#had to think a bit but this is a non-exhaustive list

[chaoticfandomthot]

List 5 things that make you happy and send this to the last 10 people who liked/reblogged something from you. Get to know your followers and mutuals!

In no particular order:

1- my rabbit

2- nature (taking a walk, looking at the moon or the sea, etc)

3- my friends (@as-rare-as-trees in particular needs a category of their own)

4- spiders, tarantulas (my own included here) and interesting bugs

5- when people remember things about me i didn't expect them to or when they go 'this made me think of you'

[anistarrose]

Please don't tune out when you get to the non-partisan section of your ballot this November. First off, where state Supreme Court justices are elected, Republicans are trying their darndest to elect candidates who will destroy reproductive freedom, gut voting rights, and do everything in their power to give "contested" elections to Republicans. Contrast Wisconsin electing a justice in 2023 who helped rule two partisan gerrymanders unconstitutional, versus North Carolina electing a conservative majority in 2022, who upheld a racist voter ID law and a partisan gerrymander that liberal justices had previously struck down both of.

Second, local judicial offices will make infinitely more of an impact on your community than a divided state or federal legislature will. District and circuit courts, especially, are where criminalization of homelessness and poverty play out, and where electing a progressive judge with a commitment to criminal justice reform can make an immediate difference in people's lives.

It's a premier example of buying people time, and doing profound-short-term good, while we work to eventually change the system. You might not think there will be any such progressive justices running in your district, but you won't know unless you do your research. (More on "research" in a moment.)

The candidates you elect to your non-partisan city council will determine whether those laws criminalizing homelessness get passed, how many blank checks the police get to surveil and oppress, and whether lifesaving harm reduction programs, like needle exchanges and even fentanyl test strips, are legal in your municipality. Your non-partisan school board might need your vote to fend off Moms for Liberty candidates and their ilk, who want to ban every book with a queer person or acknowledgement of racism in it.

Of course, this begs the question — if these candidates are non-partisan, and often hyper-local, then how do I research them? There's so much less information and press about them, so how do I make an informed decision?

I'm not an expert, myself. But I do think/hope I have enough tips to consist of a useful conclusion to this post:

Plan ahead. If you vote in person, figure out what's on your ballot before you show up and get jumpscared by names you don't know. Find out what's on your ballot beforehand, and bring notes with you when you vote. Your city website should have a sample ballot, and if they drop the ball, go to Ballotpedia.

Ballotpedia in general, speaking of which. Candidates often answer Ballotpedia's interviews, and if you're lucky, you'll also get all the dirt on who's donating to their campaign.

Check endorsements. Usually candidates are very vocal about these on their websites. If local/state progressive leaders and a couple unions (not counting police unions lol) are endorsing a candidate, then that's not the end of my personal research process per se, but it usually speeds things up.

Check the back of the ballot. That's where non-partisan races usually bleed over to. This is the other reason why notes are helpful, because they can confirm you're not missing anything.

I've seen some misconceptions in the reblogs, so an addendum to my point about bringing notes on the candidates: I strongly suggest making those notes a physical list that you bring polling place with you. Many states do allow phones at the polling place, but several states explicitly don't — Nevada, Maryland, and Texas all ban phones, and that may not be an exhaustive list. There may also be states that allow individual city clerks to set policies.

You should also pause and think before you take a photo of your ballot, because even some states that don't ban phones still ban ballot photographs. But whether it's a photo, or just having your phone in general — in an environment as high-risk for voter suppression as the current one, you don't want even a little bit of ambiguity about your conduct. Physical notes are your friends.

[kira-akira]

What I Want You To Know About Long COVID

Well lads, I've been suffering from Long COVID for over a year now. My life is at a complete standstill. I'm 25 years old and I'm too sick to go back to school, I can't work, I had to move back in with my parents and I'm still stuck here.

Here are just a few things I wish people knew about Long COVID, including things I didn't know myself until I got it.

COVID destroys your immune system. Yes, even if you don't have Long COVID. Are you getting sick more often now? When you get sick, does it last longer? There are many studies showing that COVID causes t cell depletion, even in mild COVID cases! T cells are how your body remembers how to fight off infections you've had before so losing those cells? Bad news.

Your initial infection can be mild and you can still get Long COVID. Right from Yale Medicine, "Most people with Long COVID had mild acute COVID." (This is also a good link for a basic Long COVID overview).

There can be a gap of time between when you "get better" from the initial COVID infection to the onset of Long COVID symptoms. Some people get sick with an initial COVID infection and never get better. Some get better and then weeks or months later start developing Long COVID symptoms. Long COVID symptoms can even fluctuate over time, can go away for months and then suddenly come back.

So many people have Long COVID and don't realize it. Do you feel more tired lately but no matter how much you sleep, nothing helps? Is it harder to concentrate at work or school? Can you just not think like you used to? You could have Long COVID and not even know it. Even mild post-COVID symptoms are still Long COVID.

COVID can do anything to your body. Long COVID has over 200 recognized symptoms and can affect basically any part or system of your body. There is no one mechanism or cause of Long COVID which unfortunately also means there's no one cure either.

The effects of COVID are cumulative. Each COVID reinfection increases your chances of developing Long COVID. COVID is also affecting your body in other ways, yes, even if you're otherwise young and healthy! "Repeat COVID-19 infections increase risk of organ failure, death".

Once you have Long COVID, repeat COVID infections will make your symptoms worse. "80% [of Long COVID patients] saw their symptoms worsen [from reinfection]. In 60% of people who were in recovery or remission from Long COVID, reinfection caused a recurrence of Long COVID."

There is a lot more I want to say about Long COVID but I want to keep this post at least somewhat manageable to read. Like how when COVID is contracted during pregnancy, those COVID-exposed fetuses have a 6.3-fold increased risk of motor developmental delays, or that another study found 50% of babies exposed to COVID in utero had developmental delays.

You need to keep caring about COVID, for others around you and also for yourself even if you're "healthy". Everyone is at risk. And don't forget 40-60% of COVID infections are asymptomatic, which is why masking even if you feel fine is crucial. The only way right now to not get Long COVID is to not get COVID in the first place. It's not too late, if you've stopped masking it's never too late to start again! I know it's easy to get distracted by things in your life that seem more real than the possibility of getting sick some time in the future, and the peer pressure to not mask can be intense. But it only feels less real or less important until your entire life is having Long COVID. Trust me.

I know this is a complicated issue, many people can't afford to stay home when sick even if they want to because of their jobs, there are disgusting policies trying to ban wearing masks, but please if you can. Keep masking. Masking works, masking saves lives.

This post got a bit longer than I wanted so below the cut is a non-exhaustive list of my Long COVID symptoms and some of my experiences as one of the "healthy young people" who got "unlucky". cw brief mention of suicidal ideation.

Welcome to the Thunderdome that is my body with Long COVID. Keep in mind these are just my experiences and symptoms, Long COVID can cause any range of symptoms at varying severities.

Dysautonomia: Exercise intolerance, Post-Exertional Malaise (PEM), fatigue, and heat intolerance. What do those things mean? Here's some specific examples. Absolutely terrible circulation I am so cold all the time but also, if I get a little too warm I will pass out. Eating hot food makes my heart rate spike, I sweat, my body feels heavy. Blood pooling and pins and needles in my feet when I walk. Don't even think about exercising past walking, it's impossible. I used to work out an hour a day 4 times a week and now walking up one flight of stairs makes my heart pound and I can't breathe. Can't take even just warm showers anymore or I will pass out. Heat rashes from being in the sun for 10 minutes.

Digestive issues: Honestly too many to name but: constant bloating, extreme nausea, constipation, slow motility, lack of appetite, just so much cramping and pain. I lost 18 pounds from Long COVID, as someone who was already considered underweight their entire life, and almost had to get a shunt put into my chest to deliver nutrients because I was nearly completely unable to eat. For the first 6 months of Long COVID, if I could manage 600 calories a day, that was a good day.

Histamine intolerance: Oh boy. My worst symptoms, I don't even know where to start with it. If you know Mast Cell Activation Syndrome (MCAS) it's very similar. I can only eat 19 foods. If i eat a single bite of something not on that list, it's 48 hours of absolute hell. Coughing, migraines, itchy eyes, such extreme nausea I cannot even describe it, panic/feeling of doom, racing heart rate, derealization, rash, uncontrollable muscle tremors. I only learned about histamine intolerance 5 months into having Long COVID so before that, I was experiencing these symptoms nearly every single day. Terrifying isn't even a strong enough word to describe how it felt to experience all this and have no idea what it was, how to stop it, or if it would ever stop. Really dark times.

Neurological issues: More of that derealization. Inability to concentrate. Anxiety. OCD-like symptoms such as thoughts getting "stuck" in my head, repeating 24/7 completely unable to stop them, genuinely felt like my brain had cracked open and I had lost my mind. Constant dizziness like I'm on a boat.

Sleep issues: I sleep like garbage. I have insomnia, I wake up dozens of times every night and every single time I sleep I have intensely vivid dreams. I can't sleep longer than 7 hours total no matter how exhausted I am. It is exhausting. I'm exhausted, I'm so so tired.

And finally. Just. Really intense suicidal ideation. My body, my health, my entire life has been stolen from me because someone else decided my life was worth less to them than wearing a mask or staying home if they feel sick. Before I got Long COVID, I was preparing to go to South Korea to teach English, then on to a PhD in neurolinguistics, I was supposed to meet my long distance partner and had already booked plane tickets when I got sick. All of that has been destroyed.

Most of us with Long COVID are stuck in a cycle of being extremely sick, then if you're lucky you'll slowly get better over months, just to get reinfected and go right back where you started or worse. Honestly, I'm not scared of dying from COVID. I'm scared of living for a long time, suffering from Long COVID the entire time. This isn't living.

I don't know how to end this now. I'm still fighting, I'm trying experimental treatments, I'm not giving up yet. I hope everyone reading this stays healthy and well.

[theemporium]

[3k] too many shots and a bet leads to a very interesting night out. it's just a shame neither of them can remember it and the whole world is discovering the details alongside with them.

series masterlist

.

RING! RING!

The first thing you were painfully aware of was the annoying shrill of your phone echoing from some distant corner of the room. 

RING! RING!

The second thing was the fact you had forgotten to close the blinds last night, meaning the blinding rays of the Nevada sun were doing their best job in dragging you out of your comforting slumber like irritating parasites. 

RING! RING!

And the third thing was that whoever was trying to call you was seemingly very insistent to get in contact with you, if the three calls in a row (that you were so far aware of) were anything to go by.

RING! RING!

“Oh my god,” you groaned as you pulled the edges of the pillow over your ears, hoping it would muffle the ringing shrills. But when the phone continued to ring and the noise only seemed to get louder, you were forced to throw your hand out and blindly try to grasp the cursed device in hopes of making the noise stop. 

Your fingers wrapped around the buzzing phone, your eyes still firmly kept shut as you kept tapping the screen until the ringing stopped before you brought it to your ear. “You better have a good fucking reason for calling me.”

“I hope you are doing something you enjoy.”

You frowned, your brain taking a few moments to process the voice coming through. “Arthur?” 

“Like, I hope you are fulfilling your lifelong wish right now.” 

“What the fuck are you on about?” You grumbled, exhaustion hitting your body just as badly as the rays of sunlight shining through the open blinds were. “It’s too early for your riddles.”

“I am just saying that I think you should be doing something you love before Charles kills you.” 

You let out a non-committing hum. “And why would he kill me?” 

“Many reasons but I think getting married in Vegas last night is easily the top of the list right now.”

Your eyes shot open when you heard the words leave Arthur’s mouth. It felt like ice had doused your entire body as you quickly sat up in the hotel bed, now painfully aware of the pounding headache that only tequila could give you. 

“WHAT?”

“Congrats, by the way. I do pity the poor guy you locked up though.” 

Now painfully aware of the situation, your eyes grabbing onto any detail that would hopefully prove your brother wrong. Unfortunately, all you seemed to find was evidence that he was telling the truth if the white dress, the horribly large costume jewelry ring on your finger and the abandoned veil with ‘NEW BRIDE’ on the floor were anything to go by. 

“Oh my fucking god,” you breathed out, feeling though as you were going to empty your stomach’s contents any moment now. “How do you know? Why didn’t you stop me?!” 

“I wasn’t with you! I just opened Twitter and found pictures of my sister outside a wedding chapel and all over some random guy!”

“I married a stranger,” you hissed out, your lips parting in shock. Tequila made you do many questionable things, but even this was bad for you. 

“He’s your husband, it’s a bit offensive to call him a stranger.”

“Arthur, I swear to god—” You cut yourself off as your eyes fell on the large lump in the bed next to you. It took you an embarrassingly long time to realise it was another human. It took you even longer to tear your eyes away from the cheap suit he was wearing before you looked up at his face. “Oh my fucking god.”

“What?”

“Charles is going to kill me,” you breathed out, your heart pounding like it was lodged in your throat. 

“Yes, we established that when I called you—”

“Charles is going to kill me when he finds out I married Max,” you continued, lost in your own daze that you barely acknowledge your spluttering brother on the other side of the phone.

“YOU MARRIED MAX VERSTAPPEN?!” 

Unfortunately for Arthur’s sake, you quickly hung up the phone. You could barely process the fact the Dutch driver was currently passed out on the bed next to you, let alone doing so with your brother screeching in your ear the whole time. The phone was abandoned on the bed as you stared at the Dutchman, your brain working on overdrive as you tried to work out what to do next. 

So, you did what any reasonable person would do and shoved him off the bed. 

“OW!” 

You froze for a moment before you crawled over to the other side of the bed, peaking over the edge and down at Max who was currently groaning on the floor from his impromptu wake up call. 

“What the fuck was that about?” He grumbled, blinking a few times before he realised who was hovering over him. “What the fuck are you doing in my hotel room?” 

“This is actually my hotel room,” you replied. 

“Oh,” he muttered. “Then, what the fuck am I doing in your hotel room?”

“Well, it’s what a married couple do,” you commented. 

Max’s brows furrowed together. “What?”

You lifted your left hand, the ring now on display and you could practically see the cogs turning in his head before the realisation hit him. “Do you think this counts as our honeymoon?” 

“WHAT THE FUCK?!” 

...

...

“How did this happen?” 

“Tequila,” you muttered with your nose scrunched in disgust as you watched the Dutchman begin to pace the hotel room. If you cared enough, you would be concerned about him wearing down the carpet. Though as of the current moment, your priorities were currently elsewhere. 

Max turned to look down at the certificate he had found stranded beside your veil on the floor, your names and signatures clearly printed on the piece of paper—which took out the small piece of hope that this was just some elaborate prank set up by Arthur.

“How did we get that drunk though?” Max questioned, his brows furrowed together. If he wasn’t so confused, he would be more embarrassed at the fact he clearly couldn’t handle his alcohol as well as he once could. 

“Well, it’s your fault,” you commented casually, which had the boy whirling around to face you. 

“How is this my fault?” Max scoffed.

“You made the bet!” 

Max’s frown deepened. “What bet?”

“At the hotel bar,” you stated like it was a basic fact he should have remembered. “When I bumped into you—”

“We bumped into each other,” Max chided. 

“—you were the one to suggest shots,” you pointed out.

Max gave you a look. “How is that a bet?” 

“Because you said I couldn’t outdrink you. I said you would be a sore loser. And then you bought us ten shots each.” 

He blinked. “Huh.” 

“I’m pretty sure it was also your idea to go to another bar afterwards when we got kicked out the hotel bar,” you said in a sing-song voice.

Max scoffed. “Absolutely not. You were the one that said only losers go to bed after one bar.” 

You shrugged. “I stand by it.”

Max let out a laugh, a little breathless like he was trying to hide it. He shook his head, glancing down at the certificate one more time before shrugging. “It’s not really that bad, to be honest. A bit embarrassing, but what people don’t know won’t hurt them.”

Your expression turned sheepish. “About that…”

“Who knows?” He asked in a blunt voice. 

“Well, Arthur knows,” you started. 

“That’s not that bad,” Max scoffed, his shoulders relaxing. “Wait. Charles doesn’t know, does he?”

“Not yet,” you said before quickly continuing. “But he probably will because the paparazzi caught us last night and now the pictures are all over the internet.” 

Max blinked. “AND YOU DIDN’T THINK TO START WITH THAT?” 

“You’re grumpy when you wake up!” You defended, watching as the boy rolled his eyes at you.

“The whole world thinks we are married!” Max countered before sputtering out a laugh. “Well, we are married. Or we aren’t. I’m still not totally sure but I don’t need your brother chopping off my balls over it!”

“He wouldn’t!”

Max shot you a look.

“Okay, he would,” you grimaced before giving him a shaky smile. “But he doesn’t know yet so we should be in the clear—”

BUZZ! BUZZ! BUZZ!

...

...

“Okay, I have good news and bad news.” 

Max looked at you expectantly. “And?” 

“Bad news: Charles now knows,” you said with a shaky smile. “Good news: he doesn’t know it’s you!” 

Max pressed his fingers into his temples, trying to rub soothing circles. “Fucking hell.” 

“But also bad news: he is coming here right now as we speak so we should probably—” You started, fully set on grabbing what you needed and hiding out somewhere else in the hotel until Charles calmed down. However, your plans were put on hold when you heard a groan from the bathroom. 

“CAN YOU BOTH PLEASE SHUT UP?”

Your gaze caught Max’s as you stared at each other, both with expressions mixed between confusion and surprise. A few seconds passed before you were both clambering off the bed, heading towards the bathroom where you threw the door open and scrambled to turn on the light before you both froze in the doorway at the sight in front of you.

“Now that was unnecessary.” 

You gaped at the sight of Yuki curled up in the bathtub, dressed in a similar looking suit to the one Max was wearing along with what you were certain was the shower curtain placed over him like a blanket. He had a pillow behind his head and sunglasses over his eyes, and for all intents and purposes, he looked fairly comfortable. 

“Oh my god,” you breathed out. “I married two drivers last night?!”

“I hope you at least married me before Yuki,” Max grumbled, only to let out a small wince when you elbowed him. “God, you’re a difficult wife.” 

“Kinda going through something,” you snapped back before your eyes moved back to the Japanese driver. “I can’t believe I married you and Yuki.”

The driver in the tub let out a scoff mixed with a laugh. “Please, you didn’t marry me. You’re not my type.”

You blinked, unsure whether or not you should have been offended by his comment. 

“The ring on your finger says otherwise, mate,” Max commented, the ring a matching one with the one that was currently on your left hand.

“I married someone but not you,” Yuki said as he waved you off, nuzzling his face back into the pillow. “And our wedding was much classier than yours.”

“I—” You frowned. “You remember?” 

“Yeah, you said you wanted witnesses,” Yuki grumbled, bringing the shower curtain up until it was tucked under his chin. “You also dragged Lando out so he would take your photos.” 

Max gaped. “Lando was there? Lando knows?!” 

“Yes, now can you please go bother him?” Yuki muttered under his breath. “And turn the lights off as you leave. Only wake me up when you order food.” 

...

...

“Don’t make me an accomplice in your crimes.” 

“Shut up and let us in.” 

You weren’t surprised to find that Lando and Logan were already in the room, both with looks of amusement on their faces as they watched you and Max wander in—still dressed in your wedding clothes from the night before. 

You wanted to slap the smug looks off their face. 

“Is it really a good idea to hide here?” Max asked as he took a seat on the edge of the bed, feeling as though the headache pounding through his head had nothing to do with the alcohol he consumed last night and more to do with the mess you both had created.

“It buys us time,” you insisted. 

“On the chance that Arthur doesn’t rat you out,” Logan added. 

“You told Arthur where I was?” Your eyes widened before you turned to look at Oscar. “Do you want me dead?” 

“You know, something about the way you’re wording that makes me feel like it’s a trick question,” Oscar commented with a suspicious look on his face.

“Oh my god, I’m going to die today,” you muttered under your breath, shaking your head. 

“It’s kinda romantic that you guys will die together,” Lando chimed in as he grinned between you and Max. 

“If I survive today, I’m going to run you over,” Max threatened with a strained smile on his lips.

Lando snorted, shrugging. “Yeah but the chances of that happening are low so…”

“Your brother doesn’t even know my room number,” Oscar pointed out. “It will take him ages to convince the desk to give it to him or even hunt—” 

KNOCK! KNOCK! KNOCK!

“This is what English teachers meant when they taught us poetic irony,” Lando laughed, all giddy and happy.

“Like you paid attention,” you grumbled, eyes narrowing on the boy before you turned back to the door. “Don’t answer it.” 

Oscar’s eyes widened. “I can’t not answer it.” 

“Yes, you can,” you said bluntly. “Just don't open the door.”

“He knows we are in here,” he hissed. 

“We don’t know that for sure.” 

“OPEN UP! I CAN HEAR YOU! SOMEONE OPEN THIS DOOR RIGHT NOW OR I SWEAR TO GOD—” 

“Even more reason not to open the door,” you said, pressing your lips together to hide the wince that you wanted to let out as Charles thumped on the door again. 

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” Max grumbled as he quickly stood up, ignoring your pleas to just pretend your brother didn’t exist. He reached the door, yanked it open and braced himself for the wrath of an angry Charles Leclerc.

Much to his surprise, the Monegasque barged straight past him and headed straight for Oscar instead. 

“You!” Charles gritted out through clenched teeth as he reached to grab Oscar’s collar, firsting the material in his hands. “What do you have to say to yourself?” 

Oscar’s eyes widened as Charles backed him into a wall. “What?!” 

“Marrying my sister in Vegas? What the fuck is wrong with you?” Charles continued. 

It didn’t take long for Lando to descend into a fit of giggles, practically on the floor if it weren’t for the fact Logan was keeping him on the bed. Somewhere still standing by the door, Arthur stood with an amused look on his face that only grew wider when he saw your confused and shocked expression too. 

“I didn’t marry your sister!” Oscar said to him, trying to push the boy away but he was latched on tightly. “I was literally in bed by nine!”

“Loser,” Logan grumbled under his breath.

Charles faltered, his eyebrows furrowing together. “What?”

“I wasn’t the guy to marry your sister,” Oscar repeated, finally managing to pull Charles’ hands off him. “I don’t think there is enough alcohol in the world for me to do that.”

“First Yuki and now him,” you scoffed, crossing your arms over your chest.

“If you didn’t marry her, then who did?” Charles questioned. 

It was almost comical how quickly everyone turned to look at Max, who was still standing by the door and looked like he was contemplating just dashing out the room.

“You,” Charles muttered out, his eyes narrowing on the Dutchman. 

“In my defence,” Max started as he gave the boy a smile, though it didn’t seem as confident as he was hoping it would be. “I didn’t know I married her either.”

