#i felt like i was speaking to children but even children get this

[b3ach-bunn7]

JAPANESE DENIM

You’re one of eight princesses invited as a potential bride for Prince Satoru. With no idea what he looks like, you find yourself ranting to the Prince himself how little you want to marry him

Royal!au, fluff, strangers to lovers

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You wonder how angry your parents would be if you pretend to collapse against the cold tiled floor.

Your dress trails as you walk idly around the ballroom. Your petticoat and crinoline make you feel ten times heavier, your heels pinching your toes as you drag the fabric around. You’d think you’d be used to it by now, the formal dress and the discomfort of it all. But you never have and you never will, which is why you know Prince Satoru will never pick you tonight.

Your parents weren’t even that important. You’re a princess from a kingdom that doesn’t mean much in the grand scheme of things, and you know of the eight girls here tonight you’re the least royal. That, and you’re definitely the least princess-like of them all. Unlike the majority of the girls here, you don’t want to get married. You hate the fact that you’re all dressed up to parade yourself in front of a man just so he’ll pick you to bare his children. You hate that you know nothing about him other than his name and his status. You were here because your parents had forced you to be, but you have no intention of running around and playing nice.

It’s why you’re standing to the side, looking at a painting on the wall. It's tall and so intricately detailed you wonder how long it had taken to be made. You’re sure if you look close enough at the woman depicted you could make out the wrinkles in her skin.

“The painter’s name is Choso. He’s good, no?” 

A voice pulls you out of your stupor. You hum softly. “Yes. It’s very beautiful.”

You turn to the voice and you are very glad you did. The man in front of you is incredibly attractive. He’s tall, for one, his hand curled around a glass of wine. His clothes look expensive, a fine tailored navy blue tunic with a white collar curling around his neck. His eyes are unnervingly blue, and you watch them trail up and down you. He looks slightly amused but also just as bored as you do.

“I’m Y/N. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” You nod your head. You're still unsure who he is, but his garments look far too regal for him not to be important.

He just nods back. “Likewise.” He doesn’t give you his name and you don’t ask for it.

“So. You’re not enjoying the ball tonight?”

You roll your eyes. “No. How long do you think I can wait before it’s socially acceptable for me to leave?”

He huffs a laugh. “You’re already looking to leave? The prince has not even chosen his bride.”

“And if my wishes come true, that bride shall not be me.”

“You’re one of the bachelorettes?” He asks.

You nod, sighing heavily. The man grabs a drink off a nearby waiter and hands it to you. You nod your thanks. There’s a few eyes on the two of you but you pay them no mind. You turn back to the painting and he follows.

“Yes. My parents brought me here to present me to the Prince, but in all honesty I have no intentions to be picked.”

The man tilts his head. The stark white curls on his head curve against his cheek, as the corner of his lips twitch into a smile. “You don’t wish to be his bride?”

You frown. “No. I’ve no knowledge of the man. For all I know he could be a hideous troll.”

The man laughs then, and the sound makes you smile. “An interesting fear to have.” He takes a step closer to you and his height towers over you. “Do you believe all princes to be hideous trolls, then?”

“Only the ones I’ve never met.”

He grins. You lean against the wall and he just watches in faint amusement. “Not very ladylike for a princess.”

“Columbus, if only you felt what it was like in these heels.” You cover your mouth at the curse that slips past your tongue. You shoot him an apologetic look. “God. If my mother heard me speak like that I’d be hung.” 

“Don’t worry, my lady. Your secret’s safe with me.” He places a hand on his heart solemnly and you laugh.

The orchestra's music rings across the hall. The room is bigger than any ballroom you’d been in thus far, but you're not surprised. The Gojo family is the richest one around, and the extravagant decorations are enough to tell you that. You take another sip of wine. It’s expensive and you hum contentedly. You turn to the man next to you and find him already staring at you.

“Do you have any idea what the prince looks like? I suppose I should mingle some. I can feel my mother glaring at me from across the room.”

The man moves an inch closer, voice dropping to a softer tone. “If you’re so frightened he’s some hideous troll I could describe him to you. If it would ease your nerves.” He teases. 

You nod. The distance between you two is smaller than you’d thought and when you turn to face him you’re near enough to almost brush his nose with yours.

“If you wouldn’t mind.”

He breathes heavily. His eyes dart around the room. “Well. He’s tall. Devilishly handsome. Long hair, good build.”

You look out into the crowd as well. Your eyes land on a man in green silk robes, long black hair curling down his back. “Is that him?”

The man’s eyes follow yours and they darken upon seeing the same man you do. He frowns. “No. That is not Prince Satoru. That is Suguru Geto. He comes from a much lesser family than the prince.”

You know Prince Suguru, of course. Everyone around the country had heard of his fight with Prince Satoru that had nearly caused war between the two families. You peer at the mystery man curiously, at the sour look on his face. You’re interested in what his problem with that Prince is. 

 “Do you know him? Personally, I mean.”

The man’s eyes flicker to yours. “No. Why do you ask?”

“You speak with much contempt.”

He smiles slightly. “You see right through me, my lady. We’ve had a few arguments.”

Your brows furrow in confusion. “You have? How did you come across him?”

He just taps the side of his nose, smirking. “You’re a very nosey princess, did you know that?”

“Well, I’m not known for my graciousness.” He laughs.

You look back at Prince Suguru, where’s he’s talking to two young girls. “A shame, though. He’s really quite attractive.”

The man’s nose wrinkles in disgust. “I disagree. I- Prince Satoru is much more good-looking.”

“Hopefully I’ll never know.”

He snorts a laugh at the disinterest in your voice. “May I ask you something?”

“Of course.”

“Why come here? Get all dressed up and ready if you have such an aversion to marriage?”

You sigh. Adjust the top of your corset, finish the rest of your glass. He looks at you patiently, and you miss how his eyes dip to your chest for just a second.

“I’m a princess to a king and queen with no heirs except for me. Despite my aversion to it, I’m not stupid enough not to realise the importance of marriage. I need to marry someone who can benefit my family and my kingdom.”

Your eyes land on the other potential brides. They walk with an air of elegance you never seemed to be able to achieve, a beauty that, despite your aloofness, you can’t help but envy. You sigh slightly, hoping the man next to you doesn’t see the sadness on your face.

“And your happiness is not a factor?”

You snort. You can hear your mother in your head telling you how unladylike you are for making such a noise. 

“Don’t make me laugh. I’m not sure where you stand in your kingdoms lineage, but my happiness is never a factor.”

He hums. “I see. Just another pawn for the chessboard of politics and duty.”

You nod. It’s weird how he understands. Most men would scold you for even complaining.

“It’s quite alright. I know a man like Prince Satoru won’t want someone like me, anyway. So I don’t bother.”

“And why wouldn’t he want you?” The man taps his fingers against his now empty glass. You turn to him once more. He looks confused now.

“Look at me. I’m nothing like those other girls. I speak impolitely and I lean against walls and talk to strange men instead of him. I’m not as beautiful as they are. But what can I do?” You shrug.

“You’re wrong. I think you are very beautiful.”

His words draw you to turn to him once more. He looks at you so earnestly that you couldn’t not believe him if you tried. You bow your head in thanks.

“Thank you, sir. As flattered as I am, I doubt the Prince will agree with you.” You shake your head.

The man shrugs. He grabs the glass out of your hand, and for a moment your fingers brush against each other. They’re smooth, unmarred by work, another sign of his nobility. He places the glasses on a waiting tray.

“You never know. Keep your hopes up, my lady.” 

You go to respond but suddenly, a voice calls form the front of the hall. It’s time. You shut your eyes, cursing to yourself. You hadn’t even had the chance to speak to the Prince all night. You can already imagine the scolding you’d receive once you got home. You look back at the man and he’s already turning to leave. You reach out and grab his arm. The fabric of his clothes feel expensive beneath your grasp.

“Wait. I never got your name.”

He just taps the side of his nose again. You roll your eyes. “You’re so cryptic, did you know that?”

He barks a laugh. He bows, deep and low. You watch his white locks flutter in front of you, so soft you almost reach for them. 

“Good luck, Y/N.”

“Yes. Thank you.”

And you’re being dragged away by a waiting lady before you can see where he goes off to. You don’t have too long to wonder if you’ll ever see him again, because you’re suddenly placed between the other girls, all lined up in the front of the room. You try to smile at the girl beside you but she only scoffs, turning her nose up as she looks away. You roll your eyes. Some people.

You glance and see the Prince's two knights, two pink and black haired boys, standing at the side. They look awfully young to be fighting, you wonder, but the glare on the black haired one’s face makes you feel like they might never need to. 

The King and Queen look at the row of you with interest. All big, long robes of expensive cotton and silk trailing down the golden thrones they sit on. It’s only then, when you’re studying the intricate finery of their crowns, you notice the Queen's hair. A white, so stark and vibrant you don’t think you’ve ever seen it anywhere else. But then you realise you have. On a mysterious man insistent to make conversation with you. And it’s then, when you turn your attention to the King, you see his eyes bluer than the ocean and the sky combined, and your heart drops.

Because just as the dots connect in your head, your mystery man comes to stand at the front of the hall. Eyes trailing lazily over the women next to you before they land on you. And then he grins, winking at you quickly. 

The girl besides you gasps. “Gods, he just winked at me.” She speaks in a hushed tone to the girl next to her.

You're too distracted to try to correct her. You’re so stupid. How could you not know? Of course, it was your first time in the kingdom, but. How had you no idea that he was the prince? The man you’d practically embarrassed and debased yourself in front of, cursing and calling him a hideous troll to his face. You feel your cheeks flush as his gaze doesn’t waver from yours, an unreadable expression on his face.

The signs were all there. The way he carried himself. Something about him just screamed expensive and important, if not for his important robes or the way people had been glancing at the two of you all night. His hatred for Prince Suguru. You’re a fool.

You’re so stupid. He’d have you hung, surely. Hung or exiled from the country as a whole. 

Your hands tighten where they are clasped in front of you. You watch as the king stands, steps forwards until he is side by side with his son. He claps a hand on his back and the Prince straightens slightly. 

“It is now time for my son, the oldest and only Gojo heir, to choose a candidate to be his future queen and mother of his heirs.”

You’re sure the king says more but your brain is too preoccupied. You wonder what your mother will say. You wonder how horribly your reputation will be after this. If any man will ever want to marry you. You’re so caught up in your thoughts that it takes you a minute to hear Prince Satoru say your name.

“Princess Y/N. I choose her.” 

You can’t move. Chatter erupts amongst the people and the women next to you sound just as shocked as you feel. Satoru just looks at you expectantly. You feel your mothers hand curl around yours. You let her drag you forward, smiling and nodding at those who bow around you. She whispers congratulations as she and your father come up to greet the king and queen, and you’re placed in front of Satoru.

You bow your head immediately.

“Please, forgive me for my actions before, I- I had no idea you were the prince, I had no right o say what I did.” You say quickly.

A hand curls under your chin, lifting your head up to look him in his eyes. There’s a small, pleased smile on his lips. 

“None of that, now. Where’s all that sass I saw from you earlier?” He grins.

You scoff. “I’m not stupid, your majesty. I would never call you such names to your face.” 

“So you would behind my back?”

Your cheeks flush and you shake your head quickly. “Well, no I-“

“Please, Y/N, calm down. It is quite alright. I liked your sass. Your vim. So refreshing after my conversation with those ladies behind you.” 

You sigh. His hand leaves your chin and they both travel down to grab your hands.

“But. Why me?”

“Why not you?”

You roll your eyes, then look towards the other girls, who are glaring daggers at you from below.

