#conscious reevaluation

[livingwellnessblog]

Revision: Neville Goddard's Approach

Neville Goddard's technique of revision offers a practical way to reframe, forgive, forget or heal past events and promote a new vision for ourselves. Envision and imagine, a different starting point, by revision.

Revision: Neville Goddard’s Approach Neville Goddard’s technique of revision offers a practical way to reframe, forgive, forget or heal past events and promote a new vision for ourselves. Envision and imagine, a different starting point, by revision. A Practical Overview Revision allows us to revisit past events and modify them to match our desired outcomes. It’s about choosing the emotional…

[vshushmshu]

remember that your mind is not you, but also that you can do nothing more than work with it to live

[astrosouldivinity]

Pluto in Aquarius: ♒︎

☼ How the transit will affect the 12 Houses ☉

⟡ This transit will occur from 2024 to 2044.

⟡ 𝙰𝚛𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚢 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚐𝚎? ♾️

1st House: Self & Identity

⟢ Pluto in the 1st house will bring transformation to your self-concept and overall sense of self. During this transit, you could find yourself shedding old identities and stepping into your authenticity and personal power. You might also cultivate a stronger presence and increased confidence, which will encourage you to assert your needs and desires more intentionally. This process can lead to a redefinition of your goals and a renewed sense of purpose in your life.

2nd House: Values & Finances

⟢ Pluto in the 2nd house will prompt a reevaluation of your core values and resources. This transit encourages you to confront issues related to materialism, stability, and self-worth. You may find that your priorities regarding financial security and personal values become a primary focus during this time. Additionally, this transit may inspire you to let go of outdated beliefs about money and possessions, empowering you to make more conscious choices that align with your true values and redefining what security means to you.

3rd House: Communication & Learning

⟢ Pluto in the 3rd house will intensify your communication style and stimulate transformative learning experiences. You may engage in more meaningful conversations, uncover hidden truths, or embrace new intellectual pursuits. For instance, you might explore new subjects that challenge your way of thinking, leading to a deeper understanding of both yourself and the world around you. This transit may also encourage you to express your thoughts with greater clarity and conviction, fostering deeper connections with others.

4th House: Home & Family

⟢ Pluto in the 4th house may bring turbulence or transformation to your home life and family dynamics. You might confront deep-seated issues from your past, working to heal generational trauma and break familial karmic cycles. This transit can also lead to significant changes in your living situation and overall independence. Furthermore, you may find yourself reevaluating your emotional foundations, fostering a deeper connection to your roots, and creating a more nurturing and empowering home environment.

5th House: Creativity & Romance

⟢ With Pluto in the 5th house, your creativity and passion will be unleashed and revitalized. You may explore new artistic endeavors, tap into your creative potential, experience intense romantic connections, or confront issues related to self-expression, playfulness, and overall personal fulfillment. Additionally, this transit encourages you to take risks in your creative projects or to pursue hobbies that bring you joy, leading to a greater sense of fulfillment, self-love, and authenticity in your life.

6th House: Work & Health

⟢ Pluto in the 6th house will encourage you to evaluate your current health habits and work environments. You may experience a transformation in your daily routines, resulting in improved health and a deeper understanding of your work-life balance. This transit may also prompt you to confront any underlying issues affecting your well-being, leading to more mindful choices about nutrition, exercise, and overall stress management.

7th House: Partnerships & Connections

⟢ With Pluto in the 7th house, expect transformative experiences to develop within your interpersonal relationships. Pluto will push you to address power dynamics, commitment issues, or deep-seated fears surrounding partnerships, potentially leading to stronger, healthier, and more authentic connections. This transit may also encourage you to reevaluate what you truly seek in relationships, helping you identify patterns that no longer serve you. You may be learning to set boundaries during this time as well.

8th House: Transformation & Shared Resources

⟢ Pluto in the 8th house feels at home here, intensifying themes of transformation, intimacy, and shared resources. You may experience significant changes in your financial partnerships or confront deep-seated issues around trust and vulnerability. This transit can also lead you to explore the deeper aspects of intimacy, pushing you to confront fears related to emotional closeness and dependency. Furthermore, these transformations can uncover hidden strengths and insights about yourself and your relationships, cultivating a greater understanding of what true intimacy and emotional safety means.

9th House: Philosophy & Travel

⟢ Pluto in the 9th house will encourage you to explore new philosophies, perspectives, and broaden your horizons. You may feel compelled to travel, seek higher education, or challenge your belief system, leading to significant transformations in your personal growth. This transit may also inspire you to question long-held perceptions, prompting a deeper examination of your values and worldview. Additionally, this period could lead to profound spiritual insights, helping you develop a more authentic understanding of your place in the universe.

10th House: Career & Public Image

⟢ Pluto in your 10th house will bring forth transformation in your career and public image. You may pursue ambitious goals, confront power struggles in the workplace, or redefine your professional path. This transit encourages you to examine your aspirations intentionally, allowing you to let go of any limiting beliefs that have held you back. You might find yourself stepping into leadership roles or taking bold risks that align with your true passions. Additionally, this transit may prompt you to reassess how you want to be perceived by others, leading to a more authentic expression of your professional identity.

11th House: Friendships & Community

⟢ With Pluto in the 11th house, your friendships, community, and social networks may undergo significant changes as Pluto reveals hidden dynamics. You may find yourself reassessing long-term goals and aspirations. This transformation could lead to new alliances or the release of toxic friendships that no longer serve your growth. This transit encourages you to seek out connections that resonate with your evolving values and support your personal journey. Additionally, you may find yourself drawn to groups or causes that inspire you to make a meaningful impact, embodying a sense of shared purpose.

12th House: Spirituality & Subconscious

⟢ Pluto in the 12th house encourages deep introspection and spiritual growth. During this transit, you may confront subconscious fears, heal past traumas, and explore various spiritual practices, leading to profound inner transformation. This period may also inspire you to embrace your creative expression and intuition, helping you access deeper layers of your psyche. As you navigate these transformative experiences, you could uncover hidden strengths and insights that empower you to release patterns that no longer serve you.

𝔁𝓸𝔁𝓸- 𝓚𝓲𝓴𝓲 ✨

𝙼𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝 ♡ ♡ ♡

[stansthemans]

it’s a new years miracle. i wrote canon stan. woke up with this idea and decided it was gonna be the only thing on my to do list

Ford would like to imagine that he is not a man prone to petty or grumbling complaints, but when his first conscious thought upon waking up that morning is that the sheets next to him are cold and then his immediate reaction to that thought is to let out a huffing whine that would not be misplaced coming from the mouth of a toddler, well, maybe he has to reevaluate a little.

Maybe a lot, because he then proceeds to spend a solid two minutes curled in on himself, stubbornly refusing to leave the warmth that he has maintained between the crumpled sheets and continuing to huff to himself that surely nothing could be so important as to draw anyone away from this cocoon of comfort and bliss. He ignores the pointed growling of his stomach and the pressure in his bladder that also demand attention from his now waking mind.

Freshly awake, Ford’s mind is—outside of his petty grumbling complaints—foggy and sluggish. It’s a luxury that he has only been able to afford in recent months and with much coaxing. So when he finally does pull himself up from the bed and is hit with the blast of cold air, he simply grabs up the comforter and wraps it around him before shuffling off to take care of the other immediate concerns.

The most immediate is finding his brother, but he does suppose he can take a quick leak first.

Stanley is not in the kitchen, although the smell of coffee does fill the air, so Ford knows he’s been here recently. Neither is he at the helm. Ford does not bother looking in his lab. Stanley typically avoids it unless he is harassing Ford in some manner—go to bed at a normal hour, eat real food, that’s too much coffee, please for the love of God don’t create a biohazard in this enclosed space in the middle of the ocean. Finally, Ford finds his brother up on the deck, leaning against a railing and staring out at the sun that, this far north and this late in the year, will not climb much higher in the sky today.

Ford does not think that he made much noise—certainly none that could be heard over the wind and waves—but as soon as he steps from the doorway, Stanley turns around. They’ve never been able to sneak up on each other, not once that Ford can recall, so it makes perfect sense that Stanley just knew he was there.

One look at him, and Stanley throws his head back and laughs. It’s a loud thing, from his belly, and the sound alone prevents the harsh arctic air from delivering any ill effects to Ford’s body. “Cripes, Poindexter,” Stan says, his voice full of affectionate teasing. “I know you’re a human furnace, but that ratty thing ain’t gonna cut it out here.”

He then walks right around Ford, who can only whine in complaint that his brother does not come close enough for Ford to latch onto, and disappears into cockpit. He’s back in just a moment, Ford’s bulky coat slung over his shoulder. Stanley grabs at the comforter and wrestles Ford into the proper gear for their current environment. Ford simply stands there and takes it, not at all displeased to listen to his brother’s biteless grumbling about frostbite.

Once he is properly in the coat, gloves, and knit cap, Stan replaces the comforter around Ford’s shoulders. “You actually cold or are you doing your best impersonation of a teenager who just woke up?” Stan punctuates his question with a slightly too sharp clap to Ford’s cheek.

“Ow,” Ford grumbles, although it does not hurt at all. He huffs at his brother, which only makes Stanley laugh again.

“You look like a chipmunk,” he says. “It wasn’t cute when you did that when we was kids, and it’s not cute now as a grown ass man.” But considering the way that Stanley’s eyes are sparkling, the way he looks at Ford’s puffed cheeks and wild curls not at all well contained by the knit hat, the way that his teasing smile is a bit softer at the corners of his lips, Ford must surmise that his lying charlatan brother is, in fact, at least slightly charmed by Ford’s sleepy, if a bit immature and childish, disposition.

That he has charmed Stanley stirs the always lit embers in the pit of his stomach, fanning the flames just a bit higher. However, the feeling of delighted contentment is not enough to stop him from pursuing an all too pressing manner.

“When we were kids,” Ford corrects, and Stanley groans and rolls his eyes as dramatically as possible. Ford does not bother to hide his grin, which might be crossing into dopey territory.

Stan shoves him a bit, and says, “You stop with that shit, or I’ll be forced to dump this right out into the ocean.” From seemingly nowhere, Stan holds up Ford’s thermos and waves it enticingly in Ford’s face.

“No,” Ford whines pitifully and makes grabbing hands at it.

Stan chuckles smugly. He throws an arm around Ford’s shoulders and leads him over to the railing. “Come on, Poindexter. Let’s get you caffeinated. This is pathetic.”

They settle onto the bench, and Ford takes the opportunity to press in close to his brother’s side, unfolding the comforter enough to also envelop Stan. Stan plucks his own thermos—his covered with stickers from one of Mabel’s care packages—from the nearby cup holder, and silently, comfortably, they turn their gazes back out to the horizon. Ford sips lightly at his coffee. It’s the perfect temperature, which means that Stanley must have prepared it along with his own drink when he first woke up. It has the perfect amount of sugar and cream to suit Ford’s sweet tooth. Made with love, as are all things that Stanley gives to him.

Ford drops his head onto Stan’s shoulder and asks, “Why did you get out of bed so early?”

Stan huffs a light laugh. Ford knows it would have been louder and livelier, but he’s likely reluctant to jostle Ford around. “You have less than no idea what time it is,” he says.

“Irrelevant,” Ford states.

Stan takes a long, slow sip from his thermos. “Wasn’t any reason,” he says. “Just thought it would be nice to check out the view.”

“It was nicer in the bed,” Ford grumbles, and Stanley doesn’t answer that. Ford waits a moment before shifting his head just enough that he can get a glance at his brother’s face. There isn’t any particular emotion standing out. He seems peaceful and content enough, but Ford doesn’t have the best angle to see his eyes. Stanley’s eyes have never been able to fool Ford.

The thing about the bed is that it isn’t the only one on the boat. The thing about the bed that Ford woke up in this morning—the bed that he almost always wakes up in—is that it isn’t Ford’s bed. Ford’s bed, theoretically, is the bunk above Stanley’s, the same as it was when they were kids. As soon as they were old enough for their own individual beds, they were given bunks. It was a space saver, as there was no chance they would ever be given their own bedrooms, and two growing, rowdy boys needed all the space they could get for play. Ford had always taken the top bunk. Stanley was scared of heights. Ford doesn’t even remember why—it had just always been like that—but even that little bit up the ladder had been too much for him. It was no hardship, and when they still wanted—or needed—to cuddle and be close, it was the easiest thing in the world to pull down his pillow and an extra blanket and settle into Stan’s bunk with him.

It’s what they still do now. Ford very rarely makes the climb up that ladder at the end of the night. Whether they go to bed at the same time or whether Ford has finally hit the wall after a long day of adventure and research and drags himself up from his lab, far more often than not, Ford slides under the covers of Stanley’s bunk and presses himself into his twin’s space. Stan accepts it each time without complaint. He accepts Ford simply lying there. He accepts Ford nestling himself into Stan’s side and using him as a pillow. He accepts Ford’s arms folding around him and pulling him back against Ford’s chest.

Ford thinks that it means all of the same things to Stan that it does to him, but they haven’t talked about it. For all the leaps and bounds they’ve made since setting sail four months ago, they still haven’t talked about this.