“I am right here,” you huffed. “Jesus Christ.” 

“I am going to—” 

“Nothing. You’re going to do nothing,” you jumped in, taking a step so you were blocking his line of vision of Max. “It’s just a…phoney, fake marriage. It’s not that big of a deal, Charles. People will forget by next weekend anyways.”

“Uh,” Logan cleared his throat. “It’s actually very legal all over the US and in some other places—”

“Shut up, Logan.”

“Yes, ma’am.” 

Charles narrowed his eyes on you. “You’re not allowed to marry him.”

“I already did,” you pointed out with a sheepish expression. 

“I don’t care.” 

“Charles,” you stepped towards him, though the boy still looked like he was contemplating parading into the paddock with Max’s head on a stick. “Charlie, please. Don’t do something stupid because you’re annoyed.” 

“I want to cut his dick off,” Charles told you.

“I know.”

“And you can no longer have alcohol unsupervised.”

“That’s a tad dramatic.” 

“And no consummating the marriage.”

“That would be difficult to do if you cut off his dick anyways.”

“Can we stop talking about my dick?” Max chimed in with his hands locked in front of him, almost protectively.

Charles sighed. “But I promise I won’t kill either of you. Today.” 

You grinned as you reached towards your brother, wrapping your arms around his neck as you pulled him into a hug. “Thank you.”

“You should tell Maman before she finds out through the internet,” he murmured, pausing for a moment before continuing. “Maybe shower first. You stink of tequila.”

“That would be kinda hard to do considering Yuki is currently asleep in my bathtub,” you commented. 

Charles opened his mouth to reply but just shook his head. “I’m not even gonna ask.”

“Good, because I don’t have answers,” you murmured with your lips turned down. “And he’s really snappy when you try to get them from him.” 

Charles snorted. 

“So, that’s it?” Lando suddenly spoke up from behind you both. “God, that was not worth getting out of bed for. I expected more drama.”

“I’m still pissed at you,” you told the Brit, who just grinned. 

“I’ll send you the photos later, don’t you worry,” he said like he didn’t just hear the words that left your mouth. “Maybe one of them will inspire angry Charles again.”

“Please don’t,” Max grumbled. 

“It won’t be necessary because we are finding a divorce lawyer,” Charles stated simply, pressing a chaste kiss to the top of your head before he began making his way to the door, nodding for Arthur to follow him. “Both of you get dressed. We are leaving in an hour.”

Both you and Max gaped at the boy, but he didn’t notice. 

“And someone take one for the team and wake up Yuki. I vote Lando.” 

Lando frowned. “Woah, wait a second–”

“ONE HOUR PEOPLE!!”

...

liked by landonorris, oscarpiastri and 133,728 others

yourusername call me mrs verstappen

view all 12,892 comments

oscarpiastri sometimes i wonder if you just enjoy pushing charles over the edge

yourusername yes

user WHAT

user it was real?????

user oh my god IT WAS MAX?

user someone sedate me

user this is some wattpad level stuff wtf the book tropes????

user i need to know how charles reacted when he found out

arthur_leclerc badly

maxverstappen1 i mean it was an accidental name but i guess it suits you

yourusername you like meeeee, admit it :)

maxverstappen1 i think i legally have to agree because you're my wife

yourusername damn don't sound too enthusiastic about it

user i just know charles lost years of his life over this

landonorris uh photo creds?

yourusername no

landonorris rude

charles_leclerc take this down

yourusername no

charles_leclerc you are a leclerc, not a verstappen

yourusername the marriage certificate says otherwise

charles_leclerc please stop reminding me

pascaleleclerc welcome to the family maxverstappen1

charles_leclerc MAMAN?????

maxverstappen1 thank you? i think?

pascaleleclerc dinner will be at 6 when you are back in monaco

maxverstappen1 yes ma'am

charles_leclerc MAMAN WHOSE SIDE ARE YOU ON????

.

[tryslora]

Disability in fiction

This was a tough post to write. 

I saw a post about disability rep, and I kept thinking about it, and wanted to share my own takes on the topic. 

I thought about it for days, trying to figure out how to word it. Then after drafting it, I stuck it in a file for a couple of weeks, trying to decide if I could even post it. This is not a topic that can be boiled down to a simple yes/no kind of answer.

Let’s start with two examples.

1 - I have a short story I started writing (it wants to grow up to be longer, so it’s waiting for time) where my original concept was to write about an older woman who is short and has major chronic pain, and I wanted to dig into fantasy reasons why this pain exists, but at the same time, have her be able to kick ass despite being exhausted and dealing with excruciatingly painful issues.

2 - I once drafted a portal fantasy storyline wherein a young man was transported into a fantasy world, and when he was given a horse to ride, he approached it very warily. He was encouraged to mount, did so, and sat there and exclaimed in shock, “My brain isn’t exploding with snot!” because his allergies hadn’t come with him into the body he had in the fantasy world.

Both stories were designed to be fun, a bit light, maybe even cozy.

So.

In one case, the disabled character remains disabled and kicks ass anyway. And in the other case, the character is magically “healed” and no longer has debilitating allergies that had wrecked his way of life.

This is the difficult part to express: I think both storylines are valid.

Bear with me while I dig into this.

First and foremost: I completely agree that we need more representation in all forms of fiction, especially when it comes to disabled people being able to live their lives. Characters with missing limbs, or non-neurotypical brains, or anxiety & depression, or hearing issues, or sight problems, or chronic pain, or… or… you get the idea. We need all of it, and we need it to not need to be magically healed in order for a story to be considered happy and cozy. Disabled people can be happy, too.

I’m all in for this, and I wouldn’t write the stories I do if I weren’t.

However, there are also moments where I am so exhausted by my body and by everything I deal with inside of it where I do wish for that magical ability to forget that my pain exists. Or for the ability to actually process information in a straight line, or make decisions without writing a hundred lists and accomplishing nothing from them. Or to be able to lie down in a field of grass without regretting it for days while I drip snot and fight sinus-pain-induced migraines.

Sometimes I want to imagine that my life is different.

And that is one of the joys of writing. I can choose to write a story where people like me or the people I know are the heroes/heroines exactly as they are, different abilities and all. Or I can choose to write a story where the problems magically resolve.

Both can be cozy, sweet, and adorable. I can give the character with chronic pain the ability to kick ass, take names, and have a sweet reunion with her ex-girlfriend. I can show all the ways that my disabilities may define how I handle my life differently than someone else, but do not define what I can and cannot do.

But I can also daydream about a life where it’s different, the same way I can daydream about having wings, or being able to teleport. For me, imagining a day with no pain is the same as a day where I can walk through walls. It is absolutely a fantasy, and about as likely to happen.

Here’s the thing: It’s okay to be angry to see what looks like disability being erased. It’s okay to wonder why the author did that, why they magically healed someone instead of letting them be who they were. But at the same time, maybe ask why, and what point of view it’s coming from. Or look a little deeper into the story and how the resolution occurs, and the effect it does have on the character (I suspect that were I to suddenly have a day of no pain, I’d be intensely reckless, given what an idiot I am while IN pain, y’know? And WOW would I regret that later…).

And for authors, think about what you’re writing. WHY is this particular event (keeping disability, erasing it, whichever or both) happening, because the reader will take note of it. They may see things that weren’t intended, but are there as unintentional biases.

Make conscious decisions for why things happen.

Someday I want to get back to both of those examples from the start of this post; I still like both concepts. But I’ll be writing them for very different reasons, and both will be healing my soul in different ways. Different kinds of daydreams. And again, I think that’s valid, too.

[ghostlysoaps]

Emergency First Aid

He finds Ghost in the bathroom, needle and thread in crimson-stained hands. 

White porcelain muddled with grime and blood, smeared across the cubicle glass. A bottle of something see-through sitting on the lip of the tub – the label near illegible by the fingerprints wrapped around it. Every detail pointing towards it being a scene from some B-list horror flick. Except it can't be. Because Johnny’s nails dig into the palms of his hands and pain has no presence in dreams.

Ghost's skin is almost as pale as the cradle he sits in. Johnny can see the stark blue of his veins through the fragile skin of his wrists. A far more flattering colour on him than red, it's why he pretends he doesn’t know where his favourite henley ended up.

"Get out of my fucking room, Soap."

Johnny nods and then proceeds further into the room, careful to avoid the droplets of blood staining the tiles in a fucked-up breadcrumb trail.

Ghost levels him with an unamused glare, a non-verbal "go away," ringing louder than if he'd said it outright. 

He ignores that too.

The stitching is neither crude nor neat when he leans in for a closer look. Serviceable. Bound to scar. It might have regardless, medical ain't miracle workers, but it might, might have left a thinner mark.

"Soap?"

Ghost's eyes are brown as jasper, doe-wide, extruding exhaustion and warmth – in spite of how much effort he puts into burying that bleeding heart of his. They track Johnny’s progress warily. Glides over him when he wraps his own fingers around the bottle, fingers a good half-inch shorter than the red stains already there. Johnny knows all this despite not looking. Because they've been here before. Too often for his liking. 

He sets about cleaning the tacky trails of blood from Ghost’s skin. 

"Johnny?"

Why are his hands shaking? They're not supposed to do that he doesn't think.

"It's just a scratch, I've had worse."

His tongue unsticks from where it lies dead and heavy in his mouth. "I fuckin' know. 'M not blind."

Warm, calloused hands envelop his own. They stop him from digging deeper welts into his own skin. Massages gently until Johnny, against his will, unclenches and unfolds like a flowering bloom at the first hint of sunlight.

"This won't be what kills me–"

"Haud yer wheesht! Whit this shoddy excuse fer sutures anything's–"

"–because I've no intention of leaving you yet," Ghost– Simon continues, as if Johnny hadn't interrupted him at all. "I've clawed myself back from the edge of hell more times than I care to count." He knocks their heads together, one hand moving to thread fingers though Johnny’s hair. "It's much easier now that I have something to come back to."

Johnny takes a moment to process and sift through the wreckage those words leave behind.

"Take yer damn mask off an' say tha' to my face," he growls.

And Simon doesn't hesitate for a second. He peels the mask off, his second skin, as if it's easier than breathing. As if Johnny’s words were the decree of a higher power he's helpless to obey. Scarred skin and chapped lips and dark circles blending into greasepaint greets him – a sight no longer unfamiliar, but a privilege to behold nonetheless. 

"I-" is as far as Simon comes before Johnny is surging forward to take his bottom lip between his teeth. He kisses him like something feral and starved. As if he could crawl into Simon's mouth if he tried hard enough. Push through muscle, bone and sinew to make space for himself in the hollow of his ribcage.

He doesn't like the anger with which he devours him – the ever-present companion snarling in his chest – but he needs him to understand. Thinks that if he tries hard enough Simon might taste the words lodged firmly behind his molars. I can't stand to lose you. It scares me to the point of losing my breath. I love you. I love you. I love you. 

For all his rage, for all the fiery passion with which he lashes out, in the end it all stems from fear.

"Could've at least gone to medical, ye absolute weapon," he bites out, one hand stressing over the skin right beneath Simon's wound.

"Couldn't stand the thought of anyone touching me," Simon murmurs, catching Johnny’s wrist the moment he goes to pull away as if burnt. "'S better now. I'd have told you to fuck off proper if I didn't–" he cuts himself off, the tips of his ears going pink.

Johnny fills in the blanks, eyes falling shut for the fraction of a second.

"Dinnae deep down wan' me to be here."

Simon shrugs.

Johnny exhales, leans forward and rests his forehead to Simon's shoulder, kisses him sweetly right after.

"Let me help you."

"Please." 

He's glad to be looking at Simon now because Simon, whenever Ghost has fled his visage, is an open book. And the way he's looking at Johnny? It's as if he'd taken every soft, sweet thing Johnny feels for him and is reflecting it right back.

With another steadying breath, Johnny gets to work. Gauze and adhesive tape, as quick as he dares so as to not prolong the pain. And when he's done he brushes his lips over the white bandaging, looking up through his lashes when the simple gesture of affection causes Simon's breath to hitch. Keeps to his knees despite the ache in them.

"You come to me next time," Johnny says, a plea more so than the demand he'd hoped for.

Simon reaches for him, cups his stubbled cheek in hand, thumb rubbing in broad strokes across a near imperceptible scar there – his next words ringing with the gravity of church bells and promises spoken within. 

"Alright, Johnny."

---

Prompts via @whumperless-whump-event and @seth-whumps

[justagalwhowrites]

Halcyon - Ch. 13: You’re Not What I Would Call Nurturing

Anna gives birth and caring for a newborn is even harder than you expected. A continuation of Halcyon from the prologue through Ch. 12, a modern no outbreak AU TLOU fic found on Tumblr here.

Pairing: Joel Miller x Female Reader

Warnings: Mild near smut, non-graphic depiction of childbirth, childcare struggles. Modern No Outbreak AU, No use of Y/N, Slow burn, 18+ only, Minors DNI

Length: 8.7k

AO3 | Main Master List | Prologue | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

April, 2018 

Gale had been holed up in his home office since you got home and your excitement was starting to exhaust your patience. 

He liked to have his space when he was writing. Then, so did you, and he respected it. Well, usually respected it. You did your best to do the same. But it had been hours now. You’d resigned yourself to having dinner alone, setting aside a plate for him, and waited for Gale to emerge so you could talk to him. It hadn’t happened, not even to use the bathroom or get a glass of water.

You set your book on your legs, rapping your fingers along the cover of it and worrying at your lip. You really didn’t want to sit here, holding everything in, any longer. 

You put in your bookmark and set the novel you’d barely been able to pay attention to aside, going to the kitchen for a bottle of sparkling water and a protein bar to bring your husband. 

“Hey you,” you smiled, peeking into his office after knocking once on the door. He glanced up from his desk, brows raised, head bent so low you could see where his hair was thinning.You came all the way into his office, walls lined with bookshelves and surfaces stacked high with paper. You held up the water and protein bar like an offering. “I haven’t heard you come out in a while and it’s getting late. Thought you should eat at least something tonight.” 

“Thanks,” he said, looking back down at the pages in front of him. You took it as permission to come closer, so you did, setting the food down next to his computer before perching on the edge of his desk. You crossed your ankles in front of you and held onto the desktop, rapping the underside of it with your fingernails in a sharp rhythm. 

Gale sighed, setting the page he was reading down and crossing his arms on his desktop, leaning on it before giving you a small smile as he looked up at you. 

“Something on your mind, baby doll?” He asked, brows raised, looking like he was trying his best to restrain his amusement. 

“Maybe,” you teased a little, not able to stop the smile on your face. “Remember how I had that doctor’s appointment earlier today?” 

“Think so,” he frowned. “Why? Did everything go well?” 

“It went great,” you smiled. “I actually… well, instead of it just being a check up, I asked her to check for a few things…” 

Gale frowned further before he took the bait. 

“Check for what?” He asked. 

“Check and see if I’m in a good place to have a baby,” you tried to keep from acting too excited about it but you were. You were practically giddy. “She said everything looked good. Great, in fact. And… well, I was thinking… you have that sabbatical coming up in, what, two years? Wouldn’t it be great if we could spend it together? I can take some time off, my book should be well and launched by then, you can work on your next book and we can spend a lot of time just you, me and… and a baby.” 

He watched you for a moment, an almost amused look on his face before he laughed a little. 

“Are you being serious?” He asked. 

“Yeah,” your smile faltered a bit. “Yeah, I figured that… you know, we’re not getting any younger, we’re at a good spot career wise, my body is apparently in prime baby making territory…” 

“Sure, the timing is great if we were going to do it but,” he laughed once and shook his head, turning his face to his lap for a moment before looking back to you, a serious expression on his face. He took your hands in his, giving them a squeeze. “I don’t want you to take this the wrong way but… Do you really think having children is a good idea for you?” 

You couldn’t stop your smile from falling this time, eyes searching his. 

“What?” You asked quietly. 

“Honey, just…” He sat back a little and sighed. “Look. You’re… I love you. That’s why I married you and you’re an extraordinary woman in so many ways. You make me the best possible version of myself and I’m grateful for that every day but… You’re not what I would call nurturing.” 

You frowned. 

“But…” 

“It’s not a bad thing, necessarily,” he said, as though you hadn’t spoken at all. “You’re just far more concerned with what’s in your head or on the page than about something like children. Do you really think you’d do a good job with a child? Be honest with yourself. Do you think you’d be able to make the sacrifices necessary and put them first? Or would you fail and make them pay the price? And then there’s everything with your mental health - we both know how you can get sometimes and you clearly got it from your mother - I doubt you want to pass that on to a child or burden one with it when you’re having a rough patch…” 

“But,” you said again, feeling the pinch of tears in your eyes. “I thought… don’t you want kids?” 

“Of course I do,” he shrugged. “But I decided I wanted you more. I went into this marriage with eyes wide open, I knew I wouldn’t be having children with you and I decided that you were worth the sacrifice.” 

You tried to keep from crying but felt a tear slip down your cheek, anyway, as you stared down toward your feet. 

“Hey,” he said, getting up and putting his hand to your nape, pulling your head up to look him in the eye. “It’s alright. I don’t hold it against you. I made my peace with it a long time ago. And it’s better if we just don’t have them instead of ruining them, right?” 

“Right,” you sniffed and he kissed you on the forehead before stepping back from you. 

“I’m going to try to finish this chapter research before bed,” he said. “I’m getting close but it’ll still be a bit, I’ll see you upstairs. Thank you for bringing me something to eat, I lost track of time.” 

“Sure,” you said, going to the door like you were on autopilot. You paused, your fingers on the knob before looking back at him. “I love you.” 

He was silent, looking over his papers, lost in his work again. 

“Gale?” 

“Hm?” He looked up, brows raised. 

“I love you.” 

“Oh,” he said absently, looking back down at the page. “I love you, too.” 

You looked at your husband for another second, trying to accept that he would not, in fact, be the father of your children before you left him to his writing and went to bed alone. 

April, 2023

You buried your face in his shoulder, straining to keep your nails from digging into his back, the cotton of his shirt bunching between your fingers as your hips canted up to grind against him. He licked and sucked at your neck, arms wrapped around your back, pressing your front tightly to his and he moaned as he worked his hard cock still trapped in his jeans down against your mound. 

“Fuck,” he panted, his mouth working his way over your neck to your jaw, wet on your tender skin and you tried to let yourself get in lost in him. 

It was hard, though. For one, you knew you should hold back. It wasn’t the right time to start sleeping with someone, life was too complicated without adding that into a relationship. For another, you hadn’t had sex since Gale and the thought of taking your clothes off in front of someone new made your heart race - and not in a good way. And, finally, there was something not quite right about him. 

Maybe it was his cologne, maybe it was the timbre of his voice, maybe it was the fact that he just didn’t feel right in your arms or between your legs but you just couldn’t make yourself want Stephen. 

At least, not in the way you wanted Joel. 

Not that you were proud of that. The opposite, in fact. You tried your damndest to bury that feeling deep and low inside yourself after the incident in Dallas. You didn’t WANT to want Joel. It hurt to want Joel. It always had and that didn’t change after that morning. 

You were still half entwined with Joel and trying not to panic when Sarah started knocking on the bedroom door, saying she was hungry and that she wanted to go somewhere that would have chocolate milk for breakfast and also could she try a coffee if you went to Starbucks since she was now basically a teenager and was tired after being out so late the night before at the concert. 

The two of you scrambled away from each other, your panties sticky and wet and you could feel the heat rising in your face. How could you have done this? Dry humped yourself to orgasm on your best friend? 

“It’s OK,” Joel said again, eyes wide and voice quiet. “Let’s just… we get back home and…” 

“Hey guys?” Sarah called through the door for the second time in as many minutes. “Is my Ears Tour shirt in there? I want to wear it.” 

“I got it baby girl,” Joel said, grabbing the bag and going for the door and then it was the three of you again. You weren’t alone with Joel until you stopped for gas in West, Sarah running inside to use the bathroom and start picking out kolache from the bakery case while Joel filled up the truck. 

His eyes darted over to you, like you were something volatile and unknown, his hands stuffed in the pockets of his jacket. 

“Look,” he said eventually, decidedly not looking at you. “What… what happened… Goldie, I… You should know…” 

“It’s fine,” you cut him off quickly. You didn’t think you could bear hearing him say what a mistake you were for the umpteenth time in your life. “Like you said, it doesn’t have to mean anything. Right?” 

He looked at you then - actually looked at you, his brown eyes warm and deep and soft - something almost sad on his face that passed so quickly you weren’t sure it happened at all. 

“Right,” he said after a moment. “You’re right.” 

“I’d rather this didn’t…” you tried to find the words. “I really don’t want this to blow things up with you this time. I don’t want to go no contact or… whatever it is that happens with us when… when we…” 

“It’s alright,” he cut you off, turning to watch the numbers tick up on the gas pump. “We just… pretend it never happened.” 

“Right,” you said. 

“Right,” he said back and you headed inside to find Sarah. 

When you made it back to Austin, you hugged Sarah goodbye, picked up Puck and gathered your stuff from the back of the truck, Joel carrying your bag to your car for you. 

“I know we said pretend it never happened,” he said after he’d put your duffle in the back seat. “But… I think it might be good if we had some space.” 

“Space?” You asked, your heart sinking. 

“Just… just a few days,” he said. “I think… I think I need it. Just a few days, though.” 

“A few days,” you said, hesitant. 

“Yeah,” he said. “I just… I gotta get my shit right.” 

You didn’t really know what to say to that so you just nodded. Joel looked relieved. 

“Thanks,” he said awkwardly. “I… I really don’t want to lose you again, Goldie.” 

“I don’t want to lose you, either,” you said. 

“Good,” he said, turning and going toward his house before turning to face you, walking backwards as he did. “See you soon.” 

You smiled a little. 

“Sure, Joel.” 

“Like… Like two days,” he said. 

You laughed. 

“OK.” 

“Three, tops.” 

“Three tops,” you repeated. 

You went home and tried to distract yourself. You unpacked right away, put a grocery order in on Instacart and sat on the floor, shining a laser pointer on your legs and watching Puck try to pounce on it. Joel needed space. What the fuck did that mean? Why would he need space if it didn’t matter? 

It did matter to you. That’s why space was probably a good idea for you. You didn’t want it but it was a good idea. You clearly couldn’t be trusted within a few feet of Joel without losing your fucking mind so space was smart. But why did Joel need it? 

He wasn’t into you, at least not in the way you were into him. He’d made that plenty clear over the years. Every time something had happened, it was a mistake. You were a mistake. But… it kept happening. Did he want to fuck you against his better judgement? He’d always been a physical guy, with you and anyone else he cared about. He’d jumped from girl to girl in high school and, judging from the fact that Sarah existed but her mom was long gone, you figured he’d done the same after you’d gone away until responsibility came knocking. 