“They’re better princesses than I. All prim and proper. Polite. I doubt any of them would call you a hideous troll. They’re perfect.”

Satoru can’t help but let out a soft chuckle at your response.

“Ah yes. Princesses are supposed to be perfect.  All manners and decorum, never showing any sort of flaw or imperfection."

He turns back to you, a glimmer of mischief in his gaze.

"Which is exactly why I picked you."

You tilt your head slightly. “You’d settle for imperfection? For me?”

Satoru shakes his head slightly, his gaze locking with yours.

"No. I don’t want to settle for imperfection. I just don’t want perfection. I don’t want a prim, proper princess who’s only talent is looking good."

He steps closer to you, his eyes searching yours intently. And now, with him as close as he is, you can see a dusting of freckles across his face, eyes tinged with a hint of green you’d not noticed before. He’s so beautiful and you can’t believe he’s yours.

"I want someone real. Someone who will challenge me, make me think, keep me on my toes. You are not a prim, proper princess. And I like that."

He smiles cheekily. “And I meant what I said earlier. You are beautiful.”

Your breath comes shakily at the close proximity. He smells like something rich, expensive and his thumb rubs circles on your hand.

“I’m glad. And I will try to be a good wife for you, your majesty.”

Satoru gazes down at you, an inscrutable look in his eyes. You look so suddenly vulnerable, and a small part of him feels bad for putting a hint of uncertainty in you. For putting you on the spot like this. His hand comes back up to graze your jawline.

"You don’t have to try to do anything. Just be you." He smiles. "That’s why I chose you."

Satoru lets his hand drop, but not before his thumb gently brushes across the edge of your jawline, lingering for a moment. You watch his eyes dart to your parents conversing behind you. His gaze flicks back to you, a small smirk on his lips.

“At least your parents will be off your back now.”

You grin. “I’d hope so, having married into the Gojo family.”

Satoru lets out a soft huff of amusement. "Yes, I imagine they're quite pleased."

He glances at your parents across the room, who are clearly quite satisfied with themselves. He turns his gaze back to you, his smirk growing slightly.

"I’m sure they’ll be even more pleased when they get to have grandbabies."

Your cheeks redden. If not just for his words but for the hungry way he looks at you.

“I hardly think that’s a conversation to have right now, your majesty.”

“Enough with the formalities. Call me Satoru, you are my wife now.” He takes a small step closer to you, his eyes dancing with amusement.

"And why not?" he teases, his voice low. "Isn’t a prince allowed to be excited about his future heirs?"

“Well of course. It’s just. I hardly think this is appropriate to discuss in front of all these people.”

You hope nobody can see the flush on your cheeks from the hall. Satoru lets out a soft hum, noticing how your eyes dart away from his.

"We are soon to be newlyweds, sweetheart," he replies, a hint of husk in his tone. "Discussing heirs is hardly inappropriate."

He grins slightly as he steps even closer, his body almost a breath away from touching yours.

"Afraid to discuss the… practicalities in front of everyone? Hm?"

“I- Yes. Slightly.” You laugh nervously.

And Satoru’s grin grows wider, his eyes gleaming with a hint of mischief. He reaches out, his hand gently grasping your chin once again, tipping your face back up to look at him. His thumb grazes ever so gently over your bottom lip, the touch sending a shiver down your spine.

"No need to be nervous." His voice is low, almost a murmur. "After all, we will be getting rather intimate very soon."

With all the luck in the world, your mother steps forward, bowing to Satoru before gesturing you away. The weddings to be set in three days, three days until you become a Gojo and the next queen in line for the throne. You watch with keen eyes as Satoru greets your mother like he’s know her his whole life. Has some weird manly conversation with your father, before he returns back to you.

“Three days. I trust you’ll be able to keep yourself out of trouble until then?” He raises a brow.

You bite back a smile. “Yes, Satoru. I’ll see you then.”

He nods. “Until the wedding, then. Safe travels, Y/N”

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I had this idea while watching Harry Potter movie? I have no idea why. Also reader why r u lowkey like.. not like other girls omg 🙈

also I’ve lowkey been so obsessed with Harry Potter recently??? So either except some Harry Potter fics or some JJK/MHA X HP fics 😝 feeling bold

I hope u enjoyed!!

[lukalnst]

pretty pls with a cherry on top some hurt/comfort w/ luka from alien stage where him and reader were close as kids at anakt garden but as they grew up and entered alien stage he started to become more cold and mean which hurts reader :(( but despite that he shows he’s still the same luka they know and love :))

LUKA X READER (HURT/COMFORT)

Includes: Luka x reader, gn!reader, hurt/comfort, emotional hurt/comfort, can be both read as platonic or romantic

Luka had changed, or so you thought.

You had noticed this, much more than anyone else. Of course, you couldn't help but notice the changes in his demeanor, not after you two had basically grown up being sewn together.

It hurt, of course. It hurt a lot — you wanted to be close with him again. You had gotten some chances to speak with him, but most of those conversations were nothing but small talk.

You wondered if he missed you the same way you missed him. Did you even cross his mind?

He seemed to be having so much fun with the other participants. Yeah, you were glad to see him happy and enjoying his new relationships, but you felt left behind. Still, it tore you apart to see him doing not so greatly back in your Anakt Garden days, but still, you missed his friendship, the ways he would latch onto your arm while you both laid down in the grass and he would whisper a small 'I love you'.

... You just wanted him back.

What an irritating feeling. He had grown distant, so if you were to ask him for any sort of affection, you'd probably just be greeted with nothing but coldness.

Strangely enough, you had asked him to meet you after a round with some participants who, being completely honest, you didn't really care much about. He just stared at you for a while, then hesitated before accepting.

...

It had been a few days since then, the round had just finished, and you both arrived at the spot where you told him to meet you. Surprisingly, he was pretty early, and he didn't seem too nervous about talking to you once again, something which you couldn't relate to.

"Hey, Luka," your lips trembled slightly as you spoke. You stood up beside him, and he just gave you a nod of acknowledgment. Did you mean nothing to him?

You didn't want to know.

After a few seconds of silence, which seemed to be nearly eternal, he spoke. "So, what do you want to talk about?" He questioned you but didn't make any eye contact with you.

"Well, I just wanted to catch up with you. It's been a while since—" You were cut off by his own words.

"... You still care about me, no? It seems like you haven't changed at all," Luka whispered your name after finishing that sentence.

He was right. When you both were younger, you were always worried sick about him. You made sure that he didn't get hurt or anything similar, something which he showed his appreciation for.

But now, he barely even acknowledged your mere existence. You were surprised that he even remembered your name.

Trying to laugh it off to lighten up the mood, you laughed softly. "I guess," you murmured. "That's not the case for you, though."

Luka's eyes finally met yours.

"Who said it wasn't?" His voice seemed genuinely confused. "Maybe we don't talk that much... but you're still someone who means a lot to me."

His cheeks seemed to have a small pink color dusting them. He had grown up now, so he felt sort of forced to be different from when he was a kid. "If you think I don't care, you're pretty wrong." He added onto his words.

"What... what do you mean?"

"We may not talk much, but you will always be completely and utterly adored by me," A small smile formed in his lips. "After all, you showed me what love really was."

The words that were being said made you feel weirdly emotional, so you latched onto his arm, just like how he did to you when you both were children.

"... I won't let you leave again, Luka."

[darknessisafriend]

Arthur who?

Finally posting this short comforting piece about our Artie! enjoy everyone :)

Arthur comes back home, and he doesn’t feel good.

You were reading a book on the sofa, curled up under a blanket to warm you until Arthur would come back and let you snuggle against him, playing with your hair as he listened to your reading. Your attention was soon pulled away from your book as you recognized the familiar footsteps of Arthur on the wooden stairs. Although they sounded heavier, more tired than usual.

Your suspicions were revealed to be true when his steps stopped at the door, a silent pause which made you put your book aside and stand up, almost rushing to the door, had he forgotten his keys? Did something worse happen? You put your hand on the door handle, about to open when his voice stopped you in your movement.

“Knock, knock…” he said, his voice barely hearable from the other side.

“Who’s there?” you replied, ready to listen, feeling his upset, his sadness. Whatever happened outside, it seemed to have deeply affected him.

“Arthur Fleck...”

“Arthur Fleck who…?” you asked, the frown deepening on your face until realization hit you, Arthur had gone silent, not replying, this was his joke…he was the joke. Your eyes filled with tears, and you instantly opened the door, throwing your arms around him and hugging him as tight as you could. His arms remained limp on his sides, he swallowed down, his whole-body trembling in pain, distress, exhaustion. He let his head fall on your shoulder, burying it in the crook of your neck as you pulled him inside, closing the door to shelter him from the world.

You made him sit on the sofa while keeping your arms around him, you didn’t speak at first. Your left hand rubbing his back while the other caressed the back of his head soothingly.

“Why are you here? What makes you stay with a loser like me…” he muttered against your shoulder, his voice shaking as if his words could make you leave him.

“Arthur…what happened? You know you can talk to me.” You reassured him, kissing his temple tenderly, hating to hear he thought so low of himself. You felt a tear of his fall on your collarbone, he sniffled and chuckled at the same time.

“Someone recognized me on the streets today…they said…Hey Joker…when are you going to blow up the mayor? I said I don’t want to do that…they replied ‘you’re such a disappointment... go fuck yourself’…” he explained, each word was painful, he was struggling against his disability, struggling to breathe between giggles. And Arthur had believed that person. Arthur thought himself nothing, a fleck of dust bothering the world.

You pinched your lips together; you knew how much it weighed on him since he had managed to get out of Arkham. “You are Arthur Fleck. And you have no idea how much those two words mean to me.” You spoke, gently cupping his face to try to make him look at you in the eyes. “Arthur I won’t have the pretention of telling you who you are or who you should be. But what I am certain about is: how important you are to my eyes.” You smiled, a tear rolling down your cheek. You took a deep breath and opened your mouth, starting to sing, quietly, a song that reminded you of Arthur, when you met him the first time, how your world collapsed to create a new one, one with Artie.

“There was a boy…A very strange, enchanted boy…They say he wandered very far…Very far, Over land and sea…” you had always found Arthur strange, but as you liked to say, most interesting people are. He was even magical to your eyes, that boy who lived in his fantasies, strong imagination, passionate by music and dance, loving to make children smile, a romantic man gifting flower.

“A little shy…And sad of eye…But very wise was he...” people said he was in his world, a child man with a low IQ, those people obviously didn’t know him. He was an adult man, not afraid to regress to relax, to cry in front of a movie, to be vulnerable in front of others. He didn’t need anyone to infantilize him, he was more than aware of his situation, the problems he had, and all he had ever wanted was help to get through them.              

“And then one day…One magic day he passed my way…And while we spoke of many things…Fools and kings…This he said to me…The greatest thing...You'll ever learn…Is just to love…And be loved in return…” you sang a last time; this time he lifted his eyes to meet yours, his brows furrowing into a feeling of fondness, he loved when you sang, and that song from one of his favorite singers took a meaning it never had before. He let out a soft natural laugh.

“Am I that boy? Really?” he asked shyly, flattered, his hands finding yours, entwinning your fingers with his.

“To me you are Arthur. You are not a symbol, or a myth. You are my lover, and with that chance of being so close to you, I got to know you, I love who you are. No need to define it further than that.” You smiled, bringing your entwinned fingers to your lips and kissing his knuckles.

“Right…I am who I am, I know who I am, you see who I am…and that’s enough.” He replied softly, a smile settling on his lips, his eyes shining as he looked at you devotedly. He didn’t have to care about what others said he was, nor did they have the right to judge him because he wasn’t what they wanted him to be.

