#i truly did my best but it really is scarce out there

[detransdamnation]

I think I might not actually be trans but I don't know where these feelings come from then, what caused them and what to do against my dysphoria. I just want to be a woman again. do you have any resources on this? thank you in advance

Hey there, Anon.

Unfortunately, there aren't too many resources for dysphoric detransitioned people and what few do pop up either don't last long, cater exclusively to youth or the parents of them, or (in my personal opinion) don't actually do all that much to tangibly help us as people. That isn't to say that the resources do not exist, period—but from what I have seen, they are largely community-based and almost exclusively online (which can open its own can of worms), as academic and medical efforts where they do exist more often concern dysphoric people who are actively transitioning, or wish to make that leap.

That being said, frustrating circumstance does not mean that you cannot take steps to try to help yourself. It's difficult for me to know what, exactly, to suggest, as I don't know you, so I can't make too many assumptions on what, specifically, may have contributed to your dysphoria and what you may find helpful. But not all hope is lost. I scoured the Internet looking for something that could help you, and although most of what has been put out there suffers/ed from the same things I listed above, I did find one organization that may be of interest to you. Gender Dysphoria Alliance aims to better understand dysphoria, all the ways it can present, and the best ways to help those affected by it. This could be helpful to you if you are looking specifically for well-rounded conversation that is supportive of detransitioners and centric of homosexual and female sex rights, critical of the ways in which the transgender community approaches things but also not inherently gender-critical and not necessarily dismissive of transition as a legitimate option for some. There is a members' forum specifically for those who are impacted by dysphoria to participate in, although in order to join, you will need to receive approval from a moderator to ensure the space remains reflective of its intent and target group.

Insofar as the process of working through dysphoria goes, if you are wondering where to start, I came across this archived Substack post entitled Alternatives to Transition: A step-by-step guide to thinking your way out of dysphoria without repressing it*. This is a short, concise article which, coincidentally, outlines more or less the same approach I took (and still try to take) when dealing with my own dysphoria; that you said "I just want to be a woman again" in your submission makes me think it may be helpful for you as well. In essence, dysphoric people—as a feature of our dysphoria—are prone to hyper-analysis and extreme black-and-white thinking. We tend to see (the ideas of) men and women as (often rather extreme) caricatures of stereotypes—leading us to believe that we are, or are meant to be, the opposite sex (or even another gender entirely) because we do not fit those stereotypes. In the process of this re-identification, we lose the ability to understand that very few people are actually adequately described by any of their sex's stereotypes to a T—and simultaneously, that virtually no non-dysphoric person looks at menial things and categorically assigns them a gender (in general, or to know how to conform or not to conform) like we do. In short, we're too in-our-own-heads emotionally to logically understand how things actually are. This isn't our fault as dysphoric people—but it does mean we're unlikely to get anywhere until we learn to reformulate our thinking. This post gives you specific direction on how to start that process.

But dysphoria rarely happens "just because," and in deconstructing your own, you may find that your dysphoria was only secondary to another, greater issue, whether environmental or psychological. This is a little more difficult to give guidance on, as dysphoria which has been influenced by the surrounding environment isn't something that one can change overnight, or even necessarily escape from. As far as psychological issues go, it'd be easy for me to suggest therapy; however, I don't like to because I find it to be a canned response, especially nowadays. It's unhelpful to people who do not have the monetary means to go to therapy, as well as insensitive to those who have had bad experiences which turned them off or even set them further back.

On top of this, what is a great barrier for dysphoric detransitioners in finding psychological help is that many gender psychologists are geared to only support circular, gender-affirmative treatment (i.e., transition is the cure for your dysphoria because you are transgender) in their practice, which—should go without saying—isn't helpful to us as detransitioners, and may even inadvertently harm us. I don't mean to dissuade you from going this route if you feel you need it, or to be overall pessimistic about the state of things (although I'll admit I am)—but I also find it imperative to be honest about the difficulties you may face in finding someone who would be beneficial to you in your specific situation. I will say that in my research for you, I did find one website which offers more well-rounded therapy for dysphoric people; however, it's not something I'm personally comfortable publicly endorsing on my blog because the website itself admits that the advertised therapists are not vetted by the organization itself (meaning at minimum, they agree with the mission statement and probably won't blindly affirm your dysphoria—but that's about all that's guaranteed). Still, if you would like to have this on hand regardless, you are free to message me for the link.

Finally, if you happen to be struggling with the ways in which the transgender community or gender theory has harmed you but are struggling to put the "why" and "how" into words (or just want reassurance that you're not crazy for feeling hurt), I'd like to direct you to The New Thought Crime*. This is a series of five blog posts. Very long read, very information-heavy. However, when I was in your same position coming up to three years ago now, teetering between the two paths, not sure if I even wanted to "take the risk" and disenfranchise myself from something I had spent so many years working so hard to carefully craft for myself, this was what ripped the blinders off and forced me to realize just how much I was harming myself by transitioning. Nothing has ever made me feel so seen and heard in such a dark place. It is initially advertised as for detransitioned women but it is genuinely helpful to everyone no matter their sex, identity, or previous or current relationship with the community. I would recommend it to anyone and everyone.

I hope this points you in the right direction. I wish you luck and perseverance.

*P.S. If you find either of these posts helpful, it would be wise to save them elsewhere, as The Wayback Machine as of late seems to be falling short of its prerogative in archiving lost or deleted Internet pages. Go figure.

[papurgaatika]

Scarcely Can Speak For My Thinking, What You’d Do To Me Tonight

Pairing: VA! Joel Miller x f! reader 

Minors DNI with my work please!!

A/N: howdy howdy my lovelies. I know what yall are thinking: papaya didn't you post a fic literally less than two weeks ago? And to that I would say yes, yes I did. However, I have been working on this one for a while and somehow managed to finish it on the plane! Thank you as always to my lovely beta readers @carlynkurin and @joelsdagger The title is a Hozier lyric (are yall really surprised?) This is officially dedicated to my beloved @joeloverture and despite my darling vetty's step off of tumblr, she truly deserves the world. also if you're mean to her i will find you. that is a threat

I hope y'all enjoy the read, and that the filth keeps you going in times of need. Peace and love on the planet Earth from me!!! Remember that TLOU is created by a zionist so please look at the resources at the end of this fic and in my bio on ways to donate and educate yourself!!

Tags: Erotic voice actor Joel! AU, Young Joel, No outbreak AU, smut, condescension, degradation, f! masturbation, praise, squirting, smut, LOTS of dirty talk, oral (f receiving) friends to lovers, fingering, voice kink, Joel loves thighs, Joel Miller arm appreciation, the reader is a mess, no use of y/n, Joel can pick reader up but he’s HUGE so it makes sense, no description of reader, 18+ Word Count: 5.2k

Summary: you have been using audio erotica to get off for a month, and manage to accidentally let it play in Joel's car, leading to an awkward night in 

You let out an exhausted huff as the dim light of your phone reflected on your face. Your headphones connected, your vibrator was charged, but in some godforsaken twist of fate, there was not a single thing worth listening to on the newest audio erotica page you could find. Videos hadn’t been doing it for you, the ethical concerns were too high for you to be horny, and as much as you liked a good fanfic, you had gone through most of the ones you liked and needed something new.  You click on a post with semi intriguing tags, immediately rolling your eyes and exiting out of it when you hear the all too familiar vocal fry of men trying to sound hotter. News flash: you don't. 

You were moments away from calling it a night and opening your backlog of smutty ao3 fics when another post caught your eye. You let out a snort at the username save_a_horse and glance at the tags. Okay you were definitely interested now, a degrading instructional… you hit play with baited breath, prepping for the worst, but you were so mistaken. 

“Filthy little thing aint ya?” the voice rings in your ears, heat pooling between your legs embarrassingly quickly. “Must be so pathetic if you’re clicking on a mean stranger's voice to get ya’self off” his voice was like hot honey. Sickly sweet and keeping you waiting for his every word but with an edge that stung in the best way. You shuffle yourself back onto the pillows and throw your covers off, fully prepared to enjoy this rare gem. Your breathing picks up, heavy with want as the man in your ears calls you a desperate little slut. 

“Go on, get your toy wet slut” his voice croons out at you “know ya have one, too fuckin’ needy not to.'' Always eager to please, your lips find the base of your curved g-spot vibrator and let the soft plastic fill your mouth, drawing sounds that were almost too debauched for you to be sitting in bed alone. “Bet you love havin your mouth filled like that.. Lord, I'd love to have your pretty little lips around my cock” your eyes practically roll back at that, spit running down the base of your toy before he finally tells you to put it in.  

“Atta girl, such an eager thing” The toy sinks into your sopping cunt with ease as the voice envelops your mind, solely focusing on him. You listen with intense obedience as he tells you how deep, how quick, how much you were allowed. “Go on then, fuck yourself on it. We both know you want to” 

You let out a soft cry as you slip the toy in and out, the curve just hitting the spot that makes your back arch. Your breathing hitches as you press down on the button to turn the vibrations on. “Creamin’ all over yourself I bet,” it was like he could see you. Like he was able to see your arousal dripping onto the sheets below you, how the damp sheets clung to your thighs as they shook and twitched with pleasure. 

“Bet you’re so damn close.. Go on then slut, cum while listenin’ to me'' he taunts slightly as your orgasm washes over you in waves. “Gonna ruin ya,” his words are assertive, less of a promise and almost a threat “ain’t gonna cum unless it's to my voice anymore. Good fuckin’ girl”  You take a few steadying breaths as the audio clicks off, and you blink up at your ceiling unsure of how to go on from there. You glance down at your phone which has made its way to the opposite side of your bed and move to grab it.

You hit play on another audio. 

As the weeks go on, you and the mysterious cowboy in your ears have an immensely good time together. You practically spend every night listening to every one of his audios, leaving silly comments on the ones that make you cum particularly hard. It might have been an issue, how often you found yourself waiting for him to upload, how quickly you would pause your tasks to listen to new updates, but you were having fun and it wasn’t like you were hurting anyone in the process. 

You had just finished an audio before the blaring noise of a horn outside your door rattled you. The clock on your phone taunts you as do the several missed calls and texts from your best friend. “Fuck. fuck okay” you grumble, grabbing a towel and wiping yourself off before tossing a pair of comfy shorts on and grabbing your bag, and heading outside “have you never heard of a virtue called patience miller?” you quip as you slide into the passenger seat of his truck 

“Had it for the first five minutes, but about 10 minutes after that, I was damn ready to break your door down myself” he scoffs “what took you so damn long?” he rolls his eyes as you fiddle with the bluetooth in his car, not wanting to be stuck with what you call ‘old home music’ 

“I was just finishi-” your words are cut off when the sound of a moan plays over the speaker. Just your luck. You kept the grumpiest man alive waiting and then played porn in his car. Hooray for you. “Jesus fucking-” you squeak, fiddling with your phone and closing out of the app “Joel-” you start, cheeks burning and excuses already at the tip of your tongue, before he silently shakes his head and puts the car in reverse. 

The ride back to his house is awkward to say the least. “Joel listen I didn't mean for-” you mumble out meekly, but his sharp gaze on yours has you clamping your mouth closed immediately. You fiddle with your fingers, thinking about playing music, but it just doesn’t feel right anymore. The grip Joel has on the steering wheel is practically iron-clad, his knuckles almost white with the tension as he pulls into his driveway and puts the car in park. You walk into his house with a huff, your weekly game nights off to a bit of a rocky start, but you’ve had to deal with worse with him. Joel had given you moral support when your menstrual cup had gotten “stuck” during one of your first times using it, he could deal with knowing you listened to porn. 

You plop down onto his couch, stretching your legs out on the coffee table while he gets you a glass of iced tea. You take a sip of your drink and mentally prepare yourself for how bad he was going to tease you about this, but are met with shocking amounts of silence. For a man who is ruthless on game nights, the lack of trash talk and absolute avoidance was almost irritating you. Finally, after you beat him in uno for a third time in a row, you snap “What is your issue tonight miller?” you groan, placing a +2 card down “Listen I know that was awkward but we’re both adults I don't see what the big deal is'' 

Joel groans and places another +2, changing the color (much to your annoyance,) “just drop it, nothin’s the issue”  You, petulant and stubborn as ever, did not drop it. You huff as you have to take like 5 cards from the deck before getting one that you can play, and narrow your eyes at him. 

“Bullshit” you move to sit cross-legged on the couch “I never beat you in this game, something is wrong with you tonight,”  it was almost as if nobody had ever taught you not to poke a sleeping bear. Or maybe you figured that the bear was your best friend and probably wouldn't bite your head off… probably. 

“Just drop it peaches,” his words are terse, hands gripping his, now slowly diminishing, uno cards much tighter than he needed to. You groan again when you have to get another few cards. The irritation at his childish behavior, coupled with the stack of 20 cards in your hand makes you more of a menace than you probably should. 

“Don't be such a baby, Miller,” you poke his leg with your foot knowing full well he hates it, a yelp leaving your lips as he grabs your ankle and pulls you forward “Joel!” Your cards fly out of your hand 

“Told you to fuckin’ quit it peach.” His voice is a low timber, stirring something deep in your belly. “Never fuckin’ listen to me” 

You just snort at him when he releases your ankle, moving to pick up your cards, “you suck at uno today Joel” you hmph, rising to your feet “'m gonna get something else” you hear Joel protest and try to grab at your arm but you’re too determined and he’s far too comfy to get up quick enough.  You manage to make it to his spare room, swinging the door open, imagining you’d see a shelf with his board games only to stop dead in your tracks, “what the fuck-”

What you had always assumed was just his spare junk room or random linen closet, was what looked like an at home recording studio. A desk with a PC and speakers, full microphone set up, and what you could only assume was something to help with soundproofing  “What the fuck Miller?” Your voice is slightly full of awe, “are you recording shitty male superiority podcasts now?” you tease, a sly grin on your face. 

Despite how pleased you are with that crack at him, he looks absolutely unamused. He practically clomps over at you, big finger poking your ribs ``you know damn well I ain't doin’ that shit.” He rolls his eyes at your teasing. The idea of Joel Miller getting on the internet to talk about women in a way that wasn't him sitting at his desk going ‘they’re the best damn thing’ was laughable. He was a perfect gentleman to everyone, except maybe to you, but frankly you deserved it for all the shit you gave him. 

You squeak when his finger prods at your skin “okay, okay well what creepy shit are you doing in here then?” you wiggle your eyebrows at him, sauntering to his PC set up. The computer and speakers were calling out to you like a siren, and you did not have the common sense to plug your ears. 

Joel knew you. He could read you like a fucking book with how close the two of you were. He used to say that the one braincell you had spent fifty percent of its time inside his mind with how predictable you were to him. “Peach do not fuckin’ dare-” his voice is low, warning you. 

If you had better self preservation skills you would have probably heard the alarm bells ringing in your head telling you that he was serious, or paid better attention to the way his sweats were a little more tight. But you unfortunately were a complete menace, so neither of those items really registered to you. You clap your hands in an evil little giggle when you move the mouse “still no password? Shit you make my life so fucking easy-” you grin as you see the different clips of audio layered together in whatever program he uses 

Joel has somehow silently appeared behind you, his hand pulling you away from the computer. “Quit it peach, I’m not fuckin’ around,” he grits out, the hold on your wrist almost impossibly tight. He means business this time, and despite how much of a hellion you can be to him, you didn’t have a death wish. 

You scrunch your nose at him trying to pull your wrist out of his grip “okay jesus chri-” you yank your hand away from his, elbow bumping into the keyboard and are cut off with the sound of a gravely moan coming out of the speaker. Both you and Joel look like deer caught in the headlights. Your eyes flick between Joel, whose face has gone impressively red, and the screen of his computer.  “I- joel this is-” you stumble over your words, unsure of what to say in this situation. 

“Not a fuckin’ peep.” he practically growls at you. Your mouth clamps shut as he leans over you and presses pause on the audio. Your mouth is drier than it had ever been. That was a clip of your best friend, the one who was looming over you at this very moment, moaning into a microphone. You were certain that if you had listened any closer you would have been able to hear the sounds of his hand stroking his cock. The slight creak of his chair, the wet noise of the lube, or was he a spit guy? He however, was not interested in sharing any more of the audio with you, and you would deny it if anyone asked, you were a little disappointed. 

You need to say something, you had to, and despite your better judgment telling you not to, you do. “I mean you sound nice-” You sound nice?? You were so fucking ridiculous, even you knew that wasn’t the thing to say. Joel’s eyes darken at your words, and for a moment you fear he’s going to kick you out, to get truly pissed off at you for the first time since you finished his Dr. Pepper stash.  “I didn't mean-” you try to backtrack “I just meant- it... You sounded like you were enjoying yourself at least-'' you were actively digging the hole that you were in deeper, rambling and stuttering, all while Joel just stared at you silently, his eyes burning into you

You swallow hard, his eyes still not leaving yours “listen I can go I'm sorry I shouldn't have-” you go to make a beeline out of the room but a firm hand pulling you back into the chair stops you. You fall back with an oof and look up at Joel, who by all accounts looked pissed but there was something else. His pupils were blown and his eyes trace every single one of your movements. The bear had managed to lock in the own cage you had set out for him. 

“Didn't tell you to leave.” he practically grunts at you. Ladies and gentlemen, your best friend, always the most well spoken person in the room. You move to protest again, but the look he gives you stops the words before they even form on your tongue.  you bite your lip and fiddle with your fingers unsure what to do “think I sound nice peaches?” his voice cuts through the anxious rambling in your brain and you're almost certain you've heard him wrong 

“Huh?” you look back up at him through your lashes. He was leaning against the wall where his microphone was set up. His sweats were riding low on his hips and his hoodie covered the toned muscles of his arms, that if anyone asked you had never stared at. The tanned skin you never dared to fantasize about in your bed. The hair that covered his arms, the veins that often made more appearances when you asked forced him to do manual labor that you refused to do yourself. 

“Asked if you think I sound nice, Peaches?” he hums, raising a questioning brow at you. your mouth opens and closes ridiculously a few times before you simply just nod at him  “that's good..” he muses as he comes back up to you “do you think about me?” he prods, a patronizing pout on his lips as you gape up at him. “when you're listening to those dirty little audios and lettin’ your fingers touch that needy cunt?”  you can't help but squeak at his words. the way he said them, the way he spoke was just so… familiar  “come on, pretty peach, tell daddy what you think about when you're fingering that slutty little pussy” he practically grins at you and it fucking clicks. 

Daddy. Daddy. It was him. The stupid cowboy, the random man whose voice sent your tummy into knots, the one who had been getting you off for weeks now was your best friend.  “Joel-” you practically whimper at him. You can feel your heart pounding in your chest and also very distinctly between your legs. “Listen i didn’t know it was you-” there’s a shit eating smirk on his face, one that you would have told him to wipe off his face before you smack it off in any other scenario. 

“No?” he hums at you, his brow quirked up as he towers over you in that stupid recording chair “didn't know it was me when you were commenting all those pretty little reviews?” You whimper out a noise, somewhere between a no and a general sound of timidity, as his hand tilts your chin up to meet his eyes  “Lemme see if I can remember what it was you said before I got you in the car today peach?” he takes a moment to obnoxiously tap his forehead mocking the way you recall things “what was it you said? ‘This made me late to see my friend, but it also made me ruin my sheets’? Was that it peaches?” 