Maybe everything between the two of you had just been a carry over from that. You knew he loved you as a friend and you were happy with that, you really were. Maybe it was just his affection for you and the fact that he wasn’t getting laid anywhere else that made him keep doing things he regretted with you and you were so, so tired of being something he regretted. 

“Hey,” you said, scooping your cat up so his head was level with yours, a look of indignity on his small orange face. “Why am I like this? Why do I keep doing this to myself?” 

He just pressed one pink-padded paw to your nose and you sighed. 

“Well if you don’t have an answer…” you trailed off before kissing his little cat head and setting him back down. 

You gave Joel the space he wanted. You didn’t call, you didn’t text, you didn’t even send him the stupid video you saw on TikTok that made you think of him. 

In the mean time, you tried to write your book even though seemed to delete everything not long after it was down on the page. You saw Stephen. You tried not to text Gale. And, when Joel did text a few days later - just a picture of the Whataburger menu with a question mark - it made you feel better than you had in days. 

Things went back to business as usual after that. You never talked about what happened in the hotel room with Joel. You certainly didn’t mention it to Stephen. You just tried your best to ignore the fact that the best orgasm you’d had in years happened as you fucked yourself against your best friend’s dick when you were half asleep. 

But as much as you tried to pretend like that hadn’t happened, your body knew that it had. Joel had smelled so good and felt so good and Stephen just didn’t compare. No matter how much you wanted him to. 

“We should stop,” you panted, voice drawn tight, hands moving to brace against Stephen’s chest. He groaned and went limp on top of you and you laughed. 

“You’re killin’ me woman,” he said, sitting up from you enough to kiss you softly on the lips before moving to the other end of the couch and awkwardly adjusting his jeans. 

“I know,” you winced as you sat up, too, pulling your knees into your chest. “I’m sorry, it’s just… I’m basically moving in with my sister tomorrow and I’ll be there for who knows how long while she gets settled with the baby and it’s just… it’s not the right time and…” 

“Hey,” he said gently, reaching out and giving your foot a squeeze. “You don’t have to explain it. You said you needed to go slow, I’m OK with that. I don’t want you to do anything you don’t feel ready for.” 

You smiled a little, willing your heart to at least try and flutter at this kind, smart, handsome man who was saying and doing all the right things. 

“Thank you,” you said. “That really does mean a lot.” 

“Hope things go well for your sister,” he said. “And not just because, selfishly, I know I get you back sooner if it does.” 

“Good to know you care about the welfare of infants outside your personal gain,” you said wryly, smirking a little. 

He laughed. 

“I know, it’s what makes me such a good guy,” he said. “When’s Anna due again?” 

“Two weeks from tomorrow,” you sighed. 

“Isn’t you basically moving in tomorrow then a bit early?” He frowned. 

“Well, she might come early,” you said. “It sounds like she’s going to be a big baby. Trust me, I’m not exactly eager to go stay with my sister but…” 

“You might like it more than you think,” he said. You looked at him, skeptical. He laughed. “Family’s weird that way.” 

“One can hope,” you said. 

You walked him out, kissing him goodbye at the door and wishing you felt something more as you did. Before you went to bed, you looked through your bags to make sure you had everything you needed and, eventually, settled in with your phone in hand, Puck curling up next to you. He nuzzled into the crook of your elbow, tucking his tail into his body before taking a  deep breath and letting it out slowly.

“What do you have to sigh about?” You asked. He adjusted, spreading his little toes out before settling again. “A likely story.” 

You scrolled mindlessly through your phone when you got a text from Joel with a photo attached. You opened it. He was in bed, too, with the TV on, the first Curtis and Viper on the screen. 

The TV edit is bullshit. 

You laughed a little. 

You can just put on the copy you own, you know. 

Yeah, but where’s the fun in that? And then I’d have to get up… much rather watch Curtis say “get plucked” 50 times than do that. 

You snorted.

Lazy ass. 

Lazy ass? I’m getting old, respect your elders. 

“Jesus,” you said to yourself, shaking your head. 

You hesitated for a second, debating about what to say next. Eventually, you just bit the bullet. 

I miss you. 

There was a pause before he texted back, long enough that you wondered if you should try to take it back, maybe make a joke of it. And then, he responded. 

I miss you too, Goldie. 

You were trying to figure out how to respond when he called you. 

“It’s pushing midnight,” you said by way of greeting. 

“Way past my old man bedtime,” he agreed. “Channel 62.” 

You sighed but turned on the TV all the same, finding the station just in time to hear Curtis say “get plucked” to some henchman before gunning him down. 

“Oh that’s bad,” you laughed. 

“Told you.”

You watched the movie with Joel that way for a while, laughing and joking and providing commentary on the stupider parts until the love scene came on. You fidgeted in your bed, the campy sequence somehow still arousing because you knew Joel was listening. 

“You’re going to tell me when she has the baby, right?” He said as the couple on screen undressed each other. 

“I can tell you,” you smiled a little. “Assuming Anna doesn’t change her mind about that.” 

“Good,” Joel said. “Haven’t held a baby in a while, I miss it.” 

“Awww big bad Joel Miller secretly loves babies,” you teased, trying not to picture Joel holding a tiny Sarah because you thought your heart might explode if you did. “Who knew?” 

“Hey, babies are cute as hell,” he said, mockingly defensive. “And they smell good. And they make these adorable little noises. Am I supposed to not love babies? What am I, a monster?” 

“I will let you abuse your connection to me to snuggle my niece,” you smiled a little.

“Yeah, you better,” you could hear him smiling, too. 

You switched off your lamp but let the TV on and laid down, Puck looking at you indignantly before adjusting so he was curled against your chest. 

“You know if Anna or, you know if… if you need help with her,” Joel said, almost hesitantly. “You can always call me. It took a while to know what to do but I like to think I got pretty good at the single parent thing.” 

You smiled a little, feeling overly tired. 

“You’re very good at it.”

“Got the world’s greatest dad mug and everything to prove it,” he said. “I know it seems like a lot right now, Goldie, but it will be OK. Promise it will.” 

Your eyes got heavy during the climax of the movie, laughing sleepily with Joel and nodding off before the credits. It was a few hours later when an unnaturally loud commercial jerked you awake, your phone still sitting next to your head on the pillow. 

You groaned and sat up, turning off the TV. Puck had moved, probably bounding through the house somewhere at some imagined prey, and you got up to use the bathroom, bringing your phone with you. Out of curiosity, you checked the time the call with Joel had ended but frowned. Judging from the length, it seemed like it went on for a while after you’d fallen asleep. You went to text him but, instead, found a series of texts from Anna. 

Hey, are you still up? 

Guess not… FYI, feeling weird. 

There was a break and then another text had come through just half an hour earlier. 

OK these are either those fake contraction things or I’m in labor

“Oh fuck,” you said to yourself, quickly going to wash your hands before calling her but she beat you to it, your phone springing to life on your vanity, the vibration making it jump across the marble. You wiped your hand quickly on your pajamas and answered. 

“Not the fake contractions!” Anna said quickly instead of a hello. “Sorry, I know 4 a.m. isn’t a great time but…” 

“I’ll be there in a few minutes,” you said, walking quickly to your bedroom and taking off your pajama pants as best as you could with one hand. “How far apart are they?” 

“Eight minutes?” She said more like a question. “I think? But they’re strong enough that I can’t talk or walk during…” 

“OK we have a little time,” you said, breathing a little easier as you grabbed a clean pair of underwear and leggings from your drawer. “I’m just throwing my clothes on, my bags are already packed, I’ll be there so soon. Just… unlock your front door and lie down on the couch and I’ll be right there.” 

“I can do that,” she said, sounding a little panicked. “Thank you. For everything, I couldn’t do this on my own, I know I couldn’t and just… thank you.” 

You smiled a little. 

“Of course,” you said. “OK, I’m going to let you go but I’ll see you soon. You’ve got this, Anna. You do.” 

You got dressed as quickly as you could before checking that Puck’s food and water bowl would be at least set for the day and jogging to your car, bags in hand. 

Anna had done as you’d asked, unlocking her door so you didn’t need to fumble with keys in the dark and you found her in the middle of a contraction on her couch when you came in, grimacing and moaning in pain with her hands around the bottom of her stomach as she did. 

“Hey, you’re OK,” you said, running to the couch and kneeling at her side. “Want my hand?” 

She nodded frantically and you held it out. She squeezed it so tight you thought your knuckles might crack. As the contraction lessened, she took a deep breath, her face already shiny with sweat. “Think we can get you sat up and moved to the car?” 

“Yeah,” she said. “But watch out, my water broke when I was unlocking the door, it’s wet over there.” 

You almost laughed at that. 

“That’s alright,” you said, helping her sit up. “It’s tile, think it will live. We’ll get you to the car and I’ll mop when we’re home with you and baby girl. You ever going to tell me her name?” 

“I want to meet her first,” she said. “Think it’s weird for someone else to know her name before she does.” 

“Makes sense,” you nodded, looping her arm around your shoulders and notching yourself into her underarm. “Ready?” 

“Yeah,” she said, nodding. “I’m ready.” 

“Then let’s go have a baby.” 

Her contractions were seven minutes apart when you reached the hospital and they got her back to a labor and delivery room quickly, hooking her up to what seemed like countless machines as you sat there and watched, feeling more helpless than you had since you watched your marriage fall to pieces at your feet. 

You realized, as Anna labored and nurses walked her through it, just how much you’d grown accustomed to being able to take things on for her. When she had an issue with her phone bill couldn’t figure it out? You called and handled it. When she wanted an NA meeting closer to her office? You tracked one down. When she was shopping for everything for the nursery? You looked up the safety ratings and handed over your credit card at Buy Buy Baby. It had always been that way. When her grades tanked, you tutored her. When she had a bully at school, you stepped in. When she wanted a snack while your mom was at work, you made it. If you could do it for Anna, you did. This was different. This, you couldn’t do for her. 

But you did everything you could. You did everything they taught you in lamaze classes and gave her ice chips and got the nurse when she needed help you couldn’t provide. Still, you felt decidedly useless when, more than 12 hours after you got to the hospital, her daughter came into the world with sharp, angry little cries. She was slick and red and wailing, tufts of dark hair on her tiny head, her small limbs flung out from her little body and she was beautiful.

“Congratulations, Mama,” the doctor smiled, putting the baby on Anna’s chest. “It’s a girl.” 

Anna sobbed and smiled as she held her daughter, cradling her close. 

“Hi there little one,” she whispered down to her. “I can’t believe you’re here.” 

The baby cried even louder, the sound sharp and cracking, and Anna laughed wetly. 

“Yeah,” she said. “You tell ‘em, Ellie.” 

“Ellie?” You asked, trying to keep from fully crying but failing miserably. 

“Yeah,” she said, still looking down at the tiny figure in her arms. “Ellie.” 

The three of you got to know each other, Ellie rarely resting anywhere but in either of your arms. A few friends of Anna’s came by to meet her and Joel and Sarah did, too, Joel texting to ask what Anna was craving after spending the day in labor. 

“Fried chicken!” She said. “With everything. And Dr. Pepper. Maybe a milkshake? Oh, and a burger if it’s not too much trouble.” 

The two of them came with bags of food so comically large you couldn’t help but laugh as they brought them in, Sarah trailing balloons along behind her. 

“Someone saw these in the gift shop so we had to stop for them,” Joel said, nodding to the balloons as he set down the heaping piles of food. “Here, baby girl, gimme those…” 

He tied them off on the rail of Anna’s bed while Sarah fawned over the sleeping newborn. 

“She’s so small,” she gaped down at her. “That’s insane.” 

Joel came and stood behind her, putting a large hand on her shoulder. 

“You were that size once, baby girl,” he said, sounding a little choked up. “You were a tiny thing, seemed like you fit in the palm of my hand.” 

“That’s just because you have freakishly large hands,” you said. 

“Shut it,” he gave you a look and you smiled. 

While you and Anna ate, Joel showed carefully showed Sarah how to hold a baby, how to support her tiny head and how babies liked when you moved with them. 

“See?” He said, sitting next to you on the little couch beneath the window as Sarah delicately cradled little Ellie. “You got it.” 

“That’s just because she’s perfect,” she said, staring down at the baby before her eyes went wide with excitement and she looked between her dad and Ellie’s mom. “Can I babysit? I promise, I’ll take such good care of her and…” 

“We can talk about that when both of you are a little older,” Joel laughed. “Glad to know you’re ready to start contributing to the household though. Have to start charging you rent…” 

“Ha ha,” she rolled her eyes before looking back to the baby. 

Joel held her next and you couldn’t help but stare at him as he did. He seemed so impossibly large compared to her, able to hold the tiny bundle that was your niece easily in his large hands, a look of awe and total adoration on his face as he did. But he was so beautiful, too. The gentle way he held her, the way he looked at her, the way he just seemed to be so happy to be caring for something so vulnerable, it made your heart ache with a want you’d long ago tried to set aside.

“He’s such a sucker for babies,” Sarah said, perching on the couch next to you and helping herself to a french fry. “He’s so weird.” 

“Must be because you were a perfect kid from birth,” you teased and Sarah smiled, smug, as Joel scoffed. 

“Please, if anything it’s in spite of her,” he said, still staring down at Ellie. “She had colic, seemed to love to pee right as I was changin’ her…” 

“Hey!” Sarah said. 

“But you were still the most amazing thing I’d ever seen,” he said, looking at his daughter before looking back to Ellie. “This one might be a close second, though. Good job, Mama.” 

“Thank you,” Anna said proudly, sitting up a little straighter. “Actually, would you mind giving her to me? I’m going to try and nurse…” 

“Alright, I’ll hand her over and I won’t make you fight me for her but only because you just gave birth,” he said. “Next time though…” 

Anna laughed good naturedly as Joel gently laid the baby in her arms. 

“Alright, kiddo,” he said. “Let’s get out of their hair, give them some time to relax.” 

He and Sarah gathered up the trash from dinner and you walked them to the elevator, Sarah pressing her face against the nursery window to look at the babies as you went. 

“And how are you doing?” He asked as he waited for the elevator. 

“Me?” You asked, brows raised. “I’m fine, I didn’t just push a human being out of my body.” 

Joel laughed a little.

“I know but still. It’s a lot. You OK?” 

You thought for a moment about how powerless you’d felt as Anna brought Ellie into the world, how you wished your mother had been here because she was better equipped than you’d ever be, how you didn’t know how to help raise her without finding some way to ruin her. 

“I’m alright,” you said instead of saying any of that. “I’ll get them home and settled and then we’ll just… see how it goes, I guess?” 

“That’s all you can do,” he said, watching you with an almost soft look in his eyes. “Meant what I said before. Don’t matter what time it is, don’t matter what you need, we’ll figure it out. Did it before, I can do it again. And so can you.” 

“Thank you,” you said, letting yourself almost fall into him. He hesitated for a moment but wrapped himself around you, his arms almost swallowing you. 

“You’ve got this, Goldie girl,” he said quietly, pressing a kiss to your temple. “Know you do.” 

He had to practically drag Sarah away from looking at all the babies and as you watched the elevator doors close, you wondered what you’d ever done without him. 

Anna and Ellie were released the next day and you drove them to Anna’s house at a snail’s pace, trying to press the break as gently as possible when approaching a light so you wouldn’t jostle the precious cargo in the back seat. 

At first, things went well. Or as well as it could when there were two people with basically no experience with children trying to care for an infant. Ellie didn’t need much, after all. She mostly slept, ate and pooped. 

And cried. She definitely, definitely cried. 

By day three, you were starting to get worried about the lack of sleep for both you and for Anna. You knew how exhausted you felt, how delayed your movements seemed as you tried to go through your routine on just two or three hours of sleep for the third day in a row. Anna, you knew, had to have it worse. She’d just given birth, after all, and was still recovering. On top of that, she was nursing Ellie. 

Or she was trying to, at least. 

After you’d left the hospital, Ellie had been reluctant to latch. She’d been doing an OK job of it before but now she seemed to do nothing but reject her mother’s breast or pull away quickly while wailing, her small face scrunching and getting red as she screamed. 

“I know, I know, I know,” Anna said in the afternoon on the fourth day, bouncing Ellie on her shoulder and sounding on the verge of tears. “I’m sorry, I’m trying! I know you’re hungry, I know!” 

“Maybe we can do formula?” You said, anxiously picking at a ragged cuticle as you watched your sister pace. “It’s better if she eats at all…” 

“I should be able to fucking do this!” Anna snapped. “I’m her goddamn mother, I should be able to feed her!” 

“You can,” you said, trying to soothe her. “Just… do the formula, I’ll make up a bottle, at least until we can get in to see the lactation specialist. That’s what it’s for. It’s OK, then you’re feeding her…”

“No, you’re feeding her,” she spat. “You bought the formula! You bought the formula and her crib and her goddamn onesie! Because I fucking failed at that, too!” 

“You didn’t fail at anything!” You said. Anna had stopped bouncing Ellie and her cries got louder. “I know it’s hard right now but it’s going to get better, it is.” 

“I need a break,” she stalked over to you, passing the baby off and all but storming out of the room. You bounced Ellie, who kept wailing, and you resisted the urge to cry yourself before going to make her a bottle. 

It was that afternoon, one of the few hours a day that Ellie wasn’t crying and was instead sleeping - but not content to do it anywhere but on your chest - that you checked your phone. You had some general messages from Joel, check ins and funny pictures and offers to bring by dinner, and an update from Alyssa with information about the classes she was covering for you. There was also a text from Gale, one that sounded almost ominous. 

I think I’ll always regret how things played out with you. 

You frowned and considered texting back. You’d sent him basically nothing in months, only responding when he had a question about something related to the divorce - even though you knew that should really be going through your attorneys, but it was so hard to resist talking to him when you had the excuse. This text, however, seemed different. 

You opened Facebook, hoping to go to his page and find some kind of hint but you didn’t even need to go that far. Sitting at the top of your newsfeed was a picture he’d been tagged in just a few hours ago, his arm around your younger, prettier replacement except, in this picture, her stomach was round, a blue dress tight over the swell near her hips as he looked at her, a tranquil smile on his face. 

“Our soon to be party of three!” She had written on the post. “Baby boy Newton, coming this July!” 

You just stared at your phone, heart racing as your stomach felt hollowed out. Gale was having a baby. Something you’d always wanted but he said was a bad idea, had really only been a bad idea because it was with you. You’d always secretly hoped that it was just an excuse, that he didn’t really want children but that wasn’t it. It was you. You were the problem. 

Ellie stirred from her place against your chest, starting to squirm and you could feel her start getting herself worked up. 

“It’s OK baby girl,” you said, your voice thick and wet. “Let’s see how you’re doing, see if you need a diaper and if we can let your mom sleep a little while longer, OK?” 

As you tried to calm her down, you couldn’t help but remember what Gale had told you. How you weren’t nurturing, how you couldn’t be selfless enough, how you’d ruin a child. How could you pretend like he was wrong? As you clutched tight to your screaming, squirming niece and tried to get her to settle or eat, how could you say that you would do anything but fail her? 

“Are you OK?” Anna asked a little while later when she emerged, groggy, from her room to find you with red eyes and a tear-streaked face and her daughter in your arms. 

“Fine,” you said, bouncing Ellie. “I’m fine.” 

You couldn’t tell her what Gale had said - Gale had known - about you. Not right now, not when Anna was already stressed and worried enough. You’d just have to deal with it and with the crying baby who was in your care.

And Ellie basically never stopped crying. You’d get a few hours of blessed quiet in a day but it seemed like, if she was conscious, she was screaming. You were coming up on the end of the first two weeks of her life with little understanding as to why she wasn’t able to settle and you needed to get back to work for a few days to finish out the semester. 

“You’re seriously going to leave me here with her?” Anna asked, her eyes wide. 

“Just for a week,” you said. “I have to do exam review, final project presentations and office hours before exam week. I have to, Anna, I’m sorry. I can see if I can find a nanny for a few days…” 

“No,” she shook her head. “Don’t. I can do this. I need to be able to do this.” 

“If you start feeling overwhelmed,” you frowned but she cut you off. 

“She’s my daughter,” she said. “I can take care of my own damn daughter.” 

Anna insisted you go home for the work week, wanting to try things on her own since you were going to be gone all day, anyway. You brought your bags so you could do laundry and pack a fresh round of clothes and you found yourself reveling in the silence of your home when you walked into it, closing your eyes and soaking it in. 

Joel had picked up Puck while you were at Anna’s and he said he was down to keep him for a while but, after a few hours, it was strange, rattling around your house without another soul in it. No crying baby, no frustrated sister, no playful cat. Just you and your exhaustion as you collapsed into bed. 

You checked in on Anna in the afternoons after work and, on Wednesday, went to Joel’s for dinner, Sarah begging you to sneak her more Sprite when Joel got up to use the bathroom halfway through. 

“Don’t tell your dad,” you said, filling up her cup from the two liter in the fridge. 

“Your secret is safe with me,” she smiled before chugging the first half of the soda before Joel made it back to the table. 

You sat on the couch with Joel after dinner, Puck purring furiously on your lap after giving you the silent treatment for the first hour you were there. 

“If my kid can’t sleep tonight, that’s on you,” he said as he settled in. 

“Why’s that?” 

“Because you’re the one who let her have more sugar,” he said as Swiftie jumped on his lap and he started absently petting her. You gaped at him. “Don’t look so shocked. I’ve learned to watch the levels in the Coke bottles around this house with that kid.” 

“She could be doing actual coke, you know,” you said. 

“At 11?” 

You nodded. 

“You’ve got it easy,” you said. 

He laughed. 

“Suppose I do,” he said. “How’s it going with Ellie?” 

“She’s still crying like crazy,” you sighed. “It’s constant…”

“I told you I can come help!” He said, incredulous. 

“I know!” You replied. “But Anna doesn’t WANT help, she’s insisting she can do it. I’m worried about her, I don’t know how clearly she’s thinking right now…” 

“Given how sleep deprived she is?” Joel raised his brows. “Probably not very.” 

“I’m this close to just having you come over anyway, whether she likes it or not,” you said. “I don’t want her completely losing herself to this.” 

“Bring the kid here for a bit and give her a break,” Joel said. “I can watch ‘er, or I can come there…” 

“I appreciate it,” you sighed. “I’ll bring that up to her tomorrow. We have Ellie’s next check up in the afternoon, we’ll see how she’s doing. Maybe the doctor will have a good suggestion, who knows.” 

“Hope so,” Joel said. “It’ll be OK. Promise you, it will.” 