Tag list: @skaravile @lyoongx @weirdflecksbutok @charlie-sisters @stardancerluv @sgtsavoytruffle @ohcarlesmycarles @rajacero @niniitah-ah @morrisonmercurryphoenix @fly-like-a-phoenix @thatdummy-girl​r @galos-writing @pstvchld @chiclunatic @call-me-harley-quinn @cigznvalentines @help-i-am-obssessed @arthurfleckjoker2019 @theartistdetective @jaylovesbats @niniitah-ah @soulsdontbreaktheybeeend @fleckcmscott @obssessedandthirsty @weirdflecksbutok @ajokeformurray

[starsreminisce]

LucienWeek2024 Day Two Fox

Dandelions in the Wind

Word Count: 3900 Rating: GA @lucienweekofficial

Summary: There is an Old Mother's Tale where burning letters would send those words to your mate, wherever and whoever they are. Lucien Vanserra doesn't believe in it but finds comfort in the ritual. Until one day, his letter to Elain goes missing as he asks a fox to deliver his Winter Court missive to Rhys.

Read on AO3

The wind howled as Lucien gazed through the frost-laced window of his room at Kallias’s palace in the Winter Court. An angry snowstorm swirled outside, white and relentless, as he dipped his quill into the inkpot.

Kallias wasn’t happy with the apology or the terms. I explained it was all Amarantha’s doing, that you acted under her command, but he still holds you responsible. After all, it was you who suggested it to her. Viviane’s been more understanding—she’s willing to trade his life for the children’s. I could propose an even exchange of information: access to the Velaris libraries, if you find that agreeable.

Lucien dipped his quill again, then paused. He pressed his thumb and forefinger to the bridge of his nose, searching for another solution. Kallias and Viviane... he liked them both, remembered sneaking out as a youngling to play with them in the snow. But High Lords and Ladies had their roles to play, and duty often took precedence over friendship. It annoyed him—this need for formality, for guarded words and actions.

A soft pulse stirred in the bond, like a gentle tug in the back of his mind. Lucien sighed and pressed a hand to his lower rib, to the place where his thread to Elain began. She didn’t mean to reach out—he knew that. Even when they weren’t speaking, her curiosity sometimes slipped through the bond, unbidden and undeniable.

Elain.

He couldn’t help it, not always, her curiosity slipping through in moments like this. And in response, a strange habit had started, a way for Lucien to expel his excess energy from her gentle prodding.

Elain,

I’m in the Winter Court for emissary business, and it’s as exhausting as you’d imagine. Kallias is being difficult, and Viviane... Well, she’s not exactly helping. I would’ve thought Rhys and Kallias reached an understanding during the High Lords meeting, but it seems that the fallout was only delayed.

But it’s beautiful here, truly. The gardens are a wonder, even in the snow. The camellias are in full bloom, their petals bright against the frost. Frost Lotuses peek through the snow, and I think you’d love it. I can see you tending a garden even in the depths of winter, finding a way to make life flourish in the cold.

He paused, the image of Elain in a winter garden so clear in his mind it felt almost real. He dipped the quill again, letting his thoughts flow.

I hope you’ll remember the fox messengers from the war. Viviane told me they’re more than just adorable in their vests. Apparently, if you ask nicely, they’ll dance after delivering your message. They take their job seriously. I hope you get to see one when Rhys’s report arrives. They’re quite entertaining.

Lucien tapped a finger against his chin, then continued.

The Winter Court is wonderful in its own way. I hope one day you’ll see it for yourself. I’d love to show you that there is beauty in the cold, as Feyre once told me how harsh winters were as a human… if you’d allow me.

There would be a grand dinner, with much more fanfare than the Night Court’s usual affairs. I hope one day you’ll attend as well. It reminds me of the elegant balls you’re accustomed to, though with a different charm. Hewn City may have its own allure, but this is something else entirely. It’s more whimsical than the gothic grandeur of Hewn City—a celebration of starlit snowfields and glittering frost, where beauty is found in every frozen breath.

Until then, know that you are in my thoughts, wherever I go.

Forever yours,L.

Lucien folded the letter carefully, his fingers lingering on the paper’s edges before slipping it into an envelope. He planned to burn it later, offering the smoke to the wind, like in the old Mother’s tale. They said the ashes would carry the message to your mate wherever they are, delivering your words in their dreams. He didn’t really believe it—but there was comfort in the thought, in the quiet hope that some part of his words might still reach her.

He set the envelope aside and returned to his report for Rhys. A quick note—just a line or two asking for guidance—before sealing it with his official mark.

Lucien rose from the desk and stretched, his gaze drifting to the window. The storm was still raging, snow whipping violently across the frozen landscape. For a moment, he imagined how Elain must have lived in that tiny, drafty cottage, relying on whatever Feyre could bring back from her hunts.

He’d heard bits of the story from Feyre—the endless hunger, the cold that seeped through every corner—and he felt a pang of sympathy, imagining how powerless Elain must have felt, caring for her ailing father in such bleak conditions. He couldn’t help but admire the quiet resilience that Elain’s father had spoken of so highly.

The clock chimed, marking the hour and reminding him that it was nearly time for dinner. Lucien frowned, wondering how he could get his missive delivered in weather like this.

Just as the thought crossed his mind, a white fox appeared before him as if conjured from thin air, its embroidered vest gleaming under the soft fae lights. It sat tall and proud, bushy tail curled neatly over its paws, and fixed him with an unblinking, almost expectant stare.

“Aren’t you professional,” Lucien muttered, quirking an eyebrow.

The fox blinked slowly, as if to acknowledge the compliment.

Lucien tilted his head, a smirk tugging at his lips. “May I see you dance?”

Without hesitation, the fox rose onto its hind legs and began hopping from side to side, its movements surprisingly graceful for something so small. Lucien couldn’t help but chuckle.

“Yeah,” he muttered, shaking his head. “Elain will love you.”

At that, the fox let out a high-pitched gekker and spun in a quick circle, chasing its own tail before resuming its little dance.

Lucien raised an eyebrow, turning back to the desk. “I have an important letter,” he said. “Can you deliver it?”

The fox sneezed, as if mildly offended by the question, then leapt onto the desk, as if to say I know my job. Before Lucien could stop it, the fox grabbed the envelope in its teeth, hopped down and, with an impressive twist, tucked it neatly into the small pouch on its vest.

Lucien crossed his arms, a smirk tugging at his lips as the fox stretched its front legs in what looked like an exaggerated bow. “Alrighty,” he sighed, rolling his eyes. “Off you pop.”

He turned back to his desk, ready to begin his ritual of burning the unsent letter to Elain. But as his hand reached for the second letter, his stomach dropped. The letter to Elain was gone.

No. No, no, no.

His mind raced, retracing his steps. He hadn’t misplaced it—he was certain. And then the realization hit him, cold and sharp, like a bucket of ice water.

From down the hall, the faint tap of paws on stone echoed, growing fainter by the second. Lucien’s gaze snapped to the doorway. The fox was trotting away, its tail swishing merrily, both letters bouncing at its side like trophies.

“Come back here!” Lucien shouted, his heart pounding as he bolted after it.

The fox paused just long enough to toss him a smug look over its shoulder, then darted away. Lucien cursed under his breath, feet pounding against the floor. He was fast, but the fox was faster, darting around corners, its gekkering echoing back at him.

Lucien nearly slipped as he rounded a sharp corner, catching only a glimpse of the fox’s bushy tail vanishing from sight.

“Stop!” he yelled, but the creature only looked back again, taunting him with those sharp, glinting eyes.

It dashed ahead, weaving through the palace halls like a ghost. Lucien sped up, breath coming fast, heart hammering in his chest. The fox was playing a game. And he was losing.

Suddenly, the creature veered toward a door with a flap at the bottom and slipped through it, vanishing into the storm outside. Lucien skidded to a stop, lips pressed into a thin line as he stared at the flap, which still swung back and forth from the fox’s escape. Its white fur had already melted into the swirling snow, impossible to track in the blizzard.

Irritation prickled at him. He couldn’t winnow directly to the Night Court, not from here. With a growl of frustration, Lucien opened the door and broke into a run again, feeling like he was chasing shadows through the storm. His only hope was the scent that lingered on the paper, his own scent—but it was quickly being swallowed by the cold, crisp air.

Desperate, Lucien headed straight for the River House, knowing he’d be late for dinner at the Winter Court but with no other option. He pushed himself harder, running as if he could outrun light itself.

Within moments, he was standing in front of the River House, breath clouding in the chilly air. He rapped on the door, and it swung open to reveal Rhys, his face already brimming with amusement.

“Well, well, Little Lucy,” Rhys drawled, leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed.

Lucien swallowed, trying to keep his tone even. “Did the fox messenger come here?”

“It did,” Rhys said, his grin widening.

Fuck.

“I… wasn’t done with the report before the fox took it,” Lucien lied. “May I have it back?”

Rhys raised an eyebrow, not entirely convinced, but nonetheless pulled out an envelope from his jacket.

Lucien’s pulse quickened. “Is that it?”

“Yes,” Rhys said, though there was a trace of impatience in his voice.

“You’re sure?”

“Yes,” Rhys repeated, slower this time, clearly growing tired of the exchange.

Lucien’s lips pressed into a tight line, and before he could stop it, Rhys sent a vivid image into his mind—a memory, sharp and clear. The fox, looking every bit as dignified as a Court courier, neatly curled its body to retrieve one envelope before handing it over to Rhys. Only one.

“Looks like I, uh, forgot the other half,” Lucien muttered, inwardly cringing.

Rhys’s expression hardened. “This is important, Lucien.”

“Yes, sir,” Lucien sighed, before Rhys, clearly done with him, slammed the door shut.

Lucien turned on his heel, frustration burning in his chest. But as he looked up, his heart nearly stopped—there, standing at the edge of the pathway, was Elain. She wore her winter cloak, a basket in her hands, her wide, curious eyes meeting his.

He quickly composed himself, offering a polite nod. “Good evening, lady.”

“Sir,” she replied softly, dipping into a slight curtsy.

His gaze flicked to the basket. “Do you need help carrying that in?” The offer slipped out before he could stop himself, his manners seizing the chance to prolong their conversation.

“No, sir,” Elain answered with a small smile. “But thank you for the offer.”

He fought to keep his frustration in check, pushing through his awkwardness. “Did you, by any chance, see a fox messenger?” he asked, attempting nonchalance.

“I did,” she said, and for a moment, Lucien’s heart lifted. Maybe—just maybe—the fox had delivered the letter to her. Perhaps he could even ask for it back, claiming it was meant for Rhys.

But before he could say another word, she added, “It delivered its one letter to Rhys.”

His chest tightened, but he kept his expression neutral, a strained smile tugging at his lips. He was tempted to ask if the fox had delivered any other letters, if perhaps she had received one herself—but the thought of her asking why a fox might bring her a letter from him made his cheeks warm.

“Of course,” he muttered, attempting to brush it off. “Well, I hope it entertained you.”

A small smile flickered across her face, her eyes sparking with amusement. “It did. It… danced.”

“I heard they do. I’m glad you were able to witness it.”

Their eyes met, lingering a moment longer than was proper. Lucien’s pulse quickened as he fought the urge to say something more, to close the unspoken distance between them. He could feel it—their mating bond, a faint pull between them, fragile but undeniable. It thrummed under his left rib, a constant reminder of everything they hadn’t yet acknowledged.

