#forgotten childrens media

[iminaworldofpureimagination]

reblog if you remember this movie

[smile-files]

♡ YOUR BEST FRIEND! ♡

[this-is-where-i-hide-my-bullshit]

Every now and then I'm reminded of this animated short that was featured on the Ice Age dvd we had when I was a kid. It was animated by Blue Sky, and it's called Bunny.

Watching it made me feel a bit disturbed and sad, but the ending always felt bitter sweet.

Warning, there is death in this, so if that's not something you can handle then I wouldn't recommend watching. But if you can handle it, then I'd recommend giving the short a watch.

It's an interesting and somewhat dark piece of children's media that I've never seen people talk about before, and I think it deserves to be remembered and discussed. The musical score is also worth mentioning.

This is definitely one of the first pieces of media to give me an existential crisis as a child, it's up there with Fleetwood Mac's Landslide on the list of things that made me confront my own mortality in elementary school.

There are is no spoken dialog in this short, and yet it helped me understand death in a way that words never did at an age before I lost anyone or anything.

[phoenixkaptain]

Worst part of modernity is the idea that I should want my beloved chaotic characters to stop winning.

No!! >:( I want Bugs Bunny to win!!! I want Puck to be utterly unflappable and a dick who only answers to one (1) person!!! I want Hermes to be a massive asshole who steals people’s cattle just because it’s said to be impossible!!!

I don’t want chaos incarnate characters to start being “more relatable” or whatever! They already are relatable! They’re relatable in to our most base parts, the parts of us that some of us wish didn’t exist! Watching Bugs and Puck fuck around with people appeals to that part within us that impulsively wants to push people when they’re standing somewhere they shouldn’t. Hermes is a messenger god, yes, but he is as far from serious as it is possible to be and is actually a great representation of how we should view the Greek Gods, as they were presented, just in general (since they got angry at the slightest provocation and were petty and yet found the most joy in fucking with each other because, at their core, every single Greek God was just a toddler).

Bugs is the type of character who I don’t want to see face punishment. He was written in a way that his fucking with people was charming because, for the most part, these people wronged him in some way. Bugs was less an asshole and more a representation of the idea of Karma, “what goes around comes around,” the idea that your bad deeds will come back to bite you. Bugs is the very embodiment of karma, and I don’t want to see him fail or face consequence or punishment because that defeats the whole purpose, he’s a chaotic, unstoppable force.

Puck is just… a fairy. He’s a fae. He’s supposed to be kind of an asshole, because the fae in English, Irish, Scottish, etc mythology were just kind of assholes. Puck is a dick who fucks up fucking with people, yes, but my enjoyment is found in the fact that the only person who can punish him is the Fairy King. It’s immensely funny to me. I don’t want Puck to be punished by anyone else, I just want him to pout and sulk and be forced to apologize and solve problems because the Fairy King is tired of his bullshit, I love it.

Hermes is generally represented pretty fairly in modern media as the type of person who pulls pranks and ties people’s shoelaces together, but modern media seems to believe I want to watch the consequences of his actions. I do not. Hermes appears with a letter, ties your shoelaces together, and vanishes. He’s too fast to catch. He’s harder to catch than a fish coated in soap and butter. He’s harder to catch than Luke Skywalker-

Basically, my enjoyment of chaotic characters is not based in seeing them be punished for their transgressions. Even if it was, I would like it to be one character solely who holds the leash, because it adds the comedic effect of having the Fairy King realize that the guy he sent to mess with the Fairy Queen perhaps went too far, which means that everything is Puck’s fault, not the Fairy King’s, would the Fairy King do that? Does he seem the type? (Yes) Puck is an exception, not a rule, and it’s because he is just a conduit through which the chaos energy of the Fairy King operates, which is immensely funny because, honestly, the only character who wins in a Midsummer Night’s Dream is the Fairy King, who is absolutely the cause of every single problem and everything that went astray went that way directly because of him, but he never gets punished and, in fact, would like to say that everything is Puck’s fault.

Which is, I would say, the funniest part of the entire story.

Which is, I say, the exact behaviour I want to see in chaotic characters. I don’t want them to be punished. I want them to somehow succeed despite everything and I want them to have the last laugh. This only really applies to the truly Chaotic Neutral characters, who would fuck with someone for the sin of leaving gum on the underside of a table. But it applies, and I don’t wish to see these characters change. I don’t think the idea of a force of chaos being chaotic is archaic or outdated and I don’t think these characters need to be “updated” for a modern audience, and I honestly despise the way people try to take recognizable characters, drain them of the traits that made them so fun in the first place, but try to milk us for all we own over them anyway because we foolish mortals hold the slender hope that, if we support the character, maybe one day they’ll act the way they should.

Updating characters for the modern era is not a bad idea or an impossible one. The Addams Family practically begs to be updated for a modern audience, just because it represented the opposite of a perfect nuclear household, despite outwardly appearing to be perfectly in line with the archaic and sexist standards of the time, and it shows that the people who are having the most fun are the ones who don’t listen to what they’re “supposed” to do, but instead listen to what they would like to do and are happier because of it.

But it’s a case-by-case basis and some characters and their actions are timeless. Stop trying to change the way these characters act. You can make new interpretations without removing the heart, you can create stories without changing the moral of the characters, and I would even go so far as to say you should put these characters in modern media, but I beg and plead for you to not destroy them.

[soon-palestine]

Hostages tortured to death. Parents executed in front of their children. Doctors beaten. Babies murdered. Sexual assault weaponised. No, not Hamas crimes. This is part of an ever-growing list of documented atrocities committed by Israel in the five months since 7 October – quite separate from the carpet bombing of 2.3 million Palestinians in Gaza and a famine induced by Israel’s obstruction of aid. And yet while the western establishment media has been chock full of the most lurid allegations of savagery directed against Hamas, sometimes with little or no supporting evidence, Israeli atrocities are excused or quickly forgotten. Accusations against Hamas are endlessly reheated to paint a picture of a supremely dangerous and bestial militant group, in turn rationalising the slaughter and starvation of Gaza’s population to “eradicate” it as a terrorist organisation. But equally barbarous atrocities committed by Israel – not in the heat of battle, but in cold blood – are treated as unfortunate, isolated incidents that cannot be connected, that paint no picture, that reveal nothing of import about the military that carried them out. If Hamas’ crimes were so savage and sadistic they still need to be reported months after they took place, why does the establishment media never feel the need to express equal horror and indignation at equivalent or worse acts of cruelty and sadism being inflicted by Israel on Gaza – not five months ago, but right now? Israel's torture of doctors, its sexual assaults of Palestinian women, it's leaving premature babies to die after its forces stormed a hospital. Where is the outrage? This is part of a pattern of behaviour by the western media that leads to only one possible deduction: Israel’s five-month-long attack on Gaza is not being reported. Rather, it is being selectively narrated – and for the most obscene of purposes. Through consistent and glaring failures in their coverage, establishment media – including supposedly liberal outlets, from the BBC and CNN to the Guardian and New York Times – have smoothed the way for Israel to carry out mass slaughter in Gaza, what the World Court has assessed as plausibly a genocide. The role of the media has not been to keep us, their audiences, informed about one of the greatest crimes in living memory. It has been to buy time for US President Joe Biden to keep arming his most useful of client states in the oil-rich Middle East, and to do so without damaging his prospects for re-election in November’s US presidential vote. If Russian President Vladimir Putin was a madman and a barbarous war criminal for invading Ukraine, as every western media outlet agrees, what does that make Israeli officials, when every one of them supports far worse atrocities in Gaza, directed overwhelmingly at civilians? And more to the point, what does that make Biden and the US political class for materially backing Israel to the hilt: sending bombs, vetoing demands for a ceasefire at the United Nations, and freezing desperately needed aid? Worrying about the optics, the president expresses his discomfort, but he carries on helping Israel regardless. While western politicians and commentators worry about some imaginary existential threat those brief events of five months ago pose to the nuclear-armed state of Israel, Israel is quite literally wiping Gaza off the map day by day, quite undisturbed.

[morallyrainyday]

happy father's day to palestinian fathers. happy father's to palestinian grandfathers. happy father's day to palestinian fathers who have lost children. happy father's day to palestinians who have lost their fathers. happy father's day to palestinian fathers older than israel itself. happy fathers day to palestinian fathers forgotten by the media. happy fathers day to fathers living in the gaza strip and west bank, and to fathers that have escaped palestine.

happy father's day to all palestinian fathers. you are not weak or any less of a man for struggling or showing emotion. you are some of the bravest men out there. 🇵🇸✊❤

[pagesofkenna]

my four favorite character categories as represented by the Skyjacks PCs. does this make sense?? am I making this make sense??

(also Orimar supremacy)

[timetravellingkitty]

I'll just get straight to the point.

SIRAJ NEEDS TO GET TO 40K CAD BY THE END OF THIS WEEK

If you don’t know already, Siraj ( @siraj2024 ) is a devoted father to his three children and a writer and journalist from Gaza. He did a bachelor's degree and completed his master's in journalism and media just an year before the genocide began. He even wanted to get a doctorate! But his dreams were shattered when when the genocide started in October 2023.

In November 2023, the IOF destroyed his beautiful home which took ten years of love and labour. Ever since October 7th, he has been displaced seven times. Do you know what that has done to his three beautiful boys? In his words:

“My children have lost their childhoods among these makeshift shelters. They don’t know how to play or learn. Instead, they help with hard tasks like fetching drinking water from long distances, cleaning around the tent, and much more. They deserve better.”

One of his boys contracted a serious infection from the unhygienic conditions of the tent his family lives in. This is not how his children should be living! They should be in school, they should be playing, AND THEY SHOULD BE SAFE.

Forgive me for invoking her but within 24 hours of her candidacy Kamala Harris’ campaign raised a record breaking 81 million USD with the help of small-dollar donations. Clearly even the smallest amount goes a long way! If you can give your money to a candidate enabling a genocide, you can give your money to people escaping genocide

Please do not forget his family.

He is currently at $31,759 CAD / 40,000

He needs to get $8,241 to reach his goal.

Help him reach his weekly goal of 40k by Sunday.

He is #219 on this spreadsheet of vetted fundraisers by el-shab-hussein and nabulsi so please don't hesitate to donate anything you can spare. Don't let Siraj and his kids be forgotten. Again, if you guys can donate to this coconut of a vice president you can donate to him

@deathlonging @briarhips @dirhwangdaseul @mahoushojoe @rhubarbspring

@socalgal @ghelgheli @chexcastro @velvetys @komsomolka

@terroristiraqis @turian @malcriada @zindagood @buttercuparry

@biconicfinn @xinakwans @vakarians-babe @transmutationisms @feluka @khanger

@imjustheretotrytohelp @marnota @anneemay @pcktknife

@kahin @that-one-queer-poc @amygdalae @ankle-beez @communistchilchuck @dykesbat

@strawberrysnipes @yaoimurder @tortiefrancis @omegaversereloaded @vague-humanoid @aristotels

@wellwaterhysteria @fromjannah @opencommunion @toiletpotato

[halalchampagnesocialist]

I won’t lie but I’m so sick of liberals on here saying you shouldn’t trust Al Jazeera as a source on Palestine when there are better ones. I’m sorry but Al Jazeera IS one of the better ones. It’s a well established fact that Al Jazeera can have awful, biased reporting when it comes to other issues or other countries, but on Palestine it’s great. Al Jazeera is one of the only news / media platforms that amplifies Palestinians. All its reporters are not only based in but are actually from where they’re reporting. Not to mention, it has multiple reporters on the ground in various parts of Palestine - in Gaza, in the West Bank, and in ‘48 (Israel). Al Jazeera does actually report what other news outlet say when it comes to Palestine too, it doesn’t obfuscate it like certain western media outlets.

Speaking of western media outlets, it’d be hypocritical to say don’t trust Al Jazeera when you probably get your reporting on Palestine from the New York Times or CNN amongst others. Those supposedly “independent” media companies which tow the US government line on Palestine and don’t question anything. So much of the reality on Palestine gets obfuscated by these outlets that they only report on things whenever israel is directly attacked. Al Jazeera on the other hand will report on daily occurrences in Palestine, not to mention publish analytical articles that analyse the occupation very closely.

Again, you may disagree with Al Jazeera’s positioning of things as well as questioning their motives (or Qatari gov to be more specific) etc and that’s fine! But to say they’re not the best source on Palestine when they’re one of the only ones amplifying Palestinian voices at a time when media reporting on israel from other outlets is absolutely dismal is ludicrous lol. As I said, I recognise AJ can have biased reporting on other issues, but just because an outlet has biased reporting on X issue, it doesn’t really cancel out the great reporting they may do on Y issue. I’m also aware that there are many other outlets who do great reporting on Palestine but AJ seems to have a decent sized audience in the English speaking world alongside its notably big audience in the Arabic speaking one.