You take a shaky breath, your skin burning under his intense gaze, chin still in his hands. You nod softly at his question, knowing that if you didn't, he would just push you until you did. His grin turns wolfish at your confirmation, and you feel him shift his legs between yours, pushing them apart “yeah peach?” he tuts at you “made me wait for almost 20 minutes outside your house. just so you could cum to my voice… ain’t real nice of you” You take a wobbly breath at his words and try to reply, unsure of what you would even say. An apology maybe, an explanation? But before you can even move to open your mouth he’s cutting you off again 

“Woulda just given you the real thing baby,” he tuts at you “all you had to do was ask.'' His voice is low and almost condescending. You shouldn’t let it turn you on, you should tell him to fuck off, but you feel yourself gush at his tone, your bottom lip getting caught between you teeth. He whistles at the look on your face, his cock practically straining against his sweats, “bet you’re just creamin’ in those slutty little shorts baby'' his words aren’t a question, he’s stating it like he can read you like a book because he knows he can. His legs shift to press your legs further apart until your knees are bumping into the arm rests, your eyes unwavering from his.

Your breath is caught in your throat as he leans down to you, his lips pressed up by one of your ears “Listen to me like this peaches?” he whispers into your ear, a warm breath making you shiver before he moves to the other side “like having me in your ears with your legs spread?” 

“Yes.. fuck yes yes I do-” your words are rushed and lustful as you feel his hands dip into the waistband of your panties. Your hips jolt up into his touch, panties absolutely drenched with your arousal. Your eyes flutter shut for a moment, lips parting with a silent cry of pleasure. 

“Knew she’d be droolin’ all over” he hums as he brings his slick covered finger up to his lips and tastes you with delectable pop when he pulls off. “Tastes like I fuckin’ imagined. Like a fuckin’ peach” he groans and for a moment you swear you could cum just like that. 

“Shit Joel please-” he cuts you off with a shake of his head and a shushing noise, as he steps away from you. Your legs are still spread against the chair and you practically whine when he moves away from you, flicking on his recording set up. “Joel what-” he shushes you again, giving you a look that leaves no room for argument. 

“Quiet,” he mumbles, fiddling with the mic and pulling the rolling chair closer to it. “Like listenin’ to me so much, thought i’d use you for better effects. You okay with that peaches?” he asks, looking down at you. Despite the teasing and the mockery, you knew he would stop if you told him you didn't want it. But the idea of him stopping, even for a moment was going to make you explode. You nod, maybe too eagerly for someone about to get fucked on microphone, and he grins. 

“God always knew you were fuckin’ desperate for it” he kneels between your legs, and you stifle a giggle when his knees pop.  “Quit it you menace” He swats at your thigh playful smirk on his lips, making you jump slightly. “Gotta stay real quiet for me, understand?” you watch with bated breath as he moves the mic so it rests delicately in the tension filled space between your spread thighs and his face. 

You nod, lips parted, pupils blown, cunt practically dripping for him. He lets out a soft hum of approval, lips pressing a soft kiss to your thighs “nothing fuckin’ softer than a pair of soft thighs” he muses, half to himself, half to you and the mic “could just live between them forever, die happy if a girl pretty as a peach would let me bury my face there.” You feel yourself clench around nothing, feeling maddeningly empty all of a sudden. You shift to try to gain some friction, the chair giving a slight creak at the change in position. Joel looks up and glares at you, your body going still immediately under the intensity of his eyes. 

He sticks his hand out behind him, pausing the microphone from recording. “You need to stay. still.” he grits out at you “don't need the whole internet hearing how much of a desperate little thing you are.” You nod at his words, hands gripping the armrests so hard your knuckles turn white. He flicks the mic back on and his lips find your thighs again. Nipping and kissing the soft flesh just below the hem of your shorts. He slides his hands further up, popping the button open and you have to bite down on your fist not to moan when he drags the zipper down with his teeth. He shimmies you out of your shorts, leaving your bottom half clad in your embarrassingly wet panties. 

He lets out a growl at the sight of your cunt, clothed and practically dripping for him. “Look at her… practically creaming already and I ain’t even touched you yet” He lets his thumb press against the wet spot the slight pressure just barely teasing your sopping hole dragging a breathy sigh out of you. You look down at him, eyes hooded and lips parting, practically begging for him without uttering a damn word. 

He looks up at you as he slides your panties to the side, blowing a stream of cold air straight onto your clit, making you jump. “Pretty fuckin’ pussy…” he practically salivates at the sight of you “nothin’ fucking better than seein’ a drippy, needy, little cunt in front of me…” he presses a kiss to the inside of your thigh, right next to where you want him, where you need his lips 

You feel a shiver run down your spine at his words. Somehow it felt filthier being able to see the look on his face, the absolute need he had to taste you. The grip he had on your thighs was bruisingly tight, not helping your arousal die down in the slightest. His mouth finally finds your slit, tongue licking a hot wet stripe at an agonizingly slow pace. He lets out a guttural moan and practically salivates at the taste of you. “Taste so fuckin’ sweet” he groans, tongue dipping back down to taste more of your slick. One of your hands leaves the armrest of the chair and moves to cover your mouth when his lips place three gentle kisses around your clit before relenting and wrapping his lips around the aching bud, with a quiet hum. 

You bite down on your hand to stifle the moans threatening to spill, desperate and eager to please him. Your thighs shake when he slips a finger into your dripping cunt and curls them to hit that spot. He lets out a chuckle, lips still sucking on your clit. The vibrations of his warm breath on your aching clit elicited a desperate wine from your mouth, despite how hard you were trying to be quiet for him “Ffffuck-” 

He raises a brow at you, not even pulling away from your skin, his baby eyes just gazing at you from between your legs as his fingers work at you. Your bottom lip gets caught between your teeth in an effort to stop your sounds, but your attempts seem futile as your climax starts to draw near. Joel slips a second finger inside of you with embarrassing ease, the sound of his fingers curling inside you, joined only by your soft little breaths and his lips on your clit. His fingers stretch you in ways your fingers never have, scissoring and sliding inside of you with practiced precision. “Atta fuckin’ girl..” he growls as your toes curl instinctively, heels digging into his shoulder blades as the coil inside of you finally snaps. You feel yourself gush on his fingers, your thighs clamping around his head as he works you through it “squirtin’ all over daddy’s face huh like the needy thing you are.” 

He pulls your legs off from his legs and hits save on the audio, before glancing back at you with a smirk. “Ain’t posting that anywhere..” he whispers, the gentleness a shocking turn around from the filth he whispered to you earlier. Your breath is still coming out in shaky pants, looking up at him through hazy lids “keepin’ that all to myself” he hums, pressing a little kiss on your head. 

He scoops you up like you’re a ragdoll and practically clomps over to his bedroom, throwing you onto the bed. His fingers work deftly at the tie of his sweats, pushing them off. You squeak softly when you see the trail of hair going down his pelvis, the lack of boxers making heat rise to your chest. You work your top off, while he throws his hoodie across the room, a guttural groan leaving his mouth as he sees your breasts. “Fuckin’ perfect..'' His words aren’t necessarily for you, his thoughts just find themselves being voiced aloud. His calloused hands grope and knead at the softness of your tits before he presses wet kisses to each of your nipples. “Need to be inside ya” he practically begs, cock hard against his stomach leaking pre-cum. 

You could salivate at the sight, hell you truly might have a little bit. “Fuck me, Daddy, need you to fuck me Joel, please i can be good im ready, I'm on the pill-” your words were babbled, fast and rushed together, your intense desire for the man in front of you the only thing your brain could comprehend. Your legs part on the bed, your arousal dripping down your thighs calling to him like flowers call to a honeybee. 

“Christ, baby,” he groans before grabbing your legs and pulling you to the edge of the bed. He fists his cock and slides it through your aching pussy, both of you letting out simultaneous cries of shit when your wetness coats his length. He slides into you with gentle thrusts, letting you adjust to his size slowly, before sinking in all the way with a soft whimper “take me so good…” his words are quiet and breathless, almost as if he was in awe of how your body made room for him. 

“Oh my god-” you cry out, your hands fisting in the dark sheets under your skin. “so fucking big joel..” you clench around him, body on fire with how good he felt inside you, with how perfect it was. It was like you were made to take him like this. His thrusts get faster and your legs curl around his waist, pulling him in as deep as you possibly could. The feeling of his hand pressing on your lower stomach has you arching your back into his touch. 

“Perfect fucking thing,” he grits huskier than usual, with a thrust that knocks the air from your lungs. “Feel me peaches?” he thrusts into you again and presses on your tummy “right fuckin’ there.. Right where I god damn belong…” his words were lust filled and hazy, his own need and orgasm clouding all judgment. Your hips roll against his, the coarse hair brushing up against you, and your head lolls back into the mattress as his thrusts get sloppier. 

“Inside, Joel fuck-” you whimper at him, eyes wide and pleading as your second orgasm builds in the pits of your belly “please cum inside me, wanna feel you please..” for a moment he swears he’s died and gone to heaven. The sounds of your pretty little moans and begging are like a dream come true for him. He just nodded and shifted so he was practically cradling your body under his, cock buried so deep inside you that you knew you’d be feeling it for days afterward. 

He grinds his hips lazily against yours while his thrusts are shallow and pointed. Your legs shake while you meet his lips in a sloppy kiss, all tongue and teeth as you both fall apart practically molded together. “Jesus christ-” his breathing is ragged and hoarse “takin’ me so damn good, gonna fuckin’ fill you up” he gives a few more thrusts before he pulls out of your quivering pussy, your own orgasm sending stars into your eyes. 

You both stay like that for a moment, Joel's forehead resting softly on your shoulder as his cum spills out onto his bed. You shift softly to pull him next to you and curl into his touch, giving him a cheeky smile as you tilt his face to meet your eyes. “You…” a breathless little laugh escapes your lips “how long did you know I was commenting on your posts?” you ask softly, brows raised at him. 

He snorts at the question and flicks your forehead gently, earning a playful pout to be thrown in his direction. “Bout damn near two weeks ago” he replies, classic shit eating grin plastered to his face. “Figured it was you when you came over lookin’ like you’d won the damn Powerball and some little fan called peaches_and_cream left a comment about cummin’ three times to one damn post” you let out a muffled groan and bury your head into his chest, mumbling something about him being an asshole before you both shift into a comfortable silence. 

He moves, patting your hip and telling you to go use the bathroom after a few minutes, preaching his favorite safe sex speech and you roll your eyes at him before you saunter over to his bathroom. “Oh and Joel-” you call out before you walk in, eyes meeting his as he waits for you to finish your sentence “send me that audio, would ya?” 

A/N: From the river to the sea, Palestine will be free

READ: This account stands with Palestine unequivocally, and so— I require everyone who interacts to educate themselves, and support/donate. READ THESE; 1, HELP HERE, BOYCOTT. Silence is complicity, do not scroll past this.

DO NOT BUY THE REMASTER, TLOU2, TLOU1, OR ANY GAME FROM NAUGHTY DOG! neil druckmann (the creator) is a zionist.

PLEASE READ THIS. AND REBLOG THIS. 

Thank you for reading, and free Palestine

[fabricated-misslieness]

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: jake sully x male reader (+sully family)

ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: There were many struggles that came with fatherhood—you must find a solution for each one.

ᴀɴᴏɴ: jake and reader are like the dads of the sully children, basically the sully's having gay dads??

ʀᴇ𝐐: yes ~ ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 6565

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: mentions of death (lighthearted) never happens tho, swearing, much worrying about children, surrogate neytiri referring to your kids as hers too (idk just in case)

ᴍᴀʏʙ'ꜱ ɴᴏᴛᴇ: so. i've got a lot of things to say. that's why i'm putting a second a/n at the bottom. - two gays cannot have an avatar child if they can't have children therefore surrogate Neytiri <3 - my first attempt at writing a full sentence in Na'vi, y'all are probably not fluent in it but i hope it's correct. - regrettably, there's only one scene with Tuk and only one mention of Spider - less about the relationship between jake and reader, more about the children

☾⋆☆⋆☽

Neteyam was a blessing.

Him and Neytiri both.

When she agreed to be a surrogate for your children, you were both over the moon, over each of the three of Eywa'eveng.

Neytiri knew it best, the stress of having a child. Though it was all her, her body, her belly, her birthing, you and Jake stuck to her side and stressed with her. You could see her pain, in her eyes, and Jake said he felt it himself.

The musings did not help Neytiri through the pain.

Omatikaya welcoming ceremonies consisted of everyone in the village, close family, friends, acquaintances, everyone rounded up to welcome the newborn. But this one was special, for there was one mother and two fathers. Strange as it may have been, the three of you knew there'd be plenty more to come.

When Jake held him up towards the sky, calling the name, "Neteyam", you knew the name truly belonged to him, even if the newborn had yet developed characteristic traits.

The first year was not pretty. If it weren't for Mo'at and Neytiri–and thought it may be harsh, it is the truth–Neteyam would probably be dead.

Jake always knew there was a thing with babies. They didn't have a sense of danger. On Earth, some of the deadliest stuff they could find was a fork and an outlet. On Pandora, however, there were much worse things.

He was aware of this, both of you were, of the Hammerheads, Thanators, Viperwolves that each posed a dangerous threat to your child. Even herbivores, like Flathead Rams, could trample over your baby like he was nothing. He couldn't roam, either, for he didn't know the difference between a poisonous plant and a safe one, and the differences were scarce. Not to mention, they grew close to the ground. Even the carnivorous plants were huge enough to swallow him whole.

So you both watched him, most of the time.

When the hunt called, however, it was only one of you. You took turns.

Why? Because the mighty Toruk Makto, Olo'eyktan of the Omatikaya, once war chief of three tribes at once, was not exempt from taking care of the baby.

Besides, he kind of liked it. He liked looking at his boy, knowing that in all ways except biological, Neteyam was his.

He loved when the little baby wrapped his four little blue fingers around one of his five large ones. He was so tiny, so defenseless. He had to take care of him. Couldn't let him out of his sight.

He was also so, so cute.

Neteyam lets out a little yawn, stretching all his limbs except for the hand holding his father's finger.

"Aww," Jake coos. "dinner's in a bit. The game's not even here yet. You can sleep."

As time passes, and Neteyam drifts off in his father's warm, large arms that encompassed him, Jake gets lost in the sight and his thoughts. Neteyam was his child. He never thought he'd have one.

He doesn't register the sound of you propping your bow up on the wall, or your footsteps, or a portion of the fresh hunt being placed next to the fire.

In fact, he doesn't really notice you at all until you sit next to him.

You wrap your arms around him, one around his back, the other around his stomach below his arms and Neteyam, and settle your head into the crook of his neck.

Jake laughs lowly, your nose against his neck's skin slightly ticklish—he didn't think the Na'vi were ticklish, hadn't learned it until he was victim to your fingers. "Kxì, my love. Tired?"

"Ngenga pllertxe fura tawtute lì'fya... ‘Ìnglìsì. Tìftang si." (You're speaking that sky people language... English. Stop it.)

Ever since the first time, he's memorized the words, therefore knows their meaning. "You know I don't speak Na'vi well. Right? Or are you too tired to remember?"

"Perfectly conscious enough to remember." You laugh lazily, "Just love to tease you."

Jake presses the side of his head against the top of yours, the best affection he can offer with Neteyam in his arms. "Zola‘u nìprrte’. Happy?"

"Yes."

☾⋆☆⋆☽

Where Neteyam was yours, Lo'ak was Jake's.

But first, came the unexpected Kiri. A month after Neytiri affirmed that she would have your second child, Norm and Max called with a panic.

One morning, as bored eyes strayed from scientific screens and microscopes, Norm discovered a bump on Grace's avatar's body. There were many theories, but each was discredited. The tank was safe, you were all sure, even if you did not know anything of the amniotic fluid within it. It wasn't scratched, didn't show any signs of opening, it displayed nothing at all. So what could be the cause?

The answer went unanswered for another two months. Until, at the third month, Norm realized that the size lined up with that of a human pregnancy. It was already the size of a seven month old baby bump. Which meant... soon enough, the vacant avatar would be having a baby.

There was hardly a discussion of who would raise it. Jake knew that he was indebted to Grace, that even though he had yet another child on the way, whatever came of Grace's avatar was his to take care of.

Kiri was born first. Lo'ak was soon to be on his way. However, the season for the first communion with Eywa was approaching. Though having the three of them commune with the Great Mother at the same time would be wonderful, the first communion was not to be delayed.

While Jake helped Neteyam attach his queue to the Tree of Souls, you helped Kiri.

Her eyes, her smile, toothless even, her dilated pupils... She was elated. She was so happy, and you mirrored her smile too.

This wasn't your kid, wasn't Jake's either, but you would raise her as one of your own.

Lo'ak and Kiri... they both came out with five fingers and little eyebrows. It was a scary thing, to have children that looked different from everyone else. Jake knew that, with an Avatar body, it was possible. Seeing it himself, though...

Neteyam, being oldest, required a little less care. He slept by himself at his crib. The newborns slept with you whilst the two of you waited for Neytiri's hunt.

Lo'ak was cuddled up in his father's arms, Kiri in yours. Her fingers were wrapped around your smallest finger, what Jake would call his ring finger. "Five fingers.." You muttered to yourself. You'd counted them many times over.

Jake hears you. "And eyebrows."

"Just like you." You muse with a laugh. Jake laughs along too, but you notice the difference; his laugh lacks its usual humor.

"What is it?" You ask, concerned lace with his words like the weaving of a necklace.

"Nothing." He shakes his head. He couldn't worry you, especially because he wasn't even sure if these five fingers and eyebrows would make any difference.

"I can tell there's something." You remain stubborn, scooting even closer to him. It was one of the qualities he actually loved about you, as annoying as it could be. "You can't evade me, darling."

"Darling? You picked up the word?"

"Jake." You're deflecting.

"I know." He sighs, "I know. It's just... They're different, Kiri and Lo'ak, different from others their age. It's not something I want for them."

"You think it'll affect the way they are treated?"

"Yes."

"Darling." You repeat the pet name more stern now, calling for his attention. He lifts his gaze from his baby boy to meet your eyes. They're yellow, they're golden, just like his. "You were different. But now you are not. You're Olo'eyktan, one of the us; one of the people, one of the Omatikaya. These children are yours, and they are mine. They are part of the Omatikaya."

"But they–"

"Extra fingers, extra hair on their face. The eyebrows are expressive, lovely. The fingers are good, help with dexterity." You tilt your head forward, "They will be fine."

Just as the same as he yearns to hold you, he wishes he believed you. For now, however, he settles on your only point of contact being your lips, and his assured belief about these children being that you and he would love them to the ends of the Earth.

☾⋆☆⋆☽

The differences meant nothing to Jake, there would be no change in the way he treated them. Soon enough, he'd sort of forgotten, for the most part.

What couldn't be forgotten, though, were his Olo'eyktan duties.

The problem was, you were gone for a little while. The second problem was, Neytiri was taking care of Neteyam. Now that didn't quiet seem like a problem, but she was taking care of him before you left and before he realized he had important Olo'eyktan stuff to do. He couldn't just bother Neytiri to take care of his kids! The third problem was, they were his kids! He couldn't just leave them. They were hardly two months old.

So now, he was left with a dilemma. Baby carriers.

For humans, it was a little embarrassing to, as a father, be wearing one of them. But to the Na'vi, it was just another part of life, a necessity.

