#i can't tell if it's the exhaustion or the book but so many things happened all at once after so many chapters of k&a travelling

[wedontburnbookshere]

☆☆☆

I ended up a little disappointed in the pace around Part 3 onwards, but I also am aware that if I'd read this when I was thirteen or fourteen, I would have given this book five stars. I'd first picked it up, because the premise made me think of an old OC I'd made when I was twelve -- a vampire-witch hybrid who'd been put into hiding, because vampires and witches hated each other. It was also a Rapunzel retelling, which ticked off yet another love of mine.

So I really wanted to love this book.

I enjoyed it. The world-building was good, and I liked how the tenuous "peace" between the Erlanis Empire and Saren in the current day of the book's setting helps give background on the main characters Ava and Kaye. The former is Sarenian, her parents moving to the Erlanis Empire and the latter mixed. Kaye has always felt like an outsider, and she works hard, needing to prove that she belongs.

She is constantly under scrutiny, not only due to her mixed heritage but due to her mom being seen as a traitor. Kaye's mom, before she died in a vampire attack, had been heard empathizing with a vampires, saying that there must be another way than just killing them outright. Kaye constantly feels her mom's shadow over her, working hard to prove her loyalty and constantly feeling a mixture of grief and shame and confusion but trying to focus only on revenge.

I loved seeing her slowly open up, her walls cracking as the hard truths she knows about the world crumbling under her feet.

In contrast, Ava starts out meek, wanting a shadow to hide under. She's trapped in her room in the attic, the handle on her door pure silver so that she can't touch it without painfully burning herself. Turned into a vampire by her own mother at the age of fifteen, her witch powers were still strong enough to carry through so that she still has them even when undead. Her mother now keeps her locked up to siphon her magic, so she can keep pretending she's human while plotting the empire's downfall.

When her mother is away, Ava is tortured by her vampire-obsessed stepfather, who uses her for experiments to test a vampire's limits for healing. Any time she tries to tell her mother, she doesn't believe her, and Ava is left with only one option: to escape.

A big part of Ava's journey is a power fantasy, which is a reason why I think I would have loved it in my early teens, and I would recommend this book for those aged 12 to 16. She starts out powerless but grows into the most powerful vampire at the end of the book.

I found most of it fun or interesting to read, and the relationship between Ava and Kaye was sweet. Friends turned to enemies due to circumstances and prejudice and then betrayal, and as they grow, they grow closer again. It was a relationship I wish I could have read when I was younger, but I'm very happy it's here now for kids and young teenagers who feel like outsiders and wanting to feel powerful and loved.

[declareqenius]

all the ashes in my wake

summary: part two of "some would sing and some would scream". wanda and natasha have several heated conversations while they wait for you to wake up. it's been days and both of them miss hearing your voice, and they know the last thing you would want to see is them fighting, but wanda can't help tearing into natasha for everything that happened. natasha's guilt eats away at her.

warnings: mentions of the violence in pt 1, coma

a/n: guys i really just wanted to get this one out. i haven't read through it/edited it so any mistakes are... well, mistakes. but hey! we get wanda in this one! i feel like i could have gone a little darker as far as wandanat are concerned, but we do what we can! i hope you enjoy!

The infirmary room is cold and sterile and a heaviness settles over the exhausted woman. Wanda keeps hold of your hand as if letting it go means that you'll slip away for good. She's careful of the IV stuck in the back of your hand giving you fluids. In a way, it serves as a reminder that blood still flows through your veins and your heart still beats, and that even though your bright smile and musical laugh don't fill the room, you're still alive.

Wanda brushes a stray strand of hair behind your ear. She doesn't know how many times she has done that in the past three days, but the gesture comforts her. Tucking your hair behind your ear so she can see your beautiful face better and looking into your sparkling eyes is one of her favorite things to do. Your gaze holds so much love and adoration and it always makes her wish she would never have to live without it.

Your eyes are closed now.

Wanda hates every second of it.

Bruce said that even if you don't respond that you can still hear everything. Wanda trusts that he's telling the truth and it wasn't something he said just to make her feel better.

So she talks to you. About anything and everything she can think of. Your favorite TV show that is on the air right now or the book that you recommended and she finally read. How much she loves you and how she can't wait for you to wake up. How sorry she is that she wasn't there sooner. She makes promises that she intends to uphold. Ones about revenge and torture and everything you would hate and tell her not to worry about were you conscious. Wanda smiles at the thought. She won't listen, though. The Celestials hurt her family. Hurt the love of her life. She can't let that go unanswered for.

Right now, though, you are her priority.

The door handle clicks and Wanda doesn't need to look up. She knows it's Natasha coming back from telling Steve and Yelena what happened. Can feel the exhaustion and guilt dripping from her without having to so much as glance in her direction.

"Wands-"

"I don't want to talk to you right now, Natalia. Sit."

Wanda nods to the unoccupied chair on the other side of the bed without taking her eyes off of you. She's being harsh and she knows it. Natasha was there with you. Right by your side. Made to watch as the leader of their enemies hurt you in the most sloppily calculated way. She was powerless against Najma and Wanda knows this, but all rationality left her when she burst into the cell and laid eyes on your bleeding body, slumped over, barely an ounce of life in you, and her anger nearly consumed her.

She almost leveled the entire block.

The only thing that stopped her was Natasha, carrying you in her arms, reminding her that time was scarce.

So yes, perhaps she is being too harsh with her wife, but somehow you had become their entire lives. Their reason for being. Neither of them would know what to do without you, and they came very close to losing you under Natasha's watch.

They will be okay eventually. They survived many fights and many arguments before you came along.

Tears form in Wanda's eyes.

"Yelena is wondering when she'll be able to see Y/N." Natasha's voice breaks the silence. It's rough and scratchy.

"After she wakes up."

Four words and Wanda can feel how they form on her tongue. Her Sokovian accent is thick with her anger and distress despite the words being spoken soft and firm.

"Wanda," Natasha starts to protest but the finality in her wife's tone makes her go quite.

"Nat."

It's then that Wanda decides to look up at Natasha. Decides to let her wife see her and every emotion that makes its way onto her face and every thought that swirls around in her mind.

Natasha pauses for a moment, taken aback by everything she sees her wife going through. The made-up scenarios. The what-ifs. She knows because she went through every last one of them when she was in that cell with you. To see the same thoughts cluttering Wanda's mind, well, it only makes her guilt worse.

She clears her throat, "Yelena is her best friend."

It comes out as more of a fact than an argument.

At that, Wanda turns her attention back to you, "I don't want anyone except for us and Bruce to see her like this. They don't need to."

"They want to know that she's okay, Wands."

"Tell them that she is. That she will be. That's all they need to know for right now. They need to focus on getting the jump on Najma and the Celestials. Our focus is Y/N. I think our family is capable enough to come up with a plan by themselves, don't you?"

Wanda's calmness is starting to make Natasha uncomfortable and she shifts in her chair. She refuses to touch you, though, afraid of what might happen if she did. Would your body crumble under her fingertips? If you were conscious would your body recoil at her touch? For letting you get hurt. For not protecting you like she should have.

Suddenly streams of tears silently make their way down Natasha's cheeks.

"I'm sorry I let this happen."

Wanda's eyes meet hers again and Natasha feels like she can breathe a little easier. It isn't perfect and she guesses it won't be perfect for a long time, but time will help. The fear will linger within both of them because Natasha knows Wanda almost as well as she knows herself, and she knows that neither of them will be letting you out of their sight for a while after you wake up. Until Najma is taken care of, at least.

Wanda tilts her head as she tries to get a better read on Natasha without using her powers. Even if they would help in the moment she has rules for herself: never on Natasha and never on you.

"They caught you off guard. It is a hard position to be in, radnaja."

Darling. The pet name helps Natasha relax a little more, but her hands stay folded in her lap.

"We needed- I needed to protect her better. We promised to keep her safe and I couldn't do that, Wands. I failed her and I disappointed you and... and what if she decides to leave when she wakes up? I would be the reason we came so close to losing her... and then to actually lose her? I don't know if we could survive it."

"Nat... Y/N loves us with everything she is. Just as we love her. I need you to be confident in that."

Natasha wants to scoff but instead she fidgets with her hands, "Confident? In what, Wanda? That she'll wake up and we'll pretend everything is fine and that we're not the reason she almost fucking died?! That the two people she loves most in the world couldn't protect her like they promised they would? I was powerless Wanda! I couldn't stop them! I-" Natasha's tears flow freely and although the tension in the room is building, she feels safe enough to let herself go in the presence of her wife, "I couldn't save her!"

"Natalia Romanova-Maximoff!" Wanda stands for the first time in hours but she does not drop your hand. It's the only thing grounding her right now. "This is not entirely your fault, radnaja. Maybe if you would have kicked and punched more when they took you then we would be in a different position. Maybe if you had given Najma the answers she was looking for then Y/N wouldn't have been injured as badly as she is but these are all what-ifs, Natasha! What if I had been there with her instead? What if I had been with both of you that night? What if I would have gotten to you sooner? What if she had died!"

Finally, the question that has been on both of their minds since Bruce had walked into the meeting room with your blood all over his neatly ironed button up and jeans- he didn't have time to even think about putting his lab coat on- and told them that you would eventually be okay.

"I have been asking myself that question every day for the past three days," Wanda finishes, salt on her tongue, nose red, and her scarlet hoodie stained with tears.

Natasha cannot find it within herself to tell her wife the new information Bruce gave her in the meeting. While he operated and stitched until he could barely stand any longer; you flatlined once. Your heart decided to give up for a minute and Natasha hasn't had the proper amount of time to process something like that, but the time would never come for Wanda to be able to process the reality of such a thing.

Both women stare down at you with puffy eyes and red noses. You are the most precious thing in the world to them. They hate seeing you so lifeless, and the only wave of hope keeping them afloat is your steady breaths.

The fight has left both of them, but an air of tension remains. They are nowhere near finished with their conversation. With taking their frustrations out. Hopefully they'll have everything figured out before you wake up. Natasha knows how much you hate playing peacemaker when they actually have fights and really get going at each other, but she also knows that her wife can hold a grudge.

She doesn't think Wanda will actually hold a grudge after you wake up, but for now her anger and grief towards Natasha are the only things emotionally anchoring her to reality.

"I miss her, Wands," Natasha sniffs and wipes the tears from her cheeks with the back of her hand.

"Me too, Natalia. Me too."

They sit in silence for a minute, taking everything in. There are no windows in the room and during the day that means zero sunlight. You always say that time in the sun is one of the most important parts of your daily routine, and it always helps you cool down when you're stressed out or in a bad mood.

Natasha is the first to break the silence, speaking directly to you.

"You are going to hate this room so much when you wake up, detka," she muses with the smallest smile.

Wanda only glances at her before turning her attention back to you and sitting down in her chair, trapped in her mind just as Natasha is, but not all hope is lost and for that, the older woman is grateful.

"Believe it or not, she was the calm one. During everything."

"Natasha."

Her name is said softly although there is still a warning behind it, but she needs this and she believes that Wanda does too. Even if she doesn't know it yet.

"Please, Wanda."

Wanda just sighs and nods, never taking her eyes off of you.

"Najma had me struggling within ten minutes. Begged her to take me instead and to let Y/N go. I don't know why I thought it would work, but I think I just wanted Y/N to know that even if I couldn't get us out of there in that moment... I was trying. I would keep trying."

Natasha's voice is still scratchy as her exhaustion slowly catches up with her.

"Y/N was so firm with me. She said not to tell Najma anything and she meant it. I don't think I've ever heard her be that direct before, but she left no room for argument. She knew what the information would do to the family because she... she sees us as her family, Wands." The redhead sniffs and wipes at her eyes when her tears return, making a prominent trail down her cheeks.

"We are all she has left and she means the world to us! And... and I let her down so much. So, so much, Wanda. She stayed so calm! She did so good! She talked to Najma. She had a conversation with the woman who had a knife to her cheek!" Natasha's laugh is reserved, but her features are shock-ridden and amazed, bordering on flabbergasted and anxiety-filled.

Wanda finally looks up at her wife. Natasha is starting to spiral and there is no way to stop it other than just letting her get it all out, so the Sokovian keeps listening to and watching her wife. The recount of events is told with animated hand gestures and tears gliding down Natasha's cheeks, and Wanda's heart clenches.

"We were doing so well. She was doing so well. Then, Najma stabbed her and my heart dropped. I thought it was over. I thought we had lost her for good." The hand gestures come to an abrupt halt and the tension in the room is once again palpable, but not so much as before.