It should also not be forgotten that Al Jazeera reporters Shireen Abu Akleh and Hamza Al Dahdouh were assassinated by israel while Hamza’s father Wael who is head of the AJ bureau in Gaza had his wife, grandson, and 3 of his children (including Hamza) killed by Israel due to their reporting, which means it counts for something.

[the-fiction-witch]

I Am Your Wife

Media - House Of The Dragon Character - Aegon Targaryen Couple - Aegon X Reader + (Mentioned) Jacaerys X Reader Reader - Y/n Targaryen (Aegons Wife) Rating - Sad + Sweet Word Count - 6875

Y/n marched inside the royal chambers, she soon saw Aegon lying in the bed half drunk still from last night, she stood at the foot of their bed in her emerald gown, her arms crossed as she waited for him to speak,

Aegon recognised that look on her face immediately as it was a look she had very often,

He rubs his eyes with a hand, then tries to comb his fingers through his messy hair to look somewhat presentable, rather than the unkempt bird’s nest it had become after last night’s activities. “What is it?” He mumbles, voice still thick with sleep.

"where were you?"

Aegon sighs deeply, knowing exactly what this is about. He runs a hand along his jaw, scratching over the skin. He had hoped to wake up earlier than her to avoid this whole dance, “Do you really want me to answer that?” He deadpans.

"Aegon you were supposed to be back to tuck Marcus into bed"

Damnit. Aegon grits his fangs together at the reminder, having hoped at least one of those responsibilities had been forgotten about. “I lost track of time, alright?” He mutters, avoiding her gaze and staring at the bedsheets instead.

"you could have at least apologized to your son at breakfast for not putting him to bed like you’d promised"

Guilt flares in his chest at that; he knew this was just as much about Marcus as it was about him. “I’m sorry.” He manages to get out, voice still hoarse from sleep. Aegon glances up at her, meeting her eyes and searching her face to gauge her reaction.

"well sorry doesn't make him sleep, he was up all night waiting for daddy to come and tuck him in and he's been crying since sunrise"

Damnit. Aegon groans, frustration and guilt battling in his chest. He knew that was what she’d say, that she’d use it against him. He should have come home last night, he should have tucked Marcus in and stayed the night in his own damn bed. He rubs his hand across his face, sighing again. “I’ll go and apologise now, how’s that?” He mutters.

"no. You won't disturb him. He’s gone for a hot bath and the maids are taking him to the dragon pit so he can spend time with his dragon"

Aegon deflates completely at that, guilt and disappointment coursing through him, his head hanging slightly as he lets his chin rest on his hand. “Right.” He mutters quietly in response. He knows a reprimand is coming from her, and he knows it’s fully warranted. It doesn’t stop the pang of irritation though, and the words are out of his mouth before he can stop them. “I have one damn night off, and that makes me a horrible father?”

"one night off? You do this constantly and have been for months"

Aegon tries to keep his expression stoic as her berates him, doing his best to not look like a wounded and scolded puppy.“It’s not-” He began to say, then stopped himself with a shake of his head. No, there was no point in making excuses or attempting to justify himself. “It’s just been a busy month.” He sighed instead. “We have a lot going on and I-” He cuts himself off again with a frustrated groan. Damnit, he wanted a fight, but he knew her were completely, utterly right with his one.

she sighed and turned to leave

Aegon sits and watches her go, feeling like an idiot. “Wait!” He calls out, wincing at how pleading he sounded. He swings his legs over the side of the bed, and stands up and goes after her, catching her wrist before she can stride out of the bedroom doors. A hint of vulnerability crosses his features as he gently pulls her to a stop, forcing her to face him. “Wait.” He repeats in a low murmur, his hand still holding firmly to her wrist. He takes a step closer, closing the distance between her. “Don’t go.”

"There's no point arguing with her Aegon. It doesn't fix anything. If you want to spend your nights drinking and whoring, then don't make promises to your children" she said pointedly but it was clear she was exhausted by arguing with him "or me." She adds before leaving

Aegon watches her leave, feeling utterly defeated. It was true, he’d broken more promises than he could count, but it hurt seeing the disappointment on herr face, and the resignation in herr voice when her gave up arguing with him. But more than that, it hurt that Marcus had been crying the entire morning, waiting for him, his father, to come home and tuck him in. He was a shitty father, he knew that, but it hurt knowing that everyone else realised it too. Damnit. Aegon lets out a frustrated huff, resisting the childish urge to kick the bed frame. He glances between the door her left through, and the bed he had been so comfortable in just moments ago. He knows he could just go back to sleep. It would be so much easier than having to deal with the aftermath of the night before. But he can still feel her wrist in his fingers, and hear the resignation in her voice when she spoke of him breaking promises. With a resigned huff, Aegon grabs his clothes from the floor and shrugs them on.

It doesn’t take long for him to reach the dragon pit, walking through his usual route without pausing to greet the guards or nod to the courtiers he passes by. The guilt still gnaws at his chest with every step he takes, but he tries his best to ignore it. He just wants to apologise to Marcus, and hopefully stop him crying. He finds his son in the dragon pits, as she said he would be. He smiles slightly seeing Marcus, now dressed in riding leathers, standing by Sunfyre looking up at his golden scales.

Marcus was always fascinated with Sunfyre, Marcus loved Sunfyre perhaps even more than he loved his own little dragon Silvercloud. Marcus let tears slip looking at Sunfyre.

Aegon couldn’t help but let out a deep sigh of disappointment at the sight of the tears on his son’s face. It hurt more than anything seeing his son so upset, and knowing it was his fault. He hated the fact that there was no one to blame but himself. His smile fell at the realisation of how his young son looked at his dragon. It stung, knowing that Sunfyre had a better relationship with Marcus, than Aegon had with his own son. Aegon forced himself to walk closer. He stopped a few feet away from Marcus, not wanting to come any closer and startle him. His gaze flicked over the boy, checking for any signs of injury, although something told him he wasn’t crying because of anything physical. With a deep breath Aegon called out, his voice quiet but firm. “Marcus?”

"good day" he sighed moving to pet his own small dragon SilverCloud still too young for him to ride after the dragon had hatched him Marcus's cradle

Aegon flinched at the words, and at the complete indifference in Marcus’s voice. When the boy failed to turn to look at him, Aegon felt a pang of guilt stab through his chest. His shoulders slumped slightly, trying desperately to ignore the hurt he felt from his son’s cold response, especially after the entire morning he had. Aegon cleared his throat, shoving his hands in his pockets and walking closer to Marcus. “Can I talk to you?”

the boy shrugged Petting his small dragon

Aegon took a deep breath. This was all so goddamn uncomfortable. It was rare that he got this nervous talking to anyone, let alone his own son. He cleared his throat awkwardly again, trying to figure out what exactly he should say. “I just- uh- I-” Goddamn it. Why was this so hard? Aegon forced the words out through his teeth. “I just wanted to uh… apologise. For not being there last night.”

"your never here."

The words stabbed through Aegon, more painful than any physical wound. Because it was true. He’d broken another promise to his son, yet again. Damnit. He knew this would be hard, that it would be difficult to have to admit his fault. But actually hearing the words from his son hurt more than expected. Aegon swallowed, trying desperately to keep his expression passive. “I know.” He managed to mutter out. “I’ve messed up a lot, and I keep messing up. I’m… I’m sorry.”

"you always say that! And then you never do what you say you're gonna do! It's not fair! Not fair to me. Or on Marybelle. Or mother." The boy shouted, "... Words don't mean anything, actions do." The boy said before taking his dragon back into its cave "I hope things are better... For baby" Marcus said which froze Aegon to the core as he heard no word about babies

Aegon was stunned into silence, his throat tightening so badly that he thought it might snap. Aegon couldn’t hear anything else over the rushing of blood in his ears. Baby. No. Please gods no. With unsteady, shaking hands, Aegon took a step forward, eyes wide in panic. “What… what baby?”

"Mother is having another baby..." Marcus answered

Seven hells no. Please no. Aegon almost stopped breathing altogether in that moment. Another baby? He took another shaky step forward, trying to quell the panic rising within him. “But- how do you know- you’re sure?” He managed to croak out.

"she told me and Marybelle were getting another brother or sister"

Aegon’s insides twisted themselves into a knot, his eyes wide and breathing shallow. Not again. The thought of another child, another baby. It wasn’t even the child itself he was afraid of. It was everything else. Aegon stared at his son, eyes boring into him, desperately hoping that it was some elaborate prank. “you’re sure?” He repeated. Tell me this is a lie.

"she told us both, and she's having a new crib made." Marcus nodded before he took his dragon away

It took everything in Aegon’s power not to collapse at those words. He stared at the cave that Marcus had just retreated into, trying desperately to keep his breathing steady and his mind straight. He’d just discovered that she was having another child. Another child that he’d probably fail to be a good father to. Aegon stumbled slightly out of the cave and towards a nearby wall, leaning against it for support as he forced his mind to focus. He stood against the wall, hands clenched into fists and breathing deep. Aegon could feel the panic and dread flooding through his mind, drowning out any logical thought. No. No. This time would be different. He’d promised himself so many times before that things would be different with Marcus. But it hadn’t worked before. He couldn’t even keep a goddamn promise with Marcus, and now there was a new one on the way. A new little baby that he’d likely fail to provide for. A wave of nausea crashed over Aegon, making him clutch at his stomach in an attempt to keep it down. He couldn’t go through this again. This time he’d have three children to look after, he didn’t have the energy or time to keep failing as a father. Aegon took another shaky breath, pushing away from the wall and attempting to remain upright.

He needed to talk to her.

He needed to know everything. He needed her to tell him every word she had said to the kids, every detail about this new baby.

Aegon headed back to the red keep, As he entered the library and found Y/n and Marybelle working on the embroideries, a fresh wave of panic and nausea coursed through his body. He swallowed, hoping that neither of her could see the turmoil that was raging within him. He cleared his throat, trying to keep his voice steady. “Can we… can we talk?”

"go on?" Y/n shrugged as she helped Marybelle work

Aegon hesitated, he felt oddly like a child about to confess to breaking something. With a sharp breath in he forced himself to speak. “It’s about the baby.” He said, the words feeling like lead in his mouth.

Y/n looks up at him and sighed, she did a final stitch placing the work on the table and lifting little Marybelle off the seat in her pale green dress "Run along now sweetling, go find your brother and go play in the garden Alright" she told Marybelle who happily ran off with her maids shutting the door behind them, Y/n sighed and ran a hand over her stomach "Go on Aegon."

Aegon watched as Marybelle left the room, leaving the two of them in silence. He forced his eyes back on her, staring at the hand she had placed on her stomach. His mind was racing, his heart was racing, his stomach was in knots. He wanted desperately to look away, so that he didn’t have to confront the baby that was inside her. “How… how far along are you?”

"four months"

Aegon felt his stomach twist once more at her answer, this time so violently that he was worried he might actually throw up. He took another deep shaking breath, trying desperately to calm his mind enough to figure out what to say. There were too many thoughts racing through him; anger, fear, dread, guilt. “Why?” He whispered, the word coming out more like a gasp than a question. “After everything… after the other two… why?”

"what I do with my children is my business"

Aegon bristled at her response, he didn’t like hearing those words. her children. Like he had no claim to them. He took a step closer, his hand clenching into a tight fist at his side. His eyes bore into hers, and the fear was evident in his gaze. “They’re my children too.” He muttered lowly. “I have every right to know.”

"well you know now don't you,'

Aegon felt his blood boil at her nonchalant attitude and sharp words, his fear slowly being overtaken with irritation and frustration as the two of her stared each other down. “Yes I know now! Because Marcus told me!” Aegon snapped, gesturing back at the door. “Why was I the last to know?!”

"Because your never here! You never ask! You never ask how I am, or talk to your children, or talk to me."

Aegon hated when she was right, although he would never admit that aloud. Her words stung, hitting him in a way that he wasn’t expecting. He’d only just begun to feel the weight of his absence, and now her were shoving it in his face. “I- I-“ he sputtered, trying to force the right words out. “That’s not the point. You should have told me.”

"Why would I? her have no interest in the children" she snapped "I am having another child because they make me happy. They are all I have in this world as you show me no attention or affection at all, they are all I have and without them, I would be sat alone waiting for you to wonder home drunk"

Aegon’s face fell at her words, his mind going blank as he heard her say that, It hurt worse than a punch to the gut, and made him feel a thousand times more guilty than he did before. He opened his mouth several times to say something, but each time his words got stuck in his throat and he shut his mouth with an audible click. Finally, he managed to croak out. “You… you have me.”

