#can we get an event like this every month?

[crookedteethed]

ᡣ𐭩 Positive • ° 　 .　 *　: r. cameron

synopsis -- There are three things you know for certain right now:

You're pregnant.

The father currently has his hands all over some blonde at The Wreck.

According to Topper, you're Rafe Cameron's favorite topic during locker room talk.

warnings -- 18+-mdni, unplanned pregnancy, cursing, angst no happy ending, readers a pouge, fuckboy!rafe (?) toppers a dickhead frl, mention of abortions (once)

main masterlist(s) | taglist | wc: 2.2k

"Fuck." You stare at the positive pregnancy test between your trembling fingers.

"Fuck," you curse again, realizing you're alone in your apartment with this life-changing news.

Of course this would happen.

After months of sneaking around, of heated encounters and promises to keep things casual, one reckless night was all it took. One moment where passion overrode common sense, where neither of you cared about consequences.

A hushed "I want to feel you, all of you," slipped from Rafe's lips as he paused, the condom still on, but his desire for you raw, uninhibited, consuming him. His eyes, dark and intense, bore into yours, silently asking if you trusted him enough to let go..

How naive you'd been, thinking you could trust Rafe Cameron with something so intimate. The golden boy of the OBX, known for his volatile temper and reckless abandon. The type of man who treats both relationships and speed limits as mere suggestions.

And you'd fallen for those dark cerulean eyes and heated whispers like every other girl before you. Only difference was, you were now staring at the consequences of that trust, watching it turn into two pink lines that would complicate everything.

Your secret hookup.

The trust fund bad boy of the OBX. The same Rafe Cameron who's probably at some country club event right now, charming his way through a crowd of socialites, completely unaware that he's about to become a father.

You can already hear the whispers at the yacht club – the Camerons' golden boy and his latest pouge conquest.

As if sleeping with Rafe Cameron wasn't scandalous enough, now you're carrying the next heir to his family's empire.

"Have you seen Rafe?" you shout at Topper over the pulsing bass of The Wreck's speakers. Your hand instinctively rests on your still-flat stomach – a new nervous habit you've developed since seeing those two pink lines.

Topper takes a swig of his whiskey, looking entirely too amused--and drunk, "Lost track of your boyfriend already?"

"He's not my—"

"Yeah, yeah." He smirked, clearly enjoying your discomfort. "Just his favorite little Pogue to fuck behind closed doors, right? You know, he tells us everything in the locker room." He leaned closer, whiskey breath hot against your ear. "About how eager you are, how you beg for it. Though I gotta say, for someone from the cut, you've got quite the reputation among the trust fund crowd now."

Your cheeks burned with humiliation and anger. Of course Rafe would brag about all the girls he's had to his Kook friends. Of course you were just another story for their country club gossip.

"Go fuck yourself, Topper. Where's Rafe?"

"Aw, don't be like that, sweetheart. We all know you've got a thing for rich boys. Though usually we don't keep Pogues around this long – Rafe must really like something about you." His eyes raked over you suggestively. "Or some things."

The way he says it makes your skin crawl – it's pure Rafe Cameron coming out of Topper's mouth. That same calculated charm, that practiced way of making someone feel simultaneously special and worthless.

You wonder how many hours he spent watching Rafe work his magic at bars, memorizing the exact tone needed to make "sweetheart" sound like an insult. Rich boys and their fucked-up everything.

He holds up his hands in mock surrender, that infuriating smirk still playing on his lips. "Hey, I'm just messing with you. No need to get your discount panties in a twist." He gestures toward the bar with his glass.

"Last I saw him, he was chatting up some blonde by the bar." Topper continued, "Though, something tells me you've got more on your mind than just another quick fuck in the coat closet."

"You're a real piece of shit, you know that?" you snap at him, hands clenching into fists.

Your head whips around, scanning the crowded bar area, but there's no sign of Rafe's familiar frame among the sea of drunk socialites.

"He's not there," you mutter, frustration building in your chest.

"What's wrong? Don't have your Kook King on a leash?" Topper calls after you as you push past him toward the exit. "Better hurry – you know how fast Rafe moves on to the next thing!"

You storm out of The Wreck, the humid night air doing nothing to cool your rising anger.

Perfect. Just fucking perfect.

Here you are, pregnant with his kid, and Rafe Cameron can't even stay in one place long enough to hear the news.

Slumping into your car, you grab your phone, fingers trembling as you pull up his contact. Three rings, voicemail. Again. Four rings, voicemail. Your frustration builds with each failed attempt.

hey, we need to talk

rafe, answer your fucking phone

where are you?

this is important

You watch the messages turn from "delivered" to "read" with no response. Of course he's seeing them. He's probably looking at his phone right now, some blonde draped over his shoulder, both of them laughing at your desperate attempts to reach him.

seriously rafe, this isn't about us. something happened

Your thumb hovers over the keyboard. You could just text it. Three simple words: I'm pregnant, asshole. But somehow, dropping that bomb over text feels wrong, even for whatever this is between you.

After the tenth unanswered call, you throw your phone onto the passenger seat, fighting back angry tears.

You should have known better than to expect anything different from Rafe Cameron, who treats Pogues like they're as disposable as his designer clothes.

To him, girls from the Cut are just temporary entertainment – something to play with until a more suitable option from his tax bracket comes along.

Your phone buzzes. For a moment, your heart leaps – but it's just another notification that he's read your messages.

"Fuck you, Rafe," you mutter, starting your car with more force than necessary. The engine roars to life, matching your mood.

You consider driving to his place – you know he'll end up there eventually, probably with tonight's blonde in tow. But the thought of waiting outside his house like some desperate ex makes bile rise in your throat.

Your phone buzzes again. This time it's a text:

busy rn. talk tomorrow?

A laugh escapes you, bitter and hollow. Busy. Of course he's busy. He's always busy when it doesn't involve getting into your pants. Your fingers fly across the keyboard before you can stop yourself:

hope she's worth it. btw, might want to start setting aside some trust fund money for child support

You hit send before you can think better of it, immediately regretting it. Your phone explodes with incoming calls – now he wants to talk. But you're already pulling out of the parking lot, vision blurry with unshed tears.

Let him panic for a while. Let him feel a fraction of the anxiety that's been eating at you since you saw those two pink lines.

Besides, if he can't be bothered to give you five minutes when you need him, he can wait until tomorrow to hear how he managed to knock up his favorite Pogue.

You wake up to the sound of coffee brewing – which is impossible because you live alone and definitely didn't set the timer last night. Stumbling out of your bedroom, you freeze in the doorway.

There's Rafe Cameron, looking unfairly good for someone who should be hungover, sitting on your beaten-up futon. His expensive clothes are a stark contrast to your shabby apartment furniture, but somehow he looks like he belongs there.

Between his fingers, he's holding the pregnancy test you'd forgotten to hide in your emotional spiral last night.

"Breaking and entering now?" Your voice comes out shakier than you'd like. "That's low, even for you."

He doesn't look up from the test, but you catch the ghost of a smile playing at his lips. "It's not breaking in when I have a key." He finally meets your eyes, holding up the small silver key you'd given him three months ago after that night he'd brought you soup when you were sick. "You know, the one you said was 'just for emergencies'?"

The unspoken truth hangs heavy between you. This thing between you had stopped being just hookups somewhere between the late-night conversations and the drawer of his clothes in your dresser. Between him knowing how you take your coffee and you knowing which side of the bed he prefers.

"That's not—" you start, but he cuts you off.

"Were you ever going to tell me? Or were you just going to text it and disappear like you did last night?"

"Oh, like how you disappeared with that blonde? Or should we talk about how you disappear every time after you're done with me, just to go brag to Topper about your latest fuck?"

His face darkens. "What are you talking about?"

"Don't play dumb, Rafe. Your locker room talk is apparently quite entertaining. 'Eager.' 'Begging for it.' Ring any bells?" You wrap your arms around yourself, hating how your voice shakes. "Tell me, do all your Kook friends know how I sound in bed, or is that a special story just for Topper?"

"That's not—"

"Not what? Not what you meant? Not what happened? Because Topper seemed pretty clear about exactly what kind of reputation I have among your trust fund crowd now."

"You really think that's what this is?" He gestures between you. "That I could think of you as just another hookup?"

"Isn't it? I mean, god forbid the Kook King actually care about the Pogue he's fucking—"

"Jesus Christ," he runs his hands through his buzzed hair in frustration. "If this was just about sex, would I have a key? Would I know your coffee order or—"

"You can't use that as some kind of proof you care! Having a key doesn't mean shit when you're out there treating me like your dirty little secret!"

The silence that follows is heavy, charged with months of unspoken hurt. When Rafe finally speaks, his voice is low, controlled: "Is it mine?"

The question hits you like a slap. "Are you seriously—"

"Just answer the question." His eyes are intense, searching yours. "Is it mine?"

The unspoken truth hangs heavy between you. He already knows the answer – can read it in the way you can't quite meet his eyes, in how your hand unconsciously drifts to your stomach.

That night without protection wasn't your first together, but it was the first time he'd looked at you like you were something more than just a good time.

Like maybe you could be everything. Now that look is back, mixed with something like fear as the reality of what you're not saying sinks in.

"Those tests—" he starts pacing, running his hands through his hair. "They're not always accurate, you know? Maybe you should take another one. Or three. Fuck, how do you even know for sure?" His voice takes on a desperate edge. "There are… options. I know a clinic in Chapel Hill. Discrete. I could make some calls—"

"You know what?" Your voice comes out quiet, defeated. "Maybe it doesn't matter. Maybe this is exactly what I need to finally stop pretending this—" you gesture between you, "—could ever be anything real."

"I'm just saying we need to think about this logically—"

"No," you snap, your voice rising until it bounces off the walls of your tiny apartment. "You're trying to make this disappear, just like everything else that threatens your perfect Figure Eight lifestyle!"

You watch something crack in his expression, that carefully maintained Kook King facade finally showing a glimpse of real emotion. His hand reaches for you, then drops. "Don't—"

"I think you should go." You turn away, unable to look at him anymore. "Use that key one last time to lock up behind you."

You don't need to see his face to know he's struggling with what to say. The perfect Rafe Cameron, for once at a loss for words. It would be funny if it wasn't breaking your heart.

You don't turn around to watch him leave, but you hear the way he hesitates at the door. The silence stretches, filled with all the words neither of you are brave enough to say. Finally, the door clicks shut, and you're alone again.

Your hand drifts to your stomach, and you let out a bitter laugh. You can do this alone.

You'll move out of the OBX, maybe up to Wilmington where no one knows your name or that you're carrying a Cameron heir. You'll work extra shifts at the restaurant, save every penny.

Your kid won't need trust fund money or a father who treats relationships like they're disposable. Your child won't grow up feeling like some dirty secret.

Somewhere across town, Topper's probably already hearing about how the Pogue girl tried to trap Rafe Cameron with a baby. You can almost hear the yacht club whispers starting. But let them talk – you've survived worse than country club gossip.

(What no one would ever know: how your hands shook as you slid his key under his door later that night, or how he sat in his car outside your apartment for hours, staring at a small velvet box he'd been carrying in his pocket since before you ever said the word "pregnant."

Some love stories aren't meant to have happy endings, and some babies are meant to have just one parent who actually wants them.)

a/n -- thanks for reading, as always all likes comments, and reblogs keeps me motivated! 💕🫶🏾

taglist --

@rafestoothbrush @alexxavicry @trapistani @Hejsj @neslayuh @hotvampdragon @alyisdead @jelybely @elmolovesw33d @littlelamy @futuremrscameron @percysley @rrafeswhore @madzig @thatdesigirl17 @drewstarkeysrightarm @seqhyvnz @romantasyreader2024 @luizaelias @rafe-cameronswife @emmavzlsblog @aileenunfiltered @swe3theart-succubus @511rkive @morrrrphin @xcinnamonmalfoyx @obxrafeandjj @rafegf-real @theeternaloptimistt

[vampirejuno]

Remember that discworld dream I had the other day? Well, lads.... I wrote it. At the encouragement of @catstrophysics, @lilenariinpink and @theygotlost, I present to you...

