#don't tell me if it's terrible because i like it

[itwasntimethatdidit40]

Merry Christmas, baby.

Pairing: Marcus Pike x f!reader Rating: just a little tiny bit of smut so still +18 but it’s mostly a huge pile of angst and fluff soooo Words Count: 10669 😵‍💫 Tags: POV second person, reader wears dresses, skirts, blouses and heels, she uses make up, she’s a journalist and a writer, no physical description of her is given besides having hair, angst, fluff, friends to lovers, slow burn, loss of a parent, infidelity, divorce, mention of food, alcohol consumption, both reader and Pike are bad at feelings, swearing, slurs, dirty talk, quarrels, reconciliations, funeral, sharing a bed, kissing, sad thoughts, casual encounters, mention of coffee, mention of spring break activities, geography probably a bit random (but I looked at the maps, don't jump down my throat, I did research and I've actually been to Boston many years ago, I tried my best lol), brief mention of Teresa. I hope I haven't forgotten anything, if so I'll add it immediately. A/N: Written for @pedrostories Secret Santa event, hello @letsgobarbs, I’m your Secret Santa! 🤶 Happy Christmas Eve, I hope you'll have a wonderful holiday season! 🎄 I hope you enjoy this story and I hope you find the angst, yearning and pining you wanted. Among the characters you had indicated as favorites there was Pike and I liked the idea of ​​trying to write him for the first time, he is so sweet and cute and he deserves to be happy, I hope I gave him an ending worthy of him 🥹 I apologize if you find any mistakes, English is not my first language and I don't have a beta so I did it all with just one pair of stupid and tired eyes 😵‍💫

A huge thanks goes to all the lovely people who supported me through the process while I was having a full crisis about everything in this fic 😂 @baronessvonglitter @almostempty @arcanefox207 @joelmillerisapunk I love you all, happy holidays 🥰

1990

“So what do you think?” 

“Um...you're good” You've just heard the ugliest Take on Me cover ever, but you can't tell the guy standing in front of you and looking at you with hopeful eyes. 

Marcus is your best friend, you've known him for a couple of years, since both of you were two dorky freshmen at your new school. You were looking for the literature room and wandering lost in the hallways when Marcus asked if you needed help. You bonded right away because you didn't know anyone else, you had just moved to Sacramento because of your father's job and he was from Texas, so it had seemed natural to lean on each other.

Over time you had become such good friends that he had met your parents, he would often stay for dinner, and your dad would let him use your garage to rehearse with his band. 

Marcus had put up flyers at school and enlisted two other boys, Timmy and Dave, who became the guitarist and keyboardist of Rocket Baby Doll. The name of the band was terrible, they were terrible, but you had never had the courage to tear them down in the face of Marcus's enthusiasm, he was sure that by continuing to rehearse they would make great progress. 

With his smooth talk, Marcus had managed to convince the committee to let them play at the freshmen's Christmas dance.

“You'll see that one day we'll be on the cover of Rolling Stone,” Marcus joked. Or at least you hoped he was joking because otherwise you wouldn't know how to talk him out of it. 

Marcus was a dreamer and he liked to do it big. He wanted to be a musician, or maybe an FBI agent, he told you. Two careers that had nothing to do with each other, but you knew that if anyone could afford to have ambitions it was him. Marcus was tenacious, persistent, dedicated, and never afraid to work hard to get what he wanted.  He certainly wasn't going to end up on the cover of Rolling Stone, but in your heart you were certain he was going to accomplish something important.

He was the kind of boy mothers liked, in fact yours loved him. When you needed math tutoring, he would come to your house totally for free and explain whatever you didn’t understand.

When Molly Preston wanted to exclude you from the winter dance because her ex-boyfriend, Ryder, had asked you out, he had been the one to give her a speech.

When you had a bad day Marcus would take you to get your favorite ice cream, you would talk for hours, and in the end he was the only one who could cheer you up.

Whatever problems you had, Marcus was there for you landing an helping hand. 

You knew your mother not too secretly hoped you would get together but it never happened, Marcus was your friend, just a great friend.

“Come on, my mom made cookies for everyone,” you told him as he continued to fantasize about what you might do. You would be their manager and you would both become rich and famous. He just couldn't keep his feet on the ground, even though he was a very good student and even had better grades than you.

You were 17 years old, your whole lives ahead of you, and you hoped that you will remain friends for many years to come.

_____________________________________________

1993

“What do you mean there is only one room available! We had booked two!” 

Marcus had yelled at the front desk of a motel where you stopped for the night. 

The owner, a rather creepy guy with a long scar on his right cheek, slumps in his shoulders, heedless “If you want number 12 is free, otherwise you can take your asses somewhere else for all I care.”

Marcus was fuming. 

It was spring break, any hotel was totally booked, and the possibilities were already significantly reduced given your pockets. 

You didn't even want to come; you had just broken up with Derek, your college boyfriend, and were back at your parents' house with the intention of spending your vacation there healing your wounds. Vegetating on the couch, reading books, watching movies, just relaxing. That was what you wanted to do. But Marcus had insisted, “Erik, Alice, Kate and Robert are in San Diego, let's join them!” 

You had shaken your head and declined “No way, I've seen enough wild college parties and besides, I'm not really in the mood.” 

“Oh come on, you don't want to spend Spring Break crying over that jerk,” he had said, shrugging and looking at you with his big brown puppy-dog eyes. 

“Marcus, I really don't feel like it.” 

“Come on, please do it for me! You'll see we'll have fun, they're nice!” Surrounding yourself with drunk and stoned 20-year-olds was the least of your desires. 

But on the other hand you felt you couldn't say no to him, it had been months since you had seen each other, your relationships had been reduced to long letters and phone calls telling each other about each other's schools.

You had chosen different colleges, Marcus had been accepted at Berkeley in California and you were at Boston University. You had changed coast, climate, everything. You were content but adjusting the first months had not been easy, you felt homesick and you missed your best friend. You were happy for him, you had known since your senior year that you were going to separate but that hadn't made it easy for you. 

You had only seen each other in person at Thanksgiving.

He had been forced to go to his relatives in Nevada for Christmas.

So you got dragged down to San Diego, because deep down Marcus was right, brooding all vacation about the relationship with Derek would not be good for you. You had had other guys before him but Derek had been special, until you found out he was cheating on you. You cried for hours on the phone with Marcus and he listened to you the whole time so maybe you owed him a little too.

After insisting on getting at least a room refund, Marcus had turned to you displeased “apparently we have no other choice.” 

“We'll adjust” you had smiled, but you couldn't deny that you were a little nervous. 

Once in the room he, too, seemed self-conscious. 

There was a double bed with a hideous floral bedspread in the middle of the room, brownish carpeting on the floor, dingy pictures hanging on the walls, and an old dresser on the opposite side of the bed with a rickety TV on it.

A smell of cheap deodorant with a musty undertone wafted around. It was the worst room I had ever set foot in, but at this point there was nothing you could do but make it okay. Sleeping in the car didn't seem so appealing.

You had set your bags down and looked at each other awkwardly “This room is awful,” Marcus had whispered, rubbing the back of his neck with his hand “I'm sorry, it didn't look that bad from the brochure.” 

“It's not your fault, I bet those pictures were taken at least 20 years ago” you had laughed ”it will do for one night” 

You had retrieved your pajamas from the suitcase and went to the bathroom. The light blue tiles made it look like a hospital, there was an old plastic curtain in the shower and the sink looked like it had been through a war but at least it looked clean. There was a strong smell of disinfectant that made you a little nauseous. You had changed quickly and returned to your room to Marcus who was sitting on the bed intent on calling his parents “Yes mom, everything is fine, we will be back tomorrow. Yes, sure, don't worry I'll definitely say hello to her, she's in her room now” You had noticed that he had not said anything about your misadventure, you had sat down smiling on the opposite side of the bed trying to be silent. 

Marcus had rolled his eyes closing the call “she is so old-fashioned.” 

You had laughed “I find her lovely” 

Marcus had chuckled “we'd better sleep, we have a lot of driving tomorrow. Are you okay with that side?”

“Yes, it’s fine” you had nodded ”however I'd rather get this bedspread out of the way, it gives me nightmares even when awake” 

Marcus had observed it agreeing that yes, it was rather eerie.

You had taken it off and laid it on the dresser before slipping under cold, scratchy and wrinkled sheets.

You looked at each other and burst out laughing, the situation was comical to say the least. “God, I think I won't forget this bed for a long time,” Marcus had said. 

“It feels like being in a burlap sack.” You had laughed.

“Could you not squirm like that?” 

“Sorry, I'm just looking for ways to be comfortable,” you had said, ”Mattress is lumpy.” 

You had laid on your side with your back to him and closed your eyes, trying to sleep. 

“So, did you have a good time?” you had heard Marcus whisper.

“Yes” you had replied “thank you” And it was true, his friends were really nice. You had bonded with the girls and exchanged addresses and phone numbers “you were right, I needed a vacation”

“I know, I'm always right” he had sentenced from the other end of the bed.  

You had turned to look at him "oh sure, like the other night when we ended up at that beach party and you said it was allowed and then we had to run away because the police were coming?”

“It was just a little misjudgment!” He retorted.

You had burst out laughing again “come on, sleep, Mr I know everything”

Marcus had turned off the lamp on the bedside table, next to the phone with which he had just called his mother “Hey...I need to tell you something” you had heard him say. 

“What?” the tone had suddenly changed and you felt confused, you looked over your shoulder at him in the dark. 

“I kissed Alice the other night” he seemed awkward in telling you and you didn't understand why.

“Oh. Well, good for you. She's a lovely girl” he was your friend, you were happy for him. 

If it weren't for the fact that you secretly hoped he would kiss you. You'd been thinking about it for a few days, ever since you'd seen him come out of the water while you were at the beach.

It had seemed to you that everything had started moving in slow motion, your eyes glued to his tanned skin, to his broad shoulders, to the way the water slid over his chest in little droplets that died on the waistband of his swimsuit. It was a feeling you had never experienced before in five years of knowing him. You had never seen Marcus as anything more than a friend, but in that moment, with his hair disheveled, his skin wet, a smile plastered on his face as he told you and the others that ocean was great, he had seemed like a vision, and you had felt your cheeks heat up. 

Where on earth that attraction came from you didn't know, but it had hit you hard and clear, like a bump on the head that had suddenly awakened you. You had convinced yourself that your brain was doing this to protect you from painful memories with Derek, lingering on your closest friend who had never let you down. Your trust in men was at its lowest, and Marcus had always reassured you, kept you out of trouble, and he was most reliable guy you had ever known.

He said he would do something and he always, unfailingly did it. You could not say the same about Derek or any other guy you had ever been with.

You had tried to chase that feeling away, burying it in the corner of your mind for all the following days; you didn't want to ruin the friendship between you, and you were pretty sure he didn't feel the same way about you.

Sure, you thought you kissed him on your 18s birthday while you were drunk, but the next morning you were so ashamed that you hadn't even told him about it, pretended you didn't remember anything and that it had never happened. Marcus had done the same, and everything had ended there. Two years had passed since that night, you had gone to college, you had both had more or less long relationships.

That one kiss was now so far away that you had listed it among “once-in-a-lifetime mistakes.”

"I wanted to tell you, that's it. Friends tell each other everything, right?"

“Yes, of course, you can tell me anything, I’m happy for you” you replied 

You had listened to Marcus talk about the girls he liked dozens of times and you had never cared, you would have certainly forgotten it, it was just a passing crush, you told yourself. That annoyance you felt, that bitter taste in your throat, would disappear after a night's sleep. Your friendship was more important, you wouldn't have ruined it just because your brain had thought it interesting to make it something more.

Yet when you had tried to sleep all you had seen was Marcus kissing Alice. You had not seen them, fortunately, but it was not a hard scene to imagine, and unfortunately it was now implanted in your brain. His strong arms holding her, his soft lips resting on hers, her surrounding his neck with her arms, her pelvis rubbing against his. Suddenly you couldn't stand it. You had narrowed your eyes, cursing your creative mind, grunting in frustration. 

“Hey, is everything okay?” had asked Marcus from the other side of the bed.

You had lied, of course, but you had kept brooding until you fell asleep exhausted by the workings of your brain.

In the morning you had woken up confused, not at all rested, and in his arms.

Your face was resting on his chest next to your hand. How had you ended up there like that? You didn't know. You felt like you didn't know anything anymore. 

He was blissfully asleep. He seemed unaware of anything as your throat was dry, your head ached, and your pussy throbbed. Yes, throbbing, desperately. The warmth of his body, the scent of his skin, that knowledge you felt inside that this was exactly what you wanted and you couldn't even quantify how long you had wanted it.

And the panic that had seized you immediately afterward. You were convinced it was a mistake, the most terrible mistake you could make. So why did it feel so right? Why did his body feel like it was made for you? Oh no, no you couldn't allow that. Certainly he had no idea whatsoever about the situation, there was no way he was aware and let you do it, it was all your fault. 

You were going to ruin everything, your friendship, your relationship with the one man who really seemed to understand and support you. And for what? To fuck him once? It wasn't going to work between you romantically. You were going to have to spend two more years away seeing each other only during the holidays to begin with, and then you were both stubborn, too proud...no, it was wrong, you didn't care what your body told you, you had to let your brain prevail.

You slowly slipped away, back to your side of the bed, practically holding your breath, cursing yourself and your heart that wouldn't stop hammering in the middle of your chest.

He had woken up shortly after, acted as usual, getting up, stretching in his T-shirt and basketball shorts, mumbled good morning to you and locked himself in the bathroom. 

Your eyes had slid lasciviously over his body, stealing glances of his exposed skin between his T-shirt and shorts, of his broad shoulders stretching the fabric, of his thighs...

All while you wanted to sink into a black hole and disappear forever. You sank your face into the pillow to keep yourself from screaming. 

And what was worse was that you had to carry the burden of what you felt alone because the person you would normally talk to about it was the one you were longing for. Wonderful, a wonderful situation. 