Ford knows how he feels about his brother. He has known for a very, very long time. It had, of course, been alarming back when he initially came to the conclusion that his feelings for his brother—his identical twin brother, at that—were not entirely platonic in nature, although certainly that brotherly feeling was always there as well. Of course it was alarming. He was not supposed to look at his brother and want to smash their faces together, to know the taste of his lips. He was not supposed to look at his brother and imagine trailing hands across his body, memorizing not only the sight but the feel of him. He was not supposed to look at his brother and be so overwhelmed with yearning and desire that the only thing he could possibly do to stay sane—debatable, considering how wild he always felt in the aftermath—was to take himself in hand and stroke until he exploded, Stanley’s name always on his tongue.

Alarming, but Ford is certainly capable of incredible rationalization. He was already considered a freak. What was this one new aspect? If he kept it all to himself—bottled up where it rightly belonged—it could do nothing to harm his brother. If Stanley didn’t know of Ford’s desires, he would always continue to look at Ford with his sweet, trusting, loving gaze. Ford has always been the axis around which Stan orbited. He’s always known that. He could always continue to be that if he just kept the simple secret. And even if he couldn’t, if it got out, if by some miracle Stanley felt the same way, well, they were both of the same sex. Which isn’t to say that the homosexual aspect of it all wouldn’t have given them problems, but as to its connections to the incestuous aspects, well, two men can’t procreate.

Not that Ford hasn’t had plenty of fantasies in which he does his damnedest to try, but that is neither here nor there.

As teenagers, it was never truly a pure thing. Ford had rationalized it, but he’d also been resentful. Those feelings had come into play around the same time he had begun to yearn for separation from his brother, to for once be his own person and stand on his own merits, all without a hovering shadow that shared his face. It was a complicated thing, to love Stan that much, to want to absorb him completely, all while slowly suffocating with that closeness.

And then the science fair project. And then their father kicking Stan out of the house. And then over ten years of separation. Over a decade in which Ford’s bitterness only grew in equal measure to his longing for what had once been, the opportunities squandered. And then Bill. And then the portal.

For thirty years, Ford’s life was a constant type of hell. He had lived in fight or flight mode, and he was forced to become a type of person he would have never guessed, all to survive, all to keep going until he could finally achieve his goal of ripping Bill apart molecule by molecule in revenge for everything he had done to destroy Ford’s life. But for all the very real horrors, Ford cannot find it in him to entirely hate or regret his time out in the multiverse. Around the dangers, it had been the perfect sandbox, an endless place upon which Ford could exercise his vast intellectual curiosity. Sure, he could have done without being a wanted man with alluringly high bounties on his head across multiple dimensions, but oh, the things he had learned.

And one of the more profound takeaways had been just how many dimensions did not give two flying shits about who had sex with who, no matter the circumstances.

Well, it had only further cemented into Ford’s mind that his love for his brother was perfectly acceptable the way it was. It didn’t matter the anger and bitterness that he refused to let go of. It didn’t matter that Ford had no expectations of ever laying eyes on his brother again. All that mattered was that despite it all, he did still love Stanley, was in love with him. It wouldn’t change. He was at peace with that much at least.

But now, Ford has let go of the anger and bitterness. After everything that happened, after what his wonderful brother did to save the world, to save their family, how could he ever continue to cling to those awful thoughts? Because Ford has been given the utter gift and miracle of laying eyes on his brother again. And not just that. They are together again, truly together. A dynamic duo once more. It’s taken a lifetime of struggles and sorrows, but they are together on their boat, finally living out their old dreams.

Ford knows how all of this makes him feel. And he thinks he knows something of Stanley’s thoughts as well. Because he can only rationalize it one way. Yes, Stan has always orbited Ford, always deferred to him and protected him and loved him. But thirty years. Stanley spent thirty years, his every thought, his every action all poured towards the singular goal of reopening the portal and getting Ford back. He had completely lacked the education or even the innate skill set to truly understand the advanced mechanics of it all. He had ignored every single warning of the risks and dangers. Stanley Pines had locked himself completely away, put all of himself on hold, all on the slimmest glimmer of a hope that he could bring back his brother, who, by all accounts, seemed to hate him. And in those initial weeks, Ford had given him no indication otherwise, and still Stanley had been prepared to leave, to fade into the distance, to give up everything once again if that was what Ford demanded.

Love is the only conclusion that Ford can come to that offers any sort of explanation.

Not to mention the looks, the touches, the sheer tension between them. But they haven’t talked about it. And Ford does not know how to start that conversation.

They continue to sip their coffee in a comfortable silence until Stanley nudges Ford gently. “Your stomach’s been making enough noise to set off one of your monster radars,” Stan says, exaggerating, but not entirely wrong. “Come on, let’s get breakfast.”

It’s a routine they have fallen into easily. Stan whisks himself about the kitchen with ease, cracking and seasoning eggs, frying bacon, buttering toast. Ford washes their thermoses and pours fresh mugs to their individual specifications. They each take only the smallest splash of cream, but Stan makes the time to huff a laugh at how many more spoonfuls of sugar make their way into Ford’s cup compared to his.

They set the table, and Stan slides into his usual spot on the bench. Typically, Ford takes the chair on the other side of the table, but he doesn’t today. Today, the comforter still in play, he climbs onto the bench right alongside Stan, pressing in close. The only word to describe it would be snuggly.

“You’ve been—uh—you’re in a cuddly mood this morning,” Stan says, and they have been inside long enough that the pink tinge to his cheeks cannot be caused by cold, arctic winds. Still, Ford is a man of science. He needs to test that hypothesis.

“Yes,” he says, “the reason I was rather discontented to wake up alone in a perfectly cozy bed.”

Yes, Stanley does blush harder at that, his cheeks going from pink to a lovely red. Ford wants to press their cheeks together, to feel that warmth bleeding over into his own skin. He wants to kiss that gorgeous blush, to see how much redder it could get, how far could it spread down Stan’s neck, his chest.

“Of course, I see no reason why we can’t return after we eat,” Ford goes on, eyes locked onto Stanley’s. “As you’ve stated, it is a holiday. Holidays are not for working.”

“It’s New Years Eve,” Stan says, and Ford does not miss the slight warble in his gruff voice. “Really only a holiday if you’re planning to party, and we’re how many hundreds of miles from the nearest shoreline?”

Ford chuckles. “Not that far,” he says. “But still. It is my first one in this dimension in thirty years. And you are always harping on me to take it easy.”

Stan snorts. “And you’re finally listening?”

“If the result is a lazy day in bed with you, yes,” Ford says, and Stan blushes so violently that it takes nearly every ounce of Ford’s willpower to not grab his face and kiss him until neither of them can breathe. He has to force himself to simply pick up his fork and eat the breakfast that his brother has so lovingly cooked for them. “Hm, very good. Are you not hungry, Stanley?”

The choked noises that gurgle up from Stan’s throat do not contain any plainly stated curses or swears, but Ford feels their intent. Stan grabs his own fork and stabs at the eggs as if they are the cause of his flustering.

When they have eaten, Ford gathers up the dishes and drops them perhaps a little too roughly into the sink. But sue him. He’s impatient, and, wrapping his hand around Stan’s wrist when he tries to attend to the mess, he says, “They’ll keep.”

Stan turns an almost unreadable glance to Ford, and Ford could keep teasing, but he knows this is no longer the time. “Please,” he says simply, because he knows that is all it will take.

He’s right. A little sigh, a shake of his head, and a fond smile, and Stan agrees, “All right, you lazy bastard. Let’s fucking cuddle.”

Although the generator and all the mechanics on the boat are in excellent order—personally built by Ford and McGucket—and outperform anything else commercially available by leaps and bounds, this far north, this late in the year, there is always some cold that seeps inside. But Ford can’t feel any of it around the heat in his stomach, flames spreading and crackling like a merry campfire. He can’t feel anything but warmth and comfort as he drags Stanley off to their bed—theirs, theirs, theirs—and envelops his brother in his arms, rubbing gentle knuckles across Stan’s scalp until they are both lulled into blissful sleep.

The nap is overly indulgent and lazy. One might consider it excessive. Every time Stan attempts to move, Ford latches on tighter. When he tries to get up—“Christ, Stanford, can a guy not take a quick piss?”—Ford pouts and complains. Stanley surrenders quickly enough, understands that this is his fate today. He will stay in this bed with his brother. He will stay warm and snuggly and tucked into Ford’s chest, his ear right over his heart, listening to the steady thump and at least somewhere in the depths of his mind knowing that it pumps solely for him.

They lounge for nearly the entire day. Sometimes one of them is sleeping, sometimes both. If they are both awake, they talk in low whispers, and it reminds Ford of childhood innocence, a time he once felt only like he does now. A time when he could not have imagined a world or a circumstance in which he wanted to be parted from his brother.

Finally, late into the evening, Stanley finally puts his foot down and bodily wrestles his way out of the blankets. “We’re getting up,” he says. “Even if it’s just to fucking cook dinner. You’re eating dinner, you maniac.”

Ford lets him out, but he does not allow Stan any space. “Freaking koala,” Stan grumbles, but he also surrenders to this treatment, attempting to maneuver about the kitchen with Ford all but clinging to his back and effectively using him as an oversized teddy bear.

“Ok, knock it off,” Stan says when he truly does need to be released to complete their meal. “And don’t give me none of that fake pouting,” he adds when Ford puffs his cheeks at him.

“I assure you, Stanley, this pouting is entirely sincere,” he says, and Stanley laughs a loud and beautiful sound.

“Shut up and make us something to drink,” Stan says, still laughing.

There isn’t any champagne, of course. It’s not a beverage either of them would drink with any sort of regularity, so Ford sets about heating a kettle and pulling out whiskey and honey. Stan already has a lemon sliced on the counter.

Again, they both slide onto the bench to eat. Ford allows a bit more space between them this time, even as he does tangle their legs together under the table. As he refills their hot toddies, Stanley’s phone lets out an obnoxious oink. It’s the text tone for Mabel.

“Oh shit,” he says with clear delight. “We got a signal.”

“You would always have a signal if you were using the communication device that I built for us,” Ford says, and Stan just waves him off. He snatches up his phone and pulls up the message. Laughing, he shows it to Ford.

The first part of the message is an image—Ford has heard them all refer to as a selfie—of the twins. In true Mabel fashion, she is wearing a sweater unique to the occasion. Little bursts of fireworks have been knitted in brilliant colors, and all of the bursts are decorated with either glitter paint or real, working lights. Her earrings are glowing as well, clearly miniature versions of the Time Square ball. Her headband is a mess of curled streamers. Beside her, Dipper is far more subdued, although he is wearing a silly set of glasses displaying the new year. Each of the kids is blowing on a noise maker, their arms slung around each other.

Behind them, on the wall, is a clock, displaying something very close to the current time—nearly 10:30 in California—but there are messy scribbles over it attempting to erase the actual time and instead show it to read midnight.

Under the image is a text message. “Totally and 100% made it! Not even a little tired!! Party all night long!!!!”

“Oh, they are going to be dead asleep in under five minutes,” Stan says, completely oozing affection for their niblings. “Completely unconscious. End of the world wouldn’t wake ‘em up.”

“Agreed,” Ford says, feeling all that same affection as he laughs at the purposefully sloppy editing.

Another burst of pictures comes through. The twins running around their neighborhood street with sparklers. Toasting each other with plastic flutes full of sparkling juice. Mabel dancing in front of the television with some celebrities that Ford has less than no clue the identify of during their part of the live performance in New York. A very blurry shot of Dipper trying to snatch a piece of paper from Mabel’s hands—likely an in-depth resolutions list that has more than its fair share of embarrassing points.

“God, I miss them,” Stan says.

Ford slides from the booth, pulling Stan after him. “Come on,” he says. “We should send them something back.” They move quickly to dress in their coats and hats and gloves, and Ford pours their drinks into their thermoses and darts to the bedroom to snatch up the comforter again. “We don’t have sparklers,” he says as they step out onto the deck, “however—“ And he points up at the Northern Lights dancing across the sky.

It is not the first time they’ve seen them, but Stan still stares up in awe. “Yeah,” he says lowly. “They’ll love that.”

They take two pictures. One of the sky alone, allowing the aurora and stars and moon to shine all on their own. A second of the two of them, cheeks pressed together, arms around each other, just as the kids had sent. They have no noise makers, but Stan holds up his thermos for Mabel to see the collection of stickers.

They don’t have as many pictures to send, so Stanley pulls off his gloves and sets to typing out a longer message. Ford takes the comforter and wraps it around them both, hooking his chin over his brother’s shoulder to read along. It’s a rambling message, full of spelling and grammatical errors, but it’s warm and affectionate, and no one who ever read it could ever for a second doubt just how much Stan loves those two perfect children. It’s overwhelming, and Ford loves him all the more for it.

Stan sends everything off, and the messages go through, but there is no response, which confirms to Ford’s mind Stanley’s prediction that the kids have indeed passed out from the long day’s excitement.

Stan puts the phone into his pocket, and when his hand emerges, he has a cigar. He waves it under Ford’s nose with a grin. “I wouldn’t say no,” Ford says, and with a quick, well practiced clip and flick of a lighter, Stan takes the first puff before passing it to Ford. It’s a nice Churchill, one that will take them a good deal of time to smoke, even together. Ford is perfectly amenable to that.

And so they stand there together for a long time, the only noise the light splashing of waves against the side of the boat. They pass the cigar, slowly sip at their warm drinks, and watch the sky dance. Stanley has stronger opinions on cigars than Ford, and although Ford would be just fine with taking the cigar down to the foot, he accepts Stanley’s assessment of, “Last pull,” before plopping it down into the railing’s cup holder to allow it to die its natural death.

