mad until you fell asleep.

She placed her hand on your shoulder and murmured, “I’d say to approach carefully, you never know when she has a temper.” before parting with her usual saunter.

So much for hope, in the end. You could only be grateful for the chance at knowing what it could be like to be… you didn’t want to finish the thought, even that felt tainted by Larissa’s repentance.

Turning where Morticia came from, you saw a few meters ahead a beautiful black iron garden table with matching chairs. Larissa’s shoulders hung softly. She didn’t look tense from her back, more contemplating with her fingers absentmindedly tracing the rim of a teacup.

You approached slowly, and when you were in front of her, she didn’t look near throwing you the cup. Unsurprisingly, Morticia was fond of hyperboles.

“Before you say anything, I just wanted to say that I’m sorry. It was a mistake, it’s ok…” you felt your throat tight and breathed slowly in to control your emotions before continuing, “We were both drunk, and I’m happy we stopped because if not this conversation would have been a lot more awful than it already is to have. I won’t say a thing to anyone, and I won’t ask anything of you, as well, don’t worry. We can just pretend it never happened.”

Larissa’s confused expression didn’t last long. You could point out the moment she stopped being Larissa and became principal Weems in front of you. Her unguarded posture swiftly shifted to the picture of a professional stance, her face was neutral and her voice calculatedly suave.

“Of course. I’m glad that we cleared it out, I’d hate for it to be a source of miscomprehension between us,” she smiled, “Good thing that we both feel the same and can act as adults about it.”

You only nodded, too stunned to muster a response.

“Well,” she got up and gestured to the overstocked table between you, “I thought you’d enjoy breakfast in the garden. You did seem rather fond of picnics if I recall,” she ended with a breath. If you knew any better, you’d say she sounded wounded before she circled you walked away.

As soon as her towering figure was out of sight, which you knew because you watched her go without so much as blinking, you let all the air you’d been holding out, finishing with the mixture of a broken whimper and a sob. Now you knew, undeniably, that your feelings weren’t reciprocated. You felt so drained you couldn’t even cry; you simply fell into the closest chair and ignored the food by your side until someone came to get it.

When Morticia saw Larissa’s face coming from the garden, she concluded her little deception had worked.

More guests arrived in the afternoon. A lot of them very eccentric and intriguing. There was one particular guest you found very charming. Wednesday introduced him to you as Cousin Itt; apparently, he also attended Nevermore years back and was a consistent winner in debates.

“I and Pugsley facilitated his marriage years ago,” Wednesday said curiously by your side, a sinister smile indicating her rare amusement, “It was good fun to dispose of Cousin Margaret’s late husband.”

“Whatever do you mean by that?!”

She only smiled a bit more and stalked away to join Enid at the garden.

Larissa was missing for the greater part of the day. After lunch, which was stilted and awkward, only balanced by Enid and Gomez lively debating Wednesday’s adventures in the previous year, she left for who knows where and only appeared in your bedroom closely before the party was scheduled to start.

You knew you still were trying to deceive Morticia, and by her comment that morning she did seem to believe you were together, but now you didn’t know if Larissa wanted to continue with the plan; she looked so tired.

“Do you think we should talk about it?” you asked when she left the bathroom in one of the fluffy robes.

“Talk about what?” her tone was clipped.

You really wanted to maintain the illusion of being an adult, but it was so difficult with her displeased principal face. You felt like a child politely scolded for your bad behaviour. Your shoulders hurt and your chest ached; spending one afternoon away from her, not knowing what was going through her head was torture. You wondered how you’d survive the rest of the year now, if it would all fade away or if the dull aching would be a consistent reminder of all you wanted and could not have every time you walked by her or were called to her office.

It was Larissa who talked fist, prompting you out of your misery with an exasperated voice.