Jake was a Na'vi now. He had to get over human societal norms.

"Hanging in there, baby girl?" Jake asks Kiri–as if she can understand him–who unfortunately has to take the tight space on his back.

After getting the silent answer he was expecting, Jake begins his work. As expected, no Na'vi seem to pay him any mind. They greet him just the same as any other day, the only difference being the small coos directed at his children. He's just happy they love them.

As Jake checks his daughter is safe on his back for the umpteenth time, he hears something wrong.

Click.

He stares ahead, obviously disturbed. His eyebrow furrows as he finds the camera, with a diminishing flash, being held by the scientist he regrettably called a friend.

"Norm, don't you have shit to do?" The swear word doesn't faze him, for the babies were too young to even register the word.

The scientist adjusts his exopack over his shit-eating grin. "Research, Jake." He gives off a hint as his amusement with each word he speaks, "I’m capturing the Mighty Toruk Makto in his natural form. Which is adorable." He winks.

"Uh-huh." Jake replies; contrasting his friend, he remains unamused. "Kiss the dark side of my blue–" Out of the corner of his eye, he spots Mo'at. Shit, Mo'at. She knew English and he needed to talk to her.

"You are a lucky man, Norm." Jake turns on his heels, leaving Norm behind as he heads towards the Tsahìk.

When he does so, though, Kiri turns her head as much as she can to stare at the human scientist curiously. Norm takes the opportunity.

Click.

☾⋆☆⋆☽

Lo'ak and Kiri were, relative to their brother, the same age. They also looked the most like each other, excluding their father. They both had the characteristic traits of an avatar, traits that set them apart from the rest of the clan. Because of this, you thought they'd be inseparable, best friends. Instead, they fought, and fought, and fought.

It was weird, even, that Kiri often sought out her older brother's company over her baby brother's.

These peculiarities' origins, however, were solved when you realized the common point of these arguments. Lo'ak. Lo'ak was a troublesome kid in that he loved freedom, and even more, loved to be possessive.

Within seven years, many things were taught. Jake, for one, learned much of the Na'vi language. In fact, it was practically English to him. Sometimes he forgot what language he began the sentence with, and he would end up starting with Na'vi and ending with English or mixing in a couple words in the middle.

As far as the kids were concerned, it was gibberish. At least, for a couple years. After they dominated the Na'vi language well enough, they began to learn English. Their main teacher was their father, not their sempu, so when things like this happened...

"I hate you times infinity, Lo'ak! Penis face!"

It was his fault.

After the kids' argument was swiftly dealt with (the toy had to be threatened to be cut in half, and then they stopped), Jake places the toy in Kiri's hands. "Kid, go find your brother." He sighs, "You can play with him."

"I don't wanna play with him." Lo'ak crosses his arms, stomping his foot. "He's a sucker."

"Hey, now, that's not a good thing to say about your brother." Jake presses a harsh finger against his son's shoulder. "What would Neteyam think?"

"It's true! And he needs to know it!"

"If your sempu was here, you'd be–"

"Sempu's here." You call. The kids didn't really realize you heard the beginning of what Jake was going to say. Instead, they run to hug you. Kiri drops the much beloved toy they so desperately wanted earlier, in favor of wrapping her arms around your waist.

You scoop each of them up, each held by one strong arm. Even so, knowing that the position is weak, they steady themselves by wrapping their small limbs as far around you as they can. "Now, what was it that you needed me for?"

"Nothing, sempu." Kiri shakes her head, pressing her head against your shoulder. "Just a little dispute."

"Yes. A dispute." Lo'ak agrees with the wide nod of his head, though he pronounces the word much worse than Kiri does. Seems he slacked off on their latest English lessons and somehow ignored the word "penis" that Kiri vividly recalls.

"Ooh, dispute? Where'd you learn that big word, huh?" You coo, rubbing your nose into her hair. She laughs at the feeling, it's almost ticklish.

"Dad." She replies simply.

"Yeah, well, they also managed to learn the word "penis" from me." While you gawk dramatically at your children, Jake sticks his tongue out at them just as childishly. Little suck ups. He mouths.

Lo'ak sticks his tongue back out at his own father, to which you slap him gently on the hip. "What situation requires that," You think of a suitably negative word , uglily scrunching up your nose so that the children can have something to laugh at. "despicable word?"

"Lo'ak," Kiri is quick to tell, "was trying to steal my toy!"

"No I wasn't!" Lo'ak huffs. If he were on the ground, he'd have stumped his feet. Instead, they kick the air.

"Yes you were!" She retorts.

"Which one, the one so sadly on the floor?"

At the mention of its position, they both turn their gazes towards it. Kiri dares to mutter a little "uh-oh" as her eyes find it. Whilst they are distracted by the dread building up in their bodies, you look to Jake. Go find Neteyam. I'll deal with these two.

Silently, he nods, and slips away while the children begin to make up excuses. As he walks down the river bank, he hears a shout from the house. "You're a big fat liar!"

If memory served right, Neteyam wanted to visit Neytiri. Out of all of their kids, he took to her the most.

A part of him, at the back of his mind, wonders how all his children will react once they learn who their mother is.

He doesn't indulge in the thought. Instead, he focuses on the task ahead. The path from his home to Neytiri's was one he memorized, and he made sure when he built his home that it wouldn't be a long distance.

He doesn't expect to find the two of them, Neteyam and Neytiri, outside of the house. Neither does he expect his son to be so vigorously training even after training hours.

"That's it. Remember your stance." Neytiri advises Neteyam, patting his shoulder. "You're doing great."

"Hey!" Jake greets the two. The sudden call surprises Neteyam, which makes his shot fly off to the side.

The boy frowns, but his lips soon lift as he turns to greet his father. "Hi dad."

"Hello, my son." He nods. His smile turns a little more stern as he turns to Neytiri. "Hello, auntie Tiri. What's going on?"

Neytiri opens her mouth to speak, but Neteyam taps her thigh and mouths a little something. It's not hard to read his lips, nor had he tried to hid it so hard, but Jake looks away out of respect.

Auntie Tiri nods and looks back up to Jake, "I figured he needed some practice."

"He practiced this morning."

"I know." She raises one hand up in surrender, "Practice makes perfect." She ruffles Neteyam's hair. Though coming from his dad it was annoying, it is apparently endearing coming from his aunt. "Could I talk to you in the house?"

"Of course."

She hardly waits for him to reply before she pats Neteyam on the head again and says, "I'll be right back, keep practicing."

Neteyam nods excitedly. However, Jake stops him. "No, put that down." It dampens his son's spirits, but he nods. Both of them know that something could go wrong if Neteyam practices unsupervised.

Neytiri rolls her eyes, but doesn't protest. Instead, she heads inside, Jake close behind.

"What is it that–"

"Your son, our kid, " She begins with firmness. "he came to me asking me to help him improve."

"What? He's only seven." Jake reasons, "Why would he?"

"He's your oldest." She replies simply. "Your heir, the next Olo'eyktan. There's a lot of pressure that comes with that." She spoke with experience. Between you, him, and her, she had so much more experience. He wonders sometimes how they've come to this arrangement, if she could be a better mom than he, a dad.

"Yeah… I know. But I don't give him any pressure. I make sure of it." Does he really? Are each of his words premeditated, thought out?

"He's only a year older than Lo'ak and Kiri, but he already has it ingrained in him that he has to protect them." Neytiri crosses her arms, giving him a pointed look, "Like you said, he's seven. He still deserves to be hugged and kissed."

"I try to."

"You try to?"

"It's hard when, you know…" He sighs, "your parents coddled your brother more than you."

She purses her lips, thinks it over. "I may not know about you and your brother," She begins on a lighter note. "but I know that you can relate your experiences with him with our children, your sons. At least you know what not to do. Just make sure they know you love them, and that they are still children that should play, while you still can."

"Yeah." He nods, "I will."

☾⋆☆⋆☽

The children played with each other, for once not beckoning their parents into play or sparking arguments between each other.

So for the first time in a long time, you had some moments of peace.

"He reminds me a lot of Neytiri, Neteyam." You spoke in a hushed voice, wary of their young ears.

"How so?" Jake squeezes your shoulder, his arm wrapped around it.

"His smile. It's a lot like hers. Toothy, isn't it?" He was smiling right now. Though it didn't compare to some of his biggest moments of joy, his smile still displayed his growing teeth. It was adorable.

He only has to think of it for a moment before agreeing, "Yeah."

"He's good with his bow. Don't doubt that he'll make a great hunter one day. And his love for Ikran..." Your face lights up at the memories, "even though he doesn't have one."

"About that, love..." Jake begins solemnly.

You turn to him, away from your playing children, at his serious tone. "What is it?"

"Neteyam," He glances over at the boy. Thankfully, he hadn't heard him speak his name. He lowers his voice and continues, "Neytiri told me he's been trying to get better at using a bow."

"Hm, well, he's probably trying to impress us."

"And that he wanted to protect his siblings. He feels," He purses his lips, "like its his responsibility. It's what he worries about."

"Does he?" You huff, "He has asked a lot lately, about the dangers of the jungle. I thought he just wanted to look out for himself, but now that I think about it..."

"He wanted to know so that he could keep his siblings safe." Jake finishes for you.

"Hey, I wanted to play with it!"

"I had it first!"

Before either of you can act, Neteyam stands first. He gives you only the smallest of glances before pushing his siblings away from each other.

"What? Hey!" Lo'ak shouts.

"Go away, Neteyam!" Kiri struggles against her brother's hold.

At his sudden interference, the toy falls to the ground. Neteyam kicks it to his feet. "Stop fighting!" He hisses at the both of them, making them falter. "It's either one or the other. Got that? You can take turns."

"Me first!" The children scream simultaneously, Kiri finishes her sentence first by a millisecond.

"Ugh." Lo'ak groans, but he begrudgingly kicks the toy in her direction. "Fine, you can have it first. But you get ten minutes!"

Kiri grins, picking up the toy, "That's good enough."

With the argument over, Neteyam smiles. He turns back towards his own toy, but not before sparing a not so subtle glance in your direction. Seeing your encouraging smiles, his own grows larger.

"He didn't need to do that."

Jake nods, "But he did, anyway."

"You're right." You shake your head with a sigh, "We should wait for the right moment to tell him."

☾⋆☆⋆☽

That moment doesn't take long.

Lo'ak had grown restless at home, and even more at the village, so he proposed one thing: to let him and his siblings explore the jungle. It wasn't a surprising proposal, you'd allowed them to do so many times before. Neteyam, Kiri, and Lo'ak often explored the jungle; so, you allowed it without a thought.

The jungle was a beautiful place, one you were proud to call home, so you were happy that your children were falling in love with it too.

However, as curfew grows closer and your children do not return yet, your worry begins to grow.

The children had shown time and time again that they knew curfew, knew the way home, knew to come back safely. You trusted them to come back.

Your rapidly growing concern and restlessness burst, and you must find them yourself. As much as Jake had reassured you, as much as you wanted to trust them, something was clearly wrong. You had to find them.

As you mount your ikran, though, they emerge from the tree line.

Neteyam and Lo'ak prop Kiri up, helping her walk. They've got her arms around their shoulders. Together, the three of them, they're mismatched. Lo'ak wishes to run, Neteyam doesn't want to injure Kiri further, and she is weak.

You're quick to whisk Kiri up and bring her inside, whilst Jake grabs a hold of his sons and brings them in too.

You place Kiri down on your hammock, "Where does it hurt?"

"My side." She yells back, her eyes spilling fresh tears. She was scratched up everywhere, from her arms to her knees, but the most concerning gash was on her side. It was a long cut, spanning from her belly button to her chest.

"I got you, baby girl." You assure.

While you rush to patch up Kiri, Jake squats in front of his sons and questions them. "What happened?"

Neither boy wishes to speak, but between the two of them, the culprit is clear. Still, he knows that he has to wait for them to speak up. If Neteyam speaks first, Jake will know what the boy has burdened himself with. If Lo'ak speaks, he will know that the boy has the responsibility to admit his own faults.

Regardless, because none of them speak, Kiri does. She clearly wished to have the culprit, which inadvertently caused her injuries, be punished. "Lo'ak led us to a forbidden area!"

"No I didn't!" Lo'ak bites back.

"Yeah, I did." Neteyam steps forward and puts an arm in front of his brother in order to shield him from his father's impending scolding. "I convinced them it wasn't such a dangerous place."

There it was. Neteyam taking the blame. He took protecting his siblings so far, that he was willing to take the blame and the punishment for what Lo'ak did. Jake hated it, hated that he reminded him of his brother so much.

"Neteyam, you and I both know you know the dangers the most." Jake points a finger at him, "So step back."

The boy follows his instructions, but for once, not obediently. He looks down at the ground and backs off with a subtle scoff.

"Oh, so now you decide he's not to be believed?!" Lo'ak huffs, crossing his arms. "I didn't–"

"You did." Jake interrupts him, "And I need you to admit it."

"Fine!" Lo'ak shouts, "I did it! But I didn't think it would be so dangerous."

"I know that, son." Jake says, placing a hand on his shoulder. Lo'ak tries to shake it off, but he ultimately fails to do so. He settles on ignoring its heavy presence. "But you're still responsible for the consequences."

"I didn't mean for Kiri to get hurt." The boy mumbles.

"Tell that to her."

"I'm sorry, Kiri." He mumbles that too, but Kiri hears it anyway.

Though she rolls her eyes, something Lo'ak can't see because you cover her body with your own as you work away, and accepts the apology, "Fine." She hisses slightly, which Lo'ak mistakes as directed to him. The sound makes him falter.

"The two of you, listen to me." Jake places his other hand on Neteyam's shoulder, pulling the brothers close to each other.

"You should listen too." You tell Kiri. She nods.

"You should all to take care of each other, equally. That means protecting each other. Not just you, Lo'ak; not just you, Kiri," He nods in each of his kids' directions, "not just you, Neteyam. You got that?"

Neteyam nods immediately, while Lo'ak nods with a scowl and eyebrows knitted. He was displeased to be asked to act just like his stuck up brother.

"Hey." Jake shakes his son not so gently to make sure he is paying attention. "Lo'ak, I need you to protect your siblings. Because, in this world, it's not just you. It's all of us, it's this family. Your brother, your sister, they need taking care of. And if we're not there, who will do that? You. You have to."

"It's not an "if he can't do it, then I have to"." You cut in to add, "It's not a toy to be passed around. It is something you should all be doing, all the time."

"Today was just an example. Tomorrow," He gestures to the side with the nod of his head, "if things do not change, worse things can happen."

"Okay." Lo'ak nods. Though the solemn look on his face is new and different, it meant he was taking it seriously.

Jake nods too, "Good. Neteyam," Knowing that the boy will be much more affected by his words, Jake keeps it simple. "that means it's not all up to you. Don't take the fall for things you didn't cause."

"Okay." Neteyam agrees too.

☾⋆☆⋆☽

Auntie Tiri loved to visit the kids. Though she knew she wasn't their mother in the family sense, she still thought of them as her own children. You weren't one to complain, much as you teased her, because it meant you and Jake could have some time of your own.

"Second time this week?" You laugh, greeting Neytiri at the entrance. "It's only just beginning, too."

"If I birthed them, I at least get to raise them." Neytiri argues. The words don't make much sense to the children, thankfully, or else you would have a lot of explaining you weren't quite ready for.

You roll your eyes and let her in. As she passes you, you walk outside. Behind you, you hear screams of delight as the children see Neytiri.

After Jake says his temporary goodbye's, he follows you outside.

He lets out a sigh of relief as the even fresher air of the outside washes over his face. "It's been a while since we got to be alone, right?"

"Just two days, my love." You remind him. "Neytiri visited two days ago."

"Hmm," He snickers, "right."

He lets out a yawn, stretches his limbs far up into the sky. As he brings them down, though, one arm not so subtly wraps around your waist. Even less subtly, it pulls you close to his side. "Wanna go for a walk?" He offers nonchalantly.

You chuckle, placing a hand a on the one he's got around you. "Sure."

The benefit of being alone with each other often was that your children were not responsibility for the tiniest of moments. It also meant you didn't have to speak of them.

But usually, as your children are the light of your life, most things end up being about them.

"Your hair's starting to dread up, love." You remark, wrapping the end of one of his locks around your finger. It was just a little strand, but the hair above clumps together.

"Ah, well, I don't have the time." He sighs, "Between Olo'eyktan duties, giving advice to folk, taking care of the kids..."

"I could braid it for you." You offer.

"I heard that takes a long time." He says, but he's done more than hear it. He's witnessed it, seen your children slouched over themselves, falling asleep whilst your fingers still nimbly worked on their braids. "Don't know if I've got enough."

"Well, we can keep it dreaded." You shrug, "Whatever you like."

"What do you like?" He retorts.

You roll your eyes. "Whatever you like to wear will be what I love, Jake."

"That's an awfully sweet," He begins slowly, coaxing a soft smile out of your lips. "lie. Too uncharacteristic of you, my darling."

You laugh. The sound is... young. It sounds young. You've known each other for seven years now, been parents for most of that time, and you've matured so much since the first time he laid eyes on you. Those laughs, ones without the worry of your children or responsibilities, had seemed forgotten. He's glad it's still there.

The conversation falters and you fall to comfortable silence; but something picks at Jake, at the back of his mind.

"Is there..." He pauses, not too sure if he really wants to mention it. He's already started, though, and he does feel as though it is something that should be talked about. "anyone Lo'ak reminds you of?"

"Lo'ak..." You hum as you think, "well, Lo'ak is his own person. He's a special kid. There's no one quite similar to him. Why do you ask?"

"He reminds me of myself. My younger self." Jake says. It was the original thing he wanted to say.

"Oh."

"Reckless, quick to jump into a fight, defensive, couldn't take the blame... I couldn't take anything seriously." He lists off things, each one putting a dampener on his mood. "A child in a man's body."

His lowering spirits were affecting yours, so you stop your walk to make sure your next words are registered fully. You take his hands in yours and begin, "Some of those things aren't always bad. Defensiveness means, well, you're protective of your loved ones. And not taking things so seriously... you can always make me happy. You can lighten any situation. As for the recklessness, well, it was always funny when you failed at some Na'vi things."

"Hey!"

"What I'm trying to say is, you're still defensive, you're still humorous in harsh situations. These are both things of your younger self and the self that stands before me." You bring a hand to his cheek and he nuzzles against it. "They are part of who you are; and those same things, they're part of who Lo'ak is. If we tried to change them, Lo'ak wouldn't be himself. All of those traits are bad at varying degrees. If we teach him correctly, he can still be himself. Less reckless, more serious, but still himself."

Much as an annoying rascal he was now, it was the Lo'ak Jake still loved, has loved for seven years. He couldn't imagine his son any other way.

☾⋆☆⋆☽

Everyone loved Neteyam. It was hard not to.

Lo'ak and Kiri, on the other hand, often received many stares. It was harder for them to make friends outside of the family; harder to avoid the comments about their fingers and eyebrows. Though Lo'ak had a penchant for an argument (which had lessened ever since you began parenting him better) this was where he and Kiri agreed.

When Neteyam played with his friends, Lo'ak and Kiri often stuck together. Their differences and toy-sharing difficulties were pushed aside.

Neteyam often tried to coerce his friends to play with Kiri and Lo'ak, they were only a year younger after all, but it usually devolved into asking them why they had such funny fingers.