Something Fishy

His Grace, His Excellency, Sir Samuel Vimes the Duke of Ankh, Blackboard Monitor, sighed emphatically and tried to shoulder his way through the throng. Sator Square was packed with people. Never before in his life, he reflected, had he ever seen such a crowd turn up at six in the bloody morning to watch what was, essentially, a man tossing a dead fish onto the ground. Is this what passes for entertainment these days? he thought bitterly. We used to be a great city when it came to entertainment. After some further consideration of past greatness, he stopped, shook his head, and silently offered praise to whatever god was responsible for making sure it stayed in the past.

It had been a little over a month since the Fish Craze, and already Vimes wished he could permanently ban the import of all seafood into the city. Nobody remembered what had started it, but the fad had spread faster than wildfire, with no fashion-brigade to stop the madness. Everyone had taken it up. Even perfectly reasonable people, the kind that sneered at their grannies for fretting over a broken mirror, would, in all sincerity, say things like, “Thank goodness for another Right Day, I could use the luck”, or, more frequently, “No wonder it all went tits up, it was a Left Day”.

Vimes failed to see the appeal. The whole process consisted of taking a fish (preferably a sardine, though most made do with herring or, in desperate times, even anchovies), tossing it in the air, and checking which side up it landed. At first, everyone did it individually. This had led to much disagreement and, eventually, an event that would go down in history as “Most Organic Weapons Riot”. The watchmen who’d been on duty that night were given two days off to try and wash the smell out of their uniforms.

The following day, the Patrician had announced the instatement of an Official Fish Thrower, which soon turned into “the Offishal Tosser”, or simply “the Tosser”, and whose entire job it was to go into Sator Square every morning, toss a sardine for the city, and announce to the enraptured masses what sort of day they were going to have. It was rumored that the Tosser was a retired magician who had specialized in sleight of hand, and that he ensured the fish always landed precisely according to the Patrician’s specifications. Knowing Vetinari, Vimes thought, the man probably has a spreadsheet planned out for a month in advance.

His musings were interrupted by a current of movement in the crowd, which parted hastily to reveal a figure with a tray.

“Right Fish! Get your Right Fish! Guaranteed Day goes Right! Turn your day ‘round with just one toss!”

Vimes sighed. Only one man would try to sell you fish at the Offishal Tossing.

“Morning, Throat,” he said distantly. There was a commotion at the front of the crowd as people tried to dislodge someone from the Tosser’s podium. It looked like an Omnian preacher had taken advantage of the audience to spread the good word to the unenlightened masses, whether they liked it or not.

“A good morning to you, Commander! Can I interest you in some nice sardines? Three for tuppence, and that’s cutting my own throat!”

Vimes risked a glance at the tray as Ankh-Morpork’s least successful merchant approached him in a hopeful sidle. It was laden with row upon row of little strangely misshapen fish. Picking one up and turning it over in his fingers, Vimes saw the reason for this. Someone had taken some pains to cut them in two lengthwise, discarded all the left halves, and rejoined the things by gluing two right halves together with some mysterious sticky substance. He put it back down and inconspicuously wiped his hand on his trousers. Like many of Dibbler’s products, it was precisely what you paid for.

“Sardine? Seems more like smelt to me.”

“Yes, very fragrant, indeed,” said the merchant without missing a beat. “Perhaps some fish’n’chips, then, Commander? Only ten pence for our brave lads in the Watch!”

I don’t think I’m that brave, Vimes thought. Aloud, he said, “Is that where the left halves go, then?”

“I don’t know what you mean, sir. Ah, hello, miss, you look like you could do with a nice nourishing breakfast! Some delicious fish’n’chips to start the day off right, how about it?”

The crowd was so packed now – hah, like sardines in a can – that Vimes gave up all hopes of pushing through it. Most of these people had turned up early to get a good spot and were now whiling the minutes away until the much-awaited Tossing. There was a conversation taking place just behind him, where an argument of Morporkians was standing around, doing what it did best. The current object of ire appeared to be a young man’s drawling voice, which was questioning Tradition.

“-don’t see why we couldn’t put a new spin on it. This is…too restrictive, like.”

“How’s that, then?”

“It’s just awfully specific, is all I’m saying.”

“What are you babbling about, Harold?” responded a higher, slightly irritated voice that instantly filed itself away as “unhappy wife” in Vimes’s copper brain.

“I mean, why’s it got to be a sardine? Why not a, uh,” the young man cast around for seafood-related ideas, “a crab, or something?”

“Come now, that’d never work,” a stout little man next to him laughed good-naturedly. He was smoking a pipe and had the look of someone who used words like “indubitably” and “perfunctory” despite only having a very approximate idea of what they meant. “Crabs are not remotely suitable for the task.”

“Oh, is that right?”

“Well-known fact,” nodded the crustacean connoisseur. “Divination is congenitally tied to the noble art of fishing, you know. It’s called forecasting, after all.”

There were more nods and approving laughs. The man puffed on his pipe with a chuckle, clearly satisfied with the pun. Vimes managed not to punch him.

“Y’know, that sounds about right. Never ‘eard of someone telling the future with a crab,” an old woman nodded wisely. “You never know where you are with crabs. Now, fish, that’s reliable.”

The group pondered this.

“Look at it this way. We’ve had, what, twenty-three Left Days so far – not counting Floppy Friday* – and every single time, somethin’ bad happened.”

The others murmured their agreement. There were several thoughtful comments recounting various misfortunes that the participants had suffered on past Left Days. Vimes pinched the bridge of his nose.

“This is Ankh-Morpork, something bad is always happening.”

“Right, that’s what I’m saying,” nodded the young man, who hadn’t been saying that. “Besides, plenty of perfectly good fortune tellers in the city. A man tossing a sardine on the cobbles is not a valid method of divination, in my humble opinion.”

“Harold, you are embarrassing me.”

“Oh, come off it, Mathilda, you got by just fine without any of this business for thirty years of your life. Now it’s all Sardines this, Herring that, Why don’t we get an ornamental trout lake-”

At that moment, the Offishal Tosser stepped onto his little podium, and the couple was shushed into outraged silence. 

* * *

“Come on, before ol’ Stoneface gets here. You know he doesn’t approve of this sort of thing.”

The Pseudopolis Yard watch house was buzzing with excitement uncharacteristic for six in the morning on a Wednesday. Most of the night shift had signed off and the day guard were trickling one by one into the main room. An ever-growing group was clustered in a vague circle, in the center of which Corporal Nobbs could just be made out (if that was your idea of a good time). The men all had the vague air of middle school students asking their teacher about his dog in order to delay math class by another five minutes.

“Might that have anything to do with the fact that, last time, it took three hours and a bucket of armour polish to get the smell out of the floorboards?” Angua smiled. It was a very friendly smile.

“Right, sarge, but… We-ell, you’re…”

“Yes?” The smile widened.

Constable Fernsby shifted uncomfortably. There were a few sniggers. It was true that werewolves had considerably sharper senses than humans and would therefore be able to smell a fish long after it had departed the material plane, but, the sniggers seemed to indicate from a safe distance, you didn’t go around pointing this out to them. Fortunately for the boy, he was saved from any further smiles by a very timely interruption in the form of the Captain.

“Good morning! Everyone had a nice rest, I hope? Ready for another day of work?”

Carrot strutted in, wearing his usual genuine smile and gleaming armor. There was a not-so-subtle change in the atmosphere; a sudden nonchalantness enveloped the room. All around him, the squad commenced their very best impression of the Walls And Ceiling Inspection Division. One or two of the simpler lads even clasped their hands behind their backs and started to whistle**. Carrot sighed.

“Alright, what did you do?... And don’t look at me like that, I can see something smells fishy here.”

This was greeted with one or two coughs and a sudden interest in last night’s heaps of paperwork. Only Lance-Constable Whippet, who had joined three days ago and was, therefore, not yet acquainted with the minutiae of his commanding officers’ tempers, and sergeant Detritus, who could be a little slow on the uptake, met the captain’s inquisitive gaze. Finally, he looked to Angua for help. She shrugged meaningfully.

“Well… er,” said Sergeant Colon, who felt obliged to make some sort of contribution on behalf of his insubordinates, “we was just…engaging in some…cultural activities, captain. To boost morale for the day, like. Er.”

Carrot sniffed at the air – never a very good idea in a watch house, where, at any given point in time, half the men had just returned from patrolling and the other half were emerging from the locker room – and understanding began to dawn.

“Ah, I see. And I expect, Sergeant, that such…team-building activities are best carried out without the involvement or presence of, say, senior officers?”

“Could be, sir. I’m sure you’d know best, sir.” Colon’s big round face was a picture of cherubic innocence.

“Well, in that case, I believe Sergeant Angua and I have a case to attend to. Corporal Thighbiter up at Dolly Sisters needed some help with that Money Trap Lane break-in...”

“Actually, he just sent word the other day – it turned out Mister Mason had got drunk and lost his key again and crashed through the oomph-” Constable Ping bent over slightly from several democratic elbows in the ribs. With a true officer’s tact, Carrot feigned temporary deafness. He held the door for Angua, who detached herself from the wall with one last pleasant smile that could’ve cut steel, and the two stepped out briskly into the safety of fresh air***.

After they had gone, the squad waited a few moments and then turned back to the center of the room, where someone had dragged a mysteriously stained stool from the canteen when the kitchen lady wasn’t looking. Corporal Nobbs was shuffled towards it with extreme care.

The little man**** dusted himself off and scrambled onto the rickety stool. As the other watchmen leaned in closer, he reached into the unspeakable depths of his inner pockets and, with a certain air of ceremony, produced…

“A sardine!”

“Cor, is that real?”

“Dat a very small fish.”

“Where did you get it, corp?”

Nobby basked in the approving murmurs of his colleagues. It had, indeed, been a challenge to find – sardines were very rare these days, outside of the occasional coveted freak shower – but he was nothing if not resourceful.

“We-ell, it weren’t easy, that’s true,” he rolled a dog-end from one corner of the mouth to the other, savoring the moment. He rarely commanded so much attention without attracting a variety of insults and the occasional ballistic eel. “Pays to know the right people, o’course. I have connections, me. Contacts. Ties, even.”

“Aye, but that floral one you nicked last week really don’t suit you very well.”

“Oh, that’s rich coming from you, Stronginthearm. All your accessories are made of chainmail! Everyone knows jewel tones are for winter, anyway.”

Colon raised a placating hand. “All right, all right, lads, no need to get all up in arms just ‘cos some folks are a little…stylistically challenged.”

“Thanks, sarge.”

“I meant you, Nobby.”

The corporal threw up his arms. “I go to all this trouble,” he wailed, “I talk to people, I find a contraband seafood shipment from Klatch, I explain matters to the fishmonger – on my day off, too, might I add – I procure a real, genuine, only-slightly-nibbled actual sardine, and this is the thanks I get?”

The watchmen watched, transfixed, as he flourished the fabled fish in their faces. It had, indeed, already been chewed on; the tail was sticking out rigidly and the whole thing smelled as if it was a few weeks beyond consumption, but it was a sardine nonetheless. Most of the lads, coming from humble (and sometimes humbling) backgrounds, felt slightly awed at the idea of Tossing a fish that these days was available only to the very richest observers of the fad. It was, they felt, unbecoming to wave it around like a paper flag at a parade. The damn things tended to be slippery. Probably would be bad luck, they figured, if it was flung down by accident; who knew what sort of fortune that would foretell?

“Where’s the appreciation, I ask you?” Nobby continued in woeful tones. “Every time I’ve Tossed a fish for you lot, it’s landed Right! Now, how many of you can say that, eh?”

The watchmen exchanged doubtful glances.

“Er… Well, you never let anyone else do it, corp,” Ping reasoned. “You just nicks the fish and eats it afterwards.”

“Oh, now, that does it! I won’t stand here and be slandered at!”

“Woah there, Nobby, watch that sardine-”

“If you’re gonna be like that, then I’m not doing it. And good luck finding someone who’ll do it as well as me!”