Immediately, Ford regathers the comforter and tucks himself into Stanley’s back, wrapping his brother in a hug. He nuzzles at Stanley’s neck. Back to cuddling they go.

“You’re ridiculous,” Stanley says. “Seriously, what’s been with you today?”

Ford only holds him tighter, presses Stan’s back so close to his own chest that he can feel Stan’s heart beating right alongside his. His chin is already hooked over Stan’s shoulder, resting comfortably, but even that is not enough. He tilts his head, presses as much of their faces together as he can. “I’m happy,” he says simply.

“Oh,” Stan says, a small noise, so tiny, but so full. His hand—the right one—moves slowly, moves across Ford’s forearm, moves until he can slot their fingers together. Six around five, as they are meant to be.

For a long time, they stand on the deck, wrapped up in each other, staring up at the brilliant lights that color the sky above them. Their breath curls in puffs of fog, and yes, it is cold, but it’s also so perfectly warm surrounded by each other and the simple blanket.

Ford notices the second that Stanley comes to some sort of mental conclusion. He doesn’t exactly go tense, but there is a certain rigidity that was not there a moment ago. His fingers twitch minutely between Ford’s. Ford can feel the quickening of his pulse. But he doesn’t urge him on, doesn’t rush him. He can wait until Stanley is ready.

And when he is, he does not step away. He just turns in Ford’s arms and locks their gazes together. Identical, as are so many aspects of their physical appearance, but Ford has always considered Stanley’s eyes warmer. The same shade, there is no difference there, but perhaps it’s just that Stanley has always worn his emotions so openly on his sleeve. He’s always felt so much, and in his eyes, it’s always so plain. Ford can—and has—gotten lost in them. He would be glad to do so for years to come.

“I’m gonna be a real sap for a minute here, so can you just let me get through it,” Stan asks, and Ford can only nod and wait, nearly trembling, for Stan to properly gather his thoughts. It’s difficult, especially when part of the process is Stan grabbing tight to the front of his coat, clinging to Ford as a means to ground himself.

They have been wrapped up in each other all day, but Ford knows that it is different in this moment.

Even under the collar of his sweater, Ford can see the way Stan’s throat works, swallowing thickly against what is clearly overwhelming emotion. His eyes are wet behind his glasses, and he blinks rapidly to try to contain it. Ford knows that whatever it is that Stan has to say will only be good, but it still sends some pang through his chest to see his brother struggle in this way. Ford moves quickly, tugging off his gloves. He doesn’t care about the cold. He only cares that he can touch the wind-kissed pink of Stanley’s cheeks, skin to skin. He only cares that his hands can be there to catch and wipe away any of those tears that might escape Stan’s eyes. “It’s all right,” he says lowly. “Take your time.”

Stan smiles at him, and the only thing Ford can see is love. His. Stan’s. Theirs.

The reassurance, the physical contact, it does what it needs to for Stan. It calms him enough to let him speak. “This is corny as hell, I know, but fuck it, right? We’ve got the right be corny after everything. Forty years. That’s fucking insane. Forty years completely apart, when I spent the first seventeen feeling like I’d crawl out of my skin if we were separated for just fifteen minutes.”

The choice of the number fifteen is not lost on Ford at all. The number of minutes between their first breaths in this world. The number of minutes that is impossible for Ford to actually recall, but what he always assumed must have been the longest of his life, waiting for his other half to join him again. A small number, truly, but to them an insurmountable time to be forced apart, the absolute longest either of them could stand before they were ready to make it a problem for everyone else around them.

“I just—“ Stan licks at his chapped lips, and Ford doesn’t know if he’d rather lose himself staring at that or the shining reflection of the lights in Stan’s warm eyes. “I don’t care, you know. This is insane, but I don’t care. I don’t care that it was so hard. I don’t care how much it hurt. Because we’re here now right. Fucking new year, new us. I’d do it again, if I had to.”

“No,” Ford says. “No, you will never have to, Stanley. We are never going to be parted again. Never.” He steps closer, unwilling to take his hands from his brother’s face but still needing more of the minuscule distance between their bodies negated. If he could, he would open his rib cage and draw Stanley inside of himself, or he would crawl into Stan’s. Either option, so long as they are joined. “I simply will not allow it.”

Stan huffs a laugh, and one tear manages its escape. Ford is quick to wipe it away. “Yeah, you’re a stubborn old goat,” he says.

“Takes one to know one,” Ford retorts.

They both laugh and then just stand there, so, so close, just staring at each other, just together. And Ford’s watch lets out a tiny little beep. The same beep it lets out each hour. It’s midnight. It’s midnight crossing over into the new year.

Corny. Sappy. Sure, it is all those things. But it’s also tradition, and as Stanley stated himself, new year, new them.

Ford closes the remaining distance between them and slots his lips over Stanley’s. The reaction is immediate and electrifying. Stan’s mouth opens in a gasp, and Ford doesn’t waste a second of the opportunity presented to him. He pushes his tongue into Stan’s mouth, and Stanley reacts so perfectly, just as Ford has always dreamed. He clings tighter, pulls Ford flush against him, and kisses him back as if to do anything less would shatter him apart.

The kiss lights Ford on fire, sets him completely ablaze and then rebirths him immediately from the ashes. Stanley fits so perfectly against him, so perfect in his arms. They belong like this, made for each other like this. This was the true reason Ford was put on this earth, to kiss Stan, to hold him, to love him.

When they finally pull back from each other, gasping, it’s not very far. Stan’s body remains pressed against him, his fingers clinging to Ford’s shoulders like a vice. Ford’s hands are still cupping Stanley’s cheeks, protecting him from the cold night wind. Their noses and foreheads touch, and they breathe in each other’s air. In the darkness, the only light coming from the aurora borealis and the nearly full moon, Stan’s eyes should not look so bright, but they practically glow. Ford has so much to say, but he can’t bring himself to speak. Still, Stanley’s eyes bore into him, searching, finding all of it on open display, every part of Ford there for him, only for him, if he wants it.

And Ford can see, Stanley does want it. He wants Ford in all the ways that Ford has always wanted him. He loves Ford as Ford loves him.

Ford surges forward, one hand sliding around to cup the back of Stan’s neck and pull him the rest of the way to kiss him again. It’s not as deep this time, no tongues involved, just the slide of their lips together. Still, he tingles everywhere they touch. “I love you,” he says, finally finding his voice. He sounds devastated in the best possible way.

And now Stan’s cold hands are on his cheeks. “I love you, too,” Stan says. Another gentle kiss. “I love you.” Another. “This is insane,” he says, but this time he’s smiling, almost giggling. Ford grins at him, so wide that his face hurts. He feels manic, ready to burst at the seams. He never wants this feeling to stop. Stan starts to back away, but Ford tightens his arms around him. Stan laughs, his fingers sliding into Ford’s hair. “Stanford,” he says against his lips, and Ford shudders.

“Stay here,” Ford requests, begs. “Stay with me.”

“Always,” Stan answers.

The sky above them explodes in color, a more brilliant display than any fireworks show. Ford presses his lips to Stan’s, the next in an endless line, too many to count over the next year, decade, the rest of their lives.

[genderqueerdykes]

Honestly seeing your posts about trans masculinity made us back track and reevaluate our trans-ness and realize-realize that we are a trans guy(or well partially).

For around 1 year we identified as transmasc and it was wonderful , until we started getting self conscious , we had friends who would constantly hate on men and would be like “ oh but not you though your a good one “ and we also had friends who dropped us after we started transitioning / not shaving our hair anymore because they said we were “ becoming the enemy “ and that “ we were betraying all women “ which stuck with us , we felt that by us being transmasc that would make us a threat to our loved ones and we then completely rejected our masculinity up until like 3-4 months ago. so like seeing your posts about trans men and masculine folks has helped us a lot so thank you so much.

-Sincerely a intersex transmasc system :3

that's actually so sad that people responded to you like that. why do people think it's okay to say this to others? like they just blurt it out without thinking or caring about how it will make the other person feel. even "joking" or being "sarcastic" about it is screwed up.

when people tell me i don't know what rad feminism is, i point to experiences like yours. this is exactly what they do and say

"you're becoming the enemy" "you're betraying all women/womanhood"

i need people to seriously analyze this verbiage. why are men and women supposed to be enemies? if we are trying to teach men that men and women are not enemies, why are we letting women who haven't grasped this concept get away with it, too? this is gender essentialism at its peak. men are not a threat to women. a "woman" becoming a man is not a betrayal to women and womanhood. you're not failing womanhood. you're not a woman. it doesn't apply to you. you can't fail a group you don't occupy just by being honest about your own identity

is becoming a woman betraying men? is becoming a woman "becoming the enemy"?

no?

okay, then realize how fucked up it is to say this to trans men. you have to care. trans men are people. you don't get to hurt us just because someone else hurt you. it's not going to solve anything. that's perpetuating the cycle of abuse.

[rosesdrop]

Pick a pile

Their feelings for you

Pile 1:

This person wants you to forgive them; they want to restore balance once again in this relationship. They want you to be as caring and excited for them as you were before. They know that you are interested in other things currently and that your thoughts are not all about them; sometimes they think that you have forgotten about them. They believe that you are intentionally putting limits and barriers between you. They want you to give them another chance and to reevaluate the situation once again. They want you two to discuss this disagreement and then try to find a solution that suits you both. They don't want either of you to be forced to do something or be misunderstood by the other; therefore, being victims of this whole dynamic, they want both of you to be fulfilled and have your needs met equally. They honestly have good intentions and seem mature in the way they solve disputes. They do care about you and your happiness. They are not deceitful; whatever they say is what they truly mean. 

Pile 2:

This person could be harsh with their words, and the way they speak is explosive. They're easily triggered, and they feel like you trigger them easily. They think that you don't think before speaking, and this sometimes hurts their pride. They don't know what to do about this connection or how to handle it properly. They act out of impulse and end up creating a lot of problems; they always seem to come up with a new disaster; they're troublesome and foggy-minded. They're almost like a child who needs guidance on what to do all the time. They don't know how to make decisions. They end up frustrating a lot of people because of this. The way they feel about you is very superficial. They keep creating an image of you that makes them act a certain way according to it. They live in their heads. You might feel like you're dealing with a wall. They do whatever is in their heads without considering anything else. They were used to being this way, and they want to say that it's hard for them to change. They're terrified of change, and they feel like you are triggering them in that way. 

Pile 3:

They have known you for a while, they feel a sense of familiarity with you, you make them feel comfortable, and they honestly feel like you are some kind of soulmate to them or that you are meant to be together. If it's a friend or someone from your family that you're asking about, then you are the person that they like the most and feel very close to. They feel like you two are similar in plenty of things and that you are two sides of the same coin, they truly adore you. If it's a romantic situation, then they feel like you are their future spouse or something. Or that you are their dream person. They can see themselves doing everything with you; you two get along very well. A sense of peace and happiness encompasses them when you're together; they truly never get enough of your company. They may sometimes be self-doubtful and feel like they are not enough for you. Or that you wouldn't see them as greatly as they see you. They have their doubts about this. They don't know for sure if you think of them the way they do; they could only guess by the great chemistry and compatibility between you, but it's not enough to cease their self-conscious thoughts. They wish you could be more affectionate towards them because they're not very sure of themselves; they doubt things a lot, so they want you to assure them and show love towards them more often. They would be really happy, and this would ease their worries a lot.

[nonpracticinghumanbeing]

Izzy IS about community. He’s ALWAYS BEEN about community in his own messed up way. The Canyon was right and the haters were wrong.

He wanted Blackbeard back because that was what kept the crew safe. He was terrible about it and hurt the man he obviously loves in the process, but it WAS for the greater good. It wasn’t a purely selfish act the antis love to frame it as. He wanted to feel safe again and he wanted the crew to be safe as well.

Hell, he was doing his best to help Edward through his post-breakup depression. He didn’t understand what was going on and was clearly distressed by it but he provided what Ed needed. He *knew* he lacked the emotional capacity to help his captain himself so he agreed to bring him Lucius. I really think he would have just gritted his teeth and suffered through it if Ed didn’t say the one thing that could collapse his whole world.

"Why do we even bother being pirates?" That was what freaked Izzy out so much that he pushed Edward to violence. Not because he selfishly wanted Ed to be close at all times but because Blackbeard the legend was the pillar of his community. That legend kept everyone safe and even if Izzy is a horrible asshole, he *does* care about his crew. He knows the world is a horrible hostile place and he focuses on risk mitigation, even if it means hurting the one person he really cares about.

He really tried to provide that to the crew when Edward and Stede took the Act of Grace. It was a terribly misguided attempt at keeping things under control and it was certainly influenced by his submissive tendencies which make him crave structure and feel safe within hierarchies. He *knows* he lacks Ed's charisma and ability to think outside the box and with such huge shoes to fill it's not really surprising he acted out in anger and in result failed miserably. But he was *NEVER* an asshole just for the sake of it.

Now he realizes those days are gone for good. He's already done everything he could to bring Ed back to his senses, including using *Stede fuckin' Bonnet’s* name. It didn’t work. The realization that his one true safeguard is really gone must be terrible, but it also pushes him to take action.