Jake and you often noticed it. You saw your children's awkward, uncomfortable faces. But you knew things would only be worse if you interfered. Children were often like that, picking at the little things. Just kissing your children would earn them the nickname of "sempuyä 'evi". Besides, they needed to be independent.

It was a matter that sparked concern between you.

"I was right about their differences." Jake grumbles. He subtly observed his children from above, at a high point in the village. Less people were going to spot his vigilant dad behavior up there.

"They'll make friends eventually, find people who don't care." You reassured him, but you spoke it into the world because you were really wishing for it to happen.

"Like you?" He muses.

"If you want a comparison point." You let out a little laugh.

Jake wraps an arm around your shoulder and pulls you close. Just then, a little someone breaks through the crowd of nosy kids and sticks their hand out.

Rather than judging your children or pointing out their differences, they exclaim "Wow that's so cool!" so loudly that you can hear it from up there. It warms your heart.

Lo'ak eventually found friends that actually deserved him. Kiri, on the other hand, well, the friends found her. Unfortunately, it was after that that she discovered she actually preferred alone time better than having so many people around her, disturbing her thoughts with constant chatter. So, she didn't often talk with her friends. The only thorn on her side, though, was the human kid, Spider. She tolerated his presence often. She actually even seemed to like his voice.

But while they had gotten over that problem, Jake was still worried.

☾⋆☆⋆☽

Your children had yet again become a year older. In the past year, you'd taught them all so many things. You made sure Neteyam, Lo'ak, and Kiri were all protective over each other equally; that Lo'ak learned how to control his recklessness and maintain his humorous attitude; that Kiri felt connected to Eywa.

You knew that, when you allowed them to be on their own, they would be just fine.

After seven years of taking care of your children so actively, you no longer had to worry so much. It was sort of a relief.

Naturally, though, you sort of missed it.

"I want another kid."

"What?"

"Another girl would be nice." You hum to yourself, "She'd be the cutest little thing."

Once the initial shock wears off (because you don't just mention that out of nowhere) Jake finds himself agreeing. He, too, missed coddling his children. "Yeah, she would."

"Did you ever get a copy of the picture Norm took of you?"

"Of course not." Jake grumbles. "It's embarrassing."

"Only because you make it." You snicker, booping him on the nose. He responds by scrunching it up and flinching back. "I think it's rather cute."

"I only think Kiri was cute." He wipes his nose. "We can talk to Neytiri and–"

"I want her to be yours."

"What? But–" Jake shakes his head profusely, his eyebrows knitted together. "I can't have another kid turn out like... like me."

"Five fingers and eyebrows?" You ask.

"Yes." He replies immediately. "I can't have her be... different. Lo'ak and Kiri, they struggled to make friends because of their differences."

"You know that Lo'ak made his own friends."

"It took time." He argues, "Don't you remember his face, every time he came back home? It was horrible. In fact, he asked you to pull him onto your lap and kiss his cheeks over and over just for reassurance. Which–"

"Which he asked for because he loves me, not because it's uncharacteristic of him." You say, implying that Lo'ak loves you more.

Jake rolls his eyes. "I don't want to see another kid go through that again. I just want another normal kid that'll make friends flawlessly."

"There's nothing wrong with being special." You take his hands in yours. His hand was only bigger because of his extra finger, which wraps around your hand. You bring it up to show him, "Nothing better with being normal."

"Why... why can't you do it, then?"

"Because," You begin, smile lighting up your face. "even you still haven't gotten over your differences." Jake looks away. His silence to the accusation is as much of an answer as affirmation is. "This child will be proof that your differences don't make you any worse than a regular Na'vi. Because you are on of the people. You are the Olo'eyktan. You are one of us."

"How do you know?" He grumbles, but he was starting to believe you. "Did Eywa tell you, or something?"

☾⋆☆⋆☽

With Tuktirey, you couldn't be any happier.

And she came out, as promised, with four fingers and hairless browbones.

She was a pudgy little thing, and everyone loved her. You could see it in their eyes and their smiles that the kids loved her at first sight. Their toothy grins would grow even wider when they each got to carry her; even if Lo'ak nearly dropped her.

Though she couldn't even speak and hardly babbled, you could tell that you would come to love her.

You held Tuk in your hands, laying your head over Neteyam's legs. He made for a bony pillow, but you loved him so much you could get over it. Jake hugged Lo'ak with one arm. Kiri was sprawled horizontally over the both of you, her head laying on your stomach. Your muntxatan nuzzled his nose into your neck as he spoke, "I met your sempu while I was training."

"He fell from the tree branches onto the mud at my feet." You explain less graciously, causing an uproar of laughs from each of your children.

"Ah-ah," Jake breaks up the mocking laughter, "you say it's like Eywa sent me to you, no?"

"Okay, fine, I guess." You roll your eyes playfully.

Jake laughs. You can feel the deep rumble of vibrations going through his neck against your shoulder. "It was love at first sight."

☾⋆☆⋆☽

ᴍᴀʏʙ'ꜱ ɴᴏᴛᴇ 2: it's a cute prompt, of course, could fulfill it with headcanons, however I wanted some Lo'ak and Neteyam struggle + scared father Jake - one of these scenes (if you saw it, you know the scene) was made using the dialogue of this incredibly fucking cute fanart. It's just Lo'ak instead of Neteyam here. - I made Jake a better father because his kids deserve better

[thisisourlovestory]

Safe and Sound

Finnick Odair x reader soulmate AU

Summary: you are a victor from district 4. The Quarter Quell has just been announced. How will you cope with the turn of events coming your way.

Word count- 2.1k

Please bear in mind that this is my first fanfic. It will be multiple chapters but release dates are uncertain as I am fairly busy and also procrastination is my best friend. I am open to constructive criticism if you have any. Thanks and enjoy!

Prologue:

The moment President Snow said those words I froze. I couldn’t breathe. Because I could be going back in. Back into the arena. My breath came in short gasps and I leaned against the wall. When I finally gathered the courage to go out the others were already there, Annie, Finnick and Mags. Huddled together in the centre of victor's village, Annie’s face red with tears, Mags opening and closing her mouth in what could only be anger. And Finnick holding himself together, just barely but managing it, holding Annie tightly in his arms as if she was the only thing stopping him from breaking. 

I stood on the porch, leaning against the wooden frame of my house, arms crossing my body. None of them noticed me, I was invisible to them. I was the victor they didn't need, I was just a pretty thing for the capitol to put on display every night. Most of the time I stayed away from victor's village and none of them ever made any attempt to get to know me, I guess I just faded into the background for them. It's not really their fault, they didn't expect me to survive my games, no one did, I was just another tiny thirteen year old in the 68th Hunger Games, no allies, no weapons, no food and no hope. Just a pair of worn ballet shoes and a small bag I had nicked to keep them in. I would have died in the bloodbath had a tribute from 10 not stepped in front of an axe meant for me. I remember the blood splattering across my face as he fell onto me, I had pushed him off, grabbed his bag and ran into the forest. 

I barely managed to survive, the frozen wasteland was unforgiving, animals were scarce but there had at least been enough water. At the end of the first day there had been eight cannons, the second three, the third five, the fourth two, the fifth another two. There were four of us left, the others all career tributes who had plentiful supplies and an alliance. I was able to hide from them for five more days before they had found me. Their leader, Arion from district 2, had shot me in the arm as I tried to get away, I fell and my blood painted the crystal white snow red. They weren't smart now that I think about it, they wanted to play with me; that was their mistake. I killed the girl first, hit her over the head with my ballet shoes, the hard box disorienting her long enough for me to slit her throat with her own knife, the cannon sounded and I killed her district partner as well, piercing his heart with the same knife. That had only left Arion.

I avoided him for a few days but he found me again, probably following the trail of blood I left behind. Except this time I was ready for him. I struck first, flinging my shoes through the air, hitting him on the temple, a trickle of blood falling from the cut formed. He reacted quicker than I expected, swinging his sword wildly, but I was small and fast- like a little bird my mother always said- I threw the knife in a practised motion, letting go of the handle, spinning it slightly, my hand following the line as it hit him dead centre in the chest. He had stared at me. In shock and disbelief that I'd been able to best him. The final cannon went off and I had won. I was the victor of the 68th annual Hunger Games.

For a while it was okay, chauffeured around, fussed over and doted on by my stylists, I was living the dream of every child. But it got old, I became used to people cooing over me, patting my hair, asking me questions. And then I discovered that even if you get out of the arena, you never truly win, you always have to give back something of yourself, a repayment of sorts. You get to live and we get you was how it sounded when President Snow made me the offer. Except it wasn't an offer, it was an order; that's how I found myself as a Capitol slave at the age of fourteen, performing night and day for the rich, barely getting a second's rest. Dancing until my toes bled through my shoes, smearing red across the delicate satin. Singing until my throat was raw and I coughed up the same red my shoes now were. 

The only person who ever offered me some comfort was Finnick. About a month after my games had ended I started having nightmares, I would wake up screaming in the middle of the night and he would hear me and come over to make sure I was okay. We formed a kind of friendship, me thirteen and traumatised, him seventeen and still carrying on. He would fall asleep watching over me, reassuring me that I was okay, I got out. We fell into a routine and by the time I was fifteen the nightmares were a rare occurrence. Then Annie won and it all changed. She became the priority for him, the priority for everyone, she had been broken in the arena and her mind never seemed to fully return to her. I thought he would come back to me, but as I woke up screaming one night and there was nobody there to hold me while I cried, as another scream pierced the air; a door slammed open and I saw Finnick running across to Annie's house, I knew I had lost him. I had lost the one person who I had loved and who truly seemed to care about me. 

I watched them grow closer to each other. He built her up again brick by brick, unknowingly tearing me apart again piece by piece until I was nothing but an empty shell. He stopped her nightmares, whispering soothing words to her as I tossed and turned, eventually I would wake up, sweating and screaming, eyes wide and frantic as I clutched the knife I kept by my bedside. But no one ever came. I couldn’t blame Annie, she was the kindest person I knew and it wasn't her fault Finnick loved her, it wasn't her fault he didn't love me. 

So I dealt with it. I swallowed the pain that welled up in me and buried every thought I had ever had about him deep in my memory, never to see the light of day again. And it worked, I got on with life, going about my daily routine, dancing, singing, eating, sleeping, then doing it all again. I attended parties in the Capitol, laughing and smiling at people, agreeing with their every word. I wasn't happy, but I didn't need to be, I just needed to be alive.

So that was how I found myself after the announcement of the Quarter Quell, watching Mags, Annie and Finnick from the sidelines. My face blank as they comforted each other, not sparing me a second glance. They had all but forgotten I existed. I waited for them to go inside before I ran out of the large gates separating us from the rest of District 4. I ran along the cliffs, wind whipping my hair into a tangled mess. I reached the edge and stood still, staring out at the roiling ocean, grey waves crashing against the shoreline, foam spraying the cliff face. My heart was pounding in my ears, drowning out the sound of the sea. The air grew cold around me as my chest constricted and I gasped for breath. I couldn't think. I couldn't breathe. 

Tears poured down my face as I sank to my knees and cried. Guttural sobs tearing from my throat, my chest heaving with each one as I clutched the grass beneath me. Fingers digging into the wet soil, clenching and unclenching in time with the beating of my heart as I tried to ground myself. Gradually, my heart slowed and I pulled my hands out of the ground. I breathed shakily, dirt trapped under my nails as I scratched at the skin on my wrist. I lifted it up so I could see the mark laying there. Stark black against pale skin. Forever inked on my body. A trident and a flower, interwoven with each other.  

It was a soulmark. It appeared when I turned 17, as they did for every other person. The person with the same mark is my soulmate, they could be anyone. But I already know who it is even if he doesn't. I saw it one night and then when I got mine I knew immediately but by that point it was already too late. He was already in love with Annie. I stared at it, it wasn't very noticeable, easy to hide from people; pretty as well I suppose, then again they say it's the most beautiful things that are the most dangerous. And this mark, this tiny little mark held the power to destroy me if the wrong person so much as caught a glance of it. I let out a soft laugh, how pointless it all seemed now that everything I had could be taken from me again. I had worked so hard to build up this facade, pretending everything was fine and with a few words it had all come crashing down. 

I shook my head and stood up, giving a last look to the sea as I turned and walked back the way I had come. People talking about the announcement anywhere I pass, I paid them no mind, holding my head high as my feet hit the cobblestones with sharp thwacks. 

“Who do you think will be reaped?”

“It's such a shame really.”

“We only have three victors anyway.”

I ignored them all, they pretended I didn't exist and I'd do the same for them, it's not as if they cared. I finally reached the small gathering of houses the victors lived in and stood outside the gate. The metal tarnished from years of standing in the elements, wooden stakes seeming to wilt under my heavy gaze. I reached out a shaky hand and pushed the metal forwards, opening it only slightly so I could slip in without making the usual clanging sound. I slowly walked towards the fountain in the centre of the square and sat down on the edge, trailing my fingers in the water as my gaze focused on the centrepiece. A mermaid, carved from marble, her hair flowing in the current, tail curving up to the sky, each scale distinguishable. A steely expression was painted on her face, that of a commander, a leader. An odd message from the Capitol, to show the mermaid as being powerful, to show us as powerful, and yet hidden in the water below the statue, in the basin of the fountain, laid a golden net. A message that we had won, but we would always be theirs and we could never escape. 

My hand ran through my hair as I hummed quietly to myself, my other hand drifting along the water as I sat cross legged on the edge of the fountain. My eyes wandered across to Mags’ house where they had all decided to go. They were talking amongst themselves, Mags placing a reassuring hand on Finnick's shoulder and him muttering calming words to Annie. I felt sick, all the feelings I had locked away bubbled back to the surface because why could it not be me? Why was it her? What had I done wrong? My eyes watered slightly as I tried to hold back tears at the sight of them being so sickeningly perfect for one another. Not that it should've been me in his arms but it would be nice to know someone cared enough to check up on me, help me through the hard moments in life. Once upon a time I had thought he was that person and look where that got me, in deeper pain than I had been before. 

I sighed deeply, taking in lungfuls of fresh air, and started up the steps to my house, the front porch, a few small plants in ornate pots, wisteria growing up the trellis, light purple blooms adding a little something to the otherwise grey picture. I took a last look at them across the square, smiles on their faces as if they had forgotten the news we received earlier. I guess that's what happens when you have people you can talk to, who understand and try to help. I twisted the doorknob, stepping inside, closing the door behind me, leaning against it for support. I didn't notice the eyes that watched me. Or maybe I just didn't want to. 

[blasphemous-lies-and-deceit]

"let me feel your forehead" ? (i think reading this prompt from you would fix me)

I hope this makes you feel better ::hugs::

It started as a sore throat.

Gerry didn't even consciously notice it at first, just drank more water to soothe what he thought was just a dry tickle. He had more important things to worry about, like the possible Leitner Gertrude had tasked him to find, and what he was supposed to do with his life, and whether Michael was the type of guy who would like fancy dinners or casual outings. The ache in his throat grew and grew until it finally caught his attention, and he cursed living in a city with so many people pressed together. Who knew where he had picked up whatever sickness he had come down with?

The cough came next. It was dry, sparking heat in his chest and making him painfully aware of the ache in his throat every time a cough burst loose. It hurt like a motherfucker, and yet he couldn't stop coughing, because that was the only thing that brought relief to the tight pressure in his lungs. He didn't have the buildup of gunk in his nasal passages yet, which was a small relief, since that meant he could still breathe, but Gerry could feel his thoughts slowing, a tired dullness settling over his body. He was well and truly sick.

There was no time to dwell on it. Gerry knew the right thing to do would be to hole up somewhere and wait it out, but he couldn't give in like that. He couldn't let Gertrude think he was undependable, and Michael…he didn't want Michael to think he couldn't handle a simple cold. Gerry was still trying his best to present his most competent self to him; it was still too early in what could barely be called a relationship to show any other side of him. He couldn't let them see him as weak.

Still, he couldn't hide it for long. The coughs kept building in intensity and grew more frequent. Gerry tried to muffle them in his jacket sleeve, but he could feel Michael's attention being pulled to him every time he did. "Are you okay?" Michael finally asked when Gerry gave in to another coughing fit, glancing over at him worriedly. Gerry shook his head without bothering to look up from the old Web statement he was studying, trying to find some hint about the book's current location.

"I'm fine," he dismissed raspily. "It's just dusty down here."

"Doesn't dust make you sneeze, not cough?" Michael pointed out. Gerry involuntarily sucked in a breath when he realized his mistake, which triggered another coughing fit. Fuck. 

"My throat's dry. It's fine," he said when that was done, a bit more firmly, which just hurt more. There was another tickle he longed to cough out, but that would be too much, so soon after the last coughing fit and under such scrutiny. Michael looked like he wanted to press the issue further, but Gertrude chose that moment to call him and Carpenter into her office, leaving him alone with Harvey. He had no problem coughing his lungs out in front of her. 

Gerry almost felt like making himself scarce, instead of sitting around miserably for Michael to be done with his day. It wasn't like Michael would invite him over when he was sick. It wasn't like he'd want to spend any time with him when he was so miserable to be around. But he really didn't want to go back to Pinhole. He was almost certain that place would make him feel worse, between the stale air and oppressive atmosphere. But…that left him with nowhere else to go‒ a feeling he was unfortunately very used to. He didn't know where to go or what to do, and the lack of choice left him sitting paralyzed and even more miserable. 

To his relief, both Carpenter and Harvey left the Archives with Gertrude when she left her office. Michael lingered, awkwardly hovering over Gerry's desk and looking worried and uncertain. "Can you let me feel your forehead?" he asked hesitantly. 

Gerry sighed, leaning back in his seat. "Sure," he agreed, simply because there was no reason why he shouldn't. He already knew he had a fever. Michael pressed the back of his hand to his forehead, his frown growing more worried.

"Hmm. You do feel warm." He turned his hand to brush his hair back and then, to Gerry's surprise, leaned in and pressed their foreheads together. "I think you do have a fever," he noted, breath brushing across Gerry's face.

"Yeah," Gerry weakly agreed. Michael was so close, he could kiss him if he wasn't so sick. It was still so tempting, just like how every inch and every piece of Michael called to him and drew him in. Irresistible. "I should probably go home and‒" 

"You can come back to mine," Michael offered immediately, pulling back to look down at him intently. "I mean, you don't have to if you don't want to, I completely understand if you want to recover in your own space, if you want to do that it's…fine. But…" he bit his lip, fingers fidgeting nervously. "I'd really like…I'd like it if you were with me. So I could take care of you. If you wanted."

Something deep in Gerry's chest cracked painfully. "Are you sure?" he asked hoarsely, barely able to breathe past the unexpected flood of emotion. "If I'm…if I'm sick, I won't be good company. I don't want to make things difficult for you‒"

"I want you to," Michael insisted again, hands twitching forward like he wanted to take hold of his shoulders. "Gerry, I really…I know it probably won't be a good time, but I want to look after you. Really." His eyes were huge, open and honest, and Gerry was no more able to resist them than he'd ever been. If Michael said it, it had to be true. And he meant it. 

"Yeah, okay," he agreed, watching Michael's face light up with excitement before he became serious again. 

"I'll have to pick up some supplies," Michael realized, wavering in place like he wanted to dash off and do just that. "Medicine, nasal spray, cough drops, maybe some methanol cream. It'll help, I promise. I'm gonna take such good care of you, Gerry."