"do I?" She asked a tear slipping from her eyes "My husband prefers whores to his marriage bed, my husband drinks a barrel of wine a day, I never see him, we never speak, we only ever argue over his failed promises to our children”

Aegon fell speechless as he saw the tear slip from her eyes. He’d seen her cry before, of course, but never like this. This wasn’t over anger or frustration. This was pain, real pain. He wanted to go to her, to wrap his arms around her and pull her close in an attempt to fix everything. But he couldn’t bring himself to move, or even look her in the eye. Because everything she said was true. And he hated himself for it all. “I…” he muttered, trying once again to force words out of his throat. “I don’t know what to say.”

How could he defend himself against the truth? He did drink too much, he had spent more nights in brothels than he would care to count. He did fail to keep his promises to her and the children. Everything she said was completely true, and no amount of excuses could cover it up.

"you never do" she answered wiping her tears "you need not worry yourself over this baby, not like you'll care when it's born anyway"

Aegon flinched at the last part of her sentence. She was completely right. He had failed to be there for the birth of Marcus and of Marybelle, and he had failed to provide for them in the way that they deserved. And now there was another coming. Another child to make him feel even more guilty, and another child that he would fail to take care of. It was a vicious cycle that he didn’t know how to break. “That- that’s not true.” He protested weakly. “That’s not- I would care.” He muttered though he himself didn’t really believe it. There was something about seeing her there in front of him, a tear making a track down her face. Something about knowing that there was a baby inside of her, It made him feel sick to his stomach to think of how he was going to fail this baby too.

she shook her head "You need not worry over it."

“Stop saying that.” Aegon snapped, irritation bleeding into his voice. her kept telling him not to worry, telling him that everything was fine. “I can’t just not worry! There’s a baby… there’s our baby… and you keep telling me not to worry, like I don’t have to, and like everything is fine.”

"it's not your baby!"

“Excuse me?!” What did you just say? Aegon stared at her, shock and anger written all over his face. “Not my baby?” He repeated. “It’s a child that we created. It was my seed that started this child’s life. How is it, not my baby?!”

"It wasn't your seed. Aegon you haven't touched me since Marybelle was born, too busy with the whores to spend a night with your wife"

Aegon was silent after that. He couldn’t argue against it. her were once again completely right. He hadn’t touched her since before Marybelle’s birth, he could have sworn one or two nights he had made it to his marriage bed before unloading his seed and passing out but even of that he wasn’t sure, and he hadn’t given a second thought to her or how she felt about it. He’d been too focussed on the whores, the wine, his own needs. Shame and self-disgust washed over him, and he found that he couldn’t look at her for a moment. “That…” he began, trailing off as his voice grew hoarse. A wave of shame crashed over Aegon, making his stomach twist with guilt and nausea. He swallowed, his eyes dropping to the floor.

"Aegon. You are not the father of the child inside me. You haven't touched me. I know this child is not yours"

It was like a dagger through the heart. her said it so casually as if it was just a simple fact. But he heard the pain in her voice, the hurt that he’d caused by not being there for her. And he could see the truth in her eyes. He opened his mouth to argue, to defend himself and say that the child was still his. But a sick feeling of dread was already pooling in his gut as he realized the truth. He wasn’t the father of this baby. He’d made sure of that himself. Aegon’s throat felt like it was closing up again, leaving him staring at the ground, his chest heaving as he tried to keep his breathing steady. He felt weak. He felt sick. He felt guilty. “You… you slept with someone else?” He managed to force out the words, his voice low and shaking.

"you were gone. You never touched me. If you can take your nights sharing beds with a hundred common whores... I see no reason I cannot find a company of my own”

Aegon stiffened at her words, his heart twisting painfully in his chest. He was a hypocrite. How many whores had he slept with while he’d been away? More than he cared to count. And yet here he was, getting upset over her having found someone else. He didn’t know how to respond. He felt nauseous and his mouth had gone dry, but he tried to speak anyway. “Who… who was it?”

"... I ... I don't wish to tell,"

Aegon clenched his jaw at her response, irritation and anger bubbling up within him. “Why not?!” He snapped. “you just told me that the baby isn’t mine, that you’ve been with someone else. And now you’re refusing to tell me who it was?”

"what does it matter? Are you going to sit and tell me the names of every whore you've been with? Tell me each name of every bastard down silk row you've fathered? So why should I tell you"

“Because-” Aegon stopped short, his response dying on his tongue. He wanted to deny it, to insist that it did matter to him. But deep down he knew she were right. He had no right to ask her to tell him who she found comfort in. Not when he himself had bedded countless whores over the past years. His shoulders slumped in defeat, and he swallowed thickly as he tried to figure out what to say. “Because…” he began again, his voice low and shaky. “I don’t care about the whores. I would never care about them.” He took a deep breath, forcing the words out of his mouth. “Because… this is different. Because this one is different, because I… I…” He trailed off, his voice trembling as tears formed in his eyes. He’d never seen the situation from her perspective before. He’d failed her completely, and left her alone while he went off to whorehouses.

she sighed and stroked her stomach "... Jacaerys. Jacaerys Velaryon."

Aegon froze, his eyes going wide with shock. Jacaerys Velaryon.

Of all people, it had to be him. He felt his hands shaking, and his stomach threatened to upheave. He knew Jacaerys had been spending a lot of time with her, but he had just assumed it was his imagination. “Jacaerys?” He repeated, his voice a whisper. “you… you slept with… him?”

"... He was my betrothal once. Before you and I were married, Jacaerys and I were betrothed. You ignore me these days and his bride prefers the company of women... We find comfort in each other"

Aegon felt like he was going to be sick. He knew that she and Jacaerys had been betrothed. Everyone knew that. But he hadn’t considered the possibility that she would turn to him for comfort. The thought of the two of them together made his stomach churn. He couldn’t stand the thought of another man touching her, holding her, looking at her with desire in their eyes. “you’re… you’re in love with him, aren’t you?”

"how I feel about him is irrelevant. I am your wife. I am your bride. I will do my duty as long as I live. But I will find my comfort as you find yours.”

Aegon felt his heart shatter in his chest as she spoke. She was his bride, his wife, and the mother of his children. But she did not love him, not anymore. She loved Jacaerys. “Why him?” He rasped. “Why not anyone else?”

"We find comfort together, we each have a partner who doesn't care for our needs and desires. And he's always been so sweet to the children"

Aegon clenched his jaw at her words. He didn't want to hear about how Jacaerys was, how sweet and caring and loving he was. Jacaerys was everything that Aegon wasn't. He was thoughtful, he was sweet, he was kind. He didn't spend his days in brothels or drunk in taverns. Aegon wanted to say he would change, he wanted to try and make things better between the two of her. But would she even believe him anymore? Or would she run back into Jacaerys' arms the first chance she got? “Do you…” Aegon began, his voice a whisper. “Do you love him?”

He didn’t want to hear the answer. He hoped that she would say no. That she would say she didn’t love Jacaerys, and that she only found comfort in the idea of being with someone who actually cared about her. But deep down, he knew that wasn’t it. He knew she loved Jacaerys, more than she had ever loved Aegon. And the thought of that made him want to die.

"... I am your wife." She repeated,

Aegon hated that answer. It wasn’t a yes or a no. her weren’t denying it, but weren’t confirming it either. He had always prided himself on the fact that he could tell when people were lying to him, but right now she was unreadable. He gritted his teeth, his hands clenching into fists. “That’s not an answer.” He growled.

"I am your wife. And I'm here. If I didn't love you don't her think I'd have packed my things, taken the children and flown to Dragonstone to be with Jacaerys!" She shouted "But no. I am here. I am your wife. Mother to your children, your heirs. I stay. Because I love you. I have remained through the humiliation of your behaviour because I love you. I have sat here knowing there are bastards throughout this city any of which have a claim over my true-born children if you so much as legitimised them." She explained through gritted teeth "I am here because I love you. I have endured all of it because I love you."

Aegon’s face fell further as she spoke. She stayed by his side the entire way. Despite the whores, despite the bastards, her were still his wife and she’d stayed. He felt small and shamed under her gaze. her had done everything for him, she had loved him, and he hadn’t done the same for her. “Then… then why did you sleep with Jacaerys?” He mumbled, the words feeling like ash in his mouth. “If… if you love me…”

"as I said. We give each other comfort. No different from the comfort you find with your whores"

Aegon flinched at her words. He wanted to deny it, he wanted to say it wasn’t the same at all. But he knew He had no excuse, no justification for why it was different when he went to whores. His shoulders slumped and he looked at the floor, avoiding her gaze. “It’s not the same.” He mumbled weakly.

"how is it not the same? The only difference is that he doesn't throw me a gold coin when we're done"

Aegon winced. That was so much more different than he had expected. His jaw clenched and he clenched his fists, irritation sparking through him at her words. “It’s… it’s different because they’re whores.” He muttered. “They’re whores. Not… not…”

He trailed off, unable to find the words to defend himself. She was the mother of his children, his wife. His queen. Compared to them, the whores were nothing.

"not what?"

Aegon didn’t respond. He wanted to say that they meant nothing to him, that the whores were just a means to an end, just a way for him to forget his troubles for a few hours. But he knew that wasn’t true. The whores were his vices, his weakness and he’d let them take over his life. “They’re… they don’t mean anything to me.” He tried weakly. “They’re just whores, that’s it.”

"and jockeys mean nothing to me. I love you, I am your wife. We simply find comfort together when we cannot get it from our marriages"

Aegon took a deep breath and closed his eyes, her words washing over him. It was a bitter pill to swallow. He didn’t want to hear her talk about Jacaerys that way. He didn’t want to think about her spending her nights with him, finding comfort in his arms. Not when she should have been finding that comfort in his arms. “And… and is that all it is? Just… comfort?” He asked lowly, barely keeping a hint of anger from his voice.

"that is all it is. And if you had given me such comfort I would not need to see him at all"

Gods damn it. Aegon wanted to argue. He wanted to insist that he would have given her that comfort if she’d just asked him. But he knew that wasn’t true. He knew that they’d barely spoken to each other in over years, never mind sharing any sort of intimate moment. He swallowed nervously and looked down at the ground. “And if… if I started trying to give you that comfort?”

"then I would have no need to visit him"

Aegon felt a small flicker of hope at those words. If he tried, if he made an effort, then maybe she would see that she didn’t need Jacaerys in her life. That she didn’t need to cheat on him and break their marital vows. He took a shaky breath and swallowed thickly, looking up at her. “…and you would stop seeing him, then?”

"I would if you did provide the comfort you are promising... However, you have broken many promises before so... Don't assume I would trust you. And if you were to not seek comfort in your whores. Perhaps you'd have the time for your wife"

Aegon felt stung by the last part of her comment. He wanted to flinch at the thought that she didn’t trust him to give her what she needed. But why should she? He hadn’t exactly given her a reason to trust him in the past. He sighed and nodded. “I…” he began, his throat dry. “I won’t go to whores anymore. I promise.”

"words don't mean anything. Actions do" She said the same words Marcus had said to him, showing where the boy had gotten such a phrase

Aegon felt his jaw clenched at her response. He could promise and vow over and over that he would stop seeing whores, but it didn’t mean anything until he actually did it. He took a deep breath, the thought of going without a whore for that long made him shiver. But he was determined to prove to her that he meant what he said. He nodded again, his shoulders slumping in defeat. “you’re right.” He mumbled. “I… I’ll do it. No whores.”

"and so long as her see no whores I shall not see Jacaerys. At least not intimately, I may have to see him socially"

Aegon’s expression soured as she spoke. He didn’t want her seeing Jacaerys at all, no matter how “socially” it was. But he knew he didn’t have a choice in the matter. He had agreed to stop seeing whores, and she had agreed to stop being intimate with Jacaerys. He couldn’t afford to jeopardize that. He nodded again, forcing the words past his lips. “Fine. But I don’t… I don’t want her alone with him.”

"I promise I won't be alone with him, I shall only see him if social events call for it"

Aegon felt some of the tension leave his shoulders at her words. He still didn’t like the idea of her spending time with Jacaerys, social or otherwise. But as long as she promised her wouldn’t be alone with him, he could deal with it. “Fine. That’s… that’s good enough for me.”