The moment he realizes the crew are in real danger, he takes things into his own hands. He not only goes against the hierarchy he believed to be sacred but also against the man he *LOVES*. He fucking shoots his beloved captain to save the crew. You don’t get much more *community* than that.

He is clearly struggling. He's just tried to fucking kill himself after being maimed AND told he was disposable by a man whom he's apparently served for dacades. He will have to reevaluate his whole life and he *knows* it. But he puts it all to the side and he does what needs to be done. He took all of Edward’s abuse without complaint it seems but the moment the crew are in real danger, he intervenes. You can’t tell me a community (*any* community) doesn’t need people like that.

It all feels very old-time queer to me. The willingness to make terrible sacrifices to protect one's space. The decision (conscious or not) to be effective rather than liked. The choice to stay alive despite terrible heartbreak and go on fighting.

He's absolutely NOT an irredimable villain. He’s an asshole who tries to keep his little world safe. He’s Larry Kramer getting kicked out of GMHC for being too confrontational and politically incorrect to be palatable to the general public.

[mazeinthemiroh]

can we get a hurt/comfort of the skz boys taking a joke too far and making reader cry

stray kids taking a joke too far a making their s/o upset

genre: hurt / comfort? (mainly hurt lmao), angst?

word count: 1k

warnings: it's a bit emosh 🤧

please like and reblog if you enjoy :]

bangchan

will literally be mortified like his world will shatter there and then he has no idea what to do with himself he sort of just freezes up because he's trying to reevaluate his life choices because wtf??? hates himself sooo much for it like he's going to remeber this moment for the rest of his life. bro. i'm not even exaggerating. he?? making you cry by something he said??? usually, he's very good at being playful without taking it too far but now he's questioning everything. will cuddle you for the whole night and hold you close, apologising like a million times because he's devastated really.

"i'm so so sorry baby i'm such an idiot please don't cry because of me..."

minho

i feel like lee know would be the most likely to do this. one of his ways of expressing himself or his love for someone is sometimes by relentlessly teasing them. but he is very conscious that sometimes this can rub people up the wrong way, and there is a thin line between being playful and actually hurting someone's feelings. to clarify, minho never intends to hurt your feelings. so when he sees the effect of his careless words and flippant remarks, his heart is stricken with anxiousness and immense guilt. he immediately pulls you into a hug and tries to laugh it off, but his heart breaks a little.

"ahh baby i'm only joking, don't take any notice of what i say... you know everything that comes out my mouth is nonsense, sweetie."

changbin

will think you are joking at first. he thinks you're just playing around and fake crying because that's something you and him do when you're teasing each other. but when he realises that those tears were in fact very real, he grows quiet and pouts. will take you in his arms and suffocate you with a bear hug and apologise to you, telling you he was only being silly and trying to tease you. won't let you go from the hug until you are gasping for air and then he will pull away from you to look into your eyes and wipe away your tears away, the pout still on his face.

"my baby don't cry i was only messing around" "it's okay binnie..." "NO IT'S NOT >:("

hyunjin

will literally start crying when he sees tears form. "no, no, no no nooo" if he could shove your tears back in he would but here we are, you crying and him crying too. he would say sorry and hold your hands with his for a while, never letting go. or he might pull you in for a tight hug and rock you softly, swaying in a comfortable rhythm as you settle down. will pull back and wipe your tears with his sweater paws :( kissing your eyelids shut in an attempt to help you stop crying. but he knows you're just as sensitive as he is, so he understands if he's gone too far.

"y/n i love you so much *sniffle* i'm sorry i was only joking"

jisung

will have his mouth agape with confusion for a while before he realises what he has done. when he watches the single tear roll down your cheek he knows he just can't possibly be forgiven for this. but i can see him go two ways: 1) he will laugh light-heartedly and pull you closer, saying he was only joking and continuing to laugh because he is in such disbelief whilst wiping away your tears. or 2) just starts crying with you. it will genuinely depend on what mood he is in because obviously these two reactions are very different from each other. but if he is laughing it is more out of disbelief than anything else. either way, he feels extremely sorry.

"omg are you crying? *stifles a laugh* baby don't cry~" "jisung you're laughing!" "i'm sorry i can't help it??"

felix

similar to chan, he would be crushed. will probably dissolve into nothingness because how could he ever hurt his baby? it was completely unintentional, of course. he would never mean to hurt you and thought you guys were just playing around but now he's questioning his reality and having a full-on existential crisis while you start crying because of what he said. will absolutely cry with you and grab you, smothering you with cuddles and kisses and apologising so much you'll think he'll pass out. seriously, it takes him forever to stop apologising to you; you'll have to make him.

"i'm so sorry y/n, oh my gosh i'm so sorry-" "it's okay lix" "but i'm still soooo sorry"

seungmin

he would be absolutely baffled. would blink in confusion multiple times because he's trying to figure out how he totally and utterly crossed the line. he used to pride himself on knowing the balance between being rude and just teasing. but now he questions himself as he makes you cry with his words. then, the guilt hits him like a ton of bricks, his empathy in overdrive. grabs your hand instantly and coos your little cries, trying to calm and settle you, all the while thinking of how wrong he was. he doesn't know how to forgive himself.

"y/n-ah, i'm so sorry for being insensitive."

jeongin

confused part 2. will consider if you are joking or not before realise that you are not. he starts to panic, his eyes turning wide, extremely unsure of what to do or where to go from here. what are his options? how could he do this? why had he been so careless? all these thoughts circled his mind continuously, making him dizzy. he pulls you in for an awkward, side-wards hug as he thinks these things through. mostly he is silently, hushing you here and there, rubbing circles on your lower back with his hand. finally, he speaks up, in a whisper:

"don't cry because of my carelessness, darling."

skz taglist: @hearts4sungie, @seokshineswiftie, @alyszaen, @jtrstp, @a-wandering-stay, @hyungenie5, @anyamaris

[glendasguidance]

🫖 pick a picture ☕️🧣🍪

Full Moon in Cancer

₊˚ʚᗢ₊˚✧ﾟhow to pick // disclaimers ✧˚ ༘ ⋆｡♡˚

Here are some messages for you this full moon <3

spread: Biddy Tarot Full Moon spread // decks: Rider Waite tarot, Find Your Purpose by Jess Sanders

Pile 1 / Pile 2 / Pile 3

Inhale, exhale 3x, pick

★ personal readings ★ support me ★ other readings ★

★ check out this reading! → USA Post-Election (2024): How can you support yourself, your community, and Earth in the present moment and in the years to come? (for US citizens and non-US citizens - for every Earthling <3) ★

Pile 1

What have you created and manifested since the new moon?

Ace of Swords - You've been realizing how much you don't allow yourself to think certain thoughts and speak your mind to the people around you. You've started speaking to yourself in an encouraging way, and that has been allowing you to gain clarity on your worth and value as a person, grow instead of hide yourself away, live in the present moment, communicate much better, create the life you want. This is new to you, so you kinda have Bambi legs right now, but that's okay. Don't be discouraged by your mistakes or anxieties, the more you consider your own opinions and use your voice, the more confident you will feel. Also, be smart about speaking truth to power. People who have power over others often do not operate with fairness and justice in mind, and will punish people that question it or their choices. Which isn't fair. And I'm not going to enable that behavior by telling you "that's just how the world works" - what I'm telling you is to think before you act on an impulse. If you realize it's not safe to act on your first desire, what is a way you can still achieve the same goal while protecting yourself? If you feel it's right to be confrontational, be prepared to handle reaction and backlash. Like the imagery on the card, think of these moments like sword fights - these are moments to be a samurai, not a novice. Let your friends help you.

Where are you now?

Judgement reversed - I believe there's been malicious gossip going around about you, and you've been sensing it. You probably realized when the people you get along with the best have been distancing themselves from you, and not acting as friendly with you as they normally do. I'm sensing more strongly with this pile that you may be receiving a lot of blame from a group you're in (family, a friend group, work, volunteer group, etc). And that it's a reaction to you attempting to hold someone accountable for hurting you or others, or enforce the agreed upon guidelines. Whatever it is, it's unfair. You feel astonished by this wake up call. But, the shock of the ice cold truth of what these people's true colors are is giving you an opportunity to have something you've needed for a long time. A choice to make for yourself. I sense you've usually gone with what other people decide, feeling too anxious to make decisions or believing your role in life is to follow what the leaders (or men in general) tell you to do. Baby girl you are NOT a plastic bag drifting through the wind. What is in your own best interest? Following that isn't selfish, it's self preservation.

What is coming into your conscious awareness?

9 of Swords reversed - You've realized you've gotta let go of a lot of stress and stressful people. You can't live like this anymore. It's been hurting you. You were putting a looot on your plate that wasn't for you to take care of - it was other peoples' responsibility. You probably had kind intentions and just wanted to help, and it was very kind you did that. People took advantage of your innocence. You'll have a "fuck it, I'm done attitude. This is good because there's nothing for you to feel guilt or burdened by. Moving forward as you heal, reevaluate your needs, wants, and values in relationships. Don't list things that make relationships functional as the top things you're looking for. Trust, honesty, kindness, patience, etc aren't "high standards" (a bullshit phrase imo), they're foundational to every healthy relationship. First, learn or review how to recognize basic green flags in people, and then learn what traits you like and appreciate (humor, spontaneity vs planners, night owls vs morning birds, club goers or book worms, outdoorsy vs indoorsy, etc). Accept help and support from others at this time, you might be surprised at who helps you / is a safe person.

Quote Ask yourself what is really important and then have the courage to build your life around your answer. - Lee L. Jampolsky Affirmation I am guided by what I value most. Journal What are my top five values?

🦢 ♥︎ much love - Glenda ♥︎ 🦢

★☮︎★ support people affected by Jan 2025 LA wildfires ★☮︎★ support incarcerated firefighters ★☮︎★

Pile 2

What have you created and manifested since the new moon?

6 of Pentacles - Did you know that life can be good again? Probably not for a while. You've recently spent time around children or saw children playing and helping each other. This hit you with some sweet nostalgia, making you remember playing, being silly, and having fun - and how you could make any mundane moment playful, silly, and fun. You've realized you can still do that right now. Fun is always here, we just have to make it. And isn't it fun to make it? And yes, the world can be kind.

Where are you now?

3 of Cups - You're fuckin' live laugh loving your life - go you!! You're partying and being silly with your friends, going on adventures, and being a goofy goober. You're connecting with new friends, and making new friends along the way. If you don't currently have friends, this is your time to make them. You won't connect with everyone you meet, and that okay. The kind, safe, loving, fun friends you haven't met yet are waiting for you to come say hi.

What is coming into your conscious awareness?

Queen of Wands - This is how you become a badass, a boss ass bitch, slay queen pussy boss boots house down serving cunt. Just like with self love, how we learn we are lovable by being loved by others and accepting their affections, the same goes for confidence. I guess they’re one in the same really. When you have fun, and then others positively respond and have fun with you, it reinforces with you that you are good as you are and how wonderful your light is. It gives you protection from people who try to dim it - they can’t make you believe you should. So go make friends, and call up the ones you have. Making your own fun is empowering you to make your own life, and you’re growing into yourself. How exciting it is to find out what you’ll do, what you’ll make, and learn more about yourself. How magical it is to constantly discover goodness and kindness and love everywhere again. You are ever expansive and love is infinite. 🌌

Quote Just don't give up trying to do what you really want to do. Where there is love and inspiration, I don't think you can go wrong. - Ella Fitzgerald Affirmation I will experience challenges, but I will never let them stop me from doing what I love. Journal How have I been able to overcome challenges in the past?

🦢 ♥︎ much love - Glenda ♥︎ 🦢 ★☮︎★ support people affected by Jan 2025 LA wildfires ★☮︎★ support incarcerated firefighters ★☮︎★

Pile 3

What have you created and manifested since the new moon?

Chariot reversed and 3 of Swords - You finally got the care you’ve needed, but it also comes with a significant life change, and that involves grief. I believe most of you got a new mobility aid. If not, then there’s something about a car, bike, or public transit. Because I got an image of a wheelchair very strongly in my head, I’m going to focus on mobility aids and disability moving forward in the reading. I’m sure all you’ve been wishing for has been freedom of movement. You seemed to have had a specific wish though, like for your disability to be gone. Instead, you got a mobility aid. To you, this feels like limitation and restriction. I’m not saying “you’re handicapable!” or that other “inspirational” crap able-bodied people say. What I am saying is that this mobility aid is your freedom of movement - maybe for sometimes, maybe forever. It is a blessing to have one at all. Think of all the kind inventors making stuff so people can be independent and live! How wonderful is that? But I’m know it’s hard to shift to gratitude when you’re grieving. Let yourself cry and be angry and feel it all. It’s hard realizing how vulnerable you are and how much care you need, especially if you’ve been neglected most of your life or created an identity around being hyper-individualistic. Do you have a fear that people won’t help you? That’s very real, many disabled people are treated like garbage, the world can be pretty inaccessible, and right now barely anyone gets a Ms. Rona booster (the least one can do if they refuse to wear a mask). So feel and write and paint and express all your feelings about it. It’s all real and valid. Other people could be dealing with receiving a mobility aid they were excited for, but it’s not working, and it’s difficult to get repairs or replacements. Others felt excited to finally get one, but are grieving an unexpected feeling of loss of freedom because of the change. Maybe your home isn’t accessible for you now. My advice is still the same.

Where are you now?