Natasha looks down at you with pleading eyes, "Please forgive me, malyshka," she drops to both knees and finally takes your hand in hers and whispers, "please."

She kisses the back of your hand delicately and you can feel each tear drop as they land in the exact spot she kissed. There is no need to wonder why your girlfriend is crying. You remember everything.

Your eyes slowly blink open to see Natasha's own eyes closed and Wanda staring at her wife with a thoughtful expression. The love they have for each other makes you want to smile, but the urge to reassure your sobbing mob boss girlfriend wins.

"I..." talking hurts but you need to say the words. Natasha needs to know! "Forgive... you. Always... Natty."

[spencersssockss]

Shaving

Summery: Spencer is exhausted after his first day back at work after being released from prison. You help him shave and comfort him.

Warnings: razor (being used to shave), post-prison Reid, nightmares, mention of bruises and cuts, fluff…

Word count: 700

Spencer was a mess when he came home from jail. Covered in cuts and bruises and heavy bags under his eyes. He was struggling, he was overjoyed to see you but so many things had changed about him.

Being in prison stripped him of his self, he couldn't function the way he could before. He had nightmares, he was paranoid, and he was overprotective of everything.

You understood him though, you knew it would take time, and you knew even with an eternity he wouldn't be the same. You just wanted him to be at peace again.

He was exhausted after his first day back at work, physically and mentally. He still had to shave as he still hadn't since he got home, but all he could do was sit in the corner of the bed in silence his head in his hands.

“I'm worried about you,” you say putting your book down and sitting beside him.

“I know,” he sighed placing his head on your shoulder.

“I know things are hard, but I can't help if you don't let me in,” you say grabbing his hand and holding it gently.

“I don't want you to know about the horrible things that happened, you wouldn't see me the same,” he mumbled turning his head from you.

Grabbing his chin and making him look into your eyes you say, “Nothing could change the way I feel about you, I love you, Spence, I just want you to be happy again.” His eyes threaten to spill tears making you hug him tightly.

“Here, I'll help you shave, just relax,” you say standing up from the bed taking his hand in yours, and walking to the bathroom.

“You don't have to,” Spencer frowned.

“I want to, I see you struggling to keep your eyes open, just let me,” you reply pushing some of his messy hair behind his ear.

“Okay,” he finally obliged sitting on the edge of the bathtub. You open a drawer, grab his razor and shaving cream, and sit in front of him on your knees.

“Ready?” you ask smiling at him.

“Yup,” he replied finally cracking a smile filling your heart with happiness. You squirted some of the shaving cream onto your hands and spread it across his face, grabbing the razor to begin.

The razor slid across his skin gently removing all his facial hairs from beneath it. “Am I doing okay?” you ask putting your hand on his thigh for balance.

“Yeah, it's perfect,” he smiled once again looking down at you. You finished shaving and pecked his lips gently, standing up rising out the razor, and putting it back in the drawer along with the shaving cream.

He wrapped his arms around your waist and turned off the bathroom light as the two of you walked back to the room to change and go to sleep.

You changed into your pajamas and so did he, the two of you climbing under the covers together as Spencer held you close in his arms.

“Do you wanna know the real reason I've been having trouble sleeping?” he asked making you turn around to look him in the eyes.

“If you’re ready to tell me,” you say smiling softly as he grabbed your hand.

“I was scared you were going to leave, you know?” “cause I've been so distant and weird lately, when I'm with you I feel safer than I have in a while,” he said a stray tear falling down his cheek. “I didn't want you to leave,” he repeated letting more tears fall.

Your arms wrapped around him as you held him close, he cried softly into your shoulder making your heart shatter.

“Spencer, I'm always going to be here for you, I wouldn't ever leave you,” you answered rubbing his back soothingly.

“Promise?” he asked looking up at you with his tear-stained cheeks.

“Promise,” you answered, wrapping your arms back around him as he tucked his face into the crook of your neck.

“I love you,” he spoke gently.

“I love you too,” you cooed holding him close as he fell asleep.

[fen-luciel]

Jealousy part 2

Part 1 here part 3 here

Warnings: age gap/toxic behavior

Vernestra-Padawan reader/jedi Qimir

I lied. Or rather, I had some ideas while I was writing, so instead of three parts, there will probably be four. Nothing is certain, but... you have been warned.

Leave a comment and share if you are enjoying the story.

I can't say exactly when things started to change. Maybe they were never normal from the beginning, but I was too distracted to see it, blinded by this lie that I childishly told myself.

The more comfortable I felt with Qimir, the worse his relationship with Vernestra became, to the point where in the naivety of my young age, I thought it was my fault, but in truth, I couldn't even see the problem.

I had learned to recognize my master's moods very early on. I understood before even talking to her if she was nervous because of some diplomatic mission or worse. Sometimes I was left to myself for entire days, i knew her missions were very important and that I would only slow her down, but all I could do was read and train with other padawans and read again and... do nothing.

So, while I daydreamed about the magnificent future missions with my master... I spent time with Qimir.

Of course, he was busy too, but I eagerly awaited his return each time. He would tell me what he did, who he met on his travels, the fights to the last breath, and, he was good at narrating them. He often came to see me in the library, where he would put on a silent show due to the librarian's constant admonishments, using books as pieces of the story and his lightsaber to represent himself. I laughed so much that my cheeks hurt, I used my hands to muffle the louder sounds, and Qimir seemed to love every moment of it. Sometimes, I wondered if he didn't deliberately behave insanely on missions just to tell me about it when we would meet.

The months passed quickly. After about a year as a padawan, I began to distinguish between what I was good at and what I was terrible at. For example, I was great at controlling the Force, but terrible at using the sword. Not because I wasn't good from a technical standpoint, but more for a mental reason, the idea of hurting someone paralyzed me. I wanted to be a Jedi who protected the weak, but I had missed the part where, if you're protecting them, it's because someone is hurting them, someone who probably should be stopped even with the use of force.

Worse still, I was terrified of my master's weapon, the whip seemed so unpredictable to control, yet she used it with deadly precision and wanted me to try it too. She believed my fear was natural for a young mind, that I just needed to unlock myself, but for me, it wasn't like that.

And it got worse when I sought comfort in Qimir.

Maybe, in hindsight, I should have realized something, but it's easy to talk when the worst has already happened. I remember very well what happened that evening, I was exhausted after all the sword training. Vernestra didn't seem particularly happy with my outburst a few hours earlier when I tried to say that maybe I wasn't suited to be a knight, that I could have pushed myself into the medical field or even just be an assistant, maybe a volunteer in war zones. She thought I was speaking without knowing anything, pushing me all afternoon to train in various forms. My hands hurt from calluses, but instead of running to the infirmary, I decided to knock on Qimir's room.

"I don't understand why she doesn't want to accept it. I... don't want to hurt anyone." I broke the tense silence that had formed while Qimir wrapped my fingers with the bandages he had in the bathroom.

"No one said you have to. You're a Jedi, our job is to fight for those in need." He was focused on looking at my fingers, so he didn't notice the grimace I gave him, "And I understand that. But I don't feel suited for that role. Many Jedi perform different duties, fighting isn't essential for everyone." He sighed a laugh.

"I think Vernestra is worried about your safety, it's okay to seek your vocation elsewhere, but our faith leads us to interact with dangerous environments, even the most peaceful mission could hide a terrible evil." He finished the bandaging, then gently took my hands in his, the warmth of his palms a pleasant consolation to the painful throbbing of the blisters that filled my fingers.

He looked at me again with a sad smile on his lips, "I understand that you feel sure of what you want. But, flower, you're still a child. And you have many years ahead of you before you face the final exam, you don't know what will happen or if you will change your mind, don't take what you feel for granted." I blushed foolishly at the nickname he had started calling me some time ago, something about how "I seemed delicate like a flower".

"I know, but... don't you think lightsabers are terrifying?" I stuttered uncertainly, looking into his eyes.

And that moment. That single instant when he gave me that sweet smile, I shivered.

"That's what makes them so beautiful, right?"

I didn't have an answer, maybe yes, but I wouldn't have had the courage to tell him at the moment. I only know that I swallowed a bitter bite and freed myself from his grip, a heavy breath escaping my mouth, "I have to go, thanks for the bandages," I got up quickly and fled from that room as if I had someone on my heels.

That shiver down my spine, that rancid smell at my nose, I couldn't imagine it at the time, but that was the first time I felt fear.

Of course, I blamed myself entirely, I was exaggerating, everyone said so, I was terrified of violence in a way not suitable for the role I was supposed to fill in the future, I should have recovered quickly and restarted my training. I tried to forget that evening, as I had gradually forgotten that conversation on Hoth, but that was just the beginning.

The missions with Qimir keeping us company decreased over time, sometimes he just stopped by for a greeting or joined us more to keep me company if he had a free moment. I really appreciated the time together, I liked that we could remain silent without making it seem strange, once on Naboo he showed me almost the whole city since he had already visited it before. We got ice cream overlooking a lake in complete silence, the sunset was spectacular, and with the light sounds of the forest accompanying us, I fell asleep with my face pressed against his side.

The next morning, I found myself in my room with his cloak as a blanket since I was still dressed. When I tried to return it, he teased me, saying I had slipped on the ground when I pressed against him. I yelled at him that he was rude to tell me that, but only because I didn't have the courage to admit that I found it hilarious. If I had given him rope, he would have teased me about it for months.

When I was finally old enough to accompany the master on some of her more dangerous missions, my opinion on weapons had not changed, but I had made peace with myself and decided to find my combat style.

I was proud of how I built my lightsaber, but I had to modify it when I implemented the double-sided exit to have a double-bladed saber. It made me feel safer using it, more protected, and it was a more versatile weapon, especially for more enemies. So, once I got used to using it combined with a defensive fighting style, I finally felt complete.

On the field, I rarely used the lightsaber, trusting more in my control of the Force to block my opponents and stun them. I knew Vernestra was not entirely happy with how I restrained myself, but I tried to excel in everything else, hoping it was enough.

On a return trip to Coruscant, both wounded and tired, we talked once again about the problem that had arisen when it was needed.

What was supposed to be a quiet afternoon defending senators had turned into a nightmare when a bomb exploded at the meeting place, civilians fleeing in terror, and only a Jedi and a padawan handling the dozen terrorists shooting at the crowd.

The situation obviously got out of hand, and we survived by a miracle. Before calling the council to let them know what had happened, seeing me still so shaken, Vernestra hugged me.

I clung to her robe, barely holding back tears, the memory of all the wounded passing under my eyes still fresh, but she grabbed my shoulders, and looking at me with a determined face, she said, "You did well. I am proud of you."

A few minutes later, when we could finally sit down, I had the courage to speak.

"I killed them. It was so..." I was looking at the blue of hyperspace around us, lost in my thoughts, I don't know if I was talking more to myself or to her.

"You did what was necessary. On other occasions, we could have captured them, but we were at a disadvantage. Sometimes, to save lives, you have to make drastic choices," her tone always confident, as if it were all normal, and technically it was, for her.

I no longer knew what I was doing at that point.

"I know, but... my hands..." were shaking. They shaking even then, in the peace of our shuttle. I held onto the armrests tightly as if I were afraid of falling.

"Maybe Qimir is right."

I turned suddenly, confused, hearing his name mentioned out of nowhere. She sighed before looking at me again, "He thinks it would do you good to train with him a bit. He has been suggesting it to me for a while..." she cleared her throat before looking away.

"Maybe dealing with a more aggressive combat style like his would help you unlock. I know you two have become friends, and... he is much better than me at making you feel comfortable. He might be more helpful than I am."

I was taken aback, more by the fact that Qimir had suggested something like that without letting me know anything. It gave me a strange, somewhat unpleasant feeling that I couldn't quite identify.

But still, my problems at the moment were different, so I nodded. I already felt guilty enough for hesitating in the face of danger. Despite the comforting words, I couldn't shake off the feeling that I had failed.

“Just… be careful, okay?”

The look he gave me is one I would never forget. That… knowing glint deep in his eyes, like a warning bell. But I ignored it.

I nodded, but I ignored it.

When we got home, she headed towards the council room to submit her report. She advised me to go rest since it was already evening, but after saying goodbye to her, I quickly walked down the Jedi corridor. I had been injured and was limping slightly, the next day, I could get myself healed quickly by a healer using the Force, but at that moment, it was a different kind of pain tormenting me.

I knocked hard on Qimir's door without even thinking about it, two, three times before I heard some commotion on the other side, bare footsteps approaching the door before it opened.