“Fine!” she snapped, “You want to talk about it? Let’s do that. Where do you want to start from? The part where I-“ she cut herself, looking at you with ill-concealed rage and… betrayal? What? “You know what? You start… this was your idea, to begin with,” she ended in a much quieter tone, rummaging through her belongings and producing a wine bottle before dropping into one of the armchairs by the unlit fireplace.

“You brought wine?!”

She was silent for a few moments before speaking, “I thought we could share it the first night, but you were already drunk and I was tired so I didn’t even remember it,” she sounded defeated, and the emotional rollercoaster of feelings this trip was putting you through was starting to exhaust you. You wanted just that. Simple things. Sharing wine and giggling about fooling her old roommate, being friends and not worrying about screwing everything up all the time.

“Can I have some?” you approached and seated in the chair in front of her.

“We don’t have glasses.”

“Do you really mind sharing a bottle? I mean, we did worse than that already…” you winced at the comment, but when she huffed and smiled you felt almost overwhelmed with relief and fondness.

She unscrewed the bottle and took a swing before passing it over. It occurred to you it wasn’t even the first time you drank from the same place. Last night you shared your last glass you whisky without even thinking about it.

You gulped down a healthy amount and were surprised by the sweet smoothness of it. It was the same you shared the first time you went to her office. She smiled again when your eyebrows shot up and you took another sip, savouring it this time and not just swallowing for the sake of liquid courage. You didn’t know quite what to say at the sweet gesture.

“How about we start with the reason you disappeared on me the entire day,” you prompted, gently, passing her the bottle.

She huffed a laugh again, but it was bitterer this time around. “I think you know why that was.”

“I really don’t,” you were speaking quietly, as if it was any louder something would shatter, “I can guess, but I’d prefer knowing. Not knowing things have already caused enough commotion between us, don’t you think?”

“Ha, I wonder how we’ll ever work together again after this,” she didn’t take the time to appreciate the drink, downing an amount that had her throat moving slowly to manage it.

“I think you should stop with that for now…” you took the bottle and set it on the floor. She did have a different system than you, but it was starting to feel like too much too soon.

“I don’t usually… I have been drinking much more than normal the last few days,” she confessed, her eyebrows kitting softly.

“It’s ok, I just think we’re always out of sorts before having honest conversations. The time in the car was the healthiest discussion we ever had, and it took us very high amounts of stress to even start talking.”

“You are correct, once again.”

“Again?”

“You said before that it was a mistake,” her voice was just above a whisper.

“And you agreed… with me.”

“Do you really believe that?” she huffed again, “You must know by now how I feel, you’re just too kind to tell me it is one-sided. Stop trying to protect my feelings, I’m more than a decade older than you.”

You were a bit oblivious sometimes, but you couldn’t misinterpret what she was saying, however, you could not believe it either.

“What do you mean, Larissa? Please don’t say things you don’t mean thinking it will make me feel better.”

She hid her face in her hands with a deep breath. Her hair was wet from the shower and even looking cosy and casual in her robe, all you could see in Larissa was tense exasperation.

“Who stopped us yesterday?” she murmured, dropping her hands, eyes almost boring holes in yours with her piercing determination, “Who came to me this morning offering me an out, implying we both made a mistake and not only me?”

“I thought you were…” you started saying, but she cut in.

“You thought I was what? Not interested after kissing myself molten in your arms? That I regretted while waiting for us to eat together in the garden? What did you think, y/n? Enlighten me because it really is a mystery to me what passes through your head.”

You were stunned into silence by her small outburst. She really was incomparable when her eyes lit up like that when the persona of masterly disguised feelings was put aside, and the real Larissa appeared.

“M-Morticia told me you were mad… in the garden before I met you,” you breathed, “I thought you snapped at her because she was the reason we’re doing this in the first place.”

At that, Larissa got up, you were still dazed to accompany her movements, but you felt her hands on your shoulders and suddenly she was kneeling in front of you.