He wondered if she felt it too. If she sensed that quiet, insistent tug drawing them closer, as impossible to ignore as it was to act upon

But whatever words he might have spoken stayed caught in his throat.

Lucien gave a small nod, his heart sinking deeper. “Good night, lady,” he said, bowing once more, even as the ache of unfulfilled words lingered between them.

“You as well, sir,” she replied, curtsying again, before slipping past him, avoiding his gaze.

As he walked away, the weight of what could have happened lingered heavily in his chest. He had no time to dwell on it now. He still had to return to the Winter Court.

He took his time getting back, using a combination of winnows and sprints. When he finally arrived at the palace, he braced himself for the inevitable fussing from Viviane and Kallias, as well as the curious looks from the rest of the Winter Court.

The evening passed in a blur of courtiers’ questions and discussions of court relations, but Lucien’s mind kept drifting. He clung to the faint hope that the fox, realizing its task was incomplete, might return to him. After all, the envelope had no addressee—it could still come back. The fox, clever as it was, might get agitated over an unfinished job.

At least, that’s what Lucien kept telling himself.

Despite his wandering thoughts, he managed to enjoy the gathering, the elderberry wine flowing freely and loosening the tongues of those closest to Viviane and Kallias. They offered insights that made Lucien think Rhys might finally secure an agreement—something to soothe the tension. But once the night drew to a close, Lucien found himself alone, still thoroughly convinced that the fox was out there, somewhere, trying to find the intended recipient of the second letter.

He decided to head to the birchin, hoping the steam and solitude might help him relax. He let the warmth ease his tension as he recalled his exchange with Rhys and Elain. Well, now that he had told Rhys he wasn’t done with the report, he figured he might as well make good on that claim. Filling a page with gossip wouldn’t hurt, and the wine had provided plenty of material to work with.

When he was done, Lucien penned the second half of his “report,” including a few rumors about Autumn and Day Courts and a playful mention of Viviane’s tipsy admiration of Night Court decorum. For a moment, he thought about writing another letter to Elain, filling her in on the evening’s events, but decided against it. Given what had happened earlier, he didn’t want to tempt fate.

Just as he was finishing up, the same white fox materialized out of thin air, its eyes narrowing at Lucien with something close to scrutiny.

Lucien sighed. “Well?” he asked, voice tinged with frustration. “Where’s the other letter?”

The fox tilted its head, then threw its head back and gekkered again. Lucien’s patience wore thin as the fox started its usual dance, hopping from side to side, its bushy tail swishing in rhythm.

Lucien rubbed his temples. “I don’t speak fox,” he muttered under his breath.

The fox sat down, flicking its tail over its snout in what Lucien swore was a demure gesture—if a fox could be demure.

Lucien threw up his hands. “Whatever,” he muttered. He grabbed the newly penned letter to Rhys and handed it to the fox, eyeing it with suspicion. “I trust you’ll get this to him.”

The fox sniffed the letter, then looked up at him, impatience glinting in its eyes.

“That’s it,” Lucien said firmly.

The fox blinked, clearly unimpressed, then sat down, fixing him with a steady, expectant gaze—as if waiting for Lucien to hand over a second letter. Preferably one addressed to Elain.

Lucien narrowed his eyes, tapping his foot in some kind of stubborn standoff. “I don’t have another letter for you to deliver,” he said through gritted teeth.

The fox’s ears flicked, unconvinced. It stayed rooted to the spot, gaze unwavering, as if daring him to cave.

Lucien exhaled sharply. “I am not about to embarrass myself in front of my mate just because you want…” He trailed off, a sudden thought striking him. “Wait… did you actually deliver my second letter to someone?”

The fox responded with a sharp gekker, its eyes glinting with what looked suspiciously like amusement. Lucien could only grumble in defeat.

Without another sound, the fox spun around, tail swishing as it darted out of sight, the letter for Rhys secured in its vest.

Lucien watched the fox disappear, no longer finding the creature cute or endearing. He stared at the empty doorway for a long moment, wondering just how much dignity he’d lost to a laughing fox. With a heavy sigh, he removed his clothes and climbed into bed, but his mind still lingered on that damned letter to Elain. Surely it wouldn’t turn up somewhere it shouldn’t. Like with Eris.

He tried to shove the thought aside, but the unease settled over him like a second skin.

As sleep tugged at him, the last thing on his mind wasn’t court politics or trade agreements. It was Elain, bending over to greet the white fox with a gleeful smile on her face. The fox would dance for her, chasing its tail in circles before bowing low and—Mother above—she’d procure a letter for him.

Lucien’s eyes snapped open as dawn filtered through the curtains. He blinked groggily, only to find the fox perched on top of him, its tail swishing in lazy arcs.

“Can I help you?” Lucien grumbled, his voice rough with sleep.

The fox glanced down at its vest, then dropped something square onto Lucien’s face. The soft lilac paper brushed against his nose, bringing with it a familiar scent.

Jasmine. With honey.

Alarm jolted him awake. He sat up, fingers trembling slightly as he grasped the letter. The penmanship was neat and feminine, with a looping elegance that sent his heart racing.

Elain’s handwriting.

He needed tea. No—he needed time. Instead, he paced, his thoughts spiraling into panic. What had Elain written? His mind leapt to the worst possibilities.

Leave me alone.Creep.Please don’t ever write to me again.Please, sir, don’t ever write to me again.

The fox, now curled comfortably on his bed, watched him with half-lidded eyes, clearly enjoying the spectacle.

“Let me guess,” Lucien muttered dryly. “You’re not leaving until I read the letter?”

The fox stretched luxuriously, before coiling back up, settling in for a nap. Its eyes closing as though to say, You’ll get no peace until you do. Lucien sighed and sat down beside it, scratching behind its ears absentmindedly. The fox whined softly, leaning into the touch as if offering comfort.

He took a deep breath and, with one last moment of hesitation, opened the letter.

Dearest Lucien,

At least, that’s how I would have hoped you’d start your letter, though I suppose it was never truly meant for my eyes. I apologize for not mentioning that the fox delivered a letter to me first, before delivering your missive to Lord Rhysand. It’s been so long since I’ve received a letter of any kind, and I must admit, it was a welcome surprise. Thank you for your thoughtfulness.

The Winter Court sounds beautiful. I looked into the flowers you mentioned, and I agree. It would be wonderful to see blooms during the Night Court’s winter. I imagine it might be too cold for me to tend to, as I must confess, I quite detest being cold. But still, the idea of something blooming in a place where it otherwise wouldn’t… there’s a certain magic in that, isn’t there? A bit of unexpected life in the midst of all that frost.

As for your conundrum with Lord Kallias and Lady Viviane…

Lucien snorted at the way she underlined their titles.

…Perhaps a change of perspective is what they need. I’m not sure if you know this, since you weren’t there last year, but …

Lucien frowned at that, puzzled by what she meant to imply.

… Starfall is a celebration of those who have passed. Perhaps such a celebration could bring some solace to Lord Kallias and Lady Viviane, serving as both a way to honor the lives lost and to celebrate Lord Kallias’s survival. It might also help Lord Kallias understand that Lord Rhysand deemed his life worth saving because they both share an understanding of the value of life. By saving Lord Kallias, the cost was the children, but it was with the hope that Lord Kallias could save more lives than were lost.

I enjoy reading about your experience at the Winter Court. It reminds me of the letters Papa used to send me when he traveled for business—how he always promised to bring me along one day so I could see the world through his eyes. Your letter brought back those same feelings of comfort, something I didn’t realize I had forgotten. Thank you for reminding me of the little things he did.

If you have the time, I would love to hear more about your adventures and offer advice where I can. Perhaps Lord Rhysand and Feyre might even allow me to be of some use to the court, if you believe I could be helpful.

Lucien’s breath caught at the last few lines.

Yours very respectfully,E(lain)

P.S. Just in case you were expecting another person whose name begins with the letter E to sign off.

For a moment, he let the words sink in. Not just the content, but the tone—the gentle curiosity, the offer of help, the nostalgia that mirrored his own. He hadn’t expected... this. He had braced for rejection, for polite dismissal, for indifference. Instead, Elain had written something thoughtful, almost kind.

The fox shifted beside him, giving a satisfied little stretch, clearly sensing the change in Lucien’s mood. He glanced down at the creature, then back at the letter, running a thumb over the edge of the parchment.

“Well,” Lucien murmured softly, more to himself than the fox. “I suppose I owe you an apology for doubting you.”

The fox blinked slowly, resting its head on its paws as if to say, I told you so.

Lucien chuckled, shaking his head as he scratched behind its ears. The fox gave a low, contented hum, clearly pleased with itself. But Lucien’s thoughts were still circling Elain’s letter. He hadn’t expected it to be so... pleasant. It had soothed him in a way he hadn’t anticipated, and that left him feeling oddly light.

He narrowed his eyes at the fox, realization dawning. “No wonder you looked so demure when I asked about the other letter.”

The fox let out a high-pitched gekker, tail swishing with satisfaction. Lucien paused, but then—a faint sound echoed through his mind, like the softest of giggles. Elain’s laughter, light and amused.

For a heartbeat, Lucien froze, unsure if he’d imagined it. But the fox gave him a knowing look, its eyes gleaming with mischief.

Lucien sighed, rubbing his temples. “I’m surrounded by tricksters,” he muttered as a small, reluctant smile tugged at his lips.

[pejite]

Since her encounter with Cora at the church, Wilhelmina had been increasingly preoccupied with the idea of sending their children to school. The thought wouldn’t leave her mind, and though she knew Edwin might resist the notion of Thomas and Robert stepping away from their duties on the farm to pursue education, she felt strongly that it was the right thing to do.

That day, Wilhelmina waited patiently until Edwin had a free moment. As dusk fell and the chores wound down, she finally approached him. She asked him to sit with her, choosing the small workshop where Edwin had been spending his evenings making candles, a task that seemed to soothe his nerves after long, hard days.

Wilhelmina carefully poured them both some tea and set out a slice of the cake left over from the previous day. Edwin, already seated across from her, watched her closely, sensing that she had something on her mind. She fiddled with the teacup, searching for the right words, while Edwin’s brow furrowed with a mix of concern and impatience.

“What’s troubling you that you don’t know how to say?” Edwin finally broke the silence, his tone gentle but with a hint of urgency.

Wilhelmina offered a small, tentative smile, her eyes downcast. “Well, a few weeks ago, I ran into Cora while I was in the village” she began, her voice steady but cautious “You’ve probably heard about the new school they’ve built near the church…”

Edwin nodded, leaning back slightly in his chair, his curiosity piqued. He had an inkling of where this conversation was heading but chose to let her speak.

“She mentioned she’s planning to enrol her children, at least Bernard” Wilhelmina continued, her gaze now fixed on Edwin, gauging his reaction. “It got me thinking… maybe it would be good to enrol Thomas and Robert as well…” She paused briefly before quickly adding “It’s free, Edwin. We wouldn’t have to pay anything.”

Despite her attempt to frame the idea positively, Edwin’s expression darkened. He let out a heavy sigh and shook his head. “No, I’m sorry, Wilhelmina” he said, his voice firm, leaving no room for negotiation. “I can’t agree to that.”

“But-” Wilhelmina began, but Edwin cut her off.

“No, love, no” he said, more forcefully this time. “If we send the boys to school, who’s going to help me on the farm? Who’s going to do the work that needs doing every day?” He shook his head again, his tone resolute. It was clear the idea didn’t sit well with him at all.

“I could help more, and the girls could too” Wilhelmina suggested, her voice soft but determined.

“And who’s going to keep the house running if you’re out in the fields?” Edwin countered, his frustration beginning to show.