When he had come out of the bathroom, with his beautiful smile and that rough voice that he always had early in the morning you almost lost control. You were about to beg him to join you in bed. Ugh, your 20s, uncontrollable, stupid, senseless hormones.

“What are you waiting for? Come on, go get dressed, we have to leave,” he had told you, in the same friendly and vaguely mocking tone as always. 

“Oh. yes, thank you, I promise I will be quick.” You had stammered.

You got up, grabbed some random clothes from your suitcase, your beauty case and went to the bathroom to shower and change. He would be ready in 10 minutes at most so he would always let you go to the bathroom first, to give you time to do your makeup and fix your hair. Marcus knew that about you, too, and he was okay with that. 

You closed the door behind you, feeling the tears stinging your eyes. You had managed to hold them back until that moment, but in the shower, covered by his of the water, they had flowed copiously and salty down your cheeks. 

____________________________________________

2000

“Hey! How are you! My goodness, long time no see!” 

You had met him at the supermarket, as you were going around the shelves intent on shopping for your mother. 

You were back at your parents' house for Thanksgiving with your husband, John. 

The last person you thought you would see was him. 

“Marcus!” you had squeaked.

“I am fine! How are you? And Danielle?” 

Your mother had taken it upon herself to inform you that he had also married, had no children, and had become a detective. 

“Danielle is just fine, she is right there down the aisle picking potatoes according to my mother's exact instructions,” he had rolled his eyes, chuckling.

Damn, you had thought, he's breathtakingly handsome. 

You hoped that in all the years you had lost touch with each other he would have lost at least some of his hair like his father, but apparently he had not inherited that gene. His hair was thick and healthy as usual, he wore a gray T-shirt under a black leather jacket and a pair of dark blue jeans. You hated the way he could put on two random things and look so damn perfect while you felt like you had spent your whole life in front of your closet wondering what to wear. And even more you hated his smile, so friendly and sweet, that it hadn't changed at all. 

He seemed genuinely glad to see you. 

You had lost touch with each other after graduation, despite the advent of cell phones, computers, and email. Your friendship had survived handwritten letters, postcards, prepaid phone cards but still crumbled eventually. You were on the opposite coast, intent on your master's degree, dreaming of becoming a writer; he was hooked on a career in law enforcement. 

The letters had become fewer and fewer, as had the phone calls, and eventually what was there had simply slipped away as the months passed, the commitments increased, and each of you tried to become the adult you had dreamed of being.

You had thought it was much better this way, you had stifled your feelings for him for another four years before accepting that nothing would ever happen. You had dated other guys in the meantime, but Marcus had always remained in your mind as the perfect guy you could never have. It was only when you had met John that you had allowed yourself to think that maybe it could work with someone who was not your old friend. He was understanding, sweet, supportive, present and caring with you. John was a really good guy and so you had finally decided to marry him. He had asked you one spring day at the Public Garden, while you were eating a lobster sandwich under a tree in front of the pond, watching the swans. Your offices were close by, so you tried to spend your lunch break together as often as you could. You had gotten a job at the Boston Globe, were in charge of the wedding column, and wrote romance novels in your spare time, sending manuscripts left and right in the hope that some editor would notice them. John was a stockbroker, pragmatic, punctual and very thorough in his work as much as he was sweet and attentive with you. 

“How about we get married?” he simply had said to you, with his mouth full. You had laughed, thought he was joking, until you noticed his serious and hopeful look and exclaimed “oh my God, yes!” throwing your sandwich in the air and wrapping your arms around his neck. That was all you wished for. You had moved in together in a beautiful house downtown, not very big but lovely, you had fallen in love with it as soon as you saw it. It was bright and warm, the right place to start your life with John.

You had, of course, sent an invitation to Marcus as well, but he had declined, saying he was very busy with work. You had kind of tied it on your finger and so you had decided that he might as well get out of your life after all. Times change, people change, all I can do is move on and try to forget how I feel about him by devoting myself to my relationship with John, you thought.

Now that you had him in front of you again though, he looked the same as he always did, only grown. And your heart had skipped a beat the instant you recognized his voice greeting you.

“How long do you plan to stay?” you had asked out of pure courtesy. 

“About a week, we were able to take a few days to relax a bit. We're always working like crazy, you know, we both needed to get away for a while. How about you?” 

“Yes, us too, by the way if you remember Sunday is my father's birthday and my mother really wanted us to be there.” 

“I guess. By the way, I'm sorry. My mother told me when we arrived.” 

Your father had been ill for several months and unfortunately there was little left to do at that point. He was slowly fading away and it would probably be the last Thanksgiving you would spend together.

“I thank you. Oh here's John. John this is Marcus, an old friend of mine. Marcus, this is John, my husband.”

“Nice to meet you, Marcus,” John had said, shaking his hand. 

“Honey, I'm done, shall we go?” had chirped Danielle's voice as she approached you. 

“Yes love, but first let me introduce you to an old friend of mine and her husband” Marcus had told her softly. 

“Oh it's you! Marcus has told me several times about you! It's nice to finally meet you in person.”

Danielle was beautiful, dark hair, blue eyes and delicate features, a little nose that looked as if it had been drawn by an artist, full lips, high cheekbones and a well-proportioned chin. Her voice was melodious and sweet and she looked at you with an excited and surprised expression, " He didn't tell me you were so pretty!" 

“Oh, thank you, you are too,” you had said, slightly embarrassed by such kindness. At that point John had held you proudly, as if you were his greatest prize. His arm had wrapped around your waist, and his eyes looked at you lovingly "didn't she? I'm lucky that she married me." 

Danielle had laughed graciously and shook his hand introducing herself, while you and Marcus looked at each other almost studying each other, as if you were both trying to figure out how happy you actually were in your marriages.

That habit of worrying about each other had not gone away; after all, you had been close friends for quite a few years, and your friendship had faded not because of a quarrel, but because of distance and becoming busy adults. And because you had to get over the crush you had on him, of course, but you had never told him that. 

“Well, we have to go now, anyway come and see us if you can. My mother would love to see you again,” Marcus had said before offering to push the cart full of food that his wife had left beside you and start toward the checkouts. 

“We'll try, thank you,” you had nodded. You definitely should have helped your mother, tried to soothe her at least a little from the strain of caring for your father 24/7; you didn't know how much more time would be left for other things. 

You had watched them walk off together from behind, down the canned food aisle where you had retrieved the ready-made cranberry sauce you would never have time to prepare. 

They were a good-looking couple, really, attractive, well-dressed, Danielle looking impeccable in a pair of jeans that bandaged her while highlighting her curves, a red blouse that matched her complexion, and a pair of vertiginous heels on which you didn't even know how to walk. She seemed to do it without any problem. 

“We should go too, honey” John's voice had brought you back down to earth. 

_________________________________________

Once home John had announced to your mother that you had met your old friend at the supermarket, and of course she was thrilled, “Oh, he's such a nice guy, I saw him and his wife the other day walking downtown, they are such a nice couple, aren't they?” 

John had agreed, taking a beer from the fridge “really” 

“Well, like you, of course” your mother had added, looking at you softly. 

And it was true, you were fine with John, he was a good person, a hard worker, he treated you like a princess. What more could you want? 

Yet since you had seen him again, Marcus's face had made room in your mind. The intrigued way he had looked at you, as if trying to understand everything that had happened to you in the years you had not been in touch, the way his arms were reaching out to embrace you when John had arrived, a barely imperceptible movement that only you had noticed because you knew him better than the palm of your hand, the dimple that had popped up on his cheek as he smiled at you, the usual one you had grown to love so much.

You had pinched the bridge of your nose as you tried to drive it from your mind “Are you okay love?” had asked John immediately. 

“Yes, I just have a little headache, I'll get something later,” you had lied, hurrying to put away the rest of the groceries. 

What annoyed you the most was that it seemed like not a single day had passed since you were in your twenties and you had woken up hugging him in the bed of that dingy motel. It was absurd. You had worked so hard to move on and now it felt like you were back where you started. 

You couldn't let that happen, you wouldn't let your marriage be disrupted by a casual 10-minute meeting with him. 

You would not have gone to his house, no matter how much you would have liked to see his mother who had always been so kind to you. 

You had other things to think about anyway; your father was stuck in a hospital bed that you had managed to get him to be more comfortable. He had been put in the guest room on the ground floor, next to the bathroom, he couldn't do the stairs, and it was also easier for your mother to accompany him. The strong and generous man he had been was wearing out before your eyes, and it was a terribly painful image. You knew he had little time left, and you didn't want to waste it chasing the ghosts of the past when you had a husband who was helping you and hugging you every night trying to lessen your pain. 

Your Thanksgiving dinner had been unique to say the least, each of you shuttling from the dining room to your father's to spend some time with him, making sure he had everything he needed, helping him eat and drink. You had marveled at how gentle and patient John was with your dad, the big man you had married, one with two shoulders like a football player, feeding your father fruit jelly almost more gracefully than you. 

You knew how fond he was of your dad, they had hit it off right away, but you didn't know how much he was willing to sacrifice for him. You were moved.

___________________________________________

Your father was gone four days later. You and John were supposed to leave for Boston the next morning instead you had to call in to work, cancel your flight, call your trusty neighbor Marge to ask her to look at your house, pick up your mail, and water your plants. 

You were crushed and at the same time overwhelmed with bureaucracy so you couldn't stop. You had forgotten to eat breakfast that morning, got dressed in a hurry to go to the funeral home to deliver the suit with which you had decided to bury your father, then went to do some paperwork with the insurance company and finally to the church to arrange with the pastor the time of the service and the proceedings. When you left the church you felt an emptiness in your stomach, your head was spinning, you had eaten barely a sandwich in the last two days. 

You knew you were about to collapse, saw a café across the street from the church, and went inside to get a croissant and cappuccino to go. 

When you came out you found yourself in front of Danielle. She was so sorry, of course your mother had informed Marcus's mother and they would be attending the funeral. Danielle hugged you as if you were her sister, telling you that she understood you because she too had lost her father a few years earlier and even though you didn't know each other well you could have called her if you needed anything. 

You had thanked her and headed for the car, locked yourself in and took a couple of minutes to chug your croissant and drink your cappuccino. At least partially regenerated from the late breakfast you had headed back home, where John and your mother were waiting for you.

In the car you had been thinking about how kind Danielle had been and how lucky Marcus was to be with her.

The next day you had put on a sober black suit that you used for the office and probably wouldn't be able to wear again after that day, put on just enough makeup, helped John put on his tie, and headed for church with him and your mom. 

All three of you were exhausted, grieving, trying to hold the pieces together as best you could with each other's help but your dad's absence was hard to bear. You wished you could have woken up and found it had been just a nightmare, you wished you could have hugged him and talked to him and he, as he had always done, would have found the words you needed most.

There was only one other person who could soothe your worries in the same way your dad could, and that person was Marcus. 

John had been able to be there for you anyway, with actions more than words, taking tasks to take away from you, relieving you of burdens you could not carry alone, and for that you were infinitely grateful. He was a good husband. 

After the service, under his arm, you left the church behind your mother. You had lost count of the number of people who had come to hug you, faces you had never seen, work colleagues of your father's whom you had never met, old childhood friends, the church was full of people who had come to remember him fondly. This pleased you, but it was strange to you at the same time. You wished you had some time to yourself, alone, to try to catch your breath and rationalize at least some of what had happened, that blender of emotions that had shaken and sucked you in. 

You had made your way to the cemetery, walking along the path that led to the family grave where your grandparents were buried you had felt like you were in a muffled bubble where everything moved in slow motion, barely sensing John's presence beside you. 

When you had arrived, you had looked up for only a moment and before you had seen Marcus's. You had not noticed his presence in the church, busy as you were with hugging and greeting, you had seen only his mother but he had remained in the background, respecting your grief. Just as you wished others had done. There was nothing more to be said, he always knew what you needed, no matter how many years had passed, he could still read you like an open book just like when at 18 he had realized that your highest aspiration was to become a writer without even the need to make it explicit in words. 

His eyes were swollen and reddened; it was obvious that he was moved. Beside him was Danielle with a pair of dark glasses covering her face, clutching his arm elegantly and dignifiedly. 

You had smiled weakly at him, thanking him with your eyes, and he had smiled back, looking at you with the sweetest, sorriest eyes I had seen that day. 

___________________________________________

You had stayed behind to watch the final burial operations, while John had driven your mother back to the car, who had burst into convulsive tears, crushed by the realization that she had lost forever the man she had loved most in the world. 

You had felt a hand barely graze your shoulder, you had turned around and saw Marcus standing there on the grass “hey” As soon as you had seen him the impulse to hug him had come to you spontaneously, he had welcomed you into his arms, stroking your head, wrapping you against his chest, trying to comfort you. 

Being close to him still felt like home, his warmth immediately made you feel calmer, less alone, and not that John couldn't do that but with Marcus it was different. He had always been different in a way that was impossible to explain but that you felt hammering hard in your heart.

“Thank you,” you had whispered, with the tears you had finally allowed yourself to shed wetting your cheeks and his shirt. 

“Don't mention it,” he had whispered, continuing to hold you close. 

You had lingered a little longer in his embrace before pulling away and asking where Danielle was. 

"She went home with my mom. I stayed in case you needed anything.” 

“It's okay, thank you, there was no need,” you stammered lyingly. Yes you needed him, now more than ever, and he knew it well. 

“Your mother and John?” 

“Aunt Maggie drove them home, they left my mom's car with me.”

“Do you want me to drive?” she had asked and all you could do was nod ”please. But then how are you going to get back?” 

“I'll call Danielle, don't worry” he had encircled your waist with an arm as he walked you to the car. He had opened the door and helped you get in, even buckled your seat belt no matter how hard you had tried to insist you could do it yourself. 

Marcus did not spare himself when it came to caring for others. 

He had climbed up on the driver's side and in a rush had hugged you back, there, inside the car, whispering, “You don't know how sorry I am, baby. Your father was a great man.” 