“This is just a guess, but don’t you think Morticia would love nothing more than to ruin whatever it is we have since it’s exactly what she’s been trying to do since we got here?” you could very well drown on those resplendent blue eyes, clear as the Weddell Sea with emotion, “It would be laughable if we were actually together, let’s be honest, her methods are ‘petty teenager’ level, but I think we are so deep into our heads we’re falling for them just like a pair of teenaged fools.” Her hand came to caress your cheek, and you weren’t sure you were being played or if this was really happening, but you couldn’t think of any words, even less muster a sentence to agree with her, so you just had to pathetically wait for Larissa to fix everything by herself. She didn’t seem to mind so much, with a small smile and drawn eyebrows.

“Did you really regret it?” she whispered, looking almost vulnerable if it weren’t for her resolve to soothe your insecurities, “Or would you say something different if Morticia hadn’t found you before me?”

“You were all I could think about…” you covered her hand on your cheek, “I just wanted to be sure your feelings wouldn’t change…”

“They didn’t,” she said simply and leaned in to kiss you.

Tag list: @anti-bright-places, @the-bagel24, @regalbootie, @tundra1029, @thoroughly-confused, @lilsmeaux, @poorwritingandstalecoffee, @alder-saan, @jelly-frogss, @enchantressb, @imean-its-just-me, @lvinhs, @iloveyall-18, @kimiinou, @jeweleegrey (why won't your names tag? What am I doing wrong?)

Chapter Seven

[razorblade180]

Story Quest drama

Does anyone else find it incredibly weird how many Genshin fans are upset with Paimon and Traveler after Furina’s quest? Like the way people are cherry picking certain parts of scenes and misrepresenting the situation is astounding. I’m not going to pretend Paimon and Traveler didn’t throw a couple jabs but for the majority of back of forth is just banter and the common bluntness they bring. In no way were they trying to gaslight or manipulate Furina.

Furina said she didn’t want to join on stage. Paimon asked if there were any exceptions, and Furina say she didn’t want to leave an out for herself. Hearing that, they immediately pivot the conversation to asking her if she knows anyone who could help. That is literally workshopping a problem 101 and constructive problem solving. I don’t get why people are painting that as pressuring. They heard her stance and seeked a solution that respected her decision and allowed them to continue trying to help their employer.

Furina punches down on herself by saying she didn’t know anyone because they were probably happy she was gone; to which one of the dialogue options boils down to “that’s not a good to assume” because it isn’t. Paimon’s next question was if she had any idea, which causes Furina to get agitated before immediately apologizing because once again, Paimon’s question wasn’t in any way trying to get Furina to buckle. The two of them are essentially checking of a mental list to see where they should go to try solve their commission. Paimon even clarifies this with her before they part ways and Paimon says “Oh well. We have to respect her decision”

Even when they get back to the guild, Paimon tells them for personal reasons, Furina can’t help; as well as clarifying the misconceptions the actress had about Furina being rude. In no way were the duo planning on circling back or involving Furina any further and only gets roped back in after getting caught spying. Furina herself admits she just started drawing lines in the sand without hearing the situation before trying to apologize, to which Paimon tells her everything is completely fine and nothing that just happened was taken personally. You could argue Furina didn’t have anything to apologize for and that’s fine, but even in game, nobody was expecting one and told her everything is fine.

Tiny rant but it’s a bit annoying how people are quick to clip certain dialogue to paint them negatively, while completely ignoring the parts Paimon and the Traveler actively tell Furina she shouldn’t be so hard on herself, it’s okay not to force things, and talking about how she’s finally free to live how she wants. But they want clip the part where Paimon said she first thought Furina was diva; a sane assumption to have after she tried immediately getting them arrested on a ridiculous charge for the sake of hyping the crowd. Was it a little rude? Yeah. Has Paimon never called it like she saw it? No. We’ve heard Kaveh’s backstory and both her and the traveler still went “You should really try and get your life together before something happens” because it’s the blunt yet honest truth. If isn’t Diluc, Klee, Xiao, Ayaka, Yoimiya, Dehya, or Collei, Paimon will find an issue. The others can do no wrong. 💀