Wilhelmina fell silent, the tension between them growing thicker. She looked at Edwin, her expression a mix of frustration and sadness, but she didn’t raise her voice. That wasn’t her way. “Edwin, you work so hard, and I’m grateful for it. But farming is so unpredictable… Don’t you see that? If the boys get an education, they could find work that guarantees them a future, a stable life where they’re not at the mercy of the land and the weather.”

“Nothing in this world is guaranteed” Edwin replied sharply, his eyes narrowing. “Enough, Wilhelmina.”

“But we could give them a chance-” Wilhelmina tried again, her voice growing more urgent.

“I said enough!” Edwin’s voice rang out as he stood abruptly, the chair scraping loudly against the floor. “I’ve made my decision and it’s final. The farm will bounce back, we’ve been through rough patches before, and we’ll get through this one. The boys will stay here and do their part, like they always have.”

Wilhelmina crossed her arms tightly over her chest and looked away, her frustration evident. She hated when Edwin raised his voice, but she knew better than to argue further. Her silence spoke volumes, and she knew Edwin could see the hurt in her eyes. But he was already turning away, retreating back to his work, leaving her alone with her thoughts and the unresolved tension between them.

[astraearinehart]

──the revelation is somewhat shocking to her, but she is in no position to judge her daughter's choices; she did what she felt was right for her to raise her children and take care of her father ( she had admitted to her that Claude was more like a third child to her than a dad ). 

"I suppose there are worse ways to make money," she shrugged a little; surely she didn't condone selling ones body in whatever way; for someone of her status, it felt a little cheap, but in fairness, she was no better when she would collect men, for her one night stands were far too frequent —she has no place to speak. but she hoped she would consider her offer anyway and maybe would let her help her if she wanted to do something of her own, anything; Stella has the means to make it happen. and when her daughter's following words confirmed she would consider, she gave a gentle, satisfied smile, followed by a sharp nod of her head. "take your time.." she had only just moved here; she wouldn't be going anywhere any time soon, after all.

the older blonde noticed the tears falling from her daughter's eyes, and she felt a little guilty for it, even more considering her condition —part of her wanted to ask if she had confirmed whether she was pregnant or not, but she mulled it over in her head for the time being, unsure if it would offend her daughter to be asked this by her. but when she wiped her tears and spoke again, she perked up a little; she didn't mean to put pressure on her, but she had come all the way from Australia, had met her after all those years, and it felt it would be such a shame to not give this a chance; who knows, they might end up getting along, and she could be a little better now at being her mother, more than she ever did when Liz was little. which had been something she had struggled with immensely: taking care of her, making her priority, when all she could see was her own pain and misery. in fairness, she still had some soft, warm memories of her; their time spent together hadn't always been that bad, and poor Lizzie had always been so eager to help her or do something for her ( a kindness that Stella had used; taken advantage of her naive, innocent nature when she lied to her and left her behind ).

"thank you," she smiled, a charming, warm smile. "I just moved her so you can take your time," she teased.

⸻ And she hasn't responded to her question. Is she ashamed of her? Instead, she was talking about her grandparents which she also wanted to know about. Her grey-bluish hues met her gaze. ❛ I was a stripper, and just started my account on Onlyfans. I know a lot of people make money on this platform.❜ If Liz posted more in that Onlyfans account she has, maybe she would earn more than what she had on the club, but then again she made a deal with Alexander and barely had time to explore that platform so she abandoned the account. Alex would have a heart attack if she only continued on that account. He can give her comfort financially and for their babies. And here is a topic in which she hates to talk. Do something on your own. In the truth? She has no idea what she wants anymore.

❛ It's something I need to think about it. ❜ It was an honest answer. Elizabeth isn't sure if she wants to accept another gift from her mother, to despise her. Also, she has no idea what she wants either. The other woman did say she won't take anything from her. That is not the reason she is here. It is to meet her. Stella was making her feel rage and confusion, and she hated those feelings. Stella is so… Feisty. She has a temper… She can see easily how she could make enemies. Her father is not a man with an easy temper, but more easygoing than her.

And those hormones of the pregnancy, she put a hand on her face and felt the tears falling on her delicate features, she hoped Alex could take long to arrive at home because she didn't want to him meet her or the toddlers. Not yet, she needs to earn her trust too. Her grey-bluish hues that was greyer than ever, shifted to be locked in elsewhere. ❛ Fine. ❜ She says wiping her own tears. ❛ You can get to know me. But you need to know, I will take things slow. If you are interested in me, that's it. ❜

[sn0tcl0wn]

just found out that gen x really doesnt get that cancelling isn't gonna ruin anyone's career if they listen to their pr teams and that they do it to celebs too. this is wild to me.

they're so scared of the liberal agenda that the second some old fuck they vaguely know about says they're being hunted for sport by the blue haired pronoun people, they immediately jump on that person's side with no interest in finding further context. meanwhile the reasons they were cancelled for their political beliefs usually come down to them bullying leftists and minorities on twitter, spouting white supremacist dogwhistles, or saying suuuuper fucked up shit about national tragedies or sensitive topics they have no right to be speaking on period, let alone so callously.

but no we all decided to ruin the careers of these people we don't even care about for no reason other than we're not being catered to. it's never that we just don't like them and talk shit on the internet or the person was being a straight up bigot or fuckin criminal. nah we're just lil haters who are out to get the conservatives lmao. watch out.

[autumnoakes]

man... rhoam's "redemption" in aoc really sucked, huh?

like botw SHOWED us, several times, how much pressure rhoam put on zelda to unlock her powers, despite her telling him, several times, that it wasn't working. he got angry and banned her from doing not only something she saw as useful, but something that she was clearly very interested in and passionate about because she "wasn't dedicating enough time to her prayers." yes, his diary expresses regret for it, but at the end of the day, if zelda saw that it wouldn't mean much to her. the actions rhoam took, and the way zelda grew up under so much pressure that she nearly died as a child in one of the springs (this is in urbosa's diary, iirc) mean so much more than his regrets and his intentions. it took him nearly 10 years to realize that he fucked up, and by that point it was too late. the calamity had returned, and rhoam had lost any chance he had at making things right with zelda.

meanwhile, in aoc, all that's there is some half-hearted scene in the temple of time that's supposed to make everything better? yes, aoc had a very different and arguably better outcome than the calamity that led to botw, but the damage was still done by rhoam. it's still the same hurts and abuse and trauma that he put his daughter through all because of the prophesized calamity.

[dream-sans-mogai]

Anyway, because I'm considered a bigger creator within the mogai community and I have a responsibility to address things given my bigger audience-

Please remember that Tumblr, especially LGBT Tumblr concerning discourse and intracommunity issues, is a hyper niche, reactive, violent, sensitive community with next to zero basis in reality at large and you should not take any of its opinions as absolute fact. Especially the mogai community's opinions.

A lot of people on mogai Tumblr talk big game with very clearly fake the-whole-bus-clapped stories about the real world concerning acceptance towards mspec monos, Neopronouns and Xenogenders and it's my job as an adult and guiding voice to remind people these experiences may happen but rarely do and you absolutely should not just tell random people you use purr/purrs pronouns or your a bi gaybian or you identify as Chronosian or other things like that because it's really fucking dangerous even in hyper progressive places like new york, cali and Detroit. It can be deadly in many many small towns, including ones in progressive states. Especially dangerous in non accepting states.

I don't say this to burst your bubble or ruin your hopeful world view but many stories of acceptance are fake, even if some are true, most of the community is underage and just cause your teacher may approve of your Soniccharic identity, doesn't mean they won't tell your transphobic parents. It's scary and dangerous out here for trans and gay people rn and I won't be one of the idiots who tell you to run and frolic with your Xenogender pins Infront of increasingly hostile transphobes. I want the younger gen z trans people to survive and I won't lie to you about the reality of the battle we all are staring down concerning project 2025.

Most of the people telling these stories live in progressive states and do not tell you about the failed times or exaggerate the acceptance they supposedly received. I'm telling you from the mouth of someone who grew up in a tiny town in South Ohio with less than 1,000 people, it's still just as dangerous as it was 10 years ago. I still get followed in my home town. I still get stares in my home town. My actual home town, a place I grew up in where people knew me as the gnc dyke for a good while in my last 2 years of school. Do not spread this shit around to everyone. Nex didn't think they would become a victim, Brianna didn't think she would be one of the unlucky ones, plenty of those we've lost did not think they would die in hate crimes. I almost died in two of the hate crimes I've experienced.

You need to be really fucking careful and although I love than Neopronouns and Xenogenders are becoming more accepted by the larger LGBT community, you need to be very very VERY careful about what you do, what you wear and who you tell what because word spreads fast in suburbia and hate spreads faster. You do not want to be wearing a pin the day some white cishet magat decides he's tired of the "pedophiles" and chooses you as the first victim because you were the first he saw. Don't hide who you are but Be. Fucking. Careful.

[waheedawolf]

.

[rubberbandballqueen]

also, the kids found a nest with a dead bird on the ground today, and they started yelling abt it n drawing all the other kids over, so i had to actually switch into the Authority Figure Voice(tm) with them so that they wouldn’t like. literally desecrate its body by kicking it around for funsies

[sensitivegoblin]

Just started watching class of '09 and it's frickennnnn sweet :)

[javierpena-inatacvest]

Me, You, and Baby, Too

Summary: You and Joel have always wanted kids, but didn't want to rush into having them until you both were ready. After a surprise at his job, Joel realizes there's nothing more he wants to do than put a baby in you as soon as he gets home.

Pairing: Husband!Joel Miller x Wife!Reader (no use of y/n)

Word Count: 4.1K

Warnings: SMUT (18+), unprotected p in v sex (it's baby making time, so hush), oral (f receiving), vaginal fingering, big ole fat and nasty breeding kink (.... don't look at me it's bad), creampie, cum play, talks of starting a family, calling Joel "Daddy" (in the sense you want to have his babies, but also 🤷🏼‍♀️), Sweet soft Joel who loves his wife and would give her the universe if he could, honestly with just the way Joel is talking about makin' babies, I think I'm pregnant

A/N: It's that time of the month where Madeline ovulates and writes feral breeding kink smut!!! 🤪 Okay I am so nervous to post this because I have never written for Joel before and I'm worried it's trash with a capital T, but after re-watching TLOU, I need 2003 Joel Miller carnally, so here we are. This is also inspired by @mrsmando post about 2003 Joel Miller constantly keeping you barefoot and pregnant because it made me unwell, and no lies were told. (thanks for ruining my life mimi) 🤠 ANYWHO I hope you guys like it, and if not, I'll shut up and go back to writing Javi and Frankie and pretend like this didn't happen

There were a lot of stereotypical answers that you expected from your husband when you asked him how his day at work had been:  

“Good.” 

“Fine.” 

“Long.” 

“My knees are killin’ me.” 

“Tommy did somethin’ fuckin’ stupid again.” 

“Better now that I’m home with you.” 

So when Joel arrived home today after a new job he had started with Tommy on a bathroom renovation, there were few things that could have prepared you for the response your husband had when you asked him how his day had gone. 

“Hey, honey. How was your day today?” You smiled, watching Joel stroll in through your front door, kicking off his work boots at the entryway, beginning to put away his things before strolling into the kitchen to greet you. 

“Pretty good." He paused, leaning in for a quick kiss before making his way over to the closet before speaking again. "Saw a real cute baby today.” 

You could practically feel your heart skip a beat as you looked up from the vegetables you had been cutting up for dinner, tightening the grip you had around your knife to make sure you didn’t drop it in shock. 

