#i need to make things i need to put myself out into the world. that way i can look and say i existed. i did something tangible
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bruciemilf · 2 days ago
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Still very haunted by the idea of a young! Justice League AU.
They come across each other with an intentional, common goal. It feels like coincidence, but it also doesn’t. It’s destiny at work.
When Clark is 18, spoon-fed good manners, tall like a tree who thinks it’s a flower, sunshine laughing in his blood, he gently carries two cows back in the barn when he hears it.
Buildings decomposing. Faint, blaring cars dying. Soft whispers of ‘please please— oh god — I don’t want to die— what is that? What is that?!’
Metropolis cracks open. There’s a wound in the sky the police, the army, cannot heal. He tried calling. No one picked up.
It’s wide and scary and red and bleeds violently and Clark is so scared — but if he can survive being Perry White’s intern, he can survive this.
He grabs his Pa’s red flannel, ties it across his midsection, and flies faster than fear.
Clark learns two things that day.
1) He hits good, but he can’t throw a punch to save his life.
2) The scariest boy in the world has eyes that could make oceans cry.
Dressed in tactical gear, cobalt blue, bat shaped symbol drawn in neon across his chest. Runny eyeliner, smudged, mixed in stale blood running down his temple.
Glare so strong it could bury God.
The Bat carries an injured civilian on his back and two kids under his arms. Looks at Clark like someone seeing a shooting star for the first time.
Clark’s heart caves in on itself. Say something cool.
“I like your — blood.”
Clark hopes the next alien thing leaking from that gaping hole puts him out of his misery.
The boy blinks.
“How hard can you hit?”
Clark gulps. He gets a truck thrown at him and he stops it with one hand. He doesn’t even look at it.
“Pretty hard.”
—-
Barry Allen doesn’t arrive into battle. He trips into it.
Fifteen. Physics homework slams against settling air when he stops. Blur of red and shaking like a live wire. His sneakers light up when he walks.
“Hi! I’m Barry! Does anyone have a granola bar?”
Bruce blinks. He hands him one from the emergency compartment.
“Did everyone see that thing?! I mean — you can’t really miss it, I saw it from my house and thought ‘oh that’s weird I better go check it out’ and — IS THAT BLOOD?!”
Bruce, flat, “Not ours. Entirely.”
“Oh, okay. Coolcoolcoolcoolcool. “
Clark — carefully — moves Barry out of the way so he doesn’t get impaled by a car. Barry screams.
—-
Hal Jordan, 17 and 4 months, is five bad jokes in aviator glasses and holds the world by his teeth.
He sees Metropolis burn from Jupiter.
He inherited a dying wish from a good man, got chosen by a purpose three times bigger than him, and begs the council to go.
They have to debate first.
Hal can’t sit around to decide if this is the day he’s gonna be brave.
He crashes into battle like a green meteor, blasts Britney Spears from his ring (the battle remix), and pretends he’s not rotting with fear.
“Green Lantern, willing and able! No need to panic, people! Coast City represent! Let’s GOOOO— IS THAT A BROKEN LEG?!”
Bruce, half his face shielded by Kevlar, swallows a molar. “Fractured.”
Hal throws up a little. Clark cries. Barry looks a sugar rush away from exploding.
“You call yourself Green Lantern?” Bruce raises a brow, like he’s speaking to the human version of a typo.
“Yeah? What do you call yourself? Nickelback and Trauma?”
“The Bat.”
“…Man? Boy? Customised?”
“I can’t call myself Batman yet. If I do it now, it won’t be chronologically accurate.”
Oliver Queen, 17, watches it on the news.
He’s got a meeting at 11, a tan at 1, a court hearing for punching a senator at 3, and a half broken bow from last night’s patrol.
He’s pretty sure he’s going to die if he goes.
He knows he’ll regret it more if he doesn’t.
“We’re gonna die, aren’t we?”
Clark takes a breath, raises two fists he doesn’t know what to do with, and looks up to a dying sky like he’s begging it to last longer. He doesn’t answer.
He just looks at Bruce, summer blue eyes wide, fear melted over.
“I’m not hitting until you do.”
So Bruce does.
—-
A girl, taller than all of them, older than all of them, grin sharper than her sword, pierces through battle like she has war on a leash.
Diana is 18, — in their years. She kills three aliens in under a minute.
Covered in guts and glory and sunny, walks up to them like nothing.
“We will fight together, yes?”
They all nod, a bit too scared of finding out what happens if they don’t.
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vxnillabxn · 2 days ago
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Hiii!! I hope it’s okay to ask, I’ve had this idea where MC breaks up with Zayne, thinking he deserves better. But after hearing how miserable he was, she comes back and admits she was scared and never wanted to leave. I’d love to see how he reacts and how they move forward.
Lowk been needing angst and comfort 🥲
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𐙚˙⋆.˚ zayne x gn!reader ꒰੭
𐙚˙⋆.˚ hurt/hurt/hurt/comfort! ꒰੭
𐙚˙⋆.˚ sfw! ꒰੭
𐙚˙⋆.˚ do not translate/copy/repost! ꒰੭
﹙♡﹚did i almost make myself cry? yes. did i also love writing this? absolutely. do i approve of the reader! actions? hell no. BUT, overall, this is as much hurt as it is comfort, i hope i meet your expectations, dear anon! ♡
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being with zayne was the best decision you ever made. he was emotionally responsible, he always talked things out, and he made sure you felt comfortable and loved. he made time for you, and he put aside important matters for the most crucial one in his eyes; you.
there was absolutely nothing you wanted to change about him or the lovely, strong relationship you two were building together.
again, there was nothing you wanted to change about him.
but about you?
plenty.
you didn't feel like you were enough for him. he sacrificed everything for you, he was a literal angel, and he always knew what to do to make it all feel better.
you, on the other hand, were sometimes too busy. you didn't know how to handle things, and you felt like the comfort you could offer him during his lowest moments was never enough.
you were not enough.
and you'd been repeating those same words for a month now.
how does he handle everything?
how is he able to have you as his top priority?
why does he love you so much, when you're not even half as special as him?
you can't take it anymore. you're tired, you feel drained, and you also feel guilty. zayne deserves the world. he deserves someone who's up to his level. someone who can silently manage everything perfectly. someone who has their life together, like he does.
it's not fair to be selfish and drag him along with you, not when he's been nothing but selfless all his life. he's been killing his free time, killing his social life, even killing his health —and all for you.
they say to love is to let go.
and after thinking and crying yourself to sleep on the nights he worked late shifts, you finally decided it was only fair to break up.
of course, he knew something was wrong.
he just never expected it would be this.
when you told him you'd wait at a nearby park, —one you two had never visited before— he was worried.
you didn't want to break up with him somewhere he loved. you wanted him to still go to the same coffee shop, the same restaurant, the same patisserie without connecting it to a memory this bitter.
when he arrived, he hugged you and kissed you softly.
it hurt.
it tasted so sweet, so genuine, so devoted…
you let him. it was going to be the last time, and your selfishness wanted a final reminder before you left him, for his own good.
what happened next is blurry in your mind.
you don't remember the exact words you said, but you remember his stunned silence.
you know you said it was so he could find someone better. someone who deserved him.
and you know he wasn't getting it.
he understood a lot of things.
but not this.
his eyes went unfocused, his lips pressed tightly shut.
he didn't speak.
you were grateful for that, because if you'd heard his voice, —his broken voice— you'd have apologized right there on the spot.
you held out the snowman keychain he'd made for you, your hands trembling. you wanted him to take it back.
but he didn't move.
he was frozen in time.
so, as cruel as fate is, you kept the keychain. a reminder of the only truly good thing that had happened to you, and when you least deserved it.
you walked away, trying not to cry, telling yourself you were doing what was best for him, right? for once, you were doing something in return for everything good he'd done for you.
and as your figure grew smaller, there was a soft splash on the ground.
a single drop of water.
not from the rain threatening to pour.
but from the corner of his eye.
one month.
it's been one month now, and you've been too busy working and hunting distractions. you've avoided the hospital even when you've felt worse than ever, both mentally and physically.
but your chest hurts badly, and more and more often you feel dizzy, exhausted, consumed.
it got so bad you had to go to the hospital, or they'd force you to take another month off to rest.
and the last thing you wanted was to stay by yourself, sulking and crying inside your messy, dark apartment.
once inside the hospital, you saw no one familiar. not even yvonne, the receptionist you'd grown closer to when you were zayne's patient before dating.
instead, another nurse stepped up to the reception desk and smiled warmly.
“good morning, dear. do you have an appointment?”
you swallow hard. you forgot to change doctors. maybe zayne did it for you.
“i… yes, i'm under dr. zayne's care.”
her smile faltered.
“oh, sweetie… didn't they inform you?”
her voice turned softer, her expression shifting to worry. your stomach dropped.
something happened to zayne, you're sure. your heart starts pounding wildly, but you keep your voice steady. you have to know.
“dr. gideon took over his patients for now—”
“what happened to dr. zayne?”
you didn't mean to sound so desperate, but it comes out fast, almost sharp.
the nurse flinched slightly, then cleared her throat.
“i'm afraid i can't disclose that information, sweetheart. but i can schedule you with—”
“thank you!”
you rush outside before she can finish. you run, vision blurry with panic and tears. you know the route to his house by heart. every shortcut, every turn.
zayne would never just leave. not unless something serious happened.
you pound on his door.
your breath is ragged, your heart feels like it might break your ribs, but you don't care.
nothing matters more than knowing if zayne is okay.
yet he doesn't answer.
and now your heart beats not from exhaustion, but from fear —because your heart belongs to him, and if something happened to him…
you can't wait anymore. you tear through your bag, looking for the spare key you couldn't bring yourself to throw away.
there it is. attached to the snowman keychain.
you unlock the door, hand shaking.
the sight inside leaves you breathless.
scattered books. blankets draped carelessly over the sofa…
and on the dining table… two mugs. one at his place, empty. another one at yours, still full. as if he kept waiting for you to come back and drink it with him.
two plates. two sets of cutlery. always two.
dusty. untouched. abandoned for…
exactly a month.
you rush upstairs, opening every door.
not in the bathroom.
not in the bedroom.
not in the kitchen.
maybe… his studio?
you approach the closed door, hand trembling. you push it open.
and there he is.
asleep at his desk. his laptop is still glowing faintly. the room is painfully neat, unlike the rest of the house.
but it's freezing inside.
you shiver, but step closer.
zayne looks… different.
his skin pale and unhealthy, dark circles under his beautiful eyes, a slight stubble on his usually clean-shaven face.
his fingers tinged purple from the cold. his brows furrowed, trapped in a nightmare.
this wasn't supposed to happen.
he was supposed to be better. to find someone up to his level.
but seeing him so broken, so not composed… you realize how badly you misjudged.
tears fall as you try to wake him. you shake him, nudge him, tug at his clothes, bury your face in his lap and sob.
“i'm sorry, zayne, i'm so… so sorry. i never wanted to leave, i…”
you bite your lip hard, almost drawing blood.
“this wasn't supposed to happen… you were supposed to be happy without me. you deserved so much better, zayne. so… much… better.”
words come out between sobs, but you cling to him like a lifeline.
and then, gently, you feel his fingers brushing your hair.
your breath catches. you look up.
he's awake. his expression unreadable, until the faintest smile curves his lips.
“you… came back.”
his voice is raw, hoarse from disuse.
you gasp, scrambling up to look at him properly.
you can't stop yourself.
you throw your arms around him, almost knocking him off the chair.
but then—
“stop.”
you freeze.
does he… not want this?
“i can sense it. you're overthinking again.”
his voice is soft, but firm.
“you did that a lot before you…” he pauses, looking away. “have i not made myself clear enough?”
you step back, but he pulls you closer.
“tell me. was i not clear?”