10 of Pentacles - You’ve started to get connected with disability support groups and disability justice groups. You’ve been learning how to use your mobility aid, how to do repairs, how to make your home accessible or find a place that is accessible, how to raise money and get financial support, how to get around town, and overall do what you need to do. You’re making connections with new wonderful people who make your life better than it was before. You’re learning what community is and what it means to have one. I feel like someone has shown you how to decorate your mobility aid so it’s more fun and ✨you✨. Get crafty! 🧶🎨🪡 You’re humbled by all the love you’re receiving just because you exist, that you don’t have to “earn” it. That’s how love has always worked, you just didn’t know yet.

What is coming into your conscious awareness?

5 of Swords reversed - You’re no longer engaging in battles that make 0 progress for your relationships, and only make you feel hurt and exhausted from the stress. You’re letting go of eugenist believes you’ve been taught to have, and drawing strict boundaries with eugenists / people with eugenist & ableist beliefs. You’re analyzing what you have have time for, what you have spoons for, and frankly you feel good cutting all that harmful crap out. You’re learning how precious your peace is, and that it’s worthy of protection, respect, and regard.

Quote Your purpose or passion or "thing" doesn't have to become your work. It doesn't have to be something you make money from. Sometimes the things we love doing need space to be what they are without having to make them into something formalized. - Dr. Rebecca Ray Affirmation I don't have to make money for it to matter. Journal What did I love doing as a child that I no longer make time for?

🦢 ♥︎ much love - Glenda ♥︎ 🦢 ★☮︎★ support people affected by Jan 2025 LA wildfires ★☮︎★ support incarcerated firefighters ★☮︎★

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[romanoffsbish]

Sweet Nothings

Wanda Maximoff x F!R

A Torn up Masterpiece

Warnings: Self-Conscious/Deprecating R, Mean Shield Agents.

Smut: SOFT! Mommy (W), Little Dove (R), Thigh Riding (R), Fingering (R)

18+ | Minors DNI !!

—•~~~~~~•~~~~~~•~~~~~~•~~~~~~•—

“They said the end is coming, everyone's up to something..."

—•~~~~~~•~~~~~~•~~~~~~•~~~~~~•—

The clock flashing 12:00am was nothing short of taunting, it reminding you that you'd only made it through part of your day at Shield. There never used to be disdain in your heart for the agency, but that was back when you knew the agents around you, and when they knew you all the same. Natasha, Maria and Clint used to make the environment enjoyable. Now you hardly ever see them as they either moved on or up and left you to hold down the fort with the new, much younger crowd.

"Agent Y/L/N" this or "Miss Y/L/N" that, it didn't really matter how they addressed you, the words they spoke held hardly any respect, and the stares always rubbed you the wrong way when you would pass them in the halls.

"I just don't get it dude, how the hell did Agent Y/L/N bag a hottie like Wanda anyways?," you could hear the surrounding agents, they were either chuckling at your expense, or making grumbling noises in an obvious agreement., "There's nothing special about her at all, the little witch would be so much better with me, I'd show her what she's missing out on. I'd fu—.," your jaw clenched as you cut the asshole off with the clearing of your throat. Everyone of their bodies suddenly stiffened upon seeing you step out from around the corner., "Miss.."

With a dismissive wave of your hand the weak apologies died on Agent Marten's tongue., "Apologies will get you nowhere cadets, you're all wasting valuable company time gossiping in the halls, and about your superior mind you."

"With all due respect, we're level 1 agents, no longer are we cadets.," you chuckled at their attempts to defend themselves., "Oh yeah?.," he stupidly nodded—as if it wasn't rhetorical., "Well I'm a Level 8, Agent Vo, my clearance is far above yours, and let's be honest here, you're not acting like anything more than cadets."

"Quite frankly Y/N, I'm not even sorry here.," you remained stoic while staring the smug looking agent down., "You will be when I get you demoted to water boy Agent Marten—or should I say Muriel since we've lost our wits on respect around here, hm?," watching the color drain from his face was indeed satisfying as you revealed his first name to all his peers., "No, we all understand, and we're very sorry."

"Interesting change of tune there Agent, but I regret to inform you that disrespecting a commanding officer gets you a months worth of additional paperwork, and a suspension from missions—camaraderie is essential here at Shield, and if any of you were paired with me I'd feel unsafe—so take this time to reevaluate your decisions on making an enemy of me."

"Miss—."

"I'm sorry, did I ask for a debate cadets?," your hardened gaze seemed to have the desired effect as all of their shoulders collectively fell, and most reluctantly shook their head., "Good, because I much prefer not having to repeat myself. Fury and Hill will issue your formal suspensions, and I'll drop all of your additional paperwork off to you after the weekend."

As swiftly as you dismissed them they were gone, your intimidating posture fell once they were out of sight too. Words hardly ever had the power to get to you, but when your very worth is constantly a question on many others minds it's hard not to give in to all the noise.

—•~~~~~~•~~~~~~•~~~~~~•~~~~~~•—

"I find myself running home to your sweet nothings—Outside, they're push and shoving."

—•~~~~~~•~~~~~~•~~~~~~•~~~~~~•—

After dealing with the malicious agents you found yourself inside of Director Hill's office., "Long time no see Y/N/N, to what do I owe the pleasure of you slumped onto my couch, hm?," the woman laughed boisterously when she received a middle finger in response to her teasing., "Aww, I love you too pookie.," she dodged your pillow with ease as she sat down at her desk then silently observed you further. There was this obvious dullness to you that she had never seen before, and truthfully her heart broke a bit at the sight of you looking so low.

"Ria, I can't do it anymore, like I hate it here.," she nodded in understanding, she knew the cadets of today were nothing like the past sets., "I know, but I beg of you, please don't leave.," you sat up to face her with a broken smile., "You all left me first.," the raven haired woman immediately moved to sit next to you on the couch, pulling you into a side hug, and so you laid your head on her shoulder., "I'm here, and Romanoff's only a call away—I know she'd love to beat the new wave into shape—so call her."

"It's not the work Ria, they listen well enough. It's...," you take in a calming breath, deciding if the truth will set you free, or potentially harm you further., "Y/N, what did they say to you?," her eyes left no room for cowardice so with a heavy exhale you muttered the partial truth., "It wasn't to me, it was about me—behind my back but I unluckily heard it all."

Maria sat there patiently waiting for you to fill her in, and with every repeated word you were able to croak out over held back sobs she could feel her body filling with an unparalleled rage. One that she knew could only be beaten out by Wanda, the very person who you were left to questions love, all because others want her., "Wanda loves you wholly Y/N, forget the idiots that don't even know hers attempts to make you feel otherwise. That witch is all yours."

"What if they're right though? Like, what if I'm holding her back Ria? She deserves—.," Maria instantly cut your rambled fears off by burying your face into her shoulder, and moving to finish off your words., "You. She deserves you, and you my dearest friend, deserve her love.," and after she finished her arms held to you tighter as you began to quietly sob, her hold didn't relinquish either until you'd calmed.

"Go home.," you went to protest, even if some part of you came in here hoping she'd suggest just that, the other part of you didn't want to give the cadets even an ounce of pride here., "I'm not kidding Y/N, you're ahead of your work anyways, it's a forced vacation really.," you smiled at her gratefully too, hugging her tight as a silent thanks before finally leaving.

Once you left the room the woman instantly pulled out her phone., "Hey Wanda, it's Hill..."

—

When you left her office it was as if a weight was lifted off your shoulders, the pressure to be the very best agent significantly faded as you returned to your office to collect your things, but the peace was very much short lived.

"Did you hear the news?," you continued to collect your stuff, ignoring the group of giggling girls stood far too close to your office., "Turns out the Wanda Maximoff is dating the Natasha Romanoff.," one of the girls scoffed in obvious annoyance., "No, she's with Agent Y/L/N.," the original girl giggled., "For now..."

It was asinine—their claims were nothing if not unfounded, but for a brief moment you let your mind believe that there was some truth to it. Aesthetically speaking they did fit together; there's already a built in trust between them, as well as obvious love amongst one's chosen lot. Natasha and Wanda were inseparable in the field, you've even seen them work together, and you wonder if their loyalty to you hindered the potential for them to be happier together.

The need to escape was overtaking your body the more your mind gave in to the notion that Wanda was better without you, so you threw your bag over your shoulder haphazardly then made a beeline for the fire escape. No way did you intend to run into any of the people you knew here, nor did you want the cadets having the satisfaction that they were able to upset you in such ways that you couldn't finish work. Showing any sort of weakness to them would only fuel their entitlement to your peace on.

Once you stepped outside you felt a wave of relief as the fresh air traveled into your lungs. In and out, in—out; you were going to be fine. You were so out of it though that you didn't see the cruel stranger who wound up shoulder bumping you into a nearby wall. You winced harshly as your exposed skin scraped against the bricks. Looking up from the ground you saw the hustle and bustle of the New York streets, and once again you felt overwhelmed.

Your lip began to involuntarily tremble along with your hands, the need for escape had never been greater as you sprinted down the street. Ignoring the ache in your muscles the whole way as you were many miles out from yours and Wanda's shared home. There was no end in sight, your mind was running just as fast as your legs and nothing you did could stop it.

Truth be told you needed Wanda, nothing else was going to calm you down enough until you saw those beautiful green eyes of hers. They'll likely be full of concern, but if you could just see through to the love then you know your heart would settle. Sadly though, as you entered your home, falling onto the floor as your adrenaline faded and your legs gave out, you found it to be just as empty as your heart. She was at work, that much you expected, and if there's one thing you refused to do it was call her and beg her to come home to rescue you.

It took you an entire twenty minutes to crawl across the floor, then another ten to get up the stairs and finally you were in your bedroom. Reaching up you grabbed Wanda's sleep shirt from last night, you sniffed the fabric and felt relief as your body's trembling came to a stop. Your legs felt like jello when you moved to pull yourself up to your feet, staggering as you did you made your way into the bathroom where you turned the dial all the way to the left, and as soon as the water scorched your skin you broke down into a fit of unforgiving sobs.

—•~~~~~~•~~~~~~•~~~~~~•~~~~~~•—

"To you, I can admit that I'm just too soft for all of it...You're in the kitchen humming."

—•~~~~~~•~~~~~~•~~~~~~•~~~~~~•—

Stepping out of the shower was difficult, your limbs were shaky after the long time spent sobbing beneath the scalding hot streams of water. An obvious side effect of your sudden dehydration, but you managed to push through the struggle of walking as you managed to make it to and flop down onto the mattress.

Your mind was essentially fractured, broken lines of self deprecating dialogue running through it at a mile a minute with no reprieve. Still, you shut your eyes in a useless attempt to use sleep as an escape, but it too was fruitless. Thrashing about on the mattress felt more like your speed now, but just as you were about to throw said tantrum you caught a whiff of something so familiar and decadently sweet.

Wanda's triple fudge brownies...

In an instant you were on your feet, another wave of adrenaline fueled you as you quickly, but quietly made your dissent to the kitchen. The sound of soft humming was the next to reach you as you neared the bottom of the stairs, your senses were on overdrive tonight. Standing off to the side of the entryway you peered into the kitchen to see your lover with her apron on, her hair was pulled back, and a mixing bowl was expectantly sat in her hands.

"Detka, is that you?," she called out to you, her subtle way of letting you know she knew you were lurking. Her answer came in the form of you padding your way over to her, she settled her bowl down on the counter just in time to catch your distraught form in a calming hug., "Moya lyubov', you should've called me."

"Didn't want to bother you.," you mumbled into her chest, then as expected she pulled away to grip you by your shoulders., "Detka, what have I said to you countless times prior?"

"Th-that nothing comes before me, not even your Avenging, and that even if the world was burning you'd stop at nothing to get to me.," she nodded gratefully., "Exactly, you are my world Y/N, there's no point in me protecting everyone else's when yours is crumbling.," her forehead laid against yours while her hands lifted yours up to her lips for a tender kiss.

"You smell good honey.," she noted, traces of your vanilla lotion hitting her nostrils as she held your hands close to her face., "Thanks Wands...," you slowly pulled your head back, meeting her eyes full of love as you looked ahead and the sight alone was overwhelming.

"Did I smell brownies?," the witch chuckled at your silly means of deflection., "Yes, you did.," with a swift movement she dipped her finger into the batter then rose it up to your lips with a cheeky smirk, and an exaggerated wink as you swirled your tongue over the extended digit. Wanda's eyes darkened ever so slightly when you moaned, but she did her best to tamper her urges as you innocently met her gaze., "It's delicious mommy.," Fuck...

The dizzying moment only lasted for a second before the witch shifted you to sit on a stool besides the counter, then after she poured the batter into the baking pan she returned to you. Her body stood between your legs, and those oh so emotional eyes were back on you as she went to speak., "You're the best thing that ever happened to me Y/N/N, so please, I beg of you stop letting the naysayers win your mind over.," her hands shifted to cup your cheeks., "I've never loved anyone the way I have you, nor do I intend to ever love another as such."

After an intense bout of eye contact the first one to lean in was you, desperate for affection beyond the verbal, and Wanda gave you just that. Hands roamed beneath your loose fitting t-shirt in search of your perky nipples while her silky tongue delved right into your hot mouth. Whimpers of desperation reverberated from your throat, and got lost in her mouth as she continued to kiss you hard while her skilled fingers tease your sensitive nubs., "Mommy..."