Out of all the things for Joel to bring up on the first day at a new job, a cute baby had been at the top of the list.

Not floor plans. 

Not timelines for the project.

Not something stupid that Tommy did. 

Not even what he had done today on the job. 

The top news that Joel Miller had to report back to you about his day was the sighting of a cute baby. 

You and Joel had always agreed that you’d wanted kids, and your husband had been not only adamant, but genuinely excited at the prospect of becoming a dad. But only being a little less than a year into your marriage, the two of you had decided you didn’t want to rush into anything, and when the time felt right, you’d both know it. 

But one by one, as your friends began to announce their pregnancies, baby showers, and pictures of their adorable newborns, you couldn’t help but deny the baby fever starting to burn hotter and hotter inside you with every passing day. 

You’d brought it up in passing a few times with Joel, talking about your friends who had kids, or a cute mom and her children you saw walking around in your neighborhood, and while he had always had a positive response to what you had to say, you just had a feeling that now just wasn’t the time for the two of you yet, and that was okay.  

But here you were, standing in your kitchen, jaw practically scraping the ground at the notion that your husband had dropped just about the least subtle hint ever that babies weren’t just at the forefront of your mind- they were on his, too. 

“Awh, really?” You asked, shaking your head to snap out of your shocked state, returning back to dice the onion you had been working on before Joel could turn around to see you after finishing hanging up his things in the closet, trying to subtly coax more information out of him. 

“Yeah.” He smiled, joining you in the kitchen, wrapping an arm around your waist to pull you closer to his chest for a soft kiss to greet you, “The family we’re startin’ the bathroom reno for just moved in. Had their first baby a few months ago and just hadn’t had time to work on fixin’ things.” 

“So they’re already putting the baby to work with you and Tommy?” You teased, raising an eyebrow at Joel playfully, giving him a quick peck back on the lips as he laughed at your sass. 

“Cheap labor.” Joel shrugged back, playing into the joke, “Nah, she woke up from her nap while Tommy and I were runnin’ through some measurements so her mom brought her out for the last lil bit we were there. She was damn cute, too. Just smilin’ and laughin’ at everything.” 

You were glad Joel’s arm was still wrapped around your hip, because you were convinced if it wasn’t, you were about to melt to the floor into a puddle, watching how soft and sweet Joel was talking about a cute, smiling baby. 

“Well a cute baby definitely sounds like a very nice perk of being on the job.” You smirked, trying to play it cool enough to keep your heart from bursting out of your chest. 

“Yeah.” Joel replied softly, quietly pausing for a moment, watching the gears turning in his brain, carefully calculating his words before he spoke. 

“You okay?” You asked, looking up at Joel, knowing your husband well enough that he had something on his mind he was trying to work up the confidence to spit out. 

Joel looked back down at you, big brown eyes locking with yours as his grip around your waist tightened ever so slightly, tongue swiping against his plush bottom lip as he took a long, deep breath in and slow exhale out.  

“Honey, what is it?” You asked again, now slightly concerned with how nervous your husband looked in his stoic silence, reaching up to gently wrap your fingers around his arm, thumb stroking his skin. 

“I want one.” 

You froze, worried that your heart may have actually stopped as you looked at Joel, making sure that you had really just heard what he had said. 

“W-what?” 

“I want one. A baby. I- I know it’s been a while since we’ve talked about it, but I’ve been thinkin’ about it a lot, and seein’ that baby today, it just- shit, I just couldn’t stop picturin’ what it would be like to have one of our own I guess.” 

If you weren’t a puddle before, you sure as fuck were now.  

An overwhelming sensation of nerves and excitement began thrumming through your veins, your heart beat pounding in your ears as your face grew warm and a smile started to spread between your cheeks. You were almost certain you had to be dreaming, asking again to make sure that someone needed to come and wake you up and send you back to reality. 

“Joel… Really?” 

“Yeah, really. Nothin’ I want more. I know I ain’t gonna even be close to the perfect dad, but I know you’ll be sucha good mom, and I’ll be damned if I don’t want some tiny lil versions of us runnin’ around. Couldn’t think of anything that would make me happier than that. Like I said, I know that we ain’t talked about in a while, and if ya aren’t ready yet that’s okay but I-” 

Before Joel could even finish the rest of his thought, you were pressing up to plant your lips to his with passionate intensity, hands roaming up his chest before cupping his jaw and the scratchy stubble of his cheeks while your stomach flipped with arousal and want, already feeling a damp patch beginning to pool in the cotton of your underwear. 

You pulled away, kisses traveling along his jawline and up his neck until you were nipping at his ear, the hot breath of your words whispering against his skin. 

“You wanna make a baby, Joel Miller?” 

“Fuck-” Joel groaned, reaching his other arm around you grab at your ass, pulling you in tight enough to feel the bulge beginning to grow under the denim of his worn jeans, pressing against your thigh.

“‘Cause there’s nothing that I want more than to make you a daddy.” You smirked, looking up to watch Joel’s eyes darken with lust, jaw going slack as a low groan rumbled in his chest, his once half hard cock now fully erect and straining against his zipper, trying to keep from giggling watching your husband try to string together any sort of thoughts to speak. 

“Jesus fuckin’ Christ-” He moaned, running his hand over his face to try and regain his composure to keep from busting right then and there. “You- fuck, you sure, baby?” 

“Mhmmmm. Don’t think I’ve ever been so sure of anything in my whole life. So sure,” you paused, softly pressing your lips to his between words, “that I think we should go make one right now.” 

Your adamant confirmation was all it took to set off something almost animalistic in Joel, crashing his lips back into yours in a messy clash of tongues and teeth, gripping his hands under your thighs to hoist you up around his hips and lock your legs behind the small of his back. Without ever letting your mouths part, Joel was already halfway to the bedroom before you had even realized it, playfully giggling at how frantically he was carrying you down the hallway, your bodies bumping against the walls and door frames, too focused on desperate and needy kisses for any sort of spatial awareness. 

Finally reaching your bed, Joel carefully laid you down, letting your back fall into the mattress, leaving your lower half to hang off the edge before your husband was on his knees, settling himself between your parted thighs. 

You sat up on your elbows, watching as Joel tightened his grip around the meat of your legs, peppering kisses up the inside of each across your soft skin before coming face to face with your core, planting another soft kiss there before letting his fingers ghost over your heat, still covered by your jeans. 

He rapidly worked at the button of your pants, shuffling them down off your hips to reveal your underwear, now absolutely soaked with arousal from the prospect alone of Joel knocking you up and carrying his baby. 

“Jesus Christ, baby girl, look at ‘cha.” Joel tutted, admiring how the cotton of your underwear clung to the outline of your cunt, sticking to the puffy and swollen lips of your pussy from how wet you were. “Haven’t even touched ya yet. This all for me, darlin’?” 

Just as you began to try and answer, Joel took one of his fingers, barely dragging it over the damp fabric before beginning to rub soft circles over your covered clit, eliciting a pathetic whimper from you at the electric sensation.  

“F-fuck- It’s all for you, b-baby.” You stammered, moaning even louder as a second finger joined the first, pressing more pressure into you sensitive nub as he nudged each of your legs to drape over his shoulders, his free hand tugging at the waistband of your underwear, making you instinctually lift your hips as he yanked them off your legs to crumple in a messy pile with your pants. 

“Prettiest fuckin’ pussy I’ve ever seen.” Joel mewled, running his fingers up and down through the weeping seams of your folds, toying with your entrance while draping his arm across your hips to hold your squirming lower half in place. “Wants me to fuck her full of me and fill her up so bad, huh?” 

“P-please, Joel. Want you to fill me up so badly.” You whimpered, staring down at your husband, a devilish grin spread across his face, licking his lips as his eyes darted back and forth between your blissed out face and the glistening mess between your thighs. 

“I will sweetheart, promise. Gotta taste you first though, baby. Gotta make sure you’re nice n’ready for me. ‘Cause once we start, I ain’t lettin’ you outta this bed ‘till I knock you up.” 

With that, Joel was diving between your legs, lapping you up in long and firm strokes, pressing against your clit in the way he knew would make you fall apart under his tongue. While he would have loved to have spend hours just like this, making you writhe under his touch, drinking up your arousal like a wandering man parched in the heat of the desert, Joel had one thing on his mind, and one thing only- 

To get you pregnant.   

Joel began to intensify the pace of his tongue, swirling and sucking around your clit as two of his thick fingers pushed into your heat, sliding in and out of your entrance with ease from how wet and worked up you were. Curling his fingers ever so slightly, you cried out as Joel bumped against your g-spot, pushing against the soft, spongy spot as his tongue worked its magic. 

You could feel the arousal shooting through your veins, heat beginning to bloom in your stomach as Joel fucked you with his fingers and mouth, shooting your hand down to grab fistfulls of his thick, brown hair to brace yourself for your impending orgasm. 

“J-Joel, oh fuck- Fuck, baby, I’m c-close. Don’t stop, please, don’t stop.” You whined, pussy beginning to flutter around Joel’s fingers, the tightening only egging him on further to get you to cross the finish line. 

With just a little more pressure of his tongue, Joel could feel your cunt clamping down around his digits, watching the pleasure shoot through your body as you came, your orgasm crashing through you like a tsunami. 

As you reached your high, Joel drank up your arousal, not faltering in his pace, too focused on your pretty cries of his name being chanted like a prayer to do anything but keep going and making you feel good. 

Truth be told, Joel had gotten so lost between your thighs, the only thing stopping him was the tensing feeling between his, so pussy drunk and determined to fuck you full of him that he was worried he was about to cum too if he didn’t stop. 

Pulling off you, Joel frantically stood up, racing to undo his belt and jeans, yanking them down his legs in tandem with his boxers as his cock slapped against his stomach, precum already pearling from his tip, desperate to be inside of you. His shirt quickly followed his pants, ripping it over his head as his broad body caged yours under him, helping you to scoot back on the bed until your head hit the pillows, trailing kisses up and down your body the whole way. 

As Joel kissed and nipped at your skin, you quickly shuffled off your top and bra, leaving you bare beneath him, moaning as his tongue flicked against each of your newly exposed pebbled nipples, grouping your breast and kneading the soft flesh in his palms. 

Even though you had just came, you could already feel your cunt starting to clench around nothing, desperate to feel Joel inside of you, to stretch you out with his thick cock and fuck you until you couldn’t think straight. But with the way your chest was heaving and breath shaking from your orgasm, you could barely muster out the words you wanted. 

“J-Joel, p-please, baby. P-please.” 

You snaked your hand between your bodies to reach for Joel’s cock, wrapping your fingers around his length and swiping your thumb over his leaking tip, a low groan rumbling in his chest as you stroked him, trying to guide him to slide between your legs and ease your ache. 

Lowering his hips, you moved your hand and let his replace it, Joel pumping himself a few times before guiding his tip between your folds, collecting your slick to coat his cock, using every last ounce of self-control he had as his eyes locked with yours, wanting to see your face as he pushed inside you. 

“Please, what, darlin’?” Joel teased, knowing damn well what you were begging for. 

“Need to feel you, Joel. Need you to put a baby in me.” You moaned, reaching up to grab his face, your palm rubbing against his stubble as your fingers tugged on the curls at the nape of his neck. 

With one more pump, Joel lined himself up with your entrance, sliding into your heat, the sweet stretch and sting of his length making the breath hitch in the back of your throat, filling you up inch by inch until he bottomed out inside you with his tip just kissing your cervix. 