You had looked at him gratefully, amid tears that had begun to flow profusely again "thank you" 

He had kissed you, right after that. And the instant his lips had rested on yours, you had felt that you could not help yourself no matter how hard you had tried to bury your feelings all those years. There was something inexplicable that united you, a way of understanding each other that needed no words, as if you were made to recognize each other, to see inside each other's souls. You had read in his eyes that day in the supermarket how much he had missed you, and he had read the same in yours, and just before that you had felt the same need to have him near, in spite of John, Danielle, and anything else that told you it was wrong. Deep inside you had always known it was right, you had felt it from the moment you first met him. You had been crowing for years about people talking about soul mates, meetings of destiny, and things like that. But now you knew you had felt it. His soft lips on yours were like honey to your soul, you wished you could sink into that feeling, drown in that sea and never rise again.

You couldn't leave John though. Not after you had built a life together in Boston, not after he had supported and cared for you all those days. Not after all he had done for you. 

As much as it hurt to do so, you pulled away from his lips. “I’ve always thought about you, all these years,” he said. “I’m sorry, you know, I didn’t realize it before, that maybe we could be something more. I never told you, but I remembered that kiss we shared when we were 18 very well.” Marcus was a torrent of words and was saying everything you’d always wanted to hear. “And I remember the night in that motel, too, how you held me in your sleep. I…” You knew he was about to say something like “I love you” “I’ve always loved you,” and so you cut him off. “Marcus.” He paused, his mouth half open as he looked at you in shock. “It’s too late. We can’t. Maybe there was a chance a few years ago, but now? We’re both married, we have responsibilities, we have to be realistic. It’s not fair to Danielle and John. And I have a job and a life in Boston, I can’t just leave everything all of a sudden.”

“But I…” and you knew he was about to say those words again. “Please don’t say that. Don’t make this any harder than it already is.”

Marcus had fallen silent, looking down at his hands draped over his lap, and then said sadly, “I understand.”

You had just lost your father and now you were losing him too. It wasn’t fair, but it was the only thing to do. “Take me home, please.” He would have started the car without saying anything, driving to your house without looking at you again, perhaps afraid that he wouldn’t be able to let you go if he ever laid eyes on you again. 

You got out of the car just saying thank you, without hugging him because you knew it would have hurt even more.

____________________________________

2008

When John had told you that you should move to Washington DC, you had not taken it well. You did not want to leave Boston, the bright home where you had begun to build your new life, that city that had welcomed you. Starting all over again somewhere else, in a city you had never been to, seemed too much. 

In the end, however, you had accepted it; leaving John seemed even worse. And he had continued to be a good husband, so you saw no reason to part with him.

After all, he had received a good promotion, he had rented a house where you had found a familiar light again, it had big windows, high ceilings, big rooms. John made good money and had tried to accommodate you in everything. 

He had made it worth it all the way.

You had been struggling a bit to fit into the editorial staff of the new newspaper you had found work for. You were aiming for the Washington Post, but they had totally bounced you, which had been no small disappointment to digest. 

However, after all, your life had regained some meaning. 

It was now six months since you had moved, you hadn't heard from Marcus in eight years. And this time it was not because of distance, but because it had really hurt you to find out that he felt something too but it never seemed to be the right time for you. It would have been in 1993 perhaps, if you had had courage, if you had taken the risk of exploring your feelings together. He hadn't had the guts to tell you anything, you were too afraid, and when you had found common ground it had immediately collapsed. 

John had noticed that something was wrong, even he knew you well enough to know that it pained you not to hear from your friend again, and at times he had even urged you to call him. You had told him that he had said something unpleasant about Danielle while you were in the car and you had felt sorry for her, from there you had started to argue. It was a really boorish excuse and you were pretty sure John hadn't bought it but had played it off for the sake of quiet life. 

“Can you stop by the bank to deposit this check this morning?” he had told you that morning before leaving the house. You were sitting at the kitchen table, drinking coffee and enjoying your day off. 

“Sure,” you had answered him, ”I'll go there before I go to the laundry to pick up my dress for tonight.” 

“Mmm the burgundy dress with that dizzying neckline?” he had told you as he leaned over to give you a kiss 

“Just that one” you had smiled as you returned the kiss and caressed his cheek ”you like it huh?”

“I'm looking forward to tonight” he had chuckled before leaving the house with his briefcase ”I'll be home at 7 o'clock okay?”

“Perfect, I'll be ready” you had thrown him a kiss and then curled up in your chair, finishing your coffee and admiring the view of the waking city outside. 

It was your anniversary, and he was going to take you to dinner at a French restaurant you had heard about in enthusiastic tones from your discerning colleague who was a food and wine critic. 

You had dressed quietly, gone out to do your chores, had a manicure appointment, then gone to pick up your dress at the dry cleaners and finally to the bank. 

As soon as you had left the bank you had bumped into a guy. 

You had looked up and been stunned. 

Marcus.

How was that possible? 

“Oh shit,” he had exclaimed.

His hair was slightly longer, he had grown a mustache and a beard but it was him, there was no doubt about it, you would have recognized him in a thousand. 

"What are you doing here?" you had asked him, widening your eyes, without a hello or how are you or anything else, you were too shocked. 

He was the last person you expected to see on your anniversary. 

Marcus had brushed his hand behind his neck, the gesture he always made when he was embarrassed “I got a big promotion” in a tone as if to apologize for existing in the same state as you, in the same city as you, for coexisting in the same environment as you.

“Whatever...I have to go, anyway, have a nice life,” you had tried to say quickly, to disengage yourself from that surreal situation. 

You had already turned your back on him when you heard him say “no wait...please...would you like to have a cup of coffee?”

You had turned silently to look at him. He couldn't have been serious. Yet he was.

And looking into those big brown pleading eyes, for some reason you had not been able to say no.

“All right,” you had replied with a shrug, ”I'll give you half an hour, then I'll have to go home.”

You went to sit in a café around the corner and ordered a cappuccino.

"So how are you?" you asked absentmindedly. 

“Danielle and I broke up last spring.” 

“Oh. I'm sorry.” It was like a blade through the chest to hear his voice again, to hear him say that he was single again and that his marriage was over. Somehow it made you feel guilty even though after eight years it was unlikely that the main reason for their breakup was you. 

“Yeah...she wanted children and for a while we tried but...” 

“Marcus please, I don't care, it's your business because it's over,” you cut off. 

You didn't have to get involved again. When you had thought back to your father's death and how he had confessed right afterwards you had been angry with him. Why had he done it at that time when you were so particularly vulnerable? It wasn't fair. 

"Sorry I-" he had babbled.  

“Never mind, never mind,” you had interrupted him again with a hand gesture. “Look, let's talk straight once and for all” you didn't know where all that aggression was coming from but it was growing inside you inexorably, like an infection ”why the hell are we here?” 

He had lowered his gaze to his cappuccino, then brought it back to you and stared at you in a way that made you feel naked and helpless. He still had an effect on you, and it pissed you off. “I miss you,” he had admitted under his breath, ”I miss talking to you and I miss having you around. I miss everything about you. When I saw you I couldn't believe it. But I know I can't let you leave without clearing things up.” 

“There's nothing left to clear up. It's over Marcus, can't you see that? There was never a right time for us.” 

“That's not true, I-” 

“Stop it! Look, I'm trying to live my life, you do it too,” you had screeched

“But-” 

“No 'buts'... Marcus, I'm tired. I'm tired of this running into each other and don't tell me it's fate because it's just pure randomness. John was transferred for work, now we live here, end of story. I'm still with him, okay? And I'm happy, so please leave me alone.” 

You could see his clenched fist on the coffee table, his eyes glazed with tears, his Adam's apple jumping as you mentioned John. He looked devastated. It was no longer your business anyway, so you had gotten up and made to leave, leaving a bill on the coffee table. “Don't look for me anymore.” 

Marcus had jumped up, his chair had fallen back crashing onto the pavement, and he didn't even seem to notice as he tried to stop you.

“Please” he had grabbed you by the sleeve of his jacket ”please.” 

You had turned back to him and looking into his eyes you had seen the little boy who asked you if he would ever be famous, the one who helped you with your homework, the 20-year-old who had involved you in the craziest vacation of your life, and then the adult who had broken your heart. 

“No.” you had whispered, ”no fucking way.” 

Marcus' face was a grimace of pain, as if in physical pain from your rejection, his shoulders hunched and his hand not letting go of you. He was pathetic and sweet at the same time.

His eyes were fixed in yours as he told you loud and clear, “I love you.”

I love you. 

You had longed to hear it come from his lips for so long that now it was like a lash that burned against your skin. You had stopped feeling like you were glued to the sidewalk, unable to take a step forward “What the hell! Did you have to tell me that? Was it necessary after I told you that I am still with my husband? Fuck, your timing is the worst thing ever. Do you know what day it is today? My wedding anniversary.” you had thrown up words at him angrily, feeling a knot in your stomach that nauseated you. 

“I don't want anything from you,” he had replied, his voice trembling, ”I just wanted you to know.”

“And now that I know according to you what have we solved? What have we gained? I'll tell you, absolutely nothing Marcus.” 

You had turned around and left, yelling at him, “I'll tell you again, don't ever look for me.” 

You had come home and taken a long hot bath, cried your last tears for him, and then decided it was John you had to think about, your special day. Marcus wasn't going to ruin it for you. You had prepared yourself carefully, put on the dress he liked so much, your favorite perfume, and waited for John. When he had come home you had driven out to a restaurant, had had a delicious dinner, sex as soon as you got home, and fallen asleep in his arms feeling that it was right. 

___________________________________

2010

“Love don't wait up for me, I'll be back late. I am so sorry, I love you.” 

It was already the fourth time in a week that he sent you such a message, by now John spent more time in the office than anywhere else. He had been given another promotion and was now mainly in charge of foreign exchanges, so he went to the office at impossible hours, came back later and later, and you barely saw him in the morning getting out of bed to jump in the shower. You hadn't had sex for at least a month, in those days you had talked more often with the mailman than with your husband.

Finally a publishing house had noticed you and they had published your book, you had gotten a chance to continue working for the newspaper by writing your articles from home so you could work on your second novel. 

You had huffed, looking at the screen, by now you were going to your friends' dinners alone, in those two years you had bonded with some couples in your neighborhood, and with a colleague from the newspaper and her husband. Every time you had been invited in the last three months John had declined, saying he had to work. 

You were beginning to feel really alone in your marriage, but you knew you had to try something. You still cared about John; you didn't want everything you had built together to be ruined. Sure, since he was earning more money he was showering you with unexpected and expensive gifts that certainly didn't make up for his absence, though. You had never been a materialistic person, no matter how beautiful the diamond bracelets and pearl necklaces and expensive shoes were, you missed falling asleep cuddled with your husband, feeling his caresses, having breakfast with him in the morning, spending a weekend together on the couch watching TV cuddling, simply spending time with him. For the past few weeks you had failed to write a word, you had hastily completed articles for the newspaper just to meet deadlines but your novel had stalled. You were busy cleaning to take your mind off things, you had joined the gym to force yourself to leave the house but then you would go back and find yourself spending entire evenings lounging around, not knowing what else to do. 

You had decided that night that you had to take matters into your own hands, put on a pretty dress, fixed your hair and make-up thoroughly, and then went out with the intention of surprising him. You were going to bring him his favorite dishes from your favorite Chinese restaurant to the office. 

When you had arrived at his workplace, you had looked up from the car window and seen the light on in his office. 

You had come down loaded with Chinese noodles and dumplings, and as you walked toward the entrance you had noticed his car parked not far away. 

You had taken the elevator with your heart in your throat, looking forward to seeing his happy face as he enjoyed a hot meal. The elevator had opened on the floor and you had started down the hallway leading to his office. There was no one there, everything was quiet and still, but the closer you got to his office the more you heard strange noises. Bellowing, hushed voices. 

The door was pulled over, you had pushed it slightly, and the scene that unfolded before your eyes was unsettling. 

Veronica, a married colleague of him whom you had met at the firm's Christmas party a few months earlier, was bent over John's desk, her skirt up, her panties down, her long legs covered by black hold-ups, her stilettos sinking into the Persian carpet under John's desk. And your husband holding her hips and sinking into her from behind. 

His shirt was hanging off his shoulders, his hair was disheveled, his neck tense and sweaty, as he stood there with his cool wool pants down, fucking his colleague. 

He grunted some words that you had never heard him say when you were having sex “Yeah, bitch, you like that huh? You like getting pounded by my cock huh? You're such a dirty slut, do you feel how wet you are for me?" 

You couldn't believe your eyes. Your sweet husband, the one who had stood by you so devotedly…where had that man gone? 

You dropped the bag with the Chinese dinner on the floor, the boxes had opened, and the noodles had spread all over the hardwood floor. “What the fuck?!”

John had turned around shocked, still with his cock inside his coworker “Oh shit. No, wait, honey I-” he had stepped out of her and tried to pull up his pants awkwardly ”please-fuck-I can explain.” 

“There's nothing to explain, you piece of shit!” you had yelled at him as he approached trying to stammer out some stupid excuse and had slapped him open-handed across the face as soon as he got in front of you ‘don't bother coming home’ you had added contemptuously.

“But love I-” he had pranced rubbing his cheek ”please-” 

“NO!” You had yelled “No, I don't want to hear your bullshit excuses, I don't want anything more to do with you, you disgust me!”

Veronica was standing in the corner buttoning her blouse and pulling down her skirt without meeting your gaze, her face hot and guilty.

Everything that you had sacrificed for that relationship, how you had followed him and reinvented your life for him, adapting to his needs, trying to build a happy nest for the two of you in Washington, all had been swept away. He had stomped on your marriage, your trust, your heart. 

You had driven home crying, risking missing a red light, had nailed down at the last moment with your heart bouncing inside your chest like a jackhammer. You had walked into the house throwing your purse and coat on the floor, throwing your shoes in the middle of the hallway and throwing yourself on the bed, hiding your face in the pillow with your head bursting, a sense of helplessness and defeat enveloping your temples, your chest, your stomach. 

It was over.

John had never come home, you had learned through his lawyer that he had rented an apartment near his office, and a week later he sent three big guys from a moving company to pick up his things.