He mumbled. “I won’t go to whores, and she won’t be alone with Jacaerys. That’s the deal.”

she nodded

Aegon clenched his fists, his knuckles going white as he tried to maintain his composure. He didn’t really want to have this conversation. The thought of discussing the child her were carrying, Jacaerys’ child, made him feel like he wanted to be sick. But he knew it was a conversation that needed to be had. “What… what do you want to do about it?” He asked, forcing the words past his dry mouth.

she shivered her hands stroking her bump "I would like to keep it, I understand if he must be treated differently, as a bastard, sent away when he's older. But I would like to keep him... unless you want me to.... rid... myself."

Aegon clenched his jaw, his eyes fixed firmly on the ground. He didn’t want the child. The thought of seeing this bastard every day, a reminder of her time with Jacaerys, was more than he could handle.

But he knew he couldn’t demand she rid herself of it. He couldn’t force her to terminate the pregnancy if she didn’t want to. He sighed heavily and ran a hand through his hair. “Keep it, then.” He mumbled. “Raise it how you like, it’s yours.”

"Aegon, I don't want to keep it... if he will have a hellish life. if you will hate him."

Aegon shifted uncomfortably at her words. A part of him wanted to insist that he would try to love the boy. That it wasn’t the child’s fault they were a bastard, and he wouldn’t hold it against them. But another part of him knew that it wouldn’t matter. Every time he looked at the kid, he wouldn’t see anything except a reminder that she had cheated on him. He swallowed and shook his head. “I don’t think… I don’t think I’ll be able to love the child.” He mumbled quietly.

"Never?"

Aegon clenched his jaw and closed his eyes, not wanting to look at her as he spoke. “Never.” He mumbled. He hated himself for saying it. He knew the child was innocent, it wasn’t their fault they were a bastard. But he just couldn’t bring himself to love a child that would be the constant reminder of her infidelity.

"... I understand," she nodded sadly "Even if I was to have him? and send him away?"

Aegon’s heart twisted at the sadness in her tone. On one hand, at least if she sent the child away then he wouldn’t have to look at it every day. There would be no constant reminder of her infidelity, no need to try and love a child that was a product of love she gave to another.

But on the other hand, the thought of her giving up the child because he didn’t want it… it broke his heart, to think he would force her to send her child away. “Send it away when he’s born.” He mumbled.

Y/n nodded, trembling her hands on her belly as fears began to flood down her cheeks but she made no sound

Aegon felt a pang in his chest as he saw the tears begin to fall down her cheeks, his heart clenching at the sight. A part of him wanted to reach out to her, to pull her into his arms and comfort her. To tell her that he’d changed his mind, and that he’d come to love the child. But he couldn’t bring himself to do it. The thought of lying to her, of saying that he could love the child just to see her smile, was too much to bear. He stood there, frozen and unable to move, as the tears continued to fall from her eyes. His chest felt tight with guilt and regret, his mind screaming at him to say something, to do something to make her smile. But he was frozen in place, forced to stand there and watch as she cried in front of him, knowing that he was the cause of it. “I… I’m…” he stammered, the words dying on his tongue. He took a step towards her, his arms itching to reach out and hold her. To pull her against him and tell her it would be alright. But he stopped himself, clenching his fists at his sides instead to stop himself from reaching out. He knew she would likely pull away if he tried to touch her. “I… I’m sorry.” He mumbled, his shoulders slumped in defeat. He didn’t know what else to say, how to comfort her.

Y/n hugged Aegon tight in her arms crying into his chest, taking comfort from him in a way she hadn't done before in their marriage, and it became clear to Aegon just how much she loved her baby, just how much comfort she needed and how little he had given her

Aegon froze as she hugged him, her arms wrapped tight around him. It was the first time in months, maybe even years that she had hugged him, He slowly wrapped his arms around her in return, his heart twisting at the way she trembled against him. He didn’t think he’d ever seen her so vulnerable before.

"Is there anything I could do... that you would let me keep him here with me?"

Aegon swallowed and closed his eyes, his arms tightening around her. she trembled in his arms he realised the truth… there was one thing she could do. He took a deep breath and leaned his head down, his cheek resting against the top of her head. His heart thumped loudly in his chest, guilt and excitement battling inside him. “There is something you could do.” He mumbled against her hair, his grip on her waist tightening slightly.

When she nodded to indicate that she was listening, Aegon took another deep breath and continued with a low voice.

“I… I would allow her to keep the child here with you…” he began, before pausing to gather his thoughts. “If… if her promise to never see Jacaerys again. Or… or anyone else.”

"I promise, I promise on the lives of all my children"

Aegon felt his breath catch in his throat as she made the promise.

A part of him was still fearful, still waiting for the moment she would go behind his back and continue her affair with Jacaerys. But another part of him, a deeper part, desperately hoped that she was telling the truth. That she would allow him a second chance. That she would stay faithful to him from now on. He nodded and exhaled shakily. “I… I believe you.” He mumbled.

"Thank you Aegon," She nodded giving his forehead a soft kiss, and hugging him tight

Aegon tensed slightly as she kissed his forehead, his heart thundering in his chest.

He couldn’t remember the last time she had kissed him, Even before the affair, she had never been the most affectionate partner. He hadn’t known how much he’d missed those little acts until they were gone. He held her tightly in his arms, revelling in the feeling of her in his embrace. He buried his face down into the crook of her neck, his arms tightening around her. He inhaled deeply, taking in the familiar scent of lavender and lemon that surrounded her. He hadn’t realised how much he’d missed her scent until now. After a moment of holding her in his arms, Aegon finally spoke. “We should eat,” he mumbled into her neck. “you and the baby need nourishment.”

she nodded and wiped away her tears "Would... would you carry me? like you used to when we first got married? When I was pregnant with Marcus?"

Aegon’s breath hitched as she asked him to carry her, his grip on her tightening slightly. The memories her request stirred up were almost painful to think about. The early days of their marriage where they had been happy and in love, before the years had dulled the feelings and led to the situation they were in now. He nodded without hesitation. “Of course.” He mumbled, crouching down and sliding his arms underneath her, lifting her up into his arms with ease He held her close, his arms wrapped around her body carefully. He was suddenly reminded of the times when he would carry her like this when she was pregnant earlier in the marriage, how his heart would ache with love and pride at knowing her were carrying his child. Now, holding her in his arms and feeling the now familiar, but unwanted, bump bump against his chest, Aegon felt none of that love or pride. Just anger, sorrow and bitterness.

Y/n smiled and cuddled up to Aegon as he carried her giving his cheek a kiss as he carried her though the castle, "I really do love you Aegon, truly,"

Aegon felt his breath catch in his throat as she spoke, her words taking him by surprise. He didn’t think he had the right to hear those words anymore. Not after how many times he had driven her to tears. He swallowed heavily and held her tighter, forcing his voice to work. “you… you do? Even… even after everything?”

she nodded

Aegon continued carrying her in his arms, still somewhat in disbelief that she could still say that she loved him. He exhaled shakily and pressed a soft kiss to the top of her head. “And… and I love you too.”

[girlgenius1111]

all the same

mapi x ingrid x reader all three of you want a baby. a look into the discussions leading up to this decision, negative tests, a positive test, and the first few months. cw: pregnancy..? mentions of body image issues. suggestive.

-----

You were really astounded at the turns life took. 2 years ago, you were new to Barcelona, having left everything you knew behind in the states, working for a social media company. You knew no one, had very few friends outside your coworkers, and barely knew the city at all. 

Today, Barcelona was your home, in a way no city had ever felt before. You’d fallen in love here, with two of the most perfect beings on earth. It wasn’t what you expected when you arrived in Spain, but their love was what had been missing in your life. It healed a fissure in your heart that had formed long ago, one that had been around for so much time, you’d forgotten what it was like to live life as a whole person. Live life surrounded by love. 

And surrounded by love, you were. Your girls fell in love with you and never looked back. They spent every waking minute of every day loving you, and making sure you loved yourself. María and Ingrid were perfect. There was no other adjective to describe the pair of them. They were everything you needed, everything you’d ever need. 

-----

It started when one of Mapi’s friends had a baby. It was a little boy, an adorable little boy, and you saw the switch flick in both of your girls’ eyes when they saw him for the first time. They’d met babies before, held babies before. They spent time around toddlers, but something was different about this. They held the boy with reverence, a quiet awe etched across their faces. They gushed about him to his parents, expressing how truly happy they were for the couple. 

Happiness wasn’t the only emotion they were feeling, though. Something evolutionary in them changed that day, and they were filled with a very distinct longing. For more, for this. This special kind of love that would transform their lives, change everything. 

You wanted it too, suddenly. You’d spent most of your adult life pretty neutral about having children. It was different, when you weren’t in a relationship. Now that you had Mapi and Ingrid, though, your fears of parenthood seemed to lessen. They’d be with you, so how scary could it be, really?

The drive home from meeting the baby was silent. You and Ingrid in the front seat, Mapi in the back. Everytime your gaze flickered to either of the other women, you found them deep in thought. You knew what their hesitation was, why they weren’t instantly bringing it up. 

How could they bring it up? When it was very clearly, very simply not an option for them to carry? They were professional athletes, in the prime of their careers. They loved football. There was such a short time of their lives where they could play, and both of them had decided a long time ago to not sacrifice any months of their career to have a baby. 

 And so, it wasn’t right, in either of their minds, to bring up how desperately they wanted a baby when the only option to carry said baby would be you. They couldn't put that on you, couldn’t ask that of you. 

You knew them well enough to know that this was exactly what they were thinking on that long drive home. The thing was, you wanted it to. Maybe you weren’t sure about kids before, but you definitely were now. 

You’d been focused on something other than the baby, earlier. He was adorable, yes. But the way his parents looked at him? Like what they were feeling transcended words, transcended all human rationality. Like that little boy was the only thing in the world that mattered, or would ever matter? You wanted that. And you wanted that with Mapi and Ingrid more than anything. And if you could give the two of them what they wanted so desperately, and without requiring either of them to sacrifice time away from football? You wanted that too. 

-----

It was almost funny, how similar they were sometimes. The three of you arrived home, and your girls each flitted off to their favorite corners of the house, leaving you rather amused in between the both of them. They were so wrapped up in their thoughts that they didn’t seem to notice the other was feeling the exact same way they were. 

Mapi was on the balcony. You peeked over her shoulder from behind the glass door, and found her watching baby tiktok after baby tiktok. Honestly. 

When you went after Ingrid, you were met with a slightly more concerning sight. She was wedged in between the nightstand and the wall in your room, a spot she only went when she was feeling anxious. You and Mapi were still working on getting her to come to one of you when she wasn’t feeling right, and she still sometimes found herself enjoying the tight space. 

You didn’t know why she was anxious, though, or why she had tears running in her eyes as her chin rested on her knees, staring blankly ahead of her. Ingrid was an emotional person, something you loved about her, but she was normally more put together than this, unless something was really wrong. 

“Ingrid? What is it?” You asked softly, sitting carefully in front of her and brushing a tear off her face with your thumb.

“Nothing.” She replied, not very convincingly as her voice shook. 

“Ingrid.” You repeated, giving her a look that you normally received from her. 

She sighed heavily, tilting her head back to lean against the wall. “Mapi wants a baby.” 

You nodded slowly, wondering if maybe you’d read Ingrid’s behavior all wrong.

“And I can’t give that to her.” She finished, looking at you with such pain in her eyes, you wanted to reach out physically take the hurt away from her. “You want it too, I can tell. I can’t give either of you what you want. It’s awful and selfish, I’m awful and selfish, but I don’t want to stop playing football. I can’t.” 

You weren’t quite sure why Ingrid had just assumed you’d both expect her to carry your child, but this assumption seemed to be tearing her apart. 

“ I don't ever want to hear you say that again. You are not awful, and you are not selfish. It makes complete sense that you don’t want to lose any playing time. It’s not selfish to know what you need, and to stick to it. And, Ingrid, baby. You cannot possibly think this is all on you. There are three of us in this relationship. Two other options. ” 

The Norwegian shook her head. “No, Mapi doesn’t want to be pregnant, she’s said it before.” 

“Well you’re lucky you are dating a third person with a uterus.” You said, joking lightly. 

“You don’t want to be pregnant either.” Ingrid said with conviction. 

You blinked at her. “Why do you think that?” 

“You said it. Years ago. When we met Mapi’s pregnant friends for dinner and she was pregnant, and barely sleeping, and nauseous all the time, and miserable. We left the restaurant, and you said that you could never be pregnant.” 

Ingrid recounted the story like she’d had it burned into her memory for the past 2 years. You remembered that night, very vaguely. The relationship had been incredibly new, you’d had too much to drink, and you were rambling. You hadn’t meant it, barely remembered it. 

“I didn’t mean that.” You began, but Ingrid cut you off, shaking her head firmly. 

