#i have to come out to my family eventually. if i want them in my life.

[thepicklednarwhal]

Just to add my 2 cents to this, giving birth was awful but for completely different reasons. I spent my entire life TERRIFIED of it to the point i said i didn't want kids. Now, as a mother of 1, the worst things about pregnancy were having to keep up with going to the doctors visits, which hey i got to see and hear my baby, but i hated going and being perceived. My feet swelled the last month of her being in my stomach and i eventually could not sit comfortable because i had a 21 inch baby inside of me who kept their feet in my ribs, no matter how much i tried to move her lol when i was in the hospital getting ready to push her out, i was dehydrated and hungry and they literally do not let you eat and your "drink" is ice. I went into labor with her friday morning at 5am, pushed her out at 3am saturday morning and it was awful because the nurse was not soft when inserting the catheter and checking dilation, she also broke my water by being rough. They decided to get a paycheck off of us and tried to say we were covid positive, which we werent, so none of our family could come support us or see my daughter until after we were discharged. They gave me pain medication that had me out of it and throwing up for hours so i couldnt even argue with them about the covid thing, and yes you can tear down there if you dont prep the area beforehand (which you totally can by massaging!), my doctor had to cut mine so i wouldnt tear and my husband said it sounded like paper being ripped lol also the shower after you've pushed out a human is the most satisfying shower you will ever have in your entire life, and your empty belly feels very strange. Pregnancy also ruins your teeth, your nip nops stay itchy for months, if not years if untreated and yes mom bladder is a thing. You do also bleed, i was in diapers with my daughter for a month. Pregnancy and child birth are definitely an experience and can be traumatizing on you and your body. It takes months to fully heal, but it's not an awful healing process. Also, final tidbit, contractions hurt like hell and are honestly the worst part. Pushing her out felt like i needed to lay a giant egg or take the biggest you know what of my entire life and all i felt were her legs coming out of me lol

giving birth sucks tbh. not only do you and the baby you’re birthing almost die, usually you shit yourself and often you tear your taint. then you have to push an organ out of your body (placenta) and if even a little of that remains in your body, you can hemorrhage to death or develop an infection that essentially rots your body from the inside out. even if you had a relatively “easy birth”, you bleed for weeks on end. even after that stops, your body and brain is changed for the rest of your life, the pregnancy leeched minerals from your bones, that can cause osteoporosis later. minor urinary incontinence is not uncommon, brain scans of people who gave birth show permanent changes in their brain, you’re never quite the same.

I say all of this not to say giving birth is disgusting but it is a harrowing and visceral experience. society downplays how fucking awful it is and makes it out to be a ~magical~ experience but it isn’t a magical transformative experience for everyone. it can be an extremely traumatic experience for someone who wanted to carry a pregnancy to term, much more so for someone who did not want to be pregnant in the first place or someone who knows their baby won’t survive the birth. anyway, abortion is a right. pregnancy and birth aren’t just inconvenient, it’s fucking awful.

[ginnsbaker]

All Of Your Pieces (4 - The Assistant)

Chapter Summary: Wanda is worried that you're being distant and unhappy. She tries to get to the bottom of it without using her powers, but ends up discovering something else entirely. Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Female Reader Chapter word count: 3.1k+ | Chapter Tags/Warnings: Mentions of smut

A/N: Because it's my birthday today, you guys are getting another chapter tonight. // More author's notes here.

You’ve been awfully quiet since the Harvest Festival. Wanda can feel it—the suspicion you’re ruminating on—simmering just beneath the surface. It gets under her skin, that urge to use her magic, to just pull the truth out of you. She’s done it before. She could do it again.

But she doesn’t.

Wanda stays put, waiting for you to crack, for something to slip. Her fingers itch to do what’s easy, but she forces herself to stop. Instead, she gives you space. If she can’t fix this, if she can’t make you talk, the least she can do is give you room to figure it out on your own. It’s not much, but it’s all she’s got. And for her, holding back like this is harder than anything else—not when she’s already gone to such lengths for your happiness together.

Eventually, Wanda reaches her breaking point. She’s on the verge of using her powers on you again when, one morning, she wakes to find her panties slipped down to her ankles and your head nestled between her thighs. ​​Judging by the way her body feels and the shiver that runs through her, you’ve been at it for a while. Her breath hitches as the pleasure builds higher and higher, and when it crests, she comes with a soft cry, her fingers tangling tightly in your hair. You rise up to kiss her sweetly, and she hums softly against your mouth, tasting herself there.

“Good morning,” you murmur, nuzzling her cheek and down the length of her neck. Her skin is soft and faintly flushed, and you breathe in the faint scent of her—sweet, comforting, intoxicating.

Wanda’s chest rises and falls, her breaths still uneven. She manages a veiled, almost dazed response. “Good morning, indeed.”

You kiss her temple before sitting up slightly, meeting her eyes. Even though you’ve just woken her up with an orgasm and you're staying close, affectionate even, there’s something distant in your eyes—something that only appeared after the festival.

“Can I return the favor?” she asks, her voice still shaky, hoping making you feel good will make her feel better about this whole thing.

You shake your head slightly, “No, you don't have to.”

“But I want to,” she insists softly, reaching out to caress your jaw lovingly.

You turn your head slightly and press a kiss against her palm. “It might be a while before I get there, Wanda. I just took an Adderall,” you say.

Wanda’s disappointed but she nods slowly, trying not to read too much into you calling her Wanda instead of the affectionate nicknames you usually have for her.

“I gotta wake the kids,” you say, slipping out of bed. “Bath time, then school prep.”

You leave the room, your footsteps fading as Wanda lies back, wrapped in the unsatisfying afterglow.

–

When you're with the twins, you're back to your usual, goofy self.

Wanda watches you with a soft smile as you take care of the kids—keeping them entertained enough to get them bathed, dressed, and making sure they finish their oatmeal. She was right—she always knew you’d make a great mother. Now, she’s living in a world where it’s undeniable. You handle everything with such ease, like you were meant for this.

She doesn’t even have to do much beyond cooking and keeping the house tidy. Even with your busy work schedule, you still manage to help out on the weekends and always take care of the dishes after dinner.

This life, the simplicity of it, is everything she’s ever wanted. A home, a family—with you at the center of it all.

It certainly doesn't hurt that you look incredibly appealing in the loose white, open button-down shirt you're wearing, neatly tucked into navy slacks that hug your hips so perfectly. Wanda can't help but wonder if it's even fair for you to wear that to work, considering how good it looks on you.

“Hey, boys, before we head out, what do we say to Mama?” you call out, rounding up Billy and Tommy with their backpacks slung over their shoulders.

“Bye, Mama!” they chorus, but you give them a pointed look.

“Uh, and?” you prompt, eyebrows raised.

The twins exchange a quick glance before racing over to Wanda, each planting a sloppy, hurried kiss on her cheek. 

As they attempt to sprint away, Wanda wraps her arms around them, pulling them back into a longer embrace. “Hold on, not so fast,” she murmurs, holding them close. 

The boys giggle and hug her back. “Love you, Mama,” they say.

“Love you more,” Wanda replies, her heart swelling as she finally lets them go. 

They dash for the car, their feet barely touching the ground in their excitement. Wanda then turns to you, expecting a quick goodbye kiss, but you're already by the door, keys in hand.

“I might be late tonight, got some extra work. Don't wait up, okay?” you call over your shoulder.

Her smile falters, and her heart tightens painfully in her chest. 

You've never left without asking for a goodbye kiss before.

“Okay, love. Be safe,” she says. 

Although she’s vigilant in not using her powers on you this time,  it doesn't mean she's out of ways to find out what's going on with you.

–

When Agnes first started trying to befriend her, Wanda wasn’t exactly welcoming. Agnes was never invited—she always invited herself over. Wanda didn’t bring over homemade dishes like most neighbors; instead, it was always Agnes showing up with pies or other sweets for no particular reason. Over time, the guilt of constantly being on the receiving end of Agnes’s attention and gifts nudged Wanda into softening, eventually opening up enough to call her a friend, even if it felt strange at first.

Wanda can count on one hand the people she’s considered her friend in her lifetime. And that already includes you. Aside from you (though you didn’t like her very much at first, in fact, you distrusted her for months before things started to develop in a positive direction), she only really felt cared for by Clint, Steve, and Vision.

Pietro was her best friend. And even after you came into her life, she missed his presence, the way he was protective but also her greatest critic. The way he called her out on her bullshit, and the way he supported her ambitions and motivations, even if they were morally ambiguous just to keep her safe. That Pietro-shaped hole was never filled by anyone, not even you. You just happened to occupy a bigger area in her heart that losing Pietro didn’t hurt as much as it did before you.

So, she’s surprised at how her connection with Agnes has grown into something resembling friendship—a relationship that none of her old friends, or you, would ever approve of. Agnes is everything her other friends were not. She’s not kind or selfless, doesn’t share that good-hearted nature that Wanda’s always been drawn to.

And that's exactly how Wanda ends up riding shotgun in Agnes’s car, tailing you as you drop off the twins and head to work.

Wanda nervously glances over at her friend. “Are you sure she won't notice us?” she asks, biting her lower lip.

Agnes smirks, eyes on the road. “Relax, sweetheart. I know what I'm doing. She won't have a clue.”

Wanda fiddles with the edge of her sleeve. “I just... I've never done anything like this before,” she says.