“zayne, i don't—”
“didn't i tell you how much i loved you? how much you meant to me?”
his voice stays calm, but his gaze… it's yours.
“please. answer me.”
your chest aches. you know the answer.
“zayne, i thought… i thought it was for the best. you're perfect. you always made time for me, even while saving lives. i have so much to work on and… it wasn't your fault. i was stupid, and—”
he hushes you gently, his fingers brushing your lips.
“i was perfect for you. everything i did, every choice, every thought… was for you. from the start of my career, and until the day i die, everything i do will always have you in mind.”
you're speechless.
he removes his hand, then stands, towering over you.
“do you know why i waited?”
you shake your head.
“you never said you didn't love me anymore,” he steps closer, caging you in. “and i knew i'd wait, even if it meant endless nightmares. even if i lost myself doing so… even if it took another lifetime.”
his hand cups your cheek, wiping your tears.
“because i only live for you. and that won't change, unless you tell me you don't love me anymore.”
your voice cracks.
“no! zayne, i love you! i did what i did because of love! i wanted only the best for you…”
“and the best for me is you, my love.”
his cold fingers warm at your skin, his voice trembles ever so slightly.
“don't you ever… ever do that again,” he stops, but adds more after a few seconds:
“every night, i woke up reaching for you,” he confesses, voice breaking for the first time. “i saw you leaving over and over in my dreams, and i couldn't stop you. i was dying without you, even if i kept breathing.”
you choke on a sob, and your lips crash into his.
it's messy, desperate —but he steadies you, slowing it down into something deep and aching, until you're both breathless.
you finally feel at peace. because it's him. and only him.
as you part, he kisses your trembling hands.
“my love… shall i remind you every day how much i need you to breathe?”
you sniffle, shaking your head.
“no. i think… it's my turn now to show you how much i need you. how selfish i truly am for wanting you in my life forever.”
“then let us be selfish, love.”
he kisses your forehead.
and everything falls right back in place.
as it used to be.
and from now on, he'll make sure it always is.
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liahaslosthermind · 2 days ago
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𝐀𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐃𝐚𝐦𝐧 𝐓𝐢𝐦𝐞! [PT 2]
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Summary: The Inner Circle is still oblivious to Azriel and his mate’s bond. Will the couple’s agreement to forgo secrecy open their eyes? Or will they just remain obtuse? Read Part 1! Work Count: 4.5k+  Warnings: Very suggestive, Timeline? What timeline?, Inner Circle are idiots, Historiography, I put too much detail into things that probably didn’t need it but oh well. A/N: I’ll be honest, writing this took so much out of me that I kind of hate it. Now the reader’s job has more to do with the plot, though it really was me just getting a little too into the historical study of a fictitious fantasy world. HISTORIOGRAPHY ROCKS. (If anyone finds the 30 Rock reference in here I’ll kiss you with tongue)
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Her head pounded as she stared at the documents. After years immersed in the historical field- starting with historical study, then historiography- her work had become too… stagnant for her. She loved what she did, of course, but her job had become less about discovering great historical finds and more like gathering fractured accounts. 
She was happy, she truly was, but being with Azriel these past few months made her greedy. She wanted more. Maybe it was the Spymaster rubbing off on her, but she was itching for something big, something that would shake her field. 
The library had quieted around her. Hours ago it had buzzed with soft voices and rustling of robes. Now, it was still and deathly quiet, with the priestesses away at evening service. The hours had slipped away unnoticed. 
She sighed as she closed the 3 books scattered in front of her. She’d sworn to Azriel that she would leave before the priestesses even left for last service. Though the shadows circling her seemed content to let her stay, she knew better than to test her mate’s patience. 
Just as she began to rise, she heard the familiar rhythm of Azriel’s footsteps.
“Yes, I know Az,” she called before even looking back at him. “Don’t worry, I am pissed at myself too. Didn’t even get to the work I had wanted done today,” she groaned as he entered the reading nook she had settled herself into early that morning. 
He laughed quietly as he brought his hands to cradle her face, brushing his thumbs along her cheekbones as he kissed her forehead. He laughed a little harder when she whined before finally kissing her on the lips. 
Footsteps echoed nearby. She pulled back quickly, but Azriel only grinned before tugging her back in. His arms locked around her waist as he kissed her, reminding his mate of their agreement: no more hiding. 
As the sounds of the priestesses’ footsteps disappeared, along with a few shocked gasps and giggles, the two of them broke apart. She looked at him in confusion. 
“We made a deal, did we not?” He asked.
“Yes, but that was only in front of your family-”
“And what do you think will happen when a few priestesses stumble upon us like this? While their gossiping is mostly harmless, it is rampant. I’d kind of like to see how quickly it makes it to Nesta, and whether or not she tries to say anything.” Azriel reasoned. 
She narrowed her eyes at her mate but didn’t argue. He wasn’t wrong. The library might be sacred, but it was also a pressure cooker of whispered scandal. One that no one escaped unscathed. 
As the two walked back out of the library, Clotho beckoned the two to her desk. 
At least have the decency to pretend you are trying to hide any dalliances in the library. Her pen scribbled. 
Azriel’s face lit up in amusement, while his mate’s was cast in embarrassment. As the latter began to apologize profusely, Clotho waved her hand in dismissal before her pen began to write again. 
The priestesses needed something new to discuss, many find comfort in silly gossip. By dinner they will be making lists of baby names. 
The couple blushed a deep crimson at that. Azriel inclined his head in a silent goodbye, taking his mate’s hand and squeezing it tightly before the two walked back to the House of Wind proper. 
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The sitting room in the House of Wind was light and buzzing, alive with laughter and heated by the well fed hearth. 
Like the rest of the room’s occupants, the Night Court’s historiographer and her Spymaster mate were drunk. 
Neither were big drinkers typically. Azriel claimed growing up alongside Rhysand and Cassian had meant he had consumed more alcohol before the age of 200 than most fae did in a lifetime. These days, he preferred to keep his wits about him more often than the rest of his family. His mate shared similar sentiments, only getting drunk for special occasions. 
But tonight had in fact been a special occasion. 
Mor had returned from a month-long stint in Hewn City. While Rhysand typically never encouraged her to stay more than a few days at a time, the two had recently launched quite the campaign to uproot the rot embedded in the Court of Nightmares, a feat that warranted longer and longer visits each time. When she’d come home that very afternoon, the exhaustion and haunted look etched into her face had worried her family. 
What had begun as “just a nightcap” had quickly spiraled into a full-blown celebration. 
After several bottles of expensive wine and a few decanters of something suspiciously strong and equally as vile tasting, the entire Inner Circle was comfortably drunk. 
Azriel’s mate had curled into the corner of one of the plush couches with a wine glass in hand, her cheeks flushed and eyes glassy, the room spinning at borderline nauseating speeds. Next to her, Azriel slouched lower than anyone had ever seen him, his normally rigid frame nonexistent as he melted into the cushions. He was dressed in loose linen pants and a button up with the sleeves rolled to his elbows, an elegant but far more relaxed departure from his usual Illyrian leathers. Even his shadows seemed drowsy, coiling like cats around his ankles
“She then told him to fuck off,” Cassian howled, halfway through a story that had been going on for far too long, “after he complimented her speech!”  
Azriel’s mate snorted into her drink, too inebriated to be embarrassed, “He sounded surprised that a speech on the importance of historiographical methodology could be interesting,” she protested. “It was rude of him to think otherwise!”
Azriel’s low laugh warmed her insides, “Always the peacekeeper,” he murmured, teasing. 
“Oh please, you know you love it,” she shot back, nudging his shoulder with her own. 
Mor raised an eyebrow at the interaction. “Az, is that a blush on your face?” 
“How drunk are you, Azriel?” Feyre added, her tone steeped in amusement. 
Azriel swirled the amber liquid in his glass as he drawled, “Somewhere between a lot and very.”
Everyone chuckled, but their eyes soon zeroed in on the look he gave the female tucked against his side. The way their hands brushed one another, the way Azriel leaned in every time she laughed, closing his eyes as if to savor the sound, even the way his shadows curled protectively around them both.
Cassian rolled his eyes dramatically at the pair, “Mother above, the tension between you two makes me sexually frustrated.” He groaned
Azriel didn’t flinch. Based on the absolute torture he’d endured every night in his bedroom in the House of Wind, unable to sleep because of the noises Cassian and Nesta had been making, he knew that to be a lie, so the Shadowsinger didn’t dignify his brother’s words with a response. 
“Not everyone has to be as vocal about their feelings as you are, Cassian. Don’t force Azriel to be what he is not.” Nesta said coolly. 
Azriel gave her a look of mock offense. “I’ll have you know, I’m very vocal about my feelings. It’s not my fault you’re all too dense to notice.”
His mate dissolved into a fit of giggles she tried to hide with her wine glass, only to end up amplifying the noise with the action. “Oh yes Azriel,” she gasped, “you are so vocal about your feelings, especially last night: ‘Oh Gods, fuck, your mouth feels so good on my-” 
A scarred hand clamped over her mouth with lighting speed. 
Azriel looked mortified- for all of two seconds- before both of them collapsed into wheezing giggles on the couch. 
Soon the laughs were the only sound that could be heard in the room as the rest of the Inner Circle fell into shocked silence. 
Mor blinked, “Did she just-”
“Oh she definitely just-” Feyre whispered. 
“Are you two…” Rhysand began, also unable to finish his sentence. 
“Inside joke.” Azriel said halfheartedly. The pair agreed they wouldn’t outright say anything, nor outright deny their relationship, but they hadn’t actually been asked a question.
His mate nodded, face beet red but grinning wickedly, “Very inside.”
The two descended into wheezing laughter once more, the rest of the room soon joining in, albeit confused. 
Amren was the only one who didn’t laugh, watching the pair carefully over the rim of her glass.
While the conversation attempted to pick back up, nothing stuck. The rest of the Inner Circle watched the secretly mated pair, hovering around the edges of realization, circling it like buzzards but never quite landing on the truth.
Through it all, Azriel’s shadows curled protectively around him and his mate as their bond remained hidden in plain sight.
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The next morning Cassian groaned as he unceremoniously dropped into the chair across from Rhysand in the High Lord’s home office, rubbing his temples and whining with the drama of a dying male. 
“Whatever was in those decanters tasted like regret and death,” Cassian muttered. 
Rhysand, who looked only marginally more functional, snorted without lifting his gaze from the reports in front of him. “And yet you drank 5 whole glasses.” he replied dryly. 
“I was recouperating from a day of torture,” Cassian justified, “Nyx has been weaponizing flowers, spreading their poisen throughout my own home. I am not safe anywhere thanks to that child.” 
Footsteps sounded down the hall, halting the two’s conversation. Azriel had traded in his relaxed attire from the night before for his usual leathers. While his High Lord and general looked like they felt everybit of the alcohol they consumed last night, Azriel remained composed and unbothered, every inch the formidable Spymaster. 
“Its not fair he gets to look like that.” Cassian groaned. 
Azriel raided an eyebrow, unimpressed. “Good morning to you as well, Cas.”
Rhysand finally glanced up, a curious expression on his face. “You’re up early. I didn’t think I’d see you till tonight when I found these reports on my desk. I figured you’d be occupied nursing a hangover.” 
“I had things to take care of.” Azriel responded. 
Both Cassian and Rhysand perked up.
“Like what?” Cassian asked with the subtlety of a battering ram. 
“Moving out.” Azriel glanced between them, trying to read their expressions. When the two didn’t say anything, Azriel gave in, “I bought a house.”
Rhysand dropped the reports he had been shuffling in his hands. “You… what?”
Azriel leaned against the doorway, arms crossed. “It's on the outskirts of Velaris… quiet, private, beautiful views.”
Cassian sat up straighter. “Wait- you bought a house? You don’t even like decorating your own room.”