Joel couldn’t help but smirk as he watched your mouth fall open, parted lips letting a soft moan escape while your eyes nearly rolled to the back of your head at the newfound sensation, giving you another moment to adjust before he began to slowly roll his hips, dragging his cock in and out of your core. 

“Christ, baby girl, so wet and tight. Like this pussy was made just for me. Made for me to fuck ya full of me until it’s got no choice but to fuckin’ take.” Joel groaned, reaching down to grab your thighs, pinning your knees to your chest, stretching you open to take Joel even deeper, practically feeling him in your stomach with the position he had you in. 

“Joel, oh my god- fuck, you feel so good. Fuck, baby. Want you to fill me up so bad.” You whimpered, Joel now beginning to pick up his pace as he thrust in and out of you, continually punching in that perfect spot over and over again, leaving your brain bordering on short circuiting. 

Joel’s fingertips dug deeper into the flesh of your thighs, pushing your legs down just far enough to be chest to chest with you, the sweat dampened curls of his forehead brushing against yours as your mouths met in an electric kiss, catching each other’s muffled moans with each snap of Joel’s hips. 

“Yeah, sweetheart? Want me to fill you up? Fuck a baby into you? Let everyone see what a pretty momma you are, carryin’ our kid?” Joel grunted, picturing you, months from now, belly round and tits swollen, pregnant with your baby, wondering how many you’d let him give you, because fuck, he’d keep knocking you up until he had nothing left to give. 

Each push and pull of your bodies against each other felt more and more electric, an undeniable coil tightening in your stomach with the way Joel was pounding into you and the hairs at the base of his cock were brushing against your clit, already feeling yourself beginning to teeter on the brink of pleasure once again. 

“Yes, fuck, fuck- yes, Joel. I wanna have your baby. Want you to knock me up so I can make you a daddy. Please, baby, please.” You were all but sobbing at this point, your fingers digging into the tan and sweat sheened skin of Joel’s broad shoulders, overwhelmed by the lewd combinations of Joel’s heavy pants in your ear and wet squelching of your pussy as his pelvis flushed against yours repeatedly. 

Joel could feel you beginning to tighten around him, pussy sucking him in with its warmth and wetness, ready to clamp around his cock and milk him for all he was worth. 

“That’s it, darlin’, I know you’re close. Gotta cum for me first though, baby girl. Gotta feel ya soak me before I stuff ya so full of me, I swear t’god, you’ll be drippin’ outta me for days. So fuckin’ full that I’ll get you pregnant right now.” Joel groaned through gritted teeth, leaning back to reach and grab your leg, wrapping it around the small of his back before you lifted your other to join it, locking your ankles to keep him as close to you as possible. 

“Joel, oh my god, fuck baby, fuck, I’m gonna- fuckfuckfuck-” 

Suddenly, your orgasm was rushing through every inch of you, crying out as the pleasure hit you like a freight train, choking Joel’s cock with your pussy, unable to do anything but relish in the white hot bliss that had you nearly floating out of your own body. 

While Joel would have kept fucking you until the sun went down, the truth was he was relieved to feel you cum, spending every second since your agreement in the kitchen trying to keep from finishing until he was balls deep inside you and you were soaking his cock as you reached your high. The realization that now was his chance to make good on his promise, to fill you up and fuck a baby into you, ignited something primal, feral, in him, pounding into you at a punishing pace as he could feel himself teetering on the brink of collapse right with you. 

“That’s my girl. That’s it, cum all over my cock, baby. Shit, I’m gonna cum too, fuck- gonna fill this tight lil pussy up so goddamn much, give you a baby, make you a momma, oh fuck!” 

With one final stutter of his hips, Joel let out a strangled moan, flushing his hips against yours as he milked himself of every last drop, painting your warm, wet walls with hot ropes of his spend, making sure nothing went to waste. 

He couldn’t help but but press even further into you, plugging you with his length and fucking his cum as deep as he could into your cunt to make sure it took, collapsing on top of you with his cock still buried in your heat, letting your chests heave together in sync as you both caught your breath. 

Joel was convinced he had never cum so much in his entire life, afraid that if he pulled out, that somehow he’d have more left to give, and sure as fuck wasn’t going to risk letting anything coming out of him end up not inside of you. 

Well, not until your muffled grunt rumbled beneath him. 

 “Joel, baby, I love you but you’re kinda squishing me.” You huffed, giggling to yourself as you watched your husband come-to in real time out of his post-orgasmic state, immediately offering a half muttered apology as he rolled off you, sitting back on his knees to admire the shiny and slick mess between your legs. 

“Fuck me…” Joel murmured to himself, eyes wide as he stared at your pussy- wet, puffy and soaking with your arousal, bringing his fingers to your spent hole as he watched a dribble of his cum begin to leak out. Gently scooping it up, he collected everything he could, pressing it back into your cunt before pulling his hand out. Crawling up the bed to lay next to you, Joel wrapped you up in his arms as the little spoon, peppering ticklish kisses over your back and shoulders, making you burst into laughter. 

“Joel, stop! That tickles!” You squealed, squirming in his grasp, trying to defend yourself from his unrelenting attack of soft, plush lips and scratchy beard dancing across your skin. 

“Don’t laugh so damn hard, or all my hard work’s ‘bout to come out!” Joel teased, giving you a playful nudge, pulling you in even closer. 

“Stop making me laugh, then! Plus, I think you came enough to put quadruplets inside of me, so I think we’ll be okay.” You snorted, Joel joining in on the laughter. 

“Baby, I don’t think I’ve ever came that hard in my whole goddamn life.” Joel sighed, shrugging as you rolled your head up to look at him and that stupid goofy grin he got whenever he couldn’t contain his excitement about something. “God, I love you.” 

“I love you too, Joel.” 

The two of you sat in a comfortable silence for a moment, Joel slowly bringing his arm to rest across your stomach, thumb slowly tracing careful circles on your skin. 

“You’re gonna make such a good mom. I’m the luckiest man alive that you wanna have a family with me. Still not really sure what I ever did to deserve it.” 

“Joel! You’re gonna make me cry! And this is before pregnancy hormones, ya jerk.” You tried to laugh, choking back the tears welling in your eyes. 

“Yeah, what a jerk, your husband tellin’ you how much he loves you.” He teased back, planting a long kiss on your temple, before pressing another one to your lips. Another wave of soft silence followed, watching Joel’s face scrunch in a calculated concentration. “How big of a crib you think I gotta make? I don’t know ‘bout a rockin’ chair, but a crib can’t be that hard. I gotta measure the guest room tomorrow.” 

“Honey, I don’t even know if I’m pregnant yet, you don’t need to have a crib built tomorrow.” You teased, laughing at Joel, despite the fact his mind was already thinking about a baby room and accessories had you melting. 

“Sweetheart, what did I say earlier? I ain’t lettin’ you outta this bed ‘till we know there’s a baby in there.” He smirked, nodding at his hand still splayed across your stomach, “So you better get comfortable, ‘cause if it’s up to me, there ain’t a chance in hell we’re gettin’ anything but a positive pregnancy test at the end of this month, and we'll sure need that crib nine months from now. Never hurts to get a head start."

Tag List: (Sorry if I tagged you and you don't wanna be tagged, just let me know!!)

@chaotic-iguana @rhoorl @bbiophiliaa @pertinentpostmortem @angelofsmalldeath-codeine

@pedrobaby @fatima-marisa @beboldbebravethings @poodlebae @kittenlittle24

@3sriracha @jungchloee @perennialdoll247 @prettyinpunk85

@partyofone3413 @harriedandharassed @pedrohoe04 @theorganasolo

@endlessthxxghts @beware-my-thorns @missladym1981 @milly-louise

@jay-zzle @the-one-with-the-grey-color @persephone-girl @bitchesuntitled

@pedropascallvr @millennial-teenybopper r @nastiasnow @vee-bees-blog

@hopplessilse @mxtokko @its-nebuleuse @mandoisapunk @msmorningstaarr

@amyispxnk @honeyedmiller @mountainsandmayhem @picketniffler @burningnerdchild

@copperhalfcent @theoraekenslover @bloodyinspirationaldemon @vee-bees-blog

@samgirl4life @pigeonmama @survivingandenduring @itsokbbygrl @javierpena-inatacvestnotifs

[suzannahnatters]

all RIGHT:

Why You're Writing Medieval (and Medieval-Coded) Women Wrong: A RANT

(Or, For the Love of God, People, Stop Pretending Victorian Style Gender Roles Applied to All of History)

This is a problem I see alllll over the place - I'll be reading a medieval-coded book and the women will be told they aren't allowed to fight or learn or work, that they are only supposed to get married, keep house and have babies, &c &c.

If I point this out ppl will be like "yes but there was misogyny back then! women were treated terribly!" and OK. Stop right there.

By & large, what we as a culture think of as misogyny & patriarchy is the expression prevalent in Victorian times - not medieval. (And NO, this is not me blaming Victorians for their theme park version of "medieval history". This is me blaming 21st century people for being ignorant & refusing to do their homework).

Yes, there was misogyny in medieval times, but 1) in many ways it was actually markedly less severe than Victorian misogyny, tyvm - and 2) it was of a quite different type. (Disclaimer: I am speaking specifically of Frankish, Western European medieval women rather than those in other parts of the world. This applies to a lesser extent in Byzantium and I am still learning about women in the medieval Islamic world.)

So, here are the 2 vital things to remember about women when writing medieval or medieval-coded societies

FIRST. Where in Victorian times the primary axes of prejudice were gender and race - so that a male labourer had more rights than a female of the higher classes, and a middle class white man would be treated with more respect than an African or Indian dignitary - In medieval times, the primary axis of prejudice was, overwhelmingly, class. Thus, Frankish crusader knights arguably felt more solidarity with their Muslim opponents of knightly status, than they did their own peasants. Faith and age were also medieval axes of prejudice - children and young people were exploited ruthlessly, sent into war or marriage at 15 (boys) or 12 (girls). Gender was less important.

What this meant was that a medieval woman could expect - indeed demand - to be treated more or less the same way the men of her class were. Where no ancient legal obstacle existed, such as Salic law, a king's daughter could and did expect to rule, even after marriage.

Women of the knightly class could & did arm & fight - something that required a MASSIVE outlay of money, which was obviously at their discretion & disposal. See: Sichelgaita, Isabel de Conches, the unnamed women fighting in armour as knights during the Third Crusade, as recorded by Muslim chroniclers.

Tolkien's Eowyn is a great example of this medieval attitude to class trumping race: complaining that she's being told not to fight, she stresses her class: "I am of the house of Eorl & not a serving woman". She claims her rights, not as a woman, but as a member of the warrior class and the ruling family. Similarly in Renaissance Venice a doge protested the practice which saw 80% of noble women locked into convents for life: if these had been men they would have been "born to command & govern the world". Their class ought to have exempted them from discrimination on the basis of sex.

So, tip #1 for writing medieval women: remember that their class always outweighed their gender. They might be subordinate to the men within their own class, but not to those below.

SECOND. Whereas Victorians saw women's highest calling as marriage & children - the "angel in the house" ennobling & improving their men on a spiritual but rarely practical level - Medievals by contrast prized virginity/celibacy above marriage, seeing it as a way for women to transcend their sex. Often as nuns, saints, mystics; sometimes as warriors, queens, & ladies; always as businesswomen & merchants, women could & did forge their own paths in life

When Elizabeth I claimed to have "the heart & stomach of a king" & adopted the persona of the virgin queen, this was the norm she appealed to. Women could do things; they just had to prove they were Not Like Other Girls. By Elizabeth's time things were already changing: it was the Reformation that switched the ideal to marriage, & the Enlightenment that divorced femininity from reason, aggression & public life.