“I hope you have a good reason for knocking on my door at this hour—” he mumbled sleepily, his hair messy and wearing only a pair of sweatpants. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes, confused, when I jumped into his arms.

My face pressed against his warm chest, and the tears I had been holding back until then started to fall relentlessly, accompanied by a few sobs.

He woke up suddenly, understanding what was happening. He effortlessly picked me up before entering the room and shutting the door behind him. “Hey, hey, my sweet flower, what's wrong?” he whispered in my ear, now fully awake.

I hid my face in his neck while he hugged me tightly, my legs hanging down the sides of his hips, my tears wetting the skin of his chest as I tried to stammer out coherent words.

I had never felt so small until that night, hidden in his arms. Although his cheerful personality made him seem childish at times, I tended to forget that we were a little over ten years apart, we didn’t really share anything except our loyalty to the Order and the same master, but we weren’t the same age, and we didn’t even have similar hobbies. We… he treated me like a little sister with absent parents.

I had run off to seek the safest comfort I knew, and he had given it to me without a second's protest.

He listened to my tear-flavored words without saying anything, his fingers brushing through my hair, partly caressing my scalp. He held me against his chest tighter when my sobs were too much to utter even a single syllable. He didn’t say anything when I was done, had me take off my shoes and most of my dirty tunic, and then lay down in bed with me.

I was pressed between the wall and his warm body, one arm on my side, and the covers wrapped around me like a cocoon.

The next day, still comfortably pressed against his chest, I took a moment to sort out my thoughts. I was ashamed of having lost my composure like that, i shouldn’t have fallen victim to fear, so I slipped away at dawn to avoid facing him. We never talked about what happened, I didn’t have much to say anyway and went back to focusing on my studies.

A few days later, Vernestra came to tell me she would be away to resolve the conflict that had arisen after that attack and that I was entrusted to Qimir as she had mentioned. I had already forgotten about that story, but it all came flooding back when we said goodbye on the platform. Her hesitant look as she stopped halfway up the ramp. I saw her sigh, maintaining a stoic expression before coming back to me one last time. “Trust your instincts, Padawan. If something makes you uncomfortable or… you just leave, got it? You’re still too young for certain matters.”

I didn’t have time to ask her what she was referring to, she boarded the ship right after and left, leaving me there with questions on the tip of my tongue.

Qimir sought me out soon after. I was hiding in the library every afternoon, hoping not to run into him and avoid training, but of course, it didn’t last long. With his usual light smile and calm demeanor, he approached me one morning, “Are you perhaps skipping your training, Padawan?” he asked, mimicking an authoritative tone.

I couldn’t even laugh. In the end, I gave in. I had promised my master, and the fear I felt that afternoon still gave me nightmares, so I followed him into the training room.

Fighting Qimir was like facing a hurricane, seemingly chaotic but, in reality, a perfectly concentrated deadly force of nature. I was used to exhausting rhythms, so I didn’t find it difficult, but what destabilized me was his gaze. It seemed like he really wanted to kill me.

Fast and lethal with his double violet lightsabers, he often aimed at my legs to make me fall and gain an advantage over me. I squirmed uneasily under that assault, of course, that was the goal of that training, but… there was a cold wind behind him. A suffocating sensation, a chill on my skin that made me doubt who or what I was facing.

Vernestra was away for just under a month, during which I trained with Qimir when I wasn’t studying. One of the last training sessions was grueling. I began to doubt he wanted to take it easy on me from the beginning, we clashed forcefully -with our lightsabers- because “it’s needed to keep you sharp ” as if the strikes he aimed at me weren’t enough to keep me alert.

A particularly painful strike to the thigh made me fall heavily to the ground, the fabric of my robe smoking from the slash. When I looked up at him, now disarmed, I almost vomited. Those eyes… now I could recognize them. The eyes of a killer. The same as those men that afternoon weeks before who had charged into the crowd.

I fled the room, took a shower, and went to bed without dinner. I was sure I was going insane. I was tired and nervous and seeing things that weren’t there. I tried to shake off that voice in my head that screamed at me to be careful with Qimir, the guilt clashing with the fear. I tried to bury it all once again, deeper and further away.

And so my routine returned to normal once everything was back to how it was before, and the master had returned, although… I had started to avoid Qimir. It wasn’t that I was running away from him, it was more like a need for personal space, let’s say. Luckily, he was sent on a mission, but he wrote to me almost every evening with messages about his goals, to which I replied with monosyllables. He realized something was wrong, but when he asked me how I was or if something had happened, I dodged the question.

During a mission in the Outer Rim, I was able to indirectly spy on a call between Vernestra and Qimir. She was scolding him for some unspecified decision, but it was the final warning that made me waver. “You’re losing your composure lately. Leave the mission and return to Coruscant to meditate on your choices.” My breath stopped when I heard him shouting through the holopad. I couldn’t quite make out the words, but he was complaining about the poor results of the missions or something like that. I swallowed down that memory too. It had been an outburst due to a tense situation, it could happen. I had to stop thinking about it.

Shared missions completely disappeared. Qimir and I only saw each other to spend time together. One evening, he took me to dinner in a somewhat shabby place with the promise that I could bring my fellow Padawans there when we were older. The light conversation at the table was pleasant before silence surrounded us.

“I’m sorry we see each other less lately,” he finally sighed after dessert.

I shrugged, relaxed. “Well, we have our duties. And I need to keep studying.” I thought I had given a satisfactory answer, but he looked more frowned than before. “It’s unfair. I want a Padawan too.”

I chuckled at the thought. “I think you need a few more years for that.” But he didn’t laugh, instead, he… stared at me in a way I couldn’t decipher. “Why do you say that? You’re growing well.”

I frowned at the answer. “Qimir, I’m Vernestra’s Padawan. No offense, but it’s she who’s raising me,” I maintained a smile that he didn’t share. “You spend more time with me than with her.”

I shifted uncomfortably under his gaze. I wanted to tell him that it was normal since we were friends, but that had little to do with the conversation we had started. To tell him that, as good as he was, he still struggled to act like a real authoritative figure suitable for a young boy who needs to learn the Jedi way, but… of course, I said nothing.

I didn’t feel like it. That conversation died just as it had begun.

It seemed that as time went by, that cheerful air around him faded. Maybe it was the maturity I was gaining that woke me up from that waking dream I was living. I recognized certain expressions or glances better, those smiles that once warmed my heart now had a bitter aftertaste. I began to wonder if something had been wrong from the start. Sometimes those strange warnings from Vernestra or those fragments of memories where I had seen him in a different light, more sinister, would come back to me.

So, I made a decision.

It was better to put some distance between the two of us, maybe growing up, I would be able to face him better, understand what was going through his head, and once matured, I would be able to help him as he helped me.

I don’t know if that decision was the straw that broke the camel’s back, if it was something inevitable that had already begun, or if there was no escape. Looking back at everything that happened, the mistakes had started much earlier, but how much blame did I truly deserve?

I was young, naive, it wasn’t my job to see beyond the veil of lies, beyond the Jedi, beyond the Force.

I wouldn’t have been able to recognize the dark side under those circumstances.

And in fact, I didn’t recognize it until it was too late.

And there it was, right in front of me, taking my breath away.

[atarathegreat]

Scary Wife Privileges Tokyo Revengers

Featuring: Chifuyu Matsuno, Mitsuya Takashi, Hakkai Shiba

You were getting tired of it, hearing Chifuyu complain about Takemichi and how the man runs things. "He'll come back, I know he will, but it's just aggravating right now."

When he talked about his boss he made little sense. You never understood his ramblings about "any day now." and "It's been twelve years." Some days it was too much and you started an argument with Chifuyu, an argument where he constantly refused to tell you anything about what he meant. It was pissing you off. Majorly. You wanted Chifuyu to be happy, but when he came home exhausted and angry every night, you didn't feel that he was happy.

His friends greeted you as you walked through the big building, smiles and waves from both sides as you walked to your husband's office. Chifuyu had been in a particularly bad mood the whole week and you hadn't made it any better by causing fights when he came home. Remorse was one of the many emotions you were feeling, topped with a cute little bow to compound everything and stamp it in like concrete.

"Fuyu," You spoke softly, a way you hadn't spoken to him in months, "do you have time?"

It was in his eyes, the fact that something had already happened was painted into the dark circles under his lashes. It made your heart lurch as he smiled sadly at you. "Always have time for you, baby." Chifuyu held a hand out to pull you in as you approached, "As long as you didn't come here to fight, in that case, I'm in a meeting." His half hearted joke made you sigh, "Already, today?"

His chest heaved with a sigh, "Trashed his own office. Don't worry, he wasn't mad at me this time."

There was no time for a response as the very man exploded into your husband's office behind you. He was on edge, clearly, but you didn't care about what he had to say. Months of anger from seeing your husband drink until he fell asleep with his face buried in your chest just poured out.

"Shut up. No one cares about whatever bullshit you're about to spout. Is this how you treat all of your workers?" You snapped, hands on your hips as you chastised him, "You're the exact definition of an asshole and so help you if my husband comes home angry again."

Takemichi looked caught off guard, a stark contrast to the man you'd not only met at your wedding, but the man in the stories Chifuyu brought home. He stumbled over his words, but you continued to chew into him as Chifuyu hugged around your waist and smiled into your shirt.

Mitsuya was used to the nitpicking his clients did, often smiling and agreeing, even if he didn't. He wasn't the type to retaliate because of a bad mood, especially since it was going to be something the other person wore and he would never have to look at it again.

And yet he kept having to send you silent glares and pointed looks to keep you from speaking up as you watched him work.

"And maybe if there was more detail in the train-"

"Do you know how long he's spent on this ugly garbage?" You spoke clearly, your nose in a book so you couldn't see Mitsuya glaring at you, "All the detail on the sleeves took two months anyways. And that's not including the beading along the end. Can't you appreciate that?"

The client stared at you, open mouthed and shocked. But you kept on, "To ask for more detail when he's already fixing the fabric to your measurements is... Stupid."

Mitsuya sighed, "Apologies for her."

"Don't apologize for me." When did you get off the couch? "How about you let him finish this piece so he can come home to his family at a decent time, yeah? His daughters are tired of going to sleep without Daddy tucking them in."

The club was loud. Too loud. You cursed under your breath at your husband for bringing you along with him. It wasn't your vibe, the whores and half naked bartenders that walked around while rich, old men played card games. Your dress, the one Hakkai told you to wear so you would fit in while still being modest, was swaying around and scratching at your ankles. People were staring at you as you walked through with your heels in hand. It wasn't your fault, the shoes were hurting your feet and Hakkai had disappeared almost an hour ago. You would've already headed home if you knew Hakkai wouldn't throw a fit.

"Black Dragon trash." You hissed under your breath when you finally saw him. He was laughing with his guys, seemingly ignoring the woman massaging his shoulders. Hakkai zoned in on your hips as you straddled his lap, your chest pressing into his face as you got in the woman's face, "Hands off, unless you want to give hand jobs with stumps for the rest of your life."

The fear you instilled in the woman was attractive to Hakkai, and his men noticed as well. It wouldn't have been the first time you'd left them with raging hard ons, and Hakkai sent a glare at all of them.

"Go rub up on someone else's husband, or so help me god the only use that pretty little mouth will have is sucking food through a straw."

[copperbadge]

hi, i had a medium to big question. in your post about the adhd self-help book you mentioned people with adhd being conditioned to be nonconfrontational, but i've never once in my entire life connected the two? can you break down the connection for me so that i can once again (this week, even) have my understanding of my own condition blown wide open?

So, you are not the only person to ask about this, but that's on me for being unclear -- I wasn't trying to assert that kids with ADHD are automatically conditioned to be nonconfrontational, I was more trying to be like "Hey not everyone needs lessons in medical self-advocacy but a lot of nonconfrontational people do." And I think there is a higher population of people with neurodivergence who are deeply confrontation-averse, but I don't have like, numbers for that, it's just an assumption based on other knowledge.

It gets complicated; ADHD is a disease based heavily in acting impulsively against your best interests. But yeah I do think people with ADHD are often conditioned to avoid confrontation because of two main factors: rejection-sensitive dysphoria and executive dysfunction.

RSD, which I hate perhaps more than any other symptom or behavior associated with ADHD, automatically kicks our nervous system into high gear in social situations and encodes embarrassing moments in our memory with high-def clarity. Because RSD naturally causes a level of anxiety around socialization, it tends to make us nonconfrontational simply because a) we don't want to be yelled at, b) we don't want to embarrass ourselves by getting emotional about something that may not warrant it, and c) by the time we realize what's happening our body is already on high alert which means we are likely to go into fight-flight-freeze mode.