Azriel gave him a look. “I like silence, and hate paper-thin walls.”
“This is slander,” Cassian said turning to Rhys in defense, “Nesta and I have been extremely respectful-”
“You cracked the plaster above my bed.”
Rhysand snorted.
Cassian gaped. “So you dropped a fortune to move out just because of us?”
“I also value my own space, and privacy.” Azriel’s tone was mild, but firm. He was starting to get irritated at the endless questions. 
“You are barely home as it is,” Rhys said, narrowing his eyes. “What’s the point of buying an entire house, unless…” he trailed off, eyes sharpening. A beat passed, then another. Rhysand’s eyes flicked towards Azriel’s face. He tried to read his Spymaster’s microexpressions as he had done for centuries.  
“You’re not living alone,” he finished. Not a question.
So Azriel didn’t answer. 
Cassian and Rhysand looked at each other, then back at Azriel. Cassian’s face lit up when he realized exactly who his brother’s new “roommate” was. 
“So that's where all the ‘inside jokes’ came from, why you two were so comfortable last night.” The general reasoned. Azriel had to stop himself from rolling his eyes. They were so close and yet so far. 
The High Lord’s face became ashen as he looked at his brother, as if realizing all too late that something had shifted beneath his feet without him even noticing. 
“Why didn’t you tell us?” He asked, not hiding the hurt from his tone. 
Azriel didn’t miss a beat, “You don’t listen.”
This time, the silence was deafening. 
As the tension became a bit too unbearable, Azriel coolly shrugged his shoulders, “You may all come by in about two months. Give us time to finish some things.” 
“Are you hosting a housewarming party, Azriel?” Rhysand asked incredulously, choosing to push the lingering sting of Azriel’s silence down. 
“Something like that.” Az responded. 
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She had been working all night on her research paper. Originally, it had been pretty straightforward as far as these things went, that was until she stumbled upon two drastically different accounts of the same battle documented by two soldiers on the same side, not far from the other on the front lines. 
And yet every modern interpretation she could find blindly aligned with one or the other. No one questioned the contradiction. Not historians, not theorists, nor any other scholars who had lended their two cents. 
Sighing, she realized she wasn’t going to finish the project anytime soon, though she had to admit the thrill of such a discovery had brought enough motivation to continue working until dawn. Azriel, her mate of many months now, was away on a mission and wasn’t due back until dinner the next day anyway. 
I should probably ask Rhysand about this, she thought. But it was late and while he most likely would have been up at this time a year ago, Nyx had ruled the High Lord and Lady’s schedules, constantly requiring all their attention just to make sure he hadn’t shifted into the form of a beast or rearranged Velaris’ stars… again. Though they loved their prince, the Dreamers of the Night Court hadn’t appreciated the impromptu redecorating of their beloved skies. 
She also simply didn’t want to see Rhysand, still bitter about how he treated Azriel at family dinner those few months before when the Shadowsinger had tried to tell his family about his mating bond. 
So instead, the Night Court’s beloved historiographer called someone else. 
While late night calls weren’t usually welcomed from the ancient fae female, nor were any calls at any time of day for that matter, Amren was rather thankful for the chance to leave the River House. Ever since Nyx had crowned his Aunt Amren as his favorite person ever, she had been borderline imprisoned at Rhysand and Feyre’s home just so they could get a few hours of work done, or (and this was far more vital for the sake of their court) shower. 
Still, in typical Amren fashion, she couldn’t let her gratitude be known. 
“You called me away from a glass of very old and very, very expensive wine while I watched the latest episode of The Toddler Tyrant.” Amren teased. 
“Nyx sprouted daisies again?”
“Out of Cassian’s ears this time,” Amren answered, breezing past her into the study. Cassian’s suffering at the hands of a toddler had been entertaining at first, but after a while his torment went from hilarious to pathetic. 
The historiographer gestured to the scrolls spread across her desk, “These are accounts of the same battle, the same side, same front, yet completely different outcomes. And yet every major historical interpretation aligns with one or the other, like no one bothered to question the discrepancies.”
Though she displayed disinterest, Amren slinked closer to the papers. “That’s war, girl. No one remembers it the same way. Memory makes fools of us all.” 
“Except these accounts were written during the war. Not years later. They were created mere hours after the battle in question. The first account claimed the general abandoned his troops, choosing to flee like a coward. The second swore he died protecting them. Both can’t be true.”
“Both could certainly be true, or rather, true to the writers. Maybe what one saw as a cowardly flee from the battle, the other saw end in a valiant death. Personal bias that led both to arriving at their own differing yet truthful conclusions.” 
The more she thought about it, the more Amren’s words rang true. While this was a huge oversight in the historical field, it did lend itself to the widespread pattern of historical memory corrupted by the silent biases of the narratives they choose to listen to. “Everyone’s so caught up in what they want to see, they can’t recognize truth, even when it’s parading around in plain sight.”
Amren smirked, “History repeats itself.” Before she stalked off. 
As she watched Amren leave, her words echoed in her head.
History repeats itself.
She thought of the different accounts of the battle again: two soldiers, one truth fractured into two. Everyone so caught up in their own perspective they were blind to what was marching right in front of them.
Just like them. Just like her and Azriel.
She looked down at the scattered scrolls on her desk and saw something else for the first time. Not confusion. Not contradictions. Just… love, interpreted differently by each witness. 
She thought of the soldiers. One grieving, one bitter, both clinging to their own truths. Both were so sure they knew what happened. 
Just like Cassian, swearing she and Azriel were dancing around their feelings. 
Just like Nesta, insisting Azriel wasn’t the type to share what he felt.
Just like Rhysand, who couldn’t see beyond the brother he used to know. 
She sat back down and wrote one sentence, one that would jump start her greatest project yet. 
“We mustn’t only question the historical accounts we see, but our reasons for believing them.” 
She dipped her quill in ink, turned to a fresh new page and wrote her new working title. 
The Battle for Truth: Perception, Memory, and What We Choose to See
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Azriel had been nonchalant about it. 
When he and his mate arrived at dinner, he oh-so-casually mentioned the two were hosting a party at their home. A housewarming party, as his family had assumed it was, and a party to celebrate the historiographer’s finished project, one she hadn’t even let Azriel know the details of. 
Not one of them had suspected a mating ceremony at the center of it.
The sun was beginning to dip behind the Sidra as the Inner Circle arrived at the couple’s home. 
The house was nothing like they had expected. Elegant, but also warm in a way only a home that was truly lived in, truly cared for, could be. The group stopped their various conversations as they tried to take in every detail they could. 
The first sign something was… different came when they made their way to the garden. Dozens of candles flickered to life, illuminating the stone walkway. Golden lanterns swayed gently in the trees. A long table stretched beneath the stars, draped in silver and blue linens and set with the finest of dishes. At the end of the garden stood an archway, draped in silk, glowing with candlelight, and unmistakably ceremonial. 
"Are we… early?" Feyre asked, glancing around in search of the hosts. 
Before anyone could answer, the sound of footsteps came from behind them. As they turned, the Inner Circle was met with a surprising sight. 
Azriel caught their attention first, dressed in an elegant navy suit softened by silver detailing. No armour, nor shadows to be seen, just… Azriel. 
But it was the female next to him that stole their breath. 
She stood beside him in a gown of lighter blue, embroidered with constellations that seemed to shift when she moved. Her eyes scanned the space, looking at the faces of her family, and for a moment, her nerves were evident. 
It was only then, when the two walked to the center of the garden and faced their friends, not hiding the ribbon that laced their hands together, deliberate and unmistakable, that realization struck.
“Oh-” Mor breathed.
“-my gods,” Cassian finished, slack-jawed.
Feyre blinked rapidly. “Wait. This is—?”
“You two are—?” Rhysand’s voice cracked mid-sentence.
“Mated,” Azriel confirmed, his voice clear and calm, his hand wrapped tightly around hers. “The priestess left just before you all arrived.”
There was a long pause, almost comically long, but long enough for the couple to start to sweat as they awaited further reactions.
Then Mor let out a loud, disbelieving sound and clutched her chest as if she had been physically wounded. “You traitors! You beautiful, deceiving traitors! How long have you both been…” she trailed off before finding her words, “When did the bond snap?”
The two turned to each other, smiling, before replying in unison, “A while ago.”
“Around half a year.” Azriel added.
Cassian’s head slowly turned from Azriel to his mate and back again. “Are you kidding me?” he said, scandalized. “How come none of us knew? How come I didn’t know? What kind of brother am I?”
“A dramatic one,” Amren deadpanned. “And apparently, an oblivious one.”
Feyre looked between them, mouth parted in shock. Then a slow, radiant smile bloomed on her face. “You’re mated,” she whispered to herself, trying to register the words. “You’re both actually mated.”
At that, Feyre launched herself at the couple, hugging Azriel’s mate first, then Azriel, her eyes glinting with tears. “I’m so happy for you,” she said, breathless. “You both look… I don’t know… lighter, happier.”
Nesta crossed her arms and raised a brow. “Well,” she said coolly, “that explains why the priestesses keep asking me questions about you two and giggling when I looked at them like they were crazy. They asked if you were pregnant last week. I thought they had been hexed.” Though her tone was cool and indifferent, her eyes betrayed her affection.
That earned laughter from the rest as the couple looked at each other with deep blushes on their faces. 
It was only Rhysand had remained quiet, far too quiet, his violet eyes fixed on the two of them. And then, without a word, he walked forward.
Azriel’s body went rigid, ever so slightly. But his mate didn’t flinch, didn’t look away.
Rhysand stopped just short of them, looking between the pair.
“I missed it,” he said finally, voice low. “I pride myself on seeing everything, knowing everything, but I completely missed this.”
There was no accusation in his words, but something raw in his tone. No anger, nor judgment. Just the sad realization he hadn’t known his brother as much as he thought. 
He looked at Azriel’s mate then, and whatever tension had been between them for the past few months softened. “I’m sorry,” Rhysand said. “To both of you. I was too busy thinking I knew everything that I missed what was right in front of me.”
Azriel’s mate gave him a gentle nod, filled with forgiveness and understanding. 
There was a moment of anxious silence, till Amren smirked behind her wine glass and muttered, “Finally.”
The tension shattered. 
Laughter rippled across the garden, followed by a chorus of overlapping questions, but Azriel only looked at his mate.
They had decided to do the ceremony part alone, just the two of them, a priestess, and Clotho acting as witness, under the promise she was allowed to give any and all details to the other priestesses to gossip over. 
But the celebration was for their family who had, however obliviously, been with them for their entire relationship.
That night, the Inner Circle celebrated under lantern light. The house echoed with laughter, shadows trailing around the garden and dancing to the music.
When the guests had finally gone, after having to be forcibly kicked out, Azriel and his mate sat on the floor in their study.
She sat nervously next to her mate, looking down at their hands still bound together with ribbon. She had promised they would get to that part of the night after she showed him one last thing.
She turned to the coffee table and picked up a leather-bound book. The cover was a dark blue and as she turned to the first page, Azriel recognized her handwriting. She handed the book to her mate who took it in his free hand. 
The page was opened to the dedication, written in her neat script, reading:
To the ones who taught me that truth is rarely singular, that memory can be messy, and love, like the historical work I dedicate my life to, can often be found hidden in plain sight. 
To Azriel, who saw the truest version of me and waited until I was ready to see her too. 
Azriel stared down at the page, tears lining his eyes. His shadows brushed the edges of the paper, like they too were reading it. 
“It’s not about us,” she quickly murmured, “not technically. It’s about conflicting battle accounts, probably less exciting but-”
She tried to swallow down her nerves, looking to their joined hands for strength. 
“But it’s always been about us, in a way. About how people miss things that are right in front of them, because they’re too busy holding onto the story they think they already know. That’s what those accounts taught me. Two people, on the same side, in the same moment, seeing two completely different truths. They can both be wrong and right. Just like some others we know.” She teased.