“There’s always a first for everything,” Agnes winks at her. “Though I never pegged you for the snooping type. Imagine my surprise when you asked me for help. I thought you were very…goody-goody.”

Wanda sighs. “I am. It's just—” She hesitates, almost saying more than she should. “Back home, we always shared our locations on our phones. We always knew where the other was.”

Agnes wonders where home is, because Wanda doesn’t seem to be referring to Westview. 

“Really? Sounds a bit... invasive,” Agnes snarks. “Though, I can't say I’d blame you for wanting to keep your wife on a short leash.”

Wanda furrows her brow. “What do you mean?”

Agnes gives a dismissive roll of her eyes. “Come on, Y/N is gorgeous. You must see that.”

Wanda is about to launch into a whole rant about how much she sees it, how fully aware she is that everyone else sees it too, when your car finally pulls up to the school's driveway. She watches as you step out to walk the twins to the entrance. You give the boys a quick hug before they run inside. 

But as soon as you turn back toward the car, heading off to work, Wanda tenses up again.

“She might notice us,” Wanda whispers, sinking lower in her seat.

Agnes chuckles. “Trust me, with all these cars around, we're just another pair of morning commuters.”

“I just don't want her to think I don't trust her.”

“Then why are we following her?” Agnes asks pointedly.

Wanda looks down at her hands. “Because something's changed. And I need to know why.”

Agnes wonders why Wanda won't just ask you directly what's wrong. Though something tells her that this isn't a typical marriage issue. Maybe if she plays her cards right, she might get Wanda to open up just a little bit more—enough to fully let her in.

“You know,” Agnes continues carefully, “if something's bothering you, talking about it might help.”

“It's just... I feel like she's slipping away from me,” Wanda murmurs. She knows she can't confide in anyone about this—especially not Agnes—but she feels like she might burst from all the secrets she's been keeping lately.

Agnes glances sideways at her. “People don't just drift for no reason. Any idea what's causing it?”

Wanda shrugs, avoiding eye contact. “Work has been... demanding lately.”

“Has it?” Agnes presses. “Or is there something else?”

Wanda swallows hard. “I don't know. Sometimes I think she might've figured out that—” She cuts herself off, biting her lip.

Hook, line, and sinker, Agnes thinks to herself. Just a little bit more.

“Figured out what?” Agnes asks, her tone deceptively casual.

“Nothing,” Wanda says quickly. “Just that maybe she's unhappy.”

Agnes bites the inside of her cheek, her smile faltering for a split second. Inside, she’s bristling. It’s maddening how slippery Wanda can be, how carefully she guards her words. The effort it takes to keep up the charade, to play the concerned, clueless neighbor, is starting to wear thin.

But she didn’t get this far just to get this far. 

“Oh, Wanda, if she’s unhappy, maybe there’s something I can do. You know, a friendly ear can work wonders,” Agnes suggests through gritted teeth.

“I appreciate that, but it's personal,” Wanda replies, her voice tight.

Agnes sighs theatrically. “Fine, keep your secrets. But remember, I'm a good listener.” 

Another time then. She is nothing if not patient.

Before Wanda can respond, she spots your car turning into the parking lot of your office building. “There she is,” she says.

They watch as you park and step out, adjusting your bag over your shoulder. You pause for a moment, looking around as if sensing something, then head inside.

Wanda falls back into her seat with a defeated sigh. “She seems... normal.”

Agnes arches an eyebrow. “Isn't that a good thing?”

“I suppose,” Wanda murmurs, though her eyes remain fixed on the entrance where you just disappeared.

Agnes impatiently taps her fingers on the steering wheel. “So, where to now? The salon? Or maybe you want to grab a Margarita to go with lunch?”

Wanda doesn't respond, still staring at the building's entrance. 

“Wanda?” 

At that, Wanda suddenly snaps out of her reverie and unbuckles her seatbelt. Agnes does the same, prompted by Wanda’s sudden haste. 

“What are you doing? You're not going to make a scene, are you?” Agnes.

“I think there might be someone who can give me answers,” Wanda mumbles distractedly.

“And who might that be?”

“Her.”

Agnes follows Wanda’s line of sight and spots Geraldine, your assistant, emerging from the building. Geraldine, who is still wearing the same clothes from when Wanda first met her, starts walking down the sidewalk, oblivious to the two women watching her every move.

“Geraldine?” Agnes lets out a soft, incredulous scoff. “And what do you think she’s going to tell you?”

Wanda is already reaching for the door handle. “She works with her every day. If anyone knows what's going on, it's her.”

“What? But Wanda, that’s—”

But Wanda is out of the car before Agnes can finish, her focus entirely on your unsuspecting assistant. 

Agnes groans inwardly as she watches Wanda’s purposeful strides. “Fine,” she mutters under her breath, her talon-like fingernails scratching the leather cover of her steering wheel. “I’ll let you be this time. But all roads lead to me, Wanda, darling.” Despite her curiosity, she doesn’t stick around. She shifts into reverse, pulls onto the main street, and speeds off.

Wanda steps right into Geraldine's path, causing the other woman to halt abruptly to avoid a collision. Geraldine blinks in surprise but quickly recovers with a warm smile. “Oh! Wanda, hi! Didn't expect to see you here. Are you looking for Y/N? I can take you up to her office if you'd—”

“Hi,” Wanda says, giving a short wave that's more of a hand signal to stop her from talking. “Uh, Geraldine, right? Actually, I was hoping to talk to you.”

Geraldine’s smile dims only a bit. “M-Me?”

–

Wanda doesn’t have to put in much effort to get Geraldine alone for sandwiches at a nearby deli. In truth, it’s more like she tags along after Geraldine casually mentions that you’d be expecting your lunch at your desk within the hour. Though you’re known for being a patient boss—and Geraldine never misses an opportunity to sing your praises, much to Wanda’s irritation—Geraldine is firm about her own punctuality. She cuts her lunch breaks to a strict thirty minutes, ensuring she has time to deliver your meal early.

That doesn’t leave Wanda much time to extract the answers she’s after, but she’s determined to make the most of it.

Still, it’s not in her nature to jump straight to the point. Skipping the pleasantries feels too abrupt, too conspicuous.

“How are you doing?” Wanda asks, trying to match Geraldine’s upbeat energy. It comes out more like a squeak than the breezy tone she was going for. She takes a small sip of her drink before adding, “Good?”

Geraldine’s smile is sunny as ever. “Oh, it got pretty hectic lately at work, as I’m sure you know. But I'm good. How about you?”

Wanda stirs her tea, watching the leaves swirl. “Doing alright. Keeping busy with the boys.”

“They must be growing like weeds,” Geraldine says warmly.

Wanda forces a small smile. “Yeah, they keep us on our toes.” She had hoped to stretch out the introductions, build some rapport first, but her mind is frustratingly blank when it comes to small talk. Conversation has never been her strong suit.

Taking a deep breath, she prepares to dive right into the real purpose of this meeting. “Has everything been okay at work? With Y/N, I mean,” she says. 

Geraldine gives it a thought or two, before answering, “As far as I know. She's been a bit more focused lately, but that's just the board pushing those quarterly quotas.”

“Quotas?”

“Yeah, they're really piling on the pressure this quarter. But you know her—she handles it like a champ,” Geraldine says with a dismissive shrug. “I've been making sure she eats well, though. Only the most nutritious lunches to keep her going.”

“That's thoughtful of you,” Wanda murmurs. Her fingers tighten imperceptibly around her cup, the way Geraldine speaks about you striking a nerve she doesn’t fully understand. Geraldine pretends not to notice anything, just as she’s supposed to.

“You know,” Geraldine says after a beat, “when she’s not working, her mind is always on you and the twins.”

“She talks about us?”

“Absolutely,” Geraldine continues enthusiastically. “Just yesterday, she was showing me Tommy's drawings and Billy's latest test papers. You have a beautiful family, Wanda. Your boys are something special. I can only hope to raise my own kids as well as you do someday.”

“They are,” Wanda agrees, momentarily forgetting about her worries about you. Hearing about the twins always lifts her spirits.

Geraldine sighs happily and takes a bite of her Reuben.

“I'm a twin myself,” Wanda says quietly. “I had a brother. His name was... Pietro.”

“He was killed by Ultron, wasn’t he?”

Wanda doesn’t react right away. The words sink in slowly, like quicksand pulling her under.

“W-What did you say?” Her voice is quiet but carries a dangerous tremor, like a storm cloud about to burst.

Geraldine blinks slowly. “I... I don't know why I said that,” she stammers. 

Wanda's voice takes on a dangerous edge. “How do you know about Ultron?”

“I-I don’t know,” Geraldine insists. “It just came out.”

Wanda slowly tilts her head to the side, her eyes growing cold as it narrows on Geraldine. “Who are you?”

It’s devoid of any warmth—only suspicion and a seething edge that makes Geraldine recoil slightly.

“I'm—” Geraldine stammers, her voice catching. She looks around the shop, desperate for a way out. But there’s no one. The staff who had been behind the counter this whole time is suddenly nowhere to be found. “Wanda, I swear, I don't know. I didn't mean—”

“I think you should leave,” Wanda says finally. The tone of her voice carries the warning itself.

Geraldine stares at her, wide-eyed and trembling. “Wanda, please—”

“Leave.”

In the next second, Geraldine—or rather, Monica—learns the hard way that it’s not a suggestion; it’s a command.