“No, please don’t do that. Please don’t say you’ll do it because you want us to be happy, when this would make you unhappy. I know how your brain works, elskling, I’m not letting you do that.” 

You supposed this was fair, as you had some self sacrificing tendencies when it came to your girlfriends. The entire first 2 months that you dated, you pretended to like your coffee without cream because that's how both of them drank it, and you didn’t want them to have to go out of their way and buy cream for you. They were not happy with you when they realized you’d been lying. 

“Ingrid, I promise you, I didn’t mean what I said that night. I’ve been thinking about it too. And I want- hold on. Let me get Mapi.” You interrupted yourself. Ingrid withdrew her hand from where it held yours, expecting you to get up and get your other girlfriend. Instead, you turned your head. 

“MARÍA, VEN AQUÍ,” you shouted, ignoring the half amused, half annoyed look on Ingrid’s face. You simply grinned back at her, standing up and extending your hand down to her. She took it, allowing you to help her to her feet, and you both took a seat on the bed, amusedly listening to Mapi’s loud footsteps coming down the hall. 

“Amor, speaking spanish? Did you hit your head?” She joked, walking in and smirking at you. 

You rolled your eyes. “I speak spanish.”

“Sure, amor. What’s…up, Ingrid have you been crying?” Mapi said softly, catching the tear tracks on the Norwegian’s cheeks, walking forward and taking Ingrid’s face in her hands. 

Ingrid was weirdly emotional today, and seeing that baby had only made it worse, had only made the issue she’d been thinking about for weeks feel worse. She bit her lip, trying to fight off tears yet again at how concerned Mapi sounded. 

“I can’t give you what you want.” She mumbled. It was unlike Ingrid to be this soft spoken, sound this insecure, and Mapi looked at you worriedly, even more confused when you rolled your eyes. Ingrid was upset over something that wasn’t a problem, yet she didn’t believe you. 

“You give me everything I want, cariño, you both do.” Mapi assured her. 

“No, I can’t give you a baby. I can’t be pregnant, I don’t want to. I can’t stop playing for that, I’m so sorry Mapi,” Ingrid cried, leaning forward into the Spaniard’s arms. Mapi looked upset, heartbroken, there was no other way to explain the look on her face. “An she’s trying to convince me she wants to carry a child, and I know she doesn’t,” 

At this, Mapi’s head snapped to you, the familiar stern look she got when she thought you were putting your needs behind theirs taking over. 

“Both of you, look at me.” You instructed. Ingrid pulled away from where her head had been resting against Mapi’s chest, red eyes gazing at you. “I want this. I’m not just trying to make you happy. I want this for me, and I want this for us, I really do. I’ve been thinking about it a lot recently. Please, believe me. I want to do this for you guys, I want to do this for myself.” You spoke slowly, watching as a very cautious hope took over both of your girlfriends. 

“Amor, just because we don’t want to do it right now with our careers doesn’t mean that you have to.” Mapi reminded you. 

“I know that.”

“We can’t ask you to do something that we aren’t willing to do.” Ingrid echoed. 

“I know. You aren’t asking. I am offering. We all want the same thing here, no? You both want a baby?”

You took in the 2 very hesitant head nods. 

“I want it too. This makes the most sense, logically. And more than that, I want to do it. I want to be pregnant, I want to carry our baby. I promise you both. On Bagheera’s life.” 

Ingrid looked like she was going to break down into tears again, and Mapi frowned. “You better not be lying, especially now.” 

“I’m not lying.” You said seriously. “Although cats do have 9 lives…” 

Mapi pinched your arm. “That is not funny.” 

“Ingrid,” you whined, swatting Mapi’s hand away. 

“Never mind, both of you. I already live with 2 children.” Ingrid said, but the huge smile on her face gave her away. 

“We are doing this?” Mapi asked, looking between the two of you. 

“Yes.” Ingrid murmured.

‘Yeah,” you said, a soft smile tugging at your lips. Mapi moved forward in a flash, wrapping you up in her arms and spinning you both around before tossing you on the bed and climbing right on top of you. 

“María,” you laughed, hearing Ingrid scolding the Spaniard lightly. 

“Gonna put a baby in you, sí?” Mapi rasped, her lips attaching themselves to your neck. 

“I don’t think that’s possible, amor, no matter how much you want it.” You chuckled. Suddenly Ingrid’s face was next to yours, too, joining Mapi to kiss at your neck. 

“It’s worth a try,” she said. 

“Insatiable, both of you.” You sighed, lacing your fingers through each of their hair, relaxing into their movements. 

You were doing this. And you didn’t have any doubts. For someone that always had doubt and fears, this was unheard of. Of all the decisions you’d make in your life, though, this was one you needed to be sure about. And you were. 

------

You hadn’t thought much about the actual process of getting pregnant. IVF and sperm donors and doctors appointments and injections and stress. So much stress. It was insane, how difficult it was, how many hoops you had to jump through. You knew it was part of the process to have negative tests. That didn’t make it hurt any less, though, when it happened. At first, it was alright, because you weren’t really expecting it to work right away. As the months passed, though, and you failed to get a positive test, you grew more discouraged. As you sat, waiting for the allotted time to pass on your current test, you thought back to the last negative test that had been… a lot, to say the least. You’d been doing IVF for almost a year, and you couldn’t understand why it wasn’t working. Was it you? Were you doing something wrong?

------

The timer rang through the bathroom, and you took a shuddering breath, hand shaking as you reached for the test. Ingrid and Mapi were on the other side of the door, as you’d insisted. It was getting harder and harder for you to keep letting them down, and you couldn’t stand seeing their faces fall when you inevitably weren’t pregnant, again. They’d hated this idea, wanting to be with you regardless of the outcome, but you’d insisted. 

So, outside the door they sat, hearing the timer ring, and holding their breaths as they waited for you to read out the results. You didn’t speak for a full minute, and your girlfriends grew impatient. 

“Amor? What does it say?” Mapi called through the door. Her and Ingrid strained to hear a response from you. 

“I’m sorry guys.” You eventually got out, your voice thick with tears. Mapi and Ingrid deflated. They were disappointed, yes, but they’d been watching the toll this had been taking on you, and they knew what another negative would do to you. 

“Open up, cariño,” Ingrid insisted, knocking softly on the door. 

“I just need a minute,” you called back, trying to sound more put together than you were. 

Neither of them wanted to give you a minute, but they respected your wishes, moving away from the door and over to the bed. Inside the bathroom, you stood up, throwing the test away as you couldn’t bear to look at it any longer. You splashed some cool water over your face, noting that it didn’t do much to hide that you’d been crying, before you opened the door. They had both been staring at the door impatiently when it opened, the sadness radiating off of you as you stepped out of the bathroom feeling like a punch to the gut. 

Ingrid got to you first, wrapping her arms around your shaking form, holding you tightly to her. You sobbed quietly into her shoulder, feeling Mapi come up behind you and wrap herself around your back. 

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” you repeated brokenly. 

“Please stop apologizing, my darling, this is not your fault. It is completely out of your control.” Ingrid insisted, and you could only shake your head, burying yourself further into her sweater. Seeing you cry always made your girlfriend’s cry, even Mapi, and it wasn’t long before you were all sniffling pathetically. Still, you remained hidden in Ingrid’s shirt, even when she pulled you over onto the bed, allowing you to fully rest in her arms. Mapi sat next to the both of you, working her fingers through your hair, laying her head on Ingrid’s unoccupied shoulder. 

Every time they thought you were getting close to calming down, every time you stopped crying, just a little bit, you almost instantly fell back into sobs that wracked your whole body. You cried until your head hurt, until your throat was raw, and you felt dehydrated. You cried until you were empty, completely devoid of energy and feeling. 

When you finally stopped, you murmured another apology to your girls, feeling horrible for making them comfort you when they’d been just as disappointed. Both of them shook off your apologies, exchanging a look. They’d been discussing what to do if this test was negative, and they both agreed that you couldn’t really go on like this. It was taking everything out of you. 

“Mi amor, maybe we should take a break.” Mapi said softly. 

You flew off of Ingrid in a panic, frantic eyes meeting Mapi’s. “From us?” you asked, voice barely more than a whisper, as if you couldn’t even put your full voice behind that idea. 

“NO!” They said simultaneously. In a flash, you were yanked off of Ingrid and pulled into Mapi, her arms holding you almost painfully tightly. “No. No break from us, never a break from us, bebita, I promise. I meant a break from the IVF.” 

You tensed, and Ingrid rushed to explain further. “Just for a bit, love. This has been so hard on you, and we hate seeing you so upset. We take a couple months off, and then we can reevaluate. You need to put yourself first, my love. You are our priority.” 

You didn’t want to give up, couldn’t give up. You knew that if you stopped now, you’d never be able to start again, never be able to put yourself through the process again. 

“One more try. Please. One more, and then we can take a break,” you proposed. 

Ingrid and Mapi exchanged glances. It didn’t feel like a good idea to them, but it was your body, and your decision. If you said you could handle more, they had to trust you on that. 

“Okay. One more try.” Ingrid said finally. 

“One more.” Mapi agreed. 

You smiled weakly at them, sitting up off of Mapi and scrubbing at your face. Ingrid seemed satisfied, but María was looking at you with a pensive expression on her face. 

“One more, but only if you promise us that you know it isn’t your fault if it doesn’t work. We love you. If you can’t do this, we’ll still love you. Promise me you know that.” 

You looked back at her. “I think I know. I just worry sometimes. I promise to try to remember.” 

Mapi nodded. “Okay. Mi nina perfecta. I am so proud of you.”

Ingrid and Mapi took in the way you lit up at her words. From then on, they didn’t let a day pass without telling you how proud they were of you. 

------

Here you sat, again, on the floor of the bathroom, the test turned over in front of you. The seconds counted down until you could look, and you felt oddly at peace. Whatever was meant to happen would happen. If it didn’t work again, you’d figure something else out. And Ingrid and Mapi would still love you. 

They were, once again, outside the bathroom door, pacing this time. They both felt slightly nauseous when the timer went off, turning towards the door, freezing. It was quiet again, on the other side of the door, and they both feared the worst. 

“Amor?” Mapi called. 

A second later, the door flew open, and you launched yourself out of the bathroom, holding the test out for them to see. 

“Positive, it’s positive,” you cried, entirely overwhelmed in the best way possible. 

They each wrapped you in a hug, gentle hugs this time, tears flowing down all of your cheeks. It was positive. It had worked. You were going to have a baby. As you celebrated with them, you tried to remind yourself that the hard part wasn’t entirely over. There was so much joy to come, though, and you focused on that. One the absolutely alit with joy expressions on both of your girls’ faces. It had all been worth it, just for this. 

------

No one on the team had really known you were trying to get pregnant, aside from a few people.  They had left all of this up to you, assuring you that they didn’t care who knew when, as long as you were comfortable. That was pretty much it. It had been a difficult few months, and you knew your girlfriends needed the support of their best friends, so Alexia knew, and Frido knew you were trying. As such, you also decided that Ingrid and Mapi could tell them about the pregnancy first.

Telling Alexia went according to plan, for the most part. The three of you had her and Olga over for dinner, presenting her with a box after everyone had eaten. Alexia looked quizzically between the three of you, before she opened it up to find a very small Putellas jersey inside. The entire time you’d been trying to get pregnant, Alexia had teased Mapi that she’d get the baby in a Putellas jersey if it was the last thing she did, Mapi insisting the baby would only wear her and Ingrid’s jerseys. Alexia knew, instantly, what this meant, and to everyone’s shock, the blonde woman immediately covered her face, and broke down into tears. 

“Oh my god, I am so happy for you,” she sobbed, hands still hiding her face. 

You and Ingrid were frozen, never really having seen Alexia cry. Not like this. Olga simply rolled her eyes, placing a comforting hand on her girlfriend’s back and rubbing softly. Mapi was close to tears too, shockingly. 

“What is happening?” You whispered to Ingrid, as both Spaniards tried to pull themselves together. 

“I’m not really sure. Maybe I put too much pepper on the chicken,” Ingrid whispered back, and you covered your mouth to hide your laugh. 

Very suddenly, Alexia slid her chair back, clambering over to Mapi and yanking her up from her own chair. She pulled her into a bone crushing hug, which Mapi met eagerly. They hugged for a while. Long enough for everyone to grow even more confused. When they broke apart, Alexia pulled Ingrid into a hug, and Olga got up too. Alexia wiped at her tears hurriedly, sending you an apologetic smile as she hugged you, too, so gently you could have laughed. 

“I’m sorry, I just know how hard it’s been, and how badly all three of you wanted this, and it’s been so long, and I’m just really happy for you,” Alexia rambled. Behind her, Mapi blushed heavily, and you and Ingrid exchanged knowing glances. 