For more on this topic, read Katherine Hager's article "Endowed With Manly Courage: Medieval Perceptions of Women in Combat" on women who transcended gender to occupy a liminal space as warrior/virgin/saint.

So, tip #2: remember that for medieval women, wife and mother wasn't the ideal, virgin saint was the ideal. By proving yourself "not like other girls" you could gain significant autonomy & freedom.

Finally a bonus tip: if writing about medieval women, be sure to read writing on women's issues from the time so as to understand the terms in which these women spoke about & defended their ambitions. Start with Christine de Pisan.

I learned all this doing the reading for WATCHERS OF OUTREMER, my series of historical fantasy novels set in the medieval crusader states, which were dominated by strong medieval women! Book 5, THE HOUSE OF MOURNING (forthcoming 2023) will focus, to a greater extent than any other novel I've ever yet read or written, on the experience of women during the crusades - as warriors, captives, and political leaders. I can't wait to share it with you all!

[midnightorchids]

i am frothing at the mouth at firefighter!Jason🤤

I’ m imagining Jason accidentally bumping into reader who so happens to be a school teacher and he can’t help but flirt just a little bit whilst the class of kids he’s educating on fire safety look at them both with wide eyes😃

I absolutely love this idea so much! I wrote something based off of this ask and low key went a little overboard with world building, but I hope you enjoy nonetheless!

Field trip mornings always created an exciting buzz amongst your students. Their gentle chatter filled the chilly parking lot of the old school and you giggled at their enthusiasm.

The moment brought a sense of nostalgia, it engulfed your heart in a warm embrace. It reminded you of your days in elementary school. The memories of bitter autumn mornings and your teacher’s frustrated attitudes played before your eyes. You smiled thinking about your past and how those small experiences inspired you to pursue a teaching career.

This field trip was a special one as it happened to fall on Halloween Day. The children complained about having to come to school on the holiday, but as soon as you mentioned that they could come costumed, the excitement was back. Your third grade class did not disappoint, they were all dressed in bright costumes for their first ever visit to the fire station.

The bus ride was fairly normal. The children were a mix of both calm and rowdy. You intervened every once in a while when their noise level got too loud, otherwise the students were well behaved.

Entering the fire station was like entering a dream. The foyer of the building was warm and inviting. The heat radiated off of the walls and it made you slip off your coat. There were Halloween decorations coating the pale walls and you watched your children ooh and ahh with excitement.

Your eyes were still scanning the room when a tall man walked over towards you. He wore his uniform around his waist with a black compression shirt that hugged his body. You could see a sleeve of tattoos on display and a thin silver chain peaking through from under his shirt. Despite not wearing your coat anymore, you still felt your body heat up.

You stared at his name tag—Jason, it read. You recalled the name from the numerous emails and phone calls you had exchanged in order to make this tour happen. You always thought his voice was sweet, but you had never imagined him looking like this.

He was attractive—breathtakingly so. His eyes radiated a bright shade of emerald and were full of life. He had heavy bags under his eyes, which, you assumed, were from working long hours at the station. His facial features were sharp. His cheekbones stood high and his hooked nose sat perfectly poised on his face. He looked like a Roman sculpture. Your eyes trailed down to his lips and you noticed a small scar on the right side of his mouth. You felt your fingers twitch, almost as if they were itching to trace the mark.

Jason cleared his throat, pulling you out of your deep trance and you felt goosebumps trailing your skin. You quickly spoke up, trying to ease the tension.

“Hello, my apologies, I completely zoned out, it’s been a long morning,” you said, desperately hoping that he believed the poor excuse you made to justify openly checking out the man.

You suddenly felt even more uncomfortable, you looked to your side only to notice all of your students staring right at you. You felt yourself getting flustered again, but quickly moved past the feeling. You extended your hand to shake Jason’s calloused ones. His eyes raked your figure and he gave you a sly smile.

“It’s okay,” he responded gently. “Shall we get started with the visit,” he changed the subject quickly and you couldn’t be happier.

Jason turned his attention towards the children and greeted them with an enthusiastic expression, his passion for his job clearly reflected in his way of speaking.

He led your tiny class towards the breakout rooms of the fire station. On the way to the rooms, Jason pointed out one of the girl’s Wonder Woman costumes and he shrieked in an endearing sort of way. He kneeled to the girl’s height and handed her a small sticker. She smiled, thanking him. Jason then locked his eyes with yours and called the girl pretty, and you knew at that moment that the comment was not only for her, but for you too. You felt a rush of heat run through your cheeks and up to your ears.

The breakout rooms were similar to the foyer of the fire station. There were little skeletons propped up against the whiteboards and small jack-o-lanterns on each desk.

Once the children had settled, Jason handed the rest of them with fun stickers and pamphlets about fire safety for them to take home. He joked with the kids, and managed to sneak in a fire pun every now and then. He was a good listener, he paid attention to everything the children had to share. You turned your head to the side and silently admired his ability to work with the kids; not everyone could handle a group of eight-year-olds first thing in the morning.

Jason quickly gave the class a presentation about the dangers of fires and the importance of protecting yourselves when dealing with hot objects. It was odd, he wasn’t even trying to hide his flirtatious comments, he’d stare right at you upon the very mention of the word “hot.”

You noticed Jason had a habit of walking around the room, maybe it was to keep the students engaged or maybe he did it for his own reasons. But it had got to the point where he’d brush past you, almost purposefully. The parts of your skin that made contact with his body were on fire.

After the presentation, Jason decided it would be best if the kids got a quick break before continuing the tour of the fire station. You happily agreed, needing a break yourself.

You sat on a chair close to the exit, when one of your students came to you on the verge of tears—the culprit being a paper cut. You cooed at the child, gently cupping their much smaller hand and guiding them to your first aid kit. Unknown to you, Jason was watching the interaction play out.

He hadn’t known you long, but he thought you were stunning. The way your eyes crinkled when you smiled, the way your features sat against your skin, and the way you spoke with such eloquence. It was everything he found attractive, but seeing you showcase such patience with the “wounded” child, made his heart race. Not only were you beautiful, but you were kind—to Jason, in the very little time he had known you, you felt like an angel.

“Do you like them,” a small voice suddenly spoke. It was the Wonder Woman from earlier and Jason smiled.

“Ah the lovely Wonder Woman is back,” he replied, ignoring the child’s question. The little girl giggled.

“I think you have a crush on my teacher,” Jason raised his eyebrow. What did this little girl know about crushes? The child laughed again and said, “I think she might like you back.”

“What makes you say that,” Jason inquired, now suddenly interested. The little girl shrugged and made a face.

“I dunno,” and with that, she ran off, leaving Jason confused.

After the break, Jason guided the students to the main hall to show them the fire trucks. The energy was high in the room, the kids were beaming with excitement. The tension between you and Jason only seemed to rise though. With every passing flirtatious comment and every lingering look, you felt yourself getting more anxious. How inappropriate would it be if you asked for his number at the end of the field trip… you caught yourself thinking.

It was as if Jason had read your mind because at the end of the tour, he pulled you aside to thank you for bringing in the children and letting him have the opportunity to teach them. You grinned and also expressed your gratitude. You began to walk towards the students, when Jason grabbed your wrist and held onto you gently. He slipped a piece of paper into your palm and sent you a quick wink before heading out.

You stared at the small paper and slowly opened it.

Inside, the words read in messy lines, “call me,” with a string of numbers. You looked into the direction that Jason left, and smiled to yourself.

You were definitely going to call him.

[gojoest]

FIRST WORD — girl dad!gojo satoru

girl dad satoru, established relationship (you’re married, it is indicated that you have two other kids besides the little one that appears in this drabble), nanami cameo, suggestive credits at the end (breeding hinted, just to be safe), sry this lowkey sucks + not proofread, i typed it out in 10 mins but i hope you enjoy!

satoru is trying really hard to get his little daughter to say “papa”, but oh well

“come on, my life — say it”

satoru, crouched down before the baby chair where his little daughter is sitting, a picture of his face in one hand while the other alternates between pointing at the photo and then at his face, slowly repeats, over and over, with utmost perseverance and patience, the first word he wishes his little one would utter—

“pa-pa”, he carefully speaks, syllable by syllable. “pa-pa”, and again. “come on, baby — at least you don’t betray me, i know you’re papa’s girl — come on now, say it”, he pleads.

this has been going on for the past few weeks.

your entire house currently looks like the room of a teenager where it’s posters on the walls and little trinkets on the shelves, courtesy of heavy hyperfixations. but instead of posters and trinkets it’s your husband’s face, everywhere. kitchen, living room, hallways, your baby’s room — every-single-where and every-single-surface and wall has the photograph of your husband’s face on it. he even purchased custom-made plushies and toys of himself, some of which are hanging from the musical baby mobile above your daughter’s crib — but instead of music it’s his voice, teaching his toddler through made-up songs how to say ‘papa’.

“satoru, don’t you think this is a little bit, um— “, you once brought up, pausing to clear your throat, trying your best to sound softer while you say this. knowing how sensitive he is about the matter, and how devoted to have this innocuous win — “…too much? hm, love? it’s like you’re… brainwashing the baby…”

lips immediately pursed, satoru pouted under his nose — “easy for you to say, our two other kids said ‘mama’ first — effortlessly, at that. let me have this one at least”

okay, you shrugged and backed off.

and this morning, as you sipped on your coffee, you silently watched your husband in the kitchen — kneeled down before the baby chair, going about his educational routine.

after he was done with the photos, he took your daughter’s hand and pressed her fingers on his lips, while he kept repeating the word ‘papa’. he said that this method allows the baby to see the way your mouth moves as you speak but also hear and feel the sound all at the same time. (he sure has read a lot of things on the internet)

but your little one remained silent, only giggling here and there as she poked around her father’s face, completely refusing to cooperate with him despite his desperate attempts.

it is an endearing sight, really. part of you felt pity for your husband, you cannot lie. he was trying so hard, and for what...

all of a sudden,

the doorbell rings.

“i’ll take it”, you quickly pad over to open the door.

it’s nanami — dropping by with some baked treats for the kids, as he often does. your children love him a lot. during dinner gatherings he always sneaks away to read them bedtime stories. even though he doesn’t look like the type on the surface, he sure has a soft spot for children. and, truth be told, they are all naturally drawn to him as well. maybe it’s his calm demeanor and the sense of safety he brings along with his presence.

“ah, thank you — these look so delicious, i am sure the kids will die for a bite”, you chime, as you guide him into the kitchen.

“oh— nanami, it’s you”, satoru casually points out without even turning his head to greet him, his eyes glued on his little daughter… who seems to be looking elsewhere, past her father…

…at nanami.

a bit bothered by that, satoru shifts a little bit to the side, to block the view — to, once again, be the main focus in his daughter’s eyes. but, alas…

she tilts her head, googly eyes glancing at the blond man behind her father.

she opens her mouth, a giggle first escapes, and then—

“na-na—”, she pauses… “—mi” — a beam of laughter and her hands reaching forward, pointing at nanami.

silence in the kitchen befalls.

you cover your mouth with a hand, trying to prevent yourself from bursting into laughter. it’s tragic but funny at the same time, and you know — in just a few seconds the real baby in this room will not be your daughter.

“nanami”, satoru slowly stands up, shoulders hanging low and voice — monotone and stern. “get out”

p.s.: satoru makes a scene. he is absolutely devastated. you have to drag him away and pick up the pieces and calm him down. and, of course, he thinks — the only way to make things better is to give him another child. a new opportunity…and you need to get down to business, now. while nanami is babysitting downstairs.