"I'm sure you will," Gerry agreed, an impossible smile pulling at his lips. Somehow, even though he still felt miserable, he was feeling…hopeful, maybe? Or at least no longer dreading what was to come. He was going to be sick, but Michael would be there. Michael would be taking care of him. Michael would be doing everything he could to make him feel better. That had…he'd never had that before. 

Michael smiled at him, reaching out to brush his hair back from his forehead again. His hand lingered, soothing and cool. Already providing the comfort he promised. Whatever had cracked in Gerry's chest was burning, filling him up with warmth and feelings he couldn't dare say out loud, not yet. But there were there, so intense, like nothing he'd ever known before. And maybe, if Michael's promises and words were true, he wasn't alone in what he felt. And maybe, just maybe, he could tell Michael soon. 

[hollowed-theory-hall]

do you have thoughts on ariana dumbledore?

Like about her character or about her situation?

Because we don't really know Ariana as a person at all. So, I can't really analyze her. I can have thoughts about her situation and what was going on with her magic.

I should note I don't consider anything about Obscurials from the Fantastic Beasts canon. I think it's a retcon and I don't like it. I mean, you’re telling me Obscurials are created when wizards bottle up their magic and then say Harry "cupboard under the stairs" Potter didn't become one? I don't buy it.

So, let's take a look at the tragedy that is Ariana Dumbledore's existence:

So, the information about Ariana is quite scarce when looking just at the books. And most sources are unreliable. Rita Skeeter lies more often than not. Elphias Doge thinks the sun shines out of Albus Dumbledore's ass. Aunt Muriel just wants mean gossip. Then there are the brothers, Albus and Aboforth, Albus with their own biases and agendas, leaving Abeforth as the best source about Ariana (even if he has his own biases).

But, limited information is when theorizing is the most fun.

I don't think she was an Obscurial

As I mentioned above I don't believe Obscurials are a thing in the Wizarding World of the books. The main reason I mentioned above is Harry. We know Harry, Tom, Snape, and Merope were all mistreated heavily as children and none of them become an Obscurial. Harry says so himself:

Numbly Harry thought of how the Dursleys had once shut him up, locked him away, kept him out of sight, all for the crime of being a wizard. Had Dumbledore’s sister suffered the same fate in reverse: imprisoned for her lack of magic? Had Dumbledore truly left her to her fate while he went off to Hogwarts to prove himself brilliant and talented?

(DH, page 137)

Harry was raised to not use his magic. To bottle it up and not use it, and yet, neither he nor any other wizard with similar circumstances became an Obscurial. It's weird that Obscurials could exist and we never heard of such creatures in the books themselves. If they did exist, I would assume muggleborns and muggle-raised wizards would be watched more closely for how dangerous they could be. Personally, I don't think Obscurials exist at all. It doesn't make sense within the universe we know.

So what was going on with Ariana?

“When my sister was six years old, she was attacked, by three Muggle boys. They’d seen her doing magic, spying through the back garden hedge: She was a kid, she couldn’t control it, no witch or wizard can at that age. What they saw, scared them, I expect. They forced their way through the hedge, and when she couldn’t show them the trick, they got a bit carried away trying to stop the little freak doing it.”

....

“It destroyed her, what they did: She was never right again. She wouldn’t use magic, but she couldn’t get rid of it; it turned inward and drove her mad, it exploded out of her when she couldn’t control it, and at times she was strange and dangerous. But mostly she was sweet and scared and harmless.

(DH, page 479)

These are two quotes from Aboforth about what happened to Ariana and how her magic responded. That same magic that eventually killed their mother, Kendra.

Now, we don't really know what these muggle boys did. It could have been sexual assault, even if Ariana was only 6 (as gross and horrifying as it is), it could've been they beat her up badly, we don't know. Whatever it was, it was incredibly traumatic to both her body and mind.

I wrote about how magic is very connected to a wizard's or witch's intentions and emotions and I believe that is the key to understanding what happened with Ariana. We also know, that when a witch or wizard is hurt, their magic will attempt to heal them. We also know from Harry and Neville that a child's magic will try to keep them out of harm's way when they can't control it yet:

Great Uncle Algie came round for dinner, and he was hanging me out of an upstairs window by the ankles when my Great Auntie Enid offered him a meringue and he accidentally let go. But I bounced — all the way down the garden and into the road. 

(PS, page 91)

Dudley’s gang had been chasing him as usual when, as much to Harry’s surprise as anyone else’s, there he was sitting on the chimney.

(PS, page 21)

So, I wondered, what would happen if a magical child got so traumatized they were stuck in a fight or flight state? What if they feel under threat constantly? Well, I'd expect their magic to act up, as it always does when a young witch or wizard is under threat.

Basically, what I think is going on with Ariana's magic is kind of like a muggle allergy. Her magic (white blood cells, essentially) that wants to protect her and heal her, registers everything and everyone, even Ariana herself, as a threat it needs to fight. So it lashes out unpredictably like any child's accidental magic when under threat.

And the descriptions from Aboforth really sound like a child's accidental magic trying to keep the child safe by going highwire. I think she actually was sickly. I can't imagine her magic left her completely unharmed. It was also likely exhausting to constantly have her magic stretched thin trying to protect her from a threat that wasn't really there.

And we know this instability of her magic is why she was never let out of her mother's sight:

“—to permit her to leave the house?” cackled Muriel. “And yet she was never taken to St. Mungo’s and no Healer was ever summoned to see her!” “Really, Muriel, how can you possibly know whether—“ “For your information, Elphias, my cousin Lancelot was a Healer at St. Mungo’s at the time, and he told my family in strictest confidence that Ariana had never been seen there. All most suspicious, Lancelot thought!”

(DH, page 137)

because the Ministry had known what Ariana had become, she’d have been locked up in St. Mungo’s for good. They’d have seen her as a serious threat to the International Statute of Secrecy, unbalanced like she was, with magic exploding out of her at moments when she couldn’t keep it in any longer.

(DH, page 479)

They hid her from everyone. From Bathilda, any other neighbors, and from St. Mongos. And they were right to be concerned about what the ministry would do if they knew about Ariana. She was a danger to herself and the people around her, not because she meant to be. Because she was a young, traumatized witch whose magic kept trying to protect her when the threat was long gone.

[fuck-you-upmusicbracket]

Love Like Ghosts (Lord Huron)

I don't feel it till it hurts sometimes/Oh, go on baby, hurt me tonight/I want ours to be an endless song/Baby, in my eyes, you do no wrong/I don't feel it till it hurts sometimes/So go on, baby, hurt me tonight/All the spirits that I know I saw/Do you see no ghost in me at all?

"The use of ghosts as a metaphor for ghosts is just. so good. The idea of being haunted by your pasts love/seeing yourself as a ghost because of love is such a fascinating idea like?? Referring to the concept of love with "what ain't living can never really die" is really interesting because the love was "never living" meaning....that the love wasn't real? that the love was one sided? that they were never in love at all? it could mean a thousand different things and the entire song is skewed from the perspective of the narrator. The character narrator's of LH songs are....notoriously unreliable to put it lightly, and this one could be viewed in the same way. The narrator is adamant that the person they're singing to doesn't truly love them, but doesn't want them to leave her, but we have no way to know that for certain. She implies that the person is lying to her and doesn't truly want her with the line "You don't want me baby, please don't lie" but again, we don't know if thats true. It leaves this song is such a weird state of leaving the listener guessing and walking away with their own meaning of the song."

Against The Kitchen Floor (Will Wood)

And I swear! I will die trying!/I'm still in the process, but I'm making progress; I promise I honestly wanna prove improvement's possible, I swear!/I'm so fucking sorry! I'm not a good person, I'm barely a person at all, But someday I'll be perfect, and I'll make up for it all!

Less rare than scarce, less diamond then rough/Unlikely to be more than just the coal you failed to crush

I'm catatonic in your arms, crying, "How did I cause so much harm?"/I'm down pounding my head against the kitchen floor/Apologizing for my life and ever entering yours

The vertex of my redemption arc/I’m searching on that virgin heart

"The raw emotion! And I strongly relate to desperately wanting to improve for someone you love. I belt out this song when I feel really hopeless"

"my one OC. also me. also it's just a really good song. one of will's best imo. screaminbg"

"Literally hits almost all of my self-esteem issues. Feeling like people only care about you for your body? Check. Not understanding why anyone would want you? Check. Thinking that all you do is hurt people? Check. I don't cry very often but this song DEFINITELY made me teary"

"one of those if u aren’t paying attention to the lyrics ur like this is nice but once u hear them its an OW holy OW and guilt and I’m sorry feelings"

"Just. Loving someone but not feeling like you’re good enough and trying to improve."

"Not only does this song have lyrics that are deeply relatable to me, but this song also feels very deeply personal to the artist and I feel that anyone who listens to it for the first time has that same feeling of getting punched in the gut. Just the lyrics and the melody and Will Wood’s incredible vocals make this song an absolute masterpiece and I cry every time I hear it."

"One reason I'm attached to this song is because my friend sent it to me and said "I'm kin assigning you this song" and ruined my life (/j) It messed me up because I've always had a hard time in my life figuring myself out and dealing with my emotions, and for what feels like the first time, this song has been able to near perfectly describe how I feel about myself and my impact on other people, and it always just meant so much to me that my friend who sent it to me knows me better than I know myself and shared the song with me and I love them dearly."

Love Like Ghosts submitted by @danidoesathing

Against the Kitchen Floor submitted by @pixopolis + others

[quinoascreams]

LANCELOT AND GUINEVERE they make me cry

I think I’ll use this app to yap about stuff i like which includes arthurian legends 😍😍🥰😘😘😘😘🥰😍😍🥰😘😘 so uh yeah…. starting off with the couple ever, lancelot and guinevere

tw highly inaccurate i guess i haven’t really read any arthurian literatures because THEYRE SO HARD TO FIND FOR SOME REASON??? so all my knowledge is from sketchy and really bad websites from like 2014

In the glorious stories of King Arthur (one that I have personally loved and read by Robert Lancelyn Green) are the knights of the Round Table.

Why a round table you may ask? Compared to its traditional long, rectangular tables, where the spot you are seated in determines your worth of sitting near enough to its leader, the round table remains seamlessly equal — to show King Arthur’s dismissal of hierarchy. Everyone is valued the same as everyone else.

In this very Round Table exists many heroic stories of knights, but nothing is more well known and famous as the quest for the Holy Grail, the very cup Jesus Christ drank from during the Last Supper. The cup that, no matter how worthy and strong Sir Lancelot of the Round Table may be, was unable to attain. Only his son, Sir Galahad and the knight Sir Percival could attain anything out of its search and findings. For Sir Lancelot was an adulterer, a traitor of God, for he loved Queen Guinevere, King Arthur’s wife and Queen of Camelot. Truly, but unfortunately, not worthy of the Holy Grail.

I will be going over the love story of Sir Lancelot and Queen Guinevere, which ultimately led to King Arthur’s rule's demise. However, it is important to note that their love story did not pre-exist from the very beginnings of forming the stories of the knights of the Round Table. Chrétien de Troyes, a French poet, wrote the first known love affair between Lancelot and Guinevere in the very book: Lancelot, the Knight of the Cart.

My biggest resource for this story is the very book that Chrétien de Troyes has written, but it is fine if readers are more accustomed to an altered version. There is no exact origin as to how the stories of King Arthur were created, different versions have been bound to spread out all over the world since the beginning of its time anyway.

The story of how everything began starts with the abduction of Queen Guinevere. Lord Meleagant, a villain in Arthurian legends, was so hopelessly in love with Guinevere that he felt betrayed when she married King Arthur. He snatches her away from the castles of Camelot and King Arthur sends Sir Gawain, a knight of the Round Table, to go and rescue her.

On the way there, Gawain meets Lancelot, who just so happens to have ridden his horse to death. He then asks Gawain for a horse to find the Queen. When given one, Lancelot proceeds to furiously speed after Guinevere. Gawain finally caught up to him to find that Lancelot had also ridden his new horse to exhaustion, as it had also died.

Something important to mention here is that the stories of King Arthur were curated during the Medieval Period, a time when transportation was extremely scarce, and a horse was one of the best options out there. It’s pretty easy to assume that anybody who owned horses back then took very good care of them, and understood their value and importance. For Lancelot to ride two of them to death in such a hurry for the Queen, it must have been a shock to the readers of that time, helping them understand Lancelot’s desperation due to his dismissal of the horses’ lives.

Now that Lancelot had no more modes of transportation, what was he to do now? Luckily, he encounters a cart-driving dwarf, who just so happens to see where Lord Meleagant took Queen Guinevere.

But the dwarf will only tell him where the Queen had gone if Lancelot rides in the back of the cart, in which the dwarf will take him in. Not a bad deal right? He gets a free ride to save the Queen.

Except, it was considered incredibly dishonourable if a knight were to ride in a cart.

I’ve tried searching for a reason, and I’m not 100% sure as to why it is considered as such, but an understandable reason may be because it was usually criminals that rode in the back of the carts, being either sent in or out of cells. It would be incredibly humiliating for a heroic knight, especially one who is as great and renowned as Lancelot, to ride in it.

He hesitates.

Then he jumps in.

The dwarf moves the cart along, and Gawain follows with his horse. They read an area with two bridges, one that is underwater and one that is made up of swordblades. Both reluctant, the dwarf assures that this is the only way to get to Queen Guinevere, so Gawain takes the underwater bridge and Lancelot takes the bridge of sword blades

At this point, it is pretty obvious that Lancelot is in love with Guinevere, as Lancelot reaches where Meleagant and Guinevere are located and bests him in a duel. Meleagant begs for mercy, calling for a proper duel in King Arthur’s court, where Queen Guinevere’s hand will be officially decided by whoever wins.

In a duel, you either lose or win. Whoever draws first blood is deemed the winner. However, another way to lose is if you do not show up to the duel at all. Then you are automatically deemed the losing party.

That was Meleagant’s plan.

He captures Lancelot and locks him up in a tower so that he will not show up for the upcoming duel.

However, one of the servants, who was giving Lancelot food, fell hopelessly in love with him. She could not bear to look at him locked up and frees him from the tower on the day of the duel with the wish of a kiss (which he does). He gallops away to the duel as the servant girl sobs in her arms, for she knows the kiss was not out of love but for obligation.

His heart will always be left for Queen Guinevere. Only for her.

Lord Meleagant boasts about Lancelot being a coward to show up for a simple duel. As if it were a gag, Sir Lancelot shows up, perfectly timed, and not late at all. In a blind fury, he kills Meleagant in the duel and Queen Guinevere is safe in the hands of King Arthur once more.

At first, Guinevere is unaware of Lancelot’s loyalty and efforts, stating that she will ‘not show gratitude at all.”

But he waits. He remains patient. He could wait forever for her.

Guinevere eventually succumbed to Lancelot and his charms and soon they began a love affair, leading to the fall of the Round Table.

I’m not completely sure how their love affair was discovered, but rumours of their blooming love started to spread. King Arthur remained unmoving. He trusted Lancelot too much to doubt both his wife and his daring knight.

One day, a bunch of knights (Sir Mordred included — he is important hereafter, an Arthurian villain) stormed into Guinevere’s bed chambers, where they found Lancelot in her bed.

Lancelot was able to get away safely, but Guinevere was not. She was condemned to death for adultery.

Lancelot staged a rescue mission for Guinevere, killing a bunch of knights in the process, including Sir Gawain, the very man who helped Lancelot in finding Queen Guinevere during her rescue, ending up making enemies of each other.

I have been made to believe that Lancelot does not actually manage to save Guinevere. But Arthur had put a pause of her execution. He is written as a kind, merciful king and did not have the heart to kill her in the first place. Instead, he reluctantly declares war on Lancelot (from the advice of Mordred) and goes out in search of Lancelot, who has now went into hiding.

At this point, Mordred attempts to take the place of Arthur, declaring that the Great King has died and attempts to marry Guinevere.

King Arthur finds out and they both go into a great duel (the Battle of Cammlan) where they both eventually die, ending Arthur’s reign of Camelot.

Lancelot soon finds out about Guinevere’s whereabouts and learns that she has joined a nunnery, where she intends to live lust-free, repenting of her sins that had led to the unfortunate demise of her husband.

Sir Lancelot declares that he will do so as well, as a simple, humble man named Lancelot. With no ‘Sir’ in front of it. Just Lancelot. He becomes a monk and he and Guinevere continue this form of life until the very end.

They lived different lives, died at different times, and were buried in different places.

That concludes the dooming love affair of Sir Lancelot of the Round Table and Queen Guinevere of Camelot.

okay im going to be completely honest i have never read knight of the cart. or any chretien romance like ag all 😭😭 im such a fake fan but i cannot find a physical english copy ANYWHERE and all the free audiobooks are in french. seriously considering learning french for this…

but i do plan on reading all of chretien’s arthurian romances soon, plus all the arthurian related books including the hyper religious sacraments that are the first known texts that mention arthur. yeah. im that obsessed sorur

im also planning to do a deep dive of lancelot and guinevere’s relatyonship soon because chretien actually never finished knight of the cart and someone else did it for him and its like so interesting how he perceive courtly romance

ok thansk bye guys

[hms-lurking-latinist]

Fairly pointless Hornblower characters-rambling fic under the cut. Will probably go on AO3 in an edited state, which it is currently not in yet. This is what happens when I stop for the night in the middle of Mutiny.

“Remember poor old Clayton?” said Archie, propped in his usual careless fashion half in and half out of the door to Horatio’s berth.

Horatio muttered an oath. “How could I forget him?”

He still blamed himself. No doubt he always would. “I didn’t mean that,” said Archie.

“Then pray make your meaning clear, Mr Kennedy.”

They were alone; if Horatio had been truly angry it would have been Christian names. But Archie hadn’t meant to needle him at any rate. “I was remembering how he tried to look after us.”

“He did try,” said Horatio.

“We were scarcely older than Wellard when you came aboard,” Archie went on. “It doesn’t seem possible. I’m sure I never felt that young.”

“I did,” said Horatio surprisingly. He sat down on his bunk and Archie shifted his position, leaning on the bulkhead opposite him. “I felt like a week-old kitten.”

“You certainly looked like someone had drowned you in a sack,” said Archie. Horatio gave a slight, reluctant laugh, and a moment’s silence fell. “Clayton used to give me sips of gin,” he said eventually. “After—Jack had knocked me about.”

Horatio’s mouth narrowed disapprovingly.

“It’s not what I’d want for a boy under my command. But it was more than anyone else did for me. He was doing his best, Horatio.”

“I know he was.” He seemed uncomfortable with the conversation—of course he was—and Archie didn’t quite know why he was pursuing it. Perhaps talking about that other unhappy ship was the closest he could safely come to talking about the problems of the Renown.

“I thought I would end up rather like him. Hoped I would, really.”

Horatio’s eyebrows shot up. “Good God, why?”

“It was a hope to think I’d grow up at all. Sometimes I thought I’d be the junior midshipman forever; it was in my nature to be sixteen and smallish and sickly by spells.” It would be fair exchange if Horatio brought up his fits, seeing how many of Horatio’s sensitive spots he’d touched on just now, knowing he was doing it, but needing to talk. But this was the closest he would come if Horatio didn’t. “Sometimes I thought I’d go over the side, one way or another, before ever I was a man. But if I did make it that long I would certainly be a grown-up midshipman. I no more dreamt of passing for lieutenant than I dreamt of flying to the moon.”