–

“W-Wait,” Darcy stammers, her nose practically touching the television screen from how close she’s peering at it. “Where did Monica go?”

“I think it glitched or something,” Jimmy suggests, peering over her shoulder. 

“That doesn't make sense,” Darcy mutters, frantically rewinding the footage. “She was just there.”

They both stare at the screen showing Wanda sitting alone in the deli, sipping her tea like nothing happened. Darcy wants to bang her head against the monitor. It's the first time any of the characters in Wanda's show has referenced a real-world event, and now they're having technical difficulties? Unbelievable.

Before they can process what's happening, a commotion erupts outside the tent. 

One of Hayward’s envoys bursts in, breathless and wide-eyed. “You guys need to see this!”

Darcy and Jimmy exchange a quick, worried glance before rushing out. Whatever just happened to Monica can't be good, and the situation seems to be spiraling out of control—fast.

[venuslarkspur]

Teen Hero Shenanigans

(The Prologue)

Fall Of Girl Wonder

Summary: Your Damian’s Twin Sister who arrived 3 years after your brother, because of your late arrival you’re never excepted to become Robin, until your brother runs away and you volunteer to take his place in his absence, things are going well until Damian returns and you are thrown under the bus completely by being told you can’t be Robin anymore, after bottling up your anger you decide to go solo by running away and stealing a Batgirl costume. But you’re not alone, your sort of boyfriend joins you; which would be okay if it wasn’t your brother’s best friend of all people.

Pairings: Batfam x Batsis (platonic), Jon Kent x reader (romantic). Very bittersweet tbh, you love your bf but you’re also proving your worth to your family.

Notes: Reader and Damian are very on and off but do love each other ofc. (they only really had one another growing up in the league) To clear things up Bruce has a genuine reason for discharging reader of the Robin mantle but that’s an epilogue thing I fear, Reader is 16 so is Jon. I’d give this series maybe a 15+ rating as there will be be some heavy topics involved and some “problematic” language icl. Reader also is closest with Cass and Jason specifically, all of this isn’t at all comic book accurate but does include elements from the comics. (Also very fanony when it’s comes to the Batfam and Superfam) (I don’t own any of the characters this is fan-fiction 💙)

Warnings: Mentions of panic attacks, Damian runs away from home for a bit. Unless count Bruce being a semi shitty father then not a lot of warnings tbh. This is just the epilogue we haven’t even got to the real drama yet. 👏

Words: 1.4k

6 months, 2 weeks and 3 days. That’s how long you’ve held the Robin mantle, you trained none stop before even having volunteered for it. You wondered what your plan even was, as long as Damian had it you couldn’t. Then he ran away and it was all too convenient, you got the mask, the gloves and the cute boy. Were you worried about Damian? Obviously, you had panic attacks about it mid patrol, which meant whatever member of your family that was unlucky enough to be awake at that time, had to take your shift. You knew Barbara and Tim would track him eventually and were doing everything in their power, but that didn’t ease your worry, you even considered alerting your mother but you knew if she got wind of this she would force you to come back with her for your own safety, and you didn’t feel like going to back the small, sad, isolated girl you were before.

You had also gotten closer to Jon Kent, a best friend of your brother. In truth, you were lovesick, so is he. But it came as a bit of bittersweet shock to you both that over your course of searching for Damian you had given up along the way and became invested in one another. Eventually it become so much more than just a mutual love for Damian, soon the Damian questions become You questions. Things progressed quickly, it went from “Do you think my brother’s close by?” to “My dad and siblings aren’t home, do you wanna come over?” He makes it over every time, Alfred knows and you know that he knows. You begged him not to tell your father or anyone for that matter, he respected your decision to wait for the right time but would occasionally come in asking if you wanted anything. (You know it’s a ploy to check on you two) Clark and Lois 100% know and they approve but have been sworn to secrecy by you, you weren’t ashamed; of course not. It’s just that if you told even just one of your siblings, knowing them they would spill and accidentally tell another one of your siblings until the cycle continues and eventually reaches Damian. Though you were sure Cass already knew and you suspected Jason was catching on, but you weren’t even surprised that he was beginning to find out. He knew you well, after a good three years spending time and training with him and his group of people it became hard to keep secrets, although your weird duo did start off as a result of you being upset and jealous of Damian’s close relationship with Dick, your sure you’d still pick being Jason’s dysfunctional- unofficial sidekick.

As for Cass you knew there was a mutual appreciation for the fact you were both less outnumbered in terms of Bruce’s female children, sure Barbara was like an old sister to you and she always supported you over the com line on missions. But it wasn’t the same as having an actual sister, but it was unusual to call any of them your siblings, not just Cass. It took a while but the first time you remember calling one of them your brother or sister was when Dick had to come all the way and pick you up from school because of a “skiing accident” with your father, you knew immediately something must of happened because Alfred was always on time to get you, So when Dick came along you told your teacher your brother was here to pick you up instead, she waved you goodbye and as your entered the car you noticed the slight grin of his face, looking like he wanted to tease you, but knowing you weren’t like Damian and wouldn’t even deny accepting him as a brother. You adapted much quicker than Damian, even if you have to get used to having 5 more siblings from now. (Yes I included Duke. <3)

It was the start of Christmas month and you were just doing your rounds with Stephanie and Barbara around the mall, Steph had gotten distracted a couple of times whilst window shopping but you and Barb managed to tug her along. You were nervous as your 16th birthday was also approaching, Jon had already turned 16 and you got to see him on his birthday; by masking it as going on patrol. It was fun but the question was popped at the party on when you were planning on telling your family about your relationship, you tensed up but luckily Lois took your side and encouraged you to tell Bruce and the rest when you were ready. This is why you like her. But right now you couldn’t think of that, you had to look for a present for Jon without being suspected.

Luckily Barbara had gone in the nearby cafe to get you guys some drinks, but that still left you with Steph. Maybe if you played it calm she wouldn’t even notice, so you started searching around looking at stuff and you thought you were safe. “Whatchu got there?” She bubbled, you took about a 5 foot jump backwards before blushing intensely. “Nothing?” You said calmly whilst shoving the item back on the shelf, she put her hand on her chin as if she was inspecting you. “Sooo who’s the lucky guy then? Or girl.” She smirked, “There’s no use lying is there?” You asked, “Absolutely not, so spill.” She leaned in and studied your face, “I can’t tell you who, but I’ve been seeing someone and before you ask I’m not in any trouble.” You confess, she shrugs as if wanting to ask more but Barbara called out to you both drinks in hand, you swiftly looked back at Steph just for her to do a zipping motion with her lips, which satisfied you enough. “What have I missed?” Barb asked, you let out a sigh you didn’t know you were holding in and spoke up. “Well I was just wondering-“ You were cut of by a notification sound on Barbara’s phone, “We need to get back to the manor, now.” She said without a hint of warmth in her voice. What has happened now? You had quickly all changed into costume excepting the worst.

——————————

You hastily made you way through the manor, Steph and Barbara in tow. Tim was waiting at the entrance to the kitchen and he tried to stop you, “Hey-don’t go in yet-“ you shrugged him off and continued on and Barbara eyed him suspiciously. You wished that you had waited, you weren’t prepared to see your newly found twin brother sitting on one of the stools with an ice pack above his brow, deep cuts layered across his arms and bruises across his neck. He must of put up a good fight against whichever one of your siblings found him, you assumed it was Dick as he was in costume and had slashes of his own. Alfred sat next to him tending to his wounds whilst your father was stood next to him checking out the marks Alfred wasn’t attending to, the room had now fell silent as everyone had now realised how awkward it was for Damian to see his twin sister in a Robin get up, this is the worst. You simply only stared into each others matching green eyes until you made the first move and ran over collapsed into him giving him a bone crushing hug, he sat all tensed up before slowly returning the hug. “I’m sorry brother-I-I just.” Tears welled down your face before you threw off your mask and let it land on the other side of the room, you had never felt so relieved and guilty at the same time.

——————————

That night you stayed with your brother as long as possible, you had so many questions but right now you just wanted to embrace his return. Since it was an uncomfortable situation for everyone, most of the family decided to stay the night. You had crossed paths with Jason mid kitchen trip and he checked in on you first, but you couldn’t pin why it felt like he was holding something in. “You know you could forget all about this Girl Wonder thing and just join me like old times.” He proposed, you looked at him puzzled. “By old times you mean a couple months ago? Also why are you asking me this? did something happen?” You questioned but watched as he couldn’t meet your gaze, “Bruce wants to see you downstairs, but you don’t have to go-“ “Okay fair enough, I’ll go see him now.” You interrupted and walked past him and ignored his muffled rejections as you were now approaching the main office.

You should have listened to Jason, you should have gone with him. You’d regret not listening to him.

————————————

“Good news, you can put away the Robin costume for good now.”

————————————

Taglist: @waterwyne @venusmorning

(Part 1 is out!)