You almost told Joel about Gale then. About him having a baby with another woman because one of the only people who had ever been able to see you - really, truly see you - saw how bad you would be at this. But you couldn’t bring yourself to do it. 

Despite Joel’s promise, it didn’t feel like it was going to be OK. Especially not at Ellie’s check up the next afternoon. She had lost a few ounces, moving down the track for weight percentile, and Anna looked like she was about to cry. 

“She won’t nurse,” she said, her voice thick. “She doesn’t like the formula, what do I do?” 

The doctor gave her some advice that you wrote down, a glassy look on Anna’s face, and drove home, worried that the doctor needed to see Ellie back in less than a week. 

“I’m going to ruin my kid,” Anna said when you got her home, Ellie blessedly asleep in her carseat, the only time you could reliably get her to pass out in the back of the car. “I can’t even feed her right, I’m going to destroy her when all I want to do is do the right thing for her.” 

“It’ll be OK,” you said, giving her shoulder a squeeze. “I can stay over tonight…” 

“No,” she shook her head. “May as well finish the week out, right?” 

“Sure,” you said uncertainly, “If you change your mind, just call me. I’ll be over in like 10 minutes, just call.” 

“Right,” she said, giving you a tight smile before walking you out. “I’m sure it will all work out.” 

You felt off all evening as you reviewed the final, frantic emails from students as the semester wound down. You should never have come home like this, you should have just gone to work and gone to Anna’s after whether she liked it or not. You seriously considered packing up and heading over that second but just chewed on the inside of your cheek instead. It was late. You’d be back the next night. Less than 24 hours. Closer to 18 hours, actually. What could really go wrong in 18 hours? 

You went back to work but only lasted another few minutes when Anna texted you. 

Are you at home? 

You frowned at the phone. 

Yeah, what’s up? Need me to come over? 

She didn’t respond. You drummed your pen against the edge of your desk and tried to hold yourself back from replying. She had an infant at home, after all. She wasn’t staring at her phone. 

But after five minutes, you texted again. 

Is everything OK? Is Ellie OK? Are you OK? 

You stared at the screen, willing her to respond. Another few minutes passed when you saw the bubble pop up, saying she was typing. 

Check your front porch. 

You frowned, picking up your phone and going to respond when another message appeared. 

I’m so sorry. 

“Anna?” You said, even though she wasn’t there to hear you. Your heart raced as you frantically called her. It rang once and then went to voicemail. “Fuck!” 

You sprinted for your front door, grabbing your keys from the bowl in your entryway and ripping the door open and you stopped in your tracks. 

Sitting there, on your front stoop and in her carseat and next to a diaper bag, was Ellie. 

“Hey sweetheart,” you said softly, picking up the carrier and folding the handle back, carrying her gently inside and setting the carseat on the kitchen table. “Just going to make sure you’re all OK…” 

You pulled back the blanket that had been tucked around her. She was all strapped into the carrier, her little legs and arms pulled in tight to her torso. You almost cried in relief when you saw her tiny chest rising and falling. 

“So where’s your mama baby girl?” You asked, watching her as you pulled up Anna’s number and dialed again. This time it rang out. You weren’t sure if that was better or worse. 

You tried to keep calm as you texted her. 

If you don’t answer I’m calling 911.

You gave her a few seconds to see the message before you called her and she picked up on the first ring this time. 

“I told you, I’m sorry,” she said, her voice wet. 

“Sorry for what?” You asked. “Anna, just… just come here, we can talk about this…” 

“Talk about what?” She cut you off. “About the fact that I can’t do anything right by my own kid? I can’t even fucking feed her right, you heard the doctor today…” 

“We can figure it out,” you said quickly. “Doing… whatever it is you’re doing is not the answer. Just come here, we’ll take care of it together, we always do and…” 

“No, no there is no we,” she said. “You always fix it, you always handle it, not me. I’m just ruining her, I’m bad for her, I’m not capable of this. She should be yours not mine, she’s… she deserves better than me and…” 

“No,” you said, trying not to panic. “No, you’re her mother, what she needs is you! Anna, don’t do this, don’t…” 

“It’s not forever,” she said. “I’m just… I’m going away for a little while. I need to be better for her. I’ll come back when I can. Take care of her for me, OK?” 

“Anna, no, Anna don’t-“ 

You didn’t get a chance to finish. She hung up and you frantically tried to call her back but it just went straight to voicemail. 

“Fuck,” you teared up, looking down at your infant niece in her carrier. She was so small, she needed so much, so much you weren’t capable of giving her. 

You couldn’t remember the last time you’d been this afraid of anything, all the hope and potential carried in Ellie’s tiny body now resting on your shoulders. What were you supposed to do with all of that? When all you were capable of was failing?

You were about to do the only thing he could think to do - call Joel - when Ellie made one of her small noises, one that came just before she started crying and, sure enough, half a second later, she was wailing, her little legs kicking out as she did. 

“Hey now,” you said, desperate to soothe her. “You’re OK baby girl. I’ve got you. I’ll take care of you.” 

Anna had, at least, left the base to the carseat and a container of formula with the diaper bag on your porch. That, plus the things you’d stocked your house with so you could take Ellie for a few hours or even a day if Anna needed, made it so you could look after her without needing to make a store run for a day or two. You tried to focus on looking after her as best you could even though you had never felt so lost before in your life.

You moved all your office hours for Friday to virtual and did your best to take them with Ellie there, but it was hard. She was inconsolable all day. Every now and then, she would settle against you but then she seemed to realize that you were wrong. You didn’t feel like her mother or smell like her mother and you weren’t who was supposed to be taking care of her. It was like she could sense the thing about yourself that scared you most.

Things got worse as the day wore on. You’d been up with her all night and you’d had to take advantage of her brief periods of sleep to work that day and it seemed like she was getting more and more upset as the night wore on. She shoved her bottle away, her tiny face scrunched tight as she screamed. 

“Come on,” you said, crying right alongside her. “You… you have to eat something, I know I’m not your mom but you can’t just… you have to eat, please just eat something I promise you’ll feel better if you do.” 

She didn’t listen. She just cried in your arms and all you could think about was what Gale had told you. He’d been right about so many things, of course he was right about this, too. 

“Maybe you’re just too worked up,” you said, carrying her to her car seat and setting her gently inside it. “Just… going to try to calm you down, maybe then it’ll be OK.” 

You didn’t know if that would work but you were desperate. You carried her to the car and triple checked that she was secure before just driving. She liked the car, she always quieted down in the car. This had to help. It had to. 

Something had to. 

But it didn’t. You weren’t sure just how long you’d been driving aimlessly, Ellie wailing in the back seat, but you couldn’t keep doing this. Not to her. 

You weren’t sure how but you found yourself outside Joel’s house. It was dark outside, the glow of light from inside the houses on his street warm and welcoming and you wished, desperately, that you belonged with that light. That you could be somewhere soft and nurturing and where Ellie would be cared for the way she deserved, not the way you managed to ruin everything you touched. 

You gave up on stopping your own tears. Instead, you got out of the car and unhooked Ellie’s carseat from the base, looping your arm through the handle and carrying it to Joel’s front door. You knocked, even though you were sure he could hear the baby crying, and it was only a few seconds before he opened it. 

“Goldie?” He asked, looking you up and down, his eyes soft and wide. “What’s going on? What…” 

“Please, Joel,” you said, holding the carrier tightly against yourself. “I need your help.” 

Next Chapter

A/N: Poor Goldie, Ellie and Anna! Stuff is ROUGH for them right now but don't worry, Joel is now on the scene.

We'll just have to see what a lot of stress and desperation from Goldie while Joel is being hot and paternal makes happen 👀

OK LOVE YOU BYEEEEEE!

Also thank you for reading because you're the best. Truly.

OK now love you bye ❤️

[morlock-holmes]

A pointless, overly long, barely edited review of White Fragility

Well that book sucked.

The end I guess.

OK honestly the process of reading White Fragility was incredibly draining, I started out annoyed, then became amused and fascinated by Robin DiAngelo’s peculiar definition of “Individualism”, then got annoyed and angry again, then just… drained. It’s an exhausting book.

As I try to put my feelings out there I’m having trouble linking them together coherently but this book is just so exhausting that the idea of editing this and doing several passes is just draining to think about. So here are some scattered thoughts:

Before anything else, it’s just not well written or edited

White Fragility is very repetitive, ambling, and just kind of… not very well arranged in general. It’s clear that the book desperately needed a proper editor, or maybe it didn’t, since it became incredibly successful despite everything wrong with it. Here’s an example I’ve already mentioned. 

Towards the end of the first part of the book, DiAngelo puts together a list of a “common set of racial patterns” that are “the foundation of white fragility” and one of the bullets on that list reads,

“Wanting to jump over the hard, personal work and get to ‘solutions’”

Not once, anywhere in the preceding 111 pages or the succeeding 128 is the idea expanded on in any way whatsoever.

And it’s a truly baffling statement if you don’t expand on it. Why are solutions somehow opposed to “hard, personal work”? Is hard, personal work not part of a solution to some problem? If not why are we doing it?

The whole book has a similarly sloppy vibe; there’s very little factual information inside and what ideas there are are explained very badly.

A Christian apology for non-Christians

The more I read of White Fragility the more it seemed to me to have in common with badly written Christian apologia.

First off, modern, right-wing American Christian religious material often contains a sort of confusion that anybody could respond badly to the Gospels. After all, the good news of Jesus’ sacrifice and resurrection is both obviously factually true AND self-evidently good news, but somehow when you go out and preach the gospels, non-believers will often act with derision or anger.

And there is a certain kind of Christian who will respond to that anger, not by considering that there might be factual or moral objections to the gospel, but by essentially asking, “What kind of bizarre psychological condition would cause somebody to get angry about something that is obviously true and obviously good?”

This is an ongoing thread in DiAngelo’s writing, starting with the introduction,

“In the early days of my work as what was then termed a diversity trainer, I was taken aback by how angry and defensive so many white people became at the suggestion that they were connected to racism in any way…

“I couldn’t understand their resentment or disinterest in learning more about such a complex social dynamic as racism. These reactions were especially perplexing when there were few or no people of color in their workplace, and they had the opportunity to learn from my cofacilitators(sic) of color. I assumed that in these circumstances, an educational workshop on racism would be appreciated. After all, didn’t the lack of diversity indicate a problem or at least suggest some perspectives were missing?”

Well gosh, why wouldn’t these people be excited to hear about all the things they’ve been doing wrong? Truly a mystery.

Secondly, most of the arguments DiAngelo makes are made very sloppily, and are only really convincing if you have already been well-convinced. To demonstrate this I would essentially have to just quote the whole book to you, but for an example see the bit above about wanting to jump over hard personal work. You and I have spent too much time in the fever swamp, we can guess what she means from cultural context, but she never explains it.

Third, as others have pointed out white supremacy in this book takes on the qualities of sin in Christian theology. All of us white people, simply by virtue of growing up in a white supremacist society, are racist. This isn’t really proven so much as assumed. 

You might assume that in Christian circles the fact that everybody is a sinner might level out hierarchies. After all, the Pastor is as much a sinner as you are.

But in many cases there is this kind of passive-aggressive jiujitsu. Oh, sure, the pastor sinned, but why should we criticize him when all men are sinners? Aren’t you failing to practice the virtue of forgiveness? 

Oh, what’s that, you did something bad? Well that’s a different story. It sounds like you haven’t been really giving yourself over to God. Maybe we haven’t been doing enough to help stop you from sinning. You should talk to the pastor and really think about where you’ve been going wrong, and of course we would just be enabling you if we didn’t call you out publicly, it’s an opportunity for growth on your part, and of course if you disagree with how we think you should atone, that's just further evidence of your sinfulness.

Anyway, speaking of passive-aggression:

The Passive-Aggressive style in Woke Politics

Robin DiAngelo comes off as one of the most passive-aggressive people I have ever read. And also, ironically, one of the most clueless people I have ever seen when it comes to the most basic aspects of ordinary human psychology.

Here, have some examples:

“I am typically received well when speaking in general terms–for example, ‘Your requirement that applicants have an advanced degree rather than equivalent experience is automatically disqualifying some of the applicants that could bring the perspectives and experiences you say you are looking for.’ Yet when I point out a concrete moment in the room in which someone’s racism is manifesting itself, white fragility erupts.”

Oh, what, seriously? When you say, “We all need to try harder to improve at this” people agree, but when you go, “Especially you Greg” Greg somehow becomes defensive? Crazy!

“For example, in a conversation about racism, when white people say that they work in a diverse environment or that they have people of color in their family, they are giving me their evidence that they are not racist. If this is their evidence, how are they defining racism?”

I mean… Literally the same way you do? DiAngelo talks extensively about how white people don’t understand racism because we often have very few interracial friendships or relationships. Like a lot. Like it’s one of the major themes of the book and, in her mind, one of the major sources of white fragility.

I mean, imagine you are talking to someone, and you go, “See, here’s the thing that people who have never been to Cleveland don’t understand” they might respond with “Oh, actually I was born in Cleveland and spent the first twenty years of my life there” and their reasons for doing so are so incredibly obvious and natural that it’s kind of hard to even articulate them. Like… yeah of course if you tell a room that they don’t understand racism because of their shallow relationships with people of color, fucking of course the people who have deep relationships with people of color are going to bring it up!

“White people are receptive to my presentation as long as it remains abstract. The moment I name some racially problematic dynamic or action happening in the room in the moment–for example, ‘Sharon, may I give you some feedback? While I understand it wasn’t intentional, your response to Jason’s story invalidates his experience as a black man’--white fragility erupts. Sharon defensively explains that she was misunderstood and then angrily withdraws, while others run in to defend her by re-explaining ‘what she really meant.’”

Sharon, let me stop you right there. Can I just take a moment to completely ignore the substance of what you just said, while pointing out that you are objectively annoying to the people around you?

“When another police shooting of an unarmed black man occurred, my workplace called for an informal lunch gathering of people who wanted to connect and find support. Just before the gathering, a woman of color pulled me aside and told me she wanted to attend but she was ‘in no mood for white women’s tears today’ I assured her that I would handle it. As the meeting started, I told my fellow white participants that if they felt moved to tears, they should please leave the room. I would go with them for support, but I asked that they not cry in the mixed group. After the discussion, I spent the next hour explaining to a very outraged white woman why she was asked not to cry in the presence of people of color.”

Hi, thanks for coming to our meeting where we coworkers can support each other and connect. Before we start, I just want to tell Donna, Tammy, Jim and Bob that your coworkers don’t really want to support you too much, so if you need support please go somewhere else and get it from people other than your coworkers.

Look, I get it, that black lady finds the idea of comforting some distraught white woman in the aftermath of a black man being shot absurd. Maybe don’t handle that in the most ham-handed way imaginable though?

I want you to reimagine some of these scenarios as though they were addressing a less politically fraught issue than racism. In order to do that, we need something with the following qualities:

It is often unintentional;

The people who do it are often unaware that they are doing it;

It is genuinely difficult for others to live with and should probably be corrected because of that;

There is a social stigma to it so people feel embarrassed when called out for it.

I think having really bad body odor is the perfect analogue. But can you fucking imagine some of these if that’s what we were talking about?

Imagine somebody saying, “When I say that proper hygiene is important as a way to respect your fellow employees, I get broad agreement, but when I publicly point out that a particular person has bad BO and many of their coworkers have complained, instead of being grateful for the feedback, they often get angry or defensive”

That person would be a monster!

The dirty secret of Robin DiAngelo and her ilk is that as much as they talk about “systemic racism” they really think of racism primarily as an interpersonal problem.

Here’s another quote, “The dominant paradigm of racism as discrete, individual, intentional, and malicious acts makes it unlikely that whites will acknowledge any of our actions as racism.”

I mean… All the examples I just cited above involve DiAngelo calling out discrete, individual, intentional acts. I guess sometimes the discrete, individual, intentional acts are non-malicious.

That’s the kind of central hypocrisy and profoundly passive-aggressive style of this kind of discourse. You call out a specific person for a specific act in a very public way, and then, if they get defensive, you can talk about how sad it is that when you told them that the specific thing that they personally did was bad, they didn’t realize you were just talking about systemic racism and it’s awfully silly that they are getting so defensive when all you are talking about is systemic problems, not individual faults.

DiAngelo often talks about how whites need to be less sensitive because we are not in any danger, but, like, most of the concrete problems she addresses aren’t dangerous to black people either.

Which brings me to the last section,

What is the goddamned point of all this?

DiAngelo constantly talks about the absence of cross-racial relationships between blacks and whites, but never really addresses the question of why the hell a black person would want to be friends with a white person. Honestly it sounds like it sucks; we’re all racist. Frankly I don’t see what we bring to the table other than an endless parade of microaggressions and neuroses that could just be avoided altogether by sticking to making friends with your fellow minorities.

A couple of people responding to my blog have called the book racist against whites but that’s not quite right, there’s also this bizarre sort of… Apologizing for how much better off we are then everybody else. It’s taken as basically a given that black people all wish they had the position that we do, but we just don’t let them and they’ll never get it unless we shape up and learn to give it to them.

There’s a tremendous amount of guilt but it’s combined with a massive self-absorption. I don’t think I’m exaggerating when I say that for DiAngelo, the entire world revolves around whites and our conception of ourselves. And I mean that literally:

“...[W]hite supremacy is circulated globally. This powerful ideology promotes the idea of whiteness as the ideal of humanity well beyond the West…

“In his book The Racial Contract, Charles W. Mills argues that the racial contract is a tacit and sometimes explicit agreement among members of the peoples of Europe to assert, promote, and maintain the ideal of white supremacy in relation to all other people of the world. This agreement is an intentional and integral characteristic of the social contract, underwriting all other social contracts.”

Like… All of them? Like relations between China and the Democratic Republic of Congo are underwritten by the belief in white supremacy? White supremacy is in fact integral to the politcal relationship between those two countries?

One of the things I wondered when reading the book was why on earth DiAngelo gets paid so much money to consult. In her telling there are two forces, a white supremacist overclass dedicated to ignoring and minimizing evidence of systemic racism and a minority underclass which is nearly helpless in the face of white supremacy. Which of these groups is paying her five figure speaking fees?

Anyway to continue that quote, 

“Mills describes white supremacy as ‘the unnamed politcal system that has made the world what is is today.’”

I mean… I feel like it has a name. It’s named white supremacy. Robin DiAngelo wrote a best-selling book about it that people only bought because they already agree about it existing and being really, really important.

Hey, so, how does Tammy from HR crying about the police shooting a black teenager maintain a global white hegemony that undergirds literally all other social forces?

One thing, at least, that made me glad that I finished the book was seeing DiAngelo state overtly something that I feel has been implicit on much American thinking about race lately:

“When white people ask me what to do about racism and white fragility, the first thing I ask is, ‘What has enabled you to be a full, educated, professional adult and not know what to do about racism?’...”

Uh… You’re asking me how I graduated college without knowing how to upend a massive collusion between every nation in Europe that undergirds all of global politics and economics?

I mean I didn’t actually graduate, maybe “Overturning the entire global paradigm 101” was one of the classes I didn’t get around to.

“If we take that question seriously and map out all the ways we have come to not know what to do, we will have our guide before us. For example, if my answer is that I was not educated about racism, I know that I will have to get educated. If my answer is that I do not know people of color, I will need to build relationships. If it is because there are no people of color in my environment, I will need to get out of my comfort zone and change my environment, addressing racism is not without effort…”

Hey, yeah, but what about the part where I make minimum wage and probably can’t even overthrow Luxemburg, let alone all of Europe?

“Next, I say, ‘Do whatever it takes for you to internalize the above assumptions’ I believe that if we white people were truly coming from these assumptions, not only would our interpersonal relationships change, but so would our institutions. Our institutions would change because we would see to it that they would.”

This is exactly what I have been saying seems to be the dominant belief in America today. If we just teach Sharon from accounting to stop talking over her black co-workers, if Sharon internalizes exactly the right ideas about white supremacy from exactly the right corporate consultants, eventually, once we get our heads straight, there will be a kind of spontaneous eruption of will which will end racism forever.

From talking to more right-wing acquaintances I have come to the belief that many of them essentially agree with that premise. That racism sort of emerges as a kind of spontaneous emanation of wrong-think, and once we have used social pressure and the threat of being fired to get everybody to say the correct things about racism, racism will vanish.

And so the debate in America is no longer about policy; we don’t believe in a racial policy. The debate is about how we ought to talk about racism, with the parties disagreeing on what kind of talk will ultimately cause racism to disappear.

Do we solve police shootings by hiring a diversity consultant to tell the employees of our tech firm about white fragility, or should we hire a different consultant to teach them about color-blindness and treating people as equals?

[chiffxna]

A Love Too Dark (03)

The Marquis Vincent de Gramont x Reader

Chapter 03: He Grabbed Her

WARNING: THIS IS A DARK FIC.

This story will contain 18+ mature themes, blackmail, forced kissing, dark romance, toxic behaviour, blood, violence, stalking, manipulation, a lot of smut, dubious consent, non-consensual content, yandere Marquis de Gramont, power play, and power imbalance, obsession, dark Marquis de Gramont, and abuse of power. The list will be added more as the story progresses. Minors, don't read.

Story Masterlist

PREV : Chapter 02

NEXT : Chapter 04

Chapter Summary:

Yn returned to the casino the next evening for work while she made sure to avoid the Marquis de Gramont at all costs. Just as she thought she could make it through the night without any direct confrontation, she received a message.

The next day, all Yn could think about was the Marquis and how she was going to face him in the casino that evening. She spent the day trying to distract herself by taking care of Sydney and her morning shift at the cafe, but her thoughts kept drifting back to the man who had left her shaken and vulnerable the night before.

She found herself unable to fully focus at work at the cafe, daydreaming at times, and even made a couple of minor mistakes which was unlike her since she deemed herself a pro at being a waitress there. It even got the attention of her fellow coworkers.

"Hey," Edric approached her at the counter, concern written all over his face, "You okay?"

Yn faked a smile and nodded, "Yeah, I'm okay!"

However, exhaustion took a toll on her and her smile gradually faded right in front of Edric. She cast her head down, staring into space below her, before she shook her head gloomily, "Umm... no. I'm... a bit stressed."

Edric frowned and said, "Then take a break. I'll cover you as the cashier."

"But the boss is watching," murmured Yn as she faced the cashier, seeing that some of the customers were getting up from their tables.

The man beside her whispered, "Then just stand next to me. I will cover you."

Edric suddenly pushed her gently to the side and manned the cashier. Yn was stunned and observed him handling the customers paying their bills. She finally acquiesced and stood beside him, watching how he interacted with each customer with ease and charm, making them feel welcomed and valued.

After some time, the cafe slowed down, and Edric approached Yn - who was sitting at a table - with a warm smile and a cup of coffee.