A wicked glance told him that a very small Horatio had, in fact, dreamed of flying to the moon.

Archie carried on, trying to put into words what was haunting him. “And I was damned if I’d become a second Jack. So I thought I’d end up like Clayton.” He ran a hand through his hair, dislodging a shorter strand from his untidy queue. “You remember what it was like: the captain too ill to tell good men from bad—Captain Keene”—he had to specify, it could mean his life to specify—“the lieutenants negligent at best. We were only midshipmen. Clayton was as helpless as the rest of us but he noticed.”

Horatio got up from the bunk, put a hand on Archie’s shoulder. They were both somber now, thoughtful, on the edge of reliving those days—on top of the troubles of the present. “You’re doing right by Wellard,” he said.

Archie sighed. “It’s not good for him to be seen as a lieutenant’s favorite.”

Horatio’s voice dropped to barely a murmur. “He’s already the captain’s whipping boy. You’re only evening the balance.”

“I’m afraid I’m making it worse.”

“Sometimes. But with the captain there’s no telling anyway.”

Horatio could be diplomatic when duty demanded, but when he spoke bluntly like that he meant it. Archie felt a little cheered, but still unhappy. But before he could say anything else there was a noise in the wardroom, and they sprang apart like guilty lovers, trying to look natural, trying not to look like conspirators.

It was only Buckland. “Good afternoon, gentlemen,” he said as they emerged unconspiratorially into the wardroom. “You were about—” his voice dropped—“important matters?”

Archie and Horatio glanced at each other. “Not at all,” said Horatio. “Just reminiscing about our first ship.”

“Ah, the carefree days of boyhood,” said Buckland with a nod.

It was all Archie could do to nod back straight-faced.

[megalony]

What Do I Do?

This is a new Jonah Hauer-King imagine that is going to have a follow up part. Requested by the amazing @musicistheway I hope this is what you wanted hun. Any other requests would be amazing and feedback always makes my day.

Taglist: @lunaticspoem @butlegendsneverdie @langdonzvoid @jennyggggrrr @rogmeddows @radiob-l-a-hblah @rogertaylorsbitontheside @chlobo6 @rogertaylors-lipgloss @sj-thefan @omgitsearly @luckytrashgooprebel @scarsout @deaky-with-a-c @killer-queen-ofrhye @bluutac @vousmemanqueez-blog @jonesyaddiction @milanosaurus @httpfandxms @saint-hardy @7-seas-of-fat-bottomed-girls @mrsalwayswritex @rogerina-owns-me  @hellsdragon @im-an-adult-ish @crazylittlethingg @allauraleigh @onceuponadetectivedemigod @ceres27 @avyannadawn  @noonenuts @sleepylunarwolf @coverupps @justagirlthatlovedtoread

@jonahhauer-kingg @melaninjoys​ @luna2034

Masterlist

Summary: It's (Y/n)'s first time attending a public event with Jonah and it's a great night for both of them. Until (Y/n)'s health suddenly takes a drastic turn for the worst and Jonah doesn't know why.

Enjoy.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Is this really a good idea?" (Y/n) could feel the cold slither of panic crawling up the back of her throat and a chill scratching up her back the moment they approached the crowds.

Her feet slowed down and it felt very tempting to turn around and walk away, there was still time. She could find herself a ride home and disappear without anyone knowing she had even been here in the first place. Jonah could stay and go ahead as if nothing was the matter. He could make up an excuse as to why (Y/n) wasn't with him or dismissed the subject like he did when he attended other press events and (Y/n) didn't tag along. There was still time to back out and turn around.

It was as if Jonah could hear every thought swirling around in her mind because his arm circled around her waist and he coiled her into his side with a loving kiss to her temple.

"Why wouldn't it be a good idea?"

"I'll embarrass you," (Y/n) didn't mean to say it, she truly didn't but as soon as it popped into her mind it slipped past her lips and she cringed at her own admission.

Her eyes cast down to her shoes when Jonah moved to stand in front of her but when his fingers pressed beneath her chin and tilted her head up to look at him, she felt like she was going to melt on the spot. His curls were hanging near his soft, melting eyes that were begging for an audience and his hands moved up to cup her face.

"You couldn't do that even if you tried. Everyone is gonna love you, not as much as I do though. It will be fine, I'm not leaving you alone."

(Y/n) could scarcely breathe when Jonah's lips were on hers and she felt like a puppet on a string when his arms circled around her waist, twisting them round so he was behind her and her back was glued up against his chest. His kiss stole the air from her lungs so badly that (Y/n) didn't even realise they were walking until they were suddenly approaching the crowds and a commotion of voices caught (Y/n) off guard.

They were really doing this, they were going through with this and there was no turning back now.

"You'll be fine," His words whispered against the shell of her ear made a shiver crawl down her spine and she tried her best to believe him.

This would be the first time (Y/n) would accompany Jonah to such a big event like this, or to any event and she didn't want to make the wrong impression. She might rub people up the wrong way or offend someone and (Y/n) dreaded the thought of anything thinking she wasn't good enough for Jonah.

Jonah wasn't gullable, he knew the real reason why (Y/n) was panicking and it crushed his heart when he thought about it. With his lips pressed against the back of her head and his nose buried in her hair, inhaling her scent, he could feel himself calming down as much as she was. His arms stayed tight around (Y/n)'s waist and their legs moved in rhythm, walking together like they were one person merged together.

There were a few reasons why (Y/n) didn't accompany him to events like this, the pain one was privacy.

(Y/n) wasn't in the public eye. She wasn't famous or an influencer or well known for her work or her hobbies. Privacy was something they both valued and one way to keep the level of privacy they had been used to over the years was for (Y/n) to stay home. The public didn't know who she was or what she looked like, she could walk down the street without people gawking or stopping her or trying to talk to her.

Jonah attended events like this by himself and no one asked why he didn't have a plus one. The press were bored with the same response he gave them each and every time they asked where his partner was.

'She's fine, thank you for asking.' She's at home, thank you for asking.'

That was all Jonah would say to any question, whether it was asking what job (Y/n) had, what she did, where she was or how she was doing. Nobody even knew her name, that was how private Jonah kept their lives and they both loved it that way.

But this was different.

This was the biggest movie or production that Jonah had been apart of, this was making his name known out in the world.

Usually, (Y/n) would cheer Jonah on from home. She would spam his phone with messages, congratulating him and pouring out her affections for his continued work and effort he put into every project he was part of. (Y/n) would watch the interviews and press releases and see all the photos from home and support him while he went out and answered questions and met the fans.

She knocked him off his feet when she asked if he would like her to come along with him tonight.

(Y/n) knew Jonah knew the other reason she was nervous about being here tonight.

She didn't want to embarrass him because of her health conditions.

"If I, if I start to-"

"If you feel funny, you tell me and we'll disappear for a bit and if you need to go, we go home. We're a team and we do this together, sweetheart." His lips smothered the back of her head and his fingers tapped against her waist in time with the music they could hear flooding the background.

They had been together for years, they were one in the same and Jonah knew (Y/n) inside and out. He knew what to do if she had a seizure due to her epilepsy, whether it was an absent seizure or a full blown spasming one, he knew just how to take care of her and make sure she was alright when she came back around. And he could read her blood levels and help her control her diabetes. Jonah knew what a low level was and when to administer glucose or when to give insulin.

They had a system, if they were out together with family or shopping or out in public and (Y/n) didn't feel well, Jonah could always scout out a quiet spot for them to sit in and wait for her to recover. This would be the same, he would find a quiet corner or a room if (Y/n) needed to bump up her levels or if she felt like she would have a seizure.

He knew what he was doing.

"Why don't we sit with Hailey, I could introduce you and we can order some drinks?" Jonah moved around so he was standing at (Y/n)'s side rather than being glued to her back. His hand cupped her hip and he felt her arm slip beneath his blazer and tuck into the waistband of his trousers, making him grin.

"Sure,"

He wanted (Y/n) to feel excited and included and happy tonight, he didn't want her feeling like she was some kind of burden or embarrassment because he didn't see her like that. Never.

"I can have one drink with you to celebrate, then I'll stick to no sugar."

"Perfect."

If (Y/n) wanted to drink alcohol, she had to measure, count and adjust her carbohydrates in food and watch her sugar intake and adjust her meds so she didn't get too much or too little insulin. Needless to say she didn't drink alcohol often. It was easier not to and it wasn't something (Y/n) was crazy about anyway so it didn't really matter.

But tonight she felt like celebrating and she'd planned to have one drink to join in the fun with Jonah before she went with a pepsi max or something soft and sugar free for the rest of the night. Plus, they already ate before they came out so (Y/n) knew her levels would be fine. It was easier to stick to a diet and eat at regular times, mostly the same times each day to help her body stay adjusted and controlled.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Drinks came crashing down on the table left, right and centre in front of everyone like they had been dropped from the sky by magic. Two waiters unloaded their trays, clashing glasses together and spilling a mixture of gin and tonic, beer and soft drinks all over the table but it only fuelled the laughter.

"Which one is mine?" (Y/n) kept her voice low before she perched her chin on Jonah's shoulder and dragged her fingertips over his thigh. No one had actually said what each drink was, they were just placed down where they thought they should be.

Jonah hovered his hand over three glasses and circled each rim with the pad of his finger like a magician about to do a trick or make soft music with the glasses. He settled on the glass closest to him which looked like flat coke with no fizz or bubbles.

(Y/n) watched him take a gulp and subsequently cringe before he shook his head and put it back down. Whatever it was, it wasn't nice.

He grabbed another glass and had a smaller taste which brought a smile back to his face and he darted his tongue out to lick his lips before he nodded and placed it down in front of (Y/n). He rubbed his fingers together before taking his thumb between his lips to lick off the excess syrup that spilt down onto his hand.

"It's rather sweet, but it's yours."

"Thank you,"

He was right, there was more syrup than soda in her coke but it was definitely sugar free, Jonah could tell the difference from one small mouthful whether something had sugar or not. He was an expert in sending drinks back when it didn't have the sugar he craved, or indeed if it had sugar which (Y/n) didn't want.

Jonah raised a brow but curved his lips into a smile when (Y/n) downed it in one like it was a race and if it had been a cocktail or beer, he would have been even more impressed.

"Can we get another coke zero please?" His fingers hooked around the glass and placed it back on the waiter's tray before he had chance to leave. There was a long wait for servers to come back round to each table and the bar was too crammed to even think about going up there for a refill. "Thirsty?"

"Hm, very." (Y/n) felt like she could drink three or four more glasses, her throat was so dry and that coke didn't help at all.

"Don't think I've ever seen you drink so much." It was good, Jonah couldn't remember the last time he'd seen (Y/n) have so many drinks and they'd only been here a couple of hours. She'd had a cocktail with him and then switched to coke and their table was bulk ordering drinks so they didn't have to wait.

But it was good, they were laughing, joking and the energy was getting extatic and it was the first time Jonah had (Y/n) by his side at an event like this. This was a good night.

"How about a dance?" (Y/n) let her eyes flit across to the dance floor and her hand danced a little higher up Jonah's thigh while she hooked her other arm around his neck to pull him closer.

He took her by surprise when his hand cupped her jaw and his thumb traced along her chin. When she leaned in to kiss him, she felt his teeth nipping at her lower lip earning a groan in response.

"Let's dance,"

(Y/n) couldn't feel her feet moving when Jonah took her hand and led the way across the large floor towards the music. There were quite a few people dancing and lots of people swaying and shimmying in their seats, (Y/n) wouldn't have suggested dancing if no one else was up doing it too. They found themselves a spot just out of reach of anyone else just as the song began to change.

With her arms hooked together around the back of his neck, (Y/n) pushed up higher on her toes to be a bit more level with Jonah's incredible height. His hands easily fell to hold her hips, tugging her closer until every inch of her was flush against his chest and their foreheads were pressed together.

His fingers squeezed the flesh beneath her dress and turned her body from left to right in time with the beat.

She could see and feel him mumbling the lyrics quietly between them like he was passing them into (Y/n)'s lips, a secret love language no one else could hear or understand. With how close they were, it was easy for (Y/n) to tickle her nose against his and dance her lips across his, causing his tongue to reach out and wet his lips that were desperate for more.

"Thank you for bringing me,"

"I'm glad you wanted to come."

It wouldn't be a reoccuring scene, they both knew in order to keep their privacy, it would be easier and better if (Y/n) didn't attend a lot of these events. No photos had directly been taken of them yet, only a few group photos at the table so far so not a lot was given away and only Jonah's newfound friends knew her name.

But for a one off opportunity, it was a very fun and happy night for them both.

A smile burned bright on (Y/n)'s features when Jonah curled his leg around the back of hers and spun them both on his heels so they were facing the other way. A few more twists and spins had (Y/n)'s brain turning to mush and her vision dancing before her, but Jonah was all she could see, even when she closed her eyes.

She could feel his lips on hers, his lips along her jaw, down the side of her neck and his hands sliding round from her wrist to her bum. She could sense her mind starting to wander, her body beginning to burn and loosen until Jonah was leading them in every which way along the dance floor.

Then she realised she was still thirsty; achingly so. It was causing her throat to tighten and her stomach was burning but she couldn't understand why when she'd already drank so much.

They went from multiple spins and twirls to a soft sway from side to side and (Y/n) slowly raked her fingers up and down Jonah's neck until she could feel him shivering against her and his lips moved so he could bite down on her neck in response.

Both of them suddenly sensed it. The shaking.

A rhythm found them and for a few seconds or even minutes, (Y/n) lost herself in his touch and the music, until she felt his fingers digging into her flesh and his voice whispering 'are you okay' quietly in her ear. Then she felt her fingers shaking against his neck and the subtle jittering beneath her skin that must have rattled into Jonah too.

"Just a little dizzy, don't let me go." Closing her eyes, (Y/n) tucked her face deep into Jonah's neck, nuzzling the collar of his shirt out the way so she could feel and kiss his soft skin. She didn't want to stop yet, she didn't want to go and sit back down, not when dancing gave them this beautiful little bubble that she didn't want to pop.

"Seizure dizzy or sugar dizzy?" His lips pressed against the side of her head just above her ear and his nose tickled against her hair but it was soothing. It was good to feel him breathing against her hair and mumbling words into her skin like this as they continued to drift from side to side, as slow as Jonah could possibly move.

"Not sure,"

"Then we need to check your blood, sweetheart."

Jonah hissed through the last word when he felt teeth sinking into his neck, deep enough to leave a bruise but tempting enough to distract him in other ways.

"One more song." It was a bargain he knew (Y/n) couldn't refuse because they either left the dance floor now or after the next song, he wouldn't wait any longer. Not when he could feel her shaking, her skin burning and she'd admitted she was dizzy. That was a sign of an oncoming storm that they needed to sail through as managable as possible.

By the end of the song (Y/n) couldn't stand still without feeling the room moving around her. When she tried to focus on their table ahead of them, everything tilted to the left and her head was just desperate to follow and lean into Jonah to try and straighten out her vision and balance.

"I don't feel good."

Jonah stopped walking when (Y/n)'s whole body tilted to the left and almost fell into him. She couldn't keep balance and he could see her visibly sweating, she didn't look very well and he wasn't risking staying near this crowd and having everyone witness something happening. It wouldn't be pleasant for (Y/n).

He kept his arm tight around her waist, securing her into his side as he veered them around the side of the table. In a swift motion, without breaking his stride, Jonah leaned down and scooped (Y/n)'s bag up from the floor and hooked it over his shoulder. He then continued to guide (Y/n) past the table and down towards the back of the room where he knew a corridor led off to the toilets.

That would give them privacy.

One hand held (Y/n)'s waist like it was his lifeline, not daring to let his grip loosen for one second. His other hand wrapped tightly around the chain strap of (Y/n)'s bag that was bashing against his hip from his quick strides. He knew she didn't go anywhere without her insulin, glucose and blood checker.

Five feet away from the corridor, next to a large cardboard cut-out poster and a table of snacks, (Y/n) crashed.

Her head snapped back into Jonah's shoulder, her hand that had been gripping his wrist suddenly tightened and deadlocked around him and her weight crashed back into his chest.

He knew instantly that they were both going to fall, he couldn't stop either of them from going down.

His arm tightened around her waist and held her into his chest to break the fall but he couldn't stop himself from gasping and groaning loudly when the back of his head smacked into the marble floor and (Y/n) landed on top of him. Both her legs were tangled around Jonah's right leg and it hurt when she started to spasm.

Her head started to lash back into his shoulder and the side of his face and her body bashed against his chest and winded him.

"Fuck!"

It was a lot harder than it seemed for Jonah to wriggle out beneath (Y/n) but he almost cried when his wrist twisted at an odd angle when (Y/n)'s arm coiled to her chest, her fingers gripped around his wrist viciously. She couldn't help it, she'd been holding onto him when she started to seize and every muscle was now locked and spasming, she couldn't let go even if she wanted to.

"Put that over there please. I don't want people looking at her!" Jonah pointed between the attendant nearby and the cardboard poster which was conveniently large enough to cover most of their scene. He didn't want everyone looking their way and watching or God forbid, recording what was happening. They were near the corridor and secluded in the corner, with the poster in the way they would have some privacy.

The attendant did as told while Jonah scuffled along the floor behind (Y/n) and slowly rolled her onto her left side, tilting her head down as she continued to thrash against him and the floor.

His left hand smoothed over the back of her neck and he briefly leaned down to kiss her shoulder while he wrapped his right arm across her waist. This position kept (Y/n) in place in an awkward recovery position for safety and it made it easier for her to seize while holding his wrist that was beginning to ignite in pain.

"Oh, sweetheart." He continued to kiss her shoulder but he could have cried when he noticed the blood.

She was biting down on her tongue and it was starting to bleed. A slather of blood and spit was trailing down her chin, but it wasn't as much as Jonah had witnessed before. He'd seen her puncture her teeth into the middle of her tongue and cause a river of blood a while ago.

"Baby? Are you with me?" Hope flooded his voice when (Y/n) slowly started to calm after a horrid minute ticked by.

Every muscle seemed to relax but it let the shaking come back. Her head tipped forward and her aching fingers finally released Jonah's wrist and he could see her eyes fluttering behind her eyelids.

Leaning back on his heels, Jonah took a second to bend and click his wrist before he shed his blazer. He waited another few seconds, making sure (Y/n) had stopped seizing and she was conscious before he sat her up and wrapped his jacket around her shoulders, letting her lean back into his chest for support.

(Y/n) let her head fall into the crook of Jonah's neck and shoulder and she tried to smile when his arm cocooned around her waist. She could feel him dabbing at her lips with his sleeve to wipe away the blood that was staining her face and pooling in her mouth.

"I need to check your blood sugar."

He dropped his sleeve and tried to reach across for (Y/n)'s bag strap, yanking it closer so he could rummage around for the little black zip-up case that held her emergency insulin, her glucose powder and her blood checker.

But when he turned to look back at her, his eyes narrowed.

He pressed the palm of his hand against her face and twisted her head to face him before pressing a finger to her eyelid to pull it back. Her pupils were blown and her chin was ticking up and down along with very short breaths that sounded like she was trying to make a clicking sound.