“Careful with that-”

“And I’m taking the sardine.”

“-not the tail-”

 “You can beg, but I won’t change my mind, and that’s that!” Nobby flung out his hand in a grandiose gesture. Unfortunately, it was the wrong hand.

Time slowed to a crawl. Every head in the room swiveled as one, following the trajectory of the airborne fish. It sailed head first towards the front door, which was creaking, doorknob turning, and slowly, slowly opening…

* * *

The Offishal Tosser tossed the fish, which landed damply. There was a satisfying splat. The crowd held its breath as the first few rows near the podium craned to see.

“Today is the fourth of April in the year of the Significant Woodlouse, and it is a… Left Wednesday!” the man proclaimed.

A disappointed groan spread through the crowd. Slowly, people started dispersing with occasional complaints, casting sour looks at the offending fish. Here and there, members of the Gamblers’ Guild were exchanging coins.

Vimes shook his head again as the grumbling current carried him through the square, into the Plaza of Broken Moons, and out to the Patrician’s palace. At last he disengaged himself from the throng and elbowed his way towards the Brass Bridge. It wasn’t far to the watch house from here, but he still picked up the pace. Despite not having official working hours, Vimes liked to get there early in the morning, just as the day shift was coming in, to get a headstart on ignoring his paperwork.

As he walked, his copper mind took over and he mentally leafed through the agenda of the day. Let’s see, what was there… He had that audience with Vetinari at eleven, probably concerning last night’s diplomatic dinner – not that it was Vimes’s fault that he saw the unlicensed thief and that the Klatchian ambassador happened to be standing there, and anyway who drinks red wine while wearing a white robe… Then the interview with the Times at noon… Then briefing the lads on the unsolved contraband seafood case… Then he’d have to do something about the river division, they can’t just keep sinking the damn boat, this is getting ridiculous…

A distant glint caught Vimes’ eye as he stepped off the bridge. Carrot’s shiny breastplate could be seen from a mile away on a clear day, and the captain was, indeed, proceeding along the river with Angua in tow. 

What the hell are they doing out? They’re not on patrol today…

Briefly, he considered catching up to them, but then dismissed the idea. They were only a couple streets away from the watch house, and Carrot seemed relaxed enough, stopping to chat with every other passer-by in his usual manner. No emergency, then. On the other hand, they had a batch of new recruits at the main office, the gods alone knew what those yahoos would be getting up to without a senior officer present. And under Colon’s command…

A few minutes later, Vimes was rounding the corner of Lower Broadway and trotting up the steps of Pseudopolis Yard. There seemed to be quite a commotion going on inside; he’d heard the shouting from half a block away. With his hand on the doorknob, mentally preparing his best Not Yelling Voice, he pushed the door open…

…and very briefly saw something shiny flying full speed at his head. Before he could react, the thing clanked off his helmet, bounced on a nearby desk and, finally, lodged itself between the floorboards with a sproinnnng.

Silence fell like a gavel. A dozen horrified watchmen gaped at their Commander, the life quickly draining out of their eyes*****. Sergeant Colon’s face, pale as the moon and just as round, tried unsuccessfully to hide behind his high collar.

Wordlessly, Vimes approached the thing stuck between the floorboards. He crouched down. He examined it. He gave it a tentative flick. It made a noise not unlike a ruler twanging off the side of a table, or a very thin sheet of metal being shaken vigorously. After a moment’s contemplation, he felt moved to speak.

“Well, lads, I don’t think Left and Right suffices anymore. Seems we ought to add a third Day to the list.”

Ahhh. Relief rose off the squad like morning mist. Their laughter had the strained quality that came with trying very hard to pretend that whatever was happening was entirely intentional. At this point, they’d have laughed at anything, as long as it meant Ol’ Stoneface was Not Yelling At Them. Whatever they may think to themselves, the one motivation that all coppers in all the worlds have in common is to Not Get Yelled At.

“Bottom Day, sir?” someone suggested. There was another bout of slightly forceful sniggers.

“Er… Perhaps not.” Vimes gave the fish a few fruitless tugs and gave up. “Alright, someone get this damn thing out of there and, uh…”

“Throw it away, sir?”

“No, good gods, you could hurt someone… Look, just get rid of the…fish and we’ll say no more about it. Fred, a word upstairs?”

With the watch house returning slowly to its normal daily bustle, Vimes went up to his office and sat down wearily at his desk, which was hidden underneath an impressive pile of paper. He’d signed a few dozen forms and…dealt with half a fireplace’s worth of complaint letters last night, but the stacks looked suspiciously bigger this morning. They entirely refused to melt away under his glare.

“Alright, what is this bloody nonsense? I thought I’d made it clear I don’t want any Tossing in the watch house,” he said to Colon, once the man had huffed and puffed his way up the stairs.

“Well, Mister Vimes, I just thought I’d indulge the lads this once. Raise their spirits with some good ol’ cultural team building. For tradition’s sake and all.”

“Tradition? It’s not been two months, Fred!”

“We-ell, they’ve taken to it, sir. Besides, you can’t deny we’ve had crimes happen on every single Left Day since the Offishal Tossings started.”

“Good grief, you could say that about every bloody day since the founding of the city! I thought you weren’t a superstitious man, Fred.”

“No, sir, but the fish don’t lie,” said Colon fervently.

“Ugh. Next thing you know, the bloody Times will be printing it alongside the bloody date in their bloody papers.”

There was a guilty silence.

Vimes stared at the sergeant’s carefully blank face. A single droplet of sweat was slowly making its way down the man’s forehead. The beady little eyes flickered momentarily to a relatively unoccupied corner of the desk.

With a sinking dread, Vimes followed his gaze and beheld a newspaper lying there on top of the forlorn paperwork, all neatly rolled and still crisp from the press. Belatedly, he noticed the smell of fresh ink. At the top of the front page, a small print line proclaimed today’s date to be April 4th, Left Wednesday.

Five minutes later, sergeant Colon walked down the stairs and into a perfectly silent room full of watchmen. His face had the distant look of someone who had just seen a ghost, and was fairly sure everybody else had, too, but would be damned if he’d mention it first.

With nothing else to do, he cleared his throat. This seemed to break the spell; all at once, the room regained its normal level of noise as the coppers went back to their coppery activities. Only Nobby sidled closer and offered up a slightly bent cigar.

“What’s up with ol’ Stoneface today, sarge?”

“Dunno what’s gotten into him.” Colon took the cigar gratefully and lit it, trying not to think too hard about where it came from. “It’s this job, I expect. All this responsibility is wearing on his nerves.”

“Ah, right.”

“I mean, what’s so wrong with a little tradition once in a while, eh?”

“Beats me, sarge.”

“Doesn’t hurt no one, having some mores and values ‘round the place.”

“You never said a truer thing.”

“Ah, anyway, Mister Vimes is just overworked. Not his fault he’s got a bit of a cultural blind spot when he’s cranky,” Colon concluded magnanimously. “Maybe he could do with a coffee and a nice meal. I know I could… Say, Nobby, what’ve we got for breakfast in the cantine today?”

“Fish’n’chips, I think. Er… You alright there, sarge? …Sarge?”

* An unfortunate misunderstanding at the fishmonger’s that had led to the Offishal Tosser being handed a very live fish, foreboding a day of extreme mood swings for the populace.

** This is the social cue equivalent of climbing onto the roof at three in the morning and setting off a barrage of fireworks while waving an enormous fluorescent red flag. Not even a 6’6’’ dwarf could remain oblivious.

*** Only comparatively. This was Ankh-Morpork, after all.

**** Allegedly.

***** Except for Corporal Shoe, for whom it was a little late******.

****** heh.

[solarpunkani]

Things To Do To Maintain Hope In These Trying Times

Okay so look. This isn't the desireable outcome for me and my fellow solarpunks, but I personally find that I have two options right now--panic and wait for the worst; or dream of, hope for, and work towards the best that I can manage. And I prefer that second option. Is a single individual going to be able to remold the societal systems we find ourselves in, reshape the fabric of our government and turn everything for the better in the next four years? If someone can, it's not me.

But what I can do is do stuff to make things better, lighter, and more hopeful for myself and my community around me, through actions big and small. So here's what I plan to do, or hope to take on, to keep myself from absolutely doomspiraling. And if this list helps you, inspires you to take up an action I'm doing or to try something completely different, by all means that's amazing! What's more solarpunk than inspiring others to be more solarpunk?

Anyways

1: Trash Cleanups and Other Volunteering

I joined a mutual aid group a few months back and lately we've been doing a lot of trash clean ups, which I find really fun! It also helps feel like I'm making a tangible, helpful difference in my community--the areas look nicer for humans, there's less litter issues for plants and animals--it's just a general improvement! I have recently found nothing gets me fired up quite like a trash cleanup these days. I would also like to join more volunteering/mutual aid groups in the area, I'd just have to find ones that fit my current work schedule (and aren't a huge commute to and fro). Maybe someday this year I'll get the courage (and time) to join the Food Not Bombs in my city for a few events!

Maybe picking up trash at parks and ditches and intersections isn't going to improve the entire nation's situation, I'll never claim that it would. But improving the world around you, even a little bit, can help get the ball rolling for other changes--maybe people will start using a park more once its cleaned up, maybe native plants will reclaim that ditch and create a new habitat, maybe people will see us cleaning and see our flag and check out other stuff our organization does! Bit by bit, we're contributing to a brighter, cleaner future.

Maybe I'll get the courage to clean up some trash on my own, who knows.

2: Make Stuff With My Hands

This covers a lot of things, and not always a physical thing to hold. Maybe it's crocheting little plushies, or hats and cardigans, or anything I feel like to accomplish something. Maybe I'll learn to sew more things, or how to embroider. Maybe I'll draw, or write more short stories, or work on my longer projects.

Sure, some things can be made to give away or donate, or can be made with a specifically solarpunky end goal and message. But honestly, even if I'm not writing solarpunk short stories or drawing solarpunky art, if I'm writing or drawing anything it helps bring me hope--and brightens the day of my friends who enjoy it too!

3: Gardening and Sharing

It's winter as I'm writing this, which means its about time to dive headfirst into garden planning and seed starting! Even the process of watching something grow from a tiny little seed to a fully-grown plant brings me hope, and every different kind of plant gives hope for a different reason! My pollinator garden helps me take action to assist the native pollinator species by giving them a place to feed and grow, and the more kinds of native plants I provide the more habitat I create for them! And the fruits and vegetables I grow bring a sense of accomplishment with each harvest, and satisfaction as I share them with family, friends, and neighbors! I am still chasing the high of sharing bowls and bowls of tomatoes and peppers with my cul-de-sac.

In addition to my own personal garden, my volunteering group is looking into adopting an abandoned community garden and bringing it back to life! If we can (still waiting for approval), it'll bring access to fresh veggies and herbs to the nearby community, and if it goes well we may even try to take up more around town! I'm really, really excited about this project!!

Maybe sharing produce from my garden will inspire my neighbors to create their own (I'm already lowkey claiming credit for inspiring one neighbor to start growing tomatoes last year), and share their extra produce, and inspire more people to garden! Maybe talking about my pollinator garden and sharing seeds with my friends and coworkers will create more interest, and more habitat for for local creatures! Maybe if I yap about milkweed and tree snags hard enough, people will see the expanses of grass on the sides of the road differently, or find a different species to advocate for!

Then of course there's the possibility of guerrilla gardening. While there are a lot of reasons I haven't taken it up super hard yet (not finding good sites, not having a lot of money for throwaway seeds, not wanting to be a black woman in the south doing 'weird stuff' on the side of the road, etc), maybe I will. In any case, I have brought up the idea of scattering wildflower seeds at some of the sites we clean up to my volunteering group--if that idea gets taken up, that could in a sense be guerrilla gardening, right?

4: Clean My Goddamn Room

"Ani what does cleaning your room have to do with hope in these trying times" Clean room, clean mind, more room to start seeds, less environmental stress. Maybe just doing a few chores when I'm feeling anxious can help me take time to think things through instead of downspiraling, or can help me work my way through a plot hole in a story, or think of a new project to take up.