Anyway, I just think it’s a bit ridiculous how some people acting. Especially when several weeks ago Furina and “girl failure” was always in the same sentence while people applauded Arlecchino for dragging someone when ultimately she also didn’t know dick about the situation and basically did a gymnastics performance the way she jumped to certain conclusions. I love that people love Furina, but let’s not get crazy now when two people choose to approach her in a casual dynamic instead of super gently and emphatically. If anything, Furina is getting the normal human experience of having people that actually hate her in Poisson, the troupe idolizing her, Neuvillette and Navia being sweet, and the Traveler and Paimon being casual friends.

You know what’s actually insane!? Shenhe talking about her dead family and backstory then the scene ends with Paimon saying “cut the chitchat. We’re trying to win a contest.” THAT was actually out of pocket. 💀

[candyriku]

Working on my ice skating AU, here's a lil preview (this is like the start of chapter 2). I know it's sacrilege to have Sora and Riku be estranged in any way, but in this AU they ARE, okay. I felt like writing about them being messy and emotionally damaged people so here is Riku being messy (and plenty of Sora being messy will follow) :-)

“Are you serious?” Riku demands, his voice coming across more aggressively than he means it. “Skate with him?”

Aqua looks from Riku to Sora and frowns. “Do you know him? Is there some kind of issue?”

Does he know Sora? Of course he does. They were childhood friends, then something more, then nothing at all. But he can’t tell Aqua that, nor does he want to relive the last time he saw Sora, his trembling hands in his hair, their lips brushing together before Sora made a hasty retreat and disappeared from his life entirely. 

Sora’s eyes haven’t left his shoes. “It’s okay if you don’t want to…” he ventures, and somehow this makes Riku feel even worse. Sora is giving him an out, and he can't stand it. He wants to hate Sora for it, but it feels more and more like he hates himself. He should have never kissed Sora in the first place. He deserves the two years of silence he’s endured ever since.

“Look, Riku, I’ll say it one last time in case it’s not getting through that thick skull of yours. Either skate pairs, ice dance - which also requires a partner, or drop the sport entirely. If you want to do anything outside of those three options, I won’t coach you. And although it’s your decision, if you keep skating solo, I hope you know you're digging your own grave.”

“Fine,” Riku snaps, looking away from Sora. “I’ll try skating with him. But we both know he’ll only slow me down. This will end my career and yours.” He’s being unfair and he knows it, but the idea of Aqua deciding his future for him feels unbearable. Shouldn’t it be up to him? Yes, he’s injured, but injuries heal. He shouldn’t have to adjust his entire life because of one tiny stress fracture. 

“Sora won’t slow you down. He’s just as skilled as you are.” Aqua says firmly, crossing her arms.

Riku wants to argue, but he’s spent most of his life in the same rink as Sora and knows it’s true. Still, skating solo is something Riku doesn’t want taken from him. It’s his escape, his time for himself, his form of self-expression. Having another person - even if it’s Sora - encroach on that feels wrong. Figure skating is a sport about the performer and the performer alone. It’s his own personal artform. To share it is to lose his identity as a skater altogether. 

“I don’t skate with social media showboats” he spits. This, too, is unfair, and he only knows of Sora’s popularity online because he’s pathetically kept up with him after Sora moved away, forever watching videos of him skate with a mixture of longing and nausea. Sora skates expressively, beautifully, in a way Riku himself can’t quite replicate, because Sora has always been the better of the two of them when it comes to self-expression. Riku is just a miserable person pretending to be something he’s not. At least Sora is authentically himself all the time, even online. 

Everything in Riku’s brain tells him to stop making such a scene and just accept this new paradigm. But his heart aches with loss - loss of his solo career, loss of his dignity, loss of his autonomy, loss of this world he’s built for himself where he can pretend he never fell disastrously in love with his childhood best friend. He freezes when he sees the expression on Sora’s face. 