[burningcheese-merchant]

PLEASE FEED US MORE JUST AS DOWN BAD GOLDEN CHEESE. PLEASE MORE YANDERE CHEESE

Did you send two asks in a row screaming for more Accidental Yandere Golden Cheese lol. Calm down brotato, Merchant is here. Merchant sees you (and everyone else in my inbox I swear to God Almighty I will address you all eventually). Let me see what I've got in my noodle for you

Under the cut because this is fucked and gets a little extra graphic at one particular point lol

Golden Cheese actually has tried to gather the identities of those Burning Spice has murdered. What she wasn't able to glean on her own, from her own personal knowledge of other lands and peoples (i.e. noticing certain traits she knows to be endemic to certain cultures, like a hair accessory or something), she found in books and scrolls in her kingdom's library that gave her a better idea. Whatever she couldn't find in those, she found via sending cheesebirds to travel far and wide in search of any kingdoms, cities, villages, families and friend groups with confirmed missing persons. They would report back to her and, with all the knowledge she's gathered, she's able to find a name, which she then wrote onto a label and placed under the person it belonged to. She's managed to eventually give all the heads their identities/personhood back, at least to some degree. And now, knowing who these people are/were, she can get them back to their loved ones easier. Right? ...Right? (She tries not to progress beyond being proud of herself for going that extra mile, because it just leads back to "ok so why are the heads still here, why haven't you returned them". In trying to do the right thing, she ultimately just does the WRONG thing again and reinforces her preexisting guilt and shame, because... she knows exactly why she hasn't returned them...)

Golden has started... experimenting with Spice, for lack of a better term. After she was proven correct about him paying attention when she mentions someone she doesn't like and later killing that specific person for her, she starts testing him in other ways. She makes subtle suggestions about how he ought to kill people, to see how he responds in the moment and if he actually ends up doing it later. She tries to coax him into going into detail about how the killing went, just to see if and how he does so (turns out he really does like to brag about his crimes, especially to her). She tries to hint at him giving her other things besides body parts, like certain trinkets (it... sort of works. If she asks for a watch, he... brings her a severed arm with a watch attached to it still, for example). She's observing how far he'll go and in which direction he's willing to travel in at her suggestion. (...And she revels in how much power it turns out she has over him. She really does have him at her beck and call. It's lovely.)

When her friends ask her how she's been managing her Beast (they are aware that hers is still actively targeting her, but that's it), she acts as nonchalant as possible. Burning Spice is nothing. He's just a fly buzzing around her head. She handles him just fine. When they ask her how they can help, she tells them she doesn't need it, because she doesn't want them anywhere near him she really is fine. It's fine. She's fine. When they suggest going after him themselves... thank goodness she's a good actress and a quick thinker, because her very first REAL reaction was seething fury that she had to keep under control until she was alone again - but then, when she finally is, she just has another crisis of conscience, because now she has to confront the fact that she can no longer tolerate the notion of him being harmed by anyone besides herself. She used to want him dead or imprisoned by any means necessary, but now... now, she lies about his whereabouts to everyone who asks (and she always knows where he is, she snuck a tracking device onto him), because she doesn't want anyone coming near him for any reason anymore, least of all to harm him. Because only SHE can harm him now. He still comes to fight her, not just to give her things. And she obliges him, albeit begrudgingly (never mind the sick satisfaction she feels when she hurts him or takes him down. She wonders if this feeling is what he's referring to in those letters about him reveling in their battles and how he enjoys her suffering). She... she won't let that end. She won't let anyone get in the way. In his way. In THEIR way. She can handle him by herself. Everyone else can stay home. They won't take him away from her. She cannot guarantee their safety if they try.

She once idly wondered about his past. About the people he likely once had in his life. About... if he'd ever been fond of any other women. She could hardly fathom the hatred that utterly overwhelmed her senses when the thought entered her mind. So angry was she that she broke the glass of water in her hand in said anger and injured herself. So haunted by this notion did she end up, that she tried to ask him about it the next time they met (as subtly as possible; she understands the implications of asking such a thing). He just shrugged and said he didn't recall; the only woman that mattered to him was her. She hated how relieved she felt when he told her that...

...but after that day, and for a good while, he only targeted women. He kept killing adult women and bringing their heads to her, and no one else's. She quickly surmised that he might have noticed her jealousy (or at least imagined she was jealous) and immediately set out to prove his devotion to her further than before by destroying those she feels threatened by - even if the threat does not exist, for she is all he ever wanted. He never told her directly, but she figured that's what it was. And she allowed herself to believe it. Because it made her happy.

(When the women-only killing spree eventually ended, she was struck with morbid curiosity and asked him about the men he killed. Was there anything behind the ones he chose? He revealed to her that, though his targets were mostly random, he would go out of his way to kill any man that he thought she might find attractive. He was capable of feeling threatened, just like she was. It was quite the surprise... a surprise she welcomed, a surprise she found deeply amusing. Because really, what was left for her to find attractive in anyone anymore, when no one went as far as he did to earn her favor?)

She actually does find him handsome. She always has, from the beginning. It was something she considered to be a great shame; such good looks squandered on such a horrible man. But now... with her greed slowly spiraling out of control thanks to him constantly overfeeding it the way he does with his violent extremism... she's starting to dare to find that extremism handsome, too. She's slowly but surely ceasing to find any shame in the circumstance. She's starting to think he's handsome... and that's it, that's the end of the thought. He's handsome, with all of that blood coating his face and body. He's handsome, puffing his chest out and beaming with such sick pride at the handiwork he performed for her. He's handsome, in his maddened, unwavering dedication to her. He's handsome... no asterisk, no addendum, no ifs ands or buts. He's handsome. Burning Spice is handsome. It weighs on her like a stone. And it only gets heavier each time he sees him and his handsome face again.

Sometimes... just sometimes... she'll reread those letters that are particularly... steamy. There's something rather fascinating about them, in a different way than the others. They're so... uniquely visceral. She believes him when he tells her he's starving; his hunger practically lunges at her from the page, claws at her, sinks its teeth into her, sets her body alight. Pure, unashamed, blistering hot lust and sexuality, with some of that same addiction to violence mixed in (he's a sadomasochist, go figure). People have flirted with Golden before... but not like this. No one on earth has ever dared to speak to her so brazenly, not even after several pints of liquid courage. He talks about wanting to break her bed as well as she herself. He tells her how often he touches himself to the thought of her. He details exactly where he wants to put his hands. Where he wants to put his mouth. What he intends to say straight into her ears as they go, and what he wants her to say back to him. How he doesn't want to stop until they both collapse with exhaustion. Just neverending feverish rants about he wishes to destroy her in more ways than one, and how he expects her to scream and beg either way. She won't admit it, not even to herself, the thought tried to make itself known inside of her head once and she shoved it down and tried to bury it under concrete instantly, but... she's almost... intrigued. She's flattered, of course. She relishes this aspect of his insatiable appetite for her alongside all the others. (She likes being told she's pretty. He does that and then some.) But... some small part of her is... curious. Curious about... if he really would follow through on what he says he wants to do, if he really had the chance. How it would feel. How HE would feel. What the difference would really be between him overpowering her to win a fight and him overpowering her to... to...

...there are nights where she lays awake, drilling holes into the ceiling with her bloodshot eyes, wondering where it all went wrong. There are nights where all that succeeds in putting her to sleep are the warm, bitter tears that stream down her face when the guilt and shame grow too powerful. There are nights where she just gets up and leaves, throws herself out of her own window and flies off somewhere, anywhere, it doesn't matter - it just had to be somewhere she couldn't feel dozens of empty, lifeless eyes watching her through the walls. Judging her. Condemning her. Damning her to Hell, where she and the monster who ended their lives belonged.

...and then, there are nights where she feels... strange. Where she notices how... big her bed really is, and how small she feels laying in it. She wonders how it would feel if he was there. If she could nest in his thick, strong arms instead of thin bedsheets. How much more comfortable his chest would feel, compared to her pillow. If his hair was as soft as it looked. How he'd react if she started tracing his tattoos with her fingertips. If sharing a tender moment like that would awaken something in him. If it would somehow help him realize how wrong all of this is.

...Or maybe it would just make it worse.

Maybe she doesn't care anymore.

[tavolgisvist]

Scouse

Viscount Montgomery Brian Epstein’s personal assistant Barry Leonard quit his job ‘because the strain of managing the Beatles is just too great’. In an article in the Daily Express Leonard told about his experiences with the Beatles. Among other things, he said Paul wanted to leave the group and was trying to lose his Liverpool accent. As the Beatles gathered at the office of their accountant, Epstein mentioned the story to Paul. ‘Barry says you are trying to lose your accent,’ he said. ‘Couldn’t,’ muttered John, as he examined a likeness of the Beatles fashioned in papier mâché.

(Love Me Do. The Beatles Progress by Michael Braun, 1963/1995)

After a short interview in which they sound like they're putting on Liverpool accents (particularly Paul and John), 'and now their new single Love Me Do'. 'FANTASTIC…turn it UP!' (I shouted in my head). That's my brother…my bloody brother!…My head's exploding…'so ple-e-e-se love me do'. <…> I dashed back to Forthlin to tell Dad I'd seen our Paul on the TELLY and then waited for Paul to come home to see if he'd changed at all. By the time he eventually got in, Dad and I were in bed but I was still awake. The conversation probably went like this: 'Psst…here you.' 'Is Dad asleep?' 'Of course he is, it's past two o'clock.' 'We were celebratinh. Did you see it?' 'Yeah it was gear, it really was.I had to watch it in a bar down from Bernard's, but it was fabulous.' 'Could you see the velvet collar?' 'Sure, you could see everything.' (When the decision to 'go commercial' and buy suits instead of the cool Hamburg leathers was reached, mainly by Brian, Paul had smoothed over the shock by saying, 'But ours are different from anybody else's…ours have got velvet collars…look.' As the cardboard box lid was lifted and the white tissue paper unfolded to disclose the dark blue 'Dougy Millins' tailor-made suit, sure enough, the highly polished, trouser creased, mohair suit was topped with a black velvet collar.) 'But why did you talk like that on the TV? It sounded like George gone wrong…you don't talk like that.' 'I know that, you know that, but they don't know that…It's part of the image…' 'Monkey suit and phoney accents?…anyway it worked, it was fantastic.' 'Gear, I'll be off then, ny nyte.' 'Nigh-night…psst can I have your autograph?' 'Sod off.'