Me, I freeze, usually, but none of those three options are great for fast thinking during an argument. I used to lose arguments a lot simply because I couldn't think or react as fast as the neurotypical person I was fighting with, so I simply stopped having fights. Notably, I did not have this problem when fighting with my brother, who is also neurodivergent and has many of the same freeze reactions I do.

If people disagree with me, even when I know I'm right I also know I probably won't be able to vocalize it properly, so I back down. Usually it's trivial so it doesn't matter, and I've gotten strategic about how and when I argue about things that do matter; it's also a lot easier to do with strangers or professionals (like doctors) where I don't have to worry about long-term social repercussions. But yeah, our own nervous system tells us "hey maybe don't pick this fight" about every single fight and if we do pick that fight, it treats our opponent as a dangerous predator.

Executive dysfunction's interaction with nonconfrontation is something I have less problem with because while I do have poor executive function, I've spent a lot of time and energy training myself to cover the Important Stuff. I have mild ADHD so I'm capable of this; I'm not trying to say everyone with ADHD is, because lord knows it's exhausting for me and I've been doing it for roughly thirty years. But essentially, I cover where it counts: if someone needs me to do something I do it, I meet deadlines, I pay bills.

So with that disclaimer in place, a very common issue especially for children with undiagnosed ADHD is that they'll be told or asked to do something and simply be unable to begin or complete it, then when they're asked why they didn't do it they can't explain. Even if they try to explain that they simply couldn't, like they were incapable of doing it for reasons they don't understand, that usually doesn't hold water with a lot of parents and teachers.

"I couldn't bring myself to write this essay," is actually something I told myself a few times in college, but it's not something I'd bother trying to tell someone else, because if you think you're neurotypical that sounds very insane. So I'd lie and say I forgot, or I'd take the fail, or I'd simply drop out of the class. Crucially I would not fight with the authority figure who was questioning me about it, because I knew I wouldn't be able to explain myself, and I'd just end up getting in more trouble for longer.

Our culture is structured for neurotypicals, and it's not even structured for all neurotypicals. Behavior that deviates from Approved Neurotypical even when you think you are Approved Neurotypical is highly punishable. So if your options are passivity, even when passivity leads to pain, or confrontation, most people who aren't Approved Neurotypical will opt for passivity once they've had a taste of where confrontation leads. I know I do.

And the thing is, there's nothing actually wrong with that. It's a strategy calculated to minimize pain. Even when I'm firing on all cylinders on a fresh dose of Adderall, I still generally let fights go unless there will be actual real consequences, because it's just not worth it. But knowing we have ADHD and knowing we fall into this pattern, I think it is good to be aware that sometimes letting a fight go is really going to fuck you, and at that point even being bad at it is better than not engaging.

I'm pretty good at calculating those, but it's a lifelong process, knowing which hills to die on when you assume you will automatically die if you ever get above sea level.

[tollingreminiscentbells]

In the defense of bottom!Voldemort|Tom

I'm in a mood, so I've decided to break down my thoughts on this topic and I'm putting it in the tags for anyone who is interested. With a suitably melodramatic title.

The rules here are simple: if you know you won't like this, don't read it. If you read it anyway and don't like it, that is the definition of a you problem. Okay? Okay.

So let's talk about why I think it is incorrect and, frankly, offensive to claim that Voldemort|Tom bottoming is inherently out of character.

In order to have this conversation, we're actually having a bigger conversation about sex. Because that's really what this is about.

Something that has popped up in a handful of comments on my own fic is surprise that Voldemort wants to suck Harry's cock. Now, I'm going to be charitable and assume that the people who say things like this don't realize what they're implying. But the reality is that they are operating from the assumption that a man sucking another man's dick is, at least to some extent, weak and degrading. A subservient act.

This is both homophobic and factually untrue. A significant percentage of people who like dick also like giving blowjobs. It's an enjoyable, pleasurable thing to do. And even if the physical act of sucking cock doesn't turn someone on, there are so many other reasons to want to do it. Getting off on being the source of your partner's pleasure, for one example.

But let's move on to the elephant in the room: anal sex. Specifically, the act of being penetrated. The interesting thing about bottoming is that, contrary to what some people seem to believe, it's the more powerful position. Penetration is only happening because the person bottoming is granting permission. Even if that person has ceded total control of the encounter, the fact remains that they made that decision in the first place and could un-make it at any time.

If that agency does not exist, the sex is not truly consensual. Full stop.

Moreover, a strong, dominant personality =/= topping. There is no innate correlation. This is where misogyny really comes to the table. Bottoming seen as a feminine act, and femininity conflated with weakness and submission. Do I think (most) Tomarrymort readers are consciously thinking this way? No. But that doesn't mean the underlying bias isn't present.

There are so many ways penetrative sex can play out. Yes, you get the "classic" version of the person topping being dominant and the person bottoming being submissive. But you can also get topping from the bottom, where the dominant partner in every way is the person being fucked. Or maybe no one is taking a dominant role. Et cetera. This is a broad overview, not an exhaustive list.

Do you see what none of these things have? An assumption that topping=stereotypical masculinity and bottoming=stereotypical femininity. Even with a couple that likes playing with that flavor of gender roles, it's a choice they're making. And before someone willfully misunderstands me, there is nothing wrong with that choice. But don't mistake it for something it's not.

So now that we've clarified that being penetrated is not weak, degrading, or even inherently submissive, let's bring this back to Tomarrymort.

First of all, have you read the books? Voldemort is campy as shit. High drama and a surprisingly great sense of humor (his jokes are fucked up, but also pretty funny). He's not this hyper-masculine figure. On the flip side, Harry is not an effeminate man. He's a jock who will fight you.

So from whence comes this zealous dedication some people have to a fixed dynamic that puts Voldemort|Tom in the masculine role and Harry in the feminine role? Yes, we've established that sex positions are neither of those things, but we all know that's the assumption simmering toxically in the background.

I can't say for sure, but my instincts tell me that it comes from a shallow read of both characters. Voldemort is a powerful man who commands a terrorist organization. Harry is the good-hearted hero, defined by his capacity to love. And this can get twisted into Voldemort|Tom taking and Harry giving in a very reductive way. Even when the relationship is meant to be consensual.

Obviously, I don't think this is universal. I've read a lot of incredible takes on sex in this fandom, with different top/bottom/switching dynamics. And this is fanfiction, which means you can play with characterization to your heart's content. What I'm talking about is people insisting that Voldemort|Tom must top and Harry must bottom and anything else is wrong.

Why are you so adamant about that? Have you ever given it a moment's thought? If you prefer it, you prefer it, that's all fine. But when it morphs into claiming that bottom!Voldemort|Tom is out of character and bad, things have crossed over into the arena of the absurd. Like what you like, but be aware of what you're really saying when you talk about sex.

Not conflating bottoming with weakness and topping with strength would be a good starting point. Understand that there are myriad reasons a person might want to bottom. It can be a source of relief, allowing someone else to take control so you don't have to. It can be an act of manipulation. It can be a form of domination. And sometimes it's just because bottoming is what feels good and they have more fun that way. Or it's just the kind of pleasure they're in the mood for on a random Tuesday night.

No one is telling you to read things you don't enjoy. And no one is saying that fixed top/bottom dynamics don't exist in the real world. But it's ridiculous to apply a fixed dynamic to such a degree that you get upset when other people write something else and consider a fic "ruined" by it. You really should put some thought into your biases. It's good for you. But even if you don't, when you claim a sexual dynamic is inherently out of character, you're actually just wrong. So stop doing that. It will be a net gain for all of us, including you.

[dsireland86]

Hi! I'm this anon "God i can't stop picturing Matt as a dad or literally any of the boys i have really bad baby fever right now."

And in all honesty i will take whatever you are willing to give me or have time to write

Anonymous.... I'm sorry this took so long. Hope this makes up for all the time waiting

🤰🩷🫄💙👨‍🍼🩷👩‍🍼💙👶🩷👶💙👶🩷👶

Baby Fever

@philomenie @supersquirrel1996 @foliosgirl @angelmarie89 @fadingintothegrey @theanarchymuse95 @thisbicc @lma1986 @dominuslunae @shayzillaaaa @thefallenangel @fadingintothegrey  @an0mallly @alwaysfightforwhoyouare @mrsnoahsebastian

Each one is different, yet the same. Both dad and baby are made up of the same D.N.A, but somehow, they manage to become two entirely different personalities.

Dad Matt/Little Critter:

He's extremely protective of his mama bear. From the very first moment he saw the two little blue lines on the pregnancy test, Matt went into hard core protective mode. For the first few weeks, he was seriously worried about your morning sickness. Every time that it happened, he was asking if the little critter was okay or if you needed to go to the hospital, completely stressed over the number of times you kept getting sick. Eventually, you convinced him that it was normal and he settled down.

The next few months, your belly got bigger, and at first, it didn't register with Matt that the baby could move in such a tight little space. But one night, while you were laying down in bed, watching "Gray's Anatomy" reruns, and he had his hand resting on your swollen belly, he felt the baby kick, and it blew his mind. It made him so happy that he spent the next hour in the family group chat telling the guys all about it.

When you and the baby got to thirty-six weeks, Matt was a panicked lunatic. He worried constantly, making sure you remembered the steps to your birth plan and how to breathe once labor started. He had everything you and your little critter needed packed and by the front door for when the time came. However, babies come when they want to come, which happened to be while you were at the grocery store, and your water broke. It wasn't long before the contractions started, twelve minutes apart at first. Matt rushed you to the car, completely abandoning the cat of groceries, and got you to the hospital as your contractions grew closer together.

Hours later, Matt held his newborn son in his arms. After watching you go through what you did, you had become his hero. You were officially the strongest and bravest person he knew. Matt gushed over your baby, in complete disbelief that the two of you had created something so perfect. After showing him off to the guys through copious amounts of texts and pictures, Matt climbed into the hospital bed with you that night, and with your son safely beside you, held you while you rested and recovered safely under his protection.

Dad Nicholas/Little Bean:

Nicholas is the laid-back soon to be dad. He was in the studio when you texted him to come home where he found you crying on the sofa with a positive pregnancy test in your hand. He knew you weren't upset about the baby, but rather just scared. Immediately taking it upon himself to be the strong one for the both of you, Nicholas booked an appointment for a mani/pedi session later that day.

Cravings, cravings, cravings... that is what Nick was the best at. Whatever you and little bean were craving, he made it, and if he couldn't make it, he went out and got it. At first, he didn't mind the semi-odd foods: vanilla ice cream with Doritos or pickle sandwiches, but when you started asking for things like chocolate chip cookies topped with baked beans or watermelon with hot sauce, Nicholas may or may not have gaged a little.

By the end of the pregnancy, you were beyond exhausted. Creating and carrying your little bean hadn't been an easy task. Nicholas knew this and made it a point to spoil you with foot rubs, massages, and warm bubble baths, joining you occasionally. He loved watching and feeling your belly as your baby moved from the feeling of the warm water or the sound of their daddy's voice. After getting out, Nicholas would dry you off because bending over was out of the question, helping you dress and walk you to the bed where you'd pass out almost immediately.

The birth was scary for you. Full of anxiety, when you went into labor, you almost had a panic attack because of how intense the contractions were. Nick got you to the hospital where your water broke just as soon as you made it inside the hospital. Forty-five minutes later, your beautiful newborn baby girl laid safely on your chest. Nicholas beamed with pride over his girls, praising you for how well both of you did. That night, as you slept soundly, Nicholas sat in the chair with your little bean safely asleep on his chest.

Dad Noah/ Little Angel:

Noah sat with you in the bathroom the morning you took the first pregnancy test. When the little plus sign appeared, all he could do at first was just silently stare at it. You caressed his face, telling him everything was going to be okay. You both had wanted a baby for a long time, and now the time had finally come. Noah believed you, gaining faith through your confidence, but it still didn't keep him from overthinking and over analyzing everything.

The day came to find out what you were having. You had asked Noah if he wanted to find out or keep it a secret until birth, but he was persistent about finding out. He said he needed a name to go with the little human you had created together. Sitting in the dimly lit room, the sound of your baby's heartbeat surrounded you. Its soft echo was music to Noah's ears based on the smile he was wearing. He looked at you, and you swear you saw years. After a few minutes of waiting, the nurse finally informed you that your baby was a little girl. You watched in absolute joy as a tear rolled down Noah's cheek while he tightly held your hand, staring up at the screen that showed him his little baby girl.