"Here, drink this," he said gently, handing her the cup, "You seem like you could use a pick-me-up."

Yn took a sip of the coffee, savoring the taste and the warmth. She felt more relaxed already.

"Thank you," she said gratefully, looking up at Edric with a smile.

Edric smiled back at her and said, "You're welcome."

He quickly dragged a chair away from the table and sat down in front of her. He grabbed his tea and took a gulp right away, slightly fidgeting in her presence. Yn took another sip of the coffee, savoring the delectable flavor he had crafted as a barista in the cafe.

Yn sat quietly, savoring the hot drink and letting the warmth fill her. She looked up at Edric who was apparently studying her. She noticed the faint blush on his cheeks and the way his hands fumbled nervously upon being caught staring before he took a sip of tea. A thought entered her mind and she considered the possibility that Edric, as a man, could understand the Marquis and his behavior better than she could.

Taking a deep breath, Yn decided to do it. She leaned forward slightly and spoke in a hushed tone, making sure no one else could overhear their conversation.

"Edric, can I ask you something?" she began, her voice low and filled with concern.

Edric nodded, his eyes focused on her, his brows furrowed in anticipation, "Sure. What is it?"

Yn hesitated for a moment, trying to find the right words to express her thoughts, before she revealed, "It's about this man, someone I work with in the evening... He... he seems fixated on me."

Edric raised an eyebrow, his eyes filled with genuine concern. "Fixated? What do you mean?"

Yn hesitated, searching for the right words. "It's hard to explain. He approached me and... it felt overwhelming, almost predatory. I felt trapped... like I was being hunted, and I did not want anything to do with him."

The barista's expression grew serious as he listened intently. He leaned in a little closer, his voice gentle and reassuring as he said, "Yn, it sounds like he has bad intentions. It's like he wants to assert some kind of power over you, to make you feel vulnerable. You didn't give him any sign that you are interested...?"

"No," Yn immediately shook her hand, "I did not, at all."

Edric nodded and added, "Maybe he sees it as a challenge. Some men enjoy the chase. You know, the feeling of conquering someone who is unattainable. It can be an ego boost for them when they get it."

Yn furrowed her brows, trying to process Edric's words. The idea that the Marquis might view her as a conquest didn't sit well with her. It only reinforced her decision to keep her distance and protect herself.

"And he probably thought you were playing hard to get. Playing hard to get can sometimes attract certain men," Edric continued, "They're drawn to you as you keep refusing them over and over again. Then they see it as a game."

Yn pondered his words, trying to make sense of them in the context of her own experience. She remembered how the Marquis had circled her, his intense gaze locked on her as if she was a prize to be won.

Yn's brows furrowed as she absorbed Edric's words. "But why me? I haven't done anything to warrant that kind of attention."

Edric offered a sympathetic smile. "Probably what you normally do. Perhaps he sees something in you that intrigues him, something he wants to uncover or possess. And when you don't respond back to his charms, he is intrigued. Some men, especially those with power and influence, are attracted to that. Like, imagine a man being so powerful, rich, and influential, all girls worship his feet, and then he sees one girl who is not. He will keep his eyes on her and wonders why she isn't crazy about him and his wealth. That's how you get that man's attention."

Yn pondered Edric's words, the pieces slowly falling into place. She realized that the Marquis might be one of those men, drawn to the chase and the allure of capturing someone who seemed unattainable.

"What should I do?" Yn whispered, feeling a knot of anxiety in her stomach.

Edric took a deep breath, then leaned forward, "My advice to you... is to be cautious and protect yourself. Don't give him any reason to believe that you're interested in him. If he tries to pursue you again, make it clear that you're not interested. And if he persists, then it might be time to take it up with your supervisor or someone in a higher position."

Yn restrained herself from disclosing that the man who probably saw her as a conquest was the big boss of the casino and someone of the highest position. Nevertheless, she nodded and said, "Thanks, Edric."

Edric smiled, his eyes full of warmth and sincerity, "You're welcome, Yn. If this guy bothers you again, tell me, okay?"

"Okay," she responded with a small smile as she found herself hoping that the Marquis would not bother her again.

As she got up to leave, Edric stood up with her and gave her a reassuring pat on the shoulder.

"Take care of yourself, Yn," he said before turning back to his station at the cafe.

As Yn walked away, she couldn't help but feel a sense of unease settling in her stomach.

As the sun began to set, Yn's anxiety peaked. She knew she had to go to work, but the mere thought of facing the Marquis again made her stomach churn. However, she reminded herself of her plan – stay away from him, avoid being alone with him, and get out as soon as she is done with her shift.

Taking a deep breath, Yn left her apartment, boarded the bus, and walked towards the casino. The evening air was crisp and cool, and she hugged her coat tight around her frame. Her heart thumped erratically in her chest, and she couldn't shake the feeling of dread that settled in her stomach.

As she entered the casino, Yn tried to put up a smile and greeted back her coworkers. She made her way to the changing room and quickly changed into her uniform, her hands shaking slightly.

Yn took a moment to compose herself, reminding herself of her plan again - stay away from him, avoid being alone with him, and get out as soon as she is done with her shift. Once dressed, she stepped out of the changing room and made her way to her assigned area on the casino floor.

As she walked through the bustling space, Yn couldn't help but feel the weight of the Marquis's presence in the room. She kept her head down, trying to blend into the background, and focused on her responsibilities. Every now and then, she caught glimpses of him out of the corner of her eye, but she made a conscious effort to avoid direct interaction.

Throughout the evening, Yn found herself constantly on edge, aware of the Marquis's proximity. His eyes seemed to follow her wherever she went, and she could feel his gaze piercing through her. The tension between them was palpable, and it only added to the overwhelming atmosphere of the casino.

Yn couldn't help but notice the Marquis's presence lingering in the periphery. She caught glimpses of him from the corner of her eye, his tall figure moving gracefully through the crowd. Each time he entered her line of sight, her fear spiked, and she could feel the tension and unease building within her.

Despite her best efforts, Yn found it increasingly difficult to hide from the Marquis. He seemed to be aware of her presence, always observing her from afar. His piercing gaze followed her as she moved about the casino floor, and it made her feel exposed and vulnerable.

Yn diligently carried out her duties, trying to distract herself from the unnerving presence of the Marquis. She interacted with the patrons, exchanged pleasantries, and ensured their needs were met. However, no matter how hard she tried to focus on her tasks, the Marquis's gaze lingered in her mind, making it difficult to concentrate.

At one point, while she was attending to a group of guests at a roulette table, Yn felt a chill run down her spine. She turned her head and saw the Marquis standing at a distance, watching her intently. His eyes bore into hers, filled with an intensity that sent shivers down her spine. She quickly averted her gaze and focused on her work, but the encounter left her feeling exposed and vulnerable.

As the night progressed, Yn couldn't escape the feeling that the Marquis was attempting to corner her, and he did not bother to hide it. He seemed to always be one step behind her, his presence lurking in her periphery. She felt his gaze on her back, his eyes burning into her, and it made her skin crawl.

As the evening wore on, Yn's anxiety grew with each passing minute. Just as she thought she could make it through the night without any direct confrontation, she received a message from Mr. Malone, the former owner of the casino.

[Mr. Malone: Where is Amelia?]

Yn was also clueless as to where her fellow colleague was. She was about to look for Emma when her phone chimed in.

[Mr. Malone: Meet me in the office now.]

Yn's heart sank as she read the message. She knew that Mr. Malone was not the type to call her into his office for a casual chat. Her mind raced with possibilities of what the managing director could say to her regarding Amelia.

With trembling hands, Yn quickly looked for Emma. Once she spotted her, Yn immediately reached her side and whispered, "Where is Amy?"

Emma seemed startled by the sudden whisper beside her. She glanced at Yn and replied in a hush, "She texted me saying she could not make it again today."

Yn nodded and walked away, leaving Emma in confusion. The former then hastily made her way to Mr. Malone's office. As she walked, she could feel the weight of the Marquis's presence behind her. She quickened her pace, desperate to escape the suffocating feeling of his gaze on her back.

When she arrived at the office, Mr. Malone was already there, tapping his foot impatiently. He whipped around to face her and immediately asked in a reprimanding tone, "Yn, where is Amelia? She was absent last night and did not tell me why!"

Yn knew that she had to tread carefully with her words. She took a deep breath and responded, "I'm sorry on behalf of Amelia, sir. She was sick and couldn't make it to work."

Mr. Malone's face contorted with anger. He chided, "That is unacceptable! She should have told me about her absence!"

Yn felt her heart racing, and she desperately tried to calm herself down. She knew that Mr. Malone could be unpredictable, and she didn't want to make things worse. She took a step forward and said, "I will inform her that, sir. Respectfully, she did seem sick last time and need to rest well before returning to work."

"Well, respectfully," Mr. Malone responded with a sarcastic note, "She did not seem unwell last time I saw her. She laughed and mocked the Marquis' comment about art. I simply dismissed her and have not yet scolded her for that yet and she's already sick?"

Yn's heart sank further at Mr. Malone's words. Her mind raced as she tried to come up with a response that would appease Mr. Malone and save Amelia at the same time. She stuttered out a response, "I'm sorry for her, sir. I can guarantee you that Amelia is truly ill and didn't mean any disrespect towards the Marquis. I will speak with her about it and ensure it does not happen again."

Mr. Malone glared at her, his eyes narrowing. Yn could feel the weight of his anger bearing down on her. She waited anxiously for his response, unsure of what he would say next.

Suddenly, the office door swung open, and the Marquis entered, towering over both Yn and Mr. Malone. His presence sent a shiver down her spine, and she felt a deep discomfort being near him. Not to mention that it did seem like he was following her here.

The Marquis de Gramont, the new owner of the casino, stood by Yn's side with his hands inside his pocket. Mr. Malone had already risen from his seat, utterly dumbstruck to see the Frenchman barge into his office out of the blue.

The office was silent as the Marquis glanced at them both before he asked with his thick French accent, "Is there any problem?"

Yn felt her heart race as she was glued to the spot, standing beside the Marquis. His towering figure and the way he held himself with such authority sent a shiver down her spine. She couldn't help but feel exposed and vulnerable in his presence as if he could see right through her.

Mr. Malone stuttered slightly but quickly regained his composure. "No, no problem at all, sir. We were just discussing the absence of one of our employees."

The Marquis raised an eyebrow, his gaze flickering over to Yn.

"I see," he said, his voice smooth and velvety. "And who is this employee?"

Yn swallowed hard as Mr. Malone answered, "Her name is Amelia. If you can recall, it's the bunny-girl who was first assigned to be your night companion on your first visit here."

The Marquis' mouth opened in understanding and realization. He obviously recognized which one she was and he pointed out, "Oh. The girl who scoffed at me?"

Yn felt her heart sink as the Marquis' words confirmed her fears. She knew that Amelia had made a grave mistake by disrespecting the Marquis and his comment on art, but she also knew that the girl was genuinely sorry for her actions.

Mr. Malone hung his head in shame and disappointment as he confirmed, "Yes, it was her, sir."

The Marquis looked at the male before him before asking, "How long has she been absent?"

"Two days," replied the managing director, "Ever since she disrespected you, sir. She was absent from work last night without prior notice or explanation, and tonight as well."

The Frenchman harrumphed, nodding his head subtly as if he was registering the issue, before speaking in a casual and indifferent tone, "Fire her."

Yn felt her heart drop as she heard the Marquis' words. She knew that if Amelia was fired, that poor girl would be devastated. She needed to come up with a way to save Amelia's job right then and there. She bit her lip as she anxiously pondered for a way to save her friend's job, her stomach twisting into knots at the thought of Amelia's pain.

She looked up at the tall Frenchman with a sad frown on her eyebrows and spoke up, "Sir, if I may, perhaps we can give her a warning instead. She has been a diligent and hardworking employee before this incident, and I believe that she deserves a second chance."

The Marquis turned his attention to Yn, his piercing gaze making her feel even more exposed. She held her breath, waiting for his response.

The Marquis stared at Yn for a moment, a sly smile playing on his lips. He found her determination to save her friend's job intriguing, and a thought crossed his mind.

"A second chance…" he mused, his voice dripping with amusement. "But I am not a fan of second chances. They are a refuge for failures."

Yn's heart sank further at his words. She knew convincing the Marquis would be a difficult task, but she couldn't give up. Amelia's livelihood was at stake, and she couldn't bear the thought of her friend losing her job over a single and tiny mistake. Now that she mulled over it, it did seem unfair.

With a frown on her face, Yn met the Marquis' gaze and replied, "Everyone makes mistakes, sir. And through them, we can truly grow and learn. I believe in giving people the opportunity to improve themselves."

The Marquis towered over Yn in close proximity, his piercing gaze fixated on her. His smirk was filled with amusement as he evaluated her determination to save Amelia's job. He couldn't help but smirk at the sight of her wide doe eyes and her small figure next to his tall frame, looking up at him so innocently.

"You are quite persuasive. Very well, Yn," the Marquis said, his voice low and velvety, "I will grant your request. But I expect something in return."

Yn's heart skipped a beat as she eyed the Marquis warily, her pulse pounding in her ears like an ominous drumbeat. With every beat of her heart, she knew the risk of dealing with him could have drastic repercussions, but her determination to save Amelia's job drove her forward. She steeled herself and reluctantly nodded, making a silent prayer that this was not a decision she would regret.

The Marquis, upon seeing her nod her head to him, smiled cunningly and cast a side-eye glance at Mr. Malone who was quietly watching them. The Frenchman then nodded his head to the side, towards the door. The managing director immediately understood and walked off, exiting the office and leaving Yn with the man who had been attempting to corner her the whole evening.

Yn felt a pang of fear as she realized she was alone with the Marquis. She knew that being alone with him was dangerous, but she had come too far to back out now. The plan which she had repeated to herself since the start of the evening was quickly discarded in her head. She took a deep shaky breath and asked meekly, "What would you like in return, sir?"

The Marquis stepped closer to her, reducing more distance between them, until he was leaning near her hair and could smell the fragrance of her locks. Yn squirmed under his gaze and next to his tall frame as she awaited his offer.

He suddenly whispered, his voice sending a shiver down Yn's spine, "You. You will accompany me to a private dinner tomorrow evening. Just the two of us. If the evening goes well, and you manage to satisfy me, your friend will be given a second chance."

Yn's eyes widened in shock as the Marquis' words sunk in. She looked at him with fear in her eyes, her body tense and ready to flee as she contemplated his offer. She had not expected such a request, and her mind raced with fear and confusion. She knew that accepting his offer would come at a great cost, but she could not let Amelia lose her job. Swallowing her fear, she forced a nod of her head as she tore her gaze away from the man and looked down.

"Okay..." her voice was soft and timid, evidently revealing how reluctant she was.

The Marquis smirked at her reply, his eyes flickering with amusement. Then he whispered, "Excellent."

However, despite striking a bargain with him, the Marquis did not step away from her. He still towered over her, letting his height suck away her confidence and leaving her feeling vulnerable. Yn's heart raced with terror as she felt the Marquis' warm breath on her neck. His hand came up to brush a strand of hair away from her face, causing Yn to flinch at his touch.

The Marquis noticed her reaction and chuckled to himself. He knew the power he held over her and used it to his advantage. He cherished the power imbalance between them. It made him feel powerful, in control, and dominant, something he craved in all areas of his life. He wanted to see how far he could push her.

Yn felt his hand linger on her cheek and her heart pounded in her chest. She wanted nothing more than to escape from his presence, but her determination to save Amelia's job kept her rooted in place.

She was wondering why the hell he hadn't moved away since a deal had been made, when the Marquis spoke up, "For tonight, however, to justify your friend's action, a kiss is sufficient."

Yn's eyes widened in shock at the Marquis' words, and she took a step back from him. She immediately queried, "What? I thought our deal is a dinner tomorrow evening!"

"That remains," replied the Marquis who stepped closer to her and bent down till his face was right in front of hers by inches. He added, "Your friend has made two mistakes. One, she laughed at me. Two, she was absent from work without telling Malone. Both mistakes deserve punishment. Each has its own consequences."

Yn's mind was reeling from the twist the Marquis made. Her eyes were wide as she stared back at him in horror. The Frenchman continued with a grin, "You are so kind, ma lapine. So noble. You are eager to take on the consequences on behalf of your friend. I like that. So you have to do two things for me for her mistakes and to give her a second chance. One, a kiss tonight until I'm satisfied. Two, a private dinner tomorrow."

Yn's heart sank as she realized the true nature of the Marquis' intentions. He could twist anything and any words to his liking and for his own selfish desires. Her heart was beating so fast that she thought it might burst out of her chest. She was desperate to save her friend's job, but the thought of kissing this man made her feel sick to her stomach.

She tried to reason with him, "But sir, that is too much."

The Marquis shook his head, "A kiss is the only thing that will suffice. I have made up my mind on this matter."

Yn knew that there was no room for negotiation. She had to do this if she wanted to save Amelia's job. She was already stuck in a situation where she had to pay a heavy price for her friend's tiny mistakes. If Mr. Malone handle this, all he would do was just a warning to Amelia and that's all. But the Marquis twisted everything to make it seem worse.

She knew that she was trapped, caught in the spider's web and there was no way out. She had to make a difficult decision and it pained her to do so. Yn took a deep breath, summoning all the tiny courage she had left in her, and said in a quivering voice, "Okay... but please... please give me your words you wouldn't fire her after this deal."

The Marquis leaned closer to her and whispered, "I give you my word. Your friend shall keep her job, provided you satisfy me tonight and tomorrow evening."

Yn nodded, her eyes lowering in submission. She had no other choice but to agree to the Marquis' demands. She felt disgusted by what she had to do, but she had gone too far already, and she did promise to Amelia to ensure she was not fired.

The Marquis stayed close to her, his arrogant smirk still present on his face as he watched Yn's reaction. He knew that he had won the power struggle and was eager to taste the fruits of his victory.

The Marquis stepped closer to her once more, his hand reaching up to cup her cheek. Yn froze in an instant as she realized that he was acting upon the deal already. She felt his fingers glide down her cheek and then his thumb brushing over her lower lip. Her heart was pounding so hard that she could feel it in her ears.

She couldn't believe she was doing this. She tried to convince herself that it was just a kiss, but the Marquis made it clear that it wouldn't be just a peck on the cheek.

For a moment, Yn considered backing out, but she knew that the Marquis wouldn't hesitate to fire Amelia if she did since a deal had been secured. She closed her eyes and braced herself for what was to come.

The Marquis leaned in closer, and Yn could feel his lips brushing against hers. She could taste his arrogance and dominance on his lips as he pressed them harder against hers. He locked lips with hers, pressing his mouth over and over again as she remained a doll in his grasp. And the Frenchman eventually noticed this.

"If you think being a dead fish would satisfy me, you are dead wrong," the Marquis muttered against her lips, "Remember, satisfy me... or this deal is off."

Yn's eyes snapped open, and she realized that she had to put in some effort to please the Marquis. She hesitantly began to respond, her lips pressing against his with more pressure. His lips curled into a devilish smirk and he responded back eagerly, sucking her mouth sinfully that it sent chills up her spine.

She could feel a spark of electricity that sent shivers down her spine, the warm energy of his breath passing over her skin. His lips moved over hers, gently at first before becoming more insistent and urgent, as they moved hungrily against her.

Yn could hear the low hum of pleasure that emanated from the Marquis as he responded eagerly to her hesitant touch. His lips enfolded hers in an almost intoxicating way that made her heart beat faster.

Yn could feel the Marquis’ soft but firm lips against hers, and the warmth of his skin as he pulled her closer. His hands were strong and possessive as they moved to either side of her head, drawing her in further to deepen the kiss.

When his tongue pushed against her lips, demanding entrance, she immediately felt so overwhelmed that she felt like she had to break it off and get a grip. She tried to pull away, but the Marquis held her tightly in place. Feeling his lock on her whole body, she took a step back from him, disentangling her mouth from his, and was about to verbally stop him. However, before she could utter a word, the Marquis slammed his lips back on hers.

Yn's body stiffened at the sudden contact and she tried to push him away, but the Marquis' arms wrapped around her waist, holding her in place. His kiss was forceful, his tongue sliding past her gaping lips, invading her. She tried to resist and push him away by pushing against his chest, but the Marquis was too forceful, overpowering her with his passion.

She eventually dropped her hands and parted her lips wider, allowing him to explore her mouth with his tongue freely. He tilted his head and deepened the kiss, his tongue reaching far deeper into her mouth. His grip on her tightened as his tongue explored eagerly and commandingly, tasting her and dominating her in every way. It pushed against hers deeply in an almost violent way. Yn felt disgusted by the way he was taking advantage of her, but she didn't have the strength to push him away.

Their lips mashed together in a passionate kiss, creating filthy smacking sounds as their mouths moved together. His breathing was heavy as he kissed her, a low growl in his throat that held a warning. As he moved his tongue around inside her mouth, Yn could hear the soft slurping sound it made as it tasted her. His breath was hot against her face, his tongue urging her to open up more and submit to him.

The Marquis held Yn tightly in place with his hands around her waist, as he explored her mouth aggressively. As the kiss deepened, Yn felt the Marquis' hands moving down her body, his fingers tracing over her curves and her revealing bunny costume. She shuddered at his touch, but she knew that she had to allow him to do whatever he wanted if she wanted to save Amelia's job.

She waited for him to break the kiss and conclude the first deal, but he continued to nip at her lower lip and explore her mouth. Yn felt his hands move from her waist to the back of her head to push her deeper against him. He continued to kiss her sinfully and erotically, running his hands through her hair and then down her back. He pressed his body against hers, letting her feel the full extent of his body against her.

As the Frenchman kissed her, he trailed his hands up her body, tracing over her curves. His touch sent shivers down her spine. She began to ponder that this was going way further than the deal but he did specify to satisfy him. Despite this, it didn't make it any easier for her to have his hands all over her body, as they slid all over her body, exploring her figure. His hand continued to roam over her body, his fingers tracing over her curves.

Goosebumps rose up all over Yn's flesh as his fingers moved over her, sending sensual tingles down her body, and she shuddered in response to his touch.

She tried to resist, but the Marquis gripped her tighter in his arms, his hands moving all over her body. They moved over her waist, before sliding up her chest. Yn trembled under his touch, before moving her hands up to press against his chest, attempting to push him away.

However, the Marquis did not relent. Instead, while kissing her vigorously and with an exploring tongue, he pushed away her hands and ended up grasping one of her breasts. His skin touched hers since the seductive bunny costume didn't cover the entirety of her chest, and revealed a lot of her cleavage. It startled her and caused her to gasp loudly.