Mapi had been the picture of strength the past few months. While you had cried, and Ingrid had cried, Mapi had remained optimistic and perfect. Both of you had been wondering how she was managing it. It seemed that the answer was Alexia. She had been spending more time with her, and if there was anyone Mapi trusted with her feelings, it was her best friend. 

With that mystery solved, and the secret finally out, the five of you spent a long time in the living room, discussing all things baby related. Alexia really was so excited for you guys. She held onto the baby Putellas kit pretty much the rest of the night, and you were beginning to get the feeling she was having other thoughts as well. If the longing glances she was sending Olga’s way were any indication, they weren’t too far off from being parents either. 

That thought filled you with so much joy. Alexia and Mapi together were hilarious, and their children together could only be more entertaining. This was one of the fun parts of growing up; getting to watch the people around you grow and change in the best ways.

------

Telling Frido went less according to plan. In fact, no one even told her. 

The three of you were supposed to have her over for dinner over the weekend, and tell her the same way you’d told Alexia. You saw her before that, though, at the midweek match. It was at home, and you were in attendance, sitting in the stands per usual. Frido had picked up a small injury, and was sitting the game out to make sure she was good to go for the more difficult games coming up in the next few weeks. 

It was going fine, completely normally, for the first 15 minutes of the match. You and Frido exchanged easy small talk, most of your attention on the pitch. 

Then, there was a break in play, as one of the opposing players received treatment on the pitch. Frido took the opportunity to look at you, her eyes piercing as she looked down at you, almost smugly. 

“What?” You asked defensively. 

Frido just shook her head, turning back to the pitch. “You’re pregnant.” 

“I- I’m… what?” You stuttered, absolutely baffled. 

“You are pregnant.” She said again. It wasn’t a question either time, and you just blinked at her, wondering if Ingrid had let it slip or something. 

“Why do you think that?” 

“Because you’re glowing. And you were supposed to take a test last week, and Ingrid didn’t call me in tears at all last week, so I know you didn’t test negative. And when you walked off the pitch, away from them, Ingrid and Mapi looked like they were worried you were going to be kidnapped or struck by lightning or something. Also, Mapi bought a parenting book, and when Jana asked her about it, she said she was ‘just preparing’. We both know Mapi doesn’t prepare for things that aren’t happening for sure.”

She really had you there. You couldn’t lie, and she was looking at you expectantly. 

“Dammit Frido,” you sighed. 

She grinned at you, wrapping an arm around your shoulders and pulling you in tight. “Congratulations.” 

She said it quietly, but the word was filled with emotion, and you knew that she, too, knew how hard this had been. You were struck, then, with a sense of gratitude, that your girls had such incredible friends. They deserved nothing less. 

After the match, after Barça won, you and Frido headed down to the pitch. Ingrid looked confused when the Swede pulled her into a tight hug, her expression growing shocked when Frido congratulated her quietly. 

“Love, we were going to tell her together,” the Norwegian scolded you, catching the attention of Mapi, who sent you a [less convincing] stern glare. 

You threw your hands up in the air. “I didn’t say anything, she figured it out,” you defended. All three of you turned to Frido, who was, once again, smirking rather smugly at you all. 

“You are bad at keeping secrets, all of you. I’d work on that, or the whole team will know before you’re out of the first trimester.” She said. 

“Know what?” Claudia asked, popping up from behind Frido with a mischievous glint in her eyes, like she knew she’d heard something she wasn’t supposed to. 

It was going to be a long first trimester, if this singular match was any indication.

------

This wasn’t to say that everything went smoothly once you were pregnant. 

Things were alright up until the 4th month. You had a bump by then. You hadn’t thought that it would bother you, gaining weight, not when it was happening for a specific purpose. You’d always had a certain level of discomfort in regards to your body, not that you’d ever admit it. Dating professional athletes had its perks and its drawbacks; your girlfriend’s bodies happened to be both. Normally, you were able to push through your insecurities easily, helped by the way Ingrid and Mapi worshiped you. 

Now, though, everything was different. Your whole body was changing, and you felt so different. What was worse was that you were only in month 4. There were still 5 months to go. You were really struggling. Maybe it was the hormones, too, you weren’t really sure, but letting them see you naked wasn’t an option, suddenly. You shrugged out from under their hands, you didn’t let Mapi pull your shirt up to talk to your bump before bed, and you hadn’t had sex in weeks. The bathroom door remained locked when you changed or showered, when it never had been before. 

They noticed pretty early on that something was going on. At first, they thought they were hovering too much. That didn’t seem to be it, though, because you wanted to be around them, clearly, you just couldn’t stand it when they touched you too much. They brought it up to you briefly, and Mapi believed your explanation that it was a sensory thing, for a while, but Ingrid saw through that. She just wasn’t sure how to bring it up without making you feel worse. It was evident you were feeling a fair amount of shame, and you didn’t want them to know this was going on. You felt so stupid; there was no reason for you to be so upset about something that was completely normal. Your body was built for this, and yet, you felt so uncomfortable, so unnatural. 

Ingrid was waiting for the right opportunity, which came a few days after you’d lied and given an excuse as to your odd behavior. The three of you were on the couch, watching a movie. Well and Ingrid were watching a movie. Mapi was squished against you, her hands roaming dangerously about your body, her lips nipping lightly over your skin every so often. 

You were enjoying it, honestly, until one of her hands drifted down to your thigh, squeezing lightly. Your thighs were a body part you currently were not very happy with, and you flinched away from the contact, pushing Mapi’s hand off of you, and sliding closer to Ingrid. Mapi tried not to be hurt, keeping her hands to herself and simply resting her head against your arm. Ingrid looked down at you with concern, but your attention was fixated on the TV, so she shrugged it off. 

Until a minute later, when she heard a small sniffle. She looked over at Mapi, who was looking at you. Ingrid tilted your chin up towards her, seeing a few tears in your eyes. 

“Hey,” she cooed. “What’s wrong, love?”

“I’m sorry, María,” you cried, reaching for her hand. You’d noticed how hurt she’d looked when you pulled away from her, and that hadn’t been your intention. 

“Don’t be sorry. You didn’t want to, that’s okay, that’s always okay,” she assured you, kissing the side of your head repeatedly. That seemed to help, and you nodded, weakly smiling at her. She returned your smile, leaning in very slowly and pressing her lips to yours. You met her eagerly, kissing her back with hunger before she pulled away, pushing a strand of hair out of your face. 

Ingrid was not smiling. “Hey, elskling?” 

“Yeah?” You replied, shifting to look up at her. The small smile on your face melted away as you took in the concerned expression on Ingrid’s. 

“You know you can tell us anything, right?” She asked softly, her thumb tracing across your cheekbone. 

“Of course I do.” You told her, somewhat uncomfortably. Ingrid could sense your discomfort, but she pushed anyway. You needed to talk about whatever was bothering you. 

“Then talk to us, love. Something isn’t right.”

You knew she was talking about more than just your rejection of Mapi’s advances this evening. You sighed deeply, and the Spaniard sat up once she realized you were about to talk, leaning on her elbow to look at you next to her. 

“I look… different.” You said shortly. 

“Yes. You’re growing a baby inside of you, love. You’re supposed to look different.” Ingrid said, attempting to reassure you, not knowing this only made you feel worse. You knew you were supposed to look different; that didn’t stop you from disliking it.

“I know.” 

“But…?” Mapi prompted you. 

“I don’t like it.” You whispered. “I hate it. I hate how every part of my body is getting bigger. I can’t even look at myself, not when you two are so beautiful.” 

“Oh, mi amor,” Mapi sighed, curling herself closer around your body. 

“I’m not pretty anymore, and you guys are going to hate how I look, and leave me, and-” You knew you were spiraling, catastrophizing, but you couldn’t stop yourself, not even when Ingrid insistently placed her hands on your cheeks, turning your face towards her. 

“You are beautiful. So beautiful. You were beautiful before you got pregnant, and you are beautiful now. You will always be pretty. Gaining weight will never change that, my darling, never. And definitely not when you’re carrying our child.” She said decisively. 

Mapi spoke then, her voice right in your ear as she clung to you. “I could never hate how you look, I love you too much for that. When I tell you that you are perfect, I mean it. You and Ingrid are the best parts of me, and I would never leave you, no matter what.” 

You closed your eyes, trying to let the words wash over you, let yourself relish in the feeling of being so completely and entirely loved. You opened them, though, when you felt Ingrid move. She was kneeling on the floor in front of you, and her hands rested on the hem of your shirt, waiting for your permission. When you nodded, she lifted it up, letting it bunch around your sternum, before began to lightly kiss your skin, starting at your thighs, alternating legs, moving up slowly until she was kissing your bump, up to your collarbone, your neck, your jaw, and finally, her lips pressed themselves against yours. You couldn’t get over the way either woman was looking at you, with so much love and adoration. Like they were in complete awe of you. 

You exhaled against Ingrid’s mouth sharply, more tears falling down your cheeks. This time, though, they weren’t sad tears. You were crying because of how well Ingrid and Mapi loved you, how they always knew just what to say, and just what to do. It was this, most of all, that you were most excited to see transform into parenthood. It was different, and new, but at its core, it was still your Ingrid, and your Mapi. The three of you, together, with a new little addition. 

It was confidence in their love that had you surging forward suddenly, wrapping your arm around Ingrid’s neck, and drawing Mapi in closer by the front of her shirt. There was no room for insecurity when they held you this close, when they worked at your body like it was divine, like it was sent from heaven, just for them. All you had to do was let them in, and they’d make everything better, always. They’d do it for the baby, too, you were sure. For now, though, you needed to enjoy your dwindling time with just the three of you. And you planned to do so. 

------

no part 2 to this probably, i'm pretty happy with where it is :)

[livelaughpeg]

I'm writing this from a throwaway account, because you know...Scientology.

I want to preface this post by saying I am not one of those "I knew it all along!" people. I can't stand that attitude. I was pretty ambivelant towards Neil Gaiman. Prior to the allegations, I didn't hate him but I wasn't that interested in him as a person either. I don't think you can always tell when someone is a bad or good person simply by the topics they write about. If that was the case we'd be arresting every horror writer on earth.

But one thing that did always rub me up the wrong way was the way he talked about getting work.

I borrowed and read "Make Good Art" (a small book based on a speech he gave to graduates at the University of the Arts) at a time in my life that I was really struggling to get by (I still am to some extent, but in a different way). I expected to see some practical advice. Instead it was a bunch of glib shit like:

I got out into the world, I wrote, and I became a better writer the more I wrote, and I wrote some more, and nobody ever seemed to mind that I was making it up as I went along, they just read what I wrote and they paid for it, or they didn’t, and often they commissioned me to write something else for them. Looking back, I’ve had a remarkable ride. I’m not sure I can call it a career, because a career implies that I had some kind of career plan, and I never did. The nearest thing I had was a list I made when I was 15 of everything I wanted to do: to write an adult novel, a children’s book, a comic, a movie, record an audiobook, write an episode of Doctor Who… and so on. I didn’t have a career. I just did the next thing on the list.

Life is sometimes hard. Things go wrong, in life and in love and in business and in friendship and in health and in all the other ways that life can go wrong. And when things get tough, this is what you should do. Make good art. I’m serious. Husband runs off with a politician? Make good art. Leg crushed and then eaten by mutated boa constrictor? Make good art. IRS on your trail? Make good art. Cat exploded? Make good art. Somebody on the Internet thinks what you do is stupid or evil or it’s all been done before? Make good art. Probably things will work out somehow, and eventually time will take the sting away, but that doesn’t matter. Do what only you do best. Make good art.

Yeah, well, no shit. If you're a writer or artist you probably do anyway. Whether you get paid for it or not, whether you draw fan art or original art. But the point of Gaiman's speech was to give advice to people who wanted to be paid for their art. To make a career of it. Making art every day isn't always enough. You have to pay the damn rent, you have to eat, you have to network and do social media and promote yourself, and you have to do it while thousands of other people are doing the same thing in a massive crowd of people who want the same thing. Practical advice is much more valuable than platitudes and theory.

I am not a writer, I'm an illustrator, and let me tell you that for most people, 'getting your foot in the door' isn't a one time thing. Quite often you have to work at getting your foot in the door again and again until you become established, and it's very easy to be forgotten. I still feel like I'm in that stage now.

I watched my peers, and my friends, and the ones who were older than me and watch how miserable some of them were: I’d listen to them telling me that they couldn’t envisage a world where they did what they had always wanted to do any more, because now they had to earn a certain amount every month just to keep where they were. They couldn’t go and do the things that mattered, and that they had really wanted to do; and that seemed as a big a tragedy as any problem of failure.