Singing, lots of singing, and music. The house was filled with it. From the day he found out you were having a little girl, Noah was singing to your belly constantly. Most of the time it was soft whispers of new lyrics or soft chords of the guitar when you were laying in bed together. His hand would lay gently on your bump, feeling the low thumps of your little angel's little heartbeat or the rapid kicks and movement when she recognized your voices. The connection to your baby that Noah already had was precious, making your heart skip beats after beats at knowing how great of a dad he was going to be.

The birth of your little angel wasn't ideal. She was breached, causing you to have a scheduled cesarean section in order to protect both of your lives. You were nervous, but Noah was beside himself. Every worry, every concern, every fear, he wore on his face, making your heart break for him. You assured Noah that everything would be fine, that he would be able to be with you and watch your baby girl make her grand entrance. On a rainy afternoon, your little angel arrived after a fifty minute surgery. Once in recovery, Noah cuddled up next to you very carefully, watching in awe as you nurse your baby girl. You fed her from your body like a pro, your mommy instincts already kicking in. Noah kissed your forehead as you rested against him, both of you gazing lovingly at your new precious gift.

Dad Folio/Little Fish:

Everyone knew the moment you and Folio got married that it was just a matter of time before he got you pregnant. Seven months later, the little plus sign appeared, making Folio howl in excitement. He was like a crazy person, picking you up and running with you through the house screaming about how much he loved you and couldn't believe he was going to be a dad. Nothing about the news frightened him. Folio had everything already planned out as far as taking the baby fishing and teaching him or her how to ride and play drums. Through all the crazy excitement, you were constantly having to remind Nick that the baby had to grow a little before teaching them all of that stuff. He understood, but it made you wonder the day he came home with a baby size Harley shirt and a fishing pole.

The sex wouldn't stop. Folio was all about how your bump grew and your body changed. It was a huge turn-on for him, watching the way your breasts swelled and your flat little tummy began to expand with the life of his child. He was constantly telling you how beautiful you looked, even though you felt like road kill from all the morning sickness. Because he was afraid of hurting you little fish, taking you from behind quickly became his favorite position unless you were on top. He loved watching you pleasure yourself on him while his hands rested on your swollen belly, rubbing it and feeling the life with move against his callused drummer hands.

Creating the nursery wasn't something you thought Folio would be into. When it came time to pick a theme, he wanted to choose it. After finding out that your little fish was a boy, Folio went crazy in picking out ten different themes. Thankfully, you were able to reel him in and eventually talk him down to two, finally settling on fish, of course. He did everything: painted the walls, hung the border, put together the crib and the changing table, and brought in the chest of drawers. Seeing him so committed to making you happy and making the life of his unborn child so comfortable made your heart swell with pride.

Unfortunately, Folio was late for the birth. After spending all day in the studio tracking drums, he got your call about going into labor. He left immediately, but thanks to traffic, was late getting to you. He walked in just as you were pushing, bursting into the happiest tears the second you saw him. He rushed over to you, kissed you, and encouraged you to listen to the doctor when she told you to push, holding your hand the entire time. Folio watched as your baby boy, your little fish, entered the world, even cutting the cord himself and placing the screaming little fella right on your chest. Instantly he stopped crying, and Folio watched as you held his child, comforting him as if you had known him your whole life.

Dad Jolly/Little Nugget:

Jolly knew you were pregnant before you did. Six weeks after your missed period, he told you that everything about you looked different; that you were glowing. Irritated, you told him you were just stressed because of how much he was driving you crazy (and not in a good way). But a small part of you knew he was right. One night he surprised you with a small gift bag with the words "please" written on it. Inside was a pregnancy test. Turns out, Jolly was right. After a doctor visit and an ultrasound, you found out together that you were eight and a half weeks pregnant.

The first six months were horrible. So much morning sickness, so much nerve pain, so much swelling and irritation. You were miserable. Jolly coddled you, never making you do anything you didn't feel like doing. You gained more weight than you wanted, which made you feel ugly and disgusting. Jolly, however, said you'd never looked more beautiful. He worshiped you and your little nugget, making sure you were mentally strong enough to continue this pregnancy to the end.

During the last month of the pregnancy you were put on bed rest due to a medical condition that was dangerous for you and the little nugget. You were beside yourself, your depression hitting you hard. But Jolly was there, loving you, holding you up, and making sure you knew how brave and strong you were and that everything was going to work out. Most days you stayed in bed, getting up to only use the bathroom, shower, eat and do some light walking. Jolly took complete time off from work, staying with you each and every day so that you were never alone. Each night, he'd lay next to you with his large hand gently caressing your belly. The little nugget would kick and move around, bringing you both hope that everything would be fine.

Jolly held your hand the moment the nurses rushed you into the emergency room. Your little nugget's head and umbilical cord were all over the place but in the right ones to produce a healthy delivery. You were crying, pleading for Jolly not to leave you, scared something horrible was going to happen. He spoke to you softly, promising everything was going to be fine. He was confident. Getting suited up quickly, Jolly made his way into surgery just as the doctor made your incisions, staying right by your side. He kissed and caressed your forehead, making sure his eyes never left yours and when you both heard the sound of your baby's cries, tears of relief and joy filled your eyes. Later on in recovery, you watched Jolly cradle your newborn daughter, rocking her lovingly and softly humming to her a Swedish lullaby.

[jesncin]

Hi! I'm sorry if this an inappropriate question to ask, but I was wondering if you had any advice on how to accurately portray characters of color? I'm White and my creative fiction includes a lot of diverse characters, and I don't want to just ignore how their races impact their stories but at the same time being a racial/ethnic minority isn't something I've personally experienced and I don't know how to walk the line between good representation and some White dude telling stories that aren't his place to tell. Do you have any advice on how to accurately present characters of color without appropriating?

Luckily I have time today so I'll give my 2 cents! For one: there is no such thing as "accurate" portrayals of POC. Our experiences aren't a monolith. Something personal I would write and pull from my lived experience might not be relatable to, say, another queer Indonesian. And characters I write that are outside of my identity (Black, disabled, etc.) are inevitably going to be less authentic compared to someone of those identities tackling those characters. That's just something to make peace with- we can only do the best we can with the perspective we have.

With that: the usual platitudes are "do your research" and "listen to POC", I dislike both of these sayings! I get what they mean, but I don't love the insinuation of "doing research and listening" as a means of personal creative benefit. So instead I encourage different mindsets:

Instead of "do your research" (where identities can be treated as subjects to be learned and not people) I prefer "expand your perspective". Art is so cool because it's self expression. Stories are awesome because it's a shortcut to a person's deepest feelings. They get you fascinated and invested in a life so unlike your own. I can't stand "I only read queer books" people because it's an admission that they refuse to engage with identities they can't relate or project onto. There are so many important stories out there outside of your bubble. Get into the habit of earnestly learning about perspectives outside of your own. And not with the mindset of "this'll make me a better writer if I consume the identity and can become them" but with the mindset of getting to learn about a new friend. I think people take "stay in your lane" too literally sometimes where they focus so much on writing about their own experiences that they miss out on empathizing with other people.

Instead of "listen to POC" (I hate this one. Because our opinions aren't a monolith, it essentializes all of us to being media critic savvy experts, and white people tend to cherry pick the POC opinions they like instead of looking at the wider conversation) I prefer "improve your media criticism skills, and supplement with different perspectives". Not only should you "expand your perspective" as my last point said, but you should also be critical of things you read and learn! Learning about how ableism, racism, classism, etc. operates in life helps inform your opinion of how an identity was portrayed in a story. Recognize that earnest, and well intended attempts at representation can still be flawed or performative (the amount of times I'm told "I'm sure they weren't intending to be racist" like I truly believe the writer is a mustache twirling racist villain is too much). It's important to be opinionated! Do the work to find different perspectives to inform your own.

Lastly, don't ask for labor from marginalized people haha. I know that's what you're doing now (and this always happens to me whenever I voice a critical opinion of race representation) but I happen to have time (I'm still waiting on my editors to get back to me, such is the life of publishing). Most people don't, and are exhausted with explaining themselves. I don't bother my other marginalized friends whenever I write perspectives outside of my own. I do as much of the work reading articles, history, criticism, art etc. first. Especially if it's going to be a published work, then find Authenticity Readers and pay them for their labor. Avoid asking general, easy to google answers y'know? A lot of people have done the work writing thought pieces in their own time about a variety of perspectives.

[nelkcats]

Ghost Blood

Bad things happen to good people

------------------------------------

The Justice League and the Justice League Dark had met to discuss something extremely important and confidential: the end of the world.

While this was something they faced on a weekly basis, this time it was different. It had started when the chaos lords found an ancient ritual to gain power, and multiple villains joined them to complete the requirements. Klarion, who had noticed that the spell was going to end the world sooner or later, informed the heroes.

The problem was that the spell was already underway, and it was a process that could not be stopped. They had a couple of hours left before all the known horrors in the universe would take an interest in Earth.

The Justice League Dark was overworked, all of them looked extremely exhausted. Even Deadman offered to help but there was little he could do. As they discussed how to proceed, Constantine grabbed an old spell book he was leafing through and angrily threw it to the ground, catching everyone's attention.

"Bloody hell" the Brit glared at the ground angrily "so fucking close".

His companions asked him what was going on, to which Constantine informed them that there was a solution to their current problem. Some sort of powerful cancelation spell that would solve their problems. He saw their hopeful faces and sighed, he supposed he should break their hopes sooner than later.

"We can't use it" the Hellbazer said wearily.

"Why not?" Wonder Woman looked at him frustrated "if it's the only option, surely we can-"

"We can't use it because one of the ingredients doesn't exist!" Constantine blurted out, furious. He had analyzed all the options and that was the only one that might work, but the essential ingredient was missing.

"The spell requires ghost blood" John commented after calming down, desperation could be heard in his voice "but ghosts don't have blood, their blood is ectoplasm, it's impossible!"

Deadman had suddenly gone silent.

"There would have to be a hybrid or something but clearly they don't exist, it's too unlikely."

The League, which had previously perked up at the possible solution, sank back in disappointment. Zatanna, however, noticed the ghost's reaction and watched him curiously.

"...What if it's possible?" Deadman's voice was heard in the silence. Constantine had made him visible to the others during the investigation but the ghost was not used to the attention.

"It's not, it's not possible to combine life and death, the balance would have been broken one way or another" Constantine denied.

"John, what if it's possible?" Deadman repeated "what if a hybrid exists?"

What if the hybrid is the balance?

"Are you saying what I think you're saying?" Constantine observed his friend. Ghost blood was a myth, mentioned in many books but never used.

"Don't get too excited" the ghost warned "there is a hybrid with that kind of blood but he's not-, he doesn't trust humans anymore, for a very good reason."

"However, he does exist" Wonder Woman said in disbelief "can you tell us more?"

Deadman looked around at the nearly destroyed dimension and begged the Ancients for forgiveness for what he was about to do.

"He was born by the Realms and for the Realms, he's a good boy" Deadman sighed, revealing the secret he was never supposed to mention "but as you well know, bad things happen to good people."

The ghost thought of the communique that had reached all the ghosts. On how the Ancients had taken in a child, how they had demanded that he needed to be left alone.

"It's not my place to say what happened" and he didn't have many details either, though gossip traveled fast "but he doesn't trust anyone beyond his guardians, he hates adults and he's scared of needles and other medical instruments, I don't think he'll be much help."

"We have to try, there's not much time left" Batman frowned. Something inside him stirred at the mention of an injured child "Can you tell us where he is?"

"The Infinite Realms" Constantine replied instantly, lighting a cigarette, his hands were shaking "But who are his guardians?"

"The Ancients" Deadman replied "and if you want their help, you really must come up with a plan."

It was obvious that only the Justice League Dark had understood the implications of all this, they were pale and looked scared. Even Dr. Fate and Marvel looked like the end of the world had been confirmed.

"I can take you there" the ghost said, nostalgic at the thought of visiting the dimension "time doesn't work the same there, so you won't spend much time even if it takes weeks to get close, but you can't all go, you'll scare him off"

"We'll go" Captain Marvel spoke up, overcoming his fear "if it's the only option, we'll go."

Little did they know that from the Infinite Realms the Master of Time was watching them with a raised eyebrow. The Ancient shook his head, knowing he should prepare for visitors before heading to the couch next to his screens. Danny was reclining there, sipping hot chocolate and bundled up in one of his cloaks.