(Mike McCartney, 1981, Thank U Very Much. Mike McCartney's Family Album)

Part (I), (II), (III), (IV), (V), (VI)

Interviewer: Are you going to lose some of your Liverpool dialect for the Royal show? Paul McCartney: No, we don't all speak like BBC

(Interview 16th Oct 1963, befor the Royal Variety Charity)

We went to London to party. I always tell this story, it happened pretty much like this. The week before Merseybeat broke up here [in London], or a couple of weeks before, I was just with my friends, and you were at a posh party, and they'd come up to you [adopts 'posh' voice] 'hi, how are you?' 'Great, thanks.' 'My name's Peregrine, and this is Cecilia…' 'Oh, great, hi.' 'Where are you from?' 'Oh, Liverpool…' 'Anyway, Cecilia, you said…' And they just turned their backs on you, because it was so simple - you were useless to them, useless. Anything north of the Cape was the hinterland, the jungle. So they couldn't care less. And then, a week later, Merseybeat suddenly goes 'bang!' He goes down to London before he conquers America and the world… and it's the same party, "Oh, I'm Sebastian, this is Claudia, what's your name?" "I'm Mike." "Where are you from?" "Liverpool." "Liverpool, oh my God, guys, come here, look, these guys from Liverpool, it's just wonderful." And then they'd do a Liverpool accent, and that's why it always came out Brummie [Birmingham], because they couldn't do a Liverpool accent. So, yeah, you were a nobody, and suddenly everything changed.

(Mike McCartney, interview for the Super Deluxe Edition, September 26, 2019)

pic by lisamarie-vee

+about suits

[xxlady-lunaxx]

on the rare occasion when sanemi’s mental health plummeted and he couldn’t take it, his feet guided him, the ache and the need for numbness coaxing the money over, lifting his hand as he took the sake. he drank and he drank until he was completely unconscious. he awoke with alcohol still strong in his system and, without much thought, he found himself on the way to gyomei’s estate. he often associated the man with something of comfort, although he couldn’t figure out why at the moment. neither could he figure out when he’d arrived, instead staring blankly at the door to gyomei’s house before realizing he had to knock. gyomei opened the door for him and allowed him entry, sensing far more than the sake and gruff greeting sanemi managed. they sat quietly inside after gyomei gave him a cup of water. then, abruptly, sanemi spoke. he was uncharacteristically vulnerable under the anesthesia of alcohol.

“you asked why i don’t talk to genya,” he stated, his eyes unfocused as he stared down at his cup. he took a sip. “didn’t answer, did i?”

gyomei hummed vaguely, not wanting to accidentally set sanemi off. he wasn’t sure how this man was like, once his guard was lowered. “i do not believe you did,” he agreed, though that certain conversation had happened weeks ago. genya was here, actually. he’d been training in the back when sanemi had arrived. undoubtedly, genya must be wondering what was taking so long.

sanemi nodded, downing the rest of his water. he put the cup down. then picked it up, fidgeting with it. his movement was loud in the silence of the room. “considering the circumstances,” he began, “is there really anything else i could do?”

“what do you mean?” gyomei asked, frowning. he heard a door opening, somewhere in the house. genya was getting restless, it seemed. or he was taking a break.

“my only objective for anything is…” sanemi paused, considering this. he started again, discarding his previous words. “most demon slayers objectives are to make sure other people can live normally. even if we can’t. right?”

gyomei made a noise of agreement. sanemi nodded.

“i’m no exception,” he remarked. “but, also, i am. it’s not like i don’t care about other people, but- i don’t ever think about them. when i need to be motivated to stay alive. you know? i do have other people i care about, like iguro or whatever. but he’s not why i’m doing this. i’m not why i’m doing this. nobody’s why i’m doing this.”

there was a lengthy pause. “then who is?” gyomei inquired. he shouldn’t be taking advantage of sanemi’s talkativeness, but he wasn’t the one who needed to hear it. he knew where this was going. genya did not.

sanemi sighed. he tossed his cup in the air, catching it in one hand. “genya. he’s not strong enough for the corps. he’ll survive a couple weeks, but he’s due to die eventually. or get too injured to keep going. i don’t get him. he’s got no reason to keep going, yet he clings onto the pathetic hope that he can do it. he should’ve opted to find some woman to marry. let him have children and make a family and forget all of this happened. if he wants to survive, that’s his best bet,” he said. he seemed to have thought it over many times before. enough so he knew it all, even under the muddled mindset he was sporting. “genya deserves better than to fight mutilated beasts every day. but i can’t kill them all for him. so he just has to leave.”

gyomei let this sink in for a long moment. “i believe,” he began, slowly, “that he wants to by your side.”

“wants?” sanemi scoffed. “he doesn’t know what he wants right now. but i know what he needs. he needs to stop chasing after me. i’m a lost cause. he’s not, yet. so he should take advantage of it before it’s too late. he’s an idiot.”

“i understand where you’re coming from,” gyomei reasoned. “but… you have to consider how he feels about it. does he want a life without his brother? is it really best for him?”

sanemi’s posture sunk, ever so slightly. he was trying to curl into himself. “not like i love the prospect, either,” he mumbled. “it’s just best for him. don’t want nothing more than that.”

gyomei let out a breath. “if you tried talking to him about it-“

before he could finish, sanemi cut in. “don’t be stupid, himejima, he hates me. he wouldn’t listen.”

gyomei was completely taken aback. “what? of course not. quite far from the truth, shinazugawa.” he was confused. “from where did you gain that aspect?”

“where? he hardly listens; won’t leave the corps when i tell him,” sanemi said, full of irritation suddenly.

“because he wants to stay by your side.”

“i don’t want it. i told you. it’s better if he’s not.”

“then explain it,” gyomei insisted. “he believes you’re the one who hates him.”

sanemi snorted, as if that was the most ridiculous thing ever. “that’d be like hating a newborn puppy because it can’t provide for itself. i don’t hate genya. but he has every reason to hate me.”

[sequinsmile-x]

Thankful

Aaron invites Emily to Thanksgiving, and things change between them forever.

-x-

Hi besties <3

This years Thanksgiving fic is a little earlier this year because Thanksgiving is the SGW anniversary so I am posting chapter 80 on Thursday to mark it!!

Happy Thanksgiving to those who celebrate, and if you're about to have a really hard couple of days with family I am holding more space for you than queer Twitter is for the lyrics of defying gravity.

Here's a little getting together fic for you all, and as always let me know what you think <3

-x-

Warnings: None

Words: 3.6k

Read over on Ao3, or below the cut

Aaron groans and drops his pen to his desk, his fingers pressed into his temples as he looks back and forth between his completed pile of paperwork and what he has left to do. He shakes his head, trying to rid himself of the headache he can feel building behind his eyes, and he blows out a breath. 

“Coffee,” he mumbles to himself as he stands up and grabs his mug. He smiles and nods at Derek as he steps out of his office, and he walks past Emily and JJ’s empty desks. He spots them standing in the kitchenette, both of their backs turned to him, and he’s about to call out and make them aware he’s there, but he comes to a stop when he hears their conversation. 

“Are you sure you don’t want to come to ours for Thanksgiving? Henry would love it, and Will makes enough food to feed the whole street anyway.” 

Emily shakes her head, “It’s okay, I promise,” she replies, “I’m going to my mother’s. Part of my attempt to make good with her again after the whole faking my death thing.”

Aaron doesn’t have to see her face to know it’s a lie. Her relationship with her mother was still tense, at best, and he knew they barely spoke to each other. He’d offered to be a buffer of some sort, to go with her to see her mother - something he saw as his responsibility since her fake death had been his decision - but she’d turned him down. Her smile soft and appreciative as she told him she wouldn’t want to put him through that, her hand on his arm as he sucked in a breath and pretended that a simple touch from her combined with the smell of her perfume didn’t have him under her spell. 

He couldn’t remember when he fell in love with her. It had snuck up on him, his feelings for her shifting from mistrust to friendship to more so slowly that it felt as natural to him as breathing. His love for her so much a part of him he didn’t know what he’d be without it anymore. He couldn’t remember when he fell in love with her, but he remembered when he realised. A familiar pit in his stomach as he stood over her grave that he’d felt at Haley’s funeral, the same suit heavy on his shoulders as he threw a rose on top of her empty coffin - the only flower he’d ever given her. 

He told himself when she was in Paris that he’d do whatever was necessary to bring her home, that one day he’d get a chance to tell her that he loved her. Or at the very least, ask her out on a date. The reality of her return was different. She was a shell of herself, lost in the ruins of who she had once been - a feeling he was all too familiar with - and he knew there was very little she could take on top of the day-to-day of figuring out who she was now. He did his best to be there for her in the way that she’d let him, his support silent at first. Eventually, he knew he had to say something, worried that he’d lose her entirely if he didn’t, and they came to their agreement that she’d tell him when she had a bad day. 