The implication was that he was successful because he wrote every day and his friends weren't because they didn't, because you know, working a second job is tiring. He called this a tragedy, but there was something very glib about the way he narrated this.

I think someone had more financial cushion that he was letting on.

And yes, sometimes it does work that way, (some people are very lucky and make all the right connections) but Gaiman was getting Big Jobs right off the bat and something about that never smelt right to me after the way he talked about it.

And then I saw Jeff's tweets. Oh, that's why...

I suspect the truth is he was living off his family's money and connections, and while I don't think there's anything inherently wrong with that if you're a struggling artist, his family are Scientologists, and I don't think he ever struggled.

I suspect it's all a lie.

[fuckyeahgoodomens]

The Radio Times magazine from the 29 July-04 August 2023 :)

THE SECOND COMING

How did Terry Pratchett and Neil gaiman overcome the small matter of Pratchett's death to make another series of their acclaimed divine comedy?

For all the dead authors in the world,” legendary comedy producer John Lloyd once said, “Terry Pratchett is the most alive.” And he’s right. Sir Terry is having an extremely busy 2023… for someone who died in 2015.

This week sees the release of Good Omens 2, the second series of Amazon’s fantasy comedy drama based on the cult novel Pratchett co-wrote with Neil Gaiman in the late 1980s. This will be followed in the autumn by a new spin-off book from Pratchett’s Discworld series, Tiffany Aching’s Guide to Being a Witch, co-written by Pratchett’s daughter Rhianna and children’s author Gabrielle Kent. The same month, we’ll also get A Stroke of the Pen, a collection of “lost” short stories written by Sir Terry for local newspapers in the 70s and 80s and recently rediscovered. Clearly, while there are no more books coming from Pratchett – a hard drive containing all drafts and unpublished work was crushed by a vintage steamroller shortly after the author’s death, as per his specific wishes – people still want to visit his vivid and addictive worlds in new ways.

Good Omens 2 will be the first test of how this can work. The original book started life as a 5,000-word short story by Gaiman, titled William the Antichrist and envisioned as a bit of a mashup of Richmal Crompton’s Just William books and the 70s horror classic The Omen. What would happen, Gaiman had mused, if the spawn of Satan had been raised, not by a powerful American diplomat, but by an extremely normal couple in an idyllic English village, far from the influence of hellish forces? He’d sent the first draft to bestselling fantasy author Pratchett, a friend of many years, and then forgotten about it as he busied himself with continuing to write his massively popular comic books, including Violent Cases, Black Orchid and The Sandman, which became a Netflix series last year.

Pratchett loved the idea, offering to either buy the concept from Gaiman or co-write it. It was, as Gaiman later said, “like Michelangelo phoning and asking if you want to paint a ceiling” The pair worked on the book together from that point on, rewriting each other as they went and communicating via long phone calls and mailed floppy discs. “The actual mechanics worked like this: I would do a bit, then Neil would take it away and do a bit more and give it back to me,” Pratchett told Locus magazine in 1991. “We’d mess about with each other’s bits and pieces.”

Good Omens: The Nice and Accurate Prophecies of Agnes Nutter, Witch – to give it its full title –was published in 1990 to huge acclaim. It was one of, astonishingly, five Terry Pratchett novels to be published that year (he averaged two a year, including 41 Discworld novels and many other standalone works and collaborations).

It was also, clearly, extremely filmable, and studios came knocking — though getting it made took a while. rnvo decades on from its writing, four years after Pratchett's death from Alzheimer's disease aged 66, and after several doomed attempts to get a movie version off the ground, Good Omens finally made it to TV screens in 2019, scripted and show-run by Gaiman himself. "Terry was egging me on to make it into television. He knew he was dying, and he knew that I wouldn't start it without him," Gaiman revealed in a 2019 Radio Times interview. Amazon and the BBC co-produced with Pratchett's company Narrativia and Gaiman's Blank Corporation production studios, with Michael Sheen and David Tennant cast in the central roles of Aziraphale the angel and Crowley the demon. The show was a hit, not just with fans of its two creators, but with a whole new young audience, many of whom had no interest in Discworld or Sandman. Social media networks like Tumblr and TikTok were soon awash with cosplay, artwork and fan fiction. The original novel became, for the first time, a New York Times bestseller.

A follow up was, on one level, a no-brainer. The world Pratchett and Gaiman had created was vivid, funny and accessible, and Tennant and Sheen had found an intriguing romantic spark in their chemistry not present in the novel.

There was, however, a huge problem. There wasn't a second Good Omens book to base it on. But there was the ghost of an idea.

In 1989, after the book had been sold but before it had come out, the two authors had laid on fivin beds in a hotel room at a convention in Seattle and, jet-lagged and unable to sleep, plotted out, in some detail, what would happen in a sequel, provisionally titled 668, The II Neighbour of the Beast.

"It was a good one, too" Gaiman wrote in a 2021 blog. "We fully intended to write it, whenever we next had three or four months free. Only I went to live in America and Terry stayed in the UK, and after Good Omens was published, Sandman became SANDMAN and Discworld became DISCWORLD(TM) and there wasn't a good time."

Back in 1991, Pratchett elaborated, "We even know some of the main characters in it. But there's a huge difference between sitting there chatting away, saying, 'Hey, we could do this, we could do that,' and actually physically getting down and doing it all again." In 2019, Gaiman pillaged some of those ideas for Good Omens series one (for example, its final episode wasn't in the book at all), and had left enough threads dangling to give him an opening for a sequel. This is the well he's returned to for Good Omens 2, co-writing with comic John Finnemore - drafted in, presumably, to plug the gap left Pratchett's unparalleled comedic mind. No small task.

Projects like Good Omens 2 are an important proving ground for Pratchett's legacy: can the universes he conjured endure without their creator? And can they stay true to his spirit? Sir Terry was famously protective of his creations, and there have been remarkably few adaptations of his work considering how prolific he was. "What would be in it for me?" he asked in 2003. "Money? I've got money."

He wanted his work treated reverently and not butchered for the screen. It's why Good Omens and projects like Tiffany Aching's Guide to Being a Witch are made with trusted members of the inner circle like Neil Gaiman and Rhianna Pratchett at the helm. It's also why the author's estate, run by Pratchett's former assistant and business manager Rob Wilkins, keeps a tight rein on any licensed Pratchett material — it's a multi-million dollar media empire still run like a cottage industry.

And that's heartening. Anyone who saw BBC America's panned 2021 Pratchett adaptation The Watch will know how badly these things can go when a studio is allowed to run amok with the material without oversight. These stories deserve to be told, and these worlds deserve to be explored — properly. And there are, apparently, many plans afoot for more Pratchett on the screen. You can only hope that, somewhere, he'll be proud of the results.

After all, as he wrote himself, "No one is finally dead until the ripples they cause in the world die away, until the clock wound up winds down, until the wine she made has finished its ferment, until the crop they planted is harvested. The span of someone's life is only the core of their actual existence."

While those ripples continue to spread, Sir Terry Pratchett remains very much alive. MARC BURROWS

DIVINE DUO

An angel and a demon walk into a pub... Michael Sheen and David Tennant on family, friendship and Morecambe & Wise

Outside it's cold winter's day and we're in a Scottish studio, somewhere between Edinburgh and Glasgow. But inside it's lunchtime in The Dirty Donkey pub in the heart of London, with both Michael Sheen and David Tennant surveying the scene appreciatively. "This is a great pub," says Sheen eagerly, while Tennant calls it "the best Soho there can be. A slightly heightened, immaculate, perfect, dreamy Soho."

Here, a painting of the absent landlord — the late Terry Pratchett, co-creator, with Neil Gaiman, of the series' source novel — looms over punters. Around the corner is AZ Fell and Co Antiquarian and Unusual Books. It's the bookshop owned by Sheen's character, the angel Aziraphale, and the place to where Tennant's demon Crowley is inevitably drawn.

It's day 74 of an 80-day shoot for a series that no one, least of all the leading actors, ever thought would happen, due to the fact that Pratchett and Gaiman hadn't ever published any sequel to their 1990 fantasy satire. Tennant explains, "What we didn't know was that Neil and Terry had had plots and plans..."

Still, lots of good things are in Good Omens 2, which expands on the millennia-spanning multiverse of the first series. These include a surprisingly naked side of John Hamm, and roles for both Tennant's father-in-law (Peter Davison) and 21-year-old son Ty. At its heart, though, remains the brilliant banter between the two leading men — as Sheen puts it, "very Eric and Ernie !" — whose chemistry on the first series led to one of the more surprising saviours of lockdown telly.

Good Omens is back — but you've worked together a lot in the meantime. Was there a connective tissue between series one of Good Omens and Staged, your lockdown sitcom?

David: Only in as much as the first series went out, then a few months later, we were all locked in our houses. And because of the work we'd done on Good Omens, it occurred that we might do something else. I mean, Neil Gaiman takes full responsibility for Staged. Which, to some extent, he's probably right to do!

Michael: We've got to know each other through doing this. Our lives have gotten more entwined in all kinds of ways — we have children who've now become friends, and our families know each other.

There have been hints of a romantic storyline between the two characters. How much of an undercurrent is that in this series.

David: Nothing's explicit.

Michael: I felt from the very beginning that part of what would be interesting to explore is that Aziraphale is a character, a being, who just loves. How does that manifest itself in a very specific relationship with another being? Inevitably, as there is with everything in this story, there's a grey area. The fact that people see potentially a "romantic relationship", I thought that was interesting and something to explore.

There was a petition to have the first series banned because of its irreverent take on Christian tropes. Series two digs even more deeply into the Bible with the story of Job. How much of a badge of honour is it that the show riles the people who like to ban things?

David: It's not an irreligious show at all. It's actually very respectful of the structure of that sort of religious belief. The idea that it promotes Satanism [is nonsense]. None of the characters from hell are to be aspired to at all! They're a dreadful bunch of non-entities. People are very keen to be offended, aren't they? They're often looking for something to glom on to without possibly really examining what they think they're complaining about.

Michael, you're known as an activist, and you're in the middle of Making BBC drama The Way, which "taps into the social and political chaos of today's world". Is it important for you to use your plaform to discuss causes you believe in?

Michael: The Way is not a political tract, it's just set in the area that I come from. But it has to matter to you, doesn't it? More and more as I get older, [I find] it can be a real slog doing this stuff. You've got to enjoy it. And if it doesn't matter to you, then it's just going to be depressing.

David, Michael has declared himself a "not-for-profit" actor. Has he tried to persuade you to give up all your money too?

David: What an extraordinary question! One is always aware that one has a certain responsibility if one is fortunate and gets to do a job that often doesn't feel like a job. You want to do your bit whenever you can. But at the same time, I'm an actor. I'm not about to give that up to go into politics or anything. But I'll do what I can from where I live.

Well, your son and your father-in-law are also starring in this series. How about that, jobs for the boys!

David: I know! It was a delight to get to be on set with them. And certainly an unexpected one for me. Neil, on two occasions, got to bowl up to me and say, "Guess who we've cast?!"

How do you feel about your US peers going on strike?

David: It's happening because there are issues that need to be addressed. Nobody's doing this lightly. These are important issues, and they've got to be sorted out for the future of our industry. There's this idea that writers and actors are all living high on the hog. For huge swathes of our industry, that's just not the case. These people have got to be protected.

Michael: We have to be really careful that things don't slide back to the way they were pre the 1950s, when the stories that we told were all coming from one point of view and the stories of certain people, or communities within our society, weren't represented. There's a sense that now that's changed for ever and it'll never go back. But you worry when people can't afford to have the opportunities that other people have. We don't want the story that we tell about ourselves to be myopic. You want it to be as inclusive as possible

Staged series 3 recently broadcast. It felt like the show's last hurrah — or is there more mileage? Sheen and Tennant go on holiday?

David: That's the Christmas special! One Foot in the Algarve! On the Buses Go to Spain!

Michael: I don't think we were thinking beyond three, were we?

So is it time for a conscious uncoupling for you two — Eric and Ernie say goodbye?

David: Oh, never say never, will we?

Michael: And it's more Hinge and Bracket.

David: Maybe that's what we do next — The Hinge and Bracket Story. CRAIG McLEAN

[feminist-space]

Article by Fortesa Latifi:

"Being the child of an influencer, Vanessa tells me, was the equivalent of having a full-time job—and then some. She remembers late nights in which the family recorded and rerecorded videos until her mother considered them perfect and days when creating content for the blog stretched into her homeschooling time. If she expressed her unease, she was told the family needed her. “It was like after this next campaign, maybe we could have more time to relax. And then it would never happen,” she says. She was around 10 years old when she realized her life was different from that of other children. When she went to other kids’ houses, she was surprised by how they lived. “I felt strange that they didn’t have to work on social media or blog posts, or constantly pose for pictures or videos,” she says. “I realized they didn’t have to worry about their family's financial situation or contribute to it.”