Maybe for you guys its not 'cleaning your room,' maybe its some other task. Sometimes doing a small, mundane task for yourself can give you the vibes and energy to take up another challenge!

5: Encouraging Others

I've said it before and I'll say it again, is there anything more solarpunk than encouraging other people to be more solarpunk?

Even if you aren't waxing poetic about the values and virtue of the solarpunk movement, being a source of hope and light for others can do a surprising amount to get things done! For example, if I personally can't muster the courage to go to an FNB event or a rally, or if something comes up and I suddenly find myself unable to garden this year or keep doing trash cleanups, if I--through talking about my hobbies or sharing resources on how to start or just existing and vibing with my gay little NPC bounce and chatting about sunflowers in a checkout line--inspire five other people to take up an action, that's five more people taking up an action. And that action can lead to them doing more and more, bigger and better things. If I help a friend feel better when they're feeling down, maybe they'll have the energy to help others, who'll then help others, and help make the world just that much brighter! Even if the action is unrelated to what I personally am doing, it'd still be a beautiful and amazing thing! If me sharing my crochet projects inspires someone else to take up leatherworking or sculpting or woodworking, that's still more creative energy in the world! If me talking about native wildflowers burgeons an interest in native trees, or grasses, or hell even something like green building design or community planning somehow, that's someone developing an entirely different skillset than I could ever imagine, which can be used to do amazing things!

I'm not gonna pretend like its going to be all sunshine and rainbows from here on out! We're still talking about the person who literally refused to leave the house yesterday because she was so anxious something might happen, after all. But if I'm given a choice between wallowing in misery and anxiety and despair, or doing anything I can--even the smallest things--to make things a little bit better and brighter for those around me? I know what my choice is.

[novascharms]

teach please me — tutor!reader x soccer player!rafe

reader's life is meticulously planned, from high school to becoming president of the country—she knows exactly where she's headed and every step to get there. but her airtight plan hits a snag when the principal ropes her into tutoring rafe cameron, the school’s star soccer player, who’s failing algebra and at risk of being benched next season. the team needs him on the field, and reader needs the principal’s glowing recommendation to secure her spot at her dream school. balancing her ambitious goals with rafe’s chaotic charm might just throw her perfectly crafted plan off track.

a.n — double update cause it's a short one + apology for the contents of this chapter word count — 1.4 chapter index — prev. chap. — next chap. masterlist

seven wednesday, january 29th

"no, i'm telling you, it's real! i read about it." devon pulls on hazel's arms as the four of you walk toward your school building. "someone talking about it in a tiktok video is not reading about it, devon." ivy laughs and devon shoves her to the side. "you believe me, right, y/n?" she turns to you and you're in this weird inbetween place where you can hear them, sort of but your mind is also in a million other places so you don't immediately answer.

"hey?" hazel rests an arm on your shoulder which halts you, "hm?" you ask and look at your three very concerned best friends. "you know we don't have to go, right? we can just..go to my house, get all the strawberry ice cream from the freezer and have a long discussion about ..cryptozoology. devon can tell us about that time she saw the loch ness monster again." she says and you smile when devon mutters something about her experience being 100% real.

"you have a perfect attendance, hazel. we are not going to tarnish that for..a boy. i'm okay." you try to sound convincing, try to convince yourself even because really, it shouldn't suck as much as it does. you knew that rafe somehow reciprocating your crush was wishful thinking. it was stupid to ever even entertain or let the idea play in your mind.

you'd had crushes before, even kissed two guys. once when you were fourteen and once when you were fifteen but looking at them never felt the same way as looking at rafe and you had never even come close to kissing him.

"but—"

"no. let's go." you force the three girls forward. you were first in your class, first in your entire grade, you singlehandedly organise almost every major and minor event at this school, you process all the complaints and changes students want almost weekly, you help your parents at home, you work at a bakery on saturdays, you volunteer on sundays. you are resilient and capable and rafe cameron is not going to bat his eyelashes and break you in one month of knowing him. it just wasn't going to happen. it couldn't.

you could avoid him, you think as you walk into the school building. right? this school was fairly big and truth be told, before you started tutoring, rafe didn't really stand out to you. things could go back to that time. they had too.

the first four hours went perfectly. you passed by the office and helped sandy with some paperwork until class started, then you went to class and were able to avoid him during the break as well.

you got nervous when lunchtime came around. you and your friends usually stayed in school during lunch which meant rafe could just walk up to you in the cafeteria but there were other places you could go. you could go to the green spaces or the common area. maybe even the bleachers in the basketball court though you never really liked the smell in there.

you eventually chose the green space. it was quiet and calm, just what you needed. you and your friends sat down and when you open your bag you realise you left your lunch in your locker. "i left my lunch in my locker, i'll be right back." you tell them and fish your key out of your bag before making your way out of the green space and down the stairs.

when you made it to the second floor, you walked to your locker, keys jiggling in your hands. "y/n?" your heart stopped at the sound of his voice, and the natural course of action when someone called your name was to stop or at least turn but you just kept walking. "uh huh?" you answered.

"hey, hold on!" he called and you heard him start to jog. you start to walk faster. "i..uhh am kinda in a hurry!"

"just wait." he grabs your wrist and whips you around. he looks unjustifiable good again. you force yourself to not make eye contact. "yes, rafe?" you find yourself saying in the most passive tone and his gaze lingers, filled with worry. "what happened yesterday? i texted you like ten times." he's visibly upset—crease between his brows, soft searching eyes boring it yours and it makes you upset and now you want to pinch yourself for being upset because you've created some kind of fucked up parasocial relationship with a guy who has no real interest in you.

"i..just wanted to go home. so, i went home." is the only thing you can come up with. it's technically the truth too. you pull your wrist away from his hand and he watches the action with a pained expression. "did something happen while i was gone? why didn't you come to me? i was going to take you home."

you shake your head nonchalantly dismissing him, "it's fine. i like walking, i barely exercise so i need it. it's absolutely fine." you're already turning around to find your locker but he's grabbing your wrist again, "why are you acting like this?" he's frustrated with you. you understand. you're acting different but you're frustrated with him too. even if you don't necessarily have the right to be. "you know i'm not that smart so stop playing fucking mind games with me."

you frown at his tone but also his choice of words. "you are smart, rafe. you're very smart." you correct, not liking it when he belittled himself. him not believing he was capable or smart was the whole reason he needed tutoring in the first place.

"yet i can't piece together why you're mad at me." he says, his tone displeased and you shake your head, finding his eyes. you find yourself wanting to appease him, wanting to make him feel better. you hate that he's upset, it coils something deep inside of you. "i am not mad. i'm not upset, i just..i didn't want to—" it was baffling how much you struggled to come up with a lie. you weren't a liar, okay? "i-i saw you, i saw..that you were, you were.. and i j-just—" you stammered and threw your head back in frustration.

he stared at you, eyes wide and expecting. "you just..what? how am i meant to fix it if you won't tell me what's wrong?"

"you haven't done anything wrong; if anything it's me. i—"

"you what? you didn't have fun? did someone hurt you?"

"no one did anything." you murmur and it seems to be what pushes him over the edge, "then what's wrong?" he snaps, his apparent annoyance bursting at the seams.

"nothing is wrong. there is nothing to fix, i just wanted to go home so i went home!" you yelled suddenly and rafe along with the couple of people still in the hallway stared at you in what could only be describe as utter surprise. "sorry..i'm sorry." you tried to collect whatever pride you still had and turned on your heel abandoning your food completely.

it started slowly. just slow breaths as you walked up the stairs, then that pit in your throat when you were on the third floor, followed by tears in your eyes that you were frantically trying to blink away on the fourth floor, and when you finally made it to green space, the tears were streaming down your cheeks and hazel was already standing up before you'd even made it to the table. "oh, no, sweetheart," she's pulling you in your arms and the dam just breaks and you're letting out everything you'd been holding in since that stupid bonfire. "it's okay, i'm so sorry, you're okay." her comforting whispers and gentle kisses are muffled and overshadowed by the way you're crying in her arms.

you feel ivy and devon's hands on your back, rubbing slow circles, "we got you," you feel a warm hug from behind and one on the side. you're completely cooped up, unable to even see anymore light, just little cracks. either way your vision is blurry with tears. "i w-wanna go h-home.." you hiccup in hazel's neck and you can feel her nodding. "we'll go home. we're going home."

hazel's parents are surprised to see the four of you home but when they see which state you're in, they barely question it. her mom orders take out, the junkiest junk food they can find, she calls your mom to tell her where you are, you pile onto the couch and they don't mention rafe once. you have a six-hour-long discussion about cryptozoology and the science behind mythical creatures.

chapter index — prev. chap. — next chap. taglist — @rafeysworldim19 @my-name-is-baby @pogueprincesa let me know if you'd like to be added to the taglist & interact with post to remain tagged <3

[berryispunk]

She Keeps His Shirt, He Keeps His Word

pairing: Frankie Morales x f! reader

This is the final part of the "Complete Mess" series readable here. But definitely also enjoyable as stand-alone.

summary: This is not the way it’s supposed to be, or the time it’s supposed to be. Everything seems wrong. Maybe they will find a way to make it right.

tags: explicit ! 18 + ,unplanned pregnancy, talking of abortion, arguing, angst (lots of it), smut, unprotected PiV, sprinkle of dirty talk, nicknames (hermosa, baby, mi amor, mi vida), inner turmoil, mention of addiction, some (possibly) childhood trauma, social class talk (kind of), did I mention angst?, idiots in love, breakup, established relationship, getting back together, slight pregnancy talk, brief mention of birth, all the feelings, love confessions, ALL THE ANGST, fluff (a tiny bit), soft Frankie, Frankie and his girl, angst and smut

notes: It's happening guys, my series "Complete Mess" is ending and we're finishing like we started with ALL THE ANGST. The title is part of a TS song, thanks to my bestie who suggested the title months ago. If you didn't read the other parts I highly recommend reading them first here and here !!!!

word count: 4,4 k (oops)

That’s not how it's supposed to be. This is not how you wanted this to happen. 

It’s too soon, too much, not enough. 

This should be one of the most important moments in your life, you should overflow with joy but instead you stare at the second line wishing it’d disappear.

Fucking fuck. 

It’s been two weeks since your encounter with Frankie in the club, two weeks since you got back together. 

Five days since your period should’ve started. You’ve taken three tests, all with the same outcome. 

One unmistakingly has the word “Pregnant” on it. Pregnant, as in, a little life growing inside of your womb. It feels like a sick joke. A twisted turn of events. 

You sink to the ground, the last test still in hand as tears start to blur your vision. 

Your head feels like it’s spinning, the weight of it all threatening to crush you.

You feel numb, but at the same time you feel every emotion imaginable.

Anger, frustration, fear, sadness, all mixed up in a dangerous maelstrom of feelings.

You wanna scream, but you also wanna say nothing at all. 

Your hands are shaking as you start to sob and the test hits the ground with a noise. 

This is rock bottom, you think. You’ve hit the ground, both figuratively and literally. 

How the hell could this happen? 

How could you have been so careless ? 

You’re almost 28. You should’ve known better. 

You curl up in a ball, trying to soothe yourself but it’s to no use. 

Your sobs shake your whole body and your head is so loud, screaming at you.

The chaos of voices inside you raging. 

One voice is clear, overpowering all others. It’s repeating one simple thing, a name, one thing you can’t mistake for anything else. 

Frankie. 

You pull yourself together and frantically search for your phone. 

You finally find it on the sink, the lockscreen of it like a punch to your gut. 

It’s you and him, happy, in love, with not a care in the world. A fragment of happiness you both long for so much, but never be able to reach fully. 

Tiny glimpses of it scattered through your mess of a relationship.

With still shaking hands you dial his number and he picks up on the third ring, your stomach dropping.

“We have to talk,” you simply state. “Can you come over?” 

“Sure, hermosa. Everything alright?” The worry in his voice is palpable and you feel like you suffocate on the sob that leaves your throat. 