You couldn't stay in that house anymore. Everything reminded you of him, the lies he had been telling you for months and what was even worse, all the happy moments you had lived in there in spite of yourself. 

You were dragging yourself from room to room without strength, you hadn't written anything anymore, you had told the editor of the newspaper that you were sick to have an excuse to delay the deadlines for your articles. 

You were tired, you were angry, you lacked the will to do anything, after three days without seeing you leave the house your friend Denise, who lived across the street had called you alarmed to see if you were all right, and hearing your dejected, fading voice had decided to use the keys you had given her in case of an emergency to come and check on you in person. 

You had not been able to lie to her; you had burst into tears and told her everything as soon as she asked you where John was. 

From that day she had been by every day bringing you dinner, making sure you ate, forcing you to shower, tidying up. You didn't know what you had done to deserve Denise in your life but you were incredibly grateful that she was there. 

Gradually you had forced yourself to take charge of your life again, started going out again pushed by your friends and even moved house, encouraged by them. You couldn't turn over a new leaf without getting out of there. 

And you had especially realized that you could walk with your head held high; you were not the one who had to be ashamed. 

And looking back on it, you had really overcome a lot in the last few years. The loss of your father, Marcus, your husband. All the men who had meant something to you in your life. 

You could have been proud that you did your best to stay on your feet. 

________________________________________________________

2011 

It had been a year since you had discovered John screwing his colleague.

You had tried dating men, without success, but things were going very well professionally. You had finally managed to finish your second book, and the publisher had been extremely pleased, so much so that he had arranged a series of meetings for you at bookstores around the country.  You had just returned from Ohio when you got a call from your mother inviting you for Christmas.

You had no desire to return to Sacramento, but how could you say no to your mom? She was left alone and it had not been easy for her. Your aunt and uncle lived nearby and took care of her but she had said she missed you a lot.

And she was so proud of you, she had asked you for copies of your books to give to all her friends, she was your biggest fan. You were happy to see her and spend time with her. 

And so, there you were at the airport, with a big suitcase, ready to get on yet another plane and fly across the country. 

You had just gotten an upgrade to business class and were in the private lounge of the area airline ordering yourself a martini when you heard a familiar voice behind you calling your name. 

Marcus. Again. 

“I swear I'm not following you,” he had raised his hands in surrender. 

“I know. I haven't seen you in three years, and we live in the same town.”

You had smiled; it wasn't bad to see his face again after all. 

“Martini?” He had asked pointing to your glass 

“Yeah. Can you please make another one?” You had said turning toward the bartender. 

You had sat at a small table with your cocktails “Are you going to see your mother?”

You had nodded, “You too?” 

“Yes, my parents were very insistent. Where is John?” 

“I have no idea,” you had squeezed into your shoulders taking a sip of your martini. 

“Oh, did you break up? I'm sorry, he seemed like a good man,” he had said.

“Apparently he wasn't since he was cheating on me with one of his colleagues.” 

“You should have better judgment anyway, aren't you a detective?” you had asked, raising an eyebrow and looking at him wryly 

Marcus had burst out laughing, “You're right, I should.”

And he had told you about the time he had fallen in love with someone named Teresa, a colleague of his, and had been left like a poor idiot the previous year, without realizing that she was in love with someone else. 

“It wasn't your fault, you know,” you told him sweetly, ”I know how you get when you have a crush.” 

“How do I become?” he had asked you with a sigh.

And you had replied with a smirk “Well, if you must know...naive, head in the clouds, like you live in a world of unicorns and fairies” 

“Really? A ridiculous clown? Is that what I become?” he had chuckled and then turned serious again ”Not with you, I hope”

You had laughed, you could have laughed at that point. Or maybe it was just the martini clouding your mind. 

“Whatever,” you had rolled your eyes. 

“Well, I'm sorry,” he had muttered.

“It's okay” you had smiled ”Really.”

At that moment they had announced boarding for your flight, so you had hurried to the gate together. 

You were both in business, so eventually you had sat next to each other and continued chatting. 

And it was nice, really nice. You were both single, more aware, you had reached an age where you could be honest with yourselves and you could joke about your dramas. 

“So you had noticed that I had hugged you that night huh?” 

“Sure. You pounced on me in my sleep and woke me up. I didn't want to embarrass you so I played it cool” she had smiled ”I thought you were sleepwalking and dreaming of hugging Keanu Reeves or whatever.” 

You had burst out in the loudest laugh you had had in years and then covered your mouth embarrassed that you had disturbed the other passengers. Fortunately those in your vicinity all had headphones on and were watching a movie. 

“Oh, come on” you had tapped his shoulder and then taken by you don't know what courage-probably the second martini you were downing-you had said ”the only one I dreamed of hugging was you.” 

“I didn't realize this until later...Now is there anyone you would like to hug by any chance?” he had whispered in your ear.

“Actually...yes” 

And there, in that plane, you kissed. For the first time without hindrance, without remorse, without drama, without fear. “I love you” he had whispered on your lips, and you had responded, finally free to say it ”I love you too.”

“So we'll try this time?” he had caressed your cheek, sliding his hand down your neck. 

“Yes” You had said ”definitely yes.”

“Your mother will be delighted” he had smiled, kissing you again “it's going to be a great Christmas.”

“Well, Merry Christman then” you whispered as your mouth moved down his neck.

“Merry Christmas, baby”

[genderqueerdykes]

How do you find out if you’re intersex? I have terrible periods, was diagnosed with PCOS and put on estrogen and some other birth control before I went on T, and found out during my first gyno check that I just….dont have a canal? Which explains a lot because bedroom activities were so excruciating that I avoid them but my doctor won’t diagnose anything?

This is my regular doctor. I have a heart condition so I see him often enough. But he just won’t talk about it? Am I losing it? It can’t be normal.

you were diagnosed with PCOS and you don't have a vaginal canal. you're intersex! you don't need to find any other additional information or do any tests, those are both intersex variations! if you'd like to learn more, you're definitely welcome to research those conditions, or reach out to other intersex people to discuss your situations!

most people don't really find out they're intersex in a formal manner, it's generally when someone learns about the intersex community that they realize it. very few people are diagnosed or medically referred to as intersex, most of us are out here with intersex variations, still forced into M or F markers.

this is actually very normal- but that means you're not alone and you're not losing it though- more often than not, you are not going to get told you're intersex in that wording by a medical professional. especially in medical settings. even OBGYNs and other reproductive health doctors will not use the "I" word. most people find out they're intersex due to the variations and conditions they're diagnosed with, not the "I" word.

you're intersex, you don't need to get that confimation from your doctor because it's more than likely not going to happen. most doctors really are not on the intersex person's side. when i was diagnosed with PCOS, hyperandrogenism and other issues as a teen, i was forced onto estrogen like you were. i was never told i was intersex, though. the only thing they told me was that i was more than likely sterile. they were more concerned about telling a teenager that they couldn't have children than telling me what being intersex was. they likely didn't even know the word or what it means. i don't think most medical professionals have even heard of intersexuality.

most doctors see intersexuality as a series of health conditions that are a "problem to fix" and not a state of being that a person can exist in naturally without needing to be modified.

i hope that helps! you're intersex :) feel free to ask any more questions you have, i'm definitely glad to help! take care for now!

[nr1chaedickrider]

but my best enemy is you

pt.1!!!, angst, smut, violence, it's a mess

“you're the sweetest” she says, smiling at your flushed face. her thumb softly caresses your cheek.

you lean into her touch, her soft hand on your skin was a feeling which you love more than anything.

“i love you” you whisper against her lips, kissing her slowly and passionately.

“i love you too” her voice is full of love as well as the look on her face, her smile not fading from her lips.

oh, how you wished it would stay on her lips forever.

“you're fucking unbelievable”

“i'm unbelievable? are you seriously trying to blame me?”

“call it blaming, i call it being honest and seeing the truth”

you can't read momo's expression, you can't tell what she's feeling, if she's sad, mad, or just disappointed.

your hand shakes a little, as if you're scared.

you are actually scared.

“i can't”

“we're done”

is she too?

“so just like that? that was it?”

“you're not going to fight for us?”

“you're the better fighter between us, use it in the ring - not in our relationship,”

“or whatever it was.”

“you're an asshole”

“okay”

-

momo swirls the ice in her drink with the straw, watching the fight that's happening.

two men who she never saw before are fighting against each other, it doesn't quite peak her interest.

she thinks it's uninteresting watching them fight - or others in general. they don't have any tension in their fights.

they simply fight to win the money, not because they have a certain history with the person standing in front of them.

basically meaning, momo doesn't care if it's strangers, she only cares when she and you fight against each other.

she knows about the rumors, she knows that more people come into the bar just to watch the two of them.

but she also believes that you don't need to know both of those things, acting cold and like she has no idea about it instead.

the fight ends and everyone but her cheers for the fighters, she turns to the bartender and orders a shot of vodka.

“momo, right?” a red haired girl asks as she sits down next to her.

momo looks at her, nods and then downs the shot quickly.

“who's asking?” she knows.

“jihyo - i'm y/n's trainer” she replies, looking at the ring.

“what are you doing here?” momo asks her, also looking at the ring.

“the same as you, watching fights”

“y/n is actually up next” her eyes widen in shock, not expecting to hear that you're fighting someone else instead of her.

before momo can ask jihyo other questions - the crowd starts to yell and cheer as you enter the ring on the left side.

jeongyeon enters the ring on the right side, receiving a lot of support from the spectators.

momo has heard of jeongyeon before, even fought against her when she first started fighting.

she asks herself who will win.

you're a strong fighter - and the fact that you're not fighting against her makes momo think that you could easily win, since there is no history, nothing that could hold you back from hitting her with all the strength you have in your body.

the referee (again, who's actually just a random guy) blows in his whistle, signaling that the fight is starting.

you block your face with your hands as jeongyeon tries to hit you, moving to the side and hitting her stomach.

jeongyeon looks at you full of anger, as if you'd done something so terrible.

she walks over to you - almost even runs - and hits your throat.

an illegal move.

you gasp for air, falling against the border of the ring, looking up to her being right in front of you.

the referee is too slow, he doesn't stop jeongyeon and she hits another hit in your face.

then your stomach, your side, your chest - literally everything she could hit before getting dragged away by the referee.

you fall down on the floor, blood coming from your nose and mouth.

momo stares at the ring in shock, not being able to move.

what just happened?

jihyo next to her calls an ambulance, rushing to you to check if you're (somehow) alright.

momo slowly stands up and walks closer, a sigh of relief (which she hopes wasn't too loud) leaves her mouth when she sees you sitting up again, holding your head and talking to jihyo (or rather, jihyo talks to you and you try not to pass out).

the medics arrive quickly, a woman with blonde hair gets into the ring and kneels in front of you so she can look at what happened.

jihyo leaves you alone, the crowd slowly relaxes and decides on doing other things than staring at you and your wounds.

everyone but momo.

her eyes are fixed on you, and her.

she can't explain why, but seeing you and her - it makes her stomach drop, gives her this uncomfortable feeling.

“you're pretty” she hears you say to her, to which the girl replies to with a giggle.

she introduces herself as sana to you (a pretty name in momo's opinion, but that doesn't change anything).

momo thinks that she's pretty and nice, she isn't a bad woman.

but she can't help herself to feel jealous.

she has no right to be jealous, but she still feels it. it doesn't matter if she wants to feel that way or not - she is jealous.

-

it has been exactly one week.

one week since you fought against jeongyeon, which led to multiple serious injuries.

one week since you were laughing and giggling like idiots with that medic sana.

momo hasn't been able to stop thinking about it.

she sits down next to you at the bar without greeting you.

you look at the bartender and ask him for a shot of tequila which he places in front of momo before leaving you two alone.

“your favorite” you say, not looking at her. she interrupts you though.

“how are you doing? you looked rough last week” she asks, drinking the tequila quickly after finishing her sentence.

“why do you care?” you ask back, to which momo doesn't reply (or rather - she isn't able to reply).

“what’s up with sana and you?” she says, turning the bar stool so she can fully look at you.

you laugh a little, finishing your beer, “you know, you ask a lot of questions”

she waits for you to answer her question instead of saying something else.

you sigh, realizing she's as stubborn as you often are.

“nothing much. i dont get why you would care, but we're just talking. that's all” you answer.

you turn to her, looking in her eyes, but you quickly look away.

her eyes make you nervous, even after all this time - you still get nervous talking to her.

“if you excuse me, i have to go, was nice talking to you” you say, placing some money on the table as you walk out of the door of the bar.

maybe she's stupid - but she doesn't care.

she walks out of the bar quickly, walking after you.

she sees you walking away, so she runs after you.

her hand grips your wrist and stops you from walking.

you look at her, your mouth opens to say something, but she interrupts you, again.

but this time, she kisses you.

momo pins you to the stone wall behind you, her hands grip the collar of your cropped leather jacket as her lips are on yours.

you're shocked, but you kiss her back anyway.

oh, how much you missed this.

she leaves your lips after a while, salvia connecting you two.

“i don't know why i care,” she starts speaking, her eyes focused on yours.

“but what i know is that i was jealous,”

“seeing you and sana act like we used to,”

“it made me mad, it upset me,”

“she doesn't know you like i do -”

momo isn't a bold person often, but something about today is different.

“she wouldn't be able to fuck you like i do” she whispers against your lips, her hands gripping your waist.

you look at her in silence, her statement sounding not real, like you're in a dream.

you realize that this isn't a dream though.

this time you pull momo closer, kissing her.

“let's go to my place” you mumble in between kisses.

-

everything happens so fast that neither momo nor you can really comprehend what exactly happens.

it's messy and needy (something you always liked).

you sit on top of momo as you’re both making out.

you lean back just a little so your lips part, taking off your shirt.

momo can't help but stare.

it's nothing crazy in your opinion, a simple calvin klein bra.

momo thinks it's so much more than that though.

you're back to kissing her as you slowly kiss down momos neck, biting and sucking, leaving hickeys all over.

you were never this eager for something, ever.