Azriel leaned forward, pressing his lips to her forehead. “You’re brilliant,” he whispered against her skin. “And I love you.”
“I know,” she whispered back, angling her head till her lips were just a breath away from his, “but you should say it again.”
“I love you.” He answered before kissing her deeply. 
While the bond between them hummed, everything around them grew silent and still, like the shadows and stars themselves had stopped to listen.
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Taglist: @happyxdayxbitch, @kksbookstuff, @firefly-forest-blog, @marigold-morelli, @yourenothingbutnottome, @triangleshapewinner, @honk4emoboyz, @i-am-infinite, @dreaming-softly-in-the-night, @fuckingsimp4azriel,
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urnewroomie · 2 days ago
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i’ve seen a lot of posts lately that have been, not bashing Erik, but being a bit frustrated (idk if that’s the right word but it’s what we’re going with) with him, for the amount of fluff stuff we’ve been getting lately, so i’ve come to offer my two cents:
it’s been incredibly stressful to just exist lately, given basically everything going on in the world. anxiety for a lot of people is at an all time high, things are so uncertain and mental health for a lot of people, is not great right now. Hell, Erik has gone as far as to make a comfort audio for this exact reason (the one Camelopardalis audio)
as a writer and character creator myself, i find it can be emotionally taxing to create lore heavy, angst heavy stuff when i myself am already not in a good headspace, and to them have to put myself in the characters headspace who also i’m not having a good time or in a good space, it gets to be a lot.
so, instead i just create fluff scenes in my head. I create a world where everything is great for my characters, where they can be happy and live with their partners without any threat to their rights, their safety, and all the other stupid shit a lot of people are currently having to worry about due to the things going on in everyday life.
it wouldn’t surprise me if Erik is doing this same thing. He’s a queer man, one in the US, having the deal with all this awful, negative crap going on, and i don’t blame him if he’s making fluffy, feel good content right now as a pick me up for himself because, let’s be honest, we all need a pick me up and a distraction from all the crap going on.
this isn’t me coming to say that those people that are frustrated aren’t valid in their feelings, i totally get it!!! i love lore and angst and plot driven things. i just think we should consider how the wonderful Mr Redacted might be doing, and at the end of the day, his audios are a passion project of his, and i would guess, an escape for him, my characters are for me, and i appreciate greatly that he shares that with all of us. his characters and audios have been such a comfort to me and countless others.
i can’t express how thankful i am that i found redacted, i think he is crazy talented and above everything else, his audios give me something to look forward to every saturday. waiting for that new audio genuinely gets me through the week. it’s a little mind boggling to me that he gets an audio out basically every week, the amount of work and dedication that would take.
i’m rambling at this point but hopefully this gets my point across haha.
sorry if none of this made sense XD
thanks for reading if you somehow managed to get to the bottom
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antithetical-bolter · 1 day ago
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Out Of The Woods
Chapter 1
Shoutout to @antisocialfiore for helping me with the title!! This is my first fic I’ve posted to tumblr so any tips on how to keep chapters organized and whatnot would be lovely. Hang in there while I figure it out lmao. Chapter 2 is written and will be posted shortly <3
5.0k words | Seasoned ER nurse Iris McDowell finds herself pregnant after a one night stand with Robby, who is predictably handling things very poorly.
Warnings: unplanned pregnancy, discussion of abortions, excessive use of the word fuck, commas, and em dashes.
Tag list: @antisocialfiore @snowflames-world @eviemonroeer
Page dividers by: @cafekitsune
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Iris
Well, shit.
That is most definitely two pink lines.
On three different tests. Iris Elizabeth McDowell, you fucking idiot.
Just my fucking luck, that getting tipsy and fucking the very hot and very emotionally unavailable attending would result in a god damn pregnancy. I’d been blissfully ignorant the last 3 weeks - my periods have never been all that regular but as soon as the nausea and the sore boobs hit I knew it was time to face the music. And sure enough, the music was telling me that I was pregnant. With Michael Robinavitch’s baby.
Robby, who has barely made eye contact with me past what was required for patient care since it happened. Robby, who let it slip at the bar that he had been interested in me for months now. Robby, who I was unfortunately in love with. Had been for an embarrassingly long time now - so him up and leaving the morning after the best sex of my life triggered a full blown crisis. Almost a decade of pining, all for one (admittedly spectacular) night. The whole debacle had me briefly considering finding a new ER to work at, but I decided I wouldn’t let a man dictate my life. Even if it was that man.
Do I want to keep it? I think so? Should I want to keep it? Probably not.
It’s not like I’m some young new grad nurse who doesn’t have a career. I’ve been an ER nurse for more than ten years now, working at the Pitt for all but the first two. I’m damn good at my job, so much so that I occasionally fill in for the charge nurses, and I have a great support system. But the thought of having to tell Robby that I’m carrying his child? Genuinely makes me want to puke. Again.
I have money, a 2 bedroom condo, a regular enough schedule that daycare wouldn’t be an issue. But do I really want to be a single mom? Put my body through the fucking wild ride that is pregnancy? Oh god. Pregnancy scrubs? The absolute worst. Not to mention actually giving birth.
Thankfully, the universe has seen fit to give me a single win in all this, and I have the next 4 days off to figure out how to be normal at work again. First order of business - call my OB. A brief phone call later, I have an appointment for 9:45. Just over two hours from now.
Fuck, I could really use my mom right now. Not like we were ever super close, with her living on the west coast and me getting the fuck out of my tiny ass hometown right after high school, but I’d like the option to call her and freak out. Both her and my dad were killed in a car accident just over three years ago, and somehow this scenario had never crossed my mind. I have an older brother who lives back home in Washington, but we have very different works views and I highly doubt he would be a good source of familial support. Cue the tears - but they feel cathartic. A release I desperately need right now.
My therapist is going to lose her ever-loving mind. A quick look on her patient portal reveals that she has an opening this afternoon, so I guess that makes 2 wins from the universe for me today. I’ll take what I can get.
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I am very picky about my medical providers. Working in the field myself means I have seen some shit doctors, and I just flat out refuse to put my care in the hands of someone I don’t trust. My OB is the best of the best, and she’s really earning her copay right now.
The transvaginal ultrasound was quick, confirming that I definitely have something cooking in there. The tech asked if I wanted to hear the heartbeat - but I said no. I’m right at the six week mark so a heartbeat can be heard at this point but I am not ready for that just yet. Not until I decide what I want to do. My OB, bless her, ran me through all of my options. She knows I know them, I’m an ER nurse after all, but it’s like all my schooling and experience fell out of my brain the second the stick(s) turned pink.
She encouraged me to take my time making a decision, since I have a few weeks to make a choice either way. We went through what it would look like to keep, terminate, and adopt. Having all the information laid out in front of me makes me feel both better and far, far worse.
She also tells me that no matter what the father wants, this is my choice. That I should lean on my people, and find someone I trust to tell. That if I do decide to terminate, I need to have someone with me after I take the medications to make sure everything progresses as it should.
I leave the appointment armed with 4 different pamphlets and 3 sonogram images that I have yet to look at.
Therapy is significantly harder. Erica, bless her, has been my therapist since I moved to Pittsburgh for college when I was 18. She knows me far too well - immediately clocks that it must be hard to be dealing with all of this without my mom’s support, which triggers a crying spell. Once I’ve recovered from that we move on to how I’m going to tell Robby.
“I don’t know, Erica. He’s barely looked at me since we slept together, I can count the non-patient related words he’s said to me since then on one hand and none of them were particularly nice.” That man needs therapy more than anyone I’ve ever met. He’s an incredible doctor and great to his friends, but ever since he fucked up his relationship with Collins so badly that she left the state he’s been especially moody.
“How do you think he’s going to react to this?”
“Not particularly well. He’ll freak out, not speak to me for a few days, and then inevitably come back around and say that he’ll help me with whatever I choose. I know that if I decide to keep it that he would help, but that it would be out of obligation and that is not what I want. I would never keep him away from his kid but I can almost guarantee that I would be eternally fucked up over it.” Erica nods thoughtfully, taking a pause to formulate a reply that won’t send me over the edge.
“Maybe you should start by telling someone else, then. Maybe Samira, or Dana? Someone who will support you unconditionally without any emotional baggage taking up space in the back seat. They could help you decide what to say when you tell him, and support you if it goes as poorly as you think it will.” She gives me a very pointed look before continuing. “Also, and really think about this before brushing it off, maybe this conversation between you and Robby will help you both. A push that requires communication where there is a gap right now.”
“I - I, ugh. I just really, really don’t want to have to do this with him. He really hurt me when he just up and fucking ghosted me. Especially because he spent the whole night prior telling me that he’s been wanting to kiss me for months, and a whole bunch of other shit that he clearly didn’t mean.” He doesn’t seem like the type to spout bullshit to get a woman into bed with him, but I really cannot come up with another reason for him to be acting this way.
“It’s fair and reasonable for you to be scared. And if he screws this up, you have my blessing to tell him to fuck off. But no matter what you choose, you will be okay. It might suck for a while, but you will come out the other side.” The unspoken words are loud - that I will be okay but that it’s going to take a while for me to get there.
“I know you’re right but it’s hard to see right now.” Pretty much impossible, actually.
“That’s okay, I’m here to remind you. Your homework this week is to tell someone you trust.” Sad that I don’t consider the father someone I trust, but he definitely is not making that list right now.
“I’m going to call Dana literally as soon as we hang up - Samira’s working right now.” She nods in response, flashes me what I’m sure is supposed to be a reassuring smile but it just doesn’t land. We schedule an appointment for next week and then we hang up. I give myself 10 minutes to spiral before I pick up the phone and call Dana.
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Dana picks up her phone on the third ring.
“Hey, kid! Where are ya?” I can hear the sounds of what is likely a bar or restaurant in the background and belatedly realize that there’s ER social plans today - most of day shift is gathered at the sports bar near the hospital to watch the first Penguins game of the regular season. Hockey is one of the few sports I will watch voluntarily, and I definitely told Dana I would try and make it out tonight.
“Shit, Dana. I totally spaced, had a bit of a personal crisis. Can I call you later? When you aren’t surrounded by our coworkers?” I hear a booming laugh in the background and immediately place it as Robby’s. Because of course he’s there. “Can you just, uh - text me when you leave the bar?”
“Hold up, Iris, wait. Are you okay?” Her voice changes, drops lower and sounds muffled. Like she’s covering her mouth while she speaks in an effort to afford me some privacy. She knows something happened between Robby and I, and has had a front row seat to whatever the fuck is going on right now so she’s sensitive to the fact that I might not want him knowing about said personal crisis. Little does she fucking know that he’s going to be quite privy to the details when I’m no longe actively in a state of crisis.
“I mean, okay is not really the word I would use but I’m safe and not currently in any physical danger.” Very much not okay, but I don’t want to make her change her plans for me. It’s so rare that we’re all able to see each other outside the Pitt and I know she values this time with her friends.
“Iris, honey. What’s wrong?” I don’t answer, but I do start to cry. My best efforts at keeping my sobs quiet are unsuccessful. “Oh fuck, you know what, never mind, I’m just gonna come over. Hang tight, okay?” I hear the screech of a chair as she presumably scoots back and stands up. Her voice is quieter as she speaks next, having moved the phone so she can talk to whoever else is at the table. “Change of plans, guys. I have to go. Enjoy the game and I’ll see you all tomorrow.”
The crying has not slowed in the thirty seconds it takes her to get outside.
“Dana, really, I appreciate it but you can stay and finish the game. I can wait.” I must not convince her, because she laughs at me. Fairly so, given that my words are very much broken up by sobs.
“Absolutely not. I’m on my way, I’ll see you in ten minutes.”