Jonah had never seen (Y/n) go straight from a big spasming seizure into an absent seizure before. She'd been conscious less than a minute before slipping into this seizure, that wasn't like her at all.

"Sorry baby, but I still need to check."

It felt like he was cuddling a child close to his chest, with (Y/n) laid awkwardly between his legs, his chin now on top of her head and one arm strapped around her stomach, holding her left wrist in his hand. He was quick but careful when he punctured the needle into the tip of her index finger and smeared the blood onto the end of the device.

Her glucose was too high.

Jonah did a quick survey of his surroundings. The attendant was worriedly stood to the side of the doorway, watching closely in case he had to call for help or do something if Jonah asked. But the table and the poster were sufficiently shielding them from onlookers, although he could still hear murmurs and whispers asking what was happening and if everything was okay.

No one could see him, that was all he needed to know.

Reaching over, Jonah grabbed the hem of (Y/n)'s dress and hiked it up high until it was bunched around her waist, only just covering her underwear. He punctured the insulin needle into her upper left thigh before dropping it back in her bag. The insulin was for emergencies only, he had seen (Y/n) take both her epilepsy meds and her daily insulin today, she shouldn't be going into a hyper like this or having severe seizures.

She was fine before they came out, what had happened whilst they'd been here for her to take a bad turn like this?

When (Y/n)'s head started to tick and jutter a lot faster and higher, Jonah glanced at the watch strapped to his wrist. She had been in this absent seizure for about three minutes, but add that to the one she had right before, it was over five minutes, give or take. That was dangerous.

"You need to call an ambulance. Now."

"What do I tell them?"

"Someone's having a seizure lasting over four minutes and she's got hyperglycaemia." Jonah watched him run before he turned his attention back down to (Y/n), laid out in his arms.

She was still seizing and any seizure lasting four or five minutes without stopping was when medical attention was needed. He'd never had to call for an ambulance before, most of (Y/n)'s seizures were only thirty seconds long. The longest had been two minutes, this wasn't what Jonah was used to and he didn't like it at all.

She had far too much glucose in her body which she shouldn't have and he didn't know if the insulin he gave her was going to be enough to get her levels down or not. Hyperglycaemia was dangerous, if her body was already breaking down fat for energy due to the glucose, she could get acid in her blood and that was deadly.

"Come on baby, wake up, come back to me now." Jonah smoothed his thumb over (Y/n)'s cheek, adding more and more pressure to try and rouse her but it wasn't working. He wanted the seizure to stop, he wanted everything to stop and (Y/n) to wake up and start to feel better.

Jonah couldn't stop himself from beginning to cry when (Y/n) started to spasm. First it was her head getting more and more violent back and forth, but then it was her arms pinning to her chest and bashing into her torso so badly she was going to wind and bruise herself.

She was slipping out of the absent seizure and back into the one she'd had earlier. And all Jonah could do was twist her back onto her side in the recovery position and curl around her to hold her steady.

His tears pooled along her neck and his wet lips smothered her cheek while his hand gripped her arm.

"Baby, what do I do?"

[irenethewoman]

Mrs. Shelby- Chapter Three- Thomas

Masterlist

Fic Masterlist

Join Taglist

Even after four years of being a part-time family teacher, I was still Shelby's only habit of reading newspapers. Four years ago, I started using newspapers to teach the children to read, just like my father once did.

But unfortunately, not to boast, these children don't have the political talent I had back then.

'Harry, don't grab your sister's hair,' the child named Harry, who was called out, reluctantly put down his restless hands and took the knife and fork I handed him.

At the breakfast table, the children were eating quietly, and I continued to browse the newspaper. Every day, I paid attention to the constantly updated list of casualties in the newspaper. 'Shelby' had never appeared in that section. But I also knew that on the battlefield, there would be many nameless bodies.

To the common people, this war was nothing more than a brief outing, an exciting adventure. Those young people were afraid of missing the opportunity for a splendid death in their lifetime, so they eagerly rushed to enlist, cheering and singing on the train. They were all hot-headed, forgetting the mundane world.

My brother, on the other hand, was quite clear-headed. This was something he said, rare for his alcohol-soaked brain, and he said it when my father wanted to send him to the army for training before he passed away.

Good people don't live long, and harm lasts for thousands of years. This saying is truly not wrong.

Maria is Martha's eldest daughter, and she resembles her mother, a gentle and obedient girl. If she were born into a wealthy family in London, she would definitely be the most sought-after presence in the marriage market.

'I miss Dad so much, Aunt Demi,' I looked at the girl next to me who was helping me wash the dishes. She was so young and beautiful, and she looked so fragile. She had already endured enough hardship, and you couldn't bear to tell her the painful reality. After all, at this age, I still believed in Santa Claus.

'They will come back, dear. Just like an adventure that has ended, Dad and uncles will come back with medals to embrace our little Maria.'

Martha's health had deteriorated after giving birth to her fourth child in 1915, becoming thin, weak, and sickly, as if a gust of wind could blow her away. During the war, resources were scarce, and medicines were even more precious. Her illness could only be postponed. Polly needed to support the family, and Finn always played with his nephews and nieces, while Ada personally managed them. The responsibility of taking care of the children fell on me and little Maria. In her, I saw a shadow of my past, a girl accustomed to taking care of others, so among Martha's four children, I cherished her the most and always liked to keep her by my side. If circumstances allowed, I really wanted to teach her to dance, ride horses, hunt, play the piano, and teach her everything I knew.

The days that followed were as gray and dull as the Birmingham sky, with one ordinary day after another. But the soldiers gradually returned to their hometown, and this deserted city was slowly recovering. The quiet streets were filled with pedestrians, and the bars gradually became lively.

Many people would wait at the train station for their loved ones. They hugged each other on the platform, tears of joy in their eyes. Those who didn't meet their loved ones would look at the reunited people with envy, exchange a few words of good luck, and then eagerly wait for the next train to arrive. If they didn't get the news today, they would continue waiting tomorrow. For now, no news was the best news.

I often finished my work:

Platform waiting for her father and uncles. There was an old white-haired woman who started waiting before the sun even rose, and she waited until sunset. She just stood on the platform waiting, like an unyielding rock.

'I see Dad!' Maria jumped for joy and pulled me towards her long-lost loved ones.

John Shelby was a man with blue eyes, fairer skin than his brothers, and he looked like a bright and lively man. When he saw Maria, he put down his luggage and embraced his daughter.

Arthur was the eldest, easy to recognize with a thick beard that made him look like a teddy bear. I nodded to him cautiously, as a form of greeting.

But when I looked at the man in the middle of them, I couldn't take my eyes off him.

He had a pair of gem-like clear blue eyes, strong cheekbones, a straight and high nose, and lips that weren't the typical thin British type, adding a touch of sensuality. He looked like a melancholic young prince full of starlight.

I knew he was Thomas Shelby, the Shelby who had terrified Small Heath. But he didn't quite match the rumors...

11:42

The men of the Shelby family had finally returned safely.

We had prepared a sumptuous meal and were busy in the kitchen.

'Demi, go call the children back. I'll keep an eye on things in the kitchen.' Seeing his nephews return safely, Polly, who had been tense all this time, finally showed a long-lost smile. 'The kids, and those big kids.'

I replied and hummed a tune as I walked out of the house.

It's good, things are moving in the right direction. Although we can't predict the future, coming back safely from the battlefield is always a good sign.

"Harry!"

I called out to the children, waving my hand. "Come inside, boys, it's time for dinner!"

John and Arthur brought the children into the house. I stood in the yard, watching the smiles on their faces, genuinely happy for them.

Once they were all inside, I realized that one person was missing. Where was Thomas?

11:42

"John, where's Thomas?" I stopped John, who was walking at the back, and he looked friendlier than his brother.

"Tommy?" John turned around almost subconsciously, as if his brother was right behind him. "He's probably in the shower."

In fact, I ran into Thomas on my way to the store to buy chocolate.

I saw the light in my office, but I distinctly remembered locking the door, and the ledgers on the table were not something to be made public.

I cautiously opened the door and saw Thomas standing at my desk, not sure what he was doing.

Afraid of startling him, I knocked on the door.

He just raised his eyes to look at me.

"Tonight, Polly prepared a big meal with meat and wine, but there's only chocolate here, which the girls like." I leaned against the door, trying to lighten the awkward atmosphere with a joke. "Are you looking for someone to fulfill your needs, sir? What?"

11:42

I thought I had misheard. For years, no one had looked at me like that. Besides, could there really be such a beautiful prostitute in Birmingham? Or why would a beautiful prostitute with a Chelsea accent come to Birmingham?

"Are you a prostitute?" He actually repeated, thinking I hadn't heard him the first time.

"Of course

not. If you're looking for someone to satisfy your needs, I'd suggest you find a professional." My face must have looked awful, "If you're just here to amuse yourself with me, then please forgive me for not indulging you."

"I'm sorry." I heard him apologize softly as I turned away. Hearing his deep, hoarse voice, I felt a little soft-hearted and turned back.

"Going back? I need a knight to escort me back to my castle."

He smiled, like a rare clear sky in London in the spring, soft and beautiful. Although this man was a bit strange, he was undeniably good-looking. I thought to myself.

"My pleasure, Your Highness." The dinner ended smoothly. Our stomachs were filled with soft white bread, roasted potatoes, roast beef, and rum. The adults lay on the couch, continuing to drink whiskey and chat. I glanced at the clock; it was almost eleven. I yawned and hurried the children upstairs to bed.

Even though I hadn't been drinking, this group of children was as excited as if they had been given a shot of adrenaline, causing a commotion in the bedroom. They wanted me to tell them stories, one after another, and as soon as there was a slight pause, they would start misbehaving. Even though I was exhausted and my head was spinning, I kept telling stories until dawn, finally coaxing those little devils to sleep. I was so tired from telling stories that my throat was dry and my tongue was parched, so I went downstairs to get a glass of water. There was no one in the living room anymore; it seemed that everyone had gone to sleep.

I passed by Thomas's room and saw that his door wasn't closed like the others, and the light was still on. Maybe he was just too tired

I yawned and, with tired steps, headed towards his room to turn off the light and close the door.

I was so tired, and from now on, whoever had children would take care of them. It was as if a group of little demons!

Thomas was lying on his narrow bed, his eyes tightly closed, his brows furrowed, and sweat on his face, looking very distressed. I gently nudged him, "Thomas? Tommy?"

11:43

He suddenly opened his eyes, and the fierceness in his eyes frightened me. He quickly pulled out a pistol from under his pillow and pointed it at me.

I fell back to the floor in fear. The coldness of the floor, the pain in my butt, and the fear and helplessness of being pointed at by a gun all overwhelmed my brain.

What kind of person is this? First, he mistook me for a prostitute, and now he's pointing a gun at me. I haven't even slept yet, and he's pointing a gun at me...

I felt extremely wronged, and tears fell to the ground with a plop.

He put down the gun and picked me up from the floor, hugging me and patting my back gently as if comforting a child.

I deliberately wiped my nose and tears on his pajamas.

"What are you still doing up?" I tried to speak with irritation and amusement as I attempted to pull my hand away.

"Have you had nightmares?" I heard him speak as I was dozing off.

"I always hear the sound of digging in the walls." "What shovel?"

"We were sent on a mission, underground, and the German soldiers were digging tunnels. I prayed, prayed that they would dig slowly, even slower, or that the day would come faster..."

To be honest, I was shocked listening to him.

Nobles don't become soldiers, and soldiers are all commoners, but my father had great respect for those soldiers who died in battle. But no one ever told me these things, told me that those soldiers were also human, capable of fear. Lying in a foreign land, either in eternal sleep or living with nightmares.

I gently patted his shoulder. "Wait for me to come back." Then I quietly slipped downstairs to make a cup of hot milk and brought it back upstairs.

I handed the milk to him.

Thomas looked at me somewhat surprisingly. "What's wrong? I've just put your nieces and nephews to sleep, sir." I replied, half annoyed. "If you need someone to sing you to sleep or tell you stories, do you want that too? And I'm not a nanny."

But he still didn't let go of my hand. "I want to hear your story."

My story? It's long and grim, it will break your heart." I continued trying to pull my hand away.

"It's already broken."

Looking into his sincere blue eyes, I sighed in resignation. Those eyes seemed to have some kind of magic, making me lose the ability to refuse, so I recalled the first 15 years of my life that I had buried deep in my heart.

"Can you help me?"

In my drowsiness, I heard him speak.

"Familiar with what?" I tried to open my eyelids to look at him.

All these messed-up things, messed-up life, business... I found you, and you found me... We help each other." He held me a bit tighter, but I was too tired, and his warmth made me even more sleepy.

Oh, what's the matter, we can talk about it tomorrow... Tomorrow is a new day...

[therookandthecrow]

Lucanis is remarkable to my main Rook in many senses, one of those being that he's the first and only person to whom Aloisius is loyal to, let alone affection towards.

Even with that said, he'd never been in a truly romantic relationship before. Lucanis is the person he'd always yearned for, even if he didn't know it before - at least, if he did, he never acknowledged it.

There are more mature, adult themes under the cut - I had a hard time getting this to show up in the Lucanis tag when I tried to post it twice before, so here is my third, and hopefully final, try.

He'd been in psychos*xual trysts and in arrangements with other people in which mutual carnal gratification was involved, but those were always for the reason of him gaining something from that person. [I.e., what he had going with several elites while working at a high-end brothel]

The elven Shadow Dragon veteran was accustomed to utilizing his s*xuality to seduce others in the perfectly Machiavellian sense. There's a lot to unravel here, narratively about his status as an elf in Tevinter society. There is a lot of resentment he holds hidden from plain view.

Take that into account along with the chip ingrained on his shoulder, and there is more to unlearn about his belief that the world is inherently indebted to him. Aloisius has internalized a lot of anger over the years; in that such way, he and Lucanis mirror one another.

Aloisius would jump from partner to partner in the most cavalier sense, feelings be damned. I truly believe that all of his previous, toxic behaviors will melt away through his relationship with Lucanis and that he'll end up fixing my Rook, albeit unintentionally.

The first time that he'd have sex with Lucanis would actually be the first time that he'd have made love with someone. And by the Maker, it was the best s*x he'd ever had in his life. Love was the missing ingredient, and he was incredibly thirsty for it. One could swear he was drinking Lucanis' soul through a straw with how intensely and ravenously he'd kiss him.

He was used to h@te-s*x before, especially with Venatori. Aloisius scarcely concealed his disdain for the Tevinter, human supremacists who'd been a thorn in his side for over a decade of his life. It was amusing to him that they couldn't stay away from him, especially the previous Inquisition prisoner, Livius Erimond.

For Lucanis, and for Lucanis alone, he'd be a soft lover. For Lucanis, s*x will be associated with love and with affection instead of as a bargaining chip or as a means to and end - never expressly for pleasure apart from the sadism he felt when cruelly dominating Venatori and hunting them like prey, and vice versa.

I think that Aloisius is going to have to deal with the fact that his s*xuality never really belonged to him before, because while he thought that he was the one in control before, he had been actively going out of his way to engage s*xually with his marked enemies. It was a game of domination.

I can see the s*x between them being very, very emotional - and while Aloisius likes to carry a facade of cold arrogance and apathy towards the world in general, I can see him crying after sleeping with Lucanis for the first time because all of those emotions are being released through a healthy manner.

For all the pretenses that he held about being unemotional, he was accepting that he had feelings - and for the first time in his life, healthy feelings for another person. He was in love. Odd, he didn't care if he was seen crying, he trusted Lucanis and wanted nothing more than to spend his life with him.

[shit-enmu-says]

Phantasmagoria: Part 1

Note: A couple weeks ago I posted an excerpt from a drabble I’m writing about the events leading up to Enmu becoming a demon. I intentionally left certain things vague which will be brought to light later on. I intended to portray Enmu as having been through someone with his fair share of struggles while still keeping his dubious morality and lack of empathy intact. No title for this yet. Titles are hard.

Part 1

Scattered notes and open books littered Dr. Tamio’s work desk. The man himself was slumped over a large notebook, glasses askew. His eyes had dark shadows beneath them like bruises. His chin length hair was lank from going just a bit too long without being washed. A few stray locks had fallen out of place, plastered to his forehead from sweat. A sharp knock at the door jolted him from slumber. He twitched and shot straight up in his chair, a page of his notes stuck to the side of his face.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing in here?”

The door creaked open to reveal an older man with grey-streaked hair pulled into a low ponytail. Were it not for how time had harshened his once youthful features, he and Enmu would have been near identical. Ayumu Tamio was Enmu’s older brother by fifteen years and the only surviving family he had left.

Enmu blinked slowly as his brother’s face swam into view and straightened his glasses. “Ah Ayumu-san,” Enmu said, “I was just studying, that’s all.”

“Really? Because it looks like you were slacking off,” Ayumu said, folding his arms. His brother had raised him from the time Enmu was six, more of a parental figure to him than a sibling. Though only in his early forties Ayumu’s health was failing him, forcing him into early retirement. Enmu had been training to replace him since his early twenties. It was only for the past year he’d truly began taking over Ayumu’s position, though his brother still frequented the place at times to oversee things.

“I gave you a position here because I thought you could handle it. You better start pulling your weight around here if you want me to tolerate your eccentricities.”

Enmu frowned and straightened up his notes, scattered around the desk. He fully intended on studying but passed out. His nightmares were back, the ones so uncomfortably vivid he often thought they actually happened. They always came back when he was under stress. When he awoke he scarcely felt rested at all.

Really Ayumu did him a favor waking him from that. Visions of dark shadows with clawed hands following him through the woods behind the house he and his brother shared were still fresh in his mind.

“There’s something I need you to look at,” Ayumu said.

“It is still early in the day,” Enmu spoke carefully. Ayumu demanded absolute obedience even now. It was best not to upset him. “Someone else may show up for an appointment.”

“That can wait,” his brother replied, “There is a far more urgent matter at hand.”

Enmu frowned as he stood up and pushed in his chair. It must be serious for him to call him away from his office like this. A loud knocking came from the front of the building, loud enough to make him stumble back. “May I see who’s knocking first?” Enmu asked, “They seem a bit impatient.”

Ayumu’s expression darkened. “What are you going on about?” he snapped. “That knocking just now at the front door,” Enmu said.

His brother fixed him with a cold, unblinking stare. “No one knocked, Enmu,” he said, “If that is happening again how could you possibly handle this position?”

Enmu froze. Again? He hasn’t experienced problems like these for ages. Why now? He couldn’t afford to slip up now no matter what. Especially not with what he was trying to pull off when he took Ayumu’s place as head of the family business. He breathed in slowly, allowing his expression to shift into a polite smile. “Pardon me,” he said, “It appears my little joke was in poor taste.” It wasn’t much of an excuse, but at least he didn’t sound like a madman.

“Damn it, Enmu,” Ayumu swore, “Do you have any idea how difficult it was for me to deal with the consequences of your delusions when you were younger? Don’t let me catch you making light of such things again.”

Enmu stared at the ground, unable to meet his gaze. At least he bought the story but did he really have to bring those dark, dark days up again? He wouldn’t be able to keep making excuses for himself though. He had to get this under control or the results could be potentially catastrophic.

“My apologies,” he replied, bowing his head. “Now just what was it you wanted to show me?”

[springbreezes-and-peonies]

Peony, has Taranza ever told you about Sectonia?