With renewed strength due to her shock, she shoved him away forcefully, making him stumble back before he regained his footing. Yn immediately stepped rearward, creating a safe distance between them, as she breathed loudly in the quiet room.

The Marquis appeared flabbergasted and as if he had snapped out of a trance. His eyes locked on her, intense and burning, as he opened his mouth and brought his tongue to the corner of his lips, tasting the lingering warm sensation of their kiss seconds ago.

A smirk curled his lipstick-stained lips. It made him seem like he was satisfied yet he was still plotting his next move to control and dominate her more. The eerie sensation of his eyes staring at her caused her to shudder and his dark gaze moved up and down her body clad in the bunny costume.

"I look forward to our evening together, ma lapine," said the smug Marquis, his voice was husky and breathy due to the intense kissing session, "Tomorrow evening, come here one hour earlier than usual. I will pick you up and we will do the second deal. You may go home now."

With that, Yn rushed off to the exit with her lips swollen and red in color. The Marquis looked on as she rushed out of the room. He sucked his tongue lightly in between his lips, licking off the last of the deep burgundy lipstick that stained his lips.

Thinking about her, the Marquis chuckled evilly. Satisfaction radiated from his relaxed posture and his eyes twinkled brightly from the pleasure he had received. He was eager to have Yn again and he knew that he would savor every last moment of it.

Yn felt disgusted and upset as she stood alone in the staff's female washroom. She stared at her reflection in the mirror and saw that the lipstick on her lips was indeed messy across her chin and philtrum. She quickly grabbed several tissues and wiped them clean, discarding any evidence that could indicate she had make-out with someone. If Mr. Malone sees her in such a state, he would put two and two together.

She wasted no time and immediately gathered her belongings. She left the casino in a hurry, not stopping to say goodbye to her colleagues or even notify Mr. Malone. She could only hope the Marquis was being truthful and would tell the managing director about him allowing her to go home early.

Without hesitation, she hopped on a bus and made her way back home. While sitting in the vehicle, she continually dabbed at her dry lips with a tissue as if she could still feel the Marquis’ passionate kiss lingering on them.

Yn fidgeted around with her fingers as she stared out the window. She focused on the sound of the vehicle as it grumbled and bumped downwards as it drove following its route, bringing her closer to her humble abode.

That's when she remembered her sick mother in the hospital. She tore her gaze away from the window and cast her eyes downward, staring at her lap, as she contemplated how her life come to this. She took the bunny-girl job in the casino as a quick way to earn money for her mother's hospital treatment. However, tonight took a nasty turn and she had to strike a bargain with a man who clearly took advantage of her and the situation with Amelia.

That was when she remembered that new girl. Yn quickly fetched out her phone and texted her.

[Me: Amy, are you coming to work tomorrow?]

In five minutes, Amelia read her message and replied:

[Amy: Maybe. I'm scared to come back.]

Yn pondered after reading through Amelia's message. She had a feeling that if Amelia goes absent again tomorrow, Yn will be scolded and the Marquis will take that chance again to his liking. As much as she wanted Amelia to rest up, the latter must come back to work.

[Me: Amy, you have to come to work tomorrow. Mr. Malone had been asking about you.]

[Amy: Oh no...]

[Me: You have to come back and explain everything to Mr. Malone.]

[Amy: But I'm scared of getting fired.]

[Me: Don't worry about that. I did my best to persuade him just now. Come to work tomorrow, okay?]

[Amy: Okay... thanks, Yn.]

With that done, Yn leaned her head back in the bus seat and sighed heavily, her mind suddenly filled with dread at the thought of her impending dinner date with the Marquis de Gramont.

Meanwhile, the Marquis de Gramont sat in his office, with one of his legs rested atop the other, as he ran through the steamy event that had transpired moments ago in his head. The memory of Yn's innocent expression caused his lips to curl upwards into a smirk.

She looked so stunning and tempting in her bunny costume, he decided. Her plump lips were so tasty, they were like the finest of wines and her skin was so soft that it felt like silk. He had to taste her. He couldn't resist. She was a delicious little lapine that he found irresistible.

He could already tell she was worth the chase when he first tasted her. The Marquis smiled in pleasure as he imagined the ways he would take Yn. All of them would be pleasurable and painful in all the right ways.

The Marquis was determined that the first time he will have her, she would be screaming in either ecstasy or pain. He would take the upcoming private dinner as a golden opportunity to execute his plan. He would make Yn his, and she will only be his.

He couldn't wait.

PREV : Chapter 02

NEXT : Chapter 04

Story Masterlist

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[starberry-cupcake]

Hello, I haven't had time to read as much as I would want but I'm here with an update regardless, because if I don't keep these constant, I'm gonna forget things and this, so far, seems like a book in which I don't wanna forget things.

previously, in harrowbean the ninth:

this happened

currently, after "parodos" and ch. 1:

so I'm making up a timeline in my head with the information at hand

which is never straightforward

that'd be too easy, here in tlt we like to be kept on our toes

we like to be punched in the gut when we least expect it

so get ready for bad math

this would probably make our good friend palmolive atreides weep

I'm sorry palomilve's force ghost, I'm doing my best

SO

the first entry was the night of the emperor being terminated

the "parodos" bit (we'll get to that) is 14 months before the emperor is snuffed out

ch. 1 is nine months before the emperor kicks the bucket

I believe act 1 is going to be happening around that time, since ch. 2 seems to be following without another indication

because of what happens in "parodos" aka flashback, aka prologue 2: elecric bogaloo, we can attempt to estimate when the events of gideon happened

harrowbean tells ortus in the flashback that he's gonna train with aiglamene for 12 weeks

let's assume that's kind of the amount of time gideon trained, plus the time it took harrow to plot how to girlsplain, gatekeep and gaslight gideon into it

the only one girlbossing here is camilla, I don't make the rules

so, if gideon and harrow were ready to leave the ninth somewhere around 2-3 months after the flashback, it'd be circa 11 months before the events in the prologue

and ch. 1 starts 9 months before the events in the prologue

so gideon might have happened somewhere around 11-10 months before the prologue

I can't tell how long they were in canaan house (it felt like 12 years and 5 minutes at the same time) but I think about a month is mostly right, given that once bodies start dropping, things are all happening together

all of this is relative, since time in space is ????

but I need to do this for my own peace of mind

if you give me time measurements I'm gonna measure, ok?

I need to organize things

I know I will end up making a graphic at some point I just know it

this is what I get for calling palmolive a turbonerd

ANYWAY, MOVING ON

or, moving back, since we're in prologue 2: electric bogaloo aka flashback time

here we have ortus (the one we knew, not the one we will get to know, according to the characters list) telling harrow he doesn't wanna go to the field trip

this is ortus

if you're wondering why I don't nickname ortus, I'll repeat myself but "orto" means "ass" where I'm from, so that's enough to remember him by

harrow is like "I know you're underqualified but we're understaffed, so it is what it is"

the important part is that harrowbean says she sees the barbie in the freezer walking about

like a ghost or whatnot

she refers to her as "the body" and I assume that's barbie in the ice cube because someone reblogged my recap where I mentioned her and tagged

ever since then I've been wondering why she was referred to as The Body and now I'm gonna assume this is it

so harrow tells ortus he needs to hide the fact that she's mentally unstable

[non funny side note: masking is unbearable and it's awful we live in a social and cultural environment where we feel pressured to do it, especially when you're an adult having to fulfill expectations of supposedly "age-specific" activities and responsibilities, it's exhausting and I cried about that in therapy a mere week ago so, hitting hard, this bit

don't let people make you feel "less than" because the way in which you navigate the world and your experiences is different from what's expected in some theoretical socially constructed category

and fuck everyone who, in order to put people down in arguments online, ever make fun of those who aren't mentally, economically or socially as independent as what the category of an adult is supposed to be to them

argue with concepts, argue with opinions and facts, don't tear people down in the name of "moral upper hand" by telling people they're losers for needing help

side note done]

so, harrow entered the whole canaan thing not only carrying the weight of her house, her family and her entire people

she also came into it believing she's not mentally sound and seeing The Body walking around unnoticed by other people

whether or not her visions are mentally unsettled or something that actually happens because she opened the tomb, just the whole situation of her birth is enough to make anyone collapse, so we got you, harrowbean

we're here for you

and all that without mentioning what it'd be like seeing your girlfriend cavalier impale herself in front of you

I'm taking liberties with the 'girlfriend' bit but idk

so, next we know, 5 months have passed from that and harrowcita is struggling in her new environment of the clown emperor's ship

she is made to carry gideon's sword and she can't

she can't seem to know what to do or to communicate with said knowledge and she's throwing up a lot

WHICH IS GREAT!!!!!

I mean, it's not great that she's suffering

but it's GREAT because if she can't communicate with gideon's slurped soul, maybe it means gideon's soul has not been slurped AT ALL

more fuel for my wishful thinking of gideon's soul returning to her and getting regenerated and saved and being alive

I also like very much this situation in which harrow sees the sword as personified and they hate each other without gideon

it's like prim's cat in the hunger games with katniss

but with an inanimate object

I'm really liking that dynamic

is like they both miss her and can't relate to each other

ALSO barbie body ice cube is still there

just chillin' and being silently supportive, I think

not sure what her deal is but what if she's not the bad one here? because this emperor kind of sucks tbh

not in a 'he's evil' way but in a 'idk if he know what he's doing' way

I don't know about this guy tbh

so we're leaving off with harrow being mentally and physically struggling, ghost barbie roamin' the rooms, voices of people organizing stock and gideon in my head like this, walking in limbo to get back to us

also, another day without camilla

I thought I wasn't gonna have much to say and this is so long, I'm so sorry...

[raedear]

Do you have any Joe/Nicky fic recs?

Do I ever, bestie.

Here are my bookmarks on ao3, which functions as a rec list really

Specific shout outs include:

He, Dreamless by @guarncre, which I read with a breathless hysteria I've never experienced in myself before

say the word (& I'll be your renaissance man) by @bewires. Everything by Lia, actually, but this happens to be my particular favourite that wasn't written as a gift for me.

If Never Again, If Every Day by @gallifreyburning & @takiki16. A true and proper gamechanger of a fic. Sets the standard we should all aspire to.

Leave the Window Open by superblackmarket, who has never missed even once in their life, their every fic is a joy

Continuity of Memory by AirgiodSLV, which I absolutely adore

i want to wear your sweater (i want to wear your ring) by @knoepfchen which is just flawlessly fuckin hilarious and wonderful. Once again, please read all of Laurel's fics.

some cupids kill with arrows (some with traps) by @nicolos surely everyone has to know by this point that soulmates of any fashion are my kryptonite

honey i’m lovedrunk (it’s what you do to me) by @maddielle, which was the first fic of Maddie's I read and I hadn't even finished it before I subscribed to her.

Exposure by @chinchillinator and its sequel of course, this whole series is such a balm to my soul in the face of the terrible fuckin gender politics I've seen in omegaverse fics. Legs never misses.

wherever you are and wherever you go by @werebearbearbar I can't read just one of melly's fics, I have to read them all like I'm eating my way through a family bag of crisps in one sitting, but this one literally changed the chemistry of my brain

this song is new to me by @captainshakespear entirely flawless ace!Joe fic. I think about it every single day.

Roll Initiative by @nanashi-07 never fails to have me in absolute bits, it's wonderful

the dark matter of you by @polarcell I still think Nicky should get to murder him a little. As a treat. For me. The emotions this fic inspires in me, good lord

Lionheart by @non-un-topo absolutely no one does a mystery like siggy, holy fuck. I was going to link Perferō but I think you should start at the start of the series and work your way through

whatever here that's left of me by asifnotbound. peach can absolutely do no wrong in my eyes and this fic showcases her fantastic range and emotional depth.

Old Olives by aeli_kindara I love this fic so fucking much

Ten Ounces by @the73rdpostscript do I think of this fic every goddamn day? Yes. Yes I do. Read postie's fics I swear to fuck.

nothing here that is not sacred by @sixth-light. No one does it like sixth-light. No one. This just happens to have demi!Joe and I'm so outrageously here for that, but please just consider this the jumping off point for reading everything she's ever written.

Recover what was lost by @pinkninjapj, a stunning change of pace for me here, I know. Anyone who's ever talked to me for more than ten minutes knows my heart beats Retrograde, but I need to show love to Recover as well, which I have read easily a dozen times.

Shattered Pieces by AraSigyrn. I think of this fic every goddamn day.

with every inch of my heart by @smilebackwards what if Nicky had a Michelangelo and I cried about it many times????

walk inland by ScribeofArda fucking hell this fic does me in each time and I ADORE it

Departures by spqr I can't even BEGIN to tell you how much I love this fic. It makes me see shrimp colours.

In Pursuit of the Best Taste by PastyPirate they're rival bakers!!! It makes me so happy!!!!

This list is definitely not exhaustive, we'd be here forever if I listed every fic in this fandom I love. I've absolutely forgotten top tier fics and writers, but they're in my bookmarks for sure. Please go through all the authors' back catalogues too, because there is so much wonderful work in this fandom.

[xjulixred45x]

Hey, I saw an higuruma post in your master list and thought this was long overdue. Can I please get a general relationship headcanon for Higuruma.

Okay! Thanks for the Request

Hiromi Higuruma x Reader: Headcanons

Genre: Headcanons

Reader: neutral

Warnings: BIG SPOILERS FROM THE MANGA!! ITS POST SHIBUYA!! Higuruma is kind of Depressed and very regretfull of His past:(, mainly fluff.

WELL, LET'S START AT THE BEGINNING. If the reader met Higuruma before or after he became a sorcerer. And how.

SCENARIO 1: Reader is a lawyer like him, a non-sorcerer.

If we follow this route, it is most likely that Hiromi and the reader have been in several cases together.

sometimes both defending the same client, other times on completely opposite sides of the court.

Think of it like the meetings of Law and Order lawyers.

or even having a certain relationship of rivalry thanks to this. The reader is aware that Higuruma is a good lawyer and that he is almost a prodigy in the law, so he constantly tries to surpass him.

while Higuruma takes it in a more friendly way, and thanks to that they end up becoming closer friends/colleagues.

Probably while Hiromi has this more empathetic view of her job (and feels bad when she fails her clients), reader@ is more pragmatic@, she just does her job and makes sure the trial is fair, but doesn't promise anything.

They are like Yin and Yang.

For this reason, when they make more friends, Higuruma ends up telling him several of his existential doubts about the judicial system and justice in general.

He will basically be with them.

and reader tries to appease him as best they can, but there really is no concrete answer to his questions.

but at least they get closer.

If you're already in a relationship by the time Higuruma becomes a sorcerer and has his existential crisis, your partner will be SO WORRIED.

They, out of the question, would report him missing and try to look for him on their own.

Higuruma doesn't want to scare the reader like that but really after the games start he doesn't want to involve them in something so dangerous :(

SCENARIO 2: reader is a sorcerer and they meet AFTER/DURING the games.

Oh definitely that would be something peculiar.

Let's say that the reader is, like Hiromi, one of the sorcerers who used to be normal humans who awakened a cursed technique out of nowhere.

and that they were forced to participate in the hunger games---I mean in the Kenjaku games.

Regardless of the type of technique the reader has, he may or may not end up running into Higuruma after entering the theater (you know, where he was taking a depressive bath)

and honestly depending on how the reader acts, his relationship with Higuruma can go in one direction or another.

If the reader gives up and makes it clear that she only wants to survive, not fight, she and Higuruma may just spend the time talking, asking what brought them there, what techniques they have, how many people they have killed, etc.

It's a little awkward at first, but the guy is a bit philosophical, so it's interesting to talk to him.

taking into account that they are both in the same situation, but reader (presumably) quite unfairly, makes Hiromi's heartstrings pull a little, clearly reader is not made to kill and yet they make him compete with death. It's cruel.

You could say that it is the friendliest scenario, reader and Higuruma become friends and help each other when Yuji arrives to do his thing and they join together in the plan to destroy Sukuna.

NOW, if reader had decided to fight, it probably would have been a different story.

Let's say Reader's CT can SOMEHOW overturn Higuruma's verdict, so there's no risk of death, so they fight bare-knuckle with their other techniques.

and it is a LONG fight.

and it's probably not until they're both exhausted and on the floor (too beat up and out of damn energy to finish each other off) that they say TALK.

What I said above happens, they tell their reasons, but in a much more aggressive way.

Let's say this is the equivalent of the first scenario of Rivals to lovers lol.

Higuruma and reader constantly compute by points and rub it in each other's faces.

but at least the hostility is gradually being lost.

They talk more openly about their lives, they don't bother each other as much, they PROTECT themselves when they need it.

It's almost nice.

They don't mind being together anymore.

so when Yuji comes they go together, I mean what else do they have at this point?

Regardless of how the reader has met Higuruma, you realize that there are several aspects in common. but here are some extra ones.

Higuruma, whether before or after being a sorcerer, is quite cautious with his partner, I wouldn't say protective, but he does want his partner to be cautious.

It's the type of partner who asks you to text them when you return home safely, to let them know when you arrive somewhere or when you leave. The practical man has memorized the amount of time it takes the reader to get from one place to another.

Japan is dangerous even without curses, he just wants the reader to be alert.

Also, despite seeming very distant or in his own world, he is a very good listener. Reader could mention that he wanted something a couple of weeks ago and on some important date he got it as a gift.

although in general their gifts are more from the heart or even somewhat sentimental.

reader has this man's heart in his hand, what can I say.

I think his greatest love language would be quality time, words of affirmation and physical contact.

He's a lawyer, he OBVIOUSLY knows how to use words ;)

especially with how much your partner helps you leave your shyness behind. once he does it he is UNSTOPPABLE.

quality time is self-explanatory, if he's not away from home for a case, it's to save the fucking world, which is why he greatly appreciates the small moments of tranquility with his partner.

Physical contact is ESSENTIAL, he likes it a lot.

Most of all he likes it when he is stressed about work and URGENTLY needs something soft to lie down on.

which used to be the bed, but now that's changed to DING DING DING READER

and can stay hugged for HOURS. let the poor man sleep, he needs it :,)

I think that in general he would like someone who is his opposite but at the same time they will complement each other, as you could see.

someone with a strong, determined character and who believes in their work.

especially if his partner is a non-sorcerer, he is brutally honest about what he does.

He is scared by the idea of one day dying in combat and them not knowing what happened to him :,(

In general, honesty is a very important factor for Higuruma, along with fairness in the relationship.

Higuruma is aware that the type of relationship he has with the reader is difficult to maintain, precisely because he is away a good part of the time and he fears that this will affect how they see him.

That's why you will NEVER be seen lying to your partner, not even when you SHOULD lie to them by orders. he can not.

Also thanks to this he is worried that his enemies will try to use the reader as bait, so he has several contingency and defense plans in cases of emergency.

Like I said, it's not protective, IT'S PRECARED.

Sometimes it is still difficult to read due to its lack of expressiveness, but one finds ways to detect what he feels without the need for his face to give it away (his voice, it is his voice that gives him away).

I think he generally likes the idea of having a traditional family, working like a normal man, married to a reader, a child, a pet, the complete package.

The man just wants to feel happy and share that with the reader :,)

In general, a man who demands a lot from himself, but with the necessary help and love, he is a loving person.

Shares, reblogs and comments are very welcome!

[saffyspirals]

HI HI i love your writing smsmsmsm mwah ⁽˙³˙⁾ can i request blue lock characters (kaiser and literally any other characters of your choise) with a s/o who drools in their sleep? (๑ᵕ⌓ᵕ̤) if you're not comfortable or don't want to write this, it's okayyy <3

❥ fandom: blue lock

❥ includes: kaiser, isagi, chigiri, kunigami, chris, bachira, oliver, gagamaru, otoya, rin, barou

❥ warning(s): drool ? otherwise nothing!!

❥ notes: HI @heart-an0n, i’m happy you’ve been enjoying my works so far! i hope this is similar to what you had in mind :)

i. thinks it’s adorable, has pictures of you in his camera roll:

kaiser, isagi, chigiri, kunigami, bachira, chris

ii. teases you endlessly about it (affectionate)

kaiser, oliver, gagamaru, otoya

iii. thinks it’s a teeny tiny bit weird but rolls with it anyway

rin, barou

iv. teases you about drooling in your sleep, but he also drools in his sleep

gagamaru

♡︎ ♡︎ ♥︎ ♡︎

bonus! mini headcanons:

— kaiser

he finds this amusing, and for good reason.

during the day, you’re this (sometimes frustratingly) smart, cool, witty it-girl who everybody adores. so the last thing anybody, including him, would expect was for you to drool in your sleep.

it’s adorable. when you’re asleep, it’s like you’re a completely different person. a little kid who clearly loves their sleeping time! he’s got pictures of your sleepy drooly face on his phone, saved in a folder on his camera roll. 100% threatens to show them to the guys whenever you do something to him, but he’s joking!

why should anyone else other than he get to see such a wonderful sight?

— isagi

isagi finds it adorable. he finds out about it the first time you guys have a sleepover. if you’re embarrassed about him finding out, he’ll find you even cuter!

he’s also got photos of you in his camera roll, but unlike kaiser he’s happy to show it to his close friends.

“isn’t y/n just the cutest?”

— gagamaru

if you guys are having like a non-serious argument, he’ll go,

“well, i’m not the one who drools in their sleep.”

he does it every time! he’ll pinch your cheek if you start pouting about it too.

it’s usually you who falls asleep first (gagamaru purposefully stays awake until you sleep, it’s just his thing). but one time he knocks out early because he was so exhausted by the events of the day. he doesn’t start drooling immediately, but when he does, you make sure to get photographic evidence.

“well, i’m not the one who drools in their sleep.”

“we both do it, stupid!”

— bachira

he loves the fact that you drool. but hear him out first before calling him weird! (🥹)

bachira is a drooler himself, and is a firm believer that those who drool in their sleep do it because they’re so relaxed and are therefore going to wake up feeling more well rested. so, he loves that you drool because it means you’re sleeping well. that’s reason number one.

reason two: it’s yet another thing you have in common! bachira loves finding things that you have in common with each other, it makes him feel closer to you. he takes pride in liking what you like, and knowing that you like what he likes. it’s honestly just another thing on bachira’s long list of things that he loves about you!

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Sunshine, Lollipops, and Rainbows 2

Warnings: non/dubcon, clashing personalities, exclusion, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

Characters: moody boy Curtis Everett x bubbly, plus-size reader

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

Your second day isn’t as intimidating. You find your desk by yourself and even remembered your honey bear mug! You tuck your bag underneath as your computer boots and check your phone for any updates from your blog. Nothing special, just a hobby.