Wanda nearly crumbled at how breathily you called out for her, always so desperate, but in moments like this one she forgoes teasing to the furthest degree. She's content with how worked up she got you as she slipped her thigh between your legs to find you already dripping.

"Oh my little dove, mommy's going to take such good care of you.," she promised as she slowly began to trail her lips across your flesh, her hands fell to your hips as she efficiently guided your hips movement against her thigh., "Mo-mommy please, I need more.," she flexed the muscle of her lush thigh at your pitiful request, the soft skin brushed against your clit causing your back to arch., "Mommy, oh god... I-I need to cum, please.," she bit into the skin over your racing pulse., "Let go little dove."

In an instant your head flew back as you reached that moment of unwavering ecstasy., "That's right detka.," she helped to prolong your orgasm by controlling your twitching hips., "Chase that pleasure my precious angel, you deserve to be worshipped; so beautiful."

Wanda threw her shirt that adorned your body across the kitchen when your body relaxed, then her lips found yours for a needy kiss., "Tell me what you need little dove, hm?," she gazed into your hazy eyes, a tiny smile graced your face when you could see right through her clouds of lust to the abundant wells of love., "Fingers please mommy.," she gently pecked your lips., "So well mannered detka, mommy's so proud of you for using your words too."

Wanda wrapped her arm around your waist, spinning you around until she had your upper body gently pressed into the table with your leg's widespread for her. A hoarse groan left her at the sight of your slick drenched thighs., "So pretty, you're always so perfect for me.," her nimble fingers trailed over the swell of your ass, pulling an affected moan from you when they grappled handfuls of the malleable skin on their way to their desired location—your cunt.

The woman knew you like the back of her hand, so she entered your tight hole rather roughly with two fingers, pulling them out just as fast to only slam them back in with another. She was rewarded with your wanton moans instantly, her expert fingers working you over with ease like usual, but her lips still held that tenderness you craved as they kissed over the column of your spine until stopping to place a far more firm kiss to the nape of your neck.

"Breathe moya lyubov'.," her whispers of concern didn’t go unnoticed by you as she could feel your back pressing into her as your upper body was rising rapidly, you tried to calm down, but the pleasure was immense. Wanda felt your walls fluttering around her., “M-mommy please.,” she settled a kiss to your cheek before her lips returned to marking your back up., “Let go little dove, cum for mommy.”

The timer on the oven dinged in sync with your throat scratching moans, your lover continued to work you through your orgasm, trailing kisses down your body while also using her powers to pull the brownie tray out of the oven. Tiny whimpers brought her hand to a stop, her fingers slowly slipped from within you, and she held steady eye contact with your blissed out face as she slid them in her mouth., “Divine…”

With a gentle hand she pulled you up from the table, her hands settled on your hips and in a moments time her lips were pressed to yours. There wasn’t a rush in anyone’s movements, just a hot, breathy kiss that made hearts flutter. Wanda’s arms loosely held you against her as she shared your taste with you, rewarding her with your whimpers and languid moans up until you couldn’t keep up anymore. Then while you caught your breath after she pulled back you found your lips being tapped again.

You mindlessly bit into the gooey brownie, an appreciative groan left your throat instantly., “Thanks Wands.,” she smiled softly at you., “Anything for you little dove.,” she frowned when your lip began to tremble., “Oh detka…”

Wanda’s resolve broke when your shaky hands tugged on her shirt, the moment of bliss fading as your body once again filled with sadness. She quickly snapped the fabric away, allowing you to lean into her bareness for the comfort you craved, and her strong arms held you so close so that she could sway your now crying form while humming softly into your ear.

No amount of loving you seemed to be doing the trick, Wanda's heart ached as your cruel thoughts continued to run through your mind. They were so loud, and the bulk of them made no sense, but she knows they weren't created by you, just simply adopted from the assholes who knew nothing about your relationship.

Wanda carefully carried you to the bedroom, a tray of necessities floating behind her and settling down on the bedside table as she sat down on the bed. Her jaw clenched as thoughts of yours were only increasing and infiltrating her mind, the harshness of your insecurities fully breaking her heart, and the sounds of your sobs only made her hold you tighter.

"Natasha's just a friend detka, one that adores you by the way, the woman demands updates on you every Monday—you should call her.," the witch softly began to dispel the thoughts., "I am not going anywhere; you're it for me.," her arm that was wrapped around your bare waist tightened, pulling you in even closer as if you'd disappear into thin air if she hadn't.

"I love you so much detka, with all of me, can't you see that you're everything I'll ever need?," Wanda whispered against your temple, her lips gentle as they laid soft kisses to your hairline., "I'm enough for you?," she instantly lifted your head from her shoulder., "More than enough.,” the intensity of her gaze as she spoke so softly instantly began quelling all of your fears.

A broken hum reverberated from your throat, causing the redhead to shift the both of you until your naked body laid flat atop the bed., "My goodness, those kids did a number on you my dear.," she pecked your lips gently., "Don't worry detka, I shall handle all of them myself.," you shook your head, but she only smirked., "I'm thinking I'll hang them all upside down from the ceiling by their 'tighty whities'."

The witches heart fluttered as you broke out into a hearty fit of laughter, your eyes—puffy from crying, closing as you allowed the spark of joy to completely consume you., “Wands, no.,” you choked out through your laughter and she scrunched her nose up adoringly as you tried to regain a hold on your sternness., “Y/N, yes.,” the light of your life pecked your lips a few times to spur on your giggling before she rolled off of you and propped herself up onto her side.

“I love you baby, thank you for being my rock.,” she looked to you with glossy eyes that spoke to you of her heart., “I am only being to you what you’ve been to me countless times prior Y/N.,” she settled a hand over your cheek, rubbing the damp skin lovingly., “My precious dove, you’ve brought me back from the depths of despair with your love, and you held no expectations.,” she pulled you in for a soft kiss., “It’s only fair that I extend you the same courtesy; you are not meant to hold it all in detka—let me help.”

Her thumb brushed away the reemergence of tears before she was moving to place delicate kisses all over your face, and it was when you calmed that she saw the smile on your face., “You’re all I need Wands, just you existing is enough for me.,” her eyes closed as your lips pressed into her palm, basking in the warmth that was your love before she shifted closer., “Funny, I was going to say the same to you.”

Wanda pulled your body atop of hers, your face now laying in the valley of her breasts while her hand carded through your hair., "You know.," she paused to peer down to ensure you weren't already asleep., "I used to dream of moments like these.," she smiled up as she remembered her months of silent pining., "Whenever I'd visit Shield with Natasha I'd find myself drawn to you Y/N—the most beautiful woman alive."

You snorted., "Baby, that's a bit hyperbolic.," she immediately brushed you off., "No, it's just the honest to God truth detka, you captivated me from the very start.," she smiled down at you when you shifted to your stomach, resting your chin on her abdomen as you looked up at her with curious eyes brimming with tears.

Her hands brushed the hair from your face, then the right one remained on your cheek., "And it also went way further than your looks. I'd found myself drawn to your laughter first—it was contagious, then came your kindness—goodness me Y/N/N, I'd never seen someone more considerate than you.," she sighed when she was met with disbelief in your returned gaze., "The honest point here moya lyubov', is that my dreams could never live up to the reality of what it's been like to not only love you, but to be loved back by you; this is the closest thing to paradise I'll ever get detka."

"You're too good to me Wands.," her thumb gently removed your lip from between your teeth., "No, I'm just treating you as you deserve to be treated detka. You deserve the world."

Wanda gently maneuvered your body until your face hovered hers, she pulled you down for a soft kiss that she instantly deepened, and in a moment of pure relief your mind stilled. Thoughts to the negative faded from your mind, and the witch found herself smiling into the lip lock when they phased into kinder ones, and to the ones full of giddy optimism that had her heart fluttering uncontrollably in her chest.

"I love you so much wiggly woos.," the woman then groaned as you found a way to 'ruin' the moment, but your accompanying giggling as you fell into her settled her weak annoyance., "Marry me then.," she reassured your hopes, and she chuckled when you gasped against her.

"W-Wands I—.," she allowed you a moment to stutter, then she smiled when you looked at her questioningly., "I'm serious Y/N—be my wife."

"Really?," your lip trembled as you felt her overwhelming love radiating from just the simplest of touches, and her smile., "Really.," she nodded in the affirmative., "Yes! Please!"

Wanda chuckled at your enthusiastic response, all the while her heart was beating rapidly as she hastily reached into the drawer of your bedside table and pulled out a velvet box., "This wasn't a spur of the moment decision detka, well, it kind of was but I promise it was already in the works.," she shifted you both up into sitting positions so she could showcase the diamond more efficiently, and she smirked when your eyes lit up with a bewildering shine.

"You're everything I could ever want and more detka.," she gently pecked your lips while her hands practically yanked the jewelry from the pesky box., "Now give me your pretty hand!"

The two of you shared excited high pitched giggles, rolling around the bed in all your naked glory., “We’re getting married!,” your squeals filled the little witch to the brim with joy, her nose crinkling affectionately as she watched your eyes swimming with a purity., “I’ll be right back love.,” Wanda left you with a momentary pout, coming back into the room she popped open a bottle of champagne you received from the Barton’s last Christmas with a loud agreement., “We’re getting married!!!”

—•~~~~~~•~~~~~~•~~~~~~•~~~~~~•—

"All that you ever wanted from me was sweet nothing"

—•~~~~~~•~~~~~~•~~~~~~•~~~~~~•—

“We’re getting married.,” you tiredly cheered for what appeared to be a final time before you were succumbing to your bodies exhaustion, and so your wife to be was now covering you both up with a fuzzy red blanket, and flicking the bedrooms lights off with her red tendrils.

“Goodnight Mrs. Maximoff.,” she whispered cheekily against your puffy cheek., “I love you Y/N/N, my precious little dove; my wildest dream come true, oh how I yearned for you.,” she placed a final kiss to your pouting lips, a smile instinctively rises on your sleeping face and melts her even further if that’s possible.

“Forever will never be long enough with you.,” her hand intertwined with yours as she settled into the mattress, allowing your bubble of love to warm her soul, and send her off to sleep too.

——————————

4,644 Words

🥰 Kaitlyn 😘

[beastgoddk]

Everything about your art is great but I especially love the expressions you give dominant women. I'm kind of self-conscious about my eyes; specifically I'm worried about looking at people too intensely. So seeing these women's deep, consuming stares framed as a sign of love has made me reevaluate myself.

thank u. also girls who turn other girls into possessions are basically god.

[femmchantress]

Until the Jewish nonprofit space reevaluates their rhetoric on Israel I just don’t think I can work in this field anymore. I have been so passionate about Jewish programming, history, cultural events, and religious fluency for the longest time. I’m so proud to be Jewish and someone who aids others in honoring their Judaism, but this is just inhumane. This isn’t right. We cannot claim to be working towards the repairing of our world - towards Tikkun Olam - while excusing the actions of the Israeli government and military.

Contemporary Judaism needs to divest itself from Zionism and needs to do so this very instant. This ideology cannot be redeemed and has no place, NO PLACE, in the hearts of any Jew who claims to care for justice or peace. I’ve dreamed of being a Rabbi for the better part of ten years and now that I’ve seen what our people, our institutions, our values are capable of encouraging, endorsing, and excusing… I just cannot in good conscious retain that dream.

As Daniel Kahn put it:

Without justice, without peace; Just a dream become a beast.

Nisht keyn tsedek, nisht keyn sholem; Nor a kholem gevorn a golem.

[crippled-peeper]

can’t believe someone could make me feel self conscious for being a trans stoner who talks too much but that last bitch has me reevaluating everything. are we really that annoying and insufferable holy fuck lol

[eepyuii]

frostbite — pt. 10

pairing ; childe x gender neutral!reader

content ; childhood friends to “rivals” to lovers, slowburn-ish

cw ; none. idiots in love

notes ; ITS YEARNING HOURS BAYBEE ‼️ for the first time ever, a bit of childe’s POV, wowie zowie!! also a bit of a cheesy chapter LMFAO, it’s just these two dinguses “reaching” the realization that they want each other so bad, it makes them look stupid.

also a smidgen hint at the end towards the next phase of this dumpster fire of a fic >:3

ok and finally- i know i already made a post abt it but like. would u guys still love me if i posted a luke castellan fic? it’s SO self indulgent bc i’m brain rotting from the percy jackson show so idk yet :>

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old wooden planks creak with each step childe takes.

he’d long lost the count of the days he’d spent in this peculiar inazuman domain— the mystic omnyou chamber, his companions called it. though what a fascinating domain it was, ever-changing and ever-puzzling but most of all, ever-deploying more enemies for him to fight his way through. he feels like only now he truly knows what teucer must’ve felt like in front of all those mr. cyclopses all those months ago.

he felt as though he was given a little too much breathing room by the motherland, still being stationed in liyue with you whoever knows how long his mission was finished, so it was no less than perfect to hear the news of scaramouche’s disappearance from inazuma after taking the gnosis for himself. as much as he disliked to have to leave you in northland bank with the promise of the two of returning together still at hand, he dully needed to take up on his responsibilities as one of her majesty’s harbingers.

still, he could fair by through the remembrance of you and his love for combat.

it’s amusing how freshly burned into his mind the memory of your time together at dottore’s lab was, even when he was half-conscious and at his physically weakest. how you soothed away his wounds with the cool breeze of your cryo powers, how you kept him company while he recovered, how you called him a pret-

“psst— you’re doing that thing again.”