It had restarted whatever closeness they’d had before Doyle. She would spend evenings and her Saturdays with him and Jack. She’d sit on the sidelines of the little boy’s soccer games and cheer for him, her smile as close to hers as Aaron had seen it since just before everything went to hell. Any thought or attempt at telling her how he felt about her had taken a backseat, and he knew that he’d simply be her friend forever if that’s what she needed from him. 

He clears his throat, feeling bad for eavesdropping, and they both turn to look at him, Emily’s smile slightly mischievous, “Sorry, Hotch.” 

He suppresses a smile and reaches behind her to grab the coffee pot, “That’s okay, Prentiss.” 

Outside of work, they only ever called each other by their first name, but they made a point of using surnames at work. They’d exchange a smirk as they did so and it had become a joke of sorts between them. 

JJ scoffs and rolls her eyes at them, “Everyone knows you’re friends, you know,” she says, smiling before she turns to leave, throwing another comment over her shoulder as she walks away, “It’s okay if you guys call each other by your first names in front of the rest of us from time to time.” 

Emily chuckles and shakes her head at JJ as she walks away, “We’ve been rumbled.” 

He hums as he puts the coffee pot back down, “Speaking of being rumbled…” he starts, and she raises her eyebrow at him in response, “You’re spending Thanksgiving at your mother’s?” 

She scrunches her nose up at him, “You heard that?” 

“I did,” he says, hiding his smile behind his mug, “You didn’t want to go to JJ’s?” 

She blows out a breath and looks around, making sure they are still alone, and she shrugs as she looks back at him, “This might sound awful, but I’m not sure I want to spend the day with them being an adorable happy family.”

“That doesn’t sound awful,” he assures her, “Sometimes the holidays just remind us…” 

“Of what we don’t have,” she finishes for him before she sighs and smiles sadly “So I will be perfectly happy eating an entire pan of homemade mac and cheese to myself and hanging out with Sergio.” 

Later, he’d wonder why he says what he says next. He isn’t sure if it’s the sadness she’s trying to hide from him, his love for her, or the thought of her spending a holiday alone, or even a combination of all three, but he finds himself talking before he really thinks about it.

“You could come over and spend the day with us if you’d like.” 

She shakes her head, already ready to argue with him, “Oh, I couldn’t intrude.” 

“It’s not intruding if I invite you,” he says, “Plus, I can promise no happy families. It’s me, Jack, Jess and her and Haley’s dad Roy who does not like me,” he smiles in a way he usually wouldn’t in the office, drawn in by her and the surprised laugh she breathes out, “So if anything, you’d be doing me a favour.”

She presses her lips together and looks at him curiously, and for a moment he’s sure she’s going to turn him down, but instead, she nods, her lips pressed together as she clears her throat, “Okay. That…that sounds nice. I’ll be here.” 

“Good,” he says, trying to tamper down his excitement, “Jack will be so excited - we all know you’re his favourite person.” 

She smiles, “Need me to bring anything?” 

“Maybe that homemade mac and cheese you were talking about?” 

She nods, “Okay,” she smiles at him, her lips pressed together as if she is holding something back, and then she clears her throat again, “I should go do some work.”

He nods, “I hear your boss is a bit of a tyrant.” 

She chuckles and shrugs, throwing him a wink before she walks away, “He’s not all bad.” 

___

She almost turns around and goes home. 

She finds herself standing on his doorstep, a casserole dish full of Mac and Cheese balancing on one of her hands and a bottle of wine tucked up under her arm, wondering why she’d agreed to this. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to spend the day with Aaron and Jack, it was her favourite thing to do, but spending Thanksgiving with them, a day for families and spending time with those you love, was enough to make her ache. 

She loved them in a way she wasn’t sure she had a right to. 

She’d loved Jack the moment she met him. He was adorable and cranky in Haley’s arms as she walked into the office looking for Aaron, his cries at least in part coming from him picking up on his mother’s bad mood. Emily offered to take Jack for a few minutes when Haley tried to pretend she wasn’t furious as she looked up at Aaron’s office, and she’d been slightly surprised when she took her up on it. She’d sat at her desk for a few minutes with Jack in her lap and it was enough time for her to be completely charmed by him. Her love for him had grown with her relationship with him, and he was without a doubt one of the most important people in her life. Happiness and joy all rolled up into the smile of a 6-year-old boy who had already survived so much more than he should have. 

Her love for Aaron was different. It had come out of nowhere, hit her like a truck as she stepped into his apartment and found him missing and his blood on the carpet. It was something she’d shoved down, something she’d pretended wasn’t there, and she’d been there for him as his world fell apart around him. There were times when she thought he might feel the same way too, fleeting moments when their eyes would meet and maybe felt as close to definitely as it ever had. Then Doyle happened. Tearing her sense of self apart for a second time, and she was glad there was nothing more between her and Aaron that would have put him in danger. 

Since she came home they’d become closer again, any initial awkwardness gone as quickly as it had appeared, and sometimes she’d find him looking at him like he used to again. She wanted more with him, with him and Jack - to be part of an actual family for the first time in her life - but she wasn’t sure she was enough for them anymore. 

She wasn’t sure if she’d ever get back to the Emily that Aaron may have once loved. 

She’s drawn out of herself when the door to the apartment is torn open, and she looks up to meet Aaron’s eyes. A smile on his face that only seemed to exist in the confines of his home, a soft side of him that belongs to his son that he would let her see too. 

“Hi,” he says, taking the casserole dish from her, “Happy Thanksgiving.”

She chuckles, “Happy Thanksgiving,” she tilts her head at him curiously, “How did you know I was out here? I didn’t knock.” 

He steps back to let her into the apartment, “I saw you standing out here. I knew if I let you think about it any longer you’d leave.” 

She presses her lips together and nods, “Sometimes I worry you know me a little too well.” 

He laughs and puts the mac and cheese down on the kitchen counter, “I don’t think that’s possible,” he smiles over at Jessica who is standing in the kitchen and cooking, “Jess, you remember Emily.” 

Jessica nods, “Happy Thanksgiving, Emily.” 

“Happy Thanksgiving,” she says, “Everything smells amazing.” 

Jack interrupts them before they can say anything else. He runs down the hall from his bedroom, throwing himself into Emily’s arms, “Emmy!”

“Hi Jack,” she says, hugging him close as she kisses his forehead before she pulls back, “Happy Thanksgiving.”

“You too,” he smiles, “I was just showing Grandpa the train set you got me for my birthday.” 

Emily looks up and smiles at a man she’d only seen briefly once before at his daughter’s funeral. She didn’t have to be good at what she did to see the way Roy looks at her, followed by the way he looks at Aaron. Distrust and a hint of anger in his eyes that feels misplaced. It makes her shackles rise, her grip on Jack in her arms tightening as she slips on a mask she’d had for as long as she could remember. One that had grown with her since she was the same age as the little boy in her arms. 

She paints on a smile and adjusts her hold on Jack, holding one hand out to Roy for him to shake, “Nice to meet you, Mr Brooks.” 

He hums and looks down at her hand before he steps past her to get a drink from the kitchen, “You’re Aaron’s friend.” 

She narrows her eyes as he turns his back and then she catches Aaron’s gaze, sees the I told you he hates me shining in his eyes, and she clears her throat, ready to protect the man she loves from anything, even his ex-father-in-law. 

“Yes,” she says, her smile as polite as it could be, “I am.”

___

Dinner is hard work. 

She has to stop herself from interjecting each time Roy says something passive-aggressive, or occasionally downright aggressive, to Aaron. The only things that stop her are the fact that Jack is in the room and that she’s sure Aaron wouldn’t appreciate her inserting herself into complicated family affairs. 

By the time Jessica and Roy leave, she can’t help but wonder how such a horrid man had raised two such wonderful women. It feels unkind, especially when she acknowledges what he has lost, but it sticks in her mind. How he’s so obviously lost in his own grief that he’s taking it out on those around him, specifically Aaron, without acknowledging what he’d lost too. Or that he was the father of his grandson, the absolute hero of his grandson, and that if he carried on down the path he was taking Jack would only grow to resent him for treating his father that way as he gets older. 

She blows out a breath and sinks further into Aaron’s couch, glass of wine in hand, and she smiles at the sound of chattering coming from Jack’s bedroom down the hall. She closes her eyes and imagines a world where this was her life. Where she sat here every evening listening to her Hotchner boys talk to each other, or snuggled between them on the couch every night. 

She opens her eyes when she hears the bedroom door opening and she smiles at Aaron as he walks towards her, “He okay?” 

Aaron nods as he sits down, “He’s okay. Holidays are hard - he misses Haley.” 

“You both do,” she says, smiling softly at him.“It’s okay to miss her even though you weren't together anymore when she died. You’ve known her most of your life,” she reaches out for him, her hand on his arm before she can think about it, “It’s okay to miss her.”

He nods, blowing out a slow breath, chuckling humourlessly as he reaches for his glass of wine on the coffee table, grateful when her hand doesn’t slip away from his arm, her palm warm against his skin “And you say I know you too well.” 

She hums, “I don’t think that’s possible,” she smiles when he does at her repetition of his words earlier that day, “Can I ask you something?” 

“Always.” 

There’s something so honest about the way he says it that it surprises her for a moment, stealing the breath from her lungs as she smiles at him, “Has Roy always been like that with you?” 

“Standoffish?” 

“I was going to go for rude,” she mutters, “But yeah. Has he always been like that?” 