Vanessa, who requested anonymity to speak freely about her family dynamics, says she helped create content for huge companies like Huggies and Hasbro when her mom landed endorsement deals. When she reached puberty and began menstruating, her mother had her do sponsored posts for sanitary pads. “It was so mortifying,” she says. “I just felt like I wanted to crawl into a hole and never come out.”

Being part of an influencer family changed everything about her life, Vanessa says. “Sometimes I didn’t know where the separation was between what was real and what was curated for social media.” And her mother’s online presence indelibly warped their relationship. “Being an influencer kid turned my relationship with my mom into more of an employer-employee relationship than a parent-child one,” she says. “Once you cross the line from being family to being coworkers, you can’t really go back.”

...

Khanbalinov has had zero new offers since he took his kids offline. “When we were showing our kids, brands were rolling in left and right—clothing companies, apps, paper towel companies, food brands. They all wanted us to work with them,” he says. “Once we stopped, we reached out to the brands we had lined up and 99 percent of them dropped out because they wanted kids to showcase their products. And I fought back, like, you guys are a paper towel company—why do you need a kid selling your stuff?”

The law has woefully lagged behind the culture here, but there’s signs that policymakers might finally be catching up. In 2023, in addition to Illinois, three other states—New York, Washington State, and New Jersey—proposed bills to protect influencer kids. Contrast that with the flurry of legislative activity in just the first two months of 2024. Seven more states—Maryland, Georgia, Ohio, Missouri, California, Arizona, Minnesota—have introduced similar legislation. Some of the bills are going one step further to protect the privacy of the kids featured in this content. In some states, proposed legislation would include a clause that borrows from a European legal doctrine known as the “right to be forgotten”—it would allow someone who was featured in content when they were a child to request that platforms permanently delete those posts. None of the current legislation introduced, however, would outright bar the practice of featuring minors in monetized content.

...

The movement on this issue was glacial for years, but it finally feels like the ice has thawed. Much of that progress is thanks to activists like Cam Barrett (she/they), a 25-year-old creator (@softscorpio) who uses TikTok to talk about her experience of being overshared in their childhood and adolescence. Barrett doesn’t go by her legal name anymore because of the online history it’s tied to. “I love my legal name,” Barrett tells me. “I just don’t love the digital footprint attached to it.” Last year, Barrett testified in front of the Washington State legislature as a proponent of a bill to protect influencer kids. This year, they testified again—this time, in front of the Maryland legislature.

“As a former content kid myself, I know what it’s like to grow up with a digital footprint I never asked for,” Barrett told the Maryland House of Delegates Economic Matters Committee in February. “As my mom posted to the world my first-ever menstrual cycle, as she posted to the world the intimate details about me being adopted, her platform grew and I had no say in what was posted.” And yet, Cam says her activism has been healing.

For Cam and other influencer children, getting a paycheck won’t give them back what they lost—a normal childhood unobstructed by the cameras pushed into their faces. But it could be the beginning of some version of restitution. “My friends say I’m fighting for little Cam,” she tells me. “It feels very healing because I didn’t have anyone to fight for me as a kid.”"

Read the full article here: https://www.cosmopolitan.com/lifestyle/a60125272/sharenting-parenting-influencer-cost-children/

[meayefet]

Here's another thing I feel like we need to talk about regarding the current war between Israel and Hamas. Minor as it may be, I've been losing my mind over this.

As a person who grew up in the early 2010s, I grew up mostly on the internet and fandom culture, and have written quite a lot of fanficition in my early teens.

Something I've realized this past week is that people are seeing Palestine as a fandom. And not only does it belittle the actual problem, it dehumanizes Palestinians and Israelis alike and allows the rewriting of facts and truths as if it were an AU fanfic.

After realizing that I jokingly told a friend that I wouldn't be surprised to see RPF about the events of October 7th. I had in mind something like slash fiction of Hamas members, but today I found out people are writing fanfiction about A HOSTAGE AND HER CAPTOR.

I also found out it didn't happen in a vaccum - apparently tiktok is exploding with this stuff, saying Maya Regev - the hostage in question - had "left her heart in Gaza", because she smiled and said "shukran, bye" to her captors.

In case you have forgotten - Maya Regev was SHOT IN THE LEG AND TAKEN HOSTAGE INTO GAZA along with her brother, who was released FOUR DAYS AFTER HER. She was released with a shattered leg and without her brother - but if she smiled, her captors must have treated her so well, amirite? (Even though there are already plenty of horror stories from Hamas captivity, and children came back pale and whispering with their heads full of lice.)

Even in the early 2010s there was a debate whether RPF is legit or not (and at 26 I can safely say it's a no from me), but in this case it's even worse. These are not public figures we are talking about. This isn't One Direction or The Beatles. The Hamas terrorists are, well, terrorists, and Maya Regev is a private person made public because she was TAKEN HOSTAGE INTO GAZA. Writing a FANFIC about actual people who were actually injured during October 7th is beyond sickening, and it's probably the most immoral thing you can do on social media for the Palestinian cause (and if you guys claim to be on the side of morality you might want to be consistent).

Another thing that's driving me crazy is the difference between Israelis and Non-Israelis who grew up on the same things at the same time. my friends and I learned a lot about justice, critical thinking, and the power of art and creativity on the internet. I met a lot of my online friends in socialist youth movements and rallies, and many of them later became my classmates in Bezalel - BECAUSE we applied what we had learned into our adult life.

Non Israelis who grew up on the same platforms as I did who took part in the same fandoms, read the same fanfiction works, learned the same truths of social justice and the power of art- are now viewing the conflict as a fandom. You're either a fan or you're wrong - there is no middle. No room for critical thinking, for "Palestinians have every right to self-determination and an independent state BUT Hamas who actively prevents them said rights has comitted crimes against humanity on 7.10 and must be held accountable", or for "the occupation must end BUT the Jewish people are indigenous to the region" - there is only room for "by all means" and "from the river to the sea". It doesn't matter if they don't know which river and what sea - because if the conflict is a fandom, then they can write an AU to deal with every truth that doesn't settle with their narrative, and rewrite reality to fit their next fanfic.

[kjupchurch-xx]

Conflicted Feelings Part 8

Ryan was silent for a moment, as was I. Finally, I heard his voice. For once, he wasn't being the classic Ryan Reynolds, he was being the concerned friend, Ryan. "What do you mean you're not happy?" He asked, a bit confused by my admission. 

I sighed, running a hand through my hair, "I don't know. I just- I mean shit, I just had a part in the biggest film of my career. I'm getting calls from my agent to audition for major roles in upcoming films. This is just not the right time." I exhaled deeply as I thought about how my career would come to a screeching halt. 

I heard him sigh over the phone, "The films will still be here. Probably not the ones you're being asked to audition for, but there will be more films. I'm guessing you haven't told him?" 

I chuckled, "I literally just took a test before I called you."

I could hear him begin fake hyperventilating over the phone as he used an over-dramatic voice, "You mean...you mean...I'm the chosen one?" He asked, causing me to laugh. 

"Goodbye, Ryan." I said jokingly. 

He chuckled, "Just tell him. He loves Oscar and Ava, but I can promise you, he'll be stoked to have his first biological offspring." 

With that, we ended our phone call as I continued pacing the NYC penthouse waiting for Hugh to return from his morning bike ride through the city. Being a mother was not exactly something I wanted. I love kids, sure but I love other people's children, especially when I can give them back once I'm tired of them. This would be different. Not to mention my career being halted, but the fucking media and Deb are going to have a fucking frenzy whenever this comes out. 

20 minutes, or for me what seemed like an eternity had gone by. I heard the lock on the penthouse door turn, which meant Hugh had finally returned. He walked in and smiled at me as he approached me, quickly pecking my lips. 

"Morning, Love. I didn't want to wake you." He said softly as he walked towards the kitchen to grab some water from the fridge. 

I forced a smile, "Thank you." I said softly. 

He gave me a curious glance, "Are you feeling any better?" 

I shrugged, "I don't know. I think I'm going to lay back down for a bit." I said as I turned towards the bedroom. 

He gave me a half-smile as I turned, disappearing into the bedroom we shared. He knew something was up, but I was hoping he'd just pushed it off on the fact that I'd been feeling like shit. It had been 10-11 months since he showed up to my hotel room in LA to tell me that he and Deb had split up. We'd been having unprotected sex for months, I don't know why I was surprised to see a positive pregnancy test this morning. 

As I laid in our bed, a million thoughts ran through my brain...How I'd tell him, how he'd react, how I'd react to his reaction. I was shaken from my thoughts as I heard him walk past me and walk into the master bath. He looked at himself in the mirror, brushing over his stubble with his fingertips. He glanced down, spotting something on the bathroom counter and stared at it for a moment. 

Shit. I realized being in a panic when I saw the test, I must've forgotten to discard it before I called Ryan and spent 30 minutes pacing the fucking floor. I nervously bit my lip as I scratched my forearm anxiously, nervously awaiting his response to the small stick he was holding and had his gaze locked on. He looked up at me, eyes not completely wide, but they were definitely wider than usual. 

"Are you..." He managed to say while looking at me to make sure what he was seeing was accurate. 

I slowly nodded, it was all I could manage to do at this point in time. My words were completely failing me and even if they weren't, what the hell would I actually say? He sat the test down on the bathroom counter and quickly walked over to me, sitting in front of me on the bed. I could see his eyes glossy as if tears had begun forming in them. 

"Baby, this is incredible." He said softly, with a trembling voice. I sat silent, which he quickly noticed, "Don't you think so, love?" He asked me softly. 

I sighed, taking a deep breath, "I..." was all I could manage to choke out. 

He grabbed my hand, interlocking it with his, "What's wrong, babe?" He asked softly, his expression a mix of worry and anxiety. 

I shrugged, shaking my head slightly as I exhaled deeply, "I've worked so hard, busting my ass to pave a career for myself, Hugh." Tears were beginning to threaten to spill over my face, "I'm finally getting offers for major roles. My career is finally starting to blossom the way I'd always hoped it would...Now that's over for me." 

He shook his head, pulling me into his arms, "Baby, no. Don't say that. Your career is not over, love. You may have to take a hiatus in a few months, but you can pick up right where you left off." He said reassuringly. 

I nuzzled my head into his chest, sighing again, "It's been so hard to get where I'm at. I can't just come back months later and demand bigger films." 

He chuckled as he ran his fingers through my hair, "Babe, I can always help with that. There are loads of MCU movies that always want lead roles for developing characters." 

This was so easy for him. He had a massive career. He wouldn't be the one out of action due to a big pregnant belly. He didn't have to fight as hard as I did for a major role, spending years as an extra or a small role. I knew he was only trying to be supportive, but it was irritating me that he made this sound so easy to just get back into like I hadn't skipped a beat. 

He rested his chin on top of my head, "You're not even the slightest bit happy about this, are you?..." He asked, barely above a whisper. 

His voice was full of emotion and it broke my heart. He and Deb tried for biological children, which resulted in two miscarriages. That's when they adopted Oscar and Ava. He was no doubt their father, but I knew the feeling of having a child that shared his DNA and was biologically his, would be a big deal for him. I felt guilty for not being as ecstatic as he was. 

I shook my head, "In a perfect world, this would be maybe the best thing that had ever happened to me." I said softly, "But I'm selfish and my career comes first..." I continued, almost instantly regretting the words that had left my mouth. I knew they were a low blow. 

I heard him take a deep breath as I felt his body stiffen while the sound of him sniffling went through my ears. I looked up at him, seeing the heartbreak my words had caused him and I instantly felt two feet tall. The last thing I'd meant to ever do was to hurt him. 

I sighed, "Honey, I love you. I'm sorry." I said softly as I caressed his cheek. "I'm just in shock." I shook my head as I huffed, "I know that once the shock of it passes, I'll feel differently. Right now, I'm just heartbroken." 

He looked at me as he let himself give in to my hand on his cheek, nuzzling it. "I didn't mean to hurt your feelings. I know that regardless of what happens with my career, I will love this child. I just have to... fully accept that things will be different." I said softly, still caressing his cheek. "Everything will be okay." I said as I kissed his forehead. 

He gave me a small smile as he turned his head, placing a soft kiss on my palm that was still caressing his cheek, "I love you, gorgeous."