She arrives in eight.
I’m waiting by the door, and open it before she has a chance to knock. I’m still crying - no longer sobbing, but a pretty steady stream of tears track their way down my cheeks. I see the question forming on her lips but I beat her to it and hold out my three positive tests for her to see.
“Are we happy? Shopping? Making an appointment at the clinic?” Classic Dana - no big reaction, just thoughtful statements of action. Unfortunately I don’t know what I want.
“I don’t know yet. Took the tests early this morning and was able to get in last minute to see OB to confirm it. I’m just about 6 weeks along and I have no fucking clue what I want to do.” She closes the door behind her and immediately pulls me into a tight hug. Rubs my back with one hand and runs the other through my hair, tells me that it’s okay to not know what I want and that she’s here for me no matter what. Does not ask me who the father is. Unfortunately that is the biggest piece to this puzzle and I know I need to tell her.
We move to my couch and she makes me drink some water before continuing to fill her in. I decide it’s best to just fucking do it - no preamble and no backstory.
“Robby’s the father.” That stops her in her tracks for a second. Her eyes go wide and I can tell she’s working extremely hard to keep her own emotions under wraps.
“Well, shit. So that ‘thing’ that happened between you guys in September was sex?” I nod. “And, let me hazard a guess here, he freaked the fuck out and now he’s unable to act normal around you.” I nod again.
“That about sums it up. He left before I woke up and any effort I made to talk to him about it ended with him getting snippy and walking away from me. My texts went unanswered so I just stopped trying.”
“What an asshole - I’m so sorry, Iris.” She leans over to pull me into another hug. “Are you going to tell him?”
“I mean I kinda have to, don’t I? Would be a real dick move of me to not tell him about this. Even if he doesn’t deserve me speaking to him ever again.”
“I think that depends on what you decide you want to do. If you want to keep it, then yeah you’re gonna have to tell him. But if you don’t, then we go to the clinic this week and he remains none the wiser. Either choice is okay, whatever you decide to do will be the right decision for you.” I take a deep breath, enjoying having her here to support me.
“See that’s the thing, my first instinct is that I want to keep it. I’ve always thought that I could go either way on having kids, but now that it’s staring me in the face I can’t imagine not going through with it.” Saying it out loud all but confirms my decision - this is happening. I’m going to have a baby. And I’m going to have to tell Robby.
“Then that’s what will happen. I’ve got your back through all of it, and if you want me to hide upstairs while you tell Robby I can do that. I’ll even chase him out if he acts a fool.” She’s serious, and I love her for that.
“Might not be a terrible idea. The last thing I want is for him to be involved purely out of obligation.” I debate stopping there, not divulging the depths of my (extremely unadvised) feelings for him, but I’ve already gone this far so what’s the harm in spilling the whole story. “I’m like, stupidly in love with that man. Have been for a long time, and I was happy to have it kinda live in the background of my life up until recently. He approached me at that party we had for Jesse and we hit it off, and he was really sweet. Told me that he’s been wanting to kiss me for months and that he hasn’t been able to get me out of his head. We each had a few drinks, but I wasn’t drunk. A little tipsy for sure, but sober enough to consent and be smart about it. We even used a fucking condom! Then he was gone when I woke up and you’ve seen how he’s been since then.” She grimaces a little before responding.
“Yeah, he’s been in rare Robby form. Very broody. But, Iris, I really think he meant what he told you. Handled it terribly for sure, but he’s so thoroughly fucked up in the past that his ex literally left the state. He’s probably just trying to protect you in his own, very fucked up way.” I laugh and try to wipe away the tears staining my face, but they just keep coming.
“Well he’s doing a terrible job. Is it crazy of me to make him go to therapy before I let him really be involved? Is that, like, blackmailing?” The last thing I want out of all this is for my kid to be hurt in the same way - their dad hot and cold, unable to really make a commitment to be present in their life.
“Maybe a bit, but I fully support you in that. I actually think that’s plenty reasonable, and if he gives you pushback then he’ll hear about it from me.” So quick to jump in and support me, even when the problem is one of her best and longest friends. “If it makes you feel any better, the second I said your name at the bar earlier he looked like he was two seconds away from taking my phone and checking on you himself.” A mirthful laugh escapes me at that - it does not make me feel better.
“Then blackmail it is. Now, how the fuck am I supposed to have this conversation with him when I can’t even get him to say three consecutive words to me that aren’t directly work related?”
We spend the next hour brainstorming, and by the time she leaves I feel better. I have a loose plan, my tear ducts have long since run dry, and I no longer feel like I’m about to majorly fuck my whole life up.
I make myself a list before I go to sleep - things I need to buy for first trimester health, food I should avoid, and symptoms I’ve been experiencing so I can be as informed as possible.
My list exhausts me (that, and the tiny human I’m currently forming) and I fall into a blissful, dreamless sleep as soon as my head hits the pillow.
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I spend the next few days making more lists. Baby names, furniture, birth plans. If there’s a relevant list to be made - it’s currently up on my fridge.
My first day back at work since The Event (TM) is fine, I guess. Dana greets me with a hug and a quiet check in, and while this isn’t that out of the ordinary it is unusual that she pulls me off the floor to do it. I feel Robby’s eyes track us as we walk back in from the ambulance bay, especially when we get closer and Dana does not smell like she’s just come back from a smoke break.
I treat Robby to his own taste of the silent treatment. No niceties, no attempts at small talk. Strictly patient care and work related conversations, and honestly conversations is a generous word. Terse exchanges is more accurate. Not even a polite smile in his direction. I don’t let it get in the way of my job, and if I do say so myself I really knock it out of the park nursing wise. Even escaping to the bathroom a few times per shift to puke doesn’t get in the way of my determination to keep up my ‘everything is fine’ facade.
Three shifts pass in this manner, three shifts where I can feel him fucking watching me like he knows something is up. Thirty-six hours of me sitting on the biggest fucking secret I’ve ever kept when all I really want to do is yell “Hey, fuckface! You ghosted me and it sucked, and I’m fucking angry about. By the way, I’m pregnant with your child. Get some god damn therapy if you’d like to be involved!” And then walk out, middle fingers up, leaving him to stand with the aftermath of his actions.
But, unfortunately, I am a professional adult so I don’t do that. I do heavily fantasize about it though.
Samira notices that something is up right away, but she is also on a long stretch of shifts so we agree to hang out when our work weeks are both done. We meet for breakfast (at 8pm) at the closest Denny’s and she spits out her coffee when I tell her that not only did I sleep with Robby, but that there’s going to be literal life long consequences for it come early June.
“Oh my god. I would ask if you’re okay, but I think I can answer that myself. When are you going to tell him?” I shrug as I finish my bite of French toast.
“Great question. He’s been fucking frosty with me lately and it doesn’t have me feeling very generous towards him. I know he deserves to know but god the thought of that conversation makes me want to punch a wall.” Another bite of toast. “I know that a few weeks after we slept together was the anniversary of Pitt Fest and Adamson’s death, but the way he’s been treating me does not make me want to tell him. It makes me want to be spiteful and keep it from him until the last possible second, so he can be as blindsided as I feel right now. Very immature of me and I won’t do that but it’s nice to entertain it for a bit.”
“He’s clearly fumbling the bag pretty hard right now, but you and I both know he’s going to do the right thing.”
“I know, and that’s almost worse. If he’s going to be all emotionally constipated while attempting to be present I am going to lose my shit. Dana said she thinks I am well within my rights to threaten him with therapy, so I think that’s my game plan.”
“That’s - that’s actually a great idea. If anything will get that man into therapy it’s the threat of potentially fucking up his child’s life.” She chuckles a bit. “Can I tell Jack? I will obviously swear him to secrecy but it might be nice to have him in your corner.”
“Please do - but if he tells Robby before I do I will kill him.”
“And I will help you hide the body. Also, he’s picking me up from this meal so if you’d like to fill him in yourself you’re about to have your window.” Like she summoned him, Jack Abbot walks in the door. He immediately finds Samira and she waves him over.
I decide that I do not have another long, emotional story in me and just spit it out.
“Hi, Jack.” He looks at me a little weird, we’re friendly at work but I don’t think I’ve ever called him by his first name before. “Welcome to the party, you’re about to hear some very classified information so prepare yourself.” He stares at me, a little stunned, but I just keep on talking. “I’m pregnant and keeping it. Robby’s the father, but I haven’t told him yet.” His jaw drops open, and he has to open and close it a few times before actual words come out.
“Uhhh, wow. Fuck. Are you, uhm, are you going to tell him?”
“I mean, yeah. Not sure when or how, but yeah. What’s your opinion on me using this as an opportunity to threaten him into therapy?” This gets a loud, genuine laugh from him.
“I think that’s a wonderful idea. You want my therapists number? I’ve given it to him multiple times but he’s clearly never used it.” Abbot doesn’t wait for me to answer, just pulls a card out of his wallet and hands it to me. “Are you doing okay? Managing symptoms alright?”
“Yeah, I’m okay. Thanks. Freaking the fuck out, but okay.” With that, I decide I’ve had enough social interaction for the day. “Now that all that’s out of the way, I’m going to head home. Samira, love you, thanks for the support, and Jack I’m a little sorry to drag you into all this but thankful that you’re here anyway.” I leave them at that, dropping enough cash to cover my meal and all but running to my car so I can have my next meltdown in peace.
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I’m a little embarrassed to admit that I let another two full weeks pass before I even consider telling Robby. Erica, Dana, and Samira are all on my case a little bit but ultimately don’t push me too hard. My OB and therapist have both been informed that I’ve decided to continue the pregnancy, and the appropriate follow up appointments have been scheduled.
It takes an extra long session with Erica, complete with roll play and multiple outcomes of the conversation for me to feel even slightly ready to broach the subject with him. We decide that I’ll attempt to talk to him after our next shift together, a rare night where neither of us have to be in the next morning.
Dana knows, and as she leaves out the ambulance bay doors she shoots me a very encouraging thumbs up and a ‘call me!’ While I wait for him to leave. I don’t have to wait much longer. 10 minutes pass before I see him walk out, backpack slung over his shoulders and thick winter jacket thrown on like it’s armor. He doesn’t turn his head to look at me as he passes.
I parked at the very end of the lot today, hoping to use my car as an excuse to follow him for a bit. As we approach my green Honda CRV, I know it’s time to bite the bullet.
“Hey, uh, Robby? Can we talk for a sec?” He pauses, takes an AirPod out, and turns to face me. He looks like shit. Tired, like he hasn’t had a good sleep in weeks. I feel mean for thinking it, but I’m glad he’s getting just as much (little?) rest as I am.
“I’ve got somewhere to be, Iris. Now’s not a good time.” He may be facing me, but he’s not really looking at me. Fucking infuriating.
“It won’t take long, please. It’s kinda important.” Fuck him for making me plead to have a conversation - this is starting to feel a little humiliating. I can feel the tears forming and threatening to spill out, but he isn’t looking at me so he doesn’t see them.
“Not now. There isn’t really anything for us to talk about. I have to go, I’ll see you later.” And with that, he’s got his AirPod back in and is walking away. Fucking dick. The hot sting of rejection sits heavy in my chest, and I have to take a few minutes before I feel steady enough to drive home.
I work myself up pretty well on the way home, moving from shame to anger. I kick my shoes off in the entryway and slam my bag down, feeling like I need to scream. I decide a run will suffice and quickly change into my running gear. As I slip on my shoes and grab my running belt I decide there’s something I need to do first, and pull my phone out to send the riskiest text I’ve ever sent.
Iris (7:58pm)
Hi, asshole. I have been working up the nerve to talk to you for weeks, but since I apparently don’t deserve even five minutes of your time I guess this is how you’re going to find out.
I attach a picture of the tests and hit send, and then immediately send a follow up.