“ah fuck-... i don't know if this is the smartest thing” she whimpers, hands gripping your naked waist, fingers curling into your skin as they slightly scratch you.

the burn you feel is delicious.

“you know i always thought you are a smart girl,” you breathe out against her neck, admiring your work before going for the other side.

“but this is your time to be stupid for once” you whisper, momo bites her lip at your statement.

she pushes you away so she's able to take off her shirt. you get off her lap so you can take her jeans off, being so eager that you're almost ripping them off (if you’d listen closely you would probably be able to hear it).

“come here” she orders, pulling you closer after kicking her pants off her feet.

you're back to kissing her again, opening your mouth so her tongue can explore it.

you can't help but let out a moan when she presses her knee up to your core, grinding onto it.

you push her back down onto the mattress, leaning down so you can place kisses all over her body.

momo watches you, her breath hitches when you press a kiss on her clit over the underwear.

“that sensitive?” you tease her as you lock eyes, momo bites her lip again.

“haven’t done it in a long time” she replies.

you pull off her underwear, it slightly sticks to her because of the slick, making you laugh at her.

“yeah i bet. it doesn't feel as good when you're doing it without me” you comment.

you don't waste your time and shove two of your fingers inside her wet cunt, fucking her in a fast rythmn.

“we should do something like this more often” you smirk, kissing her naked skin.

she simply just nods, moaning and whimpering at the feeling of your fingers inside of her after so long.

you don't wait long, putting another finger in.

momo moans at the stretch, gripping the bed sheets. her bottom lip starts to bleed a little at the pressure she's applying.

“you sound so pretty for me baby” you praise her, pulling your fingers out just to thrust them into her again.

you move your head right next to hers, whispering into her ear.

“such a desperate slut for me, god.. look at you momo” the way you say her name makes momo even needier, clenching around your fingers.

“please” she begs, if you would ask her what she's begging for, she wouldn't be able to answer. her mind is clouded and full of you and nothing else.

“can you take another one, good girl?” you ask, she looks at you, breathing heavily.

“too much-” she moans.

you know how to get what you want with her.

“please baby”

“you're my good girl aren't you? i know you can take it. please, for me” she looks into your eyes, they’re full of lust, full of the desire to ruin momo.

she nods, biting her lip again. if you look closely into her eyes you can even see how glassy they are.

“that's my good girl”

you slowly insert a fourth finger, giving her time to adjust.

momo throws her head back, breath hitching at the feeling.

“you're so tight baby” you tease, slowly starting to move your fingers.

“feel so full mommy-” she whimpers, the name makes you just increasingly eager to make her finish.

you start to thrust into her, making her moan louder and louder.

“i'm so close-” she moans.

“please- let me cum.. god please y/n-” the way she's asking you for permission, how could you say no to that?

“cum for me pretty girl” you keep moving your fingers and it doesn't take long for momo to cum all over you with a loud moan, her breath shaky as well as her legs, breathing heavily as she somehow tries to calm down.

but you don't take your fingers out, looking at her ruined state.

“please” you start begging, and momo knows what you're begging for.

she also knows that she will say yes.

she'll let you overstimulate her till she's crying and sore.

it feels too good to stop.

[abrthephantomq]

You tell me I'm a good boy or a good pet and I'll melt in your hands. - Jazz, probably, when he figures out that he's a simp for Zim even if he doesn't realize WHY he's obsessed with him.

Zim this, Zim that - he's all you talk about, Dib. Maybe you don't actually hate him. Maybe you actually like, wanna suck his dick or something --

GAZLENE --

what? Am I wrong?

Nnn-- I mean -- yes. Yes you're wrong Gaz.

Hey, have you noticed there's lots more planes flying overhead around here, lately?

Yeah, that'd make sense and all, considering what happened last week.

What happened last week?

...........Dib. You know what happened last week.

I don't, actually -- oh no...

What is it? Why're you acting so weird? Like, weirder than usual?

Fuck I overshot.

What do you mean, you overshot?

Gaz, what year is it?

It's 2001. Why?

Month?

September --

Of course! That's what happened, last week. Thanks. I forgot for a second. That's all.

How could you forget about it? All you've been talking about is how Zim was the one who did all of it --

BECAUSE HE DID, GAZ.

What?

That was ZIM - he didn't manage to sell any candy bars so he lost our bet. He was so confused why humans weren't falling to their knees, terrified. In those EXACT words. I have a recording of him saying just that.

What the hell, Dib --

:voice recording plays - Zim sounds absolutely devastated: "they didn't even blink an eye when I put that city in ruins. How can these humans be so.... Eh? I forgot the word, what was I saying?

Oh. Yeah. These hyumens aren't scared of my super scary simulation of me destroying one of their precious cities! They just shrugged and said whatever. I don't want your fucking candy."

Do you humans not get enough moneys to buy these things? These are....really good chocolate. Like, I expected them to be sand based on the name of them, but -- they're actually good? Is this a PRIVATE school?

[Dib's voice can be heard in the background; he apparently planted a bug that looked exactly like The Bug --, right where Zim tended to look at himself in the mirror. Because Zim likes to talk to himself out loud - but he's gotta see his reflection to do it. But Zim's eyes are fucking terrible and he can't see shit, even with his occular implants. Even though he is an Irken Elite. You're not gonna get anymore information from me than that. Either way, you hear enough to know that it's Dib speaking, even if you can't make out what he's saying. But Zim can hear him even if Dib is WAYYYYYY. Over there bc of his antenna. Like. You can hear a Dib when he is in his home. That is how much better Zim can hear than Dib]

Did you really just hijack me, space boy? I'm trying to tell my part of the story here as the fly on the wall of every single moment the two of you think you're alone.

Bobby Dawn what are you doing. (Barbie Dan?)(nah, Bobby Dawn. But if you wanna say it where people hear the name both ways, go for it)

Anyways, Steven asked for my assistance with the next chapter of class clown. This ain't the next, next chapter, but it is a chapter that'll show up later down the road. He's gotta finish a Mr. sludgey POV, first.

This just the super unedited version done while I'm high bc I love creating bonds and strengthening them via writing them. That includes my TikToks and my journal entries I ain't shared with y'all and all the writing we ain't shared with y'all, neither.

Gonna go get myself some lunch now, tho. Been at this long enough. ❤️ Have a good day now, y'hear?

All fanfiction authors have praise kinks in the form of comments and likes

[palskippah]

Hi! Drew this based over a scene in Santa Clarita Diet bc Abby's relationship with her parents is so funny but also it's clear that she loves them aaa

Anyways, every once in a while Cyrus realizes that his other dad is actually cooler than he gives him credit for sjdfksj

Under the cut are some more thoughts!

-Btw I hope you get the 'of course' wink sjdkfjs

>My mom always does it whenever I ask a question that could only use a 'yes' as an answer, instead of nodding or talking and I think it's cool sjkdf (I don't use it bc I'm very uncoordinated, imagine I accidentally double wink or do the frog blink 😭)

-Cyrus is often so mean to him that whenever he's genuinely nice, sometimes Ambrosius' suspicious and wondering if he's being sarcastic or mocking him, even if Cyrus tries to tell him that it's nothing of that and he means it

>Like that scene in Santa Clarita Diet where Abby compliments her parents and they stare for a few seconds all seriously and then one says, don't listen to her honey, we did great (and it reminded me so much of that one scene in the comic with Ballister and Ambrosius sjdkfjs)

>This one:

>I really wanna redraw it like the scene in the show. Ballister going good job and Ambrosius just staring very calculating, and then going, don't listen to him, men, we DID get him >:(

-Also drew this because ever since Cyrus has been born Ambrosius couldn't help but feel that his son just knew that he wasn't a good person, the way he was always frowning at him (that's just his face, like Ballister's) and when he grows up, he seems to not like him much either pipipi

>Anyways one day (being a moody teenager) Cyrus says the typical I hate you, dad!!! D:< and locks himself in his room and Ambrosius' like, D':

>He's always mean too but that's just his teenager personality, sarcastic and stuff and Ballister doesn't take it personal because he knows his son is just like that (hopefully for the meanwhile, until he grows out of it), Ambrosius knows too but he's more sensitive and can't help taking it a bit personal 😔

-Also I got another idea for a small comic based over a kdrama I watched, where the daughter (the oldest of the two siblings) blamed herself over her dad leaving their family, and hated him for leaving too and many things, just very complicated.

>And aaa imagine Cyrus just never saying it but knowing that both of his dads' lives would've been different if he hadn't been born. Like maybe all of Ballister's plans to overthrow the Institute and stuff took longer, and some phases in his plan had to be put in hold because of him and stuff.

>Also for a while he feels like Ballister is bound to Ambrosius for life because of him (little did he know that those two would've been around each other their whole lives anyways, even if he never existed sjdkfs) then he realizes that they actually like and love each other, and then they try having something, or smth, and then he's like oh :) because seeing both of your parents loving each other and getting along is a very nice feeling (I've been told, idk from first-hand experience🧍 cries)

>Actually, I drew this unfinished thing about that, based over another scene in the kdrama I mentioned, where the daughter says, after being told that if her parents hadn't met, she wouldn't have been born, that it'd would've been for the better.

>I know the writing is terrible but Cyrus' complaining about Ambrosius and ending his rant with 'I wish they just hadn't met at all', and Nimona saying that she used to feel the same, but then realized that Cyrus wouldn't have been born, and Cyrus was supposed to say next, 'maybe that would've been better' and then Nimona doesn't answer and just stares at him wwhwh

-AND of course it's not Cyrus' fault that Ballister decided to have him, but he still has the feeling of having messed up his dad's life, and let's say that Ballister realizes for whatever reasons his feelings, connecting dots and stuff.

>So, imagine a conversation where he's saying very reassuringly, Meeting your father and later having you is one of the best things that had happened to me, or something like that. And Cyrus is resolutely not looking at him, but his eyes are getting teary, even if he feigns not acknowledging Ballister's words because how embarrassing, and how vulnerable he feels, but also he feels so relieved and loved too.

>And he doesn't know what to do with the feelings, also being a teenager with no feelings is his thing, y'know, so he's like, Just so you know, I'm not crying over what you said, I don't care about that, something just got in my eye- and Ballister just smiles because his son is terrible at communicating his feelings, but it's okay and he gets it, and just says, of course, let me get it out for you, and then he wipes Cyrus' tears and Cyrus gets a tad bit more teary but it's fine because his dad doesn't mind wiping some more tears wiwiiw

>(projecting so much into him bc when I watched that one scene in the show I cried bc I've felt the way the protagonist did (now I know better tho, I'm the coolest thing to happen to my mom yippiee) and it's a very ugly feeling, so of course I'm giving it to a character whwehw)

Anyways, that's it! I love them so much, I hope to make some more comics about the thingies I said above sjkdfd

[strngegirl]

a/n: an intermission for the other thing im working on (my first request giggles) because it'll take a while with how hectic my life is rn <\3 // just trying to get my head back in the writing game so this isn't too stimulating (⁠｡⁠•́⁠︿⁠•̀⁠｡⁠)

cw: gn!reader x choso, angst i think, mildly suggestive (mentions of sex), reader cheats on husband with choso, choso doesn't care, choso really loves reader, reader doesn't love him like that, choso is pathetic and a little sad, choso pov.

wc: somewhere around and a little over 1k i think?

❝Hold me, console me, and then I'll leave without a trace.❞ ——— THE MARÍAS, 'NO ONE NOTICED'.

Winter, the coldest season all year round. A season where snow falls, children get giddy about the fact that Santa will break into their house and gift them their dream presents for being a 'good kid' this year, people get ready for the epilogue of yet another year. Basically, it's a season that's celebrating the end of the year, and the start of a new one.

But Choso finds that he feels rather empty, despite all the activities he's doing with his brothers.

He doesn't wanna blame you, but... He's acutely aware the reason why he's feeling so down is because of you.

After Yuki told Choso to go live as a human, you were the first human connection he made. He went to a bar to try out alcohol, and then you slid into the seat next to his, introducing yourself. Conversation with you flew smoothly like silk, and even with his lack of understanding of everything in general, you were so patient with him. You didn't ridicule him, you didn't mock him, you taught him. What Choso didn't know, you explained. He liked that you treated him as an equal that just has a lot of questions, and you didn't look at him weirdly nor belittle him like some other people he's interacted with prior.

That's also one of the reasons why he followed you home, so enamored with you he hardly notices the framed pictures of you and a man together hanging in the corridors of your home, or the shiny ring on your finger even as you used that same hand to undress him. All he can focus on is your gentle voice telling him what to do, and your soothing touches that gives him the most pleasure he has ever felt. He let you take his first, let you see him so vulnerably in all his naked glory because he thinks he might be in love. It's foolish, he knows; he doesn't even understand what love is, but with his understanding of it, he knows he feels something for you. Choso doesn't care about the fact you guys just met, he cared about the pleasant scorching sensation you make him feel.

He kept in contact with you, never got mad even when you ghosted him occasionally, although it does make him feel vaguely sick, he doesn't mind. Because it's you. And he gets to share a bed with you when you reply to him sometimes; be it for sex, an ear to listen to or just some company, he'd be there. Anything for you.

And it stays that way even when he finds out that you have a husband. It should make him back off, really, but the thought that even when you're bound to another, you still wanted him made him feel so special. After knowing, he listens to you ranting to him about how your husband goes away for long periods of time and hardly ever pays you the attention you need, and from what you've told him some other times, he doesn't think your husband deserves you. If anything, he thinks he can find a better ring for you, replace the one currently locked around your ring finger like a leech.

But you always avoided any topic involving taking your relationship any further.

Choso tried to take you on a date, of course. Multiple times, actually. His pleas for you to accept always goes on deaf ears, or you just shut it down with a detached "I'll have to take a rain check". He hates it. He wants to go out with you, hold hands with you and do all the things he sees couples do. But you refused to leave your husband, and you don't want to be caught cheating which is terribly ironic because you shamelessly invite him over almost three times each week. It's okay though, he'll listen to you if it means he can stay. Even if it hurts him inside.