The halfa greeted him looking relaxed but Clockwork wouldn't be fooled by that (he could still see the boy, his boy, with his chest wounded, crying for help), he reached over to stroke his protégé's hair affectionately, thinking of ways to get rid of his visitors. While Danny was likely to want to help, he couldn't care less about what happened to that dimension.

[homicidal-slvt]

[Monsters Walk On Land]

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Shark Merman!Kyle Garrick x F!Reader

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Warnings: MDNI, Abusive Husband {Not Kyle}, Angst, Attempted Murder

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Summary: Thrown into the depths of the ocean you expect to die... Only the be rescued by the monster many warn about.

-

Your body sinks into the darkness, no attempt to open your eyes or fight back against the pull of the deep, cold and bitter as it crawls through your veins... No different than your husband, unforgiving and all consuming, taking until there is nothing but a bed of graves.

You were sick of his abuse - the condescending words - the control... You mistakenly thought it'd never get physical, so you bravely told him you were leaving... Oh, what good that did you.

'I'll tell them how ya run away from me... They'll believe me, y'know? Fuckin' whore.'

Blood leaks from your cut up legs, drifting into the darkness, like bait you lure anything closer. He had dragged you to the rocky coast line, your begging and screaming had fallen on deaf ears, tossed over and discarded like mere trash. Something to be forgotten because it no longer was useful.

Something brushes against your leg but you don't have the will to fight it... You can't swim. You always feared the water. There's no point in trying to fight.

×🩷×

Kyle drifts through the water - big brown eyes searching for the scent of blood he picked up on... Webbed hands immediately grasp onto the floating body of a woman without much thought at first, then he processes it.

"The hell...?"

For a moment he thinks she's dead - given the fact she didn't instantly start kicking and flailing... And if she was already dead then a bite wouldn't hurt right- but no... There's certainly a pulse. Soft but there.

He couldn't just kill an innocent woman like this, could he? Even as a shark style monster in the deep, he still has that heart of gold under the surface. So, he drags her towards the dim light of the moon above, moving her to the shore...

It concerns him... The fact she didn't fight... It made it easier to save her but - why didn't she fight?

"C'mon now..."

Settling her against the sand he assists her, watching her cough and sputter, small rocks digging into her skin.

"Who did this to you...?"

He didn't much expect an answer to the question, especially not when she finally got a good look at her savior... He suspected the usual fearful screams would tear through the air - that was how it'd usually go anyway.

×🩷×

You certainly were a bit startled to look over and see the very thing many warn of. People often claimed a monster lurked the waters by this shore but... He saved you...? He could've easily chewed the meat off your bones, especially with those freakishly sharp shark-like teeth of his...

He's honestly kind of beautiful, unique patterns of dark spots and strips across the gray scales on his lower half, his tail built exactly how a shark would be - aside from the whole scaliness of it.

"Thank you..."

You sputter out the words and those big brown eyes of his widen, lifting himself up a bit while he looks at you... He's definitely stunned from what you can tell by his expression, his slightly pointed ears twitching.

"You're not scared of me?"

"Well, I am a little bit but... If you wanted to hurt me - you would have."

A soft chuckle emits from his chest, amusement bubbling and spilling over. You're a very strange human in his books but he likes you...

However, it nags in the back of his head as to what happened to you. How you ended up injured in the water to begin with - the look on your face and your body language... It all reeks of humans doing.

After all - those who walk on land are often much more frightening monsters than the creatures of the deep ever could be...

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{I'm fuckin' exhausted so it took forever to write this and it's shit. And yeah it has a cliffhanger ending - I gave up. I didn't know where to go from there. I probably won't make a part 2 because I'm losing mind.}

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{@sofasoap @soupbinsoup @sarraa-26 @gothgirl6-6-6 @caramlizedtomatoes-deactivated2 }

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{More Content}

[littlestpersimmon]

I dont have a support system after my cousin moved away, I don't I really don't. Whenever I reach out to anyone online I'd get told to seek a therapist, or seek more and new friends when my problem is that I am not getting love and affirmation that I need from them. What am I spposed to do. I seek therapy I seek human connection, why do my already existing friends think this way of me? It feels juvenile to say all the things I jst said but I feel totally unnecessary to the world. So many of my relatives tried to "arrange" a marriage with me by saying they will fund my immigration to America so I can find more work opportunities to help with the cancer yreatment of my two close relatives in our extended family but then they will randomly say "yes but you habe to marry this man you have never met and is also 15 years older than you." I can't stip crying, no matter what I do, I sold my bike, I sold some of my books and I'm taking in s many commissions, I've reached out to so many people in my life, I've been irritating everyone, I've been posting so many things on timblr, I've exhausted all my options, I've went to every clinic in manila, I go tonsleep crying, I wake up crying, I text people crying, I work I'm crying. I don't want to marry this guy, I want mybcousin back, please come home..please come home. I want my friends back, why is this happening to me HaShem?! What did I do for things to end this way for me?? My face hurts, my back hurts, my wrists hurts, please tell me things will get better, I don't know how much longer I can hold on. Please God please please please.

[cowgurrrl]

From the Dining Table

Pairing: rockstar!joel miller x actress!reader

Author’s note: I feel like I should just leave the author’s note blank because there’s nothing I can do to make it better

Summary: “The love was there. It didn’t change anything. It didn’t save anyone. There were just too many forces against it. But it still matters that the love was there.” [4.5k]

Warnings: oh it’s so sad, mentions of bullying, hard conversations, goodbyes, June ruining everyone’s night yet again

Red Dirt Girl becomes the number one movie in America the first weekend it's in theatres. Box office numbers are insanely high, promising a high payout for everyone involved, and people are already talking about sweeping the competition during awards season. Peter sent flowers to your house to congratulate you, and you and Lilly are scheduled to do as much press together as possible before you leave for Ireland. It's the best-case scenario. So, why can't you let yourself feel good about it? 

Instead of basking in your accomplishments and the pride you feel for this project or going out to celebrate on the clear Friday night that settled over LA, you're packing boxes. You're only taking the things you can't live without, but going through your stuff and deeming what you need and don't is exhausting. The rooms in your house feel especially empty as you silently walk around, thinking your way through the tasks. You consider calling Ryan or your mom to fill the eerie quiet but decide against it. You'll have to talk about Joel if you call either of them, and you don't think you're ready for that yet. So, you open your notes app and try to find the strength to do at least one thing on your list of boring, necessary things that need to get done.

Your to-do list feels never-ending and daunting every time you glance at it. You haven't even thought about finding another manager despite it being the most pressing issue besides your move. You'd been with Mel since you came to LA and thought she'd be your manager for at least another four or five years. She wasn't perfect, but she always made sure your name was being spoken in the important rooms and fought tooth and nail for you. She was ruthless on your behalf. She got you to where you are today. That's not nothing. 

You sigh and pull your hair into a ponytail, debating on going through your books or closet, when a loud knock sounds from downstairs. To call it a knock is a little generous. It sounds like someone is pounding on your door, but you're not expecting anyone. You grab the baseball bat from your bedroom closet before walking down the stairs and approaching the front door. Your knuckles turn white around the grip as you peek through the peephole to see who could possibly be pounding on your door at nine pm. The second you figure out who it is, you drop the bat and scramble to open the door.

"Ellie?" You ask, cutting her off mid-raised fist. Her hair is in her face, and she's wearing her glasses, your porch light casting shadows over her eyes. A big backpack is slung over her big hoodie, and she looks distraught.

"My dad said I can still talk to you if I want. Is that true?" She asks breathlessly, and you look behind her to see if Joel or Sarah dropped her off but find nothing. You take a deep breath and nod.

"Come in," you say, opening the door wider for her to come in. She takes two long strides over your threshold and into your home while you wrack your brain about how to handle this. Is there a handbook out there for talking to your ex-boyfriend's daughter? "Please tell me you didn't ride your bike here."

"No, I took an Uber." She says nonchalantly as you follow her into your living room. You chuckle and turn to ask her if she wants water or a snack but stop yourself short when you finally get a look at her black eye.

"Oh, my God! What happened?" 

"It's not a big deal." She says as you force her to sit at your dining table, put her backpack down, and carefully take her glasses off her face. She winces when you put your hand on her chin to turn her face so you can see her eye better. Under the glow of your kitchen lights, you find a swelling bruise on her jaw and a cut on her nose. How did you not see her injuries in the dark? 

You rush around, gathering ice and a bandaid for her nose. She doesn't say anything as she sits there, looking pretty miserable, and your heart aches at the pout of her lips. You hand her an ice pack to hold to her head while you clean and bandage the cut across her nose. None of the bruises look especially scary, and despite a little blood staining her cheek, she's perfectly fine. You take out your phone flashlight and shine the light across her pupils, watching them dilate accordingly.

"Are you a nurse all of a sudden?" She asks, and you smile as you put your phone face down on the table in front of you. 

"No, but I've played them enough on TV to know how to check for a concussion."

"Oh, is that the requirement?" She asks, and you hum. She fights a smile as she breaks eye contact with you to look down at her hands, which you notice are also bruised and cracked. "Dad told me you guys broke up." She says quietly. She looks so defeated with her slouched posture and nervous foot tapping. You know now is not a time to lie to her.

"Yeah, we did."

"Why?"

"It's complicated." 

"That's exactly what Dad said," she says. The idea of you and Joel parroting each other from opposite sides of the city pulls all the air from you and leaves you floundering. "I'm not a kid. You can tell me what happened." And she's right. She's fourteen. She's old enough to understand how relationships work, but you don't know if it's your place to tell her what happened. You don't know what you're allowed to tell her. You don't know if you're overstepping or how to fix it if you are. 

"Sometimes," you start uncertainly, hoping the words will find you along the way. "Sometimes, two people can really care about each other, but that doesn't mean they'll be together forever or even good for each other." You say, and she makes a face.

"That sucks."

"Yeah, it does," you sigh. "Now that I told you that, can you tell me why you're showing up at my doorstep at nine o'clock at night?" You change the subject, and she bites her bottom lip as her foot tapping speeds up. 

"Dad and I got into a fight." 

"Does it have anything to do with your shiner?" You ask, nodding in the direction of her black eye.

"He didn't even try to hear my side of the story!"

"Which is?" You ask, and she very quickly dives into a story of a kid who's been picking on her all year. She said she told Joel what was happening, and he said something about ignoring it or talking to the teacher, which wasn't working. Apparently, the kids' parents are some big-shot tech people the teachers don't like dealing with, so they were just gonna let him do whatever until the end of the school year. Today, he said something along the lines of Sarah's mom coming back and Ellie's mom never being able to.

"And I never even knew her! But that's still my fucking mom, and I know how sensitive Sarah is about Angela, and I just got so angry that I hit him. A lot." She says like she's waiting for you to argue with her, but you can't even imagine yelling at her after hearing that. You open your phone and open your notes app.

"What's your teacher's name?" You ask. She tells you, and you have to take several deep breaths to stop yourself from finding the teacher's phone number and calling him to ask him if he thinks it's acceptable for a student to taunt another student's dead mother. "I'll call the school on Monday, okay? That kind of behavior is disgusting, and you were justified in what you did." You say, grabbing her hand and squeezing. She nods and smiles softly as she looks at you, her dark brown eyes looking right through you. 

"You know, I don't usually like most of the people my dad dates," she says. "But I really liked you." Her use of the past tense cuts deep inside you, and you swallow thickly.

"Yeah. I like you too," you smile. "But, just because your dad and I aren't together anymore doesn't mean we can't still hang out or talk. I still care about you and your sister, and I've got quite a few movies I still need to watch." You say, and she nods, but there's something sad in her movements. You wonder if Joel told the girls about Ireland and how they reacted. Even if he didn't, Ellie is smart. She sees the boxes in your living room and the stuff piled together. She knows something is happening. Something that will impede future movie nights and emergency visits in the middle of the night. She shifts in her seat and lets go of your hand to tug at her ponytail, effectively retracting from you.

"Can I ask you something?"

"Anything."

"Did you love my dad?" She asks, and you bite the inside of your cheek, shaking your head. You think about lying or just not answering her question altogether, but that's not fair. She opened up to you. She trusted you, and you know what it feels like to have that trust broken or not reciprocated. You stare into her eyes and try to not get emotional.

"Yeah, I did." 

"Did you break up because of us?" 