“h-huh..?”

the harbinger is snapped from his daydreaming by paimon naggingly whispering to him. as childe finds himself back in reality, he registers the sight of the traveler, xinyan and shiki taishou walking ahead distractedly through the narrow dusty hallways of the domain, while paimon had fallen back alongside him.

“are you back now? ok good.” the travel guide snides, hands sassily placed at her hips.

childe chuckles sheepishly. “i-i’m sorry, paimon, but i’m not quite sure what you’re talking about.”

“oh, come on, it’s so obvious! the entire time we’ve been here, you’ve been doing this thing where you either doze off thinking about y/n! y’know as someone so passionate about fighting, you really need to get your head in the game right now.”

he feigns an offended scoff. “that is entirely untrue, comrade. my focus is solely on figuring out this domain’s mysteries and defeating its monsters.”

there’s a brief pause, where childe thoroughly reevaluates what paimon just said.

“wait, how did you know i was thinking about y/n? i-if i were dozing off and possibly thinking about them!”

she scoffs. “puh-lease, you’ve been babbling about them since we got here! almost everything you’ve said has somehow trailed off into y/n, so much so that even shiki taishou is caught up on what’s happened with you two!”

paimon was someone known to be a bit eccentric and overreactive at certain moments, but she also had her moments of being very bluntly honest in other situations. this was one of them. the harbinger deliberates for a moment, out of all the time he’s spent venturing this domain with the paper doll, just how much information had he unwillingly retained about you.

suddenly, a moment of clarity washes over childe and he vividly recalls all the moments during his venture in the domain where he’s talked about you. saying things such as ‘i wonder how y/n is doing right now…’, or ‘hah, y/n’s cryo attacks would demolish these enemies.’ or even ‘oh! that reminds of this one time, when y/n and i were kids…’. lest we mention the multiple times he’s said ‘i can’t wait to return to inazuma with y/n and show them this.’ whenever he’d been exploring the electro land’s scenic locations.

poor shiki taishou.

but then again, is it truly his fault that the mystic omnyou chamber had so many moments and details that were so clearly reminiscent of you? o-or maybe… maybe this was just a domain and everything reminded him of you regardless. but that’s the more unlikely possibility.

he curses scaramouche in his mind for a brief moment. it was all because he decided to go rogue that childe had to leave so abruptly— just when he’d made amends with you, just when the two of you were restoring your friendship. just when you’d started to flash him that devastating smile of yours again, instead of the standoffish snarl you’d presented during his mission in liyue. gods, he could feel his heart pang against his chest. surely it was just the adrenaline of battle, though. even if the group hadn’t faced enemies in more than ten minutes by now.

an even further tucked part of childe’s mind curses paimon next, for pointing out how much he speaks of you, because now he truly cannot stop. he looks ahead towards the end of the corridor and he can’t see what’s next, can’t see the next tatami matted arena where he’ll face a new wave of enemies, something he thinks he wants— no, all he sees is you.

it’s like your face is burned into his retinas, your fond laughter burned into brain and the warm feeling of when he slept against your shoulder burned into his skin.

childe doesn’t doesn’t fight as well as before in the next battle, he’s sloppy and distracted. after the arena is cleared, he’s left with a scratch across his bicep— which, thankfully, the domain grants a healing sigil to mend.

but it’ll never cure him like you do, never soothe the very core of his being like your powers do and it’ll never look at him the same way you did, caring and attentive.

he remembers how he felt lookup up at you then— like you were the stars in the night sky. he needed to get this mission over with as soon as possible.

—

you could almost hear your mother’s nagging tone telling you to not play with your food. as delicious as liyuean cuisine was, you’d lost your appetite halfway through your meal- as well as interest in the tale the restaurant’s storyteller was telling.

it’d been probably the dullest week you’ve had in a while, no new assignments from the motherland, no events happening in the city and… admittedly, no childe.

you can’t find the effort to lie to yourself and say it’s fine that he’s gone, that it’s for the tsaritsa’s noble cause— you don’t care about it. scaramouche could screw off with the gnosis and live his life, as far as you were concerned. in fact, you’d say he deserves it, given all he’s gone through with the doctor, even if he could be an astronomical asshole at times— well most of the times.

and now you can’t decide who to blame for childe’s absence, the balladeer or the tsaritsa. either way, it’s affected you more than you’d ever admit out loud. it’s been such a monotone week not just because of the distinct lack of anything to do in liyue lately, but also because of a distinct lack of… someone to worry about. yeah, that’s what it was, just an unusual sense of calm and nothing to stress over, that’s all—

“even in all my years, i’ve rarely seen someone stare at an unfinished bowl of dragon beard noodles with such intensity.”

a rumbling, baritone voice quips jokingly from across your small table and you’re startled away from your thoughts. looking up, the comment is revealed to come from mr. zhongli, the consultant from wanshe— oh, who were you kidding, the now former geo archon.

you hadn’t formerly spoken to him since the mission to take, well, his gnosis. after the situation with osial was diffusd, you beared witness to an unsettlingly diplomatic exchange between mr. zhongli and the fair lady, where he gave away the very culmination of his divinity like it was spare change. of course, you’ve spotted him countless times around the harbor— merely enjoy the little things the city had to offer. you can’t truly fault him for making the decision that he did, six thousand years is, unspokenly, too much time to not peruse the fruits of his labor from up close.

“a-ah, mr. zhongli! it’s been so long since we last spoke.” you scramble to politely greet zhongli and briefly wonder if you should stand up to bow to him, which he seems to notice.

“my apologies for startling you, doctor— may i?” he gestures to the seat in front of you and you nod.

“yes, it has been some time. i recall you being there for the completion of my contract with the fair lady, but the last time the two of us had the opportunity to meet casually was the very same night we first met.”

you nod curtly— you’re tense, you don’t know why. you know he’s not an archon anymore, you were there to see it, but perhaps the real weight of being in the presence of someone so powerful, not just an archon but the oldest of the original seven, seems to have only settled in now. you feel almost as choked as when in the presence of the tsaritsa, which you know all the same that you shouldn’t be. zhongli chuckles amusedly.

“i ask you to treat me as though you would’ve that night in liuli pavilion, like any other acquaintance. chatting with a mere consultant of a funeral parlor requires no formalities. now— have you been well, doctor?”

you can still only bring yourself to nod wordlessly in response, there’s no need for zhongli to know how royally miserable you’ve been lately.

“and.. may i ask why you held such a glare towards your meal? is it not your liking?”

“oh, no the noodles are just fine, amazing even! i was just… contemplating wether to finish it or not.”

great cover.

“hm,” zhongli hums with playful suspicion. “while a reasonable topic of contemplation, it did very much seem as though you were rather staring through the bowl, as though there is something on your mind. i would not mind hearing what is it that vexes you, doctor— if you’re comfortable to share, of course.”

yeah there was no fooling a, again, six thousand year old divine being with a half-assed excuse like yours. you sigh.

“well— yes, you caught me. the last few days have been, uh… less than peachy for me.”

“what exactly is it troubles you these days?”

“i wouldn’t say it’s trouble but, there hasn’t been much to do at northland bank lately. and childe has been out on a mission for some time now— b-but it’s mainly the lack of assignments!” you stammer.

“is that so? i did hear of childe’s sudden departure for inazuma but it is curious that you’re being kept stationed here with essentially nothing to do. but, if i may— has childe been absent for as long as you’ve felt dull at work or would you say there is no relation?”

already at so few words out of sheer nervousness, zhongli managed still to render you completely and utterly speechless. what are you even supposed to respond to this?

“i-i uhm, i… alright, i won’t even try.” you sigh in defeat and zhongli looks coyly pleased. he patiently awaits for you to gather your thoughts and actually say more than two stammered sentences.

“i truly can’t tell what it is. i feel like i’m supposed to be worrying for him— as if he’ll get injured again or injure someone else o-or even worse, do something stupid but there’s just.. nothing! it’s like i’m so used to being aware of his presence and now there’s nothing and it’s- it’s frustrating.”

“you miss him.”

you pause. do you miss him? no, it can’t be so simple— you have a medical degree, it is most certainly improbable that you’ve been trying your brain over just missing childe. well, sure it was great that the two of you were starting to make amends and stopped being so on-edge around each other but… there’s no objective reason for you to miss him.

right?

“i would not say i even near the level of an expert on matters concerning relationships between people, but i’ve seen a lot in my time. enough to tell you with confidence that it’s most likely you just.. miss him, doctor. and that it is okay to feel this way. the two of you do not stand at odds anymore, you never have— it is reasonable for you to be affected by his absence.”

you furrow your eyebrows. “how do you know if… childe and i stand at odds, mr. zhongli.”

“well, i have witnessed it. both directly and indirectly— the tension and misunderstanding between the two of you during our meeting at liuli pavilion was quite evident and i’ve heard of how you opposed him in battle at the golden house. but that is all it has ever been, misunderstandings and disagreements, but you’ve never truly disliked each other.”

“h-how do you know-“

“he speaks quite highly of you, doctor.”

“wh-what?”

“childe has only ever spoken highly of you— i recall mentioning that had been looking forward to meeting you in person during our dinner, it is all because of how grand his description of you was. plus, during our eventual meetups, you’re mentioned at least once every time. and you, as we’ve discussed, do seem to hold some care towards him, to the extent that you first concern is his health.”

your heart aches and you hate it. it’s a terrible, void sensation that frustrates you to no end. why? why did childe have to make it so difficult for you? why can’t you ever feel simple feelings when it came to him? why couldn’t you ever just feel one way towards him with no smaller part of your brain saying something else? even worse, why couldn’t your brain ever think about anything else— literally anything, instead of just constantly orbiting around the mixed emotions you felt when it came to childe?

you just constantly, restlessly and unendingly seem to care about him.

“you know what, mr. zhongli, i think y—“

“ah, there you are, sergeant!”

a less familiar voice calls out from behind you and you turn around with a bit of surprise— it’s a man clad in fatui uniform, who you recognize as mikhail, one of the officers stationed at northland bank. he’s not exactly someone you interact much with, just a mere coworker you greet every other morning, so you’re perplexed as to why he’s seeking you outside the bank.

“mikhail, what is the occasion?” you ask, briefly eyeing zhongli to find that he remains with a neutral expression awaiting the exchange.

“i am deeply sorry for interrupting your lunch, sergeant, but ekaterina urged for me to find you as soon as i could. a letter has come in from lord dottore for you specifically— she says it is of utmost importance.”

—

the wharf is unusually crowded today.

an untimely flux of either tourists or returning immigrant citizens, perhaps it is an important time of year in another nation— although, childe could truly care less at the moment. he’s doing his best to politely push his way through the sea of people leaving their respective ships while almost unconsciously seeking you out within it. he knows you wouldn’t be here, as his return to liyue was unannounced, but his eyes fly to latch onto your likeness anyway.

childe ends up finding you right in the center of the harbor’s main street, practically right below the catwalks that lead to the bank. you’re slowly pacing back and forth, a piece of paper clutched in your hands and a vacant expression on your face— childe can’t find himself to clutch to those details right now, he just needs to get to your side. he makes large, determined steps towards you, big grin invading his features, and while he’s still approaching you, you spot him and your eyes widen even more. once childe is a mere two steps away from you, he stops.

“y/n! oh, it’s so good to see you!” he heaves out gladly.

“ajax—“ you reply in a quiet voice and his heart swells at the use of his real name. he truly can’t contain himself anymore and tackles you into a tight hug, one so strong that stumble back a bit.

his arms snake tightly from under your arms to above your shoulders and his head lowers from being against your own to reaching your shoulder blade— it is as close as he physically get to you, while trying to be respectful of your space, of course. you’re still in shock for maybe five seconds of the hug, but eventually you just let yourself slowly wrap around him and squeeze ever so slightly. both of you have your eyes closed to sink into the moment.

the hug is long, maybe twenty seconds so, and as childe becomes satisfied with its duration and pulls away, he remains with his hands to your elbows in a gentle hold. he sighs with said satisfaction and beams towards you.

“i have so much to tell you about inazuma! unfortunately, i couldn’t find scaramouche there but i managed to see so many beautiful places, so many amazing experie- wait.. what’s wrong?”

the harbinger pauses mid sentence when he notices the numbness in your expression and his bright grin falls into a concerned frown— you feel like the most terrible person for making him lose such excitement. your mouth opens and closes as you find what to say, but you eventually whisper it out.

“ajax, i-i… i have to go to sumeru.”

taglist ; @kentply @osaemu @rain-and-a-nice-nap @koichirana

[alittlepudge-neverhurtnobody]

kinktober #3

Date Night 🍾 / Creepy Cookies 🍪

Then

“Oh, just finish it,” cajoles Satine, pushing the remnants of her pizza his way. “All you could talk about on the way over was how much you wanted pizza.”

“Before I ate a whole one myself!” he retorts from the other side of the coffee table. They’re toasting the end of midterms in Satine’s living room, an empty bottle of red between them and a second waiting unopened in the wings. They started at opposite ends of the couch, but the further they got into the wine, the farther they migrated onto the floor. “What am I, one of your people?”

“Oh, come off it,” she says, leaning over to swat at him. “You don’t have to be one of my people to eat what makes you happy.”