It's been approximately four months since he first met you and began this repeated song and dance, and right now he's back in your bed all over again. Both of you lie there underneath the covers on your marital bed, basking in the post coital bliss he's been addicted to ever since the start. The hum of the heater inside your room being the only noise filling the silence that has fallen between you two.

Choso has his head on your chest, his ears pressed against your warm, sticky skin as he listens to the thud of your calming heartbeat. It's music to his ears, one he can listen to for eternity if you'd allow him to.

And as always, he's the one breaking the silence. Because you wouldn't.

"[Name]?" He asks quietly, wide eyes looking up to your face he finds himself loving.

You hum in acknowledgment, fingers meandering through his hair.

"Can we attend the Christmas festival together?" Choso asks you on a date. Again. Despite knowing the answer—

"No, I'm sorry. You know I can't."

—he'd still ask. He still holds onto that sliver of hope, that one in a million chance where you'd say yes to him.

He deflates at the response he had expected, his face slowly turning down to hide into your chest again. And again, it's fine. He doesn't mind.

"I love you." He whispers those three words for the first time ever. He wasn't sure if it'd make you mad or... Or happy. He wishes it would make you happy. Because he knows if you said that to him, he'd be very happy.

Choso feels you tense the moment he utters those words, and as he waits with bated breath for you to reciprocate his words—nothing.

It's okay. As long as you continue to keep him around, he'll be content with you turning him down every time he tries to show you how in love he is with you.

Because you make him feel human.

[miraculouslbcnreactions]

One of the problems I had with the online radicalization of Jalil in reunion is how it actually occurs. Jalil is supposedly radicalized by a message board, but it’s provided by alliance and the AI mascot he uses is Lila. So it’s left muddled on what exactly is happening here.

Is there really an internet based opposition to LB and CN? You wouldn’t think it since Paris enlarge is shown to still support them. But the presence of message boards would imply at least some support for monarch even if it’s mostly trolls. Or is alliance fabricating it for Gabriel to upset people in a targeted way? Or is it just Lila with a bunch of alt accounts? It’s really hard for me to tell just how wide spread this is as a problem for Paris considering it’s dropped after this one episode.

I'm also not sure how seriously we're supposed to take the criticism shown in that episode. It feels very much like the sort of BS we get with Su-Han where he points out a legitimate concern but in the most obnoxious, inflammatory way possible so that the audience feels forced to disagree with him. It's terrible writing that isn't very fun to watch. Reminds me of all the awful live-action Disney reboots that try to engage with every critical take anyone has ever had, leading to a lesser story. They would be much better off to just ignore the criticism they don't want to properly address and have fun with the story even if there's an arguable flaw. That's what suspension of disbelief is all about!

You want Paris to support Ladybug and Chat Noir no matter what they do? Cool! That works! Just don't take an episode and introduce the idea that there is actually criticism out there because that makes us start to question things like anon is doing here.

Another great example is the "issue" that Gabriel never uses the butterfly miraculous to heal his wife when it feels like that should be within its power. The show was totally correct to never address that on screen because the butterfly probably should be able to heal her! The reason it can't is because then the show would end. If the writers tried to explain an in-universe reason, then it would be as nonsensical as their explanation of how the rooster works:

Gabriel: There! (to Orikko) You! You can grant me any power I want! (closes the Grimoire and walks toward Orikko) You will give me the power to travel through time! Orikko: No, you're mistaken! Time travel is Fluff's power and I can't grant the power that already belongs to another Kwami! Gabriel: Are you trying to deceive me?? Orikko: (nods) By all means! Read the Grimoire again! (Gabriel reopens the Grimoire.) Sass: Each Kwami represents a concept, and a concept can only exist once in the universe. Xuppu: Too complicated, Sass! Let's use an example to make things simpler. Take Tikki, she is the Kwami of Creation, and creation is creation, and if there's another creation than creation, then it's not "creation", it's "replication"! Gabriel: Then grant me the power to locate Ladybug and Cat Noir's Miraculous! Orikko: Trouble is, that's not a power; that's a wish! Xuppu: For instance, if I asked Santa for a pair of socks, that's a wish. But if I want Santa to grant me the power to knit socks, then it means Santa needs to know how to knit socks in the first place so he can teach me! Gabriel: (groans angrily) Grant me the power to unmask Ladybug and Cat Noir's secret identities! Xuppu: No can do! Orikko: (shoves Xuppu away) I cannot give a power that would disrupt another Kwami's magic. And being able to conceal the person behind the costume, well, that's part of the magic of their Kwami. Gabriel: (enraged) So you're utterly useless!

If all of this is true, then how do the goat and the peacock make things? Isn't that Creation? And how was the butterfly able to make a time travel villain? That's Fluff's power! And how was Gabriel able to offer to make Marinette into a villain who could unmask people via the butterfly? That's going against the miraculous' powers!

The answer is simply that the lore was not thought out in a way that stands up to even the most basic questions. When that's the case, the only way to handle the problem is to just ignore it. Keep your on screen explanations as shallow as your lore. Don't try to add depth that isn't there. Trying to address it just highlights how shitty your world building is.

[howlingday]

As great as this is, I can't buy Jaune being this sassy. That said...

Pyrrha: How was that, Glyn?

Goodwitch: Terrible, Ms. Nikos. You can get away with such mistakes during the Vytal Festival, but THIS is what we have been training for.

Pyrrha: (Scoffs) I beat them, didn't I?

Goodwitch: Next time, don't let your guard down because a pair of pretty eyes blink in your general direction!

Pyrrha: (Looks to Jaune)

Jaune: (Wrings out tunic, Looks to Pyrrha)

Goodwitch: It's like I keep telling you; you need to stay focused and you- (Looks up, Pyrrha's halfway to Jaune) Yooou...

Juniper: (Lifts paw to stop Pyrrha)

Pyrrha: (Keeps walking)

Juniper: (Confused)

Pyrrha: (In front of Jaune)

Juniper: (Squeaks)

Goodwitch: (Sputters)

Pyrrha: Are you alright, Mister...

Jaune: Arc. Jaune Arc. Short, sweet, rolls off the tongue. The ladies love it. Or they would if any of 'em actually bothered talking to me. So, did you manage to carve out a name for yourself along with those chiseled shoulders? (Bends down, Wrings out sandals)

Pyrrha: (Flushed, Chuckles) Uh... Ha ha... Um... Ah... Ah...

Jaune: I see you're a bit of a natural linguist. (Walking away)

Pyrrha: PYRRHA! Khm! I'm- I'm Pyrrha Nikos.

Jaune: (Sits down) I think I'd prefer Invincible Girl~.

Juniper: (Tugs Pyrrha with antlers)

Pyrrha: (Tugs free, Awkward chuckle) So, how, um... How- How did you get mixed up with the, uh-

Jaune: Claws for brains? You know how women are. They think no means yes and get lost means "I want you more than anything~!"

Pyrrha: (Looks to Juniper)

Juniper: (Shrugs)

Jaune: ...Don't worry. I'm sure your grandma over there can explain it to you later.

Goodwitch: (Fumes)

Jaune: Well, later, PIER... You've been a real CUT. (Walks away)

Pyrrha: W-Wait!

Jaune: (Looks to her)

Pyrrha: Can we, uh, give you a ride?

Juniper: (Snorts, Bounds into the forest)

Jaune: I don't think long ears likes me very much.

Pyrrha: Who? Juniper?! Don't be ridiculous~! She'd be more than happy to- (Hit by rocks) Ow!

Juniper: (Dirt falling from antlers, Whistling)

Jaune: Don't worry about me. I'm a big boy. (Taps her breastplate) I can tie my own sandals and everything. (Walks away, Waves) Bye bye, Invincible Girl~. (Leaves)

Pyrrha: (Smiles dumbly, Waves) Bye...

Goodwitch: (Huffs)

Hercules au

Pyrrah: Reales that .. uh.. young man!

Jaune (being held by a giant scorpion center): keep moving hot stuff.

Pyrrah: wha-but-

Pyrrah: aren't you a Damoiseau in distress?

juane: I'm a Damoiseau, I'm in distress, I can handle this.

Pyrrah:

Jaune: have a nice day.

I was summoned

Merry Christmas

[starsweepers]

you know what. if this gets me run off of tumblr so be it.

i'm done with this. it's fucking stupid. all of it. coming on and reading people's fucking "DNI" lists. and i say this as someone who loves people who have some DNI lists. this is not against specific people and will never be. but i am fucking. so sick. of coming on and having no problem with people but i have friends who suddenly start telling me "don't interact with X"

people on both sides. people i have never had an issue with, who have never been problematic or mean but maybe at some point in their lives did something terrible to someone else.

you know what? i've been trash too. i know i've probably said and did things against good friends. but i talked to them and hashed it out or we blocked each other and moved on with their lives.

i am. so sick of being caught in between people who are fucking fighting. i should not be logging on from christmas and feeling torn in between people. i've basically soft blocked people because i am too old, i don't want to deal with this. but now i feel fucking guilty for not defending friends but also not... sticking up for friends.

i am so sick of this. i have multiple people i have blocked and hate seeing on my dash that good friends love and i just fucking ignore them but then i have friends who have dnis and i gotta fucking respect them or i'm a terrible person.

in real life people just fucking don't get along while some do. it just happens. i'm 30+ i've learned to accept this. i am so tired of being made to pick between people so i end up just blocking everyone i don't want this. it's tumblr rp. stop. i'm so tired, i'm so sick of this. i know dnis are to protect people but making your followers follow that rule? it's just clique behavior.

"the tumblr rp is so welcoming"

no it's fucking not. it doesn't matter the fandom. you pick your friends and you stick by them which GREAT.

but then people like me who are in the middle and just want to write are sitting back and watching a bunch of people i like hate each other. i'm so tired of it. i'm so so so so tired of it. i just wanna write stupid little characters.

if someone has physically caused you problems. block them and move on. stop making your friends choose between you. it's so fucking painful and we feel like we can't win. we win if we do and we're damned if we don't. i'm so tired i want everyone to have fun it's fucking christmas, this shouldn't have been on my mind at all.

run me off of tumblr. i don't care. i'm so sick of this. i came here to write not for all this fucking stupid drama that middle school people do. i hate. feeling like i have to pick friends to the point i've picked no one. now i'm going to lose rp partners and companions because someone is always wrong. i get it, i know they are. i'm just. tired. it's not worth it. this is fucking online. i have real life friends and a real life. i love amber because i fucking know her but in the end most of y'all are just a person i've met online and if you're going to hate me for this then so be it.

i'm tired i want to write, i want to be friends, but i am forced to pick sides because of dnis and it just makes me fucking upset all the fucking time.

you're allowed to want to feel safe on your blog i get it. but you're making other people feel fucking guilty and upset if we get along with someone you don't like.

( disclaimer: like actual groomers and such, fuck them but that is not 80% of what i experience so i'm fucking tired )

[theamphibianmen]

That one post that's like "Elphaba cooks and Glinda bakes🥰" pisses me off so much because it's just so completely fucking backwards.

Glinda may be sugar and spice and everything nice but she's also an absolute dumbass who can't find the baking soda because she thinks it's a liquid. The most complex thing she knows how to bake is that awful muffin mix that comes in a plastic bag and she'd STILL manage to fuck it up by forgetting to line the tin or something. She is, however, suspiciously good with knives and just aware enough of her surroundings to avoid burning the house down.

Elphaba on the other hand counts individual chocolate chips. She runs that kitchen like the fucking navy. You don't bake cookies with Elphaba, she bakes cookies while you watch in a mixture of awe and shame because you actually used a pinch of salt instead of one eighth of a tea spoon.

And I was mostly talking about act 1 before b even in act 2 she'd still be a terrible cook! This woman has spent a decade living off of Suspicious Vegan Stew the only way she's gonna add seasonings is if you hold her hand and tell her that she deserves to take a break from vigilante justice long enough to eat something with goddamn paprika in it

[psychemochanight]

Ok, but a canon-divergent AU where Bruce is a terrible father figure to Dick, but he doesn't know it.

Of course, in canon Bruce is far from being a perfect father (even a good one in many cases), but at least he cares about Dick, even if he has a peculiar way of showing it (I'm talking to you, Bruce, who decides if saving the world is worth it only if Dick will be okay).

But imagine an AU where everything happened the same, or almost, except that neither Alfred nor Bruce cared to show, not even kindness, but that much empathy for Dick. However, in this AU Dick's father was not very affectionate either, so Dick does not associate male figures as affectionate.

It's not until Dick is with his team that he learns... That's not normal.

Dick: So... You guys didn't train until you pass out? Weren't you taught that the only way to get better is to push your own limits?

Roy: *wanting to kill Bruce* No, Dick. The first thing they teach you is how to stay safe, you know, avoid getting to the point where you pass out from the effort.

Dick: Oh.

Donna: Dick, you should rest, you're hurt. You literally have a broken ankle.

Dick, who is at the gym, doing arm exercises and twists that are not at all safe for an injured person: I'm fine, Donna. I'm just warming up. I've been on patrol in worse conditions.

Donna: Wdym by that? Worse???

Dick: Yes...? Villains don't take a break just because you're hurt, you know that.

Donna: That's why there are other heroes to help!

Dick: Don't you guys have a rule about not taking help from anyone? That shows weakness and...

Donna: No, Dick, no.

Dick, confused: Oh.

Wally: Please tell me you're not doing that thing again.

Dick: What thing?

Wally: Not sleeping or eating to be on guard.

Dick: Well, it's my job, so...

Wally: You. Are. A. Human. YOU NEED REST AND FOOD.

Dick: I'm fine, it's not like...

Wally: Don't you dare say that Batman made you stay in those conditions for more days. That's NOT normal, Dick.

Dick: ... It's not?

Dick: So... you guys aren't on guard all the time waiting for your mentors to surprise attack you to test your reflexes?

Roy: I swear to God I gonna kill him.

Donna: I'll help.

Wally: On it.

Dick: *panics*

It's even worse for his friends when they discorver that his siblings are being treated much better, as after he leaves, Bruce and Alfred finally begin to notice how to treat children.