“I just post for fun,” Sora says softly, biting his lip. “I’ll stop posting while we're training, if that'll make you feel-”

“It’s fine,” Riku says. “Do what you want. It doesn’t concern me.”

[tamelee]

Draw what you want to draw Tame! I mean, I’m not particularly a fan of Sasunaru in general because I often associate it with a side of the fandom I had a pretty bad experience with, but I like your Sasunaru drawings because… they’re yours. You communicate so much trough you art, it brings me so much joy, and I get so inspired from you… We feel the love you hold for Naruto and Sasuke trough your pieces, it’s the most important thing.

+5 (long post)

Thank you for sending me messages like this 😭💕 I feel like I don't deserve it, but like, honestly, it's a bit strange how your brain automatically focusses on this negative, invading thing but some of you always remind me to redirect my attention elsewhere, does that make sense? I don't know if it does, but in short; I appreciate it A LOT! 🥰 1st Nonee; I think I understand what kind of bad experience that may be.. I'm sorry to hear about it ;-;- I'm extra grateful you can still connect with my art despite it <3

Yes… I’m aware. 

This… sorta feels like I was having a conversation with someone about different kinds of apples and then you walk by, linger to listen, sorta cough for a moment, tap me on the shoulder and say, “I overhead and found this hilarious, honestly. Why the hell do you refuse the existence of banana’s? They are real and you should take into consideration that some people may prefer them over apples. Are you just pretending there’s just no other fruit?”

And I’ll frown in confusion, hold up a rotten apple and explain I was talking about this (I’ll point at it) very specific moldy, apple. That, it doesn’t matter whether it used to be red or green, it shouldn’t be consumed anymore after it passes a certain limit. 

But then you come over to lecture us about banana’s because it’s also a fruit, and you feel strongly about the fact that both are great for baking and just because they have these similarities, it doesn’t mean they are the same thing. 

And I agree because I just said that I didn’t care what color it had but… it’s rotten. 

Anyway, either you missed the point completely, or I haven’t been clear enough. In which case, I probably made it more confusing, but since you found it hilarious I wanted in on the joke 🤷🏻‍♀️

“I feel like taking that into consideration it's understandable that some people prefer to stick to just one dynamic, whichever that might be. This obviously does not justify harassing creators for doing a different dynamic you don't prefer.”

On the other hand, I think you did get the point somewhere. This is literally what I said. 

So, this was very informative, but I’ve talked about it before. In the post I also mentioned preferences and that I had one as well. Don’t you think that by itself acknowledges the possibility of a distinction between options? There’s no use for a preference otherwise, yes? It means there are choices. And the people in the comments talked about heteronormativity which has largely to do with the characterization you’re talking about. That means people aren’t blind at all, because this characterization in fandom has a lot to do with heteronormativity which, in turn, is often the reason they start attacking each other. And just because it’s true and real, or a phenomena as you say, doesn’t mean there aren’t any rotten apples and we aren't allowed to throw those in the bin. 

And so, yes, I am very much going to “act” like people who attack other people for something so silly and ridiculous- are crazy. Because the point of my post was specifically about them. 

Aka, the rotten apple.  Have a blessed day as well, Nonee.

[absolutebloodychaos]

i just neeeeed bojan and kris being soft but sassy boyfriends🙏💅

Thanks @alainsthoughts so much for the ask, I loved writing this and I hope that you like it too:)

I did not mean to make this into a Christmas fic but hey, this is what happens when you listen to too much Mariah Carey in October.

I wrote most of this while listening to the Cher Chrismas album and it is absolutely fucking AMAZING. I was also listening to “Щедрик'' or “Carol of the Bells” which is my favourite Christmas carol.

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It was Christmas Eve and the Cvjetiguštin household was getting ready for the holiday with vigour.

Due to their busy touring schedule, Bojan and Kris hadn’t had the opportunity to prepare for Christmas until now, but they were making the most of the time they had.