"Honey, no. No, not at all," you say, perching on the edge of your chair so your knees are touching. "Your dad and I... have very different lives and schedules, and we tried. We really, really tried, but I don't think the timing is right for us. I don't know if it'll ever be right for us, but you and your sister had nothing to do with why we broke up, okay?" You say, slouching a little to get in her eye line, and she nods. "When I found out about you guys, I wasn't scared or intimidated. I was excited because your dad only ever told me how beautiful, and brilliant, and amazing, and kind his daughters were, but when I met you, you exceeded all that. You and Sarah have become two of my favorite people on this planet, and there will never be a time when I don't cheer you guys on or want what's absolutely best for you. I mean, if I didn't like you, do you think I would've opened the door?" You ask, and she laughs. The sound makes you smile, and you put your hand on her knee. 

"You, Ellie Miller, are going to do incredible things, and I can't wait to watch it." 

"Thank you." She says softly, and you nod. There, in your kitchen, you share a quiet moment with Ellie where neither of you needs to say anything more. The love says everything you can't bring yourself to voice just yet. If you squint, you can imagine what her mother must've looked like. All big eyes and toothy grins and wavy hair. But even without any actual Miller DNA flowing through her veins, you see Joel, too. You see how he raises his eyebrows or can't hide what he's thinking to save his life. You see his smile. You see his kindness and anxiety. You see all the best parts of him. This time with her feels like a warm hug, as much as a goodbye. Nostalgic and sad and welcome all at the same time. You don't know when you'll be able to sit at a table with Ellie Miller and just stare at her again, but you know if you never see her again, you can count yourself lucky to have met such an amazing young woman. She must make her mom so proud.

"You know I have to call your dad to tell him you're here, right?" You ask quietly, and she nods. You sit there for another second before grabbing your phone and walking into the next room to call Joel. Your heart pounds in your chest as you stare at his contact information, a picture of him with his tongue out still set as his contact photo. You took it on Facetime when he was still in Texas. He was complaining about how his stomach hurt from eating too much barbeque, and he was pretending to be dead. Even after everything, it still makes you smile. You press the call button before you lose the courage to do so. He picks up on the second ring.

"Hey, I can't really talk right now. Ellie and I got into a fight, and she ran off, and I don't know what to do. Has she talked to you? Do you know where she might be?" He says quickly, sounding frantic as he shuffles with something on the other end.

"Yeah, she showed up on my doorstep about thirty minutes ago. She's fine. A little upset, but she's safe." You say and hear him sigh with relief. 

"Thank God. Okay, I'm comin' to get her. Can you keep her there until I can get to your house?"

"Of course."

"Thank you," he says. Neither of you immediately ends the call, but you don't say anything either. You can hear him breathing and imagine him standing there, flush with worry, and grinding his teeth despite the number of times you've told him to stop. It's the closest you two have been in weeks. "I really fucked up." He finally says, and you take a breath.

"All the best parents do."

"Yeah?" He asks, that familiar lilt returning to his voice. Your heart squeezes, and you nod.

"Yeah. Reminds your kids that you're human too."

"I guess," he says. It's quiet for another five seconds before he clears his throat. "Thank you for takin' care of her."

"She's a good kid."

"Yeah, she is." 

"I'll..." you start. You know you're talking in circles but don't want to get off the phone. He waits you out. "I'll see you soon." You finally say, and the phone moves against his ear.

"See you soon." He says, hesitating before ending the call. You exhale and stare at his contact photo for another second before locking your phone and walking back to the main living area. Ellie has moved from the dining room table to the couch, an old leather-bound book in her hands. You tilt your head to read the title. Much Ado About Nothing. One of your favorite Shakespeare plays that you never got to do. You perch on the edge of the couch near Ellie and smile when she puts her book down to look at you.

"That book looks older than you." 

"That's 'cause it is. It was my dad's in high school." She says, and you look at her, confused. 

"What?"  

"Yeah. He said his music teacher bought it for him or something. Dad really liked him. Wrote his name down in the acknowledgments in his first album and everything." She shrugs like it's nothing. Suddenly, you're back in New York with Joel, his hand over your heart as he listens to you recite a centuries-old monologue.

"He told me he didn't study Shakespeare in school."

"He probably didn't want you to know he's a massive nerd. He loves it. He made us go to the Globe Theatre when we were in England. It was actually pretty cool," she yawns. "I'm tired. Can I go lay down in one of the beds until my dad gets here?" 

"Uh, yeah. Yeah, that's fine. My room is up the stairs and to the left. I just got new pillows, so that'll probably be the most comfortable." You say, your brain still struggling to piece together what she just said. She yawns again and gives you a thumbs-up before standing with her book in hand and disappearing up the stairs.

Joel told you he didn't know anything about something you, apparently, both love. Why? Was he quizzing you? Was he trying to figure out if you actually know what you're talking about? Or was he trying to get another perspective? Did he pretend not to know so you could explain it to him in your own way? How the fuck did you not know? You want to call and ask him all these things, but you don't. You wait.

You rotate between anxiously pacing your living room, checking on Ellie (who's snoring in your bed with the book open next to her), organizing and reorganizing your stuff into boxes. Anything to keep your mind busy until Joel can get there. From the time you ended the call to when your front door opened and closed quietly, twenty minutes had passed, but it felt like a lifetime. Joel walks into the living room like it's his own house and smiles when he sees you, looking around the room for Ellie. He wearing his own glasses and a plain black shirt with jeans. The bags under his eyes are prominent, and his hair is messy. He looks exhausted.

"She went upstairs to lie down and fell asleep. I didn't want to wake her up." You answer his unspoken question, and he nods, his shoulders visibly dropping.

"No, that's okay. I'm glad she's gettin' some rest," he says, sighing deeply. "Did she tell you bout our fight?" 

"A little bit, yeah," you say, and he grimaces. You glance between the place where you and Ellie were sitting and him. "Do you wanna sit?" You ask, and he nods. Carefully, without even grazing each other, you sit across from him and stare at him. You don't know what you're supposed to say. You don't know if you're supposed to say anything. 

"You still doin' that movie with Pike?" He beats you to it, and you nod. There's no frustration or anger in his question, only curiosity. 

"I leave for Ireland in two weeks." 

"Ireland's beautiful." 

"It is." You say, not sure how else to respond. He shifts in his seat and looks at his hands as he nervously taps a rhythm into your table. 

"Thank you again for takin' her in and makin' sure she was safe. I really appreciate it." He says.

"I'm just happy she knew she could come here."

"Me too," he says. "Can we... do you wanna... I just need to say I'm sorry. I never wanted to hurt you, but I did, and I'm sorry. I should've been better and more honest and less of a dick. You didn't deserve that." He word vomits, and your fingers twitch to reach for his. You take a deep breath and stare at him, watching his emotions play out behind his glasses.

"Thank you for apologizing," you say. "And I'm sorry, too. For everything. I wish things could be different."

"We could start over. Maybe try again," he says, his voice sad like he's trying, but he knows your answer won't change. "I don't... I don't know how to do this. But I wanna learn. I wanna learn for you." His words cut straight through to your heart, and your eyes flutter shut. You pinch the inside of your thigh to stop tears from forming, and take a shaky breath. He doesn't rush you. When you open your eyes, he's staring at you like you hung the moon and the stars.

"Sarah's gonna need you as she figures her mom out. It's gonna be hard, and she loves you more than I've ever seen a teenage girl love her dad. Ellie's gonna feel out of place, and she's gonna need you too. It wouldn't be fair to any of you to add this," you gesture between the two of you. "To that mix. It'd be too much. None of us would feel good about it. We'd all walk away a little burned and lot pissed off. I don't want that for us." You say, and he nods.  

"It's a nice dream." He says sadly.

"It is," you agree. "Can I ask you a question?"

"'Course." 

"When did it stop being fake for you?" You ask. He shakes his head, and his Adam's apple bobs.

"It was never fake for me. It just took me a little longer to figure out," he says, and you pinch your thigh again. "What bout you?"

"Texas," you admit, only a little ashamed at how late your answer is in comparison. "When you called me every day from Texas. That's when it stopped being fake for me," a tear spills from your eye, and Joel wipes it away before you can. His thumb is warm and familiar, and you almost lean into his touch before it can disappear completely. "This sucks."

"Yeah, it does."

"Do I, at least, get to know what songs on the newest album are about me?" You joke, and he laughs. He presses his lips together and rests his head on his hand as he looks at you.

"All of 'em," he says. "All of 'em are about you. Bout meetin' you or the way you talk in your sleep, but a lot of 'em are about New York."

"Yeah?" 

"Yeah."

"That was a good time," you say. "Ellie, um... Ellie told me about your trip to the Globe Theatre. Told me all about how much her dad loves Shakespeare," he chuckles like a kid caught with candy, and you smile. "Why'd you tell me you didn't know anything about it?"

"I don't know," he shrugs. "I really don't. I was thinkin' bout it the other day, and I just remembered seein' how much you loved it. Your eyes got real wide, and you got so excited, and I just... wanted to hear you talk about it. I think I would've stayed there with you all day if I could've." He says. You have to look away from him to hide to tears pooling in your eyes. 

This shouldn't be this hard. You're supposed to meet someone you love, and nothing else matters, and you get to be with that person forever. It's hard, but you get your whole lives to figure it out together. Who did you hurt in a past life that took this opportunity away? It's not fair. You want to rip the sky apart and scream at God and demand an explanation. You want someone to blame. You want more time. You want him, and not just the good parts that made you fall in love with him. You want the broken and ridged parts he's still hiding from you. You want the parts he hates. You want to lay them out on the table and show him you don't flinch when they catch the light. 

He puts his hand on your shoulder as tears fall from your eyes, and you sniffle. His thumb presses soothingly into your skin, and you let him. You shouldn't, but you do. You don't fall into his arms and sob like you want to. No, just like every juncture of your life thus far, you let yourself cry quietly and without fuss because there are things to do. And when you're done, you turn to look at him and see tears staining his cheeks too. You cover his hand with yours and squeeze his fingers, and he takes a deep breath.

"What are we gonna do now?" He asks. You pull his hand off your shoulder and hold it in your lap, both your hands covering his large one. You smile through your tears and kiss the top of his hand.

"I'm gonna go to Ireland, and you're gonna release your album. It'll hit the top of the charts overnight, and people will be singing your praises from the rooftops and speculating on what different songs mean like they always do. I'll lie in interviews and say I haven't listened to it, but I will because it'll be yours. You and the girls and Tommy'll go on tour, and I'll be there filming, and we'll try to talk when we can, but our schedules will get in the way until we don't think about each other all the time. I'll probably lose my mind because it rains so much in Ireland, and you'll go from selling out stadiums to crying at Sarah's graduation. And we'll both work way more than we should. And life'll go on like we were never really here," you say. "And maybe one day, when we're in LA at the same time, and nothing is stopping us and our schedules align, we'll get a coffee. And we'll talk. And we'll try again." You wipe Joel's tears away and try to keep yourself from falling apart. 

"I'll mark it on my calendar." He says, and you laugh. You squeeze his hand and nod.

"I'm counting on it, Miller."

You sit there for a few more minutes before you stand and hug him. It's quick. It has to be, but it's enough to settle your heart for a moment. Joel goes upstairs, scoops Ellie in his arms, and carefully carries her out to his car. He buckles her in and turns on the air conditioning so she doesn't get too hot in the California night. You stand outside, watching him be a dad, with your arms crossed over your chest. He shuts the door quietly and walks over to you.

"I hope you have a lot of fun in Ireland." He says sincerely.

"Thank you," you say. "I hope you have a great tour."

"Thanks," he nods. He looks over his shoulder to check on Ellie in the passenger seat before turning back to you. "I should get her home. She's had a long day."

"Of course." 

"I'll, uh... I'll see you around, okay?" He asks, and your heart jumps to your throat.

"I'll see you around, Joel." With that, he walks to the driver's side door, and you walk back toward your house, the space between you growing and growing as you get further away. Your chest hurts, and you know you're gonna go inside to cry some more, but you don't turn around. Not until he calls your name.

"I love you," he says from where he's standing in front of his truck. "And I don't expect you to say anything or change your mind, but I wanted you to know. I love you." Your hands are shaking, and your throat feels like it's tightening, but you manage to give him a weak smile.

"I love you, too." 

And then, he gets in his car and drives away with his daughter in the front seat. You go back to your empty house and your piles of stuff, and you cry, and in the back of your mind, you think, if I never speak to Joel Miller again, I think that's okay. I think it has to be.

[weirdly-specific-but-ok]

Hey students everywhere, I'm proud of you. You are so much more than enough.

Hey my maggots who're stuck in the education system right now. This is a long post but... but I know how many of you need to hear this, so please do. I just want you to know...

I'm proud of you. I'm so, so proud of you.