He sighs and sinks back against the couch, a lifetime of memories hitting him all at once as he thinks about the man who had never quite liked him, but never used to hate him like he did now. 

“He was never really a fan of mine,” he answers, turning his head to look at her, “But Haley loved me and he loved her so he…put up with me. Then when we got divorced he stopped pretending.” 

She clenches her jaw, desperate to keep her words back long enough so she can make sure they’re measured. She was used to controlling her feelings for him around him but this felt different, the need to protect him so strong she felt it thumping alongside her heart in his chest. 

“Still, you’re Jack’s dad, and his only parent,” she has a sip of wine, “He should show you the respect you deserve.” 

“To him, this is the respect I deserve. After all, I’m the reason his daughter is dead.” 

He only realises he’s said it outloud when she gasps, an intake of breath that she can’t stop as her eyes go wide. He knows he wouldn’t say it in front of anyone else but she had this way of flaying him open, of tearing him apart at the seams where he’d sewn himself back together, and he could never quite figure out if he liked it or not. 

Being entirely known by someone was a privilege, but it was a vulnerability too, and it had been so long since he’d let someone get this close to him. 

“Aaron…” she chokes out, leaning forward to place her glass of wine down on the table, “You…you don’t believe that do you?” 

“I…” he trails off, placing his glass of wine next to hers before he turns, his knee knocking against hers the first indication he gets of how close she is to him now, “Sometimes.” 

She isn’t sure if she wants to yell at him or hug him. Or both. Fierce protectiveness of him rolling through her again, even though it was him that she wanted to protect him from. She reaches out for him, and she hesitates for a second, her hand frozen in the air, before she cups his cheek and makes him look at her. 

“It isn’t your fault,” she says, her eyes searching his, “The man whose fault it is died. He’s dead. You…you’re the reason your son is alive, and thriving and the happiest kid I’ve ever met.” She says, and he chuckles, the sound thick as it catches in his chest, “And you always joke I’m his favourite person but it’s you, Aaron. You’re his favourite person. He loves you so much.” 

“I know,” he chokes out, leaning into the warmth of her palm against his cheek, trying to commit it all to memory for when it would come to an end, “Usually I can rationalise it. I know it’s not my fault. But...It’s just hard to remember sometimes.” 

“I know,” she replies, smiling sadly when their eyes meet, “Better than most.” 

They sit like that, in their half embrace with her hand against his cheek, staring at each other, and for a moment she thinks about leaning in, about pressing her lips against his and kissing him, but she stops herself. Her bravery snuffed out as quickly as it had ignited, not entirely sure she could take the leap unless she knew he wanted to jump with her too. 

She pulls back abruptly, leaving his cheek cold as her hand slips to her lap and she clears her throat. “I should get going. Thanks for having me.” 

Aaron frowns and stands up at the same time she does, “Em-”

“Sergio will be waiting for me,” she says, cutting him off as she walks towards the front door, “He is grumpy when I don’t-”

“Emily,” he says, firmer this time, stopping her from getting any further away by standing in front of her, “What’s wrong?” 

She shakes her head, “If I have to say it, I’ve misread a lot over the years and I am really bad at my job.” 

He sucks in a breath, and he knows it’s now or never, that if he lets her leave it would be over before it could even start. They were at a crossroads, two paths laid out in front of them, and he knew there was only one that he wanted to walk.

And it was the one where she’d be right by his side. 

He steps forward, making it so there’s no space between them, and he tucks a strand of her hair behind her ear. He sucks in a breath at the same time she does, and their eyes meet for a second before he leans in, her lips soft against his. It’s everything and more than they’d both imagined over the years, a moment in time and one that would last forever, drawing out around them like the finest of thread as they moved forward together. Everything they could, and would have, leading back to this one kiss. 

When she pulls back she rests her forehead against his, her lips pressed together before she licks them, chasing the taste of him on her skin, “So,” she says, chuckling breathlessly, “I wasn’t misreading anything.”

He shakes his head and pulls back to look at her, both of his arms wrapped around her to keep her in place, “Em, I…”

She nods and rests her forehead against his again, “I know,” she cups the back of his head, her nails scratching against his scalp, “I know.” 

They stand there, pressed against each other as they breathe each other in, the acknowledgement of everything else there was left to say, and he chuckles and pulls back to look at her, “Would it be cheesy for me to say this is something I’m thankful for?” 

She laughs, the sound wet as it catches on a sob and she nods, making her forehead knock against his, “Yes,” she says, wrapping her arms around his neck and dragging him into a kiss, “But I’ll let it slide this once.” 

She doesn’t have to say that she’s thankful too, because he already knows. 

[fairylightspml]

guys i panicked at the merch table and didn’t get a dnp made me gay shirt even tho thats what i wanted 😭 and now i regret it (i ended up getting the hoodie instead)

while i was in line i just thought like - realistically, i won’t really wear it even just around the house because i’m not out to most of my family and i’m not ready to have that convo with them yet (but coming out to them through dnp merch would be camp)

i hope they end up selling them online after tour so i can still get one eventually

pls @danielhowell @amazingphil

[bodybeyondstories]

story prompt: A tailor has the power to enchant clothes to change the wearers body and does so when clients have unreasonable asks. like a guy with a flat butt ask for pants that flatter his rear so the tailor inflates his butt out of proportion…that kind of thing

My first thought with this was what if there was some sort of less than ethical business model based on forming a runaway positive feedback loop where someone had to keep coming back to have clothes altered and then ended up altered in some way, which would be fun to write eventually. Here I riffed on some classic careful-what-you-wish-for ass expansion.

1313 words

_____________

"You might have to adjust the seat a little, I've been hitting leg day pretty hard." Danny glanced down at me with an expectant smirk as I ran the measuring tape across his backside.

"Whatever you say, Cake Boss," I said, pretending the number wasn't exactly what it always was. "I might need to run and get a few more yards of fabric for this dump truck."

"Big butts are in style and I need to show off these gains." He swung his hips back toward the mirror to check himself out, eyes focusing expectantly on an unremarkable backside.

Are the gains in the room with us now? I thought, chuckling out loud.

Danny and I were good friends, and as such, he occasionally took advantage of the very generous friends and family discount for my tailoring services. This time, he wanted to get his suit refitted for the upcoming commitment ceremony of our mutual friends and favorite throuple, Jean, Gene, and Jerome, who were officially, begrudgingly, tying the three way knot. He had been through my shop no less than six times in the past several months, begging for an adjustment of this or that pair of trousers in anticipation of whatever new workout routine he had jumped into. He was obsessed with his ass, specifically--tragically--its undeniable flatness. I was a damn good tailor, but I could only do so much. News I had to break to him on a regular basis.

"Can't you like, work your magic or something?" he asked, winking down at me.

I thought for a long moment and relented, feet taking me toward the back of the shop. "I can try."

I reached behind my desk and pulled out a well worn notebook, decorated by decades of page folding, sticky noting, coffee staining, and annotating. It was one of many strange, sentimental pieces of inheritance I received from my mother, a practitioner of the craft who disappeared with her coven years ago. I was left with half memories of their gatherings, what little training I had paid attention to growing up, and of course, this notebook, my own annotations slowly forming a cross-generational palimpsest.

Occasionally, especially with my more tedious clients, I'll let my hobby cross into the tailoring business, enchanting the fabric with whatever magical push the wearing needs to feel their best self.

I pulled out a container of ink--hand made from ingredients foraged sustainably under the light of a full moon--and drew out what I hoped was the right mix of sigils for illusion and manifestation, sprinkled with a little bit of chaos, to give Danny the booty of his dreams. I stitched the small slip of paper into the waistband of his pants and handed them back to try on.

He slipped each leg in and pulled them up his toned quads, gasping as he stopped suddenly at the top of his hamstrings. What usually slipped on with minimal effort was now blocked by a perky bubble butt perched behind him.

"Nice!" he exclaimed, giving his newly hefty ass a jiggle. "I knew you could do it."

---

I rolled into the ceremony just as it was starting and posted up in one of the empty rows towards the back. As I passed the gaggle of bridesmates, gentlethems, attendants and henchmen (they all got to pick their own terms), Danny gave me a wink and a thumbs up, adjusting his waistline as the procession began.

As they walked down the aisle, I got a better look at my handiwork, and apparently so did everyone else. When he had left my shop his ass had looked delectably round and perky, but the pair of cheeks fighting for space as he strutted towards the front were on another level. They looked big. Really big.

Maybe it was the light? I tried to convince myself with a twinge of worry. I kept my gaze as professional as possible as he stood at the front with the rest of the attendants with his shoulders squared and hands clasped firmly in front of him. As the ceremony progressed, he seemed increasingly uncomfortable, squirming in place as he shifted from one foot to the other, the tails of his suit jacket riding up over his meaty buns.

Those cheeks were definitely bigger than they were during the fitting. In fact, they were bigger than they were twenty minutes ago. The sheen of sweat on his forehead and small winces of discomfort confirmed what I--and likely others--had picked up on. His ass was inflating imperceptibly but undeniably.

Something must have gone wrong with the spell. Or maybe something went too right? I don't know. I hoped I could intervene before things got out of hand, but time was quickly running out on that plan. The attendant behind him took a step back as his ass slowly ballooned from his otherwise slim frame, straining the fabric of his pants to their limit.