Mistletoe was being hung, baubles strung, tinsel wrapped, and trees decorated by the two men who were excited to spend their first holiday together as a proper couple.

Kris and Bojan had been pining over each other for years but both had finally caved and gotten together earlier that year around the same time as their first stadium show.

Each man was head over heels with the other and had moved in together pretty quickly, Bojan liked to joke that it had something to do with Kris’ lesbian like behaviour but in reality it was because they had known and loved each other for so long that there was no point waiting around anymore.

As their shared apartment was quite small, the decorating didn’t take much time, or shouldn’t have if Bojan hadn’t kept trying to wrap Kris up with tinsel or kept stopping every three minutes to hang a red bauble off of his nose and pretend to be a certain reindeer.

All the messing around made it more fun though, and Kris couldn’t imagine being anywhere else. 

The last few decorations were put up; the mistletoe taking ages as they kept on getting sidetracked by kissing every time they hung a new sprig, and the topper going on the top of the tree last, Kris boosting up the other man so that he could reach the top.

“I’m not actually that short you know,” Bojan said standing on Kris’ bent knee.

“You sure darling, I saw you struggling to hang the baubles on the higher branches,” Kris said with a smirk.

Bojan didn’t say anything once he got down, just gave the other man an adorable pout, but Kris could tell from the fact that he could see the other man trying not to smile that he didn’t mean it.

It took about twenty seconds before Bojan gave up and the pout slipped from his face, and for Kris to lean in and capture the shorter man’s lips with his own.

“Okay, you’re not that short, I do admit that we did get quite a tall tree but you know that I could have just put the topper on, I would have been able to reach,” Kris said as he pulled back to catch his breath after a few minutes.

“You can put your topper on me,” Bojan said with a lewd grin and Kris shook his head.

“That doesn’t even make any sense,” he said with a fond look and another short kiss that would have been longer if they didn’t have other things to do that day.

“Come on, we’ve got a lot more to do today, I can’t cook my famous gingerbread that you love ever so much if I just spend the rest of the day here kissing you,” Kris said and he could see Bojan visibly weighing up his options.

“If you come with me to the kitchen I’ll let you decorate as many gingerbread people as you want, any way that you like, I won’t even stop you from making rude ones,” Kris said knowing that he’d won the argument.

Also, no one ever said that they couldn’t kiss more while they were baking; Kris had no doubt that by the time the biscuits were in the oven there would have been many kisses stolen between the two men.

Many gingerbread people were made over the next few hours, Kris’ ones resembling cute little fully dressed ordinary people, and Bojan’s more PG ones representing something out of a fever dream (others representing things that were less appropriate for public consumption).

“Bojan, surely you could have made some ones that we could give to other people,” Kris said with a fondly exasperated sigh.

“We could give these to other people, they might just get the wrong idea,” Bojan said, wiggling his eyebrows, and Kris smiled and wrapped the shorter man in his long arms.

“Yes, and we wouldn’t want that, would we,” he said and Bojan just gave him a suggestive look before leaning in for another kiss.

After the baking the next task was wrapping presents and the men wrapped their joint presents together having already wrapped the presents they were going to give to each other.

Over the next hour many presents piled up and were moved to be placed around the bottom of the recently decorated tree.

This year everyone had agreed that Christmas was to be celebrated at Kris and Bojan’s house, and their friends would be arriving the next day for lunch and presents.

But that afternoon and evening were spent just the two of them, cuddled up in bed with steaming mugs of hot chocolate, watching some of their favourite Christmas movies; Die Hard, Home Alone, White Christmas and Meet Me In Saint Louis.

The next day Kris and Bojan woke up wrapped in each other’s arms and lovingly made out until they decided it was time to exchange presents.

Kris among other things had gotten Bojan a necklace and matching bracelet to replace his beloved chain that had snapped a month previous during a particularly energetic gig.