Iris (7:59pm)
Before you have the fucking audacity to ask, yes it’s yours and I’ll be keeping it.
I immediately put my phone on do not disturb and start my watch so I can track my run. I hit the pavement with a vengeance. My feet feel heavy beneath me, and it takes me longer than usual to feel warmed up enough to really run. I blast my angriest playlist, and run until I no longer feel like murdering the father of my unborn child.
I hit my favorite smoothie place on my way home, and call Dana as I walk and warm down.
“So I told him.” She gasps. “But, uh, over text. I tried to talk to him as he left but he blew me off and I was just so fucking angry and maybe jumped the gun a little, but it’s done now. I went for a run as soon as I got home, I’m walking back to my place as we speak.”
“How are you feeling about it, hon?”
“Terrified. Have not checked to see if he’s responded. Maybe a little elated? But like, in a manic way so maybe that’s not a good thing.” Dana laughs and reassures me.
“It’s alright, kid. That’s a big step you just took and you tried to do it in person, so fuck it. You want me to come over?” She asks, just as I turn the corner onto my street. My heart all but stops as I see an unfortunately familiar suburban parked in front of my house, and my breathing stops with it when I see that the man himself is sitting on my front steps.
“Oh fuck.”
“He’s at your house, isn’t he?” She’s far too smart for her own good, or maybe she just knows him too well.
“Yup.” God dammit, past Iris. Did you really have to send those texts?
“I can still come over if you want.” Seriously considering taking her up on that.
“No, I’ll handle him. But, maybe later? If and when I need to cry about this?”
“I’ll be waiting by the phone. You’ve got this, kid. Give him hell.”
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judesmoonbeauty · 3 days ago
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Fan translation only. Accuracy not 100%. Please expect grammatical errors. Creative liberties are taken. Cybird owns everything. Re-blogs are appreciated, but please do not post my translation elsewhere, claim them as your own, or use them without my permission. Thank you for your support! ☾.
CW: Blood, Violence.
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In the silence of the ceremony hall, Kate is shocked and Joseph is surrounded by several humans.
(Everyone besides her is so revolting it makes me want to vomit.)
Kate: What do you mean?
Since Kate doesn’t seem to understand, I explain the ugly truth that I don’t even feel like bringing up.
Darius: I noticed something when I met those kids yesterday.
Darius: And I wanted to be sure about it, so I went into the restricted cellar in the middle of the night.
Darius: What do you think I found there?
Joseph: You-
As Joseph approached me, I drew my concealed cane sword.
Darius: The brides who were married here. Some of the girls were confined in the cellar.
Darius: As a sacrifice to produce better children.
Kate: What…….
Last night, I was searching the building to confirm the strange feeling I had during the day.
What I found was a group of women being imprisoned in the cellar.
All of them were of couples who had ceremonies for free, on the condition of becoming employees of Tiamo’s wedding hall.
However, what really awaited them was being confined to the cellar, having to give birth to superior offspring.
Separated from their grooms and locked away in small cells, they were used only as tools to breed children, continuously exploited by Tiamo.
Kate: Th-That’s……
The bouquet falls from Kate’s hand.
To her it must be rather startling, but to me it’s just a common matter.
Dari: Apparently, management of the cellar is a right that belongs to personnel who can produce outstanding offspring.
Dari: You seem to have that right, Joseph.
I snorted as Joseph’s complexion changed.
Darius: At the time, I didn’t expect to see a bunch of children who smelled just like you.
Kate: The reason why you held your nose back then…..
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Darius: No matter how much you wash your body, you can’t mask body odour.
The scent of a living things themselves isn’t something that can be hidden by soaps or perfumes.
The stench was so foul I felt nauseous, and if she hadn't tugged on me, I would’ve killed them on the spot.
I put the tip of my cane sword to Joseph's neck.
Darius: Tiamo seems to be involved in a lot of things. Corruption, tax evasion, human rights violations…….
Darius: Regarding eugenics, I do agree with you. But, it seems we differ on what constitutes eugenics.
Suddenly, a slight noise behind me made Kate’s expression alter.
Kate: Darius, watch out!
Spinning around, I slashed the throat of the employee about to attack me.
Kate: Oh…..
A line of fresh blood sprayed onto Kate’s white dress.
(Shameful, foolish, filthy humans aren’t needed in this world.)
The kanji for “shameful” can be translated in several ways, including “ugly,” but I’m opting for shameful.
I smiled broadly.
Darius: Let me tell you fools something.
Darius: Humans aren’t on the eugenic side.
Minister: Don’t let them leave alive!
The minister’s command signaled the doors of the church to open, and armed staff rush in.
Kate: Darius!
At the sound of Kate’s impatient voice, I grabbed her arm and threw her behind the pew.
Darius: You go there.
(It would terrible if you got hurt here.)
But—
(I don’t understand why…..I don’t want to see you hurt.)
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Darius: By Crown’s standards, they qualify as an evil that should be punished.
Darius: Perhaps, I should kill everyone here and earn a myself a debt of gratitude.
I chuckled as I started cleaning up the trash.
Armed Employee: Aarrgh!!
Employee With Gun: Hurry and get him! Eek!
Employee With A Sword: Stop-Stop it!!
Darius: Ahaha, you’re so weak that I’m shocked to learn about your ideals on eugenics.
The people dying one after the other were pathetic and amusing, but it was terribly unbearable that their filthy blood stained my clothes.
Darius: That’s why I hate humans. They’re filthy, shameful and despicable.
Darius: True love is impartial, vows are eternal, love is constant?
In no time at all, there was a pile of corpses with their masses of flesh stabbed repeatedly from above.
Darius: Don’t make me laugh. Such things exist only in your world.
I wanted to keep stabbing them until they vanished.
But—
(It’s almost time.)
Joseph: Dieee!!
I shifted my focus and grabbed Kate’s arm, pulling her into a hug as she was about to get stabbed from protecting me.
Then with my other hand, I pierced Joseph in his heart with my cane sword.
Jospeh: Guh, ugh…….
Staring down coldly at his fallen body, I kindly explained his worst future to him.
Darius: Kate would try to protect me from being killed by you. I would notice this and kill you in turn.
Darius: I could see this future the moment I shook your hand.
Joseph: Wh….at…..
Yes, when I shook hands with him yesterday, I could see everything.
That’s why I went to the cellar and performed an extermination, to prevent these humans from multiplying any further.
Could also potentially be translated as “the humans from multiplying,” for a more general sense, but I chose to use “these” due to context.
(If I tell Kate that she’ll probably get angry.)
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When I pulled the blade from his chest, fresh blood spattered us.
Darius: If the future me decided to kill you, then there’s no way you’re cursed.
Darius: Because there’s no way I do something as foolish as taking a cursed life.
Once I finished cleaning up that trash, I turned to her to clear up the remaining rubbish.
Darius: Okay, let’s go kill the children too.
Kate: What…..those children are innocent!
Darius: Wouldn’t it be better if these inferiors had no descendants?
Darius: It would be better killing them. We should at least show some mercy.
However, she stopped me as she hugged me from behind.
Kate: No matter where they come from, those kids have a right to see the future.
Kate: There’s no reason for you to take it away!
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(…..Well, she did try to protect me, so I guess I could listen to her.)
With a sigh I put away my cane sword.
Darius: Fine. I don’t want to hear children wailing because it’s deafening, so I won’t.
I muttered as Kate relaxed her arms in relief.
Darius: …..See, there’s no such thing as true love anywhere.
(Despite what you may believe, it’s nonexistent.)
I’ve been taught that by people countless times.
Kate: ….Even if it doesn’t exist here, it definitely exists.
Her trembling hand reached out and stroked my cheek, her eyes locked onto me.
Darius: If that’s a lie, you’ll die like them. So, can you still say that?
I found this amusing and wrapped my hand around hers.
(It’s truly foolish and hopeless.)
Darius: Darius: I’m lying. I won’t kill you. You are my favorite, after all.
With a crimson hand I lifted the white veil.
Darius: I never said I love you, but if you don’t mind a lie, then I’ll swear to it.
It was simply on a whim that I drew my lips close.
Darius: Especially if it’s you.
But perhaps somewhere deep in my heart, I wanted to believe in it.
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[Event Master List] [Epilogue]
I've got so many questions I want to ask this man, but I feel like while Darius may have a hatred for humans, he seems to have a specific criteria as to what garners his utmost revulsion. For example, the MC isn't someone that makes him feel repulsed, so what separates her from the rest? I think it's likely her being willing to accept, value and treat the cursed equally and kindly....versus let's say those from society who wouldn't be generally accepting. Of course, this event is evident that his hatred here is stemming from past trauma (well, that's my take on it.)......But again, I still have questions.
Tag List: @sh0jun @theimaginativelyreticent @sapphire-323 @velisle @nateko @greatwitchsongsinger @injudescoat @aeyumicore @complexivelovely @yuoi-the-magnificent @husbandosandladders @nawlink @justgiulia @vickietickie @greedyqueensfavourite @sharigax @belphiesleftpinkytoe @reimy1164 @barellorkilaam @goustmilk @aceuuuuu @yamaguchisaori @hiphiphooray4val @mika797 @spectraphobic-blog @kiyomizuki
If you are 18+ years old and wish to be added to my tags list, please feel free to comment or dm me. Please specify if you want to be tagged in all translations or a specific suitor. If you wish to be removed from the list, please feel free to comment or dm me as well.
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genderqueerdykes · 2 days ago
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to compound on some comments i saw: i was also completely empty during this time in my life. empty is the perfect way to put it. i was an empty shell that was totally devoid of myself and my actual personality. for the past 3 years, i lost my actual passion and spark in life. i was totally drained and devoid of everything. i couldn't put energy into my friends anymore, i couldn't put energy into my own life. i was convinced that i was some type of public resource. i was convinced that i needed to constantly be trying to enforce being a good person.
it's to the point where i see people violently virtue signal when it comes to hobby activities that are genuinely, actually harmless. i was doing it, too. i wouldn't allow myself to interact with anything that could be seen as "problematic". even if there wasn't anything actually harmful or dangerous involved, in my mind, if there was something that could be interpreted poorly, i just couldn't allow myself to interact with it. i completely lost the ability to have fun
that's something that's so crucial here. don't let yourself get so miserable that you can't have fun. at the end of the day, humans need to experience that joy. the amount of moral grandstanding i see when it comes to interacting with fucking fiction is astronomical and i fell into that trap, too. obviously there are pieces of media that are genuinely harmful to interact with, and support, but most things we interact with really aren't that big of a goddamn deal. it's actually pathetic how much i see people get worked up over someone else watching a movie or a piece of animation. again, there are genuinely dogshit pieces of media and art out there that have harmful and abusive messages, don't get this twisted, but the bulk of things we interact with are genuinely harmless.
the way people on here fight over things that don't matter in the pursuit of looking like a good person is honestly just goddamn embarrassing. you don't look like a good person because you refuse to interact with a tv show that has an imperfect narrative. you don't look like a good person because you are obsessed with how awful a character is. you don't look like a good person making other people miserable when they should be having fun and engaging with relaxing leisure activities. i fell into this trap and i'm so glad i'm out of it. i'm not saying go right ahead and interact with racist media. i'm not saying that it's okay to interact with things that are genuinely dangerous, but what i am saying is we need to let go of the idea that it somehow makes anyone look like a good person to kill someone else's fun when they're genuinely not hurting anyone or supporting anything actually dangerous.
people on here love to shit on people who "can't tell fiction from reality," but the truth is that it's most people on here. most people on here really struggle to accept that fictional characters aren't even real and that hating on them and acting like they're better than them doesn't do anything good for anyone in the real world. it ruined my life for 3 years straight because i didn't allow myself to interact with leisure activities. people on here act like you can't interact with something that has a villain or a flawed character in it. one character does something mildly fucked up and the entire thing is bad. what the hell is that?