Dick was literally trial and error.

[ideasnstuff]

The lovers au

Because yes.

A dialogue between skk

C:How do you did it?

D: Wh.. at?

C: You hear me. I know you can hear me how do you did it?

D: Pardon?

C: How did you do it?

D: Do what?

C: Oh so you can hear me. You helped those two.

D: I suppose I did...

C: How.

D: I think... I talked with them.

C: You... you talked?

D: Sure.

C: Just... just talked?!

D: Yeah I did. And?

C: ...

C: That woman over there... i know her name is Yosano Akikko. She's beautiful but she seems to exhaust herself with her own punishment. And we all do. I see her all the time.

D: I did felt her desperation...

C: Felt?

D: Yes, can't you feel it?

C: I can see it. Interesting how you can know that by feelings...

D:...

C: But you helped her, for the first time she decided to stop for a while. In three years, I saw her face without any tears.

D: ....

C: That's also part of the reasons I wanted to talk with you.

D: Hm.... what about the other reason?

C: ...

C: I ... I have been watching you for a while like I always do with everybody.

I know every single thing about these people. Poor souls, I have seen people arriving, leaving. Mostly, arriving and desperately trying to accomplish something impossible like them. I see everything, I can see the way those two scream, I can see their tears and monologues. I know each person here. I know everything.

D: How wise.

C: ...

C: And yet, I can't figure out your punishment as much time I spent looking at you. I saw how you tried to help the people I saw everyday but I don't think that's a punishment.

D: And how do you know that?

C: because helping people is a choice, not a punishment.

D: Are you sure?

C: I know what I see and that's what I see.

D: Hm...

C: ...

C: Yosano... her punishment is terrible..

D: Oh? Do tell me?

C: Huh? You couldn't understand it by seeing it?

D: No.

C: Huh... Strange....

D: ...

C: She has been trying to heal a bunch of kids, but everytime she does, they kill themselves with her own scalpel. The very one she used to cure them.

D: ...

C: It's almost depressing seeing her doing that over and over again. I don't think she realizes she is wasting her time.

D: It's the eternity.

C: It's the eternity yes, but this is eternal suffering. These people know nothing but suffering and despair.

D: ...

C: I never saw them without screaming, crying or pained. They are always in this state of desperation.

D: I can feel their desperation, yes.

C: I can see it.

D: Hm.

D: In short you saw them but you didn't help them.

C: What makes you think I was fine with it?

D: You did nothing to help them.

C: Watch your sentences bandaged dude. I have the upper hand here.

D: ...

C: What?

D: Do I still have the bandages?

C: Huh? Are you asking me that? Can't you... just look down?

D: ...

C: Oh.

D: ...

C: You... You can't see.

D: That's...

C: The truth, that's what the facts say, that's what I am saying. You are blind.

D: Yeah... I suppose I am.

C: But even so, why were you able to figure out Yosano's desperation?

D: hm? I felt it.

C: Without... seeing it?

D: Yeah. I feel a lot lately.

C: ...

C: That's weird, we are dead.

D: That's what I told myself when I arrived here.

C: You shouldn't feel like that.

D: Tough luck.

C: ...

C: Do you... perhaps feel something... now?

D: ... are you treating this like some superpower or something?

C: Do you? Answer the question.

D: Strangely... I feel nothing.

C: What? But I thought you felt "lately a lot".

D: Well I am not feeling not "lately a lot" right now. And if anything it's a blessing.

C:..

C: I don't know what to say.

D: Don't say anything then. Why didn't you help poor Yosano?

C: All mighty aren't we? I have been here for three years now and if your punishment is being blind, mine is being invisible.

D: Oh. That's.... certainly... unexpected...

C: You couldn't obviously tell, you are blind.

D: Well... I am...

C: But to answer your question... I can't help them, even if I wanted to.

D: Can't they hear you? Like I can?

C: They do, they can but if they care they don't show.

D: ...

C: Besides I see that they are too much drowned in their own demise and despair. If someone ever would try to be close to them, they'd ignore the person.

D: ...

C: And they can't see me so... I have given up on helping them, on helping people a long time ago.

D: ...

C: You can't see, but things are like what I see. Simple and obvious. If it's cruel it's cruel. Rarely it's something positive, since this is a punishment.

D: Forever was not enough huh?

C: ...

D: You said you have been here for three years.

C: I think so. Time is meaningless here. Since it's eternal, there are no need to such abstract things as time. It won't even end, so there is no need to count it.

D: ... You do have a point.

C: I know that. It won't ever end.

D: So... what do people do around here?

C: I observe. They try to accomplish impossible tasks. Over there I see a man. He's desperately trying to finish a puzzle but whenever he makes his move, the puzzle changes. He gets frustated, you must feel it.

D: ... I do.

C: Ranpo is an intelligent soul. But his punishment was carefully chosen and purposefully made an impossible and frustating situation.

D: ...

C: Kunikida is another one. He's an idealist, I can see how his eyes widen with tears and fear whenever he sees the kids being killed. Sometimes they commit suicide, other times it's something different.

D: ...

C: He has a notebook with him. It's green colored. It's his ideals' book. He insists on carrying it with him. Apparently it makes his suffering even more terrible.

D: I can feel it.

C: You have the kid who won't ever get that heavy rock to the top of that mountain. Not because he is weak, but because the montain is covered with thin clay that makes it roll back down.

D: A kid?

C: Yeah. It's depressing really. But he's a tough one. He doesn't give up and he is not as terrible as the others.

D: What else?

C: Huh I don't know. What can you feel?

D: ... A lot.

C: Choose a side and I'll tell you about what I know.

D: Are you, stranger whose name I don't know-

C: I don't think that's necessary.

D: offering to be my eyes?

C: Like I said eternity is a lot of time. I am bored.

D: So... boredom huh...

C: It's not hard to tell, no one can see me. You are the first person I have talked with.

D: That's...

C: So, I can be your eyes for-

D: The eternity?

C:...

C: You know what I was going to say something similar but you are so annoying that I won't.

D: Hm.. what about that feeling there.

C: Huh? Where?

D: Over there... I feel deep pain... I hear crying too.

C: Oh that's a boy. He is suffering his sister's death or if it is not death she disapears whenever he touches her.

D: Oh.

C: Not the worst type of punishment if you ask me. But it's still painful, specially when it's his sister.

D: Huh... I can feel... love?

C: Wha- I am only saying what I am seeing!

D: Never said you weren't.

C: Her name is Naomi and she disapears a lot. I would say 1000 times per day or something, but it really is variable and, I don't know what a day is.

D: Fair enough.

C: Can't you feel anything else?

D: I feel a lot.

C: Well, that's helpful. I see a lot too.

D: You don't seem very close to these people...

C: ...

D: You seem to not care about their pain.

C: We all have our own graves to carry. No one is going to do it for me.

D:...

C: I have my own punishment too. Why would I pity them?

D: Sometimes I forget that.

C: ...

C: Well... welcome to this... place. Pros: you don't need to eat, to wash. But against these is your own punishment.

D: A certainly heavy price to pay.

C: See for the bright side, you won't need to change your bandages.

D: When you say like that...

C: In fact you should stop wearing them.

D: ...

C: No one pays attention to you.

D: Sounds like a dream.

C: For a while, maybe. Then it gets lonely.

D: ...

C: For me at least. They... they don't seem - look lonely.

D: They do feel a lot.

C: Yeah. They are not alone.

D: ...

C: They have their desperation and pain with them. It's a good distraction from loneliness.

D: ...

C: Yeah...

D: I'd say good for them, but ...

C: Don't. Don't finish that sentence.

D: Sorry.

C:...

C: I just met you today-

D: Was it really today though? Wasn't time something relative?

C: A bit of both. But the point is- I know, for some reason, you are the type of person I'd hate in life.

D: Hm. That's... interesting

C: Isn't it? The way you can't see but you can actually be an annoying asshole even without seeing me?!

D: And having fun while at it

C: You- wait. You.... are you feeling something? Right now?

D: Not particularly. I fell the others and your... strange emotions.

C: And what's that supposed to mean?!

D: Do what you wish with it.

C:...

C: I'll ignore it then. Huh... Naomi disapeared again.

D: That's what I feel seconds ago...

C: Were they really seconds?

D: ...

D: Stop that.

C: No. But anyways. We've been chatting for a while. Yosano and Kunikida returned from their break, thanks to you, but now they are suffering again.

D: I can feel it.

C: Yeah and I can see it. Stop doing that.

D: I was just saying.

C:...

C: What did you do?

D: Nothing for now?

C: Wha- no! I meant what brought you here?

D: It's hard to tell, hard to think the reason.

C: Think about what you did when you were alive.

D: I don't remember anything.

C: Nothing?

D: Anything worth remembering.

C: ....

D: Plus, it's been overwhelming the amount of emotions I feel.

C: Was it different? When you were alive I mean?

D: I can't tell. I don't really remember.

C: You just arrived.

D: Like you said time moves slowly here.

C: I didn't say that, but .. i understand. All I see is people and suffering.

D:...

C: But what I meant what did you do before you got here?

D: Ah, in life?

C: Yes. Were you... I don't know a... criminal?

D: ...

C: Oh my God.

D: ...

C: You were.

D: No.

C: ...

D: But I killed myself.

C: ...

D: I killed myself with my lover.

C: You...

D: Yeah.

C:...

C: And your lover. Do you miss your lover?

D: I don't know. It's hard to tell if I really loved her.

C: Well, you loved her enough to die with her. As messed up as it sounds.

D: I think you might have a point.

C:...

C: But I was talking about what you did in life. What were you? A womanizer?

D: I told you I had one lover, why would you assume I was a womanizer?

C: Just and idea.

D:...

D: I was a writer.

C: A writer?

D: Or at least I tried to be one.

C: Huh... could never have guessed. That's surprising.

D: Why?

C: You don't look the type of writer. I was a poet, myself.

D: Ugh.

D: I never liked poets.

C: Don't care, didn't ask.

D: Rude.

C: But .. Figures. For the record was never too keen on writers like you.

D: How so? Bad experiences?

C: No, just... boredom.

D: Boredom?

C: People who stuck to the words are boring.

D:...

D: Just for you to know taking this as a fully offense.

C: Too bad for you then.

D: I'll have you know I have a wonder type of writing.

C: I'll only believe it when I see it.

What's your name?

D: So straight forward.

C: Say it.

D: Dazai. Dazai Osamu.

C: Normally I wouldn't care but would you like me to call you 'Dazai' or 'Osamu'?

D: ...

D: Dazai. Osamu is for my lovers only.

C: Got it.

C: Never heard of it. I am Chuuya. Nakahara Chuuya.

N: Nakahara or Chuuya?

C: Don't ever call me by Nakahara again. Chuuya.

D: First name basis?

C: Don't overthink it, I am not into formalities.

D: Is that so?

C: Yeah they are overrated.

D: Maybe you are just a brute.

C: What is that supposed to mean?

D: Nothing. I think... your name is somehow familiar....

C: Probably from Rjmbaud's translations.

D: Right. I think that's it. One woman liked to read it so I saw the name.

C: Nice man. Nice poetry. The woman had great taste.

D: I'll have to disagree with that.

C: On the literature opinion or on the woman?

D: Actually? Both. I ended up dumping her.

C: I knew you were some kind of hearbreaker.

D: She was boring.

C: She readed poetry.

D: Precisely.

C: ...

C: The only bad taste she had was her taste in men.

D: Why are you judging me like that? Poetry sucks. Specially Rimbaud's. French snob people.

C: ...

C: I am not taking your advice Dazai, least of you. Of all people, not you.

D: Least of you? Chuuya, it's not like you have anyone else to talk to!

C: ...

C: You might be dead, Dazai, but I can hurt you, you know.

D: Sorry.

C: You are not sorry, asshole.

D: Oh can you tell?

C: I can see it.

D: ...

D: Eh you are right. And why the nickname?

C: What you said was typical of assholes and during my life I met a lot of them.

D: Ah, the perks of being a poet!

C: Do you have something against poetry?

D: It sucks. Why make the text short if it can all be in prose?

C: I was right, you have no taste. I pity those women.

D: They don't regret sleeping with me, you know.

C: Like I care.

D: Just saying.

C: Even after dead, the spirits won't give me any peace.

D: Oh poor you.

C: You are being annoying again.

C: I bet you certainly didn't work your life didn't you?

D: I thought I told you I was a writer.

C: Yeah and a certified womanizer as well.

D: I can't deny that, but I believe you said that was not a job.

C: It's not. It's a choice of life and look where it took you.

D: It's not that deep.

C: ...

D: And that was not what made me be here.

C: Then what was it?

D: I killed people.

C: What? Are you messing with me?

D: I wish I could say I cared about their deaths but I don't.

C: ...

D: They were all my lovers. Part of the reason I dumped that woman was because she refused to kill herself with me.

C: What?!

D: It's romantic dying together. You said yourself.

C: I didn't say that?!

D: You said something similar.

C: ...

C: You are the kind of people I'd punch in the face. But since you can't see... it wouldn't be fair.

D: I am glad you are thinking rationaly for once. Thank you immensely for your comprehension.

C: Silence would be a better option, you know.

D: But enough about me. What are you doing here? What could possibly a poet had made to deserve such a cruel punishment?

C:...

C: I can't tell if you are mocking me or asking me.

D: Take it as you please.

C: ...

C: Ha now you are being straight forward huh? Hypocrite.

D: I think it's only fair! Besides, no one is seeing you, don't worry!

C: Will you please stop with those comments? I spent thre- time in silence!

D: You should be thanking me then.

C: For what?!

D: You'd be lonely without me

C: ...

C: Dazai?

D: Hm?

C: Yosano is talking alone again.

D: I see.

C: You mean you feel.

D: ...

D: Shut up.

Hear me out

The Lovers...

?

[aishangotome]

[Nica Schwartz] I Can't Return to a Time Before You Part Bitter Ending

Startled by the scream, I turned around and noticed a crowd had gathered where the woman had been talking earlier.

Kate: What in the world...?