In turn he received many presents from his boyfriend with his favourite being a scrapbook full of memories from their lives together, most memorable being the diary entry Bojan had made the first day that they’d met and pictures from the day they first got together.

A while later they left bed to have breakfast and start getting ready for when the others would come over later.

Lots of food was made, too much probably given that Jure, Jan and Nace had all promised to bring a dish along too, but that just meant that there would be good leftovers for the week ahead.

Bojan set the table as Kris pulled the last things out of the oven and the finishing touches were made just before both men heard the doorbell ring, revealing their friends covered in snow from the trip over to the apartament.

“We bring gifts!” Jure said with a grin and Kris ushered them all inside with a short but sincere hug for each man, telling them to put food in the kitchen and drop presents under the tree.

Bojan, who had just finished getting ready in the bedroom came out and seeing the lingering traces of snow on his guests clothes bolted out the door quickly greeting his friends and then yelling “SNOOOOOOW!!!!!!!!!!!!” with Kris trailing closely behind.

The second he got outside Bojan practically reverted back into being a child, making snowballs and snow angels, and trying to create a snowman.

“Love, you should probably come back inside, you’re going to catch a cold,” Kris said but with a sweet smile and love shining from his eyes.

Bojan ran over and took Kris’ hand, dragging him out of the warm doorway into the cold of the snow, and Kris loved the look of pure wonder and happiness that decorated the other man’s face.

“Okay, in a minute, let’s just enjoy this for now though,” Bojan said and pulled Kris into a kiss while the snow fell lightly around them, decorating each man’s eyelashes with the small white flakes.

Kris knew that this was the first of many similar Christmases to come, and he couldn’t wait to spend each and every one of them with the man he loved.

[storiesofsvu]

Life Plans & Changes

Alex Cabot x fem reader Warnings: language, mentions of time in wpp/typical canon violence. A/N: Ignore most of the canon actual time length shit for this. It was requested post WPP, but we're pretending by the time this conversation happens she's gone to the congo & come back. It's like, the prelude to what she's doing in s20...

It was more than safe to say that Alex Cabot had seen a lot of the world, some of it not by choice. She’d watched countless cases drift on by her as a prosecutor, ones of horrific crime scenes, brutalized victims (both mentally and physically), people put behind bars who technically shouldn’t have and people whose lives would never be the same. No matter what anyone did to try and help them.

As much as she was aching to get back to New York after her stint in witness protection she was still hesitant about returning to the job. She’d spent the last four years thinking about all the terrible things that the world held and all the dangers out there. She was reluctant, but with the help of you she was able to start working again. You’d already been her rock since before she got shot and she was incredibly thankful that coming back from the dead hadn’t been a big deal breaker. You told her you loved her, said that if she was willing to, you’d wait for her.

So now the two of you were back in Manhattan, enjoying your life together, happy to have the other person back in your lives to come home to each night. After around a year you started to realize that your apartment wasn’t exactly big enough for the two of you, that if you really did want to settle down some roots in Manhattan, you should look into buying a bigger place together, that was where the conversation started.

Dinner was eaten, Alex happily did the dishes because you’d obviously done the cooking, she’d just finished up, pouring a second glass of wine to bring to you and crossing through the apartment to the couch. You were sprawled across it, iPad on your lap as you scrolled through real estate options. She picked up your calves, letting them fall over her lap as she settled beside you and you thanked her for the glass of wine, taking a sip before placing it down on the coffee table.

“I’m assuming you’re gonna want a home office?” You asked, “should we be looking minimum two bedrooms or more?”

“Might be nice to have a guest room, or you could use it as a studio?”

“We looking just at apartments or should we toss some houses into the mix?”

“A yard would be nice. More upkeep on our end though.” She hummed over the rim of her glass, her free hand tracing patterns into your skin.

“When we get a dog I’d much rather just let it out into the yard than have to take it all the way downstairs and around the block to pee. Especially at night.” You added as you clicked a few more filters on the page before you hit search.