“I don’t know… Just come here, okay ?”

“I’m on my way,” he says with conviction and the line goes dead. 

Only twenty minutes later the front door opens. He’s let himself in with the spare key you gave him a while back. 

His brows are furrowed in confusion, his dark eyes scanning the room for you in the dim light.

“I am here,” you say quietly, standing in your small kitchen with a glass of water in your hand. 

“Baby?” he hesitantly asks as he steps closer to you. You don’t need to look up to feel his questioning eyes on you. “You scared the shit outta me on the phone… What is going on?”

Without saying a word you point towards the kitchen counter where the three pregnancy tests lie, offensively all spelling out the same result.

You don’t dare to look up. You’re not strong enough for whatever reaction he’s having. 

You expect the same emotions you experienced just minutes ago. 

But as Frankie stays threateningly silent, definitely uncharacteristic for him, you turn around to watch him look at the objects on the counter. 

His dark brown eyes are analytical, searching and possibly confused.

His brows lift up high before he looks at you. His gaze flickering from your stomach to your face, gauging your own reaction before there’s a wide smile spreading over his face and it throws you off way more than any anger could. 

Is he… happy?

“Is this real?” he asks and you scoff. 

“I peed on three of these dumb sticks, so I’d say so.” 

His smile only widens as he closes the distance between you and lifts you up, swirling you around like you weigh nothing as he exclaims, “We’re gonna have a baby!!” and his voice is so full of genuine joy it makes your stomach twist. 

You wrap your arms around his neck but your energy definitely doesn't match his.

“Wait- You are.. Are you happy?” 

“Of course I am happy! We’re having a baby, mi amor! This is probably the best thing that’s ever happened to me.” He takes a short breath and then adds, “Besides meeting you of course,” he laughs and the corners of your mouth twitch in the slightest hint of a smile. 

You wish you could mirror his excitement. 

But you can’t.

“Frankie, I–” You break off and pat his biceps to signal him to let you down again so he obliges and you take a small step back.

“I don’t know if… If I wanna keep it.”

His facial expression switches from joy to pure shock instantly, his eyes darkening.

“What?”

You suddenly feel so small under his intense gaze.

“What do you mean you don’t know if you wanna keep it?” 

You can’t look at him so you focus your gaze on the wall, on the kitchen counter that serves as your breakfast table. Anything other than his face. 

“I am not ready to be a mom,” you mumble.

“Nobody is ever really ready for this,” he objects and you sigh in response.

“You still struggle with the whole drug stuff…”

“I’ve been clean for weeks and you know that.”

“Yeah, but what if you relapse? Then what? I can’t take care of a newborn alone.”

He frowns heavily at this.

 “You won’t have to do it all by yourself. I am here and I will be with you every step of the way.”

“Your job?”

“I’ll quit.”

“We’re already struggling to make ends meet as it is, Frankie. Now imagine a baby on top of that. All the diapers, clothing, furniture,…” you drift off, trying your best to reason with him.

He crosses his arms in front of his chest, his face hardening, taking on the defense. 

“You’re just searching for reasons that this won’t work out. You’re not even considering it, are you?”

Ouch.

“Frankie, I–” 

But he stops you by lifting his hand. 

“Look, my parents were immigrants. We never had much but there was still nothing lacking, most of all there was love. Love, baby. That’s what created this new life in the first place…”

You scoff. 

“You mean your childhood in poverty was worth it because of all the love? Love isn’t enough, Frankie. It doesn’t pay the bills and it doesn’t feed another mouth.”

He looks at you as if you hurt him. His sad soulful eyes make you regret your harsh words instantly. 

“Besides,” you add, “I don’t know if you remember but I also come from a lower class family with a single mom. I remember vividly all the times I had to go to bed on an empty stomach. I don’t want this for a child. Nobody deserves that.” 

His mouth opens but you interrupt him before he can speak up.

“And don’t tell me about how this formed you as a person, how it made you resilient. That’s romanticizing. I don’t want our child to experience the same shit.”

He runs a hand over his face in frustration. 

“Fine. But you’re not alone in this. I am here and I will do anything to give you and the baby a good life.”

Your eyes narrow on him. 

“Yeah? How’re you planning to do this? Taking another of these risky and highly illegal jobs?”

He frowns again. 

“No, smart-ass, I will look for a steady job. One with decent pay.”

You snort sarcastically. 

“Yeah, right. Because your criminal record is so clean!”

The moment the words leave your mouth you realize it was a low blow, even for you, but it’s too late to take it back now. He looks hurt, defeated and lost as he looks at you. 

“Why did you tell me about this when you already decided to get rid of it?”

“I haven't decided yet. I just…" 

You don’t even know how to finish the sentence.

He takes a few steps back, pacing around the kitchen, the gears visibly rattling in his head.

“What can I do to convince you to prove that I’m serious about changing?”

“Frankie, I know you’re trying.”

“Yes, I am trying. And I will try harder because I have a reason. A reason to do better.”

He’s sounding so sincere and confident that for a millisecond you dare to dream about the three of you as a family. Maybe a life in a little condo apartment. Or even something with a backyard, so the tiny human can have a sandbox to play in and their own puppy. But reality catches up faster than you’d like and you’re reminded why this won’t work out, no matter how much you want it to. 

“Look, if things were different I’d be over the moon given the prospect of having a baby with you. Yet, in this life, you know as well as I do that the circumstances we’re in right now are far from ideal to start a family. We just got back together-”

“And?” “And, given our history it’s only a matter of time until we fight and break up again. You know how it goes.” “I would never leave you alone with a baby. You’re thinking that lowly of me ?”

You immediately shake your head no.

But Frankie already tenses up as the words begin to spill, every one of them more hurtful than the other.

“You’re thinking I am a lost cause, right? Doomed to repeat his own mistakes again and again and too dumb to learn a lesson for good. Is that it?” His voice is trembling with emotion and you feel like the biggest douche.

You open your mouth to say something, but Frankie interrupts you. 

“You claim you love me, that you’re proud of me for even the small victories but still you treat me like a damn child, wrapping me in bubble wrap afraid I might implode first chance I get. But let me tell you, I am trying. I am working so hard to be a man deserving of your love. Showing up, going through withdrawal, even considering therapy and all you do is think of me as the big screw-up, worth less than the dirt under your shoe.”

You feel hot tears building in the corners of your eyes.

“Frankiiiieee…” you whine but he shakes his head, his expression hard and  unapproachable.

The warmth in his eyes is gone.

“For you I’m just an idiot who’s in love with you but to me you’re all that matters, all I ever think about. The reason why I do all of this crap because hell, it’s fucking hard. But I constantly think about you, about your pretty smile and your soft words whenever I feel I am not strong enough. And now you’re standing here in front of me, telling me you’re pregnant with my child and you don’t wanna keep it because, still, after everything I’ve done I am not good enough, not worthy enough for you and it fucking hurts.”

You’re speechless for a moment, his monologue hitting you like a ton of bricks, taking your breath away so you just look at him, taking him in. His brokenness, his sadness and all you wanna do is to hug him, make this right. Do him right, like he deserves. But you can’t. Maybe the two of you were never meant to last anyway, maybe your fate was already sealed long before this moment in time. Your heart breaks the longer you look at him and you’re surer than ever of your decision. 

You are both too broken to be parents. Too caught up in your own wreckages that calls itself life. You can’t bring a baby into this. A life whose survival depends solely on the two of you, each struggling themselves to stay afloat. 

As your gaze finds his again, every emotion you’re feeling is mirrored in his eyes. You inhale sharply before you step towards him to wrap your arms tightly around his midsection and he holds you close, his face nuzzled in your hair, placing tiny soft kisses on your neck.

You’re equally searching for comfort in each other, even though you’re each other's reason for breaking in the first place. 

“I am sorry,” you mumble, your voice muffled against the fabric of his shirt.

You feel him shaking his head, hugging you just a little bit tighter, his face in the crook of your neck. All your broken pieces squeezed together even if only for this moment. 

You feel whole, you always do. His arms are your home and nothing beats the feeling of his body heat enveloping you and making you feel like maybe it’s all gonna be okay. His familiar scent fills your nostrils, so earthy and musky, so unmistakingly him, you’ll never tire of it. Sleeping in his worn shirts is the closest you have to tranquility when your mind is troubled yet again and you want to forget the woes of the world.

Eventually Frankie nuzzles his face against your ear, placing a feathery kiss against the sensitive spot behind it before his mouth wanders along the side of your neck and in a habit you tilt your head to give him better access, your hands finding his tousled locks which is always his weakness. 

“Frankie…” you mewl, your voice already betraying you. “What are you doing?”

He smiles against the skin of your neck before he whispers hoarsely, “Let me have this. Please, hermosa…” 

You shake your head but it’s a weak attempt at protest.

You could never say no to Frankie, no matter the circumstances. 

The two of you attract each other like magnets. Never really complete without the other. 

He gently pushes you towards the kitchen counter until the back of your legs are reaching the edge and you sweep the fucking test off the countertop before you hop onto it, not caring where they land. It’s not as if they would change anything now. His hands immediately find your hips as he stands between your legs and continues his assault on your neck. His mouth explores every bit of your skin taking his time before he helps you take off your shirt over your head and his mouth immediately latches back onto your skin, sponging hot open-mouthed kisses on your now exposed chest. 

Your every nerve ending is already on fire at this point as you eagerly open the zipper of his jeans and pull it down so it hangs onto the back of his knees, quickly followed by his black boxer briefs. Your hand finds his hardened member, pumping him a few times to which he answers with a hiss at the mere feeling of your hand around him. You kiss him messily, swallowing his moan as you keep stroking him, his hips bucking into your hand. 

One of his hands finds your hair, tangling in it to deepen the kiss, pulling your head back a bit and making you moan. The whole thing is a mess of tongues and teeth at this point and you don’t even remember the last time you were kissed like this. 

“Take this off,” he commands as he tugs at your shorts and you lift your hips so he can pull them down, revealing nothing underneath. 

His hand that was on your hip just moments ago finds your center, already wet and leaking for him and he hums in appreciation. “Always so ready for me,” he purrs as he sucks at your neck again, coaxing the neediest moan out of you as his hand simultaneously starts to explore your folds. His thumb on your clit drawing circles paired with the slightest bit of pressure before two of his digits sink into you and you gasp in response, your hand pulling at his shirt in a desperate attempt to hold onto something. 

“Fucking beautiful,” he praises as his fingers curl inside of you and find the spot that makes you see stars instantly. 

“Frankie, please,” you whimper frenziedly. 

“I know, baby. I know,” as he places another, now way softer kiss on your neck, before he tilts your chin with his free hand and with the other guiding his cock towards your entrance. 

“Look at me, I want to see you when I fuck you like this.” 

His goddamn fucking filthy mouth. 

You just nod and without another word he pushes into you, torturously slow at first, your eyes still locked and you feel like your whole body burns up with need. 

You wrap your legs tightly around him as he’s bottoming out, giving you a moment to adjust to him, taking him as deep as you can. 

He starts moving because you start wiggling impatiently, his hands on your hips as he pushes in and out of you.

This feels different, even if you can’t quite pinpoint why. It feels like a confession and a redemption at the same time. Like he knew all along how this would end.

You let your bodies talk and explain where words aren’t enough as your lips find his again, your hands slightly pulling at his hair as you keep kissing him like you’re drowning and he mirrors it perfectly. Without even noticing tears start streaming down your cheeks as he picks up the pace and fills you completely, satiating the void only he can fill. 

As he notices the tears on your face he stills for a moment, his brown eyes full of worry. 

“Are you okay?” he asks, brushing a strand of hair out of your face. “No,” you breathe and you’re not able to look him in the eye so you bury your face in his neck. 

“Did I hurt you?” 

You shake your head.

How can you explain to him that this feels like a goodbye?

“Don’t stop,” you whine, your voice thin. 

You can feel his hesitation, his hand gently caressing the back of your head but you can’t look at him, you simply can’t or it will shatter you completely. 

“Please. Frankie.” Are the only two words to make him nod and start moving again. 