(IMPORTANT INFO: I consider most answers/asks in her ask box to be from a time after most of her main story that I’m working on is finished. So she’s sort of answering these from “the future” or at least from a point way later in my writing. It’s also important to note that in my writing I make Taranza king of Floralia as personal headcanon. With that in mind here you go! And anyone interested in her story, the first chapter is pinned to my page as it’s her character intro but I’ll probably change this pinning once I’ve written the next chapter to be a link to all chapters in order)

“Ah…yes of course. I can still remember when he did too. The day we met, I asked him about her, as I’d never met her but I knew of her from what my plants would tell me about her. I knew about how beautiful and beloved she was, especially by him, and I knew about her tragic change, but I didn’t really KNOW her. Not like that. And I knew her even less than most of our people having grown up in isolation. I asked him about her out of curiosity and wanting to know what she was like from someone who knew her very well, after all he’d been her best friend and husband.

Immediately he asked me not to talk about her if I could, as it was ‘too painful to speak about.’ I didn’t want to pry, and I’m not one to press people, so I simply nodded and agreed not to. In hindsight, and with more social experience now, I think I may have been a little impolite asking such a heavy question to someone I KNEW was her widower but at the time I really didn’t know any better…

Later that night, while he was keeping dry in my home from a storm HE asked ME if he could talk about her. I told him certainly, that I’d love to hear, now I think he must have been thinking about her all day ever since I begged the question…Well, once I told him I’d love to hear…he…Oh…He just broke down into tears. I still remember that sad face, and the noise that came from him. I’ve scarcely heard such a pained sound. He started telling me about her, how he loved her, how everything was his fault, how he missed her so much still, just…every thought he’d ever had about her came spilling out…

I just…felt such an urge to hold him, like it were a natural thing, and despite never being around people it just felt like what you should do seeing such a thing…So, I did. I hugged him and squeezed him tight and let him cry. And he did. And for awhile to. I honestly wonder if he ever really had before since her death…If something about me being someone so entirely different and removed from the situation allowed him to let it out as he needed. Of this I am not sure, and again, in hindsight I guess it could’ve been rude to just hug someone you’d never known like that, but I suppose if I’d had those ‘social graces’ about myself that other Floralians have, he may not have gotten what he needed in that moment—a shoulder to cry on.

He told me he felt much better after the fact, and I truly think he did. And we still talk about her whenever he needs to. She was such a big part of his life, it would be remiss of me to not give him a safe space to talk about her, and how the memory of her occasionally makes him feel—good or bad. I am happy for his part in her life, though I am sad for how it ended up piercing his heart. It was an important love for him, and I can tell it definitely shaped who he is today. And who he is, is wonderful to me. Gentle, sweet, compassionate, kind, affectionate, if a little stuffy. And I appreciate it all.

Anyway, sorry if that was long winded. This is a topic I think of often, as it is undeniably a part of our relationship. Thank you for your question, I wish you a good day! ✨🌸🌷”

[yournameoneverypage]

Falling Forward

Shawn Mendes x Reader. Angst, fluff.

Word Count: ~2.6k

A/N: It may be an “anon”, but I know who requested this. (She’s one of my besties.) 😉 I hope you like it, bub, especially since you requested it so long ago! I’m sorry it took me way too effing long to get it written. 😕 Call it a very belated birthday gift. 😋

So, I didn’t follow the prompt exactly. Well, I did, but I distorted the perception a bit? (That's probably not the best description, but I think you'll see what I mean.) I tried with the angst, I really did, but I feel like my angst is never really all that angsty.

~ ❤️ ~

You were sitting at your desk, rubbing your eyes, when you sensed you were no longer alone. You might’ve been startled by how he’d snuck up on you if you hadn’t smelled his cologne. You could find him in the dark just by his scent alone. It was maddening, because you hated how much you loved it.

Sure enough, you swiveled your chair to see Shawn standing in the doorway of your room, leaning against the frame.

“What are you doing here?” you said in greeting, trying to keep your tone indifferent. Your voice often tried to betray you in his presence; it was a genuine struggle.

He shrugged the shoulder not leaning against the door. “I came to see if you wanted to hang out for a bit.”

“Maya isn’t here.”

You thought maybe you simply imagined the... hurt that flitted through his honey brown eyes before he said, “Yeah, I caught her on her way out. Who do you think let me in?”

///

Maya was your best friend, who Shawn had had a thing for ever since you’d met him nearly six months earlier through a mutual friend who you had no idea had any clout whatsoever. You suppose, that was the point. Jaiden wasn’t the type of guy to just throw facts around like, ‘yeah, Shawn Mendes is a friend of mine’. You had to earn his trust before he let you completely into his inner circle.

Apparently you had finally managed to do so the night you found yourselves all at the same bar and being introduced to the beautiful, bright-eyed, pink-cheeked, affable popstar.

Maya and Shawn instantly connected. You were happy for her, of course, but you had liked him for a while, had been a fan of his longer than she had, and well before you had ever met him. You had to remind yourself that she was your best friend and “dibs” was for children.

You did your best to shake off your disappointment, while Shawn tried his hardest to dispel your sometimes debilitating shyness.

There was one moment, one brief, shining moment, just as you were truly starting to relax in his presence and open up, when you thought maybe, just maybe, the tiny spark you had thought you felt flare between the two of you might be realized, but then Maya made a slightly suggestive comment and snatched away his attention.

Even though you knew she hadn't purposely done so, - Maya was an outrageous flirt, - it left you cold and on the verge of tears. As you willed away the wetness of your eyes, and forced yourself to smile, you felt a wall around your heart begin to build and fortify.

You said your goodbyes shortly thereafter, but not before Shawn asked for Maya’s number. You excused yourself for the ladies' room, not wanting to witness the very possibility of anything more between them.

///

You never felt excluded from conversations whenever you found yourselves spending time with Shawn, and quickly settled into the banter that flowed freely between you, but you did feel like you sat stuck slightly along the circumference of Shawn and Maya's little flirtation bubble. You could only take so much before you made your excuses to leave them to their privacy.

You wondered how much longer it would be before they hooked up. You were surprised it hadn't happened already. You didn't know how you were going to handle it once they did. You would have to make yourself scarce when they began dating, and find other places to crash before he started staying over. You wouldn’t begrudge Maya for having a sex life with Shawn, but you knew it would kill you if you had to see the proof of it standing in his underwear in your kitchen afterwards.

Your heart tightened in your chest and you forced those thoughts away.

You almost questioned why he had chosen to stay then to entertain you, but you didn't want to see that look again. It made your skin itch uncomfortably.

It wasn’t as if you hadn’t hung out alone together before, but the texting was easier. You texted all the time about things from mundane to thought-provoking. You loved it when it was just the two of you, even though you held that close to your chest, but simultaneously you hated it because, in these instances, all the stronger, more-than-friends feelings you had for him tried even harder to surface. It was easier for you to talk to him when there was distance and a screen between you.

If only you were selfish and could just take what you so desperately wanted.

If only you were brave enough.

How would he react if you did, and what would that do to both your friendships, with him and especially Maya? It wasn't worth the risk.

“You could’ve called first?” you suggested, falling into your usual bantering to try to alleviate your sudden discomfiture, spinning back toward your laptop.

“Do I ever call?” he chuckled.

Touché. Your apartment was near his favorite coffee shop. As soon as he learned that, he started coming by all the time.

“You should just give me a key at this point,” he smirked. “Besides, I knew you’d be home,” he said, pushing off the frame and crossing your room.

“Because my life is oh, so boring?”

“Because I know you have a deadline for Monday and would be working through the weekend.” He set a to-go cup beside you.

You sighed and tilted your head back to look up at him. “Thank you.” You brought the cup to your lips and took a tentative sip. Of course, it was your favorite.

Shawn placed his large hands on your shoulders and gave a gentle squeeze. Your stomach flipped. From the rush of caffeine, obviously, not his touch. “All that caffeine probably isn’t good on an empty stomach. When was the last time you ate anything?” He raised an eyebrow when you took too long to answer. “Mhm,” he smirked. “That’s what I thought. Take a break, sweetheart. I’ll make you something to eat.”

Your heart skipped whenever he called you ‘sweetheart', which was both too often and not nearly enough. Your heart was a traitor, too.

When Shawn was gone, you sighed and tried to refocus on your work. It was futile now that the man you were in love with was only two rooms away. It was getting more difficult with every passing day to bury your feelings.

You felt a flare of anxiety, nearly overwhelming in its intensity. This was not the time to fall apart. You didn't have the luxury this afternoon of leaving him with Maya and fleeing. You couldn't let him see your vulnerabilities or he wouldn't stop till he pulled everything out of you that you were trying to hide from him.

Breathe. Just breathe…

Thankfully, upon his return, you had calmed yourself down and the attack had retreated. You pretended to be engrossed in your assignment but if Shawn had paid any attention to your laptop screen, he'd easily see you hadn't made a stitch of progress since he disappeared to the kitchen.

“What happened to ‘take a break’?”

You held your hands up in surrender. “Fine.”

He snapped your laptop shut, - he didn't have to ask if you saved your work as he knew you were a little OCD about that, - and set a bowl of noodles and two chocolate chip cookies before you. He knew you better than he should as someone else’s soon-to-be boyfriend. Your comfort foods, where you carried your stress, how much you loved anything chocolate.

You reached for the cookies.

"Noodles first," he playfully reprimanded.

You scowled. He just smirked and threw himself across your bed, languorously stretching his long frame out. Damn it. Now your bed was going to smell like him.

Shawn snagged your journal from its current place on your nightstand. It was your own fault, really, for leaving it out, in plain sight. “What's this?”

“Nothing.” You made to snatch it out of his hands, but then you thought, why bother? You never wrote his name in your journal, or the name of the friend who he belonged to. He would never know the staggering crush you had was on him.

Even though your face burned hot, you didn't stop him from cracking it open, - you think you secretly wanted to see if he'd figure it out, - and busied yourself by inhaling your noodles even though they were still a little too hot.

"'There must be a reason why the greatest love stories never have a happy ending.' Well, that’s bleak."

"We can't all be optimists."

Shawn rolled his eyes and chuckled. "Says the biggest optimist I know."

He had you there. You were normally a wide-eyed and hopeful, glass-half-full kind of person.

“'Never trust a man whose smile steals the breath right out of your lungs.'" Without reading the actual entry that followed, he flipped to another page. "'What’s worse than knowing you want something, besides knowing you can never have it?'"

Most of your entries began with a sentence or quote that reflected your mindset on that particular day.

His eyes stayed locked on your neat scrawl, his thumb and index finger poised to turn another page, as he cleared his throat and asked, "Who's the guy? Do I know him?" He finally looked up at your silence.

Your answer was to lower your eyes, shrug noncommittally, and stuff one of the cookies into your mouth.

You wondered which passage it was that caused Shawn to abruptly close the small, leather book and mutter, "You should've told me not to read it."

"I shouldn't have to. Are you happy now? Curiosity quelled?" You immediately regretted your words and tone. You had been trying for sarcasm but it came out too harsh. You were normally quick to apologize, but you were suddenly equal parts frustrated, terrified, and annoyed.

"Look," you cleared your throat and took a deep breath to steady your voice. "I should really focus on getting this assignment done." You can't be here anymore. I'm not strong enough. Not today. "Thanks for the coffee, and- and noodles, and cookies. I should be able to push through now, so…"

"Yeah, okay." Shawn stood and began to leave. He paused in the doorway. "You don't ever have to thank me for taking care of you. As someone who…"

You felt the wall around your heart fissure and you held your breath, balancing between hope and heartbreak.

But instead of completing his thought, he only sighed. "Don't work too hard." And then he was gone.

///

Shawn met Maya at the café beside the coffee shop.

She knew it hadn't gone well with the way he stalked toward the corner she'd settled into. She raised an eyebrow. “Well?”

Shawn just growled and tugged the curls that had found themselves twisted in his hand. "She's definitely into someone; it's just not me," he sighed wistfully, squeezing into the booth that was too small for his 6'3" frame. He dropped his head into his palms and rubbed his eyes. "Her journal is one long, unrequited love letter."

"You read her journal??"

"In my defense, I didn’t know it was her journal. At first.”

"You read her journal."

"I know, I know. But she didn't stop me! I just- I thought maybe, maybe, I'd see my name in there.”

"Boys are so dumb," Maya huffed, sliding out of the booth and tossing a twenty onto its surface. "Girls too, for that matter."

"Where are you going?"

"To put an end to this. I'm tired of waiting for you two to get your shit together."

"What?"

"It's you, stupid."

"What is?"

"The boy she's writing about."

///

Your door was still open. "Give it over," Maya demanded upon entering your room.

"Give what over?"

She glowered at you.

"He told you. Of course he told you. No. Just go. Just… leave me alone."

"Like hell. Give it."

"Does my privacy not mean anything to anyone??" But still you retrieved your journal.

"You let Shawn read it, but I'm your best friend."

You tossed it on your bed toward Maya, who quickly snatched it up and began to page through it. “Ha! I fucking love being right! Bub, why didn’t you tell me??"

Your eyes began to water. Maya took your hand and pulled you toward your bed. She settled herself cross-legged in the middle of it, facing you as you assumed the same position.

"Why didn't you tell me you’re in love with Shawn?” Maya asked softly.

You nearly collapsed with the relief of not having to hold it in anymore, of not having to pretend. Finally, the tears spilled over. "I'm sorry."

"Why?" She reached for you to swipe them away. "What is there to be sorry for?"

"What do you mean 'why'?? You two are…" You completed your thought with a gesture.

Maya immediately connected all the dots. Every single one of them. "Oh, honey…" She then laughed. "You are so oblivious, babe."

"Gee, thanks."

"He's not into me. He's into you."

"No, no, no, no, no," you chanted, rising from your bed and beginning to pace around your room. Your entire world had abruptly flipped upside down and you were grasping for a way to right things again, because this was just… too much. If your unrequited love wasn’t as unrequited as you thought… "But you two flirt all the time."

"I flirt with everyone, hon, which you're well aware of. So does he. It's just fun for us; it doesn't mean anything." A realization suddenly dawned on her. "Shit. I'm so sorry, bub. I never considered how it must've looked to you… You must hate me."

"Of course not," you exhaled. *It's just- I always thought- when he started coming around I thought, he's just being nice. Get in good with the best friend, you know?"

"You're right in your assumption, but he doesn't hang with you because of me, he hangs with me because of you. It always frustrates him when you disappear on us. You've really done a number on his confidence, hon, and his heart... He's crazy about you, and he thinks you're desperately into someone else. You should probably correct that, hm?"

///

Shawn stood in your doorway, hands shoved deep into his pockets. "Hi."

You were as far away from the door as you could get, twisting the rings on your fingers. "Hi."

“Permission to enter?”

You nodded.

He took a few tentative steps forward and closed the door behind him. With the audible click, your heart quickened. He paused beside your dresser and picked up your small, metal infinity cube. He changed its shape before setting it back in its place and clearing his throat.

“Maya said you had something to tell me.”

“I’m sorry about how I spoke to you earlier.” That’s not what you knew she’d meant and what he was expecting to hear, but you weren’t ready to acknowledge anything else in that moment.

“I’m sorry, too. I should’ve stopped reading your journal the second I realized that’s what it was.”

How had you found yourself standing before him? Had he moved, or had you?

“You didn’t stop me. Why?”

“Shawn…”

“Say it.”

“I- I think maybe you know why?” you muttered, blush growing darker, and lowered your eyes.

His chin started to tilt toward you. His lips parted.

“What are you doing?” you whispered.

"It's not obvious?" he hummed, touching the tip of his nose to yours.

You were fighting between stepping back or falling forward. “Shawn…”

“Just tell me that it’s me.” His lips brushed yours, testing. They were soft, softer than you could have imagined.

“It’s you,” you breathed, rising to your tiptoes and winding your hands in his hair, as you’d wanted to do since the first time you met, and you brought his mouth back to yours.

~ * ~

@chocochipcookie305 @mendesblurb @monikamendes @mendesficsxbombay @silverswallow @misti-ka @fallinallinshawn @hiding-behind-a-flower @benito-mi-vida

[femboycatofmystery]

I Love Raine Whispers

Let me start this post about Raine Whispers by affirming my love of Double Trouble.

Are they a paragon of unproblematic representation? Hell no. Do I adore them? You bet your ass I do, for two reasons: first, despite being a shapeshifting trickster and arguably a villain who inarguably relies on deceit, when they appeared, they were a breath of literally any air in a media landscape which, regardless of whether we're even talking about kids' shows, was basically empty of non-binary representation. This can hardly be overstated: non-binary representation has been so scarce that Double Trouble pretty much literally revealed my non-binary-ness to me, single-handedly. Second, sort of related, for all their sus vibes, Double Trouble absolutely works as a power fantasy for schlubby, inglamorous enbies like yours truly, all while being important to the plot, delivering a necessary if painful vibe check around which the entire next season pivots, and looking absolutely devastating in a jumpsuit. Don't get it twisted: I fucking love Double Trouble and I WILL fight you.

But this is a post about Raine, aka best Owl Houseian.

Raine Whispers is, for one thing, everything Double Trouble wasn't. Unambiguously with the good guys. Unique, interesting powers attained through study and cleverness. Cool Teacher Vibe. Sexy, but absolutely in an aspirational way rather than, uh, y'know, what DT's doing. They are undeniably a core cast member, including, nay, especially in the last, shortened season.

If DT was a breath of literally any air, Raine Whispers is what it felt like when the Fright Zone suddenly turned into a goddamn alpine meadow. They're transcendental. Double Trouble was enjoyable and fun to have around, but Raine… Raine made me feel invested in a way I can hardly express. It's because of them that I am starting to more seriously contemplate really starting to stamp those they/them pronouns on my stationary if you get my drift.

From the minute they're introduced, Raine becomes a chord in the tapestry of the Owl House that we didn't know we'd been missing, and I gotta say, in terms of late-introduced characters, the Owl Crew did an incredible job of making them feel like they'd been there all along, it's just the camera wasn't pointing at them. Lovely. They're introduced along with Bardic Magic, which is itself given a chance to really shine as this weird, bigger-than-it-looks branch of magic that pools up and spills over into the world from everywhere, it's a branch of magic that proves what an ill-fitting straightjacket the Coven system is by just sort of being something that feels like it transcends the divisions artificially erected between things and-- you get it, Bard Magic might not be an intentional metaphor, but it sure does resonate.

Raine is also a double agent, but unlike Double Trouble, the metaphor is way more subtle, and much better for it. Raine is a double agent because the powers that be just assume they're part of the system, and then because they assume they've tamed them. Raine persists, hiding in plain sight because nobody wants to see them. And they don't like it, but they know they can use it.

Raine is also an excellent foil for Eda. They don't dislike Eda's rebelliousness, chaotic impulsiveness, or sass, in fact they love them, but every one of those things are things that Raine exhibits quietly. They rebel under a pseudonym. They plan, but plan craziness. They have the capacity for sass, but deliver it with subtlety and wit, in a way that Eda might be able to do if she wanted to, but probably never will. (This is part of why they fit so perfectly into the ensemble cast: they are a great pair for one of the most important characters in the show.)

I could also yell about how aggressively non-binary the cast gets in season 3, but even knowing what was to come, The Owl House knocked the first one out of the park. Raine Whispers is incredible, and I am changed for having them in my media universe. Just. Bravo, crew. Bravo.