He gives a rueful laugh. “With my appetite? If I ate everything I wanted to, I’d be the size of a house.”

Satine coughs, halfway through a sip of wine. “Well,” she rasps, “why don’t you, then?”

He stares at her, his brow creasing. “Why don’t I — ah, because I’d be the size of a house?”

“Okay,” says Satine, feeling wild. “So? Would it be worth it, if you enjoyed yourself?”

A deep flush is rising in his cheeks. “So I should just sit around eating pizzas until I’m two hundred kilos, then?”

Satine sets her wineglass down a bit too hard. “Is that—is that something you want?” 

He busies himself with the second bottle of wine, trying unsuccessfully to break the seal with a nubby fingernail. Satine gives him approximately five seconds of grace before sliding closer and poking him in the ribs. “Ben! Of all people you can tell me if it is. I’m the last person who can judge you.”

The smile he offers her is tight, self-conscious. “Well — not two hundred kilos, at any rate. I just mean — of course I want to eat that way. But if I let myself, I would never stop, and I’d like to be able to fit into a chef’s coat.”

She squints at him. “You’d never stop? It’s not as if you’ll gain two hundred kilos overnight if you have one big meal.”

“But that’s the thing!” he bursts out, and she sits back, surprised. “I know myself. I know how I feel about — this. I would enjoy it too much. I’d never eat normally again. You’d be rolling me out of the kitchen before you knew it.”

He still isn’t looking at her, his gaze trained firmly on his knees, and she pokes him until he glances at her and puts a steadying hand on his shoulder. “Ben. Listen to me. Even if you ate like that for a month, you wouldn’t hit two hundred kilos. You might need new pants” — he cracks a smile— “but you’d have plenty of time before then to decide if you wanted to go that far. Gain ten kilos and see if you like it. Gain twenty. See how it feels and reevaluate. It’s not an all or nothing kind of thing.”

She pats his shoulder awkwardly and settles back beside him. “Besides, don’t be daft. They make chef’s coats up to at least an 8X. You’ll have plenty of room.”

His smile widens infinitesimally. “Oh, you’ve looked, have you?”

“Of course.” 

Now

“So this is what your people call date night, is it?” asks Obi-Wan, a mischievous glint in his eye, and Satine makes a face at him.

“If I call it a date, will you stop looking so self-satisfied?”

“Unlikely,” he says, and she swats at him with the arm that isn’t looped through his.

“Besides,” she says, “this is a necessary outing. Your shirts can hardly reach around you anymore. It’s getting indecent.”

“Yes, I’m sure you’re wildly concerned about my indecencies.”

“I should be. I’m the one they inconvenience most.”

He laughs, and she allows herself a little smile at her own expense. She’ll miss seeing his overtaxed shirt buttons and straining seams, but she’s also fairly sure that he’ll continue to press the limits of whatever new clothes they purchase tonight. 

It’s a crisp fall evening, just minutes from rain, and they’re using the weather as an excuse to hide behind turned-up collars and scarves as they make their way down Bond Street. Satine’s pale hair is braided back and covered by a silk kerchief, and she’s dressed entirely in navy and grey, a far cry from the jangling colors she chooses for Bake-Off. Obi-Wan’s beard has grown out some, ever redder the longer it gets, and she suspects he’s already heavier than he was this past series. She’s not shy about diverting attention if she has to, but it would be nice to have one night that’s just for them.

She steers him into a boutique a few storefronts down, and he raises an eyebrow at her as they step inside. “Big spender,” he remarks, and Satine preens for a moment. 

“I called in a favor.”

She approaches the girl at the counter while Obi-Wan stops to peruse a selection of richly colored ties laid out in a sunburst on one display table.

“Is Cordé in, please?” she asks, and the girl’s face lights. 

“Oh, yes, ma’am. Just a moment.” She hurries into the back room and returns accompanied by a fine-featured young woman with wide brown eyes. Her hair is the same chestnut brown as Padmé’s, but it’s cut in a short, chic bob rather than twisted into one of Padmé’s elaborate updos. Draped around her neck is an orange measuring tape that looks perfectly in tune with her structured white blouse and royal blue wide-legged trousers. 

“Satine, yes?” she says, a wisp of Scottish accent on the words, and Satine nods, extending a hand. Cordé’s nails are painted the same orange as her measuring tape. “Cordé. Lovely to meet you; I’ve heard quite a lot from Padmé.” She winks, and Satine feels her cheeks color. Padmé’s extensive web of stand-ins, stunt doubles, and fellow actors from Amidala have dispersed from child-starship all over Europe like so much dandelion fluff, and although they don’t all look quite as identical up close, they all share a sense of humor tempered by consummate professionalism, and Satine can see immediately that Cordé is regarding the two of them with the same unspoken, indulgent amusement as Padmé does.

She’s one of your people, Padmé had texted her after confirming they were all set for this evening. I told her that you two have a hard time toning it down even on international television and she said that’s fine. She won’t be weird about it and she consents to being privy to it, so no worries there.

You’re the worst, Satine had sent back. Thank you.

She agreed, by the way, added Padmé, and Satine could practically hear the smugness in her voice. She’s seen the show.

THANK YOU, GOOD NIGHT.

“Thank you so much for accommodating us,” she says now, gesturing to Obi-Wan and holding out her hand for him to join her. “This is Ben, my — my friend.”

Cordé has clearly been briefed on the decades of backstory behind the word, because she looks unfazed even as Satine fidgets and fixes her hair and Obi-Wan glances around the shop conspicuously. “Pleased to meet you as well, Ben. If you’ll follow me, I’ve set aside one of our private fitting rooms for you.”

Both of Obi-Wan’s eyebrows jump up this time, and he flashes an incredulous look at Satine. She gives a secretive little smile and tugs him along. 

“You have our utmost discretion,” Cordé assures them as she leads them through a door to a secluded sitting area full of mirrors, bolts of fabric, and cloth dummies of varying sizes. “Aaré at the desk is my apprentice; she’s a bit young, but you can trust her.”

“Thank you,” says Satine, pulling off her coat and setting her bag down on one of the plush chairs. “We really do appreciate it.”

“Ben,” says Cordé. A delicate gold chain winks in the hollow of her throat. “I understand you’re in the market for a few new pieces. What did you have in mind?”

Obi-Wan drapes his coat beside Satine’s, and one of his hands automatically jumps to smooth at the buttons of his shirt. He’s wearing a sweater, which makes the involuntary movement even more obvious. “Well, I think a few new dress shirts are in order.”

“And trousers,” Satine puts in. “You could do with a bit more room than you have.”

A sheepish smile breaks across his face. “And trousers, as well. She’s right.”

Cordé nods. “All right then. Ben, if you could shed a few layers for me, I’ll get some measurements and we can get started.”

For the first time, Obi-Wan hesitates, and Satine wonders if his mind went the same place as hers: photographs splashed across the front page of The Sun of Ben Kenobi stripped to his drawers. 

Cordé also clearly shares Padmé’s foresight and apparent telepathy, because she adds, “You’re the only ones booked for tonight. Aaré might come back with a question, but she’s got strict instructions to knock first. We won’t be disturbed.”

Satine watches Obi-Wan let out a breath. “Thank you,” he murmurs, and he pulls off his sweater first, his plump belly flopping out over his belt. His collared shirt is next, and he undoes each button so slowly Satine is sure he’s trying to tantalize her, even though he’s still got an undershirt on beneath. His chin doubles against his chest as he reaches under his overhang for the last button, and as he shucks the collared shirt, it’s clear that even his undershirt is nearly outgrown; the hem creeps up the round bulk of his stomach, exposing the reddish-blond hair beneath his navel, and the sleeves and neckline are slack where Satine knows he’s had to rip the seams for his own comfort. 

He shoots her a sly grin and Satine blinks, realizing the force of her staring. “A little help?” he asks, gesturing to the button of his slacks. “It’s been a while since I could see over my belly.”

Satine swallows hard and steps closer, too flustered to have full control of her fine motor skills. She fumbles with the button for a moment, the heavy warmth of Obi-Wan’s stomach bearing down on her hands, and finally pops it free. He keeps his eyes on her as he steps out of his trousers, his belly jiggling with the movement until he’s standing in just his undershirt, boxers, and socks. His thick sweaters and tailored slacks go a long way toward smoothing the bumps and curves from his figure for the screen, but seeing him here — his chubby chest pushing at his cotton tee, his sides spilling over the waistband of his underwear, his wobbly thighs brushing against each other as he shifts his weight, the hefty curve of his backside, stretching the pattern of his boxer shorts a bit too thin. She catches her breath. She will behave. She will behave. She will behave. 

For her part, Cordé sits scrolling through her phone while all of this is going on. She looks utterly unfazed, as if middle-aged pâtissiers turned television hosts engage in kinky antics in her shop every day. 

“We’re, er.” Satine clears her throat. “We’re ready when you are, Cordé.”

Cordé tucks her phone back into her pocket and unfolds herself, unlooping her measuring tape from her neck. “All right, Ben, step over here if you will. Do you mind if I say the numbers aloud as I mark them down?”

“No,” says Obi-Wan, blinking. “No, I don’t mind.”

Cordé measures his neck, his wingspan, numbers that don’t mean terribly much to Satine. But the lower she moves — his arms, his waist, his hips, his thighs — the harder it gets to stand still.

“Arms, fifty centimeters,” murmurs Cordé, marking it off on a little notepad she’s materialized out of nowhere. “Waist, one hundred and twenty-two centimeters.”

One hundred and twenty-two! He’d been one hundred and twelve the last time he’d let Satine measure, just before filming had started for the last series. If he’d weighed around one hundred and twenty-five kilos then … she’d guess he’s put on ten to fifteen since, judging by how he’s growing out of his clothes.

“Hips, one hundred and thirty-nine centimeters.”

Obi-Wan is very pink. Satine supposes she must be as well.

“Thighs, eighty-one centimeters.”

The revelation that one of Obi-Wan’s thighs is the same distance around as Satine’s waist is so affecting that she nearly gasps. 

Obi-Wan chuckles. “And to think, the waist on the trousers I’ve been wearing is one hundred and fourteen. It’s a wonder I’ve been able to get them done up.”

“And no wonder you had to ask me to help get them off,” Satine chips in, sinking into a chair. She’d planned to take him to dinner afterward, and of course she will — it’s never a question of if she’ll feed him so much as to what degree — but they might need to delay their reservation a bit so she can get her hands on him.

Cordé straightens up from measuring Obi-Wan’s inseam and nods, coiling the tape in her hands. “Let me go grab a few things and we’ll see what you like.”

As the door closes behind her, Satine exhales in a rush. Obi-Wan’s blue eyes meet hers. “I hope you’ll appreciate me just as much in clothes that fit,” he teases.

She can’t throw herself at him fast enough.

[thebreakfastgenie]

My take on "white woman tears" is that the tears are real. There are people who can cry at will, but tears (or the lack of them) are most often an involuntary physiological response.

I think in most cases it's just that being told you're wrong and hurting someone is a humiliating experience, especially when it's true. Specific to the context of calling out racism, a lot of white people don't really understand systemic racism and see it more as there are The RacistsTM who are the bad people. I think the popular white American image of a racist is, like, George Wallace. This especially applies when you are dealing with white people who think of themselves as tolerant and are not only being criticized, they are being asked to reevaluate what may be a pillar of their sense of self.

The real issue with white women who burst into tears when they're called out for racism is that they have re-centered the conversation around their feelings. For white people who are actually committed to antiracism, one of the basic steps is learning that systemic racism is more important than their personal feelings. People are more likely to notice rank they lack than rank they have an abundance of, so white women tend to be more aware of how they are affected by misogyny than how they uphold racism. Once again, part of antiracist work is becoming conscious of that. You see this too with working class white people who have a negative emotional reaction to being told they have white privilege, because their understanding of their lives revolves around the economic privilege they lack.

The way "white woman tears" is so often framed is "[white] women are manipulative cunts who can all burst into tears on cue." This perpetuates misogynistic myths about women. It's also worth noting that privileged white people bursting into tears when faced with the possibility of consequences for their actions is not a female phenomenon. The poster child is Brett Kavanaugh, who is not only a man but a man who burst into tears when he was called out for sexually assaulting at least one woman, and he did not even face any real consequences. I also don't think Brett Kavanugh was crying on cue. When you've been protected from consequences your whole life, even the slightest possibility that you might face them now is a very emotional experience. His tears did not make me feel bad for him in the slightest, but that doesn't mean they were fake.

Which brings me around to another thought, which I think a more productive way to address this would be to stop treating tears like an emotional trump card. You don't have to comfort someone just because they are crying, especially if you know they're crying because they've been rightly called out. Crying is also not the only manifestation of negative emotional reaction to confronting racism. Arguing and defensively talking over people of color frequently comes from the same place. I think we tend to associate arguing with white men, and therefore see it as more logical, but it isn't.

I also want to acknowledge white women crying is especially frustrating for women of color and Black women in particular, because they have been forced since birth to limit their emotional expression. To return to Supreme Court examples, I cannot even imagine the media reaction if Justice Ketanji Brown Jackson had shown any emotional response whatsoever to the Republican senators who would not stop talking about child exploitation materials during her confirmation hearing.

I also want to be absolutely clear that white emotions after being called out for racism should not ever be the responsibility of people of color. Antiracist work can be very uncomfortable for white people. It is our responsibility to work that out.