Even a magically enhanced pair of trousers can only take so much. When Jean, Gene, and Jerome were two thirds of the way through the sharing of vows, the seat of Danny's pants finally gave way, revealing his now basketball sized buns spilling into the open air clad in a pair of plaid bikini briefs.

A shockwave of gasps and murmurs spread through the crowd. "Ooo girl," "Need his leg routine," "The whole bakery..." could be heard among the general whispers of surprise and politely restrained chuckles. Danny, face a flush of embarrassment, tried to hold what remained of the seat of his pants together as he slunk away, the attendant behind him quickly taking his place before the soon to be betrothed could notice the commotion or his wildly jiggling buns disappearing out of sight.

I found him behind the reception tent, clutching my handbag full of emergency repair materials for just this situation. But I quickly came to realize that some heavy duty thread and patches wouldn't be enough.

"Dude, it won't stop!" he exclaimed, trying and failing to cover the globes of his ass. "What do we do?!"

"Okay, um," I said, grasping wildly for solutions, "I have my notebook, I can try and figure something out on the fly. Just take your pants off and the growth should stop."

"...I can't."

"What do you mean you can't?"

"I mean I can't!" he snapped, turning to show me the waistband stuck just below his hips, unbuttoned and stretched to the limit yet still woefully incapable of making it over his massive--and still slowly expanding--posterior.

"Okay, Plan B," I said, reaching into my bag. I brandished a seam ripper as I turned him around and traced the waistband of his pants until I found where I had installed the sigil. "Wow," I muttered, marveling at a pair of globular, gravity defying glutes that were nothing short of a work of art.

"What's up?" he asked, panic rising in his voice.

"Nothing, nothing, it's just...it's a lot..."

"Yeah I think we've all figured that out. Can we address this crisis while I still have any hope of wearing normal clothes?"

"Right." I snapped back into focus, searching along the seams for my signature stitch. "Found it!" I beamed, slicing through with one deft cut and yanking the sigil from the fabric.

"Thank fuck," he whispered. "Can you stitch this back up before the reception?"

"Yeah, I should have everything here, just let me--"

I was cut off by the unmistakable soft staccato of seams tearing. With the spell broken, and the pants returned to their mundane state, the overstressed fabric no longer stood a chance against the melons ballooning from Danny's lower back. Seams split one after the other as what was left of his pants fluttered apart, revealing every extensive curve of his beyond bodacious butt.

"Okay," I said. "I might have some spandex in the car."

[waterfire1848]

Au where Ozai is still imperialist and strict but at least decent father

Hello, anon!

First of all, there is no competition between Zuko and Azula. Ozai never forces them to compete for his "love" so they never come to view one another as competition. Ozai is still disappointed that Zuko isn't a stronger bender but he never lets that show. He admits it in talks with Ursa, but makes sure to tell Zuko that he's proud of any of his improvements and encourages Azula to get along with more people in her school so she can grow outside of just training. Also, if he's a decent father, he and Ursa don't really bump up against any issues either. Ursa sees that Ozai is giving love and attention to both children and so she doesn't try to give the majority of her attention to Zuko. Overall, the fire family is much better. What this means is that by the time Azula is eight and Zuko is ten, they are part of a much more loving family that is still strict and has military tendencies but they also have a father who really cares about them.

When Azulon orders Zuko to be killed, Ozai goes to Ursa and tells her what Azulon said. (Ursa: He wants you to WHAT!? Ozai: Can you keep it down! We don't want the whole palace to hear us. Ursa: You're sure? You're sure that's what he wanted? Ozai: I'm positive. Ursa: What do we do? I could take Zuko and Azula. Ozai: I know, but even if you did that, Azulon would know that you took Zuko. No, Azulon needs to die. Ursa: You'd kill your own father? The Fire Lord? Ozai: For my son? Yes.) Azulon still dies but Ursa remains because Ozai knows his children need their mother. Now Fire Lord, life carries on pretty normally until the big war meeting. Ozai doesn’t like that Zuko spoke out but more so because it wasn’t his: it was bad manners. He scolds Zuko and tells him he is no longer allowed at war meetings until he learns to speak as a prince should. The Agni Kai never happens, Zuko is never banished and never scarred.

Years pass and while Ozai is strict since he’s a good father, Zuko and Azula grow up in a much better household and with less trauma. Iroh does return but Zuko doesn’t rely on him as much since his mom is still around and Ozai is kind to him. Zuko eventually learns to conduct himself like a true prince and Azula perfects her bending. Together the two are the deadliest siblings in the royal family history in generations. Zuko expands his firebending ability but he also gets lessons from his father and Azula on strategy and how to rule. While both siblings would have plenty of influence from their father since this mother is around they would also have a lot of influence from her. Ursa is still around gently reminding the kids that maybe Ozai’s way of “sacrifice/burn everyone” might not be the right approach. Ozai doesn’t like that at all. To fix this, he sends Zuko on the same question that he, Iroh, Azulon and Sozin all went on, calling it a rite of passage, to find the Avatar. This isn’t a punishment or banishment but just Ozai trying to keep Zuko away from Ursa for a while so she doesn’t completely corrupt him. Ozai sends Zuko with his title still in tact, a ship, resources, and whatever else he could possibly need for his time at sea.

Zuko is still in the Earth Kingdom when Aang is finally broken out of the ice. This allows Aang to travel for a while without Zuko on his tail and, since Zuko is still the Prince of the Fire Nation, he can order Zhao to not go after Aang and Zhao has to listen. Aang is just barely able to get the North Pole before a similar battle breaks out. Zuko fails this time around but rather than Azula being sent to capture him, Zuko asks for Azula to be sent out so she can help. When Azula arrives, Zuko gets her up to speed and the two head out to try and capture the Avatar. Iroh comes along with them, still wanting to try and convince them that their father’s way isn’t the right one but since Ozai was a decent father and the two aren’t really competing anymore, Iroh’s words don’t have the same effect that they would in canon. In fact, they would fiercely defend their father’s actions and the Fire Nation’s ways. (Azula: Our father is a great and kind man! What he’s doing is for the betterment of the nations! Iroh: My niece, you are a smart girl, surely you can see that his actions are only for himself. Zuko: How dare you talk about our father like that?! He only wants to help the other nations progress and bring greatness to them! All you’ve ever done is sit around and wait for someone else to fix your mistakes!) (Fun fact. These are the same words Zuko uses when he and Azula take over Ba Sing Se).

With Ba Sing Se conquered, Zuko does actually start to notice that maybe imperialism isn’t that great. His father was right to be weary of Ursa’s teachings because it’s through her teachings that he sees something wrong with how the Fire Nation soldiers treat the captured civilians. When he tries to tell Azula or even his father, the two ignore him, saying that this is just a part of war but Zuko still feels off. (Ozai: Zuko, do you remember when you were six and we were out here by the turtleduck pond? Zuko: Yes. Ozai: And do you remember that one baby turtleduck that hatched but was missing two legs? Zuko: I do. Ozai: What did I do? Zuko: You put it out of its misery. You said you were doing a kindness. Ozai: And I was. That poor baby couldn’t swim, hunt or even walk properly. What kind of life is that? When you were born, you were similar to that baby turtleduck. You were weak but I didn’t want to give up on you. I knew you could become something great and I was right. The other nations are also similar to that baby and you. They can become something great but they need to the guidance to get there. Do you understand? Zuko: I do. Ozai: Do you trust me to do that? Like I did for you. Zuko:….Yeah. Yeah, I do. Ozai: That’s my boy.) Needless to say, Zuko does not change sides. Iroh is the one who teaches Aang firebending and he’s the one made Fire Lord when the Fire Nation loses. The four Fire Nation family members are locked up, but Iroh wants to believe that maybe Zuko and Azula can change. (They kinda throw this believe out the window with how devoted they are to their father who has been nothing but kind to them).

Alternative ending (I couldn’t get my mind away from this idea). Zuko and Ozai face Aang and win. Azula defeats Katara and the Fire Nation overall is victorious. The Gaang, including the White Lotus, are locked up in prison and set to be executed. Working together, Zuko and Azula go on to rule the Earth Kingdom while Ozai rules the Fire Nation. Minus the North Pole, the Fire Nation officially claims victory in the war and over the entire world with Zuko and Azula remaining completely loyal to their father.

[lucabyte]

i feel like people are sleeping on the occam's razor situation of how buckwild it is to outright accuse a guy of being a clone of your friend even if you DO have a lot of circumstantial evidence. there's other options is what im saying. they could just be like. a guy. that's a sensible deduction. you should explore that deduction. ignore my shirt that reads I <3 RED HERRINGS.

i still think odile has the correct theory on lock but she's smart enough to know it needs like... a real smoking gun to be able to bring it up without sounding insane.

anyway. (mirabelle voice) i know its rude to speculate but has anyone else noticed the grieving? they seem to be grieving. does anyone have any thoughts on the grieving? i have some thoughts on the grieving.

[rainingincale]

.

[red-eft]

i think love is like catching fireflies. you have to get out there and wander in the dark until find what you were looking for. you have to be gentle with it. if you try to keep it bottled up or force it to stay in your hands, it dies or flees in fear. but you can guide it and hold it close without hurting it. it might not always be there but it does always come back. and it glows

[t4tstarvingdog]

had the craziest nightmare today. hit every nightmare genre and added a new one just for me

[skrunksthatwunk]

household enemy to the yyh watchthrough number one is the olympics. it's taken us a week to get two episodes into the gamemaster fight