“When?” Alex laughed, a sparkle twinkling its way through her eyes as she glanced down at you and you rolled your eyes, sitting up so you could both see the screen.

“Something that doesn’t shed too bad, and I promise you won’t have to pick up any poop.” You assured her, pressing a gentle kiss to her cheek.

The two of you swiped through a couple of listings, comparing size, location and cost for a bit before your brow furrowed and you reached for your wine glass before taking a sip and turning to Alex.

“Are we gonna need four bedrooms? I mean, if we’re investing for the future we may as well really go all in, right?”

“Why?” She chuckled, “the dog getting its own room?”

“Well… if we want to have kids?” You shrugged, your face contorting as you glanced toward her and she let out a soft sigh. “We’d just started to talk about it before you… got shot…”

“And we never really got back to it, did we?” She looked up at you with a tiny grin on her lips.

“I’m good either way, it’s not a deal breaker for me.” Your hand found hers, fingers tangling together, “honestly I think you’d make a great mom.”

“Thank you.” She leant in, pressing a gentle kiss to your temple. “I’ll admit I was on the fence before; I wasn’t sure what way I would end up leaning but… I don’t know how to feel about raising a kid when I don’t know if I can keep them safe…”

“Hmm?” Your head tilted, a brow raising softly in curiosity at her words and she let out a breath, reaching out for another sip of wine.

“I’ve been thinking about whether or not I even want to continue being a prosecutor.” She admitted, “I’m starting to feel like I’m just some useless cog in a wheel that’s supposed to be justice meanwhile half these perps walk, and their victims lives are destroyed no matter what. I’m doing all I can to get the bad guys off the streets, to make the city safer but… there’s just so much fucking danger and I can’t bring myself to bring a kid into that.”

“You really don’t want to be a lawyer anymore?” You asked and Alex glanced up a near look of surprise on her face that you’d slid passed the whole kid thing that quickly. Then again, you had said it wasn’t a hard yes or no for you, so why should she be shocked, she knew that all you really cared about was having her by your side and keeping her by your side.

“At least not for SVU.” She smiled softly at the way you squeezed at her hand, “I’ve been putting in some calls to connections over at family law, I know a lot of DV stuff ends up at SVU, but this would be a different side of it. I just don’t get how the government can make up new identities, jobs, homes for people who were facing something like gang violence but they can’t fucking help a mother and kids out of an abusive home.”

You couldn’t help but smile at the wild passion firing through her eyes, the way her voice picked up ever so slightly, similar to the way it did in a courtroom, or when she was bickering with cops and knew that she was right (which was most of the time). You weren’t about to stop her, or interject, because you knew she’d have her back up argument mentally prepared already.

“And I know, I know.” Her hand flew up and you let out a little chuckle, “it’s about legalities and evidence and shit but, it just infuriates me some days.”

“You could look into like, victim advocacy stuff? I’m sure the pay’s not as great.” That caught her attention and she paused, her brow furrowing as she looked toward you.

“You’re really okay with me just switching life paths like this?”

“Yeah.” You nodded, squeezing at her hand once again, “Lex, you’ve been through so much, to literal hell and back. You’ve seen what these situations do to people, how it affects other areas of the world, you don’t have to be the same little baby lawyer you were when you were in your twenties now. You’re allowed to change, it’s called growth. I mean, you cooked dinner last week without setting the stove on fire, same concept.”

Alex scoffed, feigning offence at your teasing and swatted at your arm before reaching for her wine, grinning at you over the rim of the glass.

“You’re lucky I love you.”

“Enough to get a dog?” You pouted and she laughed again, rolling her eyes.

“More than enough to get a dog.” She leant in, kissing you softly before she wrapped her arm around you and you picked the iPad back up.

Nestling into her side the two of you continued to swipe through house and apartment listings, setting up more than a few appointments to see some of them in person. You’d waited so long for each other; it was about time to start making your future your present.

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