don't let yourself become an empty shell like i did. having hobbies and interests is crucial to functioning and being a happy person. enjoying yourself and your time is crucial to chasing happiness. don't let people get into your head and think you're being an awful person for doing something that is genuinely harmless. the fact that hobby and leisure activities that are genuinely harmless are being run through this filter is asinine. this is just misery loves company to the most extreme degree. we don't need to make other people miserable just because we are. we have to chase our hobbies, goals and dreams. i don't care how dumb anyone thinks that sounds. i don't care how people think they're cool for shitting on everyone and everything- they're not. that's not cool. you're not cool. you're a shallow, empty asshole and it's time to move on.
we're chasing joy, and if you don't wanna join us, well you can suffer alone.
this website's negativity, knee-jerk reaction to assume the worst and utilize bad faith assumptions, and toxicity will eat you alive if you're not careful. i'm not proud to admit that the same happened to me for 3 years. i became a progressively more bitter and hateful person as i immersed myself more in this website's culture, especially the queer community on here. i found myself talking more about what i hated than what i loved. i found myself focusing on making sure that i wasn't anything like what i hated instead of becoming a person i loved. i didn't love myself, i only saw what i hated.
don't let it do the same to you. my quality of life was nonexistent during those years of my life. i was so negative, it took until people in my life pointed it out for me to see it. i only cared about talking about how i didn't want to be what i hated, i never spoke about what i wanted to be. i lost my interests. i stopped drawing, i stopped interacting others' art. i stopped playing video games. i stopped chatting with friends. i stopped taking care of myself. all i became was a walking vessel for my political beliefs.
i was just virtue signaling all day long. i wasn't helping anyone, especially not myself. that's not what activism is.. i'm not proud to admit it, but it's what was happening for 3 straight years of my life. fighting for a cause ultimately means nothing if you're causing more harm than good. hurting more people than you help isn't worth it. hurting yourself isn't worth it, either. making yourself sick and miserable over trying to do some good isn't helping in the long run.
it's so easy to get sucked into the trap of toxic virtue signaling and moral grandstanding on here. it's so easy to want to show everyone that you're one of the good guys. it's so easy to profess what you hate and how you're nothing like that, because it's all anyone else on here does. be careful. i finally realized it and am digging myself out of it. if you've found yourself in this pit, you can dig yourself out, too. it takes some time and effort, but it's worth it.
focus on what you love, not on what you hate. you can dislike peoples' actions without it ruling your life. it's fine to feel hatred, but it's not okay for it to be your only motivator in life. you're becoming the people you hate when you let this happen to you. it took me far too long to see it was happening to me, but the important part is that i'm putting in the effort to make change. you can do it, too. it's worth it.
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woundliqour · 2 days ago
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The photo of you smiling holding the Pride flag is actually one of my favourite photos on the internet. Knowing about your smile in the world makes me happy that you exist. I hope you have many more reasons to smile, and that you get all the things you are looking for and need in your life. ♥
Thank you, honestly that picture is a treasure keepsake to me, my photographer friend who took it was one of the main collaborators for the Don't Say Gay exhibition to try and showcase queer joy in Florida and I'm a big fan of their work. A few years ago when anti-lgbt policies started getting more aggressive I really didn't know a lot of lgbt community aside from coworkers and people I'd meet off dating apps, compared to how many people I've met in the last year. When people first started evacuating to sanctuary states and things, I had determined whether or not I could afford to uproot myself, I needed to put roots down and if I did need to relocate the loss needed to mean something and now it does. Now people get excited about watching my games. I have a transfem bestie who brought me soup when I was sick and makes me feel less like a wallflower when I go out, when I used to be the only trans woman I knew in my city for years. I've gotten invited to more birthdays and parties in the past year than I'd been to in a decade. gay ppl love hosting a theme party, I know that now. I get to hear about the ways I come up in casual conversations and things or that I'm on people's minds. I'm not everywhere i want to be yet, but I exist more now than I ever have before
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finelinefae · 2 days ago
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Hi my loves 🪽
I’m extremely very sorry for disappearing again. I honestly didn’t plan to and was writing something new to share but this past year has been really really hard!!
I’m going to be talking about mental health so if you want to skip this then please do!! I will just say here, thank you for every interaction you have made with my writing. It means everything to me. But most of all thank you for your patience, I love you very much and appreciate you taking the time to read my fics 🤍 thank you thank you thank you!!!
tw; mental health chit chat
Recently I was diagnosed with C-PTSD and it’s really taken a toll on my entire life. I wasn’t expecting it and I’ve been struggling to figure out how to heal and comprehending how much I need to do in order to heal. Ive been switching between sadness, anger and grief over the past few months and that’s all I ever feel lately. It’s really overwhelming and although I can put a name to the thing that’s been taking over my adult life so far, having to accept that my childhood wasn’t normal and that my pain was caused by things out of my control has been a little bit rough so to say
I don’t often share things like this to anyone but people closest to me but I think I just wanted to let you know because everyday I see people reblogging and liking and commenting and following and it doesn’t fail to make me happy. When I say it means the world I truly mean it. Writing is my whole life and amongst all the bad it has been a silver lining in my life, the thing that took me away from all the crazy and bought a pocket of good. Having you guys respond to it in such a positive way means everything to me.
I’ve been writing a lot this year to get through the days. I’ve been working on a personal project, writing my very first book, and even though I still write I can’t help but miss writing on here the most.
I hope to post something over the next couple of weeks. I haven’t written a Bambi post in a while but I plan to eventually go back into that world soon,, I know u guys are so patiently waiting for it (thank you omg) I also plan to post the series I was working on and planned to post months ago. It’s a boxing/gangleader fic and I love what I’ve written so far!!!!! In the mean time I hope to post a few soft girl Sundays to ease myself into things. 🤍
All of this will take time but I just wanted to say again how grateful I am for you and your patience and for just sticking around!! I can’t wait to start posting again (however that may look like) and I just appreciate you all very much 🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍
Thank you, love you lots
All my love,
Clo xx
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dewberrydusk · 2 days ago
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almond biscuits with kaveh pleek >< ty :3
HAI HAI LEXI!! ty for requesting hehe
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➷ Order: Almond Biscuit ; { Hard edges and quiet softness. — Being gentle in a world that asks you to be sharp. Loving someone who makes you brittle. }
➷ For: Kaveh x gn!reader
➷ Extra Notes: I had fun writing this!! I focused more on the first part of the prompt, mostly bc that fits the image of alekav in my head more so this is more hurt/comfort-esque haha
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The day had worn you thin.
There was something about the sharpness of the world outside that always seemed to gnaw at you. Voices speaking too fast, too loud. Deadlines stacked like precarious towers. People asking, demanding, expecting. Every interaction—another corner to sharpen yourself against, until you were nothing but brittle glass trying not to crack under the pressure.
By the time you returned home, the sky outside had bruised into twilight, casting long shadows on the wooden floor. Your shoulders sagged beneath the weight of a dozen invisible things, and when you stepped inside and shut the door behind you, it wasn’t just to the apartment—it was to everything else. You leaned against it for a moment longer, letting the silence settle around you like dust.
You didn’t expect Kaveh to be in the living room—half-curled on the couch with a blanket over his legs, a book face-down on his chest. The light of a single lamp pooled around him, warm and golden and forgiving. He looked up when he heard the click of the lock, eyes soft with something unspoken.
“You’re home late,” he said, but his tone wasn’t accusatory. It was careful, like he was afraid too much pressure might cause you to splinter.
You nodded wordlessly, kicking your shoes off and padding over. You didn’t speak, couldn’t, not yet. The words were caught somewhere in your throat, tangled in fatigue and the echo of the world’s expectations.
Kaveh sat up without hesitation, opening his arms as if it was instinct—and maybe it was. You folded into him without protest, letting yourself sink into the space carved out just for you. He smelled like worn paper and lavender soap and the faintest trace of sawdust from the studio. Familiar. Grounding.
He didn’t say anything. He just held you, one hand cradling the back of your head, the other splayed across your back. His touch wasn’t pressing, wasn’t trying to coax anything out of you. It just… was.
“I couldn’t keep up today,” you mumbled into the curve of his neck. “It felt like I had to be someone else. Like I had to cut off pieces of myself just to fit in.”
His breath caught, chest stilling beneath you for half a second. And then it resumed, steady and calm, like an anchor in a storm.
“You don’t have to be anyone but yourself here,” he said quietly. “Let the rest of the world strip you down if it wants. I’ll help put you back together again.”
You closed your eyes, throat tightening. You didn’t realize how much you’d needed to hear that—how much you craved something soft in a world that kept asking you to be hard. To be clever. Efficient. Strong. Never fragile, never slow, never tender, never yourself.
But Kaveh didn’t ask you to be any of those things.
You knew his life hadn’t been kind. The way he spoke about his youth was laced with barbs, even when he tried to make it sound like a joke. The way he worked—driven, frantic at times—came from a place of necessity, not choice. The world had carved him into something beautiful, yes, but also something that carried too many scars beneath the surface.
And yet, he chose gentleness.
Every time he tucked a blanket around you when you fell asleep at your desk. Every time he pressed a kiss to your shoulder before leaving for a long day. Every note he left on the fridge—messy and half-illegible—reminding you to eat. Every time he held your hand a little tighter when your voice went small.
He had learned to be soft in the face of a world that wasn’t.
And it was that softness that cradled you now.
His hand began to move, stroking slow lines along your spine, up and down, like waves against the shore. He whispered something—it might’ve been your name, or something close to it—but the sound was so gentle it didn’t need to be understood to be felt.
Time slowed. The harsh light of the day dimmed into something quieter, something warmer.
“You’re not weak for feeling things deeply,” he said after a long stretch of silence. “You’re not wrong for needing rest. Or love.”
You pulled back slightly, just enough to look at him. His hair was mussed from the couch, and his eyes were the same crimson you’d seen the sky take at dawn. You wondered, not for the first time, how someone could hold so much pain and still choose to be kind.
Kaveh reached up, brushing his knuckles gently along your cheekbone.
“I love that you’re gentle,” he said. “I love that you don’t want to hurt to be heard.”
Your lip trembled, and he caught it with a kiss before it could form into a sob.
He kissed you like you were something he had all the time in the world to understand. Like nothing about you needed fixing or reshaping. Like love didn’t have to be a hard-edged thing.
And maybe it didn’t. Maybe love could be this: a shared silence, a blanket between two bodies, the quiet murmur of breath. The feel of skin against skin, not seeking, not wanting—just staying.
You stayed like that until the sun had long since slipped beneath the city skyline, and the world beyond the apartment faded into irrelevance. The only thing that mattered was the heartbeat beneath your ear and the gentle weight of Kaveh’s arms around you.
You didn’t have to be sharp here. You didn’t have to be strong. You only had to be.
And that was enough.
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@dewberrydusk 2025 | do not re-upload, copy, translate, etc. my works on any form of media.
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stabbywrites · 3 days ago
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exposure || myg + gender neutral!reader
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word count: 1,107
summary: yoongi thought he’d checked everything before posting the photo, but the ring on his finger said more than words ever could. the world wasn’t supposed to find out—not yet. but now that it has, he finds himself facing questions he’s tried to ignore, emotions he’s kept quiet, and a future he never thought he’d share so publicly.
content/warnings: idol!bts, gender neutral reader, fluff, mild emotional hurt/comfort, respectful and supportive namjoon is my favorite namjoon, you and yoongi are engaged lol, established relationship, secret relationship, relationship reveal, threats of legal action, respectful armys interaction with yoongi and you/his partner
notes: just wanted to clarify that this was actually supposed to be a male reader x yoongi fic, but I changed it to be a gender neutral reader instead so that’s why the moving to the usa is in there. they’re originally planning on moving to the usa to get married. also I added a ring to the finger of this photo of yoongi myself in picsart. it took me so long since it was hard to find a ring that didn’t have a giant diamond on it or could be put on a finger like that.
read on ao3
👇🏼 STORY UNDER THE CUT 👇🏼
Yoongi chatted happily with the other members as he snapped a mirror selfie, then returned to his seat beside Seokjin and Namjoon.