For continuing to survive in a system that's so bullshit that it can fail you at art, give you a grade for composing music, decide your seat in a medical college based on multiple choice questions about obscure ecology statistics (that are probably outdated), and decide whether or not you should study literature based on your summary of a pre-approved book.

I'm so proud of you.

i see you, I know you're exhausted, you're losing the love for subjects that were once your passion but now are ruined, you're burnt out and scared, you're studying things you don't even care about.

I know there are some of you who feel guilty even taking the time to read these words. I know, because I was there.

I'm proud of you for every second you spend doing the things you love, for every second you've spent trying so hard, for every second you've spent resting, for every second you've spent doing ridiculous things that made you smile and laugh and cry, for every second you studied and every second that you didn't, for every second you've spent wasting time because hey the point is that you lived that time and that's amazing in itself.

It's a fucked up system. It's broken and deeply flawed on every level, from the administration to the teaching to the budget to the students' mentality to the politics to the inclusivity... it's all fucked.

The more you recognise that, the closer you'll get to maybe realising that truth. That your talent and love for a subject, for an art form, for a branch of science or mathematics or a language, cannot possibly be measured in fucking numbers or alphabets from A to F.

The very idea is ridiculous, yet here we are, believing it.

Let's not anymore. It'll take a while to push it out of our head. But we can do it.

Yeah?

Tell yourself, and the people you know who are at any stage of education right now, all of this. It's not your fault. You're doing so well. I'm proud of you. So much of this is out of your control, with factors that shouldn't matter affecting your grade, with things happening that you can't help. So I'm proud of you. For being you and living. I'm sorry if you don't hear it enough, because you should.

I'm so, so proud of you.

[sinner-sunflower]

P.2 HH Lucifer-centric AU 10/?

STORY 1, PART 1, PART 2, PART 3, PART 4, PART 5, PART 6, PART 7, PART 8, PART 9, PART 11, PART 12, PART 13, PART 14, PART 14.5, PART 15, PART 16, PART 17, PART 18, PART 19, PART 20, PART 21, PART 22, PART 23, PART 24, PART 25, PART 26

Notes at the end!

-----------------------------------------------

Lucifer should've known that even in his sleep, his torment would not stop.

He should have been wiser, but exhaustion dulled his senses, making him lower his guard.

He thought that maybe, maybe, the universe would give me just this little moment. And at the beginning he really thought that. He felt weightless. Like he's not the Morningstar, the fallen angel, the King of Hell, the Sin of Pride, a father or a lover. Like for the first time in a millennia, he simply existed.

So forgive him for his surprise when darkness swallowed his dreams before he could savor them fully.

Roo: Hello, fallen. Been a while, hasn't it?

Lucifer: Roo.

Roo: Don't look at me like that. Our deal is still in effect, you know. I can't do anything more than this even if I wanted to.

Lucifer: You saying you want to do more then? Like harm me?

Roo: Ugh, you silly creatures, always so pessimistic. Can't someone just chill and have fun?

Lucifer: I highly doubt the root of all evil and chaos embodiment just wants to 'chill'.

Roo: Believe what you will, fallen. I am many things, but I am no liar.

Lucifer: Your sister surely is.

Roo had to laugh at that. 

Roo: Yin in every Yang or so they say.

Lucifer: What? You're telling me you have good in you?

Roo: I would think the fact that you get to keep your soul was a sign in and of itself.

Lucifer: That's less than the bare minimum.

Roo smirked and rested her head on her hand, a gesture that grated Lucifer's nerves. He couldn't help but think he should take a page from Adam's book and wipe that shit-eating grin off her face.

Roo: Had the old man never told you to not look at a gifted horse's mouth? 

Lucifer: Enough. Why are you really here?

Roo: If you must know, I merely wanted to ask how you are doing! After all, meeting The Fates must have been quite the experience.

Lucifer: You were looking?

Roo: I wanted to see if my vessel works well. It's not my fault I can see everything you see, hear every thought you think, feel every pain you wish never happened but also desire to inflict onto yourself. I wanna ask, does your pity party ever stop?

Realistically, Lucifer knows that Roo is messing with him; she was deliberately provoking him, reveling in his inner turmoil. She's luring him in, and he's taking the bait.

There's a creeping cold that's getting worse the longer they talk. He thought nothing of it at first but he's now starting to feel it under his skin.

He's well aware of the threat in front of him but doesn't mean he's not going to bite back with force.

Lucifer: I think you're forgetting who delivered the final blow in the first war. You know, the blow that led to your defeat?

Roo's nonchalant and playful facade cracked just a bit that Lucifer knows he struck a nerve.

Lucifer: Hell, shouldn't you be more thankful to me? Without my actions in offering the fruit to humanity, you wouldn't have gained the power you so desperately craved to rise again. And now, here you are, benefiting from my influence once more.

The Sin of Pride couldn't fathom where this sudden surge of confidence came from, but he refused to cower any longer. Roo had expected him to tremble in fear, to bow before her as if she were someone superior to be revered on.

He's sick and tired of everyone assuming he should be the one on his knees, begging for mercy.

Lucifer: How are you the root of all evil when I'm the one who started sin. You should be worshipping me! Now that I think about it, in some twisted way, I was your creator-

His mockery was short lived when the dreamscape glitched and suddenly it wasn't Roo in front of him; it's The Root of All Evil.

Laughter erupted from the shadowy figure, a grotesque sound reminiscent of a rabid hyena's. Refusing to be intimidated, Lucifer continues to put oil in the fire.

Lucifer: Bringing out the big guns for a little comment? Insecure much?

He's bullshitting at this point but damn him if he's going down without an ounce of victory. He also thinks he's lucky to have said as much at all.

The abrupt stop of laughter sent an involuntary shiver down his spine, and then gravity seemed to solidify around him, pressing down with an oppressive force.

Push.

Michael: All you had to do was listen.

Push.

Lilith: You're exhausting, Lucifer.

Push.

Charlie: He's defending this hotel! How come he could have faith in me but my own father can't.

Push.

Y̵̛̞̝̳̥͍̏͛͊ö̴̼̭̜̖́͗̒͝ü̴̩͚͆͑ ̵͎̉̒̄̄ả̶̭͈͍̟̳ṙ̵̡̲͙̼͎è̸̮̳̲̊͂̔̍ ̴̠͔̯̘̬̑͝s̵̜̪̗̯̚è̴͇͌̇ṅ̷̘̝̀t̶̛̹̝̄͘ẻ̶͓̱̬͔̅̉ͅn̵̥̽̋̌̓ĉ̴͜e̶̯͇̤̺̤̅̀̅d̵̝̰̬̗̋ͅ ̶̝͕̩͇̱̎̋͝͝ẗ̶̢̊͠õ̶̡̦͖͒̈́̍̍ ̸̧̏F̸̧̬̪̂̋a̸̞͈͍͇̔̓͘͜l̶̬͙̤͈̝̑̕l̵̼͂.̴̱̘̣̽̏̕͜

Lucifer screams. But instead of despair, he feels anger bubbling within him. What the hell is happening to him? He's been snapping more. Why did he snap at Michael? Why did he tell him that he can't wait for Heaven to be destroyed? He never wanted that. All he wanted was to give Eve free will. All he wanted was to love Lilith. All he wanted was for Charlie to be safe. All he wanted was for everything to STOP!

Roo: What's the matter, little devil? Never seen real evil before?

The cold is becoming unbearable now. The lake is frozen and all the greenery had been turned into crystals, consumed by the creeping frost that made them look like solid darkness.

Lucifer gritted his teeth, feeling the chill seeping into his bones, threatening to overwhelm him. He refused to give Roo the satisfaction of witnessing the King of Hell tremble; regardless if it's in fear or not.

Roo: Let me show you just how good of a person I can be. 

Then she's suddenly up on his face and brings a finger to his forehead.

Lucifer can feel Roo's corruption going further inside him and at the same time, a lot of somethings are coming out. It must be his remaining divinity because that's the only reason he can think of on why his Father's tether is screaming and clawing at him. 

He feels himself choke from everything happening all at once but he can't move. Roo has him locked in place and he never felt so helpless.

'Am I going to die here?'

No. Roo said that she won't be the one to deliver him to his demise. Nevertheless, he thinks that this is it.

Roo: Remember these words, fallen. A message from The Fates that you did not get to hear.

Charlie. He wants Charlie.

Roo: With the first soul's ascend, all began to unfold.

Tears begin to form in The King of Hell's eyes. Be it from the pain or fear, he doesn't know. 

Roo: It will end at a star's fall, as the threads have foretold.

Michael! Where is he?! He promised Samael he'll always protect him!

Roo: Trumpets will sing, as the sky recites a prayer.

'Father. Help me.'

Roo: An instrument of Heaven shall come down and be the devil's slayer.

He struggled to remain conscious; he fights to stay awake but he can't even move a finger but his efforts were in vain as he collapsed to the frozen ground, utterly drained. Through hazy vision, he can see Roo staring down at him with a gleeful smile.

Roo: See you soon, my fallen~

He wakes up to the smell of Marigolds.

-----------------------------------------------

In Nifty's voice: How was that?!!

You have no idea how long I spent making that rhyme prophecy thingy.

As always, your kind words and actions are greatly appreciated!

My DM's are always open for theories and introspections <3

[byler-alarmist]

So I know we collectively hate time reset/dimension wipe theories about S5, but.....maybe it does need to happen?

Assuming the last couple seasons of ST weren't some elaborate manifestation by Mike to deal with the trauma of losing Will, there are some problems that seem like they can't be fixed without some kind of a reset.

El. Just El in general. Owens was able to give her a fresh start, a new name and a chance at being "normal", However, too many people know about her telekinetic abilities and the ability to open and close gates to the Upside Down. I think she would be in danger of being kidnapped and studied/used as a weapon forever. She can't just kill off/destroy the entire U.S. government (if only), so her file will probably be available for years and even if not, enough people know about her existence that bad actors could target her.

Now that the UD is merging with the RU, will it be contained to Hawkins? Will it spread throughout the country? The world? Even if it is all a hive mind, if they killed Vecna and somehow closed all the gates (it exhausts El to even close one) , would those spores or whatever still be floating around and infecting things in the RU? How could they ever get rid of all of it or ensure that it was all contained in the UD?

As long as both the UD and El exist, even if Vecna is defeated, scientists/governments will always track her because trhey will want to know more about/study/find lucrative applications for the UD. They would still want to use El or use her to find their own way to open gates.

If all this is true and Will/El/the Party need to destroy the UD to make sure no one ever crosses over again, is that really fair? Even if Vecna harnessed the dark particles and created dangerous monsters out for blood, it is hinted that the UD is not inherently malicious. Sure, the Party want to kill Vecna, but if he's gone and the creatures are just minding their own business, would they be fine with destroying it?

And even if they wanted to, could they? How? If it turns out we're right about Will having powers, how would he use them to destroy the Upside Down? I highly doubt his powers would be like El's or involve gates. If he had some kind of creation powers, would he just recreate the UD with glowy light particles and make it beautiful? But even if he did this, wouldn't scientists still want to find a way inside to study it with El"s gate-opening powers?

On the other hand if he (or someone else) has some kind of time powers,, when would they reset it back to? Or what would they go back in time to change? Is there something out of space and time that doesn't belong? (Somehow I am reminded of El saying she doesn't belong anywhere).

If Will or someone else wiped out the dimension that contains the UD (or banished it to another dimension), MKUltra would still have been doing their telekinetic children experiments, right? And if they went back in time, how far back would they have had to go? Back before Henry was taken to Brenner? Would El have been created at all if her mother wasn't part of the MKultra experiments?

Bonus thoughts about a reset: we know how much the Duffers love The Neverending Story. Spoilers for Neverending Story after the cut:

At the end of the Neverending Story movie, Fantasia (the world of fantasies and dreams a bowlcut kid has been reading about in his book) is destroyed by the manifestation of emptiness that is the Nothing. Bastian ({the bowlcut kid) realizes he has the power to make Fantasia (the world of his fantasies) anything he dreams.

After he takes ownership of his role as master of this reality (by giving rhe Childlike Empress a new name 🤔), the entire world of Fantasia is wiped out and it's just Bastian and the Empress together in a black void. All that remains is one grain of sand (a glowing particle, if you will).

The Empress hands the particle to Bastian and tells him his wishes will recreate Fantasia. He recreates it the way he imagined it, and notably brings back all the people who died as a result of the Nothing.

Even more tellingly, he exclaims:

"It's like the Nothing never was!!"

👀👀👀👀