Unable to see the center of the commotion, I tried to approach, but his hand stopped me.

Nica: It might be an incident. It's dangerous, so let's stay away.

Amidst the commotion, I heard a woman's laughter.

Emaciated Noblewoman: I did it, I did it!

Emaciated Noblewoman: I did it!!

It was then that I finally realized the person at the center of the crowd was that woman.

And I saw her hand clutching a crimson-stained knife, and a man who seemed to be her husband collapsed, covered in blood.

Kate: That's...

My legs trembled at the shock of seeing the timid woman from earlier laughing maniacally, clutching the knife as she sat on the ground, but--

Emaciated Noblewoman: Look, I'm free!

The woman's words made me gasp.

(That's what Nica said earlier...)

(Did she decide to kill him because Nica told her to!?)

Frightened, I looked at him, and there was Nica, with the corners of his mouth lifted, looking at the scene with an icy gaze.

Kate: Nica...?

City Police: There she is, apprehend her!

The city police ran past me as I stood there in shock.

The woman with the knife was quickly caught, but she continued to scream.

Emaciated Noblewoman: It's all his fault! He keeps buying women and bringing them home!

Emaciated Noblewoman: He promised to only look at me, but he wouldn't even give me the words I wanted!

Emaciated Noblewoman: But that man gave me the words I wanted!

(Is she talking about Nica...?)

Her state, as if something had been unleashed, was far from normal, and--

Nica: Let's go, little Robin.

It was as if she had been charmed by someone and had gone mad.

(Don't tell me...!)

Kate: C-come over here.

-

Nica: What's this? Bringing me to a place like this?

We entered a nearby alley, and I stared intently into his eyes as he continued to make lighthearted jokes.

Kate: You used your ability on that woman, didn't you?

Silence dominated the alleyway, off the main street.

Even the sound of me gulping was audible, and my heart pounded loudly.

In contrast to me, Nica had a calm expression on his face.

Nica: Why do you think that?

Kate: ...Your ability is to charm people, and the condition for activation is to hold their hand.

Kate: Earlier, you held that woman's hand, kissed it, and said this:

Kate: "There are many people who find your free spirit attractive."

(And you encouraged her to be brave.)

Kate: If she was charmed by you and acted on it, it would explain her sudden change in behavior.

I tightened my grip on the bouquet.

Nica sighed, looking annoyed.

Nica: So, little Robin, you're saying I used my ability to make that woman kill someone?

Nica: Even if I really did that, what would be the benefit for me?

Kate: That's...

He scratched his head, looking annoyed again, and slowly closed the distance between us.

I stepped back, but my back hit the wall, and he stood before me, looking down.

Nica: Hey, answer me.

The pressure he exerted on me almost made me forget to breathe, but--.

Nica: ...That husband, he would buy women and bring them home.

Kate: Eh...?

Nica: He even prepared rooms for them so they could live in his house.

Nica: When she told him to stop, he became violent. It seems like she had a terrible time.

The expression on his face as he spat those words out was different from the smile I had seen all day, yet it felt like this was the real Nica.

Nica: Even if I did use my ability, it's not my fault that she killed him, right?

Nica: Besides, wasn't it convenient?

Kate: Convenient...?

Nica: A scumbag disappeared from the world. Isn't that lucky?

He said it cheerfully, but he didn't seem to be genuinely enjoying himself. I felt like I saw an emptiness in his eyes, as if he didn't care.

Nica: So, why are you angry, little Robin?

His finger reached for my cheek, and he lifted the corner of my mouth with his index finger.

Nica: I want my lover to always be smiling.

Kate: ...There's no way I can smile after seeing that.

I wrapped both my hands over his.

Kate: Maybe there was something about him that made him deserve to be resented.

Kate: But there was no reason for that woman to become a murderer.

Kate: If she became a murderer because she was charmed by you,

Kate: I don't think I can forgive you.

Nica: ...Hah.

With raised eyebrows and a provocative smile, Nica said,

Nica: Then shall we test whether I used my ability or not?

Kate: Eek!

He grabbed my right wrist and brought his lips close to mine.

Nica: Will you be charmed and obey me?

He slowly tried to intertwine his fingers with mine. I tried to pull away, but his grip was firm, and my hand wouldn't budge.

Nica: So let me try asking you this...

(I forgot.)

I had been so captivated by how much fun we had today that I forgot what kind of person he was.

Nica: I'm going to ask you to kill me, your lover.

Standing before me was the black swan from Germany.

--Clad in pure white, he was "evil."

FIN

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.

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Part 2 | Premium Ending

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[velvetvexations]

Just saw a post telling trans women it was okay to want vaginoplasty even if it's "just" for sexual reasons (true, it's not "shallow" or "perverted" to want your body to feature a vagina for sex reasons, it's literally genitals) and some people in the comments were acting like there was some sort of unique, super strong stigma and backlash to trans women getting bottom surgery compared to other demographics, and like. Lol. Lmao even.

Of course, there are plenty of people being extremely shitty (saying gross stuff like that "angel without its wings" phrase, or "axe wound", "rot pocket"...) but I'd say most of it comes from cis people, who... Say similar shit about trans men. Maybe I'm wrong, but I've never come across someone praising FTM bottom surgery while simultaneously dragging MTF bottom surgery. Meanwhile, even within the trans community, everyone and their mother has an opinion about FTM bottom surgery and how awful it supposedly is. Joking about how "it's easier to dig a hole than build a pole" to say it's worse than vaginoplasty. Bottom surgery is not even considered an option, you're supposed to only get top surgery and be satisfied, and never dare to want to ruin your ~ pure AFAB body ~ by adding an Evil Oppressor Penis. Some people will straight up tell you that they prefer dating or being around trans men because they "feel safer since they don't have a penis" (imagine what they think of trans men who are post bottom surgery... Well you usually don't even have to imagine, as people love to loudly announce to everyone how they think transmasc bottom surgery is terrible).

So, from what I've seen, no, I don't think there's an unique bias against trans women getting bottom surgery that doesn't exist for others. I don't think they're seen as way more predatory or sexually perverted for wanting bottom surgery than other trans people (just using a packer gets you called a pervert walking around with a dildo in your pants, ffs...)

In fact, again, from what I've personally seen, I'd even say that's it's considered slightly more acceptable to want vaginoplasty than to want phalloplasty. I've seen, several times, places offering various trans surgeries listing every mainstream trans surgery and giving information about them, but suspiciously omitting phallo and meta. A "post-op" trans woman has a vagina. A "post-op" trans man has top surgery. I've lost count of how many trans people I've heard saying that vaginoplasty is indistinguishable from a cis vagina and then turning around to say that phalloplasty is just an ugly flesh tube. At some point I even read with my own two eyes an informative pamphlet about trans surgeries *made by a trans organization* saying positive things about the different types of vaginoplasty and reassuring people wanting it, but when it talked about phallo (I don't remember their stance on meta but the one on phallo really shocked me so it stuck), instead of just talking about the surgery neutrally like they were supposed to do, the text suddenly started criticizing people who wanted it for "conforming to cis society" or some stupid shit like that. Straight up, wanting vagina = good, wanting penis = bad. There's a huge taboo about wanting surgery to have a penis, even within the transmasc community. Everyone will say the most disgusting shit about it and try to discourage you to get it. Your motives get questioned, because obviously the only people who would get that kind of surgery are shallow, toxically masculine, "trying too hard to be like cis guys", wanting to become oppressors and planning to be rapists. They need to learn to deconstruct gender, don't they know they don't need a penis to be a man ? Clearly they haven't read enough feminist or queer theory. Oh, they have ? Well then, if they weren't misguided and still seek the evil penis surgery on purpose... It's clearly because they have bad intentions, they're predatory, power-hungry and probably fantasize about becoming a rapist...!!

So yeah, it kinda pissed me off. I don't really see why people feel the need to insist that if something is bad for trans women, then it must automatically be The Absolute Worse compared to every group. Idk.

I'm really sorry anon. <3 SRS should be normalized for everyone.

[darth-jess]

The Foreshadowing Hidden in Across the Stars

I'm sure people have noticed this before, but this is something that has given me chills ever since I was a little kid.

If you didn't know, Across the Stars is the love theme John Williams wrote for Anakin and Padmé. But there is one single version of Across the Stars that plays in the 10 minute long end-credit song of Attack of the Clones. If you don't watch all the credits (or listen to soundtrack scores like me), you will never hear it. And yet, John Williams decided to add in this terribly, horrifically beautiful bit of foreshadowing to the fucking song.

I urge you to listen to the entire 10 minute song to feel the buildup, but if you're impatient, just listen from the 9:00 mark to 10:30.

At the very end of the love song, in low tones beneath the melody, the Darth Vader/Imperial march song plays menacingly in the background.

And I think this is an absolute stroke of genius.

John Williams, at the end credits of Attack of the Clones, is basically telling you what happens in the next movie.

That love creates the monster.

That this love will be the catalyst, and darkness will follow.

There is no other version of Across the Stars that has this, because it is only meant to be heard right before Revenge of the Sith.

I don't think I've ever heard foreshadowing in music before, at least not quite like this, and it drives me absolutely insane that he did this. How is anyone allowed to be such a genius?

[achaotichuman]

Warning, lengthy ACOTAR villain headcanon ramble ahead. Villain discussed: Ianthe and the Hybern Twins.

God I fucking hate how SJM turned Ianthe into a rapist, you're telling I can't make a hundred posts going on and on about my Ianthe and how this bad bitch absolutely was strutting the cat walk of running the world without anyone thinking twice about her because she's that fucking smart that she outwitted one of the most hyper-aware High Lords, all because Miss Maas decided she wanted to make all her female villains sex offenders because she doesn't know how to write them.

I'm going to anyway.

Also like, the twins were *definitely* possessed by Valgs right? Like, we can all see that? Right????

Come onnnnn, the potential story!!!! Dagdan and Brannagh hangin about the Hybern castle while Tamlin was there as a kid, and him ending up just following them around whenever his father dumps him and he's afraid of Amarantha or someone else finding him, and whelp, they're the only ones who haven't been mean to him so might as well follow em right?

And then the twins are like

Brannagh: "Uhm... want a beer?"

Dagdan: "HE'S FOUR"

Brannagh: "I DON'T KNOW WHAT AM I SUPPOSED TO DO WITH HIM???"

And then he just ends up hanging out with them every time he's there, like they're his cool cousins, and they teach him Hybern traditions and fighting techniques, and help horn his skill. Like Tamlin is wickedly observant and despite never wanting the crown, he is grade-A certified for the job, mans eliminated slavery without a single thought, that kind of ruling does take some knowledge. Yet, he's terrible with people. COME ON THE TWINS TRAINED HIM

"Oh but Asher, the incest"

No no no, they're aro/ace, and don't show any sexual attraction towards Ianthe, and Feyre, having the biggest crush on Ianthe, sees the twins not tryna jump her and immediately assumes incest. Which, is only half-relatable Fey fey. I get the whole crush part, but you jumped to conclusions a little there.

Back to the Valg possession theory. Imagine if the twins were like, "Hey uncle, what you're doin is a little uncool, we're gonna dip."

KoH: "..."

KoH: "Shove em in the Cauldron and see what happens."

Blah, blah, blah I didn't pay attention in TOG when they were explaining Valg demons, blah blah blah, possession, dark magic, etc etc

You get the idea.

(They were gonna dip and not help Prythian out at all, unless asked by Tamlin because they don't actually care. They just don't really want to hurt Tamlin)

Now the KoH has two obedient highly trained slaves that he wants to use, and Tamlin volunteers to have them at his Court, because when he went to Hybern, Tammy was like

"Omg, I could just get my cool cousins in spirit to help me out, they've always been there for me whenever I was in Hybern, surely they'd help out-... What? Oh their souls have been eaten and their just mindless demons now? Okay, cool.... *broken sobs cause more of his family is dead*,"

So now Tams got the twins at his place and he's also desperately trying to find a way to get them unpossessed cause he is absolutely not losing anyone else. And then boom, Feyre and Lucien kill them, they both dip, Ianthe's later killed and oh no, now all his family is dead or has left him. That was counter-productive.

Basically, I am describing the biggest angst fic ever. Ianthe, being not a rapist, but the baddest bitch in Prythian who is holding all the strings, she's got a list... of all the people that once double crossed her, she's checking it twice... to see which ones she wants to kill immediately and which ones she wants to have publicly tortured. She's using her friendship with Tamlin as a means to manipulate him and prop herself up to get close to the Cauldron so she can use it.

This fic would also absolutely have a scene of Tamlin on his knees sobbing and begging the twins to come back because goddamnit he fucking needs them, and know they're still in there, and they're just not but he can't accept it.

I also feel like Ianthe would enlist the twins (and probably Jurian) as her evil little henchmen. Jurian just here cause he likes making fun of Ianthe when Feyre is inevitably fucking everything up, but not in the cool protagonist fucks up the evil villains plan way, no, Feyre is just being unhinged and Ianthe can't deal with this, and Jurian is NO HELP

There'd be a scene where Ianthe angrily throws her robes on the floor screaming "I QUIT, I QUIT, I CANT TAKE THIS ANYMORE" and storms off. Jurian picks it up and puts it on and pretends to be her, and Ianthe runs back to snatch it off him.

Ofc remove all the sexual predatory behaviour (Ianthe might be a villain, but she is the High Priestess and she has to be an example, afterall she wants all this power because she believes the Priestesses should be in charge of everything)

Like, Ianthe is just this unbelievably strong-willed, intelligent and powerful person, then you also have Lucien, who is... the exact same, just minus all of the evil. DO NOT TELL ME THEY WOULDNT SASS EACH OTHER TO HECK AND BACK

Tamlin turns his back for five seconds and they are snapping. Dramatically tossing their hair at each other, the doors are being slammed like a teenager releasing their pubescent angst.

Also, Ianthe x Elain, come on.

In summary, I have a massive crush on Ianthe, and I think the twins could have *so cool*

This is my entirely unedited thoughts on this subjects, it is late, and I sleepy. If you made it to the end of this, you get a little gold star.