You yawn and sign in, taking two tries to remember your credentials correctly. You check the shared calendar and see that you have a meeting after lunch with IT. Daniella mentioned you had to get your security passes before the end of the week, that’s probably what that’s for.

You swivel back and forth as you open up your training list. You’re making good progress. You think. You don’t really know. It seems like a lot and despite feeling as if you’ve run a marathon, there are only a few ticks marked off.

Before you dive in, you need a pick-me-up. You really liked that butterscotch coffee but you might try something new. You enter the kitchen and wait behind a woman you don’t know as she brews her coffee. When she’s done, she returns your ‘good morning’ but doesn’t stop to chat. Must be a busy day.

You place your cup on the tray and pick out a French Vanilla pod. You don’t really know what the difference between regular vanilla and French vanilla is. Maybe the French stuff is fancy. Ooh la la.

You hum as the coffee grinds. It sounds angry. Well, it is probably the most overworked fellow in this place. Every day, seeing the heart caffeine hounds, having them poke his face, and glare until he does his jobs.

It’s a machine. Your mother always said you put a bit too much empathy into objects without sentience. Well, your English teacher shouldn’t have made you read that book about Electric Sheep or whatever.

Your cup is full and you grab it, focused on putting the lid on it to keep it nice and warm. As you turn, you fail to stop in time. Your hand knocks against the man’s chest and you gasp as coffee splashes onto his dark shirt. Not much as you manage to block most of it but enough to make him grunt and step back.

It’s him! Oh no. You’ve upset him again.

“I’m sorry, mister,” you say as you hold out your dripping cup, “I didn’t hear you. You sure are quiet.”

He grumbles and stomps to the sink, slamming his mug down as he snatches paper towels from the dispenser. You bite your lip nervously and near. You keep your cup from dripping onto your light blue cardigan with the little white clouds.

“Can I have some–”

He wipes his hands and shirt with a growl. He swipes up his cup without and answer and moves around you to the coffee machine. His cup hits the tray hard and he jabs the screen as it beeps at him in demand of a pod. He takes one and peels open the package before shoving it inside.

“I’m really sorry,” you say as you dry off your cup and fix the lid firmly, “you snuck up on me… like a wolf.”

He shakes his head and looks at the ceiling. He’s tall, his posture is straight and unbending, making you more conscious of your slouching. He wears all black that day, it makes him look lean, and the silver rings shine around his fingers. You only then notice the stud in his ear.

“Oh! I like your earring–”

“Why are you talking to me?” He snarls without looking at you.

You recoil and sputter. You’re not being rude. You’re just trying to be nice. He reminds you of that guy in university who used to call you airhead.

“Because… I wanna?” You say with a shrug, “I still didn’t get your name.”

“Look, I’m not interested in making friends. I come in,” he takes his cup from the tray, “do my work,” he points at you past the porcelain, “and I mind my goddamn business.”

He turns and strides out, another beastly sneer rolling out of him. You furrow your brow and pout at the door. Tammy enters with her own mug, a bright pink thing with a picture of Dolly Parton on it. Ah, you get it, 9-5.

“Ugh, that man is always in a mood,” she says.

“Yeah…” you agree thinly.

“Try not to get in his way. Five years and he’s never said a word to me. It’s too bad, he’s not bad on the eyes.”

You don’t acknowledge her last sentence. It’s not very appropriate for the workplace and she’s married. Quite happily as she only ever talks about her husband. You tell her to enjoy her coffee and go back to your desk.

Maybe you should just steer clear. Eat at your desk or somewhere else.

[neonscandal]

Manga with Me: Sad SatoSugu Edition (Because That's Literally the Only Flavor There Is)

So I mentioned wanting to list out all the canonically most heartrending things I could think of as it pertains to Satosugu during an Anon Ask sometime ago and since the Christmas holiday is nigh upon us... what better time (because I started this a while ago)? If you would like to wallow in the heartbreak, you can always peruse this tag because this is truly something that rots my brain on the reg. So let's get into it, let's recount all the details that bounce around my head like an old school DVD logo in case anyone else wanted to be miserable too.

Part 1 | Part 2

⚠️ Spoiler Warning: Includes information up to chapter 236. This will be an exhaustive list to include details that haven't been animated. If you want to stay spoiler free, stop reading when you see the ⚠️ 

A/N: This basically just turned into an overly indulgent retelling of everything that happened because all of it is sad? Read at your own risk.

Let's start with a little bit of autobiography so we're all on the same page.

Gojo Satoru, heir to not only one of the Big Three sorcerer families but inheritor of their two familial cursed techniques. The occurrence of which hadn't been recorded for a century. His birth effectively tilted the scales and, subsequently, is responsible for the stronger breed of curses that sprung up to create balance in the world (in the same way Sukuna's finger woke other curses). We don't know much about his family except that he's been the target of unsuccessful assassination attempts since he was a kid. Subsequently, he's got an untempered ego that's largely unchecked and an unexplored power ceiling.

Why we love him: Real ones recognized a deeply traumatized person who hides it with a smile. ✨ Little did we know, the missing piece to that origin is what lurks in the shadows.

Geto Suguru, strong in his own right and implicitly guided by the belief that the weak should be protected. Leans into this enlightened ideal by also donning iconography that likens him to Buddha well before he considered being a cult leader. In my opinion (since I said this would be canonical, this needs to be called out as a headcanon), I think this was done to kind of cover the spread of his own insecurity coming into Jujutsu High as a society outsider. Especially when you consider Gojo's in his class.

Why we love him: While they appear to not get along, they really look to one another for balance. Ideologically and morally, Gojo will consider his perspective as he's the first person to really call Gojo on his flippancy and yoke him up. We love to see it.

CHRONOLOGICAL and rapid fire

They are two of only three special grade sorcerers at the time, the other being Yuki Tsukumo. It promotes this identity tied to their strength which Gojo is frequently sizing others up (sorry, Utahime) but also undoubtedly inspires a level of comfort Gojo probably hadn't known previously, to know that he had someone he could rely on.

In this, we see that Geto tuts at Gojo, keeping him in line from a social and moral perspective. He also weighs keeping the peace of citizens' minds believing that society should protect the weak and keep the strong in check. He rationalizes that jujutsu exists to protect non-sorcerers as if its their righteous responsibility. Sidebar: I love that the anime shows this convo taking place in a gym to visually use their shots missing vs going in as another way to show how they're at odds.

Subsequently, tasked with increasingly dangerous missions even though they are just kids because there's a shortage of strong sorcerers. There's a shortage of sorcerers at all. Undoubtedly, creates a sense of superiority in both and, likely, a greater sense of responsibility in Geto. As though the stronger he gets, the stakes continue to get higher as well.

Assigned a mission which effectively could impact the fate of the world wherein they have to protect Riko Omanai, another child and the Star Plasma Vessel, who is selected to merge with Tengen. Unbeknownst to us at the time but, even as students, they realized how shitty that was and had agreed unanimously to allow whatever Riko wanted to happen, whether she chose life or merge. Gojo propositioned it first and Geto's half-assed warning was simply that they might have to fight Tengen. Their overconfidence here kills me? But, essentially, protecting the weak and keeping the strong in check also meant enforcing what was right regardless of the mission and, more over, they could likely contextualize how unfair it was that they were child soldiers, as well.

Even with their difference in opinion or ideology, Gojo is reassured by the fact that, regardless of the demands of the mission, "we're the strongest". Which is huge when you consider that, for the longest time, he was always wary of others, likely kept people at arms' length, always had to protect others, etc.

I can only imagine the number of silly goofy selfies these idiots exchanged while on missions together or apart. Again, it just undercuts how, in spite of everything else, they were just goofballs.

This, I think, is important. Geto was the first person to rationalize Riko's desires to still go to school and be amongst her friends to Gojo. Geto had a sense of protecting the youthful life she knew from the start. Letting her enjoy herself was a part of the mission Tengen specified but Geto seemed moved by it without influence. Even if Gojo initially mentioned "calling it off" if the Star Plasma Vessel didn't want to move forward, this indicates the importance of, not just living (which Gojo will defend because he can), but living well which Geto is in support of.

Geto reassures Kuroi that she is Riko's family and, we can extrapolate, that he probably has his own bonds that are not blood but are still beloved like family. Even then.

Something I didn't take into consideration before but... it's Geto's fault/carelessness that gets Kuroi kidnapped. This likely causes a snowball effect of guilt as everything else transpires and ultimately leads him to his breaking point.

The fact that, where Gojo was once really intolerant of frivolity during the Star Plasma Vessel mission, he decided to show compassion by allowing for sightseeing and an extended stay in Okinawa, likely after taking Geto's previous rationale under advisement. Life is more than just surviving, afterall.

Usually when someone is strong, people lack the ability to comprehend or acknowledge their possible vulnerability. But Geto unabashedly expresses concern for Gojo potentially wearing himself out at the expense of extending their stay. It's small but its something expressed amongst equals and is shown to be such as Gojo says, "You're here too." TBH this altered my brain chemistry. Probably altered Geto's brain chemistry too. Can you imagine that reciprocation of trust and safety?? Ego boost.

What's especially funny about the exchange is highlighted by Geto's typical characterization as the fox eyed character or "kitsune no me" (even if its inconsistent). It can imply wisdom or someone who is mischievous. Given his other style choices, I assume its more for the wise aesthetic. But when he checks up on Gojo he gives the classic one-eye-open visual cue of being focused but with an air of confidence in response. Like, just puff out your chest and tell him you love him, already.

Literally, the soft way Geto watches Gojo be an immature little shit. For all the banter at the beginning of their origin story, this panel and, honestly, Okinawa really demonstrated how Gojo was endeared to Geto which hits a climax when they get back to Jujutsu High.

We only see Geto lose his cool when harm comes to Gojo. Toji getting the drop on Gojo was a shock to everyone but Geto sprung into action.

The fact that the first time Geto gives into his confidence and echoes Gojo's belief that "we're the strongest,", believing that, between the two of them, they could protect Riko's future... is precisely when Toji guns her down?? BRO. Irrevocably shattered his whole world view in a moment.

We only see Geto lose his cool when he believes harm has come to Gojo.

The fatal flaw in the Star Plasma Vessel mission was truly their combined hubris from being strong individually and being doubly reassured by their confidence in one another. Combine that with their loftiness of being sorcerers and it exposed them to a predator who doesn't need cursed energy to see footprints. The simplicity of it is aggravating. Toji's whole plan focused on a false sense of security but they were effectively already surrounded by an insulated false sense of security because of their power and standing in jujutsu society.

Moreover, the fact that Toji made such a big to do about how to defeat the Six Eyes but voiced the fact that Geto was negligible so long as he wasn't a shikigami user. Even if they were both strong, it still presents this idea that Gojo was stronger, he was the bigger threat.

Mind you, they were both bested by the same person BUT THE FACT THAT THEY BOTH LATER ESPOUSE SOME ELEMENT OF TOJI'S ESSENCE?? Geto takes on his vernacular (re: monkeys and essentially equates jujutsu as an evolution) and Gojo takes on the fit (which is crazy). More specifically, the fact that down the line, Gojo takes Toji's "Blessing" and Geto inherits his curse[d worm]. Ya know, maybe I was wrong about JJK antagonists because Toji really is the fork in the socket for a lot of what ends up happening.

This, is quite honestly, one of the most disrespectful coincidences of the whole ordeal because, while Geto shares physical characteristics with the Buddha and generally has a more humble and righteous understanding of the world, when Gojo experiences his power up at the beginning of his second fight with Toji, he experiences what we can assume is enlightenment as he boasts "Throughout heaven and earth, I alone am the Honored One,". In many ways, this is just another thing scratching at the foundation of who they are.

Geto and Gojo are constantly set at odds, ideologically is the least of their differences as they learn to take one another's perspectives under consideration. The divide comes from Geto, born of non-sorcerers, who has a cursed technique that forces him to ingest curses which he equates to swallowing a cloth that had been used to wipe up vomit. How can one be clean and pure when forced to regularly imbibe something so disgusting? It makes sense as to how he solemnly would feel this sacrifice to be noble and necessary in practice with the tradeoff of being able to help the weak. Gojo, born into a sorcerer family, has cursed techniques that not only prevent the need to even touch a curse but also allows time and space to think through whatever comes his way as a Six Eyes user. An argument could be made for nurture vs nature respectively but, ultimately, I think the chasm between hard work vs natural talent is what breeds bitter resentment down the line which is further embodied in this moment. Where Geto tries to do right and walk the straight and narrow as best he could, it is still Gojo who is blessed with the enlightenment that should come with such discipline. What I also find interesting about this is the fact that, as someone who chooses to dress and carry themselves as Geto does, his undoing is ultimately tied to other famous Buddhist quotes that speak of finding sanctuary only within oneself and how attachment is the root of all suffering. It feels like in looking to Gojo, relying on Gojo, being attached to Gojo.. it filled a hole that was present within Geto and wasn't sated by his discipline or moral compass.

The above is also shown in how Gojo could immediately find where Toji was with all the hideouts where Geto had to work harder to still show up late. Everything is just so easy with the Six Eyes or I suppose that's how Geto started to feel.

The fact that, knowing they were equals before his power up, Gojo lied about Shoko healing him when Geto asked. Gojo, at the unset, haughtily believed that the strong shouldn't make excuses for their strength, and yet, hid a facet of his strength from Geto, the person who understood the burden of power best.

Gojo accepted blame for messing up during the Star Plasma Vessel when, empirically, Geto lost Kuroi first and failed as the second line of defense against Toji. I wonder how Geto felt hearing that admission when his own guilt was probably swelling within him.

After everything, Gojo still turns to Geto to determine what's right, questioning whether there needs to be a reason to kill the Time Vessel Association followers as they celebrate Riko's death.

Riko's death and their subsequent failure saw Gojo spending the year to optimize his power and prevent being felled by any vulnerability going forward. Geto was effectively sidelined and recognized the disparity between them as Satoru became "the strongest". Even so, with all of Gojo's bells and whistles, with Six Eyes at his disposal, he could not really see Geto's descent or chose not to properly address it because Gojo was never really one with typical emotional responses. It's something he goes into greater depth with Nanami in the light novels, acknowledging his lack of emotional intelligence.

As with his birth, which saw an increase in powerful curses born to keep the balance, his latent power up also had consequences like more frequent curse spawnings. This kept them busy and, as we discover apart. Since he could handle more missions on his own, by default, now Geto had to as well. They were the strongest together but they were together less and less. This effectively sent Geto further down a spiral and moral dilemma.

In spite of not being seen by Gojo during his time of strife, his first impulse when asked what kind of souvenir he'd like is to lean toward something Gojo would want. We don't know much about Geto's preferred tastes (anything is better than vomit rag) but this concession is so touching. Like, previously, we see where Gojo considers Geto time and time again when faced with a moral gray area but the consideration does go both ways.

When assessed to be a good person by Haibara, Geto challenges the idea which we can infer stems from his shift in worldview but, I also question if it is a manifestation of how he may feel about Gojo's power up, too.

The premise of Geto's defection can be broken down if we were to liken non-jujutsu sorcerers to harmless sheep. If curses and cursed users are wolves, then sorcerers are the guard dogs that protect the herd, lucky to have teeth to fight back. Geto believed it to be the duty of the sorcerers to protect the weak but hadn't confronted that even humans are capable of grotesque things, they are just as susceptible to evil. Riko's death illustrated this while also challenging his ability to protect. With the shortage of sorcerers, why must they sacrifice themselves for the good of those who are equally capable of being monsters, regardless of their perceived weakness? Haibara's death reiterated that there was no point for such sacrifice when such a fate can befall someone so good and wholesome. The nail in the coffin was, of course, finding the twins who'd been abused and imprisoned by humans because they could manipulate cursed energy.

We only see Gojo lose his cool when it comes to Geto. The reveal of his crimes, against the villagers and his own parents is outrageous given his rigid stance but that really doesn't have a place in jujutsu society. Those who cannot bend... break. As one of the only other special grade sorcerers, the fact that Gojo must subsequently become Geto's executioner is cruel and unusual punishment.

Again, we don't know much about Geto's tastes but we know that he'll ask for sweets for Gojo and carries a lighter for Shoko and that's really heartbreaking because I think we can infer he considers them family.

We only see Gojo lose his cool when it comes to Geto. Screaming about murder in front of a chicken joint is one thing, but when you find out that KFC is really popular on Christmas, there's an added layer of zest that really just twists the knife.

"Are you the strongest because you're Satoru Gojo? Or are you Satoru Gojo because you're the strongest." This was like... a critical hit when I read it. Up until this point, they were a unit who only had one another to rely on. Geto could recognize Gojo beyond Limitless, beyond Six Eyes as Satoru. There's safety and comfort in feeling understood by someone especially when you've lived a life so isolated. They were on a first name basis. While Geto had been undeniably stewing for months and suffering this turmoil, this moment is what finally pulls the rug from under Gojo. It's the moment that Geto does what everyone else does. Always burdened by his strength and now, the only person who sought to understand him beneath the weight of it all just conflated him with his power. It shakes Gojo's sense of self. Later, I think Geto thought this drove a wedge between them, likely as intended. But we know that, for Gojo, it didn't. Further, it was like an abdication of his place amongst the strongest. He acknowledged that Gojo was capable of forging the world as Geto wanted but never once asks him to join him. This also altered my brain chemistry? Because, as we've seen, Gojo would follow Geto's direction as his moral compass. Down the line, we also know that nothing changed Gojo's perspective on Geto. But Geto never bothered to ask.

Gojo couldn't follow orders and kill Geto. When Geto turns his back to him with a simple "if you want to kill me, kill me. There's meaning in that too," I wonder what went through Gojo's head. But when asked why he let him go, Yaga doesn't need words to understand. We also see that Geto's words, as intended, struck a chord within Gojo. This conversation is especially interesting because we see the flip side of what Geto couldn't consider. With all of Gojo's power, even he knows being strong isn't enough. His technique is famous for what it keeps away which is offset by the fact that Gojo is someone who craves connection.

The fact that cult leader Geto chooses to masquerade as a monk is not surprising, again, he'd been lightly cosplaying all throughout high school. But the fact that Akutami gave him a gojo-gesa? Akutami is a sadist.

The irony of Geto adopting Nanako and Mimiko and Gojo taking in Megumi and Tsumiki is not lost on me. They both tried to protect the youth of Riko and we can see how they understand that they are not allowed protection because they are strong... but then take on children? Geto seems to do so with different intentions, still protecting the weak. Gojo is basically forging his own battle bro and hoping that, by making all subsequent students strong they won't know the loneliness he suffers.

With JJK0, we see that ignoring the orders of elders is actually not at all uncommon for the strongest sorcerer. Whether that be carry out a 10 year death sentence against his bestie or anyone else deemed too powerful to control is really just dependent upon how Gojo feels about it. So he saves those the elders seek to destroy starting with Yuta by finding common ground in their loneliness. He presses forward in the face of the elders because they are "trying to take away the best years of your youth like that. There's no way I'm gonna let them do that. No matter who you are." It's something he knows all too well.

"I've always believed... love manifests the most distorted curses."

Here's what we know of last words and wills in JJK. We can infer that those who receive the last wishes of someone dying are cursed to see them through. We see that with Yuji and his grandfather as pointed out by Yaga. Even Nanami, before passing, worries his last wish would be a curse and a burden to Yuji so he chooses to send him with words of encouragement. Miguel makes a half-assed threat to curse Geto should he die in battle against Gojo. As we see in JJK 0... Yuta, the living, actually cursed the near departed Rika by begging her to stay and it is a manifestation of one of loves most twisted curses.

The fact that, even after 10 years... Geto will arbitrarily change someone's name so it rings a little closer to "Satoru" was one thing. BUT WHEN YOU HEAR THE WAY THE GETO VOICE ACTOR PURRS "SATORU" IN SEASON TWO!? I just- the affection is still there.

THE FACT THAT, EVEN AFTER 10 YEARS, GOJO STILL RECOGNIZES GETO'S RESIDUALS. Let a SatoSugu-anti explain this, please. Heterosexually. Because I've had friends who I've regularly seen over the course of 10 years and I still wouldn't be able to pick the homies out in a scent line up.

Even after 10 years... they still refer to one another on a first name basis. Culturally, it speaks to a comfortable intimacy, wouldn't you think?

As Toge and Panda sprung into action to defend Maki and Yuta, I wonder if it struck a chord of remembrance in Geto. For the times he'd lept to defend Gojo. is that what evoked his tears in that moment?

Their final exchange on paper is bad enough. But the fact that they set it to a musical score called "This Is Pure Love" in the movie?? Get out of my face. Outside of the JJK 0 parameter and nestled within the story around Shibuya, we see that Geto thought that their KFC fight ended their friendship. But we see, through Gojo's trust that Geto wouldn't kill his students and the reciprocation of not killing any of Geto's family members... Gojo's feelings never changed. They still know the inner machinations of one another's minds, even after all this time, but Geto couldn't see that.

Gojo effortlessly makes Geto smile once more with words we still don't know after Geto talks about not being truly happy from the bottom of his heart. Sir, if you don't malewife your way back to Gojo's side and put down the eugenics... SO HELP ME.

In Japan, Christmas Eve is considered one of if not thee most romantic holidays of the year. It's a lover's holiday where Gojo and Geto reunited and Gojo was finally forced to carry out his sentencing. Even so, having been killed with cursed energy, Gojo could not bring himself to destroy the body of his best friend. His one and only. This sentimentality is what leaves Geto's body susceptible to the likes of Kenjaku who works in the shadows and hyper aware of, not only Gojo's affection for Geto as his weakness, but also his ability to intimately recognize his residuals.

The fact that Geto is a recognized weakness for Gojo is known to others at all is what makes me constantly wonder whether Geto was doomed by the narrative.

1. You know people were talking in the TEN YEARS Geto just ran amok. After declaring war, he was so bold as to tell Gojo where he was going and Gojo still couldn't bring himself to follow. I'd be whispering, too. 2. In chapter 79, immediately following the Premature Death/Hidden Inventory arcs, Utahime is with the Tokyo first years following up on Gojo's belief that there's a mole. She specifies two or more people could be a leak and that "one has to be highly ranked, even higher than the principals" 3. Gojo and Geto were essentially the clean up crew for anything other sorcerers couldn't handle, they'd be known to the elders. I wonder if they knew how principled Geto was and exploited that. Lining him up for missions, just so, including the one that caused him to rebuke jujutsu society. Or if, his inflexibility would have always been what got him in the end. Hypothesis: I maintain that Kenjaku and/or someone who was tied to Kenjaku was involved in pulling those strings. Specifically with designs on Geto to get a bead on Gojo. Even if Geto wasn't doomed by the narrative, he was doomed all along by his connection to Gojo.