It doesn’t take long for the two of you to find your release and you would lie if it doesn’t feel like coming home, like this is supposed to be like this, two people connected in the simplest but also most powerful way. He pants against your collarbone, trying to take back some control over his breathing again. You just hold him tight, your hands caressing his back gently as you place a kiss on his hair, inhaling his scent. 

But then something changes, the softness of the afterglow gone as he lifts his head, his dark brown eyes boring into yours. 

“This is it, isn’t it?”

You frown, not exactly grabbing the magnitude of his question, but you nod as tears blur your vision once again. He shakes his head, lost for words himself as he puts his clothes back on and hands you your clothes as well. 

The silence is heavy between you, so much to say but there are no words to pinpoint how you think or feel right now. 

“I wish things were different,” you finally say quietly. “Yeah, me too,” he answers shortly, way too distant given the fact how close you two were mere moments ago. 

“I am sorry.”

“That’s not enough,” he retorts, his voice hoarse. 

You lower your gaze as you finally hop off the counter to put your bottoms back in their place.

He walks towards the front door, his steps heavy and you follow him mindlessly. You don’t want him to leave, but open the door for him, both of you standing in the doorway now. You look in his direction, but you don’t look at him, as he looks outside. There weren’t any clouds earlier but it has started to rain and it’s literally pouring now. 

How fitting, you think to yourself. 

His gaze shifts towards you again before he takes a step towards you, his big hand resting on your cheek, his thumb caressing it and makes you look at him for a long moment, really look at him. 

Are you trying to memorize his features or is he trying to memorize yours, you wonder and try to give him a weak smile before leaning more into his touch and kissing his wrist. 

“I love you, mi amor. I always will, no matter what.” 

You take a shuddering breath before answering with a shaky voice, “I will always love you too, Frankie.” 

You watch him leave, the rain soaking his clothing, drenching him completely in the time it takes him to reach his car, he takes one last glance towards your front door before you close it, sinking down on the linoleum floor and drowning in your own tears as the sky mirrors your agony. 

—

Abortions aren’t glamorous and they aren’t easy. 

The whole process is longer than you’ve thought it would be and all the questions are draining. 

Is the father involved? Did you ever have an abortion before? When was your last period? Were you sexually active in the last four weeks? Did you have sex without contraceptive? 

You grumble slightly to yourself while filling out the questionnaire. You didn’t tell anyone about this, because you were convinced you’re fine on your own. 

But as your gaze drifts around the waiting area you see that almost everyone brought someone along and you feel more lonely than you ever did before. 

Your leg impatiently bounces up and down and without giving much thought you cover your stomach with your palm, lowering your gaze and whisper, “No worries, little bean. We’ll be fine.” 

As you look back up again you pray that no one heard you talking to yourself. 

What the fuck was this? You talked to this little bundle of cells like it could hear you. 

You clearly lost your mind, finally. 

As you look back onto the paperwork again, your vision starts to blur and a single tear drops onto the paper. You’re caught off guard. Why are you so damn emotional all of a sudden?

In that instant you wish for one thing only.

Frankie being here with you. 

He would hold your hand, caressing your back in soothing circles and tell you he’s here for you. 

Shit. 

You miss him more than you’d like to admit. 

You fish your phone out of your pocket, your thumb hovering over his contact. 

What are you even going to say? 

“Hey Frankie, I sit at the abortion clinic and guess what, I am not so sure anymore. Did you know their heart starts beating at 6 weeks? A whole fucking heartbeat…” 

“I know,” a familiar voice suddenly ringing in your ear. 

“Frankie?” you ask back, still in disbelief that you really called him absentmindedly. 

“Hey,” he chuckles softly through the speaker and your heart skips a beat.

“Hey yourself.. Sorry, that was… I don’t know what that was.” 

“It’s alright,” he assures you, although you are pretty sure it isn’t but you can picture him smiling faintly. 

“I sit here all alone filling out that damn questionnaire and I swear I never felt more alone than I do now and all I wished for was…” You can’t finish that sentence, because if you’d do, you’d give in. To him, to everything you desperately fought for to forget, trying to not feel anymore. 

But the second you heard his voice it felt like all reason flew out the window. Your mind subconsciously decided for you.

“I wished you were here with me, holding my hand,” you press out of your lips, your voice nothing more than a whisper. 

“You want me to accompany you?” 

“No. Yes… Urgh, I don't know,” you stumble over your own words. 

There’s a laugh at the other end. 

“Make up your mind, hermosa.” 

And in this very moment you do. You see clearer than you did in weeks.

Him kissing your baby bump, massaging your feet when they’re too swollen to walk on. 

You painting the walls in the spare room, him admiring you and stating you’re glowing, even if you feel like a damn whale. 

Him with your baby in his arms, rocking it gently, soothing it back to sleep and your heart hurts, it physically hurts to even think about it because you long for it, you crave this new life more than anything else. 

“I did. I have,” you finally say. “We’re having a baby, Morales.” 

—

9 months later you’re giving birth to a baby girl. The perfect mix of both of you. His dark brown curls crowning her tiny head and your bright eyes looking back at you. 

Her first cry is powerful, announcing her arrival, taking her rightful space in this world and you never saw something as perfect as the baby that rests on your chest. 

Frankie is a crying mess next to you full of pride as he kisses your hair. 

“You did so good, mi vida,” he praises and his voice is nothing more than a muffled whisper against your hair before you start to cry yourself. 

“She is beautiful,” you say in awe as you take her teeny tiny hand in yours, kissing it gently. 

“Almost as beautiful as you are,” Frankie whispers, watching his two girls with nothing but tenderness. 

You feel like you’re exploding with love, your heart suddenly living outside of your body and you swear to yourself no matter what, your daughter will have a good life. 

One worth remembering. She’s the center of your universe now and as you tilt your head to Frankie you smile softly, leaning against him. 

“We’re a family, Frankie,” you say as your voice chokes up with all the emotions. 

“We always were, but now we’re parents too,” he answers and the weight of his words hangs heavy in the air. But you’re not afraid of the responsibility anymore. 

You are happy, truly happy because for the first time in your life you feel like you’re exactly where and who you need to be. 

my masterlist in case you’re hungry for more :)

[lazyscience]

Dungeon Crawler Carl Challenge

So I've been feeling pretty low the last few months. I know I'm not the only one riding that struggle bus, that a good number of the friends and mutuals around these parts are also feeling um. Uninspired, by current events. Demoralized, saddened, angry, confused, bereft - some of all of that.

One of the things I've been enjoying over the last year or so have been the Dungeon Crawler Carl books; some of you are probably also familiar, given a number of tabletop RPG folks hang out around these parts. If you haven't tried them, I heartily encourage them - they're cartoonishly violent, thoroughly offensive to anything resembling a religious or socially conservative sensibility, laden with body horror, full of cocker spaniel slander, and wildly vulgar in a teenage-boy sort of way. They are also full of complex and interesting female characters, affirmative masculinity, kindness in great duress, found family, anti-capitalism, pro-skepticism and determination in the face of overwhelming odds. A LOT of shit blows up. And the hero's wisecracking BFF is a Persian cat who is half Real Housewife, half neglected child.

The point of all this introduction to say: the titular Carl's mantra with which he is surviving the dungeon is, You will not break me.

And damn if I don't think he's got a point.

Spraytan Hitler getting inaugurated and nominating his bumbling coterie of asskissers to the Cabinet? Fuck him. Not gonna break me.

Morons trying to take rights, safety and bodily integrity away from people I love? Fuck them, not gonna break me.

People at work making THEIR months of fucking around MY workload problem now? Fuck that, not gonna break me.

Stupid chronic pain? Fuck it, not gonna break me.

Stupid depression and anxiety? Fuck no. Not gonna break me.

Now, dear reader, your challenge, should you choose to accept (you don't need to be a longtime follower or a follower at all, just a fellow crawler in this bullshit dungeon that is currently our lives who would like to stick it to The Corporation/The Universe At Large)

The AI of the dungeon likes to give Achievements. These are snarky, profane, moments of catharsis when you've finished a quest or defeated an enemy describing your reward (frequently just 'you're still alive, good for you') And since I don't have the wherewithal to send you guys the Celestial Benefactor Boxes you're out there grinding for, that's all I can give you - but if you want 'em, tell me what quest you've beaten/mob you've splattered each day and I'll give you an Achievement.

Mobs can be tasks you've been dreading, phone calls you don't want to make, awkward conversations, doctor's visits you don't want to schedule.

Quests are good things you're doing for yourself. Working out/making opportunities to move in any way? Making art/crafting/writing/other creative endeavors? Learning a new professional or personal skill? Reading longform books (of whatever genre) instead of doomscrolling? Making an effort to heal your relationship with food in ANY way you think is appropriate FOR YOU? Treating yo' self? Pedicures are a buff in the dungeon! (it's probably best to not ask why)

Party up - when we're doing something with/for others - or letting others help us - we are stronger together than we are apart.

Some days, all you're up to is staying alive. Just staying alive is a worthwhile accomplishment.

I am going to try to every day for the next 30 to post at least one mob I've fought, quest I've been working on, or party I've joined. And anybody who would like one, reblog mine with yours and I'll give you an Achievement.

Now get out there, crawlers, and kill, kill, kill!

[bitchnojutsu]

okay HI i came back to this!! amazing work chandu i will be rereading this forever and ever and consulting it moving forward. you’re so right and should keep saying it; these are the things that stand out to me that i would love to scream about together:

- tenten def notices other people’s looks but is overall more drawn by what she thinks is cool about them. there’s another post about tenten’s style and characterization that i really like which emphasizes tenten’s lack of overt femininity, and i think tenten wants to be recognized - more than for her appearance; maybe more than anything, at some point, to a degree - as cool herself. tenten doesn’t want or have a ton of power (even socially, i’d argue), but she positions herself in the sphere of it. her icon is a “legendary kunoichi” and the fifth hokage. she bemoans her sensei and teammate frequently for being cringe in her vicinity. the one thing she can do that is really cool - carry any size or quantity of anything, anywhere - gets completely dismissed as “convenient” by lee and neji during their chunin exams in suna, and we saw how that affected tenten’s morale.

- on that point, hell, her entire friendship with neji: her bestie is a bully victim neglected child prodigy from a prominent and revered clan, set up in the first chunin exams as The Kid To Beat, and just like you pointed out, tenten was right at his side for that entire month between prelims and finals. also, i want to emphasize what you said about tenten being the mouthpiece during the finals: her whole interlude where she’s giving exposition to the viewers like us bragging on neji’s abilities? tenten isn’t speaking out loud to anyone. she’s just smirking to herself and staring down at the arena, thinking about how neji is so talented and so well prepared and so strong and so cool.

- re: tenten being one of those people you find yourself accidentally saying too much to. that has to be how her actual friendship with neji started tbh. and i think it was clan related, hence why we got tenten’s close up reaction among hiashi’s and hiruzen’s when neji started his lore dump. like you suggested, she already knew.

- tenten’s friendships with her teammates are notably different but consistent. like i think neji is her best friend and rock lee is her brother. (i’m getting a little ahead of myself, but tenten’s relationship to her teammates is what sakura’s would look like with her teammates if we removed sakura’s crush on sasuke and naruto’s crush on sakura)

- the databook stats have zero consistency but is anyone surprised lmao

- TENTEN DOES DID NOT LIKE HINATA. (we’re veering into headcanon territory, but especially after *certain events* toward the end of shippuden, regardless of everything else, y’all think tenten likes hinata now??)

- for reasons you already explained i also think tenten has complicated feelings about sakura. i’ve mentioned in a few of my own posts that i see team 7 and team gai as foils for each other, pairing tenten and sakura in that manner, which is giving me even more thoughts in this context. obviously they get along well enough, they seem to respect each other, but i’m considering tenten’s self esteem and mental health and her saying she wants to fight sakura and the goals she physically would never be able to accomplish while she had to sit back and watch sakura literally live out her dream…

- …which opens the door for a friendship between tenten and ino. hello, busybodies!