Later, he scrolled through Twitter and Weverse, laughing softly at the fans’ enthusiastic reactions to the photo he had posted. After a moment, he tucked his phone away and rejoined the conversation, which had shifted to plans for when everyone completed their military service.
But the photo came up again the next day—this time, not in the way he had hoped.
He was at home, comfortably curled up on the couch with his partner, Y/n, chatting about their wedding plans for the following year, when his phone buzzed on the coffee table.
He picked it up, eyebrows furrowing as he answered.
“Hello?”
Namjoon’s voice was serious—too serious. “Hyung, can you come in for an emergency meeting? It’s about the photo you posted. You should probably bring your partner too.”
Before Yoongi could ask any questions, the call ended.
Still confused, Yoongi and Y/n quickly changed into casual clothes and headed to the company building. They walked in hand-in-hand, talking quietly until they entered the meeting room where Namjoon, their managers, and several staff members were already waiting.
Namjoon gestured toward two empty chairs beside him. Once they were seated, he asked, “Hyung, did you notice anything unusual about the photo you posted yesterday?”
Yoongi frowned, still unsure where this was going. “No? I checked everything around me before posting. I made sure it was clear.”
“You missed something,” Namjoon said, pointing to the ring on Yoongi’s finger. He then pulled out his phone and showed him posts and comments from fans who had quickly spotted the engagement ring.
Yoongi looked at the photo again, and this time, he saw it—the ring was clearly visible on his finger.
An engagement ring.
He reached over and gently squeezed Y/n’s hand.
They had always been anxious about the public discovering their relationship. Yoongi’s global fame only made Y/n’s worries worse, but they had never blamed him. Not once. Yoongi had always been loving, patient, and devoted—and Y/n was grateful they had found each other.
“There’s a lot of media attention on this now,” Namjoon said, his voice respectful. “We’ve held things off as long as we could, but we need to make a statement.”
Yoongi turned to Y/n. “What do you want to do? I’ll support whatever decision you make.”
Y/n hesitated, then spoke softly, “I’m okay with revealing it if you are. We’re getting married next year anyway. We won’t be able to keep it a secret much longer.”
Yoongi smiled, brushing gentle circles along their back. “I agree. Namjoon, would you help us write an official statement? You’re better at this than either of us.”
Namjoon nodded. “Of course, hyung. Let’s meet again tomorrow to finalize it.”
They left soon after, still holding hands as they made their way to the car—unaware that hidden cameras had captured their every move.
***
The following day, when Yoongi stepped into the meeting room, he was surprised to find Namjoon visibly upset.
“What’s going on?” he asked as he sat beside him.
Namjoon handed him a tablet. “Some photographers were hiding near the building last night. They caught footage of you and your partner.”
On the screen were photos and videos of Yoongi and Y/n standing by their car, holding hands, smiling. In one image, Yoongi kissed Y/n on the cheek before helping them into the passenger seat and driving off. His happiness was undeniable—his gummy smile was wide, and his eyes had curved into soft crescents as he talked and laughed with the person he loved.
Though Y/n’s face had been visible in the footage, it was thankfully blurred in all published content. One policy Hybe and its partner companies had managed to enforce well was the protection of non-celebrity partners’ identities, backed by strict legal threats.
“Y/n’s going to be upset when I tell them their privacy was invaded like this,” Yoongi said, his jaw tense. “Let’s take legal action. But… I’m glad they at least had the decency to blur their face.”
For the next couple of hours, Yoongi and Namjoon worked on the statement. The following day, it was posted for the world to see.
***
Hello, this is Min Yoongi, also known as SUGA of BTS.
I would like to address the photo I shared two days ago. It is true that I am in a committed relationship, and I am currently engaged. My partner and I are planning to marry sometime next year.
In light of recent events, I will be pursuing legal action against individuals who have violated our privacy. While I understand that I am a public figure, my partner is not, and they wish to keep their personal life and identity private. I respectfully ask that their privacy be honored.
Lastly, I want to express my sincere gratitude to everyone who has offered their support to us during this time. Your kindness and encouragement mean a great deal to both of us.
Thank you.
***
That evening, Yoongi and Y/n shared dinner at their favorite restaurant—the same place they had their first date. The staff knew them but said nothing, out of respect and caution after the statement’s warning about legal action over privacy invasion.
Y/n didn’t hide their face, but their nerves were still visible.
“Don’t worry, babe,” Yoongi said gently. “Once we move to the States, things will be so much better. Quieter. No one’s going to recognize me where we’re going.”
Y/n smiled at the reassurance and nodded, just as a small group of fans approached their table.
“Sorry if this is a bad time, Yoongi. I really didn’t want to be rude,” one said shyly. “But if you don’t mind, could I get your autograph? And… congratulations. Your happiness means a lot to us.”
Yoongi smiled warmly and signed everything they had, taking quick photos with each of them. The fans left, making finger hearts and giggling excitedly as they walked away.
Yoongi and Y/n laughed quietly, watching the group from their table. He caught bits of their conversation as they walked out:
“They’re so cute together.”
“I’m really happy for Yoongi. He deserves it.”
“It must’ve been so hard to go public. I respect him so much for that.”
Yoongi reached for Y/n’s hand, their fingers interlocking easily as they continued their meal in peaceful silence.
Yes, he was happy. Truly, deeply happy.
And he wouldn’t trade what they had for anything in the world.
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amanedachi · 8 months ago
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iron / heart
Part of LoL Esports Elemental Series.
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frozen-planet · 2 months ago
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I should start sharing my NSR ideas/research that’s gone into DJSS specifically because I love looking into it soooo much and I used to ramble about characters ALLL THE TIME on my Instagram stories but the previous year or two I had gone completely quiet… that must change because I am so so passionate about this space DJ it’s not even FUNNY
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asgardian--angels · 4 months ago
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things I wish I could relive for the first time again:
that magical window where you finish a new piece of media, having watched/read it all by yourself with no fandom contact whatsoever, and you are just so happy about it, and full of interesting theories and takeaways, and just in love with it as a gorgeous piece of art.
because I swear to god as soon as you join the fandom for anything, you're bombarded with how you're supposed to view characters and their arcs, how you're supposed to morally and ethically judge the plot and the ways it apparently failed to present the right message, and if you don't you'll either be shunned for not sharing the popular headcanons or you'll be harassed for not criticizing the source material enough.
like how is it that the fans of a piece of media are also the ones being the most negative about it? If I like a show or a movie or a book, well, I liked it. That's kind of the point. I'm actually not here to tear it apart and talk about how it didn't live up to standards other people had! I enjoyed it for what it was, and forcing myself to find negative things to say about it doesn't actually bring me more enjoyment of it or reap any benefit to me. Fandom's a double-edged sword; you want to join a community to share your love for a piece of art, and the price you pay for a modicum of joy is a mountain of negativity. that's one main reason that I never engage with fandom until I'm completely done with a show, because if I was plugged into all of that commentary and discourse during the process, I'd be completely colored by how I'm expected to interpret everything this piece of art is presenting to me without being able to even form my own opinions.
#this is currently about arcane but it's also every fandom i've been in since the dawn of time#there is so much political discourse about how the show handled the piltover zaun conflict and class struggle and i just#like i don't even know what to say besides. art doesn't have to provide the correct answer you know#it's not asking you to accept their explanation as the right one. it's just presenting a story. a scenario. a nuanced one at that#which of course the internet is the enemy of nuance as we know#especially in arcane i thought it was fairly clear that the end wasn't the bright shining future anyone hoped it'd be.#was anyone right in their actions? did anything turn out the way they wanted? or was it just as messy and gray as real life#we're living in such a myopic time for art where it's believed every story must take the correct stance or be invalid or even harmful#instead of just offering a perspective. a lived experience. a hypothetical. a story.#and when it gets to be headache inducing all I can do is take myself back to how I felt when I watched the show for the first time#and I came away from the whole thing being incredibly moved and captivated by the entire story and its nuance.#i had no qualms and no criticisms and i was very impressed with the depth of storytelling surrounding the political parts of the plot#as well as the character arcs. i guess people like to dunk on viktor's s2 arc nowadays and i just. shrug. i was blown away by it#for me at least i have nothing but pure love and admiration for art after i've viewed it. it's only after interacting with fandom#that the criticisms seep in and now i can't unsee it and even if i don't agree with it it still muddies my ability to enjoy the art#fandom is a curse in that sense. like i seek out art that i enjoy. i have no desire to make myself dislike that art. whats the point#why are the biggest haters of a piece of media the 'fans' of it idk.#me finishing a show: wow i love all the characters and the plot and the cinematography! I want to talk to others about how cool it is!#meanwhile the fandom hating characters to the point of death threats to their creators#after 13 years in fandom i can say this - if you don't need to join the fandom for smth then don't lmao.#you'll be able to retain your genuine enjoyment of the thing.#that whole 'if you didnt like what i made then make your own' philosophy people use on fanfic/fanart should be applied more#to actual published art too. you should be able to meet art where it's at and if you don't like what it's saying or how it looks then#just move on and find something else. another branch of the 'the greatest enemy of the left is the left' tree imo#a show has a lot of queer rep? bash it to the point of making the creators go into hiding for not doing it how you think it should be#no artist will ever be able to satisfy everyone's demands. they just want to put their experiences and ideas into the world#creators that try to do good get more vitriol than those who never try. they're scrutinized harder and judged more harshly#it's just. one of those 'real fucking tired of fandom' nights. the best cure is just going back and rewatching the source material#all on your own and falling back in love with it. just you and your genuine connection with the art.#anyway what happened to steven universe was unforgiveable and it really ruined fandom for me. like. yall don't deserve nice things
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rileylastname · 1 month ago
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has the ceaseless unavoidable presence of undisclosed AI generated content absolutely everywhere made anyone else’s mental health so much worse basically all of the time or is it just me
#I can’t stop dissociating#every other post I see on the internet now im just repeating to myself ‘this isn’t real this isn’t real’ which has unsurprisingly#been really detrimental to my mental health!!#what has happened to the internet feels like another covid pandemic where the world has changed tremendously and permanently#and i just don’t know what to do.#and people keep telling me im being overdramatic about it#like ethical problems with generative ai aside (and how can you really put them aside) this is fucking with my mental health so badly#i constantly feel like nothing is real anymore and at least before i knew i was dissociating and derealizing#when I felt like that#now I can’t even tell if ‘feeling like nothing is real’ is real#because im right to think its not real#because a lot of it isn’t real. it was just ai generated.#ill read stories about things that never happened posted by people who didn’t write them#and it’s driving me actually insane#and I’ll never be able to go back to a time where I didn’t need to worry about that#something that’s been making me dissociate really bad that ​im thinking about for example is like#Reddit stories specifically. people reacting to stories that aren’t real as if they are real. and i i wonder if anything exists anymore#and it’s fucking with my head.#and nobody is taking me seriously#I don’t know if it’s better or worse to constantly be on the lookout for ai content but it’s stressing me out#i almost wish i just couldn’t tell at all. I don’t know.#if anyone has any actual advice I would really really appreciate it#or even just to let me know that im not alone. or that what im saying makes any sense#im scared#dissociation#anti ai#ai#shut up riley
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16ozicedcoffee · 2 years ago
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les mis fic writers who write really really great stories about the amis where political organizing is one of/the main plot (especially stories that feature such realistic organizing experiences) i want to give you all a kiss!!!!! many kisses!!!!!!
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