This isn't expressly a SatoSugu observation but.. the fact that Yuji is concerned about Gojo going into Shibuya alone? It is a SatoSugu observation because it precisely serves Gojo's mission of no one ever having to be alone again. The fact that Yuji still recognizes Gojo as someone who should have back up is so reminiscent of Geto in Okinawa but is also a poignant manifestation of the ideal world Gojo is trying to achieve. Even in this, we see Gojo with his goal in sight long after Geto's will has fizzled away. Imagine what they could have accomplished together.

Specific to the anime, the fact that they animated Gojo akin to the way the devils ran in Devilman Crybaby was both so unserious but also calls upon Akira Fudo's specific experience with power and humanity.

⚠️ Spoiler Warning for plot of Devilman Crybaby.

The imagery evokes the visual of another damned pairing of Akira Fudo and Ryo Asuka (above). Ryo is a white haired prodigy (sound familiar) who, after discovering the existence of devils, tricks Akira (good natured dark haired boy who he met when they were both children) into merging with a devil "to better defend humanity". Akira's purity allows him to maintain his humanity as he subsequently overpowers the devil seeking to possess him but retains his strength and physical prowess (... really familiar). The story devolves into hysteria as humans turn on the Devilman and anyone he's associated with due to fear of the very devils he protects them from. As this happens, the bitter side of humanity rears its ugly head and manifests in torture, paranoia, mob mentality justice and indiscriminate murder, enough that the demons take a break to watch as society crumbles and Akira questions whether humanity is even worth saving. The shit kicker of this whole situation is the fact that Ryo had been in cahoots with the devils all along. In fact, he'd been pulling the strings to eradicate humanity and let devils reign supreme for a very long time as the fallen angel, Satan. His true objective in converting Akira was to thank him for being by his side and because, unbeknownst to him, he was the only person he'd ever loved. He realized this after Akira's death (which he'd caused), of course.

Strongest sorcerer in the world and he is bested by the appearance of the man he shared his youth with. Couldn't have been overpowered by anyone on the board at the time and, with all the information available to him from Six Eyes, the only hope the villains had was to outsmart his heart. Do we realize how insane that is? Mans is a loverboy, for real.

In the anime, the fact that they animated a brief smile as he reconciled that it was actually Geto standing before him before reality hit was just for the sake of emotional damage. PLUS, they somehow made "my Six Eyes tell me you're Suguru Geto. But my soul knows otherwise!" more dramatic by adding "my heart" and that just tells me there are certified SatoSugu shippers on staff.

Kenjaku has been bodyhopping for centuries. But, when confronted with causing Gojo harm, Geto's body is the first to fight against him. Both in his memories entering his mind after changing bodies but also in the way he tried to choke himself. Just as Gojo's soul recognized Geto and not Geto, Geto's soul recognized Gojo's.

Ken!Geto was the last person Gojo saw before being sealed.

As two of the closest people to Geto after his defection, Mimiko and Nanako harbored resentment toward Gojo for killing him but would not seek revenge as even they knew that Gojo was Geto's one and only best friend.

⚠️ Beyond the Animation ⚠️ Spoiler warning for JJK chapters 217-236.

Of Love and Strength

We interrupt this SatoSugu doom scroll to highlight a very pertinent theme that writhes through the cast of the strongest sorcerers. We see it with Kashimo, this restlessness of being the strongest and how others sought him out for his validation because... they admired his strength. Frustrated by the isolation of never finding a worthy fight, he cut them down mercilessly, always seeking a bigger battle. He's not the only reincarnated sorcerer who found second life just to flex on these modern sorcerers (the dude with the pompadour comes to mind right before Yuta called him bitchless). BUT the most interesting comeback is that of Yorozu, possessing Tsumiki, who seeks to prove her love by besting Sukuna in Megumi's meat suit. Through Yorozu's mission, this obsession with strength and equals is contextualized with a romantic undertone. She believes the cure to his loneliness (and I suppose hers) would be forged if she defeated him.

The battle itself even relays their attacks as a form of intimacy. The stakes of the fight are marriage, even though they both intend to kill one another. Yorozu takes offense at being fought with someone else's cursed technique. Even as she use's her Domain Expansion, she is flattered that Sukuna is able to make light work of it saying, "what...? You know all that about me? I'm so happy." It speaks to a familiarity, a consideration that Yorozu seems to be thrilled by. As if, having bared the breadth of their power to one another, that that honesty puts them closer than those who couldn't have made it this far in a fight. Hypothesis: Whoever taught Sukuna about love before and whatever Yorozu gave Sukuna prior to succumbing to the battle is going to raise the stakes down the line because, of course Gege has something else to devastate us after being lulled into a false sense of security. All in all, I think this fight served a larger purpose than burdening Megumi's soul as it showed how pervasive this link between strength and isolation is even back to the Heian period. It's what inspires Gojo's countermission after Geto defects but, prior to their split, we see the express knowledge of one another which implied an earnest connection. What I find funny is the fact that all these other characters assess their equals in these knockdown blow out fights but Gojo and Geto just... existed in harmony, acknowledging one another without all that? Away from Geto, we see Gojo is freest when he can go all out against Toji and Sukuna. Even with Sukuna, he believed his fists and power to be a means to earnestly communicate that he, too, knew that loneliness well. I include all this to say that it had to have been really sad to have finally found your equal, someone you chose to be by your side... only for them to leave and for you to never fill the gap that they left. This isolation was so despairing that he wished to liberate even his foes of it.

To not mention Shoko voicing her annoyance at Gojo's belief system centering not leaving anyone alone while she was beside him the whole time is a necessary trio inclusion. This is not commentary on the official translation that suggests Shoko's in love with one of them. Instead, this is a testament to the fact that, at the end of the day, Gojo felt alone if Geto wasn't beside him. Where one could argue Geto's mission was informed by a number of factors, re: protecting the future of people like Riko, preventing the sacrifice of people like Haibara, negating the abuse/bigotry experienced by Nanako and Himiko and lessening the burden on people like Gojo and himself, Gojo's sole motivation has always had Geto and/or what happened with Geto in mind. Shoko living in the reality of Gojo's vision gives me a bit of the sad, too.

Upon finally being unsealed from the prison realm and with the imposter Ken!Geto being the last face he saw, his first inclination is to track down Geto's body rather than reuniting with everyone else [that's left].

Mourning Geto's body is also imminently on Gojo's to do list pre-Sukuna fight.

When given the opportunity to pick the date of his fight with Sukuna... Gojo picks Christmas Eve, the anniversary of Geto's death. Once more, this is a lovers' holiday that even Kenjaku mocks upon hearing the selection.

"We seek not to be born on the same day, in the same month and in the same year. We merely hope to die on the same day, in the same month and in the same year. May the Gods of Heaven and Earth attest to what is in our hearts. If we should ever do anything to betray our friendship, may heaven and the people of the earth both strike us dead." -Romance of the Three Kingdoms

Let's just let that marinate.

At the end of Gojo's life... Geto's is the first face he sees. Still, in his mind, the cherry atop the satisfying fight with Sukuna would have been Geto being among those congratulating him. Not high school Geto as we see him in this afterlife. But cult leader Geto who Gojo never once lost affection for. Truly maddening.

I was going to include stuff from the light novels and the OP and EP's (since there are so many visual easter eggs in season 2) but this got to be really long and kind of just an obsessive retelling of events so.. if you've made it this far, you are probably crazy like me. In which case, I am sorry.

[maraschinomerry]

How about a George Karim x reader where they have made it a routine to sneak into each other’s bedroom to cuddle when one of them can’t sleep (it started after one draining case) but they never told Lockwood and Lucy bc they knew they would never hear the end of it

I've Got Your Back

Pairings: George Karim x gn!reader

Content: emotional hurt/comfort, angsty conversations in fluffy situations, breakdowns, Lockwood being Lockwood

A/N: oh wow this one got away from me a bit 😅 I wanted to do something super fluffy originally, but with the idea of it starting after a bad case I ended up leaning into the angst, hope that's okay! If you'd prefer something soft please let me know and I'll happily write another

Word count: 3.5k

The first time you found yourself in George's room was after your first Type Two case as a member of Lockwood & Co. Type Ones were second nature to you by this point, but you'd never dealt with anything more severe without supervision. Safe to say, you'd come away shaken.

It had been hours since you'd all returned, exhausted, and made your way to your rooms, but sleep continued to evade you. You tried everything - quiet music, hugging your pillow, distracting your mind by making lists of random things, duvet on, duvet off, on your back, on your side… Finally, a little after 4am, you surrendered and dragged yourself down the stairs towards the kitchen for a glass of water. The house was still and silent, save for the ticking from the hallway clock. You only made it as far as the landing before your body gave up and you slumped onto the unforgiving wood of the bottom step, fighting back tears as your breathing grew quicker. Thank god everyone else was asleep so they didn't have to deal with you like this. They were all greatly experienced agents and from what they’d seen they were impressed by both your abilities and your unflappability, so it was slightly embarrassing how much this had affected you.

Like some kind of horrible universal retribution, the door beside you clicked open. You frantically wiped your eyes as George emerged from his dimly lit room. His hair was particularly dishevelled and he wasn't wearing his glasses… or trousers, for that matter. He blinked at you, a mixture of blindness and confusion.

"I'm so sorry," you whispered. There was a wobble in your voice that you prayed was less obvious than you thought. Perhaps you only noticed it because you were expecting to hear it, perhaps George would think you were just tired. "Did I wake you?"

He frowned. "No, why would you-" It suddenly clicked as he peered closer. "Have you been crying?"

"No." Something in his face encouraged your honesty: "Not quite."

George was motionless for a moment. Then, he pushed his bedroom door open a little further and gestured inside. "Okay, go and get comfortable, I'll make tea once I've been to the toilet. Give me five minutes, non-metaphorical." There was a pause. "Will you be okay until then?" What a thoughtful question. He was normally so blunt and rational, you hadn’t expected him to consider exactly what state you were in after such a short interaction, or certainly not to act on it like that. You sniffled but nodded, and the two of you passed within a breath of one another as you swapped places in his doorway. His hand ghosted across your back between your shoulder blades as he directed you in, barely there and yet somehow the only tangible thing in your world at that moment. Your breath caught in your throat. The sensation lingered long after his footsteps had padded down the stairs.

Left alone in George's room, you took the chance to look around properly. You'd seen inside before whenever you popped your head in to speak to him, but now you could take it all in - the lamp on top of his crowded bookshelf emitting a warm glow across the sage green walls, neatly folded stack of laundry waiting to be put away, oval mirror on the chimney breast making you uncomfortably aware of how much of a wreck you looked with puffy eyes and hair tangled in frustration. Everything about the room was so… so George.

He'd said to get comfy, but you couldn't help but feel like you were invading his personal space. After a rapid internal argument over whether to slink back to your own room, you decided that would be rude since George had invited you in and gone to make tea, so you settled awkwardly at the end of his bed, feet planted on the floor.

Five minutes later, as promised, George tiptoed back in with two steaming mugs, kicking the door closed behind him. You thanked him as you wrapped your hands around the one he offered, while he placed his on the bedside table and relaxed back against his pillows.

"You look like you're about to bolt," he observed. That wasn't inaccurate; you were right at the edge of the mattress, feet pointing to the door and heel bouncing anxiously. He softened. "Take up whatever space you need. And if you don't want to talk about whatever had you tearing up on the stairs, that's fine, but I'm right here if you do."

You brought your feet up to sit cross-legged and sipped your tea while you worked up the courage to tell the truth (it was such good tea, too, you didn't know how he always got it just right). George did the same, not pushing matters for a second.

Eventually, you felt a little more comfortable, knowing you weren't being scrutinised. You tried to find the words more than once, faltering each time. Still, George waited patiently. They came at last: "Tonight was my first proper Type Two. I know I dealt with some in training and it shouldn't bother me, but I can't stop thinking about everything that could have gone wrong and if something happened to one of you…" You'd only been with the agency a month, but already you considered Lockwood, Lucy and George family over even your own parents, who had seemed almost relieved when you moved away. They were far more supportive, more understanding of you as a person, more respectful of your Talent. You could never forgive yourself for being the reason they got hurt, or worse. The pace of your heartbeat started to pick up again, thundering in your chest and ears.

"Hey, listen, breathe with me," George said gently as he sat forward to get your attention. You didn't even realise you were starting to fall back into the thoughts, let alone that George had noticed, so before you knew it you were following his slow, deep rhythm. His eyes, dark and lined with exhaustion and concern, didn't leave yours. He spoke again as he guided you. "We're all okay, and the whole point of being a team is we have each other's backs. It's not all on you to keep us safe, we all have to help, but it is on us to make sure you don't end up physically or mentally at risk. So if anything like this happens again, I hope you feel like you can come to me. Preferably without having to sit outside first."

The last part made you giggle. "Deal. And the same goes for you, my door is always open."

George smiled. "Thanks. For now though, get some rest, we can't have you falling asleep on the job." At this, he pulled back the other corner of his duvet. Now it was your turn to blink in confusion. "There's plenty of room," he explained like it was perfectly obvious, "and I don't like the idea of you going back upstairs on your own. If you're okay with this, of course."

The blush that crept up his cheeks reflected the one you felt on yours, and you tried your best to act natural as you put your mug to one side and slipped under the covers. George kept a respectable distance, but the warmth of his body still radiated towards you and lulled you into a peaceful sleep.

You awoke to the first rays of daylight filtering through an unfamilar window. As your eyelids fluttered open, you found yourself in an unfamiliar bed with an unfamiliar light pressure across your stomach and back. Cautiously, you turned your head. George was pressed up against you, face buried in your hair and arm draped across you. Your legs were so tangled it was hard to feel where you ended and he began. In the back of your mind you knew you should leave, get back to your own room before Lockwood or Lucy came and found you together, but this was the most relaxed you'd felt since becoming an agent. Besides, if you waited, George could check the coast was clear without arousing suspicion. That was a good enough excuse to stay. You brought your hand up, linking fingers with the boy's hand that hung across your stomach. A hum of contentment sounded from within your hair, echoing through your skull. You fell asleep once more with a lazy grin.

—

It happened a few more times over the next few months. You'd sneak into each other's rooms for comfort or company - it wasn't always about being scared or anxious after a case, just if one of you was having trouble sleeping or needed your mind taking off anything from research to thoughts about your family to whether you'd forgotten something on the grocery list. The two of you knew how each other ticked so it was easy to offer reassurance or support, and ending the night in each other's arms quickly grew to be one of your greatest comforts. George was an unusual sleeper, switching between curling up on his side and splaying across the whole bed like a starfish, but you found that no matter what, you were always able to slot against him like it was the most natural thing in the world. On most occasions you were the little spoon so that George could spread out behind you if he needed to, but even if he was in your arms and wriggled out, you would just snuggle back into his side with your head on his chest. It had also become second nature to make sure both bedroom doors were closed when you were together so Lockwood and Lucy would never get the opportunity to spot you in passing or find one of your rooms empty and go searching in a panic. They'd be happy for you, of course they would, but they'd be utterly insufferable about it and you were pretty sure you'd end up having to burn the Thinking Cloth as a precaution.

—

One night, just shy of six months into your time at 35 Portland Row, you were awoken by a tapping which perfectly matched the secret rhythm you'd established with George. You gave a groggy greeting, letting him know you were awake. His curly-haired silhouette appeared as he nudged the door open, but didn't move any further into the room. Normally he’d have been straight over, so his stillness set alarm bells blaring but you suspected you already had an explanation.

You'd become separated from the group on the case earlier that night. It hadn't bothered you at all, in fact you didn't even know it had happened until Lockwood told you later: you'd gone through a hatch in the corner of the kitchen to the basement, rummaging through boxes for the Source, and the rest of the group had moved through to the dining room when the kitchen door slammed shut behind them and refused to budge. For a terrifying moment, all they could think of was you, alone with a Visitor. As it turned out, it had locked you away to give them less backup, not the other way round, and they fought it off while you were completely oblivious (though you did manage to contain its Source). The team had told you what happened but having not been in the moment you hadn't been as rattled by it.

"George?" you asked into the darkness. When he didn't respond, you moved to him. Up close he was easier to see, a sliver of light from the hallway catching the edges of his features. His eyes were wide, lower lip trembling as he took one shaky breath after another. Actually, his entire body was trembling.

"Oh, Georgie," you murmured, heart breaking a little. You reached out to him. He flinched until his eyes refocused and he saw it was you, then immediately pulled you into a crushing hug. As his head buried in your shoulder he began to sob, and you wrapped your arms around him to rub soothingly at his back. Carefully, you closed the door with your foot and, still hugging him tightly, led him towards the bed. You had no choice but to pull away as you got into position, but took his hands to maintain the connection and as soon as you were leaning against the headboard he followed, crumpling against your chest. He mumbled something into your pyjama top, voice so quiet and broken by tearful hiccups that you didn't quite catch it.

"What did you say?"

He sat up, eyes fixed on your face like you might vanish if he so much as blinked. Somehow knowing that you hadn't heard him the first time made it harder to repeat. "I,  um... I said I was scared. What happened today made me realise how easy it would be to lose one of us, to lose you." The realisation hit you like a ton of bricks: he hadn't just come to you for comfort this time, he was here to make sure you were okay, that you were actually there and not just the product of a hopeful imagination. Not much wonder he was so much more physical than usual (eventual cuddling aside, he was never the touchiest person).

Taking the hint, you brought one hand up to cup his cheek. He leaned into the touch as you wiped away his tears with your thumb. Your other hand began to comb through his curls, brushing them away from his face. "I'm here, Georgie, see? I'm okay." He mimicked your movements, stroking your hair to prove your words to himself. "Remember what you said?" you continued. "We're a team, and I know you guys would have done everything you could." You both knew what you weren't saying - that even then, it might not have been enough, but that was the way of the job and the last thing you wanted was for him to blame himself. "And you did - you fought it off which kept it distracted, I never would have had time to find the Source without you."

"And we'd still be fighting it now if you hadn't kept looking. You had our backs too." This was good. That wonderful, logical brain of his was fighting back against the panic. If he could out-reason someone as headstrong as Lockwood, which you'd seen him do more than once, he could do the same to himself. He'd stopped crying at least, but he was still almost vibrating with energy and in no position to take the lead.

You shifted down the mattress until your head was on the pillow and opened your arms. George looked dazed, not processing what you were doing. In fact, he almost seemed to be receding into his oversized T-shirt. He was in a worse state than you'd first thought, too deep in his own mind to clamber out on his own. No amount of baseless reassurance would help at this point. You sighed. "Look, I know there's not really anything I can say that will convince you everything's okay." Something flickered behind his eyes. "The fact is, nothing's ever really okay in a job like this, and that sucks. We have good and bad days, but it's inevitable that something's going to happen to one of us eventually, whether that's on a case or entirely unrelated."

"This is the worst motivational speech ever," George muttered, and you couldn't help but snort. If he was making snarky remarks, that meant he was coming back into himself. You stayed laying down, but reached up and took his hand. He squeezed once, firmly, before settling into a loose grip with his thumb massaging small circles on the back of yours.

"If you'd let me finish, what I'm trying very unsuccessfully to say is that you're never going to be to blame. I know how important your research is to you and you do such an amazing job, honestly we'd be far worse off without you, so the fact that there are so many things in life that we can't change or prevent no matter how prepared we are... that's terrifying," you paused as your voice cracked at the thought, a hidden anxiety of your own unveiled, "but you don't have to deal with it alone. If all this is just fate or circumstance, isn't it a good sign that the universe has given us the people who matter enough that we're willing to try anyway?"

You had no idea where you'd been going with that, blindly trying to find a way to be encouraging without avoiding the root of the issue. You just had to hope that it would resonate with George in the right way and not push him further into the darkness. Every nerve in your body was on high alert, waiting for his reaction.

He moved.

You held your breath.

He folded into your arms with a faint but genuine smile. "Yeah, it is pretty good."

Your entire body relaxed. Hesitantly, testing the waters, you placed a soft kiss into his curls. All these nights in such close proximity had made you especially fond of the scent of his shampoo - lemongrass, paired with a sandalwood body wash - and you savoured the opportunity to breathe him in. "I can't be too mad at a world that lets us do this. No matter what it throws at us, we know it can't possibly mean it."

George squirmed a bit, and you were worried you'd gone too far with the kiss or said the wrong thing. But then he spoke. "Can we switch? Just so I can see you." That made sense. It would be more apparent that you were alright that way, plus you couldn’t deny you loved how safe his embrace made you feel. You let go, both turning together until it was you in his arms. As you stilled, you felt warm breath against the back of your head followed by equally warm lips.

As the pull of sleep grew stronger, George thought fondly about the people the universe had given him. There was you, constant and calming, the reason for his worry and the solution for it. There was Lucy, who from the offset had matched him in wit and eventually in devotion to their friendship. And of course, there was Lockwood, his best friend and the real reason you were all here, universal intervention or not. Lockwood, who could annoy him from across the corridor or appease him from the other end of the house. Actually, that was something. Not once since this started had Lockwood, with his blatant disregard for normal hours and habitual need to throw things at George's door, accidentally barged in on the two of you together. Perhaps the universe was involved after all.

—

Lucy, clad in a blue jumper over her pyjamas and the fuzziest socks she owned, raised her hand to knock on your door, wondering if you were awake to lend her some paracetamol from the little first aid box in your wardrobe as she'd run out and had a splitting headache. She would be surprised if anyone could sleep on a night like this, it was bitterly cold out on the landing and your room wouldn’t be much better unless you’d managed to steal one of the blankets from the library. A second before her fist connected with the wood, a hand grabbed her wrist and she turned defensively. A fully dressed Lockwood hastily released his grip and raised a finger to his lips in a silent hush. He nodded down the landing, leading her away to where they could speak without causing a disturbance.

"What's going on?" she frowned.

"You can't interrupt. George is in there."

Lucy's eyes almost bulged out of their sockets. "How do you know?! Wait, are they...?"

He stifled a laugh and shook his head. "No, no, it's just a comfort thing. They've been doing it for months."

"Okay, that only answers the second question."

Lockwood thought back, relaying the tale as he went along. He'd gone to check on you that very first night, wanting to make sure you weren't too affected by the Type Two. Seeing your door ajar and room empty had been enough to make him nervous, and not being able to find you in the kitchen, library or basement made matters worse. As a last resort, he barged into George's room, ready to ask if the other boy had been told of your plans or heard any movement to suggest you'd gone out. The sight he'd been met with had simultaneously quelled his nerves and set them alight - you and George, fast asleep in each other's embrace. Thank goodness Lockwood was so light on his feet and averse to knocking. He crept back out, vowing to always make sure in future that you were in your respective rooms before following through on his beloved pastime of winding George up.