- while i’m talking about tenten and every other kunoichi, let’s go ahead and focus on temari. she handed tenten’s ass to her on a silver platter, publicly, without batting an eye, all while tenten was still confused because she uncharacteristically missed her mark. her disbelief is valid as explained, and the point of the fight was to poise temari as a serious competitor for the final round, but i’m also going to gripe at kishimoto here - tenten got done so dirty in this fight. if he wanted tenten’s error to be that she missed her mark, temari could have created a shadow clone for tenten to waste her time attacking, thus allowing tenten to show off her incredible skill while forcing her to “miss” her true mark and opening her up to an attack, and planting the idea to use a shadow clone in temari’s head for later purposes.

- you touched on tenten not liking people she perceives as weak, and how could tenten not perceive herself as weak after that quick defeat? in front of everyone? after waiting an extra year before signing up for the exams? the only member of her team to not break to the finals? and she missed her mark?! that’s a core memory. that’s ego-shattering, soul-crushing, reality-questioning, life-changing shit.

- the idea of a lowkey one-sided rivalry between tenten and temari a la lee and neji is so funny to me, and also plausible given how much of an impact losing that fight had on tenten. (though the exact same is true for sakura and i think tenten would be ready to fight both of them anytime)

- i love your point about tenten applying her enthusiasm for research to her weaponry because of course she would! she’s a one-woman museum and proud of it! there are easter eggs of this in reliance, but i like to imagine that she falls down all kinds of research rabbit holes; she may not be a med nin but she learns everything she can about the human body, we see her consult kurenai while in her ultimate tsukuyomi world for advice about genjutsu and i believe she kept studying that back in The Real World™️, she has to know a thing or two about space-time jutsu by nature of the transportation jutsu itself. but we also know that in the naruto world, “research” sometimes is a double entendre! a woman of many hobbies, truly

- you said the right string of words to trigger my activation phrase so now you get to hear me talk about one of my favorite venn diagrams in all of naruto: the overlap between tenten and shikamaru. she wants to be recognized so badly and works hard for it, he works hard not to be recognized so he doesn’t have to do hard work. / i would not be surprised if during that month between exam prelims and finals, shikamaru was constantly replaying and assessing tenten’s performance against temari in his mind, or if he straight up hunted down tenten (and neji by proxy) one day to ask about a few logistics and called his training done. / loud, strong women (like tsunade and temari) grate on young shikamaru while they’re everything tenten would want to be if she actually believed she could be like them. / re: tenten has chill vibes and can get people to open up. i think shikamaru opens up to tenten on purpose sometimes. perhaps on that one random mission they went on together; sometime approaching the war when naruto and yamato and gai etc. were on a boat for a long time and needed a supply drop (tenten’s mission), shikaku saw that shikamaru needed to take a step back from war prep and nominated him to accompany tenten. ironically enough for the both of them (considering shikamaru’s woes during the sasuke retrieval arc, the trap team gai encountered in the desert in their second exams, and the end of the upcoming war, unbeknownst to shikamaru and tenten at this time), the trap they fell into was a series of genjutsu creating perilous conditions for the boat. i think in the adult generation - excluding sasuke’s sharingan and the knack for genjutsu that sakura should have had - tenten and shikamaru are among the best equipped shinobi to encounter genjutsu.

i made your long post longer but i hope it was worth it <3

Just noting down some things about Tenten that influence my view of her characterization/personality. primarily for my own reference as i’m writing, as well as to kind of get a more mature and consistent characterization of her than i had before. this gonna be an extremely long and rambling post, (where I think I repeat myself a whole lot oops) and there’s not really anything profound, just some traits i’m pulling from canon and interpreting.

most of Tenten’s ’canon’ characterization comes from filler and databooks, which I then further interpret, so a lot of her characterization in this post is three degrees of fanon/headcanon, with some liberties taken where I dislike the interpretation.

We’re introduced to Tenten during the chunin exams, where she’s seen throwing kunai at a target dummy that Neji is sitting under. She casually throws her kunai and hits the target dead center, instantly showing her marksmanship skill, but also Neji’s implicit trust in her since he doesn’t even flinch and the target is pretty much right over his head. This ties in later but basically, he fully trusts that she will not miss.

We see Tenten again before the first round of the chunin exams, while Izumo and Kotetsu are blocking the door. The thing I find notable in that scene is Tenten not being immune to Sasuke LOL.

(Manga panel grabbed from @tentenarchive)

it's interesting to me that her thing is specifically that there's not a single scratch on him, and that he's "cool". Makes sense given that she's on a team with Gai and Lee and she desperately wants them to be cool too. And she dislikes weak people so yeah, of course it's cool to her that he's untouchable.

Actually on this topic, Tenten's taste seems to be "cool people"? In a filler episode (naruto 162) she thinks that the lord of a local land is really cute when she sees him get down for his palanquin. The lord's whole thing is that he's like cold and cool and pensive etc. so this seems to be Tenten's taste to some degree. He turns out to actually be a girl in the end so yknow. bi Tenten confirmed.

Here's her page from the first databook (screenshotted from The Narutoversity). She gets annoyed at Lee injuring himself for Sakura's sake, which I'm pretty sure isn't really out of care so much as it is that they're in the middle of the forest of death in like. the worst situation possible. Love how Ino's just standing there like "what the fuck kind of medical care is this".

I generally dislike the stats since I find that they’re inaccurate to what we see on-panel (a whole rant I could go on another time tbh), and Kishimoto tends to skew them egregiously in favor of characters he particularly likes. Ex: genin era Neji’s total is 21, and shippuden Tenten’s is 20.5. You cannot seriously be telling me that Neji as a genin is stronger than chunin Tenten three years in the future. Come on Kishimoto. There are a few things of note here though, so let’s go through them anyway.

Tenten’s highest stat is her speed, at 3, which is the same as Sasuke from the same databook. So clearly, she’s fast, especially since Sasuke is known for his speed. She's not as fast as Lee, but still quick on her feet and dexterous, with fast reflexes. Makes sense, since the second databook describes her fighting style as “dancing flexibly and firing speedily”.

Her strength is a 1 and her stamina is a 1.5, which is insane to me. Like she’s on Team Gai???? They do 500 laps around Konoha and 1000+ pushups every day???? I reject canon here, fuck u kishi, I know she’s actually buff as hell and has hella stamina.

Her intelligence is a 2, which might seem super low but it matches Sasuke's intelligence, and is only 0.5 lower than Neji and Temari's. I think it just goes to show that the scale for these stats is skewed as hell. But basically what this means is that she operates at a similar level to Sasuke, Temari, and Neji, where she picks up on the things around her, and while she isn't operating on the level of Shikamaru, she's still a good strategist.

Back to the actual show, we get to the elimination round and her fight against Temari (episode 43). I’m basing this part off the anime because their fight in the manga is like three panels long.

So technically, this is “filler” (as if any tenten fan really cares lol).

From the Hokage's commentary, her battle sense is pretty good. She positions herself a perfect distance away from the enemy. She's trying to bait Temari into attacking, to see what her power is and figure out how to counter it, and Temari calls her out on it.

Tenten isn't a 200 IQ genius strategist the way Shikamaru is, but she is still a smart fighter. We can see she thinks in a similar way to him (and Temari) feeling out the enemy's power and what they can do before counterattacking strategically. I need them to be best friends tbh.

Her first reaction when she throws her shuriken at Temari and misses is surprise. She is deeply confident in her own abilities, so it's genuinely shocking to her. She yells "I missed? There's no way!" and in the stands, Gai also insists up and down that Tenten never misses.

She has the utmost confidence in herself, and from the rest of her team. None of them have any doubt in her, and this also ties back to that introductory scene. No wonder Neji let her chuck kunai at targets near him. It's probably something she does regularly too.

Tenten loses to Temari, and is immediately down on herself. We see a lot of this in Shippuden 237, where she's lying in the hospital and loses all her confidence in herself and her abilities.

Shippuden 237 shows us that Tenten does actually have self-esteem issues, even before this fight with Temari. During their first year as genin, when Lee keeps getting defeated by Neji, Tenten tells Lee that he really should just give up on beating Neji, because he's a genius, and Lee is not. It's clear in the voice acting and the expressions that to some extent, Tenten isn't just speaking about Lee when she says this, she's also speaking about herself.

She seems to compare herself a lot to others, often in a negative light, talking down about herself when others are better than her, but still trying her best to surpass them.

But the way she talks after losing to Temari is much worse. Her match with Temari affects her deeply, and likely for many years to come. I think it becomes one of her primary motivations to become stronger, as she keeps holding that moment as her lowest point and vowing to never be that helpless against an opponent again.

Headcanons here. After her fight with Temari, Tenten also throws herself into learning 1) fire jutsu to combat Temari’s wind (this is why she develops that dragon bomb jutsu she uses during the Konoha Crush filler episode), and 2) seals that can absorb/store away opponents’ attacks.

I think Tenten’s primary chakra nature is actually lightning, which is also why she is so weak to wind chakra. I love this post by @/fineillsignup that goes into detail about chakra natures, and a lot of the traits listed under lightning nature fit with my interpretations of Tenten. I also am heavily biased toward the idea of Kakashi, who is basically student-less during the interlude period, teaching Tenten lightning jutsu since she's his husband's friend's student.

Going back to that scene in shippuden 237, I do think her talking down to Lee in their first year as genin is also interesting. Even though I love the idea of Lee and Tenten being besties before Team Gai and her standing up for him, I think the reality is that she probably didn’t really talk to him in the Academy, and once they were on the same team, she was kind to him, and learned to work with him.

Lee very specifically mentions in a flashback in episode 100 that nobody told him anything encouraging, sensei or student. This obviously includes Tenten. So while she wasn’t outright mean to him, she also didn’t have the greatest opinion of him.

She very quickly found herself relating with him, and that probably made her take out some of her own self-loathing on him at first. Eventually they become close, and form a very deep friendship, but things start out pretty rocky.

Kishimoto confirms that every day for a month between the second and final rounds of the chunin exams, Neji and Tenten train together in secret to help him reverse-engineer the 8 trigrams 64 palms and the rotation. It’s interesting that everyone else goes to train with a jounin and only Neji chooses to train with his teammate.

I think this implies Tenten to be a good secret keeper and evidence that Neji already told her about the cursed seal and all the clan drama. During Neji’s speech to Naruto, Tenten’s reaction is shown alongside Hiruzen and Hiashi’s, both of whom already know all about the curse mark and his father’s death. So Neji has told Tenten as well.

Plus Tenten is uniquely suited to help with Rotation, since she can throw a billion knives no jutsu.

During Naruto vs Neji, Tenten gets used as the mouthpiece to explain Neji's attacks, which also shows how well she knows him after training with him for the Chunin exams, but she's also genuinely impressed when Naruto wins, and even compliments him.

There's a brief scene during Shikamaru v Temari where Tenten comments about how she couldn't beat Temari. Also look at her arms. A 1 for her strength stat??? with those arms??? sure kishi.

Okay, we move on to when Orochimaru attacks Konoha, and there’s this filler episode (shippuden 192) where Hinata gets kidnapped by Kumo shinobi. This episode has some small Tenten moments, where you can also see how Neji thinks of her, and I like them a lot.

We start off with Tenten going to check in on Neji after his conversation with Hiashi, and he actually opens up and tells her all about what they had just spoken about, another sign that he's told her about everything with his clan.

When Hinata is kidnapped and the Hyuuga Elder makes Neji go get her, Tenten comes with him, not out of any particular concern for Hinata, but purely to back up Neji. I doubt she likes Hinata much at first (my eyes were opened after this post by @tentenismybitch), so she’s doing this more for Neji’s sake.

As they're chasing after the man who kidnapped Hinata, they get caught in a trap, and Tenten tells Neji to leave her behind (strategic thinking) and Neji only hesitates for a second before agreeing and going on ahead. Neji expresses that this is because he knows Tenten can handle herself.

We see her using a new jutsu (the Dragon Bomb), which as I mentioned before, I think she developed with Temari in mind.

During the Hokage’s funeral we do see her in funeral attire looking sad but is she really? debatable. I think no, but it’s not entirely relevant. This is all personal headcanon here, not based on canon evidence beyond extrapolating from what I’ve seen.

Tenten doesn't strike me as someone burning with loyalty to the village and harping on about the “will of fire” and whatnot. She does her duty, and that’s about it. It doesn’t go further than that. She cares about the people dear to her, but not really about the village specifically.

After the Hokage’s funeral, Tenten doesn’t appear again until the end of the Search For Tsunade arc, which I think is her last non-filler appearance in the original series other than a few flashbacks.

She’s excited about Tsunade coming to the village, and tells Neji after he trains, and asks him to come with her to go see Tsunade. Neji tells her he’s not interested, and Tenten looks a little disappointed.

We see Tenten in some flashbacks to Lee's genin years (episode 100). As Neji is talking down to Lee, Tenten doesn't really say anything, which matches with what i said earlier. But, when Gai tells them that with hard work, anyone can be a shinobi, Tenten has a similar reaction to Lee, while Neji just looks annoyed.

What Gai says seems to give her hope. That with enough hard work, anyone can become great. She doesn't think of herself as a genius, and if anything, seems to group herself with Lee in terms of ability. This is also shown in Shippuden 237, which I'll discuss later.

After this we only see Tenten in the end-of-series filler, which will be part 2 of this post since it's already really long. We'll finish off by looking at data book 2, which came out after the manga for the first series had finished.

From the second data book (screenshot also taken from the Narutoversity), we see part of her personality is being a "busybody" LMFAOOOO. So yeah she's inquisitive and curious, being a research enthusiast, but also uses that same nature to get in on everyone's business too. We can assume she's also observant and detail-oriented, can probably read people pretty well.

I like this a lot! I think Tenten is a good people person, and many find her easy to get along with. She’s probably one of those people that you accidentally find yourself telling really important or deep stuff to without really knowing why. She’s just got this air around her that’s very chill and comfortable.

But I do think she’s nosy, and does wanna know about everything, just to be in the know. She’s a little detective LOL.

The research enthusiast part is a fun thing too. She strikes me as a tinkerer, messing with new weapon designs or seal ideas, constantly turning something over in her head.

The first and second databooks list her hobby as fortune-telling, which is also really cute. I think she knows palmistry and does readings for her friends, and has some knowledge of astrology. She isn't overly superstitious, but she does believe in ghosts, and gets fairly nervous when she sees or hears something that can be considered a bad omen.

She has pride in her weapons, clearly, and her arsenal is implied to be the largest and strongest of any ninja. I’d like to assume that some of her pride comes from the weapons in her arsenal that are of her own design.

Her 'carefree, smiling face' is also an interesting point. At first I was unsure how to interpret this, but to me it reads as her being rather laid-back and carefree, despite her power and lethality. Again, not very sure how to interpret this line and I'd love to hear how anyone else sees it!

It’s cute that Tsunade coming to the village and becoming hokage made Tenten train harder. I think aside from her defeat to Temari, this becomes another major motivation for Tenten. She wants to impress Tsunade, the kunoichi that she admires most.

She says she'd like to fight Sakura, so I think there's some kind of jealousy or something to prove there since Sakura got to be Tsunade’s apprentice and Tenten didn't. This goes back to her low self-esteem and those issues she’s been having since her fight with Temari.

Shippuden 237 touches on this but Tenten did actually try to become a medical ninja for a bit, she just didn’t have the chakra control necessary. Obviously this adds to her insecurities when Sakura turns out to be a natural at medical ninjutsu with unnaturally good chakra control.

I’m not a huge fan of the ‘trying to be a mednin’ part of this ngl, I think she’s a little too fixated on weapons to truly care about medical ninjutsu, and wants to emulate Tsunade just for the ‘strongest kunoichi’ part rather than trying to be her exact carbon copy. Plus, I think (headcanon) Tenten’s chakra control has to be at least decently good in order to do seals, but that’s a different rabbit hole. I tend to disregard this in my fics and will likely continue to do so.

I do like the thing of being jealous of Sakura in some way for being Tsunade’s apprentice, though. It’s some nice flavor and I appreciate the one-sided rivalry. I think it would be funny for Sakura to think of Tenten as the cool senpai and look up to her, meanwhile Tenten is struggling to not immediately challenge her to a duel, Gai-style.

Since this is already super long, I’ll do a part 2 for all the filler arcs she’s in, and then a part 3 for shippuden.

[petit-papillion]

Charles and Arthur at the Monte-Carlo Masters | 16 April 2023

📸 Instagram/pierregasly

[folkloregirlfriend]

i hate feeling ambitionless aimless the future is so bleak

[lord-squiggletits]

God the loneliness has been hitting real bad since yesterday

[black-n-white-wings]

#it's harder and harder to like wwx as a blorbo when this is what i keep seeing

yeah, I don't hate wwx but his fans are reading an entire different story. Why should jc/jgy/xy's fans add the "i know my fave is problematic and a bitch but i like him despite him being an awful character" every time they post but wwx/lz/wangxian's fans get to stand on the moral higher ground? every time I see a discourse it's always "wangxian are perfect they're victims" and the others can eat shit? especially when it's used then to say "the very real people who are just enjoying a fictional piece of media can eat shit too"?

mdzs is a story about a very flawed if well-intentioned protagonist and the very one-purpose-driven love interest that has little to no development except for his love for the protagonist. As readers we can have empathy for the corner wwx backed himself into and the series of unfortunate event that drove him to those actions, but if we wish to engage in meta discussions we can't have blinkers on. That's as simple as that. And the more i interact with wgxn fans the more i come to dislike the characters. It's no secret i have beef with how the story is written and that the fact it's a series of snippets, quick paced scenes, no time to delve into the context and see the bigger picture because the main drive is to arrive to the happy ending and subsequent porn scene does not allow for obvious layered-reading. The supposedly internal pov is not consistent and scenes suddenly go from wwx's pov to glances as other characters'. BUT what it means is that we *know* that jc (while obviously disliking the wen, they killed his entire family, shouldn't he??) never advocated for the annihilation of the surviving wen himself. He advocated for the survival of his own sect. he advocated for prioritizing the well-being of his charges over the well-being of the people that reduced his blood-family to one and a half. Is it morally wrong? maybe, certainly not a 100% virtuous. But it's justifiable. The characters are flawed. Is wwx's violent torture of wc virtuous? is the way he killed wlj, akin to sexual assault, virtuous and morally right? absolutely not. Is it justifiable? maybe. He also lost almost everyone he cared about in the wen attack.

But jc doesn't get the same grace. He doesn't get forgiveness or compassion from some fans. wwx is directly responsible for jyl's death because he went to the meeting, taunted the cultivation world that he had threatened for weeks and he knew they would retaliate. He was pretentious and insane, corrupted by the cultivation he assured he could control and manage. He believed he could achieve anything (and who could blame him? His main authority figure in his formative years never discouraged that) but he could not. His hubris caused his downfall and yet all the blame falls on jc. Jc wasn't loyal enough (wwx was the one who should have been loyal, he was jc's subordinate and PROMISED HIM he would be loyal to jc and he broke this promise). jc didn't love him enough (he tried several times to defend him against men ten times more powerful than him both politically and in numbers, and he tried to bring wwx back to reason, something impossible to do since he did not have all the relevant information to understand BECAUSE WWX ACTIVELY LIED TO HIM FOR MONTHS). Jc slandered wwx in front of jl despite wwx being a perfect innocent angel (wwx killed jl's father and had his mother killed because he lost control. He. Lost. Control. It's canon. For people who spit on the drama adaptation, it's the only one that absolved wwx from these actions by putting another player in the shadows). Jc tortured demonic cultivators because he's cruel and mad and hates wwx (the rumours concerning wwx, never proven, should be dismissed, but not those concerning jc? double standard much? We have third-hand accounts for that hearsay and when jc has the chance to torture wwx he just screams at him, not very blood-thirsty madman of him).

The moral, virtues, obligations and expectations from such a piece of media have been explained ad nauseum by people that actually have the necessary cultural background to know what they're talking about. as a westerner, i read it, i listened and i learned. And what i understood is that by leaving the jiang clan, by choosing the wen over those he had a moral duty to, he is CULTURALLY in the wrong. Of course saving innocent people is not morally wrong. But again, are *all* the wen in that camp innocent? debatable. maybe yes, maybe no. What does it mean to be innocent? Simply standing by, not directly murdering someone? Wen Qing is the character that raises this very question IN THE TEXT by repeating like a broken record that doctors don't kill. But did she save? Was there active resistance from some Wen to save the innocent people their sect targeted? Or is it just that they did not directly kill? Why? did they have no choice? Was there threats and repression? Or did they simply follow their sect leader? Have they changed their stance on the war once they realised they were losing? Putting them in labour camps, using them as fodder and guinea pigs for the jin to experiment demonic cultivation on is wrong. It's terrible. But my point is that if people want to debate and expand and argue about interpretation and canon events they can't go surface level and just scream that they don't agree because reasons and main character brainrot.

Jiang Cheng is not wrong to want to preserve what he has left. He's not wrong to prioritize the people he enlisted to fight a war for him over people that have started that very war. He is not wrong to hate (although that hate is also love and hurt and repressing unwanted feelings, and rejection and incomprehension, and confusion, yadda yadda) the man that betrayed him, lied to him, rejected him and then killed the last of his living relatives in a fit of madness. Jc had his sister. That's it. His only surviving blood relative and the one that stood by his side always. The last person who did not reject him and betray him. As readers we *know* wwx sacrificed a great deal for jc, but why did he do it? love? duty? this unshakeable belief he can fix anything? but jc did not know. We can't expect a character to act like they have all the information when it's the reader's privilege to have that. And again, readers also have blind spots. did you know that while wwx sacrificed so much for jc, jc did the same? First? that he threw his life away without even the possibility of hiding behind excuses such as duty? promises made to parents/guardians? when reading that, how can we still think jc is a heartless bastard that never loved wwx? that he's morally broken? why should we focused on how jc is ungrateful to wwx for a sacrifice he didn't know was made when wwx's resentment toward jc comes from the same place of ignorance? An ignorance that persists by the end of the story?

anyways it's getting a bit too long, i got carried away again.

tldnr : wwx's fans are making the character unpalatable by engaging in discourse they cannot conduct properly and emptying the text of comprehensive, deep and active reading and by simply being defensive and claiming a non-existing moral high ground and purity. their attack of other fans creates a toxic environment that affects the reading comprehension of the text and makes being in a fandom about a fictional world a deeply unpleasant experience

I love JC a lot I really do.

But I think the main reason he gets criticism for the wen situation with the Jin's and not others like NMJ and LXC for not supporting that idea because it's not about the morality.

It's about Wei Wuxian. It's about the family supports family or the loyalty to each other if you would.

Like sure he was a young sect leader with a lot of new responsibilities in the middle of the rest more mature with a good backing but there was also Jiang Yanli who would have and even did Stand by Wei Wuxian even in her last moments, even though she was married into the Jin's, even though WWX has supposedly just killed her husband and the father of her child.

But he failed where he failed okay.

He managed to protect something (the sect) but it cost him the last bit of his family.

He could have done something right, at least told Jin Ling the truth about his mother who died protecting her little brother instead of being his victim.

He had his reasons for what he did but it still doesn't make those actions any more likable.

[longagoitwastuesday]

I have the weirdest anime-fan gay friend. He didn't see the chemistry between L and Light (but did see it between L and Misa) and when I talked about weird dynamics so overwhelmingly everything in someone's life that they transcend being either platonic and romantic, he was surprised when I used Geto and Satoru as one of the examples (he did see the chemistry between Gojo and Utahime). I just. Man. How do you watch this stuff?

[aromanticasterisms]

oh man no wonder i'm missing my little guys recently. we haven't seen kaeya in almost a year

[specialmouse]

You know .

[musical-chick-13]

:) :) :) :) :)

[samuraisharkie]

If you’re putting off loud ass firework tonight in the suburbs around other houses, let it be known I hate you. nearly kills my dog every year.